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Before Overwatch had disbanded, even before Reinhardt had retired, McCree had thought about it. He hadn’t wanted to, had distracted himself with excuses of “he’s too old, even for you,” and “the man couldn’t be straighter if he was an iron rod,” but it had been hard to ignore. Everything about Reinhardt was hard to ignore.
So, now that they were back together and fighting on the same team, McCree had thought that he’d be able to continue on as he had. He’d been planning to pretend with all his might that the old knight wasn’t exactly his type, that the thick muscles didn’t send shivers down his spine. He wasn’t sure how the plan had devolved into his face mashed into Reinhardt’s sternum.
It might have had something to do with a few drinks. It might have had something to do with a lot of drinks, specifically vodka Zarya had given him as thanks for covering her on a mission. It might have had to do with Reinhardt’s laugh, loud and warm and so close to McCree, and the fact that everyone else had already left to sleep in their own rooms so they were all alone.
“You okay?” Reinhardt said, accent thicker with inebriation. “Your cheeks are red as fire, my friend.”
Between Reinhardt’s love of knights and McCree’s love of all things western, he couldn’t help but think that they made quite the anachronistic pair. He laughed, ruefully, and shook his head into the solid muscle of Reinhardt’s torso. “ ‘M fine. Jus’ need to sit down a bit, maybe.”
But he made no move to sit, and eventually Reinhardt’s arm came up, wrapped around McCree’s shoulder in an affectionate move that made his eyes widen. “Don’t need to hold me up, partner. ‘M not that unsteady,” he said, though it wasn’t at all what he wanted to say.
“I know,” Reinhardt replied, his voice rumbling through his chest and making goosebumps raise along McCree’s arms. Damn, he had it bad. “But I want to. You feel so small, like a little puppy against me.”
That was the vodka talking, McCree knew it was, but he couldn’t stop himself from tensing all along his frame at the comment. A puppy? People had compared him to a wild stallion, even an attack dog before, but a puppy? Of course, Reinhardt misinterpreted his movement, and dropped his arm quickly.
“I’m sorry,” he said, good eye maudlin. “I didn’t mean to presume. I had thought, with the way you look at me-- but of course, a gentleman must always ask first.”
Still reeling, McCree couldn’t find a way to respond before Reinhardt took his hand, bringing it up between their chests. Not even an inch of McCree’s skin was visible under his strong grasp, and it made him swallow hard. “McCree, if you wouldn’t be opposed, could I--”
Suddenly certain that he needed to shut Reinhardt up before he could say anything that would make McCree flush brighter red, he surged upwards, kissing him hard enough that their noses mashed together. It wasn’t graceful, and there was a moment before Reinhardt moved where McCree’s heart felt like it had stopped, but then two broad hands gripped his hips and Reinhardt picked him up.
Even though they hadn’t been kissing long, McCree found himself panting when they broke apart, his legs now wrapped around Reinhardt’s waist in a desperate grip. “Suppose that answers my question,” said Reinhardt, his blunt nails digging into McCree’s ass and making him gasp.
Their lips crushed together in a kiss yet again, chaste for no more than a moment before they were opening their mouths. McCree’s teeth found Reinhard’s bottom lip and bit hard enough to taste copper, bright and hot enough to make him moan. And then Reinhardt’s tongue was pressing in, huge like the rest of him, in proportion but strong and dominating so that when it thrust in and out McCree couldn’t even find it within himself to want to pretend like Reinhardt wasn’t tonguefucking him.
With an ease that made McCree painfully aware of how hard he was inside his stiff pants, Reinhardt walked them to the bed. He was suddenly fiercely thankful that they’d chosen to drink in Reinhardt’s room; McCree’s bed would’ve never fit the two of them. As it was, Reinhardt sat at the edge of the mattress, situating McCree in his lap.
“Do you, ah, have any lube, darlin’?” McCree asked, when Reinhardt at last broke the kiss. The white beard scratched against McCree’s throat and collarbone as chapped lips sucked bruises into his neck.
The question made Reinhardt pause, then pull away to look at McCree seriously with his mismatched gaze. “I am not a small man,” he said, intending for it to be a warning, but it was so redundant that McCree couldn’t help the laughter that burst out of his mouth. Pouting, Reinhardt insisted, “I don’t wish to hurt you, and see nothing wrong with intercrural--”
Once again, McCree cut him off, though this time the kiss was short and sweet. “Darlin’, I think I know what I can handle. Now if’n you don’t mind, will you tell me where you keep your damn lube?” His accent was thick with lust, and he delighted in the way he could see spots of color appear on Reinhardt’s cheeks as he spoke.
“Top drawer,” said Reinhardt, hiding his blushing face in Jesse’s neck like he was some high school girl, and not a behemoth of a veteran. Jesse leaned back and grabbed for the bedside dresser, laughing breathlessly when he almost unbalanced and Reinhardt caught him. Damn, but it was nice to be treated like he was so light, nice to be carried and held like that.
