Teensy drabble for @ikkanrana‘s cute Gabe/Jesse pic

Jesse feels dazed, staring at the ceiling, feeling his neck throb in the few spots where Gabriel sucked small, precise hickey into his skin. He had to keep himself from fidgeting and moving his head around just to relive the memories of Reyes’ beard tickling his skin, the soft wet warmth of his mouth a stark contrast.

There had been no real agenda behind it other than Reyes wanting to make out, pressing Jesse down into the bed with his bulk and petting a slip of warm skin on his hips. There had been no rush – he had himself not be rushed – even though Jesse had started to squirm almost as fast as they had begun, nervously aroused, libido even more confused when Reyes had grunted only mildly annoyed, rubbed his nose along his jaw, and mumbled: “Shit, kid. Calm down.”

He still felt giddy and confused, not daring to move even one muscle as Reyes slept half atop him, pressing him down like a warm, heavy blanket.

here ya go! Morrison getting his tiddies fucked :3

this is kind of an AU where the fallout never happened.

Jesse might have filled out since Gabriel had pulled him out of Deadlock – might have, in fact, filled out a little too much, belly having gotten soft and hairy with the years – but he still was the same stupid kid from back then.

He still fumbled his words when he got excited, mouth hanging open, barrel chest heaving, none of that lazy cowboy charm to be found when his cock was already lifting from the wild nest of curls he had cultivated himself.

Well. Maybe it was a little endearing; how he got almost shy watching Jack on the bed, large hands balling into fists at his sides and then relaxing again, fingers moving as if they hurt.

“Oh wow. I… wow.”

His shaggy beard touches his chest as he nervously shoves himself forward onto the edge of the mattress, knees almost touching Jack’s hips.

Gabriel leans back in his chair, chin braced on the palm of one hand, watching the delicious contrast of burly, hairy Jesse next to the golden boy.

“You only gonna watch him?”

Jesse startles, throwing a short sidelong glance at his old mentor sitting not too far to the side.

“No,” he mumbles, then stretches out his hand, blunt fingertips touching the side of Jack’s torso, pushing against the hard ridges of his ribs. Gabriel can see the shudder going through the Soldier’s body, how he tilts his greying head back into the pillow, eyes closing, mouth going soft and needy.

He’s been anticipating this for weeks, it seems. Maybe months, even – who knew how long he’s had to hype himself up for finally going and asking Gabriel for what was his; watching Jesse secretly, staring at the loose bulge of his swinging dick whenever the cowboy swaggers across base – wanting to have that big cock that Jesse so naively showed off with his lack of underwear and decorum.

Gabriel wonders if Jack had thought it go like this, though: Jesse being a fumbling, nervous idiot and Gabriel sitting to the side, directing them. Both his… what – submissives? Slaves? Boyfriends? in one room at last.

“Do you like him, Jesse?” he asks, voice pitched to a low purr as he watches McCree’s hand move, sliding onto Jack’s belly where it splays, touching the hard won muscles that he himself did not possess. “You like how pretty he is? A little doll for you to play with.”

Jack is a tall man; imposing, even, when stuffed out in all his regalia and standing in front of a slew of soldiers.

Next to Jesse, however – that sheer hairy bulk, all that warm, brown skin – he looks unreal; like a thing made out of paper, ready to get crumbled up and torn apart. He seems ready for it, too, when he sees Jesse nodding mutely, mouth still hanging open in wonder, cock swelling a little more.

Jesse never needs much to get excited.

“He has lovely tits, don’t you think?” Gabriel prods further, shifting forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I know for a fact that they’re very sensitive. Jack loves getting them played with. I got so many pretty clamps for him.”

Through the shaggy fall of Jesse’s uncombed hair, Gabriel can see his ears lighting up like a lamp, warm and red as McCree first shoots him a small, needy gaze – wanting, obviously needing to see those little toys for himself one of these days – then looks back at Jack and the generous swell of his pecs, his nipples sitting small and candy pink right there for the taking.

His chest moves in tantalizing ups and downs, almost heaving as he feels the gaze of both men riveted on him.

Jesse reaches for one peaked tip almost hesitatingly, blunt fingertips catching it and squeezing carefully.

Jack groans, throwing one arm across his eyes, bows his back up into the feeling and lets Jesse do as he wishes.

“C-Commander…”

Gabriel grins slow with a lot of teeth, eyes crinkling at the corners and the chair groaning faintly beneath his weight when he angles himself forward even more.

“Why don’t you mount up, cowboy? He’s been wanting to say hello to your cock for a while now. You shouldn’t leave him hanging.”

McCree murmurs something under his breath, hand curling around his cock, giving it a little squeeze as he pinches again, carefully, then pulls a little for good measure just to watch how Morrison’s flush starts creeping down from his ears into his cheeks and towards his throat.

“How far does that pretty lil’ blush go?” he asks, the drawl more pronounced than usual, making it difficult to understand.

Gabriel leans back, legs falling open carelessly, hand inching towards his crotch but not yet touching – he was going to make this one last.

“Why don’t you find out?”

.o.

The blush creeps down his throat and over his collarbones, pinkening up his tits like an offering, and Gabriel wonders vaguely whether McCree will start drooling like a dog.

His thighs look massive as he kneels over his Strike Commander, the tense muscles making them look even juicier, and Gabriel can’t get enough from the sight of his hairy ass hovering a few inches above Morrison’s perfect, smooth belly.

For all that McCree seemed out of shape, he did possess a surprising amount of stamina: chin on his chest, watching himself move with almost machine like relentlessness, fucking carefully so his cock wouldn’t slip from the plush valley of Morrison’s chest.

Jesse’s belly is moving with the rocking motions of his hips; almost hypnotically as he fucks, his hands splayed on Morrison’s pectorals, thumbs pressing down against the thick shaft of his cock to hold it down.

Whenever he has pushed in the deepes, his foreskin rolls back, the wet, swollen head of his cock practically popping out – and Jack is straining for it, head up, mouth open, trying to get a lick in and only managing to smear his chin with sticky pre-cum.

“Look up at him,” Gabriel orders and Jesse groans when Morrison does just that: those painfully blue eyes rolling up, staring into McCree’s face as he tries and fails to suckle the fat tip into his mouth, making a spectacle of himself.

Jesse does help him, then – lets go of those plush tits to cup one large hand behind Morrison’s head and cradle it, keep him nice and up as he pushes those scant last few centimeters towards him, letting him close his lips around the leaking tip and lash his greedy tongue against the slit to taste how salty it was.

Morrison’s eyelids flutter, his cock an angry red, so hard it stays on its own, angled away from his clenching belly, but before he can close them, Gabriel tuts and he snaps them open, staring up even as they start to water.

“Did I tell you you could fuck his mouth?” Gabriel asks idly, knee bouncing, head tilting back against the headrest. Jesse whines like a dog but does shuffle obediently backwards, both men sounding close to tears when his cock leaves the warm, greedy suction of Morrison’s mouth with a lewd pop.

“Help him along, why don’t you, Jackie-boy?”

And God, do they look delicious like that: Morrison framing his pecs with his own hands, pushing them together to deepen the valley of his tits, let Jesse hump his dark, swollen cock in the crease and get it sticky and shiny with pre-cum.

McCree’s balls, big and hairy as the rest of him, drag against the delicate skin of Jack’s sternum. Gabriel wonders whether it’ll be red afterwards; raw from the rough pubes grinding into him again and again.

As he watches, Morrison shifts his hands, fingers splaying, taking the swollen peaks of his nipples between them just to add a bit more pressure on them. His mouth is bruised looking and wet, falling open when he grips the firm muscles and pinches his nipples in the process.

“You like fucking his tits, McCree?”

Jesse nods, eager and canine, his teeth bared in a way that makes Gabriel think he wants to chew on one of his cigars. It would suit him: pulling nervous puffs while fucking his big cock between Morrison’s tits. That same big cock that was too heavy to stand up on its own, drooping deliciously, foreskin silky and dark and mouthwatering…

“Jesse looks good on you, Morrison,” Gabriel rasps, hand squeezing his cock through his pants, hips curving up into it. “But I bet you’d love to reciprocate, wouldn’t you? He doesn’t have your gorgeous tits, but he has a nice fat ass. Would you like fucking his hairy cheeks? I could help you with it. Get up behind you. Guide your hips with mine.”

Jack is breathing like he has trouble getting air into his lungs. His cock flexes, a string of pre-cum dripping towards his abdomen, knees twitching restlessly, then pulling slowly up. He can’t keep his hips still, shimmying from side to side.

“Yeah, you’d love that,” Gabriel purrs. He is grinding against his palm, fucking lazily, wondering whether he should get up and get his fleshlight; but he doesn’t want to miss any of the action – not when Morrison looks like he’s about to pump out his load just from McCree fucking his sturdy, fat dick between his tits.

McCree’s cheeks are ruddy red beneath his shaggy beard, his dark eyes glistening; watery and feverish at the same time. He is chuffing like a train, slanting little submissive glances towards Gabriel; he already knows the drill about coming too soon and without permission, and he looks ready to beg already.

No stamina this one. Gabriel loves it.

He grins predatory and slides a little deeper into his chair, settling in for the long haul.

what can I say; I just love cuckolding 76; I don’t know why

“Look how much he enjoys it,” Reaper’s voice is a sibilant hiss right into the good Soldier’s ear, both of them watching the display of Lúcio and Mako; the young man looking shockingly small in Roadhog’s embrace, back curved to a point of pain from the huge gut pressing into his back.

Roadhog shifts his short, sturdy legs apart and nudges his hips forward. He is not brutal in his fucking but he is negligent: holding Lúcio with one meaty hand hooked beneath his arm, the sausage-like fingers splayed across the young man’s chest.

Lúcio makes a soft sound when the cock is moved – a gurgling that almost seems like the coo of a pigeon as he embraces Hog’s huge forearm, holding on for dear life, his cock shiny at the tip and strings of sticky pre-cum slowly dripping to the floor.

The Soldier jerks forward at the strained noise but black tendrils curl around his biceps and pull him back.

“I said look, Morrison,” Reaper hisses dangerously, “not touch. What do you want to do anyway? You can’t give it to him as much as he needs it.”

Lúcio’s knees are trembling, his eyes looking glassy and wet. He seems close to crying, straining to push back and just managing a kitten weak shove. Roadhog snuffles – closer to a grunt – and moves his other hand, splaying it against the taut belly, the little finger just above the place where Lúcio’s abdomen was bulging gently from the cock nudging in deep and intimate.

“Your cock can’t do that,” Reaper hums. He sounds gleeful, one tendril sliding down and curling between the Soldier’s legs. “He’ll moan for you and whine and maybe even come but you know he does it just to humor you, don’t you? You couldn’t give it to him like that.”

Mako grunts softly again and lifts straightens from his hunched over position, simply lifting Lúcio with him, letting gravity work to sit him down the precious last inches of sturdy, fat cock he hasn’t been able to take yet.

Lúcio’s mouth falls open, cock jerking, legs feebly kicking as his feet lose connection to the ground.

“You know he’ll be thinking of this next time you try to wring a little pity orgasm out of him,” Reaper taunts, stroking the bulge he can feel, tendril lovingly cupping the hard ridge of the Soldier’s angry and reluctant erection. “Think of how wide he’s been spread on that fat cock. How it took days for his sweet little cunt to come back to normal. How good it hurt when that scary wide head finally popped it.”

The good Soldier is panting like a dog, watching Roadhog no longer fucking with his hips but with his hands, lifting and lowering Lúcio onto the short, wide cock – still long enough to push against his lower abdomen and give him a little belly.

