Chapter Text
Chapter I: First Contact
-Château Guillard-
Amélie Lacroix was not a woman that one would typically consider to be a daydreamer. After all, she was a brainwashed assassin, an elite agent of the terror organization infamously known throughout the world as 'Talon'. Recognized more often by her new moniker of "Widowmaker", she was a ruthless killer that derived her only pleasures from putting bullets inside of whatever latest target that her bosses came up with. She hadn't much to complain about, were she to consider it. Good pay. Fun job. Coworkers that shared her general lack of empathy for others. Sometimes, Sombra would even invite her over for a quick fuck.
But the most recent addition to Widowmaker's rather long kill-count, the now-deceased Omnic monk and the so-called leader of the Shambali, was something that she kept replaying in her head as she relaxed at her family's château near Annecy. Not the death itself, as Widowmaker rarely paid attention to her victims, as they were often of little importance to her. Instead, her attention was occupied on a certain Englishwoman that Overwatch had sent after her. The young agent had made quite an impression on Widowmaker, as it turned out.
The Talon dossiers identified her as "Tracer", but what they had failed to mention was something Widowmaker picked up almost immediately: Tracer was one of the hottest women Widowmaker had ever seen.
Perhaps not the prettiest of faces, nor the most impressive of busts, or even the most curvaceous of figures, no, but what Tracer did have was the largest and most delectable derrière that Lacroix had laid eyes upon, outside of some lewd animations that she had the misfortune of catching Sombra schlicking to during one of the Talon operations several months ago.
Though Widowmaker felt nothing, she could not escape an intense feeling of lust whenever the mental image of Tracer's bouncing ass entered her mind's eye. That and Widowmaker felt the most alive in a life-or-death situation, such was the state of her detachment from reality. Truly, nothing was able to get to her save the heart-pounding adrenaline that came from gunfights and stalking her prey. She had always assumed that it was some kind of sick deficiency within herself; the idea that the closest thing that she could become aroused by was when she was about to snuff out some poor sap's life was something that she knew most would find (justifiably) a bit off-putting, though obviously, at this point, she had little concern for such things. O'Deorain, that damnable mad scientist, had always told her that she had simply possessed a fetish for power dynamics, but Widowmaker had never paid her much mind.
Though, as it appeared, a new challenger, in the form of this spunky British lass, had already approached.
More importantly, Tracer wanted to kill her too, and that was a major turn-on by itself.
Widowmaker recalled it well enough: the hunt of Mondatta was something she was quite proud of, if she were to describe it. She had staked the area perfectly and the mission was successful; after all, she had escaped almost entirely unharmed and Mondatta was dead. Well, as dead as an Omnic could be, she mused.
Tracer had interrupted her kill only temporarily, though even Widowmaker admitted that it was in rather stupendous fashion: the British woman was a striking figure as she zig-zagged through the rooftops of King's Row, firing her pulse pistols akimbo and swearing vengeance on the Frenchwoman for the murder of the Omnic monk. Widowmaker had little doubt that if she had been less careful, it would have indeed gone quite poorly for her; Tracer was, after all, clearly no stranger to combat. Such a fact only strengthened her resolve to fuck the young Overwatch agent into submission, in fact.
The unique quality (aside from her dazzling posterior, of course) of Tracer was the sheer persistence in Widowmaker's fantasies of her. It was a maddening conundrum for the French assassin; typically, any sexual proclivities she'd had were resolved fairly quickly and without attachment; after all, she herself was an imposing figure, tall and seductive, though cold (literally) and possessing a rather conspicuous blue pigmentation for her skin, and Widowmaker was all-too-aware that many found those qualities to be somewhat of a mood-killer. Despite this, Talon did have its benefits; Sombra frequently hooked her up with contacts whenever she was desperate enough to request them.
Another possible reason that some of her potential bedmates (usually men) were quick to leave was upon the discovery of her rather impressive cock, if Widowmaker had to guess. It was a wild, rampaging thing when it was awakened, a beast of surging lust and rapacious desire that drove Widowmaker to temporary fits of desperation to sate her sexual appetite, usually with some of Sombra's aforementioned "no questions asked" contacts, or sometimes even feeling the mood during the hunt, as she discovered that the thrill of her sniper rifle being fired in rapidity was quite... exhilarating.
Truth be told, her memories were quite garbled due to Talon's interference (she had forgiven them this transgression with the copious amount of cybernetic enhancements they had provided as compensation), so she was unaware of whether she was born with such a prodigious penis or if it had been another of Talon's genetic modifications, though who had come up with the idea in that case was anyone's guess. Widowmaker didn't really mind either explanation, to be honest, as she was quite satisfied in being perhaps the world's only true hermaphrodite, possessing both sets of genitalia to her pleasure. And pleasure she indeed found.
