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Hanzo woke one morning with something in his mouth.
At first he was frustrated, having thought that he had grown out of such foalish behavior. Perhaps it had simply been that he was just that exhausted that his body had fallen back on bad habits.
Then he was confused. He felt someone’s hands in his hair and mane, their body pressed against his upper torso. They were tugging on his hair, accidentally tugged on his ear, and Hanzo pulled back, letting whatever was in his mouth fall out with a wet sound.
He blinked, bringing his eyes in focus, and his ears twitched back in surprise. It was, of all things, a penis. A hard penis, the tip flushed and nearly purple.
For a brief moment Hanzo was confused, still not quite awake enough to process the presence of another person in his bed, much less who it was. The tugging on his hair and mane was insistent though, and he tilted his head back to look up into McCree’s wide eyes.
McCree . His breath hitched in surprise.
He vaguely remembered McCree taking care of him after his procedure with Angela. That the lycanthrope had escorted him back to his room to sleep off the drugs that Angela had given him. He remembers insisting that McCree stay over, remembers wrapping arms and forelegs around McCree and tugging him close before passing out.
His face flushed in mortification. He hadn’t acted so foolishly since he was a foal. Not only soliciting his maybe-boyfriend-slash-fuck buddy to curl up to sleep with him but then fellating him while he slept.
Hanzo is fully ready to apologize when he notices the way that McCree is looking at him. His eyes are wide, his face flushed. McCree’s lips are wet and swollen, as if he had been biting them; his hands were shaking as he gently carded his fingers through Hanzo’s hair, his fingertips pressing wonderfully against his scalp.
He wanted to tell himself that it’s the lingering drugs in his system but he knows better. “Good morning, McCree,” he said before his brain could catch up. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
McCree’s face turned redder and he bit his lip against a response; his cock, still within easy reach of Hanzo’s lips twitched, a fat bead of precome welling up and falling during McCree’s indecision. The answer in his face was a fervent yes that punched the air from Hanzo’s lungs.
He still wanted to hear McCree say it, needed it more than he had anticipated. Hanzo licked his lips and met McCree’s eyes again. “Did you?” he pressed, voice rough.
McCree swallowed, his throat bobbing. He nodded once, jerkily, but hurried to add, “You don’t—”
That was enough for Hanzo. He moved forward, tongue chasing the shiny trail of precome before his lips closed around the tip of McCree’s cock.
McCree’s voice hitched, going high and breathy. Hanzo resolved to hear those sounds more often, had a sudden craving that should be more alarming. It was early enough that he could almost pretend that it was the fact that he was still partially asleep (though he wasn’t). Perhaps it was a better excuse than his halfhearted thought that the sedatives were still in his system.
His hands found McCree’s hips and yanked him closer, grunting when the tip of McCree’s cock nudged roughly into the back of his throat. He swallowed, worked his lips and tongue as well as he is able to over McCree’s shaft.
From McCree’s breathy sounds and choked-off groans, he liked it. Now he was no longer trying to tug Hanzo away; now his hands pressed wonderfully against Hanzo’s scalp, ran through his hair to move it out of the way. No doubt McCree wanted to watch him, wanted to stare at his lips as it stretched around his wonderfully thick cock.
Hanzo wondered what he looked like, his eyes half-closed as he concentrated, his ears twitching as McCree’s shaky hands tickled them.
“Hanzo,” McCree breathed, his voice higher than Hanzo had every heard it. When McCree tugged his hair, he realized that McCree was trying to warn him. “Hanzo—oh fu-u-uck .”
Hanzo groaned when McCree came with his hands buried in Hanzo’s hair and mane and his body arched over Hanzo’s head. He swallowed quickly, hoping to not make a huge mess of his bedsheets.
In hindsight it was a silly idea. Between his hind legs he could feel himself hard, already completely poked out of his sheath and leaking eagerly over the blankets.
He found himself wondering deliriously if McCree would be so kind as to return the favor. Someone else’s hands on him was vastly superior to rubbing himself off on the bed like some kind of beast.
Oh, spirits , what if he could convince McCree to mount him? He would probably chalk it up later to...hell, he didn’t know, his dry spell? The fact that there were so few partners that were willing to be with a centaur? That he wanted this so badly.
Was he so depraved that the thought of McCree crouched over his hindquarters, nudging Hanzo’s tail aside so that he could fuck him—fuck him and knot him —rocketed him to the edge? Made him close to coming undone without being touched, without bucking his hips wantonly into the sheets?
He’d never had anyone mount him like that before, had expected in a past life to have to mount a pretty centaur mare and raise their foals together. But now he could have what he wanted and the thought of McCree doing such things to him made him lightheaded with desire.
McCree’s softening cock slipped out from between his lips as he gasped.
Peeking up at McCree, he found the gunslinger looking dazed, his mouth half opened and his eyes glazed over as if overwhelmed. Hanzo licked his lips, pleased despite his dizzying arousal, his sudden need to feel McCree resting his weight on his hindquarters, to hear him grunting and huffing as he fucked him.
Spirits , his knot .
