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Not That I'm Complaining

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Jesse was mighty proud of this one. Gabe had trusted him, made him his right hand man for this job, and the whole thing went off without a hitch. It took most of Blackwatch and no small number of Overwatch good guys, but they brought the Shimada-gumi to its knees in one quick, devastating blow. Now Jesse just had to oversee the cleanup, figure out who went where.

That part went smooth enough. Gabe gave him a good breakdown anyway: put the bigwigs in international custody, give the rest to the feds but not the local police. The Shimadas had owned them for decades already. Jesse owed some Shimada traitors a deal, but Gabe had cleared that too, didn’t see why a couple of straight up ninjas couldn’t be a part of Blackwatch. It was a better fate than prison, Jesse suspected. He couldn’t know for sure; he had taken the same deal years ago in the hopes he never would.

It was all smooth sailing until Khemiri flagged him down, told him Jesse, personally, might have a problem. The sons were asking to speak with him, and Khemiri was real squirrely about it. Jesse sighed, determined then and there that if either of these punks fucked up his chance to show Gabe what he could do, he was just gonna shoot them.

He stomped into the room, and, well, he might feel a little anxious and a little angry and a little cocky, but he was also a hot-blooded man. The sight of the two of them on their knees was a pretty one. Both had their hands up by their heads, elbows out, the picture of surrender. But Jesse knew better, had read their files. These two were a couple of murderous assholes, just like their daddy and the whole rest of their clan. They probably had a dozen ways to kill him all mapped out in their heads already.

The one on the left gave him a sharp, toothy smile. “Whose dick do I have to suck to cut a deal around here?” Of course he spoke perfect English. Jesse moved closer, took a look at the light sheen of sweat on his skin, the massive pupils. “Please tell me it’s yours, cowboy,” he crooned, gave Jesse the bedroom eyes. Green hair, drugged up, filthy mouth; this must’ve been the baby brother.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Green-hair pouted at him. “Ain’t how it works.”

“But you did cut a deal,” said the one on his right. This was the older one then. He had a low, rough voice that made Jesse’s insides curl up nice and warm. Unlike his brother, he looked completely sober, had eyes that could cut right though a man. Even on his knees and surrounded by agents, he looked like he was the one in charge. It rubbed Jesse all wrong in more than a few senses. “We will provide our services to your organization in exchange for our freedom.”

Jesse snorted, looked him right in the eye. “Will you now?”

“Are you not a man of your word?” One imperious brow raised at him, coupled with a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Jesse stopped short then, stared hard at him. Their informant had been masked, but he’d had a low voice, had the same coffee-colored eyes, a fan of lashes so dark Jesse’d thought he was wearing makeup. And that piercing was pretty distinctive; he remembered dents on the informant’s nose where he might have removed it. “I am that,” Jesse said, suddenly uneasy. “What’d I tell you to say?”

That sly mouth curled slow into a little smirk, and he dropped his voice lower. “I’m your huckleberry,” he said in a passable imitation of Jesse’s drawl. Someone behind Jesse burst into laughter.

“Son of a bitch.” Gabe was gonna kill him.

 


 

The long and the short of it was that Blackwatch got played. The Shimada-gumi got played. Jesse specifically got played. But Gabe honored the deal anyway, said if the brothers didn’t pan out there was no shame in shooting them. Jesse was reasonably sure he wasn’t serious, but there was always that chance with Gabe.

Jesse didn’t even really get chewed out for it, got nothing more than a quick lecture on screening his informants better. He would’ve, too, if he hadn’t been so greedy with how juicy the intel was, how quick and easy the mission could go with that kinda detail. And it had been quick and easy, had worked out just like the guy had said, except for the whole “I’m really the heir to this criminal empire” reveal.

Gabe did get around to punishing him a little though: he made it Jesse’s job to acclimate their new agents. Jesse’d been through both sides of it before, sort of. It might have just been a good idea, another responsibility to test Jesse’s resolve, but just like he was pretty sure Gabe wouldn’t actually kill the Shimadas, he was pretty sure it was meant as some kinda lesson. Either way, it meant Gabe still trusted him enough to handle it. Gabe also didn’t seem to care much if Jesse got stabbed in the process.

