Actions

Work Header

Dusty Grandpa Hatefuck

Work Text:

Mondays. Morrison hates Mondays.

It is the early afternoon, bright sunlight filling the room. Strike Commander Jack Morrison sits at his desk. His office resides within Overwatch's Swiss headquarters. This facility is one of the world's leading institutions of scientific, mechanical, and medical innovation. The world's best soldiers, scientists, engineers, and doctors call this place home.

And yet Jack is once again filling out reports.

His office is small, enclosed by four pristine white walls trimmed with blue. A holographic desk takes up the centre of the room and a large monitor displaying current events and Overwatch operations takes up an entire wall. The office is otherwise barren: a small bag of personal effects sits in a corner, a series of Overwatch operational manuals occupy a single shelf, and a series of framed pictures around the room depict Morrison with comrades either still in service, retired, or long since gone. Out the window Morrison has access to a beautiful view of the Swiss mountains, although he rarely makes the effort to turn around in his desk and enjoy it.

These days waking hours blur together. Paperwork and reports swallow his waking hours and haunt his dreams. His golden hair, so often a cornerstone of Overwatch's branding, has started to go gray to stress and age.

But all of this is required of him. He is a symbol. He has to be. His face represents persistence, bravery, ingenuity, and so much more all in the face of impossible odds. He and the rest of Overwatch's original strikeforce turned the tide in the war against the robotic insurrectionists of the Omnic Crisis. His face adorns motivational material around the world. Morrison struggles to keep up the noble, hope-filled façade the organization requires of him in countless interviews and documentaries. To many, Strike-Commander Jack Morrison represents the best that humanity has to offer.

That is why he has to fill out so much goddamn paperwork.

He cannot join the likes of Shimada or Oxton in the field as often as he likes. He is too important to risk his life on the most dangerous of missions; he is often more useful as an administrator (second only to Director Petras). He needs to stay behind and act as a liaison between his strike teams and United Nations subcommittees, the media, critics... Morrison has to answer for everything that his organization does or does not do. Despite being an organization for peace and progress, sometimes things get a little out of hand. Winston can punch the international terrorist Doomfist straight to prison, but Morrison has to answer for the collateral damage inflicted to accomplish such a monumental task. Reyes and his band of Blackwatch misfits can eliminate an Omnic terror cell, but Morrison has to explain why Brussels' industrial district was suddenly engulfed in flames. No matter what he or his agents do, someone raises a stink and hands him a pile of documents to read and sign.

He is so tired.

He drops the requisition forms that have consumed the last hour of his life. He drops his face into his hands, desperately wishing when he looks up the papers would be gone.

"I'm a soldier, dammit," Morrison mutters to himself for the thousandth time this week.

"Sure you are, Jack!" The teasing voice shakes the tired old soldier from his exhausted stupor. "Just look at how gallantly you assaulted that stack of finance reports. They didn’t stand a chance."

Morrison's second-in-command, Captain Ana Amari, leans against the doorway of the Strike Commander's office. Amari has been Overwatch's top sniper since the beginning and has been one of his most capable officers and confidants since. She is holding two steaming mugs: a mug of herbal tea for her and a mug of black coffee for him.

Jack sighs and leans back into his chair. "You have no idea how badly I would love to use these reports as target practice, Ana."

Ana chuckles as she strides into Jack's office, offering him the mug of fresh coffee. Jack graciously accepts it. "You'll be happy to know that all Overwatch operations are going smoothly. The aid mission in Australia is going well; Ziegler's new radiation treatment seems to be working. The interview Reinhardt had with the German media went well; the audience riled him up, though, so now the front page of most major news sites have pictures of him tearing his shirt off..."

Ana continues with the status report, but Morrison can tell when Ana is buttering him up. She is leading up to the bad news. And he knows exactly what the problem is.

He cuts her off. "What went wrong in Canada?"

Ana frowns. The operation in eastern Canada involved a potential Talon cell. Intelligence indicated that the group planned to launch attacks in Toronto, Montreal, and several other major cities. Reyes was sent in to investigate with a group of his operatives. Complicating things more, his team has been radio-silent for the past two days.

