Lyricality

If the measure of a Prime was solely dependent on his ability to put up with bureaucratic garbage...

Rodimus admittedly did not see advancement in the immediate future of either himself or Optimus Minor. “Blowing off this assembly is a bad idea,” he said, his voice necessarily muffled as his dental plates nipped along the delicate plating of Optimus' throat. The other mech fairly vibrated beneath him, so much powerful heat and energy contained in the smooth lines of Optimus' frame that Rodimus felt himself shivering in strange, harmonic sympathy.

Vents activating, Optimus arched his head back, and his antennae scraped against the back wall of the storage unit with a hiss of feedback. “Skipping the mandatory six-megacycle briefing preceding it wasn't exactly brilliant, either.”

They had little space in which to maneuver. Optimus spread his legs and Rodimus settled between them, easing even closer, pressing them chest to chest with a protesting groan of exoskeletal plating. Executing a complicated little twist of his wrists, Optimus worked his arms around Rodimus' waist and buried his fingers in the seams of Rodimus' back. His fingertips found sensitive cabling; he smoothed one thumb along sparking wires. With a little moan, Rodimus ground down against him, and Optimus lifted his hips and tangled one leg around the backs of Rodimus' calves. For a moment, they shuddered together as heat flared and built between them.

“Going to tell Ultra Magnus what we decided to do instead?” Rodimus slid his glossa along the prominent curve of Optimus' upper lip component.

“Only if he asks.”

Rodimus chuckled, but he felt a low thrum of uneasiness just the same, and he wondered if Optimus might just tell the truth if the Magnus demanded answers. Admittedly, he had not known Optimus long, but intentional deceit seemed unnatural to the other Minor—as if it were a new affectation Optimus had only recently adopted. Rodimus had heard rumors that contradicted the official account of Elita-1's deactivation, and even he had catalogued the signs of lingering trauma in Optimus' behavior: long periods of distraction, too much time spent in solitary training, and an increasing recklessness that would soon threaten his career. Rodimus could hardly deny the attraction between them—and with Optimus blazing hot beneath him, he desperately did not want to—but he also had no intention of allowing Optimus to pull him along into a spiral of self-destruction.

Shifting beneath him, Optimus parted his legs a little more, easing a bit of space between them. His chest plates clicked and parted.

Rodimus cycled an inward hiss through his vents, and he expelled atmosphere in a low, uncertain whistle at the beautiful, irresistible sight of Optimus' fully exposed spark. “Optimus,” he whispered. “Isn't it...don't you think it's...soon for this?” Powerfully drawn despite his better sense, he dipped his head and felt Optimus arch into his kiss. The outer corona of Optimus' spark caressed against his chest plates, and the sudden, aching pleasure made him whine.

Bare beneath him, Optimus stared up at him with an expression hinting at some deep, untouchable sorrow. Rodimus shifted his weight to one arm and touched the fingertips of his opposite hand to Optimus' cheek.

“Please.” Optimus tilted his head toward the touch, and Rodimus' spark skipped at the raw and strangely innocent desperation of that single word.

Shuddering straight through his struts, Rodimus nodded once, wordlessly, and opened his chest plates. He slid both arms around Optimus, holding him tight, and he rocked down against his fellow Minor to bring them spark to spark.

From:

lady-oneiros.livejournal.com

Damn it. I requested this drabble so that it would take the edge off my need for this pairing, not make me want MORE. *fights off the plot bunnies trying to attack me and directs them towards you*

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ME ME ME ME ME ME. you know what i want. XD

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The Labyrinth blazed with Midsummer fire. Firelight flickered across the grass of the solar garden, capered along the stones of the walls, and reflected in the black of Robin's hair as he pulled the Goblin King into the heavy shadows beneath an overhanging tree. A low Labyrinth wall made a dark corner just behind the trunk, and Robin pushed himself up to perch on its rough edge. The draping fabric and silver chains that composed his minimalistic clothing slid along his skin and pooled between his thighs.

He gave Jareth a slanting grin and leaned back, bracing himself on both hands. “Come here.”

“I told you,” Jareth said, but he slipped closer, and he rested one warm hand against the angle of Robin's hip. “That you would have to wait.”

