Gabriel’s grin is too wide. His teeth seem to be never ending in his jaw, inhumanly sharp and glinting like bone against the darkness of his skin.

“Hear that, Shimada?” he purrs, body bearing down on the other man. He is more mist than flesh – soot that wafts in and out of focus and that makes it near impossible for Hanzo’s scrabbling hands to get a grip as Reaper’s jaw falls open and a too long too dark tongue snakes out to drag along his throat and the soft, vulnerable underside of his chin. “McCree wants to replace you with the real deal.”

(McCree, for his part, is just staring, a numb whisper of “oh shit…” falling from his lips. He looks like he doesn’t know whether he should be afraid or turned on by the proceedings, cock half hard and undecided in his gripping, motionless hand.)

Hanzo growls, dark eyes flashing – blunt, human teeth bared in a surprisingly accurate facsimile of Gabriel’s demonic grin.

“I haven’t heard the good soldier protest either.”

He says it softly; whispers it into the vague shape of Reaper’s ear like a lover.

Gabriel freezes, the realization apparently just dawning on him, and Hanzo utilizes his lack of concentration to curl strong thighs around partly formed hips and swing them around onto their sides; giving himself room to breathe without getting smothered by the substantial, if formless, bulk above him.

Gabriel seems shocked into his human form for the moment; only little tendrils of smoke curling up around his shoulders as he stares at Hanzo.

When his gaze flickers over towards the two men standing to the side of the bed and watching, he looks almost… sheepish. Unsure. Shy.

The look vanishes as fast as it had come over him. Reaper tilts his head, pressing their foreheads together in a parody of intimacy, and reaches down, hand curling around one of Hanzo’s ass cheeks, fingers intrusively sliding in deep; rubbing across the warm clench of muscle he finds there.

Hanzo grits his jaw at the broad, dry fingertip trying to wriggle its way inside.

“You’re so uptight,” Reaper croons, amusement badly hidden, “no wonder McCree wants to swap it around. He wants to have a fuck that isn’t taking it like a fish. He wants someone that can give it back just as well as he dishes it out.”

Hanzo grins with one side of his mouth; sharp and sardonic as he gets one arm around the width of Reaper’s chest and pulls him close, their pecs squishing together and rubbing as he lets Gabriel drag his hips closer by the grip he has on his ass.

He is whispering something back, but it is drowned in McCree’s deep groan and his drawled “That’s what I’m talkin’ about… that’s a sight for sore eyes, I tell ya.”

And they would look like they’re about to bite each other bloody and get their hands around the other’s throat; dark eyes gleaming maliciously and noses curled in barely suppressed snarls – only that they’re hard and McCree can’t stop from staring at their cocks bumping and nudging; practically snuggled up against each other, and oh they’re suddenly kissing.

It’s aggressive and wet; more tongue and teeth than anything else. 76 is shifting next to him from one foot to the next, blue eyes focused with laser intent on the proceedings; and when Reaper starts lapping blood off of Hanzo’s mouth with his serpent tongue, Jesse wonders vaguely what the fuck he’d gotten himself into.

.o.

McCree might have forgotten how scared shitless he’d been of his old commander. Yes. He might have forgotten the part where he’d gotten confused, painful boners whenever Reyes had chewed him out in front of everyone back in their Blackwatch days.

How he’d found himself on ops with a small puddle of cum cooling uncomfortably in his shorts just from his commander barking into his ear to ‘take the fucking shot, pendejo’ and how he’d never been quite sure if he was going to nut or piss his pants because Reyes was fucking hot but also scary.

He was even scarier now, crawling towards McCree with a grin on his face that was warping; stretching out farther and sharper than humanly possible, eyes alight with a hellish glint. He wondered how Morrison got it up, let alone stick his cock anywhere near this mass of focused evil.

He wondered why the fuck he was so hard it hurt when Reyes was nuzzling up against his cock, tongue snaking out long and scary and curling a couple times around his dick. It felt cool and slick. Jesse’d never been so conflicted about his desires.

Morrison next to him seemed to have no hangups. He was carding fingers through Hanzo’s hair, and humming beneath his breath, hips rocking forward, trying to nudge the head of his cock against the archer’s soft palate.

Hanzo was staring up at 76 – and for just a moment, McCree forgot about the eldritch horror suckling his cock, because he was transfixed by the sight and sound of Hanzo taking dick. Eyes dark and needy, spit slicking from the corner of his mouth in his eagerness to try and take it as deep as possible and still have the head somehow drag across his tongue.

His inattention immediately was punished by teeth testing their razor sharp edges against the sensitive flesh of his cock. Eyes bulging, he stared down into the pissy face of Reaper. He was growling and… and that wasn’t helping. Not when it was vibrating along McCree’s dick and making his eyes water and balls throb in painful arousal.

