Fic - An Exercise in Secrecy
Title: An Exercise in Secrecy
Continuity: TFA
Rating: NC-17
Content advice: explicit consensual sticky smut with a hint of attempted coercion on Cliffjumper’s part.
Characters and/or pairings: Shockwave/Cliffjumper
Summary: Cliffjumper knows Longarm’s secret, and uses it to his advantage.
Wordcount: c.900
Notes: Written to this prompt from katsuko: ‘TFA Shockwave/Cliffjumper "Bigger is better/I know your secret", and first posted at the 3W4DW comment fic and art party.
Big thanks go to Aniay for naming this for me (and in the process spotting a mood-ruining typo :P).
“I have the reports for you, Longarm sir,” Cliffjumper said. His fingers drummed against his thighs, giving the impression of nerves. Perhaps he’d done something to justify feeling nervous. Shockwave filed the thought for later examination.
“Thankyou, Cliffjumper,” he replied. “I think patching the files through to my terminal will be quite adequate. Your physical presence is not required.” In fact, his physical presence was intensely distracting. Being careful to maintain a blank expression on Longarm’s face, Shockwave gestured to the door.
But instead of exiting, Cliffjumper closed and locked it, then returned to his position by the desk. “Sir,” he began.
Shockwave suppressed a sigh. He needed Cliffjumper gone, and he needed him gone ten astroseconds ago. The craving to relieve a bit of pressure had been growing ever since the minibot had stepped into the room. There was just something about those horns, and those nice, wide shoulders on such a small frame. And he was very pleasantly stocky, not willowy like some ‘bots. There was a weight and solidity to him that… that made Shockwave need a nice few breems alone so he could deal with his little problem manually.
Then Cliffjumper spoke. “I know who you really are.”
Shockwave tensed and met the mech’s gaze steadily with his fake blue Autobot optics. “I’m afraid I don’t get your meaning,” he said. A thrill buzzed through him, energon diverted along new conduits, circuits coming to life that had lain dormant for too long. If he needed to fight his way out of this, he would, and with great pleasure.
Cliffjumper trailed a hand over the desk, then moved to perch on the edge, far closer to Shockwave than propriety should ever allow. “You don’t need that getting out,” he said. “Sir. Now do you?”
This close, Shockwave could feel the heat radiating from that gleaming red armour. Cliffjumper was certainly revved up for something, but what? Surely not exposing him as a traitor, or he wouldn’t have come alone, and the other option was too much of a fantasy for Shockwave to allow himself to entertain it, even for one brief moment.
But then the minibot leaned in, staring directly into Shockwave’s real eye. “I know who you are,” he said. “And I’ve seen you looking at me. You want me, and I want you.”
Shockwave’s optic widened. “I…” he began, but Cliffjumper slid off the desk and into his lap.
“I like big bots,” he said, one hand slipping down between Shockwave’s thighs. “I can handle it.”
“Ngg!” Shockwave squirmed. This couldn’t be true; it had to be an Autobot plot to expose his true identity. But Cliffjumper pressed hard against him, kneading his spike cover with one hand, while the other attempted to guide Longarm’s blunt fingers to his suddenly exposed and incredibly inviting valve.
“Transform for me,” Cliffjumper urged, his voice growing gruffer by the astrosecond. “The door’s locked, and we’re the only ones with the code. No-one will know.”
Shockwave shivered. He ached to assume his rightful form, to bend Cliffjumper back over the desk and… and why not? He sighed as his fingertips made contact with the minibot’s most intimate equipment. So slippery and hot, and thrumming with genuine arousal. Maybe this wasn’t a trick after all.
“Spike me,” Cliffjumper groaned, and the lust in his voice tripped Shockwave straight over the point of no return.
He transformed beneath the minibot, holding onto him with the whirling fragments of one arm, until his true form slotted neatly into place, his spike out and ready, his antennae buzzing.
