crux_fleet | (no subject)

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.

And to think you used to want to kick Flashpoint's 'Autobot Command'.My how things have changed, Deadlock. And oh she will, until it's time to command a change of position, and then it'll be similar proximity but different configuration. She'll be just as bossy though, that never really goes away.

Sorry Deadlock, Flashpoint can't ignore that cling, because it's too nice, too rare, too unexpected not to relish, to let lift her up. She's not going to complain about stamina this time around, because it's all a bit much for her too, building in a great rush, like every part of her is hypersensitive to his touch, his voice, the passage of his spike in her valve. She's oblivious to the world; it's just him, the fall of the cleanser and all the places they're joined. And when he archs against her it's not the spill of his transfluid against her ceiling node that does her in, but the hard grip of his hands and the greedy push against her aft. It puts her on that crest and one, two more pushes back against him and she's breaking over the edge herself, knees locking as her limbs shudder hard, fingers scraping gouges in the wall as she looses a coarse wail.

She can be as bossy as she wants: he's pretty sure Turmoil's bossier and Turmoil's also 75% less hot.

And he thought the feeling of overloading against her, into her, feeling the throbbing push of his transfluid in her valve was about as good as it got, but, yeah, what does he know? Even better than that was the hot way she shoved back against him, insistent, demanding, using him for her own pleasure, until her valve rippled around his spike again, and he clutches at her, holding her upright against him, nipping at her neck possessively.

Turmoil wouldn't be hot if set himself on fire, just sayin'. Also she's heard he takes the Drama Queen runner-up title, second only to Tarn. And Flashpoint can be way bossier Deadlock, just you wait, it all depends on what she thinks she can get away with.

Because for some reason she actually cares now if she gets him torqued. Which, uh, totally has only and everything to do with this amazing overload crashing over her, whiting-out her senses, making all parts of her twitch, those doorpanels shivering against his outer thighs. And she seems to sit at the peek for almost a moment too long--if such a thing even exists--her vocalizations dissolving into a gasp of a whimper as she pushes off one wall, falling against him and the far wall of the small washrack, valve still clutching at him the way her hands do, meeting with his where they cling to her chassis.

And for once, well, Flashpoint's pretty speechless. Points for you, Deadlock. You can cash them in later for a repeat.

Turmoil might be hot if he threw himself into a sun. Deadlock would wholeheartedly sanction that experiment.

And he'll never admit it--NEVER you hear him?!?!--but the only torqued off he wants her to be is the frustrated/exasperated kind like she was back in the hangar, so that he could maybe try some creative ways to turn that frown upside down. Or at least kind of squiggly.

He's kind of glad for the change in position, though, because her weight pushing him against the back of the washrack is one of the things keeping him upright. He doesn't quite trust his knees to hold him, though he's gonna do his best to cling onto her.

Right. Now for a witty line.

....

Wait for it.

Uh.

Right. Here goes.

"Looks like you're still dirty." He nuzzles against her audio. "I kind of like it."

An excellent experiment, one worth video archiving. And some rounds of side betting. Flashpoint as money on 'still not hot'.

Also Turmoil better not come within 10 kliks of Deadlock or she'll punt Turmoil into the sun herself. Just to be clear.

As for frustrated/exasperated? Perfectly possible at this point especially is he doesn't call after this. Or worse, if he leaves after round one. Now there's a truly tragic romance.

And she's leaning against him--pinning him to the wall more like--because she's not too sure of her ability to walk either. A lazy grins creeps over Flashpoint's face, aware of the dribble of fluids down her thighs aided by the running of the cleanser over her front. "Hate to spoil it for you," let her cycle her calipers one last time, just to say HI, "but parts of me always are."

Yeah, don't expect him to call or anything, though there may be a mysterious Noodlebot Delivery of stuff in the future. And some stalking outside of Quark's.

"Great. So this is a job I"m never gonna finish." Guess he'll have to keep on trying, Flashpoint, like now, the way he lets his fingertips graze down her chassis to her crotch.

No, calling would be a thing normal people do. Which is nothing like either of them, really. And well, maybe Deadlock's weird version of courtship would be more fun?

She chuckles, a rumbly thing that hides the waver in her voice same as her grasp hides the wobble in her knees. She's not opposed to the downward track of his hand, but her spark is doing a funny, wobbly thing too and she needs a moment, more like five moments really, to get sorted. Flashpoint draws away slowly, reluctantly easing off his spike. "Free to keep trying..." she says before turning on Deadlock in a rush, pressing him hard against the wall as she grabs both sides of his helm, fingers curling roughly around each audial as she tips his mouth up to meet hers, crushing them together in a bruising kiss.

Enjoy that while it lasts Deadlock, because in the next moment she's going to go sauntering down the hallway (nevermind the listing from side to side) towards the kitchen. "But first, refueling."

Calling would also mean...calling, which would take some kind of guts which hey don't let's impugn Deadlock's bravery or anything here, but COME ON calling a GIRL is TOUGH.

Also tough: trying to keep some kind of composure after a kiss like that. He's just gonna lean there for a few minutes, optics wide and sort of dazy, mouth open, as she flirts herself off like that.

"Y...yeah. Right. Fuel." He'll be there in a few minutes, preferably after wrangling his equipment back into its covers.

And talking. Talking is hard. No wait, talking is easy--TOO easy--saying the right thing though? Very hard. Clearly this will be a covert courtship which is probably safer for everyone.

Deadlock's not meant to have composure after that kiss, nope. So her devious plan worked two-fold: she got to, ya know, establish who's running this crazy affair and also buy herself a brief time-out.

