Sticky Response pt2
This post is closed to new stories! Head over to Pt 5!
Stories that were started here continue here.
FIC: Continuity - Title (optional) - Characters - brief Kink (please include the entire thing on every part you post and for every comment!) and put Ch# or Pt# at the end. Note any major squicks or kinks in the header as a courtesy to the ( Read more... )
Stories that were started here continue here.
FIC: Continuity - Title (optional) - Characters - brief Kink (please include the entire thing on every part you post and for every comment!) and put Ch# or Pt# at the end. Note any major squicks or kinks in the header as a courtesy to the ( Read more... )
OP: "In a lot of stories, the Decepticons are all kinky and uninhibited, and the Autobots are uptight and repressed. What if it’s the other way around? Free love Autobots decide to convert the prudish and conservative Decepticons to their Make Love, Not War way of thinking!
I'm imagining Optimus and Beachcomber as the resident Autobot love gurus, but all the 'Bots are enthusiastic and experienced interfacers. The Decepticons, on the other hand, are deeply repressed and kind of fear intimacy. Dub-con on the Decepticons' part, orgy, toys and possibly some kind of Tantric-style sexual rituals from the Autobots.
Bonus if Optimus teaches Megatron and maybe Soundwave about the Joy of Sex. (Starscream already knows).
Sticky, P'n'p, or combo is fine.
(it's my first time, so please be gentle) I hope I did it right."
Me: Posting what I have A( so I can be sure I'm going along with what the OP asked for, and B( because like all fanfictioners, I thrive on good comments. Not to mention a nice, clean response thread is just waiting for me.
Captcha: "courteous about" How fitting.
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Bumblebee made a soft noise from the multi-mech chair. It was so quiet, Laserbeak hadn't felt the need to register it. Hadn't, at least, until every occupant of the rec room suddenly sat up straight in their seats and turned their head. Alarmed, Laserbeak focused in on the noise, shifting through the rocks to see the yellow mech.
Situated right beside the main entrance, the multi-mech chair was big enough for four full-sized Autobots to sit hip-to-hip. The two Minibots, Beachcomber and Bumblebee, had room to spare, with Bumblebee sprawled out on his side and Beachcomber reclining on his hip. The yellow Minibot was... making noises, somewhere between laughing and hiccuping for air, while Beachcomber wa-
Laserbeak nearly squawked, offlining his optics before remembering Megatron would punish him for neglecting his duties. Bracing himself, he set his optic recorders to focus on Beachcomber's hand...
Which was stroking Bumblebee's inner thigh, scandalously close to his interface cover.
“C'mon, Comber, don't hold the party outside unless you want visitors,” called Sideswipe, voice a confusing mix of reprimanding and eager.
“I dunno. I kinda like walk-ins,” replied Beachcomber. “What do you think, Bee?”
“A-a lap would be nice...”
Hands shot up all over the rec room, followed by near simultaneous calls of “Dibs!” Several of the larger mechs began to shove each other, vying for the space, while the smaller ones simply inched closer.
Laserbeak felt the disgust almost as if it were tangible, bubbling up from his fuel tanks like an oil leak. The Autobots were simply going to- they were simply claiming the little one, like he was an extra oil cake- the other little one was offering to share him, what-
Through some strange, unspoken agreement, Hound took the spot on the multi-mech chair, placing Bumblebee's head in his lap. The other Autobots groaned and complained, but...
Laserbeak reset his optics a few times. They simply took their seats, most of them turning away and resuming their refueling. Even Hound reclined in the multi-mech chair as if this were an afternoon visit, rubbing Bumblebee's head while Beachcomber continued to paw at his legs.
This was... a weird day, Laserbeak figured, and weird wasn't a word he often used. Megatron would, at the very least, be confused by the report and most likely not reprimand him. Perhaps he would be rewarded for finding a relationship to exploit.
