Chapter 1: mc76, blackmail
Summary:
mc76, blackmail for crook (sorry it's probably not quite what you wanted)
Chapter Text
It’s nowhere, Indiana.
Jesse McCree isn’t supposed to be anywhere near here.
Jack shifts in his seat, wanting to somehow block McCree’s view of Vincent, to make it seem like they’re no one - just another set of customers. Unfortunately McCree has spent most of the past decade being trained by goddamn Gabriel so there’s no chance that he didn’t see the two of them already, note their position in the hotel restaurant, be aware of every exit in and out of the place, and probably has made a decent guess as to what weapons Jack has on him.
Fucking Gabriel. Fucking McCree.
“Everything all right?” Vincent knows him too well, has seen the tension in Jack’s shoulders and how his eyes keep moving around. He reaches over and - shit - puts his hand over Jack’s, rubbing a thumb over the bones of his wrist with practiced, gentling ease.
Fuck that most of all.
Jack smiles, says something soothing, something Vincent has heard a dozen times before. Because Vincent is...Vincent. He nods at the explanations, accepts things at the edge of sense, because he’s been with the great Jack Morrison, Commander of Overwatch for decades now and that’s just how things go when you live that military life.
Or at least that’s what Jack has managed to convince him of, over the years.
Jack walks Vincent out to the cab outside, leaving behind McCree at the hotel bar. He’s leaning back and drinking something, talking to the bartender and seemingly engrossed in the football game on the TV behind the bar. Seemingly. Jack kisses Vincent goodbye, they say the same things they always say about getting home safe. Jack is supposedly flying out in the morning so he’s staying at the hotel while Vincent is going home to a house that has Jack’s name on the title but he’s only seen twice.
The kisses taste chalky and empty and Jack tries not to think about what that means.
When he goes back to the hotel bar, McCree is gone. Jack does his best to check around unobtrusively, but there’s no sign of him. With a sigh, he makes his way to the elevators.
It’s less than a surprise when Jack opens the locked door to his room and sees McCree sitting on his bed, flipping through files that had been in a very securely locked briefcase. “Weapons trafficking?” he asks without looking up. “I didn’t think they sent the Lord High Commander out for low-level shit like this.”
Jack takes his coat off, hangs it up. He’s so very tired. “Normally no, but I had some personal business here as well.”
McCree turns to look at him, eyes unreadable. He glances down at a tablet - his own, not Jack’s. “Vincent...Rodgers, according to the marriage certificate. Your anniversary is next month, congratulations. I’m assumin’ childhood sweethearts, given his biography.”
Ice creeps its way down Jack’s back. He figured he’d be able to pass this off as an - an indiscretion, an idiotic decision. Their marriage certificate is under more levels of encryption than most nuclear launch codes - he doesn’t know where McCree is getting his tech, but it’s more than anything Overwatch has come up with.
“McCree…”
“Does he know?”
Jack doesn’t answer, doesn’t know how to answer. He’s starting to realize that he’s standing in front of a rabid dog, and he just slapped the dog’s master. “You don’t know anything about how our relationship works.”
McCree laughs, something rusty and ash-tinged. “I’ve been in the man’s back pocket for ten years, Morrison. You think I don’t know every time you two fuck? Every time he’s up all night because he’s arguing with you? I know your schedule practically better than I know my own, because he has it internalized.”
Jack swallows down burning salt. “Did he. Did he send you here? For me?”
Snorting, McCree tosses the files down. “No. I’m here because the Dixie Mafia is serving as a go between ‘twixt Canada and some southern gangs, doing transportation for various shit. I’m on my way north, this is all just one big happy coincidence.” He leans back on his hands, belt clinking as it shifts. “He really has no idea you’re married, huh. He know the guy exists?”
“You don’t need to know that.”
Eyes narrowing, McCree takes his hat off, runs a hand through hair that hasn’t seen a shower in some time. “I think, Commander, you don’t get to dictate what I know and what I don’t right now, hmm?”
The desk in front of the bed creaks as Jack leans back against it. “He knows Vincent and I were together before I went into the army. He thinks it ended back then.”
“And instead, what. You get time off once or twice a year, maybe schedule an extra stop when you’re givin’ speeches and what not? That sounds like a shitty way to have a marriage.”
Jack is well aware. He shifts his shoulders uncomfortably. “Vincent’s own father was military, wasn’t around much. It’s - normal, to him.”
“Sounds healthy.”
A wave of heat washes over Jack’s face, his chest. He takes a deep breath, then a second, letting the rage dissipate. “You don’t know the first thing about any of it, so feel free to shut the hell up.”
A quiet, scraping sound: McCree shifts a breathmint from one side of his mouth to the other before cracking it between his teeth. “I really don’t think I will.”
Jack uncrosses his arms, gripping the edges of the desk. He can feel his knuckles whiten as he looks at McCree steadily. “What do you want?”
He’s been warned about playing poker against McCree before: looking at the man’s frustratingly neutral face, Jack understands why. “I don’t want anything.”
“Bullshit.” Jack stands, takes a step closer. “Money? A better position? You must want something, Jesse.”
One corner of a broad mouth tugs up into a slight smile. “That’s what you want, isn’t it Commander. Some nice little exchange so you’ll have something over me in return, and then we can put all this into a little box and then be on our way. No thank you.”
Jack closes his eyes for just a moment, sends a silent apology up to - who? Vincent? Gabriel? God? His mother? He’s sure at least several of that assortment deserve it. He opens his eyes, takes another step forward. Then another. His knee brushes the inside of McCree’s, where his legs are sprawled open as he leans back on the bed. “Perhaps something less tangible that I could do for you, then.”
A scoff, spit out around the breathmint. “That sounds more like your fantasy than mine, Commander -”
“Jesse McCree. Boy king of his own little land, and then we ripped you out and shoved you to the bottom. Under Gabriel’s foot, under mine.” Jack is bent down, a hand braced by McCree’s hip. McCree, meanwhile, is leaning back, nearly on his elbows, eyes just a millimeter too wide. “And you worked your way up, didn’t you. Became the right hand man of the man no one can say no to. But he’s not going anywhere and you’re too much in love with him to kill him, so where are you to go from here?”
McCree’s poker face is gone, but the thoughts crossing his expression are too complex for Jack to parse out. “You can never have him, Jesse. You know that, know the kind of honor system he lives by. But you could have the next best thing.”
Adam’s apple bobbing, McCree swallows with a dry throat. “So you’re just pilin’ one sin on top of the others, huh.”
Jack shrugs a shoulder. He’s much less precious about this than McCree might think - he’s basically been a bigamist for most of two decades, and a homosexual one at that. Catholic he might be but he’s aware of what the Church already thinks of him. At least if he’s using his body for sex instead of war there won’t be bodies afterwards. Hopefully.
“Just a little exchange. You know something about me, this will be something I know about you.” Jack waits for the slight hesitation to come to the front of McCree’s eyes before: “You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted the Overwatch Commander on his knees for you.”
Jack hears the breath catch in McCree’s throat, and he’d bet all the money in his wallet that McCree is seeing someone else when he looks at Jack. All the same McCree reaches out a hand, runs it through Jack’s hair. His fingers are blunt, not gentle, and they curve around the back of Jack’s skull. “Yeah, okay,” he breathes out.
There’s a soft cracking sound as Jack drops to his knees - supersoldier or not, age catches up with you. Something in Jack loosens, relaxes. One look at McCree’s face tells him that the other man thinks he’s won, but.
But.
This is technically blackmail over Jack - McCree knows Jack’s dirty little secret, and in return for a little something will keep quiet about it.
Technically.
The idea at the core of blackmail is that the person with the power can take said power and walk away - giving up their benefit, sure, but walk away. The problem here is that if McCree does that, he’ll walk away and right towards Gabriel and tell him about Vincent. Which is bad, to be sure, but -
But.
Then Jack will tell Gabriel about McCree.
And that’s where McCree made his mistake. Because mad as Gabriel might be over Vincent, he’s a known quantity, one that Gabriel to one degree or another made his peace with a long time ago. Finding out Jack had been with Jesse goddamn McCree, however? His little protégé? The feral boy that grew up into Gabriel’s handcrafted weapon, his most trusted confidant after Jack?
Jack unzips McCree’s pants, thinks about Gabriel’s wrath, and smiles as he opens his mouth.
Chapter 2: mcreyes, public sex
Summary:
mcreyes, public sex for @gotquiet
(this is mostly "so what if Reaper was basically Venom?" and deserves to be a much longer fic written by someone not me)
Chapter Text
Jesse.
Jesse.
“Hush, you.”
Jesse, we are bored.
Pulling out his phone, Jesse puts it to his ear, giving a vague apologetic smile to the train car around him. “Listen,” he says quietly, pretending like he’s talking to someone on the other side of the phone line. “You are only allowed to do this because I need you and you promised to behave yourself. Are you going back on that? I can always pull over at the next stop, you know.”
He can feel the sigh, somewhere deep in his chest even though it’s not him sighing. With a grumble Jesse feels Reaper retreat, settle back into that empty space at the back of his skull.
This - this entire situation is fucked.
After his world blew up and took the only man that mattered to him with it, Jesse McCree, formerly of Blackwatch, had drifted. He got some bounties put on his head, pulled jobs that both paid to help hide him and made the bounties go up. It wasn’t the most pleasant way of living, but it wasn’t all that unfamiliar from his teen years. At least he could drink legally, now.
