:3c a gift to @robotfvckers … a sequel to their hot af fic you can find here


Gabriel can feel the sweat sliding down his throat. It itches but he is too disciplined to reach up and wipe at it – he merely looks on, impassive, hands folded behind his back, feet planted a precise shoulder width apart. He is quiet and unobtrusive, guarding the door and watching his boss fuck the little dancing monk.

It would be hypnotic; the clench and release of his ass between the smooth, brown thighs as he fucks him – if not for the soft, breathy moans accompanying his young Master’s ministrations, ensuring that Gabriel could not possibly zone out; couldn’t do anything but listen with rapt attention, cock pulsing in his trousers, sweat slowly beading on his forehead and sliding down his temples.

The monk is bound with silk; Gabriel had been very careful as he pulled him out of the fray of the other dancers – he should not be hurt by the bite of rough rope.

As is, he wonders if they would have needed the restrictions in the first place. He stares at the long, thin legs of the dancer – ungainly sprawled to both sides of his young Master’s hips, toes curling and smooth thighs clenching with every inward thrust, smooth and deep and coaxing out those delightful little noises.

He watches, transfixed, as the monk starts reciprocating; lifting his hips in shivery small jumps, hiccuping out needy groans behind the silky gag Gabriel had forced between his white little teeth.

Who would have thought what a little bombshell the young monk would be? Needing to get held down as his young Master comes, hands grasping a little desperately at the monk’s slim hips until he can hold him down and make him stay still as Genji rut in deep, humping, emptying himself with a low guttural groan; needing what undoubtedly was the warm, silky-wet clutch of the monk’s insides to steadily hug his cock as he filled him – Gabriel could see the pulse of his cock even from his position; the almost laborious swell and contraction of it.

His own cock is sensitive and swollen, tenting his pants obscenely – still, his face is impassive as his Master rolls from his little conquest and flops down next to him, idly glancing over to his bodyguard.

Gabriel’s eyes flick towards him for a second, shielded by the dark of his sunglasses, and then back to the monk who is lying there, breathing heavily, his slim chest with dark, small nipples rising and falling in big gulps as he is sprawled and sweaty, long slim cock dark with blood and painfully hard looking.

As Gabriel watches, a dribble of cum oozes from between his cheeks, sliding along the inner curve of his ass – and it mesmerizes him enough that his young Master has to repeat his question, mouth stretched into a broad satisfied grin.

“…You want a piece of that?”

.o.

Gabriel does.

He does want a piece of that.

His boss is a nice enough guy; for the spoiled son of a yakuza crime lord – but he’s never asked Gabriel if he wants a taste of the little sluts he pulls into his bed. Never asked if he wants to test drive one of them after he’s fucked them and left them pretty much bloated with cum.

Not that Gabriel has ever particularly wanted to get his dick into one of them. They were all pretty enough; gorgeous and exotic and just about interesting enough to pull his boss’s attention for a night.

This one, however…

He is loosening his tie marginally as he walks closer, eyes intent, peering over the rim of his glasses and watching as Genji pulls on the monk’s jutting hip, his facial expression impishly gleeful as he rolls him onto his front.

The monk grunts as his cock gets squished between his shivery belly and the mattress but he looks to be too uncoordinated to do anything about it.

What he does is flop uselessly: his long slim legs feebly kicking out, his plump ass – seemingly the only thing on his body that had any fat to speak of – jiggling for his captors’ viewing pleasure.

Genji cackles and grabs the soft cheeks roughly; kneads them first, then pulls them open, and Gabriel pulls in a sharp breath, hands dropping to his pants, eyes intent on the swollen, raw looking gape of the monk’s hole. It is messy; cum dribbling out even as his boss tries to push it back with rough fingers, making the monk whine and shudder under their watchful, heated gazes.

Gabriel doesn’t get naked. It is enough to have his cock out and his throat no longer restricted by the sharp knot of the tie. He is, if he is honest, a little nervous that his boss might think better of it. That the glazed-over stare he has on the monk’s little fucked out cunt means he is rearing up for a second round and will snatch it away right in front of Gabriel’s nose.

So he is a bit over eager as he grabs the dancer’s thin ankles and drags him close with a rough tug. They feel dainty in his large hands. It gets his blood boiling.

The monk groans at the treatment, his high cheekbones dark with a flush, eyes peeking back at both of them over his shoulder.

He doesn’t look afraid.

Gabriel wonders if that would have changed if he had been able to see his dick; obscenely swollen with blood. Thick and dark and looking like a weapon.

As is, he doesn’t have a clue what he’s in for.

His ass is as supple and squishy as it looks. It dimples eagerly beneath his grasping hands and feels like silk.

Gabriel can’t get enough of the brown of his skin; the sight of him naked and vulnerable before them when they both couldn’t have been assed to fully undress.

His hole is a goddamn mess; sticky and used-up and almost uncomfortably warm after getting reamed by his boss – but that makes the experience only better.

He is loose enough not to need any preparation; loose enough that he tilts his head forward and rests his forehead against the bedding when Gabriel nudges the tip inside.

He sighs and wriggles. He seems to think that is all; that he’ll get filled comfortably once more; will get fucked with the same rabbit thrusts that have warmed his belly up earlier.

Gabriel still has one hand around his ankle, making him bend his leg to the side, giving himself enough room to navigate. He is quiet, not speaking a word as he starts to slowly fuck inside. Let the little dancer realize his error on his own.

His boss is lounging to the side, fingers around his half-hard cock, still sticky from the dancer’s greedy insides, and they both can see the exact moment when he realizes-

His head shoots up.

