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shadow_vector2010-11-02 07:53 am
Seduction, Barricade-style
Bayverse
Barricade/Grindor
sticky, crack!smut
written for 3x3 challenge 'candles and wine'--the idea of the comm is that you pair your favorite characters with OTHERs than their usual 'ships. Aaaaaaand, a shameless excuse for completely pointless copterrowrf.
Barricade dimmed the lights in the rec room. Wait. Did that make him look, you know, like he was afraid of bright light? He knew he wasn’t the sexiest mech in creation but was he crossing the limit from romantic and understated to sort of creepy? Hard to tell. Fraggin’ copters were so hard to predict, anyway.
The energon—Seeker grade—rested in a warmer. A selection of snacks lay around the warmer. He rustled, nervously, by the table. Hoping this was good enough. He knew barely anything about Grindor. Just that he was some sort of hotshot tactician. And a copter. Useful, and hot. What more did Barricade need to know before deciding Grindor needed a dose of his own unique brand of awesome?
Right. Apparently…more than he’d originally thought.
Too late to do further research—the door whooshed open, and the silver-skinned copter entered, a datapad clutched in his hand. “Uh, hi? This was where you said to meet?” Grindor sounded hesitant, his optics looking at the laid out food nervously. Barricade swore, while another part of him tingled with excitement. Shy copter? Hot.
“Yeah,” Barricade said. “Come on in. Got some, uh…energon for you?” He held up one of the warmed cubes, the pink effervescing (he hoped) invitingly.
“I…thought we were going to review the last raid?” Grindor blinked uncertainly. “And discussing a new one?”
Oh, we’ll be raiding something, Barricade thought. He pushed the cube into Grindor’s hand, taking the datapad from the blunt fingers. “Can do that and have a little refuel at the same time, right?” He let his upper set of optics go wide and innocent. Grinned as he saw Grindor’s optics spiral open in response. Totally trusting him. Sucker. Which was exactly how Barricade wanted him.
Well, not exactly how he wanted him—Barricade really wanted him sprawled on his back, the room lit by the blazing glow of his opened spark chamber. Barricade repressed a quiver of desire. Frag. He snatched up another warm cube, popping it open with one talon. He waited, pointedly, for Grindor to take a sip.
As the copter drank, Barricade let his optics drift to the engine mount looming over the copter’s head. Well, it was hard NOT to notice it, of course. So…big. Barricade had heard engines like that roaring on, and the sound, and the vibration, the sheer raw brutal power of it…well, it did some pretty tingly things to his sensornet.
Grindor lowered his cube, his glossa flicking demurely along the V-ridge of his mouthplates.
“Like it?” Barricade prompted, his expression more sincerely hopeful than he probably wanted.
“It’s…I’m not used to this grade,” Grindor said. “The, uh…the raid?” His optics went to his datapad on the table next to Barricade.
Okay, Barricade could work with that. “Sure. Sit on down.” Barricade scooted over, patting the seat next to him invitingly. As Grindor settled himself carefully onto the seat, flaring his rotors to keep them safe as he adjusted himself, Barricade hauled over one of the packages of snacks. Just in case.
Grindor tabbed on his datapad, calling up the projector function. “All right. This is the Tac Dat simulation of the last raid on Beleb 4.”
“Snack?” Barricade interrupted.
“I…uhh…thank you?” Grindor looked befuddled, but obediently took a handful of the rust-coated sticks. “Do you…ummm, do you often eat while you work? Is this…is this how it’s done here?”
Barricade’s window-wings quivered. Frag, so HOT! Grindor was just the cutest ‘fresh out of the War Academy’ he’d ever seen. Besides, of course, well…back then. His own rather misspent youth. Ages ago, another mech, another prodigy. Another airframe that knew war in its theoretical manifestations, knew weapons to their performance tolerances, but knew nothing about…life. Nostalgia shimmered through his net, feeding his current simmering desire. “No harm in multi-tasking,” he said, blandly. He reached for the package of snacks, letting his shoulder tire bump, ever-so-casually, against one of the dangling rotors.
