The Art of Scraping Through

I was commissioned by PunyGod/cyberpunkdreamland/they of many usernames to write a McHanzo fic with a little body worship and a lot of feelings. Here it is, in all its feelsy glory! Rated Explicit/NSFW. Non-penetrative sex, light angst, emotional hurt/comfort???

Notes: Thank you to mataglap for the beta. The title is 100% the product of that Hozier lyrics title generator and no I am not ashamed.

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Most of the compliments Jesse pays Hanzo are simply because he likes his reaction: like it is not just expected, but what Jesse owes him. What anybody in Jesse’s position would owe him. Other times Hanzo gets… shy is the wrong word. The man’s never been shy a day in his life. But flustered, maybe. Pleasantly surprised, mixed with a little outright confusion. 

Hanzo responds as though he already knows when Jesse makes some general remark about his looks. He’s used to getting praise for his skills too. When Jesse gets into specifics about his body, he gets weird about it, though. Jesse finally asks about it, just to confirm his suspicions, and Hanzo scoffs at him. “I have never given it a great deal of thought. It is… a weapon. A tool.”

McCree’s eyes rake over him. “A very attractive tool.”

“I hope you’re not expecting to get laid after calling me names.” 

“I can come up with better names, if you like.” 

The sidelong look Hanzo gives him is sly, but his mouth can’t hide that he’s pleased. “Such as?”

It’s impossible to suppress his own grin. “Sugar,” he says, knowing before it happens that Hanzo’s eyebrow is gonna twitch, because that one’s far from his favorite. “Handsome.” Hanzo’s reaction here is predictable too: he doesn’t roll his eyes, but only because he probably thinks it’s too undignified. His gaze flicks toward Jesse and his mouth curves as if he’s thinking, No shit. It tickles Jesse so much that he has to sneak a kiss before he can continue, lips pressing quickly against Hanzo’s cheek. Jesse’s still close when he tries the next one: “Sweetheart.” If he weren’t watching for it, he might miss the faint, pleased flush of Hanzo’s cheeks, the way his face tries to shutter off to hide that it surprises him. “You like that one?”

“It is hardly fitting,” Hanzo says in a tone that might pass for dismissive to anyone else, but his voice is tighter than usual.

“I think it fits just right,” Jesse says. In the face of Hanzo’s skepticism, he grins. “What, nobody’s ever called you sweet before?”

“I assure you they have not.”

“But you are.” Hanzo won’t quite look at him, and his cheeks are still flushed, so Jesse wants to know how far he can push this teasing. “Saved me the last brownie the other night. I know you wanted it.” 

Hanzo snorts. “I knew you would hold it against me if you didn’t get any.”

“Mmhmm, and last month when I had that cold? You were a real good nurse.”

“You are insufferable when you’re sick.” The words are harsh, but Hanzo’s got that little smile he gets only for Jesse, and it sucks all the venom out, reveals it for the teasing that it is. 

His fingers are curled loosely when Jesse reaches for his hand. “And that neck rub you gave me this morning? Right after you brought me coffee?” Jesse brushes his lips over scarred knuckles, watching Hanzo’s face. 

There’s a beat of silence before Hanzo finally gives in. He looks at Jesse, dark eyes glittering in amusement, but his sigh is almost convincingly sullen. “You will ruin my hard-earned reputation if anyone finds out.”

“It’ll be our little secret. I’ll tell everybody how bad you treat me, don’t worry.” His lips find Hanzo’s shoulder. It’s turned into something of a joke for now, but they’re dancing around the truth of it: Hanzo has come so far. What Jesse wants almost always comes first, because it makes Hanzo happy to know he can make someone else happy. There’s no way he’s the same person he was long ago. Jesse bites back the urge to say so, but he can’t stop himself from speaking entirely. He grins in a way he thinks is foolish. “You’re makin’ a sap out of me.”

“You haven’t always been sappy?” 

The depth of Hanzo’s skepticism makes Jesse laugh and blush at the same time, but he perseveres. “Nah, it’s all you.”

Hanzo’s clearly trying his hardest to seem bored and unaffected, but the pleased color in his cheeks only deepens. He squirms, all efforts at dignity lost when Jesse’s nose and then his beard brush some particularly ticklish spot, and it devolves from there into kissing. 

