Fic - In the heat of battle
Series: Alone in the Ark
Chapter 3: In the heat of battle
Continuity: G1 cartoon
Rating: MA/NC-17
Warnings: very silly enthusiastic consensual sticky smut, voyeurism
Disclaimer: I’m just playing with someone else’s copyrighted characters. Again. I’ll put them back when I’m done.
Characters and/or pairings: Vortex/Bumblebee, Blast Off (implied Blast Off/Vortex)
Summary: Interfacing with Vortex once was unwise enough, but going back for seconds…
[ Chapter 1: Alone in the Ark, Chapter 2: To feign amnesia or not to feign amnesia]
Vortex beckoned him from the other side of the fuel storage tank. To his right, the Autobot frontliners crouched, launching a barrage of laser fire at an enclave of Decepticon troops. Bumblebee didn’t stop to wonder how Vortex had got away; he’d managed to escape the brig of the Ark, getting away from Starscream and Astrotrain was probably a walk in the park compared to that.
Watching the ‘get over here’ gestures, Bee cursed that ‘I couldn’t help it, I was horny and he’s really hot’ was the kind of excuse that would only work the once.
He should have known better. Slag, he did know better. So, why was he taking advantage of everyone looking the other way to sneak around the oil tank?
This was a bad idea. A seriously bad idea. And his circuits thrilled at it.
More to the point, his interface hardware thrilled at it, a dribble of lubricant seeping through the seam of his valve cover. Slag, wasn’t that meant to be water tight?
Thankfully, the half-crouching run everyone seemed to favour during combat stopped it from dripping down his leg.
Sneaking away from his comrades to creeping around the side of the fuel tank didn’t stop being a bad idea. Especially as Bee edged into a secluded nook between high metal walls. The noise of battle was loud, but muffled. And the Combaticon was nowhere to be seen.
Oh slag. This was a really bad idea.
Images of traps and capture and getting well and truly slagged zipped through his mind, and his finger tightened on the trigger.
Then someone grabbed him from behind and his finger jerked, laserfire shooting wildly into the sky.
“Mmmm, hey, hot stuff.”
Bee relaxed, realising a little too late what an utterly stupid move that was. Then he moaned as those dark hands began to roam over his body.
“Pleased to see me?” Vortex asked.
Bee whimpered. Course he wasn’t. What the slag kind of question was that? And oh Sigma, was that a large, hot, and eminently hard spike pressed up against him. Because if it was, then Bee’s answer had just turned to ‘yes’.
“Ohhhhh!” Bee gasped as Vortex began to suck on his horns, one after the other as his fingers explored the tactile underside of Bee’s bumper.
Bee’s valve cover slid silently aside.
“Vortex, where are…” A new voice, oh no!
Bee tensed again, his head snapping up, clocking Vortex on the chin.
“Ow! Hey! Hehehe.” Vortex squeezed him, but Bee was too horrified to register the pain.
Blast Off took up the whole of the entrance to their secluded little nook. And he did not appear impressed.
“What precisely do you think you’re doing?” The shuttleformer’s purple optics gleamed, and Bee’s fuel tank gurgled. Vortex’s hands roamed lower.
“What does it look like?” Vortex said. “I’m about to fuck an Autobot.”
“Guh!” Bee doubled over as Vortex found his exposed valve. He didn’t catch Blast Off’s reaction. Having two large fingers feel their way up to his ceiling node was just a little bit distracting.
“You want in?” Vortex asked. Bee’s valve clenched. Frag no! Sure, he liked big mechs, but Blast Off was enormous! And scary as the pit.
“Hardly,” Blast Of sneered. “Carry on, and be quick about it.”
Vortex laughed, and yanked his fingers free. Bee hissed; that had been just a bit too rough. Still, the heat of that pressurised spike melted straight through his armour, and his circuits thrummed in anticipation.
“He gonna watch?” he managed, waving his pistol in Blast Off’s general direction.
“Sure.” Vortex rubbed his palms over Bee’s spike cover, fingertips grazing the rim of his valve.
“Mpfh!” Bee tried not to move. It he squirmed, those fingers would spark against more nodes, and he really didn’t want to come too soon, not like last time. And if he tried to get away, he might not get laid at all.
Get away, yeah, that’s what he should want to do. But if he tried to escape, Blast Off would probably shoot him. Then Vortex would capture what was left, a nice little prize to take back to Combaticon HQ for interrogation and torture and the Matrix only knew what else.
But, most importantly, he wouldn’t get laid.
He didn’t want to admit how much that feeling of complete and utter fullness had consumed his thoughts; about how many times he’d snuck off early to his berth to pump his spike and imagine that his own paltry fingers were fucking him anywhere near as well as he’d been spiked that time in the rec. room of the Ark.
“Turn around,” Vortex said. Bee did so. Catching sight of the fascinatingly well-proportioned hardware again was like a kick in the pelvic plating. Vortex leaned down, licking the length of one horn. Bee sighed.
“Hurry up,” Blast Off snapped. “Just frag him already.”
Vortex lifted Bee, licking his way down the Minibot’s helm to his throat.
“Spread your legs for me,” he whispered, and Bee could have sworn that he heard Blast Off make a noise - soft and subtle - that indicated something other than impatience.
Bee clung to Vortex’s shoulders, a Decepticon insignia filling his vision, and wrapped his legs as much as he could around the Combaticon’s hips.
Hands clasped his aft, supporting him, and then, “Oh frag yes!” He wasn’t exactly ready, but he didn’t care. An initial burst of pain as he stretched as wide as before, but fast this time. “Unf!” Too fast. He bit his own lip, dismissing each warning as soon as it flashed up.
Oh Sigma, he shouldn’t be enjoying this.
“Argh!” He cried out at the cold shock of a wall at his back. But the raw heat of friction, of electricity sparking in his valve, was just too good.
He caught sight of Blast Off over Vortex’s shoulder, half expecting him to have his spike out, to be pleasuring himself or waiting to take a turn despite what he’d said. But he was just watching, impassive, his expression hidden, and his arms folded across his chest.
Bee caught his gaze and held it. And oh Maximus, how the frag hadn’t he know how much of a turn on this was before? Vortex pounding him against the wall, each thrust a shock that reverberated right the way up to his horns. Blast Off watching, still and silent, his attention focussed solely on Bee. And hot damn, was that an energy field pulse? He had no idea the Decepticons even did that.
“Uh, oh, frag oh frag oh frag oh!” Bee’s helm flew back, banging on the wall, and his valve flooded with the incandescent buzz of overload. “Oh yeah!”
Evidently, it had also done it for the copter. Vortex slumped over Bee, his fans louder even than the roar of battle.
“Enough,” Blast Off said, in that same bored tone. But when he hauled Vortex back, Bee could feel the heat radiating off him.
“Ugh,” Bee slid down the wall, lading on his aft. He looked up into the end of Blast Off’s laser pistol.
“Leave.”
Bee scrambled for the exit, which was - thankfully - no longer blocked by the enormous, sinister shuttle.
As he left, he caught a glimpse of Vortex on his knees, looking up at his team mate, a hungry grin on his face.
Well, thought Bee, there was a scene he wasn’t going to forget in a hurry.
Chapter 3: In the heat of battle
Continuity: G1 cartoon
Rating: MA/NC-17
Warnings: very silly enthusiastic consensual sticky smut, voyeurism
Disclaimer: I’m just playing with someone else’s copyrighted characters. Again. I’ll put them back when I’m done.
Characters and/or pairings: Vortex/Bumblebee, Blast Off (implied Blast Off/Vortex)
Summary: Interfacing with Vortex once was unwise enough, but going back for seconds…
[ Chapter 1: Alone in the Ark, Chapter 2: To feign amnesia or not to feign amnesia]
Vortex beckoned him from the other side of the fuel storage tank. To his right, the Autobot frontliners crouched, launching a barrage of laser fire at an enclave of Decepticon troops. Bumblebee didn’t stop to wonder how Vortex had got away; he’d managed to escape the brig of the Ark, getting away from Starscream and Astrotrain was probably a walk in the park compared to that.
Watching the ‘get over here’ gestures, Bee cursed that ‘I couldn’t help it, I was horny and he’s really hot’ was the kind of excuse that would only work the once.
He should have known better. Slag, he did know better. So, why was he taking advantage of everyone looking the other way to sneak around the oil tank?
This was a bad idea. A seriously bad idea. And his circuits thrilled at it.
More to the point, his interface hardware thrilled at it, a dribble of lubricant seeping through the seam of his valve cover. Slag, wasn’t that meant to be water tight?
Thankfully, the half-crouching run everyone seemed to favour during combat stopped it from dripping down his leg.
Sneaking away from his comrades to creeping around the side of the fuel tank didn’t stop being a bad idea. Especially as Bee edged into a secluded nook between high metal walls. The noise of battle was loud, but muffled. And the Combaticon was nowhere to be seen.
Oh slag. This was a really bad idea.
Images of traps and capture and getting well and truly slagged zipped through his mind, and his finger tightened on the trigger.
Then someone grabbed him from behind and his finger jerked, laserfire shooting wildly into the sky.
“Mmmm, hey, hot stuff.”
Bee relaxed, realising a little too late what an utterly stupid move that was. Then he moaned as those dark hands began to roam over his body.
“Pleased to see me?” Vortex asked.
Bee whimpered. Course he wasn’t. What the slag kind of question was that? And oh Sigma, was that a large, hot, and eminently hard spike pressed up against him. Because if it was, then Bee’s answer had just turned to ‘yes’.
“Ohhhhh!” Bee gasped as Vortex began to suck on his horns, one after the other as his fingers explored the tactile underside of Bee’s bumper.
Bee’s valve cover slid silently aside.
“Vortex, where are…” A new voice, oh no!
Bee tensed again, his head snapping up, clocking Vortex on the chin.
“Ow! Hey! Hehehe.” Vortex squeezed him, but Bee was too horrified to register the pain.
Blast Off took up the whole of the entrance to their secluded little nook. And he did not appear impressed.
“What precisely do you think you’re doing?” The shuttleformer’s purple optics gleamed, and Bee’s fuel tank gurgled. Vortex’s hands roamed lower.
“What does it look like?” Vortex said. “I’m about to fuck an Autobot.”
“Guh!” Bee doubled over as Vortex found his exposed valve. He didn’t catch Blast Off’s reaction. Having two large fingers feel their way up to his ceiling node was just a little bit distracting.
“You want in?” Vortex asked. Bee’s valve clenched. Frag no! Sure, he liked big mechs, but Blast Off was enormous! And scary as the pit.
“Hardly,” Blast Of sneered. “Carry on, and be quick about it.”
Vortex laughed, and yanked his fingers free. Bee hissed; that had been just a bit too rough. Still, the heat of that pressurised spike melted straight through his armour, and his circuits thrummed in anticipation.
“He gonna watch?” he managed, waving his pistol in Blast Off’s general direction.
“Sure.” Vortex rubbed his palms over Bee’s spike cover, fingertips grazing the rim of his valve.
“Mpfh!” Bee tried not to move. It he squirmed, those fingers would spark against more nodes, and he really didn’t want to come too soon, not like last time. And if he tried to get away, he might not get laid at all.
Get away, yeah, that’s what he should want to do. But if he tried to escape, Blast Off would probably shoot him. Then Vortex would capture what was left, a nice little prize to take back to Combaticon HQ for interrogation and torture and the Matrix only knew what else.
But, most importantly, he wouldn’t get laid.
He didn’t want to admit how much that feeling of complete and utter fullness had consumed his thoughts; about how many times he’d snuck off early to his berth to pump his spike and imagine that his own paltry fingers were fucking him anywhere near as well as he’d been spiked that time in the rec. room of the Ark.
“Turn around,” Vortex said. Bee did so. Catching sight of the fascinatingly well-proportioned hardware again was like a kick in the pelvic plating. Vortex leaned down, licking the length of one horn. Bee sighed.
“Hurry up,” Blast Off snapped. “Just frag him already.”
Vortex lifted Bee, licking his way down the Minibot’s helm to his throat.
“Spread your legs for me,” he whispered, and Bee could have sworn that he heard Blast Off make a noise - soft and subtle - that indicated something other than impatience.
Bee clung to Vortex’s shoulders, a Decepticon insignia filling his vision, and wrapped his legs as much as he could around the Combaticon’s hips.
Hands clasped his aft, supporting him, and then, “Oh frag yes!” He wasn’t exactly ready, but he didn’t care. An initial burst of pain as he stretched as wide as before, but fast this time. “Unf!” Too fast. He bit his own lip, dismissing each warning as soon as it flashed up.
Oh Sigma, he shouldn’t be enjoying this.
“Argh!” He cried out at the cold shock of a wall at his back. But the raw heat of friction, of electricity sparking in his valve, was just too good.
He caught sight of Blast Off over Vortex’s shoulder, half expecting him to have his spike out, to be pleasuring himself or waiting to take a turn despite what he’d said. But he was just watching, impassive, his expression hidden, and his arms folded across his chest.
Bee caught his gaze and held it. And oh Maximus, how the frag hadn’t he know how much of a turn on this was before? Vortex pounding him against the wall, each thrust a shock that reverberated right the way up to his horns. Blast Off watching, still and silent, his attention focussed solely on Bee. And hot damn, was that an energy field pulse? He had no idea the Decepticons even did that.
“Uh, oh, frag oh frag oh frag oh!” Bee’s helm flew back, banging on the wall, and his valve flooded with the incandescent buzz of overload. “Oh yeah!”
Evidently, it had also done it for the copter. Vortex slumped over Bee, his fans louder even than the roar of battle.
“Enough,” Blast Off said, in that same bored tone. But when he hauled Vortex back, Bee could feel the heat radiating off him.
“Ugh,” Bee slid down the wall, lading on his aft. He looked up into the end of Blast Off’s laser pistol.
“Leave.”
Bee scrambled for the exit, which was - thankfully - no longer blocked by the enormous, sinister shuttle.
As he left, he caught a glimpse of Vortex on his knees, looking up at his team mate, a hungry grin on his face.
Well, thought Bee, there was a scene he wasn’t going to forget in a hurry.