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McCree had agreed to the recall with few questions. Heck, it was a chance to have a home again. He’d been transient the last several years, and though there was a good amount of fun in travel, he was looking forward to a place to call his own. Somewhere he could trust the lock on the door. Somewhere he wouldn’t have to be mortally afraid of his body’s irregular hormonal rhythms.
He’d settled into the refurbished quarters at the old watchpoint quickly. Other agents had been arriving at odd intervals, seemingly as quickly as Winston and Mercy could coordinate their travel arrangements. It let to new meetings nearly every day-- in the kitchen, in the rec rooms, in the training areas or the gym. He reunited with old friends, met new ones, and even started doing some basic training with a couple of ‘em just to get back into the swing of things. It’d been exhilarating.
One of those exhilarating events had been meeting one Hanzo Shimada. McCree had learned a lot about him in the short few months since they’d met: he was irritable when tired, hilariously unguarded when drunk, and private enough that it was rare for anyone to see him in either state. McCree had quickly become fond of Hanzo, and if he was feeling optimistic, he might say Hanzo felt a bit of the same.
They’d settled into their routines together, but McCree was never quite sure where they stood. McCree was a shameless flirt by nature. At first Hanzo was actively antagonistic when McCree let fly a particularly bad line; then he seemed to simply accept it as a feature of McCree’s speech. Lately though...lately he’d had some comebacks of his own. Sly little words edged in just enough humor that McCree’s heart would skip happily when they registered.
So McCree had some suspicions, but it was nothing he was sure enough of to act on. He’d thrown himself into the task of befriending Hanzo, and between that and the increasingly common group training exercises, along with restoration of the watchpoint, well...
In all that chaos, he’d stopped paying attention to his body. Idiot.
So here he was, in a right mess, and all of his own making. His first heat in years had finally hit, and it hit hard. His head was swimming, and even tightly wrapping his serape around himself couldn’t keep off the shivers running down his back.
The worst of it was how public his current location was: he’d been holed up in the main rec room when he finally realized what was happening. Several agents were milling around-- D.Va and Lucio were trying to draw Mei into some kind of dancing video game over by the tv, and Pharah was lounging on a couch reading a novel. Though it was likely no one was even giving him a second look, McCree’s paranoia jumped when he heard footsteps heading down the hall.
He was a dumbass alpha in rut in the middle of a crowd, and he had no plan. Almost forty, a professional for more than half that, and he’d failed on this one important point.
So yeah, he was embarrassed. Embarrassed, hot, tired and probably not looking particularly friendly at the moment. McCree tugged his serape tighter despite the flush of sweat on his brow and made a beeline for the exit. He felt more than conspicuous, sure that eyes were following him, convinced that they all knew.
He stumbled into something as he burst around a corner, almost running someone down. Luckily it was Genji, who was sturdy enough to take a hit.
Genji started to greet him, but McCree cut him off. “Sorry partner, no time,” he said quickly, throwing up a hand. He started to run off to his quarters--
--and subsequently stumbled into a second block, nearly falling on the floor. A wall of muscle backed up, rubbing a well-defined arm as McCree tried to catch himself. Glancing up from the tile where he’d set his eyes, McCree was startled to see Hanzo patting his clothes back into order. Hanzo’s trips out into the public areas of the watchpoint were rare but increasingly common. Heck, a month back Hanzo probably wouldn’t have even made it this far into the lounge area, Genji’s company or no. Normally McCree would have been eager to talk with the two of them, but now was not the time for idle chatter.
He clutched his wrap closer and stood frozen to the spot. His mind was going a mile a minute. He needed to get out of there-- needed privacy. He could feel his heat coming on strong, gaining momentum for every minute he tried to stave it off.
“Ah, Jesse.” Genji managed to butt in. “You’re looking...warm. Would you like to join us for a walk? The brisk air might satisfy you a bit.”
His eyes locked onto Genji. If the way the cyborg’s head tilted said anything, he was aware of what was happening and he was exceptionally smug about it. He knew. The meddling asshole fucking knew. And Hanzo was there, looking back and forth between the two of them. McCree could practically feel the realization dawning on the archer’s face.
McCree fled. Okay, so not his most tactful maneuver. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and McCree was desperate enough to hightail it out of there without regard to pride or manners. He had places to be and they were naked and alone.
