Sunstroke

Rated: T (suggestive adult situations)

Yes, I decided to update earlier as a way of saying THANKS for the reviews. They fuel the muse and allow me to get my butt in gear and edit the random stuff I have piled up in in a folder. Hopefully, this wont disappoint.

Enjoy!

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Sunstreaker stretched liked a contented cat, his engine purring. It was rare to find the citrine twin in an affable mood, and having the day off while his brother worked a double shift due to a misinterpreted prank, meant the golden warrior was feeling particularly good this morning. He stretched the length of the berth, hearing the pops and groans associated with his elegant frame and mentally counted off their sequence. With a disgruntled moan he slipped off the berth, his pedes making a dull ringing noise. Usually he would have spent the day curled up on his berth, enjoying some of the freedom he had from his twin.

Sideswipe's constant presence could be irritating, especially when he was in one of his pranking moods, or wishing to vent frustration, anger, excitement, or any of the other emotions that plagued Sunstreaker's other half. Sideswipe led his life by emotions, Sunstreaker preferred to slaughter everything and let the cosmic forces sort out the carnage.

Eyeing his paints he felt a tinge of remorse, having used up three of his favorites colors during his last intense artistic 'Sideswipe-free' hours. The paints were on backorder, so Sunstreaker was metaphorically stuck in an artistic rut until his supply could be refilled.

Guess that meant he just had to work on his gorgeous body.

Grabbing a can of special solvent, ordered only via secured connection to a very selective dealer, Sunstreaker headed for the washracks. It was midmorning, and most bots had either come off of duty, or were already on shift. Those who had free time were probably with friends, enjoying the various activities each enjoyed. Many of the bots had a bet going with Smokescreen on who could collect the most human friends, using their charm, wit, and overall genial nature to win friendships. So far, Jazz was in the lead thanks to his musical ties.

Sunstreaker didn't have friends, Cybertronian or human. He had Sideswipe. That was enough for him. He didn't need to make friends and socialize with everyone and expect the world to cater to his eccentricities. He didn't need someone else to enjoy the same things, or expect him to be friendly and warm and all those loathsome things that made Sunstreaker's plating crawl.

He entered the washracks, closing the door with a soft click and switching on the 'occupied' light so no one would walk in on him if he chose to indulge in any questionable activities. The light had been installed by Wheeljack when several of the crew members were caught running around the wash racks in their protoform. It was a very delicate situation, as most of the mechs were very self conscious about their personal appearance. Sunstreaker had to admit, it was when one was at their most vulnerable. But sometimes, when Earthen debris and gunk filled sensitive joints, one had to strip down to clean themselves properly, then attend their armor before reinstallation. No one wanted to be perceived as weak and helpless, regardless of the fact they all were built along the same lines with the same equipment and faults.

Of course, Sunstreaker never admitted to having such faults. He had a few minor 'inconveniences' but never anything like what the other mechs shared. He was perfect. Well, as close to it as anyone could possibly get.

Sunstreaker turned on the showers, letting the steam fill the small room before he stepped under the spray. Methodically he cleaned, lavishing the solvent over his body and scrubbing until it shone like a gilded mirror. He was washing his face when he heard it.

A soft click, like that of a door being opened.

Sunstreaker allowed a soft smile, knowing what was to come. He had expected such a visit, though was a little perturbed it had taken the arrival so long. Without acknowledging the sound he continued to wash, his hands tracing his lines in an entrancing manner. The motion had the desired effect.

A hand brushed his shoulder, caressing the golden panel before slipping beneath the seam to a very sensitive junction.

Sunstreaker gasped into the exploration. The water fell across his shoulders, making it appear as if the gold was melting in response to the touch. With fleeting consideration he slammed his firewalls and mental barriers into place, lest Sideswipe be overcome. He never wanted to share these encounters. They were his, and his alone.

The finger lightly stroked the wires, feeling the cables flex with the building tension. A smile formed on the shadowed face as the finger withdrew from its place to begin tracing lazy patterns down the arm, where Sunstreaker readily offered himself without thought. Though he exuded a sense of danger and mistrust, he secretly enjoyed being touched. And times like this, where peace and quiet reigned, he was more susceptible to the advances. It was a time that he was rarely granted, so when the opportunity presented itself, he was more than happy to accommodate.

