Fandom: Transformers IDW
Author: gatekat, ultrarodimus on LJ
Pairing: Drift/Wing, Striker/Thorn
Rating: NC-17 mech/mech
Codes: AU, Slash, Sticky, First Time, Masturbation
Summary: Striker, first creation of Drift and Wing, has finally gotten his mechling upgrades and with them, his interface equipment and protocols. Now he just has to decide who will show him what that really means.
Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.
Notes: Striker is Drift/Wing's first creation in Hunters from the Light, and this story is set in the same 'verse, but well after that story ends.
Thorn is the creation of (furaffinity .net/user/labrum)/(switchxtrick .deviantart .com)
Striker: img62 .imageshack .us/img62/7862/strikerrecolor .png
Striker's alt: vinxxxx .deviantart .com/art/vocalist-269617616 (or something similar)
Thorn: switchxtrick .deviantart .com/art/Thorn-275112261
Together: img341 .imageshack .us/img341/3351/ububu .png
Charm and Charmer 1: The Talk and Touch
Wing twitched, likely as nervous as his bonded had ever seen him, and for once Drift was very happy to be the under-qualified one. He was still struggling to grasp why Striker would need any introduction, but he wasn't about to begrudge Wing this connection to their creation and the society Drift was still in many ways an outsider to.
"Relax," Drift finally sighed and stood to catch his bonded around the waist, pulling him close. "Nothing is going to go wrong, no matter who his first is. There isn't a Knight here that isn't trustworthy in that."
"I know," Wing relaxed against the strong frame at his back. "It's just am important moment for a sparkling. This is their transition to being an adult."
Drift just hummed and held him as they waited for their creation to join them in the quarters that would soon no longer belong to the three of them. After two hundred and sixty vorns, Striker would soon be assigned quarters of his own. They would once more have a spare room, at least until it came their turn to raise a Knight once more.
Striker was walking back to the quarters he shared with his creators, having just gotten his new upgrades. He could hear his creators' voices as he approached, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. He wasn't sure what all the fuss was about, but he could sense, in that way young mechs had, that there was a Talk With The Creator(s) in the offing.
Not that it was a surprise. He'd been told by Redline that Wing would explain some of the upgrades to him. But the flux of fields as he entered the central room of their quarters was kind of odd. Drift was moody at the best of times, but Wing was usually the calm one.
"Everything went well?" Wing nearly pounced on his creation verbally as soon as the door closed.
"Everything went fine," Striker replied. He flopped onto the couch, tilting his helm to regard his creators, wondering what had gotten Wing so wound up.
"Redline showed you basic maintenance?" Wing accepted being pushed into a chair by his mate.
Drift was finding this entirely too amusing as he walked towards their small kitchen.
"Yes, I got the whole maintenance lecture," was the red and white jet's reply. "The list of 'if this happens or gets damaged, see a medic immediately' is as long as my arm."
Drift's snicker was audible from where he was messing around, but both jets ignored him. Wing shifted. "Have you picked who you want, as your first?"
The red and white tilted his helm thoughtfully. "There are a few mechs around I like... And then there's Thorn." His wings shivered slightly. He'd been caught watching the black Knight more than once, admiring the other flier's wings and tall, slender frame. It hadn't been with desire then, but reviewing the moments now ... it was definitely desire now.
"Not a bad choice," Drift commented as he returned with three cubes of energon, offering one to Striker before sitting next to Wing, offering a cube and snuggling with his mate in a way it soon became a tangle of white with the occasional bit of red, gold or black. "He's a pretty one too."
Striker took a sip of his cube, then made a surprised sound, looking from it to his creator and back. After a moment, he took another sip, savoring the taste. "He's got gorgeous wings." The young jet regarded his creators with amusement.
"He does," Wing agreed with a tiny shiver at his own memories. "He's skilled as well. Far older than I am."
A shiver ran through Striker at that, red and white wings fanning out. Primary red optics brightened. "Oh, is he?"
Wind nodded. "He came with the exodus. I understand he was fairly young, though he'd seen some combat."
"Mmm, close to my age then," Drift commented, as he shifted his helm to nibble one of Wing's helm flares. "Only without the mistakes."
Striker looked definitely interested. "If I have to choose just one mech, I would choose Thorn." His wings fluttered in anticipation.
