Very random note
Cheesecake in an ice cone worked a lot better than I thought it would. Damn, now I'm wishing I'd made more. XD;; *nomnomnom*
I still hate being so quiet fic-wise for so long, so.... here's a scene from random ficcage. This is
padawan_sponge's and
vixens_shadow 's fault, just so you know.
Title Untitled-Sticky-Fic
Characters/Pairings Sideswipe/Femme!Prowl, Sunstreaker/TC-whatever-his-name-is. :P
Summary He could hear them in the other room...
He could hear them in the other room; the rhythmic click, bang and scrape of metal striking metal. He could almost feel it. Legs wrapped around his waist. The press and friction of a warm port around his plug. The brush of lips across his faceplates and audio horns that he didn’t posses. The sweet scent of erotic lubricant. Ethereal sensations on the edges of his perception.
Sunstreaker frowned at the mech lying on the berth next to him. He felt nothing for the mech, an acquaintance of a friend of his brother’s. He’d only met him a handful of times; he had to struggle to recall his name, and could only dredge up ‘TC’ whatever the frag that stood for. Topcover? Tradecrash? Terribleclash? Whatever.
It was nothing at all like he knew his brother felt for the femme that had all but moved in with them. Nothing like the contented hum that her presence evoked, or the swelling pulse that would occasionally trickle over his bond.
Sideswipe loved Prowl far more than Sunstreaker could ever offer anyone else. Sunstreaker had room for no one else besides his brother.
Sunstreaker hissed, air pulled in by fans that suddenly activated to cool his heated engine.
He could still hear them in there for slag’s sake! How was a mech supposed to recharge with that going on the next room over. Primus, maybe he should find a cheap apartment of his own.
One last clang, and a spike signaled an end to the disruption. That damned complacency purred over his bond, thrilling his sensory net.
He wanted a good fuck now, but slag if TC-whatever stroked him the right way at the moment. He checked his chronometer, and decided to just fragging start his day. Preferably with a nice cold shower.
He didn’t touch TC as he rolled off the berth. Sunstreaker grabbed up his plates and headed for the shower. Three breem, and one very cold shower later, found him by the dispenser grabbing a round of midgrade.
Prowl rolled into the dispenser area. Her doorwings twitched, drawing his attention, and he could just make out small scratches in the blue finish that covered them.
She murmured a greeting to Sunstreaker, then pulled a cube out and nudged him to the side to reach the dispenser.
“Watch it.” Despite his soft growl, his attention remained riveted by those nearly imperceptible marks that marred her paint. He took a mouthful of energon, barely tasting it before it went down his tracheal tube. His hand reached out of its own accord to touch the top edge of the panel, and then yanked it down. “Do you and that slaghead have to make so much noise?”
She jerked, energon spilling out of her cube as she turned to Sunstreaker in surprise. “We were being quiet!”
“Like slag you were! You may as well have been right next to me.” He took a step closer to her, ignoring the way the metal bent under his fingers. “Do you know how much that frags with my concentration?”
“Concentration?” she sputtered. “What the slag were you concentrating on? I’d bet it was the same damned thing Sides and I were working on!” She narrowed her optics at him, and shoved his hand away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Sunny, Sideswipe is waiting for a cube.”
Sunstreaker grabbed her before she could leave the kitchen. He didn’t even remember throwing his cube on the counter, but he wrapped his arm around her waist, and grabbed hold of her doorwing to drag her back to him.
She stiffened in his arms, engine revving for a brief moment, vibrating against his groin. “What the frag is your problem? Leggo!”
Sideswipe’s voice came over the comm. line, pitched high in worry. “Prowl?”
“Oh, would you stop! I’m not going to hurt you.”
Prowl tossed a disbelieving scowl over her shoulder, but subsided. Communication buzzed over the line, Prowl responding to Sideswipe’s query.
Sunstreaker released her waist, but firmly held onto her doorwing. Fans blowing from the exertion filled the silence that followed as Sunstreaker examined the marks on her doorwings.
Prowl reached out a hand to steady herself on the wall, submitting to the examination with all the willingness of a sparkling visiting the fitters.
Scratches drew jagged lines down the main panel, and one corner had rubbed completely off. Sunstreaker could imagine exactly what Sideswipe had done to create such decorations. He traced the lines with careful fingers, the edges like ridges under his artist senses.
Yes, he could imagine quite well how these were made.
“Sunstreaker?”
His circuits heated, remembering the ghostly sensations that had teased him online. The ghostly sensations that had resulted in this marring of perfect paint. His optics dimmed and he leaned forward to trace his lips over panel edge. “Hm?”
The doorwing twitched, pinging against his face. “Don’t you have someone in your room?”
“Do I?” he breathed. He’d much rather have her in his room.
“Yes. Thundercracker?” Prowl prompted.
“Is that what TC stands for?” Faint traces of sweet lubricant burned his olfactory sensors, stirring his ready hardware.
“Yes, he’s in your room. This would be more appropriate for him, don’t you think?” Her head canted to one side. “Sides would be a little fritzed, too.”
Ah, now that mattered to him.
Sunstreaker released Prowl and the femme took a step away from him.
She turned to look at him, optics dark. She pressed her lips into a thin line before she bounced up to peck him lightly on the mouth. She offered him a small smile before spinning about and ducking out of the room.
Sunstreaker stared after her for a long breem, licking her sweet taste from his lips. Then he gathered his own cube and took it to the couch.
