Shit man just gimme more young brat McCree calling Gabe ‘Daddy’ as he gets the lights fucked clean out of him. (Hell, time fuckery and young blackwatch McCree gets fucked by Reaper and still calls him ‘Daddy’)

Same anon as timefuckery but MAN GIVE ME TRANSGENDER YOUNG MCCREE CALLING GABE/REAPER DADDY. Just fuck me up fam.

It was the worst when Jesse still had the mind and audacity to laugh as Gabriel felt him up; ranging above the skinny body, mouth on one nipple barely cushioned by the little bit of fat that remained even after his life in Deadlock, and big fingers diving deep into the mess that was his cunt, hidden beneath the unkempt tangle of his pubes; a sweet little space for Gabriel to wreck and get soft and spread on his thrusting, twisting fingers.

If Jesse still could laugh, fingers scratching Gabriel’s shoulders up, knees jittery and jumping next to his hips, it meant that he was doing something wrong. That he hadn’t made Jesse sorry for being such an infuriating slut that could never sit fucking still.

He grunts, Jesse’s breathless giggling ringing in his ears, and bites meanly at the small, brown nipple just to get McCree to make another sound. He chokes on his goddamn laughter and becomes absolutely still for a second, fingers trying and failing to grab at Gabriel’s shorn head, spasming at his scalp and pressing his face close to his chest, mashing his scarred nose into the small, hard pillow of his tit before he whispers a small, almost awed sounding “Oh.”

Gabriel snorts, eyebrows drawn in concentration, fingers sliding through the mess of slick between Jesse’s thighs and carding away the generous tangle of his pubes, seeking… seeking… and finally finding Jesse’s clit.

Jesse howls and bucks up, legs lifting into the air without prompting, long narrow feet bouncing in the air as he tries to make Gabriel rub him the way he likes it; in sharp and hard little circles right across the fat nub as he kept him filled with two fingers, testing the give of his walls, how ready he was…

“Daddy,” Jesse whines suddenly, his voice all over the place. Gabriel grins and simply changes nipples, teeth sharp as he tests the very edges against the small nipple.

Jesse forgets to breathe, eager fear making him pat Gabriel’s back down with shivery hands. He fears his teeth just as much as he looks forward to them.

“Daddy,” he whispers, hips twisting, fucking up, “Daddy, please.”

At least he wasn’t laughing anymore. He always forgot to be a little punk shit when Gabriel put his mind to it. Jesse is tall and broad in the shoulders and still his snatch looks so damnably tiny whenever Gabriel nudges his cock up against it. In the diffuse light the soft insides are as bright red as a stop sign in midst of his pubes. A slick, glinting gash for Gabriel to nudge the head of his dick through; let it take a sniff of the treat it was to get.

“Yeah? You want your Daddy to fuck you like this? With your skinny legs in the air like a whore?” he growls and tilts his hips forward, the very tip starting to slowly, agonizingly spread Jesse open.

He goes silent, then. Gabriel can see his toes curl and spread rhythmically where they hang in the air, just about bouncing in his peripheral.

“Never get a fuckin’ word out when you’re supposed to,” he grunts, pushing in deeper, beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead as the squishy walls immediately close around him warm and welcoming; trying to suckle him deeper into that goddamn trap.

Jesse’s voice has become very high and very soft. Little ‘oh… oh… oh’s as he waits for Gabriel to fill him; stretch him out on his commander’s big cock until he can feel it warm his belly from the inside.

“You’ll learn,” Gabriel promises against a scruffy jaw, large hand cupping a small, hard tit and squeezing it. “You’ll learn, baby.”

Jack is a farm boy who knows all the right techniques to pull all the milk from Gabe’s chest and never spills a drop unless he intends to. He’s got the right hand techniques, just the right pressure in each pull and is efficient about it. Jesse has no idea. He has never SEEN a cow before or been near a tit to draw milk out of it. He’s loud, messy, at least a third ends up on his chin, he hiccups and burps and takes forever unless yelled at and hes sloppier then too. Its cute and Gabe hates it.

Gabriel couldn’t believe how bad someone who dressed as a goddamn cowboy was at nursing. He couldn’t believe the goddamn stupid, milkdrunk expression McCree got within the first couple sloppy pulls, or the way he pawed clumsily at his pecs, trying to massage more liquid out of him and failing.

Nursing McCree was an unending trial of patience, yet he found himself again and again in the inexplicably need to seek him and his ever-moving mouth out.

It had taken the kid three sessions until he finally figured out how to do a proper seal, yet still he preferred to pop off Gabriel’s puffy nipple every now and then just to smack his milk stained lips together with an obnoxious, wet sound, looking so goddamned content with his life, Gabriel wanted to slap him upside the head.

Truth was… Gabriel could have it any way he wanted; he could easily seek out Jack and demand him to take care of the fucking mess, but Jesse had a certain… charm to him.

He simply enjoyed nursing. His goddamned face lit up every time he got caught at the scruff like an errant puppy and pulled into Gabriel’s office. He got overeager hard ons more often than not, positively panting until he was allowed to come close and latch on.

There was a simple, eager happiness about him that was impossible to ignore.

He also was a fucking punk kid that liked to play around, lapping uselessly at Gabriel’s puffy tits while lounging in his lap like an oriental king – but he took the resulting abuse in stride; laughing and rubbing the back of his head before latching on properly again.

Nursing Jesse felt stupidly right. He felt himself more and more loathe to seek out Jack – preferred the intimacy of his Blackwatch subordinate. It felt like it stayed in the family that way.

Please for the love of god write that McReyes lac fic. I am begging you. Holy shit.

threehanzomoon:

cyberrat:

I feel like @cptprocrastination would write it way better than me

(also I wanna read it not write it lool. I’m a lazy butt)

(Shameless plug for the Overwatch sideblog)

Gabriel tried to think who the fuck he pissed off to end up where he was. How many things had to just go ass over kettle wrong to end up in this fucking situation. The mission was done but had gone to utter hell. They’d nearly been blown up. Gabriel had narrowly missed getting his head smashed by debris but for the most part he was fine.

A cough came from his lap and Gabriel looked down at the idiot of a teen who’d taken not just a few shots to the body armor but a blow to the head that had been meant for him. In truth…his gut went cold as he thought about it… Jesse was in very bad shape. He did what he could for the kid, got them to a safe spot if small and enclosed waiting for pickup, but now they had to wait.

He tightened the belt around McCree’s upper left arm, down near the elbow. Then there was that…or what was left of that. Damnit the kid didn’t have time…

As McCree moved and groaned and tears started to fall again from the pain Gabe could do nothing about he felt a pain in his chest. No, he told himself, it wasn’t from the situation. God he didn’t need to encourage the pup but he was still Gabe’s responsibility.

No he and Jack had gotten into a tiff about the operation and he hadn’t been milked since Tuesday and if his watch was right (after he rubbed Jesse’s blood off the face of it) it was now Sunday.

“Fuck”

Keep reading

fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

yeeesssss goooooooodddddd

Bruh… Young McCree with a praise kink, bending over backwards and submissive AF for Gabe in the bedroom just to get any kind of encouragement or compliment. Getting hella turned on when Gabe fucks his throat or spanks him when fucking him. Fuckkn… This shitty kid in a collar, drooling and panting when he’s called a good boy

Alternatively: Gabe wants to show his protege off to Jack, prove that this kid was a good investment, so he has the commander come down to watch he and Jesse spar. Except Jesse is the kind of guy who gets adrenalin boners, and Gabe is a petty bitch who’s been getting the cold shoulder from too-good-for-this-shit Morrison. Sparring turns into suggestive wrestling, and then into fucking Jesse through the floor. Jack can’t help but watch, grumpy but turned the fuck on.

*shifty af eyes* 

why not….. both….


Gabriel throws an arm around the kid’s shoulder as they walk down the hallway. He hears his surprised little intake of air and magnanimously ignores it. Instead, he tucks him in close to his chest, arm curling tight around his neck to tilt his head closer. Gabriel angles towards him – a practiced move to let the hood shield most of his face.

“Listen to me, pretty boy,” he growls low. Close like this, he feels like he can almost smell the immediate rush of hormones the kid produces. He feels McCree swivel subtly, tucking himself more firmly beneath his commanding officer’s arm, chin angling towards his chest as he glances at him; everything about him puppy eager.

“You improved a lot these past weeks. Stopped being a little punk shithead.” He jostled him a little, eyes flicking between his face – slowly filling with hectic red dots – and the hallway they were marching down. “I told Morrison to get his ass down and watch you work. So…”

He halts him just before the locker rooms and leans in a little closer still, voice dropping, staring into the kid’s eyes to get his point across.

“You gonna be on your best behavior. Show him what you’re made of. And maybe you’ll get a little treat afterwards. Got it?”

McCree’s mouth opens in a vacant expression of dreamy surprise, his eyes fixed – not on Gabriel’s gaze, but lower, staring at the curve of his lips. 

Kid knew how good recruits got rewarded.

“Yes, Sir,” he breathes and Reyes puts one large hand into the back of his neck, squeezes it and shakes him once, firmly.

“Good boy.”

He should’ve known that he’d made a tactical error.

.o.

McCree had a boner large enough to tent the front of the black training elastics he wore, and Morrison couldn’t stop staring at it. He had noticed – Gabriel had noticed – he was pretty sure everybody had noticed, just not the kid himself.

He looked feverishly eager, a glint in his eyes that seemed almost crazy as he threw himself against Gabriel again and again, his lanky body having no hope to overpower the sturdy sheer muscle mass that was Reyes, but making do with what was at his disposal anyway.

He was resilient to a point of idiocy, and Jack couldn’t help but respect a man that was fighting with such tenacity while sporting a spectacular hard-on. Christ… he could even see a wet spot slowly forming.

“He’s good,” he says, forces it out past the lump in his throat. He has his arms crossed so tightly in front of his chest that he can barely breathe. Gabriel’s facial expression is dark. Sour. He suddenly slams the kid down onto the ground and holds him there with the weight of his body.

“No,” he retorts simply – grunts it, because McCree is trying to stem up, ass lifting involuntarily, and Gabriel bares his teeth, presses down with his own hips, large hands around the kid’s wrists. Jack feels heat wash through him. He feels like he shouldn’t be watching this – tries to catch Gabriel’s eye to say good-bye and flee… but Gabriel isn’t looking over to him. He is staring at the unkempt tangle of the kid’s hair that neither of them had managed to shave into an acceptable buzz cut yet.

“He’s more than good, idiot,” he spits out, and moves – spreads his knees until he has the recruit’s long legs between them and (Jack stares, mouth dry, cock feeling ridiculously swollen in his uniform pants) thrusts forward – an unmistakable grind of his hips, hard enough to rock McCree an inch or two across the mats, accompanied by a harsh grunt from between clenched teeth.

“He’s the goddamn best recruit I got.” McCree makes a strange, high whistling sound and stems up further – gets leverage enough to lift the heavy bulk of Gabriel up. Like this, Jack can see the bulge of his cock more prominently – it is pressing against the thin fabric of the elastic black onesie and bobbing ridiculously beneath his body. The kid is not wearing any underwear, he realizes dumbly just now. “…And a fucking disgrace,” Reyes snarls finally, one thick arm sliding underneath McCree’s throat, forcing his head back, choking him.

Jack is rooted to the spot, helpless to watch. They’re grappling still, but McCree’s movements have become aimless and sluggish. His sweaty face is starting to turn beet red from lack of oxygen.

