A/N: Spin off from the second arc of the "Feelings" series, found here: fanfiction.net/s/7215587/1/Feeling_Wanted . After the last chapter of the arc. Like…maybe…I don't know, a month later?
Warning: Sticky! As in, you must be at least 16/17 to read this fic!
Disclaimer: No…I don't own Transformers.
Desks are fun!
Lips met in an erotic tangle, glossa's stroking passionately over one another.
A soft, aroused moan.
The feel of his lover's hands caressing his doorwings, stimulating those spots right at the juncture was just so nice. Those hands had learned that spot maybe a little too well. It got him revving and rearing to go at any given time.
The warm mouth sucked on his bottom lip for a moment, doing the same to his glossa before pulling away to kiss a path to his audial. The younger mech shivered as his lover's voice purred, "Mmm, so hot for me Blue."
"Always for you," Bluestreak replied.
The voice chuckled, kissing back to his lips and pressing in once more, delving into the warm wetness of his mouth, a hand reaching up to cup his helm and bring their mouths closer together. The kiss was deep, passion roaring through each touch of lips and glossa. Bluestreak shivered and moaned again, leaning his thighs on the desk he had been pressed back towards by his lover. Liquid fire burst over his sensors as he realised they really, really shouldn't be doing this here.
Not in Wheeljack's lab on his desk.
No matter how kinky it was. Any of the science bots could walk in at any time. It took about five seconds for a mech to enter the lab and come around the corner of the large shelf rack to see what they were doing.
Wheeljack didn't seem to care though, his lips now mouthing at the tip of a door wing, making it twitch in the gentle hold of his denta.
"Jackie, the door…I have to lock it," moaned Bluestreak, writhing under the ministrations.
"Why? This is just a nice make-out session, isn't it?" Wheeljack teased, before placing his mouth back on the tip of the doorwings and sucking again.
"Oooh, Jack," the gunner whimpered, a hand grasping the engineer's shoulder and the other cupping a brightly flashing helm fin, which was flickering between its normal blue and the deep red-like purple of arousal. A low chuckle vibrated along his doorwing, making him arch back, chestplates scraping delectably along Wheeljack's.
"Mmm, love it when you do this. So young, enthusiastic, and all mine. I love you," purred the elder mech.
"Yours. I love you. You're mine too," Bluestreak replied, purring the answer back and parting his tights a bit more, abdomens now coming in complete contact with each other.
"Absolutely," agreed Wheeljack.
Just when he was going to tease his lover even more, the sound of a door cycling open and the voice of Optimus Prime calling out, "Wheeljack? Are you here?"
The couple instantly separated. They might have been getting a little hot and heavy, but they had no desire to be caught by their Prime. Not thinking correctly, Bluestreak ducked, hiding in the wide space underneath Wheeljack's desk. Thankfully, the desk only opened out to one side, effectively hiding him from everyone's view but Wheeljack's. The engineer himself had latched his mask shut, barely getting out, "Here, Prime," before sitting down and drawing the wheeled chair towards the desk, careful not to hit the grey and red mech under it.
At that moment they settled, Optimus came around the corner, optics crinkling in such a way that Wheeljack knew that Prime was smiling in greeting.
"Hello Wheeljack. I was just wondering if I could take some time to inform you about these plans that Prowl's put together. I was wondering if you could build something to short out EMP weapons in long range? I know we've gone over this before, but-"
"No problem, sir," replied Wheeljack without hesitation. The sooner he could get Optimus out of here, the sooner he and Bluestreak could go back to their quarters and he could have his way with the young gunner.
Bluestreak kept silence, hearing as the great bulk of his leader sat in the chair he had sat in barely twenty minutes ago, merely talking to his lover. Now, he was under a desk (thank Primus it was wide enough to fit his doorwings!), charged up and frustrated. His valve had slowly been preparing itself while they were kissing and through the wonderful touches to his frame, and it was now slick. He bit back a moan. He wanted his lover so badly. It always surprised him that he wanted to interface as much as he did. Guess love did that to you.
The gunner listened as Wheeljack talked. He loved the sound of Wheeljack's voice. So curious, so bright with intelligence and yet so genial. Yet, in the passion of making love, that voice would growl lowly or purr, or yelp and keen with pleasure, before yelling and calling out with completion.
