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dracoqueen22a/n: This is my first time really writing these two so they are probably a tad bit OOC. But this is a series about Rodimus going around and fragging everyone on the Lost Light sooooooo what more do you want from me? LOL ;)
Still, I hope you enjoy it. It's most definitely NSFW
Title: A Happy Bottom
Universe: IDW, More Than Meets the Eye
Characters: Rodimus, Lost Light Ensemble
Rating: NSFW
Enticements: sticky, double penetration, oral, bondage, teensy bit of spanking
Description: He may be the one on his knees, legs spread, and at their mercy. But Rodimus knows who really has the power here, and it's not the one holding his leash.
It was all Tailgate's idea.
No one was complaining. Least of all Rodimus.
Cyclonus was long and thick and perfect and he slid down Rodimus' intake with each of Tailgate's thrusts. His hands were firm on Rodimus' helm, keeping him in place, the tiny pinpricks of his claws only dragging out the pleasure.
Rodimus moaned, optics flickering. His knees trembled. His hands formed fists where they were bound behind him. Tinier hands gripped his wrists, pulling him back toward the thick, oh so thick, spike plunging into his valve.
What did the humans say? Big things came in small packages?
They had no fragging idea.
Tailgate's hips slammed against the back of Rodimus' thighs. His spike parted the folds of Rodimus' valve, raked his interior sensors, too short to hit the ceiling node but so thick. Deliciously thick. Wonderfully thick. Every sensor was rubbed. Not a drip of lubricant could escape.
Rodimus moaned again.
“Your glossa, Captain,” Cyclonus rumbled above him, claws pricking around the curve of Rodimus' jaw, squeezing just so. “You seem to be forgetting your task.”
“Again?” Tailgate huffed. “Thought he was better than that.”
“As did I.”
Tailgate slammed into him. Rodimus rocked forward. Cyclonus inched further down his intake, scraping the lining. Rodimus' intake flexed around it. His tanks sloshed.
“This end's more responsive,” Tailgate said. “Could easily take two.”
Rodimus whined, his entire valve quivering as Tailgate's implication struck home. Yes, please. He hadn't been double-stuffed in days. He needed it.
Cyclonus pushed fully into him, until Rodimus' olfactory sensor pressed against his array and he could see nothing but dark gray. “Hmm,” Cyclonus said. “I'm inclined to take your offer.”
Rodimus wriggled his aft as best he could manage. Please.
“You should.” Tailgate's tone was positively wicked. One hand left Rodimus' wrist and then he felt blunt fingers poke at the rim of his valve and slide in alongside that thick spike. “See? You'll fit. No problem.” He curved a finger, hooked a sensor node, and Rodimus spasmed.
“Consider me convinced.”
Cyclonus withdrew from Rodimus' mouth and Rodimus chased after his spike with a whine of displeasure. Cyclonus flicked his helm spar.
“None of that now,” he said. “You had your chance.” His attention shifted to Tailgate. “How would you like to do this?”
“Lay down,” Tailgate said, and he pulled out of Rodimus' valve, lubricant spilling free in his wake. “I want him on top of you.”
Rodimus' engine raced. “Primus, you two,” he gasped, hanging his helm. His spike twitched and he rubbed his thighs together in a desperate attempt to give himself some stimulation.
Smack!
He startled at the sharp slap to his aft. His helm hung around, staring at Tailgate with mouth agape.
One lubricant coated finger waggled at him. “Not until we say,” Tailgate said.
“Your pleasure is ours to grant,” Cyclonus added, ever dignified even as he lowered himself to the floor and scooted beneath Rodimus, his spike pointing prominently toward the ceiling. “When we wish to.”
“Exactly,” Tailgate said. “Because it's our turn right now.” His hands pressed down on Rodimus' aft. “Now sit.”
On that long, long spike? Rodimus swallowed down a moan. This was one order he had no problem obeying.
He straddled Cyclonus' hips, aimed his valve over Cyclonus' spike, and dropped down, taking all of Cyclonus in one motion. Rodimus groaned, helm throwing back, as the head of Cyclonus' spike battered against his ceiling node. He circled his hips, his engine purring with pleasure.
And then hands on his shoulders threw his weight forward and only Cyclonus' hands kept him from face-planting on Cyclonus' chest. Because now Tailgate's hands were on him, fingers tracing where Rodimus' valve stretched around Cyclonus' spike.
“Pretty sure I can fit,” Tailgate said, his ventilations hitched with arousal.