All was well, and then Beachcomber stuck his fingers in Bumblebee's port.
&&&
“Turn this- this pornography off immediately!”
Laserbeak barely managed to turn off the video feed before Megatron's hand came crashing down beside him. He jumped more than he flew into Soundwave's chest compartment, feeling his master's own shock and revulsion washing over him as his connection was made.
The rest of the Decepticons weren't doing well, either, half of them shocked into silence and the rest of them shocked into the exact opposite. Starscream was probably the most verbose about it, shouting one long, ending sentence about the Autobots and their disgusting personal habits, about mass orgies and indeterminate relationships, about how disgusting interfacing was on a basic level, anything that came to mind. Others lacking that much processing power, Motormaster and Thrust and the like, were simply repeating “EW EW EW OH THAT'S DISGUSTING EW”.
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Soundwave held up his hands, placating Megatron and speaking for Laserbeak. “Footage: inevitable. Autobot mentality: fundamentally flawed.”
“- and he just stuck his fingers in!” shouted Starscream. All optics snapped to him, and the Seeker jumped. “You saw it! Does the yellow one even know where that hand has been?!”
Megatron made a disapproving noise, clamping his hand over Starscream's mouth as the Seeker began his tirade anew. “This only proves that the Decepticons are the last hope for Cybertron. Do you want to see our glorious planet fall into the hands of these... these...”
Somewhere in the back, Breakdown ventured a guess. “Sluts?”
“Exactly!” Megatron grinned, and Breakdown suffered a small processor freeze-up as a result. “This is the inherent Autobot weakness; their willingness and desperation to intercourse with anything that breathes.”
Something within Megatron clicked, and the warlord grinned wider. The smaller Decepticons began to shiver automatically.
“And perhaps... we can use that.” Megatron turned to Soundwave, addressing Laserbeak. “Your surveillance might become useful after all, Laserbeak. Return to the Autobot base! We must acquire a target.”
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(EEEEEEEE!!! someone picked up my very first post!)
ahem.
I particularly enjoyed Breakdown's line about the Autobots being sluts.
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This is the funniest and hottest fill I've had the pleasure of reading so far!
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Their mission was simple enough. They were to find two Autobots, one preferably of a high rank, and kidnap the less important partner to torture as they pleased. The other Autobot would panic, leading to “Plan A: Kill Autobot on Rescue Mission”. In the event the Autobot simply leaped into the berth of another, they would initiate “Plan B: Release Brainwashed Autobot”, who would return to the base unsure and hostile, breaking the cohesion of the Autobot ranks and causing their army to crumble.
Starscream didn't like either plan (they were both Megatron's ideas), calling them cliched and a bit too much like an overrated romance document file to be truly effective. Nonetheless, Laserbeak had collected a good 84 hours worth of footage over the last week for Starscream to slog through, and his state upon returning promised that the footage was going to be... shameful. He felt oddly excited about it, and started the footage from the beginning.
“... the frag is this?” asked Thundercracker.
Several bots, all in various states of disrepair and waiting in line for the medbay, were trying to move their fists in an orbit around each other. Wheeljack seemed to be the best at it, embellishing his fist-orbiting by rocking side to side and bobbing his head. Jazz was doing the worst, considering he was missing his lower left arm.
“No, no, guys, look, you're making your circles too big, look,” Wheeljack repeated his fist orbit slower. “Tiny circles, like this.”
Skywarp spoke slowly, being careful with his words. “I think they're trying to dance.”
“What? No. That's idiotic,” Starscream snapped.
Wheeljack was quickly called into the medbay, followed by a chorus of groans.
“Wish I could move like that,” Smokescreen remarked. “I can't even bob my head like him.”
“It's easy, man, all you gotta do is practice,” said Jazz, leaning against Smokescreen's good shoulder.
Smokescreen chuckled deep in his throat. “Is that an invitation?”
“Is if you want it to be, baby,” Jazz purred right back.
