fateandfortune

It's not a refusal. She repeats that to herself. He's not refusing, he's not mocking, he's simply asking. Of course, he'd want to confirm her intention, look at the state she'd been in not even half an hour ago. She keeps reminding herself of these things as she bites her lower lip and nods, wanting that to be answer enough but knowing it might not.

"It's a very human response," she tries to explain, nerves now coming out in her tone. "In times of stress, we want to be close to someone, to feel alive and safe and cared for."

She's never had the luxury of experiencing that before. For just a little while, she wants to lose herself in how safe she feels with him. But... But. "But I understand if you don't want to. It's okay. I'll be okay."

Watchful caution softens into something less definable in his expression when she tries to put it to more words. But she feels entirely more Rogue than she has most of the morning, or at least since they'd woken up curled together in their nest of mattresses, and that soothes him. He shakes his head when she offers him an out.

She's so near to him, pressed against his chassis, that he only needs to drop his head a little to be even closer, until his face plates nearly brush her skin. He uses the tips of two fingers to slide the material of her shirt down, baring one shoulder, and leans in to close his mouth over her bare flesh there. It no doubt feels strange: Knock Out's mouth is warm, moreso than the rest of him, but dry. She can feel the shape of his denta plate, though it never applies any force.

A human response, she says, and his optics gleam. "No," he replies slyly, mouthing the word into her skin and raising goosebumps with tiny tingles of current that emanate from the site. "No, not only a human response. I understand it."

His mouth moves from her shoulder to the side of her neck and collarbone. It's a little awkward given how large he is, but there's never anything more than a gentle pressure.

"Mm," he hums when he finally draws back, looking down at her. "Not the ideal place for this, is it..."

It's been so long since she's known touch of any kind beyond a casual handshake or hug. Even back on the Porter Earth, she hadn't taken the step of being close with someone, needing to find a partner she trusted enough to let her guard down like that. But it's easy with Knock Out, who she already trusts with her life — why not this too?

The first time they'd done this, she'd already been in a right state because of him (inadvertently, of course). And it's because of him again that her breath hitches and her heart rate skyrockets, his closeness and those gentle almost bites setting off sparks for more reason than one. His mouth feels strange but so familiar, his warmth sinking into her skin. She knows what it should feel like, she's got more than enough stolen memories to fill in the many gaps of her own inexperience, but no other parts of her life follow the normal pattern of human existence. Why should this be any different? Sex with a giant alien robot is just weird enough to make perfect sense for her.

Her breath comes in small pants as he pulls back and her hands hold onto him to make sure he doesn't go too far. "It's not a terrible place for it," she counters, her fingers pressing a little more firmly against him. He'll learn pretty quickly, if he hasn't already, that it doesn't take much to get her all worked up.

There are the signs he'd scanned for, rising with startling speed, unexpectedly welcome. On an intellectual level, Knock Out knows this is a display of trust... but there's nothing academic in the way his spark swells when she looks at him and hooks her fingers into the grooves of his chassis to keep him from pulling too far back.

Rogue's words get a chuff of vented air, entertained by her eagerness. "True. Could be worse... sand. Shag carpet." A considering pause. "Astroturf."

He returns his mouth to her skin while using both hands to maneuver her arms up, tugging off her shirt and letting it flutter to the corridor floor. The wavelength is still there in the background, but it's being overtaken by the growing resonance of his engine.

"Tell me," he says, exploring her like he wants to map every inch and fully intends to do just that. "What would you like?"

Knock Out has eighteen years of sexual frustration working in his favor — he could have no talent whatsoever in this area and still have her all hot and bothered in ten seconds flat. The fact that he is, apparently, quite talented... Well, Rogue is more than ready to let him play her body like a fiddle.

It's pure trust again that lets him remove her shirt, revealing the long strips of scarring along her back and the tattoo on her inside left arm. Secrets she'd kept hidden from almost everyone on the Porter world, not wanting to burden others with her pain. But this is Knock Out; he's seen her at her best and very nearly her worst now, so there's not an ounce of shame or hesitation as he sees her properly.

"Touch me," she replies without thought, her voice a bit raspy and full of unabashed desire. She can feel the vibration of his engine growing stronger and just the memory of what he's capable of makes her decide to go full speed ahead. Letting go of him for just a few moments, she reaches behind her back to quickly unclasp her bra, shrugging it off to wherever her shirt had gone. "Please, keep touching me. It's been so long since anyone touched my skin without it hurting."

Whether she means without it hurting her or them...

Knock Out's movements slow for a moment when he sees the scarring. He's used thinking of her in a sort of... complete unit, clothes and bioscans and all. It's not that he doesn't notice when she changes clothes or does something with her hair, it's only that his mind sort of packages it all together as Rogue without really observing the component parts. With her shirt removed, there exists a new aspect of her that he'd never really considered before.

