Woods

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

NC-17
Bayverse
Barricade/OC (June)
sticky pnp, slightly rough sex

Today's the anniversary of one of my favorite comms, flesh_and_steel  !  So, in my usual flail, I wroted somefin'!  It's part of a larger Starscream/Jennifer story that's still, oh, only half written, but this pulls out well on its own.  Happy Anniversary! 

“This,” Barricade said, flatly, “is boring.”

“You’re not getting any argument from me,” June said, flopping back into the front passenger seat.  “I hate this whole process.”

“Then why are we doing it?”  It was so simple: don’t do stuff you don’t like.  Barricade was rather disappointed that humans hadn’t evolved to such clarity yet. 

“Because I need a new car.”

“You have me.”  A hint of hostility in his voice. Yeah, he was jealous of a normal car.  Shut it.

“You’ve got other things you need to do sometimes.”

“You have your old car.”

“It’s…old.  It’s not really me anymore. I’m a little too old to pull off a hatchback, I’m afraid.”

“I’m way older than you,” Barricade retorted.

“Yeah? Don’t see you pulling off the hatchback look yourself, now, do I?”

Frag. Barricade…had no answer for that.  Especially not when June wriggled in the seat like that.  She ran her hands through her hair—the way it made her breasts move was…really fraggin’ distracting.  And he had to concentrate to pull into traffic from the dealer’s lot.  “So,” he said, tightly. “Nothing good there?”

June sighed.  “I hated the salesguy.”

“You’ve hated every salesguy so far.”  He wasn’t too convinced she really wanted to get a new car.  He more than half suspected that she was just humiliating him by dragging him from car lot to car lot.  And she clearly did NOT get the not-fun that was sitting in a car lot…when you’re a car.  He’d felt…like a piece of meat. 

“You sound…irked.”

“Understatement, squishy.” He hung a sharp left up 112, heading, reluctantly but gamely, for the next lot on the list—Mazda?  Whatever. “You owe me for this.” 

“Name it.  As long as it’s pervy.”  She closed her eyes, tilting her head back against the head rest.  He could feel the silken slide of her hair against him.  Frag she felt good.

“Any other way?”  He rolled up the roadway, thinking aloud.  What did he want?  Well, her, but…what could he have her do?  “I want to chase you. Hunt you.” His voice warmed. Holy Primus, yes, he wanted that.  The idea of June running, terrified, away from him, dashing away, trying to avoid him, having to race to catch her, figure out her path…. Frag that was hot.  “Catch you. Rip your fraggin’ clothes off.” He stopped himself short—verbally and physically, his tires screeching on the pavement. “Yeah.  Sorry.” 

June had frozen at his words. “Uhhh, why?”

“Uhhhh, obvious?” Frag, he’d already almost hurt her. HAD hurt her.  He saw her itching the scars from time to time. Despite what she said. 

She shrugged.  “Sounds hot, actually.”

“Could fraggin’ kill you.”  Stupid fantasy. Stupid vocalizer. Stupid id.  

“You won’t. You wouldn’t.”

I would. I’d want to.  He struggled for something to say, settling for setting his tires rolling again, as if the act of locomotion were an all-consuming task. 

“It’d be hot.” June smiled. 

Barricade writhed. Frag yeah it would. That was the problem.  “No.”

“Come on.” June trailed her fingers across his center console.  “You know we’ve talked about doing each other’s fantasies.”

“This is different.”

“I don’t think so. You want to do it; it sounds hot.  We can do it.”

We can’t. I can’t. “No,” he said, weakly.

***

“I’m going to run, now,” June said, slipping out of the passenger seat.  She’d been, of course, driving him fraggin’ crazy the whole ride out here, running her fingers along the upholstery seams, wriggling in the seat.  They were supposed to wait here while Jennifer looked at this stupid house for rent.  But the parking area was in the middle of the woods—birch and oak crowding over them—keeping them hidden. For now.   “See if you can catch me.”

“No. You’re not.”  He felt a collision between a skirl of desire and a wall of fear.  He could see, way too easily, way too arousedly, June running, her red hair flashing in the sunlight, her white face whipping around to spot him, eyes wide and round with fear.  Oh frag.  Oh frag.  His capacitor leapt up amplitude of current just at the image. Then the feel of denim ripping from his talons, the hard fall of her body against the ground.  Something dark and primal stirred in Barricade’s cortex, squirming contentedly. “June?”  He heard a quaver in his voice. He saw June take off through the woods, the sunlight dappling over her red sweater.  Terrible color to try to hide in, he thought.  Blazingly easy to spot against the early summer greens and oranges of last year’s leaves. 

No. Stop thinking like that.  He stood up. “June?  Come on.  Come back here.” 

She ducked behind a stand of trees.  “Come get me!” 

“June?”  He stood at the verge of the woods. “Come on.  Not funny. Really.”  He felt a surge of desire. Hunt, find her, catch her. She wants you to and ooooooh Primus you want to. Think what you could do when you catch her.  The fear in her eyes.  Cold talons against her heated skin. 

“Catch me,” her voice floated back to him. A taunt.  And then the rustle of leaves as she bolted.  Barricade quivered.  Juuuuuune, his processor whined, but he found himself beginning to move, his footplates sidling into the woods, compressing the fallen leaves, optics scanning for her. 

It was a warm day: her heat sig barely registered.  Too easy, part of him said, too easy, anyway, to go by IR.  More fun this way: Visual and audio only.

No. This isn’t fun. This isn’t real.

