McHanzooooooo for a drabbllleeeeeeee (bonus points for our boys)
It started with a joke.
One of Hanzo’s chickens kept staring at Jesse so he’d stared right back and declared a ‘cock war’ right then and there. Posturing with the rooster until Hanzo was doubled over laughing, something that had put a wide grin on the cowboy’s face.
The snort, though?
That’s when he stopped antagonizing the poor rooster and had instead turned his attention towards his partner. Eyes gleaming with mischief and fingers reaching out to stroke and scratch over every inch of body he knows is even remotely sensitive.
Sensitive to tickles, that is.
Which is how he ends up flat on his back seeing stars and with a still laughing Hanzo sitting on his belly. Hands knocked away when he tries to reach out because he hasn’t quite earned the trust back to do that without being suspect.
The unintended consequence of that is soon enough the archer is sitting with his ass pressed against a very, very aroused cock.. Something Jesse rather sheepishly grins about when an eyebrow is raised his way.
“Sorry, honey, y’know I like it when bully me~”
Another snort, this one out of fond exasperation, as Hanzo shifts to his knees and smacks a hand against the outlaw’s stomach.
“Then keep your hands off, cowboy, and let me bully you further.”
A “Yessir” is all but breathed out as he watches his lover shuffle back down over hips and thighs, dragging his own groin over the generous bump as he does so, to end up straddling knees. Hands deftly opening jeans up and delving into underwear to pull the cock through fly and into open air.
It gets a whoosh of a breath and grunt that might have been a bitten off groan somewhere along the line and Jesse gets two sends of that devious smile Hanzo likes to keep hidden before hair curtains down over hips and hides everything from view. Makes him tighten with anticipation and curse out loud as a warm mouth closes over the head without warning. Trying not to thrust up against it as tongue dips and flicks and plays with stretched foreskin. Predictable enough that strong hands press down on either side to keep him from doing just that.
He curses again, this time because his lover knows him so damn well.
But he doesn’t have time for much extra thought on any of that. Not with heat and wet slicking more and more of the shaft. Working down in easy increments only to pop off completely and leave the crown of his dick cold and him panting much heavier than he should for how little time has gone by.
Then the mouth is on him again, lower. Tongue pushing through the fly against the base of his cock and teasing balls. Making him damn near reach for ll that black hair to fist before he remembers he’s not allowed to and whimpers because of it. A laugh vibrating his junk in the most adorably cruel way possible.
Right then he knows he’s in trouble.
But goddamn he wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.
The way Lucio had winked at him and waggled his fingers had all but put a grin and blush both on McCree’s face, especially when combined with the wolf-whistle that Hana had directed towards them when she saw it. Snickering into the post meal ice cream they all had been enjoying.
Which is why he’d ducked under his hat and slipped from the room with a single heated glance at the DJ, hoping he’d follow and pleasantly surprised when he actually does. Wondering if he’d noticed any of the other times that the gunslinger’s gaze had swept over him just a bit too long or stood just a bit too close to be considered simply friendly. Lucio is a tactile person, always kissing and touching and somewhere along the line? Jesse’d caught a crush that wasn’t going away.
And while he’s aware that this isn’t the best way to go about all that mess, he’s also fairly sure that this is about all he’ll be able to get from the vibrant Brazillian.
There’s a pause outside his room to press in the door key and gesture inside with a mock bow, something that gets a laugh and hips that sway through the doorframe with intent. Makes Jesse follow after with his eyes on them up until he can reach and touch.
Their clothes come off slowly at first and then faster as palms drag down scars and softer skin alike. Stripping less of an enticement and more of a hindrance in getting to the next moment.
Jesse bullies Lucio to the bed only to be pushed down with a laugh and slap to his ass, eyebrows raised but compliant as he’s ordered on chest and knees. Somewhat flustered, cheeks red as he does so. Head in his arms, ass to the ceiling, hard and heavy and hanging thick between his legs as slick fingers start their exploration of his ass. It has him breathing heavy and spreading legs further in seconds, even when it feels like forever with how long the DJ takes to spread him open and deem him stretched enough. He’s fairly sure he begs demands more when it feels like he’s wide enough for a truck to run through him and there’s another one of those gorgeous laughs before the cowboy is clenching around exactly what he wants to be. Guided down onto pillows he doesn’t remember being put under his hips but oh, he feels the difference when he rests against them.
