8th Batch Ko-Fi Fics: 1st Fill

Blackwatch!Reinhardt/Angelo – rape; coercion; deep throating; breath play – Reinhardt has a new toy and he knows just how to play it.

“You are a gorgeous one, aren’t you?” Reinhardt extends his hand towards the prisoner but before his fingers can scratch at his chin right beneath his neat little goatee, the man jerks his head away. He does not answer, but Reinhardt can see it in his eyes: how he tries to be brave in the face of his certain doom.

He is a doctor, Reinhardt knows. More used to being inside his laboratories than spending his time out on the battlefield. He’s young and supple and innocent. Maybe Overwatch wanted to take mercy on him. Maybe they did not want to watch his pretty brown eyes become jaded.

Reinhardt smirks and reaches up without missing a beat, pulling the knot of his tie a bit tighter.

He stares down at the bound little bird, watching as his docile eyes flick to him again and again. He can see him trying to figure out who he is.

Last time he’s seen him, Reinhardt had been wearing his Blackheart armor. In a perfectly fitted suit he is something else, and he smirks.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs, usually booming voice pitched into a low, soothing rumble. The medic’s full lips thin and he turns his head farther away. “You are not alone.”

The man snorts and Reinhardt steps closer, one big hand coming into his white hair, attempting to stroke it. When Angelo twists his head to dislodge him, he changes his tactic and grips at him hard, pulling his head back until the pretty bird visibly grits his teeth.

“I am not lying to you. You are not alone. We have more Overwatch agents in our facility.”

Angelo’s eyes snap open, staring up at him, eyebrows drawn tight in concern. Reinhardt smirks, pulling him forward, unceremoniously mashing the prisoner’s face against his crotch, then dragging his cheek against his slowly filling cock. Angelo is a big man. Reinhardt loves playing with them.

“I think if you are a good boy, they won’t get hurt… too much.”

Angelo’s fierce struggle and indignant noises suddenly peter out. When Reinhardt glances down, the good doctor is staring up at him with wide brown eyes. Shocked.

Reinhardt sighs and drags one big finger along Angelo’s cheekbone.

“In trying to spare you the atrocities of war, I think Overwatch has done you more dirty than anybody else could have done.”

.o.

He’s sloppy and panick-y from lack of air, but not half-bad at sucking cock. A natural. Reinhardt had suspected as much – it is always the cute and naive ones – but he’s nonetheless pleasantly surprised.

There’s not been much crying and protest; no hint of teeth as he first nudged his way carefully into the good doctor’s mouth and then, even more carefully into his throat. He’s a good boy, trying not to give him any reason to hurt his precious friends.

Reinhardt sighs, head back, staring unseeingly at the ceiling as he just lets himself feel the warm, desperate contractions around his dick. He’s standing above Angelo, having crowded him against the wall, and is just leisurely fucking straight down into his throat.

He can hear Angelo’s gurgling, muffled by his cock jammed down his throat. He’s still panicking but he’s gotten better about it. He’s no longer clawing desperately at Reinhardt’s massive thighs but just… accepting the treatment. He’s letting Reinhardt suffocate him on his fat cock, tears at the corners of his eyes, gaze a bit vacant as he tries to battle his body’s natural panic response.

When Reinhardt lets up on him and pulls out, he takes huge, ragged breaths, a single dry sob leaving him. There’s a thick line of spit connecting Reinhardt’s flushed glans and Angelo’s bottom lip.

“You’re a good little soldier, aren’t you?” Reinhardt croons, nudging Angelo’s cheek with one thick knuckle. He uses one of the big rings decorating his fingers tug against the doctor’s lip, watching how Angelo just lets him do it. “All for the sake of your little friends. Hmm. How noble.”

He hooks his thumb into the side of Angelo’s mouth, pulling, watching as the doctor just *let’s him*, looking up at him with dark, sweet eyes. He’s gorgeous.

Reinhardt wonders if he will wail when Reinhardt stuffs his ass full of dick. Will he try to crawl away or will he take it, resigned to his fate. In any case, he would look gorgeous on his cock, of that he’s plenty sure.

