[Transformers G1] Comparing Notes
a/n: At last I update this. A NSFW chapter. Enjoy!
Title: Comparing Notes
Universe: G1, part 05 of Apple a Day
Characters: SunstreakerxSideswipe, mentions of Ratchet and Hoist
Rating: M
Warnings for twincest, pnp, tactile
By the time Sunstreaker drags his exhausted aft back to his shared quarters with Sideswipe, he's ready to collapse on his berth, cursing Prowl out the whole time. He's not even the one who started that fight!
He opens the door and within seconds, is glomped by his brother, who's doing a rather accurate impression of Bluestreak after having one too many overloads.
“Look what I got!” Sideswipe gushes, throwing his arms around Sunstreaker and giving him an enthusiastic hug.
“You've been hanging out with Bluestreak too much,” Sunstreaker grunts, trying to shove his hyper brother away. “Get off.”
Sideswipe squeezes him harder. “No! I want to hug you. I want affection!”
What. The. Frag.
Sunstreaker growls, prying his brother's arms away from his frame before the red menace leaves him covered in scratches. “Affection? Seriously. What the slag is wrong with you?”
Sideswipe giggles. Yes, he actually giggles. “Nothing! I'm fine. Everything's just fine. It's dandy. I'm great!... How are you?” He beams brightly and tries to hug Sunstreaker again.
He gives his twin a confused look. “Did someone taint your energon?” Because if so, they were in for a world of hurt. Sunstreaker does not want a clingy brother right now. “Wait. Shouldn't you be hungover?” Like Sunstreaker still is?
Sideswipe rolls his optics, playfully slapping Sunstreaker on the shoulder. “Naww. Hoist gave me something. Fixed me right up! I didn't see Ratchet anywhere though.” He frowns in drugged thoughtfulness. “Wonder where he's hiding.”
Great. Hoist must have overdosed him. Which means Sideswipe was acting like a glitch more than he usually does. Overdosing Sideswipe is a common defense mechanism for a lot of bots. First Aid does it, too.
Sunstreaker sighs and pushes past his twin, heading deeper into their quarters, where he collapses with much joy atop their over-large berth. What a fragging day.
“Bro?”
“Not now, Sideswipe,” Sunstreaker says, his words muffled by the padding of the berth. “I just want to recharge and forget this morning happened.”
“Why would you want to do a silly thing like that?”
He hears a loud scraping sound. Then the berth jostles.
Sunstreaker turns his helm to see Sideswipe perched on a chair, hanging on the side of the bed, his chin propped on his palms. That's it. Tomorrow, Sunstreaker's going to make Hoist's life very unpleasant. Hyper Sideswipe does not for a happy Sunstreaker make.
“So,” Sideswipe says with a sharp snap of the word. “You going to tell me what you remember from last night?” His optics all but sparkle at Sunstreaker, and they are definitely brighter than usual. From one overcharge to another.
“Not much,” Sunstreaker grumbles, scooting over enough on the berth that Sideswipe could climb up beside him if he so wished. “Bits and pieces.”
“Me, too.” Sideswipe lays his helm on his arm and reaches out, one hand stroking Sunstreaker's arm over and over and over, like he's fascinated by the simple motion. “But maybe we remember different bits and pieces and if we put 'em all together, we'll have a whole picture.”
He suddenly sits up straight, a lightbulb turning on above his helm. “Like a puzzle!”
…
Yep. Definitely giving Hoist a talking to.
“I don't think it works like that, Sides.”
“But it could.” Sideswipe grins and suddenly clambers up onto the berth. “Swap cords with me. Give it a try.”
“You're just overcharged and running hot,” Sunstreaker grumbles, but he rolls over, his hands finding his twin's pelvic arch.
Sideswipe's smile turns wicked as he straddles Sunstreaker, his glossa running over his lower lip. “Guilty as charged. Ya gonna pass me a cable or not?”
Curiosity wins over Sunstreaker's lingering high grade induced overcharge. He wants to know just what had happened with Ratchet last night. And if combining his and Sideswipe's scattered memories answer even half the questions, he'll consider this a success. Well, and the fact that interfacing Sideswipe is hardly a chore.
