Tracer vs. Widowmaker 10-11 (Patreon)

Widow is peeved beyond reason, but sees no option at the same time, with Tracer's sassy little words making some measure of sense; as much sense as her opponent in a salacious, taut bikini could.

The French woman snarls, stripping her tight suits off and motioning to Tracer to hand her the garments like they were ceremonial fight attire, a scowl ever present on her face.

"You will pay for this, you perverse idiot. I couldn't have imagined that I could possibly despise you even more." She hisses, venom in her voice and a look that could kill.

Tracer, as calm as ever, cocks her head to the side and smirks. "Oh, don't you worry, that's why we're in here where it's just between us ladies."

She studies her opponent's nude, well-toned form, perhaps a bit too long. "You can keep your fancy visor, to be fair, since my accelerator is still in the room. I can't stray toooo far from it...not that I'll be going anywhere."