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By chance, Genji sees Zenyatta at a social event in Hanamura--a benefit ball at a local museum.
He notices him early on, if only because it would be impossible not to given Zenyatta’s...augh, his everything, the beacon that is his entire being, like an anglerfish’s incandescent lure. Genji thinks better of breaking from his circle to greet him, instead milling amongst people who are new enough to the game to know who he is without knowing the scope of his reputation, men and women who are comparably wealthy but significantly less mean. But all the while, he keeps an eye on Zenyatta--standing back to watch him work the room.
He’s bewitching to behold, small entourage trailing, gold accents glimmering, his mannerisms delicate and refined. He slots in immediately amongst the room of strangers, standing amongst them first, and then above them second, those who he has struck up conversations with reluctant to part from his company, and those who haven’t had the pleasure moving towards him in steady intervals, grateful to receive so much as a hello. It’s incredible how different he seems from afar. Magnanimous, clever, kind--a slight, pretty thing of an omnic, beautiful and fragile, reminiscent of the sort of shiny bauble Genji would have instantly destroyed growing up.
“If only they knew,” Genji chuckles on the balcony, breaking from the gala for a smoke. He frowns when he hears the door open and shut behind him (honestly, who’s trying to bother him right now) and he’s just about ready to be irritated by the intrusion when he feels the otherworldly pulse of the Iris thrumming against his back. He smiles when his dragon twists languidly within him, lizard-like, basking in the cosmic warmth that he imagines must remind it of home.
“‘Evening, Zenyatta.”
The omnic comes to stand beside him, matte white plating giving off the faintest glow beneath the moon. When he speaks, his voice is like a summer tide, warm and slow, the soft drag of it pulling Genji down to darker waters. “Good evening, Shimada-san.”
“‘Shimada-san’? ” Genji echoes amusedly. “A little formal, don’t you think?”
“Not at all." The omnic tips his head. "This may be an unfamiliar concept to you, but sometimes people will change their behaviour based on context for the sake of propriety. Though I cannot imagine that you have ever considered such a revolutionary concept.”
Genji lights his cigarette and chuckles. “God, you're such a dick.” He leans forward, lets his forearms rest on the balustrade. He turns his head slightly to Zenyatta, but doesn’t look at him head on--he has no doubt doing so right now would full on be the death of him. “What are you doing here anyway? This doesn’t seem like your usual crowd.”
“I could say the same for you. I thought you preferred to keep your shakedowns outside of your prefecture?”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not shaking anyone down, sheesh. Would you believe I’m sometimes of a mind to make philanthropic gestures?”
Zenyatta pinches the cigarette from between Genji’s fingers when he lifts it to take a drag, and flicks it unceremoniously over the balcony railing. “I would not believe it for a second, no.”
“Ah, well.” Feeling defiant, Genji reaches into his breast pocket and withdraws his entire box of smokes. He holds eye contact with Zenyatta as he shifts out another cigarette, sets the box to one side, and brings out his lighter. “That’s fair enough, I guess.”
Zenyatta makes no comment on Genji’s second light. The hair stands up on the back of Genji’s neck when he feels the omnic’s gaze moving over him, tracing the entire length of his body.
“We met at an event like this,” Zenyatta says after a long wait, as if he’s been holding onto the thought for a while.
“Wow, we did, didn’t we?” Genji hums, somehow managing to feel nostalgic for their unpleasant first brush. “How long ago was that?”
“A little under four years, I believe.”
“Four years? Holy shit…” He quirks his lip when Zenyatta stares at him, unmoving. “What?”
The omnic shakes his head. “Nothing. Only, it is difficult to reconcile who you were back then with who you are now.”
“Well, sure.” Genji grins. “I’ve been feeling pretty spry since the rabies cleared up.”
“I mean it. I almost did not recognize you when I saw you tonight,” he murmurs. “You are surprisingly charming, when you wish to be.”
Genji barks a disbelieving laugh. “Did you just compliment me?”
“You sound surprised.”
“Only because I’ve known you for four years and the only compliments you’ve ever given me are the backhanded kind.”
