Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes and Warnings: Total crack. This fic is based on a prompt involving Transformers "leaking energon fluid, like a period" that I saw on the LJ community tf_bunny_farm. If you don't like sticky, read on at your own risk.
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Hands gripped his helmet, tightly. Lips crushed against his in a kiss, a contoured blue-and-white chest plate crushed against his bumper. They were mouth to mouth and knee to hip, slim white thighs straddling his, tangent, until Mirage listed toward the berth while Hound slid his hands down over Mirage's skidplate, lifting him. Until Hound grabbed his thighs and yanked him off his knees and their lips tore askew when Mirage landed on his back on the berth, with Hound hovering above him.
"Missed me?" Hound grinned against the corner of Mirage's jaw.
"Mmm… You were only out on patrol!"
"Too long. The whole time, all I thought about was doing this." A bite to the plating over a fuel line in Mirage's neck, and the mech gasped sharply. "To." Hound's glossa soothed the dented metal. "You."
"You are – oh! – You are absolutely..." Mirage's backstrut angled upward, the sensuous arc of spring tempered metal opening up enough room for Hound to slip his hands between the berth and Mirage's chassis. Mirage curled his fingers into Hound's wheel wells and held on while Hound stroked as much of his spoiler as he could reach.
The spy's frame was trembling, heating up to him, engine purring. He looked so good splayed out beneath Hound, his expression so open and openly filled with need. Hound could feel Mirage's field overlapping his, could have brought them into sync and made them both overload hard then and there – the urge to do so was strong, but it could wait. He could wait, and it would be worth it to pay Mirage a little extra attention. Just as it always was.
He was still licking and nibbling Mirage's throat, Mirage turning his head to the side to give him access, making keening little sounds of pleasure whenever Hound's fingers brushed sensitive spots. A final nip to the cable he was teasing, and then Hound pressed his lips to the depression at the base of the throat, glossa flicking out between them. Mirage's engine gave a rev.
"What - what are you doing?"
The only answer Hound gave was his glossa sliding down the center line of Mirage's midsection, over the gleaming white armor of his waist. Releasing the spoiler, he dragged his fingers down seams at Mirage's sides, scraping the plating. Mirage gasped and twisted under his hands beautifully. Encouraged by the deep cycling of Mirage's air intakes, he shifted further down Mirage's body and touched his glossa to a curve of blue pelvic plating.
At the same time, he made to push Mirage's knees up, only to feel Mirage's whole body freeze. "No, wait…" Mirage whimpered.
Hound ignored it and pressed his fingers against an inner crural seam, knowing that in moments, Mirage would be shuddering in pleasure, crying out for –
"Hound, no!" Mirage gasped, clutching at Hound's wheel wells.
He didn't want to stop, but Mirage's grip on his shoulders was insistent. Reluctantly, he stopped moving, and propping himself on his elbows, shot a look up the length of Mirage's body.
"What's the matter?" His fingers kept up their movements at the top of Mirage's leg. "I thought you liked that."
"I do," Mirage whispered, fidgeting. His optics flicked from Hound's face to fix on the space past his shoulder. "Just – not now."
Mirage shifted beneath him, hands pushing at Hound's, splayed out over the tops of Mirage's thighs. Hound's thumbs were stroking along the gaps at his groin; one of them brushed a little further, feeling out the edge of a panel between his legs. Mirage twitched at that, a plaintive burst of static coming from his vocalizer, and suddenly, the reason for Mirage's reluctance clicked.
Oh, Hound thought. That? But it wasn't like he hadn't known already, and if it didn't bother him, he didn't understand why it should bother Mirage. He'd noticed the smell of oil and energon and lubricant emanating from behind Mirage's pelvic plating. He was aware of it now, thick on his olfactory sensors. He smiled at Mirage, hot with desire for the mech.
"I don't mind. Really." Mirage flashed him a look, still trying to pull Hound's hands away from the panel. "I want to do this for you, Mirage. Want to make you feel good." He rubbed his cheek plate against Mirage's leg. "Open up for me."
"I don't want to. Please, Hound…"
"Open up," he whispered against the inside of Mirage's thigh. "It hasn't kept us from doing things before."
"Not this, Hound. Will you st…"
"I want you so much, Mirage." His fingertips stroked the panel, and although Mirage balled his hands into fists at his sides, it clicked open. Mirage let out a short, frustrated whimper, trying to twist away from him, but Hound held Mirage's hips to the berth, keeping him there.
"Hound," Mirage's voice wavered and fell silent.
