dracoqueen22 | Flash Fiction Fills (Take 37) Final Part

a/n: and here are the last of the flash fiction, finally complete and ready for your reading pleasure. Most of these are, once again, NSFW. Be warned! And enjoy. :)

For camfield
Prompt: Riku/Sora, “come on. Merman. Underwater sex. You can't tell me you've never thought about it before”

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts. Warnings: mermaid smut-kink-ish

Regardless of what Sora said, learning to swim as a merman was not instinctive. Riku found himself flailing around underwater as much as a fish would out of water and he is not amused. No, not amused at all.

Let's go to Atlantica! Sora had said with bright-eyed enthusiasm. I haven't been there in a while. It would make a great vacation!

'We live on a freaking island,' Riku seethed to himself. Why would flicking about underwater with these all-but-useless tails be a change of pace?

“Having fun?” Sora asked as sensation flitted across Riku's caudal fin and Sora sped past him in an expert flick of his dolphin-like appendage.

Donald's magic had altered Riku in such a way that his own fishy appendage had the cast of some kind of shark. Dark and dangerous, in Riku's opinion, which was about the only bit of approval he had about this entire vacation.

Riku flexed his lower extremities, trying to swim toward Sora, and growled as he pushed himself backward instead, hair flowing into his face.

“No,” he snarled, “I'm not!” He wished he'd thought to bring some kind of rubberband. Or better yet, a pair of scissors. Cut all of it off, damn it. Except that Sora liked his hair long and got that stupid pout on his face if Riku so much as mentioned getting it trimmed. Riku's will of swiss cheese could never stand up to that pout.

“You just haven't gotten used to it yet,” Sora said with a small laugh, flicking his tail to catch up to Riku, circling behind him with expert movements.

“I don't think I'm going to,” Riku retorted irritably as Sora's arms, strangely warm, wrap around him from behind.

Sora's chin rested on his shoulder as he pressed himself against Riku, their lower appendages coming into contact. Scaly? Not quite. Riku wasn't sure how to describe it except weird. Sora might be used to all of this body-changing nonsense from his various jaunts across the universe, but Riku wasn't and he was pretty sure he didn't like it.

“You might,” Sora corrected, the smile obvious in his tone. His palms flattened on Riku's bare abdomen, one hand pressing downward, the tips of his fingers toying with the slow gradation from skin to scales. “Being a merman has its perks.”

“What? Breathing under water?” Riku rolled his eyes, though he felt his breath catch (was he even technically breathing?) as Sora fingers continued to trace the gradual divide, which was unexpectedly sensitive.

Sora laughed, the vibrations traveling through the water and through skin where Sora was pressed against him. “Sometimes, I swear you have no sense of adventure,” he said with a nip to Riku's ear. “Haven't you ever fantasized?”

Riku's eyes rounded as heat flooded his body (was he even supposed to be hot? Weren't fish cold-blooded? Did they even have blood? Gah, this was breaking his brain!). “You kinky little brat,” he said, the end of his shark tail flicking restlessly.

“Guilty as charged.” Sora's hands roamed with greater intent, one Riku now fully understood . “Indulge me?” He pressed a kiss to the side of Riku's throat, the brush of his lips making Riku tingle from head to, well, fin.

Resistance, Riku thought with an intrigued shiver, was futile.

For dellessa
Prompt: TFA, Megatron/Optimus, issues

Fandom: Transformers Animated. Warnings: possessive!Megatron with ideas, Optimus in chains

“You see, little Prime, herein lies my problem.”

Megatron does not miss the way the Autobot twitches at the adjective. The way those Autobot-blue eyes narrow and Prime makes another aborted attempt to free himself from his bonds.

Megatron's lips curl with amusement. He folds his arms behind his back and paces back and forth in front of his recently acquired captive. Quite a feat of both Blitzwing and Lugnut working together. He shall have to reward them later.

“I have you,” Megatron says. “Now what to do with you?”

He pauses, angling his frame just so, the flood light above catching his fusion cannon with an intimidating glint. Just to remind the Autobot of it's presence of course.

“I could kill you. Mm, yes. Won't that be fun?” Megatron continues with another intimidating flash of his fusion cannon. “But I suspect you are of more worth to me alive. More entertaining as well.”

The Prime glares, hydraulics hissing, frame visibly straining at his bonds. But the stasis cuffs work in Megatron's favor, keeping the Autobot quiet and immobile. The glare is, at worst, as frightening as a turbofox kit.

“Glorious Megatron,” Lugnut rumbles, rubbing his massive paws together. “What are you going to do with the Autobot?”

Megatron twitches. Is that not the very question he'd pondered aloud? You just can't find good help these days.

Still. He will have to do something. No doubt the Prime's pathetic team will come looking for their missing leader. Autobots have a tendency to attempt to rescue their own. Well, the halfway decent ones anyway. The less said of the Magnus and those in higher standing the better.

“We'll keep him,” Megatron announces, smirking as the Prime makes a noise of protest, a growl in his engine that rumbles in the air. “For now.”

Blitzwing's Random gives off a maniacal cackle. “For educational use only. Batteries not included!”