“Oh lord,” he whispered, hands curling into helpless fists. He wanted to touch but didn’t dare to. Reaper was one hell of a frightening power bottom. He wondered whether he’d go out with both hands still attached if he touched him anywhere that wasn’t allowed.

“Hey, McCree.” Morrison’s midwestern drawl made him turn his head back slowly, dumbly staring as 76 easily hooked his thumb into the corner of Hanzo’s mouth, breaking the tight, suckling seal the archer has had on him until now.

Hanzo groaned, eyes already glassy, letting his mouth get fucked idly by 76’s finger as he kept the unmoving cock warm. His lips were shiny with drool.

“How ‘bout you take better care of my boy. I’m sure he’ll thank you plenty.”

“I’m honestly not sure anymore…” Fuck, where had his bravado gone? Lost and never to be found somewhere between Reyes crawling towards him and getting his teeth on his cock in a fit of petty jealousy.

Hanzo’s head turned minimally, eyes slanting in cat-like satisfaction towards Reaper. His eyebrows twitched up and McCree thought he’d never seen so much pure smugness in such a little gesture.

Reyes’ face… honestly, McCree couldn’t even try to fathom what that expression meant. He winced when Reaper suddenly moved, hands twitching belatedly towards his cock to try and shield it from whatever outburst would follow now – only for Reyes to nuzzle his dick with almost desperate vigor, mouth soft and needy as he ducked down and licked Jesse’s balls with reverence.

“Oh,” he breathed, staring down and then towards Jack who nodded at him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“That’s right.”

“…oh.”

.o.

Jack wondered vaguely what Hanzo and Gabriel might be thinking; side by side, scrabbling at the sheets on the bed to try and steady themselves as they get deep dicked; big cocks spreading their soft, spongy insides apart and blunt, swollen heads nudging against those deep, never fully satisfied places.. He wonders if they even think anything beyond getting fucked – beyond trying to spread their legs farther and bounce back with more vigor; try taking cock deeper and better.

They are looking at each other, their cheeks pressed against the mattress like sleepy kittens, eyes feverish and glazed, mouths open and drooling.

There is no way they can sleep when they have cocks warming up their bellies from the inside.

McCree seems to have rediscovered his easy happy-go-lucky attitude. He has his left hand on Gabriel’s right hip and is riding him like a stallion, foot up on the edge of the bed and laying into Gabriel with sharp, overenthusiastic thrusts that smack loud and drive deep.

Gabriel – isn’t complaining. He is complacent like a pup, now that he finally gets what he’s always wanted: a cock splitting him open and someone rude enough to make him take it. He even has one hand on his ass, fingers clawing at the cheek as he pulls it to the side, trying to give better access. He can be so sweet and accommodating if he wants to.

Jack, for his part, feels almost drunk – or sick. His head feels hot and filled with cotton. His feet are tickling with pins and needles. Fucking Hanzo is like being on the brink of a seizure, and he doesn’t know if he could stop even if he wanted to.

The assassin is like silk around his cock – wet and clinging, insides moving in shivering little clenches that 76 couldn’t begin to wonder whether they were intentional or happy and nervous little spasms.

His back is sweat slick, muscles rippling, spine dipped into the most tantalizing little cup 76 had ever seen – he’s taking the force of his thrusts and just bounces back with a throaty gurgle and a roll of his shoulders.

He is muttering Japanese. Low, angry sounding hisses that couldn’t be anything but curses whenever the soldier’s cock slides against a particularly needy part.

When 76 reaches down, intent on getting his hand around that lovely, sleek cock he gets his hand batted away impatiently, dark liquid eyes staring at him over the swell of Hanzo’s shoulder.

“Let me come on your cock.” It’s a plea as much as it is a demand. His face is sweaty and flushed dark. He looks like he can barely breathe; as if the cock reaming him was not letting him get a good gulp of air in – and Jack had to admit, it was doing wonders for his ego.

“Damn, I love your ass. Always loved your fat, fuckin’ ass, Reyes.”

Jack’s attention swerved back to the side; to McCree’s almost maniacal grin as he suddenly stopped mid-fuck and pulled away to Gabriel’s unending dismay.

He was groaning, low and panicked, hands scrabbling backwards to try and have a grip at McCree’s hips, body starting to lose its form as he whines for the dick back; even asks with a sweet, surprisingly high voice – begs for Jesse McCree’s cock and doesn’t give a fuck that others can hear it because he’s deep down in his head and Jack doesn’t think he can think beyond a big, hard dick reaming him.

“Calm down. Jus’ turn around, will ya? Wanna get a look at your face when I finish off inside ya…”

Jack almost barks out a laugh with how frantically Gabriel starts scrabbling, before he settles on dissolving and reforming on the spot; knees falling open and slick abdominal muscles clenching.

McCree groans, hands stroking down the insides of Gabriel’s thighs and gripping big, rude handfuls of the thick muscle.

“You’re one scary motherfucker. But damn you’re a nice fuck when you got a dick inside ya.”

