( Angela's well aware of the significance of touching such a delicate and central part of him, and it's something she shouldn't be able to touch— but he allows it to dangle freely, refuses cover and maintains his existence as simply as possible. Not unlike a monk refusing material goods, which only endears her to him further— and leaves her wanting to protect him, just a bit, from those who may do him harm. She hopes no one with such intentions exists, but the world wasn't always so kind.
All she had to do was look, touch, and something about her surges up in her chest. It isn't unlike her desires during Iris— the need to be mated with, to be had, legs shifting even as she leans forward to press a kiss to the tip of his leaking cock when he's already weak-kneed, and she finds herself wanting to be his as much as she wants to spoil him. She knew Omnics were largely given both sexes when mass-produced, early on, but all it meant now is endless possibilities with Zenyatta as her fingertips stroke up from his lips to his cock to this other appendage, hands encasing him to the buck of his hips before he's dropping. Now he's the one kneeling before her, a scant couple inches below, and she's moving to stand even as she curls over him, hands leaving off where she'd accidentally teased him to the point of collapse with a touch to cradle his head instead. )
My apologies; I didn't think it'd— ( It doesn't matter what she thinks, how easily he'd been worked up. He's already so sensitive and half-gone, desperate for relief. All that matters is that she wants this too, caught up in the same urges and stroking over the smooth metal curve beneath her palms, having seen all she needed to see. And it's Zenyatta; he isn't going to hurt her or do anything to harm her. ) —nevermind. Help me with my clothes?
( Really, all he has to do is drag off her leggings and panties as she throws off the top, some little shirtdress or another for the warm weather, already barefoot. White leggings will give way to peach-toned lace, matching the bralette swirling over her skin unable to contain the beauty mark at the swell of one breast or the color of her nipples, now visibly stiff. )
[Angela rises above him, haloed in gold, and for a moment he wonders if this is why Genji has so often spoken of her as if she were the sun and the stars incarnate. Then the vista is interrupted by a chaos of clothing and the moment passes, even if the impression lingers as her hair tumbles around her shoulders into a loose frame for the elegant lines of her throat and clavicle.]
You are lovely.
[There is nothing but perfect sincerity in his voice as he reaches for her hips, hands tracing smoothly up, around her bare hips and the inward curve of her waist before they cup her breasts, gently, in his palms. The hard, pink little buds of her nipples respond readily to the cool metal of his thumbs, a light touch in spite of his hunger, before he pets his way back up her shoulders. It is the least he can do for her in return for the way she has touched him, stroking him like a cat until he is primed and all but purring for her.
There are no clasps to unlatch, no straps to loosen; all it takes is a dexterous little tug to peel the lace from her skin and strip away the last, thin layer of protection from their intentions. Nude before him she seems so delicate, something that could be so easily crushed in the chrome and steel of his embrace. But Zenyatta does not hesitate.]
Come to me, Angela.
[McCree could be standing by the bed and miss his voice, so low and intimate that it seems little more than a polyphonic murmur. One hand stays put at her cheek; another finds her hips, lingering for a moment against her ass, then guides her thigh forward until he has her straddling his lap.]
( If she knew the reverence for what it was behind the cool blue lights and his optics, she'd have the decency to flush beneath his touch, dusting her shoulders and the peak of her breasts pink, cheeks darkening to the way he pets her. He compliments her regardless as she's stripped down to nothing but the lace of her bra, which deft, cool fingers see up her ribs and off to the rise of her arms, encouraging one last tumble of loose waves.
It's difficult not to reach for him where he's aching, holding back his release. More difficult still to deny him his request as he tugs at her one leg, and she obliges as her hands go to rest at his shoulders and she lays him back on her bed from where he'd knelt, no fear of the strength of his arms or the cool metal of his limbs she's soon seated atop. )
You're far too kind. It's quite a shame we have so little time, but I don't want to leave you waiting.
( She could be teasing him, mouth between smooth steel and hydraulic pistons of his legs, never sparing a second thought for her safety or her nudity around so many parts that could pinch and tear at her skin. She trusts him. Perhaps it's why there's no further preamble, no attempt to stretch herself open first; as she finds her seat atop him, she's sneaking a hand down between them and bracing herself with the other planted on the mattress behind her, catching the head of his cock between her fingertips and guiding him down, rubbing over her clit with a hissed breath and along the line of her, lining him up to her and sinking down, letting him ply at her and stretch her. Her breath nearly whistles as she lets it out long and slow, body relaxing even as he fills her.
