Chapter Text
Hanzo couldn’t help thinking that Jesse McCree was a fitting punishment.
The desert sun pressed down on the two men tucked between the train cars, the metal shimmering with bright heat. The noise of the wheels made conversation impossible and the fierce wind dispersed McCree’s already muted scent, but Hanzo found the beta pulling his focus.
It took months of brooding after the confrontation with his brother in Hanamura before he reached out to Genji, agreed to assist him and Overwatch, and mentally prepared himself to acquiesce to his brother’s lead.
Jesse McCree, however, there had been no way to prepare for.
When Genji, somehow resurrected, somehow stronger, set his blade against Hanzo’s throat, it was the first time that Hanzo had ever submitted to a beta’s control. He would have let Genji kill him. When Genji declined, the fury set fire to his alpha hindbrain. It seethed to reassert dominance over his younger, lower bracket brother, but Hanzo’s guilt doused the petulant anger with the chill of a flood.
Genji was alive. Hanzo’s instincts would not be permitted to harm him, not ever again. He was ready to kill himself if that’s what it took to rein himself in. However, Genji didn’t want that and if Hanzo was honest, death was the easier way out.
It would definitely have been easier than interacting with this recalcitrant beta, who acted as though he’d never heard the word hierarchy and walked into every situation with the cock-first arrogance of an alpha.
Hanzo’s jaw ached from suppressing the urge to snarl at him. It was test, he reminded himself over and over. On Genji’s request, McCree would lead him to Overwatch after he helped the cowboy tie up a loose end. McCree had been infuriatingly vague with the details, a slow grin accompanying evasive answers. He knew full well he was rubbing Hanzo’s instincts the exact wrong way. And though McCree appeared laidback and even sloppy at times, there was acuity in his gaze. He was watching Hanzo, assessing him. It was likely that, regardless of Genji’s wishes, McCree would make the final call as to whether Hanzo deserved to join Overwatch.
Hanzo remembered Overwatch’s idealistic proselytizing of bracket equality in its ranks, back in the organization’s heyday. Doubtless some element of that carried on in its current incarnation and McCree was testing Hanzo’s ability to work in such an environment. Hanzo would not fail. Years of disciplined training, martial arts and meditation practice had honed his control over his instincts. It said much that Jesse McCree was rattling that control.
Then again, Hanzo couldn’t imagine there was an alpha out there who wouldn’t want to strangle this beta.
McCree climbed to his feet, serape snapping in the wind that rushed over the cars. The train was slowing. Without glancing back or giving Hanzo any indication of what he was doing, McCree placed a hand on his hat and leapt off into thin air, leaving Hanzo no choice but to follow him. He carefully lobbed his bow into a dune, then jumped.
The hot, gold sand wasn’t the hardest material Hanzo had ever had to crash roll into but that didn’t mean it was a soft landing. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, his joints reminded him.
“Took you long enough,” McCree cracked, sauntering over to where Hanzo was climbing to his feet.
Hanzo stifled a growl. “Perhaps we might adhere more closely to your preferred timeline if you gave me the slightest inclination of what your intentions are,” he said in cool derision.
“Perhaps indeed,” McCree echoed mildly.
Hanzo let out a long, controlled exhale and strode off to retrieve his bow, relieved to find it in one piece.
McCree was already moseying away from the tracks, spurs jingling prettily, as nonchalant as though scouting for a picnic spot. Hanzo seethed. He didn’t want to run to catch up like a child, but trailing behind the beta at several paces like a servant wasn’t much better. He settled for walking with a slightly brisk gait until they were abreast. With a good meter of space between them.
“You’re gonna do me a favor,” McCree drawled after twenty minutes of sweating in silence.
“Yes, I believe that was the point of this interminable detour,” Hanzo retorted.
“Interminable. Gonna have to define that one for me. Some of us didn’t have the fanciest of private educations.”
“Never ending,” Hanzo answered tersely, certain he was being mocked. He’d heard McCree use equally sophisticated vocabulary on several occasions.