But there's no real reaction to the scarring, other than a speculative bit of interest. There's certainly no aversion or disgust, and after several seconds he seems to have mentally updated and returns to exploring her with his mouth, pausing only so that she can remove her bra and toss it aside.

At her plea, Knock Out shifts position so that he can use one arm to balance himself and the other to add to a new element to this tactile exploration. Clawtips trace the ridging of her spine, dipping into tiny hollows and back out, and these too leave voltaic tingling in their wake. That touch travels down over the swell of her hip that rises above the hem of her pants, then across the flat of her stomach with just enough strength to leave the phantom of a scratch, just a raised red line that disappears after a few seconds. His attentions move upward, offering the same treatment to one breast, then the other, watching carefully for any sign that he's being too rough.

"How unhelpfully vague," he teases. At her shoulder, his mouth moves searchingly, coming again and again to the curve of her neck like he expects to find something there. This close to him, and at this angle, Rogue can see on his that there is exposed cabling there made of flexible linkages.

He's studying her, exploring her body in a way so completely different from what she'd experienced in that lab that the comparison never even enters her mind. She can tell by the way he traces her curves with his claws that he's taking note of her reactions, cataloging the experience in a way no one else ever has.

Well, if he wants reactions, she certainly gives them to him. She shivers at the tingling along her spine, squirms slightly as the claws travel over her hip, and that scratch— There's a sharp intake of breath and she clings harder to him, feeling as if every nerve in her body is suddenly awake. He sets them on fire shortly after when he attention moves to her breasts, something like a whimper emerging from her after each touch.

His teasing comment actually makes her laugh, a quiet breathy chuckle as her own hands begin to explore him, fingertips tracing over smooth metal and following the lines where plates join. Her head tilts to give him better access to her neck because she wants more of him there.

"You seem like the creative sort, sugar," she retorts, though some of the words are more breath than sound. "I'm sure you'll do... just fine..."

Up and up her hands travel, taking full advantage of being so close to parts of him she usually only sees at a distance. His neck— he's been so interested in her own that she feels the need to return the favor, the soft pads of her fingers pressing gently against the cables there, tracing each flexible link and smoothing her skin along them. After being covered up for half her life, she is eager to take advantage of this opportunity to touch and be touched, to learn what someone else feels like while she revels in the tactile sensations.

Knock Out learns quickly with that level of attentiveness, and whenever he finds a spot that she seems particularly receptive to, he is content to lavish it with more diligence.

It's different than the night on the road... there, he'd been intent to bring her relief as promptly as he could. She'd been desperate then, but there had been discomfort in that need. How she'd been embarrassed at first, even though she'd acclimated more quickly to the situation than he'd have expected.

But today, he lingers. He takes his time, building sensations, learning her.

The touch of her hands on his neck cabling prompts a startled sound that quickly morphs into an approving reverb that traveled down her shoulder blades. He had neither anticipated, nor expected reciprocation in this but he's certainly not objecting. "Firmer," he murmurs, and offers her skin a feather-light nip in encouragement. Within his chassis, his engine purrs a deeper octave in appreciation. "Feels good."

When he feels that her upper body has been given enough heed for the moment, he trails fingers tips down to the waistband of her pants. "I'm starting to think you have a thing for staying half dressed..." he grins.

Feeling that reverb flow through her is one of the best things she's ever experienced. The immediate approval of her touch followed by his instruction sends a thrill through her and she doesn't hesitate to do as asked. Her touch becomes firmer, almost massaging the cables as she continues exploring them, trying to keep some of her attention on listening to that purr and seeing if she can get it to change again. She wants to know what he likes, what literally gets his engine going. She's so intent on her exploration that she's almost a little irritated when he gives her cause to stop, even momentarily.

"Maybe I do," she counters with a little grin of her own, but she pulls her hands away from those delightful cables, trailing them down his front until she can reach her pants. They're moved just as efficiently as the last time they'd done this, her shoes toed off and pants, underwear, and even socks stepped out of and pushed to the side. The cool air of the hallway makes her shiver as it slips over her legs and hits the moisture between them, but she smiles up at him almost defiantly. "Better?"

Like Rogue, Knock Out's an easy read when something's pleasing him, and when she complies with his request and her touch on his cabling becomes more sure, she gets exactly the vigorous rev she's hoping for. Pit but that felt good, and her fingers are deft enough to delve beneath the outermost ones. The noise he makes against her hip is half-laugh, half-groan.

When she stands stripped before him, Knock Out finally draws back and seems to be considering the best approach. What he had in mind would take some coordination; he couldn't hold himself this low to the ground and support Rogue like he did last time.

"Mm... back up," he said huskily, guiding her until her bare back pressed against the cool metal of the wall.

