Elita 1/Chromia
Title: Piercing
Author:
Rating: R
Warnings: PnP, femmeslash
Disclaimer: All characters copyright HasTak
Prompt: Pairing/threesome/orgy Wanted: Elita 1/Chromia
Continuity wanted: G1
Three things wanted in story: hurt/comfort, camaraderie, sex
Three things you don't want to see in story: rape, Optimus, unhappy ending
Elita didn’t laugh as the last of the sentry drones was shot down by Moonracer - gloating wasn’t in her programming. Since Shockwave had learned of her team’s continued existence, his effort to wipe such an anomaly from the surface of their world had reached a state of vicious equilibrium. Even with small shipments of energon via space bridge from Earth, Shockwave only had so much in the way of resources - though Elita’s unit had even less - but he wanted the female Autobots deactivated with an intensity that bordered obsession.
Aw, slag, came a transmission from Firestar. Chromia pulled out her big gun again, Lita. They had gotten separated during the running battle, and their comms were scrambled in a manner that even they themselves could not trace, but Elita knew none of them would have let themselves be drawn too far from the others, and she knew also the ways in which Chromia fought, and how her second in command used the terrain to her advantage.
Oh dear. I take it this time she was part of the collateral damage?
Yeah. Warned her about that a million times…
Didn’t hear you complaining when I peeled Deadzone off your aft with it, Chromia cut in irritably. Come on, Firestar, it’s only a little shrapnel.
Only…? Uh, Lita, I’m gonna need your help with this. It wasn’t like Firestar to admit to requiring assistance in matters of physical strength. Elita’s jog became a sprint, Moonracer at her heels.
They rounded the edge of a collapsed building and skidded to a halt. Firestar had one foot braced next to Chromia’s side, pulling without success at the huge spar of metal that had pinned Chromia to the side of an ancient fallen guardian. Moonracer gaped. Shaking her head in fond resignation, Elita grasped the spar on the opposite side from Firestar. Together, with a hideous grinding and squealing of metal, they pulled it free.
Chromia staggered away from the guardian, but kept her feet as Firestar and Elita dropped the spar and caught her. Firestar ran a quick scan.
“I swear, Chromia,” Firestar chuckled, shaking her head. “You have Primus’ own luck.” She stood and retracted her scanner. Repairs could wait until they’d gained the safety of their base.
The spar had a blunt enough tip that it had pushed its way through Chromia’s plating, bending armor and cable and wiring aside, rather than severing; so while the resultant hole looked awful and hurt like slag, it hadn’t done any serious damage. Moonracer slipped her hand all the way through from behind, wriggling her fingers on the other side until Chromia grabbed her wrist and yanked, taking a broad step forward to drag the smaller sniper off her feet.
“Hey!” Moonracer yelped, flailing until she caught herself on Chromia’s sturdy back.
“Hey yourself,” Chromia grumbled. “It’s rude to stick things in people without asking.”
“Maybe,” Firestar said thoughtfully. “But that gap would make attaching a towline really convenient…” She ducked Chromia’s swing with the offhand ease of long practice.
“Let’s get these components back home,” Elita said, reminding them why they were out there, and that they weren’t safe yet. “Chromia, can you transform?”
“I think so.” After an aborted first try, and a screech of metal on metal that made them all cringe, Chromia got herself onto four wheels.
= + = + =
Once they were secure in their base, however, they found their other team had been less fortunate. Magnesia and Catalyst had been outnumbered, barely escaping with their prize of rare element ingots.
“I’m fine,” Chromia said, and Firestar pressed her helm to Chromia’s before rushing Catalyst off to the repair bay.
Knowing her second well, Elita kept her arm tightly about Chromia’s back, above the gaping hole, and helped her down the corridor to Chromia’s quarters. They backed up until the edge of the recharge berth touched their legs. “Ready?” Elita asked quietly, leaping onto the berth, putting her back to the wall.
“Yeah.”
Elita hauled Chromia up in one smooth motion, settling the injured bot into her lap. Chromia stiffened during the transfer, grinding her denta, but refused to cry out, letting her helm fall against Elita’s shoulder as she came to rest. “Distract me, will you?”
