The Tracer Twins Ch. 02

The following story was created purely for entertainment purposes, and the author does not gain any profit from its distribution. While the events depicted are the original creations of the author, the characters are owned by Blizzard Entertainment, and all relevant partners. This story is in not connected to the canon of Overwatch. Please do not distribute this story elsewhere without express author permission and due credit. Thank you!

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The beats slammed against every wall in the spacious, two floor, club. The throbbing music spilled forth from the speakers that ran from floor to ceiling. Between them was a screen the projected the image of a white frog, wearing headphones, on a green background. Behind the turntable was the world renowned DJ/Activist/Rebel leader, Lucio. Theoretically, the DJ could have been anyone, as Lucio was dressed in his full costume tonight, as he was every night. A silver full body jump suit, green neon glow lines running up his torso, with a green frog foot print on his chest, and down his arms. Thick armor plating covers his legs. The skates he wore allowed him to dash between records, various laptops, and mixing stations. A simple smile below two large, pure green, eyes affixed into a frog like helmet. The headphones on the helmet matched those on his color-changing logo behind him.

The youth of England danced and cheered to the techno music that sent vibrations through their body. Dancing was constant, adding more pounding noise to the club. In the throngs of people were two women. One had hair of stark white, and black goggles pressed into the spiky mop so her big brown eyes could watch her dance partner. Her partner had dual colored hair. From the roots it started off purple, and faded into cyan as it neared the tips. Like the other punk, her hair was cut relatively short, though she did not shave off the hair on the sides of her head like her dance partner did.

The purple/blue haired punk's outfit looked heavy, and covered in studs and spikes. Three studded bands around each forearm. Blue cloth ran from her elbows and ended in fingerless gloves, the color darkening as it went down. Her clothing was closer to body armor than something light as her partner wore, but she did not feel safe going out without it. She felt she needed to keep her partner safe and secure, especially when they went out in public together, and even more so to an illegal club.

Lena Oxton, the white haired woman, could sense the lingering tension in her dance partner, Aleksandra "Zarya" Zaryanova. She was nervous, and scared. Being out in public was a risk, a great one, given their relationship. Back home, Zarya was far more open and energetic with Lena, but out in public her eyes were constantly shifting. That was precisely why Lena insisted they go out that night. She wanted to show off her girlfriend to the world, and to show her that they could be safe, as long as they were together. Lena also desperately wanted to see the famous Lucio in concert, and knew Zarya did, too, so she had to convince her to fulfill her dream.

The muscled woman, Zarya, did her best to relax, to enjoy her time out with Lena. She was at a secret Lucio concert, and she was with the love of her life. She and Lena led a polyamorous relationship, and had no qualms with each other sleeping around with other people, especially if they could all participate together. For Zarya, though, there was no one but Lena that she would give her heart too.

Still failing to relax the towering woman, Lena tried to get her into a mood she couldn't resist succumbing to. The beats around them were getting heavier, and more sensual. Lena knew this was the right time to pounce. Her body undulated and grinded back against Zarya. Hands reached up to rake her fingers through her short crop of purple and blue hair. Lena took her lover's wrists and guided her strong hands over her lithe and swaying body. She felt so safe in those large trunks for arms, and she felt so horny under the strong touch of her hands on her breast and against her twisting belly.

Zarya was starting to feel more at ease. Mostly, it was Lena taking her mind off her worries by occupying her attention with her body. She regretted wearing the bulky armor. The goth wanted to feel the punk's body writhing against her, to feel every curve grinding into her every muscle. Biting down her lower lip, on the side without a piercing through it, Zarya forgot about her troubles and squeezed her hands against Lena's perky tits.

Giggling with delight, Lena was happy to see her plan had worked, and so quickly. Zarya's hands now moving of their own volition, Lena was free to guide her hands behind Zarya, and squeeze at her firm and tight ass. Her own ass grinded back against Zarya. She wished she could do so against just her pants, but Zarya still had armor on that was blocking her access. Lena was not one to easily give up, though, and she'd have her out of that ridiculous security measure before the night's end.

