Mcsombra Headcanon: Laughter

itshigh-boop:

*inspired by this cute anon/ask

At first, McCree had no clue as to what Sombra’s genuine laughter sounded like. Every giggle, snicker, or chuckle was always laced with not so pure intentions, a wicked grin accompanying the supposed sounds of mirth.

He’d grown used to the idea that he’d never hear an honest laugh out of her. She was always one step ahead – her laughter always at the expense of someone else.

It wasn’t until a lazy evening spent together lounging on their old couch in one another’s arms he unraveled the mystery. A misplaced grip along her ribs had Sombra squirming and letting out a squeal, quickly followed by an accusatory glare. With a grin that a cat sported when it’s caught a canary, McCree’s fingers moved in earnest against her flesh. Equipped with his new knowledge, he pulled the laughter straight from her and even he could hear how unfamiliar Sombra was to pure laughter. But the flush to her cheeks and neck and clench of her shut eyes attested to the authenticity of her laughter. Her mischievous chuckles, always contained in volume and breathy were nothing compared to the real deal – loud but melodious and there seemed to be no end. Her hilarity contagious, unable to keep the smile from leaving his own face. McCree quickly found himself becoming addicted to the sound and he knew he’d be seeking it out for the rest of his days.

Another rare day where they have nothing important to worry about and are free to enjoy one another’s company finds McCree and Sombra situated upon the same couch, idly watching a random holovid. Watching it is far less interesting than seeking out one another’s lips for random and frequent kisses. Over time, McCree’s learned the best ways to hear Sombra’s laugh with his beard being one tool he never fails to utilize. He leans close, smiling as Sombra turns and regards him with an affectionate gaze. She thinks he only seeks out her lips for a sweet kiss and he enjoys the widening of her lapis eyes when she realizes his true motives.

She ducks her head in an attempt to avoid her fate but it’s too late – he’s already pressing kisses to her collarbone, dragging the coarse hairs of his beard along her sensitive skin. She shakes and hollers, begging for him to stop, which in itself was unusual. He enjoys the rarity of her vulnerability immensely. He’s not cruel; if Sombra wants him to stop, laughs in pain instead of mirth, looks uncomfortable instead of joyous, he’ll stop. But he knows her – her body language now communicating nothing but desire. Even as she wriggles around in the strong arms holding her captive, she moves closer to his warmth. Her head tips at just the right angles, inviting his scruffy kisses to further explore her skin even as she cries out for him to stop in a flurried mix of English and Spanish. He obeys her body’s silent demands without question, eager to drink in the laughter of his impish beauty.

Finally managing to squirm out of his hold, she slips off the couch and runs to the stairs at the opposite end of the room. He’s already hot on her tail, reaching out to grab her but she proves too agile, dodging his attempt and quickly clambers to the top of the stairs, looking down at him. Oh, but she’s a sight: her usually perfectly styled hair disheveled with wiry strands framing her pretty face, chest heaving with breaths occasionally broken by nervous giggles, and too-blue eyes wide with excitement. McCree is sure that the look is mirrored in his own; his skin tingles with a craving to hear more of her laughter and the basic need to feel her against him.

They stand and stare one another down, bodies tense and wired: McCree rests his boot on the first step as the metal of his prosthetic hand grips the railing and the other is pressed against the wall. Sombra’s shoulders are shrugged and she rubs her thumbs and index fingers together to stave off the jitters. In their little stand off, McCree’s heart beats in his ears, almost wanting to drop this little facade and simply dote on his lover for the remainder of the evening.

Good things come to those who wait, a voice sings in his head as he collects himself. He’s the image of a hunter stalking its prey. He appears relaxed but he’s ready to pounce. The fingers of the hand he has resting on the railing begin casually drumming against the wood. He casts a smirk up at her as he lifts his right hand, crooking his finger and beckoning her back down the stairs to him in a mute gesture.

She gives a strong shake of her head, sneering. “Yeah right,viejo!” And then all he sees is the last lock of her long hair as she rounds the corner. 

Her teasing term of endearment sends a wave of mock fury through him as the chase spurs him into moving, climbing the stairs two steps at a time. Even as he starts on after her, he hears her laughter flood through their small home and he smiles, unable to remember the last time he’s ever had this much fun with someone. He’s grateful to have her in his life. And as he follows her trail of teasing giggles, he can’t help but think how much fun he’ll have thanking her properly and thoroughly once he’s caught her.