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shadow_vector2011-05-03 06:05 am
niyazi-a.livejournal.com) wrote in shadow_vector2011-05-03 06:05 am
Mayfic! :In the Dark
NC-17
TFA Inamorato AU
Onslaught/Moonracer
sticky, pwp
A crackle, a thud, and then the lights went out. Onslaught looked up from the blanked datascreen, cocking his helm from side to side, wary. His own office? One brave assault.
Onslaught pushed to his feet. //Vortex. Report.//
//Power's out. Security locks engaged.// Good to know that at least that part of their security enhancements worked. Though, Onslaught would have preferred to test them in a...less real situation.
//My office they'll come after,// he said, pulling a pistol from his drawer. There might be an inquiry, but he could make sure it looked like a legal match for lethal force. If only his optics would adjust....
He moved, stumblingly, toward the door. If he pressed his palm against the metal, he could feel any attempts at drilling the track, but he was clumsy in the inky dark, shinguards banging into the spare chair—who the frag had thought that was a good place for it? He didn't remember it being there. Then again, who paid attention to furniture? Onslaught was still getting used to the idea of having furniture, having the same office for more than a few decacycles.
He muffled a curse in the darkness, bumping into a...something else.
And then, a cool press of a vibroblade against his throat. “Going somewhere, big boy?”
He stiffened, pistol targeting beside his audio, where he heard the voice, then softened. He knew that voice. Moonracer. Was she?
Then he felt the warm pressure of her body sliding against his backframe, between his cannons. “Locked in,” he said.
“So we are,” she purred. “What a shame.”
“Whatever you want,” he said, shifting his weight backwards, slowly, “You're not going to get it.”. He thought he knew what this was about—he hoped he knew—but just in case, he wanted to be in a position to take her down if it became necessary.
He really didn't want it to become necessary. There were...so many more enjoyable things to do with her.
“What if what I want is,” her head dipped, siding sensuously against his blocky audio, “you.”
Onslaught gave a throaty laugh, the knot of tension he hadn't realized he'd been building in his chassis evaporating, scattered by her touch. “Well then,” he said, lowering the pistol, staring into the blackness, “I might at least let you try.”
The throatly laugh vibrated against his shoulder, one hand coming to grasp one of his back cannons. He stifled a groan. “Try like this,” she purred.
This, he decided, was unfair. She could touch him—and was, one foot wrapping around his pelvic frame from the back, dainty toe plate sliding against his thigh—but he could not touch her. Bad enough not to see her. Bad enough to have to rely on touch and imagination, when all he wanted to do was drop this farce and take her openly.
But that wasn't part of the deal, of course. She insisted on this illusion, mystery. And if he had to play along, pretend ignorance of who she was, even when he caught her optics drifting over his frame as he worked next to Vortex—her alleged partner—then he would.
This, however, was too much. He grabbed for the arm on his cannon, hand closing over the sleek, curvy taper of her forearm, and spun, throwing her toward the desk. Blind, of course, the throw was off, but he heard a good clatter of limbs, the scattering sound of falling input rods, the ringing sound of the blade striking off the floor.. He lunged at the desk, muttering as his shin barked against a chair, hand scrabbling over the surface, finding, finally, a slim ankle. The foot kicked wildly, and above it he caught the faint green glow of night vision mods. Had she always had them?
He was...intrigued, hauling the leg back toward him, feeling the resistance as her frame slid over the desk, coming to a bumping rest against his hip. “Not going so well for you, mystery lady,” he observed.
“Is it?” He felt a squirm, metal on metal, her pelvic frame sliding over his standing hip, other leg wrapping around him. “Seems I've got you...just about where I want you.”
Oh, the velvet purr in her voice sent shimmers over his worn sensor net, tinglingly alive. “Just about.” Onslaught groped blindly for her, hand bumping at first clumsily, finding her chassis, turning his palm to slide over the complicated rounded contours.
“You're a little...covered for my liking.” Her other hand, fingers almost impossibly fine, tracing over the broad span of his pelvic frame, dipping down to feather her knuckles over his interface hatch. As if her words were somehow ambiguous.
He felt a fierce smile kindle behind his mask, bending over to nuzzle against her, letting his still-covered mouth trace a line from her shoulder, up the rise of her chassis, down to the dip of her waist. The obstacle of the mask just added to his desire, so...needless. He fought the desire to activate the release code, until he dropped to one knee, helm nuzzling between her pale thighs, one hand gripping over the curved metal, pinning her down.
He felt triumph and desire burn together within him, flicking open her panel, letting his other hand, fingers large and rough, circle the valve cover. Moonracer squirmed above him, thighs shivering.
He retracted his facemask—finally—letting his mouth, warmed from having been covered, trace its own circle over the metal rim, laughing against it, letting the vibrations pass through the contact. The cover retracted. “Baby,,,?”