Then he ran into Talon. They were both after the same set of plans hidden away in a briefcase, and it was only by sheer surprise and a spare flashbang that Jesse got there and got out first. He thought he was home free, until he got back to his room, took off his coat, and turned around to find Reaper in front of him.
Reaper is what Gabriel became. He’s not - quite right, not at all. He’s as much a collection of nanobots as he is a person, confusing his pronouns between I and we depending on who is more in charge at the moment. He does still have all his memories, though.
He still remembers Jesse.
Talon doesn’t really control Reaper, he comes and goes as he pleases. Now that he’s found Jesse he spends as much time with him as he does Talon. He only really goes back now when Moira demands an experiment or wants to test something out - she’s not completely sure what happened but is determined to find out. Reaper and his instability have proved unreliable enough that they aren’t banging down his door to help out all the time, which leaves plenty of time for him to bother Jesse.
Jesse...is unsure how he feels about it all.
Particularly once they figured out that Reaper could, to an extent, possess Jesse. Flow his smoky way inside, somehow fitting the soul and corpse and bots of Gabriel Reyes into the spaces between his cells. Reaper can’t quite control Jesse’s body yet: he can make his limbs do jerky, marionetting movements but it’s nothing useful.
Reaper, for his part, says he just likes to be inside of Jesse.
It makes Jesse shudder a bit, but also smile at the wistfulness clear in Reaper’s smoked ash voice.
Right now, Reaper is inside of Jesse as a bit of a necessity - Jesse’s on a job to retrieve a package from a supposedly impenetrable box. If he can bring it back, it’ll be enough money to wipe all his debts and bounties. So far they haven’t found a damn thing Reaper can’t smoke his way into, so he’s agreed to help out.
For now, though, they’re stuck on a hypertrain for twelve hours and Reaper is bored.
I want to eat, Jesse.
Jesse can feel his stomach growl and wonders if it’s him or Reaper.
I want a burrito. Or enchiladas. I want mole - flesh and chocolate, Jesse, Flesh and chocolate! Mole!
“Calm down, calm down,” Jesse murmurs into the phone. “I’ll find something for us to eat.” A smile at a train attendant, and soon he has beans and rice, along with tacos filled with something that he’s fairly sure is a reconstituted vegetable slurry but has enough spice to cover the sins. He’s just glad he’s on the train that started in Arizona - if they were coming back the other direction he knows he’d be stuck with fake tuna fish sandwiches.
Reaper grumbles about mole still but seems to enjoy the food. It’s long past dark when they finish eating, and the train is lit by just a few personal lights here and there. There’s still hours to go, so Jesse leans back with a full stomach, content to try and grab some shuteye.
At a touch at his neck, Jesse’s eyes snap open.
“What are you doing?” he hisses under his breath. “Don’t you dare materialize here!”
I’m not, stop panicking. Reaper waves what looks like a smoky tentacle in the air - it’s coming out of Jesse’s shoulder and is just barely visible in the dim light before it slides down along Jesse’s collar again.
Jesse opens his mouth, then bites down hard on his lip. The tentacle is tracing down the side of his neck, curling to come around his collarbone. It’s a gentle slide, somewhere between a finger and a tongue. All Jesse knows is that he can feel his face getting red, feel drops of sweat beading at his hairline.
“Gabriel, you need to stop. We’re in public.”
It is dark, Jesse. No one can see us. And I like to touch you, from the inside and the outside.
Jesse twitches so hard it’s more like a convulsion - he can feel Reaper tracing the midline of his back...from the wrong side. The tentacle caresses his spinal column, slithering in and out of holes in the bone and flickering at the nerves there like a tongue.
He shifts in his seat for a moment before tugging his hat off and putting it on his lap. This is starting to feel a little too good. “We’re on a train, surrounded by civilians. People are awake. Just settle down, please.”
Reaper chuckles, and for a moment it’s like Gabriel is laughing softly in Jesse’s ear. A tentacle at his collarbone slides down over his chest, tweaking at a nipple as it dances its way down. Jesse’s mouth is open as he breathes carefully, heavily.
Looking around, no one seems to be paying attention. They’re the only people in this row, the closest around is a middle-aged couple that have been arguing about the weather for hours now, two rows away.
Letting his breath out slowly, Jesse relaxes back into his seat. “Just don’t be loud.”
I was never the loud one in bed.
Jesse can’t help snorting a laugh at that, quickly stifled by his hand. The laugh quickly turns into something like a moan as the tentacle moves down and down. His fly is open now, everything thankfully covered by his hat. Biting his lip hard enough to taste blood, Jesse sits tensely as a smoke tentacle gently lifts his cock out of his pants.
“What are you going to do with that, Gabriel?” he murmurs, but he doesn’t have to wait for an answer. Jesse’s seen Reaper’s mouth - it’s all torn away jaw and rows of teeth and things that are just missing. Thankfully none of that seems to be coming near him.
Instead the tentacle curls around his cock delicately, soft as a human tongue. Then it - writhes, there’s no other real word for it, like some terrible sex toy constructed of jellied cremains.
Jesse bites down a moan as he swallows back bile.
He and Reaper have spent time together - Jesse doesn’t quite know what to call it. Mostly Reaper slides his way into Jesse’s body while he jacks off, and after Reaper says it’s good for him too, somehow. They haven’t directly touched though, not until now.
Jesse can’t help it, he’s too curious - he moves the hat to the side.
He immediately wishes he hadn’t.
It’s like a dusty grey rope emerges from his lower belly before wrapping around his cock, as if intestines were pulled out without an incision. The tentacle is wrapped around and around, expanding and contracting and feeling like nothing so much as someone fucking themselves down onto Jesse - somewhere between cunt and ass and ballistics gel.
It feels horrifically, terrifyingly good, even as Jesse watches the end of the tentacle rub across the head of his cock and play with the stickiness there. He closes his eyes and moves the hat back over. A wave of triumphal satisfaction flows through him, and he can tell it comes from Reaper.
Another tentacle sprouts, this time from his back. Reaper sends little jolts like electric shocks through Jesse’s legs, telling him without words to spread them. He does, and the tentacle slides into his underwear and inside of him - no need for lube when you’re made of nanobots and god knows what else.
Gabriel always could play Jesse’s body like an instrument, and Reaper is no different. Jesse jerks in his seat, slamming his knee into the armrest as both tentacles go to work on him from the inside and out. The older woman half of the couple who had been talking about the weather gives him a strange look, half concern and half fear. Jesse smiles weakly and turns his head to act like he’s looking out the window.
What if I got you off from the inside, Jesse? Reaper whispers in his head as a tentacle tip plays with the slit at the head of his dick and dips inside just a bit. Massaging you inside and out, completely wrapped up in me.
Jesse’s thighs are trembling, his fingers digging deep into the fake leather of the armrests. What if I was inside you all over, Jesse? If I covered you completely on the outside? Contracting and pushing and pulling you anywhere I wanted, however I wanted.
What if I devoured you, Jesse?
A lone drop of blood trickles down into Jesse’s beard as he bites into his lip. His cock throbs in Reaper’s grip, spurting unevenly into the air. Jesse is frozen and so hyperaware of every single thing around him that he can hear his come lightly splattering onto the floor like sticky rain. It almost hurts it feels so good, and the tentacle inside of him rubs at him ruthlessly, milking everything possible out of him.
The moment finally snaps, and Jesse slumps back into his seat. For just sitting there, he feels surprisingly exhausted, his muscles more like noodles than anything else. Reaper slowly pulls out of him, unwraps from around him, and draws himself back inside Jesse’s body. Jesse can feel the self-satisfaction coming from him.
“How much of that did you - get? Did you feel?” Jesse murmurs.
Enough that I want to do it again is the smug reply, and Jesse can feel a tentacle creep over his inner thigh.
“No! That is definitely enough for tonight. You have to feel how tired I am, and we have a robbery in the morning.”
There’s a grumbling in the back of his skull, but Reaper pulls the tentacle back. Fine, he says, and then there’s a slight feeling of settling as he goes into what Jesse privately thinks of as ‘standby mode’ - still there, but mostly shut down.
Jesse tucks himself carefully back into his pants and zips up before checking his hat for any - misfires. Hat clean, he shoves it onto his head then tilts it down to cover his eyes.
He settles under his serape - they still have ten hours before stopping, and his limbs are warm honey-lazy with the same lassitude as after getting fucked well. Which he supposes he just was, at that.
Reaper stirs and settles in the back of his mind like a hibernating bear, and they speed off into the night.
Chapter 3: mercykill, oviposition
Summary:
mercykill, oviposition. every bit of blame for this goes to eastwood
Chapter Text
“Are you having second thoughts? Because it’s a bit cold over here.” Angela is sitting on the bed in the admittedly chilly sleep lab, wearing nothing but a sheet draped just over her hips and an expression of stretched patience.
“I’m fine. Just - uh - wrenched my arm a bit last mission, I’m just moving a little slower than usual.” Given how exhausted he is, Gabriel is proud of his explanation - right up until he remembers that Angela is a goddamn doctor and has hopped off the bed to poke at him.
He’d managed to get his shirt off, so her cool hands stretch his arm out, test his range of motion. Gabriel really did fuck it up pulling Jesse out of falling rubble, so his winces are real. It should be fine in a day and they both know it, supersoldier and all of that, but he also has a bit of a competence kink so having a naked woman’s hands examining him really isn’t all that bad.