---

There are other times, though, that the compliments become almost necessary. Times when memories become suffocating. Jesse does his best to offer some peace, but sometimes all he can do to remove the weight of them is provide a distraction instead.

He wakes twice in the night to Hanzo muttering in his sleep. It’s rumbling sound without words, and he shifts fitfully until Jesse curls tight around him. He wakes a third time just before dawn to find Hanzo carefully prying himself free, having given up on finding any more rest. He tells Jesse to go back to sleep, but it’s too close to his usual alarm for that to do any good.

Hanzo spends the day skulking through the Watchpoint, and Jesse can’t help but think of those old cartoons ⁠— for all the misery he’s radiating, Hanzo ought to have his own personal raincloud to follow him around. Jesse probably shouldn’t, but he’ll take his laughs where he can get them and give Hanzo room to breathe. He’ll come around. 

In the meantime, Jesse can be grateful they’ve banked enough good days that a bad one can provide a private joke instead of a sick, anticipatory twist in his stomach. It doesn’t feel like he’s getting shut out any more. There’s no fear that this is the moment Hanzo realizes Jesse’s not worth the effort. 

His rhythms are predictable, and he’ll find his way back from wherever his head’s gone today. Still, it doesn’t hurt to speed the process along. 

After dinner Jesse sets the electric kettle on in his room, which he privately thinks of as their room; he can’t remember the last time they didn’t fall asleep together. Now that the kettle is here and the toiletries have migrated and there are matched pairs of glass tumblers and teacups and coffee mugs, Hanzo’s own room functions as a glorified closet. 

The tea’s still steaming when Hanzo finally arrives, flushed, dampness along his hairline. He’s probably been working out, trying to sweat it out of his system. He beelines for the shower, and when he returns, he looks chagrined and guilty alongside whatever’s put him in such a foul mood. As if he’s done something wrong. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Jesse asks. 

“No.” Hanzo takes his tea though, shoulders drawn as if he can curl his body around the cup. After a moment, his haunted eyes find Jesse's face again. “It is nothing new.” 

That’s fair, he thinks. There are better things to do than retread old territory. He lets the subject drop and lets Hanzo enjoy his tea in peace, watching for all the minute clues that it’s helping. 

Jesse sits back on the bed and turns his attention to his tablet. Hanzo won’t admit it, but this part matters too: that Jesse can keep him company without saying a word. He takes up space in the room, and he keeps his mouth shut, and he listens for the signs that Hanzo’s finished: the clink of the cup on the table, a quiet rustle of fabric that says he’s restless and unsure what to do next. 

It’s easy to coax him into bed from there, at least as far as the edge, where he sits to let Jesse get his hands on him. He starts at the shoulders where it’s safe. They’re tense still, considerable muscles bunched tightly and his spine too rigid, but it only takes finding just the right spots with his thumbs for them to begin to loosen up. Jesse scoots closer, until his legs are draped to either side of Hanzo, and he starts to put some weight behind it. A few moments more of kneading, then Hanzo makes a sound that gives Jesse’s body all the wrong ideas, and his head lolls forward, shoulders drooping. 

Hanzo breathes out on a shudder, arches when Jesse digs his thumbs in on either side of his spine, then he sags like a string’s been cut. “Tell me,” he says, his head half turned like he wants to look at Jesse but stops himself on the way. The room is so quiet that Jesse hears him swallow before his voice comes out hoarser than before. “Why do you…” Jesse tries to be patient, but he’s not sure Hanzo’s going to finish. He’s starting to tense up again, too, undoing Jesse’s hard work. His fingers catch on the sheet as his hands turn into claws. “I’m not…” Then he breathes again, deep and steady, his eyes shutting, and Jesse just sort of knows.

There are two options, as far as he sees it: he can pursue it, revisit whatever old pains have Hanzo feeling this way, or he can distract him. “Lie down,” he says gently. “You’re fuckin’ up the massage.”

Hanzo laughs like he doesn’t want to, but at least he listens. He responds to Jesse’s insistent hands by tugging his shirt off, then he lies facedown on the bed. Jesse brushes his still damp hair from where it’s clinging to one shoulder, warms up some lotion in his hands, then he starts the massage again from the top, better able to apply pressure from this angle. He presses the heels of his hands down into what feels like a solid wall of muscle, and Hanzo gives another of those near pornographic groans. 

