Flash Fiction Fills Take 65 Part Five
For mistress_pirate
Prompt: Lady Crysan, “Exes and Ohs,” Elle King
Universe: Original Fiction, War of the Animum. Warnings: none
Her hair was a tangle of black curls framing her full face, skin as smooth as silk, and the shade of cinnamon. Her eyes were dark, ringed in kohl, with a glare that could pierce the thickest facade.
Her name was Lilith, and once upon a November, she had been Crysan's one and only.
One should never cross business with pleasure, however, and the competition between them soured their hearts. They parted on good terms, but grief can make for bitter memories.
If Crysan had known in advance, she would have politely declined the visit. But Lilith was as unstoppable as a sandstorm, and so it was with braced shoulders that Crysan met her at the door. Her tone might not have been warm, but she was courteous.
“Lilith, what brings you to my humble house?” Crysan said as she greeted Lilith with a press of their cheeks.
Lilith smiled softly. “I missed you, of course, my dear. I'll never understand why you moved to this… village.” She couldn't have put more disdain into her tone if she tried.
“You know why.” Crysan folded her arms into her sleeves, quietly taking stock of Lilith's entourage, for there were many. “Will you all be staying here?”
Lilith chuckled. “No. Just me. I am sure you have private accommodations to offer me.”
Oh, this was going to be so much fun. Except where it wasn't. Lilith had been trained to serve, as much as Crysan had, but when not within her own house, she expected to be pampered and adored.
“Yes, I do. Allow me to escort you inside.” Crysan offered an elbow to her former lover. “I will show you the amenities this village has to offer.”
“Well, you can certainly try at least.” Lilith patted her arm, the picture of consolation. “It should be entertaining at least.”
Yes. Entertaining. That was the word Crysan did not want.
All at once, Crysan was reminded of the many, many reasons - beyond business - their relationship had crumbled to ash.
This was going to be a long weekend.
For Reikainspirit
Prompt: MTMTE, Cyclonus/Tailgate, with a very assertive!Tailgate, Cruel to be kind/Letters To Cleo?
Fandom: MTMTE, IDW. Warnings: sticky, NSFW
The strangest part of it now was the ease with which Tailgate lifted and pinned him down. Cyclonus admitted that it made his spark throb faster, and arousal shoot through his systems.
While it could be argued that Tailgate was a touch too confident now, Cyclonus reaped the benefits of it.
Tailgate was half his size, but that did not stop him from pinning Cyclonus to the berth and drawing out several overloads. Cyclonus panted through two of them before he entirely knew what happened.
Tailgate's visor was bright, his energy field crackling with charge. His engine rumbled as he drove into Cyclonus, spike cleaving a path of pleasure.
Cyclonus' claws tore furrows in the berth above him. His hips creaked in Tailgate's grip, but not once had he been dented. For all of Tailgate's newfound strength, he had yet to cause Cyclonus any harm.
He had also yet to overload tonight. With the strength came an unexpected stamina. Or perhaps he was simply that determined to see to Cyclonus' pleasure.
Another deep thrust pulled a low moan from Cyclonus' intake. The berth covers ripped. His hips tried to rise into Tailgate's motions, but Tailgate's grip was unbreakable. Cyclonus remained pinned, subject to the delightful glide of Tailgate's spike over his internal nodes.
“You feel so good,” Tailgate gasped, his hips pumping, his fingers flexing to the same rhythm. “I could do this all night.”
Cyclonus believed him. He shivered as another wave of pleasure zinged down his spinal strut and sent static crawling from beneath his armor.
“You must overload eventually,” Cyclonus said with a groan, his internals tightening. Desire coiled in his array, charge snap-crackling through his lines.
Tailgate chuckled. “You first, Cyclonus.”
“I… mmm… have already. Multiple times to my knowledge.”
“A few more won't hurt then.” Tailgate slowed his thrusts, rocking into Cyclonus, dragging his spike over each internal node with a zap of charge. “As many as you can manage. I could watch you overload forever.”
Cyclonus shivered again as his entire frame tingled. His vents stuttered. He struggled to cycle air, heat building in his frame.
“Though watching you overload right now is a goods tart,” Tailgate continued with an almost mischievous note. He pushed deep, grinding against Cyclonus' ceiling node.
Cyclonus moaned, his valve rippling around Tailgate's spike. His nodes fired pleasure one after another
No. He changed his mind.
Tailgate's unexpected strength was normal compared to his new confidence in the berth. Not that Cyclonus complained. Not at all.
