I seriously need me a smexy Sunny icon.
I've grumbled before about losing control of my fics, and watching them get longer than I ever intended them to be. Nowhere to Turn... Star Crossed.... that Bluestreak fic.... *headdesk* Now adding this sammich fic to the list. *grumble*
This implies that I'm still not done, right? So why exactly am I posting it instead of finishing it. One word.
Sunstreaker.
What's the first thing that crosses your mind when you think of Sunny?
Psychotic?
Vain?
A clone of his brother?
Lusty?
Beautiful? Handsome? I'm certain these two words were in there as well, but they have probably been tempered by all the other descriptions of him.
Sunstreaker is supposed to be beautiful, no, not beautiful, Gorgeous. (pretty and attractive simply do not apply to Sunstreaker) There's more to beauty than simple looks, however. There's attitude, and I don't mean vanity. There's actions, and I don't mean simply sex. Sunstreaker should be sensual.
Sunstreaker is often shown in any combinations violent/psychotic, vain, and lusty, but he's not shown using the power of his looks to seduce. He's Gorgeous and he knows it. And he knows how to use it.
Sunstreaker deserved his own little part, so that his seduction could stand out in the spotlight, if only for a moment.
I leave it to you to decide whether or not I succeeded.
Title Twin Ties (tentative)
Series Sticky Situation
Pairing Sunstreaker/Prowl, Sideswipe/Prowl in there somewhere
Warnings Sticky warning actually doesn't apply so much here, there's some chest groping, but that's about it. Also, furthering the butchering of Prowl's character (yes, this'll be a running joke throughout most of this series).
Summary Prowl's still freaking over what she saw. She is seduced by a 'mystery mech'.
Author's Notes I shall blame this on a fic called 'Light of the Sun' which is 15 chapters into teasing us with Prowl/Sunny and they're only just realizing their feelings. >.O Want Prowl/Sunny now plzkthx. Also many, many thanks go to
tiamat1972 for malleting into me just what it means to be seductive. Without her this would have probably been more along the lines of 'thow Prowl down and let Sunny have his way with her' ^^;;;;;;;;...;;;
What makes me squee is this might actually allow me to have more friendly Prowl/Sunny relations down the road. Yay!
Master List
Part 1
~*~*~*~
She saw him as she moved through her daily routine the following solar cycle. She ignored his hopeful glances, too exhausted from lack of recharge to process the problem. She didn't even want to care; betrayed, hurt, disgusted. He interfaced, he had sex, with his brother, with his twin. He loved his brother, more than just the brotherly love common in most families. The idea disgusted her, and that he tried to defend his actions, defend his touching her with those same hands… How dare he!
She interacted with Sideswipe no more than she had to, flinching away from his hands as he spoke to her supervisor. She could see the hurt in his face when she did this, but frankly she was convinced she didn’t care. She avoided him as much as possible for the next few solar cycles, renting a berth, or a room, and even going to a recharge station once. She didn't have the courage to explain to any of her friends why she wasn't staying with Sideswipe, even though they certainly noticed her sudden avoidance of the red mech.
All she heard in her processor was the same echo all the time 'He's interfacing with his twin, and that is so wrong, because they can breach each other's firewalls and feel each other in ways that are only meant for bondmates. Disgusting. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting!' When she was able to return to her apartment, she'd have to get rid of the peripherals he'd left. One's he'd probably used with his twin! The thought disrupted her power relays, churning her holding tanks.
She lay on her rented berth, tear tracks overflowing with liquid, unable to settle into the recharge for which she paid. Sideswipe often joined many of her friends to socialize, leaving her rather bereft of company.
She found herself heading to the library, accessing the files of whatever sparked her interest at that moment. When she grew bored of that, she began sorting through the datapads. She couldn't shake the awful feeling of leaving Sideswipe so abruptly like that, but oftentimes her disgust screamed louder, and she wallowed in her firm belief that such a relationship couldn't be natural.
Yet the hurt and lost look on his face as the doors had closed between them still sent surges of grief through her circuits.
Anger quickly followed and she snapped about, suddenly determined to verify that she had the right of it. She accessed the remote directory, and made her way to the section of datapads dedicated to dry history and the minutes from senate meetings. She recalled from her studies that the topic of sibling relations had been heavily debated before the Firewall Institution Act had passed legislation.