Drift barked a laugh. "He's your creation all right."
Wing's wings flickered in amusement. "Nothing says you have to choose just one. If you have enough Seeker in you, it might not even be right to choose just one. I'm sure you've noticed how common it is for jets to fly in trines."
"We'll have to see just how much Seeker is in me, later." Striker's optics were bright. He grinned at both of his creators as Drift snickered and Wing smiled.
"How close are you to Thorn?" Wing asked.
"I've pretty much managed to get past the 'overly formal' stage," Striker replied. "He's actually starting to behave normally around me."
"That will help," Wing nodded, then continued when Drift nudged him. "If you don't want to work at getting him in the berth this first time, you can make it a formal request. No one will deny you your choice of lovers for your first experience. Even one who's normally off limits."
Striker tilted his helm, pondering the idea. "Which way would be preferable if I want him to keep coming back for more?" His optics gleamed.
"Take your time and get into his berth on your own," Wing answered easily. "Formal requests rarely result in a second time."
Red and white wings fluttered in anticipation, primary red optics brightening. "That's what I'll do, then." The words were accompanied by a purr.
Drift continued to chuckle, entirely too amused by his creation's fixation. "Should I warn Thorn?" he nuzzled Wing.
"Won't need to," Wing trilled in amusement. "He has all the subtlety we do."
Striker mock-scowled at both of them, giving a playfully annoyed flick of his wings.
"And yet you don't deny it," Drift teased his creation. "On the up side, you won't have nearly the trouble Wing had with me in convincing him that you aren't just trying to prove a point."
An optic rim lifted at that. "I should hope not."
"Thorn doesn't have the history to think that way," Wing murmured softly, his field stretching out to wrap tightly around Drift as their bond pulsed with support-love. Drift had still spent many, many times longer suffering and inflicting abuse than he had in the safety of Wing's arms. "He might think you're being pushy or impatient, but nothing more."
Striker tilted his helm slightly. "I'll try not to be too pushy. But no guarantees."
"You're a mechling jet and our creation," Drift snorted in good humor. "Patience is not exactly expected of you."
"It's still useful," Wing added, relaxing as Drift nuzzled him. "You are aiming to become a Knight of Light. Self control is expected."
"And considering that I am your creation, I would bet that patience is not one of my strong points anyway," the young jet drawled, snorting.
"Tenacity and stubbornness are, however," Drift smirked. "And an unhealthy disregard for the unimportant rules a sector wide."
"Shoo, then," Wing waggled his wings at Striker. "Go hunt down your first playmate so I can molest your creator."
"As if," Drift focused on his bonded. "I do the molesting in this home."
"Can you just keep the noise levels down? Last time you two kept me awake half the night." Striker scrammed before anything could be tossed at his head or either of them could try to swat him.
"Learn to turn your audios off!" Drift yelled the advice before the door closed.
Shaking his helm, Striker continued running until he reached the end of the corridor, just in case. Reaching the end of the corridor, he slowed to a walk, pondering where Thorn might be. One of the training rooms, the sky over the Citadel, the common room or his quarters were the obvious first places to look. He was fairly sure if he hung out long enough by his door or in the common room Thorn would come by before dark at least.
Striker's wings twitched as he pondered his options, finally deciding on the common room. Wings settling into a lazy posture on his back, he headed down to the lower levels of the Citadel, where the common room was located. Several Knights greeted him along the way, some taking time to admire his upgrades. He was nearly at his final size and look now, but more importantly, he now bore a transponder signal that marked him as upgraded enough for sensual interest. In a group as open and small as the Knights of Light, sooner or later a young mecha in the Citadel was likely to interface with most of them.
Striker fluffed his wings and armor, preening proudly as he returned the greetings. Red optics admired the other Knights' frames as they passed him; he'd seen them all his life, of course, but now he had a reason to really look. The new protocols made them seem like completely new mecha. Some more desirable than others, but all worth exploring once he had Thorn as his first.
Mid afternoon and the common room was moderately busy. Many Knights were early risers and had already finished their studies, katas and most of their chores, though Thorn's tall, slender black form with it's glowing red and gleaming gold highlights were not among them today.
