Prompt Three Response (monitor duty)
“Do you have to do that?” Barricade muttered. Blackout riffled his rotors, turning.
“Do what?” The rotors caught the dim light from the monitors, glistening. Barricade’s lower set of optics lingered down them.
“That! With your rotors!” Fraggin’ copter’s rotors were like living things…taunting him, waving at him. Barricade would swear to it.
“With my rotors?” Blackout’s optics tilted. “Not my fault you have the attention span of a droneling.”
Barricade bridled. That…hit a bit close to home. He clicked his lip plates together, turning pettishly back to the monitor. Fine. He could tune the copter out. Totally.
His talons clicked over the keyboard, calling up the next sequence of areas to scan. Space was so vast, so magnificent, so mysterious, so…boring. Especially compared to the exotic allure of rotors. Just…a hand’s reach…away.
Flick.
Barricade’s optics flew over, the rotor’s gloss catching in the flickering light from the display. Gnnnnrgh. He turned his head back to the screen. Copter. Tease. “There a reason you’re so twitchy?”
Blackout turned an inscrutable face. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
Barricade ground his mouthplates. Right. Monitors. He keyed a beta-scan over the grid sector gamma12.424.36. Not that it was likely that a giant patch of…NOTHING would have anything dangerous. Or even remotely interesting. But it was better than sitting here seething at the way the ruffling rotors had inflamed his sensornet. And it wasn’t just the rotors, of course. They were just a symptom. A key to his desire. The copter’s exotic face-the broad span of his cheek flares, the broad structure, the deliciously sensitive crest-but even more than that, the copter’s personality: so vicious in combat, ruthless, unstoppable, but somehow managing to be so…gentle. So aware of his capacity to damage, as if he were trying to balance his violence with his honor, to make some peace with himself.
And, yeah, that the copter deigned to interface with him occasionally. That, uh…might have been part of it, too.
Flick.
Barricade steeled himself, his lower optics jumping toward the movement. The rotor twitched again, and then began rocking in its teeter hinge. What the…? Barricade turned his head. The rotorblade stilled. Frag. Got me again. He didn’t doubt that if he could see the copter’s face, the tight angle of his mouth would be quivering with amusement. Fraggin’ copters and their weird senses of humor.
He growled audibly, and immediately regretted it as the copter gave an unmistakable chuckle. He was doing it on purpose! You know what? Two can play at this game.
Barricade inched forward in his seat, just like, you know, he was just casually suddenly really captivated by something on the monitor and was getting a better look. REALLY fascinating. As in…fascinating enough to have his window wings wiggle. Ha! He caught the sudden jerk of the copter’s head, the way the optics stayed on the wings. Barricade hunched over further , his chassis bumping against the front of the console, giving a better angle.
He fluttered his wings.
“W-what did you find?”
Triumph. Barricade sat back a bit. “Find? Didn’t find anything.” He gave the copter a sidelong glance. “What made you think I found something?”
Blackout’s optics narrowed. “Nothing,” he said. “Just…making conversation.”
Barricade snorted. Right. Enjoy a taste of your own energon, copter. “Not your best skill,” he smirked.
“Fine, then.” Blackout turned showily to his own monitor, his rotors clashing together like chimes. Deliberate. Escalating, was he?
Barricade shifted his scan to the next sector, back to alpha level. His upper optics focused on the screen, his lower drifting over, monitoring the rotary’s posture. Blackout sat, half turned away from him, for a long moment, giving his shifting, restless rotors freer play. But slowly, he turned, optics peering around his shoulder-mounted weapons, to see if Barricade was watching. Barricade didn’t move. The copter turned more, his mouth drooping in a frown, disappointed. Certain that his strategy had failed.
It…had not. The view of the copter’s broad back the huge engine with the dangling rotors, made Barricade almost dizzy with desire. His talons ached to grab the rotors, seize them in bunches, or slide just one between his palms, feeling their flexible surface. He stifled a whimper, optics stolidly on the screen. So…boring.
So much less fun than taunting the copter back. Pretending an itch, Barricade reached between his shoulder, scratching at the mounting of one window wing. First a good scritch, but then, once he sensed the copter’s gaze had snapped to it, slowing the talons’ movements to light, delicate strokes.
