Motormaster's Awesome Day, Chapter Eight.
Title: Motormaster's Awesome Day
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei
Rating: NC-17 (this chapter)
Warnings: Sex. That's pretty much it this chapter.
Summary: From the Awesome Day Meme. Motormaster has 24 hours in his awesome day, in which awesome things can happen to him.
This Chapter: Helpful medic is helpful, and Motormaster needs it.
He left Vortex in the brig, threatening to hold the grudge over Breakdown even longer if Vortex left again before he was let out, that being the only threat he calculated likely to work.
Back to the medbay once again, where Scavenger had a table ready for him; he flopped down onto it and let the smallest Constructicon begin to repair his damaged plating.
"Wow, you're charged."
Motormaster bit back most of a growl; the part of it he didn't catch made Scavenger drop his tool and jump away. "Sorry," the Constructicon stammered, meeting Motormaster's glare for half a klik before dropping his gaze to the wrench, which he took several seconds to retrieve.
"Yeah, I'm charged," Motormaster said, the desire to have someone to complain to winning out over pride. "All slagging morning I keep getting interrupted anytime I get close to an overload."
"Awww." Scavenger made a sympathetic sad sound, and Motormaster turned and gave him an arch look for a moment before he realized the sympathy was actually genuine and not mocking, at which point surprise kept him stunned for a moment.
Pressure on his midsection, not quite pain, turned into blazing agony for a split second as Scavenger inserted a prybar and forced something back into proper shape. Then relief, and Motormaster sighed happily before he could catch himself.
"I could . . . uh, help with that, if you wanted?"
Motormaster turned to stare at the Constructicon. Of all the places he'd never expect such an offer to come from, only a few Autobots topped Scavenger on the list. "Yeah?"
"I mean . . . you wouldn't be interrupted here; you're being repaired."
Motormaster thought that through for all of five seconds, and then smiled slowly. "Yeah."
"I should finish repairing you first---"
"I'm fine." Scavenger looked uncertain. Medics. "Seriously. The injuries are less . . . unpleasant."
"Okay." Scavenger reached for him, tentative; Motormaster reached over and hauled him up on top of him, fingers running down the lines of the Constructicon's torso. Scavenger squeaked, but recovered quickly, smiling winningly and settling astride Motormaster's torso to start stroking sensitive wiring with a medic's precision. Arousal bloomed, brilliant and painful, and Motormaster offlined his optics and grinned.
Scavenger's tail wrapped around one of his legs, and he opened his optics to see that, then kept them open to see Scavenger writhing under his touch. The mech was fun, squirmy at the right moments and quick to let out soft, almost hesitant gasps of pleasure, while his hands kept busy slipping under Motormaster's plating and sending bright jolts of pleasure shooting through his circuitry.
And then Hook came in through the storeroom door and yelled, "What the slag?!"
Motormaster bit back a snarl, grimly anticipating that Hook would chase Scavenger away out of misplaced overprotectiveness; Scavenger, however, kept his hands where they were, wrapped his tail a bit tighter around Motormaster's leg, and said, "It's okay, Hook."
Hook stared at them dubiously. "You're sure? He didn't . . . isn't threatening you?"
"No."
Hook's optics narrowed, glaring suspiciously at Motormaster, who stared back with an expression as close to neutral as he could manage.
"Get off him, come over here, and tell me that."
Scavenger whined ever-so-slightly; Motormaster removed his fingers and attempted to smile at him; Scavenger looked at him a bit regretfully and disengaged himself, trotting over to Hook. Motormaster, try as he might, couldn't hear their conversation. It took far too long; Motormaster cycled air and tried to think of anything other than the charge smoldering through his circuits.
Finally Hook shrugged resignedly and turned to stalk over to Motormaster, gesturing to Scavenger to stay put. "Listen up," he snapped, cold and deadly serious. "I don't know how you got him to do that---he says he chose it so I'll let it continue. But understand. If you hurt my teammate in any way whatsoever, your teammates will need repairs sooner or later, which means I'll have ample opportunity to return the favor, with interest. Understand me?"
Any other situation, any other mech, Motormaster would've told him what to do with himself and then helped him do it. But Hook was gestalt. Protecting a teammate. He'd do it. And given the choice between feeding Hook his own transformation cogs and getting laid, he was slagging well going to get laid. He shoved back resentment that Hook had access to better threats, and nodded, as close to respect as he ever got to someone who threatened his team.
