Steve's Dreams
Title: My Commander
Characters: Starscream, Steve the Eradicon
Continuity: Prime
Rating: NC-17. I think. Please feel free to correct me if I'm using that wrong.
Warnings: Tentacles, masturbatory fantasy. (Tactile)
Summary: Steve the Eradicon (or 79, as I called him in the fic), finds himself with some rare alone time, and uses it to enjoy a new fantasy featuring his favourite Commander.
Steve the Eradicon was born on various locations throughout the internet, at about the same time, really. I'm just enjoying him too. Fic is Tactile based, as I said in the warning section. Pairing is Steve/Starscream.
Everyone else thought he was nuts.
But they had to admit- the Commander had some serious eye candy for legs.
That was as far as they'd go though. "He slaps us around constantly." "He kicked 96-3 in the face last week!" "He can't even tell us apart! We're cannon fodder to him, not people."
And it was true. He knew it was true. No use denying the nature of the beast that prowled the catwalk of the command deck. Their Commander was ruthless, cruel, exacting, and carried himself with the arrogance and tempermental nature true to many with his frame type. But 79-0 didn't care- that wasn't all there was to the Commander. No. He had his reasons for his behaviour, for the mood swings. He was always under so much pressure.
What he needed was someone to tell him it was okay to take a cycle for himself. To relax. To let go.
Maybe to let go with someone else. Someone he could lean on. Come to when he was distressed.
Expelling his vents in a huff, 79 sat down hard on his bunk. No one else was in his quarters at the moment. He'd had a long day, and privacy was rare. Might as well use the advantage to take the edge off.
Using his thumb to stroke into the joint of his neck, he leaned into the wall and shut down his optical sensors. Gently he stroked, running upward to his chin, then back down, riding his fingers over the clavicle array to his shoulder armour. If the Commander were here, with him, confiding in him, he'd be leaning into 79 now. Sighing with exhaustion, ventilation warm and sweet against his neck before drooping to rest on a shoulder. Raising a three clawed servo, 79 stroked his own chest, cautiously, questingly. That is how the Commander would ask for his attention. No need for words. 79 would know what he needed.
Turning his attention to his thighs, 79 ignored his usual choice of going straight for the tiny exposed areas of his pelvic armour to grip and stroke the outside of his legs. He wanted to go deeper than simple gratification right now. He had the time, and was choosing to get lost in his fantasy. If the Commander were here, this wouldn't be about his quick pleasure, an easy overload. It would be about easing the woes of a troubled spark, and giving something beautiful a place to drop all shields. The grip on his thighs tightened as 79 imagined pulling that lovely jet astride him, that comfortable weight in his lap, the frame trembling against him as a face plate buried itself in his neck, hiding its optics. Still afraid of being exposed.
But 79 would not laugh. 79 would understand. He would slide his hands up those lithe thighs, cup that delicate waist and pull the Commander to him, rumble his engines against the other frame and hear a gasp of surprise and pleasure, the seeker's grip tightening on his shoulders.
Hush, 79 would say. I've got you. I know. You have such a hard job, and no one gives you the respect you have so earned. But I respect you. I know you.
And he'd bring his hands down to cup that pert aft, and roll them into the wall, cradling and shielding his Commander- no. Not the Commander in here, not like this. Starscream. Intimate. Lovely. And he would shield Starscream, shed of his pretensions about frame type, open to touch, to condolence, and he would make him feel exquisite, and he wouldn't need to feel any reciprocation. Just watching Starscream let go would be enough.
Legs, long, beautiful, sensuous legs would go to coil around his waist, to bring him closer, but he'd catch them by the knees, push them back.
Now curled and puzzled, Starscream would look at him, cautious, nervous. He'd be a little off balance when 79 lifted one ankle to nuzzle it, rubbing his face down the calf, but his squeal of pleasure when the wedge of his heel was pinched would be an audible sign of his compliance. 79 didn't think he'd ever get enough of those legs, if he could get his servos on them. Squeezing the thighs, digging his thumbs into the inner joints of the pelvis, tweaking the knee joint. And Starscream would cling to him and writhe, and call for him, breathless and wanting.
And 79 would deliver. At least, he could in his fantasies.
Soundwave was a quiet terror to the bulk of the army stationed on Earth. Creeping, silent, and always watching, they never knew where he was, what he'd seen or heard. There was no envy there for his skills, just a quiet respect born of fear and acknowledgement.
No envy, but for one thing. And it wasn't as though it would hurt anyone for him to fantasize about it.
