Jesse McCree is his friend.
That’s what Hanzo tells himself standing at the man’s door, one hand braced on the wall next to it, the other in the air, hand in a fist, preparing to knock. His head is down. He has no idea what he’s getting into, whether this is the right thing to do. He can feel the rush of his own blood in his ears: the sound of the sea. He can feel his heartbeat drumming bluntly at the sides of his temples, as if punishing him for even considering this. But then he hears the muffled sound of moving fabric, accompanied by a quiet sob, cementing his resolution.
Everyone who is a part of the strange rag-tag Overwatch ‘clique’ consisting of the original and accomplished in the organization knows that Jesse McCree suffers from terrible heat. All who are Alpha know to steer clear of his room when he locks himself away every three months, to ride out the suffering of the ordeal in solitude, lest it sets them off too. And all who are Beta or Omega know to stay away also, out of respect for the man, affording him his privacy. Only Genji, his self proclaimed ‘best mate’, a Beta by nature and with stunted instincts caused by his half organic, half synthetic body, is allowed inside during this time, to supply McCree with cold bottles of iced water and fresh clothes and blankets, although what Hanzo ever sees Genji carrying in terms of clothing is pajama shorts.
Hanzo doesn’t feel jealous that his younger brother is allowed inside whilst he is not; he knows what he is, knows his nature, and even the slight scent he can pick up already has him on edge.
Jesse McCree is his friend.
He repeats the thought in the smoggy confine of his mind. Jesse is a man he respects, and who respects him in turn. The pseudo-cowboy had taken multiple bullets and even a grenade, all of which had Hanzo’s name metaphorically (and one time literally, as they had found, and laughed) written on them without hesitation.
He had sat with the elder Shimada at 4:36 AM on a Thursday, arm around his shoulders, providing a comforting anchor as Hanzo turned to press his face in his chest and choked on the tears he didn’t want to allow into the world but which ran free anyway.
He was the man who refused to yield to Hanzo’s Lone Wolf shtick when he had first joined, offering glasses of sweet tea on the warmer evenings and mugs of coffee in the mornings, pestering him at any chance he was afforded. Before Hanzo had realized it, Jesse McCree had drawn him into the family that was Overwatch, providing a lifeline between him and the rest, and his brother especially. Hanzo’s sharing of tea with Genji, the affectionate jab in his ribs from Genji’s elbow as he passed him on his way to the combat simulation room, the brotherly shoving of each other’s heads away, grinning and spitting mock insults without bite, those we’re all thanks to McCree: a shared friend, a safe and comfortable topic.
A shared interest.
Although, in differing ways.
However, Hanzo’s intention is pure at heart. His friend is a good man who had given him the world and more, so an offer of himself, of his body, was the least Hanzo could give. But he would be lying if he told himself that he didn’t want this. It would be a delusional, filthy lie if Hanzo denied how the thought of mating the man for himself sent a spark up his spine. How hearing him rumble a laugh in the morning, seeing him stretching in an old, loose T-shirt and sweatpants, grinning over his shoulder and asking ‘’The usual, partner?’’ made Hanzo’s chest constrict almost painfully. And how hearing Genji murmur pity about Jesse’s state and now hearing him whimper through the wood of the door sent that ache past ‘almost painful’, and into actual agony.
Genji knew. He had prompted him to do this, seeding the idea in his brain until he was standing at McCree’s door, mulling over the possible consequences.
He pulls his fist back slightly, arm lowering as if he were to retreat, then with a rush of willpower reaches back forward and raps, three times, with his knuckles on the door.
There’s a moment of silence, followed by the sound of movement. Then:
His voice is raspy, like he had jogged multiple rounds of the courtyard whilst the Gibraltar sun was at its zenith.
Hanzo allows himself a chuckle, one laced with fondness, as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans on his side against the door. ‘’Think again.’’
It’s no news to Hanzo that he’s in love, absolutely hopelessly head-over-heels in love with Jesse, and he bites his lip when he hears his voice turn panicked.
