He can feel Sombra reading between the lines of him as intimately as if he were guiding her character by character, weaving herself into his very coding; how many times has she done this before, he wonders? How many partners has she opened wide as a book?

It seems pointless to ask, when the immediate reality of her presence is so demanding. Something slips within him, and his spine jerks into a sharp arch, a gasp pulled from his synth with sudden, shivering input in his back.

"C-clever! Very clever!" In spite of himself Zenyatta is laughing. Of what he is only half certain is his own accord, he wraps the woman lightly in his arms, one long, spindly hand coming to rest on the shelf of her hip where it remains, caressing the curve of her ass through the lace.