He still had no interest in returning to his berth and the mech laying there.
I still hate being so quiet fic-wise for so long, so.... here's a scene from random ficcage. This is
padawan_sponge's and
vixens_shadow 's fault, just so you know.
Title Untitled-Sticky-Fic
Characters/Pairings Sideswipe/Femme!Prowl, Sunstreaker/TC-whatever-his-name-is. :P
Summary He could hear them in the other room...
He could hear them in the other room; the rhythmic click, bang and scrape of metal striking metal. He could almost feel it. Legs wrapped around his waist. The press and friction of a warm port around his plug. The brush of lips across his faceplates and audio horns that he didn’t posses. The sweet scent of erotic lubricant. Ethereal sensations on the edges of his perception.
Sunstreaker frowned at the mech lying on the berth next to him. He felt nothing for the mech, an acquaintance of a friend of his brother’s. He’d only met him a handful of times; he had to struggle to recall his name, and could only dredge up ‘TC’ whatever the frag that stood for. Topcover? Tradecrash? Terribleclash? Whatever.
It was nothing at all like he knew his brother felt for the femme that had all but moved in with them. Nothing like the contented hum that her presence evoked, or the swelling pulse that would occasionally trickle over his bond.
Sideswipe loved Prowl far more than Sunstreaker could ever offer anyone else. Sunstreaker had room for no one else besides his brother.
Sunstreaker hissed, air pulled in by fans that suddenly activated to cool his heated engine.
He could still hear them in there for slag’s sake! How was a mech supposed to recharge with that going on the next room over. Primus, maybe he should find a cheap apartment of his own.
One last clang, and a spike signaled an end to the disruption. That damned complacency purred over his bond, thrilling his sensory net.
He wanted a good fuck now, but slag if TC-whatever stroked him the right way at the moment. He checked his chronometer, and decided to just fragging start his day. Preferably with a nice cold shower.
He didn’t touch TC as he rolled off the berth. Sunstreaker grabbed up his plates and headed for the shower. Three breem, and one very cold shower later, found him by the dispenser grabbing a round of midgrade.
Prowl rolled into the dispenser area. Her doorwings twitched, drawing his attention, and he could just make out small scratches in the blue finish that covered them.
She murmured a greeting to Sunstreaker, then pulled a cube out and nudged him to the side to reach the dispenser.
“Watch it.” Despite his soft growl, his attention remained riveted by those nearly imperceptible marks that marred her paint. He took a mouthful of energon, barely tasting it before it went down his tracheal tube. His hand reached out of its own accord to touch the top edge of the panel, and then yanked it down. “Do you and that slaghead have to make so much noise?”
She jerked, energon spilling out of her cube as she turned to Sunstreaker in surprise. “We were being quiet!”
“Like slag you were! You may as well have been right next to me.” He took a step closer to her, ignoring the way the metal bent under his fingers. “Do you know how much that frags with my concentration?”
“Concentration?” she sputtered. “What the slag were you concentrating on? I’d bet it was the same damned thing Sides and I were working on!” She narrowed her optics at him, and shoved his hand away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Sunny, Sideswipe is waiting for a cube.”
Sunstreaker grabbed her before she could leave the kitchen. He didn’t even remember throwing his cube on the counter, but he wrapped his arm around her waist, and grabbed hold of her doorwing to drag her back to him.
She stiffened in his arms, engine revving for a brief moment, vibrating against his groin. “What the frag is your problem? Leggo!”
Sideswipe’s voice came over the comm. line, pitched high in worry. “Prowl?”
“Oh, would you stop! I’m not going to hurt you.”
Prowl tossed a disbelieving scowl over her shoulder, but subsided. Communication buzzed over the line, Prowl responding to Sideswipe’s query.
Sunstreaker released her waist, but firmly held onto her doorwing. Fans blowing from the exertion filled the silence that followed as Sunstreaker examined the marks on her doorwings.
Prowl reached out a hand to steady herself on the wall, submitting to the examination with all the willingness of a sparkling visiting the fitters.
Scratches drew jagged lines down the main panel, and one corner had rubbed completely off. Sunstreaker could imagine exactly what Sideswipe had done to create such decorations. He traced the lines with careful fingers, the edges like ridges under his artist senses.
Yes, he could imagine quite well how these were made.
“Sunstreaker?”
His circuits heated, remembering the ghostly sensations that had teased him online. The ghostly sensations that had resulted in this marring of perfect paint. His optics dimmed and he leaned forward to trace his lips over panel edge. “Hm?”
The doorwing twitched, pinging against his face. “Don’t you have someone in your room?”
“Do I?” he breathed. He’d much rather have her in his room.
“Yes. Thundercracker?” Prowl prompted.
“Is that what TC stands for?” Faint traces of sweet lubricant burned his olfactory sensors, stirring his ready hardware.
“Yes, he’s in your room. This would be more appropriate for him, don’t you think?” Her head canted to one side. “Sides would be a little fritzed, too.”
Ah, now that mattered to him.
Sunstreaker released Prowl and the femme took a step away from him.
She turned to look at him, optics dark. She pressed her lips into a thin line before she bounced up to peck him lightly on the mouth. She offered him a small smile before spinning about and ducking out of the room.
Sunstreaker stared after her for a long breem, licking her sweet taste from his lips. Then he gathered his own cube and took it to the couch.
He still had no interest in returning to his berth and the mech laying there.