Meme fic #3 - for eeriansadow
Prompt #10 - fucking machines
Warnings for slash, sticky, etc etc.
====
“I want that code,” Bluestreak growled against an audio horn, followed by a quick lick at the tip, cheek nuzzling affectionately against his helm belying his menacing tone. “Give it to me, Jazz. Give me the code…”
Jazz panted softly as he lifted his head. His thighs were trembling, spread wide by the saddle-esque curve of padding he was straddling on his knees, thick black straps holding his thighs, calves and ankles anchored to the padded surface. His hands were encased in shining black rubber mitts, just round pouches encasing his digits and cinched snugly around his shackled wrists. He shifted slightly, groaning as the thick silicon spike mounted on the saddle nudged over-stimulated sensors in his valve. “No dice,” the saboteur responded, voice strained behind clenched dentals, shoulders hunched forward as he struggled with the bindings on his wrists. He curled his fingers, feeling along the wall of the mitt, searching for a seam, a weak spot, a buckle… but Wheeljack’s work was flawless. He wondered briefly if the engineer had any idea why Blue commissioned him for these sorts of toys so often.
“Don’t be so mean,” the Praxian murmured into his cheek, feathering kisses along his face and neck. “Just tell me the code…” his fingers trailed along the inner seam of his wide-spread thighs, feeling them tremble, “and we’ll both get what we want…”
Around his clenched jaw Jazz managed a grin, “That’s awful tempin’, sweetspark, but no.”
“Please?” A soft, pleading whimper against his throat this time, warm lips and glossa lapping and caressing cables. Jazz started to chuckle and Bluestreak jerked away, doors tucked down and arms folded across his chest, sulking. “You promised you wouldn’t laugh!”
“M’sorry, Blue,” he chortled, “it’s just… my usual interrogators ain’t quite so… affectionate, y’know?”
The tense shoulders relaxed, doors half-perked, and he offered a small, sheepish smile. “I guess not - but if you want me to be meaner…” his arms unfolded and he waggled the machine’s remote in his hand.
“W-well let’s not be hasty - maybe we can come to a compromise…”
“Sure!” the gunner chirped, smiling sweetly at him with the remote pressed to his cheek. “Give me the code and you get to overload!”
“Y’know I can’t do that, love…”
“The hard way it is, then.” Blue chuckled, running his fingertips lightly up the length of Jazz’s twitching spike, then down to gently squeeze the base. Jazz responded with a soft moan, bucking slightly against his hand and the spike stretching his valve. The silver mech gave a soft purr against an audio horn, stroking gently along the length of the component, “The hard way indeed…”
“Th-that ain’t funny…” Jazz gasped and bucked up from the quivering in his valve, but the straps around his thighs and ankles kept him from getting too far. The vibrations were low, only powerful enough to tease his already over-stimulated sensors, but they were enough to make him squirm. The spike twisted on its base slightly, wringing a soft cry from the spy as it retracted into the saddle and thrust again, a slow, steady rhythm, too slow to do more than drive the saboteur closer to swearing. Blue’s methods as an interrogator were unconventional, at best, but creative enough, preferring to overwhelm Jazz with pleasure rather than any pain. It was decent training, too, for himself and the other members of Spec Ops when they played together. Bluestreak’s soft, innocent features couldn’t hold an expression of malicious glee for very long before it broke out into a sweet grin that only served to make the three even more nervous.
“You remember that time Mirage rode the saddle for you?” the sniper’s voice tickled against his audio, followed by a soft lap of his glossa against the black horn, making Jazz shudder. “You loved watching his face when I played with him, didn’t you? He’s so sensitive though, it didn’t take very long for him to beg.” Jazz bit his lip, groaning softly at the memory. Blue nuzzled his cheek with a chuckle, “And you remember what I did to him? Even after he gave me the code, I gagged him up and kept teasing… He was so terribly desperate by the end, leaking lubricant all over the saddle and fluid dribbling down from his spike, sobbing into his gag…”
Jazz gasped softly when the warm mouth clamped on his neck, sharp dental plates grazing the cabling and ending in a quick nip. “Now,” he purred, “is that really what you want to happen to you…?”
