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Interruption	By : swordqueen Category: Transformers > G1 > Slash - M/M Views: 2333 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hasbro nor Transformers. I make no money writing or posting this.

Chapter List
- 1-Interruption
- 2-Improvisation:Fail
- 1
- 2
Okay, I totally have a thing for Bayverse Barricade. Ummm, if you look at my ficlist here, it's kinda obvious. (Hanging head in shame). This isn't a follow-on of the previous chapter, but it's more Bayverse Barricade being just a little too hot for his own good. Rowrf. Hope you enjoy!!!
*****
Barricade cursed. He always got the worst jobs. Decepticon luck, multiplied by Barricade luck, equaled negative luck. Squared. And times minus one again.
The treat this time was to distract, of all mechs, Ironhide. It made a certain, fucked-up kind of sense—Ironhide had an irrational hatred of Barricade that the interceptor had, as far as he could think, not done anything to deserve. This was above and beyond merely being a ‘con. Ironhide frothed at the intake at the mere mention of Barricade’s name. So, who else would better chase any rational thought out of the Autobot’s head?
Still, Barricade was not pleased that his particular aft was the bait. He was rather attached to his aft. And its personal intactness was significantly meaningful to him, even if to no one else. Still, orders were orders; so he gamely darted in front of Ironhide, waggling aforementioned aft before flooring his acceleration. Ironhide took off after him, his higher weight causing him to accelerate more slowly. Barricade played a few half-hearted rounds of accelerator/brake with him, getting so close on the decel that he could hear Ironhide’s snarling curses.
The farther he got Ironhide from Ground Zero—where Brawl was going after the disgusting squishy and the yellow Autobot who had beaten the living coolant out of Barricade (which he did not care to remember)—the better. Even if Ironhide wised up (and Barricade was counting on sheer hatred and his own patented Barricade charm to prevent that from happening), he’d take a long time to return to be of any help.
Brawl had better hurry the slag up, Barricade thought, because he was running out of ideas. He slid sideways into long sweep of pavement. This looked promisingly rural.
Frag. He was running out of ideas, and now, he’d run out of road. What he’d thought was a nice, narrow tertiary road was a private driveway. His tires squealed, gravel spraying against the white panels of a large garage. The turnaround was too narrow for him to be able to get past the Autobot bulk that was barreling toward him. Frag oh frag oh frag.
//Done yet? I’m about to lose him.//
//Need more time.//
Barricade heard Brawl grunt over comm. Guess things were going as spiffily for the ugly little tank as well. Frag. All right. So…you’re smart, Barricade, right? Smart your way out of this one.
He pushed up to his feet, deploying his spoke weapon as he dropped into a crouch trying to dance around to one side. Ironhide unfolded into his own robot mode, laughing.
“Going to scratch my armor?” he goaded. “That versus one of these?” He hefted one of his pulse cannons. “Thought you were smarter than that.”
Yeah, so did Barricade. Improvisation: fail. “Let’s see how good you are close range with those things,” he said, throwing himself at Ironhide. He braced himself for the inevitable blow. One thing about Ironhide was his extreme predictability: the blow came square between Barricade’s wing fairings. He dropped to his knees, grunting at the impact, throwing up his right arm, tire side out, to deflect the equally predictable follow-up swing. He sure hoped Brawl appreciated what he was doing in the name of buying time. He also hoped it was going a bit better on Brawl’s end, as Ironhide retaliated with a solid knee to the chassis that sprawled Barricade on his back.
Saw that one coming, too. Unfortunately, foresight didn’t make it hurt any less. Damn but Ironhide was so predictable.
Predictable. That was the key. That’s how he could buy time. Be…radically unpredictable.
Ironhide loomed over him, grinning. “Gonna enjoy this,” the Autobot growled, bending down, rearing back with one arm.
Barricade winked two of his optics. “Hope so, baby,” he said, and reached up, yanking the Autobot into a forceful kiss, intruding with his glossa into Ironhide’s surprised mouth. The punch fizzled out, as Ironhide shifted to try to tear the smaller mech away from him.
“The frag is WRONG with you?” he cursed, as he freed his mouth from Barricade’s. Well, it wasn’t anything to send over mission commnet for Barricade—Ironhide was a terrible kisser. And his mouth tasted of dirty oil. Still, all’s fair in love and war…and weirdness.