“He’ll think of how warm he got filled. A nice, big load just for him alone. He’ll think of that the next time you rut him like a dog and leave him with just the unsatisfying afterglow of what he could really have.”

The world feels really awful and angry today – please if you’re up for it would you write something sweet and soft with some of the ovw bois/girls? Maybe soldier 76 or gabe or zarya just getting petted and jerked off sooooo slow and good, praised the whole time? Maybe with tears and overstimulation. Only if you want. 😘

“Look at you,” Reinhardt murmurs, finger beneath Zarya’s chin, tilting her head up and around so he can look at her flushed profile, sweat glinting along her hairline, eyes heavy lidded and needy. “You’re beautiful. Can you give me one more?”

His other hand is between her trembling thighs, huge palm gently cupping her swollen cunt. She had been unwilling to let him touch her after her last orgasm, everything over sensitive and tingling, but by now the feeling has dulled into a gentle buzz and she has led his hand back where she needed it most.

“Yes,” she rasps, voice husky and deep, nipples tight and fat; waiting for a greedy mouth. “Yes, please. One more.”

He hums and moves, fingers spreading her puffy labia, sliding through the silky folds that they had been hiding up to the fat clit which he circles slowly, leisurely – there’s no rush here, they have all the time in the world.

She touches her own tits while he plays with her cunt, squeezing, cupping, playing with them before she pinches the swollen tips slow and with mounting pressure.

“Beautiful,” Reinhardt murmurs again, tapping gently against her clit to make her bow away from him, a guttural groan slipping from her throat. “Atemberaubend.”

Sombra is afraid of Roadhog. It is not the nervous jittery excitement when dealing with Reaper who has a short fuse but is no match for her tech skills – but actual deeply seated fear.

This man – this beast – is all natural, brutal force. There was nothing she could do about him with her tech know-how – if his scrapyard of a gun did no longer work, he still had huge meaty fists and a surprisingly absent conscience to wreak havoc.

Which is why her body’s first reaction when his thick fingers close around her arm a split second before she can glimmer out of existence is… to gush.

He towers over her, huge and forbidding, bleeding from a few shallow gashes, large gut constantly moving with his labored breaths, and all she can do is stare up at him like a little kid, mouth agape and cunt growing warm and tingly, swelling to puffy sensitivity.

“I think… we can come to an understanding,” she tries, voice scratchy and wobbling, knees feeling weak as she is rooted to the spot and her nipples become tight and painful.

Her eyes drop to the sausage thick fingers, staring at the short nails, painted with black, chipped polish – and she imagines them on her tits; pinching the dark, plump nipples and twisting them mean and brutal… pull at them until she has to go onto the very tips of her toes and whine because of his utter disregard to the delicate tissue.

God, but she wants that. Wants him to torture her breasts. Torture her. Lift her around and play with her body and…

He’s laughing at her. He sounds like he’s going to keel over any second, breath labored and rasping and it makes her even hotter for him. She wants him to rail her and breathe like he’s not going to make it through because he’s giving it to her so hard and good, and…

“Yes… I do think we can.”

He sits her on top of a barrel filled with chemicals and laughs again when she pushes his hands away so she can peel out of her leggings herself and salvage them.

“Shut up,” she mumbles under her breath, but there is no conviction behind it. She hates it when people laugh about her but she is so hot for his cock, that she can’t bring herself to care.

Her leggings are hobbling her knees when he loses patience ans gets a hold of them. She makes a breathless sound when he pushes her legs up, keeping her pinned like a goddamn babe that is a bout to get a diaper change and she feels her cheeks pound fiercely with a flush of anger and embarrassment.

He laughs again, more wheezing as if the sight of her cunt – already a fucking mess – is the best joke he’s heard all day.

“Been desperate?” he asks, and his expressionless mask with the large empty glasses of his goggles frightens her but it also makes her belly twist in on itself, her toes curling in the air and her cunt clenching before practically blooming open on another gush.

“Sh-shut up,” she says again, her voice girlish high and thin, sharp nails scratching against the barrel beneath her when one large finger slides through her gash and then holds it up – shows her the glistening slick coating the blunt tip.

She groans and tries to look away, but Roadhog is like a doctor’s visit: she is afraid but can’t just not look. She needs to see how he moves, needs to stare at his treetrunk arms as he reaches down and fumbles out of her line of vision – and then he is making a step forward and her legs get spread wide pushed farther up, knees pressing against her tits and squeezing the air from her lungs just from his huge belly pinning her small and cramped up beneath his gut, her cunt open and for the taking, puffy, ready, primed for dick-

and then she feels it, blunt and huge like a can of soda and the fear bounces back up as if it had hung on a rubber band, more forceful now, making her eyes widen and her mouth open, no sound coming out.

He can’t force that into her. He’s never going to be able to force that thing into her. And she wants to see his goddamn fucking cock. She wants to see it and hold it and try to cram it into her mouth. She wanted to know how long it was. Was it long? Or was it short and fat? A stout fat dick just for her to plug her up and make her drool and get her cunt to burn as it tried to adjust…

He tried slipping it into her once,

twice,

then grunted annoyed (Just like a pig. Just like a goddamn pig, and it made her even hotter, made her eyes well up with tears thinking this was an actual… an… actual…) and shuffled back a little.

“Too tight,” he comments, and reaches between them. She wants to laugh into his face, hysterically tell him that anybody would be too goddamn tight for that thing he called a cock – but his fingers on her make her shut up, mouth snapping closed, teeth clicking as he forces two fingers at once in, making her soft, spongy walls stretch until there actually were tears sliding down her temples and her nose was starting to run.

“Oh fuck,” she groaned – grunted – and her hands shot down, sharp fingernails digging into his arms without him seemingly noticing. “Oh fuck,” she says again, more emphatically, ringing for breath as her knees push against her chest and her vision swims. He’s not doing much. He’s fucking her without any finesse or regard to her pleasure; he’s just trying to pry her cunt wide enough open to cram his fat pig cock into her – yet her body is already winding tight and sensitive, belly twisting, the fear folding into itself and making her giddy until her teeth are chattering together and her bladder feels full, full, overfull, so sensitive she thinks she’s going to lose mastery of her bodily functions.

“Oh god. Please. Please please please, give it to me, give it to me, I’m.. I need.” She digs her fingernails deeper and stares into the expressionless void of his mask. She doesn’t think she has ever needed anything as badly in her life. Her orgasm just comes and doesn’t go or it does and she can’t tell because he’s winding her higher, pressing his big thumb onto her clit and just mashing it beneath the rough pad.

He’s laughing again, too, low and wheezing and bearing down onto her.

“Soon. Soon. Gonna open you right up, little piggy.”

The just finished live-write :3 slutty captured Hanzo in the hands of Deadlock leader McCree

Since the capture of their newest – temporary – acquisition, the hideout had changed. The usual buzz of laziness had made way for an underlying tension that seemed to thrum along the skin.

Jesse hadn’t actually seen to their captive since snatching him off of the airport – and hadn’t that been laughably easy; seemingly nobody had thought them audacious enough to actually kidnap the Shimada boss’s son in bright daylight – and he started to feel that maybe that might have been a miscalculation on his part.

His boys were very… impressionable, after all.

He walked in slow, measured steps, lazily flicking a coin through the air and snatching it again and again. The dingy hallways were practically deserted, and even peering into the usual hangouts, like the loading hangar only saw one or two passed-out drunk grunts lying behind crates or across a table.

Jesse’s bushy eyebrows climbed up his forehead. Were they all…?

They actually were. The din of voices got louder the closer his unhurried steps took him towards his destination, and, rounding the corner, he could see most of his man piling around the door of their captive’s room.

“Well, now.”

Jesse’s half-loud drawl made them freeze and turn, quickly opening up a way for him to squeeze through. “What’s all the ruckus about? Don’tcha have some work to do?”

The room was spartan; only a small table with utensils for the upkeep of their visitor standing in a corner. Jesse didn’t trust him with more, to be honest; the kid – young man – was a trained assassin, after all; which was why he was chained like a dog, arms up high and wrists bound together, a gag keeping him from running his smart little mouth.

It did not explain the rest of the ropes, though, haphazardly thrown about his body, curling tight around chest and hips, binding one leg up into the air until he could barely stand on the toes of the other foot.

“What’s that now?” Jesse hummed, eyebrows up again, gaze sliding towards Milton, who was standing to the side, face a little pinkish in eagerness and a smug smile on his face. “Thought I told ya to wash and feed ‘im and not wrap him up like a present.”

Milton shrugged. He looked unapologetic, gesturing lazily with a hand that was still holding a dripping sponge. A few drops flew through the air and smacked against Shimada’s thigh, making him flinch in response.

“Well, yeah. I was going to wash him just like you asked, but this little here asshole is determined to make everything as difficult as possible. I told him. I told him – I said: ‘Now you go be a good boy and I’ll get you nice and clean and feed you sumthin’ tasty’, but every time I got close, he would kick me. So I thought I’d truss him up a lil’ more, get him secured so I could go about my business, but -” Milton shrugged again, dipping the sponge into a bucket with soapy water. There was steam curling into the air – Jesse had told his right hand man to be as courteous as possible and Milton had taken it to heart. “He was still being fuzzy and basically curled himself up in the ropes all by himself. And then…”

Milton’s face became a little darker. His eyes were wide and glassy, staring intently at their captive – and suddenly McCree became aware of a few things. The oppressive heat of his men at his back, their murmuring, low and sleazy even though he could not make out any particular words… and their captive’s predicament.

Shimada was naked, nothing unusual, he had been a little shit even when he’d been caught, slipping daggers and other small knifes from the most ludicrous compartments of his attire, but Jesse had not seen how he had reacted to his new situation: cock curving up from his body, hard and pink, the wet tip slipped half out of the foreskin. He had a pretty dick; still young and sleek looking; it didn’t have any real girth to it yet, even though the kid had to be some 20 something.

His belly was tight, curved in as if he tried to pull away from his own, traitorous dick, and as he stared, brain still trying to catch up with the situation, it jerked and bobbed, almost slapping into the tight muscles of his stomach.

“Oh,” Jesse said slowly, watching the pink flush on the captive’s body darkening, his toes curling where they were hanging in the air, and then again, a little more forcefully and drawn out, voice dripping with satisfaction: “Oooh.”

The young Shimada heir looked nothing short but furious. He could not say a word but his dark velvety eyes were filled with tears of angry frustration, staring at McCree as if he hoped he’d drop dead any second now.

“Lookin’ mighty pissed for a lad sporting an impressive hard-on,” Jesse told him gently, stepping closer, making way for his crew to file into the room. The makeshift cell was not big enough for everyone but they sure made an effort to cram inside even so while trying not to jostle their leader in the process – as jovial as McCree could be, he did have a nasty temper every once in awhile.

“Right?” Milton hung back for a moment, just stretching out one arm and touching the wet tips of his fingers to the bouncing toes of their captive. The young Shimada immediately kicked – or tried to – his dark eyebrows drawing together even more fiercely while his cock bobbed and strained, the tip practically getting even more wet beneath McCree’s amused gaze. “He looks pissed off but I tell ya, he loves the attention. Was just a cute little chub at first and when he noticed me lookin’…”

He steps closer now, hand stretching, fingertips not quite touching Shimada’s cock as it strains and flexes, the mound of his balls almost smooth enough to make McCree wonder whether he shaved or was just naturally hairless – though the thick thatch of black hair leading towards his dick made him think it had to be the former. How exciting.

He watched the kid struggle to get away from Milton’s non-existent touch just long enough to give him a chance to unbalance himself, body wriggling like a snake, trying his damndest to push himself into the opposite direction with the very tip toes he could still reach to the ground, then finally stepped closer, hand slapping onto Milton’s shoulder.

