HEEEEEEEY how about #4 (back of hand) for mcgenji? (and uh, idk if ur willing to take 'verse suggestions, but, if u wanted to do the destiny au...UP TO U) 💚⭐😊
NOT DESTINY AU, SORRY, but:
(newly established relationship, post-recall)
It takes a moment to notice, but McCree finally catches it, tingling at his elbow. He turns around fast, head nearly flying off his own neck as he feels Genji give a firmer touch at his left arm, just above the wrist. He hasn’t got all the fancy cybernetics that Genji has, so he only registers the touch as a pressure that’s not quite there. With Genji’s own prosthetic hand, it’s more like feeling the vibration of their metal casings clicking against each other, the gentle tap-tap-tap of Genji’s fingers traveling through McCree’s prosthetic to the end of his residual limb rather than actual working artificial nerves.
They are walking through the market district, the bundled up winter crowd just thick enough to be able to lose sight of each other fairly quickly if one of them happened to pause for a moment on the sidewalk. Genji seems to have solve that problem by taking McCree’s hand, though McCree suspects that Genji has been trying to be a little more subtle and smooth about it. Instead, their arms clash awkwardly, elbows bumping, and Genji knows well enough that he shouldn’t press too close to McCree when their movements are already restricted enough on the streets.
Still, once he senses what Genji is doing, McCree’s hand finds Genji’s readily enough. He can’t exactly lace their fingers together, not with the stiff metal of his prosthetic, but his grasp turns into a comfortable hold that makes the corner of Genji’s mouth hitch upwards. McCree risks staring down at Genji’s face for a quick moment before Genji tugs his patterned scarf back over his mouth, warm breath wisping around his scarred cheeks in the cold air.
McCree is way too old to be flustered by this. It throws him off for a second, because they are in the middle of a recon and they have done so many of the same missions before, just under a different context. The fact that Genji is holding his hand in the open is a new thing too, and after McCree has a moment to stop being perplexed by it, he’s ridiculously pleased. His free hand flexes from inside his pocket, bare skin rubbing into the fabric of his coat for warmth.
“Y’know,” he murmurs, bending his head to Genji’s ear—and he knows it looks normal, just a couple walking down the street—but he catches the way Genji’s gaze shifts to cover his blind spot, rather than looking at his face. “I’d prefer it if you walked on my right side, if you’re gonna do that.”
The crowd starts to move a little faster, led by flow of traffic lights turning red and green. Genji pulls at McCree’s arm to keep them together. When McCree sways back into his space, Genji tips his head up to McCree’s ear, and this time McCree looks ahead to cover their visuals.
“I thought you would have wanted your firing arm free,” Genji replies, the straightforwardness of his answer giving away the missed joke.
McCree grins, rueful, and thumps their joined hands against his side. “I only meant that I can feel you better on my right.”
Genji stares ahead, unblinking, and McCree doesn’t consider Genji to be a very bashful person, but there’s something in the way the cyborg’s gait catches in mid-step that hints to being caught off-guard—or, it could only be Genji dodging a random passerby.
“I’m only teasing,” McCree says, laughing quietly. He’d rather not compromise their position, and Genji’s right in any case; he would prefer to keep his firing arm free.
Genji glances at him. The weak synapses of McCree’s prosthetic tells him that Genji’s grip on his hand is tightening. It still feels distant, but McCree has grown used to it. He squeezes back, just in time to let his arm be dragged upwards as Genji lifts their hands up.
McCree doesn’t feel a thing when Genji presses his lips to the back of McCree’s metal hand. Memory tells him that Genji’s scarred lips would be rough on his skin, the pressure firm but gentle, a fleeting warmth as Genji breathes—if the kiss had been anywhere else on McCree’s body.
But McCree has always been a visual person, relying on his sight more than touch; he sees the cloud of warm air from Genji’s mouth curl around his the back of his hand, the metal fogging up for a quick moment, and the soft give of Genji’s uneven lips against the alloy. He catches more details than he would have felt them, watching Genji’s eyes drift shut against his hand before opening them to look at McCree with a crooked smile.
Their hands drop back to their sides.
“Did you feel that?” Genji asks.
And McCree says, “Yeah, I did.”
