psl.

[theycalledmeacurse]

the mutant and the machine.

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[theycalledmeacurse]

She hears those fans softly whirring but can't possibly process what that might mean. It's background noise, a white sound helping wash away the world around them. All that exists is the two of them and where he's touching her, his warmth at her back and the delicious fleeting touches that she swears leave bits of electricity sinking into her skin.

And then—

Her voice pitches high in an almost keening sound as that pressure between her legs returns, his touch deeper this time and close to driving her crazy. She squirms against him, desperate for that sweet friction that's slowly building the wave of sensation inside her.

"Please," she repeats between gasping breaths, her expression still open and filled with need. "Please, Knock Out, don't stop. Please, I need—" A moan pulls itself from her throat and it takes effort to finish what she was saying. "I need more."

[redcosmedic]

He'd been half-teasing when he'd asked her to say it, half caught in old habits, but the pitch of his fans gains a distinctly urgent whine when she begs him like that. There's no mistaking it now: his optics are definitely more luminous than normal and his biolights pulse, subtle patterns that he knows she can't understand.

Knock Out uses the hand holding her up to find a better angle, and this time presses deep. It's the wrong shape surely, too alien by half, but she's so close that he thinks it probably won't matter when there's heat and friction and pressure, moving in rhythm for her to grind against.

He brings Rogue closer to his chassis, triggers a few internal sequences, components realigning, and drops his throttle open wide. His engine thunders, loud enough to startle awake birds in the trees, and the resultant vibration goes through his hands and right to her core.

[theycalledmeacurse]

Those alien lights of his are a comfort as she edges closer to losing control, a calm settling into the small part of her that's afraid of being so vulnerable. His eyes are so bright in the darkness, but instead of being strange and alien, she's reminded that she isn't alone. She's safe.

She moves against his hand with pure need and instinct, matching that rhythm he sets and trying her best to keep her breathing steady. It isn't easy when every other breath is punctuated by a moan or wordless keening plea. Distantly, she'd grateful they're in the middle of nowhere so that no one can hear her cries that are anything but quiet.

And then whatever he does with his engine shatters her, the sudden intense vibration igniting the pressure building in her and setting her nerves on fire. A choked cry pulls itself from her as her back arches and every muscle tenses, her hands grasping at him while her world narrows to nothing but the immense pleasure overwhelming her. When her body relaxes again, she's left trembling with little aftershocks and smiling like the cat that got the cream.

[redcosmedic]

It's fascinating, how similar their kinds are in the most unexpected ways. It's a thought Knock Out's had a number of times before. Even an overload — called something different, he's fairly certain, though the word escapes him just now — and the reset period that follows. How does a species with no intranodal network, with no control over their autonomous systems, whose bodies barely generate a fraction of the passive charge as a Cybertronian (so small a scale that they have to measure it in watts)...

And yet with Rogue snugly cradled in hand, warm and pliable and impossibly breakable, Knock Out can't help but feel that this is intimately familiar.

While she recovers, he runs a capacitance subroutine on himself, calculates, and runs it again. Beneath his armor, his terminals warm and discharge harmlessly into the open air with a sound like faint radio static, dumping excess charge. His cooling fans cycle back then spin down completely, leaving his incalescence to be handled by normal ventilation. His engine downshifts to idle once again; his optics return to their typical levels. He steadies his biolight pattern (Primus, had he been telegraphing? that was embarrassing) and by the time Rogue seems aware again of herself and her surroundings, his systems are quiet and equalized.

"Better?" he asked, confident what the answer was and not resisting the knowing smile that went with it.

[theycalledmeacurse]

It's takes a few moments before she returns to reality, her body calming as it settles into that state of languid afterglow. She doesn't want to move, but she's also becoming aware of being half-naked in a slightly chilly night where anyone could happen by. (It was extremely doubtful that anyone would, but still.)

"Much," she replies with another smile before covering her eyes for a moment. Just a moment, though, and then she's leaning forward and putting weight on her still wobbly but mostly steady legs. She feels a bit like one of those Jell-O molds people used to make all the time as she steps away from his support and moves to locate her clothing.

"Thank you, Knock Out," she continues, genuine gratitude in her voice. And then, hesitantly, "Is this gonna make things weird between us?"

[redcosmedic]

He let her down, giving her a new cursory scan to confirm that yes, that does seem to have taken the edge off for her. Knock Out doesn't rise back to standing just yet, simply content to watch.

"You're welcome," he answered benignly, but in response to her question, he adopted that look of honest perplexity which has come up before even in their short time together, the one that said she was doing something unfathomably human and he had no frame of reference for understanding it.

"No?" He seemed unsure in the answer, but only in the sense that he wasn't sure why he needed to clarify. "It's not good for mecha to stay overclocked, it's hard on the system. It seemed reasonable to assume the same of humans. Why would helping fix that make things—?"

[theycalledmeacurse]

Taken the edge off. That's not an inaccurate way of thinking. Ever since they arrived on this version of Earth, there's been a tension in her, a deepset fear and worry that even Knock Out's constant reassuring presence hasn't been able to chase away. The fear for their future is still there, of course, lurking under the surface, but she finally feels relaxed enough that she might be able to really rest and recover from the stress of the last few weeks.

Grabbing her pants, she's in the process of pulling them back on when he speaks, and when she sees his expression... Huh.

"It's a human thing," she explains with a relieved shake of her head. "Having an encounter like this — it's hard for a lot of people to separate that from their emotions." Finally properly clothed again, she lifts a hand to comb through her hair, just to be sure it was behaving itself after what happened between them. "Honestly, sugar, it's times like this I'm real glad you're different from us in the way you think about things."

[redcosmedic]

Comprehension flared clear in his expression. "Ah, I understand. Yes, humans are weird about interface. Sex. Especially considering how much of the time you all spend obsessing about it, to be honest. This was— hm. More like a social favour."

Which was... broadly true, and part of why he'd been able to clear his own sympathetic charge so easily.

(But the way she'd pleaded, said his name like that... Knock Out committed the clip to memory. Just because.)

"I'm glad it helped," he finished. "Though we should get going."