Chapter Text
Everyone in Talon knew that skipping a dose of their scent blockers or suppressants was a good way to get dragged into the lab and used as a test subject, all while being subjected to a pointed lecture about social dynamics and foolish risks.
The theory Sombra had suggested one night when she thought only Reaper was around to hear was that Moira had decided at some point that if she didn’t get to rut, no one got to rut.
Beneath his mask, the man who had been Gabriel Reyes rolled his eyes, and said nothing. He had a much better idea of why Doctor O’Deorain was so strict about making sure everyone in Talon was on their appropriate doses, but some secrets were not his to give.
Moira’s earrings never changed: Not disclosing, unavailable.
Plenty of her staff at Oasis wondered about that too, but it wasn’t polite to speak of such things.
Perhaps she’d lost a loved one, one of the lab assistants suggested quietly at lunch one night.
I think she must have a secret lover, another suggested.
The appearance of the Minister next to their table in a puff of black smoke had rather arrested the conversation. Particularly when she observed that perhaps she ought to start reviewing work assignments if they had so much time to gossip.
Moira didn’t begrudge anyone who chose to share their status openly. She didn’t even necessarily mind the ones who did decide to have a bit of fun here and there, so long as they were responsible.
But she had a reputation to maintain, personally and professionally, and the knowledge that the Minister of Genetics (or, more dangerously, a leading member of Talon’s inner council) would, if unsuppressed, be reduced to a weak, needy mess until she was properly tended to was rather detrimental to that.
(She would admit that when Lacroix had somehow begun to experience heat cycles again, she had simply passed the assassin a bottle of suppressants and a package of birth control as the simplest solution, and she seemed to have no issues keeping the rabble at bay.
Still, Widowmaker had earned a certain reputation for badly damaging anyone who attempted to pressure her before that development, and her decision to start wearing not strictly authorized jewelry made it clear anyone who approached without her permission would suffer the consequences.)
Perhaps if, once upon a time, she had demonstrated that being an Omega did not mean she lacked for ruthlessness, it might have been different. But so many assumed from her bearing and demeanor that she was an Alpha that Moira quickly found it a useful fiction.
To a point.
She sat in her office in the Ministry, overlooking the beautiful city she’d helped to craft. A brilliant, gleaming jewel in the desert, and all she wanted was to be in a hovel of a refugee camp, two hundred kilometers across the desert.
Her head was pounding, an all too familiar drumbeat across her temples that neither caffeine or alcohol could tame.
Most women, she growled to herself where no one could hear, would have their bloody menopause by now .
Most women hadn’t been downing suppressors like clockwork for thirty five years, either, and almost never taking the recommended breaks to allow herself a respite.
When you kept winding back your biological clock, you had to accept the frustrating reality that it would try to run longer as a result.
With a resigned sigh, she reached for a drawer of her desk she normally kept locked, and pulled out the old communicator she wasn’t technically supposed to have.
Are you close by? she typed, and waited for a response.
Yes, the reply came through. I’m working in Baiji today. Training medics.
How long?
Two more days.
Moira managed to keep her fingers from shaking as she typed her next message.
I need you.
The wait for a reply seemed to stretch endlessly.
Cancel anything you have scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.
Moira bit her lip until she tasted the coppery tang of her own blood.
Already done.
There was another wait, but Moira distracted herself by ensuring she had her calendar cleared through the end of the week, then marked herself as taking personal leave for the following week as well.
The communicator finally buzzed again, and she nearly knocked it off the desk in her haste to grab it.
Have a car at the airport for me. Would you like to use a hotel, or your apartment?
Apartment, Moira wrote back. She’d arrange the car electronically once she’d calmed herself down a bit. I don’t care to risk an accident.
There wasn’t a reply, but Moira could imagine Angela sitting on a crate of supplies, or laying on the cot in her tent. The way she’d smile, reading that. The rise and fall of her chest as she laughed.
For someone so worried about discovery, she would have said, you’re not very subtle.
But subtlety had never really been Moira’s strong point, had it?
Abrasive, yes.
Forceful, certainly.
Arrogant? Perhaps.
But subtle? No.
I’m as subtle as you are, a chuisle. Really, bright golden wings and a halo?
That little laugh, like silver bells. “I suppose so.”
Moira realized her fingers were slipping towards the waistband of her trousers as she began to imagine what else might follow that conversation, and stopped herself with a frustrated hiss.
If she was going to do this, she wasn’t going to risk being literally caught with her pants down.
She put the communicator away, scheduled the car to pick up “a guest of the Minister” at the airport the following day, then punched the the intercom button for her secretary.
“Yes, Minister?”
“I’m...feeling unwell,” Moira said slowly, making sure to keep her voice cool and even, no suggestion of her distress. “Have a car meet me downstairs.”
