Commissioned by @milkcree 😀 had a lot of fun writing this. A few little ficlets about McCree getting the milkies from Hanzo. And one Bonus ❤

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At this point McCree was pretty sure Hanzo was dying to get milked and just too stubborn to say the word. He was moving in that very careful way, making sure his biceps were not putting too much pressure on the sides of his pecs, mouth pinched in concentration.

Or maybe it was how the dark eyes were slanting towards him every now and then, sending him pissy looks as if Jesse was the one responsible for his predicament. Jesse, for his part, said nothing and just watched, fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh.

He was still smarting from the tongue lashing he got earlier, Hanzo telling him in no uncertain terms that he would come to Jesse if he was ready to get milked, and the current stalemate seemed to be the direct result of that: Jesse was dying for a drink, and Hanzo was petty enough to ignore his own body’s needs.

But Christ did they look ripe today. They looked filled to the brim; swollen in a way Jesse hadn’t seen them yet, brown oval nipples puffy and a little red tinged as if inflamed.

Jesse had to lick his lips. He was thinking how long it had been since he’d last been able to latch on and drag a satisfying mouth full of sweet, watery milk. It had to be at least… at least…

He slants his gaze over towards the clock, sweat springing up along his brow. His cock was making it hard to think – it felt the way Hanzo’s tits looked: swollen and fit to bursting. He licked his lips again. Eight hours. At least fucking eight hours since last he’s had his lips on Hanzo’s chest and –

“Uff.” Hanzo was suddenly there, heavy on his lap, and his pecs held right in front of Jesse’s face. “Oh… howdy.”

“Stop talking.” Hanzo sounded like he was really trying to remain calm and impassive, and not like he had his arms around Jesse’s shoulders and was offering up his tits on a silver plate. He even had pulled down the other side of his yukata. Jesse could feel his dick tap against Hanzo’s ass. Hanzo grunted, eyebrows drawing together in annoyance. For someone who was about to ask for help, he looked pretty pissed off.

“Do it. Now.” He was pulling on Jesse’s hair – there were small creases in the corners of his eyes. He looked like he was hurting. “And no smart remarks.”

Jesse grunts and vaguely flutters his prosthetic hand against his brow as if tipping a hat he wasn’t wearing. Hanzo growls and pulls him closer, pushing him against his chest the same time he sits down on Jesse’s cock more firmly.

Jesse sighs, mouth opening wide; making sure to suck on as much of Hanzo’s pec as he could. The skin surrounding his nipple was almost feverishly hot to the touch. Hanzo shouted above him; short and sharp like he just couldn’t help the sound of pain, and McCree made a soft, brainless noise in the back of his throat; full of sympathy as he gentled his greedy assault. He was mouthing more than he was sucking, lips dragging warm and wet across Hanzo’s swollen flesh.

The first burst of milk against his tongue and the roof of his mouth tasted so strong, he choked in surprise. Soon, he was finding his rhythm back, eyes closed as he mindlessly pulled and let Hanzo guide him with the clutching, shivering arms around his head from one nipple to the other.

Half-way through his feeding McCree realized Hanzo was moving his hips and grinding against his cock. He was vaguely surprised to not feel the need to fuck up against him; he was too preoccupied with drinking down the milk and soothing his own hot need for the simple action of latching on and nursing.

Strange.

.o.

Hanzo had seen Jesse just a couple of hours earlier – well, not quite seen, but at least heard him rummage around his room before leaving for the very early training session he’s had promised Reinhardt – yet still, hearing his excited, drawling voice come closer towards the mess hall was kind of… nice – for lack of a more adequate word.

It was good to just keep looking down at his bowl of sweet rice while listening for Reinhardt and Jesse coming closer in midst of the handful of other team members slowly waking up around the table.

It was good, right until he caught a whiff of Jesse’s scent, and his tits suddenly started… hurting. A dull pull starting in his nipples and spreading throughout his pecs as if he hadn’t had them emptied just a few hours ago.

The smell of Jesse was preceding him into the room. Warm and familiar, and made even stronger by the fact that the disgusting American pig had not showered after his training. He smelled of warm wool, bad beer, fresh sweat and the smoke of his cigars that had been ingrained into his hair and skin.

It smelled… good, Hanzo supposed. He wasn’t paying too much attention to it because he was occupied with quietly freaking out, staring at his bowl and trying not to move a muscle because he suddenly felt like he was about to burst.

“Hey there,” McCree crooned behind him. It wasn’t even directed at Hanzo in particular – just at the room in general. He probably had one hand up tipping his stupid hat in greeting.

Why was he like this.

It was like he could physically feel McCree’s voice, and – oh lord. He could feel moisture dribbling down the skin on his left side. He must have made a sound, too, because suddenly a few eyes were turning to him in mild concern, staring until Tracer choked and pointed and suddenly all were looking at his shame.

