Tag: wolf!mccree

Okay but also, consider aftercare with reaper/76 and mccree/hanzo or w/e combination of???

have aftercare mchanzo with wolf!McCree because ya’ll seem to like him so much lol (and because in my mind wolf!McCree is the tamest, sweetest little puppydog)

McCree was still whimpering when his cock stopped jerking and Hanzo carefully loosened the tight grip he’d had around his knot and the warm cloth he’d wrapped around it. His insides were feverishly hot, clenching and suckling on Hanzo’s fingers with sated, almost dreamlike slowness. 

Hanzo gently kept fucking him on the four digits; rocking in and petting his tender, swollen knot at the same time while carefully watching the scruffy face and the sulfuric glow beneath heavy eyelids.

“Okay?” Hanzo asked, voice pitched low, hand switching from the oversensitive cock to McCree’s hairy thigh to rub against the strong, twitching muscles there.

McCree whined high and canine, body shivering once, then trying to squirm away from the gently rocking fingers. Hanzo hummed tunelessly and pulled out slow and careful, fingertips rubbing against the loose, relaxed muscle in farewell as he stood up from the bed and walked around to look at the man.

McCree looked serene in a way he never did outside of their little games. His mouth was bloody, one tip of a fang still peeking out from beneath his upper lip. When Hanzo started loosening the thick leather straps from around his wrists, he whined once more; pitiful and near-scared.

“Hush,” the archer murmured, helping him pull his arms down and draping them across the man’s hirsute belly, because McCree didn’t have the coordination to do so – and because Hanzo enjoyed caring for him when he was disoriented and out of it; seeking blindly for warmth and reassurance.

McCree never was more animal than when he let Hanzo take him apart; openly begging for affection.

Hanzo rubbed fingertips through the wild tangle of his unkempt beard, sitting down on the side of the mattress.

“For just a moment,” he warned with a voice pitched low, eying the drying mess on McCree’s abdomen. “I will need to wash you.”

McCree turned around, blindly nuzzling his face into Hanzo’s hip before placing a gentle, affectionate bite there. Hanzo sighed softly and petted his unwashed hair with rare tenderness.

McCreeissohairybecausehe’aawerewolfandheKNOTSandiscuteIdon’tmaketherulesbye

Hanzo is contemplating the full moon when he hears the crunching of soft footsteps on the rooftop behind. The cadence of their steady fall is familiar – almost comforting.

McCree’s scent curls around his nose even before the man slowly sits down next to him, legs easily dangling above what would be a certain deadly drop. He always smells warm and of clean sweat, but on these nights, the scent is even deeper; a note of damp dog hair that Hanzo is helpless but to react to – nipples hardening and the hairs on his arms standing at attention.

He watches McCree out of the corner of his eyes. He seems calm. Happy. The wild scruff of his beard has crawled up a little higher on his gaunt cheeks; a hint of fang glints between his lips when he opens them and breathes in deep – scenting the air.

McCree suddenly tilts his head, sick yellow eyes throwing Hanzo a cheeky wink. The archer pretends like he isn’t flustered; like his perusal of the man next to him had been purely coincidental. He turns back to the moon and huffs.

McCree snickers – a deep, rumbling sound somewhere from the back of his throat – and leans in closer to press his nose right beneath Hanzo’s ear and sniff at him. Goosebumps prickles down his body and he pulls in a sharp breath.

The tip of McCree’s nose nudges against the point of Hanzo’s jaw.

“Have you finished your stargazing? Hunting you down has made me… hungry.”

Hanzo’s eyes flutter close, fingers curling tight into his loose hakama. When he feels the quick dip of McCree’s tongue cheekily taking a taste of his salty skin, he can’t help but groan softly.

McCree’s hand is on his; untangling his fingers and guiding his arm over – letting him feel the big, living bulge in his crotch. A knowing push of fingers lets him feel the tender swell at the base of the fat shaft even through the thick material of the jeans.

They both groan in tandem.

“Ah wanna breed,” McCree drawls right against the shell of Hanzo’s ear, and the archer is shamed to admit how the crude demand fans his shy need into an acute want.

He gingerly squeezes his fingers around the swell he can feel, and has trouble swallowing when he imagines how it’ll feel inside him. Heavy. warm. Filling him up and binding him to the spot without any hope of escape in the near future.

“Come,” he rasps. “Quick.”