Oh but what about reaper going through with his threats and lending soldier 76 to others and by others I mean Roadhog. BUuuttttt then he gets so jealous at the pathetic whimpering and sobbing 76 is doing so after RH is done he just fucks into 76’s filthy used up hole to show him who his real papi is

“Come here. Let me see.” He grabs 76′s belt and drags him closer with an impatient snarl, sharp claws making short work of the fastenings of his pants. The soldier stiffens in protest for a second, then relaxes once more.

Reaper can hear him breathe harshly behind his mask. He grunts softly when Reaper pushes his hands into the back of his ruined pants, and still doesn’t protest the rough handling; only moans softly when broad, rude fingers nudge against his hole and test how well prepared he is. Reaper can feel him against his thigh; already hard as a diamond. He makes a sharp, little sound when Reaper pushes in two fingers without warning out of retaliation for the old asshole being so… so…

“Okay. Get your ass in there, slut,” he hisses, feeling agitated and on edge for no reason at all.

76 hesitates, stumbles a step back and looks around the parking lot like he’s seeing it for the first time, then starts turning towards the ruined warehouse.

“What. Are you so hungry for cock that you’re forgetting your manners?”

The soldier hesitates, then rasps, “Thanks, papi.”

Reaper shudders and watches him make his stumbling way inside, one hand holding his ruined pants up.

.o.

Gabriel had followed the progress of the junkers for some time; not because he had had them in mind for this little tete-a-tete, but just because he found them entertaining.

It had taken watching them work up close for his new obsession to form. They were rude and dirty and disgusting. Perfect for what he had in plan for the golden boy.

.o.

It was strangely less satisfying than Gabriel had anticipated; squatting on a rusty beam and watching the proceedings through a broken window; listening in to Jack’s little sounds of distress and slutty need that became progressively louder with the amount of cock he was forced to take.

From what he had observed, it hadn’t needed much convincing at all; Jack letting his ruined pants fall down to his knees and showing off his hard, bobbing cock with an air of almost pathetic hope to what clearly were absolute strangers.

Fawkes didn’t touch him, even; just lounged around and made a couple crass comments before his attention got pulled elsewhere. Rutledge, however… he seemed more than willing to get a taste.

Gabriel could hear the nasty, animal sound of their fucking; the wet squelching as the massive man pushed inside, large hands clamped around 76′s arms just above his elbows, pulling him back onto the meaty cock in a leisurely but relentless pace.

The soldier was taking his fucking wordlessly – but not passively. His booted feet had shuffled apart as wide as possible, ass hiked up into the grinding, deep thrusts. He was… eager.

Gabriel grit his teeth and refused to acknowledge the angry pounding of his erection; or the way Jack fucking sounded. His rough voice started to climb in register – became high and pathetically needy as he let himself get used, helpless in Roadhog’s huge arms.

Reaper could see the occasional drip of sticky fluid between 76′s thighs and it was making him unduly angry; to know that the huge man was probably pummeling right against the soldier’s prostate, trying to milk him dry.

Gabriel was horny and angry and he couldn’t fucking stop watching as Overwatch’s pet soldier got wrecked on a huge, dirty cock and begged for more with inarticulate, dumb babbling.

Fucked stupid in a dirty warehouse by a grunting hulk of a man while being watched by a giggling maniac. It should maybe be disgusting – but all Reaper could think about was that Jack was doing this in the first place because he had ordered him to.

.o.

“Dios, you’re a nasty slut, aren’t you?” Reaper grunts as he slams Jack over some crates and hectically fumbles with his fly. “I watched you, soldier. Couldn’t fucking keep your pants up for even a minute, could you? Just let them drop and let them see what a nasty whore you were. You had luck they obviously don’t have standards.”

Jack is clawing at the wood of the crate and probably driving splinters into his fingers. He doesn’t seem to care; he is whining and arching his back. Presenting. Showing off the dark, soft gape of his ruined hole and the warm, thick cum oozing out.

His cock hung heavy between his thighs. He hadn’t come himself – Rutledge had used him like the old toy he was and then thrown him onto the dirty ground.