“I thought so,” Elita murmured, nuzzling Chromia’s audial. She hummed ancient tonal poetry, which Chromia, practical bot that she was, didn’t understand, but the low harmonies weaving through Elita’s remarkable voice were soothing as they were meant to be. Elita could weave worlds with her voice, or stop time, creating a small, still place where they weren’t constantly battered, haggard with thirst, their resolve sometimes corroded by niggling fears. She was their hub, their anchor, no matter how wildly the solar winds of war swung them.
She was also nibbling rather enticingly on Chromia’s neck cables.
Chromia turned her head, glad their lissome forms made kissing easier than it was for bulkier mechs. She wanted to push Elita down on the berth, rub their ankles together, play with the elaborate projections on Elita’s helm that no matter how often explored, always held some new fascination in their fractal complexity.
“Be still,” Elita whispered, tracing the hard, resistant lines of Chromia’s chest plates. “Let me.”
“But…”
“Hush. I think I’m going to enjoy this, watching you overload first for once.” She kissed along the edge of Chromia’s jaw.
“Like slag you will.” Chromia tried to grope for the backs of Elita’s knees, but Elita held her fast against her chassis.
“Such language, in front of your superior officer. Really. How shall I punish you?” There was a plexus of wires, normally something Elita had to maneuver and dig for, now exposed and vulnerable. With a single delicate phalanx, she stroked it, not touching the edges of the gaping rent. Chromia’s mouth opened, her optics flickering.
“Mmmm-Ow, slag!”
I told you to hold still, you stubborn old thing. And then, more kindly, Do you want me to disconnect your motor centers? Elita wasn’t technically a medic, but each individual of her small team over the millennia had been forced to learn things beyond their programming. She would need to help Firestar with Chromia’s repairs later, being the only one strong enough to unbend Chromia’s armor.
“Nnn, no.”
“Are you certain?” Elita drew her hands up Chromia’s arms slowly, fingertips mapping every seam, brushing the wheels, drawing circles over the joints where sensory wires ran close to the surface and armor was thin. Up and in, to the small, sensitive hollows beneath heavy plating where arms joined torso, and the deceptively fragile-seeming angle of neck and shoulder. From the sparking of the exposed wires, and the thrum of her engine, Elita knew how much Chromia was enjoying the detailing.
“Quite.” Chromia had finally settled into the game, not entirely able to keep a smug grin from flitting across her lip components.
“I see.” Slipping a data cable into a port in Chromia’s helm, Elita closed her optics. Chromia had obviously been giving her energon rations to Moonracer again. Letting yourself run this low endangers us.
I’m sorry. Can’t help it. The little squirt’s too valuable; too good a shot…
So are you. Elita unlimbered a power conduit and had it plugged in before Chromia realized what she was doing.
“Don’t you dare deplete yourself just to salvage me,” Chromia growled, squirming, reaching for the conduit.
Elita intercepted the motion and entwined their fingers, humming in satisfaction. She kept the flow measured and even, gradually stopping once Chromia wasn’t in any danger of immediate shutdown. “You are in no position to protest.” Freeing one hand, she tipped Chromia’s chin up and to the side, bringing her mouth within kissing distance.
“Cheater,” Chromia gasped, as Elita’s other hand went for the exposed plexus of nerve-wires again. Flush with Elita’s fuel, everything came into sharp focus, pleasure and pain. Through the cable, Elita felt everything, redoubling the sensation, stroking the exposed wires, gentle, steady, while Chromia tried to relax, tried to ignore the way her engine temperature was rising. If she could hold out, Lita - though built with a curious strength - was yet more sensitive, keener in her appreciation of sweet caresses and the love behind them. She nearly always overloaded first, and then Chromia could follow her into the blaze of delicious static and darkness.
“It’s not cheating that I know your body almost as well as my own,” Elita purred. Her fingers moved faster on the wire plexus, her other hand straying to the junction of Chromia’s chest and ventral armor on the other side, delving to reach the same wire bundle there.
“Not…what you know. How you…ohhhh…use…it…” She must not squirm, no matter how the energy bloomed across her plating. Then Elita was kissing her, three points defining a plane, their fields intersecting, rising, blue sparks quivering at the points of their armor until their systems could hold no more and all the firewalls came crashing down. And Elita, who did not gloat, laughed softly as they fell offline.
= + = + =
When Chromia came online, the hole through her flank was repaired. But Firestar had bolted on a hitch and tow cable.
