“Look. McCree.”

Jesse doesn’t know how he could ever not look. Hanzo’s back is arched to a degree that looks painful, mouth wide open in soundless lust.

He looked sleek like a cat in Roadhog’s lap, tight muscled belly rubbing slick with sweat against the generous, huge curve of the mercenary’s stomach whenever he jerked, hips gyrating.

“He doesn’t want to give my cock up, McCree.”

Mako’s voice was coming right out of a nightmare; deep and ethereal – it seemed to be smooth as silk and wheezing at the same time. It gave McCree the creeps, but it wasn’t enough to make him not want to fuck his fist – so who was the biggest freak here?

“Look at him go,” Mako purred, huge hands on Hanzo’s hips, fingers digging into the tight, small ass to pull the cheeks apart and give Jesse a better look of Hanzo’s hole – stretched and puffy around the fat cock spreading him open. Hanzo cried out a profanity at the new stretch, arms shooting up, hands scrabbling without purchase against the swell of Roadhog’s belly before he gave up with a rough sob and just held on as best he could – hugging the big man’s stomach.

“He’s working it,” Roadhog informed him – as if Jesse wasn’t able to see it. The way Hanzo’s rim tightened and relaxed, his body massaging the dick warming him up from the inside. “Doesn’t want to give it up. Glad to finally have a big dick destroying him.”

Jesse could feel his face flush with eager embarrassment, belly curling up into a tight fist of want. He was not badly endowed – but no match to Roadhog’s sheer girth.

Hanzo let himself sag forward as much as possible, forehead pressing high up against Mako’s belly just beneath his wide, muscled chest. He was shuddering all over, muscles in his back twitching for McCree’s viewing pleasure. He was soaked in sweat, and McCree dimly thought he’d never been as worked up when it was just the two of them.

He likes it. Watching Mako drag a huge hand along Hanzo’s back and tell him – not unkindly – “Little sluts need big cocks. I know… I know…”

Roadhog was only talking in short sentences, but they were sinuous – sliding right into McCree’s core and slotting into a spot he hadn’t known existed until he watched Hanzo’s eyes light up when seeing Mako’s dick. (Until he saw how Hanzo fucking cuddled with the meaty cock, rubbing his face against it and mouthing at the spongy tip until it was swelling for him and Mako was good to go.)

He was right, too – Hanzo looked loathe to lift up even an inch; preferring to just twist his hips, drag Roadhog’s cock along his needy walls and have himself stuffed to the brim.

Jesse wondered whether he had a bulge in his belly. He wondered whether next time Hanzo would turn around and let him watch from the front – how his face became slack with lust, chest heaving with gasped, little breaths.

“Watch and learn, McCree.”

McCree had never been good at that; not in his Deadlock days and not in his time at Blackwatch. But fuck him if he wasn’t turned on by Roadhog showing him how to fuck his archer silly.

Roadhog’s hands looked massive clamped around Hanzo’s thighs just above his knees – especially with how the archer’s stumps were wiggling pitifully in the air, jerking with every new drag of the wide cock against the walls of his well-used hole.

From his vantage point, McCree could see the strain of Hanzo’s hamstrings – but the archer hadn’t protested the forceful wide spread of his thighs, yet; though Jesse wondered dimly if he even was still capable of coherent speech.

His dark almond shaped eyes were wide and staring up at the masked mountain ranging above him, arms up and hands clawed into the bedding as he got fucked in sharp thrusts that had the whole bed move. He cried out – inarticulate and animalistic – with every new shove into his body, drool slicking down the corner of his mouth and eyelashes clumped together with tears of overstimulation.

No, McCree wasn’t sure at all if Hanzo could do more than just fucking take it at the moment.

“Doin’ mighty fine, babydoll,” he drawled, hand wiping a strand of thick, dark hair from Hanzo’s lips because it didn’t look like he would have the coordination to do it himself – and McCree was nothing if not caring.

He glances up at a low, forceful grunt from Mako. He was an impressive sight, that was for sure. Huge muscles and solid, round belly that pressed down onto Hanzo’s cock whenever he leaned forward enough, squishing the poor thing between their slick, sweaty bodies and making Hanzo howl with the dual sensation of getting fucked on what was one of the fattest cocks McCree had ever seen, and the warm, smooth skin of Roadhog’s belly on his jerking, wet dick.

“You’re taking him so well. Fuck, you’re gonna gape when he pulls out. Don’t know if your hole’ll ever be like it used to. Maybe you’ll just have to live with it; that I can slide right in to your slutty ass and fuck you whenever without any prep. Because you took his fat cock like a three dollar whore and let him ream you for hours-”

He was babbling utter nonsense and he didn’t care. He always babbled when he was excited, face feeling hot and cock feeling even hotter as he watched Roadhog fuck the archer with an air of utter detachment. Mako was practically silent, other than the occasional grunt – the mask he was wearing not giving anything away.

It was surreal and scary and perfect, if Jesse was quite honest – especially when Mako let one of Hanzo’s legs go in favor of leaning forward and getting his big, meaty hand onto the archer’s chest, groping him with an air of entitlement that had McCree’s cock jerking in his slacks.

Hanzo had taken to whining – high pitched and mindless, squished beneath the huge bulk, free leg trying to curl around Roadhog’s hips as he kept fucking; driving in deep and spreading Hanzo out on his cock.

McCree could only imagine how it would be later; when Mako pulled out and left Hanzo lying in a pool of spreading cum – ready for McCree to slip into place and sample the goods.

yooo @hsmut there was talk about Hanzo loving the jizz so here a v little something.

McCree was still out of breath, chest heaving from their morning jog through the park. Fog crawled across the ground, and soon he would begin to shiver; there was no way he would escape the morning chill – not as sweaty as he was.

He couldn’t say that he minded too much, given the sight presented to him right now.

“So that’s why you wanted me so badly to come run with you,” he drawled, one hand reaching out for Hanzo’s jaw to scratch his fingers along the sharp line of his beard, the thumb of the other hooking into the waistband of his sweats.

“You wanna play out here in the open?” He cast a quick look around. They were behind a tree and some scrubby bushes, but to call it secluded would have been ridiculous.

Hanzo kept staring up at him in a kind of adoration that was going right to Jesse’s head. He wasn’t answering so much with words as he was with actions – his tongue flicking against the rough pad of Jesse’s thumb as soon as it slid close enough to reach.

McCree wondered if any of their team mates had even the slightest clue that Hanzo was, in fact, a huge slut.

“Damn,” he muttered, a nervous kind of energy tightening his belly in anticipation. “Never done shit like this before.” But never shall it be said Jesse McCree would let himself get outgunned by some kinky, nymphomaniac ninja. He still had some tricks up his sleeve.

“You want a piece of this?” he crooned, and pushed his hoodie up over his belly. Hanzo’s pupils blew wide, a little stream of haze puffing up as he blows out his breath. He manages to look annoyed and excited at the same time, even as he lets himself get slowly guided closer towards Jesse’s body.

“No… No I know what you really want. But you could indulge an old cowboy, couldn’t ya? Be a little sweet to me after you dragged me out here for your kinky outdoor shit…”

He trailed off, sighing as Hanzo nuzzled forward into his belly, cheek and nose rubbing against the crisp hair covering it; lips wet and warm and welcome as they kiss and suckle at his belly button.

“Damn,” Jesse sighed, free hand on the back of Hanzo’s head, idly playing with his little pony tail.

–

He can’t withhold his cock for too long. Hanzo is needy and single minded, and their open surroundings seem to rile him up more than usual.

Soon Jesse has to restrain him; tell him in no uncertain terms to behave himself while he drags the swollen tip of his cock across Hanzo’s wet lips and smears spit and pre-cum against those sharp, royal looking cheek bones.

The waistband of his pants has been hooked just beneath his balls. He is steaming into the cold morning air, and he feels like a fucking king when he pulls Hanzo in and makes him rub his face against his sweaty balls. He nearly fucking comes into Hanzo’s inky dark hair when all he does is groan and nuzzle in even further; tonguing cheekily and as wet as possible at his nuts before Jesse pushes him away again.

Hanzo – for as testy and sarcastic as he can be – just lets him go at it. He is puffing out foggy breaths, mouth soft and open and welcoming him to dip even just the tip inside. He looks nearly drunk on lust and gets almost adorably excited when Jesse starts jerking off right in front of his face.

He strains against the tight grip on his hair, eyes flicking up to Jesse’s flushed, intent face, then back down to his cock staring at the way his foreskin hides the fat, swollen head again and again; getting it to emerge shiny wet just a second later.

“Soon. Fuck. Soon,” Jesse groans, eyebrows drawn together. For a moment he forgets where they are – barely, badly hidden behind a bit of greenery – and just watches as Hanzo opens his mouth wide in anticipation, tongue out and waiting, shoulders positively fucking vibrating with excitement.