The digit left his shoulder, grazing his chestplate, and for a brief moment he wondered if the water would damage his spark if he was ever inclined to expose it. The question left his processor when the hand applied pressure, turning him around.

This game had been played for nearly as long as Sunstreaker could remember. And though he preferred to properly court and berth any potential mate, he found his excitement double as he relinquished control. It was nice to have someone else direct your body. Use it to their advantage. Make it theirs, possessing it with such a ferocity you lose yourself in their passion.

Oh yes. Sunstreaker enjoyed these encounters. He would never give them up, not as long as his spark beat.

The beads of water slid sensuously over his arms and the finger gentled pushed, directing his path.

Some warrior. Moved so easily and so compliant. And all with a single, commanding finger.

The wall to the shower greeted his back. Now the water ran over his face. He braced himself against the wall, relinquishing control to his manipulator. Beautiful, crystalline tears tracing the perfect visage of a mechanical god. His lips parted, feeling the beading sensation tickle his face, the water sliding down the smooth column of his throat. He kept his optics closed, relishing the sensations.

It was better this way. No need for optic contact or even affirmation of another presence. Just hands, and the delicious sensations they offered. There was no reason for words or pleasantries. Their touch was far too familiar for such a trivial thing.

No, all that mattered was the delicate strokes, the pressure, and the promise they held.

He was helpless, suspended in wanton need, to be owned and pleasured at a whim. And always, he was to submit. Never speak, never return touches. A blind, mute, helpless drone that centered its being on an elusive touch.

The finger soon became a hand, pressing in all the right places. Across the golden chest, lightly skittering over the Autobot sigil that observed the proceedings, and down across abdominal plating that contracted with the light ministrations. A hiss escaped before Sunstreaker could stop himself, and a weakness stole over his body. For a fleeting moment he wondered if he should slide to the floor, just in case his strength waned and he ended up scratching his beautiful paint. The thought left his processor when the hand slid down, lightly grazing the top of Sunstreaker's interface panel. He pressed into the wall, determined to maintain his self control.

He was a strong, capable warrior that destroyed more sparks than he'd care to admit. Nimble body, agile, though dark, mind. A haunted spirit that lashed out. A merciless killing machine that harbored no feelings of belonging and camaraderie other than what was sensed through the other half of his lifeforce. The only solace found was the other half of his spark that beat within another. No other mattered.

And then there was the rare, often sought moments such as this.

Where everything else faded away. There was no war. No suffering. No desire for death and destruction. No inkling of revenge and hatred. There was only peace. And the mesmerizing sensations that flittered over a battle-worn soul, soothing away the ache and pain and the fear. Quelling all thirst for vengeance and animosity. All held so tenderly in the talented hands of a phantom lover.

The hand massaged the edges of the panel, and Sunstreaker gasped, breath escaping in puffs from his vents. He groaned, finding the pressure to be achingly sweet. The heat coming from his frame was enough to cause the now cooling water to create steam. The hand cupped the heated metal, digits slipping between the seams in a slow, tantalizing request.

He obeyed, retracting the panel, his spike pressurizing instantly. The cooling water danced along his spike, eliciting a sharp intake, but it was quickly replaced by a sputtering gasp.

Fingers lightly caressed the tip of the spike, delicately spreading the drop of lubricant and stimulating the cluster of sensor nodes. His body gave an involuntary twitch, vents hitching in response. The fingers wrapped possessively around his spike, offering the faintest of pressure, before beginning its journey of discovery.

Sunstreaker could only pant in total submission, his memory automatically fixating on an encounter long ago of a particularly memorable pleasure house that only catered to the ultra-wealthy and influential. Sunstreaker's notoriety had garnered him more accolades and credits than any other artist on record, so naturally, his tastes were a little more discriminatory. He visited the pleasure house regularly, and always asked for the same femme. Many had called him a berth hopper and would have been greatly disappointed to learn the real truth.

Sunstreaker had been quite attached to the extremely talented little femme. Her black and silver body highlighted his in perfect tandem, and when his spike was sheltered in her valve, amazing things happened. He didn't know what was in there, or how she manipulated her body, but she had been the only one to bring him to such heights.

