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“Take your pants off.”
Leaning against the door jamb, McCree folds his arms and keeps his pants on. “What happened to buying me a drink first?”
He sees Sombra roll her eyes but she doesn’t move from where she’s crouched on a desk, delving into the flashing innards of some kind of computer. “There’s whisky in one of the drawers. Watch for the flash grenades.”
[largely vanilla; casual sex]