The Tracer Twins

The following story was created purely for entertainment purposes, and the author does not gain any profit from its distribution. While the events depicted are the original creations of the author, the characters are owned by Blizzard Entertainment, and all relevant partners. This story is in not connected to the canon of Overwatch. Please do not distribute this story elsewhere without express author permission and due credit. Thank you!

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Lena "Tracer" Oxton had just returned from another successful mission with the recently reunited Overwatch. Tracer was ready to peel out of the orange jumpsuit that was sticking to her sweaty skin, and hop into the shower. As refreshing and necessary as the task would be, Tracer let out a sigh, not of exhaustion from the mission, but the exhaustion she would no doubt feel after getting ready. Something as simple as a shower was an arduous process for the woman with a large metal, plastic, and god-knows-what-else device strapped to her chest.

She was grateful for her powers, as it allowed her to help more people than she ever could, and she had a lot of fun doing it, but the cost of having them was a constant annoyance. If the device wasn't powering down at the most inopportune times, having only enough juice to keep her tangible but not allow her to blink or recall, it was just getting in the way of daily life. For example, while the device was water proof, it could be difficult to clean the skin that was hidden beneath it. She also had to be careful while removing the buckles and straps to get her clothes off. It would continue to work so long as it was no more than three inches from her person at all times. Anymore and she would have to contact Winston to come help her. As close as they were, Tracer did not like having Winston see her naked after he affixed the device back to her.

Much to her surprise and delight, it looked like she wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Sitting on the dresser of her temporary hotel room was a box, neatly tied with ribbon and bow, and a card.

Your presents are finished, Ms. Oxton. The first you shall find in this box. The other is back at your apartment. -Winston

P.S. I ate the peanut butter in the mini-fridge. I'm so sorry.

Tracer didn't care that she now owed $15 for the jar of peanut butter he ate. She was too excited about her presents. Opening the box in a flash, her expectations were met and the present she was hoping for was there: a new chronal accelerator.

This new device would be far less cumbersome than the chest-strapped one she was currently using. Winston had designed it to be fitted around the waist like a belt. Although she would still be bound to this device for the rest of her life, it wasn't nearly as in the way as the chest model. In what would be perceived as a flash to a third party, Tracer took out the belt and slung it around her waist.

"Aw, Winston, you made it too big!" she remarked in her British accent. When she took a look at herself in the full length mirror, she recanted her complaint. The belt was indeed too big to fit snugly around her. However, her wide hips and ample ass kept it from slipping off of her. It sat on her hips, slipping to her right, and accentuating her curves in that region. "Or maybe you knew exactly what you were doing, you damn dirty ape," she said to herself, giggling.

The power on the belt was left off until she started to take the chest model off. She wasn't sure what would happen if she had both operating at the same time, but she wasn't about to find out. In the blink of any eye, the chest plate was turned off, removed, and the belt switched on. Tracer held her eyes shut tight, gritting her teeth and waiting for her body to become incorporeal. Thankfully, it was a success, and so she remained in the proper timeline with her physical body.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, jumping in the air with a zip, and landing on her bed to continue jumping. Her laughter lasted several minutes before she fell back down onto the mattress with a happy sigh. Then she remembered the second gift Winston had mentioned. Tracer knew exactly what it was, as it was the reason she was in the hotel in the first place. With several flashes of blue streaks, all of Tracer's belongings were tucked away into her suitcase.

She considered taking that shower before she left, but knowing what awaited her at her flat, she didn't want to waste the opportunity. The concierge at the front desk was typing lazily at his computer when he heard a strange electrical sound, followed by a woman's laughter. When he looked up, money and a room key were sitting on his desk.

Tracer was thankful she didn't choose a hotel that was far from her place of residence, as it allowed her to blink across the roof tops to reach it, and not run out of power while doing so. Any further away and she might have had to use public transit to get home. She couldn't imagine going that slowly knowing what awaited her.