“I think I’m goin’ to take over now.”

Milton smirked, placing the sponge into his boss’ outstretched hand. “Sure thing, Jesse. Sure thing.”

He hung back, but did not leave, practically melting into the fray of the pack at Jesse’s back.

“Well now, Mr. Shimada,” Jesse begins, stepping closer, right up into the dangling man’s face. He can feel the faint bump of his cock against his belly, but does not look down – pretends like he can’t see the flinch in Shimada’s dark eyes or the way his face twists into a desperate grimace. “We’re tryin’ to be real nice to you while we wait for your daddy to come and get you out. Got a nice warm bath prepared and everythin’.”

He leans down, dipping the sponge into the still hot water of the bucket, and turns his head towards the bobbing cock, face close enough that he can smell the young man’s arousal. There’s a noise coming from higher up, a small, soft thing that Jesse couldn’t place anywhere, as he makes sure his breath hits warm and tickling the straining shaft when he speaks.

“Since you are being difficult, I think I should do the honors then, don’t you think? A leader should always be a glowing example. I can’t have my men doing things that I haven’t done, after all.”

He leans farther in, close enough to see the pitch black pubes move with his breath just before he closes his eyes and inhales deeply just at the junction of Shimada’s young, sleek cock and those smooth balls that look feather soft and tempting.

“So you’re going to be nice and still now,” he rumbles, voice deep and throaty; he opens his eyes and gazes up straight into the young heir’s flushed face, his liquid eyes looking even wetter than before – like he is going to cry in frustration while out of the corner of his eyes, Jesse can see a sticky pearl of pre-cum slowly drip from the dark tip of his dick. “I gotta show my men how to handle you, don’t I?”

And yes, Milton’s assessment might have been perfectly spot on – not that Jesse would have doubted it even one second – because the mention of his men watching has their captive struggling with renewed vigor even as his cock flexes and his balls move, pulling up tight towards his body. His chest is heaving, flushed just as much as his belly and cock, the dark rust color of his laughably small nipples only enhancing how very much he likes the thought.

They look good enough to eat; pebbled and obscene, sitting on his chest for the taking, and Jesse wonders how swollen they could get.

“So we’re going to let them see,” he mumbles, voice a silky purr as he finally gets up again, leaving the warm cloud of musk around the young man’s hips reluctantly. He steps around him, making sure not to get into radius of that devious little leg up in the air, and takes a moment to enjoy the view from this side.

The man was heavily muscled; almost squat, if it weren’t for the trim waist. The cleft of his ass was opened enough to give a sweet glimpse of the tender little muscle between, and Jesse wondered when he would get away with just kneeling down and eating him out.

Maybe not today; it was just an appetizer, but – yeah.

“You liking what yer seein’, boys?” he suddenly barks, watching the man flinch minimally before him. When he pulls the curtain of black, thin hair to the side so he can see his face, his fingers brush the hot skin of his cheek. His ears are cherry red and radiating an incredible heat when his men’s voices call back in a cacophony of praise and well-intentioned insults.

They were a good bunch, his boys.

Jesse doesn’t wait any longer. Doesn’t want to wait any longer. There is no finesse to the way he goes at it – the sponge was still warm and soft in his good hand, and there was no amount of shyness as he pushed it up into the Shimada heir’s cleft and made him squeak again, louder this time, swaying in the bonds he managed to wrap himself up in – and Jesse could see his eyes when he leaned across his shoulder, breathing warm and wet and excited right against his sensitive ear. They were clenched shut tight, tears glistening in the dark lashes.

“Open up,” he tells him in a gruff growl, and slides the sponge along the cleft first back, then forwards, forwards, forwards, until he could cup the tender skin of his taint and the swell of those delightful, naked balls while his thumb presses against the wet, trembling muscle of his anus. It feels petal soft and stupidly vulnerable. It sets Jesse’s teeth on edge. He wants to bite this perfect little heir, litter him with bite marks and bruises. Get him accustomed to the rough wilderness out here.

Instead, he just breathes in his scent and laughs a sharp bark when Shimada does open up, obedient as a puppy, eyes snapping open to stare with a wet gaze at the eager, aroused faces around him – and that little slutty ass relaxing for the big, rough thumb to slip in as easy as if it had been buttered, dipping in deep, up to the thick knuckle before Jesse could have thought of the possibility…..

“Shit,” he hisses – grunts out – eyebrows drawn together as he leans back enough to peer between them, staring at the unexpected and total capitulation of their captive. He is stretched around the thickness of his thumb, and after a few seconds Jesse can feel the fluttering contractions – like he is confused, like he is…

Shimada had become so still, eyes wide, staring ahead, cock bobbing and drooling eagerly – drips of wetness all over the floor beneath him – and he looked so stunned, so utterly floored that Jesse knew this had not been planned.

The kid had slipped up and relaxed for just a second, following the barked, rough-voiced command, and now he couldn’t take it back anymore. McCree and he were in a curious situation; nobody could see it, after all; him slowly fucking his thumb into the captive, testing out how soft and warm he was, how slutty and obviously well used, and Shimada turned his head minimally and peeked at him out of the corner of his eyes, and… he knew it too. How they had a little secret in midst of all the men watching and getting off.

Jesse grinned, sharp and wolfish. He moved, thick arm curling around Shimada’s hips, hand curling around his cock without hesitation – gripping it as if he had any right to do so, pulling back and finally allowing the pink, tender looking foreskin to roll back across the thickest part of the glans, exposing it wet and needy to the room beneath the appreciative murmur of the people around them.

“You are a dirty boy, aren’t you?” he says half loud, hand moving a little awkwardly as he tries to keep up the pretense of washing him while actually fucking into that tender, well-trained hole… and suddenly he wonders where it had been so well trained. Maintained. Taught to open up just like so and swallow whatever it was given.

He thought about this regal, stubborn young man back home in his exotic palace, getting waited on hand and foot by his guards. Lying on his back, legs in the air, held up in place by his own men and getting used to receiving cocks day in and day out…

“Yeah you are.” His voice had dropped lower than usual. It was gravelly; almost pained sounding as he rubs his untamed beard against the soft cheek of his captive. Shimada’s head slipped back, exposing his bobbing throat as he swayed before Jesse, seemingly helpless to the motion until Jesse realizes how he is sneakily fucking into his fist, and back unto the finger penetrating him.

“A little dirty slut that gets off on getting watched. Gets hard and needy just from a few ropes and needs his captors to get him off.”

He moves his thumb, presses it mean and rough against the tender head, and the Shimada heir suddenly bows his back as well as he can and howls into his gag, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and into the small patch of black beard he has growing on his chin.

He tries to twist away, but the ropes are holding well, cupping his body, digging in deep and leaving marks.

McCree has to think about his nipples, suddenly; so small and dark and ready to get abused by a suckling, greedy mouth. He swallows hard, and twists his hand around Shimada’s dick, squeezing mean enough to make him choke behind his gag.

“Yeah, you’re not used to this, are you? Bet your guards would not dream of touching you like this.”

The kid’s chest is rising and falling in heavy gulps of air; hard enough to make the tattoo twisting down his arm and slipping across his breast look almost alive.

Jesse twists his hand again and moves his thumb, wrist pumping, awkwardly fucking the Shimada heir with nobody the wiser. When he feels the thick, heavy pulse in his hand, he can’t help but sink his teeth into the blue ink on Shimada’s shoulder, riding out the way the kid’s ass is convulsing around his finger, milking and squeezing while he comes in front of the gathered crowd, the wet splashes of cum against concrete obscenely loud in the stifling air of the room.

Jesse pulls back the second the fluttering contractions stop clenching down on him. He feels tacky with sweat, cock bulging his pants, and head spinning with all the possibilities….

“Let him down. Get him to clean the floor,” he says roughly, not looking at Milton as he lets the sponge splash back into the water and rubs his wet hands against his jeans.

He shoulders his way past the rest of the crew, eyes stubbornly on the ground, shoulders set tight. He wonders whether Milton will see the swollen mess of the young Shimada heir’s ass when he lets him down enough to kneel on the floor and get to work his tongue against the cum splattered there.

Milton wasn’t stupid. He could put one and one together. The knowledge was thrilling. Let him know what a slut the kid was. Let the knowledge spread throughout the base. Nobody would touch him without the boss’ permission, but…

Oh, this would be fun.

Reinheart cuddling Reaper through a bad pain day idc how or why just give that dead boi some tender lovin’

“I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t!”

Reaper throws his head back, jaw clenched so tight Reinhardt can hear the impressive sharp teeth gnashing and grinding. He is vibrating in his arms, between his thighs, but not in a good way. The lovely fat cock in Reinhardt’s fist quickly lost interest as the pain roiled visibly beneath Reaper’s skin, making it ripple and twist.

Reinhardt could hear the faint pop of bones and pulled in a deep, rattling breath.

“Okay. Okay. Yes, okay.” He rubs his cheek against the side of Reaper’s face, large hand still holding on to the softening cock, thumb soothingly rubbing down the plump length and up to the tip, playing with the loose foreskin while Reaper writhes and growls and rips sharp, shadowy claws into the mattress.

“I know it hurts,” Reinhardt murmurs – and then blinks as pain blooms out from his cheekbone where Reaper headbutted him as best as he could, his eyes glimming hateful like hot coal.

“You know shit, old man,” he snarls. Reinhardt ignores the animosity and starts rubbing a wide, warm palm across the shivering plane of Reaper’s belly.

“I have another idea,” he tells him easily. Reaper starts squirming and making noise about not wanting to try this anymore and just crawling into the shower to die, but he doesn’t move out of Reinhardt’s embrace, so he figures it’s okay to reach over and get more lube from the bottle; make everything silky and slick for what he has in mind.

.o.

It seems to work better.

Reaper is not fully hard, his cock lying heavy and chubby in the crease of his thigh – but he doesn’t need it for this anyway. His legs are hooked over Reinhardt’s knees, body convulsing – sometimes in pain, more times in nervous, shuddery lust – as he gets fingered slow and intimate, the thick finger rubbing lovingly against his silky, clenching walls.

The first time Reinhardt flirts with his prostate, the blunt large fingertip carefully circling it without touching, he cries out and becomes perfectly still, even forgetting to breathe as he tries to figure out whether the sensation was actually good – could break through the dull, persistent pain of his body working itself over.

He is sweating now, slick and cold against Reinhardt’s skin, his hole clenched tight and suckling around the finger, trying to pull him farther in when all Reinhardt wants to do is make love to his plump prostate and listen to his low, hoarse groans as his body gets forced to accept the pleasure.

“Yes… that’s it,” Reinhardt hums, low, large body curled around him to better reach when he starts struggling and fussing, his cock chubby and juicy as the tip starts getting wet. It is just about peeking out of the foreskin, and Reinhardt curls fingers around the half-hard shaft to rearrange it so he can watch better and let it drool sticky into Reaper’s pubes.

“It’ll be over soon. You’re doing so well,” he tells him in a rumble, fingertip now nudging directly against the sweet, needy spot. “It’ll be better in a moment. Just a moment… That’s it.”

Reaper growls and gnashes his teeth, but it almost sounds petulant at that point; like he is embarrassed as his hips start curving, fucking his half-hard plump dick into nothing at all, the need to deep dick someone or something growing the more Reinhardt presses and teases and makes him stay between his thighs to get worked over slow and patient until he’ll finally let himself come and enjoy the waves of warm euphoria that would let his body rest.

The promised soft McReaper :3 not really porny

Edit: Added a lil something for @ikkanoodles because he kicked his feetsies like a rowdy boi ò.ó

Reaper is lurking in the shadows when McCree stumbles out of the back of the bar to take a piss. He watches him fumble out his cock and listens his sigh as he lets go of the pressure on his bladder.

