Prompt (if you’re willing to venture into potentially-nsfw territory): defected-to-Overwatch Sombra gets a little /too/ excited by what McCree’s doing and accidentally EMPs the Watchpoint

itshigh-boop:

“Sombra, what did you do?”

She can’t even answer. Her spine and skull are currently fire-warm but not as heated as her face. She hasn’t lost control like this in…has she ever lost control? 

What even happened? All she remembers is walking by the training room and finding McCree sitting at one of the benches, shirtless, oh, so shirtless, leaning over with a fifty pound dumbbell in his right hand. She hadn’t meant to stay for long but his broad back littered with scars and tattoos of older days and sweaty, sun kissed skin mesmerized her. Every lift of the weight had him letting out a breathy grunt, eyes open and focused. The bulge of muscle underneath the skin of his biceps completely had her full attention. She watched, hidden in the doorway and simply appreciated the specimen before her. She wondered what those arms would feel like wrapped around her? How easily he could lift her up, carry her to his room and-

Being so entranced, she apparently hadn’t noticed her implants growing hotter by the second. The unbearable heat slowly crawling its way up her spinal graft, and burning at the back of her head until it reached the central, glowing hub. Just as she noticed the suffocating calefaction, her vision blurred and dotted into a brief white, the blare of her own electromagnetic source ringing in her ears, feeling the shake of that burst of energy from her own body. 

The next thing she knew, lights were out and the ancient roar of backup generators in place kicked in. Athena’s voice muffled, as she announced a power failure and inside breach over the intercom system, message filled with static and fuzz. 

The power from the EMP knocked her back into the wall behind her. It takes her a moment to regain her senses and get over the heat that once licked at every part of her skin, but slowly, she rises to her feet, using the wall to brace herself. 

“Sombra, what the hell is going on!?”

Morrisson’s voice echos heavily in her own personal com. 

“Uhm,” she begins, dusting her sleeves off. “Premature…ah…EMP.”

“What!?”

“Accident, I said it was an accident,” Sombra says through grit teeth, now feeling the burn at her cheeks from embarrassment. How could she just lose control of her systems like that? What was she, thirteen? 

“Dammit, Sombra, get your ass down to my office now.”

The communication goes dead and Sombra sighs. Great. Now she has to deal with Reaper’s slightly more annoying counterpart. In her seething, she fails to note the gunslinger currently on route to her location. 

“Phew,” he begins, causing Sombra to startle and turn toward him, though she quickly averts her eyes. “Was that you who did that just now?” 

If she looks up, she’ll get an eyeful of bare, glistening, hairy chest. And while she wants to ogle, she can’t risk another system overload. The next time might actually kill her. 

“Yeah. System’s…kinda messed up. Stuff like that.” She knows the answer is bull but the less she has to talk, the better. She hopes it will suffice. 

The lack of details doesn’t seem to bother him as he chuckles, the sound threatening to turn her knees to jelly, and shrugs.

“Happens to the best of us,” he says, moving past her and giving her wave along with a smile. “See ya around, darlin’.” 

Hopefully not shirtless, anyway. Oh, but she wants to…no! that was what caused all this in the first place.

Either way, daydreaming about tanned muscles keeps Sombra entertained and distracted when she sits Morrison’s office later, getting chewed out for amateur mistakes.