The Incident
Title: The Incident
Author: eaten_by_bears
Pairing: Bluestreak/Soundwave
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-Con
Disclaimer: The Transformers belong to Hasbro. Not to me. I’m just playing around.
Pairing wanted: Bluestreak/Soundwave
Universe: G1
Rating wanted: R or NC17
Three things you want in your fic: dominant Bluestreak, gun kink, no character death
Three things you DON'T want in your fic: cassettes as part of the kink, character death, fluff
It was an uneasy truce. Mechs stalked the halls of the Ark tensely, ready to reach for their weapons at the first sign of trouble, both sides expecting an attack, both sides expecting betrayal. But what appeared to be a massive-scale virus was attacking some of Cybertron’s most central programming, and nobody wanted that, Autobot or Decepticon. And the Decepticons couldn’t fix it on their own. So, as a last resort, this prickly, temporary peace had been declared, and a crew of Decepticons had been allowed into the Ark to pool their knowledge with the Autobot scientists, after being disarmed to the best of Red Alert’s considerable ability. Which is why, when Bluestreak saw Soundwave scanning a row of boxes in the storage room, he didn’t fry the slagger on sight.
“What are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be in the lab, or did you decide to try a little espionage while you’re in the neighborhood?” Bluestreak’s pistol was drawn, and pointed in Soundwave’s direction. The cannons on his shoulders were more powerful, but the pistol was more accurate at close range. He didn’t want any mistakes.
Soundwave turned to face him calmly. His body was relaxed, and the expression in his visored optics was neutral. “NEGATIVE. CURRENT OPERATIONS: NECESSARY.” He then returned to his work.
Like that settles it! Bluestreak thought, Like he doesn’t need to justify himself to me. Like I’m supposed to just waltz out and let him finish whatever end of the world scheme he’s working on now. “Necessary, is it? Well, how about we take a little trip to the security center, and Prowl can tell me exactly how necessary it is for you to walk around the base without an escort. Come on, let’s go.” Bluestreak gestured to the door of the room, but Soundwave remained where he was, regarding the Autobot coolly.
“CURRENT OPERATIONS: NECESSARY. REQUEST: DENIED.” Soundwave was the absolute picture of a certain type of Decepticon arrogance. Aloof, unemotional, completely indifferent, the sort of mech who could commit torture without blinking. It made Bluestreak’s skin crawl.
“All right, you son of an eight-track. On the floor. Now!” Bluestreak advanced on him, gun at the ready.
“NEGATI-”
There was a loud clang, and Soundwave broke off abruptly. Bluestreak had slapped him across the face. He stood as though frozen for a second, regarding the Autobot sharpshooter with a new light in his optics, paying attention to him properly for the first time. His gaze was intense, but if Bluestreak was unnerved, he wasn’t showing it. “Get on the floor. On your knees.”
Soundwave obeyed him cautiously. Bluestreak stalked closer to him, until they were almost touching. His gun was trained carefully on the other mech, and his hands were as still as the dead. “Hands behind your head.”
Soundwave didn’t move.
“Do it!”
Slowly, he placed his hands behind his head. White arms, blue helm, wide, rapt optics. Kneeling at Bluestreak’s feet, fixed to the spot, the Decepticon was completely helpless. Bluestreak was tempted to kill him. It feels wrong somehow, to have them here, to have them so close, just letting them walk around like they haven’t killed our friends. And it would be so easy. He’s right here. It’s so easy.
But then there’s the truce. Cybertron. Optimus Prime.
Slag.
All this time, Bluestreak had his gun in Soundwave’s face. His hand twitched, and Soundwave followed the movement. What’s he doing? Bluestreak moved the gun slowly to the left and right, tiny motions. Soundwave continued to follow it. Then Bluestreak moved it forward. Soundwave moved his head forward to meet it. His face was almost touching the barrel. And he stayed there, waiting. Bluestreak brought the gun lower, pressing it hard into the juncture of Soundwave’s neck and shoulder.
