Flash Fiction Fills Take 61 Part One
a/n: Two of Ten fills are a go! Please heed the introductory warnings and enjoy! These are both NSFW
For Megafan Anon
Prompt: An AU where Sunstreaker doesn't die and bonds with Megatron
Fandom: Bayverse, Insoluble AU. Warnings: schmoop, fluff, angst, spark sex, slight ooc
“Ratchet is a miracleworker,” Megatron murmurs. He'd meant to think it to himself, but the sight of Sunstreaker, gleaming and whole, seems to have taken away his reserve. And he is also glad now, that he hadn't taken the medic's helm when he'd had the chance.
Sunstreaker scoffs, rolling his optics. “Can we not talk about Ratchet right now?”
“I'm sensing some hostility.” Megatron arches an orbital ridge.
Sunstreaker shakes his helm and comes in off the balcony, fingers dragging over the nearly invisible weld line across his chassis. “It's not important. Not right now.”
He's right, of course. With this second chance, there are better things they can do.
Megatron pushes to his pedes and approaches his smaller partner, the ache of longing eased by the familiar slide of Sunstreaker's field against his. The memory of Sunstreaker's lifeless frame in his arms is mitigated only by the sight of his bright optics now. The hope had always been dim at best, that a frame kept in near-death stasis for hundreds of vorns, could one day be repaired and revived.
Primus, apparently, had seen fit to grant him mercy.
He cups Sunstreaker's face in one hand, thumb stroking the gold mech's cheek. Sunstreaker's field is warm against his, buzzing with life.
“What?” Sunstreaker asks, giving him a suspicious look.
Megatron manages a rough chuckle. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you?”
Sunstreaker's hand lays over Megatron's, smaller than, but equally warm, his field reaching out to meet his with equal fervor. “Sap,” he says, tone amused.
“That is not the insult it used to be,” Megatron retorts.
He pulls Sunstreaker into his arms, savoring the sensation of warrior grade armor against his own, the cold strength of it. Unlike his brother, Sunstreaker had chosen to keep his military design.
They are unfortunately not of a height, but the pulse of Sunstreaker's field is enough to soothe away lingering anxieties. He imagines, too, that he can feel the steady oscillations of Sunstreaker's spark through the thick armor of their frames as well.
“It was never an insult,” Sunstreaker murmurs.
His free arm slides against Megatron's side, hand easing up where a transformation seam grants Megatron a better range of motion, but is just wide enough for a smaller frontliner's fingers to ease into. It had always been a favorite point of contact for Sunstreaker, who could stroke the unguarded ripples of protoform beneath. It had been a gesture of trust between them, two soldiers who could let down their guards around one another.
That it doubles as a direct route to Megatron's spark chamber with a well-sharpened blade is part of the point.
“You still want to do this?” Sunstreaker asks.
Megatron's flight engine rumbles, the vibrations carrying through both of them. Actions always speak louder than words so he scoops Sunstreaker up in a single motion, prompting a bark of outrage from his smaller lover.
“Megatron!” Sunstreaker hisses, flailing in his arms. His field flickers with irritation. “You know I hate it when you do that.”
He turns toward the berth and lowers Sunstreaker upon it, crawling on after him. “No, you don't,” he retorts. “You only pretend to.”
He crawls over Sunstreaker, caging him within his arms. He looks down at Sunstreaker, taking in the finely sculpted plates of his face, the bright glow of his optics. They are crimson now, when before they'd been blue. Sunstreaker had asked Ratchet to change them.
“You keep looking at me like that,” Sunstreaker murmurs, but the snappiness from earlier is gone. It sounds more like... uncertainty. An odd emotion from Sunstreaker but perhaps not given the current circumstances.
“You were dead,” Megatron says. He presses their forehelms together, weight shifting so that his hands can find Sunstreaker's, tangling their fingers together. “How else should I look at you?”
Sunstreaker's fingers tighten against his. “It just...” His gaze slid away, his field coloring with restraint. “I'm not used to it.”
“I know.” Megatron nuzzles his helm against Sunstreaker's. His lips trace a path over the curve of his plating. “It is my hope that eventually, you'll realize I do mean what I say.”
Sunstreaker's ventilations hitch. His plating warms beneath Megatron's lips as he ventures lower, pressing a kiss to Sunstreaker's chestplate, right over a nexus of scars. There used to be a Decepticon badge here, but as Megatron had given up his own, so had Sunstreaker.
“After today, I won't need to guess anymore,” Sunstreaker murmurs, his armor twitching beneath Megatron's lips. “Right?”