“Of course,” her secretary said with a note of what sounded like actual sympathy. “I do hope you feel better.”
Perhaps she hadn’t hid her distress as well as she’d hoped.
“Thank you,” Moira said quietly, and closed the connection before she could betray herself further.
Intellectually she knew the car that would take her home needed less than a minute to arrive, but it seemed like a much longer wait as she stood in the ministry’s foyer.
Did someone notice a sheen of sweat on her brow? Could they see the tremble in her fingers?
At least her color was always pale, thanks to untold hours in the lab.
Were there eyes on her? Stares of concern? Pity? Amusement?
It was an effort of will to not run to the car when it arrived, and she kept a stiff, straight backed posture in her seat until the smoked glass partition rose, isolating her completely.
A shot of whiskey straight from the bottle did little to ease her jangling nerves, but the burn of the alcohol gave her something to focus on, grounding her as she endured the ride home.
When she reached her building, Moira was grateful to have a private elevator to her flat. She began loosening her tie and undoing the top buttons of her dress shirt as she rose, leaving a trail of clothing from her door to her master bathroom.
She stepped into an icy cold shower, gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering as she soaked herself, letting the chill seep into her bones.
Her mind was finally able to focus beyond her immediate needs when she left the shower, the fluffy warmth of her towel not enough to hold her shivering at bay as she dried off.
She’d taken her last dose of suppressants a week ago. Perhaps it had been a bad batch? It was known to happen, even here. Or perhaps her use of the biotic pack for an operation a few days ago had done something to push her system out of balance, reducing their effectiveness.
She kept a blood draw kit and a few sample tubes in the first aid kit she’d installed in the bathroom. After she’d dried herself completely, she put on a house robe and collected them, sitting at her kitchen table as she located a good vein, stuck herself, and pulled four tubes to test later. One way or the other she would have an answer, but for now…
The blister pack of antagonist capsules she kept hidden in her dresser seemed to mock her as she dug them out, the amber solution trapped inside each one catching the afternoon light.
Giving in at last, eh?
Couldn’t deny your nature forever, could you?
She broke one capsule from the pack and swallowed it, then wandered into the kitchen to wash it down with a cold glass of water.
She wanted another stiff whiskey, or at least a beer, but she knew all too well that alcohol was contraindicated, and why.
Her body was going to be demanding relief all too soon. The last thing she wanted was to be hungover and nauseous, too.
What she wanted to be…
Moira shivered as she remembered the last time they’d met, taking advantage of professional associations and conferences. Extending her “professional development” leave an extra three days, and spending them in a Las Vegas hotel room, paid in cash.
The only interruptions had been for food, water, and sleep - and very little of each.
The pleasant memories made her current lack stand out that much more, and she made the decision to drink another glass of water, then take the heaviest dose of sleep aid she could safely tolerate.
She’d be hungry when she woke up, but ten hours of sleep was better than ten hours of restlessness as her heat took full hold of her.
Her dreams were...vivid.
Moira wasn’t surprised she woke with her hand between her legs. What should have been a pleasurable sensation as she stroked and teased herself was a pale, unfulfilling shadow of the what she craved. The scent of sex had filled the room, and her thighs slid against wet sheets when she moved.
She dragged herself out of bed with a frustrated groan, peeling off the sweat soaked nightshirt she’d worn and throwing it towards the hamper on her way to the bathroom.
A glance at the clock told Moira she still needed to endure several more hours, at least, before she’d have any real relief. She opened the taps on the whirlpool tub that filled the corner of the bathroom, filling it with gently steaming water.
The cold shower had worked to focus her yesterday, but it would have been agony today. Better to just soak and let the warm water relax her as much as it could.
It wasn’t nearly enough, but she wanted to believe it helped a bit, particularly once her fingers drifted down her belly again, accentuating the rhythmic pulses of the jets.
When the bath had finally cooled to the point of being uncomfortable, Moira reluctantly unfolded herself from the tub. The towel scratched and itched her skin, every nerve on edge now.
The sound of the door made her heart leap, and she hurriedly wrapped the towel around herself as she made her way to the living room.
The scent of pine and something like thyme filled her nose as she approached, and Moira never ceased to find her reaction fascinating. The tension and nerves easing, while that sense of need became even sharper, twisting and pulling at her with every step towards the source of that divine aroma.
She hated how badly she wanted Angela Ziegler, even as she was relieved and grateful that she was here at last. That she’d rearranged her schedule. That she’d come to her, despite how frustratingly vulnerable and desperate she was.
Moira stopped just shy of the transition from the hallway to the living room and took a moment to collect herself as much as she could manage, then turned the corner.
