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Hanzo had been warned about the boisterous entity on base by the name of Reinhardt.
He’s over-exuberant. Easily excitable. Not afraid to make his presence known. Loud but gentle.
They all think Hanzo is a cat; easily scared by things bigger, things louder than him. That he needs solitude and silence to function. These things are nice, but not required, by any means.
Granted, Hanzo did hear Reinhardt before he saw him. It painted a picture in his mind of a man who was arrogant, who had little disregard for those around him. Hanzo had begun to make judgements and he was ready to hate the man.
When Hanzo laid eyes on Reinhardt, though, nothing could have prepared him for the solid wall of muscle that greeted him. The long, silvery flowing locks, the magnificent beard.
The form-fitting tank top which showed off his bulging muscles, his scarred arms, his delicious, pillowy pecs that Hanzo had an overwhelming urge to suffocate in.
The firm handshake that almost crushed every bone in Hanzo’s hand.
Reinhardt Wilhelm is a mountain of a man that Hanzo has every intention to climb.
Their first conversation is in the gym. Just benign topics as they do bicep curls—the weather, the state of the world, an upcoming mission that will be Hanzo’s first. There’s something about Reinhardt that makes Hanzo want to talk. Perhaps it's Reinhardt’s infectious personality; his laughter makes Hanzo laugh, his enthusiasm makes Hanzo believe he can do anything.
But above all else, Reinhardt listens. Truly listens. Everyone else on base keeps their distance from Hanzo and he is understanding of that. Most of these people are Genji’s friends and have known him for years; they’re rightly protective of him. Hanzo is the person who, for all intents and purposes, took Genji’s life from him. Genji might be at peace with that, but that doesn’t mean everyone else is. Even though they haven’t outright said anything vitriolic to Hanzo, he can see it in their eyes, in the fleeting glances that show their apprehension, their anger, their disgust. If they wanted to air their grievances with him, he would allow it. What they have to say is most likely true: Villain. Murderer. Monster. He is all of them. But they haven’t said anything, and a part of him wonders if Genji is the reason for that.
Aside from Genji, the only other person on base who looks at him, talks to him, treats him like everyone else is Reinhardt. He doesn’t make excuses to leave the room when Hanzo enters. He doesn’t put headphones on and listen to music while working out. It’s so minor, but it’s something Hanzo is immensely grateful for.
He’s also grateful for the fact that Reinhardt works out in tank tops that show off those huge biceps of his. Watching them flex as Reinhardt lifts 25kg dumbbells is a sight to behold. But it’s not just Reinhardt’s biceps; his thighs are to die for. Fuck, to be buried between Reinhardt’s legs, head crushed between them… It would probably kill him but he’d at least die happy.
They continue to converse as Reinhardt tackles the rowing machine and Hanzo has a jog on the treadmill. In those quiet moments between topics, before and after sentences, questions, and responses, Hanzo takes a moment to truly witness those thighs in action. He listens to every grunt, every breath Reinhardt sucks in through his teeth, letting them wash over him. The sounds quickly paint a picture in Hanzo’s mind as his imagination veers into sexual territory; he can’t help but imagine those very same noises in the bedroom.
He can’t help but wonder what Reinhardt looks like as he has an orgasm.
It’s only a mere moment before Hanzo can feel his swelling cock bouncing against his leg. Another moment before he’s practically tenting his shorts. He stops the treadmill before Reinhardt notices, takes a seat beside his bag, casually picks up his towel and wipes the sweat from his face and neck, letting it rest on his lap. He keeps his eyes forward, at the opposite wall as he takes a series of quick gulps from his water bottle and tries to think about literally anything else to calm himself down.
Reinhardt groans, then, so loud, so pleasurable sounding, Hanzo's breath hitches in his throat. His eyes settle on Reinhardt before he can even register the shift in focus, and thankfully Reinhardt has taken a break from his workout too. But that doesn’t make the sight any less pornographic; Reinhardt stretches his arms above his head, showing off muscle and sinew, then he wets his face with water from his bottle. It drips down his beard and soaks into his already sweat-drenched tank top, drawing Hanzo’s gaze as he follows the length of Reinhardt’s body, his trim waist, his shorts which hug those thick thighs.
