#genhan

It's happened.

It's finally happened.

Genji has completed No Nut November.

Thirty days of blue balls. Thirty days of watching Hanzo’s pecs bounce on the treadmill in the gym. Thirty evenings of Cole’s hairy skin pressed against his as he lay sprawled across Genji and Hanzo’s laps at the end of each day as they watched TV or read or simply talked. Thirty increasingly sleepless nights spent sandwiched between the two perfect men, feeling their breaths ruffle his hair, each and every one of their exhalations sending a drip of precum sliding out of his painful, straining erection.

But he's done it.

For the first time in twenty years, he's done it.

Hanzo and Cole were so proud of him last night. They've been abstaining, too, of course, so they've been avoiding mentioning or discussing anything the least bit sexual among themselves in an effort to help him get through the month, but they're not made of stone. They're also carrying around near-perpetual boners at this point, and last night the brimming, close to overflowing sexual energy was palpable.

Cole even sat up rather than feel Hanzo and Genji’s dicks poking into him all evening, as though he was afraid one wrong move might set them…or himself…right off.

It's been difficult.

Now, however, Genji is going to make it worth it.

But, interestingly, while Genji has missed cumming…

…he's missed cum a lot more.

Now there’s thirty days of backlog to milk out of his boyfriends’ balls, and he's going to have all of it.

All of it.

Genji wakes up bright and early on December first, and the first thing he’s aware of, the first thing he’s been aware of for three weeks, are the erections prodding against his stomach and his buttocks, Hanzo snuggled up behind and Cole hugging Genji’s head to his chest.

It’s warm and safe and utterly, utterly domestic, so he takes a few moments…which turn into a few minutes…to savor everything that he and his boyfriends have built together.

Then he very, very carefully extricates himself from their double embrace, and, bless them, but when his warmth has disappeared, they both shift forward searchingly, and embrace each other, with Cole’s head tucked under Hanzo’s chin, and Genji scrambles as quickly and quietly as possible to grab his phone and take a few pictures, because the sight is just too perfect for his mind’s eye alone.

Then he tears himself away.

Hanzo laughingly but wisely asked Winston to give them all the day off once it became apparent that the grand event was likely. His older brother doesn’t expect to spend the entire day in bed, though. He expects to wake up with his cock hard and leaking alongside Cole’s in Genji’s mouth or ass, and, after a mindblowing orgasm, he expects to spend the morning training, the afternoon taking care of errands and small tasks that have gone by the wayside for whatever reason, and then the evening in their quarters for an encore.

He’s not wrong.

But Genji’s got slightly more grandiose plans.

Starting with breakfast.

His boyfriends like things simple, and they both like fried eggs, which makes Genji’s job easy indeed: two fried eggs over a bowl of rice for his brother, two fried eggs over two slices of toast for his cowboy.

He keeps things even simpler: a bowl of chocolate puffs with milk waiting on the side, because he’s an adult now and nobody can tell him what to do. The milk is on the side, though, because it will be a little bit before any of them sit down at the table, and longer still before Genji does.

The table set and ready in the little kitchenette-slash-living room of their quarters, he returns to the bedroom and crawls under the sheets…from the foot of the bed.

Hanzo and Cole’s cocks are snuggled together as tenderly and cutely as their owners, and Genji licks his lips at the sight of them in the dim light even as it touches his heart a little.

Then he snuggles his face against them, feeling the smooth, shaved skin of Hanzo and the trimmed yet hirsute skin of Cole, and he inhales the mixture of their scents deeply into his lungs.

After a month, he could nearly cum from this alone.

But now that he’s here, at the end of the road, and the suspense of will he or won’t he have enough willpower for the first time in twenty years, and will he trip right at the finish line as the end of the month drew nearer and nearer…all of that is gone and finished, and only bonedeep satisfaction and pride remain, and, most interestingly, Genji’s definitely as hard as a rock and dripping like a faucet, but he has a firm and complete control over his body that he’s never really experienced before, like a steel pressure cooker that’s flexing and bulging from the boiling liquid within but in no danger of bursting or exploding until he himself pushes the release button.

So it’s surprisingly easy to remain in place, his nose buried right under his boyfriends’ shafts up against their ballsacks, and simply breathe.

The pressure builds within him, but he is more than equal to it, and the need within him sharpens every sense, so that Genji can smell every note of aroma, can feel the pulse of his lovers through their skin. It’s incredible.

He has no idea how long he lies there, lost in the heady, musky atmosphere, before he hears a deep chuckle.

“At long last,” Hanzo murmurs, and Genji all but purrs when his thick fingers reach down to stroke through his green hair. “I am so proud of you, Genji. You’ve wanted this for a long time. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, brother,” Genji whispers back, his lips moving against the soft skin of Hanzo’s testicles. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Hanzo shivers under every syllable, but his self-control has always been legendary, and his fingers never falter as they comb through Genji’s hair, lightly scratching his blunt nails against Genji’s scalp. Genji simultaneously relaxes and winds up, his cock jumping and clamoring for attention, but every other muscle loosening under his brother’s gentle touch.

“Hey, there, darlings,” Cole says with a voice thick with sleep. “Today’s the day, huh?” Genji feels him shift as he begins to peck slow, light kisses across Hanzo’s face. “Couldn’t come soon enough, I tell you what.”

Genji chuckles, and Cole hisses at the feel of Genji’s thin, stylized beard rubbing against his sensitive, hairy skin. “We’re only waiting for you, cowboy. Hurry up and wake up and I’ll get started.”

“With a promise like that,” Cole says, sounding much more awake. “But wait…you’ll get started?”

“Yep,” Genji replies cheerfully. “You two have to serve me, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Cole says thoughtfully. “Well, dang, then how long are you gonna torture us, then?”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

Genji rises and throws the blanket off the bed, exposing Hanzo and Cole’s glorious musculature and ink to his hungry eyes. Hanzo has been toying with finally finishing his tattoo, but in the meantime, Cole has been busy, getting desert roses intermingled with cherry blossoms across his clavicles. They look up at him with such love and horny ardor that Genji nearly cums right there, but no, not yet.

Not for a few hours more.

Hanzo and Cole, on the other hand…

He takes hold of their limbs with strong, purposeful hands and wrestles them into position, and their eyebrows shoot up and their lips part in surprise when they realize what he’s up to.

Soon they’re lying with their hips and throbbing, thick cocks flush against each other, Genji straddling them both. 

Their cocks are so wet and shiny that Genji scarcely believes he really needs to be standing here, hunched over slightly, his fingers working his long disused entrance open, his own cock dripping onto his boyfriends as he makes the slipping, popping noises as loud and obscene as possible, until Hanzo and Cole are panting from the sound and sight alone, their fingers clutching the bedsheets to keep themselves from doing something drastic.

Then all three of them sigh in unison when Genji squats.

Then they moan when Genji feels two blunt cockheads press against his hole.