Striker's wings drooped slightly before the young mech found a place to sit, deciding to wait. He used the time to watch the mecha he'd known from the moment he first came on line and processes the differences his new protocols created in his perception of them. The tightly bound couples, those in relationships like his creators, he could appreciate for their looks and likely skill, but inherent in the protocols was a dimming of desire towards them. It was bad for society to challenge a stable pairing or trine and the coding he got reinforced the upbringing he had.
He knew he got that lesson more than most simply because of how aggressively exclusive his creators were, and Wing's creators, while not as exclusive, didn't seem to have any interest in others. Despite the tales of Wing enjoying many berthmates before Drift, there was no doubt that it was Wing who drove the exclusive nature. Drift liked it, but Wing needed it.
As he considered Dart's small, sleek cycle based frame, he wondered if his coding would drive him to be exclusive like Wing was now, or if he'd remain generally unexclusive like Marwir and Tetris.
Getting himself a cube of energon, Striker settled back down, sipping at the cube and watching the other Knights. Seeing them through new optics (and with the new protocols) was making him notice things about them that he'd never noticed before. That was more than enough to occupy his thoughts for a couple of joors while he waited for Thorn to come for his evening energon.
"Hello, Striker," Thorn's warm, lilting voice drew the mechling's attention from his thoughts and to the slender black Knight as he sat down with a cube of energon. "You look good."
Striker actually jumped slightly, startled out of his thoughts. Seeing who it was, his optics brightened, his armor and wings puffing out in display. The jet's smile was bright and warm as he watched the other mech, admiring the black-plated frame as gold and black wings flared in response to Striker's display. "Thank you. So do you." Primary red optics gleamed with ill-concealed desire.
Thorn smiled back and settled his wings before sipping his energon. "I'm half surprised your creators have turned you loose already."
Striker snorted. "They can't keep their hands off each other. Am not looking forward to going back to their quarters later. Last night they kept me awake half the night with their antics." He shuddered at the memory. "Cannot wait till I get my own quarters. Getting away from that will be a relief."
Thorn chuckled deep in his chest. "I'm surprised you haven't found somewhere else to recharge by now."
"After what I had to put up with last night, I plan on finding my own space very soon," Striker replied. He took a sip of his energon, his optics wandering over Thorn's black frame.
"Are you planning to make that look formal?" Thorn asked a bit stiffly.
Striker blinked at the black mech. "Pardon?"
"I'm sure you know it is your right to make a request of any Knight to be your first," Thorn explained, his wings held forcefully still. "A formal request that will not be denied."
Striker's wings pulled closer to his back. "So my creator informed me. But... I don't want to make it a formal request." Armor plates slicked down, against his frame.
Thorn almost immediately relaxed his wings and frame. "I'm ... pleased to hear that," he said quietly. "It's never as good as when mutual passion is involved."
Red and white wings slowly flared out again. Striker's easy smile reappeared. "So Wing hinted. I would prefer there to be mutual passion involved. And preferably repeat performances."
Thorn didn't hold back a light, easy laugh. "Oh, you are definitely their creation. Wing was an utter terror to calm down enough to begin training. He found pleasure far too interesting for decades."
Striker laughed. "I wouldn't know how interesting it is yet. I need to experience it to know for sure." There was a purr in his voice.
"Oh, you know it's interesting," Thorn challenged. "Or you wouldn't be fixated on getting some." He leaned forward and caught Striker's chin under his finger. "But if you want to earn a place in my berth, it won't be tonight. I'm not much for trysts.
"If I have to wait, I will," the red and white replied. "As patiently as I can."
"I'll try to make the wait entertaining at least." Thorn smiled and brushed his finger along Striker's glossy white cheek. "Why me?"
Striker leaned into the touch. "You're a very handsome mech. And once you get past the formal stage, you're a very nice person to know, too." Wings twitched as the red and white searched for the words to express why he'd chosen Thorn.
"A good start," Thorn purred, pleased there was something the mechling could articulate already. "Are you aiming to move in with me?"
"I actually hadn't thought that far ahead yet," the younger jet confessed, wings twitching sheepishly.
A low, resonant chuckle of good humor greeted it. "Just understand that getting in my berth doesn't mean you are invited to move in, though I will not turn you away if you need a place to recharge while your creators are noisy. You are a pretty jet, but it takes more than looks to build a relationship on."
Striker nodded, his smile widening. "I'll remember that. Thank you."
