What You Will

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

NC-17
Bayverse
Blackout/Barricade
sticky


Continuation of Surrender. 

 

Blackout pushed him away. “Don’t want this,” he said, his voice small.

Barricade’s talons stopped their circle. “Why the frag not?”  Don’t get your fraggin’ hopes up, Barricade: this is what happens when you do.  His spike stung, pressurized, in its housing, already protesting the loss.  What did I slag up this time?

Blackout’s vocalizer clicked, as he stuttered over how to respond. It wasn’t—really—the Barricade aspect, although if he ever got over admitting he’d interfaced at all to anyone, admitting it was with Barricade would be the next hurdle. And it wasn’t—too much—the idea of the vulnerable position he’d be in, getting his systems penetrated, activated by Barricade.  Mostly it was a glimmer of fear. That he would like that as well, pursue this dangerous train of sensations, become too present, too enamored of his own body, his own systems, to want to risk it in combat.  He didn’t want to have anything to lose. 

“Gave you enough,” he said, finally. Close enough to the truth, even as it ducked the real issue. Even as his systems were already trying to conjure for him the sensation—what it must feel like, slick and tingling.  Idle curiosity, he chastised himself. You don’t need to know.  He shoved Barricade away, roughly, wincing as the grounder’s sharp talons scored the newly exposed panel.

Barricade’s face blazed a mix of emotions Blackout couldn’t read—anger and hurt and disappointment and frustrated desire.  “Yeah, fine, whatever.” Barricade rolled to his feet, snapping his own interface hatch sharply closed.  “Fluids should be leveled by now,” he said, tightly.

“What?” The ghosts of Barricade’s talons seemed to still be teasing at his interface tech.  He shivered.

“Fluids.  Across your systems. You can stand now.”  Barricade refused to meet his gaze, doing a quick perimeter scan. All business all of a sudden.  How could he just…switch it off like that?  Blackout wasn’t able to. His systems actually kind of ached.  But he wasn’t going to tell Barricade that.  Fraggin’ grounder.  “I’ll exit this vector.  SOP: you wait and then if I don’t draw any pursuit, your turn.”  With that pointed reminder—as if Blackout needed a reminder how to clear an LZ?—Barricade disappeared between the trees, the only sounds his metal footplates cracking downed branches.  And even that was swallowed up in the thick cushion of pine needles.

Frag, Blackout thought. He couldn’t help but feel that he’d screwed something up, even though he knew it was the right thing.  The rightest thing for one who had already gone too far.

****

It was driving him crazy even several solars later. So much so that Blackout decided he hated Barricade for having done this to him.  It was…all he could think about.  His interface tech kept firing on, craving attention.  Every time Barricade walked by, his spike popped to pressure, as if inflated by memory.  And at other mechs, too, he found his processor wandering—what would it be like, having Starscream underneath him instead of the grounder? Would the jet let him?  His cortex frayed with possibilities—the large bronze jet moaning and writhing, his longer arms able to reach around and stroke at Blackout’s rotormounts….

Right. No. Stop it. Concentrate. Warrior, Blackout, warrior. 

He’d spent solar cycles hyperattuned to every mech around him, trying to sense if they could tell that he’d, you know, like…broken the rules.  Nothing so far, but even as that worry ebbed, his lust was surging. 

And his memory purges.  He could barely recharge without having picoflashes of that…you know…one time: the yielding pressure of Barricade’s valve sheathing his spike, the strange fit of their pelvic spans, the way Barricade writhed and clawed when he overloaded…. It was not restful at all. 

What did it feel like? To have a spike inside you?  Did it feel better?   He could feel a strange cycling…down there. He didn’t know what to do about it.  He seriously considered going to repair bay, but the terror of someone walking in as the repairbots did their work?  His system shorted at just the thought. 

So…he suffered, shifting uncomfortably during staff meetings, his optics drifting to the paneling of interface hatches, his processor wandering to picture what this or that mech looked like in overload….

This, he finally decided, was untenable.  Completely.  And there was one solution: Confront the mech who had started this. He was the only one who knew.  And beat him until he undid this.

***

Barricade looked up as Blackout entered his work cube.  Yeah, he’d been thinking about it—a lot—too.  Fraggin’ copter.  The damn warrior’s engine mount barely cleared the ceiling, the rotors seeming to expand to fill the space. 

