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Zenyatta can’t believe he agreed to this. It’s torture. Delicious torture, but torture nonetheless.
Not for the first time, he is endlessly grateful for the static faceplate that being a standard omnic entails. There is no flushed skin to hide, no facial expressions to carefully manage, not even really any breathing he needs to regulate. He must worry about his fans being too loud, but it’s a small price to pay for enjoying himself in such a public setting.
This meeting is taking forever, he decides, though he knows that is merely the impatience talking. Overwatch mission planning meetings don’t generally feel like they drag along this much– Jack has been droning on for at least twenty minutes, unhindered, and Zenyatta’s patience is the only thing keeping him vaguely grounded. In truth, he hasn’t heard a word of what Jack or anyone else has said in the last half hour.
Instead, his attention is stolen away, entirely focused on phantom sensations that really aren’t all that phantom. Being an omnic affords many things– detachable parts is one of them. Detachable parts that can be kept active while separated are another. Engineering is a marvelous, tantalising thing.
Across the world (he doesn’t ask for specifics), Ramattra is taking his time and driving Zenyatta mad. He’s been driven to the brink of overload three times now, only to be effortlessly denied each time. He can feel in perfect clarity, in real time, as Ramattra suddenly starts rubbing his clit in fast, tight little circles.
He’s lucky he clamped down his voice synthesiser after the second ruined overload.
The circles never stop, only keeping him acutely aware of the sensations wracking his frame as he feels a different finger run through his folds. Likely gathering slick that he knows must be there, copiously leaking from his needy cunt. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this keyed up– perhaps the setting has something to do with it?
Speaking of the setting. Jack and Genji and a handful of others are now looking at him expectantly. Ah. Unfortunate. The finger makes another teasing, gentle swipe through his folds. Carefully, making sure to keep it under wraps, he reactivates his synth.
“Indeed,” he says mildly, with absolutely no idea what he’s agreeing to.
Whatever it was, his response seems to have placated them, as most of them nod and turn their attention back to the front. Genji, however, lingers for a moment, because of course he does, and Zenyatta feels his core burning at his student’s scrutiny. Is he aware of the specifics of what is happening? Surely not.
Another languid pass, and Zenyatta feels as though he might literally melt from the heat. It takes everything to maintain his usual open, relaxed, almost meditative position of floating just above a meeting room chair.
Minutes pass just like this, and once more Zenyatta can feel his overload steadily rising. It builds and builds and the motions never cease, that steady, rapid stimulation driving him closer to the edge. He just barely manages to silence his synth once more, only just shutting down the groan that threatens to draw attention to his predicament.
He expects it to stop, just as it had the other times– all points of contact taken away suddenly, leaving him worked up and unable to chase some form of friction. Instead, the circling slows , the other finger pauses at his entrance , and Zenyatta can’t decide if that’s better or worse. For a moment, he hangs there, feeling like he’s in limbo, half-tempted to message Ramattra and demand he get on with it, until–
The finger hovering at his entrance presses in, all at once, right down to the knuckle. The circling stops, and this time Zenyatta can’t even care because he can feel the heel of Ramattra’s palm pressing against his clit. Oh, if only he could grind up into it…
Any hopes of paying even the slightest attention to menial things like battle plans and base maintenance requests are entirely dashed. He’ll get the synopsis from Athena later. Silently, he shutters his optics and focuses entirely on his pleasure.
He doesn’t have to wait long for more, thankfully, as the finger finally withdraws, smooth and easy, and presses back in with a pace that would be frustrating if he weren’t so relieved to feel anything inside him at all. A couple of thrusts, and a second one joins the first. Soon after, a third. They push in so easily, meeting absolutely no resistance… He’s definitely making a mess.
(Good, his well-hidden mean streak supplies. Something for Ramattra to clean up as payback.)
For a while, Zenyatta loses himself to it all, focusing only on the fingers fucking up(?) into him, gaining momentum, and locking some of his joints to keep still. He almost finds a rhythm in it, overload building once more even without the contact on his clit, and of course that’s when Ramattra changes it up again.