"Winston, I'm home!" she exclaimed into her apartment. No answer, and everything looked the same. She was a bit disappointed, until she saw the second letter Winston had left her.

Your apartment is now outfitted with chronal accelerator technology, running off a small generator I've placed into your laundry room. As we discussed, this will allow you to move about your apartment freely, without needing either personal chronal accelerators.

I hope you enjoy!

-Winston

"Oh Winston, you're the best!" she said to the letter, and gave it a big kiss since the scientist wasn't there himself to receive it. Tracer began to zip all around the flat, looking for clues to where these chronal attachments were so she knew never to disturb them. Winston had done a good job of hiding them, though, since she could find nothing. She did recall how he said he didn't want them to be in the way or obvious, so he spent an extra month on making them work to that regard. She tried to talk him out of it, but once he got an idea for some tech in his head, it wouldn't come out until he made it.

All the running around had caused her to add another coat of sweat to her already sticky body. Her face whipped away from her pit when she gave it a sniff. "Offensive!" she said about herself with a smile. The smile carried over to her now far more fun task of getting undressed.

Tracer started with her armguards. They fell with a clunk onto the ground. She was usually more careful with them, but today she was more focused on herself rather than her things. Next came her signature bomber jacket. Delighted in how easily it came off, she slipped it back on just so she could slip it off again. Taking a moment, she admired how her breasts looked, all snug inside of her full body track suit. The chest device obscured most of her chest, so she had almost forgotten how perky and full they were. A giggled echoed through her spacious flat while she cupped and measured their size and shape. Just a little over handful, though her lovers always had bigger hands than hers. A C-cup suited her just fine, though she often went without. It was theorized by some bloggers that Tracer showed off her ass so much because her chest was covered up by the jacket and the device, that she was compensating. She of course publicly denounced such crass theories, but they were right.

Standing in front of her tall mirror, she continued to undress after kicking off her running shoes. Tracer wanted to see her body, in all its finery, unobstructed by the device. Well other than this cute belt, she thought, cocking her hips side to side to make it move. Now instead of the sound of giggles echoing through her flat, the sound of the zipper being slowly tugged down replaced it. Breath caught in her throat when she got to see her cleavage for the first time in years. The suit pushed her breasts together lovingly, and the more she pulled the zipper down, the more the suit relented and let them part.

The zipper only went down a short distance, ending a few inches above her belly button, so the rest of the suit would be peeled off. Arms pulled free, she started to push down on the orange clothing. Her eyes didn't leave the sight of her breasts while they gave little bounces as she shimmied free of the suit. Tracer took a moment to admire her naked torso, and even shed a tear at how happy she was. Remembering she had a shower to get to, she returned to her task.

The suit wasn't hard to get past the belt, given the space between her and it. She had to hand it to Winston. He had made it slightly too big, but it still was fitted enough so it could still affect her form. Maybe he really did make it a bit too big on purpose, biting her lip at the thought. With her back to the mirror, she looked over her shoulder to watch as her world famous ass emerged from the suit. Playboy had offered her 5 million pounds for pictures of her plump pear, and as tempting as it was, she didn't want to harm the image of Overwatch.

Down her toned legs the suit was pulled, and those same legs pulled her feet out of the orange puddle of clothing once it was far enough down. Tracer traced her hands over her body, from ankle to clavicle, moaning as she appreciated her shape. "I am gonna have to find someone's face to sit on to celebrate this new belt!" she planned. "No! I'm gonna have someone play with my tits now that they're unleashed!" she changed. "First things first, I need to wash up," she committed, and sauntered off to the bathroom.

Tracer used to hate taking showers. Having to work around her chest plate was a constant reminder how in the way it always was. She intended to fully enjoy this one, however. Once she was soaked, and her hair dripping wet, began to rub the orange body wash gel against her body. Her moans did not stop for the rest of the shower. Breasts were, of course, first on the agenda. Tenderly massaged and lovingly cupped. Nipples were pinched, confirming this shower wasn't just about getting clean, but being dirty.

