Flash Fiction Fills Take 52 - Part Two
Aug. 29th, 2014 10:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: And in the midnight hours I emerge with the last three flash fiction. Enjoy! (Also, there's some NSFW content in a coupla these.)
For dellessa
Prompt: CyclonusxTailgate, exposed
Fandom: Transformers IDW-MTMTE. Warning: None. (Does Whirl count as a warning?)
For fuzipenguin
Prompt: G1, SunstreakerxSideswipe, controlfreak
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: twincest, dom/sub overtones
For Skywinder
Prompt: Skyfire/Megatron, hiding from a persistent courter
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: possible OOC
a/n: I feel all successful now. Got my flash fiction done in a decent time period. Crossed one more thing off my to-do list. Accomplishment!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
For dellessa
Prompt: CyclonusxTailgate, exposed
Fandom: Transformers IDW-MTMTE. Warning: None. (Does Whirl count as a warning?)
“So. Is it true?”
Cyclonus twitched, leveling Swerve with an even look.
“Is what true?” he demanded, though he had a fair notion of what Swerve demanded to know.
“That, uh, well, you know.” Swerve grinned, shuffling from foot to foot.
“No. I do not. Are you going to give me my order?”
“Sure, sure.”
Swerve wandered away, presumably to retrieve Cyclonus' drink. He welcomed the moment of peace, but it was only an invitation for someone else to take up the mantle.
“Now, I'm not one for gossip,” Whirl said, a complete lie as he swaggered up to join Cyclonus at the bar. “But I gotta know. An aft that cute has to be a good little berthwarmer, yeah?”
Cyclonus didn't even like Whirl on a good day. Today? Didn't come close to mediocre. He twitched. He cycled through a series of responses before opting for silence. Best not to encourage Whirl lest he follow through with the urge to stab him through the spark.
Fortunately, Swerve returned with his drink, sparing Cyclonus the need to further discourage Whirl.
“C'mon Swerve, get the truth outta this guy,” Whirl said, leaning against the bar, optic bright as though he's already on the short path to overcharge.
Swerve shrugged. “Been trying. But you know how it is.” He leaned closer, conspiratorial. “I could make it on the house?”
Cyclonus made a low noise of disgust and turned away. There were reasons he preferred to be alone and two of them were currently whispering to each other behind his back.
Which is of course when Tailgate decided to walk into the bar, his visor immediately brightening upon sight of Cyclonus. Didn't he realize that it was reactions like that which made mechs talk?
Of course, he didn't. Because Tailgate could be a liar (and they'd had many a discussion about that) but he was also stupidly honest about a lot of things and that dichotomy was frustrating.
“Cyclonus!” If Tailgate had lips he'd be grinning from audial to audial. He lifted a hand in a wave, bouncing from foot to foot, shaking that “utterly fraggable aft” to put it in Whirl terms.
And Cyclonus bit back a sigh. He heard giggling behind him, for what else would he call that noxious noise? And he felt the optics watching him.
How was it Tailgate could always make him feel so exposed with a simple action?
“I thought you were on shift,” Cyclonus said, devoting most of his attention to the lively minibot.
“I traded with Hound,” Tailgate replied, and then hurried to add, “Because he asked me to not because I asked him. I remember what you said.”
Cyclonus almost buried his face in his palm because while Tailgate had been quiet, he was rather certain that the two busybodies behind him had heard that statement and completely misconstrued it. He had only meant for Tailgate to stand more on his own.
“And you looked like you were leaving anyway,” Tailgate continued, twisting his fingers together. “So I'll just get a drink and chat with Swerve and you can go do what you're going to do and it'll all work out.”
Except that the last thing Cyclonus wanted Tailgate to do was chat with Swerve. Because Whirl was still here and Swerve wasn't above plying Tailgate with free engex to get him to talk about the questions Cyclonus wasn't answering.
“I was going to the oil reservoir,” Cyclonus murmured. “You are welcome to join me.”
It was worth it, he thought, to see the joy in Tailgate's visor, despite his efforts to restrain himself. Even if Cyclonus felt a tad bit guilty as the offer was made out of self-preservation.
“Okay! Let me just--”
“You can have mine,” Cyclonus said, knowing that if Tailgate got within feet of Swerve, the questions would begin. He moved forward, relieved when Tailgate fell into step beside him and Cyclonus consciously eased his pace so that the shorter mech could keep up.
“Have fun!” Swerve called out after them.
“Don't do anything I wouldn't do!” Whirl added with a cackle.