Both Shimadas, out of their home and traditional get-ups, turned out to be some real hipster types. They had a lot of clothes, a lot of piercings, and some wildass tattoos. Jesse was a confident man, and he knew he was good-looking, but he had nothing on guys from that kind of money. They were the sort of clean and shiny handsome that just oozed a wealthy background, no matter how much they dressed like shitty punks. It made a lot of folks uneasy; the style wasn’t the problem, but most folks in Blackwatch had humbler beginnings. Maybe they weren’t all exactly like Jesse, but they were a lot farther removed from the Shimadas.

Genji had some trouble when they first arrived, got real edgy for a while when he came down, a little moody when he realized that shit wouldn’t fly in Blackwatch. He bounced back quick, though, seemed weirdly excited by the new adventure. He was friendly enough, and the other agents liked him, thought he was funny. Nobody really trusted a guy like Genji right away, but they’d laugh at his jokes and let him in on card games. He tried to cheat, but that just made him fit in easier; half the game in Blackwatch was learning to cheat without getting caught.

Hanzo, though, didn’t fit quite so well. They had plenty of types like him in Blackwatch, folks who kept to themselves, didn’t show much trust or make many friends, who always looked a bit suspicious of their company. Hard part was that having those traits in common meant people like that didn’t talk to each other. It was harder still when he looked like that and carried himself like a prince among peasants. Jesse wasn’t the only one to notice. When folks were bored and felt like gossip, Hanzo’s superior attitude made for easy fodder.

There was other talk, too, about him and Genji both. It made sense. Jesse’d been on the receiving end himself, saw it both toward and from new recruits all the time. They were all stuck in here together, most of them young. Cabin fever and hormones made it hard not to notice when someone was good-looking, and Hanzo was hot in a way that was almost unreal. Genji too, but Genji didn’t make himself untouchable, flirted right back with anyone and everyone, and folks got used to him.

Jesse, as their dubiously-chosen guide to Blackwatch, was more welcome than most, though with Hanzo that meant only that Jesse could get within five feet and not get a look that said he might get murdered. In the rec room today, Genji waved Jesse over where the two of them were playing cards. He joined, and he was followed by Ford, who seemed to take the invitation as a free-for-all. Jesse watched him cozy up to Hanzo, and he wondered. Jesse wasn’t real worried about Ford getting real far, but Jesse eyed him anyway, wondered if Hanzo’s tastes ran to tall or blond or men at all. Jesse suspected they might at least include men, but he had no real information to work with beyond a gut feeling and maybe a little wishful thinking.

Ford sat down on the floor between Jesse and Hanzo, like he’d been invited all along. Hanzo looked unimpressed, which on his face looked a lot like he was considering whether you were worth the effort to kill. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” Ford said in his posh British accent. Khemiri swore it was fake, but Jesse’s ear wasn’t that well trained.

Ford tried a smile, and Hanzo only stared back until Genji took pity on the guy. Or schemed up some way to fuck with him. Jesse was still trying to figure out how to tell with him. “Genji. This is my brother, Hanzo.”

“William Ford.” He looked sideways at Jesse, like he expected Jesse to help him out. “McCree, I’m offended you never introduced us. I thought we were friends.” Jesse snorted. He couldn’t help it. He was friendly enough with a lot of Blackwatch, but he and Ford weren’t pals by any stretch of the imagination.

Hanzo looked at Ford, gave him a quick up and down, and Jesse tried not to find it too interesting. Ford straightened his shoulders, didn’t seem to mind at all that he was being sized up. Then Hanzo said only, “No,” and he looked back at his cards.

Jesse tried not to laugh at the look on Ford’s face. He wondered how often anybody turned a guy like that down. Ford still tried it. “I don’t believe I asked a question.”

Hanzo didn’t even look at him, just stared at his cards like something smelled bad. Genji snickered. The silence went on a tick before Jesse said, “Not sure that much matters, friend. Answer’s no.” Inside, Jesse felt a little smug. He leaned closer to Ford, conspiratorial, and gave him a stage whisper. “He’s a real life ninja. Don’t think you wanna risk makin’ him repeat himself.”

