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shadow_vectorNC-17
IDW
Sixshot/Cliffjumper
Sticky, possible dubcon but not really kinda domsub
Please don't ask what a nightmare it has been trying to get online today. TWO wireless networks down and my desktop, which is on a landline....? Achingly slow. ANNNNNNND getting online to post this is probably not Like...seriously. I hate the internet right now.
Sixshot supposed he’d call himself philosophical. If he cared, that is. But he knew that part of his job was to wait for the Decepticons to find a problem they couldn’t solve, admit failure (the longest and most tedious part, and costliest), before finally giving in and contacting the Devil King. It gave Sixshot a lot of leisure time. Too much leisure time. Hobbies…weren’t his thing.
He hated to admit to a feral pleasure when they did finally contact him. This Red Devil had been taunting him from the shadows for too long: An Autobot who certainly didn’t fight like one. An Autobot Sixshot could almost—almost—respect. An actual challenge. He felt something stir that hadn’t moved in a long time. A thrill. A challenge.
And now, he had the infamous Red Devil, slaughterer of entire units, cornered. The mech was fast: Sixshot would grant him that. Fast and lethal and respectably ruthless. Sixshot had chased him down the Enviro corridor of the orbiting station Archeros-23, leaping and dodging the falling bodies of drones and lesser mechs. But he had him now. The Red Devil was cornered in the Enviro tank room. Nothing in there he could weaponize. Just greywater and algae. And Sixshot wasn’t that vain that he’d be taken down by having algae thrown at him.
Sixshot smirked under his battlemask, hefting a pistol. He pressed his shoulders against the wall by the door, readying himself for the assault. This, he thought, fiercely, ends NOW, Red Devil.
His left hand slapped the door controls and he pivoted sharply on his foot, bringing the pistol faultlessly to bear in the gap of the door.
Only to confront the round, unblinking eye of a muzzle pointed at him.
Hold fire.
His optics flicked down the barrel of the gun to the blue optics fixing on the front sight. “You?”
A laugh. “I was about to say the same thing.” The weapons stayed pointed at each other, but both, somehow, eased off the triggers. A smirk from the red Autobot. “Guess you’re going to make me be the one to say it, huh? Okay. Long time no see, Sixshot.”
“Yeah,” Sixshot said, his voice suddenly thick. “Cliffjumper.” He wasn’t much for chatter, and it definitely failed him now.
“So. We gonna stand here all day pointing weapons at each other’s cortex or what?”
“I…uh….” Sixshot longed for the Terrorcons. They were nearly as laconic as he was. And he’d never been much of a talker. Even back then. Even…before. He lowered his pistol. Marginally. To center mass. A concession.
Cliffjumper lowered his entirely, and it seemed suddenly a show of strength, of fearlessness. His cheeky grin echoed somewhere in Sixshot’s processor. He always was fearless. Even when he shouldn’t have been. “Articulate as always,” Cliffjumper said. “Can I flatter myself you missed me?” His blue optics raked appraisingly down the Phase Sixer’s larger white frame.
Sixshot’s interface systems fired on, with a judder that ran through his entire frame, as though Cliffjumper’s gaze had a weight and texture to it, sliding over his armor. That look was too familiar. Bridging…how many orbitals? He didn’t want to think about it. At all. Time before. Over and done with. That part of him was…over. History. Buried and dead. “If you want to mislead yourself,” he managed. The pistol wavered in his grip.
“I don’t think I’m misleading myself.” Cliffjumper stepped closer, supraorbital ridge quirked. “I think you are.” Fearless. He always was. Sixshot pushed the thought from his cortex roughly. Don’t care. Over. Cliffjumper continued, daring to brush two of his grey fingers over Sixshot’s white forearm. Sixshot flinched, as though the touch burned. “Aren’t you?”
“Back off,” Sixshot said, weakly. “Going to kill you.” He shifted his grip on the pistol.
“Are you?”
That smirk. He’d always had it, hadn’t he? Sixshot growled. A warning. “Mission.”
“That what defines you now? Just missions? Time was you actually had a personality, you know.”
“Back off.” A threat. His optics locked on the grey fingers skating over his armor.
