“Han?” Jesse slows his hips, presses a hand to Hanzo’s face. Tries to guide him into eye-contact. “You okay?”
“Yes.” Hanzo is holding up his thighs, spread and lovely, but his neck is twisted something terrible. Cheekbone smashed into the pillow like he wants to bury his face. Ignoring Jesse’s imploring touch. “Keep going.”
The cowboy obeys. He doesn’t know what else to do. He’s only been fucking Hanzo for a few months and most of their interactions involved even fewer words than this. Their lives move fast. No time for long, poetic romances; no patience for games. Even now, as they lay on an air mattress in a small cabin in the middle of the forest, they are hunted. Like Jesse said when they got to this hideout, blowing smoke towards the window but staying out of its view: been a long time since anything felt aimless.
But as the look on Hanzo’s face goes from displeased to uncomfortable, Jesse has to slow again. “You sure you’re okay?”
A growl of contempt, then Hanzo pushes his face even further into the pillow. “Yes, hurry up!”
Jesse stops altogether. “Alright,” he mutters, trying not to sound disappointed. “It’s okay.”
“Why are you stopping-–”
“It’s alright, Han, we don’t have to-–”
“I told you to keep going-–”
“I can’t keep it up with you looking like that–-”
“What is wrong with-–”
“Alright, just knock it off!”
Jesse slips off of Hanzo, breathing rapidly through his nostrils, mouth firm and pupils vibrating. He glares at Hanzo, who looks like a grown man who’s just been yelled at by the person fucking him.
He pushes Jesse out of the way with a snort. “Pathetic.”
“Hold up now,” Jesse brays, tugging off the condom and tossing it into the wastebasket.
“This was a bad idea.”
“I was relaxed.” Hanzo yanks on expensive sweatpants, then his kimono, glaring at nothing. “It’s you who cannot seem to perform a simple function.”
“A ‘function?’ Like I’m a set of gears or something?”
“I should’ve expected it.”
“What the fuck all has gotten your panties in such a twist?”
“We should go back to the way we did it before.”
“You ain’t even listening to me,” Jesse growls, gathering the blankets over his shoulders.
Hanzo stops. Jesse watches his back slowly rise and fall in careful, metered beats. Trying to control his breathing.
Did he strike a nerve? He can never tell what will get through to Hanzo and what won’t. But he's never had the wherewithal to keep track; no lover ever asked him to. He usually just takes things as they come and hopes it all sorts itself out. Worked out so far. No complaints, except they'd always take off eventually. Jesse always did seem to wind up with the most ornery of partners. Maybe he attracts those who would be borderline intolerable for less devil-may-care types. Or maybe he’s always enjoyed trying to break in stallions.
But these spats with Hanzo pop up more and more lately. It’d be easy enough to bounce, but Jesse doesn’t feel the urge to run like he usually would. Maybe because Hanzo is just that beautiful. Or maybe because he has nowhere better to go. Maybe he's getting old, wants something more solid. Maybe nothing.
When Hanzo turns, Jesse has already softened. His temper burns hot but goes out fast -– something he hopes that Hanzo has picked up on by now. He really can't stay mad at the guy. Not when he gets that little knot between his brows, like he's trying so hard, even though Jesse can't see just what the big deal is.
“No, I…” Hanzo straightens, tugs his kimono a little more closed, though it just falls open again. “I told you that I am not used to…”
“And I told you that you don’t have to bottom. Lord knows I like it enough. And, shit, y’know this ain’t the best time or place for it. ‘Specially if you ain’t done it too many times before.”
Hanzo clears his throat, still not looking at Jesse. “I want to.”
The cowboy looks at him for a hard moment, then lazily reaches for the half-cigar he left in an ashtray by the bed. He puffs and waits. Give Hanzo a moment to find his words and he will. Push him for answers and he’ll only lock up more. Just like a mustang.
“It was too fast.”
Jesse’s only just gotten the cigar going when he pulls it down from his mouth and gives Hanzo his raised brows. “Too fast? I could’a slowed down, Han.”
“In the beginning.”