She scanned the correlating datapads, reading the disaster that came from sister bonding to brother, and allowing their spark energies to merge.
'We're both mechs, breaching each other's firewalls is not something we have to worry about.'
Did that make it anymore right for them to treat each other as lovers? What about the boundaries of family and friends? She shuddered at the thought of taking any of her siblings as a lover, of allowing them access to her spark.
Her proximity alarms suddenly went off and she spun around, doorwings dipping down in an instinctive preparation to transform.
A golden mech leaned against the shelf nearby. Stylish vents framed his face, creating a vaguely familiar profile offset by the darkened optics and the smile pulling at his mouth. Blue optics glowed softly with interest at her, mouth curved in smile. His paint gleamed with recent care, no streaks or scratches marring his plating.
Primus, he was beautiful.
And he was looking at her.
“That must be an interesting read,” his voice matched his appearance, smooth and silky as a waxed finish. He tilted his head, the top of one of his vent horns tapping the shelf he leaned against it, his smile taking on an amused tilt.
Her processor fritzed at her effort to place his familiar visage, intent instead on how he seemed poised to touch her, and the form of his words on his lips. “It’s nothing,” she chuckled, inexplicably nervous in the face of his regard. “It’s just a little dry history.”
“Oh,” he purred, and he took a step closer, “I wasn’t talking about what’s on the datapad.”
Her optics widened, but she didn’t move away. “What else would I be reading? There’s no signs up that I can see, and you don’t have any writing on you.”
His optics flashed and he smiled that dazzling smile of his again, encroaching on her one step more. “There doesn’t have to be writing in order for you to read something.” He casually placed one hand on the shelf next to her, leaning his weight against the structure, and placing one hand on his hip strut. He looked like he was putting himself on display for her, turning his body so that the lights within the library reflected off his paneling.
What a display he made, too.
She stared, doorwings rising, forgetting that he’d spoken.
He leaned closer, dental plates showing in a familiar grin. “Like I said, must be an interesting read.”
She jumped, looking at him in embarrassment when she realized that she’d been staring at his shining chest. She tucked the datapad back into its slot, refusing to look at the golden mech. “I’m sorry. Am I standing in your way?” What could such a beautiful mech possibly want in this section?
He shook his head, optics bright, and he leaned a little closer to her. “No, you’re not. I’ve found what I was looking for.”
Her doorwings shot up. “What?”
He pulled away, the smile never leaving his face. “I have to repeat myself all the time with you, don’t I? I said, I found what I was looking for.”
“Me?”
“Yes,” the amused rumble in his voice sent surges through her circuits, “you.”
This caused her to finally take a step back, and he advanced that one step. “Why would you want me?”
“Why would someone not want you?” he countered.
She retreated again when his hand came up to touch her shoulder tire. “I already have someone.”
His brow ridge lifted, though it wasn’t surprise that touched his face. “Do you?” He pressed forward one more step, and she backed up two.
“Yes, I do,” her vocalizer stuttered from his proximity. “Yes, I-I’m not looking.” She moved away again, and suddenly the shelf wasn’t there anymore. Still he approached, giving her a sense of déjà vu to that night cycle at Sideswipe’s.
“I don’t think you do.” He swung around her, blocking her from backing into the next aisle with his arm.
She found herself pinned to the end of the shelf, trapped by his golden hands. “Wh-What do you know? You don’t know me.”
He tilted his head, looking her over from head to foot. “I know you, Prowl.” He leaned closer, face inexorably near her own.
She slid down, unable to tear her gaze away from his handsome face, from the lips that loomed ever closer. He knew her name? How did he know her name?
He followed her, that grin back in place. He paused by her cheek seam, seeming to take a deep inhalation of her smell. His engine rumbled, and his optics darkened further. “Do like your doorwings, after all.”
“Th-thank you.“ Why did that phrase sound so familiar? It wasn’t so uncommon, clients complimented her on her doorwings all the time. But the wording wasn’t right.
She found it hard to concentrate with him pressing near to her, every sensor on her face seemed to ache with anticipation for his touch.
One of his arms wound around her waist, pulling her away from the wall and against his chestplate. He seemed content to let her rest her head on the edge of his collar ridge, nuzzling against her audio receptor and stroking his other hand over her doorwing.
