Chapter Text
Thursday 01:03:38 AM
McCree shouldn’t be drinking at a roadside bar in the middle of nowhere; he should be behind the wheel, driving to the East Coast and getting on a plane to Spain. Two weeks ago, Winston called, and he saw Athena’s message about how they were trying to get together all Overwatch agents and he just turned his phone off. Right away.
Time to think. That’s why he’s there nursing a poor-excuse of a bourbon in a makeshift bar at wee hours, trying to make the most of it because he can’t drink too much and not be able to drive later. He’s not twenty anymore, he wryly thinks when he realizes his thirty-seven years old sit heavy on his back.
A faint background of country music helps him lurk into his mind and think about all the wrong reasons Overwatch should never come back. Why it went to hell, how everything went to hell. It wasn’t unexpected, he knows, damn, he fled out of there before things exploded. Literally.
Before he can notice he’s finished his drink and is looking for a good excuse to order another. He finds none and is about to stand, pay, and leave when the door opens and a man that seems to have escaped his most shameful wet dreams walks decisively towards the counter and sits two stools away from him. He spots a blue weirdly shaped backpack at his back, green jacket, and damn those trousers. Suddenly, the Overwatch issue is a problem for his future self.
The corner of his lip twitches upward and McCree circles the rim of the glass with his finger, leaning on his elbows over the counter and -not as slowly as he intends- tilts his head to take a sidelong at that beautiful stranger. Black hair tied up in a bun, an undercut -surely a product of a middle age crisis- strong eyebrows, turned-up nose he finds adorable and doesn’t fit that stern face and that well-trimmed goatee. McCree sighs without noticing, he’s staring and he cannot help himself. His hair is so black he suddenly wants to touch it to see if it’s as soft as it seems, deep black as those deep infinite voids looking right through him.
Shit .
“Want another?” the barman asks and saves the day.
He pushes his glass with his knuckles without saying a word to get another shot of poison while he adjusts his cowboy hat to cover a blush that shouldn’t be there but is because he can feel the burn on his cheeks. He huddles in his red serape, as he always does when he is nervous, taking a peek at the man and McCree swears he has seen a glimpse of a smirk. Maybe the night is not a total waste after all.
Taking his drink, he moves a stool closer to him. Nothing to lose anymore if he gets rejected he’ll go back to his own car to drive for three more hours to the next roadside motel. McCree hasn’t decided yet if he’s going to Gibraltar or not but he’s on his way. A road trip always helps him figure things out and he can always turn the opposite direction and disappear in the living hell he’s been wandering for the past six years.
“Howdy,” he says and smiles widely when those glazing eyes look at him. Well, he got his attention. “Can I buy ya’ a drink?”
“Really?” Hanzo says and arches an eyebrow at the smiling man that seems out of a cowboy movie; he hasn’t decided yet if a good one or a bad one. But before he can answer, the man has already called the waiter, and he finds a glass of bourbon in front of him.
Hanzo stares at it doubtfully, he has a long drive ahead. He has just finished his supposed last assignment as a mercenary if he finally decides to take his brother’s offer and joins Overwatch. His brother . His mind still fights against Genji being alive, but he has seen him with his own eyes, listened to his voice and his words sank his heart with pain and regret but also with hope. Hope and the wishful thinking that he can atone for his actions. If that’s even possible.
“What brings ya’ here? Pleasure or work?” McCree says and interrupts his thoughts.
“None of your business,” Hanzo says and smirks at the handsome man at his side. “But since you have been so kind to buy me a drink I did not ask for, I may say the latter.” He takes a sip at the drink and wrinkles up his nose at the strong flavor, missing already the last time a good sake wet his lips.
“You’re welcome,” McCree says. A though one, he thinks.
“What about you, cowboy?” Hanzo says and notices the prosthetic arm half hidden under the serape but tries not to stare out of curiosity.