Still, better not let the red-plated idiot recognize he had a good idea for once. He'll gloat about it for weeks.
Sunstreaker reaches for his interface panel, slowly unspooling the cable. A smile tugs at his lips as Sideswipe watches him with hungry optics, shifting minutely atop Sunstreaker. His inner thigh plating rubs against Sunstreaker's hips, eliciting a light, crackling charge.
“Easy now,” Sunstreaker says, holding his twin's gaze as he reaches for Sideswipe's interfacing panel, which has already been popped in eager anticipation. “There's a point to this remember?”
Sideswipe shivers as Sunstreaker's cable clicks home, and eagerly unspools his own. “There's always a point.”
A tingle dances down Sunstreaker's backstrut as Sideswipe plugs into his interface port as well, and the usual trickle of Sideswipe's emotions becomes a steady stream of nearly incomprehensible data.
A small moan escapes Sideswipe, his optics shuttering as he reaches down, bracing his hands on Sunstreaker's chassis.
Sunstreaker arches up, jostling his brother. “Focus, you glitch.”
“Not as easy as it sounds, bro,” Sideswipe retorts with another visible shiver of his plating. “All right. Here's what I got.”
The first of the images trickles across their connection. Sunstreaker groans, his processor suddenly assaulted by a deluge of sensation.
“Is that a challenge?” Ratchet's gruff vocals undermine the sparkle of invitation in his optics as he slides into the open seat at the table.
Already sottted half-way to Sunday, Sideswipe grins and chugs down another half-cube. “Show us what ya got, Ratch.”
Sunstreaker's optics flicker as Sideswipe's hands start running over his plating, years of familiarity ensuring that he embraces every sweet spot. He struggles to focus himself, bundling up one of his own clearer memories and shipping it across the link.
Someone's pede is touching his own. Sunstreaker arches an orbital ridge. Really, Sideswipe? Footsie?
He sneaks a glance under the table and sees an entirely white pede without a hint of black or red. Not Sideswipe. What the frag? Ratchet?
Sunstreaker cries out as Sideswipe grabs a motion cable and tugs, a sharp flick of pain shattering the pulse-pulse-pulse of pleasure and only serving to amp up the sensation. This isn't exactly what he had in mind when he said share their memories, but by Primus, he's not about to ask Sideswipe to stop.
Not when the memories are coming faster and faster, disjointed and disconnected, Sunstreaker struggling to send as quickly as he's receiving.
Sideswipe is wobbling as he gets up from the table, optics bright. Sunstreaker's no better, his cooling fans struggling to dispel the extra heat from overcharge. And Ratchet is there, too, somehow, smirking at both of them.
And then they are in the hallway, Ratchet's hands on Sunstreaker's plating, shoving him against the wall. Sunstreaker is moaning, helm hitting the wall as a skilled glossa attacks his neck cables. Sideswipe is next to both of them, his hands tracing paths of staticky charge over yellow and white plating.
Then there's a berth and Sideswipe is bouncing on top of it. He's giggling of all things, reaching for Ratchet, pulling the medic down on top of him. Sunstreaker watches the both of them with hungry optics, listening to the sounds of their systems and their pleasure.
Ratchet's looking up at him now, optics so very blue. “You just going to watch or are you going to participate?” he demands.
And Sideswipe makes a sound that better resembles a needy whimper because Ratchet's not paying attention to him anymore. He arches up against the medic, wanting contact, and the sight of his twin so very needy makes something in Sunstreaker burst.
He's clambering onto the berth without an ounce of grace, not sure where he even wants to start. He just knows he's hungry, starving, and what he wants is right here in front of him.
“Oh, slag,” Sideswipe moans, twitching atop Sunstreaker, his fingers digging into Sunstreaker's seams. “That's so fragging hot.”
Sunstreaker has no words. He can only nod in agreement, clutch his twin tighter, feeling his spark pulse and throb within him. The push of pleasure and memories across their connection continues, burying him.
Ratchet hooks a finger in his chassis, dragging him in for a heated kiss. Sunstreaker moans, reaching for the medic, listening to Sideswipe whine beneath both of them about being ignored and crushed.
The temperature in the room has reached uncomfortable levels, their three cooling fans not nearly enough to dispel the heat. Static electricity dances between three different plating shades, igniting pleasure through Sunstreaker's sensory net.