In the case of Tracer, the writhing lust of her more masculine biology had risen once more. Though for reasons that Widowmaker could not discern, she felt a very strong desire to not share the knowledge of Tracer's attractiveness (or her presence at all, really) with her Talon compatriots. It was not in her nature to be possessive (especially over an agent of the enemy, no less), yet she could not stop herself. Those long, luscious legs? That adorable face and foolhardy naïveté? An ass made by the gods? In truth, it would be a dramatic waste to simply murder Tracer. That would be despoiling such a delicious prize, indeed.
The desire to see that woman on her knees, sucking her dick and guzzling her cum, was something that made Widowmaker insatiably distracted. So overpowering was this feeling that Widowmaker literally could not sit still in her château as she drank the aged wine that a member of the petite bourgeoisie such as herself could afford (though in truth, she had really only indulged in such fineries due to O'Deorain's personal tastes, as Widowmaker herself didn't have a strong taste for alcohol). Lacroix's sizable cock, straining and pulsating against her pants, threatening to escape lest she found a way to tame it. It seemed that heat had once again returned to her cold body, and in this instance, Widowmaker could not quench this flame with merely her rifle.
This was enough of an annoyance that Widowmaker could not simply abide the issue and do nothing to solve it, at the least. 'Twas not a seasonal erection, it seemed. How annoying.
She consulted her personal computer to check the Talon database under the assumption that they could provide additional intel on Tracer that she did not already possess herself, though unfortunately, her search was in vain. Apparently, Tracer was a rather elusive figure that had seemingly appeared overnight in the Overwatch roster during the Null Sector uprising (coincidentally also in London, as it turned out). Other than this, and a series of skirmishes that Tracer had engaged other Talon agents at, she was simply invisible. Widowmaker found this puzzling for such a brash and conspicuous individual, though her curiosity was piqued from the moment she saw the Brit's ass jiggle while she ran over Londonian rooftops.
Widowmaker resolved to unravel more of this mystery herself.
She informed Sombra that she would be taking a brief vacation (the hacker simply responded with a series of emojis, to her annoyance).
It was time for the spider to ensnare a new victim.
-The next day, near Heathrow Airport-
It was a cloudy evening (though in London that is perhaps tautological) by the time that Widowmaker's flight had landed at her destination, the first and hopefully only stop in her search to locate and investigate Tracer.
Widowmaker did find it rather amusing how often the common rabble were unable to discover her true identity. She contemplated this as she exited the airport and perused the streets of the capital of the United Kingdom, noting how even without the aid of Talons' numerous contacts throughout the world, she would still have likely been able to infiltrate this place without much difficulty. Or perhaps it was more of a testament to the almost-mystical camouflage that cosmetic enhancements could provide her. It was not much bother to apply a more inconspicuous skintone to her figure (mainly because blue people would stick out like a sore thumb outside of a James Cameron film), and indeed, Widowmaker had often done similar things to blend in at various social events that were not strictly affiliated with Talon so as to conceal her identity.
At such gatherings (and indeed, here as well), she was simply Amélie Lacroix, a reasonably affluent, perhaps even wayward, tourist from France. Few knew of her personage, fewer of her late husband, and as a result, she passed by the various patrons of the airport without nary as much as a glance. All the same, Widowmaker was not one to enjoy the spotlight; she was a much more isolated and carnal creature, preferring to enjoy the company of others when it suited her, which was typically within the confines of her bed, or nowhere at all.
Speaking of bedfellows, Widowmaker had already begun her search for her prey the moment she had landed in this rainy place. To her chagrin, Talon did not have a stock of umbrellas for their agents, so she was forced to acquire her own at a rather ridiculous exchange rate before she was able to proceed through the streets of this bustling city. Even as the twilight hours waned into the late evening, there were still plenty of pedestrians as far as the eye could see. Widowmaker at least acknowledged this would provide her an easier time accessing Tracer's trail if she needed to follow her.
Though the task of finding a singular person in an entire city might appear as an arduous, if not impossible, mission for most, Widowmaker was not such a limited individual. Indeed, even incognito and without her typical hunting gear, Widowmaker had the instincts of a predator and the hunt had indeed already begun.
To find one's prey, one must know one's prey.
