Sky and Ground 11: Overcharged
Apr. 3rd, 2010 06:03 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Skywarp, Barricade, Starscream
Barricade clutched the pouch of his ration of energon as he entered the main room of the refectory, pausing to look for an unobtrusive spot to sit, autoinject, and go as unnoticed as possible.
“Little spike!” A voice cut through the crowd, followed almost immediately by Starscream’s, “Hush!” The bronze jet continued, “Barricade, join us.” Not so much a request as a demand, at least in the audio of anyone else listening. Barricade knew better than to protest, and carried his ration to the Seeker’s table.
They were laughing, studying something on a datapad, as he came over. He sat down across from them, a little nervously. The last time he and Starscream had been together in the refectory, it had been…weird. Memorable, and good, but…weird.
“How very odd!” Starscream said, looking up at him. “Look, Skywarp, his ration is in a little pouch.”
Skywarp squinted, dubiously. “That’s energon? It’s not even the right color.”
Barricade’s talons tightened around the mauvy liquid in his ration. Their rations weren’t in pouches—they were in cubical containers, and the liquid itself was shimmery pink and clear. “I-it’s my ration,” he said, meekly.
Starscream snatched it out of his hand, prodding at it delicately with one talon. “It looks like sludge.”
“Groundframe,” Barricade said, numbly, as Starscream experimentally put the pouch’s tube in his mouth.
“Different grade.”
“Blah!” The jet made a disgusted face. “This is truly repugnant. Skywarp,” he said, handing the pouch over. “Taste this.”
Helplessly, Barricade looked on in dismay as the black jet sampled his ration. He…he kind of needed that.
“That IS vile,” Skywarp said after a sample. “Little spike, how the Pit do you drink this slop?”
“Don’t drink it,” he said, reaching lamely for his half-depleted pouch, “Autoinject.”
Skywarp swatted his hand aside, and pushed his cube at the smaller mech. “Try this.” Hesitantly, Barricade took a sip from the cube. The pink liquid’s shimmer seemed to dance across his glossa, down his throat, and across his systems. It was like drinking happiness. Oh. This was good. It was…effervescent and warm and alive feeling. He blinked in surprise.
Starscream tapped the sludgy ration pouch. “Skywarp,” he mused, suggestively, “I suspect that Barricade has never had high grade.”
The Seekers’ optics got that gleam that meant only bad things for Barricade, and if the pink energon hadn’t been bubbling through his sensor net, he probably would have at least managed a protest.
Speaking of good memories—walking up the hall, Onslaught, engaged in deep conversation with Vortex.
Barricade tore himself away from Starscream’s grasp. “Heeeeeeeeey, Onslaught,” he said, staggering over, his four optics struggling to focus, reaching a hand out to pet the larger mech’s shoulder. “Soooo hot. Think of you every time I washra---ooof!” The Combaticon swung him by his outstretched arm against the bulkhead, twisting the arm up behind his back.
“Reprise, anytime,” Onslaught’s voice cool in his audio, Barricade’s cheek pressed flat against the wall. “Same rules as last time.” A little louder, he added, “Got that?”
“Y-yes?”
Another twist of his arm that sent pain signals through the fuzz of his overcharged sensornet. He yelped.
“Don’t make me have to get rough with you.” Louder still. Then quietly, so quiet it might have been his imagination, Onslaught’s voice against his throat. “I enjoyed it, too.” Barricade quivered.
Onslaught swung the smaller mech back to the jets. “See that you take better care of him,” he said, sternly. Skywarp’s long talons descended and scooped Barricade up off the ground. Barricade thought about protesting, but when he saw the whole variety of cables and hoses and servos in the jet’s shoulder assembly, he suddenly thought it would be a better idea to play with those.
“I owe you one, Onslaught,” Skywarp said, his voice rumbling pleasantly against Barricade’s frame, his ventilation catching at the end as Barricade wrapped his glossa around a cable.
“One day I’ll collect, Seeker,” Onslaught said, over his shoulder, resuming his walk down the hall, Vortex looking on, bemused.