Cyclonus ignored them. Tailgate looked a little pink around his visor. Cyclonus bit back another sigh.
There'd be no end to the rumors now. Strange how little he seemed to mind.
Cyclonus twitched, leveling Swerve with an even look.
“Is what true?” he demanded, though he had a fair notion of what Swerve demanded to know.
“That, uh, well, you know.” Swerve grinned, shuffling from foot to foot.
“No. I do not. Are you going to give me my order?”
“Sure, sure.”
Swerve wandered away, presumably to retrieve Cyclonus' drink. He welcomed the moment of peace, but it was only an invitation for someone else to take up the mantle.
“Now, I'm not one for gossip,” Whirl said, a complete lie as he swaggered up to join Cyclonus at the bar. “But I gotta know. An aft that cute has to be a good little berthwarmer, yeah?”
Cyclonus didn't even like Whirl on a good day. Today? Didn't come close to mediocre. He twitched. He cycled through a series of responses before opting for silence. Best not to encourage Whirl lest he follow through with the urge to stab him through the spark.
Fortunately, Swerve returned with his drink, sparing Cyclonus the need to further discourage Whirl.
“C'mon Swerve, get the truth outta this guy,” Whirl said, leaning against the bar, optic bright as though he's already on the short path to overcharge.
Swerve shrugged. “Been trying. But you know how it is.” He leaned closer, conspiratorial. “I could make it on the house?”
Cyclonus made a low noise of disgust and turned away. There were reasons he preferred to be alone and two of them were currently whispering to each other behind his back.
Which is of course when Tailgate decided to walk into the bar, his visor immediately brightening upon sight of Cyclonus. Didn't he realize that it was reactions like that which made mechs talk?
Of course, he didn't. Because Tailgate could be a liar (and they'd had many a discussion about that) but he was also stupidly honest about a lot of things and that dichotomy was frustrating.
“Cyclonus!” If Tailgate had lips he'd be grinning from audial to audial. He lifted a hand in a wave, bouncing from foot to foot, shaking that “utterly fraggable aft” to put it in Whirl terms.
And Cyclonus bit back a sigh. He heard giggling behind him, for what else would he call that noxious noise? And he felt the optics watching him.
How was it Tailgate could always make him feel so exposed with a simple action?
“I thought you were on shift,” Cyclonus said, devoting most of his attention to the lively minibot.
“I traded with Hound,” Tailgate replied, and then hurried to add, “Because he asked me to not because I asked him. I remember what you said.”
Cyclonus almost buried his face in his palm because while Tailgate had been quiet, he was rather certain that the two busybodies behind him had heard that statement and completely misconstrued it. He had only meant for Tailgate to stand more on his own.
“And you looked like you were leaving anyway,” Tailgate continued, twisting his fingers together. “So I'll just get a drink and chat with Swerve and you can go do what you're going to do and it'll all work out.”
Except that the last thing Cyclonus wanted Tailgate to do was chat with Swerve. Because Whirl was still here and Swerve wasn't above plying Tailgate with free engex to get him to talk about the questions Cyclonus wasn't answering.
“I was going to the oil reservoir,” Cyclonus murmured. “You are welcome to join me.”
It was worth it, he thought, to see the joy in Tailgate's visor, despite his efforts to restrain himself. Even if Cyclonus felt a tad bit guilty as the offer was made out of self-preservation.
“Okay! Let me just--”
“You can have mine,” Cyclonus said, knowing that if Tailgate got within feet of Swerve, the questions would begin. He moved forward, relieved when Tailgate fell into step beside him and Cyclonus consciously eased his pace so that the shorter mech could keep up.
“Have fun!” Swerve called out after them.
“Don't do anything I wouldn't do!” Whirl added with a cackle.
Cyclonus ignored them. Tailgate looked a little pink around his visor. Cyclonus bit back another sigh.
There'd be no end to the rumors now. Strange how little he seemed to mind.
For fuzipenguin
Prompt: G1, SunstreakerxSideswipe, controlfreak
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: twincest, dom/sub overtones
Sunstreaker had thought of everything. He must have been planning this for weeks. Not that Sideswipe would have guessed given his neutral expression and even tone.
There was padding beneath his knees. Used to discomfort, Sideswipe didn't need it, but he appreciated the consideration.
The cloth wrapped around his helm kept him blinded. A simple sensory block would have been equally effective. But the soft brush of Sunstreaker's fingers against his facial plating and the careful manner in which he tied the knot was far more intimate. It made Sideswipe shiver, internals running hot.
