Chapter Text
Jesse McCree had arrived on the edge of town two weeks ago, dropping off the back of the truck that had let him hitch in its bed. Tall, auburn-leaved trees lined the road, and beyond them stretched the rolling hills of a rural town on the edge of a jagged line of mountains. The sun was just about to pass over the edge of one high cliff when he slipped through the door of a promising-looking bar.
He was settled at a corner table in that same bar now-- one with a nice view of the door and a wall at his back. After signaling for a drink, he pulled out his phone. It was a fancy piece of glass and metal, case chipped but screen intact, and it just about held his life together. Photos, records, payment plans, evidence, travel logs were available on it.
McCree was a hunter, plain and simple. He worked mostly freelance, but was associated with Overwatch, a fairly well-known hunter’s guild.
Guilds these days were less formal affairs than in ages prior. They primarily composed of online communities moderated by heavy-hitting professionals. Collectively, they were governed by an international council, which processed and approved requests for hunter intervention. If McCree didn’t have his phone, he would be unable to find jobs, claim priority, or charge for his time.
McCree was here because of one strange job offer he’d seen posted a couple weeks ago. It wasn’t a particularly violent case-- very little bloodshed-- but the damages to the community seemed to be adding up, and someone local was willing to pay for professional help.
Apparently a nice, sleepy mountain town was being ravaged by a...very strange sex demon. Incubus, succubus, dream eater, shapeshifter-- no one seemed able to specify. The only thing the stories had in common was that the creature liked to single people out, feed, and deposit their depleted bodies where they were likely to be discovered by help later. The creature seemed content to feed on sexual energy, but it had left several people in the hospital, nervous systems overworked.
And its appetite was growing.
The weird part (beyond the demon looking after its victims) was that the council would not give him more information about the hiring party. When he asked for a contact's name, they were evasive, claiming necessary anonymity. Special circumstances, they said. He would have to go in blind. It had made his job difficult, as few of the victims were willing to discuss the experience, and the creature itself was a slippery piece of work.
McCree sipped at his drink, looking up when his phone pinged. Another update on the job. He was being called out to specific coordinates-- the poster was claiming they’d just had a brush with the creature and needed assistance. Post said it was still out there somewhere-- run off into the night for some reason.
Jesse dropped his paid bill on the table and gathered his things.
Time to shine.
--
He was dressed for the fall weather in a flannel, thick jacket, and heavy denim jeans tucked into his lucky boots. Pack strapped to his back and gun at his hip, McCree walked through the woods near the most recent sighting. His breath fogged in front of him. A fat moon sat high on the horizon.
The bourbon was buzzing at his head, now, blood warm in his cheeks. It was just enough to take the bite of the wind off.
A branch snapped behind him. McCree froze, hand at his holster. When he whipped around, his finger was a hair from the trigger, body set wide to absorb a blow he was sure was coming.
Instead, he watched a deer panic and crash back through the woods behind him.
He dropped his shoulders. Damn thing couldn’t find a better place to look for a meal? As he went to holster his gun, the strap of his pack caught on his belt and he was temporarily tangled. He made a frustrated noise and tugged at his layers, trying to situate himself.
“Are you McCree?” a rushed call hushed out from behind a tree.
McCree looked up. A man was crouched some distance in front of him, back to a tree. He looked a little cut up. Leaves littered his clothes and his hair, which had at one point probably been neatly tied back, was falling around his face. His tight athletic thermal was shredded on one side, but he looked like he was in good health.
“You alright, fella?” He hastily shoved his gun back on his hip and rushed over to help the guy up.
The man looked irritated, but not ravaged like most reports seemed to indicate he should have been. “It attacked me.” He sounded almost offended. “I have been paying attention to its habits, but I thought--” the man jerked his head around, eyes searching in the dark. McCree followed his intense gaze.
Nothing.
“Hey now, tell me what’s going on. What happened?” McCree held out his hand. Warm brown eyes looked up at him, searching. McCree almost whistled. Cheekbones that could cut glass, long eyelashes, a bold nose. The hand that gripped his own was strong, and McCree could feel muscles flex where he braced them on the man’s forearm to help him up. What a looker.
“It was here. I was training--”
“At night?”
The man rolled his eyes. “Marathons. I enjoy the exercise. I was jogging-- and it tackled me.” He tugged down his ragged shirt, revealing a firm chest. A set of deep scratches crawled over his clavicle, bordering a truly epic tattoo. This time McCree did whistle, low and long. What a doozy.
“Well, alright, damn...you see which way it went?”
The man shook his head vigorously, jaw clenched. "It was too quick for me this time."
McCree raised an eyebrow. "This time?"
"It's been taunting me for days-- ever since the last victim was found. I thought I'd have time for a short run, but I think it's been observing my schedule."
McCree looked around the dark woods. The wind was picking up now. Even with his warm athletic wear on, the man in front of him looked like he was shaking. Shock, most likely. It’d be better to take care of the poor guy and get some info out of him than run off on a blind hunt. McCree rubbed his gloved hands together and drew a smoke out of his pocket, lighting it before he turned back to the man.
“You live nearby?”
--
Hanzo, as he’d introduced himself, lived a mile or so away in a small, tidy home at the edge of the woods. It was a small cabin, secluded and quiet. It had high ceilings, a small kitchen opening into a spacious living room, and two other doors McCree didn’t get a chance to look behind while Hanzo was locking three deadbolts and rushing to draw the blinds and curtains over all the windows.
