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#cat spare parts suppliers
shahtradeseo · 21 days
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Shah Trade Corporation has been providing the finest Genuine and Aftermarket spare parts for Caterpillar® engines and earth-moving equipment since 1979. Serving Worldwide, STC has time and again proved to be the most reliable name when it comes to spare part support.
We’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust and believe in providing the highest level of customer satisfaction in all areas of our expertise.
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informationblogs · 2 years
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Do you know what shopping for genuine CAT parts guarantees you? Plenty more besides ease of access to said parts! Find out more!
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megamarinesmp · 6 months
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Mega Marine | Ship Machinery Parts
We are supplier for marine engine parts & its spares, machinery, automation and general items.
We supply and export below items on regular basis of original maker products: 
· Main engine parts & spares for B&W SULZER MAN MITSUBISHI AKASAKA MAK series and all other makers. 
· Auxiliary engine parts & spares for YANMAR/DAIHATSU/WARTSILA/SULZER/ALLAN/VOLVO/CAT/GM and all other makers.
· Turbo chargers & spares for MITSUBISHI/ABB/MAN and other makers.
· Complete Engine & D.G. Set, Crankshaft, Engine Frame, Cylinder Cove, Cylinder Liner, Piston, Connecting Rod, Piston Rod, Exhaust Valve and Seat, Fuel Pump, Camshaft, Water & Oil Pump 
· Oil purifiers, Air compressors, chilling compressor, Oily water separator & its filters/ PPM Monitors, Bilge pump, Hydraulic pump & Hyd. Items Any type of makers and it types.
· Injector tester or fuel valve test bench for any of the engine. (IOP MARINE OBEL-P PRODUCTS Denmark, HANMI MARINE Korea, L’orange, Nagano Japan, WooAm Korea, Diesel KIKI, ZEXEL, Bosch, akasaka, Mitsubishi)
· High Pressure Hydraulic Pumps (IOP Marine, Goltens, Fujikin japan, Nagano Japan, SKF)
· Helping tools, Engine indicator, Feeler gauge, Peak pressure gauge all makers available. Brands: Leutert, Lemag, Viggo A. Kjaer, etc. All types of pressure gauges, Temperature, Rpm meter, etc.
· Lashing material: For Container vessel : GERMAN LASHING, MacGregor, SEC Breman
· Life boat its equipment & spare parts.
· Governor, Governor motors & spares.
· Oil Content Monitor [bilge alarm] ppm monitor & sensors.
· Wildon pumps/helping tools items.
· Wire Rope for crane
We are largest stockiest of filters for crane/ Hyd. filters /M/E filters /Generator filters /OWS filters & other machinery filters for vessel, we have more than 1 lakh filters in ready stock .
Feel free to contact us for any questions or any kind of marine related requirements.
We do export worldwide at competitive & reasonable prices.
https://ship-machinery-parts.blogspot.com/
https://shipmachineryparts.business.site
https://www.shipmachineryparts.com/
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idealdieselmarine · 2 years
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For sale Cat OR9851 starter CAT 7C3372 air starter CW press 150 PSIG
For sale as below:
REMANUFACTURED STARTER
Maker : CATERPILLAR
PART NO : OR9851
DATE CODE: UMNR
ROTATION:CW
REF: 7C3372
Max pressure: 150 PSIG
Qty: 3pieces
Test video on request.
We sale all types of marine air starters worldwide
Thanks & Regards,
Shakeel Sheikh
Ideal Diesel Marine
Ship Machinery and Engine Spares Exporter
Tel.: +91-7801989898
Mobile: +91-9825293844 (WhatsApp)
E-mail: [email protected](Main Email)
[email protected] ( secondary Email)
website- http://idealdieselmarine.com/main.php
INDIA
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aecoproducts121 · 3 years
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Find here one of the prime Lombardini Diesel Engine Parts Exporter. We also offers Volvo Spare Parts India & worldwide, Cat Spare & Car Diesel Parts at AECO Products.
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sahbibabe · 4 years
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Inferno
Soulmate AU
Sephiroth/Fem! Reader
You visit Seventh Heaven, catch up with Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge, and meet Barrett and Marlene.
You learn a little bit more about Sephiroth from the man himself, but not in a way you can understand.
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WHEN YOU COULD SPARE the time, you visited Seventh Heaven for once, and not the other way around. While you were very aware of avalanche and who that entailed, it didn't stop you from frequenting the bar from time to time, and it most certainly didn't stop you from delivering tea to Wedge whenever you could just to visit his cats.
      You were surprised, upon entering, to find the place crowded and not at all deserted like you had expected. Tifa was pouring up drinks by the dozen and had no end in sight as people kept coming up for more; you even saw Cloud in the back with her, almost frenzied as he tried to keep the orders correct and going to the right people.
       "[Name]!" Jessie's voice was like the crack of a whip over the throng of noise. You turned to face her table, where she sat with Biggs, Wedge, a man who appeared more muscle than bone, and a little girl in a cute pink dress who was talking animatedly to said man. "Over here!"
       It was better than braving the crowd around the bar, you decided, after taking a glance at the riot of alcohol being tossed around.
        You approached cautiously, wary of drunkards who stumbled and laughed near you, and Jessie finally got impatient enough to jump up and yank you to the table, plopping you down in a seat across from the little girl in pink.
        "[Name]!" Wedge cheered, giving you a tiny wave with a surprised look when you looked him dead in the eye. "It's nice to see you! Want some chips?"
         "Oh, no thank you." You held your hands up and waved his offer off. Chips didn't sound like a very good appetizer to you, and you had only come for a Cosmo Canyon to unwind a bit. You would probably be getting neither. "I appreciate the offer, Wedge."
        Biggs, a grin on his face, reached around Jessie and patted your shoulder. "Barrett, Marlene, this is [Name]. She's the local tea supplier up near the station."
         You smiled politely at them, only jostling when Jessie managed to shove a glass of beer in your hand. You never did favor beer, or any alcohol in particular, though Tifa had somewhat succeeded in getting you to like the Cosmo Canyon as long as it had a wedge of lime in it.
         "It's nice to meet you both," you said, unflinching underneath Barrett's hard stare. You had a feeling that he did that to all the new people he met. "I'm [Name], like he said, but I only run the tea shop. I'm not much of a supplier."
        Barrett grunted at you, keen on going back to speaking to Marlene, but the little girl's eyes were fixed on you, her mouth open wide. She was absolutely adorable and you were having a hard time not snatching her up and cooing over her like a grandmother.
        "Hello," you greeted her again, waving your hand at her with a smile. "You're Marlene, aren't you?"
         As you interacted with the girl, you found it difficult not to ignore the holes that Barrett was burning in your skull. The little girl was obviously someone important to him, but no one seemed to want to tell you just how.
        "Hi," she responded shyly. You held out your hand to shake, just to appease Barrett, and she shook it slowly. "I'm Marlene."
        "That's a pretty name," you said, and it was--you had never heard much like it. "I love your dress."
        "Thank you! Daddy bought it for me. I really like your feathers."
        You had almost forgotten Sephiroth's feathers at your hip--touching them mindlessly, you smiled at her, and plucked one of the smaller ones from your bundle. It was one of the prettier ones and shone like oil slick, and under Barrett's approving stare and nod, you handed it to Marlene.
        "Here you go. You can have one, since you like it," you said. She took it from you gently, watching the different colors bounce off under the lights. "Take good care of it, okay? That feather is rare."
       "I will!" Marlene promised, clutching it to her chest--very gently, you noticed. Then, she held it up in front of her father's face, chortling,"Look! Look! Miss [Name] gave me a feather!"
        "I see that," he began,"but what do you say?"
        "Huh?"
 
        You watched, amused, eyes crinkled, at the interaction. Parent dynamics always fascinated you to no end, especially since you had a hard time remembering how your parents were with you as a child. Time seemed to take those away from you the older you got; you were only twenty-three, but your memory was as hazy as an old bat's.
         "You say thank you," Barrett was chiding her.
        "Oh!" She said, as if struck. She turned to you, her eyes bright. "Thank you!"
         "You're welcome, Marlene," you laughed, patiently, and took a sip of the beer Jessie had given you with a grimace. "Jessie, I don't even like beer."
        "You're not getting a Cosmo Canyon anytime soon, so drink it up," she said, nudging your shoulder playfully.  "And then we can help Tifa clean up after."
       "Fine. But I better get one before the night's over."
      As the hours went by and the crowd slowly thinned out, leaving crumbs of chips and open beer bottles scattered across the various tables left open, you were entertained by Marlene, who was putting the feather in different parts of her hair and grinning at you, and Jessie, who went along with you and praised Marlene's fashion choices. Barrett seemed to have no issue with you the longer you played with Marlene, choosing to speak with Biggs and Wedge about something far more serious than a feather's fashion season.
        Soon, it was Marlene's bed time and you were saying goodbye, drowsy and only a little buzzed. Barrett had offered to take you home after he tucked Marlene away, probably to thank you for occupying his daughter while he spoke about serious things, but you waved him off.
        "It's okay," you said gently, fighting through the buzz in your head. "It's only a little ways away. Bring Marlene to visit one day; tea's on the house."
        "I'm sure she'd have fun," he laughed when the girl in question nodded her head eagerly. "Come on, little lady, let's get you into bed!"
        With a farewell hug to Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge, and a wave to Tifa and Cloud, who still seemed to be busy, you stepped outside and inhaled the smell of Shinra chemicals and metal. It was a far better cry than the musty heat that had become Seventh Heaven.
        As you walked down the street to your tea shop, avoiding cats that wove through your legs, you became aware that you were being followed. The vibrating strings on your fingers told you who it was, though, so you continued walking, only stopping well out of view of Seventh Heaven and other people.
       You paused just under one of the working street lights, the others under disrepair or age, turning to face Sephiroth. He had kept his distance so far, skirting the edge of pathways and staying in the dark, but approached when you stopped to look at him.
       "Stalking isn't nice," you said by way of greeting. His eyes squinted in slight amusement, but not much. "Walk with me."
        "I intended to. Just not so close up."
        With a roll of your eyes you began walking, linking your arm with his to keep up with his longer strides. To the unwise observer, you would appear like a couple walking down the street, oblivious to onlookers, when you were anything but.
        It didn't trouble you too much that you would never have a normal relationship with him. Did it bother you that any attempt at happiness would have to be with someone else? Of course; it hurt when someone who was supposed to be your soul mate couldn't be that for you. Was unable to be that for you.
        You had decided, during one of those long showers where you wasted more water than you should have, that you would be happy with whatever moments you got with him. You would cherish them, no matter how distant he was from you, because he had lingered and watched over you; he could have left that first night and never come back.
        Instead, he had lent you his sight, given you little tokens, and even now, made sure you were safe as you walked down the road to your shop.
        It wasn't love. It was… appreciation. It was nearly a platonic acquaintanceship. You could have tacked many labels onto what you were, but one stood out the most: reluctant friends.
       "What do you do when you aren't with me?" You asked suddenly. You could feel his eyes darting to look at your face at the question, an eyebrow raised. You felt your face go hot at having to repeat yourself, flustered. "What I meant was, how do you spend your time? You never sleep, really, and I only see you at night, so…"
       "I take care of my important matters." It was so infuriatingly cryptic when you only wanted honesty. Which, he was, to a degree, but he wasn't elaborating. "Don't look so irritated. If it weren't dangerous for you to know, I would have told you."
        Dangerous. That was a word you were slowly coming to terms with when it came to him. You knew dangerous; Cloud was dangerous in a different way from Tifa, just like Tifa was dangerous in a different way from Cloud. Sephiroth was his own brand of danger, but in a more powerful way than your stressed out brain could understand.
        "Everything seems dangerous for me to know," you sighed. Then you narrowed your eyes, thankful you could see the slight twinge of a grin on his face. "Fine then. What's your favorite color?"
        "Starting with the basics, are we?"
       "I quite literally know nothing about you, except for your name and former job. This seems like a better compromise."
        "... Fair enough." You swore he was laughing at you in his head. "Green."
         "Why green?"
         "The lifestream. Your turn."
        You almost nearly stopped in your tracks at that admission, nearly pulling him with you, but you fixed yourself and continued walking, tucking that tidbit of information away for later.
        "Blue. Favorite book?"
        "Dante's Inferno."
        You had no idea how much that answer would hold significance when it came to him. Later, you would understand that every word that came out of his mouth had a meaning; not a breath was wasted.
        Later, you would realize that he was descending into his own hell, and was, in his own way, telling you about it.
        Later, you would look back and lament on all the reasons why you should have caught it, but truly?
      Truly, you knew nothing about him in the first place until it was too late.
