Work Header


Work Text:

The party starts to simmer down after midnight, once Commander Morrison makes the excuse of ‘not being a young man anymore’ and taps out. The rest trickle out in ones and twos. Doctor Ziegler cites an early morning, Zenyatta his evening meditation, Hana is apparently already running late for a holiday stream.

By one o’clock, all that remains of the Watchpoint’s Second-Ever Annual Christmas Party is the half carton of eggnog in the mini-fridge, the red and green string lights lining the ceiling, and the sprig of mistletoe hanging by a hook over the door.

And the stragglers, of course.

Brigitte and Fareeha are sitting side by side on the couch, with Lucio leaning over the back to show them a holovid. McCree has his back to the wall off to the side of the room, sipping his spiked eggnog and watching Genji score a whopping one-hundred-eighty points per round in a game of darts against his brother… and maybe occasionally giving Hanzo slow once-overs when he thinks his man isn’t likely to notice.

The brothers were tied until Hanzo’s last round of darts fell uncharacteristically short, forfeiting his win streak to the younger Shimada.

“I am victorious this time, brother,” Genji says, grinning ear to ear.

Hanzo’s lips quirk into a subtle smile, and McCree raises an eyebrow from the sidelines, hiding whatever he might’ve had to say about it by taking another sip of his drink.

“So you are, brother.”

Genji rolls his eyes, throwing an arm around Hanzo’s shoulder. “Not as fun to gloat when I know you let me win, but I suppose I will have to make do.” Genji says. He doesn’t seem bothered by that detail, however.

“You’re mistaken,” Hanzo assures him, “You played well.”

McCree has always had the sneaking suspicion that Genji is the one who usually lets Hanzo win; tossing shurikens is a whole lot more similar to darts than shooting arrows, in his opinion.

“Sure, sure. Back at you, brother.” Genji smiles again, arm still looped across his brother’s shoulders. “But it is getting late. I think I should say goodnight,” Genji says finally, and he probably thinks Hanzo doesn't notice the way his eyes drift to Lucio across the room, before smiling back at his brother. “I had fun tonight.”

“I did too.” Hanzo says earnestly, and both brothers smile in unison before Genji's arms sweep back to his sides and he takes a step back, toward the door.

Fareeha and Brigitte are already gone by the time Hanzo takes note of the rest of the room. Lucio stands alone with his hips backed against the couch, bobbing to the beat in his headphones and typing something into his phone. When Genji smiles at him, it's a different smile than he had reserved for his brother, and Hanzo raises an eyebrow in question. Genji just shrugs, his version of a non-answer, already slinking away.

“Have a good night, brother. Merry Christmas.” Genji calls over his shoulder.

“You too.”

As they pass through the door, Genji’s fingers intertwine with Lucio’s.

McCree makes a point of clearing his throat, behind Hanzo's shoulder. “Looks like we’re not the only office romance.”

Hanzo actually snorts into his laugh, an embarrassing sound that McCree shouldn't find as attractive as he does, and shakes his head. “It appears so.”

“Well, then. Shall we?” McCree finally asks, pushing off from the wall he'd been leaning against, nodding at the door.

Hanzo hums his assent, but rather than leading the way, he reaches out and takes McCree’s glass from him, finishing off the remainder of his eggnog.

“Hey, now, that was mine!” He doesn’t sound put out in the least.

"There is no alcohol in this."

"Didn't think I'd be sharin' any."

“Sharing is caring,” Hanzo says, setting the glass on the nearest table. “Isn’t that what you say when you steal my shirts?”

“Whoa there, no need to make it personal.” McCree clasps a hand over his heart, feigning a wound.

Hanzo huffs, shaking his head. He takes McCree’s hand from his chest and brings it to his lips, kissing the calloused knuckle of his index finger. “I like when you steal my shirts. Even though you never bring them back.”

“Helluva way to apologize to a man.”

“This is because I am not apologizing.”

"Helluva way to not apologize to a man, then." McCree laughs; the sound of it is both rough like tree bark and sweet like chocolate, music to Hanzo's ears.

They lean into each others' shoulders on their way to the door, where McCree leans off to the left to tap the keypad and turn off the lights. The room dims in an instant, but it isn't quite dark. The Christmas lights Brigitte and Hana had dragged out of an old storage box were apparently battery-powered, and the alternating flicker of red and green bulbs pained in the room in soft, holiday-themed light. An effect that had come off as tacky before the overhead light had been put out wasn't quite so awful in the dark.

