( 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. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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. )