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Soldier: 76 has a strict policy on relationships with co-workers. The policy can be summarized with words like, “don’t,” and “never.” This may have something to do with past personal experiences.
It’s true that the “heroes” of Overwatch - the new Overwatch, and it still feels sort of wrong to call it Overwatch at all, after what happened… last time - only very loosely fall into the category of co-workers.
But the core of the problem is respect. If Soldier: 76 wants his peers to respect him - and he really, really does; you don’t want to be in a firefight with your life on the line surrounded by people who don’t respect you - then he can’t have them all knowing about him.
The problem isn’t about the whole gay thing. God knows, homophobia in the military has come a long way over the last sixty years, and he’s pretty sure more than half of the Overwatch heroes are some kind of gay.
The problem is that over thirty years of peace he’s gotten used to getting off in a particular way. A way that involves a lot of begging and whining and being pushed into the mattress and being called a little slut.
And he likes getting off that way, and now it’s hard to get off any other way.
He doesn’t think having one of his co-workers call him a little slut and push him into a mattress would be particularly good for the professional environment.
It comes down to compartmentalization: Soldier: 76 demands respect, and while he’s on an Overwatch base, Jack is Soldier: 76. When he’s not on an Overwatch base, Soldier: 76 is free to just be Jack. And Jack loves getting fucked.
He’s been busy lately. He hasn’t had time to leave Overwatch base. All he’s had time for is his right hand, which is unsatisfying, but it’s not like he’s some kind of sex addict. He can survive a few weeks.
And he’s doing alright fucking his own fist, up until one night he can’t quite make it to climax, so he decides maybe he’ll give himself a little something extra. He locks himself up in a bathroom with a bottle of lube he’s been keeping among his personal belongings, carefully hidden.
He gets two fingers in himself, but he can’t get the right angle. After almost fifteen minutes of acute frustration, he does something stupid.
He puts on civilian clothes and leaves Overwatch base. He’s not sure if he’s deserting, technically. Winston has been pretty lax with the rules. It’s not really the military operation it used to be. He definitely should have told someone he was leaving, though.
He pretends not to care. He’s memorized the directions to the nearest gay bar. He doesn’t allow himself to second-guess this choice.
He enters the upstanding establishment with one purpose in mind. Out of courtesy he goes to the bar and orders something alcoholic that he has no intention of drinking. He tips the bartender well. Then he casts a glance at the various patrons scattered around the bar.
To his displeasure, most of them are in pairs, or even larger groups. None of them make eye contact with him. His frustration is mounting. Sitting on an uncomfortable bar stool is much worse when your ass is still kind of wet from lube.
The door sweeps open and a man wearing a dark hood walks in. He looks directly at Jack. Jack can’t make out his features with his face all cast in shadows like that - was it raining outside? Jack hadn’t even noticed. Still: the other man is big, and that’s what Jack likes.
So Jack smiles at him, a sly little thing that anyone who frequents this kind of bar will recognize. The man pauses for a second, and then he alters his course. Straight for the men’s restroom. Jack grins. He buys another drink as a preemptive apology for what he’s about to do. Then he follows the mystery man into the restroom.
He takes two steps into the restroom before an arm grabs him and pushes him face-first into the door. It’s careful, not too forceful, which is good, because otherwise Jack’s fighting instincts might have kicked in, and this stranger would be nursing a broken arm.
He feels the warmth of a large body crowding against him from behind, and he struggles to control how turned-on it makes him. A voice begins to speak in his ear, low and growling. Jack can’t believe he got this lucky.
“You want me to fuck you?” The man asks him.
“Yeah,” Jack says. His voice is all breathy and they haven’t even gotten started yet. “Use a condom. There’s one in my pocket, and lube.”
The man nods and begins to slide his hand down Jack’s thigh. He teases him the whole way. “You like it rough?” he asks, and Jack wonders how it’s so obvious, how this man could tell just by looking at him, but he nods. “You gotta say yes or no,” he insists. “What’s your safe word?”
Jack practically groans in pleasure. It’s so nice - and so rare - to meet someone in a place like this who knows what he’s doing. “Yes,” he clarifies, “I like it rough. Safeword is…” The first one that comes to mind is an old one he used to use a long time ago, with someone else. He chooses a different one. “Winston.”
There’s a momentary pause. Then the stranger huffs a little laugh, lifts the condom and lube out of Jack’s pocket, and slides his other hand to the front of Jack’s jeans to trace the shape of his dick.
Jack sighs and lets his head fall back against the stranger’s shoulder. It’s a relief to have someone else touch him. It’s a relief to know he’s finally going to get what he wants.
