A/N: This chapter is the one that is going to force me to bump up the rating. It is now an M rating. This chapter contains smut, so if that's something you're sensitive to then you may want to skip this chapter. For the most part it's clean - there's just one section towards the bottom that gets a little racey. Discretion is advised.
Ch. 13
McCree's First Mission
Jesse McCree
Darkness enveloped the small building McCree and Hanzo were squatting in. They had to sit by a window, straining to see in the silvery moon light. It was a bar, Hanzo had said, one that belonged to the yakuza that had targeted them. It had been what started the rivalry between them and the Shimada's. Hanamura was theirs, and this other group was intruding by seizing the property. Hanzo hadn't said how, but somehow it didn't matter. The Shimada's had cleared it out of yakuza and patrons alike, McCree suspected. Now, it was just an abandoned two-story building snuggled between a sushi place and some apartments. It was also a safe haven for the injured men.
Hanzo sat in a wooden illuminated by the moon. He was hunched over, holding his stomach. McCree knelt in front of him, placing the items he had gathered on the floor. He looked at his new friend with concern.
"Got some alcohol to sterilize the wound," he said. "Or to drink… whichever you want." Hanzo chuckled – it was grunting and strained. It probably hurt him to laugh.
"Both," he muttered. McCree chuckled, handing Hanzo the bottle, who took a drink. He sighed.
"Looks like it hurts," McCree observed.
"I have had worse," Hanzo replied, turning his head away and avoiding McCree's gaze.
"You don't gotta be so strong all the time, darlin'," McCree whispered. "I'm not your little brother. You don't gotta put on a brave face for me." Hanzo nodded – straight faced and stern. The muscles in his neck tensed and he visibly swallowed hard. McCree decided it best to not attempt to further disarm that beautiful bomb. He looked down at his bloody kimono. He gulped. "Um… Han, imma… imma need you to uhh…" he stuttered, made nervous by the fear that Hanzo may slap him just for suggesting. His new friend looked at him in questions, his eyebrows pulled together as he tried to make sense of what McCree was going on about. McCree motioned to his own shirt, pulling at the fabric over his right pec. "Ya know," he murmured. Hanzo looked down at himself.
"Oh," he whispered. He hesitated. His fingers grasped the edge of his kimono, fingering the cloth thoughtfully. "Of course." He pulled the it away, slipping the edge of the kimono down his shoulder. The material hung around his arm leaving the right side of his chest bare. His pale skin shimmered in the light. McCree couldn't take his eyes of the gentle curves of his defined muscles. Over his shoulder, down to his bicep, and then across to Hanzo's breast. He bit his lip. He didn't want to stare to long, but Hanzo was just… "McCree?" his voice called, bringing him out of his trance. He glanced up at his face only to be caught off guard by how beautiful he looked hugged by a halo of moonlight. "Is something wrong?" McCree furiously shook his head. His eyes returned to Hanzo's chest, but focused on the bloody slit that tore his otherwise flawless skin.
"No, naw, I was just… studying you – it, IT – is all," he stammered. "I was… examining the wound." He took a slug of the alcohol that he clutched tightly in his fist before turning it over onto his rag. He cleared his throat, trying to focus on the task at hand. "Now, uh, this is gonna sting a bit."
"I am certain I can take it." McCree chuckled.
"I'm pretty confident you can too. You're a tough bastard." Hanzo smiled to himself, and looked away from McCree.
Slowly, McCree dabbed at the edge of the wound. He was trying to be careful. He didn't want to hurt Hanzo. Still, the assassin flinched at what was most likely stinging that the alcohol against the open wound caused. He didn't say a thing, however, or even make a noise. He did clench his jaw, gritting his teeth as McCree ran the soaked rag along his cut. The white cloth began to turn red from the blood that soaked into it. Hanzo was still bleeding badly. He needed to sterilize it quickly, so that he could wrap the wound and stop the blood flow. It was a delicate process.
"Where did you learn that?" Hanzo asked. McCree was glad for the conversation. The silence had grown awkward.
"It's not an impressive skill… just picked it up," he said, shrugging as he tried extra hard to not stare at Hanzo's chest. "Pretty simple, really."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I meant what you did back there with your gun."
"Oh." McCree's stomach twisted. He had to make a decision about how much he was going to tell him. He couldn't give himself or Blackwatch away, but he couldn't lie either. Hanzo was very obviously a bright man. He seemed to read people well, and he would for sure call him out on it if he suspected an untruth.
