7th Batch Ko-Fi Fics: 3rd Fill

Soldier76/Zenyatta/Lúcio – continuation of this fic – contains coercion, non-con/dub-con, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation – Jack has the two of them at his home to perform for his pleasure…

It has almost been too easy to get them to the point they are now at: softly humping on Jack’s unmade bed, pressing suckling little kisses against each other’s mouth while he sits behind the camera and films the whole thing.

It’s like they had almost been waiting for it. Like they had hoped someone would eventually stumble across them and unveil them as the dirty little tramps they really are. It would have taken all the fun out of having power to lord over them if watching them didn’t provide him with so much satisfaction.

“Yeah, you like to perform, don’t you?” he murmurs finally when he’s looked through the lens one last time to make sure they were nicely framed, then he takes a step back to watch the action unfold properly before him.

Zenyatta’s cheeks have flushed a nice dark red, and there’s a bit of a frown between Lúcio’s brows. At least they have the decency to look mildly ashamed by their whorish conduct. Jack pushes a hand unselfconsciously into his shorts and strokes his cock slowly, leisurely. He has all the time in the world, after all.

When Zenyatta twists his hips minimally away, ostensibly to lighten the pressure against his cock, Jack can see how tented both of their tight leggins already are. They’re as into the situation as he is, even if they played demure and horrified in the beginning. As he watches, the bright yellow-and-green pants Lúcio has donned slowly sport a wet patch where his dick is drooling into the fabric.

“Fucking sluts,” Jack grunts. It sounds disgusted even though it gets him off, and the flush on Zenyatta’s cheeks quickly spreads out to his ears.

He lifts his thigh – long and slender, just like the rest of the boy – and pushes his knee over Lúcio’s hip. Jack makes his way over to is old ratty armchair and plops into it, feet propped on the edge of the bed, not far away from the pretty boys making out for him.

“Sit on him,” he suggests and feels a spike of unholy pleasure when Zenyatta *does*, shoving himself astride Lúcio’s hips, their mouths finally separating with a wet little pop that goes straight to Jack’s balls. Their lips are plump and soft looking. Like they would look gorgeous around his dick.

He wonders if the little sluts even know how to treat a *real* cock. He’ll find out later.

They dry fuck for him, making little breathy sounds that seem straight out of some softcore porn. They drag their little cocks against each other, bulges pressing and rubbing and squishing as they get a bit needy and desperate in their need.

They even look at each other like they got stars in their fucking eyes. Lúcio’s hands are all over Zenyatta, squeezing at his small ass and supple thighs and urging him to grind down harder. Maybe make their little cute dicks hurt a bit… and how interesting of a thought is that?

But they also seem to have forgotten Jack, which… does not sit well with him. He frowns, thumb smearing across the crown of his dick, the tip of his pointer finger idly nudging its way into his foreskin to feel how much wetness has gathered in there already.

He rudely shoves one foot against Zenyatta’s hip, jostling both boys out of their lovey-dovey little bubble they’ve sequestered themselves into. When they glance at him, he makes a motion with his free hand.

“I wanna see you do a sixty-nine. Don’t get those little dicks out, though.”

He should be more adventurous, maybe – they *are* yoga teachers, after all, and nice and flexible – but for the moment he wants to simply bask in the fact that they do everything he tells him to.

They scramble to obey. They look lovely, faces stuffed with each other’s bulge, mouths greedy as they start licking and suckling through the thin fabric of their leggins. He slowly jerks himself as he watches them play for him, and has to stop once or twice just to let the feeling of orgasm recede again.

He feels delirious, almost in trance as he watches them. Listens to them. They are nasty little boys that make a lot of noise, and he *loves* hearing their little slurping sounds and sighs and thoughtless hums as they get more breathless, more eager. More needy. Their slim hips start shifting, motions getting a bit more sharp and demanding.

They want to shoot their nasty little loads, that much is obvious – and Jack could come just from the fact that they have to wait for *him* to give them the okay.

“Stop,” he croaks finally. They turn their heads towards him, staring, cheeks dark with a flush, mouths hanging open to pull enough oxygen into their lungs. He catches Lúcio’s gaze travel down towards the big cock in his fist, and Jack grins slow and satisfied. Of course they would crave the real thing after getting themselves riled up with each other’s little toy.