The hand that starts unbuttoning his pants is big and dexterous. The stranger makes a surprised but not unhappy noise in Jack’s ear when the hand discovers Jack isn’t wearing any underwear.
It takes no time at all for Jack to get hard again. His skin is buzzing with anticipation. The stranger touches Jack’s dick with thoughtful, exploring fingers, rubbing gently at the glans, tracing the veins. It’s weirdly intimate. Jack presses his hips back impatiently.
The stranger gives a startled chuckle and dispenses with the niceties. His grip on Jack’s dick gets firm and tight and he pumps a few times dry. Then his hand disappears and Jack hears the noise of a zipper being undone behind him. Hands start creeping down the waistband at the back of his jeans, feeling his ass and squeezing a little.
Those big hands spread him apart and touch his hole. When they find it already wet, the stranger exhales into Jack’s ear.
“You were really eager, huh?” he asks, his voice heavy with teasing.
“Yeah,” Jack answers helplessly. He’s so desperate he’s almost quivering with anticipation. He’s almost gotten what he wants.
“You want me to stretch you out a little more?” The stranger asks solicitously. His lips drag against Jack’s ear, sending shivers through him.
“How big is your dick?” Jack asks, going for playful, sly; it comes out breathless, hopeful. The stranger presses his hips forward in reply and Jack can feel the shape of him against his back. It feels big. He exhales in excitement.
The stranger dips his fingers into Jack’s ass. He must have lubed them up first because they slide in so easy, and it feels so good - Jack thumps his head forward this time, onto the surface of the door. It feels so good to have someone else fill him up. He knows he’s going to get more, too. He thinks about the way the other man’s dick felt against him and lets out an involuntary noise, something like a grunt. He starts pushing his hips back onto the fingers skirting the edges of his hole.
“You’re so eager,” the man mutters, admiring. Call me a slut, Jack begs internally, but he won’t ask for it out loud.
The man drags the flat of his thumb up against the rim of Jack’s hole while two of his fingers sink in deep. Jack whimpers. The angle he couldn’t get by himself in the bathroom back on base is so easy to achieve here. The other man pushes a third finger in, rougher, and Jack chokes out a noise. The force of it pushes the other two fingers deeper and they skim against Jack’s prostate. He claws at the door.
“Please fuck me,” he gasps out, widening the stance of his legs, trying to get more leverage to push back. The stranger has moved closer, leaning more of his weight against Jack. His breathing is heavier. Jack can feel the heat of his erection through his jeans.
“Okay,” the stranger says simply, and starts pumping his fingers in and out. His pace is fast. Each shove in puts pressure on Jack’s prostate. Noises are punched out of him. His fingers scrabble for purchase against the door.
It feels so good.
“Please,” he gasps out, struggling for breath against the way arousal pulses through him. “Fuck me,” he repeats, but he doesn’t get a response.
He wants me to beg, Jack realizes. His stomach clenches with pleasure. He wonders again how he got so lucky. How he found someone who somehow knows everything he wants.
“Please give me your dick,” he slurs out. He’s pressing his cheek against the cool synthetic wood of the door. “I want you to fuck me with your big dick. I need it.”
The stranger moans in his ear. “Yeah,” he growls. He hooks his fingers, viciously pressing up against Jack’s prostate and making him keen. “You need it.”
Jack nods dumbly. Those fingers against his prostate are making his eyes water. “Please,” he repeats.
The stranger presses his open mouth against the side of Jack’s face in a gesture that’s almost a kiss. The stranger is already panting and he hasn’t even gotten his dick wet yet.
The three fingers are drawn out of Jack’s thoroughly stretched hole. Jack can hear the stranger fumbling with the condom. The restroom is weirdly quiet aside from the sound of their panting. Jack wonders if they’ve been audible to the people in the bar. He wonders if people are angrily waiting outside the door for a chance to use the toilet.
The sound of the bottle of lube being opened clears Jack’s head of thoughts about anything but getting fucked. His insides are clenched and quivering with anticipation. He’s been waiting for so long. It’s going to be so good. The stranger’s dick is so big.
The stranger presses the head of his dick against Jack’s hole and Jack inhales sharply. He already wants to start pressing back. He wants to shove himself onto the cock of this man who’s face he’s never even seen. He wants to get stuffed full and moan and beg and he wants to get fucked so hard it makes him cry and he wants to come and he wants to get fucked even after he’s come, until he can’t walk anymore, he wants this stranger to ruin him --
“Relax,” the stranger growls in his ear, one hand stroking his ass in what is surely meant to be a comforting gesture.
Jack shudders, and then he exhales and relaxes his tense muscles. The stranger goes in almost smoothly, in one push. Jack’s been ready for this for almost an hour. The feeling of it still punches the breath out of him, still leaves him gasping, his fingers twitching convulsively against the door.