“You seem fine,” she murmurs, blue eyes flicking up to meet his before narrowing in a smirk. “Perhaps I should be on top, though.”
Before he can respond they’re kissing, and Gabriel really quite forgot what he was going to say. He loses his pants and underwear in short order because Angela is frustratingly good at multitasking, and then he’s pulling away, backing off. A few deep, ragged breaths and a hand swiped across his swollen mouth and now Angela is glaring at him, great.
“You know, you’re not the only man on base, here. I could always go find Jesse.”
“Christ, no. You’ll end up with some kind of disease.”
Angela rolls her eyes with the confidence of someone who can order up antibiotics at will. “Any disease can be cured, Gabriel.”
Not his, though. And isn’t that the issue?
He takes a step forward, then another. Hands around her narrow waist, thumbs tracing patterns below her belly button. “You’re on birth control, right?”
Angela frowns up at him. “Multiple types, including one Moira and I invented together. Not to mention,” cool fingers wrap around Gabriel’s cock and he jumps a bit, “I did your vasectomy myself.”
“I know, I just -”
It’s just that Gabriel has black smoke coming from his pores sometimes. It’s just that his eyes will go red and his teeth will sharpen and he’s fairly sure that he can feel openings like eyelids in places they should never be. It’s just that he is going slowly, steadily wrong and no one can tell him when or where it’s going to stop.
Also when he jacked off the other day, something came out of his dick that he couldn’t identify and that’s never a fucking good thing. It was black and sticky and smelled like hot asphalt and blood.
“Maybe we should use a condom.”
“Maybe I’ll go fuck Moira instead.”
A soft red haze of rage floats in front of Gabriel’s eyes and Angela smirks because she knows it. They only get together once or twice a year, not talking about who they’re with the rest of the time, and and Gabriel likes to pretend that Angela is with literally anyone other than that red headed creature.
Whatever. They’re on the bed now and fucking and Angela’s on top as promised and it’s good like it always is, until it’s not.
Until it starts to hurt.
Gabriel’s grunts of pain sound more like pleasure, until he’s digging the not-enjoyable kind of bruises into Angela’s hips. She slows, stops, panting and dripping sweat above him.
“You okay?”
Teeth gritted, Gabriel jerks his head in a ‘no’. Moving a leg to get off, Angela shifts and fuck that hurts so much worse. He holds her in place, frantically shaking his head.
“Don’t - move.”
He’s still hard inside of her, but it’s not on purpose. Gabriel has a sudden flashback to when he and Jack would fuck around testing the limits of their new bodies and decided to try sounding. It’s that same wrongness, of something that does not belong being pulled out of him inch by inch and his body is just along for the ride.
“Gabriel -”
“Just, fuck. Just hold on a second.” He could crush the bones of Angela’s hips if he isn’t careful, so Gabriel very carefully focuses on moving his hands upwards and trying to relax them as whatever the fuck is happening pulls at the tip of his cock.
Whatever is working its way out of him pulls free, and there’s an audible crack as Gabriel’s hands clench reflexively.
Nothing moves for a good thirty seconds, until Angela breaks the silence and tightly says, “You broke my ribs, you motherfucker.”
“I’m sorry, I -”
“I didn’t even come and you broke my ribs on the right -” she tilts slightly and her pale face goes white, “No, on both sides.”
“Angela -”
“I am going to castrate you.”
“I’m sorry, there was something wrong with my dick and -”
“Without anesthetic, you understand. Perhaps use some of Moira’s antique instruments.”
“Listen!” They glare at each other for a minute. Gabriel takes a deep breath. “You probably should go to Moira. Not for the ribs, I mean - okay, yes for the fucking ribs, but I mean it when I say there was something wrong with my dick. I didn’t...come, exactly, but something came out of me.”
“Something.” Her voice is flat.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, did you piss and miss the fucking bowl? There’s a limited number of things that can come out of a cock, Gabriel.”
“You’re vulgar when you’re mad, did you know that?”
“You broke my goddamn ribs!” He probably deserves the punch to the side he gets. “And apparently put something into me.”
It takes a good deal of maneuvering to get Angela off, and then Gabriel insists on trying to look at see what he did to her.
“Listen, you’re not going to see anything without a speculum and that’s not the kind of thing I bring when I sleep with someone. Sleep with you,” she corrects herself, and Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “In any event, help me get dressed and down to Moira’s lab.”
“Does it have to be her?”
“Oh, you know another scientist that is aware of the mess of your body? Wonderful. Let’s go see them.”
“You’re also sarcastic when you’re mad.”
“I’m in pain.”
Moira doesn’t find anything, despite all her technology and scans inside and out. Two days later she’s disavowed and Angela stops speaking to Gabriel, and really that’s that.
Even better, it’s only a few weeks after that Headquarters blows up and takes Gabriel Reyes with it, so really it’s all just a bad one night stand, a moot point.
Really.
-x-x-x-x-x-
“Excuse me, could you tell me where I could find Reaper?”
The Talon agents turn, facemasks up and cigarettes in hand. In the dank alley, Mercy’s brightness and goodness seems to shine - both literally from her white uniform and metaphorically from her kind eyes.
A Talon agent takes a step forward, stained teeth revealed by a leering smile. “You don’t need Reaper, darlin’, we got what you want right -”
Mercy slams the head of her staff into his face, shattering the aforementioned teeth. The man goes down, choking on the shards of bone and blood that now fill the back of his throat. Mercy smiles again - tired, cheerful, determined. “Reaper, please?”
One of the two remaining men point into a dark doorway with a shaking hand.
“Thank you.” She leaves to the melodic sounds of a man choking to death on his own blood and vomit.
Five stories up, and Angela is cursing herself, wishing she’d used the damn suit to fly up outside the building. She shifts the burden on her back and sighs as she turns another corner and then - finally. A light in a doorway.
She doesn’t hesitate going through - she’s been through hell, this can’t be any worse. There’s a dark, cloaked figure staring out the window, surveilling the area. Its head turns slowly, revealing a mask of bone.
“Angela.”
“Gabriel.” In truth she doesn’t know if there’s enough of him left in there to call him by his former name, but that’s what she’s counting on right now.
“It has been a while.”
“Eight and a half months, to be precise. It’s good to see you...alive. So to speak.” Not wanting to beat around the bush any longer, she leans her staff against the wall and folds back the suit’s wings. She pulls a canvas bag advertising some Swiss credit union out of her pack, checking to make sure the contents are intact. Staring at it for a moment, she sighs and shakes her head before stepping forward to hand the bag to Reaper.
Out of sheer surprise, he accepts it. “What is this?”
Angela has her staff in hand again, though now she’s leaning on it more for support than anything else. “Happy Father’s Day, Gabriel.”
“What.”
She nods at the bag. “Have a look.”
He uses a claw to pull back the canvas of the bag, before tilting his head in visible confusion. If a motionless bone face could wordlessly say ‘what the fuck’, Reaper’s would. “I don’t understand.”
“Remember when we had sex and it went terribly wrong and you broke my ribs but there weren’t any real lasting consequences?”
“You’re still on about that, Jesus fucking -”
“In any event, it turns out that there, uh. Were some consequences. Specifically that.” She nods at the bag. “All the birth control and vasectomies in the world apparently can’t compete with whatever your penis decided to do that day.”
Reaper stares into the bag, at the foot-wide egg that sits within. He pulls off a glove, and Angela notes that the tips of his fingers are blackened, some with jagged, claw-like nails and others worn down to what looks like exposed bone. He makes a faint noise of surprise, perhaps at the texture or the warmth of it.
The egg has strange mottling, like the ashy residue left on naked raku ceramics. Like the odd patterns of smoke that rise off of Reaper’s hands even now. It’s also warm, far warmer than human body temperature, warmer than the environment around them could call for.
From just on the other side of the shell there is the faintest hint of movement, and Reaper jerks his hand back in mixed surprise and horror.
“I have a hospital to get back to, so I’ll leave you with it. Have fun,” Angela says, and she turns to fly out the closest window - like hell she’s dealing with those stairs.
“Wait, what? You’re not leaving this here with me!” The scourge of Talon sounds frantic, nearly petulant.
“Your cock, your problem. That,” she gestures to the egg, “Is nothing I had anything to do with. I had to deal with giving birth to it, now you deal with whatever the hell comes after.”
With a clatter of metal and ceramic she’s gone, the warm light of her fading into the distant night.
As Reaper watches the egg start to slowly rock back and forth, he distantly wonders about Talon’s childcare policies. He’s really regretting not looking closer at his employment contract.
Chapter 4: mcgenji, amputee
Summary:
mcgenji, amputee for silas
I keep forgetting this is supposed to be kinky, it keeps ending up Softe
Chapter Text
It’s a routine, at this point.
They exit the Orca - walking, limping, sometimes being dragged - and make their way into headquarters. Jesse follows Gabriel to his office, and they tiredly break down what happened during the op and what they can tell happened during the op to Morrison.
These are often two very different stories.
Genji gets into a small elevator, tucked into a corner of the garage. He hits a series of buttons that take him to a floor that doesn’t exist, and for the first time in hours lets himself sag against the wall for thirty seconds. By the time the elevator stops he’s upright and standing tall again, and he makes his way to a laboratory that also doesn’t exist. Angela is there, along with a handful of engineers. They poke and prod, figuring out what needs replaced and what can be patched up.
He is a collection of prototypes more than he is a person.
