40-Sight
AN: Some serious crack and extreme voyeurism goin' on. You've been warned...
Our room is completely dark. All I can see is the bright iridescent glow of his optics from across the room. The blue light illuminates his face just enough, and he looks like some ghostly apparition. His expression is a look of pure ecstasy. He keeps biting his lower lip plate, and as wrong as it sounds I'd really like to know what it would feel like to kiss him.
I'm vaguely aware of a strong pair of arms holding me on my side. I can feel the vibration of Sideswipe's thundering engine against my back. Fingers dig into my hip strut and flutter over my chassis. His glossa is flitting over the wires in my neck. He'll flare his field against my fully open and willing field only to pull back. I wish he'd stop teasing and just finish me already.
He clenches and unclenches his fist. The notion of uncurling his digits and sliding my glossa around them, between them. It won't escape my processors. I yearn to guide his fingers to where I really want to be touched, and where Sideswipe refuses to touch. Underneath the plating between my legs, or my static filled interface port...
The way he arches his back and whimpers, I can only assume Sunstreaker is doing the same thing to him.
His parted mouth, the dark silhouette of his door wings, and the smooth contours of his hips become the sole object of my fixation. Sideswipe's torment is reduced to a distant tingling in my chassis. I shouldn't focus on him. I shouldn't even be watching them. I should be trying to wither out of Sideswipe's firm grasp and take what I want from him.
Still, I have this sick desire to reach out and touch him, but the berth across the room might as well be a million miles away. I want to kiss him hard and full on the mouth. I want to press my palms against his door wings. I'd like nothing more than to let my fingers roam over his chevron.
I want what we're both being denied.