Ana sighs. "Well, we've finally regained contact, but..."

"But..." Jack repeats slowly. His breath is measured. He clenches and unclenches his fist. He’s seething now. He is already anticipating the worst.

"They moved in on an abandoned industrial complex crawling with Talon agents. There was a firefight, causing massive collateral damage. Eleven Talon operatives marked and eliminated. No fatalities on the team, but Yuan, McCree, and Perkins were wounded in the exchange. Canadian officials count twenty-six civilians wounded and six point nine million in damages. An explosion took out half a city block. Director Petras is requesting a word." As if on cue, the display on the Strike-Commander's desk lights up, displaying calls from Canada's Defence Minister, a liaison from the UN's Security Council, and several high-profile journalists.

Jack scowls. Reyes was on explicit orders to not engage without the cooperation of the Canadian Special Forces or their government's consent. Morrison is at least thankful the mission was a success, otherwise the world would be calling for his head.

Still, this is the last thing he needed. Overwatch is under enough scrutiny as it is; despite its mandate, countless allegations are being slung at the organization: corruption, arms proliferation, wanton collateral damage, and violation of sovereignty are the most common accusations. Each insult slung at the organization pains Morrison greatly. Overwatch is ultimately a force for peace, but some are starting to believe the organization is doing more harm than good. One of the biggest problems facing Morrison is that Reyes likes to play fast and loose with the rules. Whether his instincts are right or wrong, he always seeks to get results. Sometimes, the cost of his victories do just as much harm as good. His reckless leadership gives Overwatch’s critics very effective fuel. Morrison can’t soothe concerns with his more famous agents’ flamboyant charisma forever.

Sometimes a firm hand is required.

Morrison makes a concerted effort to regain some measure of composure, but his tone is cold. "Captain Amari? When will the strike team be returning to base?"

Ana gives her superior a concerned look. "ETA? An hour and a half."

Jack's fist clenches once again. His veneer of professionalism barely shrouds his fuming anger. "Thank you, Captain, you are dismissed."

Ana looks as if she wants to say something more to her friend and comrade, but quickly resigns herself. She stands at attention and salutes. She turns on her heel and leaves the room. As the door slides shut, Jack expels an explosive sigh, exasperated with this turn of events. Things are about to get messy.

For now, before he can properly handle things, he has matters to take care of first. He steels himself and keys a series of commands on his desk's console, opening a secure link to his boss, Director Petras. Greeting him is a stream of furious abuse. Morrison fills each and every pause with "Yes, sir. No, sir. Of course, sir..."

His fist remains tightly clenched below the table.

------------------------------------------------------------------

(an hour and a half later)

Morrison gets the call. The strike team has returned to base.

He storms through the facility to the base's massive hangar bay. Junior officers and support staff turn on their heels to salute their commanding officer, oblivious to the intensity to their superior's gait and countenance.

A klaxon sounds, drowning out the hustle of the hangar floor. The large bay door opens accompanied by a cacophony of grinding metal and churning machinery. A sleek, black dropship glides into the hangar bay, its advanced engines allowing the craft to elegantly twist within the facility's cavernous interior and gently drop onto the cold metal floor. Immediately support staff surround the vessel. Engineers swarm the craft, refueling it and preparing it for maintenance. One particularly short and angry engineer screams loudly into his radio, complaining about the mistreatment of the craft's delicate machinery. Medics, led by Overwatch's chief medical officer Dr. Ziegler, rush into the craft to extract any wounded operatives. A few of them emerge from the dropship shortly after hauling two gravely wounded agents out on stretchers. Other Blackwatch operatives exit the craft on their own power, some with pronounced limps. These grim men and women do not stop to salute as the man ostensibly their commanding officer storms his way up the dropship's boarding ramp.