Ford looked at Jesse, and something on his face made Jesse feel like squirming. “I see. I’ll be off then.”

Genji was smirking to himself, and he dealt Jesse in. Hanzo smirked too. If Jesse’s eyes didn’t deceive him, Hanzo seemed to peek over his cards at Jesse, just a quick glance before he went back to them. Jesse held his breath and went back over the mission briefs in his mind, all the suspected kills. It didn’t help as much as it should.

 


 

Training with the Shimadas was real revealing. They started in the shooting range, a little squad of agents with Reyes himself barking orders. One at a time, each squad member stepped up to the plate, took on a few stationary targets, then randomized moving ones, obstacles flying in the way. Jesse usually found these boring. He knew he was a hell of a shot, and he didn’t see the point in training standing in one place. He’d told Gabe as much, but Gabe had just muttered something about resources and funding that Jesse found real understimulating. Today, though, he got to see Hanzo and Genji shoot for the first time. He figured a couple of yakuza ought to be good with a gun, but both shot with an accuracy that made his head swim a little. Gabe read out the scores, starting with the lowest. The surprise came when he listed Genji and Hanzo in third and second place. Jesse was on top as usual, with a near perfect 348. Several of the squad rolled their eyes at him, but it didn’t pass by anybody that Hanzo was only two points behind. He could feel Hanzo’s eyes on him.

“You mad you got beat?” Jesse asked with a grin.

“No.” Hanzo didn’t elaborate on it, just pinned him in place with a look. Jesse felt a little like a dog, ready to roll over and show him his belly. It was a funny thought, and it made the back of his neck get hot.

“Did a good job. Most folks don’t get within 20 points of me.” Jesse resisted the urge to puff out his chest, mostly. He saw Khemiri roll her eyes.

“McCree, you’re on cleanup. Quit gloating and get to work,” Gabe barked. Jesse did as he was told, but he could feel eyes on him the whole time.

Hand-to-hand didn’t go quite as well. He got Ford down to the mat and finally into a nasty submission, but it was hard won, got him sweaty enough that he had to claw his shirt off when it was done just to breathe right. Hanzo and Genji were still going, long after everyone else had been made to get off the mat. Gabe was smart to pair them together, because any of the rest of them would’ve gotten knocked flat on their ass by either of those two. The rest of the squad turned into an audience, watching them together. It almost looked like they were dancing. And normally, they didn’t look a whole lot alike, save for those eyebrows, but while they fought they had a pair of matching, fierce grins, seemed to be talking shit to each other in their own tongue. This was fun for them. Jesse wondered if they were holding back, if this was some kind of exercise routine. Then Hanzo whipped out a hand, so fast Jesse almost didn’t follow, and Genji dropped flat on his back. Genji was totally still for a second, and the whole room tensed up until they heard Genji’s wheezing laughter.

“Dirty!” Genji cried out, rubbing his chest. He wheezed there on the ground for a moment, then Hanzo helped him up, said something to him in Japanese that made Genji laugh again.

These weren’t scored the way the others were, but Hanzo had still beat everybody in the room and knew it. He looked right at Jesse with a smug smirk, and Jesse felt it like an electric bolt, something that shot through every nerve and straight to his dick. It froze him in place, let both Shimadas walk up to him with his brain busy trying to relocate to somewhere well below his skull.

“Mad that you got beaten?” Hanzo asked, mocking him with his own words. His cheeks were a little pink with exertion, but he had barely even broken a sweat. Jesse felt sorta self-conscious about it, could feel how bad he needed a shower with the sweat drying tacky on his skin.

“Not at all,” he said, happy his voice still worked just fine. “Was a hell of a show.” Genji laughed at that, but he was still rubbing his chest like it’d hurt something fierce. “’Sides, I won mine,” he added with a smile, felt the need to brag a little.

Hanzo’s eyes flicked over him, just a quick look, and he still had that haughty, unimpressed expression, but Jesse felt his whole body go hot anyway. “Hm. It shouldn’t have been difficult, given the partner.”