Grindor straightened up, abruptly, the rotor flicking out of the way. “Sorry!” he said.
Barricade was only sorry Grindor had moved. His tire caught the memory of the slick, thin blade. Rumor had it they were…ridiculously sensitive. He had to know.
Grindor munched the snack cubes nervously. Some of the powdered rust coated his cheek armor. Barricade couldn’t keep his smaller optics off the sight. He wanted to lick it off.
“Uhh, no need to apologize,” Barricade muttered, acutely aware that he was staring. And staring. Right, keep up the pretense. He turned, with a pained, ripping reluctance, to the datapad on the table. “The raid, right.”
“Y-yeah,” Grindor said. He activated the simulation. “See? The alpha team comes in, and, well, it was within calculated tolerances, but the beta team should have come in 2 decakliks sooner.”
Barricade’s processor was so not on this stupid raid, but, yeah. Thinking about the close proximity to hot copter without actually, you know, getting hot copter, was beginning to hurt. His valve throbbed in a needy kind of hunger.
“Coming sooner, let’s see,” he forced himself to answer, “the Autobot resistance would have been…,” he thought, paused the sim, and grabbed a light marker, “here and here at that point.” He sat back, not-so-subtly dropping his hand to the copter’s thigh. As if he’d needed it for balance. He shivered. The open design of the rotary frames just invited optics and hands. He could feel the central core line vibrating under his talons, running power down the copter’s leg.
Grindor squeaked. “And…so…our beta team would…have…been…?” Grindor’s voice trailed off. Barricade heard a nervous clicking. He suppressed the grin, turning innocent optics to the copter.
“Y’okay?”
“I’m fine?” It seemed like a question. “Your hand, uhhh, it’s on my….” Grindor blinked, ducking his head, mortified.
Barricade gave a squeeze. His window wings quivered, feeling the cables and pistons twitch under his palm. “This hand? Oh. Sorry.” He released it, slowly, letting one talon tickle over the copter’s pelvic frame. The rotors clapped to a narrow line, Grindor twitching.
“I, uh…no apology necessary. I guess?” Grindor snatched up his cube, swigging the warmed energon nervously. Barricade grinned. Fraggin’ awesome.
“You seem…nervous,” Barricade said, stifling the smirk.
“Just…uh…new team. Larger operation cycle than I’m used to.”
Nice try, Barricade thought. He shrugged, and felt a delighted trill as the copter’s optics tracked the movement of his shoulder tire. Encouraging. Oh yes. He leaned closer, letting his engine thrum. “You get used to it,” he said, blandly, hiding his chortle by grabbing some of the rust snacks.
“I…yeah,” Grindor said, lamely. A long moment as Barricade crunched a few of the treats, then licked, a bit showily, the rust off his talons. Grindor squirmed on the seat. “The…raid…,” Grindor said, weakly.
“Yeah?” Barricade said. “The raid.” He leaned over, pretending to study the display intently. He flicked his window wings.
“Uhhh, sorry if this is a tacky question,” Grindor said, hesitantly. He waited for Barricade to turn to look over his shoulder. “The little wing things you have? I’m…not really familiar with ground frames, and, well..what’s it mean when they move like that?”
Frag, that was a tacky question. Also, though, a hot one. Barricade grinned openly. “Means I’m excited.”
Grindor twitched. “Excited?” he squeaked.
Barricade nodded then after a beat, added, teasingly, “You know, about the raid.”
Grindor’s face fell. “Oh. Of…of course.” Well, if Barricade was looking for a hint of reciprocity, there it was.
“Hey,” Barricade said. Time to make his move. Well, more overtly. He turned, as if he were just noticing Grindor’s face for the first time. “You got a little something on your…face.” He reached up with one hand, tracing the talon along the cheek armor.
Grindor’s engine revved audibly. The optics flew open, mortified. Barricade grinned. Time to capitalize on his move. He scrambled up to one knee, leaning in to lick the rust-powder from the cheekplate. If he was grievously wrong, Grindor was going to slap his face off. The tension, the uncertainty, blazed across his net. Pain would be worth it.