He grabs Ratchet's hand, wanting to put rumor to test and mouthing the tip of a long digit. His optics are focused on the medic, engine revving as Ratchet moans.
Sideswipe's tired of being ignored. He reaches up, buries his hand in Ratchet's pelvic assembly, and strokes several sensory lines. The reaction is immediate, the medic arching with a loud cry of need.
Sunstreaker's never seen anything more arousing in his entire life.
The crackle of overload shoves Sunstreaker out of the disjointed stream of memories, his entire frame writhing as pleasure streaks through his systems. Electricity dances from his plating, snapping at Sideswipe's, who's moaning as overload takes him, too.
The transfer of files slows to a trickle, not that there's much left to send. Sunstreaker's given up all the bits and pieces he remembers, and Sideswipe's done, too.
Sideswipe's the first one to reach for their cables with fingers that are noticeably shaky. He disconnects them gently, and then tips over onto the berth, a noisy exvent echoing in the room.
“So that's what happened,” he says after a moment.
Sunstreaker tips his helm back against the berth. Holy Primus. He has no words. None. Who would have known the old medic had it in him?
“Slag,” Sideswipe adds, flopping over and poking Sunstreaker in a sideseam. “We've got to do that again.”
Sunstreaker makes a disbelieving noise. “Really, Sides. You saw how overcharged Ratchet was. We got lucky.”
“Says you.” Sideswipe pokes him again, just to be an annoying glitch obviously.
Sunstreaker gives his twin a flat look. “Ratchet inviting us to his berth again is about as likely as Megatron and Thundercracker being bondmates.”
A look of contemplation flashes over Sideswipe's faceplate, along with a flash of disgust at the unwelcome image. “You might have a point, bro. Harsh though.” He snuggles close, most of his earlier hyperactivity missing. Thank Primus.
“Truth,” Sunstreaker corrects. “It was a one time thing. Better save the memory files because it's not happening again.”
***
a/n: More in this series to come. Along with some more pairings, and some science-geek love. :)
Reviews are welcome and fuel my writing fingers.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/187166.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: Comparing Notes
Universe: G1, part 05 of Apple a Day
Characters: SunstreakerxSideswipe, mentions of Ratchet and Hoist
Rating: M
Warnings for twincest, pnp, tactile
By the time Sunstreaker drags his exhausted aft back to his shared quarters with Sideswipe, he's ready to collapse on his berth, cursing Prowl out the whole time. He's not even the one who started that fight!
He opens the door and within seconds, is glomped by his brother, who's doing a rather accurate impression of Bluestreak after having one too many overloads.
“Look what I got!” Sideswipe gushes, throwing his arms around Sunstreaker and giving him an enthusiastic hug.
“You've been hanging out with Bluestreak too much,” Sunstreaker grunts, trying to shove his hyper brother away. “Get off.”
Sideswipe squeezes him harder. “No! I want to hug you. I want affection!”
What. The. Frag.
Sunstreaker growls, prying his brother's arms away from his frame before the red menace leaves him covered in scratches. “Affection? Seriously. What the slag is wrong with you?”
Sideswipe giggles. Yes, he actually giggles. “Nothing! I'm fine. Everything's just fine. It's dandy. I'm great!... How are you?” He beams brightly and tries to hug Sunstreaker again.
He gives his twin a confused look. “Did someone taint your energon?” Because if so, they were in for a world of hurt. Sunstreaker does not want a clingy brother right now. “Wait. Shouldn't you be hungover?” Like Sunstreaker still is?
Sideswipe rolls his optics, playfully slapping Sunstreaker on the shoulder. “Naww. Hoist gave me something. Fixed me right up! I didn't see Ratchet anywhere though.” He frowns in drugged thoughtfulness. “Wonder where he's hiding.”
Great. Hoist must have overdosed him. Which means Sideswipe was acting like a glitch more than he usually does. Overdosing Sideswipe is a common defense mechanism for a lot of bots. First Aid does it, too.
Sunstreaker sighs and pushes past his twin, heading deeper into their quarters, where he collapses with much joy atop their over-large berth. What a fragging day.