"Now, what would you like to do this evening?" Thorn prompted, confident that Striker understood that interfacing was not on the options list.
The embarrassed twitch of the young jet's wings and the way his armor flattened hinted that he hadn't really thought of much aside from finding Thorn. "I hadn't had much in mind."
"A game of Sovereign, then?" he suggested.
Striker perked up. "Sure. I'm getting better at playing... Maybe I actually have a chance of beating you this time." He flashed his cocky smile at the black mech, who could only laugh in good humor at it. He still remembered that stage clearly and fondly.
"Come then," he stood with an easy grace that marked all full Knights. "The set is in my quarters. We can play there."
Striker's smile became a grin. Finishing his energon, he put the empty cube aside, getting to his feet and following the black mech out. It was a path he knew, though he'd never been invited inside. The Knight's Citadel was simply too small for a mecha raised there not to know where everything was.
The walk gave him a lovely opportunity to scope out the black aft and it sent all sorts of jolts of desire through his systems.
Striker's wings shivered, then he forced them to still. He did not want to screw up his chances with Thorn before he could get into the dark mech's berth. Nothing was stopping him from looking, however, and he admired Thorn's aft, the smooth way he moved, as he followed behind the other jet. His traitorous processor wouldn't stop feeding him images of how smooth that aft must move when Thorn was thrusting, or the way it would rock when Thorn was taking a spike in deep.
"Like the view?" Thorn teased him as he paused outside his door to open it.
"Immensely," Striker replied after a startled moment, complete with "deer-in-the-headlights" expression. He ruffled his wings before settling them again.
A low chuckle greeted the answer as Thorn motioned Striker inside, his own dark ruby optics roving over the mechling jet with a new appreciation now that his transponder indicated he had the hardware and software upgrades for interfacing. There was no denying the young jet was attractive in all the right ways, befitting his creators and the skills the Circle of Light had worked so hard to preserve.
Yet Thorn refused to hurry this. As enticing as the idea was to simply pull the smaller jet against his frame and kiss him senseless before introducing him to all the reasons his creators were rarely quiet, Thorn wanted more than to just share pleasure with Striker. He wanted so much more.
Striker looked around curiously as he entered Thorn's quarters, his primary red optics taking in everything. Like every single Knight, it was one large room containing berth, meditation area and entertainment area. Unlike his creator's quarters, there was no hint of a kitchen, only a small energon dispenser for when he wasn't up to going to the common room. It was comfortable to the aesthetics of a jet Knight that had been in residence long enough to be thoroughly settled in. Open, bright and full of reminders of the open sky that every flier had been doubly desperate for when the city had been underground. One wing panel twitched slightly as his attention returned to his host.
With a smile Thorn motioned him to a table large enough for four near the door. "I'll get the set."
Striker nodded, approaching the table and taking a seat. He waited patiently, watching Thorn move smoothly along the wall with the door to a set of shelves. He selected an ornate box decorated to resemble Cybertron and returned to the table. At a length away, even Striker could see that it was old. Very well cared for, but easily pre-dating the exodus.
Primary red optics took in the box, the intricate decoration on it. It wasn't every day he got to see something that old. He waited while the pieces were unpacked and the board set up.
"A gift from my first lover. It dates back to Guardian Prime's time," Thorn said as he settled and motioned for Striker to make the first move.
Striker regarded the board for a moment, debating, before picking up a piece and making his first move. Before putting the piece down, he held it up to look at it, taking in the craftsmechship that had gone into it. "I don't think I've ever been allowed to handle anything this old before."
"I doubt anyone but Dai Atlas might have anything so old," Thorn murmured, studying the board and the move as well as his opponent. "Except the Great Swords at least. They're far older. There are reliable records from Vector Prime's era, and they were thought to be old even then."
"I heard that other triple changer, the silver and purple one, is older," Striker replied after a klik. "If any mechs in the city have anything so old, it would be Dai Atlas and Titanium." Striker waited for Thorn to make his move, eying the game pieces, trying to work out some strategy that might let him win fir a change. His optics rose briefly to the hilt rising over Thorn's helm, the hilt of the black jet's equally black Great Sword and it's glimmering ruby gem.
"Likely," Thorn agreed. "There may be a few old mecha, or those with heirlooms, but I don't know them. The city's big enough that if you don't make a point of it, I may not have heard of it."
