[G1] They Say Surrender
a/n: This fic was commissioned by an Anonymous requester who doesn't mind if I share the goods. ^_^ It is NSFW and I had such fun writing it because I love Combaticons and seriously need to write more of them. Enjoy!
Title: They Say Surrender
Universe: G1
Characters: OnslaughtxBlast Off
Rating: M
Warnings: tactile, plug and play, dom/sub overtones, pinning, handcuffs, rough sex, minor biting, maybe ooc
Description: Onslaught was patient. Methodical. Cold. Brilliant. He was everything that Blast Off could ever admire in a mech.
Special thanks extended to the Anon who commissioned this!
Peace. Quiet. Solitude.
Blast Off settled further into his chair, relishing in all three. Brawl was gone on a mission. Swindle was off making a profit somewhere. And Vortex had gleefully spun away to interrogate a recently acquired Autobot. The only other Combaticon left in their base was Onslaught and he was the least likely to be a bother.
Perfection.
He had been trying and failing to finish this datapad for several of Earth's lunar cycles. His teammates were noisy distractions and if not them, then Lord Megatron made demands for one of his inane plots.
Blast Off shifted at the itch in the back of his processor as the obedience coding made itself known. It was an unpleasant sensation, and if he could reach fingers into his cranial cavity and claw it out, he would.
But he couldn't. So Blast Off purposefully shifted his attention back to his datapad and concentrated on it with the sort of laser-focus usually reserved for battle.
That was when he heard the knock.
Blast Off looked up to find his commander in the doorway. Onslaught had rapped his knuckles over the frame and now leaned upon it, his arms crossed over his chassis. There was nothing to read in his field because, like usual, Onslaught kept it tightly reined.
“Can I help you?” Blast Off asked coolly. He tilted his datapad toward his commander, making a point to show that he was busy frag it.
“You can come to the training room,” Onslaught replied, and there was a hint of a smirk in his tone, not that Blast Off could see it behind the battle mask.
Onslaught was always battle-ready. He didn't know the meaning of 'down-time.' It was one of his more irritating traits.
“I'm off-shift,” Blast Off retorted and dropped his optics back to his datapad. His armor plates shuffled, dismissive.
Onslaught's engine rumbled, a low sound that seemed to float across the room and snatch at Blast Off's internals. “That wasn't a request.”
Of course it wasn't.
Blast Off stared. He felt the nudge through the thin bond and chose, for the moment, to ignore it. The Combaticons had been forced into this combiner nonsense, unlike the others. As such, their bond was a thin, knotted string that bound them. They would never be of one mind like the Stunticons or the Constructicons.
In many ways, it was better like this. As Bruticus, perhaps, they weren't the smartest of the lot. But as individuals, they functioned a frag lot better.
Onslaught stared back.
Blast Off's back plating twitched again.
He ex-vented, shut down the datapad, and set it to the side. “It is not enough that the others are gone, I must be dragged into cooperation as well,” Blast Off said, rising to his full height, not much taller than Onslaught, but enough to make an impression.
He didn't often lord over his teammates, but in instances like this, he felt it necessary. Onslaught was his commander, in the team and other things, but it was a position earned. And Blast Off made certain he never stopped earning it.
Onslaught tilted his helm. “If we are to be a fully-functioning team then I need every last one of you in perfect form. No matter how perfect you already think you are.”
Blast Off bristled. “Then shouldn't you be concentrating your efforts on Swindle?” When it came down to it, their civilian negotiator was the smallest and weakest of them, no matter what experimental weaponry he was packing at any time.
“I'll grab him once he returns,” Onslaught answered.
Blast Off almost missed a step, the idea of 'Onslaught' and 'grabbing' immediately drawing up images that did his self-control few favors. He clamped down on his vents before they spun up and fixed his commander with a firm glare.
“I still feel this is a waste of time.”
Onslaught's visor tracked him as he stepped out of the room. “Why is that?”
“Because I would have thought you'd have other activities in mind, given that we have the base to ourselves, something so rare as to be inconceivable.”
Onslaught's field nudged against his, a dark push of heat and intention. “Who's to say I don't?”
A bolt of arousal drizzled down Blast Off's spinal strut. “I see,” he managed, his fans kicking on with a telling whirr. Frag it.
He couldn't see behind the blast mask but Blast Off knew that Onslaught was smirking. It wasn't difficult to read the satisfaction in his field. Especially since he hadn't withdrawn it after the initial push. Instead, Onslaught stayed in close field contact. His deeper emotions were hidden, but those on the surface treated Blast Off to a tantalizing glimpse of Onslaught's true intentions.
Heat flared through his internals again.
He opted for silence and followed Onslaught through their base to the training room. The center was a massive practice mat, but the walls were lined with various practice weaponry. Blast Off wasn't surprised to find that Onslaught had removed most of his external weaponry already. Clearly, this was supposed to be hand to hand training rather than weapons practice.
