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shadow_vector2010-11-08 06:35 am
Starscream Investigates
Bayverse
Grindor, Starscream
Starscream is jealous. Which is...a bad thing. Maybe.
Sequel (of sorts) to Seduction, Barricade-Style written for
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tf_rare_pairing Grindor/Starscream 'rotor teasings'Starscream ground his mouthplates as he heard the heavy step of Grindor trying to pad down the grounder’s hallway. Exiting Barricade’s recharge cube. Starscream seethed. Barricade was his! HIS! What did Grindor have that he didn’t?
Oh. Well, yes; there was that whole…rotor thing. He supposed. They were kind of interesting, he guessed. But if Barricade were interested in things that went in circles, well, Starscream had turbines. TWO of them. Surely ramjet turbines were just as alluring as long flopping rotorblades?
There was no accounting for grounder tastes. Honestly.
But still. This would not stand. It was unacceptable. This was the third time Barricade had apparently forgotten a ’tryst’ they had scheduled. If deliberately, it was rude and infuriating. But if NOT deliberately?
Starscream’s long talons pulled shrieking curls of metal from the wall. It was simply not possible. No. It defied belief that Grindor could…be…preferable…as an interfacing partner!
Didn’t it?
He stifled a growl, as he heard it echo down the corridor. He stormed past Barricade’s cube, not even caring if his footsteps were familiar. He hoped they were. And he hoped Barricade felt bad.
If Barricade remembered at all.
[***]
“Yes, Air Commander?” Grindor ducked his head as he entered Aerial Planning, clutching a stack of datapads to his chassis. He looked so much like Blackout it was disturbingly uncanny. Except Blackout would never look quite so nervous, or earnest, or, well, dorky.
Was that what attracted Barricade? Dorkiness? That was…positively perverse!
Which was…perfectly Barricade, now that he thought about it. Frag.
“Grindor,” he said, coldly. He let his optics travel over the copter, slowly. Enough that Grindor rocked nervously on his big, splayed feet.
Was…was it the feet? Starscream’s own toes, he thought, were much superior. Toes made for grabbing, clutching, were so much more entertaining, were they not, than toes that merely rested on the floor? He refused to believe it was the feet. Simply refused. Just to be sure, he kicked out one of his legs, flexing and bending his toes. Just to reassure himself. Yes. They were superiorly alluring. How could anyone think otherwise?
He caught Grindor’s gaze on his foot. Well. That made perfect sense. He flexed his toes again, just for good measure. “You have the data on the raid?”
“Y-yes! Oh yes.” The optics snapped back to Starscream’s face, then around the room to the Tactical Simulator.
Starscream watched the copter as he fumbled with the input array, his blunt fingers poking awkwardly at the keypad. Did Barricade prefer fingers to be, well, fat like that? Rather than his own slim talons? Starscream frowned. He was thinking altogether too much what Barricade wanted. Barricade who was not at all worth his time. Especially if he could not appreciate the sleek, sensuous gift that was Starscream.
“We, uh, we did a post-battle analysis of the raid, and came up with some conclusions. Uhhh, let me call it up for you.”
“We.” Starscream pounced on the pronoun. We. “You and…Barricade.”
The rotors twitched. “Yes?” Grindor squeaked. “He…he’s the Intel Officer?”
Starscream subsided, but he kept his optics narrowed, studying the copter. “And your…analysis?”
Grindor blinked, nervously. “We, uh, our results. I mean, we concluded that…let me just call it up.” He ducked his head , the huge engine looming over his head, lit from the greenish light of the display. It caught in his crest like a net of stars.
Starscream did not have a crest. He frowned, one hand almost coming up to rub his suddenly naked-feeling brow. Barricade had a crest. Was that it? Some sort of secret sexual thrill that could only be performed by two crests?
“Have you interfaced with Barricade?” he blurted.
The rotors snapped to a thin line down Grindor’s back. “What?!” His head flew up, so fast that it clanged against his engine, his optics wide.
“You have! Do not lie to me! I have seen you leaving his quarters!” Starscream jumped to his feet, determined to capitalize on his advantage.
“I, uh! No! I mean! We…it’s not what you think!”
“It IS what I think.” Starscream slapped a hand next to Grindor’s, pausing, briefly, to compare his hand—long, elegant, tapered—with the blunt appendages of the copter. “Do not deny it.”
The wedge-shaped mouth snapped shut, the armored cheekflares coming down to cover it. Adamant.
