Fic - Parts that spin
Title: Parts that spin
Continuity: G1, Decepticam AU
Rating: R
Content advice: consensual smut, sticky, non-consensual tickling, bondage, crack, a bit of angst
Disclaimer: Just playing in the sandbox, characters not mine.
Characters and/or pairings: Swindle/Vortex and Brawl.
Prompt: Swindle/Vortex, faded enmity
Summary: It’s been several decades since the Spare Parts Incident, and the Combaticons have just about got it together, but after some time apart on solo missions, will Vortex and Swindle be able to keep it together?
Waking from recharge, the first thing Vortex saw was a pair of bright purple optics hovering over a calculating smile.
“Hold him down,” Swindle said.
“What the frag?” Vortex began, but Brawl loomed in and grabbed his wrists, using his considerable weight to pin them in place. “Seriously,” Vortex continued, a little louder this time. “What the frag?”
He hadn’t seen his team in six months, and this was what he came back to?
Brawl's optics glimmered, a hint of a smirk somewhere under that heavy battle mask, but he didn't respond. Swindle merely grinned.
Vortex tugged, then heaved. Slag, Brawl was heavy. Too heavy to move without some kind of leverage. And that wasn’t something Vortex had, lying on his back with his arms stretched above his head. Swindle gave him a worrying look, the kind of look he might have given back on Earth, around the time of the Spare Parts Incident.
Slag, Vortex had though they were over that. The months of recrimination and hatred had turned into years of bitterness and backstabbing. They'd finally got it together after Charr, and held it together, more or less. But they'd been apart for a while now, off on separate missions where their individual capabilities were more useful than the brute strength of their combined form.
Perhaps it had given Swindle a chance to re-assess things. Perhaps he didn't think he belonged with the team after all.
Vortex tried to reach them through the gestalt bond, grasping after any clue as to what they had planned. But the bond, as ever, remained closed.
“Now,” Swindle said.
There were two clicks, and Brawl stepped back. Oh for frag sake! They'd gone and chained him to the berth. And with the heavy duty cuffs Onslaught always used when he wanted Vortex to stay exactly where he put him.
How the slag did they get a hold of those? Vortex had no idea, but if Swindle's grin got any more smug, Vortex might just have to kick him in the face.
“OK Brawl,” Swindle said. “You can get lost now.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Brawl shrugged. “I got a hot date with a few cubes.” He gave Vortex another one of those glimmery-optic looks, and sidled out. The door locked automatically behind him.
“What're you doing?” Vortex said. He tried to keep the suspicion from his tone, they were past this, all of them, as a team. And if Swindle even looked like he was about to try carving Vortex up for spares, Vortex was going to... to... do something. Vortex wasn't sure, because Swindle chose just that moment to fondle the tip of one of his rotors.
Well, if that was what he wanted to do, he could just go right ahead.
Looking even more smug, Swindle pulled a small cannister out of his subspace pocket. “Comfy there?” he asked. He didn't wait for Vortex's answer, but got up on the berth and swung a leg over Vortex's knees, facing his feet. He settled on the joints, pressing them in just the right way to disallow them any movement whatsoever.
Vortex squirmed.
“Slag,” Swindle said. “I haven't even started yet.” He did something Vortex couldn't see, no matter how he strained, and a low hiss began, like the escape of steam from Astrotrain's boiler.
Vortex struggled, trying desperately to move his legs. Oh no, not the feet; surely Swindle wouldn't stoop so low? But Swindle simply squeezed Vortex's knees between his thighs and leaned forward.
“You got so many parts that spin,” Swindle said. “But no-one ever pays any attention to these ones.”
Vortex bit back a yelp as Swindle grabbed one of his landing wheels, pinching the tire.
“There's a good reason for that,” Vortex snarled, straining against the cuffs. At least the pinching didn't tickle. It just buzzed, the redistribution of pneumatic pressure stimulating a whole load of sensors that seemed to have been wired to entirely the wrong set of circuits. But it was altogether far too close to tickling. “You don't have to do this.”