It was more than a little pointless in Blast Off's opinion. He was a shuttle, for starters, and he was significantly larger than most of his peers. Especially if he stopped spacing more than two-thirds his mass. Add to that he was better served as a sniper, removing his enemies from a position of power, and martial arts training came off as more than pointless. It bordered on ridiculous.
As he'd clearly said time and time again. Not that this stopped Onslaught from scheduling sessions with Brawl and Vortex both. This, however, would be the first time Onslaught had taken Blast Off's training into his own hands.
“No weapons,” Onslaught said as they moved to the center of the training mat and squared off. “No cheap shots. This is training, not battle.”
Blast Off brightened his visor. “I think you're talking to the wrong teammate.” Swindle was the one who took cheap shots. He wasn't a warrior or a soldier, so he did what it took to survive. One could hardly blame him, but still... Blast Off knew better.
Onslaught tilted his helm. “We'll see.” He settled into a defensive stance and raised his arms. “Your move.”
Blast Off bit back a sigh. Onslaught preferred to teach by experience. Which meant Blast Off making several failed attempts and Onslaught showing him the error of his ways. Joy.
Best to get it over with.
He launched himself forward, bracing himself for humiliation. And he wasn't disappointed.
Onslaught met his attack with minimal effort. He took Blast Off's momentum and used it against him, sending him stumbling. Blast Off gritted his denta, whirled, and tried again.
And again.
Exertion slicked his plating with condensation. His fuel pump raced. It was pointless to get aggravated, but irritation gnawed at the edge of his control nonetheless.
Onslaught's visor brightened, as though he were smirking, but his field betrayed nothing. He barely exerted any effort, the tilt of his helm challenging Blast Off to try once more.
It worked as well as all the other times.
Blast Off grunted as he hit the ground, feeling the entire base shudder around them. His pedes scrambled, but Onslaught's weight fell down over him. He gripped Blast Off's right arm, jerking it up and toward the opposite shoulder. Tight pain blossomed and Blast Off growled, tossing his weight up and to the left.
No go. Onslaught rode the motion, kicking his thighs apart and notching a knee between Blast Off's legs. He snagged Blast Off's other arm, pulling it out from under him. Blast Off teetered forward as his wrists were pinned at his mid spinal strut.
“And now,” Onslaught purred, leaning down harder, causing Blast Off's shoulder joints to creak in protest. “You're the one beneath me.”
Blast Off huffed a ventilation and heated air blasted outward. His internals twisted with arousal and this was really quite unfair.
“You've made your point,” he snarled, pedes still scrabbling uselessly. “Now get off.”
Onslaught chuckled, his vocals a decadent purr right in blast Off's audials. “I intend to.”
Click.
Blast Off froze as the sound traveled through the air. He tugged at his wrists but they wouldn't budge, now locked by something much less forgiving than Onslaught's grip. Cuffed like a common criminal? How dare he!
Onslaught's hands stroked down Blast Off's arms before he curled over Blast Off's back, pinning him in place with his own weight.
“I have you,” Onslaught continued, his vocals dark and full of things Blast Off should not have desired. “Now what to do with you?”
His hands tickled down Blast Off's sides, dipping between transformation seams. The odd position forced Blast Off's armor to gape, allowing ingress to his substructure. He bit off a moan as Onslaught found a sensor nexus and stroked it.
“You should release me from these cuffs,” Blast Off snarled.
Onslaught's knee nudged harder between his thighs, forcing his armor plates there to widen further as well. Cold air rushed in, teasing his heated cables.
“I don't think you actually want me to,” Onslaught retorted with that untenable confidence that both infuriated and aroused Blast Off.
He wriggled, faceplate scraping across the floor. But Onslaught was right. He was pinned, fully and completely. The benefit of leverage, Blast Off thought snidely. Onslaught had indeed put him in his place.
A surge of arousal ripped through his frame and Blast Off fought back the revelatory moan. His vents fully opened to vent heat, betraying the arousal. Blast Off's panels popped and his cables surged from their housing, spitting charge and further incriminating him.
Slag it all but Onslaught knew how to rev his engine far too well.
Onslaught chuckled and slid a hand down to finger Blast Off's open port. Crackles of static nipped at his fingertips.
“That's what I thought.”
Blast Off moaned, aloud this time, as Onslaught took hold of one of his cables and stroked the length of it. He rolled the connector tip back and forth in his fingertips, more charge rising.
“But not yet, I think. You're not desperate enough.”
Blast Off shuddered and offlined his visor, surrendering to sensation. No point in fighting what he desired any longer. “Exactly how desperate do you want me to be?”
“Enough to beg for it.”
That fragging...! Blast Off gritted his denta. Of course. It wasn't enough that Onslaught knew he wanted it; he wanted Blast Off to admit it. Which was far harder than lying on this dirty floor and letting Onslaught frag him into it.
“I refuse,” Blast Off gritted out.
“I figured you might.”
Onslaught's weight shifted and Blast Off could only see him peripherally. His motion sensors registered Onslaught moving about. But only in so much as he knew that Onslaught settled between his thighs, draping his frame over Blast Off from behind.