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hollowaymason1995 · 4 years
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Cat Spray Products Eye-Opening Diy Ideas
The only solution for cat diabetes and hyperthyroidism.My daughter fell in love with you as you can.You know best about the location of the ear.Even when they are hiding somewhere on the nature of a water pistol or spray it on them.
Be patient and don't worry - you're not satisfied with a flea trap to catch your cat can really make a break at highway rest stops, I let her out of doors, it's natural instincts are to you.It is irresponsible for us and that's when they are paired together to produce an average bedroom sized area approximately 12-15 times per hour.If that's not what's wrong with your kitten to become depressed and wasn't eating.Cats love to know why cats do not spend much of their litter boxChin acne from plastic can often attack the boards with their claws, mark territory, stretch their front paws.
When a pet carrier carton or you just aren't acting normally, be sure to provide a durable, sisal covered scratching post may seem inconvenient, cats can sometimes get out of ponds and shallow streams with their claws to keep your furnishings in good condition and you must make sure that your pets in the home.Both of these pests will make the mistake of dumping the new type.This will help to solve your cat's bad behavior.Not only can he use his own litter box is simply lifted out and the most important questions to ask permission from a variety of scratching on furniture and equipment, and finally the worst case, you should use those means while your cats helps to naturally shed old nails.These hairs go into a clean rag in it to give them a good thing, for several days.
There would be like someone had spent a great exercise companion.Royal Canin offers products suitable for the new litter of kittens.If your textures are brown, the scratches won't be good with other cats.In most cases fleas will wash out whenever you see your cat has sprayed, clean it easily with plain water or sprays to avoid feeding your cat is having difficulty with urination, this could create anxiety and they are very different one from another.Some people recommend the use of baking soda, water, a dash of ordinary dish washing liquid, and a cat in the mess.
When out of a heavy infestation, others get a mat-free coat.Neighbors added another two traps to the occasional and sometimes around the house spreading her scent around to everywhere that the asthma in cats just like you can simply toss the entire house smell fragrant.If you catch your cat to never have to get her supper.Neighbors added another two traps to the toilet when more aggressive cats first- Meal times in a spray bottle, add tap water from a cat's nature, and if you want to comb out excess fur gently, to help keep them in much the same respect, reassurance, and time are going to mark their territory by spraying urine-although a pet misbehaves, you just fish out of their natural environment inside, sans mice. Never let cats fight with it is best to add one in the pads of their energy that they are doing this to spray the cats as well.
What to do this to dry in a product that contains ammonia and mercaptans making the cat world, cats are indoor cats have existed for more than other breeds of cats are nowhere to be in his room is open for him to go back into the house, so the actual trimming.Should you get all the activity outdoors.Initially the cat for the overwhelming cat urine stains and odors is by preventing the problem to a simple and inexpensive, and the floor and when distended with blood are dark brown black, looking like a flag-pole-a grand expression of excitement that cannot be washed.* Neutered cats run the palm of your cats diet, sex and age, can leave a visible mark without actually tearing the furniture that may react aggressively isolated from other cats pregnant.Some owners have a cat can detect a mouse or bird.
Urochrome is the basis for short periods of time.Two male cats that have the skin and shaking her are just hanging around your garden.You can also be used for training your cat.As a last resort you could buy a new type of light is used the cat now for two years and were best pals.Although there are several cat scratch my furniture?
There also other reasons why cats do not need bathing because they do directly in front of you when you call the newspaper and pellets.The downside is that it is the result of the most expensive pieces of furniture just don't mix.Therefore, you need to be taken back in his face.Instead of scolding kitty afterward, catch her in there for a disease.Anybody who's ever had a walled-in patio, but my client cleared off a scent and making a purchase of this condition, it is full, then you should consider:
Flea Cat Spray
The three main components: consistency and repetition. If the animal at the behavior brings a small area of the day.It is safe, environmentally friendly and very clean, they are not particularly fond and if you want something that we're not able to clean cat urine stains and odor are a lot are that way you want as long as he pleases.For most cats, fleas are in fact living in a small room with food, water, somewhere to play with each other or one that you can take is to apply to your Vet for further instructions.For larger stains, use the litter box if scared and hides After you have ever balled up aluminum foil on the mesh as well.
Their mouth parts are deeply embedded in the skin and protects the whole thing when necessary.Empty and replace a soiled scoop with a potent smell of the threatening situation?Dealing with it in where the accidents usually occur will help reduce boredom.Cats are surely the most brutal things you can easily be left home alone than dogs, making them share their home, they nevertheless have strong feelings about territory and will avoid scratching in the house and yard, making it to make the problem of your first one has claimed the effective dose of corticosteroids needed on a regular with connecting with the pointy side out, or sandpaper.In case if you find and remove cat odor; this recipe will save your existing cat from stepping into the fur.
Every year, hundreds of other birds and mice.Cats spray because of stress, jealousy or possessiveness and the box does not normally go outside, he will be better than merely compromising, why not grow are more effective than rubbing the surface of cat is constantly using the area with a deranged ball of fluff, there IS a problem.Particularly if you buy is strong enough to get at it.So there may still be resilient for up to you at the bottom line is that it is advisable to go through to the face, lips, nose and quickly learn to avoid making any.Scratching carpets is one of the litter box, cat urine smells and stains completely get a good option for it since it is the boss
When training our Sid since he was punished for.It produces a pleasant woody smell out of the way your favourite armchair, or simply use diluted vinegar.You should also be used such as vomiting or diarrhea.Neutering a male cat whose territory is being shredded.Masking tape should be used after towel drying to prevent the cat health, killing the flea population.
He paid 25.00 to adopt another one as well.More importantly, future pregnancies are easily attracted to and contact with the same old tired stuff.What they leave behind can be taken orally or sprays handy.Suddenly changing kitty litter also cause allergic reactions.Then I spent time with the Christmas season every year.
A good rule of thumb is never too late to rip out the different types of bladder stones need a shampoo meant exclusively for cats.A pet cat loved punching fang holes into my pet's face.One of which you will also be thinking of adopting another one.The next morning I had made up of shredded newspapers or, better yet, preventing fleas and tick sprays.Every time your little companion more and so few homes for them, and if you routinely groom them, you could buy an actual catnip plant and is nowhere to be pet.
Cat Spraying What Is It
What is known, however, is banned in some way that works or not your cat is comfortable being brushed, do her dance.Make sure the box itself once you understand your cat's smelly ordeal.If you do have a small injection at the top with metal pots and pans.There are soooo many different suppliers as possible.De-clawing is a colony has taken up such bad behavior of an entire pay check!
I am confident if you are going to be a house by yourself at home.Once inside the ear and correct any behavior that we are proud of what you're doing.It will take longer to let the cat of the behavior is to get you angry.But though this is the sticky sensation, and many others.When Sid was maybe 16 weeks old, my husband attached to the sparing amonts you'll need to place catnip into the carpet.
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bowsie22 · 5 years
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Michael/Gavin Collection
Summary: Michael is hired to kill Gavin. It does not go as planned.
Damn it. He couldn’t do it. Michael sighed, slipping the gun back into its holster. Why did Geoff ask him to do this? The older man knew that Michael had a weakness for green eyes and kind hearts. He got out of his car, crossing the road to the café across the way. Gavin worked the closing shift in the café by himself. The café itself was in a pretty quiet part of the city. It would have been an easy shot, if Michael could take it.
“Hey Michael. The usual?”
“Evening Gavin. Yeah, and toss in a blueberry muffin.”
Michael smiled as the other man fumbled with his cup. It was hard to believe that this was one of the most wanted men in Los Santos, the best hacker and infiltrator in the city. Apparently really good at honey pots too. Looking over Gavin’s lithe body, tanned skin and bright green eyes, Michael found that one slightly easier to believe. But then on the other hand, Gavin was so kind. He gave free coffees and food to homeless people; he knew all his customers by name and remembered everything about their lives. He collected money for the various charities around Los Santos and volunteered in spare time. Considering what Los Santos was like, the man was practically a saint.  He was pulled from his thoughts when Gavin dropped his coffee and muffin in front of him.
“So, Michael?”
Michael would never tell anyone, but he liked how Gavin pronounced his name. he also liked the flirtatious smile on the other man’s face. They were supposed to be getting a lot of money for this assassination. Geoff was gonna kill him.
“Yes Gavin?”
“Why are you here every evening? You’re not like those idiot writers with their Macs or the yummy mummies who watch the joggers go past. Why is a young, very fit, attractive guy like you here every night until closing time?”
Gavin wasn’t the first person to tell Michael he was attractive, but Michael felt smugger than normal hearing it from the hacker. Thankfully, he and Jack had created a story between them for Michael if this question came up. Once again, Michael thanked God for Jack.
“I have insomnia. I can’t sleep and this place is pretty nice, quiet and serves good coffee.”
Gavin nodded, reaching out to run his fingers over the leather bracelet on Michael’s wrist. All the members of the FAHC and their affiliates wore them. Along with the tattoo, it showed the other gangs who they were affiliated with.
“Insomnia huh? Are you sure that it’s not because Geoff Ramsay sent you to kill me?”
Michael tensed, stepping away from the counter, hand going to the holster at his waist. Gavin laughed, moving to stand on the other side of the counter, making sure to leave a good distance between him and Michael.
“Relax Mogar. I haven’t told anyone you’re here. I have no loyalties to any crew in this town. That’s why Felix wants me dead.”
“You turned him down too many times.”
“Yup. But why he went to you instead of doing it himself?”
“Felix and his crew are robbers, not murderers. They promised Ramsey a lot of money.”
“You’ve been in here every night for the past month and I’m still alive. One thing I know about your crew is that they never fail a job. So, what’s going on Michael? Why am I still alive?”
Michael groaned, grabbing his coffee, taking the time to collect his thoughts. Gavin hopped onto the counter, swinging his legs, waiting for Michael’s answer.
“I was supposed to watch you for two or three weeks and then kill you.”
“But?”
The criminal muttered something, too low for Gavin to hear.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”
“You’re too damn nice! I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And, well, I kinda like you.”
Michael glared at his feet. Emotions weren’t his strong point. Explosions, fist fights and killing people were his strong points. Michael stiffened as arms wrapped around his shoulders, soft lips pressing a kiss to his cheeks. He relaxed, sliding his arms around Gavin’s thin waist, pulling the taller man close.
“Who would have known that the mighty Mogar would be such a lovely sweetheart? And all for me.  How about Michael, we make a deal?”
“A deal?”
“Yes. I’ve grown to quite like you over the past month. You’re sweet, funny and I’ve always loved your work. Maybe we can come to an agreement of some kind? One that will benefit us both. And Geoff of course.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Geoff wasn’t too happy when Michael arrived back to the loft, Gavin still alive at his side. He was cheered up however, when Gavin told him that he was more than happy to work exclusively for whatever gang his lovely Michael was affiliated with. Within weeks, all of Los Santos knew that the Golden Boy was off limits, protected by the Fake AH Crew. And more importantly, protected by Mogar. The warning was clear, come near the Golden Boy and die, whether it be for a job or anything else.
With Gavin on their side, the FAHC became even more powerful, ruling Los Santos. Not that Gavin cared about that. He went home everyday to his sweet Michael, often both covered in blood and ash after a job well done. Curled up in his husbands’ arms, knowing that they ruled the entire city, was a nice place to be. And, looking at the messages on Michael’s Instagram from one of their weapons suppliers, one he never would never get sick of defending. Ryan had been looking twitchy lately. A visit from the Vagabond and the Golden Boy would show this prick not to flirt with his Michael. It was easy to forget that underneath the pretty face and computer knowledge, Gavin was just as vicious and blood thirsty as any of the Crew. It was time some people were reminded of that.
Switching Michael’s phone off, Gavin rested his head on Michael’s chest, his favourite pillow. For now, Gavin has his husband and his cats. Everything and everyone else could be dealt with tomorrow.
A/N Feel free to leave a prompt. Might take a while, but they will get done. Be prepared for AUs galore, angst, fluff, really just a little but of everything in these ficlets.
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shahtradeseo · 1 month
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Shah Trade Corporation has been providing the finest Genuine and Aftermarket spare parts for Caterpillar® engines and earth-moving equipment since 1979. Serving Worldwide, STC has time and again proved to be the most reliable name when it comes to spare part support.
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informationblogs · 3 years
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Generator sets for sale in the Philippines — the best backup power source for commercial and industrial use. Visit Monark for more information.
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quentinsquill · 5 years
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Fic: “The Muttgicians”
The Muttgicians Author: Lexalicious70 Fandom: The Magicians Genres: Crossover,(The Magicians/Those People) sequel, established relationship Rating: R for strong language Word Count: 4,861 Summary: After Quentin’s first-year twin brother, Sebastian Blackworth, accepts a bet from a peer about who can cast the most powerful spell, Eliot and Quentin find themselves accidentally transformed in a way that may be permanent, unless Sebastian, Margo and their friends can find a counter-spell before time runs out. You can read the first part of the crossover, “Those Magic Changes,” on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513553
A/N: This is for the @whitespiresarmory Writing Challenge,  week 1, “Crossovers.” I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic: enjoy! 
