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Death Wish	By : swordqueen Category: Transformers > G1 > Slash - M/M Views: 3084 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of the Transformers characters or franchises. I make no money writing or posting this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Death Wish
- 1
Sunstreaker gasped as the cable slipped around his neck, digging into the vital lines to his cortex. “Give me a reason,” he heard the gruff voice say from the shadows behind him.

“Reason…for what?” he managed. His hands flew up to his throat, trying to get under the garrote.

“Kill you, keep you alive, doesn’t matter.” A laugh. “It REALLY doesn’t matter to me.”

“You always…say that.”

“And thus far, little Autobot, you’ve been able to give me a reason.” He pulled tighter. “Think you might be running out of reasons, though.”

“Guah,” Sunstreaker arched his back, trying to release the pressure against his throat. “Thundercracker, please. Hurting!” He felt the jet draw closer, the cable around his neck shifting as the hand Thundercrackerdercracker held it in got closer.

“It’s supposed to hurt, Autobot,” Thundercracker murmured. “I’m the enemy.”

Sunstreaker shifted his weight back, freeing one foot up to strike back, hard, against the Decepticon’s foot. Seeker forefeet were thin fairings, nothing more, and it crumpled under his solid heel with a screech of metal that was echoed by a howl of pain.

Thundercracker swung Sunstreaker around by the cable, tripping the gold mech with his other foot so that Sunstreaker stumbled heavily to the ground. Thundercracker hauled him up to his knees, using the garrote as a leash. Sunstreaker suddenly came optic-level to Thundercracker’s pelvic plating. Blue fingers snapped the interface hatch open, the spike pressurizing rapidly, bumping against one of Sunstreaker’s audio vents.

“Guess what you’re going to do?” the blue jet snickered.

“Go frag yourself.” He felt a hand twist the garrote tighter around his throat.

“That’s what you’re here for, Autobot,” Thundercracker snarled. “Now, do it. Or do I need to remind you how easily I have you in my sights?”

Sunstreaker raised his head, defiantly, but saw one of Thundercracker’s arm guns aimed directly at his head. And then Thundercracker’s nasty grin. His capacitor hitched current flow, setting his systems racing. This…he wanted. In a way he couldn’t describe, didn’t want to try to describe to anyone else, not even Sideswipe. This mix of fear and abasement and a knife-keen pure lust, entirely untinted by love or affection or any of the softer emotions. He liked it hard and brutal and uncomplicated. Pure. Raw.

He closed his mouth over the large spike. Seekers were twice the size of ground mechs—their equipment more or less proportional. Another thing he couldn’t get from Sideswipe or anyone else. The spike filled his mouth, forcing his jaw hinge to stretch. Juuuuust to the point of discomfort. His glossa rolled over the contours of the Seeker’s spike, the flattened ridges of the underside, the swirling pattern—almost like rifling—at the tip. Thundercracker sighed, the garrote loosening its stranglehold from Sunstreaker’s throat.

The golden mech reached to disentangle the cable, only to have the hand pinned against a blue thigh. Thundercracker’s other hand kept a firm grip on the cable, two fingers wrapping around the back of Sunstreaker’s helm, pulling him forward.

Sunstreaker shivered, gagging as the spike hit the back of his intake.

“Come one,” Thundercracker goaded. “You can take more.” He pulled the helm toward him. Sunstreaker could see only the blue and black of Thundercracker’s pelvic plating, the bare silver metal of his interface hatch flashing in and out of focus as he thrust his head, in quick, sharp motions, trying to force more of the spike in his mouth. The lubricant tasted sweet/salty, with a slight overtone of kerosene and something else.

“More,” Thundercracker ordered. He dropped the grip on Sunstreaker’s hand, jerking him by his audio vents as though they were handles. Sunstreaker tried to scream and gag, as the spike forced its way past his objection, scraping against the back of his intake. “Too small for me,” Thundercracker muttered. “Not good enough.”

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics. Plenty good enough. Especially at this. He moved his glossa skillfully across the underside of the spike, grinning inwardly at the shiver he saw travel across the jet’s thighs. He pulled his head back, zigzagging his glossa’s tip across the underside nodes and then pushed forward again, the spike filling his mouth.

“Yesssss,” Thundercracker sighed. “Frag, yes. You’re good at that, aren’t you? Lot of practice, on your knees, for how many mechs?”

Sunstreaker squirmed at the insinuation. He was not the kind of spike sucking whore Thundercracker thought he was. He just knew what he was doing. And Thundercracker would learn that. He moved more urgently up and down the spike, sucking, and releasing suction, his glossa flicking with skillful maddening agility over the nodes, his hands locking around Thundercracker’s thigh armor, fingers digging at the plate edges. He could feel the overload rising in Thundercracker’s systems, feel the prickle of charge on the spike nodes, Thundercracker’s fingers kneading, importunate, on his helm.

