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Skyfire's First Heat	By : swordqueen Category: Transformers > G1 > Slash - M/M Views: 3903 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any of the characters or the rights thereto. I make no money writing or posting this fic.

Chapter List
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“Up,” Thundercracker said, gesturing with the muzzle of his gun. Skyfire clumsily rose to his feet, acutely aware (and ashamed) of his exposed still-pressurized spike, his sticky hand. He towered over Thundercracker, the blue jet’s optics flickering down to the spike. He licked his lips. “Right,” he said, slowly, “Over there.” He gestured Skyfire to where the black and purple jet lay on the canyon floor.
“You’re not going to kill me?” Skyfire still wasn’t entirely trusting of their motives. Were Starscream here, he would have been more relaxed.
“Only if it’s possible to die from interfacing,” Skywarp cried out, wriggling desperately on the dirt. “I’m about ready to die from lack of it.”
“Oh quiet, you,” Thundercracker said. “You’re not going to die from it.” He rolled his optics. “Such a wuss about it, really.”
“Wuss? The fire suppression hose? The taser? I am so not a wuss.” The black thighs tried desperately to rub together. “Come ON!!!”
Thundercracker smirked at the memories. “And now…we get to add this to your list.”
“What do you want me to do?” Skyfire asked. His spike was almost vibrating at the sight of the writhing black jet. Something in the sinuous way the spine struts moved was driving all rational thought—what little there was in the throes of heat—out of his cortex.
“Auuuugh!! Seriously? Fuck me! Now! Look, I’ll even say please!” Skywarp squirmed, trying to hook Skyfire’s leg with one heel.
“Why is he tied up?” Skyfire asked.
Thundercracker shrugged. “More fun when he can’t play with himself.”
“More fun for YOU maybe! Aaaaaaaagh!” Skywarp flipped himself face down on the ground, jerking his hips rhythmically. “Come on!” he yelled, his voice muffled into the ground, “I need it so bad!”
“He’s obviously consenting,” Thundercracker pointed out.
“Consenting to me?”
“Frag! I would consent to that slaggin’ CACTUS over there,” Skywarp cried out in frustration, flopping back onto his wingspan, his interface equipment sticky and dirty. “Ple-hee-heeese!”
“Cactus, huh?” Thundercracker considered the long spiny plant. “Not a bad idea.”
“That does not sound like informed or rational consent.” Skyfire protested.
“Rational? It IS Skywarp we’re talking about,” Thundercracker said.
Skywarp howled, hooking the back of Skyfire’s knee, tripping him, the white shuttle’s full weight landing on him. “You,” Skywarp gasped into Skyfire’s audio, “Fuck me. Now. Yes.” The writhing of the body under his, the smell of friction-heated lubricant, intoxicated Skyfire. Add to that the strange similarities with Starscream—same frame type, similar face. Oh those wings….
This was not scientific at all, he admonished himself, but he couldn’t stop his hands from roaming over the broad spans, the panel seams surprisingly familiar under his fingers, the small nubs of rivets, the long straight lines of panel edges. Skywarp juddered underneath him, sucking in deep vents of air to cool his systems. Skyfire heard a groan—it was from his own vocalizer. His spike raged with desire. The wings were familiar…would the valve feel so as well?
It had been so long since Skyfire had touched anyone. It was overwhelming.
He moved his weight back onto his knees, pushing the black thighs apart. Skywarp whimpered in anticipation, his optics lifted over the swell of his cockpit to look at Skyfire’s spike. “Ooooohhhh Primus,” Skywarp breathed. He wriggled his hips. “Yes, please?” he said, meekly.
“I, uh…,” Skyfire gave a long, sighing breath, struggling to collect himself, “I have to go kind of slow at first.”
“Just…get started already!”
Skyfire leaned over, resting one hand over Skywarp’s shoulder, his other guiding his spike slowly into the slick valve. It didn’t need much guidance—it was a system that pretty much knew what it wanted to do—but he hoped his hand would act as an obstacle to prevent him from driving his spike in all at one, painful thrust. Which was definitely what the voice of heat was telling him to do. It was hard to think straight. It was hard to think…at all.
His spike hovered at the mouth of the valve. He pushed in slowly, feeling the rubberized lining of the valve separate, open up around him, stretching taut. “Ohfragohfragohfrag,” Skywarp breathed, his whole body rippling with tense shivers. The black jet began panting as Skyfire pushed in.
