Thread: Overwatch, Reaper and Windowmaker (Vulgrim x allycat)

Reaper regarded the assassin with a blank stare. He was emotionless, expressionless, and completely unreadable behind Death's mask. At the woman's explanation of why she'd left Tracer alive, he answered her with an unconvinced 'hm,' not moving from his spot as Widowmaker climbed to her feet. She couldn't see it, but his eyes narrowed from beneath his cowl, held on the woman with suspicion b her actions. Not that Reaper had any reason to fear her, really. She was good -- but he was better. His ego told him that, at least. When she rocked her hips for him, saying nothing but eying him mischievously, he let out a low rumble from somewhere low in his throat and uncrossed his arms. Reaching forwards, he took Widowmaker by her chin, cupping her soft flesh fiercely. His fingers dug in to her like claws, and his touch was cold. Still, he smoothed a thumb over her plump lips, staring in to her -- through her, really. There was an interesting pause between the both of them, and he tilted his head, listening. That's new, he said, though didn't elaborate on whatever it was that he had heard. Gerard lifted his face from Amelie's breasts, his warm lips reluctantly letting go of one of her swollen nipples. When she struggled to get her nightie down from around her hips, he helped her, gripping the fabric with both hands and pulling it down her long legs. Once it was well and off again, he simply tossed the worthless gown off to the side, resting on his knees in front of his wife. The man reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, then quickly peeled it off, showing himself to her. His body was strong, but marred with scars from previous battles -- Gerard had always been a fighting man. His hands went to her thighs, then. Gerard caressed the insides of them, feeling her warm, gentle flesh. Fingers played with the straps of her garters before taking hold of her soft, blue panties, and those, too, moved down the long trek of her legs. Letting out a soft breath, Gerard placed his hands on her legs again, then slowly pried them apart. She was in need of something, he could tell -- Amelie was never this needy, not always, and she was feeling adventurous. They both were. And so her husband settled on to his stomach between her legs and placed soft kisses on her chest again, moving down the path of her belly until his lips came to the insides of her thighs, where his hands had once been. He treated the woman like a flower, delicate and gentle always. Reaper was neither of those things. The hand on her chin moved down to Widowmaker's throat, and he gave her a rough shove back in to her seat, where she'd bounce off of the cold, steel wall. Before she could try and escape him, he was on her in a second, towering over her with his large, dark and intimidating frame. A clawed hand took hold of her long ponytail, and he stared down at her. You're sure about this, spider? he asked, pulling back on her hair so that she was forced to look up at him. I don't play nice. Again, he tilted his head, listening -- reading her, trying to find the sound of her heart. Did this excite her as much as it did him? Now they would truly see.