Hook withdrew, and Scavenger came over and hopped back up on the table. Motormaster smiled, genuinely this time.
"Sorry about that." Scavenger's voice was barely audible, but the charge of his fingers against Motormaster's interior circuitry spoke volumes, and Motormaster slid his hands along Scavenger's spinal strut and right thigh and murmured, "It's fine." Then, hesitantly, not sure if he'd ever spoken the word before, added, "Thanks."
Scavenger beamed.
Definitely trying this with Breakdown.
Then Scavenger's fingertips brushed his shoulder joint, which was almost embarrassingly sensitive at the best of times, and he gripped circuitry and plating and bent his leg to squeeze Scavenger's tail and he was overloading, finally, all the pent-up charge cascading through his circuits, and Scavenger was overloading, his field flaring brilliantly into Motormaster's, and Motormaster was practically screaming with the devastating pleasure and something inside him burst, adding a multitude of bright hard short-circuits to the pleasure as Scavenger collapsed against him, all quiet, happy chirps that Motormaster could barely hear over the sated purr of his own engines.
He felt good. He felt satisfied. He felt . . . wet inside, for some reason, and Scavenger was drawing up off him, and stroking lightly under a plating-gap, and asking, "What's this?"
Motormaster looked up. Dripping from Scavenger's fingertip---and dripping all over inside his chassis, he suddenly realized, was a familiar-looking viscous purple goo.
"Rumble and Frenzy." His voice had gone deadly soft, and he expected Scavenger to shy away from what everybody else could recognize as silent menace, but it must have gone over Scavenger's head, because he simply quirked his lips and said, "Lemme finish your repairs and you can go discuss the matter with them. I can clean this stuff up too."
Motormaster eyed him for a long moment, then smiled slightly and settled down. He could undertake a planned revenge, rather than an instant one, and getting his insides cleaned without having to threaten or bribe someone was a welcome change of pace. And anyway he didn't feel like moving, his body humming pleasantly with the after-effects of a good overload. Maybe he could talk Scavenger into a second one.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad day after all.
Author: Kyra Neko-Rei
Rating: NC-17 (this chapter)
Warnings: Sex. That's pretty much it this chapter.
Summary: From the Awesome Day Meme. Motormaster has 24 hours in his awesome day, in which awesome things can happen to him.
This Chapter: Helpful medic is helpful, and Motormaster needs it.
He left Vortex in the brig, threatening to hold the grudge over Breakdown even longer if Vortex left again before he was let out, that being the only threat he calculated likely to work.
Back to the medbay once again, where Scavenger had a table ready for him; he flopped down onto it and let the smallest Constructicon begin to repair his damaged plating.
"Wow, you're charged."
Motormaster bit back most of a growl; the part of it he didn't catch made Scavenger drop his tool and jump away. "Sorry," the Constructicon stammered, meeting Motormaster's glare for half a klik before dropping his gaze to the wrench, which he took several seconds to retrieve.
"Yeah, I'm charged," Motormaster said, the desire to have someone to complain to winning out over pride. "All slagging morning I keep getting interrupted anytime I get close to an overload."
"Awww." Scavenger made a sympathetic sad sound, and Motormaster turned and gave him an arch look for a moment before he realized the sympathy was actually genuine and not mocking, at which point surprise kept him stunned for a moment.
Pressure on his midsection, not quite pain, turned into blazing agony for a split second as Scavenger inserted a prybar and forced something back into proper shape. Then relief, and Motormaster sighed happily before he could catch himself.
"I could . . . uh, help with that, if you wanted?"
Motormaster turned to stare at the Constructicon. Of all the places he'd never expect such an offer to come from, only a few Autobots topped Scavenger on the list. "Yeah?"
"I mean . . . you wouldn't be interrupted here; you're being repaired."
Motormaster thought that through for all of five seconds, and then smiled slowly. "Yeah."
"I should finish repairing you first---"
"I'm fine." Scavenger looked uncertain. Medics. "Seriously. The injuries are less . . . unpleasant."