He pulls farther against the corner of Angelo’s mouth, thumb pressing down on the bottom row of teeth to urge him to open his jaw wide, which Angelo does, showing off his pretty, soft tongue and the raw, red back of his throat that Reinhardt has already so thoroughly, deeply fucked.

“You are a natural. Perfect little toy. So obedient… Do you find solace in the knowledge that you keep your friend’s safe?” Reinhardt leans forward again, knees bending minimally as he starts dragging his cock against the wet cushion of Angelo’s tongue.

He smiles serenely at the defiant look entering the doctor’s eyes, then pushes in deeper, dragging the fat glans just where Angelo’s gag reflex begins to see him try to suppress his choking.

“That is fine. I will teach you soon enough. You are a whore and nobody has trained you properly – but daddy Reinhardt has you, sweetheart. I will show you how good it can feel to just lose yourself in a nice fat cock spreading you open and filling you up. Soon you won’t have to worry about your friends anymore. You will forget them. They are not important. They *will not be* important. Not as much as getting filled with dick and servicing your new masters.”

Angelo’s eyebrows pull together. He looks stormy and rebellious. But Reinhardt will teach him.

4th Batch Ko-Fi Fics: 3rd Fill

Genyatta + Blackwatch!McCree – Rough sex (but no rape); double teaming/spit roasting; breath play; fucking without lube

Zenyatta is agile and pliant, and while he might be able to easily slip out of either Genji’s or Jesse’s grasp, when confronted with both of the same time he definitely has to scramble to not get caught.

His expression, usually placid, looks uncharacteristically hilarious as his eyebrows are pulled up, plush mouth a constant little ‘o’ of surprise. With both of them getting at him at the same time he can’t perform his fancy little tricks of using their own weight against them to throw them to the mat – and sooner or later his luck just has to run out.

McCree’s big hand curls around his upper arm when Zenyatta’s attention is on Genji, and that’s it: he gets whirled around and slammed to the ground, Jesse’s knee digging harsh into his spine while he twists his arm up behind his back, the other hand on the side of Zenyatta’s face to mash his head into the floor of the boxring.

“Y’ lost,” he rasps, grin wild and a bit insane looking. He’s waited for this moment. They both have. Genji is close, brimming suddenly with energy after his stamina had been whittled down just as much as McCree’s.

“So… So it seems,” Zenyatta gasps, back straining, trying to alleviate the pain in his shoulder as Jesse keeps him firmly pinned.

“I believe you owe us a little somethin’ somethin’.”

“Yes… I remember. If you would just-”

“Ah ah ah… none a’ that. Not gonna let you go until the second you got one of our cocks in you. Ye’r not gonna do your little vanishing trick.”

He digs his knee in a little deeper, and Zenyatta grunts in pain, but there is a definite little grin playing on his mouth.

.o.

They wrestle him towards the edge of the training arena and change places with nervous energy; like Zenyatta could just vanish in a puff of smoke if they don’t have their hands on him at all times.

It is risky doing this here, in a public training room of Blackwatch, but they don’t think they could have stopped even if Commander Reyes himself walked in. The price is too good not to immediately have.

They probably hurt Zenyatta as they arrange him around, but he does not protest. His loose pants are tenting at the crotch, cock bouncing out and slapping against his soft, concave belly when Genji rips them down to get at the goods.

They use him like boys would use their little toys: rough and without any thought of the consequences if they broke them.

McCree has it easier than him: He does not need to worry about preparation. Zenyatta’s head is dangling off the edge of the arena and McCree’s legs are long enough to comfortably have his throat.

Genji pauses in spitting into his hand to watch as Zenyatta’s throat bulges visibly around the fat cock, lovely brown skin flushing an alarming shade of red as Jesse hunches over and ruts into him, one arm clutching at the corner pole of the ring. His eyes are wide, crazed looking, and Genji would almost be worried if he wasn’t about to raw Zenyatta with nothing but spit easing the way – or not easing it, as is.

He uses it to calm his own conscience; knows, in fact, that it doesn’t do shit when he starts fucking the bulbous head of his dick inside the tender little clench of Zenyatta’s anus – but he just can’t help it.

