[FoF] Seven Days 06
Oct. 19th, 2018 06:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Seven Days
Characters: Bluestreak/Jazz
Universe: Flights of Fancy ‘verse, Harpyformers
Rating: M
Warnings: BDSM themes, Sexual Punishment, Orgasm Denial
Description: Perfectly behaved pets are boring pets, but Jazz might have bitten off more than he can chew when he disobeys Bluestreak.
Day Five
Morning arrived and Jazz tried to focus on their usual routine, even if Bluestreak left out the part where they usually began the day with an orgasm or two. Jazz was left to be content with a few chaste kisses and hugs, light conversation shared over their bowl of breakfast fruit, while he squirmed and tried to ignore the press of the plug in his antrum.
He went to sleep slick, he woke slick. The feathers between his thighs were tacky with slick. He’d need an actual soak before the day was through, rather than a cursory wipedown with the washbasin. His clava was a dull throb, barely hidden within its sheath. Their nest was a mess that reeked of arousal. He should probably think about laundering it as well.
Bluestreak was smiling and perky, chattering on about the training he would be doing with Drift today. He was adorable, and Jazz wanted him with every beat of his core. The plug, however, was an arousing reminder of his punishment.
He braced himself for another day pretending he wasn’t on the edge of release, when Bluestreak pulled him into his lap and kissed him soundly.
“I think you’ve been well-behaved,” he murmured with a stroke down Jazz’s back, his lips painting kisses over Jazz’s forehead and the rise of his cheeks.
“Can I come?” Jazz asked, hopeful, his insides twisting into knots of want.
Bluestreak chuckled. “No.” His palm slid between their bodies, fingers stroking over the flared end of the plug, making a lewd sound as he fiddled with it. “But I’m convinced I can remove this now. Though I’ll keep it on hand in case you feel the need to… misbehave again.”
“I won’t,” Jazz said, in a rush.
“I believe you.” Bluestreak hummed and kissed him again, tasting like orange marmalade and pears, his tongue soft and exploring.
Jazz moaned into the kiss, his hips rolling against Bluestreak’s fingers, his clava threatening to emerge. His antrum rippled around the plug, and his moan gained pitch as he felt it slide from within him, each sphere catching on the walls of his antrum and sending waves of heat through his body.
It was a torment. It was a tease. It was a relief to finally have the plug free, but it left Jazz feeling empty and aching.
“Not much longer now, flitterling,” Bluestreak promised with a lingering kiss and an embrace. “I trust you’ll behave.”
“Course I will,” Jazz replied with a grin and a wink and more bravado than he actually felt. He swallowed down the need, pretended his knees didn’t shake with the urge to come, and that his groin wasn’t a throbbing wave of hungry heat.
They went their respective ways to their separate duties, and Jazz found somewhere to hide and growl his frustration. He went to the training room when he knew no one else would be there and demolished three practice dummies. He took a long soak in the hot springs because he stank of arousal, and while it helped, it did nothing to quell the need.
He watched Blurr and Starscream kiss from across the room and a wave of thick-green jealousy slid poisonous into his veins.
Drift and Perceptor were canoodling in the hot springs, making eyes at anyone who looked like they sought an adventurous experience, and all it did was remind Jazz of the conversation he and Bluestreak once had. A tentative discussion, if you would, regarding possibly engaging in a quartet.
Jazz walked past Liege Megatron’s nest just in time to catch the sound of someone having a very good afternoon and honestly! The middle of the day? Didn’t Megatron have duties to attend? Surely he could keep his hands off his mate?
He went to visit Soundwave to drop off a report, and walked in on the Speaker with a bright yellow twin in his lap, and a bright red one draped across his back. Jazz scowled and promptly walked right back out.
It wasn’t even mating season. Had the whole flock conspired to remind Jazz of the pleasure he wasn’t allowed to have?
“Where’s your brother?” Jazz demanded as he stalked into the clinic and cornered First Aid behind the counter.
First Aid blinked at him, eyebrows raised, gaze flicking between Jazz and his carrier, who Jazz probably should have noticed, too. “Which one?”
“Which one do you think?” Jazz asked. His tail twitched, and he quickly flicked it up and over an arm before someone stepped on it.
Again.
Ratchet snorted. “Bluestreak is in weapons storage. He’s on maintenance duty today.” He eyed Jazz, and his eyebrows tried to climb into his feather crest. “I’d ask what you two are getting up to now, but I honestly don’t want to know.” He spun on a tarsal and stalked away, and Jazz could have sworn he muttered,
“All of my children are deviants.”