She could make some quip. "No, you come for me." But what seems most delicate to her is their dynamic as they dive into this. A first encounter and already something new, two somethings if she's counting— the new bit of anatomy he has as well as the fact that... well. It's her first time with an Omnic. She supposes she'll be finding out what that means. She bites her lip as she takes her time sinking down onto him, other hand drawing back and careful in her balance as she reaches down over his fingertips tracing the curve of her ass and further still.
It's a bit of a reach, the way she has to twist ever so slightly and arm stretching, but she's able to tease up silicone folds once more and slip two fingers into him, thumb pressing steady to his clit. )
[Zenyatta would like to laugh and promise her that they have all the time in the world- that, in fact, time is quite meaningless between two people, that it can only ever be relative to the heat between their bodies and the pleasure at one another's fingertips. But Angela moves so very much quicker than his sluggish processes can manage, already scrambling to reconfigure their priorities.
In the next moment she is in his lap, so very light in arms designed to bear far more than a single slender human, but he knows he could never hurt her. Then there are hands, fingers, not enough even as the head catches on the hard little bud at the crest of her cunt, a strange twin to his own as she carresses it with expert touches that have his hips twitching--
And his cock sinks into velvet softness with minimal resistance, swallowed up inch after inch. It is at first such a tremendous relief that he can only sigh and luxuriate in the steady, thrumming pleasure her body milks from him, the way she clings to each sensor. It does not even occur to him that the curious arch of her spine is anything but a means to show off the swell of her breasts as they rise and fall with each lovely breath, chin thrown back in rapture. But then, Zenyatta supposes dreamily, he should know better than to underestimate her capacity for keeping a clear head.]
A-Angela-!
[His cunt opens, throbbing, for her fingers with embarrassing ease, messy already with his desire and ready to clench at anything it is offered. Automatically the cock within her gives a violent twitch and releases a thick, healthy load into her body, as if she needed the encouragement to take him to the hilt. Scarcely a second later her lips kiss his pelvis, and the sensation is so wonderfully, wildly new that he cannot help but give a helpless little noise, somewhere between a cry and a moan that garbles in his vocaliser.]
Y-you are-- quite the teacher! [But you cannot fill her like this, Zenyatatta, a traitorous voice reminds him, and when his hands move, stilled with purpose, to lift her bodily up the length of his cock the urge to stuff her with ovipositor instead is so very real.
Instead, he sinks back into her with a sudden upward thrust.]
( Angela certainly isn't saying their time together would be short— if anything, she expects to help him until the urges he's suffering die down, likely the span of a few rounds if the usual moon's effects are anything comparable, but that he had been so near peaking with a mere touch, she doesn't imagine this first coupling would last terribly long. His hold on her has a comforting steadiness to it; no trembling muscles, no sweat-slick fingers digging into her skin, no dig of nails. She feels perfectly supported and expects, if she were to at all lose her balance or tip into a strange position, he'd have no issues keeping up.
She can practically hear those processors buzzing as he runs every moment through his system, overclocked in every sensation when he's already pushed to his limits. But as she sinks onto his cock, inch by inch, feeling every bump along her walls as she takes in one sensor after another and the pressure engulfs him, he's sighing his relief quite vocally and it seems to help take the edge off his desperation. His body takes her own warmth and reflects it back, comfortable beneath her and cock perfect as he stretches her open, and she's barely halfway down as her fingertips find his folds and stroke up, then press in to stroke along his walls. The twitch of his cock isn't one she was expecting, nor the heat of his release already spilling inside her with a suck of breath, and her grin is an exhilarated one as his body clenches at her fingers and her thumb works the sensitive nub of him, continuing to claim her seat until she's comfortably resting in the cradle of his pelvis.
The shape of her name on strained vocals is even sweeter and that soft little cry addicting, wiggling her hips to adjust him inside her and give him that little tease of friction once more. )
Am I? I didn't think you'd come so quickly for me. But— ( And another stir of her hips, fingertips pressing up inside him as she begins a slow pump, in and out. Work him through the post-orgasm pleasure. ) —you feel amazing.
( His hands frame her hips again and lift her effortlessly off of him, barely able to keep her fingers inside him as he fucks up into her to fill her once more, and this time it's her moan that slips out, surprised and sudden. It makes sense he has little to no refractory period, as humans do. Still, he's caught her off-guard and she feels his seed (if one could call it such) slicking inside her, easing the way of his cock and slowly working down the length of him, her core keeping her upright and her free hand reaching down to stroke the length of the other organ, left neglected. She's careful not to squeeze him, at least, but she's biting her lip and wondering just how this was going to work. She may have to get one of her toys out to fill him in place of her fingers; she'll get a crick in her back, keeping this up, but she wants to please every fiberoptic wire of him and see to him as thoroughly as she can. )
[Biology may not betray Zenyatta, but he is certain that she has already begun to read his own peculiar little foibles; there's no other way to explain all the wicked little ways Angela's fingers move within him, the sounds lurid against the soft symphony of her gasps, the smile that reaches her eyes until they gleam like pale stars. Clever, and just a little impish. Amazing, she says, and his body responds ahead of any conscious answer with a chirp and a full-body twitch as his vocals offline for just a fraction of a second.]
