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shadow_vector2010-12-09 07:38 am
Permission Slip
Permission Slip
NC-17
G1
Hook/Starscream
*sticky*
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katsuko's prompt Hook/Starscream 'repairs' and possibly cracky smut. Also possibly maybe a start of a kink meme request ‘starscream spikes everyone’? In my head it is, so apologies if anyone else is thinking of writing that kink. Not trying to step on toes, just borrowing the start of a cute idea.
Hook always tried to convince himself that his job wasn’t that bad. Surgical engineer wasn’t so bad—you only had to patch up the idiots whose job it was to get shot up. In that equation, he was on the positive side. But sometimes it was hard to keep that perspective. Such as, you know, when he walked into the repair bay to find Starscream sitting—well, squirming, more likely—on one of his repair frames, spike erect and codpiece panel…Primus knew where.
A sight, as they said, for sore optics. If that saying meant that looking at it made your optics hurt.
“It’s about time you showed up,” Starscream snapped. Clearly putting the charm on. Hook was so very flattered.
“If I’d known I was going to get greeted by such an…unimpressive sight, I’d’ve made sure to come earlier. So I could get proper magnification.”
Starscream glared. “You should be honored to see a spike of this noble lineage.”
“Yeah, I might be, if your idiot Trinemate Skywarp wasn’t in here every other heatcycle with some bizarre foreign object jammed in his valve.” Hook folded his arms over his chassis. He’d seen enough Vosian genitalia to last him a lifetime. “Might want to tell him there’s such a thing as subspace for holding random objects?”
“I am not responsible for Skywarp’s…idiosyncracies,” Starscream said, sourly. “And I am here for me.”
Oh, well, of course. “Right, your highness. What seems to be the problem?” Hook’s voice was a flat monotone.
Starscream sneered. “Your grasp of the obvious is shoddy. I can’t retract my spike, you cretin.”
Great. Hook grunted. “Obviously, for the sanity of the Decepticon cause, this needs to be fixed.”
“Fix it. Without your sarcasm,” Starscream snarled. He made a swipe at Hook’s head, wincing halfway through as his erect spike banged into his cockpit.
Hook grabbed his pressure gauges and a can of spray lubricant. Probably just a rusted servo or something. Unpleasant, but, hardly Skywarp-level. “Right. Spread’em.” He waited while Starscream glowered, spreading his white thighs. “Oh, real thrill for me, Princess,” Hook muttered, as he bent over to unfasten the maintenance hatch. He sighed, examining the mechanism. Everything seemed oiled and clean enough—perhaps a little more wear than usual, but not the kind that would lead to that malfunction—quite the opposite. “Huh.”
“HUH? What sort of bourgeois diagnosis is ‘huh’?”
“It’s the diagnosis that says it’s got to be a pressure thing.” Hook pushed back. “Got any chassis pain?”
Starscream’s optics flared. “I have some…cockpit swelling.”
Swelling? Hook examined the amber cockpit. Sure enough the controls and flight-seat were nearly jammed against the top of the glass. And what was behind that part of the cockpit? Yeah. Mystery solved. But…why not draw this out? Why waste Hook’s already teensy allotment of bedside manner on a flouncing ninny like this?
“HUH,” he said, deliberately. “You take it up the valve a lot, don’t you?”
Starscream seethed. “I fail to see how this is relevant.”
“Which is why you came here. Because I know things you don’t. When did the pain and…this…start?” He pointed green fingers at the spike stabbing the air between them.
“This morning.”
“Interface partners in the last joor.”
Starscream glowered. “Thundercracker, Megatron, Onslaught, Rumble, Scrapper—honestly I fail to see the value in this pointless litany.”
Hook blinked. Well, then. Ask a stupid question, right? He frowned. “Scrapper?”
“He needed to be convinced of a favor he owed me.” Starscream preened.
Hook shrugged. Put that in the back file for the moment. “All valve?”
Starscream merely glared. Yup. “There’s your answer. Transfluid reservoir’s full.” To demonstrate, he clanged a wrench off the cockpit, watching the jet flinch. He grumbled, and moved to dig in his supply cabinet.
“Can you fix it?” A bit of concern in the voice, taking the edge off the hostility.
“Oh please. Of course I can.” Skywarp presented a greater challenge. Hook turned around, holding a vacuum pump and a steel-tipped catheter, which he plonked unceremoniously onto the berth next to Starscream.
“What,” Starscream said, his optics dimming with something like alarm, “do you intend to do with that?”
Hook shrugged. “Catheter. Up the spike, into the reservoir. Pump.” He stifled a malicious grin as the jet’s optics flew wide and round.
“S-surely there is another way. One that is less…intrusive?” The jet’s optics never left the sharp gleaming bevel of the catheter’s edge, one blue hand curling protectively to shield his spike from view.
Hook thought. “You could drain it manually, through, ahem, its natural function.”
“How long would that take?” Starscream studied his spike, then his right hand, considering.
“Long time, if you keep getting stuffed up the valve like you do.”
Starscream’s mouth twisted. “Your envy is palpable, Hook.”
Hook shook his head. Right. He’d been through half a dozen heat cycles with these fraggin’ jets. He’d had enough Seeker valve to tide him over for a while. No envy involved. But…, “I suppose I could write you a medical order.”
“What kind of order?” Starscream wasn’t stupid. Hook could already see he was figuring this would cost him something.
“Oh, one that says you can’t be spiked until I clear you.”
“Fascinating,” Starscream said, flatly. “And after ruining my primary means of greasing the wheels of bureaucracy, what do you intend for your next trick?”
Hook shrugged. Good point. “Open to ideas. Gonna take you a long time…a long…sticky…time.” Or...he patted the catheter meaningfully.
Starscream tapped his cheek, thinking. “What if…you added an order that, to clear my problem, I get to relieve my…pressure on whomever I wish?”
Hook hated that he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his face. He had to hand it to Starscream—that was impressively twisted. “I might be able to do that.”
“Might.”
“What’s in it for me?” The notion of Scrapper getting some riled him.
Starscream flashed his lopsided smirk, pushing off the berth to his knees, hands grabbing for Hook’s codpiece. Hook shivered as the cool air struck his spike, right before the jet’s warm mouth clamped over it. Hook rocked forward, hands grabbing for balance on the rounded spans of the jet’s wings. Giving the Air Commander permission to spike anyone in the base was probably a bad, bad idea. But just then, as Starscream’s glossa began expertly probing the ridges and swirls of his spike, he realized…he didn’t care.
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“Fascinating,” Starscream said, flatly. “And after ruining my primary means of greasing the wheels of bureaucracy, what do you intend for your next trick?”
THIS EXPLAINS SO MUCH.
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