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Hanzo white knuckled his drinking gourd, whatever Lúcio was animatedly going on about completely forgotten in face of the heavenly sight that just walked into the watchpoint’s lounge - Jesse McCree in what could only be his old Blackwatch ensemble.
His shocked face caused his young Brazilian drinking companion to turn and look for what had so distracted him, and Hanzo knew he’d spotted McCree too when Lúcio let out a long, low, impressed whistle, “Puta merda!”
Hanzo nodded dumbly when Lúcio looked back at him and asked, slightly awed, “Is that really Jesse?!”
They weren’t the only two to have noticed, conversation had stalled throughout the room, then picked up with an enthusiastic buzz that the cowboy seemed to soak up like it was a healing aura.
“Where on EARTH did you get those boots?”
“How many hats do you Have Jesse?”
Genji slung himself around McCree’s shoulders, momentum carrying the cyborg almost into the wall, “My old comrade! Where have you been all these years, you DeadEye sonuvabitch!”
Angela was hot on his heels and leapt into McCree’s arms with barely any warning, causing Jesse to stumble with the combination of a lanky Doctor to hold and Genji trying very hard to steal the hat from his head. He was laughing, each breath causing the incredibly, illegally tight shirt to stretch even more. The soft black fabric rode up higher on his brown hips, exposing muscles covered in a pleasing layer of fat that clearly had not been there the last time McCree wore the outfit.
“Jesse! I’m amazed this all still fits!” She laughed as he wobbled, “What’s the matter kiddo? Can’t walk in heels anymore?”
“Angela I’m gonna break my damn ankle between you and the cyber menace over here,” Jesse grunted between laughs, Genji’s arms still around his neck and the rest of him hanging down his back.
She slid from his arms and collected her beer from Mei with a giggly thank you and turned back to McCree to pinch his cheeks, cooing, “Mein Got Jesse! You were so cute!”
And he was cute now, Hanzo thought, echoing the man’s own protest and unable to keep from staring. Jesse was still trapped in the doorway, grinning his dazzling smile, and juggling other agents as they peppered him with questions.
Whatever he was wearing was clearly made for a thinner man, and shorter. By god his jeans looked painted on, and the chaps were straining to fit around a much wider waist. His shirt sleeves were rolled so tight on his biceps that Hanzo faintly wondered if it was even comfortable - but was soon distracted by buttons that were surely going to give up their doomed fight sooner rather than later.
Finally free of Genji, McCree readjusted the red bandana around his neck and made a big show of dusting himself off, “Well I have to admit, I couldn’t even begin to hope to get the breastplate on,” he motioned to his belt, “and I had to punch another few holes before I could feel my nuts again. Found it all in a box down in the cellar and couldn’t resist,”
Reinhart guffawed and slapped McCree in the back, making the gunslinger take a few hard steps forward, the spurs on his shining, red and black, high heeled cowboy boots jangle.
Jesse turned and dipped a shoulder so he could ram Rein in the gut - not that it did anything to the colossal man, but by the strangled noise ripped from Hanzo’s throat anyone in earshot would know what the sight of McCree’s backside in those criminally tight pants did to him.
Lúcio whipped his head back around and pinned his stare on Hanzo. It was hopeless; Hanzo was bright red and openly gaping - he couldn’t recover from the moment even if he Was able to string two words together. With a moan he put his head down on the table while Lúcio cackled.
“Hanzo, you poor fool, you look like Jesse shot you!” a suggestive waggle of the eyebrows, “Or did cupid aim that gun perhaps?”
Hanzo groaned again, which only fueled the singing sensation’s wicked glee, “Do you suppose that was the standard blackwatch uniform? Did you see the belt buckle? It looked like a skull!”
Hanzo peeked up in time to see Mei laughing as she felt McCree’s flexed arm, comparing it to Zarya’s. Hanzo knew that competitive look - the situation would escalate into an arm wrestling match that would leave no fewer than two tables broken and Reinhart and the russian agent locked in a stalemate.
He flushed even redder at the sight much to Lúcio’s delight, “Haaaanzoooo, maaaaan, you got it baaaaad,”
Hanzo flung a fist out and nailed Lúcio in the shoulder, sure a little harder than intended, but still.
Tracer blinked past them to accost McCree as well, but just as fast she was back at their table, “Oi Lúcioooo, are you healing that lovestruck fool?”
Damn the both of them.
“The only thing that will heal our little arqueiro here is some sexua-!” the rest of Lúcio’s taunt was cut off by his strangled laughter when Hanzo lunged across the table at him. Why in seven hells did he think a free loving singer would be the best person to confide his crush on McCree to? Lena also relished in teasing him relentlessly, but she at least had the decency to take pity on him.