“Bro?”
“Not now, Sideswipe,” Sunstreaker says, his words muffled by the padding of the berth. “I just want to recharge and forget this morning happened.”
“Why would you want to do a silly thing like that?”
He hears a loud scraping sound. Then the berth jostles.
Sunstreaker turns his helm to see Sideswipe perched on a chair, hanging on the side of the bed, his chin propped on his palms. That's it. Tomorrow, Sunstreaker's going to make Hoist's life very unpleasant. Hyper Sideswipe does not for a happy Sunstreaker make.
“So,” Sideswipe says with a sharp snap of the word. “You going to tell me what you remember from last night?” His optics all but sparkle at Sunstreaker, and they are definitely brighter than usual. From one overcharge to another.
“Not much,” Sunstreaker grumbles, scooting over enough on the berth that Sideswipe could climb up beside him if he so wished. “Bits and pieces.”
“Me, too.” Sideswipe lays his helm on his arm and reaches out, one hand stroking Sunstreaker's arm over and over and over, like he's fascinated by the simple motion. “But maybe we remember different bits and pieces and if we put 'em all together, we'll have a whole picture.”
He suddenly sits up straight, a lightbulb turning on above his helm. “Like a puzzle!”
…
Yep. Definitely giving Hoist a talking to.
“I don't think it works like that, Sides.”
“But it could.” Sideswipe grins and suddenly clambers up onto the berth. “Swap cords with me. Give it a try.”
“You're just overcharged and running hot,” Sunstreaker grumbles, but he rolls over, his hands finding his twin's pelvic arch.
Sideswipe's smile turns wicked as he straddles Sunstreaker, his glossa running over his lower lip. “Guilty as charged. Ya gonna pass me a cable or not?”
Curiosity wins over Sunstreaker's lingering high grade induced overcharge. He wants to know just what had happened with Ratchet last night. And if combining his and Sideswipe's scattered memories answer even half the questions, he'll consider this a success. Well, and the fact that interfacing Sideswipe is hardly a chore.
Still, better not let the red-plated idiot recognize he had a good idea for once. He'll gloat about it for weeks.
Sunstreaker reaches for his interface panel, slowly unspooling the cable. A smile tugs at his lips as Sideswipe watches him with hungry optics, shifting minutely atop Sunstreaker. His inner thigh plating rubs against Sunstreaker's hips, eliciting a light, crackling charge.
“Easy now,” Sunstreaker says, holding his twin's gaze as he reaches for Sideswipe's interfacing panel, which has already been popped in eager anticipation. “There's a point to this remember?”
Sideswipe shivers as Sunstreaker's cable clicks home, and eagerly unspools his own. “There's always a point.”
A tingle dances down Sunstreaker's backstrut as Sideswipe plugs into his interface port as well, and the usual trickle of Sideswipe's emotions becomes a steady stream of nearly incomprehensible data.
A small moan escapes Sideswipe, his optics shuttering as he reaches down, bracing his hands on Sunstreaker's chassis.
Sunstreaker arches up, jostling his brother. “Focus, you glitch.”
“Not as easy as it sounds, bro,” Sideswipe retorts with another visible shiver of his plating. “All right. Here's what I got.”
The first of the images trickles across their connection. Sunstreaker groans, his processor suddenly assaulted by a deluge of sensation.
“Is that a challenge?” Ratchet's gruff vocals undermine the sparkle of invitation in his optics as he slides into the open seat at the table.
Already sottted half-way to Sunday, Sideswipe grins and chugs down another half-cube. “Show us what ya got, Ratch.”
Sunstreaker's optics flicker as Sideswipe's hands start running over his plating, years of familiarity ensuring that he embraces every sweet spot. He struggles to focus himself, bundling up one of his own clearer memories and shipping it across the link.
Someone's pede is touching his own. Sunstreaker arches an orbital ridge. Really, Sideswipe? Footsie?
He sneaks a glance under the table and sees an entirely white pede without a hint of black or red. Not Sideswipe. What the frag? Ratchet?
Sunstreaker cries out as Sideswipe grabs a motion cable and tugs, a sharp flick of pain shattering the pulse-pulse-pulse of pleasure and only serving to amp up the sensation. This isn't exactly what he had in mind when he said share their memories, but by Primus, he's not about to ask Sideswipe to stop.