“I can't,” Robin breathed on a low, tremulous laugh. He spread his legs and shifted forward—just enough, bringing his knees to either side of Jareth's hips. He caught one of Jareth's hands by the wrist, and then he pulled back and let their fingers intertwine. With a steady pressure, he led Jareth's fingertips inward along the curve of his thigh, finally releasing him where skin disappeared behind clinging fabric. To his credit, Jareth needed no such prompting, and the sudden glide and squeeze of his fingers made Robin shudder with a wordless, urgent sound.

In the near distance, music moved with a deep and vibrating rhythm, the thrum of goblin drums and the high voice of a faery flute.

Jareth hummed faintly under his breath. The melody was raw, and it softened when his free hand dragged through Robin's hair, tilting back Robin's head. “Do you really think this is wise?” Jareth murmured. Robin's hands settled on his shoulders, and the silver rings of both bracelets slipped backwards to catch on his forearms. “So nearly in the presence of your king?”

Robin surged up and kissed him, nearly rising off the wall to do so. His thighs tightened around Jareth's hips, and one hand scratched smooth fingernails down the curve of Jareth's spine as he caught and clung. They licked into each other, and Jareth still tasted bittersweet with an undertone of red wine and longing hunger. At the moment, Robin would hardly care if Oberon watched, but he wasn't fool enough to speak so the Summer King could hear. He tilted his head, breaking the kiss to whisper against Jareth's ear. “And which king is mine?”

With a fierce sound like a feline purr, Jareth readjusted his grip to lift Robin off the wall, both hands curving beneath him with a strength that Robin had always found startling, breathtaking, even in a mortal man.

“This one,” he growled, and the thrust of his hips brought the full measure of Robin's body and soul—if he possessed such a thing, and perhaps, perhaps he did—arching up in return. Haunted by the probability of future pain, but more than willing to be whole again despite the likely prospect, Robin closed his eyes and breathed out into the endless moment before Jareth's lips covered his.

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oh. my. fucking. god. LYRIC. i am literally sitting here speechless and GAPING. algjksjglfghkjafgsjdfsdhgafkajsdglksjkhsdf. wait i have to read it again.

lagjgkjdlgjhskfjshd. WHAT. how the fuck do you do this to me every single time, holy god. okay, we have to keep this going, i'm posting this meme SOLELY as an excuse to write more of this. fhfhfhjsgdfj. you fucking killed me.

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EEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeee. *wants more. wants SO MUCH MORE GIMME*

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i want to write a book about them. can we do that? please?

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Yes. Yes we can. ~~Plagiarism slagiarism.~~

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lol well also, yanno, that whole re-doing fairytales thing, it works. we just give them different names, nobody'll mind. XDDDDDDDDD

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betweenthebliss.livejournal.com

ahem. :"D i have made for you a sequel, as requested. XD enjoy! (http://betweenthebliss.livejournal.com/15223.html)

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mmouse15.livejournal.com

I'm so answering this because it's you. And I'll post on my LJ, just not tonight.

Please, pronzy Ratchet/Ironhide, movie 'verse? Or if that doesn't rock your socks, please tease me with Optimus/Mirage from Seven Days.

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Ratchet appeared to be reading something―a book sized for human hands, and Ironhide liked the implication of fine control in the delicate grip of those fingers. After a moment, something shifted in the quality of Ratchet’s posture, making a tension in his limbs. He knew he was being observed.

Giving up on stealth, Ironhide entered the room. “You said,” he began, “that you wanted a demonstration of my self-control.”

Ratchet twisted around to face him. “I thought you weren’t interested in control games.”

“I’m not,” Ironhide admitted, taking a seat beside the medical officer and giving him a frank gaze. He could probably blame himself for the wariness in Ratchet’s expression, but they could deal with that directly. “Unless it really is just a game.”

Flipping the book closed, Ratchet set it aside. “I didn’t mean it as a test,” he said, voice low. “Just as something we might both enjoy.”

Ironhide had to look twice to be sure of the gleam in Ratchet’s optics. It was subtle. But sensual.

He slid one hand over the medic’s chest. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to lock the door.” Ratchet quirked him a smile that was just shy of wicked. “Everyone here seems a little too eager to interrupt anything high in volume.”