Holy fuck.
Reinhardt sighs, knocking Hanzo out of his stupor. He doesn’t think he was caught staring and Reinhardt doesn’t make it obvious at least; no glances, no winks, no sly smirks. He looks unperturbed as he wipes his face with his towel, then continues with his workout, settling for bench presses next.
He’s got to be lifting 120kg at least and doing it with little to no effort. Hanzo watches each lift, the focus on Reinhardt’s face, his bulging muscles, his heaving chest. He feels his cock twitch, begging him to grab it, and Hanzo has to tear his eyes away from Reinhardt and move to the leg press. Not only will it hide his erection for the most part, but it also faces away from the bench press and Reinhardt's glorious muscles.
Running the 100kg program, Hanzo positions himself, taking a deep breath as he eyes his dick. At least it’s not obvious that he’s hard with his legs up like this. He focuses on the burn in his thighs, on taking one deep, ragged breath after another until the pressure in his core fades into nothingness.
“Impressive.”
Hanzo lets the machine come to rest, he glances at Reinhardt, now standing beside him. When did he get this close? How long has he been standing there, watching him?
“Thank you,” Hanzo replies, letting his feet fall on either side of the machine. His legs wobble like jello—he’s not going to be able to walk later.
Reinhardt’s eyes linger on Hanzo’s thighs a touch longer than would be socially acceptable as he veers into leering territory. A flicker of arousal sparks in Hanzo’s core but he shoos the thought away before it starts. It’s just his imagination.
“I’ve heard you can perform some impressive feats of parkour. I’m eager to watch you.”
Hanzo chuckles lightly, he places a hand on his burning thigh. It draws Reinhardt’s gaze, but it’s nothing more than a mere flit as he meets Hanzo’s eyes once more. Hanzo isn’t sure if he’s glad or disappointed. “Perhaps tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Reinhardt says, holding out his hand. Hanzo cautiously takes it and he’s practically yanked to standing. “Thank you for a wonderful session.”
Hanzo steps over the machine, standing in front of Reinhardt and gives him a quick bow of his head. “The pleasure is mine.”
Reinhardt lets go of his hand, heads to his things. Hanzo stuffs his towel and water bottle inside his bag, picks it up, and just as he turns to leave, Reinhardt gives him a slap on the ass.
Hanzo freezes.
“Same time tomorrow,” Reinhardt says over his shoulder, winking as he exits the gym.
Hanzo cannot help the smirk that blooms on his lips. It was probably just a friendly gesture but between the leering and that, there’s no way Reinhardt isn’t making his intentions known.
No fucking way.
They build a quick friendship, much to everyone’s confusion, Hanzo learns.
It’s easy when they spend most of their free time in the gym. Where Hanzo can watch Reinhardt deadlift 200kg without breaking a sweat. For a man of his years, he is a workout machine.
Hanzo openly ogles him, and he has caught Reinhardt looking at him, too. In the gym, on missions, at the practice range, Reinhardt’s eyes are on him more often than not. With every glance, every comment of praise, Hanzo preens. Granted, he has received many comments of encouragement from everyone on base but it feels wonderful coming from the man who occupies his thoughts.
They’re together more often than not even when not in the gym. There have been countless nights where they have ended up alone together, sharing a beer as sleep escapes them both. Sometimes they’re joined by the others and they end up talking until sunrise. All it does is shine a light on just how much the world has taken from them.
In this new chapter of Hanzo’s life, he can say without a shadow of a doubt that the times he shares with Reinhardt alone are his favourite. Reinhardt is a different person in front of Hanzo; he’s more vulnerable than in front of the others. He talks about his time with the Crusaders, the good and the bad. His former commander comes up a lot too. There are two clear sides to Reinhardt: the loud, friendly personality everyone else sees and the quieter, more reserved man behind the booming laughter that Hanzo is privy to.