N-nor did I. But- [he steals seconds inside of her (or does she steal them from him?) and the momentary stillness is a space to breathe] - I am sure I will return the favour.
[Though, oh, she makes it so difficult to think at allwhen she reaches for him all over again and takes his ovipositor in one of those beautiful hands. Even that most considered of touches burns through him like wildfire, the pressure against his shaft giving way to the pressure within, its precious cargo shifting restlessly towards its tip.
Zenyatta had never known animal instinct until this place. Now it bucks his hips wildly upwards, through the tender circle of her hand, into the welcoming heat of her body, once, twice, a third time--
A third hand materialises in a golden arc; its hand finds purchase on Angela's waist to smooth tense muscle, thumbing over the place lower still where he knows she must be full of him. He is making a mess of her, he knows. Each time he recedes he feels his slick pool against his thighs, displaced by his cock with every thrust. And yet. And yet.]
( Even just to a bit of praise, his body reacts honestly and immediately, so inherently endeared to this person who's only ever been held in the highest regard through word of mouth alone— someone else who saves lives, and the life of one so dear to them both. She wants nothing other than to help save him here, too, giving him all these little things she finds him craving and the touches that leave his system blipping off and on, vocals cutting out and scratching mid-syllable.
It's certainly giving her an idea of how he functions, yes. His "quirks", if she may.
It feels like cheating; trying to distract her so he can have some measure of peace to enjoy the glow of after. She ruins it just as thoroughly as she takes the other piece of him in hand, feeling the sizable lump within being pushed up. Should she try to help stop it...? Her fingers circle the organ atop it and every thrust of his hips up into her has her huffing out breaths laced with little whimpers, and subsequently forces the egg back down the shaft. It never stays down long until it's bumping against her fingers again. It must be agonizing, that sensation. )
—Yes, I'm sure you— will... Mmn, please.
( Every buck of his hips seems to seat within her perfectly, every dig of smooth metal digits careful as much as they have that pleasant bruise-ache blooming beneath her skin from hefting her weight up, and she stirs herself on him every time his hips rest up against hers, trying to help angle the other piece of him down.
The third hand takes her by surprise. She doesn't expect to see something incorporeal much less feel it, pressure and warmth without any real sense of mass, massaging at her and thumb shifting down, between them. He is making a mess of her, but she hardly minds it. He's making a mess of himself and, really, the Iris moon that has sung in her veins so often seems to glimmer on her skin even yet to show in the sky, serenading that urge within her to— to mate. Spark new life in the world. To be one's other half. Zenyatta's sating that quiet residual urge in her in spades, with every drop poured into her and every thrust of his cock, promising more.
It is so intensely human. And every thrust just as promising displaces more of his seed, though she knows tucked away deep that they're both sterile. That it made no sense to feel otherwise. To want otherwise. And still she lines that new length of him up against the first, already buried in her, ready for the next thrust to take in more of him. Even without his release, she would've been positively dripping. Her body wants this more than anything and she's biting her lip already, anticipating it. It's just as agonizing for her, the way time stretches between the rock of his hips. )
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no subject
All she had to do was look, touch, and something about her surges up in her chest. It isn't unlike her desires during Iris— the need to be mated with, to be had, legs shifting even as she leans forward to press a kiss to the tip of his leaking cock when he's already weak-kneed, and she finds herself wanting to be his as much as she wants to spoil him. She knew Omnics were largely given both sexes when mass-produced, early on, but all it meant now is endless possibilities with Zenyatta as her fingertips stroke up from his lips to his cock to this other appendage, hands encasing him to the buck of his hips before he's dropping. Now he's the one kneeling before her, a scant couple inches below, and she's moving to stand even as she curls over him, hands leaving off where she'd accidentally teased him to the point of collapse with a touch to cradle his head instead. )
My apologies; I didn't think it'd— ( It doesn't matter what she thinks, how easily he'd been worked up. He's already so sensitive and half-gone, desperate for relief. All that matters is that she wants this too, caught up in the same urges and stroking over the smooth metal curve beneath her palms, having seen all she needed to see. And it's Zenyatta; he isn't going to hurt her or do anything to harm her. ) —nevermind. Help me with my clothes?
