Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8475445.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Overwatch_(Video_Game)
  Relationship:
      Sombra_(Overwatch)/Hana_"D.Va"_Song
  Character:
      Sombra_(Overwatch), Hana_"D.Va"_Song
  Additional Tags:
      transgirl_sombra
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-05 Words: 2471
****** boom clap (sound of my heart) ******
by pure_as_the_driven_snow
Summary
     “What do you want,” Hana grumbles after a moment, and the girl’s lips
     curl with satisfaction.
     “I like making friends, D.Va. I like making friends with big, big
     guns, bigger reputations, and a habit of,” her eyes flick in the
     direction of the explosion, “collateral damage. And you’re not bad to
     look at, either. Let’s just say...you owe me one. You do it, I give
     you the vid. You don’t…” She trails off meaningfully.
     Or, Hana and Sombra come to an agreement.
Notes
     kink meme fill, prompt was "orgasms during ultimates"
She doesn’t self destruct often. It’s last minute, since a new MEKA takes
months of work and costs as much as she brings home every winning tournament.
Hana is careful, since without her mech, she’s slippery--but fragile--target.
She’s a cracking shot and what her pistol lacks in power, it makes up for in
speed; it’s still not thousands of pounds of machinery and guns.
But sometimes there’s just no helping it. Every moment of implosion is special;
Hana remembers every time she’s had to resort to it. Mostly because of how it
feels. Victory is a potent drug, an aphrodisiac that runs hot shivers up and
down her spine.
It’s embarrassing. It’s part of the reason she doesn’t self destruct.
Tonight, they are swarming Lumerico. Talon, for some reason, is trying to
protect it; or maybe they’re trying to get to it first. Hana isn’t certain, and
frankly, she doesn’t care. She has little respect for either organisation;
Satya has often said that Lumerico was just another facet of Vishkar, two
horrible peas in a rotten pod. It’s easy to justify the collateral damage to
Lumerico. Talon clusters in a swarm, hunkering down.
Hana looks at the remaining fuel in her thrusters, at the haggard team, and
aims a toothy grin to her stream.
“B-R-B,” Hana says, and shuts off every unnecessary app she’s got. Arousal
starts just with that, amplifies slow and steady as she makes sure the ejection
port is ready, as she fires up the defense matrix and guides it into shooting
down a wall of bullets.
The hunger starts when she backs up, then takes off. Saying the code out loud,
letting the now compacting MEKA fly out into the throng of panicking enemies,
ducking for cover; it’s all foreplay.
It’s when Hana is cloistered in a hiding spot, counting down the seconds in
time with her heartbeat with closed eyes, is when she lets herself feel it. Hot
lust, rolling through her body. Nerf this, she thinks, licking her lips as the
MEKA lets out a sharp, warning whine. Hana lets her hand shoot down, grabbing
between her legs and pressing firmly as the explosion rocks the world, the
orgasm snapping her up just as hard and just as fast. Her wail is muffled in
the roar of destruction, and she compartmentalizes the fact that people are
dying, or dead.
(She always does.)
The smell of smoke and the sizzling tang of the explosion follows; in the
aftermath, Hana breathes in dry air, bitterness on the back of her tongue, and
opens her eyes. There is a girl kneeling just in front of her, lips parted and
glossy with purple lipstick, dark brown skin flushed. Her eyes, blue and
glossy, are wide and dark. There’s soot streaked across her face, and one
sleeve of her coat is crispy black, burnt.
But she’s grinning, teeth sharp and white. Hana sees a holoscreen hovering just
in the palm of her hand.
“I didn’t know D.Va got her kicks wrecking Lumerico property,” the girl husks,
her accent a purr. Hana gapes, flustered with humiliation, and glances to the
screen; sees herself recorded, cheeks red and her hand still cupping herself
over her suit.
“Fuck,” is what she gasps, hands shooting for her pistol.
“Ah, ah, m’ija” the girl clicks her tongue. “One more move and I upload this on
every major network. Got it?”
“Oh, fuck you,” Hana hisses between her teeth, but she raises both hands. The
recording is more dangerous than a smoking gun, really. Hana isn’t familiar
with blackmail, and she’s sure she could hire a lawyer talented enough to
salvage her rep if the girl with the stupid toe shoes and the luminous,
gradient leggings does upload the vid, but that would stain her forever.
No one would take her seriously if they saw her rubbing one when her MEKA
exploded. She’d be a laughing stock.
“What do you want,” Hana grumbles after a moment, and the girl’s lips curl with
satisfaction.
“I like making friends, D.Va. I like making friends with big, big guns, bigger
reputations, and a habit of,” her eyes flick in the direction of the explosion,
“collateral damage. And you’re not bad to look at, either. Let’s just say...you
owe me one. You do it, I give you the vid. You don’t…” She trails off
meaningfully.
