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In his lifetime, Jesse McCree has looked down the barrel of a gun more times than he can count. Now, most people would say looking down the barrel of one gun was already one too many. Most would say you’d have to be a special kind of bastard to look down the barrel of a gun as many times as it took to lose count. And they’d be right. Jesse was a special kind of bastard.
He was the kind that loved it.
Now, don’t go saying he had a fetish or something; it wasn’t like that. No, he just enjoyed the thrill, the anticipation that can only come from looking down the barrel of someone else’s gun. He liked that shot of electricity that went right down his spine when he was trapped and cornered with only seconds to get out alive. It’s what cost him his arm, and he’s damn sure it’ll be what costs him his head. He was a thrill-seeking devil if you’d ever seen one, and at twenty-two years old and part of a covert organization, Jesse was sure nothing could scare him.
That is, until Gabriel Reyes handed him a straight razor sharper than hell itself, and said, “shave me”. Jesse looked down the flat side of the blade, and he could feel mortal fear coil deep in his bones. He could see his hand tremble. He could’ve shit his pants right then and there.
“What? Pardon?” Jesse asked, sure he had heard wrong.
Reyes didn’t repeat himself as he settled down into a spare chair in Jesse’s quarters. He looked out of place in the chaos of Jesse’s room, dressed in his usual black gear, a stark contrast against the clothes, magazines, and other bric-a-brac strewn across the room. Jesse looked around the room to check if any of his less than respectable material was lying around. Jesse was not an innocent young man by any means, and the last thing he needed was his commanding officer seeing his skin mags, or worse. After giving himself the all clear, he couldn’t help but squeak out a, “Reyes, sir?” because he still couldn’t believe this.
Once again he was ignored as Reyes got comfortable, stretching his legs, and taking off his beanie. He ran a hand through his hair, making the matted curls spring back to life. Jesse couldn’t help the fluttering feeling he got in the pit of his stomach, seeing Reyes so at ease in his room. It made him warm, made his pulse roar something fierce under his skin. He ignored the feeling, or at least he tried to. It didn’t work.
“Calm down, McCree, I’m not some RA here to bust you,” Reyes said, snapping Jesse to the present. Jesse hadn’t noticed just how tense he really was until Reyes pointed it out. He could physically feel his shoulders near his ears, muscles pulled tautly. He relaxed, or he tried to. That didn’t work either.
“Then what are you doing here?” Jesse asked roughly, put on edge by the other man’s mere presence. Jesse added a quick, “sir”, when Reyes threw him a look that could’ve killed a lesser man. Instead of answering, Reyes asked, “You do know how to shave someone, right?”
So Jesse hadn’t heard wrong. He squeezed the handle of the razor in his hand and said, “I mean, if that someone is myself, yeah. Can’t say I have much experience shaving someone else, though.”
Reyes simply nodded, running a hand through his beard (which still looked well groomed, if not impeccable to Jesse). “Well, I guess you’re gonna get some practice today.”
“Wouldn’t you want someone you trust to do this?” Jesse asked, sure his superior officer had lost his damn mind. He looked down at the razor as if he couldn’t believe it was still in his hand, as if just asking the question do you trust me would make it magically disappear from his hand. There was no way in good God’s good hell Reyes would trust him to do this. But without hesitation or even a lick of sarcasm in his voice, Reyes said, “Yeah. And I asked you.” Jesse turned to him but Reyes was looking out the window, as relaxed as he could be. Jesse was sure he didn’t even turn to look at him as he said that. His stomach twisted pleasantly, and all Jesse could think was Gabriel Reyes, you bastard.
Jesse wavered, nervous. And he doesn’t take wavering lightly, didn’t believe in uncertainty and anxiety. In Deadlock uncertainty meant certain death. Hell, even in Blackwatch one misstep could cost not only his life but someone else’s. But he was nervous; he was handed a damn razor , asked to place it against his superiors neck, and have at it. And Jesse wasn’t a nervous man by nature. He was confident; sometimes even to the point of cockiness. Right now he was confident that he was a nervous-ass wreck. But, like any adrenaline junkie, Jesse said to hell with it and looked this barrel straight on.
“Well, I ain’t gonna shave you in the middle of my room,” Jesse said as he grabbed a towel and his can of shaving cream to distract himself from how his hands shook.
Reyes shook his head. “Nah, I’m comfortable. Plus, you want the rest of the team to see you shaving me? What would they think?”
Not that Jesse cared much for what other people thought. But, suddenly, he did care. He was struck with the image of his teammates watching as he bent over Reyes’ neck, as he ran his fingers down the side of Reyes’ pulse, as he smoothed a sharp razor under their C.O.’s chin. Jesse felt himself heat up, a light flush making its way up his neck. The image was sweet and intimate, and it made Jesse dizzy just thinking about how he’d look to his team who only ever saw him as a cocky, reckless sonuvabitch. It made him dizzy thinking about what his teammates would whisper about him and Reyes. Are they fucking? Are they together? Jesse lowered his eyes, struck shy from the thought.
How he fucking wished .
“Alright, so what?” He asked, placing the towel and shaving cream can back down. “You want me to shave you here? In my messy ass room?”
Reyes chuckled lightly and shrugged. “Better than the showers.”
