Somewhere in the middle of his second cigarette, which McCree had lit for him without even a word exchanged, he let out a deep sigh and relaxed in his chair. Slouching much like the cowboy, kicking his metal feet up on the table.
He reached over for another shot, was this the sixth or the seventh? He’d lost count, but judging by the gentle buzzing in the back of his mind, he was willing to bet seventh. It made him feel light and just the slightest bit fuzzy. Downing it, he didn’t miss the raised eyebrow from McCree, tipsy didn’t mean he wasn’t still sharp.
“You remember we got a mission tomorrow, Robin Hood?” The cowboy asked, his silent way of suggesting that Hanzo had had enough.
Hanzo held his glass up, staring at it for a moment. How easy would it be to say no, have a few more and sleep out here on the balcony? Even if McCree cut him off from the whiskey, he had enough plum wine to push the upper limits of tipsy, a guaranteed deep sleep. With a grunt he flipped the glass, placing it top down on the table. He was done. “You do remember that it is in the evening?”
McCree did the same, downing his shot and flipping the glass. He stood with a groan and offered his hand to help the archer up. McCree was thus far the only person he accepted a hand from, he knew the gesture was out of manners instead of thinking Hanzo was too in the tank to do it himself.
With a grin, he took the hand.
Either he had misjudged how much effort McCree was putting into the gesture, or he had missed McCree tossing a few extra shots back because as the cowboy braced himself to pull Hanzo up, he faltered and the archer wound up pulling him over and tipping the chair. They landed with Hanzo on his back, one leg thrown off to the side and McCree’s face jammed into his abs, hat crumpled between his yukata and McCree’s forehead. He couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the company but they both started laughing once more, this time less restrained.
Silence settled once again and neither of them made an effort to move, limbs buzzing with the consumption of more alcohol than what was probably recommended the night before a mission. The hangover, if any, would be slight.
“Hanzo,” He felt more than heard against his abdomen. He could see the sharpshooter’s hands grabbing at the chair, as if they had attempted at some point to help push him up but had failed him entirely.
“McCree?”
“I-“ The cowboy paused, hands clenching and unclenching and suddenly there was a crack in the plastic that seemed to help McCree find his voice again. “Yer kneein’ my pelvis.” He mumbled, words half muffled by the fact that he refused to lift his head.
Hanzo snorted, and wiggling the leg that was underneath McCree, noted that the place where his prosthetics began was indeed digging into McCree’s hip- he took some form of delight in the agonized groan he received from the motion. “I believe you are the one with the power to remove yourself.”
“Can’t.” Was the only response he got before McCree became dead weight on him.
The archer blinked. Once, twice, and was about to just accept his fate when the glass door slid open.
Tracer poked her head out, took in the scene for about one second before she began laughing, something Hanzo does not mirror this time around. “Oi, I heard a noise and thought one of ya dropped dead. I didn’t know you were havin’ a shag out here.” She teased crudely, stepping out and beginning to help haul McCree off.
The cowboy groaned, swatting at her as she helped.
“We were not having a ‘shag’.” Hanzo spoke as he rolled out of the chair with far more grace than he expected to have after being nearly eight shots deep. Or was it nine? “It was a drink.”
“Looks like many drinks to me, love.” She quipped. “Come on, help me get him inside.”
Hanzo stood and glanced at the carnage their tumble had caused. The butt of a cigar and a half smoked cigarette laid on the ground, their embers dying. And an entirely empty bottle of whiskey- of which, Hanzo had been sure that it was full when they had started drinking. It only confirmed his decision that McCree had been taking extra shots. He frowned, but made no comment as he helped to get the cowboy to his feet and dragged him inside.
The pull-out couch bed was merely covered in sheets, but they tossed McCree onto it and Hanzo didn’t even want to bother trying to figure out other sleeping arrangements. So he flopped right down on the other side of the rather uncomfortable ‘bed’ and ignored the giggle from Lena as she turned off the lights.
