Moonlight

Pretty tame het/xeno. I wrote it on the train today--YOU try being uber-pervy on the train! Barricade gets his groove back. :P


His cooling engine pinged in the night air. Barricade sat, or rather, parked himself, on the hill overlooking the flat spread of the ocean. It was too early for the sea lions to be awake—the only sound the distant swash of the water against the strand below. And June’s breathing. He’d tucked her, wrapped in the sleeping bag, in the back seat and driven an entirely uncharateristically moderate speed to get here.

Now that he was here, he had no idea what to do next. No idea why he’d thought this was even a good idea. He’d just had some crazy thought that getting her out of the garage, where *that* had happened, and into open air with the sky and the sounds of life and peace would somehow fix or erase the horror of what he’d done. As if it could erase the scratches on her skin.

Now that he was here, though, the moon gouged deep scratches of silver into the water’s surface. The clouds shred around the moon were the tatters of the clothes he had torn off her. Everything seemed to blame him, throw his damage back in his face.

She stirred in her sleep. Was she in recharge? After what he’d done? He listened anxiously for sounds of distress. Nothing: only a shift of weight, pressing her cheek against his seat.

“June,” he said, softly. Not loud enough to wake her if she was in heavy recharge. He felt his vocal processors hum through the seat.

She sat up, blinking, looking around. “Where are we?”

“The coast.”

“I can see that.” She looked over the water, trying to push her hair into something less unruly. “Why?”

“Wanted to talk.”

“Can’t talk anywhere else?”

“Thought you’d like it,” he muttered. “Stupid idea.”

She leaned forward between the two front seats. “I do like it. It’s beautiful out here. Just think you’re setting yourself up for something bigger than it is.”

“Bigger than it is? I could have killed you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I almost…raped you.” He hated even saying the word.

“You stopped yourself.”

“That’s not the point.”

She sat back. “Okay, while we’re at it, we also ALMOST got hit by a rogue meteorite. A sinkhole also ALMOST opened up under us. Deal with what happened. Not the ridiculous potentialities, please.”

“What I did was bad enough.”

“If you want to get mad on your own account for lack of control, I can’t stop you. But if you’re getting upset on my behalf, that’s my business, isn’t it?”

“June.”

“Barricade,” she said, tartly, imitating his tone. “Look. People hurt each other. It’s what we do. It’s unintentional.”

“It was intentional.”

“You stopping yourself is the intention that matters. Before was…reflex.” She shifted forward. “This is really awkward. I have no idea where to look.”

He popped the door locks. “All right.” He didn’t want her to look at him. Didn’t want the moonlight to show him in its harsh black/white rendering the damage he had done to her, the long scores of his talons down her pale body. He transformed.

“Sit down.”

“’m fine.”

“I am NOT having this conversation with your bloody kneecaps. Down. Please.”

He flopped to the ground. “Better?”

She settled herself against his shoulder, wrapping the sleeping bag over her shoulders. “Much.”

“Now what?” They were almost eye-to-eye.

“I know,” she said, “that under that…was this.” She brushed one of his cheekplates.

“I hate…this.”

She smiled. “Then stop doing it, silly.” She leaned and kissed him, the warmth of her mouth, even the heat of her breath stark against the cool night air.

He pulled away. “June, I can’t.”

“You can.”

Despite himself, one hand curved behind her, possessive. “You can’t want me to.”

“Conditions of accepting your apology.” She planted her hands on her hips. “That’s what this is, right? An apology?”

He kissed her, hesitantly. Not trusting himself. Acutely aware of every hard edge, every cutting blade of his hands. She made a soft sound in her throat, her fingers smoothing over his temples, pulling him closer, not letting him pull away. She broke the kiss gently, rubbing her cheek against him. “I want you,” she breathed.

“Afraid I’ll hurt you.”

She grabbed his ear finials, hard enough to hurt. “Then be gentle. Apologize.”

He nodded, mute. Words suddenly seemed useless, anyway. He peeled the sleeping bag from her shoulders pressing it on the ground behind her. He pushed her down, lowering her with gentle hands, wary of the dangerous edges for the first time. As if he’d never realized he could hurt her before. He felt his module greenlight, eagerly. Slowly, he admonished himself. Go slowly, even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts. Your penalty. Your punishment.