Jazz swallowed raggedly. “I can take anythin’ y’dish out, sweetspark…”
“We’ll see, pretty…” The remote was waggled in front of his face, thumb grazing over the buttons in indecision, and Jazz felt his tanks tense in apprehension when the digit lingered on one particular button before pressing down. The rubber spike thrust quickly into his valve and sat, and from the base a wide, round ball rolled along the interior, vibrating harder than the spike had been set for, stretching him just that much wider as it travelled deeper into his valve. Jazz bucked, panting hard, and gave a loud, strangled moan when it reached the tip of the rubber spike, vibrating hard against the back of his valve. His legs twitched and spasmed, held from thrashing by their restraints, head tossed side to side as he struggled, unable to hold back his moans and cries. After a long, agonizing moment, the ball descended again, kneading and stretching him as it passed along his valve walls. When it was settled back at its starting point, he gave a soft, despairing whimper.
“Aww, Jazz…” Bluestreak’s mouth caught his, hands cupping both his cheeks. “Don’t worry, sweetspark… there’s a very simple way to free yourself…”
“M’not,” he paused, groaning when the vibrating ball rolled upward again. Panting, he clenched his dentals together and ground out, “M’not tellin’ you the code, Blue… better mechs than you have tried…”
“Oh I know they have…” The Datsun shifted around to face him, smiling at him as he knelt in front of him, straddling the front of the saddle. “And I know that what worked on Mirage simply won’t work on you, so I suppose we’ll just have to change tactics…” Bluestreak kissed him, forcing his head back as he deepened it, his glossa exploring Jazz’s open, panting mouth. Jazz tried to lose himself in the kiss, to focus on it and regain his footing, but his optics opened wide and he jerked away with a loud, strangled moan as his spike was enveloped in a tight fold of warmth and wetness. Bluestreak held fast to his shoulders, face flushed as he panted and adjusted to being filled at this angle, and then waved the remote again. “If you won’t tell me to get an overload, maybe you’ll tell me to make them stop…” Several buttons were mashed in the sloppy slide of his thumb across the pad and Jazz arched hard, bucking into Bluestreak’s valve. The ball rolled quickly to the tip of the spike and vibrated, rattling against the back of his valve, but the spike twisted and flexed, just slightly, pressing into one side of his valve wall and beginning to rotate around, a second ball rolling quickly from base to bend and back again. Jazz arched back, crying out in surprise and overwhelmed by the movements and stimulation, his whole valve buzzing and clenching around the toy. Bluestreak bounced and ground himself enthusiastically on his spike, head tossed back and silver hands clinging to Jazz’s shoulders, moaning unabashedly.
The dual onslaught was too much, already charged as he was, and Bluestreak gave a strangled cry of delight when the spy’s transfluid gushed into his valve, dripping slowly down both their thighs. Undeterred, he continued to ride him, hands sliding shakily up his helm to grasp his audio horns, rubbing and kneading them both. Oh that wasn’t fair… that just wasn’t fair… Jazz arched back into his hands, visor dark as he bucked and trembled, still on edge, still over-stimulated, the toy never ceasing its movements in his valve, and he overloaded again, harder than the first.
Several overloads later, Bluestreak was still grinding on him, seeking a third overload of his own, though he definitely seemed to be tiring and the next wave of his own pleasure was continuing to be elusive. Jazz moaned weakly, cleanser trickling out from beneath his visor as he shuddered and writhed, desperate to get away from the hands and machine and tight, warm valve that were tormenting him so. With a soft sob, Jazz broke. “Alright! Alright!”
Bluestreak stilled in his quest for pleasure and the movements of the toy subsided into a still, low hum of standby, apprehensively awaiting what he’d been after all evening.
Jazz swallowed raggedly, still trying to get his intakes under control. “The co-code… it’s s-sigma delta bravo one five nine seven three…”
Elated, Bluestreak caught Jazz’s mouth in a quick, hard kiss before he hopped up, Jazz gasping at the sudden release of his spike, and rushed over to the little box on the berth to key in the code. Once the latch released, he ran worshiping hands over the lid and slowly lifted it up, offering a soft squeal of delight. He plucked a treat delicately from the box and lifted it to his lips, nuzzling the creamy froth of Energon against his mouth just to lick it off, placing the treat between his lips and savoring the flavor with a soft moan.
Jazz finally calmed, panting very softly when Bluestreak returned with his treats en tow, looking as pleased as the spy had ever seen him. Grinning, he gave a soft chuckle. “Okay, you won, you got your treat, now lemme out, huh?”
“Oh Jazz,” the sniper chuckled, smearing a treat against Jazz’s lips and down his chin, over his chestplates, smearing it all the way down to his spike. “What makes you think I’m done with you…?”