Hanzo could just sit and stare at his bowl, jaw working as his tits dribbled eager milk. He didn’t dare to look but was quite certain his yukata was starting to soak on the other side as well.

“What are ya’ll starin’ a-” McCree shuts up the second he leans over Hanzo’s shoulder, the scent of his milk probably like a red flag to the man.

“Oh, uh… I think… I… left somethin’ in your room, darlin’. How ‘bout we go get it? Right now?”

Hanzo tried to recede with dignity and refused to be thankful for McCree’s blundering rescue.

(He also refused to acknowledge the spike of needy pleasure when seeing Reinhardt stand there with a cup of coffee in his hand and a positively contemplative look in his one good eye.

He would not entertain the thought of feeding the rest of the team. He would not.)

.o.

Hanzo (3:24 AM): I was at your room. Where are you.

McCree (3:28 AM): lookn 4 smth 2 eat in city. Y?

Hanzo rubs the back of his nose. He never questioned McCree’s choices anymore. Some things one just had to accept.

Hanzo (3:30 AM): I’m full and considering milking myself into the sink.

McCree (3:31 AM): on my way

McCree (3:31 AM): dont dare doing

McCree (3:32 AM): there in a bit bb

McCree finds Hanzo in the kitchen, sitting up on the counter (next to the sink, McCree notes with an almost panic), apparently fast asleep. His head is tilted back against the cupboards, face a little slack in respite.

He is wearing one of McCree’s shirts. It’s tight around his chest and a little too long. It had been white once upon a time with some sort of band logo across the chest, but now it was grey and soft, and the logo has been washed out long ago. Staring long enough, Jesse could make out the dark disks of Hanzo’s nipples pressing against the fabric.

God, but they looked tasty. Puffy and big; the perfect size for Jesse’s greedy mouth.

“Howdy, partner,” he purred, absentmindedly pulling his hat off and putting it on the counter next to Hanzo. He dips down, hands going around Hanzo’s ribs to hold him still as he presses a gentle, chaste kiss against his left nipple. He can feel the jerk going through the assassin’s body as he wakes abruptly.

“You took too long,” Hanzo mumbles. Jesse grins against his chest and drags his tongue across the t-shirt, tonguing sloppily at the swollen nipple underneath.

“‘M sorry. I can make it up to you.”

“You should.”

And maybe Hanzo had thought about them taking it into the bedroom – or at least getting him out of the shirt; but frankly, Jesse was too greedy to bother with any of that, and the sound Hanzo makes when he starts to unashamedly suck him through the fabric was going straight to Jesse’s core.

Hanzo hisses something sharp and angry sounding in Japanese, arms coming up and fingers tangling in McCree’s hair to tug on with one hand while simultaneously cradling him closer with the other; holding Jesse to his chest and making sure his idly mouthing lips find the swollen nipple once again.

McCree groans against Hanzo’s chest. His eyes are closed in concentration, bushy brows pulled together as he tries his best to suck milk into his mouth and not let all of it soak into the fabric.

Within moments the shirt is sticking wet and see-through to Hanzo’s left tit. It’s awkward to nurse like this, and Jesse has to take his hand to help – but he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when Hanzo is groaning low and happy with each hard drag, shoulders flexing and pulling back as he presses his chest towards McCree.

Jesse’s fingers are pressing gently into the swollen, full tit, massaging the milk out faster than he can try to suck it through the fabric. When he pulls back to lick his lips, staring at Hanzo’s chest with glazed eyes, there’s a huge wet spot of milk and spit spreading through the fabric.

“You look so good, darlin’,” he mumbles, fingers lovingly pinching the brown, perky nub. He ducks out of a half-assed fist to the head and lowers his mouth with a little sigh to the other tit, more than ready to get it just as sloppy wet as the other one.

(Neither notice Tracer stumbling in, sleepily rubbing her eyes at the light in the kitchen – or how she forgets to get a glass of juice because she gapes at the spectacle and then slowly retreats.

They do, however, suspect something when she chokes on her cereal the next morning as Winston wonders aloud why the counter was so sticky.)

.o.

It was, of course, possible for Hanzo to wake up on the drop of a hat and fire on all cylinders if the situation demanded it – but he had to admit that waking up nice and slow was his preferred method.

Especially when the base around them was still quiet, none of the younger members out and about causing a ruckus and tempting McCree to get involved in their asinine shenanigans. This morning was one of the rare peaceful ones, where Hanzo could stretch out his legs down to the stumps beneath his knees, and turn his face to blindly nuzzle into McCree’s armpit, cheek rubbing sleepily against the thick hair and breathing in the scent of sweat and smoke.

