robothell | Catch-All For Cyclonus!

Entry tags:

wing | knightlite

Catch-All For Cyclonus!

WHO: Cyclonus and WHOEVER
WHERE: Around the city
WHEN: Sex pollen time
WHAT: Cyclonus disapproves of your new plant, Cybertron. Open to both Smut and non-smut if anyone wants to talk to a sexually frustrated Cyclonus
WARNINGS: Smut. Probably some angry Smut.

[A - Beginning]

Cyclonus carefully brushes metallic plants off of the forum console and is rewarded by multiple silver blooms opening up and engulfing him in a cloud of spores.

Backing away quickly, his fans gust a heavy burst of air, trying to purge his systems of the contaminant before it can clog his filters. Like he needs any more dust to wash from his body.

In tune with his body, Cyclonus notices the effects immediately, the early spark of heat that denotes arousal. He grits his teeth. There is nothing arousing about this situation. In fact, he rarely finds anything arousing. And yet the warmth is spreading beneath his plating.

That plant. Putting more distance between himself and the offending flowers, Cyclonus glowers at them and turns to leave, planning to ignore the growing heat until whatever it is passes through his systems.

How hard could it be?

[B - Later]

Cyclonus banks sharply, narrowly avoiding colliding with the side of a building, then drops into a partially controlled fall, transforming at the last moment for a clumsy landing, stirring up clouds of rust and dust.

He leans heavily against a nearby wall, thoughts clouded with crude fantasies caused by the burning flame of arousal those infernal plants lit within him.

He shouldn't have waited. He shouldn't have trusted it to simply fade. And now he can't even concentrate well enough to fly. He craves contact so fiercely, he aches for it.

Legs weak, he forces himself upright and tries to head in the direction of the clinic.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's all right," Wing says gently, but he doesn't reach for Cyclonus again, though his plating rattles in a hard shiver as Cyclonus pulls away. "I'm Wing."

He regards Cyclonus for a long moment before his lips tilt helplessly, his optics brightening. "You too, hmm?" he asks, his voice soft with static. "Can I--is there anything I can do to help?"

"Cyclonus," he answers in turn, though he doesn't offer his hand. Now is not the time for politeness or handshakes, regardless of how much his libido wants to interlace his claws with this stranger's fingers.

He gets progressively stiffer as Wing stares at him, sending warm prickles up his back and making him clutch harder for control. And still the static in Wing's voice and the acknowledgment that he's also in this... predicament almost undoes it all.

Crossing his arms defensively, he says, "I am fine."

The crackle and strain in his own voice says the opposite.

"I don't think anyone is particularly 'fine' this week," Wing says wryly, before he frowns a little, looking worried.

"...it doesn't go away if you just ignore it," he says quietly, his optics steady and bright on Cyclonus' face. "I tried. And it can be dangerous--you're already much warmer than you should be, and it will only get worse." He stops and nibbles his lower lip, not wanting to push but not wanting Cyclonus to damage himself either. "Are you--are you sure you wouldn't like a hand, Cyclonus? Even just some company? This can be... difficult to manage by yourself."

He does reach out, then, laying light fingertips on one of Cyclonus' elbows--earnest, but as unassuming and minimally invasive as possible.

Cyclonus only gets more tense the longer Wing speaks. He refuses to give into these base, chemical urges, no matter danger. He refuses. He should turn and leave right now.

But he can't move. Not with another Cybertronian so close, offering him relief from the burning inside his body. His optics drift down to Wing's lips, a tremor going through him as he watches teeth press into soft metal.

The touch is the last straw, his control snapping like a cable under too much tension. With a growl, he practically tackles Wing, head pushing forward to try and mash lips against lips.

Wing barely has a half-second to look startled as Cyclonus lunges for him before his instincts kick in. He coils like a spring and shifts, twisting in Cyclonus' grip to turn it back against him and holding on hard as he uses Cyclonus' momentum to spin them around and shove Cyclonus hard against the nearest wall, pinning him strategically to give him as little leverage as possible. He vents raggedly for a moment, his body pressed full-length to Cyclonus' and his array throbbing, the heat gathering in him suddenly much more insistent with the realization that manhandling Cyclonus would not have been nearly so easy if he wasn't this badly distracted.

