cheer-up fic for Sam/Vierge autobotvierge. kam and nadz, here's your "moar". lolz.
I've missed this icon. *grins*
Because Kam slpwlkngdreamer updated me on the stuff I couldn't access at home for lack of internet, and because I wanted so badly to cheer Sam/Vierge autobotvierge up.
Inspired by the sketches on the upper-left portion of this picture and fueled by my own need to write fic for Hound/Addy (OTP!!!). Set in the multiverse, that little floating space in onceonthisearth where crack and dreams and wishes come true. :)
Hound even in this hyoooman incarnation (oh the anguish) belongs to Has/Tak. I give him love because he deserves it, hot man/bot that he is. I shove Addy with him because they belong together o(^^)o *waves flag for 'ship*. Addy belongs to autobotvierge, who said needed, like Nadz oniwanbashu and Kam slpwlkngdreamer (over the phone going WHERE IS TEH II?!?? WHERE IS PART II?!???) wanted moar Hound/Addy-lovin'.
Hell, who was I not to oblige.
II.
She could get used to this. Addy lets her head fall to one side, relishing the sensation of Hound's kisses on her skin, the warmth of him so gloriously... glorious -- as there is, as of this moment, no room in her brain to think of any other word to replace the redundancy.
She smiles, back curving as to settle her in the warmth that his body radiates, flesh meeting flesh as the hastily pulled on robe slips to reveal her back to his chest. "Don't sneak up on me like that," her fingers thread through his own, her grip just a little firm as teeth nip on the space right underneath her ear, promptly making her pulse race and that space right beneath her navel ache with want the mattress more than her morning coffee.
"You left your side of the bed cold. What was I supposed to do?" His laughter is rich in her ear, reminding her of just how much time she's spent in aforementioned bed over the course of the weekend.
Not that she minds, of course. Far from it.
She lets him hold her from behind, mind wandering back to the far too-early morning days before when a neighbor's dog had begun to bark ceaselessly, pulling her from fitful dreams of her close brush with death in Africa. She'd risen from bed, wincing at the chill of the floor, hastily pulling over her head the sweater she'd worn the day before and a pair of sweats before jamming her feet into her nearest available running shoes.
Lyra had cautioned her after all, that if that dog went into hysterical fits of barking then it was most definitely something to pay attention to, since Junior (a name she didn't quite understand really) was usually so docile and sweet that his frantic attention could only mean trouble.
Finding Hound gone from the driveway didn't help, turning around to the sound of rustling in the bushes to find a rather frightened looking man in a state of veritable undress didn't either. She is thankful now though, that despite being completely shocked at the prospect of a naked man huddling in her colleague's bushes, her sense of hearing had apparently coordinated enough with her brain to let her stop, consider and process, because that naked man had called her "Addy" in a most familiar voice.
"Hound, stop--" it takes so much out of her to pull away, but it's well-past noon and she doesn't think she'll ever get used to just laying about, making love when she's normally so productive. "Oh for God's sake," she fails, obviously. Being caged against the kitchen bar can do that to a girl, especially when the one doing the caging is a healthy, hot-blooded male with a near-unsatiable appetite for her and the things they could do together. A euphemism, of course, for... well.
"You do realize," she's breathless between kisses, her arms rounding his broad, strong shoulders as he lifts her with ease onto the counter so that he can stand between her legs, because close is never quite close enough. "That we have to eat sometime--ohGod," the hiss that escapes her is exquisite, her legs wrapping themselves of their own volition about his waist. She laughs, even more breathless, because here is the part where she should be feeling guilty: grown woman as she is, well-read, well-traveled and worldly in several respects, acting like a hormonal teenager discovering the dark pleasures of sex.
Thank the Lord Lyra and Brady invest so much in thick curtains and tinted windows. The last thing she needs after all is her friend getting complaints from well-meaning neighbors concerned about the carnal activities that their children might have glimpsed once or twice in the living room in the duration of her stay.