McCree fluttered his eyelashes. “What would I do without you, darlin’?”
A road swam into view, a mirage in the burning sand. A weather-battered sign marked it as Route 66. If the route had a golden era, which Hanzo doubted, it hadn’t been in this century.
McCree turned to follow the roasting tarmac west.
“What is this favor?” Hanzo asked at length.
“I need to convince some unpleasant people that I got a new alpha’s teeth in my neck. Figured you’d fit the role.”
Hanzo raised a single eyebrow. “No one would believe such an act, unless you’re asking me to overwrite that claim of yours for real.”
“You’re such a romantic. No need to go all out to impress the likes of me.”
It was such a juvenile plot, Hanzo assumed McCree was once again trying to rile him up and didn’t gratify him with follow-up questions.
Even the fleeting idea of being McCree’s alpha stirred up the emotion besides annoyance that Hanzo had been working very hard to suppress. Though improperly dressed for the elements, he was grateful for the unforgiving desert. It was spring and his instincts knew it. Elsewhere the season was summoning flowers and ravaging social stability but here there was only the oppressive, baking heat.
Nevertheless, his thoughts lingered on the ladylike bitemark he’d glimpsed on McCree’s neck while they scrubbed clean in a river several days earlier. (The life of a wanted criminal wasn’t glamorous.) It irritated him for some reason, that McCree had been leashed by a woman who’d absented herself from his life. If Hanzo had a beta of his caliber…
Except Hanzo would never claim a beta for his own. Or an omega, for that matter. He’d lost the right to have a say in anyone’s life when he murdered his brother.
The sun was bleeding into the horizon when McCree stopped with a faint jingle of spurs. “Gonna need to scent mark to sell our story before we get to town. Here.”
He held out a handkerchief soaked in pungent sweat. The beta’s bitemark muted his scent most of the time, but it was harder for Hanzo to ignore when it was shoved in his face. Sage, freshwater, chili pepper. Warmth stirred in his gut. He hadn’t encountered a scent this alluring in a decade at least. And he'd never been remotely chemically attracted to anyone claimed by another alpha before.
Hanzo huffed out an exhale to clear the fog hemming in on his mind. Then the meaning of McCree’s words hit him. “You cannot be serious about your idiotic playacting idea.”
“Dead set. Gimme some sweat rag of yours.”
“This is preposterous.”
“Play nice, Shimada.” McCree bared his teeth in a warning grin.
Hanzo clenched his jaw once again, counting slowly to three before he responded. “It would be far simpler to switch undershirts.”
McCree blinked, then shrugged in acquiescence. “Works for me.”
He unwound his serape and undid the fastenings on his armored chest piece, left arm glinting in the orange sunset. Controlling his instincts – both the season-enhanced desire to fuck a compatible beta and the rage at following such an unqualified inferior’s lead – with some careful breaths, Hanzo loosened the belt of his gi so that when he shrugged out of the sleeves, it hung around his waist. His bulletproof layer was thinner, lighter and more modern than McCree’s and he divested it quickly. His black undershirt was almost entirely drenched. Peeling it off was a relief, the cooling air pleasant on his skin.
“That sleeve is somethin’ else,” McCree murmured, eyes on Hanzo’s tattooed arm.
Hanzo thrust his undershirt out and snatched McCree’s ratty white one from him to avoid staring at the beta’s chest hair, the firm swell of his pecs, the sweet curve of his marred neck. Steeling himself, Hanzo pulled on the scent-soaked garment and hurried to layer his clothes over it.
McCree didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He rubbed Hanzo’s undershirt up one side of his throat and down the other, eyelids drifting shut. Hanzo’s hindbrain purred in pleasure at the sight.
This was another test, Hanzo decided. It had to be. There was no doubt in his mind that giving into McCree’s flirtations would be held against him.
“I should think you’d retain some loyalty to your alpha,” Hanzo snapped in attempt to disguise his body’s mutinous interest.
“Mm, none at this point.”
“Perhaps you could have retained the bond if you had,” he said with no shortage of derision.