‘’Shit, Hanzo, ya shouldn’t be here! I ain’t no fool, I-…I know you’re an Alpha. An’ I refuse to believe you’re so naïve as to walk into an Omega’s room when he’s in heat and expect nothin’ to happen! I-‘’
‘’Don’t you ‘Jesse’ me, partner! I wa-…’’ Hanzo can hear a sharp intake of breath, then the sound of that breath being slowly let out. ‘’I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.’’
‘’Jesse…’’ This time Hanzo’s voice has no humor in it. He tries his best to sound compassionate, comforting, even. The way McCree’s last sentence was spoken makes him want to kick the locked door down, just so he would be able to pull the man into an embrace, with how defeated and…tired he sounded. But that would be entirely uncivilized, so he settles for convincing the man through words.
He draws in air through his nose-deeply-as if to steel himself (although the faint musk did not help him any), then leans his forehead against the cool wood, closing his eyes before speaking. ‘’ I can assume that you have an idea of why I am here then…’’ he feels sick with nerves “…and I can give you my word that if you allow me inside, I will regret absolutely nothing that comes to pass. Not a thing, Jesse.’’
He pauses. A second silence.
Hanzo’s body slumps slightly, morale compromised. He softens his voice further. ‘’Jesse, you are suffering. Genji has told me so, and I can hear it in your voice. You’re absence is a blow to the team, and to me, and the stress this places upon your body can have dire consequences. You have heard Angela’s warnings.. ‘’
He hears the man huff. He decides to press on, knowing he’s getting somewhere. Hanzo also knows of the state of McCree’s body: starved and tense and breaking its self apart, frantic and burning from decades of being denied its most primal need. If Jesse continues this way, he’ll hurt himself.
And Hanzo doesn’t want that to happen. Not ever, for any reason.
‘’You are ripping yourself apart, Jesse…if this continues you’ll lose any ability to bear child and-‘’ he can hear Jesse scoff.
‘’Yeah, I know, and I ain’t plannin’ on any kids in my life. ‘Sides, even if I was, I’m no spring chicken. I can’t go mating with a civilian, and no one in Overwatch has shown an interest in lil’ ol’ me.’’ Hanzo can hear a sad laugh through the door.
He swallows in that sticky, audible way that people do when they’re afraid. ‘’But I am showing interest right now…’’ Hanzo keeps his reigns tight on his accent, making sure each word comes out exactly as it should, unmistakable.
His heartbeat has escalated to a noticeable pulsing through his entire body.
‘’Oh, I had thought you was just…lookin’ for a rise out of me. You’re sayin’ that…that’s not it, then?’’
‘’You’re lookin’ for the long haul?’’
Hanzo can feel the tension in his body, muscles strung impossibly tight.
‘’If you want that, Jesse, then open the door, if not…I will go and never speak of this again, and I will leave you in peace.’’ Hanzo squeezes his eyes shut, mentally buffering himself for the incoming refusal.
He hears a chuckle. This time it carries good humor.
‘’The door’s open.’’
Hanzo turns the handle on the door, pushing it open and slipping in near silently. McCree’s scent is assaulting him at full force now, and he has to clench his fist to keep his head from swimming.
A small, good-natured rumble rises from his chest at the sight of McCree. ‘’You look a right state.” He remarks. Jesse is swaddled in a faded white blanket, hair sticking up wildly. There are dark rings under his eyes from the lack of sleep, and his faces is flushed, breaths coming light and fast, presumably from Hanzo’s close proximity.
It probably isn’t very good etiquette to insult the Omega you are about to mate, but McCree doesn’t seem to take it to heart, cocking his head, and, to Hanzo’s immense relief, smiling, ‘’You don’t look dressed for a ball either, partner,’’
That much is true. That morning Hanzo had donned a pair of jogging trousers, a grey marl shirt and a cobalt hoodie, anticipating a day of running laps around the courtyard, not courting Jesse McCree and forming a lifelong bond.
