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Silence!	By : swordqueen Category: Transformers > G1 > Slash - M/M Views: 2289 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I make no money writing or posting this fic: I own neither Hasbro nor Transformers.

Chapter List
- 1-Silence!
- 1
“Really, I don’t know why the two of you have to come along,” Bluestreak was saying, for about the thousandth time. He balanced the ungainly case of his sniper rifle across his shoulder fairings. It did nothing to muffle the sound of his voice. “I do know what I’m doing. And I can take care of myself. And you’re just going to get in my way. And….” Behind his back, Sideswipe rocked his head at his twin, making a little puppety blabbing mouth gesture with his free hand. Bluestreak had been on like this for the entire cycle-and-a-half of their movement-to-target.

It wasn’t the complaining that bothered Sideswipe so much—it was the nonstop part. Like Bluestreak never in-vented. It reminded Sideswipe of that one time his twin had pranked him with that high pressure hose to his face. That’s what just about every klik with Bluestreak felt like.

Sunstreaker had less patience. He leaned forward over the gunner’s shoulder, and clapped a hand over his mouth. It didn’t stop the sound from pouring out, but it was formless vowels. “Primus!” Sunstreaker said. “Remember back before you got this annoying.”

Bluestreak shook his face free from Sunstreaker’s fingers. “Annoying? I’m not annoying. I have no idea why you’d even think so. Besides, I just like to speak my mind, that’s all. Don’t we have a right, as free Autobots, to state our opinions?”

“Not every fraggin’ one,” Sunstreaker growled. “And not all the time.”

“I think,” Sideswipe said, trying, TRYING, to be diplomatic, “what Sunstreaker’s trying to say is that we kind of need to be quiet for this mission, right?” That was the worst part of it. Sure, Prowl might be some tactical genius, but this plan was frankly idiotic: send Bluestreak into a no-bot’s-land, where an Autobot spy was supposed to meet up with his Decepticon source, and be ready to snipe the ‘con if things got…hairy. So many reasons Bluestreak was a bad choice for this. At least, Sideswipe thought, Prowl had the smarts to assign the two most skillful mechs he had as Bluestreak’s bodyguards. The way Bluestreak was going to blow his cover, they’d see plenty of action.

Not that Sides or Sunny minded action. Just…right now, he didn’t want to hear Bluestreak’s voice. Any more. Ever.

“Quiet? I can be quiet. You have no idea how quiet I can be when I have to be,” Bluestreak said. “I can be plenty quiet. This one time, someone was coming in for an inspection and they had to hide me and there I was just completely de-armored and hiding in the maintenance facility and oh it would have gone very bad if I’d made a noise and that damn ‘con had caught me there.”

Sunstreaker rolled his eyes at his twin. Sideswipe, though, was intrigued. This was one of the rare references Bluestreak made of what was listed in his personnel records as his ‘captivity’ by the Decepticons. (1)

He found himself saying something he thought he’d never say to Bluestreak: “And…?”

“And I was plenty quiet. Obviously. ‘Course the problem was that I’d made too much noise to begin with. They like to share, you know that way, one in valve and one spike and it gets kinda intense and you can’t really stop yourself unless someone shoves something in your mouth and…well, I was loud.”

Sunstreaker blinked. He was not, by this point at least, Bluestreak’s number one fan, but this image of Bluestreak getting doubled by two of the Seekers, not to mention his cortex feeding him a list of images of what that ‘something’ shoved in Bluestreak’s mouth might have been, and frag it that was hot however you thought about it and oh slag now his thought process was starting to babble on like Bluestreak!! But still, he told himself, it was kind of hot. “That what it takes to shut you up?” he muttered.

“Hush,” Sideswipe said. When Bluestreak got riled, it didn’t stop him talking: he just talked LOUDER. “Besides, we’re here.”

Here was the sniper set-up. Sideswipe pushed ahead of Bluestreak, clicking the safety off his photon rifle, checking the ground floor for any traps or ‘cons or anyone that could alert the ‘cons to their presence. Nothing. Not even a garbage drone. He gestured them to follow with one hand over his left shoulder, his rifle’s muzzle still sweeping the area in front of him, warily. Sunstreaker, however irritated he might have been by Bluestreak, still had presence of mind enough to do his job and guard the doorway, gesturing the gunner inside. They crossed to the stairwell—the elevator mechanism had failed ages ago, as had most of the power in this district. Probably, Sideswipe thought, why this had been chosen as a good rendezvous point. Bluestreak kept up a constant stream of muttering—quiet, but still annoying—about anything his optics fell on—shards of broken datatracks, cracked furniture, ‘con graffiti on the walls…. Sideswipe rolled his own optics skyward, and led them up the stairs, their feet crunching on the dust and grit of a building hit too many times by artillery.