“Getting too close to you? Or just too close?” His fingers tickled into Sixshot’s elbow cabling. The larger mech shuddered. Cliffjumper reached up, slowly, with his other hand. Look, unarmed. He curled it around Sixshot’s neck, tugging the mech down. Sixshot resisted, but mostly, Cliffjumper knew, resisting himself. He’d always been hard to convince. But he’d always been convinced. Always wanted to be convinced.
Cliffjumper’s hand left the larger mech’s forearm, the thumb stroking at the battle mask. Sixshot’s optics flickered, and, wordlessly, soundlessly, he retracted the mask. Cliffjumper’s mouth pushed insistently against Sixshot’s, demanding a response. For a moment, Sixshot fought him, trying to twist away. Yeah, he always did like a bit of a struggle. But they both knew that if Sixshot were fraggin’ serious about fighting him off, Cliffjumper’d be eating wall right now. Cliffjumper simply tightened his grip around the larger mech’s neck.
Sixshot yielded, at least that far—he parted his mouth plates, his glossa darting into Cliffjumper’s mouth, bending lower, the pistol clattering from his numb fingers.
It helped remembering what Sixshot liked. Of course, it was kind of hard to forget. He was so insistent and so…obvious when aroused. Cliffjumper would have remembered this one, even if he didn’t have the habit of keeping meticulous notes on his clients.
He broke the kiss, tilting his face, laughing, as Sixshot chased it. So eager, now.
Sixshot growled in frustration and not a little embarrassment. Cliffjumper’s ability to stay…well…collected at moments like this had always infuriated him. And infuriated equaled aroused in Sixshot’s personal lexicon.
“Want me, don’t you?” the red mech breathed, keeping just enough teasing in the voice to raise Sixshot’s growl up a few decibels.
Sixshot cursed, roundly, shoving Cliffjumper back with one large hand on the minibot’s shoulder. Cliffjumper let himself be staggered back. He knew where this was going. Maybe not his most…glorious victory, but an interesting one. He felt his own interface systems cycle on, already primed. He always had loved combat. One thing he and Sunstreaker shared, understood implicitly, was the desire-edging-into-need that accompanied combat. How many times had they thrown themselves at each other after battle, joined by little more than a shared need, limbs tangling, mouths bruising, bodies grinding into each other with a wild, unspeaking abandon.
“I’ll take you if I want you,” Sixshot said. Trying, Cliffjumper knew, to make it sound like a threat. As though he were the one in control. To someone who hadn’t known him…before, it might have sounded sufficiently sinister.
“Will you, now?” Cliffjumper drawled.
Sixshot snarled, lunging at Cliffjumper, slamming him hard against the cool metal cylinder of one of the Enviro tanks. “I will.” One hand pinned Cliffjumper’s shoulder, the other raked harshly down the minibot’s chassis. Sixshot hesitated, his vents ragged and jerky, overwhelmed with the sudden rise in lust. His optics pinioned Cliffjumper’s, who felt his own capacitor tick up in empathy. Frag, he’d kind of forgotten how hot the Phase Sixer was. His systems were intricate, to cope with the impossibly complex mechanisms of his different transformations. Something got rewired in all that. Something got lost. And what was left was pure and raw and focused. Something got lost….
But not this.
Sixshot dove down, trying to turn the kiss into an assault, his mouth bruisingly hard against Cliffjumper’s, sliding off the mouthplates, grinding hard in the minibot’s throat. His free hand scraped down Cliffjumper’s thigh, scoring the armor, prying hard under the edges of plating. Cliffjumper squirmed pleasurably. Yes. Oh this was not an act on his part. He’d always wanted Sixshot. Always wanted this sort of lustful callous brutality. It just helped that…Sixshot wanted it too.
Sixshot’s hand went unerringly—still, after all this time, even after the frame upgrade, like he’d studied it—for Cliffjumper’s interface hatch, tearing it open hard enough to bend one hinge. Cliffjumper gasped at the pain, feeling the red prickles across his sensornet feed into pleasure. His spike pressurized against its cover, even knowing that Sixshot wasn’t interested. He saw Sixshot’s mouth quirk up at the thud.
“Want me, do you?” the larger mech smirked.