Angela is there for the meat of him, checking the lines where flesh kisses metal and ends up raw and angry. There’s no being comfortable for Genji, just what is tolerable. If they can keep down infection and keep skin intact, it’s a victory.
After they’ve patched him back together - or he just can’t stand a minute more in the cold laboratory - Genji goes back to the elevator, back upstairs. Unlike the rest of the team he gets a room on the first floor. Handicap accessible, which he always laughs a bit at, him with his mechanical body stronger than any two other people.
As long as he’s wearing it.
He and Jesse often get to his rooms at the same time, Genji physically exhausted and Jesse emotionally so, in addition to whatever damage they’d been through on the operation. They don’t bother to turn on the lights - the last thing they want to see is what they look like in detail right now.
Jesse strips his armor and clothing off with all the self-consciousness of someone in a locker room. By the time he’s naked Genji has managed to detach his mechanical arm and chest armor, leaving him with an irritated red stump and the implanted flexible metal corset that keeps his insides on the right side of what remains of his rib cage. He takes his helmet off with a sigh, showing a scarred face and a carbon fiber chin as Jesse kneels down next to him.
By this point Genji’s armor is nearly as familiar as his own, and Jesse flicks clamps open and detaches tubes without thinking about it. When he’s done the metal gapes away at the thighs, revealing skin that alternates between pale from compression and red from irritation.
On good days, Genji hops down, walking on his stumps all the way to the shower. On the worst days Jesse will carefully pick him up like a child with a bomb inside, carrying him carefully. Today is somewhere in the middle, and so Genji slings an arm around Jesse’s neck and grips his waist between what’s left of strong thighs.
It’s amazing how much weight you lose when limbs start dropping off. Despite thick, well-used muscle wrapped around dense bone, Genji weighs less than a hundred pounds now, less than Jesse’s armor and weapons when he’s fully kitted out. It means that he can easily walk to the shower with Genji hanging off of him, get the temperature right, drag Genji’s stool out of the corner and into the center of the stall.
Genji is fully capable of washing himself, but that’s not what this is about.
Jesse gets his hair wet, the locks turning silky and dark when saturated. He soaps his hands up, first with a special antibacterial wash that Moira came up with and so Jesse has never fully trusted. It gets rubbed over the stump of Genji’s arm, where pricked dots from stitches still show all these years later. It gets scrubbed into the lines where his artificial throat and corset chest meet flesh, because metal really should never be worn next to skin for that long. It gets worked into the stumps of his thighs, where folds of skin rub against each other.
Jesse uses it on himself too, where there’s a cut on his arm from flying debris, a crease on his hip from a ricochet off of armor.
Then comes the nice body wash, eucalyptus and green tea. Jesse washes Genji, Genji washes Jesse. It’s absolution in an eight ounce bottle, guaranteed sulfate-free.
They’re tired by this point. Jesse is on his knees, head resting against Genji’s thigh as the water pours down onto his back. It’s not sexual, though on another day with less death it might be. Genji works shampoo through Jesse’s hair, slowly. He remembers when his own hair was longer than a buzzcut, when he used to do this for his brother. Long hair had been his one vanity. Genji purposefully sets the thought aside.
Genji turns the water off and swings down easily from his stool. The men grab towels, dry off half-heartedly. After arguing with requisitions - at one point detaching his arm and threatening to beat the man with it - Genji managed to get a decent sized bed, one that easily fits both of them.
They collapse on to it, laying sprawled out and staring at the ceiling for a minute. Jesse musters the energy to pull the covers over them, to pull Genji against his chest. He slides a hand between Genji’s thighs, and when he’s not pushed away he starts to gently rub.
Genji lifts the stump of his thigh, lets it rest on top of Jesse’s hairy thigh. It opens him up, lets Jesse slide two fingers inside. The residual dampness from the shower is soon replaced by Genji’s own wetness, slick and almost unnaturally hot. Genji runs warmer now, though no one has ever been able to explain to him why.
The stump of his left arm presses against the side of Jesse’s head, presses his mouth harder against the skin of Genji’s throat. The skin just before where the carbon fiber replaces his trachea is sensitive and Jesse knows it.
It’s not long before Genji’s cunt is clamping down on Jesse’s fingers, his breathing ragged under Jesse’s mouth. They’re both silent otherwise - too many years of getting off in enemy territory to be anything but quiet. Genji comes down from it slowly, turns his face to catch Jesse’s mouth in a slow kiss.
Jesse presses his fingers to Genji’s mouth, has him lick them clean. When Genji goes to flip them over and return the favor Jesse shakes his head and wraps his arms tighter around Genji’s waist. The world could end and Genji could still get off, but Jesse’s always being oddly more sensitive about it - too much action and his body spends the adrenaline and doesn’t have any left afterwards.
It’s seven am and the sky is just lightening over the hills of Zurich. Gabriel is trapped in a meeting with Morrison and will stay there for hours longer, Moira is in her laboratory checking on her experiments.
Jesse and Genji fall asleep tangled up in one another, aware they’ll be up in a few hours but for the moment - sleep. Peace.
Chapter 5: tadaai, medical/sounding
Summary:
tadaai with medical procedures/sounding for DT
Notes:
do not take anything in here as medical advice
(although the dermatology stuff is p accurate. ask me about my time as a teaching hospital guinea pig! [do not ask this])
Chapter Text
The redheaded kid raises a hand. “Dr Shindo?”
Ainosuke sighs in his head. This year’s batch of residents are already trying his patience. “Yes -” he checks the nametag. “Reki?”
They might technically have their medical degrees, but Ainosuke refuses to call them doctor until they’ve been through residency, except for in front of patients. It helps bring them down a peg, after they’ve been ego-trippping that they’re real doctors now when in reality they know nothing.
“Our schedules say that we have rounds in the morning but in the afternoon it just says - practice examinations?”
Ainosuke nods. “You are all assigned to various departments. Reki, you’re in pediatrics,” the kid looks excited, probably to be around fellow children. “Langa, you are downstairs in pathology” - the boy had averaged three words and two expressions a day from what Ainosuke had seen, he’d likely be comfortable with the dead bodies - “And Miya, you are in neurology.” The kid - almost literal, in this case - was a prodigy, he would either excel or get the arrogance knocked out of him with the brain guys.
“That is where you’ll spend the majority of your day, and you’ll rotate to other departments in the future. Certain afternoons, however, you’ll spend an hour or two doing practice work. Sometimes this involves real patients - someone needs a mole cut off in dermatology, or there’s someone very patient in ophthalmology who will let you do a glaucoma test four times in a row. Often though, you’ll just use Tadashi.”
“Who or what is Tadashi?” Miya pipes up, look on his face skeptical.
Ainosuke smiles enigmatically. Little prick. None of them deserve Tadashi. “You’ll see.”
-x-x-x-x-x-
The next day, the three residents are to report to a large private exam room downstairs. Tadashi waits there with Ainosuke. “I don’t think they’re a bad group. Too enthusiastic, too reticent, and too arrogant, but they’re all fairly good at heart.” He strokes a gentle hand down Tadashi’s back, and the man leans into him just slightly. “Tell me after if any of them make you uncomfortable, yes?”
Tadashi nods.
The residents finally arrive, looking in interest at the stranger in front of them. Ainosuke takes a step forward, shielding him slightly. “Gentlemen, this is Tadashi. He’s something of a professional examinee. We’ve been documenting him for years, so we know virtually everything about him, inside and out. There are many exams that you’ll need to perform constantly in the various departments, but they’re often exams that people only feel comfortable with their doctor performing. In order to practice those, we have Tadashi.”
Predictably, Reki is the one that steps forward first, bowing and then with a hand out. Polite of him, Ainosuke notes, and Tadashi gives a rare slight smile. The others follow belatedly, with various levels of awkwardness.
“The exam for today is a mole check. You will do these often in dermatology - rare at this time of year in winter, but near daily in summer. Okinawa is tropical and unfortunately has rising rates of skin cancer. You all should have read up on this last night, procedures and what to look out for.” The residents all nod.
“You can choose who goes first,” Ainosuke says to the residents. There’s a fast and furious argument between them, and Reki emerges triumphant.
He looks over to Ainosuke. “So we run this like it’s a real procedure?” Ainosuke nods.
Reki visibly squares his shoulders. “Hello, Tadashi, I am Dr Kyan, and I’ll be taking care of you today.” They make small talk, Tadashi giving the rote answers that he’ll be giving to all of them. “All right, now if you could strip down to your underwear and put on this gown with the opening in back, we can begin the exam.”
Ainosuke shakes his head. “Have him strip down all the way. You’d be amazed at where blemishes like to hide.”
Tadashi does so, and Ainosuke has to hold himself back from watching his roundly muscled ass stick out of the back of the gown. Reki examines Tadashi’s face, using his small lighted scope on the mole right below his eye.
“There’s nothing wrong with it, perfectly normal,” he tells Tadashi. Cocking his head, he asks curiously: “You don’t need to, obviously, but have you ever thought of getting it removed?”
Tadashi seems neutral, but Ainosuke can tell he’s slightly taken aback. No one has ever asked that before. “No,” he says slowly. “It’s a part of me now, I couldn’t imagine my face without it.”
Reki grins, an oddly infectious thing. “Good, I think it gives you character.” He moves down to Tadashi’s shoulders, gloved hands fluttering across pale skin. When he goes to move downwards, Ainosuke clears his throat. Reki looks up quizzically.