“Then forgive me. That is a failing on my part.” Genji frowns when Zenyatta moves in closer to him, the space between them diminishing to nothing. “In truth, I think you are good at many things, Genji. You are good at fighting for your place. You are good at holding your ground. You are good at knowing when to fold.” Zenyatta’s hand slips against the nape of his neck, claws scratching against his hairline. He leans down, bringing his face close to Genji’s, and omnic energy stings along the ninja’s cheek. Against the shell of his ear, Zenyatta whispers, “And you are so good at taking my cock--although, you are better at begging for it first.”
Genji fumbles the second cigarette--he is too stunned to mourn it as it joins its brethren in the darkness below.
“Wh-wha-what did you just--”
“Do you have any plans tomorrow?” the omnic asks primly. His hand slides around and begins picking apart the knot of Genji’s tie.
Genji’s focus narrows to the tug against his neck, the mechanical heat of Zenyatta’s body so close to his. He glances behind him for an instant. He and Zenyatta are separated from the rest of the gala by a single paned sheet of glass, and while he doesn’t particularly care what they see, he doesn’t know what’s going on with Zenyatta, who is usually so cognizant of keeping up appearances. “I, uh...I have a few meetings in Hanamura, and then I, um, I’ve gotta be in...in Kyoto by noon for a--”
His tie comes undone. It brushes against his jaw as Zenyatta slips it free of his collar.
“Reschedule.”
“Wh--”
Zenyatta’s hand fists in his hair and suddenly he is bent over, cheek pressed flat against the cold stone balustrade. Zenyatta shifts behind him, pressing their bodies flush together so Genji is intimately aware of his every joint and edge and--holy shit, is that his-- “Because in one hour you are going to come to my hotel room, and I am going to spread you on my mattress and fuck you so hard you will not be able to walk for a week. Do you understand?”
“Oh god…” Genji whimpers, heart pounding in his ears.
“Do you understand, Genji?”
Genji inhales thickly. He does everything in his power to sound like he’s got a grip on this situation, but his voice comes out little more than a pitched whisper. “I understand.”
He feels Zenyatta’s laughter vibrating through his chassis. Slowly, the omnic withdraws. His fingers ghost against Genji’s spine before pulling away. “Then, I will be taking my leave. I will see you soon, Shimada-san.”
The balcony door clicks open and shut for the second time that night. With Zenyatta gone, the throbbing pressure of the Iris disappears as well, leaving Genji tremulous, shaking cold. He reaches for the cigarette box he set to one side, wanting to get one fucking drag in before he goes tumbling head first into hell, but it’s gone, nowhere to be found, either knocked off when Zenyatta pinned him down or stolen by the omnic himself.
“Goddamn it,” Genji hisses helplessly, but after a few steadying inhales, he musters up what resolve he can and returns inside.
The next hour is a blur of stumbling conversation, wan goodbyes, Genji muddling through the basics of human interaction and motor function like it’s his first day existing on this planet. He’s waylaid a few times as he tries to make his departure, people pulling him aside to schmooze, and usually he’d have no trouble cutting them off and moving away. Presently, he lacks the faculties for it, and by the time he’s able to escape the final person, he’s running late.
When he exits the venue one of his underlings asks him if he’s alright (or maybe it’s ten of them, he has no idea, skull pounding, seeing double) and he says he is, but in the least convincing way possible. He wants to drive himself to Zenyatta’s hotel, but they think he’s drunk and won’t let him. They look nervous when they drop him off--but there’s no possible way that what they feel is anything close to the spiralling, lust-edged panic Genji’s experiencing right now.
At the door to Zenyatta’s suite, the two omnics standing watch step aside without a word, clearly expecting him. Their faces are, of course, impassive--though he feels something like judgement following him inside.
Finally, Genji enters Zenyatta’s room, feeling stiff and wound to the point of breaking. The space is overly big, mostly empty, which is fine in most circumstances, but this time around it leaves him feeling hopelessly exposed, the vacant expanse offering absolutely nowhere to hide. It’s dark inside, dimly lit by a handful of tall candles set at various points on the floor. At the back of the room is Zenyatta, sitting on the end of his king-sized bed (which he doesn’t even use, except when Genji is there), posture elegant and at ease. Genji’s tie is resting beside him, neatly folded on the vermillion sheets.