“Yeah,” Cliffjumper shrugged. Silly to get hung up over this stuff. Kind of hot that Sixshot did. The little prudishness, the sense that there was some shame in admitting desire, was sometimes the only chink in Sixshot’s persona. Probably why he’d been driven to seek out…professional help in the first place.
“Do you?” Sixshot’s optics glowed. Thin shadows from his shoulder fins sliced Cliffjumper’s face.
Cliffjumper could feel something in the larger mech coil itself. He quivered in anticipation, holding himself still, enjoying watching the struggle play out across Sixshot’s body—the transformation systems humming, crackling with charge from his desire. Sixshot thought he had the power here: Cliffjumper knew better. He waited, and Sixshot sprang into action, throwing the minibot in a swift, spinning move, to the floor. Cliffjumper’s vision whirled, stopping only as his helm slammed, face first, onto the white tiles of the Enviro chamber. A little rougher than Cliffjumper remembered, but…his interface system pinged with need.
Cliffjumper’s fingers grabbed for the discarded pistol, closing around the grip just as Sixshot’s weight landed on him from behind. Cliffjumper gasped, the six-changer’s probing into his pelvic armor, down the backs of his thighs. Not gentle, but not damaging, either. He felt the larger mech’s hand, insistent, at his valve cover. It circled once, twice, the second time almost gently. Cliffjumper wasn’t fooled: he braced for the hard rap of a finger against the cover, demanding admission.
“Now,” Sixshot demanded.
Cliffjumper buried his grin in the floor, letting the valve click open. Sixshot thought he had control. Maybe. But not in this. And they both knew it, both knew it was a delicate game they both played, both admired the skill of the other player, like steps in an intricate dance.
Cliffjumper knew to gasp and arch his spinal cabling as Sixshot’s slicked spike drove into his valve. Sixshot paused, jerking his hips forward, seating the spike further in the minibot’s valve, grunting as Cliffjumper squirmed, one hand hard around the red mech’s hip. Cliffjumper allowed himself to whimper, letting Sixshot begin his driving rhythm, the spike pounding into his valve, as he gathered the pistol under him, worming his fingers around the grip. Hard inthrust, slower withdraw. Like an assault, a stabbing, then a sliding back. Cliffjumper didn’t have to feign the moan of desire he pushed into the floor.
One of Sixshot’s hands hooked at the hips, jerking the minibot back against him in sharp, forceful jerks. Then suddenly, stopped, vents cycling deep. Prolonging the moment, letting some charge dissipate. Cliffjumper could hear Sixshot’s ventilations—long and ragged—could feel the heat leak off his armor. And this…was his chance.
He reared back on his knees, spinning from the waist, throwing the pistol out aiming at Sixshot, finger already in the triggerwell, ready to fire.
Sixshot snarled, snapping his arms together, catching Cliffjumper’s in their crossblow. Cliffjumper howled as armor bent, the elbow servo giving with a shower of sparks. The pistol clattered to the floor. Their optics locked. Sixshot’s face twitched, half amused, half rage—and Sixshot was about the only mech Cliffjumper knew who could manage that expression. Cliffjumper broke the moment with a saucy wink, tipping Sixshot off the balanced brink between those two emotions.
The white mech snatched at the pistol, swinging it by the muzzle at the minibot’s head. Cliffjumper jerked away, twitching back against the larger mech’s spike. Sixshot gave a gratified growl, letting the pistol’s butt travel in a fast arc, catching the hand grip on the other side of Cliffjumper’s face. He hauled back, the barrel and trigger assembly digging under Cliffjumper’s chin, into his throat. Cliffjumper had no choice but to rise up as Sixshot hauled back on the ends of the pistol, his hands clutching desperately at his throat, his damaged elbow sending white sparks of pain through his lust. Sixshot gave an aroused roar, spreading his legs to angle further in under Cliffjumper’s valve, driving in, and up, with a force hard enough to dent metal.
Cliffjumper gasped, his body responding to the friction and the desire and the bruising signals of pain. His interface system amped up, shooting off preliminary current, the sparking lost in the furious thrusts of the larger mech, powerful enough to lift Cliffjumper off his knees. His head lolled back, optics drifting closed, opening to the moment.