Jesse’s gut told him a lot of things, most of them unhealthy. He went with it this time. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweats, felt them droop lower on his hips, and he saw Hanzo glance down. Caught him. “You sayin’ I need a challenge?”

Hanzo’s eyes glittered. “I’d have you on your back in less than a minute.”

Jesse grinned, made sure it was nice and slow the way he’d been told people liked. “I bet you would, darlin’.” He still couldn’t tell, entirely, if he was about to get the shit beat outta him, but he went for it anyway. “Wouldn’t mind that a bit.” Beside him, Genji choked on another laugh.

After sparring came more training sims, this one a team effort with weapons of choice. They were stuck into teams by names drawn from a hat, fairest way to do it, but a small part of Jesse still felt bad for the other team. Hanzo was formidable, but between Jesse, Genji and Khemiri, he figured his red team would have this in the bag.

He took down Dinh first, caught the guy trying to sneak up on Khemiri’s perch. Genji’d disappeared but cackled into the comm in his ear right before the computer chimed another two kills for their team. Jesse didn’t wanna be on the receiving end to find out, but he did wanna know how Genji did it, running around with some dulled, mismatched swords in a room full of guns.

“Shit, they have a sniper, too,” Khemiri announced, right before the comp announced her death. Genji cackled again while Jesse moved for cover, trying to track the angle from Khemiri’s last location. The sniper took down two more of their team before Jesse found him. Hanzo was perched way up in the rafters, and God only knew how he got there. He hadn’t seen Jesse yet, but Jesse saw Genji monkeying his way up a straight fucking wall. Hanzo started to turn toward Genji — it figured he knew his brother well enough — and Jesse took aim, watched the red sight of his little laser gun lock in right on Hanzo’s head.

Jesse pulled the trigger, and Hanzo looked down at him offended as the computer announced his death. Jesse saluted him and winked. “Gotcha.”

They cleaned up after, and Genji swung an arm around Jesse. The tally at the end gave Hanzo the most individual kills, but it didn’t matter when their whole team died. Hanzo still looked offended, and the blue team suffered a lecture on working together. “A sniper’s no good if his team’s dying around him,” Gabe growled, and it wasn’t clear if the talk was meant for Hanzo or the blind idiots who’d let Genji and Jesse get close enough to take him down.

Jesse didn’t gloat at him this time. Genji was doing plenty for the both of them. “Isn’t Jesse sweet? He avenged me after your cheap shot!” Jesse snorted at the glare Hanzo directed at his brother. Genji only smiled wider, the only person truly immune to Hanzo’s poisonous looks.

Hanzo’s look at Jesse wasn’t really so bad in comparison. It looked like he was considering something. “I didn’t see you coming,” he said finally. It wasn’t a compliment, not really, but Jesse didn’t know how else he was supposed to take it.

After, they were all sent to the showers. Jesse might’ve ended up at the stall right next to Hanzo’s entirely on purpose, might’ve dragged his shirt back off slow as he could just to see what would happen. Hanzo didn’t seem bothered. He didn’t even look at him this time, just stripped right down like Jesse wasn’t even there and stepped inside. Jesse let the water run hot as it could and filed away for later the peek he’d gotten at Hanzo’s downright incredible ass. He didn’t have the luxury of lingering on it, not here in the communal showers, but he did make sure to parade around in nothing but a towel after for as long as he could get away with just to see what Hanzo would do.

At dinner he caught Genji eating alone, and he sat with him but didn’t ask after Hanzo. Genji picked at a mound of mashed potatoes, watching it drip from his fork back into the mushy pile with a strange sort of fascination. Jesse shoveled his own down with ease, and Genji turned that fascinated look on him.

“What?” He asked.

“The food doesn’t bother you?”

Jesse shrugged. He didn’t feel much like explaining to Genji that three square meals a day was more than he’d had before Deadlock, before Blackwatch especially. But he figured a rich kid like this might be pickier. “It’s not bad. Sorry it ain’t gourmet, princess.”

Genji snorted. “I suppose beggars can’t be choosers,” he said. “Still.” He demonstrated his point by picking up his fork with one eyebrow raised, and Jesse watched the thin gruel fall back down with a wet plop.

