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caiusbackupTitle: Not Exactly a Role Reversal
Fandom: Transformers G1
Pairing:: Galvatron/Cyclonus
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Advertisements: Dominance/submission, flogging: see summary. Also some plug-n-play style robot sex.
Summary: Written for this kink meme request:
Galvatron likes pain play. Anybody could figure *that* much. But what most people don't know is that Galvatron likes *receiving* pain, too.
The problem with that is liking to be hurt doesn't mean Galvatron ever, *ever* wants to be in a situation he doesn't control. So what do you do when you are a paranoid dominant warlord who wants to bottom every so often?
Answer: you go get your submissive second Cyclonus, who is so *very* good with a whip.
Cyclonus knelt before Galvatron in the throne room. For the moment, the two of them were the only ones there. Galvatron was in one of his quieter moods, and he'd been petting Cyclonus' antennae, off and on, as he talked of conquest. Cyclonus was in a state of blissful arousal such that Galvatron could have ordered him to overload then and there and he would have done so. Or his Lord could have kept him there for the rest of the shift, and he would have stayed happy.
Lord Galvatron did neither. "Your whip, Cyclonus." The order, like most things with Galvatron, came without warning, although it was no less welcome for that.
"Yes, my Lord." Cyclonus pulled his most powerful electrowhip out of subspace and offered it, reverently, to his Lord.
Galvatron shoved the whip back. "No. You use it today."
That was a small disappointment--there were few things Cyclonus liked more than writhing under his Lord's whip, at least when he was being whipped for Galvatron's pleasure rather than because he had disappointed him.
But he enjoyed showing off his technique for his Lord as well. "Yes, Mighty One. Who do you want me to torture for you?" They were currently lacking in obvious answers to that question, but some unlucky Decepticon could always be commandeered. A Sweep, maybe.
"Me."
This was...unexpected. Cyclonus paused, his grip on the electrowhip loosening slightly. "My--my Lord?" He would, of course, try to provide for all of Lord Galvatron's needs, obey all of his orders, but--did he really want Cyclonus to hurt him?
"Did you not hear me correctly, Cyclonus?" Galvatron grabbed him by the neck and hauled him up slightly.
In an already-aroused Cyclonus, this triggered waves of pleasure and strengthened his desire to submit himself entirely to whatever Galvatron wanted. Which was not particularly helpful, in this case.
"You. Whip me. Do you have a problem with the order?" Beneath the firm demand, there was an edge of uncertainty in Galvatron's voice, or so Cyclonus thought, and he'd had long practice interpreting Galvatron's moods. Of course it would be a novel and somewhat uncomfortable thought for Galvatron as well, even if he wanted it enough to demand it. Since their creation, Galvatron had always wanted complete control, and Cyclonus had been happy to give it to him.
But if it was at Lord Galvatron's order, than he was in control. And Cyclonus was, at least, skilled with an electrowhip, and he knew in great detail what his Lord enjoyed as spectator and tormentor. "I have no problem, my Lord. I will obey you gladly."
"Good." This established, Cyclonus and Galvatron stared at each other for an astrosecond, trying to work out how to proceed in the new activity.
"Where would you like to be whipped, my Lord?" Cyclonus knew how this worked with a prisoner, with a subordinate, with someone he could control and arrange as he and his Lord pleased. With Lord Galvatron--he could hardly put him on his knees, or chain him up, at least without an extremely explicit order.
Galvatron looked for an astrosecond as though he was going to yell at Cyclonus for that, too, order him to decide--but, no. "Here. For now. Start with my chest plates, Cyclonus."
"Yes, my Lord." Cyclonus allowed himself to bow his head once more before standing up and preparing himself to whip Lord Galvatron. Don't think about it, he told himself, just obey. He turned the current on in the whip, grounding himself for an astrosecond in the satisfyingly familiar sound and feel of it. And then he struck.
The whip arced through the air and raised a line of sparks across Galvatron's upper chestplate. Not too hard. Galvatron's hands dug in deeper on the throne's armrests, but he only growled, "Harder."
"Yes, my Lord." The next blow was rougher, and a little lower. Galvatron's upper chest was well-shielded--there was no way his whip would be able to make much of a mark on the armor there. But down further, toward the waist--experimentally, Cyclonus flicked the tip of the tip of over the red-and-white cross inset in the plating above Galvatron's waist. There was some very sensitive circuitry in there--Cyclonus could remember well the reactions he'd gotten worshiping it with his mouth and his fingers.
Galvatron jumped slightly at this blow, electricity visible and tangible as it spread out through his fields. "Again. Don't hold back, Cyclonus. Or do you think that I am weak?"
"Of course not, my Lord." Cyclonus simply did not want to hurt, or offend, but if the offense was in striking him too lightly, than Cyclonus would strike hard. Mighty Galvatron was right, after all--his Lord could take far more than Cyclonus' usual victims. (Although Cyclonus was not going to dare using the force and intensity Lord Galvatron used on him.) Before he'd really started thinking about it, Cyclonus had turned the current up to maximum, attaching the whip to his wrist so that it could draw power from his own systems, and started striking his Lord with nearly all the force he had available.
It was difficult to whip Galvatron's waist properly from this angle--with Galvatron sitting in the throne still--but Cyclonus went at it with a will, whip stinging and sparking over the waist and chestplates and lower hips, occasionally catching on the arms and cannon. Galvatron was quieter than usual, making it easy to hear the sound of the whip and his subtler reactions--the whir of his cooling fans, the small scrapes of metal against metal as he didn't, quite, manage to hold himself still, and the low protests of the armrests, as they were squeezed and distorted under his hands. And, as always, Cyclonus took in every small reaction, treasuring it and using it to inform and improve his technique.
After a few minutes of such treatment, Galvatron gave a low growl and reached out with his hand, catching the whip. Partly by momentum, partly by volition, the whip wrapped around Lord Galvatron's hand, and Cyclonus did not insult his Lord by turning it off, or even down. Current from Cyclonus' systems burned through the whip, around Galvatron's hand, and into his Lord's body, and Cyclonus would deny him none of it.
Galvatron pulled imperiously on the whip, and Cyclonus came up onto his lap, easily and eagerly surrendering himself. Galvatron pressed his whip-wrapped hand to Cyclonus' wing as he held him close, forcefully and painfully binding their fields together, almost as though Cyclonus had had interface cables in his wing. Cyclonus melted into Galvatron's touch for a long, happy moment.
