#domdrop

Description:

Rain hadn't wanted it to happen like this. He'd tried so hard to be okay, to be good, to be worthy of P'Phayu the University's God. He had tried, had given it his all, and it just wasn't fair He had known all along that he was on borrowed time. He should've kept being good, kept being oblivious little Rain, because now it was all falling apart. He hadnt meant to say it, but it was so much, too much, and P'Phayu had told him to always be honest with him about this, so he'd thought it would be okay? Except it wasn't okay in the end. Nothing was okay anymore, because Rain had told the truth, had said his safeword for the first time, and now Phayu knew he wasn't good enough. Now P'Phayu had left.

Or Phayu fucks up, Pai fixes it, Rain breaks down, and Sky is not happy.

subdrop en dom drop following the Kinky Talks Live *Discussion* on day one of Amsterdam Pride Week: second idea a fun evening. Feelings are ‘there’, but our understanding of our feelings is not always quite ‘there’ yet. Sometimes that’s because of a lack of words, and sometimes it has to do with the underappreciation of our own biology, especially in the realms of our lives that are taboo and…

Celltw having sex, a pretty tame scene actually, but Cellbit has the knife out and Pac is loving every minute of it.

Cellbit starts to dissociate, every point of contact is making his stomach roll with nausea, his ears are ringing, and he's gritting his teeth so hard it hurts. He knows he needs to safeword, but he's stuck thinking about all the times he's hurt Pac and how Pac deserves to feel good. He continues to push through it because he needs to make Pac feel good, it's all he wants to do. He's going a little soft but he's pretty sure Pac won't notice.

Pac sees Cellbit's hand holding the knife shaking and he definitely notices Cellbit going soft, so he pulls away from him, cup his face and asks Cellbit what's going on.

Cellbit immediately becomes distressed, apologizing and saying that he's okay and they can keep going. Pac recognizes the drop and takes his hands off Cellbit instantly, gets him to sits down and wraps a blanket around him. He hugs him through the blanket so there's no skin to skin contact and just tells him that it's okay, that there's nothing wrong with him.

Specifically subdrop as that's how I identify but could equally apply to domdrop and more specifically when it comes to long distance. I think it's even more important to discuss this with the current happenings in the world as many relationships have been faced with unexpected distance due to travel restrictions and distancing rules and have had to delve into new ways to feel that connection in their relationship.

Now I've never experienced true, real life subdrop so I can't comment on how it effects me. I'm in a long distance relationship and it's both my first d/s relationship and first foray into kinky stuffs. I understand all the brain chemical science behind it and I know that it's likely not entirely possible to reach that kind of intensity in general when playing with a distanced partner (I won't say that it can't happen as I am sure some people maybe get there). But that doesn't mean that you still can't drop. Aftercare is still just as important and it's essential after any kind of play.

The brain is still going to that weird little place and you are still going to get massive rushes of those happy chemicals and when it all finishes and those chemicals go away you can still feel a little lost.

This is going to be so person dependent as everyone has different reactions and everyone is going to incorporate different aspects into their dynamic, but personally I always get some degree of low mood a little afterwards. Once the amazing floaty feeling (even giggling sometimes) and the super calm sleepy feeling wears off and I become more like a coherent human and less like a needy little slut, I start to think back to the bits and pieces. How I reacted and what I said. Did I do enough, did I please them, did they get enough out of it, what must they think of me that I did those things and acted that way. It all builds and my mood drops and I can feel a bit lost and this can carry on right into and through the next day. And although I am never, ever alone, they are always there afterwards, it's still not quite the same when all you need is to feel them and see them and look at their face to see if you made them happy. And I'm sure they feel the same.

So what can we do to minimise the effects of this low mood?

Never start any sort of play if you know that you won't both be around at the end to deal with the after effects. It's not ideal if at the end of play the dom has to rush off and be out of contact for a while or the sub has to go straight out to work for example.

It's a learning curve and you may not react the same way every time but communicate to your partner how it's made you feel in the past and what has and hasn't helped ease the feelings.

Make sure you have things at hand for afterwards that make you feel safe and happy. Snacks, a drink, a warm blanket, a favourite stuffie to cuddle, some music, a favourite TV show or movie, an activity to keep your brain busy or you may just want to take a nap. Whatever you need is not too much.

