genji finds his head still spins when jesse watches him on the training range. his shuriken slip between his fingers when a round from peacekeeper whistles past his ear to strike dead center in the robot that has the unfortunate circumstance of being genji’s current pincushion.
he turns on a metal heel, scowls at the smug expression painting itself across jesse’s face, and lets the sharpened stars slide back into the grooves of his arm as he moves to the man’s side. there is frustration painting a young ninja’s face – both at jesse’s act and at his own incompetence when it came to making the same shot.
if his mind lingers on the last time they were this close, his lips tingle in a not entirely unpleasant way. it’s distracting, like the lingering taste of smoke that had pervaded is tongue after jesse had tilted his head back and kissed him like a longtime lover.
absentmindedly, he swipes his tongue across his tingling lip, chasing the taste again. there is smugness painted across jesse’s face and genji has to crane his neck to look at the man’s face and –
it is not difficult to slide his fingers in the front of jesse’s shirt and drag him down to crash their lips together once more. their teeth clack together in a sweet sensation of stinging pain and genji leans up on the tips of his toes, chasing the taste of bourbon that lingers on jesse’s tongue.
if he makes a tiny groan of a sound when jesse’s wide, warm hand settles on his lower back, he pays it no heed. it is swallowed into their kiss, after all, a mess of tongue and teeth that has genji leaning up against jesse.
when they separate, he is breathing hard, chest heaving in an attempt to flood air into his kiss-drunk head. he huffed softly, glaring minutely at the cowboy before stepping back sharply.
“ don’t steal my shots. i dislike the distractions. ”
lucio is not known for being subtle when it comes to his affections. he loves openly as he smiles, fully and brightly. his knowledge of relationships and his grasp on the concept of them are next to none, yet he has learned so much from the laughs and the plots of ROMANTIC COMEDIES. but those do not do much for him, so he CHOOSES to love everyone, everyone that comes close is an object of his never ending affections in some way. this is no exception, even though he does not consider his actions to be a form of social gaffe until after the fact.
there is frustration, the furrow of a thick brow as he reaches up Up UP to twine busy fingers into the folds of that serape. he moves forward, close because he wants MCCREE to know that he is lucio’s focus right now, these affections are thanks for companionship; for the gentle laugh and even the frustration that comes with the cowboy. (but why must he be so damn tall!) a set of fingers move to brush along the back of neck, into the disarray of hair that sits there. the smell of cigar smoke burns his nose, filtering down as throat when he is there; they are flush against one another, heat signatures becoming one. lucio acknowledges the other scents that hide benefit the burn of acridness, what he thinks might be saddlewood what he guesses is cologne. he enjoys it more than he will admit, filing the knowledge away as he cannot let mccree’s ego grow any larger than it already is.
he shifts the man down to meet his rise, standing up as far as the tips of his skates will allow. he is careful with the tilt of his head, praying to minimize the burn of the beard against the sensitive skin of his mouth and cheeks. a gentle press of lips, simple yet affectionate. then progressing into something more as lucio works his teeth into chapped skin. he is no stranger to these kisses, not hesitating to encourage the press of tongues, to taste the smoke that clings against his teeth and the corners of mccree’s mouth. the scrape of stable against his face is pleasant in some ways, dully harsh in others. he knows there will be a rash later today, but he powers own, leaning into the kiss that he shares with the other.
when he pulls away he is no less bright as he started out as; maybe the range of his glow has been knocked up a few decimals. kiss swollen lips pulled into a smile nonetheless, teeth bright contrast against today’s lip color of choice. fingers move away from the cowboy, itching to find his phone so he can start new tracks. he found a whole new range of colors in that kiss, a deep palette that lay underneath the sepias and sunsets that lucio usually associated with JESSE MCCREE. he wonders how he will capture the affection he was feeling, the deep pinks and mauves that danced behind his eyes. ❛ just wanted to give you a reminder that i don’t hate you no matter how much i punch and tease you! you’re an important friend, querido!❜
ninjastrike-aa-deactivated20190 said: drops in here because i just want you to know that you're amazing. you helped me establish a steady timeline and it may not seem like much but it opened my eyes to so many more possibilities, for which i am eternally grateful! NOT TO MENTION your mccree is so well-rounded and shows facets that i would never have considered before for him; that and because you are my partner in crime for some antagonistic genji+mccree and you're just. doing so well with his muse? thank you for all you're doing!!