Warnings for slash, sticky, etc etc.
====
“I want that code,” Bluestreak growled against an audio horn, followed by a quick lick at the tip, cheek nuzzling affectionately against his helm belying his menacing tone. “Give it to me, Jazz. Give me the code…”
Jazz panted softly as he lifted his head. His thighs were trembling, spread wide by the saddle-esque curve of padding he was straddling on his knees, thick black straps holding his thighs, calves and ankles anchored to the padded surface. His hands were encased in shining black rubber mitts, just round pouches encasing his digits and cinched snugly around his shackled wrists. He shifted slightly, groaning as the thick silicon spike mounted on the saddle nudged over-stimulated sensors in his valve. “No dice,” the saboteur responded, voice strained behind clenched dentals, shoulders hunched forward as he struggled with the bindings on his wrists. He curled his fingers, feeling along the wall of the mitt, searching for a seam, a weak spot, a buckle… but Wheeljack’s work was flawless. He wondered briefly if the engineer had any idea why Blue commissioned him for these sorts of toys so often.
“Don’t be so mean,” the Praxian murmured into his cheek, feathering kisses along his face and neck. “Just tell me the code…” his fingers trailed along the inner seam of his wide-spread thighs, feeling them tremble, “and we’ll both get what we want…”
Around his clenched jaw Jazz managed a grin, “That’s awful tempin’, sweetspark, but no.”
“Please?” A soft, pleading whimper against his throat this time, warm lips and glossa lapping and caressing cables. Jazz started to chuckle and Bluestreak jerked away, doors tucked down and arms folded across his chest, sulking. “You promised you wouldn’t laugh!”
“M’sorry, Blue,” he chortled, “it’s just… my usual interrogators ain’t quite so… affectionate, y’know?”
The tense shoulders relaxed, doors half-perked, and he offered a small, sheepish smile. “I guess not - but if you want me to be meaner…” his arms unfolded and he waggled the machine’s remote in his hand.
“W-well let’s not be hasty - maybe we can come to a compromise…”
“Sure!” the gunner chirped, smiling sweetly at him with the remote pressed to his cheek. “Give me the code and you get to overload!”
“Y’know I can’t do that, love…”
“The hard way it is, then.” Blue chuckled, running his fingertips lightly up the length of Jazz’s twitching spike, then down to gently squeeze the base. Jazz responded with a soft moan, bucking slightly against his hand and the spike stretching his valve. The silver mech gave a soft purr against an audio horn, stroking gently along the length of the component, “The hard way indeed…”
“Th-that ain’t funny…” Jazz gasped and bucked up from the quivering in his valve, but the straps around his thighs and ankles kept him from getting too far. The vibrations were low, only powerful enough to tease his already over-stimulated sensors, but they were enough to make him squirm. The spike twisted on its base slightly, wringing a soft cry from the spy as it retracted into the saddle and thrust again, a slow, steady rhythm, too slow to do more than drive the saboteur closer to swearing. Blue’s methods as an interrogator were unconventional, at best, but creative enough, preferring to overwhelm Jazz with pleasure rather than any pain. It was decent training, too, for himself and the other members of Spec Ops when they played together. Bluestreak’s soft, innocent features couldn’t hold an expression of malicious glee for very long before it broke out into a sweet grin that only served to make the three even more nervous.
“You remember that time Mirage rode the saddle for you?” the sniper’s voice tickled against his audio, followed by a soft lap of his glossa against the black horn, making Jazz shudder. “You loved watching his face when I played with him, didn’t you? He’s so sensitive though, it didn’t take very long for him to beg.” Jazz bit his lip, groaning softly at the memory. Blue nuzzled his cheek with a chuckle, “And you remember what I did to him? Even after he gave me the code, I gagged him up and kept teasing… He was so terribly desperate by the end, leaking lubricant all over the saddle and fluid dribbling down from his spike, sobbing into his gag…”
Jazz gasped softly when the warm mouth clamped on his neck, sharp dental plates grazing the cabling and ending in a quick nip. “Now,” he purred, “is that really what you want to happen to you…?”
