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Exactly three people in the world know about Gabriel’s condition, save the ones who gave it to him in the first place.
Jack is one of those people. Other than Gabriel himself, Jack was the first to know. Hiding anything from each other during SEP had been all but impossible - between sharing a room and training together every damn day, it was pointless to even try. And, really, neither of them tried. It was hard enough to deal with the changes to their bodies, their minds; dealing with it alone just wasn’t an option.
Gabriel remembers the first night.
The daily injections always hurt, but this one was different. This one had Gabriel confined to the bottom bunk, Jack’s bunk, because he didn’t trust his shaky legs to get him up the steps to his own. This one had him retching into a bucket by the bed while his body shook and spasmed. It felt like his muscles were trying to tear themselves apart, and for a long while, Gabriel wondered if this was it. SEP had killed plenty of their test subjects - maybe he’d just drawn an unlucky card this time around.
When Jack returned from training, he was kind enough not to comment on the sweat-soaked hair plastered to Gabriel’s forehead, or the bile-filled container on the floor. If he hadn’t been so miserable, Gabriel would have been grateful, but the blistering pain was the only thing he could focus on.
“Still?” Jack asked, and it was all Gabriel could do to bite out an affirmative sound. “Christ. Have you kept anything down?”
Gabriel looked pointedly at the bucket by the bed, and Jack sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I’m calling medical,” he said after a moment, and before Gabriel could tell him that it was pointless (he tried, two days ago, hours after they administered the dose), the man was on the phone, leaning up against the wall far enough away that Gabriel couldn’t reach out to smack him. So he just waited for Jack to hear the same thing they told him - just wait it out.
But Jack said, “I’m calling about Gabe,” and then went pale a few moments later. He looked terrified, and that made something uneasy curl in Gabriel’s gut. Jack didn’t get scared, ever. Jack didn’t ever look like he was about to have his legs collapse underneath him.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jack said, his hand dropping to his side. His knuckles were white around his phone, his third one since they made him stronger. If he broke another one, the replacement was coming out of his own pocket.
“Careful, Jackie,” Gabriel said, voice rough and ragged.
Jack made a sound, harsh and forced. “Don’t worry about me,” he said, and then he moved over to the bed and perched himself on the side. In the state he was in, Gabriel barely noticed Jack pulling out his pocket knife, didn’t think to question it until the coppery tang of blood filled the air. Gabriel felt his stomach twist, but the pain had already morphed into something more bearable. Something less like death and more like hunger.
“What the hell?”
Jack didn’t answer. Instead, he pressed a sluggishly bleeding wrist to Gabriel’s mouth.
His blood tasted like salvation.
Angie is the second. Gabriel calls her “Doctor” around the recruits, wants to drill it into their heads that her soft spoken words and gentle hands deserve just as much respect as the orders Jack barks out. But by the third time he goes to her, begging permission to dip into the blood supply, she insists that they drop the formality. The first time, though…
Jack was on an assignment, and he wasn’t due back for at least a week. Gabriel knew he couldn’t make it another week. The hunger was already curling dark and low in his stomach, making him ache with want. But Jack was the one who fed him, the only one Gabriel trusted enough, because Jack had the strength to stop him if he went too far.
He managed three days of sharp pain before he went to medical.
Gabriel’s plan was to steal a pouch of blood. It would tide him over until Jack returned, and he hoped it would only cause a minor headache for Doctor Ziegler when she did inventory. But his luck was shit and the doctor was in, and he didn’t have a good reason to explain why he wandered down.
“You should really take better care of yourself,” the doctor murmured, and her tone was just scolding enough to make Gabriel want to duck his head. He didn’t think he looked that bad, not yet.
“I take care of myself just fine,” Gabriel mumbled in reply. Angela shot him a look that said his answer didn’t fly. “Seriously, doc. I’m doing everything I can.”
Gabriel watched as Angela’s expression softened. He didn’t like the look. It was too much like pity, even though, from Angela, it stung a little less.
“You came down here for a reason,” she said, gently, and then gestured at the nearest empty bed. “Sit. Why don’t we talk?”
