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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.o.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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