“Hair. Never neglect someone’s hair, all kinds of things like to hang out on the scalp.”
Murmuring apologies, Reki takes the forceps that Ainosuke hands him and methodically sorts through Tadashi’s hair. Tadashi’s eyes are closed and Ainosuke can see goosebumps break out over his skin. He’d bet all the money in his pocket that Tadashi is half-hard right now - it’s a surprisingly intimate process.
Reki notes the various moles and lone cyst that Ainosuke confirms does not need biopsied. He then moves downwards, methodically examining arms and hands and torso and marking things down on a body map.
He pauses, then, before looking at Ainosuke. “Dr Shindo, ah, what’s the best way to examine his groin? I feel like kneeling down is a bit. Uh. Awkward.”
Ainosuke hides a smile. “Have the patient lay down on the bed and fold the gown up towards their stomach. You’ll do their groin and the front side of their legs and feet, then have them flip over.
Reki nods. He ends up working from the feet up, getting excited about a scar on Tadashi’s kneecap - apparently he’s interested in orthopedics. At Tadashi’s groin he gets visibly nervous, and Ainosuke hands him the forceps again.
“Just like the scalp - look through the hair, examine all the skin. This is especially important with men - women see gynecologists regularly but men don’t have a doctor regularly examining their genitals until they’re older. Also don’t worry if your patient gets aroused, it’s a natural reaction to being touched and has nothing to do with you.”
Reki gingerly starts to sort through Tadashi’s neatly trimmed hair with the forceps, only relaxing when he finds a mole on his right testicle and gets excited about it. Tadashi has locked gazes with Ainosuke, and Ainosuke smiles a bit as he watches Tadashi’s cock fatten up. He’s gong to enjoy talking through the procedure with Tadashi tonight, slowly jacking him off as he describes these young men putting their hands all over him.
Tadashi turns over, and Reki starts examining again. All of them get riled up about a mole on the sole of his foot - a rarity - and Ainosuke has to practically reel them in from writing a paper on the spot.
Reki does a cursory examination of Tadashi’s ass, and Ainosuke has to stop him. “Pull the cheeks apart, look everywhere. You’ll need to do this with women’s labia as well, so get used to it.”
Ainosuke watches Reki spread Tadashi’s asscheeks apart and look carefully, eventually taking a scope to a mole Ainosuke knows is hiding in there. He wishes he could take a picture to get off to later - it’s a beautiful sight, his face buried in there.
Reki finishes his examination, and the next one begins.
-x-x-x-x-x-
The weeks go on, with Tadashi days sprinkled here and there. Sometimes he’s suffering through endless reflex tests, other days it’ll be glaucoma pressure tests or a particularly excruciating tilt table test that has Ainosuke sleeping on the couch for a night.
Early in the morning, Tadashi nestles close to Ainosuke in bed, mouthing at his neck lazily.
Ainosuke runs his fingers slowly through Tadashi’s hair. “Keep me professional, puppy.” He can feel Tadashi’s smile against his neck, followed by a nip of teeth. Ainosuke tugs on Tadashi’s hair. “Settle.” After a minute: “You ready for today?”
Tadashi breathes hot against his collarbone in a deep sigh. “You should know, I haven’t come in days.” If it was anyone but Tadashi, he would sound petulant. Instead he just sounds - longing.
Ainosuke kisses his forehead. “That’ll change, puppy, that will change.”
In the now-familiar exam room, the residents look on in trepidation as Ainosuke lays out a large box of gloves and an industrial-sized bottle of lubricant. “Welcome, gentlemen,” he says, “To prostate exam day.”
Miya looks interested, Reki looks nervous, and Langa has his usual expression of blankness. Ainosuke has heard that Reki and Lagnga are together, and spends a vague moment wondering which of them will be better at this.
Behind him, Tadashi is methodically taking his shoes, socks, and pants off. “A few differences between this and a normal prostate exam. First, Tadashi is about twenty years too young to need one. You will be seeing primarily older men, who either have problems urinating or ejaculating. Tadashi has neither problem, though to make your exams easier he has refrained from ejaculating for several days now.”
“Another difference is, to put it delicately, hygiene. Tadashi has been polite and used an enema to clean himself out, but you should expect to see excrement and worse with normal patients. Rectal exams often involve blood from hemorrhoids or fissures, and infection is common.”
Miya’s face is studiously neutral, but Reki’s tan has faded to a faint olive green and Langa, fastidious little Langa, is swaying slightly.
“Luckily, you have Tadashi and so today at least will not have to experience any of that. You will give him a prostate exam, and because he does not actually have anything wrong with him, you’ll do some exploring. Make sure you know where all the internal structures are. He may be slightly swollen because of his recent celibacy, and I would like you to make it a goal to try and get him to ejaculate. Prostate massage is part of every digital rectal exam, this is just pushing it a bit further.”
Miya wins to go first this time in a furious round of rock, paper, scissors. He politely introduces himself to Tadashi for the twentieth time since they’ve started all this, and asks him to stand on the stool and then bend over the table.
He takes a minute to warm the lubricant between his fingers, which makes Ainosuke smirk. Unless one is - experienced, they don’t know to do that. Perhaps Tadashi will have an enjoyable day after all.
Miya’s hands are small - he isn’t a child, really though he is several years younger than the others and happens to have a slight build. Ainosuke comments quietly that he might need to use two fingers, as just one might not be able to feel everything. Miya nods and slides back in with two.
He narrates, precisely and detailed, as he feels around inside Tadashi’s ass, naming the various structures and their perceived levels of health. It’s when he reaches the prostate massage portion of the exam that he looks over to Ainosuke.
Ainosuke hands him a specimen cup. “Try and get everything in here,” he says, “And if nothing else, try to avoid the patient’s clothes.”
Miya spends a moment trying to figure out the logistics: he has two hands, and one needs to be inside Tadashi. He also needs to hold on to the man’s penis in order to direct the semen, but also needs to hold the cup. After a moment’s deliberation, he sets the cup down on the examination bed and takes a hold of Tadashi’s penis firmly. Ainosuke can see it get harder in his grip.
“Remember, you don’t want to stimulate the genitals,” he warns. “This should all come from the prostate.”
Miya nods, face determined. He starts to stroke inside of Tadashi, first gentle and then firmer as he gains confidence. Ainosuke is the only one who can see Tadashi’s face, see how his eyes close in enjoyment and his mouth hangs open a bit.
Tadashi’s cock twitches a bit in Miya’s grip, and starts to drool out clear, sticky fluid. “This is prostatic fluid,” Ainosuke says as the residents lean forward to watch. Tadashi’s cheeks gain color, his cock getting harder at the attention. “Often this will be what you primarily need to collect.” He nods at Miya. “Keep going, Dr Chinen.”
Miya keeps manipulating his fingers inside of Tadashi, and Ainosuke watches with amusement as he twists them somehow, making Tadashi’s back arch involuntarily and his testicles draw up. It’s only another minute before he’s breathing raggedly and Miya is directing his twitching cock to come into the specimen jar.
While Reki and Langa congratulate Miya and he labels the jar, Ainosuke grabs a bottle of water and gives it to Tadashi. Making sure the residents aren’t watching he strokes Tadashi’s throat gently as he obediently swallows. “Good boy,” Ainosuke murmurs, and Tadashi’s cock, only gone down to half-hard, firms up a little.
“Ready for round two?” he asks quietly, and Tadashi smiles a little before nodding. He’d do anything for Ainosuke.
-x-x-x-x-x-
They can hear the residents chattering as they come down the hallway, voices echoing against the tile. Ainosuke puts the little blue pill on Tadashi’s tongue and kisses him as he swallows it down. “Ready?” he asks.
Tadashi sighs a bit, nuzzles into the side of Ainosuke’s throat. “If it was you and me at home…” he says, and Ainosuke smiles slightly as he presses a kiss to the side of Tadashi’s throat. If they were at home they might be doing this very thing, except with a happy ending guaranteed. Today, they’re just hoping none of the residents injure Tadashi.
They separate as the residents come in. There was some competition they’re all talking about - something about skateboards? - and due to Langa’s victory, he gets to go first.
“That might not be the reward you think it is,” Ainosuke says candidly. The residents pause, going quiet. “This is both one of our more useful practices, but also one of the more dangerous ones, from the patient point of view. Hence the need for you to be very good at it.”
Pulling over a tray table, Ainosuke sets several zippered pouches on the flat surface and begins opening them up to display their shiny steel contents. “Bakes, Hegar, Pratt, Van Buren, and Henk. All have their purposes.” He holds up a steel rod with a gentle curve on each end. “This is a Henk, or Hank, sound. They are what are most often used in urology.”
Ainosuke lets the residents touch the various sounds with sterile gloved hands. Reki blinks at the vicious curve of a Guyon sound. “We actually use this on people?”
“Rarely,” Ainosuke replies. “Guyon and Van Buren sounds, for example, can only be used while the penis is soft - if they’re used medically, it’s to break up blockages very deep inside. We can’t use them today as I’ve given Tadashi a little something to keep him hard for you: most of the sounds are safer if the penis is hard.”
Ainosuke shows them another sound, this one with a trigger at one end and a miniscule grasper at the other. “Then there are things like this, which can be used for pulling out obstructions or foreign bodies.”
The residents look pale.