“I didn’t mean to earwig on ya, but I have to admit it’s a might obvious Hanzo luv,” she said kindly, leaning down to pat his shoulder.
He cast a bleary eyed glare at her cheeky little smile, before turning to watch McCree saunter across the room to the bar, trailing Genji who was now searching through his comm for pictures of himself from their Blackwatch days.
“See? See it isn’t just Hanzo that has the family tit out!,” he crowed, causing a ripple of laughter to spread across the room.
“I swear, it’s a disease for you Shimadas, prancing around half naked!” snarks Hana from her perch in front of the flatscreen, “Not all of us want to see old man boobs,”
“Hey!” Hanzo protested, indignant, “I am not old yet, young lady!”
“If I’m a young lady,” she quipped back, “then you are CERTAINLY an old man!”
“Now now, don’t y’all start this shit again,” McCree shoved his flesh hand at Hana’s face, chuckling. McCree flashed a conspiratorial smile at Hanzo and continued, “Though you are looking a bit greyer, you fox,”
Hanzo’s stomach flipped for a moment, but he was used to the banter, “If I am greying, it is surely from the stress of saving your hide each mission,” he said primly, then grinned back, “And if you have forgotten, I am a Dragon, McCree,”
Laughter filled the room again, and soon the novelty of Jesse in his too tight clothing wore off into the usual good natured social night. Reinhart, Angela, and Torbjorn singing off key karaoke together at their table, Genji and Zenyatta playing foosball, Mei talking animatedly with Lena and Zarya hanging off her words - a normal night for their abnormal family.
Hanzo leaned back in his chair and smiled, content with the life he’s fallen into. Lúcio chattered away again, describing his newest idea for another Rejuvenescência release. Hanzo loved the feeling of warmth in his gut. It had been a long road coming here; relentless humanity from Genji and hours spent with Zenyatta. Days where he sequestered himself away from the rest of the team. Pivotal moments where they learned he was trustworthy. Moments where HE learned he was trustworthy.
Life in Overwatch had taken on a cadence, a pattern. It moved through the team like one of Lúcio’s songs, like the sound of whirring omnic fans and the steady report of gunfire in the training grounds.
With the comfort and familiarity of a new home, a new family, the walls of ice surrounding Hanzo’s heart melted. He allowed himself to grieve his actions, grieve his family even… and he came back to life, as Genji would have said - a moment of profound wisdom his brother would invariably derail into a zombie joke.
And in that life he found his heart beating quicker when he was around the cowboy. Hanzo sought out training sessions with him, sat close to him at meal times, gravitated toward McCree every chance he got. Their banter, their flirting, their raucous nights drinking and terrorizing the good Doctor Zeigler with their self destructive and ineffective coping mechanisms - it was undeniable that the Archer and Gunslinger made the perfect team.
Hanzo’s eyes drifted over to the karaoke machine, lips quirking at the idea, but no - he was smitten but it wasn’t that bad. Yet. He knew what song he’d choose too. One of those old country songs that he’d sooner yank teeth out than admit McCree had pressured him into actually liking. The next best thing though, he thought before getting up and making his way to McCree’s chair,
“Jesse,” warm brown eyes smiled up at him under a tattered hat, ever present cigar not burning but still pungent up close, “Why’d you come in here… lookin’ like that?”
“Hanzo! I think he looks fine!” Mei tutted at him, thinking he was being rude. But the indulgent smile on his face and the grin blooming across McCree’s told him the reference had hit home.
“Well now darlin’, you’re the one that looks like this ol’ Cowboy’s dream,” Hanzo tried to hide the shiver that deep gravelly voice sent up his spine, and leaned down on the back of the chair until his mouth was right near McCree’s ear.
McCree’s languid expression didn’t change a bit, and Hanzo knew that his prey expected this to be their normal to and fro. It was the perfect time to strike. He was warm, heart filled with comfortable closeness and bravery bolstered by a couple cups of fine sake.
He made sure to school his face into what he hoped was a Cool expression, but he suspected from Genji’s snort from the other side of the room it wasn’t quite there.
‘No matter,’ Hanzo thought and then, deadpan, “You are nearly giving me a heart attack,”
Jesse threw his head back and laughed with all of him, hands clutched to his belly and eyes crinkled shut. The cigar fell into his lap but he made no move to retrieve it, instead pretending to wipe tears from his eyes,
“Ahhh, Hanzo! I’m amazed!”
