12th Batch Ko-Fi Fics: 4th Fill

Reapzo – continuation of this – brain washing; exhibitionism; spit roasting – Reaper shows the Overwatch Agents how well he’s trained his new pet.

.o.

The rubble beneath Hanzo’s knees and hands only hurts for a moment before Reaper slips silky tendrils across the hurting parts and shields him from the sharp edges.

He is confusingly nice like that: He will show Hanzo off to whoever damn well he pleases, humiliating him by forcing him to come again and again on slippery tendrils that fuck deep enough to bulge his belly, but he will also make sure he is not being *hurt* in the process; wrapping himself around him enough to keep him warm and secure from potential chafing.

Maybe Hanzo has been in his custody for too long, but it makes him feel all warm and… protected, even when blackness curls around his throat and forces his head up. Makes him look at the Overwatch Agents that stand a careful few feet away, staring with pale faces and gaping mouths.

His mouth drops open. He wants to say something. Apologize, maybe? Or tell them not to look? But Reaper knows what he is doing even before he himself knows it, and the ink on his throat slides up across his chin. Small tendrils fill his mouth, dragging against his tongue until Hanzo obediently licks at them. Lets himself get throat fucked by Reaper until his eyes go glassy and everything is nice and muted.

He barely registers that some of the Agents are calling out to him, and trying to get him to snap out of it; or answer their queries, maybe. He can’t, though; not with Reaper’s little tendrils tickling the back of his throat until he gags wet and lewd, his whole body rocking with it.

Hanzo stares at them, hot with humiliation and need. He’s ashamed to admit that Reaper has trained him to respond to the feeling of being naked and exposed to others; letting them see the swing of his fat, hard dick and how he angles his hips into the fucking.

Months ago this would have been unthinkable. Ludicrous, even. Now, after months of training and being conditioned, he can’t fathom not being filled by the silky blackness of his captor. He is addicted to the feeling of getting his insides spread out on Reaper until he feels almost nauseous.

The monster is feverishly hot; a constant, slow churning in his guts like a particularly lazy flow of magma, and this, too, had been something he had to get used to first and then became addicted to later. Hanzo feels so *cold* without Reaper fucking him; pushing fat, undulating tentacles into every orifice of his body until Hanzo is not sure anymore where one begins and the other ends.

He knows he should be mortified and humiliated, being exposed and shown off to his former colleagues and, yes, friends, but he can’t dredge up much inspiration for actual thought when Reaper is slipping into his loose, sloppy hole flirtatiously.

Hanzo groans when just the tip of the tentacle pushes inside, then pulls out again while more tentacles wrap around his thighs and pull them farther apart. He tries to turn his head and look back, whine at the amorphous mass that is behind him, but Reaper’s grip is unrelenting and keeps his head turned the way it is. Doesn’t let him look away from the pale, shocked faces, or the slowly dawning realization that Hanzo is actually not in *distress*.

As Hanzo stares into Mei’s face and watches her pretty, plump mouth drop open in an ‘oh’ of surprised understanding, Reaper’s tentacles start shifting.

Hanzo gets lifted off of all fours and turned around like he weighs nothing. When he starts struggling, a long, thick tentacle slips into his sloppy hole and presses gently against the swollen bump of his prostate – and just like that, his vague, pathetic attempts at fighting off the slick, velvety mass dissolve into nothingness.

He is held up like an offering, his arms stretched up above his head and held secure by the monster. His legs are spread, knees up and almost at his ribs. Reaper shows him off, and Hanzo obediently loves it, his cock prominently jerking and dribbling as he feels the stares of his former comrades on his body.

Reaper laps at him, warm little licks of his appendages that pull back only reluctantly because he wants to *touch* him, but he also wants to *show* him.

Hanzo’s hips get curved forward, his loose hole on display for their audience to watch as he gets slowly, intimately spread on a sleek tentacle. He gurgles wordlessly, mouth still open and used by Reaper, who had pulled back but is still idly petting across Hanzo’s tongue.