It’s good.
Whether it’s the crush, the experienced party currently thrusting into him or a mixture of that and more, he’s not sure. Just that there’s a hand in his hair and pulling just enough to be firm, a dick his ass that he’s pretty sure has a homing beacon locked onto his prostate and that radiant voice behind him urging him and praising him both in turn.
He finds himself clawing into the blankets and curling his toes and yeah.
Yeah.
Oooooh yeah.
And later after they’ve cleaned up and collapsed into the bed, Jesse’s arms around a sleepy and dozing Lucio?
idowhatimust replied to your post “I’m gonna write a fuckin’ porn drabble tonight. Maybe more than one....”
[ooh all of 'em sound good.... i'm especially interested to see your take on McBob tho! :3c ]
When he was younger he’d jacked off to the thought of being with Bob.
Past a certain point it’d been all he thought of other than guns and money and for a few months of what felt like hell and heaven at the same time he’d been hard so much that he’d thought for sure the omnic would have noticed and done something, anything about it.
He hadn’t, and eventually it’d just been wet dreams and fantasies that had slipped into the recesses of his memory during Blackwatch and beyond.
Until now. Standing next to that great hulk of an omnic and feeling all of that just rush back in a strangely muted but still embarrassing way. They’d made their peace, it wasn’t anything between them that had anger or resentment attached like he had with Ashe, and older, more confident Jesse had turned and asked almost offhandedly if Bob was interested in coming back to his hotel for a drink.
A cocked head and finally a nod had been his answer, which leads them to where they are now. With McCree eyeing the well maintained frame and grinning around his fifth beer. Flirting shamelessly, inhibitions starting to drift away with the good company and alcohol.
But it’s Bob who makes the first move, one massive hand reaching to touch Jesse’s knee gently, optics shuttering and head tilted in a silent question that the cowboy has no trouble understanding.
And if his breathed, “Goddamn yes,” is any indication, he’s more than happy to answer.
The bed isn’t made for so much weight so they improvise. McCree straddling the omnic’s thighs and nuzzling about his face as much as his hands are stroking around seams and joins that hide wires beneath them. Only giving a mumbled, “...internet,” when Bob gives him a look for knowing just where they are.
Then it’s clothes stripped off piece by piece until only underwear remain and that’s when the outlaw pauses, unsure. Placing Sheila on top of Bob’s dome and giving him a crooked, somewhat hesitant grin.
“I’m afraid yer gonna have t’ take th’ reins here, sweetheart, I ain’t got a clue what y’got an’ what y’don’t. Want t’make this good fer ya, though, ain’t jus’ about me.”
Bob’s optics shutter again, then again, and he leans back with a contemplative look that tells Jesse he might have been a bit unclear about what he was after. Sex, obviously, but not one sided. Not just him getting off. A slow nod comes after a few seconds and while Jesse’s waiting, slightly confused, he feels both heat and something under his ass.
...but also, he sees the omnic carefully removing an armor plate over a cluster of wires and guiding McCree’s hand up to them. Helping him find certain ones and venting softly as they’re explored and manipulated carefully. Grinning in true delight the first time he gets a little shudder out of his new partner.
Five minutes later he has a just-thick-enough cock in his ass and fingers absolutely tangled in those wires. Groaning as his manipulations make Bob thrust just a little bit harder than he was before. Toes curled up and dick leaving smears of pre across metal and flesh alike.
He gets Bob to come first, static sparking across his frame and eyes going blindingly bright for a second before he’s still, moving again when a fully body shudder runs through him and catches Jesse off guard, a big hand closing over his dick and vibrating. Makes the cowboy curse and jerk and then he’s spitting his load into that hand with hips jerking until he feels the edge of too much and nudges the hand away to collapse panting across the omnic’s big chest.
