Kiss a McCree || Accepting || @petitewidow
Jesse’s lip curls, bares canine, and her own lips brush against his despite the act, slightly cool to the touch and pulled into a wicked smirk that Jesse can feel more than see. And despite everything, the tension in his body, the anger boiling in his gut, how heavy the Peacekeeper feels at his hip- Jesse does not move away.
Receptive isn’t a word that could be used to describe Jesse- but something about him does soften enough that the kiss deepens, barely, and Jesse feel thin fingers with the hint of nail slide up his jaw, comb through the scruff of his beard.
Jesse knows everything about the act is a tease.
And it’s confirmed as soft lips are suddenly replaced with teeth and a sharp bite that rips at his lower lip, it’s then when Jesse grunts and protests, shoves them both away from each other with a snarl. He reaches up with a gloved hand, drags fingers against his lip and pulls his hand away to inspect the damage- of smear of red across the leather.
Jesse scoffs, drops his hand and rubs the blood off onto his jeans, “Real sweet aren’t you?”