Reaper wants to show off his superiority and Hanzo couldn’t have stopped him even if he had wanted to. All he can do is play right into his hands, gurgling and drooling and trying to fuck himself on the cock-like tentacle that’s dipping into him at a rate that is not enough. Not nearly enough.

He imagines coming like this, in front of his erstwhile friends: with a monster fucking him deep enough that his belly bulges, orgasm rolling over him without a need for his cock to be touched.

Coming like he’s been *trained* to do, shameful and slutty – and when more tentacles slide across his pecs, flicking and lapping at his hard, needy nipples, he knows that he has no chance *but* to show off what he has learned.

Let them see how far the Shimada heir has fallen.

11th Batch Ko-Fi Fics: 3rd Fill

Reapzo – continuation of this – tentafucc?; armorfucc?; Reaper being body armor; kind of brainwashing – Reaper can make Hanzo move.

Hanzo does not walk through the Talon base – he is *being* walked. His naked feet make barely a sound as they gently slap against the cold tiles. Every now and then a masked agent rounds a corner, rifle up within seconds, pointed directly at Hanzo’s head until the black mass intimately covering Hanzo’s body *ripples*, and then *growls*.

He looks like he is wearing a turtleneck sweater and tight black leggins; a kind of catsuit outfit that is molded embarrassingly to his body, but he knows the truth – and the agents who jerk back before hurriedly lowering their rifles, know as well.

Hanzo is naked, in truth; made to walk the halls of Talon while Reaper is wrapped around him tightly, covering his crotch with nothing but black mass but what still feels like a possessive clawed hand cupping his cock and balls.

When Hanzo pushes against the insistent urging to move his feet, the mass filling his ass grows and pushes deeper; deep enough that Hanzo imagines to feel a dull ache as it pushes against his stomach. He is sure Reaper has filled all of his intestines by now.

He feels… *stuffed*. He feels like he must be showing like a pregnant lady; that there is no way the writhing mass slowly fucking him is not bulging his usually tight belly out obscenely. But whenever he looks down, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose, there is nothing to be seen; nothing but the faint sheen of his hard, muscled stomach covered by a latex-like substance.

He’s stopped fighting, and Reaper started walking him. It is a weird feeling, but one he quickly gets used to. Especially when most of his brain power is reserved for trying not to go crazy from the insane stretch of his ass around the warm, solid mass Reaper has stuffed him with.

He does not even know what part of his captor it is; he could be *fisting* him and-

Reaper spasms inside him and presses almost violently against his prostate. Hanzo gurgles and would have gone to his knees if not for the creature wrapped around him like a suit. His head spins, his cock pressing right into the warm, soft cup of Reaper’s… hand? Body? Sludge.

His sludge.

His hips start fucking without him, and the fact that Reaper lets him do it shocks him out of his daze enough to realize he’s in the middle of the hallway, forearms braced against the wall as his head hangs low and he’s panting obnoxiously.

He does not know how he has to look to another; standing there with shaking knees and fucking into the air like some kind of animal.

Reaper is twisting inside him again. He’s been moving the whole time, but not with so much… gusto. It is like he’s become tired of parading Hanzo around like a doll and wants to have more fun.

Reaper starts fucking him in earnest. He pulls out and thrusts in violently enough to make Hanzo cry out. His insides twist and spasm but he can’t figure out if it’s from pain or pleasure. His cock remains pressed into the wrappings around his pelvis; it feels like a warm, squishy tongue is pressing against the swollen crown, sending shocks up and down his spine.

Reaper is purring around him like a huge cat. Being wrapped around Hanzo like this; servicing and using him at every end, seems to take too much coordination out of him to still be talking. All the amorphous black mass around Hanzo does, is make guttural sounds that sink down to his bones.

Vaguely, Hanzo is aware of an audience gathering. Nameless, faceless Talon goons coming to a halt, their weapons idly cradled in their hands as they watch Hanzo getting fucked against the wall by seemingly nothing.

Reaper pushes in, wide enough to painfully press against Hanzo’s ripe, primed prostate, and Hanzo cries out again, head thrown back, sweat and drool dripping from his chin.