“Too fast?” Skyfire asked, his own servos trembling from the strain of holding back. The warm, slick circle of the valve gripped at his spike with a maddening pressure.
“No!” Skywarp breathed. “Just fine—oh!” Skyfire’s spike bumped into the top node in his valve. “You’re big!” he gasped.
Thundercracker squatted down, his optics keen, “Master of the obvious, aren’t you, Skywarp.”
“Frag, no way. You should feel this!” Skywarp wriggled, delightedly.
“I am not hurting him?”
“Does he sound hurt?”
Skyfire felt his spike throb in the valve. Skywarp squeaked in surprise. Skyfire was beginning to give up on being able to stay in control. He closed his optics, letting his attention rush to his spike, to the feel of sunwarmed metal under his hands, the all-too-familiar swell of a cockpit against his. Oh, it had been so long and still the memories were…right there. Right there, as though none of the intervening vorns had happened. As if nothing had come to separate he and Starscream. His hips moved, almost of their own volition, in the valve. The black jet’s voice was different, but when moaning, it sounded so similar, so familiar. He felt his spark ache at the influx of memories. His optics gritted tighter, as if trying to shut out the world, shut himself in with those memories, as though he could will them to be real. As though he could deny reality.
It was almost a relief when the black jet broke the spell, his spine arching hard, driving the cockpit into Skyfire’s, howling through an overload. Starscream had made noise too, but…they’d always been so hyperconscious of their stolen moments, the tenuous privacy, that he’d always bitten down on his vocalizer, swallowing his cries or burying them in Skyfire’s chest.
The valve spasmed around his spike, the entire thing moving as the hips squirmed desperately. “Oh frag,” Skywarp breathed.
Skyfire paused. His own systems hadn’t overloaded and he wanted to…wanted to more than anything. He shifted back, Skywarp squealing as the movement shifted the spike across his valve nodes, hypercharged from their own recent overload. Skyfire quivered himself from the same current, and let his body surge forward, pushing in to the valve, hearing Skywarp cry out howling incoherent half-words, the hips arching up to meet his thrusts, the wings sleek and inviting under his fingertips. Skyfire bent low over Skywarp’s tied frame, his mouth level with the bound jet’s forearms. He found himself pressing his cheek against the purple paint. Close enough that he could pretend it was blue. Close enough that Skywarp’s hypervents were caresses of hot air on his chassis.
“Oh!” he heard himself cry out, his systems cycling up to an overload, his spike driving relentlessly into the valve. “Oh!” He bit down into the purple armor, stifling the name that bubbled from his vocalizer as the overload tore through his systems, leaving him wracked, shaking, on top of the black jet.
He felt his helm pried off of Skywarp’s arm, his face lifted, and Thundercracker’s pressed against his in a fierce kiss. He felt himself respond, pushing up, one hand coming up to grasp the blue wing. He twitched as he felt hands along his own wings, hot, almost feverish. He lifted himself up further, pulling Thundercracker closer to him, his spike shifting in Skywarp’s valve. The black jet moaned piteously. “Untie me,” Skywarp whimpered. “Want to touch, too!”
Skyfire felt Thundercracker’s mouth smile against his. “No slaggin’ way,” Thundercracker said. “Suffer in silence, Warpy. My turn.”
“No!” Skywarp’s optics glittered. Skyfire yelped, as the valve cinched down upon his spike. “MINE.”
Thundercracker rolled his optics for Skyfire. “Now you see why I tie him up?”
“Perhaps if he were untied….”
“You do not want to know.”
“Come on!” Skywarp wriggled, jerking the spike with his valve. “I need it again! Frag you’re so big!”
“My turn,” Thundercracker said. “Let him go.”
“No!” Skywarp’s lips curled.
“Drop it. DROP!” Thundercracker ordered.
Skywarp pouted, turning his head to one side. Skyfire felt the valve release its grip. He pulled out with a sense of relief, the compressed metal stinging at the return of pressurization. Thundercracker resumed his exploration, trailing his fingers down the squared cockpit, across the large plates of white. Skywarp whined, struggling with his bonds. Thundercracker smirked, his optics flickering down to Skyfire’s glistening spike. “My turn,” he murmured, licking his lips.