The added weight drove Blast Off further down, almost flattening him to the floor. Most of his mass rested on his chestplate and knees now. His frame could take the additional weight, but that didn't mean it was comfortable.
Pleasure sliced through him like a knife as he felt his cables being taken into a firm, knowledgeable grip. They were stroked firmly, from root to tip. Blast Off shuddered, his chestplate scraping against the floor as arousal tightened within him.
“I don't intend to use these yet,” Onslaught said.
The tips of his cables were pinched, fingers teasing the connectors. Blast Off swallowed down a moan, though he couldn't stop his engine from rumbling. Charge crackled across his frame and leapt out from his seams.
“Of course you don't,” Blast Off seethed and tugged on his wrists. But the cuffs were of solid construction and they didn't so much as budge. “Because you are a sadist.”
“You are confusing me with Vortex.”
His energy field flooded over Blast Off, a swamping tide that left no room for error. It was ripe with lust and arousal, but also a fierce sense of ownership.
Blast Off shivered.
“What...” He paused, worked his intake, tried to regain control of his own field. But it was too ready to respond to Onslaught's and surged upward, eagerly twining with the desperate heat. “What else would you call it when you deny someone pleasure?”
“It is not denial. It is delay.” Onslaught's dark vocals slithered down Blast Off's spinal strut. “But since you are having difficulty restraining yourself, I'll take pity on you.”
Blast Off ex-vented heat. His cables were tugged, pulled toward what he hoped were Onslaught's ports. He heard a snikt as a panel retracted and Blast Off shivered, bracing himself for the flood of pleasure.
His visor widened when, instead of feeling a connection blossom as his cables sank into an open port, he felt the wet wash of oral lubricant on his connector. Blast Off twitched, arousal slamming through him so fast the charge erupted in a crackling flash over his armor.
Torn between arousal and shock, Blast Off moaned. His sole focus went toward that glossa as it wet his connector, and then the denta that nibbled it, metal on metal. Surely the discharge was searing Onslaught's glossa. Surely it had to hurt.
“That... that... what are you doing?” Blast Off all but squawked. His frame writhed. Pleasure peppered his processor with startled bursts.
Onslaught's fingers dragged the length of the cable, but his mouth made short work of Blast Off's connectors, thoroughly exploring them with his mouth. Each scrape of denta on the pronged tips caused another shudder.
Blast Off gave up all pretense of resistance and allowed his field to expand and twine with Onslaught's.
“Exactly what it feels like,” Onslaught purred and oh, Primus.
The vibrations hit his connectors and sent reverberations through the delicate metal and down the length of his cable. Blast Off's own panels spat more charge into the air, the sharp scent of hot metal and ozone hinting of an oncoming overload.
“You shouldn't do that!” Blast Off hissed as another ripple of pleasure made him shudder again. He moaned, burying his face in the floor to hide the heat of it.
“Why? Is it wrong?” Onslaught's energy field thrust down at him like an attack, surging through Blast Off's seams to caress his substructure. “Is it dirty? Something only us grounders do?”
Blast Off squirmed. He gasped for cooler air. His fans whirred to maximum capacity but the heat remained, stronger than his cooling system.
Onslaught tugged on his cables again, a brief and poignant pain when they reached the limit and it pulled on something deep within Blast Off's frame.
He whimpered.
Onslaught's field was ripe with self-satisfaction. “You'll be amazed what pleasure you can find when you're not hiding in the stars.”
“Not. Hiding,” Blast Off bit out, and his frame writhed on the floor. He could hear it scraping, sure that his paint was flaking away, but he couldn't be bothered to care anymore.
“Call it whatever you want. I know what it is,” Onslaught replied and he bit down hard enough to leave an impression on the largest prong.
Blast Off groaned. His forehelm thunked against the practice mat. “Oh, Primus. Do that again.”
Onslaught chuckled. “What was that? I didn't hear it.”
A growl built in Blast Off's frame. Arousal simmered within him, a tightened coil begging to be unleashed.
“Please,” he said, vocalizer crackling static. His knees were trembling, struggling to keep his weight upright. His plating shuffled as if desperate to grant Onslaught further access.
Onslaught's mouth vanished. The wet tips of Blast Off's connectors were left bare. Cold air whisked across them, teasing the sensitive prongs. Blast Off twitched. His entire frame trembled.
“Louder,” Onslaught said, a wicked tone that Blast Off had grown to both love and hate. “I want there to be no doubt.”
Blast Off's entire frame hovered on the edge of release. The charge built up within him, desperate to be freed. His entire frame felt swollen, his spark throbbing within his chamber.
Onslaught would do it, too. He'd sit here all cycle, teasing Blast Off, never allowing overload. Not until Blast Off surrendered the last of his control.
Onslaught was patient. Methodical. Cold. Brilliant. He was everything that Blast Off could ever admire in a mech.
And Blast Off belonged to him.
He ex-vented hard enough to push sand and dust across the floor. “Please,” Blast Off moaned, shifting enough to push his aft back toward Onslaught. Offering it.