It was easy, ridiculously easy, to tell Angela everything. She didn’t recoil in horror when he flashed his fangs, didn’t look at him with anything other than the understanding and compassion she always had. When he was done, all she did was put a gentle hand on his knee and offer a kind, reassuring smile.
“Let’s get you fed,” she said. “And then we can discuss the future.”
Moira is the last. Gabriel remembers meeting her, vividly.
Jack had insisted his covert ops team have a medic. And Angie had offered, but Gabriel wasn’t about to put the sweetest creature he knew in the middle of the shit Blackwatch dealt with. So he’d done his research and found Doctor O’Deorain, who was socially disgraced because of her experiments but a perfect fit for a group as morally ambiguous as Blackwatch. And Moira had agreed, sight unseen.
Gabriel had been part of the welcoming party when Moira arrived at Gibraltar. He wanted to get a handle on her, figure out if she’d only signed on because of Overwatch’s research budget.
She had stepped off the helicopter, purple robes and red hair, and her gaze immediately focused on Gabriel. She smiled, and Gabriel saw a look in her eyes that was half-predatory, half poorly-disguised interest. She looked him up and down, and Gabriel remembered the last time he felt that exposed was during SEP.
“Commander Reyes,” she said, and her voice was smooth and prim. “I wasn’t aware we had so much in common.”
Gabriel grit his teeth, but Moira just flashed another tight-lipped smile. “Your genetic mutation is fascinating, though I understand you have chosen to keep it private.” She met his eyes. “No one will learn of it from me.”
Trusting the geneticist wasn’t easy, but she proved herself reliable, especially when her research provided Gabriel a synthetic blood substitute that didn’t make him sick.
That’s it. Only those three people know, and Gabriel wants to keep it that way. It’s easy with the recruits - the new ones are too terrified to ask questions, and the veterans know better than to pry. Even after Genji joins up, it isn’t hard. The man keeps to himself, doesn’t ask questions, and doesn’t answer them, either.
And then there was Jesse.
Jesse, who Gabriel personally dragged kicking and screaming out of that damn gorge on Route 66. Jesse, who took up the offer of employment in a heartbeat, but still called Gabriel, “Jefe,” in that slow, sarcastic drawl. Jesse, who Gabriel trained personally, who he eventually came to trust as his right hand.
Jesse, who won’t leave Gabriel alone for five damn minutes so he can sate the hunger in his belly.
Their mission is recon with a touch of interrogation, but the waiting is taking forever, two weeks longer than planned. And it isn’t like Gabriel hasn’t planned for contingencies, but two weeks have killed his supply. And with no sign of their target, it doesn’t look like he is going to get any more any time soon. But he needs to feed. And he needs to feed soon. And the only thing stopping him is the cowboy-shaped shadow he can’t shake.
“Yer the one who tol’ us to stick together, boss,” Jesse drawls. They’re somewhere in South America, and it’s hot, and the top three buttons of Jesse’s shirt are undone, giving Gabriel a perfect view of his throat. It’s tempting. It’s more than tempting, but Gabriel’s self control is made of steel.
“There’s the buddy-system, and then there’s being attached at the goddamn hip,” Gabriel grumbles. His stomach aches, and his teeth feel too sharp to be entirely human. “You’re off scouting duty. Don’t you usually take this time to charm some local lady?”
Jesse’s throat bobs when he laughs. Gabriel looks away, takes a breath. The air in the room is warm and stale, but he knows it won’t be any better outside. And if he goes, Jesse will follow.
“An’ here I thought you didn’t care about my sex life,” Jesse says. He’s inspecting his dirty fingernails, leaning up against the wall clear across the room. Gabriel knows how fast of a draw the kid is; he doesn’t think he’d be able to get his teeth in Jesse’s neck before the kid filled him with lead. It’s an oddly comforting thought.
“I don’t,” he says. He needs to move, distract himself from the ache in his stomach, so he stands and stretches and moves to the bed in the room, sinking down to sit on the edge of it. “Just trying to get you out of my hair for a while.”
Even now, there’s no bite to his voice. They both know he likes having the kid around, even if it’s the most inconvenient thing in the whole damn world right now. So Gabriel’s not surprised when Jesse moves closer instead of taking off, spurs clinking as he takes a seat on the bed next to him.
“What’s eatin’ you, boss?”