He would never admit that he liked to sniff a dirty, often drunk American, and he would never be caught by anyone doing it – but he suspected McCree knew about his little weakness anyway.

That McCree hadn’t – yet – used the knowledge against him was something Hanzo was kind of… thankful for.

Jesse stirred; Hanzo’s deep breathing probably had tickled him. There was a hitch in his snoring, hairy chest motionless for a second before it stretched in a deep sigh that seemed to come from deep within. Hanzo turned his head so his cheek was against Jesse’s ribs, and enjoyed the silence in the room while McCree started waking up in slow increments.

Jesse’s eyes hadn’t even properly opened, yet his arm was already curling around Hanzo’s torso, hand searching clumsily and groping for his pec, alerting him only now to the gentle pressure of the collected milk. Hanzo supposed he should be thankful for McCree’s single-minded devotion. 

He could feel McCree’s big, rough fingers search for way too long until they finally found his nipple – circling it over and over, pressing softly against the swollen tissue before tugging on the tight bud itself. It was almost questioning, and Hanzo felt embarrassed and fond about the warm eagerness that washed through his body.

He could practically feel the milk moving; getting primed and ready from a needy individual at his side that wanted to get fed.

Hanzo bit at McCree’s pec just to hear him grunt in annoyance and gingerly pushed himself up on the bed with the stumps of his legs.

McCree turned blindly, eyes still closed and mouth open and searching as Hanzo guided him towards the desired place and let him latch on.

“Ah yeah,” Jesse sighed, voice deep and gravelly and so satisfied, Hanzo could feel a small dribble of milk tickling down the other side of his chest. He couldn’t believe how eager his body was to please McCree.

It… did feel good, though. McCree never bit – his mouth was all warmth and wetness and slow, consistent pulls. Hanzo watched him drink his fill at one pec. He let his fingertips softly dance across the sunken cheek and rubbed against the unkempt tangle of his beard that was surprisingly soft.

When Jesse made moves to switch sides, Hanzo helps by sitting up and letting him lie in his lap, decadent like a king as he opened his mouth wide and sucked as much of the filled pec as possible just to get the milk flow going – and to sloppily lick at Hanzo’s skin, if Hanzo suspected correctly. Hanzo sighed and left him to his shenanigans. He still needed to shower anyway so he wasn’t too opposed to getting dirtied up by McCree.

“Uncouth American,” Hanzo mumbles, hand gently stroking Jesse’s tangled hair as the cowboy nurses, carefully – skillfully – breathing through his nose without breaking the seal of his wet lips.

When Jesse finally pulls away after a while, there’s a drop of milk in the corner of his mouth and his eyes look unfocused and happy.

“Love to wake up like that,” he sighs and presses a gentle kiss against Hanzo’s wet nipple.

.o.

BONUS

Jack stumbled against a wall. He held his bruised ribs with one arm; the other one was still tingling and a little numb from the impact of the grenade. He tried to take a deep, cleansing breath but the sharp pain at expanding his ribs made him choke and bite his tongue hard enough to draw blood.

His knees were shaking and he had to stop behind a dumpster, eyebrows drawn together in annoyance. It would have been fine if the girl hadn’t been there. He should have not cared and just followed the thieves, but he supposed that was his problem: he cared too much.

“You look like shit.”

He bristles at the ethereal, deep voice and straightens in stubborn denial, hand falling away from his sluggishly bleeding side to grip his pulse rifle more firmly. Already his body was trying its hardest to heal itself – though he could feel his age starting to catch up with him. He didn’t feel nearly as good as he would’ve only five years ago.

It was easy for Reaper to push the rifle to the side. 76 wasn’t even trying to shoot him this time – he simply went through the motions, which was… annoying. Bothering Morrison wasn’t fun if he didn’t let himself get riled up like a little girl that got her pigtails pulled.

Gabriel had been figuring Jack might not be in the mood for a rough, hate filled fuck (even though he’d been in a grand old mood after watching Jack get blown up by a grenade; had, in fact, been planning on jerking off in his damp little abode thinking of the low, pained grunts he had hurt as Jack had pushed himself clumsily back up onto his feet), so he hadn’t even planned on approaching him.

Only… that he was now standing with him in the alleyway next to a stinking dumpster and starting to sweat from the humid, heavy air around them.

“What do you want,” Jack rasped. His voice was gravelly and filled with pain and – fuck. Reaper’s tits hurt all of a sudden. Way too much for the length of time since he last milked himself dry just a couple hours ago, his own fingers too harsh and impatient with his pecs because getting milked never felt as good as letting someone nurse, and he hadn’t had that since…

“Gabriel,” Jack hissed, eyebrows drawing together over his stupid visor. He swayed on the spot and Gabriel could feel his nipples get a little wet. He was mortified to realize he was starting to let go right here, right now, his tits hurting with milk and his belly aching with the dumb primal need to nurture and feed and strengthen-

Dios he needed Jack Morrison’s thrice damned mouth on his tits.

