aperture_high | there's nothing like the feeling of slamming a long silver bullet

[After being on his own for so long, traveling with someone else has been an adjustment, to say the least. McCree of all people is taking some extra adjustment, because he's McCree, and 76 has very little patience nowadays.

Still, it's not the worst arrangement in the world. They're both competent. They compliment each other well, despite reluctance to admit it out loud. There are worse ex-agents to be stuck with.

So 76 is taking it all in stride, or trying to, anyway. Finding the abandoned house had been a boon, not that it’s really going to offer them much in the way of amenities. There’s a water pump in the front yard that still works, allowing them both a much-needed scrub-down, at least, and even in disrepair, a house protects them from the elements. There is also the added bonus of them having separate rooms for once. A real divider between them.

He's more than content with it, until things get a little too quiet. Suspiciously quiet. 76 knows he should just leave well enough alone, but he's paranoid, and half-blind, and isn't about to be caught off-guard. Something isn't quite right, and he finds himself padding through the upstairs hall, towards the room where McCree is set up.

It is not silent. It is very creaky.]

[76 couldn't have been quieter if he tried, meanwhile McCree was trying his damnedest to be as quiet as possible. Figures he'd draw attention to himself outta' irony. 76 has the worst possible timing on top of it all.

When 76 is about five paces away there's a sudden shuffle of clothes, a hurried jingle of spurs and the tell tale zip of a fly happening all at once courtesy of McCree's lightning fast reflexes. He sincerely hopped the latter wasn't noticeable in the flurry. When 76 is about one pace away, the cowboy sticks his head out from behind the door and looking none-too-pleased to see him.

WHAT IS IT. IS IT IMPORTANT. IT'D BETTER BE IMPORTANT.]

[Here is the unfortunate thing, Jesse--76 might be a little visually impaired, but he's still got all his other senses intact, and the years haven't made them less sharp.

He'd made the journey down the dark hallway with the intent of making sure McCree is still alive, but as soon as it's revealed that he is, 76 turns his attention elsewhere. Namely on the fact that this is suspicious behavior, even if he can't actually see much of it. He can hear it. He can hear that belt and zipper. He's a super soldier.]

What're you doing in there?

[Spoken somewhat suspiciously. You know, like a dad.]

What's it any of your business what I'm doin' in there? [Every word is sharp, impatient, an audible compliment to the way his face is very faintly flushed. It's hard to tell if one is because of the other, or the other way around.

McCree continues to hang half behind the doorway, one hand in his pocket, staunchly unwilling to move. He's eager to get the subject off of him.]

You need somethin'?

[The flush on McCree's face goes unnoticed for obvious reasons, but that doesn't change the fact that 76 is still suspicious.]

I can hear you.

[Or, rather, heard the lack of noise, which got his attention simply based on the fact that it's not just his strength and speed that's enhanced. He won't address it correctly, instead letting McCree draw his own conclusions with the hope that he'll confess.

Maybe he'll get a confession. Maybe he just likes seeing Jesse squirm.]

[Well shoot. McCree figured if the eyes were going bad maybe the hearing was too, but... maybe that super soldier concoction was pumping through those veins of his? McCree's blood, plain and ordinary as it was, was pumping loud and clear in his ears. Maybe he was hearing that. He swallows.]

What'd you hear...?

[He asks slowly, scrutiny serving as a mask. Like he was trying to pretend he was just humoring 76's baseless accusations. Baseless and paranoid, obviously!

Wasn't nothin' to be ashamed of really, but now he can't help but wonder if 76 was maybe listening in on purpose. Maybe he couldn't help but be so enamored with such a handsome cowboy. Maybe he just likes seeing Jesse squirm.]

[Yeah, there it is. He doesn't have to be able to see McCree's expression clearly to know that he's squirming. There's a sort of satisfaction in it, and when 76 finds satisfaction in so few things nowadays, he'll take what he can get. Maybe it's just nice to feel like he can still have this sort of effect on someone, like he hasn't quite lost it just yet.]

Whatever it is you were doin'.