“Oh.” He flashes back to the kissing, to slowly opening Hanzo up, to pushing inside him with his mouth rarely leaving Hanzo's lips. Jesse hadn’t even gotten past what he’d describe as a leisurely rocking when Hanzo started looking like he was close to a panic and clenching on him like a vice.
But Hanzo is clearly struggling to express himself, arms crossed and gaze still elsewhere, and Jesse hasn’t a clue as to how to help him.
The only thing that comes to mind is interrogation -- a gentle interrogation.
“Y’said you’d only bottomed once before?” Jesse takes another puff.
“When was that?”
Hanzo sighs. Sits beside Jesse on the bed’s edge, where the light through the translucent drapes scatters soft across his frowning profile. His words come out terse and dry, as if he'd rather get up and walk out of the cabin entirely than discuss his sexual history. “One of the brothers. Hiro.”
“Huh. Knew a Blackwatch agent named Hiro.”
Hanzo sighs again, another obvious attempt at self-management. “There are a million Hiro’s.” A pause. “It was the only time I went to his home. It was quick. I had eluded my guards and knew they would call him soon to ask about my whereabouts. It was not… pleasurable.”
Hanzo huffs. He looks at Jesse, too, and Jesse is relieved to see some affection mixed in with the discomfort.
“I was not permitted to see men. Did I tell you?”
Jesse’s eyes widen. “Seriously? This day and age?”
“It was practicality, not bigotry.”
“Don’t know about that.”
“Regardless… it was an unspoken rule. And I barely had the time to court women I was matched with, let alone seek something that could only ever be temporary.”
“You were the boss’s son. You’re tellin’ me you didn’t even get to pop bottles in a VIP section once in a blue moon?”
Hanzo half-smiles, but a shadow takes over. “Every leisure activity I pursued was for the benefit of the clan. Socializing with business partners. Participating in festivals or other public relations events. Enhancing existing ties and creating new ones. If I did do something for myself, it was encouraged that I…” Hanzo tosses his hand, a gesture Jesse only ever saw when he was struggling to translate a very Japanese concept into English. “It was understood that I would spend my personal time on approved activities. Training, with my family. Dates with women my parents chose. Anything else was considered a waste of time, a potential scandal, or worse -– an opportunity to blackmail the family.”
Not for the first time, Jesse finds himself struggling to relate to Hanzo’s experiences. No one ever gave a rat’s ass what he did with his spare time, let alone with his cock. If he’d had even the benefit of a concerned teacher or a distant relative who laid down some rules earlier on, he might’ve turned out a far different man, but he can’t even stretch his brain that far around. Deadlock’s rules never slowed him down. Even Blackwatch’s regulations never really kept him corralled, and boy, the second they tried -– the second his own personal will started scraping up against Reyes’s direction –- he was out of there with tires screeching.
He sits there and mouths his cigar and struggles to come up with something that will take that morose look off of Hanzo’s face. A joke? He seemed to like Jesse’s jokes, occasionally. Should they just call it a night and try again later? Something tells him that’s not a good idea. Like Hanzo might take this little crack in the wall and, with solitude and over-thinking, turn it into a breach.
Usually, this might be where he just calls it a day. Let the chips fall where they may. If Hanzo wants to go back to the way things were, that's fine. If he stays all twisted up about it, well -- there are other fish in the sea. Jesse's never really been good at figuring people out and helping, let alone with problems this big, this deep. Easier to just let it slide. Hanzo's a big boy. He can figure it out.
But something makes him stall. The cabin is quiet, remote -- as remote as either of them can get in this modern world. The breeze touches Hanzo's hair, makes it sway against his cheekbones. Jesse can't quite get himself to shrug it all off.
There's something else here, roping him down to earth. Something that wasn't there before.
Quickly, Jesse muses about his new lover: subtle, restrained, stubborn. Traditional. A master. Likes things the way he likes them, won’t accept less. Appreciates nature and old music and good bourbon. High-quality craftsmanship. Things that take time and effort and attention.
It was too fast.
Jesse sets the still-smoking cigar back on its ashtray. “C’mere.”
Hanzo looks up. He doesn’t move, so the cowboy scoots closer, the blanket falling from his shoulders.
“We don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna do.”
