Sky and Ground 7 Overex

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

NC-17 sticky rough sex dub con (It's not as bad as this makes it sound) 

 

Barricade groaned as his internal chrono chimed him. He had a cycle until his shift began, and he’d been up half the recharge…with…Skywarp. Not that he was complaining. And when he got to his duty shift, he could use his online-recharge cables and be just fine. It was just the getting from Point A to Point B that would be challenging.

Especially the part about getting out from under Skywarp. Again, not that he was complaining. He found the larger mech’s weight comforting, actually. But, unlike Skywarp, he had officially assigned duties. And that led to…, “Skywarp?” he said, softly. He cringed at his own voice, so grating and harsh, even in his softest volume. Nothing like Skywarp’s warm baritone. Skywarp muttered, shifting off to one side. Close, only Barricade didn’t move fast enough, and now his left arm was pinned under the jet’s rib strut, the larger mech’s weight pressing his wrist tire hard into the berth. Ow.

He sat up. “Skywarp, can…can I have my hand back? Please?”

“Muh?” The optics unshuttered, the irises spiralling in and out, attempting to focus. Barricade tugged on his arm. Skywarp lifted himself up, catching the hand as Barricade freed it. “Oh look,” he said, blearily. “A hand.” He brought it to his face, jerking Barricade back down on his side as he brought the smaller mech’s silver talons up to his mouth. “Mmmmm,” the jet murmured, licking at the long talons. Barricade quivered at the sensation of Skywarp’s warm glossa against the sensitive pressure plates in the palm of his hand.

“I…have to…go…” he tried, bravely trying to reclaim his hand. In response, Skywarp pulled him against him.
 

“Too early,” Skywarp said. “You’re barely recharged.” True. But.

 

“Dutycycle,” he said, lamely.
 

“Frag dutycycle.” Skywarp pulled him into a kiss.

 

“Wish I could,” Barricade said, earnestly. “But, really,” he struggled to pull himself away, struggling as well within himself. The EM field between them was a layer of warm fuzz he really didn’t want to leave, even though he knew some of that warm fuzziness would follow with his field through the day. “Dutycyle.”

 

“Stay with me,” Skywarp said, running his large armored hands down Barricade’s back.
 

Tempting. More tempting than Skywarp would ever know. He allowed himself to get drawn into another kiss, but when Skywarp rolled over, sliding one hand between his thighs, he protested. “Going to be late!”

 

Skywarp groaned. Almost as if he were the one who had to drag his way out of a warm recharge, but he released Barricade. “Fine,” he pouted. “Go then. Enjoy your stupid dutycycle.”

 

Barricade slipped off the edge of Skywarp’s recharge berth. Much bigger than the one in his own station—the berth itself was probably bigger than his entire station. He cycled his optics to lowlight, heading over to the maintenance facility to at the very least clean his exterior joints. Trying desperately not to think of Skywarp warm and drowsy on the berth. He swabbed a cleansing rag with regret over his legs, his interface plating. After dutycycle, he should probably go to the maintenance bay and get a full wash of the panel. But this would have to do—he was running out of time.

He crossed over to the large angular shape of Skywarp, sprawled across the berth. One long foot dangled toward the floor. He sat on the edge of the berth, leaning forward over the jet’s chassis. Not daring to touch him uninvited. “Not upset, are you?” he asked. “Can be back right after dutycycle.” Maybe they could go to the maintenance bay together. He’d never interfaced there before. Not even…unwillingly. He was about to blurt this idea to Skywarp when the large jet pulled him into a fierce embrace.

 

“Take your time,” Skywarp said. “I’ve got stuff I need to do today also, you know.”

No, he didn’t know. Skywarp never told Barricade what his official duties were on the Nemesis, and Barricade refused to ask. “All right,” he said, a little unevenly, a little hurt. No, don’t be silly, he told himself. You can mention the maintenance bay thing later. He’ll like it. Primus, he was upset that Starscream had taken him in the refectory, and had promised darkly that as soon as he could come up with something even more outrageous…. “Enjoy your recharge. Sorry to wake you up.” He risked a light kiss on the jet’s mouth.
 

