Chapter 1: Dynamics
Captain Ana Amari didn’t look up from her computer monitor, finishing her review of Overwatch’s latest after-action report. The presence of the holidays didn’t exclude Overwatch as an organization from participating in a variety of dangerous missions worldwide. The field agents owed it to her to read up to the last word before getting distracted. Plus she recognized the distinct nature of the knock, the heavy thunk-thwump-thwump of broad knuckles sliding and pressing against the door rather than softly or distinctly tapping the surface.
The door slid to the side and Jesse McCree stepped in, forehead shadowed by his insufferably anachronistic cowboy hat, boots jingling as his equally out-of-place spurs clicked against the floor. He tipped the rim towards the Captain: even if Reyes was his direct commanding officer, the Blackwatch Agent knew who was above him in the organization’s hierarchy and how to properly address them. Unless they were Morrison, of course.
“Pardon me, cap’n. You called?” The man drawled, voice sounding as rough and scraggly as the lazily maintained facial hair dotting the skin on his throat. “This about what happened earlier? W’ Genji and the Doc?”
Ana steepled her fingers in front of her, resting her thumbs on the bridge of her nose. “Yes, Jesse. I know all four of us played a part in that, but I wanted to give you special thanks. You performed your role beautifully.” A smile creased the corners of her mouth, juvenile amusement twinkling in her eyes. The Captain wasn’t above a bit of fun at the workplace and planting some mistletoe in the path of the broody Shimada agent and the overworked Swiss medical researcher had required a fair pit of planning. Winston, Tracer and herself had all helped make their little trick work, but McCree was closer to Genji than anyone else among them and without his input, the whole thing would have fallen apart.
Jesse had been more nervous than he dared reveal to the Captain. If he’d messed up, let slip something to Genji or failed to disguise his glee, the fallout would have gone down on his head worst of all. But he didn’t have to worry about that anymore: it was done, and he allowed himself to sit at the chair across from Amari and chuckle. “Ah, yer givin’ me too much credit, cap’n. My playactin’ wouldn’t have been worth nothin’ if Winston’s cameras weren’t set up, or Tracer hadn’t convinced the Doc to take that hallway, or if you hadn’t encourag’d Genji to train that time o’ day.”
“Jesse.” Ana quirked an eyebrow and let the statement stand. Jesse muttered under his breath, but relented.
“Ah, but yer welcome, cap’n. Glad I could help. Really, I am. I think they’d be cute t’gether.”
“Indeed. I’m no matchmaker, but they’ll find something with each other yet. Angela deserves a man like Genji, and he a woman like her. And that’s a compliment to the both of them, before you think of something snide.”
“Wouldn’t dream o’ it, cap’n. They’re both fine folk. But that’s not why you called me in here, I reckon, ain’t it?” Now it was McCree’s turn to look bemused as he leaned back in the chair and rested his heels on Ana’s desk. Such a casual demeanor would have invited censure or accusations of insubordination from some of Ana’s fellow leaders, but she and Jesse had a...special arrangement.
She didn’t dance around the topic any longer. “That would be correct, Jesse. I’m nearly done with this report, but there’s a bit left for me to finish. And since you’re here, you know what that means.” McCree lowered his legs and hunched forwards, slipping his hat off to place on Ana’s desk.
“The usual, ma’am? I just finished lunch, but I’m certainly not gonna turn down another meal.”
“Atta boy, Jesse.” It was a pattern they were all too familiar with: Ana at her desk, McCree kneeling below it, head between her thighs. They were lucky she was in her black-and-blue wool civvies, given that her combat uniform wasn’t really made for easy removal. Her trademark navy jacket was the only item of that outfit that remained on her person, hanging low beneath her chair and pressing tightly against her shoulders.
McCree had seen Captain Ana Amari wearing it and nothing else before. He was looking forward to the next opportunity a little more than was probably healthy.
Ana had already done half the work, unbuttoning her belt and leaving the rest for Jesse to take care of. He obliged, latching his teeth onto the hem of her waistband and slipping a finger through her belt loop to pull the fabric down to her knees. He blinked and looked up at Ana, as if she could see him through the grey material of her desk. “Goin’ commando today, Mrs. Amari? For shame.”
“That’s ‘Captain’ or ‘Ma’am’ to you, Agent McCree. Unless I say otherwise.” Ana’s tone brooked no argument, but McCree could hear the smile on her lips as she spoke. “But yes. I was impatient this time.”
“Understandable.” McCree leaned forward and planted a kiss on the hood of Ana’s sex, letting his facial hair brush against her vulva. “I’d be impatient for me, too.” He punctuated his boast with a long, slow lick down Ana’s slit, pressing forward with his tongue to taste her deeper. All Jesse could see was the dark brown skin and taut muscle of her stomach, thighs and pelvis, which was fine with him.
“Don’t get cocky, Jesse. That’s reserved for, well, your cock.” Ana rebutted even as she stifled a sigh at the sensation of his warm, thick tongue pushing inside her, lightly parting her folds as the young American licked her up and down. Jesse was good at eating women out, especially her. He’d gotten quite a bit of practice, and the light scruff certainly helped. “You were a hopeless marksman when you landed here. I taught you how to shoot, and I’ll make a gentleman out of you yet, Jesse. Don’t forget that. Now keep licking.”
“Undrshtud, mm.” His voice muffled by her thighs around the side of his head, McCree assented and sped up his lapping, circling her clit with his tongue and tasting the inside . He tilted his chin to rub his facial hair against the bottom of her slit and the inside of her thighs, sucking in whatever arousal he could find glistening against her lower lips. He ventured so far as to nibble lightly on the side of her labia, feeling the skin tense and tighten beneath his teeth. It was a delicate balance of pressure on her erogenous zones and sensitive gliding, but McCree knew what to do.
Ana was deeply relaxed and interested in a quick, lazy orgasm rather than a drawn-out leg-numbing experience, and Jesse was doing well. She was already breathing heavily, red coloring her cheeks, but she wasn’t at the “grab him by the head and grind against his face” stage yet. That would come another time.
“Mm?” He didn’t stop eating her out, latching his mouth onto her clit and sucking as hard and fast as he could. Ana hissed, placing a hand on his head, pushing him away. Her thighs throbbed with want and the warmth building in her crotch begged her to let him keep going, but they had limited time and she wasn’t going to leave him without his own fun.
“Desk, Jesse. And here.” McCree crawled forward as Ana scooted her chair back, trying to look dignified even as he scrambled upwards with Ana’s vaginal fluid on his face and his head mussed from being beneath her desk. Winking at the older woman, McCree licked his lips free of her arousal and whistled.
“Delicious. M’ compliments to th’ chef.”
“Flatterer.” Ana pushed past him and dropped something into his fingers, planting her hands on the desk and flipping the bottom of her jacket up. Her rear came into view, taut and muscular, and McCree bit his lip. Gawd, he was a lucky man.
Ana bent over and turned, pursing her lips at McCree and flicking her eyes back and forth between the bulge in his pants and his left hand. She’d dropped a rubber into his palm as she’d walked by. Clever girl.
“Do you carry these around everywhere, cap’n?” McCree asked, unbuckling his belt and dropping his pants with a clanking sound. Unlike Ana, he hadn’t gone without underclothes, but the outline of his erection was clearly visible through the protrusion in his boxers before he yanked those down, too. His dick jutted out proudly, hefty balls swinging beneath them, both orbs bristling with the same hair that made a tangle at the base of his crotch.
“Only when I need to.” She responded as Jesse tore the package open and gritting his teeth as he struggled to get it past his tip.
“Fuck, it’s tight.” McCree’s cock was girthy, but not uncomfortably so. Still, this wasn’t the easiest process. “Can we skip this this time, ‘least till you get a bigger size?”
“It’s either that or nothing today, Jesse. And hurry it up, my ass is getting cold sticking out here, waiting for you to fuck it. That’s an order, agent.”
“Unnerstood, ma’am.” Jesse grunted and finally managed to roll the condom down his length. A bit restrictive, but he knew it wouldn’t be too much of an impediment to getting off. “So, when ye said ‘arse’, didja mean…?”
“Cut the chatter and fuck me, Jesse.” Ana bent over further forwards, pressing her cheek against the desk and raising her rear up to press her buttocks against his erection. In the interest of complying, Jesse opted to reply with actions rather than words. Gripping Ana’s hips in one hand and the base of his dick in the other, he slid forward towards her dripping slit and pushed into her, swearing under his breath as Captain Amari bore down on him.
He moved the hand that had been on his dick to her ass, grasping and kneading her rear and dragging his fingers up towards the small of her back before giving her a soft slap. Ana moaned and pressed back against him as McCree kept fucking her. Fuck, this was good. Dangerous, even with the closed door that he hoped she’d locked, but good. Ana was tight and hot and there, and McCree was almost too focused on how she felt around him as he thrust forward and backward into her to watch how her tight ass bounced against his stomach as he fucked her on her desk.
Ana extended her arms forward to grasp the front of the desk with one hand, the other clawing fruitlessly at the unyielding surface. If Jesse’s cock was thick to look at, it was definitely thick to feel plunging deep into her, pressing forward and rubbing backwards against her inner walls. His hard grip on her hips and the sensation of his weight behind her made her feel vulnerable in a way that she wasn’t used to, but the change was welcome. The exposure made her feel every thrust, every rub of his cock that much more. The heat radiating off of Jesse’s dick was bringing a flush to her skin and Ana knew it’d get even warmer once he came.
They didn’t speak. There was a time and a place for banter, and this wasn’t it. Now, Ana and Jesse needed to focus on getting each other off hard and fast, and teasing words were replaced with grunts and muffled swearing as the younger man pounded his superior officer such that her tits pressed deep into her desk.
Jesse sped up, his balls slapping forward against Ana’s hood. She was tempted to bring a hand down to her clit to hasten her own climax, but Jesse beat her to it, moving the hand from her ass clumsily to brush against her clit. Ana bit her lip to keep herself from wailing, contenting herself with a muffled cry as her thighs twitched and her legs quaked. She came around McCree, spasming and tightening around his length as he felt his load unleash into her, spurting out from the tip of his dick to coat his cock as the liquid bounced against the condom separating them.
