McCree/Junkrat – body worship; skin hunger; past abuse; hurt/comfort – McCree and Junkrat are rather alike…

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“No need to be so hectic. I ain’t going nowhere soon, kiddo.”

Jesse stares amusedly down at Jamison, noting absently that the kid must have showered because his patchy blond hair seems brighter than usual and there is a distinct overall lack of soot on his body.

Jamison snatches his hands away where they had been splayed against McCree’s hairy, muscled belly. He *does* look like a rat in that moment; hands curled uncertainly in front of his slim chest, glancing up through his bushy eyebrows.

Jesse rumbles, stretching and pushing one arm behind his head. Unselfconsciously showing off the meaty flex of his bicep and the thick patch of hair underneath.

“Don’t give me that look. Everything’s alright. Just take it a bit slower, yeah? Don’t got anywhere to be, really.”

Jamison’s face twists into something ugly for a second but Jesse would have no hope of deciphering all those little expressions flitting across the kid’s face. He’s a surprisingly complicated young man. There’s a lot of damage that had been done to him. Jesse suspects he would have ended up much the same if Reyes hadn’t pulled him out in the nick of time.

Maybe that’s why he has such a soft spot for the guy.

Jamison has yet to run his quick mouth and Jesse suspects he will not for quite some time. When confronted with the opportunity to get his hands on Jesse’s body, he always becomes curiously quiet.

When nothing else happens other than the the cigarillo lighting up slowly as Jesse takes another puff, Jamison relaxes once more.

Jesse can see every twitchy muscle beneath the tight stretch of Jamison’s skin. He’s not put on any weight as far as Jesse can tell. He’s still so thin that he feels like his sharp bones might be slicing through his skin any second now.

When he reaches down, he can let his fingers trail across each bump of Jamison’s spine. The kid freezes where he is crouched above Jesse’s chest and seems to stop breathing until Jesse gives him a pat with his warm palm and takes his hand away again. Only then does Jamison take up his exploration again.

He has a certain kind of fascination with Jesse’s hair. He likes dragging his fingers – even the artificial ones – through it just to feel how crisp and coarse they feel. He sometimes delicately takes a few hairs between his fingertips and tugs on them, though never near hard enough to pull them out.

He also likes to cup Jesse’s muscles; squeeze them. Feel how round and firm they are…

It’s not really sexual. Not from what Jesse is used to, though he can see the faint outline of Jamison’s cock in his baggy pants. Jamison’s world, he has to remind himself again and again, is different from what other people perceive.

Sometimes he has a detached, glassy look in his bright eyes when Jesse’s fingers slip beneath his belt; and other times he gets short of breath and flushed when Jesse pets across his head in what is almost a fatherly gesture.

He always becomes very calm, however, when Jesse smokes. He likes the smell of it; the heat that the cigarillo emanates. Jesse is suitably sure that Jamison would probably get painfully hard, maybe would be able to shoot off from the sensation of getting a cigarette put out against his skin, but he does not want to try that shit (…yet…).

Jamison leans down, breathing against Jesse’s skin. Ruffling the hair. He’s close to one of Jesse’s nipples, but he does not show any interest in it, even when it becomes hard and needy. He stars sniffing at him, then outright presses his mouth and nose against Jesse’s skin and breathes him in.

It is awkward and tickling. He suspects it’s the scent of smoke, ingrained into him, that is so alluring for the young man, but he can’t be sure.

Just when Jamison looks like he’s going to spend *quite some time* just inhaling Jesse, he moves in one fluid motion, putting the junker beneath him.

Jamison looks startled for a second, then… something else. A mix between anger and concern. His eyes flick towards the door where they both know his bodyguard is just beyond. Waiting for his boss to *conclude business*.

Jesse ignores the show of distrust and slowly, carefully lies himself down on Jamison’s long, thin body. It’s not the most comfortable of surfaces – several sharp bones are poking him – but it’s not about going to sleep, anyway.

He ignores the sharp, slightly panicked intake of air beneath him, or the way Jamison’s hands curl claw-like across his shoulders, and lets him feel just enough of his weight to make breathing a bit more difficult.

Jamison goes cross-eyed and makes a sound for the first time; a weak squeak that has the floor outside of the room creak ominously as the Hog shifts his weight.

Then he becomes quiet again, his eyes taking on a rather dreamy look as the heat and weight of Jesse’s body registers.

Jesse is not unfamiliar with skin hunger. What he can give is likely way too late at this point, but he does not have a problem with sharing himself anyway.