Jack had whined and begged; hectically crawled around to lick at Rutledge’s sticky, softening cock, trying to get another rise out of him; get him to finish what he started… but the large man had simply stood like a rock, enjoying the desperate attention, and eventually pushed 76 away like he was nothing but a yapping dog.

They were gone now, the two insane assholes, and Reaper had swooped in with something he was loath to admit was eagerness.

He could feel it burn beneath his skin; making his blood boil.

“Had luck they were willing to take the next best cunt that offered itself to them,” he growled, his wet, warm breath making it hard to breathe behind his mask. Fuck, he wanted to take it off; bite at Jack’s throat until he could taste blood gushing onto his tongue.

But that was not how things worked.

76 made a sound like a wounded puppy; his eyes were glazed over, mouth wide open and panting. Reaper had no idea when he even lost his visor. He looked like he was in fucking heaven even though his cheeks were flushed a ruddy red in embarrassment.

“Were you gagging on their stink while he fucked you?” he breathed low, sinister as he pushed in; felt the soft spongy walls welcome him in, the slide in made pathetically easy by the creamy cum already deposited. “Did you love how unwashed they were? Did you like taking a nasty, dirty cock and licking it clean afterwards?”

Jack jerked against him. He was choking on his own excited breaths, eyes clamped shut tightly. Gabriel could see tears glistening in his lashes.

“Y-Yes. Yes. God, yes, I did,” Jack hiccuped through the short, sharp thrusts Reaper was starting in on. He grit his teeth, eyebrows drawing together in focus as he snapped his hips; getting Rutledge’s cum to froth around the rim.

“What do good boys say?” Reaper growled, voice deep and ethereal, black mist wafting out of the sides of his mask. He felt like he was starting to slip; like he was starting to actually go mad for Jack fucking Morrison.

“Th-Th-Th-” Jack’s teeth were chattering. He was trying to tighten up for Gabriel’s cock and failing miserably after the fat cock that had reamed him throughout the last half hour. He was openly weeping, arching his back and clawing at the wood with bloody fingers. “Thank you, p-p-papi.”

“Damn right. Damn fucking right, little nasty whore.”

He had to bite his lip to stop babbling, fingertips digging into Morrison’s hips, eyes feeling like they were about to spring out of his head so he wouldn’t say anything strange. Anything irresponsible. Anything about how proud he was of his boy and how papi had loved and hated seeing him getting dicked down by another man.

I think 76 would have a huge humiliation kink and that’s part of the reason why he and reyes are so good together. The first time 76 came was from Reyes stepping on his cock with his steel toed shoes.

The heck :O I was just starting to write more-or-less-cute Reyes coaxing virgin!Jack to rut against his goddamn thick thigh and then you come along with this nastiness and I’m totes into it.

I’m such a leaf in the wind, you peeps. A slutty leaf in the wind. I can’t. I’m just so weak.

“Don’t look at me. Hands behind your head.” Reaper slowly rounds 76, a thrill of dark power coursing through him as the old soldier does as he is told; pressing his forehead against the dirty ground and putting his hands against the back of his neck.

“You’re pathetic. You come crawling to me just to vie for a fuck like a cat in heat. What makes you think I want some old, broken toy like you? Last time had been nothing but a pity fuck. You weren’t that good.”

He watches the long, scarred line of the soldier’s back; the tight globes of his ass. Between his sparsely haired thighs, his cock is fattening up in eagerness, even pressed against the cold, dirty concrete as it was.

Reaper slowly makes another half circle, boots thudding heavy against the ground, and watches with interest as the soldier’s cock swells a little more.

“You should apologize for being so pathetic. I feel sick just looking at you.” Out of sight, he let one hand slide between his own legs – gave the hard ridge of his cock a loving squeeze. His belly felt hot; as if it was filled with liquid metal.

76 shifts slightly, toes dragging against the floor, shoulders flexing gingerly without taking his hands from the back of his neck.

“I am sorry.”

Reaper nearly groans. he stands still and stares down at his prey.

“What are you sorry for?”

“For… being pathetic. For asking you to fuck me.”

“You weren’t asking.”

