Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10601625.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Overwatch_(Video_Game)
  Relationship:
      Jesse_McCree/Reaper_|_Gabriel_Reyes, Jesse_McCree_&_Reaper_|_Gabriel
      Reyes
  Character:
      Jesse_McCree, Reaper_|_Gabriel_Reyes
  Additional Tags:
      Amputation, Age_Difference, Suicidal_Thoughts, Panic_Attacks, Dom/sub
      Undertones, Blow_Jobs
  Series:
      Part 2 of I_rely_on_you
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-11 Words: 2213
****** Better when you’re here ******
by roughlycut
Summary
     He remembers the first time Reyes fell asleep next to him, on the
     bed, arms wrapped tight around him, protecting him. He’d slept for
     almost 10 hours straight, the safety and warmth from his commander’s
     body drowning out all the nightmares. The next morning Reyes had left
     for a two-week undercover mission. Jesse had lost 11 lb and one
     evening the nurses had had to strap him down, fearing he’d make good
     of his suicide plans.
Notes
     Though age isn't mentioned in this fic, the case here is that Jesse
     is under 18 and Gabriel over 35.
     If that's not your jam, don't read it :)
     This fic takes place some time after Close_to_the_edge.
He’s straddling Reyes lap, legs on each side of his commander's hips, as he
lies outstretched on the bed underneath him, preoccupied with reading. Every
ten minutes or so he’ll ask Jesse to adjust the slim reading glasses resting on
the bridge of his nose or flip a page in his book. Says it’s so that Jesse can
practice his use of the prosthetic arms, get to know the feel of them, figure
out how they work.
Jesse doesn’t like wearing the prosthetics, he hates how unnatural it feels,
the fingers bulky and stiff. The harness is just as bad, straps upon straps
keeping everything in place. It weighs down on his shoulders, squeezes around
what’s left of his arms. Constricting and unnatural. But still Reyes always
manages to convince him to give them a try. For Doctor Ziegler’s sake, he’d
say, you know how invested she is in this. Or do it for me, be a good boy and
wear them for me, and then he’d fuck Jesse excruciatingly slow until he’d
comply and promise he would wear them just for an hour, for Reyes, for his
commander.
“You doing okay up there, kid?” Reyes asks, flipping a page in his book on his
own. Out of habit probably, forgetfulness, though Jesse couldn’t grasp how his
commander could forget why he was really here.
Jesse just nods absentmindedly and looks down at his metal hands peeking out
from the too long sleeves of Reyes dress shirt. Primitive and simple, with no
finesse or regard for design. They’re not made to look pretty, Doctor Ziegler
had said, they’re made to work.
He sighs and, with determination, puts his hands on his commander’s stomach,
suppressing a smile as he makes the man under him shiver.
“So cold,” Reyes says, putting his free hand on top of Jesse’s, “gotta talk to
Angela about that heating function soon.”
Nodding in agreement, he watches his commander caress the metal fingers, thumb
brushing over wires and bolts. His chest feels tight, like there isn’t enough
air in the room. Flashes of mauled limbs, of broken bodies and rivers of blood,
fly through his brain. He swallows dryly, refusing to venture further into the
memory. Reyes makes a fake sounding cough, eyes looking from his book and up at
Jesse’s face.
“Though it’s probably best if I don’t mention this specific situation,” he adds
with a smirk.
Jesse just puts on a smile and takes a deep breath, sneaking his hand out from
under Reyes’, hoping he won’t notice Jesse tapping out, eyes going distant.
Slowly he runs his fingers down his commander’s naked torso, through the sparse
coarse hair on his chest and down his stomach, before going back up again. His
fingers circles Reyes' left nipple, making it perk up and stiffen. Carefully he
rests his whole hand on it. He nuzzles it with his palm, trying to remember
what skin feels like. He’s not even sure how long it’s been. 3 months? 6
months? With a light chuckle, Reyes looks up from his book, getting Jesse’s
attention as he straight up laughs.
"That tickles you know," he says. Jesse lifts his hands off him quickly,
embarrassed and surprised at his own display of interest in both the body under
him and his own mechanical extensions.