Gabriel is rocking forward, hips curling into him in a rhythm that couldn’t be misconstrued. He’s rutting against McCree like an animal – fucking him into submission, and McCree… lets him.

He doesn’t even try to grab at the meaty arm choking him; just takes the abuse until it looks like he’s going to pass out and Gabriel makes a throaty, gurgling sound of disgust and lets go of him.

“Best goddamn shot,” he growls and lifts up, braces himself with one hand on the mat as he jerks his hips forward, slams against McCree’s ass. The kid makes a soft sound, tilts his head, tries to lift… His eyes are glassy, eager, mouth swollen and wet with spit. Gabriel doesn’t let him go far – his large hand slamming down on the side of McCree’s face, mashing him into the ground, holding his head down while he bucks and fucks against his raised ass.

They’re making a spectacle and nobody is pulling them apart. Jack surely isn’t fucking stepping into the makeshift ring and dragging Gabriel off of his prey.

“Best goddamn shot I’ve ever seen,” he repeats bitingly, white teeth glinting in his face, upper lip curled back in a silent snarl, “And swaggers in here cock first, the stupid, fucking idiot.”

Gabriel is putting one foot on the mat now, shifting his bracing hand onto McCree’s slim hip to lift his ass into the rocking, punishing thrusts. There’s no pretense anymore as to what Gabriel is doing, and Jack shifts from one foot to the other, uncomfortably turned on, sweat beading on his brow.

.o.

McCree is submissive and puppy eager and that makes it almost worse – brings Gabriel’s blood to a boil, because he could have accepted McCree’s stupid grinning face, as he swaggered in and showed off his dick tenting his body suit, swinging side to side, bobbing because he wasn’t wearing a fucking thing beneath.

But this.

This feverishly eager glint in his eyes, his absolute capitulation before his officer, letting him grunt fuck him into the mats, not even whining to get his cock out or his ass in the open to get properly dicked… 

He’d been fighting like the devil, yes, but only so he could get close – mash his face into Gabriel’s neck, have his head crushed into his sweaty pits; get close and personal with his commanding officer, cock leaking, making a spectacle out of himself in front of fucking Morrison of all people.

“That’s it?” he snarls, dragging his cock through the cleft of McCree’s covered ass “That’s the finest you wanna show the Strike Commander? Your god damned dick dribbling through your shorts?!” 

McCree is fucking whimpering, ass subtly pressing back, trying to feel more of Gabriel’s cock – and it gets his fingertips itching until he relents with a low snarl, grabbing the back of Jesse’s suit and ripping it with ease across the meager swell of the kid’s ass.

Fuck they still needed to get him filled out, but it would do. It would fucking do.

There was commotion around them and he was waiting for somebody to grab him, to pull him off the kid – but nobody was coming. No hands restricted him as he got his own cock out and slapped it meatily against the kid’s exposed crack.

“You a little freak, McCree?” he asks roughly when he leans up and doesn’t hold the kid down any longer, only for McCree to stay put obediently. He’s chewing on his ridiculously long hair and drooling on the mats.

When Gabriel slaps his naked ass experimentally, he makes a ridiculous high-pitched sound; almost whistling through his nose, clenching his ass visibly, then relaxing again.

Gabriel could see people in his peripherals. They were milling but quiet. Watching.

Morrison was a bright blue point in their midst – he’d almost forgotten he was there watching. It fans his ire on anew.

“You like my best recruit, Morrison?” 

He feels like he might be going insane. He’d told McCree more than once that he’d be the one sending him around the bend but he never thought it would be like this: rubbing his cock first down then up between the cheeks of Jesse’s ass, rolling his foreskin down in the process until the air of the gym hits the exposed glans – all because McCree was… McCree.

They’re all just watching. Reyes can smell their excitement, the earthy notes of their worked-up bodies. Most of all he smells McCree. Unwashed and sweating, hormones wafting off of him like steam, back contorted into an unnatural bend just to get his ass up.

He isn’t even jerking off, the idiot – his hands still obediently next to his head, clawing at the mat, making soft, breathy, girly sounds as he gets to feel his commander’s cock.

He’d send him to the showers like that: a large tear in the back of his suit, ass out, dripping Reyes’ cum in thick, creamy globs, the front of his suit equally messy. 

Jesse would enjoy it, too. The ribbing he’d get. Grin broad and toothy like he was fucking high, and just slowly peel out of his ruined suit.

Reyes really had thought he’d stopped being a fucking punk. Now he knew Jesse McCree would always be one.

“shh, don’t cry. it’ll all be over soon. now keep counting.” with mcreyes (wait do you like mcreyes? if not im sorry and you can ignore this i cant remember)

“Shh, don’t cry. It’ll all be over soon. Now keep counting.”

Jesse squints and bites his lip to stop sobbing – it only throws his aim off. He can barely see through the tears and needs way too long to line the shot up. Commander Reyes is silent behind him – lets him take his time to finally pull the trigger.

Jesse can just about see the target in the distance faintly wobble – no bullseye but at least he hit it – before a new point of white hot pain races down his right arm starting at the swell of his shoulder.

He cries out, cock pulsing heavy and thick in his slacks, arm hanging loose at his side. He is clutching Peacekeeper studiously hard, not wanting to let it fall to the ground like last time the Commander had not been happy about that one.

“Count,” Reyes barks and Jesse sobs out: “Six!”

“Next one. You still good?” An arm, thick as a tree trunk, comes around him, large hand settling in his crotch while the Commander takes a drag of his cigarette right next to his face. Jesse can feel the heat from the ember at the tip and is not sure whether the dribble soaked up by his underwear is piss or pre-cum. He’s excited and nervous enough for both.

Reyes squeezes his cock and chuckles. “Yeah, you’re good. Next.”

Jesse takes a huge, gulping breath and lifts his arm again. There are six little dots on the swell of his shoulder, carefully burned into his flesh for each target he managed to hit. He is a mess, face snotty and wet, but the Commander promised him if he’d manage to get ten this time, he’d blow him in the lockers.

There are only four more targets.

His hand is shaking too much and he can’t see the end of the range. His head is pounding, thinking of the delicious hurt on his shoulder, and the hand on his cock and the cigarette dangling from Reyes’ mouth, ashes precariously long, threatening to drop down onto his neck….

He shoots – and then he fires his shot as his trigger finger spasms, as his whole body spasms, creaming into his shorts in warm, wet, humiliating pulses.

He misses the target, of course, and the fact that he won’t get another brand is almost worse than the fact that Reyes is laughing at him and patting his messy crotch like he would the head of a child.

“Better luck next time, McCree.”

yooo this is the thing I’ve been working on the past four days during the live-write I did 😀 Hanzo and McCree getting tentacle fucked by Reaper ❤ 

You’re welcome 


They’ve been out in the field for two days, sitting listlessly around the crates, keeping watch for Talon agents. McCree, who’d been all for the subterfuge – had been, in fact, the first to volunteer going on the mission – was no longer sure it even worked. Maybe Talon was a lot smarter than they gave them credit for; or they were a lot dumber and had been too naive thinking it would work: sowing out carefully laid information about a huge shipment of weapons and ammunition, then proceeding to sit it out on the edges of a small Mexican town.

Nobody had come yet.

He shifts his seat on one of the crates and groans at the pain in his back. He wasn’t that young anymore, apparently. He pushes his hat back from his face and peers blearily up at the moon. It was their last night before Tracer and Reinhardt were to come to transport the ‘precious cargo’ to its next destination.

His hand shifts from the broad brim of his hat down to his ear. He pushes the communicator, opening up the private line to Hanzo.

“How’s it looking up there? Anything suspicious?”

“Nothing. The people have retreated to their homes half an hour ago and only the occasional straggler can be seen.”

McCree hums and sits a little straighter, makes it a point to open is eyes wide and roll his shoulders just to shake off the sleep creeping up on him.

“You think anybody gonna be mad if we were to sneak off for half an hour?”

“You flatter yourself.”

Hanzo’s answer is clipped, but McCree can hear a certain note of amusement – dare he say playfulness – in the words. He takes the ribbing good naturedly.

“Ah hell, darlin’. Don’t tease. Y’know I was awfully embarrassed ‘bout that. You’re just too gorgeous, sometimes – beggin’ for cock and showin’ off those pretty tits like that…”

He’s waiting for a response, idly flicking the tips of his boots to make his spurs jingle. Time stretches with nothing but the slowly softening heat pressing down on him. When he’s counted to hundred without a response, he finds himself wondering whether he offended Hanzo. He is pretty sure he hadn’t, given Hanzo’s penchant for indulging in McCree’s dirty mouth, but one could never be too certain with the archer.

He presses against the communicator again, listening for the soft static indicating the line opening up once more.

“You okay? Didn’t fall asleep on the job while gettin’ serenaded by yours truly, now, didja?” No answer, just the almost ocean-like quality of the static in his ear, making the hair on his arms stand up. Or was that the strange feeling creeping up on him? He sits straighter, righting the hat to clear his vision and tries to peek up as inconspicuously as possible at the house he last saw Hanzo nimbly scale up a couple hours ago.

There is nothing to be seen; not even the flap of the soft, yellow scarf above the rim of the flat roof.

He starts counting in his head again – a little quicker this time, brows drawn, hand inching towards Peacekeeper without a target in sight. Still, it calms him to feel the familiar broad shape of the weapon against his palm.

The communicator springs to life even before he reaches fifty this time.

“Mc… Jesse! I-” Hanzo’s voice is garbled and barely intelligible, half due to the sudden patchy contact of the line, and half due to the fact that Hanzo had sounded like he was choking.

“What the…” McCree is up on his feet within the second, Peacekeeper in hand, chest feeling tight with nervous anticipation of an unseen attack.

Lifting his gaze openly without worrying about their cover, it is not hard to make out the location of the ambush: Straight above him he can see it crawling over the edges of the rooftop. A weirdly thick mist wafting out before pulling back in again, making it look like it was almost… pulsing. Living.

Now that he is listening for it, he can hear faint sounds from up above – the scrape of metal against stone, faint grunts of exertion. The sound of Hanzo’s prosthetics dragging across the rooftop as he fights against whoever… whatever had silently snuck up on them.

How, though? How could this have happened? As he scans for the fastest way to scale the building, he slams his hand hard enough against his ear to jam the communicator painfully deep into his auditory canal.

“Will be there in a sec. Hang in there, partner.”

And as he takes a running leap towards the low ledge of a balcony, he feels like there is an answer crawling out of the earpiece: a sinuous, soft voice, deep enough to make him doubt it was even real, laughing at him.

“This will be fun,” it purrs and Jesse almost slips in his mad scramble up the dilapidated side of the squat building, the wet sound of Hanzo choking in the back of his mind.

.o.

For the first few moments it almost physically hurts to look at the apparition – like Jesse’s brain actively works against the sight of the amorphous black mass on the rooftop – how it seems to be corporeal and ethereal at the same time, mist wafting off of it like it’s hot coal left outside in a fine evening shower, all the while the smooth, deep blackness of the main bulk keeps sinuously moving; expanding and retracting before the gunslinger’s doubting eyes.

In the end, there is nothing to do but to believe the unbelievable, however – not when the creature… person… creature… has Hanzo firmly pinned and lifted into the air like an offering, thick tendrils of darkness (very corporeal, very real) around his chest and thighs keeping him raised just enough to deny him any form of purchase or leverage to squirm his way out of the chokehold.

