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“Fancy meeting you here again, pet.”
Angela rolls her eyes for the third time that day as she listens to the vehicle they are stood in taking off. Moira laughs at her own joke.
“Very funny.”
“Want to stand a little closer to me?” Moira offers, as though Angela has a choice. “It is awfully cramped in here.”
Angela doesn't reply verbally. She never does. Instead, she shuffles her back closer up against Moira's front.
This isn't the first time that something like this has happened for the two of them.
Moira grins in triumph.
They stand pressed together. Moira's arm reaches up to hold on to one of the handles of the ship, steadying her long legs, and her other arm already knows where it wants to be. Angela knows it, too, and that's become half of the fun of these outings.
“I have to go on missions with you?” She remembers saying to Moira a few weeks back. “Aren't we supposed to be kept separate from Blackwatch?”
Moira had raised her hands in indifference.
“Maybe your angelic behavior will rub off on me.”
“You should take your job more seriously,” Angela scalds in the present moment. “Don't you know we're going to be travelling into a warzone?”
Moira laughs in the familiar way that Angela hates to admit she loves.
“Take it more seriously...? I'm not doing anything wrong,” she retorts. “I'm merely your work colleague, offering you a place to stand. How ungrateful.”
Angela scoffs under her breath. Moira can't help but allow her ego to be stroked. She also can't help the way that her arm snakes around Angela's waist from the back.
“Estimated landing time is forty-five minutes,” a metallic voice suddenly speaks from across the speakers.
Moira looks up at the source of the noise as she subtly keeps Angela against her. Angela looks up at Moira's jawline.
“Forty-five minutes before landing. Please be advised to keep all airlock doors closed until landing.”
“Plenty of time,” Moira mumbles with a knowing smile, and turns her eyes back down to try and meet with Angela's own.
“Plenty of time? Whatever for?” Angela asks, and as the words leave her mouth, she can't bring herself to look at the woman behind her.
Moira chuckles.
“Honestly...for someone so virtuous, you do like to toy with a woman, don't you?”
As they stand, and Angela feels Moira's slender arm coil itself around her hips to pull her back harder, she feels the heat rise to her cheeks.
Moira was right. Angela did know this was coming. It always does. It's always what the both of them want.
In all honesty, Angela thinks, this is a much more welcome way to experience the heat of the ship.
Cramped and unforgiving, this was a small airship. It was stuffed with as many people as they could fit onto it, and even before the addition of extra soldiers, the air was always oppressive and heavy with its unnatural, canned warmth. The only noises and added sensations that could be felt or heard were reverberating sounds of an engine's low hum, mixed in with the garbled conversations of others around them. Gabriel Reyes and Jesse McCree were here, somewhere up at the front; even Ana Amari had come along on this mission.
In the hierarchy of those first on board, healers were always encouraged to get on first. They were always recommended to remain at the back of the ship for their own safety, in case upon opening up the doors on landing, there was a barrage of bullets waiting to harm them. But Ana Amari was a special exception in this case, given that she was one of the commanding officers of all Overwatch had to offer; and so, that left Moira and Angela to their own devices. They were as alone as they could be. That was always going to be enough.
Everyone else was facing forward. Nobody ever noticed or bothered to turn around to face them.
Both Moira and Angela were fine with that.
The mixture of all of Blackwatch and Overwatch was a rarity, even with Moira and Angela combined onto more missions than usual. This was an especially important mission that surely must have demanded their attention in its entirety. They only had forty-five minutes to prepare, after all.
Right?
Angela doesn't say anything as they stand. After all, she knows how this goes. She fantasizes about it happening in between the missions.
Moira, too, feels the same. There is something so delightful, Moira thinks often, about feeling an unbridled lust. To be able to feel a sensation of sexual attraction so potent, so achingly demanding that you know it's only there for one purpose. Because someone looks good, and because you know you want to feel good. You want them to feel good.
You want to touch.
Moira leans down to whisper against the shell of Angela's ear.
“Not so angelic now, are we?”
Angela can't help but chuckle a little.
“Really...you and your assumptions. You let the word angelic roll off your tongue about me far too much. Do you like the idea of me losing my wings?”
“I think we stripped you of those a long time ago.”
Angela keeps an ear out for the signal that anyone is watching. Nothing so far. Everybody seems to be otherwise occupied with the individual ways they prepare themselves for a battle.
