Title: Confident Distraction
Author: dreamerchaos
Fandom: IDW 'All Hail Megatron'.
Rating: MATURE. Pure smut, simply put. STICKY.
Pairing: DriftxPerceptor.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro and their respective owners.
Summary: Kup would have both their heads if he knew what his scouts did during their patrols.
Author's note: I blame song_of_dragon for this entirely! Popping up new art links and giving my muses fodder for the Drift and Perceptor. You are too good at tempting me, my dear!
Inside one of the few remaining viewing towers, the scarred ivory spire standing as a quiet, crumbling guardian outside the outskirts of the abandoned city structure, the two scouts hunkered down to rest after another successful sweep of the surrounding, securing the wide perimeter overlapping the shoddy base where the Autobots gathered their two units, Optimus' team and Kup's smaller squad, nursing their pride and seeing to their wounds.
Kup would have both their heads if he knew what his scouts were doing during patrol.
"D…Drift―" The sniper's long barreled weapon leans against the corner of the small room. Perceptor whimpering beneath his breath, hands digging into the sword-wielder's white shoulders. Pinned by the white mech when he had negligently turned his back on the sword-wielder for a moment, which was enough to convince the mech to pounce while he was distracted when looking out the window to scan the nearby buildings.
Tossing his helm back, pinned against the wall as the sleek mech traces his collar and throat with his lips, glossa pulsing and probing between the tight stretches of his energon cables. "N-not hereeeee…" He moans, gasping softly as Drift's dark hand slides between his legs, the microscope's thighs twitching, pumping against the sure fingers and confident caress. Drift twisting and rubbing the thin wires peeking between the interlocked plating within his hip joint.
"Shhhh." Drift hushes, sliding up to straddle the sniper. His hand rocking against Perceptor's trembling form, mimicking the mech's every thrust. He nips teasingly at the sniper's lips, enticing his partner to permit him further, deeper study, "You have to remain quiet or someone might hear us." He grins smugly as Perceptor whimpers, helm rattling, his cheek pressing against Drift's, trembles wracking his frame.
His back strut digs hard into the wall behind him. Perceptor trying, unsuccessfully, to push away and resist the cocky sword-wielder rubbing against him, enticing him to shift and arch against the smooth, smooth paint and warm dermal plating. Arms looping over Drift's shoulders, bumping against the polished, black hilt of his long sword, "Drift…" The microscope whimpers as the white mech darts forward, sealing Perceptor's words with silence. Lips and glossa combating, until Perceptor acquiesces, submitting to Drift's explorations. Fingers' kneading the back of the white mech's helm, the sniper is quickly intoxicated with every caress and sure stroke. His port throbs with so much heat, aching in want and the assurance of his partner's equal desire, and he squirms and twists until Drift slips back in between his spread legs.
Drift shouts softly into Perceptor's mouth as the sniper rocks against him, the microscope answering by whimpering when their codpieces roll together.
Reluctantly tearing their lips apart, Drift chuckles breathlessly, "Eager?" He teases, but not unkindly, eyes roving hungrily over the wanton spread of Perceptor's legs, clinging onto Drift with his dermal plating hot and flushes, lips brushed with energon throbbing beneath the metallic dermal skin.
"Ooh!" Perceptor mewls in frustration, sliding his thigh up along Drift's side, the sword-wielder's hands feeling as if they were moving and caressing everywhere. The sniper shuddering in quicksilver delight when the white mech runs his hand up the backside of the stretched limb, gripping the microscope by his posterior, and thrusting their codpieces together hard and slow.
Drift kisses and soothes his partner's whimpers and soft cries, raining the press of smooth lips over Perceptor's cheeks and forehead as the sniper grinds helplessly against him, interface arrays humming and throbbing at their counterpart's proximity.
Impatiently settling between the sniper's thighs, Drift gropes for the interface panel thrumming hot against his; whispering and cajoling the mech to open wide, probing and teasing the sealed plating, beseeching Perceptor to welcome him inside.
The red and cobalt mech can not resist for very long, only punishing Drift for so long; teasing him by mewling and tossing his head left and right for half a breem, glossa tracing his slick lips as he shudders and sighs, but does not allow Drift access until the microscope is good and ready.
Drift murmurs an excited cry as the plating snaps open. Dipping two fingers into Perceptor's port, moaning at the tight vice surrounding the black appendages. Mindful not to rush too fast, his thrusts are measured, deliberately scrapping the walls of Perceptor's port, pumping his thumb against the lip of the valve, the pressure and friction combining together into a force that cannot be ignored. Perceptor's vocoder snapping unintelligible words, static pocketing in random moments, mouth open wide in a soundless scream as he thrusts against Drift's fingers and splayed hand.