Their objective was the third floor, east-side bay window. From there, Bluestreak would have a respectable firefan over the street below, and the bay window’s overhanging roof protected him from any attacks or observation from above. The twins withdrew to the door of the room as Bluestreak knelt to set up his sniper rifle. Still talking to himself. Or maybe the gun. Who cared?

“I,” Sunstreaker said, “am gonna kill that mech if he doesn’t shut up.”

“He’s not that bad,” Sideswipe said. Sunstreaker raised one eye-ridge at him. Sideswipe snorted back a laugh. “Okay, he is that bad. But it’s our job.”

“He’s gonna get us all dead if he keeps jabbering, and you know it!”

“Yeah, well, short of ripping out his vocalizer, what exactly do you think we can do about it? He didn’t even shut up when you had your hand over his mouth!”

“I have an idea.” Sunstreaker turned back to watch Bluestreak, who had finished setting up and systems-checking his high powered sniper rifle, and who had settled himself in a kneeling position, optics keen on the landscape below. Sunstreaker propped his pulse rifle against the wall nearby, where he could snatch it up if he needed it. Even now, the mech was keeping a constant litany, of the mission objectives, evaluations of the neighboring buildings, speculation about what the neighborhood had once been like…. Oh, Sunstreaker was right: this was maddening.

Sunstreaker crept up behind the grey and scarlet mech. “Hey, Bluestreak,” he murmured, in the mech’s audio, wrapping his arms, “Have I told you how much you turn me on?” Bluestreak jumped, squirming as Sunstreaker stroked his hands down Bluestreak’s red-armored thighs. “Primus,” Sunstreaker continued, “the whole walk over here I was behind you and all I could think of was….mmmmmm…,” his fingers grazed Bluestreak’s interface panel, gold against scarlet, “how much I want you.”

“Bu—bu—but you hate me! Everyone knows it. It’s not a secret or anythi—ooooooohhhhhhh!” Sunstreaker had released his panel and was skirting his fingers around the other mech’s covers.

“The best way to keep a secret,” Sunstreaker said, “Is to put out the opposite thing as true.”

“Oh!” Bluestreak said, as if this were some great wisdom. Sideswipe stepped around the sniper rifle case to the edge of the balcony—someone had to actually be covering the street for their target. But even so, he found his twin distracting. Well, that went without saying, Sideswipe thought. Especially when Sunstreaker was trying to be distracting. Which he was. “Really?” Bluestreak said, softly. “I guess it makes sense, but…I’m not sure why you didn’t want anyone to know.”

Sunstreaker shot his twin a pained look over Bluestreak’s shoulder. Sideswipe shrugged—Sunny brought this one on himself. Sunstreaker reached between Bluestreak’s legs, retracting the valve cover. “I have to have you. Now.”

Bluestreak squirmed. “Now? Now really isn’t the best time for me, you know. We have this mission and everything and there’s a lot of danger an—hooooooooooooooo.” Sunstreaker slipped his spike up the other mech’s valve. Sideswipe was impressed. Sunstreaker was pretty flexible, but he had to get forward on one knee to pull this one off. He must be desperate. To shut Bluestreak up.

“I know,” Sunstreaker said, “Danger turns me on so very much.” He began pushing into the gunner’s valve slowly. Bluestreak’s mouth hung open, his blue optics growing fuzzy and then drifting closed. He was still, however, making noise. Sideswipe peered over the ledge—a ‘con patrol. Slag.

Sideswipe leaned over to Bluestreak. “Condition for you, Blue. He’ll spike you, as long as you shut up. You make a sound, and he’s out. Got it?” Sunstreaker nodded approval at his twin’s improvisation. Bluestreak clapped his jaws shut, nodding, his optics wide. Sideswipe signalled to Sunstreaker, who resumed his gentle thrusts.

Sideswipe turned back to watch the street. The ‘con patrol was right underneath them. He felt his systems tense. One finger drifted toward the trigger of his laser rifle. Not as effective at this range as the sniper rifle, nor as accurate, but it could still do the job.