With a sigh, Ainosuke puts that particular sound down. “Other than infection, anatomical variations, and cancer, most of urology is dealing with human stupidity and the desire to put items in places where items should not be.” He picks up the first sound, with the gentle curves. “Outside of medicine, sounding can be a perfectly safe and healthy sexual practice, but only with the right equipment. Please encourage patients to buy from medical supply stores instead of whatever they find around their house.”
Ainosuke gestures for Tadashi to lay down. He’s in a medical gown with the opening in front, allowing his fully erect cock to stand up through the fabric. “This is one of the few times I am going to demonstrate, because if you get this wrong you could easily perforate something.”
Langa looks much less happy to be going first.
Ainosuke shows them how to apply the sterile lubricant to the sound and the tip of Tadashi’s cock. He holds Tadashi gently in his hand as he carefully slides the sound in. All Ainosuke wants to do is to start jacking Tadashi off, to feel the steel from the outside as he works the other man into a frenzy - but they’re at work. Later, later.
After listening carefully, Langa takes Tadashi in hand. His fingers are long and thin, standing out pale against Tadashi’s blood filled cock. He works in a thinner Hank sound, then withdraws it carefully before inserting a bulbous-tipped Dittle, and finally a thick Pratt. This last one has Tadashi squirming, and Ainosuke tells himself to have the next person not go quite so large.
Reki and Miya each have their turn, taking seriously their work and Tadashi’s safety. It’s a successful though tense practice session, and Ainosuke sends them off to autoclave the sounds on their way out.
Tadashi sits up slowly, looking tired. Ainosuke nudges his legs apart, hip bones bumping against the other man’s inner thighs. “Tired, puppy?”
A nod.
“How tired?”
Tadashi narrows his eyes at Ainosuke. “What did you do?”
Ainosuke shrugs, overly casual as he reaches down to fondle Tadashi’s reddened and no doubt sore cock. “I mean, it’s always a shame to waste an erection, and you’ve had this one for so long.”
“With all that lube up there it’s going to taste terrible.”
“Who said anything about taste?” Ainosuke drapes his lab coat over a chair before craning his neck to make sure the exam room door is locked. Satisfied, he turns around and drops his pants. He happened to forgo underwear today.
Tadashi hops off the table, and reaches forward, easily finding the handle of the plug that’s been holding Ainosuke open all day. “Now when did you put this in?”
“When you were in the shower this morning.”
Undoing just enough buttons to pull Ainosuke’s shirt down a bit, Tadashi kisses his way down his neck until he gives a hard bite to Ainosuke’s shoulder. “How inappropriate, Doctor Shindo.”
They know they don’t have much time until the cleaners come through so Tadashi doesn’t waste time in pushing Ainosuke down until his chest meets the medical bed Tadashi had been laying down on. He pulls out the plug and carelessly tosses it onto the sheets before shoving his cock deep into Ainosuke.
There’s some lube on the tip of Tadashi’s cock from the sounding and residual lube from the plug, but he wants Ainosuke to feel it, especially after what he’d put Tadashi through today. He fucks into the other man hard and steadily, reaching around to grasp Ainosuke’s cock with a hand slick with lube from the plug.
Ainosuke grabs Tadashi’s tie, uses it to drag the other man closer until he can kiss him, and then tightens the knot to choke him gently. It’s not long before Tadashi is spilling into Ainosuke, his whining thin and cut off by the tie. His semen burns through his raw urethra, and it’s a strange combination of pain and pleasure until his orgasm finally dies down.
Wrapping a firm arm around Ainosuke’s chest, Tadashi whispers filthy things into his ear, about how his students had just been there and what a dirty old man he was to use them on Tadashi like that. His free hand works relentlessly at Ainosuke until the man spills across the bed with a cry that’s quickly muffled by Tadashi’s hand.
The two men stay bent over the bed panting for a minute, until they hear the sound of the cleaners entering the room next to them. Tadashi carefully tucks himself back into his pants - he may have come, but the medication is keeping him hard. Ainosuke makes a face as he does the best to wipe the come from his hole with the bedsheet - “Stop that,” Tadashi says, before shoving the plug right back in as Ainosuke gasps. “You’ll leak all over your pants otherwise.”
Ainosuke grumbles but agrees. They’re both fully dressed and on their way out by the time the cleaners enter, both men giving them nods. It smells like sex in the room but then again it sometimes does whenever they’re dealing with certain bodily fluids.
In the parking lot, safely away from prying eyes, Ainosuke and Tadashi tangle their hands together as they head for home.
Chapter 6: mcreyes, amputation/power imbalance
Summary:
mcreyes, amputee/sensory deprivation/power imbalance for @GDAfterDinner
why pick one prompt when you can use all three?
Chapter Text
“Breathe, McCree.”
Everything is - not black. It’s not black, it’s some kind of dark grey that is so much worse, it’s not the color of darkness it’s the color of unseeing, it’s the color of the space between things, it’s the color of nothingness -
“Damnit, breathe! In, out. Good. In...now out. Listen to me, keep breathing. In. Out.”
The only thing in Jesse’s world right now is Gabriel’s voice. He can’t see anything, can’t feel anything, but he can hear his voice, raspy with dust and exhaustion. Jesse’s breathing gets slower, less panicked. He can feel something, finally - the warmth of Gabriel’s breath on his ear, the occasional brush of his lips as an explosion rattles the area and pushes them close.
“I’m going to dope you up, okay? There’s…” - a ragged inhale - “there’s a lot of debris on you, and it’s gonna hurt to get you out. A lot.”
“Gen..ji?” Barely a word, pushed out between chipped teeth and a bloated tongue.
“He’s okay, he’s going to do the heavy lifting. Just close your eyes and when you wake up you’ll be out of here.”
Gabriel doesn’t say that things will be okay when he wakes up. He’s never been that good of a liar.
Jesse closes eyes that were open but unseeing, and soon even the slight bit of the world he was aware of goes away.
-x-x-x-x-x-
When Jesse opens his eyes again, it’s to the same greyness. It looks the same whether his eyes are open or closed, so he closes them. Time passes, or maybe it doesn’t. It’s hard to tell with no visuals. He can feel a rustling near his hip, so he turns his head. “Is everyone alive?”
“Agent McCree.” He would know Dr Ziegler’s voice anywhere. He hears it in his nightmares, sometimes. “You’re awake.”
“Is everyone alive?”
“Let me get your commander.” Jesse hears her footsteps retreat and the only thing holding him together is that she’s getting Gabriel, that at least he is okay.
Heavy bootsteps, and something in Jesse relaxes to hear Gabriel’s tread on the floor. He stops by Jesse’s bed, and it’s infuriating to have him just stand there, with Jesse unable to see whatever the fuck Gabriel is looking at. Blunt fingers cradle Jesse’s head, and he leans into the touch.
For the third time he asks: “Is everyone alive?”
He can feel as much as hear Gabriel sigh, a wash of coffee-scented breath stale with lack of sleep warm on his face. “Our team is all right. Genji’s getting the dents banged out over engineering, Moira’s been drafted into helping out in the infirmary.”
“Bet she loves that.”
“They’re practically knocking themselves out so they don’t have to deal with her.”
Jesse wants to laugh but everything hurts. “Feliciano’s team? Kerfonta’s?”
The silence and stilling of Gabriel’s fingers in his hair is enough. “They were too close to the initial blast.” The fingers in his hair tighten, pull. “So were you, you idiot.”
“We were trying to get the people out -”
“Necessary casualties.”
“Kids, Gabriel.” It hurts to talk that loudly, that forcefully. “I’m not going to leave kids.”
Another sigh. “I know.”
Silence, for a few minutes. “So when can I get out of here?”
Gabriel laughs, something that sounds painful.
“You’re not going anywhere for awhile.”
“I feel fine.”
There’s a long pause. “You’re not fine.”
“I mean, I can’t see, but I heard the doc say it was a flash burn, that it would heal -”
“Hold my hand, Jesse.”
“I can’t see you.”
“Just try.”
One arm is bandaged up, fingers like fat sausages in a thick muslin coating. It’s wrapped and tied to Jesse’s side, so it stays immobile. So, he reaches out with his other hand.
He reaches out -
He -
.
Everything in his mind says that his arm is extended towards Gabriel, his fingers flexing. Everything in his mind says that, but he can feel his shoulder still laying on the bed, heavy with bandages and drugs. He can also feel that somewhere below the shoulder there’s a line of deadness, where the drugs have chiselled a line deep into his flesh.
“You were out for a while,” Gabriel says quietly. “Longer than it might seem, before we could get the collapsed building off of you. By the time we did, crush syndrome had set in and we had to forget about your arm in favor of saving the rest of you.”
It’s not his shooting arm. Small miracles.
Soft pressure, Gabriel’s forehead against his. Chapped lips brush against unshaved skin, and Gabriel whispers, “You’re alive. That’s enough for now.”
Hot tears leak from the corners of Jesse’s sightless eyes, and he doesn’t know if they’re even open or not.
-x-x-x-x-x-
“I can do it.”
“Sure you can.” Gabriel leans back against the bathroom door, his arms crossed. “Go right ahead, no one is stopping you.”
Jesse stares into the bathroom mirror in his quarters. He’s been released - technically. Released into Gabriel’s care. Right now, the only thing Jesse gives a shit about is being able to take a piss on his own. His vision is about fifty percent back: everything has a grey veil of haze over it, but is unfortunately visible. Sunken eyes look back at him from the mirror, but it doesn’t change the fact that one arm is still immobile, and the other arm, well.
Isn’t.
