The Harder They Fall

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

NC-17
IDW  Speed and Status AU
Perceptor, Blurr, cameo by Roadbuster because he needs more love, dammit
sticky, abuse of SCIENCE.
Obviously post Speed and Status.

Blurr answered the chime at his door, swiping one hand over his crest.  It had better not be a muster: he was too damn tired right now.  And he’d admit, losing Drift had lost him his favorite entertainment, and he found himself unhappy and grouchy, without any real vent for his frustrations.

“What.” He rolled up from where he'd flopped on his berth.

“It’s Perceptor. I have something for you.”

Something?  That was a bit unexpected.  Maybe those mods he’d asked for a while ago.  Something to boost his reflexes or steady his aim. He keyed the door. 

Perceptor stood on the other side, holding a small black metal box, his face inscrutable. Like he’d erased emotions when he’d rebuilt himself. Blurr knew that was a lie: this was all a front, one Perceptor put a lot of energy into maintaining. Waste.

Blurr waited for some sort of greeting, but, right. This was Perceptor. “So?” he prompted, his optics flicking, curious, to the small box. 

“It’s easier to show you than explain.”

That could be said of a lot of things Perceptor came up with.  “All right.”

“Inside.”

Blurr shrugged, stepping aside, with an expansive gesture, letting Perceptor into his quarters. “Some kind of weapon?” Because honestly? As curious as he was, that could wait till morning.

Perceptor shook his head. He placed the box down, and pulled from it a small blue-chased ring of metal. “Your spike.”

…that was unexpected. He and Perceptor hadn’t really gotten along since the whole Drift thing. Perceptor took everything too damn seriously. Drift was hot, and a good lay, but Perceptor had pined after the white mech long after he’d gone.  Drift had probably forgotten all about him. 

At least Perceptor was getting back in the lab and doing useful things.

Kind of useful. 

Blurr had to admit he was curious. He flicked open his interface hatch, releasing his spike. Which was, just like him, ready for action. What could Blurr say, after all? He was a high-performance machine.  Perceptor nodded, dropping to one knee, and fixing the blue ring around the base of his spike. It set itself home with a quiet ‘snikt’.

Perceptor ran a finger down the spike.

Blurr froze. Because he didn’t feel that at all.  “What the frag did you do?”

Perceptor stood up, saying nothing. Blurr grabbed his arm. “Hey, this isn’t funny.”  His other hand closed over his numb spike, tugging at the ring.

Perceptor shook his head.

“I’ll tell Springer.”

“I’m not done yet,” Perceptor said, a thread of impatience in his voice. He reached down, flicking open his own hatch.

“Where the frag is this goiiiiii--!”  Blurr jolted upright, feeling a touch on his spike.

Except nothing was touching his spike. Perceptor was touching his own,after flicking it sharply, fingers stroking down the length, as the hydraulics pushed it out of its housing, flirting over the ridges.  And on the base of his, a similar ring, silver, dotted with small components.  

And Blurr was feeling everything.

“Going here,” Perceptor said, quietly. He wrapped his hand around his spike, squeezing it. Blurr could feel Perceptor’s optics on him, studying his response. And he could hardly not respond: Perceptor may have switched jobs, but he still had a scientist’s calibrated, sensitive hands. 

Blurr let his head tip back, optics lidding.  “You’re good at that,” he murmured.

“Practice,” Perceptor shrugged, blandly. The joke was too obvious: Blurr let it pass. Besides, this was...really turning him on.  “Something better.”  He reached with his other hand, curling it over Blurr’s audio, tugging downward.

No. No fraggin’ way. 

Perceptor stroked a thumb up the length of his spike, letting Blurr watch, and feel. A silver bead of fluid shimmered at the spike’s tip.  He caught the edge of a smile on Perceptor’s mouth, the hand tugging in another hint, his fingers silking over the blue of Blurr’s helm.

Blurr moved to his knees, swiftly, thinking only of the touch on the spike through the device, the lazy squeeze Perceptor gave to the shaft.  Perceptor could outwait him, would tease his spike for cycles without release.

He didn’t know what this was about, but he did know he wanted this: he pressed his mouthplates against Perceptor’s spike’s head, glossa flicking out to touch the bead of fluid. He jolted, gasping at the touch as it transferred over the link.

