RP sex log with mpinsky for tf_ic_prompts
mpinsky as IDW Megatron
Myself as G1 Cyclonus
Follows on from this thread.
Takes place before IDW Megatron fought with Nemesis Prime and all that followed after.
Warnings for explicit sticky-style robot porn. (Fact that sex here is sticky should not be taken to imply anything at all about tf_ic_prompts canon, such that it is.)
Cyclonus and Megatron were not doing this in front of you all, so no in-character comments from the peanut gallery.
Cyclonus twitches a little at being on his knees before someone who is Not Galvatron, but the hand on his shoulder holds him firmly. He puts one hand on Megatron's hip-plates--so much more angular than Galvatron's--and outlines the seams and angles of his crotch plating with his tongue. With his other hand, he continued to stroke Galvatron's cannon.
The hand on Cyclonus' shoulder spasms, and Megatron lets out a hiss of air from between clenched denta. Cyclonus knows how to stimulate him, knows all the most sensitive of places, and it is almost uncannily eerie that he and this so-called "Galvatron" are so similar in anatomy. Could what this mech says really be based upon fact? No. He refuses to believe it. There is no one more powerful than he.
But he refuses to bow down. This is on his terms.
Cyclonus's engine purrs at Megatron's small signs of pleasure--more restrained than Galvatron would be, but at least his technique is working.
The sensitive places Cyclonus is used to are in slightly different places on Megatron, but...he locates a seam on Megatron's inner thigh, parallel to one that always works for Galvatron, and slides his tongue in to tease his wires.
The cry that Megatron releases is muffled, obviously suppressed, and his knee servos buckle underneath him.
Frag the slagging mech bowed before him! No one, no one, not even Starscream, could make him fall down so far so fast.
His grip is rougher, and he dents the purple armor he is clenching onto, a snarl escaping his vocalizer next to Cyclonus' audio.
"Slag you."
Cyclonus moans as Megatron squeezes his plating hard enough to dent. He bites down over the area he is licking, not hard, but enough to scrape off the paint; one hand reaches down to the vulnerable wiring at the back of Megatron's knees, the other hand traces the rim of Megatron's cannon.
Megatron can feel his armor warming, sensor nodes humming online, and he overrides command code after command code that insists he retract the armor over his interface array. The pressure is unbearable, almost painful, but he obstinately refuses. This...thing will have to earn that right. And then Megatron can take. Take as much as he wants.
Cyclonus' vents are running high, pleased by the warmth of Megatron's plating. He moves his mouth over to find the corresponding seam on Megatron's inner thigh and pushes his tongue in deep.
At the same time, his hand pushes just a little, into Megatron's cannon. The heat and power contained there go straight to his own interface circuitry--but he will not open them until Megatron asks.
There is a grunt of surprise. His cannon is usually elsewhere during these...trysts, but now...now he wonders why he has left it off all these vorns. Probably suspicious that his normal berthmate will somehow use it against him when he is distracted. And still Megatron refuses to reward Cyclonus, his hand scrabbling at the armor of Cyclonus' interface panel, searching for it's manual release.
Cyclonus catches the note of surprise...Megatron has not experienced this before? Galvatron is never without his cannon, and he always responds well to stimulation of it. He reaches his hand in deeper, rubbing against the sides...the radiation hurts, but it only intensifies his arousal. His lips continue working at the wires in Megatron's crotch.
Another hiss, though even Megatron himself is not sure if it is of approval or surprise. His thighs twitch, the wires shrinking back from Cyclonus' affections. The hand continues to claw at the armor fruitlessly and he growls, "Either you release your cover or I tear it off."
Cyclonus moans into Megatron's crotch plating, debating which to choose. The times Galvatron had torn Cyclonus' cover off in a fit of arousal had been deeply pleasant as well as painful; but he is not sure if he would be able to get himself fixed quickly or discreetly in this place.
"Yes, Lord Megatron." He retracts his cover, still working at Megatron's crotch and cannon.
Megatron's arm servos strain, forcefully pushing the other mech's back struts to the floor, looming over him.
"So it is 'Lord Megatron' now, is it?" the warlord asks, his tone indicating he is more than pleased at the title spoken forth from this otherwise unknown mech's vocals. "And what is it that you want of me, my dear Cyclonus?"
