Kick in the head: Teach me

This is my first attempt at mechsmut, and is a near-direct sequel to Glances into a spark: Kick in the head, found here -> http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3778563/2/Glances_into_a_spark

o o o

Ironhide ducked the fist aimed at his head, his knee rising for a strike at unprotected wiring. The attempt was blocked, and Ironhide was forced to dance back out of range of the heavy foot aimed at his knee joint. He and his opponent circled each other warily, optics marking weak points made familiar by long association.

"I hope you're not giving up already," The younger of the two cajoled, a fond shine in the optics peering at Ironhide from over his battle mask. "We've only just begun."

Ironhide snorted. "The orn I give up against a little arc-biter like you, youngling, is the day I scrap my canons for good."

"That's Arc-Biter Prime to you," The other retorted, and Ironhide had to duck again as an elbow whistled through the air towards his head.

Technically, when Orion Pax had accepted the Matrix and become Optimus Prime, his training with Ironhide had ended. But somewhere along the way, mutual respect had become friendship, and when the young Prime grew annoyed or frustrated or simply tired of his duties, he sought out the warrior for a long, exhausting, cleansing spar. Optimus justified the sessions with the claim that there was still much he could learn from the older mech, while Ironhide justified them with the fact that one didn't tell their Prime 'no'.

But their differences in status didn't mean that Ironhide had to just take a beating, either. He circled around his taller opponent, throwing short, hard jabs that kept the Prime on defense. No weapons, not here, nothing but strength and speed, both which Optimus had the advantage of, and skill and experience, both in which Ironhide was second to very few. He saw an opening, a direct shot to the relatively unprotected inside of the Prime's arm and went for it, cursing when Optimus dropped the limb to trap Ironhide's arm between his own arm and body.

Ironhide snarled wordlessly at the position, pressed hip and thigh against his student, his free hand locked over the fist that swung at his face. He splayed the fingers of his trapped hand against the younger mech's back, briefly explorative before he dipped his fingers into the space between two plates of armor. He found a long, taut bundle of cable and stroked, a move he knew to be just enjoyable enough to startle most mechs, pleasure when one should only expect pain, a low blow, but effective for escaping a hold.

Optimus reacted far more strongly than Ironhide had expected, almost shoving the older mech away, shock and alarm practically radiating from his form. "What in Primus' name was that?" He demanded.

Ironhide cursed himself mentally, knowing he had pushed pretty much every line between subordinate and Prime with that one move, far more than he'd ever dared before. "A useful trick for getting away from someone," He said with a slight shrug. "I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds."

Optimus gave him an odd look. "No, what was that?" He said again. "I've never felt anything like that before."

Little warning bells went off in the back of Ironhide's processor. "You've never been touched before?" He asked, hating himself for the surprise in his voice but unable to help it.

"By you, and medics, and Megatron," Optimus said, slightly defensive. "I've been sheltered, but I haven't been deprived of contact."

"Not like that," Ironhide said. Primus above, wasn't one of those snooty little Councilors supposed to have explained this to the Prime before he'd even taken the Matrix? "I mean," He continued, against every better judgment he thought he possessed. "You've never touched someone, and been touched, for the purpose of physical pleasure?"

Optimus went very, very still. "No."

Megatron was going to kill him. Megatron, who never had a great love for Ironhide, who was incredibly protective of Optimus Prime, who was going to rip him into scrap metal for 'daring to take such liberties with his Prime'. Ironhide muted the warnings his logic processors were trying to send him and instead stepped closer to the taller mech. Optimus watched him, tension all but visible in his form, as Ironhide placed a hand against his chest and slid a finger between two plates to press against sensitive wiring.

Optimus twitched slightly and let out a low, involuntary hum that sent desire spiking across Ironhide's circuits. Reigning in some of his more wayward thought processes, Ironhide dropped his hand. "That's pleasure," He said, far more casually than he felt. "It's not a sensation most would expect in battle. Using it, using a mech's own body against him, can be useful. The trick is in knowing where to touch to get the reactions you want."

It was something Kup had taught him, early in his training, and it was something he'd passed on to all of his students - except Megatron and Orion Pax. Alpha Trion had already given him a lot of leeway in his training, and Ironhide hadn't wanted to push his luck. Maybe he should have, if the Council was so uptight that they would let a mech under their care get as far in life as the young Prime already was without explaining one of the more enjoyable things about existence. "Done right," He continued, stepping back and briefly reverting to instructor mode. "You can disable entire systems with just a few strokes. Like I said, a useful little trick."

