![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
niyazi-a.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
shadow_vectorBayverse
Blackout/Barricade, Starscream
sticky, fluffy angst
Here, have some OT3 *flings* Some, being like...3500 words. Sigh. Yeah, more of that virgin!copter thing.
Barricade did not have a great deal of experience with the pleasant kind of surprise. So he was more than a little...flatfooted when his door coded halfway through offshift, and he'd staggered to slap the entry code, to reveal Blackout standing in the doorway.
“Uhhh, yeah,” Blackout said, staring at his feet. Or maybe not his feet, but Barricade had decided a long time ago not to get his hopes up.
“Uh yeah, yourself,” Barricade said. He shifted his weight back, looking to see if the copter's optics tracked the movement of his pelvic span. It did. Excellent. Coptersex was perhaps near at hand. Considering the time, and Blackout’s obvious (and hot) discomfort.
Uhhh, not so near, he revised, as Blackout continued to shuffle his feet awkwardly, optics downcast.
The copter's innocence was fraggin' HOT when it came to actual interfacing. When it came to the run up to the interfacing, though, not so hot. Well, no, it WAS hot. It was just....really hard for Barricade to restrain himself: Barricade did not like restraint. Barricade had a fairly strong desire to yank the copter into the room, throw him on the berth, and have his demented little way with him.
But, for one thing: the mass ratio was all wrong. Determination counted for a lot, but the copter still wasn't easy to toss around. Strength of the insane was the expression—not strength of the impossibly frisky,
This was also kinda new to the interceptor, any kind of offer, and he more than half feared, you know, rejection. A hot mech like Blackout could get anyone. The fact that he kept coming to Barricade was just a fluke. It did not mean anything, and Barricade figured if he pushed too hard, the copter would go elsewhere. Barricade was not going to let his eagerness ruin his desire. He'd learn to wait. He had endured worse.
“You...want anything, Blackout?” he asked, finally, trying to keep the smirk from his voice. Frag the copter was hot. His own optics fought to stay focused on Blackout's face.
“I, uh, couldn't recharge.”
Oh too much fun. “So...you're here for a bedtime story?” Barricade leaned one shouldertire against the doorframe, arms folded across his chassis.
“No...?” Blackout looked more than a little confused.
The urge for copter-berth-flinging spiked. Frag. A smile broke over Barricade's face. “Do you want me to guess?”
The rotors quivered, before the head drooped even lower. “Don't think you'd have to guess too hard,” Blackout said, quietly.
YES! “I might be able to help you...MIGHT,” Barricade said.
“Not funny,” Blackout said, stepping into the room. “Fraggin' your fault, all of this.”
Barricade smirked. “I take 100% of the blame.”
Blackout growled, swooping down to grab Barricade by the shoulders, dropping to one knee to press the smaller mech against his chassis. Oof. The copter's large hands trailed down Barricade's back kibble, tracing the small plates of armor, scooping Barricade's body against his. Barricade tilted his head up, meeting the worried look on Blackout's face. The poor copter, still so uncomfortable with such a natural thing as lust. That the lust was for Barricade was perhaps an issue worthy of concern—Blackout's taste was...questionable. But Barricade wasn't in the mood to question. He was in the mood for copter. He pulled one arm free, tugging the copter's face down toward his, pressing their mouth plates together, feeling the delicious alarmed quiver in the acute angle of Blackout's mouth against his.
The hands tightened on him, scratching his paint, which made Barricade hiss with pleasure, his own talons digging in around the collar armor.
Blackout pulled away. “Not good at that kissing stuff,” he mumbled. “Don't know what I'm doing.”
Barricade gave a showy sigh. “Been through this, copter.” He pulled the mouth in closer to his, flicking along the angle with his glossa. He felt Blackout's body quiver with each flick, a small high whimper building in the larger mech's vocalizer. “You try. Just do what you want to,” he said, his voice husky.
Blackout's optics tilted with worry, but he murmured, “Yeah, uh, okay. But you gotta close your optics and stuff.”
Really? Frag. Barricade rolled his optics before he closed them, tilting his head up again.