Morrison enters the hold of the Blackwatch dropship and waits. Unlike most Overwatch dropships, the vessel is not very roomy. The signature Overwatch blue and white is painted over with Blackwatch red and black. Much of the transport’s space is dedicated to racks of munitions, body armour, and other supplies necessary for aggressive counter-terrorism operations. Some agents still mill around the cramped space. Dr. Ziegler attends to one of the wounded, Agent Jesse McCree, his arm bleeding heavily.

Morrison looks over McCree with pity. He’s been under Reyes wing for a long time. He was recruited when he was basically a kid. Now he dresses up like a literal cowboy and joins Reyes on his crusade for righteousness. He isn’t grim-faced grim like a lot of the rest of Reyes’ black ops operatives; Morrison often feels like those men and women listen to Reyes and no one else. Certainly not him.

Another thing that pisses me off.

McCree looks up and flashes Morrison a devilish grin. With his good arm he flicks his commanding officer a casual, two-fingered salute. He winces as Ziegler injects him with a large needle filled with God-knows how many sedatives. “Howdy, boss.”

Morrison saunters over to the injured man. He ignores McCree and address the busy doctor:

“How’s he holding up?”

Ziegler does not look up from her work. Her hands and smock are soaked in McCree’s blood.

“He could be better. His arm is in rough shape. I might be able to save it, but only time can tell.”

The sedatives start to overtake McCree’s senses. His words began to slur. “I want a cool robot arm, like Shimada’s! And a drink…” He reaches for his flask but Ziegler swats his hand away.

She looks up at Morrison. “He’ll be alright, I promise.”

Morrison is happy to hear that, hoping she’s right, but he quickly remembers his purpose here. “Where is he, Angela?”

The doctor cocks an eyebrow. “Gabriel? He’s in the cockpit. Is everything alright, Commander.”

Morrison turns and heads for the front of the ship. He responds to the doctor without looking back at her.

“Peachy.”

A few steps later and he’s in the cockpit. There are three figures with him now: the pilot, a Black ops lieutenant (it’s either O’Hara or Vasiliev, I can’t tell under all the armour), and Reyes himself. They speak in hushed tones. Morrison clears his throat to get their attention. The pilot jumps, but Reyes and his lieutenant do not even budge. The pilot leaps out of his chair to salute Morrison, but the others stand stoically, the Lieutenant’s countenance shielded by an intimidating black helmet..

“Strike-Commander,” Reyes says. His tone is neutral, but Morrison can’t help but imagine notes of derision in his voice. “Happy to report a successful mission. Tangos neutralized and we’ve got intel on another cell, likely the one giving us trouble in Barbados.”

“Commander Reyes,” Morrison responds coolly. “May I borrow you for a private debriefing?”

And yell at you for starting an international incident.

Reyes expression changes. He’s smirking now. He breathes out a huff of a laugh. His shoulders bounce in a slight shrug. “Absolutely, sir.

God, what an asshole.

Morrison exits the cockpit, Reyes close behind. He stops briefly to check on McCree, but the cowboy is too high on painkillers to say too much. Morrison waits for him outside, scowling. When Reyes finally exits the craft, he’s walking slowly and casually. He’s almost certain the bastard is trying to piss him off.

The two men walk in silence towards the privacy of Morrison’s office. Operatives and support staff instinctively snap off salutes towards Overwatch’s ranking commanders, seemingly unaware of the furious tempest brewing between the two ranking officers. On their way they pass Captain Amari, who shoots Morrison a concerned look. Morrison gives a resigned sigh. He has no choice.

As they walk, Morrison can’t help but notice that Reyes looks like hell. A massive black eye adorns the right side of his face. Reye’s leg lags behind him from a slight limp. Morrison can’t help but notice numerous new scars across his exposed flesh. The mission took its toll on him, it seems.

I can’t help but be jealous, Morrison admits to himself. He misses fieldwork. While the brass originally deemed it best that Morrison stay behind and become the face of Overwatch, they kept Reyes in the field. Despite being the original leader of the strike team, global leaders recognized that Reyes was not the kind of leader a peaceful world wanted. Reyes has always been bold. More than his skill and experience, it was his tenacity and resolve that landed him command of the original Overwatch strike team. As the organization’s mandate shifted to a more humanitarian, security-minded focus, Reyes’ boldness was seen as a potential liability. As a result, Reyes was passed up for promotion and the UN gave Morrison command of the new Overwatch. Whether or not he resents that betrayal is mystery, but he seems to thrive as the leader of Blackwatch.