Thundercracker snarled, thrusting fast and hard three or four times into Sunstreaker’s mouth, his spike grating against the back of Sunstreaker’s intake as a hot burst of transfluid flooded the Autobot’s throat. Sunstreaker swallowed, fast, quick, precise, letting the back of his glossa strike against the quiveringly sensitive nodes on the spike.

“Yuuuurrruugh!” Thundercracker growled, yanking his hips back, Sunstreaker’s face off his spike.

Sunstreaker dropped to his knees, smiling defiantly at Thundercracker, letting a trickle of the silver fluid coat his glossa before he showily licked his lips. “Reason enough?”

Thundercracker had dropped the end of the garrote in the throes of his overload, and Sunstreaker tore it away, tossing it from him as he rose to one knee. “My turn.”

Thundercracker kicked at his shoulder with his injured foot, driving Sunstreaker flat on his back on the dirt, the crumpled toe plate pressing on his shoulder. “You think so, huh?” Thundercracker bent down and snapped open the gold dazzled interface hatch. Sunstreaker’s spike leapt to attention, oozing lubricant. Thundercracker snorted with disdain. “Got you hot, didn’t it?”

“Shut up,” Sunstreaker muttered. “Got you off, didn’t I?”

“Right. So I owe you.” Thundercracker shook his head as though this were ridiculous. He shifted his weight forward, the damaged foot digging into the Autobot’s chassis. Sunstreaker squealed, partly from the sudden pain, but partly from the feel of metal giving. That…would be hard to explain. He would have to come up with something.

Thundercracker dropped to his other knee, on one side of Sunstreaker’s hip, before he moved his damaged foot back and settled his valve on the Autobot’s spike. “Generous, aren’t I?” Thundercracker said, shifting his hips in a quick figure 8 so that his valve performed a complicated swirling action against Sunstreaker’s aching spike. Thundercracker’s back arched as Sunstreaker lifted his hips into him. “Oh, frag yes.” He held himself a bit above the gold mech’s hips. “Harder,” he ordered, leaning forward, scraping his hands down Sunstreaker’s chassis, his fingers probing roughly at the transformation seams, digging into the spokes of his tires. Sunstreaker drove his hips up, bracing his heels against the ground, his spike stabbing furiously into the valve, metal clanging against metal. The overload that had been swirling like a restless sea in his system raged to a storm. He dug his own hands into the Decepticon’s forearms, prying around the edges of the armor plates. Thundercracker’s smile stiffened, one lip twitching in time to Sunstreaker’s desperate thrusts, until Sunstreaker cried out and with one final thrust jammed his overloading spike deep into the silky-textured valve lining.

Thundercracker growled down at him, dissatisfied. “I didn’t finish,” he said, coldly.

“Not my fault,” Sunstreaker gasped.

“Oh, it is your fault. Entirely.” Thundercracker moved on top of him, grabbing Sunstreaker’s helm and pressing it against his valve. “But here’s your chance to make it up to me.”

Sunstreaker tasted the sweet-sour of his own transfluid trickling from the valve and onto his surprised lips. His glossa flicked out, almost involuntarily, tasting more. Thundercracker stiffened as the glossa flicked against one of his rim nodes. Primus, Sunstreaker thought, flicking his glossa again, reveling in Thundercracker’s quivering response. His transfluid was warm and slick and seeping from the valve all over Sunstreaker’s face and chin as he buried his mouth against the valve, licking at the nodes, curling his glossa to scoop up as much of the fluid as he could, tasting it as though it were lust distilled.

He circled one node repeatedly, letting it build up charge, before moving on to another one.

“Come on!” Thundercracker threatened. “Better get me off soon.” His pelvic frame was quivering, in barely contained desire. He looked down at Sunstreaker over the bulk of his chassis, his cockpit catching the last of the evening light in an amber glare. Sunstreaker taunted the nodes again, teasing them with light, then fierce, touches. Thundercracker writhed on top of him, his hands reaching back to tear at Sunstreaker’s armor, his hands gouging parallel tracks into Sunstreaker’s chassis. Sunstreaker hissed into the valve, feeling enamel tear off in strips. He bit down against a fold of the valve lining.

Thundercracker overloaded as Sunstreaker’s bite crushed one of the nodes, the damage sending sparking agony and desire in a tangled wash across the jet’s sensornet. He dropped his weight against Sunstreaker, the Autobot pinned under the weight of the pelvic frame crushing against his face. Sunstreaker thrashed, clawing at the jet, flailing with his arms and legs.

Thundercracker’s vents came in hard, fast pants, gusting against Sunstreaker’s own heated frame. He gasped as Sunstreaker’s desperate fingers raked against his sensitive wing panels.