“Uhhh, do what I want to, right.” A long hesitation, and then the mouth pressed insistently against Barricade's, the glossa pushing forcefully past his dentae. Whoa. Apparently the copter was ready to graduate from flirty kisses to the This Means Business. Not that Barricade, or his systems, were inclined to complain or anything. His talons clutched at the copter’s shoulder armor.
Blackout growled again, scooping Barricade off his feet as the copter rose to his feet, Barricade squashed over his cockpit, their mouths locked, glossas playing a fairly complex game of tag. Not that Barricade’s was trying that hard to get away.
Blackout moved, walking toward the berth, Barricade's dangling feet bumping against his belly plating. He dropped Barricade to the berth, breaking the kiss. Barricade squirmed as his door wings flattened on the berth, his systems spinning with desire. His mouth tingled with a memory of the kiss, like leftover charge. Frag, the copter was...yeah. Blackout's optics were spiraled wide as he loomed over Barricade. “Want you,” the copter said, his voice raw with lust.
Yeah? Barricade was so not up to complaining about that. He nodded.
“Having really, you know, pervy thoughts.” Blackout’s tone was apologetic.
Barricade couldn't suppress the grin. “Yeah? Me too.”
“I mean, uhhh, I want to do stuff to you.”
“I kind of guessed.” The copter's squeamishness was fraggin' adorable. “You know, what with the mid-shift visit and the glossa-hockey there.” Oh, Barricade, you romantic scoundrel.
“I mean, like...pervy stuff.”
Barricade rolled his optics. “Yeah? Go for it.”
Blackout's face contracted in worry, his crest lowering over his optics. “Uuhhhh, okay.” He gave Barricade one last concerned look before kneeling on the floor by the berth. One large hand pinned Barricade's chassis down easily, while his lowered his head to Barricade's pelvic frame. Oh Primus, Barricade thought. His already primed spike released a dollop of lubricant. He fought a powerful urge to squirm in anticipation. He kept himself still, concentrating on Blackout's semi-worried face as the copter moved to run his mouth along Barricade's interface hatch, tracing the hatch's panel lines with the point of his mouth. Then another circuit with his glossa. Barricade's heat spiked. Frag he wanted to see more, but Blackout's large hand splatted him flat on the berth.
Blackout looked up. “Uhh, you want me to stop, you know, just like...say something?”
Barricade was torn between a 'yeah right 'want you to stop'' and the deep, sweet ache that Blackout even offered. Others had had no problem using him, not only not caring if he enjoyed it, but laughing at his struggles and helpless cries. Well, that was until he'd given up on begging. Barricade struggled with what to say. What came out was a garbled, “'kay.”
Blackout nodded solemnly, ducking down to lick the hatch's cover again, his other hand squeezing at Barricade's thigh. The force of keeping himself still was more or less killing Barricade: his body began a frame-wide quiver, as if all of his actuators were overstrained. Blackout gently popped the hatch, dropping in to kiss the equipment covers. Barricade gasped, his hips bucking off the berth. His spike tingled, craving attention, but the copter had moved on, his glossa tracing a gentle circuit of the valve cover, first, up the left side, then the right in a smooth arc. Barricade forced himself still, sensations trilling across his net.
Blackout repeated the gesture, with a little less pressure. A high whine pulled itself from Barricade's vocalizer. Blackout looked up, the red optics focussing on Barricade's face. “Am I doing it right?”
Barricade squirmed for an entirely different reason: he didn't know. No one had ever done this to him. But he couldn't admit that to the copter—Blackout would never respect him again. Or worse, think he was pathetic. Quick: improvise! “You enjoying it?” That sounded neutral.
Blackout tilted his head. “Yeah. Cool equipment. Want to know how it works.” He ducked down, tracing another circuit around the valve's rim, along the inner edge. Barricade squeaked. “Hey, can you, uhhh, you know, like...overload this way?”
He was not going to let this go, was he? “It's possible,” he said, hearing a sudden flatness in his voice. He remembered all too clearly being forced to do that—he'd never had it done to him. And his valve was so damaged....
