Flash Fiction: Hunger (g1) .... R?
Title: Hunger
Rating: R? Maybe?
Warning: Violence. Implied sexual situation. And implications of vore and/or beastiality, depending on how you view Abominus
Pairing: Abominus/Sixshot
Universe: IDW/G1
Summary: Abominus is awake and hungry. 90 minute flashfic.
A/N: Another poke into a combiner's head, this time with Abominus. It started with Terrorcons crushing on Sixshot, then the thought of hey, they ALL want Sixshot, and their combined form would actually be just about the same size - oh, wait, their combined form is Abominus. >.> ... I can still write this. And then Ultharkitty encouraged me. Tsk tsk.
The last connection snapped into place. The beast lifted its head, looking for the prey that had to be there. It existed, and it killed. The two things went hand-in-hand, never one without the other.
Air cycled through the vents in its legs, and it smelled the air, searching for the living things, any living things...
Dirt. Smoke. Energon and spilled coolant. Jet exhaust. They weren’t words in his processors, but whole concepts, the smell and taste and touch of them all the same.
Movement. Vibration of steps heard in his feet, growl of engines heard in his hands and chest.
Abominus roared and charged.
Claws tearing, hot fluids running over his hands, optics flickering out, scream of mech and metal.
It was more than bloodlust, more than programming or function or even need. It was everything he was, his entire existence, an overriding, never-ending hunger that could never be fully fed.
Silence, his own engines and dripping fluids and silence. Mud and energon and death. And him.
There was no differentiation between the smell of the other mech and the sound and sight. It was all the same to Abominus, a whole and complete thing. And like Abominus, he existed to kill, the thought of killing and death personified.
Abominus looked at him, smelled him, touched him, and he hungered.
“What are you doing?” Sixshot asked as Abominus approached him, his tone mildly curious and utterly unafraid. Fear was not part of the concept that was Sixshot. The words filtered through Abominus’ five CPUs, emerging as the meaning behind the words.
Speech emerged as nothing but an incomprehensible snarl, too limited for the depth of what he needed to express. So Abominus answered honestly in the manner that a beast incapable of the thinking needed to lie or avoid, reaching out for Sixshot. He hungered for this the same way he hungered for killing, a spark-deep need that it never occurred to him to fight.
Sixshot stood firm, not flinching away from the claws that trailed so surprisingly lightly down his battlemask, coming to rest on his chest.
Abominus growled with the effort of forcing his needs into the words the other could understand.
“Abominus... want Sixshot.”
Surprise showed in Sixshot’s optics, and he cocked his head, considering. Slowly, Sixshot’s hand came up to touch the gestalt, taking Abominus’ face gently but firmly, with no sign of hesitation or fear. His other hand undid his battlemask. He leaned forward, pulling Abominus towards him with careful and implacable strength.
Then Sixshot kissed him hard, giving the gestalt an entirely new sensation to add to the memory of scent and sound and touch and death that was Sixshot.
Rating: R? Maybe?
Warning: Violence. Implied sexual situation. And implications of vore and/or beastiality, depending on how you view Abominus
Pairing: Abominus/Sixshot
Universe: IDW/G1
Summary: Abominus is awake and hungry. 90 minute flashfic.
A/N: Another poke into a combiner's head, this time with Abominus. It started with Terrorcons crushing on Sixshot, then the thought of hey, they ALL want Sixshot, and their combined form would actually be just about the same size - oh, wait, their combined form is Abominus. >.> ... I can still write this. And then Ultharkitty encouraged me. Tsk tsk.
The last connection snapped into place. The beast lifted its head, looking for the prey that had to be there. It existed, and it killed. The two things went hand-in-hand, never one without the other.
Air cycled through the vents in its legs, and it smelled the air, searching for the living things, any living things...
Dirt. Smoke. Energon and spilled coolant. Jet exhaust. They weren’t words in his processors, but whole concepts, the smell and taste and touch of them all the same.
Movement. Vibration of steps heard in his feet, growl of engines heard in his hands and chest.
Abominus roared and charged.
Claws tearing, hot fluids running over his hands, optics flickering out, scream of mech and metal.
It was more than bloodlust, more than programming or function or even need. It was everything he was, his entire existence, an overriding, never-ending hunger that could never be fully fed.
Silence, his own engines and dripping fluids and silence. Mud and energon and death. And him.
There was no differentiation between the smell of the other mech and the sound and sight. It was all the same to Abominus, a whole and complete thing. And like Abominus, he existed to kill, the thought of killing and death personified.
Abominus looked at him, smelled him, touched him, and he hungered.
“What are you doing?” Sixshot asked as Abominus approached him, his tone mildly curious and utterly unafraid. Fear was not part of the concept that was Sixshot. The words filtered through Abominus’ five CPUs, emerging as the meaning behind the words.
Speech emerged as nothing but an incomprehensible snarl, too limited for the depth of what he needed to express. So Abominus answered honestly in the manner that a beast incapable of the thinking needed to lie or avoid, reaching out for Sixshot. He hungered for this the same way he hungered for killing, a spark-deep need that it never occurred to him to fight.
Sixshot stood firm, not flinching away from the claws that trailed so surprisingly lightly down his battlemask, coming to rest on his chest.
Abominus growled with the effort of forcing his needs into the words the other could understand.
“Abominus... want Sixshot.”
Surprise showed in Sixshot’s optics, and he cocked his head, considering. Slowly, Sixshot’s hand came up to touch the gestalt, taking Abominus’ face gently but firmly, with no sign of hesitation or fear. His other hand undid his battlemask. He leaned forward, pulling Abominus towards him with careful and implacable strength.
Then Sixshot kissed him hard, giving the gestalt an entirely new sensation to add to the memory of scent and sound and touch and death that was Sixshot.