They stayed there for some time, Ana feeling the warmth of even his covered orgasm heat her nethers as Jesse loosened his grip on her waist and moved his hand up from her clit.
“Well done, Jesse.” Ana gasped, breathing heavily against the desk, back heaving as she struggled to keep her hyperventilation down. “That was one of the best. Definitely better than our first.”
“Ya think?” He responded, similarly exhausted, coming down from his high. “How much do ye remember ‘bout that?”
“More than you, I suspect.”
The first time Ana Amari had fucked Jesse McCree, it hadn’t been some loving, tender moment where two virgins had experienced all the joys and awkwardness of sex for the first time together. Or even one virgin.
After a particularly successful practice session at the shooting range, McCree hadn’t been able to resist the urge to crack a joke. Plugging six targets within two seconds with a six-shooter at maximum effective range had given him the confidence boost he needed to talk back to his superior officer.
“Haha! Well, cap’n, I reckon that if’n I replicate this feat in one second, you gotta owe me something big!” Under normal circumstances, such a comment would have been grounds for discipline and merited an insubordination report. But Ana Amari was no normal woman, and Jesse McCree was no ordinary man.
She met his challenge with a smile. “And if you fail, you owe me something even bigger. Say, a date. Deal?” Ana wasn’t sure why that had come to her: perhaps she’d wanted to call his bluff with something so outrageous that he’d have to back down. Perhaps she wanted to play along with him, even if his jokes weren’t really flirting. There were a lot of “perhaps” to be found that day.
Whatever the seriousness of her claim, Jesse McCree took a step back and chewed his lip. He didn’t seem sure whether or not he should press forward on this path, but he was a natural gambler. Came with the territory of playing cowboy in the second half of the 21st century. “Yer on, cap’n.”
He’d failed. Not spectacularly, mind you, but he’d gotten just a hair between one second and one and a half seconds. McCree had still made all the shots, however, and Ana was very impressed. “Well, cowboy, looks like your luck’s run out.” To his credit, McCree didn’t look too upset. Ana wanted to attribute that to the maturity of his character rather than his anticipation of what might happen next, but he was probably just shocked at how close he’d gotten. With a sigh, he turned towards Ana, safetied and holstered his pistol, and tipped his hat in her direction.
He really needed to stop doing that.
“Fair’s fair, ma’am. Now what?” Ana wasn’t sure. She didn’t want to do something she regretted, and truth be told she was happy to let the matter rest.
The question was, would McCree?
“Nothing. It was a silly bet, McCree. You’re free to go: you did well today.”
“Hol’ up now.” McCree grabbed her bicep as she moved to turn around, and she nearly punched him on instinct. She was much more relaxed about rules compared to straight-laced Jack Morrison, but McCree was toeing the line. “We made a wager, cap’n. An’ while I’m not suggesting anything ‘bout yer character, ain’t it poor form to hold this against me for the future?”
Ana turned and crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. “What are you drawling about, McCree? Is there something you’re looking for?”
“Nothin’ in particular, ma’am. But I’d prefer if you not lord this over me for an unspecified time. If something’s gonna happen, bes’ get it over with.” McCree chewed the inside of his cheek, and Ana didn’t get a chance to think before she leaned forward and let her lips brush against his ear. He stiffened and tried to step back, but she grabbed his forearm.
“Do you want something specific, McCree?”
“W...wut?” Jesse blabbered, and Ana nearly giggled at his bewilderment. She had absolutely no idea why she was playing with this promising young man, but she admitted it was rewarding. And he was handsome enough.
“I think you know what I’m talking about.” She stepped back and released him. McCree looked like he was about to dart off like a startled rabbit until the realization hit him.
“Ah. Oh. Yes, please.”
“Come to my office after lunch, McCree. Understood?”
McCree had shown up as expected, and Ana had had a very enlightening conversation with him about ballistics and geopolitics and no, actually, they were only a few sentences in before he was necking her and she was rubbing her fingers all over his covered cock. They’d had some trouble getting her out of her combat suit, and Jesse had been so eager that she almost hadn’t had time to get a condom on him before he was in her, but soon enough Ana was riding him as he sat at her desk. The older woman leaned back as far as she could go, her tits bouncing in his face as he bit at her nipples and rubbed his fuzzy cheeks against her skin, her cunt gripping and squeezing on him while she held onto the back of his head with both hands to stay steady.
Jesse had his hands gripping her waist and thigh as he swore and grunted furiously. Ana felt him stretch and spread her out, his cock thick and hard and hot inside of her. She came at least twice before he muttered “Fuck” in an especially pointed manner and dumped his cream into her. His load was so warm that Ana could barely tell that he was wearing a condom, and he certainly wasn’t complaining.
Afterwards, they’d separated somewhat awkwardly and Ana had had to find a new set of pants for her combat suit since Jesse had ripped the old ones in his haste. She couldn’t blame him, really.
That had been the first time they’d fucked, and it wouldn’t be their last. Still, they were part of a busy organization, and it wasn’t like they could be open about what was happening, so their chances were limited.
But when they had them, though...Captain Amari always looked forward to the chance to get pounded into the wall by Agent McCree, or laid into on her desk, or grinding her face against his mouth as he lapped up her orgasm. Once, she’d sucked him off and let his load drip down her tongue onto her stomach, cum and spit pooling onto her bellybutton, and that had gotten him hard enough to fuck again.
Ana occasionally wondered if what she was doing was unfair to Sam. During the Omnic Crisis, she’d been too busy with war to give Sam the relationship, and wife, a good man like him deserved, and it only got worse once she was part of Overwatch and had to juggle politics alongside ground operations. They’d divorced amicably after her workload got too intense, sharing custody of Fareeha, and she was still in regular contact with her ex-husband even for matters unrelated to their daughter.
But even considering that, Ana sometimes couldn’t help but feel as if she was still betraying Sam by sleeping with Jesse McCree. She really did love Sam, and if her life had permitted it she’d have stayed with him. She was no longer his wife, and inshallah, that would be enough to drive the guilt from her soul. Such concerns didn’t pass once she remembered that Sam would have wanted her to be happy, and unease still dogged her conscience each time she was with Jesse.
Plus, she was McCree’s superior officer. The power imbalance might not seem to be of serious concern when she was getting pumped full of McCree’s loads, or when he was wringing her out on his dick, but it was there. She didn’t think he was only going along with it for fear of prison time related to his deal with Blackwatch, but she had to admit that the initial boundary-breaking had been her decision. That information wasn’t exactly helpful for rationalizing their intrigue.
So Ana did something that she’d long dreaded. She’d called Sam. She hadn’t timed her call well and had caught him just before he would normally wake up, but he was too polite to ask her to try again later. Part of being Canadian, no doubt.
“So, what’s going on? Are you all right? Fareeha’s still asleep.”
“I’m fine, habbibi.” Ana had felt her voice catch in her throat as the old word slipped through. “Sorry. Force of habit.”
“Don’t worry about it. How can I help?”
“Well, Sam, I…” Ana had faced machine threats on a scale the world had never seen. She’d fought brutal terrorists and dictators and waded through warzones. So why did this scare her so much? “I...I think I found someone.”
A pause. “Ah. I trust your judgement, Ana.”
“Thank you. It’s...someone from work. Not someone I think I’ll marry, but…”
“You’re having fun. I understand, Ana. You don’t need to ask for my permission.”
A huge weight seemed to lift from Ana’s shoulders. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Thank you. I wasn’t...I didn’t mean to, but it helps to hear.”
Sam had paused again there, breathing softly into the phone. She could picture him now, wrinkling his nose the way he always did when allowed a moment too long to think. “I’m glad you’re happy, Ana. Please don’t worry about me, okay? And Fareeha is doing fantastic. She’ll go back to you in Switzerland soon, okay?”
“If you want to spend more time with her, I understand.”
“Up to you, Ana.”
She’d stopped to collect her thoughts. On the one hand, she missed her daughter. On the other, she’d feel guilty having Fareeha away from Sam after delivering this news.
“I think she should stay with you a little longer, Sam. Things are wild over here in general. Tell our habibti Mommy loves her, okay?”
“Of course, Ana. Ni sā-kē-tin.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Sam grew quiet on the other end of the phone. Slowly, she started to feel her pulse throb once again, but her blood was still ice. Sam spoke first.
“Sorry. Force of habit.”
The call ended with a click, and Ana was glad that Sam wasn’t able to hear her when she started to bawl.
Chapter 2: Discomfort
Jesse McCree wasn’t inexperienced when it came to women.
When he was younger, he’d run with some wild girls and when everyone was older, banged them. Nothing really serious happened until he started Deadlock with Ashe, and then, well…
“Fuck, Jesse!” Ashe kicked her legs out behind McCree as he held her up on the edge of a tall container and pounded into her against the wall, feeling her snug all around him, quivering to drain his balls as fast as possible. Her ivory-white tits and stiff brown nipples pressed against his chest, their cowboy hats askew as he covered her mouth with his own and let everything that was Ashe take control of his senses. The ruby red cranberry lips, the snow-white hair waving in front of his face, the warmth of her too-pale skin beneath his hands and against him. The heat and tightness of her cunt gripping and tugging at him as he thrust in and out of her, the slightly greyer tuft of hair above her clit, the power in her thighs as she dug them into his waist. Ashe was fucking gorgeous, McCree was handsome and nobody would have been surprised if they caught the two of them hooking up.
Really, when you got two wannabe cowboys spending so much time together, it’s not going to be too long before they try to reenact “Brokeback Mountain”, albeit in this case with one fewer guy and one more woman.
And they always fucked with the hats on. It was better that way.
“Gonna fill you, Ashe! You want it? You a good girl, Ashe? You gonna get all the cum I got to give?”
“Hell no, I’m the baddest bitch! Fucking cum in me, Jesse, fuck!” Ashe spasmed and clamped down on McCree, and he dumped his cream into her, filling her up with his load as his nuts came to rest against her ass. She relaxed her legs around him, fingers running down his stomach, wheedling for him to go again, and he was too damn turned on to not oblige her.
B.O.B. probably knew, but he was polite enough to not talk about it.