The question is honest and earnest, and Gabriel knows, in that moment, how this is going to end. He knows, but he’s still going to try to prolong it for as long as he can.
So he shrugs, barely raising one shoulder. “Heat,” he says. “Boredom. Frustration.”
Jesse raises an eyebrow. Gabriel knows that expression. It’s Jesse’s version of “bitch, please,” and Gabriel gets it every time he lies to the kid. It’s not often, because Gabriel does genuinely trust Jesse. Just… not with this.
“And?” Jesse prompts.
“And nothing you need to worry about.” He should ask Moira, when she returns. The woman knows, at least. But the thought of his teeth breaking her skin doesn’t resonate with him the way the same idea does, but with Jesse. And Gabriel’s always been one to want what he can’t have, but this is Jesse. This is something he has to be careful with.
Suddenly, there’s a strong hand on the back of his neck, resting there with just enough pressure that Gabriel can lean back into it. He does, sighing.
“Come on, Reyes. You don’t have to carry the whole damn world on your shoulders.”
Gabriel’s laugh is quiet and self-deprecating. They’re pushing boundaries now, because they don’t really touch unless it’s training or after a mission that goes so wrong they need to feel a pulse to know they all survived. But this, soft-spoken words and Jesse’s calloused palm on his skin, this is new. He should put a stop to it. Instead, he closes his eyes.
“I’m in a bit of a tough spot,” Gabriel says, after a moment. “Something I need, real bad, but I’m not gonna be able to get it without hurting someone.” He glances over at Jesse, who just nods and motions for him to continue. “And if I don’t get it, I’m gonna end up hurting someone a lot worse.”
Jesse’s brows knit together for a moment, but his fingers just squeeze the back of Gabriel’s neck gently. “You know I ain’t good with subtlety,” the kid says, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a grin. “If you want me t’know what yer gettin’ at, yer gonna have’ta be more specific.”
Bile rises in the back of Gabriel’s throat, and he thinks about SEP and how much of an idiot he was when he was younger. Just sign away all your bodily autonomy, and welcome on board. And that was exactly what he’d done, and now he’s here.
“It’s not pretty,” Gabriel warns, and Jesse just rolls his eyes, all easy laughter and cocky confidence.
“Nothin’ about our lives is, Jefe.”
Gabriel’s lip splits when he smiles, and he tastes his own blood, coppery and flat and not what he wants, not at all, but the taste still resonates with the other side of him. He feels his fangs elongate, knows his pupils are blown wide. His pulse ticks up, too, every ounce of him preparing to hunt. He digs his fingers into the mattress, and then he looks up.
For what it’s worth, Jesse doesn’t jerk away. He doesn’t grab his gun and fan the hammer, either, and Gabriel doesn’t realize how much he was expecting that until he feels himself shudder with relief. His stomach is still in his throat, but it’s more bearable now. Jesse’s seen him.
The kid lets out a low whistle, and his eyes rake over Gabriel’s face, taking him in. And then, slowly, Jesse reaches out with his human hand until he can brush his thumb over the flat, smooth surface of one of Gabriel’s fangs. Holding his breath, Gabriel doesn’t move. All Jesse has to do is move a centimeter and Gabriel’s fang will slice through the delicate skin of his thumb and he’ll be able to taste…
Jesse drops his hand, and Gabriel lets out a shaky breath.
“So. I’m guessin’ what you need ain’t exactly at the local market.”
Despite himself, Gabriel chuckles, shaking his head. He can taste the salt, the dirt, left in his mouth from Jesse’s finger. It’s making him want, but he’s in control. He shakes his head agan. “Not exactly. I don’t… what the hell are you doing, McCree?”
Jesse stops. The rest of the buttons on his shirt are undone, and he’s halfway through shrugging it off when he looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Not sure if you wanted my neck or wrist,” he says, tugging the shirt all the way off. “Figured I’d make easy access for both.”
Gabriel blinks, just staring. And Jesse stares right back, expectantly, like he’s offering Gabriel a bag of chips instead of his own blood. But he knows. His offer makes it obvious that he knows exactly what Gabriel needs. “I don’t expect…” the older man starts, but Jesse just rolls his eyes.