“I said an hour,” Zenyatta says coolly, not looking up from the whetstone he’s working patiently against his nails.
“I was held up,” Genji croaks as he closes the door behind him, leaving his shoes and socks on the other side. His eyes follow the smooth back-and-forth motion of Zenyatta’s hands, body tightening with every quiet shk-shk-shk of steel against grit. “There was a--”
“You know I have no interest in your excuses,” the omnic interrupts. He withdraws his fingers from the stone and holds them up to the candlelight. His claws flash, razor-sharp; Genji’s adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I gave you an express order, and you disobeyed. Consequently, I have decided a training exercise is in order. So.” He sets the whetstone on a little side table near the corner of the bed, making sure each edge clicks loudly against the lacquered wood. “Here is what we shall do. Over the course of the evening I am going to give you a series of commands. If you fail to complete them, or if you complete them unsatisfactorily, I am going to punish you. Do you understand?”
Genji sways on his feet. He feels like he needs to sit down. “Yes.”
With immense, excessive care, Zenyatta folds his hands one atop the other in his lap. Dangerously, he rumbles, “Pardon?”
A split second of non-comprehension. Genji has to give a few hard, rapid blinks to keep his vision from swimming as he corrects, “Y-yes, Master.”
Satisfied, Zenyatta leans back on one hand, his posture invitingly languid. “Then, let us begin.” He makes a dismissive gesture towards Genji’s suit. “Take off your clothes.”
Without a word, Genji does as he is told. A small part of him wants to regain some semblance of control over this situation, to not merely undress but to strip, presenting his body so tantalizingly that it makes Zenyatta squirm where he sits. But what would have come effortlessly in the presence of anyone else is rendered impossible before Zenyatta. He can’t think. His head is an expanse of white noise. The only thing his mind can articulate is the steady, rumbling instinct to obey.
His jacket comes off easily enough, slipping cleanly down his arms and onto the floor without much coaxing. His shirt is tougher. His hands are shaking too much and he gropes dumbly at the buttons, tugging them every which way but apart--eventually he gives up, opting instead to grasp his shirt from either side and to tear the front open with brute strength, thread snapping, buttons popping, fabric giving away. His skin burns when Zenyatta gives a low noise of approval (he’s just trying to fuck with him, god damn it, but it’s working) and his eyes stay locked on the floor as he sheds what’s left of his dress shirt, the room suddenly both too hot and too cold, goosebumps rising on his exposed neck and arms.
He tries to coax himself into relaxing by reminding himself who he is, where they are, that Zenyatta is just an omnic monk whereas Genji was once the biggest playboy in all of Hanamura, and is presently the most powerful assassin and crime lord in all of Japan. But he knows, they both know, that none of that means anything here. Here, he’s nothing, no one--except Zenyatta’s plaything, only there to be tested and toyed with and used. The thought leaves him trembling, hot all over, and as he takes hold of his belt, he realizes he’s done for. His hands refuse to cooperate, the heat of desire leaving his fingers a mass of shakes. He curses beneath his breath, trying to pull up the buckle, work the leather through the clasp, but the metal just clicks back and forth in his grip like he’s hitting together a pair of knitting needles.
After a minute of hopeless fumbling, Zenyatta finally intervenes with a firm, “Enough.”
Genji’s hands fall to his sides. He’s trembling and flushed, breathing noisily through his nose as if he’s just come off the track. Zenyatta gives a short tsk-tsk-tsk and Genji does his best to steel himself for what he knows is coming next.
“Look at me,” comes the order, and Genji does, instantly cowed by that perfect, expressionless face. The omnic does not say anything else for what feels like an eternity, the tension of his silence enough to wring Genji’s insides. “That was a poor effort,” Zenyatta says finally. He leans forward to rest his chin in his hand. He almost looks as if he is genuinely curious about the answer to his next question. “Just to revise: what happens when you put forth a poor effort, Genji?”