[But he says that with a tone of voice that indicates he knows exactly what McCree was doing. He takes a step forward, trying to wedge his foot in the door.]

[Yeah he's being awfully insistent about it now, isn't he? Probably getting a real kick out of this. McCree actually doesn't budge, personal space be damned. He's being purposefully petulant.]

You ain't got anything better to do?

Don't sleep well.

[He expects McCree to be more than acquainted with his chronic insomnia by now--they've been traveling together for enough time for him to realize it's something of a persistent problem. His moving forward and McCree's refusing to budge puts them almost uncomfortably close.]

You know that.

Edited 2016-10-15 05:53 (UTC)

[At this point McCree stalls. He's unsure if 76 is bluffing, or he had been heard and knows what he was doing and hasn't left him be to do it because he wanted something to do with it. The possibility 76 may have come up here for a reason other than curiosity has McCree licking his lips. Visor or not, sometimes it's really hard to get a beat on the guy.]

I know that.

[It seems to be the thought that stays, kindled by the cowboy's ego, the idea that the esteemed Strike Commander Jack Morrison turned Renegage brought his old bones up those stairs to get his rocks off.

The eyebrows go up. It's not quite a smirk on McCree's face but there's an airy tone in his voice now. There's still some measured caution but those embers do grow quickly.]

You want me to pretend I didn't hear you comin'?

[76 is perfectly content to be hard to read, and possibly does it on purpose. The more he can catch people off guard the better, though he doesn't miss the fact that McCree seems to be taking this as a proposition.

This kind of tension between the two of them is the last thing he ever expected to come out of their tenuous partnership, but 76 can't say he really minds. It's a good way to work out excess energy, though he knows it's not exactly healthy.

Still, self-control hasn't been his strong suit in recent years. They're close, now, and 76 doesn't make any effort to respect personal space.]

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

[Hard to read or not doesn't seem to deter McCree either. Hell, he seems to thrive on that ambiguity and how their relationship has these spits of undefinable--not exactly healthy--moments of tension. This is surely one of those moments, punctuated by how much he likes the thrill of being so close to him that he can feel the heat radiating off his chest... and of course the nagging throb of a mostly hard erection still that's still gone unattended.]

Well then, help yourself.

[After enjoying the showdown McCree finally takes a few steps back and reclaims his little room of former privacy. He lowers himself to the floor, long legs splayed wide and resting at the heels of his boots. The spurs jingle lightly meanwhile the sound of his zipper being undone somehow sounds so much louder. The belt comes next, the risk of being caught now taken away.

He's just going to resume where he left off and if 76 wants to watch or join in or leave in disgust then that's fine. Whatever doesn't help him sleep at night.]

Edited (a double negative also i'm going to bed now I promise) 2016-10-18 03:45 (UTC)

[Well, that settles that, he guesses. As soon as he's permitted entry, 76 takes the opportunity, walking a little half-circle around McCree before deciding that the bed is as good a place as any to sit. He sinks down into the old mattress, trying to ignore the dust that settles around him and instead focusing all his attention on the cowboy displaying himself in front of him.

He knows that just watching isn't going to do much for him, given the fact that it's dark and he can barely see, but he hears the undoing of the zipper and decides he can be a little patient before inserting himself into the situation.]

Don't let me stop you.

[That should make his intentions clear.]

[The little half-circle stirs heat in his gut unexpectedly. For a brief second it felt like he was in a younger time, an overwatch agent, waiting for an order while a superior circled around him in appraisal. Gabe never betrayed what he was thinking, only ever said the worst of it. McCree eventually learned to appreciate every word not said.

He slouches back until he hits part of the wall, getting comfortable and pitching his hips up a little as he readjusts. He'd shoved his hand in his pocket to hide the fact his palm was slick but now everything's gone dry again. He works himself slowly, testing to see how far he'd be able to get away with not having to take care of that himself. He strokes himself lazily, finding he hasn't withered any at all since he was interrupted. McCree keeps his gaze on 76 and eventually takes to more playful teasing, waggling his cock back and forth like a dog's tail looking for attention.]

