Barricade does...a favor.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

NC-17
sticky
Bayverse
Barricade, Blackout, Grindor
purports to be 'disheveled' from my 28s meme. Set pre-war. And they're 'helis' here instead of copter, just to reflect their pre-Earth rotorless forms.

 

Really, Blackout thought. The things he did for his line-mate.  Grindor finally had a free day from his Combat Analysis training course, and what did he want?  Well, what any sensible heli wanted, really, with a free day. But he wanted that…with a grounder.

Problem was, of course, Grindor didn’t know any grounders. Well, other than his instructors. Which was probably where he got his grounder fetish to begin with.  Always did have a weird thing for authority, Blackout thought. Not, uh, that he had one.  Megatron was…different.  Not a fetish. You can’t have a fetish for one mech. 

Still, Grindor knew when to call in a favor, which was why Blackout was headed down to the grounder barracks, trying to find a good subject.  Discrete, willing, probably kind of pervy and, well, Grindor had insisted on ‘cute’. And with nice hands. Right.  Whatever ‘cute’ meant where grounders were involved. 

Blackout parked himself by the door, watching the steady stream of groundframes.  Cute? Was that one cute?  Or that one?  Frag, that one looked okay but…how did you, you know, bring that up with a stranger? 

“Hey. You can’t park here.” The voice made Blackout twitch.  He rotated his optic sensors to focus on a dark blue grounder, wearing the bright white brassard of an MP. 

Great. Barricade. All the grounders to run into here, and the only one that talks to him is the crabby crazy little grounder. “Public space.”

The four red optics narrowed.  “You helis are all the same. Think you fraggin’ own everything.” 

“You grounders think you own the ground.”  Seriously.  Let it go, Barricade. Blackout pushed back, standing up, just to remind Barricade that, you know, he was pretty small.  And maybe shouldn’t have such a big mouth.

“What the frag you doing here, anyway?” Barricade was suspicious. “Not like you to enter grounder territory.” 

“I got…stuff to do.”

“Stuff. What kind of stuff?”

Frag.  Blackout also hadn’t come up with a plausiblecover story.  “Uh, none of your business stuff.”

Barricade tapped his brassard. “Duty sergeant,” he said. “So, yeah, actually is my business.” 

Seriously?  Blackout’s luck sucked.  Like whoa.  “Look. I was just trying to do my line-mate a favor, that’s all.”

“A favor?” Barricade said the word as though it tasted delicious. “What kind of favor?” 

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Barricade shrugged, his spaulders shifting. “Yeah, and I can just put how uncooperative you were in the report.” 

Blackout glared. “And if I tell you? What would you put in the report, then? ” Because, yeah, he really didn’t want ‘soliciting grounders for interfacing’ in that log, either.

Barricade grinned. “What report?”

 Blackout sighed, looking around nervously over his shoulders. “Look.  Grindor. He has a thing for, you know…your kind.”

“My…kind?”  The optics blinked.  “Wait, what?”

Blackout’s cheek flanges riffled nervously. “You know. Like I said.  Your kind. A thing.”  He made a vaguely obscene gesture.

A hooked smile grew across Barricade’s face. “Really.”

“Yeah.  Hey, look. I told you the truth.  You’re not going to get him in any trouble about it.” He straightened up, working his face into a glare.  He wasn’t going to let any grounder push him around. 

“Me? Get someone in trouble?”  Barricade snickered.  “Perish the thought.” 

Blackout sharpened his glare.  “Seriously.”

“Well, let’s just say, I could be convinced to be silent.”

Blackout narrowed his optics, pinching his mouth.  Oh, Grindor was going to owe him for this. “How?”

“I,” Barricade said, making a sweeping gesture down his chassis, “happen to be a grounder. I offer my…ahem…services.” 

Blackout twitched his head back, stunned. Barricade?  Was he cute?  Did he have nice hands?  Wait. That didn’t matter—what did matter was if Barricade implicated himself, there was no way he’d get Grindor in trouble. “Fine,” he said, doing his best to loom menacingly over Barricade, as if it were a bet. “You’re on.” 

[***]

“Wow,” Barricade said. “You two look…a lot alike.”  The grounder lolled on one of the stools by the resort-cube’s little refueling station, as Blackout went to retrieve some high grade.

