almightythirst | Open Post

It lacks the sense of loss of self from the times they've fed, that melding of memory and feeling. But for all that, Jesse's lips touch his and he feels just as caught. Inexorably pulled to the man who'd sought his death for so long, and now was perhaps his single greatest weakness. Someone he cared for.

Reaper and all his power be damned, he'd see an arrow through the bastard's eye for what he'd nearly taken from him.

Tilting his chin upwards -- for he must, Jesse being as damnably tall as he is -- Hanzo leans into the brush of lips until it becomes something more firm, closing his eyes and lifting a hand to curl fingers against the nape of Jesse's neck to draw him closer.

I’m tired of actin’ like whatever is here ain’t here.

Perhaps there was some manner of wisdom in that, after all. Both aware, and aware of the consequences, there might be as little way of ignoring this than a storm they were desperately trying to navigate. What would happen would happen, regardless.

All he could do was try not to think too long on all the things that could go wrong, all the ways it would inevitably hurt them, and hold onto these few precious moments.

If it wasn’t for the nagging reminder of sunrise in the back of his mind, Jesse would have gladly let himself get completely lost in that kiss. He nearly already is. Only something as bone-deep and instinctual as their connection to the sun can shake it.

The hand is what does it, even more so than Hanzo kissing him back. That small, innocuous movement. Reaching out. Holding him close.

The heart he’d been so sure he would have lost by now is full with it as he eases back. It’s not enough to break his sire’s hold, but enough to where they’re regrettably not kissing any longer.

“So about that bed,” he teases in that same quiet cadence.

"Hn."

There's a slight narrowing about Hanzo's eyes, before he disentangles himself. It's not entirely like drawing away this morning, not with the way his hand lingers on Jesse's chest a moment longer than necessary.

It takes him somewhat by surprise, how easy it could be to embrace this new shift in the paradigm. A good thing, too. This is something he has to account for now, whether he was prepared for it or not. But contrary to how he may behave, the idea of this is not so terrible a thing to try to adjust to. Perhaps it's something he might have explored on his own, before everything that occurred. Of course, Genji had always been the more adept at flirtation, but--

That sobering pang of memory is enough to pull him back into the too-cool air conditioned air of the motel room, and he sinks down onto the stiff sheets with a huff.

"Come, then. The dawn will come soon enough."

Jesse had been no stranger to physical intimacy of a type when he’d been human. Never for more than a night, and nothing particularly affectionate. So while the night before had been uncharted territory in the context of all the emotion attached to it— and the fact, of course, that it was Hanzo— the act itself hadn’t been so foreign.

This, though, is different. Jesse toes out of his boots and tosses his hat on the table, pretending that the prospect of just sharing a bed with Hanzo for the day isn’t giving him an almost nervous sort of rush. Might be he’d been more starved for touch than he’d thought… or again, it might just be Hanzo. That’s his new backup for shifting blame, by the way, whether the archer ever knows it or not.

He moves around the bed, which doesn’t take long in the relatively small room, and lays down, the starched sheets rustling beneath him.

“Do you feel it more over time? When the sun rises?”

Not the most romantic pillow talk, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. He folds his arms behind his head and looks Hanzo’s way. Giving him space to get as close or stay as distant as he’d like.

"I do not think so. It seemly becomes a habit, more and more ingrained over time."

He's always been a creature of habit. Rituals were a thing held in high regard, every action measured and every second of the day accounted for. Everything had purpose and meaning. Often, he wishes things were so simple again. These days, only a few things ever remain constant.

The sun. The seconds that tick away, slower in the winters and swifter come the summers. And now, here is another potential constant if he allowed it to be so.

With some small measure of grace, he slips his feet up onto the bed, curling a little closer towards McCree, one arm pillowed beneath his head as he turns onto his side to smirk wryly in his direction. "We have all of eternity, but only so many hours in a night. There's some irony there."

It doesn’t take Jesse long to take a similar pose, turned on his side towards Hanzo. Why keep looking up at the ceiling when the other man is right there? Though he does seem content with this, for now. Merely being close. Even this is such a big change from where they were a week ago.

The observation gets an unexpected laugh out of him, albeit a quiet one, the skin around his eyes crinkling along well-worn lines. “Might be the world’s way of balacin’ things out a little. Get less hours in a night, but more nights than we were due.” An endless number, if heresy is to be believed.

He’s not sure how he feels about that, honestly. Makes his head spin to think about a span of endless nights, stretching out into the future.

“You ever think the universe has a weird sense of humor?”

The corner of the vampire's mouth curls upwards.

"Hmph. As though this did not prove it."

It isn't entirely scorn in his voice when he gives that imperious huff, nostrils flaring. No. He's done this to himself as much as the universe. He made the choice to bind Jesse to him with blood, even if it initially had been just another measure to ensure the hunt continued until it was done.

