COMMISSION: Second Skins

Author's Note: New Overwatch thing! We're taking it back to the classics, the one true pairing, and the suits are stayin' ON!

[fu/fu] [rimming] [hotdogging] [frotting] [kissing/groping] [suits!]

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‭Everything always felt so clear when you saw it through a crosshair. Amélie kept one eye closed, locked into a tight crouch, keeping as much of her body hidden as possible while resting the barrel of her sniper rifle on a three-foot rooftop guard-wall. Through her scope, she kept a steady gaze on the ensuing battle, looking for the perfect shot as her teammates -- if she could truly call them that -- clashed with the opposition, winding through and around buildings, utilizing spectacular abilities in yet another of what seemed like a neverending sequence of battles, a struggle destined never to truly end.

This battle, though, was different for Widowmaker. She found her distractions catching up with her, missing shots as her eye wandered, scanning over viable targets and, inevitably, to her. Tracer. That little british nuisance, zipping around the field of contestation and making trouble wherever she went. Amélie found herself tracking the other woman’s movements, ‘tracing’ her from place to place and back again, starved for another glance at that tight yellow suit and the lean curves it so flagrantly failed to leave to the imagination. She bit down on her lower lip as she continued to stare, popping off an errant shot at that brute with the hammer -- one that went all but ignored. Her heart just wasn’t in this, not the way it should be. Not when all she could focus on were those legs, those hips, that stomach... fuck, that ass.

She felt the front of her skintight suit beginning to tighten, and let out an annoyed grumble as the situation grew from ill-fitting to uncomfortable. One of these days, she had to figure out a change to her suit that would give her womanhood proper space without being too... obvious. For now, though, she’d have to settle with the good old-fashioned on-the-spot adjustment. Keeping the rifle steady (and her eye still on the scope) she moved her other hand from the trigger, to between her legs, freeing and adjusting the swelling outline of her girlcock, moving it so that it laid against the inside of her thigh, its conspicuous outline visible against the tight violet fabric.

Touching herself, though, proved to quickly worsen the situation, especially as Tracer zipped back into her line of sight, wreaking havoc for a moment, then zooming away for a moment of solitude, doing some quick stretches as she, presumably, prepared to cause even more mayhem. Amélie swallowed hard, leaving her hand on her cock for a moment, pressing her palm against the outline of her stiff member. Her mind wandered back and forth, part of her trying to focus on the mission, and a very different part of her a great deal more keen on what it must feel like to have that little pest at her mercy -- not that Mercy, of course. She’d just been blown back to Switzerland by that little idiot Junkrat, Widowmaker didn’t expect to see her again for the duration of this conflict.

Pressing a little more insistently against her inner thigh, Amélie blinked as the object of her obsession abruptly vanished from view. Not anything new, but the sniper would have to find her again if she was going to ‘continue’... maybe if she just had some fun and got this pent-up lust out of her system, she could go back to focusing on the--

“You ‘avin’ a good time, there?”

Widowmaker nearly dropped her rifle off of the rooftop, toppling from her crouch into a scrambling half-kneel, turning partway to face the source of the voice coming from behind her. Catching the gun, but not aiming it, Amélie shot a flustered glare in the direction of none other than Lena Oxton -- Tracer, the woman she’d been ogling not only for the last half-hour, but for their last several encounters. She tilted her body awkwardly, a slight blush having already leapt to her cheeks as she tried to hide her recent... ‘activity,’ but in so doing ended up exposing both the outline of her aching girldick, and a fair bit of her ass as well. “What the hell are you doing up here?”

“I, uh, well...” Tracer flashed a bashful smile, her posture showing an uncharacteristic shyness. “I was just, er... well it’s like this, right...?”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Widowmaker had not been the only person distracted during the fight -- and, indeed, during the last several clashes in which both she and Tracer had been present. Lena, too, had been experiencing more and more impure thoughts, her performance in combat beginning to suffer as a result. The moment a conflict would begin, she’d scan around as quickly as possible for some sign of the blue-skinned sniper, zipping around the theater of battle until she found whatever high-up hidey-hole the assassin had found to hunker down into.

