Flash Fiction Fills Take 40 (Final Part)
Feb. 19th, 2013 09:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: And here are the last two flash fics! It's safe to say they are both NSFW.
For camfield
Prompt: Riku/Sora - I refuse to lick that. "Call me pretty, big boy."
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts II. Warnings: crossdressing.
For fuzipenguin
Prompt: Optimus/Sideswipe, Bayverse. 'The things we shall not name'
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse, post-DotM. Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Schmoop, Sparksex, Fairly purple prose
a/n: And that's the last of the flash fiction for February. I don't know when they'll be one in March. I might take a break for March. Possibly.
I'm still working on that Hot RodxTracks fic (now 20K words and counting, oh, Primus!) and I've got a short Ratchet/Sideswipe piece coming out for the tf-rare-pairing as soon as I finish it. My polls still running, got another tie between Castle of Glass and Critical Mass, but I'm leaving the verdict until March 1st.
Expect War Without End: Prowl sometime after April. That's when Azar will have time to beta it. So I'm going to work on WWE: Thundercracker and have that ready for her to work on, too.
Somewhere in here, I intend to update Apple a Day. I promise! My personal website is less than 2500 hits away from snagging a full-length fic of your choosing. And... I babble. See ya next update!
For camfield
Prompt: Riku/Sora - I refuse to lick that. "Call me pretty, big boy."
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts II. Warnings: crossdressing.
In all their years of knowing each other, Sora had yet to run out of things to surprise Riku. The brunet was endlessly clever, full of prankish joy, and seemed to delight in making Riku blush, rage at him, or fall into helpless laughter.
Today, Sora seemed to be attempting to make Riku do all three.
He stared. And stared. And stared some more. His cheeks grew hotter and hotter. His hands clenched into fists. And his stomach twisted, torn between shouting and bursting into mortified chortling.
“Well?” Sora said with a high-pitched and fake giggle. “What do you think?”
He did a little twirl, causing his short, pleated skirt to twirl with him. The skirt showed off his pale legs, knobby knees and flat sandals. It was accompanied by a tummy-bearing shirt, tied off above his belly button, that was a rather lurid pink. He had managed to find a pair of barrettes with big lacy bows on them.
Riku blamed Kairi. She was always willing to help Sora scheme. In fact--
Flash!
There went a camera. And some giggling. Riku didn't even have to look to know it was Kairi, taking his picture and running away before he could get his thoughts together enough to chase her down.
Sora pursed his lips – painted, no less! – and gave Riku his most effective pout. “Ne, Ri~ku,” he said, still in that girlish tone. “Aren't you going to tell me I'm pretty?”
Riku worked his jaw. “You...” he said, and failed to grasp at something else coherent. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or yell or grab Sora and divest him of those ridiculous clothes.
And a lollipop. Sora had a lollipop. One of those big, circular ones with a rainbow of colors that couldn't possibly fit into a person's mouth all at once. And he was licking it.
“You look ridiculous,” Riku spluttered.
“That's not what Tidus said,” Sora retorted and bounded closer, frilly skirt bouncing around him along with those ridiculous bows in his hair.
“Tidus is a dumbass.”
Sora giggled again, laving his wet tongue over the lollipop – a tongue that was already striped with color. Riku bet he tasted like sugar right now. And he was probably so perky because of it, too.
“That's mean of you to say,” Sora purred and offered his lollipop to Riku. “Want a taste?”
“No.”
He pushed it closer, practically against Riku's nose. “Come on. Give it a lick.”
Riku crossed his arms, turning his head away. “I refuse.” But he was losing his willpower. Sora had sprayed himself with... something. Riku didn't know what, but it smelled good and he really wanted to drag Sora away somewhere and tear off that hideous outfit.
“Sometimes, you have no sense of humor.” Sora pouted.
He gave his lover a sidelong look. “Does that mean you're going to take that skirt off now?”
Sora grinned, tossing the lollipop over his shoulder. “If you catch me, you can make me,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
“I'm not going to – Sora!”
Too late. The little brat already took off, racing across the beach. Riku debated with himself for all of a second before he gave chase. He would get rid of that skirt and end it. And, possibly, make out with Sora in the process.
Today, Sora seemed to be attempting to make Riku do all three.
He stared. And stared. And stared some more. His cheeks grew hotter and hotter. His hands clenched into fists. And his stomach twisted, torn between shouting and bursting into mortified chortling.
“Well?” Sora said with a high-pitched and fake giggle. “What do you think?”
He did a little twirl, causing his short, pleated skirt to twirl with him. The skirt showed off his pale legs, knobby knees and flat sandals. It was accompanied by a tummy-bearing shirt, tied off above his belly button, that was a rather lurid pink. He had managed to find a pair of barrettes with big lacy bows on them.
Riku blamed Kairi. She was always willing to help Sora scheme. In fact--
Flash!
There went a camera. And some giggling. Riku didn't even have to look to know it was Kairi, taking his picture and running away before he could get his thoughts together enough to chase her down.