“Come here and suck my dick.”

They crawl towards him like kittens, sitting pretty between his thighs and getting at his dick like they are starved. He notices them holding hands, but does not have enough brain power to tell them to stop that because Zenyatta is slurping noisily at his foreskin while Lúcio is sucking one of his balls into his mouth, and *fuck* he is in heaven.

Akande hired/masquerading as Lucio’s bodyguard tho – having Lucio ride or choke on his dick in the limo to/from concerts, staying in his suit while Lucio gets stripped off because Akande likes watching that tiny naked bod. And Lucio LOVES IT.

Lúcio is always more hopped up on adrenaline before his concerts. Afterwards he tends to be mellow; almost sleepy and kitten pliant, all his energy pumped out through the loudspeakers and given to his audience.

Before, however, he is jittery and almost nervous. Full of an energy that needs to be directed – and Akande is a very good conductor.

The limousine is huge and still he has to curl marginally forward, the back of his head pressing against the roof as he stares down at Lúcio between his thighs, trying his hardest to choke himself on the big cock hanging out of Akande’s pants.

He’s been cuddling with it like an old hand, sure and loving as he made sure to drag it all over his cheeks and drool generously against his bush as he kissed the swollen base and sucked at the large, warm ballsac beneath.

Now, though, he seems grotesquely out of his waters, trying and failing to push the swollen glans into the back of his throat.

“Easy,” Doomfist murmurs, large hands holding Lúcio’s head with gentle steadiness; keeping him from forcing himself farther down. “You will have to rouse the crowds. Be kind to your throat.”

One hand travels down, curling around Lúcio’s throat; holding on just a little too tight. Just enough to make him choke and get his eyes to tear up.

“Open your mouth. Tongue out.”

He taps the tip against the slippery surface; pops it between Lúcio’s swollen lips and back out again. He slaps his cock high against his cheeks until the kid has to close his eyes against it, kneeling and letting himself get degraded.

Akande smirks, fist tight around his cock, jerking himself in small, efficient flicks of his wrist. He pulls his cock away from Lúcio’s searching mouth and instead smears his balls across his nose; pulls him in close enough to place them on his forehead while he smothers him in the humid heat behind, barely accessible with his pants still on.

Lúcio groans, delirious, small tongue out, lapping at whatever strip of skin he can find.

Doomfist loves how easily this little music man submits. How he has him wrapped around his little finger – and, in proxy, the masses that flock to him.

“Now. Back.”

He aims carefully, watches with lazily slitted eyes as he jerks off onto Lúcio’s eager tongue, stretched out as far as he can, eyes classy, fingers drumming against his thighs. He wipes the rest against the boy’s goatee, watches him try and lick it away.

He likes the thought of him on stage with his cum in his face.

And throwback to that catch me if you can au, where hanzo was still goading reaper. Imagine reaper getting a phonecall from hanzo, untraceable ofc, and mccree is on the other side moaning and begging for Hanzo’s dick. And hanzo telling mccree how much he likes it and Gabriel is fucking FUMING

Hanzo harshly flicks the very tip of McCree’s ear, making him flinch and howl in enraged indignation and pain.

“No, dog. I haven’t given you permission yet.”

He watches McCree in the mirror ahead; the way he gingerly moves his jaw, teeth clacking on the metal bit Hanzo forced between them earlier. He is tilting his head blindly, cheeks flushed a dull red beneath the blindfold.

Hanzo curls the reins once more around his fist, watching how it pulls McCree’s head back; showing off the strong line of his jaw, liberally peppered with stubble. He would need to shave him if he were to sample the dog’s mouth between his legs again, but for now he had other ideas.

Carefully – silently – he places the phone on the floor in front of his stolen treasure.

McCree whines when the motion brings them closer together; Hanzo’s cock slipping into the crack of the dog’s ass, leaving a wet smear at his tail bone before he pulls back once again.

McCree huffs like a stallion and lowers his head, putting its weight on the reins in Hanzo’s hand. Hanzo can see the way his ribs expand with his careful, deep breaths. He delights in how vocal McCree is, and hopes his commander hasn’t hung up yet.