The laser pistol was a powerful, deadly weapon, but Soundwave leaned into it, nuzzling it like a friend. Bluestreak ran the muzzle slowly up Soundwave’s neck, pausing at the corner of his facemask and tracing the edge of his jaw. Soundwave tilted his head up to allow the caress, ventilation coming shallow and fast. You’d almost think he was enjoying this. Bluestreak paused for a moment. I wonder if he is. It was a troubling thought, for a few reasons.
Well, one way to find out.
“Take it off,” Bluestreak said roughly, gesturing with the barrel of his gun.
Soundwave looked up at him, head tilted, optics questioning. “CLARIFICATION REQUESTED.”
“Your mask, Decepticreep. Take it off!”
Soundwave hesitated for a second, but the gun was still on him. Carefully, he reached up to his face. The mask came away with a click, revealing the handsome gray face beneath. Bluestreak’s optics widened. I didn’t think he’d look so normal under there. With a mouth and all. It’s almost like a different mech. So that’s what he’s been hiding under that mask. Good Primus, he even has an expression! He almost looks... shy.
“Put it on the floor. Slowly! I’m not having you start anything. Any trouble and you’re particles. Over there.” He indicated the place with a jerk of his head, but his weapon didn’t waver. Soundwave laid the mask on the floor at his side, never breaking eye contact, making a visible effort to avoid any sudden movements. His mouth was tense, optics worried. He placed his hand back behind his head and awaited Bluestreak’s instructions, the gun still pointed at his face, almost in contact.
Lightly, briefly, Bluestreak touched the tip to Soundwave’s naked lips. The cassette deck shuddered, in fear or something else. What does he think he’s playing at? Is this some kind of a put-on? Lure me in with that take-me-now face and then... then...
And then what? In the spirit of scientific inquiry, he put the tip of his gun to Soundwave’s lips again, pressing down. Diffidently, Soundwave kissed the gun, his lips closed against it. So innocent. Like you’d kiss your creator at bedtime. Bluestreak almost started in shock, but Soundwave didn’t see. He ducked his head, turning to the side, trying to break Bluestreak’s gaze.
“Oh, no. Optics on me, pal. No looking away.” The gun was at his cheek again, guiding him back into position. It was almost gentle, like someone’s hand. It could almost be mistaken for persuasion instead of lethal threat. Bluestreak wasn’t about to grant him the consolation of privacy. Whatever happened here, Soundwave wasn’t going to retreat into an illusion of invisibility. He was being watched, and Bluestreak wouldn’t let him forget it. His faceplates flushed hot.
Soundwave was facing forward again. Facing Bluestreak, who was starting to feel uncomfortably aroused. “Can’t have you turning away. All the action’s right up here. Now, let’s try this again.” He brushed the weapon against Soundwave’s lips, coaxing. The other mech responded to the light, glancing touch, raptly pressing soft kisses against the opening of the gun. Bluestreak pulled it away a few micro-units, watching Soundwave follow it with his lips. When he moved it forward again the blue mech greeted it with grateful attention, rubbing against it almost like a cybercat.
“You like this, don’t you? You’re actually enjoying this.” Soundwave tried to turn away again, but the gun was at his neck, forcing him back. “That was a question, pal. I want an answer. Do you like this?”
Soundwave struggled to speak. His whole body was taut with emotion. “AFFIRMATIVE,” he said. It was thrilling, in a way, to watch his lips form the word. It was almost indecent. And this time, when the gun was put to his face, he opened his lips. He took it in his mouth and sucked it with unguarded desperation, murmuring, “AFIRMATIVE,” against the hot metal.
Bluestreak’s ventilation caught in his throat. His optics widened and he felt the heat pool in his interface spike. “Not so chill now, are you, tough guy? Not so calm. Down on the floor with your mask off, sucking on an Autobot’s weapon. With you mouth all... with your mouth...” He tried to cover for his growing arousal with words, but the rising edge of anxiety in his voice showed through. Had Soundwave been in any position to process rationally, he would have seen through the flimsy bravado in an astrosecond.
As his words trailed off, Bluestreak moved his left hand to touch the panel between his legs. His optics were fixed on the mech on the ground as he suckled on the laser pistol, and his thoughts were racing.
