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The first time it happens, Cassidy plays it off so well Hanzo doesn’t even notice.
They’re deployed on a recon mission in Dorado, a two-man team chosen for Cole’s familiarity with the area and Hanzo’s undercover expertise. After they set up in the Overwatch safehouse tucked away on a winding, narrow side street a few blocks away from the plaza, they head out for an evening of preliminary information gathering. Cole assures him that Calaveras is the place to start; the bartender—Sr. Calaveras himself, a long-time acquaintance of Cassidy’s, always has his thumb on the pulse of the city and is willing exchange information so long as it doesn’t interfere too much with business.
They’re seated at the bar, steadily working through enough rounds to put Sr. Calaveras in a benevolent mood. They’re strategically positioned on the side of the L-shaped bar so they have a clear view of the main room and, importantly, the front door and windows. The only area they can’t readily see is the scuffed, wooden dance floor behind them bordered by a handful of empty tables. Later in the night the dance floor might see some use, but for now they’re not missing out on much. Hanzo keeps his ears open for any stray information from the table of loud patrons closest to him, but they appear to be just a group of guys blowing off some steam after a frustrating day of work. There doesn’t seem to be much chance of getting useful information from any of the customers here tonight; hopefully Cassidy will get to work on Calaveras soon so the evening isn’t a total bust.
Cassidy seems to be thinking along the same lines, as he leans over the bar and switches to smooth, flowing Spanish. Hanzo knows enough common phrases to get by under everyday circumstances, but the speed of conversation and Cassidy’s lazy, possibly inebriated enunciation leaves him unable to keep up. Trusting that Cassidy is fully capable of navigating this conversation without any input from him, Hanzo instead scans the room for suspicious individuals.
The door opens to admit a group of five or six men, probably another party of workers looking to unwind at the end of the day. Cassidy idly looks up when they enter, and although his body language remains relaxed, he trails off mid-sentence then quickly clears his throat to cover up his momentary lapse before picking back up. Hanzo focuses intently on the group but doesn’t see any faces he recognizes from the mission dossier. He turns his attention back to Cassidy, but the man is fully engrossed in his conversation with the bartender and doesn’t give any further indication that anything is amiss. Hanzo watches the newcomers claim a table in the middle of the room. One of them heads to the bar, presumably to buy the first round. He’s tall and broad shouldered, with a five o’clock shadow and short, dark hair that’s tousled from a day of labor. He wears a work shirt with the LumériCo logo on the pocket, and a quick glance back at the group confirms that the rest of the men are similarly attired. Hanzo makes a mental note; their primary goal for this mission is to gather intel about Los Muertos’ next moves over the border, but LumériCo is always worth keeping an eye on.
Calaveras excuses himself from his conversation with Cassidy and goes to take the newcomer’s drink orders. Not wanting to attract the man’s attention, Hanzo again directs his gaze to the rest of the group at the table. He idly sips at his tequila as he lets his eyes drift lazily around the room, giving the appearance of aimless woolgathering while mentally cataloguing the features of each of the LumériCo employees. The group isn’t doing anything abnormal, and he’s about to move on when he feels a warm weight press against his left shoulder.
Startled, he turns to look and finds Cassidy leaning into him. His right elbow is propped up on the bar, chin resting heavily on his hand. He’s removed his hat sometime in the last few minutes, and the ends of his hair tickle Hanzo’s chin as he tilts his head and leans close.
“What’s wrong?” Hanzo asks in a low voice. Perhaps now that the bartender has stepped away, Cassidy will share whatever it was that had him unsettled about the new group.
“Hmm?” Cassidy blinks slowly, distractedly, before seeming to come back to himself. “Sorry, partner, guess the jetlag’s hitting me all of a sudden.” He straightens up and raises his own tequila shot to his lips. The man at the bar is returning to his table, carrying an armload of full pint glasses and bottles of beer.
Hanzo scoffs. Jetlag, sure. “Perhaps we should call it a night, if you are no longer able to handle your liquor.” Cassidy frowns and looks like he’s about to protest, but Hanzo continues on. “If you’re done with Calaveras, I don’t think we’re going to get much else here, anyway.”