She shouldn’t be allowing this. That thought made her bring her hands up to his shoulders, lifting her head from his chest to look at him, intending to push him away. She didn’t even know his name.
He captured her lips in a kiss, demanding and sensuous, one of his hands caressing her jaw hinge as the other moved across her bumper. He pushed her back against the shelf structure, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck, dental plates nipping gently as he moved down her neck and then back up to her lips.
She shivered at the delightful sensations eddying through her systems, hands still poised to push him away. She found herself kissing him back, doorwings sweeping back to allow him to probe at the hinges. The tips quivered as he instead took her head in his hands to stop her from pressing forward, giving him more control.
He moved in just a little more. His stance widened, allowing her to shape her frame against his. His glossa slid along her lips, stroking along her own.
Her vision flickered, and she felt moisture coating her mouth.
His fingers tightened on her helmet, and he abruptly pulled away, head snapping back as his intakes worked in excited jolts. He released her, stepping back, and looking at her with optics so dark, they seemed deactivated.
She staggered without him there to support her suddenly weak knees.
Then he wasn’t there, and she turned, surprised to see him walking away without another word.
“What-” she whispered. “What the slag was that?” she yelled after him.
He didn't stop or turn, simply continuing his steady pace.
Anger spiked through her, and she shook off the surges of his touch and chased after him.
He quickened his steps, guiding her through the library at nearly a run. His long stride slowed as he left the library, and she ground her dental plates as she realized that he was leading her on. Yet her frustration at his arrogant disregard for what he’d done to her (even if she hadn’t exactly fought him), spurred her to continue after him out of the library.
She came out just as he transformed and swept into traffic, but his golden form stood out in the midst of more sensor friendly colors. The Fineline wove through traffic, literally leading her on as the fast vehicle seemed to take his sweet time for someone trying to get away.
‘The slagger. That slagger! that stupid slagging factory-built spawn!’
He refused to acknowledge her on any channels, even the general public frequencies, as she hailed the only Line model on the road. His taunting in-lane weaving only served to anger her further, her emotional relays sparking past her logic centers and shorting them out. She wasn’t thinking clearly, and he had made her too mad to care.
He pulled over in front of a building, transforming and walking up the ramp that lead to its entrance. She pulled alongside the curb a little further back and transformed, skipping onto the curb quickly as another bot pulled up behind her. The stranger's leisurely stroll burned her as he continued to mock her efforts at catching him. She measured her pace out, doorwings flared in anger and drawing the gaze of curious passersby.
She didn't care.
That fragger thought he could use her like some mindless drone, like some doll and walk away as if it'd never happen. Not with Prowl, he couldn't. Not without hearing a few words from her vocalizer. Maybe her fist in his face.
She entered the building, the door unlocked. Her steps echoed ponderously in the empty hallway. A desk stood to her right; a place for the receptionist to greet visitors and direct them to their destinations. She looked left, and saw a shadow crossing the intersection at the end.
She ran.
Her doorwings angled back to reduce the drag across her frame as she pelted around the corner.
There he was.
Still strolling in that lazy arrogant manner. He turned into a room, and she quickly followed.
The mystery mech turned suddenly, grabbing her and shoving her into the wall. Objections died in her vocalizer when he pressed those glorious lips to her neck, his hands digging at her clasps.
Her ventilators chugged on, surprised by the sudden attack, her hands rested on the mag plates set in his shoulder. All thought processes seemed to freeze, only allowing her to focus on the press of his fingers under her plating, and the sweep of his glossa across her dermaplating.
“Is this what you want?” his voice rumbled through her shoulders. He drew her closer, wrapping one arm over her doorwings and behind her shoulders.
“Are you broadcasting attraction waves or something? I don't even know mmph!”
He covered her protest with his mouth. Her doorwings twitched up, and she opened her lips to give him access, twining her glossa with his. His hand held her head sedentary, but she still had her hands free. Her friends would tell her that she was a fool if she turned down such a handsome mech, and after- She cut herself from that thought.
She wanted this.
Her fingers stroked the smooth finish of his chestplate, the feel of him as pleasant beneath her fingertips as his appearance was to her optics.
Air whuffed out of the vents on his head, and a smile curled her lips as she sought to bring more of a reaction from his systems. Her hands traveled around his torso, digging into seams that brought pleased noises from his vocalizer and vents. It wasn't the reaction she wanted.