It’s miles better than he ever imagined.
Goddamn he hopes that they’ll get to do this again.
He can honestly say he has no goddamn clue how the hell he got here. Oh, sure, he remembers flirting with Orisa like he does most of the crew. He even remembers her being just a little more… friendly? Stayed a little closer too.What he doesn’t remember is how they went from dozing in the pick up ship to him being balls deep inside what he’s pretty sure is a fleshlight. Except it’s warm and moves and ohlordjesus… she seems to realize exactly what it’s doing to him every time she squeezes it around his way, way too interested cock.But at this point what the hell can he do? If he pulls out he knows damn well he’s gonna just shove it right back in. It’s too warm, too good to ignore. The fact that Orisa is referred to with female pronouns doesn’t seem to bother him either and at this point he’s mostly sure that’s because she’s an omnic, not a human, but if you asked him to get into the nitty gritty introspection on that he’d run as far the hell away as he possibly could.
Which brings him back to now, balls deep, groaning? Yeah, yeah that’s him groaning. And yep, there’s his hips moving. He can feel the pressure against him as he thrusts but watching is like a third person for a good, solid dozen before he’s gasping and right there and yeah, that’s his dick nestled in a ribbed heaven he isn’t sure he wants to leave but every time he does it feels amazing. Orisa is making sounds he’s pretty sure are pleasure, her large, sturdy legs spread wide and bent enough to give him the perfect height to work with. His own hands are slapped on… well he’s calling it her ass, holding it and using that to thrust all the harder as heat builds in his belly.
Gritting his teeth as orgasm builds up much, much too quickly and sends him careening over with a grunt. His body curling over the Omnic’s back, hands scrabbling to pull her back closer to him as if he can get more of that tight, slick hole around him and somehow it feels like he does. He’s swearing up a storm under his breath until his ass cramps and his left leg starts to go numb and finally his dick stops trying to fill the entirety of Orisa’s body with spunk. It’s a moment of heavy breathing and barely moving before he notices two things. One, she’s still venting a good amount of steam and two? She’s shifting around just like… well, just like he’s gotten off and she hasn’t.
Which… Has him a little flustered. She hasn’t shown him any sort of dick to stroke and he knows zip all about what she likes and whooodamn if he doesn’t feel like an idiot standing there getting soft inside of her while she clearly needs a little more from him. Which is exactly what she says after he sheepishly asks what he can do to help her… ‘y'know’? More. Asks if he’s capable of continuing and though he’s limper than a soggy breadstick he isn’t going to make this a poor experience for her.Which is how he ends up nose to pliant rim with metal fingers buried three knuckles deep and his tongue between them. Cradling his dick in his flesh hand to gently encourage it back up and balls that feel heavy enough to bowl with. Doing his best to follow her reactions and move with her, though given their sizes he’s grateful she’s so aware of that fact. It seems to be enough to keep her up, though he’s pretty sure that it’s more her waiting patiently until… Yep, until he can ease his cock into enough of a chub to feed back into her now puffy and very wet hole.
The noise she makes says that yes, this was what she wanted and though he’s not quite at full mast he sets about finding what makes her react. It’s different, there’s… Well he doesn’t know what or what isn’t inside the hole but he finds out quickly enough that she likes it when he hits deep and drags himself back out along the bottom rim. The shudder and clench is clear enough and added to the, “I find that movement quite enjoyable, Jesse Mccree,” means he has to hold back a little laugh but that’s what she gets. Now that he’s popped off once he’s got time to work her over and give her the fuck of a lifetime. Or at least the week.
…or hopefully the night, hell, he has no idea who she fucks on the regular.
Something that distracts him momentarily enough for her to make this soft, distressed whirring that damn near breaks his heart.Certainly puts the umph back in his thrusts.He has a fine lady to get off and while that’s not a sentence he ever thought he’d say mentally or otherwise.
He isn’t about to slack off now.