Which she is taking in the kitchen, both hands braced flat on the counter, cycling air steadily and trying to calm the thought stream of holy frag did that just happen--please don't leave--AW FRAG what do I say if he doesn't leave--can there just be seconds please? If she's lucky he won't walk in on her having her moment, especially because she hasn't quite gotten to putting her own equipment away yet. Energon served naked, j-just the way you like it, Deadlock?

Yeah, well, talking is really hard for Deadlock.

And it's especially hard right now, with that kiss still tingling on his lip plates, because whoa, and he can barely see the sway of her hips as she sashays--that's totally what that sexy hip swingy walk is called, right?--to the kitchen.

No way. No way he's going down like this, though. That's letting her win, if he leaves it like this, so, yeah. He's gonna mech up, elbow himself off the wall. He'll take a moment to check himself in the mirror, practicing his scowl which seems kind of rubbery and loose right now, before he heads into the kitchen, and of course she's still got her stuff out as some sort of temptation display, but he's not tempted! At all! Nope!

"Gonna give me some or am I gonna have to get it myself?" He's totally talking about engex. He thinks. Never mind where his optics are.

Well then clearly he should let her do the talking and just respond physically. That's a language she totally understands. And has less chance to screw up to be honest...

And yeah she totally left herself on display on purpose. It has nothing to do with her equipment feeling especially sensitive and being too caught up in thinking about THINGS, all of them HIM, and the fact that her spike remembers that kiss too and doesn't want to go back under its panel any time soon.

But hey, she's been in more embarrassing situations, right? maybe? He didn't leave, that's good! She can roll with this right? That's what is bluster is for! So Flashpoint slaps a cocky smirk on over the breathless expression lingering on her face, (which doesn't entirely hide it mind you) turning full frontal with a glass in her hand (and nevermind how heavily she leans on the counter edge). "I'll give you all you want. Gonna have to come get it though..."

Yeah, he'll try that, because words are not his friends. Neither is his body at times, the traitor.

And he KNEW it. YOu're just showing off your sexy equipment in an attempt to lure him into another round, or something.

You...don't need to try that hard.

"What kind of hospitality is that, huh?" Oh right, Autobot hospitality, he figures, and don't worry. He will. He'll reach for some engex, just haaaaappening to draw his free hand across the front of her hips.

They could have a whole conversation that way without uttering a single sentence, just sayin'. And well, he can join Flashpoint in 'body being too honest' category; she's just at a point where she knows it's pretty pointless to fight it.

And YES. Yes that's totally it. Is it working?

Flashpoint realizes though, that she might regret leaving her stuff out there hanging in the breeze. That breeze being the passage of Deadlock's hand. Because he could tease the hell out of her here and she'd be hard pressed not to get...really fraggin' forward. Kind of like the forward twitch of her hips at his touch, and the air hissing through her intakes.

But hey, she at least poured him some! As for her own glass, don't look too close because she's drinking standard fuel first. She's feeling heady enough as it is without the engex, she'll go for the hard stuff again when she feels like she can walk straight again. "The generous kind that doesn't deliver." You asked Deadlock, have a cheeky deadpan response. Except she's re-thinking that a little bit, stepping forward so he can, ya know, reach more of the engex. Yeah.

Deadlock is still under the delusion he needs to keep up his mechly reputation and all that stuff, so Flashpoint's way ahead of him.

And it's totally working, but, uh only because he's letting it happen. Clear?

"Who says you don't deliver, huh?" He'll just serve himself some engex, and serve his other hand around that spike. This is what happens when you let guests serve themselves, FLashpoint. They get greedy.

He doesn't have to keep up appearances with her, he's already earned her respect and not through any bravado either. He's just...yeah, whatever, don't make her list the stuff because that might get mushy and gross.

And he is totally letting it happen. No feminine wiles here. Just a whole lot of willing. Which...if she's reading that right? Is a serious fragging turn-on.

Her spike agrees, as it jumps in his hand when his fingers close around it. Yeah, what was that about the body being all-too-honest? Aw fraggit, being aloof sucks. So she leans nearer, putting a hand on his chassis, "I don't deliver because what I want is right here."

Maybe he needs to keep up his mechly reputation for himself. Because he's, you know, mechly as frag.

"Starting to think you have a comeback for everything." At least everything he says. But maybe she doesn't have quite so much of a sassy comeback for this: the way his fingers squeeze the spike, giving it a gentle upward stroke, tugging her closer so he can cover her sassy mouth with a kiss.

Flashpoint's down with the 'and frag' part. Can he be mechly as frag while tied up? While she spike shim? She bets he can, but let's see it okay?

"Best weapon I have..." Her mouth, she means. But sassy comebacks for spike grabbing? NOPE. She didn't the first time and she doesn't now, just the lusty groan and push of her hips into his touch, the hungry press of her mouth against his. "Startin' to think you want that..." she says against his mouth, barely breaking the kiss.

Definitely not talking about the energon this time.

Edited 2015-01-03 06:36 (UTC)

He can be mechly as frag in any situation, sister. BRING IT ON.

Uh. Please?

"Nah, I've seen you shoot." Wait. What? Was that a compliment? ...yeahshutup, have more of a kiss now, in fact, to make that happen. "Slow to catch on, huh?" Because yeah, he wants that, and not just with that one hand.

Oh she will.

And especially with his comeback...which, beyond being a set of compliments, is a serious. fraggin'. turn-on.

So have a bit of a rough grab Deadlock as she presses herself against you, into that kiss, almost as demanding as before, the glass of energon she was drinking abandoned on the counter. Yeah, she might have a compliment of her own in a minute here, but right now she just wants to kiss you senseless. With some heavy groping on the side.