Occasionally Hanzo had regrets. He regretted the loss of his family’s empire. He regretted attacking his brother. He regretted whatever failure of his that set those events into motion - a lack of control over his brother? Was he not good enough in the eyes of the clan for them to overlook Genji’s transgressions?
But in moments like this; surrounded by a new family, his brother alive and happy, his own path to redemption now truly underway… He regretted nothing.
Hanzo plucked the hat from McCree’s head and held it in front of their faces, shielding them from the rest of the room for just a moment. Jesse’s nostrils flared in surprise when Hanzo ducked his head down until his lips were pressed against the shell of McCree’s ear and no smart quip managed to sneak out amidst his startled stuttering.
“I would be very interested in helping you get… out… of those pants later, Cowboy,” Hanzo whispered, delighted at the shiver that ran up McCree’s body, “Painted on, as they are...,”
Hanzo straightened up, and without returning the hat, walked back to his table with Lúcio. He could hear McCree gaping behind him, and Genji laughing when he set the stetson on his own head after sitting down. Lúcio cheered, slapping his arm, and only after he’d accepted another drink did he dare look back across the room and make eye contact with Jesse.
Hanzo was surprised at just how red the Cowboy’s brown skin could turn, and he felt a surge of self satisfied pride that for once he seemed speechless - in fact McCree’s mouth hung open like a startled cow’s. Hanzo met that flustered stare evenly, knowing that his cool exterior was undermined by the flush he could feel heating his cheeks.
‘Strike at the heart,’ he thought, and finished his attack with what he hoped was a suave wink. Regardless of how it looked to anyone else, it had the desired effect on McCree who turned even redder as his jaw snapped shut with a strangled little noise and squirmed in his chair, losing the staring contest in favor of turning back to watching Hana absolutely wreck Winston at mario kart.
For the rest of the night Hanzo basked in the quick glances McCree shot his way. Each time they met eyes McCree would flush a bit, and Hanzo knew he did as well. Months and months of friendly, antagonistic banter, flirting, working closer together than they did with the rest of the team... In Hanzo’s mind it was all leading up to this moment, this question, this offer.
Hanzo didn’t know if McCree would want to step further down this path together, but he would damn well ask. He wasn’t going to regret Not taking that risk.
They’d bled on each other before, seen each other gripped by the cold fingers of flashbacks before, held one another up when the drink and the memories were too much. If blood and vomit and rubble weren’t enough to harm their friendship, Hanzo knew this wouldn’t either.
Around midnight agents began to filter back to their quarters. Lúcio had long since abandoned Hanzo in favor of his bed, and even Genji and Zenyatta were making their exit. Before long it was just him and McCree sitting in front of the flatscreen on opposite ends of the worn and battered sofa. Hanzo watched the flickering colors of whatever documentary they were both pretending to be engrossed in bathe Jesse’s angular face for a while, content to sit and let McCree make his return volley.
Finally, with his gruff voice only cracking the barest hint, McCree cleared his throat, “So… Hanzo…”
“Yes McCree?” he kept his voice soft, bracing his heart even though he hoped he knew his friend well enough that this would not be a rejection.
“When, uh, when did you start meanin’ it when ya flirted back?”
Hanzo hummed, though a dozen moments immediately came to mind, “About three hours ago,”
McCree laughed and Hanzo turned to smile at him, “Though in honesty, I cannot tell you when exactly. But it has been a while now,”
McCree smiled, knocking the brim of his hat down to cover some of his face, “I’ve been serious since Morocco,”
Hanzo thought back to that mission, remembering how none of the team had escaped unscathed. Remembering how the two of them almost hadn’t escaped at all.
“It seems near death experiences are the best catalyst,” Hanzo mused. At Jesse’s quirked eyebrow, he grinned and motioned to the cowboy’s pants, “I was not lying when I said you were giving me a heart attack,”
Jesse shifted, spreading his legs wider in a lewd gesture and Hanzo turned to look at him fully.
“Shucks, I feel like I need to make some big ass declaration here. But I don’t, do I?” McCree looked over at Hanzo, “We’ve been willin’ to die for each other for a while now, and I’m sure I’ve said things to ya over the comm that my mother would faint to hear. What else is there to say?”
McCree shrugged, sighed, and hauled himself to his feet. He looked back at Hanzo with his grin firmly in place and Hanzo watched his rich brown eyes rove over his own face in search of anything amis. When McCree clearly found nothing to dissuade him, he offered a hand to Hanzo and pulled the archer up as well, “And I suppose you’re right… I do need help gettin’ out of these pants. I was 17 the last time I wore ‘em,”