Grindor gave a nervous, dorky grin. Which Blackout hoped they did not have in common. “Kind of a solidarity thing.”  He took his cube, then pushed one across to Barricade.  “Uhh, this okay with you?”

Yeah, it better be, Blackout thought.  A grounder’s salary couldn’t afford much high grade. 

Barricade gave a sly shrug. “Good enough,” he said, curling his hands around the cube. Good enough his tiny little winglets, Blackout thought, but Grindor didn’t seem to notice the insolence—his optics were glued to the little silver talons on the cube.  Blackout shook his head.  Fraggin’ Grindor.  Hope he appreciates what I do for him.

“So, um,” Grindor said, pausing to watch as Barricade took a long drink.  “You, uhhh, has, um…has Blackout explained it to you?” He took a nervous swallow.

“About as well as you have.” Barricade snickered. “Supposed to, you know, like…interface with you, right?”

Grindor choked on his own high-grade. “I…well…if you want to. I mean, we’re, ummm, not going to force you or anything.” 

Barricade’s grin grew wider, and his glossa flicked over his mouthplates, as if he found Grindor somehow delicious.  “Of course not,” he said.  He took another drink, turning a sly wink to Blackout, as if they were somehow on the same side.  “Hey, Grindor, right?  You’ve…never done this before, have you?”

“Done this? Interfacing? Of course I’ve done that before.”  The silver hands clutched around the cube. 

“So, just the grounder thing, that’s new, huh?” 

Grindor flinched, dropping his optics to the table. “Yeah.  …Does that bother you?”

“Bother me? That I’m your first grounder?”  Barricade laughed, and it sounded—for him, especially—a loose, easy, almost happy sound. “Heli? I’m gonna ruin you for other grounders.”   Barricade clambered up, kneeling on the stool, bracing one hand on the table as he leaned over toward Grindor’s surprised face. 

Their mouths met, Grindor’s cheek flanges spread in surprise, Barricade’s free hand curling around his head, pulling it closer.  Grindor made some muffled, surprised sound, optics flying wide and round, and then snatched the grounder against him, dragging him across the table.  Blackout lunged, barely managing to catch a cube before it slid off the table. 

[***]

If Barricade didn’t know any better, he’d have thought he was having the BEST hallucination ever. A heli, wanting to interface with him?  HOT.  And for some reason, Blackout’s dour glare from the corner only made it hotter. 

Though, if it got much hotter, Barricade was going to burst into flames or something.  Because Grindor?  Really got off on being touched.  And Barricade? Really got off on pawing air frames.  Right now, Grindor was flat on his back on the broad, if plain and not-very-fancy berth, optics dim, as Barricade knelt beside him, roaming over his armor with his hands.  The silver chassis swelled and surged and twisted under his talons, Grindor’s ventilation ragged, edging into moans. 

Frag, the heli was hot. Barricade traced his talon-tips lightly around the exposed cables and wires, feathering along the sensitive underside of the armor plates, while the silver mech shivered and squirmed beneath him.  Barricade’s own systems raced with tingling heat, that he held off, forced down. It had been a long time since he’d been…wanted.  And he was determined to enjoy it.

And right now, he wanted to enjoy the heli’s mouth again.  He leaned forward, letting his own chassis slide over the silver swell of Grindor’s shoulder, hesitating for a moment, hovering over the silver wedge of the heli’s mouth.  He could feel a tingling heat from the EM field washing over him, the frame vibrating gently under his chassis.  Oh frag yeah.  He bent forward, mouth just brushing the straight lines of the mouth mechanism, flicking his glossa along the line.  Grindor made a muffled yelp, optics flaring red and warm on Barricade’s cheek, and then his large hands clamped around Barricade, raking down his back, tweaking his winglets.  It was Barricade’s turn to squirm helplessly, talons skittering over the larger mech in frantic desire. 

Grindor made a deep sound, not a growl, not a grunt, but somewhere in between, and Barricade found himself, suddenly, face down on the berth, one large hand splayed between his shoulders, squeezing the mountings of his winglets, while the other hand’s blunt fingers probed between his legs.  Barricade felt himself arching into the touch, twisting his frame, trying to nudge the fingers toward the manual release of his hatch. 

