Drunk McCree and sober Hanzo getting it on; Hanzo loves McCree’s dick any which way. McCree is all on board for the worship.
“Don’t think I’ll be up to snuff for any playin’ tonight, babydoll,” Jesse murmurs. It is barely coherent, his lips move but the sounds that come out seem to lack behind the intended meaning of the words.
He stinks of cheap whiskey and wine. When Hanzo pushes him to fall onto the bed whatever patch of skin that can be seen above his wild, tangled beard becomes worryingly green before he takes deep breaths and relaxes again.
“That wasn’t very nice of you,” he slurs, feet weekly kicking at Hanzo as he crawls onto the bed. “Why’re you so mean to me, baby?”
“Because you’re too slow.”
“Whassat now?” McCree tries to glance down at him but the effort – or motion – seems not to sit well with him so he starts patting downwards, huge paw of a hand missing several times before it lands heavily on Hanzo’s head and holds on to the tight knot of hair he finds there.
Hanzo grunts and shakes his head once but Jesse is not being dissuaded and he doesn’t care enough to make him let go.
What he cares about is working apart the fly of McCree’s jeans and reach in so he can fish around the warm, humid confines of his boxershorts for the prize he’s been lusting after all afternoon – prowling through base in search for the man that unfortunately was attached to such a marvelous cock, only to find out he’s been out trying to get himself blackout drunk.
“Babydoll?” McCree slurs. He grunts when Hanzo’s fingers finally slip into the slit in front of his shorts and encounter the sweat-tacky forest of his pubes. “Really. Don’ think I’ll be up to any-”
“Quiet.” Hanzo leans down, head pillowed on McCree’s thick thigh. He looks peaceful as a kitten in that moment, breathing deep, trying not to show how much he enjoys McCree’s unwashed drunken state as he carefully fishes his dick out of his underwear.
If only he were as sweet as one; alas, even in his inebriated state McCree knows not to touch when he hasn’t been explicitly invited to.
Hanzo sighs through his nose when the dark, fat cock finally is in view. It is soft and warm in his hand, but still heavy enough to make him hot and horny. Seldom has he seen such a nice, girthy dick. One that he could play hours with if only its Master wasn’t so very… clingy.
He plays with the foreskin; rubs his thumb across the generous silky folds, wriggling it through the opening and carefully touching the tip to the blunt, tacky glans underneath.
He wonders if McCree went for a piss halfway through his drinking. The thought of him not properly shaking off makes his belly hurt with need. He can feel his face burn, mouth overflowing with saliva – but McCree is still watching him with bleary eyes.
“Sweetheart,” Jesse whines when Hanzo moves his fingers; lets the warm cock slide through them in practiced ease, pushing down on the loose skin to get at the fat tip. It’s rare that Hanzo is willing to do all the work and the fact that his cock is not responding – even with the sight of the handsome archer’s lips wet and ready just inches away – is killing him.
Hanzo ignores him. It’s like Jesse doesn’t exist: only the lazy girth of his goddamn dick – and anything else between his legs, come to think of it.
He watches as Hanzo leans forward, nose burying against the base of his cock, eyes fluttering close as he takes in deep, slow breaths, and fuck Hanzo has never done that before but the sight of him burying his regal nose in the unkempt tangle of Jesse’s pubes is so good so hot… and his dick is still not moving even an inch. It’s fucking lying there and taking all the little kitten licks and loving rubs of Hanzo’s cheeks, and Jesse wants to goddamn die because Hanzo was never this sweet to him.
Only to his fucking dick, it seemed. Cuddling with the goddamn thing like it’s his boyfriend, almost cooing before he starts tonguing the soft opening of his foreskin, pretty eyes slitted in satisfaction, cheeks a dull crimson.
He’s gonna jerk off on it, he suddenly thinks; the only clear thought in his muddled brain – and he knows it will happen with such a surety that he can see it in his mind’s eye. Hanzo straddling him and bracing himself on the sturdy expanse of his gut; not sparing a glance at him as he frantically rubs one out, aiming his dick to cream all over the flushed red cock he dragged out to play with.
Goddamn marking his territory like a fucking cat or something.
“You’re gonna kill me, babydoll,” he whines, digging in his booted feet and lifting thick hips in a lame parody of fucking. He can’t muster up any more coordination than that and his cock can’t even slap against Hanzo’s pretty face because it’s in a secure, deadly grip and McCree might be blackout drunk but he definitely was not the damned fool to try and take his dick away from Lord Shimada.
Cyberrat Writes 