“For begging.” 76′s voice was wobbling and rough. Difficult to understand. When he swallowed thickly, a distinct scratch of someone near-tears added to the mix. “Please fuck me. I-I-I need it so bad. I tried to… – but I couldn’t come.”

“What did you try?” Reaper says – whispers, almost – reverently, gaze wandering from between the heavily scarred shoulder blades down, down, down…

“F-Fucking myself.” The soldier spits it out as if ripping off a band aid – doing it quick to lessen the pain. Reaper can feel his cock pulse in the tight confines of his pants. When he squats down, he can feel a bead of pre-cum seep into his underwear, mixing with the sweat of the skirmish they had before.

He clinically pries 76′s ass apart and stares at the wet, little muscle.

“Sí? Did fuck yourself on a toy, did you? While others were out on missions, trying not to get killed, the good little Soldier: 76 was in his bunk and fucking himself on a toy he squirrelled away. Useless slut.”

He listens to 76′s harsh, excited breathing, and doesn’t miss the jerk off his balls when he briefly touches one sharp metal claw to the shyly winking muscle.

He stands back up quickly, lest he give in and just mount the man right then and there; fuck into him just to feel the warm, needy clench of his body. Again, Reaper reaches between his thighs; rearranges his cock and indulges in a little squeezing just to take the edge off.

“Do they know you’re a cheap whore? That you’re fucking off to the enemy every chance you get, just so I can use you like a sloppy toy?”

He kicks the soldier’s legs farther apart, noting his muted sound of pain when hard metal connects with his shins in the process. When he nudges against 76′s swollen cock, the man cries out softly and digs his forehead harder against the concrete. He is sweating bullets and his back is flushed in aroused shame.

“Yes,” Reaper muses, eyes on that little, winking muscle that the soldier must have abused earlier, “You’re a used up toy. Maybe I should try and whore you out. At least get a few bucks from strangers fucking an old man on the street behind some stinking dumpster…” His underwear feels tacky, clinking uncomfortably to his dick. He wants to loosen one of his belts that is digging against the swollen head but he doesn’t want 76 to notice how excited he has gotten by all of this.

There was a certain… ritual to their weekly meetings that Reaper was clinging to desperately.

He swallows thickly and nudges an unfriendly foot against the soldier’s swollen balls.

“Well? How is it? Would you put out for random drunk bastards if I told you so?”

76′s voice, when he answers, is nothing like his usual, harsh growling. It’s high and weepy. Almost childlike.

“Yes.”

Reaper groans, head falling back briefly, chest heaving in harsh, excited breaths. He needs to get himself back under control before he can say with an obvious scratch in his voice, “Of course you would. Useless cum dumpster. Fuck, you are so pathetic. I can’t fuckin’ believe they picked you to be the face of Overwatch. Got a goddamn three dollar hooker as their so-called golden boy and left me standing in the fucking dust.”

He is barely registering what he’s saying; watching himself put his boot against the swollen, flushed cock pressed uncomfortably against the ground and grinds down against it with measured, careful pressure.

Jack is crying out; broken and pathetic, hands finally losing their spot on the back of his neck to scrabble helplessly against the dirty floor. He is whimpering and jerking without pulling away and Gabriel wants to… he wants to fucking… he wants to kick him until he’s black and blue, wants him to suffocate on his god damn cock, wants to choke him while fucking him until he’s passing out.

He wants to stare at Jack’s tired, sad face as he grunt fucks him right in front of the noses of his brainless little gang.

When Jack has stopped moving and is just breathing harsh, blowing up clouds of dust, Gabriel takes his boot away and watches the puddle of cooling cum on the floor.

“Th-th-thank you,” Jack finally jerks out. He sounds out of it; voice small and kind of far away.

Gabriel makes a sound of disgust and gets the thin blanket he put on the far away table, shakes it out and puts it over the body on the floor.

“Jackass,” he murmurs low, lingers and tells himself he is not waiting for a sign that Jack was coming back into his own head, and gets even more angry with himself when he admits that it was exactly that what he was doing before he makes a hasty retreat.

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.

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.

