Fic - Side Effects, part 3 of 3
Title: Side Effects, Part 3
Continuity: G1, season 3, Decepticam AU
Rating: NC-17
Content advice: explicit sticky smut, coercion, dubcon, manipulation, hint of fluff
Characters and/or pairings: Vortex/First Aid, Groove.
Beta: naboru_narluin :D
Summary: In which Vortex is busy enjoying the ceasefire medic, and in the process finds out something very interesting about him. PWP.
This will make very little sense without Part 1 and Part 2.
It was bliss. Pure and unadulterated, the kind of pleasure Vortex had forgotten he could have. There was nothing sharp about it, nothing searing or rough or any of the other things which usually categorised the way he interfaced.
Even the urge to brutality faded, as his sensor net glowed and his gyros danced, and a thousand tiny sparks discharged between the two of them.
First Aid clung to him, open, accommodating. Lost in the moment, his optics lacked focus while the echo of his fuel pumps thudded through his armour.
Each thrust was an insight into something utterly alien. Was this how the medic gave himself to Blades? Compliant, but not docile; urgent without being harsh. The fantasy lent an edge to the slow slide of Vortex’s spike.
He groaned at a gliding pressure on his rotor tips. Such careful hands; every pinch and clasp and stroke was just enough, stimulating without damaging. Just as every little movement of that softly writhing frame was the perfect enticement; intended or not, Vortex could only read it as a plea for more.
Eventually, the unrelenting pulse of his energy field combined with the hot crackle of connecting nodes to send the Autobot crashing into overload.
He was wonderful to watch and amazing to experience. The tension in his frame, the subtle vibration of cables stretched taut, the steady rhythmic clenching of his valve; it was incredible. And the more so for his vocalisations, so quiet and unselfconscious, and wholly and utterly gratifying.
Vortex held him tighter, gaze fixed on the subtle blue light of his optics. He waited until the final tremor subsided, and some of the tension released. “Connect with me now?” he asked, giving a little thrust to grind his spike against the heated sensor clusters.
The sharp “Oh!” was delightful, and the accompanying buck of First Aid’s hips was completely unexpected. “Mmmmm…” The medic ground against him, that blue light flaring as he refocused his visual sensors. “No,” he said through static. “And stop asking.”
That was bold, a pleasing hint of the medic’s less obvious strengths. It was tempting to break him, to push and push until his only option would be to capitulate. But that would be counterproductive; better to leave that one boundary inviolate, to encourage First Aid to downgrade him from dangerous enemy to just another bad boy copter.
And besides, First Aid continued to move himself on the spike, still open, still complicit. Like the soft little whimpers during overload, his continued enjoyment was immensely gratifying.
It was the kind of behaviour Vortex liked to encourage.
“Your loss,” he said, and picked up the pace.
“I’m… Ooh!... not losing out on anything!” First Aid replied.
“Course not,” Vortex said, and ran the tip of his glossa over the medic’s lips, earning himself a gentle bite. He sighed as First Aid grabbed his rotors; a delicious, warm shiver coursed through his spike, and the strength seemed to ebb from his arms. And, oh Sigma, the Autobot was smiling. Actually smiling, those tasty little lips curved in a way that made Vortex’s engine growl and his blades shudder. “Oh frag,” he said. “I love it when you do that.”
Warm air gusted as the medic’s fans whirred. “Uhuh?” he replied. His frame tensed again, face pressed to Vortex’s shoulder as he felt down the copter’s back, apparently straining to reach his rotor hub. But Vortex wanted this to last. And he wanted the medic’s face where he could see it. Where he could watch every nuanced shift of First Aid’s expression and guess what was going on underneath.
“What do you say to being lifted?” Vortex asked, another small hint that he knew about boundaries and was willing to respect them.
“Uh…” the medic replied, no longer striving to edge his hands further down Vortex’s rotors.
