[TF] Exponentiation Part Two
Aug. 16th, 2018 06:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Exponentiation
Universe: IDW/G1/TFP, throw it in a blender, and press puree
Characters: Starscream/Grimlock, Hot Rod/Deadlock, Thundercracker/Bumblebee, Prowl/Shockwave, Megatron/Sunstreaker
Rated: M
Enticements: Sticky Sex, Fragging for Peace, Knotting, Belly Bulge, Implied Mechpreg, Romance, Cross-Factional Relationships, Etc
Description: A series of revelatory mathematical calculations lead Optimus Prime and Megatron to a startling conclusion – they’re going extinct. A truce is made, a plan to repopulate is written up, and an all-call for volunteers rings through the cosmos. Several brave warriors line up to take one for the team.
Commission for Sadrobochild
Deadlock and Hot Rod
Be Careful with Exponents
Hot Rod has never been more nervous in his entire functioning. That includes the time he first stepped onto a battlefield, and the first time he had to shoot another mech to save his own spark. Back then, it had been fear, maybe terror. But this anxiety? It’s anticipation more than anything. That and the worry he’s going to screw everything up.
He paces around his quarters, smaller than everyone else’s, but at least he doesn’t have to share. It’s his and his alone, which is a novelty after spending the whole war sharing with someone else. Sharing berths, sharing private spaces, sharing everything. He’d recognized the necessity of it, but he’d always hated it.
He’s so glad the war is over. More than that, he’s thrilled about Prowl’s new plan. The Procreation Project? Hot Rod’s been wanting to carry his whole life! Before the war broke out, he had dreams of having a family some day, though most mechs preferred the new methods of hot spots and Vector Sigma. Easy, no mess stuff.
There’s something about getting filled with transfluid that drives him wild. Not that he’d ever admit it aloud. It’s one of his dirty little secrets. Just like, um, his relationship with Deadlock. Or maybe rivalry is the better word for it?
Hot Rod’s not sure when their little fights started to become fun instead of life-threatening, when they started to meet outside of the framework of battle. They never did anything. Just raced sometimes. Sparred. Shared energon or supplies, but never intel. Hot Rod knew better than that. But he’s always harbored a little something deep in his spark. He’s always wondered what it would be like to kiss Deadlock.
Now’s his chance.
He’s the first Autobot to volunteer for Prowl’s project. But he ignores every designation offered on his list until the one he really wanted pops up. Hot Rod can’t click ‘accept’ fast enough, and apparently, Deadlock’s been waiting on the other end, because the ‘connection confirmed’ receipt hits his inbox a few minutes later.
Deadlock’s supposed to be here any minute now. They’d arranged this date days ago. Hot Rod hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him since. Even now, his valve is already hot and ready, lubricant pooling at his panel, his spike throbbing. He’d self-service, if Deadlock wasn’t already on his way.
Primus, he can’t wait.
His door chimes.
Hot Rod startles. His spoiler flicks upward. He rushes to the door before he catches himself and forces a ventilation cycle or two.
‘Calm down, Roddy,’ he tells himself. ‘No need to act like a ‘face-starved idiot.’
He gathers his composure and opens the door, just as it chimes again. Sure enough, Deadlock stands on the other side, bigger, badder, sexier. He’s grinning, full of lazy grace, as he looks Hot Rod up and down.
“Hey sexy,” he drawls as he pushes out of his lean. “Gonna let me in?”
Hot Rod’s jaw drops.
“What happened?” Hot Rod asks, aghast.
Deadlock’s armor is a map of dings and scrapes. There’s a smear of fresh energon on his shoulder, and his lower lip is swollen.
He smirks. “Oh. Barricade and I had a little disagreement over who should be allowed to court you first.” His glossa flicks over his lips, cleaning up a drip of energon. “I won.”
A shiver dances down Hot Rod’s backstrut. “But I chose you,” he says, maybe a bit dumbly. “So it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Mm. It matters to me.” Deadlock’s gaze turns molten, and he looks Hot Rod up and down again, the glance as hot and heavy as a grope. “I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”
Hot Rod swallows over a lump in his intake. He steps back so Deadlock can come inside. “Is that so?”
“It is.” Deadlock ducks a little to come in – Hot Rod’s room is so painfully small – and takes a look around. “You’ve always been mine, true. But now I get to make it official.” He glances over his shoulder. “Am I wrong?”
Hot Rod slams the door shut and locks it. “No,” he breathes, and his valve clenches hard. He presses his thighs together to keep his panel shut.