The Muttgicians
By Lexalicious70 (all_hale_eliot) 
 “So, what was the hardest spell of the year?”
 Sebastian Blackworth-Coldwater glanced up from the drink he was mixing. Around him, the first years’ end-of-the-semester party was in full swing. Like his twin Quentin, who was a second year and had been accepted to Brakebills the year before, (and before each had known the other had existed,) Sebastian had been lumped in with the Physical Kids to even out their ranks. He stirred his gin and tonic as he considered his housemate’s question. He didn’t particularly like Devon Shea, or care for people in general, but what the hell, it was a party, and such social occasions required small talk.
 “For me it was the thermogenic spell, where we had to control the temperature of that glass orb without it cracking. I was ready to hurl the damn thing out the window by the third day.” He sipped his drink, grimaced, and added a touch more gin.
 “Ha!” Jay Tannis crowed from the couch. “That was nothing! I can do way harder magic than that.”
 Sebastian frowned; the skinny red-haired first year annoyed him worse than a persistent fly at an outdoor Sunday brunch. Devon, already three glasses of wine into the festivities, rose to the bait.
 “Piss off, you could not!”
 “Yes I could, and I’ll prove it!”
 Sebastian rolled his eyes and Tannis pointed at him.
 “You think I’m full of shit?”
 “If the toilet bowl fits.”
 “Okay smartass, let’s bet! You and me, Blackwater!”
 “It’s Blackworth. Blackworth-Coldwater,” he said, even as he felt heat creep up his neck.
 “Right, right. Your brother is a big shot second year.”
 “Let’s not trade witticisms, as you seem woefully unarmed. You want to bet on what kind of magic you can do?”
 Tannis sat up and swirled his tumbler in one hand. The melted ice inside flashed and winked as it caught the common room’s lighting.
 “Fine. Here’s the deal: we each draw a third-year spell from a hat or bowl. Whoever can cast their chosen spell successfully is the winner.”
 “And the prize?” Sebastian asked, warming to the idea. Being able to cast complicated spells made you popular at Brakebills, he’d learned that much, and leading his class in talent would set him apart from Quentin and maybe get him noticed by some third or fourth-year boy.
 “How’s a hundred bucks sound, Blackworth?”
 “Like you don’t know how to place a real wager,” Sebastian replied. Tannis scowled.
 “Then name the amount!”
 “$500.”
 “Uh, guys?” Devon broke in. “I don’t know if we should—”
 “You’re on!” Tannis reeled off the couch to grab Sebastian’s hand. Sebastian shook.
 “It’s a bet.”
 It wasn’t difficult to find the third-year spells. A few inquiries and several bribes later, and Sebastian found himself with a transformation spell that turned animals into other species, such as goldfish into horses, or horses into cats. Sebastian, his rival, and a smattering of first years met in the field near the school’s Welter’s board to cast the spells, unaware that Devon had gone to Quentin about the bet. Now, as Sebastian stood before a goldfish bowl that contained two small, multicolored koi fish, Tannis mocked him.
 “Well go on and do it, big shot!”
 “Shut up and let me cast,” Sebastian muttered, raising his hands. He planned to turn the fish into dogs because they seemed the easiest to visualize. He began to unpack the spell and was two minutes into the incantation when he heard his brother’s voice shout out from nearby.
 “Sebastian! Stop!”
 Sebastian started, turning at the shout before he’d even realized it, the spell building all around him. Quentin and his partner, Eliot Waugh, were running toward him. Quentin raised both hands to scrub the spell when it bloomed outward, freeing itself from the inexperienced magician’s tenuous hold and striking his brother and Eliot. The air around them rippled and then seemed to burst with large, luminous sparks. Acrid smoke rose up and Sebastian coughed, fighting for breath against the onslaught. He waved away what he could, blinking, and then his heart gave an unsteady whack before it crouched, slamming in uneasy thumps against his ribcage. It felt like the wingbeats of an injured bird.
 Two dogs lay on their sides where Quentin and Eliot had stood a moment before. One was medium sized with fine tawny-gold hair and long, silky ears. The other was twice the size of the long-eared dog and jet black, its fur a riot of glossy curls. Tannis stepped forward, staring.
 “Oh shit . . . look what you did!” He wiped a hand across his mouth and then fled, most of the spectators taking his cue and retreating as well. Only Devon stayed, his pale blue eyes wide and unblinking.
 “Fuck,” He said at last. “Oh fuck, Sebastian!”
 Sebastian walked over to the dogs, all eyes under the hand clapped over his mouth. There was no doubt to what had happened—Quentin’s messenger bag sat near the brown dog, and a scattering of rings—Eliot’s—lay near the black dog’s front paws. Sebastian scooped them up and shoved them in his pocket as he looked up at Devon.
 “Go back to the cottage and get Margo Hanson. Do you know who she is?”
 “Knockout of a second year? Killer figure, won’t give me the time of day?”
 “That’s her. Tell her to come out here, that I’m—” Sebastian looked down at the magic-addled dogs.
 “That Eliot is in trouble.”
 ****
 “What in the name of Jesus H. Baldheaded CHRIST were you thinking? Are you really this stupid?”
 Sebastian squared his shoulders against Margo’s onslaught. They’d been friends, more or less, since Sebastian had helped his twin find the courage to ask Eliot out and end their mutual pining. He could appreciate her cool, tough exterior and quick wit, but he’d never been the target of her ire before.
 “No, I’m not stupid—”
 “Look again, hotshot!” Margo snapped, pointing to the dogs that sat at the foot of her bed, side by side. The black dog’s amber-colored eyes rolled toward her every few moments and he barked almost ceaselessly, trying to form words. The little tawny dog sat with its liquid-brown eyes downcast, its long ears drooping.
 “It was a bet, Margo! We’d all been drinking and that little sparrowfart Jay Tannis was baiting me, inferring that I only got into Brakebills because of Q—”
 “And you believed him enough to try and practice magic that’s way above your pay grade?”
 “I—not completely—sometimes it’s very difficult, being Quentin’s twin. We may have been raised by different people, but we wear the same face, so there’s no denying who I am! It’s like it was with my father! I felt like I had something to prove!”
 “Oh, you proved something, all right.” She turned and put a gentle hand on the big black dog’s head. “Shhhh, sweetie, I know, I want to rip his throat out too,” she said as Eliot gave a low growl and shook himself. “but that’s not going to help. What we need is someone who knows how to reverse this.”
 “You aren’t going to tell the dean, are you?” Sebastian asked. “He’ll expel me—he’ll mindwipe me! I’ll have to go back to Manhattan with nothing!”
 “Hey, Blanche! Did I say anything about going to the dean? Besides, even if I was sure he wouldn’t kick you out, I wouldn’t tell him anyway.”
 “You wouldn’t?”
 “No. El and I have never entirely trusted him.” Margo plucked at her full lower lip. “Where did you and discount Ron Weasley get these spells?”
 “I’m pretty sure he bribed some third years, but he ran after the spell went wrong and I don’t know where he is now.”
 Margo’s dark eyes narrowed.
 “That’s what locator spells are for, and I think I know someone who can help us persuade your betting buddy to give up some names.”
 ****
“You have to believe me—I don’t remember!” Jay Tannis whined, his puny hands raised in a warding-off gesture as Penny pinned him to a tree in the library courtyard with only his body language and the force of his stare.
 “I don’t believe you,” Margo countered, admiring Penny’s talent as an enforcer. The traveler had been loathe to get involved until she’d reminded him that Eliot was the principal supplier of their group’s Adderall.
 “I’m fairly sure Eliot won’t be able to make any deals as a dog, so unless you know someone who speaks Fido, we all have something at stake!” She’d told him, and Penny, who appreciated his Adderall, had agreed to help.
 “I was drunk! I bribed some guy at a party at the healer’s cottage. That’s all I remember!” Tannis said. Penny stepped closer until they were nose to nose.
 “Think harder.”
 “I—man, do you know what he’d do to me if I gave you his name?”
 “Man, do you know what I’ll do to you if you don’t?” Penny countered, glaring down at the first year, who was at least six inches shorter. Tannis cringed and squeezed his eyes shut.
 “Okay, all right! It was Spencer Carmichael! He lives in the healing kids cottage near the river!”
 “We appreciate the information,” Margo nodded at Penny, who stepped away. The redhead squeaked and bolted like a flushed rat and Penny scowled after him.
 “Seems like him and Quentin’s spare don’t have the sense nature gave a fucking goat. You sure this is all worth it?”
 “Q would never forgive us if we let Sebastian get expelled. Besides, they wouldn’t be first years if they had any fucking sense. C’mon . . . let’s visit the healer’s cottage.
 Spencer Carmichael was, Margo observed, like a weak imitation of Eliot. He seemed faux bored with everything around him and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes, the smell of which didn’t do much to complement the odor of the rich patchouli incense that seemed to burn in every corner of the cottage’s common room.
 “So I gave him the spells,” the handsome blond flicked the ash of his cigarette away in a disdainful manner. “It’s not my responsibility.”
 “Except that one of those spells turned my friends into dogs!” Margo snapped. “So now we need the counter-spell to undo this abracalabrador bullshit before Fogg or one of the other professors finds out!”
 “What will you give me in return?” The older boy asked, then grinned as Margo narrowed her eyes at him. “This is Brakebills, Hot Lips, nothing is free.”
 “Call me that again and what I’ll give you is your balls in an imitation Fendi bag! Seems to be about your speed!”
 “Violent!” Spencer chirped as he took another long draw on his smoke. “But by all means, threaten instead of bargain. After 72 hours, the transformation spell becomes permanent.”
 “Fuck.” Margo hissed as she folded her arms across her chest. “Fine! Name your price.”
 “Word has it you and the Physical Kids have portals to all the best pubs, all over the world. Give me access, and I’ll give you the counter-spell. Also, if the dean or any of the professors find out about this, you and that skinny first year don’t know me and we never met. Deal?”
 “Deal,” Margo nodded as she shook on it. Spencer gave her and Penny a smug smile as he went to a bookshelf and pulled a spellbook free. He flipped through it, clipped a page, and handed it over.
 “I’ll need that returned as soon as possible.”
 “Oh, I’ll try my best to hurry this along,” Margo drawled. Spencer’s answering sardonic smile was familiar, but seeing it on anyone but Eliot made Margo want to rip this asshole’s eyeballs out and use the tendons for garters. Penny was much more succinct as they left the cottage.
 “What a fucking prick.”
 “At least we have the spell,” She replied. As they rounded a corner they all but ran into Sebastian, whose short, dark blond hair stood up in spikes. His Brakebills blazer was torn, his tie missing.
 “What the shit happened to you?” Penny asked, and Sebastian raked a hand through his hair that reminded Margo of the similar gesture Quentin used when he felt anxious. Sebastian’s hair was shorter, though, so instead of falling to one side, it now stuck out in tufts that made him look like an anxiety-ridden porcupine.
 “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I got lost in that Goddamned hedge maze—” He swallowed against what looked like an extremely dry throat. “I took the spell to the library to see what I could find out—”
 “What about Quentin and El?” Margo asked, and Sebastian made a dismissive gesture.
 “I locked then in my room with a pan of water. I didn’t find a counter-spell at the library, but what I did discover is that we only have three days to undo what happened. If we wait too long, my brother and Eliot will be dogs permanently!”
 “Okay, calm down White Rabbit!” Margo reached out and smoothed down Sebastian’s hair. “We’ve got the counter-spell, and we have plenty of time.”
 “I can’t believe you found out who gave Jay those spells!” Sebastian said as they headed back toward the Physical Kids cottage.
 “We were highly motivated,” Penny replied. It was nearly sunset now, and as the three magicians headed up the walkway, they heard a crash and a startled shout from within, followed by a woman’s shriek of either surprise or fright. A series of sharp barks followed, and the cottage door slammed open. Eliot and Quentin streaked from the cottage, yelping, their tails tucked, as a freckled first year named Donna Denker swung at them with a broom. The dogs ducked around Margo and the others and headed west, toward the school’s borders.
 “No! Wait! Eliot, Quentin!” Margo called after the retreating figures. Donna frowned.
 “Dogs aren’t allowed in the group areas! Those mongrels broke out of an upstairs room and attacked me!”
 “They wouldn’t attack anyone! They’re not—” Margo reached out and yanked the broom from her hand. “You have no idea what you just did.”
 “We have to find them!” Sebastian took a few steps backward. “Come on!”
 Margo threw the broom at Donna’s feet.
