Jesse McCree

"Shut up and feed me." Amelie demanded, eyes narrowed, her golden eyes flashed with near feral hunger.

Jesse grinned at the imperious tone in the Talon assassin's voice. She was strapped all but naked to a bed, the modified scrap of cloth losing it's battle to keep from riding up her thighs and exposing all the glory god had granted her. Looked like god had been pretty generous. The former ballerina had the longest legs McCree had seen on any woman, and they were every inch beautiful. The kind of legs meant to be wrapped around a man while he rode her hard and made her scream his name over and over again. However, despite her circumstances, that attitude of hers could have come from a queen on her throne. It just tickled him to death.

"Well shoot, sugar cube," Jesse drawled, teasing, "That don't sound a mite friendly. I suggest you change your tone if you want something from me."

The violet blue complexion of Widowmaker's cheeks darkened, and she bared her teeth at him, but it was sweet dulcet honey that left her cupid bow lips. The words were a little snarky though.

"Oh please, kind sir, may have another?"

"Of course you may, honey lips." McCree declared magnanimously and very slowly moved a second spoonful to her mouth.

Those gorgeous golden devil's eyes of hers could have scorched a man's soul. But her tongue came out just as slow, tip touching the bottom back of the spoon, and licking slowly up to the tip before those soft lips closed over the spoonful of soup. The slight sucking noise she made as she pulled her back, releasing the spoon, almost undid him right there.

"More."

It was more demand than plea, but Jesse decided she deserved a reward for being a good sport and playing along. He carefully scooped up one of the small, surprisingly delicate and fluffy dumplings Reinhardt had made. Who knew that the burly giant could cook like this? But even with careful handling, the spork was not the best utensil. It's plastic rigidness undone by the heat of the soup, was going to collapse under the weight of the dumpling. Jesse sighed and pinched the morsel between his fingers before it could fall.

"No biting, " he commented and moved to pop the treat into Widowmaker's already parted lips.

She didn't bite. Jesse almost wished she had, because that wouldn't have made him so sorry that he'd promised Angela to behave. Instead, she pursed her lips and sucked the dumpling between them, half a kiss, half an obscene invitation. He watched her swallow, and damned himself for picking out another dumpling, nearly scalding his fingertips on the still hot soup. This time her lips went over dumpling and fingers, her tongue licking the line of his thumb from base to tip. He damn near didn't let go of the dumpling.

"More."

Jesse accepted defeat. There was no way he was going to last, feeding her bite by bite. He undid her wrist cuffs and handed her the spork, moving the trolley so the soup bowl was in reach.

"Don't try nothing. Just because I'm letting you feed yourself, don't mean I won't shoot you down if you get frisky." McCree warned, stepping back to give her space.

Widowmaker ignored him, focusing her attention on finishing the soup. Ignoring the spork she lifted the bowl to her lips and drank down the liquid, taking a few precious moments to savor each dumpling, before swallowing the entire contents in less time than it took for Jesse to loosen his belt, and relieve the tightness that was building in his denim jeans. With a sigh, the female assassin put the bowl back on the trolley and looked over at McCree's obvious condition. Eyes moving from his nether regions to his face, a smug grin tugged at her lips.

" Harder than you thought?"

The words were in an 'as polite as a church lady' tone of voice, but the devil's laughter was in those damn golden eyes.

"Nothing I can't handle." McCree drawled.

"There's a word for that you know." Amelie LaCroix leaned back on her elbows, taking the opportunity to drag her gaze over the American Overwatch agent, "But I'm sure you're a master at it."

"Ow! She shoots! She scores!" McCree took a mock stagger back, "Who would have known the infamous Widowmaker could dish out the pun-ishment."

A more serious expression settled on Amelie LaCroix's face at the mention of her call sign. The levity of the moment died and Jesse sighed, and went to rebind her wrists.

"don't... please ."

Her words were soft. The look in her golden eyes was like a trapped animal. The shine of desperation made them glitter.

"Sorry, sugar cube. Orders are not to leave you any means of escape, and this is the best we can do for now." Jesse apologized and he re-bound her wrists to their original positions. He felt every ounce a heel for having to do it, but even he had to admit Widowmaker was too dangerous to not use extreme methods to keep her put.

"I can make it worth your while." Her half whispered words put a pause in Jesse's step as he was about to push the cart back to the kitchen.

"I don't think so, sugar." Jesse replied, turning his back on temptation.

"I'll do anything. No… I'll do everything. However you like it. Hard as you like it. Every dark fantasy you've ever entertained in the shadows of your mind, I will make real. This soft, supple flesh was made for your use, McCree, all you need do is claimit."

Her voice was a siren's song, sultry and rich with sin. Jesse looked back, and watched her arch her body just enough to ride the altered sheet up that last inch, baring herself to his eyes. Lavender blue dilly dily… thighs parted, the invitation was blatantly clear. Until he looked up and saw her eyes. The glitter there was still a trapped animal's desperation, the kind that led the she wolf in a trap to chew through their own trapped limb to escape.

"Oh… darling. Make me this offer when you are free and clear, and I'll take you up on it." Jesse's voice was soft and soothing, as if he were talking to a trapped animal in truth. "I… I'll see what I can do to get you some… relief."

Jesse pushed the cart out, knowing he was leaving her in darkness again. He bowed his head and closed his ears to the scream that followed him out. The anguished cry that might have been rage, or the loss of hope.

to be continued