The only sounds between them are Hanzo’s occasional shaky moans or harsh breaths, until he’s mostly a puddle under Jesse’s hands. When he’s pretty sure Hanzo couldn’t really tense up again even if he wanted to, Jesse says conversationally, “You wanna know how I could like somebody like you.”

It’s not a question because it doesn’t need to be. He feels muscles start to bunch under his hands, but he pushes back until they relax again. Even so, Hanzo’s eyes are squeezed shut, and the cheek that Jesse can see is a brilliant red. It’s all the confirmation he really needs.

Jesse smiles, even if he’s not totally feeling it, and he leans in closer, keeps his tone light. “Well, it doesn’t hurt that you’re hot as hellfire.” 

His hands trace the breadth of Hanzo’s shoulders, scarred and densely packed with hard-won muscle. The tattoo has always been beautiful, bold and richly colored, but Jesse likes the scars too. There’s one just below his shoulder blade, an elongated X. Pale lines cut through the darker flesh around them, shining in the lamplight until Jesse’s shadow blocks them out. He kisses what he hopes is the center, and Hanzo makes a muffled sound. 

Across from it and higher on the other shoulder is a raised knot of puckered flesh — this one’s from a bullet, best Jesse can tell. It gets a kiss too and that draws out a staccato sigh. There are other scars that deserve his attention, and his hands keep moving, applying counterpressure any time Hanzo’s muscles try to go tight again. He keeps it slow and easy, wordlessly mapping out the shape of Hanzo beneath him. 

Jesse’s attention gets redirected from the scars when he reaches the middle of Hanzo’s back. There’s a small mole here, almost perfectly centered over the spine, then another nearby, just down and to the right. A third sits a couple inches lower, not far above the sacrum where Jesse’s resumed his massage, drawing careful arcs outward. 

“I love these,” he murmurs against Hanzo’s skin. Jesse kisses each mole in turn, then Hanzo gives himself away with a restless roll of his hips. It’s tempting to pull his sweats down, to follow the trail of his spine the rest of the way and kiss past the end of his tailbone, lick his way in until Hanzo goes from boneless to writhing, but Jesse still needs his mouth for now. Instead he leaves the pants on and lets his hands skirt along Hanzo’s hips and down to his thighs, avoiding his ass entirely for now. “Practically a work of art, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t expect an answer, and the only one Hanzo gives is a low, half-pained groan that escapes when Jesse’s hands get to work on his thighs. It’s difficult to get leverage over his clothing, so Jesse does eventually help him out of the sweatpants. In only black boxer briefs, his ass provides a lot more distraction.

If Hanzo’s spine was a steel cord, it still has nothing on his thighs, but Jesse has more patience than he usually gets credit for. He kneads carefully until some of the tension has drained; what little remains isn’t exactly due to stress, at least judging by the way Hanzo’s legs have slowly spread farther. Jesse drags his thumbs upward, ending just below the curve of his ass, then he does it again and again, each time closer to the inside of Hanzo’s thighs. The muscles twitch in conflict, torn between relaxation and anticipation, and it makes Jesse laugh quietly. 

“Roll over,” he says with a gentle nudge. Lethargic muscles and obvious arousal combine to make Hanzo move slowly and with a rare clumsiness, but he complies. His eyes are darker than ever, pupils blown wide, and there’s a flush that reaches all the way down his chest. His cock strains against the front of his underwear, but it’s the look on his face that really takes Jesse’s breath away. “God, look at you.” It comes out almost reverent, and this one isn’t even intentional. 

“Are you only going to look?” 

“No.” He laughs and leans over Hanzo, tracing one hot cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m supposed to tell you what I like too, right?” He grins and kisses the bridge of Hanzo’s nose; when he pulls back, Hanzo’s eyes have shut and his breathing is uneven. “I like this. And your mouth.” 

It’s true. Hanzo’s lips have this natural downturn that isn’t quite a pout, but as far as Jesse’s concerned, it sort of makes him look like he’s upset that he’s not being kissed. Jesse does kiss him then, though he holds back from making it as dirty as he’d like to, because he’s got other goals here. 

