“I kissed you because we were drunk”

itshigh-boop:

“Stop looking at me like that,” Sombra snaps.

She hates the way that smug grin spreads across his stupid, handsome face. McCree merely gives her a side glance and lifts his shot glass to his lips, knocking back the amber liquor (no, Sombra does not watch his throat as he drinks, fascinated with how his adams apple bobs) and letting the cup linger at his mouth. When she glares at him in warning, she almost throws her own glass at him when he waggles his eyebrows, making a noise of suspicion. 

“Shut up.” It’s the tequila that has her feeling warm, she’s sure of it. “I kissed you because we were drunk.” 

“’Kay.” When the smirk doesn’t fade, she stares at him in question. “So the second time? And the third time, too?” He looks up to the ceiling, bringing a hand up to smooth down the scruff of his beard. “And the kiss just yesterday? Hm. Could’ve sworn we weren’t drinkin’ then.”

“Callate, McCree!” She practically hisses at him and he’s left laughing. 

“Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, darlin’,” he says, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her temple. “S’okay,” he slightly slurs, his warm breath ghosting over her cheek. “I know yer sweet on me.”

She sputters. “I’m not!” 

“’Kay.”

“I’m not!”

Yet she doesn’t move away when he scoots his stool closer to hers and takes to kissing her flushed cheek instead. Even as he places a hand on her hip, tugging her off her seat and toward his lap, she slips onto him. With her arms folded over, she sits on his lap, staring at the wall straight ahead while McCree kisses her.

“I’m letting you because we’re drunk,” she mumbles low, ignoring the way he smiles against her skin.