He doesn’t have a fucking tube up his cock anymore, and getting that pulled out ranks in the top most unpleasant experiences he’s ever had. Now he just has to figure out...how to do this. Alone.
“Are you going to let me help?”
“I can do this.”
“Yes. Please, tell me how you’re going to unzip your pants, with zero functioning arms. I know for a fact you’re not flexible enough to do it with your toes.” Jesse stares at himself in the mirror until he meets Gabriel’s eyes and finally closes them with a sense of shame.
“I’m your commander, let me command.” murmurs Gabriel as he steps forward. He undoes Jesse’s pants, fingers moving nimbly in a way Jesse can only be envious of. They walk the two steps to the toilet before Gabriel steps behind Jesse, seals his chest to Jesse’s back.
There’s a strange light in Gabriel’s eyes when Jesse meets them in the mirror. It’s nothing he can put a name to, but it makes him uneasy.
A large hand reaches into Jesse’s open pants and pulls out his cock. Jesse lets his head fall back onto Gabriel’s shoulder as Gabriel directs the stream into the bowl. It’s his first uncathetered piss in weeks, and it’s almost orgasmic in how it feels.
After he’s done they still stand there, Gabriel gently holding Jesse’s cock, Jesse nearly melted back against Gabriel. Gabriel gives his cock a few shakes, getting the last drops off.
“Shake it more than twice and you’re playing with it,” Jesse murmurs.
Gabriel just gives Jesse’s cock another shake before running a thumb down the side. It immediately starts to fatten up in Gabriel’s grip. Jesse turns his head, presses his forehead and then his lips to the thin skin of Gabriel’s throat. “Why are we still in the bathroom?” he says quietly.
“Good point,” Gabriel says, and steps back, walking out of the bathroom. Jesse follows, feeling weird and uncomfortable as he hangs half-hard out of his pants. Gabriel is taking his shirt off as he walks so Jesse knows this is going somewhere good, but it still feels strange.
Gabriel has his back to Jesse, folding his shirt and putting it on the dresser when he says, “Lay down.”
For lack of anything better to do, Jesse does.
Pants get folded, boots and shoes are taken off. Underwear is tossed on top of the pile almost as an afterthought, and Gabriel turns, naked, to face Jesse with his arms crossed. Although Jesse technically still has his pants and socks on, for some reason he feels like the exposed one right now.
“God, look at you. Can’t even take your own pants off.” Jesse turns his head to the side, face red, as Gabriel gets the last of his clothes off with impersonal hands. There’s a good thirty seconds of silence and Jesse finally turns his head back around. Gabriel’s eye rove over his body - the bandages, the missing arm, where he’s hard and obvious between his legs - with dark eyes.
“You can’t do a damn thing, can you? All you can do is just lay there.”
Wanting. Useless. Pathetic. Gabriel doesn’t say these things but they’re all Jesse can hear. His cheeks burn with shame.
“Spread your legs.” Gabriel has found Jesse’s stash of lube, and he uses it to open him up. He works fast, rough - if Jesse had a working hand it would be on Gabriel’s wrist to playfully slow him down, but right now there’s absolutely nothing he can do.
Jesse’s legs get hauled up over Gabriel’s thighs, and it’s short work to get the other man buried inside of Jesse. It’s not enough prep, not enough lube, but Jesse just bites a lip and blinks away the moisture, something deep inside of him telling him that he deserves it.
Gabriel fucks into him hard, one hand anchored on the wing of Jesse’s hip and the other braced on the bed. Jesse can’t do anything but lay there and take it - can’t brace himself, can’t fuck up at all at his angle.
He’s driven across the bed inch by inch until his head is smashed against the wall, a bruise forming on his temple deeper and deeper with every thrust. He lays there helplessly as Gabriel takes his pleasure, finally coming with a grunt and pulling out.
Jesse lays there, sweat- and come-covered, legs spread and helpless, neck at a nearly broken angle. Gabriel looks down, and there’s something bordering on cruel in his eyes. “I could just leave you there, and you couldn’t do anything, could you. Couldn’t get off, couldn’t get dressed, couldn’t even wipe me out of you.” Jesse’s stump of an arm twitches, and Gabriel’s gaze zeroes in on it. “Does it feel like your arm is still there?” he asks, idle curiosity in his voice. “Like you could still hold your gun or your cock?”
He reaches down and runs his finger over the bandages. Below there’s skin stretched strangely over severed bone and sewn off rubbery veins, and Jesse whimpers at the overload of sensation.
“Please.” Jesse McCree never begs, in or out of bed, but he’s a broken version of himself with an unbalanced commander who’s taking out his self-blame on Jesse. Gabriel leans down, bypassing where Jesse arches up for a kiss, and licks away the tears trickling from the corners of of closed eyes. He wraps a hand around Jesse’s cock, gets him off rough and fast.
It’s what Jesse needs, and he comes with a sob.
Gabriel gets up silently as Jesse pants into the quiet. With a damp cloth he wipes Jesse down, before rolling him carefully onto his side and getting him under the covers. Flicking the lights off, Gabriel gets into bed behind Jesse, pulling him close.
His body is large and hot and Jesse is sweating next to him, but he stays silent. He’s aware down to his bones that everything he does right now except for walking is going to be controlled and assisted by Gabriel, until he heals and they can fit him for a prosthetic.
Gabriel presses a kiss to the back of Jesse’s neck, murmuring, “You’re mine, McCree,” into the thin skin, and it sends a chill down Jesse’s back.
He loves Gabriel, would die for him but -
Maybe not like this.
Chapter 7: winston76, humiliation
Summary:
winston76, humiliation for @shamefulcorner
....I got nothin, folks. Jack's an asshole here but then so am I
Chapter Text
Winston rubs his eyes behind his glasses as he squints at the bubbling flask in front of him. He probably shouldn’t still be working after almost twenty hours in the lab, but he had promised the people upstairs that he would have a working prototype before the weekend was out, and the weekend ended in….six hours.
One large, broad-nailed finger pokes at a rubber hose, and the cylinder it goes into lets out a warning hiss of steam. Perhaps he shouldn’t do that again.
He does it again.
Predictably, the hose detaches from where it’s held to the side of the cylinder by a clip, and it goes flailing around like the neck of an angry goose. Winston grabs it easily, clipping it back in. He sighs, then pauses.
Licks his lips.
There’s a metallic taste on them, the same taste that is in his nose and trickling down his throat.
Hmmm. This isn’t good. He goes over to the computer, pulls up the formula. Hits the button that says ‘instructions for ingestion’. The stuff is supposed to be taken in pill form, once it’s finished. He clicks through a questionnaire (‘Do you think you may have been exposed to this formula?’ ‘What form was it in when you were exposed?’ ‘When was your last bowel movement?’ ‘Have you consumed any kiwifruit in the past week?’), and when it’s done, the computer processes for a minute.
Every screen in the lab shines an evil-looking red before they all go black. Five seconds later the word ‘QUARANTINE’ starts pulsing across the screen and there’s a clunking sound as every door in the lab seals shut.
Well, this is less than ideal.
Everything will be just fine, as long as -
“Winston? What happened?”
Fuck. Commander Morrison.
Winston takes a deep breath, meaning to say that a hose had come loose and sprayed him with the current formula, it wasn’t a big deal. Instead what comes out is more like: “It’s fine Com-com-commander Morrison, it was just a small issue where I detached the hose accidentally because I don’t know my own strength and really should never have been cleared to work in a laboratory with delicate equipment.” He claps a large hand over his mouth, but he just keeps going, keeps talking.
Morrison frowns, before shutting the screen down abruptly. Winston winces. This formula is the very last thing he wants to be dosed with around Commander Morrison.
Before Winston knows it, Morrison is in the corridor, talking with the system AI. After a moment the door opens, and he strides in. Winston can’t help but watch his long, muscular legs encased in military boots that hit the floor decisively with every step. He shakes himself - get it together, ape.
“The system tells me that the formula is out of the air, that it hit just you. What exactly is it?”
Winston licks dry lips. “It’s a - well. A form of truth serum.”
“Sodium pentathol?”
“No, no. Well, sort of - we wanted to keep the lowered inhibitions and verbosity, but then really to and raise the disconnect between the subject and their control over what they were saying.” Winston was trying with every ounce of effort in his massive body not to look at Commander Morrison. He was afraid of what might come out of his mouth.
Morrison cocks his head. “Well, if nothing else it looks like we have a good test subject right here.” He hits a few buttons on the nearest computer. “There, now everything will be recorded.” He sits in Winston’s usual lab chair, tilts his blonde head. “Tell me Winston, how are you feeling?”
Winston shakes his head frantically, mouth traitorously saying, “No, no no no not to you, to anyone but you,” before he can clamp a hand over his face and look anywhere but at Commander Morrison, sitting in Winston’s own chair with his legs spread wide no no don’t think about that no -
A squeak-drag, as Morrison pulls the chair closer. “Winston. Why don’t you want to talk to me?” At Winston’s silence, he puts on the Voice. The Commander Voice. “Winston. Look at me.”
Golden eyes with pupils blown wide slowly raise to meet blue. Winston can feel sweat trickling down into the armpits of his lab coat, a thick animal musk raising into the air. The formula in his brain doesn’t allow him to keep his mouth shut. “Because I would start talking about how much I want you.”
Morrison blinks. “What.”
