Delphi's sideblog for Starlight Express and Cats NSFW content. You'll mostly find my fanfiction and reblogs of the adult variety. Please turn back if you are under 18 and/or not comfortable with this content!
The fic contains moderate friskiness, public teasing, and the Components being cheeky little things. Not wholly explicit but still counts as NSFW.
“Scrap me. Please.”
It took a few mind-numbing moments of waiting, with Electra growing aggressively more bored with every moment, before a reply came through the datastream. It was Wrench, her electronic voice amused. “You can’t pay our salary if you’re scrapped.”
Then came Joule, whose datastream voice somehow defied science and managed to come in even louder than her normal voice. “Nooo, what’s wrong??”
Instead of explaining with words, Electra opened his end of the server, letting his Components through. Electra had marched with his entourage into the Apollo Victoria yard that morning with the sole intention of locating Greaseball and having a, er, tasteful conversation over tea and scones, and somehow ended up trapped between the entire freight crew, the old steamer (Poppy? Dada? Had they even been introduced?), the insufferable little steamer, Rusty, who thought himself a champion, and three coaches. The smoking car had promised to tell him where Greaseball was if only he stayed to listen to the old steamer’s rambling story of something or another, because it was “polite”.
It was almost not worth the potential wild sex with Greaseball.
Almost.
Were they spike-blocking him for a reason? They had to be. Maybe he’d done something wrong in a previous life. His only refuge from boredom was chatting with his Components over the datastream, but they were no help.
“Bet you’re sorry you didn’t bring us along this time, hm?” Volta airily said.
“What did you say again, master?” Purse tutted. “You wanted to keep yourself pure for Greaseball today?”
Now it was Krupp’s turn. He delivered a perfect, sassy snort through the datastream. “’Pure’. I think that ship sailed a long time ago.”
Electra’s deadpan expression darkened. He was pretty sure the dining car was giving him a strange look, since no one else could hear the ongoing digital conversation. “I’m cutting your salaries.”
Volta again. “I’m sobbing.”
“Now children. Let’s be helpful. Electra needs to be kept occupied.”
The last words came from Wrench, and immediately made Electra suspicious. His suspicion intensified as he felt her fiddling with the datastream server’s functions, locking Electra out and force-keeping the server open. Only Wrench knew how to crack the server like that and normally she used her powers for good. What was going on here? And then the chattering old steamer pulled out a harmonica, and Electra’s boredom threatened to escalate to full-blown existential ennui.
Electra’s boredom was soon replaced by… wait, was it getting warmer out here? He had the distinct impression of a phantom touch on his chest plating, and spared a quick glance around to make sure no one had suddenly decided to get handsy. Not that he would have blamed them if they did, but…
“Mmm…” A loud, deliberate moan came through the datastream, startling Electra until he realized it was Joule’s voice. It was followed by more ghosting touches, including the faintest hint of lips kissing their way up his neck and jaw, until he heard Purse’s voice in his head. “Is this helping you pass the time, Master?”
“What in Starlight are you lot doing?” Electra huffed, inhaling sharply as the link allowed more of the sensations through, until the touches felt less like ghostly caresses and more like very real fingers working their way up and down his leg, teasing the inside of his thigh. The teasing fingers then scratched him up and down and Electra recognized the touch as being Volta’s.
“Like I said, helping you pass the time,” Purse said, the voice concentrated around his ear. A warm tongue licked at his cheek and kissed it softly, the sensation so real Electra had to raise a trembling hand to feel his face and make sure this was all happening over packets of data being interpreted by his sensory receptors, and not right there in front of a bunch of oblivious trucks, engines and coaches. Not that it made it any less real by any means, not when his body was reacting exactly the way it would if the hands and lips were physically with him.
Which meant Electra now stood, slightly shaky on his wheels, breathing hard, eyes wide, and doing his damnest to hide the fact that he was getting hot and very bothered.
“This isn’t helping!” Electra said with alarm. He barely managed to clamp his mouth shut to stifle a gasp as someone—it felt like either Volta or Joule—squeezed his thighs and nuzzled his spike. Oooh, that felt good, not to mention strange. Strange, because no one in the real physical world had removed his codpiece, even though the datastream was fooling his body into feeling as though it had.
Good thing no one was removing his codpiece in the real world. He was barely able to mask his arousal as it was, wobbling on his wheels and grabbing the guardrail behind him for support, breathing long and deep through his nose to try and quell the heat and the racing pulse flashing across his chest display—
“Electra, are you all right?” One of the coaches. The pink one. Squirrel or something. Electra was no good at thinking of names right now, since the server data was now delivering the sensation of fingers pressing all around his chest display, and two pairs of lips kissing his jaw.
He really hoped it was a secure connection. He wouldn’t live it down if his enemies hacked his network and gawked at his Components fondling him wirelessly.
“Fiiine,” Electra ground out, fingers tightening on the guardrail. It was a miracle the word hadn’t come out as an incoherent scream, because someone (felt like Krupp, the asshole) chose that exact moment to give his ass a quick hard slap. He could swear the sound was about to explode right out of the datastream.
“He doesn’t seem bored anymore, does he?” Wrench’s voice, husky and breathless. Electra figured the Components were having their own fun at the same time as they were transmitting such naughty sensations through the datastream. Oh Starlight, he was so wound up he’d give anything to be with them right now.
“He seems very busy,” Purse purred. A phantom hand wrapped around Electra’s spike. Electra nearly skidded right off his wheels and onto his arse, shaking from head to foot.
“You, er, you look like you’re about to pop a seam,” Rusty said. Electra’s vision blurred but Rusty looked either concerned for Electra’s health, or worried about Electra going supernova. Which wasn’t such a stretch at this point. Someone pulled his hair. A tongue tickled his ear, teeth nibbled his shoulder blade, a mouth surrounded his spike, moans and gasps filled his audiospace, someone’s fingers teased his valve—
“You know!” Electra squeaked, stiffening all over as though he’d misfired a bolt of electricity. “I do feel pretty broken! I’m going to see, uh…” He inhaled sharply, trying to remember his repair truck’s name through the fog of pent-up lust, and giving up. “Tell Greasebell I said hello.”
Electra quickly rolled away on unsteady wheels, barely hearing Rusty’s confused parting words. “Did he say Greasebell…?”
It took ten minutes longer than usual for Electra to reach the guest shed he shared with his Components, slipping and skidding and pausing to moan the whole way. His damned Components didn’t relent until Electra practically kicked the front door down, panting and nearly drooling in lust as he was met with five innocent, grinning, half-nude Components in various stages of foreplay with each other.
“Electra!” Volta purred, the very picture of innocence as she idly groped Wrench’s butt.
Joule grinned, sitting on Krupp’s lap. “We missed you!”
“How did your meeting with Greaseball go?” Purse innocently asked.
“It must have been brief,” Krupp said.
“Since you look so bored,” Wrench airily said.
Panting, Electra barely dignified them with a glare. He sped past them, shedding his plating as he went. “Bedroom. Now. You’re all fired, by the way.”
Still dripping innocence, the five Components followed obediently. “Told him he shouldn’t have gone without us,” Volta grinned triumphantly, shutting and locking the bedroom door.
Oh look, another entry in my “someone on Tumblr dared me to write a random rarepair fic” series. Here we have Flat-Top and Purse, enjoying a little dirty time.
Nothing kinky to speak of, no warnings beyond adult content.
Grime, dirt, muck. The air in this dive of a place was thick with it, a filthy mist of coal, brick, and gravel dust.
Purse shuddered. He could already feel it seeping into his plating, settling into his pristine seams and joints. He could taste it, could practically feel it dulling the shine of the glitter he wore on his face. He was used to the sterile cleanliness of the places electrics went to socialize, bright spotless clubs with gleaming walls and glowing lighting and filled with hushed, high-class conversation.