“I dunno,” Swindle said, bending even lower and doing something that felt suspiciously - and rather deliciously - like running his glossa around the rim of the tiny wheel. “I kinda think I do.”
Mmm, that was OK. Vortex relaxed a little. That was more than OK, and as long as Swindle pressed hard enough, it would continue to be more than OK. Vortex sighed, trying to raise one knee just enough to grind against Swindle's pelvic armour.
“Hey, none of that now!” Swindle cried. He wriggled, and brought his thighs tighter together.
“Awww!” That wasn't fair. Swindle couldn't come in here, leap on top of him, lick one of his more delicate parts and not expect to get a good hard spike somewhere intensely satisfying. What the scrap was he playing at?
“You’ve been weird lately,” Swindle commented, still not turning to face him.
The pressure on his landing gear shifted, became lighter. Vortex stifled a giggle.
“Whenever I comm. you, you’re all serious and stuff,” Swindle continued. “I don't like that.” The hissing got louder; oh slag no, that was a compressed gas cylinder, the kind that would be useful for the rotor hub but was absolute hell on certain over-sensitive areas. His engine revving, Swindle applied the nozzle to the axle of Vortex's landing gear.
“No you don't!” Vortex cried. “Slag, that tickles! Stop it, Swin, seriously, I mean it, Swindle stop that! Arghhhhhhhh!”
He tried to thrash, to buck, anything to throw Swindle off, but with his rotors sinking into the pliant covering of his bunk, and his arms and knees pinned, there was nothing he could do. And Swindle lounged over his canopy glass, spinning one wheel gently with his fingers while taking the pressure hose on a gliding, tingling, and pit-damned infuriating tour of Vortex's landing equipment.
“No no no no no! Swin, stop it! StopitSwindle, gah!” The chains clanked, and his rotor tips juddered. His weapons powered up, one of them discharging into the wall behind him, a brief stream of bullets which ricocheted around the room.
Swindle ducked. “Did you miss me?” he said.
“What the scrap? Argh, stop it!” Vortex continued to writhe, his vents hissing louder than the pressure hose, and his fans whirring.
“Did you miss me?” Swindle repeated, his head bobbing as he did something that felt suspiciously like nibbling the mount where Vortex's glue gun would sit in alt mode.
What kind of question was that? The stream of pressurised air was excruciating, and made worse by the fact it was distracting him from the far nicer things Swindle had elected to do with his mouth.
Maybe, a small voice screamed from the back of his processor, it’s the kind of question where if you answer him, he stops! Remember that interrogation thing, where you’re meant to know all about it?
“Yes?” he hazarded. “Yes, yeah, I missed you now will you fraggin' well turn that stupid thing off!”
“Maybe,” Swindle replied. “Depends how much you missed me.”
Oh for frag sake! Vortex redoubled his squirming efforts, hauling on the cuffs hard enough to send warnings flashing across his HUD. “I'm not in the mood for power games,” he snapped, or at least tried to. What actually came out was a lot less forceful than he'd intended. But it seemed to have an effect.
The hissing stopped, the pressurised air cut off. Swindle's shoulders slumped. “That's...” he began, his voice almost inaudible over the roar of Vortex's systems. “That’s not what I was going for.”
“Huh?” Oh scrap, he’d blown it, hadn’t he? Not again, he couldn’t cope with the team disintegrating just because Swindle had done something stupid and he’d said something dumb in response. Vortex waggled his feet in the vague hope that the glossa might come back. “Hey,” he said. “I like the licking.”
Swindle turned around and edged forwards, settling himself on Vortex’s thighs. “Just thought you could do with a laugh,” he said. “And everyone knows your wheels are ticklish.”
“Everyone?” OK, that was news to him, and not the good kind. The little canister fell off the side of the berth, making a clonking sound as it hit the floor.