It was a kind of release just to let go this much, just to be the one not in control, to admit to someone’s greater strength, greater will. It wasn’t something Cliffjumper got to show often. Not even, not really, with Sunstreaker, because at the base, he knew that Sunstreaker had limits. He’d only go…so far. Right now the odds were fairly even that he would come through this alive. And the frisson that gave him spiraled his desire into greater heights, his fingers wrapping around the pistol jammed against his throat, no longer pushing it away, but clinging onto it, feeling it constrict the power core lines.
Cliffjumper found himself yanked hard against the larger mech’s chassis, his helm striking hard enough to blank his vid feed for a klik, as Sixshot gave a shuddering groan. The front span of the pelvic armor jabbed, once, twice, against Cliffjumper’s aft plating. Cliffjumper groaned, feeling the hot burst of transfluid in his valve, the powerful crack of the overload’s excess charge.
For a long moment, both of them hung there, gasping, sucking down gulps of air to cool their heated systems. Sixshot released his grip on the pistol, and for a brief time, his arms wrapped around Cliffjumper, pulling him into a strange type of embrace, the larger mech’s helm lowering down beside Cliffjumper’s audio, pausing on its way for a brief, hard nip at one of Cliffjumper’s horns. Cliffjumper whimpered. Yeah, trust Sixshot to remember how sensitive they were.
Cliffjumper softened back into the circle of Sixshot’s arms. He heard a dark laugh. “I catch you again, Red Devil, I’m going to kill you.”
A smile crept over his face, that he knew Sixshot could sense, if not see. Words of threat, words of challenge.
“We’ll just have to see about that.”
IDW
Sixshot/Cliffjumper
Sticky, possible dubcon but not really kinda domsub
Please don't ask what a nightmare it has been trying to get online today. TWO wireless networks down and my desktop, which is on a landline....? Achingly slow. ANNNNNNND getting online to post this is probably not Like...seriously. I hate the internet right now.
Sixshot supposed he’d call himself philosophical. If he cared, that is. But he knew that part of his job was to wait for the Decepticons to find a problem they couldn’t solve, admit failure (the longest and most tedious part, and costliest), before finally giving in and contacting the Devil King. It gave Sixshot a lot of leisure time. Too much leisure time. Hobbies…weren’t his thing.
He hated to admit to a feral pleasure when they did finally contact him. This Red Devil had been taunting him from the shadows for too long: An Autobot who certainly didn’t fight like one. An Autobot Sixshot could almost—almost—respect. An actual challenge. He felt something stir that hadn’t moved in a long time. A thrill. A challenge.
And now, he had the infamous Red Devil, slaughterer of entire units, cornered. The mech was fast: Sixshot would grant him that. Fast and lethal and respectably ruthless. Sixshot had chased him down the Enviro corridor of the orbiting station Archeros-23, leaping and dodging the falling bodies of drones and lesser mechs. But he had him now. The Red Devil was cornered in the Enviro tank room. Nothing in there he could weaponize. Just greywater and algae. And Sixshot wasn’t that vain that he’d be taken down by having algae thrown at him.
Sixshot smirked under his battlemask, hefting a pistol. He pressed his shoulders against the wall by the door, readying himself for the assault. This, he thought, fiercely, ends NOW, Red Devil.
His left hand slapped the door controls and he pivoted sharply on his foot, bringing the pistol faultlessly to bear in the gap of the door.
Only to confront the round, unblinking eye of a muzzle pointed at him.
Hold fire.
His optics flicked down the barrel of the gun to the blue optics fixing on the front sight. “You?”
A laugh. “I was about to say the same thing.” The weapons stayed pointed at each other, but both, somehow, eased off the triggers. A smirk from the red Autobot. “Guess you’re going to make me be the one to say it, huh? Okay. Long time no see, Sixshot.”
“Yeah,” Sixshot said, his voice suddenly thick. “Cliffjumper.” He wasn’t much for chatter, and it definitely failed him now.
“So. We gonna stand here all day pointing weapons at each other’s cortex or what?”
“I…uh….” Sixshot longed for the Terrorcons. They were nearly as laconic as he was. And he’d never been much of a talker. Even back then. Even…before. He lowered his pistol. Marginally. To center mass. A concession.