In this place, even the conversation was filthy. Purse passed a slate truck who was quite busy gyrating his pelvis for the benefit of his friends, evidently recounting last night’s conquest, and shouldered his way past two sloppy, inebriated coaches. One of them made a sound that could generously be interpreted as a whistle. Purse pretended not to hear it.
The money truck rolled with stoic grace all the way to the bar, debated whether to dust the stool, and sat down with a defeated sigh, trying to decide what to do with his arms before laying them on the bar top. He was already going to have to scrub himself raw after leaving this place. And take something for the headache pounding at his temples, thanks to the dirty, stuffy atmosphere of this place.
He’d barely had time to lock eyes with a stain on the bar top when a truck slid into the seat next to Purse. “Well well well. What do we have here?”
Purse gave him a bored, slightly disgusted look. A brick truck. He was as dirty as any truck here, covered in gravel dust and coal, a spare brick embedded in his helmet just in case anyone forgot what his job entailed, an insufferably cheeky look on his face as he looked Purse up and down. “Name’s Flat-Top. Come here often, gorgeous?”
Yes, actually. “I’m here on business.”
“Business, eh? Yeah, I got business too. We all got business.”
Purse didn’t bother with a reply. Somewhere in the distance, a truck released a string of profanity to rival Wrench the time she dropped a welding mask on her foot.
“We don’t get a lot of electrics down here,” Flat-Top remarked. Purse heard the scrape of a container on the bar top and glanced down to see Flat-Top pushing a drink in his direction. Purse turned his nose up at it. “Most of the time they think this place is too, uhh…”
“Dirty?” Purse coolly offered.
Flat-Top snorted and took a gulp of his own drink. “Dirty’s a word. Too much dignity to roll around with the freight, yeah? And you sure look like a truck with lots of… dignity.” He made a great show of looking up and down Purse’s body, making it clear he had another word in mind in place of ‘dignity’. “Yep, nothing breaks your composure, hm?”
Purse elegantly rolled his eyes, his attention momentarily drawn to two trucks dancing in a nearby corner, as though somehow they could hear the music above the roar of the crowd. Before long it was less dance and more of an obscene grind and soon a rather obscene kiss. Purse scoffed. Electrics would never get up to such behavior in a public area.
Flat-Top loudly cleared his throat, catching Purse’s attention again. “Looks like you might be here a while. Maybe while you’re waitin’ for your business, you could–”
Flat-Top grabbed his arm. The gesture was somewhere between flirtatious and obnoxious. In either case, the hand left smudges on his plating. Purse shuddered. “Don’t touch me.”
“Hey, I jus’ thought–”
“Not here.”
A look of… disappointment, maybe, crossed Flat-Top’s eyes before he downed his drink and cocked his head toward the side of the bar. “There’s the alley–”
Purse was on his wheels before the brick truck could finish his direction.
The alley behind the freight bar was exactly what one would expect—weak, flickering lighting, punctuated by the occasional flashing lights in the far distance, the thick, grimy dust suspended in the spotlight of the overhead lamps.
Voices, some sober, most drunken, spilled from the bar and the nearby roads. Slightly more private than the bar, but still disgustingly public. Anyone could stumble upon them here.
And before Purse could analyze the locale any further, his back met the brick wall with a thump that made him wince in pain and surprise, Flat-Top pressing at his front with a brazen smirk.
They didn’t kiss- Purse quickly whipped his head to the side before Flat-Top had a chance, barely missing the brick truck’s slight look of disappointment before he cut his losses and went for Purse’s neck instead, clumsily biting and licking at it. The low-key pain made Purse’s body shiver with something between lust and disgust, or maybe a healthy mix of both. The ragged brick wall scraped up his back as Flat-Top pawed at him, running his hands all over as though trying to sully him, pushing his fingers into sensitive joints, scrabbling at his pelvis and unlatching the plating with unsubtle fingers.
Purse sighed as his spike, already hard and twitching, landed in the brick truck’s hand. Flat-Top gave him a few rough strokes that turned Purse’s sigh into a ragged moan, the sound extending as Flat-Top went searching further. Purse expected rough fingers shoving inside him; the hesitation made him frown, tightening his grip on the grimy armour beneath his hand.
“S’okay if I…?”
“Yes, do it,” Purse huffed. Impatience made him snappish. He felt the press of thick fingers inside him, sending a jolt of sensation through his body that ended with another moan, just as he felt Flat-Top shuffle between their bodies and unlatch his own plating. The fingers left his body and Purse spread his thighs, as much as he could while stuck between brick and brick, and suddenly he found himself aided as Flat-Top grabbed his thighs, hoisting him up, slamming him against the wall with a satisfying rush that emptied his lungs of air. Purse was impressed; the brick truck was strong. And then Purse was impressed all over again as Flat-Top pushed inside him, stretching him to his limits, leaving him shuddering and gathering dust beneath his nails as he clawed at Flat-Top’s shoulders.
It was fast, and raw, and Purse wondered if his face looked more pained than pleasured as Flat-Top thrust into him, throwing his face into the money truck’s neck again, puffing loud, graceless groans into it. The sound was underscored by the steady rattle of chains Flat-Top wore around his body, along with the dull grind of metal and brick on ultra-polished plating.
Sex with Electra and the other Components was high art compared to this. Electrics had a reputation for indulging in enough kinks to make a seasoned sleeper car blush like a virgin. But this tryst in a dark alley scratched an itch Purse never realized he’d had. Getting fucked against a wall was quite tame compared to what he and Joule had gotten up to just that morning, but it wasn’t the act here that was kinky to him, so much as the situation.
“Mmm… so pretty. Don’t see many trucks with a body like yours… yep, you’re special… mm, so classy…”
In the cacophony of Flat-Top’s garbled moans and compliments and Purse’s own stuttered breaths, he almost missed the loud, drawn-out noise the brick truck released, followed by two quick thrusts and the sudden presence of dirty heat inside Purse’s body. He frowned, not expecting Flat-Top to be done quite so quickly, and the brick truck gave him a sheepish, but still satisfied grin as he peeled his face away from Purse’s neck.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Flat-Top snorted. He pulled out in a move that made Purse whimper, lowering him back to his wheels, and drew in a stabilizing breath before dropping to his knees in front of the money truck. “Whaddaya expect? Don’t worry, I got ya anyway…”
Purse rolled his eyes, then closed them in pleasure as the brick truck’s tongue made an enthusiastic swipe around the end of his spike. This was followed by a playful nibble of teeth and then a sloppy kiss followed by a sloppy suck, a completely uncoordinated effort that somehow worked really well, leaving Purse breathless and moaning.
The rattle of chains underscored Flat-Top’s soft grunts and sucking noises, a filthy combination of sounds that had Purse writhing against the wall until he felt the bricks dig grooves into his back plating. Before he could stop himself, he scrabbled to grip the edge of Flat-Top’s helmet (he was grabbing and not caressing, of course), following the bobbing motions and watching his spike disappearing into Flat-Top’s eager mouth until Purse found his breath again and groaned as he came, eyes fixed on Flat-Top’s throat as he swallowed until it was all done and pulled away with a smug look of triumph.
“Some business, eh?” Flat-Top smirked, chains jingling softly as he swiped his hand against his mouth.
A little shaky, Purse caught his breath and reached for his discarded plating. Flat-Top handed him the piece with something akin to reverence, the smirk slowly fading to something more subdued.
“Y’know… we don’t have to do it out here all the time. I have a shed. Bed and everything.”
“I know. You keep telling me.”
“So why we gotta meet here every time? You ashamed of me or something?”
“No! I–” Purse cut off his own indignant reply just as Flat-Top’s smirk returned.
“I’m kidding with you! Just sayin’, it’s not always comfortable out there. Pretty sure a rat almost crawled up my arse while I was busy.”