Starscream would need some reassurance when the tentacles uncoiled from 79's chassis. Like everyone else on board, he found Soundwave intimidating. He never said as much, far too proud, and needing to keep his position and status, but 79 could see. The way he flinched, or started when the Megatron's trusted servant would appear from no where on quiet feet. And he'd flinch now, confronted with those potentially fearsome appendages. But he trusted his lover, and these would not be Soundwave's tentacles. They'd be 79's. And he would be patient, and wait, let Starscream adjust to these new additions, weigh his feelings.
He's reach out, tentatively, to touch one, and as his finger approached the centre would unravel and reach out with those little sensor laden tendrils. The digit and the wriggling, probing little cilia would explore each other, become acquainted. And once his Starscream had settled to the sensation, 79 would push his tentacle forward to gently caress the jet's brow, the tiny light covered things stroking excitedly over his face, his lips, his cheek, those delicate little helm vents that decorated his jaw. And Starscream would squirm a little, but not in any sort of discomfort. Perhaps it tickled.
The eradicon lightly, so lightly stroked his own upper arms, the way he liked to think Starscream would, to indicate he was ready to continue, that his trust had been well placed in his soldier. 79 wouldn't let him down.
He'd nuzzle his calf, push his face into the crook of Starscream's knee, and just breath him in. Starscream's grip would probably tighten, still a little nervous, as a pair of tentacles wound their way around his arms, finding their way to his wrists. He'd cling a little tighter to 79, then gasp as his arms were pulled away, pushed gently, firmly against the wall by his head. He'd look at 79, questions in his eyes, and 79 would put a single finger to his mouth. Hush now. Let me take care of it. And Starscream would gaze up at him, optics lidded, vents turning up a notch as the tendrils teased the palms of his captive hands, and he'd close his mouth around that digit, running his glossa down it while keeping his eyes focused on 79's optical band.
It would take so much of his willpower not to loose control at that point, but 79 would hold back. Trust was more important than his lust. Instead of pushing Starscream into the wall, gripping his waist and just exploiting every gap in his armour, every hypersensitive seam until his vocalizer shorted, 79 would go slowly. He's remove his finger from that yearning mouth and slide the lubricated digit under his lover's chin, replacing the finger with a thumb. He'd rub it back and forth over the jet's mouth, to gently sooth, and to distract, as the other pair of tentacles wound their way up those delicious thighs and spread those long legs. And Starscream would moan, writhing as the pair around his arms stroked the upper tips of his wings, the thick cord stroking and sliding as the tips pinched the smaller winglets pinned under their larger brothers' impressive span. He'd toss his head, wriggling his chassis so enticingly against 79, entreating him for more, oh please more.
If he could still put together a coherent sentence, than his eradicon certainly could be doing more. And he would.
He'd fix his hands again on those precarious heels, thumb deep in the wedge where he'd squeeze, lightly scratching the sole, then pinching the tiny supportive structures on the side of his arch. Replacing his hands with the soft little tendrils from the leg occupied tentacles, the eradicon would stroke the vulnerable commander soothingly as he shuddered, overcome. With his hands pinned, Starscream would be unable to stifle his cry as he was so overstimulated, everywhere being touched and probed and teased all at once. To spare him any embarrassment, 79 would push his face against his commander's. He wished he had a mouth, he wished even harder when the Starscream of his fantasy nipped at his mask frantically, sliding his face against it as he shuddered. Oh the ecstacy as this powerful sign of approval would send 79 over the edge!
Using the tentacles to keep his jet in place, his Starscream confined and restrained, displayed as he liked, 79 would explore his torso now, with its cables and intricate plating. He'd hook his fingers under the bizarre, beautiful extensions of the chest plate, squeeze the abdominal tube-like structures from end to end, wrap his hands around that tiny, skinny little, unbelievable waist and pull Starscream tight against him as they both finally reached overload.
He removed his fingers from where he'd been teasing himself and went back to rubbing his arms, featherlight but awkward. Starscream would be clumsy and exhausted after all that teasing. And he'd want to touch 79, to thank him and reassure himself that he was still safe, still protected in his loyal soldier's arms. Contented and exhausted, Starscream would fall asleep like that, still curled under 79 and only lightly held by the tentacles now. He'd be safe as he recharged, confident in 79, and only 79's ability to protect him.
Alone in the recharge room, 79 sighed and crossed his arms tighter so that he could stroke his own back.
Someday.