“But I do want to do…” Hanzo lowers his gaze again, visibly clenches his jaw. “…This.”
“Well, there ain’t no right or wrong way to this. Can go as slow or as fast as you want. Ain’t no timer on my table.” Jesse takes his natural hand and glides the knuckles up Hanzo’s tattooed arm, slow and light. “We’re safe here. Thirty-two whole hours' worth.”
“I know that,” Hanzo grouses again, though less rigid this time. Jesse can see his shoulders loosen just a bit, but it’s still as if he’s got a steel rod in his throat. Still defensive -– like he has something to lose. “I still want to try.”
Jesse tries very hard not to screw up his face again, as if squinting hard will help him figure out just what it is going on inside of Hanzo’s head. Wanting to ‘try’ means there’s a right and a wrong way to do a thing, and Jesse’s a hundred percent sure that Hanzo could twirl his hair for a couple hours and he’d consider it a successful night.
It never occurred to him that Hanzo might get nervous around him. What could Jesse possibly do to Hanzo?
Slowly, his hand goes to Hanzo’s shoulder. A chaste touch, like he’s working out a sore spot. Something he might do for a friend.
It’s a wonder he’s never touched Hanzo without intent to generate or dispel lust before. It feels right. Hanzo even loses some of that frown.
“I know I ain’t said it before, but, uh,” Jesse clears his throat again, goes fuzzy just from trying to get the right words in order, “I like being with you. Even when we ain’t knockin’ boots. We could order a pizza and watch shitty TV and I’d still be having a good time.”
Hanzo snorts, but the disbelief is only slight. He leans into Jesse’s hand when it comes up to his face, though he seems oddly disquieted by the experience. Both Hanzo and Genji didn’t seem like they grew up with any kind of regular physical affection -– shit, the first time Jesse’d hugged Genji, the guy flipped him onto his back -– but right now Jesse is fixated on getting Hanzo to know, really know, that he can’t do anything wrong in this scenario. That he can just be free.
But maybe that’s not what he needs.
Back in Blackwatch, Genji’s work ethic startled Jesse. He threw himself into simulations and regimens and tests from dawn until dusk. He worked his new body to its breaking point and then crashed in the common dorm without a word exchanged. Jesse brought it up to Gabe more than once. Said he didn’t think it was right, Gabe running the new guy ragged like that. Especially after all he’d been through. But Gabe just looked at Jesse in that semi-pitying way that he did and told him: Genji isn’t like you. He needs rules to feel free. Expectations he can meet and feel satisfied in accomplishing. Even when he was dicking around on his family’s dime, his life had more structure than you could ever imagine. If we don’t give him that now, the freedom could kill him.
When Jesse imagines how much worse it must be for Hanzo, and really looks at him, he can see just what a struggle it is for the guy to even bend towards Jesse’s offered hand. To simply sit with the touch after Jesse told him that he could do whatever he wanted. That permanent knot between his brow is starting to make a whole lot more sense.
Of course Hanzo would treat bottoming as some sort of task at which he can succeed or fail.
Poor guy. Jesse lowers his hand to Hanzo's hand and lifts it up to kiss the knuckles. A little bit of structure, some rules... that might be just what the archer needs.
So Jesse holds Hanzo’s face and gently tugs until their eyes lock. “There’s this, uh…” He keeps his voice low, husky, near-whispering: just how he knows Hanzo likes it. “There’s this thing I learned. First guy I was with tried it out with me. Back in Deadlock, we didn’t get much time or space for messin’ around. Always worried ‘bout the law, ‘specially out on the road. This thing… it got me to relax real well. Was real fun, too,” he adds with his most suggestive grin. He strokes down the side of Hanzo’s beard, gives his goatee a playful shake before he lets him go. “Wanna try it?”
Hanzo seems warmed by Jesse's attentions, but still hesitates. “What does it entail?”