“I just thought,” Swindle continued, ignoring the question and the canister. “Y’know…” He shuffled forward again, absently stroking Vortex’s pelvic armour in a way that made it very hard to focus on his words. When he spoke again, the words tumbled out in a rush, tightly packed like the small print at the end of one of his sales contracts. “It’s always so hard to get you to stay still, and you always used to say how it really gets you off when Onslaught chains you up, and I know you only said that to be an aft head when you wouldn’t frag me when we weren’t really talking, but I always kinda wanted you to stay in one place long enough and I don’t want things to go back to how they were, even if you are a mean-at-core, glitching aft head with fewer intelligence chips than you’ve got rotors.”
That was a lot of ‘always’, and a lot of insults. Vortex could have raised the stakes, latching onto any one of Swindle’s points and making something of it. But he was in the mood for an argument even less than he was in the mood for power games. What he wanted was to be in the mood to interface, although that looked to be off the cards too now, judging by Swindle’s expression.
Perhaps he ought to do something about that.
“Long enough for what?” he said. He arched his back, pressing into Swindle’s touch. A trace of his team mate’s smile re-emerged.
“Oh, you know,” Swindle replied. He cupped the centrepiece of Vortex pelvic armour, thumbing the manual release catch without actually activating it.
“Know what?” Vortex prompted. Now that was more like it, hands on his interface cover, the subtle buzz of Swindle’s energy field tingling against the tip of his rapidly pressurising spike.
Swindle clicked the release and Vortex sighed. He squirmed again, the sigh turning into a groan as Swindle took him very firmly in hand.
That smug grin was back. “Long enough to do exactly what I want.”
“Which is?” Vortex said, arousal turning his voice to static. He almost said ‘no tickling?’, but Swindle didn’t look like he was about to rescue the canister. Vortex took his optics offline for a moment, savouring the undulating tight heat of Swindle’s fingers. When he brought them back online, his team mate was grinning.
Swindle bent and flicked his glossa over the tip of Vortex’s spike. “You’ll see.”
Continuity: G1, Decepticam AU
Rating: R
Content advice: consensual smut, sticky, non-consensual tickling, bondage, crack, a bit of angst
Disclaimer: Just playing in the sandbox, characters not mine.
Characters and/or pairings: Swindle/Vortex and Brawl.
Prompt: Swindle/Vortex, faded enmity
Summary: It’s been several decades since the Spare Parts Incident, and the Combaticons have just about got it together, but after some time apart on solo missions, will Vortex and Swindle be able to keep it together?
Waking from recharge, the first thing Vortex saw was a pair of bright purple optics hovering over a calculating smile.
“Hold him down,” Swindle said.
“What the frag?” Vortex began, but Brawl loomed in and grabbed his wrists, using his considerable weight to pin them in place. “Seriously,” Vortex continued, a little louder this time. “What the frag?”
He hadn’t seen his team in six months, and this was what he came back to?
Brawl's optics glimmered, a hint of a smirk somewhere under that heavy battle mask, but he didn't respond. Swindle merely grinned.
Vortex tugged, then heaved. Slag, Brawl was heavy. Too heavy to move without some kind of leverage. And that wasn’t something Vortex had, lying on his back with his arms stretched above his head. Swindle gave him a worrying look, the kind of look he might have given back on Earth, around the time of the Spare Parts Incident.
Slag, Vortex had though they were over that. The months of recrimination and hatred had turned into years of bitterness and backstabbing. They'd finally got it together after Charr, and held it together, more or less. But they'd been apart for a while now, off on separate missions where their individual capabilities were more useful than the brute strength of their combined form.
Perhaps it had given Swindle a chance to re-assess things. Perhaps he didn't think he belonged with the team after all.
Vortex tried to reach them through the gestalt bond, grasping after any clue as to what they had planned. But the bond, as ever, remained closed.
“Now,” Swindle said.