--
He was what was known as a switch: technically an alpha with the knot to prove it, but saddled with the discomfort of an omega’s heats. God only knew if he was even capable of bearing children; he highly doubted it, considering his lifestyle, and he was near past that stage of life anyway. But his body would, on rare occasions, make attempts to prove him wrong. Breed, it insisted. Give in to your biology.
McCree wanted nothing less.
To be honest, he’d all but given his heats up as done. It had literally been years since this had happened, and he felt as ashamed as ever. In the field this would have been dangerous. Here, at least, it was mostly just an inconvenience. That’s what he told himself, anyway.
Safely locked in his quarters, McCree ripped off as many layers as he could before falling gracelessly on his bed. He’d managed to get down to an undershirt and shorts before a truly atrocious whine escaped him and he was forced to acknowledge the swell of his cock caught in the waistband of his boxers. A quick squeeze did nothing to stifle the heat in his groin, but god, did he try. Instead, McCree pulled off his final sweaty layers and used the last of his sanity to send off a quick message to Mercy requesting heat supplies for an unspecified length of time. She’d know what to do.
He had nothing on him-- no toys, no suppressants, nothing to distract him. So he started easy. A hand rubbed down his chest, over the swell of his abdomen. He was admittedly softer in figure than the last time he’d had a heat, but he doubted it would change anything. It just made stretching out feel all the more satisfying. Ignoring his stiff nipples, he headed right to the source of the problem. His dick jutted up from his groin, full and prouder than it had any right to be.
He tugged at his cock, trying to slow his breathing. Everything was too much. His skin was too sensitive, almost sore like fever chills. He turned his nose into his arm, mouthing at his own skin as he continued to stroke himself. He could feel his hole clench, the barest slick of lubricant making itself known now. Later he would be a mess, but for now this would do. Maybe Mercy would read between the lines and bring him something helpful. There must have been something left over from the watchpoint’s previous occupation.
He rolled on his side, unashamedly letting out a whine. He wanted to fuck, he wanted to be fucked. His hormones had him everywhere at once, unable to decide which part of him to satisfy. He ran one hand teasingly down below his balls, pressing at his entrance. It was already so slick and open, ready for a mate to come and breed him full. He pushed in a finger and groaned at how easy it was to slide in up to the furthest knuckle. God, it had been too long. He spent long, intense minutes with just the one finger sliding in and out, spreading his slick along his crack and around his balls; a palm dragged through it was enough to produce a wet squelch when Jesse stroked once more at his weeping cock.
He startled when a brisk knocking at the door interrupted him.
Thank christ. Mercy must have gotten his message. Wiping his hands on his sheets, Jesse grabbed his sweaty serape off the floor and wrapped it around himself before edging the door open.
“Look, Mercy, I’m real sorry, it just kind of--”
He stopped. That wasn’t Mercy.
One Hanzo Shimada stood in front of him, demurely holding McCree’s hat. To his credit, he looked as embarrassed as McCree felt, and that was saying something since McCree was pretty sure he was about to spontaneously combust.
“Genji said you would want this back, but I can see this is a bad time.” He staidly turned his face away, giving McCree a wonderful view of the deep flush creeping up his neck. The archer’s hands shoved the hat forward. A knuckle grazed his hairy pec, and McCree was ashamed by the thrill that ran through him from that miniscule contact. He clasped the hat in his hands, feeling the drag as Hanzo let go of it.
The archer turned to go.
“Wait! I, uh.” McCree sputtered. He hadn’t thought this through. “Thanks. Though you can tell Genji to go fuck himself, if he’s makin’ you run shitty errands like this for a joke. Shit, I’m sorry. No one needs to see this.” No one needs to see a middle-aged alpha too desperate for a fuck to bother with common decency, is what he meant. He ran a frustrated hand over his face, then grimaced when he thought of where it had been moments before.
Hanzo had yet to turn around. “It is fine. Genji has always been like this. Perhaps he thought I could help in some way.” And if that didn’t just blow a fuse in McCree’s breaker.
“I-- help-- wh--” McCree was, for once, without words.
“Considering I, too, suffer through heats. Perhaps he thought you would find me less threatening in your...current state.”