Communicate and check in on each other. You need to be honest with how you are both feeling. This is the time when both sides are going to want heaps of assurance and praise and to know that everybody is okay.

Give it time and revisit. Straight after any play or scene isn't always the best time to discuss how things happened. It's sometimes best to wait until the day after, when all those fuzzy feelings have dissipated a little and heads are a little clearer. Then if needed you can go over what was good and what not so good. If there is something you want to try next time or something you're good with not ever trying again. And what you can both do next time to make things better for you both.

McCree/Hanzo – cont B29F14 – subdrop; domdrop; frenemies; undernegotiated kink; ruined orgasm; orgasm denial – Hanzo has been... too harsh?

---

“Harder,” Hanzo croaks. “Faster!”

Hanzo curls the leash once more around his fist, making the pull meaner and tighter and even less bearable for McCree. He takes it wordlessly, baring his teeth at Hanzo.

He looks feral and frustrated but follows Hanzo’s orders to the T; he plants his feet on the bed, whining through his teeth when he keeps sliding on the slippery sheets, and goes nearly cross-eyed with frustration trying to bounce Hanzo on his hips when Hanzo flat-out refuses to help any step of the way, making him bear his full weight.

Hanzo smirks at him whenever he doesn’t have to work to keep the delighted shudders rolling through his body hidden. McCree’s cock is fat and substantial in his belly, and having Jesse bounce him and grind the thick shaft into his prostate is sinfully delicious.

McCree is fucking him like a man possessed, just like Hanzo likes it; his huge paws are on his hips, holding on for dear life but not helping him out in bouncing Hanzo on his dick just like the good boy he can be.

“You can follow orders so well when you got the needed incentive,” Hanzo purrs at him and gives another sharp tug on the leash just because he can. McCree gnashes his teeth, head falling back, showing off his collared throat as he bucks his hips again.

He’s sweating like a beast; Hanzo has never seen him like this… actually working for something for once and putting his all in it. His muscles are deliciously jiggling, broad chest heaving as he tries to grunt fuck Hanzo into finally coming.

Hanzo smirks slowly. He can see the rising frustration in his little toy.

“You’re working so hard,” he croons, his cock bouncing in front of him, a slow and steady drip of pre drooling onto McCree’s hairy belly. He pretends like it isn’t painfully obvious just how deeply he is into this. Having a strong man such as McCree beneath him, working away at pleasuring Hanzo; letting him push and pull and pinch and be mean and taking it all in the patient stride that Hanzo has come to associate with the man.

McCree lets everything just slide off of him. Hanzo’s constant little needling; the way he meanly squeezes his knees around his ribs to make breathing more difficult… Hanzo generally being unpleasant to him – McCree just takes it all and then some.

Hanzo is addicted to it. The thought of almost having lost that to some nameless nobody is absolutely inconceivable. McCree is a perfectly trained mutt, just ready to serve and be a good boy, and Hanzo intends to explore just how far he can push him.

He should have taken a riding crop along as well just so he would be able to give McCree some love taps whenever he started faltering, but for now it would do.

When Hanzo comes, he does so on a slow, easy sigh, orgasm washing through him in delicious waves that start at the very tips of his toes and rush through his body warm and soft.

He clenches down tight on McCree’s girthy cock, a small grin on his face when he hears his breath hitch beneath him, undoubtedly enjoying the tight, silky clench of Hanzo’s hot insides. He gently loosens the tight pull of the leash, intending to magnanimously letting McCree come inside him, and maybe making him lap the mess up afterwards – when the warm, firm body beneath him suddenly moves and lightly rolls them around, depositing a confused and uncoordinated Hanzo on the bed.

His limbs are sluggish, orgasm still not quite through his system, and he has to fight to untangle himself from the sheets to see what the hell McCree is doing.

Hanzo watches in mute confusion as McCree stands next to the bed, jeans already up and carefully closing them over his still hard, still wet dick.

McCree is wearing the collar, leash dangling between his furry pectorals, yet as Hanzo looks, he reaches up and carefully opens it, then puts it on the bedside table.

Hanzo finally jerks back into action, but his tongue is slow and sluggish after his orgasm, his body protesting against the sudden adrenaline skittering down his spine and spreading through his limbs.

“What’re you doin’?” he slurs, working to get up on his knees. He’s so… confused. Jesse hadn’t come yet…? Why was he not… why did he…?