Hanzo smiles back “Go and bathe, Jesse. I will take care of the rest.’’
‘‘So you are makin’ an effort then?’’ he stands up, visibly shaky.
‘’Do not push your luck, McCree.’’ Hanzo replies with mock warning, but he can feel himself grinning. McCree brushes past him to collect a fresh pair of pajama shorts from the pile by the door, and the closeness makes both of their breaths hitch.
Once Jesse has locked himself away in the small en-suite, Hanzo gets to work gathering up the pile of clothes by the bed, placing them in a basket and setting them into the closet for the time being, from which he takes fresh pillows and blankets, making the bed. He arranges the pillows in a pile to serve as a nest. It isn’t decadent by any means, but it will have to do.
He takes a plastic bag from the small kitchen in McCree’s living complex and gathers up the empty bottles, then throws them in the recycling bin. The plates by the sink are clean. At first Hanzo suspects that McCree isn’t eating, but a look in the fridge that reveals many opened food containers eases his worries.
He sets a kettle of water boiling, and by the time Jesse exits the bathroom the tea is steeping. Hanzo spoons sugar into the pot, and looks over his shoulder at McCree through the door, freshly washed and hair dried, wearing only the black shorts, examining Hanzo’s attempt at a nest.
‘’It is hardly silk and rose petals, but my options were rather limited” McCree looks to him with an expression that verges on overjoyed, and Hanzo feels something cinch and coil tight around his heart.
Hanzo pulls the small coffee table nearer to the bed and sets the pot of tea and two cups on it as McCree sits down on the side of the bed. He pours the golden liquid into Jesse’s cup first, and hands it to him, then pours his own and settles down next to him.
They sip it in companionable silence, slowly indulging in the tea, the cool night air filtering in through the window, along with the song of cicadas and the occasional whippoorwill, birds that were imported into the region many years ago. The artificial lighting in the room is white, lacking the tiring yellow quality that cheaper lights posses, but Hanzo reaches over to dial it down to a dim, warm orange glow anyway. At least Jesse seems satisfied, Hanzo thinks, although a cup of tea brewed with a bag from one’s own cupboard is hardly an adequate offering. Hanzo decides he will find something more suitable later.
After a few minutes of being lost in thought, he feels Jesse shift next to him.
“So then are we gonna do this or are you havin’ second thoughts there.”
Hanzo looks to him with a smile, setting down his empty cup then taking Jesse’s from him with immense gentleness. ‘’Not at all.’’
Tentatively Hanzo leans forward, threading his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Jesse’s neck. It starts off immensely chaste, as they kiss each other once, twice, lips barely making contact, Hanzo trying to call back the romantic kisses he fantasized of as a child, long before he even knew what ‘sex’ meant.
But that stops when McCree shuffles back slightly and Hanzo looks down, now hyper aware of the tent at the front of McCree’s shorts and the considerable wet patch left behind in the spot where he was previously sitting. Hanzo looks back up and catches his eyes, and then they’re anything but gentle, tongues pushing past lips with, Hanzo thinks, as little tact as he had ever had whilst kissing.
But he quickly realizes that there’s nothing wrong with that. Not in the least.
Hanzo’s first kiss had been a resounding disappointment, shared with a boy in Hanamura, the whole event a mess of a loudly thumping heart and teenage expectations only to discover that when their mouths met it was merely wet, not warm or silky, and took effort and thought on getting the movements correct and synchronization, which they both lacked. And he came to find that the kiss did not make liquid warmth pool in his belly, and he came to find that he did not love the boy anyway.
This is a different matter entirely however. Jesse’s mouth feels almost hot on his, surprisingly soft and tasting of a peculiar mixture of tea, smoke and bourbon, and something else that Hanzo doesn’t know the name for, and he comes to the conclusion that the only name he can give it is Jesse.
There’s no burdening thought involved as Hanzo catches Jesse’s lover lip between his teeth, worrying it for a second before letting go and returning for more as he maneuvers his body so that he’s straddling his thigh, knee pushing forward all too gently into McCree’s groin, his other hand finding its self occupied with roaming his inner leg, winning him a sigh that forces him to acknowledge the throbbing of his own cock.
