Work Text:
“What is this?” Angela Ziegler fumed as she threw open the door and stormed into Moira O'Deorain’s office.
Overwatch provided cutting-edge facilities to its scientific staff and divided all the offices and laboratories into sections based on rank and different fields of study. Due to the sensitive nature of her research and credentials, Angela’s latest project had firmly taken over the top floor of the Overwatch laboratories. Dr. O'Deorain’s, on the other hand, was several floors down.
Angela stomped down every stair, envisioning how she’d wipe the smug look off her colleague’s face. However, she was met with disappointment when the door swung open.
Mismatching eyes only glanced up at her sudden entrance. Their gaze met briefly. Then, Moira returned her attention to the computer screen seated on the desk before her. The other woman didn't rise from her seat or greet her, Angela noted. Instead, a pointed purple finger pressed a button on the flat, white keyboard.
“I’m working.”
The sharp dismissal in the Irish woman’s tone was searing.
Not only had Moira just embarrassed her in the cafeteria in front of the majority of their co-workers, but she continued to be rude in person. Angela’s brow furrowed as she closed the door.
Walking forward, she white-knuckled the ‘present’ Moira had left for her, lifting it to eye level. The offense was a small white plastic stepping stool. The note still taped to the center step read, 'Für meine kleine Ӓrztin,' in bold marker.
Moira glanced up at the motion, and the corner of her mouth twitched, suppressing amusement before aloof eyes looked back to her desktop monitor. A long pointed finger pressed a button on the keyboard again. Moira spoke without making eye contact.
“I thought you would appreciate the gesture. I’m not always around to…assist you,” Moira supplied with a subtle shrug, referring the few times she’d gotten coffee off the top shelf for Angela—the incidents were always laced with condescension. “Now is not a good time, for example.”
Even more furious at having been mocked and dismissed, Angela marched right up to the desk dividing them. She was ready to rip that stupid computer monitor cord right out of the wall.
Now wasn’t a good time? How dare O’Deorain. The gift had been seen by everyone who visited the organizations’ cafeteria. Everyone!
Curious side-eyes had followed her for the rest of the morning. Lena wouldn’t stop zipping after her down the hallways asking who the ‘special person' was with a cheeky smile. But what stung most of all was that she wasn’t short, damnit! She was of average height. Not everyone could be over two meters tall with their head brushing the clouds.
Rounding the side of the desk, Angela caught the stern face of Gabriel Reyes on Moira's desktop monitor. She paused before taking a step back, afraid that she’d walked into the feed.
The live video of Commander Reyes took up the center of the monitor with several smaller portrait-sized feeds framing his. She recognized Commander Morrison in one frame and the unmistakable outline of Jesse McCree’s stetson in another. The other video feeds were so poorly lit, she couldn’t make the identities of the rest.
Moira was in the middle of a conference call. Closer to the geneticists now, Angela could hear the tenor buzz of Reyes’ voice through the intercom nested in O’Deorain’s ear that attached to her hololens. Meetings like this were not unusual; the Overwatch facilities were so extensive it was often more efficient to host calls in their offices.
Angela’s brow creased as she watched a purple pointed fingernail tap the mute button on the keyboard again.
“You embarrassed me!” Angela whispered furiously.
“I was only trying to help,” Moira assured, but the way mismatching eyes simmered and gave a sideways glance said otherwise. “Now, best be on your way and put it to use.”
O’Deorain flicked the sound back on, having every intention of continuing her call undisturbed.
Blue eyes narrowed. No. Angela wasn’t going to have that. Moira absolutely did not get to have the satisfaction of embarrassing her in front of her peers and dismissing her now without consequences.
Although she was still annoyed at the situation, the molten feeling manifested into something more daring. Something Angela didn’t know she had in her until their working relations had taken a turn from being entirely professional several months ago.
Smile creasing her lips, Angela slowly sank to the floor beside Moira's desk.