Jesse laughed. It was funny, but it was also hard to have much pity, knowing where Genji came from. The luxury of a refined palate had been bought with blood. “Just wait til you try MREs.” Genji looked confused, but he ate and didn’t complain about it again. There was something a little off, and Jesse couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It didn’t seem like he was in a bad mood, but Genji’s usual energy was a little toned down. Jesse almost liked him like this. “You’re quiet. Tired from the trainin’?”

“No,” Genji said, smiling. “You look tired, though.”

“Nothin’ a little beauty sleep won’t cure.”

Genji snorted. “You will need a great deal of it if that’s the purpose.”

Jesse laughed. “Aw, shucks. Here I was, thinkin’ you had eyes.” Genji didn’t take the bait to tease him again. Weird as shit, Jesse decided. Genji teased everybody, flirted with anything with a pulse, and probably omnics too. “Where’s your brother?” Jesse asked, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

“Probably sneaking off to find much better food,” Genji said.

“And he ain’t gonna share? Rude as hell, if you ask me.”

“We don’t share everything,” Genji said with a funny look, like Jesse was supposed to catch some meaning.

They finished their meal with a little banter, and Jesse decided to have some mercy and explain to Genji that complaining about free food wasn’t going to endear him to most of the Blackwatch crew. Genji took it in with a surprising amount of seriousness, seemed to actually reflect on how different his life had been from most of the people here. He didn’t say much about it, but he implied too that maybe he and Hanzo’d had a reason to sell out their clan; Jesse figured he could be more charitable, stop thinking of it only as rich versus poor, if Genji was willing to see others’ hardships too.

Hanzo never did show up, and Jesse eventually excused himself, went back to his room. He had more than others here too, he supposed. Blackwatch didn’t have the kinda military chain of command that Overwatch did, mostly operated on seniority. But Jesse’d been around since the start, had somehow managed to stay in Gabe’s good graces most of the time, and it meant a room of his own instead of sharing space with a bunch of others.

It afforded him privacy, a luxury few Blackwatch folks had, and he used it well. Or well enough, by his estimation. He lay on his bed and thought about the way he’d caught Hanzo’s eyes flicking over him, thought about the glimpse of that damn near perfect ass, and he took himself in hand. He thought about Hanzo’s eyes, hot as they’d been in that ninja get-up, back when he’d met him and thought he was just a guard.

“How do I know this ain’t some trap?” he’d asked, and Hanzo had looked him over.

“You will have to trust,” he had said. The rest hadn’t happened, but Jesse imagined it anyway. Hanzo gave him another look, long and measuring. “I must be off,” he said, and turned toward the window he’d come in.

Jesse grabbed him, pushed his hard cock right up against him from behind. “The fuck do you think you’re goin’?”

Hanzo gasped and went stiff in his arms, but he pushed his hips back like he just couldn’t help himself. “You think you can manhandle me like this?”

He turned his head, glared back at Jesse with those sharp, glittering eyes. “I think you’re gonna let me,” he growled, gave another rough thrust of his hips and snaked his hand into Hanzo’s pants, found him already hard.

Hanzo made a sweet, desperate sound, caught rocking between Jesse’s hand and Jesse’s cock against him. Jesse got him good and worked up, and Hanzo gasped so good for him, shoved his pants down to expose himself, spread his legs wide. “Please, Jesse, please.”

Jesse gave him what he wanted. He didn’t even have to prep him, just slid right into his willing body. Hanzo moaned loud, body open and welcoming like Jesse belonged there, came right in Jesse’s hand just from that, but he still pushed back, practically writhed on Jesse’s cock. “Please, Jesse,” he gasped again. Jesse fucked into him, and Hanzo spurred him on, babbling on about how huge he was, how he filled him up just right, felt like nothing he’d ever had before. Jesse’s toes curled and he felt fire in his spine and he came all over his own stomach.

