Sparklight

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

R
Bayverse
Barricade/Starscream
pwp, defloration,spark

“You do realize how fraggin’ stupid this is?” Barricade squirmed, two of his optics fixed on the long barbs of the hand that pressed him against the ground. The jet returned from nowhere, redolent of burnt fuel, energon and space, and pounced him, with an almost desperate need.

“Your vision,” Starscream said, calmly, “despite the four optics, always was a bit…limited.” He crouched lower, one foreknee striking the asphalt next to Barricade.

“Limited?”  Barricade spluttered. He clawed against the broad wrist pressing against him, talons casting sparks into the darkness. 

A grating metal sound as the jet ground his mouthplates, pleased.  “And feisty.” 

Barricade thrashed.  “Show you fraggin’ feisty.”

Another pleased chirr. “I hope you do.”  Starscream’s other hand slicked down the white upper-arm panel, the tips of his talons curling around the plate’s edges.  Despite himself, Barricade shivered, as the red optics raked their own path over his prone body.  “Now,” the jet purred, “show me your spark.”

“Really putting out the effort to be all seductive, aren’t you?” Barricade snapped.

The mouth calipers pinched, amused. “Is that what you want? Barricade. I did not have you pegged as a romantic.” 

“Not about fraggin’ romance,” Barricade snarled. “’bout respect.”

“Ah.” One optic shutter winked. “Well then.”  The massive weight shifted back, and the hand that had been pinning Barricade down released him, to stroke gently down the chassis, twinned thumbs flirting with his headlamps. “Think on this, Barricade: why would I mingle my spark with a mech I did not respect?”

Barricade shrugged, his shoulder tire squeaking against the pavement. “Could be your kink.”

A snort of laughter. “You know me too well.” 

Barricade squirmed, under the touch and the jet’s hot looks. “Yeah, well, so that means you have to kill me now or something?”

“Or something.”  The words rumbled through the jet’s chassis, his turbines catching the sound in a thick, pleasurable buzz.  He leaned closer, his EM field pushing like a tide against Barricade’s. “Show me,” he said, but his voice had taken on a husky edge.

“Why?”

“Because I want to see. Because I have asked.”  Starscream leaned down lower, until Barricade could have sworn he felt the heat from the optics on his fender. “And because you want to, as well.”

“Do not. Fraggin’ crazy jet. Why’d I want to spark with you, huh?”

A flicker of a grin. “Curiosity. If nothing else.”  The long talon traced his grille. 

“Already know more’n enough about you.”  A few millennia serving under the jet’s ‘command’? Yeah he knew all he needed about the supercilious, domineering jet. 

“And yet,” Starscream said, “You’re not saying ‘no’.”

Four optics narrowed in a glare.  “Shut up, jet.” 

A playful tap on his chassis. “Open up, grounder.” 

Barricade squirmed. “Maybe I don’t want you to know more about me.”

 Starscream tsked. “You have never kept any secrets from me. No matter how hard you have tried.” A soft chuckle. “And you have tried.” 

“Shut up.” He pushed at the hand, twisting as it skimmed his thigh.  “Not my fault you’re a fraggin’ sneak.”

“Sneak?”  The jet tweaked a cable. “Merely deploying all my assets.” A beat. “For the good of the Decepticon cause. Of course.” 

Right. Fraggin' asset. Barricade should have known better. “Deploy this asset, jet!” Barricade kicked, footspike gouging into the jet’s hip.  Starscream hissed, before one hand came down, pinning Barricade’s leg. 

“I prefer my approach,” he said, mildly. A sliding hiss of metal on metal: Barricade’s optics flew to the jet’s chassis, as the plates retracted, heavy armor sliding aside to reveal the spark chamber. 

He could feel the resonance, like a magnetic pull, on his own armor, tugging at him, his plating wanting to open in return.  He scrambled back, window wings scraping n the pavement, as the chamber itself spiraled open, gold light spilling between them.  The pulling began to feel a bit like fear.  “Someone’s gonna see,” he offered. “Or hear. Or…something.” 

Starscream paused, head tilting. “You have never done this before.”

“Shut it.” He pushed back, one taloned hand coming across his chassis. “Done it plenty.”

“No, you have not.” The red optics glowed.

“Have to!” 

The head tilted, mouth working, as though chewing on amusement. “Who was your first?” 

“…none of your business.” 

A laugh. “If you had, you’d brag, Barricade.” A coy tilt. “Unless you are ashamed of who they are.  Which makes me…curious. An Autobot?”

 “Would not!” Probably would. But that wasn’t the point. Slaggin’ jet knew him better than he should. “Just…don’t feel like it right now.”

“Really.”  The long bronze talons traced up his frame, tweaking the fender.  Barricade quivered, lower set of optics flicking to the sight. The armor quivered, of its own will, it seemed, yearning to part.  “I think you do, Barricade.”  He bent lower, so that the exhaust from his vents gusted over the armor, warm against heat, eddying in intricate, light caresses.  “But I will not force you.” He rocked back, and the sudden rush of cool air, the removal of the pressure, the gold light pulling away like the sun he barely remembered receding from Cybertron, pulled some involuntary whimper from Barricade’s vocalizer, his own claws clutching, suddenly, greedily, at the broad rib struts.

A soft chuckle from the jet. “Reconsidering?”

“Was just…toying with you. Or something.” 

“Or something,” Starscream said, leaning closer, gold light spilling forth again, as he trailed up the prone form, his beaklike mouthplates pinching at the fender for a klik, red optics locked with Barricade’s.  Barricade squirmed, and gave in, his chassis plating sliding away, the air stinging against his spark chamber. It almost burned, delicious and intense, especially as the golden pull of the jet’s spark washed over it. 

He sighed, as he sent the commands through the process queue, that spiraled open his own chamber, blue light mingling with the gold, laid bare beneath the jet’s large frame.  And he could feel the larger mass, from the inside, and what it felt to have wings, and carve the air.  Barricade’s talons tightened over the metal, squeaking against it, arching in as though any distance between the dancing light of their sparks was too much.

He could feel, as well, Starscream’s presence against him, in his systems, as though their systems were united. And he could parse the jet’s motives here: Barricade was cunning, sharp, a survivor despite his smaller size and lighter weapons. And Starscream wanted that, needed that, was seeking some reassurance from just those very qualities that had for so long held Barricade apart—the very things that made him a loner, Starscream wanted. 

He was wanted. And that knowledge was more powerful, more arousing, than even the commingling of their sparks. “Fraggin’ jet,” he murmured, even as his claws clutched the frame down against him.

“Yes,” Starscream said, the chuckle vibrating between them.

Comments

[gunmaxual.livejournal.com]

purrrrrrr

No higher motivation than survival? Interesting.

[ravynfyre.livejournal.com]

oooooo! Starscream, you conniving softie. I like this muchly!

[mieka-writes.livejournal.com]

ohh yummy.. so Star wants someone who he can count on to survive... rather telling that..

[arirashkae.livejournal.com]

Rowf! Also, these two are so damned funny/cute the way you write them arguing. Snarky-cute, not sappy-cute. They're such adorable bastards, even when they're hot.