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"I do not see the point in this," Hanzo said shortly as they reached the top of the trail up to the headland.

McCree grinned, "You never thought to try this?"

"I never needed such brash actions to test my skill."

"Well you know I'm brash as hell, and consider me skeptical if I don't see this."

"You have seen my skill many times," Hanzo huffed, "Skepticism is hardly worthy of you. Brash I’ll give you."

McCree chuckled and tossed an apple from hand to hand, "Indulge me."

"You indulge too much."

"And you too little," McCree replied easily. "You say that's about fifteen paces paces to the tree?"

"Twenty," Hanzo grunted.

Five more paces, and Hanzo stopped and scowled, "Go then."

McCree nodded and ambled on. The high scruffy grass pulled at his boots as he walked across the bowl of the headland towards the jacaranda tree.

This wasn’t one of his better ideas. It had been a simple question down in the workshop of the Watchpoint twenty minutes ago. A goading little taunt to try and get Hanzo to himself again. Say, you ever played William Tell with anyone?

Now he was asking himself how much further he was going to go to try and get Hanzo’s attention. He reached the tree and turned, standing tall with his back to the old jacaranda, and grinned back at Hanzo. His heart was beating a lot faster than he was willing to let on.

"How's that?" McCree called.

Above him, the silvery leaves of the tree turned over and back in the rising breeze. A storm was sweeping up from the open sea to his left, black as a crow's wing.

"Fine," Hanzo replied after a beat. He notched an arrow carefully. "If you are truly sure you wish to test me in this way."

McCree grinned, baring his teeth at death in the only way he knew how to face it. "Sure I do."

He didn't now that it came to it. McCree swallowed, and fought to keep his breathing slow. Facing down Hanzo in a fighting stance, passively watching him line up a shot, was flat out terrifying. Facing Hanzo in training wasn't like this. Something about having Hanzo’s full attention, about being the only one in the world to him, was intensely unnerving. The Shimada clan raised assassins and McCree had goaded the one he was in love with to a game of William Tell.

Hanzo huffed an annoyed little breath. Then he shifted his footing a little, eyeing the distance between them and the leaves of the tree, before falling still. His dark eyes watching McCree with trained and calculated attention.

McCree was suddenly very away of the pressure of his own blood. Of his heartbeat. Of the ankle deep grass and the smell of juniper and the coolness of the air on his face and hand. The breeze ruffled his hair as he pulled his hat off and held it over his chest. He set the apple on top of his head, balanced it carefully, and stood stock still.

"You have such strange ideas of what constitutes prowess," Hanzo began pulling the string of his bow back, moving slowly, each motion carefully executed. "Has all our time in training has taught you nothing?"

"Not nothin'," McCree protested, he was still grinning, but it felt like the cast of a death mask. “Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you could do it.”

"Perhaps you were just not observing my skills closely enough," The bow was at full draw now, the arrow in line with Hanzo's eye.

McCree had only ever seen Hanzo move swiftly to shoot, the rapid fire archery he favoured in combat. This caution and deliberation was new to him. It was intimidating in a whole new way.

"Oh darlin', you think I don't care to watch your every move?"

"Impudence, even now. With my arrow at your head," Hanzo snorted.

"No better time," McCree grinned. "I'm still breathing."

Hanzo made a tiny adjustment, and McCree watched the tip of the arrow track down very, very slightly.

He swallowed, and talked through his grin, "You let me get away with impudence now Sunshine, I know you'll let me get away with it when you don't have a killing shot lined up."

"Past performance is no guarantee of future results," Hanzo said flatly.

"Well let’s see if I can get a little more impudent before your arm tires out," McCree felt his mouth starting to run away without his brain. Possibly because he was more than half sure that Hanzo might just kill him out of sheer irritation and he’d always hoped to die in mid sentence and under the open sky. "Because darlin', I got no read on you at all. You know I'd care to spend more time with you if you could stand me. Can't hide that even if i wanted to. You're deadly and arrogant and beautiful and skilled and tell me wonderful tales and have traveled even more than I have and honestly if you'd let me I'd spend my life like a votary at shrine..."

Hanzo's hand opened and the sound of the arrow tearing forwards reached McCree half a panicked heartbeat before the arrow did. He flinched despite himself and gave a bark of terror.

The two halves of the neatly bisected apple fell into his lap.

McCree let his breath out in one heavy exhalation. He was sitting bonelessly at the base of the tree while his soul was halfway out of his body.

"Impudence," Hanzo's voice was above him.

