Sky and Ground: Layers

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

NC-17
Bayverse, Sky and Ground AU
Starscream/Onslaught
sticky
Plot we've probably lost track of.

 

Starscream’s backframe slammed against the wall, his wings snapping flat in little bursts of pain.  Onslaught stepped closer, his hands hard on the bronze ribstruts. Starscream’s long talons clutched at his shouders, his head tilting back, into the experience. 

Onslaught laughed, softly, jerking the jet forward, the arms around him, feeling Starscream’s face bury itself in his throat, beaklike mouth and glossa tremulously licking, nipping, exploring.  His own hands, flat and blunt, reached around the back, pulling on the folded wings, enough to hear the jet’s ventilation hitch.  Onslaught had forgotten how much he wanted this: not just a willing partner, but a jet.  Just something about the wings, the huge engines that scoffed at gravity, the sleek, heavy armor in aerodynamic lines—almost the opposite of his armor—blocky and dense. 

//He thinks we’re disgusting,// Onslaught sent over private freq.  No need to specify who ‘he’ was.  Soundwave had clicked his mandibles in audible distaste when Onslaught had said, simply, that he had a way to get Starscream away from the others.  He’d promised nothing more because Onslaught wasn’t a liar.  He was bending his principles hard enough for this, and for…Skywarp. 

Well, one of us is an idiot, he thought, but right now, a quivering jet draping on him, mouth hungry and shy, he found it easy to push that thought from his mind.

//I do not care what Soundwave thinks,// Starscream retorted.  //Especially right now.// He slid down Onslaught’s chassis, cockpit gliding over the winch, his mouth trailing down a blaze of nips and glossal flicks.

Onslaught snorted.  //He’s still monitoring, though.//

//Of course.// Starscream nuzzled his face into the winch’s mounting.  //But I have taken the precaution of wearing jamming nodes recently, wherever I go.//

 It didn’t block passive surveillance, like audio and video feeds, but it did make his private comm unhackable.  Behind his mask, Onslaught smiled.  Another thing he appreciated about jets—if not entirely admired—was their ruthless cleverness. //So we give him a show.//

//Yes,// Starscream purred. //And then you may audibly try to suborn me.//

//Try?// Onslaught retorted. 

Starscream didn’t answer over the comm, but slid lower, his mouth teasing along the panel lines of Onslaught’s interface hatch, asking for admittance.  Onslaught looked down the bulk of his chassis at Starscream’s pleasure-lidded optics, the glossa brushing gently over his plating, the engines rising like twin masses behind his back. 

Starscream pinched at the panel with his mouthplates, levering it open, burying his face against the equipment covers, hands curling around Onslaught’s sturdy thighs. 

Onslaught gave a pleased grunt, as his spike’s cover clicked back and Starscream’s optics shuttered, letting the spike extend beside his face, along the chevrons of his cheek.  The jet shivered, and Onslaught could see the turbines in the engines cycle on. His hands curled over the flaps of the wings over Starscream’s shoulders, thumbs between the metal layers, squeezing on the hinges.  Starscream shuddered, tilting his face, running his glossa along the underside of Onslaught’s spike.  One of the jet’s hands crept from around Onslaught’s leg, down between his own thighs.  Onslaught heard the muted click of an interface hatch. 

He waited, letting Starscream continue to toy with his spike, glossa exploring its contours greedily, while he studied the furtive twitch of the shoulder gyros. 

Onslaught pushed back, withdrawing his spike gently, swiftly, revealing the jet with his hand wrapped around his own spike.  He growled, and grabbed Starscream’s other arm, hauling him to the berth with his greater strength.  Jets might fly, but he had…some abilities.  Starscream laid down, obediently, one hand curling over his erect spike, as if embarrassed of his own arousal.

“Go on,” Onslaught said, gruffly, throwing the other hand down over the jet’s open panel. He knelt on the berth, feeling the jet’s optics like hungry heat on his spike.  “Pleasure yourself. I want to watch.” 

Starscream shivered, hesitating, hands curling uncertainly.

Onslaught leaned forward, planting a hand over Starscream’s shoulder.  “I want to watch,” he growled, squeezing at a wing panel.  Starscream yelped, softly, his hands curling over his equipment, one squeezing at his spike, two talons of his other hand circling the rim of his valve.  With a shiver, Starscream scraped some of the lubricant oozing from his spike, spreading it on his other talons before easing them into his valve.

Onslaught sat back. “Better,” he said, letting his gaze range over the jet’s long body, the lines of the tapering frame, the complicated bends of the legs, the lean, stripped-down arms, the amber swell of the cockpit. And the barbed hands, twitching and sliding over his own equipment.  Starscream had lidded his optics, sinking into the sensations of his hands, and the quivering responses from his body.

“No,” Onslaught said. “Look at me.”  He wanted those optics on him, burning with lust, wanting him, not daring to touch him.  And he knew from experience that the jet wanted it, too. Skywarp wanted to fight, wanted desire wrestled from him, forced on him,  wanted to end up bruised and banged.  Starscream wanted to be used, brought down with something other than force, fighting his own pride to submit. 

A pitiful cry from the jet’s vocalizer, but the optics flickered open, focusing on Onslaught’s face.  

“Better,” Onslaught said, feeling the rush of desire in his own spike at the open submission in the red optics, following the lines of the long arms down to the hands, frantic and shy, working at his equipment, his body quivering and jerking. 

