Let's Talk About....

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

NC-17
IDW, MTMTE
Whirl/Rung
sticky, hard dubcon (may read as noncon to some), dogtying, mild inflation kink, idek, man. There was some remotely similar kink meme prompt posted a few weeks ago but yeah as usual I missed the mark of that one by MILES. So... ;-;

Rung sat back in his chair, dragging the datapad closer to add notes. It had been a surprisingly productive afternoon, and he was feeling better, all of the discomfort from the scene in the Medibay faded. Perhaps Drift was right. They were doing good and that mattered.  And he had been gratified at the response: there had been, during the war, some stigma about seeking out counseling. But now, that seemed lifted, mechs almost eager to talk, to heal.

It was encouraging.  More than encouraging, and he had already set a schedule for regular therapy with a few of the mechs.  Doing was always better than sitting by doing nothing.  Occupational therapy, he grinned, as he called up his notes, it works. 

The patients had been varied: several cases of post traumatic stress, one floundering now that his Primus apotheosis had lost its target, several wanting to mourn Hyperion. And Shock had crept into the room, optics wide and distraught, in sharp distress about his twin’s condition.  Rung had been less able to help— what can you say to a mech who has to face the unthinkable?—but still, he could listen and nod and Shock had left, feeling at least a bit wrung out, thoughts clearer if not his spark lighter.

Yes. Productive.  He nodded, feeling satisfied.  He felt like he belonged here, now.

A shadow in the doorway, angular, jagged, like a bolt of dark lightning.  “Figured you’d still be here.”

“Whirl.”  He tensed up, then forced himself calm. He’d dealt with worse.  Impactor, for one.  Impactor, against whom the threat of jail had been meaningless. “What can I do for you?”

“Heh.” Whirl stepped over the threshold. “Counseling, right?  All that therapy slag?” 

“Yes.” 

Whirl spread his claws. “Here for that. You know.  Therapy. Get better and all that.”

Having no face, it was nearly impossible to read Whirl’s real emotions, but he had no real reason to doubt.  Maybe he had seen the light.  Any step in the right direction should be used.  “All right. Have a seat.” 

“No.”  The claw moved behind him, slapping the door control.

“Whirl.” Rung stood up, though his full height really wasn’t that imposing. “We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Yeah. I know. Jail, forever.” A shrug.

“You tried to kill me.” He wanted to hide behind the desk, keep it between them, but he realized that that would read as fear.  He stepped around, one hand out, placating.

“You were pissing me off.” Another shrug, as though Rung were the one without logic. 

“And now?”  Rung readied a comm code.  He could get Drift down here in a few kliks. Or Ultra Magnus. He doubted Whirl would defy them.

“Not pissing me off.” As though it were that simple. Maybe it was. The long, angular legs moved, the jagged, shattered cockpit moving closer. 

“Well, that’s good.” I guess.  Rung found himself holding the datapad up between them, like a shield. 

“Yet.”

Not quite as good.  “Whirl. Have a seat and we’ll talk.  Maybe do some Airshock tests.  You liked those, remember?”  Some of Whirl’s answers, the things he saw in the random inkblots, were disturbing, but that wasn’t important. This was the mech deemed too extreme for the Wreckers, after all.

A snerk of air.  “Yeah, those are fun. But this is better.”  A claw moved, faster than Rung could react, striking him on the shoulder, flattening him back against the desk.

“Whirl!”

“Yeah.” 

A deft twist, and he felt the long, cool blue panel of the copter’s groin between his thighs, the claw switching to pin his wrist down.  His other hand still clutched the datapad, limply. 

Whirl leaned over, the gold orb of his optic intent on Rung’s face. “You afraid?”

“No.”  His voice crackled, betraying him.

Another snort. “You lying?”

“Yes.”

“Not gonna kill you, Rung.”  A cocky tip of the helm. “Cause if I wanted to do that, it’d already be done.”

“Not necessarily,” Rung said. “You like the tension.  Taunting. Playing with your prey.”

A deep rumbling purr. “You do know me.  Better than anyone.”  He moved, sliding his crotch panel over Rung’s, and the smaller mech could feel the thrum of arousal over Whirl’s systems.

“Whirl.”  He tried to catch the copter’s optic. “Whirl.  Look. We can talk about this.”