“I know y’don’t. Knowing you, you’d probably starve yourself until we get back.” Gabriel looks away, because it’s true. “But I’m offerin’. Need you in tip-top shape, boss.”
Jesse stops talking, but Gabriel doesn’t look up for a long moment. Guilt is sitting high in his chest - he hasn’t fed on anyone except Jack, for Christ’s sake - but all the same, he knows he needs to. And he needs to soon, before instinct overtakes his self-control.
“Neck,” he says, and his voice is low, rough. He turns to look at Jesse. “I can… I can make it good for you, if it’s the neck.”
Jesse shrugs. “Don’t need’ta convince me,” he says, and then he turns and bares his neck and Gabriel is presented with taught, tanned skin, with a steadily beating pulse underneath. He swallows, and then he slides forward, reaching out to cup the other side of Jesse’s neck.
“Relax,” he murmurs, and his lips move against Jesse’s pulse. Gabriel feels it flutter, feels the smallest shudder ripple through Jesse’s body, but the other man listens and relaxes into Gabriel’s touch.
Parting his lips, Gabriel presses his fangs ever so slightly against the skin under his mouth. Jesse tastes like sweat and sun and dust, and that’s all before Gabriel’s fangs break the skin and he tastes blood.
“Aw, fuck,” Jesse groans, and his hands scrabble to grip something, landing on Gabriel’s knee. Carefully, Gabriel tilts the other man’s head just right, and his fangs slip in just a little deeper. It’s more than a taste, now, Jesse’s blood trickling steadily into Gabriel’s mouth, down his throat. Like his skin, Jesse’s blood is sun-kissed and dark and satisfying, and Gabriel can feel it in his fingers and toes, revitalizing him. And, beyond that, he can feel every little hitch of Jesse’s breath, can feel the heat rising from his skin as he presses closer to Gabriel’s mouth.
Gabriel doesn’t take much, only what he absolutely needs, but he lets the moments drag on, pressing his tongue to the small wounds on Jesse’s neck just to feel the way his breath hitches. Just to feel the quiet little moans that Jesse is trying so hard to hold back. It’s entirely selfish, and he knows it, but he can’t help himself.
Eventually, though, he does pull away, laving over the small puncture wounds with his tongue, one more time. He doesn’t miss the way Jesse shivers when he does. It makes him want to chase the taste of Jesse’s skin, make him squirm a little more, but that’s not the point of this and Gabriel has already needed too much.
But Jesse looks up at him, a little dazed, and Gabriel can’t help but say, “I told you I’d make it good for you, didn’t I?”
The sound Jesse makes is somewhere between a punched-out moan and a whine. He flops back on the bed, pushing both hands through his messy mop of hair. “Fucking hell,” he breathes, and Gabriel watches his chest rise and fall once, twice, before one of Jesse’s hands come up to touch the wound on the side of his neck. Immediately, he jerks his hand away, wincing. “Fuck. Not what I was expecting.”
Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “What were you expecting?”
Jesse hesitates, shrugs. “Less…” he starts, and then the corner of his mouth quirks and he gestures at his lap. Gabriel follows the gesture, eyes widening a little at the obvious tent in his pants. “That. Less’a that.”
Gabriel can’t help it. He laughs, the sound rumbling deep and low in his chest, and it’s the first time he’s laughed since this godforsaken mission started. Between that, and Jesse’s blood warming his body, he feels good. He blames that feeling when he says, “Need a hand?”
Jesse’s eyes widen for a split second before he schools his expression. Gabriel watches as his gaze turns inviting, almost sultry, as he shifts his weight and, almost imperceptibly, spreads his legs a little, drawing Gabriel’s gaze down.
“You offerin’?” Jesse asks.
The boundaries they crossed when Gabriel fed are about to be blown to smithereens, but Gabriel can’t find it in himself to care, not when his veins are singing with Jesse’s blood, and not when the man himself is laid out like the most inviting spread Gabriel has ever seen. Rolling his shoulders back, he shifts, crawling over Jesse’s body until he’s braced above the younger man. “Least I could do,” he murmurs, pressing his own hips down so Jesse can feel that he isn’t the only one affected by the past few minutes.