As McCree watches, more blackness creeps around Hanzo’s form, curling around his arms and pulling his scrabbling hands away from one appendage that had formed a rigid, thick collar of oily darkness around the archer’s throat.

Jesse stands like an idiot, watching as Hanzo struggles, face slowly reddening from lack of oxygen. Smaller tendrils have split from the restraining, dark barriers holding him firm and secure, and as McCree looks on, weapon pointing at the ground in the lax grip of his fist, they worm their way beneath Hanzo’s clothes, playfully tugging the already wide gape of his yukata even farther apart.

“Mc…Cree!” Hanzo forces out before the thick appendage around his neck abruptly tightens itself once more and takes the last bit of air out of him. The large mass wafting and moving seems almost… amused. McCree feels vaguely nauseous at the distinct feelings and impressions he can sense trickling through his mind from the creature. He feels like a bumbling oaf, fingers clumsy and brain sluggish as he lifts the revolver and hesitantly points it at… at what. What was he supposed to shoot? There was no head, no heart, nothing he could even name.

“I don’t… aw damn…” His throat tightens, watching as the mass pulls Hanzo closer to the pulsing, dark core, letting him rest against its surface as the small tendrils keep cheekily pulling his clothes apart – dragging the remaining arm of his garment down his bicep and exposing the other side of his chest; even more tentacles getting to work on the sash wrapped around the trim waist.

Jesse’s arm sinks down to his side once more, mouth hanging open as he watches the mass pull apart fabric, sinuously sliding across exposed skin that seems almost sickly bright next to the absolute void of light dancing imp-like over the quivering ridges of Hanzo’s stomach – pulled as tight as the rest of his body’s protesting muscles. Hanzo’s lips are pulled back from his teeth in a vicious snarl, eyes rolling in their sockets, trying to pinpoint his attacker just as fruitlessly as Jesse had moments prior.

Watching him, Jesse gets reminded of a wild horse sensing the imminent branding – mouth frothing and hooves dancing.

“It’s more fun when you fight.”

Jesse startles, fingers helplessly tightening around Peacekeeper. That… was the voice from earlier. The dark, intangible whisper sliding into his very core. A sibilant hiss that seems to crackle like electricity and makes the hair on the back of his neck stand.

“You… can talk?” he asks, and his answer is a derisive cackle that settles in his belly – not unpleasant, he realizes with not a small amount of guilt.

Hanzo’s sash flutters to the ground. The tendrils had not been idle; working and slithering – curiously, studiously plucking at folds of clothing until they give way before them. Hanzo’s belly moves quick and fluttering with his panting, desperate breaths, and McCree flushes a dark red of shame when he realizes he had forgotten about his partner’s earlier struggle for air. The void seems to be kinder than Jesse McCree: it had loosened its merciless chokehold; instead flicking the end of the tendril that had curled once completely around Hanzo’s neck, along the soft, vulnerable underside of his chin as if it were petting him.

“Easy now,” the creature croons, one small tendril slipping across and dancing over Hanzo’s bellybutton, then dipping deeper and plays with the sparse hair it finds there. Jesse could swear it curled around the small hairs, tugging them like a lover would. “No sudden movements, sì? We wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself… it seems you have lost quite a bit of clothing. So easy to slip down, now…”

Hanzo is flushed, though no longer on account of the loosened tentacle around his neck, chest moving in slow, careful drags of air.

“Jesse,” he says slowly, voice rough from the earlier abuse of his throat. “Shoot.”

The little tentacle is still wriggling – plucking playfully at Hanzo’s treasure trail. The apparition as a whole seems supremely unconcerned with their plotting. In fact, it feels like it is patiently waiting for them to get on the same page, namely…

“Where should I shoot, Hanzo? Tell me!” Jesse hisses, cybernetic hand curling into a helpless fist as he stuffs Peacekeeper in its holster with almost petulant anger. “What should I shoot, partner?”

“Just… do something!”

He jerks against his bonds in frustration – violent and sudden, and nearly managing to free himself before the appendages tighten up again, pinning him to the moving, pulsing core.

“Oh that’s not nice,” the dark voice whispers. It almost sounds like it is pouting. “If you only work yourself up, maybe you shouldn’t be allowed to talk anymore, favorito.”

Jesse watches as another tentacle splits itself from the constantly moving mass, his own mouth dropping open in mindless sympathy as it unerringly finds Hanzo’s thrashing head and slithers across his jaw, not deterred in the least by the archer fighting against the inevitable.

Hanzo’s teeth are grit, refusing to open up to the almost lovingly prodding tip, and Jesse watches in morbid fascination as the tentacle loses its form and becomes like the mist constantly wafting off the beast – slithering insidiously through Hanzo’s teeth and his flared nostrils, driving into his body without any hope of keeping it out.

Hanzo’s eyes widen in alarm, a wet choking sound forced out of his throat as the appendage resumes its physical form once more – easily forcing the clench of his teeth apart, until his jaw is spread too far to get any good leverage for biting. As it is, he is helpless – body convulsing in small, pathetic waves as he tries to come to terms with this new situation, the black mass wriggling powerful – almost muscular – in his mouth, making him drool and choke until they manage to arrange themselves into a barely civil stalemate.

Jesse can almost see the way the void dark tip of the tentacle lovingly strokes the very back of Hanzo’s tongue; can almost hear the amused, sardonic whisper of the creature: ‘There you go. Wasn’t so hard, was it?’

He takes a helpless step closer, eyes roaming the expanse of the rooftop, looking for a way out of the situation and finding none. His gaze gets drawn back to Hanzo time and time again; how he has stopped struggling for the moment and simply hangs in the coiling embrace of the creature, naked chest heaving and eyes half closed.

Jesse takes another step forward without noticing, watching as Hanzo’s throat works – a slow, almost lazy contraction as he swallows, Adam’s Apple bobbing; then again; and again, drool slicking from the corner of his mouth, face steadily darkening. How far down was the tentacle slipping? Was it slowly slithering down his throat, making its way towards his stomach? If it was, it had to be small enough not to choke him because his chest was still heaving – moving with studiously calm breaths.

“So soft and squishy on the inside,” the voice purrs. “Wet and warm… I wonder…”

The appendage spreading his jaw open moves – lifts and forces Hanzo to tilt his head back, giving Jesse an even better view of his throat, thick and straining; bulging in a way it only did when Hanzo was taking cock like a champ, and let McCree use his throat in quick, dirty jabs of his hips, balls slapping messy against his chin…

Jesse’s mouth runs dry, eyes fixed on the sight of Hanzo swallowing even more laboriously than before, his cock filling helplessly, eagerly lifting at the mere sight. It is a shamefully Pavlovian reflex: he is well accustomed to the exquisite feeling of Hanzo’s massaging throat.

“Damn,” he murmurs, hand inching towards his crotch before he catches himself and curls his fingers into a tight fist. He wasn’t going to jerk off to Hanzo’s predicament. He refuses to.

A faint jerk of secured hips and a soft, muffled noise of protest from Hanzo alerts Jesse to another predicament: Hanzo’s hakama, already perched precariously loose on his hips after the creature had so dexterously divested him of his sash, had slipped down with the help of two more impish appendages.

And if that wasn’t a sight for sore eyes – Hanzo’s body straining and spread, on display, a flush of exertion crawling down his bulging, working throat, seemingly for the sole purpose of showing off his tits – and his cock….

…his cock.

His sleek, pretty cock that Jesse loved to ride – grind down on and make Hanzo clench his teeth in an attempt to stay quiet – , is curved up eagerly, flushed the same shade of humiliated red as his face. It bobs pitiful, greedy when one of the oily tendrils slides along his lower abdomen, just the very tip of the appendage teasingly wriggling against the base of the archer’s cock, hinting at touching it. The fucking thing is playing coy.

“Hanzo,” McCree chokes out. It sounds more scandalized than he actually feels, his voice no longer his own. He should be scandalized, though. He would be well within his rights to be – after all, Hanzo has gotten hard from the careless play session; from getting stripped bare and shown off by this reality defying amalgamation of darkness like he was nothing more than a toy.

Hanzo jerks at the sound of Jesse’s voice, belly flexing, hips helplessly curving up. He looks like he wants to thrash again – to loudly deny what his body was obviously eager for. All he manages to do, however, is to show off the hard, needy curve of his cock – the way it flexes for the touch of the creature -, and to liberally drool past the thick, pulsing tentacle he has dug his teeth into, his beard wet and gleaming with saliva.

Jesse wonders numbly how the creature feels. Whether it was as cool and smooth as it looked – like marble sliding and slipping along Hanzo’s body; or whether it felt hot like a fever; like slowly dying coals trickling dangerously across the skin.

In any case: Hanzo obviously likes it.

“It seems I have caught myself a little slut. Who would have thought?” the creature cooes. It is shifting around Hanzo; contracting, balling together, reshaping itself into what could vaguely be described as a humanoid shape all the while its appendages keep moving with it – lifting Hanzo higher and forcing his thighs farther apart.

The darkness slips towards his knees, hooks behind them like Jesse’s hands had done so very often, and lets the upper body sink back in turn until the archer his hanging helplessly, feet kicking in rage and head almost lying cushioned against what could be the shoulder of the wafting, ethereal form.

Jesse stumbles forward another step, hands raised, eyes wide, feeling like he had to be there if the tentacles suddenly lost their otherworldly form and Hanzo fell. Stupid, really. Stupid.

Helpless.

He was so helpless; there was nothing he could do. Even now, with its bone chilling vaguely humanoid form, there simply was nothing to attack. The creature was nothing. A large mass of concentrated, cheeky nothing.

“No closer than that, cowboy.” Jesse’s spurs jangle loudly as he jerks to a halt where he stands some five feet away from the display. The creature seems to turn its head towards the struggling archer – watches as the tentacle starts its agonizingly slow retreat from Hanzo’s throat. (Intimate. Gentle. Erotic. The thickest part of the tentacle throbbing, pulsing; the dark void strangely glistening and wet as it re-emerges from those secret, deep – soft and squishy… – places inside Hanzo’s body that Jesse would never be able to reach.)

There’s a soft hissing sound and McCree thinks that it had to be the creature inhaling deeply. Sniffing at its prey…?

“After all…” it resumes smoothly like nothing had happened, “You get to play with him every night, don’t you, puto? Play with him in every way your little ingrate brain can dream off – and he lets you because he’s a slut for the degradation. The indignity.

The proud heir of the Shimada clan letting himself get fucked by a dirty mutt any time the criatura sucia just so much as sniffs in his direction.

It would be only polite to share him don’t you think? Especially when he is so very eager to give his body over.”

The way it talked… was so… familiar…?

The tip of the tentacle at last slips out, and Hanzo lets it go with a wet gag and a shuddering, coughing drag of air. The tentacle keeps dangling above Hanzo’s wet lips, dripping a mess down onto his flushed cheeks that was only in part drool.

McCree’s cock jerks.

“Jesse…” Hanzo groans, voice hoarse. McCree slowly curls his fingers into fists, then relaxes them again. He barely dares to blink.

“Yes…? Hanzo?” His tongue feels clumsy in his mouth. He doesn’t know what to say. What should he say? There is nothing he could- Should he comfort him somehow?