He stalked through the woods, feet crackling over downed branches, tree limbs snapping off against his armor.  “June,” he said, but his voice was soft, plaintive.  Don’t make me do this, part of him begged, while another hunted for her, all of his systems priming on. 

He heard a rustle off to his left, whirled, to see the red sweater tearing through the woods, hair rippling like living flames.  An echo of her laughter floated back to him. This isn’t, he thought, grimly, funny.  He picked up his own pace, branches slapping against him as he pushed through the woods after her.  He didn’t bother to speak now. Not this time. He’d show her what a mistake this was, if she really wanted to know.  She hadn’t listened when he’d tried to tell her—he’d make sure she understood.  And he’d hate himself alongside. 

It wasn’t much of a chase when he got down to business. He cut her off as she tried to cut right. A tense moment as they stared at each other, before she turned heel and bolted in the other direction, cutting through a stand of saplings too tightly packed for him to push through.  He paused, debating shoving through, but settled for circling around it.  She’d make a move sooner or later. Wasn’t smart enough to be afraid. 

He stopped, waiting.  His systems cycled to inactive, their hums losing pitch.  Just…wait. 

A rustle.  A dash from the other side of the stand.  He burst into action, legs pistoning him after her. His feet slipped a bit under the accumulated leaves of years, gouging into the soil, as he flung himself at her. 

His talons closed around her torso, stopping her forward movement with an abrupt slam.  He hauled her up off the ground, raising her to his optic level.  She twisted, kicking, struggling to free her pinned arms.  One of her shoes kicked off her foot, thudding ineffectually off his chassis.  “This what you wanted?” he snarled.  “Is it?” His optics blazed. 

His interface systems roared on at the look on her face.  Scared. She was scared. He burned to see her like this: half aroused at the fear; half disgusted with himself.  He didn’t give her time to answer or himself time to think, throwing her roughly against the ground.  His claws tore at her, reducing her red sweater to shreds, part of his cortex imagining the flying strands as spurts of blood.  She lay gasping for breath, the wind knocked out of her from impact, her hands shoving at his as he tore away her clothes.  Denim shrieked, as if in place of her own voice. His optics dimmed with dark pleasure at the sound.  He tore at her undergarments, the pale green lace almost pathetic as some sort of barrier.  He could smell the heat and fear from her. And something more—the musky odor of her arousal. He growled, looming over her, tearing open her bra, cool talons rough on the warm soft swells of her breasts. She shut her eyes, her expression an unreadable mask.

She kicked at his wrist tire, her socked heel thumping against the rubber.  He laughed at the uselessness, pinning her down.

“Mine,” he snarled.  “Show you how much.”  His free hand snatched at his interface hatch, jerking his module from its catches.  Green lights glittered hard even in the bright summer air.  He shoved her white thighs aside, his talons hard and sharp against their pale softness.  He flicked the module’s tip node, sending a jolt of pleasure through his systems, as if priming himself, before he thrust it into her access port, watching the brushed metal disappear between the pinkness of her flesh.  She gasped, spine arching, breasts pushing against his hand, eyes still shut tightly.

Part of him howled at himself to stop, to at least ask if she was all right, if she was hurt, but part looked down at her body, bearing scars he had made on her skin and thought…mine. I have marked her. She is mine. 

His datastream slipped his control, slamming into her.  He could feel the resonances travel through the fluid of her body, almost tingling against his hands as he held her.  Her eyes drifted open, her fingers clutching into his hands, his wrists, her fingertips hot, desperate touched, her short nails scraping his cables weakly.

He bent over her, optics keen on her face, her body, the sheen of sweat covering her skin, slicking his grip. Tendrils of her red hair stuck to her face, her mouth was parted in a gasp, her breath harsh and raw.  Primus, he wanted her. As he’d wanted almost nothing else in his life.  He bent his head lower, pressing the cool spires of his facial armor against her warm body, tasting the salt—like tears—on her belly, the heat and softness and slick wetness, writhing against him.  She consumed his senses—his tactile, his olfactory, his visual, his audio…until he could contain himself no longer.  He pushed a strange, feral cry into the warmth of her body, his module tripping into overload, sending an overpowering wash of electronic harmonics through him, pushing his systems into a heady offline. 

When he came back, he pulled away, instantly, sheepishly, not daring to look at her.  One hand pushed carefully between her legs for the module, acutely aware of his hard, sharp edges. 

Her hands clutched at his chromed facial plate, tugging his face toward hers.  “Good?” she whispered. “Did you like that?”

His lower optics tried to drift away, ashamed.  Yeah. He had liked that. More than that—wanted it.  Almost needed it—to use his entire sensor array, to feel the rush of power and control, the shifting tension of flight and pursuit and the fierce pleasure of capture, of controlling her. “Yeah,” he croaked.  Liked and wanted and craved and feared.  “Did I hurt you?” He winced when his optics caught a spot of red between her breasts, where his talons had sliced into her ripping off her bra.  He cursed, optics fixed on it, doorwings sagging. 

He ducked his head, licking at the injury, as though he could erase the traces of it happening. Erase his carelessness. The blood tasted sweet and rich and dark on his sensors, heady and metallic, not at all like the high thin taste of her sweat. 

“I’m not as fragile as you think,” June said, stroking his face as he dared to look up at her.

Maybe I am.



Comments

[cazcatharsis.livejournal.com]

sorry i didn't get to this earlier, LJ was being a prick.
Mmmmmm, hunt-fic. There's something primally satisfying about the whole cave-man romp in the woods...