Author:
Rating: R
Warnings: PnP, femmeslash
Disclaimer: All characters copyright HasTak
Prompt: Pairing/threesome/orgy Wanted: Elita 1/Chromia
Continuity wanted: G1
Three things wanted in story: hurt/comfort, camaraderie, sex
Three things you don't want to see in story: rape, Optimus, unhappy ending
Elita didn’t laugh as the last of the sentry drones was shot down by Moonracer - gloating wasn’t in her programming. Since Shockwave had learned of her team’s continued existence, his effort to wipe such an anomaly from the surface of their world had reached a state of vicious equilibrium. Even with small shipments of energon via space bridge from Earth, Shockwave only had so much in the way of resources - though Elita’s unit had even less - but he wanted the female Autobots deactivated with an intensity that bordered obsession.
Aw, slag, came a transmission from Firestar. Chromia pulled out her big gun again, Lita. They had gotten separated during the running battle, and their comms were scrambled in a manner that even they themselves could not trace, but Elita knew none of them would have let themselves be drawn too far from the others, and she knew also the ways in which Chromia fought, and how her second in command used the terrain to her advantage.
Oh dear. I take it this time she was part of the collateral damage?
Yeah. Warned her about that a million times…
Didn’t hear you complaining when I peeled Deadzone off your aft with it, Chromia cut in irritably. Come on, Firestar, it’s only a little shrapnel.
Only…? Uh, Lita, I’m gonna need your help with this. It wasn’t like Firestar to admit to requiring assistance in matters of physical strength. Elita’s jog became a sprint, Moonracer at her heels.
They rounded the edge of a collapsed building and skidded to a halt. Firestar had one foot braced next to Chromia’s side, pulling without success at the huge spar of metal that had pinned Chromia to the side of an ancient fallen guardian. Moonracer gaped. Shaking her head in fond resignation, Elita grasped the spar on the opposite side from Firestar. Together, with a hideous grinding and squealing of metal, they pulled it free.
Chromia staggered away from the guardian, but kept her feet as Firestar and Elita dropped the spar and caught her. Firestar ran a quick scan.
“I swear, Chromia,” Firestar chuckled, shaking her head. “You have Primus’ own luck.” She stood and retracted her scanner. Repairs could wait until they’d gained the safety of their base.
The spar had a blunt enough tip that it had pushed its way through Chromia’s plating, bending armor and cable and wiring aside, rather than severing; so while the resultant hole looked awful and hurt like slag, it hadn’t done any serious damage. Moonracer slipped her hand all the way through from behind, wriggling her fingers on the other side until Chromia grabbed her wrist and yanked, taking a broad step forward to drag the smaller sniper off her feet.
“Hey!” Moonracer yelped, flailing until she caught herself on Chromia’s sturdy back.
“Hey yourself,” Chromia grumbled. “It’s rude to stick things in people without asking.”
“Maybe,” Firestar said thoughtfully. “But that gap would make attaching a towline really convenient…” She ducked Chromia’s swing with the offhand ease of long practice.
“Let’s get these components back home,” Elita said, reminding them why they were out there, and that they weren’t safe yet. “Chromia, can you transform?”
“I think so.” After an aborted first try, and a screech of metal on metal that made them all cringe, Chromia got herself onto four wheels.
= + = + =
Once they were secure in their base, however, they found their other team had been less fortunate. Magnesia and Catalyst had been outnumbered, barely escaping with their prize of rare element ingots.
“I’m fine,” Chromia said, and Firestar pressed her helm to Chromia’s before rushing Catalyst off to the repair bay.
Knowing her second well, Elita kept her arm tightly about Chromia’s back, above the gaping hole, and helped her down the corridor to Chromia’s quarters. They backed up until the edge of the recharge berth touched their legs. “Ready?” Elita asked quietly, leaping onto the berth, putting her back to the wall.
“Yeah.”
Elita hauled Chromia up in one smooth motion, settling the injured bot into her lap. Chromia stiffened during the transfer, grinding her denta, but refused to cry out, letting her helm fall against Elita’s shoulder as she came to rest. “Distract me, will you?”