Jesse’s voice is deeper than it had been years ago. There’s a smoky rasp to it. Reaper feels smoke tendrils curl towards him, stretching, only centimeters from touching the sweaty nape of his neck – then he quickly snatches them away and retreats back into the farthest, darkest corner as he watches Jesse pack back up and turn around. He sways a little on his heel. His face is half hidden in the shadow of his hat and his jaw looks slack.

The boy looks… defeated. Almost blackout drunk.

Reaper follows him as he makes his unsteady way through the streets.

.o.

Reaper can’t keep his smoke from caressing McCree’s face anymore. The room is dark and stinks of alcohol and sweat. Jesse collapsed on the bed, the heavy gun belt still strapped around his hips.

They look sturdier than they had when he’d still been in Blackwatch. He had filled out over the course of his stay there, but still it couldn’t compare to the build he had now.

He had a huge barrel chest and thick biceps and thighs. He looked both better and worse than ever.

Reaper touches his face, cups his shallow cheeks with gentle tendrils and pushes the brim of his hat up with another pair until he can see McCree’s bruised looking eyelids.

Reaper slides closer, slips astride him in a whispering move. He tests the waters like this – gauges how well Jesse’s strong hips feel between his thighs.

When he leans down and nuzzles his masked face against the wild growth of his beard, Jesse hums and turns into the touch. His arms lift and he weakly, drunkenly clutches Reaper to his chest.

Reaper indulges him – indulges himself – for a moment, staying close, breathing in his scent of stale sweat and beer, then moves his hips. A slow downwards grind. Even through both their clothes he can feel McCree’s cock, fat and soft. Girthy.

“Jesse…” Reaper breathes, ass lifting and sinking down slow and measured. There is no rush; he doesn’t need to take it by force. Jesse hums, his voice deep and a little rough. Whiskey warm.

His embrace loosens for a moment, arms sliding down – and Reaper already fears he might have fallen asleep fully – but then his big hands curl around his biceps and squeeze gently.

Always gentle, this one. A big, feral looking bear that just wanted hugs. It had always been like that.

Jesse was a cuddler. A lover.

“Commander,” he sighs. Reaper halts at that for a moment, stares at the serene face, then decides Jesse had to be in his own little alcohol induced dream.

“Yes,” he whispers back, hips still moving, slow, measured, dragging his dick across the bulge of McCree’s cock.

Jesse doesn’t say any more, so Reaper moves; slides down and nestles between those long, sturdy legs.

He wonders how much Jesse actually realizes is happening; how much his alcohol addled brain keeps up with everything.

He does start fussing and whining when the heavy weight of another body leaves him, but smoke teasing his lips and slipping into his mouth to toy with his tongue is enough to occupy him.

His cock is mouth watering, even soft as it was now. Reaper slides his mask up, just enough to free his mouth. He can feel himself almost drooling as he tilts his head down and takes a deep breath of the wild tangle of hair at the base of McCree’s cock.

God, he was a wreck. What had he been doing all those years away from Overwatch? Blackwatch? Him?

He looked like he was barely keeping it together as it was.

He made soft noises, little choking sounds as Reaper’s smoky tendril lovingly petted his tongue. His large, gloved hands flailed, then found their way down, fisting in Reaper’s cowl.

Still, his cock stayed soft; even when Reaper stuffed the meaty girth of it into his mouth, nearly choking and not giving a fuck about it. Tears shot to his eyes but he forced himself to slip closer, take more into his mouth, to the very back of his throat, filling himself with Jesse’s thick taste and smell.

Jesse fussed around a bit, knees lifting, then lowering, hands faintly pulling on the cowl – but his dick stayed soft. Goddamn alcohol.

Reaper’s smoke shifted, billowing, slipping across Jesse and pressing him down like a lover just to feel him. To experience him.

He snuggled his face against one thick, muscled thigh and sighed through his nose. ghostly silvery tear tracks slipped from beneath his mask and he couldn’t say whether it was from sad nostalgia or himself choking on Jesse’s cock.

Jesse settled down. Sighed – his large chest rising mightily beneath the armor he still wore. He sounded satisfied and content. Moments later he began snoring, hands still fisting Reaper’s cowl.

Reaper wondered what he would think in the morning. Would he remember anything of tonight?

He closed his eyes and suckled, nursing, grinding his cock slow and lazy against the mattress. He didn’t think he wanted to get off tonight. He just wanted to feel.

He must have fallen asleep.

The room is lighter than it had been a second before. He blinked slowly, owlishly, and watched the large hand coming towards his face, fingertips sliding against his cheekbone.

He gasps softly – lips making a little wet smack as he dislodges from the warm, chubby cock rubbing along his tongue – and then looks up. Jesse still has one arm up, hand at the small lamp on his rickety side table.

His other is rubbing Reaper’s cheek slowly, hypnotically, dark eyes watching Reaper’s slack, confused face.

“What a pretty sight,” the cowboy mumbles. He still looks half drunk, but a lot more attentive than earlier. Reaper feels stupidly trapped; chin nudging against Jesse’s cock – still wet from his mouth.

Jesse cups his face, rubs a thumb along his lips, and slowly Reaper realizes he has taken his mask away.

“Am I hallucinating?” McCree asks, voice rough and deep, fingers dipping to rub beneath Reaper’s chin as if he were a kitten. Reaper can’t help the shudder – or the way he angles his head to better receive the contact. “Why don’t you come up here…?”

This was surreal.

He slowly drags himself up Jesse’s body. Up close, he can see how wet those dark brown eyes were. He gasps when he is suddenly snatched up in thick arms and crushed towards the armored chest.

“Fuck. Am I dying? ‘M I lying in some ditch with alcohol poisoning? I can’t…”

Reaper sighs and closes his eyes, forehead pressing against Jesse’s cheek.

“No. Everything is… ok.”

Reapzenji with sexbot!Zen :’)

Alright ya’ll. @robotfvckers and I were really needing some Reapzenji fix (it actually started as feral!76 with Genyatta but kind of… morphed…)

and it is uh… I feel like it went p well ngl :O

we did have a few pics that def influenced Zenyatta’s Talon design so please look into them :3

Last but not least: it might end a bit abruptly but we also might be… uh… thinking of… a sequel…

Zenyatta has never been allowed on such a
big scale mission before and he supposed it might be a sign that they were
trusting him a little more after all, but the reality of the situation was that
he still wore his correction collar and was assigned a superior which he had to
follow while the mission lasted.

Still, it had been…enjoyable for the duration, his every move carefully
calculated to not upset his supervisor. The shocks of the collar were seldom
enough to offline his systems but he was not tempted to try his fate.

He was tucked away in a corner of the ship’s hangar on their way back, sensors
scanning his surroundings in short, exhausting intervals to keep the rest of
the crew monitored. There was a certain kind of restlessness spreading throughout
the ranks, fuelled by the mission’s success and the unexpected
light-heartedness Genji brought to the table.

Zenyatta watched as the cyborg’s well-formed silhouette climbed along the
ceiling like a spider, his scarf hanging low enough for some of the other
agents to try and snatch at it. It was a stupid game, but one Zenyatta
appreciated; it meant there was little time for the weird mood to grow into
something more sinister and volatile.

Still, he could feel the occasional glance thrown his way; sensors picking up
on the hormones wafting into the air like smog, and his treacherous body…it
responded.

He kept carefully still, the lights on his
forehead dimmed, seemingly charging as he felt into his processes, the
mechanisms of his new parts warming up and lubricating themselves a routine by
now – one which he could not delete.

His body was only in name his, after all; so many programs installed to
overwrite most of his own will, and only part of the violation he has
experienced under Talon’s thumb.

He can feel his cunt throb, fans gently kicking in to filter in the hormone
ridden air and cool him down at the same time. He could feel his synthetic clit
swelling, systems telling him he was aroused already. Zenyatta kept his head
low, staring at his feet; new as well, more detailed and made pretty to be
aesthetically pleasing for the humans around him.

He bides his time until the ship touches carefully down on the ground.

There are protocols he must abide to, and
they’re a blessing as much as a curse. While the rest of the agents file into
the hangar, he stays to get inspected. His collar is scanned once more, making
sure it sustained no damage throughout the fight.

His internal systems get scanned made sure he hasn’t been hacked, and it feels
even more of a violation than his forced bodily modifications. Still, when one
of the two agents murmurs “Good cunt,” his pussy throbs as if eager
for the compliment, and Zenyatta wonders whether the dark of his silky pants
was already starting to wet through.

He bolts the moment a grudging clear is given, and pretends he doesn’t feel the
clumsy hand gripping for his wrist or hears the soft command to stay a little
longer. Be a little sweet on the soldier after the big mission. There is enough
noise going on in the hangar to make an accidental overhearing feasible; to not
kick his new programs on that made him be a lapdog to Talon’s wishes.

Still, he feels followed as he makes his way through the area, quick and
carefully twisting around waiting agents.

It’s dangerous to stay still for more than
a few moments, but perhaps equally as such when he files out of the hangar and
into the cramped hallway leading towards the dorms. It’s here where he is
accosted most often, trying to reach the safety of the closet-sized room
serving as his quarters.

Hungry eyes. Hungry hands. Against the wall, sequestered into the locker room.
Used. It hurts; there is no kindness to be found in this place, though his body
aches for it. The greedy press of thick, rough fingers against his new parts,
shoving inside with little care. Fucking him so hard he can’t adjust, not
fully, swollen and needy with it when they fill him up all too soon, leaving
him wanting. For what, he could not say. He used to fight against it, but the
collar swiftly overwhelms his protocols, sending enough of him offline to
reboot trapped beneath one talon operative or another.

The smell of humans, sweat, adrenaline, smoke and arousal intensifies, twisting
his alien guts. The hallway splits up ahead, left towards the locker rooms and
the right his own sanctuary. He quickens his pace, but the operatives are
packed tight, start to notice the squirming bot as he weaves as inconspicuously
as he can through the crowd. A hand brushes down his spine, another cups
the swell of his ass, squeezing tight before he skirts out of reach. Zenyatta
manages to quell the small sound threatening to escape him, processors reacting
to stimuli so easily now. To others’ desires.

“Hey, don’t leave.” A voice
grumbles from behind, nameless and unfamiliar. Zenyatta spots an opening along
the wall, calculating the risks before he slips into the space. Putting himself
at the wall could be dangerous. Every second that passes he expects the
telltale jolt of his collar, and he thanks the Iris that no higher-ups with
control have spotted him.

A hand locks around his wrist, huge and firm, yanking him backwards. Zenyatta
bumps into two other operatives, who growl but continue on, uninterested in his
plight. Someone tugs his hood, sensors adjusting to the added light as he’s
exposed. Lips whisper at his neck, too warm and calloused.

“Show me your cunt, omnic.” Someone says, hand slipping between his
new, smooth thighs, cupping the swollen space between them. A burst of static
escapes as pleasure signals pour through his processes. “I still remember
how greedily you clenched around me. All that complaining, but you loved taking
my cock, didn’t you, slut?”

Zenyatta knows the voice, remembers the person, remembers, and the first
trickle of slick pulses out of him, unbidden. He slams a bound foot down on the
man’s boot, startling him enough to connect his metal elbow to his chin. The
operative roars behind him, more eyes, more faces find him, and Zenyatta gives
up all pretense and breaks into a stilted run, angling towards the first door
he sees. He processes the hiss of the door sliding open, muffled by the rising
din of the operatives behind him, their fingers skimming over his clothes,
grasping and almost gripping him, yanking him back.

