Jesse felt a hand in the small of his back and resisted the urge to flatten his ears. As Masters went, this guy wasn’t all that bad, but it was the situation that had the werewolf on edge. He was being ‘gifted’ to some newcomer. Well… not new, exactly. The family was old. VERY old. Not surprising since they were a demonic bloodline. But the Shimada Clan had recently changed hands (or so he’d gathered from overheard conversations and slave gossip) and his Master was offering him up as a ‘welcome’ gift.
On one hand, he didn’t like this one bit. Not only would he have to earn a new Master’s trust… but the guy was a damn demon! On the other hand. A new Master gave Jesse new opportunities. After all, he wasn’t just some ordinary slave. Not anymore. He’d chosen to be here. He was gathering intel. This supernatural ring of elite Masters and their slaves was going down if it was the last thing he did. And if he failed to please this new Master… that time might be coming quicker than planned. His tail flicked unconsciously with agitation.
“Relax,” a voice whispered softly in one ear. “You know I would never give you to just anyone.”
A statement which meant nothing to Jesse. The demon’s prestige didn’t mean he’d be a good Master. The werewolf was only being gifted because he was the best slave his current Master had. To offer anything less would be an insult to the Shimadas. He said nothing in reply… he wasn’t expected to. Regardless of how much trust he’d earned with the man standing beside him, Jesse was still just a slave. His opinion in all of this didn’t matter one bit.
If Reyes had any clue what was about to go down, the vampire would’ve been here extracting him in a heartbeat. The entire organization had heard stories about the Shimadas and their ties to the slave trade. When he first found out what was going down, Jesse was tempted to ask for an extraction then and there… but he realized that it could be an amazing opportunity. Infiltrating the Shimadas? How could he pass that up? Jesse didn’t mind a little pain if it meant others might be saved from a life of slavery. Hell, it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle it. Being a werewolf made him resilient. Jesse was sure he could handle whatever some demon wanted to throw at him. Well… mostly sure, at any rate.
A small shiver ran through his body. It wasn’t that cold in the room… but he wasn’t moving around… and he wasn’t wearing much. His Master had chosen a theme he no doubt thought suited Jesse’s southern drawl. The werewolf wore a fringed, dark red leather thong tooled with a western pattern, a red bandanna which hung loosely around his neck, and a 24 kt nipple ring crafted to look like a miniature revolver. Beyond that, all he had to keep himself warm was his naturally furry self. Even in his human form, Jesse tended to be on the hairy side. Right now, he was somewhere in between wolf and man. Another request by his Master - supposedly in order to heighten his appeal. He wondered if the new Shimada demon had a thing for animal features. A lot of people did, he’d learned over the years. It was a mostly harmless and incredibly amusing fetish (at least to him.) Lupine ears protruded from Jesse’s head and a bushy tail of deep ruddy brown swayed gently at his lower back. All the rest of him was decidedly human. Jesse had suggested claws and teeth, too, but had earned himself a glare. No… it wouldn’t do to come off as threatening, would it?
The most frustrating thing about all of this (aside from the lack of clothes) was not being able to observe. Slaves were always expected to look down. It wasn’t just a deference thing, either. It was meant to protect Masters from people like him. After all, if a slave did manage to escape and make it to the authorities alive, it was much harder to identify a voice. Sometimes Jesse would risk it. But not here. Not when his actions could put him and his current Master in a dangerous position. So Jesse waited, eyes downcast, trying to take in everything he could about the proceedings.
And that was when he heard it. A voice that seemed to thrum through him, reverberating in his very core. Although he’d never felt the sensation before, instinct told him exactly what it was. WHO it was. His lifemate. Jesse struggled not to tremble. To force the instincts aside. No! It wasn’t possible! He was misreading himself. There was NO WAY his lifemate could be here! In a room full of people Jesse would gladly give up his life to destroy. Why would the Fates DO that to him?! He wanted to look up, to catch sight of who the voice belonged to… but it didn’t take long to figure it out. The Shimada demon - his new Master. Jesse’s heart plummeted. There was no helping it. He HAD to ask for an extraction now - had to distance himself as quickly as possible. This mission was beyond compromised… and the longer he stayed here, the harder it would be to walk away. And he would have to walk away at some point. Jesse couldn’t be a party to slavery… not even for the sake of his lifemate. Even now, the thought of leaving tore at him… and for the first time in his life, Jesse McCree hated being a werewolf.
This day had been hundreds of years in the making, and as bored as Hanzo found himself, he hadn't imagined it would be this dreadful. Perhaps if his intention wasn't to gut the entire organization from the inside, he might have been enjoying himself, but he considered most of those in attendance to be a waste of space. So, the longer the proceedings ran, the most impatient Hanzo became. Hanzo was known for being a very, very patient demon, so the fact that he was at his limit was a testament to how pointless the prattle had been for hours.