Can you even see anything over there?

[It's going to take more than just listening to McCree to work him up, but for now he's content to do just that, if only because he knows it might make Jesse squirm. He's putting on a good face--and, presumably, a good show, but unfortunately he's right.

76 cannot really see.

So he turns it around, the wryness more than evident in his voice as he leans back a little on the bed.]

Is that an invitation?

[They're already engaging in something as personal as this so there should be no sense of shame or embarrassment about it. Still, the smug way 76 leans back as McCree feeling like he would have been put on the floor one way or another. Isn't going to stop him in the least. His dick is still hard and he's gone a while not relieving himself like this. McCree grunts.]

I ain't going to stop you should you decide to crawl on your hands and knees to get a better look.

[McCree will return that wry smile, even knowing 76 can't see it so. It's loud and clear in his teasing. He lurches forward and with no amount of grace aims a clear string of spit down at his cock. He starts jacking himself off to much better effect, slick sounds making themselves evidence as he casually works his hand up and down. He moans oh yeah, loud, deliberate and acted; a sound meant to both make 76 question what he's about to get himself into and invite him right over to find out.]

[He lets out a barking sort of laugh, like he finds the idea of debasing himself in such a way to be absolutely ridiculous. McCree should know that, too, and subsequently what a similarly ridiculous challenge that really was.

So he'll entertain this momentarily, at least until McCree really starts laying it on. There's only so much of this kind of showmanship he can take before he wants to stuff something in the cowboy's mouth to make him shut the hell up.

When he's had enough, he walks over, closing the distance between them but not kneeling, of course. Instead, he stands in front of McCree, surveying him for a moment before pulling off his glove and tangling fingers in his hair, using the grip to jerk his head back.]

[He doesn't stop even when 76 is standing right in front of him, slow slicking fapping sounds of his hand moving across his cock. He can sort of guess what might be coming when the glove comes off, but he still can't help how his jaw hangs much more loosely being pulled back like that. A muted sound of protest comes from said mouth but his body language says differently. If anything it seems his strokes come a little harder and faster. He can't help that much either.]

Bad back for hands and knees, mm?

[He knows he's being put in a position so he sure as hell isn't going to act like it.]

I can still run circles around you, Jesse.

[Government juice, and all that.

Once again, however, 76 is reminded of how annoying it is to have McCree talking. The hand that's not currently holding him by the hair brushes his bottom lip as he starts to force his fingers inside.]

[At first McCree complies, perhaps subconsciously, and wraps his lips around 76's fingers while his free hand reaches out to the soldier's shin for support. The taste is nothing to write home about, salty and tucked in those gloves for too long. Before he lets himself get too far involved with sucking and licking he closes his mouth and abruptly turns his head away, even as 76 is trying to force his way inside.]

've heard that line before.

[Lines that aren't entirely satisfying to the cowboy's ears, not after he was interrupted like this and not after 76 thinks it's fair to come in and try to reign up the cowboy so fast. He doesn't sound impressed as he lulls his head around to his best efforts, deeming breeches of fingers just as such. 76 has him by the hair but it's something McCree has conveniently forgotten in the moment. It's a little harder to keep concentration on good steady strokes so he settles for circling the head of his cock, finger tip just barely dipping past the rim of tight skin.]

Was it me who said it?

[Half genuine question--he doesn't remember--half implication that maybe it was Gabriel who said it, instead. 76 spends an awful lot of time trying to piece together the relationship between Blackwatch's commander and his most talented subordinate, even though he knows he shouldn't.

But there's something more immediate to dwell on when McCree refuses to keep fingers in his mouth. 76's grip in his hair tightens slightly.]

I didn't say you could stop.

[76 can be hard to read but a question like that is as prying as his fingers. It could mean a lot of things and for that reason McCree is inclined to offer a wry smile and keep his mouth shut. Figuratively speaking. Literally is proving more difficult as fingers squeeze at his scalp.]

You don't say a lot of things.

[Maybe it's a bid to make 76 as vocal as McCree usually is, something he obviously enjoys.]

