CATCHALL/OVERFLOW FOR MEMES

[comingupexplody]

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[tekhartha]

The first assault had broken across Zenyatta like an earthquake beneath his feet; these aftershocks are far easier to endure. From beginning to end, he says nothing, refusing to let his head fall even for a second.

Then it's over, Junkrat seemingly having run out of steam for now. The storm clouds clear for a few precious moments, and in the quiet he makes a soft sound that might almost be a sigh to release the tension he's accumulated in the last few minutes. His shoulders drop, release- and then he straightens up again.

"That is fine." It takes less effort than he feared it might to get the words out; with one word he accepts Junkrat's aggression, and with the next he releases it as he would a wild animal. "I will respect your wishes and leave you to your own company from this point onward- on two conditions." Languidly, he raises one long, metal finger. "Firstly, I ask that you refrain from firing at me on missions. Secondly-"

He hesitates. Just for a second. He knows what he wants for his next term, but the odds of it being accepted...

Speak it.

"I would like to shake your hand. Just the once."

[comingupexplody]

Jamison's immediate response is just... to stare at him, disbelief clearly written across his features. Wild eyebrows shoot up, eyes wide, his head bobbing towards him--

-- and then he narrows his eyes, his lip pulling up into a sneer.

"What's your game, bot? What're you hopin' ta accomplish in here, huh? Tryin' ta make friendly with me or somethin'?"

[tekhartha]

"I do not have a game," Zenyatta answers smoothly. He'd expected some resistance from the moment he made his proposition. "I want to demonstrate my respect for you, and for your wishes."

Besides, he reasons silently, what harm could he really do to Junkrat? He's already missing one arm, as he's already so charmingly pointed out. He holds his hand out in hopeful expectation- hopeful, that is, that it won't be yanked clean out of his wrist joint for scrap metal.

[comingupexplody]

"Y'can demonstrate your respect for me by gettin' outta my space and maybe steppin' on one a' my mines!" Hostility begins to swell again, his posture bristling, heavy boot and peg pressed against the ground as though he may jump to his feet at any second, prepared to defend his space. His gaze is piercing, a laser pointed directly at Zenyatta as though it were trying to burn its way directly through his outer shell.

[tekhartha]

There it is again. That aggression. The last few minutes, it seems, have been little more than the eye of Junkrat's storm, and it has already passed over the both of them. Zenyatta gives a small, disappointed sigh, and rises to his feet again.

"I will oblige your first condition, if not the second- if you shake my hand." For such a soft voice it truly is impressive, how hard he can make it sound. Not angry, or aggressive- just determined. He will not be moved on this, even if he is already gliding across the floor to where Junkrat sits. It also, conveniently, brings him closer to the door. "Just the once."

here we go. gay chicken begins now.

[comingupexplody]

Junkrat is on his feet-- well, foot-- all at once, spine straightened so that he can, again, tower over the machine, fists clenched at his sides.

"You're really set on that, arencha? You're really, truly determined ta make me play nice with ya, even if it's just for a second!" He rolls his eyes so severely that his entire body gets in on the act, leaning back dramatically. "Fuck me."

"... heh!"

And then he straightens back out, a mocking grin on his face.

"Oh, wait, y'probably can't even do that!"

you have picked the wrong opponent junkrat

[tekhartha]

Startling though the accusation may seem, Zenyatta cannot help but wonder if it isn't a perfectly logical leap. All that's changed is that he's now asserting not only his dominance but his masculinity in the broadest way he possibly can: with height, and with a passionless leer.

He pauses. This is where he could give up, or give in, continue to take Junkrat's seemingly bottomless supply of hatred in martyred silence- but given the good that approach has done so far there seems no point in dragging it out.

Before he can have his trust, Zenyatta realises, he must first earn his respect.

The omnic pauses. The tilt of his head, like a sparrow mocking a hungry cat, comes far more naturally to him than he thought it would.

"You sound very sure of that, Jamieson." His voice is silk-smooth, without the faintest hitch; his gaze remains trained on Junkrat, unfaltering. "There is very little a human can do that I cannot."

[comingupexplody]

Junkrat stops short, not having expected such a reaction-- and then he bursts into a cackling laugh, his head thrown back, sharp teeth bared.

