Tag: lingerie

For @schmogg for their excellent 3D work.

Reaper’s talons are fisted tightly in the short, white hair, keeping the soldier on a tight leash.

“Well? Get to it! Do you want to suck my cock or not? I have other options, I’m not dependent on a used up slut like you.”

He can hear Jack wheeze behind the mask, a slight static to the sound as the electronic within the visor seems to work in overdrive to figure out what the fuck was wrong with him – why his vitals were going all over the place.

Nothing was wrong with the soldier, of course. Nothing except that he was a goddamned cockwhore afraid to get dick taken away from him.

Jack strains against the hold, gloved fingers clamping around his knees because Reaper told him he had to fucking listen to his commands like they were gospel and he’s afraid he might accidentally reach for him anyway.

Gabriel watches his struggle impassively. He is standing like a granite statue, cool and impersonal – if not for the half-hard cock hanging out of his pants. The one Jack was going crazy for.

It was fun watching him struggle against the sharp talons, nearly ripping clumps of hair out in his mindless eagerness and fear that Reaper might make it true – might pack up and leave him kneeling alone in the warehouse they sought out this time.

He is grunting softly, the sound climbing in pitch and desperation the longer he gets held from his prize just a hand width apart – so close that if he were just able to use his hands, he could…

“Fuck you’re pathetic. You want that cock, don’t you? Then fucking get it! Can’t manage that when you have to work for it, hm? The poor guys you usually mug for their dicks probably have no idea what’s even happening. Too goddamn drunk.”

He listens to Jack’s groan – low and gurgling and wet sounding – and feels the weight on his arm increase when he starts to sag a little. He’s stopping to strain forward because he wants to lean back and listen to Gabriel spew abuse at him and he can’t have that, now, can he?

Gabriel makes a soft sound of disgust in the back of his throat and yanks the soldier’s head closer.

“There. I’m even doing the fucking work for you. Now suck my cock.”

He reaches down, curling a fist around the base of his dick and smears,the tip across Jack’s jaw guard. He smirks dark and satisfied behind his mask when the old soldier turns his face into it.

“Well? What now? Get my cock wet, whore. You know how to do that at least, don’t you? Your usual clientele has to be more than happy with just a tongue out drooling over their dicks.”

He can almost picture what was happening behind the mask: Jack’s mouth open and wet, tongue lapping at the inside of what was, if it came down to it, a muzzle.

Reaper wonders what the sensors are able to pick up; whether they let Jack smell his dick, so close yet so far – the sweat and musk overwhelming on his senses. He certainly acts like it. He’s whining like a bitch in heat, head coming forwards, nuzzling desperate and clumsy at the cock held out for him while Gabriel taunts: “Come get it, you lazy slut. I did all the work for you – just open your goddamn mouth and take my cock.”

There’s thin streams of blood trickling down Jack’s forehead from little nicks of Gabriel’s claws as he got to careless. The soldier either doesn’t seem to realize – or, indeed, care.

“You’re a disgrace,” Reaper whispers, voice a low, sibilant hiss as he finally has pity and wrenches the mask and visor from Jack’s face with a harsh hand. There’s a string of saliva connecting the wet bottom lip to the tight protecting mesh; his pupils are blown wide even through the new light filtering in. Everything looks messy and slick and his gaze doesn’t leave Gabriel’s goddamn dick. “You always were,” he continues, breathless, staring at the way Jack tries to fucking choke himself on his cock in his eagerness to suck it down his throat, wet gagging accompanying little, muffled groans of happiness.

He’s never seen Morrison more happy, more tranquil, than when he was warming a dick with his body.

“Good thing nobody outside the program knew what a disgusting slut you really were. Think they wouldn’t have let their precious children play with your toys if they’d known the real thing was getting used as a pissoir by his higher ranking officers and thank them for the privilege.

“I still remember getting ordered to seek you out in whatever corner of the complex they dragged you off to to play with and haul your ass into the showers because you were too goddamn drunk on getting dicked to do it yourself.”

He is cupping Jack’s jaw, almost lovingly tender, staring down at him as he gurgles around his cock, gets everything good and wet as he tries to bury his nose in Gabriel’s pubes. Everything was warm and tight and silky, Jack still knowing how Reaper liked it – even after all these years.

“Show me,” he rasps – and when nothing happens, the old soldier too enamored with sucking cock to listen to his demand, he slams the ball of his hand against his forehead none too gently, pushing him away.

Jack looks dizzy, mouth hanging open, a mix of saliva and salty pre-cum dribbling down his stubbled chin. His eyes become wet. He looks like he’s about to fucking bawl because Reaper denied him his dick.

“Show me,” he says again. He doesn’t need to explain; Jack knows exactly what he wants.