Purse tried and failed to keep from smiling. “I’m not here for anything more, Flat-Top. You know that.”
“Hey, s’okay. You don’t owe me an explanation. Sometimes you just need to get fucked in an alley, you know?”
Such wisdom. Purse’s tiny smile grew a bit. “If you say so.”
“I meant it, y’know. I got a bed. It’s a big one. Real comfortable. Never had an electric in there, but… you’re okay. So you know… yeah.”
“I suppose we’ll see, next time I have business here.”
Flat-Top nodded and shuffled on his wheels as though he expected something more, and tapped the brick in his helmet by way of a parting greeting before rolling back into the bar. Purse watched him go without a word, taking his time before thinking about rolling out of the alley himself.
Grime, dirt, muck. Now he was covered in it. Dirty inside and outside, filthy to the core, and wouldn’t Electra and the Components just be shocked to see him coming home in this condition. Too bad he wasn’t in the mood to shower any time soon.
Purse allowed himself a little grin, glancing down at the smudges and marks Flat-Top left on his body. His back still ached while other parts felt quite pleased. Flat-Top was right; sometimes, one just needed to get fucked in alley. But maybe next time, he wouldn’t mind seeing this bed.
Purse has been up for hours handling the finances, and Krupp thinks it’s about time for a break.
Contains very little plot, a lot of sex, improper use of a desk, a cheeky playful Krupp, and Purse wearing glasses (yes hello how come we’ve never discussed Purse wearing sexy glasses while doing some accounting work?) No real kinks here, just typical friskiness.
Purse sighed and slid his glasses off, rubbing his temple. He knew he’d been at this too long when the numbers and formulas on the spreadsheet began to dance and turn into ancient hieroglyphics. A headache was looming dangerously close. A break would probably be in order, but Purse hated leaving any work unfinished, especially when it came to the delicate task of balancing the monthly budget.
Starlight only knew why Electra needed $700 worth of organic body glitter, but apparently he needed it to live, and of course Purse was the one who needed to sort out the receipts, one of which was still missing before he could balance his books. He slid his glasses back on, bringing up a second document with a purchase history, and tried to make the numbers turn into numbers again.
“Busy?”
“What the f–!” Purse jumped, sending a stylus clattering to the floor. Whirling around in his chair, he gave Krupp a suitably affronted look as he clasped his chest. If that happened again, Electra wasn’t going to be the only one with a heart monitor on his chest. “How? How do you do that?”
“Do what?” Krupp asked, the very picture of innocence. The armaments truck had rolled up right behind Purse’s chair and stood with his arms crossed, dark shades perched on his nose. He looked expressionless, but Purse didn’t miss the tiny quirk on the side of his mouth.
Purse huffed and collected the stylus from the floor. “You’re the hugest truck of us all and you still somehow manage to sneak up on me. All the time. How do you roll so quietly when you probably weigh twice as much as I do?”
Krupp pressed a hand to his own chest, his innocence intensifying. “Are you saying you expect me to be clumsy? What kind of bodyguard would I be if I tripped over my own wheels all the time?”
“One who wouldn’t give me a heart attack? And shouldn’t you be off bodyguarding instead of interrupting my work?”
“Guarding who? It’s almost two in the morning. Everyone’s asleep.”
Purse frowned, blinked, and finally glanced at the wall clock. Wait, had he really been working on that spreadsheet for four hours? He felt a little vexed that he’d likely missed any pre-bedtime sex with Electra and the others. Was Krupp here to gloat about his absence?
“I didn’t realize it was so late. How come you’re still awake?”
“I don’t sleep.”
“Right,” Purse deadpanned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let me guess, Electra kicked you out of bed?”
“Wrench did, actually. She was asleep, but she can still deliver a nice shove when she stretches.”
Electra’s bed generally had no problem accommodating all six of them, but that didn’t account for some of the Components’ tendency to sprawl out. Purse had gotten booted out by a sleepy kick or an arse to the face on more than one occasion.
“And you decided to come sleep here?”
“I sleep standing up,” Krupp said grandly. “Always on alert.” He rolled forward and closed the distance between himself and Purse’s chair, delicately taking Purse’s glasses off and placing them on the desk. “As for you, it’s time for bed.”
“I’m not going to sleep until I finish my numbers,” Purse said, though he made no move to stop Krupp from taking his glasses. Nor to stop Krupp as he slipped off his own shades and tossed them on the desk. When the shades came off, it only meant one thing, and Purse rarely said no to that. Not when he had the handsome, hefty armaments truck all to himself.
“I said nothing about sleep. We missed you tonight. I missed you tonight.”
He thought about putting up a token protest when Krupp kissed him. He really did need to balance this budget, but what could he do when a pair of strong hands was suddenly lifting him out of his chair, kneading his rear and pressing him to grind against the other truck? He was helpless, Purse reasoned as he anchored himself on Krupp’s broad shoulders and added tongue and a moan to the kiss.
Krupp backed him into the desk, pressing into the welcoming juncture of Purse’s body, and it was only when Purse felt one of the big hands leave his body and start to reach for his carefully-arranged papers and receipts on the desk that he broke the kiss.
“If you sweep everything off my desk, I swear to the Starlight Express I’m going to have Joule set you on fire.”
Krupp hesitated, and carefully stacked the ledgers and papers out of the way before grabbing Purse’s thighs, lifting him and setting him on the edge of the desk. The firm hands then released their grip, gently trailing up and down Purse’s thighs, sending thrilling little shocks of pleasure up and down his supple body.
“I’d better not be sitting on my glasses,” Purse panted, firmly taking Krupp’s face between his hands and pulling him in for another kiss, heat and lust heavy on his breath as they pulled apart. “I’ve still got numbers to—mmm.”
Krupp’s hands were maddeningly gentle on his thighs, drawing little circles higher and higher until his thumbs brushed the scalding-hot metal between Purse’s legs. “I knew you liked your job but I didn’t realize numbers got you that excited.”
A sassy retort ended up devolving into a sassy moan as Krupp drew teasing little circles around the latches of his plating until a rather insistent hip thrust made him hurry up, removing the plating and releasing Purse’s hard spike.
Two long, slow strokes and suddenly the bulk of Krupp’s body was gone, and it took Purse a hazy second to realize the armaments truck was now on his knees in front of the desk. Purse’s smug smile turned into an open-mouthed groan as Krupp gently bit the inside of his thigh before taking the hot, slick spike into his mouth.
It was the sight as much as the sensation that made Purse moan and twitch. Krupp submissive, on his knees, mouth full of spike, bobbing gently. The spell was slightly broken when Krupp glanced up at him with an insufferably cheeky look in his eyes—and now Purse remembered why the shades were a staple of the other truck’s appearance. Krupp was strong, and Krupp was stoic, but when Krupp got into a teasing mood, only the sturdiest and darkest eyewear could contain his playful expression.
Purse groaned breathily, balancing himself on the edge of the desk with one hand and holding onto Krupp’s head with the other, encouraging the motion as his spike hit the back of Krupp’s throat with every bob. “I could… hmm, I could almost balance a ledger right here,” he said, caressing the top of Krupp’s head, taking pleasure in the way Krupp’s eyes lost the sparkle of playfulness and went dark with affront. “Get a bit of work done while you’re so busy down there…”
It didn’t take much to get Krupp worked up, nor to kindle the fire of dominance. He wasn’t planning on being second best to some accounting work. He worked his mouth for a few more seconds as his hand travelled up Purse’s thigh and pressed at his slick entrance, earning a breathy moan.
Krupp let the spike slip from his mouth before he straightened up, towering over Purse while his fingers pressed in abruptly, making Purse yelp in pleasure as though shocked, scrabbling for leverage on the desk. His hand landed on a calculator and he flicked it out of the way as Krupp leaned right in.
“Turn around and bend over,” he growled, unclipping his plating. “I’ll show you how to get some work done.”
