#merhanzo

He’d always loved the ocean. She was as unpredictable and awful and terrifying as she was a guarantor of freedom and possibility. A man could get in a boat and go anywhere, be anyone or anything he chose. Even though he’d lost part of his arm to her some years back, he still loved her, wily and loving and unforgiving thing that she was. He’d spent the better part of his youth skimming about her seas and waves in search of glory and adventure, making friends and enemies in equal parts, drinking in the salty breeze and reveling in the unrestrained nature of being a sea captain and self-proclaimed buccaneer in the company of friends.

But that was a very long time ago. One lost arm, a lost ship, and the span of some years (more than he was willing to admit) later, and he found less comfort in open waters, and more in carving out a place in the hidden cove and its little beach he had come to call home.

He stretches in bed. Life was good. The nearby townsfolk had no inkling of his past and were easily charmed at his manners and good humor, his home was secure and not easily found, his fortune equally secure under his floorboards, and lounging on his beach taking naps and enjoying fine whiskey in the sun was quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes. Besides, that wily old corsair Ana had decided recently she’d had enough of lounging on her own beach, and had teamed up with her privateer daughter to happily remind various navies of the magnitude of nuisance she’d been years ago. He nods in satisfaction. Fear was and always had been one of the few proper reactions to the Amari name. She sent him periodic letters to update him on their various delightful misdeeds, and, he supposed, to make sure he hadn’t drunk himself to death. He rises from his bed and blinks and stretches again in the morning sun. A glance out the window reveals a jewel-bright flash languishing in the shallow water near the shore, and he smiles.

What with Ana and Fareeha making terrors of themselves, what need did Jesse McCree have of going on adventures himself, especially with his new friends, the brothers that regaled him with tales from far away?

The brothers claimed they were sea dragons, wanderers whose home was very far away. Jesse believed them. During a terrible storm last autumn, they’d ended up on his beach to get away from the worst of the churning waters, and, although surprised at the sudden advent of merpeople on his usually sedate beach, he’d invited them inside his little house for its duration. Genji, the younger of the two, reminded Jesse of his own younger self; brash and brave and a little bit foolish, but a great storyteller nonetheless. He and Jesse had spent the storm swapping tales that were of course only slightly exaggerated and not at all embellished, under the watchful and amused eye of the elder brother. Hanzo.

While Genji was an enthralling speaker and a delightful conversationalist, it was Hanzo who captured Jesse’s attention and his eye. Three days passed in that fashion, with Genji chattering on and Jesse exchanging amused glances and smiles with Hanzo when Genji wasn’t looking.

The brothers both had inky black hair and eyes just as dark, but Genji was as green as the Aegean, and was as warm and sparkling as that shallow and life-giving sea. Hanzo, Hanzo was blue, blue like the deep ocean, blue like the tips of waves near shore, the bluest blues one could imagine, every shade of it reflected and refracted in the depths of his scaly tail. After the storm, Genji had made straight for the shore like the sea creature he was, while Hanzo reclined against a rock and tipped his face into the sun, more like cat than a fish, coiling his tail around himself. Jesse had sat as near to him as he dared. Hanzo hummed. “Stillness is nice every once in a while, is it not?”

Jesse had made an agreeing noise. “Really is.”

He nearly startled when he felt something wrap around his ankle, but a quick glance told him it was but Hanzo’s finned and surprisingly prehensile tail. “Tell me a story, buccaneer.”

Jesse wetted his lips. The tail slid slowly upward, to wrap around his calf. The fins tickled slightly against the bare skin of his ankle and leg.

“There once was a man who met a sea dragon.”

Hanzo hummed again, a touch of laughter in his voice.

“He thought the sea dragon was beautiful, but didn’t know how to tell him.”

Hanzo turned toward Jesse and opened one eye. “Why did the man not simply tell the sea dragon?”

“Because he didn’t know if the sea dragon would be offended and eat him or not.”

Hanzo had laughed out right. “I hope the sea dragon told the man they only dine on fish. Man meat is too foul and hard to stomach.”

It was Jesse’s turn to laugh. “Well, the man figured it out eventually.” He dared run the backs of his fingers down the jeweled tail still wrapped around his leg.

Hanzo shifted closer, eyes glittering and a smile playing around his fanged mouth. “And then what did the man do?”

Jesse lifted a hand, slowly, leaving plenty of time and room for the movement to be denied, and brushed the smaller, smoother, scales on Hanzo’s cheekbone. He leaned into it with a low noise that sounded like a cat purring. “Well,” Jesse murmured, swallowing hard, “the man told the sea dragon he thought he was beautiful.”

Hanzo’s claws dragged against the back of Jesse’s neck. “How does the story end?”

Jesse licked his lips, and dragged his gaze back up from Hanzo’s own, which were plush and full and parted around sharp incisors and a smile. “I dunno,” he continued, his throat suddenly dry, “you’ll have to ask the sea dragon.”

Hanzo’s smile grew. “I think,” he said, with a hint of that purr Jesse had heard before, “the sea dragon would say to the man, ‘Kiss me.’”

Jesse had leaned in without another word, and kissed him. Hanzo’s mouth opened under his with a sigh, and Jesse eagerly licked his way inside, being wary of the curved incisors. He ran the flat of his tongue carefully against the tip of one, then against the roof of Hanzo’s mouth. Hanzo shuddered. The hand on the back of his neck tightened its grip, and Jesse’s hands went to rest at and caress Hanzo’s trim waist, playing along the line where scales melded into skin. He tugged Hanzo closer to him, and Hanzo came willingly, the strong lines of his frame pressing easily into Jesse’s. Jesse grunted when the rippling motion of Hanzo’s body in the sand pressed him against Jesse’s already half-hard cock. Hanzo gasped into his mouth.