Yeah, Jesse had some good memories. But Ashe was in the past, and there wasn’t much chance of salvaging that friendship, much less an opportunity to start fucking again. As for the moment, he didn’t know why he was so incredibly drawn to Captain Amari. He told himself he wasn’t in love, and he believed it, but there was something more there when the two of them were together.
She was obviously beautiful, but there had to be something else. Ana was more than twenty years older than him, but damned if she didn’t still look mighty fine. He recalled something she said the first few times they’d fucked.
“Shame on you, Jesse. I’m old enough to be your mother.”
Of course, Ana tended to immediately follow that up by sucking McCree’s balls or gulping down his dick or swallowing his load or riding his cock till his thighs cramped and his nuts gave up their last for the next few days, which sort of took away from her complaint.
Still, the way she said it...Fuck, why did her saying that she was old enough to be his mother get him so hard? He’d have to see a shrink, maybe one of those German specialists who studied that one doctor who’d used coke. Fraud? Friend? Whatever.
She’d started getting into the habit of stroking his back or his head as he laid into her or as she rid him, gently calling him “Good boy” or letting him know to “Keep fucking Mommy, okay?” That had fucked him up in more ways than one, and also gotten him off harder than he’d maybe want to admit.
Perhaps Ana’s beauty was related to motherhood, even if it wasn’t one that would require him to get evaluated. McCree reflected on what he saw when she was naked: the physique of a woman in peak physical condition and nearing middle age but still muscled, even if maternity had gifted her with stretch marks and a little less tightness to her breasts. McCree didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, these were scars of a different sort of battle that Ana had endured. She was all the more attractive for them.
Dammit. Now he needed to deal with his erection at the thought of Ana’s nakedness. No rest for the weary, he mused, as he unzipped his pants.
Sam hanging up had been less final than it seemed. When he next made contact with her, he hadn’t brought up their mutual slipups and she’d elected to let it go. Whatever they still felt for each other, it had to wait. Maybe after the world was less of a mess, things could work again.
Thankfully, the news Sam brought chased the clouds of worry from her mind. Fareeha was going over to Europe, and Ana would get the chance to spend some quality time with her daughter. Training, interacting with Overwatch’s team, studying, performing salah together, perhaps even getting a chance to explore the city...Ana could envision the next few months or so giving them both a chance to catch up on a lot of missed opportunities.
And, of course, there was Jesse. Fareeha had been at Overwatch’s headquarters before when he was there, but not after the point where Jesse was free and welcome to wander its grounds. Ana couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t worried about what might happen, but she trusted Jesse.
Their first meeting was preplanned, thankfully: she didn’t want to surprise McCree with the young girl’s presence, and Fareeha deserved to know that she’d be meeting someone new ahead of time. They’d met by Jack’s outdoor statue, the monument to leadership that the Strike-Commander maintained he had no interest in erecting or keeping. The Blackwatch agent had ditched his cigar and carried himself with a unflappable confidence that Ana knew Fareeha would appreciate.
“G’day, lil’ missie! You mus’ be Fareeha Amari, the cap’n’s daughter.” He gazed warmly down at her, meeting her small brown eyes with a wink.
“Yes, mister!” Fareeha was enthralled by the anachronism of Jesse’s appearance in a cowboy hat and boots that looked straight out of the Westerns that were popular in the States. “You work with mum?”
Jesse chuckled nervously. “I…’spose that’s one way of putting it, yeah. Hey, Kiddo, you ever see someone plug six shots in an ace?”
“What does that mean?”
“Here, lemme show you! I carry a deck ‘specifically to show off to newcomers like yerself. Permission to pull out a gun in front of yer kid, cap’n?”
In any other circumstance, Ana would have said no. Fareeha was far too young to be around guns, much less handle them. Ana wasn’t going to shelter her daughter, but firearms would have to wait. Here, though...something about the casual, comfortable way McCree handled himself around her daughter set her at ease.
“Permission granted, Agent. But only while I’m right here next to her.” He nodded. Seeing him there, preparing to show off a cool trick to her daughter, Ana wasn’t sure if McCree looked more like a big brother, demonstrating expertise to a younger sibling...or a stepfather, trying to make a good impression on her daughter.
The blending of the two roles disquieted her.
Jesse liked Fareeha: she was curious, attentive, and intelligent. She knew where she was welcome and where she wasn’t.
Unfortunately, she was still a young girl. Which meant that she demanded a fair bit of her mother’s time and attention. Which meant that Ana had less time to spend with Jesse. He was busy enough that it wasn’t a big deal, and he didn’t resent a mother for taking care of her daughter. But it still chafed at him, ever so slightly, to have the pattern of sex abruptly stop. Even if he hadn’t fucked Captain Amari too often, going cold turkey was a stark difference. Even Ana seemed to recognize that, resting her gaze on his just a little longer than was necessary when acknowledging him for some mission or another.
So when Halloween came and Fareeha was back in Canada, McCree was happy to find Ana ready to start up again with a bang.
She’d donned a pirate’s outfit, complete with an eyepatch, red bandanna and a blue multi-buttoned waistcoat. McCree had dressed himself even darker than usual, equipping a play crossbow to round out the “vampire killer” look. Neither really mattered, though: once Reinhardt had finished telling his stories and getting the daylights spooked out of him by Gabriel, the two had snuck off to scare each other a little more privately.
“A mighty fine cannon this be, hunter. Perhaps ye should plank vampires wi’ it instead of yer crossbow?” Ana sneered in a mock pirate accent, hefting McCree’s length in her hand and kneeling before him.
“B’lieve me, some of these vampires look like they’d enjoy that stake rather than—Ah, fuck!” McCree wasn’t prepared for Ana to give a circular lick around his cockhead, knees buckling against the wall of the men’s showers. This late at night, nobody would be here except the two of them.
“Focus, matey. I’ve got meself a hunch that this canon’s packin’ heat. Let’s see what it takes to fire it off!” Amari flashed him a toothy smile and leaned her head back down, taking the crown of Jesse’s dick past her lips as she did so. She hadn’t felt his shaft spreading her mouth in some time and it was good to fall back into a familiar pattern, even if it was in silly costumes. She was still able to swallow down his dick as well as before, feeling the underside of his cock rub against her teeth as she buried her nose against his pants.
Ana felt his hand on her red-covered forehead, and she let him pull her off with a popping sound. She was already breathing heavily, but McCree was looking worse for the wear, face red and shoulders heaving with self-restraint. Flicking her tongue out and pressing it into his urethra, Ana let a drop of McCree’s pre ooze out onto her lips, lapping away at the head of his cock.
“Already, matey? I’m a wee bit disappointed, laddie.”
“Cap’n.” McCree’s tone was deadly serious. Ana stopped mouthing his dick and met his eyes.
“If’n ye don’t mind me saying, I’m happy t’ dispense with the pleasantries and roleplayin’ if you are. Please.”
Ana laughed. She’d missed having sex with him. “All right, Jesse. Here.” Standing up, she rested her shoulders against the wall and slid her pants down, pressing the back of her head against the surface to thrust out her hips. McCree couldn’t contain himself, dick flopping to and fro and hat flying off his head as he lunged forward to pull down Ana’s undergarments and latch his mouth onto her slit. Vacuuming in his cheeks, he sucked furiously, pressing his upper lip to the hood of her labia as he worked his dick with a free hand, pumping up and down and spilling precum all over his fingers.
“Eager, are w—oh!” McCree didn’t let up, slurping loudly at Ana’s sopping wet lips, heedless of the noise. He needed to be in her, but dammit if he didn’t miss eating out his superior officer. Her heat on his mouth, the pressure against his head, the sensation of her quivering above him...man, he’d been remarkably patient.
“Jesse!” Ana cried out, tearing her red bandanna down to bite down on the fabric and muffle the sound of her orgasm. Hands tangling in his hair, Ana whined and screeched into the blockage in her mouth and rode out her climax against Jesse’s face. He’d rarely been so forceful before. Had the dry spell given him confidence?
He stood, then, cock erect and ready, lifting her up by her rear and hoisting her legs behind his back for her to wrap around his waist. “Fucking hell, Ana. I missed wrapping you around my dick.” Without waiting for affirmation, McCree slid his hips forward and let the head of his length slip between her lips. Feeling himself hit home, he abandoned any semblance of something soft and steady and jabbed himself forward, feeling Ana enclose around him as he bottomed out inside her. Fuck, she was as accommodating as he remembered. How had he gone for what must have been months without this? Never again, he vowed.
Ana, meanwhile, was living the life, held up against the wall and ploughed by the younger man she’d taken to sleeping with. He speared and filled her as well as he used to, thrusting forward so fast and hard that she worried he’d lose his grip and she’d fall to the floor even as she felt the buzz of pleasure vibrating outward from her crotch as he pounded her walls. If this is what withdrawal had done to McCree, Ana was surprised he’d been able to hold it in for so long. She could get used to the new Jesse, or at least humor him tonight.
Any plans she had for the future were cut off when McCree leaned forward and messily licked at her cheek, kissing her jawline as his pelvis shot in and out in a blur. She could feel him get close and knew her own time was up. She tried to speak, to warn, but it was too late: with a bubbling roar against her neck, McCree held himself as deep inside as he could and let loose, flooding her with hot, potent, pent-up seed. Ana joined him, chasing the heat from his cum with a release of her own.
McCree had cum inside of her, filling up her womb and no doubt risking something unacceptable. But Ana didn’t give a damn, instead stroking the back of McCree’s neck as he panted and groaned against her face, legs and arms sore from his flurry of motions and movement. It was good to come back to this.
Chapter 3: Glory Days
As it turned out, she hadn’t needed to worry. McCree’s seed didn’t take, not this time. But he had to be more careful in the future.
Speaking of that future, the frequency and inventiveness of their sex was increasing. McCree wasn’t surprised at how kinky his Captain could be anymore, merely happy she was taking him along for the ride. Whether that was her sucking down his dick in Blackwatch's communal quarters or messing with his heart rate monitor through some late-night face-riding (Angela was baffled and convinced herself that he was having nightmares), McCree didn’t mind Ana’s various sexual escapades with him.
