The last thing Lúcio wanted right now was to hear the comm on his headset go off.

He would have ignored it, given his current engagement, and he did. For the first minute or so. But it didn't quit, even though he was doing a great job of blocking it out, and he knew he'd better answer it before the sender started setting off the most piercing, irritating klaxons he'd ever heard come out of an earpiece.

Which was likely to happen sooner rather than later, given that he was probably the only one they were calling. There was a second comm unit in the room, amid a pile of BDUs and heavy blue body armor, and it was mockingly silent.

Next task, then: reaching his visor and earpiece from where they sat on the table a just few feet behind his back.

Harder than it appeared. His partner currently had one of her legs wrapped around his hips, and he entertained no possibility of it moving without her consciously doing so. Which, considering the smirk that skipped across her face, was not looking very likely.

His comm continued to beep incessantly at him. Of all the shitty timing.

He raked a hand through his loose locks, trying and failing to snuff an exasperated groan. Her smirk got wider.

"So, what are the chances of you letting me go long enough to answer that?" As if the sudden tightening around his waist wasn't answer enough. Not that he had any desire to go anywhere; his skin was hot and his nerves were on fire and he was still buried in her up to the damn hilt, and really, now? They wanted to call him right now?

Her smirk stayed firmly in place, made all the more dangerous in appearance with the unkempt splay of her pink hair.

"Not a snowflake's chance in hell."

He sighed, hoping a good dose of oxygen to the brain would cool him down just enough to think straight. No luck, she bucked under him. Hard. Deliberately. Shit. He managed to swallow a hiss, but just barely.

"Y-yeah, I figured. It was worth a shot trying the easy way first, though."

She cocked a brow.

"What is the hard way?"

What, did she think he was gonna fight his way out of this? Please. She could probably flatten him with a hard sneeze. The hard way was just to reach for it. His current entrapment made that both easier and more difficult; more difficult for the obvious reasons, easier because her grip allowed him to ease his weight out further without any fear of falling. It took some stretching, flailing and twisting, why the hell had he put it way over there? Oh yeah, because he hadn't had a care at the time where he'd tossed it. At least it hadn't ended up on the floor by the door, with no small amount of his other stuff.

He finally felt his fingertips glance across the cold edge of his visor, and with some clever finger work managed to get it the couple centimeters closer it needed to be for him to grab it. He sat back up with a grunt of victory, and set about affixing his headset to his ear.

"I'm impressed. I didn't think you'd actually reach it over there."

"I am surprisingly flexible."

"Not so surprising, but I do mean to test the limits of that in the very near future."

Lúcio couldn't decide if that sounded amazing or terrifying. He'd settle for a combination of both. He keyed his mic and motioned for quiet, but the strange quirk of her brow he received was several shades more mischievous than cooperative.

"Go ahead for Lúcio."

"Oh, look who decided to pick up. Finally." An unusually surly tone from the voice that rumbled over the connection. Something must be up.

"Heya, Winston. How's it hangin'?"

"I am not falling for that again. And this is an official channel, what do you think I'm calling for—are you out of breath?"

Damn, he did notice.

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

"Not a chance."

"Well, then, it's what, afternoon-ish? Just a quick sprint around the complex with Tracer."

A deep, airy huff.

"Lena is right here, with me. Try again."

Lúcio hoped that the curse that fell unbidden from his mouth was under his breath. Considering the arch of one of Zarya's eyebrows, it might not have been, but she also got to cheat by looking at his face.

"If I told you I was wrestling with a polar bear, would you both believe me and think it sounded badass?" Lúcio dearly hoped Winston couldn't hear Zarya's laugh filtering through his end of the connection, especially since it got louder when he tried to shush her.

"Neither."

Zarya was snickering now, dragging her nails down his chest and across his stomach. He tried to glare, and her response was to buck under him again. This was not going well for him at all, on either front. He eventually realized that his silence on the line was going to prove more suspicious than anything, and he swallowed a couple times to ensure that his voice wouldn't do something to hopelessly embarrass him.

"D-dammit." Eeeeh, somewhat successful. He'd take it.

If Winston noticed, he didn't say so.

"Regardless, you have ten minutes to get your wind back. Would have been fifteen, but you took your sweet time picking up my call. Talon is stirring vigorously enough that we caught notice, and considering they are masters of the clandestine, finding activity this obvious is either signs of something big, or a very successful trap, because we're moving on it. 76 asked for you specifically. An old warehouse district. Tight spaces, lots of walls, he wants people who are highly mobile. Hence Lena. And Genji. And you, if you can get your behind in gear. Wheels up in ten, well, nine minutes now, no exceptions, although he'll be a lot less salty if you can make it in five."