Onslaught's approval rippled through his field. He pulled long and slow on Blast Off's cables, venting heat over them.
Blast Off shook and his thrusters quivered, a desperate struggle to keep from initating. His hands flexed, wrists tugging on the cuffs.
And then the wet warmth of Onslaught's glossa returned to his connectors. He sucked them into his mouth, closed his lips, and sucked.
Blast Off's vents roared. He all but rose from the floor, shaking beneath Onslaught. So close, so very close. What could only be called a whimper rose in his vocalizer and he didn't care anymore. Not when Onslaught's glossa was doing obscene things to his connectors and his denta scraped over the charged prongs.
And then Onslaught's lone cable sunk into Blast Off's port with a defining click and Blast Off was bombarded with heat and noise. He moaned, caught up in the steady stream of sensation, feeling as though he were falling toward a planet, free fall, before gravity caught hold and dragged him in.
The real world vanished and Blast Off was surrounded by the pleasure. He heard nothing but the sound of his own need. Onslaught bit down on his connector once more, deepening the impression he'd left before.
Overload overtook Blast Off like the burn of atmospheric entry against his shields. He spasmed, charge erupting over his plating in an electrical firestorm. He scraped against the padding, armor spars digging up mesh tufts, and howled his release. Onslaught's smug satisfaction was a distant acknowledgment through the link.
Blast Off sagged, his frame trembling in the aftermath. He vented heat but had to flare his plating to speed up the process. Onslaught's weight was still there, still tangible on the back of his thighs, but he'd spat out Blast Off's cables at least.
“You are mine,” Onslaught murmured. “Never forget that.”
“As if I could,” Blast Off managed, but it lacked heat and he knew it. He was too exhausted and sated to come up with a better retort.
Little zaps of charge still pinged out from beneath his armor. There was a low grade simmer of arousal wafting over from where Onslaught remained plugged into him.
Onslaught's weight shifted, followed by a noisy click and Blast Off groaned relief as his wrists were freed. He rolled his aching shoulders and brought his arms beneath him, attempting to lift his faceplate off the stained mat. He retracted his cables with an audible shiver, the length of them still sensitive. Nanites were already swarming toward the minor damage left by Onslaught's denta.
A part of Blast Off wanted the neat little impressions to remain. Not that he'd ever admit so aloud. And Primus forbid the next time they interfaced and Onslaught saw that they were still there. His smugness would only intensify.
“And yet I find that you need a constant reminder.” Onslaught's weight shifted once more, only this time to remove himself from Blast Off's frame. Though he still did not disconnect them.
He tilted his mass to the side, seating himself upon the mat and mechhandling Blast Off's upper frame into his lap. Blast Off would have protested, except that the pulses coming across their connection kept his lines warm with light arousal. And he really was exhausted. Besides, Onslaught was now stroking his helm and petting the communication array hidden within the kibble on his helm.
“It is more that I think you enjoy reminding me,” Blast Off said, letting himself go limp across Onslaught's lap.
He would have never done so if they weren't alone in base. But the odds of any of the Combaticons stumbling upon this were rare and both of them were in enough control of the bond that there was little chance of it seeping across the gestalt link. For a moment, it was safe to indulge.
“Mm. There is that.” Onslaught's engine kicked into a slow rumble. His frame wafted heat, but he didn't seem inclined to deal with his own charge.
It wasn't Blast Off's place to question why.
“You're improving, Blast Off,” Onslaught said.
His hand moved further down, petting Blast Off's side where they were linked. His fingers nudged at Blast Off's socket, fondling the point of connection. Perhaps this, too, was connected to his proof of claim.
“By the time we are ready to be... free of Megatron,” he continued, a noticeable hesitation where the coding must have lashed him fiercely, “there will be no weakness.”
Blast Off offlined his optics. This close, he could hear the flicker-pulse of Onslaught's spark. There, in the darkness and solitude of spark prison, he hadn't.
“Lofty goals.”
Freedom, Blast Off knew, was the one desire all five of them shared. They had their differences, but in this, they agreed. All of them wished to be free of Megatron's chains. Blast Off trusted that Onslaught would lead them to it.
“I wouldn't settle for anything less,” Onslaught said.
Blast Off made a noncommittal noise. Onslaught's bold confidence was one of many reasons he had chosen to align himself with the tactician all those millennia ago. If it hadn't been for Starscream betraying them, they would have never gotten locked up the first time around.
It was difficult to gauge which of the two Decepticon leaders they hated more: Megatron or Starscream.
Both would pay. But for now...
Peace. Quiet. Company.
“The others will be back eventually,” Blast Off pointed out.
Onslaught's fingers stroked over his port, encouraging a low grade pleasure that didn't have to lead anywhere if neither of them wanted it to.
“We have long enough.”