Wing doesn't relax his grip, but he does lean in and press his mouth softly to Cyclonus, as soft and soothing as possible. "Not here," he murmurs, barely pulling away. "Somewhere private. Come on." He releases Cyclonus abruptly, still venting hard as he pushes the door to the nearest mostly abandoned building and pulling Cyclonus in with him and into the nearest room with a berth and a door.

Cyclonus curses as he's slammed against a wall, pinned tight. He's cursing himself for losing control in the first place, for being so out of it as to let himself be pinned, for the way his body burns at every point of contact with Wing...

The softness of Wing's lips on his own silences him instantly, his optics dimming, the fight going out of him, leaving him pliable for Wing to drag into privacy.

He sits down heavily with a groan, feeling defeated. "I need this."

Wing kneels in front of him, touching Cyclonus' shoulder gently before he presses, smoothing Cyclonus down onto his back on the berth.

"You have it," he says simply, draping himself over Cyclonus and running light fingertips along his jaw, leaning in to press slow, hard kisses against his mouth, fitting one thigh between Cyclonus' and grinding in hard. his hands wander, seeking sensitive places as he makes a needy little sound into Cyclonus' mouth, nibbling at his lip before pulling back, looking flushed and dazed. "It's yours. What do you want?"

This all seems very surreal, more like a fever dream from his overheated mind than something actually happening.

But there's a figure laying him softly down, pressing close, so sweet and gentle compared to what he's used to. He'd laugh at the absurdity of it all, but he's too busy moaning into Wing's kisses as a hard thigh grinds against his panel.

He lets it open, baring himself for a stranger, hot and hard and wet and needy.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. It's been a long time since he's done this. Longer still since it's been on his terms rather than offering himself to the needs of another. Before Galvatron was so very long ago...

Wing sucks in cool air as his thigh presses to wet heat and he moans, low and sweet and trembling. A shudder wracks his frame as he pulls away, staring hungrily down at Cyclonus for a moment, drinking in the sight of him spread and bare and shivering with need before he pushes Cyclonus' thighs farther apart, settling between them.

"All right," he says, his voice almost gentle through the rough static, his optics flicking up to Cyclonus' face before his lips curl into a smile. "You let me know if you have any suggestions. In the meantime..." He leans in, lips parting to close wet and soft around Cyclonus' cord, pressing down easily and swallowing around him as he pins Cyclonus's hips, humming thickly and sucking hard.

Cyclonus is almost jealous of how much more in control of himself Wing seems. Even moaning and shuddering with need he seems more together than the quaking, aching mess Cyclonus finds himself in. Perhaps he shouldn't have tried to resist so long...

He can hardly react as Wing smiles at him, then leans down, his mind slowly blanking out with desire as lips curl around his spike. The noise that tugs itself from his vocalizer is wild and animalistic as Wing begins to suck, hands moving almost of their own accord to grip Wing's helm.

Oh, how he needed this. Hips jerking against Wing's grip, he tugs at his helm, urging him on with a growl.

Wing tries to be patient--Cyclonus is running far hotter than he is, clearly unused to not having control of himself, and Wing does genuinely like doing this, spreading his partners out and pleasing them--it's usually one of the things that gets him revved up the fastest. But the noises Cyclonus is making erode his tight self-control until he's squirming as he sucks, leaking from his still-closed panel and trying not to choke as he makes thin, needy sounds back around Cyclonus' spike. When Cyclonus bucks up and clutches at him, the last few fragile threads of his control snap and he shoves back, vents heaving, his optics a little wild.

"Please," he gasps, pulling Cyclonus up and leaning in to bite at his mouth. He can't be more eloquent than that just now, but he makes a soft whimpering sound as he drags Cyclonus to his knees and turns, pressing his back to Cyclonus' chest briefly and hooking his fingers in the collar of Cyclonus' armor to drag him down with as he bends over. They end up with Wing pressed face-down with his panel open and Cyclonus' spike sliding against wet heat. Wing groans thinly as he abandons trying to hold himself up, pressing his palms and breastplate to the berth and rocking back against the thick slide of Cyclonus against him.

