crux_fleet | (no subject)

~~Don't take the fall for him, because then he'll be really confused. And convinced she's crazy.~~

But Deadlock's KIND of a jerk, so he's trying to be on his best behavior. Also because right now that hand on his spike could do some kind of bad damage if he torqued her off. But mostly, because right now she's not calling him on giving into this. So as long as they both pretend he is the mechliest mech ever, he's good.

And maybe she'd have to worry about finishing before him if being this close to a hot, willing partner wasn't such a big deal to him. He can feel the charge building on his spike, and the different tempos of her fingers and her spike against his are really battering at his self control.

Not that he's any damn good at self control. He tosses his head back, cleanser falling over his face, as his body bucks against hers, a cry tearing from his vocalizer, hands clutching at her for more than balance.

~~Crazy for you Deadlock, crazy for you.~~

Yeah well, so is Flashpoint, which is mostly why she's keeping her mouth shut, lest obnoxious things spill out and ruin this for them. And if she'd want to mess him up, well, she wouldn't aim for the useful parts of him, spike included. Flashpoint kind of likes you, spike, she wants to give you a special hug later.

Deadlock isn't the only one totally turned by how, uh, willing they both are. There's more 'willing' here than she can really reconcile with a casual frag, but whatever, thinking is hard when his body is pressed against her like that, charge prickling between her door panels, his hands and her aft and valve. And DAMN if the way he losses it for her isn't intensely hot, the jet of his transfluid mingling with the cleanser, spattering over her hand and belly, and she bites back her own cresting overload. Two more strokes though and it's all too much, the deep coil in Flashpoint's belly releasing in a rush, overcoming her senses, the charge of Deadlock's release chain-reacting with her own. She bucks against him, burying her cry in his throat with a fierce bite, hands crushing him against her.

Hey! All of his parts are useful. But he would admit a special liking for his spike, especially right now. And it totally deserves special hugs, even if Deadlock's not sure he does.

And he's not thinking about how much he wants her as opposed to just wanting an overload, because, yeah, that's how he deals with things he knows are going to freak him out. He just doesn't think about them. Which is easy right now, because he's got plenty to keep him occupied.

He growls under the bite, body shuddering against hers, hands gripping at her hips. "F-frag," he says. Okay, he's not so eloquent, but maybe he speaks for both of them.

Hey they can totally be in the 'questionably deserving of special hugs' category together. Which means giving each other their own kind of special hugs is okay. Perfect logic! At least that's gonna be Flashpoint's take on things and if anyone disagrees she'll just...punch them in the face or something.

Also disclaimer: Disgruntled tentacle monsters do not deserve special hugs EVER. Especially when they try to take without asking. RUDE.

Denial is a convenient shield versus uncomfortable and awkward stuff like that, Flashpoint is well versed in this fact. Until, you know, the hardest overload she's ever had tears right through its tissue thin surface. But that's yet to come. Right now she's coming down off one of the better ones, loving the way the released charge leaves her hand tingly and sensitive, the fall of the cleanser on the back of her neck as she claims Deadlock's with her mouth. She releases her bite, changing it to a gentle but sultry kiss, tongue rolling over the bite mark before she draws away.

"Made a mess." Flashpoint draws her hand up his chassis front, the back of a finger dragging through the spatter of transfluid--difficult to tell whose is whose and she kind of likes it that way--then raising it her mouth, glossa licking off the tangy-sweet combination of lubricant and transfluid. "Gonna have to clean up again."

Deadlock has more experience with tentacle monsters and special hugs and he seconds that thought. Seriously.

He's just...gonna...concentrate on staying upright for a few kliks here, feeling the hard bite fade to a gentle nibble, the warm cleanser pattering over his armor as though extending the last ebb of the overload.

"Your fault," he says, with a groan, a) because it totally was, and b) because the way she licks it off her fingers is making his brain overclock. He leans forward, kissing her, his own mouth seeking the slicked fingers, while his hands remember where they are, one repositioning itself around the front of her body, fingertips skimming the valve.

Seconds, thirds and fourths, noted. Heck, one for each bad tentacle grope.

Go ahead and lean against her Deadlock. Being the one with your back to the wall has its advantages, like how her knee joints kinda want to take a time out right now and she can sorta let them and know one knows the difference.