Skywarp hissed. “Eeew...”
“Y'all don't pull this while mah cord's broken,” Inferno groused. “Ah'm in a tense enough mood as it is.”
“Poor Infy.” Smokescreen crossed his legs dramatically. “We'll just have to give your port a little attention, won't w-”
“NO INTERFACING IN THE WAITING HALL,” Ratchet shouted.
The Autobots collectively groaned again, and the conversation lapsed into silence.
“Autobots are weird,” said Thundercracker.
Starscream hit the “fast forward” button, taking in the blips in the recording where Laserbeak switched to another area. He saw three blips in all, skipping scenes of the Autobots eating again, playing some human game with the Dinobots, and getting Hound out of a mud hole. He happened to stop right on a blip, the screen registering static before becoming Optimus Prime vigorously taking Jazz against a wall.
The three Seekers yelped and covered their eyes, instead having their audio receivers bombarded by Prime's deep-throated moans and Jazz's pleads to go faster.
Only Starscream willed himself to look properly, taking note (far too quickly for his taste) of the wet sheen around Jazz and Optimus' thighs.
“Ew!”
Apparently Starsceram wasn't the only one who was looking, as Skywarp struck Starscream's right shoulder vent and shouted, “What are you doing, you pervert?!”
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“Not really,” Thundercracker chimed in- Primus Almighty, was he watching too?! Starscream didn't know whether to feel disgusted or relieved that they were all gawking alongside him. It leaned in a third direction, decidedly awkward, as Prime pushed deeper into Jazz.
Swallowing a hot breath, Starscream continued, “Well, at any rate, we...” Optimus was picking up Jazz's leg to wrap around his waist. Starscream could feel his words falling away into oblivion as his port began to throb. “We have to- ah...”
“M-maybe we should turn it off,” said Skywarp.
“Yeah, we should. Keep our minds free of Autobot corruption and all that slag,” said Thundercracker.
“Oh yes, certainly. Glad I thought of it,” said Starscream.
None of them moved until Jazz overloaded, the three of them jerking in sympathy with the Autobot. Optimus coughed- no, laughed!- into Jazz's shoulder and pulled the smaller mech closer to him in a strong embrace.
Starscream spoke to himself, the words coming out automatically and without heat. “Blackmail. This is wonderful blackmail.”
Ironhide entered from the right, taking a long glance at Optimus' damp backside. “Prime? What's goin' on?”
With a booming laugh, Optimus let go of Jazz (exposing a still-stiff cord that made all the Seekers twitch again) and grappled Ironhide's shoulders. “Elita found a survivor!”
“What- what?! Where?!”
“On Cybertron, buried in the underlevels!” Ironhide returned the grip, optics growing wide as Optimus spoke. “He just connected through Elita! I felt it through the bond!”
“So you mea-” Ironhide's face went blank for a split second before glowing with joy. “There he is! With Chromia! Prime, our species's gonna make it!”
“We'll have eggs before next month!” Optimus cried, hoisting Ironhide into the air. “I'm so happy!”
Starscream's held fell agains the console, hitting the fast forward button. “What.”
“The Autobots are happy that their mates are getting jacked up by someone they just found under a slab of concrete?” Thundercracker slapped his forehead. “This doesn't make any sense.”
Starscream lifted his head off the button.
Wheeljack pointed his one unoccupied finger at Sparkplug. “Your nipples came out. You owe me a biscuit.”
Starscream put his head back on the button. His port still hurt. “Nothing's going to come of this.”
“What do you mean?” Skywarp looked to the screen, then back at Starscream. “The nipples?”
“No, you slow-clocked bearing-brained idiot.” Starscream lifted his head again, resting his cheek in his palm. “The Autobots are obviously not exclusive enough to have romantic pairs. If we try to kidnap one, no one will care enough to rescue him.”
“Either that or if we get one, then all the Autobots will come after us at once,” Thundercracker added.