"'M sorry," he mumbles, not meeting Reyes eyes, "just trying to remember ..."
his voice trails off, hands hovering over his commander's body. They still feel
strange, his hands and his arms, like they're not part of him. Doctor Ziegler
said it would change, that it would get better. You just have to wait, Jesse,
she’d said to him one night where she’d found him trembling and crying in the
corner of his room,you’ll be used to them in no time, I’m sure. But he hates
waiting. He gets restless and anxious. He just wants things to go back to the
way they were. He doesn’t want to get used to the prosthetics. He wants his
arms back, the arms that could feel and touch and hold.
Reyes takes his hand, the slight tug all the way up to the harness on his
shoulder startling him, pulling him from his string of thoughts.
"Didn't say you had to stop, kid.”
Jesse looks away, chest tightening as tears prickle in his eyes. He doesn’t
want Reyes to see him cry. He’ll demand he talks to someone, about what
happened, about how he feels. But he doesn’t want to feel anything, he just
wants things to be normal, or at the very least have some arms that function.
Arms that can do something, anything.
"Don't, I ..." he starts, but Reyes persists, gently putting Jesse's hand back
on his own stomach.
"It's okay, you’re doing so well Jesse. I’m proud of you."
He can feel the rumble of his commander's voice through his arm, the vibrations
in the metal. He can't decide if he likes it. A sudden nausea overcomes him,
the flashes of torn flesh and broken bone making his stomach turn. A few tears
fall on his cheek. He wants to wipe them away, but his arms aren’t responding,
they just clumsily jerk as he tries to lift them. Reyes puts his book away
opens his mouth to speak, probably to comfort him, tell him it’s okay. But he
can’t anymore, it’s too much. He feels like he’s going to be sick.
"I want them off," Jesse says, voice weak and desperate, "it's enough for
today, please, help me take them off. Please."
Reyes nods, putting his warm hands on Jesse’s naked legs, comforting him.
Calming him down.
"Alright, kid.”
 
***
 
There's red markings on the stumps, crisscrossed over the scars where the
straps of the prosthetics have dug into his skin. Jesse can't stop looking at
them, turning his arms in front of him and marveling at the numbness of his
skin. Of his flesh. It looks like it should have hurt, or at the very least
itched. There’s an urge in him to run his fingers over the markings, feel the
dents, massage them until they disappear. But he can't. He's useless, standing
there in front of his commander as he cleans and disassembles the prosthetics,
takes notes on a little piece of paper. Jesse hasn’t asked, but he assumes
Doctor Ziegler have instructed Reyes to keep some sort of track of his
progress. Or lack thereof. He wonders if they discuss him, back at the base.
Talk about his foolishness. His failure. He wonders if they mock his commander
for taking him in. Runt of the litter someone had called him. If he wasn’t
useless before, he sure was now.
“Commander, I …,“ he starts, but the words die on his tongue. Reyes smiles,
waiting for him to go on, taking a step closer to him.
“Jesse, there’s no need for formalities.”
Jesse just nods and walks back to sit on his bed, climbing it with some
difficulty. He didn’t like it the first couple of weeks, too soft and too big.
It swallowed him up, the sheet and the duvet and the pillow. He drowned in all
the white, like a large cloud, weighing him down. He’d wake up feeling like he
was suffocating, twisted in the sheets, fresh blood from his wounds blooming
around him. And he’d scream and cry, until his throat was sore and his eyes
dry, begging for them to just kill him. To end the pain.
He remembers the first time Reyes fell asleep next to him, on the bed, arms
wrapped tight around him, protecting him. He’d slept for almost 10 hours
straight, the safety and warmth from his commander’s body drowning out all the
nightmares. The next morning Reyes had left for a two-week undercover mission.
Jesse had lost 11 lb and one evening the nurses had had to strap him down,
fearing he’d make good of his suicide plans.
The soft brush of Reyes hand on his knee startles him, snapping him out of his
sad reminiscence. The touch makes his skin prickle and itch. He wants to take
Reyes hand and hold it. Lace their fingers together, rub his thumb on his palm
and his wrist. He wonders if he should have asked Reyes to only remove one of
the prosthetics, leave the right one on. Then he could at least have felt a
sense of connection. Showed that he liked to be touched, where he liked to be
touched. He could have pressed his synthetic fingers on his own flesh too,
along the dents and the bruises, felt the pain. Confirmed that this was real,
that he was here in this hospital room.