“I don’t want you here because I would start talking about how much I think about you, how much I’ve always thought about you ever since you were somehow willing to hire me on. How I think about what’s under that uniform all the time, how I think about what it would feel like if your thighs were wrapped around my neck, or if you had me bent over and were fucking me. I think about that the most, I try to get an idea of it from watching human pornography, because our anatomies are similar but obviously not identical. I used to do calculations, based upon human averages and then possible effects of the SEP treatment, what it might have done to your body. I realized that might be seen as disrespectful so I stopped that, but I still can’t stop thinking about you.” Finally, finally Winston’s hands cooperate and clap over his wide mouth.
Silence for thirty seconds, then a minute. Winston, eyes anywhere but on Morrison, starts to wonder if maybe he’ll get out of this unscathed -
“You’re a goddamn gorilla, Winston,” Morrison says. Steadily, perhaps a bit derisively. “Why in god’s name would I, would any human man, want to fuck you?”
“I. I - I - I - I don’t really know, but I’m sure I have a lot to offer, I just - I’ve never been able to be with - I mean, I just - I…” the babbling continues for a good minute.
“Be quiet.” Morrison looks at Winston with sharp eyes. “Move your hands. Now open your mouth.” Winston obeys. “Hmmm. Maybe you wouldn’t be useless after all.” He stands up, one hand on the buckle of his uniform pants, and nods over at a padded area of the lab floor. “Lay down on your back.”
Winston gets up hesitantly, hands going to the fastenings of his pants.
Morrison snorts when he notices. “Don’t bother, I’m not going to fuck you, you don’t deserve it, you creepy little ape. You get a trial run, to see if I might have use for you.”
Sitting on the floor, Winston carefully tries to control his mouth. “What...did you have in mind?”
Morrison has his uniform coat off, white t shirt tight around his broad chest. His pants are undone, the heavy belt buckle pulling them tantalizingly down. He shrugs: “I had a little...get together with Commander Reyes right before the alarms went off. I figured you could clean me up. Do a good enough job, maybe you get a little reward.”
“You and. Commander Reyes?” It’s not like Winston didn’t know, they all knew. To hear Commander Morrison say it so casually to him though, that hurts, somehow.
Morrison turns a bit, snorts at the expression on Winston’s face. “Yes, Reyes. It can’t be a surprise. Now. Either lay down or keep your fantasies as fantasies.”
Winston’s eyes go to where the heavy uniform pants sag unbelted in the back, showing the upper curves of Morrison’s ass. It’s that which makes him lay back, setting his glasses aside.
A shadow passes over his face, and Morrison is straddling him, thick thighs dusted with golden hair on either side of Winston’s neck. He stares up - Morrison’s ass is just: right there, staring him in the face. He can see just the slightest stubble of hair, Morrison must shave or wax or something, everything is smooth and pale, deepening in the middle to a dark pink.
“You can just stare or you can get that overactive mouth of yours to work,” Morrison says mildly from above him.
Winston shakes himself slightly, and reaches up. His huge hands spread Morrison’s cheeks wider. With a bit of light it’s clear that Morrison’s hole is used: slightly swollen and reddened, puffing out slightly and still shiny with lubricant. And just - there, as his hole flexes under Winston’s wide eyes, a slow, careful drip of slightly translucent white leaks out.
Unable to help himself, Winston pulls Morrison down, until his long tongue can lap at that beautiful hole, the tip dipping in just a tiny bit. He tastes of clean skin and plasticky lubricant and the slight tang of human sweat, and something...else. Winston licks deeper, his long and flexible tongue pushing into Morrison an inch, then two.
He can taste Reyes now, bitter salt and a slight bit of chlorine, but less sour than expected. There’s also another taste, heavy and musky, nearly meaty. Winston nearly chokes as he realizes that this is the taste of Morrison, the taste of the inside of Morrison. He can’t help but moan a bit, hardening in his practical khakis. Opening his mouth wider, his fangs are set to frame Morrison’s hole as he dives in with his tongue.
“Oh fuck,” Morrison sighs above him. “Keep that up, just like that.” Winston can feel something moving along his chin fur. Pulling back slightly to breathe, he can see Morrison has a hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking it leisurely. He must look a bit too long, because there’s a sharp slap to his ribcage and Morrison going, “Get your mouth back where it belongs.”
Winston loses himself in the experience, lapping and laving at Morrison’s skin, shoving his long tongue as deep inside as he can to clean out what Reyes left behind so it’s just that pure taste of Morrison.
Now that he knows what Commander Jack Morrison tastes like from the inside, Winston doesn’t know how he’s ever going to go back.
Pain shoots along Winston’s jaw as Morrison groans deep above him, clenching down tightly on Winston’s tongue as he orgasms. Winston can’t see anything but the skin above him but he can feel the faint patter of liquid on his lab coat and pants, breath shaky as he pictures the sight.
Morrison sits back onto Winston’s face with a sigh, nudging him with a knee and a murmured keep going when there’s a pause. Winston laps at him gently, occasionally leaning down to run a tongue across the commander’s heavy balls that are slack in post-orgasm relaxation.
Eventually Morrison sighs and straightens up, cracking his back. “Well, at least your mouth is good for something. Now sit still, I promised you a reward.”
Winston can feel him plucking at the button on his pants and squirms a bit - even as he’s throbbingly hard as he’s ever been, he knows what’s coming.
“That’s it, huh.”
If Winston were capable of blushing, he’d do so.
“Ziegler was going on about reproductive differences between species one time and mentioned that the average gorilla cock was two inches in length.” Winston chokes a bit as he feels Morrison’s fingers - just two of them - wrap around his dick. “I didn’t realize she was being literal. Christ, how do you do anything with this?”
Morrison’s hand is slick with his own come and Winston has been on edge for what seems like forever - it doesn’t take much before he’s arching his back and spilling hot over Morrison’s fingers. To his credit Morrison jacks him through it, until Winston is twitching in overstimulation.
Standing, Morrison pulls up his pants, fastening his belt. He kneels down by Winston, wiping his come-covered hand on Winston’s stained pants. “I’ll never fuck you, you know. I don’t like topping and I like body hair even less. And, obviously, you’re never going to fuck me with what you’re packing.”
He doesn’t sound cruel when he says it, just matter of fact. Unfortunately, that makes it hurt more.
Morrison looks down at him, like he would at a dog that just did a particularly clever trick. “I do like that tongue of yours, though. Perhaps we could work something out in the future.” He gives a shrug. “Do well, and you’ll get a little treat,” he says, before giving Winston’s groin a pat.
He gets up and goes over to the main lab computer, types a few things in before the screens all stop flashing their quarantine signs. “I sent a copy of the surveillance over to my office, then deleted it off the mainframe. Just in case I ever need to show off what a slut you are for me.”
Slipping his uniform coat back on, Morrison turns back into the Commander, the man that they make action figures and statues out of. He gives Winston a wink before striding out of the lab, his stride easy with the loose hips of the well-fucked.
Winston just lays there, mouth sore and pants sticky with come. He got everything he wanted, technically, and all it took was being dosed with a truth serum and being humiliated in front of the man he respects most in the world. But hey, it’s - what he wanted, in the end. Right?
It doesn’t stop the tears from leaking from the corners of his great golden eyes, and they soak into his fur and disappear like they were never there at all.
Pages Navigation
crookedfingers on Chapter 1 Mon 11 Oct 2021 04:32AM UTC
Comment Actions
petitecreame on Chapter 1 Sat 16 Oct 2021 05:07PM UTC
Comment Actions
wewillalwaysenduphere on Chapter 1 Wed 27 Sep 2023 05:23PM UTC
Comment Actions
fabrega on Chapter 2 Mon 11 Oct 2021 02:21AM UTC
Comment Actions
passeridae on Chapter 2 Mon 11 Oct 2021 04:18AM UTC
Comment Actions
gotquiet on Chapter 2 Mon 11 Oct 2021 06:04AM UTC
Comment Actions
crookedfingers on Chapter 2 Mon 11 Oct 2021 02:35PM UTC
Comment Actions
McHanzoBurger on Chapter 2 Mon 11 Oct 2021 08:08PM UTC
Last Edited Mon 11 Oct 2021 08:30PM UTC
Comment Actions
Princess_Cookie on Chapter 2 Fri 22 Oct 2021 10:40PM UTC
Comment Actions
crookedfingers on Chapter 3 Tue 12 Oct 2021 12:29AM UTC
Comment Actions
EdgeLady on Chapter 3 Tue 12 Oct 2021 03:00AM UTC
Comment Actions
Schlumbergera on Chapter 3 Tue 12 Oct 2021 09:51AM UTC
Comment Actions
Princess_Cookie on Chapter 3 Fri 15 Oct 2021 04:37AM UTC
Comment Actions
petitecreame on Chapter 4 Sun 17 Oct 2021 06:05AM UTC
Comment Actions
passeridae on Chapter 5 Tue 19 Oct 2021 01:34AM UTC
Comment Actions
deathtouch on Chapter 5 Tue 19 Oct 2021 02:42AM UTC
Comment Actions
kurama3173 on Chapter 5 Tue 19 Oct 2021 02:58AM UTC
Comment Actions
slurmp_official on Chapter 6 Thu 28 Oct 2021 03:12AM UTC
Comment Actions
Crook, but stealing its wife’s phone (Guest) on Chapter 6 Thu 28 Oct 2021 05:01AM UTC
Comment Actions
petitecreame on Chapter 6 Thu 28 Oct 2021 08:56PM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation