Patreon Compilation – Fic#280 – Blast From The Past (Patreon)

This week's fic is a 'blast from the past' fic! To see on why that is, please have a small look into the pinned post. As already stated there, I can't encourage you enough to link your patreon to discord to have a peek into the patron-only channel – or to DM me for further info if you can't/don't want to link. Thank you!

Readable for all tiers this time :)

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This blast from the past is Patreon Comp Fic#29! Please enjoy this Hanzo/Cassidy!

Hanzo/Cassidy – kabuki!Hanzo; gambler!Cassidy; piledrive; whiskeydick; watersports – Hanzo performs for Cassidy who obviously can't stop thinking with his goddamn DICK.

Previously posted with Cassidy's old name.

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Hanzo is not particularly used to giving single shows. Private ones, yes, – his troupe is wildly sought after and they are no strangers to performing for just a single wealthy family or even person – but a one-on-one is something he has to get used to.

He watches the stranger while he dances for him in powerful, sharp motions. He tries to keep the disgustion off of his face as he sees his get-up and the mustache beneath his nose, but he figures the man wouldn’t even see it underneath his heavy make-up.

An American. He does not look like the kind of money that he must have splurged to gain access to a show such as his. In fact, he doesn’t even appreciate it – just sits there, slouched and with his legs lazily crossed at the knee, sipping whiskey at an alarming rate.

It is humiliating, really, to have to perform for as uncouth an individual as this man.

When the music comes to an end, Hanzo in perfect position, trying to calm his heavy breathing, he is almost startled out of it by the slow, heavy claps of the man. He scowls towards the ceiling he’s turned his face towards, listening to the lazy thump… Thump… Thump… That the gloved big hands of the American produce.

Hanzo slowly stands upright again, then slips into seiza, bowing until his forehead almost touches the ground. Pearls before swine, he thinks bitterly. That someone such as he had to debase himself performing for an individual such as that-

“Now if that wasn’t pretty, I don’t know what.”

Hanzo closes his eyes, a chill running down his spine as he hears the deep, slightly slurred voice. It sounds as warm as the whiskey must have felt going down his throat. Absolutely wasted on this man.

“You’re real talented, Mister.” Hanzo opens his eyes again and frowns against the ground. Slowly, he sits back up again, back ramrod straight as he looks at the man just a couple feet away. He stiffly tilts his head in acknowledgement.

As he watches, the American slowly uncrosses his legs. Hanzo’s eyes flick to the prominent bulge in his pants, shamelessly displayed. His belly grows instantly hot and liquid even as his face clenches up.

“Now… Have they told you my name before sending you here?” the man queries in such a lazy drawl that Hanzo has trouble understanding him. He is not looking at the actor. He is looking at a cigar that he’s pulled from seemingly nowhere and is clipping and lighting it with sloppy but strangely sure motions.

He clamps the cigar between his teeth, then finally directs his attention back to Hanzo who is kneeling on the ground and has forgotten for a moment to feel indignant about the whole ordeal.

He mutely shakes his head ‘no’. It is difficult, for some reason, to find his voice in front of the American.

“Cole Cassidy,” the man says with a lazy tip of an invisible hat. Before Hanzo can react – he’s never heard the name – Cassidy already continues: “And you are… The famous Shimada Hanzo. A star that has sprung up from nowhere and made… Quite the name for himself.”

Hanzo stiffens slightly at the way he formulates it. He looks at him sharply and wonders just how much of his past this stranger knows, but Cassidy’s face remains unchanging; just a smug, drunk bastard that’s gotten hard from watching Hanzo dance for him.

Hanzo remains silent, but that does not seem to bother Cassidy any.

“Say, Hanzo. I wonder if you’ve got other… Talents as well. You got a mighty fine mouth on you there. Real pretty.”

The mouth in question opens slightly. Hanzo stares at him, and the beat of silence stretches while Cassidy slowly sips on yet another glass of whiskey, his dark eyes easily looking Hanzo up and down. The bulge in his pants is really big.

Hanzo can feel his mouth flooding with saliva.

“I paid quite the nice sum for ya… If that helps yer decision any,” Cassidy finally rumbles, his voice gone – impossibly – even lower. A croon that scrapes up Hanzo’s spine and has his cock lifting pathetically in the little pouch of his fundoshi.

.o.

“Nice an’ easy. Keep still, beautiful.”

Hanzo is drooling into the carpet, leaving a mess as his make-up gets smeared across the fabric.