And with that, Hanzo feels the most comfortable talking to Reinhardt about his past—his mistakes, his flirtation with death, and becoming a better person in the wake of all the blood. They come from two different lives but the people they used to be were almost identical; arrogant, overconfident, thought to be untouchable. It took the death of someone close to shake them free of that toxic mentality. Reinhardt lost his closest friend, his mentor, and that loss, even after all these decades, still haunts him. Hanzo knows that feeling all too well. Even though he wielded the blade, even though Genji survived and is in Hanzo’s life again, that night and his actions are still ever-present in his mind. He hasn’t been able to talk to anyone about his true feelings, about his self-loathing and his disgust in himself, not until Reinhardt.
They’re building a deep connection with trust as the foundation. But as the days turn into weeks, Hanzo can feel that hunger deep within him. He wants to feel Reinhardt’s large, callused hands on his body. He wants to kiss every one of Reinhardt’s scars, lick every inch of his skin, to be speared on his thick cock. He wants to fuck Reinhardt, hard and fast, slow and gentle. To listen to his moans, to watch him come.
Hanzo needs Reinhardt as much as he needs air to breathe.
Lust is a slippery slope.
Reinhardt has been working his way up to a 300kg deadlift and as a result, he’s spending more time in the gym, much to Dr. Ziegler’s dismay. She fusses over him because of his age, has commented that she sees him in the infirmary more often than not because of over-exertion, but that doesn’t stop him.
Hanzo has been watching Reinhardt every day for a month now as Brigitte coaches him, usually from afar during his own workout. He’ll admit he is favouring the treadmill or exercise bike for the mindlessness of it, to watch Reinhardt without distracting himself with counting sets and reps.
Reinhardt is sitting at 280kg right now. He’s sweaty, it absolutely pours off of him and soaks into his tank top. His face is red, his muscles bulge with every lift, but he manages it with relative ease.
Setting the bar on the ground, Reinhardt gives Brigitte a nod—the final increase. She secures 10kg weights on each side, cups his face, shouts at him like a drill instructor even though her words are encouraging, then steps aside.
Hanzo slows to a walk, then stops the treadmill. His lungs burn in the best of ways, his clothes stick to him, drenched in sweat. He takes a seat as Reinhardt wraps his hands around the bar. He takes a deep drink from his water bottle as Reinhardt adjusts his stance, as he tests the weight.
Reinhardt pulls upwards, the bar bends under the stress. He holds it at waist height, then places it down. He doesn’t stop, though; he lifts it again. Brigitte claps and cheers and Reinhardt completes one set of ten reps. On the final rep, Reinhardt’s arms begin to shake under the stress, his toes curl upwards off the mat with the lift. The veins in his arms bulge.
And with it, Hanzo can feel that telltale tingling in his groin.
Reinhardt screams as he holds that final lift, a battle cry that is so guttural, so animalistic Hanzo feels it shake his very core. He sets the bar down and he flexes in a gratuitous display of his musculature that Hanzo has not witnessed before.
Hanzo’s dick utterly throbs. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to be lifted like that bar, to be tossed around as Reinhardt has his way with him. To be crushed under those big hands, those muscles.
Hanzo swallows thickly, he has to cross his left leg over his right to hide his raging erection as the rest of the base, curious about the shouting, pour in. They cheer for Reinhardt and he beams under their attention; a smile so broad on his face that makes him more handsome than Hanzo has ever seen.
He would approach them, offer his congratulations too, but he has an aching problem that he knows is so far gone that it won’t go away by itself.
His dick twitches, begging to be touched, and he quickly realises he’s fighting a losing battle. A simple, quick drag of his thumb along his shaft sends a pulse of pleasure zipping up his spine. He bites his lip as he allows himself another long, slow touch, this time with the heel of his palm. His restraint slips, he cups it against his thigh and gives it a tight squeeze, the mere action has him biting his lip to keep from moaning.