“I wanna lift you,” Vortex stated, pulling back a little to put his weight entirely on his knees; he unwound his arm from the Autobot’s middle, letting him slump back onto the shallow curve of the granite boulder. His spike ached as it hit the air. “I won’t drop you, promise.”
“Mmm!” First Aid bit his lip again and hugged his knees tight around Vortex’s waist, but he had neither the strength nor the leverage to tug the copter back inside him. Then he wiggled in a wholly different way, and the rotor petting ceased completely.
“What’s up?” Vortex said, as he took the opportunity to let his interface components cool a little, and his optics take a tour of First Aid’s plating.
“This rock,” the medic replied. “It isn’t quite as comfortable as I had initially thought… Oh!” He bit his lip again and arched off the boulder as Vortex let his fingers follow his optics. Then the copter pushed forward just a little, nudging the very end of his spike against the rim of First Aid’s valve, while his hands felt out the planes and contours of the Autobot’s waist.
First Aid wriggled again, a high keening sound emerging from his vocaliser.
It was so hard not to increase the contact; Vortex wouldn’t have to go slowly this time; there would be no need for caution. He edged a little further in, and the jolt of pleasure as First Aid clenched around him almost knocked him offline. Venting hard, he gently squeezed the Autobot’s waist. “How about I rescue you from the evil rock?”
“Ooooooh… mmmmmm…” At first there was no indication that First Aid had heard him, just the continued stream of small, happy noises, and a metallic sigh as he reached up again for the rotors. Then that smile came back. “That’s the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“That’s not a ‘no’,” Vortex said.
“No,” First Aid replied. “It isn’t.”
Right answer, Vortex thought, and pulled out completely. But only long enough to scoop up the Autobot and press him against the water-worn wall of the cave. “Better?” he said, hooking his hands under the medic’s aft and lifting him to just the right position.
“Uhuh!” First Aid nodded, and clung to Vortex’s neck. He wriggled a bit, then stiffened. Feeling vulnerable, probably, more so than when he was on the floor. He murmured something, but the storm battered against the cave’s temporary door, and Vortex didn’t catch it.
But he did catch the increased pace of First Aid’s ventilation, the hot gusts of air against the sensors on his helm. Vortex held out as long as he could, teasing the tip of his spike along the red hot nodes at the rim of the medic’s valve. The sensation was amazing, little jolts of charge picking up between them. First Aid squirmed in his hands, his valve clenched tight as his hands gripped Vortex’s shoulders.
Vortex pushed up and into him, savouring every instant. It was smooth this time, slippery and constrictive, and absolutely perfect. First Aid moaned and shuddered, and Vortex gave him a moment to adjust.
Just like before, the medic relaxed by increments. His hands began to roam, his lips too. He didn’t cling any more, but appeared to trust Vortex to keep him at just the right angle. Then his fingers found Vortex’s tail rotors, and everything dissolved in a haze of intense new input.
It didn’t stop there. Vortex groaned, his vision fragmenting. He couldn’t help but increase the pace, thrusting hard as the medic’s hot fingers wrapped around his blades, stroking and turning them. Tugging them too, and Vortex thrust harder, the impact shuddering through First Aid’s frame.
Then First Aid squeezed hard with his hand and his valve, and Vortex hadn’t a hope of holding on any longer.
The overload was unbelievable, a soaring crash of current that seared through his circuits and knocked out his visual feed. Overheat warnings warred with rebooting systems, and he reached for the wall to steady himself. It was more luck than judgment that he also kept a hold of the Autobot, their hardware still locked together, still conducting. Deep, pulsing aftershocks echoed through him, and it was all he could do to keep upright.
Frag, that was good.
“Mmmm?” First Aid murmured, as Vortex’s visual feed finally came back. “Perhaps it would be safer if we…?” His fingers tightened again around Vortex’s tail rotors, and Vortex conceded the floor would indeed be the best place for them. Especially if the medic was going to keep on doing that.
