CATCHALL/OVERFLOW FOR MEMES

[comingupexplody]

Thread getting too steamy for public? Did the meme start captcha-ing? Bring the party here and we'll keep it going!

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[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?"

[comingupexplody]

Jamison is silent-- he stares at Zenyatta, his eyes burning, the red-orange glow of combustion, fire and coals and molten metal. His breath shakes in his lungs, that narrow frame of his trembling just slightly.

"... they just had ta make ya talk like one a' us, didn't they?" His voice trembles, but doesn't break. "Stupid... stupid piece a trash!"

He breathes heavily-- and then the tension in him simply seems to snap. He grins, manic, tittering under his breath.

"Yeah. Yeah! Fuck it, right? Sure, bot! Let's do this!"

[tekhartha]

Junkrat shudders like a ruined engine and suddenly they seem mere moments away from an explosion-

- that never materialises. He soldiers on, wearing a rictus grin and a gleam in his eye that could as easily be tears as ill-intent- and, for that alone, he has Zenyatta's most sincere respect.

And action.

"As you wish." Without a word more he sweeps forward, a wind of movement, and sweeps one hand down to Jamison's hip; his other takes his jaw and tilts it rudely upwards towards the relentless glow of his Jieba. The distance between them is closed in an instant. The jut of his erection strokes across the junker's skin, warm metal on warmer still skin.

'Trash' indeed.

[comingupexplody]

He doesn't care.

Jamison just... doesn't care anymore. If there's any pain left in his chest, in his mind, he doesn't feel it-- it's swept away under a tide of something much more base, a whitehot energy that isn't entirely different from his own rage and sadness, yet has effectively erased those emotions. His head is numb, his mind gone silent-- all that's left for him to be aware of is his body, all long, stringy muscle and bone and heat.

He's never fucked an Omnic before, for obvious reason-- he has no idea what to do with himself, with his hands or with his mouth, but he tries, reaching down between them with his prosthetic to wrap the unyielding metal of those fingers around the machine's "cock," testing-- wanting to see what he could do to it.

[tekhartha]

Zenyatta gasps.

More accurately, his vocal processors imitate the sound of a gasp with a rippling synthetic sigh, while three of his orbs let loose a wild chime- but that scarcely matters when he's being held and squeezed, those work-rough fingers rubbing along each metal plate and the soft silicone in between. His sensors catch fire; his shoulders sink into Junkrat's body.

"G-good," he manages to murmur, skipping, against his ear. "Like that."

He's out of practise, and all the more sensitive for it, and part of him would very much like to yield to Jamie's brute curiosity and let him do as he will. But that is simply not his style. After a moment to recompose his thoughts Zenyatta moves again and slides one large, long hand between Jamison's legs and the soft space between them.

[comingupexplody]

So it's sensitive. That's good to know-- mostly because of the power it puts in Jamie's hands.

But before he even has time to properly be smug about it, to voice some sort of teasing comment to the machine, its touch is on him again, between his legs, and his body buckles at the contact, legs trembling and then tensing to try and continue supporting him, holding him upright. He can't help but inhale sharply, pulse fluttering beneath the thin, hot skin under the machine's fingers.

"Fuck." Almost in retaliation, suddenly remembering where his own hand is, he holds the bot's cock a little more surely, stroking it less lightly.

[tekhartha]

The results come astonishingly quickly. Junkrat reacts as though he's been electrocuted, the muscles jumping beneath the skin of his thighs around his wrist before they give out- just for a moment, but out nonetheless. Perhaps it's been just as long for him too. Not that Zenyatta is given more than a few seconds for thought before Junkrat's on the offensive again, now moving his hand in a tentative but definite pump up and down the length of his cock.

Somewhere, some place in between the pleasure suddenly lighting up his circuits, he has to force his mind to slow. To take a mental breath, hold it, find himself in the chaos- and then release.

He shudders at Junkrat's grip and edges his hips encouragingly onward.

"Tell me," he starts again, and now his voice is level again, "what feels good to you. Please do not lie."

Because with his hands all over Jamie's body and two of his fingers already teasing the hot, soft, pliant folds between his thighs, he'll know. His touch is exploratory but confident, shamelessly curious.

