The poison goes to work

Tracer shakes her head, trying the clear the fog of arousal from it. This turns out to be a mistake as it triggers a wave of dizziness that she has to fight hard not to succumb to. Widowmaker smiles. It carries the promise of deep and dark things to come. The smile makes Tracer shudder involuntarily. Widowmaker takes a step forward, slinking forward like a cat. Tracer takes one back. She must try to stay out of range as the effects of the poison play themselves out. She is so focused on the other woman's body that the first time she is aware of the looming wall is when her back presses against it.

Tracer flinches forward instinctively, pulling away from the surface. Widowmaker seizes the chance and surges forward quickly. She catches both of Tracer's arms by the wrist and pushes her backwards. Tracer's back his the wall hard as Widowmaker catches the woman's lips in her own. The kiss catches Tracer off guard completely. Widowmaker senses this and pushes deep into the kiss. For a few seconds Tracer helplessly endures the **** on her lips. Finally she jerks her head to the side, breaking contact with devilish French women's lips.

This doesn't seem to phase Widowmaker who begins to kiss and nuzzle at Tracer's collarbone.

"What are ya doin' luv?" Tracer says, fighting to keep her voice steady. She tries to pull her hands down, but Widowmaker's grip is too strong. Tracer can feel the woman smile into her neck before she responds.

"Distracting an overexcited tart," Widowmaker says as she steps back from Tracer's body. Tracer feels the bottom of her stomach drop out and it takes a second for her to identify why. It isn't until Widowmaker puts her hands on her hips that Tracer realizes what has happened. Craning her next upwards she can see a sticky white substance holding her hands pinned to the wall. She groans in frustration.

"Webs? Isn't that a bit on the nose?" She says, keeping her voice light. She tries for a laugh but it comes out rather hollow. As if de-powered and disarmed wasn't enough, now she was trapped! Widowmaker cocks her head, studying her prize.

"It's rather gauche," Widowmaker says, nodding her head in agreement. She stoops down to pink up a palm sized spider bot off the floor. "But when I saw how well the other device worked I had to try this one out." She smirks and Tracer hangs her head in shame. The sniper closes the distance between them again and raises a hand to grip Tracer's chin tightly. Her face is tilted upwards until she is meeting the taller Frenchwoman's gaze.

"No, no," She chides Tracer in a low, breathy voice. "Do not be ashamed. You haven't done anything to be ashamed of." Tracer finds herself suffused in the intensity of that gaze, pinned to the wall as surly as a butterfly to a card. "That part comes later."