“When’s it my turn again?” Skywarp whined.
“If you don’t quit whining,” Thundercracker said, pushing Skyfire onto his back, “Your turn is never.” He snickered as Skywarp wailed, the sound echoing off the canyon.
“Wh-where is Starscream,” Skyfire risked asking. It seemed that if he was in heat, and they were as well….
Skywarp howled. “Don’t get me started!”
“Yeah,” Thundercracker said, straddling Skyfire’s pelvic armor, taking a long moment to gaze at the spike in front of him. “Don’t get him started. Please.”
“But…?”
Thundercracker rolled his optics. “He thinks he can do it without us. Figures he can do it all with Megatron.”
Megatron? This was…worrying to Skyfire. He had not heard much good said about the Decepticon commander, and from what he had seen, of how Megatron had treated Starscream so rudely, dismissively, insultingly…he did not want to think of them together.
Thundercracker easing onto his spike distracted him...utterly. He felt the blue hands press on his cockpit, as the smaller jet slowly lowered himself, thighs trembling with the strain, onto Skyfire’s own spike. Thundercracker paused, a finger’s width of spike still protruding from his valve, a shudder running through him. “You must be really popular with your Autobot friends,” he gasped.
“He’s real popular with me!” Skywarp whimpered, straining to see.
“Shut UP!” Thundercracker snapped over his shoulder. His valve rippled around the spike. Skyfire moaned, softly, his hands coming up to the wings—always the wings. Starscream’s and yet…not his. “Oh frag,” Thundercracker breathed, as he began working his thigh servos, rising up and down on the impaling spike. “Primus.” He tossed his head back, the sun glinting off his silver face plates, catching little shines from his sleek black helm. He became a silhouette to Skyfire, the sun at his back, so much like Starscream, so much, even to the wanton posture, the gusts of air from exvents across his thighs.
His heat overtook him and it took every shred of control for Skyfire not to grab the upper arms of the jet, bracing against him and jam the valve further onto his spike, to take control of the rhythm, the pace of the valve sliding against his spike. It was…maddening, what Thundercracker was doing. A long, slow, even build up, sending rivers of desire pouring across Skyfire’s net, rivers that crashed and collided with each other, sending froths of pleasure racing through him. He heard Thundercracker groan, felt the valve seize at his spike. He shuddered, his hands sliding to the thighs spread over his hips, driving his spike up, one last time, into the valve, air getting caught in his intakes, as though the overload left him without the knowledge of how to breathe. His optics blinked and shimmered with white and red, subsiding slowly, his body remembering to cool itself, sucking in vents of air.
“Sorry!” he gasped, releasing his white fingers from around the thighs. Thundercracker collapsed against his chassis, shivering.
“Yeah…don’t be.” The blue jet’s voice was muffled against his armor. “I’ll just…uh…lie here for a minute.”
“NO!” Skywarp whined. “No lying around! If you’re done with him it’s my turn again!” He had pulled himself up, wriggling toward where Thundercracker had bound his wrists around a stone pillar, and he was gnawing at the rope. “My turn!”
“Primus,” Thundercracker muttered, pushing himself up, unsteadily. “Wish I’d thought to offline your vocalizer. If only I didn’t like hearing you scream in overload so fraggin’ much….” He eased himself off the spike, both of them shivering as the contact broke, and hot transfluid spilled over their parts. “Fine,” Thundercracker said, flopping to the sandy floor. “Your turn.”
“But…I?” Skyfire sat up. His systems were ablaze with heat; it was an effort to even try to think logically.
“Let me spike you!” Skywarp whispered, earnestly, wriggling his hips invitingly. His spike bobbled in the sunlight, glittering and slick with lubricant. It would have looked absurd, laughable, if it hadn’t looked so…fraggin’ tempting. Skyfire crawled over to the prone jet, his optics still hazed with lust. He licked at one of the chassis turbines, growling softly as Skywarp yelped and writhed. Oh it had been too long since he had touched another mech. Since he had let himself go.
He licked a circle around the rim of the turbine again, laughing as Skywarp’s body arched up longingly, the arms struggling, frantic, with their bonds. He traced a line with his glossa down the amber swell of the cockpit, the black frame practically vibrating beneath his touch. His hands roamed the wingspans, the sensitive seams between the wings and the body, his own desire building in him again, the thought of a spike in his valve enticing, inviting…irresistible.