Onslaught laughed again. “Wanted me? Want to make sure you can...handle it.” It felt...really good to laugh, almost as good as it would feel, he thought, when he finally let himself rise to his feet, sink his spike into her.
Not yet. Not...yet. He flicked his glossa around the brushed metal of the rim, tasting the sweetness of her lubricant, the rich taste of the rubberene lining.
Moonracer's pelvic frame bumped against him, thighs squeezing at his shoulders, two small hands like pale stars reaching for him, stroking his shoulder flanges. She gave a sighing moan that seemed to resonate through the air, vibrating down Onslaught's system. His hands tightened on her thighs, pressing more firmly against her, glossa prodding, probing the narrow pleats of the valve.
Her hands grew desperate, clutching at his shoulders, his helm, any where she could get purchase. “Please, baby,” she whimpered, thighs twitching around him, sliding over his audio, another sweet wash of fluid over his glossa that seemed, somehow, wired directly to his spike. Oh, he wanted.
He didn't know, hadn't figured, how she had such an effect on him. He was hardly inexperienced, hardly naïve, but she...reduced him to a newframe in some ways, throwing sense and caution and dignity to the Devastator Winds.
Moonracer's hands gripped at her thighs, dragging up the metal, until they clutched at his fingers, hips bucking and twitching against him.
Finally, he could take it no more—she was quivering on the edge of overload and he...wanted it. Wanted to feel the valve spasm around his spike, feel that warm, thin fluid slick against his spike, hear her warbling cry as he sank himself into her. His hand ripped at his own panel, his spike jutting immediately from the housing, hands cradling the curved lines of her aft, hauling her up and onto him.
He groaned, his spike pushing through the tight pleats of the valve, her thighs lifting to wrap his waist, grinding herself against him, seating the spike more fully into her own body, jabbing the spike against her ceiling node. He shuddered, the hot intensity of her desire staggering him. He dropped forward, slapping his palms on the desk, one hand cracking an input rod, as he didn't trust his knees to hold his whole weight.
Onslaught hung there for a long moment, spike rigid and enveloped inside her, feeling her trembling want, her desire for release...just on the verge. “Had enough of me yet?” he said, holding himself still.
Moonracer growled, the green night-vision optics flaring, lunging up for him, her fingers reaching for the gaps in his armor she could see—he could only sense the rush of movement, feel the bright touches of fingertips over his armor. “Never, baby.”
TFA Inamorato AU
Onslaught/Moonracer
sticky, pwp
A crackle, a thud, and then the lights went out. Onslaught looked up from the blanked datascreen, cocking his helm from side to side, wary. His own office? One brave assault.
Onslaught pushed to his feet. //Vortex. Report.//
//Power's out. Security locks engaged.// Good to know that at least that part of their security enhancements worked. Though, Onslaught would have preferred to test them in a...less real situation.
//My office they'll come after,// he said, pulling a pistol from his drawer. There might be an inquiry, but he could make sure it looked like a legal match for lethal force. If only his optics would adjust....
He moved, stumblingly, toward the door. If he pressed his palm against the metal, he could feel any attempts at drilling the track, but he was clumsy in the inky dark, shinguards banging into the spare chair—who the frag had thought that was a good place for it? He didn't remember it being there. Then again, who paid attention to furniture? Onslaught was still getting used to the idea of having furniture, having the same office for more than a few decacycles.
He muffled a curse in the darkness, bumping into a...something else.
And then, a cool press of a vibroblade against his throat. “Going somewhere, big boy?”
He stiffened, pistol targeting beside his audio, where he heard the voice, then softened. He knew that voice. Moonracer. Was she?
Then he felt the warm pressure of her body sliding against his backframe, between his cannons. “Locked in,” he said.
“So we are,” she purred. “What a shame.”
“Whatever you want,” he said, shifting his weight backwards, slowly, “You're not going to get it.”. He thought he knew what this was about—he hoped he knew—but just in case, he wanted to be in a position to take her down if it became necessary.
He really didn't want it to become necessary. There were...so many more enjoyable things to do with her.
“What if what I want is,” her head dipped, siding sensuously against his blocky audio, “you.”
Onslaught gave a throaty laugh, the knot of tension he hadn't realized he'd been building in his chassis evaporating, scattered by her touch. “Well then,” he said, lowering the pistol, staring into the blackness, “I might at least let you try.”
The throatly laugh vibrated against his shoulder, one hand coming to grasp one of his back cannons. He stifled a groan. “Try like this,” she purred.
This, he decided, was unfair. She could touch him—and was, one foot wrapping around his pelvic frame from the back, dainty toe plate sliding against his thigh—but he could not touch her. Bad enough not to see her. Bad enough to have to rely on touch and imagination, when all he wanted to do was drop this farce and take her openly.
But that wasn't part of the deal, of course. She insisted on this illusion, mystery. And if he had to play along, pretend ignorance of who she was, even when he caught her optics drifting over his frame as he worked next to Vortex—her alleged partner—then he would.