He was out in seconds
อยู่ตรงกลางของบุหรี่สองของเขา ซึ่ง McCree มีไฟสำหรับเขาไม่ มีแม้คำแลกเปลี่ยน เขาให้ออกถอนหายใจลึก และผ่อนคลายในเก้าอี้ของเขา Slouching เหมือนคาวบอย เตะเท้าโลหะของเขาขึ้นบนโต๊ะเขาถึงกว่าสำหรับภาพ แก้ไขนี้ที่หกหรือเจ็ด เขาได้สูญเสียจำนวน แต่ตัดสิน โดยพึมพำเบา ๆ ด้านหลังของจิตใจของเขา เขาก็ยินดีที่จะเดิมพันเจ็ด มันทำให้เขารู้สึกเบาและเพียงนิดเลือน ดาวนิ่ง เขาไม่พลาดคิ้วยกขึ้นจาก McCree มึนเมาไม่ได้เจตนา ไม่ได้ยังคงคมชัด"คุณจำเรามีภารกิจวันพรุ่งนี้ โรบินฮูด" คาวบอยที่ถาม วิธีของเขาเงียบบอก Hanzo มาพอHanzo จัดเขาแก้วขึ้น จ้องช่วง วิธีที่ง่ายมันจะบอกว่า ไม่มี อีกไม่กี่ และนอนที่นี่บนระเบียง แม้ว่า McCree ตัดเขาออกจากวิสกี้ เขาพอไวน์พลัมกับขีดจำกัดบนของมึนเมา การนอนหลับลึกรับประกัน มีฮึดฮัดเขาพลิกแก้ว วางด้านบนลงบนโต๊ะ เขาได้ทำ "คุณอย่าลืมว่า มันเป็นตอนเย็น"McCree ไม่เหมือนกัน downing ยิงของเขา และการพลิกแก้ว เขายืนอยู่กับสาวน้อย และให้มือของเขาจะช่วยยิงธนูขึ้น McCree ป่านนี้เป็นเพียงคนที่เขายอมรับจากมือ เขารู้ว่า รูปแบบลายเส้นจากมารยาทแทนคิด Hanzo มากในถังจะทำมันเองด้วยรอยยิ้มกว้าง เขาเอามือEither he had misjudged how much effort McCree was putting into the gesture, or he had missed McCree tossing a few extra shots back because as the cowboy braced himself to pull Hanzo up, he faltered and the archer wound up pulling him over and tipping the chair. They landed with Hanzo on his back, one leg thrown off to the side and McCree’s face jammed into his abs, hat crumpled between his yukata and McCree’s forehead. He couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the company but they both started laughing once more, this time less restrained.Silence settled once again and neither of them made an effort to move, limbs buzzing with the consumption of more alcohol than what was probably recommended the night before a mission. The hangover, if any, would be slight.“Hanzo,” He felt more than heard against his abdomen. He could see the sharpshooter’s hands grabbing at the chair, as if they had attempted at some point to help push him up but had failed him entirely.“McCree?”“I-“ The cowboy paused, hands clenching and unclenching and suddenly there was a crack in the plastic that seemed to help McCree find his voice again. “Yer kneein’ my pelvis.” He mumbled, words half muffled by the fact that he refused to lift his head.Hanzo snorted, and wiggling the leg that was underneath McCree, noted that the place where his prosthetics began was indeed digging into McCree’s hip- he took some form of delight in the agonized groan he received from the motion. “I believe you are the one with the power to remove yourself.”“Can’t.” Was the only response he got before McCree became dead weight on him.The archer blinked. Once, twice, and was about to just accept his fate when the glass door slid open.Tracer poked her head out, took in the scene for about one second before she began laughing, something Hanzo does not mirror this time around. “Oi, I heard a noise and thought one of ya dropped dead. I didn’t know you were havin’ a shag out here.” She teased crudely, stepping out and beginning to help haul McCree off.The cowboy groaned, swatting at her as she helped.“We were not having a ‘shag’.” Hanzo spoke as he rolled out of the chair with far more grace than he expected to have after being nearly eight shots deep. Or was it nine? “It was a drink.”“Looks like many drinks to me, love.” She quipped. “Come on, help me get him inside.”Hanzo stood and glanced at the carnage their tumble had caused. The butt of a cigar and a half smoked cigarette laid on the ground, their embers dying. And an entirely empty bottle of whiskey- of which, Hanzo had been sure that it was full when they had started drinking. It only confirmed his decision that McCree had been taking extra shots. He frowned, but made no comment as he helped to get the cowboy to his feet and dragged him inside.เตียงนอนแขวนเพียงคลุมแผ่น แต่พวกเขาโยน McCree บนมัน และ Hanzo ไม่ต้องตื๊อพยายามคิดออกจัดวางเตียงอื่น ๆ ดังนั้นเขา flopped ลงในด้านอื่น ๆ ของ 'เตียง' ค่อนข้างอึดอัด และละเว้นจากลีนาขำ ตามเธอปิดไฟเขาก็ออกมาในวินาที
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