Not when Zenyatta gurgles around McCree’s cock, his thin, hairless chest flushing as red as his bulging throat as he gets double teamed and spit roasted on dick. Maybe the lack of air is dulling the pain of Genji force-fucking his way into him; curling Zenyatta’s lower body up so he can better mate-press the young man into the dirty ground of the boxring.

Or maybe Zenyatta is just that much of a freak and loves the pain. Loves getting rawed and used unconditionally by the two men he’s been teasing for weeks and months.

His cock – as lovely and slender as the rest of him – is wet at the tip, at least. His insides, as silky and hot as Genji had thought they’d be, clenching and squeezing around him like a well-trained whore. Hugging his cock.

McCree is about as red-faced as Zenyatta, scruffy cheeks puffing out. He looks a bit panicked; like he’s about to come and desperately tries not to.

Genji grins at him wide.

“I can take him if you need to tap out already.”

McCree looks at him with a crazy glint in his eye, and Genji thinks he can hear the grind of his teeth as he forcibly drags himself back from the precipice.

“No fucking way, Shimada.”

4th Batch Ko-Fi Fics: 2nd Fill

McHanzo + Soldier76 – housewife!Hanzo; rape play; breath play; name calling; dirty talk; dehumanization; forced feminization; hair pulling/rough – Jesse brings the Commander over without first talking to Hanzo about it. The Commander is very good at playing his part.

“Babydoll,” Jesse calls out, throwing a quick glance behind him to make sure Jack is closing the door quietly, not making a sound. “Daddy’s home.”

There’s a moment of stillness, then the soft sound of dishes clicking on the counter as they are set down.

“Yes,” comes the reply. It is simple. Reserved. There’s the soft tap of Hanzo’s prosthetic feet on the naked floor and then he is standing in the doorway, an apron secured around his waist. It does not look too special; casual. A simple shield for the sudsy, dirty water – but it is also white and frilly around the edges and seems decidedly out of place on the otherwise austere man wearing it.

Hanzo’s face is unreadable as he stares at them for a bit too long, dark eyes twitching between them. He seems impassive until his fingers start curling around the very edge of the apron. He looks self-conscious.

“Commander,” he says carefully and slowly, gaze lingering on Jesse, his high cheekbones flushing more and more.

Jack does not say anything. He stares back with a blank expression, waiting – and Jesse jumps in smoothly, making his way deeper into the living quarters that are decidedly too small for three big men like them.

“None a’ that now, babydoll. We’re not too formal here. I brought Jack over for a nice beer. Told him about my little wife – he said he’d like to meet her.”

Hanzo is frozen to the spot, face still stony, yet there is a minimal shift in the set of his eyebrows and the twist of his mouth that makes him look… betrayed. Vulnerable. He stares at Jesse, fingers curled tightly into the hem of his apron, frozen to the spot.

He looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and there is a certain kind of fragility in the air as all three men wait how this will play out; whether Hanzo will flee or fight – or play along like a good girl.

Jesse takes a cautious step closer, head lowering a bit, staring intently at Hanzo. His voice is deep, soothing but urging at the same time.

“Jack would love his beer now, baby.”

Hanzo swallows, and the click of his dry throat is almost audible. There’s another second of mute staring and then Hanzo turns on his heel and retreats.

Jesse lets out the air he’s been holding and turns, throwing Jack a roguish grin. The Commander smirks back lopsidedly, steely eyes still lingering on the spot the archer had occupied before following the sweep of Jesse’s arm and making his way towards the small table.

He is unselfconscious about the erection tenting his pants as he moves, not trying to hide the fact that he’s already very aroused at the prospect of playing tonight. Jesse does not mention it, either – he is in much the same predicament, after all.

.o.

Jesse does not think that Hanzo did it deliberately but he does sure appreciate the delicious irony in the situation as the shaking of Hanzo’s hands caused the bottle to fall and empty itself across Jack’s lap.

He’s never played with someone Jesse just brought along – or someone they both know and work with for that matter – and it definitely shows. He is nervous and twitchy, and now he’s staring at Jack’s angry face with an open anxiousness that should not get Jesse’s cock wet at the tip but does it regardless.

Jack’s mouth is pinched into a tight line as he sets the beer bottle back onto the table. When Hanzo still just stands there, staring, he barks: “Well? Do something!”