Son of a bitch, he thought. It turned into a nightly feature, all variations of the same: Hanzo squirming on his dick all needy and sweet about it, Jesse getting off harder than he had to his own hand in a long time. Afterward, every time, a thin curl of shame sat in his stomach. Hanzo wouldn’t be the first or likely last teammate Jesse’d fantasized about, but he was the most out of character in Jesse’s fantasies, desperate and begging at the first touch of Jesse’s hands, nothing at all like the prickly asshole he was in real life. And that got Jesse to wondering how he would act, if it were real, and that was the real danger.

He suffered through it for a full week and a half, though he figured he held up well enough under the pressure, talked to Hanzo same as he always had: mostly straightforward, sometimes with a little swagger when he noticed Hanzo looking back. He wondered if Hanzo could tell what kind of stupid shit went on in Jesse’s head.

A team came back from a recon mission. It meant it was time to celebrate a job well done and try not to think about the agent they lost. Gabe went to bed early, “forgot” to lock the rec room and pretended not to notice them smuggling in the alcohol. Genji was downright delighted, if his tongue down Khemiri’s throat was any indication. If Hanzo was put off by catching his brother necking with a coworker, he didn’t show it. Not like Genji and Khemiri were the only ones. Jesse wasn’t real worried about her either. She wasn’t the sort to get attached or take it for anything more than drunken celebration in the morning.

Hanzo was kind of cute when he’d been drinking, Jesse thought, then immediately kicked himself. Hanzo wasn’t drunk, not like his brother, but he had some color in his cheeks and wasn’t quite glaring at everyone the way he usually did. “Havin’ a good time?” Jesse asked.

Hanzo turned to him, eyes still way too sharp for Jesse’s liking. “That is a very stupid hat,” he said. Jesse was a little offended. He liked his hat, thanks very much. Before he could defend the thing’s honor, Hanzo said, “You look better without it.”

And well. It wasn’t a declaration of intent, but Jesse could work with it. “Yeah? Let’s see how you look in it.” Hanzo looked at him with some skepticism. “I dare you.”

Delightfully, Hanzo rose to the bait, and maybe that was a sign that he’d indeed had a lot to drink. He yanked it off Jesse’s head and set it down on his own, and Jesse wanted to laugh about how utterly it didn’t suit him, but it got stuck in his throat on a remembered fantasy of Hanzo doing just that while he bounced on Jesse’s dick. “Cat got your tongue?” Hanzo asked, trying to be funny and drawl like Jesse again.

“It ain’t your best look,” Jesse said, pushing past the lump in his throat.

Hanzo took it off and smoothed a hand over his hair. “You should have it back. No one should have to suffer your hat hair.” Jesse took it, straightened it out on his head. It gave him something to think about other than the head full of dirty fantasies. He also took a long pull from his flask, sure he wasn’t gonna get through this without it. “Do they always celebrate so?”

Jesse looked out at the room, at the people hollering over a drunken card game, somebody building a tower out of beer cans, but he figured Hanzo meant the heathens making out in the corners. “It ain’t uncommon. Why, you lookin’ for someone to celebrate with?” He closed some of the space between them, wondering how far he could push it.

Hanzo cut his eyes at him. “If I were, I would say so.”

It stung a little, but Hanzo hadn’t outright told him to get lost. “Nobody catchin’ your eye, then?”

“I have not yet decided whether they are worth my time.”

And wasn’t that a thing to say? Jesse felt a surge of confidence he probably didn’t earn, and he decided to risk it. He put his hand on the small of Hanzo’s back, ducked his head to get closer to his ear. “And what would this person have to do to persuade you?” Hanzo didn’t react at all, didn’t even tense his muscles, much less melt into him and start begging to get dicked down. But he didn’t stab Jesse either, didn’t even pull away, and Jesse’d call that a win.

“Be sober, for one,” Hanzo said, then turned to look at Jesse, seemingly unaffected by Jesse hovering so close to him.

Jesse sucked in a breath. He couldn’t fulfill that right now, exactly, but Hanzo seemed to be implying that maybe some other time, he could. Jesse felt heat creep up the back of his neck. “Yeah? And what else?”

Hanzo didn’t say anything else, just met his eye with a flat, even stare, and Jesse didn’t know if that was the answer or if he wasn’t gonna get one.