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Noon, the sky a pastel blue and pink-ish yellow, flitting through the clouds; a quaint ranch home with almost never-ending plains, nearby houses and one distant town miles in the horizon, so far away it looks like tiny specks amongst the endless pasture.
It was rustic, and homely. It was almost a privilege to be standing here on his porch, admiring the view. The quiet calm, unlike the bustling multi-layered cities. Safer like this too, really. He felt that maybe, this was where he’d meant to be all along — despite his talents with the single action army; he was a cowboy, not a gunslinger.
He used to live on a farm like this once upon a time, many years ago as a boy. However, this time around, he decided not to burden himself with any excess responsibilities. Instead of something flashy with manual labour, excess mouths to feed or machines to operate, he decided on a comfortable homestead in the middle of the land without any work — nothing for him to do except relax, clean, cook and sleep.
This was his retirement, away from Overwatch, and something that was his alone. He could sleep at night knowing it was paid off with dirty money, he could ignore the ways he wasn’t always helping in the way that he wished he was— but when the nights were long and cold, it helped when his bed wasn’t empty.
Still on his porch, leaning over the railing with elbows jutted. It was nice to get fresh air; like I said, there’s not many places like this anymore. Untouched by the world, not piled up on top of itself to accommodate so many people. Not reeking of piss and machines.
⏱
“Hey.” He gruffly looked up. “Thought you’d stay out there forever.”
There he is, in all his glory, reclined back on his well-used couch, feet kicked up and one arm behind his head. His hat hung on the coat rack by the door, and his prosthetic arm sitting idly on the coffee table.
He was watching some western movie, typical of him, while giving his stump a rest. The residual limb barely peeked out from his short-sleeved wrangler. It looked uncomfortable, covered in those little red indented lines that revealed hours of use.
To Cassidy’s standards, a glass of whiskey with a coaster was as tidy as it got, however for once it wasn’t a complete mess. The metal arm stood against the side of the coffee table, his sock-clad feet resting on the surface with what I assumed were bounties and alerts from Overwatch — not that he talked to me about it, he just did a shitty job hiding it.
He was ‘ignoring’ his contracts, and the recall, letting the holopads pile up. He claimed he was ‘thinking about it’ before he committed to anything, and would leave it at that, silently urging me to drop the topic before he admitted something stupidly lovesick. He’s happy now, even if he wishes that things were different, and he would rather leave it at that.
I casually thump into the spot next to him, tucking myself into his side, his bicep nudging my shoulder as he attempted to wrap that arm around me. “Are you.. Cozyin’ up to me?” He hummed in amusement, eyes only briefly flicking away from the old film.
I shot him an unimpressed look, the kind that he knew all too well—
“What? I’m just askin’,” he smirked, “not complainin’ none.”
And it’s quiet. He’s just glad to be present, whether his time off is spent alone or not, it’s all the same to him. Although, it is nice to have something warm pressed against his side.
He’s seen this movie so many times that he’s mumbling along under his breath, turning his head just enough to press his nose against my hairline; eventually, he went quiet, pressing a short sweet kiss on my temple.
He shifted so his free — his only — arm was no longer behind his head, he kicked his feet down onto the floor and sat more upright. His thumb grazed against my thigh as he continued to inwardly recite the movie to himself, still pressing chaste kisses to my temple, cheek and eye.
I tilted my head to look at him, interrupting the onslaught of pecks against my face, “Cole,” I murmured in faux-stern; I knew him, he was predictable and far from subtle.
“Mhm?” He barely glanced away from the movie for a second, just pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of my mouth before acting all innocent, as if his hand wasn’t near groping my thigh with tender squeezes. “That’s my name.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Nothing. Jus’ thinkin’, the only thing that’d make this better is a good cigar..” Nothing was stopping him, not really. Not when this was his house, but truthfully he didn’t want to spend his fifties scrubbing the yellow off of the walls. That, and it was a good habit to keep.
“Really? I was just out there..” I teased, and he hummed again, shifting closer. His head dips, pressing a long, unsubtle kiss to my neck, lingering there. He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer, and the lack of a secondary limb made things a little harder.
“In the mood.” He said, his voice low and rumbly, as if his actions weren’t loud enough. “C’mon, darl’, I’ve only got one arm. Make it easy for me, would’ya?” He sounded smug, making me do all the work as he placed open-mouthed kisses along my neck and the curve of my shoulder.
I straddled his thick thighs, letting my knees bracket his hips. “So.. You wanna have sex?” I questioned innocently with a teasing lilt at the end, his arm wrapping around my waist to support me, his bicep moving out of habit before realising it was a futile attempt.
“Mhm. Y’er so pretty, just wanna eat you up.” Yet, I had a feeling that was not what the lazy bastard was going to do. Despite knowing that, I moved in his lap, not quite grinding, but there was just enough friction that he couldn’t complain.
I pressed a kiss onto the corner of his mouth, his eyelashes fluttered shut and he chased the brief contact, wanting more of it, his hand pressing down on the middle of my back so I’d arch into him. He let out quiet grunts, rolling his hips periodically, slowly hardening beneath me.