“Frag,” he snarled. “It’s like you never learn.” He ground his valve over Sunstreaker’s face, gritting his own denta at the pain, just to see the look of pain and panic on the Autobot’s face. He pushed off the smaller mech, reaching behind him to grab Sunstreaker’s arm. Sunstreaker lashed out with his legs, kicking, but Thundercracker twisted at the last second and the blow merely glanced off his rib strut and not through his wing where it had been aimed. Thundercracker snarled with a strange satisfaction and twisted the captive arm, throwing Sunstreaker face down into the dirt.

The Autobot felt sand and dirt along his face, sticking to the mass of lubricant and transfluid, tasting grainy and raw in his mouth. He grunted as Thundercracker’s weight landed across his back. Hands raked down his arms, hauling at his tires, tearing them out of alignment. Sunstreaker tried to howl, tried to buck the weight off his frame, but the Seeker was too heavy, his frame’s center of balance too far forward over Sunstreaker’s back. “There’s a reason you should make me happy, you stupid frag,” Thundercracker muttered, his voice harsh in Sunstreaker’s audio. “Called I still haven’t decided whether or not to kill you.”

Sunstreaker felt his hips hauled up as the jet pushed off his shoulder, and once again pushed a sound of pain into the dirt as the jet shoved his spike mercilessly into Sunstreaker’s valve. Thundercracker hadn’t gone slow or eased his large spike into the valve, simply thrust it home. Sunstreaker’s nodes burst on, with a fiery intensity, the valve expanded to stretch the lining taught around the unaccustomedly large spike.

“Maybe I’ll kill you,” Thundercracker muttered, working the spike in the valve, the tip prodding at the topmost node. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe it’s good enough for me that,” he paused and began a series of sharp, intense thrusts, “you’re going to have blue paint all over your pretty gold aft. And everyone’s going to know.” He changed the rhythm, Sunstreaker moaning under him, “Fate worse than death for the vain little frag you are, wouldn’t it be? Everyone knowing you come out here and take whatever I feel like giving you.” He slowed down even more, dragging his spike slowly, languorously, along the valve nodes. Sunstreaker trembled at the image. At the truth of the image.

His valve quivered against the spike. Thundercracker snickered. “True isn’t it?” His tempo picked up. “Frag, I could kill you right now. Finish off in you before you’re even cold. What do you think?” The hands gouged at Sunstreaker’s plates, one forcing his face against the dirt, the other digging in his neck. Sunstreaker felt his vision start to fade, his entire concentration on the increasing-tempoed push of the spike, stretching at his valve, the strike of Thundercracker’s forward pelvic arch against his aft. His valve ached, with a kind of dark hunger, wanting something that he knew Sideswipe couldn’t give. Was it worth dying for? Right now, the answer was yes. When it seized him, this strange desire, this implacable lust, he had no choice. He was helpless before his own lust.

And helpless under Thundercracker’s hands, driving him face down into the dirt as the spike pounded into him. Thundercracker paused and suddenly Sunstreaker screeched as all of his nodes sparked white hot agony across his systems. His spine whipped, uselessly, trying to arch or contract him out of his position. He felt a trickle of coldness, water, run down his aft. Thundercracker laughed. “Awwww, did I break the charge buildup for you? Bet you’re really frustrated now, aren’t you?”

He leaned forward again, his voice growling. “So am I.” He gripped Sunstreaker’s shoulders mercilessly, his fingers denting the armor, abrading against the struts as he used them for leverage to pull Sunstreaker’s valve back against his spike, faster and harder. Thundercracker overloaded with a roar that set his cooling fans thrumming. Sunstreaker shuddered helplessly, impaled by his own lust as much as the Seeker’s spike, his own overload sharp and crystal bright and almost too painful to bear as it ripped across his net.

Thundercracker gasped, sucking in vents of air to cool his overheated systems, slowly releasing his grip on Sunstreaker’s shoulders. The gold mech pushed up onto wobbly elbows. His wrists were scraped with blue and black paint, his face gritty and sticky and gummed with dirt and fluid.

“Might let you live, this time.” Thundercracker muttered, jerking his spike roughly out of the valve, with force enough to invert part of the lining. He laughed as Sunstreaker reached to adjust it, his hands pathetic around his dented aft. “One condition.”

“Frag you and your conditions.”

Thundercracker grinned, wickedly. “More like frag YOU, Autobot. Next time I do this, I want you carrying.”

Sunstreaker’s spark went cold. “No.” Carrying a sparkling? No way.

Thundercracker shrugged. “That’s the condition. If you want there to be a next time.” He pushed to his feet. “Think about it. I want to see you curling around your gestational chamber, protecting it. I hear it’s really intense when a spike hits the top cycling node. You know mine can.”

Despite himself, Sunstreaker shivered, a turgid mix of lust and horror, intoxicating and dark, swirling in his processor.

“Comm me when you are,” Thundercracker said. “Not til then.”
- 1
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Death Wish