Galvatron shoved him back and off.
Long practice and coordination allowed Cyclonus to slip off onto his knees rather than falling onto his aft. Galvatron gave a pleased squeeze to Cyclonus' left antenna and said, "More. And you'll need a better angle."
"O-of course, my Lord. Would you like to bend over the throne?" Galvatron had whipped Cyclonus in that position many times; it was more satisfying emotionally than physically, but it was also one of the less submissive positions Cyclonus had available. Galvatron could stand--but Cyclonus did not want to put his Lord in a position where he had to choose between maintaining his position and receiving the force he seemed to want. And binding him, or putting him on his knees, was out of the question.
Galvatron nodded. "That will do, Cyclonus."
Cyclonus pulled back onto his knees to make room as Galvatron got up, turned around, and leaned over, hands gripping the top of the throne. Cyclonus gazed, appreciatively, at the expanse of his Lord's backside--his beautiful, sensitive thighs were right in front of Cyclonus' faceplates, and Cyclonus was tempted just to bury his hands and face in them and touch and kiss and lick and worship.
But he could do that with the whip. Cyclonus stood, and took a four astroseconds to run his optics--respectfully, if also hungrily--over the rest of his Lord's backside. He didn't get to see it often enough in an intimate context, since it was usually Cyclonus in this position. He allowed himself to run his hand down his Lord's back and thighs, once, carefully and reverently, and Galvatron's engine rumbled, not quite impatient. He stepped back slightly to get a better angle, and struck Galvatron's tail-sight so that whip wrapped around it and sparked against the plating of Galvatron's back.
"Yes," Galvatron growled.
Thus encouraged, Cyclonus put his skills to work, criss-crossing both sides of Galvatron's back with the whip and wrapping and unwrapping the tail-sight with great force. "You are magnificent, my Lord." And he was--proud and beautiful and asking for more with every strike. Galvatron could, no doubt, take even more of this than Cyclonus could, could take as much as Cyclonus could give him.
"Cyclonus!" Galvatron shouted the name in ecstasy, and Cyclonus' world was--even more than usual--limited to pleasing his Lord and appreciating--worshiping, adoring--his pleasure and his strength and beauty.
Beauty that was only enhanced when his paint job was covered with precise streaks of scorched and missing paint, worn down to silver or gray. Streaks that Cyclonus had helped make, that Galvatron had let him make--had demanded that he make. They were not worthy of the rest of him, of course--nothing that Cyclonus could ever make could be--but the sight of them heated Cyclonus' whole body and spurred him on to make more.
"Mighty One..." Cyclonus said reverently, not letting it interrupt him in his work. He moved upwards, administering blows to the pillars of Galvatron's shoulders, flicking the whip at the very tip of the tail-sight. Galvatron was becoming incoherent--in a good way. Not unlike how Cyclonus felt when Galvatron undid him in the very same way--the resemblance was disorienting, when Cyclonus thought about it, and there was an astrosecond where he thought that he was the one being whipped and not the one doing the whipping.
"Lower," Galvatron growled.
"Yes, Mighty One," Cyclonus' voice was almost as choked with arousal as Galvatron's as he worked his way down again, down further than he had been before, to lay the whip on Galvatron's defined waist, his purple aft--and, oh, those powerful, vulnerable thighs.
When Cyclonus reached them, Galvatron screamed and Cyclonus paused without conscious intent, continuing only when (an astrosecond later) Galvatron bellowed, "More!"
And Cyclonus gave him more, whipping his thighs until they could no longer support him and he collapsed against the throne, kneeling with his face where his tail would have been. When Cyclonus tried to help him back up, he yelled, "Don't stop!" and would have struck Cyclonus, if he'd had the strength and a better position. Cyclonus left him there, kneeling over his own throne, and kept going as Galvatron yelled and screamed and whimpered with complete and total abandon until Cyclonus--
He could have continued all day, if Galvatron wanted it. He would continue all day, if Galvatron ordered it. But his programming and experience told him that, on a physical level, he had reaching the point of diminishing returns unless he switched techniques.
He put the whip away.
"Why did you stop?" Galvatron demanded, hoarse and too tired, now, to even make a gesture toward striking his Second, or to order Cyclonus to continue.
"Let me do this for you, my Lord, please. And then I will start again." Cyclonus pulled out some high-quality polish--confiscated from one or another of the Stunticons, saved for a special occasion. Soothing and stimulating Galvatron's damaged plating would make him ready for more.
And give Cyclonus a break from hurting him.
"Do what?" Galvatron asked, twisting his body--torn by the whip, sparkling and heaving with arousal--to see the small box Cyclonus held out for him. "Oh yes. Use it." He turned back around, arranging himself on the throne, helm resting on his left arm, aft sticking out enticingly.
Cyclonus started on the shoulders, gently rubbing it in as if he were merely polishing his Lord's plating--as he had done, many times. As he went over the areas he'd torn with the whip, he projected his energy field, producing little sparks of electricity along the lines of the whip marks, where Galvatron's field was strengthened and the whip's energy (Cyclonus' own energy) lingered.
"Cyclonus!" Galvatron writhed happily under Cyclonus' touch.
Cyclonus had always enjoyed caring for his Lord in small everyday physical things--washing and polishing and painting him, and repairing what injuries he could. It was, to be perfectly honest, something that he'd taken on himself more than something Galvatron demanded of him. Doing this for him--it was almost the same thing, only the damage Cyclonus was soothing was damage he'd inflicted at Galvatron's request.
Cyclonus rubbed Galvatron's tail-sight all over, up and down and around. Galvatron made small sounds of pleasure and pain as he worked, their energy fields sparking between them.
"Cyclonus..." Galvatron moaned, low and happy.
"Mighty One," Cyclonus. He was serving and pleasing; he was happy. He moved back down to the base of the tail-sight and onto Galvatron's back, rubbing at the sensitive almost-hidden crevice where the tail joined his back. Galvatron arched as he rubbed the polish in there--Cyclonus was pleased to note that he had managed to touch that little seam exactly with the whip. He pressed harder, flaring his energy field--the polish conducted it nicely, and Galvatron roared.
Cyclonus moved his hands up over Galvatron's back plating, leaning over his tail-sight and, as he reached Galvatron's shoulders, gave a hard bite to the very tip of the sight. It gained him a happy yell of surprise and pleasure, and Galvatron bucked up against him, denting Cyclonus' mouth and making gouges in Galvatron's finish where it contacted Cyclonus' teeth.