Jack snorts, one hand dragging down Hanzo’s spine in a slow, soothing pet. McCree looked like he was going to nut any second now, and he wasn’t feeling much better if he were quite honest.

He wondered how McCree would like a contest of who could make their pet come faster with a tongue in their sloppy, creamed holes.

Slanting a gaze over, McCree’s tongue was hanging out of his mouth, eyes fixed on the way Gabriel’s cock bobbed as he got fucked, hands on those wide, sturdy hips.

Yeah… McCree looked like he was up for anything.

Mcree in spandex?

Hanzo stops and just watches, arms hanging loosely at his sides, fingers nearly losing their grip in his bow. His gaze skims across McCree, then once more – slower, more scrutinizing.

“What… are you wearing?” He wants it to sound sharp. An admonishment to McCree’s constant foolishness. Instead, he breathes it out on what sounds like a sigh. It sounds soft and choked like he has trouble breathing.

He does have trouble breathing.

“Oh… jus’ a stupid little thing I used to wear in my Blackwatch days. Was’ jus’ wonderin’ whether it still fits. Thought it might be nice beneath the armor.”

He is looking at the mirror and turning this and that way. Hanzo watches as he raises his big hands and lays them across his gut; takes the roll of fat in hand and jiggles it.

Hanzo feels a hot flash run through his body, throat going tight.

“You look ridiculous,” he says, eyes fixed on the way McCree pinches the chub at his sturdy hips. His belly feels hot thinking about how gratifyingly thick McCree feels in his arms when they fuck. Heavy. Pressing Hanzo down into whatever surface they were fucking on.

McCree just grins at him distractedly and then turns back to the inspection of his own body. His cock is a big, chubby bulge between his legs, gently bouncing with his every step.

“Are you not wearing underwear?!” Hanzo hisses. He can feel the tips of his ears start to burn.

“NNNnnnope, pardner.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Hanzo scowls when McCree only laughs. A happy, deep laugh that comes from his belly and makes it move beneath the tight spandex. It bounces; fat but not weak. It is spring steel – Hanzo knows it.

“Yeah. Whatever, babydoll.” He reaches down and grabs the bulge of his cock unashamedly through the thin material and hefts it’s weight in the palm of his hand. “Y’ can peel me out of it later if y’ wanna. I’m gonna put on my armor and go to the practice range for a couple hours.”

Hanzo’s scowl deepens in time with the fire in his belly. He makes a harsh, disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

“Americans.”

… Later, he is on time to help a sweaty McCree out of the tight body suit.

Toys exist to get played with when one is bored.

Gabriel was often bored when there was no mission around; no target to eliminate.

Ergo, it was only logical that he acquired himself some toys to play with on his downtime. They were good toys, too. Durable. Flexible. Pathetic and needy.

He has his boots propped up on his window sill, eyes sliding lazily from the slits in the blinds towards McCree gasping on his narrow bed. Every now and then he jerks with an abrupt twitch, a high, reedy whine dragging out of his throat.

His face was as sweaty as the rest of his body. A good amount of it was plain and simple fear, even though his body was keyed up, his brainless cock bobbing hard and painful in the air whenever Reyes pressed the button again and watched his toy convulse on the sheets.

“Again,” he purrs. He doesn’t always give McCree a warning. Sometimes he just likes that short look of fear and resignation before another wave seizes the long body. McCree was still lanky as a boy. So young and tender. Only trying to grow into the massive size his chest promised he could be with enough discipline. (Reyes would be his discipline. The boy should fucking thank him on hands and knees and with his tongue on his boots.)

McCree can’t breathe for the long agonizing seconds that the electricity courses through his body, the muscles in his belly clenching and relaxing in sharp little bursts. The nodes were attached down his sensitive sides. (Reyes couldn’t wait for the moment he would burst into tears when his commander gently petted fingers down his ribs. Already, the boy was flinching away from these touches.)

The second Reyes’ thumb lifts from the button, McCree pulls in a sharp, gasping sob. Tears have been sliding down his temples and into his long, brown hair. He is sniveling and snotty, but his cock is still bouncing ridiculously up and down. He is not allowed to touch his dick – that, at least, he’d learned fairly quickly.

“Come here,” Reyes orders. Seeing McCree gasp for breath and cry like a bebé was only fun for so long. He watches McCree blink crusty eyes and wheeze as he tries to get his muscles under control and drag himself out of bed.

He crawls over on trembling arms and ducks automatically beneath Gabriel’s legs. Reyes grunts in acknowledgement and shifts his boots apart on the window sill and slides a little down in his chair to give McCree unhindered access.

“Having fun, little boy?” Reyes asks him, one hand in his shaggy hair to keep him away from just nose diving into his commander’s crotch.

McCree stares at him with blank eyes for a few moments before he blinks them clear. He slowly nods against the hold, jaw working like he wants to say something, but ultimately deciding against it.