His thighs shake. He can’t hold himself up and Reaper seems too lost in fucking him to keep him up, so he sinks into an awkward half-crouch, fingers clawing at the wall, trying to hold himself up without any coordination. There’s a tight circle of Talon agents around them, watching Hanzo getting debased, and Hanzo… loves it.

He finally sinks to his knees, and Reaper pulls back from Hanzo’s legs; uses the newly freed mass to spread Hanzo’s ass cheeks open while he fucks him.

Hanzo is sobbing into his arms, his cock painfully hard, his abdomen pulsing with delirious pleasure-pain. His hips jerk into the weird lapping sensation against his cock, then back into the fuck he receives from Reaper.

He does not care being bared to everyone; that they can see him positively unhinged, gagging for Reaper’s treatment. Reaper is still purring and it makes the ground vibrate until Hanzo’s arms are numb and he has to sink down until his cheek is against the floor, a puddle of drool forming.

Reaper unwraps from his arms as well; forms a cock of the color of the void and pushes it into Hanzo’s throat until his eyes roll back and he gags, snot starting to run as his body spasms, his throat fucked relentlessly by Reaper until he suddenly comes; shooting into Hanzo and filling his belly without Hanzo having to swallow it down.

Yet still he keeps giving it to him; fast and hard and merciless, pulling away reluctantly to let Hanzo gasp in breaths before the lack of oxygen lets him pass out…

And he almost wishes he hadn’t. Wishes that Reaper had kept fucking him through unconsciousness, using his body as masked, anonymous agents stared at him.

Hanzo does not know how he could ever explain that he’s not been hypnotized or brainwashed.

He’s just been too greedy for Reaper’s cock.

9th Batch Ko-Fi Fics: 7th Fill

Reaper/Hanzo – tentafucc; dirty talk; mentions of oviposition; mentions of voyeurism – Hanzo is insatiable and Gabriel is tireless.

Gabriel shudders through the last throes of orgasm, tentacles convulsing, pulsing more thick, silky slime into Hanzo until he is groaning, twitching his limbs as he tries without coordination to pull himself out of Gabriel’s secure grip. His belly slowly bulges as Gabriel keeps pumping him full, listening to Hanzo’s pathetic out-of-it whines as the strain becomes more and more, until-

Gabriel pulls out abruptly and the whole mess splatters back out of the fucked out archer, loud and messy and humiliating as he squirms, cock painfully hard, flushed a dark pink at the tip.

He’s been fussy, once upon a time, remembering between bouts of frantic, deep fucking that he could be, maybe should be, ashamed of his own greed for what Gabriel has to offer, but by now it is obviously difficult to grasp even a single coherent thought.

Gabriel is all around Hanzo, enveloping him with feverishly hot mist that thickens at times into silky sludge, at others into the very tangible tentacles that keep spearing him open, sliding intimately, impossibly deep.

Gabriel moves him slowly; pulls him around, suspending his body briefly as he lets him hang on his arms and legs before he lowers him onto a surface of his own making.

More tentacles slither close, curling around Hanzo’s ankles and pulling his legs further apart.

His face is a mess of drool and tears. He looks like a victim, but when Gabriel pauses for just a little too long, watching his trembling, used-up body, he starts squirming in place, shifting his hips, offering up the lose, sloppy cunt that Gabriel has been patiently spreading on his many appendages for the past… hours.

Gabriel smirks and moves closer again. Hanzo is a slut. Who would have thought? Who would have thought that beneath the austere, superior mask he shows he world he is just insecure enough to beg for dick and try to spread his asscheeks wide; give his tormentor a good, intimate look of his hot, deep red insides.

Gabriel helps him out. He is a nice guy like that. Two tentacles slip into the raw hole, then spread him open. Hanzo gurgles, his head falling back, showing off his throat.

He doesn’t seem to any longer care what happens to him as long as he’s getting his belly filled. If he could, he would probably beg Gabriel to slip into him; fill him out to a grotesque, all-encompassing extent.

What a nasty little cunt.