“Don’t…” Hanzo licks his lips, slick with spit and whatever the appendage was oozing – a murky black substance that slipped along his cheeks, dripping off the sharp angles of his jaw towards the floor. As Jesse watches, Hanzo’s tongue flicks out and laps at the liquid on his bottom lip.

Suddenly he has to wonder about the pulsing of the appendage again – the muscular, erotic pulsing as it had slithered deeper and deeper into Hanzo’s throat. Had it been pushing out the slime the whole time? Depositing it right into Hanzo’s belly, filling him up in slow increments…?

Jesse rubs his hand across his face. He needs to stay focused. His head pounds. (His cock pounds…)

“What? Hanzo… What,” he urges, gaze flicking towards the creature standing still – seemingly waiting. Anticipating. Holding Hanzo up in the air, naked and vulnerable.

“Don’t… look,” Hanzo finally gurgles out. He has difficulty talking. His head is sinking farther back, throat stretching and bobbing with his every slow, leisurely swallow. “Look away.”

Jesse grits his teeth, eyes going flinty. Peacekeeper feels comfortingly heavy against his thigh.

“I ain’t gonna leave you alone, partner. I ain’t gonna think bad of you, or-”

“McCree!” Hanzo interrupts him while the creature chuckles in the background – a sound that gives Jesse goosebumps along his forearms and makes his belly clench.

New tendrils of darkness split from the void of its body and start licking along Hanzo’s back; playfully tickling through the cleft of his ass; rubbing along the taut, big muscles of his thighs.

Hanzo struggles to lift his head and stares at Jesse bleary eyed – and suddenly he understands.

Hanzo likes what is happening – pupils huge and nearly catlike; face a little slack with need… He likes what is happening and doesn’t want Jesse to see it. He is not supposed to witness how Hanzo’s cock is flexing in eager anticipation when the darkness curls around his thighs – or how he struggles to bring his knees farther apart when a little tendril cheekily rubs right behind his balls.

“Yeah?” Jesse rasps, watching as one dark appendage curls around Hanzo’s cock; slim enough to wrap around it in loving, tight circles, the pale flesh like marble in between. “You like that, do you? Some nasty tentacles holdin’ you up, showin’ you off…”

He was babbling with nerves.

Hanzo flushes, face messy with drool and translucent, greyish slick, mouth dropping open as the tentacle squeezes his cock and lifts it away from his belly – pulls it upright just so Jesse can see everything that’s going on. How the small tip lovingly rubs across Hanzo’s swollen glans, paying special attention to the wet slit.

Hanzo’s dark eyes flick to his for a split second, seemingly trying to gauge what his words mean – then lets his head fall back on a low groan anyway, hips jerking up shamelessly, trying to fuck into the steady grip of the tentacle. He huffs in frustration when it simply follows his movements, belly muscles clenching and relaxing. He pulls at the restraints around his arms, testing their strength. They tighten in response.

“Delightful,” the creature purrs. It doesn’t sound sincere. More darkness creeps up around Hanzo’s twisting form, wrapping around his hips and stilling his movements as another slim tentacle slips between his cheeks. “I knew you were a slut for it; could see it from miles away. How do you function without a cock constantly stretching you open, Shimada? Do you get antsy without a dick? Do you get the jitters, having to sit still hours and hours on end, no cock there to tide you over, ream you like you need it to live…”

The tentacle has started wriggling into the tender little orifice Jesse knows so well, and Hanzo isn’t struggling against the intrusion – is, in fact, trying to help things along as he strains to push down into it, muscles shifting and flexing as he works with whatever leverage he can glean out of his predicament.

Another tentacle slithers close – and another one. Jesse would worry if they weren’t getting everything messy and slick; slime dripping down to the floor as they writhe and move – pushing each other out of the way in their haste to slip inside, as if they were sentient beings all on their own; and wasn’t that a nice thought? Those slim, eager little things wriggling into Hanzo’s willing body, splitting off to each do their own thing; slipping against his spongy walls and insistently pressing against them to figure him out; feel how his body moves around them, how his internal muscles squeeze down and hold them in a secure, loving grip.

Hanzo makes a soft sound – high and short; a little whine as he gets spread on the three little tentacles that start pulsing, filling him up with their slime until it drips out of him in a sticky mess that gets absorbed back into the large, dark frame – an endless cycle of giving and taking, as Hanzo bucks and writhes; jerking violently when more appendages surge up around him and stroke along his pecs. They mold themselves to the underside of the muscles, squeezing like hands, small tips flicking across the stiff peaks of Hanzo’s nipples until a low, long moan rumbles right out of him. The sound climbs up, gets more desperate and wail-like the longer the tentacles play with him; feel his chest up and playfully force their way into his body.

McCree shifts awkwardly from one leg to the other, cock thick and needy behind the tight confines of his fly, the swollen head trying to painfully push it’s way up behind the large, heavy buckle of his belt. He wonders if anybody will notice if he opens it; if anybody would even care if he started jerking off to the sight of the archer getting willingly molested in front of him.

(Oh and how quickly the mighty have fallen – his noble intentions of not getting off on Hanzo’s predicament now biting him in the ass; but how could he have known Hanzo would love it? Would willingly open his mouth again for the flicking tip of the fat tentacle, tongue out and throat vibrating with his low, wrecked grunts whenever one of the smaller ones pushes into him too harshly?)

“McCree… don’t you want to play, as well?”

Jesse flinches, hand immediately dropping back down to Peacekeeper – which is no longer in its holster. He sharply looks down at his hip, mouth hanging open in confusion – and immediately regrets having taken his eyes off the enemy because he gets wrenched off his feet by large, grasping tentacles.

“Don’t you want to have fun like your pretty little slut here? I seem to recall you being just as much a whore for cum when you were still so young and tender… Always lurking around the outside of my office; hoping I’d call you in again… let you crawl beneath my desk and play with my cock. Such a greedy young man you’ve been. Can’t have evaporated just because you found yourself a cum dumpster, sì?”

And finally the penny drops.

.o.

“Oh no… don’t look so angry, guapo. It’s not been your fault – you’ve simply never been able to outwit your Commander; just how things are supposed to be.”

Jesse tries to wriggle for a moment, but quickly stops when he feels the intense strain the movements put on his shoulders. Gabriel has to admit that his former protegé has gotten the worse deal of the two; dangling trussed up like a hog above the archer, limbs uncomfortably bent… but in the end the simple truth wins out that Gabriel doesn’t necessarily give a fuck about his comfort.

He was, after all, a man of aesthetics – and he got himself a pretty pair of pets today, if he did say so himself. He studies them; enjoys their differences. The sharp cut lines and smooth skin of the archer against Jesse’s soft rolls of fat around his broad, swaggering hips and hairy belly.

He has gotten soft, his boy – but he was still a pretty catch; still deadly and gorgeous, even pouting like he was now.

“Look at him, McCree. Your whore is loving every second of it.”

There is no struggle to be had from the Japanese man any longer; he is hanging in Reaper’s grip, a warm, compact bundle straining for release and utterly shameless about it. When he feeds him his tentacle once more, Hanzo merely lifts his head into it – stretches his throat and welcomes the appendage with a warm little lick of his clever tongue.

His cock is hot in Reaper’s grip, the sensations coming from his appendages dizzying and new; he’s never tried using them like he did now; slipping them into warm, welcoming bodies and filling them up from both sides.

“Look at him,” he purrs again, stepping a little closer, eager to see the archer’s liquid, dark eyes widen in mindless alarm when the tentacles start wriggling deeper, shoving and prodding gentle yet focused, crawling the long way through his intestines and creeping down his throat, taking care not to choke him this time.

They fuck him with little pulses of their serpentine bodies, repeatedly spreading his rim that little, excruciating bit more that makes his eyes water and his hands curl into fists. His belly is heaving, and when Reaper concentrates hard enough, focuses on moving the appendages just right, a small bulge appears in Hanzo’s lower belly.

Hanzo’s eyes roll up at the sensation, a gurgling moan forced past the tentacle throat fucking him.

Jesse – is not looking. His head is hanging, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose, hairy thighs straining as one stray little tentacle plays with him; the soft tip digging into the warm, humid space behind his balls, wriggling into the thick bush and curling around the base of his cock.

Reaper growls; would’ve grit his teeth if he’d had any right now. He loosens one of the tentacles holding the archer’s arms, and lets it shoot up to curl tight into McCree’s long, shaggy hair, using it as a means to wrench his head back.

McCree groans like he’s hurt. His cock, ruddy and fat, jerks as the little tentacle starts to crawl up along the shaft.

“I said look at him,” Gabriel hisses and wafts closer – close enough to see the sweat on their heaving bodies, and feel the feverish heat radiating off of them. He watches the muscles jump in McCree’s scruffy jaw, focusing on how his mouth drops open on a low groan as he stares down at his partner.

When Gabriel is satisfied that McCree will keep watching, he follows his gaze down to where Hanzo is moving his head; little, almost dream-like thrusts as he actively deepthroats the tentacle that’s been motionless since Reaper’s attention has been diverted. Small sounds of mindless, greedy need spilling from him as he struggles to get more attention, more stimulation, more fullness… simply more.

He looks insatiable in his need – the tentacles simulating a battalion of lovers solely for Hanzo’s amusement. They mimic hands that grope his plush tits and pinch his nipples or slide down his belly, leaving sticky, greyish slime in their wake just to fondle his balls and squeeze his cock…

He is getting fucked and pushed to his limits – and Reaper delights in pulling him back down down again when he gets too excited; laughing deep and satisfied at the desperate clench of Hanzo’s belly and the arch of his chest. They’re looking at each other, now – needy and mindless, staring helplessly at the other’s flushed face. Reaper wonders what might be going through the little whores’ minds.

He feels dark glee thrumming through his body when he suddenly denies Hanzo everything on a whim, and simply retracts his tentacles; leaving the archer’s cock to bob in the warm Mexican air, that pretty, swollen hole empty within a second, softly gaping and dripping the copious amounts of slick he’s pumped into him.

Hanzo cries out in alarm, eyes wide and a little wet – flicking from Jesse to Reaper, mouth dropping open, obviously only seconds from whining a desperate ‘Why?’. He catches himself; bites his lip; slides his gaze to the side even as his belly heaves and his cock flexes out a little drop of salty pre-cum, the head flushed a dark, dusky pink. He looks seconds away from crying and Reaper thinks he’s never seen anything more tantalizing.

That is, perhaps…

“Ah! What the- What the fuck?” Jesse’s voice cracks on the last word like he’s a teenager all over again, body trembling, eyes large as he fights against the pull on his hair uselessly. He wants to look down, of course, and see what is happening to his poor cock, and how Gabriel used the delicious distraction of Hanzo’s desperation to let that little tentacle crawl farther up his cock; let it lovingly squeeze the fat, swollen head and slot the thin tip against the slit there.

It had been snuggled against it, idly stroking the little hole, curling down and into the loose foreskin every now and then, playfully tugging on it and testing the give, dipping into the salty moisture it had found trapped beneath, while Reaper had been busy playing with the archer.

Now, though… now it is no longer content with sliding all around the swollen head; now it has started wriggling inside that tender little piss hole, a steady stream of slime oozing from the thin tip, easing the slow, steady way inside as McCree howled and thrashed, more panic than actual pain making his eyes go wide and crazy like a colt’s.

Hanzo is just watching; mouth open, eyes heavy lidded – enjoying the sight of McCree’s cock and the veins around it springing out in stark relief, just as much as Reaper is enjoying it.