Megatron's fingers skim Cyclonus' spike's mounting.
Cyclonus moans, and his engines rumble hard with pleasure as he is forced to the ground. He tries to keep his hands on Megatron, pleasing him, but they lose all direction as he is forced downward and groped.
"It's not about what I want, Lord Megatron."
"Perhaps not," Megatron fairly purrs. "But it is such a succulent thing to hear you beg."
Again, his fingers skim over Cyclonus' spike housing, applying more pressure, more insistent this time.
Cyclonus engines and fans run even harder. "If that is what you want....please, Lord Megatron. Take your pleasure from me."
"Mm...not good enough."
Megatron is greedy, he knows, even as he feels more than hears Cyclonus' growing arousal, and his hand roughly grips his spike, thumb flicking over the topmost node. "You are going to have to try much, much harder than that."
It isn't Galvatron's normal style, but. Begging, Cyclonus could do. He lets his arousal run as hot as it can, and runs his hands, quickly and desperately, over the bits of Megatron that he could reach. He pushes his spike out into Megatron's hand, and makes his voice deep and needy. "Please, Lord Megatron, please. Use me Take me. Please!"
Megatron's helm leans down, and his interface cover retracts in a sharp his.
"Mm...but you do beg so nicely."
Denta closed down over an Energon line in the throat, glossa trailing up it. A hand rubs experimentally over a large audial sensor. Megatron has never seen a mech quite like Cyclonus before--not of this design.
Cyclonus moans deeply at the touch to his antenna. "Please, Lord Megatron. Please. More...." He reaches over to rub over Megatron's own spike housing encouragingly, his other hand stroking over Megatron's cannon.
Yes. This is what Megatron wants. Complete and utter submission from his berthmates. He tugs harshly at one of the antennae, pinning the hand giving attention to his cannon underneath an arm.
"More?" he murmurs against the cables of Cyclonus' throat. "I suppose, since you have asked me so very nicely."
"Oh yes!" Cyclonus arches up into Megatron's tug on his antenna. His free hand keeps stroking, wrapping around the spike as it extends and stroking up and down; Galvatron likes a firm touch. "Please....!"
A rough growl.
"Perhaps I should just wrench this off instead, hm?" Megatron strokes the antenna in consideration. He wouldn't really do such a thing to his berthmate before gleaning his own satisfaction first. Probably...Maybe.
Cyclonus moans at the touch. His antennae are very sensitive and he wishes Megatron would be a little rougher...but not that rough. That would be deeply inconvenient. Galvatron had done it a few times, but Megatron is not Galvatron, even if he would be.
Cyclonus stops moving. "Is that truly what you want from me?"
"Perhaps..." The reply is cryptic, almost cynical. "But no. I will not do that. Not yet. Cross me wrongly and then I may consider it."
Cyclonus resumes his touches. "I am sure I will be able to serve you better with both of my antennae. What would you prefer of me?"
A hand closes around his throat.
"Fight back," the warlord fairly snarls. "Fight me. Scratch, claw your way to escape as I bring you to overload, yet knowing that it is all useless."
Cyclonus moans happily at the grip on his throat. But Megatron's request...this is not something he did easily or naturally. "No."
The grip tightens, words just a hiss. "Then I will leave you...unsatisfied. I do not ask for much. You asked, I answered. Will you deny me like the coward you may actually be?"
Cyclonus considers this. It is true; his role in life is to give to, and take from, his Lord, everything that his Lord needs. If Lord Megatron needs it rough...then he could get it. Even from a mech who has no interest in stabbing him in the back. Cyclonus moves his hands between them and presses hard on Megatron's chestplates. He scrapes his fingernails down over Megatron's chest plating, as though attempting to wound him--though he is not designed for such an attack.
"Is that what you wanted, Lord Megatron?"
The growl lowers to something resembling a purr.
"Mm...it is a start."
Megatron braces a hand on Cyclonus' shoulder, fingers digging into the seam, scoring wires, his spike pushing into Cyclonus' valve agonizingly slow, each ridge rubbing against each sensor node.