"Please!" he says again, sharp as a demand despite his spread, vulnerable position, pushing back needily. "Cyclonus, please, I need this too."

Being dragged and tugged around in the berth is familiar to Cyclonus and he slips easily into following Wing's lead, egged on by the hunger boiling in him. Hearing 'please' in this situation, however, is completely foreign to him and he can't help but laugh, the noise a deep rumble as he leans down to bite at Wing's back.

He doesn't have it in him to tease, not with the ache of charge rampaging through his systems. Grabbing Wing's hips tight, he forces them still for a moment. Just long enough for the tip of his spike to find the entrance to Wing's port. Then he drags those hips tight against him, snapping his own forward to meet them with a ring of metal on metal, burying himself deep in the slick heat.

A ragged gasp of relief escapes him as his spike throbs inside of Wing. How he'd needed this.

Wing sucks in a cool shock of air as Cyclonus' teeth scrape against his back, catching the leading edge of one wing. Sensation lances through him and the sound that's wrenched from his throat is almost a sob until it spirals up into a taut, shivering cry as Cyclonus shoves into him, pushing deep and spreading him wide open. His wings shiver and flare to half-extension as he bites at his fingers and pushes his forehead against the berth, optics wide and blind.

"Frag me," he half-snarls, pushing his hips back, his thighs trembling fiercely and his body squeezing tight around Cyclonus.

"As you wish," Cyclonus says, voice a deep purr as he swipes his tongue admiringly along a Wing.

Digging his clawtips into Wing's hips, he begins to rut mercilessly into him, thrusting in hard enough to jolt him forward even as he drags Wing back to meet him with a harsh clank.

Again and again he drives himself into that slick, welcoming heat, thrusting as deep as possible. Head rolling back in ecstasy, he lets his optics black out, simply revelling in the sensation.

Wing jerks and shudders as Cyclonus licks out along one of his wings, his body squeezing down helplessly before Cyclonus' hips snap and he drives in hard. Wing doesn't bother trying to keep quiet, letting each thrust wring a ragged, aching sound from his throat as he dims his optics and just focuses on the sensation, the sweet, slick burn of Cyclonus pushing into him and the prickle of clawtips at the delicate mechanisms of his hips. He doesn't reach down to curl a hand around his cord yet, despite the insistent ache--just stretches himself out under Cyclonus and lets himself be fragged, his optics off lining completely and his lips parted and soft.

Cyclonus's charge is already up from avoiding his body's pollen-induced needs for so long, and the delightful friction of his cord in Wing's valve quickly drives him to the edge. With a shudder and a gasp he overloads, pausing for a moment as he arches, buried deep in Wing and optics blazing.

He's not done yet, however, the ache and charge still filling his systems, and even as he continues to spill into Wing's he moves. One strong hand plants itself against one of Wing's shoulders, the other adjusting the tilt of his hips. Then he's thrusting again, slower now but hard enough to make the berth creak.

Wing's vocalizer catches on a sob when Cyclonus shivers to a stop and he feels the hot spill of fluid against the sensitive nodes at the end of his valve. He looks over his shoulder, venting hard, his own charge making him shiver fiercely against the berth until Cyclonus shifts again.

He sucks in cool air when Cyclonus' hand comes down on his shoulder, his optics widening as he's pinned harder to the berth and his valve clenches, a low cry wrung from him at the sharp angle and the slide of Cyclonus' cord against achingly sensitive nodes in his valve. The tips of his wings tremble as Cyclonus thrusts again, each movement driving a hungry sound from his throat as one hand snakes down to curl around his own spike, his body tightening sharply as charge builds to the breaking point.

Cyclonus gives a pleased growl, soaking in the noises spilling from Wing's lips. His optics are ablaze with a haze of lust and he leans in, teeth catching the edge of a wing as he continues to piston into Wing.

His own valve is aching, trails of lubricant streaking down his thighs, mixing with Wing's and the spill of trans-fluid from his impromptu partner's stuffed port.