He felt a sudden weight, Grindor leaning down on top of him, and then a pinch on his winglet, that slid down toward the base, then his audio.  Barricade flattened one cheek against the berth, straining to see. 

“This okay?”  The voice was husky, but entreating. 

“Frag yeah,” Barricade managed. 

“Just, you know, wanted to make sure you were still cool with this.”

Still cool with it?  Weird heli.  Barricade wriggled his hips back against the heavy frame on top of him in what he hoped was an obvious enough hint. 

Grindor growled, and Barricade had one of his facial crests nipped before the weight moved off him. He felt a  sudden coolness on his backframe and then a quick snap to expose his interface equipment.  Barricade twitched, his valve spiraling down in anticipation.  Rumor had it helis were, well, equipped to scale. 

And then a sudden presence and mass as the heli pushed his spike into Barricade’s valve.  Whoa. Apparently the rumor was true.

Grindor pushed in slowly, letting the valve expand around him.  Barricade could feel the taut vibration in the thigh cable against him: Grindor was holding back, drawing it out, edging his spike into the valve as a sort of delicious torment to them both.

Barricade’s hands curled helplessly on the berth, his silver talons scratching the metal. Grindor gave a growling, contented sigh, then a jerk of his hips to seat the spike the rest of the way in the valve.  Barricade arched his spine, tossing his head back, getting a wild flying glance of Blackout watching them,  the darker heli’s optics lambent with lust. 

They hung there for a long moment, each shivering from the contact, Barricade’s valve squeezing down, feeling ever contour and ridge of the spike inside him, a warm, solid presence, leaking slick lubricant, feeling Blackout’s optics devouring him like little licks of flame.

Grindor began moving, slowly rocking the spike, then to larger and larger strokes, shifting the level of his hips, drawing out on an up angle, scraping the front of Barricade’s valve, and the sensitive anterior cluster of nodes, with his spike’s head, then lowering down to stroke in evenly against the sensor calipers.  Barricade whimpered, hardly daring to move, letting the spike take him, pushing in, pulling out, building charge. Grindor’s hands tweaked at his winglets, punctuating the steady rise of interface charge with little flashes of pain that just seemed to sweeten the mounting, exquisite desire.  The spike rode and swelled in his valve, Grindor’s hands sliding over his frame, little punctuated moans pulling themselves from his vocalizer, thumbs pinching at Barricade’s armor.

One large hand clawed at his hip, hauling him off the berth, bracing the hipframe as the heli gave one last jolting thrust forward, driving his spike hard against Barricade’s valve ceiling a klik before the overload sparked between them, and the rush of transfluid swelled, flooding the valve, tingling across the connectors. 

Grindor hovered over him, releasing the tight grip of his hands on Barricade’s frame, his cooling systems chuffing hot air down on Barricade’s back.  “I…uh…I hope that was okay?” 

Blackout gave an aggrieved sigh from across the room, almost hidden in Barricade’s laugh.  “Yeah,” Barricade snickered. “Adequate.” 

Blackout looked ready to lunge across the distance between them and smack him in the face. Which was pretty much how Barricade decided he liked Blackout. But Grindor was…freakishly earnest.  “I…I could try again? You could tell me what you like?”

“He’s being a jerk, Grindor,” Blackout muttered, glaring down at where Barricade lay in a disheveled puddle of grounder.

“Oh,” Grindor said, hissing, withdrawing his spike in a series of twitches. “I, uh,  I’m sorry?”

Barricade flopped limply onto one side, still quivering from the aftershocks, grinning goofily. “Yeah? What are you going to do about it, heli?”

Blackout smirked down at him, then reached over him, joining his mouth to Grindor’s, reaching down with one hand, squeezing at Grindor’s slick spike.  Barricade twitched, optics bugging. Wow.  That was…stupid hot. He propped onto his elbow to get a better look.  “Hey, not sure how this is supposed to, you know, get back at me for being a jerk.” 

Blackout tore his mouth from Grindor’s, glossa flicking lasciviously between his wedged mouth plates, his optics trailing down Barricade’s frame.  “Just you wait.” 

Comments

[dementiaskiss.livejournal.com]

Is it sad that I think reading coptersmut smut is way hotter than watching human smut?

;)

This made my crappy night SO much better.