"Just relax. Let me do this."
Two fingers pushed into Mirage. Hound caught the end of the rolled-up shammy towel between his fingers and tugged it out, then reached over the edge of the berth and dropped it to the floor.
Mirage gave a shudder, his hands still tightly clenched, pressed hard against the berth to either side of his hips as a trickle of fluid, darker than energon, welled up and dripped out of him with nothing to absorb it. Hound watched it roll down along a transformation seam, then licked it from Mirage's plating before it reached the berth, feeling the grit of suspended particulates on his glossa.
Mirage gasped, limb-locked while Hound lapped the paneling clean. When he was done, Hound drew back for just a moment. "I love the way you taste, Mirage." He flicked his glossa against the side of the open panel and Mirage twitched, barely stifling a moan.
Hound placed his lips on the same spot and sucked gently, revving at the way Mirage whimpered, his whole chassis trembling, responding to him. "You're so hot, like this," he whispered as he pushed a knee up and to the side for better access to run his glossa around the edges of the opening before slowly sliding it into Mirage. He swirled his glossa inside the tight space, curling an arm under Mirage's thigh, fingers wrapping over his knee to hold it out of the way; he plunged deeper, pushed his glossa to the slick upper wall, licking over and over again, pointed it up into knots of wires, hard and bundled on the other side of the tubing.
Mirage moaned, no longer able to stifle the sound. Pulling back briefly to look at Mirage, Hound swiped his fingers over his mouth, took them away and found them purpled with energon.
Mirage was watching him, optics dark and flickering. His expression was almost impossible to read, a shifting blend of emotions, embarrassment and want. Locking his optics with Mirage's, Hound put his fingers in his mouth to suck them clean, Mirage lightly chewing on his lip as he looked on.
Hound's fingers glistened when he pulled them out of his mouth and placed them at Mirage's entrance. He watched Mirage's face intently as his fingers breached him with little resistance, the other mech so obviously aroused that the sight of it made Hound's own EM field surge and throb with sharp, spiking energy. Slowly thrusting his fingers inside Mirage, Hound rasped, "Do you like this?"
"Y-yes."
"Want me to keep going?"
Mirage hesitated for only a moment, only until Hound's fingers stilled inside of him, pads pressed to a spot Hound knew to be especially sensitive. "Yes. Please – don't stop."
Good, Hound thought. "Good. Mirage. Tell me what you want."
Dark, energon-purple oil leaked out, over his fingers, over Mirage's armor, onto the berth now, drops of it pooling beneath Mirage's aft, iridescent, and Mirage didn't seem to care anymore. His vocalizer hitched with a sudden cry. "Deeper. Ah, Primus! That wire..."
"This one?" Hound asked, feeling it, and let his fingers slide freely over the flexible inner wall. Rewarded with the sound of a harsh moan, Hound smiled at sign of pleasure, at the deep twitches Mirage's body gave. He lowered his face again, and put his glossa back to work, rimming the open panel while his fingers crooked and raked the tubing.
Mirage spread his knees wider and curled up to take hold of Hound by the sides of his helmet, fingers stroking the vents, then latching on more firmly.
"Hound – Hound, I'm about to…"
Feeling Mirage near his climax in the harsh, lashing surges of his energy field, Hound worked his fingers and glossa repeatedly over the oil-slicked inner walls of the duct.
Finally, Mirage arched sharply, strained metal groaning, and Hound knew that if he looked, Mirage's jaw would be clenched in overload. He knew that the sight of Mirage curled over him in its throes, riding it out in tight silence, would be blisteringly hot.
In spite of knowing this, Hound didn't allow himself the distraction. All his focus was on giving Mirage pleasure. He kept stroking and licking, thrusting with glossa and fingers until the spasms that racked Mirage's chassis peaked and dropped off and at last Mirage let out a short, shuddering cry.
When it was over, Hound sat back and pulled his fingers free of Mirage's still-leaking duct. Mirage slumped back to the berth, air intakes still working hard to cool him down, and a moment later, Hound moved himself to lie alongside him, turned on his side toward Mirage's thrumming body. His long, shapely legs were still splayed wide, one thigh resting against Hound's hip.
Mirage looked through dimmed-to-indigo optics as Hound wiped a smear of oil from his chin, grinning, and licked it off his hand.
Mirage frowned at him, tiredly. "Hound, that is…" Mirage's voice trailed off, but Hound could easily guess what he meant from his expression.
"No, it's not."
"You are…"
"Hungry for more of you, Mirage," he whispered. "Can't ever get enough."