Chapter 11: Attraction
Hi folks, sorry for the chapter delay. Life has been both very busy and kind of crummy for a bit. On the up side, its finally summer, and the Day Job has excellent AC. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!
On a somewhat related note, a couple of people have asked for the location of the original (still ongoing) version of this fic. It's on the Transformers Anonymous Kink Meme on Livejournal (tfanonkink). It would be sticky responses, part two, page two. If you go there and post anything, pretty, pretty please read all of the comm. rules and guidelines. It's a really great, supportive group, and spawns many a great idea. In fact, it actually got me to stop lurking and start posting stuff. Very NSFW, and unsuitable for minors. Like this here fic, in fact.
Everything you see belongs to Hasbro, Takara or some affiliate. Only the jokes are mine.
Megatron and Starscream at the edge of the mesa, sharing an energon cube between them. Both mechs were uncharacteristically silent.
It was early morning, a few hours past dawn. The sky was a glorious, endless blue, Terran avians wheeling through it here and there. The quiet was relaxing. Starscream glanced at his leader. "You know she would never willingly have stayed." He said, voice unusually soft. "She lover her friends and comrades, loves being part of Prime's science team. The lot of them make the Iacon Science Academy look like a pit of sharkticons by contrast, never mind Decepticon HQ. The infighting and violence she saw last time she was among us horrified her."
Megatron sighed. He remembered the two femme medics from the gladiatorial arena. They had been so unhappy there. They probably would have been Autobots too, if they had survived the beginning of the war. Skyfire was a bit like Torchweld might have been, had she the opportunity to finish maturing. A gentle spark, built to repair and nurture, not to fight. The Decepticons were entirely organized around individual strength. There was no place in their hierarchy for non-combatants, and it seemed really uncouth to imprison a femme who had just shared such processor-bending pleasure with him. The brig would be unsafe, and she would be lonely (and probably flier-claustrophobic) if left locked in his quarters.
He was reluctantly forced to concede that his Air Commander's point. The Decepticon base was no place for a lone femme, let alone a civilian. If Skyfire had still been here when he woke, he would have kidnapped her back to the Nemesis, but it probably wouldn't have gone well. It rarely did, when he thought with his interfacing drive. The recent occurrence was an unusual exception.
"Oh shut up, Starscream." He said.
Skyfire shifted uneasily on her pedes. She really needed to talk to Optimus immediately and tell her about Megatron. The fact that the Decepticon leader had been able to smell Optimus on her plating and found it automatically arousing was extremely telling.
Skyfire had a few history files regarding female Primes, mostly gleaned from the less-than-reputable source of the historical novels she had read as a youngling. At the time, she had sighed over the romantic idea that a femme Prime without a Lord High Protector would start attracting candidates automatically, but in her youthful imaginings, it had never occurred to her that one of those candidates might be a terrifying, merciless warlord who wanted to subjugate every sentient being in the galaxy.
She could be wrong in her conclusion, of course. After all, Optimus was a beautiful and charismatic femme and had previously been a handsome, charismatic mech. It was only reasonable for Megatron to be attracted to her. Frag, so was she. So were most of the Cybertronians on Earth.
But most of those mechs and femmes were only noticing their Prime's cyber pheromones on a subconscious level or when she was physically nearby. They weren't so strongly aware of it that they could easily discern the scent on another's plating, after merely enough contact to help wash, dry and polish armor.
It wasn't like the two of them had indulged in a torrid bought of interfacing before Skyfire had gone off to meet Starscream, after all. The scent wasn't that strong, and Megatron was no tracker or medic build. For him to have noticed it so intensely, he would have to be specifically keyed to Optimus.
She must tell her leader, and to do that, she was also going to have to explain the situation, and that involved telling the Prime that she had interfaced with her greatest enemy, who was probably also her chief suitor. Multiple times. With extreme enthusiasm. Perhaps she could gloss over that part. On the other servo, Optimus deserved to know that Megatron had the necessary berth skills…
Of course, the Prime was in meetings all day, discussing their strategy for dealing with the current circumstances. Perhaps Skyfire could wait to confess about fragging her chief enemy and suitor for a bit. Yes, towards the end of duty shift, and she would bring Optimus a nice cube of energon as a peace offering.
Prowl welcomed her lover back to the base with a restrained embrace, willing to wait until they had privacy for any further intimacy. She suffered through endless briefings, provided analysis alongside Red Alert, and tried not to squirm at the miasma of heat and pheromones that Optimus was exuding.
She caught Ratchet's optic and tilted her head towards the Prime. The medic gave a tiny nod. She would take care of ameliorating their leader's condition as best she could.