[comingupexplody]

It's only a few seconds before Jamie seemingly forgets what he's doing, rolling his body down against those fingers, his breathing quick and noisy.

"Hhh... hh, hold on, hold on, lemme just..." He pulls away, his limp even more shaky than usual, and grabs that wheel he'd been using as a seat earlier, dragging it closer. He half-throws himself onto it, sprawling his lanky frame wide open, shame apparently entirely forgotten in light of his remembering just how nice being touched can feel. Even if it's by one of... those.

"... right. Now, where were we?" His voice is a little bit breathy, a little uneven, but he smirks, a sharp fang pressing against his lip, as though he's still fully in control of the situation.

[tekhartha]

Junkrat doesn't so much come undone as he does unravel from the waist, as though his fingers alone could reduce him to little more than a sigh and a quiver. He sways drunkenly back from him, and for a moment Zenyatta wonders if he isn't looking for the space to reassert himself- but he doesn't. Instead, he flops back and all but presents himself, splayed and hungry.

For his part, however, Zenyatta takes his time. He pauses, gently bringing together his index and middle fingers- the ones engaged until scarcely a moment ago- and parts them with deliberate care. A fine liquid thread of arousal spreads between them, glistening on the tips of his fingers.

"Here, I believe," he answers and then moves in and down onto one knee, placing his head level with Junkrat's hips. Nine blue dots glow against his thighs. His hands fan across them to spread them further apart and part the soft, flushed lips between them by just a fraction. His fingers are back to work only a moment later, stroking up and down in experimental lengths and shapes while his thumb caresses the hard little node of Junkrat's clit. It's coming back to him, little by little.

[comingupexplody]

Jamie can feel the pounding of his own heart all through his body, pulsing and tingling at the tips of his limbs-- the ones that contain blood, that is. His long, lean body rolls and shifts beneath the machine's touch, his cunt already far more slick than likely expected; it's been a while since someone else touched him like that, and it's bliss, his dirty, scarred skin flush beneath the soot, narrow chest heaving. He props himself up on his elbows so that he can see, and there's something deeply amusing to him about the sight of a bot there between his legs-- he's rapidly beginning to wonder if this could be at least one good use for them.

... quite all of a sudden, his head tips back, his muscles winding tight, and his legs tremble as he curses loudly, cunt visibly pulsing with his sudden climax. He breathes hard, curling in on himself, his hips bucking against Zenyatta's fingers as he rides it out.

[tekhartha]

Lovemaking, Zenyatta remembers, has always been intense, near infectious; every wracking gasp seems to come from within his own chest, each spasm from his own servos, twitching in time to the pulse he can feel throbbing through Junkrat's cunt, harder and harder. Unadulterated physical intimacy.

Sometimes a partner's orgasm has been enough for Zenyatta to reach a peak of his own- but not this time. Even he cannot predict how just how quickly the pleasure mounts within Junkrat's body, and before he can even think to temper his touches the junker hits a messy climax.

His fingers grind, both literally and belatedly, to a somewhat bewildered halt.

"Goodness," he says, forgetting, for a moment, just how sensitive Junkrat's pride may well be, "you are sensitive."

Humming thoughtfully, he pushes up against the tire and touches Junkrat's cheek again, all affection; slickened fingers hook against his lip as he finds the pulse jumping in his throat. It leaves a glistening streak across his chin. "Your heart is still racing. Are you finished, Jamie?"

He doubts it.

[comingupexplody]

He--

Jamie flushes crimson, his expression indignant, glaring up at the bot with pure fire in his eyes.

"N-no, I'm not finished! I'm just gettin' started!" Even as he's still coming down from that first, rather unexpected climax, he tries to catch his breath, to brace himself beneath the machine. "It's just... been a lil' while, that's all! I got plenty more in me, let's go!"

His tone is a sharp mix of embarrassment and anger, the flush of his skin spreading even to his ears and shoulders.

[tekhartha]

From the moments the words left Zenyatta's vocal processor he'd known that they could only inflame Jamie's pride, but perhaps that was half the point. He feels so good himself, and it's wonderful to see the same life flooding the junker's skin and bristling through his slowly-relaxing muscles. He can sense his body even where they aren't touching, as if his very pulse were wireless.