All the moisture is suddenly absent from Genji’s mouth. With some effort, he manages to croak, “I get punished.”
“Mm-hmm,” Zenyatta purrs, and his voice, charged with vicious implication, goes straight to Genji’s dick. “Come here.”
Genji starts to take a step forward only to have Zenyatta immediately halt his advance.
“No,” the omnic says crisply. “Not like that.”
Genji blinks in open confusion. His eyes search Zenyatta’s face (which, as always, yields no hint as to what he wants) and then flick across the floor. His breath hitches as understanding dawns--as if he wasn’t enough of a mess already. Sweat prickling on his brow, he tries to get his breathing under control as he lowers himself to the floor, bending so his palms rest against the carpet. The soft fibers sting his hands like coals. He swallows tightly and then he raises his head, looking up to make sure this is what Zenyatta wants. No expression, but he can read pure satisfaction in the omnic’s every line and curve.
Genji draws another loud inhale--and then he crawls, pulling himself towards Zenyatta on hands and knees.
Sweat is sliding down the small of his back by the time he’s reached Zenyatta. The omnic is close enough that if he just leaned a little further forward, he could pull the folds of Zenyatta’s kasaya apart with his teeth. He stays on all fours, letting the omnic appraise him at his pace.
“Kneel,” Zenyatta says, and Genji does, pulling back into stiff seiza. He jumps when Zenyatta takes the opportunity to touch the end of his foot to his crotch, sole rubbing teasingly over the fabric trapping Genji’s erection against his body. He starts to grind back into the pressure, but Zenyatta gives a cruel little chuckle and bares down his heel--too hard, pleasure hurrying ahead into the realm of pain, making lights burst behind Genji’s eyes. “No need to be over eager, Genji,” Zenyatta murmurs as Genji gasps and squirms beneath his sole. “You do not move unless I tell you to.”
Fucking sadist, Genji thinks. What comes out of his mouth is a demure, “Yes, Master.”
“Good.” Zenyatta lessens the pressure. He rotates his ankle, the ball of his foot tracing a loose circle over Genji’s cock, testing Genji’s resolve. The ninja does as he’s told and doesn’t budge an inch--but every second is torture, veins bulging in his neck with the effort of it. The ninja’s seconds away from breaking when the omnic finally takes mercy and abandons his crotch. He slides his foot upwards, cool metal touching feather light against the hard planes of Genji’s stomach, the pounding center of his chest. Finally, he catches the end of his foot beneath Genji’s chin and with the barest tilt of his ankle, tips the ninja’s head back so he’s looking at the ceiling. The ninja reins in the desire to turn his head ever so slightly so he can kiss Zenyatta’s ankle and up his calf, knowing it could only end in further retribution. Still, the cold flash of the omnic’s golden accents makes for a bitter temptation.
“Whatever shall I do with you, Genji?” Zenyatta asks as he withdraws his leg. Still staring at the ceiling (white paint edged with bevelled moulding) Genji cannot fathom what the omnic is doing until he feels the press of robot palms against his knees. Slowly, slowly, slowly, they trail upwards, petting over his thighs, thumbs rubbing along the inseam of his pants, igniting a trail of fire beneath his skin. For an instant, they take hold of his hips, bringing them forward. Not a second later, Zenyatta’s grasping at his belt buckle, and in contrast to Genji’s earlier failure, he undoes it effortlessly, leather whispering against textile as it’s pulled free of Genji’s pants.
Seconds pass, and there is no sound of the belt being set aside or dropped. Genji’s insides clench; Zenyatta’s still holding it.
He defies the screaming urge to buck his orders, to look down just to see what the monk is doing with it. As if in answer, Zenyatta gives a considering hum--and then, like a thundercrack, Genji hears the belt strike experimentally against something. Hard.
“Turn around, Genji.”
Genji does.
“Take off your pants and bend over.”