“I don’t scream,” Ironhide scowled.

Ratchet laughed, a low but unrestrained sound that Ironhide found himself liking very much, even if it was at his expense. “No, you do not,” Ratchet agreed, rising from the berth and locking the door himself. “The shouted cursing more than makes up for it, however.”

---

The shaking spread through his frame in white-hot jolts of pleasure, his optics shuttering and his mouth open in silent screams of satisfaction.

Not enough, not for Optimus. “Tell me,” he rumbled against Mirage’s temple. “How does it feel?”

Mirage quaked and shuddered and stopped fighting himself long enough to surrender an aching groan.

One massive hand caught under Mirage’s chin and turned his head to bring them face to face, foreheads pressed together hard. “I’m glad,” Optimus said, and then he groaned as well.

Overwhelmed, Mirage clawed lightly at Optimus’ hands, jostling wires and connectors as he succumbed to quivering aftershocks. Those fingers still teased his spark, drawing fine strands of energy along the sensors beneath his chest plating. Optimus echoed Mirage's pleasure with a shudder of his own. With a soft, harmonic hum, Mirage gave up on thought and let himself drift in the weightless sensation of circuits resetting and components cooling.

“Feeling better?” Optimus asked at some length, once the steadiness had returned to his hands.

Mirage could laugh, just the low and husky sound of stressed transmitters.

Gravity had settled into his frame with the false weight of sensors returning online, and he felt good. Warmth buzzed through his wiring and loosened all the tension out of his joints. Laughing again, he gathered his limbs enough to turn against Optimus’ chest, arms draping over his shoulders and legs splayed to either side of his hips. They looked into each other, and Mirage grew gradually solemn. “I owe you one,” he murmured at length.

No more words. Optimus slid his fingers beneath the armor plates of Mirage’s back, casually intimate, and both stayed silent when they pressed forehead to forehead again. It wasn’t an easy closeness, but it was something singular, and Mirage was loathe to surrender it.

From:

mmouse15.livejournal.com

SQUEEEEEE!

I have had the day from the Pit, and this had put a smile on my face. Thank you, thank you, thank you a thousand times. They're both gorgeous and *guh* my brain totally melted with Mirage and Optimus.

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Awww. =} I'm glad I could improve your day, at the least. We really ought to get together again sometime, by the way! *goes all fuzzy* I'm up in Castle Rock now, so I'm closer.

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mmouse15.livejournal.com

I was just through Castle Rock today, taking the kinders to Castlewood Canyon!

You are closer. I knew you were trying, but lost track. I have another week and a half of the school year to limp through, so maybe we can do something this summer. That would be wonderful.

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piscaria.livejournal.com

Oooh, me!

I request Charlie/Wonka if the mood strikes you.

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nkfloofiepoof

Prime/Screamy? ♥ (asifyoudidn'tseethiscoming) Any 'verse? >>

*will throw this up on her work LJ tomorrow when she has time/brainpower @@ *

From:

nkfloofiepoof

You write it so beautifully (and hot >> ) - is it too late to request sticky~? *tailwag*

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Nevaaaaar too late. *rolls around with you* ♥

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alchemy

I was going to comment asking for April and Holmes, but I don't want to repost the meme because I don't have the time for it. So, you know... if you wrote that, it would be out of the generosity of your heart.

...or I could just tag that really, really old thread. >.>

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*coughs* Could I take some Megatron x Jet Twins? I've been on a huge kick for those three lately. D:

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“Excellency, they are in here,” said Shockwave. His claws tapped at the control panel of the containment cell and entered a complicated code—rather more complicated than necessary, in Megatron's opinion, but he had largely ceased questioning Shockwave's methods as Shockwave had ceased questioning his. Efficacy was proof enough of loyalty between them. “They did put up something of a fight,” Shockwave added, one antenna lifting slightly higher than the other like a raised optic ridge. “But Lugnut's description was, on the whole, correct.”

In the instant before the door slid open, Megatron squared his shoulders and brought a conscious relaxation into his posture. He smiled and stepped into the holding cell with Shockwave at his back.