Mismatching eyes glanced at her, then did a double-take as Angela inched under the desktop with the stool in tow. If Moira felt comfortable embarrassing her in front of her colleagues, then shouldn’t she return the favor? Why not give the other a taste of her own medicine that she wasn’t likely to forget?
Hidden from the camera feed, Angela scooted in front of the other underneath the desk and let her fingers rake down long, thin legs. Cords of muscle tensed under her touch.
“One moment, gentlemen. Excuse me,” Moira stated calmly before her chair scooched back an inch to allow narrowed eyes to glare under the desk. “What do you think you are doing? ”
“Putting my gift to use,” Angela said softly, innocently. Placing the stool on the ground between O’Deorain’s legs, she sat on it.
Reyes’ voice buzzed loudly.
Angela couldn’t make out any of the words, but the noise made Moira’s eyes snap to look up at the screen and spine straighten.
“Yes, naturally, I am focused despite your long-winded explanation. You may continue,” Moira clipped tightly to the screen, voice trailing up at the end slightly as Angela let her thumbs trace the inside of each thigh.
She couldn’t help but subconsciously take the geneticist's words as encouragement. The stool wasn’t the first time O’Deorain had taken the liberty of making life difficult around the office.
Their working relationship had always been torrid at best. On an ideological level, they didn't see eye to eye. However, the disagreements made their projects develop at a more rapid pace, as the critical feedback and competitive pressure caused inspiration laced with frustration to flourish.
Yes, O'Deorain's self-assured pension for playing devil's advocate with her theories was annoying—always pointing out hypotheticals in her work. Still, Angela could not deny how satisfying it was when one of her breakthroughs in molecular restoration left the scientist mute, able only to arch a red eyebrow and offer a flat, ‘Impressive’ at the achievement.
The scientific debate had formed an emotional current between them. It was strange, unexpected. Their relations sparked and arched down physical pathways Angela hadn't thought would become a reality.
Biting banter at the bar during one of Overwatch’s galas months back had transitioned into something like flirting. After one too many glasses of wine, the heated conversation between them ended in the bathroom, with hot mouths meeting and O'Deorain being far too helpful with fixing the garments under her dress. The memories never failed to make color rise on Angela's face.
The meeting was rushed. She blamed the entire incident on too much drink, a purely one-time accident. But the aftermath had bled into their professional life. Debates deepened, becoming heated discussions with teeth, fingers, and tongues locked behind laboratory doors. Collaborative research after hours took on a whole new meaning. And now, if the scientist felt comfortable embarrassing her during work hours, then it was time to return the favor.
Thumbs massaged their way to the crotch of Moira's pants, then back down thighs until long legs relaxed and started to ease apart. Angela leaned forward to peek past the lip of the desk, noticing the color dusting Moira’s face. Despite the woman's neutral expression, the telltale blush was unmistakable.
Still, Moira was able to respond to the call, answering a question from Reyes’ as though Angela’s fingers weren’t rubbing in slow, firm circles between her legs. It didn’t take long before the material began to feel damp to the touch, much to Angela’s smug satisfaction. Fingers easily unbuttoned dark slacks before reaching past the open hem.
Soft, warm folds yielded to her touch, and Angela admired the slickness coating her fingers as she pulled away. Moira leaned against the arm of her chair with her elbow propped on the armrest. Hand hiding her mouth, dual-colored eyes smoldered as their gaze caught. Angela felt her stomach tie itself into knots.
Did the threat of getting caught excite O’Deorian? Fingers gently spread wet, pink folds. With the tables turned, Angela took a moment to admire the flushed face of her tormentor turned lover. Thumb stroking the ripening bud of her clitoris, Angela slowly pushed her index finger inside. There was little resistance and a soft squish sounded as she entered to the knuckle.
Moira was having difficulty looking her in the eye now. Still covering her mouth, dual eyes stared at the monitor unfocused. Amused that she was trying to ignore her now, Angela let her finger move in slow circles before adding another. A low groan escaped from Moira at the intrusion, through her widening legs suggested more was wanted.