Jesse retrieved the tube of lube, dropped it on the bed carelessly when Reinhardt began pulling at his clothes, making quick work of an outfit that Jesse put a lot of time into putting on each day. Reinhardt’s clothes were comparatively simple to remove, a t-shirt which slid off easily despite the tight fit and sweatpants which Jesse had to clamor off of Reinhardt’s lap to allow him to remove. He watched, fascinated, as the fabric slid down to reveal scarred skin.
When Reinhardt was done he picked up the discarded lube, moved to hand it to McCree before he realized the smaller man was shaking his head. Reinhardt opened his mouth to protest, but McCree beat him to it. “You do it,” he said, normally deep voice higher with excitement. “If I can’t handle your fingers I’m not gunna be able to handle your cock, partner.”
McCree watched as his words made Reinhardt’s cock twitch with a dry mouth. It was huge, and it was still not even close to fully hard. Truth be told, he needed Reinhardt’s thicker fingers; his own were far too thin to properly prepare him.
Luckily, when he captured Reinhardt’s lips in another searing kiss and straddled his lap again, he effectively assuaged whatever doubts still lingered in Reinhardt’s mind. One palm stroked down his flank, deceptively gentle despite its size, while Jesse helped squeeze lube over the fingers of the other. Rubbing his fingers together slightly to distribute the lube better, Reinhardt slid his hand down, pressing against Jesse’s entrance lightly enough that he shivered.
Rough fingertips rubbed between his cheeks, smearing the cold lube. A high-pitched noise rose in McCree’s throat, until he bit down on the meat of Reinhardt’s shoulder to silence it, making him grunt at the pain. McCree wasn’t gentle, but then, he didn’t want Reinhardt to be gentle either.
One fingertip pushed in, and McCree found himself clinging to Reinhard’s solid shoulders, his faint trembling only discernable in contrast to Reinhardt’s stability. “Hush, liebling,” Reinhardt muttered against the side of McCree’s head. McCree wanted to ask him what that word meant, but a thick finger thrusting in to the knuckle knocked the breath out of him in a long moan.
It was already so much. It’d been too long since McCree had had anything larger than his own fingers in there, and he was having trouble adjusting to the intrusion. But it also felt good, rocking back and forth inside him with that steady pace, and McCree found himself desperate to make sure it didn’t stop.
When the first finger retreated, McCree tried to brace himself for two, but there was no way he could manage it in time. Reinhardt must have been at least as eager as McCree was, to go so fast. The burn left McCree writhing, trying to focus on the slide of his cock where it was sandwiched between their bodies. Reinhardt’s abs were unforgiving, rock-solid, but when McCree looked down to see their cocks brushing he felt the blood leave his head in a rush.
Digits scissoring inside McCree, stretching him out, left him making small, helpless noises. “K-kiss me,” he said, struggling to make himself understood. “Reinhardt, please.”
Instead of locking their lips together, however, Reinhardt began laying wet kisses down McCree’s chest. His spine had to hunch to do it, and McCree tugged on white locks of hair to pull him up. He wanted the full body contact, as good as the marks being sucked into his pecs were. But then a soft tongue laved across his nipple, and he was groaning, trapped between the growing pleasure of Reinhardt’s fingers and his mouth.
Things dragged to a standstill, however, when Reinhardt slid his third finger in. McCree’s hips stopped rolling, and he found himself staring, mouth open and eyes glazed, at the fierce expression on Reinhardt’s face. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, especially with his head as fuzzy as it was with lust.
Suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of Reinhardt holding him, owning him, McCree ducked his head. Now it was his turn to lave at Reinhardt’s chest, making liberal use of his teeth. Muscles shifted under his tongue each time he bit down, made his heart pound harder. He loved the sheer size of Reinhardt, the controlled strength he felt singing through his frame every time Reinhardt’s fingers slid in another eighth of an inch.
Despite the decreased speed of preparation, McCree could feel that it wouldn’t be enough. He’d be hurting tomorrow, would likely visit Angela with a sheepish smile and hope that she didn’t ask questions. If only because of that, he felt the need to keep biting, to leave Reinhardt as thoroughly claimed as McCree felt. He was so focused on his task that he gasped in shock when Reinhardt pulled his fingers off and turned, tossed McCree on his back onto a firm mattress.
Large frame looming over McCree, Reinhardt met his glazed eyes with that deadly seriousness that kept him dangerous on the battlefield, even after all these years. “You ready, liebling?” It wasn’t really a question, McCree felt like there was no other choice than to spread his legs and wrap them around Reinhard’s hips, but he nodded anyway. It didn’t matter if he was ready, he wanted.
Even before Reinhardt pushed into him, McCree had his hands fisted in the bed sheets, his arms tense as he forces his entrance to relax. It was a strange sensation, but it made it all the better when Reinhardt pushed in and rumbled something very like a growl. It vibrated through McCree’s chest, made the pressure between his legs so much sweeter.