“No problem, little spike,” Skywarp murmured, drowsily, as Barricade coded the door to leave. Barricade cast one last lingering look over his shoulder at the somnolent mech, and sighed, before he braced himself and marched off to his dutycycle appointment. Another shift of logging aerial assays. Hurray. 

 

He didn’t see the wicked glint in Skywarp’s slitted optics as the door coded shut behind him.
 

 

*****

 

Barricade’s first duty assignment had been to verify the code seals on the rooms containing classified (or higher) information. This hadn’t been on his roster last dutycycle when he’d checked, but with Skywarp around, everyone was jumping to inspection ready. So it wasn’t until two cycles into his shift that he finally secure-coded the door to his own work-station, by this time almost fantasizing about his online-recharge. Yes. Log onto your systems, sit in your chair, find your recharge cable, and…start sorting those tedious assays. He could do it. He’d feel better—at least able to stand without wobbling—once he had some recharge.
 

Except, as his door moved aside, he couldn’t. Someone was in his chair. Someone large, and bronzy gold, sprawled on the too-small-for-him chair, hips pushed forward to the edge of the seat, head and arms thrown over the chair’s rests, hyperventing in wanton abandon.

Between his long legs, Skywarp knelt, eyes closed, probing the other jet’s valve with his black glossa. Starscream moved one of his long legs to drape over Skywarp’s shoulder, the toes curling in time to Skywarp’s licks.

 

Barricade shut the door, mouth agape. His eyes flew behind him, to see if anyone else had seen. No. If it were real, someone would have seen, or said, something. It must be…he must REALLY need that online recharge. He coded the door again, optics shut. Hallucination, he thought. WEIRD hallucination. Kind of hot, though. The door pushed aside again. He was ready to unshutter his optics and see proof of his under-charge—the empty chair, especially.

 

“OH!” Starscream shouted, his clawed hands curling around the arms of the chair, spine arching up. His turbines fired with arousal. His heel clanged against one of Skywarp’s engines.

 

Oh frag. It was real. And this time others did look. Barricade bolted into the room and quickcoded the door closed, his capacitor thrumming with too much energy. Panic and arousal and confusion all at once. As he watched, one of Starscream’s hands pressed Skywarp’s mouth harder against his valve, as he moaned and writhed against the chair. Which creaked ominously. Moreso a moment later when Skywarp struggled up, reaching to kiss his Trine mate.
 

Starscream’s hands traced the black jet’s engine mounts, the long fingers exploring the longer reach of Skywarp’s asymmetrical tailboom, as he cycled out of his overload. Starscream lolled his head languorously toward the door. “Oh, look, Skywarp. I think Barricade would like his seat back,” he murmured, vaguely.

 

“Tell him,” Skywarp said, his voice muffled in Starscream’s collar armor, “we’re busy.”

 

At those words, Barricade got what this was about. This was his punishment for having to work. Skywarp blamed him for having to leave this morning. He couldn’t help it. He had to accomplish his duties. He had to.

“Sorry,” he said, shyly. “Just ignore me.” He could find a way to get his work done. Skywarp had to understand that. He stepped around them, politely saying ‘excuse me’ as he stepped in between Skywarp’s kneeling feet, and called up his monitor.

 

“No,” Starscream insisted, “Allow me, Barricade.” The jet pushed up from the chair, arms fast around Skywarp, and the two Seekers tumbled in a pile of limbs to the floor. Two pairs of wickedly barbed feet cut the air where Barricade had been standing, as he jumped across and onto his chair. Show no reaction, he told himself. Pay no attention. You have to get your work done. This was Skywarp’s punishment—to distract him, arouse him. Well, he was certainly feeling punished. His valve was twisting on itself just remembering the sight of Skywarp’s black glossa against Starscream’s valve.

 

He found his recharge cable and plugged in. He tried to concentrate on enjoying his online recharge—it did help strengthen his resolve—but his attention kept drifting from the assays on his monitor screen to the two jets wrestling on the floor. He told himself it was all the flailing. Several times, legs had clanged against his chair support, breaking whatever small amount of concentration he had been able to build. To keep himself safe, he’d pulled his knees up against his grille.