Hanzo jerks, his face going hard for a second as his ever-present pride rears its head, but a quick glance at Jesse’s expectant gaze seems to quell the urge to sneer and talk down to them.

Instead he mumbles: “Apologies…” and turns to retreat and get a washcloth. Jack’s arm snaps out, curling hard around Hanzo’s wrist before he can go anywhere.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His bright eyes are unsettling as he stares at Hanzo without blinking. He tugs hard, making Hanzo stumble towards him.

“Jesse told me about his well-behaved little cunt of a wife, but all I’m seeing is some clumsy bimbo.” Hanzo’s cheeks start burning again, his mouth going soft and open in shock over the commander’s harsh words. Jack’s hand is still curled around the archer’s thick wrist, holding on tight, short nails digging harshly into his skin. “You didn’t even put on something pretty for us. That’s not very nice.”

His eyes flick down, and his already rough voice becomes hard to understand as it gets a bit deeper: “Least you got some nice tits. You should show them off more.”

Hanzo pulls weakly at the grip Jack has on him, his voice cracking as he veritably whispers: “Y-You are hurting me…”

Jack’s eyes flick to Jesse, but he is just sitting there relaxed, watching the scene unfold.

Emboldened, Jack turns back to Hanzo and pulls hard. Hanzo stumbles, and, even though the maneuver would not be enough to knock him down usually, lets himself now fall hard to his knees in front of Jack.

“Clean the mess you made, girlie.”

Hanzo’s eyes become glassy at the nickname, mouth so soft and red as he dazedly stares at the Commander’s beer-wet crotch in front of him. When he doesn’t move quick enough, Jack’s other hand snatches a fistful of his hair, gripping harsh enough that Hanzo cries out in distress, face twisted in pain.

The Commander does not care about it, pulling him close, dragging Hanzo’s cheek against the rough denim and hard bulge of his cock.

“I said. Clean it.”

Hanzo is panting, voice shot as he assents with a shaky: “Y-Yes, Sir…” after throwing a helpless gaze towards Jesse who remains impassive to his plea.

They watch as Hanzo sets to work, licking at the beer-wet jeans, and, after another harsh twist of Jack’s fist in his hair, opens his mouth wide above where the tip of his cock pushes against the fabric, and starts sucking.

Jack groans, thick thighs falling open more easily, rigid shoulders losing some of their tense lines.

“Ahh, fuck. That’s exactly what I needed.”

Jesse smirks. There’s a high flush on his cheeks – the open, unselfconscious vulgarity of the Commander seems to intoxicate him way more than the bit of alcohol he’s sipped at while watching the show.

“I am glad I could be of service,” he murmurs. Jack barks a laugh. He pulls Hanzo away via the grip he has on him, not looking at the archer’s face as he begins opening his pants with the other hand.

“Should get myself an obedient cunt like that,” he murmurs. “But I’m not ready to settle down yet. Women are always so goddamn picky about everything. Think you got a good catch with yours, though. You’re not picky, are you?”

His cock is out and suddenly his blue eyes snap back to Hanzo’s face, a smug grin spreading on his face when he catches Hanzo staring near mesmerized at the faintly flushed cock in front of him. Paler skin than Jesse’s, and not as thick, but still plenty interesting.

Jack slaps him with three fingers; hard enough to make a showy, loud slapping noise while Hanzo grunts more in surprise than in pain.

“I asked you something, bimbo.” And then, without missing a beat: “Yeah, you’re not picky. Doesn’t Jesse give you enough dick? You sniffing around for cocks behind his back when you’re supposed to clean the house and do the laundry?”

He does not expect Hanzo to talk, obviously. He already has him pulled forward, his grip in the dark hair unrelenting and harsh and domineering everything as he drags him onto his cock and pushes deep, listening to the wet gagging and watching the desperate, instinctual struggle before Hanzo’s training kicks in and he obediently lets himself get used.

Already, his nose is running and his eyes are suspiciously wet as Jack keeps him down just to listen to the click of his throat and the badly suppressed gagging.

Jesse is laughing next to them now, full bellied and carefree – like he’s heard the best joke in the world and isn’t idly sitting by while Hanzo struggles for air until the Commander finally lets him go to breathe.