“Talking’s boring.” The crotch panel slid back and forth, relentless, an aroused growl swallowing the words. 

“Whirl.”  Rung tried to scrabble backwards on the desk.  “Let’s talk about how you’re feeling right now.”

“Right now? I’m feeling pretty damn good.” The free claw hand traced three fine lines of contact down Rung’s chassis, the line between his pectoral plates.  “And hey, you always told me how important it was to share, right?” The small calipers below the optic quivered in something almost like mirth.

“Not…this kind of sharing.” 

“Oh, quibbling.” The claw tip found his interface hatch, pressing it to release it, the gold orb of his optic looking down, then tracing a languorous line back up Rung’s smaller body.  “If you really wanted me stopped, you’d’ve called Ultra Magnus down on me by now.”

“Maybe I have, and I’m just stalling.”  He wormed his hips, trying to get his interface equipment away from those skittering, maddening little claw tips. 

A chuff of air. “You haven’t.  That’d make you sneaky.”

“I can be sneaky.”  A squeak, as the claws tilted sideways, sliding the length , like a curved blade, up over the equipment covers.

“No you can’t.” One of the claws from the hand pinning Rung’s wrist down tapped his cheek. “This’d give you away.” 

“That…still,” another squeak, his valve cover snicking open. He tried to freeze his face, failed. It was what made him such a good therapist, his ability to convey emotion. It wasn't helping here.

“Come on,” Whirl said. “Loosen up. Have a little fun."

“This isn’t my idea of fun,” Rung said, trying to get his footplate against the narrow, curved hip of the copter.

“That just means you don’t know what fun is,” Whirl said, nodding. He bent his wrist, one long digit swirling around the outside of the valve, his optic fixed on Rung’s face, and Rung’s foot slipped off the hip, his cooling systems kicking on.

“I am fairly well acquainted with fun,” Rung said, trying to gather all of his authority around him. It…didn’t work, even to his  own audio.

“Not well enough,” Whirl said. He tipped his hips forward, his spike autoreleasing. It was large, a blued-silver, glistening as it jutted between them. “This? This right here? This is fun. He’s so fun, I call him Whirlybird. Wanna say hi to Whirlybird, Rung?”

“Um…,” No? “Hello, Whirlybird?” 

“He likes you, Rung. He wants to get to know you better.”  The hips rocked again, sliding the blued spike against the valve’s rim, the lubricant cool and slick.  “You want to know him better?” The optic flicked between the blue spike and Rung’s face, mouth parted, halfway gasping. He didn’t wait for an answer, arching his spinal strut, directing the spike to the mouth of the valve. 

Rung groaned, his hand clutching at the claw that pinned his arm, as the spike entered, pushing open the valve’s pleated lining, spreading the calipers, until it nosed against his ceiling node.  He felt a tingling wash of his own thin lubricant, his calipers wriggling around the girth inside him. 

Whirl leaned over, until the jagged edges of his broken cockpit scraped against Rung’s chassis, optic fixated on Rung’s face.  The spike moved in his valve, and it took Rung a moment to realize that the thing was…rotating.

“Whirl!” 

“Yep.”  Whirl began rocking his hips, moving the spike in the valve. "Attached to the swashplate." The voice was gleeful. 

The experience was…overwhelming, charge rising along his nodes, calipers fluttering against the surging spike. “You know my name. That’s what? One level of Oriented Times Three.  Wanna try the others?”

Whirl leaned closer, the thrusts becoming sharper, rougher, his EM field a staticky scrape against Rung’s.  Rung had no choice but to hang on, clinging to the wrist that held him down, gritting his optics, his smaller pelvic frame bouncing against the thrusts.

“Hey, Rung.  Just a heads up.”  A snicker.  “Gonna come pretty damn hard. Hope you don’t mind. Been a while.”

“I don’t…don’t mind.” His voice was weak, optics rolling in his head, unfocused.

“Told you, Rung.”  Whirl’s jagged canopy gouged into Rung’s chassis. “If you did want me to stop, you’d’ve called Ultra Magnus.  Rodimus.  Drift. Any of them. Which means….,” a long purr, “you want this as bad as I do.”

Rung was beyond words, the indescribable sensations, the warm, wet, tingling heat radiating through his sensornet from his friction heated, aroused valve, blurring his thoughts, making anything other than lying there, racked with sensation, impossible.