The pair squirm against each other for a few moments, slick and slippery, until together they spear through Genji’s rim, and for the first time in weeks, Genji feels completion creeping into his body as he breathes slow and deep and sinks onto the two rods of his lovers, crying out when they squeeze past his neglected prostate, until he has them fully seated in his soft, tight, intense heat.

“Genji,” Hanzo pants.

“Genji,” Cole breathes, and the timber and tone of their voices, overlaid with such need, is music to Genji’s ears.

He begins to rise up and lower down, his own dick bouncing with each motion and throwing off thick droplets of precum, and the two men below him absolutely lose. Their. Minds.

“Yes! Yes! Oh, Genji! Oh, my sweet, wonderful Genji! Fuck yourself on us! Milk us dry! Yes! Yes!” they babble, their words piling on top of each other in the midst of wordless yells and gasps, and it’s so, so good to hear their lust again. Absolutely wonderful.

Hanzo is the first to seize up and let out a groaning shout, and from the look on Cole’s face, he nearly has heart failure at the feeling of Hanzo’s cock, pressed so impossibly close to his, spurting out a veritable flood of hot, molten semen that immediately coats both of them, instantly making Genji’s interior even slicker and hotter and more perfect than ever.

It takes only a few more thrusts for Cole to unleash his own wordless yell and his own endless torrent, and Genji buries them inside himself to the hilt as they pulse within him and writhe underneath him, an absolutely sublime picture.

Slowly, slowly, they go still but for their heaving chests and shivering muscles, each feeling the other twitch under the gentle caress of Genji’s body and the sensation of the heat of their essence melding into Genji’s own heat, the three of them coming together once more in the most intimate, wonderful way they know how.

Then, Cole chuckles. “Alright,” he growls, trying to sit up, his eyes set on Genji’s weeping erection.

“No.”

The imperious and cold tone surprises both his lovers. They freeze underneath him and look up at him with something bordering concern, but Genji smiles.

He slowly dismounts, sighing as they pop out of his puffy red rim, and then he crawls onto all fours and sticks his ass into the air, his dick swinging beneath him, heavy and straining. “Clean me up,” he orders, “but don’t you dare touch my dick.”

Hanzo and Cole look at each other, but they don’t question Genji’s order or the fact that he’s picked a strange angle that places his head near the bedside table. Instead, they obey, turning over and crawling to mash their faces together as they plunge together into the valley between Genji’s asscheeks.

Genji shudders under the assault of their soft tongues and rough facial hair rubbing with such delicious friction against the sheltered skin as they seek out every drop of cum leaking out from his oversensitive hole as it tries in vain to wink closed after being stretched so far. They don’t allow any of it to drip onto the sheets to join the almost soaked patches of Genji’s precum as he continues to leak freely, his foreskin fully rolled back and his cockhead dark purple.

“Genji,” Hanzo murmurs right up against his hole. “Genji, you need us so badly. Let us take care of you, brother.”

“No,” comes the unexpected reply. “But what you can do…”

Genji reaches over to the bedside table and retrieves a felt-tip permanent marker and holds it behind himself. 

“...is write down two marks.”

There is a short, stunned silence, then Cole, chuckling the entire time, accepts the marker and writes two lines on Genji’s left asscheek. “Does this mean…?” he asks as he clicks the cap back on.

“I’m all nice and clean now,” Genji cuts him off. “Time for breakfast! It’s ice cold by now because of you sleepyheads, but let’s get the day started.”

And he rolls away from Hanzo and Cole and off the edge of the bed and stands, grinning down at their bemused expressions before he grabs the marker and walks away, making sure to sway his hips as invitingly as possible.

They follow like dopey puppies, and they exclaim at the meal awaiting them, and they sit down with words of thanks and wonder…that get cut off when Genji kneels and then shuffles under the table.

Underneath, their legs spread automatically and their cocks chub up, but it’s still a little too soon for another full erection. Genji doesn’t mind.

Hanzo always recovers first, though, so he’s the first to sigh dreamily at the feel of Genji’s wet mouth engulfing him. He doesn’t leave Cole out in the cold, though; he wraps his fingers gently around his half-erection as he suckles and licks at Hanzo’s, and both men moan above him.

“How are we supposed to eat under these conditions?” Hanzo asks, only half-seriously. “I’m going to choke and die.”

“Better choke him first then, I’d say,” comes Cole’s mischievous answer, making Hanzo laugh.

They set about trying to eat because they know that’s the scenario Genji wants and they do their best to deliver.

Genji can forgive them for getting distracted, though. When Hanzo’s penis finally swells to its full length, the spongy cockhead emerging to bump against Genji’s soft palate and leaking anew, it’s another minute or two at least before his older brother remembers to start eating again.

Meanwhile, Cole is still soft under Genji’s fingers, his head hooded under his foreskin, but that’s just fine. Genji loves the feel of him hard or soft, and his balls are equally hefty and loose in their sack either way as Genji cups them and rolls them gently around.

Hanzo then gulps down a mouthful of food and lets his chopsticks clatter on the table as he mutters “Finally,” and pushes away from the table, making Genji follow, regretfully letting go of Cole in the process. His brother’s eyes are burning as he watches Genji bob up and down on his dick before letting him pop out and lick up and down the wet length and tongue at his balls.

Then he grunts and lets his head fall back, and that’s all the warning Genji gets before Hanzo unleashes spurt after spurt of thick, white cum all across his face.

Genji opens his mouth wide, but he’s content to let the majority of it wildly miss the mark and paint his cheeks, beard, and hair.

Hanzo breathes heavily above him, shifting in his seat, until the last weak spurt dribbles down the underside of his cock, and he jumps a little when Genji dives in to lick it off his balls.

“Genji,” Hanzo murmurs. “You are magnificent. Won’t you let me…”

“Brother,” Genji interrupts again. He holds out the marker.

Hanzo takes it with a confused look. 

Genji grins up at him. “On the cheek, please.”

Hanzo flushes deep red.

With a trembling hand, he draws a single line delicately on Genji’s left cheek.

“I think,” Cole whispers, watching them both breathlessly, “that I know how today’s gonna go.”

“Do you?” Genji says with a smirk. “Good. Off to the shooting range, now, brother. I may drop in on you to see how you’re doing later.”

Hanzo is a little too boneless to get up right then and there, but that’s not a problem. It means he gets to watch his little brother, his face still covered with his cum, shuffle over to Cole and begin working him back to full hardness with his lips and tongue instead of his fingers, with near-immediate effect, especially when the familiar but long-missed odor of Hanzo’s cum wafts up into Cole’s face, making him sigh fondly and thrust shallowly into Genji’s mouth, his breakfast half-eaten and temporarily forgotten.

Hanzo stays long enough to watch Cole sweat and mutter and tense and listen to Genji slurp and suckle and lick until Cole gasps, his eyes rolling back, and Genji grins triumphantly as he sits back a little to let his cum splash across his face to join Hanzo’s.

The only dry place on his face now is right next to the tally mark on his cheek, and Cole dutifully writes another one alongside it.

“Can’t wait,” he murmurs, stroking along Genji’s bearded jawline, smearing semen the entire way. “Can’t wait.”