Cyclonus wriggles at the too-gentle penetration, pleasured but not satisfied. If he wants rougher, it seemed he would have to be rough in turn. He rakes his hands over Megatron's chestplates, seeking out the spots that he would have worshiped on Galvatron for particularly rough treatment.
"Ah! Yes, that's it!"
Megatron grips Cyclonus' hips, practically impaling him on the rest of his spike, sitting fully-sheathed inside him.
"Make me bleed, dear Cyclonus. Let me taste this Energon. Perhaps then I will fully reward you."
Part of Cyclonus' processor, as always, lights up at the praise from even this odd reflection of his Lord. Megatron's evident enjoyment is more intoxicating than his spike and the thought of his lord tasting energon....even his own, if it had to be. Cyclonus thrusts back a bit into Megatron's hold, groaning in pleasure.
There is a spot down at the bottom of the chest, where it meets his hips, where the energon lines should be near the surface--Cyclonus starts scratching and working at the plates and wires, trying to get energon on his hands as soon as he can.
Megatron's lips fall roughly onto Cyclonus', biting and demanding, roughly thrusting into the mech beneath him. More...he wants to scream, to order him...More!
This is better, and it is easier for Cyclonus to lose himself in the sensations, forget that he is hurting his leader and remember only that he is pleasuring him, moan loudly into Megatron's mouth and reach his arms around his waist, following the seam and tearing at wiring as he goes.
He breaks through to find energon, and remembering Lord Megatron's order, reaches an energon-coated hand up to their joined mouths.
The Energon is sweet, yet bitter, his own, Megatron knows, he has tasted it enough times. It flows thickly into his mouth and he pushes it into Cyclonus'.
You have pleased me. You shall be rewarded.
Fingers reach up, denting an antenna he grips it so hard, his other hand scrabbling at his shoulder, scoring paint, chips raining down in time with the movement of their hips.
Finally! Cyclonus moaned loudly into Megatron's mouth--there might have been words there, Lord or Megatron or Galvatron, as his antenna is dented and his shoulder is scarred. His hands move up Megatron's back, embracing him tightly, fingers marking Megatron's paint without Cyclonus even having to think about it.
Great minds think alike, perhaps. Megatron's mouth moves, ripping Energon lines--not enough to be fatal, and the liquid smears over his mouth, hand gripping harder, clenching and unclenching with each thrust.
This...This is what Megatron is looking for.
Cyclonus arches his neck to give Megatron better access--too worked up by the pain to worry about the danger of being offlined by someone other than his Lord. His hands continue roaming Megatron's back, unconsciously looking for the neck and back spires that aren't there, finally settling for working up under the back of Megatron's helm, encouraging him to press further into his neck.
And Megatron does, a mixture of lubricant and transfluid pooling beneath their joined hips. He can feel the charge building, more than the usual skimming across his nodes, and he forces it back. No, not yet. He is not weak. He will not succumb first.
Cyclonus' ecstasy is almost perfect--or as good as it's going to get, without Galvatron. He wraps his legs around Megatron's hips, encouraging Megatron deeper and pressing his pedes against the back of Megs' knee joints. One of his arms went back to Megatron's waist, exploring the small wounds he'd made before.
He can feel Megatron's charge building above him. "Lord Megatron...my antennae. Please!"
And once again, Megatron is kind. He presses their lips back together, letting the mech taste his own Energon and Megatron's mixed. Reaching up, he grabs hold of an antenna, squeezing the base there, stroking upwards.
Yes. I am your lord.
Megatron's thrusts are deeper, less restrained, almost erratic.
Cyclonus' cry is incoherent, drowned in their mouths and the taste of his own energon, and whether it is Lord Megatron or Lord Galvatron he is not sure himself.
The hand on his antenna...knowing that at any moment Megatron could choose to tear it off instead....
When he overloads, his cry is simply My Lord.
The base of Cyclonus' antenna crumples slightly in Megatron's grip as Megatron's overload is released in a roar, and his vents heave, desperately trying to suck more air in.
He refuses to fade out. Offlining is for the weak. It is just an overload, nothing more.
Cyclonus shudders almost into another overload as his antenna is squeezed.
Satisfied, he loosens his grip on Lord Megatron and lies under him, enjoying the aftershocks, not offlining through long habit--he adores his Lord, but offlining in his presence is unwise--but not up to much else, either.