She found herself taking breaks between skirmishes, setting reset-points near where Amélie was perched. Checking in to briefly ogle her, staring at the way that perfect ass strained against her skintight outfit, whether she was laying or crouching. She’d take a moment, then vanish again before being noticed -- like rapidly switching tabs between work and dirty pictures, hoping your boss doesn’t notice. Nonetheless, she’d found herself making the visits more and more frequently, lingering longer and longer, her lack of concentration leading to close calls against dangerous foes.

It wasn’t something Tracer had ever considered properly acting on... until her most recent flash-back to admire the assassin’s assets, where she’d spotted Widowmaker’s hand clearly a great deal lower than the trigger of her rifle, performing a motion Lena was quite familiar with and staring at the exact spot she’d just been standing. Was it possible that Amélie felt the same way?

“Neither of us is gonna get anything done if we’re both... distracted,” Tracer continued, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. “I think we owe it to ourselves -- not to mention our teams -- to, uh... figure this out, yeah? One way or the other. And I don’t know why you’re still all twisted up like I can’t still see your knob. Grats on it, by the way, bigger than I expected.”

Amélie let out a flustered half-cough as the brit put her cards on the table, squeezing her long, full thighs together in an attempt to conceal that which she’d already aroused to full life. This, of course, didn’t do any favors to her ability to make wise decisions, the tone flesh of her legs squishing around her stiff girlcock only making her more distracted and restless... not to mention now being so directly in Tracer’s presence.

“Oh, that’s not gonna help.”

“Yes, no, it isn’t,” Amélie sighed. Swallowing hard, she set her rifle down next to her entirely -- Tracer had her dead to rights already, if this was some kind of ruse. She’d have better luck trying to escape than attack. But it didn’t seem like that was what Tracer wanted... and it wasn’t what she wanted either. She just didn’t want to seem too eager. “Fine,” she finally scoffed, “do whatever you think is necessary, and we can get on with the fight.”

“Oh, is that how you wanna play it?” Lena smirked, still a bit flushed herself, but sensing the change in the direction the wind was blowing. “Always the ice queen. Maybe you just need to be... warmed up.”

“Was that a pun?”

Tracer smiled widely. “Yeah!”

“Maybe this was a mistake.”

“Oh, shush, you.” Tracer dropped to her knees in front of the other woman, hesitating for only a moment before leaning forward and doing something Amélie had not expected -- kissing her. The sniper let out a soft groan, one that faded into a sound of relaxation as the battle continued to rage five stories beneath them.

“Mmnn...” Widowmaker purred quietly, her eyes drifting shut as the other girl pressed gently against her, tongue flicking out to tease across Amélie’s own, a swell of excitement rising in her chest, her body singing in approval as it finally got what it had been wanting so badly. Tracer, though, was as quick with her hands as she was on her feet, fingers roaming around the assassin’s slender figure, caressing, groping, teasing, then finally landing both hands on Widowmaker’s luscious backside.

“I’ve been staring at this for so bloody long...” Tracer breathed, breaking the kiss for a moment, nibbling tenderly at Amélie’s lower lip. Squeezing both cheeks in her hands, she stole another long, thirsty kiss, then whispered, “lay down.”

Amélie rolled her eyes, cheeks flushed from the intense kissing and groping, now flustered from so quick an interruption. “Why?”

“Come onnn, I promise it’ll be fun.”

A following sigh, “Fine,” she said, still doing her best to keep her cool, but following Lena’s instructions and laying down on her back, adjusting her package so that her cock lay against her belly, rather than her thigh -- though remaining tightly trapped by shiny purple fabric. “Happy?”

“On your belly, luv,” Tracer cooed.

Amélie’s eyes rolled again as she got a firmer grasp on what, exactly, Tracer wanted. Her indignance was more or less an act, of course -- she found her heart racing faster than ever as she rolled onto her front, pushing her rear back ever so slightly and hypnotizing the Overwatch member in an instant. Tracer took a moment to simply stare and admire, her mouth going dry, feeling herself drawn forward like that curvy blue butt had its own gravitational pull.