Genji smiles. “See you around, cowboy.”

Then he scurries out from under the table, plunks himself into his chair, and cheerfully pours milk over his cereal, and both his boyfriends chuckle as Hanzo stands to leave and Cole tucks back into his ice-cold breakfast, all smiles.

Cole’s surmise is entirely correct.

As soon as Genji finishes eating, he cheerfully waves goodbye to Cole and heads out to find Hanzo.

He’s still covered in cum.

That’s no problem for a cyborg ninja, though. He remains out of sight of the Watchpoint’s other denizens, though, when he happens upon Soldier: 76 in the hallways and has to sneak around him, he hears him sniff suspiciously at the air, undoubtedly at the scent that’s trailing behind Genji with every step he takes, but Genji leaves the old man behind none-the-wiser.

He heads for the shooting range, a pulse of giddy, exhibitionist glee shooting through him.

Then he slips into the range, and he stops for a moment to admire the tableau of martial beauty and precision before him: Hanzo stands proud and tall as he breathes slowly and evenly and lets arrow after arrow fly from his bow to split its immediate predecessor neatly in two in the exact bull’s-eye.

His big brother is incredible, Genji thinks dreamily.

Then Hanzo takes in a deep, deep breath, and Genji knows the aroma of sex, the mark that Hanzo and Cole have left on Genji’s skin, has wafted over to him.

But his big brother knows exactly how to please Genji. He continues to breathe deep, but otherwise he keeps firing, even as Genji sidles up to him…

…kneels down…

…and shuffles around him to nuzzle at the bulge in Hanzo’s trousers, even as Hanzo nocks and aims and lets an arrow fly above him.

Hanzo doesn’t falter when Genji tugs his trousers down to free and swallow down his cock once again, but Genji can tell it’s a close thing. 

Then he stops paying attention altogether to bows and arrows and focuses entirely on his brother’s delicious cock on his tongue.

He does try not to jostle Hanzo in any way as he licks and swallows up his salty taste, because he’s just naturally accommodating.

Hanzo, red-faced, sweating, taking in a sharp breath whenever Genji brushes the tip of his tip against the base of his shaft right above his balls, manages to score one last bull’s-eye before he squeezes his eyes shut and hunches forward ever-so-slightly as he releases another torrent onto Genji’s waiting tongue.

Genji has an openmouthed grin when Hanzo opens his eyes again, his tongue stuck out to display just how much spunk Hanzo had in him despite this being the third time he’s cum in less than an hour. 

Then he swallows and raises the marker.

Hanzo laughs softly, but he deftly draws another mark on Genji’s cheek.

Hanzo will be training for at least another two hours, which is fine with Genji. He’ll know where to find his brother after he’s done with Cole.

The cowboy is in Winston’s lab, sitting in front of Winston’s desk with his feet propped up on it. He sniffs at the air and does a double take when Genji comes up, looking around the huge empty room and even out the huge window before them.

“Genji!” he whispers, eyes wide. “Winston went out to talk real quick with Tracer, but he’ll be back any minute!”

“Better make this quick, then,” Genji replies, waggling his eyebrows. “That’s what you get for getting roped into work on your day off.”

Cole rolls his eyes. “I ain’t working. I’m checking in with Winston about your birthday party next month. The one he’s gonna cancel when he finds you…finds you…mmm…”

Genji has crawled underneath the bridge of Cole’s legs and then, forcing them apart but leaving his feet on Winston's desk, has straightened up on his knees, unzipped the cowboy’s jeans, freed his erection, and begun nursing right on the cockhead.

Cole doesn't have much to say after that, particularly when Genji starts pumping his shaft with his hands while laving at his cockhead and slit.

He does groan a lot, though. Winston would have heard him long before he saw Genji if he returned through the doors downstairs, but he doesn't, so it's fine.

Soon enough, Cole lets out a short, strangled yell and Genji has a mouthful of tart, bitter semen to swallow down. He holds it on his tongue and savors it while Cole draws another mark on his cheek before he ducks back under Cole’s legs.

"Gotta start adding to the tally on your other cheek," Cole calls after him as he hurries away.

"What do you think I'm going to go do right now?"

And, indeed, when he returns to the shooting range, Hanzo is sitting on a bench, taking a short break, and he chuckles when Genji tugs his trousers down around his ankles…then gasps when Genji clambers into his lap and sinks down in a precision strike right onto his dick.

Hanzo is a lot quieter than Cole, but his pants and hisses and the slap of his skin against Genji’s still echo through the room as he spears into Genji’s welcoming, silken interior and into his own lubricating essence, and Cole's, of course.

He hugs Genji tight and grinds his little brother’s body down onto his cock when he comes, breathing hard between Genji’s pecs as he does so, shuddering from head to toe.

He feels so good pressed up against him like this that Genji can’t help but lay a kiss on the crown of his head, smiling when Hanzo lets out a small gasp at the tender gesture.

Then Genji climbs off of him, turns around, plants his feet shoulder-width apart, then bends forward until he is grinning at Hanzo between his own legs, and holds out the marker.

Hanzo looks both exasperated and fond of how quickly Genji can switch from tender to lewd and back again, but he dutifully marks down another line, trailing his fingertips down Genji’s thigh at the same time.

Then Genji straightens up, blows a kiss to his brother, and marches out, clenching hard to keep from leaking too much.

Cole has finished up his business with Winston and is now standing in the rec room. Genji has to wait, hidden in the shadows, for Reinhardt to finish up a boisterous tale before the giant man suddenly realizes he is late for an armor calibration with Brigitte and hurries out. 

Cole shakes his head smilingly at Reinhardt’s back and turns around and starts when he finds Genji on all fours on the floor, his ass sticking up in the air, his hole wet and winking.

"Jesus," Cole mutters fervently as he unbuckles his belt and sinks to his knees. "It's good to have your kinky ass back."

"Less talk, more fuck, Cole," Genji replies, but Cole is an excellent boyfriend and is already sinking into him before he finishes the sentence.

Then he pounds into him right there on the rec room floor, with the doors to the hallway left wide open for anyone to walk through, and the thought of that, how wanton, how obscene it is, is the closest Genji gets to releasing his own boiling load all over the rec room floor, but he manages to hold off. Barely.

The rest of the day is heavenly.

Genji crosses back and forth, sneaking his way from Hanzo to Cole and back again, and his boyfriends, despite having such a backlog, are shooting largely dry orgasms by lunchtime, plus Genji’s hole is loose and leaking and his jaw aching, but Genji has a solution for all three problems.

Hanzo groans when, instead of slipping inside Genji’s sloppy hole for the tenth time, his cock goes between Genji’s slick, slippery, tight, muscular legs, and since they're on the rooftop overlooking the sea, only a particularly sharp-eyed and horny sailor on the container ship passing by might see Hanzo shivering and jolting on the ground, under Genji and between his thighs, as Cole watches in rapt attention, their lunch laying to one side.