Understandable, all things considered.
Hanzo stalked over to his kitchen, plunking a large teapot on the stove and setting some water to boil. McCree made himself at home. There was a plush couch placed in front of an empty fireplace, and he took off his long coat and draped it there for lack of a coatrack. Taking his cue from the neat pile of shoes by the door, McCree shucked his boots and relaxed in the living room.
As he checked his phone and made notes on the hunt file, he listened to Hanzo crashing around the cabin.
“I cannot thank you enough,” Hanzo called from the kitchen, “I have been petitioning for help for weeks, but I did not think they send an actual hunter . I had assumed they would send some one lower in the ranks-- an apprentice or administrator. The council didn't seem overly invested in the outcome.”
"What, you're the hiring party?" McCree grinned. Finally, some luck. "I'll admit, they haven't made it easy trying to get in contact with you."
McCree heard a hiss as something hit a hot pan. By the smell of it, it was something good. “They...didn't tell you who I was?" He muttered something in Japanese to himself. "They should have. Regardless, I hope your presence will bring an end to the attacks.”
McCree propped a foot up on the coffee table and tapped out a note. “So they’re common knowledge, then?” He glanced up at Hanzo. The man had shed his torn clothing and was wearing a hoodie open over his bare chest, leaving his wounds to air. The scratches were still red, but didn’t look as bad as they had in the woods an hour ago. He was probably just an easy bleeder, McCree thought.
Hanzo glanced over from the stovetop. “Somewhat. There have been fewer hikers since the weather cooled off, but there are still trails and campgrounds. They suffer. Local police haven’t gone as far as a curfew, but they are considering it. They say it is only a matter of time.” He scoffed. “Public protection, indeed.”
McCree smirked and toed his way over to the kitchen, leaning on a counter. “Not much of a believer, huh?”
Hanzo glanced over, scratching at one of the red lines on his chest while he stirred a pot. He snorted derisively.
“What do they think a curfew will do? It would not stop a shapeshifter.”
McCree hummed noncommittally and looked at whatever Hanzo was stirring. Some kind of curry? It smelled spicy-- heavenly, considering the weather. He reached out to pinch a taste and had his hand smacked away.
“Besides, even if it was a shapeshifter, they like more densely populated areas. This town is tiny. That is the whole reason I settled here to begin with.”
“Oh? And what do you do here, anyway?”
Hanzo picked out a spoon from a drawer and took a bite out of the pot. He hummed and smacked out his answer around a mouthful: “I told you: I run. I also swim and cycle and am a personal trainer when the competitive seasons wind down.” He dipped the spoon back in the pot and offered it to McCree. “Here. Tell me if it needs something.”
McCree took the bite-- look at him, being spoonfed by a handsome stranger!-- and immediately broke into a coughing fit.
“Whoo! Don’t think you need any more peppers, that’s for sure.” He thumped at his chest and wiped his eyes. “Damn, darlin’, my own abuela would have trouble with that one. What kind of chilis you throw in there, anyhow?”
Hanzo smirked. “Thai. Excellent way to keep off colds this time of year if you are outdoors often.”
McCree found a tissue and blew his nose. “Yeah, I’ll say. Warmed me up right quick.” His chest and face were certainly warmer than they’d been a minute ago, that was for sure.
The kettle started whistling just as Hanzo pulled the curry off the stove. They grabbed plates and made their way back to Hanzo’s couch-- not much of a dining room, McCree noticed.
The heat lingered as McCree spooned out some curry for himself along with a heavily-sweetened mug of tea. The fall chill was starting to dissipate now, and he took the opportunity to look over his file notes so far. A couple weeks in the little mountain town had given him a few things to go on, but not much.
“So,” he started, sniffling after another bite of curry. “You said the thing came at you? You get a look at it?”
Hanzo became sullen. “...Not so much, no. I am kicking myself. I have...never experienced anything that strong. I have grown complacent in training alone.”
McCree slurped at his tea. “Ah, don’t worry too much, partner. These things tend to like pretty young things like yourself. Prolly woulda’ had something after you sooner or later anyhow, alone in the woods like this as ya are.”
Hanzo’s lips quirked up in amusement. McCree noticed the flush on his face and neck-- and that glorious tattooed shoulder. His lips were swollen from spice as he answered, “Pretty young thing? And how young do you take me for?”
“Yikes, I dunno, early twenties? Don’t judge me too much here, darlin’, ages ain’t my thing.”
Hanzo laughed and dropped his spoon in favor of his mug. “Ha! How flattering. I turned 32 months ago.”
McCree grinned and made a habitual move to shyly tip his hat, which was sitting on the counter back in the kitchen. “Well, I’ll be! Older than me, too. Guess ages really aren’t my thing.”
“Indeed.” Hanzo sipped at his tea and made it through another couple bites before he picked up the conversation again. “Regardless, it did take me by surprise. As did you. My runs are usually fairly solitary, especially at my normal hours.” He touched wistfully at his chest, fingering along the faint red line where he’d been wounded. McCree’s eyes followed, glued to his fingertips. “Tch. And it ruined one of my favorite shirts.”
