A/N: Okay, first time I've ever written this pairing. I realise last chapter wasn't up to standard, so I'm hoping I've done better.
Warnings: Sticky smutz! Also some swearing and crude terms.
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine, just playing. Also, I do not own the song 'Shots' by LMFAO.
Kama Sutra: 30 positions as demonstrated by TF's – Chapter 4 – Dancer
Mirage struggled to find the urge in him to hide this disgust at the song playing. It was distasteful. Crass, blatant and utterly misogynistic for human standards. And plain simple for Cybertronian minds. And yet…he found himself gyrating to the beat with it, the grunting male voices and the electro synth in the background. The dirtiness of it was addicting, and he couldn't help but move along with the rest of the drunken mechs.
The ladies love us
When we pour shots
They need an excuse
To suck our cocks
We came to get crunk
How 'bout you?
Let's go round two
Shots shots shots shots shots shots
Shots shots shots shots shots
Shots shots shots shots shots
The noble blushed at the strong language but couldn't find it in him to stop. He was overcharged and yet the suggestive language made him feel hot.
Rolling his hips from side to side, the spy felt optics on him, and he searched for them in the melee of dancing mechs.
Jazz, his commander, was watching him intently, visor dark with what Mirage knew was lust.
Well, he had only himself to blame. It was the type of song that Jazz would have picked up in his cyberweb travels for human music to play. Something beyond high grade was in him in that moment, and he jiggled his aft playfully, knowing that the saboteur wouldn't be unaffected.
Catching the full attention of his audience of one, Mirage shuttered his optics and fluidly moved up on down, accentuating his frame with dance, letting the dirty lyrics sully him, bring him down to Jazz's level. If his creators could see him now, shaking his hips to a common, suggestive song about the more uncouth things in life…alcohol and sex.
It was a secret Jazz exploited. They were occasional lovers. More on than off, and yet the visored mech enjoyed with predatory relish teasing Mirage with swear words and dirty talk, unsurprised at his subordinate's explosive reactions to it. Mirage was. He didn't even know he had that little personal kink.
Patrones on the rocks and I'm ready for some shots
The women come around every time I'm pourin' shots
Their panties hit the ground every time I give em shots
So cups in the air, everybody let's take shots.
If you feelin' drunk put ya hands in the air
And If you tryin' to fuck put ya hands in the air
Now say "I'm fucked up" (I'm fucked up)
I'm fucked up (I'm fucked up)
I'm tryna fuck (I'm tryna fuck)
I'm tryna fuck (I'm tryna fuck)
Ooh. Looks like song itself was foreplay if Jazz's sudden grin was anything to go by.
It was effective, Mirage lamented. Lust tightened down low, and his circuits were tingling with pre-charge. He felt that if someone touched him now, he couldn't help but moan. His optics wide open now, the spy slipped out of the crowd, feeling light headed from high grade and from the need pooling in between his thighs.
Out of the rec room, he took a deep intake, clearing the party air out of his mouth, but smelled his own arousal. He trembled, realising the intent.
It was no fun if he didn't try to get away, and so he staggered towards his quarters, as many sensors as he could open and casting their nets for any tremor or warning that Jazz was there and ready to take him. His interface components were charged in the short amount of time from the song, but he was always easy to arouse.
"Frag," the usually composed spy hissed as he felt the wetness seeping through his panel at the thought of what Jazz did to him.
"Frag indeed," purred a low voice. Too recognisable.
"Fiend. You planned this," murmured Mirage, knowing the answer already.
"Mmm, perfect opportunity, wouldn't ya say?" teased Jazz sauntering closer, engine purring with intent.
The blue mech couldn't even formulate a reply before a hot, demanding mouth took control over his, a slick glossa probing his mouth, tempting out his own and tangling passionately. Mirage couldn't help but moan into it as his lover took no time in pinning him against the wall and running his hands up and down his frame.
Pulling away, Jazz said, "But then again, ya were always a sucker for the words, weren't ya? 'Specially if they're dirty…like fuck…and cock."
The low rumble and the words themselves caused his limbs to tremble and they parted, allowing the lithe black and white closer, trading electrical pulses and body heat. It was addicting. It was the beginning of euphoria.
"If we weren't in a hallway, I'd make ya suck, but I really want you…want you bad 'Raj, dancin' that sexy little dance for me to those filthy words. So sexy."