McCree looked up, mouth open in childish wonder to see Hanzo already standing over him. The man was a good deal shorter than McCree, but sitting like this, with his heart hammering and his limbs hot and shaky with the instinct to run, Hanzo looked huge.

"Well, I wasn’t wrong was I?" McCree's drawl sounded far more calm than he felt. He always had been good at faking the confidence people found so intimidating. The confidence of a quick draw was, he knew, something most clear thinking people would fear even if it was fake.

Hanzo grunted, bearing over him for a moment and jerked the arrow out of the tree above McCree's head before standing back, arrow in hand.

Grinning, McCree offered Hanzo half the apple.

And was surprised when Hanzo, after staring at it in flat condescension for a few beats, accepted it. He neatly settled himself into the grass beside McCree, kneeling with his bow beside him, and held his apple half in both cupped hands. McCree spared a moment to reflect on his own ungraceful sprawl, but didn't feel like he could safely move without embarrassing himself. He'd never match Hanzo's grace anyway.

"Foolish exercise," Hanzo muttered.

"Any challenge for you?"

"Only to resist the temptation to aim a little lower."

McCree just grinned again and studied his half of the apple. It was a clean split, with only a single triangular cut to show where the the arrow had touched it. It looked like the two halves had split apart instinctively to avoid Hanzo's wrath. He took a bite.

"Why would this even enter into your head?"

"Beats me Sunshine, I just wanted more time alone with you. Thought I might get to see if you'd let me get away with calling you beautiful."

"You've called me many things," Hanzo was studying the white flesh of the apple. One of the seeds had split in two.

"You've never said you mind," McCree left that hanging. Hanzo was as cold and distant as a winter's moon. But he'd never actually turned McCree aside before.

"I choose my words carefully," Hanzo bit into the apple.

Sitting side by side, they both looked out at the storm rising over the water, crunching through their apple halves. The jacaranda tree rustled above them and a few leaves drifted down as the wind rose.

"So do I," McCree said quietly, "Wish I had better words for you though."

"With your persistence, something will occur to you," Hanzo took another bite of his apple, and they sat together in companionable silence for a time.

McCree’s heart was still thudding too hard, his breath was still shaky, but he was thinking again of how slowly, and carefully, Hanzo had taken aim.

"Did you think I would kill you?" Hanzo asked after a while. "When I saw you fall, after I loosed the arrow, I thought..."

McCree waited for Hanzo to go on, but he didn't.

"Guess I might have gone too far," McCree felt a little rueful about that. He hadn't collapsed in fright since he was a child. “I never know if I’m just a nuisance to you, Sunshine. Facing you down took some nerve."

"You have plenty of that," Hanzo said, taking the cheap shot. "But you're not a nuisance, and I am impressed."

McCree looked around in surprise. He had never actually heard Hanzo’s praise before, even if half of it was a little backhanded. 

"I appreciate the trust you have in my abilities," He clarified.

"Your abilities are fine. I've more trust in you," McCree wanted to say more, but couldn’t quite push the words into place. He finished the apple instead, and in two bites, ate the core. He flicked the stem away and went on, "But don't tell me that's foolish. I'm still here."

"True. As bewildering as that is, if this really is how you’ve lived your life."

"I'll be here darlin'," McCree chuckled, "I'm going to be here less you shake me off."

Hanzo sat in silence for a time, then, "Allowing me to shoot at you was unexpectedly cunning. I find I'm more willing to trust your sentimental drivel."

"Ha, finally seeing me an honest man?"

"No," Hanzo's voice was sharp, "Simply surprised by your unexpected acumen."

"I'm exerting myself for you," McCree shrugged and settled back, leaning on the tree. He’d dropped his hat when he’d collapsed, and idly turned it over so it sat brim-down beside him. The breeze felt cool on his skin. He hadn't realized he'd broken a cold sweat. "You're always worth the extra thought."

Hanzo finished his apple in silence and paused, then offered McCree the remains of the core. McCree took it with a nod of thanks and ate it in two bites. It never did do to waste something good.

To his surprise, Hanzo stayed sitting peacefully after that, his hands loose on his thighs.

The black wing of the storm was towering high now, rising fast as storms on the Mediterranean could at this time of year. It was a glorious luminant tower now, lit from the sun that was swinging down towards the horizon behind them. A flicker of lightning flashed through the lowest edge of the clouds, and McCree counted to eight before he heard the thunder.

"I know you think me a fool," McCree said, watching for more lightning, "But tell me, is that all you think of me?"

"Would you be dissuaded from your pursuit of me if I did?"

"I’d dissuade if you wanted me to. Do you though?"

"No."

The answer was so abrupt McCree let out a little breath, then smiled. "Well shoot,” he murmured, “That's something."