==
Sombra’s breath hits her neck, humid and hot. She sucks in a breath like a
whimper, and Hana revels in it as she settles back, hips rocking as they roll
together. The set up is pretty sweet, something like a gaming rig Hana has set
up in her dorm at Gibraltar. Three huge screens, fans whirring as lines of code
roll through. Hana faces the screen, licking her teeth.
The favor Sombra had cashed in turned out to be a small one, in a sense. She
wanted access to a MEKA, though even her deep web hacking had turned fruitless.
Three was nothing automatic in the MEKA that could be used for piloting; it had
to be manually done, and Sombra didn’t have the experience or the time to
learn, so they jerry rigged a remote piloting system using retro joysticks, and
Sombra sinking her tendrils deep into the coding, manipulating loopholes in the
tech.
It turned the MEKA from Hana’s favored pink to a more vibrant purple, Sombra’s
logo broadcasted over the glass. It works like a dream, though, and Hana likes
the challenge of working her mech from a distance; cramped quarters in a shitty
apartment, perched in Sombra’s lap. The joysticks placed on either side of the
chair arms, with Sombra’s arms around her waist to fly over the hovering
keyboard. The first time they’d worked together to upset a Vishkar shipment of
explosives, Hana had joked about them being old school drift compatible. Sombra
jokes that she fell a little in like with her from the reference alone.
They meet up like this every two months; Sombra working as a double agent for
Talon and Hana dedicated to Overwatch and service to country keep them both
pretty busy with their own agendas. It’s casual; mostly friendship, sometimes
way more.
The sex hadn’t been a part of the deal, but it had ended up being a thing
anyway. Hana doesn’t mind it; no one at Overwatch sees her as an adult (which
pisses her off to no fucking end, it honestly does, how does Junkrat of all
people get to call himself an adult while she’s stuck at the kiddy table?) but
Sombra is a kindred spirit. She likes pretty girls in her lap and she likes
fucking up corrupt institutions of power.
Speaking of; Hana feels Sombra hard against her ass and hums low in her throat,
pulling against the throttle of the joystick to slap the bulk of her mech’s gun
into three goons. She wiggles her ass, mutters, “I got this. Get the pants,
scrub,” and Sombra laughs with delight. The claws at her fingertips retract and
she fumbles with her leggings, Hana’s bikershorts. They don’t get very far;
Hana settles back as she pops her gum, brow furrowed in concentration. Her
fingers twitch when Sombra slides against her cunt--not in, just against the
slick of her, lubing herself up.
“Ay, m’ija,” Sombra growls against the shell of her ear, shaking hands reaching
to her thighs. Hana lets herself purr at the firm, demanding grip on her skin.
“The things you do to me.”
“Mmhm. Can feel it.” Hana cocks a brow, looking down as she pulls the trigger.
She takes out three of Vishkar’s new bodyguard omnics without looking--easy
mode--and Sombra groans. She’s gotten even harder from it, Hana notes with
satisfaction. She’s good at her shit and she knows it. “What next?”
“Hh--health port. They’re gonna go for it.” Sombra reaches for the keyboard
again, her breathing tight and fast; Hana’s is the same, if she’s being honest.
“Fly us there. I’ll handle the rest.”
Hana shoots forward, crashing through a group of omnics as she lands the MEKA
into what she assumes is the charging port. Sombra’s quick fingers fly over the
keys, and tendrils of purple light shoot from the barrels of the MEKA’s arm
cannons. Sombra’s brand flashes over the surface of the station, before its
calming Vishkar blue turns purple.
Hana knows it’s running one hell of a virus, now, one Sombra concocted just for
this. Soon it’ll find its way back into Vishkar’s branch database--then further
to the main hub. It all depends on how good the firewalls are. Satya says
they’re stronger than hell, but Satya is also biased as fuck.
“I think,” Hana rasps when the head of Sombra’s cock brushes her clit, “I
think, we should blow this thing up. Get into the heart of this sect, and test
one last thing.”
“Yes,” Sombra breathes, “fuck yes. You’re so fuckin’ smart, m’ija. God, I love
the way that brain of yours thinks.”
“I’m pretty hot shit,” Hana agrees. Sombra laughs, and then presses on the
small of her back. Hana raises her hips just enough for Sombra to shift, give
her a warning tap, and sinks the head of her cock in. Hana moans throaty and
full and steadily rocks her hips back until she’s perched in Sombra’s lap
again.