“You’re probably right,” Cassidy acknowledges. He finds his wallet and leaves enough bills on the bar to cover both the drinks and the intel. “He says we oughta come back tomorrow night—couple o' ladies been meeting here the last few Fridays, and he thinks they’re awful serious for a girls’ night out.”
Cassidy grabs his hat, and they get up from the bar and make their way to the door. As they walk past the table of LumériCo employees, Cassidy leans into Hanzo again, going so far as to steady himself with a hand on his shoulder. Even though he’s feeling slightly buzzed himself, Hanzo can’t help but be a little surprised. Cassidy must be extremely tired if he’s stumbling after only a few tequila shots.
He pats Cassidy on the back in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, all thoughts of the bar’s other patrons forgotten for the moment.
“Come on, cowboy,” he encourages, “let’s get you to bed.”
---
The second time it happens, Hanzo is mostly just confused.
It’s the next night, and they’re back at Calaveras, seated at one of the few tables next to the dance floor. Two young ladies, one of whom wears dangling enamel earrings in the shape of skulls, are sitting at a similar table to their right. Per this morning’s check-in with Winston, the plan is to plant a tracker on one of the women in hopes that she will return to a Los Muertos base of operations here in the city. Skull-earrings is the obvious target, and she has fortuitously placed her large, brightly colored purse on the floor next to her chair.
The women huddle close together, making it impossible to overhear any stray bits of conversation. From the way they’re now holding hands in the middle of the table, Hanzo is pretty sure they’re done talking about business matters, anyway. He settles in to wait for the women to become distracted or go to the restroom, at which time he’ll slip by and drop the tracker in the tote bag on the floor.
It’s really not much of a hardship to bide his time with Cassidy. He and the cowboy have developed an easy camaraderie over the several months they’ve been working together. They’re frequently paired together on two-person missions, or assigned to the same strike team, and have even developed a variety of signals for nonverbal communication during battle and undercover. There’s no denying that they work well together, and it’s nice to have someone with similar interests (drinking habits count as interests, do they not?) and temperament with whom to unwind during the off-duty hours. If someone had told Hanzo a year ago that his best working relationship would be with a gruff but good-hearted cowboy, he would have arched an eyebrow and backed away slowly. Yet here he is, at a seedy bar in Dorado, discussing the various uses of chile peppers in Japanese vs. Mexican cuisine as time flies by. If not for the way Cassidy’s eyes periodically flick over to the adjacent table, he could almost forget they were on a mission.
Of course he does not forget, because Hanzo is a professional, and so he is fully prepared when the ladies rise from the table. Skull-earrings lifts her purse up and settles it on her chair. She tucks the chair in so the purse is mostly, but not entirely, under the table and surveys the room. Seemingly satisfied that her purse is safe in its present location, she takes her companion’s hand, and the pair make their way to the dance floor.
The ladies appear to be enjoying themselves, so Hanzo sees no reason to potentially reveal their objective by making an immediate move on the purse. Cassidy must be of the same mind, since he continues their easy conversation while casually keeping an eye on the dance floor. They’re just winding down a tangent about the furious yet distinctly un-chililike heat of wasabi when Cassidy leans across the table and lays his hand on top of Hanzo’s. He subtly taps the tips of two fingers to the back of Hanzo’s hand in one of their established signals. Two quick taps indicates that he’s about to get a little friendly with Hanzo and likely invade his personal space. Pretending to be a couple is useful in a surprising number of situations, and he and Cassidy have perfected the affectionate gestures and body language that allow them to get lost in a crowd or—as in this case—cover up an exchange of weapons or other small devices.
Hanzo easily slips into his ‘couple persona’ almost before he’s even registered the double-tap. He turns his hand palm-up on the table, twining his fingers with Cole’s and leaning in close. He hooks his fingers inside the cuff of Cole’s glove, expecting to find the tracker tucked away inside. Instead, he feels only the worn lining and the surprisingly soft skin of Cole’s inner wrist.
“Where is it? Give it to me, and I will make the drop on the way to the restroom,” Hanzo murmurs. Cole brings his metal hand up to tuck Hanzo’s loose bangs behind his ear, smiling adoringly as if Hanzo has just said something sweet.