Placing both hands on the sniper’s hips, Tracer got into her knees and leaned downward, finally living out her fantasy of fully planting her face between the perfect cheeks of Widowmaker’s ass, letting herself be totally enveloped by it. “Fuckk,” she whimpered, the sound muffled by the assassin’s upturned backside.

“Are you... hnn... having fun, back there...?” Widowmaker moaned, both hands planted in front of her. She could feel her cock throbbing against the hard concrete of the rooftop beneath her, being certain not to grind against it despite how much her hips instinctively wanted to thrust forward. She could feel every little nuzzle and grope, Tracer’s fingers massaging both globes of her ass the way a woman dying of thirst might guzzle from a bottle of water. Little kisses against the inner slopes of her buttcheeks electrified her, the extreme seal of her suit ensuring that no curve or angle of her body couldn’t be singled out and adored, whether by lips, tongue, or finger.

“Nnhhhnn...” Tracer groaned in the affirmative, one hand finally drifting away from Widowmaker’s ass, down to the front of her own suit. Just as tight, it similarly struggled to conceal (or contain) what had been swelling beneath it, and the outline of Tracer’s girldick was now quite visible, pinned between her belly and the snug yellow fabric. Pressing her palm against it, she started insistently rubbing at herself, more an act of instinct than an active attempt to get off -- she had other plans for how she wanted that to go down.

Her face still buried in the sniper’s ass, she began to focus her efforts a little more, tracing her tongue up and down along that central crevice through the fabric, and waiting to feel the other girl shudder or tense. It was only a moment before she felt that little quake of pleasure ripple through Widowmaker, heard her annoyed half-protests melt into a moan, and Lena knew she’d found the sweet spot -- the place where, were that purple suit to be stripped away, she’d be licking Amélie’s asshole outright. She paused, nuzzling into the spot, then lapping the flat of her tongue along that spot again, relishing the sound of the sniper’s moan melting into a heated cry.

“Mmn, there we go,” Tracer purred, dotting a few more adoring kisses up Widowmaker’s ass, along her cheeks, to the small of her back, finally sitting back up. “Got you a bit warmed up, then?”

“Nrhh... n-non, I...” Amélie shuddered, reflexively pushing her ass back a little more as Tracer pulled away from it, unsure what the other woman had planned from here. Her veneer of impatience, however, grew thinner by the instant, and her half-hearted protest faded to a low moan as the brit shifted forward, knees planted on either side of the assassin’s hips. She could feel the hard swell of Lena’s girldick settle between the firm, tingling globes of her ass, rocking forward against that pronounced cleft as Tracer leaned down and forward, like one might atop a racing bike, aligning her shaft perfectly with Widowmaker’s accommodating rear cleavage. “Ahnnn...”

“Ohfh, bloody ‘ell,” Tracer crooned, one hand firmly on Amélie’s hip while the other slid up and underneath her front, gently grasping and fondling one breast as she thrust fully forward, then eased back, then pushed forward again. Like a toothless saw against a perfectly-fitting groove, she rocked back and forth against the sniper’s ass, dry-humping her through the thin membranes of both their suits. Both layers of fabric, of course, were sufficiently thin and form-fitting to effectively be second skins, keeping flesh trapped away, but providing only as much loss of sensitivity as a condom might, if even that. “Feels so much better than I’d ‘oped....”

Widowmaker tried to come up with a pithy response, any response that wasn’t just another eager moan, but neither mind nor body seemed willing to cooperate. Sparsely lubricated by Tracer’s kissing and licking, her ass provided a smooth enough ride that the other woman could easily shift back and forth against her again and again, not yet attempting to gain any speed, but merely relishing the way her cock felt, so snugly embraced against Amélie’s backside. She planted a long kiss at the back of the sniper’s neck, fingers teasing aside the cleavage-opening in the front of her purple suit in order to rub and tease at that stiffened nipple, drawing another shuddering moan from Widowmaker.

“Mnnn... merde, Tracer, you....”

