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It’s approximately two in the morning when Hanzo gives up on a vicious fight against the self-deprecating voice in his head, which has been spewing venom at him since he’d first climbed into bed at midnight. Two hours of tossing and turning have rendered him a frazzled mess; his hair sticks to the pillow when he flops onto his back with a huff, his eyelids feeling painfully heavy as he glares up at the ceiling. These nights are always the worst. There is no greater torment than being physically weighed down by exhaustion but mentally held over the surface of slumber by nasty thoughts derived by self-contempt.
After years of suffering with this post-traumatic affliction, he’s used to battling it alone.
Luckily, he no longer has to.
“Jesse.” Hanzo’s voice slices through the pitch black room like a knife, carrying all the weight of a hefty breeze.
Beside him, his husband stirs, presumably rolling onto his back if the distinct rustle of blankets and the soft grunt of him getting settled is anything to go by. “Yeah, honeybun?” he croaks. Guilt flashes through Hanzo as he realizes he’d woken the poor man, but it’s a little too late to go back on.
“Can’t sleep,” he answers meekly, voice rasping with drowsiness and frustration in equal measure.
Jesse rumbles thoughtfully. After a brief moment, in which Hanzo fears he had already succumbed yet again to slumber, the man quietly asks, “Would ya like to talk? Or would ya prefer lovies?”
In spite of his sleep-deprived irritation, Hanzo feels a fond smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Lovies,” he murmurs with a hinting lilt of a plea, and he instantly feels the mattress dip beneath him, straining with a creak under the sudden shift of Jesse’s groggy movements.
“C’mere,” Jesse slurs, and all at once Hanzo is being sluggishly gathered into the man’s arms. A hot gust of breath caresses his hair, signalling the nuzzle of a nose against the side of his head mere moments before it happens. A hand rubs soothing circles between the squares of his shoulders, and gradually Hanzo relaxes, melting like butter that’s been left sitting out for too long. “There y’go, baby, that’s it. Let the tension bleed outta ya. Ain’t healthy to be strung up like a livewire all the time, y’know.”
“I said lovies, not lecturies,” Hanzo grumbles, earning a poorly stifled laugh.
“You’re right, angel, I’m sorry.” After a deep, sleepy breath, Jesse begins, “Never met anyone as beautiful as you, sweetpea. Swear ya must’ve been carved outta marble by the gods or somethin’, cause honey, you’re outta this world. And those pectorals of yours?” A low whistle pierces the air, sweeping Hanzo’s heart along with its tuneless cascading melody. Then fingers knead at Hanzo’s chest, evoking a startled squeak that devolves into flustered chuckling. “Finest damn things I ever did see.”
“Jesse,” he indignantly squawks, bashfully batting his husband’s hand away. It’s all for show, of course; he loves when Jesse gets overzealously handsy.
Jesse knows it, too. There’s an audible grin in his voice as he cheekily continues, “Not only is your body smokin,’ but your voice is hot enough to start fires. Hearin’ you say my name is better than a symphony, baby. Could listen to it all night long.”
Hanzo can feel his heart swelling, filling the empty spaces that insomnia had been eating away at. “Tell me more,” he demands in a dreamy wisp of a sigh, and Jesse obliges.
“Love how demandin’ you are.” Though Jesse can’t see it, Hanzo playfully wrinkles his nose in response to the bout of teasing. Blissfully unaware, the cowboy barrels on, “And love how you act all mean and scary, when deep down you’re as soft and cuddly as a kitten.” His point is emphasized with a light squeeze of his steel arm around Hanzo’s midsection, which prompts him to nestle ever closer, unintentionally proving his husband’s point.
“Only with you,” Hanzo corrects, faking offense over the implication that he’s secretly amiable on occasion.
“Yeah, only with me,” Jesse echoes softly, a hint of awe seeping into his tone. His thumb brushes over the nape of Hanzo’s neck, dipping up into his hairline. “Think I love that part most,” he adds, so quietly that Hanzo feels the words graze over his temple more than he actually hears them.
“More than this part?” With a sly grin, Hanzo grips Jesse’s metal wrist and maneuvers his hand so that it’s cupping the swell of his ass. Jesse’s breath hitches softly before he releases it in a snort that sounds as amused as it is appreciative.
“And here I thought y’didn’t want me complimentin’ your assets,” he points out, laughing unashamedly at his own bad joke.
“I never said that,” Hanzo sniffs with all the pomp of a once-spoiled prince.
“Suppose ya didn’t,” Jesse agrees so easily, like going along with Hanzo’s petty behests comes as naturally to him as breathing. “Pro’lly for the best ya don’t get me started. Could go on for hours about how perfect your pretty lil ass is.”
“Go on then,” Hanzo insists petulantly, “I want to hear it.”
A chuckle buffets his tufted sideburns. “As much as I love givin’ in to your every whim, babydoll, I think it’s best we put a raincheck on some of my cruder compliments for when I can follow up on ‘em. If’n ya catch my drift.” He rolls his hips for emphasis, and Hanzo tries not to be disappointed when, true to his word, he is soft and pliant beneath the figurative belt.
“I could fix that,” Hanzo declares in a sultry murmur, garnering another huff of laughter.
“Know y’could, angel,” Jesse affirms, pointedly digging his fingers into Hanzo’s ass and effectively making him squirm. His grip releases just as quickly, amended with a gentle pat. “M’mighty tired though.”
“Oh.” The dejected note tumbles from Hanzo’s throat, laced with guilt. He hadn’t intended on keeping Jesse awake, nor on waking him in the first place… but then, that’s exactly what he’s been doing, is it not? Selfish, berates the voice, returning with a vengeance, jagged like barbed wire and hissing in a sinister mannerism reminiscent of a fork tongued beast.
“S’alright, babydoll,” Jesse reassures, like he can sense the inner turmoil churning through Hanzo’s mind. A kiss is pressed into Hanzo’s hair, followed by another felt keenly on the side of his temple. “Lemme finish givin’ ya your lovins, sweetpea.”
“Lovies,” Hanzo rectifies without any bite.
“S’what I said,” Jesse rebuffs, faintly amused.
“I want name-lovies,” Hanzo puts in, the made-up expression feeling absurd on his tongue. Being comfortable enough to lower both his guard and his dignity until they are practically nonexistent is the type of display that only Jesse will ever be privy to, and he’s infinitely grateful that his husband knows him so well, a smile twitching at his lips when Jesse hums in thoughtful understanding at the nonsensical term.
“Lesse… there’s sweetheart,” Jesse begins, and a kiss closely follows the cooed endearment, pressed into Hanzo’s crown, “and baby,” another peck, the ensuing whisper brushing hot air over Hanzo’s forehead, “and sugarplum,” and pursed lips again tap Hanzo’s skin, the rescinding smack audible when he retreats to continue, “and pumpkin…”
And so it continues like this, with Jesse listing off each and every pet name in his arsenal, chasing each murmured adoration with an equally affectionate kiss. It isn’t long before the warmth in Hanzo’s chest swells to a size that can no longer be contained, prompting him to wriggle against the sheets with delighted giggles. Jesse only pulls him that much closer, his shoulders wracked with the distinct quaking of laughter, but it does little to disrupt his tender tirade, words and kisses falling endlessly off of his lips.
Ten minutes later, when they both have calmed and Jesse has yet again drifted off, the warmth lingers in Hanzo’s chest, providing a kind of solace that not even a blanket can supply. His eyes flutter shut, a content sigh escaping his lungs, and as sleep finally accepts him into its fickle arms, it occurs to him that there is no greater melatonin than the comfort of being loved.