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shadow_vector2010-03-22 06:21 am
TFA: Impulse Control
Verse: TFA
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Onslaught x Barricade
Warning: dubcon, sticky
Onslaught, Barricade had to admit, had that ‘inscrutable’ thing down. Of course, probably having a mask and a visor helped more than a little. And were probably cheating also but right now Barricade really wasn’t in a position to call him out on it.
The position he was in was one he hated more than anything: admitting to failure. He’d been trying for decasolars now to track down Thundercracker again, get a fresh lead, figure who from the Motherboard would have sold him out like that. Well, that last was more a matter of eliminating who wouldn’t sell him out and then backtracking possible motives. Which, with that crew, was tedious and seemingly endless work. And thus far, entirely fruitless.
He rocked on his feet in his stiffest version of parade rest in front of Onslaught’s desk, grinding inwardly at himself as Onslaught studied his report. He could swear at times that the optics behind the visor flicked up to him, but that might just have been his imagination.
The large mech sat back, studying Barricade boldly, wordlessly. Barricade froze his face. Onslaught would not push him into talking. Let the aft-denting happen, but Barricade wasn’t going to be the one to hand him the hammer.
“You’re displeased with these results,” Onslaught said. Waited.
“Yes.” One of those rare cases: saying he was pleased with his findings thus far was more disgusting than admitting the truth to Onslaught.
A long moment of silence.
“You’re not giving me excuses.”
“There aren’t any.” Barricade’s tank seemed to twist.
Onslaught studied Barricade as he stood, fighting his own discomfort. He could feel it like a palpable thing, Barricade’s frustration and disappointment. One of Barricade’s few dangerous weaknesses: his inability to tolerate failure. It made him dogged in pursuit, ruthless; but if left too long without results it made Barricade dangerously violent. It could, Onslaught knew, ruin the smaller mech. And just when it seemed he had something worth preserving.
He could think of one solution at any rate. It would reset Barricade and…help Onslaught. He had been losing too much recharge himself, fantasizing about Moonracer. He needed to get that out of his own system.
“You,” he said, carefully, deliberately, “are losing your edge.” He watched the comment strike home: Barricade quivered, his talons bunching into prickly fists before he forced them flat. Closer to the edge than Onslaught had estimated. Harder, he thought, push harder. If Vortex were here, he’d snap Barricade in half a klik. Onslaught was slightly less skilled, but not incompetent. Push harder. “Time was, Barricade, I could count on you for results.”
Barricade flinched, muttering under his breath. Closer to the edge, just a bit more, Onslaught thought.
“I’m sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.” Cliché, but a classic goad. Push him, break him, now, here, where you can keep it private, where you can keep it contained. Control the damage.
“I said,” Barricade muttered, raising his optics to Onslaught’s, “Slag yourself.”
Onslaught snorted. “I imagine you’d rather do that yourself.”
“Know better than to strike a superior office.”
“What if I suspended that for the duration?”
“Of my employment?”
Onslaught chuckled. “Say…the next megacycle or so.”
“Think you’ll fool me with hypotheticals?”
Onslaught reached up, and jerked the command node from his chassis. He laid it on the desk in front of him, deliberately. “Not hypothetical.”
Barricade was trembling from the conflicting emotions—Onslaught could practically read them, debating how likely a set-up this was, straining for the angle he was missing, and wrestling fiercely with his rage at all of Onslaught’s cheap goads, repeated slights.
“Let’s settle this once and for all, Barricade,” Onslaught said, his voice gentle.
“No.” Barricade stepped back, toward the door, curling his fists so that it didn’t look so much like a retreat. “Ends with me in the brig. Not falling for it.”
“Give my word, as I gave it for you.” That was the phrase that broke him. Barricade launched himself across the room, vaulting onto the desk, one hand curled into lethal talons, aiming at Onslaught’s face. Onslaught flinched back, the talons ringing against his battle mask, one catching him under his armor.
“Feel better?” Onslaught asked. He felt a trickle of heat from a damaged energon line.
“No,” Barricade snarled, his optics feral.
“Maybe try again.”
Barricade grunted, coming up from the left side with a balled fist. Onslaught caught it with one hand, driving Barricade backwards till the courier fell flat on his back against the desk, fist pinned by Onslaught’s larger hand.