McCree’s eyes cracked open. “You assumin’ she left me?”
“She was higher bracket,” Hanzo stated.
“She wasn’t my mate though.”
“That changes nothing. Betas don’t simply abandon their pack leaders.”
“This one does.”
Hanzo shook his head, certain McCree was lying.
The town was over the next ridge of sand. If you could call three shabby buildings a town. One was a bar with several hovercycles parked out front and a sign in the window indicating rooms available upstairs. Hanzo was unsurprised when McCree sauntered towards it. Speculating whether this was part of his plan or a detour, Hanzo felt another flare of irritation, wishing for the umpteenth time that he had any information at all about what he was walking into.
The barkeep and the half dozen patrons looked up to take stock of them when they entered. One alpha, two omegas, two betas and…Hanzo frowned when his nose couldn’t identify the young woman at the far end. Except for her, they were all Caucasian.
The alpha, a pot-bellied older man with beady eyes, rotated in his seat to eyeball them.
“Howdy,” McCree said with an easy tip of his hat. “My alpha and I are lookin’ for a bed and a glass of somethin’ strong enough to put us there.”
Hanzo refrained from shooting him an exasperated glance, wondering how the idiot thought acting like he was in charge would convince anyone of their story. Sure enough, the alpha narrowed his eyes.
“Awful uppity, ain’t you?”
“Ain’t my choice, sir,” McCree said smoothly. “It’s just that his English ain’t the best.”
If McCree thought Hanzo was going to put on some crass broken-English speaking foreigner act, he could go fuck himself immediately.
McCree nudged his shoulder and cooed, “Anata, ima kiitekure dake ne?”
It took Hanzo a second to realize McCree was speaking Japanese and, in spite of the accent, was speaking it flawlessly. Just listen for now, sweetheart. The overfamiliar term of endearment was exceedingly rude, which Hanzo suspected McCree knew.
Hanzo wrapped a hand around the nape of the beta’s neck and squeezed, a warning disguised as affection.
“Ira ira shitteiru yo,” he said in a deceptively warm tone.
I am losing patience.
“Where d’you come from?” The bartender asked after taking their order. “Didn’t hear any bikes approach.”
McCree removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Broke down a while back. Gonna tackle that particular bit of business in the mornin’ though.”
The woman with the distorted scent watched as they sat in a booth with glasses of cheap whiskey, a room key tucked into McCree’s pocket. She was Hispanic, with shoulder-length dark hair and a purple leather motorcycle jacket. It bothered Hanzo that he couldn’t pin down her bracket. A hormone blocking implant, perhaps? That kind of tech was way too exclusive and expensive for someone in the heart of the damaged, dangerous American southwest. It was possible she was just a rich girl looking for a thrill but Hanzo identified to McCree in Japanese the potential threat she posed. McCree nodded, gaze flitting between the other bar patrons.
More people trickled in over the next hour. McCree seemed to be on the lookout for familiar faces but wasn’t finding any. Hanzo didn’t know whether that was good or bad, and barely resisted demanding once again that the beta give him any clue as to what they were doing and why.
As the cool night fully set in, taking the boiling temperature down to chilly, the smog of scents in the bar strengthened. Hoping to avoid both conflict and flirtation, Hanzo kept his eyes locked on McCree. However, that didn’t stop the pot-bellied alpha from the bar from stumbling towards their booth. His two hands came down heavily on the tabletop.
Hanzo tensed, hand creeping towards the bow at his side.
“Can I help you with somethin’, sir?” McCree asked.
The man leaned in, booze on his breath and declared, “He ain’t your alpha.”
“Think you’ll find that he is.”
The alpha laughed meanly, leaned in further and emphatically inhaled. “You charge by the hour or the night?”
McCree’s smile turned hard. “Be best if you moved on now.”
The man leered. “You wouldn’t be so uppity with a proper white cock in y—”
McCree’s punch caught him square in the jaw and sent him tumbling off his feet.