Myself as G1 Cyclonus
Follows on from this thread.
Takes place before IDW Megatron fought with Nemesis Prime and all that followed after.
Warnings for explicit sticky-style robot porn. (Fact that sex here is sticky should not be taken to imply anything at all about tf_ic_prompts canon, such that it is.)
Cyclonus and Megatron were not doing this in front of you all, so no in-character comments from the peanut gallery.
Cyclonus twitches a little at being on his knees before someone who is Not Galvatron, but the hand on his shoulder holds him firmly. He puts one hand on Megatron's hip-plates--so much more angular than Galvatron's--and outlines the seams and angles of his crotch plating with his tongue. With his other hand, he continued to stroke Galvatron's cannon.
The hand on Cyclonus' shoulder spasms, and Megatron lets out a hiss of air from between clenched denta. Cyclonus knows how to stimulate him, knows all the most sensitive of places, and it is almost uncannily eerie that he and this so-called "Galvatron" are so similar in anatomy. Could what this mech says really be based upon fact? No. He refuses to believe it. There is no one more powerful than he.
But he refuses to bow down. This is on his terms.
Cyclonus's engine purrs at Megatron's small signs of pleasure--more restrained than Galvatron would be, but at least his technique is working.
The sensitive places Cyclonus is used to are in slightly different places on Megatron, but...he locates a seam on Megatron's inner thigh, parallel to one that always works for Galvatron, and slides his tongue in to tease his wires.
The cry that Megatron releases is muffled, obviously suppressed, and his knee servos buckle underneath him.
Frag the slagging mech bowed before him! No one, no one, not even Starscream, could make him fall down so far so fast.
His grip is rougher, and he dents the purple armor he is clenching onto, a snarl escaping his vocalizer next to Cyclonus' audio.
"Slag you."
Cyclonus moans as Megatron squeezes his plating hard enough to dent. He bites down over the area he is licking, not hard, but enough to scrape off the paint; one hand reaches down to the vulnerable wiring at the back of Megatron's knees, the other hand traces the rim of Megatron's cannon.
Megatron can feel his armor warming, sensor nodes humming online, and he overrides command code after command code that insists he retract the armor over his interface array. The pressure is unbearable, almost painful, but he obstinately refuses. This...thing will have to earn that right. And then Megatron can take. Take as much as he wants.
Cyclonus' vents are running high, pleased by the warmth of Megatron's plating. He moves his mouth over to find the corresponding seam on Megatron's inner thigh and pushes his tongue in deep.
At the same time, his hand pushes just a little, into Megatron's cannon. The heat and power contained there go straight to his own interface circuitry--but he will not open them until Megatron asks.
There is a grunt of surprise. His cannon is usually elsewhere during these...trysts, but now...now he wonders why he has left it off all these vorns. Probably suspicious that his normal berthmate will somehow use it against him when he is distracted. And still Megatron refuses to reward Cyclonus, his hand scrabbling at the armor of Cyclonus' interface panel, searching for it's manual release.
Cyclonus catches the note of surprise...Megatron has not experienced this before? Galvatron is never without his cannon, and he always responds well to stimulation of it. He reaches his hand in deeper, rubbing against the sides...the radiation hurts, but it only intensifies his arousal. His lips continue working at the wires in Megatron's crotch.
Another hiss, though even Megatron himself is not sure if it is of approval or surprise. His thighs twitch, the wires shrinking back from Cyclonus' affections. The hand continues to claw at the armor fruitlessly and he growls, "Either you release your cover or I tear it off."
Cyclonus moans into Megatron's crotch plating, debating which to choose. The times Galvatron had torn Cyclonus' cover off in a fit of arousal had been deeply pleasant as well as painful; but he is not sure if he would be able to get himself fixed quickly or discreetly in this place.
"Yes, Lord Megatron." He retracts his cover, still working at Megatron's crotch and cannon.
Megatron's arm servos strain, forcefully pushing the other mech's back struts to the floor, looming over him.
"So it is 'Lord Megatron' now, is it?" the warlord asks, his tone indicating he is more than pleased at the title spoken forth from this otherwise unknown mech's vocals. "And what is it that you want of me, my dear Cyclonus?"