After the tea ceremony initiating him as the head of the Shimada clan, one that hadn't been performed in hundreds of years, Hanzo had changed out of the simple ceremonial kimono and into a tailor-made suit. His appearance after the ceremony was important, and would say something to the rest of the ring on how he intended to run his clan. Every inch of his appearance had to be perfect.
His message started with his suit. It was made especially for this occasion, and used gold-lined embroidery to create intricate blue and green dragons that curled along the lapels of the jacket. Symbols very obviously representing himself and his brother- as they both carried mirroring tattoos on either arm of a blue and green dragon respectively. In their demon forms the tattoos transformed into blood-red oni, where the head of the dragon changed into a detailed mask unique to the brothers.
Currently, the jacket draped over the back of the sturdy dark wooded chair, perched on the raised platform where Hanzo sat. The sleeves of his button up were rolled to his elbows, and over that was a perfectly fitted vest with similar designs to the jacket, though simpler. A pair of black leather gloves donned each hand, cut low at the wrist with holes for pitch black claws to poke through. His perfectly pressed slacks reached a pair of formal shoes shined to perfection, and only his long black hair, currently tied into a bun that exposed the shaved sides of his head, looked 'out of place' in his flawless appearance.
During the ceremony, Hanzo's hair had been down and he'd worn his human appearance, for the sake of tradition, but now he'd exposed his demon form for the room to see. A reminder that he was more than a simple human. Two large horns protruded from the front of his head, and two sets of white fangs, one from the top of his jaw and the lower, peeked out from beneath his lips. Dark red patterns swirled over his his gray skin, across his cheekbones and his chest, and his white, pupil-less eyes followed the proceedings with a stillness meant to hide his boredom and make the room uneasy.
He was known for making himself impossible to read, so the only enjoyment he felt over these displays of loyalty and wealth, the first opportunity to show off as well as earn direct favor from the Shimada clan without suspicion over offered gifts, was how uncomfortable his silence seemed to make everyone else. Imagining each of these men delivering him an arrogant and empty speech, dead at his feet, also amused him.
Hanzo had been zoning out for some time, aimlessly replying to the gifts offered with a wave of his hand so a servant would take the gift and put it into one of the side rooms of the great meeting hall, when the final gift was brought before him. His attention returned to what was in front of him for the final time that evening.
It was a slave, much to Hanzo's chagrin (and surprise considering how heavily each of the major players in the room relied on that corner of their market, and Hanzo had hoped the fear of repeating the gift of a slave and ruining their chance to stand out against the others would hinder such a gift- so either this man banked on that and took a risk, or he was an idiot). The slave was handsome, and dressed in what must be the skimpiest cowboy outfit Hanzo had ever seen. A set of ears protruded from his head, and a matching tail arched back from his hips, both of which Hanzo felt an increasing desire to touch the longer he looked. He wondered if the man offering this slave knew Hanzo had a thing for such an aesthetic, cowboys had always intrigued him, and the hair and animalistic features were attractive in their own way, but together it was a surprisingly appealing mix for this demon lord.
Hanzo had never told a soul about either of those desires, so he knew that wasn't it wasn't intentional, just a happy coincidence, if Hanzo's lack of desire to own a slave meant he'd be happy about it. It didn't, but unfortunately he couldn't reject this particular gift. This was a necessary part of his plan that he had reluctantly accounted for, and he had to play this part of this position until the last leader in this slavery ring was dead. He could deal with this. He could play the kind master, and this man would be quite the prize to wear on his arm as he-
Hanzo's musings were cut short when a long, thin red thread caught his eye. He'd only seen his Thread of Fate once or twice, a flicker of red tied to his ring finger, floating into the distance until the end faded into nothing. Always a flash and then it was gone, and Hanzo had always assumed there was never meant to be someone tied to the other end.
Genji had seen the same thing, and at first Hanzo thought it was because they were demons. He imagined that that severing their ties to a human life had severed their ties to their One, and part of their curse was that they now had the ability to see them. That theory was proven wrong of course, Genji had found his One a few years ago, a siren that performed at a club Genji frequented when he thought his brother wasn't looking. Hanzo knew of this, but said nothing, and instead sent a guard or two to follow Genji for his protection.
Hanzo knew Genji well enough to know that even if he had asked his brother to stop, for his own safety, he would lie to Hanzo directly, or outright refuse. Genji had never outright stated the siren was his One, but when the topic had come up and Genji revealed they'd met- it was obvious to Hanzo that there was an irresistible connection there he couldn't understand. Context clues helped him figure out the rest, so the most he could do was protect his brother where he could. They were both stubborn in their own ways.
