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shadow_vectorBayverse Planetfall/2007movie
Barricade/Blackout
sticky
Allegedly, purportedly, intended to be a kink meme response for 'tire fetish'. I'm actually not sure how well it answers the prompt. Thankfully someone else posted a response on the kink meme last night so, this can be as faily as it wants to be. Technically follows First Contact. AND attempts to reconcile schizy Bay!canon. Yeah. Tries to do all three things, succeeds at none. :c
Blackout watched as Barricade crested the hill to where he sprawled, soaking in as much solar recharge as possible. Long flight ahead and Starscream’s energon saving protocols had, unfortunately, become second nature to the copter. Take free energy whenever possible.
“THAT is your alt?” Blackout tried to keep the disdain from his voice. Were groundbound vehicles here really so…ugly?
Barricade rolled to a stop, tires gritting in the sand blown across the road. “What’s wrong with it? It’s functional.”
“Barely.” Blackout sat up,letting his rotors schuss into the warm sand. Barricade’s alt was a sun-faded red that in spots looked like it had been eaten through into bare, rust-pocked metal. Barricade normally cared about how he looked. At least a little bit.
A disgruntled noise. “Not a lot to choose from out here, all right? Can’t go military because it’d be too obvious running into civilian habitations.” Not, Blackout knew, Barricade’s favorite job. He was the only one small enough, and smart enough, to be trusted to go into a human town without making a scene. Barricade wanted to prove himself, but maybe not as ‘the small errand boy.’
Barricade pushed back into his bot mode, slowly, letting the supplies edge out onto the ground: A human communication device, bottles of water, samples of local weaponry and metals and the like. “This group,” he muttered, as if to mask his discomfiture, “seems slightly more primitive than other human settlements.”
Blackout shrugged, poking at a weapon. The bore seemed impossibly small to him. Some sort of needle gun, perhaps? No challenge, really. This must be similar to the weapons they’d fired at them on that military base. Ha. Not impressive.
Barricade rolled his shoulders, wincing. The tires mounted above his shoulders gave a grating half-hearted reverse spin.
“Trouble adjusting to the new alt?” Semi-sympathetic. It was kind of tough.
“Think I picked one with wonky alignment.”
“Fraggin’ humans probably can’t design any better. Ought not be messing with mechanical stuff anyway, if you ask me.”
“Which you’ll notice I’m not doing.” Barricade dropped to the sand by the copter, spreading his window wings out to catch the sun. His optics flickered as he rerouted his processing priorities toward solar recharge. He bent over the junk himself, wearily, for a moment. Then dropped back, flat against the sand. “Frag,” he muttered.
“What?” Blackout turned from where he was pulling his daypack of rations from his storage compartment.
Barricade swiped a taloned hand over his face. “Nothing. Just tired. Gimme a klik.”
Blackout paused, then gruffly held out his ration. “This’ll help.”
Barricade waved it away. “Got my own. Just…systems running a little high right now.”
Well, Blackout knew how that felt, and knew he’d feel it again soon. Large watermass he’d be crossing tonight, with Barricade. He grunted. Fine. He’d learned to respect the little grounder, in a way. Tougher than he had any right to be. Obnoxious little jerk, but, yeah, well, maybe that was a weapon, too. “What’s with the water?”
“Fraggin’ water cooled radiator.” Barricade groaned. “Sucks.”
‘Scan a better vehicle’ was on the edge of Blackout’s vocalizer before he shut it down. He’d been lucky—the first vehicle of his approximate mass had been more than suitable to mission requirements—a powerful engine, heavy rotors, good airspeed and maneuverability. Even cargo space. “Starscream picked something showy, of course.”
“Of course,” Barricade echoed. “I bet it’s pretty.” A hint of sarcasm. He reached for one of the water bottles. Blackout took it from him.
“Let me do it.”
Barricade tilted his head. “Why?”
Blackout shrugged. “You owe me. From before.”