Due to her unique abilities, Tracer was able to force her perception of time to slow. Each droplet of water that hit her fresh skin felt like the first bit of rain falling on her from the sky. Every trail of water that slid down her body, she was able to map out. The slopes of her breasts, the steep drop of her flat tummy, and the winding curves of her body, all acknowledged by the bits of water she focused on. Tracer felt each bubble from the soap popping against her cheeks after she lathered them. A tingle running up her spine could be felt for what seemed like days if she wanted it to. She held onto the feeling of her stomach filling with butterflies while she massaged between her quivering legs. Carefully moving her finger tip from between her lips and away from the shower spray, she brought it to her other lips and tasted her joy. The flavor would only last for mere moments for anyone else, but for Tracer she could savor it for as long as she wanted.

Her own spray, brought on with a heralding cry of bliss, was quickly washed away by the water, mixing with the liquid and disappearing down the train at her feet. Though she wasn't naturally multi-orgasmic, she could manipulate her own passage of time so her normally spaced-apart climaxes would overlap, and build on one another. Tracer sat quivering, her right leg twitching, lower lip being bit the point of bleeding, for several minutes. To her, however, it lasted far longer. Again, Tracer was glad to have her powers.

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Tracer enjoyed her flat's new accommodations immensely for the next few weeks, being sure to show it off to all of her teammates in Overwatch, and allowing a few of her favorites to spend the night. Almost every day Tracer was called out to a mission. Since Overwatch had reformed, she found herself busier than usual. Winston was kind enough to give her the day off, so she could enjoy a little Tracer-time. Most would be given a week, but Tracer just needed the day.

However, with the infinite time of a day for Tracer, she ran out of things to do. The flat had been cleaned twice, she played with herself countless times, read all her books, cleaned her flat twice more, re-arranged the furniture, and then enjoyed her own touch countless more times. She would have left the flat, but there was an intense thunderstorm outside.

Normally, Tracer didn't mind the rain. She could dodge through the droplets if she wanted to, but this was a thunder storm. Winston warned her against surges of electricity to her accelerator, which could cause unforeseen consequences. So inside she remained. With yet more hours left in the day, Tracer figured what was one more masturbatory session on the mountain she had already created?

She felt this would be the last time today, if not for awhile. It had become too clinical and dull with so much overdoing it. Not that she disliked the experience. This one felt especially unique, however, as she came moments after a surge struck her flat and affected the chronal accelerator lining the walls. Startled, mid climax, she accidentally activated her own chronal belt. Up until that point, she hadn't used her belt within the flat. She kept it on her person, because she found it so cute, but the flat itself allowed her to blink and recall just fine. She wasn't sure what would happen if she used her belt within the confines of another chronal accelerator, and add on the recent surge of electricity to the far larger one that surrounded her, and something big was bound to happen. She couldn't imagine it would have been this big, though.

A flash of blue light filled the room, and the sound of howling winds nearly deafened the young Brit. She clung tightly to the headboard as she felt her body get pulled toward the end of the bed. Thankfully she was still wearing her goggles, so her eyes were able to adjust to the scene playing out. A swirling mass of blue, crackling, energy was forming in her room. She heard voices, though she couldn't make out what they were saying. If they were saying anything at all.

Is that...moaning? she wondered. She would get her answer when the energy surge suddenly stopped, and a young woman fell onto her bed with her. A woman that looked just like her, and yet not at all.

Tracer barely had the wits about her to cover up her exposed body to the sudden intruder. The way in which she arrived and the face she wore were all too shocking for her to register any kind of shame. She appeared to have similar hair to her own - combed over to the right, fraying into large spikes. However, where her own hair was chestnut brown, this one's hair was stark white, and the sides of her head were shaved down to a subtle buzz.

The woman stared at the brunette with shock and wonder. Her heart was already racing from the activity she was just ripped from, but this increased it tenfold. This woman wore goggles too, lifted up from her eyes to examine her half naked body. This stranger's were wide and translucent orange, whereas her own were black, circular, and opaque on the exterior, allowing her to peer through the spike rimmed goggles on the other side.