Widowmaker had begun her mental cataloging of information about her British vixen target on the flight over: Tracer was English herself (rather obviously, given the accent and the outrageous lack of haute couture in her uniform) and likely local to London, given her fierce resistance to both Widowmaker herself and the Omnics only seven years ago when they had threatened the area. Widowmaker though it prudent to begin the search there. In all likelihood, this was Tracer's home turf, though she was not expecting visitors.
Truly, if Widowmaker was found out at all during this escapade, she would be even more impressed (and aroused) than she already was. She liked to play with her food before devouring it, of course, as befitting a predator.
She had known King's Row as somewhat of a seedier area of the city than the rest, though in truth she had only minimal experience with the settlements of the United Kingdom throughout her operative career. She detested the food here, and Overwatch had a much stronger presence in the region than Talon could hope to compete with, at least for the moment. Still, Widowmaker found that her objective being ever closer was enough to see her through the foreign territory.
King's Row itself was a place of winding alleyways, old-style housing, and the closest thing to a cosmopolitan suburb, if she had seen it. What an odd conception for a place to to live.
Widowmaker had suspected that the influx of pedestrian traffic on account of the winter holidays (it was only a week prior to Christmas, after all) would have made the area densely populated with gift-shoppers, though it would appear she had miscalculated the appeal of King's Row to persons that weren't Omnic protesters and their sympathizers. A pity; she could have used the extra cover.
It was no matter, however, as she would likely return to the rooftops of this place to spot out likely hangouts for her target. Indeed, Widowmaker found it easy to find fire escapes and the like with which to scale these buildings even without her grappling hook. Perhaps the (relative) prosperity of this era had made the citizenry complacent enough to not question why a tall woman wearing a fashionable French coat would be interested in visiting a rooftop alone at night, or perhaps Widowmaker gave off an aura of intimidation so intense that none had even seen the action worth the effort. Either answer suited Lacroix's purpose aptly: she had reached the zenith of one Alderworth Hotel, with a perfect vantage point overseeing the vast proceedings of King's Row, though there not many walking these streets at such an hour.
Rather amusingly, Widowmaker recalled the building that she had lept from to finally pull the trigger on the late Mondatta several months ago, as it was within line of sight with the rooftop she was currently lying prone upon. She wondered if this was the apex of irony when, for reasons that she could not fully explain, she felt a sudden rush of emotions. Indeed, the mere memory of that day, with Tracer's swaying hips and sprightly step in her mental visage, Widowmaker had already made the mistake of arousing herself. Her organic python had already begun to complain of its containment within her pants in a rather annoying fashion, merely reminding her that the only way to deal with this problem was to successfully complete her search and slate her thirst.
It was unlike her, she noted, to have such a hair-trigger response to her own erections, but to be fair, the piece of ass she sought after was equally-unusual. Widowmaker renewed her search for the spunky British woman by scanning the streets below her once more, ignoring the throbbing warzone at her groin with the best effort she could muster.
Rather fittingly for a Christmas holiday, she mused, Widowmaker noted that she must have become exceptionally lucky overnight, as none other than Tracer herself had finally emerged on the lanes of this otherwise-deserted neighborhood. At the mere sight of her, Widowmaker's cock hardened even more, a distinct and animalistic desire overtaking her. She peered at her prey from her precarious perch atop the roof, noting that Tracer was (thankfully) unaware of her presence.
Perhaps this mission would be easier than she had first thought, though Widowmaker was not foolish enough to assume the objective was taken just so soon. She contented herself to observing Tracer's movements. For the moment.
The young British woman was moving through the streets at a rather frantic pace not unfitting of the glimpse of character, admittedly brief, that Widowmaker had seen firsthand those months ago. Tracer was, apparently, as energetic as she was in a firefight as she was in her domestic life as well. How novel.
The target in question was flitting between the various giftshops dotting the streets near the Meridian Theatre, apparently looking for something amongst their wares. Widowmaker noted this as curious.
"An Overwatch agent purchasing Christmas gifts?" She thought to herself, rather bemusedly. She supposed it was to be expected; after all, not all of Overwatch were married to their professions as someone like Commander Morrison was, though to her chagrin, Widowmaker did then realize that if Tracer was purchasing a gift, there was indeed someone that she very quickly intended to give it to.
Family members were unlikely, as Widowmaker doubted that Tracer would have had to concern herself personally with such an arrangement; she could easily suggest that her profession (which would obviously not be publicly revealed as being an Overwatch agent) simply required lots of travel and she had not been able to acquire gifts, or other similar excuses. No, this amount of attention so close to Christmas indicated to Widowmaker that Tracer had someone special in mind. A lover, most likely.
