Patreon Compilation – Fic#64 – Reaper/McCree/Soldier – Halloween skins; McCree's new Halloween highlight intro; pumpkin fucking; beer can dicks – Heat of the Moment, Chill of the Night (Patreon)

The witch’s familiar is struggling against the treatment right up until the very end, but without his head the pumpkin king is only half as frightening as he used to be – and only half as strong.

Since McCree has fallen ill with the… deads, a struggling headless body does not provide much problems for him anymore. He’s become definitely stronger; if a bit more brainless.

Slasher is standing off to the side, watching the happenings with amusement. He has his arms around Reaper’s big pumpkin head, holding him secure against his chest and letting him watch how his body is being escorted to the coffin they have waiting; the softest place they could find on such a short notice.

It’s not that they could not have used him over a hay bale or against the rough stone of the castle – in fact, McCree would have done so if not for the Soldier butting in – but a classy little morsel like the pumpkin king did indeed deserve better.

“You’re struggling so much,” he comments, orange mist wafting from the slits in his hockey mask. He slowly lifts the head and turns it so they can look at each other. Reaper is doing his best impression of frowning at him, his always-grinning mouth moving through the witch’s magic.

“I am sure he stinks like a rotting dog,” he complaints, features twitching weirdly when he can feel his body being thrown into the silky coffin. Slasher glances up to McCree who is struggling to start and open his pants, and impressive bulge already visible.

“Hmmnnn I am sure he does,” he concedes, curling his arm around the pumpkin head so he has one hand free to reach down and follow McCree’s actions. “Which is why I thought it’d be nice to have your head be somewhere else…”

He is staring down into Reaper’s mostly emotionless face. The holes that mime for his eyes and nose and mouth somehow manage to contort themselves into what looks like apprehension. It makes the Slasher wonder if the witch’s familiar can feel fear. Maybe the sight of Slasher’s white mask, hellfire glowing through every nook and cranny, is disconcerting even for a creature such as the pumpkin king.

It is of no consequence, really. Slasher sighs softly when his engorged cock flops out of his pants, swinging in the cool night air while McCree struggles to understand how to open the tight leather pants of their prey. Idiot undead…

“Hey!” Slasher calls, and when he has McCree’s attention for a moment, he throws his machete, the blade embedding itself in the open lid of the coffin. For a moment McCree doesn’t look like he understands but eventually he reaches for the blade and drags it out.

Reaper’s body has stopped struggling as his head seems more focused on Slasher. That, at least, makes it easier for McCree to grab the cape of the pumpkin king and use it as leverage as he slashes a surprisingly accurate gash right into the seam of Reaper’s tight pants.

The headless body flinches and flails, hands curling around the edges of the coffin as if trying to pull himself out, but as Slasher has turned his head towards himself, there is no way that Reaper could coordinate himself enough to pull away.

“What is happening?!” he asks anxious, his carved face doing a weird little twist as he feels McCree’s hands around his curvy hips, pulling his ass up until his body is kneeling on the soft silk of the coffin.

Slasher’s mouth twists into an easy grin beneath his mask. He starts to lower the big pumpkin head.

“What do you think?” he asks with malicious glee. There is a stunned silence when he presents the pumpkin head with his engorged cock, as pale as the rest of him. There even is a scar running along its side.

McCree has lowered his head and flicked the little bandana covering his lower face up. Slasher can see the half-rotten remains of his face, but when he opens his jaw, a perfectly good tongue flops out that he immediately stuffs between Reaper’s fat cheeks.

The pumpkin head in his hands gasps. He almost thinks that it is even getting warmer as if flushing in embarrassment, but he is wearing his gloves and it should be virtually impossible to tell something like that. Still, the thought is amusing.

He utilizes Reaper’s distraction by the wet tongue against his hole to push his cock in between two jagged edges that are supposed to be his teeth. Behind, everything is hot and mushy and perfect.

“The witch will curse both of you,” Reaper threatens, and Slasher is impossibly amused to find out that he can talk even with his grinning mouth stuffed.

“Let’s see if she cares enough to do so, huh?” he grunts.

.o.

She doesn’t, of course. Slasher doesn’t know if she hasn’t yet realized her missing familiar, or if she is too busy to help him out of his unfortunate situation, but he doesn’t care either way.

What he cares about are the soft and warm insides of Reaper’s pumpkin head wrapping around his cock and keeping it cushioned nice and squishy as he fucks the lone pumpkin.

Reaper isn’t making any sounds of protest anymore. It is difficult to say whether he has started enjoying what they are doing, but there’s a little bit of a greedy hum going on around Slasher’s thrusting cock. He also feels like the pumpkin king is helping it a bit along to make sure whatever it is inside his big orange head is wrapping nicely around the fat ruddy dick spearing into him.

A couple meters to the side of them, McCree has finally stopped making out with Reaper’s juicy, fat ass and has begun trying to cram his cock into the saliva wet gape he’s left him with.

It’s around that time – when McCree manages to brainlessly pop the fat crown of his dick past the glistening, swollen rim – that Reaper really and unmistakably begins to suck Slasher’s dick.

He laughs low and elated, orange mist puffing out of the mouth slits in his mask as he slowly pulls the pumpkin head off of his cock and looks down at how wet the shaft is glistening.

“Oh… so you can feel what is happening to your body, huh?” he grunts, glowing eyes boring into the triangle holes staring back at him. He keeps close, slowly dragging his wet cock against the sides of the pumpkin face; fucking it along the grooves that make up the distinctive shape of the ripe pumpkin.

“Shut up…” Reaper hisses, but he sounds breathless and weak. There are little wheezing sounds teased out of him, and they just so happen to coincide with Slasher’s brainless companion starting to cram the rest of his dick into the fat ass, then pulling out a tad before squeezing himself back inside.

The big hands of the zombie are on Reaper’s plump cheeks, digging into the soft, jiggly flesh and pulling it far apart to show off the swollen grasp of his glistening rim around McCree’s fat beercan cock.

“Hmmm I think you can feel it,” Slasher murmurs, gloved hands keeping a sure grasp around the pumpkin as he moves him up and down, dragging his cock all over his carved features as if he were a real lover. “And I think you like big fat dicks spearing into you,” he declares darkly.

Reaper makes a sound of protest which is stifled by Slasher ramming his cock back between the jagged edges of the carved teeth.

He is being rougher, then; not only using his arms to move the pumpkin up and down over his cock, but also using his hips to actively grunt fuck him. He takes a few staggering steps closer to the coffin, eyes flicking to the way Reaper’s body has curled its hands around the edges of it, and how it has started to tilt its ass into the thrusts of McCree.

Oh yeah… this one is a little slut in denial.

Slasher twists when he is close enough to let Reaper have a better view of his own molestation by the brainless zombie McCree had become. At least not too brainless to not know how to properly use his cock, it seems.

He is quiet but vigorous, keeping his head down, bony chin on his collar bones, staring at the plump, glistening rim wrapped around his cock.

They both fuck the pumpkin king like they’ve been born to do it, and Reaper sounds deliciously confused about how much he loves being filled by cocks on both ends. It makes Slasher wonder whether the witch had even considered to let her creations fuck every once in a while. The thought of them being the first to use Reaper’s holes is… too good, really.

McCree wouldn’t be able to appreciate that, of course, but Slasher is.

He is appreciating it very, very much.