 

“Ah!” Starscream crowed, rising up on his knees, the large angle of his reverse jointed legs stabilizing him as he straddled Skywarp’s hips. “Now, you must suffer!” He dove on top of the black mech, who started flailing and making weird, half-frantic grunts. Was…Starscream tickling Skywarp? Was Skywarp ticklish? Barricade felt a pang of jealousy—he hadn’t known that.

 

His monitor comm pinged him, but as he reached to answer it, one of Starscream’s bronzy heels sliced the air. He snatched his hand back. He could…he could come up with some excuse. And they could always ping back if it were that important. He grabbed a datapad that had been attached to his chair—he could make his notes on that and input them into the console later.

 

“Unh!” Skywarp cried out—Starscream had wedged one leg between his Trine mate’s thighs and was slowly trying to push his spike into Skywarp’s valve. It was a fight—Skywarp clamping his thighs together, Starscream just as adamantly grinding his bodyweight forward into the valve. Barricade found his concentration ruptured for several kliks. He felt his spike lubricate in its housing, imagining the warm pressure of Skywarp’s valve. Skywarp wouldn’t fight him.

His monitor pinged him again, but this time, as he reached to key it, Starscream’s entire body flew across his path, launched by Skywarp across the room. Starscream slammed against the wall with force hard enough to shake the entire room, the loud crash of his engines against the metal bulkhead startling Barricade so much he dropped the datapad. Skywarp followed, a half-klik later, grabbing the bronze jet by the wrist and spinning him around and shoving his chassis face first, bent over, onto Barricade’s console. Skywarp held onto the wrist, snagging the other one, and folding them both behind Starscream’s back, just below his engines, as he thrust into Starscream’s valve. “Ha!” Skywarp crowed. “Who’s in charge now?” With his free hand, he squeezed hard on Starscream’s engine mounts, grinning at the bronze Seeker’s loud moan.

 

“That would be my question.” They registered the voice—in all the noise and ruckus, none of them had heard the door code open. Onslaught stood in the doorway, tapping impatiently on a datapad. “I commed you twice, Barricade.” His visor took in the scene—the two Seekers still pounding at each other, Starscream’s moans rising higher and higher in pitch.

 

“I’m sorry,” Barricade said, sincerely, meekly. He gestured helplessly to his console. As if to illustrate his point, Skywarp swept one arm across the console, scattering input rods to the floor, with a roar, then lifting Starscream up by his pinioned arms and throwing him hard on the console, climbing up behind him, his spike still engaged. All of his bluster about showing Skywarp up and whoever comm’d him would just have to ping back, dissipated under Onslaught’s cool gaze. “I, uh, I couldn’t, uh, get to it.”

 

Onslaught stood still for a moment—his battlemask hiding what must have been a fascinating series of expressions. “I shall, ahem, note that Skywarp is inspecting your workstation.”

 

Barricade sagged gratefully into the chair.

 

“Onslaught,” Skywarp acknowledged, with a friendly nod, pausing in his thrusts into his Trine mate. On the console, Starscream whined, twisting himself in frustrated arousal. “Been a long time.”

 

“It has, hasn’t it, Skywarp,” Onslaught said, blandly. “Barricade, next time, wire your comm through your personal system.” Barricade nodded, sheepishly. “And…watch out for Seekers. They’ll mess you up.”

 

“Oh,” Starscream whimpered, in time to Skywarp’s renewed thrusts, “That…is…unfair! We…treat…him…verywell!”
 

Onslaught shook his head. “I couldn’t keep up with even one of you.” He shot Barricade a worried look. “Just…don’t break him.”
 

Starscream’s protest was drowned out by whimpers as Skywarp quickened his firm thrusts into his Trine mate. Onslaught nodded again at Skywarp, and coded the door closed as he left. Starscream howled into an overload—Barricade stared, fascinated, at the Seeker’s foot, dangling off the edge of his console, trembling through his overload. Barricade squirmed in his chair. He could touch Starscream’s foot with his own if he stretched it out. That close. He could smell the transfluid and lubricant and the smell of friction-heated oil. His heat sinks shuddered online.