"It's a long story," he murmured, focusing on doctoring. Hanzo shrugged, causing his beautiful shoulder muscles to tense.
"I have nothing but time." His words were like silk to McCree's ears. He sighed, taking another drink from the booze he'd found left behind.
"Don't wanna bore you with my life story." He shook his head. "Don't wanna ramble."
"I do not mind." That made McCree smile. He'd gotten the impression that his tendency to talk his ear off was rather boring to Hanzo. He couldn't fight the half smirk that tugged the left side of his lip.
"Alright then, Han. I taught myself… at first."
"Did you start or your own or did someone… encourage you?" The way he'd worded his question was strange. He shrugged.
"On my own." He sighed. "First off, it was something I did for fun. Ya know, a pass time. I'd been goin' through my ma's drawers – can't remember what I was lookin' for – and came across this revolver. She was a beauty," he mused, his memory turning over the gun in his mind. "Shiny silver with a wood plated handle. The underneath had a word engraved… 'Peacekeeper.'" He smiled. Hanzo looked at him in question, as if he was attempting to understand the obsession with a gun. At the same time, his right hand snaked out and caressed the hilt of his katana that was leaning against the wall next to him. He said nothing. "Ma told me it was my dad's when I asked her bout it. Said he left it behind, and she kept it round for protection. Don't think she had the slightest idea how to shoot. Said that if I was careful that I could take it out and shoot it, so I did. Every day I'd set up cans and bottles around out in the backyard and practice my aim. I was kinda a natural, but with all my trainin' I just got better n' better."
"It was your father's weapon?" Hanzo asked, watching as McCree dabbed at his wound.
"Yeah… don't know what he used it for. Ma didn't talk much about him." He shrugged.
"Your mother does she… know you are here? You seem young. Seventeen? You Americans think that age a child, do you not?"
"I'm eighteen," McCree argued, "legal age in 'merica." He made a 'hmph' noise, like being called a child frustrated him. He was no kid. "And no… she don't know I'm here. I… haven't seen her years." Hanzo tilted his head, looking at him in confusion. The way his perfect forehead wrinkled in question made McCree's stomach feel like he'd swallowed butterflies. He took a breath. He need to digest them.
"Why is that?" McCree sighed.
"Joined a gang when I was fourteen… The – uh – the Deadlocks kinda took over Santa Fe after the Omnic Crisis." He paused in his story asking, "Did y'all see much of it here?"
"Not as much as the other countries," Hanzo answered solemnly. "We, in Hanamura, were relatively unaffected."
"Santa Fe was pretty much burned to the fucking ground by the time," he cleared his throat, "Overwatch stopped 'em. Shit was uh, pretty bad… Not much options for poor kids like me. Till I met this guy – real nice – named Fields. He halted me after I swiped some chips from a convenient store. Scared me so I pulled my gun on him. Course he was skeptical – why would a scrawny kid like myself know how to shoot a gun. When he teased me, I popped a bullet off – went right past his head. Told him one more step and I wouldn't miss. Guess he took a likin' to me cause he started poppin' up randomly until he asked me if I wanted something better. Told him yes… Bastard got me involved with the Deadlocks then fucking died on me." It was a bitter memory. Fields had set him up with a promise of guidance then went a croaked on him – leaving him to adapt alone in a hostile environment – just a kid.
McCree stood, moving away from Hanzo to dig in the first aid kit he had found for gauze. McCree sighed, moving around behind him. He took the gauze, holding one end onto his shoulder and wrapping it down across Hanzo's chest. His pinky brushed the side of his neck ever so slightly. The contact burned him, causing prickles to shoot up his spine. His breath wen ragged. He tried not to make it too obvious. Hanzo would notice if he made to much noise. He ran the gauze back around up his back and across his shoulder. Blood had already soaked somewhat through the first layer. He repeated the process while trying to contain his rising blood pressure that got just a bit higher every time his skin lightly touched Hanzo's.
"So, McCree-san, how did you find yourself in Japan if you were in an American gang?" Hanzo asked.
McCree sighed. He had said too much – revealed too much about his past. He couldn't tell Hanzo the truth – not without giving away Overwatch. Still, he couldn't say nothing. Silence would be just as bad. How much could he say without further digging himself a hole.
"McCree?" Hanzo asked, glancing over his shoulder at the cowboy after he was silent for too long. McCree shuttered at the beautiful intensity of his stare, his inky hair covering his dark eye partially.