Lightning flashed out and struck the water under the storm. It was bright and sudden and violent and so huge it threw up a white froth of sea water around it. McCree blink and sat up. "Woah, did you see..."

Suddenly, just as sudden and unexpected as the lightning, Hanzo was on top of him.

McCree didn’t have time to take a breath or make a noise. Hanzo was bearing him down against the tree, hands stroking through his hair, bright eyes so close and intense they froze McCree to flat inaction. Then Hanzo’s hands fisted in McCree's hair, pulling his head back and he gasped, mouth open, eyes wide. Hanzo kissed him, a hot, hard, open mouthed kiss that fetched a surprised little whimper out of McCree as he let Hanzo press down into him, pin him still. It was hard and fast, with Hanzo's knees tight around McCree's hips, locking the two of them together. McCree's hands settled uncertainty on Hanzo's sides and slid around to his back, pulling Hanzo in closer.

Then the kiss broke, and Hanzo abruptly disengaged and stepped away.

Thunder reached them, eight seconds after the lightning. McCree was breathless and dumbstruck and flushed with his hands still held up as though Hanzo hadn’t moved.

He gasped for breath, mouth open, blinking stupidly as Hanzo calmly retrieved his bow and stood patently watching the storm.

"Darlin," McCree gasped finally, feeling pained, "I am only a weak man. You can talk about my cunning and acumen all you like but I still don't get you and if I’m..."

"No," Hanzo's voice was soft as it cut him off, but not unkind, "You understand me more than most. Come. Unless you think the rain will somehow improve your day."

McCree managed to shut his gaping mouth and fight his way to his feet. He had to use the tree for balance, and almost forgot his hat. Something utterly unheard of in his long experience with it. Hanzo was already back at his fifteen paces mark and McCree hurried after him, sparing another glance at the storm. His face was hot and his heart was pounding, but he smiled when lightning struck again.



Chapter Text

McCree kept his eyes on the target at the opposite wall in the old stone corral. He took a breath, lined up his shot, sighed out half a breath and fired. The crack of the gun and the kick in his hand made his heart skip a beat. It always had. His first shot after a few days of forced inaction after he returned a little worse for wear after the rescue in London. It felt good.

His injury hadn't been bad, but Mercy insisted he heal without distractions like target practice or excitement. Despite (or possibly because of) kicking up a fuss, she'd relegated him to one of the satellite bases off Gibraltar. It was just a little island with an ancient stone fort and gorgeous scenery where she routinely banished her patients when she didn't trust them to sit still.

He'd flatly refused to go when she'd informed him. There was no way McCree was going to leave Gibraltar. There was no way she could make him. No way. She could go to hell.

Mercy had been on the verge of cheerfully forsaking her hippocratic oath for the seventieth time that afternoon when Hanzo forestalled her, and offered to accompany him. McCree had no trouble going with Hanzo of course.

Together they'd traveled to the little nothing island and settled into the ancient, circular stone fort Mercy had requisitioned and refit for modern use. It was a beautiful place, high up on the hill among the olive trees over a white cliff and the waters of the Mediterranean. McCree had been dreading it. He’d been to this island before. There was nothing to do but lie on a hammock under the olive tree in the courtyard, swim off the white beach or read from Mercy's fourth auxiliary library. This time around at least, Hanzo had been excellent company for all of that.

He broke into a grin and aimed again, more easily, and his left hand swept up almost before he'd made the decision to fan the hammer and empty the rest of the cylinder. Five shots, in a respectable spread on the painted target, and Peacekeeper felt alive in his hand again.

"Mercy kept her word," Hanzo remarked.

McCree turned to grin at Hanzo. He was in the open quarter of the round stone pen. "Day ten. Woke to find the trunk with Peacekeeper inside unlocked. Just like she said."

Hanzo, of course, had been allowed to keep Storm Bow with him, just in case. Hanzo nodded slightly into McCree's happiness. "It's a gun well suited to open combat. You would have no use as a stealth operative."

McCree just laughed, "Says the man with a weapon four feet long."

Hanzo grunted. He was in what McCree was grudgingly allowing to be Hanzo's 'civilian' clothes. They were almost identical to the outfit he wore in combat, but with marginally less ornamentation and, sadly, both sides of his chest covered. It never ceased to entertain McCree that for all of Hanzo's stern, cold, austere pride and composure, the man was something of a peacock, even here, perfectly isolated.

"The silence is worth it. Something you could never achieve."

"I managed," McCree kept his voice light, but the work he undertook in Blackwatch was something he had carefully chosen not to mention. McCree had had considerable worth as a stealth operative after all.