His cheeks turn ruddy red and he squirms on the spot; actually looking loathe to debase himself further, but a little glance at Reaper’s cock, wet and thick, jutting obscenely from the opening of his pants, has him turn around with a dry sob lodged somewhere in his throat.

The panties are pretty and electric blue. They fit his eyes.

Gabriel barks a laugh and places the sole of his boot against Jack’s upraised ass just because he can – nudges hard so the soldier’s cheek rubs through the dirt on the ground where he put it.

“You wanted to be pretty, eh? Did you order them online? One hand on your dick, jerking it while your team mates were going about their daily lives outside your door? Or did you go to a mall. Oh I bet you did. You wanted to see them up close and personal, didn’t you? Wanted to make sure they’re the exact right color so you can feel fucking pretty while you’re wearing them.”

He nudges again with his boot, none too gently. Jack is quiet, his eyes clenched shut, the ruddy flush on his cheeks deepening. Gabriel slowly squats down, sharp talons hooking into the back of the panties. He’s toying with the frilly lace.

“Did you enjoy it walking through a little dessous shop? You got off on the assistants watching you. Knowing exactly your type; that you’re not there to buy something for your wife but for yourself. People can read it in your face, you know. You’re an open book for those who know where to look, Morrison. They only need to take a glance at you and know what a fucking slut you are. Depraved old pervert looking to jerk off into pretty lingerie.”

The soldier is squirming. Gasping. His arms come up and he hides his face in the crook of one of them, shielding his head as if blows were raining in. Gabriel starts tugging his panties down slowly, he feels stupidly out of breath and tries to not let it on.

“Did you have your hands shoved in your pockets? Fondled your dick while you searched for the exact right pair? I bet you did. You were thinking about wearing them later; sitting in the communal room in some ratty undershirt and sweatpants while wearing your cute panties, nobody the wiser. Fuck.”

Jack has made a soft sound – high and trembling and pathetic – and suddenly Gabriel needed more. Needed to get his cock in, even if it were just…

“Show me how much you want my dick, Morrison. C’mon you filthy one-dollar-whore.”

He’s slapping one cheek harshly, leaving four thin, short scratches along the skin, bleeding sluggishly.

Jack moves like he’s in trance; fumbling for his own ass cheeks to pull them apart and show his hole off to the enemy. That tantalizing dark space, glistening wet and welcoming. Gabriel bites the tip of his tongue until he can taste blood so he wouldn’t groan at the sight like a fucking horny teen.

He wonders how Morrison still manages to look so enticing. Even knowing he’d been used like a communal toy, he couldn’t help but nudge the head of his dick in between the spread of his cheeks, while murmuring a low, indistinct mantra of: “Yeah. That’s it. Show me your filthy cunt.”

Jack is carefully still, seemingly not even breathing anymore. He wants Reaper’s cock so bad, he seems frozen to the place, stunned by his own need.

Gabriel grits his teeth, watching himself push in; spreading the buttery soft clench of Jack’s muscles around his tip, farther and farther until he’s spread just on the very edge of the ridge. A high, trembling sound is shivering out of the soldier’s throat. His muscles are working, feeling like a suckling, eager mouth, and Gabriel feels tears burning in his eyes, it feels so good.

He blinks once, twice, exhales sharply between clenched teeth, and finally gets himself back under control.

“There. Happy?”

Jack sobs, gloved fingers digging deeper into his cheeks, trying to spread farther.

“Deeper. Please.”

It’s the first thing he’s said, voice ruined. It’s so dark and gravelly, Reaper can barely make out the words.

“What’s that?”

“Deeper. Please. Oh god, I need…”

“I know what you need. I’m not giving it to you.”

Jack makes a noise that sounds so scandalized, it’s hilarious. Reaper grins behind his mask – more a baring of teeth – and nudges back and forth minimally; a supreme control over his hips and his own desire as he moves his dick; rocks just the tip through the warm, clutching entrance, fucking Jack on it.

“Don’t think you deserve more.”

The soldier’s shoulders are trembling, jerking, pulling up to his ears. He’s fucking crying, teeth dug into his bottom lip as he mindlessly rubs his face against the dirty floor of the warehouse. He’s going insane getting his ass spread on nothing but the tip of Gabriel’s cock, and he doesn’t dare to move back and fuck himself onto the thick length because Reaper hasn’t allowed him to, and he’s been trained well enough.

“Pathetic, filthy whore. I don’t know who’s been in here before me. Some random cocks you picked up in a dirty gas station bathroom, maybe. Got them to fuck you next to a broken toilet because you were in the neighborhood and just smelled your chance to get stuffed. I think you can be lucky I’m even getting this close.”

He’s clenching his teeth until his jaw hurts, fisting his cock and jerking it off in almost angry twists of his wrist, fingers cruel against the ladder piercing.