Blackout frowned. “Not going to help me, are you?” He thought Barricade was being difficult, well, for being Barricade.
Barricade swung back onto more familiar territory. “Welcome to find out for yourself.”
Blackout growled, the sound traveling through Barricade's valve. “Fine.”
Barricade expected Blackout to give up. He did not expect the copter to grab him by his pelvic armor, drag him to the edge of the berth, pushing his thighs apart. The copter's face pressed against his interface tech, the sleek cheekplates bumping against the spike cover—the spike inside bumped back. The glossa probed inside the valve, cautiously, curious. Barricade groaned as the copter settled into his exploration, glossa working along some of the rim nodes, sending white warm tingles over his net. Oh frag, this felt good. His hips rocked against the berth, his entire frame tightening at the sensation, talons clutching fruitlessly for purchase against the berth.
One of the copter's large hands curled under Barricade's hip, squeezing at Barricade’s pelvic frame, keeping him from squirming away. Right. Like Barricade would want to. Blackout’s rotors were spread wide against the floor, and he made a soft contented sound against Barricade's battered valve.
Barricade's breath came in sharp hisses as rising charge surged over his net, pushed higher by the arousing knowledge that Blackout...wanted to do this. To him. He stared at the ceiling, optics flickering with rising unaccustomed pleasure. His hips rocked in tempo with Blackout's probing glossa, the slow, steady rhythm that was driving him crazy. He made short whimpers, answered by a soft sound from the copter, the large hand squeezing at his hip.
The noise of the door override barely registered over their mutual gentle moans. However, Starscream’s voice managed to cut through…everything. “Barricade,” the jet said, pushing into the room, “I am in need of materiel classifications in this re—oh.” Barricade jumped, whipping his neck in time to see the Air Commander lift his head from a datapad he had been studying intently and then the open-jawed expression as his optics took in the view.
It was, to be honest, one spark of a view: the copter’s face buried between Barricade’s thighs, the smaller interceptor splayed out wantonly on the berth. Blackout leapt back, landing with a clatter on his aft, his rotors quaking with mortification and terror. Barricade sat up, one hand flying to cover his exposed equipment.
Starscream’s expression got sly. “And what have I walked in on here?”
“Other than my recharge cycle?” Barricade snapped.
“Recharge? Is that what you are calling it now?”
Barricade glowered.
“And you,” Starscream wheeled to face Blackout, who looked like he was desperately wishing he could die right now, head downcast, staring at his large hands as if lamenting how totally useless they were. Or hating what they’d recently been touching—which was Barricade’s hipframe. “What do you think you were doing?”
A long, agonizing silence. Barricade waited to be called out as instigator—he had been, after all.
“I…uh…was interfacing with Barricade,” Blackout said, quietly, the words rough as if they hurt to say aloud. He wrung his hands, his rotors rocking in their teeter hinges.
He knew better than to expect any kind of mercy from Starscream. “Why?” Starscream asked, deliberately.
“Uh.” Blackout writhed. “He…lets me?”
And now, it was Barricade’s turn to squirm under Starscream’s withering glance. “Yes. He lets you.” A world of hidden meaning there. Starscream knew. He knew about Barricade and how…voluntary most of his interfacing was.
“And he knows more than I do,” Blackout continued, unsteadily.
“Really?” The optics swiveled back to the copter.
“He, uhh, yeah.”
“Blackout’s…me away from being a virgin.”
“Ah.” The Air Commander nodded, as if this all made sense now. “So he has no basis for comparison.” Starscream stepped forward, dipping to one bent knee in front of the still seated copter. One hand reached for the rotors. Blackout tried to flick them, self-consciously, out of the jet’s reach. Starscream shook his head, grabbing a rotor blade. “Why, Blackout. What do you think I am going to do with you?”
“Tear out my rotors,” the copter mumbled, not daring to make a move. “I deserve it.”
The hand stilled, the smirk fading, as he shot a quick glance over to Barricade. The interceptor shrugged. “Blackout?” Starscream waited until the copter looked up at him—a slow drag of the optics. “I am not going to damage you for interfacing with Barricade.”