“Nah, darlin’, I got a better idea,” he responds. Hanzo doesn’t let the surprise show on his face, simply continues holding Cole’s hand as the cowboy helps him up from the table and leads him in the direction of the dance floor. On the way past their target’s table, Cole stealthily drops the tracker from his prosthetic hand into Skull-earrings’ purse where an open corner is sticking out.
This isn’t quite the plan they discussed earlier, but Hanzo supposes it doesn’t really matter since the tracker has made it into the purse, regardless. He wonders at the reason for this inconsequential deviation as they arrive on the dance floor and Cole uses their joined hands to guide Hanzo’s arm around his waist. He settles his own arms around Hanzo’s shoulders, with one hand curling around Hanzo’s neck to toy with the short, buzzed strands at the nape.
He leans in close to Hanzo, nuzzling his cheek with his scruffy beard as he smugly murmurs into Hanzo’s ear. “Mission accomplished.”
Even when there’s no way anyone could overhear him, Cole’s voice changes when he’s playing this role. Hanzo has long-since gotten used to the cowboy’s everyday gravelly drawl, pleasant though it is. But when he’s acting the part of Hanzo’s boyfriend, his voice takes on a rolling, suggestive undertone that Hanzo doesn’t think he’ll ever become fully desensitized to. On their first few undercover missions, this voice of Cole’s had made Hanzo’s cheeks flush and his stomach clench with the absolute nerve-wracking certainty that the cowboy would mock Hanzo for his obvious (and unprofessional) reaction. Whether Cole had not noticed or simply assumed that Hanzo’s embarrassed demeanor was part of his cover, the expected chastisement never came, and over time Hanzo became accustomed to Cassidy’s suggestive tone. He no longer flushes now, though Cole’s ‘boyfriend-voice’ still makes him a little weak in the knees. And if his stomach flips now for reasons that have nothing to do with nerves—well, no one has to know.
“Indeed,” he returns. “But why the dancing?”
“Thought they might be watchin’ us,” Cassidy responds. “Seemed less obvious this way.”
Hanzo is skeptical. Cassidy hadn’t been the only one keeping an eye on the dance floor as they waited to make their move, and to all appearances the ladies were too wrapped up in each other to pay any mind to someone getting up to go to the restroom. He surreptitiously looks around the dance floor—indeed, Skull-Earrings and her partner are in their own little world and not looking at Hanzo or Cassidy at all.
Someone who is looking at Hanzo and Cassidy, on the other hand, is the LumériCo employee from the previous night. He’s not wearing the uniform tonight, dressed instead in black jeans and a white and black plaid button-down with a silver bolo in place of a necktie. He also appears to have shaved, but it’s unmistakably the same man. He’s sitting at a table on the far side of the dance floor along with a few other men and women. Hanzo recognizes one of the men from yesterday’s group, but the rest of LumériCo Guy’s companions are unfamiliar.
LumériCo Guy is ignoring his friends for the moment, preoccupied with scowling mildly in the direction of the dance floor. As soon as he notices Hanzo’s eyes on him, he smiles tightly—more like a grimace, really—and returns his attention to the conversation at his table.
Odd. If this man was spying on Hanzo or Cassidy, he probably wouldn’t have acknowledged Hanzo’s gaze like that. But on the other hand, why would he be scowling at two random people in a bar? He supposes that his expression could be chalked up to discomfort at seeing two men dance with each other, however outdated such an attitude may be. In any case, Hanzo files the interaction away in his growing mental dossier pertaining to LumériCo Guy and comes back to the conversation with Cole.
“Bah, you just wanted an excuse to make me dance,” he jokingly accuses. Cole chuckles—Hanzo can feel the rumble in his chest where they are pressed close together—but doesn’t deny it. Hanzo sighs exaggeratedly, the picture of a long-suffering but indulgent boyfriend. “I suppose I should be thankful it is not one of your line dances this time.”