(He doubts he has. Reyes was obsessive enough to want to hear the degradation of his former toy.)

“Do you want this, dog?” Hanzo accompanies the leering question by slapping his cock against McCree’s ass. The mutt shuffles his knees farther apart, back arching down to try and open his ass up farther. Hanzo was quite sure he would have spread his cheeks for him, had his arms not been bound behind his back – pure safety measures.

And as lovely as the sight was – the knowledge that he’d broken the American dog down enough to get him to display like a bitch in heat – it would not do; no, not at all.

Hanzo jerks at the reins, and slaps his other hand against McCree’s thigh, connecting with a loud, satisfying smack.

McCree’s head rears back, a startled shout ripping out of his throat. His head tries to swerve from side to side, disoriented, blood that had rushed from his face, coming back to suffuse his cheeks as his shout dwindled into a moan, lips wet and swollen around the bit digging into the corners of his mouth.

“I asked you a question,” Hanzo goads, voice silky and dripping with venom. He pets a hand down McCree’s sweaty side in a parody of affection, then curls it around his cock once more to help himself slip it through the crack with slow, sensual thrusts. “Do. You. Want. This.”

His fingers tickle McCree’s bound testicles; feeling how warm and swollen they are. Filled with warm, thick cum that the dog had been collecting for a week now.

McCree looks feverish, even with his eyes blindfolded. Drool is slicking down his bottom lip, teeth gnashing on the bit as he shakes his head against the tight reins without any relief. Hanzo’s fist is curled tight around the leather, not giving an inch.

“Yesh,” McCree mumbles, voice wrecked and deep. “Pleashe… gi’ me… gi’ me…”

Hanzo’s fingers trail further up, easily dipping into McCree’s hole; soft and accepting from days of relentless fucking. It feels hot; the rim puffy and nearly inflamed looking. A pretty little thing mouthing weakly at the tip of his cock whenever he deigns to give it to him.

McCree sobs when he feels his captor’s fingers invade his exhausted body; it’s an animal sound; raw and beautiful. Hanzo feels his cock flex at the thought of what it had to do to his commander.

Oh how he wished to be a fly on that particular wall – wherever Reyes had holed himself up, trying to figure out where Hanzo had squirreled away his boy.

Unfortunately for him, a dragon was very skilled at hoarding his treasure.

“You’re so open, still. A few weeks of good use and your body is gagging for cock. You did not have this in your old life, yes? Nobody to take care of your needs. Utilize you like your body craves.”

He is jeering, and he can see the dog’s hackles rise for just a moment before the fight seems to entirely go out of McCree. His voice is cracked, and weepy when he begs, “Please give me your cock? Please, I need your cock; need you to fuck me, need… need… p-p-puh-lease, master?”

He was barely intelligible, his blubbering only adding to the bit between his teeth – but Hanzo felt like the message had been clear enough.

Oh – had it been clear enough.

“Good dogs do get a treat.”

He stares down between them as he starts pressing forward; feeding his cock inch by inch to the hungry, soft hole hugging him warm and tight the deeper he slips.

McCree is groaning mindlessly, weight hanging onto Hanzo’s fist as he starts sagging and not caring about the bit pulling painfully against the corners of his mouth.

It seems like he had finally broken this particular stallion in.

Hanzo fucks him slow and easy. There is no rush and no need for further needling – McCree, trapped in darkness, riles himself up better anyway.

He howls softly with every new gentle nudge inside, body sweating and shaking as he tries to anticipate whatever could come next.

When Hanzo lays his left hand on his right hip with a gentle pat, the dog nearly jumps out of his skin and needs to be – quite literally – reined back in.

He is drooling on the phone, Hanzo realizes dimly, however he is loathe to move and push it farther away. He just hopes it is still working.

—

Reyes is gnashing his teeth, cock angry and hard in his combat pants, fingers digging into the arm rest of his rickety armchair.

He would kill Shimada when he finally got his hands on him. He would kill him slow and painful; make him cry like a babe for his mamá.

But not before fucking his toy in front of his bloodied nose, and showing him how it was done.