Onslaught growled, his hands grabbing the hips, flipping the jet over, sinking his spike into the aroused valve that cinched and quivered around him.  Onslaught’s hands clamped over the swells of the turbines on the jet’s back,  his need rising up, matching the jet’s need, his hips thrusting into the valve, thighs sliding against the tattooed bronze armor. He could smell the fuel-cell smell from the engines, the fine oil, traces of old flight grease. He could hear the jet’s soft whimpers, his face buried in the berth, yielding, giving in, wanting nothing more to receive whatever Onslaught would give him. 

“Admit you want this,” he muttered, hands raking on the engine mounts, causing the jet to arch up, not away from the pain but into it, kindling his own pleasure, his own desire.

“Yes, oh yes!”  Starscream cried, his hands lax and loose on the berth, helpless. 

The valve felt…like he always remembered and tried not to remember too often—sleek and elastic, responsive, warm.  Skywarp’s valve had been similar, but more forceful, demanding, while this one simply helplessly wanted.

Onslaught hissed under his mask, slipping control, an overload tearing from him like a wildfire. He heard the jet cry out beneath him, the valve clutching, spasming against him, body writhing under him. He grabbed at the engines, almost for balance on the thrashing, bucking frame, holding on until Starscream subsided into a shivering pile. 

He lay his head down, nestling it between the engines. //Good?//

He rode a long sigh. //Yes. Thank you.  I could not manage anything…more harsh right now.//

Onslaught loosened his grip from one engine, stroking down it. //Figured.  So.  Now’s our chance.//

He could hear Starscream’s groan of protest, wanting to linger in the hazy bliss. Onslaught could relate. //Thundercracker and Barricade have gone off.  We have a reasonable prediction of where Skywarp is being held.//

//Are they going to be enough?//

Tension sang through the jet’s shoulders. //They have to be.//

True. //And your use for me?//

//Skywarp is rash, but not stupid.  I suspect this mission was compromised.// Even on secure, private comm, he didn’t dare specify whom he thought was responsible. Again, he didn’t need to.

//Want me to check up on it.//

Starscream nodded, gently. //If we have evidence of a leak….//

Yes.  Onslaught became aware that they had been lying still suspiciously long.  He stroked his hands over the engines, and began rocking his hips gently against the jet’s, in slow, languorous strokes.  Starscream stretched a catlike arm in front of him, shifting into the motion. //Dangerous game.//

//It is at this level, always.// Starscream riffled his wings.  Onslaught lifted his head to admire the mechanisms as the plates unfolded and resettled.  //But you?//

//I’m supposed to convince you that they don’t need you.  That Thundercracker is up to something and that you…,// he hesitated, realizing how vile and hurtful this was //are not fully bonded—yes, he knows and I don’t know how—because of…you.//

He heard a sound like a hiccup, the outstretched hand clawing into the berth, optics grinding closed. Onslaught squeezed the engine in tacit sympathy.

//That’s…it’s not.// The voice was small, pitiful.

//Yes. I know.//

//They love me.//

//They do.// Onslaught frowned under his mask.  He was no good at this comfort thing.  Only good at hurting. 

A shuddering sigh.  //All right.  I am ready.// Onslaught could hear the bitterness in the voice. //It is cowardly to fight that when…Skywarp is prisoner.//

Onslaught had no words to comfort him from that.  He could hear the jet’s struggle with his own weakness, could sense in the bitterness how much Starscream hated his emotional fragility.  He had no way to acknowledge that, honor that. Other than, “Don’t.”  The sound of his voice on audible frequencies startled them both.

Starscream pushed up on one arm, half-rolling over. “Then make me,” he challenged, wanly.  //I trust you.//

Onslaught stopped, stunned by the admission, the depths of the jet’s surrender. They had…used each other before.  Mutual, matching needs.  Power and submission, control and yielding.  They had needed each other, and danced around the boundaries of anything like intimacy.  Because…he’d let himself go there with Skywarp and it had gone too far.  And this was a dark, shimmering reminder of that time.

He set his shoulders.  “You know,” he drawled, “What Thundercracker would think if he saw you like this?”  He saw Starscream set his mouth, one fist ball in a spiny mass of determination. Time to begin.  Time to let Soundwave think he’d won. 

 

Comments

[ravynfyre.livejournal.com]

The levels of intrigue here boggle me.... how you keep it all straight... boggles me even more. Wow!

[silaphet.livejournal.com]

a roller coaster of emotions, your porn/plot are so subtly layered they need to be read repeatedly to experience all the different twists & turns

[anavidbookworm.livejournal.com]

I was wondering how Starscream was handling the whole bond-break scam. It doesn't seem like something he would be able to handle well but distractions and plotting sure do help. I'm glad you've updated this verse; it's still one of my favorites. :)

[eerian_sadow]

oh the layers! i love all the layers of intrigue in this story! so much plotting and planning and behind the scenes stuff that we're actually seeing, and then all the emotional entanglements on top of it! it's wonderful!

i was really excited to see a Starscream update for this, too. i'd been wondering what, exactly, he would be up to. ^_^ he and Onslaught were beautiful here.

[ithilgwath.livejournal.com]

Hooooo damn. the sex was really yummy but the intrigue and planning and emotions that went into this chapter really really did it for me. Mmph! I'm beginning to love Onslaught.

[scarredbutalive.livejournal.com]

*poke-poke* Iz Ztory ded? *Iz zad kitty*