Flash Fiction Fills Take 57 Part Two
Feb. 19th, 2015 08:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Two more flash fiction with the last one on it's way tomorrow. ;) I do hope you enjoy and keep in mind, both of these are NSFW.
For tumblr anon
Prompt: G1, OptimusxSoundwave
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: NSFW, rope bondage
For fuzipenguin
Prompt: anyverse, SideswipexSunstreaker, light, “live fast die young/bad girls do it well”
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings for twincest, sticky
a/n: Don't know how much longer work will be slow enough to let me write Transformers porn on the clock, but ya know, Imma keep doing it as long as I can. ;)
One more flash fic to go!
And as always, feedback is most welcome and appreciated.
For tumblr anon
Prompt: G1, OptimusxSoundwave
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: NSFW, rope bondage
The ropes had been a great idea. Optimus vowed to thank Ratchet later, perhaps with a bottle of the medic's favorite vintage high grade.
He sat back, admiring his work, copied from one of the many templates Ratchet had also gifted to him along with the coils of thick and durable rope. The tan hemp was a beautiful contrast to the dark, polished blue of Soundwave's armor.
It crisscrossed over the telepath's frame, narrow and elongated diamonds cutting a swathe over dark plating. Thick knots aligned with transformation seams, pressing in and preventing them from drawing together, forcing the plating to rattle in place, trapped between drawing tight and comfortably loose.
Soundwave's cannon was gone, set aside, leaving room for his arms to be bound above his head, also webbed with rope. Even his fingers were wound, though with thinner strands, keeping them pinned in place. There would be no escape for the Decepticon spy. And no help from his cassettes either.
They were elsewhere, beyond communications. And even if they had been present, the knotted length of rope wrapped over his dock would have prevented their deployment.
On his knees, bound with rope, Soundwave should have been the picture of submission. But there was a slow burn in his visor, the fierce barrier of his face mask, that gave him a defiant cast. His field was withdrawn, albeit trembling, and gave away nothing of his underlying emotion.
He didn't react as Optimus circled him. Nor when Optimus traced the ropes and brushed the heated armor between. Soundwave was running hot, his engine humming, but there was no other indication of potential arousal.
Optimus could leave Soundwave here all night if he wanted. Kneeling and bound, waiting for Optimus' attention, his pleasure. And Soundwave would not beg.
Optimus circled back around to Soundwave's front, his shadow falling over the carrier mech. He traced one finger down the seam in Soundwave's facemask. The visor burned a little brighter. Expectant? Perhaps.
But Optimus was not ready to make any demand yet. He wanted to enjoy for a little while longer.
One knot lodged beneath Soundwave's arm, forcing open a delicate seam. Optimus hooked a finger where there was a little slack in the rope and gave it a tug. The rope creaked. Soundwave leaned toward him by a fraction. There was a sharp ventilation.
Optimus smirked behind his mask.
He released the rope, letting the knot slide snugly back into place. It's current position left it pressed directly against a sensor node. It could not have been comfortable.
Yet Soundwave did not make a noise. It was that stoicism which made him so appealing to Optimus.
“I hope that you refueled before you came to me,” Optimus said as his hands mapped the contours of Soundwave's frame without actually touching the increasingly heated metal. “I intend to enjoy you all night.”
The visor deepened in hue and behind it, Optimus knew all focus was given to him.
“Unless, of course, you have any objections?”
Not a murmur. Not a whimper. But the quiet click of a cooling fan whirring to life was all the answer Optimus needed.
He cradled Soundwave's helm with one hand, stroking Soundwave's facemask with his thumb. “I thought as much,” Optimus murmured. “Thank you.”
And Soundwave, ever so fractionally, tilted his helm into Optimus' hand.
He sat back, admiring his work, copied from one of the many templates Ratchet had also gifted to him along with the coils of thick and durable rope. The tan hemp was a beautiful contrast to the dark, polished blue of Soundwave's armor.
It crisscrossed over the telepath's frame, narrow and elongated diamonds cutting a swathe over dark plating. Thick knots aligned with transformation seams, pressing in and preventing them from drawing together, forcing the plating to rattle in place, trapped between drawing tight and comfortably loose.
Soundwave's cannon was gone, set aside, leaving room for his arms to be bound above his head, also webbed with rope. Even his fingers were wound, though with thinner strands, keeping them pinned in place. There would be no escape for the Decepticon spy. And no help from his cassettes either.