“Well,” Jesse smiles and spreads his thighs, facing Hanzo more squarely on the bed; open, yielding. “I tell you something I want you to do, and then you do it. Then you tell me something you want me to do, and I do it. Doesn’t have to escalate, doesn’t have to follow no line. Could be I ask you, like,” he nudges Hanzo with his leg, “'Stroke up and down my thigh just a bit,' then could be you ask, 'Tell me something you like about my eyes.' Could be anything. I’ll put on the damn kettle if you ask me to.” Jesse raises a coy brow. “But you gotta do two things. One -– if you don’t wanna do what I ask, you gotta tell me so. Then I’ll pick another request. Two -– If you got no objections, you gotta do exactly what I say. No improvising. Think you can handle that?”
Hanzo scoffs, as if the mere question of him handling anything is absurd, and Jesse smiles. Fish on the hook. “Of course.”
“Alrighty.” Jesse sits up. “Gimme a kiss, then.” Then, feeling he might have made the first request too easy, he tags on, “Without using your hands.”
Hanzo appraises Jesse’s face and, with a look that warms the cowboy far more than he’d ever expect, seems to find something he likes there. Then he leans forward, closes his eyes and the press of their lips is so soft, so slow. So much like the first time: sea salt wind and whiskey breath and Hanzo high up on the comm tower with his scarf whipping just like the flimsy drapes that shield this soft little room. Jesse lifts both hands to hold Hanzo’s jaw, and Hanzo lifts his hands as well, then remembers and drops them again. Jesse uses the subtle advantage to tilt Hanzo's jaw, angle him slightly under Jesse, until Jesse's holding the back of his neck, almost cradling him. Something loosens in the archer's throat when he lets out a quiet moan, and Jesse moans back. Hanzo moves closer, but his hands stay still.
The room is so quiet that every little sound of their lips moving together is pronounced, undeniable. It gets Jesse going something fierce. But when Hanzo tries to add his tongue into the mix, he pulls away a little and responds with an even more chaste kiss.
Hanzo growls. Frustration in the archer isn’t cute; he’s known Hanzo to get dangerously demanding when he doesn’t get what he wants, or else to disappear entirely as he nearly did earlier.
But, for now, he is compliant. Jesse knows: he wants to complete his objective. He wants to do a good job.
When Jesse is satisfyingly kissed, Hanzo leans back, humming low in his chest like he’s just had something delicious. Flushed, sleepy-eyed, but expectant. Still ready to perform this game well.
But Jesse can see him struggling to figure out not only what he wants, but how to ask it from Jesse.
“You can also tell me,” the cowboy rumbles, brushing his nose against Hanzo’s nose, “To give you another request. If y'wanna.”
Hanzo’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but it passes as he re-focuses on Jesse’s lips. Jesse hopes he’s going to ask for more kisses, but then he mutters in that raspy, gloriously low voice: “lick my neck.”
Jesse smirks. He leans in slow, lets his beard graze the pale skin of Hanzo's throat before he places one, two, several kisses in a languid line. Then he re-traces that line with a drag of his tongue. Light, sensual mouthing, then deeper sucking on the racing pulse. Licking in-between the creases against the tendons. The space just under Hanzo's earlobe. Breathing against that handsome jaw.
He hears Hanzo let out a deep breath and tries not to pat himself on the back too much. It isn't hard to do -- what with Hanzo so close, so warm and obedient, smelling like he smells and groaning like he groans -- Jesse is rapidly forgetting why he started this whole game in the first place.
He leans back when he thinks he’s spent about as much time on Hanzo’s neck as they spent kissing. “Uh…” Jesse looks Hanzo’s torso up and down, fights to pull his thoughts together. Remember -- slow.
“Play with my hand.”
If Hanzo thinks the request is odd, he doesn’t show it. He takes Jesse’s natural hand in his own and squeezes the pads, smoothes down the fingers, slips his own in-between. He smiles as if at some private joke, then murmurs something about how he used to get massages like this after training. Sometimes during manicures. Jesse hums along, turning his hand under Hanzo’s direction, watches it for awhile. It feels real good. Takes the hot edge off his usually fire-like arousal, turns it into something more like a low boil.
And he watches Hanzo’s face. The undoing of his frown.
After a short while, Hanzo whispers, “Play with my hair.”
