empire of dirt

@makeycuhurt

         “There is nothing you can say to me that will CHANGE what they and I have done, mon cher.” The Widowmaker shifted in her cell, pushed herself off the wall. Dark eyes scanned the man she had met once or twice, back when he was but a boy. “Some things are permanent.”

⌠♞⌡ ;;   “You say that like we’re tryin’ to erase what happened.” Mccree’s voice was gentle. He’d hardly known Amelie, back before he left, but he still felt a sort of loyalty to her -- Reyes had always described him as a “lost puppy,” latching on to Overwatch like he had.

       She giggled, reaching up to rest her hands against his chest. She turned her head away, baring her throat, playfully trying to avoid his kisses. Her little form wiggled and wriggled beneath his.

“You stop that, Jesse McCree!” Her words are breathless, full of joy and warmth and love. He was everything to her, beautiful and wonderful and oh-so-perfect. “Your words are sweet, but much like sugar, they hold nothing beyond their sweetness.” Athena pinched his side, ever so slightly. “I would watch who hears them.”

⌠♞⌡ ;;  Oh, Athena, you left yourself vulnerable. Mccree’s quick to take advantage of the exposed throat and kiss there, lips lingering just a moment longer than perhaps they should, before running his teeth lightly over the metal (metallic proto-flesh? he wasn’t sure what you’d call it). One hand moves downwards, taking her leg and tugging it upwards around his waist, so he can press his hips to hers.

“I ain’t gonna stop any time soon.” He looks up just to shoot her a lopsided grin, deep brown eyes soft with adoration. “And I don’t care who hears. You are beautiful, wonderful, smart as a whip, compassionate...:”

       “You make me sound like something out of a DREAM, Jesse, when most would consider me far less.” Not that she didn’t love it. It was almost like being worshiped, with frolics of followers at her feet, desperate for her aid, her wisdom, her love. “I don’t deserve it.”

⌠♞⌡ ;;  “Like hell you don’t.” His voice his gentle, reverent. Even he felt like a worshiper, gazing into her optics. Jesse’s hand rested on Athena’s hip as he rolled over in bed, leaning down to place kisses along her neck and collar.

      “For … that long?”

 Hanzo has to voice it out loud. Though it’s not so much the length of how long he had been asleep as it is the fact that the first thing he noticed upon waking up had been the sharpshooter, sitting next to the bed, with expression he could only describe as worry.

        Hah.

 Worry over him? Hardly. And yet as McCree speaks, it dawns on him. He sits himself up a bit straighter, wincing while he does so—right, bandages, before he gives up for now, exhaling a sigh. Could have always been worse, though, right?

        “I … ah … McCree, you need not worry, I will be alright.”.

⌠♞⌡ ;;  “Shouldn’t be so surprised, darlin’. Bullet to the side’ll do that to you.” Despite the light, amused tone, his eyes are soft with concern, and Jesse has to remind himself that Hanzo probably doesn’t wanna be touched -- so he stops himself from reaching out to do so. God, but he feels pathetic like this. Hanzo’s in the clear, sure, but it’s hard not to fret.

“Easy, easy.” And this time, he does reach out, hand on Hanzo’s shoulder to keep him from moving too quick. “Doc said you’re gonna be on bedrest for a week at least, try not t’ move too fast.”

Jesse let out a small, nervous laugh, removing his hand as Hanzo spoke to run his fingers through his own messy hair. Brown eyes averted themselves, fixing instead on the hat in Mccree’s lap.

        She giggled at the poke, reaching over to slap his hands away. No matter how SERIOUS she tried to be, Jesse McCree had a way of pulling her out of it. Her hands reached up, fingers interlacing with his. For once, her work lay forgotten.

“Has it already been two days?”

⌠♞⌡ ;;  Jesse grinned as she took his hands in hers; he squeezed them, gently, already feeling calm and contented from the gentle slide of metal against skin. He leaned close to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“God, you’re gonna be th’ death of me, Thea. ‘Has it already been two days?’” He let out a snort. “Are you tellin’ me you ain’t keepin’ track?”