McCree tore his eyes away. Business . This was business. Give a guy a meal and a little eye candy and he turns into a dog, he thought, mentally rolling his eyes at himself.
But damn, that curry was pretty hot, and he was all warmed up now. The layers were getting to be a bit much. Surely Hanzo wouldn’t mind if he slipped off another layer? The man was going bare-chested under his sweatshirt. McCree set down his plate, shrugging off his flannel outershirt. It left him in a worn-out black t-shirt that clung to his arms a bit much but was comfortable all the same.
He was still sweating.
“Say, you have a fan or anything back here? Food’s real good, honest, but it’s got me a mite hot. Reckon that mountain hike didn’t do much for me, either.”
Hanzo stood and gestured for McCree to follow, and they headed towards one of the other rooms in the cabin.
McCree lingered in the doorway as Hanzo dug through a closet. His long, black hair swung down in a loose ponytail as he rummaged. McCree couldn’t help but enjoy the view.
“Ah, here we go.” Hanzo walked over and grabbed McCree’s hands, placing a very small electric fan in them. “I’m afraid that’s the best I have.”
McCree played with it, squeezing the trigger to start the battery-operated little fan. Hanzo’s hands still hadn’t left his. They were cradling the fan together. “That’ll do, I suppose. Won’t be more than temporary.”
They stood for a second longer. The little fan fizzed and whined as its tiny blades carded the air, blowing a stray strand of McCree’s hair around as he looked more closely at Hanzo’s face. The man wasn’t much shorter than him, and lord, did he have nice eyes…
He stumbled back from where he found himself leaning into Hanzo’s presence.
Business , damn it.
He trailed back to the living room, nerves in a frenzy. Hanzo was seated again by the time he’d found a place for the fan and started to settle in to the remains of his dinner. He leaned into the air flow. It was damn warm in here.
“McCree--”
“We’re workin’ together, darlin’, you can call me Jesse.”
“Jesse, then. Jesse, though I truly appreciate your presence so far tonight…” Hanzo leaned forward. His hand grazed the couch near McCree’s thigh. “I’m afraid I have other matters I need to attend to.” McCree’s breath caught in his throat. “Perhaps you could help me?”
McCree tittered nervously. “Sure, sure...what did you have in mind?’
“Well,” Hanzo said thoughtfully, hand rasping on the stubble on his chin, “to start…”
Suddenly, McCree noticed how close Hanzo had gotten. His eyes strayed down to Hanzo’s plush lips. He was worrying at them, one sharp tooth pressed in ever so gently.
Hanzo’s warm brown eyes peered into his as his tongue flicked out lightly, as if tasting the air. “...I’m hungry.”
“Oh!” McCree relaxed marginally. “Oh, well, we can, uh, we can finish--”
An amused smirk formed on Hanzo’s face. Were his eyes a little...sharper than they were a minute ago? The hand not boxing him against the couch came up to rest on his throat. Hanzo’s thumb sat lightly over his adam’s apple.
“No, Jesse. I’m hungry .”
Ah, shit .
Hanzo surged forward. His lips met McCree’s in an open-mouthed kiss, soft and wet. McCree’s head was spinning as he felt Hanzo’s tongue swipe at his, and he was helpless to the rush of euphoria that crashed over him when he got a taste. Suddenly, his head was buzzing; his limbs were melting. The only thing that mattered was the heat of Hanzo’s mouth on his.
Hanzo’s hand was still on his throat, resting lightly over his pulse point. McCree felt him squeeze lightly and panted harshly, leaning his head back against the couch, exposing more of his neck. He was stupid for it, but he wanted it. He wanted to sink into Hanzo’s hands, wanted more .
Hanzo’s mouth ghosted over his jawbone, biting gently at the shell of his ear.
“Will you help me?”
McCree groaned, bringing his arms up to wrap around Hanzo’s waist. Hanzo’s sweatshirt bunched under his grip, but Hanzo was steady as a rock. He wouldn’t be moved.
Hanzo quirked his head, a searching look in his eyes. “I need your permission, Jesse.”
“You have it, darlin’, just--”
He never got the last bit out, because Hanzo was back in McCree’s space in the best of ways. He worried at McCree’s lip, pulling on it gently, then sucking it in his own mouth. McCree tried to respond, rubbing his tongue along Hanzo’s, pulling him close. His mouth was still sensitive from the spicy food, and the tingling only got more intense as whatever was in Hanzo’s saliva intoxicated him.
He pulled back, panting, and Hanzo took the opportunity to move down to McCree’s neck, mouthing at a tendon. His hands were roaming up McCree’s sides, petting at his muscles and rubbing the tight skin of his stomach over the soft cotton of his shirt.
Hanzo’s fingers slipped under the edge of McCree’s t-shirt, and he pushed up into it, arching his back as he lay amongst the couch cushions. He was almost horizontal now, his hair mussed up, his face flushed. He was loose-limbed and pliant. His arms rested on either side of his head, hands curled lightly. One hip bone peeked out of his jeans where they’d slipped down a little. Hanzo leaned back, a greedy look on his face.
“I wondered how long it would take a hunter to get here,” he said, his hands running over McCree’s abdomen under his shirt. “I didn’t think it would be someone like you .”
And what the hell is that supposed to mean? McCree thought hazily.