Hanzo had no idea how to react in character. Would an alpha mated to McCree look fondly upon his beta’s violence or berate him for scrapping on his behalf? What response would lead to whatever their objective was?
Hanzo just went with his natural reaction. Furious, he grabbed McCree by the scruff of his neck and shoved him through the bar to the narrow staircase. Nobody tried to stop them and, fortunately, McCree didn’t resist.
The second floor consisted of a dim hallway with four doors and a large window at the end.
Away from prying eyes, Hanzo hissed, “I told you this foolish plan of yours wouldn’t work. Whatever you were hoping to accomplish down there—”
“Was accomplished.” McCree gave him a grim smile. “It was a test run. This ain’t where the act really needs to go over. Real audience is waitin’ for us at Cutthroat Trout’s.”
Hanzo glared. “You will tell me what you are planning.”
“Darlin’, your death stare ain’t got nothin’ on Gabriel Reyes’ wrath, and I shoved middle fingers at him for a decade.”
Hanzo bared his teeth before he could catch himself, but McCree had already turned away to unlock their room. It was sparse but clean, a double bed with white sheets, a wicker chair, a nightstand and a lamp. McCree switched it on and hung his hat on top of the shade. He absently rubbed the back of his neck and Hanzo wondered with a flicker of worry if he’d squeezed hard enough to bruise. However, the beta’s expression was one of deep thought, not resentment. The serape went over the back of the chair.
“McCree,” Hanzo began again, keeping all anger out of his voice. “I am aware you do not trust me, nor should you. But I cannot be of service to you if I do not know what our objective is.”
McCree stripped out of his armored gear, his scent creeping into the air. It was tinged with Hanzo’s own thanks to the undershirt. Warmth returned to the pit of Hanzo’s stomach.
“Jesse,” the beta said.
“What?” Hanzo asked, unable to recall what they’d been talking about.
“You’re meant to be my alpha, remember? Call me Jesse. I’ll be callin’ you Hanzo.” Hanzo bristled and Jesse smirked at him. “Unless you’d prefer anata.”
The mockery of romantic intimacy, the kind of which Hanzo had experienced only once and only briefly, shredded the remains of his patience. He was across the room and had two fistfuls of McCree’s – Jesse’s – borrowed undershirt before he realized he’d moved.
Jesse let out a breathy laugh into his face.
“Now you’re gettin’ it.”
His hands splayed brazenly around Hanzo’s waist. The fire in Hanzo’s gut flared hot, the heat poised to wash over his senses. He didn’t let it.
With ice in his voice, he said, “I have no intention of fucking another alpha’s leftovers in the name of a plan I suspect doesn’t even exist.”
Jesse’s eyes flashed with satisfying anger. Finally, Hanzo had gotten under the beta’s skin. It only lasted a moment, however. Jesse’s irreverent smile returned, mere inches from Hanzo’s mouth. The lamplight turned the beta’s tanned skin rich gold and his lips into soft shapes.
“Might want to let go of me then.”
Hanzo blinked and abruptly released him. His waist felt cold when Jesse’s hands fell away.
“I see your point,” the beta continued casually, slouching on the bed to undo his boots.
“Point?”
“About keepin’ you uninformed. Alright if I shower first? We can have a proper chat when I smell less like the backside of a tractor.”
Hanzo gave a stiff nod and the beta disappeared into the matchbox-sized bathroom with his clothes. He listened to the water and sat to undo his own boots, his heartrate gradually slowing. He wanted nothing more than to put the beta in his place and punish his impudent flaunting of hierarchy, but urges like that were what led to him burying a blade in his brother’s chest. His screams of pain shivered up Hanzo’s spine and echoed in his skull. Regardless of his instincts’ whining, he had no right to demand respect.
After they had both washed not only their bodies but their clothes, hung to dry in the shower, the tension in the air had lowered to a simmer. Jesse sat on the bed with a towel wrapped around his hips, knees crooked. Also in a towel, Hanzo took the chair. His hair fell to his shoulders, clean and straight thanks to the comb in the bathroom. He noticed that, like him, Jesse had made use of the small silver scissors to neaten his facial hair. Hanzo felt less on edge now that they both appeared more civilized.