They were elsewhere, beyond communications. And even if they had been present, the knotted length of rope wrapped over his dock would have prevented their deployment.
On his knees, bound with rope, Soundwave should have been the picture of submission. But there was a slow burn in his visor, the fierce barrier of his face mask, that gave him a defiant cast. His field was withdrawn, albeit trembling, and gave away nothing of his underlying emotion.
He didn't react as Optimus circled him. Nor when Optimus traced the ropes and brushed the heated armor between. Soundwave was running hot, his engine humming, but there was no other indication of potential arousal.
Optimus could leave Soundwave here all night if he wanted. Kneeling and bound, waiting for Optimus' attention, his pleasure. And Soundwave would not beg.
Optimus circled back around to Soundwave's front, his shadow falling over the carrier mech. He traced one finger down the seam in Soundwave's facemask. The visor burned a little brighter. Expectant? Perhaps.
But Optimus was not ready to make any demand yet. He wanted to enjoy for a little while longer.
One knot lodged beneath Soundwave's arm, forcing open a delicate seam. Optimus hooked a finger where there was a little slack in the rope and gave it a tug. The rope creaked. Soundwave leaned toward him by a fraction. There was a sharp ventilation.
Optimus smirked behind his mask.
He released the rope, letting the knot slide snugly back into place. It's current position left it pressed directly against a sensor node. It could not have been comfortable.
Yet Soundwave did not make a noise. It was that stoicism which made him so appealing to Optimus.
“I hope that you refueled before you came to me,” Optimus said as his hands mapped the contours of Soundwave's frame without actually touching the increasingly heated metal. “I intend to enjoy you all night.”
The visor deepened in hue and behind it, Optimus knew all focus was given to him.
“Unless, of course, you have any objections?”
Not a murmur. Not a whimper. But the quiet click of a cooling fan whirring to life was all the answer Optimus needed.
He cradled Soundwave's helm with one hand, stroking Soundwave's facemask with his thumb. “I thought as much,” Optimus murmured. “Thank you.”
And Soundwave, ever so fractionally, tilted his helm into Optimus' hand.
For fuzipenguin
Prompt: anyverse, SideswipexSunstreaker, light, “live fast die young/bad girls do it well”
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings for twincest, sticky
Sideswipe peppered Sunstreaker's face with sloppy kisses, laughing as his brother kept turning his helm in a vain effort to avoid them.
"Sides!" Sunstreaker protested, but he was smiling and all but giggling, wriggling around on the berth beneath them.
Sideswipe laughed and licked a helm vent, something which he knew to be ticklish.
Sunstreaker grappled with him using only his legs as Sideswipe had firmly pinned down his arms. They flopped over the berth and Sideswipe kicked the wall with a loud thunk.
Ooops. He'll have to apologize to Smokescreen tomorrow. Mech was probably sleeping.
"Maybe I want to be on top this time," Sideswipe said and covered Sunstreaker's mouth with his own, muffling Sunstreaker's outrage with his glossa.
Sunny tasted sweet and bubbly, like the high grade they just finished consuming. It had a kick to it, Ratchet's special stash, and wouldn't that come back to bite them later? But later was later and now was Sunstreaker laughing and squirming beneath him, all hot and bothered and pretending that he hated the affection Sideswipe was lavishing on him, but his field spoke of nothing but happiness.
This was the side of Sunstreaker he never let the other Autobots see. And Sideswipe had to admit he was glad for it. This side of Sunstreaker was all his own. He didn't have to share. Happy, giggling Sunstreaker was his and his alone.
And then Sunstreaker hooked a leg around his hip, rolled them sharply to the left and right off the berth. There was a moment where Sideswipe flailed at the berth, trying to keep them from tumbling off, but all it accomplished was dragging down the pillows with them.
They hit with a clatter, Sunstreaker on top this time. Sideswipe's gyros spun, struggling to readjust. Not that he minded since Sunstreaker now perched astride him, smirking as though he hadn't just sent them tumbling.
"I win," he said with a dance of his hips that called to Sideswipe's hands. His panel snapped open, dribbling lubricant over Sideswipe's abdominal armor. “Open.”
Sideswipe gripped Sunstreaker's hips, thumbs sweeping into plating gaps. “Why? You wanna ride a Lamborghini?”