Especially the time Ana had ridden him while wearing his hat. Whoo, boy. That was the fastest he’d ever cum, no doubt, with her grinding and hopping up and down on his length, bush rubbing against his own pubic hair and that damn hat on her head. Ana didn’t do any roleplaying, but McCree just needed to see Ana bouncing up and down on his dick with his hat on her head, her walls sucking all around him to blow the quickest load he’d ever enjoyed. It had been enough to get him hard again, and she’d taken full advantage of that, letting McCree lay into her pussy from behind, slapping her ass and pawing her hips until she was red and raw back there. All while wearing his fucking hat.
McCree hadn’t done his stamina proud that time, either, letting loose into her while grasping her shoulders, draping himself over her back, and fucking her into the sheets in the roughest sex he’d ever had. He’d never even blown Ashe’s back out that bad in his Deadlock days. Ana could take it with a smile, though, and return it with a face-sitting episode that left him reeling and her legs cramping from constant orgasms.
Those were the days.
After the bombing that injured Gérard, they took a step back. He needed to go to Venice, and Ana couldn’t be involved in something so shady. He’d barely thought about her during the mission, and after things had gone south once Gabe decided to off Bartalotti, McCree had been too busy arguing and cracking wise to worry about how Ana would react.
She’d understood the outcome, but there’d been a reckoning. Gabriel had taken the worst of it, and even once he’d explained his opposition to the outcome, Jesse was still given the cold shoulder along with the rest of Blackwatch.
The stress of the job had accelerated her aging, but she was still one of the most beautiful damn women McCree had ever seen. Even if her hair was a bit grayer, her skin a bit more wrinkled, her chest a bit saggier, he didn’t find her to have any less control over his dick. Ana still fucked him occasionally, but it was more transactional. He ate her out then let her ride him in her office, or she sucked down his load and let him pound her into the wall.
“Thank you, Agent McCree. Dismissed.” The seriousness of Ana’s voice would have been humorously at odds with Jesse’s cum on her neck if not for the ice in her eyes. It was fun, but McCree wasn’t fooled. The passion was fading. Perhaps as he saw Overwatch’s troubles growing, he’d been subconsciously pushing away the person in it he was closest to.
Ain’t fair of me, he’d think. S’not the cap’n’s fault that things are goin’ to shit. He’d tried to reconnect with her, incorporating more of the old magic into their sex with a cajole for roleplay or an intentional slipup to elicit a rebuke from her, but Ana wasn’t having any of it.
“Thank you, Agent McCree. Dismissed.” She’d always say that when it was done, no matter how silly it might seem given her appearance or his: he might have lipstick marks all along his dick, and she’d still say that. His chin might be covered in her orgasm, and she’d still say that. He might have blasted a load on her stomach or breasts or ass or face, and she’d still say that.
And no matter what, McCree was too cowardly to press the issue further.
When Gérard was assassinated and his wife kidnapped a second time, McCree and Ana finally stopped banging. Tensions were too high, emotions too raw, feelings too easily hurt. McCree’s personal grief over the loss of his friend and coworker kept him from feeling much of anything at all akin to joy for some time, and Ana was focused on damage control. Their drifting apart reached its logical conclusion.
Even successes, like the capture of Doomfist by a strike team comprising Winston, Genji, and Tracer, weren’t enough to shake his mood. Overwatch’s psychiatric counsel services told him that he was clinically depressed, but McCree didn’t know what to do besides take the medications they prescribed him, and they barely seemed to help. The only people he might turn to were Genji and Gabriel, but Gabriel was taking the loss of Gérard almost worse than McCree was, and Genji had enough of his own issues that McCree didn’t feel it would be fair to impose his own problems on the man.
Still, there was some stability. It was a shitty, somber stability, but stability nonetheless. Sure, Talon was out there and Overwatch’s decline continued, but at least they all had each other.
Then that was taken from them, too.
McCree, mercifully, wasn’t alone when he got the news.
A hostage rescue operation from Talon. Successful, but Talon’s new crack-shot sniper had taken out several agents. Ana was MIA, presumed dead.
Jack had delivered the news to Gabriel, who gave it to McCree and Genji together. He’d taken a moment to rest a hand on McCree’s shoulder and squeeze it comfortingly.
“I know you and Captain Amari were...close.”
‘What d’ya mean?” McCree tried not to sound defensive. He didn’t succeed, but Gabriel would chalk that up to shock at Ana’s presumed death. He wouldn’t be wrong.
“She taught you how to shoot as best she could, and you’ve made use of that. But besides that, I know that she was a big stabilizing force here. I understand if you need some time.”
Jesse scoffed. “Nah. Wouldn’t do her memory proud to back out when I’m needed. And in case ye didn’t notice, boss, Overwatch is gonna need all the help it can get.”
Gabriel had patted McCree on the back, then, smiling grimly. “Atta boy. And I got a special assignment for you to do just that.”
Chapter 4: Information is Power
It was a stupid assignment. A wild goose chase.
Ana’s sniper perch had been abandoned, any trace of her presence swept clean. For all he knew, Talon had taken her to be autopsied and to reverse-engineer her tech. McCree had no leads, no background, no idea where to go.
But he couldn’t walk away.
Find out what you can about Ana. It hadn’t been a simple-sounding assignment. And Gabriel had been realistic about his chances. You’ll likely find nothing. But we owe it to Jack. And you owe it to me, if he doesn’t count. And you to her, if you’re being selfish.
McCree wouldn’t give up without at least trying. Ana deserved better than to be forgotten, given a plaque and a monument and a grave, her family passed a stipend, as if money could replace their loss. He hadn’t seen Fareeha yet since it had happened, but he was still cowardly enough to be glad that he wasn’t the one breaking the news. She was...what, twenty-six now? Yeah, something like that. She could throw a mean punch.
Sam, though...McCree didn’t know a lot about Ana’s ex, but he had suspicions that Ana had wanted to get back with him when Overwatch’s job was done. From what he could gather, the Canadian was a gentle fella. He had to have been a good guy to catch Ana’s heart the way he had. McCree hoped the news didn’t break the poor guy.
But that didn’t change the fact that, through conventional means, the trail was cold. He wished he had someone to draw upon, some old contact from the underworld to smoke out and…
...Wait a minute.
Deadlock and Los Muertos almost never cooperated, but he knew enough fellas in the organization to poke his head in and ask a question without getting it bitten off. Los Muertos had been operating with unusually high levels of intel for quite some time, and Blackwatch had long been interested in getting to the bottom of that. Seeing as he was being given an individual assignment, McCree figured he could establish communication without arousing too much suspicion, and he’d been right.
They hadn’t been willing to share the details of their source, but they explained that now that it was clear that he was searching for that source, they’d find him. McCree hadn’t been sure what that meant until he’d bumped into empty air in a dead-end alley off Castillo a day later and fallen over backwards in shock.
A laugh greeted him, trailing off into a giggle. McCree was able to separate business and work, but something about that laughter nearly made his dick jump and his jaw clench against the cigar between his lips. That was the sound of someone who could talk the shirt off his back and he’d thank them for it: lilting, smooth, and very, very alluringly feminine.
“Y’know, I never meet my clients in person. You’re extra special, niño.”
McCree hadn’t been sure what to expect, but it wasn’t this. A flash of purple and a woman began materializing before him. Everything about her screamed “slick”: the curling sidecut and the geometric patterns shaved into the bare side of her scalp, the hexagons scattered across her sleeves and leggings, the too-long nails on her gloves, even the smooth, crisp snap of the leather wrapped tightly around her and coming up to a long, raised collar.
Most of all, everything about her was in shades of purple, pink, or silver. He had to give her credit: she had a theme, and she stuck with it.
Her purple-touched lips pouted, and she sighed as he lay there gaping up at her. “¿Hola? ¿Tierra a McCree? It’s rude to stare, you know.” He only just noticed how the mole on her chestnut-brown skin shifted to the side with her lip movement as she waited for him to speak.
“How d’ye know my name, miz…?” He asked as he scrambled upwards.
“Not tellin’ you that, chico. Call me Sombra. Or maybe mamacita, when you wanna be naughty.” She waggled her eyebrows, and McCree had to suppress a shudder. Ana was gorgeous in her own way, but this “Sombra” was...wow. The confidence in her stare, the slickness in her silhouette, what he imagined might be lurking beneath that outfit...He hadn’t been this off-guard about a woman since he’d first started fucking Ashe, then again with Ana.
“All right…’Sombra.’ How do ye know my name?”
“Oh, easy. Lemme see…” She pulled up a holographic display from...where, exactly? McCree wasn’t sure. “Overwatch's gotten real lazy with their encryption. That's what happen in the twilight of an organization. Brain drain, headhunting, whatever you wanna call it. Not gonna spill the beans on how exactly I got access to this, novio, but you got a real sweet file.” She grasped a translucent cube out of the hologram and stretched it, blowing up a picture of his face and some lines of text underneath. It was facing the wrong way, but Sombra read aloud.
“Jesse McCree, age thirty-one. Former Deadlock Gang member, pressed into service with Overwatch. Participated in the assassination of Antonio Bartalotti, the illegal subversion of British Sovereignty during the Null Sector attack on King’s Row, and various other illicit activities. You were busy, weren’t you? ¿Estaba un chico travieso?”
McCree didn’t reward her with an answer. He wasn’t sure where exactly this was going.
“Hm, miramos...ah, yes, you were fucking your old boss, Ashe Caledonia. And then, you started fucking your new boss! You would not believe how many recordings I have of you two.” Sombra laughed and flicked the holographic display to the side, spinning it as a video came into play. Two blurry but identifiable figures came into view: a young man with a cowboy hat, being ridden by an older, dark-skinned woman at a desk. McCree didn’t remember the specific incident, but he had enough memories of Ana to reconstruct the moment in his mind: sweat, slick thighs, and quiet grunting as they tried for a quickie during lunch.
He spat a wad of saliva and ash between Sombra’s feet, then returned his cigar to his mouth and took a long draft while he weighed his options. “So that’s what this’s about? You tryin’ ta blackmail me? Not a good idea…’Sombra’.”
She guffawed and twisted her wrist, letting the video feed cut out with a zipping sound. “Relajate, I’m not going to blackmail you. You don’t have anything I could want that I don’t already have, so consider this a freebie. Now, I understand that you’re looking for the señora you used to bang. I’ve got some info, but lemme warn you that you might not like what I got.”