This is a bad idea. This is insane. He’s a Decepticon. I need to stop this right now. He opened his panel, stroking the emerging spike.
I can still stop this. Nothing’s happened yet. I found him snooping around, I pulled my gun on him, and he started slobbering on it. That’s all. I can still stop. He withdrew the gun, and Soundwave gave a soft, musical whimper of disappointment. He looked up at Bluestreak expectantly, hands still securely behind his head. Bluestreak paused for a moment, holding his spike in his left hand and the pistol in his right.
All I need to do is close my panel and take this Decepticon pervert to the brig. Then it’ll be over. Then... Wordlessly, he slipped his spike through Soundwave’s lips. The other mech’s optics widened, first flashing bright red and then off-lining as he eagerly accepted the long piece of metal deep into his mouth, running his glossa up the length of it.
Oh slag.
He placed his left hand on Soundwave’s helm, holding his head. Warm tendrils of electricity ran up his body as Soundwave licked at him. The thin metal skin of the interface unit was rich with sensors, and every little touch was amplified. Bluestreak could even feel the brush of air from Soundwave’s ventilation.
Soundwave leaned in close to Bluestreak’s body, orally mapping every ridge and contour of the silver spike. He lingered on a sensory node, hitting it with his glossa again and again until Bluestreak cried out. It felt like liquid fire.
“Yes, there! Right there... do it, don’t stop... do it... Yes!” Bluestreak’s body was overheated. Lubricant was coming from his interface port and dripping down his legs, and the Decepticon’s face was stained with the shimmering fluid as he lapped at the base of his spike. Bluestreak was right on the edge. He was shivering with pleasure and his ventilation was running double time to cool his overworked systems.
Soundwave pulled back for a moment, sucking on just the head of Bluestreak’s spike. He took it gently into his mouth and then pulled his head back again until it was just his lips and the edge of his glossa, teasing it. He stayed there for a long, unbearable moment, and then took the tip into his mouth again, too briefly. Bluestreak felt like he was on the edge of a cliff, waiting, desperate for the little push that would let him fall.
As Soundwave opened his mouth to let in the tip of the spike, Bluestreak gripped his helm firmly and held him in place, pushing his spike into the other mech’s mouth. He pressed forward into the wet heat of Soundwave’s mouth, thrusting forcibly as the blue mech struggled to take him in.
The fingers of his left hand dug into Soundwave’s helm as overload hit him. His right hand gripped the butt of his gun convulsively. Soundwave tried to swallow as interface fluid flowed into his mouth from Bluestreak’s spike. He only succeeded partially; some of it spilled out onto his face. Bluestreak pulled back, standing on shaky feet. After a moment, he closed the panel over his retracting spike and stood, regarding the mech on the floor. Some of the tension had one out of his body. “You can, ah... you can get up now,” he said.
Soundwave got up without speaking, finally letting his hands drop to his sides. The blissful abandon of a few moments ago was gone, but his optics were still on Bluestreak. He seemed unwilling to turn his back on the Autobot. There was still lubricant on his chin.
“Get out of here,” Bluestreak said. His voice was a little cracked, but he was valiantly attempting to regain his composure as quickly as the Decepticon had regained his. “Go back to the lab, or wherever the slag you’re supposed to be, because I know it isn’t here.” He gestured at the door to the storage room. Soundwave bent down to pick up his facemask, still watching Bluestreak’s optics. He made as if to leave, but Bluestreak called out to him.
“Don’t tell anyone about this. This is just between you and me, got it? I know Megatron doesn’t want to hear it any more than Prime does, and if you have the sense Primus gave a bolt-bat, you’ll oblige them.”
Soundwave turned back to him and took two steps to bring them face to face. They were almost touching. A small smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “CONCERN: UNECESSARY,” he said. Then he embraced Bluestreak and kissed him, too quickly for him to protest. The Autobot struggled in his arms. Soundwave let go a moment later. Bluestreak pulled away violently. Still smirking, Soundwave turned to go, clicking his mask into place as he walked out the door.
Left alone in the storage room, Bluestreak wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. He would wait a few astroseconds. He didn’t want to be seen leaving with the Decepticon.