McCree chuckles and tips his hat, his attire may be old-fashioned, but he draws attention wherever he goes. He has to play his cards well enough if he wants his night to have a happy ending, but he keeps getting distracted by a lock of hair that frames the man’s face no matter how many times he tucks it behind his ear.
“I need to make a decision an’ I always get a clear mind when I drive,” he says. “The name’s McCree, by the way, and you are… if you don’t mind me asking.”
“I do mind,” Hanzo says while a sly smile creeps up his face, he loves to play hard to get. “Nice to meet you.” He extends a hand to the cowboy, and he takes it gladly, a strong callous hand that sends a jolt of excitement through him.
“What should I call ya’ then?” McCree says and chuckles.
“Do not call me,” Hanzo smiles and sips again the sweet, dry poison in front of him.
“Alrighty,” McCree clicks his tongue. “Where are you going? ‘Cause honey, ya’ don’t look from here.”
“East coast, I believe,” Hanzo says and frowns when the reality of his existence hits him again and he dwells in the past. A past who came to visit him in Hanamura barely two weeks ago. McCree notices the gloomy mood and changes the subject because he has demons of his own and that is not his goal tonight.
“I was ‘bout to leave when you came in,” McCree says and a half-smile paint his lips.
“What changed your mind?” Hanzo asks, suppressing a knowing smile at the anticipated praise.
“You did,” McCree says. “I mean…” he unabashedly stares at the man’s lips. “Have you seen you? ‘Cause I sure did.”
Hanzo chuckles and lifts his glass in a silent toast, finishing his drink. He’s not sure if the burn on his face is because of the alcohol he’s not used to drinking or the blatant flirting the cowboy pours in his ears. It has been a long time since someone has paid him that kind of attention and he can’t help his racing heart and the shrink in his stomach at the prospect he believes the cowboy is offering.
McCree smiles triumphantly and changes seats again, getting closer to that bedazzling man and hoping he gets what he wants tonight. “The road is lonely, and the night is still young,” he says and leans forward until his shoulder brushes the stranger’s so slightly.
“You know what they say, it is better to be alone than in bad company,” Hanzo teases but a clammy, trembling hand he hopes the cowboy hasn’t noticed goes to rest on the man’s knee.
“But darlin’, I’m a very good company, ya’ won’t regret it,” McCree whispers with a raspy voice that clenches Hanzo’s stomach in the most pleasurable way.
He’s going to do it, Hanzo knows; he’s going to hook up with that man because if he doesn’t he will be thinking about those brown, warm eyes all the way on the road, wondering what’s underneath that red fabric covering his shoulders, how does his hair look without the hat, how does that breath feels on his neck or how do those lips kiss him everywhere.
“I’ll pay for our drinks and ya’ wait for me outside?” McCree says with a wolfish grin when that hand doesn’t leave his knee.
“Do not take too long,” Hanzo says and stands. “I grow tired of waiting.” He places a hand on his shoulder and whispers the last words into the cowboy’s ear; when he shivers he smirks because that man wants him as much as he does.
Thursday 01:50:31 AM
When the cold breeze of the night hits him all the gallantry from earlier vanishes and Hanzo panics. It’s been too long, what is he even doing? He knows the man for what? Half an hour? He stares at his car and takes a step forward, the possibility of just getting in and driving away fast is there and is too tempting.
Who is he trying to fool? He’s a thirty-eight-year-old man who has done many regrettable things among the years, some of them unspeakable; a trained assassin, a mercenary, a killer, and yet he has a full erection strained in his trousers and wants to rut against that filthy cowboy. Hanzo cannot think straight and he flinches when a friendly hand touches his shoulder and he turns around.
The man is tall, something he hasn’t noticed before, a good six inches taller than him and has a sweet, dreamy blush on his cheeks that makes him smile and forget the doubts. He is definitely doing this tonight.
“It’s chilly out here,” McCree says and Hanzo thinks he’s trying to make up conversation until he leans forward.
