#dragonbladc

   ‘kuso,’ a word that the cowboy had not known before meeting genji, and the murmured curse had brought dark eyes up from the DS clutched gently in his hands. before he could ask what was wrong, his breath had caught in the depths of his throat. those dark eyes had watched as nimble fingers released the visor from its hold; a simple, smooth motion that jesse had never seen from the cyborg. as long as he’d known him, his face had been kept hidden behind that visor, and not once had he asked for it to be removed. not once had genji shown comfort in removing it.   

   and, yet, there he was. pulling it down and away to reveal beautiful, scarred skin that had jesse left utterly speechless. choking on his own words and his own breath.    

   neither of them said a word. 

   from then, it became normal. the visor would come off in their time alone. jesse would do his best not to stare, afraid genji might get the idea wrong. that, perhaps, the cyborg would think he was appalled and not absolutely, totally star struck. that genji might think he saw a monster, when all jesse could see was a beauty that rivaled the damn heavens.

   he did not touch. could not bring himself to reach a hand out and feel those scars below the calloused pads of his thumbs, bad as his heart ached to. to reach and memorize every curve, every dip, every laugh line and every last damn scar.

   until now.

   the clock flashes 2:56am, bright red against the shadows that swallow the room around them. it is the closing fingers around his wrist that grabs his attention from the movie that flashes across the screen. 

   genji is settled snugly against him, a perfect fit for the dip of his lap. they claim it saves space; jesse knows, for him, it is that there is no time he feels less like a killer than when genji is pressed against his body. because even the feeling of their bodies touching is enough to put the demons to rest, to have them shushed until next they part.

   and so, it is those fingers at his wrist that has dark eyes pulling from the screen, “genji-?” the older man begins, keeps his voice soft and low because the other is moving that hand to those scarred cheeks. fingers curling over his own to direct him into cupping one, fingertips nearly brushing the corners of his lips. below his hand, genji is warm. in the dim light of the movie, jesse can see that he is blushing, a gentle sort of pink that seems to be spreading to the tips of his ears.

   in his chest, there is the pounding of his heart; a noise that fills his ears, louder than any drumbeat. the real thing is always better than one’s imagination, but jesse could never - not in a thousand years - have imagine how it would feel to be allowed this skin to skin contact with his best friend, to be allowed to touch.

   when jesse’s fingers move to curl under his chin, genji does not fight it. murmurs a soft approval that just barely reaches the gunslingers ears. the movie is long forgotten in the background, jesse is too focused on the way the cyborg shifts in his lap. he turns, until their chests are pressed together, and they are so close that there would be no room for more than air between them. 

   this is the way things should be, he has time to think, hand moving once more to brush along the edges of genji’s hairline. feeling dark strands below the skin of the hand that remains flesh. the metal one remains at his side, useless in a situation such as this. it cannot feel that warmth, it cannot learn the path of those scars...

   it is jesse that breaks their comfortable silence, there is a question that burns through him in a way he can no longer ignore; for months it has been consuming him, an asking of permission that begins with the pad of his thumb brushing along genji’s bottom lip.

   ‘may i?’ 

   and when genji nods, the gunslinger thinks that his heart may just stop beating in his chest. or, perhaps, it will truly come alive for the first time in years. 

   so easily, does he close that short distance between them. presses worried lips to genji’s soft, scarred ones. he can feel the exhale of a held breath against his upper one, and has the mind to think he is just as nervous as i am before all he can focus on is the cyborg in his lap. the way he quivers, the way his breath smells and tastes of fruit snacks and sugary drinks. as sweet as jesse has always pictured, only better because this is real.

   the kiss is not awkward, not the way one might expect with it being the first (of many, jesse prays) between them. but, really, they have always come together like puzzle pieces. fit into the curve of one another’s bodies, the cracks in their very beings. not perfect, but as damn close as two could ever wish to be.

   neither break away until their lungs burn, until both of their cheeks are flushed as red as the strawberries they’d shared earlier in the evening. and, when they do, there is only the sound of gentle breathing, the melodic laugh that is shared between the two of them.