Title: All's Fair *
Verse: G1 AU
Series: None
Rating:M
Warnings: Dub-Con, Non-con, Implied Sticky, tactile. =X
Pairings/Characters: Bluestreak/Onslaught
Notes: This is Shibara and requiem_revista's fault.
Summary: Turnabout is fair-play.
Words: 566
Prompt:13."we had sex...oh my god...I don't believe it, we had...sex..."
Onslaught eyed the little gunner on his berth. He had put up one pit
of a struggle when captured. It was surprising, pleasantly so. He had
never taken the sharp-shooter for being such a spit-fire. He
listened, hearing Bluestreak's system cycle up as he finally came
online. "So good of you to join the land of the functioning, autobrat."
Bluestreak's optics flickered online, and he glared as he sat up and
seemingly ignored the bigger mech. He was running hot, but he always
did in times like these. He didn't like hand to hand combat, but
danger, it wasn't far from an aphrodisiac to the little Autobot. He
watched the combiner, and his gaze grew calculating.
Onslaught watched him, a smart reply dying on his vocal processor
before if made its way out of his lip-plates. He wasn't entirely
sure what to make of the calculating look on the Autobot's face, or for
him to move so fast when he made up his processor. "Autobrat, that's so clever. Is that really the
worst thing you can come up with? Because I'm pretty sure I've been
called much worse. Why are you even here? I figured I'd be thrown to
Vortex, not you. You don't usually interrogate prisoners do you?
Or did you have something else in mind?" Onslaught had hardly expected to
have a handful of warm, willing Autobot in his arms; or the gunner's
nimble little fingers working into his seams.
"What the frag do you-"
Bluestreak giggled, pushing against him until they both flopped down
on the berth. "What? Not what you had in mind?" Bluestreak said,
smirking as he straddled the Combaticon's hips and ground their
interface panels together.
Onslaught's lips quirked up into a smirk of his own as he decided to
'just go with it'. He could already feel his gestalt-mates' curiosity
about what he was doing. He closed the bond on his end, he'd worry
about explaining that later, if he explained it at all, and turned
his full attention on the little Praxian. "Keep doing that little
bot, and I'm going to throw you down and frag you so hard you won't be
able to stand for a cycle."
Bluestreak smirked, for once not scared in the least by the
Decepticon's threats. "Promise?" His interface panel snicked open.
"I'd love to see you try."
Onslaught grinned, he always loved a challenge.
OoOoOo
Bluestreak onlined feeling as though he had gotten into the Twin's
highgrade stash. Worst processor ache ever. He frowned, feeling warm
all over, and heating metal underneath him. Hardly how he usually
onlined. He finally onlined his optics, and barely caught himself
before he let out a loud squeak, as the events of the last night came
back to him in a rush. "We had sex...oh my god...I don't believe it,
we had...sex..."
Onslaught leered up at him, "More than once, as I recall." He looked
down at the little Praxian, he was a mess. A complete mess of
streaked transfluid and paint transfer. It was hot. More than hot.
Onslaught's fans kicked on. "You rode my gun like it was going out of
style."
Bluestreak's own fans kicked on. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"I recorded it." Onslaught smirked.
"Blackmail?" Bluestreak asked, a tiny bit of curiosity, and oddly
enough, approval in his tone.
"I thought it might be...useful for future reference."
"Even better."