 

Skywarp released his Trine mate’s wrists and seized onto Starscream’s engine mounts. Starscream squealed, half aroused and half in pain. “Not done with you,” Skywarp growled. Barricade shivered. The Trine mates had always been rougher with each other than with him. He hadn’t realized how much it turned him on. He found himself wondering if he’d enjoy more than just watching it. What would it feel like to have Skywarp haul him up by the shoulders like that? He shivered. In his imagination, it felt pretty good.
 

“You are done!” Starscream said, swinging one arm in a spinning turn, aimed at Skywarp’s head. The black jet caught the arm, and used its momentum to swing Starscream’s body across the room, his spike leaving the valve with an audible ‘pop’ that left both momentarily gasping.
 

Barricade answered a ping on his personal comm. Onslaught. “Can you tell those two idiots to keep it down? Some of us are trying to work.”

 

“Uhh, I’ll try?”

 

“You tell Skywarp if he doesn’t shut up, I’ll come there and shut him up. Got it?”

 

“Got it,” Barricade squeaked to a dead comm line.

 

The two Seekers were gasping, letting their ventilation slow to a reasonable level: Skywarp, leaning against the console, Starscream sprawled on the floor. 

 

“S—Skywarp?”

“Busy,” Skywarp muttered.
 

“He is not speaking to you,” Starscream explained, from the floor.
 

“Uhhh, okay. Message from Onslaught. He’d, ummm, really appreciate it if you could, you know, keep the noise down in here? He says it’s a little distracting.”

 

“I’ll bet he’d appreciate it,” Skywarp muttered. “I’ll show him distracting.”
 

Oh no. Barricade ducked in the chair as Skywarp launched himself on Starscream, who struggled onto his side. Skywarp seized one thigh and lifted it, straddling the other leg as he again drove his spike into Starscream’s valve, the upraised leg caught in the crook of his elbow. Starscream cried out with every thrust, as if this hurt. Skywarp, over him, growling louder and louder until he overloaded with a roar that temporarily cut Barricade’s audio.

 

This time he did hear the door code open. It was the first thing his audio registered as it came back online.

Onslaught, again. “You gave him my message.”
 

Barricade nodded, earnestly. Well, he’d TRIED to.
 

Onslaught nodded. “Right. Have to take matters into my own hands. As usual.” Barricade expected him to head over to the pile of quivering Seeker limbs on the floor. Instead, Onslaught marched straight over to Barricade’s chair, hauling him out of it by one wrist. The online recharge plug popped out of the jack in Barricade’s side, making him wince, staggering forward a few steps. Onslaught hopped into the chair and then tugged the numb Barricade back on top of him, Barricade’s back against his chest, his wing fairings on either side of Onslaught’s face. 

 

Onslaught’s hands were rough on Barricade’s interface panel, but once he’d pried that open, the spike released itself, thick with clear lubricant. Onslaught grunted into Barricade’s audio. “Punishing you, huh?” Barricade nodded, miserably, embarrassed that Onslaught could see his aroused state. Worse, and know what it was about. And worst, Onslaught slicked a mass of the lubricant off his spike, causing Barricade to moan in spite of himself. A moan that grew as Onslaught rubbed the lubricant over both of his hands and, while one hand began stroking the spike, the other circled the edge of Barricade’s still-covered valve. The touch brought the image of Skywarp’s glossa against Starscream’s valve a little too vividly to Barricade’s mind. With a click, his valve cover released, and those slick fingers began probing into his valve.
 

He struggled, vainly, to sit up, to wriggle off of Onslaught’s lap, but the Combaticon commander pinned one of his wing fairings between his cheek and shoulder. His silver talons clutched the sides of the chair, his legs dangling helplessly from Onslaught’s lap, pushed open by the larger mech’s knees. He started shaking, half from desire, half from pure mortification.

 

“Relax,” Onslaught ordered. Right. Like it was that easy. The commander’s hand shifted around the spike, rotating each time it reached the top of the spike, where the most sensitive nodes were clustered. Barricade squealed, his hips jerking up each time, and each time, Onslaught used the motion to push into Barricade’s valve.