“You,” Blackout said, slamming a large hand down over the console where Barricade had been entering data. 

“Me.”  His cortex raced.  He couldn’t remember what he might have done to piss the copter off.  Not that he was, like, pure or anything. Just that he couldn’t keep track of all the obnoxious stuff he did. 

“You really fragged me up,” Blackout accused. 

“What? No way.” Barricade bridled. He was a more than competent field medic. Had a lot of practice, after all.  On himself.  “Those repairs held.”

Blackout stiffened. “Not the repairs, slag it!”  He didn’t want to have to say it. 

“What? Oh. Ohhhhhhhhh.” Barricade’s optics widened even as his mouth curled into a sly grin. “Back for more?”  His hopes? They were so getting up. 

“No.  Want you to undo it. Fix me.”

Oh. Uh. Barricade blinked, his hopes, such as they were, shattering on the ground by his feet, colliding with, you know, reality.  Which collision Blackout was about to have. You…couldn’t really undo that sort of thing. “Didn’t break anything.” He hesitated. “Did I?”

“Frag!” The copter’s fist came down on the edge of the console, denting the metal.  “Can’t stop thinking about it.  System keeps firing on.” He glared. “Obviously some sort of glitch. Fix it.”

The smirk came back. “Only glitch here is you, copter.”

Blackout’s optics became desperate. “You have to fix me! I can’t…I can’t function without thinking about it!”

Barricade snickered. “Yeah, welcome to the reality the rest of us inhabit, copter.” 

Blackout squirmed.  Even now, his interface systems had kicked on, just at the sight of Barricade’s uptilted face.  He wanted to toss the interceptor on the console and…. Primus, he couldn’t continue like this. “Why is this happening to me?” he said, pitifully.

“It’s called normal, copter,” Barricade crabbed.  Wait.  He was blowing an excellent opportunity.    He stood up, close enough to Blackout to feel the copter’s EM field—disrupted, uneven.  Oh, Blackout had it baaaaaaad.  Barricade reached out, glossing his talons along the copter’s cockpit bell.

Blackout flinched back at the touch.  “Please,” he said, “don’t.” 

“You want to be fixed?”  Barricade’s voice got a little husky. His own interface system primed.

“This is not the way to fix it!” Blackout said, bracing one hand around Barricade’s pauldron.  But he didn’t—quite—push away. 

“Yeah it is,” Barricade said.  “Trust me.” 

“Barricade--,”

“No one will know,” Barricade muttered.  “Can keep my mouth shut.”  He flicked an arm out, coding the door locked, while his other traced the split in the cockpit armor.  His face tilted to that split, drawn by the smell of warm oil and well maintained gears.  “Can spike me again if you want,” he offered. 

Blackout quivered as though Barricade had sent a burst of electricity through him.  His processor fed him an image: Barricade sprawled on the console, optics dimming with pleasure, talons eager on Blackout’s arms, the copter’s spike driving into Barricade’s valve.

“I, uh….” 

“You, uh, worry too much,” Barricade murmured.  He dared to reach up, stretching his cool talons around Blackout’s neck, pulling the copter’s face down to his, feeling the knees fold around him, Blackout almost enveloping him with his bulk.  He flicked his glossa against Blackout’s mouth, sending a bit of charge into the metal plates.  Blackout’s optics brightened in surprise, his own narrow mouth aperture parting.  His sensor net blazed, his hands clutching around the shoulders of the smaller mech, his blunt fingers scraping the doorwings.  Barricade made a contented noise in his vocalizer—not a growl, not a moan, but somewhere between the two. 

Blackout broke the kiss, lifting his head out of Barricade’s range. “Why you doing this?”

Barricade blinked. “Uh, because you’re hot?”  And because almost no one let Barricade touch them. Nobody wanted Barricade. Well, consensually.  Not that this was ideal, but…it was damn closer than he usually came. 

The copter blanched, his rotors slicking together in embarrassment.  Barricade decided not to give him a moment for demurral—he snaked a hand down to the copter’s interface hatch. He could feel the equipment humming through the panels. Poor copter. He did have it bad.  Blackout twitched, his hands flying to grip the console behind him, sagging against it, as though Barricade’s touch completely drained his leg stabilizers.  “I don’t see--,” he began.

