Work Text:
“YES! YES! YYEEEESSS!!!”
Connor spun around in his swivel chair, pumping both arms up and down, controller held proudly in his right hand.
“WWWOOOOOOOOHHOOOOOOOO!!!!”
He bounded out of the chair, black hoodie flying off his head as he gyrated to the heavy rock blasting out of his speakers.
“FUCKING TAKE THAT, MARKUS!!!!!” he roared into the camera as his forty thousand Twitch viewers did their level best to destroy his chat with emotes.
The match concluded, and the play of the game swallowed up the screen. Connor’s Bastion struck a cheeky pose before annihilating the enemy defenders with a well-timed ult.
On their private text server, Markus sent him a middle finger emote.
Connor smirked. ::Rematch?::
::You’re on .::
Markus sat on an old, grungy couch, glaring at the screen in concentration, ignoring the dismayed murmurs from the androids watching over his shoulder. Most of the randos on his team were absolutely useless. Connor’s Bastion ate them for lunch as they staggered individually into the control point.
Keying his mic, he shouted, “Form up on me!” as the Torb troll on his team proceeded to stop out in the open to set up his turret. Both turret and Torb died instantly to Connor’s minigun. Good riddance.
Ignoring him, his team’s Pharah vaulted in, lobbing missiles at the Reinhardt shield in a futile attempt to damage the defense. Withering fire forced her down and to one side. Two defenders left to chase her, and a hole opened up on the opposite side. Markus didn’t hesitate. Praying that he wouldn’t be seen, he floated his Zen around the far left side to come up behind the defenders. Hardly daring to breathe, he eased in behind the Rein, lining up and charging a burst.
Their tank had to go.
He released the burst and followed up with a flurry of single shots, allowing himself a small smile as the Rein fell to the ground. More of his team streamed in to contest the point. Markus heard the distinctive whistle of Bastion’s ult and hit his own out of reflex, rushing toward his own team to protect them.
As Connor’s own teammates began to fall, he used his own cannon shot to vault himself up and over Zarya’s head. Markus’s ult ran out just at the apex of Connor’s flight, and without thinking, he snapped headshot after headshot into Bastion. Connor’s own ult ran out before he hit the ground, just as a charged burst nailed his robot in midair.
Connor’s Bastion collapsed. Markus’s own army of viewers erupted into a barrage of emotes and cheers. And somehow, Markus’s team managed to take and keep the point for the rest of the match. Every time Connor tried to maneuver into a favorable position, Markus’s Zenyatta drove him away with perfectly aimed shots.
Markus chanced a glance at his laptop screen, which was playing Connor’s stream. He watched with a smirk as the younger android flung his controller down in a fit of rage at the loss.
::Now we’re even.::
::FUCK YOU MARKUS MLKNGHVCXGCFD::
::You’re really adorable when you’re angry.::
A pause. ::...You think so?::
Markus smirked and changed the subject. ::Wanna team up? North is itching to out-murder you.::
::Oh, fuck yeah. Lemme get Hank in here.::
Markus’s grin turned evil.