Well, that sure explained Winston's sour mood; he'd be ruffled too if he had 76 breathing grouchily down the back of his neck.

"I copy. Erm, five minutes… might not happen, but I can definitely be there in ten."

"Nine, remember?"

"Nine, got it. Tell that old tight-ass that I'm coming."

"Hmph." And Winston cut the line. Thank God.

Lúcio ran a hand down his face in frustration. Dammit to hell. He would never stop being mad about this. He felt Zarya shift underneath him, but her grip on his hips stayed intact.

"On the way out, hm?"

"Yes, because 76 is a no-fun old fart who crushes joy for amusement."

"I'm sure you're aware he would have no way of knowing." She had one hand idly tracing the tattoo on his shoulder. Her hands were so goddamn warm… he felt there was a good Russian winter joke to be made somewhere.

"Yeah, but it nurses my irritation, so there." It felt rather pouty of him, but he was having a lot of difficulty caring.

"That's just how commanding officers are; you're expected to ask how high when they tell you to jump. Be glad we have one that is merely strict, and not unreasonable."

"You are gonna hafta convince me of this some other time when I don't think anything he could tell me right now is unreasonable." He gestured to the two of them. "All things considered."

Her smirk was back, and her fingers returned to caressing slow patterns into his stomach.

"About that… how do you suppose to convince me to let you free?"

"Other than reminding you that 76 will murder me in my sleep if I don't show up? By finishing what I started." He ground slowly into her, and was rewarded with a low hiss. "I can get down to the loading bay in three minutes, no problem. The five remaining minutes will be… well spent."

"Seeing this through to the end, yes?"

"Duh. I'm not an ass."

Zarya brought a hand up to his face, cupping his jaw, wrapping her long fingers around the back of his neck and knocking his visor askew. She pulled his head down close, pressing a warm, rough kiss into his exposed temple, and purposely blew slowly into the shell of his ear. He would deny forever that his skin prickled and his toes curled and a soft, whimpery sound snaked out of his throat. He felt her grin into his cheek.

"Then you should find something to hold onto, because I am going to pare your five minutes down to just one."

That sounded like something that would come dangerously close to causing his brain to melt, no matter what the warm tightness in his stomach suddenly had to say about it, and he mentioned such.

"The intensity of that sounds borderline unsafe for my healthhhHHHHHHHRRRNN—oh holy shit Aleksandra!" Well, somewhat. That was about the end of any intelligible speech he could remember as she tightened viciously around him. Not her limbs, those stayed right where they were aside from her other hand under his chin, giving her a good, clear look at his face as her walls squeezed his entire length. Like, there was tight, and then there was whatever hot, wet ecstasy this was that robbed him of coherent thoughts, and completely dissolved both his grey matter and his self control in the time it took her to laugh and roll her hips hard into his.

And it was awesome.

He hadn't the wildest fucking idea how he got down to the loading bay in one piece. At the speeds he had been going, in his condition, he could have sworn he was going to fall and break his face.

Post his sixty seconds of mind-breaking bliss, Lúcio had been reduced to what felt, to him, like a warm sticky pile of goo. Never mind movement, speech was impossible. The most effort he was able to make was to grunt contentedly into her chest. Good thing it only took Zarya a few moments to collect herself and she was up and moving, dragging him right along with. He figured he must have been at least somewhat compliant and helpful, because there was otherwise no way he found himself pushed out her door and into the hall all suited up and ready to go, light skates and leg plates included (and that was not the kind of armor you could easily force someone into). He could thank muscle memory for not allowing him to taste the wall opposite her room or face plant into the floor, because if he had allowed himself to think about it, he would have found it very difficult to stand with the warm, tingling numbness still radiating through all his limbs. At least getting to the bay was the easy part; just down the hall to the elevator and he'd be on his way.

Wait, no, turn around. Down the other hall, to the other-other hall, elevator, and then he'd be on his way.

He'd kicked most of the pleasant numbness by the time he coasted into the loading bay with three minutes to spare. Winston was exchanging words with 76, who turned his head when the burly scientist's attention was diverted from him to Lúcio. Even at the distance he was at, he swore he could hear 76 growl. Just play it cool, he was still early. Ish.

Soldier: 76 turned all the way around to give him his attention, and Lúcio could feel his appearance being raked over. He had done a quick mental checklist himself once he had been cognizant enough to think straight. All his equipment was accounted for, and 76 seemed to take that in, since Lúcio didn't feel the start of a "what the hell is this shit" rant coming his way. Swear, 76's disapproval could run so thick, a person could taste it in the air.