"Right, uh, well… an operation went bad… I… ended up getting shot, left behind. Got busted. I was still underage." He huffed. "They put me in a… group home… One of the caregivers took a liking to me… he brought me and a few others here for a fresh start, you know." Hanzo raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. He said nothing, however.
"You did not like the… Deadlocks, I take it?" he asked, instead, letting the obvious lie go.
"It was a livin'," McCree said simply. "Didn't have anywhere else to go and it was better than the streets. Paid pretty well too. My ma had two jobs and could barely afford her little shack. At least with the money I was getting from jobs I could help her out…"
Hanzo was silent from there. He sat stonily while McCree continued to bandage his chest wound. The silence gave McCree too much open space to think about how close he was to Hanzo – the warmth of his skin each time McCree's finger accidently grazed it. It was so smooth, creamy, and flawless. Like milk that McCree just wanted to taste. The thought unsteadied him, causing his hand to slip, clipping against Hanzo's nipple. The cowboy withdrew his hand quickly, his face turning beet red as he cleared his throat.
"S-sorry," he stuttered. McCree wouldn't swear to it, but it seemed that the tips of Hanzo's ears were just as crimson as McCree's cheeks. He was so glad that Hanzo wasn't facing him – that he couldn't see how flustered his proximity made him.
"It is… quite alright," Hanzo replied. Had it cracked?
Quickly, McCree finished the wrapping, tying the gauze around itself. He grabbed the bottle of alcohol and moved away from Hanzo.
"All done," he said, hoping up on the bar. He took a swig of the alcohol. He hoped he was far enough away from the window that Hanzo couldn't see how flushed he was.
Hanzo shifted, rotating his bare shoulder around and flinching in pain. The muscles tensed and relaxed during the motion, the sharp definition shift with each twist of his right arm. He rubbed it, his delicate fingers combing over the curves of his pectoral muscle, collar bone, and arm.
By the grace of god, he was beautiful.
McCree couldn't help but stare, wide eyed and infatuated. His fingers, pawing at the bar beneath him, clutching the wood nervously. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd rather be grasping Hanzo's body. McCree's jeans were feeling tighter all of a sudden.
Was… he getting aroused?
"I thank you, McCree-san," Hanzo said, standing from his chair. He moved towards him, holding his head confidently as he swayed towards the cowboy. He hopped up on the bar next to him. McCree passed the bottle to him and he took a sip.
"Please just… call me Jesse," he replied slowly, glancing at Hanzo through the side of his eye.
"Jesse," Hanzo said the word slowly. As if he was testing how it felt in his mouth. He nodded. "Alright. Jesse." McCree smiled, the name flowing like velvet from Hanzo's lips. He ducked his head a little, hiding under his scruffy hair like a shy schoolgirl. Hanzo chuckled, noticing his timid demeanor.
"And no obligation needed," McCree said, trying to push the topic forward. "You saved my ass."
"I put your… ass," he said the word awkwardly, "in danger. I was honor bound to rescue you." McCree chuckled, swigging from the bottle.
"You're makin' it sound like I was a damsel in distress!"
"Were you not?" Hanzo laughed as well, a gentle, restrained laugh.
"Naw… I woulda… figured somethin' out." He passed Hanzo the drink, who sipped politely from it.
"You can tell yourself that all you desire. It does not make it true."
"Wound me, why don't ya!" Hanzo's light laugh turned deeper, heartier. His dark eyes crinkled and his teeth bared as he gave into the joy of the moment. It was the loveliest sight. That was until he doubled over, clutching his chest in pain. McCree, reflexively, grabbed him, cradling him in concern. He hadn't meant to. "You ok?" Slowly, Hanzo's face turned up, his gray eyes staring into McCree's through thick, black eyelashes. He swallowed hard – his thin neck tensing. Wow, he smelled unmistakably of cherry blossom petals. McCree barely noticed that his thumb made gentle circles against the section of soft, hollow skin between his collar bone and shoulder. He blinked down at the assassin, shifting awkwardly away. Their faces had lingered too close for too long. "Sorry…" Hanzo shifted, moving away from the cowboy by an inch. He cleared his throat. He nodded in acceptance of his apology. "So uh, d'you have someone at home who can change your dressings out for ya?" McCree asked, hoping to distract from their awkward touch.
"Genji," Hanzo said a little too fast. He cleared his throat, "My, uh, brother will do it. He owes me one… especially since I have chosen not to kick his… ass for this… He deserves it, but I will refrain." He rubbed the side of his neck, his fingers brushing over the spot McCree had touched. He was definitely blushing. It was strange to see someone like Hanzo, so confident and sure, flustered. McCree believed he was the only one to get worked up over such a little moment.