( Really, all he has to do is drag off her leggings and panties as she throws off the top, some little shirtdress or another for the warm weather, already barefoot. White leggings will give way to peach-toned lace, matching the bralette swirling over her skin unable to contain the beauty mark at the swell of one breast or the color of her nipples, now visibly stiff. )
no subject
You are lovely.
[There is nothing but perfect sincerity in his voice as he reaches for her hips, hands tracing smoothly up, around her bare hips and the inward curve of her waist before they cup her breasts, gently, in his palms. The hard, pink little buds of her nipples respond readily to the cool metal of his thumbs, a light touch in spite of his hunger, before he pets his way back up her shoulders. It is the least he can do for her in return for the way she has touched him, stroking him like a cat until he is primed and all but purring for her.
There are no clasps to unlatch, no straps to loosen; all it takes is a dexterous little tug to peel the lace from her skin and strip away the last, thin layer of protection from their intentions. Nude before him she seems so delicate, something that could be so easily crushed in the chrome and steel of his embrace. But Zenyatta does not hesitate.]
Come to me, Angela.
[McCree could be standing by the bed and miss his voice, so low and intimate that it seems little more than a polyphonic murmur. One hand stays put at her cheek; another finds her hips, lingering for a moment against her ass, then guides her thigh forward until he has her straddling his lap.]
no subject
It's difficult not to reach for him where he's aching, holding back his release. More difficult still to deny him his request as he tugs at her one leg, and she obliges as her hands go to rest at his shoulders and she lays him back on her bed from where he'd knelt, no fear of the strength of his arms or the cool metal of his limbs she's soon seated atop. )
You're far too kind. It's quite a shame we have so little time, but I don't want to leave you waiting.
( She could be teasing him, mouth between smooth steel and hydraulic pistons of his legs, never sparing a second thought for her safety or her nudity around so many parts that could pinch and tear at her skin. She trusts him. Perhaps it's why there's no further preamble, no attempt to stretch herself open first; as she finds her seat atop him, she's sneaking a hand down between them and bracing herself with the other planted on the mattress behind her, catching the head of his cock between her fingertips and guiding him down, rubbing over her clit with a hissed breath and along the line of her, lining him up to her and sinking down, letting him ply at her and stretch her. Her breath nearly whistles as she lets it out long and slow, body relaxing even as he fills her.
She could make some quip. "No, you come for me." But what seems most delicate to her is their dynamic as they dive into this. A first encounter and already something new, two somethings if she's counting— the new bit of anatomy he has as well as the fact that... well. It's her first time with an Omnic. She supposes she'll be finding out what that means. She bites her lip as she takes her time sinking down onto him, other hand drawing back and careful in her balance as she reaches down over his fingertips tracing the curve of her ass and further still.
It's a bit of a reach, the way she has to twist ever so slightly and arm stretching, but she's able to tease up silicone folds once more and slip two fingers into him, thumb pressing steady to his clit. )
no subject
In the next moment she is in his lap, so very light in arms designed to bear far more than a single slender human, but he knows he could never hurt her. Then there are hands, fingers, not enough even as the head catches on the hard little bud at the crest of her cunt, a strange twin to his own as she carresses it with expert touches that have his hips twitching--
And his cock sinks into velvet softness with minimal resistance, swallowed up inch after inch. It is at first such a tremendous relief that he can only sigh and luxuriate in the steady, thrumming pleasure her body milks from him, the way she clings to each sensor. It does not even occur to him that the curious arch of her spine is anything but a means to show off the swell of her breasts as they rise and fall with each lovely breath, chin thrown back in rapture. But then, Zenyatta supposes dreamily, he should know better than to underestimate her capacity for keeping a clear head.]
A-Angela-!
[His cunt opens, throbbing, for her fingers with embarrassing ease, messy already with his desire and ready to clench at anything it is offered. Automatically the cock within her gives a violent twitch and releases a thick, healthy load into her body, as if she needed the encouragement to take him to the hilt. Scarcely a second later her lips kiss his pelvis, and the sensation is so wonderfully, wildly new that he cannot help but give a helpless little noise, somewhere between a cry and a moan that garbles in his vocaliser.]
Y-you are-- quite the teacher! [But you cannot fill her like this, Zenyatatta, a traitorous voice reminds him, and when his hands move, stilled with purpose, to lift her bodily up the length of his cock the urge to stuff her with ovipositor instead is so very real.
