robotfvckers:

It’s embarrassing how much Zenyatta’s influence permeates other facets of Genji’s life. His master acts with a mindfulness that seems otherworldly, graceful at every turn. The way he shifts from floating lotus to stand on two feet or delivers a kick, his body smoothing into a powerful line, always leaves Genji breathless.

In quieter moments, his thoughts return to this: Zenyatta’s hands extended towards him, palm up and open, the way his servos rest, thumb clasped to forefinger, faceplate tilted downward as he meditates. It is when Zenyatta is center in his mind and his heart that he realizes other shambali also possess those quiet, subtle motions that sets his heart racing, reminding him of someone he holds so dear, someone he is afraid to admit one thing only: his intense, unyielding love for him.

Genji yearns in his quiet, patient way, discipline honed as his master had taught him. Even so, he is a man, hot-blooded and wanting, and his mind and hands wander. His longing loosens his tongue, and he woos an acolyte with a three-dot array and a cheerful laugh, soft and sweet as a lark’s song. Once Genji tastes the clever hands and words of a shambali, he cannot resist repeating it.

Divit is first, then Nima, whom he takes apart while the others meditate in the main hall, their laughter and soft moans muffled behind hands and servos as they find their pleasure. Most do not have compatible upgrades for interfacing, but Genji is curious, eager to learn, and prides himself in his abilities. Anzan is harder to convince, but Genji coaxes them with sweet words and a sweeter mouth against his valve, swollen and dripping for him.

Genji works his way through half the shambali before anyone is the wiser. Perhaps omnics do not gossip about their partners, or perhaps it is the pious nature of monks that keeps word from spreading. However it happens, he is on his hands and knees in an antechamber, the smell of incense and oil in his nose as he swallows around a warm, silicone cock, when Zenyatta finds him. None of the shambali startle when they notice Zenyatta; Lei even nods to him, faceplate tilted up in haughty display as he pistons into Genji’s suckling mouth, swollen and red from abuse. Hoon squirms between Genji’s thighs, nimble fingers working his cock, nuzzling the hard, damp flesh with her faceplate, humming and pleased to have it. Masaki’s thrusts slow momentarily before she slams deeper, fucking with fiendish intensity once Zenyatta passes her.

“So this is what you have been up to, my student,” Zenyatta hums, circling the group of chirping, squirming omnics to look into Genji’s flushed face, pupils blown and chin flecked with spit.

Genji moans, surges forward, buries his face against Lei’s steaming chassis and laves the underside of his glowing cock with his tongue; if the others are not concerned, neither is he, friends in arms even as his master watches him with an array that glows and flickers, bright and curious. It would be a terrible moment to say it’s master’s fault for stirring such lust within him, but caressed and claimed and fucked beneath his master’s watchful gaze, he can’t say much at all, only whimper and accept and wait for a time more opportune to confess how Zenyatta owns every ounce of him, that even a whisper of his memory makes him ache and long for his touch.

Genji’s conviction must shine in his eyes, for Zenyatta steps forward with purpose, shoulder to shoulder with Lei, cupping his sopping chin with a gentle, familiar grip.

“Do not take too long, Genji. I want to feel you as well.”