Moira smiles in excitement. Angela shivers. She places both of her hands on the arm around her waist.
Moira feels her own breath become hotter; heavier, and yet somehow, quieter as it leaves her lips. Her head begins to spin from even just the tiniest reciprocation of Angela's touch, because she knows what that means.
Angela shoves Moira's hand down slower against her body, and leans back against her chest. A wordless, insatiable liason; that was what this always was. And the surroundings only serve to add fuel to those flames; the dull ambience of the non-existent lighting, the vibratory hum of the engine; it all makes it feel as though they are in another world.
Even through the blue of her Valkyrie suit, she can feel the warmth of Moira's hand against her midriff. And soon, she can feel Moira dip beneath the gap where material separates from her legs. Moira's hand knows where to go.
Their lips tingle in the dim lights, but there's never a kiss. Neither one of them like that they can't do that, but kissing would make it all too obvious just what they were doing. Moira only has one hand to work with after all, and both of them know that any sensation against the lips would drive the other insane.
Angela presses her body back a little harder.
Moira feels her eyes flicker a little at the scent of her hair catching her senses. Words tumble out of her mouth before she can catch them.
“You're intoxicating.”
Angela doesn't respond. Her face is already flushed enough to make her dizzy.
Moira's hand teases her. At first, her fingers only trace lightly around the hem of Angela's pants. Moira feels her fingertips dance gently, softly, and stroking at the line where she can feel Angela's hipbone jutting out the most. But then her hand slips back up, tearing itself away from the patch of skin before she becomes addicted to the sensation, and moves her palm over the curve of Angela's hip.
Angela's breath hitches at the sensation of her skin being touched. Moira's head lulls forwards; only a few messy strands of red hair hanging down from her beret; and Angela feels her eyes widen.
“Are you going to kiss me?” she whispers in an incredulous tone of voice that she doesn't recognize. Moira grunts in a reply almost instantly, but instead tries to straighten her back. Angela feels the rush of disappointment mixed into a cocktail of hope.
“If I really kissed you the way I want to, Angela...” Moira replies with a coy, quiet laugh. “Then everyone really would know just what we were up to back here.”
Her hand slips down Angela's hip, and further under the hem of her trousers. Angela gasps as her grip on Moira's arm tightens instinctively.
“Moira-”
“Shh.”
Angela bites her lip. Her blonde hair is feeling a little messy, and slightly hanging over her eyes. The ambient blue of the light inside the ship makes it feel like a night sky blankets above them. She feels disheveled, horny, and completely distracted.
Moira kisses Angela's ear. Angela gasps at the sensation, and tries desperately to pretend that she doesn't want to feel it dragging down against the rest of her body.
Both women are conscious of how much time there is between now and landing.
Moira allows her hand to slip into Angela's underwear.
They are both careful to not make too much noise, and really, the restraint is more than enough to drive them both crazy. Moira's free hand steadies the both of them; her other arm strong enough to keep Angela at a steady balance, and the low frequent hum of the engine intermingled with the conversations around them only serves the greater purpose of Moira touching in between Angela's legs at the back of a dimly-lit, warm aircraft.
Angela feels her knees almost buckle at Moira's fingertips. Moira feels her back straighten as the ache between her own legs only grows.
Her fingertips, Angela thinks in a lust-fueled daze. Languid, rhythmic strokes circle her clit in a hard, solid motion that she doesn't want to stop. She's wet, Moira can feel that all over her fingers already, and Angela almost feels embarrassed just how turned on she already is. But Moira accepts the encouragement. It isn't embarrassing. She wants it. She needs it just as much as Angela does.
Angela wants to wrap her hands up in Moira's hair, but she knows she can't. She wants to sit on top of her in a bed, kissing and touching and doing as she pleases, but she can't. And Moira feels the muscles in her lower arm burning with the way she touches Angela; the blonde medic that she has grown so fond of so fast is melting beneath her touch, and she is melting with her.
Angela clings to Moira's arm, grinding herself down a little against her hand.
“I want you in bed...” Moira breathes against her ear. “God, why haven't we done that outside of this place yet, Angela?”
Angela doesn't respond again. She is drowning in her thoughts and her lust. She knows full well if she does that it will be a sound she wants nobody else on this ship besides Moira to hear.
