got a little teary writing this one so thanks for that, anon
14. ‘I don’t have the words right now so here’s a kiss’
“Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart? You’re a different kinda quiet tonight.”
Hanzo sighs in response, which sends a small shock of anxiety through McCree’s gut. “No,” Hanzo says to the book in his hands. “Not as such. I am just thinking.”
They’ve been lying together in bed for the better part of an hour now, relaxing after a particularly taxing mission, Hanzo with his book and McCree with a tablet as he looks over the news. However, it became apparent early on that Hanzo was distracted by something else, and McCree hasn’t heard a page turn in almost 10 minutes. After 9 months, McCree’s learned to identify Hanzo’s changes in moods, even when he’s attempting to be subtle.
McCree rests the tablet on his stomach, his attention now fully on Hanzo. “About what?”
Hanzo presses his lips into a thin line, the picture of reluctance. However, since he does not outright deny him, McCree patiently waits.
“I have been thinking about some things,” Hanzo says, folding his book in his lap. “Since you were nearly hurt during our mission.”
McCree remembers. He’d very nearly been thrown off the edge of a third-story balcony, caught only just in time by a passing Mercy. He hadn’t actually been hurt, though, other than a couple little bruises, so he hadn’t given it any thought since. “What about it?”
“Well. It is not about that so much as it is about the rest.” Hanzo’s gaze flickers toward McCree, but he looks away again quickly toward the other side of the room. “We live dangerous lives. Before we met, I was not concerned by this. I was alone. And that has changed, in more ways than one.”
He pauses. McCree sits up fully, worried now about what Hanzo has to say. Hanzo continues, “Things are different. And more importantly, you are different. And I could have lost you.”
Hanzo reaches over suddenly, grabbing McCree’s hand and squeezing tight. “And I realized that–there are things I have not said. I could have lost you today, and you would not have known them.”
Hanzo inhales a long, deep breath. Then he looks at McCree directly for the first time since he began speaking. “You are,” he says, with intention, “incredibly important to me. I know I do not express it the way you do, but it remains true. I have spent a long time alone, by my choice and by necessity, and in that time it never even occurred to me that I might find someone like you.”
McCree’s breath leaves him in a rush. Hanzo continues on. “That you are so patient, so kind–despite everything you have experienced, despite who I am and what I have done–astounds me. And I am grateful. You, Jesse McCree, are a marvel, and I am utterly in love with you, and if nothing else, you deserve to know this.”
Hanzo’s face belies no fear, but his hand crushes McCree’s in its grip. He waits, jaw set, for McCree’s response.
McCree has none. Every word he has ever learned in any language is gone from his brain, replaced by the heart-wrenching speech Hanzo just gave. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes forth.
So he foregoes words entirely and pulls Hanzo into a desperate kiss. For a moment, Hanzo is frozen, but then he melts, and McCree gathers him up in his arms and embraces him as tightly as he can. If he has ever been good at words before, he may never be again, so he tries to communicate in his touch: in hard, needy kisses followed by softer touches, in the fingertips dug into Hanzo’s skin, in every stroke of his lips and flicker of his tongue against Hanzo’s, because there is nothing he can say.
For the first time in years, he is well and truly speechless, and he couldn’t care less.