The innuendo didn’t quite make sense but Purse was too polite, and much too aroused, to point it out. He hurriedly obeyed and rolled over, laying his chest out against his desk and balancing on the tips of his wheels, swaying his hips to make things a little more alluring, as though it was somehow necessary to encourage Krupp to run his large hands along the perfect curve of Purse’s back, to rest it against the equally perfect curve of his ass. Purse had no qualms about his body; he was alluring, and he knew it.
The large hands pulled his thighs apart an inch wider, settled on his hips, and Purse made a strangled sort of huff as Krupp entered him. Ooh, Starlight, he sometimes forgot to really take a moment and appreciate how big Krupp was. That initial burning stretch was always so good and it wasn’t long before the room was filled with the soft wet sounds of Krupp slamming into him. “Oh yessss….”
The rough thrusts left Purse shivering, alive with sensation, his cheek pressed tight to the wooden surface of the desk. Krupp’s hand moved and found a sensitive spot right by Purse’s hip joint, a move that was always guaranteed to leave him moaning and panting shamelessly, and as he did his breaths sent a small pile of receipts scattering.
Was that…? Purse peeled one hand away from the desk to pick up one of the wayward receipts. Wait a minute, it was! $210 for pineapple-scented body glitter. In between the hard, rocking thrusts, Purse reached for his ledger and flipped it open.
“Seriously?” Krupp said between halting breaths. “Are you actually doing work?”
“I was looking for this earlier,” Purse said, his cheek still pressed to the desk, holding up the receipt as though it would somehow sway Krupp. “Hand me my glasses?”
A low growl was his answer, followed by the abrupt pulling out of the spike from inside him. All of a sudden he was lifted, turned around, and slammed flat on his back on the desk in a motion that made the breath, and the thought of work, rush from his body. Krupp spread his thighs, grabbed his hips, and in a moment they were connected again, and Purse moaned wantonly as the spike slammed to the hilt inside him. “If you so much as think about numbers…”
Okay, so Purse did take the time to put the wayward receipt down so it wouldn’t fly away, but the moment his hands were free, he used them to grab Krupp’s neck struts and pull him down into a bruising kiss as his legs wrapped around the armament truck’s hips, goading him into movement. When Krupp got a little rough, things always got a little better, and all of a sudden the thought of numbers was replaced by the delicious electric shock of pleasure as Krupp pressed hard and deep inside him.
“Harder!”
The desk rattled, pounded against the wall, and something clattered to the ground—and the fact that Purse didn’t care what it was a testament to how good this was. Krupp’s breath was hot on his face, coupled with a tiny, self-satisfied smile as one of those big, strong hands went searching between their bodies and teased Purse’s spike.
“Oh Starlight! Oh yes–”
That was all he needed, arching back on the desk and crushing Krupp’s hips between his thighs as he came hotly between their bodies. The desk continued to rattle until a low, growling groan and a glowing heat inside his body signaled Krupp’s climax.
Purse relaxed, a smile of pure satisfaction on his face as he tucked one hand behind his head, gratefully stroking Krupp’s back with the other. This was exactly what he needed. He tried not to make a sound of disappointment as Krupp raised himself up, gently pulling out of the money truck’s body and reaching for his shades.
“Should I leave you to your numbers now?” Krupp said, leaning in for a tender parting kiss.
That was as far as he got before Purse threw his arms around Krupp’s neck, leapt off the desk, and spun them around. The desk creaked for mercy under the weight of the armaments truck as Purse pushed him down onto his back and straddled his hips. With a lascivious grin, he took the shades from Krupp’s hands and tossed them back on the desk, brushing their lips together.
Thank You For Calling Wrench Support (Starlight Express fic, Greaseball/Electra/??, mildly NSFW)
In which Greaseball and a mystery partner need to call Wrench for a little tech support. Wrench would rather be doing anything else.
“This is Wrench.”
“Oh! Wrench, thank Starlight I reached you! It’s Greaseball!”
Wrench drew in air, willing her systems to cool down before she felt ready to take this particular call. “Yes, what is it this time, Greaseball?”
“It’s Electra! It happened again!”
“Of course it did. What seems to be the problem today?”
“Well, he’s… frozen up.”
Wrench pinched the bridge of her nose. How she hated these non-technical types. “Okay, can you see an error message?”
“Not… from where I am.”
“Well, where are you?”
“Uh… half under him, half… sort of against the table.”
“Right.”
“And the wall.”
Wrench pinched her nose harder. “Can you reach his chest display at all?”
“His leg is kind of in the way.”
“Does it sound like he’s overheating?”
“No, it’s not like last time.”
“Are you sure?” Wrench groused. “I warned you against running too many functions.”
“I didn’t!”
“Are you alone?”
“Uh… CB is here too?”
“Hi Wrench!”
“CB,” Wrench sighed. “Can you see an error message?”
“It’s, um… hold on, my leg is… ‘Error: Stack Overflow’? Is that it?”
“That’s what I figured. Let’s just turn him off and turn him back on again.”
“Heh, he’s already plenty turned on.”
“Greaseball…”
“Sorry! How do I do that?”
“Can you reach the key above his hip?”
“Hold on… yup, got it.”
“CB, can you reach the one on his back?”
“Got it, Wrench!”
“Can you also reach the one on the back of his neck?”
“Can I use my tongue?”
Wrench dropped her face in her hands. She really needed to stop taking these calls. “Yes, as long as you’re pressing all three. Now just wait a few moments and you should–”
“Aah-ahhh!”
Wrench hastily turned the volume down at the familiar cry. “Was that–?”
“Yep, he’s fine now!”
“Thanks Wrench! We’ll take it from here!”
“Thank you for calling Wrench support.” Wrench disconnected the call and huffed bitterly, sitting back in her berth. Damn those other engines. She missed being the one to turn her master off and on again.
In which the Components decide to shake things up in the bedroom with their dear master Electra. Expect BDSM, cuffs, ball-gags, cock rings, strap-ons, pegging, prolonged orgasm denial, and group sex. Seriously, this is not safe for work, or kittens, or anyone who doesn’t want to see the Components getting kinky with Electra.
“We’ll be trying something different tonight.”
Electra, presently engaged in a rather heated kiss with Krupp, spared Volta a curious glance. He wasn’t sure what was more adorable: the fact that Volta somehow thought she was in charge, or the fact that she thought there was anything different left for them all to try in the bedroom.
When Krupp released his lips, Electra shifted a little on the berth, as much as he could with his spike halfway down Purse’s throat, and placed his head on Wrench’s lap. He gave Volta an amused look. “Is that so? And what do you have in mind?”
He already had tonight planned out. They hadn’t brought out the riding crop in a while, and he figured he’d let the Components fight over it. He would leave Purse to keep sucking him, of course. Purse had exceptional skill in that regard.
“You take such good care of us, Master,” Volta said coolly. She tipped her chin and Electra frowned as Krupp rolled away and Purse released his spike.
He wasn’t nearly done yet. Where were they going? “Hey! Purse–”
“And we decided it was time to take care of you tonight.”
“Volta, what does all this–”
“Shh,” Wrench cooed, interrupting Electra as she placed something large and round in his mouth, pulling the straps taut when he tried to jerk away, snapping them behind his head.
Electra made a loud sound of protest and went to slap Wrench’s hand away, to remove the damn thing she’d stuck in his mouth, only to have his wrist caught by Krupp. He struggled, though of course he knew from experience that nothing got away from Krupp’s hands.
Metal sparked against metal and Electra blinked nervously as he realized he’d been cuffed to the berth. Krupp repeated the motion, cuffing Electra’s other arm.
Volta impassively watched as Electra pulled on the restraints until his joints strained, making alarmed sounds around the ball-gag in his mouth. She smoothly glided over to the berth and perched her leg above Electra’s body, exposing her valve but deliberately avoiding any further contact.
