Hanzo watched as McCree’s hand slowly lifted in his sleep, scratching through his tangled brush of a beard, and then lifted to pat at his head, obviously searching for a hat that he hadn’t even donned that day.
When he didn’t find it, his arm went slack, hand sliding up until he could rest it along the upper edge of the couch. Hanzo shifted uncomfortably, hands curling into tight fists, dark eyes staring at the thick bush of dark brown hair that he could now see so very well.
Americans were hairy creatures, and Hanzo supposed McCree must’ve been the worst of all.
It was repulsing.
Especially when he was like this – dressed like a … like a slut, slouched down on the couch until his tanktop rode up in the back, legs spread wide in his sweatpants.
Hanzo could see the fleece of chest hair peeking out the top, and the thick trail running down from his belly button. McCree’s lack of personal grooming habits had been a concern for him as long as he’d only suspected, but now he was positively appalled to see the state this uncivilized man was in.
He only needed to shift a little closer to see the beginnings of his bush, shamelessly peeking out from the low slung pants; dark brown and curly, and a testament to the fact that McCree wasn’t wearing any underwear.
Hanzo scowled and looked away as he had dark thoughts about McCree swaggering around the HQ with his cock freely swinging against the loose fabric of his pants.
What an animal.
Hanzo flinched as McCree snorted in his sleep and scratched his hairy belly with one lazy hand, drifting down and – to Hanzo’s absolute horror – into his pants where he proceeded to fondle himself and drag thick fingers through his pubes. He was rooted to the spot, watching as Jesse sighed and pulled his hand out once more.
It was then that he retreated to his rooms, face feeling hot and an itching sheen of sweat between his shoulder blades. When he jerked off beneath the shower, he definitely did not think about how it’d have been if he rubbed off against McCree’s hairy body and gave him a mess to wake up to in the morning.
“Shhh, shh, shh,” McCree shushed, metal hand clamping over Hanzo’s mouth, and hips hunching further inward – pushing his cock deeper into the wet, delirious clutch of Hanzo’s body.
He could blearily see Hanzo’s eyes widen – staring at him wide and wet; seemingly so dumbfounded at how deep McCree could reach. How wide he’d fucked him open on his cock, and dragged all those catty, needy noises out of him.
“Ya need to be nice and quiet, dahlin’,” he whispered. He sounded drunk – felt drunk – even though he’s only had one beer. Hanzo was getting to his head.
He was moving constantly; muscles rippling and working around his cock. Suckling on his dick like he still hadn’t got used to the meaty girth. “God damn,” he whispered and jerked against Hanzo without having pulled out before hand. The reaction was as instantaneous as it was beautiful – Hanzo’s eyes fluttered shut with the jolt of his body, and he shouted against McCree’s prosthetic palm. His sensors picked the vibrations up and made them tickle through his arm up towards his shoulder.
McCree grit his teeth, mashing his hand more firmly around Hanzo’s jaw, keeping him nice and quiet as he began moving again. There was nothing fluid about his fucking – his hips were jerking in hunching, little motions that kept him from actually moving too far out.
He was fucking Hanzo on just a couple centimeters of his dick, mostly simply keeping him full, and Hanzo went wild for it. He was flushed and sweaty, the bruises McCree had sucked into his chest standing out in livid colors.
His body was still working around him. Rippling and suckling and making a spectacle out of the whole mess by giving off little, wet smacking sounds whenever McCree pulled out far enough to actually ram back inside.
“Quiet, quiet, quiet,” he was groaning out low, right into Hanzo’s face. He was just babbling for the sake of it, not registering what exactly it was that he was saying. McCree was thinking with his dick; thinking about how he was going to fill Hanzo up, and how sore his swollen balls would feel afterwards. Hanzo couldn’t make a sound except for a low, desperate keening deep in his throat.
McCree would never have imagined how desperate Hanzo would be for cock. How that pink, little hole would become pouty and hungry to get filled, opening up like a dream for a big dick that knew what it wanted.
“Fucking slut. So good. So gorgeous. Yeah, take it. Take my dick, an’ keep quiet like a good boy. Like a fuckin’ good boy, dahlin’.”
Sweat was tickling down his spine and gathering in the small of his back. He was fucking like an animal, hips hunching into his desperate, abrupt thrusts, deep dicking Hanzo – trying to practically crawl after his cock into that slick, clutching space that felt like wet silk clinging to him.
Hanzo’s face was red. He probably couldn’t breathe too well. His dark, liquid eyes started to cross from the overload of sensations, and McCree dumbly wondered whether he’d found Hanzo’s prostate and had been pummeling against the puffy gland the whole time.
Hanzo’s fingers were on his back. It felt like he was trying to rip it open while he bucked up towards him; towards the meaty cock driving into him.
“Stay silent, nice and silent, that’s right that’s the ticket, good boy good boy,” McCree babbled, pressing their foreheads together and listening to the desperate huffing coming from Hanzo’s nose.
as has become usual, I kind of changed the prompt up a little bit to fit more comfortably in what I perceive them to be D: I’m sorry, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
“Keep your eyes on the cargo, McCree.”
“Not takin’ ‘em off, babe,” McCree easily agreed, leaving it to Hanzo to actually stare into the gloomy darkness while he tinkert around with the small heater Winston had send them off on mission with.
It wasn’t cold enough to actually need it – at least for McCree, since he was properly clothed; not like other men that liked to have their goods on show constantly – but it would be more than handy for what he had in mind.
“What are you doing?” Hanzo sighed deeply. He didn’t sound pissed off anymore; just resigned. McCree pulled out a flat container. “Smores,” he murmured, succinctly popping the lid open.
When he glanced at Hanzo, the archer looked unimpressed.
“You are a child,” was all he had to say before turning towards the cargo they were supposed to protect. He looked grumpy and sullen, but since that was his usual expression, Jesse had no idea what he was actually thinking.
“Gotta do something since I’m not allowed to smoke. And they’re tasty.”
“They’re sticky and sugary and you’re going to make a mess out of yourself.”
“Y’ can clean me up later if ya like, ma.”
He winked at Hanzo’s infuriated face, and busied himself with his smores. They were silent for a good while; Hanzo observing and Jesse enjoying his treats, until –
“You smeared it into your beard, you big American oaf.”
McCree glanced at Hanzo from beneath his brim, confused at the unusually aggressive tone.
Hanzo, for his part, was staring at his chin from the corner of his eyes, and – was that a flush slowly darkening his face?
“You want one?” McCree asked in a slow drawl, offering the newest marshmallow he’d speared on a fork. Hanzo huffed. “I don’t want your childish sweets. Clean yourself up, you look undignified.”
McCree shrugged and rubbed the back of his hand half-heartedly across his chin. He let Hanzo stew in his own dignified hissiefit for a while before rescuing him from his own too serious mindset – as he so often did.
“Hey, Hanzo?”
“Wha-” he choked as McCree unceremoniously shoved a squishy smore into his mouth.
Jesse grinned good-naturedly and hit him on the back. “There you go! Jus’ like one of ‘em big boys!”
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