Megatron rolls his optics. “Lugnut! Escort our new prisoner to more fitting accommodations.”

He watches as Lugnut drags the Autobot up by his arms, pulling at the cuffs, dragging Prime's arms at an unnatural angle. He can hear the servo-motors in Prime's shoulders whine their distress, but Prime bears the pain with a furious dignity. An admirable dignity actually.

How intriguing. Perhaps there is more bite to this little Prime than Megatron first suspected. He would be a great addition to the Decepticon cause. While young compared to Megatron, he has useful battle skills and the fact he is attractive is a point in the little Prime's favor.

Once upon a time, Megatron had been quite charismatic. It isn't a stretch to think he still carries those skills.

Forcing the Prime to join the Decepticons is not appealing. Convincing the Prime, however, is quite intriguing indeed. Seduction, while not Megatron's forte, is far more likely to succeed than force, which Megatron disdains anyway.

His engine gives a rev of interest.

Yes. This idea will do nicely.

For azardarkstar
Prompt: Jazz/Bluestreak, “Die Young,” by Ke$ha

Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings for a bit of voyeurism/exhibitionism, some tactile

Jazz is very overcharged. His visor is bright, too bright, and there's a distinct wobble to his moves that speaks of overenergized circuits and misfiring synapses. Bluestreak thinks he must be overcharged too because that smile on Jazz's lips is the sexiest thing he's ever seen this side of Cybertron.

“Hey, Blue,” Jazz purrs, fingers sliding up Bluestreak's arm and tapdancing their way up his upper arm. “I ever tell ya I got a thing for shoulder cannons?” he asks, preempting his statement by dragging those deft fingers over Bluestreak's shoulder mount.

He shivers, doorwings rattling, leaning into the touch, leaning a bit more when the high grade sloshes inside of him. Jazz laughs and reaches out to stabilize him with wandering hands and a bright visor and this is quite probably the best-worst idea that's ever wandered across Bluestreak's thoughts.

“That's... um... news to me, Jazz,” Bluestreak stutters as a hot and heavy energy field washes over his plating, making his circuits tingle. Worse that the music is pounding with bass, rattling his frame, making his spark throb. “But lots of Autobots have shoulder cannons. Wheeljack, does. And Perceptor. And Sideswipe and – urk!”

Jazz's fingers circle the cannon mount, pressing closer, the revving of his engine adding to the vibrations rocking Bluestreak's frame. “Mebbe I should be more specific,” he says, hips swaying to the beat and capturing Blusetreak's attention. “I like your shoulder cannon.”

Bluestreak feels his faceplates heat. Best-worst idea. Completely.

“Jazz, everyone's watching,” he says, optics darting around, noticing that there were more Autobots avidly looking then there were discreetly looking away.

“Let 'em watch, they can't help themselves,” Jazz replies, static leaping from his fingers to Bluestreak's armor, dancing to the sensors beneath and alighting him with pleasure. “They're jealous.”

As if to prove Jazz's point, Bluestreak's personal comm instantly pings with several comments, most of the encouragement kind and in Smokescreen's case, with rather lewd suggestions for what he can do with the sexy saboteur hanging on him.

Well, then. If that's the way they're going to be...

Bluestreak lifts a hand, placing it on Jazz's waist, fingers rapping a rhythm that matches the beat of the music, sure to vibrate in the best kinds of ways through Jazz's frame. “If you don't mind, I don't mind,” Bluestreak says and doesn't bother to fight back his laugh at the startled look on Jazz's faceplate, or the surprised flash in the mech's visor. “But if we're going to put on a show, it better be a good one. I'm sure Sideswipe wants to get his credit's worth.”

Because honestly, the red twin probably put Jazz up to this. He's been nagging and nagging Bluestreak to stop with the innocent act and break everyone's processor with the truth. Mostly because he wants to see someone other than Prowl glitch for once.

Jazz laughs, his energy field washing over Bluestreak with elements of surprise and intrigue and a hefty dose of audacity. “Baby Blue, you've grown.”

“Been grown, Jazz. Just been waiting for someone to notice,” Bluestreak replies and his fingers dance a happy path along Jazz's armor, finding a transformation seam and wriggling between the plating, feeling the burr-snap of charge as it rushes through Jazz's circuits.

“Oh, I'm noticin',” Jazz purrs, hip swaying his way closer, a languid roll of his frame pushing them together with a vibrating rasp of metal on metal. “And I'm likin' what I see. Care to take this somewhere private?”

Bluestreak leans forward, nuzzling a sensor horn with the side of his helm as he whispers into Jazz's vocalizer, “I thought you wanted to put on a show.”

Jazz bursts into a fresh round of laughter. “If that's what ya want, then that's what they'll get.” He buries a hand in Bluestreak's circuitry, setting of a burst of sizzling pleasure. “C'mon, Blue. Let's see what ya got.”

“With pleasure,” Bluestreak says. And proceeds to do just that.

a/n: So that's the last of the November flash fiction. I still have one to post from October (which turned into a long-fic) and I'll put that up tomorrow. December's flash fiction is on the 14th. I hope you enjoyed!