***
a/n: Ah, but I love writing Combaticons. Expect to see a lot more of them in the future. :D This was a commission, and now that it's done, I have one more slot open for the taking if anyone's interested. Terms, Prices, and Conditions are found here.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated, but as long as my commissioner is happy with this one, so am I.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/287764.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: They Say Surrender
Universe: G1
Characters: OnslaughtxBlast Off
Rating: M
Warnings: tactile, plug and play, dom/sub overtones, pinning, handcuffs, rough sex, minor biting, maybe ooc
Description: Onslaught was patient. Methodical. Cold. Brilliant. He was everything that Blast Off could ever admire in a mech.
Special thanks extended to the Anon who commissioned this!
Peace. Quiet. Solitude.
Blast Off settled further into his chair, relishing in all three. Brawl was gone on a mission. Swindle was off making a profit somewhere. And Vortex had gleefully spun away to interrogate a recently acquired Autobot. The only other Combaticon left in their base was Onslaught and he was the least likely to be a bother.
Perfection.
He had been trying and failing to finish this datapad for several of Earth's lunar cycles. His teammates were noisy distractions and if not them, then Lord Megatron made demands for one of his inane plots.
Blast Off shifted at the itch in the back of his processor as the obedience coding made itself known. It was an unpleasant sensation, and if he could reach fingers into his cranial cavity and claw it out, he would.
But he couldn't. So Blast Off purposefully shifted his attention back to his datapad and concentrated on it with the sort of laser-focus usually reserved for battle.
That was when he heard the knock.
Blast Off looked up to find his commander in the doorway. Onslaught had rapped his knuckles over the frame and now leaned upon it, his arms crossed over his chassis. There was nothing to read in his field because, like usual, Onslaught kept it tightly reined.
“Can I help you?” Blast Off asked coolly. He tilted his datapad toward his commander, making a point to show that he was busy frag it.
“You can come to the training room,” Onslaught replied, and there was a hint of a smirk in his tone, not that Blast Off could see it behind the battle mask.
Onslaught was always battle-ready. He didn't know the meaning of 'down-time.' It was one of his more irritating traits.
“I'm off-shift,” Blast Off retorted and dropped his optics back to his datapad. His armor plates shuffled, dismissive.
Onslaught's engine rumbled, a low sound that seemed to float across the room and snatch at Blast Off's internals. “That wasn't a request.”
Of course it wasn't.
Blast Off stared. He felt the nudge through the thin bond and chose, for the moment, to ignore it. The Combaticons had been forced into this combiner nonsense, unlike the others. As such, their bond was a thin, knotted string that bound them. They would never be of one mind like the Stunticons or the Constructicons.
In many ways, it was better like this. As Bruticus, perhaps, they weren't the smartest of the lot. But as individuals, they functioned a frag lot better.
Onslaught stared back.
Blast Off's back plating twitched again.
He ex-vented, shut down the datapad, and set it to the side. “It is not enough that the others are gone, I must be dragged into cooperation as well,” Blast Off said, rising to his full height, not much taller than Onslaught, but enough to make an impression.
He didn't often lord over his teammates, but in instances like this, he felt it necessary. Onslaught was his commander, in the team and other things, but it was a position earned. And Blast Off made certain he never stopped earning it.
Onslaught tilted his helm. “If we are to be a fully-functioning team then I need every last one of you in perfect form. No matter how perfect you already think you are.”
Blast Off bristled. “Then shouldn't you be concentrating your efforts on Swindle?” When it came down to it, their civilian negotiator was the smallest and weakest of them, no matter what experimental weaponry he was packing at any time.
“I'll grab him once he returns,” Onslaught answered.
Blast Off almost missed a step, the idea of 'Onslaught' and 'grabbing' immediately drawing up images that did his self-control few favors. He clamped down on his vents before they spun up and fixed his commander with a firm glare.
“I still feel this is a waste of time.”
Onslaught's visor tracked him as he stepped out of the room. “Why is that?”
“Because I would have thought you'd have other activities in mind, given that we have the base to ourselves, something so rare as to be inconceivable.”
Onslaught's field nudged against his, a dark push of heat and intention. “Who's to say I don't?”
A bolt of arousal drizzled down Blast Off's spinal strut. “I see,” he managed, his fans kicking on with a telling whirr. Frag it.
He couldn't see behind the blast mask but Blast Off knew that Onslaught was smirking. It wasn't difficult to read the satisfaction in his field. Especially since he hadn't withdrawn it after the initial push. Instead, Onslaught stayed in close field contact. His deeper emotions were hidden, but those on the surface treated Blast Off to a tantalizing glimpse of Onslaught's true intentions.
Heat flared through his internals again.
He opted for silence and followed Onslaught through their base to the training room. The center was a massive practice mat, but the walls were lined with various practice weaponry. Blast Off wasn't surprised to find that Onslaught had removed most of his external weaponry already. Clearly, this was supposed to be hand to hand training rather than weapons practice.
It was more than a little pointless in Blast Off's opinion. He was a shuttle, for starters, and he was significantly larger than most of his peers. Especially if he stopped spacing more than two-thirds his mass. Add to that he was better served as a sniper, removing his enemies from a position of power, and martial arts training came off as more than pointless. It bordered on ridiculous.