The relationship between the two men has been much more fraught with tension since. Whatever disagreements the men had, however, Morrison wishes more than anything that he could join him in on assignment.

Not just to keep him in line.

They reach the threshold of Morrison’s office. Morrison steps inside first, seating himself in on the far side of his desk. Reyes follows him. He eyes the second chair next to him, but he opts to stand. The room rings with tense silence.

Reyes coughs. “So, what is it this time?”

Morrison glares at the other man. He was hoping that Reyes would take this seriously. Overwatch could easily be disbanded for something like this. If he doesn’t take this seriously…

Reyes shifts his weight onto one foot, crossing his arms in the process. He cocks his head to the side.

“If there’s nothing important, boyscout, I’ll just go…”

Morrison loses it.

Morrison leaps towards Reyes. With superhuman speed, his hands grip towards the black-ops commander’s throat. Utilizing his augmented strength, his muscles tighten as he lifts Reyes out of his chair and slams him against the wall. The strength of the impact causes the tight office to shudder. Reyes grunts from the impact, wincing with pain. Morrison’s breath hisses out from between bared teeth. The grip around the black ops commander’s windpipe tightens. Reyes’ face, his cool façade dissipated, now displays naked rage.

“I’m starting to think you’re disobeying my orders on purpose,” growls Morrison.

Reyes chokes out a scoff. His mouth twists into a smirk yet his eyes still burn with rage. “When have I ever ignored the divine will of the UN’s paper pushers? When have I ever ignored YOU, Commander?

Reyes’ words ooze with contempt. He has always liked to play fast and loose with rules, functionally working as he pleased while on assignment. While that kind of attitude may be what saved them during the war, things are different now. They couldn’t play cowboy anymore (McCree unfortunately excluded,).

Morrison pushes Reyes deeper into the wall for emphasis. Reyes snarls in response. “So you’re above the law? You’re the one deciding who lives and who dies?”

“INNOCENT PEOPLE COULD HAVE DIED, JACK! I’M THE BOOTS ON THE GROUND. I DON’T GET THE BENEFIT OF HINDSIGHT. I ACT BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.”

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?! WHAT IF YOU GOT IT WRONG?!”

Silence hangs between them now. The sound of the two men’s' panting fill the air. Reyes is the first to break the silence:

“I didn’t.”

Oh, that does it.

Morrison brings himself closer to Reyes, forcing their lips together into a furious kiss. Reyes’ eyes widen in shock, but he quickly submits to Jack’s tongue.

They stay like this for awhile, each moaning aggressively into the other’s mouth. The two of them seethe with rage. Morrison keeps Reyes firmly pinned to the wall all the while.

Morrison finally notices the tightening in his pants.

Suddenly, Reyes braces his feet against the wall and pushes, surprising Morrison and sending the two men crashing to the floor. Jack snarls as his head slams against the floor. Reyes is on him now. The Strike Commander is pinned to the floor.

A shit-eating grin creeps on Reyes' face. “Oh, so was this the dressing down you had planned?” The Blackwatch officer shifts his position, lifting himself up to almost straddle one of Morrison’s legs. He gently rubs his knee against his comrade’s crotch.

Jack Morrison, the public face and leader of Overwatch, is rock-hard.

Morrison struggles against Reyes’ grip. His arms are pinned to the ground by the man on top. Now Reyes teases his burgeoning erection with his knee. Morrison pants out in shallow breaths, desperate not to give Reyes the satisfaction of enjoying this.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, dammit.

Actually, the old soldier did not plan for any of this to happen. Not again, at least.

Gabe is caught up with toying with the man under him, licking his lips, taunting his prey. Now is his chance.