“Love the way you feel around me,” Sombra mutters into her ear. Then she growls
something in Spanish--could be endearments, dirty talk, or the goddamn grocery
list for all Hana knows--and taps on her keyboard. She pulls up blueprints of
the Vishkar base they’re raiding, and Hana spies the target seconds before
Sombra plots out a trail. “Right there. Servers control the omnics...we get in,
shut it down, and Vishkar will have a hell of mess on their hands.”
Sombra sounds so giddy that Hana giggles too. She sobers up. “R-run a check on
the personnel. Don’t want innocent people getting caught up in this.”
Sombra hums low against her skin, lust momentarily tempered as they both watch
the third screen load up, sensors seeking out human body temperatures. They
catch a couple of them fleeing the building, hoping their security tech can
combat whoever’s coming at them. Good. Less casualties, the better.
“Let’s do this,” Hana says, aiming the mech’s thrusters for a high boost.
“Leeroooooy-- “
Sombra stops her meme with a hard thrust and the sound of overexaggerated dry
heaving. Hana laughs around a moan, slick dripping from between her thighs. The
position and the fact that they are dealing with a pretty high priority mission
means they can’t do anything really nice, but Hana likes it when they just
grind too. She doesn’t want to think about being a bit of a size queen like
Lena, but she’d be lying if she said the stretch wasn’t nice.
Hana makes the MEKA burst through the tall window. Breathless, she reads the
code out to Sombra, who types it into a voice simulator app that sounds out
inside of the mech. Self destruct sequence, with the added bonus of an EMP
blast, is initiated; Hana lets off the joysticks, seeing her work done, and
braces herself on the chair. She raises her hips, lets them fall, taking all of
Sombra in with a slick sound.
There’s a countdown timer in the corner of the screen. Hana watches it, and
feels the pleasure start to spike. It’s even better now, with Sombra panting in
her ear, little whines and whimpers escaping her lips.
It hits Hana, minutes before her orgasm does, that they’ve never even kissed.
She twists halfway in Sombra’s lap, throwing an arm around her shoulders, chest
heaving. Sombra’s eyes widen, brows rising just before Hana kisses her, sloppy
and eyes closed and desperate. Sombra’s lips are slack against her own for a
split second before Sombra starts to kiss her back, moaning into her parted
mouth.
“Fuck, yes,” Sombra whispers urgently, hips clapping against her ass, “Fuck
yes, yes, yes, Hana.”
She jerks as the countdown ticks to its final few seconds. They stop kissing to
watch the explosion on screen, the point of view switched to a drone at the
last minute by Sombra. The mech destroys the servers and the EMP wave spreads
through the entire facility, a dome of purple that shuts down every electronic-
-including the drone.
The screens go dark, but Hana sees only white stars as arches her back,
smiling, coming. It’s stronger than ever before, a hot wave washing over her
and nearly dragging her under as she shouts, wordless. Sombra clamps two hands
against her hips and grinds hard against her, forehead pressed to the back of
Hana’s sweat soaked shirt.
When the aftershocks finish, and Sombra slides out of her--leaving her wet and
messy between her legs--they settle into the leather chair with twin sighs of
satisfaction. Sombra pets her hair, kisses at her neck and nibbles at her skin.
Then she reaches up, and taps on the screen to the right. The recording stops,
saves itself into a little cube of light, and Sombra draws it out of the air.
Her purple lipstick is smudged from Hana’s kiss and her smirk is half satisfied
from sex, half from a job well done.
“You like stickin’ it to the man,” Hana says, drowsily.
“Mm. Love stickin’ it to you more,” Sombra purrs. The porn video slides into an
encrypted folder, along with four others. Sombra is going to send it to Hana a
week later, after she’s made copies. Not to send along to ruin Hana’s career--
their partnership, so to speak, suits them both too much--but for her own
benefit. Sombra makes no secret about her voyeurism.
“It’ll be two weeks before I get another mech,” Hana mumbles, and finds her
eyes sliding shut. She has cum dripping down her thighs and she needs a shower,
but Sombra smells like perfume and the musk of sex and she’s comfy, goddammit.
“Sorry.”
“Ah, mi coneja, I’ll wait as long as I have to.” Sombra kisses her cheek,
hesitates, and kisses her on the lips. Pleasantly surprised, Hana returns it.
“You’re sleepy.”
“Yeah,” Hana says. “This might sound weird, but we should nerf your dick.”
Sombra sputters out a belly laugh. “What the fuck! That is weird, I love it.”
She pets her hair again, voice softening. “Nap, m’ija. I’ll get you cleaned
up.”
She shouldn’t fall asleep in the lap of a woman whose loyalties lie up the ass
of nowhere, but Hana lets her eyes slide shut and she snuggles in. She thinks
she hears something like tay-yammo, and thinks it sounds familiar, but then
she’s fallen asleep before she can think of something else. She doesn't speak
Spanish anyway.
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