"Heeeey, what's happenin' over here? Didn't know you were in on this too, Winston."

Winston just grunted and rolled his eyes, but 76 jabbed a finger sharply at the craft they were taking.

"You. Get in now."

Well, now he knew how this mission was gonna go.

It was in extremely poor judgment to even give the air of disagreement when 76 was itching to leave, so he just gave a sloppy half-salute and skated up the loading ramp. Genji and Tracer were already inside, and they greeted him with a short nod and an enthusiastic wave, respectively. Settled deeper inside the craft was Hanzo, who acknowledge him with his gaze and little else. Lúcio could hear 76's heavy boot steps coming up the ramp behind him, and he suppressed a sigh. They had both irritable grouch-potatoes on this mission? Oh mercy, please.

Haha, because Mercy—never mind, the only people in this boat with any sense of humor were Tracer and himself (Genji's own sense of humor seemed to fluctuate almost unpredictably, depending on his proximity to his never-any-fun-ever brother). This was gonna be a long ride. He copped a seat next to Lena, hoping to keep himself out of the way of grumpier, broodier bodies.

Tracer was arguably the best pilot in this vessel, but Winston settled himself into the cockpit. It didn't matter much; they had so far been able to avoid any dogfights with Talon (which Lúcio considered a boon, since he would much rather engage an opponent when he was on the ground, in control of his own movements, and not likely to die in a fiery crash). Even so, it took a gruff bark from 76, snapped in next to Genji, for Tracer to stop looking over the gorilla's shoulder and sit down. But that was less about a lack of confidence in his piloting ability, and more her inability to keep still.

The trip was estimated to take at least two hours from departure to arrival, but 76 jumped right into his mission briefing. At least three small Talon teams seen stalking through some back streets, combing the area in sections. They were hunting for something, or someone, and were unlikely to entrench themselves once engaged. This would be a running fight in a densely built urban area, hence why everyone here had the ability to either cover ground quickly or make good use of the infrastructure, or both. And then 76 started to get technical, and Lúcio just couldn't bear it any more. He knew, intellectually, that he should be paying as close attention as possible—Soldier: 76 had been doing this for far longer than he had, hell, probably longer than he'd been alive—but his brain was just not up for following along yet. Of course, that also meant he could get a face full of "could have avoided that but didn't listen to the warnings," so he continued to stubbornly attempt to remain attentive, but he sure hoped that 76 couldn't see his eyes glaze over. Lúcio's body was still reminding him that there were other places he'd rather be than right here, areas that weren't sore yet but would get there quickly, and he was still carrying a marked increase in sensitivity that tingled across his skin every now and then.

The old man was eventually diverted to answer some curious questions from Genji (and surlier questions from Hanzo), and Lúcio felt Tracer lean into his personal space, beckoning him closer to whisper.

"Hey love, you feelin' alright?"

Figures she would notice his lack of focus, at least. A member of Overwatch's old guard, she was far more used to dropping everything, packing up for a mission that could be either hours or days, and had long since trained her brain to switch fluidly from rested to alert at the drop of a hat. He wished he could do that.

Except for that one time, but she had also been able to blame a cold, piercing hangover, which he remembered because him and Hana had been nursing ones to match.

"Yeah. Just tired, but yeah." Not a lie, yet. He shrugged a shoulder.

She smirked at him.

"From all that 'racing' we did today?"

Ooh, ouch, yeah. Figures that story would come back to bite him in the ass. He hoped she wasn't too miffed about it. He scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"Yikes. Sorry about that. Didn't really mean to throw you under the bus."

"Ah, don't worry over it. You clearly needed the cover, even if it didn't do ya much good." She grinned hard, and gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder. He returned both gestures; their group may have their share of ogres, but he appreciated her near unflappable upbeat attitude. Kept him from getting bored, more often than not. At least if he was going to get dragged out on a mission by his ears, so to speak, he got to go with her.

But, of course, it wouldn't last; the universe was determined to undermine his happiness as often as possible today. Tracer's eyes flicked over him again, caught on something, and her grin took on a particular edge that told him he was not going to like whatever fell out of her mouth next. "So Lúcio?"

"Hm?"

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing really." Aaand let the lying start. Today's tactic? Deny everything.

"Oh yes?"

"Yup."

Tracer pulled her goggles away from her face just enough to look at him over the rims.

"Are you sure you have nothing to tell me?"

"Nothing you want to know about. True story." He put on the most innocent face he could manage. It did not appear to be working.