Reyes laughs at him and lets go of his hair. He leans back into his chair with a sigh, eyes closing as McCree hungrily presses his face into his ass crack, mouth greedy and open as he presses it against his commander’s hole. Moments later, he tilts his head back and lets Reyes’ balls drag across his face with a low delirious groan.

Reyes is playing with the remote to the nodes in his hand. He knows McCree can see it out of the corners of his eyes. He likes keeping his toy on edge and guessing.

McCree and Reyes were so fucked up before the second rise of Overwatch :O only McCree kinda found his equilibrium back, it seems…

“McCree. Stay.”

Jesse winces and eyes his team mates as they file out of the showers hastily, leaving him alone with Commander Reyes. He tries to stand at attention, but he’s never been in the military, so he has no real idea of how to do it. He just makes sure to keep his back straight and tries to not look too self-conscious with just a towel around his waist and only one sock on.

Reyes stalks towards him; big and dangerous, still in his tactical gear from the training session they’ve just completed. His dark eyes give nothing away.

“You’ve got good aim,” he says, when he’s finally right up in Jesse’s face. Close enough that he can smell the sweat and feel his belly tighten in conflicting arousal. Reyes’ voice is low, almost a whisper, and Jesse hates himself for how warm the praise makes him feel.

“Sure, I-”

“How ‘bout you keep your fucking eyes on the target, then.”

Jesse’s stomach drops. He leans back and away from Reyes, as his face becomes hot with shame. Has he noticed-

“I don’t appreciate being watched.”

Yes. Yes, he noticed.

“Understood, Sir.”

“Hopefully.”

.o.

Jesse can’t leave well enough alone, can he?

He wants to say that it’s just because Reyes explicitly warned him not to do it. He wants to say that it’s just because he’s a bastard and he likes the thrill of the forbidden.

He knows it’s something else entirely, but he’d never go far enough to admit it to himself.

Instead, McCree finds himself loitering around base when he doesn’t have anything else to do. It’s not hard to find his boss, because he always was in spitting range of Morrison – and where Morrison was, recruits tended to flock.

Morrison was a likable kind of guy. Approachable and hard working. He gave off farmboy vibes, and McCree should’ve felt connected to him.

Instead, he could only stare at Reyes from beneath the brim of his hat, quickly ducking into shadows whenever he turned around, looking for the invisible gaze he could feel on his person.

It wasn’t that McCree wanted to make Reyes angry, per se – he just wanted… he wanted…

Attention.

.o.

Jesse rounds the corner and abruptly stands still. He frowns as he stares down the corridor – no sign of Reyes. He could’ve sworn…

A heavy weight slams into his back and rams him against the wall. His vision is blurry from his forehead connecting with the concrete, and he can dimly feel a big hand on the back of his head before his face gets mashed into the wall.

“This is my last warning, McCree,” Reyes hisses into his ear. Jesse can smell whiskey on his breath; warm and familiar. It’s just as oppressive as the broad, unrelenting body pressing against his back – and he has the weirdest, most conflicted boner.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at – but you should stop your little game. I am… not amused.”

Reyes gives him one more little shove into the wall, but all Jesse feels is the short nudge of his Commander’s hips against his ass. Reyes leaves him standing in the corridor with a bruise slowly forming on his forehead, and his cock throbbing helplessly.

.o.

“Good shot.” The curt, almost grudging praise had come crackling over the com right in the middle of the training session, and fucked Jesse right up.

He absolutely botches the rest trying to show off for Reyes. In retaliation, Reyes did… nothing.

He just did nothing. Didn’t even fucking mention it. Didn’t cuff Jesse around the back of his head, or called him a good for nothing ingrate. He didn’t threaten to give him the boot and kick him back to Route 66 where he’d found him.

He just… did nothing, and Jesse didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like he wanted Reyes to be mad at him or hit him or…

… It was like that, if he was honest.

He wanted to get pushed around, he wanted to get noticed, he wanted –

“You don’t know when to stop, do you… little boy.”

Reyes sounds almost conversational. It’s too late at night to stumble upon him on accident here in the shower rooms, and Jesse can just stand and helplessly stare from the shadow of one of the lockers. There’s nothing he could say now.

He’d watched his Commander work out in the gym; stemming weights and pounding dummies for hours on end, face a mask of rage and hate that slowly seemed to melt away into grim resignation.

He’d just stood in the corner and watched, hand in his crotch, squeezing the bulge of his cock, and coming up with strange, nonsensical scenarios of how he could approach his boss. Get on his knees and mash his face into his sweaty crotch. Suffocate himself on the big, uncut dick and let Reyes fuck his frustrations out into his throat in sharp, violent thrusts.

“Come here.”

Jesse does. He feels strangely weepy, alone with Reyes and with his cock hard and throbbing in his pants. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen and yet he hopes it will be horrible. He wants Reyes to hurt him and degrade him and insult him – just… just pay attention to him.