“Only one problem!” Bluestreak stage-whispered. Behind him, Sunstreaker stopped, abruptly, rolling his eyes. “When I, you know, overload. Kinda loud.”

Sunstreaker made an irritated face at Sideswipe. “Let us worry about that, Blue. You just keep on keeping quiet,” Sideswipe said. Sunstreaker shook his head, but resumed sliding his spike slowly, maddeningly, in the gunner’s valve. For a long moment—a handful of kliks, as Sideswipe anxiously watched the advance of the patrol up the street—there was no sound other than the sharp hissing breaths of the gunner. His eyes were wide on Sideswipe, his face intense, almost fearful.

Abruptly, Sunstreaker dug his gold-colored hands into Bluestreak’s broad grey shoulder-fairings, as if trying to push the gunner further onto his spike. “Pfffffffffah,” Sunstreaker gasped in overload, arching his back away from Bluestreak’s central dorsal, his spike plunged deep into the gunner’s valve. Bluestreak quivered, clamping his hands over his mouth. A small squeak escaped his vocalizer. His optics dashed anxiously, afraid Sunstreaker would penalize him.

“Frag,” Sunstreaker breathed, his heat sinks humming on. “Gotta love silence sometimes.” He moved his spike slickly in the valve, unevenly, just toying now with Bluestreak, not letting the gunner build up a rhythm to overload on. Sideswipe crouched down, his red and white armor more conspicuous than Bluestreak’s would have been. If Bluestreak had been behaving. Their target had arrived. Once the ‘con informant made it to the meetup, they’d have several kliks of tedious waiting.

“Please….” Bluestreak breathed, thin, his hands trying to reach back to Sunstreaker’s body. Sunstreaker stopped, abruptly.

“What did we say?”

Bluestreak squirmed against Sunstreaker’s spike. “I know but…Primus, I gotta—“

“Shut up!” Sideswipe hissed, watching the informant enter the building. He hesitated. Nothing. Now. The wait. “Right.” He pushed Bluestreak over, into Sunstreaker’s arms. Sunstreaker took his cue and rocked onto his back, moving slowly against the gunner’s valve. Bluestreak stared at Sunstreaker’s bright arms as they wrapped over his chassis with undisguised lust. Sideswipe knelt between the two of them. Sunstreaker paused. Bluestreak writhed. “Come on!” he whispered, desperate. “I didn’t even say anythi--!”

He shuddered into silence as Sideswipe’s glossa touched the rim of his valve. Sunstreaker gave a contented sigh of his own, his twin’s delicate touches teasing the base of his spike as he slowly worked in and out of Bluestreak’s valve. Sunstreaker’s thrusts became shorter, harder, and a sound like, “Huh! Huh!” came from Bluestreak. Sideswipe lifted his head, shaking ‘no.’ Quiet enough. And they still had some time. He tapped his twin on the thigh, and raised himself to take the gunner’s spike in his mouth. Bluestreak’s optics were glued to the spectacle, his hands, held tight against his sides by Sunstreaker’s forceful embrace, clutching helplessly on empty air.

“You like it, huh?” Sunstreaker whispered against Bluestreak’s audio. “He’s good, isn’t he? Primus he’s hot to watch.”

“Not fair!” the gunner gasped. “How come you get to talk?”

The twins instantly stopped, Sideswipe popping the spike from his mouth, after one last tweak with his glossa; Sunstreaker, quivering, almost entirely out of the valve.

“NO!” Bluestreak whispered urgently, twisting, frantic. “You can’t! Come on! Not like this!”

“Conditions,” Sunstreaker growled.

“Yes! Yes! Quiet! I’m quiet!”

They waited until Bluestreak actually shut the frag up.

Sideswipe squatted back, just to let Bluestreak know that he was going to monitor him for noise. Sunstreaker released one arm. Bluestreak clamped his hands over his mouth, biting down on one of his fingers as Sunstreaker reached around and began slowly stroking the gunner’s spike, half the pace of his thrusts.

Sunstreaker squeezed his hand hard enough around the gunner’s spike to get an optic-dimming wince from Bluestreak as he overloaded with another strong ex-vent. Bluestreak whimpered, frustrated. He moved his hands from his mouth. “Not fair,” he whispered. “That’s twice for you and none for me.”