McCree cups his face and lifts gently his head while he gets dangerously close. Hanzo’s heart skips a beat, or a hundred because he is dizzy and closes his eyes to avoid the piercing lustful stare from the man in front of him.
“You’re so pretty…” the cowboy whispers into his mouth. “So damn pretty.”
Then Hanzo gasps and those lips trap the air that leaves his mouth because the cowboy kisses him, presses his lips gently, almost sloppy or even shyly Hanzo guesses. But then it’s gone when he fists the red garment and stands on his tiptoes to deepen the kiss; a warm tongue pushes inside his mouth and he tastes the same bourbon from earlier but better.
McCree moans into the kiss and his hand travels at the back of the man’s nape in case he wants to break the kiss because right now, he wants to die there, feasting on those velvety lips he has claimed for himself. He still cannot believe that gorgeous creature has fallen for his bad pick up lines and rusty flirting but that’s a puzzle for his future self to solve. He’s too busy right now to care.
“You kiss like a teenager,” Hanzo murmurs, breathless.
“How?” McCree says while his hands avoid the backpack and trace a shameful path until they’re right at the border where the back loses his name. Pretty, sweet ass , he thinks.
“Eagerly,” Hanzo says with a sly smile before winding his arms around his shoulders and biting at his lower lip, sucking at it and relishing in the faint whine that leaves the cowboy’s mouth.
The singing of the crickets and their ragged breaths are the only thing filling the night. Hanzo cannot remember any of the reasons why this is a bad idea because he’s fixed on the subtle friction he gets on his neglected hard bulge and pushes into that well-placed thigh. Two men startle them when they leave the bar and they realize perhaps the front door isn’t the best place for this.
“Ya’ still wanna do this?” McCree whispers and tries to no avail to put some distance between them.
Hanzo grasps his hand before it can leave his waist and presses it shamelessly into his groin so he can sense the main reason he’s taking poorly thought decisions tonight. McCree grunts and hides his face in the crook of his neck planting kisses there that make Hanzo shudder.
“Does that answer your question?” Hanzo whispers and traps his earlobe into his mouth, noticing how the poor hat is about to fall. Not that the cowboy cares.
“The back?” McCree murmurs but Hanzo frowns and shakes his head. He is doing this but not in plain sight. “My car? It’s right there.” He points with his head and fetches his hat before it falls.
Brown mussed hair, flattened by the cowboy hat, that’s what underneath and Hanzo smirks and nods. The man, McCree, he corrects himself and chuckles inwardly when he realizes he hasn’t even introduced himself yet, walks decisively while he fumbles into his pockets for the keys. Perhaps it’s best this way, that they don’t know each other and can just yield to this earthly pleasure without complications.
“This is happening,” McCree mumbles and curses when he can’t remember where he has put the keys and checks every damn pocket twice until he finds them in his left back pocket.
Luckily, his car is far enough from the bar in a poor-illuminated parking lot -that fits five cars tops- and under a broken post light, thank god. Well, thank god until it takes him what seems like an eternity to open the door.
“After you,” he says and winks to Hanzo who rolls his eyes.
Hanzo sighs and takes off his backpack to get in the backseat of the car while McCree struggles with the front seats to create the illusion of more space. Not nearly enough, Hanzo thinks while he takes off his military green jacket and tucks his things on the seat in front of him.
“M’sorry, sweetheart,” McCree says while he tries to tidy things up, taking off his hat and serape and tossing them to the passenger seat. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“What is it with the pet names?” Hanzo asks and chuckles.
“Well you haven’t told me your name, sugar,” McCree says and huddles against him. “Nice ink.” McCree caresses the exposed arm, following the tattoo there until it disappears on the sleeve of the shirt. Hanzo shivers.
The lack of room is not a problem when McCree looks for Hanzo’s mouth again a bit too eagerly. It’s been ages since the last time he has had a beauty like him at his reach -or ever, to be fair- and he is not wasting this opportunity. He caresses Hanzo’s neck with his right hand and trails a naughty path down his puffy chest.