“Goin’,” Jesse replies, his face curiously blank. He’s pulled on his shirt but has not buttoned it yet. He looks around, body swivelling as he searches for something, and Hanzo can see how wide his pupils are blown; he’s looking like he’s dropping hard, and Hanzo should absolutely not let him go like this, but he is too perplexed about all of this to do anything.

Whatever Jesse had been looking for he seems to decide that it is not worth it. He slips into his sneakers and makes his way to the door.

“Why’re you…” Hanzo calls because those are the only words still flying around his head. McCree drunkenly paws at the wall, trying to hit the button for the door. They’ve not had a drop of alcohol but a drop can do that to a person.

“Jus’ gettin’ out of your hair,” he mumbles, and then he is gone, leaving Hanzo kneeling on the bed, staring at the door, wondering what the Hell just happened.

His head is pounding something fierce. He slowly sits down on his heels, trying to understand… His body is getting colder by the second, the orgasm finally through and taking the fog of lust with it.

After just a few minutes of staring at the door, Hanzo moves to get his hands on his phone, but McCree doesn’t answer any of the texts. He tries calling him, even though that makes him cringe, yet still no answer.

Hanzo has no idea what just happened.

Jus’ gettin’ out of your hair. What did that even mean? Had he been misinterpreting the situation all along?

McCree has been hard and willing… he’s come into Hanzo’s room on his own will, playing along right until the end.

Hanzo is up from the bed, walking a few steps towards the door, realizes that he is buck ass naked and turns to walk a few steps towards the bathroom, then just stands there and stares.

He realizes that he might be having a panic attack but doesn’t know what to do about it. Why did McCree go? Has he not been enjoying their trysts after all? Has Hanzo been… too… harsh?

McCree is such a sturdy submissive, he’s never paused to wonder about whether he might not be up for the kind of rough play they’ve been doing.

They’re just fuck buddies. McCree is just… McCree. Stupid, lazy American.

Hanzo is staring at McCree’s hat lying half beneath the bed; for some reason the idiot had had it on when coming over.

The idiot.

Last night my Domme had Domme-drop. I had never experienced this before so I had no idea how I would handle it, but I am quite happy today after helping her.

It began when she put me to bed, so it was already past the bedtime she had set for me. I knew she needed me and did not go straight to bed, instead I asked if she was okay and asked what I could do to help. She told me she was not okay, so instead, I was permitted to stay up and I whispered reassurances to her. I am very thankful to be hers and consider myself very fortunate that she is my Domme.

I woke up in a fairly good mood just knowing I was useful in this way for her. She messaged me this morning to let me know she woke up feeling refreshed and is in a much better mood. It feels so very good to know I could help her. Just receiving these messages both make me want to be at her feet and holding her.

McHanzo – cont B30F2 – mention of subdrop/domdrop; still no happy end yet – McCree needs time. Hanzo is desperate.

---

McCree has been avoiding Hanzo. There was no other word for it. Since their little… thing… the other day, Hanzo hadn’t seen the stupid cowboy anywhere on base, even though it wasn’t the biggest operation point.

Small enough at the least that while he hadn’t been able to see him, he sure as well had been able to smell him.

The smoke of his cigar was unmistakable of course. It had a habit of curling through every little nook and cranny and stay for a while even if McCree himself had fled some few minutes ago. No, what disturbed Hanzo more was the fact that he could recognize the odor of his McCree’s body.

He couldn’t put his finger onto it, but it was there; musky and warm; sometimes salty with sweat, sometimes not.

McCree, occupying space and leaving it as soon as he becomes aware of Hanzo approaching. However the bumbling fool managed that feat.

He isn’t answering any of Hanzo’s texts or calls. He fucked Hanzo, rolled over and left, and has been silent ever since.

It is infuriating… and concerning. Hanzo has been squirming around the issue, trying to tell himself that he wasn’t bothered by McCree’s sudden departure, but the hollowness it has left behind has hit him unexpectedly and hard.

The hours after McCree left had been some of the worst in his life. Intellectually, he had understood that he’s been dropping, but knowing something on a purely scientific level did not help to overcome it when it was actually happening.

Fretting over how McCree had been doing during the time had only sent him into more of a spiral, and it had taken hours of sitting under the warm spray of his shower, washing away clammy sweat and trembling to pull himself back together.