The weight of everything McCree wasn't saying seemed to tip the brief conversation into silence. Hanzo watched as McCree reloaded Peacekeeper with brisk, familiar movements. He could reload his gun in the dark, balancing on the roof of a moving train, while under fire, half dead, and/or struggling to stay conscious. His hands knew this gun, knew the weight and the workings and little eccentricities better than anything else. Better than anything else he'd ever wanted to know.

Hanzo's hand was on his. "Permit me."

It wasn't a question, and McCree tensed in alarm as Hanzo slipped the gun out of his hands without waiting for a reply.

"Careful, it's..." McCree wanted to take Peacekeeper back, wanting to protect Hanzo from it. It was loaded, it was his weapon, it was the only thing on him worth anything.

"It's your life," Hanzo cut McCree off adroitly. He was holding Peacekeeper with the exquisite care he'd previously only shown when crafting his arrows, or repairing his bow. McCree felt some of the tension slide out of his shoulders when he saw how carefully, almost reverently Hanzo's hands moved over it.

Whatever his thoughts on guns, Hanzo had clearly been trained in their use, care and safety.

"I'm my life," McCree muttered, watching the careful, gentle movements of Hanzo's fingers as they went over every piece of his weapon. The light kept catching the bright metal and flashing up over his face and the underside of his hat brim.

"Your weapon is what kept you alive, driven you on, protected you, given you focus, drive, determination. Your training, years of practice, reliance on this gun, the work you've undertaken when it was with you, it's shaped you. Made you who you are. Influenced your decisions and your actions and everything about what you are."

Apparently finished his inspection, or his curiosity assuaged, Hanzo stilled and held Peacekeeper between them. "It's part of you."

McCree let out a breath and took his gun from the cradle of Hanzo's hands. "Well shoot, never thought of it like... "

"Its beautiful."

McCree nearly dropped Peacekeeper for the first time in his life. His head shot up, and his startled gaze found Hanzo calmly looking back at him. He immediately dropped his gaze. His face was burning in the shade of his hat.

"Didn't think you cared much for guns," McCree found himself filling the silence. His hands weren't flustered after years of practice, and they at least tucked Peacekeeper safely into it's holster.

"I don't," Hanzo said, blunt as ever. "They require very little strength or training to use. Even a child can kill with one. It's only function is to kill, so few have any merit beyond that. My bow can kill, it takes years of training to master as I have, but it's also art. Your Peacekeeper is too. You've made it beautiful."

McCree let out a long breath in the privacy from his lowered hat brim. A smile was tugging at his lips. "Thank you," He said. It felt flat and awkward after the unexpected praise, but the words had left him feeling winded. He didn't know what more to say.

"I apologize if I sounded as though I wished to belittle you," Hanzo said quietly. "It wasn't my intention."

McCree huffed out a little laugh. Regardless of Hanzo's intentions, standing next to him felt belittling. "You're a lord ain't you Hanzo? You don't got to apologize to an outlaw."

"You're my friend," Hanzo promptly dismissed his noble lineage, McCree's past and the amazing unlikelihood of their association. "Your skills rival mine. You have never given me reason to think you do not hold me in esteem. You should know that's mutual."

McCree couldn't speak. There was so much piling up at the tip of his tongue, so much he'd said and wanted to say. He hadn’t asked Hanzo about the kiss under the tree on the headland. He'd thought Hanzo was a flight risk. Someone who would tire of McCree if he was too brash, too open. McCree had assumed that at some point, Hanzo would tire of the scruffy, shady, unkempt scoundrel McCree was. But maybe he wouldn't. Maybe McCree could afford to be a little bold.

After all, Hanzo certainly had been.

McCree's hand, the only real one left to him, came up almost on it's own. His hands knew their own actions better than he did, and just like that, he was cupping the hard line of Hanzo's jaw. The scuff of the short, neat beard felt warm on his palm. Hanzo barely smiled, and let out a little breath, and carefully didn't move.

I'm the flight risk, McCree realized.

"I've been hangin' around you like kudzu," McCree murmured. He brushed his thumb gently over Hanzo's cheek, "Couldn't tell if you were patient or just didn't want to bother at first. But you don't much mind having me around do you?"

"Strange as you seem to think it, I find your company agreeable," Hanzo barely nodded, leaning into McCree's hand slightly.

"I thought," McCree started, then stopped himself. He pulled his hat off and shook his hair out of his eyes. It felt like hiding now to wear it. "Shoot, didn't want to scare you off. Didn’t want to rush this I guess."

Hanzo nodded again, and moved a little closer to McCree. "I do."