i told u you didnt have to resend this ohy mgf od but still wtf,,, thank you so much,, i honestly appreciate the feedback and am equally grateful for your thoughts bc you also?? helped me get the kinks out of how i conceptualize the pre-game timeline. not to mention, i’ve had a blast hashing out mc/cree’s dynamic with black/watch gen/ji??? i love being able to explore different interpretations with folks and you provide such an orderly wealth of insight into gen/ji’s character that it’s v easy to play off of.
it is on the tip of his tongue to refuse the inane prattling that he has come to accept as some misled form of wit that falls from mccree’s mouth as quick as bullets and just as deadly. he cannot say for certain when it became the norm for him to feel somewhat at ease in the other’s company, a realization that he has no inclination to share with anyone. and this is to speak nothing of the moderate balancing act that they seem to have fallen into, pieced from seething remarks traded back and forth and the estranged understanding that seems to stem from it.
(
jesse mccree is a man out of time and short on everything else. he has good moments that last as long as it takes for him to open his mouth and ruin it, with shadows tucked to the deep corners of his smirk and deeper still in his eyes. genji sees all of it and pretends he doesn’t : sometimes ignorance is more often not a bless when the world around them is burning. )
but then, a tug, as he swallows his words with a rush of breath as his head is jerked back by the ribbon. one hand reaches straight for the blade held across his hip, unsheathing it in one smooth motion and pressing the edge against the tanned expanse of the other’s neckline in the exact span of time that mccree prepared to … attack him ? irritation and anger wages a splendid war from within and he curses himself for having grown far too lenient in the cowboy’s presence as he ignores the thunderous beating in his chest.
❛ as you keep telling me. ❜ he presses in harder as gauntlet fingers find themselves digging into mccree’s arm ( when had he … ) with enough strength to bruise. the intent reads as clear as day to him and he finds himself tucking away his wielded blade, almost agonizingly slow, before he lifts both hands to decompress at the switches of his visor. he is a mess of scars and bitter memories but so is mccree, and it is in only this that they are similar : it does not, however, explain why genji surges forth with fire in his cybernetic veins and presses the brunt of his mouth against the other’s for a taste of purgatory. mccree’s lips are chapped and dry and smell almost revoltingly familiar of smoke, enough to force genji to part away, though not before clamping down with both rows of teeth upon a split bottom lip. gravel - worn yet petal - soft, he meets the other’s wandering gaze and speaks with a conviction he swears by.
❛ and now i will tell YOU : i will not be accomplice to your own self - destruction. if you desire a swift death then i will grant it to you, no more, no less. but do not think to play me for mere amusement. ❜
he flails as soon as mccree gets in close. it can mean so much, and he has the beard burn to show for encounters like this. when the marker comes out, he quiets a bit, leaning of course into the sand roughened hands that cup his face. he tries his hardest not to squirm, pearly white teeth sinking into a thick bottom lip to smoother back the the tickle inspired giggle that bubble up. some slip through, but he manages to stay somewhat still. he concludes he’s probably never going to get a tear drop or some sort of facial tattoo ever in his life, his face too sensitive for all of that.
his eyes crinkle with a smile, stars sparkling in the corners of those brown eyes as he loops a arm around jesse’ waist, his phone flicking out before the man can scramble away. he’s been taking selfies with fans for years now, he’s perfected the art of the illusive almost instant selfie. he pulls a kissing face as he snaps a picture of himself and mccree, facial drawings and all.
❛ my fans gonna love this, im gonna make it my profile picture on all my social medias. maybe i’ll call you bae and everything. ❜
dusty plains and sand - swept valleys that stretches far into the horizon : he is the smokey aftertaste of bonfire lips that seeps through your blood and finely aged whiskey that tastes of warm liquid fire swallowed and coiled to the bottom of your stomach. dry zephyr that caresses coarse cheeks and reminds you of ocean tides sweeping in and out , a chilly morning breeze that carries with it the scent of muted freedom ( a little sprinkle of salt and a little pinch of spice : something rustic and crusted and meaty in the way that homemade meals often are, or so you presume, you have never had the pleasure of trying ) . he holds pointed daggers upon his tongue and speaks words that cut just as sharp as his grin : a man who holds the fondness of a bygone time and era, holds the rotten ashes of gunpowder within his grasp, and smells all the more lively ( and alive ) for it.