Morrison wraps his free leg around Reyes and uses the man’s strength against him, utilizing momentum to flip them around. Morrison is back on top. Morrison brings himself forward onto Reyes’ stomach. Now Morrison is the one smirking. “Much better.”

Reyes is angry again. He throws a solid punch into Jack’s side as he struggles to stop his CO from restraining his arms. Morrison grits his teeth and ignores the pain, too hyped on adrenaline to care. With deft maneuvering, he wrenches one of Reyes’ arms under his own back, keeping it in place with his leg. The other arm he slams against the wall, holding it above the defeated man’s head. Reyes' breath is ragged now, his body struggling to overcome its bondage. Morrison has finally regained control of his unruly subordinate.

Morrison cannot contain himself any longer; the pressure in his pants is too much to bear. With his captive suitably restrained he begins to fumble with his belt using his free hand. Before long, Morrison drops his pants and frees his penis. Reyes seethes beneath him, but his eyes are fixated on his comrade's dick. Without giving him time for a snarky remark, Morrison leans forward, pressing the wet tip of his cock against Reyes' pursed lips. He protests, too proud to yield.

"What's wrong, Gabe?" Morrison chides. "The great Commander Reyes tongue-tied at long last?"

Reyes takes the bait. He mutters through bared teeth: "You son of a-"

Morrison pounces. He forces the head of his dick past Reyes' lips mid-sentence. Morrison gasps, the pleasure of entering his comrade's mouth exhilarating him. Reyes' eyes burn with anger, yet he relents and begins to give his commanding officer a reluctant blowjob. Morrison forces his cock deeper. He notices behind him an expanding bulge in Reyes' pants. He's enjoying this too.

Reyes' tongue works its way around the head of the slick penis, his burning eyes fixated on Morrison. His tongue glides up the shaft towards the tip. Morrison moans with pleasure as his comrade's tongue flicks at the head. Gabe always did give the best head.

Morrison slides his hand under Gabe's hand, grabbing a handful of hair. He forces his cock deeper into the submissive man's mouth. Reyes gags as his throat is fucked. Morrison is increasing his tempo now.

This is too damn good. The pleasure is overwhelming! His breathing becomes more haggard as he grows closer to climax. He can feel his cock twitching within Gabe's mouth.

"Gabe... I hope you're ready..."

Reyes' eyes grow wide, his protests strangled by the dick pounding the back of his throat. Morrison groans loudly. Cum fills the Blackwatch's commander's mouth, spilling out of the corners.

In his relief, Morrison relaxes his body, basking in the feeling. It is all Reyes needs to retaliate. He frees his arms in an instant and knocks Morrison backwards. He gasps in surprise, unable to fight back with his pants tangled around his feet. He's on his back now and Reyes pulls Morrison's legs up to his own chest, holding them together and up in the air. He turns his head slightly, his eyes once again locked with Morrison's. With an emphasized ptoo he spits Morrison's spend onto the floor. The smirk is back now. Reyes wipes the remainder of the cum on his lips off onto the back of his gloved hand. "You're gonna pay for that, boy scout."

Before he can retort Reyes' hand shoots between his suspended legs. A thick finger quickly snakes its way inside of Jack's dry asshole. Jack gasps as he's penetrated. Reyes adopts a steady rhythm, pressuring Morrison's prostate. Reyes loosens his grip on his comrade, but Morrison isn't fighting back; he's panting heavily as Reyes fingerfucks him. Soon after Reyes adds another finger, stretching Morrison more and more.

Reyes hooks a thumb into Morrison's collar and pulls to reveal a patch of bare skin. He leans in close to Morrison's neck, his hot breath blowing against him. He sinks his teeth into sensitive flesh. Morrison gasps. Reyes suckles the skin, leaving large discoloured marks across his collar. When Reyes releases his bite, Morrison feels stinging pleasure. Jack's hands grip Reyes' back; his fingers claw at Reyes' flesh, raking long red marks as they go.

Suddenly, Reyes stops; he pulls himself away from Morrison's neck and removes his fingers. Without hesitation he pulls out his cock, wet and twitching. He positions himself behind Morrison.