“Oh Primus, that's even worse...” Starscream finally took notice of the screen again. The Autobots were trying to use Swoop's beak as a Limbo pole. “And look at this! We are regularly losing to this! Have they no pride? Are we missing something?”
They had to be. Starscream's CPU reeled as if he'd been struck. There had to be some detail he didn't notice, something deeper than he could get through the video feeds. He tuned back in; Mirage was half through the... the limbo round, or something, when Windcharger dove between his legs and licked hard, knocking him off balance. The other Autobots laughed, Mirage included.
Starscream stood. “Thundercracker, Skywarp, I'll be out tomorrow. This requires research.”
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Um... Inferno kinda got punched by Astrotrain at a very specific angle... Red Alert and Smokescreen are majorly pissed, I assure you.
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I had pictured Starscream as a bit more worldly than the other Cons (he used to hang with Skyfire, after all) but this is fun too. I'm quite enjoying the seeker's reactions to the video. Particularly Screech deciding he needed to do more research...
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That's amazing... all the mental pictures this is giving me....
Mmmmm... Delicious. And I like some crack with my porn so I enjoy it all the more
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“I'm going to ask you some questions, Autobot,” snapped Starscream. “Answer them truthfully, or there won't be enough left of you to replace.”
Starscream prided himself on his ability to stay in control of intimidating circumstances. Normally a Minibot wouldn't have been this intimidating, but for some reason he couldn't stop picturing those little hands sliding up his legs and settling between his thighs-
He shook himself and re-aimed his rifle, which had shifted to the left in his daydreaming. “We've been watching you, Autobot. Studying your behavior.”
“That's...” Beachcomber wasn't sure how to respond. That's nice? That's... disturbing? That's okay?
“We can't help but notice the surplus of... relations you have amongst the members of your crew.”
“Relations?” Did Beachcomber have a brother he didn't know about? He had someone kind-of like an uncle who died on Cybertron, but that was even before the war. Confused, Beachcomber relaxed his posture.
Starscream shrunk back as Beachcomber placed his feet together and spread his legs, baring his interfacing panel. All of his carefully rehearsed interrogation dialogue fluttered away, their place taken by unabashed desire. The Seeker stood with his legs tightly together. “We've recorded you having sex with at least six different Autobots!”
Beachcomber didn't move. “And?”
“In one day!”
The little bot turned his head bashfully. “I wasn't feeling good that day.”
Starscream could feel a few fuses popping in shock. “What?!”
“Yeah, it was raining, everyone was gloomy and not really in the mood for a big-”
The ground was swept out from under Beachcomber's feet. Starscream slammed the smaller bot into the wall, keeping him eye-level, and began to scream.
“What is wrong with you Autobots?! Mass orgies, public interfacing, multiple partners! Do you bathe in aprhodisiacs?! Is there some disease that you can only control by interfacing with random bots every 20 astro-seconds?! How do you stand just spreading your legs and lying back for anyone that asks?!”
A few rocks shook down from the ceiling and knocked against Starscream's right optic, knocking him out of his momentary trance. The Seeker blinked and rubbed his optic, watching his self-repair systems fix the hairline fracture in the glass, before turning back to Beachcomber.
The little bastard was smiling. “You're a virgin.”
“Of course I am!”
“For how long?”
Starscream actually choked for a few seconds, stunned by what had to be the stupidest question he'd ever heard. “Since I onlined, rust bucket!”
“So how old are you?”
Stunned into compliance, Starscream thought for a moment. “Old enough, I suppose.”
“To what?”
The Seeker answered automatically, “To know better!”
Beachcomber grinned. This was fun. Really fun. So fun it was heating him up. “Better than what?”
“Better than to- to not be a virgin!” Starscream set his shoulders, unconsciously making himself look bigger. “What are you playing at, Autobot?”