A sudden flare of jealousy surged through Widowmaker's being, overriding her typical calm demeanor. This was rather annoying, as the process of observing Tracer moving in her usual fashion (re: with gloriously swaying hips and all) was making Widowmaker's stakeout (and her erection) harder by the minute. Action would have to be taken soon lest she make an improper mess of her expensive coat. And considering how nice it was, Widowmaker wanted to avoid such things if at all possible.
She would have to tail Tracer back to wherever she came from in order to confirm this theory of a lover. And if such were the case, Widowmaker would have to play a much larger role in a game of charisma than she had initially anticipated. At least she could say that this mission of her wasn't boring.
Keeping note of Tracer's current trajectory, moving south out of the square down more streets and dotting into and out of various gift stores, Widowmaker rapidly descended the fire escape of the building and nearly missed grabbing the handrail to propel herself downward safely due to the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Rarely were there things that truly got her blood pumping, but juicy asses of Overwatch agents was apparently one of them now, she suspected. Widowmaker made sure to check the surroundings for onlookers (of which there were none, thankfully), and she made her move in stalking her prey.
Tracer was continuing to (apparently, fruitlessly) search the stores in a mad dash to find whatever gift she was looking for, assuming Widowmaker's assumptions were correct. If anything, it was a miracle that she could encounter Tracer in such a distracted state, as she would be much less likely to notice someone tailing her. Though in all fairness, Widowmaker was an expert at such affairs nonetheless. Talon training was not entirely worthless.
As she continued to observe Tracer, Widowmaker formulated several plans of attack, so to speak, as she considered her options. A straight-tail would likely not do her much good, as obviously the matter of breaking into Tracer's living space would be a great deal more difficult to accommodate, as well as the notion that she still didn't even know where such a place would be, assuming (again) that Tracer did not simply sleep at an Overwatch base, and infiltrating *that* without her gear would be, suffice to say, a real pain in the ass. Not even the kind that Widowmaker was into, unfortunately.
Violence was also not recommended, as Widowmaker was mostly curious just to learn more about Tracer in general and an interrogation would not be the most productive way to do things, even if it would be rather titillating to enact. No, the best strategy Widowmaker could concoct at the moment was to employ some of the charisma she was told she had plenty of and appeal to Tracer's good nature in an attempt to divulge more information.
"A wolf in sheep's clothing? How blasé." Widowmaker thought to herself with a smirk as she decided on the best course of action to take. She reasoned that the role of a distressed foreign tourist in dire need of directions from a valiant hero (of which there was one just standing not even a dozen meters away) would be adequate, even if a rather overused trope.
Blood was pumping through Widowmaker's body at an alarming rate, much more than she was use to. The heightened reaction times of rushing adrenaline in her current form made her rather acutely aware of her surroundings, even as the tunnel vision of her prey proved ever oppressive to her senses. The raw desire that clouded her mind and engorged her cock was permeating her being, such that she knew immediate action would be the only solution. Throwing caution to the wind, Widowmaker adopted the persona of Amelié once more and approached the person of her obsession.
"'Ello? Excusez-moi? Mademoiselle?" Widowmaker called out to Tracer in a voice heavily accented with French (intentionally so), an octave or so higher than her normal voice. She prayed in desperation that Tracer would not be able to recognize the sound.
And to Widowmaker's unusual continued luck, it appears that she was none the wiser.
"Er, 'ello there missus, can I 'elp you with something?" Tracer replied, turning rather immediately and clearly caught a bit off guard.
Gods above, it was strange for Widowmaker to be so jittery. The anticipation was killing her, but she could not let Tracer catch even a hint of her true motive, not yet.
"Oui, oui, pardon, but can you 'elp me? I zeem to be quite lost."
She tried to phrase it in the most innocent manner possible, but Widowmaker feared that that the slightest mistake on her part would be exponentially amplified by her current aroused state, lacking the usual professional touch of her typical detached personality. It was an overwhelming and consuming fear, but she remained steadfast. If there was anything worth the trouble, it was the ass attached to this woman; of that, she was sure.
Fortunately, it appeared that even out of Overwatch, Tracer was eager to play the hero. At Widowmaker's reply, Tracer's countenance brightened significantly and her posture was one of of complete disarmament. Widowmaker's cock twitched at the sight, but she remained her composure.
"Ah, sorry t' hear that luv, I'd be 'appy to help you out. Where you trying to get to?"
The bubbling Englishwoman approached Widowmaker rapidly, testing the assassin's resolve to its limits. She had to admit though; even though the attention that Widowmaker put onto Tracer (and moreover, her divinely-sculpted body) was entirely sexual in nature, it was oddly endearing to see the Brit so friendly. Disregarding that, however, Widowmaker continued on with her plan.