Same with his wrists. Stasis cuffs would have been easier, stronger. But the cotton wrapped around his wrists was somehow better. Symbolic even. Proof positive that he was on his knees by choice, not threat.
Sideswipe's vents cycled faster.
He knelt on the floor, bound and blinded, but he had never felt safer.
“Terms?” Sunstreaker asked from somewhere in front of Sideswipe, close enough to touch if Sideswipe lifted his arms, but he knew better.
“Everything you're willing to give me,” Sideswipe answered, almost ritual phrasing in an act that had become more commonplace as the war stripped hope from them.
“Hmm.” There was a tinge of appreciation across their bond. “And if I go too far?”
“I'll ask you to stop.” Not that he'd ever needed to. Their bond and lifelong understanding caused trust on a quantum level. But that option still needed to be available and that Sunstreaker never forgot only deepened the trust that Sideswipe gave him.
“And if you need a moment?”
“I'll ask you to wait.”
“Good,” Sunstreaker purred.
He shifted his weight with a soft hiss of hydraulics. He tapped something against his plating and Sideswipe's spark shivered. It could have been any manner of toy and Sideswipe's imagination was ripe with possibilities. The bond was giving nothing away.
A hand cupped Sideswipe's face, thumb stroking his cheek arch. “And who am I, Sideswipe?”
He licked his lips, engine settling into a quiet purr.
“Sunstreaker.”
“But tonight?” Sunstreaker prompted, ex-venting heat against Sideswipe's frame.
He trembled. “Master.” It was little more than a murmur.
“Louder.”
The moan escaped him before he could consider holding back. “Master.”
Sunstreaker's approval burst like fireworks through their bond.
“That I am,” Sunstreaker said with a lingering caress of his fingers. “And now I'll show you why.”
Sideswipe trembled.
There was padding beneath his knees. Used to discomfort, Sideswipe didn't need it, but he appreciated the consideration.
The cloth wrapped around his helm kept him blinded. A simple sensory block would have been equally effective. But the soft brush of Sunstreaker's fingers against his facial plating and the careful manner in which he tied the knot was far more intimate. It made Sideswipe shiver, internals running hot.
Same with his wrists. Stasis cuffs would have been easier, stronger. But the cotton wrapped around his wrists was somehow better. Symbolic even. Proof positive that he was on his knees by choice, not threat.
Sideswipe's vents cycled faster.
He knelt on the floor, bound and blinded, but he had never felt safer.
“Terms?” Sunstreaker asked from somewhere in front of Sideswipe, close enough to touch if Sideswipe lifted his arms, but he knew better.
“Everything you're willing to give me,” Sideswipe answered, almost ritual phrasing in an act that had become more commonplace as the war stripped hope from them.
“Hmm.” There was a tinge of appreciation across their bond. “And if I go too far?”
“I'll ask you to stop.” Not that he'd ever needed to. Their bond and lifelong understanding caused trust on a quantum level. But that option still needed to be available and that Sunstreaker never forgot only deepened the trust that Sideswipe gave him.
“And if you need a moment?”
“I'll ask you to wait.”
“Good,” Sunstreaker purred.
He shifted his weight with a soft hiss of hydraulics. He tapped something against his plating and Sideswipe's spark shivered. It could have been any manner of toy and Sideswipe's imagination was ripe with possibilities. The bond was giving nothing away.
A hand cupped Sideswipe's face, thumb stroking his cheek arch. “And who am I, Sideswipe?”
He licked his lips, engine settling into a quiet purr.
“Sunstreaker.”
“But tonight?” Sunstreaker prompted, ex-venting heat against Sideswipe's frame.
He trembled. “Master.” It was little more than a murmur.
“Louder.”
The moan escaped him before he could consider holding back. “Master.”
Sunstreaker's approval burst like fireworks through their bond.
“That I am,” Sunstreaker said with a lingering caress of his fingers. “And now I'll show you why.”
Sideswipe trembled.
For Skywinder
Prompt: Skyfire/Megatron, hiding from a persistent courter
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: possible OOC
He wondered how soon the gossip would start.
Skyfire was used to being the subject of rumor. Given his unique introduction to the Autobots, he wasn't surprised either. He could handle it. For the most part.
This, however, could ruin him.
His wings twitched, restless energy pouring through his circuits. He wanted to fly, needed to fly. He couldn't fly.
It was safer inside the Ark. Within the volcano. Underground.
Skyfire shuddered.
He wasn't a Seeker. He didn't have the same claustrophobic tendencies. Yet, the sensation of being trapped would not let him be.
His comm pinged.
