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The taste of saliva and cheap coffee was strong, as strong as that of jerky beef and sugar. Nevertheless, their tongues kept dancing and tying, rolling, meeting, their lips pressed before they parted, and that leather mask once more dropped to cover that face.

A breathing mask fashioned with a visible porcine nose, two tinted lenses for the eyes, and a stitched mouth. Behind, the main trace of humanity was in the form of that white hair fashioned in a mohawk at the moment. Even then, it was recognizable, and it was Roadhog’s mask, Mako Rutledge’s mask.

The files were crystal clear on his crimes as well as his attitude towards law: he was a ruthless criminal from the Australian outback, a junker, a man who stole, fashioned scrap weapons, and abused hogdrogen. By all accounts, he was among the worst kind of human you could meet and appreciate. And yet, it was that man Reinhardt watched as he lifted that mask again, hearing the man’s gruff breathing before their lips met again and those calloused, ring-wearing, fingers went over his chest. He felt them dig into the tender flesh, eliciting a moan before one slipped below, going all over his belly to stroke the skin. The happy trail was already growing back over a tattoo, “Road Sow”, written in bold with a pig beneath it.

A big… Fat belly Roadhog kept stroking, his gruntings low but approving while he reached for one nipple to tug on the piercings, much for Reinhardt’s pleasure… Delight… Satisfaction as the pressure inside was released. And milk poured. So much milk, so much that it made his breasts bulge, their weight making the tits sag and sway with each movement whenever he did not put bands or a bra…

“Liebling,” moaned Reinhardt through his breath, escaping the kiss and Roadhog’s mouth, just so he could moan at the man’s ears. “Please. My cunt aches for you.”

Cunt.

“Nice cunt you got.”

That was the first comment Roadhog offered to Reinhardt. Not Hello, not Hi, merely a perverted remark that went over the Knight’s mind for a few seconds before he reacted with a frustrated scowl.

“You know your tasks. Do them.” Still, that day… Reinhardt said nothing more in reaction. Not that he could, as Winston had requested him for a precise mission: to watch over Roadhog and keep him from committing any crimes. Even one criminal like him. It was “better” to have him under their thumbs and paid than to allow the criminal to sow more chaos and kill more people.

A situation Reinhardt had opposed, vehemently so. Even if he had not reported everything that happened, since reports were such a bother, Winston should believe in his judgment. Yet not. Their days were spent in the compound with Reinhardt watching and ensuring Roadhog made nothing ludicrous; meanwhile, Roadhog continued to work on weapons, hooked on the Hogdrogen Overwatch provided.

They worked together, but never mingled as they kept to themselves. Even when they went to the Gym, so Reinhardt could still work out and had Roadhog around, the Criminal did not say a thing… But that mask remained focused on Reinhardt. A constant watch over the Knight that was unnerving the moment Reinhardt went for squats. Unnerving and… odd.

For days, they kept that relative peace of the two being stuck together by circumstances and maintaining the distance… Only then for one fateful day to come.

That day, Reinhardt was returning from his shower. A towel around his waist and another drying his hair, he had only stepped inside their shared space to see Roadhog sitting there and waiting. It was the same pose he usually took, with his legs spread until his bulge was visible and exposed. However, this time, he did not wear his vest or his boots. His belt was still on but unbuckled, and his attitude was… Peculiar, his mask focused on Reinhardt.

“Was?” asked the Knight, drying his hair off.

“You are interested,” said Roadhog.

A mere answer that brought a scoff from Reinhardt. He was not… Hiding the fact he was into men, he had been vocal about it. But Roadhog… Beyond his gruff attitude, he could have an appeal. Or so Reinhardt thought as he crossed his arms.

“I could. But you’re a criminal. And I’m still angry about you leaving our base twice this last week.”

“Let’s make a deal.”

Roadhog’s gruff voice was punctuated by the sound of him playing with his pants and belt. He pulled the former down and the latter away, leading to him standing with nothing but a jockstrap. A white jockstrap that was clean but covered with holes divulging the flesh within… When it was not that left nuts slipping through the brief, exposed and hairy. A round orb that was almost as big as what Reinhardt possessed. And still, the German kept his eyes on it… on Roadhog as he massaged his bulge.