For a moment, Cyclonus was overwhelmed, falling down on his knees over his Lord, mouth full of Galvatron's tail-sight and his own energon. He clung, helplessly, to his Lord, pressing his body and his energy field against Galvatron's and wordlessly begging for more, to be wrapped in Galvatron's energy and power, to be thrown to the floor, to his knees, to have the whip torn from his hand and used against him, where it belonged...
Galvatron bucked again, and his field flared hard, drawing more energon and a low moan from his lieutenant.
"Finish what you started," Galvatron ordered, and Cyclonus--weakly but willingly--pulled himself up, gathered the polish from where it had fallen (onto Lord Galvatron's back; fortunately it had not spilled), and took up his task. The aft was next--powerfully, beautifully shaped, heavily covered with whipmarks and gleaming with energy--but Galvatron shifted impatiently and seemed ready to yell again, so Cyclonus moved over it efficiently. The thighs were next, and he did not want to miss the chance to put his hands on those.
He was allowed to spend more time there, running his hands over the hot metal, smoothing over the slight dents the whip had made and the rings where the metal was jointed. So beautiful--Cyclonus wanted to tell his Lord just how beautiful he was, or connect to him so that Galvatron could feel it first hand. But he wasn't going to ask, not directly. Galvatron rumbled with contentment for a bit as Cyclonus stroked him, re-shining the plating and making the whipmarks stand out even brighter, but soon enough Cyclonus felt the charge building and the start of impatience under his hands.
"Get on with it!"
Cyclonus pulled back, put the polish away, and took out a shorter, five-tailed, barbed-wire flogger--no electricity in this one (although it was possible to conduct electricity along it, if necessary) but Cyclonus knew how delightfully it could tear at a mech's plating, when used with enough force. He trailed it over Galvatron's thighs, requesting permission.
"Yes, good, Cyclonus..." Galvatron moaned, as--even used lightly--the sharp edges torn at the edges of his plating, left lines in the polish and drew small, tantalizing, drops of energon where they intersected the places where the other whip had torn at the edges of the rings of metal. "Hit me hard."
Cyclonus did so, striking his right thigh just under his aft.
Galvatron howled with delight. "More." The marks this one made were different from the other--no melting of paint, but there were ever so slight dents and the small, fleeting drops of energon. It wasn't going to truly hurt Galvatron--very few things Cyclonus could do would--but it almost looked like he would.
He hit the other thigh, and Galvatron kicked him--involuntarily, probably. Cyclonus simply took it and, at Galvatron's order, kept going. Anyone else--even Cyclonus himself--would be bound for this treatment, for the protection of himself and his tormentor. But Cyclonus would never suggest this for Galvatron. So Cyclonus simply kept himself out of the way as best he could as Galvatron thrashed and howled his pain and pleasure.
Fifteen strokes, and Galvatron was still going, showing no sign of demanding that Cyclonus stop or that he be still. Cyclonus allowed himself to take hold of Galvatron's tail, brace himself so that he could strike more precisely, and Galvatron did not deny him, only kept howling for more.
Twice more, and then, "Enough!" Galvatron ordered, and Cyclonus--unable to break momentum so quickly, unable to deny his Lord--quickly moved his hand up and back so the flogger struck midair instead of his Lord's thighs or aft. "Connect to me. I want to feel you." Panels that had been torn and scorched by Cyclonus' whips opened to reveal four cords, two on each thigh, strong and thick to match the rest of his Lord's body, extending immediately to seek out the corresponding ports in Cyclonus' own thighs.
Galvatron's hardware was non-standard--Cyclonus had seen what it could do to other mechs. But Cyclonus had been designed to complement Galvatron in every way, and there was only a moment's pain as Galvatron jacked into him, pouring energy and feelings into Cyclonus and demanding the same in return.
Cyclonus was ready--always ready--with his utter adoration and devotion to his Lord, and he poured it through the connection, and the pain/pleasure/energy/lust/desire he received from Galvatron was joined by a smug, confident possessiveness when it was received. Cyclonus was ready to give in to Galvatron's powerful energy-flow and finish it right there, pressed as close to his Lord as he could get, but Galvatron growled and pulsed and the demand was clear--keep going.
Cyclonus wasn't going to be able to reach Galvatron's thighs very effectively with his own legs firmly attached to them, so he braced himself as best he could, feet on the floor, one hand on the side of the throne, and struck Galvatron's back under his tail.
The feedback was intense--Galvatron's pain and satisfaction at the intensity of the touch, his pleasure at being able to get Cyclonus to do even this for him--Cyclonus' own pleasure at serving, his personal knowledge of what this felt the other way around, his delight at being allowed this level of intimacy and trust--all of it mingled and it was half a thought of Cyclonus', half an order of Galvatron's, that sent the flogger crashing down on Galvatron's back a second time.
Galvatron roared, Cyclonus nearly collapsed, and still Galvatron demanded more. The most sensitive place Cyclonus could easily reach was his neck, and as a third strike landed hard on Galvatron's back, Cyclonus queried, uncertainly, over the connection, and Galvatron demanded.
Without the connection, without the sure knowledge that this was what Lord Galvatron wanted, what his Lord demanded, Cyclonus could not bring himself to strike Galvatron with the full force of his strength. But Galvatron had no such caution, and it was his Lord's own force and confidence that drove his hand, half-wrapping the tails around Galvatron's neck, piercing the softer metal, drawing energon and striking directly against several major control lines and a large sensory node.
Galvatron screamed. Cyclonus screamed. Cyclonus fell over on top of his Lord, on top of the throne, systems helplessly crashing into overload as Galvatron's overload, too overpowering to be contained within his own body, filled and overloaded Cyclonus as well.
An astrosecond or two later, Cyclonus became aware that Galvatron's cables were disengaging. He did not have the dignity left to refrain from whimpering at the lost connection, and hardly the energy to scramble off of Galvatron once his Lord reminded him--with a kick--that they were hardly in the appropriate positions.
Fortunately kneeling was respectful.
Galvatron, on the other hand, despite being the one of them that had endured the whipping, stood strong and proud. "Excellent, Cyclonus," he said, allowing Cyclonus to release a portion of the anxiety that was always with him. Galvatron smirked. "I shall request that service of you again." He reached down to squeeze an antenna. "For now, however--I think something else is in order. Give me those whips."