Cliffjumper lowered his entirely, and it seemed suddenly a show of strength, of fearlessness. His cheeky grin echoed somewhere in Sixshot’s processor. He always was fearless. Even when he shouldn’t have been. “Articulate as always,” Cliffjumper said. “Can I flatter myself you missed me?” His blue optics raked appraisingly down the Phase Sixer’s larger white frame.
Sixshot’s interface systems fired on, with a judder that ran through his entire frame, as though Cliffjumper’s gaze had a weight and texture to it, sliding over his armor. That look was too familiar. Bridging…how many orbitals? He didn’t want to think about it. At all. Time before. Over and done with. That part of him was…over. History. Buried and dead. “If you want to mislead yourself,” he managed. The pistol wavered in his grip.
“I don’t think I’m misleading myself.” Cliffjumper stepped closer, supraorbital ridge quirked. “I think you are.” Fearless. He always was. Sixshot pushed the thought from his cortex roughly. Don’t care. Over. Cliffjumper continued, daring to brush two of his grey fingers over Sixshot’s white forearm. Sixshot flinched, as though the touch burned. “Aren’t you?”
“Back off,” Sixshot said, weakly. “Going to kill you.” He shifted his grip on the pistol.
“Are you?”
That smirk. He’d always had it, hadn’t he? Sixshot growled. A warning. “Mission.”
“That what defines you now? Just missions? Time was you actually had a personality, you know.”
“Back off.” A threat. His optics locked on the grey fingers skating over his armor.
“Getting too close to you? Or just too close?” His fingers tickled into Sixshot’s elbow cabling. The larger mech shuddered. Cliffjumper reached up, slowly, with his other hand. Look, unarmed. He curled it around Sixshot’s neck, tugging the mech down. Sixshot resisted, but mostly, Cliffjumper knew, resisting himself. He’d always been hard to convince. But he’d always been convinced. Always wanted to be convinced.
Cliffjumper’s hand left the larger mech’s forearm, the thumb stroking at the battle mask. Sixshot’s optics flickered, and, wordlessly, soundlessly, he retracted the mask. Cliffjumper’s mouth pushed insistently against Sixshot’s, demanding a response. For a moment, Sixshot fought him, trying to twist away. Yeah, he always did like a bit of a struggle. But they both knew that if Sixshot were fraggin’ serious about fighting him off, Cliffjumper’d be eating wall right now. Cliffjumper simply tightened his grip around the larger mech’s neck.
Sixshot yielded, at least that far—he parted his mouth plates, his glossa darting into Cliffjumper’s mouth, bending lower, the pistol clattering from his numb fingers.
It helped remembering what Sixshot liked. Of course, it was kind of hard to forget. He was so insistent and so…obvious when aroused. Cliffjumper would have remembered this one, even if he didn’t have the habit of keeping meticulous notes on his clients.
He broke the kiss, tilting his face, laughing, as Sixshot chased it. So eager, now.
Sixshot growled in frustration and not a little embarrassment. Cliffjumper’s ability to stay…well…collected at moments like this had always infuriated him. And infuriated equaled aroused in Sixshot’s personal lexicon.
“Want me, don’t you?” the red mech breathed, keeping just enough teasing in the voice to raise Sixshot’s growl up a few decibels.
Sixshot cursed, roundly, shoving Cliffjumper back with one large hand on the minibot’s shoulder. Cliffjumper let himself be staggered back. He knew where this was going. Maybe not his most…glorious victory, but an interesting one. He felt his own interface systems cycle on, already primed. He always had loved combat. One thing he and Sunstreaker shared, understood implicitly, was the desire-edging-into-need that accompanied combat. How many times had they thrown themselves at each other after battle, joined by little more than a shared need, limbs tangling, mouths bruising, bodies grinding into each other with a wild, unspeaking abandon.
“I’ll take you if I want you,” Sixshot said. Trying, Cliffjumper knew, to make it sound like a threat. As though he were the one in control. To someone who hadn’t known him…before, it might have sounded sufficiently sinister.
“Will you, now?” Cliffjumper drawled.