“Anything’s better than no news.” McCree didn’t believe himself even as the words left his lips, and Sombra’s expression relaxed into something resembling empathy.
“Not this time. For all intents and purposes, she’s dead. If the sniper shot killed her, her body was removed from the scene and I don’t have any leads after that point. Lo siento, novio.”
“Yer kiddin.” Jesse’s metallic hand tightened into a fist, and he bit his cigar so hard that it broke with a small crunch and fell to the ground in chunks that whirled away in the breeze. “I traveled halfway ‘round the world to find out something I already knew? You wast’d my time for what, jus’ to throw it in my face that she’s gone?”
Sombra held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Calmate. I didn’t invite you here, you came on your own. And you want me to check every medical facility in the world for someone who matches her description? You got any idea how many such women there are in hospitals right now? Assuming that she survived, how much you wanna bet that she looks the same or that her head’s in the same place?”
Harshness of her words aside, McCree could see her point. He knew nothing about this Sombra, but no matter how good her information network was, there were limits. And like before, her words held a certain softness that almost sounded understanding. She’d been through this sort of thing before.
“How much time would it take you to find out?” He tried not to sound desperate as she tilted her head quizzically.
“Getting ahead of ourselves are we, ¿chico? I’m a grey hat, mas o menos, but I don’t work for free. Best guess, couple of months, assuming that nothing changes.”
“That she doesn’t move, if she’s alive. That her body is in one spot or one piece if she’s not. That she doesn’t change identities, or that none of my rootkits get spotted and I need to drop off the radar. You’d be asking me to cast a wide, wide net, vaquero. Might be best to sit this one out.”
McCree cursed under his breath. As frustrating as it was, Sombra was right. If Ana was still out there, finding her would be almost impossible with so few leads. If she wasn’t, then his time would be better spent comforting her living family and carrying on in the organization she had given so much to.
It hurt him to walk away. But it’s what Ana would have wanted.
“All right. Much obliged, Sombra. Got anything else for me? Ye don't seem a bad sort, if'n ye catch my drift.”
“Let’s see…” Sombra furrowed her brow in mock concentration, then let her face light up in a wide, mischievous grin.
“I got an idea, if you wanna leave in a bit of a better mood than you came here with. What do you say, ¿vaquero?”
The hacker bit her lip, and McCree tried not to grunt as his erection pressed even tighter against the fabric of his pants.
He wouldn’t recall the details of her home until much later, besides the most important: her bed, and the teddy bear that occupied it. McCree moved to toss the stuffed animal off as the two moved towards it, only for Sombra to hiss and slap his hand away.
“Arturito stays, muchas gracias.”
“‘S fine by me, pumpkin.” McCree giggled, brushing some of her hair away to plant his mouth over hers, his untrimmed facial hair scraping against her cheek. She smiled against him and began unbuttoning her jacket, letting the back of her hand brush against his covered chest each time another button came loose from its socket. Even through his closed eyelids, McCree could see spots of neon pink and purple flashing from her pupils, same as her mouth, but her lips were far from the metallic cold he expected: she tasted mostly of grape, but some blackberry. Certainly expensive gloss if he’d ever seen it.
He shoulda known from Ashe: outlaw women definitely had the funds and time for cosmetics.
With a grunt, he started to pull his clothing off, reluctant to separate from Sombra’s mouth until the removal of his poncho forced him to back off, teeth grinding together as he struggled to get naked faster than his clumsy fingers would allow, finally getting the last of his clothes free as he kicked off his boxers.
“Having trouble there, ¿niño?”
“Only ‘cuz yer distracting me, you lil’...” He trailed off as her jacket fell to the floor. Sombra had shamelessly forgone any sort of underclothing in favor of being naked beneath her heavy outerwear. He supposed it made sense, given the hot and humid climate of Mexico, but he was surprised at just how well her jacket hid the fullness of her chest and her wide, grabbable hips.
Jesse leapt forward, grabbing Sombra and flipping her so that her hands splayed out against the wall next to her pillow. Sticking her tongue out at him, Sombra leaned forward and presented her rear, her vaginal lips glistening beneath the curve of her bum as he lined himself up.
It was slow going: Sombra was tight, and Jesse was thick. She grunted as he spread her around his cock, and he let himself laugh and slap her rear, watching her ass bounce. “That too big for you, ¿niña?” He grinned.
“Shut up and fuck me, cowboy.” Sombra thrust herself backwards against McCree, her ass meeting his pelvis with a smack. McCree’s breath caught in his throat, as did Sombra: the former from the grip of Sombra’s tunnel on his dick and the sight of her ass slapping against his stomach, the latter from the girth spreading her pussy lips wide, bearing down on his length as he rubbed against her inner walls.
“C...can do, pumpkin.” McCree was more confident than he let on, grasping Sombra’s hips with his metallic hand and bringing the other to rest against her clit. He didn’t start off slow: if Sombra wanted something fast, he was happy to give it to her, laying into her as he wildly fingered her the hood of her slit. She was squirming, crying out in front and beneath him, swearing in Spanish and English intermittently, clawing at the wall and pushing back against him each time he withdrew.
The sweat and hyperventilation of both parties made the room seem uncomfortably warm, but McCree kept at it, fucking Sombra so hard that her hands slipped and her cheek was flush against the wall, tongue lolling out as she struggled to speak and egg him on. He lost track of what she was saying: he’d long stopped paying attention to the empty threats and cajoles she was spilling out of her upper lips as he split her lower ones. Nothing existed besides her, warm and wet and tight around his dick, soft and squeezable against his skin, weighty and there beneath and before him. She howled and tightened around him, gushing on his dick, breathlessly crying back at him to “¡Me follas, vaquero!”.
The warmth from her cunt spread throughout his core, and McCree realized he was cumming. He didn’t stop, hips flying forward along with his nut as his load jetted forward into Sombra, his fingers lightening up on her clit as his arms began to ache. With a great sigh, he leaned forward, feathering kisses onto her back, hands caressing her shoulders and rear while he whispered endearments.
McCree would never admit that, for a moment in the afterglow, he was pretending that it was Ana beneath him.
He’d whiled away a few more days with Sombra. It was good to be able to casually fuck someone again, and Sombra was certainly naughty enough to fill up that time. Jesse had been painfully aroused when she’d started acting indignant that her osito was “spying” on them, before asking him playfully if he minded. Was “stuffed animal voyeurism” a kink?
Unfortunately, the time eventually came to return to Switzerland, but not before Sombra promised that she’d keep in touch. Or, to use her own words, “No way I’m letting a dick this good get away from me forever, vaquero.”
Yeah, Sombra was something special all right.
Chapter 5: Memory (SFW)
On his return, the news was greeted with as little surprise as he'd expected. Jack organized a funeral at Overwatch’s memorial garden, and because the universe had a sick sense of humor, it rained that day.
Alan Moore was right. It rained on the poor and rich alike: the Egyptian ambassador, who’d come on behalf of Ana’s service to the country’s military: the scientists who Ana and so many others had died to save (he didn’t blame them for her death, but they still seemed embarrassed to be there); the rest of Overwatch, even Blackwatch with all its scrutiny; and, of course, Fareeha and Sam.
Sam’s face was weathered with stress and sorrow, much like his ex-wife’s had been near the end. His long hair had shortened and grayed, and his square cheeks seemed sunken rather than angular. Fareeha was a young woman by this point, tall and strong and ready to conquer the world, but now, attending the public funeral of her mother, she threw a mask of steel over her emotions, stiff and impersonal. He suspected it was because she was trying not to break down, but he couldn’t be sure.
McCree wished he could comfort her, but a funeral seemed an inappropriate place to try and reconnect with someone he hadn’t seen in quite a while.
Jack and Gabe made a short speech each, reflecting on the first days before Overwatch when it was just the three of them. Some other core members of Overwatch came up to share a few thoughts on how she’d impacted their lives and brought their team together: Reinhardt, Torbjörn and the rest. The politician recounted Ana’s service history that everyone already knew, and the qualities they already recognized she had. Much of what was spoken went in one ear and out the other: McCree was more focused on how he remembered Captain Amari, and how he might carry that forward.
Sam simply shared how happy he knew Ana was to have served with the team she did. The brevity of his comments didn’t seem to McCree to be the product of spite: Sam was always a quiet, private person, not given to talking unnecessarily. Jesse imagined he’d have more to say at the smaller family service they’d planned for afterwards.
What surprised him was that Fareeha didn’t speak. She acknowledged every posthumous compliment her mother got with a nod but didn’t share anything new herself. Jesse knew that as Ana dove more and more into Overwatch, her daughter had drifted apart from her. He knew Fareeha wasn’t petty enough to brush her own mother off at her funeral. Perhaps she was worried she’d say the wrong thing, fail to properly outline what Ana had given so many people.
If so, McCree couldn’t blame her. He wanted so, so badly to speak, to say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Gabe had offered him a speaking slot, but he’d turned it down. Just as he was turning down the chance to offer some of his strength to Fareeha now. Because he was afraid. Not that he’d let slip what happened but that, like Fareeha, he’d fail to properly articulate how much Ana had given him.
The service ended. The rain didn’t stop. Jesse McCree watched Ana Amari’s daughter and ex-husband walk off, knowing he’d thrown away a chance to help them, and vowed that it wouldn’t happen again.
She didn’t remember who she was.
Waking up in a Polish hospital with half her sight, given a placeholder name, being told she was unfathomably lucky, that she’d gotten bullets and shrapnel and glass wedged into her eye and brain.
She was Janina Kowalski, a Jane Doe until proven otherwise. Dr. Lee had been clear that they were working hard to find out her previous identity, but she wasn’t sure how she’d gotten to their medical facility. As the doctor put it, "You showed up. Nobody else was there.”
A mysterious savior? Divine intervention? Probably not, but she could hope. At least she could remember her faith. Her internal clock and compass were off, so she did her best to guess the hours five times a day for salah and, without a mihrab in her room, had to hypothesize qibla, the direction that faced the Kaaba in Mecca. It wasn’t until one of the nurses caught her struggling to find something to wash with that they realized what was going on. Then an orderly had started coming by: he helped wake her, clean her, and face her the correct way (directly behind her and through the wall, as it turned out). She had no idea how she’d merited such attentive service, but then again, this was Poland. Universal health care had its benefits.