"Good, um, th-that's good. Ya need to keep 'em clean. It can still get infected otherwise. Keep cleanin' it with alcohol and keep your bandages fresh."
Somewhere in his brain he began to imagine. He wondered what it'd be like to kiss Hanzo. He could see the scene like a play created with his thoughts.
"Keep cleaning it with alcohol," he directed the beautiful assassin, "and keep your bandages fr…" Hanzo's fingers grasped McCree's collar, yanking the cowboy close and smooshing his thin pink lips against his own. Soft, plush, and tasted of tea. Warm, comforting… he felt safe. Hanzo's mouth encased McCree's sucking gently on McCree's lower lip. He found himself grasping Hanzo's jaw, his thumb digging into the bone. He moved his lips, brushing skin against skin. Hanzo's breathing became almost labored, sucking in through his nose with a bit of a rasp. McCree's pants grew smaller.
"Jesse?"
McCree blinked, looking at Hanzo with question. The assassin was leaning back, looking McCree up and down in question. His eyebrows were raised in concern, knitted in question.
"Jesse?" he asked again. "Are you alright?" McCree shook his head, realizing that he had been daydreaming.
"Fine," he said. "Just… think I had too much to drink." He handed Hanzo the bottle of alcohol. He sat it down on the bar next to him. McCree shifted, moving his legs to try and hide his growing erection.
"Perhaps, we should be going." Hanzo hopped off the bar, flinching when the movement pained him. "It is late."
"Prolly right… don't want your daddy findin' ya missin'." He nodded.
"That would be unwise." He slipped his right arm back through the sleeve of his kimono. He grunted as he pulled the cloth tight around his torso, trying to hide the bandaging. The once white and orange cloth had become bloody tatters.
"You're not gonna fool anyone if you get caught in this sorry state," McCree pointed out, raising his eyebrow.
"I will not get caught." He clipped his wakizashi sheath around his belt and tossed his katana's case over his left shoulder. He started to trek towards the door, his footsteps silent against the old wood. McCree rushed after him, his spurs clinking loudly enough for the both of them.
"Woah there, partner, slow down," he called. He finally matched step with the assassin. "You want me to walk you back home?" Hanzo chuckled, rubbing his chin.
"I think I should be walking you home," he teased, poking McCree playfully in the ribs. Once again, the cowboy's cheeks were aflame burning like fire under his skin.
"I- uh," as he struggled for the words Hanzo spun around, facing him and blocking the exit. McCree skidded to a halt, reering back. "Han?" he questioned.
"Thank you for protecting me, Jesse," he declared. Dark eyes twinkled in the moonlight, staring up at McCree. The butterflies in McCree's stomach flapped harder.
"You're the one who rescued me," he muttered, taken aback. Hanzo nodded in understanding.
"All the same, I appreciate you." He placed his left hand on the cowboy's shoulder, the white sleeve retracting slightly so that McCree could see the mouth of Hanzo's dragon. Then, the soft warmth of silky lips puckering against his cheek. If his cheek got any hotter his face would spontaneously combust. Hanzo obviously noticed the spike in skin temperature because as he leaned away he chuckled. Still, McCree could swear that Hanzo's lovely skin was turning a warm shade of pink to match his own. He cleared his throat.
McCree was pretty sure he needed to start wearing larger jeans if he was going to be hanging around Hanzo.
"Now, we must part," the assassin said, opening the front door of the bar.
"Maybe… we can… do it again?" McCree asked, finally finding his words. "Not the almost getting' killed part, but the spendin' time together part…?" He cleared his throat nervously. Hanzo glanced at him for a moment before his eyes darted away. He smirked more to himself than to McCree.
"Perhaps," he whispered. He stepped out the door, motioning for McCree to leave as well. "I do not believe we will further be bothered for tonight. We should be safe." He hesitated, a look of contemplation knitting his brow before he said, "Can you find your way home from here?" McCree blinked before nodding.
"Yeah, uh, I'll be fine. Thanks…" Hanzo nodded, moving a few feet from the door before pausing and looking back at the cowboy. McCree shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly followed. The assassin started away once more turning to the left to head back to the Shimada estate. "Bye, Han," McCree called after him.
"Saraba da, McCree-san," Hanzo yelled back, waving slightly.
"What's that mean?!" Hanzo's smile glinted in the streetlights.
"Perhaps, I shall tell you some day!" McCree grinned. He waved at the fleeting image of Hanzo, standing near the bar until the assassin faded from view.