At that suggestion, Cyclonus' overloaded systems suddenly reengaged, interested in the proceedings once more. "Yes, Mighty One," he said, happily, and handed them over.
The first blow was pure delight.
Fandom: Transformers G1
Pairing:: Galvatron/Cyclonus
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Advertisements: Dominance/submission, flogging: see summary. Also some plug-n-play style robot sex.
Summary: Written for this kink meme request:
Galvatron likes pain play. Anybody could figure *that* much. But what most people don't know is that Galvatron likes *receiving* pain, too.
The problem with that is liking to be hurt doesn't mean Galvatron ever, *ever* wants to be in a situation he doesn't control. So what do you do when you are a paranoid dominant warlord who wants to bottom every so often?
Answer: you go get your submissive second Cyclonus, who is so *very* good with a whip.
Cyclonus knelt before Galvatron in the throne room. For the moment, the two of them were the only ones there. Galvatron was in one of his quieter moods, and he'd been petting Cyclonus' antennae, off and on, as he talked of conquest. Cyclonus was in a state of blissful arousal such that Galvatron could have ordered him to overload then and there and he would have done so. Or his Lord could have kept him there for the rest of the shift, and he would have stayed happy.
Lord Galvatron did neither. "Your whip, Cyclonus." The order, like most things with Galvatron, came without warning, although it was no less welcome for that.
"Yes, my Lord." Cyclonus pulled his most powerful electrowhip out of subspace and offered it, reverently, to his Lord.
Galvatron shoved the whip back. "No. You use it today."
That was a small disappointment--there were few things Cyclonus liked more than writhing under his Lord's whip, at least when he was being whipped for Galvatron's pleasure rather than because he had disappointed him.
But he enjoyed showing off his technique for his Lord as well. "Yes, Mighty One. Who do you want me to torture for you?" They were currently lacking in obvious answers to that question, but some unlucky Decepticon could always be commandeered. A Sweep, maybe.
"Me."
This was...unexpected. Cyclonus paused, his grip on the electrowhip loosening slightly. "My--my Lord?" He would, of course, try to provide for all of Lord Galvatron's needs, obey all of his orders, but--did he really want Cyclonus to hurt him?
"Did you not hear me correctly, Cyclonus?" Galvatron grabbed him by the neck and hauled him up slightly.
In an already-aroused Cyclonus, this triggered waves of pleasure and strengthened his desire to submit himself entirely to whatever Galvatron wanted. Which was not particularly helpful, in this case.
"You. Whip me. Do you have a problem with the order?" Beneath the firm demand, there was an edge of uncertainty in Galvatron's voice, or so Cyclonus thought, and he'd had long practice interpreting Galvatron's moods. Of course it would be a novel and somewhat uncomfortable thought for Galvatron as well, even if he wanted it enough to demand it. Since their creation, Galvatron had always wanted complete control, and Cyclonus had been happy to give it to him.
But if it was at Lord Galvatron's order, than he was in control. And Cyclonus was, at least, skilled with an electrowhip, and he knew in great detail what his Lord enjoyed as spectator and tormentor. "I have no problem, my Lord. I will obey you gladly."
"Good." This established, Cyclonus and Galvatron stared at each other for an astrosecond, trying to work out how to proceed in the new activity.
"Where would you like to be whipped, my Lord?" Cyclonus knew how this worked with a prisoner, with a subordinate, with someone he could control and arrange as he and his Lord pleased. With Lord Galvatron--he could hardly put him on his knees, or chain him up, at least without an extremely explicit order.
Galvatron looked for an astrosecond as though he was going to yell at Cyclonus for that, too, order him to decide--but, no. "Here. For now. Start with my chest plates, Cyclonus."
"Yes, my Lord." Cyclonus allowed himself to bow his head once more before standing up and preparing himself to whip Lord Galvatron. Don't think about it, he told himself, just obey. He turned the current on in the whip, grounding himself for an astrosecond in the satisfyingly familiar sound and feel of it. And then he struck.
The whip arced through the air and raised a line of sparks across Galvatron's upper chestplate. Not too hard. Galvatron's hands dug in deeper on the throne's armrests, but he only growled, "Harder."
"Yes, my Lord." The next blow was rougher, and a little lower. Galvatron's upper chest was well-shielded--there was no way his whip would be able to make much of a mark on the armor there. But down further, toward the waist--experimentally, Cyclonus flicked the tip of the tip of over the red-and-white cross inset in the plating above Galvatron's waist. There was some very sensitive circuitry in there--Cyclonus could remember well the reactions he'd gotten worshiping it with his mouth and his fingers.
Galvatron jumped slightly at this blow, electricity visible and tangible as it spread out through his fields. "Again. Don't hold back, Cyclonus. Or do you think that I am weak?"
"Of course not, my Lord." Cyclonus simply did not want to hurt, or offend, but if the offense was in striking him too lightly, than Cyclonus would strike hard. Mighty Galvatron was right, after all--his Lord could take far more than Cyclonus' usual victims. (Although Cyclonus was not going to dare using the force and intensity Lord Galvatron used on him.) Before he'd really started thinking about it, Cyclonus had turned the current up to maximum, attaching the whip to his wrist so that it could draw power from his own systems, and started striking his Lord with nearly all the force he had available.
It was difficult to whip Galvatron's waist properly from this angle--with Galvatron sitting in the throne still--but Cyclonus went at it with a will, whip stinging and sparking over the waist and chestplates and lower hips, occasionally catching on the arms and cannon. Galvatron was quieter than usual, making it easy to hear the sound of the whip and his subtler reactions--the whir of his cooling fans, the small scrapes of metal against metal as he didn't, quite, manage to hold himself still, and the low protests of the armrests, as they were squeezed and distorted under his hands. And, as always, Cyclonus took in every small reaction, treasuring it and using it to inform and improve his technique.
After a few minutes of such treatment, Galvatron gave a low growl and reached out with his hand, catching the whip. Partly by momentum, partly by volition, the whip wrapped around Lord Galvatron's hand, and Cyclonus did not insult his Lord by turning it off, or even down. Current from Cyclonus' systems burned through the whip, around Galvatron's hand, and into his Lord's body, and Cyclonus would deny him none of it.
Galvatron pulled imperiously on the whip, and Cyclonus came up onto his lap, easily and eagerly surrendering himself. Galvatron pressed his whip-wrapped hand to Cyclonus' wing as he held him close, forcefully and painfully binding their fields together, almost as though Cyclonus had had interface cables in his wing. Cyclonus melted into Galvatron's touch for a long, happy moment.
