[TF] Audition
a/n: Short little piece of impossible pronz. I don't know any continuity where these two appear on-screen together (maybe IDW?) but what the heck, it would be hot to see them. NSFW definitely. Ennnjoy!
Title: Audition
Universe: Transformers AU
Characters: BluestreakxDrift
Rating: M
Warnings: sticky, bit of d/s play
Description: In which Drift is eager and Bluestreak is happy to oblige.
“On your knees,” he says and Drift scrambles to obey, panels snapping open, vents blasting heat.
He moans, low and thick, as the blunt spike pushes into his valve. The nubs encircling the length of it in a tight spiral catch and rubb at the lining of his valve. Sensor nodes spark pleasure and heat surges over his circuits.
Drift claws the floor, pushing his aft up, plating flared invitingly. The spike pushes deeper, rubs harder, and fingers trace the stretched rim of his valve. Lubricant seeps out, joining the streaks down his thighs.
“More,” Drift pants, or begs rather, the calipers in his valve cycling down, gripping hard, trying to trap the sensation where it belongs.
His valve pulls, spiraling down on Bluestreak's spike, and Drift's plating clatters. Pleasure sears his sensory net, his own spike dripping lubricating fluid to the floor, a puddle growing and glowing beneath him.
There are hands on his hips, snapping him back, a spike plunging deeper and deeper, slamming against the ceiling node. Drift moans as electricity snaps and crackles over his frame. He arches, backstrut curving, fingers leaving paint streaks in the gray metal floor.
Primus.
The fingers on his hips flex, dipping between armor gaps, pressing hard on cables and fluid lines. His valve clenches in tune to the rhythm of the spike, thrusting over and over.
Hips circle against Drift's aft and that thick spike rubs against every node in his valve. Tiny nubs dot the shaft in a dizzying array of sensation. Drift pushes against the floor, pushes back, demanding more with his frame if not his static-laden vocalizer.
“So eager,” Bluestreak purrs, rich voice filled with lust. “So hungry. You'd do anything if I asked, wouldn't you?”
“Yes,” Drift moans, fingers scraping on the floor, trying to gain leverage.
Bluestreak chuckles. “I thought so,” he says, and snaps his hips, shoving into Drift, lubricant slicking the way.
Charge sears through Drift's sensor net. His valve contracts, convulsing with pleasure and his spinal strut curves. His mouth opens, vents struggling to pull in cool air, heat cascading through him in wave after wave. He has no words, static spilling from his vocalizer, only knowing the need for more and harder and faster.
He might even be begging for it, not that he can tell with the buzz in his audials and the fingers clutching his hips.
Overload strikes him hard, like a bolt of lightning. Drift shouts something garbled, entire frame jerking as pleasure overrides everything. His valve cycles down, tight on Bluestreak's spike, his own spurting transfluid over the floor. His spark contracts, charge crackling over his frame in a brilliant show, fans whirring so fast his entire frame vibrates.
Drift gasps, sagging, but Bluestreak's hands on his hips keep his lower frame upright. And Bluestreak is still pushing into his valve, now sensitive and twitching, his spike seeking its own release.
“Oh, no,” says the sniper, tone thick with amusement and lust. “I'm not done with you yet. Not even close. You'll be lucky if you can move tomorrow.”
Drift's arms wobble, trying to push himself upright, but his limbs feel limp, neural net singing from the intense overload.
“Primus,” he manages, a groan that is both approval and acceptance. “You're going to frag me offline.”
“That was the idea,” Bluestreak replies, wicked to the core. “Unless you've got a problem with that?”
Drift shudders, Bluestreak working circles in his valve, teasing the over-sensitized nodes into sparking back to life. “Can I keep you?”
“We'll see.” Bluestreak pushes his hips against Drift's, holding himself in Drift's valve without moving. Taunting. Teasing. More in control than Drift could have expected of the garrulous mech.
Drift groans, the heat already spiraling up inside him once again. “Tease,” he accuses.
“Drift,” Bluestreak purrs with a laugh, one hand sliding down Drift's backstrut and toying with the clasp for the Great Sword. “You have no idea.”