“Is this okay?” he whispers and Hanzo nods, looking for his mouth again.
McCree squeezes the flesh and revels in the perked nipple he circles through the shirt with his thumb while Hanzo thrust his tongue into his mouth and moans wonders he never thought existed until tonight. Then McCree feels it, the stranger is palming his hard length over his awfully straining jeans, but Hanzo chuckles.
“Hey sweetie, don’t laugh ‘round a man’s dick, that ain’t polite,” McCree says while Hanzo unfastens the flashy BAMF buckle.
“I find your buckle amusing,” Hanzo says while deft fingers unbutton and pry open his fly offering a much-needed relief and exposing a hard bulge still constricted by the underwear. “Oh,” Hanzo says when he fondles McCree’s jutting cock through the boxers and can only guess the size of the man.
“Not laughing now, ain’t ya’?” McCree teases but his smile drops when Hanzo moans, looking intently into those whiskey-colored eyes and follows his hard length with his fingers. He is so hard, the fabric already soaked where the tip is, and without asking, he sneaks a hand inside.
“Damn, darlin’,” McCree curses and buries his face in Hanzo’s neck; biting and breathing hard and warm at the skin there.
Hanzo wraps his hand around his girth while McCree lifts his ass and lowers his jeans and boxers enough to free his cock in the air. When Hanzo touches him in long painfully slow strokes, he buries his face again in his neck and pants. It’s been too damn long, he thinks.
McCree is losing his mind, that warm hand is squeezing exactly where he needs, twisting beautifully at the hilt and fisting the head of his cock so wonderfully spurts of precum ooze out of him every single time. He’s going to come and embarrass himself too soon only from a handjob in front of the most gorgeous man he has ever seen. A damn good handjob. With all the strength he can gather, he grips Hanzo’s wrist.
“Let me,” McCree gasps. “Let me suck you real good, honey.” Hanzo freezes and blesses the darkness in the car because his cheeks and neck are turning a new shade of red at the offer.
Hanzo cannot articulate a word so he hurries to open his fly and smiles shyly when McCree winks at him. He struggles with the lack of space until he leans back and McCree tries to fit his six feet tall huddling however he can in the backseat, half his body on Hanzo's lap. They fumble about until they find a position as comfortable as possible given the circumstances.
McCree swoops down the trousers and underwear and Hanzo swallows at how exposed he is to a complete stranger, but when the cowboy glances up at him with that wolfish grin and licking his lips he doesn’t care anymore.
“Everything’s pretty ‘bout ya’, sweetheart,” McCree says while he takes him in his hand and leans forward, his mechanical hand grasping the side of his thigh. The surface is cold but the gentle squeeze of the fingers warms it up quickly.
“You do not have to sweet talk me into this, cowboy,” Hanzo says, trying to mask his embarrassment.
“I’m a sweet talker, darlin’,” McCree says and drags his lips over his hard cock as beautifully as he drags his accent on those words. Hanzo whines but can’t take his eyes off him. “But don’t worry sweet pie, I’m gonna be silent for a while…”
Before Hanzo can quip at that McCree lets his tongue out and, with the help of his hand, he traps the head of his cock in his mouth. Hanzo moans loudly when that warmth envelopes him and tries hard not to buck his hips up into that sinful mouth. Out of raw instinct, he takes a handful of McCree’s hair, soft and thick just how he has imagined, but then he lets go.
“I am sorry, I…” Hanzo murmurs and, when McCree takes him out with a wet noise, he curses in Japanese.
“It’s alright, darlin’,” McCree says and takes his hand, placing it in his hair and tangling Hanzo’s trembling fingers on it. “Sometimes I like it a ‘lil rough.” He winks and Hanzo’s heart skips a beat for the second time tonight.