The low voice brought McCree straight back to the hilltop. It had barely been two weeks since then. The flash of distant lightning and the taste of apples in his mouth. Hanzo's knees on either side of his hips, the strong, compact, elegant body straddling him with complete control over them both. The way Hanzo had pulled away, like he'd been aware he'd crossed a boundary. He thought he'd rushed McCree.

"Guess I ought to catch up," McCree breathed. Hanzo looked up at him, patient and still.

It wasn't worthy of him, but McCree nearly dropped his hand and left. He was a brave man, had risked his life and the lives of others, had stood stock still while Hanzo aimed what could easily have been a killing shot at his head. This felt more dangerous.

The kiss was soft, and warm, and tentative and McCree couldn't believe he'd nearly dropped and run. Hanzo started under him, pushed up and forward into McCree, eager and strong and moving faster than McCree was, then stilled himself abruptly, pulling back like he was going to apologize.  

"S'alright," McCree murmured, his eyes still closed, their lips brushing together. "S'alright darlin', bully me all you want."

Hanzo seemed to hesitate, already chasing another kiss.

"You deserve it," McCree smiled.

Hanzo pushed him back, kept him steady on his feet while he walked McCree backwards until they were against the wall, and Hanzo's forearms were set on either side of him, boxing him in. McCree gave a satisfied little moan, pathetic and soft and Hanzo swallowed it, their mouths slanted together, McCree's hands sliding around Hanzo's back, pulling him in and up into the kiss. McCree felt huge and unwieldy, his mismatched limbs amazingly unlikely on Hanzo's elegance or his neat, distant beauty. But Hanzo's hands were in his hair now, tugging and stroking and whatever Hanzo saw in a scruffy outlaw like him, it was real.

They broke the kiss panting, both of them flushed and wordless. McCree felt unutterably grateful for Hanzo holding him upright, pressing him up against the wall, standing between his spread thighs and crowding in close. They were pressed together all the way down, and the friction was making him sweat. He wasn't sure if he wouldn't fall over without him.

"You speak to everyone with the same candid admiration," Hanzo gasped, the words sounded rushed and oddly unrehearsed, like he had never intended for them to be said aloud, "And you speak so much . I couldn't be sure what you said to me was anymore than your usual friendly admiration."

"For you, shit, for... Hanzo, for only you It's more than friendly admiration, much more" McCree managed to get the words out, talking through his breathlessness. He swallowed, he still had his eyes shut, could still taste Hanzo in his mouth, he was struggling with himself not to pull them closer together. "Didn't think I had a shot at you is all," McCree admitted, "You have impeccable taste and more class than dog has fleas and I knew an scruffy outlaw like me wasn't likely to be the usual fare for lords like you."

Hanzo pushed a kiss up into the corner of McCree's mouth. "You're exactly my fare, outlaw," He actually sounded annoyed, breathless as he was.

"Oh, well shoot," McCree almost laughed, giddy relief making him grin big and dumb and wide, but Hanzo cut him off, pinning him more firmly to the wall and pushing up and in for another kiss. 

McCree pulled him in a little tighter, hands fisting in Hanzo's clothes, needing the anchor of crumpled fine cotton and linen. He moaned down into the kiss again, hot and wet and fast and impatient and they had all the time in the world and it wouldn't be enough, Hanzo had no more time to waste on reticence.

"Permit me," Hanzo murmured again.

"Sure," McCree replied stupidly, breathless and weak and thanking heaven and host that there was a wall and an extremely strong and competent assassin holding him upright.

Then he gasped as the extremely strong and competent assassin abruptly yanked his shirt open, spared a quiet respectful moment for McCree’s bared chest and tugged the shirt off his shoulders.

"Hanzo," McCree managed, letting Hanzo pull his arms back and lifting his back from the wall to let the shirt fall from him, "It's no rush..."

"This has taken long enough," Hanzo had his mouth pressed to McCree's sweat-damp collar bone, and spoke with quiet firmness into his skin. "Unless you want time..." He tensed and was already pulling away when McCree caught him.

"Nope," McCree said, firmly pulling Hanzo back in. "No I do not. Nope. Carry on like you were if you've a mind to. But can I..."

He couldn't articulate the request that had been insistently consuming most of what was left of his thinking brain. His hands tugged at the neatly arranged front of Hanzo's robes, and tentatively began pulling it open.

"Yes," Hanzo said against McCree's chest. He bit into the skin at his collarbone and sucked briefly. "Yes and hurry up."

"Time to act," McCree agreed in a murmur, mimicking Hanzo. He tugged the robe open a little, and slipped his hands inside and over the hot skin of Hanzo's chest.