In fact, as he tripped over the edge into his third overload of the night, Cyclonus was quite grateful indeed.
For Fuzipenguin
Prompt: Ratchet's upbringing, "If you drain all the Energon out of someone, they'll die."
Fandom: Transformers Amalgam. Warnings: None
Ratchet never wanted to be a medic.
He knew he was suited for it. He'd been built for the medical field.
His genitor was a surgeon. His carrier was a frame specialist. His tertiary spark donor was an experimental mechanical engineer.
Ratchet had been sparked with the expectations of medicine upon him. It was a heavy burden to bear for a sparkling curious about everything, but always pointed in the direction of mechanica textbooks and documentaries.
He remembered craving affection, but his parents not quite understanding what it meant. They knew, in theory, but it was not more important than The Plan. Instead, Ratchet was offered praise, but only if he excelled at their approved activities.
He had the best, he always had the best as he matured. The best upgrades. The best tutors. The best energon. The best training. He had not friends, he had not allies.
Ratchet never wanted to be a medic, but it was the only thing of worth he could do. And he was good at it. Of course he was. Every frame, every upgrade, every download and uplink - all had been planned to make him so.
He was their future, and he was worthless if he did not adhere to it.
He thought such a thing was normal. That excellence earned you praise, and success earned you love. Warmth was a reward for proper behavior and high scores.
Ratchet was their legacy.
The only argument Ratchet ever won was his decision to attend the more public Iacon Academy as opposed to a private instruction for the elite. He'd won that argument thanks to his tertiary spark donor, who felt that contact with his peers could only improve his performance with patients at a later date.
Without constant supervision, Ratchet faltered. There was praise to be found here, with or without success. A little engex, a touch of Syk, and he could fly without wings. He found acceptance in the berth of whatever mech would take him. He soaked up interfacing for the contact he craved.
He dragged himself to class, and forced himself to excel, no matter the fatigue, or the burnout, or the hangovers. Every evening comm with his parents left him feeling more strained than before.
He was on the end of his cable.
Making friends with Wheeljack was perhaps the best thing that ever happened to him. It was the first time anyone wanted him for being him, and not for what he could do.
His parents disapproved.
It was an argument that Ratchet didn't win, but there was nothing they could do when Ratchet came into his own. They might have made him into their legacy, but that didn't mean Ratchet had to be around to shine for them.
He graduated with the highest marks. He was given a prestigious internship, and later, given one of the highest honors a medic could earn. He became chief medic to the office of the Prime, and there wasn't a single moment of it that he could remember where he didn't loathe his function.
He started a clinic in the slums. He repaired those who couldn't pay him, all the while thinking of how horrified his genitors would be, how they'd consider it a waste. How he should be serving the nobles, the politicians, the highest of castes. That was his purpose. That was what he'd been made to do.
Ratchet never spoke to them again.
“If you drain all the energon out of someone, they'll die,” Ratchet remembered lamenting. “But there's something to be said about breaking their spark, too.”
Ratchet never wanted to be a medic.
But in the midst of war, surrounded by the dead and dying, with the sparks of those he cared about on the line - he was glad he had something to offer them. He was glad he had the skills.
He hated who he was a little less.
For ladydragon76
Prompt: Starscream/Blurr, TIA verse, waking up/snuggles
Fandom: Transformers Ex-RiD, Truth in Advertising. Warnings: mostly sfw
Blurr had fallen into recharge the same way he spent most of the afternoon and evening - alone. He hadn't woken until he felt the berth jostle, and an annoyed spike of an energy field.
Blurr's optics snapped online as he caught Starscream slipping from the berth - far less elegantly than he'd apparently slid into it. Now that just wasn't fair. Blurr had gone to recharge alone and now he was expected to online from it the same?
No. Absolutely not.
He rolled onto his front and snagged Starscream's wrist before the Seeker could get too far from the berth. “Excuse me, no,” Blurr said, trying to shake off the sleepiness. “You are coming back to this berth, Star. You owe me.”
Starscream blinked down at him. “Beg pardon?” His wings hiked upward. “I have work to do, Blurr. I can't lounge about in the berth all morning.”
“And apparently you can't come to the berth at a decent hour either,” Blurr retorted, tightening his grip. “No. This is my time right now.”
Starscream turned into his grip, which brought him closer to the berth, and loosed a short huff. “Yes, because I can cancel this meeting with the excuse that my lover needs a cuddle. That won't lose me any credibility at all.”