Jazz swallowed raggedly. “I can take anythin’ y’dish out, sweetspark…”
“We’ll see, pretty…” The remote was waggled in front of his face, thumb grazing over the buttons in indecision, and Jazz felt his tanks tense in apprehension when the digit lingered on one particular button before pressing down. The rubber spike thrust quickly into his valve and sat, and from the base a wide, round ball rolled along the interior, vibrating harder than the spike had been set for, stretching him just that much wider as it travelled deeper into his valve. Jazz bucked, panting hard, and gave a loud, strangled moan when it reached the tip of the rubber spike, vibrating hard against the back of his valve. His legs twitched and spasmed, held from thrashing by their restraints, head tossed side to side as he struggled, unable to hold back his moans and cries. After a long, agonizing moment, the ball descended again, kneading and stretching him as it passed along his valve walls. When it was settled back at its starting point, he gave a soft, despairing whimper.
“Aww, Jazz…” Bluestreak’s mouth caught his, hands cupping both his cheeks. “Don’t worry, sweetspark… there’s a very simple way to free yourself…”
“M’not,” he paused, groaning when the vibrating ball rolled upward again. Panting, he clenched his dentals together and ground out, “M’not tellin’ you the code, Blue… better mechs than you have tried…”
“Oh I know they have…” The Datsun shifted around to face him, smiling at him as he knelt in front of him, straddling the front of the saddle. “And I know that what worked on Mirage simply won’t work on you, so I suppose we’ll just have to change tactics…” Bluestreak kissed him, forcing his head back as he deepened it, his glossa exploring Jazz’s open, panting mouth. Jazz tried to lose himself in the kiss, to focus on it and regain his footing, but his optics opened wide and he jerked away with a loud, strangled moan as his spike was enveloped in a tight fold of warmth and wetness. Bluestreak held fast to his shoulders, face flushed as he panted and adjusted to being filled at this angle, and then waved the remote again. “If you won’t tell me to get an overload, maybe you’ll tell me to make them stop…” Several buttons were mashed in the sloppy slide of his thumb across the pad and Jazz arched hard, bucking into Bluestreak’s valve. The ball rolled quickly to the tip of the spike and vibrated, rattling against the back of his valve, but the spike twisted and flexed, just slightly, pressing into one side of his valve wall and beginning to rotate around, a second ball rolling quickly from base to bend and back again. Jazz arched back, crying out in surprise and overwhelmed by the movements and stimulation, his whole valve buzzing and clenching around the toy. Bluestreak bounced and ground himself enthusiastically on his spike, head tossed back and silver hands clinging to Jazz’s shoulders, moaning unabashedly.
The dual onslaught was too much, already charged as he was, and Bluestreak gave a strangled cry of delight when the spy’s transfluid gushed into his valve, dripping slowly down both their thighs. Undeterred, he continued to ride him, hands sliding shakily up his helm to grasp his audio horns, rubbing and kneading them both. Oh that wasn’t fair… that just wasn’t fair… Jazz arched back into his hands, visor dark as he bucked and trembled, still on edge, still over-stimulated, the toy never ceasing its movements in his valve, and he overloaded again, harder than the first.
Several overloads later, Bluestreak was still grinding on him, seeking a third overload of his own, though he definitely seemed to be tiring and the next wave of his own pleasure was continuing to be elusive. Jazz moaned weakly, cleanser trickling out from beneath his visor as he shuddered and writhed, desperate to get away from the hands and machine and tight, warm valve that were tormenting him so. With a soft sob, Jazz broke. “Alright! Alright!”
Bluestreak stilled in his quest for pleasure and the movements of the toy subsided into a still, low hum of standby, apprehensively awaiting what he’d been after all evening.
Jazz swallowed raggedly, still trying to get his intakes under control. “The co-code… it’s s-sigma delta bravo one five nine seven three…”
Elated, Bluestreak caught Jazz’s mouth in a quick, hard kiss before he hopped up, Jazz gasping at the sudden release of his spike, and rushed over to the little box on the berth to key in the code. Once the latch released, he ran worshiping hands over the lid and slowly lifted it up, offering a soft squeal of delight. He plucked a treat delicately from the box and lifted it to his lips, nuzzling the creamy froth of Energon against his mouth just to lick it off, placing the treat between his lips and savoring the flavor with a soft moan.
Jazz finally calmed, panting very softly when Bluestreak returned with his treats en tow, looking as pleased as the spy had ever seen him. Grinning, he gave a soft chuckle. “Okay, you won, you got your treat, now lemme out, huh?”
“Oh Jazz,” the sniper chuckled, smearing a treat against Jazz’s lips and down his chin, over his chestplates, smearing it all the way down to his spike. “What makes you think I’m done with you…?”