Deadlock tilts his head and then he stalks Hot Rod, backing him against the door. One knee nudges between Hot Rod’s legs. One hand braces above Hot Rod’s shoulder. The other palms Hot Rod’s abdomen, right where his gestational tank rests behind his grill.
“You’ll carry for me, hot stuff?” Deadlock asks, his voice better a purr, one that rolls through Hot Rod’s audials.
He swallows a moan. He clutches at Deadlock’s shoulders, feeling the pressure of Deadlock’s knee against his panel. “That was the plan.”
Deadlock leans closer, his lips inches away, his field pressing against Hot Rod’s. “Your field is as hot as napalm, Autobot.” He brushes their cheeks together as his hand slides down Hot Rod’s belly toward his groin, fingertips brushing over the domed panel concealing his spike.
Hot Rod whimpers. His head knocks back against the door as his fingers dig into Deadlock’s seams. “So’s yours,” he pants, grasping for any thread of composure that hasn’t melted out of his audials and left him an incoherent mess.
Deadlock chuckles against his audial, dark and lecherous. “That’s what you do to me.” He strokes Hot Rod’s panels, and then dips between his thighs, circling the heat of Hot Rod’s valve array. “You’re leaking.”
Hot Rod’s panel snaps open, despite his numerous overrides. He moans as Deadlock immediately moves to touch him around the swollen rim of his valve, thumb brushing the puffy anterior node. Hot Rod’s hips jerk. He rides the pressure of Deadlock’s thigh, the flitting glances of his fingers.
“Oh, Primus, stop teasing me,” he groans.
Deadlock presses his face into the crook of Hot Rod’s neck, lips and denta teasing along his cables. “Should we do round one here?” he breathes, hot and wet, his glossa tracing a central energon line. “Against the door? Where everyone can hear you moaning my name?”
One finger slides up into Hot Rod, curling to stroke the line of sensors just behind his rim. Hot Rod gasps. His valve throbs. Primus, but he’s already so close to overload.
“I think you like the idea of that,” Deadlock purrs. His thumb circles Hot Rod’s node, over and over again, and stars burst behind Hot Rod’s optics.
“I’m gonna-- I’m gonna--” He breaks off into a keen, back of his head hitting the door again, hips riding the motion of Deadlock’s fingers.
Deadlock mouths an audial. “Do it,” he growls, the vibrations rattling through Hot Rod’s processor. “Overload for me, sweetspark.” Another finger slides into Hot Rod and lubricant squelches, there’s so much of it.
He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so turned on. If pleasure hadn’t surged through his lines, through his sensor net. Hot Rod moans, fingers curled into hooks on Deadlock’s armor, his frame jerking against the door as release pours through him. His valve clenches down on Deadlock’s fingers, and charge crackles through his lines.
“Good mech.” Deadlock’s mouth seals over Hot Rod’s, glossa plunging into his mouth, less a kiss than a claim.
Hot Rod makes a noise he can’t define. He tries to tug Deadlock closer, his processor spinning. The fingers vanish from his valve, and he whimpers. But then there are hands on his hips, curving around to his thighs. He’s being lifted, pressed against the wall, and then he’s filled, Deadlock sliding the length of him into Hot Rod in one slow, firm push.
Hot Rod’s backstrut arches. His ankles snap against the back of Deadlock’s thighs, his spoiler clattering against the door. He pants over Deadlock’s lips, processor spinning, valve spasming around Deadlock’s spike as ecstasy lights up his sensor net. His head knocks back as he lets out a cry.
“You’re gorgeous,” Deadlock breathes over him, his field fierce and hot as it surges against Hot Rod’s. “You feel amazing around me, hot stuff.”
Hot Rod pants. “Yeah? And you feel amazing inside me.”
Deadlock chuckles against his intake, his pointed denta scraping delicately over the sensitive cables. “Always knew it would be like this, you and me. We’re gonna be incredible together. You know that right?”
Hot Rod’s grip tightens. His valve spasms, roaring toward the edge of ecstasy, but not quite there. Deadlock thrusts into him, so deep, grinding Hot Rod between himself and the door.
“Frag yeah,” Hot Rod moans. His spike surges free, the tip rubbing over Deadlock’s abdomen, leaving streaks of pre-fluid behind. “Come on, ‘Lock. Harder.”
Deadlock growls into his audial, the primal sound of it making Hot Rod’s spinal strut tingle. “Don’t test me, Roddy. I don’t want to break a little thing like you.”