“You’re so obedient, aren’t you?” Gabriel purrs, curling his mist all around Hanzo; licking at his sides and tickling his nipples until they are plump and as raw looking as the hole he‘s slowly, deeply fucking. Hanzo groans delirious, weakly twisting his upper body to try and get away from the tentacles plucking at his tits.

“You wouldn‘t even mind if I had put up a camera, would you? If I told you that this whole time your team has been able to watch you debasing yourself… *getting* debased and loving it – you wouldn‘t mind at all, would you?“

Hanzo is staring at him with a lost delirious kind of need. If he understands even a word of what Gabriel is saying beyond the knowledge that he is getting ridiculed, it does not show in his blank fucked-stupid face.

Gabriel laughs at him and Hanzo squirms again. This one loves getting humiliated and debased. His cock is jerking, the tip sticky wet. He‘s close to coming from the words and the tentacles scraping along his hot, swollen walls.

Gabriel watches him idly. He’s not ready to start working to another orgasm, but his tentacles are also not prone to oversensitivity, so he can keep giving it to Hanzo deeply, idly pressing at his belly from the inside just so he can see the obscene little bulges in the tight muscle of his abdomen.

“You wouldn’t mind if I told you that I’d be filling you up with my eggs all along.” He watches the reaction – or non-reaction – and smirks with some kind of satisfaction. “You would say *please* and *thank you* like a good little fuck slut. You would let me use you as my own personal incubator until you’re too old and sloppy to keep going.”

He starts fucking him deeper, then; with more purpose. Hanzo cries out, his lovely deep voice hoarse, tongue lolling out. He’s long since lost any agency over his own facial expressions. It is quite amusing, to be honest.

His cock bounces viciously with every harsh thrust into him, sticky strings connecting the furiously flushed tip to his belly. He gets more out of having his intestines filled than he does out of getting his prostate stimulated.

What a good slut. What a good, *perfect* little whore.

“You could work as an escort if the whole secret agent stint doesn’t work out for you,” Gabriel purrs silkily, one little tentacle curling around Hanzo’s balls. He tugs at them just to hear Hanzo hiccup desperately. “You’d be a hit with all the fat, good-for-nothing businessmen. They would’ve never had a slut as easy as you…”

Hanzo gurgles as he suddenly, explosively comes, hot stripes landing across his crotch and belly. His eyes are nearly rolled up into his head, face a sweaty, sticky mess just like the rest of his body.

Gabriel keeps fucking him through it, ignoring his indistinct cries for mercy as the overstimulation comes, vicious and sharp, and then goes again when Gabriel just keeps working him over and giving it to him deep and relentless.

His tentacles are everywhere, petting and warming his cooling body; slipping into every little hole they can find, flirting with the entrance. They are not done yet.

They make the most delightful little sounds when they’re nose deep in the other’s crack.

Gabriel leans far back in his chair, fist clenched around the squat glass of liquor, eyes shining feverishly as he watches Jesse and Hanzo squirm for him on the ground.

Jesse is grunting softly as he buries himself deeper, arms hugging around Hanzo’s waist like a vice. Afraid he’ll get his treat taken away before he’s licked all of Gabriel’s cream from the sloppy hole.

Hanzo is a beast more often than not – his fear is well grounded. He can’t fool him for it.

Hanzo is more quiet; more reserved in expressing his greed, but not less eager for it. He is eating Jesse like a champ, pale hands on his brown cheeks, pulling them apart, buried in the hairy crack of the cowboy’s ass.

He likes it down there. Loves it, even. He’d never admit to it, but it is apparent in the way he sighs every now and then, eyes closed, lashes a dark, adoring whisper against his high, sharp cheek bones.

If Gabriel leans to the side just right, he can see a slip of pink tongue every now and then; delving deep into the loose, warm hole. He can just imagine it; dragging along the swollen walls. Tasting Gabriel’s cock as it had rubbed along them not ten minutes ago.

Jesse is wheezing softly, squirming beneath Hanzo’s weight. Hanzo is unapologetic about lying down on him, making him bear all of him. Their bellies are squished together, their cocks snuggled against throats; hard and weeping and ignored in favor of the real treat.

So hungry for Gabriel’s cock, they take everything they can get.