"There’s room for one more, cowboy," Genji admonishes with a raised eyebrow, and soon Hanzo and Cole’s dicks are slipping and sliding against each other for the second time that day.

This has the added benefit that Hanzo and Cole can coat each other with hot spunk, because Genji’s thighs can relax and tighten and rub and squeeze together so sweetly and deliciously that they draw upon an hitherto inaccessible well deep within his lovers.

And Genji just knows there's more where that came from.

And indeed, Hanzo squirts two more loads, one onto the ground in the garden where he meditates after lunch and the other onto the workout bench in the gym. 

Cole also has two more loads, but he insists on grunting lowly and withdrawing from Genji’s tight embrace to splatter his cum across Genji’s stomach in the pantry and his back in the utility closet.

There are plenty more dry orgasms besides, because Genji’s mouth and asshole bounce back fairly quickly.

Finally, as the sun sets and fills the Watchpoint with a deep red-orange glow, Cole and Hanzo return to their quarters to find Genji on all fours beneath the table, and steak and baked potatoes and romantic, lit candles on top.

Hanzo and Cole enjoy the excellent dinner while Genji, finally conceding that he’s gotten everything his lovers can offer, merely warms Cole’s cock in his mouth and Hanzo’s cock in his ass, comfortably and wonderfully full as he listens to them talk and laugh above him through a haze of scintillating scents and flavors drifting through his immense satisfaction.

Then Hanzo and Cole disengage, draw Genji out from under the table, and all but bodily carry him into their bedroom and deposit him on his back on their bed.

Cole taps the tally marks on both his cheeks. "Eighteen."

Hanzo taps the tally marks on both his asscheeks. "Fourteen."

"Amazing, darling," Cole murmurs into Genji’s ear before pressing kisses down his jawline.

"We're proud and, frankly, astounded," Hanzo adds as he hitches Genji’s knees over his shoulders.

"Your turn," they say in near-unison, and Genji shouts when his ballsack is engulfed in Hanzo’s mouth and his shaft buried in Cole’s, their heat swarming into his core and making him instantly drenched in sweat as his long, long, long-neglected cock, primed almost to bursting by one endless month and then by one perfect day, is finally back in service.

His nerves have not been the least bit dormant in that time. If anything, they've been humming with electricity nonstop since day one, prepping themselves, aching, clamoring, yearning.

Now they seize on Hanzo and Cole’s touch like a lion's teeth around the throat of a gazelle, stopping Genji’s breath just as effectively.

It's ecstasy on a scale he's never known, never dreamed of. He's had bolts run through him before but never lightning, flames but never a wildfire, tremors but never an earthquake. 

All of it and more rocks through him now, so strong and so all-encompassing that he can't even come for several blissed-out, interminable, white-hot minutes as Hanzo rolls his balls over his tongue and Cole swallows his cockhead into the confines of his throat over and over and over.

When his body finally remembers it's supposed to orgasm, Hanzo feels Genji tense, almost contort, and drops his wet, cooling ballsack to lick and tease and gape his mouth wide open over his straining, deep purple, weeping erection alongside Cassidy, who pops off in order to share the bounty.

Then the eruption begins.

It's been a month, and boy does Genji’s cock know it.

Whatever doesn't land in or on Hanzo and Cole’s mouths, faces, hair, or hands as they jointly pump Genji’s huge shaft sails up into the air like a fountain, arcing delicately to rain back down on them like a summer cloudburst, and several large globs of himself land in Genji’s own mouth as he gapes in a wordless scream of pleasure up at the deluge descending upon them.

By the time it's over, he might as well have thrown a bucketful over all three of them and the sheets around him.

The aroma is thick enough to cut with a knife.

Genji swears he can see steam rising in thin wisps towards the ceiling.

It's good. It's so good.

He needs more.

"Cl…cle…clean me up," he gasps, needing a few tries to learn how to talk again. "Then bl…blow me again."

His cock isn't softening at all.

Hanzo and Cole grin at him, cum dripping off their beards, then turn to each other. "Rock Paper Scissors to decide who rides him first?" Cole asks. "The other gets to do as he commands and clean him up."

Hanzo hums thoughtfully. "Do I want to lose or do I want to win?" he asks himself.

"Honey, I'm asking myself the exact same thing," Cole purrs as they look back up at Genji.

It's gonna be a long night and Genji is going to be completely and utterly sated by the end of it.

Genji is obsessed with Hanzo in his first year, finally get the ability to join the class on his last year of collage.

Genji has been stalking Hanzo for the last couple of years since before he joined the college

Genzo and Hanzo are not related but have similar last names

He’d been here too long, it was almost home.

But home was nothing, now.

A hollow word in passing, part of a goodbye when leaving behind another face Hanzo will never see again, won’t remember. For those he will, home isn’t a word for them. Even if it’s false.

Strangers are the comfort, familiarity not.

Had anything ever really changed?

The Danube flows beneath. A mirror of colour. Rippling neons, stars almost lost. Forgotten. The colours mush as a tour boat splits the water two, music and laughter pounding the surface, echoing under the bridge where Hanzo stands, forearms bare. Cold on stone, still and sore.

It was sunset when he stopped here, bag of groceries tucked between feet, sparse with too many things he’d forgotten, denied.

It’s night now as he watches the Danube, the burst of people along its banks, tourists spilling onto boats, into restaurants, out of Buda and back into Pest, the roads rumbling as the bars open wide, the clubs dialled to ten.

He moved between the sides of the Danube, never staying with the same four walls too long. From the cobbled streets, high hills near the castle in a cramped room, barely space to stretch; the old communist blocks by the blistered edges, structured, rigid, peace. To the noise, vibrant colliding culture of the centre at the crown of the Andrássy Avenue, woken at dawn by the bells of the basilica.

Just another place bruised in his penance, a witness to his shame.

One day there won’t be anywhere left that won’t know.

Where will he go then?

His watch buzzes midnight, a reminder of routine. To ground. But right now, all it reminds him is that he can’t feel his arms, numb and cold, still stuck to stone as he listens to the water, wondering what it feels like below.

——

The longest he’d been in one place for months. A hostel off of Múzeum körút. Behind a heavy wrought iron gate between a second hand bookstore, and another. Down an alley, path uneven, pages of an old book torn, scattered, its spine split in the gutter.

Hanzo inputs the code, eyes away, long hair a mask from the cameras above, behind, probably below. Ritual more than anything. His face is already all over this city, continent, to those that cared.

Through a doorway painted blue, carvings dying gold. Top floor, but (nearly) always the stairs. Winding and wide. Patterned stone, wrought iron rails in beauty shaped like the tails of his dragons, the arc of his bow.

First two floors the bookstore. The rest are homes, rooms and flats for the hostel, a hotel he knows is half something else. Some of the flats are empty. One abandoned part-way through refurbishment. One destroyed, boarded off (panels placed back carefully every time by each visitor. He’s not the only one). There’s another that one of the residents simply said “nem” when she first saw Hanzo look at its locked door, scratched symbols, words, too many unintelligible in several languages.

So he listened.