McCree seems not to be on the same page, as of yet – groaning high and pathetic, eyes clenched shut tightly as the small appendage worms its way down his cock, undoubtedly making him feel full to bursting, a gentle burn setting his crotch alight.

Another tentacle, not quite as small, slides up between McCree’s legs, taking a short detour through the hairy, humid valley between his ass cheeks, giving his shy hole a little playful nudge, before slithering farther down towards his heavy balls hanging ripe and full.

He groans and bucks, and Gabriel sighs: “Don’t be a baby.” Secretly, he likes it, though; he thrives on McCree’s grunts and moans, desperate jerks and animalistic huffs. He’s always been like that, Reaper remembers almost fondly as he glides slowly around them, watching his prizes from all angles.

Hanzo is more than accepting when he gives him a couple tentacles back, nudges them gently into his warm, fucked open hole. He writhes lustfully; practically preens under the attention, and flushes a dark shade of eager, embarrassed red when the slime already filling him squelches loudly.

It’s like having sloppy seconds, and Gabriel can’t say that he hates the idea.

McCree is still making noise; low, reedy groans, body carefully motionless, obviously afraid of getting hurt if he makes any wrong movements. Gabriel is not going to assuage his worries. Instead, he uses McCree’s momentary stillness to fuck his cock with the little tentacle, and lovingly squeeze those full balls.

He fondles both his prizes in tandem, watches as they break down for him, mewling and sweaty, faces red and cocks twitching. McCree is chuffing like a beast, cheeks quivering as he takes huge, gulping breaths, eyes steadily fixed on his partner’s blissed out face as if determined to ignore that it was Reyes playing his body like a fine-tuned instrument.

They’re quivering for him and he is unashamed in taking everything they’re giving. He is soaking in their desperation and listens to them singing for him. Well – caterwauling more like.

Greedy pets.

McCree is the first one to break; his face beet red and his soft belly quivering. He looks panicked – actually glances at Gabriel for the first time, brown puppy dog eyes large and helpless.

Reaper laughs at him and lets him hang in there for just a second longer; just enough to enjoy his mounting panic before he pulls out and vacates the way for the thick bursts of cum and slick forcing their way out of him as Jesse groans deep and rattling in his chest.

Hanzo follows seconds after – his orgasm an almost mindless reaction to McCree’s release; the warm splashes of his partners cum across his belly and cock coaxing out of him a conditioned response of mutual pleasure; his body shaking in the throes of it, teeth grit, inner muscles clenching around the squishy, wriggling tentacles inside him.

Reaper breathes with them in the aftermath; quick, little bursts, his heart racing, his body struggling to maintain the ethereal form. He can’t come like he is now… not quite; but it is a close facsimile of it, and he needs to concentrate not to loose control and let them crash to the ground.

What a nice guy he is.

.o.

He leaves them on the rooftop; these rookies that had thought they could outsmart him with their stupid, little prank.

They look lovely, covered in slime and disoriented, weak as puppies as they blearily look for their clothes.

He wonders if they’ll be cheeky enough to try fooling Talon again.

He almost hopes they will be.

Fam this has been stuck in my head all day and I’m pretty sure you’ll appreciate it: little Blackwatch McCree, thinking he’s hot shit but everyone knows he’s just looking for Gabriel’s approval. Gabe finally gets this little brat under him and is fucking delighted to discover that when he pounds Jesse hard enough he cries and calls him Daddy. Gabe fucks up against his prostate in short little thrusts just to listen to Jesse howl and to tell him he’s not allowed to cum till Daddy says so

“Calm the fuck down, kid. Jesus.” 

Gabriel leans forward, big hands sliding beneath McCree’s jittery hips to get a good grip at his ass. It still was a little too lean for his tastes; they still had to fatten the kid up from his life in Deadlock, but they were getting there. At least enough to squeeze and get a good grope in.

“Ridiculous. Did you fuck the ladies like that? Can’t imagine that went over too well…” He watches McCree’s face darken in a flush and chuckles, broad finger inching over, rubbing against the tender little muscle he finds. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Didn’t appreciate your hyperactive ass. That’s fine: I can teach ya. Just like in training, right? Just follow my lead.”

The kid stares at him, eyes big, mouth – that ever talking, ever laughing fucking mouth that Reyes had wanted to slap more times than he liked to admit – finally not making any sound at all. It’s just hanging open a little.

He wonders what part of his statement had finally gotten McCree’s attention. His slim hips are lying heavy and relaxed in Gabriel’s hands and when he pulls him roughly down to lay them on his lap – have better access at everything the kid had to offer – McCree didn’t try to ‘help’ again. Just followed his lead, docile and relaxed.

“Just like in trainin’,” he whispers before Gabriel can wonder if something is wrong and they need to actually talk. “Yeah, yeah. Jus’ like in trainin’. Just follow you, Commander.”

.o.

McCree is loud in bed. It doesn’t surprise Reyes. Annoys him a little, maybe, but doesn’t surprise him. His ear is ringing where McCree has put his mouth next to, clinging to his shoulders, not letting him go again after Reyes made the fatal mistake of leaning down to gently bite at McCree’s shoulder.

He could disentangle himself – but doesn’t.

The base already knows McCree is hot for his cock – it’s not changing anything that they can make sure now that without a doubt, yes, Jesse McCree was a slut for his Commander. To the contrary: it was flattering.

“Like that, do you? Bit of a size queen, McCree?” he purrs, hips flexing, cock dragging in the wet, hot clutch of that sweet little muscle he’d been petting earlier. McCree whines high and pathetic, twists his hips, tries to start up with his nervous little jackrabbit movements and gurgles on a groan when Reyes immediately reaches for him and pins him back down.

He needs to be reminded to stay where he is, every now and then – to let him take care of the actual dicking part.

“Yes, D-Daddy.”

His hips, moving in piston-like, slow, agonizing precision – stutter, slow down, halt.

He lifts his head, straining against the clutching arms of the kid, and peers down at him.

McCree grins back – broad and shit-eating, eyes glassy, dots of nervous color spreading on his cheeks. They stare at each other a beat longer, before Reyes starts grinning; can feel it stretch across his face sharp and shark like.

“Yes?” he rumbles, pushes back in with a twist of his hips, feeling himself rub against warm, giving walls; feels McCree’s weeping, sleek cock bump against the sweaty ridges of his belly. “You’re a freak like that, McCree?”

He pulls out, then snaps back in on a different angle. He watches McCree’s eyes snap open, mouth dropping from its false-bravado nervous grin into an ‘o’ of surprised pleasure.

Gabriel chuckles. Cackles. His belly is on fire and he pushes up onto his hands, getting out of McCree’s lax grip easy; ranges above him and stares down as he keeps fucking into that same, sweet space, watching McCree’s face flush with a whole ‘nother flush, eyes filling with tears, throat working around sounds that are suddenly cut off.

Jesse stares at him, eyes roaming. Reverent. He looks like he’s about to have a stroke, staring at his Commander’s sweaty, heaving body, muscles in stark relief as he fucks – and Reyes thinks he can get used to that. Fucking his newest fan.

“Yes… fuck… Daddy.” McCree has suddenly found his voice back, hands coming up, curling tight around his biceps. He’s hiccuping with every of Gabriel’s thrusts now, cock bouncing, slapping against his belly and the too thick treasure trail he probably groomed into the impossible thatch that it was.

“Daddy. Daddy. Daddy, please!” He’s howling, whining, begging, staring up at Gabriel and scratching up his arms because he keeps loosing purchase on the slick skin as he’s getting fucked.

Gabriel grins at him. Leans down – rasps right in his face: “Good boy.”

“Did that hurt? Want Papi to make you feel better?” McReyes please?

Reyes slowly rounds his pet, the thud of his combat boots heavy and deliberate. Jesse is panting with an open mouth, drooling from the tip of his lolling tongue, body shaking and sweating.

His belly is still clenching every now and then, hard enough to make his back curve up. He hasn’t quite gotten over the instinctual need to curl up and shield himself, yet – but Reyes was quite sure he’ll soon get there. They all did, eventually.

When he crouches down in front of McCree, he can see him try and sneak a little glance up at him through the oily fringe of hair, before he jerks and looks down. A dog that learned his lesson not to aggravate his superior.

Reyes gently clucks with his tongue, big, rough hands cradling McCree’s face, lifting it up.

“Did that hurt? Want Papi to make you feel better?” he croons, thick fingers rubbing across Jesse’s cheekbones.

He can see the panic entering the almost vacant gaze; sluggish brain starting to work overtime as he tries to figure out what that might mean. He’s a quick learner, this new recruit.

McCree shifts, winces, stays carefully still. The humbler is holding his balls tightly in place; keeps them tight and presented for Reyes to play with, like, say, a slap of those very hands lovingly cupping the kid’s face.

For a second McCree looks like he’s going to break apart and start bawling – the simple question obviously too much for his overworked mind. When he finally whispers, “Yes, please, Papi,” his voice is cracking wildly like that of a teen.

Such a tender boy, still. A killer – but a lovable one.

Reyes smirks and gives him another rub of his thumb across his cheek before he leans down and presses a kiss against the corner of Jesse’s mouth.

“Good boy,” he breathes – and McCree vibrates with sudden pride and sick, fervent love, even as Reyes gets back up and rounds him again. He had to admit he was… fond, of the brat. He would be a good fighter. A loyal one.

When he crouches down behind Jesse once more, he realizes the boys cock is bobbing softly; chubbed and half-hard in nervous arousal. Oh… this was going to be good.

McCree/Hanzo/Genji; Reaper/Soldier76 Commission

Commissioned by the very lovely and generous @filthinessabounds.

An Au wherein nobody seems to bat an eyelash at the fact that Reyes is grooming deadly soldiers into sexual slaves lol ; McCree gets caught by Hanzo and his brother and they have fun dehumanizing him and using him for their needs.

Slowly but surely, he worms his way into their hearts, though trololol

Warning: Shimadacest. Not too explicit but def there.


“Who’s that?” Genji asks, leaning across Hanzo’s shoulder and nuzzling the side of his face obnoxiously.

Hanzo grunts and leans away, throwing him an irritated sidelong glance before focusing back on the computer screen where a dark figure is slipping across one of their garden walls.

“Just some petty thief,” Hanzo murmurs, watching how the small figure practically swaggers across the premise and directly towards a corner of the main house behind which five guards are already waiting, silent and ready to kill. Hanzo frowns and Genji murmurs with an amused kind of wonder, “Is he insane? Maybe he’s a poor homeless idiot…”

They watch as he rounds the corner – and smoothly ducks, leg sweeping out to kick out the legs of two guards. Hanzo stiffens and Genji’s fingers on his shoulders dig in deeper as the brothers watch the shadow move fluidly – five flashes of light indicating the rapid, precise shots he fires to kill their men. A second later the growling boom of the revolver reaches through the open window behind them.

“Not just some petty thief, onii-chan,” Genji observes, eyebrows drawn together as he watches Hanzo zoom the camera in to get a better look on their reckless uninvited guest who is currently sifting through the dead men’s pockets.

“Oh,” Genji whispers when they get a look at his face. “He’s cute.”

They watch him stand back up – all long limbs and trim body encased in light armor that leaves little to the imagination. Genji’s hand slowly rubs across Hanzo’s shoulder and then slides down and into the open yukata; fingertips digging into the firm tissue around Hanzo’s nipple in mindless excitement.

