#mcyatta

The wanderer walks until he no longer needs to, a faint, internal hum harmonizing, the exact step punctuated by the not so distant howl that shatters the muffled, endless silence. He lights a fire. He eats a small meal of nuts and dried fruit, sips from his canteen, eyes drawn towards the sky. Even with the moon’s light, the spattering of celestial bodies is breathtaking, glowing pinpoints that fill the darkness between the nearest planets and stars.

Zenyatta is attuned. To nature, to the unknown, to the swelling, vibrant light that leads one from this world and the next. It is the only thing that keeps him from startling when a graveled voice calls out from the edges of the fire’s light.

“You are far from home, stranger.” Playful warmth with strange timber, a drawl meant to put him at ease.

“Indeed I am,” Zenyatta replies. Another set of footsteps join the first, a ruffling of energy. Hearing and feeling their presence only because they wish it so.

“You’re lucky you didn’t run into anything unpleasant,” the second figure says, deeper than the first, older, more guarded. “But you should run home now.”

The wanderer cannot see their faces, only their shoes, black and brown boots, faded jeans and dark leather. The scent of wildness, a musk barely noticeable on the wind, grown cold at the late hour. He does not move from his spot, his own cloth-bound legs tucked beneath him, eyes trained on what the darkness hides.

“Will you not stay and converse? I have food to spare.”

“If you linger, you’ll be food yourself.”

“C’mon, Reyes. Don’t be rude.” The younger voice quips. “Obviously he means no harm. And he managed to get out all this way.”

Reyes ignores him.

“It’s dangerous, close to the full moon like this. You got a death wish?”

“I very much enjoy living.”

“Then go.”

The single syllable shakes the air, but the monk does not move an inch. 

“I will not.”

A flare of two red specs, hellfire, then in its place a man, dark and scarred, tight curls upon his crown, teeth gleaming in the fire’s light, just a little too long, mouth a little too wide. 

“You say I am unsafe, but you are here. Warning me. Protecting me.”

“It’ll take more than words to keep you safe. It’s not often that something so young and pretty wanders this far out.”

“I am far from helpless.”

“That only makes you a bigger target.”

A howl, distant, joined by another, then another, a cacophony. Reyes doesn’t flinch so much as twitch at the sound, frown deepening.

“We’re nearly out of time.”

“He really ain’t scared.” In a blink, the second reveals himself, swarthy and disheveled, a cowboy hat lopsided upon his head. “Hearing those yowls and still…”

The younger brings his hands together. Clap-clap. Clap-clap. Matching the slow pace of the wanderer’s heartbeat.

“We could just—”

“Out of the question,” the older returns. 

The howls build again. Louder. Closer. At this distance, they only faintly sound like wolves. Reyes looks between his companion and Zenyatta. The edges of the wanderer’s lips lift in the faintest smile.

“Tell me what I must do.”

“What lives out here only respects three things. None of them are permitted by the marks on your head,” says Reyes.

“It is most fortunate that I am a wanderer, and no longer beholden to any dogma.”

The softness in the younger’s eyes draws firm. A golden gleam that is not the fire’s light.

“Best get to it then.”

-

Like the stars, like the canyon deep, the two strangers captivate. The way they shift into each other’s space, knowing and practiced, Reyes’ eyes trained on Jesse as he unbuckles his belt, a glint of impatience, of hunger. The hard tsk in his rumbling voice as Jesse draws out his cock, rosy and half-hard.

“Eager, aren’t we?” A tired sort of venom, but one Jesse neatly brushes off.

“Better that way. Won’t take too long.”

“You never do, Jesse.”

“Hey—”

A leatherclad hand descends, curling around the younger’s cock, words devolving into whines. They’ve crowded Zenyatta against the rockface, the fire at their backs, chill kept at bay. Zenyatta’s face level is with Jesse’s hips, his thin eyes drawn just a little wider, pupils dark. 

Reyes’ touch is no nonsense, steady pulls that draw Jesse to full hardness in under a minute, his lips pressed into the cowboy’s throat, teeth balanced against his pulsepoint, whispering things that Zenyatta can’t hear, things that make Jesse grit his teeth and whimper.

“Fuck, boss—”

“See?” Reyes groans.

Jesse’s cock twitches once, the tip shining and damp in the moon’s light. The musk Zenyatta had tasted on the wind is stronger now: thick and spiced, salt and leather and the hides of ancient, forgotten beasts. 