Not when the memories are coming faster and faster, disjointed and disconnected, Sunstreaker struggling to send as quickly as he's receiving.
Sideswipe is wobbling as he gets up from the table, optics bright. Sunstreaker's no better, his cooling fans struggling to dispel the extra heat from overcharge. And Ratchet is there, too, somehow, smirking at both of them.
And then they are in the hallway, Ratchet's hands on Sunstreaker's plating, shoving him against the wall. Sunstreaker is moaning, helm hitting the wall as a skilled glossa attacks his neck cables. Sideswipe is next to both of them, his hands tracing paths of staticky charge over yellow and white plating.
Then there's a berth and Sideswipe is bouncing on top of it. He's giggling of all things, reaching for Ratchet, pulling the medic down on top of him. Sunstreaker watches the both of them with hungry optics, listening to the sounds of their systems and their pleasure.
Ratchet's looking up at him now, optics so very blue. “You just going to watch or are you going to participate?” he demands.
And Sideswipe makes a sound that better resembles a needy whimper because Ratchet's not paying attention to him anymore. He arches up against the medic, wanting contact, and the sight of his twin so very needy makes something in Sunstreaker burst.
He's clambering onto the berth without an ounce of grace, not sure where he even wants to start. He just knows he's hungry, starving, and what he wants is right here in front of him.
“Oh, slag,” Sideswipe moans, twitching atop Sunstreaker, his fingers digging into Sunstreaker's seams. “That's so fragging hot.”
Sunstreaker has no words. He can only nod in agreement, clutch his twin tighter, feeling his spark pulse and throb within him. The push of pleasure and memories across their connection continues, burying him.
Ratchet hooks a finger in his chassis, dragging him in for a heated kiss. Sunstreaker moans, reaching for the medic, listening to Sideswipe whine beneath both of them about being ignored and crushed.
The temperature in the room has reached uncomfortable levels, their three cooling fans not nearly enough to dispel the heat. Static electricity dances between three different plating shades, igniting pleasure through Sunstreaker's sensory net.
He grabs Ratchet's hand, wanting to put rumor to test and mouthing the tip of a long digit. His optics are focused on the medic, engine revving as Ratchet moans.
Sideswipe's tired of being ignored. He reaches up, buries his hand in Ratchet's pelvic assembly, and strokes several sensory lines. The reaction is immediate, the medic arching with a loud cry of need.
Sunstreaker's never seen anything more arousing in his entire life.
The crackle of overload shoves Sunstreaker out of the disjointed stream of memories, his entire frame writhing as pleasure streaks through his systems. Electricity dances from his plating, snapping at Sideswipe's, who's moaning as overload takes him, too.
The transfer of files slows to a trickle, not that there's much left to send. Sunstreaker's given up all the bits and pieces he remembers, and Sideswipe's done, too.
Sideswipe's the first one to reach for their cables with fingers that are noticeably shaky. He disconnects them gently, and then tips over onto the berth, a noisy exvent echoing in the room.
“So that's what happened,” he says after a moment.
Sunstreaker tips his helm back against the berth. Holy Primus. He has no words. None. Who would have known the old medic had it in him?
“Slag,” Sideswipe adds, flopping over and poking Sunstreaker in a sideseam. “We've got to do that again.”
Sunstreaker makes a disbelieving noise. “Really, Sides. You saw how overcharged Ratchet was. We got lucky.”
“Says you.” Sideswipe pokes him again, just to be an annoying glitch obviously.
Sunstreaker gives his twin a flat look. “Ratchet inviting us to his berth again is about as likely as Megatron and Thundercracker being bondmates.”
A look of contemplation flashes over Sideswipe's faceplate, along with a flash of disgust at the unwelcome image. “You might have a point, bro. Harsh though.” He snuggles close, most of his earlier hyperactivity missing. Thank Primus.
“Truth,” Sunstreaker corrects. “It was a one time thing. Better save the memory files because it's not happening again.”
***
a/n: More in this series to come. Along with some more pairings, and some science-geek love. :)
Reviews are welcome and fuel my writing fingers.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/187166.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.