“Ah, yes,” She said suddenly, eyes snapping to the feed.
Voices buzzed.
“No, I heard you. You brought up an int…” Angela let her tongue run up the invitingly open, wet slit. Moira’s voice broke in her throat before she cleared it. “Ah, hm. Excuse me, Interesting point, Morrison. Would you mind elaborating?”
Angela couldn’t help but smile, realizing Moira was buying herself more time. That simply wouldn't do. Fingers splaying pink lips, Angela leaned down to lap at the swelling clitoris with her tongue. Muscles clenched, but arousal made it easier for fingers to work faster, deeper.
She looked up, tongue writing the periodic table in slow, torturous swipes across the ripening bud. Moira gazed ahead, but her flushed face betrayed the controlled expression. The quickening rise and fall of her chest noticeable through the tailored lab coat.
A series of quick, hard flicks coupled with the rocking of crooking fingers made hooded eyes glare down at Angela again.
“You are going to pay for this .” Thin lips silently promised above.
Angela just fluttered her eyelashes in reply, as if to say ‘Who, me?’, before hot lips captured the swollen bud in a slow, suckling kiss. Moira's teeth clamped into her bottom lip as her brow furrowed. The hand propping her chin moved to cup her forehead, obscuring her eyes with long fingers, feigning a headache. The com in her ear buzzed loudly.
Straightening against the back of the chair, Moira tried to sit up but accidentally angled narrow hips down onto Angela's hand, who was more than happy to take advantage. Fingers scissoring apart, Angela pressed firmly between the other's legs to continue: she wasn't even though the alkali metals yet.
The intensity caused Moira's eyes to crease closed briefly; fingers came to press against her thin lips, stifling a gasp. The com continued to sound off, and Moira composed herself as best she could as Angela’s fingers and tongue continued their rhythm.
Face flushed but stern; Moira managed, “I...am going to have to table this discussion for today, gentlemen. I'm feeling...under the weather.”
Interesting. Personally, Angela didn't know if she could focus being stretched and tasted so thoroughly. She could hear the loud, baritone of Morrison's voice, probably berating the other's lack of preparedness, but didn't stop. Moira's thighs trembled.
“I understand and will provide you all with my notes shortly.” the geneticist cut tersely. “Good day.”
Angela could hear a quick slap land on the keyboard above, and then hands came to clutch the side of her head. Sharp fingers threaded through her hair, pulling her ponytail loose.
“You.” was all Moira could manage before fingers began to fill her with deep thrusts.
Arching against the chair and legs fully splayed, she let Angela work her open. Without any audio to hear them now, they moved in earnest. Slick sounds filled the office as two digits became three. The older woman was shameless and rode her fingers.
Moira shuddered, giving a long, coarse groan that ended in Gaelic. Fingers slowed but didn't stop until euphoric clenches stopped greedily massaging around Angela's touch.
Removing her hand, Angela cleaned her lips and leaned against the inside of Moira's thigh, extremely content with her performance at having distracted the other.
“Despite your intentions, I think I made great use of my gift.” Angela teased before starting to crawl out from under the desk.
“Definitely an unexpected interruption.” Moira conceded, eyes tracing her form as she rose to her feet.
A long-nailed hand enclosed around her wrist.
“I should be getting back to the lab.” Angela began, resisting slightly as she was pulled toward the other's open lap.
“But doctor, your exam has caused me to cancel my appointment, and now my afternoon is wide open. If you feel at liberty to make alterations to my schedule...” Moira argued with a cutting smile, then paused.
Having reeled her close enough, the other woman reached to cup her side, thumb smoothing up the curve of her hip. Angela let herself but pulled closer, and settled straddling thin legs.
“Why shouldn't I return the favor?” The geneticist asked.
Two hands now clutched her waist and pulled them chest to chest. In an instant, their mouths met in a hungry kiss. It didn't take long for quick hands to remove her lab coat. Nailed fingers made fast work of the buttons holding her blouse closed.