“Autobot Jetstorm,” he said, with an expansive gesture of one arm that brought both twins squeezing closer together―as if they could join plating as easily as sparks. The smaller cage he had given them would not allow them the necessary space to combine, and they could endure their narrow accommodations only so long as they touched. “Autobot Jetfire. Please, do accept my most sincere welcome to the Nemesis.”

They regarded him in wary silence.

Striding forward, Megatron keyed in the command sequence that would unlock the cage. Shockwave buzzed discontentedly at his shoulder, but the other mech made no move to interfere. “Do forgive the...overzealousness of my soldiers,” Megatron said. “Be welcome not as my prisoners, but as my guests. We Decepticons do not mean you harm. So long as you do no harm to us, of course.”

The twins shared a swift glance and remained silent and still for a long cycle more, even after the barred door slid aside and offered them a means of escape, and Megatron kept the smugness out of his expression with practiced ease.

Jetfire spoke first. “Guests?”

“Of course.” Megatron took a backwards step, giving them more space, gratified when they uncurled from each other just a bit. He continued, “My soldier described identical flying Autobots. That was enough to garner my attention. But you are sparktwins, as well.” He stretched forward a beckoning hand. “Forgive my fascination, but you are in all respects an extraordinary phenomenon.”

Tilting his head, Jetfire edged forward just a bit, and he shrugged off Jetstorm's hand when his twin tried to hold him back.

“We must not give trust to Decepticons,” Jetstorm hissed, repeating a lesson no doubt learned by rote rather than experience. Despite his reluctance, when Jetfire squeezed out of the cage and stretched in the open space beyond it, Jetstorm followed him.

Megatron smiled again and gestured for them to follow him out into the corridor. “Allow me to demonstrate my good will by showing you our ship.”

He took the lead out into the halls; Shockwave waited for the twins to follow before bringing up the rear. Purposefully, he brought them down the corridor and into the hangar at the rear of the ship, where Lugnut hulked in recharge in his vehicle mode. The twins stared with undisguised awe at the breadth of the space—at the high ceiling and the docking areas that would accommodate even the largest of the Decepticons with ease.

[continued]

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“As you see, we are entirely accustomed to flying mechs.” Megatron drew upon his most convincing tone of subtle reassurance. “I doubt that your Autobot brethren always react with the appropriate level of appreciation for your abilities. A pity, really, but Autobot traditionalism rarely allows for an enlightened worldview. Progress, as defined by the Autobot Council, will always be irrevocably tied to the ground.” Out of the corner of one optic, Megatron caught the back-and-forth bounce of another uneasy glance between the two little jets. “Your advanced nature is not to be feared...but celebrated.”

“Brother,” one whispered to the other.

In reply, the visored twin tightened the line of his mouth and shook his head.

Slightly narrowing his optics, Megatron turned with the swift grace of a striking predator. He grasped Jetfire's wrist between two fingers and held firm to the joint even when the jet jerked back with a static buzz of fright. “You are delicate,” Megatron said. He slid his thumb along the seams of the metal and felt the double whirr of fragile components under his dedicatedly careful grip. “Not to say that you are weak. You are small, however. Lithe. Unexpectedly agile.” He curled his mouth into a smile. “Such builds are uncommon among Decepticons.” In illustration, he tilted his head lightly in the direction of Lugnut, then Shockwave, but he kept his optics fixed on those of Jetfire. “The two of you are...exotic.”

He let his thumb drift upward, running metal over metal along the inner seam of the jet's forearm before casually releasing him.

Jetfire literally fell backwards a full step, only steadying when both of Jetstorm's slim arms wrapped tight around him. Both twins faintly trembled. Megatron needed no superior capabilities of transmission or intelligence to know that they had ways of communicating that did not rely upon audible speech or private channels.

“The Autobots,” Jetstorm said, at last, in halting unease. “They...sometimes fear us.”

Megatron inclined his head in agreement. “Of course they do.” He manufactured a regretful sigh through his vents. “Your unique command of the air reminds them of our sort, after all, and Autobots will always fear Decepticons. The weak have reason to fear the powerful.”

Both twins visibly bristled, their wiring clicking and snapping beneath their plating. Megatron supposed that he had touched on the sensitive node of Autobot preconditioning.

“The Autobots are not weak!” piped Jetfire.

