shadow_vector | Hooking the Copter

NC-17
Bayverse AU (obviously!!!!)
Barricade/Blackout
sticky, cracksmut

Okay, this is entirely the fault of people on

nolongerlostrpg 's chat who somehow svengali'd me into writing this. ad thus....Hooker!cade was born! Yyyyyyeah. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. For all, uhh...2500 words of it. /iz ashamed

It was the rotors. What? He couldn’t help himself. Barricade had a thing for rotors. So when he saw the copter wobbling down the street, obviously overcharged, well. What kind of Decepticon would he be if he didn’t at least try to take advantage?

“Hey, hotness,” he began.

The copter stopped, whirling around. The rotors flared as he turned, trying to keep him balanced. “What? Who?”

Barricade stepped into the wash of a streetlight. “You. You see any other hot mechs here? Well. Other than me, of course.” He smirked, flicking one window-wing. For some reason, patrons found those…irresistible. Not like he minded.

The red optics stared down at him, whirled wide with something wary. “What do you want?”

The smirk broadened. “More interested in what you want, darlin’.”

“I…uhhh, what?”

“What you want. You know.” Barricade stepped forward, placing a hand on the copter’s hip. Which was about as high as he could easily reach, at shoulder level. Frag he did love big mechs. “Surely you want something.”

The copter flinched back from Barricade’s touch, but Barricade heard the unmistakable whir of a cooling fan. Interested. Just…shy. Also a favorite type of Barricade’s. “I want to do my job. Prove myself. Win the war.”

“Don’t we all,” Barricade said, agreeably. “But in the meantime, you can have a little fun, right?”

“Fun is something you earn.”

Well, it’s certainly something you pay for. At least in Barricade’s mind. “Don’t you think you’ve earned it?”

The copter shrugged, the rotors twitching. Belying a certain physical interest no matter how hard the processor might be protesting. “Too many complications.”

Oh, Barricade loved when they used that excuse. “Not with me,” he purred. “Pay as you go.” He tilted his head, coyly, giving a sidelong glance with his optics.

The copter hesitated, considering. “I…shouldn’t.”

You should. You totally, totally should. Quick! Disrupt his thinking before he talks himself out of it. “You got a name, rotary?”

“Name?” The copter looked flustered. “Uhhh, yeah. Blackout.”

Blackout? Interesting. And potentially useful as well. Which made it even more interesting. And hot. He was careful not to let any recognition show on his face. “Blackout? Okay. I’m Barricade.” He waited a beat. “I know, never heard of me, huh?”

The optics narrowed. “Trooper?” Blackout said, distantly. “Ground force.”

Well, that was a surprise. He faltered. Recovered. “That’s me.” He tensed. Wasn’t illegal. Fraggin’ defense forces paid slag. Side businesses were more or less expected. His company commander had never complained. In fact, his was probably one of the more harmless. But some of the older school mechs, who remembered the days when the defense forces were flush with cash, didn’t understand.

Blackout looked at him, his interest seeming to pique. “What, uhhh, how do we do this?”

Barricade beamed at the fact that the objections had somehow all been overcome and they were negotiating how as opposed to if it would happen at all. “Got a place. Not barracks.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Not far.”

He turned and started walking, not giving the copter a chance to have second thoughts. Blackout fell in beside him. Yes!

“I…uh…what kind of stuff you do?” Blackout asked, his optics studying the pavement in front of him.

“You name it. I can give you a list?” He grinned. “Like a menu: you order, Barricade delivers.”

The rotors slapped into a tight line. “Uhhh, can we just take it, you know, as it comes?”

Oh frag. The shyness was killing him. Barricade’s systems heated. Remember, he told himself, don’t cave in. This is not a freebie. No matter how much you get off. “Sure.” He led the copter into the dingy building and into the narrow elevator. Cue an awkward moment of silence, the copter trying to risk glances at Barricade. Barricade stared, as if fascinated, at the scrolling numbers of the elevator display. Let the copter get a good look. They were definitely good looks—Barricade could hear secondary cooling systems ping on. His window wings twitched deliciously.

The door whooshed open before he could take proper advantage of the situation. He led the copter to the small room, coding the door with practiced motions. The room was hardly smokin’ hot slag, but, well, it didn’t matter. Serviceable and clean. A sturdy, reinforced berth with a high headboard in case clients got into that sort of thing, a half-unpacked box of candles and polishes and stuff in case the client was into that sort of thing, too. Other supplies tucked discreetly out of sight.