"Not many are likely to make a point of it." Striker leaned his elbows on the table, looking at the gameboard. "Hmm..."
"Not here," Thorn nodded, his fingers gliding over his knight in a sensual series of strokes before picking up his spy and sliding it into place, ready to convert one of Striker's rookie units on his next turn.
Striker glared at the board. None of his spies were in position to block Thorn's. The young mech spent a breem scrutinizing the board before making his next move.
The Knight across from him smiled, his turbines revving slightly. Oh, this was far harder than Thorn ever anticipated. He'd known Striker would approach him eventually, and knew he wanted to be closer to the Initiate-to-be before they shared a berth. He known, had prepared himself, but already it was difficult to keep his processors on the game and not on what he wanted to do to the lively white and red mech across from him.
"Have you decided if you wish to be a Knight?" Thorn asked.
Striker nodded firmly. "Yes. I do want to be a Knight." Determination flared in his field and his optics.
"I'm sure you'll manage," Thorn said without hesitation. "You were summoned from the Circle of Swords and raised by two fine Knights. It's the best anyone ever has."
Striker smiled at the older mech. "They raised me as a Knight. I want to start my training as soon as they'll let me."
A low chuckle greeted the statement. "You can petition to be accepted as an Initiate now that you have your mechling upgrades, but I'm fairly sure Dai Atlas won't accept it until you've settled all your new protocols. That might be a vorn or twenty, if Wing was anything to go by."
Striker snorted. "Considering that I'm the creation of Wing and Drift, it might take longer than that."
Thorn could only laugh brightly, his deep ruby optics glittering. "Quite possible. I do look forward to helping you settle into them. You'll look quite fetching with a Knight's swords."
Striker's primary red optics brightened at that, his smile widening. Thorn had as much as said the red and white jet would be getting into the black Knight's berth. Just not that particular night. Now that was something easier to work with. When rather than if. He could manage more patience when he knew it would be rewarded. He could also do more to entice the black Knight now that he was sure the desire to be enticed was there.
Red and white wings fluttered slightly, settling into a more relaxed posture on the young jet's back. It took Striker a moment to get his mind back to their game, looking down at the board again. He was in trouble already, and scowled.
"We can play again, unless you'd rather watch a vid," Thorn chuckled.
"One of these orns, I will win this game," the jet grumbled, glaring at the pieces. Red optics darted across the board, looking for some way to get himself out of trouble.
"Quite possible, when you've been playing as long as I have," Thorn smiled in amusement. "This doesn't come as easy as flying ... and I know you've see what practice can do there."
Striker nodded. He still got chased all over the sky by his creator and the big triple who taught precision and formation flying. The young jet considered the game board for another long moment before finally making a move.
With a thoughtful hum Thorn made a move, one that marked a change in his strategy to one of pummeling his opponent into submission and ending the game.
"What kind of vids do you enjoy watching?" the black jet asked.
Striker grumbled, glowering at the board. One day, he would win. But for now, Thorn beat him every time. "Anything but dull old histories and documentaries."
"Care to bet that I have a documentary you'd enjoy?" Dark ruby optics glittered.
Striker gave the black jet a sideways look. "Would have to be one Pit of a documentary."
Thorn simply grinned mischievously. "I happen to think so. Are you in?"
Striker flared his wings. "Let's see what's so great about this documentary of yours." From his tone, he was expecting one of the dull documentaries that would send a mech into recharge before long.
"But what do you want to bet?" Thorn chuckled. "Or do you have anything?"
"I don't have anything to bet," Striker admitted. It was on the tip of his glossa to add "except for my own virginity", but he managed to refrain from letting that escape.
"Come on then," Thorn chuckled and stood, willing to let the game be. He pinged his holovid system to cue up the vid he wanted as he motioned Striker to the couch.
Striker rose from his chair, plopping down onto the couch and stretching out his legs. He watched Thorn as the tall black mech relaxed next to him, still expecting to see something boring despite the smirk on Thorn's features.
The lights in the room shut off as the vid loaded, leaving only it, two pairs of red optics and the glowing highlights of Thorn's frame to see by.
The opening title faded into view. An pre-war Vosian frame spread out in a tempting posture with wings spread in invitation, valve bared and fingers playing lightly over his still closed spike cover.