Jesse laughs, bright and clear, even as his hands go to Gabriel’s hips to rock him down, giving them both a little bit more of the friction they want. It’s a tease, but it’s enough to pull a growl from Gabriel’s throat. He bites back on the noise - there’s enough animal in him without having to sound like one, too.
Jesse flicks his nose.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare hold back on me,” he says, his voice rough and serious, and Gabriel wonders if he’s like this with everyone he takes to bed, demanding and honest and open and real.
Gabriel kisses him, hard, swallows the moan Jesse lets escape between their mouths. It’s selfish, but he likes that all that focus, all that energy, is directed at him. He likes being the center of Jesse McCree’s world, at least for the moment. So he doesn’t hold back. He doesn’t fight the desire to duck his head down and mouth at the corded muscle of Jesse’s neck, doesn’t stop himself from nicking the skin and lapping at the blood that wells to the surface.
“Tease,” Jesse complains, but the word is breathy, and his hands are still fisted in Gabriel’s shirt, so the older man is fairly certain there’s no real heat behind the word. He grins, lips smearing blood against Jesse’s neck.
“Patience, conejito,” he murmurs.
Jesse makes a sound, and then his legs are locked around Gabriel’s waist. Gabriel sees the move coming a moment too late, and he can’t stop Jesse from flipping them, from pressing Gabriel down into the mattress. Straddling his thighs, the kid looks like the damn cowboy he wants everyone to see him as, even if his hat and serape are both somewhere across the room.
“Fuck patience,” Jesse says. He looks like he’s going to say something else, too, but his eyes fall to Gabriel’s mouth and whatever words he has die off. Reaching up, he brushes his thumb over Gabriel’s bottom lip, and oh, there has to be blood on it, still.
“Like what you see?” he asks, and Jesse makes a hurt noise, a little punched-out groan.
“Shouldn’t get me hot, seein’ that.”
Gabriel chuckles, winking at Jesse before he darts his tongue out, licking over the tip of the younger man’s thumb. And, little as it is, that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back of Jesse’s self-control.
The kid scrambles back, kicking off his boots as he tries to hop out of his pants, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Gabriel can’t help laughing again, just a little, as he follows suit, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed and tugging down his pants. A moment later, he’s naked, and when he looks up, Jesse is, too.
The scratch on his neck is bleeding sluggishly, a single droplet of blood trailing down over Jesse’s collarbone. Gabriel watches it slide, and almost without thinking about it, he gets to his feet, closing in on Jesse’s space in a moment. Ducking his head down, he licks at the drop, his eyes fluttering shut as Jesse’s taste floods his mouth again.
“Okay,” Jesse says, and then he’s shoving Gabriel back towards the bed. “I need you to fuck me, now.”
Gabriel opens his mouth to ask about important things, like lube, because he sure as hell didn’t throw any in his pack before flying out of Gibraltar. But Jesse surprised him again, tossing two foil packets onto the sheets beside him. At Gabriel’s questioning glance, he shrugs.
“Had to be prepared to charm a local lady, didn’t I?”
He says it, and then he all but crawls into Gabriel’s lap, straddling him again. Hands going to Jesse’s hips, Gabriel smiles lazily, leaning up to press a trail of kisses across the younger man’s collarbone, up his neck. Jesse’s impatience aside, Gabriel is perfectly content to stay like this, touching bare skin and dragging his mouth along Jesse’s neck.
Jesse, however, is not.
The kid snags one of the foil packets, tearing it open with his teeth. Lube spills over his fingers, falls into the space between them, sliding cold and slick over Gabriel’s belly. “Jesse,” the older man warns, but Jesse is already moving, the hand slick with lube moving behind himself, and oh.
“Jesse,” Gabriel says again, and Jesse groans, dropping his forehead to Gabriel’s shoulder. LIke this, Gabriel can see where the younger man is thrusting a finger into himself, opening himself up right there in Gabriel’s lap. “So good for me,” he murmurs, and, shifting, he slips a hand between them, gathering up the spilled lube before wrapping his hand around both of their cocks and stroking them, base to tip.
Jesse shudders in his arms, his mouth falling open against Gabriel’s shoulder. He thrust forward, into the older man’s hand, and then back against his own fingers, caught between two opposite sources of pleasure. Gabriel can see the muscles in his back rolling as he moves, tensing and relaxing in increments as he chases all the available sensations.