One more time, he finds himself empty when Ramattra withdraws entirely. Unbidden, tension takes hold of his frame.
“Master?” comes a whisper to his left.
Shit.
Zenyatta forces his optics online, looks to Genji. Concern colours his body language, Zenyatta barely notes. Quietly, they regard one another, unnoticed by the rest of the parties in the room.
If the past three denials are any indication, Zenyatta calculates he’ll have enough downtime to be able to reactivate his synth. It’s slightly more strained than he’d like it to sound, but not overly so. “I am fine, Genji, no need to worry about– ack!”
Or not enough downtime at all!
The burst of static from his synth before he can shut it down is entirely involuntary, as somehow Ramattra chooses just then to thrust into him. Large, heated, feeling as though he might be split into two– Ramattra wastes no time at all in bottoming out, filling him to the brink with his cock. Zenyatta can only float in dazed, pleasured horror as Ramattra begins thrusting into him in earnest, all of his damned foreplay and teasing making it a shamefully smooth glide. He’s sure that the noises are nothing short of lecherous.
Genji leans forward, frantically searching for what could possibly have harmed his quiet, collected teacher, and around the room, others do the same. Zenyatta has no explanation, has nothing he can do but ride out Ramattra’s frankly brutal thrusts under the gazes of everyone present.
It should kill the mood. But, if anything, it makes him hotter.
Ramattra will likely poke fun at him about it later, but all it takes is a hint of pressure –probably from his thumb– on his clit before he’s coming. It’s sudden and quick and hard and Zenyatta’s sure that the quakes wracking his frame are on display for everyone to see.
What must they think of such a spectacle? Have they figured out that he is not in pain, that instead he feels as though he might fall apart under a certain Ravager’s touch? The touch of the enemy’s leader?
It’s too much to bear.
His cunt ripples around Ramattra’s cock, still pumping in and out, and Zenyatta knows he must leave before the (delicious, painful, oh-so-welcomed) overstimulation kicks in. He’ll– find some kind of explanation later. For now, he must flee. Meeting be damned, he doesn’t care, he’ll get the abridged notes later.
Wordlessly, he floats up higher from the chair, ‘standing,’ and books it out of the room before anyone can protest. Once safely out of view, he drops to his feet, unsteady as they are, and clumsily runs in the direction of his quarters.
He doesn’t get very far, though, before the circling of his clit speeds up and his knees buckle, almost sending him to the ground before he can grasp onto a door frame nearby to steady himself. It hurts in that way that he craves, knowing that Ramattra does this to him because Zenyatta loves it, because Ramattra loves to watch him fall apart. Or feel, in this case.
His thighs shake, it takes everything in him to keep from collapsing to the ground in a writhing mess of metal for seemingly no reason, and he can do nothing more as Ramattra speeds up his thrusts. By the increasingly erratic pace, he must be close– and Zenyatta isn’t far behind. Another overload, forced from his spent frame, builds and crests at blinding speeds.
This time, he lets himself make noise, activating his synth for a final time to fill the empty hallway with his low, staticy moans. As his cunt squeezes around Ramattra’s cock, Ramattra’s thrusts stutter once, twice, before he feels warm cum spill deep inside, filling him impossibly fuller than he would’ve thought imaginable. Ramattra fucks him slowly and shallowly through the aftershocks, eventually pulling out for the final time.
Footsteps round the corner as Ramattra takes to gently petting the side of Zenyatta’s spent cunt, a motion he knows to be reassuring and affectionate rather than arousing, and Zenyatta almost wishes he could ascend right then and there with the mixed emotions flooding his circuits. Satiation, fatigue, anxiety, shame, gratefulness, arousal, all warring for prominence in his processor. Perhaps a call with Ramattra is in order later to help sort his head as much as his body…
“Master, are you alright!” Genji calls down the hall, running towards him–
–Just as a message from Ramattra pings their private channel: So, how was the meeting?
Concern versus coy, each somewhat unfounded. Zenyatta scrambles to think of literally anything to reply to either of them. Ramattra’s taken any form of coherent thought from him. It’s all just static.
He’ll figure it out in a second.