"Ooooh, listen ta you! You sayin' they build you things so you can fuck? Seriously?" He looms over Zenyatta, his gaze cruel, skimming over the machine's slim frame alnost accusingly-- searching for evidence.

[tekhartha]

The laugh doesn't rattle him this time. Instead, Zenyatta raises his chin a little to meet Junkrat's gaze as if inviting it to examine his shoulders, chest, waist- though he knows even before it flickers lower where it will linger the longest.

"Among other things. There exists a wide variety of models." Of upgrades, shapes, sizes. This body did not always belong to him, but in the time since his epiphany, before devoting himself to the Shambali, he had taken the time to know it: he is not a virgin, for whatever such an empty concept could possibly mean.

Now, though, he improvising, following where their conversation leads without any true purpose. Winging it. If Junkrat is a creature of impulse, he will be one, too.

And for a fraction of a second the lines of Jieba on his brow pulse just as fearlessly as Junkrat's laugh. "Are you asking for a demonstration?"

[comingupexplody]

Jamison's eyebrows shoot up-- and he laughs again, a crescendo, slapping his knee comically.

"Holy dooly, I've gotta be dreamin'! There's no way a fuckin' toaster oven just showed up in my room, after I tried to kill it, and is tryin' ta fuck me!" His laughter is mad, manic, it swells to fill the room entirely, crackling and breaking against the walls. He has no idea how serious the bot is... but he breaks into a wicked grin, fangs and fire, his posture shifting to push his narrow hips forward.

"Awright, then! Let's see what you've got! Hey, if nothin' else, maybe it'll be a step up from them blow-up dolls with all the holes in 'em!"

Not that he has much use for those anyway.

[tekhartha]

Zenyatta has to admit that, for once, the feeling is entirely mutual; of all the hundreds of possible outcomes he'd dreamed up, this was not one of them. It hardly seems to be his own body that swells forward with the slow, gliding movement of the tide against the shore; the hand that reaches out for Junkrat's cheek, softened into a cup, seems to belong to someone else.

But he does not withdraw it.

"Very well. If you should change your mind, however," he says, evenly, without so much as a trace of his concern, "you need only say the word."

His palm finds Junkrat's jaw, smudged with grease and gunpowder; automatically he shifts his thumb to that sneering mouth in a light, curious stroke. Kisses are beyond him, of course, but this he can do. The junker's body language is all vulgar implication, but if they are going to do this they will do it at a pace that suits him as well.

[comingupexplody]

Junkrat...

... doesn't know what to do.

That touch is utterly alien, certainly nothing with the warmth and softness of a human-- well, of course not. He hesitates for a moment, though, considering; if this is gonna happen, should he just make the bot do all the work? That does sound appealing, but it also runs him the risk of not maintaining control of the situation-- and he has to remain in control of this.

No. He will. There's no other option. This glorified toy that's touching him can't possibly hope to overwhelm a real, live human being.

He grins smugly at him, a fang digging into his lip.

"What d'ya think I am, some kinda fresh lil' flower?"

[tekhartha]

Junkrat doesn't freeze, exactly, but he doesn't do what Zenyatta expects him to, which is slap his hand away and heckle him for the nerve of it. What he gets instead is a challenge.

"When it comes to you, Jamieson, I must confess that flowers have never crossed my mind at all," he answers, smooth and deadpan. His thumb touches the point of his exposed tooth for a brief second, tempting fate as though it belonged to a tiger rather than a man. But even he would not be so foolish as to bite metal, would he? "I am simply getting comfortable."

Specifically, with Junkrat's body. Zenyatta's already taken the lack of protest as consent to expand his explorations; as the hand at his cheek strokes up into that jagged hairline, his other ghosts down his neck at the delicate spot where it meets his shoulders in a smooth, sensitive touch. He can feel the blood beating beneath the fragile surface of his skin. For such a chaste touch it's far more intimate than it has any right to be.

[comingupexplody]

This is... ugh. Why does this thing need comfort? It's just a body, the same as anyone else's.

