Supremacy

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

NC-17
IDW/G1
Sixshot/Overlord, implied Sixshot/ummm, everyone?
warnings sticky, noncon, dogtying, genital mutilation and other kinks and WAAAAAAY TMI about the Terrorcons. You have been warned.  Officially.  Yeah, this is like the wrongest thing I’ve written in a looooooong time.  Like whoa. Please heed warnings.

for tf_rare_pairing  prompt Sixshot/Overlord 'we'll see'.  The actual line of the prompt got cut in revisions.  And yeah, my secret hidden crack pairing is Sixshot/Onslaught. Rowrf. 

 

Sixshot pulled one last crate of ordnance onto the gravsled.  He was feeling like artillery this time, so he’d grabbed an assortment—some flechettes, some sabots, some standard phosphorus burn, one or two cases of downright old-fashioned kinetic energy penetrators that should be used up.  The goodly citizens of Barworsie had apparently outlived their nominal usefulness to the Decepticon cause, and it was time to bring out…Sixshot. 

He rolled a shoulder. About time.

He pushed the gravsled in front of him, through the heavy doors of the armory, nodding briefly at Onslaught, who was on duty behind the desk. He handed over the datapad with the inventory he was taking. Bureaucracy: tedious.  He didn’t know how mechs like Onslaught survived this without going insane.  He was having enough trouble himself, and this was about as close as he got to the paperwork sinkhole.

Onslaught keyed in the data, adding the all-important authorization code. “Sure you have enough?”

Sixshot couldn’t tell if that was some kind of sarcasm or actual concern. It always was hard to tell with Onslaught.  “Bring back any extras,” he said, flatly. 

Onslaught chuckled. “I’m sure you will.” 

Sixshot took his datapad back. “Never figure you out.”  

“Maybe you’re not supposed to.”  Onslaught cocked his head, his visor’s gaze trailing over Sixshot’s frame.  “Look me up when you get back. Maybe I won’t be busy.” 

Sixshot startled.  Make that ‘never figure you out’ cubed.  “Yeah,” he mumbled, kicking the brakes off the gravsled. 

Onslaught’s laughter followed him out. Mocking or not? Sixshot couldn’t tell. There was a reason he worked alone, after all.  He pushed the gravsled through the door, stowing the datapad against his hip as he crossed the threshold.  Log that into the Devil King’s stores when he got there.

The gravsled jolted to a halt. Sixshot looked up to see a long blue-grey armored foot planted in front of the sled’s front bumper.  Overlord. 

“My mission you’re going on,” Overlord said. He folded his arms over his chassis, glaring from under his blue helm.

“Looks like mine.” Sixshot slapped the brake controls.  Overlord was…a problem.   Black Shadow was no threat, because it was just a matter of time before Black Shadow got caught.  But Overlord.  All the strange, slightly aroused amusement from Onslaught faded abruptly. 

“Lapdog.  Puppet.” 

Sixshot cycled a loud sigh. “Better things to do than listen to…nouns.” 

“I bet you do.”  A sneer curled over Overlord’s mouth. “Like Onslaught in there? You take it from Onslaught?” He made an obscene gesture. 

“The things you think of, Overlord.”  Which was…not a denial.

“Or Megatron.” Overlord’s optics raked down Sixshot’s frame.  “How long you have to suck his spike to get my mission?”

“I didn’t.  Just better than you.”  Sixshot did not need this right now. But if Overlord wanted to start something…Sixshot would finish it.  A prelude to his actual mission.

Overlord swore.  “You’re better than me at nothing.”

“If you say so.”  Last chance, Overlord, he thought.  Back down now.  He curled his hands over the gravsled’s controls. 

“And the Terrorcons.” Overlord continued. “Heard you take all of them in your filthy valve.”

Sixshot cocked his head.  Know what? He was going to enjoy this. “Seem awfully concerned with my valve.” He released the gravsled, moving to one side, opening an attack vector between them. “Almost like you want it.” 