My fingers ran through his messy locks, angling his jaw upwards as I towered over him. His bicep half wrapped around me the best it could, his mouth parting to try and let me in despite my lack of attempts; he licked my bottom lip again, a quiet ask, and got denied with a teasing nip.
“I think you’re sweet on me, but y’won’t admit it.” He was breathless, his western twang thick. He was a big ol’ baby, sulking that he couldn’t shove his tongue down my throat like a teenage boy with boundary issues.
He got a stern look in return, the kind that made him give a nervous chuckle and a lop-sided grin. He cleared his throat and shifted his hips, giving me access to undo his pants, as if his meager help would make it easier— better, somehow.
“Hm. Where on earth would you get that idea from?”
I barely managed to get his worn jeans past his thick thighs, his cock jumping to try and escape his boxer briefs, the wet smear of pre-cum revealing how his dick naturally lays to the side.
He didn’t even seem phased, a sharp exhale and his thighs twitching that betrayed nothing— My fingers slid inside his underwear, wrapping around his cock, his skin burning hot to the touch and pulsing in my grip. That betrayed a lot.
“Darlin’, don’t be mean t’me.” He murmured, trying to play it cool, despite how obviously wounded he was by my teasing.
I hiked his briefs down just enough to free his cock, letting it twitch at the cool air. His arm circled my torso, then pulled me closer until we bumped crotches, his thumb digging under the waistband of my shorts in a silent plea to pull them off despite the position making that difficult.
“Want you.” All breathless and honest, “want you more than anything. Need someone to fill this saddle.”
I laughed at that, and rolled my hips for him when he dug the ball of his palm into the bottom of my spine. “How do you plan to fuck me with my pants still on?” I mused.
He wishes he had 2 arms right now — despite how good the reprieve from the cybernetic felt — his hand trying to grab greedy fistfuls of ass, fumbling with my shorts when he couldn’t decide if he wanted to go above or under the fabric.
“..Could rip a hole in ‘em?”
“Cole.” I warned him before he could get any other bright ideas. He was getting too old to act like this, so he rolled his eyes, wishing I’d entertain him just this once.
He gave a quiet ‘fine, fine’, then angled his knees for me to lean back onto. He liked doing the work himself, his fingers achingly pulling the shorts down my hips, his strong and comforting hand running across my legs to move them into a more favourable position, then thwip— both my shorts and underwear thrown somewhere to be found later.
A less selfish man would, in his words, ‘eat me up’, but he always had a habit of not thinking for himself, and when he did, it was typically with the wrong head. He knew 3 things: how to do what he’s told, how to shoot good, and how to fuck better.
“Gonna behave?” I teased, voice low and sultry, adjusting my legs yet again so I could press my core against his cock, grinding against the thick ridge on the backside. I towered over him like this, something that made him — a big, tough as teak mountain man — feel small for once.
He nodded eagerly, a sharp breath escaping him like he’d been shot. “Yes, ma’am,” he spoke against my lips, leaning in for another kiss and hoping he’d be rewarded.
I continued my movements, his hips trembling with restrained effort as he tried not to buck upwards like an animal. His bicep flexed in a useless attempt to use the metallic hand that was usually there — his human fingers digging into my skin, biting crescents — he let out quiet hums and grunts, knowing better than to take, and never really wanting to properly ask.
“Darlin’, please,” he begged, voice rough like swallowing glass, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tossed his head back helplessly. “Use your hand or sumthin’, use your pussy. If you love me—”
I wrapped my fingers around the thick base of his shaft, squeezing enough to feel how the blood rushed through the vein there. He gasped and let his eyes flutter shit, his breaths desperate and ragged.
Angling his member straight up, I rubbed my clit against the deep red tip. “Look at me, Cass.” Grinding him through my slit, the fluttering hole kissing his tip like an invitation. The sticky pre coating my folds and modestly dribbling down his shaft.
He let out a desperate noise, akin to painfully swallowing his pride, and forced his head straight. “Pumpkin..” He started, voice rough and sultry with that tender name. “Have mercy on me,” his hips jerked in an attempt to close the gap. Frustration lingered on his expression for only a few seconds, briefly wishing he had two hands so he could grab me by the hips and—
Sinking down slowly, and all the fight suddenly left him. His hand slid under my loose t-shirt and ran up and down my spine briefly, trying to stabilise me, but also just to feel his calloused fingertips splay over the softness of my back. Droopy-lidded and dry-mouthed, his thumb brushed my hair away from my neck, smoothing it straight and collecting the beadlets of sweat already forming there.
“Christ, some warning next time,” he gasped, taking in a sharp inhale between his teeth, pushing himself flush against me, mons-to-mons, then a shuddering breath on the exhale.
“You said to take mercy on you,” despite the slow slide, I was light-headed from the size, taking a moment to adjust. I leaned forward, pressing my chest against his, feeling the way his breathing stopped while he looked up at me doe-eyed. “It would be cruel to not reward you for asking so nicely.”
“Ah, love, just want you to take care of me,” He knew it was his cue to ask for what he wants, but he’d always preferred to do what he’s told and take what he’s given.
