“Why don’t you make the two of us some tea?” Hanzo asks mildly, and watches with satisfaction as McCree’s face melts from uneasy apprehension into quiet, thankful bliss.

He nods and gets up from his knees, big hands with hairy knuckles smoothing down the front of the skirt of his little maid uniform. 

Hanzo sits at the window, like a lord, hair loose and yukata askew as he smokes his thin pipe and admires the view of McCree in the tiny kitchenette; how hulking his broad, bulky body looks as he handles the utensils and hums softly under his breath.

Nothing offensive – just a mindless tune that is just as ingrained in this ritual as Hanzo’s regal tranquility.

When Jesse comes back, he kneels next to Hanzo pretty as a flower, the saucer with teacup held in his hands.

“Thank you,” Hanzo murmurs and lifts the cup – lets McCree hold the saucer as long as it takes for him to finish enjoying the beverage. He thinks he’ll make McCree straighten the room a little after this. Maybe have him clean beneath the bed so his ass is in the air; easy for Hanzo to flip his skirt up and discover all anew that McCree was going commando beneath; cock and balls hanging freely for the taking.

Yes… A good way to spend a peaceful Sunday. He rather liked the idea.