Jack makes a wet sound in the back of his throat, body jerking, breath coming harsh. He’s coming in his little panties on nothing but an inch of cock and mean words of abuse hissed at him in Gabriel’s low voice.

Reaper snarls and pulls out of the wet grip of his ass, the soft squelching sound enough to trigger his own release, eyebrows drawn together in a grimace of intense concentration and almost anger as he gets the crack of Jack’s ass sticky and warm with his cum.

“Pull your fucking pants back up,” he tells him afterwards, voice gruff, watching as Jack’s fingers tremble visibly even through the thick gloves he’s wearing.

“Wait-” he murmurs when the soldier has fought his way up unto shivering legs, eyes on the the open fly. “Leave that.”

Jack freezes, stares at him with wide eyes, helpless and still horny even though he’d just come – and then his face crumbles and he nods, not able to look into Gabriel’s face anymore because he’s willing to go out like that; fly open, bright blue panties visible, wet and see-through from his cum.

76/Reaper/McCree Commission

Commissioned by a v nice person that wants to remain anonymous. This was very interesting to write because it has monster!Gabe with mild slime kink and Jack and McCree that get corrupted (aka start turning into monsters themselves) by the milk. Also lingerie and dominance ❤

Reaper watches himself in the mirror, fingers sliding across the fine lace at the top of his stockings. It is stretched as tight as can go around the thickness of his thighs and he feels like it won’t survive the night which is sad because he looks very good in them.

He watches himself cup his pec, rubbing the fine mesh of the see-through bra cup against his nipples, and closes his eyes with a low, groaning moan. His tits feel filled and swollen. They were more than ripe for a milking that he had been putting off way too long just to get his boys riled and needy for their nursing.

McCree, for one, hadn’t been leaving his side for the whole day; opting to stalk around him like a starving hound, eyes hungry on the obscene swell of his filled pecs, and the corners of his mouth pulling apart a little too far to be human whenever his tongue flicked out to drag across his lips. The changes in his pets – slaves – were fascinating to observe, even though they were only visible when they were starving to get fed. For now.

Reaper was reasonably sure with just enough conditioning, they’d change more for him. Their bodies were accepting his milk beautifully – their minds susceptible for his need.

“Are you hungry?” Reaper purred. He was watching McCree’s reflection in the mirror. The gauntness of his cheeks played up by the dim light in the room giving Reaper a satisfying jolt of need to provide for his… charges.

McCree jolts. His eyes are large and dark; his behaviour canine as he carefully inches closer, eyes flitting from Gabriel’s chest to his hips and thighs. He likes what he’s seeing even if he doesn’t dare to say a thing.

“C’mere,” Reaper murmurs and finally turns away from the mirror. He reaches out for McCree and tangles a large hand in his unkempt hair; pulls him close to his chest and lets him mouth at the swollen nipple pressing prominently against the bra. McCree’s tongue immediately flickers out. He is drooling against the fabric, eyes hazy and heavy lidded.

Gabriel’s mouth falls open in a wide grin, the corners splitting up to beneath his ears. His tongue droops out like a vine; saliva thick and black. He can’t help it – the unabashed greed of his pets always makes him lose control over his body.

McCree is cooing softly against his chest, teeth a little too sharp as he tries to stealthily gnaw through the delicate mesh fabric and properly get at the nipple.

“No,” Reaper breathes with a low, airy growl. He pushes McCree away and flicks his tongue across the sharp jut of his cheek bone when he whines in protest. “Get Jack here. I have enough for the both of you.”

He watches McCree stumble away and feels his body waft in and out of focus.

.o.

Jack isn’t any less eager than McCree, though he manages to hide it better most of the time. He prefers to squirrel away and lick his wounds in solitude. He doesn’t like it when they see his shame; the starburst his pupils would become when he was dying to crawl up into Gabriel’s arms and have him pet at him with limbs that not always could be described as arms, irregular spikes digging into the blue of his iris.

He is an old soldier that likes to suffer in silence, and it will take longer to get him as deeply into Reaper’s thrall as it will for McCree – but Gabriel is quite sure his eventual capitulation, and his body’s unquestioning acceptance of Reaper’s milk will ultimately be all the sweeter for it.  

For now, they are both good boys, squirming next to each other on the couch, looking pale and starving. Sickly – as if Gabriel’s milk was an antidote they craved. He had never let them hunger this long and the results were showing in McCree’s large, wet eyes and Jack’s canine submissiveness as they watch him stalk closer with swinging hips and gently bouncing, milk filled pecs.

They don’t dare to reach for him on their own – just watch as he teases them further; turns once to let them see the way his muscular cheeks swallow the thin strap of his thong, or the obscene jut of his heavy cock and balls against the material.