So he focuses. On Orisa, on the way that hole is gripping him tight. On how she seems to hiccup and shift when he hits a certain spot. Paying attention to every little sound he thinks might be her equivalent of a gasp or moan, because some of them are static whirrs and chirps and noises he can’t even quite understand. She never stops him and so he doesn’t stop, trusting that she will if he’s doing something she doesn’t like. Hips all but slamming forward the longer they go and he starts to get back up into the pleasure again. Determination to get her off before he blows another load turning slightly desperate when he can’t feel her going.But she surprises him and what seems to be herself as she locks up and bears down just this side of painfully and he watches as steam dumps from vents and lights flash all over her body and grins in spite of himself. Damn proud at the accomplishment even if it’s only him that acknowledges it. Hips thrusting slowly through the whole thing (he couldn’t go fast if he wanted to she’s so damn tight…) and stilling when she shudders and droops the slightest bit afterward. Hands patting her rump affectionately and asking if she’s alright.
He doesn’t expect the answer to come with one of her sunshine eye smile things bright enough to make him flustered.Or for her to politely request 'future intercourse at his discretion’ while still on his dick.But when he stammers out a, “Well I’d be mighty flattered ta, darlin’,” she makes another pleased sound and- there’s that ripple around his dick again lordJesus… and pats his shoulder, damn near milking him with whatever is in there until he realizes he’s hunched over her ass again all but humping this load in with the other.
Later after he’s showered and changed he lays in bed and wonders how many people are going to kill him for this.
The laugh was soft, musical. Not for anyone but himself and the crystals that blossomed from the small planters in his room. Tickled into producing little tones with the music he has playing over his own speakers when he’s close enough and making him laugh again when they do.
Deft digits maneuver the mineral mixture they’re settled in and rotate the little crystals to better help them form evenly. It’s a routine in his little haven of a room. This storage closet turned into a garden area of sorts where the chips and fragments and slivers of his history slowly, so slowly grow.
Optics glow in a dim, thoughtful pulse as he tends.
The chromite, high and pure tones. The skagg with it’s achingly resonant basses.
He loads up one of this restored audio files and lets his doorwings spread and lift to expose more of his speakers. Singing quietly along with the mecha on the file in the midranges and simply humming to keep the volume lower when they reach into soaring heights. The criss-crossing of vocals and jeweled tones anticipated before they happen, the piece memorized not simply because it is but because it’s been played so many times.
And Bluestreak delights in all the soft, discordant and weak chimes and bongs he hears in his little room. Reminders that one day again the crystal spires of Praxus will come alive for all to hear.
His farm isn’t large, truthfully it’s really only himself and a small collection of animals. Two border collies, a wide assortment of stray cats that come and go as they please, a few chickens and of course, Jesse.
The garden isn’t terribly large, though he always has extra to take to the farmer’s markets, and weeding and watering is a few hour chore at most. It leaves him time during the early afternoon to write, and when he’s finished with that, he works out. It’s a predictable routine, but satisfying.
Even more so is during the late afternoon, when he puts the chickens back into their coop and feeds the cats hanging around.
Today though, even after he whistles, Jesse doesn’t come in.
It’s... odd. Though he hasn’t had the cow for more than a few months, he’s always come when called. In fact, the reason Hanzo even found him at the auction was that he’d whistled for one of his dogs and suddenly found a cow following him around. It’d made the previous owner spitting mad, and once it was clear they shared a rather... mutual distaste for each other, Hanzo had offered to purchase Jesse on the spot. Truthfully, he still isn’t sure if what he paid was more or less than he should have, he never looked it up. Won’t. It was worth it then and still is now.
Which is why he’s worried once the cow doesn’t come after the second whistle.
So he sets off into the pasture, calling Jesse by name every minute or so. Walking to the edge, then along the fence until he finds a broken spot. His heart sinks. Milkers like Jesse are smart, everyone knows that, and he can see the clear scuff on the other side of the fence where it’s been climbed over.
...perhaps Jesse was unhappy here? Hanzo had done his research, but... he was no expert. Doubts and worry flood his mind as he walks further from the pasture’s barrier until he cannot see it behind him anymore. Whistling again, but there’s no soft moo to answer. No grunts, no anything. It’s an hour past when he finally hears something, rushing along the grassy ground until it morphs from unintelligible, unsure sounds into the familiar grunting and lowing he’s come to know. Distressed but clear and that’s what matters, so he follows until he comes into view to find Jesse. Dirty, clearly upset and covered in burrs, but as far as he can tell, mostly unharmed.