He shifted, trying to pin her arms in place, as though he didn't want her to continue her minstrations.
Her doorwings dipped down in stubborn refusal to simply receive his attentions quietly. She slid her hands free and caressed them up his neck, feeling the power thrumming through the lines on his neck. She stroked up his horns, caressing the gilded edges. Her thumbs bumped their way up the ridges of his vents.
His head rolled back, optics flickering, releasing her mouth for only a moment to nip at her wrist. His darkening optics gave tell of just how much that had excited him.
She did it again, delighting in the shiver that went through his frame.
“Frag, that-uhn!” Air hissed from between his dental plates as his vent ridges received another stimulating caress.
Wrapping his other arm around her back, he lifted her with an ease that shouldn't have surprised her. Such a beautiful frame was bound to have some strength behind it. He set her on the sole couch in the room (some part of her processor that was still thinking clearly noticed all the paintings and sculptures that took up a good majority of the space), bending one of her doorwings at an awkward angle. It was the farthest thing from her mind as he ravished her mouth, his hands stroking over her plating, teasing over the clasps.
Her hands pushed at him in protest, and yet they stroked the smooth finish of his chest plate, the well-cared for cells of his magnetic plates. She rubbed her thighs against his waist, finding new spots to make him shiver and grunt; moaned as he worked a few of the clasps to her chest plate loose. His fingertips reached into the gap and caressed one of her breasts, brushing against the sensor node.
The sensation of his hand on her breast surged through her circuits, and lubricant coated her mouth, a gentle, stimulating burn that she want to wipe all over .
He jerked away again, holding his head high, gasping air to cool his heated systems. His glossa flicked out, licking up the trace amounts of the lubricant left on his lips. His optics shuttered, and a moan shook his frame, rumbling from his engine to his vocalizer. “Oh, Primus, I-” His optics opened and they burned indigo, intense, and direct, his gaze locked on her. Smooth and graceful he ducked his head back down, turning his attentions on her neck again.
“Please, I said I'm not looking, I have someone.” She pushed lightly at his shoulders in spite of her protests, thoughts of Sideswipe unwelcome while this glorious mech had his hands on her, his glossa caressing the lines of her neck. She wanted him to never stop what he was doing.
His voice again rumbled through her frame, his hands busy with the clasps holding her chestplate in place. “Not when you've been- ah! -ignoring him for the past few solar cycles-Hnnnn...” His motions turned a little rougher, his dental plates denting the smooth metal of her neck, his hands tugging a little harder at the clasps.
Had he followed her from work? Did she have a stalker and not even know it. She was certain she would have noticed such a beautiful mech in the office, even if he was talking at one of the other desks.
She didn't want to think of it. She didn't want to think of Sideswipe, not when it inevitably lead to thoughts of what she'd seen. “Shut up, you wouldn't understand.” She took hold of his vents, pulling his head up so she could kiss him, so she could rub her fingers over them and make him tremble. Make him want her.
Replace the image in her processor with one so much more pleasant.
“Oh really, I wouldn't?” he murmured against her lips, chuckling. Even with her grip on his audio horns, he resisted the pull to her mouth, though she brushed her lips lightly against his. He stared down at her for a long moment, hands unmoving on her frame, and the expression on his face restrained, as though he wasn't certain he wanted to go through with this.
She didn’t want him to stop, she didn’t want him to hesitate. She ran her hands over his vents, fingering the tips of his horns, and he stopped resisting her. Instead he pressed her down into the couch, tugging at her chestplate until he had a hand completely under it, gripping one of her breasts.
He groaned into her mouth, grinding his hips against her groin covering. Her chestplate suddenly clanged to the floor. He kissed his way down her neck, his hands kneading her breasts. “Forgetting about him so easily?” He mumbled into her collar ridge. His glossa flicked out, tracing the exposed line.
Shouldn't she forget about him after what he'd done. She dug her fingertips into a joint, bending the soft metal and making him hiss. “I don't want to think about it. You wouldn't understand.” Already she felt her mood spoiling, and she finally tried to place his familiarity.
He pulled away, glared down at her, scowl darkening his face in familiar ire. “Frag makes you think I wouldn't?”
