39-Taste

AN: Just a short little drabble, substance forthcoming.

Mirage's lips grazed the crimson red chassis before him. The metal plating tasted bitter like paint and wax, and he savored the odd taste. His glossa flitted languidly over an exposed, unpainted patch of metal, a scar from a battle long past. It tasted rough and uneven in comparison to the rest of his lover's plating.

Contact with the exposed metal made the mech beneath him squirm and twitch. An impatient noise escaped Sideswipe's vocalizer, and he tightened his hands around Mirage's waist.

Mirage ignored him running his glossa over the spot on the Lamborghini's midriff where white armor plates jutted into black.

Then Mirage's mouth met the exposed junction in the Lamborghini's neck. Prodding the sensitive wires with his glossa always drove Sideswipe wild. The wires tasted like rubber and dust from the Oregon landscape.

The blue mech's traveled from Sideswipe's neck to his mouth. He nibbled at Sideswipe's lower lip before deepening the kiss. Their glossa intertwined, lapping at the other's mouth and fighting for control. He was deliciously sweet like high-grade and oil.

Bitter, dusty, oily and sweet, this was Sideswipe. The moaning and writhing beneath him only affirmed one thing. Sideswipe was his to tempt, his to savor, his, and his alone.