Galvatron shoved him back and off.
Long practice and coordination allowed Cyclonus to slip off onto his knees rather than falling onto his aft. Galvatron gave a pleased squeeze to Cyclonus' left antenna and said, "More. And you'll need a better angle."
"O-of course, my Lord. Would you like to bend over the throne?" Galvatron had whipped Cyclonus in that position many times; it was more satisfying emotionally than physically, but it was also one of the less submissive positions Cyclonus had available. Galvatron could stand--but Cyclonus did not want to put his Lord in a position where he had to choose between maintaining his position and receiving the force he seemed to want. And binding him, or putting him on his knees, was out of the question.
Galvatron nodded. "That will do, Cyclonus."
Cyclonus pulled back onto his knees to make room as Galvatron got up, turned around, and leaned over, hands gripping the top of the throne. Cyclonus gazed, appreciatively, at the expanse of his Lord's backside--his beautiful, sensitive thighs were right in front of Cyclonus' faceplates, and Cyclonus was tempted just to bury his hands and face in them and touch and kiss and lick and worship.
But he could do that with the whip. Cyclonus stood, and took a four astroseconds to run his optics--respectfully, if also hungrily--over the rest of his Lord's backside. He didn't get to see it often enough in an intimate context, since it was usually Cyclonus in this position. He allowed himself to run his hand down his Lord's back and thighs, once, carefully and reverently, and Galvatron's engine rumbled, not quite impatient. He stepped back slightly to get a better angle, and struck Galvatron's tail-sight so that whip wrapped around it and sparked against the plating of Galvatron's back.
"Yes," Galvatron growled.
Thus encouraged, Cyclonus put his skills to work, criss-crossing both sides of Galvatron's back with the whip and wrapping and unwrapping the tail-sight with great force. "You are magnificent, my Lord." And he was--proud and beautiful and asking for more with every strike. Galvatron could, no doubt, take even more of this than Cyclonus could, could take as much as Cyclonus could give him.
"Cyclonus!" Galvatron shouted the name in ecstasy, and Cyclonus' world was--even more than usual--limited to pleasing his Lord and appreciating--worshiping, adoring--his pleasure and his strength and beauty.
Beauty that was only enhanced when his paint job was covered with precise streaks of scorched and missing paint, worn down to silver or gray. Streaks that Cyclonus had helped make, that Galvatron had let him make--had demanded that he make. They were not worthy of the rest of him, of course--nothing that Cyclonus could ever make could be--but the sight of them heated Cyclonus' whole body and spurred him on to make more.
"Mighty One..." Cyclonus said reverently, not letting it interrupt him in his work. He moved upwards, administering blows to the pillars of Galvatron's shoulders, flicking the whip at the very tip of the tail-sight. Galvatron was becoming incoherent--in a good way. Not unlike how Cyclonus felt when Galvatron undid him in the very same way--the resemblance was disorienting, when Cyclonus thought about it, and there was an astrosecond where he thought that he was the one being whipped and not the one doing the whipping.
"Lower," Galvatron growled.
"Yes, Mighty One," Cyclonus' voice was almost as choked with arousal as Galvatron's as he worked his way down again, down further than he had been before, to lay the whip on Galvatron's defined waist, his purple aft--and, oh, those powerful, vulnerable thighs.
When Cyclonus reached them, Galvatron screamed and Cyclonus paused without conscious intent, continuing only when (an astrosecond later) Galvatron bellowed, "More!"
And Cyclonus gave him more, whipping his thighs until they could no longer support him and he collapsed against the throne, kneeling with his face where his tail would have been. When Cyclonus tried to help him back up, he yelled, "Don't stop!" and would have struck Cyclonus, if he'd had the strength and a better position. Cyclonus left him there, kneeling over his own throne, and kept going as Galvatron yelled and screamed and whimpered with complete and total abandon until Cyclonus--
He could have continued all day, if Galvatron wanted it. He would continue all day, if Galvatron ordered it. But his programming and experience told him that, on a physical level, he had reaching the point of diminishing returns unless he switched techniques.
He put the whip away.
"Why did you stop?" Galvatron demanded, hoarse and too tired, now, to even make a gesture toward striking his Second, or to order Cyclonus to continue.
"Let me do this for you, my Lord, please. And then I will start again." Cyclonus pulled out some high-quality polish--confiscated from one or another of the Stunticons, saved for a special occasion. Soothing and stimulating Galvatron's damaged plating would make him ready for more.
And give Cyclonus a break from hurting him.
"Do what?" Galvatron asked, twisting his body--torn by the whip, sparkling and heaving with arousal--to see the small box Cyclonus held out for him. "Oh yes. Use it." He turned back around, arranging himself on the throne, helm resting on his left arm, aft sticking out enticingly.
Cyclonus started on the shoulders, gently rubbing it in as if he were merely polishing his Lord's plating--as he had done, many times. As he went over the areas he'd torn with the whip, he projected his energy field, producing little sparks of electricity along the lines of the whip marks, where Galvatron's field was strengthened and the whip's energy (Cyclonus' own energy) lingered.
"Cyclonus!" Galvatron writhed happily under Cyclonus' touch.
Cyclonus had always enjoyed caring for his Lord in small everyday physical things--washing and polishing and painting him, and repairing what injuries he could. It was, to be perfectly honest, something that he'd taken on himself more than something Galvatron demanded of him. Doing this for him--it was almost the same thing, only the damage Cyclonus was soothing was damage he'd inflicted at Galvatron's request.
Cyclonus rubbed Galvatron's tail-sight all over, up and down and around. Galvatron made small sounds of pleasure and pain as he worked, their energy fields sparking between them.
"Cyclonus..." Galvatron moaned, low and happy.
"Mighty One," Cyclonus. He was serving and pleasing; he was happy. He moved back down to the base of the tail-sight and onto Galvatron's back, rubbing at the sensitive almost-hidden crevice where the tail joined his back. Galvatron arched as he rubbed the polish in there--Cyclonus was pleased to note that he had managed to touch that little seam exactly with the whip. He pressed harder, flaring his energy field--the polish conducted it nicely, and Galvatron roared.
Cyclonus moved his hands up over Galvatron's back plating, leaning over his tail-sight and, as he reached Galvatron's shoulders, gave a hard bite to the very tip of the sight. It gained him a happy yell of surprise and pleasure, and Galvatron bucked up against him, denting Cyclonus' mouth and making gouges in Galvatron's finish where it contacted Cyclonus' teeth.