“Had a tattoo of my own once. Here.” Jesse tapped the inside of his left forearm. The metal gleamed dully. “My alpha had the same one in the same place. Reckon she still does. The sign of the Deadlock Gang. In a way, it’s a blessin’ not to have to see it anymore. As though this damn bite didn’t make me miss her enough, I had to have her artwork starin’ at me.”
“You are hoping to further distance yourself from her influence.”
“Somethin’ like that.” He sighed, head tipping back to stare at the ceiling.
Hanzo’s eyes raked down his throat before he could stop himself.
Jesse continued. “The short-term plan is to feed intel to an enemy of Deadlock, intel that’ll put Ashe into hotter water than she’d like.”
“For what purpose?”
“I can’t tell you the entire mission objective. Not yet. Let’s just say it’s part grudge and part favor for Overwatch, and I ain’t tellin’ you which is the bigger piece of the pie.”
“And the only way your intel will be believed is if it appears your alpha’s claim on you has been overwritten,” Hanzo gathered. “I’ll admit, I myself am finding it difficult to believe you could intentionally put her in harm’s way. Your instincts should be screaming at you.”
“Who says they’re not?” Jesse said grimly. “Could be worse though. At least she ain’t my mate. Don’t know where I’d be if she was carryin’ my mark.”
Hanzo sank into thought.
“I…suppose, if intercourse is necessary, for this plan, then we should go through with it,” Hanzo said hesitantly, as though his insides weren’t fizzing hot with the possibility.
To his chagrin, Jesse burst into laughter. “Boy, how could any beta resist such saccharine sweet talk? Mighty kind of you to lower yourself for the good of the mission.”
Hanzo clamped down on his temper.
“I apologize for my earlier comment,” he said. “It was unfair of me.”
Jesse wryly shook his head. “Nothin’ I haven’t heard from other alphas. There’s a reason I stick to betas and omegas for hook-ups. You ever think about that?” He challenged. “That most of us have to go through each day knowing a whole strata of society thinks it has the right to own us?”
“Not as often as I suppose I should,” Hanzo conceded. Several minutes went by, both listening to the sounds of the bar. “So, you don’t want to have sex.”
Jesse flung out an arm. “Not much of a choice is there?” He sighed and muttered. “At least you smell good.”
A blush warmed Hanzo’s face at the admission of compatibility and he was glad for the dim lighting. His instincts pressed up beneath his rational mind in a rowdy chorus, hungry.
“You ought to be careful with those types of provocations,” Hanzo said, a rasp creeping into his voice. “It’s spring.”
Jesse tilted his head and dragged blunt fingernails down the side of his neck, a mischievous expression on his face. “You worried I’m gonna get myself in trouble?”
Desire kicked inside Hanzo. His erection thickened and nudged the towel pooled in his lap. It would be impossible for Jesse not to notice the steady climb of Hanzo’s heat into the air.
“You seem to be quite good at it.”
“I’m good at a lot of things,” Jesse said, eyes fixed on Hanzo as he picked at the hem of his own towel, revealing more of his thighs.
He was hairy, much more than the usual neat and cleanshaven partners Hanzo normally went for. Thick brown shag on his head, a silky beard, a soft-looking patch on his chest and a delicious trail from his navel down to what Hanzo imagined would be furry testicles. Hanzo had never wanted to run his hands over someone so much in his life. He swallowed.
“Consent,” he managed to say. “I won’t touch you without explicit consent.”
Jesse’s eyebrows lifted. “That so? And if I change my mind and say forget it?”
Hanzo squeezed his fists and painstakingly reeled his arousal back in. “Then I back off.”
Jesse studied him for a few seconds, then let out a surprised huff. “Shit. You actually would, wouldn’t you? Can’t say I’ve met many alphas with that kind of control.”
Hanzo measured his breathing. “It was necessary to develop.”