He flopped down on the berth, patting an area next to him. “So,” he said. He tilted his head up, drinking in the positive delicious spectacle of a nervous copter.

“So.” Blackout looked around the room, nervous. Barricade let the moment stretch. “Uh, you’re the expert,” Blackout said, finally. “How do we start this?”

We start with my face melting, Barricade thought. “You can come here. And…do you like kissing?” He knew better than just to presume. Some mechs thought kissing was a little weird.

The copter perched himself on the berth’s edge. “I, uhh, never done it?”

Well, it wasn’t a no.

Barricade grinned. “Want to try?” He’d throw this in for free. Because he liked it.

“Y-yeah.” The copter leaned down, stretching one arm behind Barricade to support him, bringing his face closer to Barricade’s.

Barricade snorted. “Shutter your optics.”

“Why?” The optics narrowed, suspicious.

“Just…yeah.”

Blackout grunted, but closed the shutters on his optics. Barricade leaned over, opening his small electrumplated mouthplates. The copter’s mouth was unusually shaped—a narrow slit of metal nearly buried under heavy armor. Still, where there’s a will, there’s a way. Barricade’s facial plates glossed over the cheek shields. His mouth brushed against the angled mouth.

Blackout twitched at the contact, jerking back. Barricade stayed there, still. After a moment, the copter leaned in, his mouth pushing toward Barricade’s. Of his own will. It was an awkward, clumsy kiss, but it was a start.

Barricade purred, parting his mouthplates, his glossa slipping out to lick the peak of the angle. The glossa’s electrical contact tingled over the copter’s mouth. Blackout whimpered. Barricade in-vented sharply, almost shivering. Oh this was one of his most hardcore kinks: innocence.

He let a little growl escape his vocalizer, hearing an answering one from the copter. Nice! His systems spun up. This was going to be fun. Not like with that fragger Motormaster. Urgh. Not fun.

Blackout lunged forward, mouth still joined with Barricade’s, pushing Barricade back onto the berth. Barricade’s window-wings scraped as they spread open on the cool metal. Blackout broke the kiss, but tipped his head down, resting his sensitive crest against Barricade’s. “Okay if I spike you?”

Oh. Frag yeah. Barricade nodded, feeling the copter’s head move along with the movement. His valve gave an eager preparatory spiral.

Blackout pushed back. “Can do it however I want?”

Barricade shrugged. “Sure.”

Blackout’s hands trembled with excitement. “Let me…let me see it.” His voice trailed off at the end, as though he were suggesting something profane. Barricade cocked his supraorbital plate at him, reaching between his legs to snap open his interface hatch. He trailed an inviting talon around the valve’s covered rim.

Blackout shivered, the rotors vibrating. “Do that more.”

Oh. Interesting. “More?”

“Yeah. Touch yourself. I want to watch.”

Well. All right then. Barricade grinned, clicking the cover open. He circled it with one talon, slowly, letting his wrist roll with the gesture. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” the copter breathed. His hands curled on the berth.

Barricade did another circuit of the rim with his talon before dipping the talon into the valve’s warmth. Blackout sucked in a gulp of air. Barricade felt his optics drift close, feeling his own talon slide into the valve, brushing one of the nodes. Which felt very nice. His systems warmed. But the copter’s optics were even hotter.

He curled his pelvic arch up, giving the copter a better view as he knelt between Barricade’s legs, and slipped a second talon into the valve. He spread his talons, pushing against the sides of the valve. “More?” he asked, voice husky.

“Yeah. A bit.”

“You can touch,” Barricade offered.

“Not yet. Want to watch.” The optics flicked up to Barricade’s face briefly. Then back down to the valve. Barricade began sliding his talons in and out of the valve, scraping the nodes against the length of his talons. He shivered. Frag, this felt good. He pushed in, then out. Thin lubricant coated his fingers, glossing the armor. He paused to withdraw his talons from the valve, drawing one talon down his glossa. Blackout shuddered. Oh, frag. This was stupidly hot. He locked optics with the copter, giving another lick down his talons, before dragging his hand down his grille and back between his thighs. He teased his valve again, sliding his talons in and out, pinching a node between them. He gave a soft moan, enflamed by Blackout’s raw desire.

Blackout shifted back, opening his own hatch, his spike cover autoreleasing. The spike—what? Barricade had to get a look—was deliciously in proportion to the rest of the copter. His valve clamped down around his talons in eager anticipation. Want, he thought, incoherent.