“I left because I was pent-up. I am, now”

“That is not my problem. I am not a whore,” replied Reinhardt, raising his nose and clenching his jaws. Even then, that sight was appealing. And the isolation was mind-numbing.

“The ape wants me to stay. You want to follow the orders. I want to get off. A deal.”

Reinhardt’s teeth ground together as he observed Roadhog pulling on his jockstrap, tugging it down until it slipped behind his scrotum and exposed what the Hog was packing. His groin was hairy, and the scent from it was intense: of raw hogdrogen mixed with sweat and shaved metal. His scrotum was hairy, too, but having a hairy trail going up to the cock that was… Massive.

Length and width-wise, that cock could be compared to a club. Even though it was a little stubbier, it had a rich red color over that fatty cock that was, by any account, showing no veins underneath the skin. And despite being a cylinder, the middle portion was slightly enlarged compared to the rest, from the base to the tip slowly uncovered as blood rushed to that cock. A sight… A vision to behold that made Reinhardt look away for a second. Communications were off, the cameras had been broken for a while… Remained, then, the two in the mess hall, with nothing but blue tables, empty corridors, and two desiring men.

“This is… One time only. Then, you no longer run away or flee the base. Gut?”

“Right,” answered Roadhog as he spread his legs further, giving all the space for Reinhardt to kneel between them and face that cock. It was starting to go upright and erect, precum dripping from it and adding to the concert of pungent scent sticking to Roadhog’s groin.

Yet, they knew… Both knew at that moment it would not be one-time only.

Not when Reinhardt leaned forward and took a deep breath, searing his nose with that perfume that brought saliva to his mouth. Not as his lips started to approach that big belly, digging even in that fupa to give that hairy groin a kiss… Or when his tongue was near the base.

Yet, Reinhardt kept a stern face as his tongue licked the mast and coiled around it while his hands reached for Roadhog’s nuts.

The scrotum, in his palm, was sweaty and loose. Still, he massaged it. He rolled those orbs, churning with life and heat, while his lips opened and took in the aroma sticking to the man’s genitals.

“Good… Keep going,” encouraged Roadhog, pushing against Reinhardt’s limits as he grabbed the wet hair to hold the German close to his groin.

Reinhardt should have backed away, should have fled. But in those moments, he, too, was pent-up and alone. He, too, had been looking to release some steam, to ease his worries. And whatever Roadhog offered to him, it was… For the best in this situation.

A thought that continued to drum inside Reinhardt’s mind while he kept worshiping that cock. That fat throbbing mast that was right at his lips, answering to each of his licking. Even his kisses as he abandoned himself to the idea of that moment being the only one. A moment where he could allow his lust to take over. As he opened his lips and let his tongue rest against the cocktip, sampling the stronger perfume of sex and… Cum. Cum that remained imprinted on the skin. On his tongue. He lowered himself to sucking a criminal… Taking him down to his uvula.

Roadhog grunted in approval and even stroked Reinhardt’s hair, egging him to take more… To swallow more inside, to take it whole.

Such an effort strained Reinhardt’s jaws. His mouth hurt whenever he pushed that fat cock inside, sensed it pushing inside his throat. He gargled, fought against the natural gag reflex before it all… Vanished. Until his nose tickled from Roadhog’s hairy groin brushing the tip… Then it was his lips as they were wide open and spread, pushed down to the base he swallowed whole.

Again, Roadhog’s grip kept Reinhardt stuck until, after a dozen seconds, the German could pull back and breathe. Breathe, wheeze, and nearly cough before he shook his head slightly and returned to sucking the first half of that shaft.

For a moment, the grunts and moans were the only comments to the faint sucking and suckling.

And then… There was the huff.

Then… There was the scrotum tightening.

Then… There was the cock throbbing harder, hitting the roof of the mouth as Reinhardt looked at the mask.

At Roadhog, whose hands were either stroking Reinhardt’s head or holding onto the nearby table, the rings digging into the reinforced blue plastic.

Finally, Reinhardt felt it.