"Okay." Scavenger reached for him, tentative; Motormaster reached over and hauled him up on top of him, fingers running down the lines of the Constructicon's torso. Scavenger squeaked, but recovered quickly, smiling winningly and settling astride Motormaster's torso to start stroking sensitive wiring with a medic's precision. Arousal bloomed, brilliant and painful, and Motormaster offlined his optics and grinned.
Scavenger's tail wrapped around one of his legs, and he opened his optics to see that, then kept them open to see Scavenger writhing under his touch. The mech was fun, squirmy at the right moments and quick to let out soft, almost hesitant gasps of pleasure, while his hands kept busy slipping under Motormaster's plating and sending bright jolts of pleasure shooting through his circuitry.
And then Hook came in through the storeroom door and yelled, "What the slag?!"
Motormaster bit back a snarl, grimly anticipating that Hook would chase Scavenger away out of misplaced overprotectiveness; Scavenger, however, kept his hands where they were, wrapped his tail a bit tighter around Motormaster's leg, and said, "It's okay, Hook."
Hook stared at them dubiously. "You're sure? He didn't . . . isn't threatening you?"
"No."
Hook's optics narrowed, glaring suspiciously at Motormaster, who stared back with an expression as close to neutral as he could manage.
"Get off him, come over here, and tell me that."
Scavenger whined ever-so-slightly; Motormaster removed his fingers and attempted to smile at him; Scavenger looked at him a bit regretfully and disengaged himself, trotting over to Hook. Motormaster, try as he might, couldn't hear their conversation. It took far too long; Motormaster cycled air and tried to think of anything other than the charge smoldering through his circuits.
Finally Hook shrugged resignedly and turned to stalk over to Motormaster, gesturing to Scavenger to stay put. "Listen up," he snapped, cold and deadly serious. "I don't know how you got him to do that---he says he chose it so I'll let it continue. But understand. If you hurt my teammate in any way whatsoever, your teammates will need repairs sooner or later, which means I'll have ample opportunity to return the favor, with interest. Understand me?"
Any other situation, any other mech, Motormaster would've told him what to do with himself and then helped him do it. But Hook was gestalt. Protecting a teammate. He'd do it. And given the choice between feeding Hook his own transformation cogs and getting laid, he was slagging well going to get laid. He shoved back resentment that Hook had access to better threats, and nodded, as close to respect as he ever got to someone who threatened his team.
Hook withdrew, and Scavenger came over and hopped back up on the table. Motormaster smiled, genuinely this time.
"Sorry about that." Scavenger's voice was barely audible, but the charge of his fingers against Motormaster's interior circuitry spoke volumes, and Motormaster slid his hands along Scavenger's spinal strut and right thigh and murmured, "It's fine." Then, hesitantly, not sure if he'd ever spoken the word before, added, "Thanks."
Scavenger beamed.
Definitely trying this with Breakdown.
Then Scavenger's fingertips brushed his shoulder joint, which was almost embarrassingly sensitive at the best of times, and he gripped circuitry and plating and bent his leg to squeeze Scavenger's tail and he was overloading, finally, all the pent-up charge cascading through his circuits, and Scavenger was overloading, his field flaring brilliantly into Motormaster's, and Motormaster was practically screaming with the devastating pleasure and something inside him burst, adding a multitude of bright hard short-circuits to the pleasure as Scavenger collapsed against him, all quiet, happy chirps that Motormaster could barely hear over the sated purr of his own engines.
He felt good. He felt satisfied. He felt . . . wet inside, for some reason, and Scavenger was drawing up off him, and stroking lightly under a plating-gap, and asking, "What's this?"
Motormaster looked up. Dripping from Scavenger's fingertip---and dripping all over inside his chassis, he suddenly realized, was a familiar-looking viscous purple goo.
"Rumble and Frenzy." His voice had gone deadly soft, and he expected Scavenger to shy away from what everybody else could recognize as silent menace, but it must have gone over Scavenger's head, because he simply quirked his lips and said, "Lemme finish your repairs and you can go discuss the matter with them. I can clean this stuff up too."
Motormaster eyed him for a long moment, then smiled slightly and settled down. He could undertake a planned revenge, rather than an instant one, and getting his insides cleaned without having to threaten or bribe someone was a welcome change of pace. And anyway he didn't feel like moving, his body humming pleasantly with the after-effects of a good overload. Maybe he could talk Scavenger into a second one.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad day after all.