Blurr's frown deepened. “You never schedule an afternoon in the morning. Which means you have time to get back in this berth.” He hated to whine, but honestly, this was the truth. “C'mon, Star. I haven't seen you in days.”
Starscream gnawed on his bottom lip and then cycled a ventilation. “Don't do the face,” he said. “You know I can't resist the face.”
Blurr bit back a grin. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said, even as he rounded his optics and gave Starscream's wrist a squeeze. “Is it really too much to ask for my partner to spend a few minutes with me? Especially since I'm going to be gone for the next few cycles?”
“I suppose you have a point,” Starscream said, and let Blurr pull him back toward and onto the berth, where Starscream was more than willing to flop right on top of Blurr, snuggling against his front. “But I only have an hour.”
“Wow. Try not to sound too excited about it,” Blurr muttered as he reached for a wing and started to pet it.
If he could get Starscream to purr, he knew he could convince the overworking Seeker to linger for more than an hour.
“Mm. Don't start. You already used the face.” Starscream tangled their legs together and buried his face in Blurr's throat, lips and denta grazing over his intake cables. “You can only guilt-trip me once in an argument. That was the agreement.”
Blurr chuckled. “That hardly counts as an argument.”
“Oh?” Starscream curled an arm around Blurr's back and he felt the tickle of talons against his boosters. “Then I guess we don't get to have any make up interfacing.”
Blurr wriggled beneath Starscream. “Did I say that? I don't remember saying that. I only remember saying that you owed me. A lot.”
Starscream bit at his intake and Blurr shivered. He pinched Starscream's wingtip in revenge, and heard Starscream's engine rev.
“Well,” Starscream purred, his lips dragging back up to Blurr's mouth. “I guess I'd better get started then. I do hate to have too many debts on my conscience.” His optics gleamed with mischief.
Blurr's free hand curved around the back of Starscream's helm. He pulled Starscream's lips to his, chasing away all banter with a heated kiss. Cause if he didn't, they could have gone on all morning, and Blurr had better things in mind.
Fortunately, the happy noise Starscream made in his intake meant that he fully agreed.
a/n: Getting nearer to the end. Only a few more flash fic to go!
As always, feel free to leave feedback. :)
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/331542.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Prompt: Lady Crysan, “Exes and Ohs,” Elle King
Universe: Original Fiction, War of the Animum. Warnings: none
Her hair was a tangle of black curls framing her full face, skin as smooth as silk, and the shade of cinnamon. Her eyes were dark, ringed in kohl, with a glare that could pierce the thickest facade.
Her name was Lilith, and once upon a November, she had been Crysan's one and only.
One should never cross business with pleasure, however, and the competition between them soured their hearts. They parted on good terms, but grief can make for bitter memories.
If Crysan had known in advance, she would have politely declined the visit. But Lilith was as unstoppable as a sandstorm, and so it was with braced shoulders that Crysan met her at the door. Her tone might not have been warm, but she was courteous.
“Lilith, what brings you to my humble house?” Crysan said as she greeted Lilith with a press of their cheeks.
Lilith smiled softly. “I missed you, of course, my dear. I'll never understand why you moved to this… village.” She couldn't have put more disdain into her tone if she tried.
“You know why.” Crysan folded her arms into her sleeves, quietly taking stock of Lilith's entourage, for there were many. “Will you all be staying here?”
Lilith chuckled. “No. Just me. I am sure you have private accommodations to offer me.”
Oh, this was going to be so much fun. Except where it wasn't. Lilith had been trained to serve, as much as Crysan had, but when not within her own house, she expected to be pampered and adored.
“Yes, I do. Allow me to escort you inside.” Crysan offered an elbow to her former lover. “I will show you the amenities this village has to offer.”
“Well, you can certainly try at least.” Lilith patted her arm, the picture of consolation. “It should be entertaining at least.”
Yes. Entertaining. That was the word Crysan did not want.
All at once, Crysan was reminded of the many, many reasons - beyond business - their relationship had crumbled to ash.
This was going to be a long weekend.
For Reikainspirit
Prompt: MTMTE, Cyclonus/Tailgate, with a very assertive!Tailgate, Cruel to be kind/Letters To Cleo?
Fandom: MTMTE, IDW. Warnings: sticky, NSFW
The strangest part of it now was the ease with which Tailgate lifted and pinned him down. Cyclonus admitted that it made his spark throb faster, and arousal shoot through his systems.
