“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.
as has become usual, I kind of changed the prompt up a little bit to fit more comfortably in what I perceive them to be D: I’m sorry, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
“Keep your eyes on the cargo, McCree.”
“Not takin’ ‘em off, babe,” McCree easily agreed, leaving it to Hanzo to actually stare into the gloomy darkness while he tinkert around with the small heater Winston had send them off on mission with.
It wasn’t cold enough to actually need it – at least for McCree, since he was properly clothed; not like other men that liked to have their goods on show constantly – but it would be more than handy for what he had in mind.
“What are you doing?” Hanzo sighed deeply. He didn’t sound pissed off anymore; just resigned. McCree pulled out a flat container. “Smores,” he murmured, succinctly popping the lid open.
When he glanced at Hanzo, the archer looked unimpressed.
“You are a child,” was all he had to say before turning towards the cargo they were supposed to protect. He looked grumpy and sullen, but since that was his usual expression, Jesse had no idea what he was actually thinking.
“Gotta do something since I’m not allowed to smoke. And they’re tasty.”
“They’re sticky and sugary and you’re going to make a mess out of yourself.”
“Y’ can clean me up later if ya like, ma.”
He winked at Hanzo’s infuriated face, and busied himself with his smores. They were silent for a good while; Hanzo observing and Jesse enjoying his treats, until –
“You smeared it into your beard, you big American oaf.”
McCree glanced at Hanzo from beneath his brim, confused at the unusually aggressive tone.
Hanzo, for his part, was staring at his chin from the corner of his eyes, and – was that a flush slowly darkening his face?
“You want one?” McCree asked in a slow drawl, offering the newest marshmallow he’d speared on a fork. Hanzo huffed. “I don’t want your childish sweets. Clean yourself up, you look undignified.”
McCree shrugged and rubbed the back of his hand half-heartedly across his chin. He let Hanzo stew in his own dignified hissiefit for a while before rescuing him from his own too serious mindset – as he so often did.
“Hey, Hanzo?”
“Wha-” he choked as McCree unceremoniously shoved a squishy smore into his mouth.
Jesse grinned good-naturedly and hit him on the back. “There you go! Jus’ like one of ‘em big boys!”
I’m still taking requests, yep 🙂 surprised that I did get positively none tbh :O
so I can’t quite see them dancing to it, since that feels too OOC for me, but I can definitely give you this mental image, because the song is beautiful and kind off took me away onto a little sleepy trance right now:
They’d be out of the door in half an hour to catch the jet Europe bound, and while usually Hanzo had no problems being up and alert at the drop of a hat, living with McCree in close quarters for so long seemed to have… mellowed him out in that respect.
He watched the cowboy across the table, half listening to the tune coming from the radio. Jesse was leaning back, feet propped on the edge of another unoccupied chair and hat pulled so deep across his eyes that the edge of his burning cigar was in danger of touching the weathered brim.
He hadn’t moved for quite a while and Hanzo was wondering whether he’d fallen right back asleep; curled up in his serape as he was. He slowly turned the warm mug of tea in his hands and kept wordlessly staring; there was nothing else to do, after all. It was still dark and lonely this early in the kitchen, and even though Hanzo hadn’t a single musical bone in his body, he could feel the softness of the song worm into him.
Was McCree actually asleep?
It took him a while to realize that the metallic, rhythmic ringing accompanying the music, was coming from the man across the table: the spurs on his heels moving softly as he tapped his boots in time with the beat.
Ah… Not asleep after all. Just enjoying the silence.
Hanzo quietly smirked into his tea as he took another sip.
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.
Cyberrat Writes 