A/N: The title comes from a song called "Always" by a group named Saliva. This line, in particular:
"I love you, I hate you, I can't live without you
I breathe you, I taste you, I just can't live without you..."
Sums this relationship up quite nicely, I think.
Pairing: Motormaster/Silverbolt.
Continuity: G1-ish, as usual.
Rating: M. Very much so.
Warnings: Graphic sticky interfacing, painplay, disturbing themes, bondage, possible dubcon trigger, bloodplay (Energon, but eh), D/s in large doses, violence, and emotional dichotomy.
Gift for Videetcredere on LJ, who so graciously has converted me to this pairing. !3
On with zee pr0nz!
Patrol flights could be uneventful, or they could be exciting, or dangerous or boring or any number of things, Silverbolt reflected. This one was blessedly silent, at least; his brothers were ALL safely ensconced in the brig as punishment for a particularly spectacular frag-up involving a vat of red paint and Sunstreaker.
Silverbolt had wanted no part of that, and it was just as well, too- Sunstreaker had been more than pissed about being involuntarily repainted to better resemble his twin, resulting in Slingshot's twisted wings, both twins in the brig as well, and four Aerials in the cells down the hall.
Skyfire had offered to accompany Silverbolt, but he had hurriedly assured the shuttle that he could handle it, that a solo flight would do him some good.
That was technically the truth, but not fully...Silverbolt still felt guilty for the deception, even though he'd never actually given voice to the lie. The whole truth was that he was watching, hoping, dreading... Something he didn't dare speak of, or even think too loudly. His secret. His weakness.
He parted the sky, at low altitude over this desolate stretch of...Montana, his mind supplied- seeing no sign of life, let alone Decepticons.
He landed, wanting to feel the ground under his feet for some reason. Transforming, he surveyed the area, shaking his head. No higher life forms at all. He sighed loudly through his vents. Why had he gone off alone? For quiet? Because he wanted to pound his brothers into scrap while he held them close for comfort?
That was his last thought before everything went black.
Silverbolt came back online in the dark. It felt cooler in this dark place than it had outside, and...why were his hands bound? Silverbolt squirmed awkwardly; he had a fair idea of what had happened, but this was against the 'rules'. An insult came to mind, one of Slingshot's favorites, but he couldn't bring himself to utter it, not here, not now.
'Half-afted underclocked glitched-up Optimus Prime reject!'
His mind supplied it dutifully, though he wasn't even sure it WAS... Oh, now he was.
The scent of exhaust and hot metal and the bitter tang that was uniquely Motormaster filled his olfactory sensors, and his desire lurched to life within him. His optics offlined momentarily, his wingtips twitching in the mixture of dread and anticipation that always flavored these...meetings.
"Where's your team, Silverdolt?" His tone was slow, lazy; he knew he was in control here. The play on his name was part of the game, part of this twisted little dance.
"Not here." he said tersely, his EM field radiating an odd mix of emotions. Fear, loathing, disgust at himself, all tied together by a fierce coil of want.
Motormaster's hand slid along his backstrut, close to where his wings met his body. His position -half-bent over a stone outcropping, hands chained tightly- prevented him from moving much, but he stifled a hiss and remained as still as possible.
The heat of the large truckformer warmed his back as he pressed against Silverbolt, Motormaster's lips barely brushing his audial. Silverbolt bit his lip hard, tasting energon, as he spoke in those low, rumbling tones.
"You missed me, I see. Aerialslut. Want this? Want your pretty wings in my hands, while I make love to you.?" He laughed aloud at this, a harsh sound. "I don't do that. I take. I claim. If I want something, it's mine...including you." He bit down on Silverbolt's neck cabling, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make warm energon flow in lazy rivulets onto his shoulder plating, as well as Motormaster's lips. He smeared it across the angle of Silverbolt's cheek, leaving a sticky trail that Silverbolt tried very hard to ignore. A low moan escaped him, and he felt himself grow hot and damp behind his valve cover, despite all self-control.