As he'd clearly said time and time again. Not that this stopped Onslaught from scheduling sessions with Brawl and Vortex both. This, however, would be the first time Onslaught had taken Blast Off's training into his own hands.
“No weapons,” Onslaught said as they moved to the center of the training mat and squared off. “No cheap shots. This is training, not battle.”
Blast Off brightened his visor. “I think you're talking to the wrong teammate.” Swindle was the one who took cheap shots. He wasn't a warrior or a soldier, so he did what it took to survive. One could hardly blame him, but still... Blast Off knew better.
Onslaught tilted his helm. “We'll see.” He settled into a defensive stance and raised his arms. “Your move.”
Blast Off bit back a sigh. Onslaught preferred to teach by experience. Which meant Blast Off making several failed attempts and Onslaught showing him the error of his ways. Joy.
Best to get it over with.
He launched himself forward, bracing himself for humiliation. And he wasn't disappointed.
Onslaught met his attack with minimal effort. He took Blast Off's momentum and used it against him, sending him stumbling. Blast Off gritted his denta, whirled, and tried again.
And again.
Exertion slicked his plating with condensation. His fuel pump raced. It was pointless to get aggravated, but irritation gnawed at the edge of his control nonetheless.
Onslaught's visor brightened, as though he were smirking, but his field betrayed nothing. He barely exerted any effort, the tilt of his helm challenging Blast Off to try once more.
It worked as well as all the other times.
Blast Off grunted as he hit the ground, feeling the entire base shudder around them. His pedes scrambled, but Onslaught's weight fell down over him. He gripped Blast Off's right arm, jerking it up and toward the opposite shoulder. Tight pain blossomed and Blast Off growled, tossing his weight up and to the left.
No go. Onslaught rode the motion, kicking his thighs apart and notching a knee between Blast Off's legs. He snagged Blast Off's other arm, pulling it out from under him. Blast Off teetered forward as his wrists were pinned at his mid spinal strut.
“And now,” Onslaught purred, leaning down harder, causing Blast Off's shoulder joints to creak in protest. “You're the one beneath me.”
Blast Off huffed a ventilation and heated air blasted outward. His internals twisted with arousal and this was really quite unfair.
“You've made your point,” he snarled, pedes still scrabbling uselessly. “Now get off.”
Onslaught chuckled, his vocals a decadent purr right in blast Off's audials. “I intend to.”
Click.
Blast Off froze as the sound traveled through the air. He tugged at his wrists but they wouldn't budge, now locked by something much less forgiving than Onslaught's grip. Cuffed like a common criminal? How dare he!
Onslaught's hands stroked down Blast Off's arms before he curled over Blast Off's back, pinning him in place with his own weight.
“I have you,” Onslaught continued, his vocals dark and full of things Blast Off should not have desired. “Now what to do with you?”
His hands tickled down Blast Off's sides, dipping between transformation seams. The odd position forced Blast Off's armor to gape, allowing ingress to his substructure. He bit off a moan as Onslaught found a sensor nexus and stroked it.
“You should release me from these cuffs,” Blast Off snarled.
Onslaught's knee nudged harder between his thighs, forcing his armor plates there to widen further as well. Cold air rushed in, teasing his heated cables.
“I don't think you actually want me to,” Onslaught retorted with that untenable confidence that both infuriated and aroused Blast Off.
He wriggled, faceplate scraping across the floor. But Onslaught was right. He was pinned, fully and completely. The benefit of leverage, Blast Off thought snidely. Onslaught had indeed put him in his place.
A surge of arousal ripped through his frame and Blast Off fought back the revelatory moan. His vents fully opened to vent heat, betraying the arousal. Blast Off's panels popped and his cables surged from their housing, spitting charge and further incriminating him.
Slag it all but Onslaught knew how to rev his engine far too well.
Onslaught chuckled and slid a hand down to finger Blast Off's open port. Crackles of static nipped at his fingertips.
“That's what I thought.”
Blast Off moaned, aloud this time, as Onslaught took hold of one of his cables and stroked the length of it. He rolled the connector tip back and forth in his fingertips, more charge rising.
“But not yet, I think. You're not desperate enough.”
Blast Off shuddered and offlined his visor, surrendering to sensation. No point in fighting what he desired any longer. “Exactly how desperate do you want me to be?”
“Enough to beg for it.”
That fragging...! Blast Off gritted his denta. Of course. It wasn't enough that Onslaught knew he wanted it; he wanted Blast Off to admit it. Which was far harder than lying on this dirty floor and letting Onslaught frag him into it.
“I refuse,” Blast Off gritted out.
“I figured you might.”
Onslaught's weight shifted and Blast Off could only see him peripherally. His motion sensors registered Onslaught moving about. But only in so much as he knew that Onslaught settled between his thighs, draping his frame over Blast Off from behind.
The added weight drove Blast Off further down, almost flattening him to the floor. Most of his mass rested on his chestplate and knees now. His frame could take the additional weight, but that didn't mean it was comfortable.