Onslaught found himself getting strangely aroused. He tried to tell himself it was because this is how it had all started with Vortex. Barricade was…useful. And Onslaught had more respect for the little interceptor than he wanted to admit. Partly from reading Barricade’s records. His cortex flew back to the time he’d kissed him: a rare impulse. Onslaught didn’t really do impulses…but he’d done this one, and he could taste, still, the smaller mech’s startled response.
He ducked in, his battle mask snapping open, his mouth fierce and eager on Barricade’s.
Barricade made a panicked noise in his vocalizer, his free hand clawing at Onslaught’s shoulder. Onslaught pulled away, his chassis resting on Barricade’s. He smiled. It was hard to tell it apart from a smirk—the scar that disfigured his facial plating pulled one corner of his mouth up unevenly. Barricade’s optics were spiraled tight, fear and aggression warring within him.
“Don’t…do that,” Barricade said. He jerked at his trapped fist, the tire squeaking against the table. Onslaught pushed one of Barricade’s legs aside with a twist of his hip, bumping his pelvic plate against Barricade’s.
“Why not, Barricade? Tempted?”
“No!” Barricade shoved one foot against Onslaught’s chassis, trying to push him off bodily. His foot scraped Onslaught’s hip, causing him to hiss with half-pain.
“No, what, Barricade?” He caught Barricade’s clawing attack, pinning that down to the desk as well. He could feel Barricade’s exvents, hot gusts of panicked air against his chassis and the wild light in the four optics scorched at him.
Barricade struggled with himself. At a loss for words, Onslaught noted. He lowered his mouth to Barricade’s, the smaller mech responding fiercely, biting at the metal plates, halfway between an attack and a kiss. Onslaught felt a growl build in his own vocalizer, and a real desire rise in him. He squeezed the wrists, feeling the tires bulge around his fingers.
Barricade managed to get both feet between he and Onslaught, and shoved the larger mech bodily away. He tore his wrists from Onslaught’s grasp and came up, swinging at the commander, optics laserpoints of fury.
Onslaught took the blow and snapped his hand against the striking arm’s elbow before Barricade could follow through. Barricade was good at hand-to-hand—one had to be with his size and former occupation—but Onslaught was better. And Barricade’s cortex was not in ‘mission’ mode. Forgivable. And more proof that Barricade needed this.
Onslaught used the arm bar to swing Barricade back down, face first, across the desk. His datapad flew from the surface, clattering on the floor. He shoved against Barricade’s aft, leaning over, the controlled arm between them. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured. Barricade squirmed, trying to rake down Onslaught’s thigh with his foot. Barricade snarled into the desk, his free arm flailing, the back kibble slapping against Onslaught’s chest.
“More than that,” Onslaught said, leaning to put more strain on the shoulder joint, grinning as Barricade gasped, shuddering in a way that was not a pain reaction. “You need this, don’t you? Don’t get this from your innocent little copter friend, do you?”
That was the right/wrong thing to say—Barricade screeched in outrage, his entire body bucking under Onslaught’s bulk. Onslaught heard the door whoosh open: Vortex stood there, at the ready, alarmed by the noise, rotors flared.
“Oh,” Vortex said, straightening up. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you were doing some counseling.”
“No need to apologize,” Onslaught said. He shifted his grip, to slide one hand down Barricade’s side. In full view of Vortex. Barricade seethed with humiliation.
“Need anything?” Vortex hesitated, his optics transfixed. Doubtless, Onslaught thought, remembering their own times together. That had also been too long. Since Moonracer.
“No,” Onslaught said, breezily. “I’ve got this one under control.” He laughed as Barricade began thrashing, his ego bruised by the comment. Oh, he hated to admit to himself—probably as much as Barricade hated to admit it—that this felt good.
“Fraggin’ HATE you!” Barricade snapped. Onslaught felt the mech activate his blade weapon and try, vainly, to strike over his shoulder at Onslaught. Onslaught laughed, ducking out of the way. Vortex lingered in the doorway, practically salivating. Onslaught frowned. He had his own interface partner, Vortex did. In fact, it was Moonracer. Onslaught would gladly have traded.
But then he wouldn’t feel like he could do…this.