Maybe ask pretty please for Jesse McCree to lip lock and tongue tango with your fingers.

Can't give it all away at once.

[76 is incredibly self-aware about the fact that he's a little bit taciturn. A lot taciturn, a quality only exacerbated by the fall of Overwatch and six years of vigilante bullshit.

His voice is stern and his grip is tight, thumb pulling at McCree's lower lip.]

You should know I don't say please.

[It's harder to keep up the fight when 76 is standing over him like this and using both his hands to his advantage. Here McCree is sitting prone on his ass with his dick out, about eye-level to 76's crotch. McCree eventually surrenders his mouth but not before leaving some growling words, somewhere between a wager and a tease. There's a tone in them that warns he shouldn't be taken so lightly.]

Maybe I'll make you say it.

[He cranes his head (as much as he can muster, just enough to make the pull on his hair a self-inflicted hurt) to take in 76's thumb deep into his wet mouth. He laps at it with his tongue and draws tight suction between his lips. He's ready to give 76 the show he couldn't see from that dusty old bed and heard only with paranoid ears.

McCree also goes back to stroking himself, albeit slower and concentration on giving 76's fingers full attention.]

You're welcome to try.

[76 has no intention of saying it at all, ever, and he's pretty sure McCree knows it, so he won't even bother with false hope, either. And McCree relents, easier than 76 thought he would. After a few moments he exchanges his thumb for his index and middle finger.

It's only after he's sure his fingers won't be spit out that he releases McCree's hair, letting his free hand trail down the side of his neck before settling on his shoulder. His eyes fall to lock onto McCree pumping his own cock, and even in the dim light, the smug look on his face is more than evident.]

[Even though McCree is much more compliant now that doesn't mean enjoys being bossed around so much. He fixes 76 with a hard stare while he occasionally runs his teeth over the side of 76's finger, a sharp contrast to the thick wet muscle of his tongue working over skin. He feels the tips of his ears burning with degradation and he can't entirely figure why. He certainly put himself in this position, quite willingly, and the way his cock throbs in his hand is a strong testament to getting off on being bossed around at least a little. He's nobody's dog anymore, but... that smug look 76 is giving him is hard to stop staring at. McCree doesn't like feeling at odds with himself so he's quick to convince himself he must have simply learned some bad habits in Overwatch. 76 has too, apparently. Or learned brand new ones.

McCree's head bobs slowly with teasing purpose but he idly wishes he had something bigger to wrap his lips around. It's only brief that he lets his upward scowl drift away, just a quick curious check for any tell tale signs of fabric straining between 76's legs. He decides there's no reason to not get his own hands involved--76 certainly didn't say not to. He lurches forward to his knees and cups 76's ~~tragically box-like~~ ass with both his hands and starts manhandling him with little shame or reservation.

Mostly just to see how he reacts and how far he can get away with it. 76 isn't exactly shy about letting him know where the boundaries are, much as McCree might like to test them.]

[He catches that stare and matches it with a satisfied expression of his own, eyebrow raised and lip quirking upward as his thumb pulls at Jesse’s lower lip. It’s difficult to see in the low light, and he has to squint to get the full effect, but once he does, it’s clear that this isn’t enough for Jesse. There’s heat radiating between them already, and despite the fact that he's still not sure he should be engaging in this, fingers in Jesse's mouth isn't enough for him, either.

Then there are hands on his backside, kneading and squeezing and pulling him closer, but 76 resolves not to enjoy it at all. It's far too much control, and he's going to put a stop to it.

He raises a hand, like he's going for his belt, but it drifts to his hip instead, settling on the holster of his sidearm.]

[McCree isn't getting the exact reaction he wanted from his very skillful ass appreciation and he knows getting any kind of reaction out of 76 in most instances won't come without a lot of effort first (and will totally be worth it). He's a stubborn soldier, jaded, and maybe missing one or two screws after all he's been through. It's that thought that wedges itself in McCree's mind as his eyes very carefully track where 76's hand goes. His hands slow and falter for just a moment and he curses himself for showing that much wariness. Surely 76 is just resting his hand there out of comfort, and not trying to imply something that, in any other situation, would be a warning spoken loud and clear.