“Stop. Talking,” Barricade muttered. He nuzzled his face against the chassis, and then lowered down, his hands exploring the copter’s surprisingly narrow waist, the swell of the pelvic armor.  His mouth traced a line, his glossa sending little sparks into the metal.  Blackout’s cooling fans kicked on, his hands tightening around the console’s lip. Barricade gave a sort of bitter smirk as he flicked open the interface hatch.  The spike housing leaked lubricant, a little gummy from what must have been other…unaddressed arousals.  He tapped the cover with one talon, which was all the invitation it needed: it whisked aside. 

He licked along the spike as it emerged from the housing, each contact with his glossa against the nodes sending a quiver through the copter’s frame.  He felt another warm rush as arousal released another dollop of lubricant along the spike.  Blackout was…immensely aroused. Well, so was Barricade. 

He took the spike in his mouth, feeling the lubricant slide against the metal of his dentae, his glossa flirting with the sensor nodes.  Blackout groaned.  Barricade could feel the copter’s optics hard on him.  First time, huh?  Yeah, well not for Barricade.  He’d been forced to do this enough, he’d gotten really fraggin’ good at making it good. Hard and fast. Sooner they got off, sooner it ended. This was…different even for him.  And he wasn’t sure he wanted to rush. 

He heard the metal of the console give under Blackout’s fingers as he worked his way up and down the spike, helping the nodes build charge, his own systems almost sympathetically tingling. 

“Guh,” Blackout said. Or…something about that articulate.  “Please. Don’t have to--!”

Barricade stopped, licking his way off the aroused spike. He tilted his head back, looking up at the copter. “You really want me to stop?”

Blackout went rigid, torn between what he probably thought was the proper thing to say, and the deafening howling of his frustrated interface net. 

Barricade gave a wry grin, and got back to work.  Not much of the charge had dissipated.  His glossa did a quick, fluttering circuit of the spike’s nodes, his mouth a warm pressure seal around the nodes, helping contain the charge, build friction.

Blackout hissed, as though biting down a shriek, his hipframe almost jolting off the console as he overloaded.  The copter tilted his head back, optics ceilingward, as though he couldn’t bear to look.  Barricade swallowed the transfluid, flicking his glossa with extra motion as he did, and pulled his mouth slowly off the spike.  “Better?” Barricade murmured.  He kinda hoped not: his interface systems were already primed. 

“Don’t…know,” Blackout moaned, piteously, his optics still on the ceiling.  Barricade pushed to his feet, feeling an honest moment of sympathy for the copter.

“What do you want?” Barricade asked, quietly. 

“Don’t even know that,” Blackout muttered, revolving his head down to look at Barricade.  

“Want to spike me?” Barricade offered again. He tried really hard not to squirm his thighs together with anticipation at the thought. 

The copter’s optics considered him, as if…weighing something. “What—what’s it feel like. I mean. For you?”

Well…frag. That was a little hard to describe. “Good,” Barricade said. A grin split his face. “Obviously, or wouldn’t keep offering now?”  His optics glowed when he saw Blackout hesitate.  Was the copter…considering…?  Frag he needed a push.  “Want me to show you? You probably haven’t even touched yours.” From the way Blackout twitched, he was dead on. Barricade hopped back on his chair, leaning back, flattening his doorwings against the back, his hips cocked forward.  He released his panels. “This,” he said, tapping the cover. “Spike housing.  You kinda already know about that.” Blackout’s optics were fixed on the housing, but even so he managed and embarrassed blanch. 

“This,” Barricade continued, “valve housing.”  He ran the quick command for the cover to release.  The copter’s optics dropped to the brushed-silver rim of the valve, probably taking in the dents and scratches.  His wouldn’t be like that—his would be clean and shiny.  Barricade tapped the rim with one talon.  “See?  That’s all it is. Nodes on the inner lining,” he leaned forward, pinching some of the lining, and tugging it out, enough to show one of the sensor nodes.  “Friction and charge activated.”  He tilted his head. “Uhh, you can look closer if you want.” 

Blackout hesitated, but curiosity apparently got the better of him.  He lowered to his knees, his optics never quite leaving the exposed panel.  “Does it…hurt?”

Barricade blinked. “Not…normally.”  Yeah, it had hurt like flaming slag in the past, when he’d been forced, but…he didn’t really want to bring that up right now.  He looked down over the length of his chassis as the copter bent closer.  His spike lubricated.  Shut up, he told it.  Copter’s so NOT ready to go there. 