“Want me?” he asked, his last vestige of courtesy.
“Frag yes!” Skywarp’s optics were almost insane with lust. “Want to be inside you.”
A rare smile flickered across Skyfire’s face as he swung one white thigh over the black and silver frame, and settled his valve over the black jet’s spike.
Skywarp wailed in chilling distress. “What the frag is it NOW,” Thundercracker muttered from where he lay basking in his own overload and the warm desert sun.
“Uh…TC…he’s like…proportional.” All of the unhappiness of the world crammed into the incoherence.
Thundercracker slapped his palm over his face. Made sense. He pushed himself up. “Not the end of the fraggin’ world, you know.”
“May as well be!” Skywarp wiggled his hips, his spike unable to get any sort of friction in the too-large valve. This…was Skywarp’s definition of the Pit. He had a momentary conversion, swearing that he would mend his ways if only to avoid this eternal damnation.
Until…Thundercracker wedged himself in behind Skyfire, and Skywarp gasped at the intrusion of another spike alongside his in the valve. Skyfire shuddered. “Better?” Thundercracker said.
“Oh frag…oooooh....” Skywarp’s optics dimmed, distant, and he stilled, as if suspended, as Thundercracker began moving in the valve, the undersides of their spikes sliding over each other, in a captivating counterpoint to the motion into the valve. Skyfire, between them, dropped forward, his hands bracing on Skywarp’s black wings, optics flickering out of focus. A moan escaped his lips, impossible sensations sliding in his valve as Skywarp began thrusting at a different rhythm, their combined spikes pushing against the edges of his valve, the lubricants slicking and spreading with the warmth and the friction, oozing down his white thighs, vents from the pair of them as hot caresses on his front and his back, Thundercracker’s hands eager on the white expanses of his wings, tracing the leading edges, feathering along the undersides, the belled shapes that gave him lift. The touches inflamed him, his vents gasping from him as he felt Thundercracker’s mouth join his hands, nibbling and licking at the seams on his wings. Skyfire could smell the tang of his own transfluid, spilled out from before, heated by friction. He could smell the sunwarmed metal , could feel Skywarp’s warm wings underneath him, as keenly as he could feel Thundercracker’s hands on his own span.
“Oh fragohfragohprimusohfragohfrag,” Skywarp moaned, deliriously, a rhythmic mantra that swelled and flowed and swirled in Skyfire’s audio, rising with the charge in his valve as the two smaller jets thrust into him, their thighs sliding together in a mass of lubricant-slicked limbs. Skyfire’s valve clutched suddenly at the spikes inside him, his long disused interface system firing abruptly back online and into overload. His spinal cables arched, Thundercracker’s denta biting into his wing as his cockpit bumped against Skywarp’s. His valve rippled again, the disused systems, built up from the tension of heat, spiraling him into another overload as he felt the spikes inside him spasm into overload, a doubled portion of transfluid flooding his valve.
They collapse, a tangle of limbs, cooling fans firing on to maximum.
“Frag,” Thundercracker murmured into the shuttle’s broad backspan. “I think we should do that again.”
“After a little break,” Skyfire said, aftershocks still trembling through his system like liquid light.
“I’m up for another round,” Skywarp’s voice was muffled. “Especially if you untie me.”
Skyfire pushed off of Skywarp, gingerly, whimpering as the spikes slipped from his valve. His head was finally starting to clear, a little, from the heat. Like a fog was starting to lift. And seeing Skywarp tied down like this bothered everything that mattered to him: his Autobot sensibilities. He reached over and untied the knot.
“YES!” Skywarp crowed, sitting up, rubbing his wrists together. “In your FACE, TC!”
“Oh, so not smart,” Thundercracker muttered, scooting away. “You are going to learn a new meaning of regret.”
“As are you, Thundercracker.” The voice came from the canyon walls above them. Three sets of optics swiveled to see Starscream, hands on hips, glaring down at them.
“But…what about your master plan?” sneered Thundercracker.
“Megatron? Was…inadequate to serve my needs.” He surveyed the three of them: Thundercracker haughty, Skywarp mid-paw at Skyfire’s wings, and Skyfire, abashed. “You three, however….”
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Skyfire's First Heat