He kissed her again, running his hands over her body—the fullness of her breasts, the ebb of her waist, the jut of her hip leading to the sweeping curve of her thighs. She probed his mouth with her tongue, a dart of fire.

//Megatron’s glossa hard and brutal in his mouth//

NO: She was the opposite of Megatron—soft where he was hard; yielding where he was implacable; warm where he was cold. Barricade shook off the rogue memory, tasting her mouth, her throat, with his own glossa. He tasted the sweetness of her skin and the rusty salt of dried blood, the smooth skin giving way to the raised ridges of the scabbed scratches. He forced himself to trace the line of every scratch he’d made on her, circling every bruise that darkened the tender skin of her inner thighs.

She sighed, eyes drifting closed, mouth open, her whole body focussed on the touch of his glossa.

He prodded at the join of her thighs, parting her legs. She shivered, her skin rippling up gooseflesh. “Cold?” he asked.

“No,” Her eyelids barely parted, her hips twisting on the rumpled fabric.

He kissed the small triangle of red, darker than the hair on her head, salty and musky and clean. An animal, alien scent. Sexual. He probed with his glossa, teasing the entry to her access port. She squirmed, thin sugar-salt wet against him.

//Since I know you like the taste of my overload// his access port, the tentative rub of his glossa, the cool despisal taste of Megatron’s overload//

No. That was not now. He probed further, listening to her eager moan, her hands cupping over his head. Megatron hadn’t made a sound like that or even the slightest sweetness in his taste. He felt a responding moan bubble n his own throat. His module ready-signalled him again.

And she was there—warm and willing and wanting him. Trusting him.

He released his module, rubbing it gently against the strange vertical pleating of her access port. It sent shocks through his sensor net as the warm folds teased the node. She shivered, eyes closed. Entirely open. Trusting.

I could tear her open from crotch to throat, he thought, suddenly. She wouldn’t be able to stop me. She had to know that. Then he realized—she’s always known that. And still she trusts me, lies here with her body vulnerable, her eyes closed. This was something he didn’t know how to process.

The ready lights faltered, the endmost lights flickering off.
“June,” he said, “Are you sure?”

Her eyes opened. “I’m sure. I trust you.”

“Don’t trust myself.”

“Why you need to do this.” She smiled at him.

A surge of something unfamiliar and strong rose in him, seeing her trusting face, her eyes open and full of some unreadable emotion. The module greenlit again. If only humans had such easily readable indicators of desire. His joints quivered under the tension of this new rush of desire, fighting with his need not to hurt her.

He bent to probe her mouth gently, pushing his module at her access port—an embrace of liquid heat. Surrounding him, taking him. He growled. “Not going to last long.”

“Me neither.” She winked. He bent over her, his module pulsing up against her flesh, taking in the smell of her, the feel of her, pale skin almost luminous in the moonlight. His datastream pulsed insistently--he had no control over this. With a growl, he overloaded, feeling it ripple through her. She curled around his shoulder, panting hard into the joint, her hands deep under his armor, one knee pressed against his side. He could feel the flat of her belly against his headlamp.

He pulled himself away, slowly, tasting the salt sweat from her throat, tilted back to him, coming back from his overload to this instead of Megatron’s hard voice and blaring pain. She sighed, slowly releasing her grip.

He felt the night air chill her skin. “Should have thought to bring some clothes for you.”

She shrugged. “Might ask you to turn the heat on on the ride back. And for god’s sake, drive legally!”

He tugged the module from her, sweeping his glossa for an instant over their combined parts. “Don’t want anyone else to see you naked?”

“That, and I’m not sure right now I can pull off ‘Please, Officer, I’ll do anything to get out of a ticket’.”

He raised a supraorbital ridgeplate. “Anything?” He felt a smile creep across his face. He kicked on his holographic projector. “The officer over there says he wants you to have sex with your car.”

She looked over her shoulder, twitching in surprise, before she realized it was his hologram. “Officer’s an idiot,” she said, tartly. “I don’t have sex with my car; my car has sex with me.”

He trailed his glossa down between her thighs again. “Damn straight.”