McCree wanted to stare for as long as was possible – to hold his beauty inside his head. He'd never met a man so perfect – so wonderful. He couldn't shake the imagine of him standing under the moon, holding his sword with an expression of determination on his face. It was a fierceness of a warrior god and the beauty to match. The feeling of his heart fluttering with excitement was only beaten by the ache in his crotch. The friction of his too tight jeans rubbing against that excited part of his body was a tad too much to him. He groaned, feeling momentarily helpless. Ugh. He needed to get home.
McCree spun around and rushed towards home.
The apartment was silent when McCree arrived. Williamson was sleeping on his cot in the living area, and Hasashi's room was dark. He could see warm yellow light glowing under the sliding door that led to his and Reyes's room. He could smell coffee. Reyes's doing, no doubt. He basically swam in the stuff, fending off sleep for as long as he conceivably could. In this case, it was most likely because his commander was waiting up for him.
Reyes seemed to give him special attention. The other members of Blackwatch picked on him for it – teasing him for being a teacher's pet. On occasion, they even insinuated that he was sleeping with Commander Reyes. McCree hated that the most. He wasn't some whore out to fuck his way into his favor. If anything, he did nothing to deserve Reyes's watchful eye or kindness. He was just some punk who'd been plucked out of a gang before it could get him killed. He had no idea why Reyes like him so goddamn much.
McCree huffed, walking to the door that was placed between the two bedrooms. He tried to walk lightly, but his heavy-footed boots thumped loud against the wooden floor. He hoped Reyes had passed out, that he wouldn't stop him so he could just Get. To. The. Bathroom. Williamson turned, flipping on his futon. He didn't wake, though, he was a hard sleeper. McCree slid the door open a crack, attempting to slide through.
"Kid?" a smooth voice called muffled from the other room. "That you?"
Dammit Reyes.
"Yeah, boss… it's me," McCree called back – not loud enough to wake up the sleeping Blackwatch member not far away. "Just gonna shower real quick. You can debrief me when I get out." Before Reyes could argue with him and ruin his lustful desires, McCree shut the bathroom door. He promptly turned the water faucet on, drowning out any orders from his commander.
McCree couldn't get his pants off fast enough. He looked ungraceful fumbling at his button and zipper with one hand while his other attempted to pull his button up shirt up and over his head. His right hand, that held the button was stopping his left from dislodging the yellow cloth from his shoulder. He, begrudgingly halted just enough to toss his over shirt onto the floor. Finally, he got his pants off, shaking the worn blue jeans onto the floor only to be tangled in the boots that McCree had somehow neglected to remove. He stumbled, nearly tripping over his clothing, but caught himself on sink.
'Jesus, if I make any more fuckin' noise Reyes is gonna come in here to make sure I haven't slipped the shower and killed myself,' McCree thought to himself as he managed to untangle himself from his leg prisons. He felt like he was back in the alleyway watching Hanzo fight off the assassin's while he sat bound, his legs tied together by chains. Hmmmm. Back there… Hanzo had been amazing, so impressive… so beautiful. Those intense silvery eyes being lapped by silken black hair like dark curtains framing the moon. The feeling of his gentle lips pecking McCree on the cheek.
"Ugh, fuck," he mumbled. He couldn't even be bother to remove his boxers before he started touching himself. Just gently running his hand over the hard indent that pressed against his lasso print boxers. Little shockwaves were sent from his core up his spine, causing his back to arch.
Why was he so turned on?
He didn't like men…
Did he?
He liked Hanzo – that was certain.
He fumbled to finally pull off his boxers, freeing his throbbing, erect cock. He stumbled into the shower, sighing at the relief of the cool water pouring on his semi-bare skin.
Shit.
He'd completely forgotten to take off his undershirt in the commotion.
He was a mess – not used to being so flustered. Sure, he was no cowboy Casanova, but he knew how to talk to ladies. He had never had a simple, steely glance, a gentle touch of a hand, or a murmur of accented lips ever set his body ablaze like that before.
McCree peeled the drenched shirt that had stuck to him like a second skin away, throwing it out of the shower. It hit the ground with a squishy 'plop' noise, and laid in a sad lump of wet, white cotton.