"Is that the best you got, asshole?" Morrison chides between shallow breaths.

Gabriel grins a toothy smile. "I could just up and leave if you'd like."

Morrison growls.

Reyes shrugs. "Alright."

He plunges his cock into Morrison's eager hole.

Reyes fucks Morrison roughly, rocking Morrison on his back. His balls slap against Morrison’s square ass. His mouth is agape, panting with ecstasy as he's getting hammered by Reyes' girth. Sweat beads down each man as their rutting grows more and more intense.

Jack reaches out to grab hold of Reyes throat once again. Reyes grunts and chokes against Morrison’s tight grip, but he otherwise continues his pace. With his other hand Morrison claws into his partner’s back, continuing to tear at Reyes’ strong back muscles.

Struggling to maintain focus, bucking under Reyes' pounding, Morrison pulls himself up to gnaw marks of his own into the other man's chest. Reyes groans as Morrison's teeth sink in, dark welts forming across his hairy breast. His teeth sink deeper, drawing pinpricks of blood. The spiraling pleasure and pain extract an extended moan from Reyes.

From outside the office, nothing of this affair can be heard. Specialists, administrators, and soldiers pass this office completely unaware of the tremendous fucking beyond the closed door.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The intense assault continues on Morrison’s flank for quite some time. Superhuman stamina gives the men a long time to dish out (and receive) a vicious pounding. Both men are drenched with sweat, their chests slick as they press against each other. All pretense is gone now. Morrison abandons the nape of Reyes’ neck, its skin tender and bruised, and locks their lips together. Their tongues battle for supremacy. Their anger has stripped away, replaced by violent passion.

This isn’t the first time this had happened to be sure. Morrison and Reyes have used each other to relieve tension since the day they met as members of the US Army’s genetic enhancement program. As the two men rose through the ranks and their responsibilities grew, their relationship strained over disagreements in policy. Their modes of leadership often brought the two friends to blows. And so their dalliances took on a violent, competitive bent; they “fought” for dominance.

Not that either of them minded. Before long, they always return to their original groove.

Their tongues desperately lap at each other, twisting and pushing against one another in the vacuum of their mouths. The two men groan passionately into each other. Reyes would playfully nip at Morrison’s lip. When Reyes slowed his pace, Morrison slapped his ass hard to remind him to keep up.

Reyes breaks the contact first; he pulls his lips mere millimeters away, tantalisingly close. He looks deep into Morrison’s eyes, so close

“Jack…”

“Do it, you old fuck.”

With those words of encouragement, Reyes begins to fuck harder, faster. He thrusts deep inside his partner, letting himself roar with passion. Morrison throws his head back as Reyes’ powerful cock slams his prostate, the sensory overload too much to handle. Before he bursts Reyes rears back before slamming hard, following up with a mighty punch to Morrison’s side. Morrison, unprepared for the blow, is winded. His muscles seize. Reyes just donkey punched him.

Jack wheezes, struggling to breathe now. “-therfucker.”

Reyes cums hard as Jack’s muscles tighten around his cock. Jack's insides are painted white. He pulls out, ejaculate covering his cock and dripping from Morrison’s asshole. He falls back against the office wall, his chest heaving as he regains his breath. He’s laughing his ass off.

Morrison is stunned. The bastard just donkey punched me.

Morrison leaps up, ignoring his bruises and sore muscles. He roars in anger, but he isunable to hide his amusement. “You asshole!” He’s laughing as he yells. He launches a few playful kicks and punches towards his exhausted comrade. Reyes throws up his arms and pulls in his legs to protect himself, also laughing hysterically.

Morrison lets up his attack, turning around and plopping himself next to Reyes. The two men sit this way for a while, calming their breathing as they stare blankly at the spot where Jack slammed the other man into the wall.

Reyes chuckles to himself. “You know eventually someone’s gonna ask about the dents in the walls.”

Morrison leans back into the wall and closes his eyes. He wishes this could be his normal: two old soldiers sharing a laugh (and a passionate hate fuck) after a successful mission. He misses the old days.