Instead, he sinks back into her with a sudden upward thrust.]
no subject
She can practically hear those processors buzzing as he runs every moment through his system, overclocked in every sensation when he's already pushed to his limits. But as she sinks onto his cock, inch by inch, feeling every bump along her walls as she takes in one sensor after another and the pressure engulfs him, he's sighing his relief quite vocally and it seems to help take the edge off his desperation. His body takes her own warmth and reflects it back, comfortable beneath her and cock perfect as he stretches her open, and she's barely halfway down as her fingertips find his folds and stroke up, then press in to stroke along his walls. The twitch of his cock isn't one she was expecting, nor the heat of his release already spilling inside her with a suck of breath, and her grin is an exhilarated one as his body clenches at her fingers and her thumb works the sensitive nub of him, continuing to claim her seat until she's comfortably resting in the cradle of his pelvis.
The shape of her name on strained vocals is even sweeter and that soft little cry addicting, wiggling her hips to adjust him inside her and give him that little tease of friction once more. )
Am I? I didn't think you'd come so quickly for me. But— ( And another stir of her hips, fingertips pressing up inside him as she begins a slow pump, in and out. Work him through the post-orgasm pleasure. ) —you feel amazing.
( His hands frame her hips again and lift her effortlessly off of him, barely able to keep her fingers inside him as he fucks up into her to fill her once more, and this time it's her moan that slips out, surprised and sudden. It makes sense he has little to no refractory period, as humans do. Still, he's caught her off-guard and she feels his seed (if one could call it such) slicking inside her, easing the way of his cock and slowly working down the length of him, her core keeping her upright and her free hand reaching down to stroke the length of the other organ, left neglected. She's careful not to squeeze him, at least, but she's biting her lip and wondering just how this was going to work. She may have to get one of her toys out to fill him in place of her fingers; she'll get a crick in her back, keeping this up, but she wants to please every fiberoptic wire of him and see to him as thoroughly as she can. )
no subject
N-nor did I. But- [he steals seconds inside of her (or does she steal them from him?) and the momentary stillness is a space to breathe] - I am sure I will return the favour.
[Though, oh, she makes it so difficult to think at allwhen she reaches for him all over again and takes his ovipositor in one of those beautiful hands. Even that most considered of touches burns through him like wildfire, the pressure against his shaft giving way to the pressure within, its precious cargo shifting restlessly towards its tip.
Zenyatta had never known animal instinct until this place. Now it bucks his hips wildly upwards, through the tender circle of her hand, into the welcoming heat of her body, once, twice, a third time--
A third hand materialises in a golden arc; its hand finds purchase on Angela's waist to smooth tense muscle, thumbing over the place lower still where he knows she must be full of him. He is making a mess of her, he knows. Each time he recedes he feels his slick pool against his thighs, displaced by his cock with every thrust. And yet. And yet.]
Are you ready?
[He does not explain. Angela knows.]
no subject
It's certainly giving her an idea of how he functions, yes. His "quirks", if she may.
It feels like cheating; trying to distract her so he can have some measure of peace to enjoy the glow of after. She ruins it just as thoroughly as she takes the other piece of him in hand, feeling the sizable lump within being pushed up. Should she try to help stop it...? Her fingers circle the organ atop it and every thrust of his hips up into her has her huffing out breaths laced with little whimpers, and subsequently forces the egg back down the shaft. It never stays down long until it's bumping against her fingers again. It must be agonizing, that sensation. )
—Yes, I'm sure you— will... Mmn, please.
( Every buck of his hips seems to seat within her perfectly, every dig of smooth metal digits careful as much as they have that pleasant bruise-ache blooming beneath her skin from hefting her weight up, and she stirs herself on him every time his hips rest up against hers, trying to help angle the other piece of him down.
The third hand takes her by surprise. She doesn't expect to see something incorporeal much less feel it, pressure and warmth without any real sense of mass, massaging at her and thumb shifting down, between them. He is making a mess of her, but she hardly minds it. He's making a mess of himself and, really, the Iris moon that has sung in her veins so often seems to glimmer on her skin even yet to show in the sky, serenading that urge within her to— to mate. Spark new life in the world. To be one's other half. Zenyatta's sating that quiet residual urge in her in spades, with every drop poured into her and every thrust of his cock, promising more.
It is so intensely human. And every thrust just as promising displaces more of his seed, though she knows tucked away deep that they're both sterile. That it made no sense to feel otherwise. To want otherwise. And still she lines that new length of him up against the first, already buried in her, ready for the next thrust to take in more of him. Even without his release, she would've been positively dripping. Her body wants this more than anything and she's biting her lip already, anticipating it. It's just as agonizing for her, the way time stretches between the rock of his hips. )