Which…threatened to backfire as the copter wasn’t even looking and it was…really turning him on. He squirmed on his seat, his spike and valve both tinglingly onlining. Ready. Eager. He was going to be miserable until this shift ended. And even then…well…he’d have to take care of it himself.
Which made him more frustrated. This was all, obviously, the copter’s fault.
Still, his talons stroked at his armor, in the delicate join of the wing, then brushing up the back of his exposed neck cabling.
A large sound. His head snapped over to see Blackout out of his chair. Okay, maybe not backfiring quite so much. Would be some consolation of Blackout was even half so aroused and frustrated as he was. “Something wrong?” he asked, slyly.
“I…uh…we need more input rods.”
Barricade’s optics went to the well. Frag. They really were out of input rods. His triumphant slyness evaporated. Vanity, Barricade. Foolishness. He drooped. “Oh.”
He dropped one elbow on the console, resting a disconsolate chin on his hand. His interface equipment raged at him. The monitors scrolled past him. He heaved a sigh. Stupid monitor duty. Fraggin’ sucked. He heard Blackout rustling around in the storage area. All-fraggin’-business Blackout.
Blackout returned, leaning over to drop a fistful of input rods in the console’s reservoir. Barricade didn’t even look. Whatever. Life sucked. And the fact that he’d made himself all hot and frisky…for nothing…made it suck worse.
Blackout shifted beside him. Probably just getting in his chair. Probably putting on another little rotor-show. Barricade didn’t look: he really couldn’t handle seeing the delicious bait dangling in front of him like that. He ground his mouth again.
Then suddenly found his chassis shoved against the console, blunt fingers threaded between his window wings, and another hand hauling his hipframe of where he’d perched on the edge of the chair. An EM field pressed in upon him from behind, his wings spreading against the slick glass of Blackout’s cockpit bell.
“Not nice to tease, Barricade,” Blackout murmured in his audio. A nip on a window, metal grating on the glass. Barricade shivered with re-ignited pleasure, kindled by frustration. He felt his hips pulled up, back, felt a warm open-systemed thigh against the armor on the back of his legs, an interface hatch grinding against his.
“Then stop teasing,” Barricade gasped into the console.
“Do what?” The rotors caught the dim light from the monitors, glistening. Barricade’s lower set of optics lingered down them.
“That! With your rotors!” Fraggin’ copter’s rotors were like living things…taunting him, waving at him. Barricade would swear to it.
“With my rotors?” Blackout’s optics tilted. “Not my fault you have the attention span of a droneling.”
Barricade bridled. That…hit a bit close to home. He clicked his lip plates together, turning pettishly back to the monitor. Fine. He could tune the copter out. Totally.
His talons clicked over the keyboard, calling up the next sequence of areas to scan. Space was so vast, so magnificent, so mysterious, so…boring. Especially compared to the exotic allure of rotors. Just…a hand’s reach…away.
Flick.
Barricade’s optics flew over, the rotor’s gloss catching in the flickering light from the display. Gnnnnrgh. He turned his head back to the screen. Copter. Tease. “There a reason you’re so twitchy?”
Blackout turned an inscrutable face. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
Barricade ground his mouthplates. Right. Monitors. He keyed a beta-scan over the grid sector gamma12.424.36. Not that it was likely that a giant patch of…NOTHING would have anything dangerous. Or even remotely interesting. But it was better than sitting here seething at the way the ruffling rotors had inflamed his sensornet. And it wasn’t just the rotors, of course. They were just a symptom. A key to his desire. The copter’s exotic face-the broad span of his cheek flares, the broad structure, the deliciously sensitive crest-but even more than that, the copter’s personality: so vicious in combat, ruthless, unstoppable, but somehow managing to be so…gentle. So aware of his capacity to damage, as if he were trying to balance his violence with his honor, to make some peace with himself.
And, yeah, that the copter deigned to interface with him occasionally. That, uh…might have been part of it, too.
Flick.
Barricade steeled himself, his lower optics jumping toward the movement. The rotor twitched again, and then began rocking in its teeter hinge. What the…? Barricade turned his head. The rotorblade stilled. Frag. Got me again. He didn’t doubt that if he could see the copter’s face, the tight angle of his mouth would be quivering with amusement. Fraggin’ copters and their weird senses of humor.