Optimus was quiet and painfully unreadable as he spoke. Wondering how much damage he'd done to their friendship with a single touch, Ironhide turned away from the younger mech. "I think that's enough slagging around for to-" He was cut off when Optimus grabbed his wrist and pulled him back around, and Ironhide, having never had the true force of the Prime's presence turned on him, was struck for the first time by how much command laced the other's form. Optimus stared at him for a long moment before his demeanor changed, from stern to something else, the fingers on his wrist slipping between plating, curiosity made clumsy by inexperience.

Optimus spoke; a command, a request, a demand, a plea from the one being in Iacon Ironhide wasn't certain he could deny if he had to.

"Teach me."

Oh yes, Megatron would have his head.

o o o

Ironhide's fingers moved with sure confidence, delving between plating and cables. He touched the heavy rotary gear that made up the shoulder joint, slid past, and found the bundle of tubing he was looking for. "What's this?" He demanded.

Sprawled in a corner of the training room, trapped between the wall behind and the mech straddling his lap, Optimus Prime let out a low, tangled groan. How long they'd been at this, Ironhide had no idea, save that it was far longer than the brief lessons he'd given is past students, far more thorough and personal. He twitched his fingers, slow, stroking pressure on the lines beneath his hands, just to hear that rich voice again. Optimus obliged, quiet wonder an undercurrent in the noises he made, as if his own pleasure amazed him. "Hydraulics," The larger mech managed. "Primary movements in the hands, secondary movements in the wrists."

"Good," Ironhide said, his optics ticking to where the young Prime's hands clenched and flexed, but he was pleased to note that the appendages remained firmly on the floor. Optimus had learned the rules of this encounter quickly. "And if I keep doing this?" He continued, caressing the flexible piping.

Optimus shuddered, the joints in his hands bending against his will. "Loss of control in the hands," he rasped. "Involuntary movement in the arms - could spasm, and strike an ally, or drop a weapon."

"Good," Ironhide repeated, sitting back and withdrawing his hands from beneath the Prime's armor. "Show me."

If Optimus had been amazed by his own gratification, then the fact that he could invoke the same feelings in the older mechanoid absolutely floored him. It was with something like reverence that he lifted his still-twitching hands from the floor to settle on Ironhide's upper arms, fingertips cautious as they explored beneath his armor, incredible strength tempered by the near-constant fear of causing pain, of doing harm. Ironhide had no such concerns and leaned into the touch, fearless in the pursuit of pleasure as he gave voice to his approval.

They had started with the lower systems, Ironhide dropping Optimus, shuddering, to one knee with a single deft touch. The sensitive joints of the knee and ankle, the heavy bundles of cable and energon lines on the inside of the thighs, the interlocking struts that supported the back and torso, the delicate circuitry of the hands - each was explored, the main erogenous zones pointed out and manipulated by the teacher, while the student was to state what was being touched, it's purpose, and the affects it had when caressed instead of shredded. Then it was the student's turn to twist his newfound knowledge back on the teacher, to sink his fingers past armor and into tubing and wires and gears and learn how the other's body reacted to each touch.

And to Ironhide's private delight, Optimus Prime was a very fast learner.

Optimus reached his goal, blunt fingertips dragging across hydraulic lines and Ironhide growled something impolite, his hands flexing helplessly against the wall to either side of the young Prime's head. Optimus chuckled. "Any other time you've snarled at me," he mused, curling his fingers just right and oh slag, that felt good. "It's always been because I've done something wrong."

"You're making up for it now," Ironhide replied, a bit of a laugh gone ragged behind his voice. "Enough. We're not through, yet."

Reluctantly, Optimus withdrew his hands, pressing one last caress against the circuitry he passed. Ironhide shivered at the ghosted sensation, rocking briefly into the touch before sitting back. When Optimus had his hands firmly back on the floor, Ironhide spread his hands across the broad chest before him, curling his fingers around the edges of the heavy scarlet plates above the younger mech's spark chamber.

Optimus arched into the sensation, a strangled moan ripping from his voice modulator. How far his control had slipped was made apparent as he went with instinct, programming hardwired deep within his circuits. Slowly, the plates of his chest lifted and split, revealing the dark, seamed metal of his spark casing.

Ironhide stopped the movement, jamming his thumbs against the gears that directed the plating. "No," he said firmly. "This is to teach you how to use touch in battle - if your opponent starts opening things up in a fight, you blast his spark to slag." He leaned forward, forehead to forehead with his younger friend. "And I'm not to keen on seeing your spark when we're on the floor in a training room."