Jazz would have laughed, if he wasn’t so out of his mind aroused at the moment.
“Carrier’s right,” First Aid said as he bent over a leatherbound book of some kind. “Blue’s in weapons storage. And I believe he’s alone.” He looked up with an exaggerated wink.
Their entire family was odd. But that’s what happened when one-third of the unusual threesome used to be human, one-third was a smol who couldn’t decide if he were bara or not, and the other third was a former Liege who couldn’t quite manage to shake the idea people should defer to him.
“Thanks,” Jazz said, and made himself scarce because Ratchet might not have been interested in what Blue and Jazz were up to, but First Aid had no such compunctions about little things like boundaries. He’d ask, and he’d want details.
Jazz indeed found Bluestreak in the weapons locker, and relief sagged his shoulders when he found his lover alone. The heavy drape of the door fell behind him, and Bluestreak looked up from where he was sharpening a short sword.
“Hey, flitterling.” Bluestreak smiled. “Here to check out a weapon or two?”
Jazz flitted around to Bluestreak’s side of the table, eyes hungrily devouring the shape of his master. Beautiful grey-blue feathers, bright blue eyes, broad shoulders, sturdy tail, big hands. Just the sight of him made need yaw in his belly.
He took the short sword from Bluestreak and set it on the table. He grabbed Bluestreak’s hand and tugged him toward the narrow hall leading to the actual storage room of shelves and brackets and disassembled weapons.
Behind him, Bluestreak chuckled. “Oh, I see. Not that kind of weapon.”
Jazz stayed quiet, lest the pleas spill out of his mouth first. He cornered Bluestreak into the storage room, guided him back against the shelves, and then he knelt, nuzzling Bluestreak’s groin and purring.
Fingers carded through his feathers as Bluestreak rumbled his approval. “This is a nice surprise,” he said as his clava emerged, and Jazz greeted it with a quick lick.
Jazz hummed and sucked Bluestreak into his mouth. He wanted to take it slow and careful, wanted to linger and savor, but Bluestreak was on the clock and anyone could come back here looking for whoever was on duty. He had to make this quick.
Luckily, Jazz knew more than a few tricks.
Bluestreak spilled into his mouth in a matter of minutes, bitten off whimpers hidden behind a knuckle clenched between his teeth, and his other hand clamped on Jazz’s shoulder, talons digging tight. Jazz suckled him gently, getting every last drop, and then he let Bluestreak slip free of his mouth. He nuzzled Bluestreak’s groin, purred in his throat, his hands curled around Bluestreak’s knee.
He pressed his cheek to Bluestreak’s hip, and he looked up at his lover, tongue wetting his lips, eyes a perfectly seductive gleam in the firelight.
“Will you forgive me?” he asked, because the taste of Bluestreak lingered on his tongue, and his belly tightened with want, and he was so slick between his thighs, he’d probably dripped on the floor.
Bluestreak slid down the wall, his hands cupping Jazz’s face. He leaned in for a soft and sweet kiss, and a ripple of relief flooded Jazz’s veins. Yes, he was sure of it. This was forgiveness. Bluestreak would cease this ridiculous notion of denying Jazz pleasure. He’d earned it.
Bluestreak gifted a kiss to each of the corners of Jazz’s mouth. He pressed their foreheads together.
“No,” he said, and stood up, tugging Jazz along with him. “Nice try, flitterling. But your punishment stands. It’s only two more days.” He slipped a hand between Jazz’s thighs, palm cupping the swollen heat of him, tasting the slick with the pads of his fingertips. “No matter how sweet you are, how ready for me, how much I want you, I have to be firm else you’ll never behave. Understand?”
The heel of his palm ground against Jazz’s nub. He keened, knees wobbling, and tipped forward, slumping against Bluestreak’s body. He clung to Bluestreak’s sides, hips rocking, grinding along the slick-damp palm.
“Please,” he said, near-sobbing, because it felt so damned good, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. His antrum throbbed, his clava filled so fast it hurt. “I’ll be good. I’ll be so, so good.”
“I know you will.” Bluestreak pressed a kiss to the top of his head, palm applying a steady pressure, as the need tightened and coiled deep within him.
Jazz whined. He pressed his face to Bluestreak’s chest and inhaled the scent of his lover, that mix of hot springs and warm sun and sweet things. He clutched at Bluestreak’s sides, and tried not to thrust against Bluestreak’s thigh, his clava rigid and leaking, his knees pressing inward to quell the throb of his antrum.
“One more day,” Bluestreak murmured as he crushed Jazz against him, and the strength of his embrace felt like a promise.