He sucks another kiss into the place where shoulder and neck meet, then he works his way down Hanzo’s chest with open mouth and fingers splayed wide to touch as much skin as possible. He finds the scars here too, making sure each gets the attention it deserves, Hanzo’s fingers tightening in his hair to let him know when he’s found an especially sensitive spot. 

Down and to the left of Hanzo’s navel, there’s another tiny mole. Jesse brushes it with a finger, which makes Hanzo’s stomach twitch; he’s ticklish, even if he’s too keyed up right now for it to have as much effect as it might otherwise. “This one’s my favorite,” Jesse says with a smile and a tender press of his lips. 

He could keep going, he thinks. He’s barely touched Hanzo’s thighs, hasn’t even started in on his arms or the rest of his legs, but he’s getting restless too, and Hanzo’s hard cock is so close.

He successfully resists that temptation and draws himself back up Hanzo’s body, although he can’t stop his roving touch. “Gorgeous, every inch of you.” He smiles again, but it’s hard to keep the next part as light: “You know it’s not just physical, though, don’t you? It’s never been just that.”

This close, he can hear the sound of Hanzo’s throat as he swallows, and his eyes go soft with affection. “Never?” he asks. Jesse wonders if it was meant to be teasing; maybe it usually would be, but this time it misses the mark by a mile. 

“Well, maybe on day one, it was just that. But no, not by the time we started down this road. I liked you then, and I like you even more now. What was it you told me once? I don’t care what got in your head today. You’re a good man.”

Hanzo’s chest hitches quietly, then he kisses Jesse with both hands framing his face. There’s an edge of desperation to it that probably isn’t purely physical; Jesse returns it in kind, like that can say all the things words can’t. This won’t be the last time they have to do it this way, but he still kisses like he believes it could be.

Hanzo tugs at the hem of his shirt, fingers seeking skin. That’s when Jesse finally moves again, pulling back just enough to take his t-shirt off. Hanzo’s quick hands go straight for his belt and then plunge inside Jesse’s jeans, wrapping confident fingers around his cock. 

It’s so sudden that it startles a laugh out of him. “Should’ve mentioned how much I love your hands,” he says with an involuntary jerk of his hips. Hanzo’s grip shifts just right, and Jesse’s eyes try to shut on their own. “Just like that.” It seems to be all the encouragement Hanzo needs, because he keeps at it, spreading precome to ease the glide and his knuckles slipping through some of Jesse’s sweat too. Jesse’s brain might be leaking out of his ears, but he manages to stay on task. “See? You’re so good to me.”

“Clearly not good enough, if you’re still talking.”

Jesse’s next laugh is more breathless than before. “Give it time. You’ll come through. Always do.”

Hanzo groans then, tightening his other hand in Jesse’s hair again to pull him closer. By now he’s likely only kissing Jesse to shut him up, but that’s hardly something to complain about. Instead he gives himself over to sensation, shoves Hanzo’s underwear down his thighs so that Jesse can get a hand on him too. 

Nothing about it is graceful, but they’ve got plenty of practice at this now and Hanzo’s thoroughly distracted from whatever was bothering him, so grace is hardly the most important part. They find a rhythm of a sort, and clumsy or not, it feels good enough that Jesse’s gasping in no time, hips moving in stuttering little jerks until he spills.

They clean up and Jesse kicks his jeans the rest of the way off, then they simply lie there a while. Hanzo’s fingers are back in Jesse’s hair, stroking tenderly through the strands. He smooths them down where he can, securing the longer pieces behind Jesse’s ear. It’s an idle motion, maybe something Hanzo’s not even putting any thought into, but it’s sweet and feels downright heavenly when Jesse’s still riding that post-sex high. 

He’s pretty sure Hanzo’s done taking compliments for now, or Jesse’d make a big deal out of that too. As it is, he rests his head on Hanzo’s chest and drifts, scalp tingling and limbs light. Maybe giving Hanzo some evidence he can care for somebody else is all he really needs anyway. The words just help shore it up, even if it’s only temporary.

They’ll have to do this again. It’s not the first or the last time. Chances are high that next time it’ll be Jesse who needs the reassurance ⁠— he has his fair share of nightmares too, and Hanzo’s gotten good at treating the injuries they leave behind. For now, though, they can give each other this moment of peace.