Moira makes a noise of adoration; quiet, subtle; and breathes hot against Angela's ear as they stand on wobbly legs.
“I'm going to fuck you. I want to fuck you. I need to, somewhere that isn't here. Somewhere we can take our time...” Moira insists. Angela can hardly stand her own sense of longing. “Be mine, Angela. Come to bed with me tonight. Come...”
“Moira...” Angela finally manages to stammer out. “Your...ah, your voice...”
Moira's fingertips continue to rub at Angela's clit; slipping against it gently. She slips her fingers against it, sometimes hard, sometimes soft, but always in the same rhythm that Angela longs for. Her fingers slide inside Angela for a moment, just in a way to tease her; no real fuck could happen in this position, with all these people around, after all.
“My voice?” she mumbles eagerly, and allows her lips to brush against Angela's soft skin. “What of it?”
“Yes...” Angela whispers. “...More.”
Moira feels a second jolt of excitement.
A metallic voice comes across the speaker. Angela almost jumps out of her skin.
“Fifteen minutes until landing,” the voice says. “I repeat...”
Moira exhales slowly.
“Fifteen minutes...” she whispers, and casts a glance over her shoulder. Nobody has noticed. Nobody is even remotely interested in what Angela and her are doing. She smiles. “Let's make the most of it.”
Angela nods eagerly before a demand slips from her lips. She still hasn't turned around.
“Talk. Talk more to me.”
Moira only feels more turned on by the sensation of an order. She replies unquestioning of Angela's need.
“As you wish, love. You're driving me quite mad, you know.”
Moira begins to rub a little faster. Angela's back tenses. Moira loves this feeling the most.
The muscles in her arm tense. Angela can feel the intensity rising. The heat of the ship is stifling and claustrophobic, like a canned summer; but Moira smells so good.
“Let me fuck you later. Understand?”
“Moira...”
“I need you...” Moira mumbles through a mouthful of grit teeth. “It's driving me insane...I want you, Angela...”
Angela shoves Moira's hand harder between her legs.
“You...really have a way with words, don't you...”
Every whisper of Angela's voice makes Moira feel insatiable. The judder of the ship beginning to enter a lower atmosphere reaches her ears. She pulls Angela closer to her.
“Angela...!” she pleads. “Angela, Angela...come on...give me what we both want...!”
Moira's needy, pleading voice against Angela's ear is the last straw; and she feels her legs really give way beneath her this time.
Moira's tired arm holds Angela's frame up as she shakes; a hand launching up from gripping to Moira's arm to slam down against her own mouth. She trembles as she comes, suppressing a scream as she stands, and Moira slumps as unsuspectingly against her as she can.
“Ah...” Angela breathes, trying desperately to recompose herself. “Fuck!”
The two women pause for breath, before Moira chuckles, and tries to bring herself back down to earth. Angela shakes her head, and Moira kisses at the shell of her ear subtly once more as she slips her hand out from Angela's pants.
“...Sounded like you enjoyed that,” she says bluntly. Angela pauses, shaking her head.
“Moira...” she exhales breathily, running a hand through her hair beneath her beret. “I-”
“Five minutes until landing,” the same metallic voice begins over the speakers. “Please prepare for the descent. I repeat, five minutes until landing.”
Angela turns around; adjusting her clothes slightly, and Moira laughs to herself for what must be the fifth time that day. The smugness that followed afterwards always served to annoy and entice Angela Ziegler all at once. Moira was always so damn cocky.
The usual shuffle of those around them begins to happen in the dim light. People get into positions a little more strictly, and prepare to file out of the ship they have been stood in for the last near-hour. The lines of soldiers are uniform. They are ready, and they all grab onto a handle. Angela frowns as Moira raises an eyebrow at her.
The metallic voice comes on again.
“Two minutes to landing,” it says, “please ensure you are holding on to something.”
Moira and Angela exchange a glance, and Moira tucks a strand of hair behind Angela's ear as she pulls her against her waist. Angela holds on to Moira's shoulders.
“So...” Moira begins with a smirk, running a hand along Angela's back subtly; and Angela scowls in preparation to be annoyed.
“What?”
Moira laughs, flashing a brilliantly white smile, and peers down at the woman against her before saying,
“Need me to fix those wings onto your Valkyrie suit? We're almost there.”