Jesse smiles wide. He takes Hanzo’s hair in both of his hands and pulls through the inky silk strands. Hanzo closes his eyes and leans even closer as Jesse strokes, gently scratches, gathers and releases the longest part of his hair. Watches it flow like water out of his loose grasp. Slow hands rub up and down the shaved sides, especially at the back of his neck, soft like the night-breeze through the window.
His efforts are rewarded with a sigh -– the kind of sigh he’s never heard from Hanzo before.
“I love your hair, honey,” Jesse sighs, unexpected even to himself. He feels pressure threaten as Hanzo’s eyes lift and widen; this is far beyond the world of rough trysts they’ve been enjoying for the better part of two months, but no part of him wants to stop. “So beautiful.”
A part of him wants to keep going with requests, but another part wants to see where Hanzo is at. "Ask me another one, baby."
Hanzo sighs. Takes his time, and Jesse gives it to him.
“I want you to lick my chest.”
Jesse's eyes widen, immediately and probably comically. Hanzo grins.
He guides Hanzo to his back and Hanzo goes, opens his kimono, makes himself comfortable against the pillows. Jesse smoothes his natural hand over Hanzo’s pecs from his side, staring at him like he doesn’t know where to begin. Then, trusting to impulse again, he swiftly ducks his head and licks flat over one nipple. Flicks it with the tip of his tongue.
“Jesse,” Hanzo sighs, gripping the cowboy’s hair as that tongue makes rapid circles.
Jesse looks up. “Don’t look away,” he whispers. Hanzo frowns minutely, but obeys. Jesse lifts up, straddles Hanzo’s legs so he can bend over his chest like a starving man at a trough. He knows how much Hanzo likes his mouth, knows that Hanzo knows how much he likes his chest. But he’s never told Hanzo to watch, never made a special effort to show him the extent of his want, never threw himself into a demonstration. Now he feels like he’s got something to prove beyond the proof of his own white-hot arousal.
He sucks one of the nipples between his teeth and teases with the edges. He feels the fingers in his hair tighten as he mouths the other nipple, twists the first, and hums. No matter how many times he gets his hands on Hanzo’s tits, he can never get enough. Soft skin that turns red under his teeth, full muscle that yields to his hands. And such an obvious erogenous zone for Hanzo -– Jesse can feel him slowly churning his hips, humping air, scraping Jesse’s scalp with his nails. Saliva escapes Jesse’s bottom lip as he breathes out steam, flicks his tongue against the now-stiff nipple again and again. The metal hand on the other nipple pinches just hard enough to sting.
He closes his mouth and sucks and hums and circles the nub with a greedy tongue. His teeth close in.
Then Hanzo yanks back his hair and Jesse’s jaw goes slack, eyes blurry as he stares into Hanzo’s. Both men are dark red. Breathing hard. Worked up to all hell. Hanzo’s chest looks like it got beat up, kimono all spread out.
Then Jesse follows Hanzo’s guiding grip until they’re both on their sides. He lets Hanzo lick into his mouth while he strokes up and down Hanzo’s sides. They kiss and stroke each other without direction, without purpose. Finally letting a little aimless in.
Softly, Jesse comes back from his edge and backs up just enough to smile at Hanzo.
With their noses almost brushing, Jesse can see just how red Hanzo is. “Your turn,” Hanzo mutters.
Jesse closes his eyes. “Let me…”
He nuzzles Hanzo's face with his own. Feels Hanzo knead the muscles of his lower back. Their cocks rock together, both of them too far gone to stay still, only the fabric of Hanzo's pants blocking contact.
With a low sigh, Jesse realizes that he’s having too much trouble keeping a single thought in his head, let alone continuing the experiment he started. He wonders if it wasn’t to help himself more than Hanzo.
Then he remembers, “Uhh, no. Wait. It's your turn."
“Kiss me.” One corner of Hanzo’s reddened lips curls upward, as if startled by his own quickness in answering. “And finger me.”
Jesse moans right up against Hanzo’s open mouth. There’s the lordly killer he knows.
He kisses Hanzo like they’ve only ever done while both of them were too drunk for bedrooms and too horny for words. Then he finds the lube still on the bedside table and manages to keep kissing Hanzo while he awkwardly coats his fingers, warms it up. Hanzo does most of the work in getting fully undressed again, until he's on his back and bending his knees and pulling apart one cheek to give Jesse better access.