As always at this time, she was leaning out of one of the windows on floor four, throwing seed to the pigeons below, the courtyard a cacophony of their coos.

“Late,” she says, heavy accent. Fall of brown hair braided, striped grey. One green eye, the other blind.

Hanzo pulls out a bag of seed, one of two, and hands it to her outstretched palm. “Took a walk,” he says back in slow Hungarian. Everytime he attempts the language, he can see her smile something. He doesn’t know if it's mockery, amusement, or appreciation.

“Take a walk after, next time.”

“Hm.”

He watches her sit back on the stool at the window, cross her legs and scatter a handful of seeds to below.

“Not much.” Hanzo listens, Hanzo watches. “Maria took the kids for the weekend. Jan is leaving for holiday in the morning. Six days. Stephan’s working an extra shift tonight. Looked like he hadn’t slept since the last. Two new guests at the hostel. One’s an omnic.”

“Short term?”

She shrugs. “Omnic five days. The other just a night. But wants to keep it open if needed.”

Hanzo writes to memory everything she says, hearing the gears, wheels of the lift click into motion as it descends down to ground.

“Hotel is come and go as always.”

“How many?”

“Lots. You want a tally? That’s extra.”

Hanzo frowns, a look near lost beneath the heavy fall of his hair.

“Anyone look-”

“Suspicious? Yes. Out of place? No.”

The lift stops, opening at ground.

“Anything else?” he asks, picking his bag from between his feet.

“I left some cabbage rolls in your fridge.”

The lift starts to ascend, and Hanzo tightens the grip on his bag. “Thank you,” he stutters, taking the last flights of steps two at a time.

——

Two old keys unlock the old heavy door. Hanzo pays extra to service the small flat himself, but Mariann owns the hostel, and does what she does after the trust of bird seed and her alarm at the contents of his grocery shopping.

It’s split into kitchen and room with a divider. Old, ornate, teakwood. Some of the design weathered from touch, time. But she never ventures past the three cabinets that make the kitchen. Rarely the fridge.

Shoes off, he sets the bag on the counter. Bare. Empties it quick, pushing the bag of seed to the side for later. Bread, away. Eggs. Fruit. More lentils. Alcohol. Chocolate.

He opens the fridge, the only light in the room. Some condiments. Expired milk replaced with fresh. And a note, stuck to the top of the tupperware of cabbage rolls. Mariann’s scrawl.

Tilly’s got another job for you. 10am. Nehru part.

He closes the door. Darkness, again.

Tapping his watch (1:33am), he sets the reminder alongside his regular alarm for dawn, sheds his coat, takes a banana, slice of bread, bottle of alcohol to bed and nothing.

(but there’s always a pause before the small wooden sparrow he’d carved in Bali, years, years ago. always perched beside a blunted shard of sword, something green. sometimes he reaches out to touch the sparrow

but he can’t

can’t)

——

“Again!”

Genji taps his arm, excited, as he begs Hanzo to show him the trick with the sword, the coin, Hanzo’s patience wearing thin as his younger brother tugs on his sleeve, clambering for attention-

“Here again?”

Genji slides a glass over wood, the bartop sticky, a mosaic of his brother’s prints, wondering how many others overlap, smudging away Hanzo’s, gnawing at the Genji he knows, becoming the Genji they do-

“Again?”

Desperation, Hanzo’s hand slams to the wall beside his brother’s head, hair shorter, greener. Smells sweet and he inhales. Anticipation in Genji’s eyes as he looks up-

“Again-”

A beg, as he pulls Hanzo’s blade further to his chest. Another to his gut. Spread and wept and a maw of no return. Hanzo wants to look up. He hears a smile, but he’d see nothing but desecration. Hears beauty, loves pain. Licks blood, kisses the grave-

——

Hanzo snaps awake, a fist of sheets in his palm, dented with his nails, near torn. Back damp with sweat, hair awry, stuck to skin and sheets, lining the wave of his dragon.

He runs a hand through his hair, staring at the other side of the bed expecting blood and brutal. (maybe a desperation that it might be you there, whole and love, just for me) Two pillows. Untouched. Empty.

Checks his hands.

Reaches out to make sure.

It’s slow as he hauls himself up, finding the hair tie he’d forgotten. But it’s abandoned again when he sees the slither of the curtain move by the window, ajar.

There’s no open windows here unless he’s awake, a guard. It’s small. Barely enough for a hand, the curtain moving in dance as the breeze weaves into the stuffy room, creeping over Hanzo’s sticky skin.

For too long he just stares, a lock of hair tickling against his lips, uncaring.

Impossible. He’s so careful, so-

The curtains flick, light licking the glass on his bedside table, smudged with fingers, lips; the half empty bottle, obscuring the empty one behind.

Adrenaline wanes. Gut sinks. Head rings.

A swallow, and he unsticks from bed, body lead. Two fingers push close the window, keeping to shadow, curtain exhaling, and stop.

He smooths the fabric, touch lingering as if he’s trying to find something, feel something.

Nothing.

He rolls a shoulder, and peels off his shirt, draping it over the back of the chair. When he notices the small wooden sparrow on its side, beak touching the shard of his sword.

There’s no hesitation this time when Hanzo reaches out, picks it up to right the wrong, sitting it back in ceremony.

5:16 am

The basilica will ring soon at six. As will his alarm. There’s no point in bed anymore. All that’s left is sheets that need washed, dreams given, taken, and an empty space you won’t fill.

He checks the window again. Runs his hand over the locks on the door. Touches the two tiles beside the fridge and then steps into the bathroom, avoiding the mirror as he sheds the rest of his clothes, turning the shower to max.

The light from the room is enough as he steps inside, a shaky inhale as the water burns his skin, the steam clouding vision, muggy air.

Palm to wet wall (Hanzo’s hand slams to the wall beside his brother’s head) he breathes deep, long (Smells sweet and he inhales) forehead smudging tiles, hand smearing chest (Anticipation in Genji’s eyes as he looks up-) and Hanzo looks down, sliding his wet hand over wet cock-

(Licks blood, kisses the grave-)

-wondering if he’ll suffocate or burn, first.

——

Too early.

Hanzo wanders the quiet streets near the park, window shopping mindlessly. Catching his reflection more than wanted. He’s dressed well today. He always is.

But over the months, years, he’s been slipping. Living as a nomad from room to face to place, he was sure a part of him had shed everywhere he’d left behind. Something in him wearing thin he didn’t want to know. Just felt.

He stares a little longer at a shop window selling leather goods, stretching his fingers against his own gloves, old and worn and a shape of his own.

Hair pulled back in a bun, he runs a hand along one side, his undercut growing out too long, pinched grey. The other side he’d let grow long ago, the shorter lengths long enough to catch in his ponytail now. Usually.

He keeps the beard. Sometimes shaving when moving cities, countries, to hide. It’s mostly too much of a comfort, now. Too bare without.

Too long he’s looked, and turns away.

09:37 and he has a coffee. Black. Three sugars.

