Thread: Overwatch, Reaper and Windowmaker (Vulgrim x allycat)

The mysterious assassin known as Reaper was a large and intimidating man -- and so it only made sense that his cock was large and intimidating, too. She pulled down his pants, and as soon as the did, the material simply faded away, dissolving in to smoke and filling the air with wispy, shadowy strands. He chuckled at this it'd been that easy all along, but the sight of her on her knees before him was just too much to behold. He couldn't have passed that up. When she released his beast, it sprang forwards to meet her from its confinement, bouncing off of Widowmaker's blue-tinged cheek. He was thicker than her wrist, and larger than she could hope to hold in both hands. A hand held tightly to her hair still as she repositioned herself beneath him, inhaling him like some kind of cigar. He made a low, subtle sound when her lips touched the tender flesh of his long, vein-filled shaft, something low in his throat that he just couldn't quite contain, but had clearly tried to. The noise was even louder when she took him in to her mouth like some kind of expert. Suddenly, Widowmaker's mission in life wasn't to look at people from the other end of a scope -- it was to devour him like some sort of cock-hungry slut, and it showed. The woman was a professional in every since of the word, and sucking down a load of his spunk was her new calling. And so Reaper was embarrassed to admit it, embarrassed to do it, but some noises, he just couldn't hold back, and it frustrated him that she was riling him up so. The hand on the back of her head tightened, and he suddenly thrust his hips forwards as some way of getting back at her. The assassin's girth spread her lips wider so that they formed a wide, oval-shaped ring around him, and he didn't stop until he felt his length resting comfortably in her throat, heavy orbs pressed against her blue chin. With a rumble low in his throat, he pulled back on her hair and forced her golden eyes to stare up at Death's mask. The horseman sat like that for a moment, choking her, cutting off her supply of air, and he didn't stop, wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, until he felt the satisfying beat of her heart again. She wouldn't be able to breathe again until it happened. And he knew it would. Amelie suddenly felt her wrists secured, a pair of powerful hands gripping at them and pinning them to the sheets. Her husband moaned sweetly, blissfully -- nothing at all like the noises Reaper made, which were low, dark, and almost angry. As they made love, he found that it was hard to tear his lips from her own, and he kissed his wife over and over, again and again as they tangled beneath the sheets of their luxurious bed. But he couldn't take much more, and she couldn't either, from the sound of things. As he got closer and closer to his climax, he made the mistake of letting go of her wrists, and Gerard sat up a little higher on his knees to get a good look at her. He wanted to see her face when they reached their peak together, wanted to memorize and visualize every sweet little detail, the way her eyes closed or her lips twitched when he came inside of her. Biting his tongue and increasing his tempo, Lacroix's member suddenly swelled inside of Amelie's constricting love-tunnel, and he released inside of her, filling the woman up entirely with his essence and being. Her husband panted, slumped against her somewhat, his weight pressing in to Amelie. Gerard pushed the dark hair from her face and found her lips again, refusing to pull himself from inside of her. Amelie, he sighed, but that was all he could think of saying. He seemed content, to just bask in the afterglow of what they'd done together. But that was a mistake.