a long drag becomes a slow dance and a halo of embers

[primebyproxy]

WHO: Ultra Magnus and Wing
WHERE: Whichever building Magnus felt was okay for him to adopt for himself
WHEN: Sometime vaguely early-ish in the sex pollen event
WHAT: The usual sex pollen shenanigans, really
WARNINGS: Smut


He isn't sure how it happened exactly, but Ultra Magnus is painfully aware that the odd flowers – there weren't such things on his Cybertron, only elaborate and delicate crystal growths that crumbled too soon after erupting – he'd been so curious about must have something to do with his current state. It's a burning ache in his every joint and seam that makes the trek back to his 'home' long and exhausting, and it's a worryingly familiar pressure in his lines, electricity running through his circuits. How the flowers did this to him, he also isn't sure of that. He is certain he can't take this to a medic; it's hardly a critical ailment. It's also much too embarrassing.

No, he can simply take some time privately to solve the issue, he thinks, and meanwhile thinks nothing of the sight he makes as he rushes through the streets with a harried, slightly sick look on his face until he transforms and drives instead for the added, critical speed. Buildings and streets go by in a blur, and if he passes anyone, he doesn't even realise it; he's too much focused inward trying to hold himself together until he's no longer in the public eye. Especially if that eye happens to fall on him disapprovingly – a worrisome thought that pushes him faster still.

Even worse than being like this is being seen like this, he decides, and gusts out a sigh of relief as he turns a corner and his door is in sight. Safety.

Magnus barely even registers unfolding himself and taking the last few steps before he's indoors and out of view, and then the door is shut behind him and he hurries deeper into the plain, austere little apartment he's claimed for himself. It's dark and quiet and lonely but instantly he feels more at ease; he settles, shivering now, onto the large pallet that serves as his bed with his arms wrapped round his elbows. He's much too warm, he knows; the heat makes his armour ping softly as temperatures shift and metal swells with the rising temperature. But maybe he can just… wait it out.

Already, he's forgotten about the front door that he didn't lock.

Comments

[primebyproxy]

For a very long moment, Wing gets no answer. Magnus is too enthralled by the slow, gentle touch of hands on his. Not pulling, not entrapping, not painful. Wing's hands are warm and careful and his touch soft; the pressure when he holds Magnus' hand is comforting rather than stifling. So he stares in rapt fascination, almost as if moving or speaking will break the moment and he'll wake up to find he imagined everything.

"Yes," he says, shyly, almost whispering. And it does help, just a little. It's relaxing at the least.

[knightlite]

Wing's whole face lights in a smile and he rubs gently at the center of Magnus' palm with slow fingertips, barely hesitating before he leans in to brush a soft, chaste kiss against the backs of his knuckles.

"I'm glad," he says, relaxing back again, his cooling fans churning and his optics lazy and sweet as he looks up into Magnus' face. "For me, too."

[primebyproxy]

The shiver that runs through Magnus as he watches Wing kiss his hand is visible, plating shifting and settling in a ripple that travels up his arm and down his back. It's such a simple gesture and yet it seems so intimate a thing to do. And to know that this is good for Wing, too, that he isn't being selfish asking for this time and this care.

"O-oh," he says, breathy, helpless. Another shiver clicks back up his frame and his optics brighten and then dim to a low, hot amber tone and he chews on his lip for a second or two. "…Could… would… you do that again… please?" he asks. It's okay like this. This is slow and careful. This is safe.

It's also nice.

[knightlite]

Wing looks a little surprised, then his optics sharpen, warm and intent as he leans in again and presses his lips to Magnus' fingers. It's... less chaste this time, somehow, his lips closed but lingering, dragging lightly against warm plating.

"I'm glad to," he murmurs, mouth brushing Magnus' fingers before he presses them down again, nuzzling delicate kisses to each of his knuckles before he turns his face, rubbing his cheek against them, his voice a low, resonating rumble in his chest. "Still good?"

[primebyproxy]

"Mm," Magnus hums in answer, optics dimming to embers. Maybe he's just overly sensitive because of… whatever those flowers did to him, because it's only his hand but he feels loose and staticky every time Wing's lips touch his plating, like he's sinking into a warm oil bath. Tension seeps from his frame little by little even though the need for more remains.

Dizzy with fascination and heat, he slowly traces his thumb along the curve of Wing's lower lip.

"I like… this," he admits softly.

[knightlite]

Wing's optics flare suddenly bright and snap up to Magnus' face, his lips parting under that delicate touch of thick fingers.