"What, you never fuck a human before?" He barks a little laugh-- and he definitely does entertain the thought of biting down on the finger at his mouth. If nothing else, he does drop his jaw open, letting his tongue loll out lewdly over those pointed teeth-- another silent challenge, testing what this machine will do, what it's capable of.

... however, despite how aloof he's acting, how much of a challenge he's trying to offer up, his pulse is definitely racing, though the exact cause is unclear, even to him.

[tekhartha]

An interesting, if antagonistic question. Zenyatta hums thoughtfully, and now he's close enough for the sound to reverberate against Junkrat's skin like the ripples in a pond.

"I have. I must admit, however, that I am somewhat rusty." It is in his nature to be modest, and he is fully prepared to continue to glide through the taunts. But then Junkrat's tongue rolls out like a red carpet to his fingers, and, thus invited in, he finds he cannot resist: he runs a finger lightly over his lower lip, then, abruptly, takes ahold of his tongue between his thumb and forefinger.

Not tight enough to hurt. Just to make a point. "I hope," he continues seamlessly, almost sweetly, "that you will keep me on my toes."

[comingupexplody]

Junkrat gives a small sound of surprise-- he was evidently not expecting that kind of reaction. He yanks his tongue back in, trying to pull those fingers along with it, slamming his jaw shut; not hard enough to break a tooth on the Omnic's shell, but with enough force, he hopes, to make a point of his own.

He adds a sharp bark of sound on top, just in case his aggression isn't quite clear enough.

[tekhartha]

"Wonderful. I, in turn, shall endeavour to keep you entertained."

Zenyatta does not resist; he lets go as Junkrat's teeth clamp down, head cocking ever so slightly to one side, and removes his attention to his free hand. This he moves in an exploratory fashion, cupping the lean, muscled curve of his shoulders before dropping over skin and strap.

His fingers, riddled with delicate sensors, trace the deliberate scars there only briefly before finding his ribcage instead, alarmingly in evidence. There's real affection in that touch, too. For all he's seen it on the battlefield his body is as alien to him as the surface of the moon. To think that the promise of intercourse would bring him this close... it could almost be funny, almost. His forehead glows again. "Would you like me to undress, Jamieson?" It's an offer made out of respect. He isn't trying to shame him.

[comingupexplody]

"Uh, yes?" It's a sharp answer, releasing the bot's fingers from the grasp of his teeth. "Ain't that the point? I wanna see what kinda mess I gotta work with here!"

Make it an issue-- make it out that he's doing this machine a favor. This is a chore-- and, yet, also a show of dominance, him using the other for his own entertainment.

There's a part of his brain, however-- the part of him that crafted his own arm and leg after having lost the ones he was born with-- that is kind of fascinated by the machine in front of him. Not the supposed consciousness contained within it, of course-- he knows that's all code and show. The individual moving parts, however... the frame is complex, intricate, though the machine's actual body shape is slight. They packed a lot of parts into that small frame, some as small as the bones in his own body. He almost gets distracted watching them shift, having never seen the bot this close before.

It's just a mechanical interest. Nothing more.

[tekhartha]

A 'mess' is not the most flattering term Junkrat could have chosen to describe his anatomy, but Zenyatta is willing to make exceptions under the circumstances. With his finger duly released his hand lingers for a few seconds longer than his strictly necessary, cupping cheek and jaw, before he slips backwards and touches his sash, his waistband.

First, the belt. His hips are narrow enough that it takes only gentle persuasion to slip it off, followed quickly by the sash, which ripples elegantly to his feet in a single scarlet ribbon. The whole while he is distinctly aware of himself as a body on display, in a way he hasn't experienced for many years now- not since he found independence.

But, acquisitive though Junkrat's eyes are, there's something softer in there: genuine curiosity, latching on to every little part of him as he exposes it: the wires looping out of his spine, every piston, each plate. Finally, Zenyatta loosens the cord of his trousers and lets them drop. With his modesty plate engaged there's little more on display than there was in the first place but the seams of it are obvious enough. Obscene in their own way, he supposes.

[comingupexplody]

... huh.

Junkrat sinks down to a crouch, unabashedly inspecting the newly-exposed mechanics; he feels no shame about staring hard at the strange new parts, an eyebrow raised.

