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The rain falls at an even, steady pace, pattering gently upon the balcony. Beyond, the sound of the sea washing upon the distant shore provides a steady backdrop. The rain that hits Hanzo’s skin is cool but not freezing, a not-unpleasant counterpoint to the warm, summery Gibraltar night. The day had been unbearably muggy, heavy with the oncoming threat of rain, and finally the skies had broken half an hour ago just as evening gave way to nighttime, relieving the atmosphere--and Gibraltar’s occupants--of its humidity.
Hanzo was not sure what exactly drove him outside in this weather, dressed in only his gi with nothing to protect him from the elements, but the rain had done something for him that an hour of meditation had not. The rain is cleansing, washing away the anxious, crawling energy under his skin and slowing the racing thoughts in his head. For the first time in hours, he is calm.
The company, too, may have had a part in that.
McCree had followed him out into the rain a few minutes after he first went out, apparently concerned by Hanzo’s departure into the poor weather. After, he had stayed until he too was soaked by the rain. It had confused Hanzo, at first, until he recognized the dark lines under his eyes and the heavy slope of his shoulders that pointed to a restless mood, the kind Hanzo knew too well for himself.
Now, they lean on the balcony together, side-by-side under the rain. They had conversed, a little, before they each became distracted by their own thoughts. Hanzo does not mind. Even in silence, McCree’s presence is always welcome. Between them, their arms are pressed together companionably, creating a line of warmth counteracting the cool rain.
“Y’know,” McCree remarks, breaking the companionable silence that has persisted for the last few minutes, “someone’s gonna catch us and think we’re crazy for bein’ out here.”
Hanzo chuckles. “Perhaps,” he replies. He looks out at the distant sea, where the rain churns the water’s surface into a rough, ever-fluctuating canvas. “But I do not think I would mind tonight. The benefits outweigh the negatives.”
McCree hums. He shifts slightly, pressing his arm against Hanzo’s just a little more. His white shirt is soaked through and half-transparent, clinging to his body in interesting ways. “Just sayin’,” he says. “Most folks would go have their breakdowns indoors and not add ‘cold and wet’ to the list of problems.”
“Then why are you out here?”
“Making sure some idiot doesn’t get hypothermia and die.”
Hanzo snorts. “I would not get hypothermia and die.”
“No, you won’t, ‘cause I’m gonna make sure you don’t.”
Hanzo rolls his eyes, and McCree laughs quietly. As his chuckles fade, he looks out again. Rain breaks against his face and rolls down the square angles of his features, catching in his hair and his beard.
“You alright, though?” McCree asks in a softer tone. “Didn’t see much of you today.”
“Fine. It is just . . . the usual things.”
McCree nods once, understanding. They both know each other’s demons now, and McCree knows well the nature of a past that cannot be escaped.
“I am sorry for dragging you out here,” Hanzo says, though he did not make McCree come out here. Rather, McCree had followed him, and Hanzo’s stomach flutters a little at the reminder. “You do not need to stay--”
“Nah, Hanzo. It’s fine.” McCree looks at him now, nudging him with his shoulder. It remains there, his weight leaning against Hanzo’s shoulder just a little more than before. “Don’t worry about it. Just wanted to make sure you were doin’ okay.”
He tips his head back, turning his face up towards the falling rain, eyes closed and expression thoughtful. A few drops run down the strong column of his neck until they are finally caught by the edge of his shirt. Hanzo thinks, briefly, of licking the rainwater from the hollow of his throat, and looks away when he realizes the turn his thoughts have taken. He cannot ignore, however, the not-unpleasant ache of affection under his ribs. That McCree would be so invested in his well-being as to follow him here is . . . flattering.
“Never got much rain back home,” McCree says.
“I imagine not. New Mexico is mostly desert, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Lots of sun, not so much of this.” The corner of his mouth turns up with a smile. “I guess it’s kinda nice. Can see why you’d come stand out here for an hour.”
“It’s been fifteen minutes.”
“Close enough.”
Hanzo chuckles. “I suppose we are a couple of fools,” he says, “standing in the rain instead of addressing our problems.”
“Probably.” McCree looks at him again, and Hanzo is surprised to realize just how close he is, and cannot remember when that happened. “Better than just one or the other of us bein’ a fool standin’ out in the rain, though.”
“Maybe so.”
Their eyes meet. Hanzo’s breath catches in his chest. McCree’s eyes seem darker in this lighting, less of a whiskey and more of a deep, rich copper. Rain clings to his eyelashes, sticking them into wet clumps and glimmering faintly.
McCree’s smile dims a little. His gaze flickers down, then up to Hanzo’s again, questioning.
Hanzo does not know which one of them moves first, but they meet in the middle. The kiss is soft and careful, lips carefully fitted between each other’s, just enough pressure to feel. It lasts only the briefest moment, but it is more than enough to leave Hanzo breathless.
McCree looks at him through half-lidded eyes, backing away only enough to meet his gaze. The tip of his tongue skates nervously across his lower lip. “That alright?” he asks in a rough whisper.
Hanzo feels calmer than he expects as he reaches out a hand, finding a loose grip in the front of McCree’s sodden shirt. “More than,” he replies, and there is no uncertainty this time as they come together again.
McCree turns to face him, reaching out with one hand to find Hanzo’s hip and pull him nearer, and Hanzo loops his other arm around McCree’s shoulders. The space where their bodies meet is cold at first but quickly warms, a searing line of heat that pushes them closer still. McCree’s other hand lifts to Hanzo’s face but barely touches, his fingertips ghosting under the line of his jaw to sweetly guide him up. One kiss leads easily into another, a little deeper, enough for them each to taste a hint of the warmth of the other’s mouth that in turn draws them in further. Around them, the rain continues to fall, blotting out the rest of the world and cocooning them in a moment all their own.
A breeze whistles past, bringing with it the cold air from the ocean, driving the two of them closer together. McCree shivers, a ripple through his back that Hanzo can feel under his hand, then slowly, reluctantly, pulls away. A ruddy pink flush colors his cheeks, but his eyes are soft with unguarded, genuine affection.
“Think we oughta take this inside,” he murmurs. “Maybe, ah, talk about this a bit?”
“Perhaps,” Hanzo says distractedly, watching a rivulet of rain trace down McCree’s cheek beside his nose. It catches at the corner of his mouth, and Hanzo can’t resist leaning up to press his lips there and taste the rain off of McCree’s skin for himself. The tiny sound of McCree’s sharp inhale is the best thing Hanzo has ever heard.
“Inside,” Hanzo agrees, and the grin McCree gives could part the clouds above them.