"You look good enough to eat.“ YOU KNOW SURE AS SHIT WHO I WANT THIS WITH
“You look good enough to eat, yanno.”
Thrust immediately stopped wiping the spilled energon from his chest. He slowly glanced back at Dirge from the corner of his optics, completely frozen. Fear that Swindle would berate him from the mess turned into a whole different kind.
Dirge was grinning audiol to audiol at him, sitting on the edge of a tower nearby like some nesting, vast predatory bird.
Thrust did not like that look. At the same time, he was kind of jealous. Dirge looked kind of cool right now. Kind of... sexy. Wait... this feeling was jealousy, right?
“Try it and you’re dead,” Thrust growled. Because, honestly, Dirge saying something like that--hard to tell if he was being literal or figurative.
Dirge was suddenly on the ground beside him, landing with grace and power, and dammit, no, Thrust wasn’t turned on, he was just jealous of-- Thrust meeped, a comical noise from someone of his size and stature, when Dirge suddenly swept him back and-- That tongue was long, very long (why was it so long? Why did he get a long tongue?) as it ran up Thrust’s cockpit, licking away a thick line of the purple goop.
Thrust shuddered. He went to push stupid, totally not sexy Dirge off of him, but then Dirge had his wrists in vice locks, and before Thrust could half-admire, half-envy such strength, he was pinned on the floor on his back, held down as Dirge continued lapping up the energon from his chest. Heavy, long drags of his tongue, dipping down into seams, lowering until that coarse, massive tongue was cleaning away the fluid from his inner thigh.
“G-Get off!” Thrust whined, struggling to free his hands. He kicked his legs, but couldn’t dislodge the gluttonous Seeker.
Dirge raised up on his knees, still holding Thrust’s bound hands. Thrust blinked, browplates furrowing--that grin returned, and Dirge licked energon clean from a corner of his mouth. He ducked down, and Thrust’s snarl turned into a gasp as teeth bit down on a cord along his throat, denting metal.
Thrust groaned, optics falling half-lidded. This wasn’t fair. “I hate you,” he said, and pressed into the tongue stroking his neck tubes.