"That almost sounded romantic," Optimus said, strain mixed with amusement in his voice as he forced control back over his body, his chest sliding properly shut again.

Ironhide snorted, sitting back only enough that their helms no longer touched. "Flattery will get you nowhere," he muttered. His hands moved up, his fingers moved in, and Optimus made another of those delightfully wanton sounds, a low rumble felt as much as heard. "What am I touching?"

The tension in the body below him was exquisite, a testament to the deep reserves of self-control his Prime could call on if need be. Ironhide watched, fascinated, as Optimus fought ingrained programming and the talent of long experience in Ironhide's hands. "Main coolant lines," came the harsh whisper. "Main energon lines. Spark chamber." He surged briefly into the touch, ad Ironhide could feel the tell-tale sparks of imminent overload jumping between his fingertips. "Primary conduits of energy and coolant, and the housing of my Spark."

Ironhide eased up on the contact, just enough to delay the larger mech's overload. "And if I keep doing this?" he asked, punctuating the question with a careful press of two fingers against the spark casing beneath his hands.

Optimus practically jackknifed beneath him, almost knocking Ironhide from his place. Ironhide rode the shuddering wave of metal with practiced ease, settling his knees firmly back on the floor. "Total loss of control," Optimus rasped. "Complete departure from inhibitions and logic processes. Primus." He bucked again, the writhing static between Ironhide's fingers nigh unbearable. Any one else, any other mech in his first interface would have fallen long ago. Not so Optimus, who held on to lucid thought with a determination that Ironhide could admire. The Council had done well in designing their Prime.

"Good," Ironhide rumbled one last time. "Now, show me what you've learned." There was a challenge in his voice, the same tones he used to goad Optimus and his brother when they were younglings, and Optimus rose to the bait, visibly shoving back the wave of static and desire that threatened to swamp his processors.

Powerful hands slid across Ironhide's chest, tracing the red-black plating until space enough to slip past the armor was found. Unlike before, Ironhide kept his fingers buried in the wiring of the younger mech's chest, and he knew it was just added stimulation for Optimus when the older groaned and shuddered at being touched.

All of a sudden, Optimus went rigid, the main supports of his body straining against each other alarmingly. The hands within his chest tightened near-painfully, but Ironhide didn't care, couldn't care, not while he watched with pride and something very much like awe as overload swept through Optimus Prime like a savage solar windstorm.

Optimus relaxed again, optics flickering and the blue sparks of afterglow jumping between components. Ironhide withdrew his hands slowly and not without regret. Optimus wouldn't be fit to do much more than lay there for quite some time, and Ironhide was too close to release to just get up and walk away-

-Except blunt fingertips still pressed and flexed within his chest. Ironhide was sure his shock was visible when he realized that Optimus was fighting instinct again, staving off the urge to recharge in order to take Ironhide with him.

Ironhide let escape a garbled mix of protest and praise, his hands clinging to the other's broad shoulders for support. Optimus put his newly won knowledge to good use, blazing a direct path to Ironhide's spark chamber and attacking mercilessly. Ironhide roared, current wracking his form as he arched into his release. He pitched forward, barely managing to bring his arms up to brace over his Prime's head, body shuddering and components singing.

When he was finally aware of anything beyond the white noise across his processors, Ironhide realized he was again forehead to forehead with his student, his Prime, who in turn looked far too smug. "Proud of yourself?" Ironhide grumped, without any heat.

"Maybe," Optimus admitted. "Is it normal to want to recharge right where I am?"

A thousand reasons why they should move flitted through Ironhide's CPU - Kup looking for him, Megatron looking for Optimus, a Council liaison looking for them both, the scandal and gossip that would sweep Iacon if the young Prime was caught interfacing with a former instructor - and none of the mattered enough. Ironhide half-rolled away from Optimus, settling at his side instead of in his lap, shoulder to shoulder. "Yeah, it's normal," he said, tipping his head back against the wall. "Especially after your first. Take a few breems to reboot, we've got time." Optimus made a soft noise of acknowledgement, and when Ironhide looked at him, the younger's optics were already dark, his form settling into the slow patterns of recharge.

Ironhide sat back again, not exhausted enough to drop off himself but still lulled by the lazy throb in every component Optimus had touched. He found his thoughts drifting to compute how many times he could interface with Optimus Prime before Megatron tore his head off, and whether it would be worth it.

He glanced at the silent form beside him and grinned to himself. Definitely worth it.