Barricade locked two of his talons around one of the drivetrain tires on Ironhide’s chest. He knew how sensitive they were. Ironhide arched back, gasping, trying to get distance to swing at Barricade again. Ha, not a chance. Barricade’s other hand slipped down the Autobot’s chassis.
“Get OFF me!” Ironhide planted one hand firmly on Barricade’s chin, trying to leverage him off with his entire body weight. Barricade felt one of his neck servos whine into failure. Time to escalate. He tilted his head, licking at the fingers across his chromed chin spires, winking lasciviously. “Gah!” Ironhide jerked his hand back as if it had been scorched.
This was, Barricade thought, suddenly, almost getting fun. “Sorry,” he moued. “You’re just so fraggin’ hot. Can’t tell you how long I’ve fantasized about this.” Lies, all lies! If he weren’t going to the Pit for merely being a Decepticon, this would do it. The only thing he’d ever fantasized about happening to Ironhide involved a very large smelter. No, wait, there was that one about the sharkticons….
Ironhide recoiled, slapping helplessly at Barricade’s talons still locked in his tire. “Fanta—Primus, you fraggin’ sicko!”
Yeah, would be if it were TRUE, Barricade thought. Bleurk. He was a Decepticon: that didn’t mean he was blind. Or anosmatic: Primus but Ironhide smelled bad. Old parts and picocorrosion.
Ironhide wriggled to escape, his knee bumping accidentally against Barricade’s pelvic armor. Barricade clamped his thighs around the knee, squirming with a desire he most definitely did not feel. “Primus, I want you so baaaaad.” Who knew that all that research he’d done watching human mating films (why did they have so many and why were they all so very similar? Unlike mechs, humans only had two frame types: interfacing just…couldn’t require all of that instruction) would come in handy? His small talons slipped down to Ironhide’s interface hatch.
“Get off!” Ironhide yelled. “Get off get off get off!”
“What I’m trying to do,” Barricade said, coyly. He trailed one talon along the hatch’s seam, freezing his face into a benign expression (or at least one that didn’t look terribly close to purging) as he felt Ironhide shudder at the touch, and the hatch snicked open under his hand. “Trying to get you off, too.”
Next time, he told himself, do NOT improvise. But it was too late now. He gritted his denta: the things I do for the Decepticon cause. His talons skittered over the spike and valve covers. Ironhide froze, moaning softly. The Autobot forced his ventilation back under control. “Stop it,” he muttered. “Stop it or—“
“Or what?” Barricade’s fingers teased the covers again. He felt the distinctive thump of a pressurizing spike against the spike cover. “Why take me on one-on-one unless you can actually take me on?” He allowed a hint of a challenge to creep into his voice. “I mean, not going to let a filthy ‘con get the best of you, are you?” Under his hand, the spike cover released, the pressurizing spike sliding into his grasp. He gave a few squeezes, enjoying Ironhide’s discomfiture—the Autobot gasped with every squeeze.
“Battle,” he murmured. “totally turns me on, too.” Right. He shuttered his upper set of optics so Ironhide wouldn’t see him rolling them.
It was his turn to jerk in surprise as Ironhide took advantage of his closed optics to plant a kiss on him. His turn to open his mouth in surprise, only to feel the warm presence of an alien glossa. His hand squeezed involuntarily at the spike. Ironhide ground his hips against Barricade’s hand, pressing the spike in his hand between their bodies.
“You want me?” Ironhide mumbled. “You can’t have me.” He used his larger size to tip his head forward and nip at Barricade’s upper tire. Barricade whimpered. This, he thought, as much as he could think, was not how this was supposed to go down. Ironhide moved his slick spike in Barricade’s grip, lubricant sheeting off between Barricade’s talons. Barricade reached down with his other hand, releasing Ironhide’s chest tire. Ironhide shut his blue optics for a handful of kliks as both of Barricade’s hands closed over his spike, the palm platings creating friction zones for the spike’s sensitive nodes. “Frag, yeah,” Ironhide breathed.
Lie still and think of Cybertron: it will all be over soon, Barricade thought, philosophically. Still, it was a damn sight better than having his face pounded into scrap. He had half a mind to contact Brawl again, just to see how much longer he had to keep this up, but Ironhide’s heavy breathing and moaning would have carried across the audiochan and he did NOT want to have to explain what was going on. Yeah, hi, how’s the mission going? Me? Oh, just giving a little hand action to the enemy. Yeah. You know. Always something new to complain about.