Thankfully, it’s enough to clear him from his stupor and to spurn him into action to get the fuck out of here before he lets go, here and now, and comes in his shorts with his colleagues not ten feet away. Draping his towel over his arm to cover himself, he approaches Reinhardt. He offers congratulations, gives Reinhardt a high five when he holds his hand out, but Reinhardt holds it in a tight grip. It just makes his cock twitch something shocking; that hand around his dick would be fucking amazing right now.
“Now we celebrate.” Reinhardt grins, big and brimming, and Hanzo can't help but grin back.
“You need to rest,” Brigitte says.
“Nonsense,” Reinhardt replies. “I’m high on endorphins right now. I can do anything.” Just as he finishes the statement, he eyes Hanzo up and down, almost like he knows he’s hard.
Brigitte groans. “At least have a shower first. We can go out for dinner.”
“Dinner,” Reinhardt says, his leering gaze is still on Hanzo, like he's sizing him up to devour him. “You’re coming, yes?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Hanzo replies. Reinhardt flashes him another grin and Hanzo feels his heart flutter. It’s a grin just for him; Reinhardt is happy he is joining him for dinner.
“Excellent.” Reinhardt lets go of his hand, Hanzo feels it throb deliciously, along with his dick. “Drinks first. Sixteen hundred?”
Everyone cheers, even though Reinhardt only addresses him. Hanzo eyes Reinhardt, gives him a sly little smirk that he hopes conveys that the celebration should continue after, too. Reinhardt definitely notices it, if the way he looks Hanzo up and down once more is anything to go by.
“Absolutely,” Hanzo replies, voice a little husky. He notices Reinhardt swallow, watching his Adam's apple bob. “Sixteen hundred.”
Hanzo walks away, then, his erection bounces with every step he takes to his room, rubbing deliciously against the weight of the towel. He steps inside, locks the door, undresses as he makes his way to the bathroom, dropping his clothes on the floor and leaving them where they land. Turning on the shower, he stands under the lukewarm water, a moan slips from his lips when he wraps his hand around his dick.
Reinhardt immediately flashes in his mind, smiling handsomely at him, showing off his gloriously thick muscles beneath his tight as fuck tank tops. He thinks about those large hands of his on his body, cupping his face, on top of his head as he sucks Reinhardt off, his lips stretched thin around Reinhardt’s dick, swallowing him down. He imagines riding Reinhardt until he’s so exhausted he falls asleep on top of him, head pillowed on those plush pecs of his as Reinhardt plays with his hair.
Hanzo moans as the pressure in his core reaches critical mass. He shallows his tugging, opens his eyes in time to see his load shoot onto the shower wall. As he lets the wave of pleasure wash over him and through him, he thinks about cupping Reinhardt’s face and kissing him gently.
When it all fades, he steps away from the wall, angles the showerhead to wash his spend down the drain. It’s a good thing he can handle his alcohol, and it’s a wonderful thing that by the end of the night, Reinhardt will be in his bed.
Hanzo clinks his beer glass against Reinhardt’s, then takes a deep gulp. He places it down on the table beside the three empty shot glasses. It’s only five in the afternoon and he can feel how loose he's become. His cheeks hurt from smiling, his throat feels raw from all the talking he’s doing.
Brigitte, Mei, and Lena joined them for their pre-dinner drinks. They're currently conversing about old Overwatch, filling in the gaps when Mei went into cryostasis. Hanzo tunes in and out as he openly eyefucks Reinhardt, who looks fucking wonderful in a tight black t-shirt and jeans. And Reinhardt eyes him just as hungrily, too.
At least they’re on the same page.
They scale it back as everyone else joins them for dinner. It’s decided that they should just stay at the pub, and Hanzo would ordinarily voice his opinion about eating obscenely unhealthy fried food but he is willing to give it a pass this once because he is mere moments away from exploring every inch of Reinhardt’s body with his tongue.
Dinner goes on longer than Hanzo expected. He keeps his patience in check, though; he can’t exactly call it a night and drag Reinhardt back to base with him without making his intentions blindingly obvious to everyone at the table. But with each passing moment, as anticipation courses through him, as his dick grows harder as he mentally undresses Reinhardt, it only adds to the anticipation of it; the thrill of getting fucked by someone who isn't a stranger he picked up at a club.