Heavy lids, painted in a mix of purple and blue to match her hair, lifted up slowly. Zarya's eyes peered around the crowd, at all the happy people. They weren't worried, they weren't frightened, so why should she be? Then she looked up to the second floor balcony and spotted someone she thought was spying on them. She looked out of place, and yet no one else seemed to mind her presence. Zarya panicked, and pulled her hands off of Lena, not wanting to give this mystery woman more evidence of their illegal activity.

Lena heard Zarya speak above her. Her thick Russian accent mixed with the loud club music made it hard to make out, but her tone suggested worry. She sighed and turned, and directed her attention back down to herself. "Don't worry, love," she said to her, closing the distance between the two by standing on her toes. She wanted to make sure she heard every reassuring word. "We're safe here. We're among friends. Relax, and enjoy yourself." She could see her words had done some good, but there was still more worry than arousal on the Russian's face. Turning back around, and with a wicked smile, Lena engaged her next attempt at distracting Zarya. Lifting Zarya's hand up to her mouth, she gripped the goth's index and middle fingers and pressed them against her tongue. Black lips closed around the digits, trapping them inside with her luscious, studded, tongue. She treated the fingers like a lover's cock. Sucking and nipping, curling her tongue around the digits and pulling them out slowly, only to push them back in before they fully left her mouth. Satisfied with the prep work, Lena pulled them out with a pop and moved them down toward her crotch, where her zipper was being tugged down - exposing her cute black panties.

"Lena, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice thick with her accent. Her eyes darted around the club, looking for signs that anyone other than the woman above was watching. She could have pulled her arm away easily, she was certainly strong enough. But her willpower was sucked out through her fingertips by her adventurous lover.

She definitely couldn't hear what she was saying this time. Her heart was beating too hard and fast for her to hear anything than the blood being surged through her warming body. Since she hadn't pulled away, she figured she was being given the go-ahead to continue. The purple finger nails disappeared inside her thin panties, and soon the rest of her two fingers with them. Lena had to guide the digits against her from the outside of her panties, as there simply wasn't enough room for both their hands. Not once did she stop dancing to the beat. Hips rocked back and forth, and butt thrust back. Her back arched and her breasts strained against her t-shirt when she managed to get Zarya's middle finger into her dripping heat.

The Russian had dreamed of this exact scenario. At a Lucio concert, fingering Lena, and having a hell of a time. How can I stop now? she thought to herself. Convinced now that the spy was just a pervy onlooker, Zarya decided to give her a show. Why not? She chose well in spying on Lena and I, she deserves a reward, she rationalized about putting on an exhibition for the voyeur. And I deserve a reward, too, I think. I don't know for what, but I'm sure I'll do something in the future to deserve this much fun. Thick digit pressed up into Lena, parting her lips and sliding in comfortably with the bending of her knuckles. Licking her lips, she was just daring the woman to come down and join them. To whet both their appetites, Zarya dragged her free hand up Lena's belly, bunching up her shirt and exposing her flat, toned, tummy.

Lena's pierced nipples grew even stiffer when Zarya's hand started pushing up the shirt higher and higher, eventually over one breast. Her nipple was never shown, though. Zarya had a thumb under her shirt the whole time, so by the time the cloth was moved up to expose the perky shape of her tit, her nipple was already covered. Eyelids fluttered closed, and the club scene disappeared from her sight. Tongue flicked slowly at the air, looking for something to pull in to suit her oral fixation. Lips parted so her mouth could suck in more oxygen for her heavy and quickening breaths. Lena felt like she was floating. No wait, I am floating! Her eyes snapped downward to examine the floor. Sure enough, her feet were inches off the ground. She could now see Zarya's muscles flexing as she lifted her lithe girlfriend up off the ground with one hand - the same hand that had a finger buried and twitching in Lena's box. Not for a second did she worry she might fall. She knew Zarya would keep her aloft. One arm was enough to lift her, but two could keep her off the ground forever.

Zarya had her right hand palming Lena's left breast. Her arm slung across her torso and holding her against her own chest. Her left hand supported the rest of Lena's weight, while a finger stayed curious inside of her most intimate of places. The woman above was still watching, leaning forward against the rail to get a closer look. Just come down here if you want to see, Zarya begged the spy wordlessly. She could feel more eyes upon her now. Some of the dancers had noticed the lewd display and were deeply enjoying it, though they never stopped dancing. She saw more than a few cocks whip out and be plunged into their respective partner's orifices. Zarya had started something, something great. She had always wanted to create a rebel movement, to push back against the oppressors, but never found the courage or opportunity. Lena had given her both. Though it wasn't some rebellion that would topple anything, an open display of affection was something that had not been seen for years. What they were doing wasn't on the street, but it would do. Zarya wasn't complaining, and judging by Lena's loudening moans and squeals, neither was she. She was inspired. It took some doing, but she managed to fit a second finger into the tight fit Lena had.

Hips bucked against Zarya's palm. Hands searched for some erogenous zone to grab onto, but she couldn't reach for any of Zarya's. It was driving her mad and she loved it. She loved having no control, being used so publically and erotically. Her breaths came short and quick. Eyes watched her body twist and buck against Zarya. Hands ran up and down her arms to feel the fabulous muscles that held her safely above the ground. She lay a finger across her teeth and bit down softly. When she started to scream, her finger gripped to her bottom row of teeth but eventually fell away when she moved her hands to reach up and run through her hair. She looked mesmerized and bewildered by the pleasure rushing through her at that moment. Juices managed to find a way out of her tight shorts and trickle down her thighs.

When Zarya looked back up to the balcony, the woman was gone, much to her dismay. She hoped she at least saw the show all the way to the end. Zarya let Lena down gently, and waited until she felt she could stand on her own two feet before letting her go. Hand pulled up out from between her legs. Zarya sucked clean one finger, and the other was offered up to Lena. She moaned deep when Lena took her larger mitt in both of her delicate hands and suckled at her sticky finger, appreciatively and lovingly. Keeping hold of her hand, Lena began to lead Zarya through the crowd of cheering (for both Lucio and them) club goers. As they got further from the stage, she could speak more clearly.

"Where are we going, Lena?" Zarya asked, her voice bubbling with excited laughter.

"Home," she said simply.

"Why home?" she asked with genuine curiosity. "Don't you want to see the concert finish?" she asked with some broken English.

"Home has all the toys I want to use on you," she paused in her exit to say, looking up at her favorite Russian bear. "It has all the food I want you to eat off my body," she went on to explain. "This place doesn't have enough stuff that we can break and mess up during our passionate fucking." She stepped onto her toes to whisper the last sentence to Zarya, putting emphasis on the last word to entice her further.

"Goodness, Lena!" Zarya happily said with shock. "Between your words and that woman's eyes, I may be coming in my pants."

"Woman?" Lena curiously queried. "What woman?" Her face did not denote anger or jealously. Quite the opposite. She was instead very intrigued. After all, Zarya implied that this woman's eyes were enough to arouse her. She couldn't wait to see the rest of her.

"She was on the balcony, watching us. Whole time," Zarya admitted, thinking fondly of those watchful, lustful, eyes set against light pink skin.

"You want her to join us, don't you?"

"What?" Zarya nervously said. "No, no, you are enough for me."

"Stop it, Zarya," Lena said, making the action of pushing Zarya but obviously not making the tower budge at all. "I know how you get. Go, find her. I'll wait for you outside. I want to meet this woman with eyes hot enough to get my bear all hot and bothered," she requested. She watched Zarya run off, with a proud smile. She looked like a child who had just been told they could have any toy in the store they wanted. Lena was looking forward to meeting this mystery woman, but she was looking forward to seeing Zarya so happy, again, even more.

With a slam of the heavy metal door, Lena was outside on the chilly streets of London. A dismal blanket of smog blocked out any chance at seeing the stars or the big full moon. She wrapped her arms around herself, already feeling the bite of the end of Fall and the beginning of Winter. It wasn't a bitter cold, or an comfortable chill. It was, however, the kind of coolness that would begin to work its way into your skin on a brisk walk home. Lena regretted modifying the winter jacket Zarya had given her. It was black exterior with white fur on the inside, and had been large enough to reach all the way past her cute bottom. Lena didn't like the idea of covering up any more of herself than she had to, and so personally tailored it so it ended midway down her torso. And, of course, studs had to be added.