In reply, Hanzo pinned McCree a little more firmly against the wall, slipped a hand down between McCree's flushed skin and his belt-buckle, and tugged.

McCree swore and dropped his head to Hanzo's shoulder, pretty sure now he couldn't stand under his own power if his life depended on it. His thighs were shaking.

"Permit me?" Hanzo breathed, and pressed a kiss into McCree's neck.

"Yes darlin' please, in your own time but yes," McCree's hands stroked hard over Hanzo's chest and he palmed the hot, smooth swell of Hanzo's pecs. "God you're lovely."

Hanzo didn't answer just let out a hot breath into McCree's neck and pressed another kiss after it. One handed, he flipped the buckle open, and parted the front of McCree's pants.

The weight of Peacekeeper slid a little down his thigh, and McCree sighed as Hanzo rubbed his palm, slow and dirty, up the length of his dick through his shorts. Archers hands, McCree thought in a daze, ridiculously strong and dexterous and impatiently tugging down McCree's shorts and goddamn but Hanzo's skin was hot against him.

"Hanzo," McCree fought to take a breath, feeling winded and still startled and so unbelievably glad he could hardly believe it. He grinned and nuzzled up against Hanzo's jaw, chasing a kiss, "You got me, Hanzo, I'm not going anywhere."

Hanzo snorted, and kissed McCree's cheek. "Though you may fall over."

"You're not wrong," McCree was forced to agree, hardly able to get the words out.

Then Hanzo wrapped his hand around McCree's dick and gave a slow, gentle stroke and McCree lost his control and his hands clutched hard at Hanzo's chest. He realized his mistake when Hanzo jerked slightly, and McCree yanked his hands off with a start and slapped them flat to the wall behind him.

“Sorry,” McCree managed.

"No," Hanzo snapped. He paused, then suddenly his hands were off McCree entirely and he leaned away.

Suddenly bereft and alarmed, McCree babbled out an apology, "Sorry, I didn't mean," then stopped short as he realized Hanzo was yanking his belt off impatiently. He jerked his robe open, his chest and shoulders suddenly bare. There were red marks where McCree’s fingers had dug into the white skin of Hanzo's pecs, some hidden by the tattoo on his left side.

McCree hissed out a few curses through his teeth and lost his voice, breath, and train of thought entirely.

"Again," Hanzo snapped, the lovely robe fell to the dusty stone behind him. Half naked and looking intimidatingly focused and hungry, Hanzo crowded back in close. "Leave your marks on me."

"Shit Hanzo," McCree shut his eyes with a startled little breath as Hanzo took McCree’s wrists and tugged his hands from the wall.

"Again," Hanzo whispered against McCree's mouth, and tugged McCree’s hands against his chest again.

McCree managed to take a breath, pushed his hands against Hanzo’s pecs with a sigh and kissed him, leaning into it with his mouth open, letting Hanzo bully him back against the wall. Hanzo’s hands tightened around his wrist until McCree got the message and squeezed, and Hanzo gave a small groan that went straight up into McCree’s open mouth. Impulsively, McCree tipped his hips forward, grinding against Hanzo and felt Hanzo’s hands tightened on his wrists as though by accident. Then Hanzo loosed McCree’s wrists, and reached down between them to wrap both hands around McCree’s dick.

The kiss went hot and messy and dirty then, McCree whined softly into Hanzo’s mouth with every stroke. He realized he was moving in short desperate little thrusts into Hanzo’s hands and with an effort, stopped himself. Hanzo grunted and rubbed one thumb over the flushed, weeping head of his dick and McCree broke the kiss with a start.

“Hanzo,” He didn’t have anything to add to that, but shuddered out a pathetic little sigh and stroked down Hanzo’s chest. He settled his hands over Hanzo’s hips and griped tight enough to feel Hanzo shudder.

McCree could feel Hanzo’s smile when Hanzo kissed him again, his hands gentle on the length of his dick and still so taut and tense and focused on him McCree felt awed. He stroked down Hanzo's back, hands flat on the smooth skin, pressing him in and cupping the curves of muscle. When he reached the edge of Hanzo's pants, he hesitated for an instant, and Hanzo growled up into his mouth.

McCree smiled down into the kiss, and slipped his mismatched hands down under the edge of Hanzo's pants and over the hot skin of Hanzo's ass and squeezed.

Hanzo groaned, arched impulsively and broke the kiss to gasp in a breath. "Your hands are so..." He broke off, biting his lip with his eyes shut as McCree squeezed again.