–

He has no idea how he ends up on one of the benches, with his Commander slowly lowering his ass right onto his face. His brain shorted out; he doesn’t know what happened to lead to this. He has the vague recollection of Reyes talking to him with a low, painfully calm voice.

He sounded soothing. Like he understood. Like he knew exactly what was going on in McCree.

He sounded like a father.

“I know what you need,” he can hear Reyes’ voice from above him. Strong fingers are in his hair, keeping him just the way his Commander wants him to be, before everything gets dark and humid and suffocating.

He can feel the heaviness of Reyes’ testicles against his forehead seconds before he has to open his mouth on instinct and give his hole a broad lick.

Reyes is drenched in sweat, and Jesse digs his nose in just behind his humid balls because his Commander’s low, rattling groan at getting his sweaty ass licked by his protege makes him teary eyed again.

“Good. You’re doing good,” Reyes sighs above him, thick thighs bracketing Jesse’s head. The muscles flex with Reyes’ little, rocking motions – as he drags his ass across Jesse’s tongue – and it was fucking scary to have his head in between them.

Jesse could imagine Reyes being able to pop his head with those thighs if he just put his mind to it, and it just made him sob against his boss’ slick taint, and a trickle of cum soak into his boxers.

He was a freak and completely broken, but he was okay with it because he could mash his face into his boss’ fat ass and get complimented for doing such a great job.

“You can be a good boy if you want to,” Reyes muses above him. He sounds a little out of breath, voice a deep, rumbling growl, and tears spring to Jesse’s eyes because he thinks I did that. I.

Reyes drags his cock unabashedly across Jesse’s face as he rides him; smears his low hanging, ripe balls right across his closed eyelids, and presses down with his weight to have him gasp for breath.

Reyes was a fucking bastard and Jesse was dumb enough to lap it right up, and thank him for the privilege of getting suffocated by his ass.

“I know exactly how to make it stop hurting.” Reyes dark voice is an insidious whisper that goes right to Jesse’s core and makes him try and press his tongue past the tight muscle he had been worshiping with kisses and licks.

“Say it, little boy. Maybe I will let you come, too. Just say it.”

Jesse squeezes his eyes shut tighter. His scalp was burning with Reyes’ unrelenting fingers tearing at his too long hair. His body was a bow strung too tight, and he was scared what might happen when he finally snapped.

“Say it, Jesse.”

And maybe it was the sharp tug on his hair, or the insistent downward grind of Reyes’ hips – or the fact that he’d called him Jesse…

He had no idea what he was supposed to say until he actually did. It just tumbled out of his mouth, groaned against Reyes’ sweaty, gorgeous ass, with Jesse’s cock confusedly drooling little dribbles of cum into his underwear.

“Daddy.”

Reyes laughed at him.

I really wanted to find a more elegant solution to work my hc for this into the fic but to do that would’ve necessitated to write a bigger thing which is not going to happen lol

so my hc for this is that daddy Shimada had Hanzo genetically enhanced with cat genes for dat ninja boost yo. side effects included Hanzo developing certain feline characteristica :O

McCree liked leaving his long glove on when he… well… when he bred Hanzo. (He supposed that was the most fitting word for what they were doing when Hanzo was like this. Growling and arching beneath him; trying to get him to fuck him just as much as he was trying to scratch his eyes out if McCree wasn’t on top of his game.)

Hanzo liked to bite, and McCree liked to preserve his one remaining hand, so the glove was a welcome necessity. Hanzo could sink his sharp fangs into the leather and hold on, silky black ears laid back flat against his head as he got fucked, mounted, bred by McCree.

He still couldn’t quite believe it. Even bend across Hanzo’s sweaty back, one arm shoved against his mouth to give him something to bite while the other one was curled around his heaving belly, not letting him get away – McCree still couldn’t believe that this was real. There was a black, agile tail writhing against his stomach, looking for the best position to lie in, and oh boy hadn’t that been a surprise the first time he got Hanzo out of his wide, loose clothes.

Hanzo’s in heat, he thought sometimes, indistinctly and without really thinking about what that really meant. Hanzo’s body was a warm, insistent clutch around his cock, sucking him in in in and working him over with needy, slick muscles that clenched down and massaged but were loathe to let him go again.

His whole body was a trap; pretty and laid out, writhing just for Jesse’s benefit – or so he thought – and freezing on the spot with Hanzo growling low and threatening whenever he dared to actually touch; trying to sample the goods laid out before him.

It was the most delicious kind of torture.

Hanzo wanted to get filled up and warmed from the inside; a strange animal need telling him to produce offspring even if that was impossible, and he magnanimously allowed McCree to help him.

McCree was nothing but an assistant to Hanzo’s greed, and he couldn’t say that he was put out by it, even if he thought that just one kiss to the back of Hanzo’s neck wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it?