Zen is nearly inside when the first shock
fires through his body, lightning quick and undeniable. His glitching fingers
manage to hit the lock button before he pitches to the ground, voice box going
haywire, pained little pops of noise as he twitches on the floor. The shocks
disrupt everything, his body confused and sending back error signals by the
handful. His cunt throbs, more slick than requested wetting the fabric of his
pants, he tries to clench his thighs together but he can only squirm until the
aftershocks pass.

Seconds tick by, and he returns to himself. Hear the pounding of the door and
the rustling of something else. Twitching, he drags his head up.

Two beings stare at him from a few feet away, locked in each other’s arms. He
has never seen Genji without his faceplate on; nor his human face, pale and
scarred with pink, kiss-swollen lips. The other wavers in his optics, dark
ashen skin, red eyes. Large, white teeth, black facial hair. He doesn’t know
this…humanoid, though the outfit is familiar. He’s still staring at the
larger man’s lips when a long tongue darts out to wet them, his eyes drawing to
half-mast. The smell of arousal spikes, and Zen moans, quiet but abrupt.

A litany of swears and abuse shake the door, rattling it on its frame.

“P-please.” Zenyatta bites out, voice popping, still recovering.
“Claim me.”

The calculations had been done quick and
precise despite the screaming of his sensors and his glitching visuals. Genji
always has been… kinder, than the others. He, too, had cheeky wandering hands
that liked to slip where they had no business of being, but their grasp was
softer, well modulated—designed to make Zenyatta gush for him.

He was a prankster, but Zenyatta had yet to be part of his jokes.

He also was…half machine. Achingly familiar.

He did not know the other person, could barely make him out with his visual
sensors resetting, but the decision seemed sound, his checks coming back green.

“Please,” he begs again, fingers curling against the floor as he
sways on all fours but manages to stay upright. The pounding from behind
vibrates through the ground and makes his sensors shiver, firing strange,
confused signals all through his systems. His cunt pulses, swollen and ready,
synthetic clit primed so much for intercourse it is practically vibrating.

“What are you doing here?” Genji sounds confused and mildly amused.
Zenyatta feels arms curling around his shoulders as he’s getting pulled up,
then finally his visual sensors come back online.

“It is obvious what he’s doing here,
is it not?”

The voice of the other man was sinuous and deep—and familiar, even if the dark
figure was not. Reaper. Zenyatta had never even…

“The little whore is fleeing from a bunch of greedy cocks.”

Genji clicks his tongue, eyes roaming over Zenyatta’s form. He looks unfamiliar
without his visor. Less mechanical and comforting, yet when he starts slowly
pushing Zenyatta’s cloak from around his shoulders to better see his form, his
cunt readies itself all the same.

“They are ready for the celebration,” the cyborg purrs. Zenyatta’s
sensors pick up on the vibration of his voice, low and aroused. He can see the
crimson tint to his lips. They had been… They had been kissing, standing
close, grinding their bodies together…? He had been…

Zenyatta turns his head, looks around the room he stumbled into. It looks like
someone’s quarters. When he focuses back forward, his systems spike with
readings: Reaper is suddenly closer; close enough to see the blood red of his
eyes.

“I’ve never had him,” he purrs, watching Zenyatta carefully. “Is
he any good?”

“The men seem to think so,” Genji answers, and then adds with a
certain kind of defiance, as if there weren’t still men banging at the door
behind them: “I think he’s cute.”

“Do you now…” Reaper slides even closer, arm stretching, sharp
talons barely scraping in the imitation of a caress along the side of
Zenyatta’s faceplate.

“I have to admit…he interests me…”

Zenyatta presses forward into Genji’s
touch, voice lowering into a well modulated murmur. “I will not forget
your kindness, if you indulge me. Please, I—”

He sees the smile on Genji’s face—but also the impatient frown on Reaper’s, and
he knows who he has to convince here.

“I need it so
bad. Need your cocks, I… please.” He is not good at this; has not been
equipped with any databanks on how to… to dirty talk, and he thinks it might
just have been one more cruelty on top of so many: leaving him bumbling and
foolish as he asks for his defilement.

Reaper snorts, sharp claws wandering beneath Zenyatta’s chin, making him tip
his head back and expose the vital cables and metal making up his main energy
conduit throughout his body.

“I will take care of the ruckus outside…and then I want to see what he
can do.”

The pressure at his
throat disappears. Zenyatta’s sensors flicker as Reaper softens suddenly, smoke
where once stood a man, sweeping through his circuits in a strange, fluttering
sensation, soft, whispering caresses. He shutters, body reacting to even that
slight stimuli. Genji stares over his shoulder at the door, lips quirked, eyes
alight with interest. The pounding stops, voices drop off, grow loud again. He
hears Reaper talking, gravel rough. Then yelling, shuffling. The door groans as
something heavy crashes into it. Screams.

“Hey.” Genji says, catching his attention again. This close, Zenyatta
can see flecks of green in his dark eyes. Genji runs his hands along the cables
of Zen’s neck, trailing his fingers along the pistons and down to his
shoulders, brushing sensitive nodes. Zenyatta shakes, trying to stand still and
chirping at the gentle touch. “We are going to take care of you.” He
murmurs, lips catching against the edge of his gold faceplate.

Genji tugs slow and even at the drawstring holding Zen’s cloak, and it drops to
the floor with a soft ripple. The man’s eyes covet the lines of his body,
pupils growing large. Zen’s pants are flattened to his plating, slimy with
slick. His modesty panel had been stripped from him with his upgrades, the
swollen mound of his cunt outlined against the cut of fabric. Genji whistles
low and sweet, cheeks darkening.

“Wow, you really are easy, aren’t you?” Genji doesn’t cup him like
the others, rough and mean. A smooth, cybernetic finger trails down the top of
his lower plating, touching his—

Zenyatta groans, startled, back hitting the door. Genji follows him, hand
finding his swollen clit again, a small press, then slipping against the ruined
fabric, lower, finger pressing lengthwise against the wetness between his legs.
He says something in a language Zenyatta doesn’t understand, worries his lower
lip.

“Sensitive.”

It grows quiet outside,
and Genji licks his lips. He steps back as smoke billows in from beneath the
door, licks the remnants of Zenyatta’s slick from his fingers while Zenyatta
curls his own hands into the metal behind him, fasciated without knowing why.

Reaper reforms, seated on the bed, larger, his sensors report, than he was
before. Eyes glowing bright, pulse strong and even. More alive. Genji follows
him in short order, sitting astride him, curls his hand inside Reaper’s thigh,
the cut of his muscles noticeable even through his clothes. Reaper stares
Zenyatta down, eyes tracing his body as Genji’s had. His smirk is all smoke and
teeth, practically purring when he says.

“What are waiting for? Strip.” Reaper adjusts, settling more
comfortably. “We’re doing you a favor, after all.”

Zenyatta jerks, light alignment flaring. He glances to Genji, whose hand trails
closer to the front of Reaper’s pants, teasing and nimble, but he offers no
help.

“I…” He nods, numbly, hands struggling to unknot the ties that keep
his loose pants in place. Reaper sighs, frustrated, the noise speeding Zen’s
hands. Knots undone, he’s forced to peel the fabric down from his thighs, tacky
with lubricant. He stumbles a little as he steps out of his pants, leg
wrappings bound over the fabric. He can feel them staring, heart rates
quickening, arousal elevated. Shame burns along his chassis, but he keeps his
hands clenched at his sides, finally looking up.

“Dios mio, come closer. Where did they even find a thing like you?
Got you fitted with Numbani-grade parts but you don’t even know what you’re
doing.”

Zenyatta bristles, keens when a fresh line of slick spills down his legs,
almost toppling him over. He finally stumbles to the foot of the bed, and even
though he has to look down at them he feels small, helpless.

“Ah, what a cute
color. Let us see.” Genji whispers, eyes staring at his groin, hand
kneading at Reaper’s cock, the barest outline of it growing thick and
noticeable beneath the fabric.

Zenyatta struggles to spread his legs and stand upright at the same time,
quaking. Soft little hummed whimpers hiccup out of him. Why won’t they just
touch him?

“I still can’t see.” Genji pouts. “Spread it open with your
hand.” Reaper leans back against Genji, pressing slightly into his touch,
eyes never leaving the omnic.

Zenyatta splits his
fore and middle fingers, slotting them against the teal lips of his pussy, and
even that has him gasping softly, dragging in air he doesn’t need, pheromones
in the room heightened. His fans whirr in the relative quiet. His pretty lips
part beneath his hands, so silken soft and slick. His tilts his head down
into the crook of his shoulder, ashamed, looking unwilling but he’s
twitching and dripping more than he ever has. Why would they program him with
shame and desire in equal parts, buzzing along every sensor?

Genji makes a soft
sound of appreciation that hums along his sensors and makes new need shudder
through his circuits. His clit is pulsing, feeling almost obnoxiously swollen
and exposed between the V of his fingers. There is slick everywhere, stretching
in glistening faintly teal-tinged strings between the soft fiber lips of his
cunt, and—as they watch—dripping down towards the ground.

“Messy,” Reaper comments. It sounds simultaneously like praise and an
insult, and Zenyatta can only produce a pathetic static crackle in response,
his programs alighting his visuals like a Christmas tree with all kinds of
information; from the body heat of his potential two lovers to the saturation
of hormones in the air.

It is hard to make out the important stuff in between—like Genji beckoning him
closer and telling him to crawl onto the bed; show them from up close his
“pretty holes”; Reaper’s added “Sloppy holes” low and rough
as he grinds up more insistently into Genji’s hand.

Zenyatta’s movements are jerky as he crawls onto the mattress. He can feel the
mechanisms of his cunt working: tightening up and expanding, getting ready to
clutch silky and wet around anything that might be given to him.

Reaper and Genji are
kissing while he adjusts his position, tries to wrangle his limbs to comply
with what he wants.

It is languid and slow. His sensors pick up soft, wet suckling sounds as Reaper
starts pressing his lips against the corner of Genji’s mouth and coaxes him to
stop staring at Zenyatta and pay some attention to him. He feels on the verge
of a shutdown as he watches them, the visual frizzing out every now as he sees
Reaper dominate the kiss, clawed hand at Genji’s augmented jaw, keeping him in
position but not meanly so.

His sensors pick up on the visual: make his clit thrum with the faux sensation
of those warm, soft human lips on his sensors. His head falls back on a
crackling, static moan—he is sitting and leaning back, legs spread…and hand
already between his thighs again, opening himself up without having been told,
but also closing again…and again…the sensation vaguely stimulating his clit
and making his systems heat until his fans have to kick in and cool him down.

“Naughty little thing,” Genji purrs. He’s closer suddenly, perched
like a tiger between Zenyatta’s legs, hands on his knees—keeping him open.
“Are you just having fun for yourself? Touching your slutty cunt like
that…So pretty, so…oh—what’s this?”

His voice is gentle, teasing, the insults sounding more like praise. Zenyatta,
hand snatched away from his pussy, watches as Genji reaches out, blunt
cybernetic fingertip moving, circling the small teal lined posterior hole. It
is easy to slip inside, wriggling against the clinging, silky walls with the
help of all of the slick that had started sliding down along Zenyatta’s
chassis.

He chirps high and a little glitched as he feels the intrusion, body going
stiff, carefully held still as Genji coos and fingers him.

“Such a sweet little hole you have back here…now why would they give
that to you? You’re a proper little whore, aren’t you?”

Reaper is behind
Genji, towering and dark, looking so impossibly thick after his short foray
outside the room.

“Well now it is getting…interesting,” he purrs and slides around to
come closer, get a look at their toy for the night.

“He’s so soft inside. Damn. So small back here…I don’t think you’d even
fit.”