Genji obeys, his breath coming out in short huffs as he pushes his pants past his knees and kicks them off onto the floor. He can feel Zenyatta’s gaze on him as he leans forward, resting on his forearms, arching his back. One of Zenyatta’s fingers traces down the center of his spine, and then his whole palm opens, spreads against one ass cheek, giving it a firm squeeze. Genji bites his lip through it, forcing himself not to respond. Shame burns across his face--heat throbs between his legs.
“Are you ready to receive your punishment, my dear starling?” Zenyatta says magnanimously.
Genji squeezes his eyes shut and braces himself. “Please, Master.”
“That’s my good boy.”
Zenyatta pulls no punches--the belt snaps with ruthless precision against the swell of his ass, once, twice, pain exploding beneath Genji’s skin. He yelps, jerks away, but Zenyatta grabs him by his hips and holds him in place, nails puncturing the skin. “What part of ‘do not move’ did you not understand?”
“I--I d-didn’t mean to--” He cries out when the belt lands hard against the backs of his thighs, dangerously close to his balls.
“Always with your insolence,” Zenyatta tuts. “I see that I have been going too easy on you. But, I will not make the same mistake twice. Fold your arms behind your back.”
It feels like Genji’s limbs aren’t attached to him anymore. It takes every ounce of his focus to get them behind him, but it’s more than he can manage to grasp his forearms and hold them in place. Zenyatta makes up the difference. He forces Genji’s cheek into the floor before squeezing either of his wrists in one hand and tying something around his arms.
Not a rope--it’s too smooth, unevenly shaped. It loops, tightens, is pulled into a knot--and then it clicks. It’s his tie, the one Zenyatta took from him at the gala, that he had on the bed. Genji’s head spins at the thought that this is why he took it to begin with, having every intent from the start to tie him down and spank him on his bedroom floor.
“There we are,” the omnic says once he’s done. “Much better, is it not?”
Genji tries to move within the binds, testing them for give. There is none. Until Zenyatta releases him, he’s trapped. Completely at his mercy.
“Yes, Master,” he chokes out.
“Then shall we continue, Genji?”
“Y-yes, Master.”
The belt falls again and he howls. He’s ready for it now, knows what to expect, but it still hurts. The pain is blinding, sends white spots dancing in his vision, but the intensity makes fire roil in his gut, and from there it courses through every inch of him, shooting like magma through his veins. His broken cries become tighter with each strike, strangled by lust. He’s this close to coming when Zenyatta finally relents, the lashes stopping without warning.
Genji’s shuddering, sobbing into the carpet, his entire body aching, but he still manages a thin noise of protest. Zenyatta quickly hushes him and starts to card his fingers soothingly through his hair, pulling it out of its ponytail.
“Shhhh, shh, shh. You have done so well, sweet lark. So well,” he murmurs, keeping his touches gentle and slow. “Have you made up for your disobedience? Do you think you have been punished enough?”
As if possessed, Genji’s voice comes out, “N-no. I s-still--I haven’t learned my lesson yet. Please, I want--” Zenyatta reaches down, starts to ghost his fingers between Genji’s legs, touching everywhere except his dick. “Oh god, Master, please. Give me more.”
“More?” Zenyatta’s voice curls with a smile. “As you like it, then.”
The omnic grabs him by the hips and flips him unceremoniously onto his back. Genji bites back a curse at the flare of pain against his ass, but he’s quickly distracted by Zenyatta standing over him, pale fabric of his kasaya passing teasingly over the length of Genji’s cock before he stops with his feet on either side of Genji’s ribs.
Genji watches rapt as the omnic reaches down to undo the sash holding the front of his kasaya together. He takes his time pulling it apart, and Genji finds himself not minding, lost in the way Zenyatta’s body shimmers in the candlelight, the movement of his hands, hellishly lovely in the dark. Finally, the kasaya falls open, though Zenyatta demurs shrugging free of it completely. But it’s enough, god, it’s enough, and Genji drinks in his body inch by inch, only to stop short when he comes to Zenyatta’s pelvis--and all of a sudden, he feels like he’s going to faint.