Her optics widened as his appearance, his mannerisms suddenly clicked into place alongside that of the scratched and dented artist. “You?Get off-”
“Sunny?”
Part Three
This implies that I'm still not done, right? So why exactly am I posting it instead of finishing it. One word.
Sunstreaker.
What's the first thing that crosses your mind when you think of Sunny?
Psychotic?
Vain?
A clone of his brother?
Lusty?
Beautiful? Handsome? I'm certain these two words were in there as well, but they have probably been tempered by all the other descriptions of him.
Sunstreaker is supposed to be beautiful, no, not beautiful, Gorgeous. (pretty and attractive simply do not apply to Sunstreaker) There's more to beauty than simple looks, however. There's attitude, and I don't mean vanity. There's actions, and I don't mean simply sex. Sunstreaker should be sensual.
Sunstreaker is often shown in any combinations violent/psychotic, vain, and lusty, but he's not shown using the power of his looks to seduce. He's Gorgeous and he knows it. And he knows how to use it.
Sunstreaker deserved his own little part, so that his seduction could stand out in the spotlight, if only for a moment.
I leave it to you to decide whether or not I succeeded.
Title Twin Ties (tentative)
Series Sticky Situation
Pairing Sunstreaker/Prowl, Sideswipe/Prowl in there somewhere
Warnings Sticky warning actually doesn't apply so much here, there's some chest groping, but that's about it. Also, furthering the butchering of Prowl's character (yes, this'll be a running joke throughout most of this series).
Summary Prowl's still freaking over what she saw. She is seduced by a 'mystery mech'.
Author's Notes I shall blame this on a fic called 'Light of the Sun' which is 15 chapters into teasing us with Prowl/Sunny and they're only just realizing their feelings. >.O Want Prowl/Sunny now plzkthx. Also many, many thanks go to
tiamat1972 for malleting into me just what it means to be seductive. Without her this would have probably been more along the lines of 'thow Prowl down and let Sunny have his way with her' ^^;;;;;;;;...;;;
What makes me squee is this might actually allow me to have more friendly Prowl/Sunny relations down the road. Yay!
Master List
Part 1
~*~*~*~
She saw him as she moved through her daily routine the following solar cycle. She ignored his hopeful glances, too exhausted from lack of recharge to process the problem. She didn't even want to care; betrayed, hurt, disgusted. He interfaced, he had sex, with his brother, with his twin. He loved his brother, more than just the brotherly love common in most families. The idea disgusted her, and that he tried to defend his actions, defend his touching her with those same hands… How dare he!
She interacted with Sideswipe no more than she had to, flinching away from his hands as he spoke to her supervisor. She could see the hurt in his face when she did this, but frankly she was convinced she didn’t care. She avoided him as much as possible for the next few solar cycles, renting a berth, or a room, and even going to a recharge station once. She didn't have the courage to explain to any of her friends why she wasn't staying with Sideswipe, even though they certainly noticed her sudden avoidance of the red mech.
All she heard in her processor was the same echo all the time 'He's interfacing with his twin, and that is so wrong, because they can breach each other's firewalls and feel each other in ways that are only meant for bondmates. Disgusting. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting!' When she was able to return to her apartment, she'd have to get rid of the peripherals he'd left. One's he'd probably used with his twin! The thought disrupted her power relays, churning her holding tanks.
She lay on her rented berth, tear tracks overflowing with liquid, unable to settle into the recharge for which she paid. Sideswipe often joined many of her friends to socialize, leaving her rather bereft of company.
She found herself heading to the library, accessing the files of whatever sparked her interest at that moment. When she grew bored of that, she began sorting through the datapads. She couldn't shake the awful feeling of leaving Sideswipe so abruptly like that, but oftentimes her disgust screamed louder, and she wallowed in her firm belief that such a relationship couldn't be natural.
Yet the hurt and lost look on his face as the doors had closed between them still sent surges of grief through her circuits.
Anger quickly followed and she snapped about, suddenly determined to verify that she had the right of it. She accessed the remote directory, and made her way to the section of datapads dedicated to dry history and the minutes from senate meetings. She recalled from her studies that the topic of sibling relations had been heavily debated before the Firewall Institution Act had passed legislation.
She scanned the correlating datapads, reading the disaster that came from sister bonding to brother, and allowing their spark energies to merge.