Cole laughs fully now, and wraps his arms more tightly around Hanzo’s shoulders. Hanzo ventures a squeeze to Cole’s waist and resigns himself not at all grudgingly to a few more turns around the dance floor. The tracker is planted, their cover is intact, and there are worse things than being held warm and close by Cole Cassidy.
---
The third time it happens, Hanzo is genuinely worried.
It takes a few days, but eventually Skull-Earrings and her purse make their way to an unassuming house that could very well be a Los Muertos hideout. Once the location is identified, they spend another few days staking out the premises, observing the gang members’ comings and goings and determining the best time to break into the hopefully unoccupied base.
They take rotating shifts to maintain 24-hour surveillance of the hideout. Cassidy hides in plain sight, blending in with workers and families running errands in the bustling neighborhood nearby. He waits in line at a food truck parked next to the plaza’s enormous memorial statue, spends some time in a bakery chatting with the owner and her young daughter before buying a bag of pastries, sits slumped against the shaded stucco wall of the building across the street from the hideout, hat tilted down over his face to feign sleep or unconsciousness.
Hanzo goes for a more traditional approach. During his day shifts he plays the tourist, taking pictures of various city landmarks and shopping for kitschy souvenirs in the shops near the hideout. At night he takes to the rooftops where he has the perfect vantage point to sit for hours and observe his target from the shadows.
Though he and Cassidy don’t see each other much during the stakeout period, they keep each other company over the comms. Aside from their hourly check-ins, they share stories and other small talk whenever they can speak without drawing unnecessary attention. Perhaps even more entertaining are the times when one of them isn’t able to respond without blowing his cover. One afternoon Hanzo tells Cassidy a drawn-out joke which has Cassidy struggling not to laugh while he’s supposed to be passed out under a bush. Cassidy gets his revenge later, transmitting century-old bluegrass music over the comm for the entire duration of Hanzo’s group tour of historic downtown. They end up calling a truce that night after Hanzo threatens to escalate with Genji’s current favorite K-pop album. Their surveillance shifts drag on but aren’t as boring as they could be, thanks to the perpetual presence of a friendly voice on the other end of the comms.
After the fourth day of their stakeout, Hanzo and Cassidy are ready to make their move. They each approach the hideout from different directions, arriving during the sleepy late afternoon of an unremarkable Tuesday. Cassidy keeps watch at the door while Hanzo creeps in to make sure no Los Muertos members linger inside. As expected, the building is empty, so he signals for Cassidy to enter.
It’s surprisingly free of clutter or incriminating evidence; no memos, maps, or files are anywhere to be found. Hanzo figures that after years of working with cyber security expert Sombra, they feel entirely comfortable trusting their communications and records to electronic storage rather than retaining physical documents. Their history with Sombra probably also means that it’s a bad idea to attempt to extract data from any of the numerous computers found throughout the household.
Looks like they’re sticking to the plan, then, and simply planting bugs in the various rooms of the hideout. Cassidy blankets the main living area and kitchenette while Hanzo covers the smaller bedrooms-cum-offices down the hall. They’ve already discussed what to do once inside, so they complete their work in silence.
Cassidy leaves the building first, and Hanzo follows once he receives the all-clear. The sleepy side neighborhood gives way to the bustling city center, made even more lively by the crowds of people heading home from work. They blend in with the foot traffic, keeping their conversation light and holding off on any discussion of the mission until they’re back in the safehouse. They’re almost to the edge the plaza when Cassidy suddenly wraps an arm around Hanzo’s waist, quickly double-tapping his opposite hip.
Hanzo looks around, suddenly hyper-aware. He scans the throngs of people, searching for any of the Los Muertos members they’ve observed coming and going from the hideout these last few days. He does not see any of these people, but there—eating a foil-wrapped burrito next to one of the popular food carts on the plaza—is LumériCo Guy. He is looking in their direction, and when he sees Hanzo watching he immediately averts his gaze, as before. Dread settles in Hanzo’s stomach. Once or twice is maybe a coincidence, but three times is a pattern—and a worrisome one. He knows that Cassidy has worked in this area before, even lived here for a short while, if Hanzo is not mistaken. This man seems to recognize Cassidy, and his perpetual albeit non-hostile presence throughout the week does not bode well for the integrity of their undercover operation. He will need to inform Winston of this development as soon as possible, to ensure that he is prepared in case LumériCo traces either Cassidy or himself back to the newly re-established Overwatch.