Sixshot snarled, lunging at Cliffjumper, slamming him hard against the cool metal cylinder of one of the Enviro tanks. “I will.” One hand pinned Cliffjumper’s shoulder, the other raked harshly down the minibot’s chassis. Sixshot hesitated, his vents ragged and jerky, overwhelmed with the sudden rise in lust. His optics pinioned Cliffjumper’s, who felt his own capacitor tick up in empathy. Frag, he’d kind of forgotten how hot the Phase Sixer was. His systems were intricate, to cope with the impossibly complex mechanisms of his different transformations. Something got rewired in all that. Something got lost. And what was left was pure and raw and focused. Something got lost….
But not this.
Sixshot dove down, trying to turn the kiss into an assault, his mouth bruisingly hard against Cliffjumper’s, sliding off the mouthplates, grinding hard in the minibot’s throat. His free hand scraped down Cliffjumper’s thigh, scoring the armor, prying hard under the edges of plating. Cliffjumper squirmed pleasurably. Yes. Oh this was not an act on his part. He’d always wanted Sixshot. Always wanted this sort of lustful callous brutality. It just helped that…Sixshot wanted it too.
Sixshot’s hand went unerringly—still, after all this time, even after the frame upgrade, like he’d studied it—for Cliffjumper’s interface hatch, tearing it open hard enough to bend one hinge. Cliffjumper gasped at the pain, feeling the red prickles across his sensornet feed into pleasure. His spike pressurized against its cover, even knowing that Sixshot wasn’t interested. He saw Sixshot’s mouth quirk up at the thud.
“Want me, do you?” the larger mech smirked.
“Yeah,” Cliffjumper shrugged. Silly to get hung up over this stuff. Kind of hot that Sixshot did. The little prudishness, the sense that there was some shame in admitting desire, was sometimes the only chink in Sixshot’s persona. Probably why he’d been driven to seek out…professional help in the first place.
“Do you?” Sixshot’s optics glowed. Thin shadows from his shoulder fins sliced Cliffjumper’s face.
Cliffjumper could feel something in the larger mech coil itself. He quivered in anticipation, holding himself still, enjoying watching the struggle play out across Sixshot’s body—the transformation systems humming, crackling with charge from his desire. Sixshot thought he had the power here: Cliffjumper knew better. He waited, and Sixshot sprang into action, throwing the minibot in a swift, spinning move, to the floor. Cliffjumper’s vision whirled, stopping only as his helm slammed, face first, onto the white tiles of the Enviro chamber. A little rougher than Cliffjumper remembered, but…his interface system pinged with need.
Cliffjumper’s fingers grabbed for the discarded pistol, closing around the grip just as Sixshot’s weight landed on him from behind. Cliffjumper gasped, the six-changer’s probing into his pelvic armor, down the backs of his thighs. Not gentle, but not damaging, either. He felt the larger mech’s hand, insistent, at his valve cover. It circled once, twice, the second time almost gently. Cliffjumper wasn’t fooled: he braced for the hard rap of a finger against the cover, demanding admission.
“Now,” Sixshot demanded.
Cliffjumper buried his grin in the floor, letting the valve click open. Sixshot thought he had control. Maybe. But not in this. And they both knew it, both knew it was a delicate game they both played, both admired the skill of the other player, like steps in an intricate dance.
Cliffjumper knew to gasp and arch his spinal cabling as Sixshot’s slicked spike drove into his valve. Sixshot paused, jerking his hips forward, seating the spike further in the minibot’s valve, grunting as Cliffjumper squirmed, one hand hard around the red mech’s hip. Cliffjumper allowed himself to whimper, letting Sixshot begin his driving rhythm, the spike pounding into his valve, as he gathered the pistol under him, worming his fingers around the grip. Hard inthrust, slower withdraw. Like an assault, a stabbing, then a sliding back. Cliffjumper didn’t have to feign the moan of desire he pushed into the floor.
One of Sixshot’s hands hooked at the hips, jerking the minibot back against him in sharp, forceful jerks. Then suddenly, stopped, vents cycling deep. Prolonging the moment, letting some charge dissipate. Cliffjumper could hear Sixshot’s ventilations—long and ragged—could feel the heat leak off his armor. And this…was his chance.
He reared back on his knees, spinning from the waist, throwing the pistol out aiming at Sixshot, finger already in the triggerwell, ready to fire.
