Fandom: Overwatch
Pairing: McCree/B.O.B.
Warnings: group sex, sloppy seconds, creampie, size difference
Notes: For bendoverwatchweek on PF!Â
Size difference | Stockings | Handjobs | Public Sex | Frottage
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Itâs always been one of the stranger Deadlock past times, but once McCree gets a taste for it, he canât much turn it down. Especially not when a favorite of his is front and center. Moraleâs high after a big heist, and straws get drawn and belts come unbuckled.
McCreeâs reclined in his favorite chair, a beer in hand and pants unbuttoned. He palms himself in lazy, easy gropes, not keen on workinâ himself up too quickly when he still has time to kill.
B.O.B.âs on his back on the largest table they got, offered up for the gang in that quiet way of his, old habits from his time of seen but not heard. Not that McCree minds; when B.O.B. does make a sound, a startled grunt, a breathless burst of static, it feels like a prize. One of the triplets drags his cock along the ridges of B.O.B.âs mustache while Bars works between his thighs. Itâs always interestinâ to see which the sniper picked. His tastes changed on a dime, but his pushiness didnât. He rudely pumps into the larger omnic, maybe hoping for a sound or two to stroke his ego as much as B.O.B.âs insides stroke his cock.
Omnics are interesting, âspecially the upgrades they choose to get. Hidden beneath B.O.B.âs chaps and metal panel is a small, innocuous spot, but press it a little, give his cock a stroke or two, and it slicks up nice and pretty. The same spot Barsâs currently giving all heâs got to, rutting hard enough to jostle, wet, eager sounds meshing with his hissing, broken synth. Must be pent up since he curls over B.O.B.âs huge stomach moments later, shuddering and groaning. He finishes with a few hard shoves for good measure, mean, gangly thing, before slapping B.O.B.âs thigh and pulling out.
McCree chugs the rest of his beer before standing, eyes never leaving that messy, twitching hole he can only see by how shiny and ruined it is. By the time heâs tugged his dick out, the one tripletâs gone too. Good thing, McCree doesnât much like lookinâ at him, but the string of cum he left along B.O.B.âs faceplate has an certain allure.
âB.O.B., ya ready?â he drawls, hefting his cock by its base, tapping it against that messy spot heâs aiming to sink into within the minute.
B.O.B.âs lights flicker, eyes focusing and unfocusing. McCree draws a finger down the omnicâs cock, segmented and throbbing beneath his touch.
âTheyâve been mean to ya. But I wonât let ya go unsatisfied.â
He grasps B.O.B.âs cock, a thick sonavabitch that he canât get his whole fist around, rolls his thumb beneath its fat tip, smearing the lime green slick that matches his lights. The omnic shudders, cock twitching in his warm, calloused grip.
âOoh, needy thing. Donât worry.â
McCree angles his own cock down and presses inside, cum and slick dribbling out as he goes, the squelch of it burning his ears and guts, and all McCree can do is grin like a maniac and keep going. Itâs a rush when a massive thing like B.O.B. submits so prettily, the thighs framing McCree larger ân life and quaking with the slow, even push.
He takes his time, and why not? Itâs his turn, he wants to enjoy this, and more than that he wants B.O.B. to enjoy it, the clicked tongues and huffed sighs from the onlookers tickling the back of McCreeâs neck and warming his stomach. Deep, rhythmic, slow, the sweet call of orgasm a speck on the horizon that he ambles towards, watching the flickering of B.O.B.âs lights, how still and cute and quiet he goes, a nearly inaudible squeak as McCree swivels his thumb beneath the omnicâs glans just once, never stopping the smooth roll of his hips. B.O.B. trembles, such a sight; McCree bites his lower lip, moans through the flutter of B.O.Bâs body around him as the omnic overloads in a gush across his segmented, round stomach.
âThere we goâŚâ McCree groans, hips stumbling. âHope you donât mind if Iââ
B.O.B.âs calves cross behind McCreeâs back, urging him closer, deeper, the rippling clench of him stealing his breath. McCreeâs single laugh dips into a moan as his hands find B.O.B.âs waist, as he rolls his hips just a bit harder, eyes dark beneath a sweaty, drawn brow.
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Jesse reads over the note, looking over it twice. Should he feel jealous of whoever this is? He does but only for a moment. Before Bob takes his hand. He looks to his hand in the omnicâs. The realization hits him.
âOh.â He leans back to look up at him. âMe? Ya sure? I ainât the best fer committinâ ta somethinâ. More oâ a one night stand typa fella.â He doesnât want Bob to be disappointed.
Title: by chance we find a question answered sweetly (1/1)
Relationships: Jesse/BOB.
Notes: M. Spit kink, developing relationship, size difference. I wrote this very indulgent BOB/Jesse scene for my fic hot oil spit, and I decided to take it out of context (with some editing) for people who just want to read mcbob.
Summary: Jesse remembers what it feels like to be small and vulnerable and delicate with BOB sitting on the edge of his bed.
â read here on ao3
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