Blackout raised one hand and prodded the valve experimentally, tapping the rim.  He looked up. “Hurt?”

Barricade shook his head, afraid to make any other reaction.  Like laughing.  The copter grew a little bolder, pushing one of his blunt fingers inside the valve’s mouth.  Barricade gasped at the unlubricated contact.  Blackout jerked his finger away. “Sorry!” he said, quickly.  “But…how did I?” Barricade winced.

Barricade stopped—barely—rolling his optics. “Lubricant.” 

“Oh.  Oh frag, I’m, uhhhh….” The copter looked down at his unhoused spike.  Barricade could tell what he was thinking as clearly as if he had an LED readout.  Do it, he pushed mentally.  Blackout reached down, swabbing some of his lubricant from his spike onto his finger.  He held it up. “Can I?”

Barricade tried to shrug, as in, tried not to squirm with anticipation.  His optics flickered in pleasure as the copter, worried about hurting him now, pushed with agonizing slowness into his valve. 

“Feels cool,” Blackout murmured, as Barricade’s valve adjustment gears spiraled down around his finger.  He braced his other hand on the back of the chair, by Barricade’s head.  Experimentally, he wiggled the finger.  Barricade squeaked.  The narrow wedge of Blackout’s mouth widened a bit—a grin. 

“Good?” He moved his finger a bit more in the valve, simulating a spike’s thrusting action.

“Frag yeah,” Barricade gasped, his talons clutching at the arms of the chair.  Blackout wasn’t going to try to…oh. Apparently he was. Barricade squirmed on the chair as the copter’s thick finger worked in and out of his valve. 

“You can touch me,” Blackout said, softly.  “Kinda liked it.”  He ducked his head swiftly away, as if embarrassed by his own candor. 

Oh. Well…. Barricade lifted his hands, letting them trace up the copter’s chassis, into the shoulders, along the arm bracing against the back of his chair.  The copter made a low noise, and Barricade felt the hand squeeze the back of his chair.  He wished he could touch one of the dangling rotors.  Blackout’s optics were hard on him, fascinated, glazed slightly by his touch.  Barricade felt his systems tighten in anticipation, his entire sensor net seeming to focus around the finger pushing in and out of his valve.  The copter moaned softly, almost as if echoing Barricade’s sensornet, as though he were aroused just by this much.  Barricade clutched his talons into the copter’s armor, his spinal cabling going rigid as an overload rippled through his systems, the electricity prickling from his valve nodes across Blackout’s intruding finger, the valve itself clamping down. 

Barricade quivered, his systems enflamed by Blackout’s lustful gaze.  Oh frag.  This was…unbelievable in soooo many ways.  He forced his valve to release, letting the copter have his finger back. 

Blackout’s optics were glassy. “I want to feel that,” he breathed. 

It was Barricade’s turn to be caught flatfooted.  Okay, flat on his back.  Same thing. “I…uh…sure?  You mean?” 

The angle of the copter’s mouth grew acute again, as he grabbed Barricade ungently by the shoulder tire, and hauled the smaller mech off the chair and onto himself as he rolled almost effortlessly to the floor. “Yeah.”

Barricade quivered, feeling a little woozily.  And unreal.  Still if this was some sort of processor glitch, it was the best kind he could imagine—hallucinating about a hot virginal copter demanding you spike him? Yeah, he’d stay crazy if this was what crazy was like. 

Blackout scrunched his optics under his facial crest in concentration, that widened to triumph as Barricade heard the click of his valve cover opening.  Frag, the copter was serious.  Barricade scrambled, pushing himself back, releasing his spike cover eagerly. 

“Ready?”  His spike hovered at the mouth of the valve.

Blackout gave a sound that might have been a growl, his hands clutching around Barricade’s shoulder kibble.  Okay. Just checking.  Barricade eased in, pausing. 

Blackout stirred, confused. “What now?” he whispered. As if trying to remind Barricade of his cue.  Seriously. Spiked me once, Barricade thought, and thinks he knows fraggin’ everything.

“Relax,” Barricade whispered back. 

He felt the copter’s systems release tension and then…there!...the valve cycled on, cinching down around his spike. He felt a sudden inrush of air from the copter.  Surprise!  Your systems know what they’re doing way better than you do, copter.  He grinned up at the copter cheekily, as he gave a slow rock to his hips.  Blackout gasped, the fingers clutching at Barricade’s shoulders almost frantically. 