"Of course," he soothes. His tone indicates compliance rather than condescension. "I understand."

One hand is already moulding itself around Junkrat's waist; the other pauses at the junction of his thighs for just long enough to be disarming. Then two fingers slide cleanly into his still-twitching cunt, and it is as though every heartbeat were beating through them instead: I feel, I feel, I feel.

"How wonderful you are, Jamie!" he says, and his voice would be (for anyone else) almost embarrassingly earnest. "You need not have been so shy."

[comingupexplody]

Jamie opens his mouth to protest, prepared to swear up a fresh storm of hatred, but then he's suddenly being filled up and he's so oversensitive that for a moment, all he can feel are those fingers, and the words die in his throat, changing, instead, to a strangled sound of frustrated arousal.

It takes him a beat to actually voice his complaints, his words slurring even more severely than usual.

"M'not shy! Jes-ssus christ!" How the hell has he been shy at any point today? He's equal parts baffled and enraged by that implication. "Wha'd'ya mean by tha'?!"

[tekhartha]

Jamie all but whines, and some wicked, wonderful urge in Zenyatta wells up to meet the sound, curling his fingers as they slide further into the suckling heat of his cunt.

"Perhaps," he acknowledges, "shy is not the correct word." His thumb glides upwards, skirting that still-sensitive clit. "Defensive."

He sighs softly, resting his head with langurous care against the inside of Jamie's thigh; the skin is hot and damp against the cool shine of his metal and nuzzles into the sensation. "Perhaps we can take our time now. I do not much care for being rushed."

[comingupexplody]

"M'not... ah... mmh, m'not defensive, either." But the words are slurred heavily with pleasure, his body rolling up and onto those fingers instinctively, a silent demand for more, the muscles inside of him wound tight.

It's an almost comically weak protest, all things considered.

[tekhartha]

"Hush, now," Zenyatta interrupts, clear though it is that whatever Jamie has left to say at this point will be entirely incoherent. He's only half-listening, anyway, snuggling further up his thigh until his Jieba light up the slick pink skin beneath his fingers.

But as much as he's enjoying this, what he really craves is contact, and a lot more of it.

Briefly he considers pulling Junkrat down into his lap, but it seems an uncomfortable and ungainly proposition for the both of them. Instead, he eases his way back up on his heels, pressing Jamie into the tire with his advance as his fingers stroke deeper and deeper- and slides in a third, stretching him around the sudden addition.

[comingupexplody]

"Fff, fhuck you..." But any further words are stolen by the addition of that third finger, his mouth hanging open, voice coming out in a wordless moan; he curses, rolling his hips up to try and fuck himself on those fingers, hands grasping at the edges of the tire to brace himself.

He doesn't care about touching the Omnic. It's not his job to make it feel good or comfortable.

"... hhf. More." His first word, as soon as he can form words again, is a command. He writhes beneath him, needy, almost pleading. "Ca... ca'mon, ca'mon, hhh..."

[tekhartha]

"'Fuck me'?" Zenyatta repeats, amused, and without any real surprise he notices that he quite likes the way the words sound in his voice; his careful intonation lends them a certain reverance that serves, paradoxically, to make them all the more obscene.

Not that he needs to be obscene; Jamie is more than making up for the both of them with his every reaction, whining and writhing and grinding himself down, down, onto his fingers. It's not just greedy- it's as though he's been starved.

Zenyatta, in all his sympathy, can only oblige.

"As you wish." Unwillingly, he withdraws his fingers, marvelling all the while at how slick and bright they have become, coated in Junkrat's arousal.

All the better to apply to his erection. The second Zenyatta touches himself he shivers, lighting up every sensory node through to the soles of his feet with anticipation. As soon as he's prepared himself he leans up a little more, up and over Junkrat's helpless form. His cock, thick and sleek, juts between the two of them, casting a faint glow across his belly.

"Is this what you want, Jamie?" He sounds encouraging and gentle, as though he half-expects to have to coax the yes out of him.