[Thick seed paints sticky white across Zenyatta's midsection, between struts and across plating, and with it the strange, tantalising scent of life and chesnut blossom and Hanzo himself, holding him tight and perfect inside of him, so welcoming-- but it's the sound that sets him over that edge; his voice joins Hanzo's and his phallus gives a final frame-shaking pulse where it slides against the man's belly and mats the hair there with lubricant in turn.
His body shakes and twitches over Hanzo, his jieba flash haphazardly with the sheer effort of keeping himself here in the moment and not crashing into a final overload. Yet that primal hunger within him still wants and wants through the rapture.
And when it lifts even fractionally he sees it in Hanzo's face, too: beneath the glassiness of his eyes and the sweat on his brow and the saliva on his lip, he wants it just as badly. Ruin me.
Zenyatta needs no further encouragement. One steady pump of the hips becomes another, and another, and suddenly they're moving on their own in quick, hard thrusts that burn through him like wildfire as Hanzo's channel suckles him back to the hilt, no less eager to take him as deep as possible for the sheer, brute impact each and every time.
It's wonderful and it's terrible and somewhere in the back of his mind Zenyatta knows he might truly hurt him. But that tell-tale pressure between his legs obliterates his conscience in a single blinding second, and all of a sudden all he can think of is encouraging the final egg as deep and safe as he can force it.
White-hot pleasure ejects it from his ovipositor and into that snug little space; if Hanzo climaxes again Zenyatta logs it only in the rawest and most mechanical sense as his overclocked systems finally crash into the blissful silence of a reload. His body, at least, has the courtesy to slump sideways rather than fall with his full (albeit negligible) weight onto Hanzo.]
[Hanzo can't even fathom how it must feel for Zenyatta to have his systems overloaded like this, but he's going through his own version of that. Once, and then all over again with each time the monk overstimulates all the right parts of his insides.
He can feel his cock continuously dripping and leaking either semen or precum from both ejaculation and arousal back to back. Hanzo's almost sure the normal human body is not meant to do such things. Toward the tail end of it all he's a mess. His arousal is wet and spent as well as all of that excess slickness from Zenyatta's ovipositor making his pubic hair lie flat against his skin and leaving the insides of his thighs and ass slick as well.
The archer barely finds the strength to move, but manages to hook an arm around Zenyatta to keep him close as he catches his breath and pleads for his body to calm down.]
[Zenyatta's world reduces to heat and humidity and pleasure and the faintest scent of ozone as his processor stutters towards clarity, the strange oversensitivity of his ovipositor sliding free with a slick, wet sound, almost too much for his body to bear- only for Hanzo's arm to reach for him through the fog.
Slowly, he returns.]
Hanzo... [One, two, three: his body twitches, pulses, but it has nothing left to give, and suddenly enough of his memory has been released for something so simple as thinking once more.
Stay, Hanzo says, and such a tide of warmth and adoration and sheer, blind, stupid love rises within him that it momentarily stuns him.]
Of course. [hoarse, as if he has been singing all night, and perhaps in a sense he has, though that does not keep the passion from his voice] Always.
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His body shakes and twitches over Hanzo, his jieba flash haphazardly with the sheer effort of keeping himself here in the moment and not crashing into a final overload. Yet that primal hunger within him still wants and wants through the rapture.
And when it lifts even fractionally he sees it in Hanzo's face, too: beneath the glassiness of his eyes and the sweat on his brow and the saliva on his lip, he wants it just as badly. Ruin me.
Zenyatta needs no further encouragement. One steady pump of the hips becomes another, and another, and suddenly they're moving on their own in quick, hard thrusts that burn through him like wildfire as Hanzo's channel suckles him back to the hilt, no less eager to take him as deep as possible for the sheer, brute impact each and every time.
It's wonderful and it's terrible and somewhere in the back of his mind Zenyatta knows he might truly hurt him. But that tell-tale pressure between his legs obliterates his conscience in a single blinding second, and all of a sudden all he can think of is encouraging the final egg as deep and safe as he can force it.
White-hot pleasure ejects it from his ovipositor and into that snug little space; if Hanzo climaxes again Zenyatta logs it only in the rawest and most mechanical sense as his overclocked systems finally crash into the blissful silence of a reload. His body, at least, has the courtesy to slump sideways rather than fall with his full (albeit negligible) weight onto Hanzo.]
we can call this whenever :B I am satisfied lol
He can feel his cock continuously dripping and leaking either semen or precum from both ejaculation and arousal back to back. Hanzo's almost sure the normal human body is not meant to do such things. Toward the tail end of it all he's a mess. His arousal is wet and spent as well as all of that excess slickness from Zenyatta's ovipositor making his pubic hair lie flat against his skin and leaving the insides of his thighs and ass slick as well.
The archer barely finds the strength to move, but manages to hook an arm around Zenyatta to keep him close as he catches his breath and pleads for his body to calm down.]
Stay with me.
ayyy we done
Slowly, he returns.]
Hanzo... [One, two, three: his body twitches, pulses, but it has nothing left to give, and suddenly enough of his memory has been released for something so simple as thinking once more.
Stay, Hanzo says, and such a tide of warmth and adoration and sheer, blind, stupid love rises within him that it momentarily stuns him.]
Of course. [hoarse, as if he has been singing all night, and perhaps in a sense he has, though that does not keep the passion from his voice] Always.