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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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A/N: Dear reviewer: Ask and ye shall receive. Hope it lives up to your expectations!!

***8

Skywarp squealed with delight, launching himself up toward Starscream. Thundercracker leapt after him, grabbing him by the waist, cutting his own thrusters to try to haul Skywarp down by his extra bodyweight. “Skywarp,” he said, his face muffled in Skywarp’s hip. “Behave.”

“Behave?!” Skywarp clawed at the rock for leverage, his optics frantic on Starscream’s blue toe plate, which protruded from the top edge of the cliff. “I’ve been have-d long enough!”

Thundercracker wrestled Skywarp in the air, hauling him down to the ground. Starscream cast a derisive sneer as he leapt off the cliff and hovered his way down to the ground, an arm’s length away from where Skyfire and clumsily stood up, his hands anxiously trying to wipe away the telltale traces of heat. Unsuccessfully.

“Skyfire,” Starscream said, his optics traveling up and down the larger mech.

“St-Starscream,” Skyfire quailed back, embarrassed. Actually, more than. No, he told himself. Heat is…uhhh, perfectly natural. Perfectly natural, this insane desire to copulate endlessly and indiscriminately with any mech within range. Right? So…what to be ashamed of? Nothing. Certainly not this…long trail of silver transfluid glittering in the sunlight. Not his lubricant-slick spike, still stabbing almost hostilely at the air. Not his imagination, which was already feeding him images of Starscream, flat on his back, writhing under and around Skyfire’s spike. Simple cyberbiology, right?

“You’re looking…,” Starscream’s glossa flicked out, tracing a quick, lascivious circuit of his mouth. “…well.”

“I…uh…heat.” He ducked his head. He felt an electric shiver run through him. Starscream. Not just a similar frame. Not just a lookalike. Starscream. And looking at him, Skyfire felt a little ashamed that he had ever been able to pretend even for an astroklik that anyone, ANYONE else was Starscream.

“Yes. Heat.” Starscream’s optics flicked over to where Thundercracker was still wrestling with Skywarp, the black jet dragging himself on the belly towards Starscream, whimpering. He rolled his optics back to Skyfire, shaking his head. “Trinemates,” he muttered.

Skyfire felt a surge of jealousy. At least Starscream had a Trine. Skyfire had gone unbonded, devoting his life to science, and when it came time again…he had been buried in ice. It must be nice to have someone. Even…weird someones. “They…uhhh, take good care of you?” Skyfire said, awkwardly. Wanting to hear that the answer was no, in a way. Wanting to hear he had been missed.

“They are…adequate.”

Skywarp’s purple fingers closed around Starscream’s thruster heel. “Yes!” the black jet cried, triumphantly. “FEET!”

Starscream wrinkled his olfactory sensor in distaste. “Skywarp. Honestly.” He tried to kick his foot free, but Skywarp grabbed with his other hand. Starscream danced sideways, awkwardly, trying not to fall on his side.

“Feeeeeeet! Feetfeetfeetfeetfeetfeeeeeeet!” Skywarp chanted, his hands clawing.

“Thundercracker! Restrain him!” Starscream said, imperiously, trying to recover his dignity.

“I HAD him restrained, but St Skyfire here decided that conflicted with his Aubobot sensibilities.”

Starscream’s lip curled, torn between Thundercracker’s insult to Skyfire, and Skyfire’s…Autobotty goodness. Both equally distasteful. “Handle it, Thundercracker.” He turned to SKyfire. “Please, do not interfere. Skywarp, particularly during heat, must be…managed.”

The two other jets wrestled on the canyon floor, yelping, pinching each other’s wing struts, until Thundercracker finally pinned Skywarp face down on the desert floor.

Starscream turned back to Skyfire, mouth curling with embarrassment. His Trine mates.

Skyfire felt his awkward hesitation melt. A combination of the rise of the heat’s insistent urges against him and the oh-so-real presence of Starscream, right there, in front of him, a hand’s reach away….

He lunged forward, snatching Starscream off his feet, muffling the jet’s protests with his mouth, his glossa insistent, his hands crushing at the broad white wingspan. Starscream’s mouth stiffened in outrage, then melted into the hot fiery kisses Skyfire remembered, the ones that sent white-hot bursts of energy straight through his ‘net. He could only dimly hear the sounds of the other two, whimpering and clawing at each other: his processor only had room for Starscream.

He pulled away, lowering Starscream gently back onto his feet, thumbs caressing the front plates of the shoulder armor. “I want you,” he said, his voice unaccustomedly husky.