And then he was being filled, and McCree found he could barely think. He struggled, gripped the ends of unsaid words like he gripped the bed, but he could feel the stretch in his stomach. And it was still coming, Reinhardt’s strong thighs propelling him inwards inexorably, his forearms down on either side of McCree’s head, framing him, trapping him.
Jesse became aware of things other than the way he felt split upon Reinhardt’s cock gradually. His mouth was open, tongue lolling and drool dripping down his cheek. There was a low, deep moan in the air. It was coming from his own throat.
Bottoming out, his coarse pubic hair brushing under McCree’s balls, Reinhardt breathed out slowly. It occurred to Jesse that the large German was probably used to having to be so controlled; he couldn’t imagine not being able to let go of the worry of hurting a partner. But Jesse was tough, perhaps tougher than Reinhardt realized, and he dug the heels of his feet into the small of Reinhardt’s back. When Reinhardt looked at him, surprised, Jesse stared back defiantly (he didn’t trust himself to speak).
Reinhardt began thrusting shallowly, barely moving a half inch out of McCree before he fully sheathed himself again. It hurt, despite the seeming gentleness. The burn was deep, the ache unrelenting, even when pleasure trailed nails up his spine and raised goosebumps on his skin. It hurt, but it hurt so good.
Forcing his stiff fingers to release the sheet, Jesse reached up and clung to Reinhardt’s back. He couldn’t wrap his arms all the way around his shoulders, but it was just one more reminder of the difference in their sizes, something that fed the fire in Jesse’s belly. He raked his nails down Reinhard’s sides, wanting to set his skin alight the way it felt like he was burning from the inside.
Gradually, Reinhardt rocked in larger and larger motions. It built up that blaze in Jesse, not the way it usually felt when Jesse was nearing orgasm; it was so steady as to almost sneak up on him, a little more bright, a little more overwhelming with each movement. He wondered, dazed, if it would ever plateau, or if he’d be full of Reinhardt forever.
Then Reinhardt was shifting, one of his arms sliding between them. His hand trailed over McCree’s torso, comforting pressure and affection, and his voice rumbled in the meager space between their mouths. It took McCree a solid minute to figure out what he’d said, but when he did, he whimpered. “So tight, mein liebling.”
On impulse McCree looked down at the place where Reinhardt was petting him, and then he couldn’t look away. He knew he was gaping, swallowing convulsively. He could see Reinhardt moving inside him, an indistinct bump in his torso, stretching through the layers of muscle and fat. He vaguely thought it should disturb him, but instead it made his cock pulse.
Abruptly, he was coming, pleasure blacking out his vision and making every inch of him shake. He could feel it tingling in his scalp, his toes curled, he keened. Cum slicked between them, hot and sticky and messy, striping over Reinhardt’s hand where it still pressed to McCree’s stomach.
Cold air rushed between them as Reinhardt straightened, and McCree had a moment to feel confused before two hands came down to grip his hips. Jesse was relaxing in the afterglow, his muscles malleable even as he felt himself become oversensitized. And then Reinhardt began thrusting in earnest, and once again Jesse found he couldn’t even think.
There was no chance of Jesse getting hard again so fast, but he found he didn’t want to. It was already too much, Reinhardt moving back and forth so fast that Jesse’s mind couldn’t catch up in its sluggish state. He was making high, sharp sounds, loud ah, ah, ah’s that left him glad the walls here were thick. Dumbly, he thought, I’m gonna be sore in the morning.
As Reinhardt got close to coming his rhythm stuttered, and then he was pulling out hurriedly, his right hand releasing McCree’s hip to grip himself. He jerked himself off quickly, moving far faster than he had even at the end, and then the cum was splattering over Jesse’s torso. There was a lot, and Jesse found himself thinking of how it might feel inside him, so thick and hot that it felt like it was searing him.
The bed bounced, and Jesse opened his eyes-- when had he closed them?-- to see Reinhardt lying beside him, smiling face turned towards Jesse’s. “Hey,” Jesse said, surprised at how hoarse his voice was. “Not gonna clean me up, are you?”
Something mischievous shone in Reinhardt’s eyes. “Mmm, I’ll do it in a bit,” he said, lazily raising one hand to drag a fingertip through the mess cooling on Jesse’s abs. “I like you like this, though.”
“I do too,” Jesse replied, too tired to be ashamed. He really, really did like it. Blinking slowly, Jesse could feel sleep beckoning, but he didn’t want to sink into it just yet. There was a nagging worry in the pit of his stomach, growing there as if to fill the space Reinhardt had left, except that it felt anything but nice.
“Was this…” he started to say, and then found he couldn’t finish. Luckily Reinhardt met his gaze like he understood what Jesse was trying to say.
“I would very much like to do this again, liebling,” Reinhardt smiled, and there was heat in it, the kind that made Jesse shiver. “If you would as well, of course.”
“Of course,” Jesse repeated, and then swallowed and said it again. “Of course I would. Fuck, Reinhardt,” and then they were kissing again, soft and mellow and honey on his tongue. Reinhardt tasted like ketchup, and metal underneath that. It nearly made McCree laugh.