A grin. “What? That thing back at the base? Frag. You needed that.”
“And you need this.” Blackout thought for a moment, trying to work schematics. He tapped the grille. “Come on. Open up.”
The grin widened, Barricade’s engines purring. “Liked it better when you said that last time.”
Blackout rolled his optics. “Is that all you ever think about?”
One wink of a shutter. “When you’re around, rotors.”
Blackout sighed, but the compliment, tacky and obvious as it was, did warm something in his systems.
Barricade popped part of his hood panel. “Radiator cap should be under here somewhere.” He twitched as the copter’s large blunt fingers found the radiator cap and unscrewed it. Blackout puzzled at the bottle’s tiny closure cap, before shearing it off entirely with a flick of one finger. He tilted the wide mouth, letting the clear liquid pour into the radiator’s narrow aperture, some of it splashing on the hood, the heated engine. Barricade squeaked, steam hissing from his heated engine.
“Hurt?” A little goading.
“Not…exactly,” Barricade drawled. He reached up one hand to brush the copter’s wrist. “You know. Have some time before departure window.”
Blackout snorted. “In your dreams, Barricade. Besides. You’re overheated already.”
Barricade pouted, frustrated. “Come on.”
Blackout grinned. “No.”
“Frag. So uptight. BORING.”
Blackout tipped the bottle, letting the last of it drain into the radiator. “Boring. Sure. Which is why you keep hitting on me.”
A momentary pause, a regroup. “Yeah, to make you less boring.”
“Nice try.” He crushed the plastic jug with two fingers, throwing it away. “Enough or does this radiator system require more?”
“I require more.” Barricade slid one foot suggestively down Blackout’s thigh.
“Why I specified ‘radiator system,’ Barricade.”
“Frag.” He pouted. “You are no fun at all.”
Blackout grunted. “We have a cycle before flight window. I suggest you catch some recharge.” He screwed the cap back on the radiator, snickering at Barricade’s obvious arousal. Barricade muttered curses as he flopped onto one side. His red-edged window wings flapped unhappily. But Blackout found his optics drawn to the surface interface in this alt mode. Black and round, mounted on hard rims. They were matte, dusted with beigy sand. They looked…different.
He reached to touch one—it was strangely yielding to his prod, its complexly textured surface moving. He pushed along it, rotating the wheel.
Barricade gave a strange grunt, peering between his tire mount at the copter. “What?”
Blackout shrugged. “What yourself. Just checking out the alt mode. Like you did for me.”
“Did NOT. You didn’t let me touch.” Barricade pouted.
Fine. Blackout withdrew his hand, frowning. “Fair enough.” Slaggin’ Barricade. Try to show some interest in him…somehow, and this is what you get. This was why nobody liked him. He gave the tire one last curious squeeze before grunting and picking up his energon ration.
[***]
The flight had gone well. And by well, that meant tedious. Which Blackout appreciated, even as the night-lit waves rippled by like an oily skin beneath him, mechanometer after mechanometer. But it gave him time to be aware: feeling the currents of air, warm updrafts tangy with salt over his metal skin, the sensation, almost, of motionlessness, floating so high above the featureless sea that nothing seemed to move. He could feel the unaccustomed sensation of another mech’s field—inside his own. This alt had cargo space, which was uncomfortable, but Blackout knew a useful modification when he saw one. So, transporting Barricade to follow the next lead for the Allspark. In his cargo. It felt…weird—a soft fuzzing hum against his own systems, the shifting pressure of the tires against his cargo bay deck. Barricade spent the entire trip in recharge—little frag must have been exhausted—not even moving until Blackout had landed, rotors spinning down.
“Murgh,” Barricade groaned. “We…there already?”
Already. Seriously. Blackout chuffed, rolling open his side door. “Ahead of timetable,” he said, coolly.