"Well you know what they say about a man with big..." McCree said, watching Hanzo's expression with dawning joy.

"Yes," Hanzo cut him off adroitly, eyes still closed and somewhat breathless. He tightened both hands on McCree's dick for emphasis. "I do."

McCree just grinned again, and huffed out a breathless little laugh, and pulled Hanzo into him as he rolled his hips up, grinding the two of them together.

This time, Hanzo swore, losing his English for the occasion and pushing his forehead into McCree's shoulder with an angry little huff.

"Darlin," McCree said gently, "I'm leaving bruises, Hanzo, leave some on me."

Then McCree shut up with a brief bitten off cry when Hanzo bit him, hard, right at the junction of his neck and shoulder. McCree's dick jerked against Hanzo's hands. His head automatically tipped away from Hanzo, baring his neck. He realized he'd stopped breathing and managed a gasp. Hanzo was not, McCree remembered dimly, someone who did anything by half measure.

Hanzo's bite loosened infinitesimally, until the mouthful of skin and muscle was just held in his teeth, and kept one hand on McCree's dick while the other tugged open the ties to his pants. Then Hanzo's dick, startlingly hot and wet and hard kissed against McCree's and Hanzo eased the bite and released McCree's shoulder and spat into his hand.

“Getting tired Gunslinger?" Hanzo pressed a kiss into the blur of pain and heat where he'd bitten.

McCree found he could breath again, dropped his forehead to Hanzo's shoulder, and managed a long shaky breath as Hanzo wrapped both his hands around both their lengths, and gave a slow, tortuous stroke. McCree kept his eyes shut and tried to keep breathing as Hanzo gently kissed and licked and nipped at the bite, and his hands stoked slow and wet and lazy and tight.

"Not a chance." McCree murmured.

He tipped Hanzo's hips up again, lifting him slightly and pulling him a little more firmly in. The sunshine was hot on his hair, and the breeze didn't reach them in the little walled off corral. Their skin was slick with sweat where they touched.

Hanzo turned his head and McCree turned back into him, kissing him hard, pushing him for a half second until Hanzo pushed back. His hands were slick and tight between them, ridiculously strong archer's hands pacing their time together, hard and slow. That same exquisite care. The patience of a sniper making it last. Because apparently now that it was happening, Hanzo was willing to take his time.

McCree tried to keep himself from making too many soft, pathetic little noises, but it didn’t really matter, since every unintended whine and moan and prayer and whimper went straight into Hanzo’s open mouth, and he swallowed them all and just pushed up into the kiss like a reassurance. They were here, they’d made it here, it was happening and it was good .

They broke for air gasping a little while later, sweaty in the sunshine. McCree's hands gripping and squeezing at Hanzo's ass, pulling him up and in, while Hanzo panted with his eyes shut. His mouth was beside McCree's, scowling slightly in concentration as his hands moved between them.

"Darlin this ain't the only time we do this, right?" McCree gasped.

"It’s the first time, not the last Jesse," Hanzo replied with enough certainty you could have bent iron around his conviction.

McCree caught his breath and let out a tiny, totally justifiable little whimper as Hanzo gently ran his thumb over the weeping head of his dick. "Never called me Jesse before," he managed.

"I was never able to touch your dick either, but I've wanted to do both for sometime," Hanzo's voice was pitched low and McCree groaned.

"Yeah, well good, that’s alright then," McCree whispered stupidly, "You got me, all of me, anything you want."

Hanzo, unbelievably, huffed out a sudden little sigh that seemed somehow relieved, like McCree had answered something he hadn't dared ask. "I'm sorry," He said, and kissed the edge of McCree's ear.

"No, nothing to be... Why're you?" McCree couldn't string words together anymore. Hanzo’s dick, pushed against his in the tight, slick circle of Hanzo's ridiculously strong hands was driving him way past rationality.

"The bite, I didn't intend," Hanzo broke off with a shudder as McCree's hands tightened on his ass. Too tight, the grip had to be too tight, he was going to bruise.

"Shit, that," McCree shuddered. "That's alright, more than alright, hell, please Hanzo, do that again."

Hanzo turned his head with a startled little moan and then his mouth was open over McCree's shoulder again, and for one breathless little moment, McCree knew exactly what was going to happen. Then Hanzo bit into his shoulder, just hard enough to hold him, and McCree's head fell to the side and he cried out before he could stop himself, and came hard between their sweaty, shuddering bodies. He was dimly aware of Hanzo stroking him through it, and of losing control entirely and pulling Hanzo up bodily and holding him too hard. He felt more than heard Hanzo groan, felt Hanzo's thighs on either side of his hips, then Hanzo shuddered and another hot, wet rush filled the narrow space between them. Hanzo moaned a string of Japanese into the bite on his shoulder.

