She reminded him of the Omnium's fusion core.
Cold, deadly, and ready to irradiate anything in her way should you cross her, leaving a path of pain and destruction in her wake.
She looks up at him with dark eyes, hard and sharp as a laser sight with lashes sweeping over her cheeks, and he chuckles to himself.
"What, on Earth, are you laughing about?" The raven haired beauty speaks, lips set in a fine line.
"You. You're a joke, darling."
"Excuse me?"
And as she steps closer, he laughs louder, to the point of a guffaw, slapping his good knee in glee. She stands in front of him, arms crossed under perfect breasts and he looks up at her. "Yea'? Can I help you?"
"What do you mean, I'm a joke?"
He settles for a shit eating grin as he surveys her. "Yea'. Look at you and all them fancy devices you construct outta nothin'. You could end everyone 'ere, and we wouldn't even know. I mean, how do we even know you're not still workin' with that big corporation of yours, tryna take us all out?" The slap she serves to his face nearly knocks him off balance; his peg leg skids on the floor. He takes his hand, and snaps his jaw into place on his face with a satisfying crack. "Hehe, that'll wake a man up." He stands up, full height, and notices her strain her neck to glare at him before taking a swift step back.
"How dare you? You think I'm some sort of filthy mercenary," she says with an upturned nose, disgust dripping from every word.
He twists his head, gets alarmingly close in her space, his nose nearly touching hers. "Seems ta me from the way you lookin' that you think tha' of me." Her eyes shift from one corner of her face to another, puckered out lips, and then he laughs. "The only difference 'tween you and me is that I wear my dirt proud. I ain't a suit like some people."
"That's not the only difference, I assure you," she states with condescension, turning her face away from his.
Jamison looks her up and down, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Yea', we got some different bits alright, some I'd say look right better on you than they'd look on me."
"You're incorrigible." She says, disdain staining the words.
"I'm just bein' honest, love." He chuckles to himself again.
She frowns. "I've heard of you, Trashmouse."
"Junkrat."
"Inconsequential," she continues undeterred. "You're a wanted man and a mercenary, and if we have to be on the same team then so be it, but I will not have you accuse myself of anything less than supporting operation Overwatch in their efforts, regardless of my affiliations, which I bear no shame in having had."
He cocks his head to the side. "You think I'm 'inconsequential', do ya?"
"In the grand scheme of things, yes."
"Which means, you still think of me."
She looks out the large window that expands across the full right wall of her room, staring at the lights speckled across the Watchpoint, dimming in and out. The last ending rays of the previous day have long drifted away and it's not quite night, but it's not late enough to be considered morning.
Or perhaps it's too early.
It's as paradoxical as the fact that she can still feel him in-between her legs, and yet his head is behind hers, as his arms are wrapped around her waist, snoring lightly. If this keeps occurring, it would serve her well to invest in some type of medication for his sinuses. Or earplugs, which would be practical in other arenas.
Sanjay would always make it a habit of pointing out her idiosyncrasies. And her anorgasmic condition that, for some reason, doesn't seem to apply when she's with Jamison.
It's fascinating to say the least. She thinks there was one time where she may've climaxed with Sanjay, but it could've been indigestion. If only you could be as passionate here as you are with your work, he would say, almost pityingly. Hazy bliss and warm comfort were concepts that were, unfortunately, lost on her. It always felt more clinical than anything else. Like another step that was needed to be completed in a grander design rather than something done for recreation.
"Oi," she hears from behind her, laced with sleep.
"Hmm?"
"You woke me up."
"How?" The architect asks with furrowed brow. She hadn't even moved, though she had been heavily considering that it was time to.
"Thinkin' too loud," the junker grumbles, and she laughs. She seems to do a lot of that in his presence of late, too. Was he always this funny, or did she just become more accustomed to his sense of humor due to the close proximity?