Hanzo’s eyes shone as he absently licked his lips, considering. McCree felt decidedly hunted the moment Hanzo leaned down. His mouth hovered over McCree’s. His hair hung like a neat dark curtain around them. The silence of the cabin was deafening as Hanzo started...drinking?
It felt like snowmelt was being drawn up from his innermost core. McCree didn’t shout, because the moment Hanzo began to pull it into his own lungs, ecstasy hit McCree right in the chest.
He started whining, pushing his hips up towards Hanzo, but all Hanzo did was suck whatever it was in, his eyes heavily lidded as his tongue licked into McCree’s mouth. He was still taking , and McCree would have done anything to let it keep happening.
He grunted as Hanzo put his weight on his hips on him to keep him from wriggling around. His hands were still roaming, pulling up McCree’s shirt to grab at his chest. McCree yanked the front of Hanzo’s jacket in both hands and pulled him closer.
The pull of ice out of his body paused as Hanzo pried his hands off his sweatshirt, settling them instead on his thighs. McCree kept his eyes glued to Hanzo’s muscular torso. One dusky nipple peeked out as Hanzo readjusted his coat.
“I already lost a shirt today. I’d prefer to leave this intact, if you don’t mind.” And then he slipped it off, neatly draping it over the arm of the couch before slotting himself back between McCree’s legs and returning to work.
Hanzo idly kissed McCree’s neck, lavishing sucking pressure on all the skin he could reach. McCree could have sworn that he could see something coming off his own skin in waves like steam. Hanzo chased it with his tongue, following a furl of it over McCree’s jawbone and up to his mouth again.
McCree’s shirt was rucked up practically to his armpits at this point, and Hanzo’s hands were getting pushy. He arched into the touch as Hanzo pinched roughly at a nipple and ran his fingers against the grain of his chest hair. Hanzo’s hot hands petted at him, squeezing at his muscles and rubbing against sensitive skin as he kissed the life out of him. McCree felt like his skin was one big nerve center, lit up like a christmas tree everywhere Hanzo touched.
McCree took a moment to try and collect his scattered thoughts while Hanzo moved down to mouth at one nipple, biting softly and pulling at it with his teeth. His head was hot-- in fact, his whole body was warm, pulsing with desire. His pants were too tight, the fabric too rough. Even the thin cotton of his shirt was choking him at his collar. He couldn’t get enough air and Hanzo wasn’t helping, shoving the fabric of his shirt at his face and-- wait, he was trying to take it off him.
McCree sat up half-way to help, groggily pulling his shirt over his head while Hanzo chased a tendril of...energy?...across his abs. One hand gripped the dip of his waist while the other’s fingers dug into the meat of his denim-covered thigh, scratching lightly with finely-clawed fingertips. McCree couldn’t hold back a low groan when Hanzo peeked up from where he was nestled between McCree’s legs. All the warm tones had been pulled out of Hanzo’s eyes, leaving them a molten gold, gleaming in the lamplight. His pupils were fine slits, dilated now as his tongue darted out to catch a stray slip of mist off McCree’s stomach.
McCree dug his hands into the couch cushions and threw his eyes skyward, fighting the urge to grind up against Hanzo’s torso.
“Always thought I’d die in the middle of a hunt. Never imagined it quite like this, though.”
Hanzo rolled his eyes and nipped at his hipbone. “Please. You are hardly dying.”
McCree started to grumble something accusatory but he was cut off when Hanzo started sucking noisily at the vee of his groin, following the trail of hair down to where his jeans were slipping low off his hips, hindered only by the grip of his belt.
Hanzo seemed to notice how mouthy he was getting, because he crawled over McCree’s body to kiss him again, hungry and insistent. As soon as Hanzo licked back into his mouth he could feel his bones go rubbery and his will to move fizzled out with a hiss. He closed his eyes and gave over to sensation. McCree could feel Hanzo’s thumb putting pressure on his dick through the layers, and a small noise snuck out of his chest when Hanzo gripped the length of him over his pants and started to rub along his cock where it was trapped against the inseam.
The ceiling spun as Hanzo pulled away, worrying at the point of one sharp tooth with the tip of his tongue.
“You can participate, you know,” he said slyly. “There is no one here to insist this has to be a one-way experience.”
As if to demonstrate, he carefully picked up one of McCree’s hands from where it was laying loosely by his chin. Hanzo placed it on top of his own head, nuzzling the crown of his skull into McCree’s palm. McCree could feel something-- bumps?-- under the skin. The hard protrusions grew with every passing second as Hanzo snuffled at his skin and made lustful noises.
McCree regained enough strength to tighten his grip, yanking at Hanzo’s hair. The little nubs of bone burst through, velvety soft skin covering curling horns as Hanzo made an excited noise and rutted his hips into the couch cushions. The pillows around them were in disarray; a few had been shoved off the couch entirely and were now scattered on the floor.
“Yessss,” he hissed, “like that.”
The room wobbled, but McCree managed to fight his way up to a half-seated position. His abs burned for it, but hell, his whole body burned. The only thing that seemed to soothe it was the ice-cold sensation of Hanzo pulling the waves of energy from his skin. McCree used his grip to tug Hanzo’s head back to his chest, sagging in relief when Hanzo latched onto his sweaty skin and started licking at the salt drying there, feeding from it.