***
a/n: Some days, I'm just struck by the urge to write brief and sudden pronz. I think I'm influenced by all the awesome IDW fics where Drift is an unrepentant overload-chaser. lol
Anyways. Feedback is welcome and appreciated. I do hope you enjoyed. :)
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/248086.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: Audition
Universe: Transformers AU
Characters: BluestreakxDrift
Rating: M
Warnings: sticky, bit of d/s play
Description: In which Drift is eager and Bluestreak is happy to oblige.
“On your knees,” he says and Drift scrambles to obey, panels snapping open, vents blasting heat.
He moans, low and thick, as the blunt spike pushes into his valve. The nubs encircling the length of it in a tight spiral catch and rubb at the lining of his valve. Sensor nodes spark pleasure and heat surges over his circuits.
Drift claws the floor, pushing his aft up, plating flared invitingly. The spike pushes deeper, rubs harder, and fingers trace the stretched rim of his valve. Lubricant seeps out, joining the streaks down his thighs.
“More,” Drift pants, or begs rather, the calipers in his valve cycling down, gripping hard, trying to trap the sensation where it belongs.
His valve pulls, spiraling down on Bluestreak's spike, and Drift's plating clatters. Pleasure sears his sensory net, his own spike dripping lubricating fluid to the floor, a puddle growing and glowing beneath him.
There are hands on his hips, snapping him back, a spike plunging deeper and deeper, slamming against the ceiling node. Drift moans as electricity snaps and crackles over his frame. He arches, backstrut curving, fingers leaving paint streaks in the gray metal floor.
Primus.
The fingers on his hips flex, dipping between armor gaps, pressing hard on cables and fluid lines. His valve clenches in tune to the rhythm of the spike, thrusting over and over.
Hips circle against Drift's aft and that thick spike rubs against every node in his valve. Tiny nubs dot the shaft in a dizzying array of sensation. Drift pushes against the floor, pushes back, demanding more with his frame if not his static-laden vocalizer.
“So eager,” Bluestreak purrs, rich voice filled with lust. “So hungry. You'd do anything if I asked, wouldn't you?”
“Yes,” Drift moans, fingers scraping on the floor, trying to gain leverage.
Bluestreak chuckles. “I thought so,” he says, and snaps his hips, shoving into Drift, lubricant slicking the way.
Charge sears through Drift's sensor net. His valve contracts, convulsing with pleasure and his spinal strut curves. His mouth opens, vents struggling to pull in cool air, heat cascading through him in wave after wave. He has no words, static spilling from his vocalizer, only knowing the need for more and harder and faster.
He might even be begging for it, not that he can tell with the buzz in his audials and the fingers clutching his hips.
Overload strikes him hard, like a bolt of lightning. Drift shouts something garbled, entire frame jerking as pleasure overrides everything. His valve cycles down, tight on Bluestreak's spike, his own spurting transfluid over the floor. His spark contracts, charge crackling over his frame in a brilliant show, fans whirring so fast his entire frame vibrates.
Drift gasps, sagging, but Bluestreak's hands on his hips keep his lower frame upright. And Bluestreak is still pushing into his valve, now sensitive and twitching, his spike seeking its own release.
“Oh, no,” says the sniper, tone thick with amusement and lust. “I'm not done with you yet. Not even close. You'll be lucky if you can move tomorrow.”
Drift's arms wobble, trying to push himself upright, but his limbs feel limp, neural net singing from the intense overload.
“Primus,” he manages, a groan that is both approval and acceptance. “You're going to frag me offline.”
“That was the idea,” Bluestreak replies, wicked to the core. “Unless you've got a problem with that?”
Drift shudders, Bluestreak working circles in his valve, teasing the over-sensitized nodes into sparking back to life. “Can I keep you?”
“We'll see.” Bluestreak pushes his hips against Drift's, holding himself in Drift's valve without moving. Taunting. Teasing. More in control than Drift could have expected of the garrulous mech.
Drift groans, the heat already spiraling up inside him once again. “Tease,” he accuses.
“Drift,” Bluestreak purrs with a laugh, one hand sliding down Drift's backstrut and toying with the clasp for the Great Sword. “You have no idea.”
***
a/n: Some days, I'm just struck by the urge to write brief and sudden pronz. I think I'm influenced by all the awesome IDW fics where Drift is an unrepentant overload-chaser. lol
Anyways. Feedback is welcome and appreciated. I do hope you enjoyed. :)
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/248086.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.