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“Ashe, won’t you let me play with your new shotgun?” Juno had smiled innocently against the striped straw of her strawberry milkshake.
The young Martian was only ever the witness of such activities; from watching the stand-offs in the dusty Westerns her father had brought to Mars, to spying on Ashe cleaning the barrel of that massive, old-fashioned rifle after an Overwatch mission. Eventually, those moments earned her a spot by Ashe’s side as a medic during Deadlock’s heists.
Back home, she’d been told not to jump to conclusions about the people of Planet Earth. Yet every lesson she’d learned always seemed to confirm certain suspicions. Even so, Juno’s impressions of Terrans had never been ill. And now, at nineteen, standing beside the most dangerous woman she’d ever met… it was hard for her not to entertain the idea that being such a rebel must’ve been awfully fun.
“Oh, Sugar,” Ashe drawled as she leaned over the counter with a sharp grin. “A pretty thing like you oughta stay away from all that.”
That was what she said at the diner, anyway. But Ashe was never the type of lady to really say no to her baby.
Now, Juno is tucked securely against Ashe’s front. The woman presses up behind her, adjusting their feet to plant into the proper shooting stance. The heat creeping up Juno’s neck made it hard to think, let alone breathe.
The weapon is a beauty. A pump-action, its wooden body plated with polished steel and brass, and on the stock is Deadlock’s insignia and Elizabeth engraved in a gorgeous gold finish. Stars sparkle in Juno’s eyes as she inspects the weapon up close, Ashe laying it in her small hands.
“Oh!” she yelps, struggling under the weight. “It is heavy!”
Ashe laughs low in her chest, “Compared to that little pea-shooter of yours, yeah.” She’s thoroughly amused at how Juno leans into her as if that’ll help dispel the weight of the gun. “Careful now, or I’ll think you’re usin’ me as a crutch.”
“Maybe I am,” Juno mumbles, trying not to sound flustered.
“That so?” Ashe’s grin widens. “Ain’t the worst excuse I’ve heard.”
Juno scrunches her nose in embarrassment. She fumbles, unsure of where to put her hands first. The pump? The grip? Where is the butt of the stock supposed to go…? She’d seen Ashe handle this type of gun a hundred times, but now being the one to wield it, her mind blanks. Maybe it’s because Ashe is literally breathing down onto her neck, the woman’s soft silver hair tickling her ear—and with no choice but to take in all of her scent, the mature notes of her cigarettes and leather encasing her at once. It both tugs at her heart and fogs up every thought.
“Alright, honey,” Ashe murmurs, voice warm but firm. “First, you’re gonna hold tight right here.” She starts to instruct, finally satisfied with Juno’s cutely clueless reaction, guiding her left hand down to the forearm and securing it there with a little shake. “That’s it.”
“Okay!” Juno nods obediently, the blush deepening across her cheeks.
When that’s in place, Ashe lifts the gun’s pad up to Juno’s shoulder, setting the girl’s right hand on the grip. “Important you keep the stock snug, ‘n that you're standing right. Wouldn’t wanna go flying backwards when you pull the trigger.”
Juno realizes she’s far too distracted by the position the two were tangled in, with Ashe reaching over, her leg between hers. Then Juno’s eyes drift to catch a glimpse of the tattoos curling beneath Ashe’s sleeves. And somehow, that was it. Her brain short-circuits, with none of the words being spoken to her registering at all. The instructions blur into nothing but Ashe’s low voice and the heat of their bodies.
“Got it…!” she lies.
“Now, aim steady.” Ashe’s whisper came out soft and close, between the stock and Juno’s cheek pressed up against it. She gazes towards the target not far from them, then back down at her lover whose eyebrows are furrowed and pupils are shaking… “Relax, doll.”
“I am relaxed!” Juno blurts out, her voice an octave too high.
“Mmh. Sure you are.”
Ashe’s gloved hand drifts down to Juno’s waist to steady her. Juno’s breath hitches, pulse picking up at an alarming rate. How on Earth is she supposed to relax when she’s doing that? But she still tries leaning down into it, hopeless at properly scoping in. She dissolves beneath the leather touch of Ashe’s grip around her torso, Ashe’s taller frame pressed to hers, Ashe’s deep voice in her ear—
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Juno sucks in a sharp breath, trying her damnedest to draw focus to the target and she’s definitely not ready but the piling adrenaline causes her finger to squeeze the trigger anyway.
The world cracks open with a deafening bang as the gun fires. The impact pushes Juno backwards, and her eyes clamp shut from the force, but thankfully the positioning of the stock and lean into Ashe’s secure arms softens the blow. Her ears are then left ringing, her heart hammering, and she blinks through all the smoke. She’s unsure if the noise is her own thundering pulse or from the gunshot.
Ashe steps back, whistling playfully when releasing her grasp around the girl. She tosses her hat off and clutches her stomach in laughter, “Sweet pea, you sure you were lookin’ at the target?!”
Juno exhales the breath she hadn’t even noticed she was holding in. She pouts, cheeks flaming red, standing idle in the middle of the field across a target that had not been hit. Becoming a true Cowgirl would be harder than she imagined, yet Ashe made it look so flawless and cool. The ability to shoot a shotgun properly totally contributed to all her validity as an outlaw. The precision and danger, wrapped in silk and smoke… the old lady laughing in her face, now. This Terran…!
“Moons, I swear I was!” Juno mumbles in defeat, lowering the gun against the fence post. “It—It just moved!”
Ashe soon recovers from her cackling fit, trying not to burst out again when she catches how adorable the little sulking expression on Juno is. She strides over, reaching out to gently lift Juno’s chin with two fingers. Their eyes meet, crimson and hazel, and Ashe’s touch softens to pet against the frame of Juno’s round, blushing face. Then, to a tuft of purple hair that she brushes behind the girl’s ear.
“A pretty thing, indeed,” Ashe murmurs to herself. And with that charming grin of hers, “Don’t fret, baby girl. We can try again. You got plenty to learn.”
Juno smiles shyly, nodding into the palm. It was true that even in failure, Ashe makes Juno feel… safe about learning. Especially with her hands all over her, and Ashe’s arms sliding back around her waist, drawing her close for a kiss.
Their lips meet, sweet and sure. Juno hums happily into the taste of her lover and tobacco. They quickly find the rhythm of each other, laughing against the kiss, Juno’s fingers knotting into Ashe’s jacket and Ashe’s thumb tracing circles against her hip.
When they pull apart, Juno’s lips are painted with the cherry-red of Ashe’s lipstick. Ashe smirks at her handiwork before leaning back down to pepper the girl in a storm of teasing pecks—along her cheek, jaw, the tip of her nose—earning a fit of Juno’s darling giggles. By the time Ashe pulled back again, her lipstick had almost faded off entirely, and Juno’s face was a constellation of kiss marks.