Cliffjumper’s engine stalled for one tantalising moment, then revved hard enough to make Shockwave’s entire frame rattle.
“Is this what you wanted?” Shockwave asked, looming over the minibot, pinning him to the desk.
“Oh yes…” Cliffjumper grinned, his optics blazing, his hands taking in as much of Shockwave’s frame as he could reach. “Oh frag yes.” He parted his thighs, tried to hook his feet around Shockwave’s hips and draw him in.
Shockwave didn’t need any further encouragement. He aligned their hardware, his spike nudging gently against the slick rim of Cliffjumper’s valve. The minibot froze, his vents hissing and engine roaring. Shockwave edged forward, the tip of his spike burning as it rubbed against the nodes. Then a thrill of heat and constriction as he pushed slowly inside, and Cliffjumper’s grin turned into an expression of absolute delight.
It was wonderful, a glowing haze of charge and friction that sent coolant thundering through his conduits and made his entire frame vibrate. It was everything Shockwave had imagined, everything he’d fantasised about since the day Cliffjumper had been installed as Longarm’s secretary.
“Closer!” Cliffjumper urged, and Shockwave obliged him. Thrusting slowly, careful not to over-stretch the components of Cliffjumper’s valve, he leaned a fraction of his weight on that small chassis.
Cliffjumper groaned and reached for his antennae, clasping and stroking as his vents blew hot over Shockwave’s armour. Then his valve clenched and his optics blanked, the overload shuddering through his entire frame.
Shockwave slowed, resisting the rush of current and the heady stimulation of his antennae. He tweaked one of Cliffjumper’s horns, causing the bot to murmur and writhe. Then those blue optics snapped back into focus, and the valve rippled around Shockwave’s spike.
“More,” Cliffjumper growled. “And don’t hold back.”
Shockwave tweaked the horn again. Oh, this was delicious. “If you think you can take it,” he said.
Cliffjumper’s smile was feral. He wound his legs around Shockwave’s narrow waist and squeezed. “Just try me.”
Continuity: TFA
Rating: NC-17
Content advice: explicit consensual sticky smut with a hint of attempted coercion on Cliffjumper’s part.
Characters and/or pairings: Shockwave/Cliffjumper
Summary: Cliffjumper knows Longarm’s secret, and uses it to his advantage.
Wordcount: c.900
Notes: Written to this prompt from katsuko: ‘TFA Shockwave/Cliffjumper "Bigger is better/I know your secret", and first posted at the 3W4DW comment fic and art party.
Big thanks go to Aniay for naming this for me (and in the process spotting a mood-ruining typo :P).
“I have the reports for you, Longarm sir,” Cliffjumper said. His fingers drummed against his thighs, giving the impression of nerves. Perhaps he’d done something to justify feeling nervous. Shockwave filed the thought for later examination.
“Thankyou, Cliffjumper,” he replied. “I think patching the files through to my terminal will be quite adequate. Your physical presence is not required.” In fact, his physical presence was intensely distracting. Being careful to maintain a blank expression on Longarm’s face, Shockwave gestured to the door.
But instead of exiting, Cliffjumper closed and locked it, then returned to his position by the desk. “Sir,” he began.
Shockwave suppressed a sigh. He needed Cliffjumper gone, and he needed him gone ten astroseconds ago. The craving to relieve a bit of pressure had been growing ever since the minibot had stepped into the room. There was just something about those horns, and those nice, wide shoulders on such a small frame. And he was very pleasantly stocky, not willowy like some ‘bots. There was a weight and solidity to him that… that made Shockwave need a nice few breems alone so he could deal with his little problem manually.
Then Cliffjumper spoke. “I know who you really are.”
Shockwave tensed and met the mech’s gaze steadily with his fake blue Autobot optics. “I’m afraid I don’t get your meaning,” he said. A thrill buzzed through him, energon diverted along new conduits, circuits coming to life that had lain dormant for too long. If he needed to fight his way out of this, he would, and with great pleasure.