It was warm and sticky, somewhat chunky. More than that, the taste was slightly acidic but salty. It was a flow, a sudden flood he started to gulp down by reflex before he merely took it inside his mouth. His cheeks began to inflate, bulge from the fluid he had in his mouth until he opened his mouth and pulled back against the hand, forcing against its grip.

There… he spat out the cum as that cock still sprayed his face. With that cum that stuck to his brows, his beard, his skin, his lips, even his nose. It was everywhere, and he even had to close his eyes not to get hit.

Roadhog was not only well-endowed, he was capable of pushing out lots and lots of cum the Knight had tried to swallow, retain, and finally given up before most of his face and parts of his chest were covered.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” he grunted, trying to wipe the liquid off despite Roadhog’s satisfied grunts. That hand released its grip, and Reinhardt slipped back, almost stumbled on his back before he managed to crawl a few inches and sat… Then started to stand up.

“You did not warn me,” he rambled, frustrated, as he used the towel around his waist to wipe that cum off his fingers.

“What for?”

“What for? I am covered with your cum!” growled Reinhardt, shaking his fingers before he concluded. “I need another shower.”

“Good. I’ll cook a stew.”

Reinhardt growled but still ended up on his feet, folding the towel before he glanced at Roadhog, who, indifferent to the situation, was already putting his underwear back on and pulled his pants up.

“Remember our deal.”

“Yes,” replied Roadhog, grunting as he fought against his belt. “No running away, now.”

“And it was one time only.”

This… That’s a lie. Reinhardt left and got a shower, ate, went to bed, and returned to his schedule. But the day after? There was again Roadhog sitting at the table with his legs closed when Reinhardt returned from his shower. No chuckle, nothing but that display while the ringed fingers tapped on the reinforced table.

“This was one time only,” grunted Reinhardt as he wiped the water off his chest and hair again.

“Right. Do as you want,” answered Roadhog. He reopened his legs, spread them to expose his bulge he started to fish out from his pants.

And… Against his better judgment, Reinhardt returned to his knees.

“Do not get used to it.”

A lie.

As he would get used to it as a sort of routine settled. Reinhardt would come from the shower only to find Roadhog sitting and waiting for him, his cock at the ready. At first, there were grunts and excuses, snarls and scowls.

But after the fourth time, there was nothing but a smile as Reinhardt eagerly returned between Roadhog’s legs. Each time, he swallowed more. Each time, it was easier to push down the gag reflex. Each time… Reinhardt found it easier to accommodate Roadhog, thinking how it was keeping the peace between them.

“Wait.”

After one week, Reinhardt froze. Roadhog uttered those words as he was about to wipe his face off from all that sweat, precum, and cum that was sticking to his beard.

Roadhog reached for his face, stroking that beard and those cheeks, grabbing that chin to get him closer. Closer enough as the Junker lifted his mask a little. Little was exposed, little was seen. But Reinhardt sensed the lips meeting with his in a sort of kiss. Prudish, indirect, with the tongues keeping to themselves. Again, the Knight did not resist, and for a moment, both remained still until Roadhog broke the moment.

“Keep it. You smell better.”

Better… reeking of cum and sweat? The thought of it was absurd. Reinhardt scoffed and went to the bathroom. But as he inhaled the air and looked at his disheveled self, he… Did not remove everything. The cum, yes. But the smell of sweat was good. Good enough to entice him as he went to bed that night, smelling that man’s musk even in his sleep.

A scent that followed him and started to permeate the mess…

Going everywhere, even following Reinhardt when he woke up the day after… Only to find Roadhog still sitting at the table and sipping his coffee. But those legs were spread, and that belt undone. Without thinking, after one week, Reinhardt went on his knees and started to suck Roadhog off without any prompt. It was just fine. Doing it maintained the peace, and Reinhardt… Reinhardt was slowly appreciating the moment. He did not need to blow his load, though he would do it under the shower or in the toilet. Sucking Roadhog off was already a reward that tingled his brain and nose, made his stomach grumble, arose his hunger, and satisfied it all the same as he chugged that cum down.

“Thanks, honey,” was Roadhog’s answer that morning… And Reinhardt never thought of it any further, accepting the hand over his hair and picking at it.