Electra squirmed, his spike still hard and wet from the earlier attention, a tad panicked at what was happening here. He wasn’t getting out of these restraints any time soon and the ball-gag kept him from demanding an answer. He noted with dim alarm that Volta was holding a palm-sized object in her hand and she smiled when she noticed his eyes landing on it.
“Here’s what we propose, Master,” Volta said, her voice gliding silkily on Master. “You don’t need to do anything for us. We’ll take care of everything. In fact, all you have to do is lie there… and once we’ve all had a turn, you’ll have your reward.”
Electra’s eyes widened. His air intake quickened as Volta held up the mystery object: a brilliant, sapphire-blue metal ring. Electra’s eyes widened further as Volta handed the ring to Purse, who slipped it into his mouth and gave his master a sly look before lowering his lips over Electra’s spike. Electra jerked on the cuffs, struggling to press a moan through the ball-gag as Purse slowly mouthed down the length of his spike until Electra felt a sudden pressure at the base. The ring in place, Purse released the spike with a gentle ‘pop’ and manipulated the ring until it was snugly in position. One last little twist of the ring sent a shock from Electra’s spike to his core, and he looked to Volta, alarmed.
“We’d like to make sure you last until all of us have had a little fun,” she explained. She swung her leg over the berth, straddling Electra’s hips, and leaned in close to blow cool air against his face. Momentarily dropping her façade, she whispered, “If you need us to stop, blow your horn. Otherwise, you’ll need to wait until your turn comes.”
Volta sat up, and her icy smile was back as she reached down to steady Electra’s spike, pressing it against her dripping valve. Electra struggled to moan around the ball-gag. The ring was tight around his erect spike and he realized with a shock that the thing was connected to his systems. It wouldn’t let him climax until it was removed. Until his Components decided it was time to remove it.
He pulled on the cuffs again as Volta lowered herself onto his spike with a languorous moan. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was at their mercy.
“You’re so kind,” Volta purred, rolling her hips and controlling the slow slide of the spike inside her. “To let us come first.”
“So kind,” Wrench agreed. She pressed a messy kiss around the ball-gag in Electra’s mouth, while her hands wandered over the dazzling plating of Electra’s chest and found the sensitive dips around his chestbox.
Electra whimpered at the duel sensation of Volta’s warm, wet valve around him, coupled with Wrench’s hands scratching at the erogenous zones in his plating, and oh Starlight, now Purse was joining Wrench’s hands and licking at the joints along his chestbox. Normally, this sort of stimulation would have had him well on his way to his first climax, and sure enough the pressure of imminent orgasm began to build. Volta’s eyes met his as her pace quickened and she huffed cool little moans as her own climax approached. Joule appeared above her shoulder, wrapping her arms around the freezer truck’s chest and tipping her head back for a kiss.
The sight of his Components kissing usually helped to catapult him over the edge. But now, as the two trucks kissed and Volta suddenly snapped her hips back and forth, tightening around his spike as she moaned into Joule’s mouth, the ring prevented him from getting there.
The tingles of impending climax stopped at the base of his spike, making him moan and tremble in frustration.
“He’s never made that sound before,” Purse observed.
Electra shot him an affronted look. If he wasn’t gagged and cuffed to this berth he’d be giving Purse such a punishment.
“I think he’ll be singing for us before the night is over.” Volta heaved herself off with a satisfied smile and paused to kiss Joule again before rolling away.
“Now, we were thinking of trying something new,” Wrench said. Her hands continued to tease his chest plating. Electra still teetered on the edge and the sensation was not helping. “To be specific, Krupp was thinking of trying something new.”
Electra’s eyes widened as he caught her meaning. He panicked as visions of Krupp’s thick, long spike danced in his head. He’d never let Krupp take him, not for lack of asking and trying and begging on his Components’ parts. Krupp was big. That thing was going to split him in two!
“Oh, don’t worry,” Wrench soothed, running her hands along Electra’s chest, stopping to purposefully dig her fingertips in and scratch the sensitive metal. Electra released a keening wail around the ball-gag. “We wouldn’t expect you to handle Krupp without a little preparation first. Right, Joule?”
Electra knew, before he even raised his head, what Joule was wearing. He’d watched many times as Joule put on her much-loved strap-on and let the other Components ride her. Electra normally found the sight quite arousing—when it was going inside someone else.
He managed to raise his head as Joule rolled closer, fire in her eyes as she caressed the thick strap-on hooked around her hips. Nine inches of bright red artificial spike winked at him from between Joule’s legs and Electra whimpered again, shaking his head. He suddenly remembered that the thing could vibrate hard enough to crack teeth and he wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. Purse and Wrench certainly seemed to enjoy it whenever Joule bent them over and used it. What was it like?
Electra’s lips spasmed around the ball-gag. He watched Volta, recovered from her orgasm, roll over to Joule and kiss her heatedly. He was so preoccupied with watching them that he nearly jumped when Wrench took one of his legs, bending it towards his chest while Krupp did the same with his other leg, opening him, exposing him.
Volta released Joule’s lips and allowed her to roll a little closer. She caressed his tingling spike before her fingers found his entrance, wet and slippery from his natural lubrication, so far untouched as far as his Components were concerned.
Someone pressed a tender kiss to his forehead and Electra trembled, joints straining against the hands that held him wide open. “Relax,” Purse said soothingly, kissing him again, sliding his hands down his master’s chest and rubbing the sensitive edges of his chestbox.
“It’ll feel good,” Volta promised, as Joule pressed her fingers inside him. The sensation was foreign and Electra squirmed. Two fingers turned into three, teasing him more than stretching him, and soon she slipped them out and Electra squeezed his eyes shut until he felt the tip of the artificial spike pressing against him.
He tried to kick his legs free, but Wrench and Krupp held him tight. He focused on Purse’s little kisses and touches as the pressure grew until he stretched and the spike slid inside him. Electra moved as though shocked, moaning loudly around the ball-gag. It didn’t hurt exactly, Starlight knows he was already plenty wet, but it stretched tremendously, and Joule was wasting no time in pressing in to the hilt until her hips were flush against him.
“We told you it would feel good,” Joule said with a grin, as Electra dazedly stared up at her. She rolled her hips and pulled the spike out and back in again, and as Electra adjusted to the sensation of being so stretched and filled, he agreed that it did feel good. Very good, in fact, as Joule thrust hard and filled him deeper, and that was going to be problem, as the snugness of the ring around the base of his spike reminded him that he wasn’t going to finish any time soon.
“Now, Master, let’s see how this feels,” Volta said. She slipped her hands around Joule’s body, caressing her from breastplate to valve, taking a moment to run her fingers over Electra’s wet, stretched entrance. “Prepare yourself…”
Electra tensed, feeling Volta’s fingers leave him and fiddling with the base of the strap-on. He heard a small click and Joule’s moan of delight was drowned by his own drawn-out cry as the artificial spike began to vibrate.
The vibrations shook him to his core, hitting spots deep inside him he didn’t know existed. He yanked hard on the cuffs, his legs shaking helplessly against the hands that held them as Joule thrust inside him, her mouth open in a wide smile of pleasure. The spike must have been connected to her in some way so she could enjoy its vibrations.
The harder Joule pounded, the harder Electra’s body shook, mindless with growing pleasure, the vibrations rattling him to his core with sharp spikes of pleasure. He dimly heard his own voice pushing out mindless animalistic sounds around the gag, dimly heard Purse whispering assurances to him and dimly heard Joule’s happy moans rising to a peak. It was all too much.
Electra’s body went rigid, struggling to curl it on itself, struggling for orgasm. Electra sobbed at the sensation. His spike twitched and throbbed against his pelvis, the ring holding tight at the base, almost to the point of pain. It was a relief when Joule slammed into him one last time, grinding against her end of the artificial spike, her supple body trembling as she rode out what looked to be a deeply enjoyable orgasm. Electra wanted to cry in jealousy.