Skyfire startled hard enough to fumble his test tube, sending it crashing to the floor. His spark raced as he muttered a curse and crouched to begin cleaning up the tiny shards. Thankfully, it had been empty.
His comm pinged.
It was an older frequency, one he stopped using after his ill-fated stint with the Decepticons. Only two mechs knew this frequency and only one dared to use it after Skyfire officially joined the Autobots.
Skyfire denied the request as he'd done a hundred times before. They were getting more frequent as of late. More eager. More desperate.
Skyfire debated with himself again, now that his concentration was thoroughly demolished.
In the beginning, he'd been confused. Then flattered. Now, each day filled him with dread. Each battle sent his spark into paroxysms of fear, desperate to avoid the one mech who could undo all his hard work.
Megatron had under his command at least a dozen capable Seekers. For some reason, he'd decided that an Autobot (re: Neutral) shuttle, would make the perfect Air Commander. Despite the fact Skyfire had no real military experience. It made no logical sense. Not that Megatron had ever been accused of operating under logic.
Skyfire did not know why, only that he'd seen Starscream less and less during battle. He'd noticed the tricolored Seeker was battered and drab. Clearly, all was not right aboard the Nemesis but Skyfire did not want to get in the middle of that mess.
Skyfire had no interest in Megatron, his proposition, or leadership of the aerial forces of the Decepticons. Repeated refusals had been met with amusement. Megatron was persistent. He was charismatic. He was armed with near-convincing flattery.
And Skyfire was only a mech.
He couldn't tell the Autobots. Not when half of them expected he would return to the Decepticons, convinced he was still in love with Starscream. Or when another third believed Mirage to be a traitor despite his millennia of loyal service. Red Alert was suspicious. Prowl might wager it was in their best interest to keep Skyfire under constant surveillance.
Optimus, even given his propensity for faith, might find himself swayed by his officers.
No, Skyfire could not tell them. He could tell no one.
He could only sit in the silence of his quarters, waiting for the next ping.
Skyfire was used to being the subject of rumor. Given his unique introduction to the Autobots, he wasn't surprised either. He could handle it. For the most part.
This, however, could ruin him.
His wings twitched, restless energy pouring through his circuits. He wanted to fly, needed to fly. He couldn't fly.
It was safer inside the Ark. Within the volcano. Underground.
Skyfire shuddered.
He wasn't a Seeker. He didn't have the same claustrophobic tendencies. Yet, the sensation of being trapped would not let him be.
His comm pinged.
Skyfire startled hard enough to fumble his test tube, sending it crashing to the floor. His spark raced as he muttered a curse and crouched to begin cleaning up the tiny shards. Thankfully, it had been empty.
His comm pinged.
It was an older frequency, one he stopped using after his ill-fated stint with the Decepticons. Only two mechs knew this frequency and only one dared to use it after Skyfire officially joined the Autobots.
Skyfire denied the request as he'd done a hundred times before. They were getting more frequent as of late. More eager. More desperate.
Skyfire debated with himself again, now that his concentration was thoroughly demolished.
In the beginning, he'd been confused. Then flattered. Now, each day filled him with dread. Each battle sent his spark into paroxysms of fear, desperate to avoid the one mech who could undo all his hard work.
Megatron had under his command at least a dozen capable Seekers. For some reason, he'd decided that an Autobot (re: Neutral) shuttle, would make the perfect Air Commander. Despite the fact Skyfire had no real military experience. It made no logical sense. Not that Megatron had ever been accused of operating under logic.
Skyfire did not know why, only that he'd seen Starscream less and less during battle. He'd noticed the tricolored Seeker was battered and drab. Clearly, all was not right aboard the Nemesis but Skyfire did not want to get in the middle of that mess.
Skyfire had no interest in Megatron, his proposition, or leadership of the aerial forces of the Decepticons. Repeated refusals had been met with amusement. Megatron was persistent. He was charismatic. He was armed with near-convincing flattery.
And Skyfire was only a mech.
He couldn't tell the Autobots. Not when half of them expected he would return to the Decepticons, convinced he was still in love with Starscream. Or when another third believed Mirage to be a traitor despite his millennia of loyal service. Red Alert was suspicious. Prowl might wager it was in their best interest to keep Skyfire under constant surveillance.
Optimus, even given his propensity for faith, might find himself swayed by his officers.
No, Skyfire could not tell them. He could tell no one.
He could only sit in the silence of his quarters, waiting for the next ping.
a/n: I feel all successful now. Got my flash fiction done in a decent time period. Crossed one more thing off my to-do list. Accomplishment!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