Just the thought of her valve and the little pleasurable gasps she made his processor spin. The hand grasped his spike, earning a hissing protest and making Sunstreaker focus on the present.

Finding an attentive audience once more, the hand circled, giving a slight twist to the tip, then undulated the fingers down the spike, tracing over the complex nodes and convoluted grooves.

It took all of Sunstreaker's self control not to thrust into that delicious sensation, but he prided himself on being able to withhold his pleasure. Keeping himself blissfully teetering with macho arrogance, giving his partner extended satisfaction, and in turn, ensuring his designation would grace their lip components for a long time. It would be an added bonus if his name slipped between pleasured gasps while with other partners. And then the realization that all other partners paled in comparison to the gorgeous golden mech.

Sunstreaker smirked to himself. Damn, he was good. And gorgeous, and Primus if he wasn't already racing to the climax at an alarming speed! Perhaps the prolonged absence of attention was to blame for his abnormally fast finish, but he gritted his denta, determined to withhold as long as he could.

Normally he'd love taking the checked flag, but this was a race he wasn't willing to end just yet.

A long drawn purr vibrated in his chest at the thought of racing. It always did a mech's ego good to push themselves to the limit, thunder above the competition, feel the road roughly beneath you as the wind caressed your grill. The roar of the crowd, the cheers of exultation, every voice chanting your designation in a sultry mantra and the enticing femmes screaming for you and willing to do anything you desire.

Their bodies. Their curves. The heat and tightness and the delicious sounds they made when he touched them. The feel of their slight bodies being molded to his much more powerful, dominating frame. The image of one femme in particular stood out in his fantasy. Her frame was slightly smaller than his, with black and silver plating, and melodic sounds coming from her vocalizer as he felt that wonderful valve welcome him without hesitation.

Sunstreaker moaned, and without warning, a sudden tight warmth enveloped his spike, and by Primus if it didn't feel almost identical to the valve of the pleasure bot. The rhythm was slightly off and there was a distinct tightness near the middle of the spike, and not on the end, where the main clusters of sensors were located. It was close enough though.

Sunstreaker felt his resolve crumble.

He tilted his head back against the wall, allowing the cool water to caress his face as the first wave of his overload tingled his sensor net. He wanted so badly to grasp a body and bury himself so deep he'd need a map to find his way back into his own processor, but that type of interaction wasn't permitted. He wasn't allowed to see nor touch. Merely be a puppet to very talented hands that were master of his world.

Instinctually he thrust toward the clenching heat, the added friction triggering the final stages of his overload. Several short grunts erupted as the heat tightened in response. With his body rattling with violent tremors, Sunstreaker thrust, circling his hips, jaw clenched as he rode out the rolling pleasure.

With a feral growl his body went rigid, his transfluid being lovingly drawn from his body.

As all conscious thought left, his mind broke wide open and unwillingly flooded the bond with his unsuspecting twin.

Up in the command hub, Sideswipe suddenly keened, his vocalizer pitching a series of delicious adjectives as his body jerked three times, before he faceplanted on the keyboard, completely unconscious. He remained motionless, the sound of his systems shutting down into recharge filling the silence.

Every one present stared in shock and confusion. A small voice in the back called out, "What in the name of Primus was that all about?"

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So, was Sunstreaker or alone or with someone? It's up to you. I didn't really elaborate either way. author does a happy dance

I'm not the best when it comes to this type of genre, but I'm very proud of myself for actually completing it. And I didn't laugh as much as I normally do when writing such things.

If you would like to see a bit more 'adult' adventures in the future, review and let me know. I have to have at least ten 'yes!' to even consider it. Like I said in "Aby of Darkness", this type of genre really isn't my strength. And I wrote this before I started on Aby, so go figure!

And a HUGE THANK YOU to those who continue to show support/Fav/ REVIEW/ and Alert this fic and the others that I'm proud of. (Aby of Darkness, I Swear, and Lost Voices) Most Fav and Reviewers follow all the fics and I just cant express how much your thoughts, ideas, suggestions have inspired and influenced me. I appreciate it on a cosmic scale.

(Throws pictures of naughty Lamborghinis)