legionworld | [OPEN] You're Out of Touch

[There's something amiss in Legion World— aside from the obvious hiccups in general time. A bright splash of phosphorescent green and pink, flitting in and out of public space. Eventually the little streak of color slows to a halt: runs clawed fingers across pristine walls, over statues and murals and statues without reverence, just an abundance of fixed curiosity, as though it's all so new.

And for her, it really is.

Across her face, glowing body paint cuts the shape of a stylized skull, making otherwise young features look decidedly more vicious. A notion that's punctuated by her predatory posture and the gun resting openly at her hip.

In front of a heroic depiction of the Legion's finest, she snorts to herself, quietly:]

Where the hell am I?

II: TAGGED TURF

[Graffiti. There's a lot of it, all over the less-used Legion World hallways— and the statues, and occasionally the floors. Variations of 'Tierra de Los Muertos' or 'Sombra', and a few iterations of the telltale skull pattern painted across her cheeks. Where she got the paint is anyone's guess, but she's putting it to good use while she can.

After all, why would anyone even waste their time trying to stop her?]

III: WILDCARD

[ooc: Want something different? Let's make it happen! Feel free to go ahead and place your character anywhere on Legion World and I'll have Sombra fill in— or message me on plurk at

ladyavali for specific plotting!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Um.

[ His skin feels flush and hot, even as he works to retain anything like a composed expression. It's harder, considering he's been drinking too, and the pleased, hazy-eyed look York gives him makes his stomach give an unexpected twist.

Rather than dwell on that, he shifts his gaze towards Sombra. ]

If it comes recommended.

[ God his throat feels dry. ]

Wasn't bad.

[Her nails scrape down along his chest as she draws back, resting casually on neon haunches. It might seem like an unenthusiastic review, but there's a smugness in her voice and a curve to her lips that wasn't there before: the slightest little tell.

Her hand slides to a stop near the base of his rib cage, fingers pointedly curling.]

Needs more salt.

What, we need to make him sweat? [ He pours another shot in the hollow of Sam's throat, thumb sweeping back and forth over the rise of his collarbone in time with his pulse. ] I think I can swing that-

[ It's easy to lean in like he's going right for Sam's throat- but he stops early. Drags his tongue up the line of his sternum to start for the required salt before dipping into the measure of tequila. He sucks, pulling on skin and liquor alike before nosing his way to Sam's jawline, peering down at him for a moment. Barely breathing over his lips before he turns to return the shared shot like Sombra had for him a moment ago. ]

[ Sam's fists curl tightly as York's tongue works over his skin. Despite the numb of the drink, it feels as if every square of skin echoes the pull and drag. By the time York stares down at him?

Sam is a little hazy-eyed himself, staring up in some sort of heated awe, before watching him turn away to kiss Sombra. Their mouths touch, sharing the sting of the liquor, and he...

He wants. It feels good, and he wants to know what that feels like, too. ]

[She's all teeth when he withdraws, catching the underside of his lip. Stereotypical maybe, for something as wild as she is, but if it bothers her she's certainly leaning into it, rather than away.]

Don't think it takes much to make him sweat.

[A smooth little exhale let out as her fingers sink lower, skirting the waistband of Sam's trousers beneath her, still giving York the full depth of her immediate attention. Even without the feverish heat of his kiss on her lips, she can still feel the ghost of it.

Or maybe that's just the alcohol. She's not sure.]

Nah. But that's half the fun.

[ He smiles through the sharpness of her bite, taking a pull straight from the bottle before pouring out the next shot. Hollow of Sam's throat and down the line of his sternum- down to the hollow of his navel since that's the game. Voice soft and smokey as sweet tea and whiskey he murmurs into Sam's ear. ]

Now don't move, alright? You'll spill the tequila.

[ Don't breathe too deeply. Don't twitch. Don't move an inch, even as Sombra's touch teased above the waist of his pants, and York's words curled low and sweet against his ear.

Don't move. No matter how much you may want to. He's even careful in swallowing as his eyes go wider, trailing from Sombra's hand in something of a panic to York's hazy blue eyes. ]

Not...going anywhere.

No, you're not.

[It's easy for her to pick apart the fasteners unerneath her fingers, violet eyes limned in green when they dart up to give York a knowing stare. A little nod as a sign he should go ahead and take his turn while she's preoccupied— yet another way to keep Sam guessing in the darkness.]

Attaboy. [ His lips brush against the shell of Sam's ear for a moment, eyes caught by Sombra's and...alright, they're doing this. He huffs a soft laugh before leaning down to close his lips around Sam's navel, sucking up the tequila, licking the salt on his skin steadily upward along his chest and throat. The barest prickling of teeth- a press, a light drag, not a bite technically, and he's looming over Sam with bright, glimmering eyes.

No teasing this time. York leans down to seal their lips together, sharing the tequila with a flick of his tongue. ]

[ What is she--

He doesn't really get the chance to investigate before York's mouth is on him. It's so strange, so foreign, that pliant heat sliding across his skin, and he digs his nails into his palms to hold himself still.

He wants this. Wants to be worthy of it, to feel that spark of want up close, and when York presses his mouth to his with a spill of sharp sweet on his tongue, Sam opens his mouth to it. Swallows the tequila down with a faint, indistinct noise in the back of his throat. ]

[Nothing he'd ever tell that mother of his about. The one that warned Sam away from people like her.

...with good reason.

Off goes the belt clasp, down goes his zipper with a fluid slide of the back of her hand before she stops to gauge his response— his expression— leaving a faint, urgent pressure across his hips.]

[ He chases that sound, tongue flicking along the seam of Sam's lips, lazily easing it along Sam's tongue. Taking his time to get him wound up and breathless before he pulls back to grin down at him. ]

See? I don't bite.

[ It's good, it's good and it's warm and part of him wants to chase it down. To pin it in place and seek more for himself. But York is pulling away, and for a breathless moment he's dazed, not understanding.

Then his attention shifts abruptly to where Sombra's hands linger on his hips. ]

...wasn't your teeth I was worried about.

Just my hands. [It's a joke, but a wry one - made all the more apparent by how she shifts to lean more of her weight across his own.]

Or maybe just me.

What, her? She's just gett'n you comfortable. [ A beat, a moment when he gets a little careful, fingers combing through Sam's hair. Sombra's all in, he's all in- Sam may or may not be. ] You good?

Yes, I'm...

[ Surprisingly okay with this. It could be the tequila talking, or the fact that he trusts York. Some part of him trusts Sombra too, against better judgement, because no part of her seems remotely trustworthy.

Especially not the part trying to wriggle into his pants. Once again, the look he gives her is a vaguely defiant one. ]

I'm good.

Not yet you're not. [Defiant's a good look on him, she thinks. Attractive in ways that he's likely never considered. Coupling that with Taylor's sleek beauty, the lingering taste of his lips, and she's feeling...

Focused.

Forgetting red eyes tailing her in the dark, forgetting that they're not really in Dorado— it's easier now. Wanted, even. Her fingers sink lower, roughly pulling fabric loose as her shoulders round out, poised like a jungle cat over its prey. She exhales across his stomach, eyes half-lidded when she glances up to meet his stare one last time.

And what happens from there— that's for the three of them to know.]

[OPEN] You're Out of Touch

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