“She’s a good girl. Don’t be so harsh, Commander. I fill ‘er up plenty. Give her li’l womb somethin’ t’ work with – but she’s greedy. Always knew that. No problem with that, to be honest.”

“Clever man,” Jack nods, staring intently in Hanzo’s dark eyes, pupils blown wide. “I think we can have a lot of fun. I can take care of you when your husband is… indisposed.” He laughs when Hanzo whines and licks sloppily at the wet tip of his cock, trying to noisily slurp it back into his mouth. “But I’ll have you know that I’ll be a lot stricter than he is. Gotta have myself a pretty little lady waiting for me when I come home. Want a nice ready cunt to pull on my dick whenever I want…”

Hanzo’s face goes slack, mouth open wide and tongue out obediently as Jack slaps his cock against it, wiping the salty pre-cum against the soft insides of his cheeks.

“Are you going to be a good girl?”

They both laugh when Hanzo tries to answer without closing his mouth, a degrading sound of raw need croaking from him as he drools, hands kept prim and proper in his lap – on top of the apron.

4th Batch Ko-Fi Fics: 1st Fill

Young Hanzo at a gloryhole. Breathplay

Someone stumbles in and crashes into the wall before he starts fumbling with his belt. Hanzo can smell the alcohol he spilled sloppily over his jeans, and gets desperately hot at knowing the man on the other side of the wall is drunk.

Drunk guys are always more uninhibited and eager to debase him. The thought makes him squirm, chest feeling like a warm little balloon is expanding inside him.

Two thick fingers appear in the whole and grope around clumsily.

“Where’s the cunt,” the man grunts and Hanzo leans forward, his hot breath warning enough. The man grunts again and suddenly his fingers are hooked into the side of Hanzo’s mouth, pulling him roughly closer. He makes a sound of surprise but goes along, his shaking fingers curling into fists on top of his thighs. He sits seiza. It gives him a special kind of satisfaction.

“There y’are,” the man – his customer – mumbles. He does not seem too concerned with getting his cock out. The wall separating them vibrates gently as the man leans heavily against it, his fingers sliding along Hanzo’s tongue languid and slow. They taste acrid.

He pulls out, wet fingertips sliding along Hanzo’s lips, then fingering the little silky patch of his goatee.

“Feels nice,” he comments idly, then lets his fingers slide back into Hanzo’s mouth who keeps it obediently open; even sidles closer to give him better access. He gags soft and wet when the man suddenly starts fucking deeper inside, trying to shove his fingers down his throat and only managing to make Hanzo drool liberally.

“Yeah,” he grunts, “Very nice. You’re a seasoned whore at this, hm? Fucking slut. C’mere.”

Hanzo’s eyes are glassy as he waits obediently, mouth open, drooling, tongue out and welcoming as the fingers retreat and the hole gets filled with something new; long and fat and much better prepared to try how sensitive his gag reflex is.

He wishes there was a way for the men on the other side to grab for his hair. He’d love to have them grunt fuck his skull, hands harsh in his hair, holding him so he can’t get away.

He knows he would love it; getting held harshly, his nose buried in unwashed pubes, suffocating as his throat bulges on just about anybody’s dick. Nothing but a cocksleeve.

Hanzo gags on the man’s cock as it bumps the back of his throat. He supposes he should learn how to take them without choking, but most of them like it that way. Like hearing his throat close up with a click and his wet struggle for air.

The man on the other side murmurs something low and slurred and for a second he stills before he awkwardly fumbles a couple fingers through the hole again, clamping them around Hanzo’s nose and cutting off his air.

Hanzo almost jerks away, heart thumping that much faster. There’s a sweet panic overtaking him as the man keeps his nose pinched and forces his cock deep. Hanzo helps thoughtlessly, bringing his face as close as possible to the hole, his eyes rolling into his head as his cock pulses out helpless, pathetic ropes of cum into his underwear just out of sheer excitement over the treatment.

He can hear the man on the other side vaguely spitting insults at him; calling him a cheap two dollar whore; a cum-bucket; a good for nothing cunt – and Hanzo feels hot and full and high on it.