Flashpoint's happy for the kiss, letting her bask in the ebbing euphoria of the overload ~~without slipping into goofy faces~~. And she likes the way his mouth closes over her fingers a little too much maybe, the shudder she feels not entirely because of the renewed touches to her valve. Her engine rumbles, the hunger he stirred up earlier renewing.

"Yeah, do I look sorry?" Flashpoint will be the fallguy here, (fallgal?) she's got no problem with taking credit for two overloads, messy or not. And hey, maybe she likes it messy Deadlock, it kinda goes with how her life usually works. So maybe Deadlock really is what she needs, someone willing to clean up.

"Did so well with the front of me, maybe you should do the back too." Forget the scrubby thing this time though, hands-on is so much better.

...he doesn't want to think how many times that would be for her, because it's gross but also it'll make him kind of jealous, because groping Flashpoint.

And he let you have the wall because....he's a gentlemech. Got it? He's being nice. Because he is the good guy and not some snooty Autobot. Face it, would Sentinel have let you have the wall? HUH?

No, wait, he doesn't want that thought out there at all. GROSSSSSSS.

"Guess I'm going to have to try harder, then." Because he's got a reputation to uphold, or make, or something here. Or, frag, he just has an opportunity to grope Flashpoint more.

Which, well, prepare to be amazed, Flashpoint, because he learned a thing or two doing all that sparring with Wing, including how to flip an opponent, so...hope you were serious about that back comment, because he's going to go for it.

He should only be jealous if the groping is invited, because look at what happened to the one that wasn't? Gratuitous maybe, tearing the thing clean off, but satisfying for Flashpoint and that's all that matters. So yeah, lesson for ya there Deadlock: ask before you grope. (That or earn and all-season pass of somethin').

Sentinel wouldn't know gentlemechly manners if they walked up and sat on his face. Which by the way, is an even GROSSER image.

"Yup, maybe you ar--!"

Never let anyone say Deadlock is all talk, because Flashpoint definitely is amazed at those moves. And for the record, she totally wouldn't have let this happen under normal circumstances, not with all that martial know-how she has and such. But Flashpoint's so dazed and content with post-overload, when he breaks her balance and spins her all she can do is roll with it. Hush, no comments on how pliable she is your arms Deadlock, post-overlord is totally the reason her guard is down! That and she's just giving him a sense of security you know; she'd hate to scare him off with how deadly she really is.

Mind the door panels and shoulder tires as she spins around, being shorter might only save Deadlock from one of those things. She hits the wall with a gasp, and it's not totally about surprise.

Too bad Deadlock doesn't ask permission, because Decepticon. Which is why he went the 'this is totally getting you clean and both of us are a little drunk' route. Because he's crafty, and he likes to keep his fingers, thanks.

And he's not gonna risk this moment by doing anything stupid like trying to make words right now. Not when he can press in against her back, nipping the back of her neck, hands spreading the doorpanels with a growl of appreciative arousal.

Yeah well, there's a perfectly good explanation for the why she didn't bend a finger or two for that. Mostly because even he has better manners. And uh, better hands, too. She has a right to change her mind! Flashpoint's not exactly one for the strict enforcement of policy anyway.

And if he does make words they better be well chosen; something along the lines of 'as you wish' would work. Because he's playing right into her hands. Err, plans. Plans that is. Yeah she totally planned this. Including the way he pushes all her buttons with the growling and the nipping and those hands spreading her door panels... Flashpoint's fingerpads press hard into the washrack wall, the heavy rumble of her engine vibrating through her frame as she presses back against him. Frag he's making her want things she'd give no almost one else. It's a conspiracy she's decided, to draw her back to the 'Cons or something... Y-yeah...

She can change her mind, and Deadlock half expects her to. It kinda makes this whole thing exciting because at any minute she could turn the tables on him.

His job, of course, is to try to put that off as long as possible, and Deadlock doesn't do any job by halves.

"So fraggin' hot." Does that get him elbowed in the face? Maybe. But it's true: she's ridiculously hot, and the vibration of her frame under his fingers, and the space just under those door panels, where the air was warm and almost secret, was driving him crazy, driving him to grind his hips against her back.

If she changes her mind it'll probably be way later when the inevitable regret that is her life anthem sets in. (But hey, at least that means she has lots of experience dealing with it?) Turning the tables on him though? That might totally happen. Whenever she feels like she wants to take back control. Because she totally could.

But, uh, yeah. What he's doing is getting her way too turned on. The way his hands stir the little pockets of charge under her door panels, the press of his pelvic frame against hers, the husky words against the back of her neck. It's like a dare to see how long Flashpoint can hold out, before demanding what she wants or just turning on him completely.