But those days, the wager they set, it's all starting to become indistinct now. Not that he wonders now who would win. Jesse's more than proven his point, and even if he had...Hanzo isn't sure he could fight him as he would need to, in order to make it fair. To make it a worthy end.

Looking at Jesse now, the contrast of life-worn creases and edges and the preternatural sheen to his eyes, Hanzo isn't sure that's the goal, anymore. Too much of him wants to know how this ends. It's at odds with what he knows he should do, and yet he's done nothing but throw caution to the wind since he met the hunter.

Of course the universe has a sense of humor.

“Should I be takin’ offense to that?”

The crooked lilt of his smile should eliminate any doubt on that front. It is all pretty absurd, isn’t it? For both of them. Neither of them could have imagined that this winding road of theirs, covered in dust and blood with the threat of violence at every turn, could have led here to a shared bed in a cheap hotel.

“But I guess you’re not wrong.”

He shifts, his metal arm half folded beneath him and half out on the mattress between them. The strange sort of nervousness he’d had before now has disappeared completely. It hardly even matters anymore if they end up touching or not. This is intimate regardless, these quiet words spoken on the edge of sunrise. That glimpse of Hanzo’s wry humor, elusive enough that he'd chased even a glimpse of it for months. It's more than enough.

Hanzo hums in agreement. "It seems inevitable that in the course of things, what we least expect should come to pass."

A moment passes. Then another, the hum of the air conditioning unit in the corner the only sound in the room. Quietly, his fingertips extend to trace the edge of the metal hand lying between them, and his dark eyes are thoughtful. Hanzo is not someone for whom meaningless gestures are commonplace, but just now he wants very much to simply touch. To remind himself that this is all happening, as he processes it.

"As long as I have walked this earth...I had not expected this, for myself." The smile fades by slow degrees, his brow pinching slightly. "Now that the prospect of it rests in front of me, I don't...."

I don't know what to do with it. The words hover on his tongue, admittance of one point of which he knows nothing. All his training, all his years of experience in the bloodier parts of life and death, but this? He is a foreigner in a strange land, trying to learn to speak the language as he goes.

Although he can’t feel it, Jesse’s fingers stretch out beneath Hanzo’s touch. He watches the movement of the other man’s hand intently, the sight of him taking the time to trace the contours of his prosthetic making up for the lack of sensory input. The hunter’s answering smile is a sad, almost wistful thing.

Hanzo had expected Jesse to kill him. Or if it wasn’t him pulling the trigger, then someone else; and those years between would be filled of more of that self-imposed exile. The Jesse of a year ago would have said it was nothing less than the man deserved. Now, though… now, it rouses something in him he can’t quite name. There’s a protectiveness to it. A sadness with a bite of anger. An urge to kiss Hanzo’s brow and smooth those lines away.

“Can’t say I’ve stood where you’re standin’, but... I think I get what you mean.” Jesse’s life had been vastly different, his circumstances a world away from Hanzo’s- but he’d also expected he would spend his life alone. Honestly, he’d always assumed he would die on a hunt before he had the chance to settle down and ever seriously consider anything close to this. Turns out he hadn’t been entirely wrong in the end.

“Good thing we don’t have a deadline to figure it out.” His fingers curl in, loosely grasping whatever part of Hanzo’s hand that's within his reach.

"None we know of, at any rate. My family pursues me still, and you have your own ghosts. This is not a safe existence. Any night could still be our last."

The possibility of eternity was there, but no vampire had ever seen it. At most a few hundred years, to his knowledge. That did far exceed what they might otherwise had, but it was still by no means a guarantee.

Last night had been the proof. Hanzo curled his fingers subtly, before allowing his eyes to fall shut.

"But not this one."

And that might very well be the point.

Jesse hums a quiet agreement, his grasp on Hanzo’s hand tightening just barely. As the sun fully rises, he clings to consciousness much longer than he usually tries to, unwilling to let the night go without a fight.

But like every night that had come before, this one too also ends. The next evening is a blur of activity, from waking to the tricky business of flying while undead and heavily armed. Using the vampiric ability to charm mortal minds with a look is still something Jesse avoids much as possible, but he’ll resort to it if it means keeping Peacekeeper along with him in his carry-on.

Way too many hours later, they’re on solid ground again, faced with the choice between holing up in Tokyo or jumping onto a train straight into Hanamura. Jesse had tracked Hanzo back to his former home for that last visit, but he hadn’t been able to suss out any of his sire’s local hideouts in the meantime. It still bruises his pride just a little bit; but at the same time, it makes sense. This is Hanzo’s turf after all.

It is, for better or worse, home.

Here, he has places he can return to. Condos and apartments that are allowed renters while he's out, to maintain appearances. Safehouses in lower places, warehouses and lofts in the industrial district, should he need distance from the city proper. Such places are kept throughout the island, cultivated over decades of favors owed and lives spared.