“Nobody said this was fair,” Sideswipe muttered. The objective was to keep the damn gunner quiet. If that meant frustrating the hell out of him, well, this was the team for that job, too.

Sunstreaker arched his back, taking Bluestreak with him, as he withdrew his spike from the frustrated valve. Before Bluestreak could begin to whimper again, he resumed moving his hand along Bluestreak’s spike, which was almost humming with pressure. Bluestreak’s eyes drifted to Sunstreaker’s gleaming fingers, now slick with his lubricant, working along the length of his spike.

Sideswipe dipped between the mech’s legs again, licking noisily at the spill of silvery transfluid leaking from the valve. There was no way for Bluestreak to overload from this contact—merely around the rim of the valve—but it was more than enough to inflame him to quivering silence.

“I don’t trust him,” Sunstreaker said, just like that dropping his hand from the erect spike. They could hear the sound of Bluestreak gritting his dental plates against each other. Sideswipe grinned.

“I know,” Sideswipe agreed. “Any ideas?”

“Yeah. You take him.” Sunstreaker pushed Bluestreak at his twin. Sideswipe wrapped his arms around the gunner, moving to lie on his back, Bluestreak’s sniper rifle’s bipod just above his head. He shifted, positioning Bluestreak’s spike in his valve.

“QUIET,” he hissed in Bluestreak’s audio. Bluestreak didn’t move for a long moment, still quivering and frustrated from the aborted valve overload. He’d have to start again.

Bluestreak raised up on his arms. Sideswipe parted his thighs wider, encouraging Bluestreak’s action. Bluestreak’s grey chassis hovered a handspan above his own red one. He felt Bluestreak’s eyes on him, eager, randy. “Like this with your Seekers, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Bluestreak said. “Oh yeah.” He picked up his rhythm, his optics drifting closed, wrapping him in a thick tissue of memory. A soft growl grew in his throat.

“Thought so,” Sunstreaker muttered. “You mind?”

“Not at all,” Sideswipe said, digging his fingers in Bluestreak’s pelvic plating, pulling him, encouraging him.

Sunstreaker kneeled over his brother’s head, grabbing Bluestreak by the scarlet crest on his helmet. “Going to keep you quiet if it kills you,” he growled, and thrust his spike into Bluestreak’s surprised mouth. He tried to say something in protest, but all that came out was a vibration of sound that left Sunstreaker gasping.

Frankly, Sideswipe expected more of a protest from the gunner, but instead, he watched the dark-armored mech tilt his head back for a better angle, shifting his hands to Sideswipe’s shoulders so that he pulled himself forward. Each time he thrust into Sideswipe, he pushed forward against Sunstreaker’s spike. Sunstreaker caught one of Sideswipe’s hands with his own, squeezing it hard.

Bluestreak squealed into overload, shocking the twins into their own—Sideswipe as the long-teased spike burst its transfluid against his valve, and Sunstreaker as the vibrations from the squeal proved more than he could bear. Their hands squeezed together, almost to the point of pain. Together, through everything.

Bluestreak shuddered, releasing Sunstreaker’s spike carefully, rolling his head in its socket to loosen stiff servos. Sunstreaker drifted back to the balcony, squatting down to hide his bright armor in the shadows, checking his chrono. Still time.

Bluestreak dropped down onto Sideswipe’s chassis, pulling him into a kiss that pushed Sunny’s lubricant and transfluid into Sideswipe’s mouth. Sideswipe gave an alarmed look to his twin from around Bluestreak’s earnest face—they’d rather expected to shock the obnoxious gunner. Sunstreaker shrugged.

“Least he kept quiet.”

“Gonna tell everyone,” Bluestreak murmured, breaking the kiss. “No way I can’t. Primus you two are so fraggin’ hot. Can we do it again? Soon? Please?” He snuggled against Sideswipe’s broader crimson chassis. “We look good together, don’t we? You and me? Our colors, I mean, and oh frag have I told you how hot you are?"

“Frag,” Sunstreaker muttered. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Sideswipe nodded, bringing one hand up to hold the gunner’s head. Sunstreaker delivered a practiced, focussed blow on the back of Bluestreak’s helm. His blue optics lolled wildly for a klik, then darkened.

“How we gonna explain this one?”

“Same as we usually do. Combat casualty. Processor-induced hallucinations.”
- 1
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Silence!