"... the hell is goin' on here?" He can definitely see that there are parts intended to move-- he just isn't entirely sure how or where, just by eyeballing them. He allows himself to touch, finally, though not too carefully, exploring the layers of moving parts that made up what would be the bot's hips and legs with his fingertips-- he's grown quite used to exploring machines that way, as it was often difficult to see all the way into the little spaces they offered to work in.

Finally, he taps the modesty plate directly, looking up at Zenyatta with a mix of curiosity and frustration.

"What's all this about, huh?"

[tekhartha]

There is admittedly something invasive in the way he all but prowls around him like some kind of mechanical vulture in search of parts. Yet, when he speaks, his voice has softened with his interest, whether he realises it or not. Even his hands move without any particular aggression; they caress his thighs and hips with a mechanical rather than malicious touch. And, though his legs are long and thin they're covered in pressure sensors that thrill at such an alien stimulus.

Zenyatta gives a short, unnecessary sound, something like an intake of breath. How long has it been?

The tapping, at least, is rude enough to refocus around. "That is a modesty panel. Many omnics eschew clothing altogether; in order to make themselves decent, they conceal whatever genitalia they have behind a modesty panel." They were, after all, built for a great many purposes. Zenyatta is not a pleasure model- but then, many of them were built for a great many purposes. Multi-functional. Production was cheaper that way.

"Allow me." Without any obvious shame, he drops a hand to the panel and prepares to unsheathe... only to pause, suddenly. The look in Junkrat's eyes is a compelling enough reason to tease; he's waiting for it now, and he will continue to wait for as long as he chooses.

Only when he detects true impatience from the man does the panel withdraw with a soft shhh of metal-on-metal, releasing his erection: silver, segmented metal, faintly curved and lit up with sensitive nodes along its full length. Just a little behind it sits a silicone-soft entrance, barely visible, smooth.

[comingupexplody]

Well, it's about damn time. He was about to pitch even more of a fit.

... and then the genitalia in question makes itself known, and he does pitch a fit.

"... fuckin' 'ell! Y'gotta be kiddin' me!" He stands up suddenly, staggering a little, and kicks over a pile of scrap nearby, ignoring or possibly simply not feeling whatever pain that might have caused. "This thing gets whatever parts it bloody well wants, and what do I get?!"

He's snarling, violent-- this is unfair.

[tekhartha]

That... was not the reaction Zenyatta was expecting, although he holds his ground with little more than a defensive jerk of his hands, half-raised in anticipation of a blow. Unncessarily. Junkrat's already taking his aggression out on some of the precariously-piled scrap littering the floor. What does Junkrat get? Does it matter all that much to him?

Certainly, it does not to Zenyatta. His body is as a cocoon to him, a temporary shell in which his soul rests, waits. But he has the luxury of changing it at will.

He could probe Junkrat for answers, as he would any other member of Overwatch- but he can see how unwise that would be. Instead, he gives a soft, sympathetic hum.

"I do not know what troubles you, Jamieson, but I am sorry to see you so ill at ease." He spreads his hands by his side in a gesture of willing. "If I can help you, please. Allow me the privilege."

[comingupexplody]

He whips around, staring daggers directly through the Omnic--

-- and then he storms over to him, to it, and he furiously kicks off his one boot, tearing his own clothing and throwing it violently aside.

For a long moment, he just stares at Zenyatta, daring him, silently, to say something-- anything-- about the body he'd just exposed, the body that had caused him his fair share of troubles and confusion.

"You get whatever parts you want, and I'm stuck with all this!"

[tekhartha]

All this.

Zenyatta looks. He looks at Junkrat's long, rangy body; the bruises blooming here and there like green-purple flowers; the scars, old and new; his hips, lean and coltish, and then between them... the surprise lands amongst his thoughts like a stone into a pond, rippling realisations through him one after the other. Those particular scars. Whatever parts it wants. Is that what he meant?

The water smoothes over again, sleek and seamless.

"You are right," he admits quietly. "It does seem unfair. My opinion of you, however- for what little an omnic opinion may be worth to you- is unchanged, Jamie."

Zenyatta takes a chance. He reaches out and gently, fingers splayed, he touches his chin and strokes his thumb across his cheek once more. "Will you still have me?"