Though Hanzo privately wonders what good such gestures will do when LumériCo is obviously aware of their presence in the city, Hanzo obligingly slings an arm around Cassidy’s shoulder as they walk hurriedly away from the plaza.
---
By the time they return to the safehouse, Winston has already notified them that the bugs are online, and by the time Cassidy calls the commander for a full debriefing, the information is already rolling in. So far it’s just a couple possible routes into the United States, but as long as the bugs remain undiscovered, who knows what other tips they might receive. Cassidy summarizes their afternoon and their uneventful infiltration of the hideout, but it’s obviously a formality at this point. They schedule an extraction time and location for tomorrow and sign off for the night, left to their own devices for their remaining hours in Dorado.
They’re packing their duffles and contemplating heading out for a celebratory drink when Hanzo suddenly realizes what’s been bothering him since they hung up with HQ.
“Why did you not tell Winston about the LumériCo employee?”
Cassidy stiffens for a brief moment, then resumes folding the undershirt he’s holding and places it in his bag. Now Hanzo is certain something is amiss, since he’s pretty sure he’s never seen the rumpled cowboy take the time to fold his dirty laundry before.
“LumériCo employee?” Cassidy repeats nonchalantly, still abnormally focussed on his packing. Hanzo isn’t buying it for one second.
“Yes, the man in the LumériCo uniform who has had eyes on us this entire week,” Hanzo replies slowly, incredulous. “You cannot tell me you didn’t notice him. At the bar—both nights—and just now in the plaza! If LumériCo knows we are here, that’s a serious security issue for Overwatch. Why would you not mention this possibility to the commander?”
Cassidy is still not looking at him. “Nah, that ain’t—well, yeah okay, he does work for LumériCo I guess, but that’s just, uh. Guillermo. He ain’t got nothin’ to do with the mission.”
“Wait, you know this man? I knew he was watching you too closely!” Hanzo thinks fast; they just have to make it another twelve hours or so until the extraction. Even if this man has recognized Cassidy, Hanzo is certain they were not followed back to the safehouse. “Who is he, a bounty hunter? Wait, no, is he Deadlock? Of course they may be working with Los Muertos; how can you be certain he has nothing to do with—”
“Woah now, take it easy,” Cassidy interrupts, finally meeting Hanzo’s eyes. “Guillermo ain’t Deadlock, or…anything, really. He’s just a guy. He’s, uh…well, he’s my ex, actually.”
Whatever Hanzo was about to say next drops entirely out of his mind as his train of thought is suddenly and massively derailed. “Your ex. Ex-boyfriend.”
“Yeah.” Cassidy removes his hat, tossing it onto the bed and running his metal hand through his hair. He’s looking around, intent on anything in the room other than Hanzo.
“But if he is no danger to you, then why…” Hanzo trails off, recalling Cassidy’s actions the last few days. The way he leaned into Hanzo in the bar, danced with him even after the tracker had already been dropped in the target’s purse. The affectionate gestures scattered here and there over the course of the mission, always preceded by that double-tap, and always when LumériCo Guy—Guillermo, apparently—was watching them.
“So we have been pretending to be a couple this week, not to avoid detection, but as some kind of display — ” Hanzo’s confusion gives way to indignation as the pieces fall into place, but Cassidy cuts him off again before he can build up a good head of steam.
“Yeah, I mean. We do it all the time for other missions, got our whole system already worked out, and I guess I wanted to show him I’m doin’ just fine without him. Thought if he saw us…together…You know, now that I’m saying it out loud, it was actually a pretty fuckin’ stupid idea, huh?” He takes a fortifying breath, braces himself, and finally meets Hanzo’s eyes. “Sorry, Hanzo. I shouldn’ta done any of that.” He turns away and busies himself packing again, although at this point he’s just fidgeting with clothing to have something to do.
Hanzo huffs a sigh and sits down on the bed next to Cole’s duffle. Of course he knew the affection was fake, but he had assumed it was necessary to maintain adequate cover for the mission. He certainly hadn’t expected Cassidy to take advantage of their closeness for something so childish.