Well, then. “Let us talk about this,” Starscream said, silkily.
Grindor shook his head, optics wide, mouth still clamped shut. Light flashed off his crest.
Oh, unacceptable. But, Starscream had ways, as they said, of making a mech talk. He shifted his talons, sliding them up the gaps in Grindor’s forearm armor. He would figure out the secret of Grindor’s attractiveness to Barricade if it was the last thing he did.
Grindor’s armor quivered under Starscream’s touch. “You gain nothing by denying it,” Starscream murmured. The rotors ruffled, sliding glossily over each other.
Maybe. Maybe it was the rotors. The way they kept moving, twitching, shifting, like little antennae of Grindor’s moods, made Starscream wonder. And a wondering, curious Starscream was a dangerous Starscream.
He snatched at one of the rotors, catching it between his talons.
Grindor went rigid, so rigid that he quivered. Starscream narrowed his optics. He would solve the mystery of these rotors. He pinched the blade between his talons, sliding down the flat of the blade.
“Guh!” Grindor’s hands clutched the edge of the console. Starscream smirked, stepping around. If one rotorblade was good, two would be better. For…experimental purposes, of course.
Starscream decided he liked experiments, a hot hard desire building within him. He rocked the second blade in its teeter hinge, feeling the action moving up the blade. Grindor’s body jerked forward. Excellent. “Now,” Starscream purred, leaning in close, slicking one blade over the sleek glass dome of his cockpit. “Barricade. Yes? or No?”
“Yes!” Grindor cried out. “I know it’s wrong, but…I can’t help it!” He shuddered, as if wracked with sobs.
Wrong? Definitely wrong. Because Barricade belonged to Starscream, for Primus’s sake. Starscream twisted one of the rotors, until Grindor yelped. “Mine,” he hissed. “You leave him alone, rotary.” There was no silk in his voice now, no warmth. Simply possessive lust.
“Yes, sir!” Grindor said, humbly. Grindor squirmed against the console. “I’m really sorry.”
“It will not help you advance,” Starscream said, darkly. “Quite the opposite.”
“I know, I know!” Grindor said, hanging his head.
“You…know?” Starscream loosened his grip on the rotors, just enough for Grindor to partially turn, his optics a flash in the narrow gap of his sonic generator.
“It’s…a thing I have. Mechs in…,” Grindor’s voice got very quiet, “positions of power.”
Oh. Well. That…changed things. “I,” Starscream whispered back, “am your aerial commander.”
He could hear the sudden hum of cooling fans. “I…know,” Grindor squeaked.
Starscream’s grip on the rotors shifted, lifting one to his mouth. He flicked out his glossa, letting raw charge dance over the blade. Grindor squirmed, obviously aroused. His hands pawed, helplessly, at the console in front of him, the raid’s display flicking on and off at his random clawing.
But one thing did not make sense. “How,” Starscream asked, dropping one rotor to wrap around the copter’s narrow waist, “does this work? With Barricade?”
“I…uhhhh….” Grindor shifted, slowly, rotating around. “I can show you?”
Shy? Well, Starscream supposed he could see the appeal of that. Actions did, sometimes, speak louder than words. “Certainly.” He released the rotorblades.
Grindor reached one hand up, trembling with desire, touching the folded wingflap over one of Starscream’s shoulders. Starscream purred, encouragingly. Barricade was his, but…there was no reason he could not branch out. Not, he thought, if Barricade already had.
Grindor made a soft moan, his other hand coming up to touch the ribstrut.
And then, suddenly, Starscream found himself heaved up bodily, the large, heavy hands firm and powerful on his armor, flinging him onto the table. He flailed with his long arms, clutching, eventually, onto the silver frame, as Grindor leaned over, wedging Starscream’s thighs apart with his hips.
“It’s like,” Grindor said, apologetically, hands urgently exploring the broad shoulders, the triangular panels of Starscream’s chassis armor, “this.” He added, sheepishly, his voice unsteady with lust, "Air Commander."
So it was. And Starscream found he did not mind at all.
In fact, he was thinking, already, through a haze of rising desire, of a way to get Barricade involved.
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And the hotness at the end! :Happy jizz:
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Barricade's in trouble, y/n/maybe? ^_^
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insecureI mean,jealousI mean, possessive.And then mmmm yes... shy copter with a thing for mechs in power. yum! No one can resist!
mmm sexual experiments with rotors. :3 bwee!