Reaper snorts in derision, the sharp taloned glove vanishing in a plume of
smoke as his thick arm reaches to where Genji is slowly fucking a slim
cybernetic finger into Zenyatta and making his vision flicker. “Let me
see…”

Zenyatta groans
uncertainly, the sensations strange, electric. His hips stutter, and he bears
down on the finger, earning him a small word of praise from Genji, who curls
his digit, brushes against something inside that makes him thrash. Zenyatta
hums, high and needy.

“Just need to be touched, don’t you?” Reaper whispers, fingers
tracing the mesh skin between his plating, just circling that swollen teal nub.
Zenyatta surges, trying to angle his hips to catch his fingers against it.

“P-please.” Zenyatta moans when one thick arm presses on the cables
across his narrow hips, pinning him to the mattress.

“Such a demanding thing. Aren’t you supposed to be the one pleasuring
us?” Reaper replies, still teasing around his folds, fingers skirting the
pulsing, dripping slit, watching it clench as Genji slips a second finger into
that smaller, lower hole.

Zenyatta wants to protest, feels stuffed, but his body recalibrates, adjusts to
it, the slick burn of the intrusion eased and hot, firing pleasure up the
cables at his spine. Close to something. Small runtime errors, processes
bugging. His fingers twist into the sheets, struggling against the arm pinning
him.

“Wh—something
is…w-wait..!!” His synthesizer can’t make his words sound right, all
other processes bogged down with reading and reacting to the pleasure firing
through him.

“I have watched the men take you before.” Genji says, eyes narrowed
with lust. “Do you know what is about to happen?” He presses his
fingers in deep, curling them, nearly too hard against that incredibly
sensitive node inside him, making Zenyatta strain, snapping his hips to get
more of it. The cyborg smiles, wicked and sharp. “You are about to come,
Zenyatta. No one has ever touched you with a gentle hand.” He bites his
lip. “I bet you could come just like this, from my fingers in your
ass.” Genji groans, keyed up just at the thought of it.

“You sure like to hear yourself talk.” Reaper growls. “Why don’t
you put that mouth to better use, cabrón?” Reaper takes his teasing
hand and sinks his fingers around the back of Genji’s skull, pressing the
cyborg’s face between Zenyatta’s legs.

Genji makes an
undignified noise that bleeds into a moan when his lips smack into Zenyatta’s
slit, warm and wet. His tongue darts out, eager and quick, tasting the teal
mess, amazed by the buttery softness of it, the vague, near tasteless sweetness
of him. Zenyatta shouts, hand clapping over his voice box to stifle the keens
ripped from his throat. He hears himself begging in a mindless barrage of
slurred, glitching words, his hand clamping on top of Reaper’s, wanting it,
something peaking—

Genji finally, mercifully flicks his tongue across his clit, feels molten hot
and wet and so good, then descends on it, moans vibrating against his most
sensitive node, sucking around it in soft little pulls and Zenyatta’’s
thrusting as much as he can and pressing Genji down.

His voice box offlines halfway through his screams as something rips through
him, unbelievable and inescapable, sending all his protocols into chaos. His
cunt clenches, pulsing out hot waves of slick, catching Genji’s chin, the line
of his throat. Zenyatta’s whole body shakes with it, squeezes around the
fingers still pistoning inside him. His sensory array shuts down for a few
moments, and he hears Reaper’s rough “Oh, fuck” as he begins
to recover.

His sensors pick up
on the burned ozone in the air. He wonders what has short circuited inside his
systems but he couldn’t start and try to run a check when the sight between his
thighs makes him stutter and halt, a glitched little trilling sound, distinctly
questioning chirping from his struggling voice box.

His programs slowly, haltingly start back up again, saturating the black and
white feed he has almost reluctantly with color. Genji is still between his
thighs, nose nearly brushing the mess of his cunt. Reaper has straddled one of
his thighs to better get close, cock out of his hastily opened pants, broad
hips rocking carefully to drag the thick shaft along Genji’s reverently opened
mouth.

“He got me so messy,” the cyborg groans indistinct, lips
mouthing at the veiny shaft, turning his head and smearing the slick Zenyatta
had coated him with against Reaper’s cock.

Zenyatta makes a soft sound, almost wondering, fingers curling against the
bedding. His sensors are still prickling with the sensation that had him almost
offline. His clit is pulsing still. Needy. Ripe. Another feed comes back online
and suddenly he becomes aware of the cheeky tongue flicking against his folds
every now and then, Genji turning his head, languidly suckling at his folds.

“Bet he comes
even better on a nice cock,” Reaper growls, hips moving, fucking forward
against Genji’s mouth before he probably gets fed up with the half-hearted blow
job and Genji’s preoccupation with Zenyatta’s cunt. He grips a fist full of the
cyborg’s hair, shoving his head to the side so he can slot himself in, hips
moving, fucking, sliding the thick ash gray shaft along Zenyatta’s swollen,
messy folds.

The omnic jerks, startled, hands fluttering down between his thighs seemingly
uncertain of what to do before he settles on folding them across Reaper’s cock
and pressing it against himself, letting him coat his shaft with slick while
little sizzling spikes of pleasure shoot up his spine.

Reaper is massive between his thighs, large hands on Zenyatta’s knees, pressing
them apart as he fucks languidly, almost as an afterthought. His armor is
peeled apart enough that he can see the plane of his belly tensing and rippling
whenever he curls his hips forward.

He seems happy enough to let Zenyatta cradle his dick and give him a tunnel to
fuck into, but his words are amused and disparaging.

“Fuck, you are
bad at this. Don’t even know how to handle a nice cock when you get one offered
on a silver platter. What did those bastards do with you?”

Genji is close, his face peering around Reaper’s hips, cheeks tinted dark as he
watches.

“Just laid him
down and fucked into him,” he comments, voice rough—aroused, Zenyatta’s
sensors tell him, and he makes a needy sound, face turning towards the cyborg.

“Please,” he says, seemingly the only word that he was capable of
anymore: mindlessly begging for them to…to please him. His fingers start
curling a little, folding tighter around Reaper’s girth; assessing for the
first time, wondering how it might feel…

“Pumped him full and left him dripping,” the cyborg continues like
Zenyatta hadn’t said anything. “Even though he got so nice and hot for
them. Frenzy little fuck on any cock that would come by…”

Genji’s eyes get glassy. He is moving a little, rocking, and Zenyatta thinks
with a soft, startled noise that he’s fucking his cock against the bed; aroused
by what is happening. He is suddenly pushing against Reaper’s hips, impatient,
voice trembling.

“I wanna make him cum again. Fuck. He goddamn squirted,
Gabriel…”

Reaper makes a soft disgusted sound. He seems reluctant but moves away all the
same, laughing when Zenyatta chirps, body curling up and towards him, trying to
keep a grasp on his cock.

“Fast learner, are you? Gonna teach you to worship a cock properly,
yet…On your knees.” Reaper says, strokes his own cock once, gritting his
sharp teeth, watching Zenyatta struggle to turn over, the pool of slick on the
bed catching his legs, smearing it everywhere. "Head down. Make
yourself pretty.“ Zenyatta groans, presses his face into his forearms.

The words burn, cunt twitching at the filthiness of them. One of the worst
things about his containment, Talon’s adaptive programming, new processes
designed to destroy themselves at a human’s command. Someone inhales sharply,
Genji, he assumes. He feels a line of wetness drip out of him, stretching until
it plips into the sheets, joining the ruined mess there. Even at the
lowest setting his sensors detect the intense, human smell in the air, of sex
and sweat, heady and sweet.

A sudden hot swipe at his cunt has Zen pitched forward, fingers twitching
against the sheets. Tongue. Genji’s tongue, the reverent, fucked out moan makes
it an easy guess. Genji surges forward, tongue dipping deep into his wet slit,
and Zenyatta growls, wants more, shifts back against it.

"M-more.” He whispers, crackling.

“What’s that?” Reaper’s voice comes from his side, way closer than it
should be. Zen tilts his head, another moan escaping. The man’s eyes are blown
black, eyebrows drawn tight, always looking off-put, but there’s undeniable heat,
like Zen is worth looking at, worth teasing and toying with, worth pleasuring.
“Speak up.”

Genji’s tongue flattens inside him, a finger slipping in along with it,
thrusting so shallowly, dipping in only to circle his folds again, being
so gentle.

“More. Harder. Please—!” For the first time in his life, Zenyatta
would ask for it and speak true. He wants them to fuck him.

Reaper’s fucking into
his hand in fluid snaps of his scarred, muscled hips, pearls of precum
bubbling from the tip of his throbbing cock. "Yeah, look at
me.“ Zen half turns his body, face fully angled to stare along the lines
of Reaper’s body, half-clothed but undeniably hot. He hesitates, tries to
gather his thoughts enough to speak, fear spiking through him at his own gall.

"I—ah! Want to see you…” He almost buries his head again, afraid.
He does look down, bristling when Reaper laughs, low and dark like smoke.

“You got some balls for a omnic. Did I say you could look away? Look at
me.” The bed shakes behind him, and loud, muffled moans join his own
glitched chirrups. Genji rocking into the bed. Zenyatta stares at Reaper,
captivated by the dark, ashen skin as it’s revealed; Genji works two more
fingers in at once, tongue pulling out with a thick pop before it dips into his
posterior hole, licking it open so easily. He’s speaking, babbling against
Zenyatta’s holes, broken and quick. It doesn’t sound like english.

“Heh, you two aren’t so different. Look how slutty he gets.” Reaper
grunts, peeling out of the last of his armor, hand returning to his dripping
cock and working it just behind the glans. Reaper moans, closing his eyes once
before refocusing on Zen’s face, head tilting.

“I wonder…” Zenyatta nearly jerks at the even press of hands
cupping his head, feeling another orgasm sizzling along his plating. Something
clicks, depressurizes, and the lower panels of his faceplate shifts up.
New processes register, sensation blooming beneath his array, coming online.
“Hah, I can’t believe it. Oh, fuck, they really didn’t spare any
cost, did they?”

Zenyatta opens his
mouth for the first time, the feeling so alien he can’t register his readings.

“They even
installed skin-mesh around it.” Reaper whistles low. Rough, calloused
fingers stroke along the metallic-colored mesh and the smooth, matching lips.
Zenyatta reacts to the stimuli, mouth twitching into a small o, learning
how to move it. Then the finger, a thumb, dips inside, new sensation. Salty.
Bitter. Zenyatta flinches, reels back, but Reaper holds his face gently in his
grip.

“T-too much. What is—” Zenyatta’s lips don’t match his words, still
warbling from his voice box instead, seemingly detached from one another. His
whole body trembles, pleasure lessening somewhat as Genji drags his tongue away
to look at them both, fingers still scissoring inside him.

A litany of swears spills from the cyborg as he watches Reaper’s fingers
circling Zenyatta’s mouth, wettened by the same slick coating his own lips.

“Kuso. I
need to see this.”

Genji’s fingers slide out of the warm, welcoming grip of Zenyatta’s cunt with a
wet slide, gooey slick stretching between fingertips and plump folds until the
strings break. The opening gapes open soft and inviting for just a moment
before the mechanisms make it close up under the cyborg’s heated gaze—getting
everything nice and snug once more.

“Goddamn, but you have pretty holes,” he purrs, crawling around the
trembling Omnic to kneel at the head and see for himself.

Zenyatta looks at the both of them helplessly, the new program that flickered to
life forcing all the other ones to adjust and recalibrate. He hadn’t even…he
hadn’t known…

He can feel Reaper’s thumb rubbing along the carefully blunted tops of even
teeth, pressing down on them and feeling the minimal give of the synthetic
fabric—all for the pleasure of his users.

