A teensy Tumblr commission for an A. Z. who requested Tracer and Widowmaker having sweet yet naughty foreplay in a hotel room together. MA15+
Liason
Tracer x Widowmaker
by Dash Anhelo for A. Z.
Amélie's perfume blended with the French vanilla burning on the bedside table. Lena kissed her again, able to still taste the faintest traces of plum from the wine they shared, before licking across her teeth and grinning as the pretty sniper arched and hummed for her. She was delicious. She always was, even after slipping straight out of her form-hugging stealth suit that left so little to the imagination. Tracer couldn't get over how Amélie was able to peel off 'that bloody getup' and immediately look refreshed. Not a hair was ever out of place. Not the slightest mark of blemish on her figure. Just miles of pale, pale flesh that was always cool to the touch and seemed to demand a little more attention for it.
"I'm special," she seemed to say with every sway of her hips and bite of her lip. "You'll need to work harder, but I'm worth it."
Worth it she was. Lena could spend ages kissing her, running her fingertips over sculpted cheekbones and graceful features. Down Widowmaker's neck and shoulders. Leaning further down and finding the neat hollow of her throat before pressing her freckled-nose closer and inhaling her scent. Taking a full, heavy breast in each hand, lifting them up and massaging them slowly. Feeling soft, firm tissue yielding under her happy fingers. Watching with hooded eyes as Amélie sighed and hummed and arched whenever she took a pale nipple between her lips and sucked.
"Chérie!" she hissed as her teeth grazed her and Lena grinned with triumph. It was always so bloody good to watch her mask slip. To see those graceful features, always cool and impassive, shift under her touch. To watch her mouth open in a quiet cry and her eyes clenched shut and to hear that magnificent groan tumble from her lips.
"Is that for me?" Lena would tease, waiting as her partner caught her breath and mumbled something in French. She could only imagine what it was – probably equal parts affection and cursing – but she knew not to push her luck. Widowmaker was stubborn sometimes. And Tracer preferred turning her attention back to her taller, elegant lover's breasts, lifting them up and licking between them until pale flesh seemed to glow flushed with arousal.
Amélie knew what Lena wanted – she made it annoyingly clear with each smug little grin that pulled at her petite lips, or the way her eyes would dance over her bare chest whenever she knew she was growing warm and moist from the attention. Her little fille was the type who enjoyed playing the role of her tormentor. But only as long as she got to see the side that no one else did. The Widowmaker that would lick her lips and pull her back down for passionate kisses. Who would guide her hands back to her chest and tell her to massage her in a way only she knew.
She knew Tracer was hoping to see her long, lean legs part for her. To reach between her thighs and use nimble, tapered fingers to part her flesh. To show her little English lover her sweet, delicate folds, slick and puffy from the attention. To tell Lena that all of it was for her and because of how well she knew her and how dedicated she was to making her feel good.
Amélie licked her lips, watching with satisfaction as her cheeky partner stared. She wasn't so mean as to deny her. She just wanted her to work harder for her prize…
"There's more to me than just my tits," she said with amusement, watching down past her moist chest to where Lena relaxed, stretching out beside her on the hotel bed. "Are you going to ignore the rest of me?"
"Drama queen," Lena giggled, rolling her eyes. But already she was moving again, crawling further down the bed and admiring the smooth, taut plains of Amélie's abdomen. Graceful little hills that hinted at abdominal muscles peeked at her and she favoured each of them with a kiss, skirting around the dip of her French lover's naval before flicking it with her tongue. Immediately she was rewarded with a hiss and a wriggle beneath her and she smirked upwards.
"I'd hate for you to think I was ignoring you, love," she murmured, waggling her eyebrows before moving towards the foot of the bed. She could already see hints of Amélie's arousal. The flesh of her peachy mons had grown glossy with dew. Shapely thighs pressed together, tensing perfectly sculpted muscles. And Tracer ignored them, lingering just long enough to press a coy kiss against her warm flesh, ghosting close to where she knew her clit was steadily humming by now.
She could wait until those annoying walls of her slipped and she was begging to be touched. Until then there were long, toned legs to admire. Tracer let her freckled cheek hug Widowmaker's thigh, pressing affectionate kisses every few inches and enjoying every wriggle she got in return. Her fingers found the backs of her knees and she massaged, remembering from long ago just how much Amélie gently moaned and asked for more when she rubbed the flesh and muscles there.
Already she could see those cracks forming. Those fine, chiselled features were becoming more animated. Cheeks stretched as rose as Widowmaker tried to hide her arousal. Eyes fluttered shut as her legs were massaged, opening again a moment later to fix Lena with a smouldering gaze.
And Lena returned it playfully, lifting a petite foot and pressing her thumb across the muscles of the sole, pulling her tiny toes and massaging. Almost immediately Widowmaker would sniff and tremble, curling her feet and humming from the expert ministrations.
"How do you know these things?" she hissed, forgetting how often they had wound up in bed like this. Lena shrugged. She could have pointed out she was a scout and was no stranger to appreciating a good foot rub on some days.
Or she could just screw with her a little.
"I'm full of surprises, love," she said instead, grinning before pressing a chaste kiss against Amélie's sole. The Frenchwoman had had enough, worrying at her lip as her thighs parted. Pale flesh became pink and wet, flushed and aroused and open for her little English lover.
"Start surprising me here, chérie," Widowmaker insisted, pressing her fingers against the folds of her pussy and swirling them slowly, sending tingles along her legs and into her belly.
Tracer smirked and crawled back up on the bed, coming to rest at Amélie's familiar sex.
"You only had t' ask," she hummed, watching her with hooded, playful eyes as she leaned closer and licked across her wet pearl. Amélie arched and tensed and swore in French.