“Shhh, shh, shh,” McCree shushed, metal hand clamping over Hanzo’s mouth, and hips hunching further inward – pushing his cock deeper into the wet, delirious clutch of Hanzo’s body.

He could blearily see Hanzo’s eyes widen – staring at him wide and wet; seemingly so dumbfounded at how deep McCree could reach. How wide he’d fucked him open on his cock, and dragged all those catty, needy noises out of him.

“Ya need to be nice and quiet, dahlin’,” he whispered. He sounded drunk – felt drunk – even though he’s only had one beer. Hanzo was getting to his head.

He was moving constantly; muscles rippling and working around his cock. Suckling on his dick like he still hadn’t got used to the meaty girth. “God damn,” he whispered and jerked against Hanzo without having pulled out before hand. The reaction was as instantaneous as it was beautiful – Hanzo’s eyes fluttered shut with the jolt of his body, and he shouted against McCree’s prosthetic palm. His sensors picked the vibrations up and made them tickle through his arm up towards his shoulder.

McCree grit his teeth, mashing his hand more firmly around Hanzo’s jaw, keeping him nice and quiet as he began moving again. There was nothing fluid about his fucking – his hips were jerking in hunching, little motions that kept him from actually moving too far out.

He was fucking Hanzo on just a couple centimeters of his dick, mostly simply keeping him full, and Hanzo went wild for it. He was flushed and sweaty, the bruises McCree had sucked into his chest standing out in livid colors.

His body was still working around him. Rippling and suckling and making a spectacle out of the whole mess by giving off little, wet smacking sounds whenever McCree pulled out far enough to actually ram back inside.

“Quiet, quiet, quiet,” he was groaning out low, right into Hanzo’s face. He was just babbling for the sake of it, not registering what exactly it was that he was saying. McCree was thinking with his dick; thinking about how he was going to fill Hanzo up, and how sore his swollen balls would feel afterwards. Hanzo couldn’t make a sound except for a low, desperate keening deep in his throat.

McCree would never have imagined how desperate Hanzo would be for cock. How that pink, little hole would become pouty and hungry to get filled, opening up like a dream for a big dick that knew what it wanted.

“Fucking slut. So good. So gorgeous. Yeah, take it. Take my dick, an’ keep quiet like a good boy. Like a fuckin’ good boy, dahlin’.”

Sweat was tickling down his spine and gathering in the small of his back. He was fucking like an animal, hips hunching into his desperate, abrupt thrusts, deep dicking Hanzo – trying to practically crawl after his cock into that slick, clutching space that felt like wet silk clinging to him.

Hanzo’s face was red. He probably couldn’t breathe too well. His dark, liquid eyes started to cross from the overload of sensations, and McCree dumbly wondered whether he’d found Hanzo’s prostate and had been pummeling against the puffy gland the whole time.

Hanzo’s fingers were on his back. It felt like he was trying to rip it open while he bucked up towards him; towards the meaty cock driving into him.

“Stay silent, nice and silent, that’s right that’s the ticket, good boy good boy,” McCree babbled, pressing their foreheads together and listening to the desperate huffing coming from Hanzo’s nose.

“Fuckin’ good little slut.”

Hanzo had a habit of staring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How silly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

yooo. *shifty eyes* … @bicosporn because reasons 😛 didn’t think I’d write it so soon tbh but I had a surprising amount of time and dedication today.

‘tis basically McCree being really into Hanzo’s tits and having a dirty mouth.

McCree hadn’t listened to Winston’s briefing for a good five minutes, and he supposed there would be some people pissed off about his lack of attention, but really he was confused about how anyone was able to concentrate when Hanzo was making a show out of himself right there on the other side of the room for everybody to see.

McCree sure as hell wasn’t able to focus on anything else other than Hanzo’s chest since Winston had moved down from the dais, and Hanzo had moved with him to keep him in sight, rotating minimally but just enough for this poor, helpless bastard to see that he’d crossed his arms sometime during the lecture, and…

…and to be honest, these days it took little else for Jesse to get hot and bothered since he’d finally eroded Hanzo’s resistance a couple weeks ago. Hanzo was like a drug.