He still hadn’t turned around. McCree was frozen in his doorway, sweaty serape draped around his hips, hat in hand doing little to cover his still-straining erection under the wrap. All at once he became acutely aware of the stench of himself-- heat-sweet and pungent. And it appeared Hanzo was not immune.
“I’m.” He clapped his mouth shut. “Yeah, I’ve just. It’s been awhile and I’m. I’m overwhelmed, if I’m bein’ honest here. I don’t have anything, or anyone, and this is probably too much information for you, I’m real sorry sweetheart, ‘scuse me--” and he whipped around to slide his door shut behind him, manners be damned. He flinched when a firm hand wedged its way between the door and its frame.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” Hanzo said, still studiously looking away. “But if that was my brother’s intention, it would be rude for me to ignore his attempt to help a friend.”
McCree retreated further into his dim room. Hanzo followed, shutting the door firmly behind himself. McCree heard the click of the lock and wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or scared. Shit, it was hot in here. He wanted to take off the damn serape and get back in bed. He could still feel the slick on his thighs, and his hands were sticky with the stuff. He was in no state to entertain.
“And I appreciate it, really, but you’re under no obligation.” McCree’s breath was coming fast. Damn Genji. He was going to murder that poor excuse for a tin can when this was over. “I’ll really be fine--” but his rambling was cut off when a cool hand met his shoulder. It was all he could do to not lean into it.
“It’s fine. I want to. From one omega to another.”
Oh, lord. He thought McCree was an omega too.
This was too much. McCree tore himself away, intending to shove Hanzo out the door, but tripped on the chest plate he’d carelessly tossed to the floor earlier. He landed on his bed with a grunt, serape coming loose from around his hips. He ended up as what was apparently a damn nice display, if Hanzo’s reaction was anything to go by. A fresh prickle of sweat broke out in his pits. Hanzo’s eyes were focused on his.
McCree only had a second to react before Hanzo was suddenly there in his space, hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him flat to the bed. That cool hand seemed to draw all the warmth out of him, and McCree whined when his back hit the sheets. His hands twitched with the need to grab something, anything.
Hanzo rested that hand on his shoulder, the other one boxing him in as the archer leaned down onto the bed, making himself comfortable.
“Just tell me what I can do, gunslinger.”
“You can-- just touch me, damn it.” McCree threw his arms over his face, trying to hide from Hanzo’s intense gaze. He was going to take this as seriously as he did everything else, wasn’t he?
Hanzo did as he was told, running a hand firmly down McCree’s side, resting on a soft hip. A calloused thumb rubbed in there and McCree’s breath ground out of him. From there it ran back up, cupping a pectoral, squeezing gently. He pushed into it, rolled into Hanzo’s warmth, the neat cage of his arm. Surged up to grab his face, stopped himself from rushing at Hanzo’s plush lips. He just wanted. Years since his last heat, and no mate to show for it. The shame of his unpreparedness washed over him, but he swallowed it down, making up for it in bravado. “I said touch me, didn’t I?”
Hanzo closed the gap between them, kissing him gently as he ran his hand down to grasp at McCree’s groin, fingers parting the thick hair to palm at his erection. It wasn’t enough. McCree whined into it, pushing his hips into Hanzo’s grasp. He gasped when Hanzo purposefully pulled back his foreskin, drew the slick there down with a thumb and smeared it down his length, stroked him with a hand calloused from years of meticulous weapons training. He could feel every rough patch of skin scraping over his sensitive cock, could feel more slick slipping out of him with every swipe and twist of Hanzo’s hand.
He felt Hanzo shift above him, and this time McCree didn’t stop himself from reaching for Hanzo. He leaned into a kiss, a little sloppier than he’d intended but good all the same. Tongues slipped together and McCree felt like he was going to be eaten alive-- willingly. Hanzo seemed to sense his need and pushed it further, pressed him into the sheets until McCree could only go along with the pace the archer set, quickening now as he seemed to be more comfortable.
McCree needed it. He needed the aggression, the dominance. For all his alpha trappings, he was willing to drop every stitch of pride if it meant Hanzo would take care of him right now. He needed to be filled, wanted to be stretched out and used. Knew he’d probably knot when it came to it, knew he’d be desperate on both ends in a way that he didn’t even want to think about.