Jesse McCree might be a lot, but he sure as hell was not cruel. How could he make Hanzo wait when he’s been so patient for his morning treat?

His chin is lying heavy on his breast, and he thinks dimly that he probably was drooling, but he couldn’t care enough – not when he can watch how Hanzo lets him jerk off onto his tongue; eyes heavy lidded and glazed, staring up at him in satisfaction.

He can’t help but wipe the last clinging drop against the whiskers of Hanzo’s mustache, a dopey grin on his face, staring at the mess he made of Hanzo – and not hearing the heavy footsteps behind them.

McCree Commission

Commissioned by a v nice person that wants to remain anonymous. This was very interesting to write because it has monster!Gabe with mild slime kink and Jack and McCree that get corrupted (aka start turning into monsters themselves) by the milk. Also lingerie and dominance ❤

Reaper watches himself in the mirror, fingers sliding across the fine lace at the top of his stockings. It is stretched as tight as can go around the thickness of his thighs and he feels like it won’t survive the night which is sad because he looks very good in them.

He watches himself cup his pec, rubbing the fine mesh of the see-through bra cup against his nipples, and closes his eyes with a low, groaning moan. His tits feel filled and swollen. They were more than ripe for a milking that he had been putting off way too long just to get his boys riled and needy for their nursing.

McCree, for one, hadn’t been leaving his side for the whole day; opting to stalk around him like a starving hound, eyes hungry on the obscene swell of his filled pecs, and the corners of his mouth pulling apart a little too far to be human whenever his tongue flicked out to drag across his lips. The changes in his pets – slaves – were fascinating to observe, even though they were only visible when they were starving to get fed. For now.

Reaper was reasonably sure with just enough conditioning, they’d change more for him. Their bodies were accepting his milk beautifully – their minds susceptible for his need.

“Are you hungry?” Reaper purred. He was watching McCree’s reflection in the mirror. The gauntness of his cheeks played up by the dim light in the room giving Reaper a satisfying jolt of need to provide for his… charges.

McCree jolts. His eyes are large and dark; his behaviour canine as he carefully inches closer, eyes flitting from Gabriel’s chest to his hips and thighs. He likes what he’s seeing even if he doesn’t dare to say a thing.

“C’mere,” Reaper murmurs and finally turns away from the mirror. He reaches out for McCree and tangles a large hand in his unkempt hair; pulls him close to his chest and lets him mouth at the swollen nipple pressing prominently against the bra. McCree’s tongue immediately flickers out. He is drooling against the fabric, eyes hazy and heavy lidded.

Gabriel’s mouth falls open in a wide grin, the corners splitting up to beneath his ears. His tongue droops out like a vine; saliva thick and black. He can’t help it – the unabashed greed of his pets always makes him lose control over his body.

McCree is cooing softly against his chest, teeth a little too sharp as he tries to stealthily gnaw through the delicate mesh fabric and properly get at the nipple.

“No,” Reaper breathes with a low, airy growl. He pushes McCree away and flicks his tongue across the sharp jut of his cheek bone when he whines in protest. “Get Jack here. I have enough for the both of you.”

He watches McCree stumble away and feels his body waft in and out of focus.

.o.

Jack isn’t any less eager than McCree, though he manages to hide it better most of the time. He prefers to squirrel away and lick his wounds in solitude. He doesn’t like it when they see his shame; the starburst his pupils would become when he was dying to crawl up into Gabriel’s arms and have him pet at him with limbs that not always could be described as arms, irregular spikes digging into the blue of his iris.

He is an old soldier that likes to suffer in silence, and it will take longer to get him as deeply into Reaper’s thrall as it will for McCree – but Gabriel is quite sure his eventual capitulation, and his body’s unquestioning acceptance of Reaper’s milk will ultimately be all the sweeter for it.

For now, they are both good boys, squirming next to each other on the couch, looking pale and starving. Sickly – as if Gabriel’s milk was an antidote they craved. He had never let them hunger this long and the results were showing in McCree’s large, wet eyes and Jack’s canine submissiveness as they watch him stalk closer with swinging hips and gently bouncing, milk filled pecs.

They don’t dare to reach for him on their own – just watch as he teases them further; turns once to let them see the way his muscular cheeks swallow the thin strap of his thong, or the obscene jut of his heavy cock and balls against the material.

Jack’s eyes are slitted as he watches. He looks in pain; throat trembling beneath the dog collar he’s wearing with jerky gulps; but when Gabriel raises his hands and cups his chest for their viewing pleasure (and to make them see what they couldn’t have without his permission), the old soldier becomes more alert, head lifting and eyes widening as they watch intently.

Gabriel’s nails are painted a cool blue that seems to dance like drops of ice over the backdrop of his dark skin. The color cracks when he shifts, nails lengthening into sharp, merciless claws.

“I like that,” Jack rasps, and Reaper can’t deny the shock of pleasure at his pet’s approval. He was mean to them, yes, but he also liked to make himself pretty for them and enjoyed their appreciation.

They were holding hands, Reaper realized with an almost startled burst of fondness. McCree’s hand is clutching at Jack’s fingers, squeezed between their thighs and half-hidden.

“Sweet pets waiting for their feeding,” Reaper purrs, haze wafting out of the corners of his mouth and from between his sharpening teeth. It feels almost thick; as if it has a texture, dripping down in large, viscous drops that puff into nothing as soon as they touch his chest.

McCree is whining, scruffy throat bulging against the tight constraints of his collar.

“Be good now,” Gabriel hums. He plays with the bottom hem of his bra before simply pushing it up until it sits in a tight, restricting line just above the swell of his pecs. He doesn’t have the patience to fumble with the opening, and his pets are not allowed to put their hands on him without a little bit of begging first. “If you are good, I will maybe let you rub off against my thighs.”

They groan, and McCree’s tongue slithers out in his eagerness; sinuous and snake like as he leans a little forward in anticipation.

“Stay down.” The command is short and sharp, but the grin on Reaper’s face is indulgent.

Someone whimpers when he straddles both their laps, and there’s the faint sound of fabric tearing as the muscles in his thighs bulge with the strain of the stretch and become rock hard .

“Come now,” he coaxes, curling large hands around their necks to ground and guide; pulling each to one full, engorged pec and puffy nipple. “You have both been good little sluts for me. Waiting patiently for- aaahhh.”

His head falls back and he clenches his eyes shut as sharp lust spikes through him from two eager, ruthless mouths sucking sharp – positively rude – at his tits. They don’t have an overarching, conforming rhythm, and the sensation is as disorienting as it is tantalizing. It makes Reaper carefully flex his feet and bite back a low groan. Their unpredictable suckling keeps him on his toes; it’s like an electrical wire has come to life, and it shakes his grasp on his own body’s form lose.

Jack and McCree are growling like dogs as they press close, fighting with their urge to touch and grab, which is strictly not allowed. When McCree gets too eager and presses sharpened teeth against Gabriel’s skin, he fists a clawlike hand in the back of his collar and pulls him away from his chest.

McCree yowls in protest. He looks feral; his facial features seem to be constantly warping, slipping from human to decidedly monstrous. There’s a string of viscous milk still connecting Gabriel’s puffy nipple with the tip of his lolling tongue.

“Don’t be rude,” Reaper chides, making McCree look away in chagrin, all the while his other hand is carding mindlessly through Jack’s short, white hair while he still nurses, the sound of his swallowing loud amidst the sharp, wet panting going on around him. Milk is oozing out the corner of his mouth and dripping in one long, thin string down between them.

When Gabriel catches it with the tip of his finger and offers it to McCree, his pet curls his long tongue around the digit and gently suckles it off.

“Very well. Come here again. I’m tired of this constant pressure.”

Reaper feels decadent and cared for as McCree surges back in; both men gentling down their assault from their earlier needy suckling into something more gentle and soothing. Slow, arhythmic drags at both his nipples accentuated by the wet little sounds their mouths make whenever they need to change the angle or swallow down the thick milk.

When they finally sag back, milk drunk and sated, their faces are messy and slack. Gabriel cocks his head; cocks it, cocks it, keeps turning it like an owl, and watches them from different angles in animal curiosity.

He thinks, dimly, that he probably should make fun of them. Like the low groan of a drunk coming from McCree, or the way Jack fusses and tries to turn his head away from his touching fingers, vulnerable as a babe when his belly is filled with warm, thick liquid – body getting lethargic as Gabriel’s milk starts seeping into tissue, sinuously changing his core DNA.

He doesn’t make fun of them, though – not yet. Instead, he wipes at the sticky milk coating their chins and feets it back to them; their mouths lazy but not less accepting as they mouth and lap and take everything he has to offer.