“Look at this. Even gave him a pretty little tongue,” Reaper purrs,
reaching in with two thick fingers and easily fishing out Zenyatta’s tongue:
segmented in small parts to allow articulated movement and glowing a soft teal.
It’s slimy like the rest of his holes and when Reaper squishes it gently
between his pinching fingers, they can watch more slick well up from between
the segments.

Genji’s mouth hangs open, hand around his synthetic cock, strangling it within
the grip of his fist.

“That’s…incredible… I’ve never seen…I didn’t even know there
was…”

Reaper seems to perk up at that, letting go of Zenyatta’s tongue to negligently
wipe the excess slick against his cheek.

“So you haven’t seen anybody using that yet?”

Zenyatta’s fingers
twist into the bedding, clawing at it as he tries to understand all the
readings popping up in his peripheral vision. He knows his tongue is still out,
obediently stretched across his lower lip, showing it to his two play mates, but
he couldn’t make himself close it up.

He was moving his…his jaw and even those new sensations, moving little joints
he hadn’t even known existed, had him shuddering, everything getting translated
to good yes thank you.

“Look at him. He’s helpless like a babe,” Reaper purrs. His large
hand cups the back of Zenyatta’s cranium. He lifts up unto his knees, bringing
his hips closer to the Omnic and starts rubbing the blunt tip of his cock
against the soft mesh that made up Zenyatta’s cheek, slipping again and again
against the very corner of his mouth but not slipping inside.

Zenyatta chirps, the sound embarrassingly like one of those ancient modems as
his new mouth eagerly fills with slick—a little thinner than the one from his
cunt but not less eager.

“That’s it. You want my cock, don’t you? Messy little bitch…”

Zenyatta angles forward, body posed on the precarious edge of toppling over,
jaw opening a bit wider, needy. Pleading.

Reaper’s cock moves at that, presses into the little soft groove beneath his
lower lip.

“He is pretty,
though,” he concedes with a low rumble of his voice, the wet tip of his
cock sliding along Zenyatta’s lower lip like a thumb, sensors telling the omnic
about the saltiness in the fluid he leaves on the grey mesh, tacky and new.

“Pretty little holes to teach…just for us…”

He dips the tip of his cock in, then, under Genji’s watchful eye, just testing
the waters and breathing out heavily through his nostrils in lieu of a low,
needy groan.

“That’s it…now open up nice and wide…never got a big dick like this one,
hm? Gonna break your new cunt in with style, little whore.”

Surprisingly warm and
soft, salt and musk joins the other overloading sensations as Reaper pushes
inside his mouth. Zenyatta’s moans vibrates up the black column of his throat,
mouth quaking around Reaper’s cock. Slick drools past his lips and rolls down
his chin. Genji watches, fascinated, as Reaper’s dick disappears inch by inch
without resistance.

Zenyatta’s mouth doesn’t feel like his other holes, less sensitive, though he
is feeling something, sparks of pressure, tasting, mouthing, recording
Reaper’s expression as he catches his growls behind frowning lips.

Reaper tsks, hard and low, Zenyatta’s hands grappling at his hips as he
fucks into his throat. The man rolls his shoulders, withdraws though Zenyatta
tries to follow his dick as it leaves his mouth.

“You’re terrible at this.” He plucks one of Zenyatta’s hands from where
it’s clamped around his body and pulls it to his own lips, sucking the two
longest fingers into his mouth. Zenyatta groans, enraptured as Raper hollows
his cheeks, tongue swirling around them, dipping into the sensitive divots
where fingers connect to palm.

Genji watches, nippling at the pistons at Zenyatta’s throat, hands unable to
stay still. Caressing the small, delicate cables, following the rows of red
down his spine. He teases his fingers at Zenyatta’s ass, but his eyes are all
on Reaper, breathing so loudly against the side of Zenyatta’s head as he
watches his boss suck, beard growing damp from the sloppiness of it. Reaper
dips his chin to stare down the line of his body, tugging Zen’s fingers out of
his mouth roughly.

“Do it like that. It’s not hard.” The omnic’s hands shakily return to
the man’s hips when he tilts his head up again, presents his mouth, teal and
pretty, tongue held flat and soft. Reaper shuffles forward again, angling his
dick down by gripping its base, just pressing it to Zenyatta’s tongue, gauging
his reactions. Genji’s fingers speed up in time with his own hand against his
segmented cock.

“Zenyatta, hurry.” Genji bites out, his dick smacking wetly against
the omnic’s thin waist between a thick cable and his softer, dark middle,
whimpering. Zenyatta feels his precum smearing all over him, wonders vaguely if
he would ever be able to get properly clean after this, would go around knowing
he smelled like Genji and Reaper.

His lips wrap shakily around the head of Reaper’s cock, swirling, suckling once
it’s deep enough. His tongue slides beneath the silken foreskin, peeling it
back from the reddened cockhead; Reaper groans, swears biting out of him like
it hurts, but the hand on his head presses him down deeper.

“Suck.”

Zenyatta does, hollowing his cheeks, tongue mapping the underside as it pushes
past it, knocks against his palate and smooth teeth. His array dims as his face
hits the hard, clenching swell of Reaper’s stomach, voice box stuttering, not
from the intrusion, but the pulse of pleasure.

It feels amazing, clenching against the throbbing dick in his throat. His hands
at Reaper’s hips tighten, and Zenyatta pulls back an inch before burying his
face again into the overwhelming, heady smell of Reaper’s pubic hair. Reaper’s
dick slides over something inside that makes his whole body shiver. Reaper can
feels his balls draw tight, the knowing pressure building low in his gut.

“Gonna give you what you need. Fill this slutty hole up.” Reaper
growls, rabbit-fucking the omnic’s dripping mouth when he won’t give him more
than a few inches to pull back. "So hungry for it. Fuck. Even
if you’re bad, a hole is a hole, right?“

He grows annoyed with the omnic’s attempt to control his thrusts, but chuckles
at Zenyatta’s needy synthetic noises when he forces the omnic’s head back. He
revels in the long, slick drag of his cock drawn between those lips at the pace
he allows, slow and breath-taking, grasping the back of Zenyatta’s head to keep
him from holding it in so deeply, from his throat constricting and massaging
every inch.

"Genji, are you gonna come like a schoolboy humping his stomach? Get it
together.”

“I’m trying, I’m
trying…Fuck…”

Zenyatta can feel Genji’s fingers clumsy and eager, touching against his back,
sliding along delicate little cables and gripping gold capped pistons. It is
distracting; almost like he’s getting pet. Soft sensations that don’t quite
touch any sensors but are tantalizingly just out of reach. They make him
tremble, cunt clenching and clit primed for more.

He wants…

“Suck, pretty little whore.” Reaper’s voice is low, an intimate purr.
He slides deep into Zenyatta’s artificial mouth, the slide slick and squelching
as the fat cock forces artificial saliva to bubble from the stretched mesh
corners of Zenyatta’s mouth.

They are both surprised when suddenly a new program kicks on, Zenyatta’s
systems calibrated enough to start reaching for the more sophisticated
functions, and a little pump springs on, starting to pump air out and creating
a gently suckling vacuum.

Reaper’s hips hitch, a startled swear falling from his lips. Zenyatta can feel
his cock swell against the sensors of his tongue, a generous squirt of pre-cum
shooting down his throat.

“Genji,” Reaper growls, hoarse, huge hands scrabbling at the back of
Zenyatta’s head and threatening to unplug some of the thicker wires in his
effort to get a good grip on him as he rocks into the suckling, wet vacuum.

“Either you get your cock in him now or you’ll have to deal with the
sloppy whore afterwards.”

Zenyatta loses a bit of time, then, because Reaper pulls back, extricating
himself from the snug, welcoming vacuum and producing a lush, filthy sound as
he breaks the suckling seal of Zenyatta’s lips. Immediately, warnings beep up
along his visual, body seizing as he is less than absolutely filled to the brim
(oh how naive he was…) and distorted, frantic pleas slip from his voice box
as he surges forward, mouth open and ready, slick dripping from him as he
mouths at the fat cock and tries to get it back.

Reaper laughs at him.
Ridicules him—but gives him back his treat all the same, slow and steady and at
odds with the sharp sudden fullness of his cunt as he’s getting spread so fast,
his mechanisms whirr embarrassingly loud to adjust to the smooth intrusion.

He pulls back, turns his head half around, the corner of his mouth getting
stretched with cock as he tries to peer behind, voice box warbling in the most
basic omnic chirps and clicks, questioning and confused.

“Oh no. You stay here. Give me your mouth, slut.” Reaper forces his
head back and ruts into his mouth while Genji still seems to breathe through
sinking into the lush, slick of a warm, synthetic cunt.

“Shit… I don’t know if I can…hold on for long…” He pulls back
and carefully, slowly pushes back in. Zenyatta can’t see the pinched look on
his scarred face, the way his eyebrows are pulled together in genuine distress.

He is preoccupied with trying to regulate his programs which are going haywire—
having to regulate two mechanisms at the same time suddenly and only managing a
spastic, nervous vibration along Reaper’s cock.

“Goddamn fuckin’—hold on, then. Don’t you dare come before I tell you.
Fuck, he’s getting better with a dick in his sloppy cunt. It’s…”

He doesn’t say more. He is baring his teeth and growling, hips rutting, large
hands cradling Zenyatta’s head as he starts for the first time to slowly fuck
him, really use his mouth with just a couple of inches of fat cock.

Reaper snaps his hips, each quick
pistoning forcing more sounds from Zenyatta’s throat, suctioning when he can,
noises obscene when Reaper withdraws enough to let the vacuum break.

“Fuck, I can’t get enough of that. Disgusting.” Reaper murmurs,
tinged with desperation. His hand scrambles to grip the omnic’s throat, forcing
Zenyatta’s back into a graceful, painful arc that Zenyatta’s arms tremble to
support.

Genji’s eyes flit between his dick disappearing inside that sopping slit,
Zenyatta’s smaller hole clenching tiny and teal, and the omnic’s mouth being
used to its fullest capacity. His own metal hands grasp Zenyatta’s waist,
angle forward faster, unable to pace himself. Zenyatta’s cunt recalibrates,
sucking, tight and wet and perfect, like Zenyatta’s made for him.

“You should’ve come to us sooner…Hah, you’re incredible.” Genji
doubles over, mouthing at the thick cables at his neck, wishing he could mark
it up, let everyone know that they owned him. “No one’s gonna touch you.
You’re our little whore.” The cyborg babbles, hands grasping his waist
brutally as he fucks so hard it nearly hurts. “K-kill anyone that
dares.”

Zenyatta sobs, clicks and whirring and fans at full power but it’s not enough.
He feels hot to the touch, warning signals firing, each node and sensor
overloaded. He wants to warn them, afraid again, can he have this, will they
let him. His clicks and hums break high and screeching, jerking between them,
deeper, deeper, more he wants to say it but he can’t make the words form. It’s
good, he’s—

“Yeah, that’s right. Fucking—cum,
you little slut.” Reaper growls, and Zenyatta shorts all at once,
cunt and throat spasming, system errors, glitching and powering down,
everything jerking and twitching with misfires. He depressurizes so hard he
feels broken, splattering around Genji’s throbbing cock, coating his groin and
thighs.

Zenyatta can’t see, can’t sense, only feels the pulses of overloaded nodes in
his throat and between his legs. Reaper holds him up as his arms collapse,
unable to support his weight. The suction in his throat draws too tight,
malfunctioning, and Reaper roars, swearing harsh and guttural, filling him to
the brim. His throat is too shallow to hold everything in, and it bubbles and
spills, joining the lube and slick dripping down his chin and throat, coating
Reaper’s hand that’s clutching it.