His hands are surprisingly soft, texture-wise. As if he'd never done a day's work in his life, which is exactly the opposite of the truth since she knows fairly well that he is a soldier who's seen his fair share of battles on and off her planet. But whatever's changed him from metal to man -- a meteorite of something or another origin that had apparently crash-landed, according to his comrades -- has apparently disregarded all that, providing him with a body that had never known illness, or fatigue, or strain.
She throws her head back, and like a wolf, he goes for the jugular, teeth skimming over the bare expanse of her neck as his thumb flicks over the nipple previously hidden behind terry cloth. Already she knows that she wants him in her again, thrusting while he brands her with his mouth, which is why the heels of her feet are all but digging into the back of his thighs, right below his buttocks.
Lord Almighty, he is the love of her life. It makes her reel, just thinking of it. "Want you," she hears him all but gasp, "Primus, Addy," face now hidden on the crook of her shoulder as he pulls her off the counter and against him, padding footsteps the only indication that he's taking her back into the damned bedroom where they can both be comfortable.
They fall in a tangle of limbs -- a constant, these last few days. They don't even bother with shedding clothes with a measure of grace, and she hears something tear right before he pulls her onto his lap and around him, their mouths fused to each other in frantic need.
Wheeljack, Perceptor and Banachek haven't given us a sure estimate of long exactly the effects will last. Given that it's the flayed off particles from the meteorite that is the cause of turning us into fleshies, well... Static. I don't know what else to tell you Hound. But well, if it's anything, though I don't understand yours and Jazz's interest in the human females -- I'd probably follow Jazz's lead. No one's seen hide nor hair of him and Mona for the last few days.
She'd overheard that the other day. The phenomenon wasn't isolated to just him after all, turning human the proverbial thing biting arses Autobot and Decepticon alike. Hence the truce between the two factions. Hence Hound not needing to rush off and fight. Hence lovemaking nearly every other hour, that is if they even bothered to stop between climaxes, which given Hound's insistent state of mind to keep her close, was nearly never.
He holds her so tight right after, his forehead pressed against her collarbone, her voice hushing him as he shudders as if shivering from cold. "I'm not going anywhere, love," she murmurs the words, each syllable a slash across her heart it's a wonder she isn't bleeding all over the floor.
"Why does it feel as if I never have enough time." He doesn't shout it out, doesn't even raise his voice above the stage whisper, but the violence is there, bracing itself. She doesn't even blink when he pulls away from her, muscles taut, body poised as if ready for the kill, one hand sweeping out into the air that it knocks over the bag rack that had impressed upon her an image of a ridiculous tree with brands for leaves: Ferragamo and Adidas, Speedo and Guess.
She goes to him immediately, cheek then pressed against that space between his shoulder blades as she embraces him, and she recalls the time she ventured with Brady to one of the reservations where a shaman had looked into the smoke uttering words she could not understand. Brady had translated, of course, telling her that the wise man was cautioning her of a wolf and how she should not fear but instead call the totem to her as a woman might welcome a lover.
She hadn't given it much thought until the last few days, barely even remembering the trip until Hound had stopped suddenly on that single trip out to the mall to get him clothes, his eyes locked with the pup gazing back up at him from behind the glass. Part wolf-cub, part-Malamute, the owner had told them. Haven't found him a family just yet, since he growls at every one who reaches out to him and y'know parents. Can't have too fierce a canine with the kiddies. Maybe yous two would like t'take him? I'll give him for half-price.
"Come back to me," Addy curls her fingers over his stomach, turning her face so that her mouth rests a gentle kiss against his skin. "Let's not think of tomorrow, love. Come back to me, Hound."
When next they make love it's slow and gentle, like smoke, sighs dispersing into the air like a promise, a hush and the knowledge that everything that is, was meant to be. Now, is all that matters. Whatever comes on the morrow, will have to wait it's turn.