There were two clicks, and Brawl stepped back. Oh for frag sake! They'd gone and chained him to the berth. And with the heavy duty cuffs Onslaught always used when he wanted Vortex to stay exactly where he put him.
How the slag did they get a hold of those? Vortex had no idea, but if Swindle's grin got any more smug, Vortex might just have to kick him in the face.
“OK Brawl,” Swindle said. “You can get lost now.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Brawl shrugged. “I got a hot date with a few cubes.” He gave Vortex another one of those glimmery-optic looks, and sidled out. The door locked automatically behind him.
“What're you doing?” Vortex said. He tried to keep the suspicion from his tone, they were past this, all of them, as a team. And if Swindle even looked like he was about to try carving Vortex up for spares, Vortex was going to... to... do something. Vortex wasn't sure, because Swindle chose just that moment to fondle the tip of one of his rotors.
Well, if that was what he wanted to do, he could just go right ahead.
Looking even more smug, Swindle pulled a small cannister out of his subspace pocket. “Comfy there?” he asked. He didn't wait for Vortex's answer, but got up on the berth and swung a leg over Vortex's knees, facing his feet. He settled on the joints, pressing them in just the right way to disallow them any movement whatsoever.
Vortex squirmed.
“Slag,” Swindle said. “I haven't even started yet.” He did something Vortex couldn't see, no matter how he strained, and a low hiss began, like the escape of steam from Astrotrain's boiler.
Vortex struggled, trying desperately to move his legs. Oh no, not the feet; surely Swindle wouldn't stoop so low? But Swindle simply squeezed Vortex's knees between his thighs and leaned forward.
“You got so many parts that spin,” Swindle said. “But no-one ever pays any attention to these ones.”
Vortex bit back a yelp as Swindle grabbed one of his landing wheels, pinching the tire.
“There's a good reason for that,” Vortex snarled, straining against the cuffs. At least the pinching didn't tickle. It just buzzed, the redistribution of pneumatic pressure stimulating a whole load of sensors that seemed to have been wired to entirely the wrong set of circuits. But it was altogether far too close to tickling. “You don't have to do this.”
“I dunno,” Swindle said, bending even lower and doing something that felt suspiciously - and rather deliciously - like running his glossa around the rim of the tiny wheel. “I kinda think I do.”
Mmm, that was OK. Vortex relaxed a little. That was more than OK, and as long as Swindle pressed hard enough, it would continue to be more than OK. Vortex sighed, trying to raise one knee just enough to grind against Swindle's pelvic armour.
“Hey, none of that now!” Swindle cried. He wriggled, and brought his thighs tighter together.
“Awww!” That wasn't fair. Swindle couldn't come in here, leap on top of him, lick one of his more delicate parts and not expect to get a good hard spike somewhere intensely satisfying. What the scrap was he playing at?
“You’ve been weird lately,” Swindle commented, still not turning to face him.
The pressure on his landing gear shifted, became lighter. Vortex stifled a giggle.
“Whenever I comm. you, you’re all serious and stuff,” Swindle continued. “I don't like that.” The hissing got louder; oh slag no, that was a compressed gas cylinder, the kind that would be useful for the rotor hub but was absolute hell on certain over-sensitive areas. His engine revving, Swindle applied the nozzle to the axle of Vortex's landing gear.
“No you don't!” Vortex cried. “Slag, that tickles! Stop it, Swin, seriously, I mean it, Swindle stop that! Arghhhhhhhh!”
He tried to thrash, to buck, anything to throw Swindle off, but with his rotors sinking into the pliant covering of his bunk, and his arms and knees pinned, there was nothing he could do. And Swindle lounged over his canopy glass, spinning one wheel gently with his fingers while taking the pressure hose on a gliding, tingling, and pit-damned infuriating tour of Vortex's landing equipment.
“No no no no no! Swin, stop it! StopitSwindle, gah!” The chains clanked, and his rotor tips juddered. His weapons powered up, one of them discharging into the wall behind him, a brief stream of bullets which ricocheted around the room.