“Alright,” Jesse said after another drawn-out pause. A sly grin crossed his face and he tilted his head, exposing his unmarked side in invitation. “I explicitly consent to the explicit.”
Hanzo’s pupils flared dark and wide, his vision narrowing to the beta. Liquid heat burned through his limbs, sparking as he watched Jesse wet his lips. Hanzo stood, letting the towel drop to the floor, and strode nude to the bed. He slid a firm hand under Jesse’s chin, the beard soft against his palm, and Jesse nuzzled into the hold.
For all his bratty indifference to biological hierarchy, Jesse was still a beta and Hanzo was an alpha, and their bodies were designed for this kind of dance.
Green sage, sweet clear water, the tang of pepper – Hanzo pressed his nose to the tender space below Jesse’s ear to breathe it in fully. Glee shot through him as he heard Jesse’s inhales deepen as well. It was one thing for Jesse to offhandedly comment that he enjoyed Hanzo’s scent, it was another to feel all tension in the beta’s muscles melt in his proximity.
Hanzo climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress, and raked both hands down Jesse’s chest, relishing the solid muscle and soft hair. Jesse hummed, his legs relaxing open, the towel tented on his lap. Satisfaction rumbled through the alpha at the subtle signs of submission. His arousal pulsed in his belly, hot and insistent, threatening to yank his control away.
Had Jesse’s heat been unfiltered, Hanzo might have fallen prey to the animalistic drive to just shove him onto his stomach and fuck him. The interference of Ashe’s bitemark helped Hanzo keep a rein on himself. Which was good because Hanzo wanted to savor this. For the first time since they’d met a week earlier, this incredibly attractive beta was compliant and responsive, waiting with a suitably expectant gaze to see what Hanzo would do next.
Hanzo tugged the towel away from Jesse’s hips and the smell of slick wafted up to chip at his composure. He wanted to taste every part of him. He shoved Jesse’s thighs apart and buried his face in the crease, inhaling deeply. He dragged his tongue over the ruddy uncut dick, the downy balls, the slippery perineum. The beta’s scent unfurled in his mouth.
“Fu—” Jesse choked out, surprised.
The back of his head thumped into the wall when Hanzo sucked the cockhead past his lips. Wary of appearing weak, most alphas didn’t bother with oral sex, preferring to leave that to the lower brackets. Hanzo had been the same once, but he was mature enough now to take joy in pleasing a partner instead of blindly chasing the need to dominate them.
Hanzo took his time, smoothing his tongue over the underside of Jesse’s dick and licking down to his hole. He wanted to make up for his crass dismissal of the beta’s attractiveness. He wanted somehow to convey to Jesse that he could be a better alpha than that.
Whimpers stuck in Jesse’s throat, his hands threading into Hanzo’s loose hair, one cool and one warm. His legs trembled with the effort of keeping still and he was breathing hard through this mouth, eyebrows furrowed. Sensing the beta was approaching his peak, Hanzo’s ministrations slowed. Jesse’s fingers relaxed their hold as the alpha sat up.
Hanzo hadn’t intended to kiss him.
He never ventured into such intimacy with the casual flings he picked up to meet his needs, and it would be entirely inappropriate when the purpose of this coupling was to achieve a mission objective.
But Jesse’s eyes were soft and dark and tea-colored, he’d bitten his bottom lip red, his scent was bright and spiced, and an unbearable ache yawned inside Hanzo, as though he’d lived with terrible thirst his entire life and now cool water was being brought to his lips. His mouth brushed into Jesse’s – an ask, a plea, not a demand – and Jesse’s breath caught hard.
Hanzo paused, ready to retreat, embarrassed, but then the hands in his hair tightened again and Jesse was kissing him, groaning into him, the sound vibrating through Hanzo’s ribs.