"Don't make me start having to draw conclusions now."

"And what do you have to draw conclusions about?" Other than the fact that he was not being convincing at all.

"Lúcio, love, you showed up for a mission sweaty, out of breath," and she hooked a finger into the hem of his jersey, "and with your shirt on both inside out and backwards."

Lúcio could feel himself start to flush hard, and he hoped that she wasn't going to notice. No luck, she noticed, and the grin on her face turned slowly into a giggle fit that drew glares from both 76 and Hanzo. She thumbed a spot just under his jaw, right on top of his pulse.

"At least tell me if it's the same person who left this mark on your neck."

Please, just let him bail from the hatch now. He'd take his chances with the fall.

All things considered, Zarya was having a great day.

After pushing Lúcio out into the hall, she had flopped heavily back into bed, determined to let the last stirrings of pleasantness ebb out slowly. She hadn't intended to pursue any "extracurricular" activities this afternoon, but the hell if she was going to complain about it.

She really should have just let him up when the call came in. It was that particular, mind-fog-piercing sound designed to alert even well-distracted troops that it was time to suit up. Zarya's brain was used to clearing up quick when she heard it, one of many skills learned while enlisted, but watching Lúcio glare at the thing for a minute was amusing. And, in a small, strict, soldier-run portion of her brain, slightly irritating. Still, he'd eventually reached it (again, not with any of her help), taken his call, and all had ended well. At least on her end. Apparently Soldier: 76 was slightly peeved with his lack of an immediate response.

Interesting English word, "peeved." She liked saying it. Rubbed off on her from Tracer.

With her morning workout long since over, her afternoon engagement interrupted, and her cannon down for repairs so cleaning it was entirely unnecessary (currently in Torbjörn's care, for the fabrication of new parts that were above her ability to fix with standard maintenance), she decided to hit the weight room for the second time. It would go far towards burning off some of the excess energy.

She wasn't sure if she was disappointed or pleased that Pharah was the only person in the room when she arrived. Fareeha was good company, but Zarya had been entertaining the idea of a hard, vigorous spar with Reinhardt, had he been available. She was greeted with a smile and a sharp nod, which was returned smartly. Zarya dropped her stuff on the counter against one wall, and strolled leisurely out onto the work floor; she'd just do a quick circuit or two around the room, nothing hard, and maybe a one-rep max at the end.

"Well, someone is in a good mood today."

Zarya wasn't expecting to be engaged in conversation, but she found herself entirely open to the idea. She was merely passing the time, regardless.

"What makes you say this?" She quirked a brow in Pharah's direction, squatting to put one hundred twenty-five kilos on the pec deck.

"There are several people on this base whose mood can be read by the way they walk," Pharah looked back over her shoulder at her. "You are one of them."

Huh, interesting to know. Now that she thought about it, she was pretty sure she could list some of the others. Tracer, , Soldier: 76 in any one of his types of anger. Hanzo, for much the same. Lúcio.

"Hm. I suppose."

The weight was enough to be engrossing, if it didn't push any of her boundaries. Just a few reps in, and she noticed that Pharah had stopped to stare at her. Zarya met her gaze, and she seemed to collect herself a bit.

"Zarya, if I may ask…" She was less blatant about it now, but was still staring.

"Yes?"

Pharah gestured with a finger.

"What happened to your arms?"

She blinked, and looked down at herself. Sure enough, scattered across her upper arms and shoulders were a series of thin red welts. A few were evenly spaced, some crossed over others. Like she had gone running through brambles. Or engaged in a fight with a rake.

Or like someone had changed his grip.

She bit her lip to kill the grin. She had told him to hold onto something. She hadn't even noticed when his nails bit her skin. Not like it had stopped him from screaming. Loudly. In Portuguese. That alone was worth the price of having the time cut short, as was watching him melt into her immediately after.

She shot Pharah a smirk.

"Would you believe that I spent all afternoon wrestling with a jaguar?"

"No, because it would not take you all afternoon," and she gave a small smile and a roll of her eyes, "and I would feel rather sorry for the poor jaguar."

"Ah, I wouldn't worry. He's alright." Zarya would never admit that she somewhat enjoyed the slight confusion on Pharah's face. She turned back to her machine, smile coming entirely unbidden. She stopped fighting it. "I just had to teach him a thing or two."

And, assuming he made it back in one piece, she had plans to do it all over again.

AN:

This has been sitting over on AO3 for a couple months, now. Finally got around to putting it here. Ah well.

This little project has grown, so it may turn into a trilogy if I can kick the writer's block.