Akande wonders if this is what Shimada considers light fun. He stands off to the side, watching as Shimada lays into the man he’s been interrogating for some time – at least he thinks he has been interrogating him. Everything not directed at him has been strictly Japanese, and by this time he is suitably sure that Shimada would be doing this if he had a reason or not.

There is something mesmerizing about the Shimada heir like this: his knee is placed on the bound man’s thigh, sure to dig into the large muscle there, one gloved hand used to brace himself against his shoulder while the other, adorned with an exquisite looking knuckle ring is slamming against his victim’s cheek again and again.

His hair has somewhat slipped out of the carefully slicked-back look, and there is a wide, sharp grin on his face. He looks deranged but beautiful even more so with splatters of blood against his face.

Akande would have liked to have the surprisingly amusing evening finish over the delicious meal Shimada had offered him, but he was nothing if not adaptable. Different cultures do have different customs, after all.

Suddenly, Shimada straightens up. Akande is not sure what the sign has been – whether he’s gotten the information he likes or whether he’s simply gotten bored – but all of a sudden he pulls out a sleek, black pistol and shoots the man right between the eyes.

Akande shifts his weight and watches Shimada whirl on him. He almost reaches for his own weapon when Shimada lets his own gun fall carelessly to the ground and prowls towards him.

He falls to his knees in front of him, hands greedily grabbing at his belt and jerking it open. Akande watches, eyebrows drawn, arms slowly, hesitantly unfolding. He glances towards the two big dogs flanking the door, but they are sitting like statues, unconcerned with anything that’s happening, even when he puts his hand on their master’s head.

He is reasonably sure they are used to this very picture.

Staring down at Shimada stuffing his throat with his cock, he is a bit concerned with those sharp teeth that are decidedly more red than white at the moment.

Shimada is wild for cock, gagging on Akande when he tries to fuck his throat on his not-yet-hard dick, and Akande wants to slow him down, but he is reasonably sure the effort will not be met favorably.

He sighs and closes his eyes, listening to the wet sounds of Shimada gurgling on his dick, feeling the silky, hot clutch of his throat.

Seems like he’ll just have to stay put and let Shimada unload the energy that has ramped up so sharply during his ‘entertainment’.

Between the Bars

robotfvckers:

Fandom: Overwatch
Pairing: Doomfist/Vampire!Hanzo
Warnings: bloodsucking, kidnapping, creature collection, blowjobs, frottage
Notes: Part 4 of the 🎃💀Halloween Strawpoll Compilation💀🎃

Summary: Akande collects mythical creatures, though none as fine or formidable as one Hanzo Shimada.

Akande is a man of discipline. He wakes at four o’clock every morning, exercises before the sun crests the horizon, eats a meticulously portioned meal while drinking a single cup of black ospina coffee. He arrives at the office at 7:30, nods to his secretary before reviewing emails, meeting and greeting important people, intimidating those who cross him, courting those who could be of use. He attends sponsorship deals, commentates fighting tournaments, appears at press tours, takes pictures with fans.

He finishes work at the same time every day if he can, remembering his mother’s words: work is something you must do, but do not forget the world outside of it.

This is how Akande develops (and justifies) his hobby. He is a man of tastes, groomed for it, though he cares little for the flashy displays and baubles of his peers. He prefers something more private but no less

decadent: his singular indulgence.

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Ooohhh Doomzo with “Shh, don’t cry. It’ll all be over soon. Now keep counting” !!!

“Shh, don’t cry. It’ll all be over soon. Now keep counting.”

Hanzo takes a shuddering breath. He studiously does not look at Akande – he seems embarrassed about his outbreak, his cheeks wet with tears and his voice raw from his unadulterated sobs.

His sudden breakdown had come at somewhat of a surprise, but he seemed all the calmer for it, now.

He is meek as the next slap hits his red ass, almost whispering ‘Eight’. Akande hums thoughtfully, one huge hand slowly rubbing across Hanzo’s back; down to his tailbone and then all the way back up to the nape of his neck where he curled his fingers to hold him down.

It is not needed, as Hanzo is lying heavy and limp across his lap, but the lord of Shimada Castle seems to like it all the same.

The next slap coaxes another sob out of him, but no longer as earth shattering and bone deep as the ones from before. It is almost an aftershock. A small hiccup as his ass gets warmed up and the sting dulls into a deep nestled pain.

“Ten,” Akande counts for him the last slap, voice low and measured, palm motionless once again as it just feels up the hot, tender skin. “You did very well.”

He had been surprised as the Lord had called for his special services, but now he feels like he understands a bit better.

Divested of his heavy, traditional robes, Lord Hanzo Shimada looks almost like a boy. Small and vulnerable.

Akande’s big fingers find their way gently between his cheeks, touching the virgin pink furl of his asshole.

A mighty sob shakes Hanzo’s body, and he cries out something. A plea for more. A plea for him to stop. A plea for mercy. All and nothing.

“Shh,” he murmurs, fingers slowly rounding the warm, tender opening. “You’re being so good for me.”

He will pet him more, and then stand him up; dress him himself to make sure everything is in perfect order before he steps in front of his servants once more.

But for now, he’ll let him calm down. Let him dry his tears against Akande’s loose pants, and whimper like a recalcitrant schoolkid.

Step into the dojo

gabrielsthighz:

Uhhhh……oops? My hand slipped?

{Warnings: Doomzo, Hanzo get’s wrecked™, semi-public sex}

Hanzo is sick of meetings, sick of following around in his father’s shadow while the older man ‘shows him the ropes’. His eyes burn from lack of sleep and the left side of his body is sore from a poorly timed landing on the dojo floor during morning practice.

He tugs at his traditional robes, hates the intricate blue and gold laced fabric. Wants his kyudo-gi back on. Would rather be up the rafters, taking down small targets with his bow.

“We are meeting with an esteemed member of the Ogundimu clan and his heir.” Sojiro states matter-of-factly as he leads Hanzo through the halls of the Shimada estate. Hanzo frowns at the back of his father’s head.

“Yes, father.” Hanzo says dutifully.

They take their seats inside the main greeting room. Hanzo remains still, watches his father out of the corner of his eye. The older man is typing away on a cell phone, most likely checking in on the men he’d sent out earlier in the day. Sojiro tucks it away when the door to the room opens and he rises slowly.

Hanzo mirror’s him and lifts his eyes to greet the newcomers.

His breathing stutters, just slightly.

The Ogundimu family are colossal, regal, intimidating men. Hanzo watches his father greet the one who is obviously the oldest, dark hair grey at the temples and smile wide as they clasp hands. His eyes move to the son, who is much taller than Hanzo, eyes sharp and dressed in an impeccable maroon suit. He can not be much older than Hanzo himself.

A thrill dips down Hanzo’s spine when those sharp, dark eyes lock with his.

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