Jetstorm adopted a similar pose of offense. “The Autobots control Cybertron!”

“Yes,” Megatron replied with equanimity. “They do. But that hardly answers the question of whether or not they should.”

The two paused, then tensed, and then finally shared another uncertain glance between them. Their postures devolved into awkward angles and halting lines, and they appeared again as their mental, rather than physical ages―two Cybertronians barely past the protoform stage.

“What is it that you mean?” Jetfire said at length.

“You, the greatest of their creations since Project Omega, and how do they make use of you? By sending you flitting around the galaxy, chasing after small and relatively harmless enclaves of Decepticon saboteurs. What a waste.”

Heads tilting in uncertainty, the twins grasped each other's hands. They were probably unaware of their propensity for—and thus vulnerability to—physical contact. Finally, Jetstorm spoke. “Tell us more.”

Megatron couldn't quite restrain his smirk into a smile, but no matter. “Gladly,” he said, and then he pretended to consider. “In a better location...my private quarters, perhaps. Shockwave, do be kind enough to bring the highest grade of oil for our extraordinary guests.”

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That.... was gorgeous. @_@

The twins are sooooo adorable even when they're terrified out of their minds, and I love love love that you can actually see a small difference in the twins, where Jetfire is the more 'outgoing' (I can't think of the word because I am so full of SQEEE) and more protective of the two and Jetstorm is more set in the Autobot ways, but both are still easily swayed by the other's decisions.

And MEGATRON. SO manipulative with his every word. He's incredibly captivating it's no wonder the Jet Twins are having troubles saying no. I love your take on him (every time you write him it's just like.... guh. @_@ )

And no pronz, but it's a very promising continuation (if it were to be continued???? *crosses fingers and prays?* D: )

I'll draw you another picture if you do. :3 And I haven't given up on the first one, I assure you, I'm just slow. XD

Seriously though, even if you didn't have the time to continue this... this alone was pure win and I love it so thank you so so so much it is truly awesome! I love all of your transformer work, particularly Animated. You have their characters so spot on that it's difficult to tell if you wrote their canon or not! :3

Thank you again! <333333333333

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.....Continuing this is now seriously tempting. o.o I would do a great many things for more art from you. The only trouble is that this has less of a plot than usual, even from me: "Megatron seduces the jet twins. It is easy because they are vulnerable to flattery and pettings."

Lol, and if I wrote TF:A canon, poor Optimus would never be vertical.

Everyone: *stands in line to 'corrupt' him*
Megatron: *grateful for the line, as it allows him to murder the others more easily and claim Optimus for himself*

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Well if Megatron wouldn't be so durn manipulative... XD But alas, he is a sexy 'Con and we all love him for his way with words.

And the Twins are terribly easy to corrupt aren't they? Poor things are just looking for a true sense of direction. Perhaps a direction towards Megatron's berth? XD They'd be Megatron's personal lap companions, one attached to each hip, constantly licking and nipping for attention.

Optimus never being vertical is -always- a good thing. XD Unless they're like... in the washracks and Megatron catches him and takes him from behind. >:3

......what do you want for a pic? I feel really honored that you like my art. ^_^;; It's really motivating. >:) And I can always settle for another pairing if it will get me pronz. 8D

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Unless they're like... in the washracks and Megatron catches him and takes him from behind. >:3

....asdkakdfdkldguh. ~~That. Draw that.~~ Sorry, Lyric's brain is no longer receiving sensory input. Please leave a message and she will get back to you as soon as teh giant robotz stop being sexy.

Wow. Yes.

Hmmmmm, I would need to think about that. Maybe...I am extremely partial to the image of Optimus in Megatron's lap. *purrs helplessly*

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Oh I have ideas for that too, trust me. Will Optimus be facing forward or back to chest, grinding his aft into Megatron's groin? >:3 Or do you prefer the less forward Optimus that is all curled up in Megatron's lap begging 'Please...' All are equally delicious.

Perhaps we should continue this on AIM so we're not sputtering over your comments? XD If you'd like to my IM is Justinethebean02

I have... admittedly a lot (and by a lot I mean a LOT. ~~A lot of porn >_> </strike) of ideas floating around in my head that half the time never see paper. :/ So make me draw! XD~~

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