It's McCree's own selfishness and obstinance that keeps his hands on 76's ass, groping and fondling and canting his hips closer to his mouth in no subtle suggestion.

He wouldn't shoot him. He's not short three screws, right? Why he probably doesn't mean a damn thing about it and he's so absorbed in all the amazing things McCree's lips are doing (and can be doing) he just has no mind where his hand is going. Yes that's it. It's time to make the old man eat crow and crow his name.

McCree keeps one hand on his ass while the other slide over the top rail of 76's belt until it's casually picking at the belt's front.]

[The hand at his gun is a reflex, but the longer it hovers there, the more he gets an idea in his head. To say it’s ridiculous would be an understatement, but this entire situation is ridiculous, so what’s making it a little moreso? McCree is already trying to undo his belt, and 76’s fingers fall out of his mouth.

They go to his gun, this time no ambiguity as to whether or not the move is deliberate. He unholsters it, using his now-free other hand to release the clip. No reason for McCree to think that he’s actually going to die.

76 doesn’t raise it right away, watching the hands on his belt, instead, trying to gauge the response before he goes any further.]

[There's again, some hesitation when 76 pulls the gun out of its holster. Much of that could however be attributed to now not having anything in his mouth, leaving him slack-jawed and wet in the chin. He furrows his brows when the clip drops, obviously confused. The only good use an empty gun had was as a bludgeoning device, and he wouldn't entirely put it past 76 to pistol whip him for insubordination.

This, however, does not stop McCree from continuing to carefully undo his belt. He's just doing it with more precision and care than he normally would.]

If you aim to strike me you'd better make it count, Jack.

[The use of his real name is purposeful, and McCree makes it sound like an insult, like he's not sure if he should be mad the way things are going now or secretly thrilled. His cock is dribbling and beat red from being engorged with so much blood, which probably says more than words can.

The belt comes undone and McCree doesn't stop, fingers prying apart his pants button and zipper.]

[He laughs in the back of his throat, because of course he doesn’t intend to strike McCree—and he thinks the cowboy knows that deep down. No, this gun is for something else entirely, and hopefully the fact that he’s emptied the clip will put Jesse at ease.

Or not, but maybe that’s the point. 76 pulls his hips away, a clear denial of permission to keep McCree from getting into his pants (quite literally), and inserts the gun between them instead. He should get the hint eventually, right?

76 will be a little more forward anyway, a warning in the event that McCree thinks he can get away with using his name. He presses the muzzle of his pistol to McCree’s moth, dragging it downward and pulling at his lower lip, a clear hint to what he wants done with it.]

[There's a choked gasp as he's made to kiss the muzzle of the gun, something that sounds more like a whine than he wishes it ever did. This has taken an entirely unexpected turn of events and he's not sure what to think but he's certainly not shying away. Partly in morbid curiosity, partly because he's not sure he could even if he wanted. He feels a kind of immobility in this that is completely unnatural to him by having complete control taken away with the same piece of hardware he wielded so effortlessly it might as well have been just an extension of his hand. McCree understands guns. Jack understands guns. Maybe this is fitting. Maybe this is perverse. Maybe that's the whole point.

McCree winces and opens his mouth, sticking his tongue out as if he were about to take a cock in his mouth instead. It's cold and tastes like iron. There's hard angles that scrape his cheek and clack occasionally against his teeth. It forces his jaw apart with less forgiveness or flexibility. Putting saliva on it only seems to make the iron taste stronger.

76 may have emptied the clip but McCree keeps it in the back of his mind that there could still be a bullet in the chamber, and that's all it'd take. He has to completely submit himself to the man in front of him now in a away he's never had to before. McCree finds his hands drifting towards his neglected cock but he refrains from touching. He gives 76 a pleading stare that isn't well suited to him; it's a little hard to ask for permission with a mouthful of gun.]