Zenyatta’s wearing a pair of panties. And more to the point, Genji recognizes them. Black, sheer, the fine lace delicately detailed with twisting flowers--they’re familiar to him because he’s the one who bought them. Months and months ago, so far in the past that it had completely slipped his mind, he’d given them to the omnic as joke, had enjoyed the noise of distaste he’d received when Zenyatta held them in his hands only to toss them irritably aside. To think Zenyatta had kept them, had carried them with him all that time just to spring them on Genji like a trap.
“Holy shit,” Genji gasps.
The belt strikes him against the chest and he throws his head back, barely swallowing down a yowl. Zenyatta titters, “Talking is moving, Genji,” and then he’s sinking to the floor, straddling Genji’s head between his knees. Immediately, the ninja’s mouth starts to water. “But,” the omnic purrs above him, “since you are so anxious to use that mouth of yours, perhaps we should put those energies to more productive use. Your thoughts?”
Genji pants between his thighs, his breath hot and wet as he heaves beneath the omnic like a beaten horse.
“Please,” he sobs, breathless, muffled by clothes.
“Please, what?” Zenyatta hums, speaking deliberately low to keep white noise from drowning out his voice.
“Please, Master.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely, by all means: proceed.”
Genji shreds Zenyatta’s panties with his teeth. He tastes the omnic’s slick on the sheer fabric as it passes over his lips, and it’s too much--it’s all too much, he feels like he’s going to explode out of his skin--and against his will, an animal snarl tears out of him a half second before he plunges his tongue into Zenyatta’s dripping slit. Zenyatta’s not fast enough to catch the shaking moan that escapes him, high, filled with static, and he grinds down hard into Genji’s mouth, claws fisting in his hair so tight it hurts. Genji relishes it in turn, pressing up into the suffocating heat, lapping into the omnic’s opening, suckling his clit.
A few times he lets his teeth graze deliberately against Zenyatta’s sensitive folds, making the omnic jerk on top of him--and an instant later he feels the belt strike him against his thighs, getting closer to his cock with each transgression. He bucks, moans, the pleasure-pain making his dick weep precum onto his shuddering stomach, and every inch of him’s aching to be touched, to be fucked, to be goddamn abused in whatever depraved way Zenyatta can devise. Beneath him, his arms strain painfully against his binds, desperate to be loose. He wants to be able to feel Zenyatta, to slide his fingers against him until they’re soaked with slick, to spread him apart and make him writhe and keen on the carpet like something crazed. But even without the use of his hands, Genji’s had enough practice at this that even Zenyatta can’t stay quiet.
Claws scrabbling at his scalp as he forces Genji’s face further between his quivering thighs, the omnic gasps over him, “D-do you like that, Genji?”
That fucking stutter--it’s enough to open up a completely untapped well of hunger within Genji. He groans, redoubling his efforts, wanting to undo Zenyatta like he’s been undone. His lips smack filthily as they work against Zenyatta’s dripping hole. “Mm-hmm.”
“Do I--ah!--do I taste good for you?”
“Mm-hmph.”
“Then--hah, Genji--” His synth pitches and warbles. His hands tighten in Genji’s hair. “Oh, Genji…!”
Genji’s mouth fills with liquid heat. The back of his head is forced flat against the floor, and he doesn’t complain, continuing to eat Zenyatta out while the omnic rides out his orgasm against his face. There’s the noise of valves releasing, a hiss of steam. Zenyatta’s fans kick in, whirring loud--and then he goes still above him.
It takes a few more seconds before the omnic is able to lift himself off Genji, and the ninja inhales loudly, starved for air. Zenyatta gets to his feet, still twitchy, jittery with electric charge. He shimmies his hips as he pulls down what little remains of the lace panties. As he moves, teal liquid streaks obscenely down his inner thighs. The sight makes desire knot in Genji’s gut; he licks what’s left of Zenyatta off his lips.
“Can you stand?” Zenyatta breathes.
Between his bound arms, his shaking legs, he doesn’t think he can. Zenyatta doesn’t give him long to struggle. Mechanical hands take hold of Genji beneath his ribs and hoist him up effortlessly, tossing him onto the bed like a ragdoll. He lands heavily on his stomach.