09:49 and he’s sitting on a bench in Nehru Part, close to the edge of the Danube. And he waits.

Watches the way the wind rustles the leaves on the trees above, hushing the city’s sound to their own, shedding the first leaves before the yawn of Autumn, side to side in a dance, before falling at Hanzo’s feet.

Feels the breeze on his skin. Nothing like earlier in his room. An alarm, unexpected. This might be something like comfort, pulling the shorter strands of hair from his bun, picking up the leaves at his feet, pulling the scent of pastries at his back, the scatter of voices ahead. No words, just noise.

He takes a drink of his coffee, counting another day.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Hanzo takes another drink of his coffee as he ignores Tilly. As she takes a seat at his side, always a little too close. It’s just a bit of fun for her, exploring the intricacies of human’s social bounds, their affection, fun. And with Hanzo, if he has any of the above.

Hanzo just recrosses his legs, foot pointing in the opposite direction.

“What’s the job?”

“I hear cucumbers help for those dark eyebags,” she says, casual. Two of her forehead LEDs are broken, the lilac, sometimes turquoise, brighter on her left side. Which Hanzo also notices that she uses more, moves more, than her right.

“Any other top ten magazine quips for me this morning?”

Tilly laughs, the two elongated sides of her head plate that remind Hanzo of wings, lighting up with the trill of her voice. “As many as you want.”

Hanzo inhales slow. Steady. “Oh, good.” Takes another sip.

“Got you another observe and report at Blood and Chrome tonight. Maybe protect if shit goes down. They liked you last time.” Tilly sits chin on palm as she waits for Hanzo’s reply, knowing his answer already. Money good. Low risk. Trusted.

“Bartend again?”

“Yup.”

A last, long drink of his coffee. Hanzo stares at the university of technology and economics across the river, sunlight picking out the details on stone, the pillars, the gold and mosaic on its red roof. Age and beauty, stories worn, time crumbled. He wants to sketch it every time he sees it, despite never having drawn a single thing before. He’s gotten as far as purchasing a sketch book, pencils. Next time.

“Send me the details.”

“Thanks, Han.”

“Thanks, Han.” Genji always talked with touch as well as tongue. Hands busy forming the words, contact, their meaning. It became a second language in public. A third, in private.

“Hanzo.” He doesn’t look at her. A voice firm, but not unkind. A way she’s heard many times before, and will hear many times again.

“Wish I could stay, but I got more messages to deliver,” she says, climbing over the back of the bench. “Get some sleep Han.” A quiet ‘Hmph’ “ Eat Mar’s stuffed cabbages at least.”

“Goodbye, Tilly.”

“Szia.”

He sits for a while, coffee cup empty, fingers cold. The trees stretch, the Danube sighs. Sun quiets behind clouds.

And from the small bag in his coat pocket, Hanzo throws a handful of bird seed to the ground, watching pigeons, great tits, a sparrow swoop down, and dance at his feet.

——

It had taken months. Trial and error with several prototypes, but Hanzo had managed (with some help) to have his own collapsible bow, without compromising performance or integrity. A labour of love.

Compact enough to fit in a bag. The arrows were the problem. One couldn’t simply split them in two, assemble and fire like he could his bow with a touch, flick, done.

Luckily few people cared what others carried here. Pistols on hip. Rifles on back. Swords in sheaths. As long as you had your permit, of course.

“Just a bow, arrows?” asks the omnic. Mariann had said her name was Tilly. Seven LEDs on her forehead. Three eye slits, not two. It looked like the third she’d carved herself. “No sword? You look like a sword guy.”

“Bow, and arrows.” “Alright alright. I’ll get one done.” “I’ll need a few, with different names.” “That’ll cost ya.” Hanzo sets down a stack of Euros, sinking back against the metal dresser, the bass of the club below stuck in his throat. “Help yourself.”

A city of humans, omnics, side by tentative side. Many still walked on tiptoes, ready to flee. Some settled to heels, shoulders dropped, calling Budapest home.

A city now almost its own state, rolling its own laws, walls, declaring stability for omnics (safety was arguable), work, if they proved themselves (we don’t talk about what happened if they didn’t).

Fast becoming a multicultural epicentre like London, it was expanding out, and up. But also, down.

And down, was where Hanzo walked. Lived. Worked.

Crime thrived here. A congregation of humans and omnics brushing side by side, co-existing but wanting to live, bred a rich, vibrant underworld that lived seen, unseen. World, within world. And even if it felt like the city was holding its breath, it seemed to work.

It wasn’t lost on Hanzo that he’d turned his back on his family, their legacy, ways-

-only to fall right back in, just a different shade, name.

At least here, he felt like he was helping people (didn’t you try back home too?), useful and giving back (funny what memories we pick and choose).

Mostly, though, he was doing it to survive. What money he’d taken from his family dwindling, and it was a reliable way to keep an ear to the ground, connected. Safe, within harm.

And Hanzo knew the world. How to move. Talk. When to run, when to bleed.

Tonight, he was back at Blood and Chrome, one of the less mainstream mixed clubs for humans and omnics (there were segregated clubs, of course. The omnics only clubs never staying in one place too long, rotating locations, word of mouth, last minute). Fewer tourists, less desirable location away from the Danube, tucked underground - but it mattered in almost every other way in the world he walked.

Here you find people you want, people you don’t. People you won’t anywhere else. Money changes hands more than some banks. Names change when you walk through the door. Faces forgotten when you walk back out.

The drinks are good, the music a mix of rock, metal, EDM depending on room, night, with places to dance, talk, and doors to close for things you don’t want anyone to see. All tucked underground in an old metro station, decommissioned and reclaimed.

The club is built around its exposed bones, dented with years of nights like this. Graffiti immortalising Budapest’s metamorphosis to today. LEDs lining floors, walls, hanging from exposed beams and concrete, under tables, part of chairs. Murals spread over walls, some on ceilings. There’s colour everywhere, and it changes when you’re not looking. When you forget, and are dragged back weeks later for a job you don’t want.

It stinks of alcohol. Sweat. Metal. Oil.

It tastes of whatever you want.

And it sounds busy, voices indistinguishable between the music as Hanzo slips in through the back, the omnic bouncer stepping aside, expecting him. It’s a Friday, so not unusual. He’s working the room they call The Boiler. Downstairs again and one of the bigger rooms, sometimes closed off for exclusivity. Sometimes for a dead body.

The first time he came here, it felt like a community more than a club. More rooms unfolding after each door. Stairs leading to more floors he wondered how far down it really went. Owned by an omnic and human couple, there was always a buzz when they were spotted at their club, tucked in a corner, private.

There was a buzz tonight, but it felt different. As if something new had cracked open. Bristling hairs on skin, sparking exposed wires, the seams of the city picked.

Hanzo hangs his coat, and a last glance at the mirror in the bar staff room, tucking his hair back into a bun. The shorter strands of his outgrown undercut already falling free.

He tucks his small pack at the back of his waist with his bow, arrows already long stashed underneath the bar from his last few jobs here. And pushes the swing doors open for work.