This, however, was too much. He grabbed for the arm on his cannon, hand closing over the sleek, curvy taper of her forearm, and spun, throwing her toward the desk. Blind, of course, the throw was off, but he heard a good clatter of limbs, the scattering sound of falling input rods, the ringing sound of the blade striking off the floor.. He lunged at the desk, muttering as his shin barked against a chair, hand scrabbling over the surface, finding, finally, a slim ankle. The foot kicked wildly, and above it he caught the faint green glow of night vision mods. Had she always had them?
He was...intrigued, hauling the leg back toward him, feeling the resistance as her frame slid over the desk, coming to a bumping rest against his hip. “Not going so well for you, mystery lady,” he observed.
“Is it?” He felt a squirm, metal on metal, her pelvic frame sliding over his standing hip, other leg wrapping around him. “Seems I've got you...just about where I want you.”
Oh, the velvet purr in her voice sent shimmers over his worn sensor net, tinglingly alive. “Just about.” Onslaught groped blindly for her, hand bumping at first clumsily, finding her chassis, turning his palm to slide over the complicated rounded contours.
“You're a little...covered for my liking.” Her other hand, fingers almost impossibly fine, tracing over the broad span of his pelvic frame, dipping down to feather her knuckles over his interface hatch. As if her words were somehow ambiguous.
He felt a fierce smile kindle behind his mask, bending over to nuzzle against her, letting his still-covered mouth trace a line from her shoulder, up the rise of her chassis, down to the dip of her waist. The obstacle of the mask just added to his desire, so...needless. He fought the desire to activate the release code, until he dropped to one knee, helm nuzzling between her pale thighs, one hand gripping over the curved metal, pinning her down.
He felt triumph and desire burn together within him, flicking open her panel, letting his other hand, fingers large and rough, circle the valve cover. Moonracer squirmed above him, thighs shivering.
He retracted his facemask—finally—letting his mouth, warmed from having been covered, trace its own circle over the metal rim, laughing against it, letting the vibrations pass through the contact. The cover retracted. “Baby,,,?”
Onslaught laughed again. “Wanted me? Want to make sure you can...handle it.” It felt...really good to laugh, almost as good as it would feel, he thought, when he finally let himself rise to his feet, sink his spike into her.
Not yet. Not...yet. He flicked his glossa around the brushed metal of the rim, tasting the sweetness of her lubricant, the rich taste of the rubberene lining.
Moonracer's pelvic frame bumped against him, thighs squeezing at his shoulders, two small hands like pale stars reaching for him, stroking his shoulder flanges. She gave a sighing moan that seemed to resonate through the air, vibrating down Onslaught's system. His hands tightened on her thighs, pressing more firmly against her, glossa prodding, probing the narrow pleats of the valve.
Her hands grew desperate, clutching at his shoulders, his helm, any where she could get purchase. “Please, baby,” she whimpered, thighs twitching around him, sliding over his audio, another sweet wash of fluid over his glossa that seemed, somehow, wired directly to his spike. Oh, he wanted.
He didn't know, hadn't figured, how she had such an effect on him. He was hardly inexperienced, hardly naïve, but she...reduced him to a newframe in some ways, throwing sense and caution and dignity to the Devastator Winds.
Moonracer's hands gripped at her thighs, dragging up the metal, until they clutched at his fingers, hips bucking and twitching against him.
Finally, he could take it no more—she was quivering on the edge of overload and he...wanted it. Wanted to feel the valve spasm around his spike, feel that warm, thin fluid slick against his spike, hear her warbling cry as he sank himself into her. His hand ripped at his own panel, his spike jutting immediately from the housing, hands cradling the curved lines of her aft, hauling her up and onto him.
He groaned, his spike pushing through the tight pleats of the valve, her thighs lifting to wrap his waist, grinding herself against him, seating the spike more fully into her own body, jabbing the spike against her ceiling node. He shuddered, the hot intensity of her desire staggering him. He dropped forward, slapping his palms on the desk, one hand cracking an input rod, as he didn't trust his knees to hold his whole weight.
Onslaught hung there for a long moment, spike rigid and enveloped inside her, feeling her trembling want, her desire for release...just on the verge. “Had enough of me yet?” he said, holding himself still.
Moonracer growled, the green night-vision optics flaring, lunging up for him, her fingers reaching for the gaps in his armor she could see—he could only sense the rush of movement, feel the bright touches of fingertips over his armor. “Never, baby.”
no subject
This was very hot and just leaves me wanting more. :)
no subject
no subject
And Onslaught is smitten, it kills me. These two are so awesomely perfect together! Thank you for posting this, antepathy!
no subject
no subject
"So what'd you do last Friday night?"
"Got bored and kinda horny, blew out the guard systems of a high-security megacorporation so I could go make a booty call... the usual really."
"Yeah, I know how that goes."
no subject
(And definitely the Eartha Kitt Catwoman. Mmrrrrrrowr.)
no subject