Under the water, McCree hoped the cool temperature would relax his burning skin and slow his rushing blood. He tried to busy his hands, scrubbing shampoo into his hair. It was a flowery scent – oddly enough Gabriel's soap. The scent was faintly of cherry blossoms, and it was reminiscent of how Hanzo smelled. Suddenly, his mind was back on the assassin: his face too close to McCree's, silken black hair gleaming silver in the moonlight, and the head of the dragon peeking out at him from under his sleeve. He couldn't help but wonder where the tattoo led. It looked large in scale. Was it wound all the way up his arm? Did it meet his chest? McCree wanted to see it in its full glory. He wanted to see how it's tail wound around the defined and hard pectoral of his.
McCree hadn't even realized that he'd started touching himself again. His thumb rubbed small circles under the head of his penis. A small gasp escaped his lips as the tiny shockwaves returned causing his muscles to tense.
"Ugh, fuck," he muttered.
He couldn't resist his hormonal urges any longer. He grasped the base of his cock with his right hand, and slowly, very slowly, began to slide it along the base. Along the way, his fingertips felt each nerve of his very delicate sex organ. His thumb tracing veins that stood out against the soft skin. As he reached the tip he paused, allowing his thumb to rub the head. He moaned.
McCree steadily increased the pace of his back and forth motion, gliding his hand up and down while squeezing gently. As he went faster, he threw his head back. His wet brown hair sticking against the shower wall. Pleasure engulfed him, burning deep inside and his nerves burned like he'd been lit by a very intense fire. He wrinkled his brow, groaning at the friction.
The only thing he could think of was Hanzo. That beautiful man with sweat running down the contours of his face, glistening as it mixed with the blood from his kills. His strong chest heaved as he breathed heavily, trying to catch oxygen from the fight. The small slit where his kimono didn't close fully revealed the edge of his pecs, rising and falling.
McCree switched hands, turning so that his back was no longer pressed against the tile of the shower. He pressed his forehead against the wall, his left-hand clawing at it, trying to express the fire building within him. He squeezed harder, jerking faster. Pants came from his lips, quickening in pace as his arm did. The feeling of hot skin on hot skin growing hotter with friction lit his nerves causing more sparks to dart up his spine. He grunted, nearly screaming, only catching himself just in time to not alert Reyes.
In his mind, he imagined it was Hanzo that was touching him rather than himself. He could picture the lovely assassin standing in front of him. His left hand pinned McCree to the wall while his right grasped McCree's cock. His soft pink lips nipped at his neck whispering, "Jesse," softly in his ear. With each gasp that escaped McCree's mouth, Hanzo would quicken his pace.
"Uh," McCree gasped in the real world. "H-han," he started to moan. His instincts kicked in, causing him to slap his left hand over his mouth to stifle the rest of the name as he came.
Finished pleasuring himself, McCree completed his shower, allowing the cool water to relax his overwrought body. He put his boxers back on and gathered up the rest of his clothing before returning to his room. He was hesitant at first, slipping in there with Reyes lounging on his futon. He was scared that he'd glance up at him and immediately know that his charge had been masturbating in the shower. Fortunately, Reyes barely looked at McCree when he slipped through the sliding door.
"Glad to you're finally showering," the commander just grumbled, his brown eyes glued on the hard-back book he held. "You were starting to smell like a barn."
"Was not," McCree muttered, tossing his dirty clothes into a pile on the floor. Reyes looked up from his book then. He arched a think eyebrow, his dark eyes narrowing into a glare. McCree gulped, wondering if he looked guilty.
"Do I really have to tell you to pick up your laundry like I'm your mother?" His voice was deep with disapproval. When the commander only received a blank faced stare from the cowboy he sighed. "Put your fucking dirty clothes in the laundry basket." McCree huffed, begrudgingly doing as he was commanded. "Kids. Now I know why I never had any."
"Thought it was cause you were gay," McCree said.
"Seriously, dumb ass? You sound like a bigot. Jack and I were always too busy for children." McCree looked down.
"Sorry, Reyes, that came out wrong. You know I don't… I don't think…" McCree rubbed the back of his neck impishly. How could he have any bad opinions about his commander's sexuality when his own sexuality was seeming less and less heterosexual by the minute.
Reyes sighed and said, "I know, kid. I know…" McCree huffed. Damn, he was an ass. Reyes was actually really nice to him, and he managed only to insult him. He spun around, feeling ready to go to bed. He was exhausted, confused, and his body hurt. His futon wasn't there, however.
"Where is my bed?" he asked. Reyes, who's eyes had returned to his book, glanced up at him.
"Oh," he said, "Williamson has it. He stacked it under his bed. Said, 'sleeping on the floor hurts my ass," he faked a British accent – rather well – actually. Reyes rolled his eyes.