While it could be argued that Tailgate was a touch too confident now, Cyclonus reaped the benefits of it.
Tailgate was half his size, but that did not stop him from pinning Cyclonus to the berth and drawing out several overloads. Cyclonus panted through two of them before he entirely knew what happened.
Tailgate's visor was bright, his energy field crackling with charge. His engine rumbled as he drove into Cyclonus, spike cleaving a path of pleasure.
Cyclonus' claws tore furrows in the berth above him. His hips creaked in Tailgate's grip, but not once had he been dented. For all of Tailgate's newfound strength, he had yet to cause Cyclonus any harm.
He had also yet to overload tonight. With the strength came an unexpected stamina. Or perhaps he was simply that determined to see to Cyclonus' pleasure.
Another deep thrust pulled a low moan from Cyclonus' intake. The berth covers ripped. His hips tried to rise into Tailgate's motions, but Tailgate's grip was unbreakable. Cyclonus remained pinned, subject to the delightful glide of Tailgate's spike over his internal nodes.
“You feel so good,” Tailgate gasped, his hips pumping, his fingers flexing to the same rhythm. “I could do this all night.”
Cyclonus believed him. He shivered as another wave of pleasure zinged down his spinal strut and sent static crawling from beneath his armor.
“You must overload eventually,” Cyclonus said with a groan, his internals tightening. Desire coiled in his array, charge snap-crackling through his lines.
Tailgate chuckled. “You first, Cyclonus.”
“I… mmm… have already. Multiple times to my knowledge.”
“A few more won't hurt then.” Tailgate slowed his thrusts, rocking into Cyclonus, dragging his spike over each internal node with a zap of charge. “As many as you can manage. I could watch you overload forever.”
Cyclonus shivered again as his entire frame tingled. His vents stuttered. He struggled to cycle air, heat building in his frame.
“Though watching you overload right now is a goods tart,” Tailgate continued with an almost mischievous note. He pushed deep, grinding against Cyclonus' ceiling node.
Cyclonus moaned, his valve rippling around Tailgate's spike. His nodes fired pleasure one after another
No. He changed his mind.
Tailgate's unexpected strength was normal compared to his new confidence in the berth. Not that Cyclonus complained. Not at all.
In fact, as he tripped over the edge into his third overload of the night, Cyclonus was quite grateful indeed.
For Fuzipenguin
Prompt: Ratchet's upbringing, "If you drain all the Energon out of someone, they'll die."
Fandom: Transformers Amalgam. Warnings: None
Ratchet never wanted to be a medic.
He knew he was suited for it. He'd been built for the medical field.
His genitor was a surgeon. His carrier was a frame specialist. His tertiary spark donor was an experimental mechanical engineer.
Ratchet had been sparked with the expectations of medicine upon him. It was a heavy burden to bear for a sparkling curious about everything, but always pointed in the direction of mechanica textbooks and documentaries.
He remembered craving affection, but his parents not quite understanding what it meant. They knew, in theory, but it was not more important than The Plan. Instead, Ratchet was offered praise, but only if he excelled at their approved activities.
He had the best, he always had the best as he matured. The best upgrades. The best tutors. The best energon. The best training. He had not friends, he had not allies.
Ratchet never wanted to be a medic, but it was the only thing of worth he could do. And he was good at it. Of course he was. Every frame, every upgrade, every download and uplink - all had been planned to make him so.
He was their future, and he was worthless if he did not adhere to it.
He thought such a thing was normal. That excellence earned you praise, and success earned you love. Warmth was a reward for proper behavior and high scores.
Ratchet was their legacy.
The only argument Ratchet ever won was his decision to attend the more public Iacon Academy as opposed to a private instruction for the elite. He'd won that argument thanks to his tertiary spark donor, who felt that contact with his peers could only improve his performance with patients at a later date.
Without constant supervision, Ratchet faltered. There was praise to be found here, with or without success. A little engex, a touch of Syk, and he could fly without wings. He found acceptance in the berth of whatever mech would take him. He soaked up interfacing for the contact he craved.
He dragged himself to class, and forced himself to excel, no matter the fatigue, or the burnout, or the hangovers. Every evening comm with his parents left him feeling more strained than before.
He was on the end of his cable.
Making friends with Wheeljack was perhaps the best thing that ever happened to him. It was the first time anyone wanted him for being him, and not for what he could do.
His parents disapproved.