All the attention had McCree’s blood rushing right to his dick, straining in his pants. His hips seemed to move of their own accord, humping lewdly into Hanzo’s powerful body. Hanzo started to wrestle him into stillness. Thinking he was going to be left again, McCree struggled harder, desperate for contact while he still had the strength to initiate it. He groaned in frustration as Hanzo’s iron fingers clamped down and held his hips still.
“Hush,” Hanzo scolded before starting to pull at his belt. McCree twitched as Hanzo pulled the belt off. Every tug of the leather over his crotch was excruciating.
He held up the buckle, inspecting it. “B-A-M-F, hm? How tacky,” he said, smiling. “I love it.” With that, he carefully set it aside.
Hanzo all but licked his chops as he wiggled down the couch, pulling McCree’s pants down as he went. He didn’t bother to take them off all the way, and his jeans and underwear dangled indelicately off one hairy ankle as Hanzo spread his legs wide and settled closer to McCree’s dick.
McCree flopped back into the disheveled cushions as Hanzo started to mouth around his dick. He didn’t go near it, no-- he took his time sniffing deeply, kissing at his inner thighs and chasing slips of the golden mist that drifted off McCree’s skin. His hands wrapped under McCree’s thighs to tug him close, and he spent long minutes licking and sucking at McCree’s balls as his cock sat heavy above, fat against his stomach.
McCree watched, eyes heavy, as Hanzo sucked one testicle into his mouth, gently rolling it around, massaging it with his tongue. His fingers were pawing at McCree’s thighs, and McCree’s skin burned where his tongue trailed. At first he thought it might just be the leftover spice from dinner, but something else burned in him wherever Hanzo’s saliva covered.
His veins felt like they were jumping, trying to all run to Hanzo’s touch. His heart drummed in his chest when Hanzo hummed. He made pleased noises every time McCree even halfheartedly participated, but this just hit him at his core.
Finally, McCree hit his limit, and something in him broke. He dazedly reached a hand up to caress the base of one magnificent horn. The soft skin covering it was blazing hot where it met the skin of his forehead, and Hanzo suddenly keened, mouth gaping wide to savor the taste of the energy that was skimming off McCree’s skin. It looked more concentrated around his groin, where Hanzo looked drunk with it, almost teary-eyed as McCree curled his nails into the thin skin around Hanzo’s horn.
“Ah!” he yelped, head pushing into McCree’s fingers. “I’m so hungry,” he said, tongue darting out to catch a dash of sweat and energy on McCree’s abdomen. “And you are such a feast .”
McCree tugged his head down. His mouth hung wide open, gasping as Hanzo hungrily mouthed along the length of his cock, tongue chasing a vein along it.
Hanzo paused, admiring the gleaming metal in his shaft.
He hummed appreciatively, drawing his tongue around the lowest barbel. “I knew I made the right decision.” He continued up, skimming his tongue over the entire ladder of six. He lingered on the thin skin over the bars. It was especially sensitive, and McCree’s cock jumped when Hanzo sucked along the entire line, teeth clicking against the closures on either side.
McCree groaned as Hanzo continued to play with the metal, gently pushing them back and forth. He dug his fingers into the horn he still had a grip on, rubbing the impossibly thin skin that covered the base of it. He could see the miniscule blood vessels blushing around the skin where they met his skull, and Hanzo whined when he gripped more gently and started to stroke along the firm surface of his large, curved horn.
They fed into each other, pulling and pushing back and forth as Hanzo buried himself between McCree’s legs, pulling McCree’s cock into the plush suction of his mouth and lapping up precum while McCree played with Hanzo’s hair and horns. They felt nice, once he got used to the fact that they even existed.
Hanzo huffed and tugged on McCree’s hips again, lifting him up off the couch. Hanzo was kneeling now, and he gripped McCree’s bare ass and pulled, spreading his cheeks to knead at the firm muscles. McCree’s legs dangled over Hanzo’s shoulders, toes curled as Hanzo buried his face in McCree’s taint. He sucked and massaged around McCree’s asshole with his tongue, drawing breathy sounds from McCree’s throat.
“Fuck!” McCree swore softly as Hanzo’s prickly nails dug into his asscheeks, drawing pinpricks of blood. Hanzo soothed the spots with his tongue, smacking wet kisses over each miniscule wound.
Shit, Hanzo’s wound . McCree groaned. That should have been a tip-off. He stared at Hanzo’s broad shoulders and the round muscles of his arms. There were no signs that he’d even been in a struggle recently-- just hard, strong muscles flexing as Hanzo gripped McCree’s hips and sloppily ate him out. McCree’s strength was returning now, but all he wanted to do with it was grab at Hanzo’s head and pull him closer.
Hanzo complied at the slightest tug on his horns. He grunted and nearly folded McCree in half in his efforts to spread the pucker of his hole open, working his tongue inside. McCree could feel it undulating inside him, thicker and longer than it should have been, pushing against his walls. One of Hanzo’s hands reached around to grip his neglected cock.
Hanzo jerked McCree off as he tongue-fucked his hole. His thumb played with the piercings, sliding up the pierced skin as his fingers delicately played with McCree’s foreskin. The red, meaty head of his cock peeked out of it, dripping slightly, and Hanzo slipped his finger through the copious precum, savoring the slide. Hanzo pulled back slightly, licking a bit off his fingers and moaning before diving back down to suck along McCree’s perineum.