Barricade popped into gear, rolling to the edge of the bay before unfolding himself slowly, stretching down onto the ground. “Not exactly luxury accommodations in there,” he muttered. “Surprised I’m not all cramped up.”
“You were in alt.”
“This alt,” Barricade muttered. “Which I hate.”
“I thought you said it was ‘functional’.” Blackout waited until Barricade had crawled out before collapsing the cargo bay as he pushed back. They’d flown east to west, chasing the night, so they still had hours before sunrise.
“Functional means I slaggin’ hate it,” Barricade said, rolling his shoulders again. “I swear, the next one’s going to have better alignment.”
Blackout paused, considering, settling himself on the ground, rotors flared. Then reached forward, grabbing one of the shoulder-mounted tires. Barricade bolted upright, his vocalizer giving an alarmed blurt of static. Blackout gave a lopsided grin under the heavy cheek flanges. The tire gave a little under his pinch. His head tilted, fascinated.
“Uhhh.” Barricade’s helm whipped from side to side, craning his head back, trying to catch Blackout’s gaze. “What are you doing?”
“Told you. Your alt. Interesting.”
Barricade twitched his tire. “Told YOU. Hate this.”
“I like it.” Blackout pulled Barricade back against him, kicking his legs around the grounder. He had to know. He wanted to know. He bent forward. It smelled warm and rubbery and baked. He took a deep inhale, his olfactory sensors quivering. It was a strangely primal scent. He moved his cheek flanges out of the way, lowering his mouth to the textured surface of one tire.
Barricade squeaked as the warm glossa prickled over the rubber. Holy…frag. “Uhhh, sensitive!?”
A gust of warm air as the copter laughed. “Didn’t I say that about the rotors?”
“So, this is what? Turnabout?” Barricade squirmed. His interface systems kicked on with a high pitched hum, almost a whine.
“No. It’s hot.” Blackout rubbed his cheek flange against the tire’s side. Barricade shivered. Blackout’s hands wandered, down from the shoulders, wrapping around the faded red armored chassis. He yanked the smaller mech back against him, grinning as Barricade’s taloned hands clawed for balance. Huh. Those had tires, too. He grabbed one of them, feeling his interface systems warm. Human machinery was odd and primitive but…this part kind of worked for him.
He pushed at the shoulder tire with his nasal plate, letting it spin. Barricade collapsed against him, gasping, “Seriously! Stop doing that!”
“Or else what?” Blackout murmured. His other thumb ran around the inner rim of the wrist tire.
“Or else…,” Barricade’s voice got a little hazy, his taloned hand curling around Blackout’s fingers. “Come on. Teasing’s not cool.”
Blackout gave a soft chuff of laughter. “Who said I’m teasing?” He bit the tire, feeling it pinch and give under his mouth plates, Barricade yelping and staggering back. Blackout’s other hand drifted down toward the battered red armored interface hatch. Barricade went rigid, half alarmed, half hoping. Blackout rumbled, snapping the hatch open with one hand, one blunt finger stroking the spike cover.
Barricade writhed, knee servos giving way as his spike cover snicked open, his spike sliding into Blackout’s hand. “Oh frag,” he whispered. Blackout grinned. Who knew Barricade was this, well, easy? And who knew these tire things were this fraggin’ hot. He couldn’t keep his attention off them. Something about the texture, the give, the oily black musky taste of them drove him crazy. Fraggin’ things. Figured Barricade of all mechs would have them.
He slid his hand up the lubricant-slick spike, Barricade’s EM field pounding against his like a hammer. Barricade…didn’t get it much, did he? Not that Blackout was one to talk. But at least he wasn’t so…desperate for it.
He hoped.
Blackout nuzzled against one shoulder tire, licking it, pushing at it with his cheek, rolling it back and forth on its mounting, as his hand stroked the length of Barricade’s eager spike.