Jesse shrugged right back, and muttered, “alright, whatever.” He pulled another chair close to Reyes to use as a makeshift counter. “Don’t blame me if I cut you up like a Christmas ham and you gotta clean blood outta my carpet.”
Reyes laughed as he eased into the chair more, and lifted his chin a bit. “I’m sure you won’t, but if you do, I have a few tricks on getting blood out of tough spots.”
Jesse snorted, knowing Reyes wasn’t joking. But he didn’t say anything else and sprayed some cream onto his hand before gently spreading it onto the other man’s neck and chin. The skin was warm under his hands, thick with muscle but still so soft and pliant under his fingers. Once he believed Reyes was properly lathered up, he picked up his razor and dipped it in the water before gingerly placing it against his superior’s neck. Jesse was once again filled with the truth that this was C.O.’s neck, Gabriel Reyes’ pulse under the business end of a razor, a hero of the Omnic Crisis trusting him not to spill blood this evening. Jesse’s heart was a horse’s gallop in his chest, and his breath came out heavier than he liked. It was intoxicating.
Steeling himself, and Ignoring the way his hands shook, Jesse lifted the razor up and swiped away suds and hair. After that initial graze, it was like going into a trance. Lulled by the gentle scrape of metal against skin, Jesse found himself lost in the motions. Up, wipe, up, wipe — before he knew it, half of Reyes’ neck was as clean as a whistle. And soon the other half of his neck followed, smooth, dark brown skin revealing itself. Jesse wanted to press his lips against Reyes’ neck, lick at the lingering soap there. Once again he had to reign in his runaway thoughts, too aware of how close they were.
But Jesse, being the daring dumbass he was, pressed himself closer to Reyes, maneuvering his chin up with gentle fingers to get at the soft slope under his chin. His thoughts ran away again, going off to other places. Places that included soft sheets and Reyes’ thick thighs locking around his waist as he moved between his legs a different way. Places where seeing the underside of Reyes’ chin meant also kissing it, biting a mark the shape of his teeth on his adam’s apple. Jesse flushed and was glad Reyes had his eyes closed as he shaved him.
He could feel Reyes’ pulse pick up, though, as he got closer to him, made him spread his legs wider so he could shave him without nicking him or messing up his goatee. It was a heavy thrum, and Jesse swore he could feel the heat of blood run through it. Was Reyes thinking the same things he was? Did he want Reyes to think of him in that way? (God, yes , he did — Jesse lied about a lot of things but he wasn’t about to lie to himself about that.) Jesse could feel his own pulse pick up in tandem, nervousness, and arousal pumping even hotter through his veins.
But he couldn’t act on his impulses. He wouldn’t. Jesse loved Reyes, that much was achingly clear. But he wouldn’t push his feelings onto the other man, wouldn’t make him responsible for his heart. Their lives were not easy, too burdened by blood and danger to act on romantic feelings. Jesse knew this. And it was the reason why he didn’t lean over and press his lips to Reyes’ own, to finally act upon what his heart wanted so desperately. As intimate as this scene was, that’s all it was — a scene, Jesse’s heart playing make-believe, pretending they were something closer than officer and underling.
And so, as suddenly as the whole ordeal began, it was over. Jesse gently wiped the excess shaving cream off Reyes’ face with his towel and took in his handwork. Reyes’ goatee was sharp and cleaned up, and Reyes’ skin looked fresh and clean from the shave. He looked as handsome as always, and Jesse felt his heartache once again. Taking a step back, Jesse grabbed a handheld mirror he had on his messy desk and turned it towards Reyes with a, “ta-da! Lookin’ good, jefe. ”
The older man tilted his head up to examine Jesse’s work, his lips pursing with approval as he moved his head this way and that way. “Did good, Jess,” he smiled, making pride flare bright in Jesse’s chest.
“Aw, shucks, you’re gonna make me blush, boss,” Jesse chuckled, placing the mirror back down. “You need another shave just come right back, y’hear?”
“Will do.” Jesse watched as Reyes got up, running a hand through his curls. “Maybe you can give me a shape-up.”
“Naw, don’t do that — they’re nice.” Before Jesse could think better of it, he reached out to push his fingers through Reyes’ hair. The curls were softer than he imagined, thick and bouncy. He loved the feel of them through his fingers.
Reyes hummed. “Well, nice doesn’t fit Blackwatch protocol.”
“I don’t think cowboy does, either, but you’re letting me slide by.”
“Maybe I like cowboys,” Reyes smirked and Jesse felt his neck heat up.
“Well, maybe I like curls,” he ribbed back and Reyes let out a chuckle that warmed Jesse up like a shot of whiskey. Their eyes locked, a clash of brown, and Jesse felt like he was staring down the barrel of a gun once again. Reyes’ gaze held something heavy, powerful and dangerous; it was a look that had Jesse tensing with adrenaline.
But, for once, he didn’t know where to go, how to break out of this. And when Reyes blinked, his gaze falling back into his usual nonchalance, Jesse knew he had misstepped. As Reyes thanked him one last time with a heavy hand to his shoulder, Jesse knew he was left to bleed out in the clutter of his room, the air thick with the smell of his own blood and regrets.
And that’s why you don’t waver.