The routine. Their routine was changing. Slowly but faster than anyone would think. And their relationship, too. Roadhog seemed more eager to accept Reinhardt’s requests or orders from the Overwatch HQ. Even when they went on missions together outside, mainly to handle petty criminals, Roadhog answered his orders without any grunts. No, it made everything better for the two. And their life together was more enjoyable.

Even the changes in their day-to-day life were pleasant: Roadhog took more interest in Reinhardt’s training and even dared to touch Reinhardt, praising his muscles and touching his ass during workouts. And Reinhardt… Well, the bench was a spot like another to suck Roadhog off.

All was well and dandy until the day Roadhog was… Standing at Reinhardt’s bedroom room. Naked and not caring for Reinhardt ogling him, the Junker seemed to wait for the German to approach.

“Was?”

“I am sleepy. I’m going to bed.”

“Err,” started Reinhardt, looking around for a moment. “You have your room.”

The compound had many rooms, enough for the two. Even as each took a commander bedroom, the size perfect for them and their daunting “sizes”. Still, Roadhog looked at the door leading to the German’s bedroom.

“I prefer if I sleep in yours.”

“Would it change anything between uns if I refuse?”

“No.”

Roadhog’s answer was clear, and he even shrugged, seemingly uncaring. Still, Reinhardt opened the door and… Invited him inside.

“Make your-self comfortable,” said Reinhardt, watching Roadhog sit on the bed’s edge. He expected him to spread his legs or offer to do something that made the Knight both anxious and envious, enough for his tight pants to be a little too tight. But no. The Junker merely dropped on his back, on the bed with his arms spread and started to crawl. He ended with his head on the pillow, grunting yet still wheezing through his mask.

“Good night.”

“Will you sleep with dat on?” asked Reinhardt, surprised. He closed the door on the spacious but mainly undecorated, rustic room. The sleek furniture was giving the place a sort of lifelessness the lack of personalization worsened. Still, Reinhardt did not bother to decorate.

His feet led him by the bed, finding the left side had been left so Reinhardt could lie on the bed with Roadhog.

“What do you mean?”

“Your mask. Will you keep it?”

“I prefer. Is that a problem?”

Reinhardt thought about it as he watched that mask. It was bestial, brutal, lifeless. Yet, he had become accustomed to it. So much so that Roadhog wouldn’t seem to be Roadhog without it. So… He shook his head.

“No. Keep it,” answered Reinhardt as he lay on the bed, showing his back to Roadhog, who didn’t seem to mind. It only took the Aussie a few minutes to fall asleep and snore.

Reinhardt… It took him a bit more, but as soon as he tuned out the sound of Roadhog’s snoring, he fell asleep, too. He slept… Well. Very well.

To the point that he felt relaxed and well-rested even when he woke up with someone’s hands on him. When he had someone’s belly and chest hard-pressed against his back. He felt something hard stuck between his legs. A glance, and he confirmed it, saw Roadhog’s erect and reddish shaft peeking from between his thighs, hard and drippy on the sheets.

“Mako?”

There was only a grunt in answer, and that cock pushed further, pointing from between the thighs despite Reinhardt’s squeezed legs. A cock Reinhardt observed with bit lips. It was… Nothing. Nothing unlike what he had done before, and this… Well, it was rather innocent. Even when Roadhog started to hump, perhaps asleep, Reinhardt did not try to move. No… Even if his underwear and pants were drenched in precum from his and Roadhog’s, he stood still… And kept his thighs closed. Closed as the humping continued and turned into a concert of growls and grunts from Roadhog.

The Junker was not a patient lover, and in his sleep, he was downright abusive as those hands gripped Reinhardt’s waist and shoulders. They forced Reinhardt to bend down, to slightly face down, while Roadhog’s hips rocked back and forth, shaking the entire bed while his hard-squeezed cock was dripping precum all over the sheets. A precum that started to get thicker, smellier, whiter.

The huffs… The gruffs, they were stronger. So much stronger, and then… There was a growl followed by a huff. Just as suddenly, Reinhardt felt that familiar throb, but between his legs this time. He closed his eyes as his own cock was hard like steel, and he felt like he came, his prostate warm and fuzzy like every time.