Sora pursed his lips – painted, no less! – and gave Riku his most effective pout. “Ne, Ri~ku,” he said, still in that girlish tone. “Aren't you going to tell me I'm pretty?”
Riku worked his jaw. “You...” he said, and failed to grasp at something else coherent. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or yell or grab Sora and divest him of those ridiculous clothes.
And a lollipop. Sora had a lollipop. One of those big, circular ones with a rainbow of colors that couldn't possibly fit into a person's mouth all at once. And he was licking it.
“You look ridiculous,” Riku spluttered.
“That's not what Tidus said,” Sora retorted and bounded closer, frilly skirt bouncing around him along with those ridiculous bows in his hair.
“Tidus is a dumbass.”
Sora giggled again, laving his wet tongue over the lollipop – a tongue that was already striped with color. Riku bet he tasted like sugar right now. And he was probably so perky because of it, too.
“That's mean of you to say,” Sora purred and offered his lollipop to Riku. “Want a taste?”
“No.”
He pushed it closer, practically against Riku's nose. “Come on. Give it a lick.”
Riku crossed his arms, turning his head away. “I refuse.” But he was losing his willpower. Sora had sprayed himself with... something. Riku didn't know what, but it smelled good and he really wanted to drag Sora away somewhere and tear off that hideous outfit.
“Sometimes, you have no sense of humor.” Sora pouted.
He gave his lover a sidelong look. “Does that mean you're going to take that skirt off now?”
Sora grinned, tossing the lollipop over his shoulder. “If you catch me, you can make me,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
“I'm not going to – Sora!”
Too late. The little brat already took off, racing across the beach. Riku debated with himself for all of a second before he gave chase. He would get rid of that skirt and end it. And, possibly, make out with Sora in the process.
For fuzipenguin
Prompt: Optimus/Sideswipe, Bayverse. 'The things we shall not name'
Fandom: Transformers Bayverse, post-DotM. Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Schmoop, Sparksex, Fairly purple prose
They never spoke. Words would shatter the illusion. Action meant more as did the desperate need leaking from their energy fields.
It was hard enough to find privacy. Humans were everywhere, they had no personal space, and the humans always noticed if they snuck off alone. So Sideswipe cherished what little time they could find to sneak away.
Here, in the shadows of a destroyed human city, a miasma of grief and reluctant victory clung to them like a coating of ash. Optimus was already waiting and Sideswipe went into his embrace with charge crackling over his armor, and his spark aching within his chassis.
Optimus held out a servo, his battlemask sliding aside, energy field emitting tangled bursts of need and sorrow and relief. Sideswipe's own was a haunting mix of regret and stale sparkache that never grew easier to bear. Not even with time and Cybertronian's functioned for a long time.
Optimus was larger, taller, bulkier. Sideswipe climbed atop him, straddling his lap, feeling dwarfed by the Prime and all the gladder for it. Broad and burly was different, not at all the same as his own, and that, too, was part of the illusion.
Sideswipe drew air through his vents, olfactory sensors taking in the scents of hot metal, munitions, Earth road grit and synthetic wax, a unique combination of odors specific to Prime and another difference so desperately important. Even better with Optimus' servos resting on his hips, holding him in place with their weight alone, pulling him closer with a resonating slide of metal on metal.
Surges of charge crawled between them, licking across Sideswipe's circuits and visibly dancing over Prime's plating. Pleasure lit across his sensory net in a blaze. Sideswipe groaned, optics offlining, his own servos reaching out, hooking digits in the many protrusions of Optimus' chassis. The human-designed kibble was strangely complementary on Prime's protoform.
Optimus' digits flexed on his pelvic array, pushing into the gaps between armor plating, touching the flexible cables and lines beneath. Sideswipe arched closer to the Prime, wordlessly demanding more, his own ex-vents caressing the heated armor beneath him.
The closeness of another mech was wonderful. The knowing touches, the skilled caresses, the push and pull of charge between them was soothing in all the best kinds of ways. Sideswipe felt overload building within him on a steady, heated wave.
But it wasn't enough. It was never enough and no one knew that better than Optimus, because his cravings were the same.
This time, Optimus' chestplate was the first to crack, mechanisms sliding apart and up, until the cool heat of his spark washed over Sideswipe's anterior.
He onlined his optics, the first sensation of awe passing over and through him as always. Optimus' spark was a roil of blue-white energies, made even stronger by the presence of the matrix he now carried. A tendril of energy licked out, seeking, and Sideswipe's own chestplates parted in response.
He rose up, supported by Optimus' servos to account for the height difference, spark energies lashing out, eager to connect again. He heard Optimus groan, felt the tightening of those massive servos on his frame, which creaked warningly. And then their sparks collided, energies threading together.