One hand stroking through his hair, giving comfort when Hanzo’s little sex sounds started to turn desperate and a little afraid of his own body’s gluttonous need, wouldn’t hurt, now… would it? (and maybe, just maybe, rubbing one of those silky ears between his fingers for once?)

Hanzo didn’t seem to be on the same page. He rutted back, mindless and eager, fucking himself onto McCree’s dick and yowling his need into the room after finally letting go of Jesse’s pounding arm. It sounded dissonant and melodious at the same time; just as contradictory as the whole recalcitrant creature he had shivering beneath him.

How did one go about taming himself a feline?

yo. almost kind of crack? virgin!McCree getting a blowjob from Hanzo…

OR DOES HE?!

“Ah… A-A-Ah don’t know about this, pardner,” McCree mumbled, studiously staring at the ceiling instead of at Hanzo crouched between his thighs, fingers working on his belt.

When Hanzo looks up at him, annoyed at McCree’s… everything, he sees him quickly dart a glance at his chest, then looking away once more with his scruffy cheeks getting darker with a furious blush.

Hanzo squints at him; confused at McCree’s sudden bashfulness after weeks and weeks of little playful innuendos and harmless flirting – and then that shower last week in which Hanzo had gotten a glimpse of what Jesse was packing and his idle interest had fanned into a sudden, white hot fire of want.

“What is there not to know about?” he asks sharp, unwilling to play along with whatever little game McCree was thinking of now. His hand was on the big, warm bulge of McCree’s cock. He could smell the warm body and faint sweat; saliva flooding his mouth as he thought about the salty tang he’d have on his tongue in a few moments. How wide the meaty cock would spread him open, how heavy it would be on his tongue.

“Ah’m not quite… Ah mean…” His eyes flick down again, staring at Hanzo’s face peering up at him regal and handsome, then slide farther down to stare at his chest. He stops speaking and just looks at Hanzo’s pecs. He seems transfixed by the fact that he could see both after Hanzo had slipped out of his yukata.

A smug, little grin tugged at the corners of Hanzo’s mouth. He hid it behind the whiskers of his beard by tilting his head forward and over McCree’s crotch.

The shorts were already damp when Hanzo petted across it, getting himself riled up and excited by the contours of McCree’s dick. He slipped curious fingers through the slit in the front, and warm humidity greeted him, apart from coarse, thick pubes that he gave a gentle scratch around the thick base of the cock which had McCree jerking and nearly knee him in the ribs.

“McCree.”

“S-Sorry. Uh. Sorry. Yeah. Alright. So this is… happenin’, I guess?”

Hanzo grunted in affirmation, not paying too much attention to McCree himself because he finally made acquaintance with what he’d wanted to meet for days now. McCree’s cock practically leaped into his hand; sliding between his fingers silky and strong as Hanzo gingerly freed it from his boxers.

He sat back on his haunches, thumb idly rubbing just beneath the swollen, dark head. McCree’s cock was gorgeous, he was almost loathe to admit; flexing in his grip, skin feeling tacky with the pre-cum dribbling from the slit.

Hanzo felt an excited sizzle in his belly at seeing how wet McCree got. He should’ve known the American would be… ah… messy.

“Disgusting,” he murmured, voice thrumming with excitement. He leaned forward, daintily tonguing at the wet head, the saltiness of the pre-cum exploding on his taste buds. He could feel the muscles in his shoulders start to loosen.

Sucking cock always relaxed Hanzo.

A choked-off sound from above had him slant his gaze upwards, not too interested in McCree’s silliness now that he finally had his hands on his prize.

What he saw, though, gave him a little pause; enough so to draw slightly back, eyebrows drawn together in mild annoyance. McCree wasn’t even looking at him anymore. In fact, he’d crammed his silly hat onto his face, inhaling – as far as Hanzo could tell – heavily into it’s confines in between high, doggishly whining sounds.

Why wasn’t he looking at him? What was wrong with this silly cowboy?

Hanzo huffed, both hands now around McCree’s cock, idly squeezing it a little between his palms.

“McCree. Look at me.”

“Ah’d… rather not,” he groaned behind his hat. He wasn’t sitting still, either. His hips were moving as if trying to twist away; wriggling a little, then nudging up as if shyly trying to fuck between Hanzo’s fingers.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Hanzo snapped. He waited for McCree to finally push his hat back where it belonged and gingerly peek down at him with glassy eyes, before he was satisfied and leaned forward once more, satisfied that he had an audience.

His belly clenched tight in need, finally able to get his lips around McCree and suck his delightful cock. He’d take his time. Savor this moment and make McCree stop with his antics so he’d…

Everything happened so fast, though. Hanzo barely registered the pained whine above him before McCree’s cock jerked in the strangling grip of his hands, cum splashing out in lazy, messy dribbles that hit Hanzo’s chin and throat just as much as the knuckles of his frozen hands.

