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featherfloof · 8 months ago

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Handsy (A guilty pleasure MercyRat short)

Angela sighed mentally for what felt like the hundredth time since this meeting had commenced well over two hours ago. Policy and agent safety updates were paramount in running a tight organization, but certainly the higher ups could have split this update into two separate timeframes? A quick glance around the large table at the surrounding agents made Angela laugh internally as the expressions they wore were an almost direct mirror to what she herself was feeling at the moment.

Abject boredom. Maybe even a little hunger, and a whole lot of tired.

Her eyes drifted down beside her to observe what new doodles had been added to the rather obscenely thick packet of meeting notes her neighbor had scribbled since the last time she had peeked, but Angela was acutely disappointed to see that the scene of bombs, explosions, and crudely maimed stick figures hadn’t changed in the fifteen or so minutes since the last time she had looked.

Angela had been secretly pleased beyond measure that Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes had taken up the seat beside her at the table. Aside from assuaging the concealed crush she had on the quirky ex-Junker; Angela had discovered on previous meetings that being privy to his murderous masterpieces proved to be an endless supply of much needed entertainment to get her through drole congregations.

It was certainly peculiar that the scene hadn’t expanded because in the past, on average by this time in the meeting, Jamison had nearly filled every free bit of real estate on the cover page with his scribbles. Curious, Angela focused on his form in her periphery and noted that his figure had slumped over to the side at an angle that left no room for her imagination to contemplate why he’d stopped drawing.

The man had dozed off.

Not that she could blame him in the least. The thought had certainly crossed her mind a time or two. But the higher ups were notorious for honing in on those they suspected weren’t up to par with expectations and Jamison certainly didn’t need to be placed under an even higher power microscopic lens that Angela felt he was already scrutinized beneath, given his criminal history.

Surreptitiously, Angela tilted her head so that she could observe Jamison more clearly in order to confirm her suspicions and nearly choked on a laugh at the column of drool that was currently streaming from the corner of his lips to pool against the collar of his shirt. He was no doubt fast asleep and a part of her was surprised he hadn’t thought to paint false eyeballs on the back of his lids to give the illusion that he was awake and attentive. The mental image of that nearly pushed Angela over the edge of holding in her amusement and she bit her bottom lip to quell the giggle that threatened to bubble up her throat.

Sucking in a fortifying breath through her nose to calm herself, Angela became determined in that moment to save Jamison from any unnecessary scrutiny and tentatively reached out beneath the cover of the table to poke her fingers against his person. Her digits found themselves brushing against his own where he had placed his hand to rest against his knee. With a gentle firmness, Angela nudged the side of Jamison’s palm and felt his leg swing away from the pressure of her touch, but he didn’t wake. Undeterred, Angela poked at him again with increased urgency and to her utter shock, suddenly felt his hand move as his fingers captured hers within his own; lacing them together before returning his palm where it had been resting before, but now with her hand held captive beneath his.

Angela froze and she quickly turned her head to the side to fully observe the mercenary now. He was still asleep, but at least he’d righted his head from its lull to the side and he was no longer watering himself with his drool.

Thank goodness for small miracles, Angela mused, but then riveted her attention back to where their bodies were currently joined. She fought against the reflex to jerk her hand back out from beneath his grip, not wanting to startle him awake and draw unwanted attention, and after a moment, as the heat of his skin seeped into her own, Angela sheepishly, and selfishly, found herself enjoying the contact.

It would make for an incredibly awkward moment if he were to wake right then with her hand twisted so intimately with his own and Angela felt a blush creep up her neck to heat the tips of her ears at the thought. She imagined it would take a second for it to register in his mind before he’d start sputtering and flailing in true over-the-top dramatic Junkrat fashion, no doubt causing a scene she had been trying to avoid in the first place.

Cautiously, Angela tugged her hand ever so slightly in an attempted to dislodge it from his grasp, but his fingers flinched and tightened over hers, unwilling to relinquish hold of their stolen prize. Beside her, the ex-Junker inhaled a long breath and shifted, but still the man remained completely oblivious to the world around him, and as he exhaled, his lips whispered with a hint of lazy amusement, “It’s mine now.”

Angela froze once more, torn between wondering if he were awake and messing with her, or asleep and dreaming about holding someone’s hand for ransom. Surely, he couldn’t be awake. In no uncertain terms had the man ever did anything to make Angela think that her silly crush would ever be reciprocated. Sure, he was goofy and friendly towards her, which one may interpret as flirting, but he was that way with everyone. Only, everyone else treated Jamison with a benign neglect that was reminiscent of how people back home would treat a mangy stray dog that just wanted to be loved. She certainly appreciated his antics and couldn’t remember a time when she had brushed him off as an annoyance like she’d seen so many others do.

So, perhaps he was awake and was taking immense pleasure in messing with her. Such a ploy certainly would align with his mischievous side, especially knowing, at least Angela hoped, that it would be positively received by her, out of everyone else he could have done it to.