Author: eaten_by_bears
Pairing: Bluestreak/Soundwave
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dub-Con
Disclaimer: The Transformers belong to Hasbro. Not to me. I’m just playing around.
Pairing wanted: Bluestreak/Soundwave
Universe: G1
Rating wanted: R or NC17
Three things you want in your fic: dominant Bluestreak, gun kink, no character death
Three things you DON'T want in your fic: cassettes as part of the kink, character death, fluff
It was an uneasy truce. Mechs stalked the halls of the Ark tensely, ready to reach for their weapons at the first sign of trouble, both sides expecting an attack, both sides expecting betrayal. But what appeared to be a massive-scale virus was attacking some of Cybertron’s most central programming, and nobody wanted that, Autobot or Decepticon. And the Decepticons couldn’t fix it on their own. So, as a last resort, this prickly, temporary peace had been declared, and a crew of Decepticons had been allowed into the Ark to pool their knowledge with the Autobot scientists, after being disarmed to the best of Red Alert’s considerable ability. Which is why, when Bluestreak saw Soundwave scanning a row of boxes in the storage room, he didn’t fry the slagger on sight.
“What are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be in the lab, or did you decide to try a little espionage while you’re in the neighborhood?” Bluestreak’s pistol was drawn, and pointed in Soundwave’s direction. The cannons on his shoulders were more powerful, but the pistol was more accurate at close range. He didn’t want any mistakes.
Soundwave turned to face him calmly. His body was relaxed, and the expression in his visored optics was neutral. “NEGATIVE. CURRENT OPERATIONS: NECESSARY.” He then returned to his work.
Like that settles it! Bluestreak thought, Like he doesn’t need to justify himself to me. Like I’m supposed to just waltz out and let him finish whatever end of the world scheme he’s working on now. “Necessary, is it? Well, how about we take a little trip to the security center, and Prowl can tell me exactly how necessary it is for you to walk around the base without an escort. Come on, let’s go.” Bluestreak gestured to the door of the room, but Soundwave remained where he was, regarding the Autobot coolly.
“CURRENT OPERATIONS: NECESSARY. REQUEST: DENIED.” Soundwave was the absolute picture of a certain type of Decepticon arrogance. Aloof, unemotional, completely indifferent, the sort of mech who could commit torture without blinking. It made Bluestreak’s skin crawl.
“All right, you son of an eight-track. On the floor. Now!” Bluestreak advanced on him, gun at the ready.
“NEGATI-”
There was a loud clang, and Soundwave broke off abruptly. Bluestreak had slapped him across the face. He stood as though frozen for a second, regarding the Autobot sharpshooter with a new light in his optics, paying attention to him properly for the first time. His gaze was intense, but if Bluestreak was unnerved, he wasn’t showing it. “Get on the floor. On your knees.”
Soundwave obeyed him cautiously. Bluestreak stalked closer to him, until they were almost touching. His gun was trained carefully on the other mech, and his hands were as still as the dead. “Hands behind your head.”
Soundwave didn’t move.
“Do it!”
Slowly, he placed his hands behind his head. White arms, blue helm, wide, rapt optics. Kneeling at Bluestreak’s feet, fixed to the spot, the Decepticon was completely helpless. Bluestreak was tempted to kill him. It feels wrong somehow, to have them here, to have them so close, just letting them walk around like they haven’t killed our friends. And it would be so easy. He’s right here. It’s so easy.
But then there’s the truce. Cybertron. Optimus Prime.
Slag.
All this time, Bluestreak had his gun in Soundwave’s face. His hand twitched, and Soundwave followed the movement. What’s he doing? Bluestreak moved the gun slowly to the left and right, tiny motions. Soundwave continued to follow it. Then Bluestreak moved it forward. Soundwave moved his head forward to meet it. His face was almost touching the barrel. And he stayed there, waiting. Bluestreak brought the gun lower, pressing it hard into the juncture of Soundwave’s neck and shoulder.
