Fic: Adapt and Experiment, Pt.3
Title: Adapt and Experiment, Pt.3 Live the Beat
Continuity: G1
Rating: NC17
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Jazz/Blaster
Warnings: sticky.
Summary: Jazz always likes exploring new cultures, some of them are able to do the most fascinating things.
Notes: This request on the kinkmeme caught my eye.
But in short: Technological adaptations (alt modes), used to imitate a planets mechanical advancement, are not the only way Cybertronians blend in. They also modify coding and protoform to emulate the dominant culture and give themselves a better understanding of how the planetary inhabitants will react to the Cybertronians and to appear more approachable and less alien.
Disclaimer: Transformers and all related stuff still doesn't belong to me :(
Metal twisted under the low light as he span around, slowly, so very slowly, the movements melding to the melody playing in the background.
Spin
Twist.
Dip.
All so carefully controlled, a show of strength and precision.
Each movement calculated to show off his frame, a flicker of armour, a quick flash of protoform showing between plating, the wash of a light electromagnetic field extending.
Enough.
But he spins away from the grasping fingers, his own hand pointing imperiously back at the chair. The meaning quite clear as he stays still, barely swaying to the music until he is obeyed. Sit and watch. Look but don't touch.
He grins as he changes the music, something faster, harder and he moves accordingly, like quicksilver, black and white merging together like liquid, motions flowing in ways that a Cybertronian would never have dreamed of moving.
But it works.
Sleek and sinuous, like a cybercat, as he winds around the chair, one finger barely brushing across heated metal before he is dancing away again, out of reach.
Then he raises his hand, fingers brushing across his lips, down, around his throat, ghosting over armour till they rest on black paint, suggestion and temptation all in one.
The click of his panel opening was lost in the music as he rolled his hips, closing in, each step an example in how to seduce a mech until he was all but sitting down as he undulated.
A hiss of frustration cuts the air and hands move towards the metal that is so very close before they drop again, curling into fists. It is hard to hear the music now, through the whirr of fans and the faint static laden whine rising in volume, showing the need to touch, to connect, not sit back and watch.
But he just grins as he leans backwards, ignoring the static charge that is starting to flicker over his plating as he dips a finger into his valve. Fans kick up a notch as the finger is raised, so very slowly to his mouth, his glossa curling around it.
It is too much, new protocols making so many things arousing. The heavy beat of the music vibrating through to the spark, the play of air across the bared valve that had opened long ago of its own accord, the scent of the lubricant in the atmosphere, the sight of the black and white demon cleaning his own fluids from one finely crafted finger.
Once the error messages are cleared and as optics refocus the first thing seen is the smirk on his face and then the weight of his frame across sensitive plating registers and Blaster can't help but run hands over the armour that is finally within reach. “Slag Jazz. Where d'ya learn to do that?”
He just lets his visor wink off on one side before brightening it again. “That's my secret.”
Continuity: G1
Rating: NC17
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Jazz/Blaster
Warnings: sticky.
Summary: Jazz always likes exploring new cultures, some of them are able to do the most fascinating things.
Notes: This request on the kinkmeme caught my eye.
But in short: Technological adaptations (alt modes), used to imitate a planets mechanical advancement, are not the only way Cybertronians blend in. They also modify coding and protoform to emulate the dominant culture and give themselves a better understanding of how the planetary inhabitants will react to the Cybertronians and to appear more approachable and less alien.
Disclaimer: Transformers and all related stuff still doesn't belong to me :(
Metal twisted under the low light as he span around, slowly, so very slowly, the movements melding to the melody playing in the background.
Spin
Twist.
Dip.
All so carefully controlled, a show of strength and precision.
Each movement calculated to show off his frame, a flicker of armour, a quick flash of protoform showing between plating, the wash of a light electromagnetic field extending.
Enough.
But he spins away from the grasping fingers, his own hand pointing imperiously back at the chair. The meaning quite clear as he stays still, barely swaying to the music until he is obeyed. Sit and watch. Look but don't touch.
He grins as he changes the music, something faster, harder and he moves accordingly, like quicksilver, black and white merging together like liquid, motions flowing in ways that a Cybertronian would never have dreamed of moving.
But it works.
Sleek and sinuous, like a cybercat, as he winds around the chair, one finger barely brushing across heated metal before he is dancing away again, out of reach.
Then he raises his hand, fingers brushing across his lips, down, around his throat, ghosting over armour till they rest on black paint, suggestion and temptation all in one.
The click of his panel opening was lost in the music as he rolled his hips, closing in, each step an example in how to seduce a mech until he was all but sitting down as he undulated.
A hiss of frustration cuts the air and hands move towards the metal that is so very close before they drop again, curling into fists. It is hard to hear the music now, through the whirr of fans and the faint static laden whine rising in volume, showing the need to touch, to connect, not sit back and watch.
But he just grins as he leans backwards, ignoring the static charge that is starting to flicker over his plating as he dips a finger into his valve. Fans kick up a notch as the finger is raised, so very slowly to his mouth, his glossa curling around it.
It is too much, new protocols making so many things arousing. The heavy beat of the music vibrating through to the spark, the play of air across the bared valve that had opened long ago of its own accord, the scent of the lubricant in the atmosphere, the sight of the black and white demon cleaning his own fluids from one finely crafted finger.
Once the error messages are cleared and as optics refocus the first thing seen is the smirk on his face and then the weight of his frame across sensitive plating registers and Blaster can't help but run hands over the armour that is finally within reach. “Slag Jazz. Where d'ya learn to do that?”
He just lets his visor wink off on one side before brightening it again. “That's my secret.”