Streamer's Passion rose to join the image along with two designations of the stars.
The red and white jet made a strange sound, staring at the screen for a moment, then turning to stare at Thorn. This was most definitely not what he had been expecting.
"It's quite educational for your knowledge level," Thorn looked back, openly smug.
Striker just stared at him for a long moment, unable to come up with a response. Then his optics reluctantly returned to the screen.
Thorn's field reached out, questioning. "I can pick something else."
By then Striker's optics were fixed on the screen, apparently unable to look away. Red and white wings were twitching slightly as Streamer's larger lover pulled him against a broad, deep purple chassis and claimed the youthful Seeker's mouth.
"Streamer knows as much as you do right now," Thorn murmured, leaning closer to Striker and brushing his field against the mechling's.
Striker's field flickered with a kind of morbid curiosity, the kind that kept a mech from looking away. One wing stretched to just brush against Thorn's, the red and white jet shifting slightly on the couch.
With a flicker of curiosity, Thorn flooded his field with what watching did for him. Intense arousal, desire, the need to touch. His wings quivered when Streamer cried out at the first stroke of strong fingers on an untouched spike.
Striker squirmed again. Seeing this through the new protocols was already making his new hardware twitch; Thorn's field was not helping. Drawing up his legs, Striker curled up slightly, trying to keep still as he continued to watch.
"I don't mind you touching yourself," Thorn purred against Striker's audio. He was enjoying the reactions from Striker at least as much as watching Streamer receive his first blow job for the hundredth time.
The red and white jet almost vibrated indecisively. Should he or shouldn't he? After a long moment, one black hand crept down toward his interface panel. His optics locked on the screen, on the expression on the small Seeker's face that he couldn't give a name to. His field locked on Thorn's, on the arousal and desire there, feeding his own. On the subtle encouragement that seemed to lick at his very frame.
Striker's fingers brushed over his interface panel, pushing it aside to reach his equipment covers. A tiny hiss escaped him as his fingertips touched the covers, albeit slightly clumsily. It still felt good like nothing ever had.
The warmth of a hand came to rest just above Striker's knee. Though it didn't move, the direct link to Thorn's systems sent a heavy jolt into the young jet and made him jump slightly. He blinked at Thorn for a moment before returning his attention to the screen. One fingertip stroked across his spike cover, sending a shiver through his body.
Next to him turbines revved up. Dark ruby optics were no longer watching the vid, but focused on the tentative touches and exploration Striker was giving his new equipment.
Striker was nearly oblivious to Thorn's gaze. His own optics were still fixed on the screen, fingers exploring his own new equipment as the large purple Seeker explored Streamer's. Finally, Striker's spike cover opened and dark fingertips dipped inside to touch the tip of his spike.
The click of the latches holding it in it's housing actually startled Striker, but he was too deep in the sensation of touching his spike while aroused to do anything. This was nothing like the clinical exploration he'd had with Redline to confirm that it was functional and integrated into his neural net.
Striker's wings vibrated, pulling in close, then fanning out again. His ruby optics were still fixed on the screen, unable to look away, while his hand stroked along the length of his spike, sending shivers through his sensor net. After a klik or so his fans kicked on, trying to keep his systems cool. It was in vain, but he didn't know it yet and his frame didn't care in the least.
A soft, low moan escaped the black jet. His wings quivered and his fans on full. His optics were locked on Striker's movements, his field locked on Striker's emotions. It wasn't as good as touching and being touched ... he knew he couldn't do that, shouldn't do that ... the why he should wait was beginning to escape him though.
Striker went from vibrating to squirming as his body reacted to the stimulus. His armor fluffed out, soft pants escaping through parted lips. The tip of his glossa darted over his lower lip plate. The jet curled in on himself slightly, his other hand sliding over his thigh and lower, toward his valve cover.
"Yesss," Thorn hissed under his breath, not even aware of it. He leaned closer, inhaling the enticing scent of lubricant and arousal heated metal. "You're beautiful."
The valve cover gave way after a couple of exploratory brushes, allowing a black digit to slip inside. Striker trembled from pedes to wingtips, involuntarily letting out a small whimpering cry as the never-before-touched sensors in his valve were stimulated for the first time. Squirming progressed to writhing, lubricants beginning to seep over the edge of Striker's valve, covering his fingers.