Prowl herself was ridiculously keyed up. It was highly annoying. She felt like a youngling who had just discovered interfacing, and had nothing else on her processor. She couldn't wait to get Jazz back to their quarters. Perhaps she should "discipline" her lover for "cheating" on her with the Decepticon communications officer. Or perhaps not. She didn't think she would be able to do much teasing in her current condition. She wanted Jazz sprawled beneath her in the berth, and she really wanted something long and hard in each of her ports. Ideally, both those conditions would be met at once.
The command staff were taking a brief break, when she was suddenly jerked into a supply closet by a small black hand with sharp and deadly claws adorning it.
"Need ya, Prowler." Jazz growled. "Can't wait till later." The femme shoved her to the back of the closet, and into a seated position on a large crate. Prowl eagerly spread her thighs as the femme knelt between them. She lapped eagerly at the interfacing array covers, and Prowl retracted them with a soft sound of pleasure. Jazz growled in response.
"Ya look so hot like that, Powler. All spread out and wanton, waitin' for me to make ya come. I wish I had time to overload ya over and over and over…but that's gonna have ta wait."
"Jaaaaaaazz…" Prowl moaned breathily. She reached out to her lover, caressing her helm and shoulders as the femme lapped greedily at her ports. A glossa insinuated itself into her anterior port and she arched up into it. Jazz grabbed her thighs and pressed her back down. Then, the wicked saboteur triggered her sonics, a low bass vibrating through her body and into Prowl's port.
The chevroned femme stuffed a servo into her mouth to muffle her shriek of pleasure, and came hard, her optics blazing and lighting up the tiny room with an azure glow.
She faded out for a brief time in a wonderful relaxed state, feeling the hot mouth of her lover lapping at the lubricant streaking her thighs. She purred in contentment. Jazz started to get up, and Prowl took the opportunity to turn the tables. Her arms were around the other femme in a flash, and the turned and deposited her partner with her chassis on the crate and her pedes on the floor. She pressed into Jazz's aft, grinding against the hot metal of her port covers.
"Just where do you think you're going, hmmm?" she purred into the femme's audio.
The saboteur made a sexy-humorous "eep!" sound as she arched desperately into Prowl's hands as they swept along her back and sides. "Ooooh, Prowler, I thought ya had to get back to Prime…"
The tactician growled her engine and scrabbled in her subspace for a moment, arousal making her clumsy as she searched for the item she had stored there. "Hopefully, Prime is currently experiencing sufficient overloads to stop driving me insane. In the meantime, I'm going to treat my lover to a little item that Wheeljack so generously fashioned for me the other day."
Prowl leaned down to purr into Jazz's audio. "Did those tentacles Soundwave was trying to get your attention with heat you up? He has what, six of them? Imagine, one in your mouth, one in each of your ports, or perhaps a pair of them, twined together, thrusting in and out of you, the rest holding you in place, your legs spread. I could have the engineering staff create a drone that would do that, you know. I could sit and watch, while you overload over and over…"
The u shaped object from her subspace was in her servo now, a handle with two thick phalluses attached. It was a bright Autobot red, and designed to her specifications. It was intended to fill both of a femme's ports simultaneously, and she used it to do just that.
Prowl pressed the toy slowly into Jazz, both the artificial spikes sinking into the femme's wet, needy body. She writhed beneath Prowl, who was holding her down with one arm and her full weight, as the ops head's servos scrabbled for purchase on the crate that supported her as the two thick, ridged objects spread her wide.
"Prooooowl!" she gasped. "Oh Primus! Do it harder!"
"As you desire." The tactician said, a feral smile on her face plates. She adopted a hard, driving rhythm with the toy, enjoying the way Jazz moaned and gasped and ground back against the invading objects that her partner was thrusting into her soft, wet ports with careful, measured force.
"Aaaaah!" Jazz cried out as she climaxed, clenching around the spikes, thrashing slightly and then subsiding. Prowl almost wished that the closet had a security camera so she could have a film of their tryst; it was a breathtakingly erotic show. Jazz was always gorgeous, but there was just something about the way she looked after a good hard fragging, so wanton and satisfied. Tiny electric jolts shook her frame, which pinged slightly as it cooled. She was still sprawled chest down on the sturdy crate, with the spikes buried in her ports, and Prowl was more than a bit temped to go for another round, but unfortunately duty called.
Jazz turned over, smiling softly up at her. "Love ya, Prowler." She said.
"And I love you, Jazz." The usually stoic second in command said. She leaned over and brushed a gentle kiss over her partner's helm, grateful beyond words that for all the many changes that they had gone through, some things endured.