Then Jesse leans down until their mouths are together again and presses inside. There’s still some pressure with two fingers. Still tight and silky like he remembers. Hanzo slaps a hand to Jesse’s trapezius and hooks his arm around the back of Jesse's neck, holding on, grunting. There’s something so charmingly jock-ish about it, as if Jesse were helping him pop a joint back into place or stretching out his hamstrings, and Jesse grins, gives Hanzo’s ear a kiss where he can.
He takes his time. Pulls out to the last knuckle, then twists in again slow. Lets Hanzo know that he’s not just trying to spread him -– he’s trying to feel him from the inside. Then he spreads his fingers apart to feel him even more and Hanzo lets out a long groan.
Between the heat, the tightness, and the soft walls clutching around his slicked fingers, Jesse’s jaw is permanently dropped. Staring, riveted. Feeling around for that spot he knows Hanzo will love.
Then Hanzo hitches his breath and for a second, Jesse thinks he might be regressing. He leans back to see, but the only story Hanzo’s face tells is one of total pleasure: hazy heat and sharp-edged need. That notched frown like an underline instead of an X. Parted lips, the hint of bared teeth. Glowing from the chest up.
It makes Jesse access the old roguish top he used to be. “You like that, sweetheart?”
Hanzo’s lips part even more. The brow notch deepens. He looks like he’s halfway between being tortured and wanting to torture. Like he’d wring Jesse’s neck for making him feel this good.
It's not an uncommon look for a man so accustomed to being on top. For a brief moment, Jesse worries that Hanzo will think this was his plan all along -- to get Hanzo nice and pliant just so Jesse could get what Jesse wants.
But then Hanzo nods. It’s small, and so fast, but Jesse catches it and his eyes light up. He knows his eyes light up because Hanzo mirrors it back to him. With a low snicker, the archer pulls up his own thigh to the outside of Jesse’s hip, giving his hand even more room. Looking like a happy man.
Jesse grins. Whispers like smoke. “Yeah? You like my fingers, baby?” He makes a show of licking his own metal palm and smoothing the saliva over his own cock, dazed and wanton. Hanzo’s leg twitches on his shoulder, his eyes darken even more. “You like gettin’ filled up by my big ol’ hands?
Hanzo whispers and mutters at the same time, vague and subterranean, impossible to decipher except that it feels very positive. Jesse hears a gravely 'oishii' and so pushes harder against the soft node of his prostate, makes jabbing motions that cause Hanzo’s hips to jump in time.
Then Hanzo clutches Jesse hard enough to leave nail marks. “More.”
Jesse immediately adds more slick, holds Hanzo open by the back of his thigh and pushes inside with three fingers. Hanzo bucks with his leg bobbing in the air. Head thrown back. Hands grasping at Jesse's sweaty skin. If he was clutching Jesse’s fingers before, he’s sucking on him now, and Jesse tells him so, mutters deep and dark about how well Hanzo takes him, how good he feels, how gorgeous he looks, until the archer is red from chest to hairline.
Then Jesse curls his fingers upwards hard and has to put his metal hand over Hanzo’s mouth to silence the loud groan that shoots out of it. “Shhh. Eaaaaasy, darlin’.” He smiles at Hanzo’s furious, molten-hot gaze and drags his thumb against Hanzo’s wet bottom lip. “Don’t want the neighbors to call the cops, now.”
Hanzo bares his teeth and growls like he’d fight off a thousand cops just to keep Jesse’s hand pumping against his prostate like that. His hips buck in time with Jesse’s aggressive hand, in and out, curling and hooking, twisting and stroking. Jesse edges back and looks down just so he can see his spread hole, so much wetter and redder than the time they’d tried before. He looks up to check, and, yes -– Hanzo’s cock is wetter too, thick and weeping all over his abdominals. The rest of him is so loose and sweaty and pulsating with life that it makes Jesse's heart sing.
They definitely went too fast last time. This is better than anything he could’ve ever planned.