No wonder he has fallen for the cowboy’s flirting when everything he promised is right there. McCree takes him inside his mouth again and hums a sweet melody of moans while he sucks his throbbing cock. Hanzo tugs at his hair, trying to pull away from that mouth that will send him over the edge way too soon, but the cowboy swallows and sucks, and sinks his whole length inside until he gags and Hanzo writhes at the sweet movement of his throat.
Hanzo curses in Japanese, bucking his hips up to meet that heavenly mouth offered to him and McCree has the nerve to chuckle with a mouth full of his cock. He sneaks his hand under Hanzo and kneads greedily his butt cheek, relishing in the soft skin and hard muscle while he gives him head. Like riding a bike , he thinks.
His left hand is busy groping for that sweet ass while his right one goes down to grip his own forgotten cock. He’s too impatient, and this is too exciting so he jerks himself off while he sucks on that cock, taking him out only to gasp for air and attack again his sweet prize.
Hanzo sees him and moans loudly, forgetting where they are and that they could get caught at any time. He takes a peek outside but realizes their activities already fogged the windows. What a beautiful sight that sweet cowboy he just met is giving him the blowjob of his life and he finds terribly lewd he is so aroused by it that he is touching himself meanwhile. And that mouth, wet and hot, sucking demandingly and swallowing him whole. That tongue brushing back and forth his length, circling playfully the head and then he’s deep inside again. The only thing Hanzo can do is moan and whine, embarrassed because he cannot control himself.
He wraps his hand around McCree’s and the cowboy meets his gaze, his cheeks hollowing because he doesn’t stop sucking until Hanzo tugs at his hair and moves away his hand to do himself the task. He’d do better in any other position but Hanzo tries his best and pumps his hard length faster.
“Do not stop, please,” Hanzo moans. “You feel so good.”
McCree takes Hanzo’s hand and helps him while they both squeeze and stroke his own cock, relishing in the softness of the strange hand touching him while he sucks and bobs his head in a needy rhythm, drooling and surrendering to his own pleasure. He wants it, wants the man to come in his mouth and feel the warmth of his spent sliding down his throat. It’s been too long.
“I’m close,” Hanzo moans and moves his hand on McCree’s cock faster. “Close, McCree,” he warns, but that only encourages the cowboy to keep his pace. McCree may not know his name but he surely remembers his.
McCree’s so close his orgasm surprises him and he spills himself in Hanzo’s hand, his trousers and -shit- the backseat. Not that he cares because before he can process it or revel in that skillful hand milking him dry Hanzo comes and the warm spurts of his spent fill his mouth. He sucks and swallows, a bit sloppy, he’s terribly out of practice, but keeps him inside until Hanzo stops writhing underneath him and moans loudly.
He takes him out gently and straightens on the backseat, satisfied when Hanzo tilts his head back and is breathing heavily, his body slack and relaxed. McCree fumbles for a package of wet wipes and cleans his hand and mouth, offering one to the man with a smug smile on his lips when he recovers himself after a hearty sigh.
“Told ya’ I’d give you a good time, sweetheart,” McCree says while he pulls his jeans up and covers his naughty bits.
“You sure did, cowboy,” Hanzo says and pulls his trousers up too, still a little breathless and realizing it is that moment when the lust has passed and they have nothing to talk about but say goodbye uncomfortably.
Hanzo gets ready for it, but when he sees that sweet smile on McCree’s lips, still cleaning his hand, and his hair stuck on his forehead by the steaming heat inside the car, he craves his company, wants this moment not to be over too soon and opens the window to get a breeze of fresh air.
McCree thanks him and does the same, sitting back and sighing while looking at him. Hanzo curses himself because he wants to kiss him and leans forward tentatively, reaching for those lips while the cowboy mimics him. Hanzo drags his lips over McCree’s swollen mouth and lets his tongue out to taste himself on him. Lewd and sinful mouth…
A roaring engine and a squeak of tires interrupt them. A car speeds up in the parking lot leaving behind a cloud of dust that slowly disappears into the night.