'We're both mechs, breaching each other's firewalls is not something we have to worry about.'
Did that make it anymore right for them to treat each other as lovers? What about the boundaries of family and friends? She shuddered at the thought of taking any of her siblings as a lover, of allowing them access to her spark.
Her proximity alarms suddenly went off and she spun around, doorwings dipping down in an instinctive preparation to transform.
A golden mech leaned against the shelf nearby. Stylish vents framed his face, creating a vaguely familiar profile offset by the darkened optics and the smile pulling at his mouth. Blue optics glowed softly with interest at her, mouth curved in smile. His paint gleamed with recent care, no streaks or scratches marring his plating.
Primus, he was beautiful.
And he was looking at her.
“That must be an interesting read,” his voice matched his appearance, smooth and silky as a waxed finish. He tilted his head, the top of one of his vent horns tapping the shelf he leaned against it, his smile taking on an amused tilt.
Her processor fritzed at her effort to place his familiar visage, intent instead on how he seemed poised to touch her, and the form of his words on his lips. “It’s nothing,” she chuckled, inexplicably nervous in the face of his regard. “It’s just a little dry history.”
“Oh,” he purred, and he took a step closer, “I wasn’t talking about what’s on the datapad.”
Her optics widened, but she didn’t move away. “What else would I be reading? There’s no signs up that I can see, and you don’t have any writing on you.”
His optics flashed and he smiled that dazzling smile of his again, encroaching on her one step more. “There doesn’t have to be writing in order for you to read something.” He casually placed one hand on the shelf next to her, leaning his weight against the structure, and placing one hand on his hip strut. He looked like he was putting himself on display for her, turning his body so that the lights within the library reflected off his paneling.
What a display he made, too.
She stared, doorwings rising, forgetting that he’d spoken.
He leaned closer, dental plates showing in a familiar grin. “Like I said, must be an interesting read.”
She jumped, looking at him in embarrassment when she realized that she’d been staring at his shining chest. She tucked the datapad back into its slot, refusing to look at the golden mech. “I’m sorry. Am I standing in your way?” What could such a beautiful mech possibly want in this section?
He shook his head, optics bright, and he leaned a little closer to her. “No, you’re not. I’ve found what I was looking for.”
Her doorwings shot up. “What?”
He pulled away, the smile never leaving his face. “I have to repeat myself all the time with you, don’t I? I said, I found what I was looking for.”
“Me?”
“Yes,” the amused rumble in his voice sent surges through her circuits, “you.”
This caused her to finally take a step back, and he advanced that one step. “Why would you want me?”
“Why would someone not want you?” he countered.
She retreated again when his hand came up to touch her shoulder tire. “I already have someone.”
His brow ridge lifted, though it wasn’t surprise that touched his face. “Do you?” He pressed forward one more step, and she backed up two.
“Yes, I do,” her vocalizer stuttered from his proximity. “Yes, I-I’m not looking.” She moved away again, and suddenly the shelf wasn’t there anymore. Still he approached, giving her a sense of déjà vu to that night cycle at Sideswipe’s.
“I don’t think you do.” He swung around her, blocking her from backing into the next aisle with his arm.
She found herself pinned to the end of the shelf, trapped by his golden hands. “Wh-What do you know? You don’t know me.”
He tilted his head, looking her over from head to foot. “I know you, Prowl.” He leaned closer, face inexorably near her own.
She slid down, unable to tear her gaze away from his handsome face, from the lips that loomed ever closer. He knew her name? How did he know her name?
He followed her, that grin back in place. He paused by her cheek seam, seeming to take a deep inhalation of her smell. His engine rumbled, and his optics darkened further. “Do like your doorwings, after all.”
“Th-thank you.“ Why did that phrase sound so familiar? It wasn’t so uncommon, clients complimented her on her doorwings all the time. But the wording wasn’t right.
She found it hard to concentrate with him pressing near to her, every sensor on her face seemed to ache with anticipation for his touch.
One of his arms wound around her waist, pulling her away from the wall and against his chestplate. He seemed content to let her rest her head on the edge of his collar ridge, nuzzling against her audio receptor and stroking his other hand over her doorwing.
She shouldn’t be allowing this. That thought made her bring her hands up to his shoulders, lifting her head from his chest to look at him, intending to push him away. She didn’t even know his name.