He leans forward, immediately warmer, the heat radiating from their bodies more than any human could exude. Zenyatta glances upward, taking in the gentle glazed look in Jesse’s eyes, the muted realization a moment before the wanderer descends. Lips press against the tip of his cock, a slip of tongue along the crown of it, tentative ministrations that slow Reyes’ hand. Jesse’s breath picks up, a quiet swear, cock jumping at the catch of lips and tongue, a gentle exhale ghosting over sensitive flesh.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jesse mumbles, voice strangely pitched.

“I am aware,” Zenyatta murmurs against his skin. 

There’s no more talking then, Zenyatta’s hands settling on Jesse’s thighs. His tongue glides against Jesse’s slit, tasting him, gently bitter, the sound Jesse makes burning in his ears. He does not need the ever approaching howls to speed his motions, to open himself up and take the stranger deeper. The first few inches grow wet and hot with from Zenyatta’s mouth, the rest worked by Reyes’ hand. Two sets of hungry, inhuman eyes burn into him, warming more than their bodies and the fire at their backs. Jesse’s hips stagger foward, fucking shallowly into his mouth, an arm around his middle keeping him steady. Possessive, but interested, Reyes controlling his younger. Ever watchful. Curious.

There is something beyond the line of their bodies, large, shifting, furred things, a whimper, a long whine. An answering growl that rumbles from one of the men in front of him, which, Zenyatta cannot say, mind trapped elsewhere, lashing his tongue along the underside of Jesse’s cock, sucking hard, wanting more, led by the mesmeric pumping of Reyes’ hand. Jesse’s breath grows labored, barely heard over the noises beyond them, rising to a fevered pitch.

“‘M gonna—“

A hand grips his shaved pate, shifting him back, holding him in place. Zenyatta gasps, eyes closing swiftly as the first stripe of cum catches the bridge of his nose, then across his panting mouth, Reyes working his fingers at the tip of Jesse’s cock, the same length Zenyatta had so eagerly sucked, the first inches worked and milked until Jesse whines deep in his chest, drawing back.

Another hand follows the first, blood warm and calloused, fingernails hard and pointed, claws that drag across Zenyatta’s face, smearing the mess, dip into his mouth, draw along his tongue. The wanderer suctions around them, teeth barely grazing, eyes darkened, half-mast.

“More,” Zenyatta whispers hoarsely when they recede, saliva clinging between fingers and lips. 

Reyes peers at him, eyes narrowed, reflective pinpoints, the anxious growls and yips dying down but lingering, watching, waiting.

Zenyatta reaches for him, and Reyes does not stop him from unzipping his pants, tugging down his underwear with his mouth, catching his cock with a needful immediacy. Muskier, thicker, urged deeper by the fire in his own belly. Zenyatta sucks him down too quick, a choked sound rumbling from his throat, a quiet murmur from Jesse, still so close. The younger touches himself, gaze flickering between Reyes and the man burrowing between his partner’s thighs, awed and flushed in the low light. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it, boss?” Jesse murmurs. “It’s fun to play with someone new…”

“Shut up, Jesse.” Reyes groans, drawing the man in close, capturing his jaw and kissing him hard, teeth and the snap of blood permeating the air. 

Reyes moves much more purposefully, commanding, urging Zenyatta to relax his throat, sliding deep and holding firm until Zenyatta’s fingers twist against his thighs. A dizzying, harrowing pace, each inch of him claimed, boundaries eroded, an ache in his jaw, his throat, his body, dripping, straining against his smallclothes.

Zenyatta wants to swallow, to take it all in, to receive what he so heartily worked towards, but Reyes does not give it to him, pulls back, deep, aching pulses across his face again, Zenyatta whining himself, pathetic, quiet sounds when he strains and thrashes against Reyes’ hold to no avail. Tears prick his eyes, blue swallowing his pupils, glowing in the dark.

“Please, please—“

“You’re safe, so why?”

“Gabe, you’re so clueless sometimes…”

The creatures behind his saviors linger, but dare not draw closer, humbled, scenting the air and finding it cloying. Jesse kneels, and Zenyatta nearly falls backward, shocked at the closeness, strangely, bitingly needy, kissing the man’s slackened lips while Jesse groans against his mouth.

Jesse’s hand slips between his legs, and Zenyatta snaps forward. He does not know himself, alien, new. Aching at the touch through his clothes, hard and sure with promise.