She also remembered that she was in danger, somehow. From something, someone. She wasn’t sure what or who. Dr. Lee had understood, and done her best to scrub her name from their systems. The severity of her injuries certainly lent credibility to her claim.
She’d had many months to sort through her memories, jumbled and misty as they were. The psychological therapists helped, but it was still a deeply frustrating experience.
“Yes, Janina?” Her in-house counsel sat patiently by her bed, their glasses low on their nose, pencil at the ready.
“It is very difficult. I don’t know what’s real, and what’s not. How much is what I want it to be, and how much is how it actually was.”
“That’s common in these cases. But don’t worry, Janina. You’ll be your old self in no time.”
Janina quirked the brow on her remaining eye, and her counsel paused. “Please be honest, Doctor. Is it possible that I will...you know?”
The psychologist coughed and jotted something down. “I...erm, yes, it is possible that you never recover your memories. In fact, it’s almost impossible for you to fully recover everything. But, Janina, you can still live a fruitful life with what you have. That doesn’t mean we won’t try to help you get what you lost back, of course. But I’m sure you understand.”
Janina nodded. “Yes. But for the record, I intend to get my past life back.”
“...May I have some time alone, please?”
The doctor nodded and left Janina to herself, leaving her to sift through the maze of her locked mind, trying to find the way deeper inside. Her memories were a labyrinth: faces and shapes and names and sensations overwhelmed her each time she dove back inside, but nothing clear came out.
Wait...there was something. A shape, a name, a face. A girl with caramel skin and long black hair, looking behind at her, smiling widely as she kicked a punching back with an outstretched leg. The same girl, knees skinned, shirt stained with grass, and teeth sticky with popsicle sugar as she carried the girl above her head, a summer sky clear and blue above them. Janina was wearing...something navy and black, with a yellow and white insignia. An “o” and a “w”.
The name came to her, and she smiled.
So much was still locked away. But it was a start.
Her own name came later that week, reflecting on a particularly vivid memory of Fareeha arguing with her about something called “Overwatch”. Was it a place, since she kept referring to “Being at Overwatch”? A group, since she kept saying “part of Overwatch”? Janina wasn’t sure.
But then again, she wasn’t Janina anymore. She was Ana. Ana Amari.
And she wasn’t ready to die yet.
Sam was the next person to return to her, another handful of frustrating days later. She didn’t remember everything about him, but she knew he was Fareeha’s father: an almond-eyed, long-haired man with a slim build and a gentle laugh. Some of the greatest feelings of joy Ana was able to conjure were tied to his face, his skin and hair beneath her fingers, his arms around her. But so was some of the greatest sorrow, the feelings of hollow, sucking cold of regret.
There were only a few things that could provoke that kind of duality. And since she could tell that Sam was a good man, from what her memories told her, Ana was able to guess what had happened. She almost wished her brain was lying to her.
It broke her heart all over again.
The rest came in waves. Military service, even foggier and harder to recollect than the rest, so it was probably earlier than the memories that came next: Overwatch, an organization that was doing something. She didn’t know, but she had a position of power there. And another man, young and handsome, who smelled of smoke and gunpowder and who stirred something primal in her. A sexual fantasy, meant to comfort her addled mind? Ana still wasn’t sure how much of what she remembered had really happened, and how much was her brain compensating for missing information. She didn’t dare ask Dr. Lee yet about some of the specifics. She didn’t want to endanger the kind woman who’d taken such good care of her all these months.
She hadn’t been lying, though, if unintentionally. If Dr. Lee knew who she was, the hospital would be put in a dangerous position, become a target. Ana couldn’t do that to them. Especially after she remembered the attack that landed her here in the first place.
Surveying the street, scope flicking from body to body—a life taken with this shot, an exit secured with another, and a glancing hit to the opposing sniper. Ana had expected him to be down, but he came back up, and then he was a she, and then Ana saw someone she knew. And hesitated. The pause had cost her her eye, her mind, her old life.
She didn’t remember why that woman was significant. But she recognized the triangular face, pallid and cold, with blue skin and amber eyes, stripped of the life and warmth and joie de vivre that should have been there.
It was for the good doctor’s benefit that she remained ignorant. Ana had more thoughts to sift through, panning for the gold memories that might reconstruct what she’d lost.
Chapter 6: Resurrection
Jesse did his best to keep an eye on Fareeha.
It was difficult, once she’d gone off to military service and Overwatch fell under more and more scrutiny. He hadn’t been able to track her then, keep an eye on the people and organizations she was getting involved with. Not long after Ana’s death, Genji had jumped ship, leaving a note to thank Jesse for their time as brothers-in-arms, however dangerous and illegal their missions had been.
McCree had to admire the guy who went AWOL after leaving personalized notes. Lena, Gabe, Torbjörn and Angela had each received one, while the rest just got a generic “So long and thanks for all the medical care”. One way of letting slip who he got along with, at least.
Angela had taken it particularly hard, alternating between self-blame and wistful musings as to “what he might be up to now”. His and Ana’s prank had worked better than either could have anticipated.
More importantly, he suspected that Genji also ditched Overwatch because he could see what was coming. McCree wished that he’d had the foresight, but his realization came to late.
Unending committee meetings. International investigations. Some of the worst PR he’d ever seen, and he used to run in a gang. Even before the explosion that had more than metaphorically torn Overwatch down by the foundations, the world was starting to question if the group that had saved them once was worth keeping around. McCree couldn’t blame them: he’d been party to more than a few of the incidents that were contributing to the ruckus.
But after the bombing, there was nothing left to do. He faded into the underworld after the ratification of the PETRAS Act, straddling the line between outlaw and vigilante as he made a name for himself as a criminal and a savior. His new free time gave him more chances to check on Fareeha and Sam, but the former was safe and buried in her military and PMC work, and the latter was no threat to anyone living quietly in retirement. Jesse knew he would be forgiven for letting his vigilance of their activities slip, but something kept him from giving up. The promise he’d made to himself, or the memory of Ana, perhaps?
He hated to admit it, but this was the closest he’d gotten to living out the Wild West fantasies of his childhood that he’d never really grown out of.
The letter was sent. Fareeha would soon know what had happened. Ana had debated sending one to Sam, but he deserved to find out either in person or from Fareeha herself. There was nothing left for Ana here.
“Are you certain you’re ready to leave, Janina?” Dr. Lee’s concern was clear in the choking of her voice, and Ana laid a reassuring hand on the Polish woman’s shoulder. She’d yet to give the person who’d saved her life and mind her real name, but the Doctor clearly knew that Ana had determined her true identity and respected that she was choosing not to share it.
“I am, Doctor. But thank you so very much. I will never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me.”
“Just doing my duty, Janina.”
Ana smiled. “That’s all we can do, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. But we wanted to do something a little more.” The doctor reached into the hallway and pulled a shoulder bag into the room, holding it out sheepishly. “The, ah, the floor staff. We all contributed a little something to help you get started...wherever you’re going. Clothes your size, a few gifts from the kids, even a hand mirror from the Oskar the custodian. And some złoty if you’re staying in the country, but you can exchange them at the ports of exit if you’re leaving.”
The one-eyed woman was silent for a long moment, hood pulled tight over her forehead. She wasn’t naive enough to think that this was how the world was now, but she wasn’t going to turn away such generosity. She accepted the bag with a shaking hand, then slipped forward into an embrace, hugging the doctor close.
There wasn’t anything she could say. But Dr. Lee knew what she was trying to communicate. Thank you.
Years had passed.
Jesse had flitted in and out of the spotlight, stopping crimes here, causing a public disturbance there. Once, he’d accidentally instigated the coup d’etat of a Michigan mayor by the local chicken farmers, but he wasn’t going to revisit that story.
For some time now-- he’d lost track of how long—he’d been holed up in Mexico with Sombra. Jesse had taken trips to visit (and fuck) her before, but this was the longest he’d spent with her for any one time. For an internationally feared-yet-anonymous hacker, she was surprisingly trusting, letting him wander her place freely after he wrung her out on his dick and left her snoring on her bed, cuddled up with her teddy bear. Or at least she didn’t think highly enough of his software know-how to think that he could pose a threat to her operations.
If so, she was right. He was as hopeless with hacking as she was with a revolver, and even if he was technologically inclined he’d have no interest in turning her in. Sombra’s actions didn’t seem to be hurting anyone he wouldn’t have already wanted to get taken down a peg.
Plus the sex was way too good to give up easily.
“You know what I always say, ¿novio?”
“No, I really don’t.” McCree stammered out as Sombra lowered her ass onto his dick. He’d buttfucked her before, but never when he was relinquishing control and lying on his back. Normally he was pounding her into the bed or against the wall, feeling her backdoor clamp down on his dick and squeeze out a load as Sombra shrieked at him in interchangeable Spanish and English. Now, though, he was watching her pussy quiver as she speared her ass on his dick, sweat beading her chest and inner thigh as she felt his cock widen her rear. Grunting, she dropped herself down with a clap, the full length of his dick buried inside her.
“Salva un caballo, monta un vaquero.”
“I...don’t know what that means. I mean, I know the Spanish, but—”
“Doesn’t matter. You still get hot n’ bothered when I speak Spanish, ¿si?”
McCree felt his dick twitch inside of her, and nodded assent.
“Good. So lay back and lemme crank some nut out of your balls.” Sombra emphasized her point with a swivel of her waist and a raising of her butt off of his thighs, stopping when the head of his dick was just barely inside of her anal ring.
As Sombra’s breasts heaved with her breathing while she lowered herself back down onto his dick, he decided that, yes, it was better to enjoy the show.
She didn't disguise how difficult it was for her to ride McCree's cock like this. His shaft was thick and stretched out her pussy quite well, and that hole was literally designed for big dicks to fuck it. So if it was going up her butt instead, it was expected that it would be rough going, even with her experience taking his considerable girth and the preparation they'd done beforehand. Still, it didn't look like she was going to stop. She groaned in exertion, sweated in concentration, and bit her lip with effort as she humped up and down on Jesse's length, hips slapping onto his thighs lewdly.