“C’n I be there?” Barricade slurred into a hydraulic line. “Just to watch or somethin’?”
Barricade arched into the touch, purring. “Yeeeeeeeessssss,” he sighed. “Though it’s not,” he managed to feign some level, he hoped, of sternness, “it’s against protocol to inebr—inebriate—inebriatify a standing officer of a war cruiser.”
“But you are not standing,” Starscream murmured, “You are…reclining.”
Barricade fell to giggling again. Starscream took a drink of the high grade energon, and then leaned over the smaller mech, pulling him into a kiss. More than a kiss: the jet’s mouth was full of the energon, warmed now, extra tingly. Barricade’s hands clutched at the back of the jet’s helm, his mouth eager on the jet’s.
Starscream broke the kiss, ducking in for one last lick at a drop of the pinkish fluid that had fallen on Barricade’s cheek. He grinned down at the smaller mech, and then ducked his head, running his glossa along Barricade’s headlamps, causing him to squeak, his hands clutching at anything he could grab, which meant one hand on the bronze jet’s shoulder armor, another around one of Skywarp’s thighs.
He heard a soft hum of subvoc. “No fair,” he protested. “No fair talking about me behind my back. Front of my face. Whatever. ‘S mean.” He was warming up to his theme when Starscream cut him short, burying his glossa in the smaller mech’s exposed inner thigh. He could feel it probing, soft, warm, agile, among his cables, under his armor. His hips raised, involuntarily, along with the jet’s glossa. “Primus,” he said instead, “You are so fraggin’ good at that.”
“Am I?” the jet asked, innocently, his hand delicate on Barricade’s interface hatch. “Let us see perhaps what else I am good at.” He flicked open the hatch, and trailed his glossa in a warm wet circle around Barricade’s valve cover. “Am I any good at this?”
“Yes!” Barricade squirmed, but found himself held still by Skywarp’s arm across his chassis. The black jet grinned down at him, his optics spiralled large with desire. Oh. If Skywarp wanted this to happen, it was okay.
“You give in too easily, Barricade,” Starscream chastised. “I think we should listen to your systems, not your vocalizer.” Another duck of the head, the glossa flicking against the cover of his valve again. Barricade squeaked as it autoretracted. His whole frame trembled, jerking as the bronze jet probed into his valve with his glossa. He felt lubrication from his spike ooze from under its cover. Barricade shot another glance at Skywarp—even through his overcharge haze he had some vague awareness that he wanted Skywarp’s approval.
Starscream laughed, softly, the vibrations enflaming against Barricade’s valve. “Unnnnnnhh,” Barricade shuttered his optics, his pelvic frame squirming against the jet’s mouth. Starscream rewarded him with a series of probing licks, and then a more serious hunt for one of the sensitive nodes in the front wall of the valve.
Barricade shrieked as the jet’s glossa found the node, tucked up behind the valve’s collar, his talons digging into Skywarp’s restraining forearm with force enough to score the paint. He tumbled into a thrashing overload, only dimly aware that he bruised his pelvic plate against the jet’s mouth, and his helm struck hard enough against Skywarp’s armor to blank his A/V for several kliks.
He was still shuddering when they came back online, his sensornet shooting a rainbow of sparks. Starscream moved up to kiss him, and he took the jet’s glossa eagerly into his mouth, tasting dilute energon, and his own spike lubricant and the slightly ionized taste of an overload. His head fell back against Skywarp’s body as Starscream pulled away.
“Your systems,” Starscream said, “say that I am very, VERY good at that.”
“Yes!” Barricade breathed. “Primus, yes.”
“Show off,” Skywarp said, tossing back the rest of the energon in the cube and sitting up. “My turn.”
“Oh, no, dear Trine mate,” Starscream said. “I do not think so.”
Skywarp winked. “Are you going to fight me for him?”