“Such good pets,” he praises, fingers hooking into their collars and pulling them forward for wet, licking kisses, tongue slipping in farther and farther into their accepting throats.

Jack chokes and grumbles but he lets him do whatever he pleases, anyway. McCree, though… he whimpers sweetly, eyes huge and dumb except for blind adoration. He always had been so susceptible to his old commander; hanging onto him like a lifeline even before everything went pear shaped.

Reaper was not surprised that he’d be a good pupil, even in this.

crimsontentacles
replied to your post “Being always up for the weirdest kink ever, male lactation is of…”

ZOOMS CLOSE I am very much here for this, Hanzo being stressed and too frustrated to nurse and mccrree slips his fingers deep inside him to help… double amount of pleasure…

@seekthemist said: “

Tiddie milking, I knew you would get my meaning ❤ Like imagine Henzo being to strung up to properly relax and getting his stubbornness prostate-massaged out of him until his nipples are all leaking!”

(I’m v happy you followed into this fandom lol. your ideas are always top notch)

I’m also v happy and amused that both of you basically went for the same thing because Hanzo looks like he would be stressed and strung out 24/7. That boy needs to take a chill pill.

but also….

Jesse rolls his eyes up, trying to peer at Hanzo’s face. He couldn’t see much other than the sharp line of his jaw, but he could clearly hear the grinding of his teeth as he tried, and failed, to relax enough to properly let down.

McCree had been suckling for a good fifteen minutes with only the occasional hard-won drop coating his tongue – and while McCree was a very patient man when it was about nursing, Hanzo really wasn’t. He was becoming agitated with the dull hurt and the tantalizing wet pressure of Jesse’s mouth, even if he tried so very hard to seem calm and collected.

McCree rumbles low and soothing right against the wet, swollen nipple he let pop out of his mouth, slick fingers trailing up the inside of Hanzo’s leg. McCree was nothing if not prepared.

Hanzo grunts and turns his head to the side as if miffed at Jesse’s cheekiness. His hole however, when Jesse pets it and playfully pushes against the muscle, opens up more than eager – the muscles are soft and accepting, suckling him in and holding him snug inside. He can just about see the swell of Hanzo’s cheeks, and they’re flushed red. He has no idea what it means, but Hanzo hasn’t kicked him in the head yet so that was a good sign in his book.

Hanzo’s prostate felt just as ripe and swollen as his tits, and a little nudge with Jesse’s fingertip had the other man jerking and hissing through his teeth.

“Hey there,” McCree croons. He leans up on an elbow and stares at Hanzo’s flushed, sweaty face – and the swell of his full tits – as he starts slowly circling his prostate; patient drags around the area with wide, blunt fingertips.

He’s fascinated to see tears well up in Hanzo’s liquid dark eyes, jaw loosening from the desperate, hurt clench.

His hips are restless – curving up as if fucking; mindlessly reacting to the intimate petting he’s receiving from the inside.

“That’s it,” Jesse murmurs, head lowering to Hanzo’s left pec. “That’s it.”

McCree/Hanzo (+Bonus) commission

Commissioned by @milkcree 😀 had a lot of fun writing this. A few little ficlets about McCree getting the milkies from Hanzo. And one Bonus ❤

At this point McCree was pretty sure Hanzo was dying to get milked and just too stubborn to say the word. He was moving in that very careful way, making sure his biceps were not putting too much pressure on the sides of his pecs, mouth pinched in concentration.

Or maybe it was how the dark eyes were slanting towards him every now and then, sending him pissy looks as if Jesse was the one responsible for his predicament. Jesse, for his part, said nothing and just watched, fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh.

He was still smarting from the tongue lashing he got earlier, Hanzo telling him in no uncertain terms that he would come to Jesse if he was ready to get milked, and the current stalemate seemed to be the direct result of that: Jesse was dying for a drink, and Hanzo was petty enough to ignore his own body’s needs.

But Christ did they look ripe today. They looked filled to the brim; swollen in a way Jesse hadn’t seen them yet, brown oval nipples puffy and a little red tinged as if inflamed.

Jesse had to lick his lips. He was thinking how long it had been since he’d last been able to latch on and drag a satisfying mouth full of sweet, watery milk. It had to be at least… at least…

He slants his gaze over towards the clock, sweat springing up along his brow. His cock was making it hard to think – it felt the way Hanzo’s tits looked: swollen and fit to bursting. He licked his lips again. Eight hours. At least fucking eight hours since last he’s had his lips on Hanzo’s chest and –

“Uff.” Hanzo was suddenly there, heavy on his lap, and his pecs held right in front of Jesse’s face. “Oh… howdy.”

“Stop talking.” Hanzo sounded like he was really trying to remain calm and impassive, and not like he had his arms around Jesse’s shoulders and was offering up his tits on a silver plate. He even had pulled down the other side of his yukata. Jesse could feel his dick tap against Hanzo’s ass. Hanzo grunted, eyebrows drawing together in annoyance. For someone who was about to ask for help, he looked pretty pissed off.

“Do it. Now.” He was pulling on Jesse’s hair – there were small creases in the corners of his eyes. He looked like he was hurting. “And no smart remarks.”

Jesse grunts and vaguely flutters his prosthetic hand against his brow as if tipping a hat he wasn’t wearing. Hanzo growls and pulls him closer, pushing him against his chest the same time he sits down on Jesse’s cock more firmly.

Jesse sighs, mouth opening wide; making sure to suck on as much of Hanzo’s pec as he could. The skin surrounding his nipple was almost feverishly hot to the touch. Hanzo shouted above him; short and sharp like he just couldn’t help the sound of pain, and McCree made a soft, brainless noise in the back of his throat; full of sympathy as he gentled his greedy assault. He was mouthing more than he was sucking, lips dragging warm and wet across Hanzo’s swollen flesh.

The first burst of milk against his tongue and the roof of his mouth tasted so strong, he choked in surprise. Soon, he was finding his rhythm back, eyes closed as he mindlessly pulled and let Hanzo guide him with the clutching, shivering arms around his head from one nipple to the other.

Half-way through his feeding McCree realized Hanzo was moving his hips and grinding against his cock. He was vaguely surprised to not feel the need to fuck up against him; he was too preoccupied with drinking down the milk and soothing his own hot need for the simple action of latching on and nursing.

Strange.

.o.

Hanzo had seen Jesse just a couple of hours earlier – well, not quite seen, but at least heard him rummage around his room before leaving for the very early training session he’s had promised Reinhardt – yet still, hearing his excited, drawling voice come closer towards the mess hall was kind of… nice – for lack of a more adequate word.

It was good to just keep looking down at his bowl of sweet rice while listening for Reinhardt and Jesse coming closer in midst of the handful of other team members slowly waking up around the table.

It was good, right until he caught a whiff of Jesse’s scent, and his tits suddenly started… hurting. A dull pull starting in his nipples and spreading throughout his pecs as if he hadn’t had them emptied just a few hours ago.

The smell of Jesse was preceding him into the room. Warm and familiar, and made even stronger by the fact that the disgusting American pig had not showered after his training. He smelled of warm wool, bad beer, fresh sweat and the smoke of his cigars that had been ingrained into his hair and skin.

It smelled… good, Hanzo supposed. He wasn’t paying too much attention to it because he was occupied with quietly freaking out, staring at his bowl and trying not to move a muscle because he suddenly felt like he was about to burst.

“Hey there,” McCree crooned behind him. It wasn’t even directed at Hanzo in particular – just at the room in general. He probably had one hand up tipping his stupid hat in greeting.

Why was he like this.

It was like he could physically feel McCree’s voice, and – oh lord. He could feel moisture dribbling down the skin on his left side. He must have made a sound, too, because suddenly a few eyes were turning to him in mild concern, staring until Tracer choked and pointed and suddenly all were looking at his shame.

Hanzo could just sit and stare at his bowl, jaw working as his tits dribbled eager milk. He didn’t dare to look but was quite certain his yukata was starting to soak on the other side as well.

“What are ya’ll starin’ a-” McCree shuts up the second he leans over Hanzo’s shoulder, the scent of his milk probably like a red flag to the man.

“Oh, uh… I think… I… left somethin’ in your room, darlin’. How ‘bout we go get it? Right now?”

Hanzo tried to recede with dignity and refused to be thankful for McCree’s blundering rescue.

(He also refused to acknowledge the spike of needy pleasure when seeing Reinhardt stand there with a cup of coffee in his hand and a positively contemplative look in his one good eye.

He would not entertain the thought of feeding the rest of the team. He would not.)

.o.

Hanzo (3:24 AM): I was at your room. Where are you.

McCree (3:28 AM): lookn 4 smth 2 eat in city. Y?