Pleasure sliced through him like a knife as he felt his cables being taken into a firm, knowledgeable grip. They were stroked firmly, from root to tip. Blast Off shuddered, his chestplate scraping against the floor as arousal tightened within him.
“I don't intend to use these yet,” Onslaught said.
The tips of his cables were pinched, fingers teasing the connectors. Blast Off swallowed down a moan, though he couldn't stop his engine from rumbling. Charge crackled across his frame and leapt out from his seams.
“Of course you don't,” Blast Off seethed and tugged on his wrists. But the cuffs were of solid construction and they didn't so much as budge. “Because you are a sadist.”
“You are confusing me with Vortex.”
His energy field flooded over Blast Off, a swamping tide that left no room for error. It was ripe with lust and arousal, but also a fierce sense of ownership.
Blast Off shivered.
“What...” He paused, worked his intake, tried to regain control of his own field. But it was too ready to respond to Onslaught's and surged upward, eagerly twining with the desperate heat. “What else would you call it when you deny someone pleasure?”
“It is not denial. It is delay.” Onslaught's dark vocals slithered down Blast Off's spinal strut. “But since you are having difficulty restraining yourself, I'll take pity on you.”
Blast Off ex-vented heat. His cables were tugged, pulled toward what he hoped were Onslaught's ports. He heard a snikt as a panel retracted and Blast Off shivered, bracing himself for the flood of pleasure.
His visor widened when, instead of feeling a connection blossom as his cables sank into an open port, he felt the wet wash of oral lubricant on his connector. Blast Off twitched, arousal slamming through him so fast the charge erupted in a crackling flash over his armor.
Torn between arousal and shock, Blast Off moaned. His sole focus went toward that glossa as it wet his connector, and then the denta that nibbled it, metal on metal. Surely the discharge was searing Onslaught's glossa. Surely it had to hurt.
“That... that... what are you doing?” Blast Off all but squawked. His frame writhed. Pleasure peppered his processor with startled bursts.
Onslaught's fingers dragged the length of the cable, but his mouth made short work of Blast Off's connectors, thoroughly exploring them with his mouth. Each scrape of denta on the pronged tips caused another shudder.
Blast Off gave up all pretense of resistance and allowed his field to expand and twine with Onslaught's.
“Exactly what it feels like,” Onslaught purred and oh, Primus.
The vibrations hit his connectors and sent reverberations through the delicate metal and down the length of his cable. Blast Off's own panels spat more charge into the air, the sharp scent of hot metal and ozone hinting of an oncoming overload.
“You shouldn't do that!” Blast Off hissed as another ripple of pleasure made him shudder again. He moaned, burying his face in the floor to hide the heat of it.
“Why? Is it wrong?” Onslaught's energy field thrust down at him like an attack, surging through Blast Off's seams to caress his substructure. “Is it dirty? Something only us grounders do?”
Blast Off squirmed. He gasped for cooler air. His fans whirred to maximum capacity but the heat remained, stronger than his cooling system.
Onslaught tugged on his cables again, a brief and poignant pain when they reached the limit and it pulled on something deep within Blast Off's frame.
He whimpered.
Onslaught's field was ripe with self-satisfaction. “You'll be amazed what pleasure you can find when you're not hiding in the stars.”
“Not. Hiding,” Blast Off bit out, and his frame writhed on the floor. He could hear it scraping, sure that his paint was flaking away, but he couldn't be bothered to care anymore.
“Call it whatever you want. I know what it is,” Onslaught replied and he bit down hard enough to leave an impression on the largest prong.
Blast Off groaned. His forehelm thunked against the practice mat. “Oh, Primus. Do that again.”
Onslaught chuckled. “What was that? I didn't hear it.”
A growl built in Blast Off's frame. Arousal simmered within him, a tightened coil begging to be unleashed.
“Please,” he said, vocalizer crackling static. His knees were trembling, struggling to keep his weight upright. His plating shuffled as if desperate to grant Onslaught further access.
Onslaught's mouth vanished. The wet tips of Blast Off's connectors were left bare. Cold air whisked across them, teasing the sensitive prongs. Blast Off twitched. His entire frame trembled.
“Louder,” Onslaught said, a wicked tone that Blast Off had grown to both love and hate. “I want there to be no doubt.”
Blast Off's entire frame hovered on the edge of release. The charge built up within him, desperate to be freed. His entire frame felt swollen, his spark throbbing within his chamber.
Onslaught would do it, too. He'd sit here all cycle, teasing Blast Off, never allowing overload. Not until Blast Off surrendered the last of his control.
Onslaught was patient. Methodical. Cold. Brilliant. He was everything that Blast Off could ever admire in a mech.
And Blast Off belonged to him.
He ex-vented hard enough to push sand and dust across the floor. “Please,” Blast Off moaned, shifting enough to push his aft back toward Onslaught. Offering it.
Onslaught's approval rippled through his field. He pulled long and slow on Blast Off's cables, venting heat over them.