Morrison smirks. “I clean it up myself, don’t you worry.”

It’s only now he notices that he’s still completely erect. Reyes notices too.

With an embellished huff, Reyes plants his hands on his knees to push himself up. “Alright, I’ll help ya out. Only because I feel bad about when I slugged you.”

Morrison chortles and reaches out a hand. “You’re a living saint.” Reyes grabs his hand and pulls himself up. Jack stretches out his back. His ass ached from Reyes’ rough pounding, cum slowly dripping down his leg. He's going to be feeling this one for awhile.

Hope I’m not walking funny for my next meeting with Petras…

Morrison walked to the corner of his office to grab his bag. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a small bottle of lube.

“We’re getting too old for going raw all the time. One of these days we’re going to have to talk to Ziegler about our broken superhuman assholes.”

Reyes laughs and adopts a mocking tone: “We have to set a good example for the troops, right?” He bends over Morrison’s desk.

Morrison licks his lips with anticipation. He flicks open the bottle of lube with his thumb. He squirts a dollop of lube onto his dick, massaging it along his shaft as he begins to jerk himself off. For good measure, he coats his fingers in the slick substance as well before pushing one into Reyes’ taut hole. Reyes practically purrs in response.

Morrison goes slowly at first, his slippery finger gliding in and out of Reyes’ ass. Morrison wastes no time in locating and probing the other man’s prostate. Reyes groans with pleasure and pushes himself backwards against Morrison’s hand. Belong long Morrison slips another thick finger into his comrade’s behind. He picks up speed, jerking himself off harder as fingers the other man.

Reyes pants and groans through gritted teeth. “Just put it in, you sadistic asshole.”

Now this is what I was looking for, Morrison thought. Finally some deference.

He pulls his fingers out of Reyes’ eager, lubricated asshole. With his right hand he tightly grips Reyes’ thick ass as his left handles his eight-inch cock. He presses the tip against Reyes’ slicked hole, gently prodding the opening. Reyes breathes more and more heavily with each poke.

“C’mon Jack, just fuck me alr-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Morrison forces his way inside, slamming his turgid cock into Reyes’ prostate. Reyes yelps in surprise.

“Motherfuck-”

Morrison fucks him in earnest now. The gruff old men pant and moan as they rut. Morrison tightly grips his partner’s hips, thrusting hard against his partner’s asscheeks. Reyes reaches back with one hand to gently hold Morrison’s side. With his other hand he reaches forward, tightly gripping the edge of the table for support.

Morrison keeps up a furious pace, needing to climax. He’s so close but he needs one last thing…

“Turn over…” he desperately pants out between breaths.

Reyes wordlessly obeys. Morrison stops for a moment, pulling out, to allow his comrade a chance to clamber onto the desk. Reyes twists his body in order to lie on the office desk. He wraps his legs behind Morrison and braces his shoulders with his muscular arms. As soon as Reyes is on his back Morrison resumes his furious assault, desperate to find release.

The two men, slick with each other’s sweat, stare deeply into each other’s eyes. With one arm supporting his weight against the desk, Morrison grips Reyes’ twitching cock with the other. Reyes whines as his sensitive penis is stroked roughly.

Morrison can hardly control himself. He fucks his comrade with need, so close to finding complete ecstasy.

“Gabe… I’m gonna-”

Reyes’ hand darts upwards, gripping the back of his old friend’s head. His grabs a fistful of silver hair and pulls him closer. Their lips lock in a passionate embrace, closing their eyes as their tongues quickly find each other.

Morrison passes the tipping point.

He groans into Reyes’ mouth as he finishes. With one last powerful push he slams his partners ass, filling him with cum. Reyes is overcome, cumming once again into Morrison’s tight grip.

Morrison breaks the kiss but hangs his face close to Reyes, eyes locked. The two men’s breathing is ragged as they regain their breath. Reyes slumps against the desk, dropping his head against the desk and allowing his body the chance to relax. Morrison hoists himself onto the desk to lie with his lover.

Their hard breathing continues for what feels an eternity before Reyes breaks the silence:

“So, come here often?” he says with a smirk.

