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Surprise Visitation	By : swordqueen Category: Transformers > G1 > Slash - M/M Views: 2560 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Transformers, the cartoons, characters or setting. I make no money writing or posting this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-Surprise Visitation
- 1
A/N written by request for G1 Optimus/Skywarp, sticky! Hope you like!

Optimus had thought he was going crazy. Had even thought about mentioning the little events to Prowl, or having Ratchet debug his processor. Because they just didn’t make sense. Little thing, really, nothing alarming (so if he was going insane at least it was a benign and flattering kind of insanity): a box of energon treats found on his chair (after he’d sat on them and squished them), or some luxury frictionless wax on top of his stack of datapads. Maybe misplaced? Maybe he was doing things without remembering? Ratchet had always warned him to be wary of too much stress.

Either he was crazy or…

…someone on the Autobot base had a crush on him. Insanity, or an unrequited crush. Each, equally awkward for the Autobot leader. So, he chose to ignore things, as best he could.

Today it was hard to ignore: an 8-cube of high grade energon right inside his office door, which he nearly tripped over. This was beginning to get expensive for the mech. Or…himself. Something had to be done.

He frowned, putting the cube of cubes on the spare chair. He’d deal with it in the morning. Right now, he had some last paperwork to go over, and then…recharge. He flopped into the chair, exhaustion showing in every limb. It had been a long day: insecticons had attacked a wind turbine powerplant, and then Bumblebee had gotten pulled over by the human police for something called an Illegal Lane Change, and then Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had nearly caused a riot when they’d decided to re-enact the battle in the rec room using Ratchet’s lube-guns, and….

Optimus pinched the ridge between his optics. It was trying, and stressful. But they were his mechs, and they were all good mechs. He’d just handle these few little things and then go to recharge.

He reached for the datapad, shuttering his optics for a brief moment of rest.

*VOP*

His reaching hand thunked against metal. His optics flew open.

Something large, and black, and silver, sprawled on his desk.

He heard a chortling laugh, and a purple hand grabbed at his before he could snatch it away from the, erm, compromising area he had hit. Namely, the silver pelvic span.

“Knocking to get in already, huh?” Skywarp beamed down over his cockpit, spreading his legs further. “Knew leaving all those little treats would win you over.”

“You? That was you?”

Skywarp’s optics narrowed, mouth turning down at the corners. “Yeah, who else? Who’s the competition?” His free hand balled into a fist. This was, Optimus knew, a dangerous Decepticon, not to be taken lightly. Despite the, erm, unusual circumstance.

“No one. There, uh, is no competition.”

The frown relaxed back into the lopsided cheeky grin. “Well of course not. I’m a fraggin’ Seeker!” He butt-walked forward across the desk, heedless of his wingspan sending papers and datapads skimming onto the floor. With one last scoot, he dropped into Optimus’s lap. “I knew you couldn’t resist me,” he purred, grinding his silver pelvic arch over Optimus’s own.

“I, uh, erm,” Optimus pressed back against the high back of the chair. The jet’s pelvic armor ringing against his own had had a, well, an awkward effect. His spike surged in its housing. It had, he thought objectively, been a while. “I am uncertain as to your presence here.”

“My presence?” Skywarp rocked his hips, grinding against Optimus’s thighs. “To get fragged, of course.” Purple fingers trailed suggestively up Optimus’s chassis, tweaking one of the windshield wipers. Optimus twitched. That was a little…intimate. His spike gave a squirt of lubricant in its housing, seeping cool down the shaft of his unpressurized spike. Part of him was interested. The part of him with common sense, however, was still perplexed.

“Surely you have,” he sucked in a breath as Skywarp drew a wiper blade between pinched fingers. Whooof. “surely,” he restarted, unsteadily, “you have other…options?” Or, you know, self-control? Not that Optimus was feeling topped off in that himself.

Skywarp’s smile crumbled, purple fingers tightening around Optimus’s armor. “Kinda…torqued off at me right now.” He leaned forward, abruptly, popping a kiss on Optimus’s face mask. “But that’s no biggie.” The optics glinted, saucily. “I bet you are though.” Skywarp pushed his heels into the floor, lifting his thighs off of Optimus’s legs, only to slip his hand against the blue panel of Optimus’s interface hatch. Optimus shivered.

“This is, uhhh, highly irregular.” Optimus brought his hands up, to push the black jet off him. Somehow—he wasn’t exactly sure how—instead of shoving the jet off him, his hands ended up curling over wing flaps. He felt a vibration along his legs—that seemed to shoot straight to his spike: Skywarp’s heel thrusters firing on with an excess of desire. The wings were fascinating. They had so few fliers in the Autobot forces, and Skyfire, well…possibly the only mech more socially awkward than Optimus.

Skywarp laughed. “That’s more like it. Rowr.” He nuzzled Optimus’s audio, tilting his head up to lick at the fine antenna. “Come on, Optimus. You want it as bad as I do.”

