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Jesse can’t believe he let this happen, honestly.
With how much he smokes, you’d think he would keep track of when his lighter was getting low on fluid. But no, Jesse McCree has never claimed to be a man who thinks before he acts. He supposes it really isn’t that surprising then.
Still, sitting atop the communications building of the Watchpoint with an unlit cigar just feels... unfulfilling. He’s no stranger to just chewing the end of cigars to get a nicotine fix, but when he had purposefully intended to smoke, it’s just disappointing. The wind from the coast picks up strong here at sunset, too, so without the smoke to warm his body, Jesse’s starting to feel the cold of the evening sink into his bones.
They ache enough as it is, and the serape draped around his shoulders isn’t doing much to stave off the breeze. He should really just get up and go back inside, grab another lighter, and smoke out the window of his room, but there’s still something that stirs in his gut that convinces him to sit still.
He grinds his teeth into the cigar pensively, exhaling around it as he leans back into the fixture behind him. It’s not the most comfortable position, but he can see the horizon from where he is and his face is warmed by the setting sun. Jesse’s fingers reach out to brush the rim of his hat, set down beside his thighs when he had dropped down here earlier. It could probably stand to get lined again, seeing as there’s starting to get to be some wear around the top from dropping it so much. The serape could use another patch soon, too.
Damn, he wishes he had a lighter.
“I thought the purpose of cigars was to smoke them, yes?”
Jesse startles a bit—not that he’d admit it—at the sound of another voice. It’s Hanzo, that much he can tell, especially when he whips around to look at the staircase behind him where the other man had emerged from. It’s weird seeming him around the Watchpoint again, having parted for the holidays. Hanzo had come back an entirely different individual, and while Jesse isn’t upset about this, he’s still adjusting to the fact Hanzo now has a bar through his nose and doesn’t dress like a man out of a different century.
He snorts though, rolling his eyes as he shifts his body back to facing the sea. “Yeah, if you’ve got a way to light ‘em, I suppose,” he grumbles, pulling the cigar from his lips to pinch it between his fingers, glaring at it as if it was the cigar’s fault for not being lit, rather than his own stupidity.
Hanzo makes a similar noise, though it is more of a scoff that a snort or a laugh. Still, the sound surprises Jesse. Again, so many things about Hanzo are different, and Jesse isn’t quite sure how to react to the change yet.
Suddenly, there is a flame flickering before his face. It’s warm against his cheeks, a sharp contrast to the cold wind blowing off the sea. Hanzo’s fingerless gloves are curled around the plain, metallic lighter, and his thumb holds down the spinner. Jesse doesn’t hesitate for more than that brief moment, moving forward, not wanting Hanzo to deal with the heat near his exposed skin for that long. He inhales deeply as the smoke starts to curl from the cigar, flicking his eyes away from the lighter and towards the other man as Hanzo lets the flame die out. It’s a weird moment for Jesse, keeping such intimate eye contact with Hanzo as he returns to his full height. Jesse holds the smoke in his lungs for a good moment before exhaling in a long blow through his nose and lips. He pulls the cigar from his lips, holding it pinched between the fingers of his metallic hand.
Hanzo’s dark gaze doesn’t leave Jesse’s face as he flips the lighter closed, pocketing it smoothly into the back of his pants. Jesse holds his eyes, letting the cigar burn for a moment before bringing it back to his lips. The next drag makes him shiver.
Jesse feels the nicotine flood his system on this drag, putting his body into that flux state of high energy and body decay. His eyes flicker shut and he pulls the cigar away from his mouth again, counting a simple one, two, three, before he releases the smoke through his nose.
“You look like a dragon, smoking like that,” Hanzo quips, one eyebrow raised.
It makes the cowboy chuckle and open his eyes, shaking his head a bit. Hanzo hums, still watching Jesse breathe. It seems like he’s thinking about something carefully, but Jesse still isn’t sure if he’s ever reading the other agent properly. Genji, with no facial expressions to read, at least has enough of an emotional voice for everyone to parse his mood from.
Hanzo is the opposite.
“Can’t tell me ya’ve never smoked before,” Jesse responds, nodding his head toward Hanzo’s backside where the lighter rests now. “Carrying ‘round a lighter but nothin’ to smoke? Whatcha playin’ at, Han?”
The piercing in Hanzo’s eyebrow jumps with the twitch of it, but Hanzo doesn’t respond to the shortening of his name. Jesse lifts his own brows in turn, waiting for Hanzo’s reply.
Hanzo surprises Jesse further, lowering his body and tucking his knees under himself, ignoring the question. He sits primly, traditionally, much like Genji, but less meditative and more submissive. Jesse feels like he needs to grant Hanzo some kind of permission to relax, and he nods his head a bit in acknowledgement as he goes to take another drag. He simply watches Hanzo for a moment as the other man fixates on his hands, plucking at invisible lint that Jesse could only ever see with a rush of adrenaline mid battle, hyper focused on a target.
But Hanzo’s gaze is always sharp, always watching. A sniper’s eye that Jesse only develops for a moment, a blink. Ana had trained him for months, perfecting the broken skill he had acquired in Deadlock, brought about from a panicked need to protect himself from impending death. It’s a last resort, final measure. But Hanzo… Hanzo is always so precise. Jesse cannot even bring himself to compare, despite calling himself a sharp shooter.
He may be able to send a bullet through someone’s brain, but there’s no focus in his actions. It’s point and shoot, ready go. Hanzo waits, watches, picks out the perfect moment to loose the arrow from his grip.
Hanzo always makes his mark.
“I burn incense, mostly. I have not smoked in years,” Hanzo murmurs, hands still twitching. Something in his body language reads that he is nervous and Jesse narrows his gaze a bit.
The tone of his voice finally explains something to Jesse, something that makes him pause; he hasn't smoked since he had nearly killed his brother. It makes Jesse think it was something they did together, shared a pipe to unwind from the stress of their duties and their father. Jesse doesn’t claim to understand the traditional way they were raised, but he can appreciate it.
“You’re always welcome to share mine,” Jesse offers, blowing his smoke toward Hanzo this time.
The man doesn’t grimace, but rather inhales deeply. Jesse blinks at him, pauses, and then, as if controlled by a force unknown to him, extends the cigar out to Hanzo. It’s halfway burned through at this point, ash falling to the roof in the space between them. Hanzo blinks, glances at Jesse.
This is the most expression Jesse has ever seen Hanzo display in such a short span of time.
Hanzo savors his drag, the stress held in his posture melting away as he finally releases the smoke. He looks much more like a dragon than Jesse would ever consider himself, with the way all of the smoke bleeds from his nose, producing such a warm cloud. Hanzo looks regal, even if the poorly rolled cigar doesn’t quite match his demeanor. Jesse is awed either way, struck by the sudden openness of Hanzo’s person.
A low whistle escapes from Jesse’s pursed lips.
“Reckon I’m the only one to ever have seen ya like this, huh, outside ‘a Genji, ‘course,” Jesse murmurs, his voice low as if speaking too loud would break the mood they’ve somehow entered.
Hanzo does not answer for a long moment, simply taps the cigar to ash it, before taking another drag. Jesse leans back, crosses his arms, and watches as the setting sun halos behind Hanzo. His jet black hair shimmer deceptively in the light. Hanzo has a glow to him, a weird sort of blue aura. Jesse doesn’t think he’ll ever understand the dragons that reside in Hanzo and Genji’s souls, but if it makes Hanzo as blindingly beautiful as he is now, Jesse doesn’t mind.
“Somethin’ special ‘bout ya, Hanzo, and I think I’m startin’ to see it.”
The words make Hanzo shake his head, but Jesse sees the way his lips curve just slightly as he hands the cigar back to Jesse. It’s enough for that clench in his gut to stir again. He’d gotten this feeling when he’d first met Ana. It had been nerves, anticipation, and straight awe bundled all into one.
He isn’t quite sure what it is now, but Hanzo lifts his head and gives Jesse a warm smile and Jesse swears his heart stops.
“I was hoping you would soon,” Hanzo hums, letting his gaze drop away again, the smile softer now.
Jesse shakes his head as he chuckles, returning the nearly gone cigar to his lips. There’s something of a quiet understanding between them now, brought about from this simple, intimate moment on the roof of the Watchpoint. A shared smoke, a shared feeling, and Jesse can only hope he’s reading a situation right for once.
He doesn’t think he’s got it figured out just yet, but maybe he’ll work it out soon.
If it means experiencing the aftertaste of Hanzo’s mouth on his cigars again, he’ll gladly keep trying.