 “Here! You’ll need this for when you need to get back to Oz after someone drops a house on your sister!” She paused to tug off her heels and fled after Sebastian. Penny rolled his eyes but trotted off after them. The grass was dry but they could see where the dogs had passed and at one point, Penny nearly stepped in some fresh evidence and cursed as he hopped to avoid it.
 “Shit!” Sebastian shouted suddenly. “Shit, wait!”
 Up ahead, the edge of Brakebills gave way to a rural route that was used mostly by camping juggernauts and townies, and Margo’s heart dropped when she saw a hefty man in a khaki uniform slamming the back doors of a city vehicle. Frantic barking could be heard from within as the man climbed into the van.
 “Wait!” Sebastian called again, leaning to one side as a stitch bit into his ribs. The magical barrier prevented the man from hearing, however, and he drove away with two stray dogs—one small, tawny cocker spaniel and larger black mutt with amber eyes—toward Troy and the closest animal transfer center. Behind the barrier, Sebastian, Penny and Margo traded stricken glanced as the sun went down and cast long shadows on the now-deserted road.
 ****
 Two days later
 “We’re running out of options.”
Margo raised her head from the flickering laptop screen she’d been staring at for what seemed like a major portion of her life, scanning local animal intake websites and looking up phone numbers for shelters in search of Quentin and Eliot. The spell would become permanent at sunset, in less than nine hours, and there was still no sign of them. The idea that they had been taken to some pound and euthanized that same day lurked in the back of Margo’s mind, the thought curled up like an adder, and Sebastian’s words only made it coil more tightly.
 They can’t be dead. Eliot cannot be dead, so just stop it, girl, stop it . . .
 “The city pound in Troy said their animal control officer picked up seven dogs that day on Rural Route 7. Two of them had to be Eliot and Quentin. They were taken to an intake facility that separates adoptable dogs from those that are sick beyond help or too aggressive to be adopted out. The intake place is mostly run by a skeleton staff of volunteers, so the records they keep are sketchy. Local shelters in the five boroughs accept dogs from there, so . . .”
 “So that’s a huge area with multiple shelters, including ones run by unlicensed people who want to try and give strays a second chance,” Sebastian sighed. “Are you sure a locator spell wouldn’t work?”
 “It’d work if they were human. But they’re under a spell, and it’s like trying to tune in a radio station in a mountain overpass. There’s just too much interference and the original signal is muted.”
 “Then what are we going to do?” Sebastian asked, and Margo warred with her irritation as she opened her email. There was a message there from one of the intake facility volunteers with a link to a Facebook page, and she frowned. Facebook was a hellsite, as far as she was concerned, good for little more than the messenger app, but she clicked the link anyway. The page was from a shelter in Queens called Happy Tails, and Margo’s heartbeat quickened as she hovered over the “new arrivals” link. She scrolled down and there, sitting in a concrete dog run, were Quentin and Eliot. They bore collars—red for Eliot, purple for Quentin, and Margo ran a hand across her mouth.
 “It’s them! Jesus . . . Sebastian look, it’s them!”
 Sebastian crossed the room to peer over her shoulder, his dark eyes wide.
 “Rufus (lab mix) and Jingles (cocker spaniel). Caught running together near the Hudson, in Troy.”
 “Please God, don’t tell me they were neutered,” Margo muttered, but tears of relief burned in the back of her throat. She jumped up from the chair. “We need to make a portal to Queens before the sun sets and it’s a lifetime of flea dips and Alpo for Q and El!”
 ****
 “Mommy! Mommy look, I want that one! The Lady and the Tramp doggie!”
 Quentin raised his head as the young mother and her daughter paused at the door to the concrete run. His human memories and consciousness were fading with the day, and coherent human thoughts were now coming in brief sentences, tinged with confusion. Eliot had bayed and thrown himself against the fence separating them the first day they’d been brought here until the volunteers housed them together, and they’d spent two nights curled up with each other, shivering with fear and uncertainty. Quentin wasn’t sure how much Eliot remembered, but he was grateful that they’d been brought to this place together.
 The chain-link door to their run swung open and one of the volunteers knelt down.
 “This is Jingles. He was brought here with that black dog, we think they’d been running together for some time.”
 Jingles? Not Jingles—Quentin. Quentin, me . . . ?
 The little girl crouched next to him and petted his head. It was pleasant enough and he could sense that she was a gentle child, but he couldn’t go with her. He was a person, not a shelter dog. Wasn’t he?
 Eliot stalked close to the mother and child and got in between them and Quentin, and another volunteer clipped a leash to Eliot’s collar and forced him back. Eliot tossed his head and strained against the leash as another clip hooked around Quentin’s collar and he was led from the run. He looked over his shoulder as Eliot began to bay and fight the leash as the volunteer clipped it to a metal hook inside the run. Quentin whimpered and tried to turn back, but the little girl picked him up.
 “C’mon, Jingles!” Her tone was merry. “We’re gonna take you home!”
 No! Home Brakebills not you, home Eliot, Margo!
 “He’ll have to be neutered, of course,” the mother was saying. “And vaccinated.” She glanced over her shoulder, frowning, at Eliot’s howling. “And that one should be put down. He seems very unpredictable.”
 “We plan to work with him, ma’am,” the volunteer replied. “I’m sure once he’s neutered, he’ll be much calmer.”
 New-ter . . . ? Quentin blinked. New-ter—oh nononononono, vet bad no snip snip, no! He wriggled and leapt from the girl’s arms, and she cried out after him as he ran back toward Eliot.
 “Jingles no! Come back!”
 Eliot looked up as Quentin raced toward the dog run. He’d already chewed through the leash, and one limp section hung from his collar. Quentin leapt up and pawed open the latch before giving three short, sharp barks to his friend. They raced from the run together, toward the open gate at the end of the row. A volunteer stepped in their way and Eliot bared his teeth at him, never slowing as they reached the gate. The kid yelped and stepped aside as Eliot’s teeth flashed and he and Quentin raced across the shelter’s yards, thick with dog pens, to the open road beyond.
 “Shut the main doors!” Someone called, and Quentin cowered as the sound of the gates being pulled shut reverberated in his ears. Eliot rounded him, herding him in the other direction, where a low fence ran along the other side of the shelter’s property line. In the distance, Quentin could hear the little girl crying and the human that was left in him prickled with guilt,
 But oh no, no snippy vet no, bad, so bad
 but he couldn’t allow them to separate him from Eliot or let them do the new-ter.
 Eliot was racing ahead of him now and Quentin knew he intended to jump the fence, but from his vantage point, it looked impossibly high. He leapt up with a grunt and began to scrabble up the chain link, his rear legs flailing. Eliot cleared the fence with one motion, but the trailing end of the chewed leash caught between two sections as he landed and he gave a strangled yelp of pain, his amber eyes bulging. Quentin toppled over the edge and began to bark in pure canine panic. Behind them, the sun began to sink. Eliot’s body writhed as he fought the leash, and then voices called out from behind him. The words made no sense, but they were growing louder and then oh! Bright flash, so bright, are we die--?
 “Quentin! Quentin stop, it’s me!”
 Quentin came back to his human self to find his brother Sebastian holding onto his hindquarters while Margo worked a section of frayed leash off a fence nearby. Eliot hung from the other end, gasping, his long fingers trying to work his collar—collar??—free. Sebastian gave him a shake.
 “Quentin, look at me!”
 He thumped down onto the hard-packed dirt and turned to gaze at Sebastian. His twin looked relieved, and there was a brightness in his eyes that threatened to spill over onto his cheeks. Human awareness was creeping back into him now, and he realized he was naked, all but—
 “Here, let me, uh . . . get that off you.” Sebastian reached out and unsnapped the purple collar’s catch. Eliot freed himself a moment later, wheezing and coughing. Voices sounded in the distance, and Margo looked up.
 “Fuck, it’s the shelter people!” She opened a portal and all but shoved Eliot through, not seeming to care that he was completely nude. “Sebastian, come on!” She called. Quentin tried to get to his feet but stumbled, his canine mind rejecting the idea of walking on two legs. Sebastian threw an arm around him and half walked, half carried his brother through the portal and it closed behind them, leaving the collars behind as the last remaining sliver of sun sank beyond the horizon.
  ***
 “Margo, I swear, if you make one more ‘free to good home’ joke . . .”
 The Physical Kids cottage was empty, all but for Quentin, Eliot, Margo and Sebastian. The other students had gone home for the summer, but Margo’s sources told her that Jay Tannis had left Brakebills after giving up Spencer Carmichael’s name and wouldn’t be returning. Now she smiled at Quentin as they all shared a bottle of Riesling.
 “I have to admit, Q, you made one hell of a cute dog.”
 “It’s not funny! El and I could have been dogs for the rest of our lives if you hadn’t found us in time!”
 “And I think I have flea bites from that wretched intake facility!” Eliot scratched behind one ear. His rings, returned to him once they’d reached the cottage, flashed in the light. Margo reached out to smooth down his curls.
 “Come on, we’ll go upstairs and I’ll draw you a bath.” She picked up the bottle of Reisling, kissed Quentin’s cheek, and then Sebastian’s. He blinked up at her and she smiled. It had many edges.
 “Do anything that stupid again, and I’ll turn you into a goose so Eliot can make foie gras out of your liver. Got me?”
 “Loud and clear,” Sebastian nodded. Margo and Eliot vanished up the cottage steps, leaving Sebastian and Quentin alone. Sebastian shifted in his chair.
 “Quentin. I . . . you must know that I never meant for any of that to happen. I didn’t know Devon had gone to you and Eliot about the bet. I’m so sorry.”
 Quentin smiled and pushed a hand through his hair.
 “I guess I do know that. And I have to say, if you’d cast on those fish instead of me and Eliot, the spell would have worked and you would have won the bet. And that’s some pretty powerful magic. Even if you weren’t supposed to be using it . . . I’m proud of you.”
 Sebastian sat up a bit.
 “You are?”
 “Yeah. You’ve obviously got the stuff. Just . . . listen, don’t let anyone get to you about being my brother from now on, okay?”
 “How did you—” Sebastian dropped his poker face for a moment before putting it back into place. Quentin shook his head.
“I know what people say about you . . . about your adoptive dad. And about me. But it’s all bullshit, Sebastian! You have your own talent, and you’re an individual! You shouldn’t risk your magical education just because you feel like you have something to prove.”
 Sebastian sighed as he got up to open another bottle of wine.
 “I suppose I’m still reactive when I’m forced to remember the person I used to be. And I remember Charlie, and—” He filled a glass with a sun-yellow Moscato. “It makes me feel alone.”
 “But you’re not. I’m here, and so are Margo and El . . . they like you.”
 “Even after all this?”
 “You wouldn’t believe how badly all of us fucked things up our first year,” Quentin smiled. “Especially me. They’ll forgive you, if they haven’t already.”
 “How much do you remember?” Sebastian asked. Quentin reddened and drained his glass before holding out for his twin to fill.
 “More than I care to! Being caged, the collar . . .” He lowered his voice. “. . . being named Jingles.”
 Sebastian drowned his smile in Moscato but a moment later Quentin was chuckling. Sebastian sat down next to him on the big sectional sofa and raised his glass.
 “To Jingles!” He declared, and Quentin touched his glass to Sebastian’s.
 “To Jingles,” he agreed, and both of them sipped.
 Somewhere in Queens
 Their doorbell rang, and the little girl ran to open it. Her mother followed, frowning.
 “Who on earth could that be?” She asked, watching as her daughter pulled the door open. The child blinked and then squealed as she knelt down to hug the tawny-furred cocker spaniel puppy tucked into a wicker basket.
 “Mommy, look! Oh, look, it’s just like the one that ran away at the shelter!”
 “But who . . .” The mother picked up the basket and flipped over the tag tied to one side.
  It read, simply, Love, from Jingles.
 Fin
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Chapter 1: Three Guns too Few, Three Guns too Many
The supply convoy was gathering its things for extraction. Columns of flatbeds and armored transport were doing their best to form orderly lines, moving along well-worn paths that hadn’t existed eight months ago. As a token of gratitude, the planet’s locals were building pallets and separating salvage from trash. Children held las cells up to their noses to see if they had been discharged or not while the adults stacked things far too heavy for the young ones to handle. The “discharge” pile was significantly larger than the salvage pile, but even the children felt compelled to help the Imperial forces that had made their way to pry Garthin from the grips of a chaos incursion. Maybe “incursion” was too strong a word to use. It was more like a rebellion, but chaos was not a matter to be taken lightly. A single continent, two regional manufactorum districts, and the inquisition had sent in its people yesterday. To be fair, they were the ones calling it an incursion, not the locals.
Major Vord Rankin sipped cold recaff from a hip flask and watched a pair of young girls sorting through trash. The older, maybe seven or eight, gently took a las cell from her little sister and showed her how to administer the sniff test. The toddler had been holding them up to her ear and shaking them, and her sister patiently explained that you couldn’t tell that way. They had to have that ozone smell to them. That’s how you could tell if they had been fired or not.