“Hello,” she said in a low murmur, and couldn’t stop herself from smiling when Angela’s head snapped around at the sound of her voice.
Angela’s nose flared at the scent of her, and her face flushed. Her eyes ran over her, lingering on the towel, and after a long moment she turned back to the wall hanging she’d been examining.
“I can’t believe you hung that in your living room.”
Even though she knew Angela was doing it to distract them both, Moira huffed with offense. “It’s a beautiful piece of classical art.”
“It’s two ninjas in a tree.”
“It’s Itachi and Sasuke,” Moira corrected her, “and besides, you were the one who gave it to me.”
“Yes,” Angela admitted with a little laugh. “But I expected you to put it somewhere...out of the way.”
Moira rolled her eyes as she scoffed. “I didn’t ask you to come here to critique my decorating.”
Angela’s eyes were full of amusement when she turned back. “No, you did not.” She took a few steps forward, leaving her suitcase behind. Moira swallowed hard, willing herself to remain still and not rush to her, or back away to avoid more contact.
“You’re always so afraid,” Angela murmured as she cupped her cheek, and Moira nuzzled into her palm, letting herself become drunk on her scent.
“You know I don’t enjoy losing control of...anything,” Moira murmured reluctantly. It was true, even if it wasn’t the entire truth.
She might, in the privacy of her own thoughts, admit that she cared for Angela Ziegler - perhaps even felt something like love for her. One day she might even say it aloud in a moment like this.
But she’d never be able to say that since the very first time she’d reached out to Angela, she had expected the answer would be no .
“I know,” Angela soothed as she stepped closer, and their first kiss in far, far too long was an almost painfully gentle, chaste thing. Despite the fact she was wearing nothing but a towel, despite the fact she wanted Angela to rip it away and touch her skin, despite how much she wants, wants, wants.
“So,” Angela smiled up at her. “Have you lost control, süsse?”
It’s a joke, but Moira considers it seriously. She hasn’t, quite. But part of her very, very much wanted to.
“Seeing as I haven’t put you on the floor...” Moira said with just enough of a smile that Angela would know she wasn't being entirely serious.
Angela’s hand wrapped around hers, and when a finger stroked the inside of her wrist Moira could barely recall how to breathe. “I’d really prefer the bed, if it’s all the same to you.”
Her mouth ran away with her before her brain could do a damned thing about it. “I really wish you would, agra. ”
Now Angela’s eyes were filled with heat, gleaming like sapphires as her smile turned hungry. “Well, then. Why don’t we stop wasting time?”
Her mouth was dry as a desert as she let Angela lead her back to her own bedroom, and she felt as if her knees were made of jelly.
The scent of her frustrations was thick in the air, and Moira watched as Angela’s nostrils flared, filling her lungs with deep breaths.
“How long?”
“A week, I think.” Moira fidgeted uncomfortably. “I suspect a bad batch of suppressants.”
Angela nodded thoughtfully as she stepped out of her shoes, then undid the cuffs of her blouse. “Did you draw labs?”
“Of course,” she bit out, frustration rising with every inch of skin Angela revealed. Why were they still talking? “I’ve got them in the cooler. I’ll take them in to analyze...after.”
Angela chuckled, the sound traveling like snowflakes down her spine. “You’re always so thorough.”
Moira had to laugh at that, sharp and rough as she finally let the towel drop. “Someone was quite put out when I submitted work she felt was ‘insufficiently documented.’”
Angela stopped, one hand working at a button on her shirt, the other clenching so tight her delicate knuckles (surgeon’s hands - deft hands) looked as if they’ve been carved from marble. “I wonder who that might have been,” she said softly, her voice sounding as she was standing at the end of a long tunnel, and then just as suddenly as she’d stopped moving, she started.
The impact took her by surprise and Moira gasped in alarm before Angela’s hands found her back, rubbing and squeezing while hungry wet lips traced her skin, the weight of the shorter woman forcing her back, back, until her thighs bumped the side of the bed and she could let them both fall onto it, the mattress offering a squeak of protest.
When she looked down her body Angela was bent in worship over her, reverently kissing and caressing her bony, narrow frame. An angel offering her blessings to an all too human wretch.
Her hands slid through soft blonde locks, fingernails scratching against the scalp and the curve of her neck, dragging down Angela’s back and feeling the smooth softness of muscle beneath the shirt.
“I haven’t been able to think about anything but this since your message,” Angela murmured between kisses and sighs, punctuating her words with licks and teasing bites. Never too much, always gentle, always gentle, even now.
Moira moaned under her, trying to tug the bottom of Angela’s shirt from her trousers, wanting to feel her, wanting to taste her, tired of waiting for what she needed so badly.
“Stop teasing,” she growled, and Angela smiled impishly.