Overlord narrowed his optics. “Disgusting.”

Sixshot shrugged. “Couldn’t take it, anyway.” He made a beckoning gesture with one hand, a challenge. “Could you.”

Overlord straightened, stiffened, lowering his head to glare at SIxshot from under the crown of his helm. 

Almost, Sixshot thought.  “Probably,” he said, his voice poisonously soft, “wouldn’t even feel it.”

Overlord snapped, almost audibly, lunging forward. He caught Sixshot’s outstretched, goading hand, using it as a fulcrum to slam the white mech against the bulkhead.   Sixshot laughed. 

One hard blue hand tore at the vertical stabilizer above Sixshot’s right shoulder. Sixshot let the force turn him around, bringing an elbow into Overlord’s face.  Metal crunched, and Overlord bit down a sound of pain before recouping and striking the heel of his palm against Sixshot’s chin, driving his mask up.  Sixshot let himself fall, his back kibble grating and sparking against the bulkhead behind him, letting his weight pull Overlord down with him, but taking the chance to kick at the blue mech’s knee.  Just to make it look good.

Overlord gave a triumphant growl, shoving Sixshot’s white thighs open with one knee. “See?” he crowed.  “It’s like you’re hardly even fighting me.”

“Can’t get pressure unless they fight back?” Sixshot took the effort to inflect it into a question, dripping sympathy.

Overlord glared down at Sixshot, mouth pinched into a narrow line. “I’ll show you pressure.”  He bore his weight down upon Sixshot’s chassis, heavy chestplates grating over Sixshot’s as he squirmed his spike free and snapped open Sixshot’s interface hatch. He forced his way in, Sixshot shoving at his spaulder, trying to leverage up one shoulder.  He could feel the heat of the spike pushing into him, radiating like an aura.  Oh, Overlord, he thought.  You want this way more than you should.

With a final growl, Overlord drove his spike home in Sixshot’s valve.  “Enough for you?” he taunted.

Sixshot curled his hips, letting his valve cinch down on the spike, just enough to hurt. Just to enjoy the startled wince on Overlord’s face. “Too much for you.”

Overlord snarled, balling a fist and swinging it down, hard, against Sixshot’s helm.  “Is that how Blot likes it,” he sneered.

“Blot,” Sixshot said, coolly, shaking off the blow, “has the largest spike on the team. And it vibrates when he’s excited.” He winked one optic. “And guess when he’s excited.”  This was the most fun he’d had in ages, both for the physical and mental challenges. And Overlord’s palpable disgust was intensely amusing. 

Sixshot hooked one ankle over the back of Overlord’s knee, pinning the limb, shoving the same shoulder away, putting pressure on the actuators, giving himself leverage.  Before Overlord could compensate, Sixshot swept his free arm at Overlord’s elbow, snapping it out from under him, and spinning him onto his side.  Sixshot followed the motion over, landing on top of the blue mech, grinding his hips over Overlord’s. 

“Hun-Grr,” he continued, using details and images like weapons, “goes last.  Know why?” He laughed. “It gets very wet.”

Overlord looked ill, hands scrabbling at Sixshot’s armor, trying to push him off. 

Sixshot continued. “I mean. All over.” He dug his own hands into Overlord’s wrists, under the armor, driving the arms down to the ground, his face barely a handspan’s from Overlord’s. “So messy. And he’s normally so very hungry.” 

“Disgusting,” Overlord spat, his ventilation hot and dry over Sixshot’s face, mouth contorted in an expression of repulsion.

Sixshot shrugged. “Maybe, but…don’t normally care at that point.”  He had to stifle another laugh.  Overlord’s revulsion was amusing but also a weakness. A weakness Sixshot did not have.  He released his valve’s grip on the spike, jerking himself off the frame.  “Show you something,” he said. 

