“In chess, the Queen is the most powerful piece on the board, as it can do whatever the fuck it wants, whenever the fuck it wants. The King is more important to the game, as you need it to win, but it is pretty useless compared to the QUEEN.“ (X)(X)(X)
roadhog face fucking zenyatta? w axphiliation if you wouldn't mind
Mako knows the destruction magic can cause, and his blood boils at the sight of anyone who wields it. Were he a younger man, he would have killed the monk before him. His genial, dark face and open demeanor mock him, remind him of everything that the omnics ruined. His livelihood, his homeland, the only life he ever knew.
But he is not a younger man; nuclear meltdown had a way of changing things.
Now, the monk’s graceful neck disappears inside the clench of his fist and he tugs, forcing the monk to his knees. The monk struggles, eyes bright and wide, high cheekbones gone splotchy and red, but he simply squeezes until the monk’s lids flutter and the long, delicate fingers cease scrabbling at his wrist.
Mako works quickly, danger buzzing along his skin like the aftershocks of an explosion: far enough away to feel the heat and energy, close enough to nearly fry the tips of the hairs along his arms. They are not alone, after all, the base teeming with recruits, an unlocked door separating them from discovery. He tugs his pants down in two harsh pulls, feels the cool air brush against his flaccid cock that he immediately takes in hand.
He unclenches his fist just enough to keep the monk from passing out. The monk gasps, flighty and wild, his eyes flickering from Mako stroking his slowly hardening cock and the man’s face, tawny skin flushing like a sunburn in the Australian heat. Mako doesn’t give him enough air to catch his breath, doesn’t want those venomous incantations to escape from that beguiling mouth. The little shambali may have everyone else under his thumb, but Mako is no fool. Their powers are not their own, and any who cling to the ethereal are corrupted by the old gods sooner or later, no matter their name, Anubis or Iris.
Mako stares at the tempting swell of the monk’s lips, round and pretty like a woman’s, catching flashes of his soft pink tongue behind two rows of straight white teeth. How his eyes couldn’t figure out where to look, finally slipping closed while he struggled to pull in the scant air that Mako allowed him. The perfect, nine dot array never flickered with its otherworldly blue light, remaining dormant like identical freckles upon his shaved pate.
His dick twitches and thickens as he watches the monk’s face, knows how dangerous he is, how easily he could be destroyed if there was room between them. The excitement of it, of having such a pretty, powerful thing at his mercy makes him impatient. Mako yanks the monk forward, bumping his lips against the wet head of his cock. The monk jerks, causing his dick to slide along his cheek, a wet trail of precum in its wake. Mako grunts, slaps him hard across the mouth. The omnic’s shout catches in his throat, but when the monk stares up at him, nearly eclipsed by the arc of his gut, it’s not anger or fear but hesitant, barely contained lust, the amber color of his iris drowned in black.
Mako grabs his dick, lets it smack against the reddened mark on his face while the monk flinches.
“Open your mouth.” Mako says, each word low and slow, like he’s speaking to a child, or an animal.
The hand at his throat relaxes slightly when the monk listens, presents that soft tongue, tilts his head back so he can see the red insides of his throat. Mako groans when he taps the tip of his cock against that velvet muscle, loving how the saliva grips at him, how hot and wet his mouth feels trembling against the underside of his cock.
He doesn’t think he’ll fit, but he does. Mako doesn’t go easy, takes the power like he does anything else, hard, unforgiving, no score too small. The monk’s throat convulses around him when he pushes too deep, knows he doesn’t pull back as much as he should to let him breathe. The omnic’s so responsive, groaning and choking, voice fucked out and raspy when he takes those precious pulls of air, saliva and pre catching in gossamer strands between those swollen lips and his dripping cock.
When he draws close, Mako works his forefinger and thumb in a circle behind his glans, bumping his slit against the monk’s tongue, the monk breathing like he’s run a marathon when the first jet of cum catches against his cheek, the second landing hot and thick on his presented tongue. The monk shakes, panting, tongue hanging out of his mouth and letting the cum drip when Mako finally releases his throat, only to lock his hands at his chin to study his work.