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Summary
They talk in whispers pressed together in the dark, all ragged inhales and bitten off little whimpers. The castle is so quiet this late at night that every noise feels like a sacrilege.
As if what they’re doing isn’t blasphemous enough. They’re sweating and breathless, swollen lips and shaking fingers; the sheets are tangled around them.
Genji is tangled around Hanzo.
He’s nestled up between Hanzo’s thighs, rocking into him in slow movements— grinding when he’s seated deep, covering Hanzo’s mouth with his palm to muffle sounds he makes. The sounds he always makes when there is too much of Genji and he wants every bit of him anyway. Wants more, because Genji doesn’t hurt like everything else.
Because Genji is there to soothe away the sting, oh, Hanzo, come here, I’ve got you—
Genji brushes messy black strands out of Hanzo’s face. His mouth is wet from Genji’s kisses. His cheeks are damp with tears. His eye is black from Sojiro’s fist; Genji doesn’t need light to see Hanzo.
Genji knows Hanzo by heart.