She’s not exactly sure how they got here, but she’s sure she’s not going to complain about it. Not when she has Starscream on his knees, plating shining in the evening light pouring through his ridiculous office window, choking on her spike like he was built for this.
She’d come to his office in search of a signature on her latest energy usage report for the third and fourth districts. Sure, she’d been a bit keyed up, a bit tense from a day of dealing with political billshit, but she hadn’t known how close she was to snapping until Starscream had set her off. She can’t even remember what he’d said, but she’d snapped back, he’d stepped into her space, and then she had him on his knees.
Whatever. Not worth worrying about now, not when she’s got him here, throat squeezing her so perfectly. His stupid, gorgeous face is covered in oral and optical lubricant and Windblade’s own prefluid and he’s never looked better. Best of all, he’s finally shut the fuck up. Well, he’s stopped talking, at least. He’s still making plenty of noise, moaning and whining around her spike, clinging to her thighs and shoving himself forward in time with her thrusts. Brat. She readjusts her hold on his helm vents and pulls him forward harshly, relishing the strangled cry she gets in return.
“That’s it,” she says. “Take it.” And he does. He takes her spike perfectly. “Not how you thought this meeting would end, is it?” Starscream looks up at her, meeting her optics with his hazy, unfocused ones. “If I had known it was this easy to shut you up, I would have done this much sooner.”
Starscream makes a desperate sound around her spike and she moans at the vibrations. He settles a bit more into his kneeling position, sinking lower and giving her a better grip on his helm vents. Looking down, she sees his panels are open and he’s so wet he’s leaving a puddle on his immaculately polished floor. He is enjoying this every bit as much as his field and his face say. She rolls her hips again, relishing the tight, wet heat around her spike. He’s taking her fully, nose pressed against her pelvic plating with every forward thrust. Tears stream down his face and his engine hitches every time she bottoms out, but he doesn’t pull back. He just takes it, and she thinks she might be getting high on the expression on his face.
“You’re good at this,” she tells him, grinding deep into the back of his throat. “Primus, where did you learn this?” Starscream, obviously, says nothing. “You look good down there on your knees.” The praise gets her a whine. “Is this all you wanted? Someone to put you in your place?”
Starscream’s optics flash bright and the noise he makes around her spike is obscene. That’s it. That, the vibration and the sound and the way his eyes go unfocused, pushes her over the edge. She thrusts hard into his mouth and holds him there, pressed against her, overloading down his throat in a wave of pleasure that seems to go on forever. He swallows around her, massaging her spike. White and grey static floods her vision for a long moment, and when the rush fades, she nearly falls on top of him.
She pulls back and pulls out and his mouth falls open, tongue hanging out just a bit as if to show her he’s swallowed all her transfluid. “Good,” she tells him, and he collapses forward against her thighs. His hand goes to his array, but he doesn’t touch. At first, she can’t figure out why, since he’s shaking and sparking all over with charge. It doesn’t take her long to figure it out. “You can touch yourself, Starscream.”
Immediately, his hand is on his node. He’s hardly touched himself before he’s overloading, field flaring out against hers and mouth falling open in a silent scream. He shakes against her, and when she tells him, “Good girl,” he makes a quiet, broken noise.
Starscream’s entirely out of it, deep in a headspace that, if the vacant, relaxed look on his face is anything to go by, he’s enjoying immensely. She sinks to her knees and leans back against his desk, positioning his limp frame between her legs. He goes willingly, and as soon as she’s comfortable, she’s got her arms full of warm, trembling Starscream. Arms wrap around her waist and he tucks his face into the crook of her neck. Looking over the top of his head, she can see the sun setting over the skyline. It’s gorgeous.
Slowly, their vents cycle down and Starscream relaxes against her until she’s not sure he’s completely online anymore. “That was good,” she murmurs.
"You can take my clothes off for me" anything dominant ratchet?? :3c
They're stupid, your honor
“You can take my clothes off for me,” Drift purrs, falling back onto his elbows. Ratchet could eat him.
He kneels over Drift’s hips, not touching even as Drift tries to grind up against him. “Oh, I can, can I?” They both know the coy act is just that, an act. Drift’s submission is already Ratchet’s. They’ve played this game before. Ratchet slips his hands up under Drift’s shirt, scratching lightly at his stomach before stopping at the hem of his binder. “On or off?”
Drift bites his lip. “Off.”
“You sure?”
He nods. “At least for now. We’ll see how it goes. No touching or anything, I just want to be able to breathe while you, you know…”
“Fuck you through the mattress?”
Drift grins. “Exactly.”
“Alright. Let me know if it gets to be too much.” Ratchet tugs at the edge of the binder. Drift puts his arms up, crossing them over his head and arching his back just so. The first few inches are easy and Ratchet’s feeling confident. Then, the binder catches on Drift’s stupidly bony scapulae and they start to have some problems.
“You just have to—just kind of stretch it out a bit?” Drift offers.
Ratchet tries to stretch it out, and this works up to the point that it gets stuck over Drift’s face. He’s sitting up, arms in the air, face covered in spandex, hair sticking out the top of his binder, giggling madly while Ratchet tries to figure out how it went so wrong.