“In a way.” Starscream lunged at Skywarp, and the two wrestled on the berth. Barricade found himself suddenly—he wasn’t sure exactly how—on the floor, their flailing limbs slicing the air over his head. I’ll…just stay here a while, he thought, muzzily, still not quite recovered from Starscream’s…whatever the frag THAT was. Floor is safe and comfy and his valve was throbbing in a very unexpected and pleasant way that deserved some quiet contemplation. Though they were noisy. He had a brief panic thinking about the last time they made so much noise. And Onslaught had had to intervene. His eyes flew to the door.
Onslaught. Ooooooh. His systems revved again. Maybe that wouldn’t be that bad if he showed up.
Silence from above. Then, “Barricade, I require your assistance,” Starscream said, mildly. Barricade struggled up onto the berth. The bronze jet had pinned his Trine mate flat on his back, squatting over Skywarp’s head, his weight on the black jet’s arms. Barricade blinked.
“What you need me for?” He couldn’t help but let his optics travel rather slowly down the long lines of Skywarp’s chassis, his legs. He shivered again, but with a pink fuzzy kind of heat. Oh, Skywarp. So fraggin’ hot.
“It is time for Skywarp to be the one who is held down, do you not think? He shall show us with more precision how he wants us to struggle.” Skywarp writhed in his grasp, but said nothing. And his eyes radiated pure desire at Barricade. Which was exactly what Barricade’s own gaze reflected back at him.
“Don’t know,” he hesitated. “Don’t really have a lot of practice at, you know….”
“Oh, Barricade,” Starscream said, patiently, “You were more than adequate that one time in the refectory. Simply do what you did then.”
“But…you were ordering me to do that.”
“And I am ordering you now. Spike him, Barricade.” Skywarp squirmed under Starscream’s grip. The bronze jet shifted his position, pinning the arms higher up toward the elbows. Something of the struggle in Barricade’s processor must have echoed on his face, because the jet modified his command. “Surely you will at least kiss him, yes?”
Now, that he could do. Wanted to do. Desperately. He crawled up the black jet’s body eagerly, his smaller talons urgent on the larger mech’s armor. Skywarp moaned under his feverish kiss, pushing up into Barricade’s mouth with raw desire.
Starscream shifted above him, drinking from another cube of pink liquid, delicately. “We shall,” he said, calmly, “have to go on a flight later, Skywarp, to discharge this excess energy. Whatever,” he smirked, “you do not discharge here.”
Barricade watched the pink cube, tilting his head back, tumbling off of Skywarp’s shoulder. “How come you two aren’t…?” He clawed his way back up Skywarp’s body.
“Giddy?” Starscream asked. “This is our regular energon. It is meant for our systems.” He tipped the cube, and a drop splashed down onto Skywarp’s collar armor. “Oh dear,” he said. “I have spilled some. And it is rather expensive.” Barricade lunged at the droplet of pink effervescing happy on Skywarp’s armor. Any excuse to touch him, to kiss him. Silly game, silly rules, but…he tipped his head, probing with his glossa into the seam in the armor. Skywarp shifted beneath him, sighing.
Starscream grinned, showily plashing another drop in Skywarp’s exposed underarm. Obediently, Barricade clambered after it, his talons teasing along the cables in the joint as his mouth worked on the drop. His head felt fuzzy and light, almost like he could explode from happiness. And not mind at all.
Another plash, on Skywarp’s cockpit. Barricade giggled, echoed by a soft, approving laugh from the bronze jet, and chased after this one as well. Skywarp groaned, arching into the lick. Starscream traced a line of droplets up the cockpit, back to the collar armor: Barricade scrambled, lizardlike, up the jet’s squirming body.
Starscream leaned over, suddenly, his knees still restraining Skywarp, pushing Barricade’s pelvic frame against Skywarp’s with one heavy hand. Skywarp cried out at the contact with his interface hatch. “He wants you to, so badly,” Starscream murmured.
“Can’t.”
“Do you not want to?” Oh Primus yes. His spike was vibrating with pressure. But, he couldn’t.
“Not unless he says it’s okay.”
“Ah, well, you heard him, Skywarp. Do you have anything you would like to say for yourself?”
“Please,” Skywarp gasped. “I want you.” He shut his optics, as if afraid of the admission.