[76 stays still for a long moment, the only movement the probing of his gun further into McCree's mouth. Luckily, he seems to take the hint pretty quickly, and from there all he has to do is watch. He's still not quite sure where this is coming from, or if he even likes it, but being impulsive is a strong suit of his. Besides, it's shut McCree up in what's perhaps the best way possible.

Ridiculing him for liking this (and from the look on his face, it's clear he likes it) would be far too easy, so he doesn't say anything, perhaps hoping it will just up the anxiety factor. He leans to the side a little, watching the steady drift of McCree's hands. That plus the expression on his face says it all.]

You can touch yourself.

[76 isn't that cruel.]

[The lack of any words of encouragement, belittlement, teasing or goading does nothing to help, no. McCree can't speak for himself so the silence sounds extra loud--or rather the slurping wet sounds his mouth makes around the gun sound extra loud, echoing around the small safe house and out into the open air. He groans mutely with the back of his throat to try and break it up and somehow that only makes it worse.

At least until he's told he can touch himself. He closes his eyes and doesn't question it, and immediately tends to himself with near trembling hands. This managed to be humiliating in entirely new ways and he's mostly mad 76 is the one who managed it.

His strokes steadily take that ire and each pump of his cock gets harder and faster, the way his head bobs over the gun becomes more relaxed and almost greedy despite the awful taste. He edges himself close and his eyes snap open, as if remembering he was sucking off a gun in the first place. Finally, he rears back and extricates himself from the firearm, not caring for a second a long string of spit still connected him to it.]

Give me a break...!

[He's not even sure how to protest it and every line in his head immediately sounds bad, but fuck it, he's protesting with a flushed face and lips that border on swollen.]

Can't you think of a single better use for my mouth, Jack?

[76 doesn't even need to be touched--watching McCree swallow the muzzle of his pistol and start to jack himself off is more than arousing enough. He's not going to question it, or why he even thought this was a good idea in the first place, just enjoying the way Jesse looks underneath him, eyes squeezed shut, cock swelling in his hand and mouth around the barrel like it's Jack's own dick.

It's all well and good until he stops, of course, and 76 almost outright groans in protest. The look on his face makes everything clear, at least.

No! No breaks. McCree gets no breaks, and 76 is quick to prod at his mouth with the tip of the pistol.]

I didn't say you could stop.

[As far as he's concerned, this is the best use for McCree's mouth--at the moment, anyway.]

Didn't answer my queh-hfnmn--[That's about as far as he gets in his retort before the pistol is shoved back in his mouth. 76 had the good, or incidental, timing of not hitting any teeth on the way in as McCree was trying to get his words out. It's still not the answer McCree was looking for and he screws his eyes shut while desperately trying to ignore how having his mouth plugged despite his wishes is only making more blood rush to his engorged cock.

He twists his head from side to side and groans some other words that don't mean or sound like anything. It's not a hard resist--like with Deadlock and Overwatch, he knew how to cut his losses and weigh his options, even if he liked neither of them. Obviously some part of him liked this or he would have put a stop to it already, but like hell 76 needs to know that. His head cranes back and ends up taking more of the pistol down his throat and wonders for a moment if he should just take it like that. His lips are flushed and letting 76 use his mouth like this just seems easier. Some small part of McCree wouldn't deny the tingling anticipation of being praised like a good soldier for his efforts but like hell 76 needs to know that either.]

Fhhck youhr ghun-- [He manages, somehow. 76 seemed to be annoyed by his talking. Obviously he should try to keep it up.]

[Of course he didn’t answer the question—76 doesn’t take orders from anyone, and though McCree obviously knows that, he doesn’t see him coming to terms with it anytime soon. It’s a good thing, then, that he has no problems reminding him about it as many times as necessary. He lets the gun do the talking, supremely satisfied when the takes it back in his mouth. It can’t at all be pleasant, but McCree isn’t stopping. There must be some part of him that likes it.

He laughs at the attempts to speak around the barrel, but otherwise 76 doesn't force it down his throat. The fact that he's able to take this much is already pretty impressive, seeing as it's an unyielding shaft of metal. The problem is that 76 is increasingly aroused by all this, but they're mostly out of free hands to make this happen.