**
If there are typos, I shall fix. That goes for grammatics/pov-shifting errors as well. Clean-up will come later, I just wanted this up. Feedback is love, btw. *chu*
Because Kam slpwlkngdreamer updated me on the stuff I couldn't access at home for lack of internet, and because I wanted so badly to cheer Sam/Vierge autobotvierge up.
Inspired by the sketches on the upper-left portion of this picture and fueled by my own need to write fic for Hound/Addy (OTP!!!). Set in the multiverse, that little floating space in onceonthisearth where crack and dreams and wishes come true. :)
Hound even in this hyoooman incarnation (oh the anguish) belongs to Has/Tak. I give him love because he deserves it, hot man/bot that he is. I shove Addy with him because they belong together o(^^)o *waves flag for 'ship*. Addy belongs to autobotvierge, who said needed, like Nadz oniwanbashu and Kam slpwlkngdreamer (over the phone going WHERE IS TEH II?!?? WHERE IS PART II?!???) wanted moar Hound/Addy-lovin'.
Hell, who was I not to oblige.
II.
She could get used to this. Addy lets her head fall to one side, relishing the sensation of Hound's kisses on her skin, the warmth of him so gloriously... glorious -- as there is, as of this moment, no room in her brain to think of any other word to replace the redundancy.
She smiles, back curving as to settle her in the warmth that his body radiates, flesh meeting flesh as the hastily pulled on robe slips to reveal her back to his chest. "Don't sneak up on me like that," her fingers thread through his own, her grip just a little firm as teeth nip on the space right underneath her ear, promptly making her pulse race and that space right beneath her navel ache with want the mattress more than her morning coffee.
"You left your side of the bed cold. What was I supposed to do?" His laughter is rich in her ear, reminding her of just how much time she's spent in aforementioned bed over the course of the weekend.
Not that she minds, of course. Far from it.
She lets him hold her from behind, mind wandering back to the far too-early morning days before when a neighbor's dog had begun to bark ceaselessly, pulling her from fitful dreams of her close brush with death in Africa. She'd risen from bed, wincing at the chill of the floor, hastily pulling over her head the sweater she'd worn the day before and a pair of sweats before jamming her feet into her nearest available running shoes.
Lyra had cautioned her after all, that if that dog went into hysterical fits of barking then it was most definitely something to pay attention to, since Junior (a name she didn't quite understand really) was usually so docile and sweet that his frantic attention could only mean trouble.
Finding Hound gone from the driveway didn't help, turning around to the sound of rustling in the bushes to find a rather frightened looking man in a state of veritable undress didn't either. She is thankful now though, that despite being completely shocked at the prospect of a naked man huddling in her colleague's bushes, her sense of hearing had apparently coordinated enough with her brain to let her stop, consider and process, because that naked man had called her "Addy" in a most familiar voice.
"Hound, stop--" it takes so much out of her to pull away, but it's well-past noon and she doesn't think she'll ever get used to just laying about, making love when she's normally so productive. "Oh for God's sake," she fails, obviously. Being caged against the kitchen bar can do that to a girl, especially when the one doing the caging is a healthy, hot-blooded male with a near-unsatiable appetite for her and the things they could do together. A euphemism, of course, for... well.
"You do realize," she's breathless between kisses, her arms rounding his broad, strong shoulders as he lifts her with ease onto the counter so that he can stand between her legs, because close is never quite close enough. "That we have to eat sometime--ohGod," the hiss that escapes her is exquisite, her legs wrapping themselves of their own volition about his waist. She laughs, even more breathless, because here is the part where she should be feeling guilty: grown woman as she is, well-read, well-traveled and worldly in several respects, acting like a hormonal teenager discovering the dark pleasures of sex.
Thank the Lord Lyra and Brady invest so much in thick curtains and tinted windows. The last thing she needs after all is her friend getting complaints from well-meaning neighbors concerned about the carnal activities that their children might have glimpsed once or twice in the living room in the duration of her stay.