Overlord must have figured what was coming—he flung himself upward, hands aiming for Sixshot’s throat. Sixshot swung the hands away with his hardened forearms.  They grappled, spinning, until Sixshot reared up to slam Overlord’s face down against the pile of crates on the gravsled.

“Reason I don’t spike mechs I like,” Sixshot’s voice was hard in Overlord’s audio, leaning over his shoulder, letting his chassis press hard upon Overlord’s back.  He pushed his spike in, stabbing into Overlord’s valve, hissing as the unlubricated lining scraping hard and raw on his spike. His hands tightened on Overlord’s frame.  Overlord snarled, trying to drive his head back into Sixshot’s.  Sixshot simply leaned over to one side, digging his fingers under the wrist armor, clawing at the cables. “Like it when it hurts, Overlord.” 

He began thrusting, hard, into Overlord, his other hand reaching around Overlord’s throat, pulling his head back and up, thumb gouging into the sensitive under cabling.  Overlord gasped out curses, his one free hand clawing at Sixshot’s, his trapped arm’s servos whining under the effort he was exerting to free himself. Sixshot gave a wild laugh.  “Don’t fight it, Overlord.  Proving to you why I got the mission.”

“Filthy…vile…base…!” Overlord grunted out obscenities in Sixshot’s tempo.

“Moved on to adjectives now,” Sixshot taunted, before his hand tore down Overlord’s side, screeching against the armor.  His rhythm picked up, slamming his spike harder, faster, into Overlord. He could feel it swell, the spike, the wretched consequence of a canine alt. And Overlord could feel it, too, the hard bulb ramming against him, scraping the sides and rim of his valve with each juddering thrust and pullback. 

Sixshot howled, jamming his pelvic frame against Overlord’s one last time, the spike’s bulb throwing spines out, digging into the valve lining, piercing it in half a hundred places, as the overload shocked through them.  Overlord shrieked in pain, his vocalizer vibrating, losing its upper gain, against Sixshot’s hand.

Sixshot gave a snarling hiss, pulling back, until the spined bulb lodged unmovable against the interior of the valve rim.  He swept one hand down, like a blade, tearing through the base of his spike.  He arched up on his knees, shuddering with an agonized ecstasy, sparks and transfluid guttering from the torn stump.  His vents kicked on, loud, his optics shuttered, unseeing, pointed at the ceiling. The pain rode through him, pure and hot and clean. Beneath him, beneath his notice, Overlord lay…discarded, writhing in pain and humiliation.

“You’re blocking my corridor.” 

Sixshot shivered, slowly regaining optical control.  Onslaught leaned in the doorway of the armory, face blank, arms folded over his chassis.  “Moving,” he said, voice unsteady, trying to force motion into his limbs.

Onslaught jerked his chin at Sixshot’s severed spike. “You should get that looked at.” 

“When I get back.” Sixshot clambered to his feet, twitching as he snapped his interface hatch cover closed. 

Onslaught made some displeased sound. 

“More important things to do.”

Onslaught’s optics flicked to Overlord. “So I saw.” 

Not that.  Overlord was just…needing to be taught a lesson.  And the lesson was ‘don’t fuck with Sixshot’. Hopefully, Sixshot thought, he’d driven the message home in a language Overlord could understand. He shrugged.

Onslaught tilted his head. “When you get back, I’ll make sure not to be busy.” 

Sixshot nodded, kicking Overlord’s body off his gravsled with one foot.  Never figure Onslaught out.  Probably best to stop trying.

“And if you get that repaired beforehand…,” Onslaught waited until Sixshot turned to face him. “I’ll invite Vortex.” 

 

 

Comments

[ravynfyre.livejournal.com]

And I didn't think that Sixshot could GET anymore hardcore.... dayum.

And I gotta agree with Caia there... Dogtied Vortex....

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Hey, occasionally even *I* remember they're the bad guys and that means...nasty. (It's probably wrong I still find him kind of hot, isn't it?)

Okay people stop making me think of dogtied Vortex!! O_O