Moira's touch always felt cold. Gooseflesh rose as a cool hand cupped her breast, long fingers reaching beneath the fabric of her bra to play with a stiffening nipple. Angela couldn't help but arch against the other, and shiver.
“Cold hands, warm heart,” Moira offered as she pulled away to look at her.
Angela met her smirk with an equally unimpressed look.
“I don't think that's really the case with you at all, O'Deorain,” she snipped, pressing splayed thighs down on the other's lap more fully.
Moira gave a dry chuckle.
“Oh, you wound me, doctor,” the scientist teased, taking Angela's hand and placing it over her clothed breast. “Is that your personal opinion, or is another examination required?”
Angela couldn't fight the smile that curved her lips and moved to grip the silk tie around the other's throat.
“Maybe I could use more data,” she breathed and brought their mouths together again.
There were no more words, only soft sounds. Lips parted from hers as Moira's hand came to hold the back of her neck, mouth moving to press a trail of hot, open kisses down her throat.
Before long, hands guided her to sit on top of the desk, and were eager to remove her pants, nailed fingers swiftly undoing buttons. Angela sat up, helping pull the fabric down soft thighs and off one leg entirely.
Moira's head tipped back, laughing as she found the crotch of her blue underwear damp and undeniably stained a shade darker in the center. Color flooded Angela's face, and she pushed O'Deorain away, legs lifting to shove the woman’s knees hard.
Chair wheels screeched across the floor, but quick hands grabbed Angela's ankles. Moira easily reeled herself back. Giving another dry laugh, the geneticist pulled her chair flush against the desk, forcing Angela to spread her legs, thighs held up by the armrest of the chair.
“Seems you enjoyed almost causing a scene,” Moira noted, eyebrow raised.
Long nailed fingers messaged between her legs, making Angela's thigh tremor as cloth circled her swollen bud. She gasped, concentration wavering.
“Shut up,” Angela breathed.
Sitting up, she gripped the back of Moira's fiery head and crushed their lips together. Fingers smoothed past the hem of her underwear to spread the softness of her center. Angela couldn't help but moan, biting down on the other’s lip. Massaging her clitoris, long nails caressed her parted labial, threaten to dip further.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Angela teased as she pulled Moira's head back, fingers gripping red hair firmly by the root.
Her thighs tensed around the scientist's sides before Angela let go. Dual eyes rolled as Moira snorted. Reaching over her leg, O'Deorain opened one of the top drawers of the desk—inside sat a stapler, pens, lotion, nail polish, lubricant, and a box of latex gloves.
Angela felt her cheeks grow a shade redder as the other deftly snapped the gloves on slender hands, embarrassed that this had become frequent enough to require easy-access items. Latex hands soon helped remove her underwear and pants altogether.
Left in her lap coat, Angela panted. The parted shirt showed her rising and falling chest; soft breasts threaten to spill over the cups of her rumpled bra. Mismatching eyes trailed the length of her, as gloved hands smoothed up bare thighs.
The wandering touch made Angela groan, legs widening. Her head tipped back as fingers smoothed over her vagina, and parted wet lips, gasping as one entered easily.
Moira bowed her head, gloved hand coming to grab her thigh. As with most things, the geneticist was straightforward and pressed her mouth between parted lips. Angela tensed, arms reaching to brace the desk behind her.
One finger became two. Angela moaned, hips rocking down. A hot tongue swept in spirals across her clitoris, likely a double helix—the scientist's favorite shape. She trembled as two fingers became three.
The sounds of soft, wet suction filled the office. Angela threaded her fingers through red hair as a teasing tongue tortured her. Latex fingers curled. Wanting more, she angled her hips down, eager to stretch around the deepening touch.
Angela felt obscene, rocking back against the hand opening her. Lost in their rhythm, she didn't hear the heavy footsteps walking down the hallway, not until they were right outside, anyway.