“I can take it!” Hot Rod tightens his thighs, knocks his ankles against the back of Deadlock’s knees. “Leave my paint on the door. Make me scream your name. Make everyone know who I belong to.”
Deadlock’s engine roars. He pumps up into Hot Rod, grinding so deep his spike tastes Hot Rod’s ceiling node. Charge leaps between their arrays, crackling like electric fire in Hot Rod’s sensor node. He gnaws on his bottom lip, so close to overload he can taste it, and the way Deadlock throbs inside of him, he’s gotta be, too.
“You’re mine,” Deadlock presses their cheeks together, his voice a hot pant against Hot Rod’s audial. “I’ve wanted to claim you for centuries, Roddy. Wanted to leave my mark on you so you can’t ever drive away from me again.”
Hot Rod moans and clutches him tighter. “Then do it,” he demands, slamming himself down on Deadlock’s spike. His internals knot up with hot tension.
Deadlock’s mouth seals over his, fanged denta a sharp prick over Hot Rod’s lips, his glossa plunging inside. Hot Rod whines into the kiss, his back and spoiler scraping against the door. Deadlock’s hands on his hips tighten to the point of armor creaking, and then he yanks Hot Rod onto his spike as he overloads, spurting hot and crackling deep into Hot Rod.
Overload roars through Hot Rod’s frame, shooting electric fire through his lines. He spurts against Deadlock’s belly, his valve clamping down tight as though trying to keep Deadlock trapped inside him. And maybe he is. Keep them tied together so he doesn’t have to watch Deadlock drive into the night ever again.
The kiss softens. Hot Rod’s fans whirr as his engine downshifts to an idle, his forehead pressing to Deadlock’s, their ex-vents exchanging.
Hot Rod sucks in a shuddery ventilation. “Again,” he demands against Deadlock’s lips. He rocks down onto Deadlock, stirring the still firm spike in his valve. “Unless you got somewhere to be.”
Deadlock chuckles. “Hold tight, spitfire.”
Like he has any plan on letting go.
Deadlock’s grip shifts to Hot Rod’s aft. He grabs hold and spins, staggering toward Hot Rod’s berth. Hot Rod clings to him, shivering as each step jostles Deadlock’s spike, making his inner nodes sing. His back and spoiler hits the plush surface before Deadlock rolls him, and Hot Rod ends up on top, his thighs framing the girth of Deadlock’s spike.
Hot Rod rocks forward, his node rubbing up the length, a crackle of charge making him moan. “Round two?” he asks as he braces his hands on Deadlock’s abdomen, rutting his valve lips over Deadlock’s spike again and again. He loves the slow drag of the hot length on his puffy folds.
“As many rounds as you’ll give me, lovely,” Deadlock says with a fanged smirk, his hands smoothing up Hot Rod’s thighs. His knees knock against Hot Rod’s back as he draws his legs up. “We got all night.”
“Longer than that.” Hot Rod rises up and catches Deadlock’s spike with the rim of his valve. “Right?”
Deadlock licks his lips. He cradles Hot Rod’s hips. “Frag yeah,” he growls and his hips buck, teasing the inner rim of Hot Rod’s valve. “Never letting you go, Roddy-mech. Mine forever.”
Hot Rod’s spinal strut shivers. He sinks down, taking Deadlock deep, moaning as the change in position completely changes the angle, touching previously ignored sensors. His spoiler flicks in a little dance.
“Good,” Hot Rod pants.
Deadlock grins. He lifts a hand, fingers crooked at Hot Rod. “Come here, Roddy,” he says. “Wanna kiss you.”
Hot Rod’s internals tighten with heat. He shifts forward, his lips brushing over Deadlock’s, and the spike again touches something sensitive within him. He shudders, pleasure sparking through his lines, as Deadlock’s hand cups gently around the back of his head. He pulls Hot Rod in for a nuzzle, so soft and sweet, almost cognitively dissonant for how rough and tumble Deadlock could be.
“You’re going soft on me,” Hot Rod says.
Deadlock laughs, his free hand squeezing Hot Rod’s hip. He bucks up, spike grinding on Hot Rod’s ceiling node. “Not where it counts, lovely.” He seals their lips together, glossa slipping carefully inside, tasting the textures of Hot Rod’s mouth.
Hot Rod sinks into the kiss, clutching Deadlock’s head carefully, his hips moving in little rocks on Deadlock’s spike. Primus, this is so perfect. This is everything he’s ever wanted.
He’s not going to get any happier than this moment.