McCree’s hands were still shaky, and his head was spinning. It was now partly from lack of oxygen-- he was having a hard time getting a lot of air with his lungs crushed like this. For whatever reason, he was able to see what Hanzo was eating. Thin tendrils of golden mist poured off of his skin. It trailed after Hanzo, as if it wanted his attention. Gooseflesh followed in its wake. More than just carnal lust, Hanzo was feasting on his energy-- and yet, he didn’t feel depleted.
Every other victim had ended up in the hospital, ravaged and then apparently almost fucked into a coma. This couldn’t possibly be the most intense thing Hanzo was capable of if that was the end result.
Then again, every other victim had been found in more public locations than a secluded mountain cabin.
With three deadbolts on the door.
And a very hot tenant.
McCree could feel his shoulders slipping on the couch cushions. The pillows were now almost all shoved onto the floor, and he was sinking awkwardly into the crease of the couch. The wall of it rose up around him, and he took in his surroundings, suddenly aware of the fading smell of dinner. Their plates sat only feet away, long abandoned.
Was he the last course?
Shit. He considered: possible death? Or getting laid?
Mauling?
Sex.
He made a decision: he’d been put in the hospital for worse reasons.
McCree opened his legs wider, eager to give Hanzo access. Hanzo’s hand was fast and firm on his cock, twisting quickly when McCree spurted a bit against his hand. He caught the line of it, gathered it in his palm, and then spread McCree’s own fluids along his taint, using it to ease the shallow press of a finger into his asshole. McCree clenched, breath short.
McCree’s chin was forced into his chest, neck tight as he grabbed Hanzo’s long hair and pulled. Hanzo laughed breathlessly and only kissed at his thigh, pushing his elegant finger in until his knuckles were pressed up against the swell of McCree’s ass. Hanzo wiggled it experimentally. When McCree’s calf twitched, a feral grin spread on his face.
With one free hand McCree grabbed at Hanzo’s body. He was easy enough to reach-- McCree’s ass may have been in the air, but the rest of his back was flush against the line of Hanzo’s body. When he peeked around, he could see Hanzo’s detailed tattoo-- a primordial dragon scrolling across his shoulder and arm, teeth bared on his wrist. It seemed almost alive, glinting in the light sheen of sweat on Hanzo’s forearm where it was wrapped around McCree’s thighs, holding him in place.
McCree dug his hands into Hanzo’s thigh, only to meet the soft cloth of the running pants Hanzo had been wearing since McCree had first found him so few hours ago.
He made a noise of confusion. Hanzo still had his pants on. Why did Hanzo still have his pants on?
McCree tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled grunt. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, his jaw weak. Groaning frustratedly, he settled for tugging at the giving fabric of Hanzo’s pants. It stretched in his grip, creaking in warning before Hanzo threw his weight forward. The movement dislodged his fingers, but it also forced Hanzo to press the bulge of his erection against McCree’s body. A needy noise escaped McCree as Hanzo hummed against his asshole and twisted his finger deeper, rubbing up against his nerves as he stroked McCree from the inside out.
McCree tried awkwardly to get a hand on Hanzo’s groin, cupping the tent of his thin pants. Was the demon even wearing underwear?
Hanzo snuffled against McCree’s hairy thighs, licking at his fingers before slipping another one in. The stretch of it was dry and it burned. His muscles could be forgiving, but there was only so much spit could do. McCree thwacked at Hanzo’s leg insistently.
McCree’s tongue still wasn’t working, but Hanzo seemed to get the gist of his panicked eye darting.
“You will be fine, hunter,” Hanzo said smugly. His voice was deeper. Huskier. His teeth looked sharper. Was his tongue a little more...prehensile than the last time McCree checked?
McCree watched in amazement as Hanzo lifted McCree’s fingers to the hinge of the demon’s jaw and had him press in. Where there would have normally been a pulse point, McCree found instead a hard node, swollen like a berry. Hanzo guided McCree’s fingers to gently massage it, and Hanzo shuddered as he started salivating. When he dived back into the valley of McCree’s ass, Hanzo groaned, and McCree was suddenly aware of the spiking hot, viscous nature of whatever was coating Hanzo’s tongue.
Thicker than spit, Hanzo fed a steady line of the slick into McCree’s open hole, stuffing it in with his fingers. His long, nimble tongue worked alongside them to keep him open. McCree’s cock jumped. He had a small pool of precum on his chest now from where it had dripped down. He felt raw, open. His shoulders ached from being held up for so long, and he knew there must be a sweat stain under him on the couch cushions, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as Hanzo curled a third finger in his ass and moved the three of them together in a wave. McCree jumped, a wordless shout punched out of his throat.
Christ, he hadn’t even gotten the guy’s pants off yet.
He tried to remedy this by pulling at Hanzo’s pants again, fingers scrabbling to find purchase on his waistband. When one finger caught on the edge, he yanked, and Hanzo’s cock sprung free.
McCree grinned drunkenly. First success of the night.
Hanzo shifted closer. His sharp teeth glinted in the lamplight and McCree considered himself a winner just for the way Hanzo’s pupils dilated when McCree got a hand on his dick. He couldn’t see it, but something felt strange about it. He decided to put that out of his mind, grasping desperately at Hanzo’s hard length. The whole damn situation was off, so what was one more degree of weird?