He growled audibly, and immediately regretted it as the copter gave an unmistakable chuckle. He was doing it on purpose! You know what? Two can play at this game.
Barricade inched forward in his seat, just like, you know, he was just casually suddenly really captivated by something on the monitor and was getting a better look. REALLY fascinating. As in…fascinating enough to have his window wings wiggle. Ha! He caught the sudden jerk of the copter’s head, the way the optics stayed on the wings. Barricade hunched over further , his chassis bumping against the front of the console, giving a better angle.
He fluttered his wings.
“W-what did you find?”
Triumph. Barricade sat back a bit. “Find? Didn’t find anything.” He gave the copter a sidelong glance. “What made you think I found something?”
Blackout’s optics narrowed. “Nothing,” he said. “Just…making conversation.”
Barricade snorted. Right. Enjoy a taste of your own energon, copter. “Not your best skill,” he smirked.
“Fine, then.” Blackout turned showily to his own monitor, his rotors clashing together like chimes. Deliberate. Escalating, was he?
Barricade shifted his scan to the next sector, back to alpha level. His upper optics focused on the screen, his lower drifting over, monitoring the rotary’s posture. Blackout sat, half turned away from him, for a long moment, giving his shifting, restless rotors freer play. But slowly, he turned, optics peering around his shoulder-mounted weapons, to see if Barricade was watching. Barricade didn’t move. The copter turned more, his mouth drooping in a frown, disappointed. Certain that his strategy had failed.
It…had not. The view of the copter’s broad back the huge engine with the dangling rotors, made Barricade almost dizzy with desire. His talons ached to grab the rotors, seize them in bunches, or slide just one between his palms, feeling their flexible surface. He stifled a whimper, optics stolidly on the screen. So…boring.
So much less fun than taunting the copter back. Pretending an itch, Barricade reached between his shoulder, scratching at the mounting of one window wing. First a good scritch, but then, once he sensed the copter’s gaze had snapped to it, slowing the talons’ movements to light, delicate strokes.
Which…threatened to backfire as the copter wasn’t even looking and it was…really turning him on. He squirmed on his seat, his spike and valve both tinglingly onlining. Ready. Eager. He was going to be miserable until this shift ended. And even then…well…he’d have to take care of it himself.
Which made him more frustrated. This was all, obviously, the copter’s fault.
Still, his talons stroked at his armor, in the delicate join of the wing, then brushing up the back of his exposed neck cabling.
A large sound. His head snapped over to see Blackout out of his chair. Okay, maybe not backfiring quite so much. Would be some consolation of Blackout was even half so aroused and frustrated as he was. “Something wrong?” he asked, slyly.
“I…uh…we need more input rods.”
Barricade’s optics went to the well. Frag. They really were out of input rods. His triumphant slyness evaporated. Vanity, Barricade. Foolishness. He drooped. “Oh.”
He dropped one elbow on the console, resting a disconsolate chin on his hand. His interface equipment raged at him. The monitors scrolled past him. He heaved a sigh. Stupid monitor duty. Fraggin’ sucked. He heard Blackout rustling around in the storage area. All-fraggin’-business Blackout.
Blackout returned, leaning over to drop a fistful of input rods in the console’s reservoir. Barricade didn’t even look. Whatever. Life sucked. And the fact that he’d made himself all hot and frisky…for nothing…made it suck worse.
Blackout shifted beside him. Probably just getting in his chair. Probably putting on another little rotor-show. Barricade didn’t look: he really couldn’t handle seeing the delicious bait dangling in front of him like that. He ground his mouth again.
Then suddenly found his chassis shoved against the console, blunt fingers threaded between his window wings, and another hand hauling his hipframe of where he’d perched on the edge of the chair. An EM field pressed in upon him from behind, his wings spreading against the slick glass of Blackout’s cockpit bell.
“Not nice to tease, Barricade,” Blackout murmured in his audio. A nip on a window, metal grating on the glass. Barricade shivered with re-ignited pleasure, kindled by frustration. He felt his hips pulled up, back, felt a warm open-systemed thigh against the armor on the back of his legs, an interface hatch grinding against his.
“Then stop teasing,” Barricade gasped into the console.