Talons sank into his bracing forearm, but didn’t push him away, clawing between his forearm plates, scratching at his interior cabling. Blackout hissed against the tire, hauling one of the arms up to him, squeezing at the rubber, spinning the tire with one idle thumb, feeling the tread rub against his hand.
“Gah—frag…stop!” Barricade gasped, writhing in his arms. His head bumped against Blackout’s shoulder, his crest’s spines squealing against Blackout’s armor. Blackout grunted, his own arousal spiking.
“No,” he mumbled, his mouth working at the shoulder tire. Its firm resilient push against his nips was impossibly erotic. Chewy, so unlike the hard, sleek, unyielding metal he was used to. He felt his rotors tense in his engine, lust building up across his system, aroused by the tires, by Barricade’s whimpering, writhing frame scraping against him. Barricade’s diminutive window wings’ glass cool and slick against his brushed metal. “Fraggin’ mine, Barricade.”
He stroked the spike, squeezing more firmly, twisting his hand as he did, feeling the building charge prickle against his palm. Barricade was frantic, his legs kicking feebly at Blackout, his spinal struts arching in time with Blackout’s pulls on his spike, his vocalizer giving little bleats. Frag, Barricade’s desperation was hot. Blackout bit down on one of the tires, hard enough to puncture, feeling the exquisite tautness of the rubber, tighten, hold, and then give, before a tart-sweet taste of pneumatic fluid filled his mouth. Barricade was even hotter when he shrieked, slamming his head back against Blackout’s shoulder, his body lifting off Blackout in one high, rigid arc, his spike crackling with the overload, like a small burst in Blackout’s palm. Silver transfluid jetted into the night sky.
“Oh frag oh frag oh frag…,” Barricade collapsed back against Blackout’s frame, talons of his one hand clawed into Blackout’s forearm. Blackout said nothing, his glossa lapping tenderly at the pneumatic fluid, cleaning the gash, nuzzling against the rubber, his own interface systems deliciously ablaze.
He released Barricade’s spike carefully, with one last slick down the hypersensitive shaft, smirking as the red frame quivered against him, warm gusts of air from Barricade’s secondary cooling brushing down his chassis.
Blackout loosened his grip, waiting until he felt Barricade’s feet lower to the ground. The grounder twitched his tire out of Blackout’s reach, glaring over his shoulder. “Fraggin’ pervert.” Barricade’s hand clutched at his shoulder tire, the talons exploring around its radius, wincing as he came to the spot Blackout punctured.
“Feel weird to say that to someone else?” Blackout’s glossa flicked delicately along his angled lips, tasting the last fading trace of the pneumatic fluid.
Barricade glared, before his face broke into a tentative grin. “Yeah, actually.”
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Date: 2010-09-09 12:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 12:17 pm (UTC)This was all together, hot, adorable and rotors was incredibly sexy. For me it's normally Barricade that I say this about but this time copter!!
I think the build up is excellent and it just makes the smutty fetishness all the more kinky :3
I liked this a lot! <3
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Date: 2010-09-09 11:33 pm (UTC)I'm trying to make Blackout less of a wuss than usual. He's a badass and they're used to throwing power around in Bayverse so...it's a kind of rough balance. I hope.
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Date: 2010-09-09 03:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 11:35 pm (UTC)Glad you liked!
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Date: 2010-09-09 03:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 11:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 09:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-09 11:36 pm (UTC)/is a sicko *nom nom tires*
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Date: 2010-09-09 11:17 pm (UTC)You made tires really, really sexy. :D THAT IS AWESOME.
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Date: 2010-09-09 11:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-10 01:44 am (UTC)Absolutely delicious. I love how you write these two ♥
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Date: 2010-09-10 02:33 am (UTC)And for some reason I find the faded rusty alts much sexier than the bright shiny ones. I was so bummed in the first Bay movie when Bumblebee went all modern - it was too perfect, didn't even look real. The old rusty one had lots more character, imo.
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Date: 2010-09-10 06:00 am (UTC)Love these two >3