The energon and desire overrode any objection he might have had. His breath was hot against the jet’s chassis, his hands clumsy against the interface hatch. Somehow he managed to get the hatch open, his own spike autoreleased the instant he touched Skywarp’s valve cover. He shifted on his knees, pushing himself into the jet slowly.
Skywarp moaned, his shoulder gyros whining as he tried to pull out from under Starscream’s weight. Barricade flung himself at the black jet’s chassis again, twining his talons in the larger mech’s clavicular struts, using them for leverage as he thrust into Skywarp’s valve. The valve felt familiar. What didn’t was that it was up to his rhythm, Skywarp lying there, moaning, quivering, underneath him. He tried to approximate the rhythm Skywarp normally used on him, but found himself thrusting faster, harder, as if being driven, chased by his own rising desire.
He made some sound as he overloaded, a sound that got drowned in Skywarp’s answering cry. The black jet’s frame heaved with force enough to toss Starscream off the berth. The long black arms pressed Barricade against the jet’s chassis, their interface equipment still going through the intricate steps of overload, the valve clutching at the discharging spike with force enough to throw both their ventilations off.
Barricade collapsed against the jet’s body, his chassis resting just above the rise of the jet’s cockpit, his hands still engaged in the clavicle struts, his entire body quivering. “Primus,” he gasped, the words wrung out of him by too much energon, too much…everything. “Primus, I love you.” He nuzzled against Skywarp’s throat. “Love you so much.”
He felt a gentle pressure between his wing fairings. “I,” Starscream murmured, “have that mission to brief next duty cycle. And I see that I shall have to take that flight alone.” Barricade raised his head, and saw the two jets touch mouths briefly. “My work here,” the bronze jet said, with a wink, “is done.”
Next: Hangover
Skywarp, Barricade, Starscream
Barricade clutched the pouch of his ration of energon as he entered the main room of the refectory, pausing to look for an unobtrusive spot to sit, autoinject, and go as unnoticed as possible.
“Little spike!” A voice cut through the crowd, followed almost immediately by Starscream’s, “Hush!” The bronze jet continued, “Barricade, join us.” Not so much a request as a demand, at least in the audio of anyone else listening. Barricade knew better than to protest, and carried his ration to the Seeker’s table.
They were laughing, studying something on a datapad, as he came over. He sat down across from them, a little nervously. The last time he and Starscream had been together in the refectory, it had been…weird. Memorable, and good, but…weird.
“How very odd!” Starscream said, looking up at him. “Look, Skywarp, his ration is in a little pouch.”
Skywarp squinted, dubiously. “That’s energon? It’s not even the right color.”
Barricade’s talons tightened around the mauvy liquid in his ration. Their rations weren’t in pouches—they were in cubical containers, and the liquid itself was shimmery pink and clear. “I-it’s my ration,” he said, meekly.
Starscream snatched it out of his hand, prodding at it delicately with one talon. “It looks like sludge.”
“Groundframe,” Barricade said, numbly, as Starscream experimentally put the pouch’s tube in his mouth.
“Different grade.”
“Blah!” The jet made a disgusted face. “This is truly repugnant. Skywarp,” he said, handing the pouch over. “Taste this.”
Helplessly, Barricade looked on in dismay as the black jet sampled his ration. He…he kind of needed that.
“That IS vile,” Skywarp said after a sample. “Little spike, how the Pit do you drink this slop?”
“Don’t drink it,” he said, reaching lamely for his half-depleted pouch, “Autoinject.”
Skywarp swatted his hand aside, and pushed his cube at the smaller mech. “Try this.” Hesitantly, Barricade took a sip from the cube. The pink liquid’s shimmer seemed to dance across his glossa, down his throat, and across his systems. It was like drinking happiness. Oh. This was good. It was…effervescent and warm and alive feeling. He blinked in surprise.
Starscream tapped the sludgy ration pouch. “Skywarp,” he mused, suggestively, “I suspect that Barricade has never had high grade.”
The Seekers’ optics got that gleam that meant only bad things for Barricade, and if the pink energon hadn’t been bubbling through his sensor net, he probably would have at least managed a protest.