So, more taunting.]

If I didn't know any better, I'd say you liked this.

[Meanwhile McCree has two perfectly good hands at his disposal while his mouth is frustratingly occupied by a spit-covered pistol. They've been sort of idle while his head tilts back and takes the unrelenting stiff shaft of metal and 76 carefully controls how far it goes and when. It's distracting until he starts getting to a breaking point of not caring as much. His hands drift towards his cock with renewed purpose, resuming where he left off only a few moments ago. There are no hands on 76 now. McCree accepts the idea of being used like this and if it has to be so, he'll maintain control over his own pleasure at the very least.

That said, tiny embers of pride still cling to that very idea and McCree quickly brings himself to the edge with fervent strokes and then backs off, squeezing his dick until thin drops of precum are milked out and the insistent throbbing for release simmers just enough. Teasing himself like this is taking a remarkable amount of concentration and it's enough to just barely frustrate himself and he only hopes the wet heavy slaps of his palm stroking his dick also frustrates 76 somehow.]

Edited 2016-12-31 07:13 (UTC)

[Now 76 gets his own hands in on it too, digging into his pants and pulling his dick out, holding the gun against the inside of McCree’s mouth as he starts to stroke himself, long and steady. It stops all real movement of the gun (he can only multitask so much), but all he really needs it for now is to keep McCree in place and keep his mouth shut. For that, it does surprisingly well.

His own breathing gets a little more labored in tandem with the way Jesse strokes himself, the movement of his hand a little more shameless. All the while, he stares down at McCree with heavy-lidded eyes, eyebrows knit together in concentration.]

[He groans around the gun when 76 whips it out and starts jerking off mere inches from his face. Despite stopped movement it doesn't take away from the experience of having his mouth filled with something unrelenting and to be left totally at 76's whim. It's not something the cowboy ever imagined for himself or ever fantasized about, but now that he's here he's sure this situation won't leave his mind anytime soon.

McCree hasn't dared to break eye contact with 76 until his dick came into play, and now McCree can't help but stare as he shamelessly strokes himself. He mimics his speed, goes slow and matches his rhythm only to find it's not quite enough. McCree's been teasing himself for much harder and much longer and this pace just won't do.

He was sure he'd have something to brag about in this situation but there's no bragging about any of this. He swallows what little of his pride is left and gives in to raw desire, stroking himself hard and fast. It doesn't take much imagining 76's dick is in his mouth instead of the gun before McCree's eyes roll up into the back of his head as he hits that sweet high ~~noon~~.

He groans again, long and loud and then bites down on the rim of the barrel as he spills all over the floor in long sticky ropes. 76's boots aren't immune to an accidental (or maybe it's intentional) dribble of cowboy cum as he finally exhausts himself and slumps down on his haunches.]

[Cowboy cum on his shoes is the least of his worries—he’ll allow it, given the circumstance, even if McCree is definitely aiming like that on purpose. 76 isn’t stupid in that regard, but he’ll live with the satisfaction of watching McCree jack himself to orgasm while swallowing the barrel of a gun. His reward is that 76 pulls it out, casting it aside and concentrating all his own efforts on jerking himself off.

He didn’t have the advantage of a head start, so it’s going to take him a few more moments to work himself up to climax. McCree is just going to have to deal with a dick in his face for that amount of time—but probably better than a gun, right?]

[Probably better until McCree realizes he's in the same line of fire. Instead of a gun threatening it now he's got a dick in front of him with the promise of a payload. The thought crosses his mind that he should get on it and to that he makes a half-attempt by keeping his mouth open but is otherwise too dazed to do the other half of moving forward and taking it in his mouth. Part of him would rather not but he'll leave himself to 76's mercy. Like he has all night.]

[76 was mostly expecting to just jack off in McCree's face and leave it at that, but hey, if he wants to keep his mouth occupied, he isn't exactly going to stop him. An obscene sort of noise escapes him because he wasn't exactly prepared, but he rolls with it fairly quickly, tangling hands in McCree's hair.

Which is still in desperate need of a shower, thanks.