Barricade jerked his head back, suddenly, driving his helm into Onslaught’s chin and somehow managing to swing one of his legs under and in front of him in a lithe gymnastic move that only a mech with his reflexes and frame could have managed. He twisted himself out of Onslaught’s grasp, landing in a fighting crouch, talons like daggers.
Onslaught rubbed his chin with the back of his hand, wiping away a few seeping drops of energon from punctures from Barricade’s facial crest. So…he got a few new scars. Rather hard, he thought, to get much uglier than he already was. He beckoned with his pink-smeared hand at Barricade, ‘bring it on’.
Barricade dove at Onslaught, coming in low but darting up at the last instant, over Onslaught’s low guard, raking his talons along the winchframe, while the other hand hunted for a weak join in the underarm. Onslaught hissed in pain and arousal, spinning into Barricade’s attack and throwing both their body masses toward the floor, landing all of his weight on top of Barricade.
“You know how I know you really want this?” he murmured, his energon-seeping mouth close to Barricade’s audio. “If you didn’t, I’d be dead, wouldn’t I, Barricade?” He felt Barricade’s talons scrabble at his armor. He pushed his own throat closer to Barricade’s mouth, feeling the smaller mech sink his teeth in. But, just like he said, hard enough to hurt—not hard enough to kill. And Barricade had that difference exquisitely calibrated. “Just give in,” he whispered, lifting his head to bite down on one of Barricade’s upper tires.
“No…yes,” Barricade whimpered. Victim of nothing but his own desire. His talons locked into Onslaught’s armor, his mouth seeking Onslaught’s in a desperate, tearing kiss, denta and glossas warring against each other, his body surging under and against Onslaught’s, glossa flicking hungrily at the energon from Onslaught’s injured face.
Onslaught lifted his hips, fingers rough on Barricade’s interface panel. He felt Barricade push into it, not wanting Onslaught to be gentle. Wanting, Onslaught thought, this to be as different from interfacing with the copter as possible. So it wouldn’t feel so much like a betrayal.
Onslaught would comply. He tore at the hatch, releasing his own in a smooth gesture and driving his spike into Barricade’s valve. Barricade growled at the intrusion, his claws jabbing under Onslaught’s armor, sending white prickles of pain, like scintillant thorns, into Onslaught’s sensor net. The larger mech growled with unfeigned pleasure. “More,” he murmured. Barricade snarled, biting into his energon line. Onslaught felt the hot puncture as the smaller mech’s denta broke the mesh, the tugging on the line as Barricade shook it in his mouth. Frag, but the interceptor was a deadly little thing, wasn’t he?
He felt Barricade’s spike release, pinned between their bodies, a slick hard heat, almost stabbing Onslaught’s winch. Even his valve seemed hostile—grabbing at him as if trying to crush his spike. He rocked his pelvis against Barricade’s, his spike’s end striking the topmost node. Barricade groaned around the energon line he still bit, his hands clawing around Onslaught’s broad back, clutching at him, dragging him down harder against him as if trying to smother himself. Onslaught jerked one of Barricade’s legs to the side, fingers hooked under the knee joint, pulling it up around his pelvic frame. He could feel the tension through the thigh servos, a singing sort of vibration—push fighting against pull, surrender against resistance.
Onslaught began driving into the interceptor, feeling the valve seize around him as if trying to shut him out, but always yielding at the next thrust, the hips arcing up to meet him, the talons tearing at his armor in long scratches. Barricade’s optics shuttered closed, though Onslaught could not tell if that was to shut Onslaught out or himself inside within his sensations. The only sound between them was their evenly paced heavy ventilation.
Barricade started moaning, helplessly, his head dropping back against the floor, his one leg hooking around the back of Onslaught’s thigh, goading him, pulling him on. Onslaught could feel the overload build in the quivering valve, in the slickness of the spike sliding against his winch with every thrust. Oh, the poor little thing needed this. And Onslaught needed this—fierce, selfish release, no complication, no consideration. Just taking. Using. Mutually. Barricade wanted this, needed this, as much as he did. Onslaught wondered how hard it was for Barricade to hold back, to force himself to be gentle, considerate, with Blackout. To not give him…this.