*****
He thought he was doing a fairly good job of mobility, all things considered, clutching on to one barbed hand or another, or in one instance wrapping both arms around a large black thigh for balance. But all things considered, with the pink pure happy fuzz of the Seeker-grade energon fizzing through his systems, he thought he was doing fine.
Speaking of good memories—walking up the hall, Onslaught, engaged in deep conversation with Vortex.
Barricade tore himself away from Starscream’s grasp. “Heeeeeeeeey, Onslaught,” he said, staggering over, his four optics struggling to focus, reaching a hand out to pet the larger mech’s shoulder. “Soooo hot. Think of you every time I washra---ooof!” The Combaticon swung him by his outstretched arm against the bulkhead, twisting the arm up behind his back.
“Reprise, anytime,” Onslaught’s voice cool in his audio, Barricade’s cheek pressed flat against the wall. “Same rules as last time.” A little louder, he added, “Got that?”
“Y-yes?”
Another twist of his arm that sent pain signals through the fuzz of his overcharged sensornet. He yelped.
“Don’t make me have to get rough with you.” Louder still. Then quietly, so quiet it might have been his imagination, Onslaught’s voice against his throat. “I enjoyed it, too.” Barricade quivered.
Onslaught swung the smaller mech back to the jets. “See that you take better care of him,” he said, sternly. Skywarp’s long talons descended and scooped Barricade up off the ground. Barricade thought about protesting, but when he saw the whole variety of cables and hoses and servos in the jet’s shoulder assembly, he suddenly thought it would be a better idea to play with those.
“I owe you one, Onslaught,” Skywarp said, his voice rumbling pleasantly against Barricade’s frame, his ventilation catching at the end as Barricade wrapped his glossa around a cable.
“One day I’ll collect, Seeker,” Onslaught said, over his shoulder, resuming his walk down the hall, Vortex looking on, bemused.
“C’n I be there?” Barricade slurred into a hydraulic line. “Just to watch or somethin’?”
*****
Barricade fell back against Skywarp’s side, giggling. They were in the black Seeker’s quarters, he and Skywarp sprawled on the berth, Starscream leaning against it on the floor. Oh, this felt so good. Warm and happy and…loved. He squirmed, rubbing his wing fairings against Skywarp’s rib strut, sighing pleasurably. Over his head, Skywarp handed another of the pink cubes to Starscream.
Barricade arched into the touch, purring. “Yeeeeeeeessssss,” he sighed. “Though it’s not,” he managed to feign some level, he hoped, of sternness, “it’s against protocol to inebr—inebriate—inebriatify a standing officer of a war cruiser.”
“But you are not standing,” Starscream murmured, “You are…reclining.”
Barricade fell to giggling again. Starscream took a drink of the high grade energon, and then leaned over the smaller mech, pulling him into a kiss. More than a kiss: the jet’s mouth was full of the energon, warmed now, extra tingly. Barricade’s hands clutched at the back of the jet’s helm, his mouth eager on the jet’s.
Starscream broke the kiss, ducking in for one last lick at a drop of the pinkish fluid that had fallen on Barricade’s cheek. He grinned down at the smaller mech, and then ducked his head, running his glossa along Barricade’s headlamps, causing him to squeak, his hands clutching at anything he could grab, which meant one hand on the bronze jet’s shoulder armor, another around one of Skywarp’s thighs.
He heard a soft hum of subvoc. “No fair,” he protested. “No fair talking about me behind my back. Front of my face. Whatever. ‘S mean.” He was warming up to his theme when Starscream cut him short, burying his glossa in the smaller mech’s exposed inner thigh. He could feel it probing, soft, warm, agile, among his cables, under his armor. His hips raised, involuntarily, along with the jet’s glossa. “Primus,” he said instead, “You are so fraggin’ good at that.”
“Am I?” the jet asked, innocently, his hand delicate on Barricade’s interface hatch. “Let us see perhaps what else I am good at.” He flicked open the hatch, and trailed his glossa in a warm wet circle around Barricade’s valve cover. “Am I any good at this?”