“Sorta pretty,” McCree says softly while intertwining their fingers at Hanzo's side; McCree's flesh thumb is already beginning to trace soft circles into his palm by the time Hanzo glances up at him. McCree's eyes are faced upwards rather than facing his lover, pointed at the mistletoe hanging over the door.

Upon first arriving at the party early on in the evening, Hanzo thought the mistletoe was a cheap, plastic decoration, likely purchased at a convenience store. It would have suited the last minute, low, low budget holiday party's overall atmosphere. Now, however, standing up close to it, he can see that it is a cutting of the actual plant that is hanging above them.

“Y’know, people usually kiss when they’re standin’ under the mistletoe,” McCree states it more like a fact than a suggestion, as if his intention is to inform Hanzo about the various strange traditions Americans have surrounding the holiday season.

"Do they?" Hanzo deadpans, but the mischievous glint in his eye gives away that he knows where this is going.

McCree makes a point not to break eye contact as he raises Hanzo's hand to his mouth, pressing his lips against the knuckle of his index finger. Hanzo’s dark eyes watch him the whole way, but he doesn't say anything.

“Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?” McCree murmurs.

“It’s nothing,” Hanzo says softly, raising his free hand to slide a thumb across Jesse’s cheek. “You are simply beautiful.”

McCree clears his throat, and Hanzo feels the heat beneath the man's cheeks before he sees the pink begin to blossom across his skin.

“Don’ know about that—" McCree starts to protest, but his words are cut off Hanzo’s thumb being pressed against his mouth. McCree closes his lips around Hanzo's thumb quickly enough that it might have been a reflex, except for the way his tongue slides against the pad.

“It is not a matter up for debate, Jesse,” Hanzo tells him.

McCree chuckles, pulling Hanzo's hand away from his face just to say: “You might’ve had a little too much eggnog.”

“There was no alcohol in that drink," Hanzo repeats, with a short sigh. "Would you like to continue disagreeing with me, or is there something else you’d like to do more?”

McCree gives him an easy smile, as slow and crooked as his southern drawl; another of the little things Hanzo finds himself inevitable attracted to in Jesse McCree. “Haven’t done anything about that mistletoe, yet," McCree says. He doesn’t even wait for Hanzo to say anything back, just leans in and kisses him without any fanfare.

No matter how many times McCree kisses him, Hanzo will never get used to the feeling. He's not sure he ever wants to get used to it. The way McCree melts against him, pushing every desperate, wanton emotion he has into even the slightest of touches, makes Hanzo light up from the inside.

Kissing McCree always feels a little bit like kissing a drowning man, when Hanzo is the air he finally comes up for.

It takes exactly one look into Jesse’s amber eyes, his pupils blown wide and looking down at him like Hanzo is the best damn thing he’s ever seen, for things to escalate. Hanzo’s hand reaches for the collar of McCree’s button-down shirt, pushing so McCree's back is flush against the door. McCree knots his flesh hand into Hanzo's hair and slides his metal fingers across Hanzo's cheek, pulling him into another slow, indulgent kiss now that his back is up against the door.

Hanzo starts to unbutton the front of McCree’s shirt, mouthing kisses across his jaw toward his ear, and he’s rewarded with a low groan from his partner.

“Han-” McCree's words stutter to a stop the moment Hanzo drags his teeth across his earlobe, giving way into a satisfied hum.

“Were you going to say something?” Hanzo asks, pressing another kiss against McCree's ear.

McCree’s head falls back against the door with a soft thud. “Naw, I’m good.”

Deft fingers finally open the last button of McCree’s shirt, and Hanzo pulls the offending article of clothing off of McCree’s thick shoulders, letting it pool into the crooks of his elbows. McCree hardly notices, one hand resting on the back of Hanzo's neck, sliding the hair at the nape of his neck, the other on Hanzo's hip, holding him close.

Hanzo leans his head against McCree's shoulder to watch as he slides both hands down McCree's chest, squeezing gently at the curves of his man's chest and belly. "Beautiful," he says.

"Yeah, you are," McCree sounds a little out of breath, fingers tightening against the back of Hanzo's neck again, "Lemme love on you a little. C'mere…"

The world feels like it both stops and restarts in the exact same second, when McCree pulls him into another kiss. This one is harder, a little faster, but no less meaningful.

Hanzo pulls away from the kiss first, McCree letting him go with a crease disappointment between his brows. Hanzo doesn't intend to disappoint him for long. He slides his hand down McCree's happy treasure trove, hooking his thumb into McCree's belt, right by the ridiculous buckle. His other hand falls to McCree's back, fingertips digging into the curve of his ass through his jeans as he presses another open-mouthed kiss to his lover's throat.