Swindle ducked. “Did you miss me?” he said.
“What the scrap? Argh, stop it!” Vortex continued to writhe, his vents hissing louder than the pressure hose, and his fans whirring.
“Did you miss me?” Swindle repeated, his head bobbing as he did something that felt suspiciously like nibbling the mount where Vortex's glue gun would sit in alt mode.
What kind of question was that? The stream of pressurised air was excruciating, and made worse by the fact it was distracting him from the far nicer things Swindle had elected to do with his mouth.
Maybe, a small voice screamed from the back of his processor, it’s the kind of question where if you answer him, he stops! Remember that interrogation thing, where you’re meant to know all about it?
“Yes?” he hazarded. “Yes, yeah, I missed you now will you fraggin' well turn that stupid thing off!”
“Maybe,” Swindle replied. “Depends how much you missed me.”
Oh for frag sake! Vortex redoubled his squirming efforts, hauling on the cuffs hard enough to send warnings flashing across his HUD. “I'm not in the mood for power games,” he snapped, or at least tried to. What actually came out was a lot less forceful than he'd intended. But it seemed to have an effect.
The hissing stopped, the pressurised air cut off. Swindle's shoulders slumped. “That's...” he began, his voice almost inaudible over the roar of Vortex's systems. “That’s not what I was going for.”
“Huh?” Oh scrap, he’d blown it, hadn’t he? Not again, he couldn’t cope with the team disintegrating just because Swindle had done something stupid and he’d said something dumb in response. Vortex waggled his feet in the vague hope that the glossa might come back. “Hey,” he said. “I like the licking.”
Swindle turned around and edged forwards, settling himself on Vortex’s thighs. “Just thought you could do with a laugh,” he said. “And everyone knows your wheels are ticklish.”
“Everyone?” OK, that was news to him, and not the good kind. The little canister fell off the side of the berth, making a clonking sound as it hit the floor.
“I just thought,” Swindle continued, ignoring the question and the canister. “Y’know…” He shuffled forward again, absently stroking Vortex’s pelvic armour in a way that made it very hard to focus on his words. When he spoke again, the words tumbled out in a rush, tightly packed like the small print at the end of one of his sales contracts. “It’s always so hard to get you to stay still, and you always used to say how it really gets you off when Onslaught chains you up, and I know you only said that to be an aft head when you wouldn’t frag me when we weren’t really talking, but I always kinda wanted you to stay in one place long enough and I don’t want things to go back to how they were, even if you are a mean-at-core, glitching aft head with fewer intelligence chips than you’ve got rotors.”
That was a lot of ‘always’, and a lot of insults. Vortex could have raised the stakes, latching onto any one of Swindle’s points and making something of it. But he was in the mood for an argument even less than he was in the mood for power games. What he wanted was to be in the mood to interface, although that looked to be off the cards too now, judging by Swindle’s expression.
Perhaps he ought to do something about that.
“Long enough for what?” he said. He arched his back, pressing into Swindle’s touch. A trace of his team mate’s smile re-emerged.
“Oh, you know,” Swindle replied. He cupped the centrepiece of Vortex pelvic armour, thumbing the manual release catch without actually activating it.
“Know what?” Vortex prompted. Now that was more like it, hands on his interface cover, the subtle buzz of Swindle’s energy field tingling against the tip of his rapidly pressurising spike.
Swindle clicked the release and Vortex sighed. He squirmed again, the sigh turning into a groan as Swindle took him very firmly in hand.
That smug grin was back. “Long enough to do exactly what I want.”
“Which is?” Vortex said, arousal turning his voice to static. He almost said ‘no tickling?’, but Swindle didn’t look like he was about to rescue the canister. Vortex took his optics offline for a moment, savouring the undulating tight heat of Swindle’s fingers. When he brought them back online, his team mate was grinning.
Swindle bent and flicked his glossa over the tip of Vortex’s spike. “You’ll see.”