Opium could almost taste the wet ground on the tip of his tongue, sliding down the back of his throat warm and sticky, as he inhaled the scent of Tracer's skin, head canting gently to the side. His fingers curled softly in the god's hair, eased his head back, and rough lips passed down the newly-exposed throat - coarse stubble and beard scratching lightly as he moved. He had a flash of those cool halls in China, hidden passageways and dark corners where he would slip off with the Emperor's guards and a stray concubine now and again. Dark, lamp-lit opium dens and brothels in England. A smile tugged the corners of his lips, the connection between them burning in his veins, forcing his fingertips to seek out skin.