“Lena,” the heroine chirped back softly, nuzzling into Amélie’s ear, then tenderly nibbling at the lobe. She pushed forward again, shuddering a little herself. The sniper could feel every small twitch and throb of that aching girldick, feel it pulsate against her butt, and her cheeks reflexively clenched around it, hugging it tight into that luscious valley.

Widowmaker turned her head slightly, bumping her nose into Tracer’s, letting out a soft whisper of confirmation. “Lena.” A moment later, the other woman’s lips met hers again, a soft kiss, clumsy from their positioning, and just enough to warrant a change.

“Mnn... I need you, luv,” Tracer moaned, finally pulling up from her ‘perch’ grinding hungrily into Amélie’s perfect ass. Backing up and sitting down herself, she pressed her back against the short wall Widowmaker had been shooting from, taking the sniper’s hand and coaxing her up from her belly-down position. Winding both legs around Amélie’s hips, she guided her into something resembling her lap, the frenchwoman’s own legs doing their best to make themselves accounted for by winding around Tracer’s hips, allowing the two women to press their throbbing penises firmly against one another, a sharp gasp of delight escaping them both.

Letting her eyes drift shut, Amélie pressed herself fully into her counterpart, entertwining as much as she could, locking lips with the other woman. Trapped against her, her cock was almost painfully hard, neglected the entire time Tracer had been having her fun -- now, she finally had the opportunity to press it into something, feel the throbbing of Tracer’s cock against her own, the rhythm of each other’s heartbeats pulsing through their aching shafts, shared through touch. The torment was finally over. Taking the time necessary to wiggle out of her suit wasn’t worth it, she needed this now, and was getting all the pleasure she needed. She could finally just immerse herself in Lena.

The kiss kept them bound for a long moment, distracted, bodies crushed against one another but not yet indulging beyond that single embrace. Tracer’s lips caressed along Amélie’s, her tongue flicking forth to tease them apart, pushing inside the other woman’s mouth to massage along its opposite. Hot breath and soft moans exchanged between the two as tongues snaked and danced back and forth along one another, lustful yet affectionate, melting into one another, their bodies humming with pleasure and need.

Tracer tilted, planting a last smooch at the corner of Amélie’s lips before letting her mouth wander, nuzzling and nipping at the sniper’s ear before tilting down fully, pressing her lips to the other woman’s throat. The ensuing gasp was barely bitten back, Widowmaker’s back arching as her nerves were set alight, her hands stroking up from Tracer’s hips, to her sides, caressing over the outer slopes of her pert breasts before pausing, rubbing one thumb along the central chestpiece of Lena’s chronal harness. “Do you trust me? Do you mind if I... take it off?”

Looking up, Lena kissed the other woman’s throat again, nuzzling up into Amélie’s chin and offering a small nod. “As long as it doesn’t go far, yeah.” Bringing her own hands from the small of Widowmaker’s back, she unclasped the chronal harness, allowing the assassin to slip the chestpiece off and set it next to her own abandoned rifle. “Better?” Tracer smiled.

“Much,” Amélie bit her lower lip, letting her thumb stroke along one of the other girl’s nipples, studded and at-attention through the tight yellow material concealing it. Pulling closer, the removal of the harness let the two press together more tightly, breasts squishing firmly against each other, no more between the two than the second skins of their respective combat suits. Amélie pressed her lips back to Lena’s, one hand the brit’s mostly-freed breast while the other drifted lower, massaging from waist, to hip, and finally taking a handful of that perky little butt, giving it an adoring squeeze as her tongue waltzed with the other girl’s.

Tracer pressed back, growing more and more heated as Amélie pushed into her, caressing her, groping her. Her own hands began to wander, tracing down along Widowmaker’s back, digging her nails briefly into that beautiful butt before raking them back upwards, all the while her breath being taken away by the long, eager kiss the two shared, seemingly unbreakable now that the two had locked themselves into a mutually beneficial position. She paused, nipping at Amélie’s lower lip, smooching it tenderly before flicking her tongue across the tip of the other woman’s, then diving in once more into a deep, sensuous embrace. A thrill shot up her spine as Amélie rocked forward against her, grinding that cock againt Lena’s own again and again... and the realization that while the difference was fairly minor, Widowmaker’s throbbing cock was very clearly the bigger of the two.