“I want him, onii-chan.”

“Yes, Genji. I think this could be… amusing.”

.o.

Genji is looking excited when Hanzo steps into the room. There’s a feverish flush on his cheeks, eyes glinting from where he’s standing just out of sight of their captured prey.

Hanzo has left him more time than usual with their newest acquisition – and it shows. The naked man is flushed down his chest, his nipples an angry, almost inflamed red from getting played with.

His cock is big and beautiful and curved up towards his belly in eager anticipation. Hanzo allows himself a small smirk and ducks his head in deference so nobody would see. The first days with new prey were always the most succulent – when the knowledge started to sink in that getting horribly teased would be the only thing they could expect from their little stay.

“He’s American, onii-chan,” Genji suddenly pipes up, fingers twitching restlessly at his sides. “He has a cute accent.”

Hanzo nods at him solemnly, taking in the confused, nervous jerk of their captive’s gaze. He obviously didn’t understand a word Japanese, and it wouldn’t hurt to let him think they were discussing how to dispose of him the best.

“Did he say anything else? Who sent him?”

“No. Told me I was a pretty thing, though. And that he’d make it worth my while if I let him go.”

Hanzo nearly barks a laugh at the audacity. He watches the man strapped onto the reclining metal chair. He looks uncomfortable – but not enough to stop his cock from an overager flex against his clenching abs. He seems to have no idea whether what he found himself in was a good or bad situation. Maybe he was hoping for the former after Genji has had a little fun with him earlier.

Hanzo’s face stays an impassive, clinically scrutinizing mask as he leans over the man and inspects his wild eyes. He ignores the low, crooning sounds he makes, jaw working around his gag, and instead says, “A charmer, then. They never last long. Big talk and nothing to back it up.”

He was a gorgeous specimen, however. Long limbs, dark hair, soulful eyes – and a sharp jawline barely dusted with stubble that looked like it would be very comfortable and sturdy to sit on.

The man looked barely younger than Genji.

“What did he have on him?”

“Barely anything. His gun. Shells. Some kind of grenade.” Genji grins at Hanzo. “A communicator. We can give it a shot later. Trace back the signal.”

Hanzo follows the flick of Genji’s hand towards the table on the other side of the room currently full of their captive’s clothes and the meager gear he’s had on his person. How curious.

“Nothing else?”

“No, onii-chan.”

What had been the man’s orders?

Hanzo can see sweat forming along the brow of the man. There’s a certain kind of apprehension creeping into the brown eyes, and his cock starts to flag at last. Hanzo reaches out and shushes him when the man flinches away, stubbornly trying to turn his face from the approaching hand.

He scowls when it doesn’t really work and Hanzo taps against the slick rubber of the ball between his lips.

“So,” he says, at last switching into English. He sees a dull spark flare to life in their pet’s eyes: a spark of hope. Hanzo allows a cold smirk to curl the corners of his lips up. He uses the slick spit on the rubber ball to slowly, sensually, rub along the man’s lips. He can feel the warm, nervous huff of his quick breaths tickle his fingers. “Seems like a stray mutt wandered into our halls.”

Genji shifts, moving out from behind the man and to his side. Hanzo can see him flush an immediate, dull red when the sight reminds him of whatever Genji had done to him earlier. Hanzo wishes he would have let the cameras run. He is curious, but quite certain Genji will give him a minute replay of the happenings later.

“You know where you are, yes?” Hanzo purrs. He stops getting the man’s lips wet and glistening, and grips the point of his scruffy chin, demanding his undivided attention. The man hesitates, but nods eventually. “You know who we are?” Another nod – this one accompanied by a stubborn furrowing of his bushy eyebrows.

Genji reaches out for him and idly tweaks at one rust colored nipple until the man whimpers. Hanzo is struck by how gorgeously needy he already sounds even though basically nothing has happened. He shoos Genji’s eager fingers away with one quelling glare. Now was not the time to play.

“We don’t know who you are, though – and we are so very curious about our new guest. Will you tell us your name?” They stare at each other silently for a few seconds before the man nods cautiously.

He works his jaw, tongue darting out to lick at the tender corners of his mouth the second Genji loosens the straps of the gag and pulls it from between his obediently opened teeth.

“Howdy, partners,” the man finally drawls with a surprisingly pleasing voice, and Hanzo can’t help the small smirk twitching at his lips. He throws Genji a short glance, then looks back at their captive. Silent. Waiting. His eyes zero in on the movement of his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows nervously.

“The name’s Jesse McCree.” It suits him, even though it was most certainly fake or simply erased out of history from whatever organisation had sent him. Either way, they would run it through their data banks just to be on the safe side.

“Mr. McCree,” Hanzo greets him jovially, hand falling heavily onto Jesse’s naked abdomen. He can feel the muscles clench immediately – McCree was gratifyingly sensitive it seemed.

“Welcome to Hanamura.”

.o.

“He takes it so well,” Genji near-giggles, watching how McCree’s body opens up easily to the dildo he’s working into him. “I think he’s used to it.”

Hanzo looks up from his perusal of their guest’s meager possessions and makes his way over. He stares into the flushed face; the way he has his eyes clenched tightly shut. He looks embarrassed.

“Is that so?” Hanzo asks, voice pitched low in a parody of companionable understanding. “Were you someone’s toy before?”

The dog groans and suddenly starts jerking, ripping at his ties with renewed, desperate vigor. He’s gnashing teeth into the gag they forced back in place and wildly shakes his head.

When he realizes his fervent denial has had the exact opposite effect, he sags back down into his chair – dejected.

Genji looks delighted as he rubs his cheek against the inside of McCree’s thigh and slowly presses the toy deeper until their captive grunts and his knees jerk.

.o.

“Smile for the camera, dog.”

Hanzo leans back to better get all of McCree’s body in the shot; the angry, swollen line of his cock against his messy belly; the arch of his back from having to lie on his bound arms; the cum on his bleary face dripping down his scruffy chin – he finds McCree was making a rather fetching sight. Especially when Hanzo nudges his hips forward, pushing in deeper into the welcome gape of his body. He takes another picture the second the dog’s face crumbles in almost reluctant pleasure, eyebrows drawn together and mouth dropping open as he groans.

“I think your contact will enjoy this one,” Hanzo tells him sincerely and smirks at the pitiful groan of his captive at getting reminded of his predicament.

It had not been hard to trace the signal of the dog’s communication device back, and even though the talk he’s had with the deep, growling voice of an ill-tempered man had been short and nothing short of volatile, he was more than pleased with himself.

“He will look for you, yes? You said it yourself…” Hanzo’s hands travel down the wide spread of McCree’s thighs, feeling up the trembling muscles still fighting against the ropes curled around his ankles and holding his feet up in the air.

McCree’s face flushes a dull, angry red and he grits his teeth – he hadn’t spoken for the better part of three days out of sheer stubbornness after his idiotic blunder, but Hanzo wasn’t too concerned. Sooner or later, he would sing for him.

He reaches down, curling a hand around the feverishly hot cock and gives it one gentle pump. McCree howls and arches, neck straining and body trying to writhe; to get purchase and aggressively fuck into Hanzo’s fist – needless to say he doesn’t manage any of it.

“You can come,” Hanzo coos at him, hips working torturously slow; dipping into the American’s body at his own leisure. After a second of building up McCree’s hope, he continues: “If you tell me who you’re working for.”

The dog clenches his eyes shut and harshly breathes through the process of crawling away from the very precipice Hanzo had brought him to yet again.

.o.

“P-p-p-please, I can’t. N-no.”

McCree is a blubbering, mindless mess, his lean body drenched in sweat. Hanzo suspects everything that was holding him up by now was the harness around his belly.

“I’m sure you can, Mr. McCree,” Genji tells him with a sincerity and understanding that Hanzo thinks is almost worse for the man than the insistent fingers rubbing up against his prostate. McCree is flat-out sobbing, voice cracking – and Hanzo is secretly glad he managed to stabilize the connection just in time.

“Show some backbone, boy! I can’t believe this shit. Maldito.”

The rough voice of his commander did not seem to help – if any, it was making McCree more frantic, fingernails digging against the floor until they were chipped and bleeding.

“Please stop!” he’s howling and throwing his head around, staring back to Genji who is kneeling behind him and watching with almost fond curiosity how certain movements of his fingers were causing McCree’s cock to drool out even more cum.

“I thought you wanted to come,” Genji tells him – not unreasonable, too. Hanzo watches with morbid fascination as Genji leans forward and presses a kiss against their toy’s ass. “I’m just helping you. Your poor cock looked so fat and stuffed. I think you will feel so much better when I’ve drained you.”

He is petting him, too – rubbing a hand down the dog’s sweaty back in a gentle, soothing rhythm that actually started to calm him down.

Hanzo sometimes envied Genji’s gift this particular cruelty – though, looking into his little brother’s face, he wasn’t quite certain anymore if it was still just an act.

“McCree!” the voice from the phone barks, “Don’t you dare-” he interrupts himself. Hanzo could practically hear the grinding of the man’s teeth. “McCree,” he tries again after a second, crooning this time – changing up his tactic – “You are better than this, kid. You know we’re going to get you out of there. Just hang on, alright?”

McCree whimpers. He is caught between a hard place and a rock and Hanzo feels a peculiar tug in his belly when he watches how he lets his head hang low, tears dropping from the tip of his nose.

“That’s it,” Genji coos behind him, fingers lovingly massaging their toy’s prostate into the most unsatisfying orgasm; milking him dry into a shallow bowl he put beneath the wet head of his cock earlier. “Good boy.”

McCree shudders out a breath and becomes pliant and accepting of his fate for the night.

.o.

Hanzo sits back in his chair, a scowl firmly in place.

“Again?”

“Yes, onii-chan.”

Hanzo blows out a very slow, careful breath, trying not to let his anger show too much. Genji rounds the desk and makes his brother roll back in his chair so he can place himself in his lap.

“Are we sure it was the same people?” Hanzo murmurs, stubbornly insistent on not letting Genji’s nuzzling against his throat deter him. Genji sighs and pulls back.

“There is almost no doubt. They obviously want their toy back by all means necessary. At this rate we’ll soon be defenceless because all our guard will have been taken out.”

They are both quiet as they chew on that bit. Eventually, Genji rests his head against his big brother’s shoulder and presses his face against the side of his throat.

“I like him. I don’t want to give him back,” Genji mumbles, and not for the first time Hanzo wonders if maybe his little brother hasn’t gotten too attached to the captive they’re holding in the basement.

.o.

McCree hasn’t seen daylight for more than a month and while Hanzo doesn’t find anything wrong with that, Genji is insisting that their pet should be allowed one little stroll in the neatly kept gardens behind the main house.

“He’s going to get sick if we don’t let him move his muscles more,” Genji muses while they are standing in the special basement and staring at McCree. The man in question is disoriented and trussed up, his blindfolded face twitching into the direction of their voices. He always looks more nervous when they talk Japanese, but for the first time Hanzo realizes how gaunt his cheeks are.

McCree is shivering even cramped up into a kneeling position as he was now, drool slicking out of his open mouth and onto the floor because Genji likes having unhindered access just as much as Hanzo, which is why Jesse more often than not had a spider gag prying his jaw open.

Watching McCree, he kind of did look… sad. Small and afraid, cock perpetually hard from them playing with him and not giving him release.

Hanzo scowls and turns away.