"Merci! I vas beginning to think zat nobody vould 'elp, merci!" She feigned surprise, choreographed like many social interactions she had undertaken in her extensive career with Talon. "You zee, I am trying to get to, oh, vhere vas it again...?"
Widowmaker continued the charade of being simply a lost traveler by fumbling around in her handbag for a tourist's map, procuring it for Tracer to see (who continued to approach) and she gesticulated towards one of the places she had picked at random on the flight inbound to London. As it turned out, the location of her deception was a pizzeria christened 'La Vittoria'. How quaint.
"Ah, oui, zis pizzeria 'ere. You zee, I vas to go zhere to meet my soeur, erm, pardon, my sister, zis evening." Widowmaker made sure to accentuate her syllables incorrectly to sell the lies, and despite her success at this, she could not help but notice how tangibly close to her that Tracer was now standing. Of course, it was the same distance one could expect of anyone attempting to read a travel map, but the simple acknowledgement of this fact only increased Widowmaker's desire for this woman. It was a maddening amount of lust for a singular person. Truthfully, Widowmaker would not be surprised if she was at risk for a heart attack in such conditions.
"Mon Dieu, even that jumpsuit can't hide it." Widowmaker noted to herself, observing the outline of Tracer's derriere even through the yellow jumpsuit leggings she wore, taking the time to do so as she handed Tracer the map for her to look at. Truly a sublime sight.
"'Vittoria', innit? Blimey, that's a ways off."
In truth, Widowmaker was only half-listening. Despite her better judgment (and typical restraint), she found herself ogling rather profusely at the other woman's legs, more akin to a schoolboy in puberty than a world-renowned assassin. Indeed, childish she was as she noted the sensuous way that Tracer's hips swelled outward and accentuated her hourglass figure.
"Em? Ah, oui, zat is ze problème. I do not know vhere zis is. Erm, I mean to zay, I do not know vhere I am now."
She simply had to stall for time. If Tracer became more and more comfortable with the situation, which she would if Widowmaker let her think she was in control of, then she would be more pliable. That, and no amount of time would be enough to fully appreciate the contours of this monumentally gorgeous woman.
"Weeell, this 'ere is King's Row, so unfortunately you're a tad off luv." Tracer said this with a rather adorably apologetic smile, though she continued. "Not to worry though, straight through that there street," she pointed behind Widowmaker back towards the hotel that she had, unbeknownst to her prey, been standing upon not only moments before, "is right where you need to 'ead to for the right track. Then there's just a hop and a skip and you'll be right at 'ome with your, erm, sis, was it?"
"Oui, oui, ma soeur. But, and excusez-moi a zecond time, but could I zay zomething quite embaraszing?" Widowmaker needed to make a move soon, to spare both her sanity and the building pressure in her pants. Mainly, she needed to get Tracer off her schedule enough that she would be on the back foot, so to speak. This required her choice of words to be even more delicate.
"Well, yeah, I 'spose." Tracer said, amicably.
The trap was set.
"You zee, zis night is very late and I am, how you zay, alonely, tonight. It is zo late zat I 'ave even felt a bit unzafe, you zee." Widowmaker began her bait slowly, before hastily adding "Not to inszult you or your zity, of course, I mean no offensze."
"No, no, no 'fense taken luv, I get ya." Tracer replied, moving from a face of confusion to one of understanding. Widowmaker could scarcely contain herself, though the beating heart within her cold frame required such a sacrifice for the moment. She feigned a change in expression of her own, adopting one of "pleasant surprise."
"Oh, truly? Merci, merci, pleasze take me zhere! You are too kind!" Widowmaker was sure to butter up the young hero as much as possible, not just as a measure of security but also in the interests of keeping Tracer as free of suspicion as possible. And to her pleasure, it appeared to be working, as Tracer enthusiastically took to the lead of Widowmaker down the street she had previously specified.
"No problem luv, I know it can be scary out 'ere sometimes. Nothin' to be ashamed of, if you ask me." Tracer was obviously more than willing to provide conversation, it seems, and Widowmaker followed her as she lead the way to her fake destination.
"Oh, zhank you for being zo understanding! I do not mean to inszult, as I 'ave said, but zhe news ve 'ear in France about zis place is, vell, frankly, zomewhat scary, as you zaid."
Widowmaker was sure to appear as though she truly was in fear of this place, though in truth, the more bizarre notion was that a woman of Tracer's rather average height leading around someone as tall as "Madame Lacroix" was somewhat amusing to her, though obviously she kept this observation to herself.