Megatron squeezes Sunstreaker's hands in return. “Yes.” He traced the disjointed seam of Sunstreaker's chestplate, feeling the thrum of the golden warrior's spark beneath his lips.
His own spark leaps and dances within his chamber, surging toward Sunstreaker's. There is an eagerness here.
“Open for me?” Megatron asks.
Sunstreaker shivers, but obliges. Megatron hears the telltale whirr of inner gears twisting and turning and sliding together. Components shift aside as Sunstreaker's chestplates part, pushing up and to the side, baring the scarred metal of his yet-closed spark chamber. Megatron aches to look at it.
Right there, an ugly weld that won't ever be any prettier, is the mark Sideswipe had left on his twin. He'd pierced Sunstreaker's spark chamber in a single blow, had cut through the metal of his brother's lifeforce. Having spent a lifetime in battle, Megatron can read the situation well enough.
They'd been upright. Sideswipe had thrust his blade at an angle, up and into Sunstreaker's chassis. Close quarters. Intimate quarters. He'd probably tasted the resulting spurt of Sunstreaker's energon. His blade had nicked Sunstreaker's very core.
Megatron's engine rumbles again.
“It's ugly,” Sunstreaker mutters. And there it is again, that uncertainty, usually so well hidden but difficult to conceal when all that is between Megatron and his spark is the secondary panel of his chamber.
Megatron disagrees. He presses another kiss to the thick, rippled line, feeling the heat and vibration of Sunstreaker's spark beneath his glossa. He hears Sunstreaker's sharp intake, feels his lover tremble beneath him. Sunstreaker's fingers ripple against his, frame rising up, chassis pushing toward Megatron's mouth.
“Not to me,” Megatron murmurs.
Both of their frames are a litany of scars. Megatron is certain there's not an armor plate on him that either is not riddled with weld marks. Or, if they aren't, it is because said armor is not part of his original armor.
“Show me your spark?” Megatron asks, lifting his optics toward Sunstreaker's, whose own have gone dark with desire.
It is the moment of truth.
Megatron waits for Sunstreaker to make his final choice. Megatron had made his a long time ago.
“It's yours,” Sunstreaker whispers and the final plate of armor spirals open, revealing the brilliant blue-white that is his spark. “From the moment we met, it's been yours.”
Megatron's spark swells. He drags his mouth back toward Sunstreaker's, lips brushing together with a crackle of static. He can feel the pulse and heat of Sunstreaker's spark against his closed chestplates.
“You are the mech I chose,” Megatron replies and he triggers his own chassis to split, bringing his spark to the forefront, the swirling energies surging forward.
Sunstreaker's field blooms with pleasure. He claims Megatron's lips, more static dancing between them, his chassis pushing toward Megatron's.
There is no more need to wait.
Megatron brings their frames together, feels the first touch of Sunstreaker's spark against his own, and for the first time since onlining next to Optimus, Megatron feels complete.
For Anonymous
Prompt: Seekers/Orion Pax, breaking in
Fandom: Transformers AU, same verse as In The Dark. Warnings for implied noncon, captivity, implied slavery
He woke when he bounced off the ground and heard the skreel of metal against metal. Orion groaned, optics flickering as he rebooted them and instantly shied away from the brightness of Hadeen peering down at him. He tested his limbs and found his arms bound behind him as they had been when he'd lost consciousness earlier.
“What is this?”
“A gift!”
“Why would I want a grounder? It's dirty.”
“Nah! He just needs a little cleaning up.”
Dark purple and black limbs moved into view. Orion's vision fizzed with static again but not before he saw the foot come his direction. It pressed against his shoulder, pushed him to his back, and then planted on his chestplate. His hands ached, trapped beneath his frame.
Vision returned. Above him were two Seekers. One, Skywarp, he knew. The other any grounder had learned to recognize. To fear.
The Winglord.
“Ugh. You actually used it?” The Winglord's lip curled with derision as he circled around Orion.
Skywarp cackled. “Yep. You should give him a try. He's small. Nice and tight. Well, maybe a little bit less now that I'm done with him.”
Orion groaned, rebooting his vocalizer with a crackle of static. “Please,” he said. “Let me go.”
“Shut up,” Skywarp snapped, grinding down with his pede, Orion's chestplate buckling inward. He then beamed at the Winglord. “Gets a little mouthy, sometimes. Almost like he's got rights or something.”
“Hmm.” The Winglord's frown deepened, but his optics cycled down, crimson and bright as they stared at Orion. “You should put it back where it came from. I have no use for it.”
He turned with a flick of his wing, clearly dismissing. Orion dared feel a spark of relief. If Skywarp actually obeyed, then maybe he could go home and never return to the surface again.