Finally, Brigitte announces herself as done with the evening, then they all decide to leave together. It’s only a short time before they’re back on base, where everyone turns in early, where Hanzo hangs back in the garage and Reinhardt notices, staying back, too.
“Do you want to keep celebrating?” Hanzo asks, resting his hand on the truck as he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He openly eyes Reinhardt up and down, his plush pecs, his trim waist, his crotch. Molten heat pools in his core, it takes everything he has not to touch himself. When he meets Reinhardt’s gaze, Reinhardt wets his lips, his hand slips on top of Hanzo’s.
It’s all the answer Hanzo needs, as Reinhardt’s fingers gently graze against the back of his hand, as he extends his arm towards the door to the base. Hanzo leads the way, feels Reinhardt’s gaze burning into his ass and he’s glad he wore the jeans that make it look magnificent.
Hanzo leads Reinhardt to his room, looking down the corridor as he unlocks the door to make sure they’re not spotted. When he slips inside, he takes off his jacket, hangs it on the back of the chair by his desk, then sits on the edge of his bed.
He drinks Reinhardt in as Reinhardt glances around his room. When their eyes meet, Reinhardt smiles, approaches, kneels on the floor between Hanzo’s legs. Hanzo draws in a slow breath as Reinhardt’s hands drag up his thighs, he spreads his legs wider.
Reinhardt leans in slowly, gaze shifting from Hanzo’s eyes to his lips then back again. He breathes in Reinhardt’s air, smells the alcohol on his breath as his nose brushes against Reinhardt’s cheek. The first touch of their lips is electric yet the kiss is soft, tender, almost impossibly so given the sheer strength Hanzo has witnessed from him. Everything about it is perfect, though, better than he had imagined.
As the kiss deepens, as their tongues sweep together, Hanzo’s hands curl around Reinhardt’s biceps, squeezing firm muscle. Reinhardt’s hand shifts over Hanzo's groin, palm dragging against his shaft in long strokes. Lust’s flames take hold as he rolls his hips, arching into Reinhardt’s touch as he reaches for the hem of Reinhardt’s t-shirt, lifting it up. They break off the kiss for the brief moment to lift it over his head, and Hanzo salivates seeing the thick mane of chest hair between his pecs.
Reinhardt rushes back in, cupping the back of Hanzo’s head. He’s rougher, insistent—a little more like what Hanzo expected. His hands busily work Hanzo's jeans open and Hanzo feels the heady buzz of arousal in the base of his skull, down his spine, into the depths of his core; the anticipation of that callused hand wrapped around his dick is mere moments away.
But Reinhardt doesn't reach into his underwear. He instead hooks his fingers inside the hem of his jeans and gives a little tug. As Hanzo lifts his hips, Reinhardt’s teeth graze against his lower lip. He looks down as he pulls them and his underwear away, revealing his cock inch by slow inch until it springs free and rests heavy on his thigh.
Reinhardt hums in appreciation, he glances at Hanzo and pumps his eyebrows as he wraps his hand around it. He gives a couple of long tugs; his rough hand against sensitive flesh sends sparks of pleasure shooting from Hanzo’s core as Reinhardt kisses down his clothed chest, his belly, his pelvis.
Hanzo draws in a stuttered breath as Reinhardt kisses the base of his dick. He bites his lip as Reinhardt glances up at him with a piercing blue eye and licks the underside of his dick in one long stripe. When he’s engulfed in the wet heat of Reinhardt’s mouth, he lets out a long, low moan, his hands grab fistfuls of the duvet.
It takes everything Hanzo has to not let his eyes flutter closed. He wants to watch every single moment of Reinhardt sucking him off, to commit to memory, to use it as jerk off material until the end of his days. He gives Reinhardt little gasps and groans of encouragement, as Reinhardt’s tongue swirls around his cockhead, as he takes him so deep Hanzo can feel the tightness of his throat.