Oh, frag. This…? There was something wrong, dark and perverse about this. And Blurr found it impossible to resist, taking the head of the spike in his mouth, glossa circling the intricate shape, then sliding down the shaft.  He groaned, feeling the movement exactly replicated along his own spike, the flutter of his own glossa on sensor nodes, heat and pressure and sensation. 

Blurr had never been one for prudishness, after all.  And how many other mechs could say they’d sucked their own spikes?

And he was, he decided, really damn good at it, feeling the slide of his mouth on the spike, the teasing flicks of his glossa, suction and release.

Blurr could feel Perceptor fighting the overload, the black hips quivering and twitching like racers awaiting the starting gun. Perceptor wanted to draw this out, make it last. 

So maybe that was his game.  Well, too bad.  Blurr never lost a game, and certainly didn’t intend to start losing now, not when there was so much good to be had from it. 

Blurr settled back on his knees, intent, letting his optics dim, concentrating on the exquisite waves of pleasure foaming and cascading over his spike through the link, guiding his own arousal like a master musician, slowing and speeding, sucking and spiraling his glossa around the black and silver girth of Perceptor’s spike. He could try to hold out all he wanted. 

He could feel Perceptor’s hands, two light touches on his shoulders, feel the electric thrum of the sniper’s EM field. Maybe he had underestimated Perceptor, Blurr thought, calling him boring. This took a certain kind of perverse genius that Blurr couldn’t help but, well, at least appreciate, if not admire.

Perceptor’s ventilations grew ragged, uneven gusts of air washing over Blurr’s helm, and the fingers curled in, seeking purchase on his sleek blue armor.  Blurr could feel the charge rise on the spike, that electromagnetic resistance plush in his mouth. His own hands curled around Perceptor’s hips, bracing them, not letting the taller mech have any chance to get away, to pull back.

And then Perceptor’s restraint broke, a choked syllable crackling from his vocalizer, his spike sharp with electrons, flooding Blurr’s mouth. Blurr’s spike leapt, a spurt of transfluid arcing from his spike, pattering in hot droplets over Perceptor’s thighs.

Blurr hung on the moment, giving a languorous, slow swallow, feeling the bobbling of his throat against the spike’s head, coaxing out another short gush of fluid, its echoing push dribbling down Blurr’s spike in long silver lines. 

Another sharp suck, and a final, twitching droplet, sweet and potent, on his glossa.

Blurr sat back, releasing the spike slowly, letting it slide out of his mouth with slow, sweeping, lingering strokes of his glossa. Perceptor stood, wavering for a moment, his own optics fogged with the overload, before recovering himself.  The black hands left Blurr’s shoulders, and with a quick flick, released the ring around his spike, handing it to Blurr.

 “Instructions are in the box,” Perceptor said, flatly, stowing his equipment, swiping a fastidious hand over the silver streaks on his thighs.

Oh, going to be like this, huh?  “Hell of a way to bury old grudges,” he said, pushing up to sit on the berth, spinning the silver ring on one finger. “What do you call this thing, anyway?”

Perceptor shrugged. “It’s a simple sensor synchrony and transfer relay.”  

Oh is that all?  It definitely deserved a better name than that.  Blurr felt a sly grin on his face. “Going to tell me what this was about?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Perceptor said, quietly, the mask once again securely in place, optics almost cold, as he turned to go.

[***]

It was only natural to want to play with a new toy, right?  And only natural for a Wrecker to want to play with his toys hard.  Which brought Blurr, entirely naturally, outside Roadbuster’s quarters. Because if you’re going to try out this kind of thing, you might as well go big, right?  And he’d seen Roadbuster’s spike in the washracks and…oh, he could hardly wait. He could already imagine that huge, thick spike pushing into his valve, feel the tight stretch of his valve lining straining around…his own spike.

And suddenly it hit him. What Perceptor had meant, what the gift meant. 'Go frag yourself'.

He started laughing. Oh yes, Perceptor, he thought, as the door opened to Roadbuster’s massive frame.  Blurr shivered in anticipation, optics dropping to the green bulge of his pelvic armor. Oh, yes.  I intend to.

Comments

[kaekokat14.livejournal.com]

Okay that was fraggin' AWESOME!!! Leave it to Perceptor to do give a insult in such a way. I feel sorry for Percy though...all alone... poor percy. *cuddles you* I have been following you for over a year now, You'd think I'd comment more. Bad me. :3