It feels so sinfully good to just let go

Wing's optics snap wide open and his lips part as he feels Cyclonus' teeth catch against sensor-dense flight panels and overload slams into him like a blow, wrenching a staticky cry from his throat and making him spasm against the berth. He writhes through it, his fingers clawing at the smooth metal of the berth and his hand squeezing at the base of his cord as he shudders, valve clenching over and over as pleasure wrings him out like a west, leaving him limp and trembling where he's spread under Cyclonus.

But not sated. He can feel the shimmer of charge already filtering through him again, catching the air in his vents, and he doesn't try to move away from Cyclonus' thrusts as he relaxes, a low, liquid moan shivering in his throat.

Cyclonus's teeth clench as Wing overloads under him - around him - just shy of leaving dents. He's being gentle compared to what he's used to. He thrusts sharply until Wing goes limp, his optics flickering as he drives himself toward the edge.

Then he pulls out and shoves Wing onto his back, straddling his hips. He grinds down, hissing with pleasure as his throbbing port presses against Wing, his cord still hard and straining in the air, feeling so cool after Wing's heat.

Wing snaps those delicate panels in swiftly as Cyclonus rolls him over, his optics flaring bright before they focus, sharp and searching and much clearer now that he's overloaded. The very corner of his mouth tugs up and that's all the warning Cyclonus gets before Wing gets a thigh over one of Cyclonus' and rolls his hips, trying to spill them over in one lithe, hard twist. His hands come down on Cyclonus' shoulder and side, struggling for leverage as he vents hard and grinds his spike against Cyclonus', shivering fiercely.

Edited 2015-08-20 18:32 (UTC)

Cyclonus lets out a staticky noise somewhere between a snarl and a moan as Wing topples from his perch. His hands move to Wing's, ready to grapple them into submission, his legs squirming as he tries to wrap them around Wing's hips.

The friction against his cord makes him shudder, but his port aches and he shifts, trying to rub wet mesh against Wing's spike.

Despite all his struggles, he's smirking.

Wing catches the look on Cyclonus' face and something taut in him eases before he starts to fight back in earnest. His hands slide from Cyclonus' grip and he leans into the other mech's hold rather than away, letting Cyclonus try to roll them again. They go over twice before slips from under Cyclonus' grasp like water, leaving him face-down with nothing between him and the floor. Wing darts back in immediately to brace one of his arms against the backs of Cyclonus' shoulders, curling one hand around a horn to hold him firm as his other elbow hooks under one of Cyclonus' knees and drags it up. Wing pushes down with his hips, pinning Cyclonus with his weight and letting his spike slide against the wet heat between Cyclonus' legs as he keeps him spread wide open and still, venting hard, his cooling fans screaming. He leans in to brush his lips under Cyclonus' audial, his voice low and silky and thrumming with need.

"Do you yield?"

Cyclonus would like to think that if he was at the top of his game rather than addled with lust, then he wouldn't find himself so easily pinned to the floor, held down and venting heavily. But the mech he so unexpectedly fell in to bed with is definitely skilled.

He flexes against Wing's hold, testing it. The warrior in him wants to keep fighting, to keep wrestling with this stranger across the floor until victory or exhaustion. But there's a spike between his legs rubbing oh-so-deliciously across his external mesh, brushing over his anterior node, and the blazing heat inside him wants nothing more than to be pounded into the ground.

It's been a long time since he allowed himself to be dominated by a strong fighter. He's not going to admit that part of him missed it.

"I yield," he says, voice husky. His smirk only grows more wicked.

Wing shudders and noses under the edge of the back of Cyclonus' helm, optics flaring hot as he bites into delicate cabling with sharp, careful teeth and thrusts forward, his hips sinking in against Cyclonus' on one long, slow slide. Once he, inside he shifts enough to get a better grip, one hand pressing against the center of Cyclonus' back, making him arch as the other gathers up his wrists and pins them down, leaving him spread long and wide and helpless. Wing makes a soft snarling sound under his breath and snaps his hips, setting a rough, quick pace but keeping a careful optic on Cyclonus' face, alert for any discomfort or change in expression.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject