When she drags her sharp fingernail along the metal supporting Reaper’s spine, the running lights along the side light up and the plates shift against each other.
Reaper doesn’t make a sound other than his heave, consistent breathing. When Sombra flicks her fingers, she can see the pull of the nanomachines urging the big bulk of his body around and onto his back.
His eyes are glassy and soft looking; as soft as his beard when she pets it gently, scratching beneath his chin.
“Dulcito,” she croons, crawling up unto the cold table Moira left him on.
He doesn’t react other than turning into the petting, his heavy eyes starting to close sleepily. She needs to snap her fingers in front of his nose a few sharp times before he blearily opens up again.
“Don’t sleep yet,” she murmurs, “I got work for you.”
He seems to wake up a bit more, still, when she crawls further up, taking his head between her thighs. His big hands move upwards clumsily, and she helps them find her ass and hips.
“There you go. Good boy.”
Moira would give her hell again if she left him messy and needy, but she figures the good doctor must enjoy it one way or another – otherwise she wouldn’t leave him unprotected like this after having pumped him full of whatever.
His tongue is long and cool but slippery, and he licks slow and patient at her; sweetly docile and needing her approval for every step of the way.
Drugged-up Gabriel was the best in Sombra’s opinion. So unguarded. A little kitten looking for love.
She rocks her hips, presses down on his jaw, makes him struggle weakly when he can’t breathe for a bit longer than is comfortable, then lifts up again, moving so he can focus on her throbbing clit.
“Need to find out what she pumps you full of,” she murmurs.
Cyberrat Writes 