“I will need to double our guards. Make sure he is secured. I don’t want any mishap. No longer than 30 minutes.”

Genji seems mighty pleased by Hanzo’s acquiescence and squeezes his brother’s hand before setting to task on getting the dog ready for his walk.

They end up sending whoever McCree’s commander is a video of the mutt lying in the grass, still naked and hobbled but looking more content than either of them had ever seen with his head in Genji’s lap and his bruised-looking eyelids closed against the sun.

Hanzo is quiet while he films Genji stroking McCree’s dirty hair and down to scratch beneath his chin until McCree is tilting up for it and rumbling low in his chest.

He quickly stops to film when he feels his throat go strangely tight and he has to look away.

Twenty minutes later Genji is taking pictures of McCree lying stretched out in the warm grass and cuddling with Hanzo’s cock as if he was making love to it. There’s a certain kind of serenity in his face that had not been there yet as he drags his tongue slow and familiar across the swollen head of his master’s cock while sunlight warms his back.

They end up sitting and choosing various pictures of McCree’s relaxed face sticky with cum and him trying to lap at what has seeped into the beard that had grown in his captivity while McCree is rolled up at their feet and dozing, his hard dick getting tickled by the grass. For once, he doesn’t seem to mind not being able to come without their permission.

Genji finds out that McCree loves sweets and promptly proceeds to let him lick melted chocolate from his fingertips – and then his nipples – when McCree has eaten his daily meal like a good boy.

Hanzo, in turn, finds out McCree has a thing for cigarette smoke, after blowing it into his face on an idle whim and listening to McCree groan dragged out and needy, nostrils flaring and chest heaving as he tries to suck in as much of the smoke as possible.

They record the dog’s pathetic begging for more as Genji edges him slowly with a thin, faintly vibrating rod that he slides round and round the angrily swollen cockhead, and Hanzo blows smoke into his eyes because he likes how their pet looks when his bleary gaze clears after hectically blinking.

(Genji takes a picture of him directly sharing a drag of his expensive cigarette by kissing the mutt lewd and deep just because he had been wondering how those little, needy sounds would feel on his tongue.

They don’t send that picture but still keep it for their own purposes.)

“Please, please, please,” McCree is whispering, ass high in the air and hands clawing at his own cheeks to pry them apart and show off the soft gape of his hole; the flushed, swollen rim and his tender looking balls peeking out between his thighs. “In here,” he whimpers, voice rough and broken on a sob.

Hanzo pauses for a second, eyebrow furrowing in surprise. He flicks a gaze towards Genji who looks like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin behind the camera he’s holding.

“Yes?” Hanzo murmurs, one hand gently petting down the slope of their pet’s back towards his tailbone. He plays with him – fingertips rubbing along the very edge of his well used hole. “You want my cock?”

“Y-Ye…” he chokes on his own drool in his excitement, fingernails digging harshly into the skin of his pert ass. “Yes, please! Master, please!”

“Don’t you want to come?” Hanzo prompts gently, shuffling forward and replacing his teasing finger with the flushed head of his cock; dipping it into the needy gape and pulling away before McCree can try to suckle him in. The dog sobs but doesn’t strain backwards into the touch. He stays right where they put him and doesn’t move an inch.

“N…no… please. Want your cock,” he rasps.

Hanzo leans over him as his cock slides slow and smooth into a now familiar and well-loved space. Fucking McCree has become somewhat of a comfort, he realizes dimly as he puts his hand into the back of the dog’s neck and holds him down – needlessly, to be honest, since McCree is not going to go anywhere and just moaning rough and happy on his cock.

It makes for a better visual though, he finds – especially when he looks up directly into the camera and grins triumphantly, because whoever McCree’s commanding officer is, and whatever organization had sent him: now they had to know that the little fuckdoll was theirs.

Hanzo was quite pleased with himself – even though in the end, McCree was just as much a mystery as he’d been the first night. They had never gotten him to tell them anything; a fact that made Hanzo begrudgingly respect the little slut.

.o.

Their game had been fun two months ago. Now, several well-trained guards and expensive resources later, Hanzo was getting more than tired of it.

Had it been any of their other pets, he’d have killed it and thrown it out as a warning to its ilk long ago. As it was, however…

…they were in a stalemate; as simple and as complicated as that. He recognized that the man pulling the strings on the other side was just as stubborn as he, and it made for a volatile and drawn-out game of cat-and-mouse.

Sometimes Hanzo wondered about this other man and how badly he wanted McCree back. It couldn’t be out of too much affection, really – from what he and Genji had surmised from the dog’s reactions at the beginning, he’d been well trained and often fucked, yes, but also nearly pissed himself on the occasions Genji was too enthusiastic and got him to choke on his cock.

In the end, it didn’t matter too much – and didn’t change the fact that having McCree in their possession was simply expensive.

It was amusing – though not surprising, if he was honest – when the growling voice on the other side of a sudden late-night call was begrudgingly telling him the same thing.

“He’s a good cock sucker but honestly not worth the effort. I propose a deal between you and me.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes. That’s how it is, puta. Now listen up.”

.o.

“I’m surprised you actually agreed to this, onii-chan,” Genji muses, focused on the jaw he was carefully shaving. McCree was sitting still, eyes half-closed and content. He did not have a gag in this time, and all he’d said when Genji had let him spit it out into his palm was ‘Thanks partner.’

“Mostly I’m curious about this man. He did train him well.”

They watch as McCree, looking very handsome and very young without the scruff he’d had amassed, nuzzles affectionately against Genji’s shoulder. There is none of the previous apprehension he had shown whenever they had talked in Japanese around him; an easy trust radiating off of his whole person.

When Genji puts a hand on his thigh and pets him there, he eagerly opens his knees; giving them easy access to everything. Hanzo can’t help the fond feeling bubbling up in his chest, but the communicator in his ear crackling to life saves him before he does anything stupidly sappy.

‘Your guest has arrived, sir.’

Hanzo straightens and slides hands across his front to smooth down expensive, silky fabric.

“I will go and welcome our guest. We will be coming when all the… formalities have been taken care off.” McCree’s gaze flickers over to him, face losing a bit of its color. He seems nervous and apprehensive, but doesn’t bring his earlier vague protestations about the meeting up again.

(‘Don’t you want to see your old master again? You must be missing him,’ Hanzo had asked in mild amusement, sniffing delicately when all McCree did was squirm on the spot.

‘Is he dangerous?’ Hanzo had queried further, voice silky, fingers gentle as he scratched their pet behind its ears. He wondered if this was it – whether now of all times he’d finally get the answers he had been looking for.

McCree had closed his eyes, nuzzling against the inside of Hanzo’s wrist.

‘’Course he is, master,’ had been all he had been willing to say on the subject.)

Hanzo dallies a little longer, waiting for McCree to voice his protest again. When all he does is look up at Genji in embarrassed arousal, gaze flicking towards the shiny machine not far away, Hanzo huffs and makes his leave.

McCree was infuriatingly loyal.

The man had introduced himself as Reaper with a sardonic grin on his face and a hard glint in his eyes – and Hanzo had realized that yes, this man was dangerous; but also that they were cut from the same cloth.

Little was exchanged apart from sharp nods and almost begrudging greetings. The money was digitally transferred in the solemn silence and isolation of Hanzo’s office. He refused to be intimidated by the sheer bulky size of the man on the other side of the desk.

He had been waiting the duration of their bitter silence for Reaper to give in and ask to see his pet one last time, but was sorely disappointed. The man stood like a rock, scowl firmly in place and mouth pulled into a frown. From the looks of it, he had been ready to abandon the dog in favor of his own wounded pride.

Hanzo could… respect that.

“A last… parting present. If you will,” he had conceded eventually, gesturing towards the door with a small, economic motion. Reaper had shot him a scowling, wary gaze, then huffed out a laugh, uncrossing his arms from his wide chest.

“I hope it’ll be worth it.”

“Oh. It will.”

It is.

Genji has prepared the dog beautifully; long shaggy hair brushed out to a shine and pulled back into a low sitting ponytail to show off the contortions of his face; oil rubbed into his skin to get it slick and shiny for their added viewing pleasure where he kneels above a low stool with a thick, sturdy leather seat that Jesse could push against in abandon and get out all of his frustration without fear of it breaking down or him hurting himself in his efforts.

Standing to the side, Hanzo is struck again with how plain gorgeous McCree is. Limbs long and with lithe, quivering muscles as he strains aimlessly against his bonds. He has long since stopped actually fighting their appropriation of his body; all his shifting and jerking just a mindless reaction of his overloaded brain as the machine behind him works relentlessly at driving him insane.

The apparatus was as sleek it its design as it was simple; one piston of stainless steel gleaming wet and oily in the warm light of the single lamp whenever it pulls back enough to show before driving in once more; sliding in buttery smooth and getting McCree to whimper.

The sound is muffled around Genji’s cock, wide brown eyes looking up at his master with loyal adoration.

“Well.”

Reaper doesn’t say more for the longest time. His face has taken on an almost wistful expression before a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth and he slowly makes his way over; steps carefully measured and heavy on the bare concrete of the floor.

Hanzo can see the dog stiffening, body jerking against the low stool Genji has bound him to. He wants to turn his head but Genji’s hands are there holding him, not letting him pull off his cock as he nudges in deeper until he was pushing against the resistance of McCree’s throat.

McCree, in his inattention, gags – the sound wet and soft and adding to the lewd noises plainly audible above the low electrical buzz of the machine fucking into him.

His eyes have turned, rolled to the side, trying to get a glimpse of his old master as he listens to the boots step closer. Heavy and foreboding.

“You look comfortable, whore,” Reaper purrs finally. He squats down, pushes the edge of his beanie up with two fingers – not to see better but so McCree can clearly see his face.

McCree whimpers and chokes, a thin line of drool slicking from the corner of his mouth. He is shaking when Reaper puts a big, gloved hand onto his bad and slowly scratches the sweaty small of his back as if petting a pet behind its ears.

McCree’s cock, Hanzo sees with mild amusement, jerks against the smooth leather of the stool. It is as eager as it hadn’t been in a few weeks, even though – or maybe because – Jesse looks terrified.

His hips wriggle, trying to get away from the relentless fucking of the machine, eyes going big and scared when Reaper laughs at him and smacks his ass harshly, then proceeds to slip big fingers down the sweaty cleft and nudge the well prepared muscle.

“They spoiled you,” Reaper accuses, fingers dipping in alongside the steel cock driving into the man. Hanzo can see McCree’s eyes roll up, gurgling out unintelligibly as Genji keeps fucking him; makes him choke on his cock while petting his hair in adoration.

He wonders idly whether they would be able to drive McCree insane with all the differing sensations – the gentle petting and rough fucking. Telling him he’s a good boy in one ear and accusing him of being a bad one in the other.

“You just lie here and let them service you. You’ve gotten lazy.” Reaper sighs, pushing in deeper rough and too fast until Genji has to pull back because McCree needs to howl and get it out of his system. His cock is jerking and slapping relentlessly against the leather, body vibrating and toes scrabbling as best as possible against the floor as he tries to somehow breathe through the pseudo double penetration.

“I think I won’t miss you. I’m not one for lazy sluts, as you know.” Reaper finally pulls out – Jesse whimpers and clenches his flushed hole around the suddenly insufficient width of the dildo – , just to reach further down between McCree’s thighs and take a hold of his feverish cock.