Barricade was trying to figure a way out of this before the inevitable happened, when…the inevitable happened. Fraggin’. Predictable. Fraggin’. Autobot. That was the sum total of his eloquence as he felt Ironhide’s spike jerk between his hands. He felt the hot spurt of transfluid against his thigh armor, as Ironhide bit into his upper arm tire again, growling through his overload.
I, Barricade thought, need a washrack. BAD. That better have bought that thick-witted idiot Brawl enough time. And I had better get to work thinking what delightful embroidery of lies I am going to put in the mission log. I do not think Megatron would approve of fighting the war with hand jobs. I do not think I approve.
Ironhide pushed off him with one hand on his chassis, causing Barricade to grunt with the sudden weight. Ironhide looked down his body, at the silvery spatters along Barricade’s pelvic armor and thigh. His eyes glittered strangely, and he snatched Barricade up by one wrist, hauling the Decepticon to his feet and hurling him against the brick wall of the garage. Barricade’s arm tires left black marks against the brick at the impact, his optics blanking for a klik.
And then.
Wet heat on his interface panel, one large, hard hand under his grille, pressing him back against the wall. He looked down: Ironhide knelt between his legs, coaxing the spike cover to retract with his mouth. Barricade shuddered as his cover clicked aside and Ironhide took the pressurized spike into his mouth. The Autobot’s glossa ran a quick circuit of the spike, then settled down to concentrate on a few nodes on the spike’s underside.
Barricade tried to come up with something witty to say, or snide, or sarcastic, or…anything. But all he could concentrate on was the shiver of sensations running up from his spike, cascading across his sensor net. Ironhide made a soft sound in his throat, sucking at the spike as his glossa worked, causing Barricade to gasp in time. The suction heightened the sensitivity of the nodes, almost to the point of being unendurable. Barricade tilted his head back against the wall, optics closing, sucking in deep vents of air to cool his rising core temp.
This was not right. This was even less right than what he had done. At least he hadn’t—seemed to—enjoy it. Had he? He certainly, he hoped, hadn’t had Ironhide’s blissful expression on his face at the time.
Ironhide shifted him, pulling his hips off the wall, squeezing his backside with one of his large, clumsy hands, pushing the spike further into his mouth. He squeezed Barricade’s aft plating in rhythm as he sucked.
Barricade had no choice.
Fight back against him? Riiiiiight. So he leaned against the wall, optics shuttered against the fading daylight, arms helpless and limp by his side as the Autobot had his way with him. He told himself it was mechanical, and nothing more. An Electrolux would have done the job just as dispassionately, and with the same results. Had he ever been perv enough to commit acts of onanism, with a nonsentient machine. He overloaded, forcefully, his talons screeching against the wall behind him as it felt his entire sensornet was being pulled through his spike.
His knee stabilizers quivered as Ironhide slowly pulled away, the suction and the still-teasing prods of his glossa drawing every last quiver and drop of transfluid from his spike. He sucked in an unsteady breath, unsure what happened next. Frag it, he wasn’t even sure what had just fraggin’ happened!
Ironhide ducked in, licking at the cooling droplets of his own transfluid from earlier on Barricade’s thigh, before rising to his feet and forcing another kiss on the smaller mech. Barricade could taste their blended fluid, tart and metallic and somehow sweet. Ironhide’s hands were hard on his shoulders, his thumbs pinning Barricade’s arm tires to the wall.
“I catch you again,” Ironhide murmured in his audio, “I will ram your valve so fraggin’ hard, you’ll lose paint chips.” The menace was undercut by the huskiness of his voice. Barricade quivered as his valve booted online at Ironhide’s words. He pinned Barricade’s throat with one hand, catching one of Barricade’s labial plates between his own. “And a word of this to anyone and I will pound you into slag—NOT the good way.” Barricade heard himself whimper in response, his optics shuttering.
When he opened them again, it was to the roar of an engine as Ironhide raced away.
Brawl hit his comm, excited. //Mission successful!//
//Thank Primus,// Barricade responded. //Just lost him.//
//I’m a little worse for wear. How’d it go for you?//
Barricade paused. Blinked. Looked down at his silver-splattered thigh, the lubricant around his spike, his sticky talons. Uhhhh. //Yeah. Same here.//
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Interruption