Hanzo rubs the back of his nose. He never questioned McCree’s choices anymore. Some things one just had to accept.

Hanzo (3:30 AM): I’m full and considering milking myself into the sink.

McCree (3:31 AM): on my way

McCree (3:31 AM): dont dare doing

McCree (3:32 AM): there in a bit bb

McCree finds Hanzo in the kitchen, sitting up on the counter (next to the sink, McCree notes with an almost panic), apparently fast asleep. His head is tilted back against the cupboards, face a little slack in respite.

He is wearing one of McCree’s shirts. It’s tight around his chest and a little too long. It had been white once upon a time with some sort of band logo across the chest, but now it was grey and soft, and the logo has been washed out long ago. Staring long enough, Jesse could make out the dark disks of Hanzo’s nipples pressing against the fabric.

God, but they looked tasty. Puffy and big; the perfect size for Jesse’s greedy mouth.

“Howdy, partner,” he purred, absentmindedly pulling his hat off and putting it on the counter next to Hanzo. He dips down, hands going around Hanzo’s ribs to hold him still as he presses a gentle, chaste kiss against his left nipple. He can feel the jerk going through the assassin’s body as he wakes abruptly.

“You took too long,” Hanzo mumbles. Jesse grins against his chest and drags his tongue across the t-shirt, tonguing sloppily at the swollen nipple underneath.

“‘M sorry. I can make it up to you.”

“You should.”

And maybe Hanzo had thought about them taking it into the bedroom – or at least getting him out of the shirt; but frankly, Jesse was too greedy to bother with any of that, and the sound Hanzo makes when he starts to unashamedly suck him through the fabric was going straight to Jesse’s core.

Hanzo hisses something sharp and angry sounding in Japanese, arms coming up and fingers tangling in McCree’s hair to tug on with one hand while simultaneously cradling him closer with the other; holding Jesse to his chest and making sure his idly mouthing lips find the swollen nipple once again.

McCree groans against Hanzo’s chest. His eyes are closed in concentration, bushy brows pulled together as he tries his best to suck milk into his mouth and not let all of it soak into the fabric.

Within moments the shirt is sticking wet and see-through to Hanzo’s left tit. It’s awkward to nurse like this, and Jesse has to take his hand to help – but he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when Hanzo is groaning low and happy with each hard drag, shoulders flexing and pulling back as he presses his chest towards McCree.

Jesse’s fingers are pressing gently into the swollen, full tit, massaging the milk out faster than he can try to suck it through the fabric. When he pulls back to lick his lips, staring at Hanzo’s chest with glazed eyes, there’s a huge wet spot of milk and spit spreading through the fabric.

“You look so good, darlin’,” he mumbles, fingers lovingly pinching the brown, perky nub. He ducks out of a half-assed fist to the head and lowers his mouth with a little sigh to the other tit, more than ready to get it just as sloppy wet as the other one.

(Neither notice Tracer stumbling in, sleepily rubbing her eyes at the light in the kitchen – or how she forgets to get a glass of juice because she gapes at the spectacle and then slowly retreats.

They do, however, suspect something when she chokes on her cereal the next morning as Winston wonders aloud why the counter was so sticky.)

.o.

It was, of course, possible for Hanzo to wake up on the drop of a hat and fire on all cylinders if the situation demanded it – but he had to admit that waking up nice and slow was his preferred method.

Especially when the base around them was still quiet, none of the younger members out and about causing a ruckus and tempting McCree to get involved in their asinine shenanigans. This morning was one of the rare peaceful ones, where Hanzo could stretch out his legs down to the stumps beneath his knees, and turn his face to blindly nuzzle into McCree’s armpit, cheek rubbing sleepily against the thick hair and breathing in the scent of sweat and smoke.

He would never admit that he liked to sniff a dirty, often drunk American, and he would never be caught by anyone doing it – but he suspected McCree knew about his little weakness anyway.

That McCree hadn’t – yet – used the knowledge against him was something Hanzo was kind of… thankful for.

Jesse stirred; Hanzo’s deep breathing probably had tickled him. There was a hitch in his snoring, hairy chest motionless for a second before it stretched in a deep sigh that seemed to come from deep within. Hanzo turned his head so his cheek was against Jesse’s ribs, and enjoyed the silence in the room while McCree started waking up in slow increments.

Jesse’s eyes hadn’t even properly opened, yet his arm was already curling around Hanzo’s torso, hand searching clumsily and groping for his pec, alerting him only now to the gentle pressure of the collected milk. Hanzo supposed he should be thankful for McCree’s single-minded devotion.

He could feel McCree’s big, rough fingers search for way too long until they finally found his nipple – circling it over and over, pressing softly against the swollen tissue before tugging on the tight bud itself. It was almost questioning, and Hanzo felt embarrassed and fond about the warm eagerness that washed through his body.

He could practically feel the milk moving; getting primed and ready from a needy individual at his side that wanted to get fed.

Hanzo bit at McCree’s pec just to hear him grunt in annoyance and gingerly pushed himself up on the bed with the stumps of his legs.

McCree turned blindly, eyes still closed and mouth open and searching as Hanzo guided him towards the desired place and let him latch on.

“Ah yeah,” Jesse sighed, voice deep and gravelly and so satisfied, Hanzo could feel a small dribble of milk tickling down the other side of his chest. He couldn’t believe how eager his body was to please McCree.

It… did feel good, though. McCree never bit – his mouth was all warmth and wetness and slow, consistent pulls. Hanzo watched him drink his fill at one pec. He let his fingertips softly dance across the sunken cheek and rubbed against the unkempt tangle of his beard that was surprisingly soft.

When Jesse made moves to switch sides, Hanzo helps by sitting up and letting him lie in his lap, decadent like a king as he opened his mouth wide and sucked as much of the filled pec as possible just to get the milk flow going – and to sloppily lick at Hanzo’s skin, if Hanzo suspected correctly. Hanzo sighed and left him to his shenanigans. He still needed to shower anyway so he wasn’t too opposed to getting dirtied up by McCree.

“Uncouth American,” Hanzo mumbles, hand gently stroking Jesse’s tangled hair as the cowboy nurses, carefully – skillfully – breathing through his nose without breaking the seal of his wet lips.

When Jesse finally pulls away after a while, there’s a drop of milk in the corner of his mouth and his eyes look unfocused and happy.

“Love to wake up like that,” he sighs and presses a gentle kiss against Hanzo’s wet nipple.

.o.

BONUS

Jack stumbled against a wall. He held his bruised ribs with one arm; the other one was still tingling and a little numb from the impact of the grenade. He tried to take a deep, cleansing breath but the sharp pain at expanding his ribs made him choke and bite his tongue hard enough to draw blood.

His knees were shaking and he had to stop behind a dumpster, eyebrows drawn together in annoyance. It would have been fine if the girl hadn’t been there. He should have not cared and just followed the thieves, but he supposed that was his problem: he cared too much.

“You look like shit.”

He bristles at the ethereal, deep voice and straightens in stubborn denial, hand falling away from his sluggishly bleeding side to grip his pulse rifle more firmly. Already his body was trying its hardest to heal itself – though he could feel his age starting to catch up with him. He didn’t feel nearly as good as he would’ve only five years ago.

It was easy for Reaper to push the rifle to the side. 76 wasn’t even trying to shoot him this time – he simply went through the motions, which was… annoying. Bothering Morrison wasn’t fun if he didn’t let himself get riled up like a little girl that got her pigtails pulled.

Gabriel had been figuring Jack might not be in the mood for a rough, hate filled fuck (even though he’d been in a grand old mood after watching Jack get blown up by a grenade; had, in fact, been planning on jerking off in his damp little abode thinking of the low, pained grunts he had hurt as Jack had pushed himself clumsily back up onto his feet), so he hadn’t even planned on approaching him.

Only… that he was now standing with him in the alleyway next to a stinking dumpster and starting to sweat from the humid, heavy air around them.

“What do you want,” Jack rasped. His voice was gravelly and filled with pain and – fuck. Reaper’s tits hurt all of a sudden. Way too much for the length of time since he last milked himself dry just a couple hours ago, his own fingers too harsh and impatient with his pecs because getting milked never felt as good as letting someone nurse, and he hadn’t had that since…

“Gabriel,” Jack hissed, eyebrows drawing together over his stupid visor. He swayed on the spot and Gabriel could feel his nipples get a little wet. He was mortified to realize he was starting to let go right here, right now, his tits hurting with milk and his belly aching with the dumb primal need to nurture and feed and strengthen-

Dios he needed Jack Morrison’s thrice damned mouth on his tits.

“Get your mask off,” he growled, face pinched in an expression of disgust behind his mask. He couldn’t believe he was even considering this.