He did. That was the problem. This was about ten different shades of wrong—starting with the purple faction markings staring him in the face. But somehow the wrongness, the danger of it all, even the concern that Prowl or Red Alert might decide to do one last security sweep and code open his office door sent a thrill through his system.

He barely felt the expert fingers as they flipped open his interface hatch, until they stroked along his pressurizing spike, curling around its shape, squeezing the nodes along its length, the thumb tweaking the end node. He shuddered at the sudden rush of sensation—pure hot pleasure.

“Yesssss,” Skywarp whispered in his audio. He slicked the lubricant down the spike, turning his wrist as he stroked up the length again. Optimus’s optics dimmed in pleasure. “Tell me you want me,” Skywarp murmured.

“This is…,” Optimus began. The hand clamped down hard against the spike, with almost crushing force. He bit down a yelp.

“Tell me,” Skywarp said, impatiently, “you want me.” The optics glittered dangerously, a handspan from Optimus’s own face. He could feel the warm exvents from the jet against his battlemask.

“I…want you.” It was true, even if coerced. His sensornet raced with fiery desire, only fanned hotter by the hint of danger in the jet’s keen, red optics. That hand that had resumed its slow, maddening ministrations on his spike had been in battle against his own mechs, had fired weapons that had damaged them, had struck their armor. He shuddered at the thought, his spike surging with charge.

The jet propped his hips back up on the desk, coaxing Optimus closer by taunting, leading pulls on the spike. “Take me,” he whispered, releasing the spike, dropping back onto one elbow, the other hand pulling Optimus’s helm down toward his mouth. Datapads and input rods rattled off the desk onto the floor.

Optimus followed, led on by desire, his spike sliding slick against the jet’s silver hipframe. Skywarp nipped at his battlemask, body arching up off the desk to grind against Optimus’s blocky chassis. Optimus pushed him down, hands exploring the broad expanse of the downturned wings, then the fascinating sleek texture of the amber cockpit, round and voluptuously inviting under his hands. Skywarp squirmed, panting, closing his thighs around Optimus’s hips, heel thrusters bumping against the back of the Autobot leader’s thighs.

Optimus fumbled awkwardly between the jet’s legs. It had been too long, he thought, if he had to consciously think about the location of an interface hatch release. It clicked open, Skywarp rocking his equipment covers against Optimus’s hand, rougher than Optimus would have intended, but Skywarp had locked lust-glazed optics on Optimus’s face, his hands scrabbling along the Autobot leader’s arms.

The valve cover autoreleased under Optimus’s fingers. He circled the rim, briefly. Skywarp shuddered, hands clawing into the squared red shoulders. Optimus hesitated. Then wondered why. This threshold was hardly worse than the others. By all rights he should have sounded intrusion alarms the instant Skywarp showed up. Or fought him. Or fought him off. He hadn’t done those—sins of omission. This was merely a sin of commission, taking his first active step down that spiral staircase. Who knew where it led? Right now, that sort of consideration did not matter. And this sort of scruple was…so small in the face of his too-long-restrained desire. He pulled his hips back and pushed forward, gently, sinking his spike into the silver-rimmed valve. Skywarp arched up, gasping, hands curling into helpless paws.

Optimus hilted his spike in the valve, feeling the mechanisms cinch down against it. They both froze, as if trying to memorize the moment, which they both knew might never happen again, and probably ought not be happening now.

Optimus broke the moment first, shifting his spike in the valve. Skywarp whimpered, purple fingers beginning to trace intricate shapes along the broad expanse of Optimus’s chassis. Optimus gripped the black shoulders and began thrusting into the inviting valve which rose to meet him, his thrusting goaded onward, encouraged, by the insistent tugging of the legs wrapped around him.

Skywarp moaned, his hands dropping to wrap around Optimus’s wrists, tracing along the light armor of his hands, tilting his head to rub one cheek along Optimus’s blue thumbs, glossa flicking from the corner of his mouth. No sound, no word passed between them other than the moaning gasps and bursts of air from their cooling systems, and the slick wet slide of spike in valve.

It came too soon, too fast for Optimus, almost too much, as well, for his long refusal. The overload crashed over him with a deafening force, literally damping his audio. He felt himself arch forward, his pelvic frame striking hard against the silver metal of the jet, transfluid rushing hot, almost scalding down his spike. His hands squeezed at the shoulders, gripping into the metal. Skywarp’s optics locked with his, mouth parted, optics heavy-lidded.

Skywarp sagged back onto the desk. “Oh frag,” he breathed. His valve slowly spiraled, loosening its grip on the spike. They both shivered as transfluid leaked down the valve, both sucking in deep gulps of air, staring at each other, a little surprised, a little sated. “Dreamed about this,” Skywarp whispered. He stroked his fingertips along the backs of Optimus’s hands. Optimus released his grip, shyly, letting his own fingers, in turn, give on last long caress at the join between the wings and the body.

Optimus ducked his head, embarrassed. He had not dreamed of this. The thought had never crossed his mind. But now, looking at the wreck of his desk, occupied by the lasciviously draped frame of the black seeker, he wondered how he’d ever stop thinking about it.
- 1
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Surprise Visitation