la_sombra: (Default)
Sombra ([personal profile] la_sombra) wrote2017-04-25 07:18 pm

PSL

 This space for PSLS
tekhartha: (ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ ʟᴏᴠᴇ)

[personal profile] tekhartha 2018-06-30 08:42 pm (UTC)(link)
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.
tekhartha: (ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪɢʜᴛ)

[personal profile] tekhartha 2018-07-03 10:07 pm (UTC)(link)
Sombra grinds down on him as if he were little more than a charming object for her personal gratification, and perhaps to some extent she is right to do so; with time to delve deep enough Zenyatta suspects that she could root herself into every part of his memory and make him dance like a puppet on a string. He might never be the same again.

Yet strangely, and maybe foolishly, he trusts her.

"Show me," he says, and his voice glitches with thwarted expectations as the touch multiplies and crawls like a spider across his sensors, ghosting along every inch of him, just beneat the threshold of frustration.

Twitching, his hand clenches, squeezing its warm, yielding handful, she is so small and yet so demanding in her own ways, fuller here than he was anticipating- "O-oh. That is v-ery nice," he admits, staticky. Of their own accord his hips jump against the soft place between Sombra's legs.
tekhartha: (pic#11559825)

[personal profile] tekhartha 2018-07-05 09:41 pm (UTC)(link)
And perhaps Zenyatta is glad to make it easy for her, charmed as he is by the light, playful way she ribs him, made all the better by the knowledge that at any moment she could land an altogether crueler blow.

Could. But will not.

Sombra's body is warm and soft and so unexpectedly real amongst the chaos of input, close enough now to mist chrome with her breath, breasts crushed to his chestplate.

"Please." He nuzzles into the nape of her neck; kisses are beyond him, but perhaps she will appreciate a buzz of omnic energy along her skin. "If you will indulge me."
tekhartha: (pic#11684772)

[personal profile] tekhartha 2018-07-16 07:54 pm (UTC)(link)
But where would the excitement be without that frisson, without shadowy fingertips skimming his expectations, whispers against his aural sensors? Perhaps yes, Zenyatta could make her beg, in time- but for now Sombra is the one in the driving seat, so to speak, and she makes herself felt with the most delicate patter of her augmented nails.

A moment later his entire lower body is alive with ghostly friction, silicone consumed by soft heat. His sensors go haywire, his voice tripping in his throat as he tries to answer-- then he speaks.

"My dear," he answers, a smile lifting the edges of his voice, still ragged with the aftershocks, "I am in your thrall."

A pause. There is, at least, space enough for Zenyatta to act of his own accord. Sombra would almost be forgiven for missing the subtle click of his modesty panelling withdrawing beneath the fabric of his trousers.

"If you would like me to fuck you, it would be my pleasure. And yours."
tekhartha: (pic#11559834)

[personal profile] tekhartha 2018-07-30 07:36 pm (UTC)(link)
Zenyatta is feather-light; he seems almost to float onto the bed in slow-motion, laughing, the mattress a soft and welcome presence at his back. The sheets feel dangerously, sinfully luxurious against his sensors, already primed and over-sensitive from Sombra's teasing. Backlit as she sits on his hips, pupils blown wide and dark, half-hidden by that violet sweep, she smiles down at him, hands still braced against his chest.


"I am," he says wryly, "nothing if not optimistic."

At least her fingers are out of his head, and the immediate, intimate pressure of her presence has relieved itself a little. But she's still there. Zenyatta is certain of it. This time he meets the grind of her hips with one of his own, soft mound meeting newly-released cock, silicone and segmented steel spreading her obscenely beneath her panties. It glows faintly along its length, against the plush heat of her cunt.

"What I would really like," he says, slowly and deliberately, his hands twitching as they come to rest on the top of Sombra's thighs, "is to bring you to the Iris."

Under her, his own is rapidly warming, swelling in anticipation. He is leaking, teal on the sheets.
tekhartha: (Default)

[personal profile] tekhartha 2018-08-14 09:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Zenyatta laughs- a soft, playful little sound that shatters like a mirror into glitchy fragments as those hips throw him off. Through the flimsy fabric her sex moulds itself around his cock as she rolls her hips without haste; she crests against the firm ridge of his cock, coaxing a soft, hitching sound that is just a hair too synthetic to be a gasp.

All it would take is the slightest pressure to take them the rest of the way. To slip her panties aside and grind into the silk beneath, tease her entrance, to thrust upwards at just the right angle-

No.

"I-in certain practises," he manages, recalibrating his voice- doubtless Sombra will have something to say about that, he doubts she will allow him any degree of composure for long, "sexual intimacy is seen as a gateway to divine knowledge- and climax..."

His hands shift until each thumb can slip beneath either side of her panties.

"... as the ultimate unity." Without a shred of remorse Zenyatta pulls, abruptly drawing the fabric taught into the sensitive folds her cunt- all while glowing up at her beatifically, haloed by his own light. If after that she can still pay any attention at all to the goings on in his head, she may well anticipate the second set of hands, hard-light, that palm her knees, warm and almost weightless but so tangibly real.