For a moment, Cyclonus was overwhelmed, falling down on his knees over his Lord, mouth full of Galvatron's tail-sight and his own energon. He clung, helplessly, to his Lord, pressing his body and his energy field against Galvatron's and wordlessly begging for more, to be wrapped in Galvatron's energy and power, to be thrown to the floor, to his knees, to have the whip torn from his hand and used against him, where it belonged...
Galvatron bucked again, and his field flared hard, drawing more energon and a low moan from his lieutenant.
"Finish what you started," Galvatron ordered, and Cyclonus--weakly but willingly--pulled himself up, gathered the polish from where it had fallen (onto Lord Galvatron's back; fortunately it had not spilled), and took up his task. The aft was next--powerfully, beautifully shaped, heavily covered with whipmarks and gleaming with energy--but Galvatron shifted impatiently and seemed ready to yell again, so Cyclonus moved over it efficiently. The thighs were next, and he did not want to miss the chance to put his hands on those.
He was allowed to spend more time there, running his hands over the hot metal, smoothing over the slight dents the whip had made and the rings where the metal was jointed. So beautiful--Cyclonus wanted to tell his Lord just how beautiful he was, or connect to him so that Galvatron could feel it first hand. But he wasn't going to ask, not directly. Galvatron rumbled with contentment for a bit as Cyclonus stroked him, re-shining the plating and making the whipmarks stand out even brighter, but soon enough Cyclonus felt the charge building and the start of impatience under his hands.
"Get on with it!"
Cyclonus pulled back, put the polish away, and took out a shorter, five-tailed, barbed-wire flogger--no electricity in this one (although it was possible to conduct electricity along it, if necessary) but Cyclonus knew how delightfully it could tear at a mech's plating, when used with enough force. He trailed it over Galvatron's thighs, requesting permission.
"Yes, good, Cyclonus..." Galvatron moaned, as--even used lightly--the sharp edges torn at the edges of his plating, left lines in the polish and drew small, tantalizing, drops of energon where they intersected the places where the other whip had torn at the edges of the rings of metal. "Hit me hard."
Cyclonus did so, striking his right thigh just under his aft.
Galvatron howled with delight. "More." The marks this one made were different from the other--no melting of paint, but there were ever so slight dents and the small, fleeting drops of energon. It wasn't going to truly hurt Galvatron--very few things Cyclonus could do would--but it almost looked like he would.
He hit the other thigh, and Galvatron kicked him--involuntarily, probably. Cyclonus simply took it and, at Galvatron's order, kept going. Anyone else--even Cyclonus himself--would be bound for this treatment, for the protection of himself and his tormentor. But Cyclonus would never suggest this for Galvatron. So Cyclonus simply kept himself out of the way as best he could as Galvatron thrashed and howled his pain and pleasure.
Fifteen strokes, and Galvatron was still going, showing no sign of demanding that Cyclonus stop or that he be still. Cyclonus allowed himself to take hold of Galvatron's tail, brace himself so that he could strike more precisely, and Galvatron did not deny him, only kept howling for more.
Twice more, and then, "Enough!" Galvatron ordered, and Cyclonus--unable to break momentum so quickly, unable to deny his Lord--quickly moved his hand up and back so the flogger struck midair instead of his Lord's thighs or aft. "Connect to me. I want to feel you." Panels that had been torn and scorched by Cyclonus' whips opened to reveal four cords, two on each thigh, strong and thick to match the rest of his Lord's body, extending immediately to seek out the corresponding ports in Cyclonus' own thighs.
Galvatron's hardware was non-standard--Cyclonus had seen what it could do to other mechs. But Cyclonus had been designed to complement Galvatron in every way, and there was only a moment's pain as Galvatron jacked into him, pouring energy and feelings into Cyclonus and demanding the same in return.
Cyclonus was ready--always ready--with his utter adoration and devotion to his Lord, and he poured it through the connection, and the pain/pleasure/energy/lust/desire he received from Galvatron was joined by a smug, confident possessiveness when it was received. Cyclonus was ready to give in to Galvatron's powerful energy-flow and finish it right there, pressed as close to his Lord as he could get, but Galvatron growled and pulsed and the demand was clear--keep going.
Cyclonus wasn't going to be able to reach Galvatron's thighs very effectively with his own legs firmly attached to them, so he braced himself as best he could, feet on the floor, one hand on the side of the throne, and struck Galvatron's back under his tail.
The feedback was intense--Galvatron's pain and satisfaction at the intensity of the touch, his pleasure at being able to get Cyclonus to do even this for him--Cyclonus' own pleasure at serving, his personal knowledge of what this felt the other way around, his delight at being allowed this level of intimacy and trust--all of it mingled and it was half a thought of Cyclonus', half an order of Galvatron's, that sent the flogger crashing down on Galvatron's back a second time.
Galvatron roared, Cyclonus nearly collapsed, and still Galvatron demanded more. The most sensitive place Cyclonus could easily reach was his neck, and as a third strike landed hard on Galvatron's back, Cyclonus queried, uncertainly, over the connection, and Galvatron demanded.
Without the connection, without the sure knowledge that this was what Lord Galvatron wanted, what his Lord demanded, Cyclonus could not bring himself to strike Galvatron with the full force of his strength. But Galvatron had no such caution, and it was his Lord's own force and confidence that drove his hand, half-wrapping the tails around Galvatron's neck, piercing the softer metal, drawing energon and striking directly against several major control lines and a large sensory node.
Galvatron screamed. Cyclonus screamed. Cyclonus fell over on top of his Lord, on top of the throne, systems helplessly crashing into overload as Galvatron's overload, too overpowering to be contained within his own body, filled and overloaded Cyclonus as well.
An astrosecond or two later, Cyclonus became aware that Galvatron's cables were disengaging. He did not have the dignity left to refrain from whimpering at the lost connection, and hardly the energy to scramble off of Galvatron once his Lord reminded him--with a kick--that they were hardly in the appropriate positions.
Fortunately kneeling was respectful.
Galvatron, on the other hand, despite being the one of them that had endured the whipping, stood strong and proud. "Excellent, Cyclonus," he said, allowing Cyclonus to release a portion of the anxiety that was always with him. Galvatron smirked. "I shall request that service of you again." He reached down to squeeze an antenna. "For now, however--I think something else is in order. Give me those whips."