So Jesse just stood there, leaning against the wall and pretending he was bored to hell listening, when in reality he was ogling Hanzo across the room, face hidden by his wide-brimmed hat, furiously chewing on the toothpick he had taken with him after lunch.

Hanzo’s pecs looked positively plush, squished together like they were between the restricting frame of his biceps, and McCree wondered how deep that snug little valley between them could be. How deep the dip would be if he put his mind to squeezing Hanzo’s pecs together for his own selfish benefit.

He thought about cupping Hanzo’s chest; basically taking generous hand fulls of the smooth, defined muscles and kneading them; rubbing the palms of his hands across pouty nipples that would get hard and needy at the slightest attention, as he’d been able to confirm for himself.

He thought about straddling Hanzo’s ribcage; of having this proud princeling beneath him, looking up at him with dark, cool eyes that could start burning so quickly – Hanzo’s temper always close beneath the surface, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

McCree grit his teeth, feeling the toothpick start to splinter and warp. He pulled one knee up and put his foot on the wall behind him just to give the heavy weight of his lazily pulsing cock some room, and also shield his predicament from the others.

It was then that Hanzo moved, and the light shifted across the swell and dip of his chest, as well as the muscles of his tattooed left arm, showing it off just as much as the rest of his barely clothed-

Goddamn he was practically naked, wasn’t he?! McCree had been able to attest it himself how easy it was to pull the side of his kimono down from his shoulder, getting it to pool around his waist and giving delicious, free access to his upper body, and…

Jesse jerked out of his – well… obsession, if he was honest – as Torbjörn briefly stumbled into his leg. The briefing was over and the ones attending it were filing out – only McCree remained, carefully adjusting the swollen bulge of his cock, and trying to get his pulse back under control after Hanzo’s… after his… well. After his display.

It took him embarrassingly long to realize he wasn’t even alone in the room; that in fact Hanzo was still there, standing on the other side and looking at him with inscrutable dark eyes and a knowing smirk on his lips, half-hidden by the whiskers of the neatly kept beard.

“Ya little bastard,” Jesse whispered, stunned and delighted by the unexpected challenge thrown at his feet. He numbly watched Hanzo leave – then spat out the mangled remains of the toothpick and hurried after him.

It never occurred to McCree how well trained he already was.

.o.

“Na-ah, babydoll.” McCree struggled to hold Hanzo at a distance with the fist full of thick hair he’d grabbed earlier – and then, after Hanzo seemed determined to still get at his price, eyes glittering and mouth invitingly wet, he curled the other one around his cock to shield it. The metal felt blessedly cool against his angrily pounding flesh – especially after the suckling, eager heat of Hanzo’s mouth.

Hanzo’s lips parted, the tip of his tongue peeking out for a second. It looked as if he was about to stretch it out and try to touch it to the dark red head of McCree’s cock, then seemed to think better of it at the last moment and quickly closed his mouth, eyes flicking up to meet Jesse’s heated stare.

There was a flush across his prominent cheekbones. McCree had no idea what was going on in his head kneeling here in Hanzo’s small Overwatch HQ room, after having enthusiastically sucked McCree’s cock until his throat had bulged with it – McCree had been able to feel it with a hand curled around Hanzo’s throat.

“What is it?” Hanzo’s gaze started drifting back down, then quickly jerked back up again. McCree could feel his cock flex against the unrelenting grip of his metal hand. Hanzo was a fucking drug, and Jesse needed to keep his wits about him so he wouldn’t get dragged down into that swamp.

He swallowed thickly and squeezed his cock a little harder than necessary just to calm down. Hanzo looked delicious kneeling before him and looking up, upper body naked and tattoo dark against his left shoulder.

“Ah think you have somethin’ to make up to me, don’tcha?”

McCree watched Hanzo’s eyebrows drift together in chagrin, eyes sliding off to the side. McCree grinned, finding his feet once again, and feeling himself settle more firmly into what was happening.