Someday, Commander.
Characters: Starscream, Steve the Eradicon
Continuity: Prime
Rating: NC-17. I think. Please feel free to correct me if I'm using that wrong.
Warnings: Tentacles, masturbatory fantasy. (Tactile)
Summary: Steve the Eradicon (or 79, as I called him in the fic), finds himself with some rare alone time, and uses it to enjoy a new fantasy featuring his favourite Commander.
Steve the Eradicon was born on various locations throughout the internet, at about the same time, really. I'm just enjoying him too. Fic is Tactile based, as I said in the warning section. Pairing is Steve/Starscream.
Everyone else thought he was nuts.
But they had to admit- the Commander had some serious eye candy for legs.
That was as far as they'd go though. "He slaps us around constantly." "He kicked 96-3 in the face last week!" "He can't even tell us apart! We're cannon fodder to him, not people."
And it was true. He knew it was true. No use denying the nature of the beast that prowled the catwalk of the command deck. Their Commander was ruthless, cruel, exacting, and carried himself with the arrogance and tempermental nature true to many with his frame type. But 79-0 didn't care- that wasn't all there was to the Commander. No. He had his reasons for his behaviour, for the mood swings. He was always under so much pressure.
What he needed was someone to tell him it was okay to take a cycle for himself. To relax. To let go.
Maybe to let go with someone else. Someone he could lean on. Come to when he was distressed.
Expelling his vents in a huff, 79 sat down hard on his bunk. No one else was in his quarters at the moment. He'd had a long day, and privacy was rare. Might as well use the advantage to take the edge off.
Using his thumb to stroke into the joint of his neck, he leaned into the wall and shut down his optical sensors. Gently he stroked, running upward to his chin, then back down, riding his fingers over the clavicle array to his shoulder armour. If the Commander were here, with him, confiding in him, he'd be leaning into 79 now. Sighing with exhaustion, ventilation warm and sweet against his neck before drooping to rest on a shoulder. Raising a three clawed servo, 79 stroked his own chest, cautiously, questingly. That is how the Commander would ask for his attention. No need for words. 79 would know what he needed.
Turning his attention to his thighs, 79 ignored his usual choice of going straight for the tiny exposed areas of his pelvic armour to grip and stroke the outside of his legs. He wanted to go deeper than simple gratification right now. He had the time, and was choosing to get lost in his fantasy. If the Commander were here, this wouldn't be about his quick pleasure, an easy overload. It would be about easing the woes of a troubled spark, and giving something beautiful a place to drop all shields. The grip on his thighs tightened as 79 imagined pulling that lovely jet astride him, that comfortable weight in his lap, the frame trembling against him as a face plate buried itself in his neck, hiding its optics. Still afraid of being exposed.
But 79 would not laugh. 79 would understand. He would slide his hands up those lithe thighs, cup that delicate waist and pull the Commander to him, rumble his engines against the other frame and hear a gasp of surprise and pleasure, the seeker's grip tightening on his shoulders.
Hush, 79 would say. I've got you. I know. You have such a hard job, and no one gives you the respect you have so earned. But I respect you. I know you.
And he'd bring his hands down to cup that pert aft, and roll them into the wall, cradling and shielding his Commander- no. Not the Commander in here, not like this. Starscream. Intimate. Lovely. And he would shield Starscream, shed of his pretensions about frame type, open to touch, to condolence, and he would make him feel exquisite, and he wouldn't need to feel any reciprocation. Just watching Starscream let go would be enough.
Legs, long, beautiful, sensuous legs would go to coil around his waist, to bring him closer, but he'd catch them by the knees, push them back.
Now curled and puzzled, Starscream would look at him, cautious, nervous. He'd be a little off balance when 79 lifted one ankle to nuzzle it, rubbing his face down the calf, but his squeal of pleasure when the wedge of his heel was pinched would be an audible sign of his compliance. 79 didn't think he'd ever get enough of those legs, if he could get his servos on them. Squeezing the thighs, digging his thumbs into the inner joints of the pelvis, tweaking the knee joint. And Starscream would cling to him and writhe, and call for him, breathless and wanting.
And 79 would deliver. At least, he could in his fantasies.
Soundwave was a quiet terror to the bulk of the army stationed on Earth. Creeping, silent, and always watching, they never knew where he was, what he'd seen or heard. There was no envy there for his skills, just a quiet respect born of fear and acknowledgement.
No envy, but for one thing. And it wasn't as though it would hurt anyone for him to fantasize about it.