The laser pistol was a powerful, deadly weapon, but Soundwave leaned into it, nuzzling it like a friend. Bluestreak ran the muzzle slowly up Soundwave’s neck, pausing at the corner of his facemask and tracing the edge of his jaw. Soundwave tilted his head up to allow the caress, ventilation coming shallow and fast. You’d almost think he was enjoying this. Bluestreak paused for a moment. I wonder if he is. It was a troubling thought, for a few reasons.
Well, one way to find out.
“Take it off,” Bluestreak said roughly, gesturing with the barrel of his gun.
Soundwave looked up at him, head tilted, optics questioning. “CLARIFICATION REQUESTED.”
“Your mask, Decepticreep. Take it off!”
Soundwave hesitated for a second, but the gun was still on him. Carefully, he reached up to his face. The mask came away with a click, revealing the handsome gray face beneath. Bluestreak’s optics widened. I didn’t think he’d look so normal under there. With a mouth and all. It’s almost like a different mech. So that’s what he’s been hiding under that mask. Good Primus, he even has an expression! He almost looks... shy.
“Put it on the floor. Slowly! I’m not having you start anything. Any trouble and you’re particles. Over there.” He indicated the place with a jerk of his head, but his weapon didn’t waver. Soundwave laid the mask on the floor at his side, never breaking eye contact, making a visible effort to avoid any sudden movements. His mouth was tense, optics worried. He placed his hand back behind his head and awaited Bluestreak’s instructions, the gun still pointed at his face, almost in contact.
Lightly, briefly, Bluestreak touched the tip to Soundwave’s naked lips. The cassette deck shuddered, in fear or something else. What does he think he’s playing at? Is this some kind of a put-on? Lure me in with that take-me-now face and then... then...
And then what? In the spirit of scientific inquiry, he put the tip of his gun to Soundwave’s lips again, pressing down. Diffidently, Soundwave kissed the gun, his lips closed against it. So innocent. Like you’d kiss your creator at bedtime. Bluestreak almost started in shock, but Soundwave didn’t see. He ducked his head, turning to the side, trying to break Bluestreak’s gaze.
“Oh, no. Optics on me, pal. No looking away.” The gun was at his cheek again, guiding him back into position. It was almost gentle, like someone’s hand. It could almost be mistaken for persuasion instead of lethal threat. Bluestreak wasn’t about to grant him the consolation of privacy. Whatever happened here, Soundwave wasn’t going to retreat into an illusion of invisibility. He was being watched, and Bluestreak wouldn’t let him forget it. His faceplates flushed hot.
Soundwave was facing forward again. Facing Bluestreak, who was starting to feel uncomfortably aroused. “Can’t have you turning away. All the action’s right up here. Now, let’s try this again.” He brushed the weapon against Soundwave’s lips, coaxing. The other mech responded to the light, glancing touch, raptly pressing soft kisses against the opening of the gun. Bluestreak pulled it away a few micro-units, watching Soundwave follow it with his lips. When he moved it forward again the blue mech greeted it with grateful attention, rubbing against it almost like a cybercat.
“You like this, don’t you? You’re actually enjoying this.” Soundwave tried to turn away again, but the gun was at his neck, forcing him back. “That was a question, pal. I want an answer. Do you like this?”
Soundwave struggled to speak. His whole body was taut with emotion. “AFFIRMATIVE,” he said. It was thrilling, in a way, to watch his lips form the word. It was almost indecent. And this time, when the gun was put to his face, he opened his lips. He took it in his mouth and sucked it with unguarded desperation, murmuring, “AFIRMATIVE,” against the hot metal.
Bluestreak’s ventilation caught in his throat. His optics widened and he felt the heat pool in his interface spike. “Not so chill now, are you, tough guy? Not so calm. Down on the floor with your mask off, sucking on an Autobot’s weapon. With you mouth all... with your mouth...” He tried to cover for his growing arousal with words, but the rising edge of anxiety in his voice showed through. Had Soundwave been in any position to process rationally, he would have seen through the flimsy bravado in an astrosecond.
As his words trailed off, Bluestreak moved his left hand to touch the panel between his legs. His optics were fixed on the mech on the ground as he suckled on the laser pistol, and his thoughts were racing.