Jesse had been almost weepy as he realized Hanzo got the main attraction for the night; their hips pressed together, asses up almost comically high – trying to entice him with the dark gapes of their cunts.

He’s fucked them both at once; holding the other over with thick fingers jammed up that greedy, suckling space before pulling out and replacing them with his dick for a few deep, self-indulgent thrusts.

Despite his earlier whining, Jesse looks happy now. He’s gotten what he wanted after all, and Gabriel suspects it might be his favorite to taste anyway. He’s not as greedy to get his belly warmed as Hanzo is; always vying for a fuck; always begging with his eyes and the presentation of his pretty tits.

Jesse is calmer; more mellowed but equally greedy.

Gabriel can rarely keep up with them.

He sips from his glass, cock still out and wet, watching them lick each other’s ass out, trying to one-up the other. Be better, quicker, smarter.

He can see Hanzo’s hand start to inch towards Jesse’s heavy balls. Hanzo has always been a cheater, and none of them had yet been able to train it out of him. They enjoy it too much anyway.

Gabriel lets his head fall back against the headrest, staring blearily at the ceiling as he watches to their messy, wet sounds. Jesse’s grunting and Hanzo’s soft little panting.

Sometimes he can’t believe what a goddamn lucky man he is.

“How are my darlings this fine morning?” Gabriel “training” Hanzo and Genji.

“How are my darlings this fine morning?” Low, pained groans greet him; indistinct and muffled through the gags they are wearing nowadays after losing talking privileges some time ago.

The harnesses they’re strapped into squeak softly as they squirm in the air, bloated bellies swaying. They look gorgeous filled with the slimy darkness he filled them with last night, faces drenched in sweat and sickly pale.

As Gabriel steps closer, Genji’s vents pop open, emitting a hissing cloud of steam before he sags into the bindings, kitten weak after the pathetic display.

“Good boys,” Reaper purrs fingers lifting their chins to look into their eyes as he focuses on moving the slimy mess their guts are filled with; pulsing, sick blackness pushing against every nook and cranny, filling out their most secret little spots.

As he watches, Hanzo’s eyes widen a little more still, a new trickle of drool spilling from the stretched corner of his mouth as he suddenly comes onto the floor, cock jerking and flexing against the distorted curve of his belly.

When he’s done, he huffs like an animal, a certain kind of tranquility settling over his features. He nuzzles weak into Gabriel’s clawed hand and Reaper chuckles.

“That’s it. Just let it consume you, pet. It’s so much better than to fight it.”

Yo. FUCKIN’ yo. @crimsontentacles was like… harassing me with lewd headcanons about stripper!Hanzo and stripper!Reaper and I was a helpless victim…

basically this is a lot of smut and choking and I haven’t proofread it but you get to read it anyway. it’s all @crimsontentacles‘ fault who watched the whole process and was a horrible enabler.

The light dims, music lowering to a mere background murmur; low and throbbing with drums that seem to mimic a beating heart. The crowd is still talking – vying for drinks and the occasional lap dance alike. It is not quite certain where in the room the bustle starts to cease and heads start to turn towards the rhythmic metallic clinking coming from behind the dark curtain, but eventually, everybody settles in, fingers drumming nervously and knees bouncing – tonight, nobody is new to the club, and the anticipation of what they knew was going to come is palpable.

The music lifts into a harsher, more prominent rhythm when the curtain twitches open to allow the two dancers on stage; the metallic clinking louder and more melodious as they make their way down the catwalk in slow, measured steps, the chains binding them dully reflecting the moody, soft light in the room.

The air – thick and warm from too many excited bodies and bad air conditioning – suddenly almost feels oppressive. Nobody talks. Eyes follow the movements of their bodies; the rigid lines of their proud backs.

Reaper’s strides are long, eating up ground and putting himself in front of his partner within just a couple steps. Soon, he yanks on the chain binding their wrists together. He seems impatient. Ill-tempered. His body is a coiled spring, muscles tight and rigid in his shoulders, and the swell of his biceps.