She jumped as knuckles rapped against the door. The sudden fright made her clench around gloved fingers, and she whimpered softly, worry and pleasure coursing through her.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Angela whispered, trying to slip off the desk.
Instead, an arm tightened around her waist, and Moira raised her head. The aloof smile on the geneticist's face was infuriating. Angela remembered she hadn't locked the door in her earlier frustration.
“What, afraid you might be seen now that you've left your hiding spot?” O'Deorain asked softly.
Angela whacked the scientist's shoulder with her palm. The other's Cheshire grin grew. Fingers curled inside of her before withdrawing, but Moira’s arms remained wrapped around her, keeping Angela pinned to the desk.
“O'Deorain,” Reyes' gruff voice sounded from the other side of the door. “Signed off on the test results, as requested.”
Angela froze.
Her heart lodged into her throat as the door handle jiggled.
This was it. They were going to be caught, exposed. Would she have to resign? Would Reyes' look the other way, literally and figuratively?
The door shuddered but didn't open.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She glanced down at Moira. The scientist shrugged.
“Electric lock,” O'Deorain offered simply, eyes glancing at her keyboard.
Angela sagged, a grateful sigh leaving her. Gloved fingers pressed firmly between her legs in response, turning her relief into a soft groan. Angela bit her lip to stifle the sound.
“Whatever.” Reyes muttered.
A folder appeared, shoved under the doorway. Heavy footsteps plodded down the hall. As silence fell, Angela fixed the other in an unamused expression.
“You could have told me,” she snapped.
A smile still slicing her face, Moira let gloved fingers run down her labia and briefly dip inside. Angela bit her lip, thighs shaking for a moment.
“But look how wet you got,” O'Deorain teased, lifting her hand to show off her work. “If you didn't enjoy it, you shouldn't have interrupted my call.”
“That was different,” Angela insisted, rolling her eyes. “All you had to do was maintain your usual cold composure,” Moira snorted even as she continued. “But if we really were to be seen like this…”
“We're merely enjoying one another's company,” Moira offered.
Angela fixed her with a flat look, mouth forming a tight line.
“And discretion is...recommended considering our current and professional setting,” the older woman continued, lips curling devilishly.
Angela hmmed in agreement. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
Moira merely snorted, offering a lopsided smile that didn’t reach her eyes before inclining her head. Angela threw her head back with a gasp as the other resumed tasting and exploring until her thighs shook. Whatever their relations were evolving into, it was as frustrating as it was mesmerizing and threatened to spill past ethical boundaries, much like O'Deorain herself.
Their redefinition of collaboration needed more consideration, restraint. But right now, in relative privacy with Moira’s head between her legs and her senses swimming, Angela could only work toward finding satisfaction. Angela rocked her hips down, thighs open, and feet balanced on the armrest of the chair to allow more leverage, more control. Moira eagerly bent, shouldering quaking knees.
Pushing the keyboard away to lay against the desk, Angela trembled as she was stretched and teased. Warm, wet lips captured her clitoris as digits scissored apart. Pleasure thrumming through her core, she clenched around the touch deeply filling her. Angela creased her eyes shut as the sensation built and broke like a swelling wave crashing against the shoreline. Her toes curled as an embarrassingly loud cry left her lips.
Moira slowed but didn’t stop until Angela was felt a panting, sprawled mess on the desk. Wiping a strand of hair from her sweat-slicked forehead, Angela sat up. A dry, snicker left Moira as mismatching eyes took in her disheveled appearance.
“Not a word,” Angela snapped.
“I didn’t say anything. But that cry?” Moira returned, quirking her eyebrows and tisking at her. “In the interest of keeping our little research sessions under the radar, might I suggest a gag—”
“—Don’t even start,” she cut with a gasp, slapping the other’s shoulder lightly at the suggestion. “I think your silence about this matter is sufficient.”
Another dry chuckle. Gloved hands curled around her bare thighs and pulled them closer.
“If that’s your prognosis, doctor.”
Any further discussion was tabled for now as lips met in a heated kiss.