McCree’s hands were shaking as they began moving through Hanzo’s hair again. Despite himself Hanzo whickered, pleased—pleased in many ways. That he seemed to have so broken McCree, at the soft attention, the way McCree’s fingers, though shaky, pressed wonderfully into his skull.
He struggled for words, for a way to describe what he wanted—for a way to ask for what he wanted. The last thing he wanted to do was make McCree feel the need to say ‘no’, that his stamina wasn’t what Hanzo hoped for—that he couldn’t fulfill Hanzo’s request.
Surely that would hurt his pride to admit.
Surely that would end all further liaisons with each other, would ruin their hard-won friendship.
“Han,” McCree breathed, licking his lips. One of his hands traced Hanzo’s brow, swept across his cheekbone, cupped Hanzo’s cheek for a breath before it moved again. Moved down to trace Hanzo’s throat, to press gently at his chest. “Han...let me?”
Let him what?
McCree moved, shuffled lower—pushed again at Hanzo’s upper chest. Oh .
He should have been embarrassed at how eagerly he rolled over for McCree. It was a difficult position to be in, a very vulnerable position, especially in the presence of a lycanthrope.
But McCree would hardly lose control and attack—perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but Hanzo thought that he had other pursuits in mind.
McCree caught his legs as they wiggled to keep him balanced, not used to being stretched out on his back. He braced himself against Hanzo’s barrel—in turn bracing him as the bed moved beneath McCree’s weight—as he shuffled down to settle over Hanzo’s tail and splayed hind legs.
“ Fuck ,” McCree breathed. It was a good thing that he had positioned himself that way given how Hanzo’s hooves jumped, jerked, when McCree rested a bold hand on the base of Hanzo’s cock where it disappeared into his sheath.
To be fair, McCree had touched his dick before, had touched his sheath. But those were clinical touches that had not been intended to draw arousal.
These touches were far from clinical and Hanzo groaned deep in both of his chests when McCree suddenly fell forward, his knees butting up against Hanzo’s hindquarters as he bent to kiss the soft skin of Hanzo’s cock.
Hanzo made an embarrassing noise, almost a high equine squeal, at the feeling of McCree’s lips, his beard, against his dick. At the feeling of one of McCree’s hands wrapping around the shaft as much as he was able to.
Nobody had touched him quite like this before, or perhaps it simply felt different because it was McCree. Because Hanzo still had the taste of his come in his mouth and the reminder of that glorious weight on his tongue.
He jumped again, tried not to kick when McCree brought his other hand up to stroke Hanzo’s cock as well. His lips found the flared tip, his tongue dipping into the slit; both hands stroked, one high near where McCree’s mouth was and one low near Hanzo’s sheath. Hanzo groaned, feeling his testicles twitch as he raced toward the edge.
So few of his sexual partners had done this before—and none had gotten him on his back like this. No one had slobbered all over his cock, mouthing at the slit.
No one had tried so hard to cram the tip into their mouth; no one had groaned so eagerly while he did so.
I’m close , Hanzo wanted to warn but he had lost all gasp of language. He reached down but couldn’t quite reach McCree, couldn’t stop him from wiggling a few fingers into Hanzo’s sheath beside his cock. He whinnied, cried out and grasped ineffectively at the sheets at the feeling of being touched so deeply.
“Come on,” McCree groaned, his voice rough. “Come on,” he said again, wiggling another finger into Hanzo’s sheath. He squeezed tighter with his other hand, pressed his thumb against the slit of Hanzo’s cock. “Come for me.”
With a loud noise Hanzo did, all of his legs jerking as if electrocuted. His backs arched, his fingers digging into the sheets as he came messily all over himself, as McCree stroked and stroked and stroked him through it. As he fucked his fingers roughly into Hanzo’s sheath.
“There we go,” McCree whispered as Hanzo came back to himself. He still worked Hanzo through it. “Oh fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful like this.” Very slowly he removed his fingers from Hanzo’s sheath, much to his disappointment, which he voiced with a low groan.
Those same fingers traced down, tickled over his balls toward Hanzo’s tail. They pressed at the furl of his ass, teased at the tension he found there.
“What do you say?” McCree asked, his fingers moving in distracting circles. His voice was raspy, nearly an octave deeper than Hanzo was used to and he peeked down, finding McCree’s face pushed out into a snout that was just human enough to speak. His shoulders were broader and there was a growing coat of hair, not quite fur just yet, growing along his neck and shoulders, merging with his chest hair.
McCree licked his lips. “What’d’ya say?” he asked, his eyes golden and hungry as they traced the sticky paths of come over Hanzo’s dark coat and over his sweat-slick skin. “You got another in ya?”
Hanzo’s eyes dropped lower, unbidden, staring with raw want at McCree’s cock. It had grown hard again, was flushed and pink and shaped differently now—shaped in accordance to the wolf that was peeking through his eyes.
His eyes lingered at the hint of a bulge at the base and he licked his lips. McCree’s fingers pressed harder, more insistently at his hole, the very tip of one of them peeking inward before drawing away teasingly.
Hanzo let his head fall back, trying to push himself back on those teasing fingers. “Yes,” he breathed before he could even think of stopping himself, of salvaging his pride. “ More .”