It is undignified of a person of his standing to be lying on the floor ass up, but Cassidy is… convincing. His fingers are gratifyingly broad fucking into Hanzo and spreading him open lewdly. 

He is rough and uncoordinated, digging into Hanzo’s prostate rudely and making him spread around his thick, hairy knuckles before he’s accustomed himself properly to the intrusion. It’s… good, though – especially since he doesn’t skimp on the praise.

When he’s roughly dragged down Hanzo’s wide pants to around his knees, he’d sounded like he’s about to choke on his cigar seeing his ass, the twisted fabric of his fundoshi nestled between the tight cheeks.

“Ye’re pretty as a picture, aren’t ya?”

He’s also never stopped drinking, though. By the time he finally gets his cock out, Hanzo is not surprised to see that it is only half-hard.

It is sad, really, because it looks nice and fat, too, and he can’t help his disgusted tch at the sloppy state of the man.

“Hey now. None of that attitude,” Cassidy slurs, but it sounds good natured enough. He spreads one of Hanzo’s cheeks to the side with one hand, making his loose hole gape obscenely while he uses his other hand to try and feed the spongy tip of his half-hard dick into him.

Hanzo bites at his fists. He tries to bear down and make it easier for him to slip inside, but every time he thinks the stretch is finally about to get good, he slips back out.

“Don’t you know how to use that thing,” he hisses, belly liquid with need. The American got him hot and bothered on his rude, fat fingers and now he is not going to do anything about it because he can’t get it up properly.

“You can talk, after all,” Cassidy grunts, huge hand on Hanzo’s hip, keeping him in place as he finally squeezes the tip inside. “Ye’re a nasty piece of work, though. Not nice to be so mean to a guy with a bit of engine problems, y’know.”

Hanzo is practically vibrating on the spot, trying not to twist too hard in fear,he might slip out again.

“Just- shut up and try to do something with that useless cock-” he hisses. He is suitably sure that Cassidy won’t remember a thing the next day anyway.

Cassidy makes a contemplative sound behind him. Now that he’s got the tip wedged into Hanzo, he has both hands on his hips, clamped down to keep him nice and still.

Why that is, Hanzo realizes a few moments later as Cassidy sighs the same instant Hanzo can feel the warm liquid starting to fill his guts.

Cassidy is pissing.

Into him.

“There we go,” Cassidy groans while Hanzo is frozen to the spot in abject terror. “God, shouldn’t’ve drank that much. Damn, had to piss like a horse for a while now…”

Hanzo wheezes, frozen, doomed to lying with his ass up in the air and a belly full of another man’s piss.

He has no idea when Cassidy stops using him as his personal urinal, but suddenly his voice chimes up, deep and foreboding.

“Now that that’s outta the way… Lets see about that nasty mouth of yours.”

.o.

Hanzo is getting raped, he thinks, blearily.

Raped by some American rich man with his piss in his belly and his face mashed into the ground, and loving it.

Cassidy is basically on top of him, feet braced on either side of Hanzo’s knees, fucking down into his belly with a cock that has gotten so hard so fast that Hanzo feels faint.

There’s a wet sloshing sound as he roots around Hanzo’s guts dick first and displaces the hot mess he had deposited earlier.

Hanzo tries to clamp down and not let a drop come out, but that makes the dicking all the worse. Cassidy’s cock is fat and Hanzo is not used to such a girth spreading him wide.

So he has to bear down after all, Cassidy fucking out sobs with every sharp downward movement. His warm piss is dripping down Hanzo’s taint and his balls. It smells acrid.

Cassidy is drilling down, his hands on the small of Hanzo’s back, making sure he is keeping it bent, ass in the air for the most punishing fuck in his life.

Cassidy’s cock is so ridiculously big, it’s not only digging into his prostate, but into his bladder as well.

“Damn, could go like this for days,” he grunts above him, lazy. He sounds like it, too. Hanzo shudders, gurgling and helpless beneath him.

There’s a new slew of piss and it takes him pathetically long to realize that it is his own. He’s hard enough to hammer nails; he does not exactly know how he is doing it – but he is wetting himself, the liquid soaking through his fundoshi within seconds and splashing onto the ground.

There’s a hot puddle of his own urine forming around his shoulders. His face. It is ruining what is left of his make-up and the American howls with laughter when he realizes what is happening.

“Nasty goddamn slut. Needed someone to fuck the attitude out of you, huh?”

Hanzo groans.