Pulsate
sombramaker: sombra's nails can shock and widow's heart quickens from it. or anything with these two honestly, im not picky at this point they could look at each other's general direction and i love it
Widowmaker/Sombra. Erotic electric boogaloo.
I really struggled with this, hence why it is very short and more talky than smutty. Writing Widow doesn’t come naturally to me I’m afraid.
“Where is he?” Widowmaker asks before she’s rounded the corner through the door - the door which she hadn’t even knocked on first.
Rude, but that’s fine. Sombra had been alerted to her coming up the elevator three floors ago. All information pertaining to a certain booze-drenched, Ex-Blackwatch cowboy has been secreted away to a private drive, leaving only boring Talon memos and one video feed running on the displays when Widowmaker strides in, unannounced but not unexpected.
“Somewhere near the bottom,” says the hacker, lounging with one leg draped over the arm of her chair. She enlarges the stream from the storage room surveillance. Reaper is hardly visible in the shadows, but there’s a familiar distortion. A hazy blackness that clouds images on the normal spectrum and can’t be picked up at all on infrared. “If they’re so worried about him wraithing into places he’s not wanted then he should be contained. I’ve got better things to do with my day than play Where’s Waldo.”
“He’s an ally, not our prisoner,” Widowmaker says coolly, arms folded as she comes to Sombra’s side.
“If you say so.” Sombra takes that to mean Talon hasn't figured out a way to cage Reaper yet. Not surprising since they can barely track his movements in their own house.
Widowmaker stares intently at the video, and for just a moment she’s not watching every corner, aware of every detail of the room. Sombra tilts her chair back to admire the long curve of the woman’s spine, fingers pressed to her lips with intrigue.
“You know, I’ve been thinking. We need to take on a job without the third wheel, araňa. Let’s go have some fun. Remember Chile? You and me, holed up in that quiet little cabin in the mountains, watching the snow fall…”
“That assignment was pointless. The target never emerged.”
“We still made good use of the time.” Then, daring to take her life in her own hands, Sombra reaches up to trace along the spider tattoo with a clawed nail.
It’s subtle, like all of Widowmaker’s mood changes, but if you know what to look for then a slightly arched eyebrow and a tiny quirk of the lips is the same as watching her come undone. Encouraged, Sombra twiddles her fingers, activating a neat little program that runs from the underlay of her suit -- one which she knows the assassin is fond of.
“Remember how much you liked this?” she asks, grinning at how the tiny electrical pulses stimulate Widowmaker’s skin, inciting gentle twitches and shivers as she rakes her charged nails down the woman’s back. Widow’s eyes drift closed, but she’s still tense. “Ease up. This is my kingdom. No eyes watching in here but mine.”
That she’s certain of, because the truth is it’s the first reason why Widowmaker is such a frequent visitor. After every outing Sombra locates and fries a dozen of Talon’s bugs that have crept into her quarters. The sleeper agent is their employers’ only means to spy on their loose cannon, but the arrangement is acceptable. Because here in Sombra’s kingdom, Widow is allowed to relax and grin and show signs of life without having to worry about her handlers deciding another round of treatment is in order. That’s the second reason that keeps her coming around.
And the third? The company, of course.
“I remember how insufferable your flirting became afterward.”
“Oh? Then you have to remember begging to come while I was kissing your pussy.”
Normally a statement so forward, so uncouth would earn Sombra the harshest of sideways glares, but now free from the prying eyes of her handlers Widowmaker actually smiles.
“C’mon! We never have girl time anymore,” Sombra whines and pats her lap. “We can braid each other’s hair. We’ll paint our nails and chat about boys.”
“Do you ever stop talking?”
It's beauty in motion, the way Widowmaker’s skin-tight leotard highlights her lithe body as she slings a leg over to straddle Sombra. The hacker bites her lip at the thigh muscles suspending Widow just barely in her reach, hovering above her like she’s waiting for something. Sombra sits up in her chair with delight and crosses her legs with one knee over the other, offering herself up for the assassin’s use.
“Yeah, yeah, no need to get snippy. I got what you want right here.” She flexes her fingers again, nails crackling a gentle charge. “What’cha got for me, little spider?”
A sly smirk. An scrunched nose It’s not hard to see Widow’s been thinking about this too, because she watches Sombra’s reaction as she slowly slides her palms over the slick glossiness of her bodysuit. She’s playing to her audience, making a show out of pulling her leotard away from her breasts.
A tingle runs up Sombra’s spine that has nothing to do with the electricity coursing across her outfit.
“Well?” Widowmaker drawls, “Are you just going to stare and leave me to do everything myself?”
Sombra would never dream of such a thing. Not when she’s been dreaming so often of getting to play with those fantastic breasts again; of once more getting to hear Widow’s filthy mewlings while her skin takes on a pinkish hue because of a quickening heartbeat. She’s curious to know how warm she could make the cold-blooded woman with her touch.
They really do need to get off this base. Sombra would kill to have those gorgeous thights wrapped around her, stiletto heels digging into her back
Vaguely aware of Widow lightly grinding down against her knee, Sombra leans forward and lolls her tongue over one of the dark, supple nipples. She takes her time sucking and grazing it with her teeth, pleased by the hums of approval and encouragement she receives as the flesh goes hard from the attention.
And it’s sweet for as long as Sombra decides to be sweet, but even she has only so much patience. Widowmaker rolls her hips, massaging herself over the bend of the hacker’s knee through her suit. That’s when Sombra settles back, considers the tit still shiny with saliva, and presses a nail to it.
“Merde!”
When she tosses her head back it’s hard for Sombra not to admire Widow’s long, graceful neck, or the way her hair cascades in sleek, black streams over the elegant curves of her body. And it’s a good thing for her that Sombra’s past her days of falling stupidly in love, because if she were made of anything less steely the soft bob of Widow’s throat when she moans under the rippling shocks would have done the the former gang member in.
...which is not to say she isn’t harboring one hell of a crush, but at least she’s being smart about it. Widowmaker wouldn’t have any interest in her otherwise.
“Ooh, araňa,” Sombra coos. She presses another shock into Widowmaker’s cool skin and laughs at the full-body spasm it invokes. “I can’t wait to see what you do when I start playing with your clit.”