He gasps for air when the cock suddenly pulls back, fingers leaving his nose, and his eyes are swimming with tears of desperation because he wants it back. He can see the fist through the hole, jerking that nice, fat dick that had used him like a toy just a few seconds prior.

“Open up, baby,” the man on the other side croons and Hanzo does so without second thought; lets him jerk off on his tongue while he is sniffly and weepy because he wants to be choked some more.

When the man leaves, he almost goes after him. He wants to crawl on his knees and lick his shoes if that is what it takes to get him to choke him some more while he fills him up to bursting with dick.

He gets the feeling gloryholes will not be enough for him for much longer.

He needs more.

McCree shouldn’t be as excited to have Reaper’s ass planted on his face; he knows as much, but he can’t make himself not puppy eager, his cock already fat and eager in his jeans, the head pushing up painfully behind the heavy belt buckle after he reached down to adjust it.

It’s humid and warm – no, sweltering – between Reaper’s cheeks. He feels like a fever, the nanomachines constantly working and building up an inhuman heat.

Jesse wants to say something about it; make a low, drawling quip about how he hadn’t expected to fly into the tropics today – but Reaper grinds down right then, as if sensing his stupid goddamn joke, heavy balls grinding across first the bridge of Jesse’s nose, then his forehead; settling there warm and oppressive-

but not as oppressive as Reaper himself, his thick thighs tightening around Jesse’s head as he shimmies his hips and settles down like a goddamn mother hen.

Jesse wants to say something – he thought it was funny – but it is hard to keep a clear head when he is suffocating in Reaper’s huge ass. Everything is dark and hot and the tip of Jesse’s nose is nudging against his hole until he can manage to angle his head up and let Reaper properly sit on his jaw.

“Finally,” the dark voice sighs above him. He feels Reaper’s talons scrape at his head – almost lovingly.

Jesse’s head is spinning; his heart is hammering. He doesn’t know if Reaper would hear it if he asked him to sit up and let him get gulps of fresh air. (He doesn’t know if he would care). The thought is as scary as it is arousing.

His cock is trying to strangle itself with his own goddamn belt.

“Begin,” Reaper hisses and his thighs tighten – and Jesse feels like his head had to pop like a grape. His chest is spasming, his bladder feeling sensitive and full; like he needs to piss himself; his body so confused on whether he is going to live or die.

Reaper grunts and sits up; lets him have at least one short, desperate gulp of air before he sits back down.

“Begin!”

Jesse does. He is as diligent as he’s been way back when Reaper had not been Reaper; tongue out and liberally wet, dragging across the wrinkled skin of his anus all the while his hands were occupied with groping; squeezing at the rock hard muscles of his large, shapely thighs.

Reaper is breathing deeply above him and moves minutely; drags his hole against Jesse’s tongue and his balls across his forehead.

He is getting more excited; grinds down harder until Jesse’s head is pounding, his heels kicking at the ground, spurs jingling loud and obnoxiously. He is suffocating between Reaper’s thighs and his cock is feeling like a wound, swollen and pulsing and hot.

He can feel it on his tongue when Reaper comes; the tight ring of muscles contracting and releasing against the inquisitive tip of his tongue, his thighs tensing and squeezing his head until the joints of his jaw are pounding and he is so sure something has dislocated itself…

Reaper lifts slowly, like an afterthought, and Jesse drags in air with a huge, awful gulp, cock pulsing out cum the second the oxygen hits his bloodstream; the sensation orgasmic in itself, his beard wet with saliva and Reaper’s sweat.

He’s a mess, but when he turns his pounding head – feeling like he is running a fever – Reaper is nowhere to be seen.

Hanzo had a habit of staring.

He’d stared when McCree had pushed his legs up, folding him into a gorgeous, little package so he had all the access he could ever want.

He’d stared – even though his eyes had started to tear up a little, and his pupils had blown wide – when McCree had started rubbing his cock along his crack, playfully letting the blunt head catch at his lube wet hole. He’d stared at him, mouth falling open for his little, labored pants as McCree had finally started working his cock in, making him stretch, stretch, stretch around the girth.

