#bobcree

B.O.B.’s 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.’s mustache while Bars works between his thighs. It’s always interestin’ to see which the sniper picked. His tastes changed on a dime, but his pushiness didn’t. He rudely pumps into the larger omnic, maybe hoping for a sound or two to stroke his ego as much as B.O.B.’s insides stroke his cock.

Omnics are interesting, ‘specially the upgrades they choose to get. Hidden beneath B.O.B.’s 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 Bars’s currently giving all he’s 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.’s 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.’s 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 he’s tugged his dick out, the one triplet’s gone too. Good thing, McCree doesn’t much like lookin’ at him, but the string of cum he left along B.O.B.’s faceplate has an certain allure.

“B.O.B., ya ready?” he drawls, hefting his cock by its base, tapping it against that messy spot he’s aiming to sink into within the minute.

B.O.B.’s lights flicker, eyes focusing and unfocusing. McCree draws a finger down the omnic’s cock, segmented and throbbing beneath his touch.

“They’ve been mean to ya. But I won’t let ya go unsatisfied.”

He grasps B.O.B.’s cock, a thick sonavabitch that he can’t 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.

“Ooh, needy thing. Don’t worry.”

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. It’s a rush when a massive thing like B.O.B. submits so prettily, the thighs framing McCree larger ‘n life and quaking with the slow, even push.

He takes his time, and why not? It’s 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 McCree’s 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.’s lights, how still and cute and quiet he goes, a nearly inaudible squeak as McCree swivels his thumb beneath the omnic’s 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.B’s body around him as the omnic overloads in a gush across his segmented, round stomach.

“There we go…” McCree groans, hips stumbling. “Hope you don’t mind if I—”