“Hope.  You’re. Ready.” Whirl’s gold optic flared, and Rung felt a sudden push against the rim of his valve, a gasket snapping into place. Then the hot rush of an overload, a hard slam of electricity and transfluid, and he arched up, a scream tearing from his throat. 

He thought it would be over then, but no, another wave, another shock of electricity, another burst of fluid. And another. And another. His optics widened, and he heard the hoarse pants of his own voice.

It went on for half a cycle, the steady, heavy jets of transfluid into his valve, each carrying a wave of charge, his transfluid uptake chamber cycling open and open again, filling to the point of surfeit, fluid backing down along the spike, sealed in by the gasket at the base of Whirl’s spike.

Finally, it stopped, Rung on the edge of ecstasy and pain, his interface equipment’s charge depleted, the valve lining swollen with fluid. 

Whirl moved, releasing the grip on Rung’s wrist, and Rung felt the gasket’s seal release, the surplus of transfluid seeping around the seal, running a hot trail to the desk.

“Told you,” he said, almost apologetic. “Been a while.” Whirl pulled out, the blue spike sliding from the valve in a rush of fluid, one hand patting at one of Rung’s heated thighs.  He tucked his spike away, swiveling down the angled crotchplate to cover it, as he turned to leave.  He turned, the gold optic winking from over his shoulder. “I think this session has been very productive, don’t you?”

Rung rolled over, waiting till the door had closed behind the blue mech, groaning, one hand on the armor over his swollen fluid chamber.  He retrieved his datapad, slowly, rolling back into his chair, fingers deft on the pad, calling up Whirl’s file.  “Impromptu session,” he logged, “but I have every belief we have had a…therapeutic breakthrough.  Recommend additional sessions.” 

His optics drifted to the slick puddle of transfluid on the desk, the strange smeared shape, like an Airshock drawing. What do you see in this, Whirl? He…probably didn’t want to know.

But he did have another use from this session, he thought, stroking a hand up his cooling thighs, patting gingerly at his abdominal plating.  He called up another file,  tapping the contact comm code. //As per our therapeutic assessment,// he said, //I have some of the materials you require for your treatment plan.// 

Comments

[death-hendry.livejournal.com]

sdjfblasfb SO AWESOME.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Thanks! Whirl is the Captain of the Crazy Ship! o_O

[wicked3659.livejournal.com]

Ohhhh I giggled so much at Whirlybird xDD and also Rung's final entry to have more sessions ;3 I see what he did there. Very sticky and hot :D I really like how Rung was trying to talk when it was clear Whirl was only after one thing. I am starting to like Rung more and more :D

[jalaperilo.livejournal.com]

For a moment, I honestly thought it was going to have a smiley face. Lol.

Also - Airshock drawing = win!

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

OH he does! It just didn't show up in this fic.
...maybe later. :P

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

*giggles* Man, I love this Whirl!

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Oh god how can you not? He's fantastically twisted. :)

[koukatsukoneko.livejournal.com]

Oh my God, who is he going to give the transfluid to? He's going to use it in someone else's therapy session! Kinky.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Actually I did have this figured out! Ultra Magnus and Rodimus. To use as ink. Because Rodimus is a naughty boy.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

I had a convo ones with my squad about stupid penis names. It has haunted me ever since! O_O

[silaphet.livejournal.com]

ah, i see, so That's how you develop a good doctor-patient rapport ... been doin it wrong ^.^ How you can be inspired by meme's but not ruled by them, is good. Your voice, your style, enriches.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Rung is a groundbreaking therapist! :D

[kujasangela.livejournal.com]

this. this is just.... ohhhhh yesssssss <3

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Glad someone else finds this pairing hot and wrong in all the right ways! XD

[kyliesvillain.livejournal.com]

I know I'm a bit late to comment, but I had to let you know how much I loved this.

My love for Whirl is still very new and exciting. When I googled for Whirl fics, yours was the first I saw and OH BOY am I glad that I checked it out first. It was so many levels of hot and crazy and awesome...
hot and crazy and awesome like Whirl. ;)

I probably shouldn't have enjoyed this as much as I did...

[stealth-m00se.livejournal.com]

...read it twice. What brings me back?

"Yep. Attached to the swashplate."

LOL....

I adore your style.