Hanzo stumbles from the sudden jerk. He doesn’t make it look like stumbling, though – a graceful lunge of his slim, prosthetic feet that enables the narrow, long cloth covering his crotch to flutter and give the audience tantalizing glimpses of his cock. When he rights himself, his dark eyes are narrowed and boring into the broad back of his partner.

The onlookers can’t figure out whether the two genuinely hate each other or whether it is just an elaborate, well-trained act.

Maybe both.

They start a tight, dance-like circle that has their half-naked bodies almost touching; predators looking – waiting – for a sign of weakness in the other. Their wrists subtly flick in time with the music – sending the chain to jingle again and again as they move, shoulders round with muscle and rolling as if preparing for a fight that only Reaper really looks equipped for with heavy boots and protective mask. The thick muscles of his thighs bulge and shift against his fishnet stockings.

Next to him, Hanzo looks shockingly naked and vulnerable; body on display other than the length of silk binding his hair and the narrow strips of fabric in front of his cock and ass, filigrane lengths of metal around his hips keeping them in place.

His muscles are shifting in the light; he looks full of barely restrained power – small and compact and not to be underestimated.

Reaper has the height advantage, though. He is boring down on his partner, mask glinting like bone in the diffuse light, body big and overbearing, boots heavy next to the positively delicate synthetic feet as he forces Hanzo to retreat before him; makes him take one small step at a time.

Hanzo’s eyes are narrowed, the corner of his mouth lifted above the snarl of his teeth as he is forced to take yet another step back, shoulder blades almost brushing the pole Reaper tries to trap him against.

Their hard stares bore into each other, the music thudding around them as Reaper suddenly surges forward while simultaneously yanking on the chain binding them, forcing Hanzo into the hard lines of his body, their heaving chests pressed closely, nipples tight and excited despite their murderous looks.

Their audience stares in silent, conflicted arousal.

.o.

Every time Hanzo squirms, Reaper pulls the chain tighter around his neck. His range of expression is limited due to the mask, yet dark satisfaction is rolling off of him in dizzying waves as he tilts his head and presses close to the other dancer in a parody of comfort.

Hanzo’s back is arched, leaning against the man behind, face a little red from lack of air. He has one arm up, hand clawing at the side of Reaper’s hood – he is not struggling against the chokehold his partner has on him, despite the chain binding their wrists together digging visibly sharp into his windpipe.

Their bodies seem to be convulsing with the music; slow, undulating waves as Reaper lets his free, unbound hand wander across Hanzo’s chest; squeezing the pecs and cupping them for their audience’s viewing pleasure. He is showing Hanzo off with a kind of self-indulgence that is almost more obscene than the act itself – an owner presenting their pet.

When he pinches one tan, oval nipple, he stoically takes Hanzo’s needy backwards arch, his heavily booted feet planted wide for better purchase.

He is standing like a rock; expressionless and terrifying as he pulls on the chain again and gets Hanzo to convulse like a snake when his throat gets crushed cruelly, and his breath shuts off completely for just a few precious seconds. Reaper takes the struggles of his partner’s compact, strong body, free arm curling around his waist, dark hand splayed on the quivering abs of his belly – as possessive a gesture as it is weirdly comforting.

The music starts to dip, the heavy beat softening into a more sensual roll of dark tones as Reaper’s hand starts turning, heel grinding against Hanzo’s belly, until long thick fingers point down towards the other dancer’s crotch, drawing the gaze of the enraptured audience lower… lower… towards the lift of the small cloth Hanzo is wearing, his cock tip perfectly outlined beneath the thin material; made see-through by the wetness seeping into the fabric. It is clinging to the head of Hanzo’s cock, slick and obscene, showing off the swollen shape as it flexes for their entertainment, lifting the cloth up enough to give a little glimpse of his swollen, ripe balls.

Hanzo’s lips are moving, eyes staring at the ceiling sightlessly.

When Reaper’s hand slides lower, the palm rubbing across the wet outline of his cock with an air of total possessiveness, Hanzo jerks once again in one powerful, smooth wave, the machinery in his calves hissing as he rolls up unto the balls of his feet, just so he can fuck against the broad, brown hand.

Reaper pulls his head back for a second – changes sides so he can use his chained hand to almost lovingly card through the thick, loose hair at Hanzo’s temple. He looks sinister as death himself, large and dark, towering behind Hanzo with an indifferent face of bone white metal.

He seems cool and aloof even when he curls his hand around the other man’s cock, broad thumb rubbing firm – almost painfully so – over the wet tip peeking pink through the eggshell color of the fabric. The music is low by now – nearly non-existent, so the soft tinkle of their connecting chain can be heard as Reaper keeps petting his partner, wrist flicking to let the links clank together – never letting anybody forget the power he holds, even as he is benevolent enough to let Hanzo fuck into the cup of his hand. (Benevolent enough to let him breathe without pain, and swallow without bruising himself up.)

Hanzo’s chest is flushed beneath the warm, yellow light shining down on them. It’s heaving and shiny with sweat, his mouth dropped open as his abs quiver and clench, hips curling forward into Reaper’s large hand.

His fingers are still clenched in the man’s hood, pulling in mindless pleasure until Reaper rears his head back and shakes it like an unwilling hound while simultaneously taking his hand away from Hanzo’s crotch and placing it on his hip instead – giving the dark room full of anonymous faces a perfect view of the man’s cock lined out beneath the wet material clinging to it.

Only when the desperate clench of Hanzo’s body relaxes, hand losing its grip in favor of reaching for Reaper’s hip like the other one, does the other man resume; fingers dancing along the wet dick beneath the cloth, dragging along the prominent, fat vein and circling the swollen head until the audience can hear the breathless cry coming from the dancer.

Reaper’s shoulders shake in obvious mirth. His hand stops petting Hanzo’s hair and slowly reaches for the short length of chain. He drags his movements as long as he can, obviously revelling in the sudden tension in the room; how their audience seems to hold a collective breath in preparation for what is to come. Hanzo’s eyes glaze over in the dim light. Large and black and shining like polished onyx as Reaper strangulates him with slow, perverse pleasure and presses his large hand against the jerking line of his excited cock.

The music has stopped. The wet sounds of Hanzo’s desperate fight for oxygen are loud and horrible and gorgeous in the sticky room. His abs are clenching, the large muscles in his thigh shivering as he fucks frantically into the loose tunnel of Reaper’s hand, the cloth covering his dick sliding wet and clinging along the slick skin of his cock.

When he comes, he does so silently; mouth open and body one long, quivering string, fingertips digging into Reaper’s flesh with bruising strength.

Reaper laughs. A low droning sound straight from a nightmare as he pulls his hand away and shows the room Hanzo’s shame soaking into the fabric of his cloth.

It is only when Hanzo starts convulsing again, drool slicking from the corner of his mouth, that he suddenly slackens the tightness in the chain – does, in fact, curl it from around Hanzo’s neck, a pretty ring of bruises circling the man’s throat like a collar as his shaking legs can’t keep his body weight up and he collapses to the floor.

Reaper stands impassive above him; silent again. Watching predator like as the shorter man tries to get back to his feet – to get himself back together – and fails miserably.

Music starts bleeding in once more in heavy, hypnotising beats. Uncertainty starts to bleed through the room, people shifting in their seats, casting little glances about – until Reaper moves again; drawing gazes back and arresting them with his sheer presence.

He slowly crosses his arms across the width of his muscular chest,legs shifting closer together, knee lifting minimally as he shoves his left foot forward and nudges the steel cap of his toes against Hanzo’s shoulder… collar bone… throat… uses it to tip the man’s chin up until Hanzo is forced to stare into the darkness behind the lights surrounding the stage before he turns his head from the staring eyes with a dull flush creeping through his cheeks.

Reaper places his boot down in front of him. He seems to be waiting for something and, when nothing happens, he suddenly lifts his other leg and lowers his foot onto the nape of Hanzo’s neck, forcefully pressing him down.

Only the people in the front row can hear the low, aggressive hiss of “Do it!”. There is another second of hesitation, Hanzo struggling half-heartedly and weak as a kitten against the boot pressing him down without mercy, before he stops and closes his eyes in something like relieved defeat.

When he starts to do it – starts to lick the steel cap and black leather of Reaper’s boot without a doubt – he applies himself to the task with single-minded determination.

His eyes are closed, lashes lying dark and pretty against his sharp cheekbones as he first just licks, then kisses, then rubs his cheek against the warmed, wet metal like a cat seeking affection.

Reaper is impassive above him, head tilted, mask watching the proceedings, and only the prominent bulge in his tight, skimpy shorts showing off his interest in what he was seeing. When he pulls away, Hanzo chases after him, pink tongue out and eyes snapping up towards his mask. He almost looks out of it – his aloofness and almost feline pride having given way to a submissive kind of desperation that couldn’t be part of the act… could it?

The beat surges and Reaper rounds Hanzo, arm held in deference to the chain connecting them, powerful leg swinging across Hanzo’s hip until he is standing above him, watching, assessing, head tilting slowly from side to side as he seems to contemplate how to continue playing.

In the end, he drops to his knees, free arm reaching beneath Hanzo’s belly to hitch him up, get his round ass in the air and on display for the audience who watches, struck silent and with stuttering breaths, as Reaper starts moving; a slow, dirty grind of his crotch against his partner’s ass, rutting him like an animal to the beat of the heavy warm beat of the music.

He fakes at fucking Hanzo, yet it still seems more obscene than the real thing; thick muscles bulging against the restraints of the fishnets, sweat on his back gleaming as he curls it into his thrusts, hips snapping forward and driving against Hanzo with selfish, sensual finality.

The chain is rattling with his violent movements until Reaper grabs a hold of it with an air of impatience, bound hand splaying between Hanzo’s shoulderblades and pressing him down to the floor, making him rub his face against the dirty stage as the other arm around his hips keeps him hoisted up for the faux fucking he is receiving right there on the stage.

Hanzo looks blissed out, arms, when he tries to stem against the tide, shaking fiercely until he simply curls them around the pole next to his head and holds on for dear life. Reaper snarls behind his mask and stands one boot up next to Hanzo’s knee with a heavy, dull thump, body slicked in sweat as he pulls himself up higher, and practically mounts his partner like an animal, fingernails digging into Hanzo’s back and slowly scratching him up as Reaper gets more and more into the act.

The rhythm of the song picks up – and so do Reaper’s movements. He is leaning forward, head hanging low as he seems to fully concentrate on the task of drilling Hanzo into the stage, make him take a cock that wasn’t available for the taking, grunting low and fierce with every sharp thrust that presses his poor cock against the lush curve of Hanzo’s ass, squeezing it painfully, deliciously.

The sweat pours off his shoulders, tickles down his back, and his toes curl in his boots, wondering what the boss would say if he simply said ‘fuck it’ to everything and pulled his cock out; shoved Hanzo’s ridiculous little cloth piece covering his ass to the side and shoved in deep where Hanzo was warm and ready; loose from earlier and…

The music stops abruptly, and so does Reaper, chest heaving, eyes wide behind his mask, staring down at the back of Hanzo’s head (staring at the way Hanzo slowly, almost shyly drags his tongue across the floor as if fucking missing Reaper’s boots).

The room is silent, charged with a kind of feverish, mad lust as Reaper makes his protesting muscles move and forces himself up, arm imperious as he jerks on the chain and forces Hanzo to rise from his breathless, powerless sprawl on the floor to a more-or-less firm stance on all fours, and then, after another little encouraging tug, urges him to slowly rise unto his feet.

Reaper leaves. Slow, cadenced thumps of his boots, not unlike his solo shows when the music hasn’t started yet and he enters the stage with overbearing confidence. The chain pulls taut between them just once – then Hanzo starts walking, face flushed but impassive; as if the front of his little crotch piece wasn’t soaked with cum, clinging to the tantalizing swing of his cock.

Only a few more steps. Only a few more fucking steps and then Reaper would be able to slam Hanzo against the next best wall and finally drive into him like he pretended to do on stage.

Only a few more steps.