It was never hard to find Reinhardt within a given base. He was a man full of mirth and opinions and not shy to express any of it while reaching for his team mates with large hands and pulling them beneath heavy, sheltering arms to give them affectionate squeezes.

Reinhardt was, despite his intimidating stature and wild looking face, easy to love. A man with a certain kind of presence and notoriety that encouraged attention, respect – adoration – by some kind of unspoken law of nature.

It was therefore all the more surprising, when all of that easy going, straight backed confidence melts away so easily – eagerly – when Miss Amari calls; voice warm and a little scratchy, standing in the doorway to whatever room Reinhardt’s booming voice had let her this time.

And nobody would be able to stop him when she beckoned with a crooked smile and an outstretched hand, her one good eye friendly and crinkling at the corners.

She hadn’t had the pleasure of his company in too long and seemed to savor his subservience all the more for it.

“Do you want to follow me?” she’d ask, voice not lowered in a hush, because whispering was for shame, and she could never be ashamed of her gorgeous, little pet – and he’d always follow her; would crawl at her heels if she so fancied.

She did – sometimes. Not in the open, though, no. Reinhardt’s submission was for her; and her alone. Maybe she’d show him off one day; when she had sated herself enough to quench the clawing hunger of needing him for herself all the time. The silly need to put this behemoth of a man in her pocket and carry him around with her.

As it was, she let him strip and kneel for her in her quarters; shallow basins of water and fragrant oils already readied and put into place.

“You have never stopped fighting, have you?” Ana questions with a voice like a rusty purr. Her hair gleams like steel in the setting sun. She rounds the large man in measured steps, hands wandering across the breadth of his shoulders, eyes taking in the massive expanse of his chest; the tight coils of his stomach; the heavy, relaxed weight of his cock against thighs as massive as marble.

Reinhardt is a work of art. He reminds her of architecture from home.

He catches her hand and hides it between his warm, large palms. He breathes a kiss onto it. “You haven’t either.”

Attentive, lovely little slave.

Ana tuts and extracts her hand after a quick brush of her thumb against his mouth.

“This is not about me. You were so loud again. I think you would do good to just be still and let me talk. don’t you think?”

His grin his broad and gentle, his good eye attentive, yet tired.

They both were. So tired.

Rounding him again, looking at his lovely submission before her, she can’t deny the prickling feeling of rejuvenation.

Ana washes him. He moves beneath her fingers like a benevolent lion. He is purring for her, chin up high and thick throat bared for her fingers.

He doesn’t flinch when she puts her hands around his neck.

He smells of the oils Ana lovingly massaged into his body, and she wants to lick him up. Wants him to lay himself out for her so she can crawl all over his body; rub herself against the hard ridges of muscle; drag her messy, little slit against the hard line of his hip and have him walk around with her mark on his skin.

He would do it, too. 

His cock flexes into her hand; warm and big and lively, his chest heaving as she squeezes him and lets go once more.

“Show yourself off for me,” she demands softly, her fingers starting on pulling off her clothes – and she can’t help but laugh at how eager her boy is when he sees his mistress revealing herself to him; his mouth falling open and eyes going wide. In this moment, Reinhardt looks like a young man again. Eager. Needy.

His fist is clumsy when he curls it around his cock and flicks his wrist – and becomes lazy when she sits down in a chair and spreads her legs for his viewing pleasure. He slows down to a crawl – then stops completely, gaze fixed on the dark flush of her cunt; the slick she smears all over her folds with teasing, slim fingers.

“Lazy boy. I thought you would thank me for the privilege of touching yourself for me,” Ana chides, lined face relaxed, voice gentle and teasing despite the rustiness.

She crooks her finger; beckons him closer.

“In that case… I think you shouldn’t have the right anymore, do you? Come here and show me how much you remember, instead. Pretty pet. Lovely boy. Such a gorgeous, little slave for me.”