Hanzo panted, eyes flitting greedily over McCree’s body as he worked his fingers into McCree’s ass. He put all the strength of his forearm into each thrust, working in his pinky and flattening his hand out to stretch McCree’s hole to the widest it had ever been. McCree could feel every millimeter of space between each digit as Hanzo flexed and curled his fingers, wriggling them against his prostate and filling him up.
Hanzo turned and sunk his carnivore’s teeth into McCree’s thigh. A trickle of blood oozed out, but what followed it was almost enough to make up for the pain.
A thin stream of golden light welled up with the blood like watered down ichor, glowing as it ran down his leg. Hanzo chased it with his tongue, and the wound started to close, but not before McCree was overcome by a surging wave of pure lust.
There was practically a whole hand in his ass, and he couldn’t do anything but moan and jerk spasmodically as he was overridden by a current of heat down his spine. It spread deliciously through his limbs, leaving him loose and malleable.
Hanzo sunk his teeth in again, this time on the other thigh, and followed it with a powerful suck. McCree could feel it as the energy was pulled out of him, ice cold and soothing against the raging warmth that seared through his veins.
Hanzo’s hand rocked into him hard enough to put a crick in his back. Fuck, he was almost rolled over now. McCree’s own cock dangled in front of his mouth tantalizingly as Hanzo milked him. A string of precum dripped onto his chin and McCree opened his mouth wide, moaning in short jerks as Hanzo used his full weight to thrust his fingers into his ass. McCree’s hands scrabbled for purchase, struggling to reach for Hanzo’s cock before he hit his own end.
Hanzo bit once more, sharp teeth piercing the thick muscles of his calf, suckling a line of shallow bites down to his ankle, kissing his way back up. The demon’s hips were gyrating now, thrusting shallowly into McCree’s fist as he took his fill of the hunter’s energy reserves. His horns collided with McCree’s knees, scraping roughly as Hanzo sucked up what he could.
The room was spinning, the edges of his vision going blurry. Hanzo’s cock was thick and hard and slick in his hand, and McCree’s mouth watered at the idea of trying to fit it all in his mouth. Christ, would he even get a chance?
The demon’s dick was wider at the end, curved upwards sharply and...ridged? McCree’s thumb slipped over the bumps of cartilaginous tissue that cocooned the base of it like a sheath, hard and too firm under his slippery fingers. Hanzo was grunting roughly and jerking into his grip as he bit and sucked at McCree’s legs, pulling more and more of that golden light out of the hunter’s body. Every nip and lick had McCree’s heart rate skyrocketing, until he thought a fucking hummingbird must be hatching in his chest.
Hanzo grunted and panted and pushed until McCree was suddenly coming like a fountain. Hot splashes of come hit his chin and splattered on his chest hair. He tightened his fist in shock, and god, Hanzo just fucking took it, thrusting into his hand and using McCree’s body until he was satisfied.
Hanzo twitched as he came, spilling fat dribbles of come over McCree’s loosening fist. He was still bent over with his legs in the air, and he was having a hard time breathing.
The floor swam; the room spun, and as Hanzo pulled his strong fingers out of McCree, the hunter started to slip away in unconsciousness.
--
McCree blinked groggily. His eyes wouldn’t focus. They were crossing, and he felt vaguely like he had a hangover. He groaned and closed them again.
He was damp; he had gathered that much. Something soft and cool was running over his chest, soothing what felt like burns. His breath hitched as the sensation passed over his neck.
He squinted one eye open.
Hanzo peered down at him curiously. Gone were the horns; his eyes were a warm amber, his hair a soft black sheet around his shoulders. He looked...ordinary.
If you could ever call him that.
Hanzo blinked.
“Awake already?”
McCree groaned deeply, trying to roll his heavy limbs. He felt like he’d gotten into a fight with a brick shithouse. None of his limbs wanted to cooperate, but he managed to loosely grope for and locate his phone from where it had fallen into the vast crevasse of the couch. He twitched his hand to force it to camera mode, then clicked the shutter.
A blurry photo of Hanzo’s bare chest showed up. The faintest smudge of his tattoo could be seen in the corner.
McCree added it to the Overwatch forum’s thread, cheekily posting it with the first title he could think of before letting his arm drop back to the dirty couch cushions. He closed his eyes again, intent on passing right back out.
He heard more than saw Hanzo chase his phone. The demon laughed.
“‘Death by dicking’? Are you serious?”
McCree grunted as Hanzo ran a the cloth over his legs, chasing the remnants of blood that spotted his skin. God, he was tired.
“Can’t think of a better way to go, sweetheart.”
McCree sighed lazily as Hanzo continued to clean him. Every part of him was heavy. It was almost too much effort to take in a deep breath, but he made himself pull in the air he needed, just to feel the stretch of his lungs. He was still breathing. What else was new?
Eyes still closed, McCree arched his back and stretched, cracking his joints as Hanzo caressed the curve of his hip with blunt fingers. This was about the most satisfied he’d felt in weeks.
“What, cleaning me up before you hand me over to the medics?”
Hanzo made a noise of neutral acknowledgment, but kept calmly wiping him down. He couldn’t have been out that long.
A second later: “What are you talking about?”
McCree waited for the follow-up; a joke, maybe, or a threat. When it didn’t come, he blinked his eyes open, squinting against the glare of the overhead light.