"Nuf. Better do something about it...or I will." Yeah those are her hips canting backward, aft lifting to grind back against him, the heat of her valve too great for the fall of cleanser to dissipate.

Yeah, he's probably going to regret...something about this. He's not sure what. He sure isn't regretting this, in any way, shape or form.

But his goal isn't getting her turned on right now as much as psyching himself up to how turned on he is right now. He's getting there. He's just taking his time, because the build up feels so good. "You already had your turn, Autobot." It's supposed to be a playful insult, if that's even a thing. "My turn, now." And yeah, his spike's ready, because she's just that inspiring. And he's gonna show it, grinding his spike down her aft, fingers digging into those door panels.

Now is the best time to procrastinate. Put that regret off until later Deadlock.

And build up you say? Flashpoint's got plenty of that, the earlier overload seeming to just tease at her valve more, the released energy cascading between her frame and his hands. Now it's driving her more than a little wild and she can't hide the desperate spin of her cooling fans, steam rising from her plating where the cleanser isn't falling. She makes a gruff chuckle at his playful taunt--because that's just how she takes it--and maybe it sounds a little nefarious. You brought this on yourself Deadlock: that's what he should be thinking when she twitches her pelvic frame back and up, just enough so his spike falls between her thighs and rides against the slick rim of her valve. Speaking of grinding, that's what she's doing along the dorsal ridge of that spike with a pleased but lustful growl of her engine.

"Better take it then." Your turn, she means Deadlock, and that's as close as she's gonna get to asking you to spike her.

Don't lead him down your bad ways, Flashpoint. He can find them perfectly well on his own, thanks.

And she better not tell him what he can and cannot take here, because, well, he's taking it. Because he's pretty sure she's gonna punch him in the face later, so, you know, consider this some kind of hit-and-run of sexitude.

Especially because she's so hot right now, the way her hips grind against his, the way her engines rumble, and the cleanser droplets dance on her armor....yeah. She doesn't have to taunt HIM twice, because he's gripping her hips, and sliding his heated spike into the dark plush depths of her valve.

Who's leading who towards bad ways, hmm? Looks like they might be going there hand-in-hand really.

Except hand holding, that might be weird. Maybe. There's a whole different kind of holding going on here though. And it's maybe good that her back is turned so Deadlock can't see the exultant look on her face as he slides home, spreading the slick mesh lining that hasn't felt the tingle of another's living spike in quite a long time. The noise that comes from her mouth though, a throaty sound laced with a kind of longing, is maybe a little more dramatic than she intended.

So, yeah, shutup 'n stuff, she likes it all right? In fact Flashpoint likes it so much she has to grab for more, her whole body shifting to meet him, the calipers of her valve clenching down, tight enough that she should be able to drag him forward slightly, then reseating herself at different, more preffered angle, deeper than before, her cooling fans giving a hot huff of arousal to match the one from her mouth.

"Frag, you feel fantastic.." Yeah. Uh. She has no control over her mouth right now apparently, so you better start moving Deadlock, before she gets the notion to say something even more embarrassing for them both.

Flashpoint is doing the leading here because if it was up to Deadlock, they'd already be there, and doppler shifting.

But if she held his hand his face might melt. So, let's not do that. Just yet. Unless she wants to clean up melted face.

He has better things to want to clean up, at least, he's plannning on it (because he's a gentlemech after all and don't argue with him), starting with the push of lubricant from his spike as her calipers squeeze down against it, warm and tight and inviting and it's Flashpoint, on top of everything, and her voice has just that husky edge that cuts right through his resistance so his hands grip against her, driving the spike into her valve, not in a controlling way, but in that way that says he's already almost overwhelmed at the sight, the sound and touch of her around him.

HEY. Are you callin' her slow? You better not be callin' her slow. She will put skid marks on your aft so fast boy, you'll smell of burned rubber before she even gets close!

And if his face melts well, one more good reason they can't see each other's faces right? As long as, ya know, he can get it back together before she notices.

Speaking of melty though, that's what her back strut is doing, bowing in a curve to press her valve into that thrust, hands and chassis grille pressed hard against the wall of the washrack as cleanser falls over her, running down her body and dripping off her only slightly quiescent spike. Her vents gust out something that sounds like a moan, door panels swinging with his motions as her footplates scrape on the floor, seeking purchase.