"And you didn't stop him?" McCreen crossed him arms.
"Didn't actually see him do it. He was asleep when I got home. Hisashi told me. Don't worry, kid, I'll throw his bed out the window in the morning. Then he'll really have to sleep on the floor." McCree laughed.
"Trying shoving your boot up his ass then it will really hurt." Reyes smirked.
"I'll throw out the mattress and you shove the boot." McCree beamed then frowned.
"Sounds good, but where am I going to sleep tonight?" He looked around the room.
"The floor?" Reyes suggested. When McCree pouted he sighed.
Reyes slid over, moving aside so there was an open area on his mattress. He waved the cowboy over, shoving aside his covers. McCree looked between his commander and the empty spot.
"You want to share a bed…?" he asked, scratching his stubbly chin nervously. Reyes sighed.
"I don't want to, but I figured it's better than sleeping on the floor." He ran his hand through his brown curls. "I don't plan on spooning with you, kid. You're too… scrawny for me, anyway." McCree self-consciously looked down at his thin body. He had muscle, for sure, but absolutely no fat. He thought of Strike-Commander Morrison's fair hair, sharp face, and all together strapping body. He was a beautiful example of a man… just like Hanzo. He had to focus on Reyes once again to stop himself from imagining Hanzo's body once again. He did not need to get aroused when he was sharing a bed with his boss.
"Alright, alright," McCree agreed. He flopped onto the futon beside his boss. The motion caused Reyes to be knocked to the side. He growled, glaring at his charge and shifting so that he was sitting up straight once again.
"Settle down, kid. So are you going to tell me how it went with the yakuza kid?" McCree gulped.
He was hoping the commander was going to just forget that he was actually out on a Blackwatch mission. McCree had almost forgotten that he'd been pursuing Hanzo on behalf of Overwatch. He'd been having so much fun with him that it didn't seem like work in the slightest. He didn't want to tell him that Hanzo was actually the Shimada clan heir, and not just a member of the assassin's mafia. If he did tell then Reyes would force McCree to stay away, or worse make him a target. If he found out the Hanzo a Shimada and was starting to trust McCree then he would force McCree to lure him into capture. He would not be a part of that. So he lied.
"It went good. I really think Han and I are growing closer. Maybe next time I see him I'll be able to convince him confide in me."
"You said that last time." McCree began to sweat. Reyes was an intelligent man – there was no way he didn't notice.
"Naw… not exactly, I mean."
"You afraid I'm going to pull you off the mission, McCree?" McCree shook his head, a little too fast. Reyes raised an eyebrow. He wanted to deny it, but it came across as the perfect opportunity to cover his butt.
"Yeah… maybe a little. You didn't seem convinced and since I still have nothing…"
"Nothing is what we all have, kid. I'll give you a little more time." Reyes paused. He glanced down at his book than back at the cowboy. "I believe in you, Jesse." McCree couldn't hold his muscles back as they twitched into a smile. His cheeks blushed and his eyes darted to his lasso print boxers.
"Th-thanks, boss," he whispered. He wasn't used to people having faith in him… or even caring about him. Reyes, though, he was genuine. McCree had known liars and assholes his whole life. He found it hard to open up to people who he thought may betray or hurt him. Reyes was beginning to earn not only McCree's respect, but his affection. He smiled.
"Any time, kid."
Reyes didn't speak for a while. He'd went back to reading his book as he leaned lazily against the wall. McCree didn't feel like sleeping. He felt incredibly tired, but his mind wasn't ready to shut off. He glanced over at Reyes, looking at how he clutched the book with such investment as his brown eyes skimmed the words hungrily.
"Whatcha readin', Reyes?" McCree asked, his curiosity taking over. He could read some of the words, but didn't recognize the story. He didn't want to lean forward and pryingly look at the cover.
"Macbeth," he murmured, his voice distance as his mind still lay in the pages of the novel. McCree squinted.
"What's that?" he asked. Reyes's eyes slowly panned up to the kids face.
"You don't know Macbeth?" he asked with utter disbelief. "It's Shakespeare…"
"He's that play guy, right? The one who wrote that story about those twelve year olds who killed themselves for," he air quoted, "'Love?'" Reyes's eyebrows knitted.
"Yeah… that's him… and you're talking about Romeo and Juliet."
"Yeah, that's the name." He pointed his thumb at the hard-back book.
"What's that bout?" Reyes glanced between him and the worn pages of the play.