"¡Mierda! Fuck, ¡novio!" Sombra exclaimed, but kept up her movements atop his dick. Jesse knew she had the power to stop this at any point if it got too difficult, but she kept doggedly at it, asshole quivering around his cock, a smile faintly visible on her open mouth. She glared down fiercely at him, daring him to protest, but Jesse would entertain no such notions when such a fine backside was on the line. And besides, when her frantic vocalizations turned to swearing, Jesse knew he'd be letting off a quick shot. She was right: when she spoke Spanish, it did things to him. Specifically, it helped him cum like a fire-hose and stiffen back up, ready for more.
Which was exactly what it looked like was about to happen as he clenched his teeth and gripped the sheets. Sombra was well aware of the effect she was having on him, and adored how quickly he could be reduced to a quivering, cumming mess from just a bit of linguistic ludicrosity. Although the fine rear currently squeezing his dick certainly helped.
"Seems like my caballero's runnin' out of rope. You wanna fill me up? Estoy tu puta, novio." She grinned and moved a hand to flick her clit above her quivering cunt, butt still slamming up and down onto McCree's legs, ass still sucking and clamping onto his dick like it never wanted him to leave. He sure as hell didn't.
"'Course ye are, Sombra! 'S why I like ya! 'Ere it comes!" Jesse called out, forearms straining against the bed as he felt his ballsack tense and prepare to cream Sombra's butt. When he threw his head back and yowled, he heard Sombra do the same as her furious fingering brought her to her own screeching climax. Her spasming wasn't just confined to her pussy: her ass also sped up its undulations and contractions on his dick, giving Jesse all the incentive he needed to blow.
He'd flooded her ass with his cum before, but that had been when he was on top, directing the pace, reducing Sombra to mewling and shrieking beneath or in front of him as he slammed into her from behind, smacking her asscheeks and draping himself over her. Now, Jesse wasn't doing anything of the sort, but Sombra was amazing enough to fuck any way she wanted that he was happy to find his climax with his cock up her butt. His load flew up, painting her insides white, coating the walls that were coaxing his nuts to pump themselves furiously into her. The moment of climax seemed to stretch into eternity until there was nothing but Jesse and Sombra, cumming and grinding against each other before falling into an exhausted pile.
McCree gasped and wheezed, chest heaving as Sombra leaned forward to drape herself across him, his dick still inside her. He was curious if she'd nodded off, but her voice disabused him of any such assumptions.
"Please tell me you're not done, vaquero. I'm sure my tight little culo can take at least one more dicking from you..." Sombra turned her head to look up at him, purple eyes pleading, grinding her ass backwards against McCree's still-hard cock.
He smiled. "Be happy to, Sombra. S'long as you're sure you can take it."
Her pleading turned to confident, naughty determination, and she straightened her back until it was perpendicular to his, falling back down fully onto his dick and grunting in exertion as he spread her apart around the cum he'd spewed up into her. "You're on, Jesse."
A few more loads later, McCree lay in bed next to Sombra as she leaked his cum out of her ass and pussy, a few shots strewn across her chest, thighs and face for good measure, with his final cumshot glazing her backside. He was trying to resist the urge to push her teddy bear out of her grip: no matter what, she always fell asleep wrapping one arm around little Arturito, which bothered him more than it should for reasons he couldn’t understand. Still, he leaned over to peck her on the forehead, tasting the salty flecks of cum he’d left there after he’d spilled his second nut on her face. He had space to unwind his arm from around her shoulder and slip off the bed, dressing, shouldering his bag, and stepping outside as he lit a cigar.
The vibrant lights of Dorado below the cliffside Sombra had made her home at shined brightly even this late in the night. Despite the troubles the LumériCo company had endured recently, their power lines were up and running, bathing the city in the glow of progress.
In truth, McCree was doing more than going out for a smoke. He’d received Winston’s message a few days ago, then Lena’s earlier today, confirming that it was legit. He’d kept in contact with her as best he could, happy that she’d found something special with Emily but careful to stay distant enough to avoid getting her in trouble with the authorities. He’d already decided to accept. He wouldn’t have the grit to say “farewell” to Sombra without explaining himself, so leaving now would be easier.
Glancing back towards the hacker’s house, he tipped his hat and turned towards the direction of the train station. She’d be able to find him easily enough.
“Sorry ‘bout this, pumpkin. Not like me t’ love ‘em an’ leave ‘em. But I got a call, and I gotta answer. You’ll see me ‘gain, don’t you worry.”
“Why are we here, again?” Jack groused, shoulders hunched in as dignified of a sulk as a man his age could muster. “We following a lead of yours, or do you wanna take a vacation?”
Ana rolled her eyes. This was the first time in months she’d been out in public without her mask. As fun as it had been to play the Shrike and Bastet, she needed to be herself now. Ana Amari, the ibis resurgent in the soul of Ra, the phoenix, the bennu. Granted new life on a mandjet of her own making, her “boat of millions of years” shorn down to the mere six needed to finally restart her life.
“Jack, you’re as joyless as you’ve always been. Morocco is a good place to stop on the way across the strait, and after living in an abandoned necropolis on and off for years I’m taking any chance I can to sleep in an actual house.” She laughed drily, then coughed. The heat wasn’t doing her thirst, and thus her vocal cords, any good.
“Hmph. I see your point. Been pretty hard, roughing it up in the boonies, as it were.” Her comrade growsed, scratching his chin. They weren’t worried about being recognized in Morocco: neither had ever really had a presence here, and it would be easy to slip away if they got some unwanted attention.
“Glad you see it my way. Now, come on. If he got my message, he shouldn’t be far—”
She paused. Jack had grabbed her forearm, stopping her forward motion, forcing her to turn to face him.
“I...you were always closer to him than I was, Ana. If it really is him...maybe he should meet you on your own. I can’t…” He trailed off, and Ana met his eyes sympathetically. They both had fallen pretty far from grace, and Jack was taking the news of Gabriel’s new allegiances worse than she’d expected. He couldn’t bear to find another disappointment, or to be one himself.
“I understand. Here: you take the money and find us a place to stay. Maybe grab a drink, if you want: there’s plenty of bartenders around you can wax poetic about Vincent to. Just save enough to get us at least one night and a boat trip across the water. Deal?”
“Deal.” Jack snatched the dirhams from her hand. “Thanks, Ana.”
“Don’t mention it. I’ll find you, or you’ll find me. If he’s here, I’ll stick out pretty easily.”
Jack snorted. “True. Not a lot of cowboy hats in Morocco.”
McCree crushed his cigar in his hand and ground his teeth together in the dusty room he’d he'd squatted in, burrowed from some old Blackwatch contact he'd roomed with when living outside the law. He’d rushed off to retrieve Echo, and run into Ashe again. Hadn’t seemed like a good idea to try and start banging again, given the circumstances and the exchanged bullet fire, so he’d let her of with some tied hands and a slap on the ass. If this other message was a trick, if he’d given this address for no reason, there’d be hell to pay.
Then the door creaked open and his heart stopped.
Ana nodded, sliding his door shut and turning back to him as he continued.
“You got old.”
“You got hairy. And you lost a hand.” She laughed, then, and spread her arms to embrace Jesse. He couldn’t stop himself from snuffling, fighting back tears. He’d told Echo the truth: he had business to take care of. Specifically, a call to follow up on, one he’d desperately hoped was real but knew probably wasn’t.
And against all odds, it was true. Ana was alive. And she was here.
“How did you find me?”
“Jesse.” When she spoke, McCree could barely believe it. She’d sounded tired before, but a deep-boned exhaustion underscored her voice, reflecting the spiderweb of wrinkles crisscrossing her face and the dirty-white hair peeking out from beneath her hood. “You don’t keep a very low profile. Did I teach you anything, agent?”
He chuckled and leaned back, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Jus’ how ta shoot, cap’n.”
“I forgot manners? For shame, Jesse. And here I hoped you’d learned how to be a gentlemen during my absence.”
“Fareeha, she’s…I looked after her best I could, cap’n, being on the lam.”
A sad smile met his words. “Thank you, Jesse. But you didn’t have to take that duty on your own shoulders. You deserved better.”
A million questions came to him then, and Ana could see the confusion in his eyes. He wanted so badly to know where she’d been, what had happened, how she was. But she couldn’t answer them now, not yet. She wasn’t ready to relive her resurrection.
So instead, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his forehead, tasting the sand, dust and sweat beading his skin. He tensed beneath her, and she swore she could feel the shudder rippling across his skin.
It was an old pattern, one they hadn’t practiced for more than half a decade. But it was familiar enough that they knew the steps. His hand slid up, popping buttons and unfastening straps as Ana flicked his hat away, then his poncho, then his shirt. The new metallic breastplate he was sporting took some extra work—she had to back off until he popped the right valves and it slid off with a hiss—but the stripping they used to do so often together was almost the same as it had always been.
McCree needed more time to work through Ana’s clothing, even if her outfit was less complicated than his own. His fingers kept fumbling, shaking with emotion, and she gently helped him along. Perhaps, she mused, he was scared of what he would see.
She had no such fears. Ana knew who she was now, and wouldn’t shy away from it. With a rustle, she slid her coat and pants off, leaving herself bare save for her undergarments.
He didn’t say anything. She knew he hadn’t been expecting the steel-and-curve of her younger self, but she’d had a rough six years. New scars blossomed across her stomach and shoulder, stretching with sag of aged, weakened muscles. Her chest sagged, breasts less full and tight, spidered with veins. As she snapped the hook of her bra, he finally spoke.
“Ana.” He started, licking his lips...nervously? In anticipation? She wasn’t sure. “I hope ye don’t mind me sayin’.”
She quirked an eyebrow.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful.” A subdued awe settled over McCree as Ana watched. A glow came into his eyes, and his voice rose. “I missed you, Ana.”
“I’m not an idiot, Jesse. I know what I am now. Don’t patronize me.”
“Ana, I‘m not. Lemme show you.” Without waiting for a reply, she felt him lay a hand flat on her stomach, then turned with him until she was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread at his eye-level. She remembered this posture: lunches and afternoons in her office, his head between her legs underneath her desk, lapping away at her for however long she took.