Thorn whimpered and shuddered. His hand crept up from Striker's knee to caress the young jet's wrist, silently asking permission to guide him.
Striker almost jumped, wide red optics fixing on Thorn. After a moment the young jet moved his leg, giving a soft whine of assent. He could feel the hot air blowing from Thorns vents, the way Thorn's red markings and optics glowed brighter.
Long, gentle fingers slowly guided Strikers fingers inward until the tips of black fingers touched the rim of that slick valve. Another soft whimper was wrung from the red and white jet, his optics dropping to watch as his hand was guided, his hips trying to squirm into the touch. Striker's plating was hot under Thorn's black palm.
"Wiggle your fingers," Thorn breathed, his entire frame trying to shake as he guided Striker's hand to roll up, stroking the exterior nodes as his fingers slid out. "Stroke what feels good."
The younger jet's fingers flexed, then wiggled. A jolt ran through Striker's body, the jet letting out a soft moan. His helm tilted back, optics going dark as he did his best to process what he was feeling. He trembling, going partially lax as he gave his lover control of his hand.
Thorn leaned against Striker, panting as he fought to control his own base urges and desires. Strong fingers guided Striker's to slide in and out, stimulating new nodes with every stroke.
Striker's helm rolled sideways, just brushing Thorn's armor, the younger mech panting heavily, moaning again. He'd already lost his ability to think, all of his attention taken up by the intense pleasure running through his sensor net. Thorn was there too, feeding off the reactions and the echo in Striker's field, his own field sharing the intensity of arousal from a system well acquainted with the pleasures.
Slowly Thorn guided Striker's fingers in and out, showing him the slide and rolling motion that would feel best. His own fingertips stroked slick nodes when they came close to pristine white coated in thick, softly purple lubricant.
Oh, he ached to kneel between those spread thighs and show how much he knew about pleasuring another's frame.
Striker squirmed closer to Thorn, his hips writhing into the touches. The young jet's other hand was still working over his spike, though more slowly than he had been. Heavy, rapid pants alternated with soft mews against the black Knight's armor.
With a low whine Thorn tilted his helm and brushed his lips against Striker's, his hand never stopping their guiding thrust of Striker's fingers into the white and red jet's valve. The red and white's helm turned, his lips meeting Thorn's. Striker moaned into the kiss, hips rolling into their hands, the sleek airframe writhing against Thorn's black plating.
"You're so close," Thorn shuddered, able to taste it in the younger mech's field, in the very air around them. "Relax into it. Just let it take you."
Striker's body went stiff, the young jet crying out as he overloaded. Transfluid shot from his spike, his valve tightening around their fingers as a fresh surge of lubricant spilled out. After a few long nanokliks, Striker went limp, slumping against Thorn, shivers running through his body in the aftershocks.
Thorn hummed, his field and frame screaming at him to tend to his own needs. Instead he clamped down on them hard, forcing his systems to cycle down and bleed off the building charge.
The younger jet vented heavily, his body almost completely limp. Hot air blew across Thorn's plating as the black jet patiently waited for him to recover.
It took the better part of a breem for Striker to get his bearings back. Ruby optics flickered on, then Striker slowly straightened, leaning back against the couch, his interfacing equipment still exposed and against his hands.
"Enjoy?" Thorn murmured as he slowly withdrew his hand from where it had rested on Striker's.
"That was... That was... mind-blowing," Striker finally managed, shaking his helm in an attempt to clear it. "Wow."
"Good," Thorn murmured and leaned over to kiss the side of Striker's helm. "It gets much better than that with a good lover."
The look Striker gave him was intrigued. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, really," he chuckled before licking his fingers clean. "If it wasn't, self-servicing would be far more popular. Not what you do when you can't get a partner."
The tilt of Striker's helm and the raised optic rim were clearly a "prove it". Red optics sparkled at Thorn, who laughed easily despite the state of his frame.
"Incorrigible imp. When we know each other well enough I'll interface with you," Thorn chuckled.
Striker's grin was bright and cheeky. He settled back down on the couch, ignoring the mess he'd left, eying the screen where Streamer now had a thick spike being thrust in and out of his valve, the shot zoomed in enough that you had to know it was two Seekers to have any shot at knowing what frametypes were involved.
