This marks the start of a series of drabbles that'll probably center around a certain pairing, just because I'm super OCD like that. But I won't promise that it will, because sometimes I'm hit by a muse and it's something entirely different.
There are what I said: drabbles. They're short and relatively plot-less. Something I've probably spit out (unedited, oh Primus help us all) just to make my inner Voice of Creativity shut up. Some (like this one) may be what earn this "fic" the rating of "M." ;D
This one came to be because my muse snuck up behind me and hit me over the head with something hard. While I was unconscious, it slipped into my brain and wrote this short thing, then took control of my body and typed it up. It's movie-verse, (probably) set during the first movie, because my muse decided to be detailed, for once.
Enjoy, and feel free to review!
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Intense
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Hands, such tiny, cool hands, touching him, stroking and petting everything they could reach. He could feel the angles of knees against his windshields, a pleasant weight, as those questing fingers searched his chest plates. They ghosted over him, tips only barely touching, focusing on finding it, achieving their goal. They framed his windshields, mapping its proportions, pressing harder here and there, determined, and oh Primus there it was.
He let out a rumble, somewhere between a groan and a purr of his engine, and those fingers paused for a moment. He could see the smirk even through offlined optics, feel the satisfaction radiating from the form on his chest. The fingers pressed down again, harder, and he shook a little with the effort not to arch his back. He felt gears and cords moving inside him, responding to the touch now dragging up and down along the seam in his chest plates. Slowly, they worked into the seam, wiggling a little and sending delightful shocks through his neural network of circuits. His engine roared for a moment, drowning out his moan of pleasure and defeat.
A simple internal command from his CPU was all it took to throw the gears inside him into motion. They sped up, retracting his plates, the two windshields separating. He heard a soft curse of surprise and the barest smile tugged at his lip components for a split second.
As soon as his plates were locked into their positions, exposing the very core of him, he onlined his optics. A bright blue glow was the first thing he saw, but looking past it he could make out the small, lithe form still crouched on the left half of his chest. Their gazes met, and behind that deep brown stare he saw a flicker of blue. Then the moment was broken as the boy looked away, back into the glow.
He offlined his optics again, preferring to feel everything and see nothing. He felt hands and knees carry a light body to the edge of the hole in his chest, could feel the burning gaze examining his spark. His essence pulsed in response, and he knew the whole room had been illuminated for that short moment. A small groan told him that his partner was pleasured by such a reaction, and tingles flew through his circuits again. He could feel the energy slowly building up, and he knew it wouldn't take much of this practiced routine for him to reach his peak.
It began as simple touch, a graze of a cool fingertip over a bundle of wires. His internal fans kicked in and he shuddered, unable to resist the urge to arch up. The boy was not thrown from him, however; he merely gripped the edge of the panel and hung on, hand still reaching down. He wrapped his fingers around the bundle he'd previously grazed, rubbing ever so gently with the pad of his thumb. His temperature was cool enough against the heating metal that it brought a shiver to the bot's back strut. His own huge fingers curled up into a similarly giant palm, making a tremendous effort to keep from stopping the incessant teasing of that thumb, the slow, torturous stroking of the whole hand up and down the bundle of wires.
"Please," he croaked out. He could swear his processor was physically splitting in two.
The boy didn't say anything, but he tightened his grip. A pressure and the sensation of cloth moving over his chest told the mech that he was pulling himself forward. He didn't stop until his entire top half was dangling into the hole, waist pressed against the thin edge of his chest plate. Fingers grazed his spark chamber. He cried out before offlining his voice capacitor, unwilling to be a loud as unchecked reactions dictated. A gentle slap to some cords, another brush of the chamber, and a mouth, gloriously wet and strangely cool, against that previous bundle of nerves had him bringing it back online. So his lover wanted him to be vocal. He would oblige.
It wasn't long before he was sure he was drowning in sensation. Lips, a tongue, teeth, fingers and fingernails and a firm grip teased and tormented him, each one somehow managing to touch a different part of him. More than once those gentle, fleshy, cool digits brushed his spark chamber, and each time he jerked, intakes hitching in response. His core temperature shot up, and he vaguely wondered why the boy was unharmed by the hot metal before remembering the circumstances. He moaned, engine revving as he began to shudder. Electricity crackled through his circuits, his spark pulsed faster and glowed brighter. He became almost completely unrestrained, twitching and grunting in response to anything that sent a tingle through him.
He felt the boy slide a little further into his chest, just enough to do the most amazing thing. His right hand abandoned the cord it had been toying with and gave his spark chamber a firm caress. The beginning shudders of overload started, but the boy wasn't done; he slid his hand into one of the cracks in the casing, the ones much to small for a Cybertronian but just big enough for a human hand, and touched his spark.
With a violent jerk that almost sent the boy tumbling into the depths of his chest and a cry that nearly shook the walls, Optimus Prime overloaded. Acutely aware of the fingers still gripping the edge of his chest plate, he called out to his lover.
"Sam!"
A small moan was all the response he heard, but he knew the other had found release as well.
Then, as the tremors began to subside, his intakes trying to regulate themselves, and the slight weight disappeared from his chest, Optimus onlined his optics and spoke a different name, the name of his true lover,
"Bumblebee..."
He sat up, still shaking a little, and a yellow hand reached out to support him. The touch was gentle, the coolness all too familiar. The blue mech lifted his head, focusing on the kind face positioned lower than his. The mouthpiece prevented any kind of motion as he spoke, but the mech's voice clearly came through his newly repaired voice capacitor.
"That was more intense than last time," he said softly, poking fun at his commander and bondmate.
Optimus chuckled and shook his helm, reaching out to play with Bumblebee's right antenna. The small bot's optics narrowed with a smile that his non-mouth couldn't display, and he snuggled himself closer. His optics shuttered when Optimus closed his chest, plunging the pair into darkness.
A few minutes later, the two fell into recharge together, wishing the universe would remain this peaceful forever.