He stared, dumbfounded, at McCree’s cock. He could feel cum soaking into his beard and sliding down his skin.

“Oh… d-damn… S-Sorry, pardner,” McCree stuttered. Hat in his hands once more, holding it in front of his chest.

“…What.”

Hanzo gets his sensetiv nipples pierced

“You’re a slutty drunk,” Jesse whispers. It sounds reverent; like he’s just thanking the gods while he stares down at Hanzo crumpled on the bed, trying to touch his sore looking nipples and getting needy and frustrated when it hurts more than he usually enjoys.

“You’re a fuckin’ slutty drunk who gets his tits pierced when he ain’t supervised.” He’s babbling and McCree knows it, but he’s never been good at any brain-to-mouth filter, especially when he’s helplessly horny like now; watching Hanzo groan in drunken frustration, hand gingerly cupped beneath his pec.

He’s red-faced and bleary-eyed and stinks of a mixture of sake and beer… and it’s right up Jesse’s alley.

He has no idea when Hanzo even managed to stumble away from their little camp on the back of the base, leaving McCree, Torbjörn and Tracer to drink on their own, and he has no idea how Hanzo managed to get his nipples pierced – but he ain’t complaining. Oh he ain’t complain’, pardner.

“McCree!” Hanzo hisses. He arches his back and struggles out of the sleeve of his yukata that’s been hanging off of his arm improperly for a while now. If he’d intended to say more – probably some ill-tempered order – he never did so. Rather, he became distracted by his own chest again; staring down at his pecs and squinting at the puffy, raised flesh of his nipples.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Jesse drawls, crawling onto the bed. He grips Hanzo’s wrist before he can touch his chest again and presses the hand down onto the bed with a firm, warning squeeze. Hanzo tries to sneer at him, but it ends up being a cross-eyed look of helplessness instead as he arched and curled his hips up, mashing his hard cock against McCree’s crotch.

“Subtle,” Jesse murmurs, eyes travelling down the flush on Hanzo’s throat towards his pecs. His nipples, usually tan, were an angry red from Hanzo’s inebriated poking, the endings of the bar piercings glinting invitingly next to the pouty nub.

Jesse tried imagining them clamped in the cold metal of the piercer’s special tongue, but his brain fried at the picture it came up with. Had Hanzo been groaning when it happened? Had he gotten hard on the chair, because he got off on his own lewdness?

“You’re killin’ me,” Jesse murmurs and dips down to dance the tip of his tongue along the swollen, puffy areola, just because it was begging for it. Hanzo hisses and jerks, one arm coming up with his hand balled into a fist as if to strike Jesse on the side of the head – but ends up just gripping his shaggy hair and pulling on it to press him closer.

When Jesse carefully presses his teeth against the very edge of the abused skin, he spits out a curse in Japanese and bucks up to him once more; drunkenly fucking his clothed cock against McCree’s belt buckle. Ouch.

Tears spring to Jesse’s eyes when Hanzo uses his unfriendly grip on his hair do drag him away and over, insisting with an in-eloquent grunt he pay attention to the other tit.

“Fuckin’ slutty when you’re drunk,” McCree whispers again, tonguing at the piercing and bringing his hand up to carefully tug on the other little metal ball because he can’t leave well enough alone. Hanzo chokes on a near-howl and almost bucks Jesse off; the muscular, compact body writhing like a goddamn snake as he tries to get away and get closer simultaneously.

The pain didn’t seem to be enough to make him not want his tits to get fondled and sucked, Jesse was giddy to notice.

He closed his lips around the abused, reddened area, starting a low, careful suck, and rolled the metal ball of the other piercing through his fingertips. It felt feverishly hot in his mouth. He wondered what Miss Ziegler would do when Hanzo arrived at her med-bay tomorrow; hung-over and ill-tempered, tits a red, swollen spectacle for everybody to see.

Or would Hanzo not go at all? Would he want to drag the healing process out, if he enjoyed it just as much as he seemed to right now; muttering filth in Japanese and fucking rude and selfishly up at McCree as he let himself get serviced by him?

Jesse couldn’t begin to fathom a guess.

He let the nipple pop out of his mouth with a loud, wet pop and observed it; dark red, obscene and puffy, with the metal of the bar piercing glinting cool and alluring against his skin.

“Damn, pardner,” he sighs, and dips his head, mouthing eager like a babe for the other one to suck it into his greedy mouth.

Tiny stripper!Reaper AU. Tiniest.

People usually didn’t ask for a private dance from Reaper. People usually were struck with almost respectful silence when the dark music came thudding on and Gabriel walked out in full ensemble, heavy iron toed boots stomping the floor in rhythm.

People usually just sat with fear boners, dollars clutched in their fists until he slipped it out with sharp talons and an annoyed huff.