Jack, for his part, naturally was a stubborn bitch. He pulled his shoulders up, head lowering as if he was ready to go into battle.

“Why should I. No. Just fuck off, Reyes.”

“Get your goddamn mask off or I’m gonna do it for you,” he snarled. He was fumbling for the hidden zip in the front of his suit. The milk was making him feel tacky and disgusting and he hated it because Morrison was the cause of it.

Jack took an unsteady step back as he realized what Reaper was doing. The distrust was coming off of him in waves. Sweat was glistening on his forehead. The pain and blood loss made it hard to concentrate, but he was reasonably sure Reyes was opening his – yes. Yes, he was.

“What are you-” Jack’s grunted inquiry – soft and confused, his rifle hanging in his limp hands – was interrupted by the distinct sound of a zipper being lowered; and then he just stood there and stared as Gabriel parted the leather covering his chest with impatient, angry motions – freeing his engorged pec.

There was no way to pretend the moisture around his nipple was anything but milk; not when there was a droplet still clinging prominently to the swollen tip, shockingly white against his dark brown skin.

“You’re a moron, Jack,” Gabriel snarled, though less heated than moments before; and 76 could’ve sworn he hadn’t moved even one muscle, but he had blinked, slow and sluggish, and suddenly Reaper was right in front of him; bearing down on him even though they were the same height, tits out and ripe and dripping and a clawed, unfriendly hand snatching for his face.

Jack grunted, stumbling back against the wall and hissing at the pain sloshing like foul water through his body, radiating from his ribs. He tried evading Reaper’s claw – or at least thought about it – but there was no way to follow through.

The closing mechanisms creaked pitifully as his faceguard got yanked away and thrown as garbage to the side.

He thinks he would sway on the spot if Gabriel weren’t holding him firmly against the wall, one clawed hand around his jaw, the other arm pressed across his collar bones and taking his breath away.

“I hate you,” Gabriel hissed at him, low and menacing. Jack had no idea what his face even looked like nowadays. The mask still was firmly in place and wouldn’t go off, he realized.

He couldn’t answer. His mouth simply fell open and a thick trickle of blood swamped out and slicked across his chin.

Reaper groaned.

The world spinned when he suddenly got pulled down, head getting… getting cradled – and then everything was just like way back. His lips opened without protest to the thick, ripe nipple that got shoved against his mouth. He wanted to groan – maybe whimper – and all he managed to produce was a very tired, little wheeze as his rifle slid out of his slack fingers. He blindly groped for Reaper’s belts arms shoulders – anywhere to get a grip.

Gabriel cursed low and soulfully under his breath. Now that Jack had found his tit, he didn’t need to cradle his head any longer. He still kept one hand curled around him anyway – mindlessly petting and pulling on his short hair. The other arm he used to brace himself against the brick wall behind Jack.

It was suddenly very hard to breathe the warm, heavy air around them. It seemed to stuck in his throat. It was difficult to concentrate on breathing when there were lips around his nipple, mouthing clumsily until they got back into the rhythm – one hand cupping the side of his pec before starting to massage it slowly. Jack was milking Gabriel right into his mouth, and the knowledge made Reaper’s tits hurt in the good way and his cock swell in pathetic gratitude.

He hadn’t nursed anybody in so long. He had forgotten how good it felt to have the sharp, greedy sucks of Morrison on his nipple. He could hear the wet, little slurps and his big swallows whenever he had a mouth full.

When Jack pulled off, chin messy with milk and breath harsh and fast from lack of oxygen, Gabriel could just about stifle his own raspy gasp and the whine that wanted to rise in the back of his throat.

Fuck, he hated this farmboy and his blue puppy eyes that he couldn’t even see right now but was sure had the same dopey gaze they did have way back when they used to do this on base – hidden in their tiny bunk beds, Jack getting quick, sloppy drags of milk in before one of the other recruits would bust them…

“Keep going!” Gabriel hissed, sharp talons digging unkindly into Jack’s scalp and dragging him to the other tit.

Jack didn’t protest or acknowledge how he already started feeling better – Gabriel’s milk speeding his body’s healing abilities up – and Reaper didn’t mention that he could hear how Morrison was already breathing more smoothly.

“Just keep going,” he whispered once again, voice gentler as he kept Jack’s head cradled to his chest, letting him nurse to his heart’s content.

Lùcio/Stranger commission

Commissioned by a very lovely person that wants to remain anonymous 🙂 Lùcio getting his kink on with an ftm stranger right there in the disco.

Overwatch was a good thing that Lúcio liked and was very proud to be a part of no matter what the authorities liked to drill into the mind of the public. Nevertheless, being cooped up with so many colorful personalities was taxing even for someone as easy-going as him, so getting out of base and throwing himself into the fray of anonymous people was something he regarded as a necessity every once in awhile.

There was a club downtown he liked to frequent for just these occasions when his partners in crime were starting to get on his usually ludicrously durable nerves, and tonight he could feel the need thrumming through his veins even sharper than usual.

He stumbled across Lena on his way out. She looked like she was about to say something – but her mouth snapped shut without a word and, after a scrutinizing once-over, she patted him on the shoulder and stepped aside. Maybe she could see the dull hunger in his eyes, or the way his grin was a little too broad, making him look almost predatory. Whatever it was: she mumbled something that sounded like ‘good luck’ and stepped back inside her room, leaving him to start his easy skate towards the club.

Inside, he felt like he was diving right into a warm sphere of companionship. The air was humid and a little thick. He could feel it tickle across his arms with every motion as if he was wading through a physical object. It was not an unwelcome sensation. His eyes scanned the crowd moving and bobbing with the bounce of the music, not looking for anyone in particular but just taking everything in and letting it wash through him as he moved closer and started to bounce on the balls of his feet in rhythm, body warming up and getting read to-

Lùcio’s gaze gets caught on movement to the side; strange, since everybody was in motion, but… there it was. His attention caught by a man close to one of the two pillars in the room, dancing with his eyes half closed and face sweaty in exertion.

His body was moving sinuously to the music; motions strangely abrupt and energetic as he took the hard beat and gave it out again as if letting it bounce right back. His face looked… Lùcio couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He needed to get closer to identify it properly – but if he was being honest, he was just plain intrigued by the young man’s movements.

He wondered dimly how the stranger would look dancing to Lùcio’s healing rhythm as he pushed his way through the dancers and towards his target. It was easy to slot himself in behind him; the faint scent of clean sweat tickling his nose as he leaned in and settled his fingers lightly on the stranger’s hips.

Lùcio anticipated the reaction for a heartbeat, ready to pull back… then stood his ground more firmly when the stranger tilted his head and peeked over his shoulder, face calm, eyes glinting in hazy exhaustion.

Lùcio’s lips parted and he stared back in dumb amazement as he got a lazy once-over, and a crooked little grin before the stranger turned back, hips twitching in Lùcio’s grip – and grinding backwards into the cup of his pelvis.

“Uff,” he hissed, gloved fingers curling around the stranger’s hipbones. He could feel muscles shifting and moving as the man danced like Lùcio hadn’t pressed himself to his back. “Hey there,” he sighed right into his ear, one of his thick braids falling forward and spilling across the stranger’s shoulder.

Without missing a beat, the dancer lifts one hand and curls it around the thick strand of hair. He tugs – playful at first, then more firmly as he smoothly guides Lùcio around like a dog on a leash.

“Hey there,” he grins right back. There’s sweat gathering on the tip of his chin and on the soft space beneath, and Lùcio wants to lick it off. He wants to do a lot to the stranger, if he were honest. He is still dancing – moving against Lùcio in the same abrupt, powerful motions that had piqued his interest in the first place.

“Want to have fun?” the stranger growls. Lùcio can just stare at the inviting mouth. He wonders how much fun the stranger is talking about. He feels a knee slip between his thighs, and the hard surface of the pillar in his back as he gets pressed against it.

Ah. That much fun.

“You’re my savior,” Lùcio laughs, happy and excited; hot need curling in his body as he puts his hands onto the stranger’s hips once more, and lets his fingers wander; slipping beneath the tight tank top the dancer was wearing, fingers scratching through the coarse treasure trail he encounters. He tugs on the hair and presses a curious finger against the sweat-slick navel, watching as the stranger’s face flushes and his eyes become heavy lidded.

“Oh… it’s like that, isn’t it?” Lùcio tilts his head forward until their foreheads are pressed together. He notices absent-mindedly that they’re of the same height and it thrills him. “You like it in public?”

The stranger’s mouth forms a wordless swear. He gets his arms up, plants his hands next to Lùcio’s head against the pillar to give Lùcio room to roam and groans “Yesss.”