She almost didn’t notice when he hooked a hand into the waistband of her panties and began to pull them down with something that resembled reverence.
”Jesse, wait—” He didn’t give her a chance to continue. Tilting his head forward, he hungrily latched his mouth around the top of her slit, sucking away at her long-neglected mound as she cried out and kicked her legs out. It’d been too long since she’d felt herself down there, much less had someone else eating at her.
He was riding high off of being able to lick greedily at Ana once again, his tongue curling up and down along her slit. She tasted so goddamn good: salt and citrus and warmth and so much more, his lips and tongue probing for whatever he could find along her outer lips. A suck here, a lick there: Jesse could have happily wasted the day away exploring Ana with his mouth. Lifting his right hand, he gently slipped a finger inside, rolling and prodding at her tunnel to ease her up in preparation for what he had in mind next. As he hoped, she was as accommodating inside as she’d always been.
“Jesse!” Ana felt his digit enter her, cold and rough but still exactly what she wanted. Something, anything of his in her, on her, with her down there. His lips kept up that fantastic, vibrating suction as his tongue lashed back and forth, up and down, in and out on her mound, prodding and teasing at spots she hadn’t thought about in years. Given her inactivity, her lack of stamina came as little surprise: with a cry as his finger curled upward inside her and pressed backwards against the top of her tunnel, Ana came, pleasure jolting new life into her limbs and stomach, clenching around his digit as he chuckled onto her mound, at her gushing onto his face and hand.
Licking his lips, he pulled off, then out. “Taste’s just as good, cap’n.”
“I see you haven’t lost your touch,” she panted, sweat rolling down her forehead into her one good eye, leaving her blinking the salty liquid away. “Keep any ladies happy while I was gone?”
“I…” McCree looked away, and Ana paused.
“Jesse, you thought I was dead. Don’t feel bad. I’m glad for whoever she is.”
He turned back, relief flashing in his eyes, a silent thanks that pushed the concern to the future. Standing up, he stepped forward, prick hard and proud, jutting out from a tangle of pubic hair, and slapped his erect dick on the hood of her slit. She moaned, and he grinned.
“It’s been so long, Jesse.”
“For me too, Ana.” He tilted his cock lower, the head pressing against her lower lips. “This okay?”
“I’m a big girl, Jesse, nor am I fragile. I can take a pounding.”
“I didn’ mean that. I meant…” He gestured towards the head of his dick, then her stomach, and she rolled her eyes.
“Jesse McCree, are you telling me you don’t know how menopause works?”
“Ah, uh…Yes, I know, but I wanna be sure, y’ see?”
“You want to know one upside about getting old, Jesse?” She let her voice drop into the sultriest tone she could muster, eyelids hanging low as she watched her much younger partner line himself up to slip inside her. Looping a leg around his back, she pulled him forward and he slid into her with a grunt, hands falling to the bed on either side of her breasts. As his face fell forward, so close that his nose tapped her, she let the sensation of him spreading her wide sit with her for a moment. He was thicker than she’d remembered, hard and unyielding and hefty with her walls all around him, still as ready to milk him dry as she used to be. “No condoms.”
The truth dawned on the man above her, and she felt him stiffen even more inside her, if that was possible. With an assenting nod, he thrust forward gently, grinding softly against her insides, groaning as he wrapped Ana around his dick once again.
She hadn’t felt this full in so, so long, and now that it was happening, she didn’t want it to stop, didn’t want to return to a time when he wasn’t inside her, shoving his way in her and sliding back out, friction leaving sparks of pleasure in the wake of where his cock rubbed against her. McCree kept shoving, kept rolling his hips against her to push himself in and out, but she could feel how much he was holding back. He didn’t want to hurt her, after all this time.
“Harder. I’m old, not made of glass.” She egged him on, tugging at his wrist. “I know you want to go rougher.”
“Well, when ye put it that way…” He grinned, moving a hand to brush her breast and draw a coarse moan from the woman beneath him. Maybe it was the nostalgia, or the exhaustion, but she was still getting him stiffer than any other woman he’d ever fucked. Jesse would be happy to put her through her paces if that’s what she wanted. So he let his hips fly forward, slamming into her as she cried out beneath him.
With each thrust, years of time spent apart came together in the ripple of his muscle on hers. With each push inside of Ana, tension building up from their separation released in waves of heat and tightness from her on his dick, and Jesse’s length into her. And with each withdrawal, a moment of clarity, as she met his gaze with her single eye and silently begged him for more. Harder, rougher, fuller, spreading her wider and wrapping him that much tighter around his girth. McCree couldn’t do anything but oblige her.
Ana felt her thighs and waist ache from the force of Jesse’s dick and pelvis pounding inside and against her, but she would never dare ask him to stop. She felt ten years younger, the aging and scarring falling from her like shed skin each time the evidence of McCree’s arousal was made evident by a clipped breath on her cheek, a hand pawing at her breast, a particularly powerful jab of his cock into her. Being treated like she was the young woman McCree had first had sex with her as made her feel like the young woman she had been at the time.
And just like before, his ministrations were having the desired effect, the logical result of his dick relentlessly pounding away at her, splitting her wider than she’d remembered, rubbing and grinding against every part of her vaginal walls. Deadened, little-used nerves found new life as warmth and comforting electricity zapped along her limbs, turning her arms and legs to jelly and leaving the latter struggling to maintain their hold on his lower back. Her tired voice cried out as she tried weakly to claw at his forearms, and it was only after McCree leaned down and covered her shout with his fuzzy lips that she recognized the breadth of her orgasm as she gushed onto McCree.
McCree kept his lips on Ana’s, not separating even to warn her of the load she was drawing out of him. What would be the point? Instead, he let himself be washed away in the pressure building in his loins, focusing on the sight of Ana below him, the feeling of her dry, cracked mouth against his. Balls slapping forward against her skin and the blanket below them, he didn’t stop as he came, releasing what felt like the cumshot of years worth of backed-up-balls into Ana Amari, even if he'd unloaded cum into and onto Sombra less than a week ago. His dick fired off furiously inside of her, painting her vaginal tunnel with streaks of off-white fluid, the heat almost more than he could bear.
He knew it had to be even hotter for Ana, who was going to be holding the evidence of their intercourse inside of her, but the idea was somehow comforting. Even if he couldn’t get her pregnant anymore, leaving some trace of their reunion was a good reminder of what they’d had.
Releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, McCree slid to the side, lying next to Ana as his dick slipped out of her, drowsily kissing her cheek. He knew they didn’t have time for a second round, but they had to have these few moments. Otherwise, what was the point?
Ana understood where he was coming from, even if she didn’t share his patience.
“You dunno how hard it is for me to not crawl right back on ye an pound ye raw again, Ana.” McCree whispered between kisses. “I jus’ wanna keep going at ye till I can’t no more. But we don’t got the time, do we?”
“No, Jesse. I’m sorry.” She turned so her good eye could see him, stroking his stubble. “Duty calls.”
He nodded and let his hands play with her hair. Jack would demand their attention soon enough, and then it would be off to the old Watchpoint. But for now, Jesse and Ana could have a moment alone, one more shared orgasm to encapsulate the intricacies of their time together. It had been a good run.
The Recall wasn’t necessarily a grand, singular event, everyone from Overwatch back together at the same time. People trickled in and out, leaving and staying based on the lives they’d built in the time since they’d last seen each other. And they had changed.
Winston had gained weight, but that wasn’t unexpected once he’d gone under the radar and he had gained confidence to match his belly. Mei had a new sadness to her, something missing in her soul that McCree knew better than to pry into and that Ana seemed to empathize with. Jack was sour and cynical, a far cry from the by-the-book golden boy he’d been before his “death”. Reinhardt and Brigitte were supposedly on their way, but Torbjorn was still nowhere to be found. Given his age and family, nobody would have blamed him if he’d elected to stay out, but Lena was on her way to check up on him, Emily left to hold the fort back at home.
As for the last two…
“Well, would ya lookit that.” Jesse tapped Ana on the shoulder, pointing at Genji and Angela as they sat and looked out at the view of the sea, hand-in-hand, the cyborg sporting a fresh new green-and-silver chassis that McCree had never seen before. “Looks like that lil’ trick all those years ago paid off. Who knew we were matchmakers? Bet there’s some pretty wild lovinmakin’ goin’ on 'twixt the two of them.”
“Shut up, Jesse. Let’s leave the lovebirds alone before we see something lewd, not meant for prying eyes.” Ana teased, unable to keep the satisfaction out of her voice. Sharing a final glance at the happy couple, they took their leave. At least one good thing had happened during the span of time since Overwatch’s collapse.
The sight reminded her of something she’d been dodging around since contacting Jesse. She knew it would come up, but she suspected he already had guessed what was going on. Her silence gave him the opportunity to speak.
“I know, Ana. We can’t. Not anymore.” They hadn’t slept together since the passion that had overtaken them in Tangier. Not an impressive feat, given that it had been less than two days since that time, but it was still noteworthy given what they’d been doing for years before her “death”.
“We can’t, Jesse.” She confirmed, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking her head. “We’re different people now. We have duties. And…”
“I unnerstand. There’s still Sam. B’lieve me, Ana, I understand.” McCree tried not to let his voice catch in his throat. He’d been preparing himself for this moment, but it still hurt to have it out in the open.
“He may have found someone else. But I still want to hope, to see if there’s a chance to try again now that my life has taken a new course.” Ana gestured vaguely to the old base all around them. Whatever new mission they had, whatever new direction they would go, Sam would have to know. And she wanted him back, if it was possible. “And you have...I can tell it’s complicated, but it’s important. Don’t throw it away. I promise that what we had, what we have here, will always be with us. Nothing will take that away.”
McCree nodded, and she leaned forward to pull him into an embrace. A chaste one, unlike so many others that they’d shared, but one that was no less important. Ana and Jesse would always be a part of each other, in more ways than most would ever know.
Thanks for reading! This was a lot plot-heavier than I initially set it out to be, but this couple has too much potential for interesting character study for me to pass up.
If you enjoyed this, be sure to check out my works here or on Hentai Foundry: that's linked on my profile page, as is my twitter if you want to interact with me more directly.
And again, happy birthday to Drace!