“Against the rules,” Blackout said, miserably. “Figured out why.”
A hint of the smile returning. “And why is that?”
“Because it feels too good. Can’t…you know…think straight.”
“Mmmm,” Starscream said, letting his talons trail down the rotorblade he had grasped. “I do know,” he murmured. He leaned in, his mouth placing a sudden kiss on the copter’s surprised mouth. Blackout made a tight sound in his vocalizer, an alarmed whimper. Barricade, watching, made his own stifled cry. He could see how this went from here: Starscream interfaces with the copter, and…yeah. No more for Barricade. He was watching the death of the best thing to ever happen to him.
“It’s…,” Blackout managed to push out, “against the rules.”
“Perhaps,” Starscream said, leaning in to rub his cheek chevrons against Blackout’s. “But if you have evidence of me doing it as well, I am unlikely to proceed with any punishment.”
Seriously? Barricade thought. That was a seduction line?
Blackout pulled away. “Blackmail,” he muttered.
“It is not blackmail if we both benefit. And,” Starscream’s other hand drifted forward, the backs of his talons tracing over the copter’s pelvic arch. He smiled against Blackout’s mouth as the copter’s frame jerked, “you are so very aroused.” He pushed against Blackout’s shoulder, easing him to the ground, rotors sliding nervously apart along the floor. The copter whimpered as Starscream’s mouth dipped to his throat.
Barricade flopped onto the berth, wanting to look away, his hopes dying with a prickling, acidic burn, but he couldn’t tear his optics off them. The way the bronze jet covered Blackout with his larger shoulder struts, one forebent leg joint pushing between the open frame of Blackout’s thighs, his hands drifting over the copter’s chassis, down his arms, inviting a touch: Barricade couldn’t stop watching. Hated that he couldn’t stop watching. Hated it even more as the copter responded in earnest, hands reaching around the broad chassis to stroke the twin turbines on the jet’s back. See? Barricade told himself, he fits better with the jet. He’s not yours. Never was. Fool to have thought so, even for a klik. Got your hopes up, and now this is the fall.
He forced himself to watch the whole thing, the way the bronze hips worked up and down, the way their mouths met, and glided off each other, the way their hands explored and clutched in turn at each other’s armor, the rising tempo of exvents the most solid indication of their arousal until Blackout cried out, his back arching, rotors whipping sideways along the floor, fingers digging into the jet’s waist.
They fell limp together, the jet’s cockpit snugging between the two halves of Blackout’s chest armor, their arms stirring feebly in post-coital langor. Blackout, for once, seemed in no hurry at all to move. The thought depressed Barricade more than he thought possible. The interceptor flopped onto his other side, turning his back to the two still entwined on the floor, curling into a ball around his thwarted lust, his doorwings drooping flat onto the berth. Not yours. It’s over.
He forced himself to start the power-down to recharge, hoping that when he cycled up, they’d have the decency to be gone, and he could pretend the whole thing had been…like a dream or something. Like it hadn’t ever really happened. Like it was a fantasy too good for the real world: a fantasy of someone wanting Barricade, someone fixated on his desires. He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d fallen himself until he felt it yanked away from him. Go back to how it was before…?
It seemed…awful. Even more awful than it had been. He hated himself, hated that he’d dared to think any other way, think he deserved any differently.
Shut up. Recharge, he commanded himself. He cycled his optics down, glad that at least they had stopped making noise.
[…]
He jerked awake at a brush on one of his shoulder tires. His optics onlined, slowly, but not before a trilling touch ran down his side, and over the armor of his hip. He felt something push his doorwings apart, and a nuzzling between them. He turned, his pauldron bumping against something large behind him. The tilted red optics of the jet glowed at him. “Hello, Barricade,” Starscream said, conversationally, as his hand continued to trail down the interceptor’s thigh.
“What do you want?” Barricade said, his tone surly.
A soft laugh, pressed against his shoulder tire, followed by a nip at the rubber. “I imagine it should be obvious.” Barricade tensed as he felt the jet’s larger frame curl around his, the armored thigh sliding over his.