“So this Guillermo,” he begins, “is he special, or is this something you do when you cross paths with all your exes?” He pins Cassidy with a stare, under which the cowboy actually has the grace to flush.
“What? Naw, I ain’t like that. Well, clearly I am in this particular case, but seriously, Guillermo’s an exception. I won’t bore you with the details but believe me, he’s a top-tier asshole.”
“What did he do?” Hanzo can’t help but be intrigued. If he’s been dragged into this drama, he’s damn well getting the full story.
“I mean, it’s not just that we broke up—shit, it wouldn’ta worked out long-term anyway. I had to use an alias the whole time we were together so it was really only a matter of time. But one day I come to find out he’s running around on me, which was bad enough. But then when I tried to talk to him about it like, you know, a grown-ass adult, he turns around and tells me it’s my fault for having ‘old fashioned hangups’ about ‘open relationships!’” His mouth twists as he spits the phrases, gesturing angrily with air quotes. Cassidy seems to have forgotten his shame over his recent behavior as he relays the story to Hanzo with the righteous indignation of a scorned lover.
“Wasn’t no ‘open relationship,’” he mutters. “He may not have known my real name, but the rest of it was real enough.” Cassidy settles down, his fire burned out and replaced with an awkward silence.
Hanzo sits quietly, absorbing this revelation. He imagines Cole settled here in town, albeit temporarily, trying to carve out a sliver of normal life while being on the run with bounty hunters closing in every day. Finding someone to take comfort in, letting his guard down and letting himself get close enough to be legitimately hurt and blindsided when his affection was callously disregarded.
As much as he would like to pretend that he’s simply indignant on behalf of a close friend, he knows his growing anger is more personal than that. The man was a fool to cheat on Cole, a fool not to be satisfied with the man in front of him. Hanzo has to settle for scraps of artificial intimacy while this Guillermo had the real thing and was somehow uncaring enough to throw it away. Foolishness he could forgive, but if Cole is still this hurt and angry about it now, several years later…
“You wanted to make him jealous,” he says evenly. Cassidy sighs and gives up any pretense of packing.
“Yeah. Sounds damned childish when you put it like that, but yeah. I mean, he wouldn’t even talk to me about it in person; asshole ended things with a text message! Look, I don’t blame you for bein’ mad. I—”
“So that is what we will do,” Hanzo concludes. Simple. Vindictive. Mischievous.
“—really am sorry—wait, what?” Cassidy whips around to face Hanzo. He certainly has the cowboy’s full attention now.
“He was a fool to cheat on you,” Hanzo states, vocalizing his earlier thoughts. “Anyone lucky enough to have your affections would be an idiot to throw them away. And to do so in such a disgusting and dishonorable manner. A grown man, breaking up via text message.” He sniffs disdainfully. “If he is too blind to see his own idiocy, I am more than happy to help show him the error of his ways.”
He stands up and stalks past a stunned Cole to rifle through his packed duffle, pulling out a pair of jeans and the cleanest shirt he can find. He shoves the items at Cole, who takes them automatically while staring at Hanzo in confusion.
“Get cleaned up,” Hanzo directs. “We are going out, and we’re going to show Guillermo what he’s missing out on.”
---
The last time it happens, it’s on Hanzo’s terms, and Cole can only do his best to hang on for the ride.
Hanzo hasn’t left his side since they walked into Calaveras tonight. Upon seeing Guillermo parked at his usual table, Hanzo had nodded almost imperceptibly and then proceeded to ignore the man’s presence entirely. Instead, he’d turned the full force of his attention and charm on Cole, buying him drinks at the bar and scooting his stool close enough to rest a hand on his lower back, casual and proprietary. He’d smiled, and flirted, and had even been the one to lead Cole onto the dance floor this time.
A man could get used to this, Cole thinks to himself as a slow song starts and Hanzo pulls him even closer. A quick double-tap to the back of Cole’s neck is all the warning he gets before Hanzo rests his head on Cole’s shoulder. They fit together so well like this, Cole has to close his eyes against the swelling tightness in his chest that he’s been steadfastly ignoring all evening—all week, if he’s honest. They sway to the music, and Cole finally gives in and lets himself imagine just for a minute that this is real.