He’d stared, eyelids growing heavy and cheeks darkening, as he got fucked slow and deep, legs held in McCree’s clutching hands, held up and with the knees nearly at Hanzo’s shoulders.

And he’d kept staring when McCree had come, bucking into him as deep as he could, a low, ragged groan rumbling from his chest, and metal arm gripping hard enough to leave what would become an ugly – pretty – bruise on his thigh.

“Ya like whatcha see?” McCree sighed when he let himself slip to the side and bounce on the bed, hand lazily scratching through the hair on his chest, and, when he saw how Hanzo’s dark eyes followed with their usual intense curiosity, let it slide down his furred belly to where his cock still was half-hard and pink; wet from Hanzo’s gorgeous, little cunt that he was pretty sure wasn’t as cute and small as it had been just half an hour earlier.

He smirked and tugged at the thick bush around his cock, knowing Hanzo was watching all of it. He seemed entranced, too – his metal knees still in the air where his legs hang forgotten, mouth wet and open.

Yes, Hanzo’s staring had been unsettling to the max when they started their little tete-a-tete’s, but McCree soon had learned not to let it bother him too much; maybe even have a little fun.

“Ya like ‘em big…” He pushed one arm behind his head, and watched Hanzo take in the way he played with his cock; holding it in a fist and playing with the dark foreskin to let him see glimpses of the wet, dark red head that had been splitting him open so wide. “’Course you do. You’re a little cockslut – I’ve seen how greedy y’are for it.”

His eyes slid down to Hanzo’s crotch. He could feel his mouth watering at the sight of his dick. As he watched, a thin line of sticky pre-cum started oozing from the tip towards the slick already on his abdomen, making it shiny.

God, but Hanzo was a pretty thing. Even his fucking bellybutton was gorgeous.

“Didn’t come yet, didya? Can’t come without a thick cock spreading you open, babydoll?”

Hanzo groaned low and wrecked and McCree could feel his own cock jerk in his fist. It was the first time that the archer had made a sound tonight. His feet had finally found the mattress but he seemed oddly reluctant to touch himself – his fingers were curled tightly into the sheets, smooth, generous chest straining upward as he started to squirm and threw his head back to expose his throat for Jesse’s viewing pleasure.

“I know, I know,” he crooned soothingly. He almost hastily let go of himself and rolled towards Hanzo, his fingers dancing first across his jawline, scratching through his beard, then down towards his throat where he tickled fingertips across his Adam’s apple. “I know what you need, little whore. I can give it to ya. Give ya just what someone like you needs.”

He was still almost tickling – sometimes playfully spreading his hand and giving his throat a gentle, affectionate squeeze like an animal would. Hanzo seemed locked in a stalemate; his body was practically vibrating, kept as still as possible, eyes wide and rolled towards Jesse with near pathetic hope. He looked like a spooked colt and it tugged something fierce inside his chest that he hadn’t known was even still in there.

“You want my fingers while I do it, gorgeous?” he whispered and wriggled the metal ones in front of Hanzo’s face because for just a moment he looked like he had no idea what was even going on anymore; like all his considerable brain activity had been reduced to the throbbing in the tip of his cock and the way it almost didn’t want to stand up anymore from how heavy with blood it had become.

He nodded slowly, carefully – just a small incline of his chin, as if he was afraid to shield his throat from McCree; as if not having it on easy display would make Jesse reconsider what he was about to do.

How silly.

Jesse could only imagine the dual sensation of getting your windpipe slowly, gently squeezed shut while simultaneously thick, unyielding metal fingers were slipping sinuously inside you.

He watched – and listened – carefully as Hanzo’s eyes rolled up into his head, finally not staring and staring and staring, as his mouth opened and nothing but a low, forced gurgle escaped him. His body was still, then moved; first slow, almost a dream as he carefully unclawed his fingers from the sheets and curled his hands around McCree’s forearm – not restricting, just holding on. Then more insistent, the longer McCree kept him on the edge of stopping his air supply completely, hips bucking violently up and away from the deep, insistent probing of his relentless fingers.

He carefully counted to ten in his head, then let go, listening to Hanzo gulp in sharp breaths of air. His cock, when Jesse looked down, was angry red and smacking against his abdomen – pulling with it a sticky line of pre-cum attached to that stupidly gorgeous belly button, he realized dimly.