He captured her lips in a kiss, demanding and sensuous, one of his hands caressing her jaw hinge as the other moved across her bumper. He pushed her back against the shelf structure, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck, dental plates nipping gently as he moved down her neck and then back up to her lips.
She shivered at the delightful sensations eddying through her systems, hands still poised to push him away. She found herself kissing him back, doorwings sweeping back to allow him to probe at the hinges. The tips quivered as he instead took her head in his hands to stop her from pressing forward, giving him more control.
He moved in just a little more. His stance widened, allowing her to shape her frame against his. His glossa slid along her lips, stroking along her own.
Her vision flickered, and she felt moisture coating her mouth.
His fingers tightened on her helmet, and he abruptly pulled away, head snapping back as his intakes worked in excited jolts. He released her, stepping back, and looking at her with optics so dark, they seemed deactivated.
She staggered without him there to support her suddenly weak knees.
Then he wasn’t there, and she turned, surprised to see him walking away without another word.
“What-” she whispered. “What the slag was that?” she yelled after him.
He didn't stop or turn, simply continuing his steady pace.
Anger spiked through her, and she shook off the surges of his touch and chased after him.
He quickened his steps, guiding her through the library at nearly a run. His long stride slowed as he left the library, and she ground her dental plates as she realized that he was leading her on. Yet her frustration at his arrogant disregard for what he’d done to her (even if she hadn’t exactly fought him), spurred her to continue after him out of the library.
She came out just as he transformed and swept into traffic, but his golden form stood out in the midst of more sensor friendly colors. The Fineline wove through traffic, literally leading her on as the fast vehicle seemed to take his sweet time for someone trying to get away.
‘The slagger. That slagger! that stupid slagging factory-built spawn!’
He refused to acknowledge her on any channels, even the general public frequencies, as she hailed the only Line model on the road. His taunting in-lane weaving only served to anger her further, her emotional relays sparking past her logic centers and shorting them out. She wasn’t thinking clearly, and he had made her too mad to care.
He pulled over in front of a building, transforming and walking up the ramp that lead to its entrance. She pulled alongside the curb a little further back and transformed, skipping onto the curb quickly as another bot pulled up behind her. The stranger's leisurely stroll burned her as he continued to mock her efforts at catching him. She measured her pace out, doorwings flared in anger and drawing the gaze of curious passersby.
She didn't care.
That fragger thought he could use her like some mindless drone, like some doll and walk away as if it'd never happen. Not with Prowl, he couldn't. Not without hearing a few words from her vocalizer. Maybe her fist in his face.
She entered the building, the door unlocked. Her steps echoed ponderously in the empty hallway. A desk stood to her right; a place for the receptionist to greet visitors and direct them to their destinations. She looked left, and saw a shadow crossing the intersection at the end.
She ran.
Her doorwings angled back to reduce the drag across her frame as she pelted around the corner.
There he was.
Still strolling in that lazy arrogant manner. He turned into a room, and she quickly followed.
The mystery mech turned suddenly, grabbing her and shoving her into the wall. Objections died in her vocalizer when he pressed those glorious lips to her neck, his hands digging at her clasps.
Her ventilators chugged on, surprised by the sudden attack, her hands rested on the mag plates set in his shoulder. All thought processes seemed to freeze, only allowing her to focus on the press of his fingers under her plating, and the sweep of his glossa across her dermaplating.
“Is this what you want?” his voice rumbled through her shoulders. He drew her closer, wrapping one arm over her doorwings and behind her shoulders.
“Are you broadcasting attraction waves or something? I don't even know mmph!”
He covered her protest with his mouth. Her doorwings twitched up, and she opened her lips to give him access, twining her glossa with his. His hand held her head sedentary, but she still had her hands free. Her friends would tell her that she was a fool if she turned down such a handsome mech, and after- She cut herself from that thought.
She wanted this.
Her fingers stroked the smooth finish of his chestplate, the feel of him as pleasant beneath her fingertips as his appearance was to her optics.
Air whuffed out of the vents on his head, and a smile curled her lips as she sought to bring more of a reaction from his systems. Her hands traveled around his torso, digging into seams that brought pleased noises from his vocalizer and vents. It wasn't the reaction she wanted.