Bluestreak pouted again. It wasn't fair!
As heat built in his circuits, his optics latched onto the CME's interface panel. A devious thought entered his processor and he had to stifle a giggle. It would be one of the kinkiest things he would ever do.
'No…I shouldn't….I shouldn't….I….will. I am,' he thought, shuffling forward slowly and placing his hands on Wheeljack's knees.
The kneejoints flexed away a bit, but relaxed as his lover realised who the touch belonged to.
A cheeky glint lit up the younger mech's optics. Oh how he couldn't wait for Wheeljack to lose control! Parting the thighs ever so slightly so his helm could fit comfortably between them, he breathed out over the closed panel.
There was a brief pause in Wheeljack's speech, but then he went on.
Inhaling the faint tang of the engineer, Bluestreak let his glossa inch out and slowly lick across the top seam of the hot interface panel. Ooh, Wheeljack was still revved up.
This time, the engineer actually choked on his words, and when Prime asked if he was alright, he replied that a bit of dust had gotten caught in his vocaliser. Meanwhile, his hand had slid down to Bluestreak's helm, trying to push him away gently. Bluestreak merely nipped at the hand, before soothing it with a kiss, giving an unspoken, 'I'll take care of you. Come on, Jackie.' The hand was undecided, and hovered uncertainly before dropping back on his helm.
Taking it as permission to continue, the gunner lapped with small licks at the panel, nuzzling his face against it in affection.
He noticed that his lover was not unaffected.
The speech was more careful now, and every now and then there was a longer pause before he went right back to discussing with Prime.
Making sure he was quiet, Bluestreak began to suck and nibble at the panel. He wanted the spike in his mouth, wanted to feel the taste of fluid on his glossa, to hear Wheeljack cry out. Wonder if they could make it quiet until Prime left. His valve clenched at the thought. It was so sexy to think that they were actually being watched, however inadvertently. As the hips jerked forward, Bluestreak smirked.
He had him.
Wheeljack struggled to listen and keep his optics on Prime. The mech was flipping through images on a datapad, obviously trying to come to the right one. All the while the Praxian's mouth was working over his interface panel. He wanted to moan, but he was on the verge of muting his vocaliser. His spike was pressing against the panel, straining to get out.
Some part of him realised it was so wrong to do this, but the other part of him argued how hot and kinky it was, how aroused he was and to heck with the consequences.
Knowing he was fighting a losing battle, as Optimus asked another question, he carefully let his panel retract, fighting back the hiss as lips instantly caressed the sensitive head. The hand on the desk curled into a fist, glad he had a mask so he could hide the open mouthed expression he sported.
Thankfully, Optimus was launching into full leader 'inform all' mode. If not, then he wouldn't have been able to correctly answer any questions.
Bluestreak hummed quietly, licking at the bead of pre-fluid cresting the slit at the end of his lover's length, before holding the hot metal in one hand and pressing kisses to the base, where he let his glossa zigzag up again. Wheeljack's hips jerked again, and the gunner had to stifle a giggle.
Optics darkening with lust, Bluestreak placed his mouth over the head again, sucking lightly, before slowly inching down, swallowing the whole length. The inventor's hand clenched momentarily on his helm, and he could see the muscle cables in the abdomen tense.
"Wheeljack, are you alright? Your helm fins are flickering oddly."
At the sound of Prime's voice, Wheeljack miraculously choked out, "Fine…f-fine Prime. It's been…happening though the day. Er…go on please."
Optimus nodded slowly, looking concerned, but went on anyway, much to the inventor's relief.
Around the spike in his mouth, Bluestreak hummed quietly, content with the weight on his glossa and just encasing it in the warmth of his lips for the time being. The spike throbbed, arousal so clear and the gunner fed off it. He loved how he could make his lover feel. He loved making the older mech feel so loved and wanted.
Slowly, he drew off, licking at the tip again, before going all the way down to the root again and bobbing his head up and down, the soft pants and tiny, almost barely heard moans from Wheeljack's mouth spurring him on. A hand was rubbing his chevron, making him get wetter and wetter. Bluestreak was very tempted to come out behind that desk and drag Wheeljack back to their quarters, not caring if Prime saw and knew what they had been doing. He wanted. He needed so bad it almost hurt.