He moved a little closer, rubbing the coarse, generous hair of his thigh against Hanzo’s side to ground him a little before he squeezed down once more, the fingers of his other hand shoving in deeply.

“Gonna come getting choked like a cheap three dollar hooker? Gonna come for me like the gorgeous little slut you are? Bet Daddy doesn’t know how his son likes to play dirty in bed. Bet Daddy has no idea how his precious, little heir is spreading his legs and begging for a fat American cock like a cat in heat every. Damn. Night.”

Hanzo’s eyes are squeezed shut and he’s not able to breathe at all anymore. There are tears slicking down towards his temples and his hands are clawing at McCree’s arm but not trying to pull him away.

His face is a mask of agony and bliss; sweaty and flushed, sharp teeth gritted and eyebrows drawn together. His feet are scrabbling helplessly as his hips jerk without any coordination, and he only succeeds in making his cock slap noisily against his belly, and the sharp talons on his cybernetic feet rip up the sheet and tangle it around his ankles.

He’s not making any sounds – is not able to – only the wet, wild suckling of his hole and McCree’s loud, labored breathing is to be heard for tortuously long seconds.

It’s only when he crooks his fingers – almost in an afterthought – hooking and rubbing them against the ripe, puffy prostate he’d made an acquaintance with earlier, that the stalemate suddenly broke.

Hanzo’s eyes snapped open wide, body going rigid and arching off the bed like his bow as his cock jerked out thick strings of cum; and for just a second before McCree carefully takes his hand away and watches Hanzo gulp in huge, needy breaths of air, he thinks that he’s never been more pretty than with his dark eyes staring sightless at the ceiling, wet with tears, and his face a sticky, gorgeous mess.

Your mchanzo drabble was hot as melting lava! But how about some breath play? Hanzo loving the feel of the metal hand on his throat while being fucked. Makes his vision blur and he starts to see stars in his eyes ;)

I’m so intrigued by the fandom’s love for breathplay! usually I’m not too interested in it, but I gotta say, Hanzo looks just gorgeous with a hand around his throat, I don’t even. I donnnn’ttttt evennnnnnn

Hanzo is groaning – not really in rhythm with McCree’s deep, nudging thrusts; just a constant, low sound as his hips are curled up onto Jesse’s lap, prosthetic calves gently bouncing in the air next to McCree’s shoulders.

He looks gorgeous with his arms up and against the head of the bed, keeping himself from getting fucked against the wall, and inadvertently giving McCree the best goddamn fucking view of his chest, bouncing with each of his abrupt, little thrusts.

It’s hard to fuck as hard as he wants to when he’s kneeing and has the considerable weight of Hanzo’s lower body weighing him down, but he can’t dispute how good it feels like that; how he’s so deep, it feels like he’s able to basically crawl inside Hanzo at this rate.

It’s without his own accord that his metal arm starts to wander – from a loving squeeze to Hanzo’s thickly muscled thigh it slides up and up, giving the bouncing pecs a searching grope that has Hanzo grin before the smug expression slackens once again, another groan dragged out of his chest by the slow, insistent motion of McCree’s cock.

He likes the sounds Hanzo makes during sex. Loves them, even.

It’s just… it’s just that he also loves them when they’re choked and gasping. When Hanzo’s face goes a little red from the oxygen restriction like it was doing now, drool slicking from the corner of his mouth as he stares up at Jesse with glassy, dark eyes.

He’s swallowing – Jesse can see his Adam’s apple bobbing right next to his digging metal thumb – but he’s sure he’s doing it just to feel the restriction even more.

His breath comes labored and wheezing, liquid eyes becoming even wetter when he involuntarily tears up and cries a few lonely tears that soak into the greying hair at his temples.

His cock is dark and angry looking when McCree can drag his eyes away from Hanzo’s face for just a second. He feels light headed – as if he were the one getting choked.

He still can’t believe Hanzo is letting him do this to him; is actively seeking it out sometimes – dragging McCree’s prosthetic arm towards his throat with a needy look in his eyes that he would never be able to argue with.

“Gonna kill me someday,” he growls and rocks into him once more.