"It cannot be helped, I'm afraid," she murmurs when the laughter finally subsides. His hand falls from the inward curve of her belly to the juncture in-between her thighs, still moist and sensitive from the last time they were there. "Jamie," she says, and it's weak and it's supposed to be a warning, but comes out more like an invitation.
"You sayin' it can't be helped, let me help you, love."
Assisted with the moisture, his digit slides in and twists, creating the most gorgeous friction against her sensitive little nub. She reaches her hand down atop of his, guiding his movements, and there's no intelligible thought, just sensory output overpowering her higher mental functions. He does this…thing where he'll shift from even pumps to twists to flipping her labia back and forth with his thumb and forefinger as if he were flipping a page and it's both maddening and exquisite at the same time.
She grinds herself back into him, bucking into his hand, and she feels him hot and heavy against her ass. Baser instincts would have her turn to face him, straddle his lithe waist, descend upon him…
Her sense of purpose ultimately wins out, and as she rides out the last wave, crooning to the air above, she grips his wrist tighter.
"Feel better?"
The former Vishkar employee nods. "Exponentially."
"Aces," Jamison removes his hand from inside her slowly. "Uh, love?"
"Yes?"
"Got me hand," he says, teetering between a laugh and a sigh.
Satya lets go as if scorched and resumes breathing. Since when was she so damn dependent? "You're a distraction," she accuses.
"A good one, I hope."
Too good, goes unsaid. Instead, she whips the sheets from herself, brown skin coated with a light sheen of sweat as the cold air hits it. From her nightstand is her hairtie and she grabs it, sweeping into a hasty bun and it's messy and disheveled, certainly not good enough to walk through Vishkar's pristine halls, but enough to regain focus. She stands from the bed and walks to her closet, trying to tamper down the blush on her face when she hears a wolf whistle from the bed. She's never felt more thankful for the shade of night.
In preparation, she'd kept a spare uniform in case of unforeseeable instances.
Certainly having two orgasms prior to a mission counted as such an instance.
She pulls it from the closet on the hanger and lays it carefully by the foot of the bed. Heads over to her dresser and pulls out matching undergarments, garnering a cheeky "now that's a nice outfit," from the bed as well.
She whips around, hands on ample hips with her head tilted to one side. "Jamison?"
"Yes ma'am?" He asks enthusiastically. She tries to ignore the fact that she could see his toothy grin in the dark.
"Shut it."
She begins the process of dressing, first with her panties and then her bra, and though she avoids eye contact, she can feel his eyes on her all the same. She gathers her slacks, slipping them on past her thighs and zipping them up to her waist, buttoning her blazer, and…her gauntlet.
Where was her gauntlet? The workshop?
"Lookin' for this?" Jamison says gleefully from the bed, holding up the sleek white and chrome metal attachment.
She walks over, reaches out for it, and he holds it away. Satya sighs, crossing her arms. "What do you want, Jamie?"
"Nothin', but one thing, jus' a trifle really," the Aussie shrugs. "Just promise me somethin'."
"What's that?"
"You ain't becomin' one of them suits again," he says, and there's no glee that she could detect from the statement. "You know better and you are better and I ain't losin' you to some damn crazy company halfway cross the rocks."
She regards him coolly. "I am who I am, Jamison. Not a suit, not a pawn, but a creator. I bear no regrets with my time spent there, but I will say that Vishkar is not what they said they were." She believes that she had been overly optimistic about the situation before, but the illusion was shattered, her mind made up.
Jamison twists his mouth into a wry grin. "Could come wit' you, blow things up real quiet-like."
"You're as quiet as a stampede in the Savannah." Satya crosses her arms.
Sneaking his arm around her waist, he pulls her into the bed on top of the covers, lowers himself really close to her face. "Say tha' again."
"You're as quiet as-" but that's all she gets to say as laughter bubbles from her lips, his fingers tickling her most sensitive spots. "Jamison, stop!"
But he doesn't. And neither does she.
DAC