“Someone’s in a hurry,” McCree says and chuckles.
“That’s my car!” Hanzo shouts when he recognizes it and gets out of McCree’s car in a futile attempt to stop the thieves, but he knows his vehicle is long gone when he cannot even glimpse the red lights in the night and he is breathless at the ditch of the road in the middle of New Mexico.
“Shit,” McCree says next to him. “Did you have something valuable? We can try an’ go after them.”
“It was a rental,” Hanzo says and runs a hand over his face, cursing his bad luck. “My belongings are in my backpack.” At least Hanzo was careful enough not to leave the backpack in the car, just thinking about losing storm bow sinks his heart. “I’ll be going, I’ve taken enough of your time, thank you,” he bluntly says and walks decisively toward the bar, to make a phone call and try to find another car.
“Hey,” McCree says. “Where are ya’ going?”
“I need to find another transport,” Hanzo says without stopping.
“I can give ya’ a ride, you’re going to the East Coast, so am I,” McCree says, stopping when Hanzo stands stock still in the middle of the parking lot and considers his offer.
“Are we supposed to drive all the way in that junk heap?” Hanzo says, pointing at the car where moments ago McCree gave him the best blowjob of his life.
“At least I have a car, sweetheart,” McCree says and winks when Hanzo turns around to glare at him. Hanzo huffs, annoyed at how right the cowboy is and heads to the vehicle, defeated while McCree follows and chuckles.
Thursday 03:35:12 AM
Hanzo gazes out at the immensity of the desert and the silver reflections the moon traces over the landscape. The faint country music playing on the radio fills the silence that reigns in the car since the cowboy realized he wasn’t in the mood for talking and cut off his banter.
“Thank you,” Hanzo says when he realizes he’s being impolite with the only person that has helped him in a very long time. In more than one way. “For your help.”
“Don’t mention it,” McCree says and the corner of his lip twitches upward.
“How long until we get there?”
“Less than two hours to the nearest motel,” McCree says. “I need a shower and a bed, I reek.”
“No more than I do,” Hanzo says and chuckles.
“Ya’ smell delicious, honey,” McCree flirts. “You spoke Japanese earlier, right?”
Hanzo blushes when he realizes he’s talking about the profanities that left his lungs when McCree was between his legs sucking him dry and he clears his throat distractedly, ignoring the twitch of his cock at the memory.
“Yes,” Hanzo says. “How’d you know?”
“I have a Japanese friend, well,” McCree lets out a sad sigh. “I had, haven’t seen him in a while.” McCree misses Genji badly since he left to solve his own inner turmoil and he was left behind in a living hell. He ended up leaving Blackwatch too. There was no point in staying alone and watching everything fall apart from the front row.
“A good friend?” Hanzo asks, sensing McCree’s gloomy mood speaking about him.
“A little shit, pain in the ass, ya’ know, but a good fella,” McCree says and chuckles. “I miss him.”
“Reminds me of someone I knew,” Hanzo says and remembers his brother when they were young and naïve and life seemed easy for them. Genji was also a pain in the ass; a very long time ago. “Maybe you will see him again.”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, darlin’,” McCree says. “It ain’t easy.”
Time goes by, sometimes they talk sometimes they don’t but it feels right not to be alone all the time and McCree relishes in the unexpected company. He likes to drive at night, get lost in his thoughts and dwell in the past, but now he glimpses at the passenger seat and suddenly he doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.
“Are ya’ gonna tell me your name, sweetheart?” McCree asks and glimpses at Hanzo.
“I have not decided if I trust you yet,” Hanzo says, amused at the little game. He wants to be someone else, he doesn’t want to be Shimada Hanzo to that man, even if he doesn’t know what being a Shimada means. He wants to be just a regular guy on a road trip and not a kinslayer.
“You sure trusted me with your dick…” McCree mumbles and Hanzo snorts, covering his mouth with a hand and welcoming a faint blush on his cheeks.