"Is it true, vat zhey zay, about zhe Omnic monk?"
Tracer gave a small twitch, almost imperceptible, and Widowmaker reasoned she likely wouldn't have noticed if she had not been paying as close attention to Tracer (and her ass) as she had been. It would seem she had reached a nerve, something that made her heart rush once more. She had obviously recoiled at the notion of being reminded (albeit accidentally, according to Widowmaker's facade) of her failure all those months ago. It was both surreal and delightfully interesting on Widowmaker's part to see her reaction to an event both had been privy too.
"Well, I dunno what you 'eard over there, but unfortunately, the late Tekhartha was killed. Bloody 'ell, it 'appened only a few blocks from here, I'd wager." Widowmaker noted that Tracer's anger was barely contained, though if she were to guess, she would assume it was an unintentional thing. Her current impression of Tracer struck her as a very emotional and spontaneous image, so this was not out of character in the slightest. She was, simply put, the most genuine Overwatch agent Widowmaker had encountered thus far. Simply fascinating.
For her part in the conversation, however, Widowmaker feigned a gasp of shock. "Oh! 'Ow terrible! Oh, but I am sorry vonce more, I did not mean to bring zhat 'orrible news back up." Hopefully that was sufficient in unnerving Tracer without giving away Widowmaker's position.
"Ah, don't feel bad, it's a decent concern, 'fortunately. Bloody city feels like it's gone to 'ell sometimes." Tracer said this with a noticeable grimace. "'Sides, nothing much to be done about Mondatta. The work of those bastards at Talon, that was."
Widowmaker had to strive very diligently to not allow a smile to surface on her face, though she doubted that Tracer would be looking over her shoulder to see it regardless. In retrospect, it spoke immensely of Tracer's character to to continue leading one that is essentially a stranger to their destination while talking of such somber things, yet she persisted. Widowmaker, for her part, retained her arousal through and through.
"Talon? Zat 'orrible terroriszt group? 'Ow dreadful!"
"Yeah, them. Rotten bunch, to say the least."
"But vhere is Overwatch? Do zhey not protect zis zity from zhose people?"
The sheer schadenfreude on display was almost too much for Widowmaker to bear. The roiling in her cock was so intense that she was half-expecting Tracer to discover her secret through mere pheromone exposure alone, though she appeared to be as oblivious as ever. Tracer gave a sigh at her comment, however.
"They should."
It was rather cryptic but Widowmaker found it somewhat puzzling, enough that it temporarily gave her pause. Did she mean to imply that they don't protect London and the surrounding area? If so, that would make Tracer's work all the more interesting. She certainly fought like an Overwatch agent, but the notion that she could be separated from them or at least operating without their authority (and thus, their knowledge) was a tantalizing morsel indeed.
"Vell, I am zorry that I 'ad to bring up zat zhing, I did not mean to upset you, mademoiselle, erm..." Widowmaker let her sentence trail off in feigned awkwardness, as she realized that they had not even exchanged names at that point, rather amusingly.
"Huh? Oh, right, bloody 'ell, where're my manners? I'm Lena, pleasure to meet you!" Tracer stopped and turned once she processed Widowmaker's comment and stuck out her hand to shake it. This was an unexpectedly sudden move and Widowmaker hesitated for a moment before reciprocating. The true name of this agent, Lena.
It was, in truth, a name that resounded within Widowmaker. Finally, she had a name for this obsession.
"Lena? Vhat a beautiful name! I am Amélie, zhe pleaszure is all mine!" That was perhaps the first of the things Widowmaker had uttered tonight that was not a deception. She truly meant the compliment and it seemed to resonate within Tracer as well, who looked thoroughly pleased with herself as she turned to lead the way once more.
"Right, then. Shouldn't be much longer 'til we get to the place, promise!"
They continued the rest of their walk in silence, aside from the soft crunch of their feet in the snow, Tracer's energetic footsteps mixing with Widowmaker's almost-silent ones. Widowmaker was self-conscious of these things, among many other visceral details, as her heart-rate stabilized somewhat. She took the opportunity to self-analyze with the lull in conversation to plan further. If she could talk more with Tracer, no, Lena, at the pizzeria, that could be all the information she needed to make her next move.
The familiar streets of King's Row gave way to more conventional roads after a short while, though Widowmaker was only partially noticing such things, as she had the front-row-seat to the jostling ass of Tracer before her to occupy her attention. Perhaps such attention bordered on (or even surpassed) obsession, but at this point, Widowmaker had passed the point of no return. She was in it to win it, as they say.
