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.

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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.

Cyclonus cries out at the bite, claws raking furrows in the floor as Wing fills him, spike dragging against swollen nodes. He growls as he's stretched out, arching willingly for Wing. Being held down so makes him tremble almost as much as the the sharp slide of Wing inside him.

Pressing his hollow cheek to the cool ground, he bares his teeth in a fierce grin and growls, "Harder."

Wing moans back, thick and low and shivering, his optics flaring he as Cyclonus stretches out under him, arching his back, feeling that low growl reverberate against his chassis.

He laughs, staticky and breathless, baring his own teeth. "Ask nicely," he says, his flight engines thrumming hard enough to make his voice almost a purr, but he thrusts faster anyway, tightening his grip and scraping his teeth against Cyclonus' shoulder.

Cyclonus's own engines thrum along with Wing's, winding up until the two rumbles mesh just right to make their bodies shake with the vibrations.

His mouth is open, tense little moans escaping with each hard thrust, the friction making his nodes sing. The bite has him flexing his hands, digging his claws deeper into the floor.

Deliberately and slowly, ignored Wing's request, he demands again, "Harder."

Wing sucks in a shivering vent of air, slams his hips forward--and stops.

He hikes Cyclonus' knee higher as he presses in close and pushes down with his hips, leaving Cyclonus even less leverage as he drags one wrist down to pin Cyclonus' arm behind his back, leaving the other free as he presses down.

"That isn't very nice," he says, his voice low and liquid, optics glittering as he watches the side of Cyclonus' face where it's pressed into the cool floor, his optics intently focused, searching for any sign of real discomfort. "Try again."

Cyclonus is stuck between smirking and scowling as Wing chooses to tease him, simultaneously aroused and annoyed by being pinned harder and denied his pleasure.

He chooses to struggle first, testing Wing's hold for weaknesses, hips twitching as he tries to get that sweet friction back. It's no use, it's not enough. Even having one arm free isn't much help with Wing out of his reach.

Finally he stops fighting, venting heavily, and gives in. "Harder, please."

Wing moans as Cyclonus struggles under him, his body clenching and shifting as he bucks fruitlessly, trying to break Wing's hold. Wing tightens his grip and rides it out, gasping, a helpless little shiver of pleasure skating through him when Cyclonus finally slumps again. He'd feel guilty if Cyclonus wasn't so clearly enjoying it too.

"Certainly," he says, only sounding a little smug as he shifts for leverage and drags his hips back, then slams in, setting a hard, rough pace and keeping Cyclonus' arm pinned behind his back.

Oh yes. Cyclonus's smirk fades as his face goes slack with ecstasy. He cries out with each harsh thrust, hard enough to make his seldom-used valve ache, combining with the pleasure of his crackling nodes into something wonderful.

This is what he really needed.

He doesn't last long, Wing's rough thrusts driving him steadily over the edge. When he overloads it's with a scream and a roar of engines, fluid gushing from both cord and port to spatter over the floor. He's tense in Wing's tight grip, valve clenching rhythmically around his spike.

He stays that way, the moment stretching, then sags against the ground.

Wing makes a taut sound as he hears Cyclonus scream, but then Cyclonus is overloading and Wing can't help but follow, driving deep and releasing Cyclonus' arm to curl a hand under him and stroke gently through those last helpless spasms of pleasure, letting it shake them both until they're limp and trembling and sated.

Wing eases back carefully, rocking into his heels before he tugs Cyclonus out of the mess he made on the floor and onto his side, curling up next to him and watching his face with soft, intent optics. He reaches out and traces a fingertip lightly over Cyclonus' cheekbone, and his voice is soft and a little rough with static when he finally speaks.

"All right?" he asks, then slips his hand down to smooth his thumb over the collar of Cyclonus' armor. "A little better, at least?"

Cyclonus feels thoroughly wrung out as Wing tugs him over, limp and loose like all his struts briefly turned molten. There's still a burn in his belly, but it's much more bearable now.

He opens his mouth to say something when a soft finger touches his face, startling him with the gentle intimacy of it.

"I-" His voice crackles and he reboots it, looking rather baffled. "Much better."

Wing's face melts into a smile, bright and sweet, and he leans in to touch his lips softly to Cyclonus' before he draws back and settles again, curled up warm on his side and his optics still on Cyclonus' face.

"I'm so glad," he says, and he sounds like he means it, fingertips trailing light down Cyclonus' breastplate until he cups his palm against Cyclonus' side, stroking absent, gentle circles with his thumb.

Cyclonus doesn't think even Tailgate's ever looked at him so sweetly, and he looks suitably poleaxed as Wing kisses him. He is far too overload-addled to process this at the moment.

He doesn't even know this mech, but they appear to be... Cuddling? He reaches out and very carefully grabs Wing's wandering hand by a finger and lifts it away from his chest.

It may feel kind of nice, but Cyclonus doesn't cuddle.

Wing freezes when Cyclonus stops his hand, worry running suddenly cold through his lines.

"Cyclonus?" he says, sounding uncertain now. He resists the urge to twist, to take Cyclonus' hand in his, leaving it limp in Cyclonus' grip for now. He doesn't look warm or lazy at all anymore. "Is everything all right?"

The concern Wing is radiating just makes things even more surreal. Cyclonus is used to either hostility or cool respect or simple disregard - except for one small, persistent little bot. A stranger seeming to actually be caring and affectionate towards him is bizarre to say the least.

He glances away from Wing's earnest gaze, frowning slightly. He intends to tell him off for taking intimate liberties, but instead he ends up saying, "You don't even know me."

Wing makes a soft sound, curling in comfortably and pillowing his head on one arm to watch Cyclonus' face.

"I know your name," he points out softly, before his mouth curves a little. "I know that you're handsome. I know that you're strong and disciplined and considerate and perceptive. I know that you have to be strong-armed a bit into having a good time and that you'd probably do yourself a favor to relax more. I know that if we weren't both charged half-blind that wrestling match might have gone very differently, and I'd be extremely interested to try it under less complicated circumstances sometime." He cycles his vents in a shivery sigh and sits up, his elbow only wobbling slightly.

"I know that's enough for me--more than enough--to be interested in being kind to you. But I'm not interested in invading your privacy. ...if you'd rather I leave you be, I will."

Well, color Cyclonus startled again. That's an uncomfortably accurate description of him. More than he'd like to admit. It's not as invasive as Nightbeat's cold reading, but it still has him scowling at the floor.

But be doesn't tell Wing to leave. He's not sure if it's the ache in his belly that wants to keep the other mech longer, or if perhaps he's just a bit... Lonely.

If you'd told him when he met Tailgate that he'd one day sorely miss the other's company he'd have assumed them either max or a liar. Possibly both.

He doesn't want to talk about such things, though, so he ceases a distraction in the form of a familiar sword on the floor.

"Are you with the Circle of Light?"

It's Wing's turn to look startled, his optics widening.

"I--yes. I am." He settles again and his gaze sharpens with interest. "Not many people would know what our order was if told directly, let alone recognize a Great Sword by looking at one. How...?"

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