“Jesse!”
The cow bleats at him, but doesn’t move. Ears flat, hands reaching out but legs staying planted where they are. It takes Hanzo a moment once he’s close enough to realize why, especially once hands are grasping at him and he has a six foot cow trying to nose into his neck. He takes the moment to hold Jesse close, whispering soft words against the soft ears laying so flat. Petting him along his head and shoulders, reassuring enough so he can pull away to look down.
Blood lies thick and sticky along the back of one leg. A cut, it looks jagged... perhaps from a stick or root, if the milker had fallen down? It runs from mid thigh to just behind knee, matting the brown fur in quite a bit of rusty colored mess. Though it doesn’t seem to be still bleeding, and for that he’s grateful.
“...shhh, we’ll get you fixed up. Can you walk with me?”
He doesn’t know how much Jesse understands, the information on that bit seems scarce, but he knows that he’s at least as intelligent as Kenji and Tomo. Something Jesse shows once he’s calmed down a bit, the snuffling and wet, scared sounds ceasing as he settles. Hanzo strokes over hair and ears until he can feel the shakes and shivers leave the cow’s body, then starts to gently lead him back to the farm.
It takes a while, Jesse seems reluctant to put his full weight on the injured leg and Hanzo doesn’t push, so by the time they’re back into the pasture and can see the barn it’s nearly night. Kenji joins them, keeping pace alongside their legs with perked ears. Something Hanzo knows is because she can smell the fear still lingering on them, ever the protector.
Once inside he tries to put Jesse in his stall only to find that hands cling to him, unwilling to let him go.
“I need the first aid kit, Jesse. Please, I’ll be right back.”
Worried eyes flick to the door and back, but he lets go and shuffles awkwardly. Clearly uncomfortable. Kenji lays down at his hooves and Hanzo slips out to grab the kit he kept in the barn, rushing back to find Jesse struggling to lay down, wincing every time the wound pulled but eventually in his nest of hay and blankets. Turned just so that the cut is visible and giving the farmer a clear view of just how deep it is. Not enough to need stitches, but perhaps only just.
Gentle hands clean it up, wiping the blood from fur in short, soft strokes. He goes through a few rags and an entire pack of cleaning wipes, frowning the whole time. Especially since once it is clean, it starts to sluggishly bleed again and Hanzo gets another distressed sound out of Jesse. They break his heart, truly. It’s as quick as he can that he smears oinment on the cut and wraps it, securing it with tape and an apology.
“There you go, all cleaned up.”
Well... the leg. The rest of the cow is still terribly dirty, but without getting the leg wet, he can’t do any sort of full wash. Instead, he picks out another package of wipes and cleans up what he can. Wiping the worst of the dirt and mud off, and when he’s finished with the back, he nudges Jesse over gently to start on his front. Handing him one too, which is promptly taken to his face and neck.
It isn’t until he’s wiping off pectorals that he notices they’re swollen, he’d forgotten about milking entirely. And unsure if Jesse is even interested in trying to do so, he simply continues until they’re finished cleaning. Taking the dirty wipes and rags and bagging them up, setting the first aid kit aside and just as he’s about to leave, he feels a tug at his pants. Turning to find a hopeful expression on the cow’s face and hands framing his chest.
Hanzo huffs. The position won’t work for a bucket, but...
“...of course, just, ah... will it be enough if I...?”
He gestures to his mouth, somewhat unsure if it would be enough. Usually he gets a few mouthfuls, not enough to drain anything. Still, he’s willing to try if Jesse doesn’t mind.
And judging by the way he seems to get comfortable, patting his chest, he doesn’t mind.
So the farmer carefully lays down, tucking himself next to the cow and leaning in. He finds his eyes closing even as his mouth presses to pectoral, hesitantly. As many times as he’s milked Jesse, he’s never done this from the start.
The first few sucks get nothing, but then the rush comes and Hanzo sputters, falling off and choking in air as milk sprays his face and drips down his beard. Gasping for a second before Jesse guides him back and croons at him, encouraging and expectant all at once. It takes a firm suck to make his throat work properly and then he’s pressing closer. Fingers curled around waist, leg tucked over the closest one to him, the uninjured one. Somewhere in the streams of milk he shudders, the pleasure of it all worming from his slowly filling belly. Finding a rhythm that lets him control how quickly it fills his mouth the longer he lays there, something natural he remembers from an age ago guiding him now.
It’s at a soft grunt that he finds himself being nudged again and though he knows that there’s no way he’s emptied the cow fully, he obligingly moves to the other side. Lazily thinking that perhaps just a little off the top is enough to hold Jesse until the next day and leaving it at that. He finds that his mind has softened, everything is soft and warm. The sound of his own swallows is added in to the ambiance, and though he is still greedily drinking he starts to slow down. Slower... Slower...
A cold nose wakes him but only to snuffle and join his sister in the hay.
So he slips back into sleep as well, craded to that broad chest with the taste of milk still on his tongue.
The thick haze that drifts over his mind is a constant now. It slows his reactions, undoes his carefully crafted attention to detail and leaves him awkward, stumbling.
It’s when his knees hit the ground that he realizes that it’s because he’s dying, and wonders exactly how that slipped his notice.
Or perhaps it hadn’t, and he’d simply forgotten the longer blood dripped from his body and slower his mind had gotten. He can’t remember that anymore either.
So he finds a wall and props his body up against it, slow-moving fingers groping until they find his had and placing it sloppily on his head. Watching as the colors blend together and fade into grey... and just before it all goes black a pair of boots he thinks he knows pass in front of his vision. Black boots, nudging at his legs and what he thinks is a voice saying his name.
Not just his name.
“Jessito...”
He tries to look up, tries to see who it is, strains what little sight he has but can’t seem to lift his head no matter how hard he’s trying. Fingers flex as if they’re trying to grasp something and cannot, to weak to do more then twitch in his lap.
Then suddenly his face is lifted by a gloved hand under his chin and he sees. The man who owns those boots. The man he’d thought dead and gone.
And eyes well with tears as black finally clouds in and covers him, a name he can’t manage to say caught behind lips that can’t move and a tongue that’s numb.
It’s funny how much he enjoys it, those little acts of what some coin submission and he refuses to label. Things like settling down on his knees comfortably and easing his mouth over a cock, hard or not, to rest his head against thigh and stay there.
Because it’s enjoyable. To him, to his partner. Really, it’s less about being a cockwarmer and more about the pleasure of a prick on his tongue. The musk in his nose, the hand that inevitably lands on his head and strokes his hair.
Sometimes it’s just that. Jesse holding his head still and letting his lover do as they will. Whether that’s actively using his mouth or even reading, he doesn’t care. He’ll obligingly relax his throat for the first and lightly suckle every so often for the second. Eyes falling to half-mast, pleased noises trickling from his throat no matter what happens.
Often it turns into him actually blowing them, though the ‘when’ is never set in stone. Dick fattening against the soft insides of his cheeks and urging hands or words get teasing first. Where he kitten licks and suckles and gives just a bit of sensation but not nearly enough. Forcing his partner to make the choice to fuck his mouth to get what they want or to succumb to his whims and take what he gives them. Something that Jesse will nudge towards depending on the day.
To have his mouth used hard, cheeks slapped and hair pulled and made to hold the head in his throat until it spasms in a gag and then longer until when he’s pulled off he’s choking, breathing ragged and raw and cum hot in his own boxer-briefs.
Or him in control, keeping his partner hard for hours. Tying their hands if they can’t keep them off, enjoying the flavor of skin and how it changes. The texture of hair, the soft ripples of muscles straining and sounds pulled from tight throats. Ultimately encouraging them to come, coaxing rather, until they’re sagging and exhausted and done.
...perhaps looking at it, it’s not so funny how much he enjoys it.