Sixshot snarled, snapping his arms together, catching Cliffjumper’s in their crossblow. Cliffjumper howled as armor bent, the elbow servo giving with a shower of sparks. The pistol clattered to the floor. Their optics locked. Sixshot’s face twitched, half amused, half rage—and Sixshot was about the only mech Cliffjumper knew who could manage that expression. Cliffjumper broke the moment with a saucy wink, tipping Sixshot off the balanced brink between those two emotions.
The white mech snatched at the pistol, swinging it by the muzzle at the minibot’s head. Cliffjumper jerked away, twitching back against the larger mech’s spike. Sixshot gave a gratified growl, letting the pistol’s butt travel in a fast arc, catching the hand grip on the other side of Cliffjumper’s face. He hauled back, the barrel and trigger assembly digging under Cliffjumper’s chin, into his throat. Cliffjumper had no choice but to rise up as Sixshot hauled back on the ends of the pistol, his hands clutching desperately at his throat, his damaged elbow sending white sparks of pain through his lust. Sixshot gave an aroused roar, spreading his legs to angle further in under Cliffjumper’s valve, driving in, and up, with a force hard enough to dent metal.
Cliffjumper gasped, his body responding to the friction and the desire and the bruising signals of pain. His interface system amped up, shooting off preliminary current, the sparking lost in the furious thrusts of the larger mech, powerful enough to lift Cliffjumper off his knees. His head lolled back, optics drifting closed, opening to the moment.
It was a kind of release just to let go this much, just to be the one not in control, to admit to someone’s greater strength, greater will. It wasn’t something Cliffjumper got to show often. Not even, not really, with Sunstreaker, because at the base, he knew that Sunstreaker had limits. He’d only go…so far. Right now the odds were fairly even that he would come through this alive. And the frisson that gave him spiraled his desire into greater heights, his fingers wrapping around the pistol jammed against his throat, no longer pushing it away, but clinging onto it, feeling it constrict the power core lines.
Cliffjumper found himself yanked hard against the larger mech’s chassis, his helm striking hard enough to blank his vid feed for a klik, as Sixshot gave a shuddering groan. The front span of the pelvic armor jabbed, once, twice, against Cliffjumper’s aft plating. Cliffjumper groaned, feeling the hot burst of transfluid in his valve, the powerful crack of the overload’s excess charge.
For a long moment, both of them hung there, gasping, sucking down gulps of air to cool their heated systems. Sixshot released his grip on the pistol, and for a brief time, his arms wrapped around Cliffjumper, pulling him into a strange type of embrace, the larger mech’s helm lowering down beside Cliffjumper’s audio, pausing on its way for a brief, hard nip at one of Cliffjumper’s horns. Cliffjumper whimpered. Yeah, trust Sixshot to remember how sensitive they were.
Cliffjumper softened back into the circle of Sixshot’s arms. He heard a dark laugh. “I catch you again, Red Devil, I’m going to kill you.”
A smile crept over his face, that he knew Sixshot could sense, if not see. Words of threat, words of challenge.
“We’ll just have to see about that.”
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no subject
Date: 2010-05-24 01:29 pm (UTC)Just everything about this is fantastic (I would almost venture to make up words and call it 'fantabulous"). The banter back and forth, the mentions of Cliffjumper keeping notes on all his clients and having his favourites amongst them, Sixshot's brief hesitation at the beginning of the whole thing, the open ending.... all of it serves to make me one very happy girl this morning.
And I hope your internet and computer woes get cleared up or clear themselves up soon. I'd offer to come kick the shit out of your desktop, but, uh... that's a bit of a long trip for me to make :(
no subject
Date: 2010-05-24 02:49 pm (UTC)I... this was entirely hot in a way that surprised me. Normally I don't go in much for rough sex. This fic is made from 100% unf. :D
Ugh, I feel your pain on wifi woes. It sucks when they don't work! The only advice I can offer is to go to Starbucks and get some tea and some wifi there, because they have pretty nice tea and really reliable wifi. (You might have to pay for it though, which could be a pain.)
SixshotxCliffjumper
Date: 2010-05-24 03:41 pm (UTC)Man oh man, those two together....I think they're one of my fave pairings, of course with your Devestator/Grindor, and those lovely Barricade fics. ^_^
I hope that you don't need to suffer through internet and computer problems for too much longer.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-27 02:45 pm (UTC)