It was an argument that Ratchet didn't win, but there was nothing they could do when Ratchet came into his own. They might have made him into their legacy, but that didn't mean Ratchet had to be around to shine for them.
He graduated with the highest marks. He was given a prestigious internship, and later, given one of the highest honors a medic could earn. He became chief medic to the office of the Prime, and there wasn't a single moment of it that he could remember where he didn't loathe his function.
He started a clinic in the slums. He repaired those who couldn't pay him, all the while thinking of how horrified his genitors would be, how they'd consider it a waste. How he should be serving the nobles, the politicians, the highest of castes. That was his purpose. That was what he'd been made to do.
Ratchet never spoke to them again.
“If you drain all the energon out of someone, they'll die,” Ratchet remembered lamenting. “But there's something to be said about breaking their spark, too.”
Ratchet never wanted to be a medic.
But in the midst of war, surrounded by the dead and dying, with the sparks of those he cared about on the line - he was glad he had something to offer them. He was glad he had the skills.
He hated who he was a little less.
For ladydragon76
Prompt: Starscream/Blurr, TIA verse, waking up/snuggles
Fandom: Transformers Ex-RiD, Truth in Advertising. Warnings: mostly sfw
Blurr had fallen into recharge the same way he spent most of the afternoon and evening - alone. He hadn't woken until he felt the berth jostle, and an annoyed spike of an energy field.
Blurr's optics snapped online as he caught Starscream slipping from the berth - far less elegantly than he'd apparently slid into it. Now that just wasn't fair. Blurr had gone to recharge alone and now he was expected to online from it the same?
No. Absolutely not.
He rolled onto his front and snagged Starscream's wrist before the Seeker could get too far from the berth. “Excuse me, no,” Blurr said, trying to shake off the sleepiness. “You are coming back to this berth, Star. You owe me.”
Starscream blinked down at him. “Beg pardon?” His wings hiked upward. “I have work to do, Blurr. I can't lounge about in the berth all morning.”
“And apparently you can't come to the berth at a decent hour either,” Blurr retorted, tightening his grip. “No. This is my time right now.”
Starscream turned into his grip, which brought him closer to the berth, and loosed a short huff. “Yes, because I can cancel this meeting with the excuse that my lover needs a cuddle. That won't lose me any credibility at all.”
Blurr's frown deepened. “You never schedule an afternoon in the morning. Which means you have time to get back in this berth.” He hated to whine, but honestly, this was the truth. “C'mon, Star. I haven't seen you in days.”
Starscream gnawed on his bottom lip and then cycled a ventilation. “Don't do the face,” he said. “You know I can't resist the face.”
Blurr bit back a grin. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said, even as he rounded his optics and gave Starscream's wrist a squeeze. “Is it really too much to ask for my partner to spend a few minutes with me? Especially since I'm going to be gone for the next few cycles?”
“I suppose you have a point,” Starscream said, and let Blurr pull him back toward and onto the berth, where Starscream was more than willing to flop right on top of Blurr, snuggling against his front. “But I only have an hour.”
“Wow. Try not to sound too excited about it,” Blurr muttered as he reached for a wing and started to pet it.
If he could get Starscream to purr, he knew he could convince the overworking Seeker to linger for more than an hour.
“Mm. Don't start. You already used the face.” Starscream tangled their legs together and buried his face in Blurr's throat, lips and denta grazing over his intake cables. “You can only guilt-trip me once in an argument. That was the agreement.”
Blurr chuckled. “That hardly counts as an argument.”
“Oh?” Starscream curled an arm around Blurr's back and he felt the tickle of talons against his boosters. “Then I guess we don't get to have any make up interfacing.”
Blurr wriggled beneath Starscream. “Did I say that? I don't remember saying that. I only remember saying that you owed me. A lot.”
Starscream bit at his intake and Blurr shivered. He pinched Starscream's wingtip in revenge, and heard Starscream's engine rev.
“Well,” Starscream purred, his lips dragging back up to Blurr's mouth. “I guess I'd better get started then. I do hate to have too many debts on my conscience.” His optics gleamed with mischief.
Blurr's free hand curved around the back of Starscream's helm. He pulled Starscream's lips to his, chasing away all banter with a heated kiss. Cause if he didn't, they could have gone on all morning, and Blurr had better things in mind.
Fortunately, the happy noise Starscream made in his intake meant that he fully agreed.
a/n: Getting nearer to the end. Only a few more flash fic to go!
As always, feel free to leave feedback. :)
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/331542.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.