Sunstreaker actually snickered at the joke. “Yeah, I do. So open up. Or I'll have to go somewhere else to get what I want.”
“We can't have that,” Sideswipe said and his panel slide aside, spike jutting out and popping against Sunstreaker's inner thigh, leaving a smear of lubricant behind.
“No, we can't,” Sunstreaker breathed and sank down onto him with a sigh of happiness, his valve fitting snug and perfect around Sideswipe's spike. “Mmm.”
Sideswipe agreed and his vents puffed out heat as he braced his pedes on the floor, giving himself better leverage to treat his favorite valve right. “You said it,” he murmured and circled his hips, stirring Sunstreaker's sensors.
Sunstreaker tipped forward, planting his hands to either side of Sideswipe's helm as he pressed their forehelms together. “You gonna frag me or not?” he challenged, vocals a resonating purr that vibrated straight to Sideswipe's spark.
Sideswipe shivered. “I'm going to frag you all night,” he promised.
His brother smirked, optics bright and smug. “Good luck with that,” he said.
And Sideswipe took it for the challenge it was. Game. On.
"Sides!" Sunstreaker protested, but he was smiling and all but giggling, wriggling around on the berth beneath them.
Sideswipe laughed and licked a helm vent, something which he knew to be ticklish.
Sunstreaker grappled with him using only his legs as Sideswipe had firmly pinned down his arms. They flopped over the berth and Sideswipe kicked the wall with a loud thunk.
Ooops. He'll have to apologize to Smokescreen tomorrow. Mech was probably sleeping.
"Maybe I want to be on top this time," Sideswipe said and covered Sunstreaker's mouth with his own, muffling Sunstreaker's outrage with his glossa.
Sunny tasted sweet and bubbly, like the high grade they just finished consuming. It had a kick to it, Ratchet's special stash, and wouldn't that come back to bite them later? But later was later and now was Sunstreaker laughing and squirming beneath him, all hot and bothered and pretending that he hated the affection Sideswipe was lavishing on him, but his field spoke of nothing but happiness.
This was the side of Sunstreaker he never let the other Autobots see. And Sideswipe had to admit he was glad for it. This side of Sunstreaker was all his own. He didn't have to share. Happy, giggling Sunstreaker was his and his alone.
And then Sunstreaker hooked a leg around his hip, rolled them sharply to the left and right off the berth. There was a moment where Sideswipe flailed at the berth, trying to keep them from tumbling off, but all it accomplished was dragging down the pillows with them.
They hit with a clatter, Sunstreaker on top this time. Sideswipe's gyros spun, struggling to readjust. Not that he minded since Sunstreaker now perched astride him, smirking as though he hadn't just sent them tumbling.
"I win," he said with a dance of his hips that called to Sideswipe's hands. His panel snapped open, dribbling lubricant over Sideswipe's abdominal armor. “Open.”
Sideswipe gripped Sunstreaker's hips, thumbs sweeping into plating gaps. “Why? You wanna ride a Lamborghini?”
Sunstreaker actually snickered at the joke. “Yeah, I do. So open up. Or I'll have to go somewhere else to get what I want.”
“We can't have that,” Sideswipe said and his panel slide aside, spike jutting out and popping against Sunstreaker's inner thigh, leaving a smear of lubricant behind.
“No, we can't,” Sunstreaker breathed and sank down onto him with a sigh of happiness, his valve fitting snug and perfect around Sideswipe's spike. “Mmm.”
Sideswipe agreed and his vents puffed out heat as he braced his pedes on the floor, giving himself better leverage to treat his favorite valve right. “You said it,” he murmured and circled his hips, stirring Sunstreaker's sensors.
Sunstreaker tipped forward, planting his hands to either side of Sideswipe's helm as he pressed their forehelms together. “You gonna frag me or not?” he challenged, vocals a resonating purr that vibrated straight to Sideswipe's spark.
Sideswipe shivered. “I'm going to frag you all night,” he promised.
His brother smirked, optics bright and smug. “Good luck with that,” he said.
And Sideswipe took it for the challenge it was. Game. On.
a/n: Don't know how much longer work will be slow enough to let me write Transformers porn on the clock, but ya know, Imma keep doing it as long as I can. ;)
One more flash fic to go!
And as always, feedback is most welcome and appreciated.