“Are you going to come for me, little whore?” Reaper purrs, voice deep and ominous. The dog lets his head hang low. He’s wordlessly sobbing and shaking his head, shaggy hair slowly coming loose of the pretty ponytail.

“No. He isn’t allowed to,” Genji suddenly says, voice gentle and full of pride. He kneels down in front of Jesse and lets him mindlessly nuzzle against his chest.

Reaper looks intrigued, hand squeezing just this side of too tight as he gives Jesse a few jerks, measured to align with the harsh fucking of the machine from behind. McCree screams against Genji’s chest, smearing tears and snot against it – but doesn’t come. He is sweating bullets, hips flexing with shivery nervousness to and fro. He is unable to find even one position that doesn’t put him into agony; either he strains back into the machine, letting it push and nudge up against his prostate, or he hunches into Reaper’s fist and the tight agonizing drag of his leather glove against the overheated swollen shaft of his cock.

He is shivering and mindless in his need, a pure receptacle for what they have in store for him, and he wasn’t even begging them to stop.

He’s a good boy.

“Still…” Reaper sounds almost put out. Like he’s pouting. “I don’t think you’d last longer than my new pet.”

Now that intrigues Hanzo.

He clears his throat delicately and draws Reaper’s gaze back to him.

.o.

Hanzo has to admit: watching two pets fight for their masters’ approval was… exhilarating. Reaper’s boy was, in fact, no boy anymore – but his body was just as tight and eager to provide, even as scarred as it was.

Watching them practically snuggle with each other, exchanging wet little kisses for their viewing pleasure, pink slips of tongue visible every now and then… it was nice. Very, very… nice.

“I want to invite them more often, onii-chan,” Genji whispers into his ear, breath warm and a little wet. He’s excited, pulling his brother’s hand over and into his lap, and Hanzo can’t help but lovingly squeeze the warm bulge he can feel as he watches ‘Soldier’ – they hadn’t been given another name – eagerly mount one of McCree’s thighs to rut against.

They are silent at first; making no sounds other than sharp, little puffs of breath and the wet smacking of their needy kisses – until Reaper slams his fist onto the table next to him and stretches out more decadently on the couch they’re enjoying the show from.

“Louder,” he demands – and the pets follow blindly. Eagerly. Sweet little moans with rough voices drifting over to them as Soldier hunches and bucks against McCree’s hairy thigh, getting the crisp hair sticky with pre-cum.

Jesse, as much as he had turned around and was happy with the two brothers, very much was still tuned into the sinuous drawl of his old master’s voice, it seems.

Soldier’s hands are in McCree’s shaggy hair, taking generous fists full of it and pulling Jesse’s head back to practically attack his jaw with biting little kisses that have the dog whining and straining up – both of them trying to hump the other, their movements frantic, almost feverish.

“How long did you say since he was last allowed to come?” Hanzo asks idly, hand slipping secretly between the folds of Genji’s hakama until the young, sleek cock practically springs into his palm.

Reaper makes a flicking gesture with his fingers – uninterested and distracted. “A month. Maybe two.”

Hanzo grunts – more to disguise Genji’s needy gasp and how he is squirming; fucking up into Hanzo’s fist and clawing at his arm as they watch Soldier and McCree wrestle with each other; shoving and pulling, biting at whatever skin available in their need to make the other come, until they are finally in position: Soldier on his back and Jesse kneeling above, their hard cocks flushed painfully dark, bobbing right into each other’s face.

“Don’t you dare fucking shootin’ before he does,” Reaper growls, dark eyes boring into the action, an obvious erection tenting his black combat pants. Soldier whimpers – a strangely alluring sound with his rough voice – and jerks his hips up mindlessly. His cock slaps into McCree’s cheek before Jesse can open his mouth and try to catch the bobbing, wet tip.

“Fuck!” Soldier shouts, fingers digging into Jesse’s ass. He is panting, chest heaving with his quick little breaths, blue eyes wide and panicked as he flicks a gaze towards his master, then stares blindly at McCree’s dick and the dark, ripe swell of his balls just centimeters from his nose. It takes him a second or two – with Jesse slurping loud and lewd, eyes closed in bliss – until he can get his bearings back under control and dives right in.

Hanzo thinks he’s never watched anything more beautiful than those two sluts fighting for dominance – sucking for all they were worth and utilizing dirty tricks to achieve their goals.

Jesse was the first one to cave for it; letting Soldier’s cock slide out of his mouth so it could slap wet against the tight clench of his abs before he ducked down lower, lips wet and needy as they got dragged across the older man’s balls.

Soldier whines – muffled – tendons in his neck straining as he scrabbles for any semblance of tranquility all the while choking himself on Jesse’s cock.

“You’ve always been working dirty, McCree,” Reaper says, a laugh in his voice. He seems almost begrudgingly admiring.

Soldier, for his part, manages to wet a finger before rudely pushing it against the tight clench of Jesse’s hole; making him loose rhythm and equilibrium as he gets sucked and stimulated from the inside at the same time. Hanzo can see those brown eyes getting large as he chokes and has to pull back, hips canting back needily into Soldier’s ministrations.

Hanzo clenches his teeth, fingers wet from his brother’s cock sliding silkily between them. Genji is panting wet and warm against his neck, one eye constantly on the display of the pets.

“Dog!” he growls – and McCree jerks back to work, drooling eagerly all over Soldier’s flexing cock as he licks it back into his mouth to suck on with gentle pressure.

In the end, it is an innocent hand that tips the scale – McCree petting lovingly, mindlessly along Soldier’s side and lying low on the desperate clench of his abs where he sweeps his thumb along the skin in slow sweeps. It is like the orgasm gets shocked out of the older man – he’d not been prepared for the simple show of affection; whining as he slings his arms around McCree’s hips in a crushing hug, howling his climax against the inside of Jesse’s thigh.

They can’t see the cum – but they can hear Jesse swallowing; his face smug and dreamy from the nice, warm load he had been treated to.

Reaper hisses obscenities in a language Hanzo can’t name. He is furious and his pet looks heartbroken even as it’s still shuddering through the mild aftershocks, chest heaving and face flushed. Hanzo can’t keep the smug smirk from his face; eyes wandering to McCree’s face, lips swollen and parted, and eyes glassy in dumb animal need.

Oh what a good boy he was.

.o.

“You look gorgeous,” Hanzo croons. McCree really does; kneeling on a plush, richly ornamented cushion in Genji’s rooms, clad in nothing but a silky, expensive yukata that can’t begin to hide his eager erection – not that it was supposed to.

McCree grins from ear to ear. He looks almost drunk, eyes heavy lidded in pleasure, body straining towards Hanzo with the need to get over to him without actually moving from the spot they had put him on.

Genji is still rummaging around in the bathroom after having spent the last half hour hand feeding their pet little bites of delicacies.

“Good pets always get treats,” Hanzo promises him and steps closer into easy range, hands carding through his shaggy hair as McCree nuzzled forward into his crotch, breathing in deep the smell of his cock.

He lets him play; even as Genji finally comes out of the bathroom, triumphantly holding up the special sleeve they purchased just for their pet.

Hanzo hugs Jesse’s head to his abdomen as Genji kneels down behind him and presses a kiss against the back of his neck, hand with the silicon-filled sleeve coming forward to gently push it around McCree’s weeping cock.

Hanzo can feel the slut’s shout even before he hears it; has to hold him as McCree jerks forward, hips stuttering helplessly into the seemingly wet, silky clutch around his cock.

Genji holds it steady, letting Jesse fuck into his hand. He is whispering encouragement against the back of his head – almost babytalking him as McCree desperately fucked the toy, hips jerky and coltish.

“You can come,” Hanzo promises him when he turns his head and throws a feverish, panicked gaze up at him. “You can come as often as you like today. Good pets always get treats.”

Being allowed to come to his heart’s content until he was shivering and oversensitive, cock messy and pink from exertion, had not been McCree’s first treat – just the beginning of many.

Hanzo had to admit that watching the dog carefully stretch out on one of the huge cushions in their private home at the back of the Shimada estate was a treat in and off itself. Jesse McCree looked like an exotic bird with his warm brown skin and hairy countenance in midst the traditional Japanese setting and Hanzo already knew that he would use every opportunity to show him off like a precious, raw jewel.

They got him two servants to attend his grooming – pretty little things as demure as they were efficient – and Hanzo had come to watch that first time after Genji had called him over excitedly; standing in the doorway and watching his pet’s confused, almost fearfully-aroused look as he lay on his back and stared down his long upper body to where the two girls were handling his cock expertly between their small hands, pushing it this and that way to carefully groom the unkempt tangle of his pubic hair into a pretty, silky mat of shortened stubble.

He’d been making soft, nervous sounds in the back of his throat, toes curling and hips carefully still, obviously eying the sharp blade so close to his cock with trepidation.

As a treat for being a good boy, they jerked him off and let him come across their strong, talented fingers.

Not seldom was McCree presenting him or Genji with a pretty, new accessory the two had gotten for him; a new yukata tailored to perfection; a toy stuffed into his hole and shown off with his ass in the air and sweaty face pressed against the floor…

McCree had a good – if… exhausting… – life.

“You’re going over to onii-chan like this, yes?” Genji purrs right into his ear, arms hugging him from behind – actually hugging. Genji is the most demonstrative with his affection; keeping Jesse close even as he makes him ride him for the second time as Jesse’s legs start shaking in exhaustion and his lungs burn with the sharp, panting breaths he is taking.

Genji is gentling him through all of it; whispering praise and encouragement as he trails gentle fingertips along the straining length of Jesse’s cock.

“I’m going to get you sloppy and full, and you’re going to crawl over to onii-chan and let him have you like that.” Genji is babbling, his happy unashamed filth making McCree’s ears burn and his ass clench in eagerness. Fuck yes, he wanted to get sent to his other master filled up and dripping. Fuck yes he wanted master to fuck into his sloppy ass and use him…

“And when he’s done with you,” Genji murmurs, bucking up and McCree see stars as he pushes right against the ripe swell of his prostate, arms still hugging him like a big teddy bear and keeping him on the seat of his master’s lap even when he gets light-headed and loses control of his limbs, “You’ll come back here and let me give you your present. I want to fill you up until your belly is bulging. Want you to look like our pregnant little house whore… lounging on our cushions and getting spoiled…”

McCree whines strained through the makeshift gag Genji had stuffed into his mouth – probably his underwear or something – eyes rolling towards the equipment to the side; the one that would fill him with an artificial, harmless substance that would keep him full and bloated…

“You like that, precious pet?” Genji whispers, hand lovingly stroking McCree’s flat belly and feeling up the shivering abs.

“Yes,” Jesse mumbles through the gag, drool soaking into the fabric. “Yes, please!”

Hanzo likes to have McCree during the times when everything is silent and only the night shift guards awake.

Jesse has to admit, he likes those occasions the most; when he can sit on a plush pillow between his master’s thighs and listen to him typing away or scrawling on a piece of paper; working relentlessly while Jesse is keeping his cock nice and warm, a spider gag helping him to keep his jaw open.

He’ll be allowed to rest his head against his master’s thigh when he gets too sleepy, tongue rubbing against the soft cock whenever he can remember to do so.

Master never seemed to care about him not paying perfect attention at these times – like he was favoring Jesse’s companionship even above the use of his mouth.

Every now and then, his master’s hand would slip down and give him an affectionate scratch behind the ear.

Jesse was in heaven.