The mattress dips as Zenyatta joins him, hands skirting from his calves up over his ass, past his shoulders. A pair of fingers press against Genji’s lips and he receives them eagerly, wrapping his tongue around them, bobbing his head as he sucks against the cool metal.
“It is probably about time I make good on my promise to you, hmm,” Zenyatta says, whispering over the lewd pop and smack of Genji’s mouth working along his joints.
Genji just makes a low, animal noise in response, a primeval groan of affirmation. Zenyatta chuckles, and the fingers pull away. The ninja shudders when one of them circles around his entrance, and then slips easily inside. He whines, rocking back against it, and Zenyatta lets him, probably because he likes watching him squirm. While one hand is occupied with Genji’s hole, the other smooths over Genji’s spine, following the lines of his ink.
“Have I ever told you I find your tattoo quite beautiful?” Zenyatta says conversationally, thrusting that lone finger in and out at a torturously languid pace. “Your sweat glistening upon it like scales, the way your spine shudders when I’m inside you--it is as though the dragon is alive. Even now, I can feel it within you, burning, writhing.” He pushes deeper, grazes something within Genji that makes him convulse and curl like he’s been electrified. “I can feel the wet heat of its dripping maw--its body spiralling like a constrictor in your flesh, making you so perfectly tight.”
“Z-Zenyatta--”
“Oh? ‘Zenyatta’?” The omnic digs his claws into Genji’s shoulder blades until he cries out beneath him, blood rising from the shallow wounds. “My, are you not awfully familiar all of a sudden.”
“Master--”
“Louder,” Zenyatta purrs, moving that lone finger in a slow rotation inside him, pressing his nails deeper into his skin.
“Master!” Genji wails, rutting against the sheets, grinding back against Zenyatta, frantically trying to find any means of release, walking on the edge of madness. The finger leaves him, and before he can protest, he’s flipped onto his back and dragged down the sheets, legs forced up so the backs of his knees rest on Zenyatta’s shoulders. He feels before he sees the hot ridges of Zenyatta’s cock grinding between his ass cheeks, already slippery with teal slick, rubbing perfectly against Genji’s aching hole.
“Tell me, Genji.” Zenyatta takes hold of his hips, lights winking in and out on his forehead. “What is it you want?”
Well past any notion of shame or pride, Genji sobs openly, “I want your cock inside me.”
“What was that?”
Genji’s a mess, squirming in Zenyatta’s grip, bucking his hips against air in a futile attempt to get off. It’s pathetic how much he needs this, how desperate he is for it, but he doesn’t care, fucking hell, he doesn’t care one bit, so long as Zenyatta gives him what he wants.
“I want you to stick that perfect cock in me and pound my goddamn brains out,” he growls. “I want you to pin me down and fuck me sloppy on this fucking bed. I want you to nail me to the mattress, hammer into me until I fucking weep. Please--please, wreck me, Master, make me into your fucking slut, please, please, please, just spread me open and make me fucking take it.”
A note of satisfaction, long and low, rumbles from Zenyatta’s chassis.
“See? It is precisely as I said.” Genji watches hungrily as Zenyatta reaches down and takes hold of his own dick, positioning himself. “When it comes to begging, you are truly without equal.” Zenyatta rolls his hips back, and Genji can feel it, the barest pressure against his opening. “Well?” Zenyatta hums, but his voice is tight, incapable of concealing his own desire. “What do you say, Genji?”
Panting, burning, stinging, Genji swallows in a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Th-thank you, Master.”
He cries out when Zenyatta thrusts inside him, hitting deep, burying himself until his pelvis is pressed flush against the swell of Genji’s ass. Genji doesn’t get much time to adjust--as soon as Zenyatta pulls out he’s pushing back in again, fucking into Genji at his own, inhuman pace. Arms still bound, the ninja clutches at the sheets beneath him, trying to get some kind of leverage to meet Zenyatta’s snapping hips, but he can’t, can only twist and cry and moan and fucking take.