Finally, they reached the place Widowmaker had described: La Vittoria, a quaint pizzeria that was rather fortuitously open even until the moonlight hours. Widowmaker almost felt as though the night's proceedings were too perfect, but she would not look a gift horse in the mouth. She was also sure to capitalize on her advantage when she could.
"Oh, zhere it is! La Vittoria!" She made sure to butcher the pronunciation as much as she could of the title, earning a small giggle from Tracer. The sound had a surprisingly sobering effect on Widowmaker, as it was another innocent thing from a person that had tried to kill her only a few months ago, making the juxtaposition rather odd to process. Despite this, she continued.
"S'il vous plaît, allow me to buy you zomezhing for your troubles!"
Lena, being the humble hero she was, was quite quick to refuse, initially, but Widowmaker pressed the issue.
"Nah luv, that's quite alright-"
"Non, I inzist! It is zhanks for 'umoring me, mademoiselle Lena. You are a true 'ero, oui."
Perhaps that was laying it on a little too thick, but Widowmaker's tumultuous lust for the shorter woman was overpowering her normal disposition. Victory was so close at hand, almost literally, and she could barely restrain herself.
Tracer acquiesced shortly enough, however.
"Well, alright then. Can't be too bad."
"Merci! You vill not regret zis."
And so began the process of Widowmaker purchasing a pizza for both herself and for Lena, at her leisure. It was a rather bizarre situation, considering their true identities, but Widowmaker thought it fitting for such an odd hunt in the first place. The irony was as delicious as the food.
There was a wave of insignificant pleasantries between them as they ate their respective slices at one of booths beneath the growing moonlight and light snowfall, though the warmth of the pizzeria was felt even by Widowmaker. It was... relaxing, surprisingly. She knew her ulterior objective, of course. The woman in front of her was seemingly made for sex appeal, yet she could not escape the idea that this encounter had been fun as well. Perhaps she should "encounter" Tracer more often. She allowed herself a small smile at the thought.
The conversation picked back up once the two had largely finished their meal. Widowmaker had deliberately taken a much longer time to allow Tracer to finish first (for now) so that she would start up the conversation again, and this proved to be successful as she began to speak.
"Y'know, Amélie, you look familiar. 'A've we met somewhere before?"
Widowmaker had anticipated this, thankfully. One of the many contingencies she had prepared just in case. She feigned an embarrassed laugh.
"Oh, you flatter me, mademoiselle Lena! In France, I 'ave many times been zought to be somevon else." She leaned closer to Tracer over her pizza slice. "Apparently, I, how you say, reszemble Chloé Hollings. Oh, it is quite funny, oui?"
While Tracer was mulling over this, Widowmaker continued. "Ah, but, non, I do not zhink we have met. I vould remember somevon as brave or daszhing as you, I am very sure."
Tracer was, of course, a bit embarrassed at the comment. She broke eye contact to stare at her plate. Widowmaker took the initiative yet again, as the action had become rather intoxicating.
"Oh, pardon, I did not mean to offend you vonce more. Somevon as beautiful as you must 'ave a boyfriend, yes?"
She had to admit, teasing Tracer was rather enjoyable. Her prey was none the wiser, of course, despite her response.
"Aw hell, that's real kind of you to say, Amélie, but no, no boyfriend."
Widowmaker faked a surprised gasp. "Tu parles! But you are magnifique, mademoiselle Lena! How can zis be?" She paused for a moment before giving a mocking conspiratorial wink.
"Oh, I zee. Girlfriend? Cherchez le femme?" Widowmaker's guess was validated by a brief look of relief by Lena.
"Mon Dieu, she is just too much."
"That easy to tell?" Tracer gave a bemused grin.
Widowmaker nodded vigorously. "It is not zo unuszual, you know. Love is, how you say, universzal? Oui, zat is zhe word. You are happy vith her, yes?"
It was Tracer's turn to nod, looking quite pleased with herself. Proud that she could claim such an achievement, Widowmaker bemused.
"Yeah, quite. She's great. Emily's her name."
Widowmaker felt a prickle, or rather, a nauseating wave of jealousy overtake her. But it was an irrational byproduct of letting the wrong head make decisions, so she maintained her cool for the time being. Timing was everything. She returned to her fake smile.
"Emily? Vhat a fitting name for a beautiful person, I am sure."
Tracer was clay and Widowmaker was the potter. If she had known it would be this easy, she would've worn something more scandalous. But, all the same, nothing good came from finishing too early. Metaphorically speaking. Widowmaker's target merely continued smiling, eating up every word. On some level, Widowmaker wondered if what she was doing could be considered the equivalent to plucking low-hanging fruit, but such notions were neither here nor there when matters of the flesh (particularly, the flesh of such a wonderfully-shaped ass) were concerned.