~
Characters: Bluestreak/Jazz
Universe: Flights of Fancy ‘verse, Harpyformers
Rating: M
Warnings: BDSM themes, Sexual Punishment, Orgasm Denial
Description: Perfectly behaved pets are boring pets, but Jazz might have bitten off more than he can chew when he disobeys Bluestreak.
Morning arrived and Jazz tried to focus on their usual routine, even if Bluestreak left out the part where they usually began the day with an orgasm or two. Jazz was left to be content with a few chaste kisses and hugs, light conversation shared over their bowl of breakfast fruit, while he squirmed and tried to ignore the press of the plug in his antrum.
He went to sleep slick, he woke slick. The feathers between his thighs were tacky with slick. He’d need an actual soak before the day was through, rather than a cursory wipedown with the washbasin. His clava was a dull throb, barely hidden within its sheath. Their nest was a mess that reeked of arousal. He should probably think about laundering it as well.
Bluestreak was smiling and perky, chattering on about the training he would be doing with Drift today. He was adorable, and Jazz wanted him with every beat of his core. The plug, however, was an arousing reminder of his punishment.
He braced himself for another day pretending he wasn’t on the edge of release, when Bluestreak pulled him into his lap and kissed him soundly.
“I think you’ve been well-behaved,” he murmured with a stroke down Jazz’s back, his lips painting kisses over Jazz’s forehead and the rise of his cheeks.
“Can I come?” Jazz asked, hopeful, his insides twisting into knots of want.
Bluestreak chuckled. “No.” His palm slid between their bodies, fingers stroking over the flared end of the plug, making a lewd sound as he fiddled with it. “But I’m convinced I can remove this now. Though I’ll keep it on hand in case you feel the need to… misbehave again.”
“I won’t,” Jazz said, in a rush.
“I believe you.” Bluestreak hummed and kissed him again, tasting like orange marmalade and pears, his tongue soft and exploring.
Jazz moaned into the kiss, his hips rolling against Bluestreak’s fingers, his clava threatening to emerge. His antrum rippled around the plug, and his moan gained pitch as he felt it slide from within him, each sphere catching on the walls of his antrum and sending waves of heat through his body.
It was a torment. It was a tease. It was a relief to finally have the plug free, but it left Jazz feeling empty and aching.
“Not much longer now, flitterling,” Bluestreak promised with a lingering kiss and an embrace. “I trust you’ll behave.”
“Course I will,” Jazz replied with a grin and a wink and more bravado than he actually felt. He swallowed down the need, pretended his knees didn’t shake with the urge to come, and that his groin wasn’t a throbbing wave of hungry heat.
They went their respective ways to their separate duties, and Jazz found somewhere to hide and growl his frustration. He went to the training room when he knew no one else would be there and demolished three practice dummies. He took a long soak in the hot springs because he stank of arousal, and while it helped, it did nothing to quell the need.
He watched Blurr and Starscream kiss from across the room and a wave of thick-green jealousy slid poisonous into his veins.
Drift and Perceptor were canoodling in the hot springs, making eyes at anyone who looked like they sought an adventurous experience, and all it did was remind Jazz of the conversation he and Bluestreak once had. A tentative discussion, if you would, regarding possibly engaging in a quartet.
Jazz walked past Liege Megatron’s nest just in time to catch the sound of someone having a very good afternoon and honestly! The middle of the day? Didn’t Megatron have duties to attend? Surely he could keep his hands off his mate?
He went to visit Soundwave to drop off a report, and walked in on the Speaker with a bright yellow twin in his lap, and a bright red one draped across his back. Jazz scowled and promptly walked right back out.
It wasn’t even mating season. Had the whole flock conspired to remind Jazz of the pleasure he wasn’t allowed to have?
“Where’s your brother?” Jazz demanded as he stalked into the clinic and cornered First Aid behind the counter.
First Aid blinked at him, eyebrows raised, gaze flicking between Jazz and his carrier, who Jazz probably should have noticed, too. “Which one?”
“Which one do you think?” Jazz asked. His tail twitched, and he quickly flicked it up and over an arm before someone stepped on it.
Again.
Ratchet snorted. “Bluestreak is in weapons storage. He’s on maintenance duty today.” He eyed Jazz, and his eyebrows tried to climb into his feather crest. “I’d ask what you two are getting up to now, but I honestly don’t want to know.” He spun on a tarsal and stalked away, and Jazz could have sworn he muttered,
“All of my children are deviants.”
Jazz would have laughed, if he wasn’t so out of his mind aroused at the moment.