And then… everything dropped.

Roadhog stopped. His legs stopped. His hips stopped. From his cock, multiple sprays had coated the sheets in white. No spot on Reinhardt’s side had been exempted, and the floor, too, had been coated a bit.

The German Knight said nothing, but his thighs remained squeezed even when Roadhog pulled away, wiping his cum-coated cock between Reinhardt’s thighs. The air was thick with the smell of sex and decadence. The gruffs from Roadhog became snores anew.

A sleeping beast used Reinhardt like a mere toy, but no… He was excited, lustful even… Desiring for more. A lust he recognized enough to slip out of the bed. His pants and underwear were drenched, and he had no spare that wasn’t in the laundry except for a jockstrap.

Even his shirt was slightly tainted by the shots. But after sniffing it, Reinhardt chose to keep it on before he slipped away as if he was fleeing someone else’s bedroom.

But it was his… Always been his. And the thought did not comfort him at all.

“I cleaned my mess,” growled Roadhog as he entered the hall, wearing nothing but his birthday suit. “I needed it.”

A justification… But yes. He probably needed it. And Reinhardt, too, was starting to need it. He ejaculated by being humped, and his last days had been… Peculiar. With a sip of coffee, he nodded.

“I’ll have to change the sheets and wash them up. You know dat?”

“You can use my room,” replied Roadhog as he went for the coffee pot, ignoring the empty tables and his weapons displayed on them before he returned to Reinhardt and sat by him. Not past him. Not as Roadhog’s hands went over his thighs, then ass. Without taking a break, the two sipped coffee while the fingers were dastardly pushing and advancing. They were going over those hairy cheeks, pushing against that fat ass… That sweaty crevice no clothes covered while they kept sipping.

But Reinhardt’s hands… They were not innocent either as they went over Roadhog’s thighs, stroking the skin and advancing, pushing inside.

“You don’t have your pants?” asked Roadhog, amused.

For so long, Reinhardt had made a point to keep himself covered. Going around in his birthday suit, he had never considered it. Especially with his endowment. Every time, he wore a jumpsuit, or pants, or anything to cover himself. The jockstrap was a novelty.

“All my clothes are dirty.”

“It suits you better,” answered Roadhog, his greasy index finger pushing between the cheeks to have a feel… To sense that hairy crevice swamped by sweat. But then, in between, there was Reinhardt’s asshole. One hole that was far from being virgin but that had not been used for a long time. Even then, the digit brushed and pushed against it.

“And you? You plan to stay naked?”

“I could. Is that a problem?”

Reinhardt had the answer at his lips. No, this was no problem.

But he did not say it. Rather, he continued his exploration until he had his hand returning to the man’s groin, feeling those balls constantly warm and full, covered with grease and sweat and hair… Or that cock that was already hard under the table.

“You know this cannot stay like this? If someone comes here and sees us, we are caught. I am done for having fun with a criminal.”

“Is that a problem?”

Reinhardt grunted… He grunted as the digit continued to push inside his asshole. It stung, it hurt. He had not been taken for a while. And Roadhog’s sausage fingers were so big, they could be compared to a hard and stiff cock.

He grumbled but still moved his hips, making them jut out from the bench… just so Roadhog could have an easier access to the orifice he massaged and stroked. An orifice Reinhardt had been… Eager to have it played with.

He grumbled but turned, setting aside the coffee to reach for the mask. Roadhog froze, stopped. Yet, Reinhardt reached for the mask to lift it a little. Just enough to have that mouth exposed and for their lips to meet. He had desired this for a long time… Enough for his tongue to be the one assailing Roadhog’s mouth, pushing through the fat lips and tasting the jerky beef and coffee in that breath… That and the Hogdrogen that permeated everything from Roadhog.

It made Reinhardt feel dizzy yet excited while he kissed and stroked that man, masturbating him under the table like a lowly whore.

“No. As long as nobody knows about it,” grumbled Reinhardt, taking his breath. He huffed a little, then returned to that kiss. That deep and heartfelt kiss as Roadhog’s digit fully penetrated him and stole a whimper from him.