He clawed at Hanzo’s gi, at the skin already exposed and the skin hiding tantalizingly under stiff fabric. Took the initiative to grope around and find the ties holding it closed. He heard a slosh as Hanzo’s sake gourd hit the floor and couldn’t find it in himself to care if it spilled. He just wanted skin. He was thrusting up into Hanzo’s hand and at the mercy of his mouth, and it still wasn’t enough.
He managed to pull away long enough to mumble something about getting his clothes off. “God, please, I want to feel you,” he let out against Hanzo’s chest. He felt the archer pull away from him long enough to peel out of his clothing, dropping layers off the edge of the bed and returning quickly as ever, settling between his legs.
Those clever fingers of his pinched at a nipple until McCree moaned. A mouth attacked the other one, teeth grazing over his sensitive flesh. “Tell me what you need, Jesse,” he spoke into his chest. “Say it, and I will provide.” The use of his first name was more intimate than McCree was used to-- normally he would have stuck with his surname, but apparently this called for closer measures. McCree mourned the fact that this was the first circumstance in which he’d heard it, but reveled in it all the same. His name sounded good in Hanzo’s voice.
“I need you to fill me. Fingers, anything, I’m begging you.” If his face got any hotter, McCree was sure his beard would disintegrate.
Hanzo was there in a second, middle and forefinger massaging along his perineum, gathering the slick there and rubbing it in. McCree sighed in relief when they finally sunk in, sliding up all the way to the joint with no resistance. It was a start. He ground up into it, cock bobbing in the open air until Hanzo gripped that, too, thrusting his fingers in tandem with firm strokes. He slid in a third easily, and the stretch was heaven. McCree whined and pushed into it.
“You’re so open. How long did you let this go, Jesse?” A hard thrust pushed McCree up the bed, and he gasped.
“Don’t even know. Got so caught up in the recall I didn’t even think about it.” He hooked a leg around one of Hanzo’s thighs and tugged him closer. “Just fuck me, would you?”
To his credit, Hanzo somehow kept his composure long enough to pull out a wet hand and slick himself up before sliding in in one long stretch that had McCree pulling in all the air his lungs would hold. God, that was good. He knew there’d be no knot, but Hanzo’s dick was big enough that it might not even matter. He whined when Hanzo simply stayed there, still holding McCree’s drooling cock, not yet moving. McCree tried to wiggle down onto him, tried to get some friction, but was stopped by a firm hand grabbing his hip hard enough to bruise.
McCree glanced up at Hanzo’s face. The archer had his eyes closed, teeth grit together. “Sorry,” he ground out. “It’s...been some time.”
“I really wish I could care right now, sweetheart, but I’m pretty sure you could come in me right now and I’d still be up for anything you could throw at me until round two.” And he’d thought about it-- Hanzo stuffing him full; Hanzo eating him out until he couldn’t walk; Hanzo’s mouth on his cock, Hanzo’s hands in his hair, Hanzo’s voice low and gravelly in his ear while McCree jerked himself off. “Fuck, I’d almost prefer that.”
The hand on his hip gripped tighter. He heard the archer take in a sharp breath. “Don’t say things like that.” He finally started to move, grinding in slow circles.
“Well, if it gets you going like that, I’ll say any damn thing I want,” McCree snapped. He pulled again at Hanzo’s hip, urging him forward. “Now move.”
“Tch, pushy.” But Hanzo started thrusting in earnest, hand clamped tight around McCree’s cock, stroking in time with the harsh push of his hips. It was all McCree could do to just hold on, grabbing at the sheets behind him, grinding up into the girth of Hanzo and basking in the sweet slide of flesh on flesh.
A hand ran over his stomach, possessive, and he could feel Hanzo’s fat cock rubbing up on his prostate when it pushed down. A fresh wave of heat rolled through him, almost luxurious if it weren’t so stifling, and McCree arched up into Hanzo’s touch, moaning at each harsh thrust in.
“More, I need-- fuck, I need a knot--” he moaned hard, almost sobbing. The stretch was good, but he wanted to be full, locked in, bred. He could still hear the wet slap of Hanzo thrusting into his leaking hole, could feel the push and spread as Hanzo used his momentum to grind in and rock McCree’s prostate against him.