Lùcio’s abdomen clenches in need at the admission. He’s sliding one hand up into the tanktop to rub across a warm belly. The other pushes up farther on top of the fabric to cup and squeeze one pec because there are hard, small nipples pressing prominently against their confines and he wants to make their acquaintance. The stranger groans.

He almost forgot about the cheeky knee that had surprised him earlier right up until the point when a firm thigh presses into his crotch and lets him ride the dancer’s leg.

“You’re shameless,” Lùcio whispers roughly, fingers trailing circles around the stranger’s nipples in tighter and tighter rounds until he can pinch the little nub. The man reacts with a low groan, body perfectly still other than the slow swivel and grind of his hips against Lucio’s own thigh.

“Yeah,” he’s rasping, chest barely moving with breaths as if he wants to prevent Lúcio from moving his hand from his chest, “t-talk to me.”

He seems nervous and embarrassed by his own demand; it was the first time in their little encounter that he seemed anything else than brazenly confident, and Lúcio can feel a shiver of affection slide down his spine. They don’t even know each other’s name; grinding dirty in midst of the pounding music and moving bodies.

“No need to be afraid,” he purrs, hand from beneath the stranger’s top sliding down and toying with the loose waistband of his baggy pants. He doesn’t let his fingers slip in yet; instead teasing both of them by tugging on the fabric and dragging it down until it threatens to slip down the slope of the stranger’s ass, thumb rubbing idly along the tight elastic of his underwear. “I know exactly what a little slut like you needs.”

The lights are constantly moving above them, different colors flickering across the stranger’s face but not able to hide the way he flushes, or how his pupils blow wide in excitement.

Lùcio can’t believe his luck.

He grabs a hold of the stranger’s jaw, holding him firm and not letting him look away as he lets his fingers slide into his underwear – first encountering tight, humid curls, and then, as he travels deeper…

The slick slit of the dancer’s cunt. Lùcio hesitates for a second, surprise making him tilt his head back a tad so he can study the flushed, sweaty face of the man as his fingertips move; spreading his labia and dragging across the silky, hard flesh of his clit.

“Look at you,” he mumbles, fingers digging into the dancer’s jaw harder, dragging him closer as he circles his slick, little cock slow and sensual; at odds with the lively, hard music around them. He can feel him groan against his lips, deep and guttural and seemingly coming right out of his chest. “So fucking hot for me. Little slut grinding against my fingers right here in the open…”

“Yes, yes, please,” the stranger begs, low and needy, hips stuttering as he tries to grind against Lùcio’s fingers. His body is hot and hard, pressing against Lùcio’s front and pinning him to the pillar holding both of them up.

Lùcio can smell aftershave and sweat in the crook of his neck when he presses his nose just beneath his ear. His hand is awkwardly pressed between their bodies but he can’t make himself pull back. The stranger’s cunt is slick and hot, everything soft and ready for his exploring fingers. When Lùcio carefully pinches his clit, he groans and jerks against him in one hard, needy wave.

“Are you going to ride my hand here in the open?” Lùcio is talking right into his ear now, the tips of his fingers circling around the stranger’s entrance again and again. “There are people all around. Two are looking right at your back. They’re wondering what we’re doing. They can’t see that I’m fingering your slutty cunt right now. They have no idea that you’re a nasty little whore that gets off on getting fucked in public.”

He hesitates, dipping the tip of one finger into the warm, accepting opening, and listens hard to the stranger’s reaction. He is breathing with deep, heaving sighs, hips moving in little, liquid thrusts that help him fuck against the innocent little fingertip Lùcio has given him. It’s more than encouraging.

“Don’t even know my name and already you’re offering me up everything on a silver platter,” Lùcio whispers. He drags his fingers up the little, soft slit and starts stroking across his silky cock again. “Would you come?” He licks his lips and swallows hard. His cock is a hard, hot band along the crease of his thigh. He feels sweaty and sticky, even though he hasn’t even gotten to dance. “Would you come for me? Right here in the open?”

The stranger shivers in his arms. He is fucking against Lùcio’s fingers and his mouth is wet and uncoordinated against the slope of Lùcio’s shoulder. He can feel the edge of the dancer’s sharp teeth drag across his skin, making him close his eyes and roll his own hips for once just to alleviate the pressure in his pounding cock a little.

“Yes,” the stranger growls. His hands slide down from the pillar and clasp Lùcio’s naked shoulders, fingers digging into his skin. “Gonna come for you. Right here. Are they still watching?”

Lùcio drags his eyes open with difficulty, trying and almost failing to focus on the undulating waves of people around them. He grunts in the affirmative, words failing him.

“Fuck,” the dancer in his arms whimpers. Lùcio can feel his thighs shiver. “Okay… okay, c’mon. Turn your hand. I need… I…”

Lùcio does turn his hand. He drags his thumb across the tight, humid curls of the stranger’s pubes and lets him ride the edge of his hand with sharp, short jerks of his hips that remind Lùcio of the way he danced earlier. Powerful, desperate, gorgeous.

There is no denying what they’re doing anymore. The stranger’s movements are too obvious; too sexual to be a mere dance any longer. Lùcio has one arm around his lower back and is supporting him in his endeavors, his cock pounding a steady, sympathizing rhythm as the stranger drags the drenched little slit of his cunt along Lùcio’s hand.

“They know what you’re doing,” Lùcio hums right into his ear. “They know you’re a cheap three dollar whore; getting your rocks off right here in midst of all those people. They know, and they like it. Their eyes are so glazed…”

The stranger is whimpering – honest to god whimpering and pressing his face into the crook of Lùcio’s neck. He can feel the dancer’s belly muscles clench through both their thin, tight shirts, and he really wants to push it off of him so he can get at his skin; drag his nose against the scars beneath his pecs and bite at those little, diamond hard nipples he’s been feeling earlier.

The thrusts against his hand are out of rhythm and sloppy. The thought of the stranger coming like this makes him curl his own hips into his thrusts. He imagines they’re fucking. His cock slipping into that warm, welcoming space as the stranger holds him down with his strong hands; maybe fondles his own cock as they grind together…

“Fuck! Please,” the dancer suddenly groans, gruff and low. He’s standing on his tip toes, body shivering and poised for the climax he seemed unable to reach on his own.

“I got ya,” Lùcio rasped back, hand moving and twisting, the other one seizing the stranger’s jaw yet again so he can see his face when he plunges two fingers in sudden and deep; making him accommodate their breadth and length, curled against spongy, soft walls.

The man’s face is fascinating as he comes; silent and almost shy, mouth dropping open and hips shivering against Lùcio’s hand, trying to hold still just as much as he tries to fuck himself on those fingers.

His pupils pull together into little pinpricks before they blow wide, sweaty face flushing a dark shade of red that Lùcio wants to lick from his cheeks.

When he finally stops clenching and twitching around Lùcio’s fingers, he gingerly pulls his cramping hand out of the stranger’s baggy pants (though not without a parting, loving pet to that silky, little cock he fell a little in love with).

He lifts it up between their panting, flushed faces, both of them staring numbly at the slick coating his fingers; the wetness along the edge of his hand.

The stranger looks mortified and turned on – it is an endearing spectacle to witness, to be honest.

“Hey,” Lùcio murmurs. He can feel his own grin uncertain and trembling on the corners of his mouth, “Do you… uh… can I get you something to drink?”

The stranger looks for a second as if he’d rather die, before he slowly straightens himself and clears his throat, hands patting nervously across Lùcio’s shoulders where the indents of fingernails start burning.

In the end, he nods and smirks at Lùcio.

Tiiiny ficlet accompanying this gorgeous pic drawn by @kinasty after I asked for permission 😀 Virgin!McCree jerking it for Hanzo

“It doesn’t take much for you to get… excited, does it?” Hanzo asks almost conversationally, gaze fixed on McCree’s crotch. He doesn’t look put out – interested, rather – yet still McCree flushes and closes the lazy spread of his legs rather self-consciously. He was too aware of his cock; pounding and fattening up just from the sight of his teammate’s naked chest.

Hanzo looked handsome sitting on the other side of the room, methodically brushing out his hair with meditative tranquility. Jesse hadn’t even been aware that he was being noticed, lounging on the bed as he had been, quietly suffering through the burning, nervous arousal.

Hanzo’s dark eyes were inquisitive, face impassive as he stared at the gratifyingly large bulge. He was playing idly with his comb, and couldn’t deny a certain shiver of pleasure running through him when he noticed McCree’s single-minded attention. The man was dedicated, at least – even if he was looking mortified and ashamed as he did now, knees starting to move together to shield the lovely mound of his cock from view, only –

“Stop.”

Hanzo’s voice brook no argument and McCree stilled immediately. He swallowed – Hanzo could hear it across the room – and blew out a sharp breath. He tried to look like he wasn’t concerned of the proceedings and utterly failed.

