Reward for my Eternal Friend Patron!

(Disclaimer: I am not going to kinkshame anybody but I feel like I do need to say a warning for this one just because it is definitely not my usual niche of writing! It is macro/micro with an unaware macro pretty much killing the micro. Please be aware of this.)

McCree/Jack – stink kink; fart kink; macro/micro; unaware macro; kind of implied character death.

This is part 1.

Part 2 (Patreon Link)

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Jack can’t believe that his goddamn life is hinging on Gabriel’s mutt, but his has been the closest room to where ‘it’ had happened. It had taken too damn long already to get to his room and it had only been around the corner basically. His legs were so short in this body…

Climbing up onto the bed had been another ordeal all on its own – especially with the backdrop of McCree’s infernal snoring.The hairy bastard couldn’t hear him. Jack’s rough voice had been diminished into the squeak of a mouse, and no matter how hard he shoved, McCree could not be woken up.

Quite the contrary – he suddenly started to twist and turn in his sleep, leaving Jack to struggle finding a safe place as he hurried over folds in the fabric and got caught in the twists and turns of it.

Everything goes dark. He can feel skin against him that would have been warm under normal circumstances but now just feels absolutely sweltering. He is buried beneath the heaviest weight he had ever felt, the air pressed out of his lungs, heart beating a mile a minute.

Calm. Calm. Panicking won’t help you out of it.

McCree keeps on snoring while Jack is fighting for his life trapped beneath his body. His head and shoulders are somewhat free from beneath the pressure, allowing him to start taking in a few gasping breaths at least – only to be assaulted with the absolute reek of McCree’s unwashed pit.

He’s trapped directly beneath it; in fact, the thick fur is tickling Jack’s ear right now. Tears shoot into his eyes as he gags, his stomach revolting against the inhuman stench. He is reminded of the few complaints he had gotten about McCree’s odor. Had he not told Gabe to… to hose him down or something?

He doesn’t know… it’s difficult to form a coherent thought when he is trapped underneath the heavy oaf and can’t make himself known above the infernal snoring he is producing. The heat is mind boggling; sweat is streaming down Jack’s face as he tries to keep calm, to make himself just think despite the humid stench of McCree’s armpit numbing his senses.

When he tries to pull his arm out from underneath the man, he swears he can feel his bones creaking, on the very edge of just snapping in two.

How could this have happened? How did it come to this? The famous Strike Commander trapped inside the reeking, swampy armpit of a would-be soldier, fighting for his consciousness… and life.

McCree’s snoring hitches. Jack tries to arch his head but all he manages is push deeper into the pit hair about to suffocate him in addition to the inhumane stench, so he quickly hunkers down again, retching.

McCree does not wake. Instead, Jack can hear the slide of the blanket as he seems to pull it further up. It is impossible to tell whether it gets hotter than it already is; Jack’s head is swimming from the heat. He is used to a lot, having grown up in Indiana, but this… combined with the crushing force on his entire body and the mind numbing heat…

He can feel himself starting to slip from consciousness. If he had been able to see anything, he is sure dark spots would have been dancing in front of his eyes.

No… No, he can’t die here. Strike Commander Morrison will NOT die like a fly trapped beneath a bull.

His bones creak and ache. They’re so close to snapping...

And then, just to add insult to injury, Jack can hear the blubbering of a fart in the distance.

“No… no, please,” he wheezes out, tears springing to his eyes again. He can’t remember the last time he cried actual tears. Not even on the battlefields… not even in SEP- they are streaming down his cheeks now, further complicating his breathing. His brain is telling him that he is hyperventilating, but he can’t help it.

He is going to die crushed underneath McCree’s body, choking on his farts and body odor. How could this ever have happened?