The copter took a cue, rolling forward, his spike in one hand, his other coming to rest flat on the berth by Barricade’s shoulder. “Never had anyone this, uhhh, small before,” he murmured.

“I can take it,” Barricade said. Frag. He wanted to take it. Bad. He squirmed his hips up in an open hint, yanking his hand out of the way.

The copter looked down at him for a long moment, before his desire overrode his last scruple. His spike sank into the valve slowly, deliberately, spreading open the valve’s compressed, slick and warm lining with its cool hardness.

Fully sheathed in his valve, Blackout’s chassis was right at Barricade’s optic-level. The copter hesitated with his free hand. “Can I touch?”

“Yeah,” Barricade muttered into the split bell of the cockpit. The smell of airframe joint oil was intoxicating. The hand nervously ran down his side, brushing his white armor, the pauldron tire, down the side of his grille. He shuddered, his valve clutching at the spike.

“Too big?”

Barricade gave a soft snort. “No.” He let his hands drift up, along the sides of the cockpit bell, into the open systems of the copter’s arms, talons drawing along the cables and wires and hoses. He gave his pelvis an inviting rock. The copter shuddered above him as the motion shifted the spike along the valve’s pressure and nodes. The copter’s face shifted through a range of expressions, but the hips took the hint, pushing harder into him, grinding the spike’s tip against his ceiling node. Barricade squirmed. Blackout gave a thrilled huff of air, seemingly aroused by Barricade’s response. One hand closed around his shoulder, the copter dropping his weight down onto his elbows.

Blackout pulled out, slowly, the spike sliding heavily along the valve nodes, grating deliciously over the rim. An exquisite action, one that had Barricade arching and worming in a desire to prolong the contact. “Hot little thing, aren’t you?” Blackout murmured.

“Yeah,” Barricade breathed, his talons dancing over the rounded swell of armor. Blackout began thrusting into the valve, a slow, regular pace, echoed by a pulsing flare of the rotors that Barricade could just barely see peeping around the copter’s shoulder. The large spike pushed in and in, filling him, pushing against his nodes, the valve caressing it with an eager hunger.

The thrusts became more insistent, harder, the hand moving down to cup Barricade’s hip, to lift him off the berth, adjusting the angle of the thrust, squeezing at the plating just at the point of pain. Oh frag. His talons clutched at the larger mech, hearing the engine rev, the ventilation system sending blasts of hot air over Barricade’s armor, the air gusting under his armor, into his own systems. He moaned, throatily, dropping his head back against the berth, rocking with the impact of the copter’s thrusts against his pelvic frame. He could feel Blackout’s excitement, from the rising pace of the thrusts, so thick in excited lubricant that he could feel the heat-liquefied lubricant oozing around his valve. The only sounds were his soft moans, the copter’s ventilation, and the sliding wet sound of the spike in its mass of lubricant.

Blackout thrust faster and faster, his hands gripping at Barricade’s smaller body, knees sliding apart on the berth. He gave a sudden jolting shudder and Barricade felt the hot rush of transfluid in his valve, the sudden crackle of electricity as the copter’s spike shocked into overload. His valve grabbed, jamming his nodes against the prickling spike, prolonging the copter’s overload, keeping the maximum charge from dissipating. The rotors flared, smacking into one sidewall, the copter arching up, optics wide and distant. Barricade grinned as the copter sagged down onto him, spike still shimmering with charge.

Blackout groaned, then slowly rolled off Barricade, the spike dislodging from the valve with a tweak that made them both wince, Barricade’s body quivering. “Good?” Barricade asked. A bit cheeky. Yeah, he knew he was.

“Frag,” the copter breathed. He rolled onto his side, with a brief grimace as he pinched a rotor between his frame and the berth. He shifted to release it, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He radiated satiation.

Frag indeed.

“No complications?” Blackout swept a hand over his crest, turning his head to glance at Barricade from between his fingers.

Barricade glanced back. “No complications. Just currency.”

A flash of something over the copter’s face, almost like disappointment. “Yeah,” he said. Then the brow furrowed. “You…didn’t?”

“I’m good,” Barricade said. Wasn’t the point of the job, and honestly, to him overload was…a little dangerous. Threatened to lose control. He’d learned to enjoy the buildup, letting the charge dissipate easily, learning to enjoy the discomfort of frustration.

“Wha—what if I want you to?” Blackout reached over, running his hand over one of the flattened window-wings.

Barricade grinned. “Well, the customer always gets what he wants.”

Hooking the Copter

no subject

no subject