“Awww.”
“Now, Skywarp. And before Thundercracker gets back. You know how fine-tuned his olfactory sensors are.”
“He doesn't stink!” Skywarp protested and removed his pede from Orion's chestplate, reaching down to pick him up with all too much ease. “Well, not that much.” He held Orion up and peered at him. “You're all kinds of useless, aren't you?”
Orion didn't dignify that with a response.
Skywarp sighed. “Oh, well. I don't feel like flying you all the way back though. You can find your own way home, right?”
It was better than being dead. Orion would take what he could get.
“Wait.”
Orion tensed. Skywarp bounced and turned.
“Change your mind?”
The Winglord returned, only this time he grabbed Orion's chin with his taloned hands and turned his helm to the left and right. His optics darkened.
“Hmm.”
“I knew it.” Skywarp chuckled. “You're interested. I can tell.”
“It's an ugly little thing,” the Winglord said, but there was something calculating in his optics. “But something tells me it's more than it seems.” His thumb brushed Orion's audial, over his familial glyph inscriptions. “We'll keep it.”
Orion tried to jerk his face free. “No!” he cried, twisting away, but both Seeker's grips were unbreakable. “You can't do that!”
“I can do whatever I wish, grounder. And I say that right now, you belong to me.” The Winglord's thumb dragged along the curve of Orion's jaw before pressing on his lips. “You knew your place. You chose to come into the light. This is no one's fault but your own.”
Orion started to shake all over again. His valve ached from Skywarp's attention alone. He couldn't imagine that the Winglord would be any better. Nor his aforementioned third, Thundercracker.
Skywarp grinned. “I knew you'd like him.”
“Yes. Occasionally you do have good ideas.” The Winglord smirked. “Now why don't you clean it up before Thundercracker returns and we can all see about breaking it in?”
Skywarp cheered.
Orion's spark dropped into his tanks.
He would never see his home again.
a/n: Yeah. So that Mega/Sunny piece is perhaps the most self-indulgent, fluffy, romantic thing I have ever allowed myself to write, especially for those two, but I hope the Anon likes it anyway. :) The other one is part of a much larger universe that will eventually be expanded upon for an Anonymous commissioner. And yes, I do plan on cleaning these up before I repost them to AO3.
Six more to come. Stay tuned! ^_^
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/291826.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
For Megafan Anon
Prompt: An AU where Sunstreaker doesn't die and bonds with Megatron
Fandom: Bayverse, Insoluble AU. Warnings: schmoop, fluff, angst, spark sex, slight ooc
“Ratchet is a miracleworker,” Megatron murmurs. He'd meant to think it to himself, but the sight of Sunstreaker, gleaming and whole, seems to have taken away his reserve. And he is also glad now, that he hadn't taken the medic's helm when he'd had the chance.
Sunstreaker scoffs, rolling his optics. “Can we not talk about Ratchet right now?”
“I'm sensing some hostility.” Megatron arches an orbital ridge.
Sunstreaker shakes his helm and comes in off the balcony, fingers dragging over the nearly invisible weld line across his chassis. “It's not important. Not right now.”
He's right, of course. With this second chance, there are better things they can do.
Megatron pushes to his pedes and approaches his smaller partner, the ache of longing eased by the familiar slide of Sunstreaker's field against his. The memory of Sunstreaker's lifeless frame in his arms is mitigated only by the sight of his bright optics now. The hope had always been dim at best, that a frame kept in near-death stasis for hundreds of vorns, could one day be repaired and revived.
Primus, apparently, had seen fit to grant him mercy.
He cups Sunstreaker's face in one hand, thumb stroking the gold mech's cheek. Sunstreaker's field is warm against his, buzzing with life.
“What?” Sunstreaker asks, giving him a suspicious look.
Megatron manages a rough chuckle. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you?”
Sunstreaker's hand lays over Megatron's, smaller than, but equally warm, his field reaching out to meet his with equal fervor. “Sap,” he says, tone amused.
“That is not the insult it used to be,” Megatron retorts.
He pulls Sunstreaker into his arms, savoring the sensation of warrior grade armor against his own, the cold strength of it. Unlike his brother, Sunstreaker had chosen to keep his military design.
They are unfortunately not of a height, but the pulse of Sunstreaker's field is enough to soothe away lingering anxieties. He imagines, too, that he can feel the steady oscillations of Sunstreaker's spark through the thick armor of their frames as well.
“It was never an insult,” Sunstreaker murmurs.