“Do it,” Rodimus moaned.
“Go slowly,” Cyclonus cautioned, his hands curving around Rodimus' thighs, pulling him wider, leaving more than enough room for Tailgate to move between them. For the blunt thickness of Tailgate's spike to nudge at Rodimus' rim.
Rodimus shivered. He dropped his helm down against Cyclonus' chestplate, exventing heat.
“I can take it,” Rodimus said. If he could spread his legs any further, he would.
Tailgate's spike nudged harder at his valve. The plush folds yielded to the pressure, stretching to accommodate Tailgate's girth alongside Cyclonus'. Rodimus couldn't stop moaning, lubricant flushing his valve as Tailgate inched inside of him. It was all he could do to keep from wriggling.
And then finally, Tailgate was fully in him, his spike pulsing against Cyclonus' and against the walls of Rodimus' valve.
Rodimus full on whimpered, his valve attempting to cycle down tight. Beneath him, Cyclonus let out a long ventilation, his claws tightening in their grip. And Tailgate in-vented, his field spiking with lust.
“Okay,” Tailgate said. “Now I just have to... move.”
“Carefully,” Cyclonus cautioned.
“Hard,” Rodimus urged.
Tailgate's hands flexed on Rodimus' hips. He withdrew and inched back in, a slow, steady push.
Rodimus moaned and wriggled, his helm nuzzling Cyclonus' chestplate. Clawed fingers stroked him, sweeping patterns from his helm, down his back, and across his spoiler. Gentle, always gentle. Rodimus shivered.
“Harder,” he begged.
Cyclonus pinched the tip of his spoiler.
Tailgate smacked his aft again.
“Go slower, Tailgate,” Cyclonus said, and his tone was just this shade of evil. “I don't think our captain has learned his manners yet.”
“Good point.” Tailgate pushed back in and held himself steady.
Rodimus' valve rippled in denial and so did he, groaning with frustration.
“I do like the sound of him begging,” Tailgate added.
Rodimus' cry of frustration was probably heard two decks down. These two were going to be the end of him.
****
a/n: And that's me caught up to what I had in A Happy Bottom. Now I just have to wait for a flash of inspiration to hit for the next one. Don't know who it's going to be or how. I'm just waiting on the muses. :)
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated. Thanks for reading!
Still, I hope you enjoy it. It's most definitely NSFW
Title: A Happy Bottom
Universe: IDW, More Than Meets the Eye
Characters: Rodimus, Lost Light Ensemble
Rating: NSFW
Enticements: sticky, double penetration, oral, bondage, teensy bit of spanking
Description: He may be the one on his knees, legs spread, and at their mercy. But Rodimus knows who really has the power here, and it's not the one holding his leash.
~Cyclonus and Tailgate~
It was all Tailgate's idea.
No one was complaining. Least of all Rodimus.
Cyclonus was long and thick and perfect and he slid down Rodimus' intake with each of Tailgate's thrusts. His hands were firm on Rodimus' helm, keeping him in place, the tiny pinpricks of his claws only dragging out the pleasure.
Rodimus moaned, optics flickering. His knees trembled. His hands formed fists where they were bound behind him. Tinier hands gripped his wrists, pulling him back toward the thick, oh so thick, spike plunging into his valve.
What did the humans say? Big things came in small packages?
They had no fragging idea.
Tailgate's hips slammed against the back of Rodimus' thighs. His spike parted the folds of Rodimus' valve, raked his interior sensors, too short to hit the ceiling node but so thick. Deliciously thick. Wonderfully thick. Every sensor was rubbed. Not a drip of lubricant could escape.
Rodimus moaned again.
“Your glossa, Captain,” Cyclonus rumbled above him, claws pricking around the curve of Rodimus' jaw, squeezing just so. “You seem to be forgetting your task.”
“Again?” Tailgate huffed. “Thought he was better than that.”
“As did I.”
Tailgate slammed into him. Rodimus rocked forward. Cyclonus inched further down his intake, scraping the lining. Rodimus' intake flexed around it. His tanks sloshed.
“This end's more responsive,” Tailgate said. “Could easily take two.”
Rodimus whined, his entire valve quivering as Tailgate's implication struck home. Yes, please. He hadn't been double-stuffed in days. He needed it.
Cyclonus pushed fully into him, until Rodimus' olfactory sensor pressed against his array and he could see nothing but dark gray. “Hmm,” Cyclonus said. “I'm inclined to take your offer.”