Well, until he gets sparked anyway.
Hot Rod can’t wait.
* * *
Universe: IDW/G1/TFP, throw it in a blender, and press puree
Characters: Starscream/Grimlock, Hot Rod/Deadlock, Thundercracker/Bumblebee, Prowl/Shockwave, Megatron/Sunstreaker
Rated: M
Enticements: Sticky Sex, Fragging for Peace, Knotting, Belly Bulge, Implied Mechpreg, Romance, Cross-Factional Relationships, Etc
Description: A series of revelatory mathematical calculations lead Optimus Prime and Megatron to a startling conclusion – they’re going extinct. A truce is made, a plan to repopulate is written up, and an all-call for volunteers rings through the cosmos. Several brave warriors line up to take one for the team.
Commission for Sadrobochild
Be Careful with Exponents
Hot Rod has never been more nervous in his entire functioning. That includes the time he first stepped onto a battlefield, and the first time he had to shoot another mech to save his own spark. Back then, it had been fear, maybe terror. But this anxiety? It’s anticipation more than anything. That and the worry he’s going to screw everything up.
He paces around his quarters, smaller than everyone else’s, but at least he doesn’t have to share. It’s his and his alone, which is a novelty after spending the whole war sharing with someone else. Sharing berths, sharing private spaces, sharing everything. He’d recognized the necessity of it, but he’d always hated it.
He’s so glad the war is over. More than that, he’s thrilled about Prowl’s new plan. The Procreation Project? Hot Rod’s been wanting to carry his whole life! Before the war broke out, he had dreams of having a family some day, though most mechs preferred the new methods of hot spots and Vector Sigma. Easy, no mess stuff.
There’s something about getting filled with transfluid that drives him wild. Not that he’d ever admit it aloud. It’s one of his dirty little secrets. Just like, um, his relationship with Deadlock. Or maybe rivalry is the better word for it?
Hot Rod’s not sure when their little fights started to become fun instead of life-threatening, when they started to meet outside of the framework of battle. They never did anything. Just raced sometimes. Sparred. Shared energon or supplies, but never intel. Hot Rod knew better than that. But he’s always harbored a little something deep in his spark. He’s always wondered what it would be like to kiss Deadlock.
Now’s his chance.
He’s the first Autobot to volunteer for Prowl’s project. But he ignores every designation offered on his list until the one he really wanted pops up. Hot Rod can’t click ‘accept’ fast enough, and apparently, Deadlock’s been waiting on the other end, because the ‘connection confirmed’ receipt hits his inbox a few minutes later.
Deadlock’s supposed to be here any minute now. They’d arranged this date days ago. Hot Rod hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him since. Even now, his valve is already hot and ready, lubricant pooling at his panel, his spike throbbing. He’d self-service, if Deadlock wasn’t already on his way.
Primus, he can’t wait.
His door chimes.
Hot Rod startles. His spoiler flicks upward. He rushes to the door before he catches himself and forces a ventilation cycle or two.
‘Calm down, Roddy,’ he tells himself. ‘No need to act like a ‘face-starved idiot.’
He gathers his composure and opens the door, just as it chimes again. Sure enough, Deadlock stands on the other side, bigger, badder, sexier. He’s grinning, full of lazy grace, as he looks Hot Rod up and down.
“Hey sexy,” he drawls as he pushes out of his lean. “Gonna let me in?”
Hot Rod’s jaw drops.
“What happened?” Hot Rod asks, aghast.
Deadlock’s armor is a map of dings and scrapes. There’s a smear of fresh energon on his shoulder, and his lower lip is swollen.
He smirks. “Oh. Barricade and I had a little disagreement over who should be allowed to court you first.” His glossa flicks over his lips, cleaning up a drip of energon. “I won.”
A shiver dances down Hot Rod’s backstrut. “But I chose you,” he says, maybe a bit dumbly. “So it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Mm. It matters to me.” Deadlock’s gaze turns molten, and he looks Hot Rod up and down again, the glance as hot and heavy as a grope. “I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”
Hot Rod swallows over a lump in his intake. He steps back so Deadlock can come inside. “Is that so?”
“It is.” Deadlock ducks a little to come in – Hot Rod’s room is so painfully small – and takes a look around. “You’ve always been mine, true. But now I get to make it official.” He glances over his shoulder. “Am I wrong?”
Hot Rod slams the door shut and locks it. “No,” he breathes, and his valve clenches hard. He presses his thighs together to keep his panel shut.