McCree was sitting on the dusty, sun-bleached ground when he managed to open his eyes, his hands gently cupping Hanzo's ass, head nuzzled against Hanzo's temple. Hanzo was straddling McCree’s thighs again, lying panting and gratifyingly boneless over McCree's chest, hands pressed flat and sticky to McCree's stomach.

"You were right, I was absolutely not able to stand on my own," McCree managed, giving credit where it was due. His eyes were still shut and his mouth open as he panted with the sun on his face.

"I knew you'd fall," Hanzo didn't sound particularly upset about it.

"Sure," Then because McCree was already grinning and unable to stop himself, "You mean I fell for you Hanzo."

Hanzo just groaned and shook his head, forehead tucked into McCree's shoulder.

McCree managed a breathless little chuckle, and gently stroked up Hanzo's back, "Think I bruised you pretty bad there darlin'," He murmured apologetically.

"Good, we're even," Hanzo huffed a little sigh and kissed the second bite.

McCree's dick twitched between them and Hanzo gave a snort of laughter.

"Jesse," Hanzo started, then apparently didn't know how to go on. McCree felt him shift a little uneasily against him.

His dark hair was hot from the sunshine when McCree stroked one hand over the top of Hanzo's head, gently drawing him back to look at him.

"I meant all that darlin', you can keep me, long as you'll have me," McCree studied Hanzo's flushed face. The oddly endearing, ever-present scowl looked a little lost until it was gone suddenly, and Hanzo smiled at him.

"I like when you call me Jesse," McCree murmured, smiling right back while the unbelievable happiness welled up in his chest.

Hanzo nodded, his sleek, sunshine-hot hair shifting under McCree's hand with the gesture. McCree realized he'd fallen still and stroked Hanzo's hair again.

"No one calls you Jesse," Hanzo replied quietly.

"McCree seemed a little more grown up when I was a kid lying about my age," McCree gave a lopsided little grin, "It stuck."

Hanzo nodded quietly. He was a little above him like this, and kissed gently down against McCree's bruised mouth.

It was just like the last time. But in the sunshine instead of a storm, and tasting each other instead of apples. They both lingered over the kiss, their hearts still beating too fast and their sweat still hot. Hanzo ran his hands lightly through the hair over McCree's stomach and McCree started and broke the kiss gasping.

"Tickles," He gasped, flushing.

Hanzo snorted another little laugh and stroked up McCree's chest, over the hair and scars, then back down.

McCree just sighed happily, and pressed his face down, kissing Hanzo's chest and pausing there, sucking slightly on the skin and feeling Hanzo's heartbeat on his lips and tongue. Hanzo was bruised, McCree noticed when he pulled back a little, the marks his fingers had left were already darkening.

"Come on," Hanzo murmured, nuzzling against McCree's temple and stroking down his sides, "It's time."

Together, they picked up their scattered clothing and neither bothered to put them on, but walked together along the stone pathway to the base where they dumped their clothes unceremoniously in the cool breezy shade of the circular fort. Neither asked, nor hesitated, but together they went to the showers and shared the same little stone cubicle, washing each other and sharing gentle, impulsive wordless little kisses. They quietly stroked each other’s wet skin under the shower and rubbed apologetic little circles where they'd left marks on each other.

They would be going back to Gibraltar tomorrow, they'd be back to active duty again, back to the simulated battles and the busy, crowded, exciting life on the Watchpoint. For now they kissed slow and easy as the shower slowly ran to cold, barely bothering with towels and pausing only to pull some loose shorts on. They left wet footprints on the stone floor of the ancient fort as McCree led Hanzo to the courtyard, overrun with grapevines and a old shaggy olive tree. They lay on the shady hammock in the courtyard, Hanzo lying on top of McCree with their arms around each other for the rest of the hot afternoon, gazing at the olive tree and dozing through the hottest part of the day together.

"Thanks Hanzo," McCree murmured hours later, feeling boneless and drunk with happiness. He couldn't stop stroking the curve of Hanzo's back. The two bite marks, one on either shoulder, were aching and it felt like a benediction whenever Hanzo kissed one of them.

"For what?" Hanzo was half asleep, hair loose and mostly dry over his shoulders and McCree's chest.

McCree gave a little half shrug, "Comin' around," McCree said. Keeping me, he thought.

"I'll keep you," Hanzo murmured with a little smiled and his eyes still shut, "You're my fare Jesse."

McCree smiled, and tightened his arms a little over Hanzo.