He’s just as full as he’d hoped he would be.
For some reason, the stranger seems content to just stand there, feeling Jack tighten and squirm around his dick. Jack lets out a frustrated noise and starts grinding his hips. The stranger groans and bucks.
“God, you’re a little -” he cuts himself out. Jack goes very still.
“Say it,” he demands.
The stranger does not. The two of them are frozen there, connected by a dick shoved deep in Jack’s ass. It’s too much for him to handle.
“Say it!” he begs, practically shouting. He shoves his hips back, arches his back, clenches his teeth. “Call me a little slut!” He doesn’t spare a thought to the level of his voice. He purposely clenches the muscles of his ass. “Fuck me!”
Jack can feel the way the stranger shudders against him. The stranger adjusts himself, replants his feet. He digs one of his hands into Jack’s short hair and pulls his head back, pressing his face against Jack’s neck.
“You’re a little slut,” he hisses, and his tone is cold, almost venomous.
Jack’s dick twitches so hard that for a second he thinks he’s actually going to come.
Then the stranger starts pounding him. Hard. Every movement shoves him up against the door. Jack braces his elbows against it, buries his hand in his arms, and holds on for dear life.
The stranger is using one of his big hands to drag Jack back onto his dick every time he thrusts. The angle is so good. He’s so gloriously full, and deep, and the mouth pressed against his neck is biting, hard but not too hard, the way Jack likes it, everything is exactly what he wanted, what he’s been fantasizing about, but it’s all so much better now.
Now that he can feel the nearly bruising grip on his waist. Now that he can hear the helpless grunting of the man behind him. Now that the girth of his dick pushing into him, pressing up against his prostate, making him feel so good that his knees are going weak.
“More, more, harder,” he starts gasping, though he’s not sure it’s possible to get fucked any harder than this, he’s not sure he could withstand it. He’s already getting close, he hasn’t even touched his own dick, he doesn’t know if he wants to.
“You’re a little slut,” the stranger grunts again, his mouth moving from Jack’s neck to his ear again, and he keeps whispering, “You take my dick so good, you want it so bad, you need.”
Jack’s head rolls back on his shoulders. Every word makes his cock throb. This is what he’s been missing, working for Overwatch. This is what he needs. The stranger is right. He needs this.
“Make me come,” he begs, and then he repeats it over and over. The stranger exhales against his ear, lets go of his hair. His hand circles around Jack’s dick. His hands are so big. Jack’s dick is so sensitive. He makes a wordless keening sound when the stranger starts to pump his fist up and down, in time with his thrusts. It feels so good Jack’s eyes start rolling back in his head, and he keeps up his litany, “make me come, make me come, make me come.”
“Yeah,” the stranger keeps muttering, the movement of his hips still fast and rough. He’s losing his steady pace. He’s going to come, too, Jack realizes, and his dick twitches again.
It’s the thought of the stranger coming inside of him, shoving his dick in so - fucking - deep and coming hard and filling Jack up so full that it starts dripping out the edges and leaving him sloppy and used that sends Jack over the edge.
His hand shoots down from where it was desperately pressed against the door to squeeze the stranger’s hand around the head of his dick just the way he likes when he comes. His whole body convulses with it as he makes a mess of the door, and the stranger is groaning because Jack’s ass is tightening and through the pleasure haze Jack becomes aware that the stranger is coming too, and he thinks, kind of stupidly, isn’t that nice, we’re coming together, and then his head thumps forward against the door and he gives up on thinking about anything.
The restroom is eerily quiet without the sounds of fucking. The stranger pulls out of Jack after what must be two minutes of the two of them panting exhaustedly, leaning against each other. The stranger throws out the condom and zips up his pants. Jack turns away from the door for the first time and tries to get a look at the stranger’s face, but his hood is up again.
Had it ever been down? It must have been - Jack tries to remember, but he can’t. The thought of the stranger’s mouth on his neck makes his insides shiver in pleasure, which isn’t helpful.
Jack tries not to make a big deal of it. He stumbles to the sink. He uses a paper towel to gingerly clean off the head of his dick. He considers trying to clean some of the lube off his ass, but he figures it’s pretty much a lost cause. He pulls up his pants and plans to shower as soon as he gets back to base.
He buttons his fly and looks up to see the stranger slip out the bathroom door without another word.
His first instinct is to chase after him. Ask him for a name.
But it’s obvious he wants to keep this anonymous.
Besides. Jack glances at himself in the mirror. There’s a huge red mark from where he pressed his forehead against the door too hard, and a gigantic hickey on his neck. He has enough problems to deal with without worrying about someone else.