Hanzo has been rubbing his face against Jesse’s chest for a good ten minutes now; mouthing at it, rubbing his lips against the crisp hair, the tip of his nose gently dragging through the unkempt fur.
Jesse’s first thought had been that the archer wanted to nurse and was too skittish to admit it; but his fingers when they joined in on the action were sure and unafraid to pinch the flat tips meanly between blunt nails or roll them and squeeze them between the rough pads until tears sprung up in Jesse’s eyes and he had to pant through his mouth like a dog.
No, Hanzo did not want to nurse on him, despite being seemingly so obsessed with his chest that he didn’t let him move from underneath him. It took Jesse a while to understand what he was so squeamish about; until he heard the soft little huffs of breath Hanzo took whenever he skirted closer to one of Jesse’s hairy pits, because Hanzo was so very diligent in not showing what got his gears good and going.
After that, it was easy to give him what he so obviously craved: McCree’s big paw curling around the sensible top knot he still wore, holding on fast even as Hanzo started squirming and protesting.
“Shhhh,” Jesse soothed, guiding Hanzo’s face – his nose – into his armpit with a little more force because he was pretty sure it was easier getting a cat into a bath than to help Hanzo Shimada to his luck.
“There ya go,” he croons finally as he has Hanzo’s face buried deep in the humid mess of his pit hair, face heating up as he tries to breathe through the tickling sensation of Hanzo’s breath – he is reasonably sure that Hanzo will castrate him if he laughs now.
Cautiously, he loosens the grip he has on the archer’s hair. By now he doesn’t need to force Hanzo any longer: he buries his face into the fragrant, warm place all on his own, moaning soft and delirious as he chokes himself on the thick smell.
Cyberrat Writes 