She parted her glossy lips in a scream, and the other woman did so as well with her black lipstick tiers. Both scrambled out of the bed and kneeled on the floor behind its sides. Identical eyes met while peering over the edge, and quickly hid themselves again. After another moment, they eased up in mirrored movements and stood to examine one another.

"What the..." Tracer began.

"...bloody hell?" The other apparent Tracer finished, confirming that she, too, was British. She ran her eyes up and down the attractive, almost identical, woman who stood on the opposite end of the bed of her. Their bodies looked very much alike, though the skin tone are her doppelganger was more tanned than her pale shade. She could also detect some muscle definition on her stomach and thighs. Her own were fit, but not nearly as much as hers.

In the second after she finished examining the woman, Tracer realized her nudity and fell back behind the bed, scrambling to put on at least her panties and her bomber jacket before crawling back up. When she returned, the punkish twin didn't appear to care at all about her own nudity. She wore black and white striped stalkings, and the tears in them showed that there was a violet set on below those. Her torso was completely bare, allowing Tracer to take note of the several tattoos that graced her stomach and between her tits, equally sized to her own, capped with barbell piercings. Her hands were fitted with fingerless black gloves.

"Where the hell am I?" she asked, with awe, to anyone who could answer, dragging her eyes across the room that had been recently trashed by an unknown force.

"Wher- How about you tell me who you are first?" Tracer demanded, zipping up her jacket and slamming her fists onto her cocked hips.

"Me? I'm Lena Oxton, love. Now about that GPS report..." she answered, and immediately drew her attention back to her question. Given her answer, though, Tracer had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Lena Oxton?" The name sounded foreign when being used to address someone else. "That's my name!" She said with forced ownership, as if this woman had just snatched it from her.

"People can have the same names, doll," she reasoned, looking back at her with cocky eyebrows. "And the same body, apparently. Lucky you," she noted, ending her statement with lips kissing the air.

"How are you so calm about this?" Tracer demanded to know, throwing up her arms in confusion. "You just fell into my bed through some kind of...worm hole, and you're not freaking out at all?"

"Oh this is freaky, all right," she admitted. "I'm just a little relaxed given what I just did." She could see her twin was confused on what she meant, and to answer her question she flicked her tongue between her pointer and middle fingers.

"Oh, lewd!" she snapped.

"You're one to talk. I know what you were up to before I came...here."

"What are you talking about?"

The white-haired Lena gave her a knowing look and sighed, realizing she wouldn't admit to what she had done. So she began to list off the clues. "Your bed spread is all askew, your skin was flushed, you were butt naked, and those panties you just put on?" Lena pointed out, causing Tracer to snap her attention from the bed to her panties. "That dark spot on the front aint from sweat, I'm guessing."

"I- ah..well...Well what about you?" Tracer threw back at her, figuring she had the ammunition to trap her. "You're naked, too. What were you up to before you got here?"

"Fucking two sexy birds," she said nonchalantly. "I told you," she repeated, doing the gesture with her fingers and tongue again.

Tracer looked away in quick disgust. "Ugh, right, right." Introductions out of the way, she figured it was best to focus on the strangeness at hand. "So where did you come from?"

"Nuh uh, you tell me where I arrived, first, love."

"Britain," she answered honestly.

"Well that's where I came from," Lena gave back.

Tracer began to pace about her room, stroking her chin and trying to figure out what had happened. Lena sat on the end of the bed, watching the curvy alternate version of herself walk about. Lena was proud of her own butt, but this bird has a top shelf derrière, she thought to herself, licking her dark lips. Second best I've ever seen, she ranked, remembering the one she had seen an hour prior to her arrival.

"Okay, so, before this happened, I was..." she stopped herself from openly admitting to what she had done, looking to the smirking Lena and then moving on. "...entertaining myself. Then a lightning bolt hit and I could hear the chronal accelerator generator roaring right fiercely."