Jack’s eyes are slitted as he watches. He looks in pain; throat trembling beneath the dog collar he’s wearing with jerky gulps; but when Gabriel raises his hands and cups his chest for their viewing pleasure (and to make them see what they couldn’t have without his permission), the old soldier becomes more alert, head lifting and eyes widening as they watch intently.

Gabriel’s nails are painted a cool blue that seems to dance like drops of ice over the backdrop of his dark skin. The color cracks when he shifts, nails lengthening into sharp, merciless claws.

“I like that,” Jack rasps, and Reaper can’t deny the shock of pleasure at his pet’s approval. He was mean to them, yes, but he also liked to make himself pretty for them and enjoyed their appreciation.

They were holding hands, Reaper realized with an almost startled burst of fondness. McCree’s hand is clutching at Jack’s fingers, squeezed between their thighs and half-hidden.

“Sweet pets waiting for their feeding,” Reaper purrs, haze wafting out of the corners of his mouth and from between his sharpening teeth. It feels almost thick; as if it has a texture, dripping down in large, viscous drops that puff into nothing as soon as they touch his chest.

McCree is whining, scruffy throat bulging against the tight constraints of his collar.

“Be good now,” Gabriel hums. He plays with the bottom hem of his bra before simply pushing it up until it sits in a tight, restricting line just above the swell of his pecs. He doesn’t have the patience to fumble with the opening, and his pets are not allowed to put their hands on him without a little bit of begging first. “If you are good, I will maybe let you rub off against my thighs.”

They groan, and McCree’s tongue slithers out in his eagerness; sinuous and snake like as he leans a little forward in anticipation.

“Stay down.” The command is short and sharp, but the grin on Reaper’s face is indulgent.

Someone whimpers when he straddles both their laps, and there’s the faint sound of fabric tearing as the muscles in his thighs bulge with the strain of the stretch and become rock hard .

“Come now,” he coaxes, curling large hands around their necks to ground and guide; pulling each to one full, engorged pec and puffy nipple. “You have both been good little sluts for me. Waiting patiently for- aaahhh.”

His head falls back and he clenches his eyes shut as sharp lust spikes through him from two eager, ruthless mouths sucking sharp – positively rude – at his tits. They don’t have an overarching, conforming rhythm, and the sensation is as disorienting as it is tantalizing. It makes Reaper carefully flex his feet and bite back a low groan. Their unpredictable suckling keeps him on his toes; it’s like an electrical wire has come to life, and it shakes his grasp on his own body’s form lose.

Jack and McCree are growling like dogs as they press close, fighting with their urge to touch and grab, which is strictly not allowed. When McCree gets too eager and presses sharpened teeth against Gabriel’s skin, he fists a clawlike hand in the back of his collar and pulls him away from his chest.

McCree yowls in protest. He looks feral; his facial features seem to be constantly warping, slipping from human to decidedly monstrous. There’s a string of viscous milk still connecting Gabriel’s puffy nipple with the tip of his lolling tongue.

“Don’t be rude,” Reaper chides, making McCree look away in chagrin, all the while his other hand is carding mindlessly through Jack’s short, white hair while he still nurses, the sound of his swallowing loud amidst the sharp, wet panting going on around him. Milk is oozing out the corner of his mouth and dripping in one long, thin string down between them.

When Gabriel catches it with the tip of his finger and offers it to McCree, his pet curls his long tongue around the digit and gently suckles it off.

“Very well. Come here again. I’m tired of this constant pressure.”

Reaper feels decadent and cared for as McCree surges back in; both men gentling down their assault from their earlier needy suckling into something more gentle and soothing. Slow, arhythmic drags at both his nipples accentuated by the wet little sounds their mouths make whenever they need to change the angle or swallow down the thick milk.

When they finally sag back, milk drunk and sated, their faces are messy and slack. Gabriel cocks his head; cocks it, cocks it, keeps turning it like an owl, and watches them from different angles in animal curiosity.

He thinks, dimly, that he probably should make fun of them. Like the low groan of a drunk coming from McCree, or the way Jack fusses and tries to turn his head away from his touching fingers, vulnerable as a babe when his belly is filled with warm, thick liquid – body getting lethargic as Gabriel’s milk starts seeping into tissue, sinuously changing his core DNA.

He doesn’t make fun of them, though – not yet. Instead, he wipes at the sticky milk coating their chins and feets it back to them; their mouths lazy but not less accepting as they mouth and lap and take everything he has to offer.

“Such good pets,” he praises, fingers hooking into their collars and pulling them forward for wet, licking kisses, tongue slipping in farther and farther into their accepting throats.

Jack chokes and grumbles but he lets him do whatever he pleases, anyway. McCree, though… he whimpers sweetly, eyes huge and dumb except for blind adoration. He always had been so susceptible to his old commander; hanging onto him like a lifeline even before everything went pear shaped.

Reaper was not surprised that he’d be a good pupil, even in this.