Thursday 05:11:46 AM
McCree’s back hurts from driving and he’s exhausted and in need of a bed when they park outside the motel. He’s been there before, quiet place, nice clean rooms, right what he needs. Hanzo is awake, a good copilot that hasn’t even closed a lid or dozed while he was driving. He gets out of the car and stretches while a grunt leaves his lungs; he’s putting up a show until he notices Hanzo looking at him and arching a questioning eyebrow at the display.
“I book the room while ya’ get our things and lock the car?” McCree says.
“Two rooms,” Hanzo says a suppresses the half-smile that wants to creep up his face.
“Oh, honey,” McCree says. “We can share the room,” McCree gets closer and a hoarse voice says the next words, “and the bed, and much more… if you want.”
“You are persistent,” Hanzo says.
“That’s not a no,” McCree says with a wolfish grin.
“Fine,” Hanzo says and takes the keys that McCree throws at him. “If you have not killed me yet…”
“I’m starting to think you like me, sweetheart,” McCree says, winking and whistling a happy tune while he heads to the reception.
Hanzo chuckles and shakes his head because he cannot believe he’s gotten himself into this situation for a blowjob. He’s not the one to trust a stranger easily or to look for partners in his lonely wandering around the globe, but the cowboy is just easy like Sunday morning.
Opening the trunk, Hanzo finds a brown leather bag that must be the cowboy’s belongings, a toolkit, and a spare blanket. He takes the bag and makes sure he has closed the trunk properly before he checks the other doors. McCree’s hat is lying on the back seat and he fetches for it.
Feels weird to take care of someone else’s things. He could take the car and drive away with all his stuff and he snorts, wondering how the cowboy has survived all these years being so careless. With both his hands occupied, Hanzo wears the hat, locks the car and walks towards the reception door where McCree is already waiting for him twirling a keychain in his forefinger.
“Ya’ look pretty with that on,” McCree says with a shit-eating grin and Hanzo rolls his eyes. The cowboy helps him with his bag but leaves the hat on his head. “Room 314.”
It’s one of those roadside motels that seem out of a movie with a convenient twenty-four/seven diner and a gas station nearby. They walk through the gravel path; it isn’t dawn yet, but the sun menaces to show at any time. Hanzo is already suffering the slumber and needs some hours of sleep after two intense days on the road. McCree opens the door and gets inside, leaving the bag on top of the dresser. Then Hanzo sees it, a double size bed.
“Did they not have a double?” Hanzo says, arching an eyebrow at the cowboy and leaving the hat on top of the dresser too.
“This is a double,” McCree says. “I see plenty of room on that bed.”
“I mean a room with two beds, McCree,” Hanzo says and rolls his eyes. It escapes his mind how this man he barely knows acts as though he has known him for a long time. He’s nothing more than a one-night stand and yet there they are, sharing a room and a bed.
“Not a single one of those available,” McCree says and clicks his tongue playfully while he slumps flat on the bed and sighs, taking off his boots. “Ya’ can go first in the shower.”
“You are foolish to trust strangers like this,” Hanzo says while he rummages in his backpack for his shower things. Hanzo listens to the cowboy’s chuckling at his back when he takes off his jacket and trousers and folds them in a chair nearby.
“Are ya’ going to kill me?” McCree teases. “You look like a yakuza with all that ink, should I be worried?”
Hanzo flinches and curses his fate, his destiny, the one printed in his skin and flesh as much as his heart. He is a Shimada, the mark of his family is forever visible in his chest same as the dragons that lurk his mind and give him strength. His duty and his burden.
“Do not tempt your luck, cowboy,” Hanzo says more curtly than he means and closes the bathroom door behind him.
McCree sits on the edge of the bed and takes off his flannel shirt. He’s going to fall asleep irremediably at how tired he is, so he takes off his jeans and peels the bed to slide right into fresh sheets. The moment his head touches the pillow he dozes into sleep and doesn’t even notice when Hanzo comes back and joins him.