Motormaster knew the signs, and one large knee forced the Concorde's legs apart, bending him over further and shoving his own overheated plating against Silverbolt's sensitized interface array. Two hands grasped his wings and dented their edges, and Silverbolt keened in that mixture of pleasure and pain that this mech invariably gave him.
His electrostatic battery discharged weakly, sending a charge through his wings, arcing between his wingtips to catch Motormaster in a low-grade shock. He grunted loudly and bit down on Silverbolt's left wing edge, leaving marks and causing the jet to hiss in pain.
Silverbolt's interface covers slid aside quite against his will, revealing a half-pressurized spike and a port that was leaking freely, moistening pale thighs as Motormaster looked on appreciatively. His hand reached down and tweaked his outer nodes deftly, and Silverbolt threw his head back hard, hitting it on Motormaster's shoulders. A ragged moan escaped his lips as Motormaster circled his entrance, teasing him to distraction, never entering him no matter how hard Silverbolt pushed his aft back.
"Please. Please!" he gasped, limbs quivering, his inner thighs twitching in want.
Motormaster smirked, and suddenly flipped Silverbolt over the outcropping so that his arms were awkwardly above him and his upper body and wings rubbed into the stone roughly. He moved in front of the jet and his spike cover retracted, revealing a huge black spike covered in ridges, with a large flared head that glistened wetly in the violet light of Motormaster's optics. Silverbolt opened his mouth to speak.. and the truckformer filled it, smearing a line of prefluid across those patrician faceplates. Silverbolt gagged, trying to pull back, but Motormaster took his helm in his hands and thrust gently between those full, slicked-up lips, not too roughly, and Silverbolt offlined his optics and began to swallow as much of the spike as he could, glossa sliding over sensory nodes, a bit of oral lubricant touched with Motormaster's prefluid trickling down his chin. He moaned loudly around the thickness shoved halfway down his intakes, and felt himself grow even wetter and more needy than before. After a loud growl, the truck flipped Silverbolt right back over, both of them panting wildly through their mouths to alleviate the heat in their systems. Motormaster leans over Silverbolt's back, his lips right where his wings joined his body.
"Beg for it."
"W-wha.. ooh!"
"I'll leave you wet and wanting unless you do as I say!"
"P-please.."
"Please what?" A nibble on that sensor array, hands on his ailerons.
"Please t-take me, frag me.." Silverbolt wasn't very loud but Motormaster moaned anyway.
With both hands on the upper edges of Silverbolt's wings, he thrust forward, hilting himself inside the Aerial, slamming into that node in the back of Silverbolt's clenching valve, and Silverbolt jerked wildly and *screamed* his overload, his soaked entrance drawing Motormaster as deep as he could go, his hips bucking against the 'Con in utter abandon. Motormaster didn't even slow down, pounding violently into the jet and moaning at the feel of a tight, hot port wrapped around his spike.
"Say it, Silverbolt."
"NO! I won't!" A gasp, buildup of his overload into electrical charge.
"Who do you belong to, Silver?" A rough, fast grind accompanied this, and Silverbolt almost howled.
"I...I..."
"Who do you belong to?"
Silverbolt shattered.
"Motormaster! Please! Right there, oh, right there, don't stop, I'm yours, oh please... The words ended with a wordless keen as Silverbolt fell headlong into overload, Motormaster quickly behind him with a rush of transfluid that filled him and slowly slid down his legs. Silverbolt's wings stiffened and another arc caught them both...and the world went black. Again.
Silverbolt awoke alone, unchained, with sticky fluid all over his body and a queer but pleasant ache in his port.
Primus, I hope they didn't feel that.
Silverbolt sighs, that familiar feeling of guilt, loathing, and bitterness overcoming him for a few moments. Then he begins to replay the memory as he leaves the cave. A small smile lights his face.
~fin~