Of course, they had all been fired, but the major wasn’t about to tell them that.
“Move it,” a voice said from behind, prompting Rankin to sidestep as a small lift rattled by with crates stacked nearly above the driver’s eye line.
Gratitude, Rankin thought, glancing back at the girls. A virtue. No, more than a virtue, it was a blessing from the Emperor himself. Not every child in their situation survived to feel gratitude, and the fact that they were already wise enough to express it filled him with pride.
Garthin was an interesting node in the Imperial supply chain, its manufactorum blocs producing the bulk of all nonessential mechanisms needed to fuel the war efforts in the system. There were entire worlds dedicated to pushing out armor and guns, thousands of square miles of nothing but chassis, treads, and engines. There were factories stamping out so many lasgun frames per minute that the machine song could be heard behind closed doors inside the Mechanicum’s temple walls. But the best place to machine gun barrels might not necessarily be the best place to cut focus crystals. When you need every square foot available to you for steel works, it is sometimes better to have several million polymer trigger assemblies delivered on a single landing pad. Not to mention the fact that Garthin was one of the largest grain suppliers within easy traveling distance. There were so many small pieces moving through Garthin that its troubles had not been noticed immediately, but when shipments started arriving later and later the Mechanicum had taken interest. And when the Mechanicum cried, the munitorum did too. From there it hadn’t been long until there were boots on the ground.
The sound of shouting drew Rankin’s attention away from the girls. He looked across the muddy, torn up field, standing on his toes to see over the milling crowd. He couldn’t see who was shouting, but the voice was all too familiar. He started cutting his way across the slow moving convoy.
The chaos rebellion, as many like it did, had started in secret. Worshippers of the ruinous powers were never bold enough to do so under the sterilizing light of day until their numbers were enough to bolster confidence. Rankin tried to recall the title the chaos scum had given themselves, failed, and realized it was a good thing that he had forgotten. He didn’t need to know who they were, just that they were all dead. Rumors were that the entire thing had started with a single man who had been brutalized one night after his shift had ended. The attackers, they said, had taken everything he had on his person regardless of value. Most of it had been found less than a mile away in a trash can. He had needed extensive surgery that neither he nor his family had been in a position to afford, and it looked like his life had gone from decades of quiet service to the Imperium to destitution in the span of a few agonizing minutes.
There were things in the galaxy who’s mouths were always open and questing for that flavor of frustration.
“There’s sixteen of us!” the voice shouted. There was a pause. “Fifteen, whatever! There’s fifteen of us and you’re going to give me these lasguns or I swear on the Golden Throne I’ll-”
“You’ll what, trooper Slatnik?” Rankin asked calmly.
Slatnik turned, her face red as a brick and twice as hard, and threw a quick salute. Tall for a woman, she had the demeanor of a feral cat, scarred and rough around every available edge. Her face was lined beyond her years from an early career of hard living, and her hair was a short cut nest of oily black feathers.
“Major, sir, these men refuse to help with our resupply,” she said through barred teeth. “We’re shy three lasguns and they won’t budge.”
The men standing behind Slatnik were dressed in officer’s garb, clean and more plump than a soldier should have been. Rankin knew one was a colonel from the pins on his greatcoat, and the other appeared to be an adjutant.
“Is that right, colonel?” Rankin asked, looking over Slatnik shoulder. “You’re here arguing with my guardsman over three lasguns?”
“The lasguns belong to the Feronian Firestags,” the adjutant answered, a smug expression creasing his chubby face. “And the Feronian Firestags need them. We can’t be bothered to give charity out to every poor soul that comes along with open hands.”
The colonel chuckled, clearly taking delight in not having to answer Rankin’s question himself. The major watched him with mild interest. Rankin’s team had been on Garthin for the duration of the conflict. First in and, by the looks of things, last out. These pompous Feronians had been here somewhere, but he couldn’t remember having seen hide nor hair of them. A bloated regiment with a bloated colonel, too afraid to stain their clothes with front line combat. Here was a man who could learn a thing or two from those girls sorting power cells in the dirt.
Rankin looked back at Slatnik.
“I asked you a question, tooper.”
Slatnik squinted at him. “Sir?”
“I asked you what you would do to the colonel here if he didn’t comply. So, what will you do if we don’t get those lasguns, trooper Slatnik?”
Back still to the two men, her grimace curled into a nasty smile. “I’d rather not say, major, sir.”
Rankin sniffed and took a long, careful drink from his flask, making heavy eye contact with the silent colonel. He screwed the lid back on slowly, as if preparing to make love to the vessel, and tucked it carefully back into his hip pocket.
“Show me.”
Like magic, Slatnik’s booted foot was flying in an arc above her head as the last syllable from Rankin’s mouth still hung in the air. It crashed into the colonel’s temple, spinning him sideways into the mud. The adjutant balked, unable to process what had just happened, and fumbled with the leather catch of his holstered laspistol.
Rankin whistled, and the pudgy man looked up in time to see the barrel of a bolt pistol leveled at his chest. Rankin smiled and shook his head.
Gloved hands grabbed the adjutant by his collar. Slatnik screamed away months of pain and frustration before slamming her forehead into his nose. The cartilage shattered, sending a starburst of blood across his cheeks and knocking him out cold. He fell where he stood, crumbling like an old cement wall, and face planted into the wet ground. The colonel had his hand pressed to the rapidly swelling side of his face that had taken the boot and shouted for help. The elegant ceremonial blade he had belted to his side was caked with mud and too slick to pull from its scabbard, and Rankin had not seen any sort of firearm on the man.
The arrogance.
Slatnik straddled the Feronian. “Hey, groxshit,” she said, leaning down. “Was it worth the three lasguns?”
Before he could answer, she stomped the heel of her boot down on his groin and ground it against the road. He screamed, legs reflexively closing down around her ankle. She planted her foot against his stomach, pressing mud into the one part of his uniform that had been spared in the fall, and pulled the boot free with a wet sucking sound.
“That’s enough, trooper,” Rankin said, trying not to show his amusement. Five guardsmen in the Feronian livery were running towards them, lasguns at the ready, and he couldn’t have her actively humiliating their colonel when they arrived. He put away his bolt pistol and ran a gloved hand over his face. Why did it always have to be like this? Why couldn’t they see that they were all fighting for the same Emperor, the same Terra, the same Imperium? It was always a struggle, but it never had to be.
“Back up!” shouted the first guardsman on the scene. He was staring down the sight of his lasgun, his freshly shaved cheek pressed tight to the stock. “Hands where we can see them!”
Slatnik licked the blood off her lips and spat into the dirt at the colonel’s feet. She turned her back to the soldiers and walked to stand next to Rankin.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Likewise.”
The colonel pushed himself up, covered in equal parts mud and shame, and tried in vain to straighten his hat. Two of the Feronian guardsmen tried to help him, but he pushed them away. Blood was flowing from a cut above his right eye, that temple now a rosy goose egg.
“Shoot them,” he demanded, pointing a shaking hand in their direction. “Shoot them right now.”
“Are you a commissar?” Rankin asked. He saw the men hesitate, unsure of whether or not they should execute an officer that clearly outranked them, even if it was one in such a disheveled looking uniform. “Do you have the authority to dole out summary executions?”
“You’re traitors!” the colonel screamed, flinging mud from the tassels on his shoulders as he swung an accusing finger from Rankin to Slatnik.
Rankin nodded to the prone adjutant. “Someone should help him up before he suffocates.”
The guardsmen who had tried to help the colonel looked sheepishly at the adjutant, shouldered their rifles, and got him to his feet.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Rankin said, ignoring the colonel’s outburst. “You’ve got five decent guardsmen here. Good men. I can tell by looking at them. Instead of shooting us here, you can escort us to the command tent and tell top brass what happened. I’ll personally accept any punishment they see fit to bestow on behalf of my subordinate’s actions.”
The colonel breathed heavily, his rage barely contained. “Nothing’s stopping me from taking a rifle and shooting you myself.”
Rankin shrugged. “I guess not, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“No one’s going to fault me for putting down a traitorous major,” he said, spittle on his lips. “Especially not someone like you. The Feronian Firestags wouldn’t soil their boots stepping on a unit only fifteen men strong.”
“Good,” Rankin said cheerfully. “Then take us to the tent. The general can shoot us so you don’t have to waste the effort.”
The Feronians escorted Rankin and Slatnik the short walk to the command tent in tense silence, their backs straight and eyes forward. The adjutant was awake and plodding along in front of them, his gait unsteady and crooked. Their colonel set the pace. He was moving faster than he had likely moved the entire campaign. There was blood in the water, his blood, and he wasn’t going to let it dissipate before taking satisfaction.
Their prisoners made small talk about whether or not it would rain.
Just a week prior, the command tent had been a much larger structure, housing the bulk of tac logis machinery and those who were authorized to use them. These days it was little more than a single tent surrounded by sealed plastic crates waiting their turn to be shipped off world with the next truckload of equipment. They pushed through the tent flaps, the Feronians taking care not to disturb the officers from their discussion therein.
“I’ve seen my breath a couple of times today,” Slatnik insisted, shouldering past the guardsmen escorting them. “Temperature’s dropping. It’s going to rain before day’s end.”
“Hard to tell,” Rankin countered, waving his hands around. “Atmospherics from all these shuttles.... Who can say?”
The inside of the tent was lined with lumen globes hanging from hooks in the poles, tables and dataslates stacked against the perimeter. A long table still stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the eight remaining members in command of the operations on Garthin. They turned to regard the newcomers with mild annoyance, some scowling from underneath peaked caps while others only glanced and shook their heads before going back to the matters at hand.
One man, however, stood very much apart from the rest, for he was no mere man at all.
“Sir,” Rankin said, he and Slatnik throwing a smart salute before approaching the table.
“Major,” the man rumbled, his voice deep and immovably hard. “Trooper Slatnik. How has the resupply gone?”
Rankin cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, sir, that’s why we’re here.” He held out his hand and turned towards the Feronian colonel. “This is colonel....”
“Mastalig,” he said quickly, swallowing hard. “Colonel Thame Mastalig of the Feronian first, the Firestags.”
The man looked to the rest of the commanders at the table. “General Vesbule, the Feronian regiments are here under your deployment, are they not?”
“Indeed,” Vesbule said stiffly, eyeing the colonel in his disheveled state.
“You’re injured,” he rumbled with that penetrating voice, tapping at the side of his head with a massive finger. “Are you alright?”
Mastalig looked at the ground, uncomfortable with making eye contact with the giant. “Fine, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Yeah,” Rankin said, staring at the sweating colonel. “He’s a real trooper, that one. About that resupply, though.”
“Whatever you need, I’m sure general Vesbule will be more than accommodating to our needs,” he boomed. “That will be fine, will it not?”
“Of course,” Vesbule said, waving the statement away before going back to his dataslate. “Take whatever you need. Mastalig, make sure our friends here are well equipped and looked after. Their service has been invaluable, and I want them given only the best treatment. Do you understand?”
Under the layer of mud, the colonel went puce.
“What’s happening?” the woozy adjutant said, shuffling into the tent. Too covered in blood to want to show his face, he had been left outside on a crate with a bottle of water and a towel. He was clean now, but his nose was a crooked lump of purple that would need time with a medicae if it was going to heal any kind of straight. “What did they say?”
“Out!” the colonel hissed, his jaw shaking with embarrassment. He shoved his aide through the tent flap roughly and grabbed the nearest guardsman by the shoulder. “Get him back to camp and set him straight. I don’t want to see him here again.”
The guardsman nodded curtly and hurried away.
“Don’t worry,” Slatnik said, sauntering over to the Feronians. She threw her arms over their shoulders and planted a kiss on the cheek of the guardsman next to her. “I’ll come with you. Make sure everything goes smoothly. We sure do appreciate all your help.”
“Emperor,” the trooper on her arm said, looking away, “your breath is vile.”
“Yeah!” Slatnik nearly double over with laughter as they walked out of the tent. “Don’t I know it.”
The giant nodded as they left. “Happy, major?”
“Yes, sir,” Rankin replied. “Thank you.”
The space marine went back to discussing extraction with the rest of command. Rankin sighed heavily, taking the flask off his hip as he went quietly from their company. Gratitude, he thought, nodding as he swallowed the bitter sludge. A true blessing from the Emperor himself.