His free arm slides against Megatron's side, hand easing up where a transformation seam grants Megatron a better range of motion, but is just wide enough for a smaller frontliner's fingers to ease into. It had always been a favorite point of contact for Sunstreaker, who could stroke the unguarded ripples of protoform beneath. It had been a gesture of trust between them, two soldiers who could let down their guards around one another.
That it doubles as a direct route to Megatron's spark chamber with a well-sharpened blade is part of the point.
“You still want to do this?” Sunstreaker asks.
Megatron's flight engine rumbles, the vibrations carrying through both of them. Actions always speak louder than words so he scoops Sunstreaker up in a single motion, prompting a bark of outrage from his smaller lover.
“Megatron!” Sunstreaker hisses, flailing in his arms. His field flickers with irritation. “You know I hate it when you do that.”
He turns toward the berth and lowers Sunstreaker upon it, crawling on after him. “No, you don't,” he retorts. “You only pretend to.”
He crawls over Sunstreaker, caging him within his arms. He looks down at Sunstreaker, taking in the finely sculpted plates of his face, the bright glow of his optics. They are crimson now, when before they'd been blue. Sunstreaker had asked Ratchet to change them.
“You keep looking at me like that,” Sunstreaker murmurs, but the snappiness from earlier is gone. It sounds more like... uncertainty. An odd emotion from Sunstreaker but perhaps not given the current circumstances.
“You were dead,” Megatron says. He presses their forehelms together, weight shifting so that his hands can find Sunstreaker's, tangling their fingers together. “How else should I look at you?”
Sunstreaker's fingers tighten against his. “It just...” His gaze slid away, his field coloring with restraint. “I'm not used to it.”
“I know.” Megatron nuzzles his helm against Sunstreaker's. His lips trace a path over the curve of his plating. “It is my hope that eventually, you'll realize I do mean what I say.”
Sunstreaker's ventilations hitch. His plating warms beneath Megatron's lips as he ventures lower, pressing a kiss to Sunstreaker's chestplate, right over a nexus of scars. There used to be a Decepticon badge here, but as Megatron had given up his own, so had Sunstreaker.
“After today, I won't need to guess anymore,” Sunstreaker murmurs, his armor twitching beneath Megatron's lips. “Right?”
Megatron squeezes Sunstreaker's hands in return. “Yes.” He traced the disjointed seam of Sunstreaker's chestplate, feeling the thrum of the golden warrior's spark beneath his lips.
His own spark leaps and dances within his chamber, surging toward Sunstreaker's. There is an eagerness here.
“Open for me?” Megatron asks.
Sunstreaker shivers, but obliges. Megatron hears the telltale whirr of inner gears twisting and turning and sliding together. Components shift aside as Sunstreaker's chestplates part, pushing up and to the side, baring the scarred metal of his yet-closed spark chamber. Megatron aches to look at it.
Right there, an ugly weld that won't ever be any prettier, is the mark Sideswipe had left on his twin. He'd pierced Sunstreaker's spark chamber in a single blow, had cut through the metal of his brother's lifeforce. Having spent a lifetime in battle, Megatron can read the situation well enough.
They'd been upright. Sideswipe had thrust his blade at an angle, up and into Sunstreaker's chassis. Close quarters. Intimate quarters. He'd probably tasted the resulting spurt of Sunstreaker's energon. His blade had nicked Sunstreaker's very core.
Megatron's engine rumbles again.
“It's ugly,” Sunstreaker mutters. And there it is again, that uncertainty, usually so well hidden but difficult to conceal when all that is between Megatron and his spark is the secondary panel of his chamber.
Megatron disagrees. He presses another kiss to the thick, rippled line, feeling the heat and vibration of Sunstreaker's spark beneath his glossa. He hears Sunstreaker's sharp intake, feels his lover tremble beneath him. Sunstreaker's fingers ripple against his, frame rising up, chassis pushing toward Megatron's mouth.
“Not to me,” Megatron murmurs.
Both of their frames are a litany of scars. Megatron is certain there's not an armor plate on him that either is not riddled with weld marks. Or, if they aren't, it is because said armor is not part of his original armor.
“Show me your spark?” Megatron asks, lifting his optics toward Sunstreaker's, whose own have gone dark with desire.
It is the moment of truth.
Megatron waits for Sunstreaker to make his final choice. Megatron had made his a long time ago.
“It's yours,” Sunstreaker whispers and the final plate of armor spirals open, revealing the brilliant blue-white that is his spark. “From the moment we met, it's been yours.”
Megatron's spark swells. He drags his mouth back toward Sunstreaker's, lips brushing together with a crackle of static. He can feel the pulse and heat of Sunstreaker's spark against his closed chestplates.