Jesse groans, his breath hitching, and Gabriel wonders how many fingers he has inside himself. He’s about to ask, about to slide his own hand over the curve of Jesse’s ass to press one of his own thick, calloused fingers into Jesse’s tight hole, but then Jesse drops his hand and leans back, and Gabriel gets to see his face.
The kid’s eyes are dark, his lips bitten-red, his cheeks flushed. He’s a pretty picture, poised over Gabriel’s lap, and yeah, maybe being patient is a little overrated. “Condom,” he says, and Jesse scrambles for the other foil packet, tearing that one open, too. He rolls the condom onto Gabriel’s dick, and then he’s lifting himself, canting his hips forward and lining himself up and…
“Fuck, hermoso.”
Gabriel’s fingers dig into Jesse’s hips as the younger man lowers himself down, impaling himself on Gabriel’s cock. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pull, doesn’t make Jesse move any faster than he wants to because the tight heat that’s enveloping him already has Gabriel straining.
“You’re holding back,” Jesse says, and a groan pulls itself from Gabriel’s throat. Jesse sounds wrecked, looks wrecked, but he’s asking for more. Demanding more.
“I’m not rushing,” Gabriel counters, and even as he speaks he rocks Jesse forward, the grip on his hips more than enough to control his movements. Jesse lets out a breathy little sigh, tightening, momentarily, all around him. It’s a little noise, but Gabriel wants more of them, wants to hear and feel Jesse come apart against him, around him.
Gabriel stands, holding Jesse tightly against his chest. Before the younger man can protest or even question the move, Gabriel has him pressed up against the wall. Leaning down, he drags his mouth over the wound on Jesse’s neck, the first one, and then snaps his hips up, hard.
Nails scrape roughly across his shoulders as he sets the pace, rough and hard, dragging Jesse’s hips down to meet every thrust. It’s not lovemaking, and it’s certainly not fooling around - Gabriel is fucking him, raw power in every movement, every snap of his hips. It’s rough and hot and hard and it’s everything.
Jesse’s head falls back against the wall, baring his throat for Gabriel. His eyes are screwed shut and, if it were anyone else, Gabriel might feel self-conscious, might wonder who else they were thinking about. But it’s Jesse. Leaning in, Gabriel drags a fang across the cut of Jesse’s chin, scraping across day-old stubble. “Amorcito,” he murmurs, his own voice rougher, deeper than he expected. “Are you close?”
Jesse whines, high and tight in his throat, and then he’s shaking apart in Gabriel’s arms, spurting into the tight space between them. Gabriel slows his movements until he’s barely moving at all, letting Jesse ride out his orgasm without turning the pleasure to pain, because seeing him, hair plastered to his forehead and mouth open, panting, is satisfying in its own right.
After a moment, Jesse drops his head to Gabriel’s shoulder and deliberately rolls his hips down, even though the movement pulls another whine from his lips. “Keep going,” the younger man breathes. “C’mon, Gabe. Please.”
Gabriel makes a tentative thrust, and when it doesn’t do anything but make Jesse suck in a breath through his nose, he keeps going, chasing his own pleasure, now. He goes back to Jesse’s neck, laves his tongue over the healing marks while he fucks up into him, taking what he wants from every part of Jesse’s body.
“Mine,” he says, and sinks his teeth into Jesse’s neck.
Jesse gasps, and Gabriel comes with the taste of him on his tongue.
Later, Gabriel blots a tissue against the puncture wounds on Jesse’s neck, guilt sitting high in his chest, because he knows they’re not comfortable. Jesse lets him fuss, but not without protest.
“You’ve sent me back out in the field banged up worse’n this,” he says. “‘s fine, boss.”
“You look like you got mauled.”
Jesse grins, tilting his head to give Gabriel better access. “And I’d sign up for a second round. Ain’t often I get fucked like that against a wall.”
Gabriel snorts. “Don’t get used to it, pendejo.”
And Jesse just leans back against the headboard, the stupid smile still on his face. “Too late,” he says, and Gabriel doesn’t think he’s ever agreed with the kid more.