He squirms.

He doesn’t look as comfortable anymore as Gabriel inches his way inside, the bulk of his cock starting to stretch him more and more. He looks uncomfortable, sweat springing up on his forehead as he glances back again, eyes wide, little sounds of near-distress spilling from his throat.

With his arms bound and one of his ankles still held firmly, there is little he can do about this. He capitulates laughably easy; the quivering grip of his insides slackens. He feels feverishly hot and swollen around Gabriel’s cock, probably from the reaming he’s had already, but even so, he is tight and welcoming around the fatter dick.

It squelches when he fucks in slow, even thrusts, cum frothing around his dick and sticking tacky in his pubes – and he never would have thought he would be into fucking the sloppy cunt of one of his boss’ whores, while his boss is watching him, nonetheless… but he kind of likes it.

Likes it a lot.

The dancer is responsive and sensitive, whining into his gag as he gets fucked slow and intimate, his ass having to stretch around a new girth and taking to it admirably. Gabriel has half a mind to push one hand beneath him and grab at his cock; give him a nice tight tunnel to fuck his slim pretty dick into, but something halts him before he can do so.

He listens to the low hiccups; the nasty squelch of his boss’ cum around his dick, and thinks that he doesn’t want to destroy the moment so soon. The dancer sounds mesmerizing in his desperation, ass clenching hot around him, quivering, milking; unconsciously perfect to take dick – and he doesn’t want him to stop too soon; have him think he can stop his desperate, clumsy little efforts and just melt into the bedding in a post-coital stupor.

His boss seems to be on the same page; because when Gabriel glances over, nostrils flaring, mouth pressed into a tight line as he fucks, Genji is grinning broad and mean, cock on its best way to be ready for another round…

And he wonders how long they can keep this up; fuck the little slut and warm his belly up with load after load, rubbing against the sensitive, overeager swell of his prostate and refusing to lend him a hand and let him come like he so obviously needs.

He wonders if he, too, will be allowed a second round; because he wants to fuck him on his back; hold his legs up and apart so his long, graceful dancer feet bounce in the air as he’s getting fucked like a cheap one-dollar-whore. He wants to be able to get at those meager little tits and bite at his tiny nipples until he is crying.

He wants to ruin the little dancer with the perfect cunt.

The Dance

robotfvckers:

Fandom: Overwatch
Pairing: Implied Reapyatta, implied Genyatta
Warnings: dub/noncon mentions (non-graphic), power imbalance

Summary: Gabe wonders what the young Shimada lord has planned for the visiting performer. 

Notes: requested by @cyberrat

Gabe wonders if the dancer knows he will not be leaving tonight, consumed as he is by the task at hand.

His hazel eyes draw thin, and the gold paint beneath each catches in the low light as he weaves his body to the chiming of the orbs encircling his body. There is something otherworldly in the way he moves, like magic, but Gabe doesn’t believe in magic. Yet, if he stares at the outline of the monk’s body hard enough, he almost sees something: an afterimage, a trick of the eye like an illusion on the horizon.

He flows to the swelling accompaniment of the other monks, drums and shamisen joining the chimes, and his motions intensify like a fight, a koan incarnate, skirts and belts rippling as his spins and arches, steps so slight and practiced he floats.

Lord Shimada watches with polite interest, but the young master slouches forward, chin cupped in his palm, calloused thumb pressing his lower lip. His pupils shine, large and dark, and a telltale flush dusts his high cheekbones. Gabe has seen that look before.

He doesn’t blame the young master, but he does feel sorry for the monk. Untouched, he guesses, raised in the mountains five thousand kilometers away, though the monk looks his mid-twenties. A sweet, uninitiated bauble to amuse for an evening; the young master grew bored with his conquests quite easily.

Gabe straightens in his black suit, clenching his hands in front of him. When the finale comes, will the young master cheer uproariously, showering the warm-skinned dancer in praise? Will he woo him with promises of wealth and power and pleasure? He imagines some monks are immune to such flattery, but no one is infallible, and new, unknown attentions might sway him. Gabe hopes, for his sake, it does.

The young master does not take rejection lightly.

The monk may refuse. Gabe may be ordered forward to retrieve him for whatever the young master desired. It would not be the first time. He would use his guns for this one, the orbs’ rotations beautiful but dangerous, whistling through the air like bullets.

He would restrain the monk, careful, so careful to leave him unharmed. The young master cut off the last guard’s arm when he was sloppy. Gabe hopes he would come easily, after, allow his robes to be slipped his body. He would lay back for Gabe on the silken sheets of the bed, spread his long, supple thighs, let Gabe tease his fingers inside him until he is wet and soft and mewling.

Gabe bites his lip. The monk could be hard, cock straining, dripping pearls against his lean, trembling stomach, or flaccid, ignorant of his own body, or perhaps too frightened. It would not make any difference to the young master; what he lacked in restraint he made up in skill. He would bring the monk to heaven sooner or later.

Gabe shifts as the music ebbs, dick pulsing, trapped down the leg of his suit. He can’t help but let his thoughts linger as the monk arcs in a sinuous line; Gabe’s hands would overshadow his waist if he held his hips. He rolls his lower lip into his mouth and bites, shakes his head.

The young master would never grant such a request, not when his own interest shown so plainly on his face, in his posture, in the thickening curve between his legs. Gabe hopes as the monk sinks into a low bow, music fading, that the young master will let him watch.

it’s so good???? thank you so much??? fuck…. fuuuuck…. exotic dancer Zen… fuck yes… yes yes yes yes yes a thousand times