He need only show his face in the lobby of one such apartment building for the wizened woman behind the desk to suddenly look up, adjust her glasses, and move to offer him a key. Jesse, she squints at for a moment, but no words are exchanged. Hanzo simply bows his head and leads the way to the elevator.

Not quite as fine as the condo everything had happened. That one, he doesn't know that he'll return to. If Jesse found it, someone else will. But this is still a place of comfort and luxury, as minimalist as it is. A far cry from the places they've been staying at thus far.

Jesse flashes the woman a quick smile, keeping his mouth shut despite being incredibly curious what she makes of him. Knowing Hanzo, there haven’t been many other guests. If any.

He lets out a low whistle when they enter the actual unit. It’s nice, if a bit bare for his tastes. Seems perfect for the elder vampire though: stylish without being ostentatious. Quite a bit like the man himself. Jesse laughs quietly at the thought as he walks to the window.

“Just how many of these places you got around here?”

He goes to move the curtain, but stops when he notices something on the window ledge inside. Huh. Must have blown in last time Hanzo was here and kept the window open for some air. The feather is small, brown and white, but Jesse couldn’t begin to guess at whichever bird it came from. He rolls the quill between his forefinger and thumb as he goes ahead and opens the curtain to peek out at the skyline.

"Enough to make movement and reconnaissance easier for us, while we are here," he replies, reaching with a passing hand to draw up a holo-screen, hovering over the table in the dining room. What information could be obtained from Talon could be kept here, threads connecting where they might.

One eyebrow lifts as he notices Jesse looking out the window. Then, his eyes stray to the small feather in his hand. It takes longer than he'll admit to for him to recognize it, but the moment he does? He quietly reaches for his bow on his back, snapping it open in a quick flick of his wrist.

"Jesse. Step back."

He hadn't left the window open.

If Jesse doesn't hear the bow snapping open, he for sure catches the tone of Hanzo’s voice. He steps back with a concerned glance in the elder vampire’s direction. The feather falls from his hand, already forgotten, as he reaches for Peacekeeper in its hidden holster.

The seconds tick by, but there isn’t any sign of movement from the window. Just Hanamura’s nightscape. Peaceful, most people would say.

Jesse doesn’t move, though his eyes dart from the window to Hanzo more than once. Despite the tense atmosphere, however, the window remains closed and the apartment remains quiet.

He still listens, despite the apparent still of the night. He waits, arrow in hand, as the seconds tick by. Nothing occurs, yet he still remains on edge for several moments before stepping closer to the window.

It should be impossible, someone finding this place. Much less getting inside to leave him a message. But that is undoubtedly what happened. When nothing else occurs, Hanzo lowers the bow, then drops to a knee to retrieve the fallen feather. He knows it. Of course he knows it, even after all this time. It is no coincidence.

The mask. The feather. Someone is using the spectre of his dead brother, and whoever it is has just made this mission even more intensely personal than it had been before.

To Jesse, it might look odd. Hanzo just crouched there, staring at the feather with an expression of cold fury, as though it had just made several unkind remarks about his parentage.

Jesse watches Hanzo closely, frown deepening as the silence stretches on. He’s seen Hanzo angry before, of course, and been the target of that anger more than once. He thought he’d known Hanzo’s ire pretty well. But never has he seen anything quite like the expression frozen on the man’s face now.

Obviously the feather isn’t just a feather. He should have known. It makes no sense for Hanzo to have left something so mundane behind him whenever he was here last. He’s far too meticulous for that. But what else the feather could mean is really beyond him.

Slowly, he kneels down, putting himself on eye-level with the other vampire. “Hanzo.”

He doesn’t reach out. That would mean loosening his grasp on Peacekeeper. But his voice does soften, crossing the distance his own hands don’t.

“Talk to me. What is it?”

"I do not leave things out of place. Every object in this room? I have accounted for. This was not here when I left."

Which means someone was here, or could very well still be here. That should be reason enough to be on edge. Nevermind the implications of this object, which was surely not chosen by accident. First they insult the clan. Now they come for him, personally. Perhaps it is a warning. If so, they've only accomplished the very opposite thing. Spite has kept him alive longer than most still walking the earth, and he is not going to abandon it now.

"The masked assailant causing trouble for my family...the mask he wears belonged to my brother. And this--"

Suddenly, his jaw snaps shut, and his gaze tears from the small feather towards Jesse. Jesse, who has gotten so very close in the last few weeks. Jesse, with his hand on Peacekeeper. Who had known a secret few would have been able to provide. And for one shameful moment his blood runs colder, and he goes unnaturally still.

No. It is coincidence only. It must be, surely. He would trust Jesse with his life, and that was no easily admitted thing.

Jesse frowns back, visibly concerned in a way that’s less worried now and more thoughtful. It takes a bit of doing to fill in the gaps, but he thinks he gets it-- and once he does, it’s all he can do not to let out an annoyed huff. Is it a Shimada thing? Are they all this roundabout when it comes to actually trying to communicate something?

But just knowing it might have been Genji isn’t too reassuring. The man is still a largely unknown entity, and there are plenty of other players in the game. It would be foolish to assume this doesn’t mean they’re in danger.

Especially now, when Hanzo has no idea who the man in the mask actually is. That thought, paired with Hanzo’s sudden stillness, has the furrow between his eyes deepening.

“You’re sayin’ this is related, and we might’ve missed a visit.” He can only assume Hanzo’s change in demeanor is something to do with that realization. Strange, though, how he’s watching Jesse so intently.

“We should do a sweep. See if they left anything else.”

For what it might be worth later, Jesse hates this. Being secretive, lying for the better good as he sees it: that’s old hat to him by now. But he takes no pleasure at all in having to do it with Hanzo.

Slowly, the elder vampire rose to his feet as well. The feather remained between his fingers, delicately held despite it's ominous warning.

Someone knew enough of Genji to call upon these old relics and signs. The imposter, whoever he or she might be, knew of him. More than any outsider would. But Jesse had known of him, brought him up and thrown him in his face when confronting him in Hanamura.

He'd put it out of mind, at the time. But now, suddenly, it becomes quite relevant.

"...who told you about my brother?"

It's more forward than he should be. If his sudden suspicion was correct, Jesse wouldn't tell him the truth. It would be wiser to hold the doubt close and watch. Listen. Wait for him to trip of his own accord, to provide something more substantial than his word alone.

And yet some part of him simply wants to look into his face and believe him. To crush the doubt under heel and never let it see sunrise. Let them focus on the task at hand and not this sudden, needling feeling that he's been had.

He’d known this was coming.

He just hadn’t expected it so soon.

Jesse could play dumb. He could lie. Maybe, if he was lucky, Hanzo might even believe it. But now that this is happening, despite the sinking feeling in his stomach, he feels something almost like relief. It’s all tangled up in a mess of dread, undeniably there.

Better now, perhaps, than later.

There’s a moment where Jesse doesn’t move either, body held in that same sort of unnatural stillness that Hanzo’s had been. The façade cracks when he closes his eyes, something not unlike a wince flashing across his features. But when he opens his eyes again, there’s no bland pall of denial. No fake shock.

“Gave my word I wouldn’t say.”

And by the way he admits that, despite the apologetic undertone, it’s clear he doesn’t plan on changing that.

He takes in every detail. The stillness of a deer when it knows the wolf has caught the scent...or perhaps that of the wolf itself, knowing its quarry now knows of its presence in the shadows. Every twitch, every movement and word that follows is taken in by those dark eyes, passed over and studied and analyzed to be certain of its meaning.

But it's no longer a clear picture, is it? He's let itself become muddied. That was a risk the moment he let himself--

For a time Hanzo says nothing at all. It's impossible to tell what he thinks of this, but from the careful lack of expression? It's likely not a good sign. Finally, he speaks again. Softly.

"You know who it is that we are hunting."

It's a question, but at the same time not. If the answer is any different, he'll be pleasantly surprised...but optimism has never been his strongest suite.

“I do.”

He answers without hesitation this time, voice steady and clear. This is the most he can do for Hanzo now: be honest with him and not drag this out any longer than it has to be. Hardly a comfort though, he knows, and not anything worth feeling even remotely good about.

He grits his teeth against the urge to reach out, or say something to try and push that familiar, deceptively neutral expression from Hanzo’s face. He knows it too well. It took him months to even realize it was a mask; almost a year, if they counted the time he spent hunting Hanzo before that.

But who would he really be benefitting if he did that? Hanzo, or himself?

Jesse lets out an unneeded breath and looks away, a bit of that humanity that stubbornly sticks with him rearing its head yet again.

“But I didn’t tell him we were coming. Haven’t had a way to get in touch with him since we met.” There and gone, like a ghost.

"And yet you were content to say nothing our entire journey here."

It's a good thing he doesn't reach for him. The movement would be poorly received, at best. Everything in him is rallying up in a cry of I knew it, I knew it, I knew it while he tries to maintain his composure in what at a surface-level look appears to be nothing short of betrayal.

But there's more to be learned, first. Not the name. Jesse had given his word, long before he felt any sense of obligation towards his sire. Even if his feelings had genuinely changed and this was not somehow a long game of ridiculous proportions -- not an option Hanzo entirely discounted, regardless -- a word given was a bond. It was a matter of honor, at that point.

Grudgingly, he can respect that.

"How did they find you?" His eyebrow raises quietly. "Another hunter?"

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