“I don’t mind. In fact…” Hanzo turned minimally, fingers still idly playing with his comb – half because he needed his fingers occupied lest he curled them around McCree’s unfairly gorgeous cock, and half because it made his biceps move and McCree seemed to rather like the view; if his feverish gaze and parted lips were to be believed. “I think this might be an excellent opportunity.”

McCree blinks once, twice, and still his gaze remains hazy. His hips are moving a little – it was probably getting rather uncomfortable in his pants and Hanzo couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry. He licks his lips and clears his throat.

“O-opportunity? For…”

“An opportunity to train yourself. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” McCree repeats dumbly. His hands are curling into loose fists. He looks almost close to tears when Hanzo lifts his comb again and resumes his grooming – like he is helpless to his own animal desires; gaze taking in the movement of Hanzo’s pecs as he moves. He groans low in his throat.

“Yes. You should pleasure yourself for me. The more you get used to company, the longer you might…” he stops himself and slants a gaze over towards McCree. He looks flustered and unsure like a little boy. “… I would like to witness it,” Hanzo admits a little more gently. Coaxing – and is rewarded by McCree’s shuddering breath as he actually moves without further quarrell, fingers shaky as he opens his belt buckle, face half hidden behind the brim of his hat.

He’s spreading his legs and pulling his booted feet up unto Hanzo’s bed, and Hanzo can’t find it in himself to tell him off because McCree has pulled out his cock and it looks… good. Thick and long, and flushed just as dark as McCree’s embarrassed face.

His mouth runs dry at the sight. He remembers having his hands on it; getting ready to fuck his throat onto McCree’s fat cock, only for him to come way too fast, and…

“B-be gentle, darlin’,” Jesse says, voice wavering. He has got his fingers around the base, pushing his cock away from his shivering belly. He is holding it up for Hanzo’s viewing pleasure, Hanzo realizes with a small jolt.

He already looks so close already. Again. He can’t bring himself to be annoyed at it – not when McCree is peeking at him from beneath his hat, sweaty and riled up just from the sight of Hanzo naked to his waist, brushing out his hair.

“Go slow,” Hanzo tells him, voice pitched low, dark eyes taking in the sight of Jesse leaning back on his bed, biting his lips and trying so hard not to let his shivery hips jerk up coltish into his own, caressing fingers.

“I’ll be gentle with you, Jesse. Just go slow. You’re doing very well.”

Lùcio/Reader commission

Commission by a v nice person who wants to remain anonymous. Lùcio with a ftm reader.

You hadn’t even planned on taking someone home with you – even less going to a complete stranger’s place, because you might be a tourist on vacation in Brazil but you weren’t a fucking moron.

You’ve just been looking for fun in one of the bar’s dotting the downtown; nothing too serious or promiscuous.

You remember the music; strangely alive and uplifting and… and soothing. And you remember the DJ, happy and grinning, head bouncing and thick braids swaying behind him, and how you pushed your way through the people and towards him; belly filled with the throbbing beats he was dishing out into the room.

You weren’t sure how you ended up in Lúcio’s little room above the club. You were only certain of the music thrumming through your body and making you feel nice and happy, and whole in a way you hadn’t felt in a long while – and of Lúcio himself, bubbly and nice, pulling you up next to him and clapping you on the shoulder, and staring at your face with some kind of confused scrutiny before grinning and opening a fresh lemonade up for you.

Maybe he could see the bewilderment on your face now, because he was suddenly there, not letting you look around his room too much, which was messy but not dirty, lit with neon green and yellow lights that made his skin look richer, and his eyes near luminescent.

His hands are on your shoulders, warm through the thin gloves he is wearing, and you can see the concern in his face – how he is about to ask you whether you’re alright, and you decide all of a sudden that yes you are. You want this, and you don’t want concern or pity, and you’re on fucking vacation, and you can nip his concern in the bud before it destroys the whole thing.

You grin sharp and impish and can see his surprise seconds before you kiss him. His pants are loose and baggy, but his tank is nice and tight. Enough for you to feel the tightness of his nipples against your palms when you cup them. He grunts into the kiss, and pulls back, eyebrows drawn up and a tentative grin on his face.

“Ok?” he asks and his smile widens when you nod in return. He giggles and darts in to kiss the corner of your mouth, his goatee scratching against your chin. His hands are on your shoulders again and he is pushing and guiding you backwards until the edge of his bed hits the back of your knees. You let yourself down until you’re sitting and look up at him, then around the room with a quick flick of your eyes. There are a lot of frog ornaments – cartoonish and with headphones on. It’s dumb, but it makes you feel calmer and more in charge.

You lean back onto your hands and look up at Lùcio with a grin.

“How about some music?” you ask and he seems excited and happy by the suggestion. He nods, thick braids bobbing behind him, and turns to fiddle with an elaborate music system.

When he turns back around, techno music thudding low and unoppressive through hidden speakers, he does a double take – obviously surprised that you’ve already started getting naked.

He’s staring and you feel the beginnings of self-consciousness start to roll through your body. Your hands are at your fly, shirt discarded next to you, and his eyes flick across your upper body. Before any doubt can creep up again – before you start overthinking – you take the situation in hand.

“Come here.” There’s a wavering lilt to your voice at the end as it cracks for a second, making your command more a question.

Lùcio blinks, then grins and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Man! Dude!” he says, and he sounds giddy as he comes closer, his own fingers playing with the hem of his tight tanktop. “You got it!”

His enthusiasm is a thing of beauty, and the last vestiges of nervousness begin falling away from you as he struggles to get out of his shirt while he drops to his knees. You spread your legs to accommodate him and push your hand into your shorts to give your cock a little nudge with your fingertip just to alleviate some of the tugging need behind your navel.

Lùcio’s mouth, when he finally wrestled the garment off and to the side, drops open as he sees you with your hand down your pants. He stares and you feel good about it – especially when you push against your underwear and let him have a glimpse of your slit; slick and parted by your fingers.

Lùcio makes a high, whistling sound in the back of his throat, and his eyes get glassy as he watches you slide your fingers through the beginning mess, then offer them up to him.

“Okay?” you ask, voice low and amused because he looks like he’s about to shake out of his skin in excitement.

“Damn,” he whispers, eyes large and dark and liquid as he looks up at you; stares right into your eyes as he leans forward to slowly lick your slick fingertips with an almost shockingly cherry red tongue.

When he finally lets go of them with a lewd pop, his hands are on your hips and rubbing mindless circles into your hipbones.

“Can I… Can I use my mouth on you?” he asks almost too low to be heard over the music. You clench down in acute want, belly feeling warm and full.

“Yeah? You wanna suck my cock?” you purr and push him back with your foot nudging against his chest so you can work your jeans and underwear down in front of his greedy, excited gaze. His hands are rubbing along your shins almost mindlessly, tickling through the hair until he grips your knees and pushes them apart.

“Oh you don’t know the half of it, dude” Lúcio murmurs, his English thick with accent, eyes never leaving the warm, wet space between your thighs.

He surges forward suddenly, mouth open and greedy and enthusiastic as he gives first your cunt, and then, after licking you open, your clit a kiss that has you shudder and close your eyes.

Your hand is on his head, trying to find purchase in the tight braids along his scalp before you reach farther back and curl it around the thick, neon green hair tie.

Lúcio groans against you. It feels like it twines together with the buzzing music around you, making your thighs tremble and belly muscles harden. He is easy on the eyes, kneeling before you with his shoulders making sure to keep your legs nice and open, and he lets you dictate his movements with your hand on the back of his head.

His tongue is dipping in deep, licking in broad strokes that feel silky and almost tickling at times. He is being curious and excited, and it shows in the way he nudges closer and closer, one hand creeping up your thigh until he can circle your opening with his thumb again and again, just teasing you with the promise of getting filled.

You’re breathing deep, chest heaving, and you want to reach down and get his other hand; pull it up to your pec so he can fondle one of your nipples while he’s busy eating you out with lewd, wet noises.

You don’t have the coordination to do more than grip his hair harder and keep yourself upright. You need to watch him; how his face is starting to get shiny from your slick and his spit, his dark eyes half open and staring into nothing. He seems zoned out and dedicated, and it sends almost painful want through your limbs, as your hips start moving, pelvis tilting up and into his kissing, suckling mouth.

His hand is forced away by the movement, the goatee of his chin rubbing where his thumb had been just moments before, making you grit your teeth and groan low and wrecked.

“Yesss,” you hiss, “suck me.”

You want more force to be behind your words, but they’re breathless and low, and you wonder whether he can even hear you over the music until he’s shifting slightly and his lips close around your clit; swollen and so sensitive, you can’t help but arch your back and dig your heels into the carpet.