Rodimus wriggled his aft as best he could manage. Please.
“You should.” Tailgate's tone was positively wicked. One hand left Rodimus' wrist and then he felt blunt fingers poke at the rim of his valve and slide in alongside that thick spike. “See? You'll fit. No problem.” He curved a finger, hooked a sensor node, and Rodimus spasmed.
“Consider me convinced.”
Cyclonus withdrew from Rodimus' mouth and Rodimus chased after his spike with a whine of displeasure. Cyclonus flicked his helm spar.
“None of that now,” he said. “You had your chance.” His attention shifted to Tailgate. “How would you like to do this?”
“Lay down,” Tailgate said, and he pulled out of Rodimus' valve, lubricant spilling free in his wake. “I want him on top of you.”
Rodimus' engine raced. “Primus, you two,” he gasped, hanging his helm. His spike twitched and he rubbed his thighs together in a desperate attempt to give himself some stimulation.
Smack!
He startled at the sharp slap to his aft. His helm hung around, staring at Tailgate with mouth agape.
One lubricant coated finger waggled at him. “Not until we say,” Tailgate said.
“Your pleasure is ours to grant,” Cyclonus added, ever dignified even as he lowered himself to the floor and scooted beneath Rodimus, his spike pointing prominently toward the ceiling. “When we wish to.”
“Exactly,” Tailgate said. “Because it's our turn right now.” His hands pressed down on Rodimus' aft. “Now sit.”
On that long, long spike? Rodimus swallowed down a moan. This was one order he had no problem obeying.
He straddled Cyclonus' hips, aimed his valve over Cyclonus' spike, and dropped down, taking all of Cyclonus in one motion. Rodimus groaned, helm throwing back, as the head of Cyclonus' spike battered against his ceiling node. He circled his hips, his engine purring with pleasure.
And then hands on his shoulders threw his weight forward and only Cyclonus' hands kept him from face-planting on Cyclonus' chest. Because now Tailgate's hands were on him, fingers tracing where Rodimus' valve stretched around Cyclonus' spike.
“Pretty sure I can fit,” Tailgate said, his ventilations hitched with arousal.
“Do it,” Rodimus moaned.
“Go slowly,” Cyclonus cautioned, his hands curving around Rodimus' thighs, pulling him wider, leaving more than enough room for Tailgate to move between them. For the blunt thickness of Tailgate's spike to nudge at Rodimus' rim.
Rodimus shivered. He dropped his helm down against Cyclonus' chestplate, exventing heat.
“I can take it,” Rodimus said. If he could spread his legs any further, he would.
Tailgate's spike nudged harder at his valve. The plush folds yielded to the pressure, stretching to accommodate Tailgate's girth alongside Cyclonus'. Rodimus couldn't stop moaning, lubricant flushing his valve as Tailgate inched inside of him. It was all he could do to keep from wriggling.
And then finally, Tailgate was fully in him, his spike pulsing against Cyclonus' and against the walls of Rodimus' valve.
Rodimus full on whimpered, his valve attempting to cycle down tight. Beneath him, Cyclonus let out a long ventilation, his claws tightening in their grip. And Tailgate in-vented, his field spiking with lust.
“Okay,” Tailgate said. “Now I just have to... move.”
“Carefully,” Cyclonus cautioned.
“Hard,” Rodimus urged.
Tailgate's hands flexed on Rodimus' hips. He withdrew and inched back in, a slow, steady push.
Rodimus moaned and wriggled, his helm nuzzling Cyclonus' chestplate. Clawed fingers stroked him, sweeping patterns from his helm, down his back, and across his spoiler. Gentle, always gentle. Rodimus shivered.
“Harder,” he begged.
Cyclonus pinched the tip of his spoiler.
Tailgate smacked his aft again.
“Go slower, Tailgate,” Cyclonus said, and his tone was just this shade of evil. “I don't think our captain has learned his manners yet.”
“Good point.” Tailgate pushed back in and held himself steady.
Rodimus' valve rippled in denial and so did he, groaning with frustration.
“I do like the sound of him begging,” Tailgate added.
Rodimus' cry of frustration was probably heard two decks down. These two were going to be the end of him.
a/n: And that's me caught up to what I had in A Happy Bottom. Now I just have to wait for a flash of inspiration to hit for the next one. Don't know who it's going to be or how. I'm just waiting on the muses. :)
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated. Thanks for reading!