“You alright?” Reyes asks, hand still lingering on his thigh. He looks puzzled,
eyes scanning over Jesse’s face, trying to decipher him, “you want me to
leave?”
Jesse shakes his head no, slowly raising his left arm stump, hesitant. Reyes
have said countless times he doesn’t mind them, the stumps, with their scars
and the rough discolored skin. But still Jesse doubts him, watches his face
carefully when he’s close to them, worried for signs of disgust.
“Touch me here, please,” he asks, voice slightly trembling. There’s a knot in
his stomach, fear and sadness, frustration build up from always needing help.
From being vulnerable.
“Of course,” Reyes answers without a beat, motioning for Jesse to sit back
against the headboard. He takes a deep breath and watches as his commander
gently starts pushing with his thumb, sliding it along one of the red markings.
He continues, touching and pushing, massaging the dents away. Sometimes it
stings, the muscle underneath contracting, protesting the massage. Jesse
ignores it, leans back, and enjoys the calmness that washes over his body as it
loosens up.
A sudden buzzing feeling shoots up his arm, different from the muscle spasms,
giving him goosebumps. Reyes stops, big hands lingering, barely touching
Jesse’s skin.
“You okay, Jesse?”
He sits up, body tired and heavy. Leaning forward, he pushes his arm into the
touch of Reyes hands, biting his lip as he looks up at him.
"More," he says, voice low, "more, please, sir. Touch me more."
Reyes smiles knowingly, leans closer to Jesse as he grabs the hem of his loose
tank top, and tugs at it.
“I think it’s time you took this off.”
Jesse nods, closing his eyes as his commander pulls the garment up and over his
head. The air in the room feels chilly against his chest. He feels Reyes hot
breath on his neck as he slides his hands up over Jesse's arms, brushes them
softly against his skin, sending shivers down his spine. His hands linger on
his shoulders, rubbing and pressing at the tension bundled up there, grip
firmer than when he massaged his arms just before. Jesse rolls his head forward
with a satisfied hum, leaning into the touch.
"You like that?" Reyes asks, voice low and husky.
Jesse just nods, focusing on relaxing his body. There’s a fire looming in his
abdomen, he can feel himself getting hard as Reyes hands wander from his
shoulders and down his sides, stopping at the waistband of his shorts.
“Look at you, Jesse, so beautiful. So good. So ready for me.”
Jesse moans as he feels his commanders hand drop to his crotch, palming him
through the thin fabric. He buckles forward, up into Reyes hand, whimpering.
“T-touch me more sir, please, I want ah,” Jesse mumbles under his breath,
silenced by the sudden cool breeze on his cock as Reyes releases it from the
confinement of his shorts.
“Lie back for me Jesse,” he says, gently pushing him back against the headboard
as he starts planting kisses on his naked torso. Jesse’s breath hitches, the
complete helplessness overwhelming him. Reyes pauses, brushes his hand against
Jesse’s warm cheek.
“It’s okay, I got you kid, you’re doing so good.”
Jesse feels like his body is filled with led, sinking into the mattress, as
Reyes kisses further down his body. His skin feels electric, each kiss sending
a jolt up his spine. A few tears spill from his eyes and he wails as his
commander’s mouth wraps around his cock.
He can’t help but buckle up and thrust into the wet suction of Reyes mouth,
turning his head to muffle his own loud moans with his pillow. His body is high
strung, ready, his orgasm so close. Reyes picks up the speed, warm hands
running up and down Jesse’s sides, caressing him. Scratching him.
“S-sir, I’m gonna ah I’m gonna come hgn I’m s-so close,” Jesse stutters,
gasping for breath.
Reyes hums and his hands find and pinches Jesse’s nipple, over and over, while
simultaneously swirling his tongue around the flushed head of his cock. Jesse
can’t help but kick his legs and thrust harder up into the mouth of his
commander, hitting the back of his throat, pushing himself over the edge. He
feels Reyes swallow around him, milking every last drop from him while holding
him down. It isn’t until Jesse whimpers that he lets go, nuzzling up next to
him, warm and glistening with sweat.
“Stay,” Jesse mutters, half asleep, as he nuzzles his head against his
commander’s neck, “sleep is much better when you’re here.”
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!