"Let me get on my knees," McCree all but whimpers, but Hanzo shakes his head into McCree's shoulder.

"No," Hanzo says, pulling back to look up into McCree's eyes, "Allow me."

In another context, it might actually be funny to count the number of expressions that cross McCree's face before settling on something that resembles hunger. He pushes off from the door just enough to drag his shirt the rest of the way off, tossing it haphazardly to the side before reaching down to snap open his belt buckle between them.

Hanzo takes moment just to watch McCree; the hair that grows like fields across tanned skin, the fading tattoo he has over the right side of his chest, the way his hard muscles move under the layer of fat Hanzo loves to grab hold of, the way McCree catches him watching and smiles with so much love behind his eyes he might as well be wearing a sign across his forehead that says as much. Hanzo feels the same; he loves Jesse with everything he has.

“Beautiful,” Hanzo tells him firmly, and McCree gives him a lopsided smile.

Then Jesse goes and ruins the moment by trying to argue: "Y'know I-"

Hanzo reaches between them, cupping McCree through his jeans, and whatever the reply is lost in McCree's half-gasp, half-laugh. “Babe," McCree says, "Lemme finish a sentence, will you?”

“If you were going to disagree with me again, it is still not up for debate.”

McCree gives a small shake of his head, "Alright, alright. I'm done disagreeing with you. I'm all yours."

Hanzo scoffs. "You were already mine."

McCree doesn't disagree.

"You look very good in these,” Hanzo comments as he undoes the button of his jeans. And it’s true; Hanzo’s been watching him all night, every chance he could get, and with a little more subtly than McCree managed when checking him out. He’s not sure when McCree bought these but he knows he’s never seen his partner wear them before; whether that’s because they’re new or if he’s had them a while and just never wears them, Hanzo isn’t sure, but he does know that the way they hug McCree’s thighs proved to be more than a little distracting throughout the night.

“Shame to take ‘em off then,” McCree teases, giving Hanzo a look that says he thinks he's funny. He is, but Hanzo isn't about to give him the satisfaction of laughing at his terrible joke.

Hanzo leans up and kisses him one last time before reaching under the elastic of McCree’s boxers--

The door opens suddenly, the blindingly bright hallway fluorescents lighting up the whole room, and McCree yelps as he starts to fall back, shoulder slamming back against the doorframe, and Hanzo grabs him by his prosthetic to yank him upright.

“What in the hell-” McCree starts to say, but he freezes up and goes silent the moment he starts to turn around.

“McCree?” Genji’s confusion is clear from his voice, and Hanzo lets out a long, frustrated sigh. Of course it had to be Genji. Of all the people on this Watchpoint, of the nearly fifty personnel stationed here that were not his brother, it was Genji who interrupted them.

A very small part of him considers hiding in the room just to avoid this highly uncomfortable confrontation.

"Genji," McCree says, and Hanzo watches the muscle in his jaw twitch like he's trying not to laugh. Or perhaps he's just annoyed. Or maybe it's both, as Hanzo so often is around his brother. "You mind comin' back in a minute or two?" he asks, as evenly as if he was asking if he wanted sugar in his coffee. He's not subtle about the way he reaches down and adjusts himself.

Genji's eyes widen to a look of genuine shock, “You were doing my brother against this door, weren’t you.” He looks at Hanzo over McCree's shoulder and mouths Why Are You Like This, and it takes everything Hanzo has in him to keep a straight face while hs shrugs back.

McCree's composure fails him and a grin stretches over his face. Covering his face with his hand, he asks, “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?”

“Please don’t. In fact, I am leaving before you can. Goodnight McCree. Hanzo.” Genji is trying to sound annoyed, but Hanzo knows for a fact that this is Genji’s trying-not-to-laugh voice. He leans back to hit the door panel, and the door slides shut in front of them.

“Well,” McCree laughs, “That was exciting.”

“Of all the people who could have walked in...”

“Rather it be Genji that Reeha,” McCree says thoughtfully, and to that, Hanzo silently disagrees. Fareeha would be a kind enough person to never speak of this again. Genji, on the other hand, would never let him live this down.

“I’d rather no one interrupted at all.” Hanzo says finally, and McCree nods.

“I hear you. Maybe we should take this to my room? Unless you were plannin’ on leavin’ me hanging…” he teases.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hanzo says, laughing even as he leans up on his toes to kiss McCree again. It lacks the heat they had building before being interrupted, but like with all the kisses they’ve shared before, there’s no question of how much Hanzo and Jesse love each other. And under the mistletoe tonight, in a room filled with cheap holiday decorations and alternating red and green string lights, that’s enough for them.