“Yes!” Barricade squirmed, but found himself held still by Skywarp’s arm across his chassis. The black jet grinned down at him, his optics spiralled large with desire. Oh. If Skywarp wanted this to happen, it was okay.
“You give in too easily, Barricade,” Starscream chastised. “I think we should listen to your systems, not your vocalizer.” Another duck of the head, the glossa flicking against the cover of his valve again. Barricade squeaked as it autoretracted. His whole frame trembled, jerking as the bronze jet probed into his valve with his glossa. He felt lubrication from his spike ooze from under its cover. Barricade shot another glance at Skywarp—even through his overcharge haze he had some vague awareness that he wanted Skywarp’s approval.
Starscream laughed, softly, the vibrations enflaming against Barricade’s valve. “Unnnnnnhh,” Barricade shuttered his optics, his pelvic frame squirming against the jet’s mouth. Starscream rewarded him with a series of probing licks, and then a more serious hunt for one of the sensitive nodes in the front wall of the valve.
Barricade shrieked as the jet’s glossa found the node, tucked up behind the valve’s collar, his talons digging into Skywarp’s restraining forearm with force enough to score the paint. He tumbled into a thrashing overload, only dimly aware that he bruised his pelvic plate against the jet’s mouth, and his helm struck hard enough against Skywarp’s armor to blank his A/V for several kliks.
He was still shuddering when they came back online, his sensornet shooting a rainbow of sparks. Starscream moved up to kiss him, and he took the jet’s glossa eagerly into his mouth, tasting dilute energon, and his own spike lubricant and the slightly ionized taste of an overload. His head fell back against Skywarp’s body as Starscream pulled away.
“Your systems,” Starscream said, “say that I am very, VERY good at that.”
“Yes!” Barricade breathed. “Primus, yes.”
“Show off,” Skywarp said, tossing back the rest of the energon in the cube and sitting up. “My turn.”
“Oh, no, dear Trine mate,” Starscream said. “I do not think so.”
Skywarp winked. “Are you going to fight me for him?”
“In a way.” Starscream lunged at Skywarp, and the two wrestled on the berth. Barricade found himself suddenly—he wasn’t sure exactly how—on the floor, their flailing limbs slicing the air over his head. I’ll…just stay here a while, he thought, muzzily, still not quite recovered from Starscream’s…whatever the frag THAT was. Floor is safe and comfy and his valve was throbbing in a very unexpected and pleasant way that deserved some quiet contemplation. Though they were noisy. He had a brief panic thinking about the last time they made so much noise. And Onslaught had had to intervene. His eyes flew to the door.
Onslaught. Ooooooh. His systems revved again. Maybe that wouldn’t be that bad if he showed up.
Silence from above. Then, “Barricade, I require your assistance,” Starscream said, mildly. Barricade struggled up onto the berth. The bronze jet had pinned his Trine mate flat on his back, squatting over Skywarp’s head, his weight on the black jet’s arms. Barricade blinked.
“What you need me for?” He couldn’t help but let his optics travel rather slowly down the long lines of Skywarp’s chassis, his legs. He shivered again, but with a pink fuzzy kind of heat. Oh, Skywarp. So fraggin’ hot.
“It is time for Skywarp to be the one who is held down, do you not think? He shall show us with more precision how he wants us to struggle.” Skywarp writhed in his grasp, but said nothing. And his eyes radiated pure desire at Barricade. Which was exactly what Barricade’s own gaze reflected back at him.
“Don’t know,” he hesitated. “Don’t really have a lot of practice at, you know….”
“Oh, Barricade,” Starscream said, patiently, “You were more than adequate that one time in the refectory. Simply do what you did then.”
“But…you were ordering me to do that.”
“And I am ordering you now. Spike him, Barricade.” Skywarp squirmed under Starscream’s grip. The bronze jet shifted his position, pinning the arms higher up toward the elbows. Something of the struggle in Barricade’s processor must have echoed on his face, because the jet modified his command. “Surely you will at least kiss him, yes?”