“You think they can hear us down there, luv?” Tracer let out a hoarse whisper into Amélie’s lips, followed by a soft, shuddering moan.

“Between Junkrat and the german, I’d be surprised if they could hear their own thoughts,” Widowmaker purred, pushing forward again, her hips rocking forward and back again and again, grinding her dick against Tracer’s like they were riding the world’s tiniest invisible see-saw. Within both suits, their trapped, north-pointing erections each had a little bloom of moisture at the very tip, creating an ever-expanding wet spot against the fabric as they grinded into one another. “Mnn, here, I--” Amélie bit her lip, giving the other girl’s nose a brief nuzzle before breaking the kiss and tilting back, shifting her body slightly sideways so that she could press her shrinkwrapped balls directly into Tracer’s, allowing her cock a brief respite from direct contact while keeping the pleasure mounting.

Letting out a little gasp, Tracer shifted one arm back to balance herself, keeping one on Amélie’s rear and extending her legs, taking on a more complete scissor position as she gently rubbed and pressed her sack up and down against the assassin’s, inhaling sharply through her teeth. “Ooh, you’re quite bad, aren’t you...?” she moaned, chewing at her lower lip, growing more and more horny even as her climb towards climax remained in deadlock.

“I am the villain, non?” Amélie grinned wickedly, the ice queen finally fully warmed up. Similarly balancing herself, she kept one hand at Lena’s breast, pinching one stiff little nipple between her thumb and the knuckle of her first finger, keeping it gripped tightly but not pulling or squeezing -- just roughly massaging it back and forth, drawing a lustful squeal from Tracer as the two continued to insistently rock and thrust into one another, neither throbbing girldick able to grow any harder, but those wet spots continuing to blossom outward from their points of origin. “Nnn... hnnfuckk....”

“Come ‘ere,” Tracer moaned, sitting up and gradually lowering Amélie down onto her back, straddling her and pressing herself back cock-to-cock against the other woman, now taking control of the thrusting -- and but it didn’t seem like she was in any more mood to delay the inevitable. Kissing up the sniper’s cleavage, Lena’s lips found Amélie’s once more, one hand planted on the rooftop, the other cradling the other woman’s face, holding her close as she rammed her hips forward, gliding her aching shaft back and forth against the throbbing pillar of girlmeat flush with her own.

Amélie didn’t answer, but understood. Both hands quickly found Tracer’s tight little backside and squeezed down gently, tongue invading her mouth, her hips thrusting upward to match Lena’s own forward pumps against her. Bright, bold sparks of pleasure shot through both women as they found their rhythm, rocking against each other fast and hard, lips only leaving contact long enough to let slip a gasp, moan, or short string of naughty words. They’d waited too long for this, whether or not either had realized just how badly they needed it. Fantasy had finally become reality, and reality -- had become an explosion.

Both women released at the same time, gasping as warm spurts of their thick, sticky cum shot out -- not over each other, but over themselves, contained by their suits and jetting across stomachs and between cleavage. Both moans rose to screams at their crescendo, steady, even thrusting becoming hungry, frantic humping, the two clutching tight to one another as they rode out their simultaneous orgasms on that rooftop, the battle still raging beneath them stories below.

A last long kiss ensued, followed by Tracer rolling over to the side, laying on her back next to the french killer, her hand blindly seeking out Amélie’s. Fingers intertwined, and she held on tightly, eyes drifting shut for a long moment. “That was... holy shit.”

“Oui,” Amélie whispered under her breath, swallowing hard. Her eyes fluttered, and for a long moment she just stared at the sky, panting softly until she caught her breath, her member slowly softening under her suit. “That was... more incredible than I expected.”

“Should, ah... should we get back down there?” Lena said hesitantly, turning her head to admire Widowmaker’s blissfully stoic expression.

“We could,” came the cautious response, audibly uncertain. After a moment, she turned, locking eyes with the other girl, and her expression softened. “Or... we could do it again, non?”