When he goes further still, when Hanzo can feel Reinhardt’s beard scratch against his inner thighs, Hanzo moans, loud and unabashed, cupping the back of Reinhardt’s head. Reinhardt lifts himself up, almost all of the way, then drops back down quickly, his nose pressing hard against Hanzo’s pelvis. A pulse of pleasure zips up Hanzo’s spine, spreading throughout him. If Reinhardt keeps this up he will come, but he’s not letting Reinhardt leave until every glorious inch of his dick is stuffed inside him.
Reinhardt lifts his head again, slower this time as he meets Hanzo’s gaze and applies suction. Hanzo sucks in a breath through his teeth; his dick is so sensitive that it’s almost painful but it feels so fucking good. The head of Hanzo’s cock pops out of Reinhardt’s mouth, he wraps his hand around the shaft tightly, swipes it along his spit-slicked lips.
Hanzo cups Reinhardt's face, tugs him up and crashes their lips together. His hands explore Reinhardt’s body again, his arms, his pecs, his impossibly soft skin and hard muscles which he drags his fingernails down. Reinhardt gasps, he breaks off the kiss and stands in front of Hanzo—
And Hanzo salivates at the sight of Reinhardt’s clothed erection tight against his thigh.
Breath hitching, Hanzo follows Reinhardt’s happy trail upwards as it meets the hair on his stomach. He takes in the delicious sight of his pecs, then meets Reinhardt’s gaze. Hanzo works Reinhardt’s jeans open slowly, getting off on each of his little gasps and groans, the hungry anticipation in his eyes.
As Hanzo tugs Reinhardt’s jeans down, revealing silver pubes and the base of one of the thickest cocks he’s ever seen, Hanzo feels his dick twitch relentlessly. In a short few moments that is going to be inside him and he can hardly fucking wait.
Hanzo doesn’t bother being slow; he needs all of Reinhardt now. He bites his lip as he pulls Reinhardt’s jeans down to his knees, eyeing him in all of his glory. Hanzo takes him in his hand, heavy and hot, and looks Reinhardt in the eye as he wraps his lips around his cockhead. He flicks his tongue over his leaky slit, savouring the salty bitterness and letting it settle on his tongue a moment before licking him, over and over, desperate for more of his taste.
He bobs up and down, slow to start as he adjusts to Reinhardt’s thickness. His lips are stretched thin, his mouth is open wide, and he takes Reinhardt all the way, forehead pressing against his pelvis. He picks up his pace a little and keeps it up as long as he can manage until he feels the beginnings of a subtle ache in his jaw and when his body is screaming for him to ride Reinhardt like his life depended on it.
Hanzo pulls right back, looking Reinhardt in the eyes once more as he gives him a few firm tugs. “Let me ride you.”
A stuttered breath passes Reinhardt’s lips, he nods subtly. Hanzo takes back his hand and Reinhardt kicks away his jeans, he then reaches for the pillows, moves them aside and sits on the bed, back against the headboard. Hanzo shucks his clothes, practically ripping them off, and reaches for the nightstand drawer, pulling out the bottle of lube.
Reinhardt holds out his hand and Hanzo passes the bottle over as he settles on Reinhardt’s lap. He takes both their cocks in a tight grip as Reinhardt pours a generous amount of lube onto two of his fingers. White-hot anticipation coils tightly in his core as Reinhardt looks him in the eye and reaches around. Hanzo spreads himself with his free hand, he hums as Reinhardt massages his hole and moans when he pushes a thick finger inside him.
Hanzo doesn’t let Reinhardt penetrate—he rocks his hips, fucking Reinhardt’s finger. Reinhardt’s eyes are wide, his lips are parted, and Hanzo can only smirk, not breaking his gaze as he cups Reinhardt’s face and kisses him hard. Hanzo practically devours him, licks into his mouth, nips at Reinhardt’s lower lip, and is rewarded with a second finger pushing inside him.
Gasping, Hanzo slows his pace as he adjusts. The kiss softens and he shifts his hand to the back of Reinhardt’s head, letting his hair spill between his fingers as he takes it in a handful. The reprieve of calm is shattered in a near-instant, though, as Reinhardt wraps his hand around their dicks tightly.
