Jamison was such a lovely – if very confused – young man. Ana did suspect that for the first few weeks he’d followed her around out of some misguided notion of grandmotherly love, however, she never quite had had the inclination to inquire further.

Having him sprawled across her lap, letting him nuzzle rudely between her breasts, that wide, loud mouth searching for a warm, brown nipple, might have worsened those misfiring thoughts in his head – but she couldn’t bring it over herself to shove him away.

He was a horribly crass and undisciplined punk that talked too loud and fast, and did most things out of sheer shock value – yet she couldn’t say that she disliked him. Quite the contrary.

Ana liked to watch and observe; like she enjoyed seeing Reinhardt laugh boisterously and clap Jesse so hard on the shoulder that he sagged sideways from a chair, just to turn on a dime the next second and become a sweet lap cat for her – gentle and careful when he brushed fingertips along her cheek just beneath her eye patch and press a prickly kiss against the side of her neck.

It was not hard to see the primal hunger for affection in Jamison – or his contrary animal fear of it; but that didn’t make it any easier to take.

How easy it was to shame him almost to tears with a harsh word, or to coax out a well of pathetic happiness when she brushed a hand across his dirty hair and pulled him against her chest; let him nuzzle and press close until it hurt.

“You can be a good boy,” she had told him once, sitting behind him, brushing a brown hand down his shivering, painfully thin back. “And I’m not saying ‘if you want to’. When you’re with me, you don’t need to think about how you need to be. I will think for you, precious boy.”

Her slippery fingers slip between his meager cheeks, fingertips slipping across the little, vulnerable hole she finds there. He makes a startled sound, jerking forwards and against the restraint of Reinhardt’s thigh – unyielding like warm, living rebar.

“Sshhhh,” she soothes, fingers circling and petting; never trying to dip in. His muscles are fluttering like a little bird’s wing. “You just need to let me mold you. I won’t hurt you. I will never hurt you. You can be such a good boy, and I can help you… Just stay calm for me. Ease. That’s all I’m asking.”

She coos when Junkrat calms down, the desperate clutch of his skinny arms around Reinhardt’s thigh relaxing into something that could be called an easy sprawl.

“Very good,” she sighs and leans down to kiss the knobs of his spine. “Good pets always get a treat.”

She watches Reinhardt’s big hand cup Jamison’s jaw and guiding him forward and between his legs.

Jamison doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t talk. He simply goes with the motion, body still taut but secretly trusting between them as he gets with the idea and pushes his face in close to the warm, dark space.

Reinhardt’s long sigh and deep rumble tell her that her boy’s tongue had started a warm, gentle lap.

“That’s it. That’s it. And when you’re done, I’ll have you service me,” she promises huskily as she drags her cunt against the firm line of his thigh just to let him feel her excitement.

Jamison shudders, then relaxes a bit more.