I shifted on my knees, getting the momentum I needed to grind into his lap, rolling my hips back and forth slowly, he let out a contented sigh. “Keep those eyes on me.”
“Always.” He murmured, there was an intimacy behind not being able to hide his gaze behind his hat. “I like seeing you like this.”
Chest to chest, my fingers reaching up to run through his hair, soft massages to his scalp. I leaned over him, my nose touching his as I craned his neck to keep him from throwing his head back. His arm still remained steady on my spine, running up and down in tender touches and ignoring the fabric there while his bicep tried to help my position.
He jerked his hips, small movements in time with my back-and-forths, pushing deeper into the A-spot and letting my vision spark white with that sharp pleasure that runs through my whole body. I let out an affirmative hum, and he absorbed the reactions.
“Gonna make you feel good, hon,” I huffed.
His fingers spread in a ‘V’ shape, his hand reaching under my ass to feel where we were joined, adding slight pressure to the backside of his cock. He let out a low groan; he knew how to be quiet, I was sure of it, not that you’d ever know from the way he’s grunting and cursing under his breath.
“Yeah, doin’ a real good job of it, pumpkin,” he reassured, lips parted in an attempt to suck in more air. “Keep doin’ what y’er doin’..”
“The exact same, or..?”
“Could kiss me, if y’er offering.” His nose bumping into my jaw, a soft nip there that earned his hair a sharp tug. My fingers slowly drifted down to cradle his face.
I pitied him, gently pecking him at first and feeling him melt. I would tease, say I’m not offering, but he made pretty little gasps and groans that sent sparks of heat straight through me. He licked at my bottom lip again, silently asking entry; whining ‘aw, c’mon’ under his breath when he got denied again, but he continued the eager nips anyway.
Mouths melding together as I continued to bounce myself on his lap, his hand grabbing a fists-worth of my waist to help. He was trying to steal the air from my lungs, pressing into me with a bruising amount of force, sloppy and far from graceful. I tried to keep it steady despite the effort it took to ride him, and he was losing his rhythm fast.
“Gonna cum?”
“Mhm.” He whined, low and rough in the back of his throat, his hand squeezing the fat of my hip. He let out a half-hearted nod, one that only smeared a mess of saliva across my lips.
“Gonna do it inside of me?”
“Fuck,” his eyes fluttered for a second; his hot breath on my lips, and balls drawing tight. He continued to buck his hips, pushing his cock in that little nook beside my cervix. I reached down with frantic circles, the uneven pace working against me. “Yeah, darlin’, ‘m gonna cum. You’re— shit, you’re gonna make me cum.”
That was the secret phrase, like a slutty version of ‘open sesame’, I parted my lips just enough for him to swipe his tongue over mine with a low groan. He moved slowly at first, tentative with self control, then pushed insistently forward. I craned my neck awkwardly and tugged his hair to steady him.
Undulating his hips and losing sync with each other, becoming desperate with pants and moans, this was the kind of hard work that he excelled in. “Like this?” He grunted, swallowing hard and all breathless, he could already feel the tension in his hips.
“Cole, I’m—”
“Me too, pumpkin,” he huffed, his head drooping to my shoulder, his hair bunching up against his forehead as he writhed under me. I felt the muscles in my back tense under his large palm, my body careening into him in an attempt to turn to jelly.
His back arched into me, letting me lean fully into him, his hand rising enough to hold my torso flush against his chest and his residual arm making the familiar, futile attempt to complete the embrace.
“I got you,” he murmured sweetly into my jaw with hot, open-mouthed kisses across my neck and collarbone. My body jolted suddenly, and his hips stuttered; my insides pulsed around him, clenching and gushing. He let out a low groan, biting his lip to muffle any unsavoury curses, and I felt him cum— hot and heavy inside of me, his dick throbbing with each squirt before he collapsed entirely, melting into the couch.
The air was thick and heavy for a moment, both of us panting and gasping in aftershocks, waiting for the thrum to leave our bodies. The only other noise in the whole house was from the television, still playing that old western, his forehead and nose nuzzling into my neck while I barely managed to stay upright.
Breathing steadied, and I slowly rose up, letting him slip out of me, the gooey mess hitting his lap with a gross squelch. Like already established, he wasn’t really the pinnacle of cleanliness, he can just tuck himself away into his briefs and pretend he’s fine, wash it off in the shower later.
Wobbling on my feet, and using his knee as support. “Cass, where’s my pants?” I mumbled, the oversized shirt doing just enough to cover me as it reached down to my thighs, stopping his gaze from seeing the smear of cum there. I glanced around briefly, the wooden floorboards bare of any offending fabric.
“I dunno,” he yawned lazily, squirming to try to tuck himself away and get his jeans back over his thighs, evidently struggling due being one-handed.
He noticed the way my eyebrows knitted, scanning the floor carefully like it’d jump out at me.
With a dramatic sigh, he rolled his shoulders, rising just enough to look over the back of the couch. “What, love? Gonna ask an amputee to get it for you?” He teased, voice grumbly with sleep, gesturing in the vague direction that he threw it in. “Thought you were better than that.”