“You just got that,” Barricade grumbled. Got mine, he added, mentally. Took it from me. He felt the cool talons grab his chin, turning his face over, forcing him optic-to-optic with the jet.
“High libido,” the jet said, calmly. “Besides, I believe I interrupted…something. Consider this my amends.”
“Fraggin’ weird time to be checking up on my paperwork,” Barricade retorted, blatantly evading.
“Leadership,” Starscream said, tartly. “One must keep strange hours. But that is work. And I have,” his engine gave a purring rumble as his talons dipped between Barricade’s legs, “moved on.” He pulled Barricade further flat onto his back, the large shoulder blocking the light. The jet was a dark silhouette above him, only his tilted red optics glowing and visible.
“Never wanted me before,” Barricade argued.
“I do not force myself on anyone,” Starscream murmured. He pulled Barricade against him, nuzzling into his audio. Barricade was about to argue the dubious consent of the copter when Starscream added, “I am simply offering. You may accept or decline.”
“Why?” Barricade croaked. His systems, already primed, fired back online.
A soft laugh. “Are you that unused to having a choice in the matter?” One hand trailed over his grille, plucking at the mesh. Barricade’s optics dimmed, his chassis arching into the gentle touch. This…was a little weird. The Air Commander hated him. Or so he’d thought. And it was true that Starscream had never touched him, never forced him. Could it be that…Starscream just didn’t want it that way?
Barricade nodded, dimly.
Starscream licked the corner of his grille, his sleek bronze glossa sharp against the chrome. “Is that a yes?” The optics were coy.
“Blackout?” Barricade managed.
“He is right here.” Starscream shifted onto his elbow, the broad span of his shoulders cutting across the ceiling. He gestured to the edge of the berth, where Blackout sat, chin cradled on his hands on the berth, watching intently. “He also considers this a guarantee that I cannot pursue some,” Starscream’s optics rolled in a tight, amused motion, “ridiculous charge against him.” Right. Interfacing with Barricade. Pretty much blackmail material for the copter. Just…perhaps not the way Blackout thought. It wasn’t the interfacing that was the issue, it was the ‘voluntarily with Barricade’ part.
“So, this totally serves your purpose,” Barricade said. Yeah, well there went that half-formed idea that Starscream might actually want you.
“As does everything I do, yes,” Starscream replied.
“Don’t want someone who doesn’t want me,” he said, quietly. If Starscream’s face hadn’t been buried between his pauldron and his audio, he would have had the self-preservation or dignity to not say that. But it was the core of the matter: he hated not being wanted. He hated it more than being used. And with Blackout…it had been so different. And he’d let himself—foolishly, stupidly—believe it. And he was not going to be a pawn in some mindgame Starscream had going on.
Something must have shown in Barricade’s face. Starscream leaned in. “I have no desire to take him from you, Barricade,” the jet whispered. “He was merely too arousing to resist.”
“And me?”
“You?” Starscream pulled away to meet Barricade’s gaze. “I would like to find out.” He hovered there, waiting for Barricade’s response, his hands stilling on Barricade’s body. In abeyance.
“Yeah,” Barricade said, unsteadily.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 01:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 09:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 02:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 09:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 09:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 04:10 pm (UTC)And now, I'm off to murder idiotic professors who can't get it into their skulls that paper doesn't magically appear and that the poor secretary who has to restock it isn't a fucking mindreader who KNOWS when paper is low without someone informing her of it beforehand. (Yes, I'm bitter. I'm supposed to be on my lunch hour now.)
no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 08:59 pm (UTC)Oh, dear. We have a paper situation where I work too, only in our case, the secretary will NOT let us just go get it ourselves. We've had her leave for lunch (and trust me, Amy takes some long ass lunchbreaks) and...all the paper's locked up. So most of us have lied to her about paper being low: I have a ream squirreled in my office for just such an emergency!
no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 08:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 08:56 pm (UTC)I am...not complaining.
Glad you liked!
no subject
Date: 2010-07-07 12:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-08 03:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-11 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-20 11:31 pm (UTC)