All Blood and Chrome’s employees were like Hanzo. Well. All those down in The Boiler floor and below, anyway. Criminals; former, current, no-choice in the matter. Everyone vetted heavily by the owners, recommended from all the way down from Mariann and even Tilly, he was sure (“hey I’m just your messenger and forgery bot”).

“Oh hey-” she stops, trying to pick his name from memory.

“Morio.”

“Oh, that’s right. Mo.”

A short, sharp sigh. “What is it with people and nicknames, here.”

Hanzo tucks a cloth into his belt, dressed in black jeans, purple long sleeve t-shirt (tattoo always covered, here), half hanging off his right shoulder. Some nights there was a dress code. Usually, it was whatever the hell you wanted. Hanzo tried to dress unassuming. Like anyone who might walk through these doors.

He missed his hair ribbon.

Sometimes he still caught himself reaching up to touch, run his fingers along the silk.

“Easier to say,” she says tapping something into her phone. Hanzo’s burner beeps (everyone has a burner just for work. Sometimes two). “Remember mine?”

“Adrienne.”

A smirk. “Not nickname but, accent’s getting better,” she says with a wink under her mane of red curls. “Anyway. You’re assigned to the veranda tonight.”

(Excerpt from mixed nightlife spots of Budapest for the traveller: …The Veranda: despite being underground, this section of The Boiler Room looks a lot like a veranda might. Or not. Aglow in faux nature, bloom changing weekly, wood fused with metal and the lights, it’s become a favourite corner of those that matter around here…)

“Who?”

Adrienne nods to his burner and she turns back to the bar, asking for the customer’s request, flicking two glasses onto the bar with flair.

Hanzo unlocks the file with thumbprint, a secondary code following.

Rav[REDACTED] Approx 20 active years [REDACTED]tor. Tall. Smooth voice, apparently. Controlled and calm. Purple colourings. You’ll know him when you see him. Rumblings of him through the omnics like livewire right now. Heard he’d rather skewer a human than sit next to one, but when you're desperate, right? Think he’s here for connections, money, help, fucking anything for his cause. I need to know. You have ears like a bat and some weirdo intuition. You ain’t failed me yet, Katniss.

Hanzo glances at The Veranda. Two humans. Omnic. Some vacant tables. Empty glasses litter their table. He takes a tray, and walks, weaving through bodies, blaring music, faces he knows, doesn’t.

None of them know him as Hanzo. He wonders when he’ll lose his name, too.

The music muted as he steps into The Veranda, the words and whispers of every face he plucks to memory all that matters now.

His mark isn’t here yet, so he waits. Watches. Works.

——

He sits in a corner, arm over a woman he’s known for an hour. Couples less inconspicuous than alone. He hasn’t talked to her since walking in the door. Neither has she, her face pin lit from her phone.

Eyes follow his mark. Back. Forth. Cybernetic eyes building on what he already knows.

Not tonight, they said, he’s here. City’s a livewire. Guest of honour.

Click, clack, click, clack; from the dinner table, Hanzo looks up in time to see Genji arriving at the foot of the stairs. On her way out to another party or club, or whatever she does with her girl friends and boyfriends these days. And she can’t help but notice the choice of wear – tight top with the low heart-shaped cut that makes those tiny little mandarins look rounder and fuller than they actually are, and the smallest skirt ever known to mankind.

Hanzo can’t help but blink in shock; she cannot even begin to imagine how painfully tucked Genji has to be right now, that not even a hint of a bulge is visible underneath the pleats. She winces as if her own cock were offended.

Genji seems to notice her staring and swerves from her path to the front door, click-claking towards the dining room instead. At the entrance, she stops and does a little spin – pink lace contrasting with her tanned skin – winks teasefully at Hanzo, then saunters away. She doesn’t have the choice not to stare at Genji’s ass, blatantly exposed by what should be considered a belt instead of a skirt. It’s undeniably a nice view and her prick seems to agree, though she pinches herself out of that line of thought.

No good could ever come out of that.

“Slut,” she shouts after her sister, who laughs over her shoulder.

“Bitch,” Genji spits back, not even turning around, and disappears out of the house.

Chuckling to herself, Hanzo turns to her tea and her work, trying to keep Genji out of her mind. And it works – but only until the next morning. She’s crossing the estate, early and bright, when suddenly a voice erupts from a burrow of pillows on the living room couch.

“Mhmm, sister, you smell good,” Genji all but moans. She sounds sleepy and dry, clearly on the way between drunk and hangover.

Hanzo turns around and looks; her makeup is smudged, her top is all crinkled, and between her parted legs, under that which she calls a skirt, her cock seems to have escaped its confinements, tenting up the fabric ever so slightly. Genji looks like an absolute mess, but one she’s well used to – so Hanzo, being the reasonable sister, walks over to her.

“Put that thing away,” she mutters, forcing herself to watch Genji’s face instead.

She reaches out a hand for her sister and for a moment it seems that Genji will abide – but instead of taking Hanzo’s offer, and all the while giggling to herself, she grabs at the hem of her skirt and pulls it up. Hanzo suddenly feels very grateful that she was up so early this morning and the usual bustle of the house hasn’t started yet, because Genji’s half-hard cock stares up at her, smushed under pink lace that does very little to contain or hide it, and on top of it all her sister still has the gall to scratch at it and hiss.

Immediately Hanzo feels all the blood draining down from her head to her crotch; for a second she’s held speechless in place, watching Genji run her nails up and down her shaft – both of their cocks filling up almost in sync, but Hanzo’s hidden away in her pants – until she decides to free it from its diminute containment and tugs the g-string down. Another moan escapes Genji’s parted lips as she threatens to take hold of herself – and that’s when Hanzo springs into action.

Leaning down, she grabs Genji’s arms and throws her over her shoulder. She squeals and laughs as Hanzo marches down the living room, Genji’s bare ass pressed into the side of her face, and pushes into the first door that comes into view: a simple lavatory, for guests. No matter; the door has a lock and that’s good enough for her.

She puts Genji down and grabs at her hair, at the top of her head, to push her down. Her free hand goes to undo the buckle of her belt and Genji quickly joins her, frantically shoving her pants and underwear out of the way until Hanzo’s hardened cock bobs free. With both hands on Hanzo’s hips, Genji whimpers up at her, eyes quickly sobered up and awake.

“F-fuck, sis.” Like an overexcited puppy, her tongue sticks out, drooling over herself; Hanzo taps her crown over it. “When did you get so big?”

“Always have been,” Hanzo smirks; the compliment is almost good enough to make her grow another inch.

It looks like she might say something else, but Hanzo doesn’t let her – pushes into her mouth and Genji doesn’t have a choice but to take it. Doesn’t seem too upset about it, either; goes to work energetically, swirling her tongue and hollowing her cheeks like someone who’s well praticted in the art of giving pleasure.

“Slow down,” Hanzo asks eventually, tugging at her hair, and Genji looks up through a little frown. She thumbs at Genji’s lips, stretched around her girth beautifully, and thrusts gently into her mouth. Just to tease, just to make her want it as much as Hanzo does. “Good girl.”