Lùcio isn’t doing things by half; he’s sucking like his life depends on it, the tip of his tongue an occasional but very welcome addition as it soothes the sharp pleasure pain every now and then.

You are hugging his head towards you, and you’re not sure when exactly that happened, but your toes are curling and your body is hot and thrumming in time with the music.

His fingers are almost rude as they push into you; two all of a sudden, slim but there, forcing their way inside and rubbing up against spongy walls that already clutch and tremble in preparation for orgasm.

“Fuck, yeah,” you groan, forcing your body back to let him breathe – and to be better able to buck against him. You’re fucking his mouth ruthlessly, and Lúcio lets you do it, eyes no longer zoned out but very interested, curled up towards you big and warm, watching you come apart for him and using him for your pleasure.

You can’t fucking wait to get your hands on him. You want to press him down and let his silky cock drag between your fingers. You wish you hadn’t left your toys in your hotel room because you want to fuck him something fierce. Press your chest against his back as you ream him until he cries for you.

His mouth is messy, tongue out and wet whenever you tilt your hips back to curl them forward once more; fucking your cunt against the slippery muscle, and drag your clit carefully against the smooth wall of his teeth. The pleasure-pain makes you grit your teeth and reach for your own chest finally, pinching one flat, little nipple.

“Suck my cock. C’mon. C’mon, I’m so close,” you rasp, voice trembling and urgent. His hands are on your hips again, grabbing hard, thumbs digging into the soft part just above your hipbones. He’ll probably be leaving bruises; you hope he’ll be leaving bruises.

He presses you down on the bed, restricting your movements for the first time, and really goes to town on you; mouth greedy and jaw working against your messy pussy. There’s heat blooming in your belly, and the air is leaving your lungs in an almost violent rush. You’re surprised and delighted by his eagerness; no hesitation in how he seems to want to crawl right inside you, lips closing around your cock and giving it a hard, noisy suck that finally does it after all; pushes you right over the edge and into a warm, muscle clenching orgasm.

He licks you through the experience, first quick, doggish laps, then slow, leisurely drags of his tongue as you get oversensitive and the spasms in your thighs lessen.

“Fuck,” you groan, fingers clenching and unclenching in the sheets. The tips are tingling and you still feel horny and needy. “Get up here… get up here.”

You need your hands on him.

Frankfurt didn’t have an official Overwatch base, which suited Reinhardt just fine if he was being honest. It meant he could still spent some time at home and especially on his rooftop garden, having a nice, solitary barbecue like he did now.

“What are you wearing.”

It sounds taken aback and disgusted. A low, grating voice that Reinhardt was quite familiar with. He has to bodily turn around to look at Gabriel since of course he put himself on Reinhardt’s left side.

He beams when he sees their on-and-off compatriot. He looks out of place in his drab leathery garb in midst Reinhardt’s flowers, yet he definitely is no unwelcome sight.

“Your timing is perfect. I was just about to start on dinner.”

Gabriel’s mask is firmly in place, and he doesn’t answer to the invitation. He simply keeps staring at Reinhardt’s flowery apron. He holds himself carefully stiff. He looks like he doesn’t want to even breathe too deep.

Reinhardt’s hearty grin dims a little, good eye taking in Gabriel’s posture; how one clawed finger is tapping against his thigh in restlessness.

“Do you need help, my friend?” Reinhardt asks, booming voice pitched lower into a rumble. Reaper’s nod is jerky but instantaneous.

A handful of seconds pass by before he grates out: “Please.”

Reinhardt’s eyes crinkle at the corners when his grin resumes full force.

“How could I say no to such a polite request from such a lovely little treat such as yourself.” Reaper flinches barely noticeable, then very carefully rolls his shoulders and relaxes a little. Reinhardt offers him one huge paw-like hand. “Come. I have something special in mind for you.”

.o.

Gabriel digs his heels into the mattress and arches up with a strained groan shivering out of his throat. He has put his whole weight onto his shoulders, pressing back into Reinhardt’s massive chest.

“That’s it. Wundervoll. You’re doing great,” Reinhardt coos and tightens the hold he has around Reaper’s chest, pulling him back up a little for better access. His free hand is coated in lube, big thumb slowly dragging round and round the hot, swollen tip of Gabriel’s cock. It feels feverish to the touch. Overripe. Desperate.

“Let me come, old man,” Reaper spits out. He is still wearing his mask even though the rest of him is naked. He’s all laid out for Reinhardt’s pleasure, muscles shivering beneath tight skin. “Let me come!” he roars, hips snapping up into Reinhardt’s grip.

Reinhardt loosens the tunnel of his big hand; just lets Reaper’s feverish cock rest against his fingers. “You’re doing wonderful. You feel so good in my arms, Schätzchen. You can take more for me. You can take a lot more.”

Reaper’s hands are closing and opening spasmodically – his chest beneath Reinhardt’s supporting – restricting – arm is heaving. He makes a noise that sounds like words but Reinhardt can’t quite make it out. He tilts his head and rubs his beard gently against Reaper’s temple; jostling the mask and making Gabriel jerk his head away with a little snarl.

“What were you saying?”

Gabriel is quiet other than his heavy breathing. The big muscles in his thighs are clenching and unclenching in time with his abdominal muscles. His cock oozes out a little more pre-cum and Reinhardt can feel the strong, fast heartbeat in the thick vein lying against his palm.

“I don’t think I can,” Reaper rasps finally. He sounds… young.

Reinhardt hums and pulls the arm around his chest back so he can cup one of his pecs, big fingers rubbing lovingly across his nipples until his body is tensing once more, heels digging in and toes curling as he gets ready to come; ready to shoot and unload his heavy, filled balls.

When he starts to whimper, Reinhardt stops again; seizes every movement and presses a kiss to the top of Gabriel’s head when he spits curses and slams a fist onto the mattress.

“You can,” Reinhardt promises. He lets go of Gabriel’s dick and rubs the slick hand across a sweaty belly and over wide hips – as much meant to soothe as to rile him up. Gabriel was so sensitive to casual kindness.

He is whining now – honest to goodness whining; body straining and hips tilting up in little thrusts, trying to fuck and get the friction he so dearly wants.

“Gorgeous. You’re breathtaking,” Reinhardt rumbles, one large fingertip starting to press and rub just beneath the flared tip, then sliding down and across the bumps of the ladder piercing down the bulky shaft.

“Oh fuck,” Reaper sobs, hips jerking and cock slapping against his clenching abdomen. “Let me come. Let me come damn you…”

“No.”

Gabriel digs his heels in again and presses back against the mountain holding him up. This time it is decidedly less out of needy desperation and more petulant anger.

When Reinhardt closes his big, warm hand around him again and starts to easily jerk him off, Reaper nearly jumps out of his skin. The sound the slick hand makes along his cock is filthy and wet. It sounds like he is fucking a warm, welcoming hole and that makes it that much worse. His balls are throbbing and painful. His belly is burning. He wants to come as much as he doesn’t want to come.

He is caught in a stalemate that threatens to split his head, and Reinhardt is not keeping his fucking mouth shut; is, in fact, commenting the whole time with idiotic, sincere compliments.

“Feel so good in my arms. Pretty little boy. You’re not going to come without permission, are you? You’re going to wait like a good boy. Let me play with your tasty body until I’ve had my fill. Maybe I should fuck you? Get that sweet little cunt on my cock and fill you up?”

Gabriel’s mind short circuits at the words. He feels hands switching after a last loving squeeze to his pec – the slick hand letting go in favor of the rough one so slippery fingers can nudge his ripe balls to the side and get at his hole; push and pet until it opens up to one broad fingertip that brings tears to his eyes as the urgency ratchets up tenfold.

“Let me come,” he sobs, hips jerking – trying to fuck the dry hand without permission and only getting the wide palm that patiently presses his cock against his own belly and holds it there without any chance of friction. “Letmecomeletmecomeletmecome,” he howls, muscles shivery and no longer his own. “Please!”

The intrusion of the big finger halts. He just stays and keeps still just like the rest of the behemoth behind him.

“Breathe, Schätzchen,” Reinhardt advises good naturedly and Gabriel follows suit with a huge, rasping gulp of air that burns all the way down his lungs. He’s calming down again. Again. He doesn’t know how often Reinhardt has guided him to the very edge of orgasm just to let him simmer down again; balls relaxing from their desperate clench and body stopping to practically vibrate out of the skin.

“Not yet,” Reinhardt finally says gently, big thumb swiping across Gabriel’s drooling tip once, making him hiccup out a moan.

“I think you can give me two or three more times. You’re a good boy, Gabriel.”

Gabriel is thankful for his mask that shields his hot, embarrassed tears.