A shiver wracks Hanzo’s spine as Reinhardt curls his fingers a touch, rubbing deliciously against his prostate. He wants to ride Reinhardt so fast, so hard, so long, until he physically can’t anymore but he needs time to adjust. So he goes slow, savouring each sweep until his body demands more.
With a shuddered breath, Hanzo picks the bottle of lube off the bed. Reinhardt’s hands come to rest on his ass, fingers digging into muscle as he spreads him wide. Hanzo readies Reinhardt, giving him a couple of extra slippery tugs to get him going as he drops the bottle to the bed, keeping it within reach.
With a shuddered breath, Hanzo angles his hips forward, swipes Reinhardt’s dick along his crack until his cockhead catches on his rim. Biting his lip, Hanzo sinks down just a touch, then holds stock still, savouring the stretch. Reinhardt’s only got to be inside him only an inch but he already feels so fucking full.
Exhaling slowly and relaxing every single muscle in his body, Hanzo sinks further down. Each glorious inch he takes sends sparks of pleasure skittering down every single nerve in his body. He feels so wonderfully good and alive right now and it’s moments like this that make life worth living.
Finally settling in Reinhardt’s lap, Hanzo holds still a moment to adjust to him as he looks into Reinhardt’s eyes. He presses a kiss to Reinhardt’s cheek, then to the scar just below his eye. He hears Reinhardt’s exhale, feels it against his ear, and he pulls back, cups his face as he slowly lifts his hips and drops back down just as languidly.
He keeps that up, just for a single, mere moment as he quickly wants—needs more. He picks up his pace and a deep rumble of a moan passes Reinhardt’s lips as his ass crashes against Reinhardt’s thighs. Reinhardt squeezes his ass tighter; his iron grip will definitely leave bruises once they're done.
Almost like a switch is being flipped, Reinhardt takes control, guiding him up and down. Hanzo adjusts to his rhythm and skin slaps hard against skin, their laboured breaths and gasps and moans a cacophony that fills the room.
Hanzo tugs at the same speed as his thrusts, the pressure in his core builds quickly as tendrils of pleasure coil around his spine. He wants to come all over Reinhardt, to see his chest streaked with his load, but he doesn’t want this to end. Hanzo wants to stay right here forever, on the precipice of an orgasm that’s going to utterly wreck him.
He feels Reinhardt quiver beneath him, and Hanzo meets his gaze. Hanzo can see he wants something else, and he gives him a smile, hoping that will encourage him.
“Can we swap?”
Hanzo is sure he’s grinning now, he comes to a stop in Reinhardt’s lap. “Back or stomach?”
Reinhardt eases into a sly smirk, the grip on Hanzo’s ass loosening. Hanzo climbs off him, stands beside the bed as Reinhardt slinks down, lying on his back. He settles between Reinhardt’s legs, those thick thighs bracket him, and Hanzo cannot wait to be squeezed by him, to be crushed and split in two.
Licking his lips, Hanzo picks up the lube, drizzles it down two fingers. Reinhardt draws up his knees, wraps his hands around the backs of his thighs, and Hanzo exhales, stuttered, eyeing his gorgeous hole. Hanzo rubs against the tight rim with both fingers but pushes in with one to start. Reinhardt’s eager, he’s tight, and Hanzo cannot wait to get in there. He penetrates for a moment, then pulls out his finger, replaces it with two. Reinhardt moans, loud and unabashed; if anyone were to walk past his room right now they would hear him.
They would all know that he is fucking Reinhardt.
The mere thought sets off a shudder that wracks Hanzo’s entire body.
As he looks down at Reinhardt, his eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is open wide, Hanzo curls his fingers, striking the bundle of nerves. Reinhardt moans again, and Hanzo knew he would be vocal in the bedroom given how loud he is in the gym. If this is a mere taste of things to come, Reinhardt isn’t going to disappoint.