He’d known he was pushing his luck this week with all the stolen moments. Of course Hanzo was going to catch on eventually; ever since day one the archer had the uncanny ability to see straight through the facades Cole constantly and unconsciously throws up, smoke and mirrors and misdirection born of years without anyone he trusted at his back. Frankly, he’s surprised it took Hanzo the whole week to figure it out, and by that point he’d figured the best he could hope for was to come off as pathetic instead of an actual asshole. He wasn’t prepared for the unexpected sympathy, nor for Hanzo’s willingness to not only extend the pretense but up the ante on tonight’s affectionate displays. Because as cooperative as Hanzo had been in ‘maintaining their cover’ earlier in the week, it pales in comparison to now, when he’s totally and completely on board with playing along. Cole wonders if Hanzo is laying it on thick to make their involvement extra obvious, or if this is what Hanzo is actually like when he’s interested in someone.
If this were real, would Hanzo be this affectionate, or would he prefer to be discreet in public? Would he still smile in that special way he’s been doing all night, the way that has quite literally taken Cole’s breath away twice already? Would he genuinely laugh at Cole’s stupid jokes and stories? Would he still look at Cole like he’s the only man in the room? God, how Cole wants to find out.
He’s so caught up in wondering that at first he doesn’t notice Hanzo guiding him towards the edge of the dance floor. He’s pulled from his thoughts when Hanzo’s warm weight is no longer pressed against the length of his body. He opens his eyes to see that Hanzo hasn’t gone far and is now pulling him by the hand over to the hallway that leads to the restrooms.
“Come on, I saw him go in. Let us give him an eyeful on his way out.” Oh, right. Cole has managed to entirely forget about Guillermo, the reason this whole charade is even happening.
Hanzo gently places a hand on Cole’s chest and pushes him back until he’s leaning against the hallway wall directly across from the men’s room door. With his other hand he slowly reaches up towards Cole’s hat, telegraphing the motion because, bless him, even in this context he knows better than to mess with a cowboy’s hat. At Cole’s nod Hanzo removes the hat and holds it out of the way down by his side. He smirks.
“And here this whole time I wondered why you didn’t take more care to hide your face from our observer.”
Cole blushes at the reminder of his clumsy machinations. Trust Hanzo to pick up on even the smallest detail.
Hanzo’s smirk fades as he takes a deep breath and appears to gather himself. When he looks up at Cole again, his face is resolute, but there’s a hint of apprehension in his eyes. Before Cole can wonder what that’s all about, Hanzo is double-tapping his chest and leaning in.
He starts with a kiss on the cheek; they’ve done this much before, playful pecks and gentle nuzzles that give the perfect excuse to get close and whisper strategies or observations in each others’ ears. Next Hanzo kisses the corner of his mouth, lingering for a moment. He can feel the archer’s shaky exhale before he covers Cole’s lips with his own.
Hanzo’s lips are warm and plush, and even though Cole knows this is just for show, his heartbeat still quickens and his breath comes faster. He intends to keep the kiss chaste, he really does, but when Hanzo tilts his head for a better angle, Cole gasps involuntarily. Without missing a beat Hanzo slips his tongue between Cole’s parted lips and, okay, this is way beyond any intimacy they’ve previously feigned for the sake of a mission. He makes one more last-ditch effort to hold onto professionalism, but Hanzo is well and truly licking his way into Cole’s mouth now, hot and wet and still tasting faintly of tequila, and Cole has never been happier to give in.
He wraps his arms around Hanzo’s waist and kisses back in earnest, lost in the smooth slide of tongues and the rasp of Hanzo’s beard against his own.
The moment is broken when the door to the men’s room swings open and a man comes out, nearly colliding with Hanzo where he is crowding Cole against the opposite wall. Hanzo turns deliberately, an annoyed expression on his face.
“Excuse you,” he says imperiously, arching an eyebrow.