Honestly, McCree isn’t worth all the effort. He’s a drunk fool of a man that still needs to consciously think about personal hygiene so he wouldn’t attract any fleas – and quite frankly he was beneath Hanzo.

Obviously.

Still, Hanzo did have that hat, and he couldn’t very well keep it. It didn’t belong to him, and he was no thief. And… if someone came into his rooms and saw it lying there prominently on his desk because he liked to torture himself by staring at it… even though nobody ever came to his rooms…

It just wouldn’t do.

It’s almost a week after that fateful night when Hanzo prowls the hallways of the base like an unfixed cat, McCree’s hat clutched in his hand.

He doesn’t ask Athena for his whereabouts; he refuses to this time. He has his pride. He also has the feeling that Athena is relaying Hanzo asking for McCree to the man himself.

He is walking at random, taking turns and twists, trying to find a whiff of McCree’s cologne, and simultaneously avoiding any Overwatch members along the way. He doesn’t want them to see his shame. He doesn’t want to be known as the guy that is unable to just let go.

(He doesn’t notice Hana peeking back around the corner, or Soldier shaking his head and rolling his eyes.)

Eventually the seemingly impossible happens, and Hanzo finds McCree behind the base, sitting on a tree stump and smoking one of his cigars, if the smoke lazily curling up was any indication.

Hanzo can’t see his face. He’s turned away, staring into the forest as it becomes darker and darker, night setting in fast in these parts, and swallowing everything up without a sound.

Hanzo is moving soundlessly, but McCree turns towards him even so before he can make it close enough to grab him. There’s a spasm in his chest where he wants to lunge forward and grab him by the shoulders, fearing he might just stand and run like a frightened deer, but nothing of the sort happens.

McCree sighs deeply. He’s wearing another hat, Hanzo realizes, but that one looks just… weird and out of place on him.

McCree pushes the brim up with a gloved finger and squints at Hanzo’s face in the darkness surrounding them.

“Ye’re pretty persistent,” he says eventually. Hanzo’s brows lower. He grunts and steps close enough so he can thrust McCree’s hat at his chest. McCree takes it with a surprised little sound, a cloud of smoke accompanying the sound.

“So you admit that you have been avoiding me,” Hanzo says unimpressed. He’s been expecting McCree to try and deny anything the moment Hanzo could corner him, and his easy acceptance somehow infuriates him more than a denial would have.

McCree just shrugs his shoulders. He reaches up and pulls the wrong hat off to put the right one back in place.

“Wasn’t difficult to figure that one out, was it, Sherlock?” he drawls, his answer unexpectedly vicious.

Hanzo’s frown deepens.

“I’ve been searching for you for a while,” he says, ignoring McCree’s murmured: “Been aware o’ that…” and continues: “I demand you come with me. I want to talk to you.”

He holds his breath, waiting for McCree to tell him he’s a ‘crazy bitch’, but he doesn’t. He also doesn’t get up with a grumble and a sigh to follow Hanzo’s orders like he usually would.

He lifts his hand and rubs at his eyes and the back of his nose.

“Listen, Hanzo…” he starts, then seems to think better of it and goes quiet once more. He pulls his cigar from his mouth and looks down on it as he lets it dance across his fingers. Hanzo stands next to him like a little schoolboy, just staring and waiting while he feels like a big pit is opening up beneath his feet, ready to swallow him whole.

“I need some time. An’ I think you do, too.”

“Don’t tell me what I need or don’t need,” Hanzo hisses immediately. He feels desperate, and he thinks he might sound it, too, because the look Jesse throws him is dangerously close to pity.

Jesse shakes his head and stubs his cigar against the stump he’s sitting on until he can slip it into his breast pocket and stand.

“Alright. Listen. Somethin ain’t right about this,” he’s gesturing briefly between the two of them. “An’ I need t’ figure some shit out.” He opens his mouth again like he wants to say more. An ugly little expression in his eyes that goes as fast as it had come before he closes his mouth again and reaches out, clasping Hanzo’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“Thank ya kindly for the hat. I been missin’ it.” He starts to move past Hanzo who feels like his limbs are leaden, his head just an empty void.

“I’ll contact ya when I’m ready, buddy. Take it easy.”

He gives Hanzo one last little clap, then keeps moving until Hanzo can’t hear his footsteps anymore.