Deadlock tilts his head and then he stalks Hot Rod, backing him against the door. One knee nudges between Hot Rod’s legs. One hand braces above Hot Rod’s shoulder. The other palms Hot Rod’s abdomen, right where his gestational tank rests behind his grill.
“You’ll carry for me, hot stuff?” Deadlock asks, his voice better a purr, one that rolls through Hot Rod’s audials.
He swallows a moan. He clutches at Deadlock’s shoulders, feeling the pressure of Deadlock’s knee against his panel. “That was the plan.”
Deadlock leans closer, his lips inches away, his field pressing against Hot Rod’s. “Your field is as hot as napalm, Autobot.” He brushes their cheeks together as his hand slides down Hot Rod’s belly toward his groin, fingertips brushing over the domed panel concealing his spike.
Hot Rod whimpers. His head knocks back against the door as his fingers dig into Deadlock’s seams. “So’s yours,” he pants, grasping for any thread of composure that hasn’t melted out of his audials and left him an incoherent mess.
Deadlock chuckles against his audial, dark and lecherous. “That’s what you do to me.” He strokes Hot Rod’s panels, and then dips between his thighs, circling the heat of Hot Rod’s valve array. “You’re leaking.”
Hot Rod’s panel snaps open, despite his numerous overrides. He moans as Deadlock immediately moves to touch him around the swollen rim of his valve, thumb brushing the puffy anterior node. Hot Rod’s hips jerk. He rides the pressure of Deadlock’s thigh, the flitting glances of his fingers.
“Oh, Primus, stop teasing me,” he groans.
Deadlock presses his face into the crook of Hot Rod’s neck, lips and denta teasing along his cables. “Should we do round one here?” he breathes, hot and wet, his glossa tracing a central energon line. “Against the door? Where everyone can hear you moaning my name?”
One finger slides up into Hot Rod, curling to stroke the line of sensors just behind his rim. Hot Rod gasps. His valve throbs. Primus, but he’s already so close to overload.
“I think you like the idea of that,” Deadlock purrs. His thumb circles Hot Rod’s node, over and over again, and stars burst behind Hot Rod’s optics.
“I’m gonna-- I’m gonna--” He breaks off into a keen, back of his head hitting the door again, hips riding the motion of Deadlock’s fingers.
Deadlock mouths an audial. “Do it,” he growls, the vibrations rattling through Hot Rod’s processor. “Overload for me, sweetspark.” Another finger slides into Hot Rod and lubricant squelches, there’s so much of it.
He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so turned on. If pleasure hadn’t surged through his lines, through his sensor net. Hot Rod moans, fingers curled into hooks on Deadlock’s armor, his frame jerking against the door as release pours through him. His valve clenches down on Deadlock’s fingers, and charge crackles through his lines.
“Good mech.” Deadlock’s mouth seals over Hot Rod’s, glossa plunging into his mouth, less a kiss than a claim.
Hot Rod makes a noise he can’t define. He tries to tug Deadlock closer, his processor spinning. The fingers vanish from his valve, and he whimpers. But then there are hands on his hips, curving around to his thighs. He’s being lifted, pressed against the wall, and then he’s filled, Deadlock sliding the length of him into Hot Rod in one slow, firm push.
Hot Rod’s backstrut arches. His ankles snap against the back of Deadlock’s thighs, his spoiler clattering against the door. He pants over Deadlock’s lips, processor spinning, valve spasming around Deadlock’s spike as ecstasy lights up his sensor net. His head knocks back as he lets out a cry.
“You’re gorgeous,” Deadlock breathes over him, his field fierce and hot as it surges against Hot Rod’s. “You feel amazing around me, hot stuff.”
Hot Rod pants. “Yeah? And you feel amazing inside me.”
Deadlock chuckles against his intake, his pointed denta scraping delicately over the sensitive cables. “Always knew it would be like this, you and me. We’re gonna be incredible together. You know that right?”
Hot Rod’s grip tightens. His valve spasms, roaring toward the edge of ecstasy, but not quite there. Deadlock thrusts into him, so deep, grinding Hot Rod between himself and the door.
“Frag yeah,” Hot Rod moans. His spike surges free, the tip rubbing over Deadlock’s abdomen, leaving streaks of pre-fluid behind. “Come on, ‘Lock. Harder.”
Deadlock growls into his audial, the primal sound of it making Hot Rod’s spinal strut tingle. “Don’t test me, Roddy. I don’t want to break a little thing like you.”