Slowly, so as to not draw attention to herself, Angela leaned in closer to Jamison’s side and squeezed her fingers around the top of his knee where he had placed her palm to rest beneath his own. At the same time she whispered, “careful Jamison, it might bite you.”

It took a second, but the man suddenly snorted a laugh that made Angela jump upright in her seat. This time, several pairs of eyes turned their way, casting a collection of questioning, withering, annoyed, and humorous glares in equal turns. Angela felt as if she could melt away with the heat of her embarrassment until they all finally lost interest and looked away from her and Jamison.

Angela relaxed and turned to cast a suspicious leer towards the ex-Junker. His face was serene. Features that were usually pinched into a smirk or scowl were placid and calm. Even the dimple Angela had noted in the past that appeared over his left brow during a moment of laughter or amusement was absent. Cautiously, she leaned in towards him once more.

“Jamison?”

This time his brows flinched and a moment later he cleared his throat softly and actually answered. “Mmm?”

“Are you awake?”

“Jus’ barely, luv.” His voice rumbled, deep with sleep, before he moved to sit up straighter in his chair. His fingers flexed against her own and yet he still hadn’t let her go.

Angela swallowed thickly, helplessly wailing in her head. He had to have noticed by now!? It was in that moment that his fingers squeezed against hers once more and a thoughtful hum exhaled from his throat as he leaned forward to plant his right elbow against the table, rested his chin in his prosthetic palm, and canted his head to the side to pin her with an intensely curious stare. Those darkened whiskey hues caused her stomach to flip flop as soon as they made contact with hers as did the lop-sided grin that tugged on one side of his lips. His fingers gently flexed against hers now with purpose as he stared into her eyes and Angela wasn’t sure whether it was embarrassment or attraction that caused her insides to suddenly combust.

Perhaps a little of both.

“I was trying to wake you.” She murmured quietly, immediately on the defensive. “Then you just took hold of me.”

“Oh, suuuure,” Jamison whispered. “Put the blame on a defenseless bloke while he’s sleepin’”

Angela opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. Instead, she sat there gaping like a fish and watched that aforementioned dimple appear above Jamison’s left brow as he watched her struggle.

“’Sides, I told ya it’s mine now.” He harrumphed as if that was the end-all-be-all and abruptly returned his attention to the speaker who had amazingly kept droning on about the topic at hand despite their obvious whisperings.

So, he had been asleep, though Angela had been incorrect in assuming he’d be dramatic in his reaction in waking to her hand in his. Curiously, he seemed rather fine with it, which was either because he was fine with it (which opened the flood gates to a whole slew of new questions), or was playing it off to save her the embarrassment. He certainly wouldn’t care on his part. Jamison never seemed embarrassed about anything and that was one of the qualities she adored about the man.

He was always unapologetically himself.

Surely though, if it was to save her from embarrassment, he would have released her hand by now, right? Oh God, Angela squealed mentally and though her eyes had shifted once more to fix on the presenter, all of her focus was currently channeled to the sensation of Jamison’s fingers pressed between the valleys of her own; his palm pressed flush against the top of her hand, and how the rough and calloused pad of his thumb traced a slow, gentle circle against the base of her pinky where it met the side of her hand. Every full pass caused a jolt of heat to spear straight through her belly, which just kept growing in its intensity. His hand was so much larger than her own, Angela mused, it nearly swallowed hers against his knee, and it was a peculiar thought, to think that a hand that was capable of wreaking such havoc, pain, and destruction was currently holding her with an almost tender reverence.

Did the man even realize what he was doing to her? He seemed completely oblivious to her increasing intoxication to his touch.

Now perversely, Angela had gone from hoping the meeting would end to wishing it would continue on. It had been a pathetically long time since any man had made her feel the sensations that were currently twisting her insides the way Jamison was, and all he was doing was holding her hand captive.

Imagine what other feelings he could elicit from her?

Then, as if midnight had finally tolled on her Cinderella moment, the presenter called an end to the meeting and everyone around them began to stand with a collective sigh, effectively bursting the bubble that had surrounded herself and Jamison ever since he’d taken hold of her.

Angela mentally cried in dismay when Jamison gave her hand one final squeeze before he lifted his palm off of hers, leaving a chilled void from the loss of his touch. Angela finally reeled her hand back and began to numbly gather her note pages when she felt Jamison stand and hover over her at her side. Belatedly, she finally stood and turned to face him and was relieved to see the easy smile on his lips and a mischievous glint reflected in the honeyed gaze of his eyes as they drifted over her features.

“Y'know, Doc…” He started then leaned in closer to lower his voice in a hushed tone close to her ear. “If ya wanted me to hold your hand, all ya had to do was ask.”

Angela smiled despite herself and felt her face heat all over again from his teasing. “Thanks, Fawkes. I’ll remember that for next time.” Angela retorted cheekily and watched his lips twist into a conspiring smirk.

“Anytime, babe.”

#mercyrat #overwatch fanfic #featherfloof

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