“You are the mech I chose,” Megatron replies and he triggers his own chassis to split, bringing his spark to the forefront, the swirling energies surging forward.
Sunstreaker's field blooms with pleasure. He claims Megatron's lips, more static dancing between them, his chassis pushing toward Megatron's.
There is no more need to wait.
Megatron brings their frames together, feels the first touch of Sunstreaker's spark against his own, and for the first time since onlining next to Optimus, Megatron feels complete.
For Anonymous
Prompt: Seekers/Orion Pax, breaking in
Fandom: Transformers AU, same verse as In The Dark. Warnings for implied noncon, captivity, implied slavery
He woke when he bounced off the ground and heard the skreel of metal against metal. Orion groaned, optics flickering as he rebooted them and instantly shied away from the brightness of Hadeen peering down at him. He tested his limbs and found his arms bound behind him as they had been when he'd lost consciousness earlier.
“What is this?”
“A gift!”
“Why would I want a grounder? It's dirty.”
“Nah! He just needs a little cleaning up.”
Dark purple and black limbs moved into view. Orion's vision fizzed with static again but not before he saw the foot come his direction. It pressed against his shoulder, pushed him to his back, and then planted on his chestplate. His hands ached, trapped beneath his frame.
Vision returned. Above him were two Seekers. One, Skywarp, he knew. The other any grounder had learned to recognize. To fear.
The Winglord.
“Ugh. You actually used it?” The Winglord's lip curled with derision as he circled around Orion.
Skywarp cackled. “Yep. You should give him a try. He's small. Nice and tight. Well, maybe a little bit less now that I'm done with him.”
Orion groaned, rebooting his vocalizer with a crackle of static. “Please,” he said. “Let me go.”
“Shut up,” Skywarp snapped, grinding down with his pede, Orion's chestplate buckling inward. He then beamed at the Winglord. “Gets a little mouthy, sometimes. Almost like he's got rights or something.”
“Hmm.” The Winglord's frown deepened, but his optics cycled down, crimson and bright as they stared at Orion. “You should put it back where it came from. I have no use for it.”
He turned with a flick of his wing, clearly dismissing. Orion dared feel a spark of relief. If Skywarp actually obeyed, then maybe he could go home and never return to the surface again.
“Awww.”
“Now, Skywarp. And before Thundercracker gets back. You know how fine-tuned his olfactory sensors are.”
“He doesn't stink!” Skywarp protested and removed his pede from Orion's chestplate, reaching down to pick him up with all too much ease. “Well, not that much.” He held Orion up and peered at him. “You're all kinds of useless, aren't you?”
Orion didn't dignify that with a response.
Skywarp sighed. “Oh, well. I don't feel like flying you all the way back though. You can find your own way home, right?”
It was better than being dead. Orion would take what he could get.
“Wait.”
Orion tensed. Skywarp bounced and turned.
“Change your mind?”
The Winglord returned, only this time he grabbed Orion's chin with his taloned hands and turned his helm to the left and right. His optics darkened.
“Hmm.”
“I knew it.” Skywarp chuckled. “You're interested. I can tell.”
“It's an ugly little thing,” the Winglord said, but there was something calculating in his optics. “But something tells me it's more than it seems.” His thumb brushed Orion's audial, over his familial glyph inscriptions. “We'll keep it.”
Orion tried to jerk his face free. “No!” he cried, twisting away, but both Seeker's grips were unbreakable. “You can't do that!”
“I can do whatever I wish, grounder. And I say that right now, you belong to me.” The Winglord's thumb dragged along the curve of Orion's jaw before pressing on his lips. “You knew your place. You chose to come into the light. This is no one's fault but your own.”
Orion started to shake all over again. His valve ached from Skywarp's attention alone. He couldn't imagine that the Winglord would be any better. Nor his aforementioned third, Thundercracker.
Skywarp grinned. “I knew you'd like him.”
“Yes. Occasionally you do have good ideas.” The Winglord smirked. “Now why don't you clean it up before Thundercracker returns and we can all see about breaking it in?”
Skywarp cheered.
Orion's spark dropped into his tanks.
He would never see his home again.
a/n: Yeah. So that Mega/Sunny piece is perhaps the most self-indulgent, fluffy, romantic thing I have ever allowed myself to write, especially for those two, but I hope the Anon likes it anyway. :) The other one is part of a much larger universe that will eventually be expanded upon for an Anonymous commissioner. And yes, I do plan on cleaning these up before I repost them to AO3.
Six more to come. Stay tuned! ^_^
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/291826.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.