The book had seen wear. It was rare to even see physical books these days, but it made sense to McCree that he'd be a guy who liked physicality. He'd probably had that book since he was just an angry, goth teenager. McCree laughed at the thought of a moody, beardless, and young Reyes sitting on the steps of a rundown school in a black skull shit, an ear piercing, and a beanie on his curly chin length hair reading that same book in its prime. It was a fun image.
"Well," Reyes started. "It's about a Scottish general named MacBeth who is prophesized by some witches that he's going to be the King of Scotland. The prophecy and his nutty wife drive him to kill the current King and to see the throne. Hence, fulfilling the prophecy. His paranoia gets to him and he ends up just… murdering the fuck out of people until he – himself – is killed. It's a tragedy… like a lot of Shakespeare's work. My favorite."
"Wow, that sounds really depressing. You're a dark guy, Reyes." He sighed.
"Yeah, like I haven't heard that before." He stopped speaking, focusing on reading his book. "How don't you know Shakespeare? Highschools practically shove that shit down kid's throats." It was a serious question. McCree scratched his chin nervously again.
"I... dropped out my freshman year… Kinda hard to be a good student and a good murderous gang member, ya know?" Reyes cocked his head to the side.
"You… didn't finish high school. Kid, your education is important!" He seemed almost passionate about it. McCree sighed.
"Not to me."
"Well, it should be…" McCree hung his head. It's not like he'd done it on purpose. School didn't seem a priority when he was running, gunning, and making money by breaking the law. Now that he thought about it, he wondered what his life would be like if he had stayed in school. Reyes said nothing for a moment. He just studied McCree's shamed face. "Would you like me to read to you?" he asked. That got McCree's attention.
"Huh?" he nearly gasped.
"Yeah… Jack says he likes when I read to him. Says I," he chuckled to himself, "have a soothing voice. I swear, he tells me he's seen operatives swoon when I come on mic."
McCree could have sworn he saw Reyes's dark skin blush slightly as he talked about his husband. It was… kind of disarming, if he was to be honest… and cute. He seemed to genuinely love Strike-Commander Morrison. It was obvious even to McCree. He beamed just at the mention of Jack.
"Well, I don't wanna swoon, but I'd like to hear some MacBeth. Maybe it'll even make me smarter?!" He grinned. Reyes tilted his head.
"You're smart McCree… you don't have to be educated to be intelligent." McCree grinned. Commander Reyes was really good at making him feel good about himself.
Reyes flipped through a few pages of the book, skimming the words and trying to find the perfect passage to read to the Shakespeare virgin. McCree watched with both excitement and curiosity, leaning forward and reading the strange old English that he barely actually understood. When Reyes stopped at where he was satisfied he glanced at McCree, his eyebrow raised in question. McCree nodded to tell him to go ahead.
Reyes began to dramatically read what he said was a soliloquy from the titular character. He commanded the strange English form rather well as if he'd read the monologue aloud many a-times. McCree wondered if he'd done theater as a kid. He could picture teen Reyes wearing a fake beard with costume clothing standing on a stage under a spot light bellowing the speech. It was a pleasant thought. Sometimes Reyes seemed almost supernatural – unhuman. Thinking of him as a theater kid was grounding.
Once Reyes finished McCree said, "Read more, please?" Reyes smiled.
"You like it?" he asked. The cowboy nodded genuinely.
"Yeah, I do… don't really understand some of what ya said, but maybe you could explain?" He smiled up at his boss with an innocent and childish look.
"Sure, kid."
So, Reyes read MacBeth to McCree. He hung on to every word like a child being read Cinderella for the first time. The night went on eventually becoming later and later. Eventually, McCree fell asleep – his head on his commander's shoulder. Reyes put away the book and turned out the light, allowing the kid that he was growing fond for to sleep.
A/N: This chapter was the definition of hell. First, this part was actually supposed to be part of the last chapter. However, when it became over ten thousands words long at just the halfway point I knew adding this on would overstuff it TOO much. So I split it off... then it turned into a whole thing. Next, I had the WORST case of writer's block that practically halted the chapter for about a month - frozen at a single paragraph. Most of the chapter was written in a relatively short amount of time - a week - and the end only took about two days. I'm not totally sure if I'm actually happy with the chapter as a whole... so much went wrong with it that it came out a little inconsistent. This is also the first time I've actually written smut. I like smut - it's fun. I just feel weird writing it myself, and it was quite the task to actually get it where I believed it acceptable.
Anyway, let me know what y'all think about the chapter! All reviews are, as always, appreciated. Thanks for reading.