At that suggestion, Cyclonus' overloaded systems suddenly reengaged, interested in the proceedings once more. "Yes, Mighty One," he said, happily, and handed them over.
The first blow was pure delight.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2010-08-12 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-12 04:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-12 03:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-12 04:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-12 03:53 pm (UTC)Did I mention how much Galvatron's backside is awesome? I think he should be polished regularly in your fics.
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Date: 2010-08-12 04:43 pm (UTC)And yes, you did. I will keep your suggestion in mind! (There is, actually, another fic that I was trying to work on with that...I should go get on that.) :D
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Date: 2010-08-12 05:33 pm (UTC)Ohyes, there needs to be more stuff like this in the world. Ohyes.
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Date: 2010-08-12 06:00 pm (UTC)(I'm going to have to go post a good picture of Galvatron's backside here tonight, so people can admire, and also reference. It's kinda hard to get reference shots of characters' backs!)
Thank you! And yes, there definitely does. *looks at you hopefully?*
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Date: 2010-08-12 09:39 pm (UTC)Yes, yes you should.
And . . . I've started a story in a nonwar AU where Cyclonus is entranced by---and purchases---an imprisoned Galvatron from a slave-market despite knowing full well that Galvatron is wayyyyy too much for him to ever be a master over. So it will be one where Galvatron has every lead in the relationship despite being Cyclonus' slave. I'm not sure quite what to do with it though.
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Date: 2010-08-12 09:45 pm (UTC)I was actually talking to
Also, yes. *ogles Galvatron*
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Date: 2010-08-12 10:48 pm (UTC)Nah, more along the lines of Cyclonus being utterly utterly worshipful---but not stupid enough to disconnect the shock collar for a long time---and Galvatron quickly seeing that he could get away with a lot. To Cyclonus, Galvatron is a treasure that's too much for him but he doesn't care that he's master in name only, and Galvatron is very placated by the sudden increase in quality-of-life and pleased by the worship---all the more because he's a slave, because while many mechs have slaves that worship them, how many mechs are so powerful they have masters that worship them?
(I have no idea what they might be doing about the state---but I'm planning for Rodimus to come into play as Optimus' heir, and have something to do with Galvatron and Cyclonus. Either because he's chafing at the responsibility and his place in life and seeks out a break, or because as a prerequisite to becoming Prime one has to spend time as a slave to experience what life is like for the less fortunate classes, and conveniently enough Cyclonus and Galvatron are looking for a playmate.)
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Date: 2010-08-12 10:57 pm (UTC)Mmmmph. I want this so very, very much. Cyclonus giving Galvatron everything he wants and needs, except of course for his freedom, because that would be Unwise and also he might LEAVE! D:
With or without bonus Roddy. Do you know what Scourge is doing in this AU? (Or Magnus? Maybe this is an AU where Cyclonus and Ultra Magnus can be actually dating!) :D
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Date: 2010-08-13 06:38 am (UTC)I think, on the other hand, that Galvatron was enslaved as punishment for some kind of violence (possibly trying to take over the world, I don't know), and the rules require him to stay a slave---Cyc might be flat-out forbidden to remove that shock collar. Certainly he devastated around a dozen guards before they got the collar onto him.
I don't know about Ultra Magnus yet . . . it's definitely going to wind up as an odd foursome link in a chain, because Roddy as the Prime's heir has his Companions Springer and Arcee, and Springer possibly has Roadbuster and . . . so forth and so on. This is one of Those AUs, where everybody faces everybody . . . yeah, they could be dating. I'll think on it.
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Date: 2010-08-13 06:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-13 12:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-13 06:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-14 01:08 am (UTC)********
He kept the collar's interference signal near maximum, allowing Galvatron only enough movement to be able to crawl to his lap. That journey had exhausted the slave, and now he simply rested with his head in his arms and his chest across Cyclonus's thighs.
Cyclonus was entranced. Even weakened as he was - as he had to be, and how bitterly Cyclonus regretted it - Galvatron was a vision of power and beauty, his unique violet paint calling to mind unworldly twilights and imperial regalia. It had taken Cyclonus days to find a paint supplier who could produce an exact match, but the results were well worth it. Galvatron gleamed with a coat of fresh paint.
And he would be even more entrancing with a layer of polish, Cyclonus knew, the best kind he could afford. The brand-new applicator was stiff, making Galvatron squirm in discomfort, but Cyclonus soothed its touch with his own hands and hushed him with a reverent voice.
"You are magnificent," he said. Galvatron's low, extraordinary growl vibrated through him.
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Date: 2010-08-14 02:53 am (UTC)I'm most solidly interested in how Cyc got Galvatron to crawl.
My turn:
********
The collar had settings, and the dealer explained them to Cyclonus as Cyclonus stared unabashedly at his new, enthralling, solidly unwise purchase. Ultra Magnus would make him recharge on the couch for orns, if they didn't maintain separate residences. He would doubtless make his disapproval known somehow anyway. Cyclonus didn't care.
He didn't care, because the purple slave's attention had been diverted from growling at the handlers, and had fallen upon the other two mechs present, seeking out the mech who'd just purchased him. Blazing crimson optics met his own, and Cyclonus nearly took an involuntary step back; the mech's regard was more than a match for any authority Cyclonus had ever had, and the knowledge that this mech was his slave was overwhelming. It occurred to Cyclonus that he had no idea what to do with such a mech---he was used to dealing, for starters, with slaves who acted like slaves. The task of commanding him loomed in the new master's processors, and he almost faltered. Almost. Because challenge or no, the prize was exquisite beyond all measure.
If nothing else, Cyclonus could just keep him chained to the berth.
That thought bolstered him, and he returned his attention, with difficulty, to the slave-keeper, who was telling him that the collar didn't unlock without a code held by the Corrections Department, as he was a prisoner under Code Theta and it was forbidden to free him or remove the collar.
Code Theta dealt with treason, sabotage, and armed insurrection. Cyclonus wondered at the beautiful mech's past. Perhaps he'd find out.
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Date: 2010-08-14 10:56 pm (UTC)******
The scrape of denta against his fingers was a warning. He could feel their strength and sharpness, knew the damage they could deal him if he allowed it. For a moment Cyclonus experienced a hot thrill of fear, the first he'd felt in a long time, shivering up his backstruts.