“I thought so,” Elita murmured, nuzzling Chromia’s audial. She hummed ancient tonal poetry, which Chromia, practical bot that she was, didn’t understand, but the low harmonies weaving through Elita’s remarkable voice were soothing as they were meant to be. Elita could weave worlds with her voice, or stop time, creating a small, still place where they weren’t constantly battered, haggard with thirst, their resolve sometimes corroded by niggling fears. She was their hub, their anchor, no matter how wildly the solar winds of war swung them.
She was also nibbling rather enticingly on Chromia’s neck cables.
Chromia turned her head, glad their lissome forms made kissing easier than it was for bulkier mechs. She wanted to push Elita down on the berth, rub their ankles together, play with the elaborate projections on Elita’s helm that no matter how often explored, always held some new fascination in their fractal complexity.
“Be still,” Elita whispered, tracing the hard, resistant lines of Chromia’s chest plates. “Let me.”
“But…”
“Hush. I think I’m going to enjoy this, watching you overload first for once.” She kissed along the edge of Chromia’s jaw.
“Like slag you will.” Chromia tried to grope for the backs of Elita’s knees, but Elita held her fast against her chassis.
“Such language, in front of your superior officer. Really. How shall I punish you?” There was a plexus of wires, normally something Elita had to maneuver and dig for, now exposed and vulnerable. With a single delicate phalanx, she stroked it, not touching the edges of the gaping rent. Chromia’s mouth opened, her optics flickering.
“Mmmm-Ow, slag!”
I told you to hold still, you stubborn old thing. And then, more kindly, Do you want me to disconnect your motor centers? Elita wasn’t technically a medic, but each individual of her small team over the millennia had been forced to learn things beyond their programming. She would need to help Firestar with Chromia’s repairs later, being the only one strong enough to unbend Chromia’s armor.
“Nnn, no.”
“Are you certain?” Elita drew her hands up Chromia’s arms slowly, fingertips mapping every seam, brushing the wheels, drawing circles over the joints where sensory wires ran close to the surface and armor was thin. Up and in, to the small, sensitive hollows beneath heavy plating where arms joined torso, and the deceptively fragile-seeming angle of neck and shoulder. From the sparking of the exposed wires, and the thrum of her engine, Elita knew how much Chromia was enjoying the detailing.
“Quite.” Chromia had finally settled into the game, not entirely able to keep a smug grin from flitting across her lip components.
“I see.” Slipping a data cable into a port in Chromia’s helm, Elita closed her optics. Chromia had obviously been giving her energon rations to Moonracer again. Letting yourself run this low endangers us.
I’m sorry. Can’t help it. The little squirt’s too valuable; too good a shot…
So are you. Elita unlimbered a power conduit and had it plugged in before Chromia realized what she was doing.
“Don’t you dare deplete yourself just to salvage me,” Chromia growled, squirming, reaching for the conduit.
Elita intercepted the motion and entwined their fingers, humming in satisfaction. She kept the flow measured and even, gradually stopping once Chromia wasn’t in any danger of immediate shutdown. “You are in no position to protest.” Freeing one hand, she tipped Chromia’s chin up and to the side, bringing her mouth within kissing distance.
“Cheater,” Chromia gasped, as Elita’s other hand went for the exposed plexus of nerve-wires again. Flush with Elita’s fuel, everything came into sharp focus, pleasure and pain. Through the cable, Elita felt everything, redoubling the sensation, stroking the exposed wires, gentle, steady, while Chromia tried to relax, tried to ignore the way her engine temperature was rising. If she could hold out, Lita - though built with a curious strength - was yet more sensitive, keener in her appreciation of sweet caresses and the love behind them. She nearly always overloaded first, and then Chromia could follow her into the blaze of delicious static and darkness.
“It’s not cheating that I know your body almost as well as my own,” Elita purred. Her fingers moved faster on the wire plexus, her other hand straying to the junction of Chromia’s chest and ventral armor on the other side, delving to reach the same wire bundle there.
“Not…what you know. How you…ohhhh…use…it…” She must not squirm, no matter how the energy bloomed across her plating. Then Elita was kissing her, three points defining a plane, their fields intersecting, rising, blue sparks quivering at the points of their armor until their systems could hold no more and all the firewalls came crashing down. And Elita, who did not gloat, laughed softly as they fell offline.
= + = + =
When Chromia came online, the hole through her flank was repaired. But Firestar had bolted on a hitch and tow cable.