Wheeljack was using hums and noises of agreement to hide the pleasured moans. It was taking all of his willpower not to thrust into Bluestreak's mouth, to lean back in his chair and overload into it.
His cooling fans were on, but he had installed a system so that they were soundless.
He was glad for it.
The sensual licks and the long, sure, sucking movements were blitzing almost any defence he could have made. His circuits were crackling with charge, and heat pooled heavy in his lower abdominal region. So perfect, the doorwinger's mouth was so perfect.
The engineer could feel it as Bluestreak drew off again, exhaling over his arousal. Lips pressed against the tip once more and he felt the smirk.
He wanted to look down, to view what would have been such an erotic show, but kept his optics on his Prime, who was still yammering on about Shockwave and how they would defeat him.
Right now, Wheeljack couldn't care about the mono-optic of doom.
He was too busy getting sucked off.
Bluestreak smirked, tapping the tip of the spike against his lips and opening his mouth…
…and lightly scraping his denta along the sensitive spike nodes.
Wheeljack couldn't stop himself and cried out, "Ah!"
Optimus halted immediately and asked firmly, "Wheeljack, are you sure you're alright? You look…flushed."
"Umm….oh….nnggh….I….um….well I haven't been feeling the best lately," Wheeljack ground out, almost groaning the words as Bluestreak went back to deepthroating him.
"Maybe I should get Ratchet?" the Prime suggested in concern.
"YES! Oh…I mean…nnnhh…yes….please Prime…it would be a-appreciated if you could…oh!...go now and get him. I don't know what's wrong with me," replied the inventor, gripping the desk and making short, sharp jerks into Bluestreak's hot, tightened mouth. His optics were screwed tight, and he opened them just to see Optimus looking oddly at him and backing away, leaving the room and shutting the lab door behind him.
With his leader gone, Wheeljack felt free.
He cried out and bucked his hips into his lover's mouth, fins flickering that aroused purple/red. Bluestreak moaned around his spike, and he was sure the gunner was wet under his panel.
Bluestreak moved faster, sucking harder.
And then with another loud cry, garbling out Bluestreak's name, Wheeljack climaxed, transfluid shooting into the gunner's mouth. His spike felt on fire with sensation, as more hot silver liquid burst from the tip, he pulled back, panting as he saw the fluid smear over the kneeling mech's smiling lips.
"Mmm, Jackie, you taste so nice," purred the gunner, a cheeky glint in his optics. He nuzzled the spike, licking away the remainder of transfluid.
Tucking his spike away, Wheeljack replied teasingly, yet happily sated, "You little tormentor. Come on, now that Prime's gone, we can go to our quarters. Bet you're wet, hmm? I think I can help you with that."
As Wheeljack retracted his facemask, Bluestreak chuckled and whispered, "Ooh, I am. I'm surprised it hasn't leaked out. I think I will need that help."
The Lancia laughed and pulled his lover in for a deep kiss, tasting his own spill.
And then they were running through the halls, and straight for their quarters, laughing all the way.
Optimus Prime frowned in his office. He had not alerted Ratchet yet of Wheeljack's seeming malfunction, because even that seemed odd. Why had his CME been acting so wrong? Recalling there was a camera in the lab, Optimus commed Red Alert.
::Red Alert, I was wondering if your camera in Wheeljack's lab is up and running.::
::Yes it is sir.:: came the succinct reply.
::I was wondering if you knew if someone was with Wheeljack before I came into the lab, please,:: Optimus requested.
There was a pause.
::…Yes there was, sir.::
::Did they leave before I came? Did something they do affect Wheeljack's actions?::
Another pause, longer. Frowning again, the leader of the Autobots asked, ::Red?::
::Pardon me, sir. But the bot never left. Bluestreak was with Wheeljack before you came. They were…embracing. I guess you could say he affected Wheeljack's actions. When you came in sir, Bluestreak hid under the desk.::
::Thank you, Red Alert.::
Bluestreak had been under the desk that entire time he had been talking about the plans. He knew, of course, that the engineer and the gunner were in a relationship, but…
"OH!" gasped Optimus in realisation and then blushed heavily under his facemask.
So that's why Wheeljack had been moaning.
A/N: REVIEWS PLEASE! Lol, I loved writing this. I was giggling as I wrote the last part.