"Thanks luv, I really appreciate it. She's been good to me. Actually out today to get 'er a Christmas gift, if you can believe it."
"Yes, I can believe that quite easily." Widowmaker though to herself. It was good to be validated, though.
"Oh? Zat is vonderful! I vish you the best of luck zhen. You 'ave somezhing in mind for her?" Widowmaker was genuinely shocked how open this woman was. It was as though she had no concept of mistrust about her. How unfortunate.
"Yeah, actually. There's this one scarf down by the Meridian I've been meanin' to have a look at, but they were closed by the bloody time I got 'round there."
"Zat is poor luck mademoiselle. I am sure zhey vould be open tomorrow, yes?"
"They better be, I've a purchase to make."
Widowmaker chuckled, and this time it was genuine. Lena's fire was endearing, somehow.
There was a resulting lull in conversation again as the two women realized how truly late the night had gotten to, and finally, Tracer stood from her chair and stretched for a moment. Widowmaker had the composure (but only just enough) to not react outwardly to this glorious sight, though her erection, which had largely remained dormant during their conversation, rose again with a vengeance. She willed it with all her fiber to stay put long enough to remain incognito.
Widowmaker stood as well, taking care to position herself such that the bulging outline of her third leg was not visible at a glance from Tracer, though she noted it was getting increasingly difficult to do so. She needed to get out of here fast if she was to take care of that problem, though it would come in time.
"Well that was a nice night, Amélie, thanks." Tracer said as she observed the French woman, apparently completely oblivious to the history between them.
"Non, zhe pleasure is mine, mademoiselle Lena. Merci!" Widowmaker replied, a smile of genuine appreciation on her face.
To make matters worse for her current predickament, Tracer had maneuvered around the table for a hug and Widowmaker had to frantically reposition herself and awkwardly accepted the embrace, though to her continued spree of good luck, she did not think Tracer had noticed.
"Your sis never showed up, did she?" Tracer asked, concerned.
"Non, it appears zhe did not. I zhall 'ave to complain to her about zhis."
They shared a laugh, an honest and heartfelt one (or at least, Widowmaker tried to make hers sound genuine; sometimes it was hard to tell the difference to her hearing), and the two said their goodbyes as they left the pizzeria. Tracer left down the path she had taken to reach the pizzeria while Widowmaker remained standing outside the restaurant for a moment while contemplating what to do. She genuinely wanted to trail Tracer back to wherever she returned to, but at the moment, the more pressing concern of her erection occupied most of her mental bandwidth, as puerile as it was.
Thus, Widowmaker returned to the Alderworth Hotel and promptly made her way to the loo to rid herself of this riling snake within her loins.
Once safely in the private confines of the stall of the women's room, Widowmaker went to work easing the strain against her lower half. The outline of her rod was successfully extricated from her tight-form pants with some effort on her part, though this was more or less ignored in favor of applying her hands quickly over her length. It was so thick such that even if she had used both hands, she would have needed both in order to fully encapsulate the girth of it, but in her experience, she much preferred a much less ambidextrous approach. One hand cupped her balls and the other went to work stroking her cock, eager to ease the pressure that had built up within it.
It was a surprisingly easy affair, in hindsight. All Widowmaker had to do was imagine what it would be like to take Tracer over a bed, assaulting that glorious ass from behind and thoroughly breaking her in. The mental images had been plaguing her ever since Tracer had taken the lead in the "quest" to locate the pizzeria. Seeing that posterior in action had been quite the fap-fodder for the hermaphroditic assassin, indeed. And now that she knew a name and could attach a voice to her fetish, everything came together in more ways than one.
"Lena! Merde!" She exhaled her orgasm in as quiet a voice as she could muster, working her cock in long motions to prolong the intense overload of nerves as she endured the euphoria for even a few fleeting moments.
In the clearheaded fashion of post-orgasmic clarity, Widowmaker contemplated exactly why she was investing so much attention into what was, on the surface, just another booty call, though admittedly, a booty call with an extremely dangerous person should the circumstances go awry. She did not truly possess an answer, but as she cleaned herself and her softening cock off, she quickly decided that she no longer cared if there was a rational, logical reason for this newest obsession. With the erotic fantasy of Tracer begging for her large futa cock still fresh in her mind, Widowmaker re-dressed and made her way to the receptionist of the hotel, asking for a room for the night.
Come the following morning, she had plenty of work to do.