Volta reached between their joined bodies and Electra sagged in Wrench and Krupp’s arms as the vibrations stopped. His body still thrummed with the aftershocks, especially as Joule slowly withdrew the spike from his body and rolled into Volta’s arms, a bright, satisfied smile on her face.
Electra moaned softly, struggling to pump air into his systems as his straining legs were lowered back onto the berth. A hand gently stroked his aching spike, pinching the tip, and drifted down to caress his twitching entrance, soaked in his own natural lubrication. Electra blinked until Wrench’s face came into focus, smiling serenely at him.
“I think he’s ready,” Wrench said.
“He’s been doing so well,” Krupp said, leaning in to press a kiss to Electra’s temple.
Volta waited until she was quite done kissing Joule before rolling over, sweeping her gaze over her Master’s quivering body, and nodded coolly.
She removed the ball-gag. Electra moaned brokenly, drawing in air to cool his systems, a long string of saliva spilling from his mouth as he worked his aching jaw.
“D-Damn…” he said brokenly. “Damn you, Volta!”
Volta let the gag dangle threateningly from her fingers. “Excuse me? Is that any way to talk to us?”
“After everything we’ve done for you tonight?” Purse said with a ‘tsk’.
“You would think he’d know the word ‘please’,” Krupp said. “After all, he’s made us say it often enough…”
The cuffs were unlatched from his wrists. What now? Was it all a ruse and it was finally his turn? He didn’t know how much longer he could take this. His limbs were shaky and weak from the prolonged teasing and his spike throbbed, aching for release. Worst of all, he hated to admit it, but he missed the sensation of having something large and thick deep inside him.
“Please…”
“Please what, Master?” Volta cooed, wiping away some of the wetness from his chin.
“I… I…” This wasn’t right. He didn’t beg; he never begged. Usually he was the one who came first, and usually second and sometimes third. He always made sure his Components were satisfied, of course. But they’d never made him beg before. It felt dirty. It felt demeaning. It felt…
Oh Starlight. It felt good.
“Please, Volta,” he begged, whimpered as Krupp and Purse pulled him up to sit, flipped him over onto his knees, his spike heavy and hard between his legs. His arms were pulled taut behind him, with the clanking sound of metal on metal as he was cuffed again.
“Tell me what you need,” Volta said, cupping his chin and bringing her face closer to his. Her eyes were stern but amused.
If he played the game, she might take pity on him. “I need to come. Please!”
“And you will,” Volta whispered. She rewarded him with a kiss and patted his cheek as she drew away. Purse took her place. “As soon as we’ve all finished here, you’ll have your reward.”
“We–?” Electra’s question was swallowed as Purse kissed him deeply. Electra moaned softly; he always loved kissing Purse, and this almost distracted him from the intensity of his unsatisfied arousal. At least until Krupp’s hands landed on his rear.
Electra jumped. He knew what was coming, and even Purse’s mouth couldn’t distract him as Krupp’s hands wandered up and down his back, teasing the sensitive dips in his plating, before returning to his rear. Fingertips rubbed at his stretched entrance, while Purse teased his slick, dripping spike. Electra released a keening wail and collapsed against Purse’s shoulder.
“Relax, Master,” Purse whispered, slowly massaging Electra’s spike. “You’re so close now…”
Yes, close to blowing a fuse and sizzling his circuits. Electra meant to say this, but it came out as a garbled moan as he felt the thick tip of Krupp’s spike against his entrance, rubbing against the lubrication there. Inch by inch it stretched and burned as it slid inside him and suddenly Electra’s cooling fans kicked in as he forgot how to draw in air.
It was too much and yet not enough, and his spike twitched helplessly in Purse’s grasp as Krupp’s spike filled him to the brim.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Purse purred. Electra could only whimper incoherently into the truck’s neck joint as Krupp pulled out slowly, strong hands on his hips, picking up speed as he thrust back in. It was good. It was pain and pleasure and it filled an ache he never realized he’d had, and when Krupp slammed into him again, sending a jolt through his body, Electra sobbed as he felt the pressure of orgasm building and halting at the base of his spike.
It didn’t help that Purse’s hand was still on him, stroking him slightly, though Electra’s foggy senses dimly registered a second and third hand on him, touching his shaft, teasing the tight ring, caressing the spot where Krupp was slowly fucking him, stretching him to his very limits.
Electra peeled his face from Purse’s neck and gaped as he saw Wrench, kneeling before him, his spike in her hand, a twinkle in her eyes as she rolled to her front, raising her rear until his spike touched the wet heat of her valve.
Oh Starlight, no. She wouldn’t. He couldn’t handle this on top of everything else. “No,” he gasped brokenly. “Please, no, I can’t—aaah!”
All it took was a twist of Wrench’s hips and Electra’s spike slid deep inside her. Wrench released a sigh of pure satisfaction, dropping her face to rest on her folded arms and letting the power of Krupp’s thrusts drive her master’s spike in and out of her.
It felt good. It always did, and his cooling fans whirred louder to try and keep up with the overstimulation to his body. If this kept up much longer, he was going to shut down before he could climax.
“Bring him over,” said Volta, and the command made no sense to Electra’s dazed senses until he felt Krupp’s hands on the back of his shoulders, pushing him downward, making him bend over. He was able to rest some of his weight on Wrench’s body, and in fact she seemed to appreciate the slight change in position, swaying her hips and muffling her groan against her crossed arms.
Electra blinked as Purse’s glistening spike came into view. He watched passively as Volta’s hand stroked it a few times, and then a hand caught the back of his hair, holding him in place as the spike pressed against his lips. Krupp’s motions made his entire body move back and forth and it wasn’t long before the spike filled his mouth.
He sucked on instinct, remembered Volta’s decree that all his Components needed to come before he could, and sucked harder. Purse’s loud moan filled the air, mingled with Wrench’s pleased sounds, intercut with Krupp’s rhythmic huffs.
Electra, for his part, could do little more than moan incoherently around the heady tang of the spike in his mouth. It was difficult to breathe, especially when his systems were so preoccupied with the triple assault on his body that he was lucky his memory banks even remembered the concept of breathing.
It was Volta who held the back of his head, petting his hair tenderly, holding him in place on Purse’s spike as he tried to pull away for a moment to regain some control.
“You’re doing so well,” Volta said. Purse’s soft moans abruptly became deeper and huskier and Electra nearly panicked as a sudden hard thrust sent Purse’s spike halfway down his throat. He swallowed around it, confused as Joule’s leg hooked against the side of the berth, and it took several more moments before he realized that Purse was now the lucky receiver of Joule’s strap-on.
Drool and lubrication dripped down his chin and as he struggled not to gag around the spike in his throat, he decided it was a good thing that Joule was helping. The quicker Purse was finished, the quicker someone could remove the ring and just let him come, for Starlight’s sake!
His spike began to throb mercilessly and with an incoherent noise he realized Wrench had begun pushing back against him, driving his spike harder and deeper inside her valve as she began to clench around him. She was getting close, Electra could tell. She always did this when she was close. So far Electra had kept himself quite still and had let him Components rock and thrust and abuse and manipulate his body, and now he forced his shaking knees to brace against the berth so he could rock his hips into Wrench and help her along.
It worked. It also caught Krupp’s attention, who responded with a rumbling moan and a rough thrust that sent Electra shunting hard into Wrench and nearly pitching off the berth.
Evidently it was all Wrench needed. She arched and panted and ground her rear on Electra’s spike, closing tightly around his over-sensitized length.
It was torture. Sweet, unending torture. His nerve endings were frayed and it was only a slight relief when Wrench pulled herself free and rolled herself off the berth with a pleased smile.