Hanzo abandons Jesse’s mouth for a new expanse of skin, kissing along his jaw and down his neck as the fingers of his hand slip bellow the waistband of his shorts, easing them down and then continuing onwards, lower under Jesse’s thigh. Hanzo presses his nose to that special spot at the intersection where his neck and shoulder meet; where the scent is at its strongest. He experimentally grazes his teeth over it, and he feels him gush wet-in the most literal sense possible-over his hand.
‘’Uh-huh?” He sounds choked.
“You may chastise me for being a fool later, but I need your permission. I cannot continue until I know this is truly what you want.”
Hanzo expects hesitance, some sort of short speech about how this is a compromise for his body, but he certainly doesn’t expect the man to practically throw his head to the side, exposing his neck as he looks up to Hanzo with blown pupils under heavy lidded eyes in a display so submissive that Hanzo had previously been certain that such a thing could only occur in pornography.
That is all Hanzo needs, and with worries and insecurities placated he ushers Jesse upwards and across the bed until he’s settled half lying-half sitting against the pillows. Jesse is panting so hard now it’s bordering on gasping and Hanzo runs the palm of his right hand over his shoulder and down his side in an attempt to soothe, taking him in as he goes: he’s flushed red all the way to his chest, visibly shaky, and when Hanzo runs his hand down over his hip he bucks on instinct, making his cock bob against his stomach. Jesse whispers an apology, and Hanzo hates how that goes straight to his groin.
He sits back on his haunches and pulls the hoodie and shirt up and over his head, discarding them off to the side, then briefly shuffles to the side of the bed to slide off the sweatpants. He returns to Jesse, easing his knees apart so that he can settle himself proper between his legs. He leans over and braces himself on his forearms, rubbing the bridge of his nose against McCree’s in a loving gesture, and he almost chokes on joy when Jesse reciprocates readily.
Hanzo presses a kiss to his cheek “May I touch?”
Jesse tilts his head so Hanzo can press another one under his ear. “ ‘Course, just don’t spend too long touchin’, eh?”
Hanzo returns to a sitting position and runs his hand up his slick thighs until they’re in the crooks of his knees. He lifts his legs to rest on his shoulders, then runs his hands back down to where Jesse is leaking wet onto the bed, massaging the area next to his hole, and he’s thankful for the pillows when Jesse throws his head back in frustration, barely avoiding hitting his head on the headboard.
Hanzo is a grown man, and despite being unmated, he knows how this works. He knows that foreplay isn’t even necessary like it is in regular recreational sex, but he wants to ensure that out of all the things he’s failed to give Jesse, comfort won’t be one of them.
He circles it with his thumb, presses in slowly soon after.
The choked cry he hears makes him startle and horror seeps into his muscles until he notices that that already has Jesse cumming, head thrown to the side and clutching a pillow as his cock seeps a little line of seed onto his stomach, hanging heavy with the head an angry red, twitching pitifully as he desperately tries for the release that his body won’t grant him, pent up with his rut. Hanzo rubs the spot under the head, coaxing out two more drops that he hopes bring Jesse at least a tiny amount of relief.
A few tears roll down Jesse’s cheeks, and Hanzo realizes that this pace is most likely more for his own benefit than that of the other.
Hanzo pushes Jesse’s thighs until he’s nearly jackknifed, mouthing at his throat as he lines himself up, and breaches him slowly.
He sets a slow pace at first, watching for any signs of discomfort, but instead he finds McCree closing his eyes and arching his back, breathily babbling “Oh god.” And “Oh Jesus, that’s it.”
Hanzo lets his head fall forward, groaning quietly as he thrusts slow and deep, nails digging into Jesse’s thighs and leaving little red moons. Jesse feels and smells like heaven on earth, and Hanzo can’t help but watch with half lidded eyes as he disappears into him over and over, remembering how he’s touched himself to such a thought more than once.