Roadhog played with him like a fiddle, pushing and brushing the spots whenever he desired to steal more grunts and more moans from Reinhardt. The Knight’s mouth half-opened, his breath quickened, and his hands danced on that thick shaft Roadhog sported. He passed over the thick middle, feeling the throb, then over that cockhead and that peeled foreskin. He pulled on it, stroking the length while their mouths pressed together and their tongues tied. For once, Roadhog pushed him and forced him to swallow that heap of saliva. No, to suckle on that tongue while the digit forced on and on.

“You can put another,” groaned Reinhardt. He boasted; Roadhog’s fingers were so thick. Yet, there was the second finger stretching him and stealing a wince. Then, a third, the trio stretched his rim until it burned like a fire under him.

Reinhardt kept his position and posture despite the pain of his displaced muscles, of his asshole getting thoroughly abused. And he suckled on Roadhog’s saliva, pumping and listening to the Junker’s grunt all the same.

There was no way anyone could condone it, especially for doing something so perverted. But in the mess hall, they masturbated each other. It was the best thing Reinhardt had felt. Even better than his previous lovers, even better than Torbjorn toys he managed to steal and peruse… Even better than the tiny Dwarf whose dick had abused his hole time and time again.

He stretched his neck, tensed his limbs and posterior. Roadhog nearly locked those fingers inside his hole when they brushed his prostate. Under the Junker’s touch, Reinhardt squirmed and was vulnerable. Exposed and yet embracing every second of that contact while that cock was about to burst under his hand.

Even with that morning load, Reinhardt was certain he was pent-up. Truth was, Roadhog was always pent-up. Even after sucking him, those balls would be heavy. Humping and spurting on the sheets seemed to have done nothing. Nothing to appease that enormous cock throbbing inside his hand. To appease that erection he pumped faster. Reinhardt’s rough fingers, used by years of combat, squeezed on the flesh without producing any complaint from Roadhog.

That gruff breathing grew louder and faster when their lips parted, and saliva traced the line separating them… Forming a tangle smearing Reinhardt’s beard whenever they joined again… And again. It was messy, ugly… Perverted.

There were moments when he had to cry and ask Roadhog to stop, to pull back a little. But by the end, they were… They were happy, closer, satisfied, and reaching their limits. Reaching their moments as they climaxed and their bodies released that tension.

Reinhardt was the first to go, feeling the fire in his groin was too much to hold on. As the big finger went and traced a circle around his lovespot, he cracked. His voice cracked, and he felt the shots inside his jockstrap, even managing to squeeze through the light fabric before it dripped down on his cock, his balls, his seat.

Roadhog took longer. His fingers did not retract by then, but their movements eased down as he continued to press Reinhardt’s spot, to have those lips meet. Faster, more, until they were only taking short breaths before their faces pressed together. Reinhardt’s fingers pumped as fast as possible, as fast as his wrist could with the burn and pain.

He would have loved to use his other hand, but it would have made the situation awkward, so he continued, enduring the pain, his face red. Red from being toyed with, from playing with that man, for giving in to his perverse love. And for wanting to see that cock shoot through.

And it did.

Through grunts and huffs, Reinhardt watched Roadhog pull away. Fingers and face alike, the masked Criminal leaned over the table with one arm on it as he was masturbated. He gruffed, seemingly holding in the cry of pleasure. But it was not enough. Not when Reinhardt’s hands continued, and his thumb kept brushing the cocktip.

It was not possible to hold it indefinitely, and with a growl, he shot. He shot: cum flew across the air, hitting the table’s underside and dropping all over. It even landed on the bench on the other side. But most of it formed a pool underneath the table as the two slowly went still. Reinhardt’s hands retracted, his breathing eased. Roadhog lay down on the table as the afterglow hit them… And yet, Reinhardt chuckled.

He was feeling better. He was feeling at ease in a situation that had been terrible from the beginning. He was also allowed to get on with his fantasies, his desires, his lust as he reached for Mako Rutledge and lifted that mask once more, just to kiss him.

This was the beginning of the end for him.