He shifted, trying to pin her arms in place, as though he didn't want her to continue her minstrations.
Her doorwings dipped down in stubborn refusal to simply receive his attentions quietly. She slid her hands free and caressed them up his neck, feeling the power thrumming through the lines on his neck. She stroked up his horns, caressing the gilded edges. Her thumbs bumped their way up the ridges of his vents.
His head rolled back, optics flickering, releasing her mouth for only a moment to nip at her wrist. His darkening optics gave tell of just how much that had excited him.
She did it again, delighting in the shiver that went through his frame.
“Frag, that-uhn!” Air hissed from between his dental plates as his vent ridges received another stimulating caress.
Wrapping his other arm around her back, he lifted her with an ease that shouldn't have surprised her. Such a beautiful frame was bound to have some strength behind it. He set her on the sole couch in the room (some part of her processor that was still thinking clearly noticed all the paintings and sculptures that took up a good majority of the space), bending one of her doorwings at an awkward angle. It was the farthest thing from her mind as he ravished her mouth, his hands stroking over her plating, teasing over the clasps.
Her hands pushed at him in protest, and yet they stroked the smooth finish of his chest plate, the well-cared for cells of his magnetic plates. She rubbed her thighs against his waist, finding new spots to make him shiver and grunt; moaned as he worked a few of the clasps to her chest plate loose. His fingertips reached into the gap and caressed one of her breasts, brushing against the sensor node.
The sensation of his hand on her breast surged through her circuits, and lubricant coated her mouth, a gentle, stimulating burn that she want to wipe all over .
He jerked away again, holding his head high, gasping air to cool his heated systems. His glossa flicked out, licking up the trace amounts of the lubricant left on his lips. His optics shuttered, and a moan shook his frame, rumbling from his engine to his vocalizer. “Oh, Primus, I-” His optics opened and they burned indigo, intense, and direct, his gaze locked on her. Smooth and graceful he ducked his head back down, turning his attentions on her neck again.
“Please, I said I'm not looking, I have someone.” She pushed lightly at his shoulders in spite of her protests, thoughts of Sideswipe unwelcome while this glorious mech had his hands on her, his glossa caressing the lines of her neck. She wanted him to never stop what he was doing.
His voice again rumbled through her frame, his hands busy with the clasps holding her chestplate in place. “Not when you've been- ah! -ignoring him for the past few solar cycles-Hnnnn...” His motions turned a little rougher, his dental plates denting the smooth metal of her neck, his hands tugging a little harder at the clasps.
Had he followed her from work? Did she have a stalker and not even know it. She was certain she would have noticed such a beautiful mech in the office, even if he was talking at one of the other desks.
She didn't want to think of it. She didn't want to think of Sideswipe, not when it inevitably lead to thoughts of what she'd seen. “Shut up, you wouldn't understand.” She took hold of his vents, pulling his head up so she could kiss him, so she could rub her fingers over them and make him tremble. Make him want her.
Replace the image in her processor with one so much more pleasant.
“Oh really, I wouldn't?” he murmured against her lips, chuckling. Even with her grip on his audio horns, he resisted the pull to her mouth, though she brushed her lips lightly against his. He stared down at her for a long moment, hands unmoving on her frame, and the expression on his face restrained, as though he wasn't certain he wanted to go through with this.
She didn’t want him to stop, she didn’t want him to hesitate. She ran her hands over his vents, fingering the tips of his horns, and he stopped resisting her. Instead he pressed her down into the couch, tugging at her chestplate until he had a hand completely under it, gripping one of her breasts.
He groaned into her mouth, grinding his hips against her groin covering. Her chestplate suddenly clanged to the floor. He kissed his way down her neck, his hands kneading her breasts. “Forgetting about him so easily?” He mumbled into her collar ridge. His glossa flicked out, tracing the exposed line.
Shouldn't she forget about him after what he'd done. She dug her fingertips into a joint, bending the soft metal and making him hiss. “I don't want to think about it. You wouldn't understand.” Already she felt her mood spoiling, and she finally tried to place his familiarity.
He pulled away, glared down at her, scowl darkening his face in familiar ire. “Frag makes you think I wouldn't?”
Her optics widened as his appearance, his mannerisms suddenly clicked into place alongside that of the scratched and dented artist. “You?Get off-”
“Sunny?”
Part Three