Mine, Hanzo’s instincts growled in pleasure. He ran the edge of his thumb down the nape of Jesse’s neck and the beta faltered. No, Hanzo rebuked, forcing his hands to retreat lower. Jesse was not his. They were fucking out of necessity. Only, it was easy to forget that when Jesse’s mouth was burning into his, when Jesse’s body pushed up into his touch, his hips rising to grind his hardness into Hanzo’s, pre-cum smudging wet over each other’s stomachs.
Hanzo pulled back, intending to urge the beta to lie on his front, but Jesse’s mouth chased his, needy, insistent. The possessive hold in his hair also prevented him from going far and, far from being annoyed, Hanzo sank into it. He could drown in the way Jesse kissed him, soft lips slanting over his own. Jesse tasted like home. The safe, innocent peace of home that Hanzo hadn’t felt since he was a very young child.
Or maybe that was just what his lonely, neglected mating instincts wanted him to think.
With a grunt, he untangled their limbs. Jesse blinked, dazed, then willingly followed Hanzo’s urging to crawl forward. Hanzo’s desire sharpened as he maneuvered behind him. Unable to help himself, he lightly bit a round ass cheek. A ragged, laughed gasp flew out of Jesse, his face smushing into the sheet.
He was beautiful like this, open and wet, carnal and shameless, all barriers lowered.
Hanzo lined up and pushed into him with almost casual familiarity, snug in the slick passage, the grip of Jesse’s body perfect. Fully hilted, he paused, finding the scar gracing Jesse’s neck. An emotion he didn’t recognize lodged in his throat like a stone.
“Oh,” Jesse said, barely audible, and that little word poured liquid platinum over Hanzo’s senses, sent greedy rushing need coursing through his whole body.
MINE! Hanzo’s instincts howled. His mouth watered. The urge to claim was intense and alien and powerful. He wanted to crush Jesse into the mattress and keep him there forever, keep him safe and sated.
He’d chosen this position for a reason, however. He couldn’t bite Jesse properly at this angle and the inconvenience was just enough to enable him to swallow the need back.
While Jesse’s metal hand clutched at the sheet, his other scrabbled behind him to grab hold of Hanzo’s thigh and insistently pull.
“Impatient,” Hanzo chuckled at the petulant gesture.
Jesse looked over his shoulder, hair mussed, eyes gleaming dark. “Very.”
Hanzo rocked back and Jesse moaned loudly when he drove in again. Pleasure seared through Hanzo’s every nerve ending. Every drag of his cock out and thrust back in forced tight noises from both their throats, the innate compatibility overwhelming and glittery.
Sweat glued Hanzo’s hair to his neck as he hitched the angle of the beta’s hips higher, then slightly lower, until he found the angle that made Jesse yelp and writhe. Triumph spurred Hanzo to thrust faster, harder. He had the perverse desire to have Ashe watch this, watch as he took her beta from her, made Jesse his. This beta belonged to him. The truth of it resounded in his very cells.
Jesse’s body suddenly clenched and curled in on itself as he came with no warning, twitching as though electrocuted.
“Shit—” Jesse wheezed under his breath. He made a vague embarrassed motion as though to catch or cover the mess.
The smell of it hit Hanzo like a drug to his bloodstream. He flattened a palm between the beta’s shoulder blades and fucked in quick, deep thrusts, his own orgasm easy ecstasy to find. Cock buried to the hilt, he bowed over Jesse’s back with throaty groan. Jesse stifled a whine as Hanzo’s dick throbbed out its release inside him.
Hanzo pulled out and semen dribbled from Jesse’s hole to slink down the back of his tan thighs. The thought that their cover story would be more believable if Jesse didn’t wash it off with soap pleased Hanzo’s possessive nature immensely.
Jesse seemed to be struggling to get his breath back. He melted into the mattress with a long, sated sigh. Hanzo plucked at the sheet to arrange it over them both, and barely lay his head on his pillow before Jesse instinctively nuzzled into his side. Hanzo obligingly wrapped his arms around him.