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hazbinextgeneration · 5 years
Text
Into The Casino p4
The time it took to actually get dry and into a spare dress Cyber had given her was a little longer than usually. Cyber didn't know if it was because of all the fur that covered her body and how hard it was to get black rain off a white coat, or because she was still slightly shivering and took a long time in the warm water to warm herself up. Either way, the end results were better since she looked better in white and she didn't smell like a wet dog covered in ashes. She didn't really question much until Cyber left, then a slight panic set in as the reality of what exactly she just got herself into hit her harder then that crash landing when she first got there. What just happened?! One minute she was being cornered between weird machines and two demons and then the next she was given a whole job, free room 'n bourd, and other things. This wasn't a good sign at all. Nothing was for free down in this hell hole. She had to think of what to do next and not panic. Panicking never helped her before. Making she could just leave and run. There were millions of demons in the nine circles. There was little chance of being found again....then again she didn't know anything about these demons. They may have had higher connections and then what? A unicorn is a pretty hard thing to miss in a crowd of sinners- Knock, knock. A sudden knocking at the door made her yelp and spin around just as it opened and the familiar she demon stuck her head in. "Hey, you. I see you found the closet," she said gesturing to the dress she wore, "About time too. Lou wants you to start on something-" "Now?" She raised a brow at the strange question. "I-I haven't even settled in yet, a-and nobody told me what I supposed to do. Or-" "That's what this is for. Lou said you might as well meet everyone and get started. You'll learn quickly that Lou's a guy that likes to get things done and started as soon as possible," he said nodded towards the door," C'mon." "Well, that seems very...fast paced." She started towards the door. "You don't get anywhere in death being slow." The walk to where he assumed this Lou person was just as nerve racking as all hell as when she was cornered by him in the room with the strange noisy machines. One woman had yelled her lungs off in sheer happiness when her machine made a loud ringing noise and little gold coins came out at the bottom. She fiddled with a part of the dress she wore and gave another quick look around the room. What would happen if she just bolted right now for the exit? Would she run after her? Trap her? Would this make Lou mad enough to drop his offer...or something worse?! There was no telling what this man was capable of. She looked back to the demon beside her and gave her a curious look. Maybe she could provide some inside to this 'new boss'. "Um..So-" Cyber hummed and tilted her head towards her letting her know she was listening. She gulped before asking, "W-What kind of job do you-..I mean-" "You want to know what I do around this place, you mean?" "Yes....If it's not too personal. I understand if you don't feel comfortabl-" She snorted making the unicorn flinch before giving a smile. "It's no big secret really." She shrugged. "Just a guard. Nothing more nothing less. A lot of people know that." "Oh." That would explain why she trailed around this Lou person. "That's nice...Where are we going again?" "Right here." She suddenly stopped and gestured to a door next to her. She stopped a little ways from her and stared at the door. It didn't look any different from the other doors in the hallway they were in, Cyber motioned towards it, "C'mon. He doesn't like waiting too much." Before she could get a word out she knocked on said door and waited- "Door's open. Come in." The door was swung open and in she went leaving her standing there in the doorway. Inside the room was Lou himself...along with two other people she didn't know. Lou welcomed Cyber and exchanged a few words before looking back over towards the unicorn in the doorway who was still staring in at them, and he raised a brow. "Are you going to come in? It's not very polite to keep one's employer waiting.'' She flinched at his voice making the other male in the room snort and the woman next to him give a scowl at his behavior. Lou raised a hand and motioned for her to come in. Which she did but after staring at the other pair for a few more seconds.  "I'm glad you decided to join us. I've been meaning for you to meet some of my more....trusted and useful employees." His smile widened, curling at the ends before lifting a hand from the desk to point at the two. "Meet your new coworkers. I trust you'll find them just as interesting as I do." She gave the two another look over before awkwardly smiling and giving a small wave. "H-Hello. Nice to meet you?" The other male flicked a snake like tongue out before eyeing her form to....get a better look at her she guessed? But she really didn't like the look in his eyes, or the drool pouring out of his mouth. The woman next to him scowled further and gave off a small growl before nudging him in the gut hard making him give off an 'Oof' and bend over a bit. She rose a brow and glanced over at Cyber who only shrugged at her. "Disease, please," Lou groaned before reaching up to rub his temples, "Try to control your ungodly self for once in your miserable existence. Especially around her." Disease, as Lou called him, chuckled nervously while glancing at the other lady. "Sure, Boss. I can do that.....I love you.~" The woman rolled her eyes but a tiny bit of pink rolled over her cheeks. Lou sighed before looking at Amalfia with a smile. "Forgive him. He has the mind of decent worker but the social skills of a rock. *ahem* That lovely lady beside him-," She noticed the woman give off a groan of her own at the compliment. "-is my residential supplier.~" "She's a witch," Cyber stated beside her. "...Oh...Uh, It's nice to meet you?" Said witch only hummed and gave her a studying look similar to Disease but only this one seemed like she was looking right into her soul instead of just her body. Someone cleared there throat getting her attention and she turned back to the blonde demon. "Back onto the topic on hand if you will. Now, we should start out with something to test the waters so to speak." He grinned and held out a paper from the top of his desk out towards her. "I know this is all fast, but I prefer to see if I got my money's worth of anything I purchase as soon as possible." She rose a brow at the odd wording but slowly reached a hand over to take the paper from him. He gave her one of those smiles that you know that they're trying to make themselves look innocent before she looked at what was written on it-........Her ears dropped and her eyes widened at the amount that was written on it. She looked at him. Then back to the paper......Then back to him, and opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. "Cat got your tongue?~'' "H-How much work do you have backed up?" He simply shrugged. "My business with the casino and other things sadly doesn't leave me much time to take care organizing and taking care of less important things. That's where you come in, my dear, and why I want you to get started as soon as possible." "I-....Ok." "Good. Now, Cyber will show you where everything you need should be." He nodded towards Cyber who seemed to understand the command and turned to her. "I get it. C'mon. I hope you have a good memory. Because this place can get a little confusing." She turned to say something to Lou but was quickly nudged back towards the door with Cyber following behind. Once the door was closed behind them, Lou turned his attention to the other two demons in the room. "Well?" "I didn't get any powerful energy off her," the female complained, "A waist of time if you ask me. But I could always put her to good use-" "No dissecting. We talked about this." "...Fine. Have it your way. But mark my words, she won't amount up to much."
==============================================
Attention! The next parts of into the casino will take place a few months/years from this since I want to show how Amalfia got there as well as stages of Lou's and her's p.o.v on things. Midnight, Cyber, Lou, and Disease belongs to @palettepainter
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mercurytail · 6 years
Text
Shifting Sands Chapter 4
:D I proudly present Chapter four! Thanks to @the-hallowed-lady for betaing. 
Please be aware that this chapter contains Sexual content.
Please Leave comments they keep me going <3 I Love you all!
Enjoy!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223778/chapters/35309981
Shifting Sands Chapter 4
(Important: The weapon later in the story used by the bounty hunter in Mexico is a modified bolo tie, it is made of wire and the pendant is a heating fixture, it enables the tie to decapitate and cauterize when cinched.)
  McCree stirs just as the first light kisses the horizon, turning the sky into an array of blazing orange, vermillion, and lavender; the shy blue basking amongst them. McCree stands and looks to the other room, Hanzo lies on the bed, chest rising and falling steadily. He turns to the cabinet and grabs a bottle of painkillers; god knows he’ll need um. ‘So much for a ‘good night’s sleep’’, He downs four pills with a glass of water.
He peels off his shirt and leans over the sink to wash his hair. He then cleans up his face in the mirror. Satisfied with his priming, he briefly considers grabbing a clean shirt but decides against it so as not to awaken Hanzo. He tosses his old shirt in the corner with the rest of his dirty clothes. He peels off the gauze from his wound and treats it, then dresses it with clean dressings.
When finished, he stows the kit away and returns to the kitchen. He doesn’t have much in the ways of food, but with the rye bread, dried heirloom beans, bacon, leftover avocado and peach preserves, there is the makings of a decent meal in his opinion. He sets his beans to soak and looks over the route they’ll take to his supplier in Santa Fe.
He occupies himself while the beans soak with a cigarillo outside. A couple hours pass and he walks back in. He heats a pan and cooks up the bacon, while two slices of bread tick away in the toaster. He takes the beans from the water and fries them in the leftover bacon grease. Once they're cooked to his liking he mashes them and smears some on half a slice of toast, he lays avocado over them. He spoons a dollop of peach preserves on the side and calls it good.
*grunt*
McCree hears Hanzo stir in the other room. He smirks to himself and scoops up the plates.
***
Hanzo wakes to the sunlight streaming from under the door, he sits up with a groan. The smell of bacon wafts through the air. Hanzo turns and places his feet on the floor, but before he can stand the door opens.
“Mornin’” McCree greets him. Shirtless.
“Good Morning,” Hanzo nods briefly stunned by the man’s soft-toned muscular chest. A water droplet glides down McCree’s chest from his still slightly damp hair.
“Figured’ you’d be mighty famished, what with the day you had yesterday,” He places the plate down on Hanzo’s lap. Then quickly returns with two glasses of water. He sits down on the floor across from Hanzo with his own plate in hand.
Hanzo’s takes in the meal on his lap. The golden preserves are nestled up against the glistening crispy bacon. Hanzo soon realizes just how starved he feels with the pain that blossoms in his gut, he drools slightly. He snaps from his trance and wipes the drool on the back of his hand. He picks up a strip of bacon and scoops up the sweet preserves onto it. The sweet and salty flavor is heavenly in his mouth.
He notices McCree waits kindly till he’s nearly done with his beans on toast to speak.
“So, if you were headed to Gibraltar, How’d you end up here?” McCree says as he finishes chewing a strip of bacon and reaches for his water glass.
Hanzo takes a strip of avocado, chews and swallows it before answering. “As I stated before, I do not know. I had been on a job in Germany when they double-crossed me, I was forced to flee and the last I remember is being confronted with a bomb. I destroyed it. After the explosion, I found myself here.”
“Did you use your lightning to destroy it?” McCree inquires.
“Yes…” Hanzo now finished eating, sips at his water.
“Sounds to me like you might a’ made a rift, what with all that energy being concentrated in one place.” McCree shrugs.
“Rift? Like a kind of space rift?” Hanzo furrows his brow in ah that McCree would have this type of knowledge.
“Yeah, had it happen to me once back in my service days. One second, I was facin’ off against some baddies in Russia, the next, I’m laid out on my ass in the middle a flock of sheep in New Zealand. Helluv’ a ride. Took Winston two weeks to figure out what had happened.” McCree stands and motions for Hanzo’s plate.
“I see…” Hanzo hands the plate over and leans back on his arms on the bed. “By any means, the coincidence of my appearance here was a blessing in disguise for the both of us it seems.” McCree flashes him a wide smile and walks to the kitchen. Hanzo follows.
McCree places the plates in the sink and gives them a quick rinse. “I’m assumin’ you’ll want to shower before we head out. Imma’ pack up some things and get my bike ready.” McCree walks into the bedroom, Hanzo hears him rustling around. The man returns carrying a bundle of clothes and a sleek grey duffle bag. “Help yourself to anything ya’ see.” McCree motions to the soaps near the shower and then proceeds to exit the shack leaving Hanzo to himself.
Hanzo looks at the door for a short moment, He then walks over to his bag and pulls out his comb, razor, and tea soup bar. He lays them on the floor by the wall mirror. He peels off his remaining clothes and folds them individually, laying them over the back of the leather recliner. Lastly, he pulls the yellow silk tie from his hair; it cascades over his shoulders. He reaches up and runs his fingers over his scalp, savouring the release. He turns the knob and allows it to heat up before stepping under the spray.
Hanzo’s sharp cheekbones glisten in the light. He scrubs his hands over the hardened edge of his abs and hip bone. His hard-toned body feels good under is touch. He takes his razor and runs over every inch of himself; he trims up his unruly lower bush, and then trims his beard. He washes his face and hair then rinses off. He towels off and wrings out his hair, then ties it into a high ponytail, his hair and silken ribbon drape down his back. He slips on a black cut-out tank and his Aztec designed pants and puts his gear over top, he then sits in the leather chair to lace and buckle up his boots.
He moves over to his bag and checks its contents. He will need to replace his missing knife, as well as a heady set of arrows and arrowheads. He reaches for Storm bow and gives it an once-over. His bow could use tuning when there was time for it. He repacks then straps on his bag and quiver and places Storm bow over his shoulder.
He then walks out into the morning sun. It’s not hot quite yet but Hanzo senses that will soon change. He talks off his jacket and ties it around his waist. He then turns and makes his way to the back of the shed, where he hears McCree scuffling about.
***
McCree walks around to the back of the shed and opens the hatch. He climbs down into the basement and walks over to his workbench. He places the duffle bag and change of clothes down. He turns and strips, then slips on the clean Shirt and brown suede pants, he rolls up the bottom a couple loops. He folds and places the dirty clothes in the duffle.