Hanzo looked genuinely confused.
McCree made an effort to prop himself on his elbows. When his neck refused to cooperate, he let his head thump back onto the thick cushion below him, but kept his elbows stiff. Had to keep some semblance of control, he thought blearily.
“The…” he paused. “The attacks?”
Hanzo nodded. His hair was mussed, probably from where McCree had fisted his hands in it. It sat like a tangled halo as he tilted his head curiously. “Which I posted about?”
“...as a trap ?”
Hanzo paused, dropping the damp cloth to the floor before pinching the bridge of his nose. McCree saw him take a deep, steadying breath before speaking again.
“...Were you under the impression that I was trying to murder you?” His tone was prim, impartial.
Suddenly self-conscious, McCree took half a second to consider before plunging ahead as usual.
“I’d assumed so, yeah, considering the whole ‘horny devil’ bit you had going, there.”
“Oh, my god.” Hanzo let go of McCree’s leg and turned away, dropping his face into his hands, hunched over his knees. McCree noted that they were both still very naked. “My brother is never going to let me hear the end of this.”
Somewhere in the distance, McCree heard a clock ticking. It did nothing to sooth his nerves, and only made him more aware of how late it must be. It had been cold outside earlier, he thought. How much colder would it be now, shrouded by embarrassment?
Hanzo looked at him shrewdly through steepled fingers.
“I brought you here to seduce you, you fool, not kill you. Someone comes into my territory, my home, and starts terrorizing my food source?” he shuddered. "It's exhausting to try and deal with alone. It's been weeks since I've had a good meal. The council said they would inform whoever took the job of the circumstances. I was under the impression that they were organized, not obtuse."
McCree blinked. “Well, you got one of those right.” He shivered. Tired as he was, the air was still cold, and he was still awfully. “So…?”
Hanzo stood, roughly tossing the couch cushions back in place from the floor. McCree grunted as Hanzo manhandled him into a position that let the demon stick a pillow behind his head.
“So I graciously ‘let you go,’ I suppose. Shit.” Hanzo rubbed at a temple, snatching his sweatshirt off the arm of the couch and angrily shrugging it on. McCree couldn’t help but watch his ass as the demon stalked away. Pissed off or not, it was a nice rear.
McCree fought his uncoordinated limbs to sit up, then gripped the back of the couch and threw his weight onto his wobbly legs. Fuck, this was just like the first time he figured out how to break into his step-dad’s liquor cabinet.
“Oh, c’mon ,” he called out. “I’m...I’m sorry?”
No answer. Somewhere in the distance he heard a shower turn on.
“It was an honest mistake,” he called out to no one. “Anyone would have made it.”
He slapped a hand over his face, dragging his fingers down his cheeks as he leaned bodily against the couch. His coat was still draped over the back of it. He looked back at the cozy living room. Their plates were still on the coffee table, too, the pot of tea tepid next to them.
“... fuck .”
--
McCree jerked awake when he heard the pipes squeak as they were shut off. He was still disoriented, but he made an effort to look presentable, patting down his flannel where he’d managed to button it up more-or-less evenly. After several long minutes, Hanzo emerged from what McCree assumed to be his bedroom, toweling his hair dry.
McCree cleared his throat.
Hanzo looked up, clearly surprised to see McCree still in his home. He rolled his eyes and walked over, snatching up the teapot. McCree clutched at his wrist.
“I’m sorry, alright?”
Hanzo scoffed and tried to tug his arm back. “Save it for your forums, hunter.”
McCree steadied his grip. “Okay, look, I fucked up.”
Hanzo looked at him expectantly.
“I’m sorry . I shouldn’t have assumed. Althoughhh--” at the dead look Hanzo gave him, he rerouted, “--it was mighty foolish of me to just accuse you like that. Bad business practices, and all,” he muttered.
Hanzo’s nostrils flared. “Did you ever stop to wonder why I was so…so grateful ?”
McCree looked up sheepishly. “Well, I started to question it about the time the horns popped out, but--”
“I was grateful because I requested help from the council and they sent it.” Hanzo’s jaw was clenched, and he yanked his arm free. The teapot swung perilously on its handle, water sloshing. “Regardless of who I was.”
McCree searched his memories. Something was still off about this.
Seeing the vacant look on his face, Hanzo flexed, and out furled the horns, the claws. He stared at McCree with those liquid gold eyes again, raising an eyebrow. At his blank expression, he muttered, “Are you serious?”
McCree made a “who, me?” face, trying to hide his discomfort.
“Genji is never going to let this go.” Hanzo dropped onto the couch, cradling the teapot. The tips of his horns poked against the overstuffed cushions.
One molten metal eye flicked over to McCree’s face, and Hanzo elaborated.
“Hanzo Shimada, formerly of the Shimada clan of Hanamura, Japan.” He sighed. “Minor sex demon, triathlete, and egregiously bad communicator, apparently.”
McCree smiled.
“Jesse McCree, hunter and colossal idiot, at your service, if you still want me.”
Hanzo looked at him, a wry smile twisting his face. He sloshed the teapot in his lap.
“I’ll put on a fresh pot. I think we have a lot to talk about.”
McCree pulled out his phone and opened up his hunt file, getting ready for an even longer evening.
"Let's start with what kind of thing would intrude on another demon's territory."