Barricade was moaning wildly, writhing against Onslaught’s chest, hot air venting from his systems against Onslaught’s armored legs. “I can see why he likes you,” Onslaught murmured. There was no desire in the voice, no lust. Only an objective assessment, as if weighing why a mission might choose an objective. 

 

Barricade could feel an overload building across both of his systems. And suddenly, he saw Skywarp’s face loom over his body. “Aggghhhh,” he said. Actually, he meant to say something meaningful, but the ability to make consonants, much less sense, left him with each rotating stroke of Onslaught’s hand.
 

A black armored hand pinned Onslaught’s wrist against Barricade’s side. His eyes blazed red. “MINE,” Skywarp snarled.

 

“Is he?” Onslaught wiggled his fingers around the spike, contacting several nodes. Barricade yelped as the sensors overcharged, aching for more contact.
 

Skywarp’s other arm pressed heavily down on the arm of the chair, causing it to creak again. “Yes. Mine.” He looked terrifying. Barricade’s vents picked up in speed, feeling a twinge of fear and shame—that Onslaught had gotten this reaction from him. That he had been enjoying it. 

 

Onslaught pushed up with his wrist—Skywarp released his hand. Onslaught casually resumed stroking Barricade’s spike. Barricade’s eyes were glued to Skywarp’s face, trying to read his expression, as the tide of desire swept up over him again.
 

He could feel Skywarp’s breath—hot exvents across his chassis, on his exposed spike and valve. Barricade squirmed, trying to pry Onslaught’s hands off him, but he found his arms pinned to the chair by Skywarp’s large black talons. The jet stared down at him, optics spiralled wide, almost defying him to overload.

 

His breath grew ragged, his optics unblinking, pushing his weight into Onslaught, almost as if trying to shrink into the mech beneath him. His whole frame went rigid. Finally, his systems overrode everything—his fear, his worry, his embarrassment—and a doubled overload tore through his systems. Even then he dared not close his eyes, as if afraid of Skywarp disappearing. He felt the hot rush of transfluid from his spike, the swirling grip of his valve against Onslaught’s intruding fingers, but above those, above both of those, he felt Skywarp’s unreadably terrifying stare.

 

“You know something, Skywarp?” Onslaught said, impassively, “You could just request him as your assistant.” Skywarp blinked, and the terror of the moment vanished. Onslaught lifted his hand off Barricade’s spike. Skywarp bent over as though this were some long-practiced ritual between them and began licking Barricade’s lubricant and transfluid from Onslaught’s fingers. 

 

“I could, couldn’t I?” Skywarp bent down, and placed a light kiss across Barricade’s panting mouth, then pocking a trail of kisses down his still-heaving chassis to his trembling spike. “You always had the best ideas, Onslaught.” Barricade writhed in something like jealousy of their easy familiarity.
 

Barricade quivered as Skywarp licked his glossa up the length of his spike, and then bent to give him another kiss. “You,” Skywarp said, his voice husky, “were ridiculously cute, little spike.” He looked up at Onslaught. “I’m going to go get Starscream. Think he passed out.” Skywarp grinned, ebulliently, bouncing off. As if the last cycle hadn’t happened at all.
 

Onslaught pinned Barricade’s audio to his battlemask with his other hand, still sticky with fluid from Barricade’s valve. “Don’t be jealous,” Onslaught whispered. “My time’s past. Just remember—Seekers don’t think straight when their emotions get involved. Get used to solving problems before they arise.” And Barricade felt something he would have sworn was the soft, warm, satiny presence of a glossa curling around his audio, into his throat. And then it was gone.

 

Next: Rough

Comments

[ithilgwath.livejournal.com]

I dunno... finding two hot Seekers going at it when I go to work..? I would have much more reason to GO to work rather than call out sick. Poor Barricade though... trying so hard to be a good worker and do his duty... darn hot jets.

And Onslaught... was not expecting his involvement to be quite so hot. Even as he waves the foreshadowing flag.