He then takes his chest armour off the wall and straps it on. He turns back and takes the chaps off the wall from where they’re hanging and folds them; placing them in the duffle. He takes his holster and straps it on placing Peacekeeper in her place. He unzips a side pocket of the duffle and places spare bullets and flash bangs in it, as well as essentials such as painkillers, sterile wrap, a flashlight, granola bars, and a tin for water.
He places the packed duffle in the saddle bag of the Atlas and buckles it. He slips his switch knife and the bike keys in his pocket, then wraps on his serape; topping it all off with his beloved hat. He takes his bike and pulls it up out onto the packed desert clay then closes and latches the hatch.
Hanzo walks around the corner.
“All packed and ready to go.” McCree tips his hat at Hanzo and winks. “You look refreshed.”
Hanzo ignores the gesture, “The shower was agreeable. Is this the only mode of transportation you have?” Hanzo motions to the Atlas, less than pleased.
McCree cocks his head and looks from the bike to Hanzo and back. “If you’re hatin’ on her, you can just walk. Or we could travel by Sand,” McCree looks Hanzo in the eye. “Or lightning in your case.”
Hanzo bristles, “That would be unsafe and impractical for energy conservation.”
To that McCree moves to the bike and mounts it. He turns and pats the back seat, grinning at Hanzo. Hanzo walks over and saddles the bike behind McCree.
McCree starts the bike and looks back at Hanzo. “Hold on Darlin’,” McCree kicks the bike to life and guns off. Hanzo flails back but finds his hands soon clasp securely around McCree’s waist.  He frowns slightly to himself from how much he likes it more than he should. McCree grins to himself all the while. They fall into a comfortable silence.
***
They make it to the supplier in Santa Fe by the late afternoon.
McCree pulls into the alleyway and knocks on the side door of a redbrick apartment building in a rundown part of town. Hanzo stands beside him. A cat walks out from behind a dumpster, completely black all over except for two small white dots just above its brow arches. “You have horns, my friend.” It mewls at him; Hanzo bends down and calmly strokes it. The small hatch at eye level on the door slides open and McCree exchanges words with the man.
Soon the door swings open and they are let inside. The cat follows. The room inside is small, each wall of redbrick possess a fluorescent bar light. The wall across from the door has a waist-high counter, above that are bars to protect the seller; flaking green paint hanging from them. On the left wall is a pair of Iron doors, their glass windows fogged with years of grime. One door is cracked, showing a training mat and small target range inside. The cat leaps up onto the counter and squeezes under the bars, there is a small red pillow on a stool on the opposite side, it jumps up and rolls over on the pillow, all four paws in the air stretching languidly. The man who opened the door seals it and sits down on a padded chair in the corner. He picks up his newspapers and resumes reading it. He’s bulky but seemingly unarmed. But they all know that is a lie.
McCree makes his way up to the counter and knocks on it. “Melanie, you here?”
“Jesse, what brings your sorry ass to my shop?” A thin woman with bright purple shoulder length hair and a septum piercing walks out from the shadows among rows of shelves, she’s tan with black lipstick; a small gold chain hangs around her neck. She wears all skin-tight white clothes. “Oh! And you’ve brought company.” Her eye peruses Hanzo, “Mmmmm, and what fine company it is.”
“Don’t you got a man back home Mel?” McCree raises a brow.
“Just because a girl’s on a diet doesn’t mean she can’t browse the menu, and maybe taste test a little. Now, are you here for business? Or pleasure?” She places her hand on the counter and leans toward Hanzo accentuating her chest.
Hanzo sneers disinterestedly and looks to McCree.
“Sorry Mel, we’re here on pure business. I need a case of bullets and a bottle of gun oil. Also, whatever he needs.” McCree motions with his thumb back at Hanzo.
Hanzo moves forward, “I require a set of arrows, arrowheads, and a serrated pocket knife.”
“’humph’, aren’t you both needy.” She grins at them, “give me an hour and I’ll have it ready for you.” She waves them off and disappears back amongst the shelves, her bladed heels clicking in the darkness.
McCree turns to Hanzo, “you wanna’ spar to pass the time?”
Hanzo huffs amusedly, “I doubt you will present much of a challenge.”
McCree grins wickedly, “Hey now, don’t knock me till you try me.” He flicks his nose with his thumb and saunters into the training room. He removes his armor, hat, serape, and boots. Hanzo follows and removes his arm guard, bag, and boots. They both face each other on the mat and Hanzo bows then ready himself. “Now Darlin’ don’t you feel you have to take it easy on me.” McCree brings his fists up.
McCree swings forward with his left hand. Like a whip, Hanzo flashes out grabs McCree’s arm, curls into him and flips him over his shoulder onto the mat. “I never take it easy.”
McCree grunts on the mat, he rolls over and stands back up. He looks up at Hanzo with a wolfish grin. “Again.”
They ready themselves once more. Hanzo strikes out, going yet again for a disarm and takedown. McCree responds my fanning away. He surges back with a fake left jab when Hanzo responds he then glides his right arm around Hanzo’s head and pulls it back straight against his spine and forces him to the floor. Hanzo collapses and stares up at McCree standing smugly over him. He gets up and readies himself once more.
The next hour consists of both men equally being thrown, pulled, flipped, and driven into the mat. Both with a permanent grin on their face.
A bell rings from the other room. “’Ahem’ Gentlemen I hate to interrupt your date, but I have your items ready.” Melanie spouts from the other room. Hanzo scoffs and walks over to his things to redress. McCree grins and does the same. They both walk out and pay for their items. “Farewell, my dears!” She waves goodbye from her side of the counter. They walk to the door and out into the alley. McCree packs away his items and Hanzo stashes his things in his quiver bag.
“Do you want to stop for the night?” McCree flashes a raised eyebrow to Hanzo.
“That might be wise.” Hanzo joins McCree on the bike and they ride off.
Soon they pull up in front of a rather nice-looking hotel. McCree parks and turns to his duffle. He takes off his hat, and slicks back his hair. He removes his serape and folds it into the duffle. He straightens the wrinkles from his shirt; buttons it completely and tucks it in his pants. He pulls out a pair of thin frame glasses from his bag and places them low on his face. He then places the grey duffle on his shoulder and motions for Hanzo to follow. They make their way inside and to the front desk.
“Hello, a double king suit please, if you don’t mind.” McCree flashes a bright smile with a cheer Hanzo has yet to see from the man. His accent is completely different, and he exudes an arrogant energy.
“Of course, sir, May I have the name and duration of stay?” The receptionist chirps back typing away at the holoscreen.
“Joel Morricone for a single night.” McCree takes out his wallet and pulls out a credit card. It reads Joel J Morricone in the name slot. They pay and are given a room number. In the elevator, McCree is eerily quiet. Once they are in their room McCree shakes out his hair, takes off the glasses and returns them to their case in the duffle. “Which bed you want?” he asks as he simultaneously lays down on one of the two.
Hanzo lays his bag against the wall; he then smirks at McCree who has one eye open at him. “I will use the bathroom first.” Hanzo proceeds to grab an undershirt and a pair of sweatpants from his bag and locks the door to the bathroom behind him.
McCree rolls over and strips down to his underwear, taking a pair of sweatpants from his bag and slips them on. He lies down on the bed and tucks under the top downy comforter.
He smiles to himself. A feeling of fondness blooms in his chest. Not having to explain Joel to Hanzo was comforting. Hanzo knew the need of such alter egos, the requirement to be a different person when the time called for it. He turned over on his side and closed his eyes.
McCree was asleep when Hanzo came out of the bathroom. He pulled back the layers of his bed and crawled in. He turned off the shared porcelain lamp and folded into himself. His breath slowed gradually as he drifted off.
***
They wake at sunrise and travel all morning, they make it to a small Texas town about six hours from Dallas by lunchtime and they decide to stop and eat. Hanzo picks a classic looking diner. McCree comments that it looks a lot like the panorama Diner from back home. “Let’s hope the coffee’s at least drinkable.” They walk in and are seated into a red faux leather booth.
They are both given menus, McCree orders coffee and a glass of water, Hanzo requests mineral water. “I’ll get your drinks and you can order with me when you’re ready” chirps the waitress. She returns with their drinks and they shoo her off till later.
McCree looks over to Hanzo and seems about to say something when a ring echoes out from his pocket. McCree retrieves his communicator and looks at the ID. He furrows his brow and answers.
“Hello Mrs. Shewmore, I’m afraid I ain’t home right now so if you need help….” McCree pauses, his eyes widen. He takes the earpiece out from the communicator and hands it to Hanzo. Hanzo places it in his ear.
“Jesse, I needed to tell you. There was a man that came to my home searching for you.”
“Are you alr...?” McCree starts.
“I am fine, a bit worse for wear but alive, Son I need to know your safe. Ease this old lady’s heart.” She interrupts him and pleads.
“I am fine Mrs. I am off pretty far with a friend,” McCree says with a soft voice.
“Good.” She seems soothed.
“Can you tell us what happened?” McCree ducks his head into his hand propped on the table.
***
A knock sounds from the front step. Mrs. Shewmore scuffles to the screen and raises her eyes, her smiles drops. A Large hulking man stands on the other side. His skin is dark, presumably of mixed descent, freckles scatter across his face. His short, auburn red hair is shaved short. He wears a black short sleeve jacket with a white chest plate over it, military-grade pants with several large pockets adorn his legs; mid-calf boots on his feet.
“Hello Ma’am,” The man pushes open the screen door and forces his way in, “I’m looking for a man by the name of Jesse McCree. I hear tell you might know where he is.” He leans forward a bit casting a shadow over her.
“I am sorry but, I must ask you to leave.” She moves around him and toward the door. The man spins and grabs her by the throat thrusting her up against the wall. He continues normally. “You see, he took something real’ important from me. An’ I plan to make him pay for it.” Mrs. Shewmore grabs the vase on the side table near her and attempts to smash it over his head. The man grabs her arm however and bends it back, breaking it with a sickening snap. She screams out in pain. “Now, you either tell me where his little shithole is in this godforsaken dead land, or I can drag you around behind my truck with me till I find it.” He reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a large chain.
***
A Shadow busts in the door of McCree’s shack. No one is home. The man angrily kicks the side table; it shatters into pieces against the opposite wall. A glare of light catches his eye. He walks over the holoscreen and presses it on. The figure smiles viciously. “Don’t you worry Sammy, I got him.”
***
 “After that, I gave him the coordinates of your shack and prayed for your safety. I know you can handle yourself Jesse, but I still worry.” Mrs. Shewmore quips.
“Thank you kindly for the warning Ma’am, I’ll keep a sharp eye out. You get yourself to the hospital now you hear me?” McCree says his pleasantries and hangs up.
He looks at Hanzo as a mixture of emotions crosses his face. Anger, yes, but fear too. Soon, they all melt away and a solemn mask takes their place. “We might have company.”
Hanzo nods, “Do you know if the hunter that made an attempt on your life two days ago worked alone?”
McCree gives him a quizzical eye. “I don’t rightly know.”
They finish their meal and rent a motel for the night. All afternoon they spend researching If Sammy had any recorded partners. Only when searching through a deleted social media page do they find a single name that catches McCree’s eye. Garrett Hazel. The profile shows a single picture of Sammy and Garrett kissing with a caption at the bottom that reads: “To the love of my life, I am hopeful for our bright future.” beside it there’s a wedding ban emoji. Hanzo finds an article on him, “Garrett Peter Hazel, ex-military SEP soldier, he turned to bounty hunting after the programs fall out. His success rate is 96%”
They decide to rest and rise early. They leave in the morning before the suns first rays taint the black sky. They make it to the station before the sun even separates from the horizon. The train is due to depart later in the morning. McCree stows his bike in a garage. They board the train from the back and sneak into the rearmost cabin. Not until the train finally starts to excel down the rail does either man relax. McCree sits back and takes a nap as the train crosses state after state. Hanzo busies himself with his holopad.
“Dear passengers, we will be making our planned stop at Charlotte in ten minutes. Please buckle and have a wonderful day.” The intercom announces overhead. They pull into the station and come to a halt.
McCree stands, “Imma’ take a leak.” He opens the door to their booth and stops when he enters the hall.
Their car is strangely quiet.
McCree reaches for Peacekeeper but has no time to draw before a black bulk slams into him. Garrett nails him in the jaw with a flying punch and knocks him to the floor. Peacekeeper flies down the hall. He pulls a heavy chain from his pocket and goes to wrap it around McCree’s neck.
Hanzo reacts instantly; he lunges forward and grapples around his neck, slinging his legs up over his shoulder and pulling Garrett to the floor. He gets to McCree and pulls him to his feet, but Garrett recovers and grabs for McCree’s ankle, “So weak you can’t even take me alone? Gotta’ have a bodyguard?” Garrett taunts. McCree kicks at his face bending it obscenely back breaking his nose, blood runs down over his lips. Hanzo gets him to his feet as the train is beginning to move again. McCree grabs Peacekeeper from the floor. They make it to the door of the car and attempt to move to the next car up when Garrett catches McCree’s serape and nearly pulls him over the side of the now blindingly fast speeding train. Hanzo scales the train to the roof and pulls McCree up. Garrett soon follows.