Barricade debated. No. Better make this simple and short for the copter.  Plenty of time later—he hoped—to show him the fancy stuff.  He picked a nice, even pace, sure  to build a steady charge.  Blackout writhed, and it seemed to the smaller mech like the entire room was moving—the copter’s bulk filling the space.  Blackout flattened Barricade’s shoulders against his cockpit bell, burying Barricade’s face in the cleft between his armor plates, his free hand tugging and twisting at the interceptor’s doorwings.  Barricade panted, his own talons seeking out seams in armor, exploring, stroking, clawing at the copter’s body, the charge rising between them like an inexorable tide.  Barricade gritted down, determined to hold himself off, until he felt the twinge of electricity across his spike just before the copter’s valve tripped into overload.  He released himself, both their voices mingling in a plaintive cry of union as their mismatched frames surged together one last time. 

Barricade couldn’t tell if he were quivering or if it all came from the larger frame of the copter around him.  Barricade began compiling a list of different things he wanted to show Blackout, trying to arrange them in order.  Different positions or rhythms. How to control current.  All the things a glossa can do to a valve.  He shuddered in anticipation. Frag.  This was…the best thing that had ever happened to him. He lowered his head onto the glass of Blackout’s cockpit, snuggling against the larger body.

“Please,” Blackout said, his voice desperate. “You…you can’t tell anyone.”

“Won’t,” Barricade muttered.  To make the point, he nuzzled more obviously.  Back on that old warrior ‘they’ll offline me if they knew’ kick.  Frag.  Barricade had half a mind to queue up some memory scans and show Blackout once and for all how well the other warriors kept their chastity.  As Barricade had an all-too-unfortunate acquaintanceship with.  But the other half of his mind just wanted to lie here, arms spread wide and open, on the copter’s large body, spike still sheathed. As if it had a home.

He could feel tension begin to fill the frame underneath him. Fraggin’ copter.  Doesn’t know enough to snatch at relaxation and peace while he can. Always looking for something to get uptight about.  “What—what now?” Blackout asked, quietly. His voice sounded lost.

Barricade choked down the lecture he was about to give, lifting his face reluctantly—VERY reluctantly—from the copter’s armor.  Blackout’s face looked…afraid.  So much he didn’t know.  Barricade felt a strange ache at the wrongness: Blackout so adept, so skilled at brutality and violence, so accustomed to pain, but…pleasure and he was adrift.  He wanted orders. He wanted to be told what to do, as he was in combat.  Barricade felt one shoulder hitch in a half shrug. This doesn’t work like that, he thought.  He would not force Blackout. He knew too well what that was like. “Whatever you want to happen,” he said, quietly. 

 

 



Comments

[anontfwriter.livejournal.com]

Awesome fic. Very hot!

[ex-naggingf.livejournal.com]

I loved this so much! Blackout/Barricade is one of my favorite Bayverse pairings.

He couldn’t remember what he might have done to piss the copter off. Not that he was, like, pure or anything. Just that he couldn’t keep track of all the obnoxious stuff he did. That was hilarious XD

Part one was utterly awesome too. I hope you make this a series...Blackout needs an education, and to learn how to relax ^_^

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

I didn't realize that I've always kind of shipped them until recently....you know until I looked over how much I've written them. ^__^

And Barricade's an adorable jerk. :P

Thanks for reading!

[yukiko-angel.livejournal.com]

Great about how Blackout doesn't jump into interfacing at all and I love how he is confused .... and looking at everyone's crotches XD

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Poor copter...he has these urges. :P

Glad you liked!

[pellimusprime.livejournal.com]

xD awww, they're so cute. Poor Blackout! You'll get the hang of it! xD

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

He'll keep trying, at any rate! ^___^

(Yay for happy consensual smexins!)

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

Awww! Recently devirginized Blackout is so very cute. :D

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Poor copter. We laugh at his discomfort. >:P

Glad you liked!

[tmnt-tech-geek.livejournal.com]

These two just seem perfect together. I really like how it started out as something simple and has become more. You have given them both so much personality it is really hard for me to think about barricade and not think of him the way you write him.

You have also made me a huge blackout fan.

copterrowerf indeed.

[animikii.livejournal.com]

Is is odd that this made me want Blackout/Starscream so hard? With jealous!Barricade watching?