“Did you think I’d just forget what you did? Lookin’ like a little slut; showin’ off your pretty tits to the whole room…”

It was fascinating to see the change in Hanzo’s face; how it slackened a little, the flush lowering from his cheekbones into his cheeks, eyes going even darker as his pupils blew wide. Jesse felt breathless, as if he’d ran for too long and too fast. He’d almost thought he’d be overstepping a boundary, but… seeing Hanzo’s reaction, he felt more secure in what he was about to do.

“Ah know y’ like showing off like a whore,” he crooned, words drawling out like syrup. He finally let go off his cock and instead cupped the side of Hanzo’s jaw, metal thumb dragging across his lower lip. “Why don’t ya show off for me? Show me your gorgeous tits. Been hungry for them for…”

He’s trailing off, never finishing the sentence, as he watches Hanzo move – hands lifting obediently; cupping the undersides of his pecs to slightly shove them together. He looks lewd and obscene and fucking perfect; showing off just like that as if he… as if he just wanted to be pretty and obedient for him – yet at the same time he looked away and to the side, seemingly embarrassed at his own needy display.

“Daaahlin’,” McCree groans, cock jerking against his dangling, broad belt buckle. “Get on the fuckin’ bed. Get on the fuckin’ bed, Hanzo.”

They nearly trip over each other like goddamn teenagers in their haste.

.o.

“Gorgeous, little slut. Lookit you showin’ off for me.”

McCree couldn’t believe that he was actually doing what he’d been fantasizing about not too long ago; kneeling astride Hanzo’s ribcage and watching him press his pecs together solely for Jesse’s viewing pleasure.

He began to wonder whether he’d hit his head during one of their missions and was maybe lying in a hospital bed somewhere.

The thought flew out of his head when he gently rocked his hips, the head of his dick dragging along the valley Hanzo had created, leaving behind sticky pre-cum.

Hanzo’s nostrils flared as he caught the sharp scent, and his mouth opened on a small, almost shy moan.

“Yeah…” McCree breathed, and then again, with a little euphoric laugh as he moved again, more assured this time, “Yeah.”

It was so easy to reach down and push Hanzo’s hands away; get his own on that glorious chest and knead and push just as he saw fit. Just a couple weeks ago – hell, just a couple hours ago – he hadn’t thought Hanzo would ever let him close enough to do this.

In the end, though, Hanzo looked downright drunk on the way Jesse used him. His hair was loose and all over the place – thick and dark as ink where it hadn’t greyed yet. It made him look out of it; totally enthralled by the motion of McCree’s cock through the valley between his pectoral muscles. The tips of his ears, whenever they peeked out of the mess of his hair, were bright red, and it struck McCree as shockingly adorable – a word he thought he’d never associate with Hanzo Shimada.

“Help me.. help me,” he chanted, voice low and shot. He dug his fingers into Hanzo’s chest when he immediately moved obedient and accommodating to McCree’s single-minded pleasure; hands coming up to form a tight roof across McCree’s cock and keep it from slipping out of the gratifyingly plush valley of his cleavage.

“Come…” Hanzo licked his lips and tried it again, eyes flicking up briefly to McCree’s face before staring down again, nearly cross-eyed as he watched the dark red, swollen tip of Jesse’s cock emerge from beneath his hands again and again. “Come closer.”

McCree didn’t think he’d ever forget the sight of Hanzo straining his head up, tongue out to try and get little licks in across his cock’s leaking tip.

“Oh god, oh god, oh…” He had to bite his tongue to stop babbling, and just kept watching, harsh gasps ripping out of his throat whenever he fucked into the warm, tight tunnel of Hanzo’s hands, and felt the fluttering touch of his tongue against the very tip.

When he came, he did so without warning – and remorse, if he was perfectly honest.

The sight of thick streaks of cum slicking across Hanzo’s chin and getting caught in the dark hair of his beard, was almost better than the burning, tugging sensation of the orgasm itself.

McCree wondered vaguely if Hanzo would ever agree to him taking pictures of his blissed-out cum-streaked face, because McCree thought he’d never seen anything sexier in his damn life – it was enough to motivate his dick into a valiant effort to stay hard.

“Gorgeous slut,” he whispered, dragging the knuckles of his right hand gently across Hanzo’s heated cheek.