“Carrier’s right,” First Aid said as he bent over a leatherbound book of some kind. “Blue’s in weapons storage. And I believe he’s alone.” He looked up with an exaggerated wink.
Their entire family was odd. But that’s what happened when one-third of the unusual threesome used to be human, one-third was a smol who couldn’t decide if he were bara or not, and the other third was a former Liege who couldn’t quite manage to shake the idea people should defer to him.
“Thanks,” Jazz said, and made himself scarce because Ratchet might not have been interested in what Blue and Jazz were up to, but First Aid had no such compunctions about little things like boundaries. He’d ask, and he’d want details.
Jazz indeed found Bluestreak in the weapons locker, and relief sagged his shoulders when he found his lover alone. The heavy drape of the door fell behind him, and Bluestreak looked up from where he was sharpening a short sword.
“Hey, flitterling.” Bluestreak smiled. “Here to check out a weapon or two?”
Jazz flitted around to Bluestreak’s side of the table, eyes hungrily devouring the shape of his master. Beautiful grey-blue feathers, bright blue eyes, broad shoulders, sturdy tail, big hands. Just the sight of him made need yaw in his belly.
He took the short sword from Bluestreak and set it on the table. He grabbed Bluestreak’s hand and tugged him toward the narrow hall leading to the actual storage room of shelves and brackets and disassembled weapons.
Behind him, Bluestreak chuckled. “Oh, I see. Not that kind of weapon.”
Jazz stayed quiet, lest the pleas spill out of his mouth first. He cornered Bluestreak into the storage room, guided him back against the shelves, and then he knelt, nuzzling Bluestreak’s groin and purring.
Fingers carded through his feathers as Bluestreak rumbled his approval. “This is a nice surprise,” he said as his clava emerged, and Jazz greeted it with a quick lick.
Jazz hummed and sucked Bluestreak into his mouth. He wanted to take it slow and careful, wanted to linger and savor, but Bluestreak was on the clock and anyone could come back here looking for whoever was on duty. He had to make this quick.
Luckily, Jazz knew more than a few tricks.
Bluestreak spilled into his mouth in a matter of minutes, bitten off whimpers hidden behind a knuckle clenched between his teeth, and his other hand clamped on Jazz’s shoulder, talons digging tight. Jazz suckled him gently, getting every last drop, and then he let Bluestreak slip free of his mouth. He nuzzled Bluestreak’s groin, purred in his throat, his hands curled around Bluestreak’s knee.
He pressed his cheek to Bluestreak’s hip, and he looked up at his lover, tongue wetting his lips, eyes a perfectly seductive gleam in the firelight.
“Will you forgive me?” he asked, because the taste of Bluestreak lingered on his tongue, and his belly tightened with want, and he was so slick between his thighs, he’d probably dripped on the floor.
Bluestreak slid down the wall, his hands cupping Jazz’s face. He leaned in for a soft and sweet kiss, and a ripple of relief flooded Jazz’s veins. Yes, he was sure of it. This was forgiveness. Bluestreak would cease this ridiculous notion of denying Jazz pleasure. He’d earned it.
Bluestreak gifted a kiss to each of the corners of Jazz’s mouth. He pressed their foreheads together.
“No,” he said, and stood up, tugging Jazz along with him. “Nice try, flitterling. But your punishment stands. It’s only two more days.” He slipped a hand between Jazz’s thighs, palm cupping the swollen heat of him, tasting the slick with the pads of his fingertips. “No matter how sweet you are, how ready for me, how much I want you, I have to be firm else you’ll never behave. Understand?”
The heel of his palm ground against Jazz’s nub. He keened, knees wobbling, and tipped forward, slumping against Bluestreak’s body. He clung to Bluestreak’s sides, hips rocking, grinding along the slick-damp palm.
“Please,” he said, near-sobbing, because it felt so damned good, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. His antrum throbbed, his clava filled so fast it hurt. “I’ll be good. I’ll be so, so good.”
“I know you will.” Bluestreak pressed a kiss to the top of his head, palm applying a steady pressure, as the need tightened and coiled deep within him.
Jazz whined. He pressed his face to Bluestreak’s chest and inhaled the scent of his lover, that mix of hot springs and warm sun and sweet things. He clutched at Bluestreak’s sides, and tried not to thrust against Bluestreak’s thigh, his clava rigid and leaking, his knees pressing inward to quell the throb of his antrum.
“One more day,” Bluestreak murmured as he crushed Jazz against him, and the strength of his embrace felt like a promise.
~