"This certainly is more... interesting... than any 'documentary' I've ever seen before," the younger jet drawled, tilting his helm toward Thorn.
"I told you some were interesting," Thorn chuckled, relaxing back as his frame began to cool. "I happen to enjoy watching."
"Pardon me for not believing you... I've never seen this particular kind of documentary before." There was a laugh in Striker's voice.
"It wouldn't have been interesting before today," Thorn laughed easily. "Just like your creators' noise will take on a very different meaning now."
Striker rolled his optics. "Still won't be anything I'll want to hear while I'm trying to recharge. Primus on a dipstick, they never stop!"
"I know," Thorn chuckled. "I've known them both far longer than you have. They haven't changed from the first time they admitted the desire was there and interfaced."
"You don't have to listen to them while they're 'busy' in the middle of the night," Striker grumped. "Drift tells me to turn off my audials."
"Why don't you?" Thorn asked, honestly curious. "And I may not have to listen to them at night, but I have walked up on them more than once in the halls and various rooms without a berth."
Striker shrugged. "I don't like the total silence. Never have."
A nod of understanding/acceptance greeted that. "What do you do then?"
"I've tried yelling at them, but they just ignore me." Striker's wings twitched. "Or at least Drift does, anyway. I usually end up trying to drown them out with music. That's why I'm so cranky in the mornings some days."
"I knew they were loud, but that's impressive," Thorn hummed. "I really thought soundproofing was better than that."
Striker groaned. "It's worst when they leave their balcony open. I swear half the city can hear them." Red and white wings flared in irritation.
"I wouldn't be surprised if that wasn't the point on occasion," Thorn smirked. "They're both rather demonstrative when it comes to make sure everyone knows they're a couple. I'd be willing to bet you'll be the same way."
"Considering that I'm their creation, I wouldn't doubt it. However, I'm not there yet, and I would like to get some actual recharge at night."
"Well if you don't have another couch or berth to crash on, you're always welcome here," Thorn reminded him. "I would have offered long ago if I knew you had such trouble."
Striker gave the black mech an expression of pure relief. "You might find me crashing here more often than you'd probably like. Those two are insatiable. Wing I can understand, since he is a jet, but Drift is just as bad."
"There are times I think Drift is a jet's spark trapped in a grounder's frame," Thorn shook his helm. "It would explain a few things, and not just his interfacing drive."
Striker snorted. "It would not surprise me." Ruby optics flicked toward the screen, examining what was happening now. The jet was privately taking notes on what looked interesting.
"What other jet-like traits have you noticed?" Thorn asked, just curious and making conversation.
"I haven't really been looking," Striker confessed. "Though I have heard there were times when he's wanted to be in the air with Wing. And then I've seen him clinging to Wing for dear life when Wing flies him back up to their quarters."
"I think that wanting has more to do with hating to be left behind or left out," Thorn snickered. "He'd never make it in an airframe unless it was out of pure spite for those who say he couldn't."
Striker pondered that, then nodded. "That makes sense. Drift absolutely hates being left out of anything." The young jet snickered. "And I can see him doing that, too."
"Unfortunately, I think everyone can, which is likely a key reason no one's really suggested it," Thorn smirked. "He's a stubborn glitch. A good match for Wing, really. They're almost the same spark with different backgrounds."
Striker laughed. "Drift with wings... Primus help us! Yes, he's stubborn, and they are a good match. They do have a lot in common."
"And they raised a good mech in you," Thorn trilled playfully. "There hasn't been a trial the universe threw at them that they didn't overcome, and did it well."
Striker preened for a moment, flaring his wings showily. "And what a set of contrails I have to follow in."
"That you do, between Dai Atlas, Axe, Wing and Drift," he agreed. "It's quite a legacy."
"And the pressure is going to be intense to live up to that legacy, especially once I start Knight training." Determination flickered across the red and white jet's face.
"True," Thorn acknowledged. "Training is never easy, but you have higher expectations on you because of who raised you."
"I just hope I'm able to live up to those expectations." Striker's wings quivered, his armor slicking down.
"I'm sure you will," Thorn trilled in support. "It'll be tough, but you can from the Circle of Swords. They wanted a spark worthy of being a Knight. I'm sure they got one."
Striker's wings relaxed, his armor fluffing out again. "I hope so."