“I can take it!” Hot Rod tightens his thighs, knocks his ankles against the back of Deadlock’s knees. “Leave my paint on the door. Make me scream your name. Make everyone know who I belong to.”
Deadlock’s engine roars. He pumps up into Hot Rod, grinding so deep his spike tastes Hot Rod’s ceiling node. Charge leaps between their arrays, crackling like electric fire in Hot Rod’s sensor node. He gnaws on his bottom lip, so close to overload he can taste it, and the way Deadlock throbs inside of him, he’s gotta be, too.
“You’re mine,” Deadlock presses their cheeks together, his voice a hot pant against Hot Rod’s audial. “I’ve wanted to claim you for centuries, Roddy. Wanted to leave my mark on you so you can’t ever drive away from me again.”
Hot Rod moans and clutches him tighter. “Then do it,” he demands, slamming himself down on Deadlock’s spike. His internals knot up with hot tension.
Deadlock’s mouth seals over his, fanged denta a sharp prick over Hot Rod’s lips, his glossa plunging inside. Hot Rod whines into the kiss, his back and spoiler scraping against the door. Deadlock’s hands on his hips tighten to the point of armor creaking, and then he yanks Hot Rod onto his spike as he overloads, spurting hot and crackling deep into Hot Rod.
Overload roars through Hot Rod’s frame, shooting electric fire through his lines. He spurts against Deadlock’s belly, his valve clamping down tight as though trying to keep Deadlock trapped inside him. And maybe he is. Keep them tied together so he doesn’t have to watch Deadlock drive into the night ever again.
The kiss softens. Hot Rod’s fans whirr as his engine downshifts to an idle, his forehead pressing to Deadlock’s, their ex-vents exchanging.
Hot Rod sucks in a shuddery ventilation. “Again,” he demands against Deadlock’s lips. He rocks down onto Deadlock, stirring the still firm spike in his valve. “Unless you got somewhere to be.”
Deadlock chuckles. “Hold tight, spitfire.”
Like he has any plan on letting go.
Deadlock’s grip shifts to Hot Rod’s aft. He grabs hold and spins, staggering toward Hot Rod’s berth. Hot Rod clings to him, shivering as each step jostles Deadlock’s spike, making his inner nodes sing. His back and spoiler hits the plush surface before Deadlock rolls him, and Hot Rod ends up on top, his thighs framing the girth of Deadlock’s spike.
Hot Rod rocks forward, his node rubbing up the length, a crackle of charge making him moan. “Round two?” he asks as he braces his hands on Deadlock’s abdomen, rutting his valve lips over Deadlock’s spike again and again. He loves the slow drag of the hot length on his puffy folds.
“As many rounds as you’ll give me, lovely,” Deadlock says with a fanged smirk, his hands smoothing up Hot Rod’s thighs. His knees knock against Hot Rod’s back as he draws his legs up. “We got all night.”
“Longer than that.” Hot Rod rises up and catches Deadlock’s spike with the rim of his valve. “Right?”
Deadlock licks his lips. He cradles Hot Rod’s hips. “Frag yeah,” he growls and his hips buck, teasing the inner rim of Hot Rod’s valve. “Never letting you go, Roddy-mech. Mine forever.”
Hot Rod’s spinal strut shivers. He sinks down, taking Deadlock deep, moaning as the change in position completely changes the angle, touching previously ignored sensors. His spoiler flicks in a little dance.
“Good,” Hot Rod pants.
Deadlock grins. He lifts a hand, fingers crooked at Hot Rod. “Come here, Roddy,” he says. “Wanna kiss you.”
Hot Rod’s internals tighten with heat. He shifts forward, his lips brushing over Deadlock’s, and the spike again touches something sensitive within him. He shudders, pleasure sparking through his lines, as Deadlock’s hand cups gently around the back of his head. He pulls Hot Rod in for a nuzzle, so soft and sweet, almost cognitively dissonant for how rough and tumble Deadlock could be.
“You’re going soft on me,” Hot Rod says.
Deadlock laughs, his free hand squeezing Hot Rod’s hip. He bucks up, spike grinding on Hot Rod’s ceiling node. “Not where it counts, lovely.” He seals their lips together, glossa slipping carefully inside, tasting the textures of Hot Rod’s mouth.
Hot Rod sinks into the kiss, clutching Deadlock’s head carefully, his hips moving in little rocks on Deadlock’s spike. Primus, this is so perfect. This is everything he’s ever wanted.
He’s not going to get any happier than this moment.
Well, until he gets sparked anyway.
Hot Rod can’t wait.