The pleasure is incomprehensible, the pain from his constricted arms, the belt marks on his ass bubbling and coursing through him like a drug, leaving him mindless and blitzed out on the mattress. Every noise they make is obscene, the squelch of Zenyatta’s cock pushing into him, the slap of his hips against his ass, Genji’s shameless, shuddering cries. He spares a moment to think of Zenyatta’s bodyguards at the door, how mortified they must be to hear their spiritual leader engaging in such perverse, carnal activities with a lowly human--making him howl in lurid pleasure again and again and again.
The omnic leans over him, pressing their bodies together and bringing their faces close, and it brings the present moment back into startling focus. Genji presses his mouth against the seam of Zenyatta’s faceplate the first chance he gets, whimpering, oh god, oh god, between hot, breathy kisses. The omnic reaches between them, starts to jerk Genji off, and any capability for speech abandons him entirely. Zenyatta moving in him, over him, around him, occupying his every thought and feeling--it’s overwhelming, leaves Genji feeling overfull, like he’s bursting at the seams.
The omnic makes a noise, a snarl, possessive and needy. He works his hand upwards along Genji’s cock, twists his wrist decisively—and that’s as much as Genji can take. With a moan so loud they can probably hear it across the city, he spills himself onto Zenyatta’s hand, across the convulsing muscles of his stomach. Zenyatta follows soon after, unable to last through the sudden tightening of Genji’s body around him. He finishes inside, filling Genji to the brim, his thrusts losing all sense of rhythm as he gets out the last of his climax. And with that, they fall motionless against one another, feeling airy and light headed, silent save for Genji’s laboured breathing and the high, overworked whine of Zenyatta’s fan.
It takes a bit before Zenyatta is able to withdraw from Genji, pulling out and flopping off to one side in a surprisingly human-looking show of contentment. He reaches back over for a moment, pushing Genji up so he can get at his back--and in a single motion cuts the tie keeping Genji’s hands bound. Finally free, Genji lets his arms fall uselessly against the sheets, blood pounding in his fingertips and beneath his rapidly bruising skin.
“Christ…you need to go easier on me,” he sighs once he’s got his breath back. “One of these days you’re going to fuck me to literal death.”
“Mmm…” Zenyatta props himself up on his elbows, starts tracing idle shapes against Genji’s chest. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Fuck, I think I kinda would.”
Zenyatta laughs, and the sound fills Genji’s chest with pleasant, thrumming warmth, almost Iris-like. The omnic moves in close to Genji and pulls him into his arms. He glances over the edge of the bed.
“A shame about the panties,” he mutters. “I rather liked them.”
“I’ll buy you new ones.”
“Perhaps a slightly sturdier material next time?”
Genji chuckles lazily. “I’ll see what I can do.” Barely a minute’s passed when his stomach gives a noise of deep, prevailing emptiness. Somewhat redundantly, Genji grumbles, “I’m hungry.”
Zenyatta reaches over him to get the phone off the nightstand. “I will order you room service. In the meantime, take a nap. I will wake you when it arrives.”
“Okay. Get me pizza.”
“There is no pizza on the menu,” Zenyatta says, a bit exasperatedly. “You will have to make do with what they have.” When Genji starts to complain, he adds, “In the morning, I will be happy to take you out for any food you like.”
“Any?”
“Within reason.”
“Take me to Tokyo for brunch.”
Zenyatta scoffs, but doesn’t protest. “Alright.”
“A fancy new foreign place opened in Ginza. I want to eat lox.”
“And so you shall. Tomorrow.” Zenyatta smooths his palm over Genji’s brow. “For now, rest. You will feel better once you have gotten some sleep.”
Zenyatta’s fingers start to card through his hair, and in seconds, Genji can feel himself drifting off, unable to stay awake beneath the gentle ministrations.
“Hey, Zen,” he murmurs with the last of his strength.
“Yes, Genji?”
“I really like you.”
The omnic goes abruptly still. If he weren’t so dazed, it would make Genji worried, but as it is, he barely notices that anything’s changed. But the moment passes soon enough--and he feels Zenyatta’s face press against the top of his head, intimating a kiss. There is something--something soft and melancholy in Zenyatta’s voice as he answers, the words following Genji into his dreams.
“I know.”