Slowly, and with a large measure of regret, he eased his spike free. But there was nothing to regret about refusing to put the Autobot down, instead opting to lower himself gently to the floor, leaning back against the large boulder with First Aid on top of him. He flashed the evilest grin he could manage, and refused to let go. “Like that?” he said.
To his surprise, First Aid didn’t struggle. He just wriggled until, presumably, he was comfortable, and resumed playing with Vortex’s tail rotors.
“Copters,” he huffed, sounding tired and contented and just a little exasperated.
“You wanna turn over?” Vortex suggested, then continued when his only response was a drowsy mumble. “The little blades are all yours, but you gotta turn over for me.”
First Aid raised his head. “Why?”
“You’ll see,” Vortex said, and through the muzzy post-interface haze his processor was already feeding him a dozen different scenarios in which he could test exactly how far the Autobot could now be pushed. He patted First Aid on the aft. “It’ll be good, I promise…”
“Aren’t you tired?” First Aid said, but he was already shifting around, wriggling again until the complex geometry of his back slotted relatively neatly around Vortex’s pectoral vent. It wasn’t exactly tessellation, but it must have been comfortable because First Aid sighed.
“No,” Vortex lied, wrapping his right arm around the medic, putting his tail rotors within easy reach. “Are you?”
“A little depleted,” the medic replied, then squeaked as Vortex took a firm hold of his sadly neglected spike. He thumbed the tip, smearing lubricant along his fingers. “Goodness!” First Aid started wriggling again, all drowsiness vanished from his voice. “I… um…”
“Not too depleted,” Vortex said. “I hope.”
*
Vortex came online to the squeal of bending metal and the press of rock against his back. This wasn’t HQ, and it didn’t seem to be Charr; where the frag was he? And who the frag was lying on top of… Oh. Yeah. His databanks finally engaged, and everything came crashing back.
Awesome.
He sighed and wrapped his arms more tightly around First Aid. The medic was still in recharge - surprisingly, considering the noise - sprawled face-down over Vortex’s chest. The soft purr of his systems spread a pleasant vibration through Vortex’s internals, and gave him absolutely no desire to move.
Especially not as the rescue party had obviously arrived.
“Aid?” the cry was muffled, accompanied by another loud squeal as the chunk of spaceship wedged in the cave entrance became very gradually un-wedged. “Aid? Can you hear me?”
First Aid moaned and stretched. He murmured something, and Vortex stroked his helm. No point him coming online just yet.
“Aid?” Groove’s voice became more urgent. “Aid, seriously, answer me!”
“Mmmfuh?” First Aid said. Vortex leaned his head back against the rock and prepared to feign unconsciousness. But not before making sure his interface hatch was closed.
“Slaggit!” Groove yelled, and the metal screamed once more. “Gah!” There was a clang, and light seared through the cave mouth. “Aid? Aid, talk to me… Oh. Uh…”
Vortex didn’t risk bringing his optics back online. Groove’s expression would be priceless, but it’d hardly be anything he hadn’t seen before. Best just to lay there, poor exhausted bad boy copter, no threat to anyone.
“Huh?” First Aid stiffened, the pressure on Vortex’s abdomen shifting as he moved. “Groove?”
“Um…” Groove seemed lost for words. “I… I got through the bond that you were OK, but...”
Vortex murmured as though slowly booting up, and took the opportunity to casually grope First Aid’s backside.
“Um, it’s...” First Aid squirmed, then apparently came to his senses and stood up, moving his aft out of hands’ reach. “I can explain?”
Groove sighed. “He’s got rotors, I get the picture. OK, is he faking it again or is he really offline this time?”
“He’s faking it,” First Aid said.
“How the scrap can you tell?” Vortex said. He switched his optics back on and treated Groove to a suggestive grin. “Hey there. Wanna come snuggle down? I got room for two…”
First Aid sighed, and Groove folded his arms and scowled. “Energy source,” he said. “We need it.” But he didn’t appear angry any more, just annoyed, with possibly the slightest hint of suppressed amusement.