This is a bad idea. This is insane. He’s a Decepticon. I need to stop this right now. He opened his panel, stroking the emerging spike.
I can still stop this. Nothing’s happened yet. I found him snooping around, I pulled my gun on him, and he started slobbering on it. That’s all. I can still stop. He withdrew the gun, and Soundwave gave a soft, musical whimper of disappointment. He looked up at Bluestreak expectantly, hands still securely behind his head. Bluestreak paused for a moment, holding his spike in his left hand and the pistol in his right.
All I need to do is close my panel and take this Decepticon pervert to the brig. Then it’ll be over. Then... Wordlessly, he slipped his spike through Soundwave’s lips. The other mech’s optics widened, first flashing bright red and then off-lining as he eagerly accepted the long piece of metal deep into his mouth, running his glossa up the length of it.
Oh slag.
He placed his left hand on Soundwave’s helm, holding his head. Warm tendrils of electricity ran up his body as Soundwave licked at him. The thin metal skin of the interface unit was rich with sensors, and every little touch was amplified. Bluestreak could even feel the brush of air from Soundwave’s ventilation.
Soundwave leaned in close to Bluestreak’s body, orally mapping every ridge and contour of the silver spike. He lingered on a sensory node, hitting it with his glossa again and again until Bluestreak cried out. It felt like liquid fire.
“Yes, there! Right there... do it, don’t stop... do it... Yes!” Bluestreak’s body was overheated. Lubricant was coming from his interface port and dripping down his legs, and the Decepticon’s face was stained with the shimmering fluid as he lapped at the base of his spike. Bluestreak was right on the edge. He was shivering with pleasure and his ventilation was running double time to cool his overworked systems.
Soundwave pulled back for a moment, sucking on just the head of Bluestreak’s spike. He took it gently into his mouth and then pulled his head back again until it was just his lips and the edge of his glossa, teasing it. He stayed there for a long, unbearable moment, and then took the tip into his mouth again, too briefly. Bluestreak felt like he was on the edge of a cliff, waiting, desperate for the little push that would let him fall.
As Soundwave opened his mouth to let in the tip of the spike, Bluestreak gripped his helm firmly and held him in place, pushing his spike into the other mech’s mouth. He pressed forward into the wet heat of Soundwave’s mouth, thrusting forcibly as the blue mech struggled to take him in.
The fingers of his left hand dug into Soundwave’s helm as overload hit him. His right hand gripped the butt of his gun convulsively. Soundwave tried to swallow as interface fluid flowed into his mouth from Bluestreak’s spike. He only succeeded partially; some of it spilled out onto his face. Bluestreak pulled back, standing on shaky feet. After a moment, he closed the panel over his retracting spike and stood, regarding the mech on the floor. Some of the tension had one out of his body. “You can, ah... you can get up now,” he said.
Soundwave got up without speaking, finally letting his hands drop to his sides. The blissful abandon of a few moments ago was gone, but his optics were still on Bluestreak. He seemed unwilling to turn his back on the Autobot. There was still lubricant on his chin.
“Get out of here,” Bluestreak said. His voice was a little cracked, but he was valiantly attempting to regain his composure as quickly as the Decepticon had regained his. “Go back to the lab, or wherever the slag you’re supposed to be, because I know it isn’t here.” He gestured at the door to the storage room. Soundwave bent down to pick up his facemask, still watching Bluestreak’s optics. He made as if to leave, but Bluestreak called out to him.
“Don’t tell anyone about this. This is just between you and me, got it? I know Megatron doesn’t want to hear it any more than Prime does, and if you have the sense Primus gave a bolt-bat, you’ll oblige them.”
Soundwave turned back to him and took two steps to bring them face to face. They were almost touching. A small smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “CONCERN: UNECESSARY,” he said. Then he embraced Bluestreak and kissed him, too quickly for him to protest. The Autobot struggled in his arms. Soundwave let go a moment later. Bluestreak pulled away violently. Still smirking, Soundwave turned to go, clicking his mask into place as he walked out the door.
Left alone in the storage room, Bluestreak wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. He would wait a few astroseconds. He didn’t want to be seen leaving with the Decepticon.