Cliffjumper trailed a hand over the desk, then moved to perch on the edge, far closer to Shockwave than propriety should ever allow. “You don’t need that getting out,” he said. “Sir. Now do you?”
This close, Shockwave could feel the heat radiating from that gleaming red armour. Cliffjumper was certainly revved up for something, but what? Surely not exposing him as a traitor, or he wouldn’t have come alone, and the other option was too much of a fantasy for Shockwave to allow himself to entertain it, even for one brief moment.
But then the minibot leaned in, staring directly into Shockwave’s real eye. “I know who you are,” he said. “And I’ve seen you looking at me. You want me, and I want you.”
Shockwave’s optic widened. “I…” he began, but Cliffjumper slid off the desk and into his lap.
“I like big bots,” he said, one hand slipping down between Shockwave’s thighs. “I can handle it.”
“Ngg!” Shockwave squirmed. This couldn’t be true; it had to be an Autobot plot to expose his true identity. But Cliffjumper pressed hard against him, kneading his spike cover with one hand, while the other attempted to guide Longarm’s blunt fingers to his suddenly exposed and incredibly inviting valve.
“Transform for me,” Cliffjumper urged, his voice growing gruffer by the astrosecond. “The door’s locked, and we’re the only ones with the code. No-one will know.”
Shockwave shivered. He ached to assume his rightful form, to bend Cliffjumper back over the desk and… and why not? He sighed as his fingertips made contact with the minibot’s most intimate equipment. So slippery and hot, and thrumming with genuine arousal. Maybe this wasn’t a trick after all.
“Spike me,” Cliffjumper groaned, and the lust in his voice tripped Shockwave straight over the point of no return.
He transformed beneath the minibot, holding onto him with the whirling fragments of one arm, until his true form slotted neatly into place, his spike out and ready, his antennae buzzing.
Cliffjumper’s engine stalled for one tantalising moment, then revved hard enough to make Shockwave’s entire frame rattle.
“Is this what you wanted?” Shockwave asked, looming over the minibot, pinning him to the desk.
“Oh yes…” Cliffjumper grinned, his optics blazing, his hands taking in as much of Shockwave’s frame as he could reach. “Oh frag yes.” He parted his thighs, tried to hook his feet around Shockwave’s hips and draw him in.
Shockwave didn’t need any further encouragement. He aligned their hardware, his spike nudging gently against the slick rim of Cliffjumper’s valve. The minibot froze, his vents hissing and engine roaring. Shockwave edged forward, the tip of his spike burning as it rubbed against the nodes. Then a thrill of heat and constriction as he pushed slowly inside, and Cliffjumper’s grin turned into an expression of absolute delight.
It was wonderful, a glowing haze of charge and friction that sent coolant thundering through his conduits and made his entire frame vibrate. It was everything Shockwave had imagined, everything he’d fantasised about since the day Cliffjumper had been installed as Longarm’s secretary.
“Closer!” Cliffjumper urged, and Shockwave obliged him. Thrusting slowly, careful not to over-stretch the components of Cliffjumper’s valve, he leaned a fraction of his weight on that small chassis.
Cliffjumper groaned and reached for his antennae, clasping and stroking as his vents blew hot over Shockwave’s armour. Then his valve clenched and his optics blanked, the overload shuddering through his entire frame.
Shockwave slowed, resisting the rush of current and the heady stimulation of his antennae. He tweaked one of Cliffjumper’s horns, causing the bot to murmur and writhe. Then those blue optics snapped back into focus, and the valve rippled around Shockwave’s spike.
“More,” Cliffjumper growled. “And don’t hold back.”
Shockwave tweaked the horn again. Oh, this was delicious. “If you think you can take it,” he said.
Cliffjumper’s smile was feral. He wound his legs around Shockwave’s narrow waist and squeezed. “Just try me.”