It's not long before he's pitching his hips forward, encouraging McCree to swallow more of him--if he can.]

[That noise that does escape suddenly makes the entire evening of oral abuse worth it. 76 will clearly feel the low hum of satisfaction in McCree's throat as he effortlessly takes him in his mouth. Where the gun was metallic and unforgiving against his cheeks, 76 is warm and engorged with blood, and there's give and take as his tongue moves across his skin. 76's hands do most of the work of moving McCree's mouth over his cock but McCree is loose and pliable--at least until he starts hitting the back of his throat and it's clear 76 has a little length on the pistol.

McCree screws his eyes shut and is too tired to put much conscious thought into keeping tight or precise about this. There's a grunt of initial discomfort until a rhythm is established. Drool flows freely down McCree's chin as 76's cock drives in and out, bulging his throat and making McCree wonder if he's supposed to be feeling shame somewhere around now about being mouth fucked like a worn condom. Or somewhere around blindly grabbing at 76's shin's and boots for comfort only to find his hands full of his own dearly departed cowboy cum, now cold and sticky and affording him no good grip whatsoever. It's probably somewhere around the idle thought that passes his very scientific mind that 76's spunk is probably loaded with super soldier juice and he's about to swallow a load of it, and how it's probably not going to get him jacked as hell.

At least not in that sense.]

Edited (a bracket) 2017-01-12 07:38 (UTC)

[76 reminds himself to make McCree suck off his gun more often, if this is what happens as a result. He's still not sure what the actual goal is here, going at him so eagerly, but 76 isn't going to complain. He steels himself instead, not wanting to give Jesse the satisfaction of making him lose composure.

It's a pretty tall order--they're learning more and more about each other every time, and McCree has always been smart. He's already picked up on what 76 likes and wastes no time at all going about it, and he's good enough at it to wring noises out of him that he tries his best to keep inside.

Suffice to say that after some not insignificant thrusting, 76 is ready to go, and as soon as he feels his orgasm he pulls out, very explicitly wanting the result of said orgasm all over McCree's face.]

[McCree's expecting to get a mouthful and not a faceful, so when 76's cock is unceremoniously pulled out of his mouth with a loud wet pop he unintentionally lurches forward as if his lips still intended to follow. The first spurt hits him squarely in the forehead and a knee-jerk reaction to avoid more of it only makes it worse. He cranes his head up and by the time he realizes what's happening he all at once he gives up on the idea of saving himself. The best he can do is screw his eyes tight as gobs of solider juice cover his face. He leaves his mouth half-open with no respect to himself. Even catching warm dibbles rolling down his nose seemed better than doing nothing at all. He forgets where he left his (or 76's for that matter) pride, somewhere in this dusty old shack.

When all's said and come, McCree slouches back on his haunches, swallows whatever hit his tongue, and tentatively opens the only eye that was was spared. It's hard to escape the smell and the immediate urge to wipe his face. He refrains as if waiting for permission then quickly gives up on the idea when he feels warm wet on his dick that wasn't his own as it dripped off his chin. He uses the broad side of his palm to wipe the most generous parts off his forehead and cheek and flicks it on the floor, somewhere with his own jizz. Can't do much for his eye without a rag of some sort but to that he'll look up at 76. Not exactly pleading but casually expectant. Satisfied at the very least and hoping to read the same on 76's (much cleaner) face.]

Ain't that a mouthful.

[You know, the gun.]

[Of course Jack is giving him a faceful--what does McCree take him for? Someone who would not do that? Just because he can't see very well doesn't mean he can't enjoy what he knows is McCree squeezing his eyes shut while he gets off right in his face.

He shudders, hunching his shoulders and jerking himself until he's completely spent, then it's all hard breathing and a hand against the bed to brace himself. It takes him a moment to realize that McCree has opened his mouth again.]

Shut up, Jesse.

[It's an exasperated groan in response to what is obviously a BAD JOKE, but there's nothing hostile in his voice this time. His grip slackens and he slouches backward, allowing himself to finally sit down.]

there's nothing like the feeling of slamming a long silver bullet

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