“It’s the heat talking,” Starscream retorted, but there wasn’t the edge in the voice the white jet might have wanted. His optics were strangely earnest on Skyfire’s face, his mouth the constantly shifting, mobile thing Skyfire remembered so well—able to move from a sarcastic smile to the tenderest kiss in record time. Able to deliver scathing, ego-scorching comments with one vocalizer-burst, and the sweetest, most spark-racing blandishments with the next. So alive. So quick. So extreme. So…Starscream.

“No,” he said, quietly. “Always. Every joor.” He felt his optics overflow, the painful ache in his spark swirling with the desire from his interface systems. “Please,” he asked, his voice trembling with the fear of rejection. Starscream had every right to refuse.

Starscream’s mouth worked, as if he were chewing on a handful of conflicting responses, tasting them. He didn’t say anything, as if the words had somehow 404’d his vocalizer, but he stepped in, pulling Skyfire down to him, lower, and lower, Skyfire obediently bending his knees, his body until he was lying on the canyon floor, Starscream propped over him.

Starscream had gained control over his expression, the oh-so-characteristic, so familiar it panged in Skyfire’s processor, smirk teasing down at him. “You want me, do you?” Skyfire nodded, mute, helpless. His interface systems surged. The sunlight seemed to cast a halo around Starscream’s dark helm. Oh it had been so long. This looked like a dream, a vision. Too good to be true. Too desired to be real.

“Tell me you’re real,” he murmured, stretching one hand up, not daring to touch lest it shimmer into illusion. A mirage.

Blue fingers wrapped around the wrist, pushing it back, to the ground. “Oh I’m real enough,” Starscream said, his other hand reaching down to Skyfire’s still open interface equipment. “Shall I demonstrate how real?” That smile, but empty of malice. More melancholy than anything. Skyfire felt as though, for the first time since the Arctic, he was seeing behind a mask.

Skyfire gasped as Starscream’s fingers pushed into his valve. He could almost envision the blue fingers and the silverwhite rim. Starscream traced a thumb around the valve’s edge, the smirk curling at the edges as a moan rippled from Skyfire’s vocalizer. “I remember you used to like this,” he said.

“Oh, Starscream,” Skyfire managed to breathe. He ached for the distance between them, even now, even as his valve cinched down upon the fingers, the sensor nodes prickling to life against the intruding blue fingers. He wished he could think of the right words to say, the words to bridge that gap, erase the time and deeds and words that had come between them, span the regret. But he never was one for words, and the heat was making him fuzzy and tingly, like a swirl of blissful chaos, raging through his system.

Starscream leaned closer, his own optics hazed with lust, nuzzling for a long moment against Skyfire’s chassis. His hand pushed further into the large valve, Skyfire moaning, his hips writhing on the gritty soil. His valve was a mess, he knew, dripping lubricant and the transfluid of both of Starscream’s Trinemates. Filthy. And he ought to be ashamed but he wasn’t, completely incapable of holding on to decency as the hand, the entire hand, worked into his valve, the fingers spreading and balling in a long-unremembered pattern. It startled him how swiftly memory returned, cresting a wave of sensation. His hands clutched for the white sweeps of wings, tracing lightly over the leading edges of the wings, almost trembling with repressed desire.

His breath started coming in fast, hard gasps, in time with Starscream’s hand pumping in his valve. Like a double pulse, open-close, open-close. His breath cracked into sharp short pulses, his optics wanting to drift close, but his processor forcing them open to memorize this rare precious moment: the sight of Starscream leaning over him, optics intent and desiring on his face, his body trembling with the contact and the long slow rise of the overload charge.

He wished they were closer in size: he’d give anything to kiss Starscream right now, to cry out his overload against those beautiful, arch grey lipplates. The best he could do was offline his vocalizer halfway through when the overload snatched him out of his awareness, his sensornet lighting up white and red…almost Starscream’s colors, his hands digging involuntarily into the metal of the wings hard enough for the panels to dent, and Starscream to give an aroused hiss. His valve clutched desperately at the hand inside it, and he saw Starscream’s optics offline, just for a klik, savoring the sensation of Skyfire’s overload.

Skyfire shivered in descending stages, recovering as Starscream slowly, carefully withdrew his hand, his optics watching Skyfire’s face with naked, possessive lust. “Starscream, I—“

Starscream cut him off with a gesture. No. He didn’t want to hear it. Skyfire dropped his optics. It would probably ruin things, even this thing, this merely biochemical reflex.

