#s17hdtt

[princeofdarkmount]

Yes my altmode is a train...

x: Then I think it’s safe to assume you were the ‘other train’ the gray creature was referring to. :x

[princeofdarkmount]

I think they meant me?

x: Is your alt mode a train of some variety? :x

[calledtokill-blog]

Outpost D-43543 in the Zettica Asteroid Cluster, Day 546 of the Siege of Shayel.

The walls had eyes.

An act born of the worst desperation, the besieged Autobots had taken to repairing their damaged outpost with whatever materials that they had on hand. With no way to bring in raw materials, the only option left was their  own dead. It was murmured among the remaining Decepticons that every morning the walls had sprouted a new face.

Some days the face was familiar, one of the Decepticon’s own dead scavenged by the other side before the corpse could be carried from the battlefield. Other days, it was a strange one. Those were the days that the Decepticons celebrated, as it meant that one of the pesky holdouts had finally met their end.

Of course, these rumors were mostly exaggerated. Those studying the Siege after the war would find only one dubious account from an Autobt survivor that detailed how they had melted down a handful of corpses out of desperation, and they certainly hadn’t left the faceplates intact when they used the metal to reinforce weakened support struts in the outpost.

But the soldiers on the Decepticon side swore otherwise. They had seen the dead optics staring at them from across the battlefield, mocking and goading.

The Siege would have ended long ago if the Decepticons were under strict orders not to destroy the outpost itself; it contained something of value. Most of the soldiers did not know what that ‘something’ was, as their rank did not qualify them for the knowledge. The most they could do was strike and retreat, strike and retreat, hoping to find a way in without bringing the whole structure down.

However, the Decepticons were beginning to run out of supplies themselves. One could not hold a siege without energon, troop reinforcements, new weaponry, and medical supplies. Their request for aid had been sent out nearly a month ago, and had gone unanswered.

Or so they thought until the massive Decepticon warship pulled in to dock at the asteroid. It did not unload supplies, however, only a solitary mecha: Killmaster. Shoving past the unit commander who had come to greet the warship, the Warrior Elite made his way towards the Decepticon’s camp.

The force that greeted him looked pathetic, reduced by their own lack of supplies and shocked to see such a high-profile mecha in their midst. Killmaster growled at them all before filling the camp with his gravely voice.

“Megatron is displeased. He questions why we should send supplies when you have failed miserably in your quarry. We should leave you here to rust like the pathetic excuses you are, but he is not without mercy. He has sent me to complete in one day what you miserable lot couldn’t finish in 500,” he boldly announced.

[starsarescreaming-archive]

It was a dare. He was just going to have to go through with it or Radar was never going to shut up about it. Starscream was light, even for a seeker, and not a problem at all to pick up. Smokestack pressed their intakes together, silicone lips tracing along the seeker's until he could lavish his glossa into his superior's mouth, careful yet insistent. Whatever struggle Starscream put up would be drowned in the wet slide of tongue on tongue. His traced over every little nook inside of the (pt1)

seeker’s mouth, coaxed the other to participate in the unexpected intimacy. His sensors were alight with the presence and touch and feel of everything Starscream and he could see why near every soldier in this vast army had fantasies about this particular mech. Smokestack’s servos were firm and delicate around the seeker who fit rather snugly into his palms. He ran a few digits along those beautiful, sharp wings, all the while never relenting in the soft and insistent press againstStarscream’s mouth. His fans were whirring a little too loudly as he dedicated himself to worshipping at the seeker’s intake, relishing the brief and dangerous taste of him.When they parted, his processor was spinning with furious pings from various protocols that had been activated during the brief and unexpected passion.“I’m sorry sir!“Never had he fled from a scene more awkwardly or quickly. But Pits, he earned those shanix! (done xD)

Hit Me With Your Best Kiss.

The surprised sound which escaped Starscream at being suddenly swept off his pedes, had morphed into an audial-splitting shriek of indignation by the time it was silenced by Smokestack’s intake.  Oh, someone was going to pay for this!  Megatron’s Second would not stand to be manhandled this way!  It was an outrage!  It was…

Was…

The Seeker’s entire frame rattled in a shiver, wings fluttering in anger or desperation (or perhaps both).  His claws curled into the trainformer’s plating; every now and again they twitched, as though intending to rake gauges down the chestplate, but he seemed to change his mind each time.  When Smokestack’s glossa invaded his intake, utterly relentless in the press and slide of the other’s attention, there was little Starscream could do but be dragged along for the ride, moaning softly into the kiss.

All too soon it was over, it seemed: this strange sort of worship the SIC hadn’t experienced since well before the war.  His pedes slipped when they touched the floor, knee joints weak, though thankfully they held his weight.  It was perhaps a good thing that Smokestack fled when he did, before Starscream could recover enough of his wits to start shrieking again.  As it was, he merely watched the trainformer retreat, jaw hanging somewhat slack in bewilderment.

What else could the larger bot do with that glossa, he wondered…

[starsarescreaming-archive]

Why did it have to be him? He wasn't even leader of the unit...But he had drawn the shortest piece of pipe and so, it was up to Smokestack to contact the Decepticon leader supreme and explain just where his unit had gotten lost in the long exodus journey. At least he didn't have to face the bot he was addressing via secured comm. ::Lord Starscream. This is Vanguard Unit X5. We humbly apologize for our delay and beg your forgiveness. May we dock and board?::

There was no denying the delighted shiver which ran down Starscream’s backstrut at those words.  Lord Starscream: he was never going to tire of hearing that!

“Permission granted,” he answered smoothly, fighting to keep his tone professional despite the glee rushing through him; had he not been addressed properly, he might have been less forgiving. “I trust you will have a full report?”