Beckoning
Remember this post by @transformers-spike? I've decided to give the prompt my own try.
TW: nsfw, highly suggestive
now ya beckoning for me to dance
“It’s not quite lingerie”, you told Soundwave as he helped you tie the last ribbon of your costume, purple fabric hugging your figure tightly in some places, while flowing delicately over others. It was light, almost see-through (lie, it was see-through), soft and elastic enough to allow the performance you would put on.
“You’d be surprised by how often us humans wear such clothing for occasions like this. Actually, you’d agree that it adds to the art it’s supposed to represent”, there you were, dumping unsolicited info on him like it could distract him from the fact you were wearing that dress. Performance or not, he could have seen any other human wearing it and he’d be unimpressed, but you? Oh, on you it bore a whole new beauty.
You smiled at him, almost sheepishly. “There’s much about human dancing that I’d love to show you. We’ve found ways to make a simple human instinct a form of beauty, built categories for it, and, well, rules and such”.
Soundwave tilted his helm in understanding, visor still fixated on you, boring that invisible gaze into your figure and the fabric that shifted and flowed as you made your way across his desk.
You had his curiosity, now you should make it worth the while.
You licked your lips. “So, the single components can rotate on their axis, right?”, you pointed at his tentacles. “I need you to bind about,” you gestured, “this length worth of them”.
He did as asked. He was always so good at taking orders, you mused.
“Perfect”, you purred. Antennae stirring, he drew closer to you and you knew he enjoyed the praise as he inspected your clothing. Whatever that beautiful processor of his was concocting, you were sure your little idea was far above his wildest dreams.
Making sure he adjusted his tentacle vertically to the floor - his desk, floor to you - you instructed him in the set of songs he was supposed to play for you. A little gig of his, one you had many ways to find use of.
He recognized a couple of them, oh, more than a couple. And those he recognized, he remembered playing in other settings too. Spike stirring lightly behind his interface panel, he shot you an intrigued glance in the form of a Japanese emoticon.
“Patience, wave-kun”, of course you had to use that nickname. The first time it happened, he tilted his helm like a confused feline as you giggled at how wonderfully witty you were.
“Alright, here we go. Remember, don’t move until the playlist ends”, five tracks, fifteen minutes, but why?
As you held onto his tentacle with both hands, you hooked a leg around it - you felt it, the surge of charge beneath the panels - and nodded at him. “Let’s begin”.
The first track hadn’t even reached half its duration and he was already cursing himself for not having started the recording before.
There you were, leg hooked around his tentacle, swinging, swaying, letting the momentum carry you in tandem with the low bass. Your hips undulated, grin across your lips as he stared at your body.
You braced yourself as you held one leg up, another slithering across his tentacle. One move from him, and you’d have lost balance. With expertise, you let go and caught yourself again, twirling once more, legs hooking as your hair cascaded around you. Upside down, you grinned at him again.
“This, my darling”, and he swore you pressed your chest and closed your thighs around him on purpose, “is called pole dance”.
And then, tempting like a succubus, you kissed your makeshift pole before you rose again and began to spin as the song reached its crescendo.
You were enjoying it.
You were enjoying it and he knew. He could feel it on his tentacle. He could feel it as you rubbed your slit up against him, sultry and devilish.
And you loved it.
You were always a bit of an exhibitionist at heart (lie, you would never admit how much it turned you on), but you never had the courage to give into it. No matter how many times you’d practice in the privacy of your apartment, it was never something you were going to show to the world.
Until he came along.
His gaze was burning into you and every glance at his faceless visor made the fire burning in your loins just a little hotter. You bit your lip as you swayed, back arching and hooking a leg up so you could give him a good show.
You hoped that beside the allure of it he would also recognize the art. You knew he would. You hoped his spike was straining behind his interface panel. You hoped he was filming all of it.
You smiled wickedly and cascaded, catching yourself just in time to press your chest flush against the pole once again and slide, dragging your tongue along it too.
Something like a rumble echoed through the music.
You climbed up again, swaying with momentum as the third track began, trusting the movement and the strength of your legs. You knew he wouldn’t let you fall - but even so, your dance had captivated him. His other tentacles remained unmoving, trusting your expertise.
Besides, you had precisely instructed him not to move as you gave him your little show.
You saw his servos twitch nonetheless. You sent a kiss his way, beckoning him.
“What’s wrong, Soundwave?”, you teased, slithering all the way down until you touched the ground in a perfectly executed split, “are you not enjoying the performance?”
The panels beside his neck cables flared up, but he retracted them quickly. A noise of metal slabs brushing against one another, you figured he was tightening his fists.
Your dress rode all the way up as you swayed again, and you could swear you heard a groan. “Come on, love. We’re at the fifth song already”.
You climbed the pole again, careful as you went, and shot him one last sultry glance.
“Watch me now”, and your hands both left him, allowing you to fall before gripping him again. The kinetics that came with it made you twirl faster, hypnotizing as your limbs wrung around him and the song reached its climax. You struck a pose, leg up, back bent, spent and debauched.
Silence.
You felt him move and stability was lost until you found yourself against the ground, his tentacles, four of them, wrapped around your limbs with one barely inches from the hem of your underwear. Him on top of you, mass displaced, at the limit of his ever-lasting patience.
“I hope you enjoyed the sho-”, that one tentacle slithered under and the others tightened. You held back a whimper, and he slithered further.
“I’ve been such a tease, have I not?”, you rolled your hips to meet his touch. This time, he made sure you couldn’t stay silent. Carefully removing your underwear and finding it completely drenched, he set it aside and slid his tentacle between your thighs. Like you’d been doing just moments before. Now who’s the tease?
Your clever hands threaded through his seams and ridges, landing on his interface panel - it was warm, and the biolights around it kept pulsing.
“You’ve been so patient with me, like always”, you kissed his visor, making his engines pick up the pace, “but you know, I did it for you, too”.
Of course, he knew. You were trying to impress him, entertain him, show him more of your wonderful world and make sure it remained engraved in his memory.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever performed for”, him, him and only him.
And oh, a confession. “I love it when you watch me”.
His engines flared and a hiss warned you he had released his spike. “But I like this better”.