Hanzo seemed to sense his desperation and pushed him up the bed, folding up a leg and resting it on his shoulders as he began sliding fingers down to rub around the junction of where they were joined.
“I don’t have one, but I can do this,” Hanzo grunted, and slipped a finger in along with his cock, rubbing at McCree with pinpoint precision. A second joined, and the stretch of it was glorious, bordering on painful. A third, and jesus, it was almost too much. He could feel his rim pulled taut, could feel every ridge and rub of Hanzo’s rough finger pads alongside his dick. A good enough facsimile if McCree had ever felt one. He could feel himself start to clench down, spasming around Hanzo’s cock and fingers as his orgasm approached.
And then he felt it--his own knot started to swell, hot and sensitive at the base of his dick. He felt Hanzo jolt in surprise, but continue stroking him inside and out. The hand on his dick rubbed tenderly at his growing knot, the grip firm if curious.
“You didn’t say anything,” Hanzo said dizzily. “You will explain later. For now,” he said, “I will take care of you.” McCree would have cried if he’d been in any state to think about it. He shouldn’t have let it get this far without saying something, but he’d been so desperate he’d taken what he could get. At least Hanzo hadn’t stopped moving. Indeed, as if the surprise only strengthened his resolve, Hanzo gripped harder at McCree’s knot, clenching and unclenching as if to simulate an omega saddled above him.
McCree gave up on moving back against Hanzo, just laying back has his body tensed up, reaching its peak. He bit down on his lip, nearly drawing blood. Hanzo leaned down, mouthing at his chin, his jaw, the small space behind his ear. He bit down on McCree’s shoulder, and that brief possessive gesture was it: McCree toppled over the edge, coming hard as Hanzo’s hand clamped down on his knot and his hips rutted into McCree’s ass. McCree could feel the wet heat as Hanzo came inside him, fingers curling insistently, stuffing anything leaking out right back in.
He felt frozen, toes curled, calves tensed as he rode it out, wave after wave of pleasure making him twitch and clamp down on Hanzo’s cock and fingers. Hot ropes of come splashed on his chest and abs, catching in his chest hair and dripping down his sides to leak on the already soaked sheets.
Even after he came down from it he could feel Hanzo moving gently, rocking into him even as his cock softened. McCree whined when Hanzo pulled out, but he was back quickly, fingers plugging up the hole he’d left dripping.
McCree leaned up to kiss him again, slowly this time. The oppressive need to be bred had been temporarily satisfied, and every rock of Hanzo’s fingers in his sensitive hole sent little jolts down McCree’s spine, tiny spikes that bordered on too much. He ran a hand over Hanzo’s back, holding him close. He was feeling possessive. A good dicking could do that a man.
“Dunno how much longer this is gonna go on, but I’d appreciate some company.”
Hanzo’s lips quirked up. “I think I have time.”
--
Later, when McCree’s heat haze was in a lull, Hanzo retrieved a towel from McCree’s small bathroom and cleaned them up before wrapping himself around McCree once again, tucking blankets around them.
“Does this happen often?” Hanzo murmured against McCree’s lips. “The knotting. The heat. Which one?”
McCree was almost too sated to care what he had to say. “The heats are irregular at best. It’s been...a long time. Honestly thought they’d stopped for good.” He swallowed nervously. “I’m an alpha, but a switch. So sometimes...this,” he gestured vaguely, “this happens.” He kissed Hanzo softly, cupping his jaw. “Good thing I have you around this time, though, huh, darlin’?”
Hanzo hummed against his hand. “Indeed. Though I’d have preferred to be ‘around’ far sooner.”
McCree raised an eyebrow. “Really? Wouldn’t have figured from the way you acted. Cool as a dang cucumber.”
Hanzo’s jaw set in a small expression of embarrassment and defiance. “I am a man. I have a heart. It can be difficult to believe, I know, but not everyone is capable of blatantly stating their affections for all the world to hear.”
McCree laughed. “Well, someone knew.”
Hanzo nodded. “Genji.”
“Can’t tell if I should short-circuit the guy or send him a fruit basket.”
Hanzo nuzzled into his neck, and McCree all but purred at the warm scratch of his beard. “I think being disgustingly affectionate in front of him might be punishment enough.”
McCree grinned and tugged him closer. “Now that I can do.”