He could see the problem, now. Actually, it explained a lot about Decepticons in general. The general unease, the lack of trust, the inability to form close friendships... the Minibot wondered why no one ever considered that before. Beachcomber put on his best placid face and relaxed. Starscream subtly relaxed with him, making the little bot internally squeal in delight.
“I think what we have here is a cross-cultural conflict,” Beachcomber delicately explained. “There's no weird plan or methodology to our sexual habits. They're just different from yours.”
“Explain.”
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“That's easy,” stated Starscream, “When you've found your mate and have properly wooed and wedded them.” The Seeker withdrew slightly, dreading the answer to the question, “When's yours?”
“Whenever the mech is ready for it,” said Beachcomber, shrugging.
“And when is that?”
“I dunno.” Beachcomber shrugged again. “Depends on the mech.”
Starscream was ready to pull his wings off in frustration. “Give me a direct answer, Autobot!”
“It's not a factory standard. Everyone's is different.” Beachcomber stood once Starscream put him back on the ground, keeping optic contact with the Decepticon. “Here's another one. Would you frag your best friend?”
“I don't have a best friend,” Starscream snapped.
Beachcomber shot him a pitying look. Starscream wanted to slap him. The Minibot spoke before he could. “What about your wingmates?”
Starscream shuddered. “Would you?”
“Your wingmates? I dunno, I'd have to talk to them first-”
The Seeker suddenly pictured Beachcomber's fingers in Thundercracker's port, and his groin suddenly hurt again.
“-but if you can't frag your best friend, then who can you trust to do that with you?” asked Beachcomber. “Starscream, I really hope you find your mate, 'cause when you do, the sex will be better than it is with anyone else. But unless you try a lot of mechs, then you won't find them. It's like...” Beachcomber searched his database, trying to find an analogy Starscream would understand. He decided to pull from the “scientist” file, knowing that much about Starscream's history. “Let's say you were taking soil samples.”
The sudden association of sex with dirt made Starscream's lust go away damn quickly, and the Seeker was oddly grateful. “... all right.”
“You wouldn't just take one sample and call that your best, right?”
“... well, no.” reasoned Starscream, carrying the analogy forward. “Not if you were looking for something specific.”
“And then let's say you took a couple of samples and finally found that something specific.” Beachcomber paused as Starscream lowered himself to sit on his eyes, bring their optics to almost even. “You wouldn't just say 'This is it, I've found it' and claim that one spot. What if there's a richer deposit somewhere else?”
His CPU was reeling again. Starscream felt a heat spreading through his internals from his belly up through his chest, and he found that heat oddly comforting. He understood. The Autobot was making sense. Starscream held his forehead. “Oh Primus...”
“Or, maybe,” Beachcomber internally praised his analogy-making skills even as his cord began to pressurize. “What if you take a bunch of samples and wind up finding something you weren't even looking for that works so much better?”
“Oh Primus, that's-” The heat of realization turned into a confining cold grip. He'd just been proven wrong... by an Autobot. “It makes so much sense.”
Beachcomber went similarly cold, noticing Starscream's increasingly distraught expression. Tugging at his stasis cuffs and finding that, yes, they were still working, Beachcomber laid his head on Starscream's shoulder. “We're not solitary creatures, Starscream. We're programmed to enjoy each other's company, and fighting the urge to do it only makes it worse.”
They sat like that for a while, Beachcomber's head on Starscream's shoulder, waiting until Starscream stopped shaking and feeling frozen over. Beachcomber parted from Starscream with a quick peck on the cheek, which the Seeker didn't shoot him for, which was good. In fact, the rifle was at the Minibots's feet, long forgotten.
“Hey, Starscream?”
Starscream nodded, “Yes?”
Had Beachcomber's head on his shoulder done that much? Starscream already seemed so calm, almost tamed. Maybe the Decepticons were more starved for contact than he first thought. Beachcomber stepped closer. “Have you ever brought yourself to overload?”
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