His hands are surprisingly soft, texture-wise. As if he'd never done a day's work in his life, which is exactly the opposite of the truth since she knows fairly well that he is a soldier who's seen his fair share of battles on and off her planet. But whatever's changed him from metal to man -- a meteorite of something or another origin that had apparently crash-landed, according to his comrades -- has apparently disregarded all that, providing him with a body that had never known illness, or fatigue, or strain.
She throws her head back, and like a wolf, he goes for the jugular, teeth skimming over the bare expanse of her neck as his thumb flicks over the nipple previously hidden behind terry cloth. Already she knows that she wants him in her again, thrusting while he brands her with his mouth, which is why the heels of her feet are all but digging into the back of his thighs, right below his buttocks.
Lord Almighty, he is the love of her life. It makes her reel, just thinking of it. "Want you," she hears him all but gasp, "Primus, Addy," face now hidden on the crook of her shoulder as he pulls her off the counter and against him, padding footsteps the only indication that he's taking her back into the damned bedroom where they can both be comfortable.
They fall in a tangle of limbs -- a constant, these last few days. They don't even bother with shedding clothes with a measure of grace, and she hears something tear right before he pulls her onto his lap and around him, their mouths fused to each other in frantic need.
Wheeljack, Perceptor and Banachek haven't given us a sure estimate of long exactly the effects will last. Given that it's the flayed off particles from the meteorite that is the cause of turning us into fleshies, well... Static. I don't know what else to tell you Hound. But well, if it's anything, though I don't understand yours and Jazz's interest in the human females -- I'd probably follow Jazz's lead. No one's seen hide nor hair of him and Mona for the last few days.
She'd overheard that the other day. The phenomenon wasn't isolated to just him after all, turning human the proverbial thing biting arses Autobot and Decepticon alike. Hence the truce between the two factions. Hence Hound not needing to rush off and fight. Hence lovemaking nearly every other hour, that is if they even bothered to stop between climaxes, which given Hound's insistent state of mind to keep her close, was nearly never.
He holds her so tight right after, his forehead pressed against her collarbone, her voice hushing him as he shudders as if shivering from cold. "I'm not going anywhere, love," she murmurs the words, each syllable a slash across her heart it's a wonder she isn't bleeding all over the floor.
"Why does it feel as if I never have enough time." He doesn't shout it out, doesn't even raise his voice above the stage whisper, but the violence is there, bracing itself. She doesn't even blink when he pulls away from her, muscles taut, body poised as if ready for the kill, one hand sweeping out into the air that it knocks over the bag rack that had impressed upon her an image of a ridiculous tree with brands for leaves: Ferragamo and Adidas, Speedo and Guess.
She goes to him immediately, cheek then pressed against that space between his shoulder blades as she embraces him, and she recalls the time she ventured with Brady to one of the reservations where a shaman had looked into the smoke uttering words she could not understand. Brady had translated, of course, telling her that the wise man was cautioning her of a wolf and how she should not fear but instead call the totem to her as a woman might welcome a lover.
She hadn't given it much thought until the last few days, barely even remembering the trip until Hound had stopped suddenly on that single trip out to the mall to get him clothes, his eyes locked with the pup gazing back up at him from behind the glass. Part wolf-cub, part-Malamute, the owner had told them. Haven't found him a family just yet, since he growls at every one who reaches out to him and y'know parents. Can't have too fierce a canine with the kiddies. Maybe yous two would like t'take him? I'll give him for half-price.
"Come back to me," Addy curls her fingers over his stomach, turning her face so that her mouth rests a gentle kiss against his skin. "Let's not think of tomorrow, love. Come back to me, Hound."
When next they make love it's slow and gentle, like smoke, sighs dispersing into the air like a promise, a hush and the knowledge that everything that is, was meant to be. Now, is all that matters. Whatever comes on the morrow, will have to wait it's turn.
**
If there are typos, I shall fix. That goes for grammatics/pov-shifting errors as well. Clean-up will come later, I just wanted this up. Feedback is love, btw. *chu*