“Fuck, Hanzo! Faster, Goddamnit! Harde-ah!” Jesse’s voice rips him out of his mild trance, the demanding tone causing something primal to flare in his chest. How dare he it says. Put him in his place.
McCree lets out a terrified little cry as Hanzo pulls out, and he’s halfway through pleading for Hanzo to continue when he flips him over, planting one hand square between his shoulder blades and forces him down into the pillows. Jesse catches onto the idea and raises his ass up, ignoring how violently his body is trembling from the exertion.
Hanzo plants his other hand on the pillow next to Jesse’s head where he’s pulled it close to hug it and rest his forehead. He slams into him without warning or mercy, now chasing his own pleasure and his own pleasure only, overwhelmed by the instinct to do nothing but fuck the man under him until he’s been bred, the undeniable mantra of mate, fuck, breed roaring in his head leaving only a little room for concern about anything else.
Jesse nearly chokes on nothing, crying out and sobbing into the air, rambling ‘’Oh by God that feels so fucking good!” and ‘’I need to cum! I need to cum so bad!”
Hanzo can feel that familiar coil in his stomach and as his knot begins to form, his balls tight. He leans over McCree, pressing his nose into his neck as he takes his cock in hand, pumping it in time with his thrusts. He reckons it must feel like it’s about to split.
“Almost there, Jesse.” He manages to gasp out. He can feel himself teetering on the edge, and he grazes his teeth over that spot on McCree’s neck once then bites down, drawing blood and tasting copper in his mouth. He knots not a moment later, ecstasy sparking up his spine and through his body, spilling himself deep inside McCree as he continues to thrust, feeling the knot catch as Jesse screams his throat raw into the pillow, his cock pulsing as his body finally gets what it demands and releases, switching between painting his stomach, the sheets and pillows with white streaks and dribbling in a steady stream, forming a small pool on the bed between pulses. Hanzo rides him through it slowly, pumping him at the same pace to milk him until the last drop, to ensure he gets every little bit of relief, every little bit of pleasure that he needs.
Hanzo slows to a halt once Jesse grows quiet and his cock begins to go soft in his hand. He releases where he’s holding his neck and catches his shivering body before it collapses then moves them to lie on a clean portion of the bed, looping his arms fondly around Jesse’s body and begins to gently licks and suckles the wound to take the edge off of the sting, earning him a pleased whimper. Hanzo inspects him with one hand as he lies there, limp, completely and utterly blissed out, to ensure that no harm has been done.
They lie like that for however long it takes for Jesse to catch his breath and for his heartbeat to return to normal.
“This may sound a tad bit overly romantic” McCree speaks, and his voice is cracked “but this an’ an ‘I love you’ is all I’ve wanted from the day I laid my eyes on you.”
Hanzo chuckles in a way that turns into a silly chortle at the end. “Is that so?” he replies, then kisses the nape of Jesse’s neck.
The following day everyone is surprised to see McCree sitting at the table as if he isn’t supposed to be locked away in his quarters, suffering through a maddening rut. He sits with his feet kicked up onto the table, enjoying a cup of Reinhardt’s freshly brewed coffee combined with at least two creamers’ worth of milk. The smile on his face is unmistakably wider than per usual, and when he leans his head back to rest it on the top of the backrest multiple members of the team strain to try and spot a mark.
They don’t have to wonder for long, however, as a few minutes later Hanzo joins them for breakfast, freshly showered and in comfortable clothes after a morning jog. His pathway to the carafe takes him past McCree, and he slows down as he passes him, leaning down to kiss the neck that Jesse openly bares for him, exposing the telltale bandages wrapped over his shoulder.
“Good morning, Jesse. I love you.” He mutters with a grin that matches, quietly but loud enough to hear.
“Mm, love ya too, darlin’! Have a good run?” he watches Hanzo get his own morning coffee, the entirety of his body language saturated with what could only ever look like love.
He can hear Hana begin choking on her bacon across the table.