Starscream would need some reassurance when the tentacles uncoiled from 79's chassis. Like everyone else on board, he found Soundwave intimidating. He never said as much, far too proud, and needing to keep his position and status, but 79 could see. The way he flinched, or started when the Megatron's trusted servant would appear from no where on quiet feet. And he'd flinch now, confronted with those potentially fearsome appendages. But he trusted his lover, and these would not be Soundwave's tentacles. They'd be 79's. And he would be patient, and wait, let Starscream adjust to these new additions, weigh his feelings.
He's reach out, tentatively, to touch one, and as his finger approached the centre would unravel and reach out with those little sensor laden tendrils. The digit and the wriggling, probing little cilia would explore each other, become acquainted. And once his Starscream had settled to the sensation, 79 would push his tentacle forward to gently caress the jet's brow, the tiny light covered things stroking excitedly over his face, his lips, his cheek, those delicate little helm vents that decorated his jaw. And Starscream would squirm a little, but not in any sort of discomfort. Perhaps it tickled.
The eradicon lightly, so lightly stroked his own upper arms, the way he liked to think Starscream would, to indicate he was ready to continue, that his trust had been well placed in his soldier. 79 wouldn't let him down.
He'd nuzzle his calf, push his face into the crook of Starscream's knee, and just breath him in. Starscream's grip would probably tighten, still a little nervous, as a pair of tentacles wound their way around his arms, finding their way to his wrists. He'd cling a little tighter to 79, then gasp as his arms were pulled away, pushed gently, firmly against the wall by his head. He'd look at 79, questions in his eyes, and 79 would put a single finger to his mouth. Hush now. Let me take care of it. And Starscream would gaze up at him, optics lidded, vents turning up a notch as the tendrils teased the palms of his captive hands, and he'd close his mouth around that digit, running his glossa down it while keeping his eyes focused on 79's optical band.
It would take so much of his willpower not to loose control at that point, but 79 would hold back. Trust was more important than his lust. Instead of pushing Starscream into the wall, gripping his waist and just exploiting every gap in his armour, every hypersensitive seam until his vocalizer shorted, 79 would go slowly. He's remove his finger from that yearning mouth and slide the lubricated digit under his lover's chin, replacing the finger with a thumb. He'd rub it back and forth over the jet's mouth, to gently sooth, and to distract, as the other pair of tentacles wound their way up those delicious thighs and spread those long legs. And Starscream would moan, writhing as the pair around his arms stroked the upper tips of his wings, the thick cord stroking and sliding as the tips pinched the smaller winglets pinned under their larger brothers' impressive span. He'd toss his head, wriggling his chassis so enticingly against 79, entreating him for more, oh please more.
If he could still put together a coherent sentence, than his eradicon certainly could be doing more. And he would.
He'd fix his hands again on those precarious heels, thumb deep in the wedge where he'd squeeze, lightly scratching the sole, then pinching the tiny supportive structures on the side of his arch. Replacing his hands with the soft little tendrils from the leg occupied tentacles, the eradicon would stroke the vulnerable commander soothingly as he shuddered, overcome. With his hands pinned, Starscream would be unable to stifle his cry as he was so overstimulated, everywhere being touched and probed and teased all at once. To spare him any embarrassment, 79 would push his face against his commander's. He wished he had a mouth, he wished even harder when the Starscream of his fantasy nipped at his mask frantically, sliding his face against it as he shuddered. Oh the ecstacy as this powerful sign of approval would send 79 over the edge!
Using the tentacles to keep his jet in place, his Starscream confined and restrained, displayed as he liked, 79 would explore his torso now, with its cables and intricate plating. He'd hook his fingers under the bizarre, beautiful extensions of the chest plate, squeeze the abdominal tube-like structures from end to end, wrap his hands around that tiny, skinny little, unbelievable waist and pull Starscream tight against him as they both finally reached overload.
He removed his fingers from where he'd been teasing himself and went back to rubbing his arms, featherlight but awkward. Starscream would be clumsy and exhausted after all that teasing. And he'd want to touch 79, to thank him and reassure himself that he was still safe, still protected in his loyal soldier's arms. Contented and exhausted, Starscream would fall asleep like that, still curled under 79 and only lightly held by the tentacles now. He'd be safe as he recharged, confident in 79, and only 79's ability to protect him.
Alone in the recharge room, 79 sighed and crossed his arms tighter so that he could stroke his own back.
Someday.
Someday, Commander.