“Enough,” Reinhardt growls, eyes snapping open, and Hanzo stops out of sheer shock. Given how timid his request was, he wasn’t expecting this rough, demanding side of him; they’re polar opposites. Reinhardt is a polite guy all the time and this… Hanzo is one hundred percent here for it. “Get inside me now.”
Giving Reinhardt a playful wink, Hanzo pulls out his fingers. He reaches for the lube and gives himself a generous helping of it, spreading it all over his cock and wiping the excess along Reinhardt’s crack, his perineum, his balls, giving them a quick massage.
With a slow and stuttered exhale, Hanzo swirls his cockhead around Reinhardt’s hole. He applies a bit of pressure, just enough to push just the tip in, and the satisfied, pleasurable sounding moan that passes Reinhardt’s lips is music to Hanzo’s ears. He pushes in a little more, his cockhead is swallowed up, then his shaft, as Reinhardt eagerly takes him.
“You’re so fucking good, Hanzo,” Reinhardt murmurs, meeting his gaze. His eyes trace down Hanzo's body, taking in his pecs, his abs, where they're joined. “Your body… It has been a long time since I have met someone who could rival me in the gym.”
Hanzo feels a grin spread on his lips as he bottoms out. He allows Reinhardt a mere moment of stillness before he gives him a quick, hard snap of his hips. Reinhardt moans again, louder than before, a whip crack of pleasure strikes Hanzo’s core.
“Harder,” Reinhardt demands, and Hanzo gives him exactly what he wants—hard, fast thrusts. And Hanzo gets what he wants; loud, desperate moans.
Hanzo braces himself on the bed and Reinhardt reaches out, those callused hands cup his pecs, squeeze and massage and drag against his nipples deliciously as his thighs curl around Hanzo's waist. Reinhardt squeezes just a touch and Hanzo groans in pleasure, picking up his pace a little more. He pulls himself upright, lays his hands on the tops of Reinhardt’s thighs and savours the hard muscle underneath.
“I knew you’d be good in the bedroom,” Reinhardt mutters. Hanzo fucking preens, molten heat overflowing in his core. “You’re so good, so good—” Reinhardt shudders, he wraps a hand around his dick, tugging to match Hanzo’s pace. “I’ve wanted you for so long, to feel you inside me, on top of me—”
Hanzo leans down, pressing his body against Reinhardt’s, and Reinhardt lets out a roar of a moan. He kisses every inch of Reinhardt’s skin that he can get to; his shoulder, his pecs, the hairy space between them, his neck, his scars, all while glancing up at Reinhardt, watching his face with every single noise he makes.
Hanzo thrusts as hard as he can manage as he gives Reinhardt all of his weight. Reinhardt’s whole body jolts, his other arm wraps around Hanzo’s back, gripping his shoulder tight and keeping him in place.
“Yes, there. Perfect, it’s perfect, you’re perfect—” Reinhardt tightens around him, Hanzo feels his hand come to a stop between them, followed by the telltale slick slide between their bodies.
Hanzo growls as every muscle in his body tenses, he sits right on the edge of orgasm. Using his toes for leverage, he thrusts hard once, twice, then falls, giving his own roar of a moan as his orgasm washes over him. With every hot pulse of pleasure, as his hips hiccup against Reinhardt’s, he mouths Reinhardt's skin, tongue lapping just below his clavicle and tasting his salty sweat.
Almost too quickly the high begins to fade, and as Hanzo floats down, he rests his head on those delicious pecs which are just as fantastically soft as he imagined.
Reinhardt’s hand settles on the nape of his neck, thumb stroking softly as his fingers drag through his undercut. Hanzo smiles and just enjoys the moment, this shared afterglow, and when Reinhardt kisses the top of his head, he looks up, into those blissed-out eyes of his.
“I’m glad I joined Overwatch,” Hanzo murmurs, pressing a kiss to Reinhardt’s chest.
“I’m glad you did too.” Reinhardt cups his face. “I’m going to have so much fun with you.”
Hanzo smirks slyly, a shiver of anticipation rolls down his spine. “I can’t wait.”