Blast Off shook and his thrusters quivered, a desperate struggle to keep from initating. His hands flexed, wrists tugging on the cuffs.
And then the wet warmth of Onslaught's glossa returned to his connectors. He sucked them into his mouth, closed his lips, and sucked.
Blast Off's vents roared. He all but rose from the floor, shaking beneath Onslaught. So close, so very close. What could only be called a whimper rose in his vocalizer and he didn't care anymore. Not when Onslaught's glossa was doing obscene things to his connectors and his denta scraped over the charged prongs.
And then Onslaught's lone cable sunk into Blast Off's port with a defining click and Blast Off was bombarded with heat and noise. He moaned, caught up in the steady stream of sensation, feeling as though he were falling toward a planet, free fall, before gravity caught hold and dragged him in.
The real world vanished and Blast Off was surrounded by the pleasure. He heard nothing but the sound of his own need. Onslaught bit down on his connector once more, deepening the impression he'd left before.
Overload overtook Blast Off like the burn of atmospheric entry against his shields. He spasmed, charge erupting over his plating in an electrical firestorm. He scraped against the padding, armor spars digging up mesh tufts, and howled his release. Onslaught's smug satisfaction was a distant acknowledgment through the link.
Blast Off sagged, his frame trembling in the aftermath. He vented heat but had to flare his plating to speed up the process. Onslaught's weight was still there, still tangible on the back of his thighs, but he'd spat out Blast Off's cables at least.
“You are mine,” Onslaught murmured. “Never forget that.”
“As if I could,” Blast Off managed, but it lacked heat and he knew it. He was too exhausted and sated to come up with a better retort.
Little zaps of charge still pinged out from beneath his armor. There was a low grade simmer of arousal wafting over from where Onslaught remained plugged into him.
Onslaught's weight shifted, followed by a noisy click and Blast Off groaned relief as his wrists were freed. He rolled his aching shoulders and brought his arms beneath him, attempting to lift his faceplate off the stained mat. He retracted his cables with an audible shiver, the length of them still sensitive. Nanites were already swarming toward the minor damage left by Onslaught's denta.
A part of Blast Off wanted the neat little impressions to remain. Not that he'd ever admit so aloud. And Primus forbid the next time they interfaced and Onslaught saw that they were still there. His smugness would only intensify.
“And yet I find that you need a constant reminder.” Onslaught's weight shifted once more, only this time to remove himself from Blast Off's frame. Though he still did not disconnect them.
He tilted his mass to the side, seating himself upon the mat and mechhandling Blast Off's upper frame into his lap. Blast Off would have protested, except that the pulses coming across their connection kept his lines warm with light arousal. And he really was exhausted. Besides, Onslaught was now stroking his helm and petting the communication array hidden within the kibble on his helm.
“It is more that I think you enjoy reminding me,” Blast Off said, letting himself go limp across Onslaught's lap.
He would have never done so if they weren't alone in base. But the odds of any of the Combaticons stumbling upon this were rare and both of them were in enough control of the bond that there was little chance of it seeping across the gestalt link. For a moment, it was safe to indulge.
“Mm. There is that.” Onslaught's engine kicked into a slow rumble. His frame wafted heat, but he didn't seem inclined to deal with his own charge.
It wasn't Blast Off's place to question why.
“You're improving, Blast Off,” Onslaught said.
His hand moved further down, petting Blast Off's side where they were linked. His fingers nudged at Blast Off's socket, fondling the point of connection. Perhaps this, too, was connected to his proof of claim.
“By the time we are ready to be... free of Megatron,” he continued, a noticeable hesitation where the coding must have lashed him fiercely, “there will be no weakness.”
Blast Off offlined his optics. This close, he could hear the flicker-pulse of Onslaught's spark. There, in the darkness and solitude of spark prison, he hadn't.
“Lofty goals.”
Freedom, Blast Off knew, was the one desire all five of them shared. They had their differences, but in this, they agreed. All of them wished to be free of Megatron's chains. Blast Off trusted that Onslaught would lead them to it.
“I wouldn't settle for anything less,” Onslaught said.
Blast Off made a noncommittal noise. Onslaught's bold confidence was one of many reasons he had chosen to align himself with the tactician all those millennia ago. If it hadn't been for Starscream betraying them, they would have never gotten locked up the first time around.
It was difficult to gauge which of the two Decepticon leaders they hated more: Megatron or Starscream.
Both would pay. But for now...
Peace. Quiet. Company.
“The others will be back eventually,” Blast Off pointed out.
Onslaught's fingers stroked over his port, encouraging a low grade pleasure that didn't have to lead anywhere if neither of them wanted it to.
“We have long enough.”
***
a/n: Ah, but I love writing Combaticons. Expect to see a lot more of them in the future. :D This was a commission, and now that it's done, I have one more slot open for the taking if anyone's interested. Terms, Prices, and Conditions are found here.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated, but as long as my commissioner is happy with this one, so am I.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/287764.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.