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

With their chests pressed so closely together, Gerard could feel his heart racing in time with hers. It was the best feeling he could think of, holding her in his arms. Knowing she wasn't someone's prisoner, knowing she wasn't being tortured, abused, hurt, mistreated -- those thoughts wounded him, and he winced, as if physically struck by them. The thought of her suffering made his heart sink, and once again Gerard began blaming himself for things, even in the heat of all of this. But when she called his name and demanded his attention, he felt his spirits lifting again. The man gripped her hips and held her tighter against his waist, grinding himself in to her as they continued their kiss. Just as he was hoping to say something, their mouths touched again, and he forgot what he'd plan on telling her at all. Gerard -- In another place, there was laughter. It would've made anyone else's heart stop, if Widowmaker's wasn't already frozen in place. The lights in the bay of the dropship dimmed, and a dark cloud of smoke pooled from the vents. Shortly in its place stood a man, if you could call him that. Some doubted he was human, though the pale strips of flesh on his arms where both armor and cloth failed to protect spoke against that theory. Arms crossed over his chest, Reaper leaned against the wall of the ship, his head cocked subtly to the side as he looked at the woman once known as Amelie from behind Death's mask. He let out a low hum from somewhere deep in his throat, and his words left his mouth like gravel. Nice shot, he said, throwing a look towards the ship's heavy door, as if he could pierce the thick steel barrier and see the panicked streets of London beyond. Should've killed the kid, though. Reaper's tone was almost condescending. There wasn't any doubt in his mind she could have ended Tracer when she'd had the chance, but Widowmaker had elected not to, for reasons he could only guess at. He studied her carefully, then laughed again. Funny, Reaper thought. Her name. The only person she'd made a widow was herself. In another place, in another time, Amelie's husband had her hands resting firmly on her flank, fingers digging in to the flesh of her round, supple ass. When she pulled back to show her breasts to him, his breath caught in his throat and he looked up at her, face torn with want and need. He tried to find her lips again, but she stopped him. Purring low in his throat, Gerard gave one breast a kiss, then a playful, teasing nip before sitting Amelie higher on his chest as he turned to take her towards their bed, his face buried comfortably between her mounds along the way. Without a word, he tossed the woman on to the mattress -- dropped her, really -- and watched as she bounced off of it, but before she could get very far, her husband was back on top of her in a second. His lips found hers once more, but not for long. He wouldn't neglect that chest. One hand kept himself above her, resting against the sheets, though the other moved down to take hold of a breast, giving it a nice, firm squeeze. He let out a low breath and placed his face between them again, and this close, he could hear Amelie's heart beating. The man's lips parted, and he captured his prize between them. Gerard groaned in to the woman's chest as he sucked firmly on one of her tender, rosy buds, the flat of his tongue pressing hard against it. He listened carefully for some sort of response, wanting to hear every little delicious sound his wife had to make.