This one customer, though, was obviously determined not to be ‘people’. He sat with his legs spread wide, back military straight and arms crossed in front of his chest. He was too commonly handsome for the dark look he was sporting and Gabriel openly laughed at him when he saw the facade slip into nervous anticipation the second he stepped into the room.

“Little boys are not allowed in here,” he purred and sat down on the broad lap provided for him. The young man looked like he was going to swallow his tongue, his blue eyes wide as he tried to lean back and away from his lap dance.

“No cash back,” Gabriel hissed, way too aggressive and standoffish. The guy’s face slackened a little, his arms loosening from their tight cross around his chest. Oh, Gabriel thought and then again, when the big hands fluttered uncertainly around his thick thighs before tentatively gripping them, Oh.

“Are you sure you can handle me? Wanna run back to mamá?”

He was grinding slow and dirty, gloves on the guy’s broad shoulders, digging talons in tight until it had to hurt. The man doesn’t say a word, just stares at him and keeps slowly squeezing his thighs. His face is getting flushed and Gabriel thinks he might really be into getting bossed around. It was hard to tell his age.

“Give me a show,” he suddenly said, voice low and surprisingly rough, and Gabriel sneered behind his mask just to cover his sudden uncertainty.

“Oooh. Papi knows how to talk,” he rasped and ground down once more before shifting; a fluid move as he turned, making the guy take all his weight just because he was petty.

His ass was pressed right into his crotch, big and juicy, and pronounced by the straps of his tight pants. He heard the low groan behind him and grinned viciously as he tilted his pelvis back just to give him a better view. What an annoying boy.

He’d show him.

Reaper snarled as he got slammed into the concrete wall. All around them were gun shots and angry calling to be heard, but it didn’t seem as loud as Morrison’s labored breathing right next to his head. It sounded mechanical and almost wheezing through his mask, voice tinny and angry as he demanded: “Show me!”

Reaper could have escaped the restricting arm across his shoulder blades easily, but he didn’t. He was as excited as Morrison, but hid it better than he.

“Oh Commander,” he chuckled, “leaving duty for your selfish, little indulgence, are we?”

“Show me, Reyes,” Morrison snarled, and Reaper wasn’t going to do jack shit but he also wasn’t hindering 76′s hands roughly yanking his heavy, long coat to the side, or the way they slipped around him and fumbled at his belts.

He seemed to be almost shaking with excitement. How… endearing.

Jack, on his part, heard nothing of the battle around them. He could only hear the pounding of blood in his own ears, his face hot and sweating behind his faceplate as he yanked at Reaper’s pants and finally got a glimpse of them.

A shocking, almost gaudy pink, edged with pearl white. It looked girly and so thin and feeble against the broad, strong hips, it seemed like it should’ve ripped apart long ago.

Jack wanted to growl, but it only came out as a pressurized, high whine. It was a fucking string and he couldn’t see enough because Gabriel’s fucking pants were too fucking tight and…

He could almost imagine how the little string of fabric would look disappearing between Gabriel’s juicy, muscular cheeks. How Jack would’ve need to search for it. Pry Gabriel’s ass apart and push his face in deep to…

“Same time, same place,” he rasps, voice as shot as his dignity as he struggled to take a shaking step backwards, eyes still fixed on the frilly lingerie. Reaper was even tilting his ass out a little, not remotely embarrassed about being out in the open like this.

“Fuck,” 76 swore and viciously yanked his rifle back over his shoulder and into his hands. He kept his head down and his shoulders up as he trudged out of the alley, leaving Reaper behind who was very pleased with himself.

milkcree:

hanzo riding on top & dripping milk with each bounce of his hips is… my fetish

Hanzo’s eyes were narrowed in cat like pleasure. He looked almost angry staring down at McCree, lips set in a tight line and the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes deep as if in concentration.

At first, he’d been embarrassed about the whole thing – McCree would bet his hat on it – but it seemed like the allure of a thick cock spreading him open and rubbing against all those needy, itchy spaces was enough to make him pretend like everything was okay. Like he didn’t mind one bit that with each twist and dirty grind of his hips, his pecs jiggled and a new little dribble of milk was trickling down, getting his belly wet in two thin lines.

“Don’t look at it,” Hanzo hissed, fingers on McCree’s chest digging in harder, pulling on the short hair liberally coating his front.

“Not lookin’,” he mumbled, eyes tracking as Hanzo bounced viciously, dragging his silky, clutching insides along McCree’s cock and making his pecs bounce so violently, milk droplets sprayed across McCree’s belly, soaking into the dark hair.

He felt wet and tacky and he loved it.

Hanzo made a sound that would have been an impressive growl, hadn’t he managed to rub the fat head of McCree’s cock squarely against his prostate, making him choke on his own spit rather undignified, eyes falling closed and head tilting back into his neck.

“Oh yeah,” McCree whispered roughly, putting one arm behind his head and wishing he could reach the cigar glimmering in the ash tray a little ways away. “Not lookin’ at all.”