Megatron's fingers skim Cyclonus' spike's mounting.
Cyclonus moans, and his engines rumble hard with pleasure as he is forced to the ground. He tries to keep his hands on Megatron, pleasing him, but they lose all direction as he is forced downward and groped.
"It's not about what I want, Lord Megatron."
"Perhaps not," Megatron fairly purrs. "But it is such a succulent thing to hear you beg."
Again, his fingers skim over Cyclonus' spike housing, applying more pressure, more insistent this time.
Cyclonus engines and fans run even harder. "If that is what you want....please, Lord Megatron. Take your pleasure from me."
"Mm...not good enough."
Megatron is greedy, he knows, even as he feels more than hears Cyclonus' growing arousal, and his hand roughly grips his spike, thumb flicking over the topmost node. "You are going to have to try much, much harder than that."
It isn't Galvatron's normal style, but. Begging, Cyclonus could do. He lets his arousal run as hot as it can, and runs his hands, quickly and desperately, over the bits of Megatron that he could reach. He pushes his spike out into Megatron's hand, and makes his voice deep and needy. "Please, Lord Megatron, please. Use me Take me. Please!"
Megatron's helm leans down, and his interface cover retracts in a sharp his.
"Mm...but you do beg so nicely."
Denta closed down over an Energon line in the throat, glossa trailing up it. A hand rubs experimentally over a large audial sensor. Megatron has never seen a mech quite like Cyclonus before--not of this design.
Cyclonus moans deeply at the touch to his antenna. "Please, Lord Megatron. Please. More...." He reaches over to rub over Megatron's own spike housing encouragingly, his other hand stroking over Megatron's cannon.
Yes. This is what Megatron wants. Complete and utter submission from his berthmates. He tugs harshly at one of the antennae, pinning the hand giving attention to his cannon underneath an arm.
"More?" he murmurs against the cables of Cyclonus' throat. "I suppose, since you have asked me so very nicely."
"Oh yes!" Cyclonus arches up into Megatron's tug on his antenna. His free hand keeps stroking, wrapping around the spike as it extends and stroking up and down; Galvatron likes a firm touch. "Please....!"
A rough growl.
"Perhaps I should just wrench this off instead, hm?" Megatron strokes the antenna in consideration. He wouldn't really do such a thing to his berthmate before gleaning his own satisfaction first. Probably...Maybe.
Cyclonus moans at the touch. His antennae are very sensitive and he wishes Megatron would be a little rougher...but not that rough. That would be deeply inconvenient. Galvatron had done it a few times, but Megatron is not Galvatron, even if he would be.
Cyclonus stops moving. "Is that truly what you want from me?"
"Perhaps..." The reply is cryptic, almost cynical. "But no. I will not do that. Not yet. Cross me wrongly and then I may consider it."
Cyclonus resumes his touches. "I am sure I will be able to serve you better with both of my antennae. What would you prefer of me?"
A hand closes around his throat.
"Fight back," the warlord fairly snarls. "Fight me. Scratch, claw your way to escape as I bring you to overload, yet knowing that it is all useless."
Cyclonus moans happily at the grip on his throat. But Megatron's request...this is not something he did easily or naturally. "No."
The grip tightens, words just a hiss. "Then I will leave you...unsatisfied. I do not ask for much. You asked, I answered. Will you deny me like the coward you may actually be?"
Cyclonus considers this. It is true; his role in life is to give to, and take from, his Lord, everything that his Lord needs. If Lord Megatron needs it rough...then he could get it. Even from a mech who has no interest in stabbing him in the back. Cyclonus moves his hands between them and presses hard on Megatron's chestplates. He scrapes his fingernails down over Megatron's chest plating, as though attempting to wound him--though he is not designed for such an attack.
"Is that what you wanted, Lord Megatron?"
The growl lowers to something resembling a purr.
"Mm...it is a start."
Megatron braces a hand on Cyclonus' shoulder, fingers digging into the seam, scoring wires, his spike pushing into Cyclonus' valve agonizingly slow, each ridge rubbing against each sensor node.
Cyclonus wriggles at the too-gentle penetration, pleasured but not satisfied. If he wants rougher, it seemed he would have to be rough in turn. He rakes his hands over Megatron's chestplates, seeking out the spots that he would have worshiped on Galvatron for particularly rough treatment.