She's not slow as much as Deadlock is too damn impatient. He could use a little braking now and then. Not a dead stop, mind you, though!

And he's kind of glad she's turned away, not just so she can't see the open, vulnerable expression on his face, but because he's pretty sure if she were using her hands on him, he'd kind of break concentration. And he wants to concentrate on this, the powerful lines of her frame, pushing against him, all that strength and fierceness wanting him, and the runnels of cleanser down her back and the way her thighs feel under his palms, the way her valve inviting his spike to thrust deeper, harder, into her.

Well you do have to brake a little, slow down, to take the curves properly, so some variance in pace could be good, especially if it keeps them in evenly matched with each other. A notion she's finding she likes more and more.

And Flashpoint does move with his pace, optics drifting closed and mouth hung open. With no view of her own, she drinks in the sound, smell and feel of him, the scent friction-heated lubricant, the echo of their bodies colliding as their systems run hot, the way he fills her with heat and want and a hard driving pleasure that sparks through both their fields. Little sounds fall from mouth with each thrust, most unintelligible, many not very polite, but all of them a little overwrought, lost in the sensations of this, growing louder and louder.

If it helps, he's looking hard enough for the both of them, and enjoying the sight of the long sweep of her spinal strut, the way her hands try ineffectually to grip at the washrack wall enough for a whole platoon of mechs.

But too bad on them, it's just him here, so...more for him to ogle and stroke at, reaching around the doorpanels, around her waist, and groping at her front grille from behind. What? Just because he can't see it doesn't mean it doesn't deserve some attention. It also gives him reason to press closer, the strokes between them short and shallow, and, he hopes, tantalizing.

While you're at it Deadlock, looking enough for the both of them, work those hands too, because she's got hers full of washrack wall and it's not nearly as interesting as all the contours of his armor. In fact she's making a little list--when her brain can spare the processing power that is--of all the other places she wants to take this if she gets the chance. Before they, ya know, start asking awkward questions about the 'why' or the 'how' and go ruining it.

Flashpoint's only concerned with the 'what' here, because she can almost feel his optics on her, sliding down her back like not-so-subtle caresses. The movement of him against her back, the ebb and flow of their fields, and the fact that she can't see is what really drives her wild, spinning the charge up quicker, focusing on all sensation. Fingers that dip between the vents in her grillework, rove over the foglamps, and the press of him against her with those shallow thrusts; it all draws a long, low groan out of her, like a thready moan, the calipers of her valve grasping at him every time he draws back for a new thrust.

Yeah, well chalk that up to his Decepticon Superiority: he's got the better view and the better handsiness.

And yeah, if his optics were actually able to touch they'd lack any subtlety whatsoever. He doesn't get a lot of chance to stare so openly, so admiringly. It's always been a risk, and it still would be too much of a risk, honestly, if she were able to look back, too open, too vulnerable, too wanting.

He's pretending, by the way, that the way his hands grope over her chassis isn't too obviously wanting, already. And inexpert, but almost burning with need. The sound of that moan, thin and wanting, is like some kind of accelerant, burning the desire in his lines, and his hands and eyes and spike still aren't enough, so he finds himself leaning forward, nipping at the collar of her neck armor, burying the almost-whimper against her.

That's not Decepticon Superiority, that's Autobot Command. He's got that view because she insists on it, and well, she can take it back anytime she wants, So There.

N-not that she wants to right now. She'll just, uh, have to reassert herself after this is over because frag it's too damn good to interrupt, something breaking loose in her that just doesn't care. The clutch of his hands and every greedy push into her valve creates a spark that ignites something dormant; denied desire let lose. Flashpoint can't arch into those thrusts any more than she already is, so her helm drops against the washrack wall, pressing into the nip of his mouth, greedy for any, every, kind of contact, answering that whimper with breathy demands, her gruff voice thinned by the mounting charge rampant in her systems.

Right. You keep that 'Autobot Command' of yours backed up against Deadlock's hips, then.

And ignore, please, the way he clings to her, arms wrapping tightly around her chassis, hips thrusting against hers, feeling those doorwings slide over his hip skirts. And he should hold off, to hold, you know, that Decepticon stamina, but she's so hot and he wants her so badly and just shut the frag up and take it as a compliment to how fraggin' hot you are, Flashpoint, that he groans, arching up almost onto his toes, sinking deep into her, his whole body shuddering with release.