“Get your mask off,” he growled, face pinched in an expression of disgust behind his mask. He couldn’t believe he was even considering this.

Jack, for his part, naturally was a stubborn bitch. He pulled his shoulders up, head lowering as if he was ready to go into battle.

“Why should I. No. Just fuck off, Reyes.”

“Get your goddamn mask off or I’m gonna do it for you,” he snarled. He was fumbling for the hidden zip in the front of his suit. The milk was making him feel tacky and disgusting and he hated it because Morrison was the cause of it.

Jack took an unsteady step back as he realized what Reaper was doing. The distrust was coming off of him in waves. Sweat was glistening on his forehead. The pain and blood loss made it hard to concentrate, but he was reasonably sure Reyes was opening his – yes. Yes, he was.

“What are you-” Jack’s grunted inquiry – soft and confused, his rifle hanging in his limp hands – was interrupted by the distinct sound of a zipper being lowered; and then he just stood there and stared as Gabriel parted the leather covering his chest with impatient, angry motions – freeing his engorged pec.

There was no way to pretend the moisture around his nipple was anything but milk; not when there was a droplet still clinging prominently to the swollen tip, shockingly white against his dark brown skin.

“You’re a moron, Jack,” Gabriel snarled, though less heated than moments before; and 76 could’ve sworn he hadn’t moved even one muscle, but he had blinked, slow and sluggish, and suddenly Reaper was right in front of him; bearing down on him even though they were the same height, tits out and ripe and dripping and a clawed, unfriendly hand snatching for his face.

Jack grunted, stumbling back against the wall and hissing at the pain sloshing like foul water through his body, radiating from his ribs. He tried evading Reaper’s claw – or at least thought about it – but there was no way to follow through.

The closing mechanisms creaked pitifully as his faceguard got yanked away and thrown as garbage to the side.

He thinks he would sway on the spot if Gabriel weren’t holding him firmly against the wall, one clawed hand around his jaw, the other arm pressed across his collar bones and taking his breath away.

“I hate you,” Gabriel hissed at him, low and menacing. Jack had no idea what his face even looked like nowadays. The mask still was firmly in place and wouldn’t go off, he realized.

He couldn’t answer. His mouth simply fell open and a thick trickle of blood swamped out and slicked across his chin.

Reaper groaned.

The world spinned when he suddenly got pulled down, head getting… getting cradled – and then everything was just like way back. His lips opened without protest to the thick, ripe nipple that got shoved against his mouth. He wanted to groan – maybe whimper – and all he managed to produce was a very tired, little wheeze as his rifle slid out of his slack fingers. He blindly groped for Reaper’s belts arms shoulders – anywhere to get a grip.

Gabriel cursed low and soulfully under his breath. Now that Jack had found his tit, he didn’t need to cradle his head any longer. He still kept one hand curled around him anyway – mindlessly petting and pulling on his short hair. The other arm he used to brace himself against the brick wall behind Jack.

It was suddenly very hard to breathe the warm, heavy air around them. It seemed to stuck in his throat. It was difficult to concentrate on breathing when there were lips around his nipple, mouthing clumsily until they got back into the rhythm – one hand cupping the side of his pec before starting to massage it slowly. Jack was milking Gabriel right into his mouth, and the knowledge made Reaper’s tits hurt in the good way and his cock swell in pathetic gratitude.

He hadn’t nursed anybody in so long. He had forgotten how good it felt to have the sharp, greedy sucks of Morrison on his nipple. He could hear the wet, little slurps and his big swallows whenever he had a mouth full.

When Jack pulled off, chin messy with milk and breath harsh and fast from lack of oxygen, Gabriel could just about stifle his own raspy gasp and the whine that wanted to rise in the back of his throat.

Fuck, he hated this farmboy and his blue puppy eyes that he couldn’t even see right now but was sure had the same dopey gaze they did have way back when they used to do this on base – hidden in their tiny bunk beds, Jack getting quick, sloppy drags of milk in before one of the other recruits would bust them…

“Keep going!” Gabriel hissed, sharp talons digging unkindly into Jack’s scalp and dragging him to the other tit.

Jack didn’t protest or acknowledge how he already started feeling better – Gabriel’s milk speeding his body’s healing abilities up – and Reaper didn’t mention that he could hear how Morrison was already breathing more smoothly.

“Just keep going,” he whispered once again, voice gentler as he kept Jack’s head cradled to his chest, letting him nurse to his heart’s content.