Something lights up in Genji at that; she shivers and drops her hands from Hanzo’s hip to smooth down her own torso, towards her crotch. Long gel nails digging into the meat of her thighs, her jaw slacking open to let Hanzo fuck her mouth however she wants – and she does. Grabbing both sides of Genji’s face, she picks up the pace and chases her release, and it falls unto her like a meteor, hot and hard and fast; spilling down Genji’s throat until she’s sputtering and fighting back, coughing, cum dribbling down her chin like the gorgeous mess she is.

Hanzo feels gone in more ways than one.

Watery eyes stare up at her again, expectantly. “Good girl,” Hanzo coos at her again and a blush seems to color Genji’s cheeks, though she hides her face, gingerly pushing herself onto her feet as Hanzo begins to tug herself free from her work clothes. Tie and vest tossed to the side, she unbuttons the top half of her shirt, but Genji doesn’t let her finish – dives headfirst into her cleavage, face wet with drool and cum and tears, inhaling Hanzo’s scent from the cleft of her boobs. Her palms cup over Hanzo’s chest, massaging and pinching; she sighs, kissing the top of Genji’s head.

A few seconds later she resurfaces, inhaling sharply, her index fingers drawing circles over Hanzo’s niples, which are now hard enough to poke under her bra and shirt. Her cock begins to pulse again, in response; she can’t imagine how close Genji herself must be.

Taking Genji’s wrists, she guides her back towards the sink and helps her slide onto it; she slips into the bowl and the two laugh, right before she scoots into a more comfortable position, resting the heels of her feet on the ledge and spreading her legs apart, so that Hanzo can push aside that stupid mini skirt and dive to taste her.

She doesn’t hold back; shouts into the stuffed air of the shut off room as Hanzo takes her heavy cock in her mouth, and when that excuse of underwear attempts to get in her way, Hanzo pulls back and rips it half, tossing the pieces to the side.

“Han!” Genji slaps her shoulder. “That was brand new, you brute!”

“I much prefer you without it,” Hanzo smirks and the frown melts from Genji’s face, her hands going for Hanzo’s head and pulling her up into a kiss.

It dawns on Hanzo that they hadn’t kissed yet this whole time. She pours herself into it, then, suckling on Genji’s tongue and tasting her, as her hand slowly continues to jerk her cock, until hiccups break them apart. She leans back down, sucking the crown into her mouth, precum coating her tongue; above her Genji whimpers, clawing down her back and bucking up when Hanzo swallows her entire length, so she does it again.

It doesn’t surprise her when Genji cums unannounced; she pulls off of it and opens her mouth to lap it up while some of it still lands on her face, across her lips. Genji herself licks her clean and they share it with a kiss, messy and open-mouthed.

“I don’t want you to wear this skirt again,” Hanzo murmurs. It slips out of her before she has the time to think about it.

“You’re not the boss of me, Hanzo,” is the response she gets, which. Fair. But she doesn’t care what is or isn’t fair. Genji should be for her eyes and hands and mouth – and cock – only. No one else deserves such luck.

“Wear it only for me, then,” she almost pleads.

Her eyes find Genji’s and slowly a smug smile paints her sister’s face. She scoots in the sink bowl to zip down the back of her top and Hanzo tugs it off her, wasting no time to lean down and kiss her chest. Genji’s breasts are the perfect size to fit in her palms and she grabs at them a little on the side of rough, as she knows her sister likes it; goes back to kiss her in the mouth as she pinches at Genji’s nipples, moans dying in her sister’s throat because Hanzo won’t give them room to escape.

“Are you that jealous of me, sister?” Genji asks, breaking the kiss. Her voice is sweet and innocent and nothing like the devil of a woman Hanzo knows her to be.

“I am,” Hanzo admits, her mouth pressed into Genji’s neck.

“I can be your little pet,” she coos. “But you have to be mine, too.”

Besides herself with lust and a storm of possessiveness, Hanzo stares into her eyes for a long moment before saying, with all the truth in her heart, “I already am.”

Genji pauses, her facade falling, and pulls Hanzo back into a heated kiss. “Fuck me,” she moans and Hanzo nods, and suddenly they’re jumping away from the sink and tugging the rest of Hanzo’s clothes off – and she’s sitting on top of the toilet lid, and Genji is straddling her; spitting on her hand and further wetting Hanzo’s cock so it slides into her with a little more ease, a little more give.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck; both of them, manners thrown out the window, as Genji’s tight passage struggles to adjust to Hanzo’s girth. Yet they keep on pushing, until a while later they make it, all the way. Foreheads pressed together, heaving for air; Hanzo’s brain swimming in a pool of lust and unable to form any thoughts that aren’t related to how tight Genji feels around her.

“You’re so good,” she breathes out. “So good, sister.”

“And you’re so big,” Genji whines, forcing a chuckle out of her.

In spite of her apparent struggle, it doesn’t take long for Genji to begin riding her; hands on Hanzo’s shoulders for leverage to push herself up and down, setting up her own rhythm, as Hanzo busies herself with Genji’s boobs once more. She’s always been infatuated with their gorgeous shape and the pretty little jewel that Genji wears, that makes her nipples all the more sensitive – so when Hanzo bites at one, gently, she cries out, moaning.

“Hanzo!” Her words are punctuated with her movement as she continues to bounce on Hanzo’s cock. “Ah– I’m so– close!”

Patting between their bodies, Hanzo shoves her skirt out of the way again and takes hold of her erection; pumping it fast, faster than the pace of her own ride, and still suckling on her tits; Genji fully lets go of herself and falls onto Hanzo’s shoulder, moaning, taking all of her ministrations, rendered speechless for once. She cums over Hanzo’s boobs and Hanzo gives her only a moment to breathe before she’s pushing her up, onto her feet, face down into the sink so Hanzo can fuck into her pretty little hole all she wants.

It doesn’t take much longer, anyways; with Genji’s little noises echoing in the small room, Hanzo ends up cumming faster than she’d usually hold. But it’s the effect her little sister has on her, gets Hanzo’s thoughts wiped clean, her will completely demolished. She glues her hips to Genji’s and plunges as far as she can possibly go,and when she finally pulls away, that gorgeous little hole winks at her, as white cream slowly dribbles out.

A moment later, Genji straightens up and turns around, to push herself onto the cabinet again and pull Hanzo into a kiss, this one slower, kinder. Under the belt-skirt Hanzo can almost miss the small hint of a hidden gift – but after Genji pulls back and realizes the mess of cum she’d left on Hanzo’s chest, and leans down to languidly lick them clean, that bulge returns to tease at them.

Hanzo palms at her over the skirt. “You’re walking temptation, sister,” she whispers into Genji’s neck.

“Don’t start, Hanzo,” Genji sighs, pinching at both of Hanzo’s nipples. “You’re gonna have to finish it.”

“I don’t see how that’s a problem.” Hanzo smirks, fixing her ponytail that had come loose; a promise.