No, this was more than that. With the other two, yes, but with Starscream, it was raw, rough magic. He pulled Starscream up to him, his mouth hot and urgent on the jet’s face and throat. He had no words for it. No words. He pulled the jet’s frame over him, nipping at the wing’s leading edge, glossa trailing along the panel edges, in-venting deeply the smell of hot paint and oil. Unmistakable scent. Wild and unmanageable and restless, this scent. Everything Starscream was: everything Skyfire wanted.

Except.

No. He couldn’t think of that now, not when desire, magnified by the whimpering groans of the other two jets, fanned into hot flames. He sat up, curling Starscream in his arms, determined to keep the demons of past and future at bay with simple sensation. He dropped the jet on the ground, on his back, letting the broad span of the wings splat against the ground, remembering how Starscream liked the sudden shock of pain. How afraid he had been—once—to do it. Afraid to hurt him. Heat made him unafraid now, and the burst of desire across the face as the ground slapped stingingly against the wingspan made him bold.

He snatched the blue hands with his, holding them up to his mouth, brushing his lips across the digits, aware of Starscream’s optics on him. He looked up, daring to meet the gaze, throwing one knee between white thighs that parted eagerly for him. His spike gave an almost shuddering shock in response to Starscream’s desire, the blue fingers wrapping around his own. He tried to think of words, any words. Starscream had always been so quick with them; Skyfire just didn’t have that gift. All he did have, all he could give, was this: He leaned over, releasing the hands with regret, brushing his lips over Starscream’s, optics closed to get the scent of him as he guided his spike towards the already uncovered valve—the white jet’s eager admission of longing.

His spike pushed in slowly, Skyfire bracing himself, determined to make this last as long as he could, as long as he could endure it. Feeling Starscream’s lust almost like a palpable force reaching for him braced him to draw it out, to tease that lust into ever finer layers, his spike separating the folds of the compressed liner with agonizing slowness, inching into the valve. Starscream bit down on a whimper—too proud to do more than buck his hips up toward Skyfire’s.

They both gave an aching sigh as the spike seated itself in the valve, the valve adjusting—wide, then narrowing in, to grasp the contours of the spike. Such a familiar sensation, such intimate nearness. Skyfire would have frozen, would have stayed here forever if he could, if time could stop, if the heat hadn’t been gnashing at him, lashing at his self-control. Between a melancholy past and a rending future, just…hung here for as long as he could. But the heat called him onward, time beckoned him onward with inexorable fingers, Starscream’s body underneath him spoke an impossible language, murmuring him onward, onward, onward, and he had no choice but to obey.

Their bodies surged together, wordlessly fitting together, hands clutching, caressing, trying to remember and memorize at the same time. Starscream’s pelvic frame lifted from the momentum of each thrust, the red plates solid against Skyfire’s white.

“Starscream!” Skyfire bellowed out as the overload washed over him, through him, careening wildly through his systems. His voice echoed off the canyon walls, Stasrcream’s name echoing back to him as his body shuddered in powerful release, the hot transfluid gushing from his spike, Starscream’s valve grasping, greedy, wanting at him. He felt the blue fingers dig into his shoulders, feeling metal give, little pushes of pain that got swept into the maelstrom of his overload.

He dropped down onto Starscream, unable to support himself, body wracked with tremors. He felt the smaller frame heave underneath him, sucking in air to cool his systems, his own cockpit teetering the round swell of Starscream’s. He hated the difference in their sizes for this: he wanted desperately, achingly, to bend and kiss that mouth, the lips themselves quivering as if transmitting a message of desire in a foreign language, yet at the same time, his spike throbbed in the valve and the post-overload torpor made him not want to move.

Starscream’s hands released, moving to stroke the heavy ceramic plating of Skyfire’s wings. The sun’s heat had baked them into a pleasant sensitivity, and the fingers left trails of sensation across the warm metal.

“I don’t want this to end,” Skyfire murmured, lifting himself off with regret. He could see the sentiment aching out of Starscream’s optics. Starscream’s mouth—that mobile, expressive thing, that got Starscream in so much trouble and yet was the only thing Skyfire could trust to reflect Starscream’s true feelings—moved, restless.

“Yes,” Starscream said, finally, with a mildly frustrated air of someone dredging up an ancient argument that tasted stale. “Well, you made that decision long ago.” He pushed away at Skyfire’s chassis, worming his hips, releasing the spike. The spell was broken, and time and reality crashed inexorably onto them again.
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Skyfire's First Heat