The stories of one's Thread of Fate had fascinated Hanzo, even as a human, but after so much time he'd come to wonder if it was something he wasn't meant to have. The idea of feeling 'complete' or 'whole' - that the unyielding emptiness in his heart, made larger with his death and transformation, would be filled- it was a fantasy beyond his years, and he was a very, very old demon.
With all his doubts, Hanzo was not prepared to see a vibrant red thread- solid and unwavering as it had never been before- linking his finger to that of the cowboy kneeling near naked in front of him.
Hanzo stared, his shoulders tensing in a way only perceptible to Genji beside him.
His One was a slave- and a sudden swell of rage, rising like a fiery dragon from the depths of his heart, burned in his chest. His One was a slave and had been for who knows how long, and Hanzo had no idea. Soon his One was to be his slave, but that meant- Hanzo couldn't- this isn't what he wanted for his One- this isn't how he wanted to meet his One- to treat his One-
The urge to rise up, to take this stranger into his arms and hold him close, to protect him, to treat him as no one else could, to bond with him- the need to fill that hole in his heart- was almost overwhelming, and the dark claws of Hanzo's hand curled tightly into the armrest of his chair. A long stretch of silence followed as Hanzo struggled with a rush of emotions he could barely contain or explain, and tension in the room spiked the longer he remained silent. The stare he leveled at the slave looked as if it alone could kill a man.
He always responded quickly after a gift was presented, why was he silent now? Did this gift displease him? Was he angry? Were they all about to watch a man get killed?
It wasn't until Genji placed an easy hand on his brother's shoulder that Hanzo blinked and returned to himself.
“Come here,” without missing a beat, Hanzo made a gesture, a downward motion with his hand to beckon the slave towards him. Once he was close enough, Hanzo's gloved hand took Jesse's wrist and tugged him into his lap, so Jesse's bare thighs straddled his own.
“What is your name?” Hanzo asked, his expression softening as his hands began to 'inspect' his knew gift in front of the entire room.
He struggled to contain his excitement as his hands spread over Jesse's knees and slid up, and he was grateful for the layer of leather that separated them. He wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his hands from shaking as he did now without it.
His thumbs dipped low, tracing the inner pads of of Jesse's thighs before trailing up the V of his hips. As they moved back, Hanzo's fingers found the base of Jesse's tail, where he rand a hand along it experimentally, and he marveled inwardly at the softness of the fur. From his tail Hanzo's hands slid up Jesse's back to inspect the lines of his shoulder blades with his claws, then down his arms to inspect his fingers, and a brief moment to stare at the thread that bound them together. He could not linger there, so his fingers moved up again to rake through the hair of Jesse's chest. Yes, Hanzo rather liked the hair, and with a smirk he didn't resist the urge to carefully tweak Jesse's nipple and the ring that adorned it.
Part of Hanzo felt guilty, taking this little display so far. He wished desperately that his was not how they had met, that he could properly woo his One with all of the charm and attention he could muster, but the demon in him was too selfish and too impatient to save his first inspection for a time with more privacy. Even if he wanted to do this the right way, these were the cards they were dealt, and Hanzo had to play them correctly or risk losing everything- including his One. He could only hope that there was a way to play this that didn't mean losing his One in the end.
Plus, he'd been waiting patiently all day for this torture to be over! He had no idea his One would quite literally be dropped in his lap! Already Hanzo could feel a pull in his heart, like this was simply not enough, and resisting that pull alone was almost torturous! He had to indulge, just a little.
Finally, Hanzo's hand reached the handkerchief around Jesse's neck and he tugged the cowboy a little closer. His free hand reached up to inspect one of Jesse's ears before it moved to his chin and gripped Jesse gently, but firmly to force the other to look him in the eyes. They were beautiful, a rich golden brown that made something in Hanzo's heart melt. They made him feel warm. Full.
It was then that the tension in the room was felt by Hanzo, thick enough to cut with a knife and dead silent save for himself and Jesse. It was as if the whole room was holding it's breath.
A shiver of pleasure ran through Hanzo, again only perceptible to Genji.
“I am pleased with his gift. Leave us,” he said with a voice that seemed to fill the entire room, his eyes never leaving Jesse's .
All at once motion broke out in the hall, and Genji, who had been standing at Hanzo's side, stepped forward with a polite, empty smile on his lips. He was grateful for this day to be over as well.
“Thank you all for attending, and for your gifts. We shall see you at the gala tomorrow,” He reminded them as everyone began to file from the room. Genji followed them, and only when the last person had left did he glance back at his brother and close the door quietly behind him, leaving the two alone.