The clicking sound behind her was unmistakable for high heels walking on the pavement. The steady rhythm and hard clacks told Lena that whoever was approaching from behind walked with far more confidence than Lena could ever muster in high heels. When she turned around to meet the piercing stare of the confident walker, she saw confidence in her face that was more than Lena ever had in any aspect of her life.

The woman in black and red strode forward with the kind of grace and elegance that Lena had only seen in movies about fancy duchesses and princesses. Certainly, the way this woman was dressed, she could pass for someone who held royal court. Silver wings reached out from red jewels on either side of her ankles. Just below her knees was a folding over of red fabric from her otherwise black boots, decorated with silver on either flap and another silver-surrounded red jewel where the fabric split into the flaps. Rising up from the red came more black, with red buttons along the outside and inside of her supple thighs. She walked as if she was on the catwalk, one leg perfectly stepping in front of the other. Lena was only granted a brief glimpse of her noticeable thigh gap.

Her coat tails reached all the way to just past her knees. The coat remained open, baring the shiny red vest underneath. Rising from the V of the vest was a neatly tied black tie, disappearing beneath a white folded collar. Shoulders of her coat were pronounced, and the collar even more so. Sleeves ran into her ornate gloves, the left of which was more decorated and layered with curious tech. Her ponytail made it look as though a fountain of brown hair was springing up from behind the black and silver visor that rested in front of it. Five glowing lenses affixed to the front.

Curves were almost musical in nature, how they flowed perfectly from toe to head. Incredible hips that flared out from her thin waist. Her humble breasts looked all the larger in contrast to her slim midsection, and the proud way she thrust them forward. Her skin tone seemed to be almost pink, but powered to be closer to white. A small black beauty mark rest to the left of her cute nose, and above her red painted and pouty lips. Piercing eyes accentuated by black eyeliner and shadow, resting under thin and knitted brows.

Lena wasn't sure how long she had been staring before she realized the woman had stopped dead in front of her. She looked unoffended by the voyeurism, cocking a proud smirk at the obvious admiration and lust in the young punk's yes. She was lost in a haze, seeing that the woman's lips were moving but unable to hear the exact letters over the honey-sweet way they flowed past her kissable lips. Her accent was obvious, at least. French, thick and sensual. Lena focused less on her face and more on her voice when the woman gave an amused laugh, hidden behind a gloved hand, at the dumbstruck look on Lena's face.

"You flatter me, amoureux." The words danced from between her lips and kissed Lena's ears. "Such affectionate eyes from such beauty is très agréable."

Her lips closed and reopened, like a fish, trying to form the words she wanted to speak but none of them seemed worthy of being said to such an angelic creature. Though, given her manner of dress, seductive charms, and black and red eyes, Lena honestly suspected she may be less and angel and more a vampire. She watched with wide eyes as her black digits curled past locks of chocolate-colored hair that hung along the side of her pointed face, tucking them behind her ear. Her eyes left hers and looked to examine Lena's clothes, smiling as she did.

"Such passionnate clothing," she complimented, running her finger tips along the fabrics that, at that moment, felt all too constraining on Lena. She knew well the difference between shivers of cold and shivers of anticipation, and by her guess, the punk had long lost her sense of the temperature around them and only focused on the rising heat between them.

"W-Who are you?" was all Lena was able to formulate. It was indeed the most pressing question, but not the only one she wanted to ask. What is your name? Where did you come from? Can you come home with me? What can I do to please you? Will you take me on as your sex slave? Your pet? were all questions that Lena wished she could ask without sounding pathetic and weird.

"Ma prénom? I am Amélie Lacroix, an admirer. Though you may call me Widowmaker. My colleagues do, at least."

It was a strange name to say the least, not one gained from working as a teacher or as a candlestick maker. Lena foolishly asked, "What do you do?" Her curiosity for how someone would gain such a name was too great to ignore the obvious danger in asking someone how they earned a name that typically meant a killer.