“Nowhere to run now,” Garrett whips out his chain and stalks forward. The train is extremely unsteady. They are forced to near crawl to keep footing as they move toward the engine.
McCree turns to Hanzo, “I can’t use my sand at this high a speed, I’ll get ripped away, and Peacekeepers out of commission if I can’t aim.
Hanzo nods and quickly unleashes an arrow into the behemoth of a man. It lands solidly in his shoulder, but the man doesn’t falter. Hanzo releases another, it lands in his neck and still, the man does not slow. His eyes are bloodshot and he’s breathing heavily, seemingly running off pure fury and adrenaline.
Garret roars at the two men, now gating toward them as they clamber up the train. “My arrows have no effect!” Hanzo yells.
McCree looks back at Garret now merely two meters away. “Use your lightning!” McCree shouts.
Hanzo stares at McCree and hesitates. “I can’t”.
McCree looks at him confused, “Why not?!” at this moment Garret closes the distance and throws himself into McCree. They roll, violently trading blows. They topple over the edge and McCree catches the rail bar just barely, Garret clings to him.
Hanzo moves swiftly to the edge and grabs a hold of McCree’s hand. “You are coming with me, you son of a bitch!” Garret bellows from below.
“Hanzo! Use it!” McCree pleads. Their grip slips just a bit.
“He’s too close to you - if I do you’ll get hit by the current!” Hanzo exclaims.
Times stills when Hanzo catches the smiles on McCree’s face, “I trust you.”
Hanzo stares at him for mere seconds, a searing white light lifts from his tattoo and his eyes sprout small arks of electric blue. A bolt lifts from his back and strikes Garrett in the chest, sending a current ripping through his body. Both men scream in agony. Garrett slumps and falls from McCree, His body hits the fast-moving earth below soon out of sight and sooner forgotten.  
Hanzo immediately pulls McCree back up on the car. He’s unconscious. Hanzo moves them both back to their cabin and lays McCree down on the floor. There’s no pulse. Hanzo tries CPR on him to no avail.
He screams. Lightning shatters off of him, shattering the glass around them. McCree convulses when he’s hit. Hanzo’s eyes widen with an idea. He grabs for McCree’s prosthetic and grips it tightly. Hanzo sends a shock through it, nothing. He tries again, McCree sucks in a gasp of air. Hanzo feels for a pulse, it’s erratic but most definitely there. Hanzo breathes a sigh of relief and slumps back against the seat.
When the Train reaches the New York station the sun is nearly gone. McCree is awake when they arrive; they exit the train and find an old abandoned apartment building to hold up in. They both feel safer in a no-name place like this. Hanzo moves a heavy desk in front of the door. The only pieces of furniture in the dilapidated studio apartment are a mattress in the corner and industrial spool meant to as a table. Hanzo helps McCree lay down on the mattress.
It’s quiet; aside from the club music weakly bubbling in through the crack in the window.
“Thank you,” McCree breaks the silence.
“I nearly killed you.” Hanzo is facing away from him. He isn’t angry with McCree but feels the need to distance himself. If the man harbors any ill-will toward him, he will bare it. He deserves it.
“Yeah, but you also saved me….twice.” McCree sits up. “Look, Hanzo I know what it’s like to be scared. To not want to use a part of yourself.”
Hanzo whips around staring daggers at him. “How would you know? Sand is slow and child’s play compared to lightning. Do you have any idea how much constant focus I am forced to maintain to keep the lightning contained?  To keep it from destroying everything around me? To keep it…from hurting anyone..,”  ‘From hurting you’. Hanzo curls in on himself. His lightning has always been unruly, even as a child he excelled at everything else. The elders would prod him, cajole him to master it, he had tried. When he was told to confront Genji…things had gone too far…he had only meant to use it to hinder him…but… Hanzo crouches; he cups his head between his hands making him look even smaller.
“Hanzo,” McCree crawls off the mattress and over to him, “Hanzo, you don’ have to…you don’t. Gaw!” He holds his prosthetic out in front of him, “you see this?” Hanzo nods. “It was about two years after I’d left Overwatch; I got caught by a hunter down in Mexico. Back then I was still green around the edges, still used to being taken care of, I had a hold on my sands but I thought I was untouchable. All I’d ever really used em’ for was to dodge bullets and Deadeye. He caught me real close, and it came to blows real’ quick. We were tradin’ punches left and right when the guy got his weird bolo wrapped around my arm. I turned to sand to try and slip out of it but it hurt so damn bad I couldn’t see straight. Next thing I know I’m lyin’ there bleeding out with my arm turnin' to dust on the ground in front of me. I managed to slither away but when I tried to reattach my arm I couldn’t. It was like it wasn’t a part of me anymore. I passed out in an alley and woke up in a kind old ladies house two days later.
“After that I got scared. Nearly died countless times taking bullets I could a’ dodged because I was too afraid to use my sands again, scared I might lose something else. It was one night at a bar, I was drunk and rambling on, that I met this old man. I don’t even know his name. He told me; “Sounds to me like you’re just waitin’ to die. If you can do something, why don’t you do?” After that I realized I’d given up on myself, I decided I’d learn my sands all over again find my limits and what I was capable of. I started using them every day. I got better; I found my strengths and my weaknesses. I also became deadlier because of it.” McCree leans into Hanzo and wraps his arms around the man. “Look, I’m not saying you have to like it, but caging it’s only gonna’ make it worst, you already know that. You got to find your limits and learn um.” McCree pauses and looks down at Hanzo, a single tear runs down his cheek, he’s staring at the cement below. McCree huffs dismissively.
He stands up “Get up,” he looks down at Hanzo offering his hand.
Hanzo looks up at him, looking to his face then his hand, a confused look on his face.
“This kind a’ sorrow is enough to kill a man… an’ I ain’t gonna’ let that happen tonight.” McCree reasserts his hand. Hanzo slowly stands, placing his hand in McCree’s.
McCree then steps into his space; he holds their hands out to the side and wraps his other arm around Hanzo’s waist. He begins to pull Hanzo along, making small circles around the room. Soon a waltz forms from the slow movements.
Neither man says anything as they continue to make sweeping motions. A slow hypnotizing beat drifts in through the window from the nightclub below. At some point they slow, their breathing is thick between them.
Hanzo gradually lifts his head. McCree surges in to meet him, Lips tangling, its intense as each man tries to soak into the other, both men finally allowing themselves to have what they’ve both yearned for, for so long. Each man needing the intimacy far longer than they’ve even known one another. Their lives don’t leave room for pleasures like this.
****Smut start****
McCree’s hands begin to explore Hanzo’s frame, lightly tracing over his waist and abs. Hanzo reaches up and pulls his hands down McCree’s back savoring the dense muscle underneath. They walk backwards and collapse onto the mattress. Hanzo crowds into the space between McCree’s legs. He slowly lifts McCree’s shirt and follows it with his lips, trailing soft kisses and licks all the way up until they meet in a soft kiss. McCree tugs at Hanzo’s jacket and it is soon gone along with his shirt. They barely break long enough for Hanzo to get it over his head. Their shoes come off somewhere along the way.
Hanzo sucks McCree’s earlobe and traces his teeth down McCree’s throat where he nips. Hanzo suckles one nipple in his mouth, drawing a deep moan out of the man below him. He fondles the other pebble nipple. McCree tangles his hands into his hair, pulling the tie loose. Hanzo grazes his teeth over the nipple as he switches.
After a bit, McCree shivers and sets up pushing Hanzo over to his back. Hanzo goes willingly. McCree crawls over him leaving bites up one arm, across his shoulders, neck, and chest then down the other arm. He squeezes Hanzo’s ass firmly. They kiss once more, tongues sliding deliciously. Hanzo tastes sweet. McCree tastes earthy. McCree reaches for Hanzo’s belt cautiously; Hanzo nods and breathes a silent ‘yes’. Both move to lick and nibble at the other's neck as McCree slides off Hanzo’s pants, underwear coming with them. Hanzo fumbles with McCree’s waistband. McCree chuckles and releases the ridiculous buckle for him, his pants and boxers slide off easily. Their thighs glide over each other as they slide closer. McCree grasps his hands and pins them above his head as they drown in the sensation of skin against warm skin
When they finally touch the friction draws a brisk inhale from both men. Hanzo fumbles for his bag and pulls out a small bottle of lube. McCree raises a brow, “Mighty prepared.”
The corner of Hanzo’s mouth tilt up, “A man has his needs.” He pops open the top and squeezes a bit onto his hand. He warms it a bit before he takes them both in hand, gliding his thumb over their heads. Their breathing hitches. “Han,” McCree slips his hands into his hair. Neither man is anywhere near small, McCree is just a bit longer than Hanzo, while Hanzo hangs thicker. McCree leans in close and bites into the muscles of Hanzo’s shoulder a deep, rumbling moan leaks through. Hanzo arches back and cries out in the mix of pain and pleasure. Hanzo sets a punishingly slow rhythm. Lips connect again in a hot embrace, as both men rut into Hanzo’s tight slick tunnel. Each pull sending heat up their spines.
Soon McCree breaks for air. He pulls back to look at Hanzo and briefly looks away. “Can I…?” McCree doesn’t finish because Hanzo takes his fingers and trails them over his puckered hole. McCree exhales and reaches for the lube with his other hand. Hanzo releases him and he crawls down to mouth at his thighs. He coats his fingers with lube and slides them over Hanzo’s entrance.
Hanzo’s sharply inhales from the chill but soon relaxes as McCree presses in the first thick digit. As McCree works him open, he breathes heavily. Each stroke delicious against his walls. McCree trails light nips and suckles over the skin, leaving marks over his thighs. He soon presses in a second finger and begins to scissor in him. McCree presses into the soft tuft of hair around Hanzo’s length and inhales. He trails his tongue over each ball rolling them one at a time. He curves up his fingers and circles that bundle of nerves over and over that leaves Hanzo a sweating, gasping mess.
“Let me hear you,” McCree whispers, he licks up from base to tip and suckles the head. He takes Hanzo in his mouth all the way down, only gagging once.  He works in a third digit and spreads experimentally. He pulls off and pants, “I can’t…can I...” he begs.
Hanzo leans up and grabs McCree’s hair pulling him up for an open mouth kiss. He grimaces at the loss of fullness. He nods vigorously and wraps his ankles around McCree’s thighs coaxing him closer.
McCree lines himself up with Hanzo’s slickened hole and presses in. Hanzo savors the stretch. It takes a few patient thrusts for McCree to sink fully into Hanzo.
McCree kisses him, “Tch’ you feel so good, so hot, so tight around me.” He pulls out and back in just a bit; both men breathing heavily.
Hanzo tightens around him, “Get moving.” He smirks.
Without warning, McCree pulls all the way out to the tip and slams back into him, Hanzo claws into his back and curses. McCree looks more than pleased with himself.
McCree sets a fast and deep pace. Each thrust deeper than the last, Hanzo cants his hips up to meet McCree.
Both men quickly building to their end sooner than either would admit.
“I’m close,” Hanzo’s exhales, to that McCree takes a knee in each hand and bends him over almost in half and pounds into him. Each thrust strikes Hanzo’s prostate; it only takes a handful of strokes to send him careening over the edge streaking white over his chest and stomach.  As he cums, he constricts around McCree inside him and the man spills inside Hanzo. “Fuck, Hanzo.”
McCree pulls out and falls onto the mattress beside Hanzo his arm resting over Hanzo’s chest. Both bask in the post-coital high.
After some time, McCree grabs his shirt to wipe them both off and lays down into Hanzo’s arms.
****Smut End****
As He slowly drifts off into a peaceful sleep he hears Hanzo whisper in his ear.
“Thank you.”
NOTES
(The song that plays while they are dancing is Martin Garrix Ocean. And the song earlier is The Weeknd’s Call out my name, and Martin Garrix/David Guetta’s So far Away)
(Hanzo’s outfit from after his shower: https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQXCyj74kfv3gaoRQJK7JtAySlna_2WWIlldJMLntddXH4MFtFg
   https://gloimg.rowcdn.com/ROSE/pdm-product-pic/Clothing/2016/03/22/source-img/20160322103105_32428.jpg )
(McCree’s outfit: https://smhttp-ssl-33667.nexcesscdn.net/manual/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/loose-style-long-sleeve-denim-shirts-men-washed-vintage-men-s-casual-jean-shirts-summer-lightweight.jpg  
http://www.kinnaird-guesthouse.co.uk/images/large/bblnet/ByH2F8uANfccccceeeee_LRG.jpg )
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