Now that Wrench was gone, Electra had nothing to brace his body against, and he was too dazed to try and figure out how to support himself. Volta caught him by the shoulders and held him up before he could fall flat on his face, before Purse’s spike could slip from his mouth.
Purse and Krupp created a rhythm, with one pushing in while the other pulled out, a steady rhythm of pressure in his mouth and friction in his rear that made his entire body jerk involuntarily.
Volta’s hands were cool against his shoulder plating as he held him. “You’re so close, Master.”
Electra met her eyes and whimpered like a wounded beast. Purse’s long, breathy moan drowned him out and suddenly he felt the thick spike begin to pulse against his lips.
Purse’s hands landed on his hair, holding him in place, pulling his spike out. Electra frowned, drooling messily. The spike was still hard as Joule reached over and wrapped her hand around it, stroking quickly.
“O-Open,” Purse commanded.
Electra did, opening his slack mouth. Purse thrust his hips against Joule’s hand and moaned breathily as he climaxed.
The first jet of fluid landed inside Electra’s mouth. The rest, deliberately aimed, splashed against his cheek, lips, and forehead. Electra lapped at his lips, tasting the warm fluid, swallowing what he could as he panted harshly.
“We should be recording this,” Wrench sighed. She dipped her fingers in the mess on Electra’s face, smearing it, running it through his hair.
Electra weakly jerked his head away. He must have looked like a pitiful, exhausted, come-fluid-soaked mess. “Please, stop… ah!”
He only just realized Krupp had stopped pounding him. The armaments truck’s thick hands grabbed his thighs, pulling him up to sit, careful not to disconnect them. Electra tensed as his spike bobbed helplessly. He was now sitting in Krupp’s lap, the thick spike reaching new depths inside him.
“I think you’ve earned this,” Krupp said. His touch was light as he caressed Electra’s chest, wandering down his master’s front until he gently teased Electra’s spike.
Electra convulsed. Too much, too sensitive. Too wound up. He was going to overheat, or melt down, and then Krupp began to thrust up into him, making him cry out. His vision blurred madly as he tried to focus on the trucks here in the room with him. Purse, his head resting on Joule’s shoulder. Volta, nodding with a smile on her face. Wrench, moving towards him in response to Volta’s nod, placing her hands on his thighs. Krupp’s low rumbling groans were loud in his ears. His Components had reduced him to a begging, weeping, incoherent mess.
Krupp’s teeth made dents in his shoulder plating as he jerked up once, twice, and then a third time, and Electra felt two things happen at once: thick hot fluid filling him to overflowing, and Wrench’s hands on the base of his spike, disconnecting the ring with a small jolt of electricity. “Now, finish for us…”
For a moment, the only thing Electra registered was his body’s uncontrollable shaking before sweet, hot pleasure rushed from his core to his spike to his entire body. Oh Starlight, it was relief and release all at once. He heard his own voice making loud, choked, undignified moans of pleasure, felt the fluid jetting violently from his spike in thick pulses. It splattered against his face. He didn’t care.
His body sagged helplessly, as though he’d been completely disconnected from his limbs, and for several seconds all he heard were his own soft moans and the loud hum of his cooling fans before his systems gave up entirely and he blacked out.
***
“Joule, move your leg.”
“But I’m comfortable here!”
“Be comfortable elsewhere! You’re taking up half of him!”
“Children, please keep your arms and legs to yourselves and quiet down already?”
“Sshh, he’s coming back…”
Electra woke slowly, stirring on the berth before giving up his attempt to move. His systems were still struggling to boot properly and his limbs felt shaky and weak. His arms were free though. He was free, and lying on his back, and everything felt hazy yet so good.
He felt a gentle brushing against his face and cracked his eyes open to see Volta, smiling gently, wiping the fluid from his face with a cloth. He must not have been passed out for too long, then, if he was still being cleaned up. He was too exhausted to check his internal chronometer.
Exhausted and, as his body still pulsed from the residual orgasm, so very satisfied.
He managed to shift a bit on the berth and noticed Joule was plastered to his left side, her head cuddled against his shoulder. Purse was busy batting Joule’s leg away, his head on Electra’s stomach, his leg wrapped around his master’s. Volta sat by his right shoulder, cleaning his plating, and Wrench now picked up his head, letting it fall gently in her lap while she stroked his hair. Krupp cuddled up a bit closer and threw his arm over Electra’s chest. They were silent, content, piled up against their master.
He really should have been mad at them for what they’d just put him through.
He listened to the low hum of his cooling fans, the happy, electric purring of his Components, cuddled up tight, their limbs wrapped around him and each other, slowly drifting off to recharge. He managed to move his arms, draping one around Joule’s shoulders, the other around Krupp’s. Rolling his aching neck, he pressed a kiss to Volta’s head.
Greaseball/Electra, literally having all the sex, with CB being the horny voyeuristic little sadist he is. Expect rough sex, bondage, electrocution, voyeurism, masturbation, and clear indications that this was the first StEx fic I ever wrote and was still trying to figure this whole train thing out.
“I don’t like losing.”
The words weren’t addressed to him—in fact, CB was so inconspicuous at the moment that no one would have thought to address him. No, the hissed and low frequency words were meant for a certain diesel engine, who was not given time to reply before being violently shunted from behind by a bright, sleek, metallic train.
The motion jostled Greaseball on his wheels and the momentum carried him forward until he crashed into the wall of a nearby shed. But the diesel was a strong and sturdy engine and it would take more than a bashing to knock him out, let alone frighten him, CB knew.
The red caboose huddled behind the corner of the shed and watched as Greaseball whirled around and thrust his limbs up in time to block another bashing, though the impact still sent him crashing back into the wall with a resonant thunk. CB flinched a little as the shed rattled under the impact, but the sight made his systems pump and flare in interest.
Electra had a fierce snarl on his features. This could be good. CB knew the electric engine was none too pleased about coming in second to Greaseball in the first heat. Would they fight? Tear each other apart? CB groaned a little at the thought and watched.
“I… come… first,” Electra hissed.
“A little sore about the race, toots?”
Greaseball meant to raise a limb, give the electric engine a playful little tweak on the cheek. It was no surprise the diesel found Electra to be rather enticing. Heck, CB thought the very same, with all that ruby-red and silvery-blue plating that was just begging to be marred and dented. And Electra was even more fabulous when thrumming with all that righteous indignation. Much more fun to break.
Electra let him get within microns of his cheek. A half-second later, Greaseball yelped as something white-hot buzzed over his limb, and he and CB realized at the same time that Electra had shocked him.
This was getting good. Greaseball wasn’t going to take that without a fight. CB pressed his face to the side of the shed, watching raptly, panting softly at the action unfolding.
Indeed, Greaseball did not take kindly to being electrocuted. The smarmy look on his face turned stony as he tried to grab Electra again, getting shocked twice for his troubles before he was able to clasp Electra’s arm in his own steel-powered grip. That didn’t seem to discourage or stop Electra from letting loose with the electricity, and in fact a shower of sparks erupted from the place of contact between Greaseball’s hand and Electra’s arm.
CB wondered what it felt like to be shocked like that. Probably it hurt, and the thought of pain, his and Greaseball’s (and anyone’s, really) turned him on. Greaseball’s face was tense under the assault, staring down the electric engine, until he managed to twist Electra’s arm around and bring the other engine back-to-chest with him. He probably thought he had Electra immobilized. But from where he hid, CB could see the grin of triumph on Electra’s face. It was a fierce, evil grin, and it made CB’s systems flare with heat, tingling as a rush of lubrication went straight to his pelvic plating. This little display was arousing him beyond belief and they hadn’t even seriously started hurting each other yet!
Electra gave a sudden burst of power and shunted backwards, taking Greaseball with him until they struck the shed hard. CB brought a hand down to his pelvic plating, the metal hot under his touch. Oh, this was getting too good. He expected Electra to ram Greaseball into the wall a few times, at least until Greaseball got the upper hand back, but what followed was less like fighting, as Electra merely arched against the diesel engine at his back and released a groan.