"Oh," he says, and a shudder wracks him, rattling his own plating as he resists the temptation to close his mouth around Magnus' finger, a soft, hungry sound pulled from his throat, just shy of a moan. He clears static from his vocalizer but doesn't pull away, just letting Magnus touch his face with soft fingertips and staring at him and hoping his expression is slightly more composed than 'naked hunger'.

"Me too. I like this too."

[primebyproxy]

Magnus doesn't quite smile when he hears those words, but his brow un-knits and the tension around his mouth slackens and he vents a deep sigh of too-hot air he didn't realise he'd been holding. If allowed, he keeps shyly exploring like this with his fingers, tentative but curious all the same, for a while longer. He's silent as he goes, save the hum of his ventilation as warmth continues building in his systems and his cooling fans work double-time to keep it under control, half-afraid that this is still some strange dream and he could break it at any moment with the wrong words.

But Wing says he likes this. And Magnus is not dreaming the pressure in his array still building, leaving him aching behind his interface cover. It's hard to shake the fear of how this could go, how badly it could go. But… maybe it could be all right, too.

"M… may I," he stammers, voice a loud whisper, expression caught between terror and longing, "kiss you?"

[knightlite]

"Oh," Wing says, his optics widening a little and sweeping up to lock onto Magnus' face. His voice is soft and stunned, lips parted, and heat lances through him helplessly as he stares up into Magnus' face. He fights to ignore the charge searing hot tendrils from his away, wrapping around him and drawing tight, pressing a quick kiss to Magnus' fingertips to try to mask any other more pressing reaction.

"You certainly may," he says, his voice static-soft. "If you'd like. I'd like that very much."

[primebyproxy]

Now Magnus does smile, a tiny, shy thing that vanishes quickly as he leans his head down. He's never actually kissed anyone before, not like this; but he's seen it, thought about it. He has no idea if he's doing it right. He hopes he's doing it right.

His hand slides down from Wing's chin to rest awkwardly on the pallet between them because it doesn't feel right to hold Wing in place but he doesn't know what else to do with himself. And slowly, half-afraid Wing will pull away at the last second, Magnus tilts his head and presses his lips to Wing's. Very briefly. Just long enough to feel how strangely soft it is, the warmth against his face, and ho it almost makes his own mouth tingle. It's… very nice. So he does it again, lingering a little more this time. It makes him shiver like when Wing kissed his hand, and his fingers curl into his palm.

[knightlite]

Wing hums low in his throat, a warm, pleased sound as Magnus' mouth touches gently to his. He doesn't lean in for more but he does shift, settling just a little closer and parting his lips to slide them gently against Magnus'. One hand comes up to stroke lightly at Magnus' cheek, a light shudder pulling through his frame as he smothers a moan, feeling Magnus' mouth press to his again.

Wing aches all over, charge arcing under his plating from his finials to his fingertips to the soles of his boots, strikes of lightning that all ground themselves in his array. But he doesn't push, doesn't demand, doesn't even really ask--just kisses Magnus softly and sweetly, touching his face and all but melting into him.

[primebyproxy]

The soft touches and softer sounds Wing makes stoke the low burn in Magnus' circuits and encourage him to be just a little bolder. He lifts his hand from the pallet to cup Wing's elbow, fingers light, and draw him in closer; his kisses turn slower and firmer, questing. Questioning. He's afraid to actually ask with words.

Words can sting. This… doesn't.

So he asks with the cautious tug of his lips, kissing each corner of Wing's mouth, pausing on his lower lip to lean in. Heat seeps through him from his core outward, leaving him a little light-headed, air blowing from his vents and hardly doing a thing to alleviate the pressure or the static in his arrays, the static that seems to trail behind Wing's fingers everywhere he touches. It feels good. Magnus sucks in a breath, shivers; it feels wonderful.

[knightlite]

Wing arches a little, scorching and pliant and utterly open under Magnus' broad hands, shifting into every slight touch and making warm, hungry little sounds as his own hands start to wander, tracing lightly over seams in Magnus' plating. His array aches behind his closed panel and he can feel lubricant slicking almost down to his knees, but he ignores it for now in favor of this, the sliding heat of Magnus' mouth and the soft touch of his hands.

He can't help a ragged little moan as Magnus' mouth shifts to brush his cheek, his head falling back to bare the long line of his throat, delicate cabling exposed, vulnerable and unselfconscious. He gasps for air through heaving vents, almost dizzy, his whole body responding to Magnus as he trembles against the need flooding him, trying not to let it sweep him under.

"You feel so good," Wing gasps, then bites his lower lip and shutters his optics, shivering fiercely. "This is, oh. I like this. Just this. Your hands..."