“Sorry man, but you’re in a fuckin’ hallway—Oh,” he begins heatedly but breaks off when he looks past Hanzo to see Cole’s undoubtedly flushed face and kiss-red lips. “Uh, hey, Joel.”
Cole nods in a perfunctory greeting. He schools both his expression and his tone to come across as blasé as possible. “Guillermo.”
Hanzo chooses that moment to grasp Cole’s chin in hand, turning it back to face him and capturing his mouth in another all-consuming kiss. Though his attention is most decidedly elsewhere, Cole is peripherally aware of Guillermo awkwardly shuffling past on his way back to the main area of the bar.
Mission accomplished, Cole thinks ruefully as he savors one last moment of closeness. Wouldn’t do to take advantage of Hanzo’s frankly heroic dedication to the cause, after all, no matter how much he doesn’t want this to be over. He tries to end the kiss, but Hanzo’s mouth chases his as he pulls away, and the hand grasping his chin moves to gently cradle his bearded jaw. Hanzo holds him close for one last, sweet second before letting Cole go. He drops his hand but doesn’t move away, seemingly reluctant to restore a more professional semblance of space between them.
“Han,” Cole begins dazedly. He licks his lips, committing the lingering taste of tequila and Hanzo to memory. “He’s gone. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
Hanzo steps back, as if startled. He flushes, toying with the band of Cole’s hat, which he still holds in one hand. “Of course,” he says. “I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable.”
“Woah, now, I didn’t say that,” Cole hastens to reassure him. “Just didn’t want to put you out any, is all. You, uh, really went above and beyond there, not that I’m complaining.”
Hanzo is still looking intently down at Cole’s hat. “It was no hardship, I assure you,” he murmurs, soft and unexpectedly vulnerable. Impossibly, Cole’s heart pounds even faster.
“That so?” he ventures hopefully.
When Hanzo finally raises his head again, his eyes shine with the same spark mirrored in Cole’s own. “I meant what I said earlier,” he states, voice low but underlied with iron determination. “How that man could know you, your humor and your competence and your… goodness , and still wish for different companionship is incomprehensible to me. While I am sorry that his actions caused you pain, I am not sorry that your affections are no longer wasted on someone so unworthy.” He inhales shakily and continues, reaching out to tentatively take Cole’s hand in his own. “If this was truly just a charade then I am sorry to burden you with my feelings. But if you are…fond of me, as I am fond of you, then I would very much like the opportunity to show you the love and respect you deserve.”
Cole’s chest feels full to bursting as Hanzo offers him everything he’s wanted these past several months with a few words and a gentle squeeze of his hand. Although Cole can feel the dopey grin spread across his face, Hanzo still looks tense, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Hey,” Cole says warmly, turning his hand in Hanzo’s to lace their fingers together. “Good thing I am fond of you. More than fond,” he says. He brings their joined hands to his lips, kissing Hanzo’s fingertips without breaking eye contact. “Come here.”
He leans in—no double-tap this time—and captures Hanzo’s lips in their first real, honest kiss. Not agents undercover, not Joel and his new boytoy, just Cole and Hanzo and the heady, soaring sensation of friendship tipping over into something more. When they break apart, smiling against each others’ mouths, Cole rests his forehead against Hanzo’s.
“What do you say we get out of here?” he suggests, voice low and smooth with promise. “All this showin’ off has certainly been enjoyable, but right now I’m in the mood for a little privacy.”
Hanzo begins to step backwards towards the opening of the hallway, leading Cole along by their still-joined hands. “I could not agree more.”
---
In the late hours of the Dorado evening, two men stumble out of a bar, though their intoxication is not from drink. They do not even notice the figure in the plaid shirt and bolo tie slumped against the wall outside the same bar, working on a cigarette and staring moodily out into the night. The men hold hands as they make their way across the plaza, under strings of fairy lights and the warm glow of old-fashioned lanterns, eventually disappearing out of view down a winding sidestreet.
He walks in, it all makes sense
Suddenly you’re climbing all up next to me, next to me
I ain’t no fool; you rascal, you
You don’t want me, you just want your ex to see, ex to see
(Come here and kiss me, I just want your ex to see)
"Ex to See," Sam Hunt