CB nearly squeaked. Was Electra turned on by violence too? Was Greaseball, for that matter? CB watched as the diesel slapped a hand around Electra’s chest, but instead of punching or forcing the electric engine off him, his fingers slid along the dips and grooves of metal and explored the smooth paneling of Electra’s hips.
“Are we fighting?” Greaseball asked, punctuating the cheeky smarm of his question by pressing his digits against Electra’s hips until they found a crease in the plating, dipping the tips inside and caressing sensitive circuitry. “Or fucking?”
“You’re too dirty to fuck,” Electra purred. His streamlined body arched and undulated against Greaseball’s touch, forcing the digits harder against his circuitry. The harder he pressed, the more Electra twitched in pleasure.
“You’re not wrong.” Greaseball’s digits slid along the crease, across the smoothness of Electra’s plating. When he reached the juncture of Electra’s legs, CB saw him hesitate for a moment before he pressed the release switch, and the plating came off in his hand.
CB couldn’t wait any longer. He mimicked Greaseball’s movements, wishing that the diesel himself was the one fumbling with his body, and CB groaned as he released his pelvic plating and let his spike extend into his hand. The metal was hot and dripping with lubrication as CB closed his hand around it.
The caboose heard a zap and a yelp and his head snapped up. Slag. He’d missed something good, as Greaseball was now flat on his back, shaking his head to clear it, as Electra lasciviously rolled towards him, his generous, pure-silver spike bare and fully extended, glistening with lubricant.
A crackle of electricity caught both Greaseball and CB’s eye and they followed the path of the energy as it danced over Electra’s plating and ending with glowing white sparks over the engine’s groin.
Greaseball watched as Electra slid his digits into his own mouth, probing over them with his tongue, bringing the moist digits down to his spike where a small arc of electricity bounced between the tips of his fingers and the tip of his spike. Electra’s moan was melodic.
The sight brought a roar to Greaseball’s engines. CB wasn’t too far behind, his eyes fastened to that beautiful silvery shaft, and his own spike tingled in sympathy as he stroked it.
“Shall we make sparks fly, darling?” Electra purred.
Greaseball’s eyes were riveted to Electra’s spike. One thing that was clear from CB’s vantage point—Greaseball was not planning to let that thing inside him. Too bad, CB thought. All those lovely sparks looked like they would hurt, and CB for one would not have minded that.
Greaseball subserviently got to his wheels, but the move was a feint. CB saw the way his body tensed a second before he shunted Electra hard against the shed, grabbing one of the loose cables dangling from the metal paneling and keeping the electric in place with his other limb.
He pinned one of Electra’s limbs to the wall, looping the cable around it and cinching it tight. The movement caught the electric engine off-guard and by the time he thought to react, it was too late. Greaseball squeezed the other metallic wrist-joint in his hand and slammed it against the wall, awkwardly higher than Electra’s head, pouring his strength against the other engine’s until he securely fastened the limb.
CB’s hand flew up and down his spike and he had to force himself to slow down, venting some of the heat from his systems before he finished too soon. Electra struggled, but probably not as hard as he could have, and the way he rolled his hips and opened his legs indicated the struggle was just a token gesture.
Greaseball took a moment to admire his handiwork before pressing the release to his own pelvic plating, releasing his thick spike. CB’s hand worked fasted on his own spike, his hand slick with lubricant, as Greaseball grabbed Electra’s hips and dragged his spike along the gilded plating of Electra’s thigh, drawing tiny sparks.
“You said something about coming first?” Greaseball said with a smirk, and his hand disappeared between Electra’s legs. CB huffed in frustration; he couldn’t see, and judging from Electra’s deep groan and the soft wet sounds, he guessed the diesel’s hand had found his way inside Electra’s body.
Greaseball ran his palm over Electra’s chest plating as his other hand worked lower, driving the electric into a frenzy, and CB spared a curious thought about all this switching business Electra had teased them about. What could Electra’s exotic body do, exactly?
There came a crackling warning of electricity before Greaseball was tossed back onto his wheels by a sudden jolt. The motion caused his hand to slide free of whatever prize it had found between Electra’s legs.
The sizzle seemed to go straight to Greaseball’s spike, energizing it, energizing him and CB couldn’t tell if Electra was surprised the shock hadn’t knocked Greaseball out, or if the damn sleek engine had meant to arouse him like that.
Greaseball was a big engine, CB mused, shuddering as he squeezed his spike from root to tip. He could take the heat.
“Don’t think that’ll stop me,” Greaseball drawled, and rolled back into the heaving curve of Electra’s body. He didn’t bother to soften his motion and deliberately bashed into the other engine, making him moan.
The sparks in Electra’s eyes were as blinding as his mad grin. “Don’t think that’ll stop me.”
Another shock, probably meant to throw Greaseball flat on his aft. However, Greaseball stood strong, anchoring his hands on Electra’s hips, and with a sharp roll his spike slid hard inside the electric’s duct. Electra’s cry was loud and wanton.
CB’s own duct clenched in jealousy. What would it feel like to have that thick, hot spike inside him? To have someone like Greaseball shunting him against the wall, over and over? Greaseball was not gentle, slamming again and again into Electra’s body, shaking the electric engine’s body and straining the cables that held his arms.
Electra moaned and moved like someone quite used to fucking, and quite used to controlling their own pleasure, even bound to a wall. For his part, Greaseball’s expression was one of triumph, though CB guessed there were no real losers in this particular arrangement. CB’s own wheels wobbled as he watched Greaseball throw his mouth against the delicate plating of Electra’s neck, applying pressure until Electra let loose with another shock.
The slamming of metal on metal, the sizzle and sparkle of electricity, the soft wet noises of something beyond mere metal and circuits… Ooh Starlight, it was rapidly pushing CB over the edge. He watched, trembling, his hand flying up and down his spike, as Greaseball continued to make dents in Electra’s neck, his hands still anchored to Electra’s hips. CB’s eyes went to the joint at the juncture of Electra’s legs, the place where Greaseball had teased and applied pressure earlier.
The spot seemed to have driven Electra wild. CB would have touched it now, for Electra. Maybe he could have licked it, and watched the electric engine cry out in ecstasy, and then he could have fastened his teeth in the circuitry and ripped it apart and listened to Electra cry out in something else entirely.
Greaseball suddenly made a loud cry, thrusting harder—as though that were even possible—and CB saw the tiny dancing sparks spreading up and down Electra’s body. Nothing meant to harm or turn off, quite the opposite. CB had the impression the shocks were involuntary, following the crescendo of Electra’s deep sighs and moans and signaling imminent climax.
He was right. Electra came first, as Greaseball had promised, with a hard shudder and a loud moan and a thick arc of electricity and fluid jutting from his spiketip and nearly dislodging Greaseball. The sight was enough for CB, who made one last stroke to his slick spike and spread his fluid all over the side of the shed, struggling for air to cool his systems as Greaseball bit into the plating of Electra’s neck and jerked hard a few times before relaxing.
CB moaned, both from the intensity of his climax, and the intensity of his disappointment that it hadn’t been him feeling Greaseball’s hot fluid deep inside his duct. He let his spike pulse and cool as he watched Greaseball slide out of Electra’s body, giving him an insufferably smug wink before loosening the cables around Electra’s wrists.
They straightened and quickly cleaned up and adjusted their plating and within seconds it was as though the two hadn’t just hate-fucked so hard they nearly brought the shed down. They didn’t share so much as a word before leaving the shed, leaving no evidence of their violent tryst behind aside from a shuddering, grinning, satisfied red caboose.
One thing was for sure—CB was going to be keeping a very close eye on these two. This looked like the start of a beautiful relationship…
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