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

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...?"

Cyclonus relaxes, settling against the floor. Talking about swords is much easier than talking about feelings.

"I fought alongside your order, briefly," he answers. "I had a Great Sword of my own, but regrettably it was not with me when I was brought here."

Wing eases back down also, his plating still pinging as it cools, lubricant and transfluid smeared over his belly and thighs. He looks entirely at ease and he smiles again helplessly as he looks at Cyclonus.

"You must be something special, to have been allowed to wield one." His optics sharpen in warm amusement and he has to swallow a laugh. "I bet Dai Atlas liked you. He doesn't relax as often as he should either."

"Hardly," Cyclonus says, not entirely comfortable at being called special. "I simply received a gift that needed to be passed on."

Because it seemed he was able to correct some of Primus's mistakes, even if Star Sabre had escaped him. "It's a fine blade, though."

There's a prickle at the back of his mind when Wing talks about Dai Atlas, but he's finding Wing's body increasingly distracting again, and he sits up, watching the other with a heating gaze.

He'll realize later that Wing was using present tense instead of past.

"Mmmm, modest, too," Wing says, stretching luxuriously and easing again, his optics flicking to Cyclonus' face and the faint hint of a smirk curling his lips. "Better and better."

The expression clears into a soft, welcoming smile as he reaches out again, his fingertips barely brushing Cyclonus'. "You're feeling it again?" he asks, nudging a little closer but not quite invading Cyclonus' personal space again. "Would you like to...?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Cyclonus says. The way Wing's body stretches out over the floor, however...

This time when he reaches for Wing's hand, it's to draw it toward one of his thighs. "I suppose it's best to see if I can burn this off under controlled circumstances."

Wing seems a less offensive partner than some of those he knows share this world. Primus-forbid he had encountered someone like Tarn while in such a state.

"It seems like flattery will get me exactly where I'd like to go," Wing says, his optics lighting teasingly as he slides his fingertips, then his palm over Cyclonus' thigh. He heaves himself up and pushes those thighs apart gently, nudging Cyclonus onto his back and leaning down to lick delicately at the slick fluid staining the juncture of Cyclonus' hip. He makes a hungry, needy little noise and tilts his head to close his mouth against Cyclonus' port, moaning against Cyclonus as he tastes himself, his thighs pressing together as he squirms slightly.

Cyclonus's only retort is a small 'hmph' before he settles back, thighs parting wide. There's none of the wild urgency of earlier and he lets himself relax, moaning softly as Wing's lips press against his slick mesh. He gives a lazy roll of his hips, letting one hand come to rest on Wing's helm, stroking encouragingly.

Wing shivers and hums, then seems to just relax under Cyclonus' touch, sinking in between his legs and settling himself comfortably. His mouth works against sensitive mesh, careful against tender sensors as he licks and sucks, nuzzling at the base of Cyclonus' cord and tracing the tip of his tongue against his anterior node. He makes warm, lazy sounds in his throat, hungry but content, sounding like bes's perfectly happy staying right here for as long as Cyclonus will let him.

His mouth is wet as he pulls away a little, venting hard and looking up at Cyclonus with meltingly hot optics as he licks up the length of Cyclonus' spike, sucking briefly at the tip and then nuzzling his way down the side. It grazes his lips, his cheek, and he sucks hard at the space between Cyclonus' equipment covers before he buries his face between Cyclonus' legs agains groaning softly and letting a shudder rattle down his back.

Wing seems perfectly at home between Cyclonus's thighs. He can empathize, giving your partner pleasure in such a way is extremely enjoyable, and if his body weren't feeling so needy then Cyclonus would likely be pleasuring Wing in turn right now.

Instead he lounges against the ground, stroking fingers over the angles of Wing's helm, splayed wide for him. He moans his pleasure for Wing to hear, continuing to rock gently against his lips. He hisses and arches at the hard suck before relaxing again, venting heavily, enjoying the prickle of charge across his array.

Wing makes a sweet, hungry little sound in his throat as Cyclonus pets at his helm, shivering all over and leaning into the touches, an encouraging rumble vibrating low in his chassis. He pulls back after a while, looking dazed, his optics flushed bright with charge as he licks up Cyclonus' length and swallows him whole. His mouth works steadily, slicking delicate plating to make the slide easier until he can press his lips to Cyclonus' baseplate and swallow thickly around him, the back of his intake working against the sensor-dense tip.

One hand strays down, between Cyclonus' legs to touch softly at wet mesh, petting at external sensors before his fingertips press to Cyclonus' anterior node to stroke in short, firm little pushes, his free arm barely restraining Cyclonus at all anymore. Wing is aching, unreleased charge starting to build higher and higher, coiled low in his array, but he doesn't pull back or let up. It feels good, his mouth full and his fingers slick and Cyclonus touching him gently and making noise for him, a particularly fervent groan raking a shudder through him like its his own spike being sucked.

Cyclonus continues to moan, the deep, rumbling sounds almost musical. His charge builds quickly under Wing's skilled hands and mouth, egged on by the mysterious pollen. Clenching at a particularly hot throb of pleasure, he arches slightly under Wing, pressing into his mouth.

Then his fingers curl under the edge of Wing's helm, gently coaxing him to rise, his lips parted invitingly.

Wing pulls back, looking almost dazed--his optics flaring bright and his mouth parted and wet until he reaches up to suck slick fingers clean, swallowing a soft moan around them as he does. He climbs back up once he's finished, stretching out next to Cyclonus and kissing him firmly, catching Cyclonus' spike against his hip and grinding in a lazy, shivering push.

He nuzzles kisses down Cyclonus' jaw and throat after a moment and speaks against his audial. "You taste good," he says, almost a sigh with his cooling fans working and his engine rumbling low, turning his words into a purr as his teeth catch at delicate cabling.

Wing licking his fingers is a sight to make Cyclonus's fans quicken, arousal pulsing hot along his fuel lines. When he kisses him, he can taste himself on his lips and he groans, gripping Wing's hip with a clawed hand and grinding back.

His head tilts back, baring more of his throat for Wing to tease, lazily thinking that he could do with that mouth all over his body.

Wing hums and leans in, nipping softly along delicate lines before his teeth catch at Cyclonus' collar. His optics flick up, softening as the tip of his tongue traces lightly down Cyclonus' breastplate and he starts pressing lazy, sucking kisses all over Cyclonus' frame. His mouth wanders--down Cyclonus' side, over his belly, long one arm to lick at the bend of his elbow, lips brushing his wrist, before he takes two of Cyclonus' fingers very carefully into his mouth and sucks. His tongue curls against claws and he makes a sweet, hungry little sound, his optics flicking back to Cyclonus' face as he pushes his hips down, shuddering all over lightly.

It's not exactly ticklish, but Wing's mouth is so soft and pleasant and utterly unlike any sexual experience Cyclonus has ever had. It makes the corners of his mouth twitch gradually upward until the swipe of tongue on his elbow has a laugh bubbling forth from his lips.

It seems not only his sexual inhibitions have lowered.

"Careful," he says, voice deep and crackling heavily as Wing sucks his fingers.

The treatment may be gentle, but it's arousing all the same, and he groans softly as his rising charge.

Catch-All For Cyclonus!

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