Vortex stretched, his grin turning into a satisfied smile. He liked the look of that.
Continuity: G1, season 3, Decepticam AU
Rating: NC-17
Content advice: explicit sticky smut, coercion, dubcon, manipulation, hint of fluff
Characters and/or pairings: Vortex/First Aid, Groove.
Beta: naboru_narluin :D
Summary: In which Vortex is busy enjoying the ceasefire medic, and in the process finds out something very interesting about him. PWP.
This will make very little sense without Part 1 and Part 2.
It was bliss. Pure and unadulterated, the kind of pleasure Vortex had forgotten he could have. There was nothing sharp about it, nothing searing or rough or any of the other things which usually categorised the way he interfaced.
Even the urge to brutality faded, as his sensor net glowed and his gyros danced, and a thousand tiny sparks discharged between the two of them.
First Aid clung to him, open, accommodating. Lost in the moment, his optics lacked focus while the echo of his fuel pumps thudded through his armour.
Each thrust was an insight into something utterly alien. Was this how the medic gave himself to Blades? Compliant, but not docile; urgent without being harsh. The fantasy lent an edge to the slow slide of Vortex’s spike.
He groaned at a gliding pressure on his rotor tips. Such careful hands; every pinch and clasp and stroke was just enough, stimulating without damaging. Just as every little movement of that softly writhing frame was the perfect enticement; intended or not, Vortex could only read it as a plea for more.
Eventually, the unrelenting pulse of his energy field combined with the hot crackle of connecting nodes to send the Autobot crashing into overload.
He was wonderful to watch and amazing to experience. The tension in his frame, the subtle vibration of cables stretched taut, the steady rhythmic clenching of his valve; it was incredible. And the more so for his vocalisations, so quiet and unselfconscious, and wholly and utterly gratifying.
Vortex held him tighter, gaze fixed on the subtle blue light of his optics. He waited until the final tremor subsided, and some of the tension released. “Connect with me now?” he asked, giving a little thrust to grind his spike against the heated sensor clusters.
The sharp “Oh!” was delightful, and the accompanying buck of First Aid’s hips was completely unexpected. “Mmmmm…” The medic ground against him, that blue light flaring as he refocused his visual sensors. “No,” he said through static. “And stop asking.”
That was bold, a pleasing hint of the medic’s less obvious strengths. It was tempting to break him, to push and push until his only option would be to capitulate. But that would be counterproductive; better to leave that one boundary inviolate, to encourage First Aid to downgrade him from dangerous enemy to just another bad boy copter.
And besides, First Aid continued to move himself on the spike, still open, still complicit. Like the soft little whimpers during overload, his continued enjoyment was immensely gratifying.
It was the kind of behaviour Vortex liked to encourage.
“Your loss,” he said, and picked up the pace.
“I’m… Ooh!... not losing out on anything!” First Aid replied.
“Course not,” Vortex said, and ran the tip of his glossa over the medic’s lips, earning himself a gentle bite. He sighed as First Aid grabbed his rotors; a delicious, warm shiver coursed through his spike, and the strength seemed to ebb from his arms. And, oh Sigma, the Autobot was smiling. Actually smiling, those tasty little lips curved in a way that made Vortex’s engine growl and his blades shudder. “Oh frag,” he said. “I love it when you do that.”
Warm air gusted as the medic’s fans whirred. “Uhuh?” he replied. His frame tensed again, face pressed to Vortex’s shoulder as he felt down the copter’s back, apparently straining to reach his rotor hub. But Vortex wanted this to last. And he wanted the medic’s face where he could see it. Where he could watch every nuanced shift of First Aid’s expression and guess what was going on underneath.
“What do you say to being lifted?” Vortex asked, another small hint that he knew about boundaries and was willing to respect them.
“Uh…” the medic replied, no longer striving to edge his hands further down Vortex’s rotors.
“I wanna lift you,” Vortex stated, pulling back a little to put his weight entirely on his knees; he unwound his arm from the Autobot’s middle, letting him slump back onto the shallow curve of the granite boulder. His spike ached as it hit the air. “I won’t drop you, promise.”
“Mmm!” First Aid bit his lip again and hugged his knees tight around Vortex’s waist, but he had neither the strength nor the leverage to tug the copter back inside him. Then he wiggled in a wholly different way, and the rotor petting ceased completely.
“What’s up?” Vortex said, as he took the opportunity to let his interface components cool a little, and his optics take a tour of First Aid’s plating.
“This rock,” the medic replied. “It isn’t quite as comfortable as I had initially thought… Oh!” He bit his lip again and arched off the boulder as Vortex let his fingers follow his optics. Then the copter pushed forward just a little, nudging the very end of his spike against the rim of First Aid’s valve, while his hands felt out the planes and contours of the Autobot’s waist.
First Aid wriggled again, a high keening sound emerging from his vocaliser.
It was so hard not to increase the contact; Vortex wouldn’t have to go slowly this time; there would be no need for caution. He edged a little further in, and the jolt of pleasure as First Aid clenched around him almost knocked him offline. Venting hard, he gently squeezed the Autobot’s waist. “How about I rescue you from the evil rock?”
“Ooooooh… mmmmmm…” At first there was no indication that First Aid had heard him, just the continued stream of small, happy noises, and a metallic sigh as he reached up again for the rotors. Then that smile came back. “That’s the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“That’s not a ‘no’,” Vortex said.
“No,” First Aid replied. “It isn’t.”
Right answer, Vortex thought, and pulled out completely. But only long enough to scoop up the Autobot and press him against the water-worn wall of the cave. “Better?” he said, hooking his hands under the medic’s aft and lifting him to just the right position.
“Uhuh!” First Aid nodded, and clung to Vortex’s neck. He wriggled a bit, then stiffened. Feeling vulnerable, probably, more so than when he was on the floor. He murmured something, but the storm battered against the cave’s temporary door, and Vortex didn’t catch it.
But he did catch the increased pace of First Aid’s ventilation, the hot gusts of air against the sensors on his helm. Vortex held out as long as he could, teasing the tip of his spike along the red hot nodes at the rim of the medic’s valve. The sensation was amazing, little jolts of charge picking up between them. First Aid squirmed in his hands, his valve clenched tight as his hands gripped Vortex’s shoulders.
Vortex pushed up and into him, savouring every instant. It was smooth this time, slippery and constrictive, and absolutely perfect. First Aid moaned and shuddered, and Vortex gave him a moment to adjust.
Just like before, the medic relaxed by increments. His hands began to roam, his lips too. He didn’t cling any more, but appeared to trust Vortex to keep him at just the right angle. Then his fingers found Vortex’s tail rotors, and everything dissolved in a haze of intense new input.
It didn’t stop there. Vortex groaned, his vision fragmenting. He couldn’t help but increase the pace, thrusting hard as the medic’s hot fingers wrapped around his blades, stroking and turning them. Tugging them too, and Vortex thrust harder, the impact shuddering through First Aid’s frame.
Then First Aid squeezed hard with his hand and his valve, and Vortex hadn’t a hope of holding on any longer.
The overload was unbelievable, a soaring crash of current that seared through his circuits and knocked out his visual feed. Overheat warnings warred with rebooting systems, and he reached for the wall to steady himself. It was more luck than judgment that he also kept a hold of the Autobot, their hardware still locked together, still conducting. Deep, pulsing aftershocks echoed through him, and it was all he could do to keep upright.
Frag, that was good.
“Mmmm?” First Aid murmured, as Vortex’s visual feed finally came back. “Perhaps it would be safer if we…?” His fingers tightened again around Vortex’s tail rotors, and Vortex conceded the floor would indeed be the best place for them. Especially if the medic was going to keep on doing that.
Slowly, and with a large measure of regret, he eased his spike free. But there was nothing to regret about refusing to put the Autobot down, instead opting to lower himself gently to the floor, leaning back against the large boulder with First Aid on top of him. He flashed the evilest grin he could manage, and refused to let go. “Like that?” he said.
To his surprise, First Aid didn’t struggle. He just wriggled until, presumably, he was comfortable, and resumed playing with Vortex’s tail rotors.
“Copters,” he huffed, sounding tired and contented and just a little exasperated.
“You wanna turn over?” Vortex suggested, then continued when his only response was a drowsy mumble. “The little blades are all yours, but you gotta turn over for me.”
First Aid raised his head. “Why?”
“You’ll see,” Vortex said, and through the muzzy post-interface haze his processor was already feeding him a dozen different scenarios in which he could test exactly how far the Autobot could now be pushed. He patted First Aid on the aft. “It’ll be good, I promise…”
“Aren’t you tired?” First Aid said, but he was already shifting around, wriggling again until the complex geometry of his back slotted relatively neatly around Vortex’s pectoral vent. It wasn’t exactly tessellation, but it must have been comfortable because First Aid sighed.
“No,” Vortex lied, wrapping his right arm around the medic, putting his tail rotors within easy reach. “Are you?”
“A little depleted,” the medic replied, then squeaked as Vortex took a firm hold of his sadly neglected spike. He thumbed the tip, smearing lubricant along his fingers. “Goodness!” First Aid started wriggling again, all drowsiness vanished from his voice. “I… um…”
“Not too depleted,” Vortex said. “I hope.”
*
Vortex came online to the squeal of bending metal and the press of rock against his back. This wasn’t HQ, and it didn’t seem to be Charr; where the frag was he? And who the frag was lying on top of… Oh. Yeah. His databanks finally engaged, and everything came crashing back.
Awesome.
He sighed and wrapped his arms more tightly around First Aid. The medic was still in recharge - surprisingly, considering the noise - sprawled face-down over Vortex’s chest. The soft purr of his systems spread a pleasant vibration through Vortex’s internals, and gave him absolutely no desire to move.
Especially not as the rescue party had obviously arrived.
“Aid?” the cry was muffled, accompanied by another loud squeal as the chunk of spaceship wedged in the cave entrance became very gradually un-wedged. “Aid? Can you hear me?”
First Aid moaned and stretched. He murmured something, and Vortex stroked his helm. No point him coming online just yet.
“Aid?” Groove’s voice became more urgent. “Aid, seriously, answer me!”
“Mmmfuh?” First Aid said. Vortex leaned his head back against the rock and prepared to feign unconsciousness. But not before making sure his interface hatch was closed.
“Slaggit!” Groove yelled, and the metal screamed once more. “Gah!” There was a clang, and light seared through the cave mouth. “Aid? Aid, talk to me… Oh. Uh…”
Vortex didn’t risk bringing his optics back online. Groove’s expression would be priceless, but it’d hardly be anything he hadn’t seen before. Best just to lay there, poor exhausted bad boy copter, no threat to anyone.
“Huh?” First Aid stiffened, the pressure on Vortex’s abdomen shifting as he moved. “Groove?”
“Um…” Groove seemed lost for words. “I… I got through the bond that you were OK, but...”
Vortex murmured as though slowly booting up, and took the opportunity to casually grope First Aid’s backside.
“Um, it’s...” First Aid squirmed, then apparently came to his senses and stood up, moving his aft out of hands’ reach. “I can explain?”
Groove sighed. “He’s got rotors, I get the picture. OK, is he faking it again or is he really offline this time?”
“He’s faking it,” First Aid said.
“How the scrap can you tell?” Vortex said. He switched his optics back on and treated Groove to a suggestive grin. “Hey there. Wanna come snuggle down? I got room for two…”
First Aid sighed, and Groove folded his arms and scowled. “Energy source,” he said. “We need it.” But he didn’t appear angry any more, just annoyed, with possibly the slightest hint of suppressed amusement.
Vortex stretched, his grin turning into a satisfied smile. He liked the look of that.