Barricade reared back, with force enough to push Onslaught’s weight up, a cry tearing from his throat, his denta ragged against Onslaught’s cables, as both of his interface systems plunged into overload. Onslaught shoved in once more, his spike brutal against the top node. Barricade jerked, bodily, as the last thrust sent Onslaught’s own overload into him, against him, a force of heat and pressure and lust made palpable.
Onslaught felt his body stiffen, then soften as the overload ended. Oh Primus, he had needed that. As much as Barricade, still trembling beneath him, did. Pure, raw, animal release. He ducked down, not so much kissing Barricade (that would feel, in the circumstances, slightly wrong), but licking the spatters of his energon from Barricade’s protesting lips. Barricade moaned, as if only half here and half…somewhere else. Onslaught shifted back onto his knees, feeling the slickness against him where Barricade’s spike overload had left a silver mess. Good thing he had no meetings until later. Barricade lay there, shivering, optics squeezed shut.
Onslaught chuckled, softly. “You needed that worse than I thought. Want another round?” His equipment signalled its readiness to go along with that.
“Didn’t want that round,” Barricade muttered, his optics flickering open. He opened and closed his hands—the servos had stiffened. “Hate you so much right now.” He rolled to one side, looking down in dismay at the silvery mess on his chassis, his thighs.
Onslaught smiled. “Any particular reason or just the usual?”
Barricade dropped his head between his hands. “Frag. Blackout….”
“He’ll forgive you.” Onslaught leaned back, opening a bottom drawer. He tossed a cleansing cloth at Barricade, opening a bottle of hose-sealant, dabbing it into the damaged energon line in his throat, head tilted to one side.
“Tired of needing forgiveness.” Barricade snatched the cloth, swiping angrily at his stained frame.
“You needed it, Barricade. You know you can’t do that with him. Would you rather have let it build up and gone off on him?”
“No. Copter doesn’t deserve that. Doesn’t deserve…me.”
Onslaught frowned. Barricade was teetering the other direction—into self pity. “I do?” Onslaught quirked a smile, wincing as it tore open his energon-scabbed mouth.
“Yeah, slaggin’ bastard,” Barricade muttered. He looked at the stained rag in his talons, his expression lost. Onslaught knew that Barricade knew he was right. And that it was better to let that out here, with him, than drop it on the copter. Blackout probably didn’t know of Barricade’s classified missions. Probably never connected Barricade and the notorious Shadowblade. Onslaught did. And while Shadowblade had his uses, the war was over, and Barricade, just like the rest of them, deserved to be able to lay his weapons down.
“You can come to me, or Vortex, whenever you need to.”
Barricade shot him a look of cold murder as he got to his feet, slapping the filthy rag at Onslaught’s chassis. “Coldest day the fraggin’ Pit’s ever seen,” he snarled. He grabbed the command node, moving faster than he’d moved in a long time, and slammed it home on Onslaught’s chassis.
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Barricade is ferocious and scary when he wants to be, even if Onslaught was giving him what he wanted.
Love this!!
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(BBL, need to put my head back together after it exploded from the pure awesomeness.)
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*drools*
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Oh? I think you kinda did, Barricade. X3
To start, WHOA I'm blown away by the hot!!! It's so aggressive and violent and... rawr. So detailed, so easily visualized! I might be needing to open a window and let some cold air inside!
One of the things I absolutely love about this fic is all the little details that make it "real" and tie it in with Inamorato. Like how Onslaught keeps thinking about Moonracer, and Barricade's attitude and reaction toward his job and failures in the Thundercracker department. It's an actual scene, not just a lifeless porno set. :D
Also is Onslaught's mindset. How he's thinking of the encounter almost philanthropically: "Onslaught could feel the overload build in the quivering valve, in the slickness of the spike sliding against his winch with every thrust. Oh, the poor little thing needed this." It's such a remove from any romance, and combine that with Barricade's realization of what he's done and imagining telling Blackout... it gives me shivers of the most complicated sort!
AND much luuurrrrve for the end. Barricade's outright and utter rejection, how he takes it above and beyond aggression and becomes again a bit more of the warrior he had been. It's delicious!
So, yeah, this makes me purrrrr quite a bit. I've read it twice already, and you can rest assured I'll be reading it again! XD