At the hand tapping knowingly at his panel, Mirage wrote himself off as a lost cause. It was too much, and he wanted. He was losing himself in the haze of mutual attraction and heat, and he didn't care. All he wanted was to be fulfilled, satisfied. With a soft sigh, submitting to his and Jazz's desire, uncaring of who saw them in the open hallway, he retracted his panel, hot lubricants trickling down his sleek thighs. If possible, Jazz's visor darkened further upon seeing his prize, and his rubbed his fingers briefly over the area, revelling in the sweet smelling spill.
"Fuck, Mirage," he hissed, releasing his panel, thick spike rising aggressively to stand proud.
Hands reaching up to clutch against broad shoulders, Mirage ground his hips needily against the other's and whined, feeling the hot shaft, imagining it cleaving his folds.
"Hush spy-bot. Ya'll get what ya want soon enough," purred Jazz, nuzzling the slender neck cables. He delicately bit down on one, the slight pain pulling Mirage back to himself. He almost blushed at the audacity of doing this act in the hall then, but the heat within urged him on.
His whole stance radiating smug sensuality, the saboteur slid a hand to Mirage's thigh, pressing him back against the wall while he lifted it so the limb was wrapped along his waist.
The noble was about the lift his other leg when Jazz whispered, "Stay like that…half open…dripping. And all for me."
Stilled by the huskiness in Jazz's voice, Mirage could only hang there, suspended between normalcy and pleasure. He didn't dare beg now. Or else the sneaky glitch in front of him would continue to tease him, not giving him the satisfaction he desired. A needy whimper escaped his control, eliciting a growl out of the saboteur.
"Ah love the way the music gets ya hot. Gets ya nice and ready for me. Want it?" husked the visored mech, rubbing his spike along the wet entrance again, a teasing punishment.
"Yes," breathed Mirage. Now if Jazz could just put it in!
As if sensing his thoughts, Jazz gripped the slim hips and sheathed himself deep within Mirage's valve with a low growl, curling forward to tuck his helm into his lover's neck. His lips curved into a wide grin when Mirage choked, unable to voice his pleasure from the strength of the sensations he was feeling, the callipers in his valve rolling endlessly over the thickness of his spike.
"Hard and fast? Or sweet and slow?" asked Jazz, easily making himself keep his iron control while his blue spy writhed on him.
"Don't…care!" ground out the noble, moaning at the feel of Jazz.
"Mmm," hummed Jazz, pulling back and slamming back in, wasting no time in drilling Mirage hard against the wall, thrashing in and out of that hot clenching entrance in long strokes that made their plating slap and clang together. The slick sounds of interface and the heady scent of lube permeated the air around them. Thrusting up, hiking that slim leg higher over his waist, Jazz let out his first moan as the walls spiralled down on him harder, randomly.
"'Raj," he growled, jerking more ruthlessly into the valve for their mutual pleasure.
Finally finding his voice again just as Jazz hit that all consuming spot inside him, Mirage screamed, the fire of pleasure ripping through him, searing into his processor as a rush of fluid exited the juncture of their bodies to paint their thighs purple. Black, white, blue, and purple.
"Uuuuuhhhnn," the noble mech moaned, helm flopping back against the wall as Jazz continued to pound into him, seeking his own release.
With a guttural cry not two minutes later, Jazz fell into his climax, shoving his hips against Mirage's and emptying transfluid. They panted in the aftershocks, complete satisfaction thrumming through them, the lust subsided.
Withdrawing with a contented sigh, the shorter mech kissed up Mirage's neck to his lips and captured them in his thanks. He let go of the leg curled around his waist, and it dropped lethargically to the floor. Pulling back with a fierce grin, Jazz felt his ego glow. It was a rare occasion that he fragged Mirage so well that he was strutless afterward. Looking into his lover's glazed golden optics, Jazz said, "Ah know this is just a way of showin' how good Ah gave it to ya, but we gotta move spy-bot. Somethin' tells me ya don't want be seen with that sexy mess on your legs."
"Mmm. Gotta stop doing that to me Jazz," muttered Mirage, standing upright on wobbly legs.
Chuckling lowly, Jazz slid an arm around Mirage's back to support him. "Can't help it when you dance sexy. Besides…wasn't it fun? The thrill of maybe gettin' caught?"
"Might still get caught. We're a mess," replied Mirage, noting the half-erect spike still free from Jazz's panel. The exhibitionist. Another chuckle met his audials as they turned down another corridor towards his quarters.
"And we're gonna get even messier," promised Jazz.
A/N: I hope that was better than the last chapter. I think I need to brush up on my smut skills a bit more because of the low reviews on last chap.
So let me know if you liked this one!