Now, that he could do. Wanted to do. Desperately. He crawled up the black jet’s body eagerly, his smaller talons urgent on the larger mech’s armor. Skywarp moaned under his feverish kiss, pushing up into Barricade’s mouth with raw desire.
Starscream shifted above him, drinking from another cube of pink liquid, delicately. “We shall,” he said, calmly, “have to go on a flight later, Skywarp, to discharge this excess energy. Whatever,” he smirked, “you do not discharge here.”
Barricade watched the pink cube, tilting his head back, tumbling off of Skywarp’s shoulder. “How come you two aren’t…?” He clawed his way back up Skywarp’s body.
“Giddy?” Starscream asked. “This is our regular energon. It is meant for our systems.” He tipped the cube, and a drop splashed down onto Skywarp’s collar armor. “Oh dear,” he said. “I have spilled some. And it is rather expensive.” Barricade lunged at the droplet of pink effervescing happy on Skywarp’s armor. Any excuse to touch him, to kiss him. Silly game, silly rules, but…he tipped his head, probing with his glossa into the seam in the armor. Skywarp shifted beneath him, sighing.
Starscream grinned, showily plashing another drop in Skywarp’s exposed underarm. Obediently, Barricade clambered after it, his talons teasing along the cables in the joint as his mouth worked on the drop. His head felt fuzzy and light, almost like he could explode from happiness. And not mind at all.
Another plash, on Skywarp’s cockpit. Barricade giggled, echoed by a soft, approving laugh from the bronze jet, and chased after this one as well. Skywarp groaned, arching into the lick. Starscream traced a line of droplets up the cockpit, back to the collar armor: Barricade scrambled, lizardlike, up the jet’s squirming body.
Starscream leaned over, suddenly, his knees still restraining Skywarp, pushing Barricade’s pelvic frame against Skywarp’s with one heavy hand. Skywarp cried out at the contact with his interface hatch. “He wants you to, so badly,” Starscream murmured.
“Can’t.”
“Do you not want to?” Oh Primus yes. His spike was vibrating with pressure. But, he couldn’t.
“Not unless he says it’s okay.”
“Ah, well, you heard him, Skywarp. Do you have anything you would like to say for yourself?”
“Please,” Skywarp gasped. “I want you.” He shut his optics, as if afraid of the admission.
The energon and desire overrode any objection he might have had. His breath was hot against the jet’s chassis, his hands clumsy against the interface hatch. Somehow he managed to get the hatch open, his own spike autoreleased the instant he touched Skywarp’s valve cover. He shifted on his knees, pushing himself into the jet slowly.
Skywarp moaned, his shoulder gyros whining as he tried to pull out from under Starscream’s weight. Barricade flung himself at the black jet’s chassis again, twining his talons in the larger mech’s clavicular struts, using them for leverage as he thrust into Skywarp’s valve. The valve felt familiar. What didn’t was that it was up to his rhythm, Skywarp lying there, moaning, quivering, underneath him. He tried to approximate the rhythm Skywarp normally used on him, but found himself thrusting faster, harder, as if being driven, chased by his own rising desire.
He made some sound as he overloaded, a sound that got drowned in Skywarp’s answering cry. The black jet’s frame heaved with force enough to toss Starscream off the berth. The long black arms pressed Barricade against the jet’s chassis, their interface equipment still going through the intricate steps of overload, the valve clutching at the discharging spike with force enough to throw both their ventilations off.
Barricade collapsed against the jet’s body, his chassis resting just above the rise of the jet’s cockpit, his hands still engaged in the clavicle struts, his entire body quivering. “Primus,” he gasped, the words wrung out of him by too much energon, too much…everything. “Primus, I love you.” He nuzzled against Skywarp’s throat. “Love you so much.”
He felt a gentle pressure between his wing fairings. “I,” Starscream murmured, “have that mission to brief next duty cycle. And I see that I shall have to take that flight alone.” Barricade raised his head, and saw the two jets touch mouths briefly. “My work here,” the bronze jet said, with a wink, “is done.”
Next: Hangover
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Date: 2010-11-29 08:03 am (UTC)