Hanzo lifts his chin. He stretches his chest out, stretches his arms until his hands are fully behind his head. Open. Even yielding. And, yeah, there’s no mistaking it –- more a little proud. As if he’d accomplished something in getting fucked open so nicely on Jesse’s fingers. As if it were his idea all along to play this game.
Then again, if the heat on Jesse’s skin and the strain in his groin is any indication, the thing making Hanzo preen like that could be the actual sight of Jesse. He knows he must look wrecked already, and it's definitely all because of Hanzo.
Then the archer licks his teeth. “I believe… it is -- nngh -- your turn, cowboy.”
Jesse straightens. Looks down with heavy lids and all of his hunger. Sweeps his eyes over each glorious piece before resting on the blown-black gaze staring so fearlessly back at him.
Jesse runs his hand over Hanzo’s lower belly as he rubs his prostate. Trying to feel his own prodding fingers through his gut. “Tell me to fuck you.”
Hanzo arches, and groans: “fuck me.”
Jesse takes himself in hand. He pushes his knees under Hanzo’s thighs, makes him spread. Takes a moment just to stroke over Hanzo’s now-puffy hole with the head of his cock. Marvels slack-jawed at his own slippery red thickness nudging at the buttery soft ring trying to suck him inside.
“Fuck me now.”
Jesse pushes. The wider head slips in more suddenly than he expected, makes him gasp and Hanzo moan. Hanzo pulls up on his own thighs to better accommodate the stretch. He growls while Jesse lets out a string of hoarse expletives, one for every inch.
“Fuckin’ tight,” he hisses, taking Hanzo under the knee and holding the leg out to get a better view. “But you’re takin’ me so nice, Han. Opening up real good for me, baby. That's it.”
Once mostly seated, Jesse leans forward and kisses Hanzo's slack-jawed mouth. The man looks like he's on the cusp of divine ecstasy and Jesse can't tear his eyes away. As he starts to rock, Hanzo's mouth remains open but his upper lip curls, looking at Jesse like he’s the sun and also like he wants to hit him a little, maybe. The man’s natural aggression only makes the act even hotter -– like Jesse wrangled himself something wild. Something that was difficult to catch.
It takes Jesse a few seconds to realize that part of that expression is surprise. Surprise that it could feel this good.
And that makes Jesse bow forward, kiss Hanzo like he hasn't seen him in years and sink to the hilt. Hanzo moans into Jesse's mouth, squeezes Jesse with his thighs -- squeezes around him, too. Jesse groans like a dying man as he slowly pulls out halfway, then pushes in again as deep as he can go. Hanzo hisses through clenched teeth. A thousand dirty words shoot through Jesse's brain.
When Jesse opens his eyes, he’s looking at Hanzo half-bemused expression, and realizes that he didn’t keep that long thread of inventive profanity inside his head.
“If you say Jesus one more time,” Hanzo shifts his hips, like he wants to sit up, “I am afraid he will turn up.”
Jesse leans back, but then Hanzo keeps pushing, until he’s on top and Jesse is bent-kneed beneath him. His hands trace softly up Hanzo’s sides, fingers curl into the shadows of his muscles, thumb grazing the nub of one hip bone. In the dark, he thinks he can see himself through Hanzo’s belly. Or maybe his sick mind just wants to see it.
Then Hanzo gets up on his heels and lets Jesse almost entirely out of him. Jesse swears he can almost feel the last catch of Hanzo’s holes, and then he drops, and Jesse howls.
“Neighbors,” Hanzo hisses, but it’s half-lost behind his clenched teeth and the urgent downpour of need that seems to swallow them both at the same time.
Hanzo draws himself up and down the full length of Jesse again, and again, hungry for every spare inch, until the gunslinger can only hold on for dear life and hope he doesn’t come before he’s had a chance to wear Hanzo out. Words and curses spill from his mouth without filter and he’s hardly conscious of any of it. All he knows is the tight clutch around his cock and the slap of firm muscles against his pelvis and the warm skin under his hands and the sight of Hanzo, gleaming and lust-shocked and looking at Jesse like that.