Drift can't last much longer, processor downloading every astrosecond as he watches Perceptor writhe and arch, chassis' bumping together, the sniper silencing his sharp cries by welding his hand over his mouth, twisting his other hand into Drift's hip, trying to drag the mech tightly to him.
The sword-wielder yanks his fingers free, dragging a sharp, muffled wail of loss from Perceptor.
Drift stretches up the length of Perceptor's chassis, twisting the two mech's intertwined frames around, guiding them to lie supine upon the scratched, smooth floor.
Locking their interface array together, Drift bites down on his howl of bliss by sinking his denta into Perceptor's collar as he sinks into the sniper, cable spearing its intended target.
Perceptor's vocoder warbles a stream of shrill clicks and an exultant cry of surprise when the sword-wielder mounts him, clinging to the mech tight. Looping a leg over Drift's rolling hips and pulling him taut, both mechs groaning together as the white mech's cable sinks as far as it can go, Perceptor's port walls trembling around the length, clenching like a tight glove. A perfect fit.
"P-Primus. Perceptorrrrr.." Drift's voice is wrought with static, gasping, a metallic flavor of spilled energon lacing his mouth, the sword-wielder soothing the weeping bite that he has left on his mate's throat. Perceptor murmuring into his audio, soothing the mech's apology.
"Please move.." Perceptor gasps, hands sliding down and clasping onto Drift's trembling hips. The sniper rocking back, moans followed by Drift's snarl as Perceptor slides partially free, the glistening cable gleaming between their entangled frames, "…please, Drift. Please…I need you…Please!"
Drift lunges forward, sealing their mouths with a vow of obedience. Stifling the metallic shriek as he lunges forward, thrusting into the sniper, his plunges possessing not a shred of control or reigned tempo; merely seeking to bind himself tighter and deeper with his partner, chasing and swallowing every sharp cry, lapping and biting at Perceptor's mouth whenever the sniper dared to draw silent even for a moment.
Perceptor's hands twitch, shakily creeping up Drift's back strut. Reaching up and fondling the sensitive, smooth, sharp audio receptors. Drift gasping into the caress, hips pumping even faster, moaning into the trembling mouth as Perceptor attempts a game of coaxing his partner into an early overload by cheating and stroking the susceptible acoustic structures.
Not if Drift beat him to it first.
Fighting dirty, Drift leaned over, mouthing the lens of the sniper's scope. When Perceptor shuddered, the sword-wielder went even further, scrapping his fingertips down the thick plated glass of his microscope tray, the friction rattling Perceptor's composure, while Drift gnashed his denta into the clasps mounting the scope onto the microscope's shoulder, causing the mech to swoon and a bright flush of energon to pool beneath his facial dermal plating.
"Drift!!"
That voice…Perceptor throwing his helm back, singing the sword-wielder's designation to the ceiling as if he were ringing out a prayer to Primus. The sniper moaning, arching once, then twice, against Drift's chassis, grasping onto his partner while his systems screech to a grinding halt as overload tears through them, the heady pulse snapping through his processor, nearly tossing him offline as his frame trembles and writhes against Drift.
The sword-wielder hangs on, Perceptor's frantic squirming and thrusts dragging an answering response. Drift's chin dropping onto his chassis as he thrusts a scant few times more until he seizes tight, pushing Perceptor flat upon the floor, a groan rattling throughout his chassis as he overloads. Perceptor squeaks in surprise as the warm tingle of Drift's overload fills him, scouring his insides with the sword-wielder's dark essence, the heavy oil spilling past the brim of his valve.
"…Primus…" Perceptor wheezes, his vents simply giving up in their desperation to cool his frame down. The sniper gasping through his mouth instead and the sweet draught of atmosphere floods throughout him a successful measure to calm him, but much slower, giving him time to absorb the warmth and coppery musk of their interface. Drift leisurely sprawled across him, the mech not in any hurry to separate from his partner. Perceptor wiggles his hips left and right, dragging a mumbled growl from Drift and a cringe from the microscope, the red and cobalt mech grimacing as the combination of oil and lubricant continues to seep free, and slowly begins to dry, caking their hips and thighs, "I'll let you explain to Kup why we are half an orn late from our patrol." Perceptor grumbles, tweaking Drift's sharp audio with his fingertips.
He isn't too surprised when Drift mutters mulishly, settling more comfortably atop the microscope. Winding his arms around Perceptor's shoulders and refusing to release his sputtering partner until they have both recharged and gathered their strength.
Perceptor promised that if Kup didn't toss them into the base's makeshift brig for their misbehavior, the sniper would personally toss Drift onto his aft end and lock the sword-wielder outside their quarters if the stains did not come off his armor by the time they gave their report to their squad leader.