The moment passed; if Galvatron noticed his master's shiver, he gave no sign, busy enjoying the energon goodie Cyclonus had fed him in reward for crawling to him on command. Cyclonus was a believer in positive reinforcement: he had not starved his slave, not even to make him more subsceptible to the reward. Soon he wouldn't need the bribe, and Galvatron's mouth would caress his fingers without the excuse of retrieving the goodie. He stroked the bigger mech's back, admiring its shine and happily anticipating the future to come.
Galvatron stirred under his hand. "More," he rasped, the first time he'd spoken since they'd met.
It cost Cyclonus nothing to indulge his slave, and the rewards were many: a warm mouth on his fingers as the treat was accepted, a warning scrape of denta, a deep and dangerous growl.
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Date: 2010-08-15 04:25 am (UTC)********
Galvatron stared, not quite believing the events that were unfolding before his optics. To be captured, sentenced, and enslaved had been a decided irritant, especially when coupled with the annoying detail that his immediate plans had failed. The carrying out of his sentence, the part where he was read the relevant portions of the law, carried to the nearest slave-market and penned for sale, had been almost interesting, especially when his escort had made such a convenient mistake in the transfer, and the resulting fight had made him feel almost like himself again.
He hadn't expected to lose.
And he really hadn't expected his purchaser.
He stared, ignoring with difficulty the off feeling, the unnatural relaxation of his body that the collar's disruption forced on him, with shock and shrewd contemplation at the mech who now "owned" him. Very pleasing in shape and form, the sort he would quickly take to his berth should he find him under his command or at his mercy, with antennae that practically cried out for a firm touch and perhaps a little crushing or shredding. A manner that was casually dominant in a not-quite-warrior sort of way---perhaps a lawmech or workforce manager or minor political leader, Galvatron thought---but mild and meek when compared to Galvatron himself.
Galvatron could barely keep the smile off his face when the mech's optics met his, betraying fascintation and desire and awe. That was why he'd been purchased---this mech was entranced by him, to the point of a conscious decision to throw caution to the Abyss.
That was rare---the love of wild, dangerous power, the allure of playing with something utterly beyond one's control---Galvatron had seen it in the Seekers who flew through the solar storms for fun, and in those who ran joyously into battle outnumbered . . . he'd never seen it directed at himself before. Awe, yes, and fear, and desire---but never this, the awe that overrode all rational fear, and the desire fueled thereby. It was worship, and lust, and supreme compliment all in one, and Galvatron's spark sang.
If our roles were reversed, you would worship me. You would be mine in every way, willingly and without reservation and loving every form of attention I could give you. He could read it in every line of the other mech's posture, his expression, the set of his wings, the hints of his energy field that he could feel from here. I will give this to you as soon as I can.
The mech tore his gaze away, turning to the unimportant slave-dealer. Unseen by him, Galvatron smiled.
One of the security mechs who still milled around, happy to be relieved of that duty and still bleeding heavily for the privilege, saw the expression, and shuddered.
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Date: 2010-08-16 04:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-16 04:54 pm (UTC)*is a pile of incoherently happy Caia*
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Date: 2010-08-17 04:28 am (UTC)*******
Galvatron shoved Cyclonus down on the lounging couch without warning, pinning him there by his hips. Stars exploding in his helm - more from Galvatron's rough treatment of his person than from whacking his head against the arm of the couch - Cyclonus scrambled to unsubspace the remote. Before he could press the button that would immobilize his slave, Galvatron spoke, low and harsh.
"You don't want to do that."
Cyclonus's grip on the remote loosened: he looked down, to his undoing. Galvatron was hunkered down low over his hips, masterful mouth hovering just over his abdominal plating. "You want to feel my strength," Galvatron continued with a smirk. "I'm more that willing to give you what you want. Why don't you put that away?"
Cyclonus lingered in hesitation until Galvatron pressed his mouth fully to his trembling plating and hummed. Cyclonus gasped as the remote fell from his hand, forgotten.
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Date: 2010-08-20 01:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-20 01:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-20 01:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-20 01:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-20 02:18 am (UTC)I forget. Does the feathery kind bite?
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Date: 2010-08-20 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-20 01:52 am (UTC)His memory records told him that four of the slave-market's security mechs had carried his new purchase home; his own conscious impression of the trip had been a daze of visual impressions: curves of lustrous purple metal, sharp angles forged of silver alloy, light sparkling off the mech's plating, and most of all, deep vivid crimson optics roving about the public transport, the streets, the buildings, and occasionally Cyclonus himself. He found himself anticipating the focus of those optics, watching and calculating when it would fall upon him. The thrill of a correct guess would nearly undo him, and then he would be distracted for a moment by a light beam reflected from a piece of armor into his optics, and he would suddenly become aware that the mech was watching him, optics calm and contemplating, and his very spark would flare inside him with commingled desire and fear.
He did remember directing them to put the mech on the berth, and ducked into the main living space to try to collect himself. What had he gotten himself into?
The other mechs left, and Cyclonus stood in the foyer of his apartment for a long moment, not quite thinking, not quite aware of the passage of time. Finally regaining a measure of something that was not quite courage so much as a need to experience more of the devastating wonder he'd brought home, he went into his berthroom.
The slave-trader's mechs had read into his requested location in determining how to position him. The massive purple mech lay on his back, legs spread wide, panel open and fingers positioned against his exposed interface array, and head tilted to one side, staring over at Cyclonus with a look that clearly said you have got to be kidding me.
Something in Cyclonus' processor fizzled and popped.
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Date: 2010-08-20 01:57 am (UTC)*falls over in a cascade of sparks*
*unit Pepper offline*
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Date: 2010-08-20 02:14 am (UTC)(Although I'm also giggling, at the thought of Galvatron in that pose. :D)
You are both absolutely awesome. :D
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Date: 2010-09-01 04:41 pm (UTC)Me too *cackles*
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Date: 2010-08-17 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-20 01:22 am (UTC)Amazing how I can write so much easier in comments than I can in a wordprocessor.
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Date: 2010-08-18 12:05 am (UTC)As someone who is dominant and bottoms on occasion, this had me LOLing so, so hard. Yes. That.
(Only I'm not crazy... I hope...)
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Date: 2010-08-18 01:04 am (UTC)I'm really glad the dynamics made sense for you. (Though, as you say, hopefully not too much sense! Don't go crazy! ;)
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Date: 2010-09-01 04:34 pm (UTC)Well done.
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Date: 2010-09-02 02:17 pm (UTC)