Unless they were mated to their sex partner, alphas tended to just roll over after climax, leaving their casual hook-up feeling bereft on some primal level. At least, that was what Kaito said, cuddling into Hanzo much the way Jesse was now. Hanzo remembered reacting with annoyance that Kaito had slept with other alphas before him, which made Kaito laugh. He’d wanted nothing so much as to nip Kaito’s neck, keep him safe, keep him in his bed.
Hanzo fought away the ice block of emotion threatening to crack inside him. Until his murder of Genji, his failure to protect Kaito had been his most agonizing memory.
He shook himself. Jesse was not Kaito. Hanzo would never be Jesse’s or anyone else’s alpha. This startlingly pleasant interlude was still just an interlude. Doubtless, anything that resembled genuine connection was merely due to the chance compatibility of their bodies. Plus, Jesse clearly hadn’t given into his natural drive to please an alpha for a long time, which heightened the illusion that this copulation was somehow special.
While Hanzo rationalized in circles until he fell asleep, his blood purred one word over and over.
Mate.
Morning saw him wake with his nose buried in Jesse’s hair and Jesse’s leg wedged between his. The scent of sage, clearwater and pepper had spilled into Hanzo’s dreams, keeping them calmer than they’d been in years. For a bleary, content moment, Hanzo wondered if maybe…
The thought popped like a bubble.
Jesse was already awake, eyes trailing over the length of Hanzo’s tattooed arm. He stiffened when he realized Hanzo had noticed, then plastered a smug smile on his face.
“Well, that was easier than muddyin’ up a hog in spring.”
Hanzo had no idea if that was meant to be an insult or not. “It worked as intended. You smell like me now.”
Jesse rolled his eyes and extricated himself. “Don’t sound so satisfied. It’ll fade.”
Hanzo frowned. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“And I know it ain’t the easiest, but do your best to ignore the bit of your brain tellin’ you to sink your teeth into me. We got a long day ahead.” Jesse stood and stretched, facing away from Hanzo.
“You have a great deal of faith in your appeal,” Hanzo said. “I can assure you, I’m not looking for a mate.”
“Psh. Who said anything about mates? Alphas always want to one up each other, that’s all, and I’ve no interest bein’ your ego’s prize.”
Hanzo’s eyes narrowed as Jesse walked into the bathroom to retrieve his dried clothes. He sincerely doubted Jesse was avoiding his gaze out of deference, but he wasn’t sure what the true reason was.
“You think I’d bite you simply to overwrite the claim of an alpha I’ve never met?”
“Darlin’, it’s just what your bracket does.” Jesse jerked his trousers up his legs and buckled the bulletproof chaps over them with brisk movements. “I mean, all it took was a smidge of doe-eyed obedience to get you to stomach leftovers. Felt good, didn’t it? Takin’ something that belongs to another alpha.”
Still sitting in bed, Hanzo clenched his fists and exhaled through his nose. “You are trying to make me angry.”
Jesse laughed and finally turned to look him in the face. “Nah. Just dispelling any ideas you might have about who’s callin’ the shots here. Sex was good and we’ll be actin’ like you’re my alpha, but you’re not.”
Cold nausea curdled in Hanzo’s stomach. It couldn’t be disappointment. It wasn’t like he wasn’t fully aware of the circumstances to their copulation. It wasn’t like he deserved to desire a mate, let alone pursue one. It wasn’t like Jesse had ever made his aversion to alphas a secret.
Control, now. Emotional analysis, later.
He managed to arrange his features into an expression of vague bemusement.
“I’ve never thought otherwise,” he said steadily. “You abandoned your alpha. I’d hardly wish to test whether you intend to make that a habit.”
Jesse stared at him for a moment too long, then yanked his shirt on. “Well, uh, good.”
He stomped out of the room to fetch coffee from the bar, leaving Hanzo to consider the origin of the sudden queasiness. He studied the scorch of the desert sun on the windowpane. Jesse’s scent taunted him from his own skin. It couldn’t be disappointment. One had to be allowed hope to feel disappointment. And Hanzo had forfeited all right to hope when he murdered his brother.
There was nothing to do now but get dressed, meditate and meet Jesse downstairs.