Genji keens behind him, and he feels the hot gush flood him, the men clutching
him in place while he shuts down between them, each rocking into him with
rhythmless abandon. He thinks he’s begging, trying to beg, synthetic chirrups,
too much, as they milk themselves into him, only aware of the immediate
stimulation.

Reapyatta 😀 soft dom!Zenyatta with needy sub!Reaper. Here you go, ya’ll ❤

Zenyatta slides fingers through Gabriel’s curls, careful not to let the interlocking joints catch on the stubbornly clinging hair. He fluffs them up, then smooths them down, carefully combing them until they lie the way he wants them to.

Only when he is satisfied does he put his fingers beneath Gabriel’s chin, thumb lying heavy in the small groove beneath his bottom lip, dragging in a small caress over the graying hair of his beard.

“Up,” he murmurs, voice well modulated – built to please. Gabriel follows the gentle push a little too eagerly – the next second Zenyatta’s fingers pinch his chin more firmly and drag him down again. The omnic watches him quietly, not moving while Reaper’s dark eyes jerk across his faceplate, watching for some reaction even though he knows there can’t be one, and finally coming to a halt on the grid pattern on Zenyatta’s forehead – watching the slow dimming and brightening of the light there with an almost myopic gaze.

After a while, when the omnic has decided the height is a good one, Zenyatta’s other hand curls around one of his orbs, lying dormant and heavy in a circle around him.

He places it carefully atop Gabriel’s head, fingers letting loose of it slowly, making sure it would not roll from its nest of curls.

“Still, now,” he says softly, barely an admonishment, and for a moment it seems like Reaper even stops breathing, head up nice and high, carefully balancing Zenyatta’s intricately carved orb. Zenyatta can see the human’s ribs moving – little, soft pants expanding the broad chest as he tries to keep still enough not to shift the heavy trinket.

“Calm yourself. You will make it tumble down if you don’t center yourself.” Zenyatta’s thumb moves, pushing against Reaper’s scarred mouth until he opens it slightly, tongue cheekily flicking out to lick –

Zenyatta’s hand rushes out to catch the orb before it can roll from Gabriel’s head completely. The omnic’s voice box manufactures a soft, reprimanding click of a tongue he doesn’t possess, then pushes his thumb into Gabriel’s mouth to press down heavy and unmoving against his soft, warm tongue while simultaneously rearranging the orb once more.

“If you want to come,” he tells him patiently, as he fucks his thumb slowly between the submissive’s lips, the pad rubbing slow, smooth circles into Gabriel’s tongue to let him taste the metal, “then you need to do as you are told and not lose the orbs. Do you understand?”

He has recentered the heavy ball, arm slowly drawing away. Gabriel watches him with his dark eyes, a look of adoration on his slowly slackening face. He almost doesn’t dare to swallow, tongue lying placid for the omnic to play with.

Zenyatta hums and carefully pulls his hand away.

“Very well. The next one.”

He shifts, moving easily around the submissive. He looks like a show dog – on all fours, head up high and still, the impressive width of his chest sloping quickly into the plane of his hard belly. Time has forgotten this particular man – he still looks as formidable as he has in those old pictures Zenyatta has observed littered around the Gibraltar base.

“You are magnificent,” he tells him, voice an intimate murmur even though they were alone. He can see the way Gabriel’s ribs extend in a deep, careful inhale, but it is the only concession the submissive makes to how much the praise affects him.

That – and that lovely cock of his; dark and thick between his strong thighs, filling out a little more as Zenyatta watches, the wide head peeking out of the soft folds of his foreskin. Already, the omnic’s sensors can make out the glistening of pre-cum wetting all that velvety skin. Humans were so delightfully… messy. Their bodies so generous in showing their appreciation.

“Good boy.” He lets warm, smooth metal fingertips rub against the first knob of Gabriel’s spine, then slides them with gentle pressure along the dip of his spine. The man shudders, a strange choked-off noise coming from him – and for just a moment it seems like he might jerk his head and unseat the orb in its nest of curls, but he calms down just in time to relax again.

He deters a second when he’s at the submissive’s tailbone, fingers sliding into the cleft of his ass and tickling the warm, silky hole he finds there. Gabriel groans, then; voice deep and smoky, eyes probably unfocused as he stares ahead of himself and tries to remain calm, even when Zenyatta’s warm, smooth fingers start rubbing with more intent, the blunt tip of one beginning to wriggle its way inside.

“M-Master,” he says, indistinct, barely dares to move his jaw. Zenyatta hums, tranquil. Serene. He lets Gabriel’s muscles move for him: he doesn’t resist their suckling, needy pull, letting them drag his finger deeper in until the sweet muscle is mouthing at the first bulkier joint of his finger.

“I know,” Zenyatta answers low, synthetic voice full with feeling. “You need it, pretty boy. I know. Your body talks so loud for you.”

Reaper whines, throat vibrating with the sound, face crumbling as Zenyatta watches. He is biting his bottom lip, eyes starting to crunch shut. He’s nearly weeping just from the overwhelming need of getting filled.

“I won’t leave you empty,” the omnic promises, free hand rubbing along the sickly ashbrown of his back. “I will fill you up until you can’t take more. And then a little bit more still.”

Gabriel whines again, a little higher, fingers curling against the floor into unsteady fists. Zenyatta pushes in deeper, curls his finger – just gives him a little taste of pleasure to keep him at bay before out completely.

He ignores the soft sigh of disappointment, critically checks over the orb resting on Gabriel’s head, then takes another one and places it carefully high between the submissive’s shoulder blades.

Gabriel has less problems balancing this one, but it still ads more pressure on him: a little less freedom of movement, no careful rolling of the shoulders anymore, no nervous shifting.

“You are perfect. Just one more.”

Zenyatta grips His shoulder, then his bicep, squeezing and caressing in lieu of not being able to properly kiss – even his omnic kisses, small pulses of weak electricity, don’t seem appropriate now; not when Gabriel was struggling as it is, strangely keyed up from some discord within his soul.

He was so burdened, his poor boy. So many demons weighing him down that he wouldn’t even be able to tell what exactly was filling him with anxiety.

Zenyatta’s hand slides down, smooths across the plush cushion of his pec, mildly warns “Keep your head high”, then proceeds to tweak one of the small, sensitive nipples. Gabriel groans long and deep. His cock fills out a little more still, the veins at the sides starting to bulge as it bobs softly all on its own. Always so eager, sweetly asking for attention.

“Just one more. Good boy.”

Zenyatta squeezes the small nub once more between his fingers, the pressure carefully calculated by his systems, then pulls his hand away to grab the last orb.

“And up. Nice and slow… that’s it.” His voice is low, intimate, watching as Gabriel carefully, slowly arches his back, struggling to keep his head still and his shoulders even. There was sweat starting to break out along his hairline. His toes curled in and relaxed again, restless, nervous. He wanted to be good – didn’t want to lose any of the orbs already placed on him.

His hips are forming a sweet cup, ass angling towards the ceiling. He is presenting himself like a well trained pet, legs carefully spreading on instinct: he was showing off what he had to the room; offering his Master everything from the soft, heavy mound of his testicles to the tender gape of his hole.

“What a good boy you are tonight. You really want it badly, don’t you? A nice cock spreading you open? Get your belly warmed up? I know how horribly cold you always feel… I think I have just the thing for you, if you can stay still for me tonight. Just five minutes, I think. They will suffice, wouldn’t you say? Five minutes to show what a good, obedient boy you are, and then I’ll give you your treat.”

He rubs the back of Gabriel’s thigh, slides up and between them and cups the warm swell of his testicles. His cock is just about visible, silky head shoved out farther now, a pearl of liquid beading for a second before starting to drip down in a long, sticky string.

“Do you want to know what treat I have planned for you?”

He lets him feel the ball as he waits for an answer; slowly rolls it up and down the small of his back just to let him feel the electrical warmth of it radiating as omnic energy from deep within the intricately carved mechanism.

Zenyatta’s voice is still gentle; smooth and deep, well modulated as he promises Gabriel what was the world for this particular submissive: A nice, deep dicking, warm long cocks sliding in, making him submit, getting him to drool into the floor as he got mounted and fucked until his toes were tingling and his eyes burning.

“I will take you out into town,” Zenyatta tells him, speaking gentle like consoling a child. Gabriel’s eyes are heavy lidded and rolled to the side, trying to look at as much of his Dominant as possible without turning his head, mouth slowly falling open as he pushes carefully into the warm touch of the orb, heavy cock swaying back and forth between his thighs with the movement.

“I will take you into town,” the omnic repeats like a secret, “and lead you into a vehicle there. A nice, large car with enough room in the back for you to invite a lot of friends. All of them crawling in to the sight of you offering yourself up just as sweetly as you are now. Let them see how ready you are; how much you want it.

Some may want to test out your pretty mouth beforehand, but you will not mind. You’ll open for them just as sweetly as you always open for me. That clever little tongue doing just as they need; finding out just how you can be of service to them until they want to slip behind you; sample what else you have on offer. Maybe grab your lovely cock and give you a few strokes, though…”

He pauses here, deliberate, watches how Gabriel’s eyes have all but closed. He is drooling like an eager dog and Zenyatta supposed that in this moment, he was little more than an animal; a needy animal waiting for its Master’s praise.

“A little farther up,” he murmurs, tapping the orb against the small of Gabriel’s back as emphasize. The submissive takes a few seconds until he understands, then tilts a little further up still. For a second the orb on the crown of his head seems to wobble but then it settles again.

Zenyatta hums, then starts to carefully balances the last orb on Reaper’s tail bone, leaning it against the cleft of his ass to give it a place to rest. As he works, he takes up his earlier monologue, voice pitched a little deeper, aimed to go straight under the skin.

“I don’t think they will care much for your pleasure, though. They will be wondering when they see me in the corner. They will wonder what kind of little slut lets himself get whored out by an omnic.” Gabriel whines at the crude words spoken in the gentle words of his Master, and Zenyatta can see how the thin string of pre-cum thickens with the submissive’s mindless excitement.

“They’ll wonder how greedy for cock you’ll have to be to sink so low. Be the slave to a machine just to get a good, regular filling. Get your belly warmed up from the inside by their creamy loads until it all frothes around their cocks as they ream you nice and good.

They will wonder. And I don’t think they’ll wonder quietly, do you? I think they will be asking you. I think they’ll tell you in perfectly clear words what they think of you while they utilize your lovely body.

Maybe they will find the markers I will have placed carefully to the side; maybe they’ll have some creative little words and pictures to decorate you with.

Ahhh… I think… yes…”

He carefully pulls his hand away, watching the orb sit calm and centered where he placed it. Gabriel is stock still, eyes no longer closed. They are open wide, staring without focus ahead as he breathes slow, almost serene; a peculiar kind of peace having settled over him as he keeps nice and still, balancing his Master’s orbs along his body, letting the electric, pulsing warmth and their heaviness sink into him and center him as the gentle voice washes over and through him.

His cock is dark and needy, flexing between his strong thighs. Nobody has touched it, but the wetness is smeared all around the flared head. A pinpoint of painful need right there between his submissive’s lovely legs.

“You would love this, wouldn’t you?” Zenyatta asks kindly, one blunt finger sliding up and down the swollen shaft. Gabriel’s eyes grow heavy lidded again.

“Yes.”

“And you shall have it,” Zenyatta promises, ergonomically shaped hand gently curling around his submissive’s cock, holding it and squeezing it gently as if milking more pre-cum from it. “After you have completed your task.”

He carefully watches the orbs, makes sure they sit still and centered before he announces: “The five minutes begin now.”