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“You bloody well know -”
Angela’s fingers slid down to her hips, and Moira let out something distressingly close to a wail as she ground against her, the fabric of the alpha’s pants doing nothing to conceal the firmness there with every thrust.
“Shh.” Even half into her rut, her body responding hungrily to Moira’s heat and scent, Angela’s voice managed to sound comforting. “I’ve got you, Moira. I’ve got you.”
Not yet you haven’t, Moira grumbled to herself even as she lifted her hips, trying to drag her closer, wanting to be filled up with her now. She reached for Angela, pulling herself to her, and there was a rustle as fabric finally fell to the floor.
She laughed with something like triumph as her hand brushed down Angela’s side, finally wrapping fingers around her length.
Angela’s gasps as she stroked her were all the encouragement she needed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and scooting herself as close as she could. She left a line of kisses at the side of her neck, bathing in the scent and the taste of her until she found the scar she’d left, like an artist’s signature on a canvas.
“Please,” Moira whispered into her skin.
Angela gave a little growl as she finally entered her, and Moira couldn’t quite decide if she was feeling pleasure in that moment or simply relief.
Moira wrapped herself around Angela as best she could, wanting to feel skin on skin, their bodies moving and sliding against each other, her breath catching when Angela’s hips rolled just right .
Angela moaned and swore and grunted as they moved together, finding the rhythm, setting a pace. The top buttons of her shirt open, her whole body seeming to glow as she flushed.
“Moira...yes... yes!”
“More,” Moira begged as she felt the press of Angela’s swelling knot against her, the way her body tried to stretch to take it into her. To capture and keep her inside, to finally be filled the way she craved.
Angela slowed her thrusts slightly, getting closer with each stroke. “You’re ready?”
She answered by meeting Angela’s next thrust with a roll of her own hips, pushing until she finally slid completely home, shuddering with the pleasure as her head lolled back onto the mattress.
She was so close, and Angela seemed the same, throbbing hard and hot inside of her.
Moira felt hot breath on her neck an instant before the sharp burst of pain as Angela’s teeth dug into her neck, then the rush of pleasure as she started to suck hard against her freckled skin, fierce and wet and claiming .
She came hard, tipped over the edge, and it wasn’t long before she felt a burst of warmth as Angela’s climax came, pulsing as her walls clenched and tightened in response to help trap the knot inside of her until she’d milked every last drop from it.
Angela nearly collapsed on top of her, catching her weight on her elbows, and it took some careful maneuvering to get both of them on the bed before they gingerly rolled onto their sides, finding a comfortable position without disengaging themselves.
Moira felt satisfied for the first time in days, the aching need she’d been feeling replaced with exhaustion and a pleasant rush of endorphins. A chemical reward, she told herself, for fulfilling biology’s demands.
But the way Angela nestled against her, the way she smiled before tucking her head into her chest...those were more than just “rewards”, weren’t they.
“I can practically hear you thinking, Moira.” Angela’s voice was sleepy, but that little smile was still there.
She ought to just apologize, or close her eyes and try to sleep, but she’d never been able to resist a challenge. “Can you, now?”
“Mmhmm.” The arm Angela had slipped around her tightened just a little, enough to emphasize their closeness. “You’re thinking you don’t deserve this? Or that it’s just hormones?”
Moira could lean in just enough to brush the top of Angela’s sweaty forehead with her lips. “A bit of both,” she admitted reluctantly.
Angela’s knot wouldn't recede completely for a while yet, but it had gone down enough for her to wiggle her hips slightly, sending a ripple of pleasure through them both. “You never give yourself enough credit,” she murmured. “Don’t you think I wanted this, too?”
She hadn’t really looked at the earrings Angela had been wearing until now.
Not disclosing, exclusively partnered.
The implications were enough to make her heart skip. “You did,” she whispered with dawning realization. “You do. More than just…”
“I always have,” Angela confirmed. “It’s been much too long, for both of us.”
“Yes,” Moira agreed softly as she kissed her again. “I suppose it has.”
They had quite a lot to talk about, after they finally got some real rest.
Between the days she’d cleared from her schedule and the vacation she’d taken, it was more than a week before Moira returned to work.
As her car left the airport’s departures lot and made it’s way to the Ministry of Genetics, she flipped through messages on her tablet, getting herself caught up on what had happened in her absence. Nothing earthshaking, but she’d become sadly familiar with how much tedium and minutiae came with her elevated position.
The encrypted messages from Talon along the same lines somehow managed to be even more boring.
Still, the paperwork and the labs she needed to run on her blood samples would be a useful distraction from the flight that would be leaving for Tikrit in an hour, and the passenger on it.
Besides, she was rather looking forward to the buzz of gossip that would result once someone noticed the Minister was wearing slightly different new earrings.