“Don’t worry,” Drift gasps between snorts of laughter. “This happens all the time. Just let me—” Ratchet’s not sure what Drift was going to do, because what he ends up doing is falling forward onto Ratchet. “Oh, god.”
❛ it's my thigh or nothing. i'm not helping you get off. ❜ for dratchet ❤️💜❤️💜❤️
Just a little short bit!
Drift whines, burying his face deeper in Ratchet’s shoulder. “Ratch,” he pants. “Ratchet, please, I need you to touch me.”
“No,” he laughs. “That’s not how this works, sweetspark. It’s my thigh or nothing. I’m not helping you get off.”
“Ratchet,” Drift whimpers. “Please.” The hand clinging to Ratchet’s back kibble starts making its way towards the apex of Drift’s thighs and Ratchet smacks it.
“I said no,” he scolds. “Are you going to be good, or do I have to cuff you?” Drift’s hips jerk against Ratchet’s thigh and his engine revs sharply. “Oh, is that what you want? Is that why you’re being such a brat?”
“Nggh, no, Ratchet, I’m sorry, just please touch me!” Drift grinds frantically against Ratchet’s thigh, charge snapping across his frame.
"Look at you, grinding against everything, you're really desperate for it. Aren't you?" for Starjack please? PLEASE?
HIIIII Madz. They are fucking. They are in love. They are maybe even sappy. She/her pronouns for Starscream as a treat.
You know the drill. No minors below the cut.
Starscream buries her face in Wheeljack’s shoulder with a sigh.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Wheeljack murmurs, setting his datapad down and leaning back to let her cuddle closer. His voice reverberates through her frame and she hums contentedly. “How was your day?”
“Long,” she says, and she’s being charitable. She’s exhausted.
“Wanna take a nap?”
She thinks for a moment. She had come to Wheeljack’s apartment looking for a good cuddle and nap, but since then, a new idea’s occurred to her. She shifts a bit, climbing into Wheeljack’s lap and straddling his thigh. His hands slip down to her waist and she shudders, rocking her hips just enough to send a warm tingle of charge through her interface array. She nips at Wheeljack’s neck. “Mm, I had something different in mind.”
Wheeljack’s fans kick on. “Oh?” His hands tighten on her waist and he starts guiding her into a slow grinding rhythm.
“Yeah,” she breathes. “What do—ah—what do you think of that?”
“I think it’s a great idea.” His fans speed up. He’s starting to get warm under her hands and lips. One hand slips up her back to touch her wings, wasting no time in going for the sensitive spot by the hinge of her right aileron. She gasps, hips jerking forward, and Wheeljack just laughs. “Look at you, grinding against everything,” he teases. “You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?” He pinches the tip of her wing, and the hiss of her panel snapping open is lost in the keening whine she makes as he pulls her closer. “I can do something about that.”
211: “so desperate for it, aren’t you? if you want it, you better start taking it” with triiiiiine
YOU ALREADY KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS UP!!!!
live inside you, love, I’d never hurt you
Their bond is so wide open it’s hard to tell where Skywarp begins and Thundercracker ends. He bleeds into Thundercracker at the fingertips on his waist, the lips on his lips, spike hot inside his valve. Thundercracker’s voice rumbles deep in the space shared between them, and Skywarp squirms in his lap.
“TC,” he begs. “TC, please.”
“So desperate for it, aren’t you?” Thundercracker growls in his ear. “If you want it, you better start taking it.” Thundercracker’s hands tighten on his waist and Skywarp’s valve throbs with electric heat.
Skywarp wants to say something back, maybe beg Thundercracker to take mercy on him and pound him through the berth like he wants, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a whining “Hhuh!” Thundercracker lifts him up a bit, urging him onto his knees, off his spike, and Skywarp makes another pathetic noise. It’s dizzying being so one with Thundercracker and his composed razor-sharp lust and simultaneously feeling so incoherent. Skywarp’s never been so charged up in his life.
“Come on,” Thundercracker urges, shoving him through the bond. “Ride me. I know you know how.” He slips his hands under Skywarp’s upper thighs and starts bouncing him on his spike, shallowly until Skywarp’s legs get with the program and he starts riding Thundercracker for all he’s worth. He throws his arms around Thundercracker’s neck and hangs on for dear life, vents roaring and charge crackling across his plating as he tries to get closer, closer. He could get under Thundercracker’s plating, slip in the gaps between wires and melt into his magnetic field and still never get close enough.
“Mine,” he gasps into Thundercracker’s open mouth. Thundercracker kisses him back messily, frantically, every bit as worked up as Skywarp despite his earlier composure. “Mine, you’re mine, no one else can, ahh, can have you.”
Thundercracker’s mouth falls further open and Skywarp pulls him closer, deeper. He’s got Thundercracker’s tongue in his mouth when Thundercracker thrusts up harder than before and Skywarp cries out, biting down for a fraction of a second. Thundercracker yelps, says something, but then his energon pours into Skywarp’s mouth and Skywarp’s hips meet his thighs and Skywarp overloads so hard he knocks himself into a soft reboot.
prguitarman
romaincrisis
theartofmadeline
2087
vaporwave