Morrison rolls his head to the side to look at the smug face beside him. His eyes unleash a withering glare.

“Do you have to say that every single time?”

The two men are silent for a beat before they srnk, gut-wrenching laughter following. Reyes is wheezing from laughter and pain, his body remembering its soreness. Morrison can’t help but feel his ass ache from earlier. Gabe’s ass is probably a lot worse-off now, he thinks. As the laughter fades to chuckling, Morrison snakes an arm under Reyes shoulders and pulls him closer.

“I missed this, you piece of shit.”

Reyes smirks before turning towards Morrison. He pulls his head up to rest on the man’s muscular shoulder.

“Love you too, boy scout.”

The two men cuddle in satisfied silence for a time, but Morrison’s mood drops. He’s remembering his troubles now. The stress of managing Overwatch, Reyes’ handling of the Canadian op… he’s still upset. He sighs, preparing himself to reopen the wound, but Reyes speaks first.

“I’m sorry. You know I can’t sit idly by if I can do something. I can’t wait for someone else to decide whether or not it’s worth saving lives. You know I don’t mean it when I’m being such a little sh-”

Morrison cuts him off: “I know. I wish I could do the same. I miss the old days where we didn’t have to worry about stuff like this.”

“Yeah…”

Good enough for me, Morrison decides. There is only so much the two of them can do in their situation and foul-ups are bound to happen. The safe bet is that they'll be do this all over again real soon. The best they can do is fuck each other senseless to cope.

They pull each other closer, finding comfort in the heat of the other.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Captain Ana Amari sits down the hall on a bench, reading mission reports on a datapad. One hand casually rests inside of her pocket.

The report on the captain’s datapad fades away, replaced by a message her digital informant:

Hostilities terminated. No casualties to report. - Athena

The AI was being coy. Her comrades didn’t murder each other.

Ana breathes a sigh of relief. She hates herself for asking Athena to spy on the boys’ unique brand of conflict resolution, but she did not want her two commanding officers, her comrades, maiming each other one of these days.

The doors of the Strike Commander’s office open with a muted swssh. Reyes emerges. He makes his way towards her.

She eases her grip on the tranquilizer pistol she grips in her pocket, ready to intervene if Athena judges their actions too violent. She doesn’t relish the idea of bursting in, tranquilizing both of them, and having to explain herself afterwards. On the bright side, she does have an excellent joke ready about the two of them “sleeping together.

Reyes is next to her now. He nods. “Amari. How’s the squirt?”

Ana perks up, feigning surprise at his presence. “Oh! Gabriel! Fareeha is doing well. She’s on assignment now. Still working on her application.”

Reyes laughs. “We’d be lucky to have her!”

The small talk continues for a while longer before they part ways. Gabriel is being cordial, but he cannot hide his disheveled appearance, his haggard breathing. He was surely playing it all off as the results of his mission.

Ana decides to broach the topic: “Was everything okay in there?”

Reyes plays it cool, but from the twitch in his eye Ana is sure Reyes is measuring his words carefully. Ana wonders if they went so far as to corroborate a story together. “Jack? Yeah, he’s pissed. We hashed it out, though. Everything’s fine.”

Ana doesn’t believe him, but she thinks it would be best to let him off the hook. “Alright. I don’t want my favourite dusty grandpas bickering.”

As Reyes departs, wishing her and her daughter well, Ana can’t help but notice the awkwardness in his gait, the poorly concealed marks on his neck, the flush in his face.

She was kind of jealous. It’s been awhile. Too busy.

Ana sighs. Jack is leaving his office now; he is walking in the opposite direction, towards the showers.

A new message appears on her datapad:

Thank you for your time, Captain. Shall I alert Dr. Ziegler regarding this matter? - Athena

Ana responds out loud. “No, they’ll work it out. If this works for them we should stay out of their way.”

She gets up, stretches, and makes her way to the ops centre. She still has work to attend to. Sometimes she wonders what this organization would do without her.

One of these days, those two are gonna kill each other.