Instead, the copter’s broad hand splatted against his back, pulling him in to an awkward but needing kiss, the cheek armor flaring aside, the wedged mouth pinching at his.
Grindor jerked back abruptly, hard enough that his helm rang against his engine mount. “Uh…I…sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Barricade asked, breathless, mouth still open and tingling from the raw current from the copter’s glossa.
“Fraternization. I just…,” the optics flicked down, then to one side, nervously.
“Not fraternization,” Barricade insisted. He ran one talon along the frame of Grindor’s window.
Grindor whimpered, one hand sweeping the datapad and the snacks aside, the other pushing Barricade on his back on the table. Barricade complied, wriggling across the table. The copter flipped open his interface hatch, the spike pressurizing eagerly. He paused, one hand resting on Barricade’s upraised knee, optics eager. “Can I?”
Barricade laughed, autoreleasing his hatch. “Answer enough for you?” he teased.
Grindor said nothing, his optics tracing hot lines over Barricade’s frame as he edged closer, his spike hovering for a moment at the mouth of Barricade’s valve, the electromagnetic fields bumping and tingling against each other, before he finally pushed in. His spike swelled against the compressed lining of Barricade’s valve, pushing the lining aside, nudging open the caliper mounts. Barricade’s vents became ragged as the large spike filled him, bumping against the ceiling sensor.
“Good?” Grindor murmured. Another mech might have said it as a boast—Grindor was sincere, solicitous.
Barricade let his valve spiral down against the length of the spike, then rippled a wave of pressure up and then down it. The sudden fiery shiver that ran through the copter’s frame excited him. He grabbed Grindor’s arms, talons curling around the light armor, acutely aware of his more heavily armored limbs, his weaponized fingers compared to Grindor’s blunt ones.
Grindor breathed some sort of happy sound, beginning to push against the valve, spike sliding with a slow insistence, lubricant heating and slickening between them. Barricade writhed, the spike raising charge in his valve, the rhythm sending wave after wave of pleasure through him, a gentle, mounting tide of pleasure, rippling and cascading against itself.
“Sorry,” Grindor gasped. “Shouldn’t be…doing this…!” His optics were glazed, frantic, in the throes of lust. Barricade was about to correct him—in spades—until it hit him: this must be Grindor’s, you know, thing. His kink. Barricade had his copter fetish, and…yeah. Grindor apparently had a thing for forbidden fruit.
If so, slice Barricade up and serve him with a side of dipping sauce.
He gave a whimpering growl in response, digging his talons into the exposed cabling. Grindor shivered, tempo faltering. “Don’t. Stop,” he snarled. Grindor nodded, earnestly, his optics blind, unseeing, his hips pistoning harder and harder against Barricade’s pelvic frame.
A cry tore through the copter’s vocalizer, his rotors flaring wide to the sides, as the overload tore through him. Barricade arched up, his helm slamming hard against the table, as the hot slam of transfluid and the sparking crackle of the copter’s overload pushed him over the brink. He hung for a long moment, delicious sensation rippling over him, his talons locked into the copter’s frame, his valve clamped down against the spike.
With a shuddering groan, he released, relaxing. Transfluid trickled from his valve, his spinal struts releasing with a soft hiss.
“Good?” Grindor asked, his voice small, shy. As if he hadn’t just splatted Barricade against a table and had his way with him.
Barricade nodded slowly, grinning, not trusting his vocalizer to greater coherence.
“Yo-you can’t tell anyone. It’s wrong,” the copter murmured.
It was like the exact slaggin’ opposite of wrong as far as Barricade was concerned, but if silence meant the chance for a repeat performance? He’d zip his files. “Not a word,” he promised.
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Glad you liked!
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oh and: http://callykarishokka.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d2vm508 because you will probably want to buy it.
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Sorry for cop-car ogling....okay, no I'm not. :D
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he's become an addictive little kink!no subject
Fortunately, the shy bright-eyed innocent of an enormous hulking meepcopter whom you are headbricking is in need of vigorous encouragement. SO IT ALL WORKS OUT! \o/
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We need more fraternization!
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