For a man who’s never ridden cock before, Hanzo moves like a goddamn rodeo king. Jesse feels like he’s being milked when Hanzo finally settles down, starts rocking just to feel the grind of Jesse’s cock against his prostate, greedy and tireless. The smell and the heat and the noise expand until Jesse feels a touch of other-world madness about him, like they’ve slipped into a whole new zone. It makes his groans sound croaky, his hands grip tighter. He tries to thrust up hard for awhile, and Hanzo lets him, hisses and even whines through it all, but then Hanzo pushes him down by the shoulders and starts riding again. Determined to do it himself. Licking into Jesse’s mouth like he’s trying to steal it.
It’s no surprise that neither of them really lasts, or that neither seem too upset about it. Jesse sees it approach Hanzo first -- his little gasps and increasingly louder groans -- so he squeezes hard on his hips to get his attention. “Gonna come for me, honey? How you wanna...?”
Hanzo growls through his panting breath and rocks harder, faster, gyrating just enough to get Jesse’s cock against just the right spot. He leans back to grab Jesse’s thighs, bracing himself so he can use Jesse's cock just the way he wants it. Jesse can barely reach Hanzo's cock, but he does -- strokes him just enough to tip him over the edge, and then Hanzo's cursing, groaning, shooting off all the way to Jesse's throat and all over his broad chest. Jesse nearly bites through his bottom lip.
Then Hanzo dips forward, spent but still rocking, and grabs Jesse's tits. Looks down with his mess of hair framing his wrecked expression, his panting like something that could make Jesse come maybe another four or five times tonight.
Then he rubs his come into Jesse's skin and whispers, “Come inside me, Jesse.”
Helpless to deny him, Jesse takes Hanzo by the hips and holds him in place while he fucks up into him like a hare. Hanzo groans, urges Jesse on in low Japanese until Jesse shouts, bucks, and shoots off as deep inside Hanzo as he can go.
The slow ceiling fan is absolutely no help. Jesse is hot and sticky and Hanzo is laying on top of him with his full weight, stuck together until their breath returns to normal. Jesse isn’t sure if he should be the one to speak first. He isn’t sure he should speak at all, to be frank -– he isn’t confident that he’ll be able to keep his heart inside the cage of his chest.
“Shower with me,” Hanzo mutters as he slowly pushes himself up.
And Jesse goes. Pliant and warm with afterglow, he pads heavy steps after the archer, who somehow walks with the same graceful power he always does. Jesse has time to admire his elegance, the way he lays down a towel on the floor before allowing Jesse inside first, the way he strokes a lather through Jesse’s chest hair in hypnotic, figure-eight movements. So calm, so at peace. It makes Jesse glow to think he could've had a part in that.
Eventually, he realizes that it’s weird that he hasn’t spoken yet, and intelligently croaks out: “s’good.”
Hanzo looks up at him, cocks an eyebrow, and then resumes rinsing the soap from his hair. “Yes, you were.”
Jesse beams. He strokes Hanzo’s scalp, pulls him out from under the water just enough to rest his forehead against Hanzo’s. “Killin’ me.”
Hanzo grins. “It was a good idea, your game.” He pets up Jesse’s sides, rough and quick, like he’s stroking a horse. From anyone else, it might feel odd, even a bit standoffish, but from Hanzo it’s just right. “Your partner in Deadlock must have been quite the man.”
Even though the temptation to milk Hanzo’s jealousy is great, Jesse can’t help but be honest. “There was no partner.”
Hanzo looks up. “What?”
“I mean, I had partners in Deadlock, but ain’t none of ‘em ever teach me that. I just made that up on the fly.”
Jesse takes his hand, halfway apologetic, but they both have to know how much he isn’t sorry. “Just thought it’d be a good idea. Didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew I’d just thought it up myself.”
Hanzo looks to the side, past the tiled wall. His hands continue to make slow trips up and down Jesse’s sides to the point that Jesse, once again, begins to worry.
Then Hanzo rests his temple against Jesse’s chest and presses his palm against Jesse’s lower back. “I would still have ‘gone for it.’”
“You have very good ideas.”
“Aww – flatterer.”
Hanzo reaches around, squeezes Jesse’s ass, and looks up at him with a tired, deeply satisfied smile. “It was your idea to flirt with me in the first place. Remember?"