"Ah! Yes, that's it!"
Megatron grips Cyclonus' hips, practically impaling him on the rest of his spike, sitting fully-sheathed inside him.
"Make me bleed, dear Cyclonus. Let me taste this Energon. Perhaps then I will fully reward you."
Part of Cyclonus' processor, as always, lights up at the praise from even this odd reflection of his Lord. Megatron's evident enjoyment is more intoxicating than his spike and the thought of his lord tasting energon....even his own, if it had to be. Cyclonus thrusts back a bit into Megatron's hold, groaning in pleasure.
There is a spot down at the bottom of the chest, where it meets his hips, where the energon lines should be near the surface--Cyclonus starts scratching and working at the plates and wires, trying to get energon on his hands as soon as he can.
Megatron's lips fall roughly onto Cyclonus', biting and demanding, roughly thrusting into the mech beneath him. More...he wants to scream, to order him...More!
This is better, and it is easier for Cyclonus to lose himself in the sensations, forget that he is hurting his leader and remember only that he is pleasuring him, moan loudly into Megatron's mouth and reach his arms around his waist, following the seam and tearing at wiring as he goes.
He breaks through to find energon, and remembering Lord Megatron's order, reaches an energon-coated hand up to their joined mouths.
The Energon is sweet, yet bitter, his own, Megatron knows, he has tasted it enough times. It flows thickly into his mouth and he pushes it into Cyclonus'.
You have pleased me. You shall be rewarded.
Fingers reach up, denting an antenna he grips it so hard, his other hand scrabbling at his shoulder, scoring paint, chips raining down in time with the movement of their hips.
Finally! Cyclonus moaned loudly into Megatron's mouth--there might have been words there, Lord or Megatron or Galvatron, as his antenna is dented and his shoulder is scarred. His hands move up Megatron's back, embracing him tightly, fingers marking Megatron's paint without Cyclonus even having to think about it.
Great minds think alike, perhaps. Megatron's mouth moves, ripping Energon lines--not enough to be fatal, and the liquid smears over his mouth, hand gripping harder, clenching and unclenching with each thrust.
This...This is what Megatron is looking for.
Cyclonus arches his neck to give Megatron better access--too worked up by the pain to worry about the danger of being offlined by someone other than his Lord. His hands continue roaming Megatron's back, unconsciously looking for the neck and back spires that aren't there, finally settling for working up under the back of Megatron's helm, encouraging him to press further into his neck.
And Megatron does, a mixture of lubricant and transfluid pooling beneath their joined hips. He can feel the charge building, more than the usual skimming across his nodes, and he forces it back. No, not yet. He is not weak. He will not succumb first.
Cyclonus' ecstasy is almost perfect--or as good as it's going to get, without Galvatron. He wraps his legs around Megatron's hips, encouraging Megatron deeper and pressing his pedes against the back of Megs' knee joints. One of his arms went back to Megatron's waist, exploring the small wounds he'd made before.
He can feel Megatron's charge building above him. "Lord Megatron...my antennae. Please!"
And once again, Megatron is kind. He presses their lips back together, letting the mech taste his own Energon and Megatron's mixed. Reaching up, he grabs hold of an antenna, squeezing the base there, stroking upwards.
Yes. I am your lord.
Megatron's thrusts are deeper, less restrained, almost erratic.
Cyclonus' cry is incoherent, drowned in their mouths and the taste of his own energon, and whether it is Lord Megatron or Lord Galvatron he is not sure himself.
The hand on his antenna...knowing that at any moment Megatron could choose to tear it off instead....
When he overloads, his cry is simply My Lord.
The base of Cyclonus' antenna crumples slightly in Megatron's grip as Megatron's overload is released in a roar, and his vents heave, desperately trying to suck more air in.
He refuses to fade out. Offlining is for the weak. It is just an overload, nothing more.
Cyclonus shudders almost into another overload as his antenna is squeezed.
Satisfied, he loosens his grip on Lord Megatron and lies under him, enjoying the aftershocks, not offlining through long habit--he adores his Lord, but offlining in his presence is unwise--but not up to much else, either.