Awareness suspended, heat and light and pleasure overtaking it all. Sideswipe's vocalizer glitched; his spark throbbed. It lasted forever and no time at all. There was a sense of completion, for one achingly familiar moment, because Optimus was Prime and all Cybertronians and only himself as well. He tasted of the Ancients and of Prime and of a tiny bit of the Allspark.
Overload took Sideswipe in the space of a sparkbeat. The designation his spark called wasn't Optimus', but then, Optimus didn't shout for Sideswipe either. This, too, wasn't unexpected, though the relief of war's end was tempered by the grief that followed release.
Their chestplates closed on automatic and Sideswipe sagged, resting his helm on Optimus' chassis, feeling the thrum of the powerful spark beneath. His systems hummed as he clung to that evanescent feeling of unity.
He didn't need to say thank you. Optimus already understood that, too.
It was hard enough to find privacy. Humans were everywhere, they had no personal space, and the humans always noticed if they snuck off alone. So Sideswipe cherished what little time they could find to sneak away.
Here, in the shadows of a destroyed human city, a miasma of grief and reluctant victory clung to them like a coating of ash. Optimus was already waiting and Sideswipe went into his embrace with charge crackling over his armor, and his spark aching within his chassis.
Optimus held out a servo, his battlemask sliding aside, energy field emitting tangled bursts of need and sorrow and relief. Sideswipe's own was a haunting mix of regret and stale sparkache that never grew easier to bear. Not even with time and Cybertronian's functioned for a long time.
Optimus was larger, taller, bulkier. Sideswipe climbed atop him, straddling his lap, feeling dwarfed by the Prime and all the gladder for it. Broad and burly was different, not at all the same as his own, and that, too, was part of the illusion.
Sideswipe drew air through his vents, olfactory sensors taking in the scents of hot metal, munitions, Earth road grit and synthetic wax, a unique combination of odors specific to Prime and another difference so desperately important. Even better with Optimus' servos resting on his hips, holding him in place with their weight alone, pulling him closer with a resonating slide of metal on metal.
Surges of charge crawled between them, licking across Sideswipe's circuits and visibly dancing over Prime's plating. Pleasure lit across his sensory net in a blaze. Sideswipe groaned, optics offlining, his own servos reaching out, hooking digits in the many protrusions of Optimus' chassis. The human-designed kibble was strangely complementary on Prime's protoform.
Optimus' digits flexed on his pelvic array, pushing into the gaps between armor plating, touching the flexible cables and lines beneath. Sideswipe arched closer to the Prime, wordlessly demanding more, his own ex-vents caressing the heated armor beneath him.
The closeness of another mech was wonderful. The knowing touches, the skilled caresses, the push and pull of charge between them was soothing in all the best kinds of ways. Sideswipe felt overload building within him on a steady, heated wave.
But it wasn't enough. It was never enough and no one knew that better than Optimus, because his cravings were the same.
This time, Optimus' chestplate was the first to crack, mechanisms sliding apart and up, until the cool heat of his spark washed over Sideswipe's anterior.
He onlined his optics, the first sensation of awe passing over and through him as always. Optimus' spark was a roil of blue-white energies, made even stronger by the presence of the matrix he now carried. A tendril of energy licked out, seeking, and Sideswipe's own chestplates parted in response.
He rose up, supported by Optimus' servos to account for the height difference, spark energies lashing out, eager to connect again. He heard Optimus groan, felt the tightening of those massive servos on his frame, which creaked warningly. And then their sparks collided, energies threading together.
Awareness suspended, heat and light and pleasure overtaking it all. Sideswipe's vocalizer glitched; his spark throbbed. It lasted forever and no time at all. There was a sense of completion, for one achingly familiar moment, because Optimus was Prime and all Cybertronians and only himself as well. He tasted of the Ancients and of Prime and of a tiny bit of the Allspark.
Overload took Sideswipe in the space of a sparkbeat. The designation his spark called wasn't Optimus', but then, Optimus didn't shout for Sideswipe either. This, too, wasn't unexpected, though the relief of war's end was tempered by the grief that followed release.
Their chestplates closed on automatic and Sideswipe sagged, resting his helm on Optimus' chassis, feeling the thrum of the powerful spark beneath. His systems hummed as he clung to that evanescent feeling of unity.
He didn't need to say thank you. Optimus already understood that, too.
a/n: And that's the last of the flash fiction for February. I don't know when they'll be one in March. I might take a break for March. Possibly.
I'm still working on that Hot RodxTracks fic (now 20K words and counting, oh, Primus!) and I've got a short Ratchet/Sideswipe piece coming out for the tf-rare-pairing as soon as I finish it. My polls still running, got another tie between Castle of Glass and Critical Mass, but I'm leaving the verdict until March 1st.
Expect War Without End: Prowl sometime after April. That's when Azar will have time to beta it. So I'm going to work on WWE: Thundercracker and have that ready for her to work on, too.
Somewhere in here, I intend to update Apple a Day. I promise! My personal website is less than 2500 hits away from snagging a full-length fic of your choosing. And... I babble. See ya next update!