When she had and with her legs still apart, Knock Out bent his head again, and licks a long line up the inside of her thigh in one smooth stroke. His tongue is startlingly cool in contrast to the rest of his mouth, firm and smooth like hard silicone... though she may not notice such characteristics in the wake of a pleasant sensation that explodes along her nerve endings in the area. If his hands had tingled, this is a jolt — strong, not painful, though it could easily walk that line between.

Edited 2020-07-07 19:00 (UTC)

That rev is everything she'd wanted and nowhere near enough. She wants more, she realizes in a fit of clarity. She wants to bring him the same kind of pleasure he's brought her, to hear the sounds he makes as she discovers what he enjoys most. She wants to see what happens when he loses control and just how similar their species are in that regard...

Lord, she's being fucked by an alien and she'd asked for it. How strange her life has become... how wonderfully strange.

The cool metal of the wall is like ice on her flushed skin, a delicious contrast that leaves her shivering for all the right reasons. And then&mdash One hand scrambles to press against the wall while the other reaches for the top of his head, steadying herself as that jolt of sensation ripples through her. She's so surprised by it that she gives a loud, choked cry that echoes through the hall. But there's no one to hear her now except him, and even if there were, she wouldn't care.

"Oh god, Knock Out," she rambles nearly incoherently, not thinking about what she's saying, trusting him enough to just let go. "Do that again. Please, please do that again."

When she cries out, Knock Out raises his head and the look he gives her is absolutely wicked. His frame tremors pleasantly at the touch of her hands along his helm; his optic rings diffuse a little, gratified. His fans have spun up too, louder in the confines of the corridor than they had been in the open nighttime air, though he has the presence of mind to reverse his ventilation system so that they expel through his dorsal ports instead of washing hot air over Rogue in such close quarters.

Unthinkingly, he saves that vocal clip to memory as well. How can he not?

"Did you know," Knock Out begins with damnable pleasantry, like they were in the midst of holding a typical conversation rather than carnal activity. "That 99% of the human body is made of just six elements?" He dips down again to take another long lick, this time along her opposite thigh. It has the same effect as the first, another surge of high-charged current radiating from the path.

And then he continues, still conversationally, "Carbon, of course. Oxygen. Hydrogen and nitrogen."

Lick. "Calcium." Lick. "And phosphorus."

His optics once again are luminous, his biolights refractive. "These all make you electro-conductive, which is interesting since—" He wraps gentle fingers under one of her legs, giving her something to brace against and spread wider for him. "—Since Cybertronians are electro-active."

This time, his tongue swipes directly through the lush wetness that's gathered there.

Edited (TENSES my god) 2020-07-07 20:23 (UTC)

On anyone else, that wicked look would have given her cause to worry. Well, some part of her does worry a little bit, but only as to how long he'll use this new knowledge against her. How long he'll draw this out, torturing her in amazing ways... Distantly, she registers that tremor in his when she touches the top of his head, tracing the crests of metal with indelicate fingers.

His out of the blue science lesson takes her by surprise, though that first lick is enough to clue her in on what he's doing. Playing with her, teasing her with whatever alien sorcery his tongue is capable of that feels so damn good, she can hardly think straight. Carbon, hydrogen, she barely keeps the names of the elements in her head as he goes through them, each subsequent swipe of his tongue building up that pressure in her and setting every nerve on fire anew.

It's too much, so much, not enough. She wants what he isn't giving her, what she's pleading for with gasps and keening moans that rise in volume as that pressure grows within her. He moves her leg and she uses him as an anchor, spreading as wide as she can to urge where she needs him to be.

Electro-active.

That pressure spikes, so close, so very close, and she's shaking, the hall filled with that keening cry as she begs him for more. Just a little more. "Knock Out! Again, please, please, don't stop, so close—" She doesn't know what she's saying, just holding on and trying to breathe through the waves of sensation that roll through her.

Her symphony of gasps and moans spurr him on, until his motor is a high and heady throb behind his chest plates, and he's matching every one of her writhing motions with another, counterpoint.

But it's her spoken pleas which have the most obvious impact, and there's no disguising the hungry need it causes. Which is why he brings her to the cusp... and stops. Leaving her breathless and panting and precarious.

"Again," he says fervently, barely above a whisper; his vocalizer is edged with static. "Please, Rogue, I want you to— one more time."

Looking down at him, seeing that look in his eyes with his face between her legs... lord, but if it doesn't do something to her insides, ratcheting her desire up tenfold. No one has ever looked at her like that before and there's a heady power to it that she never wants to let go of. That look is because of her, she knows it instinctively, and she doesn't want this to be the last time she sees him wear it.

And there's no missing that request, no misunderstanding what he needs from her.

"Please, Knock Out," she begs him again, pleading for something only he can give her, watching those beautiful red eyes as she trembles with want. "Please, I need you, I'm so close, please—"

Knock Out makes a strange sound then, something not quite a keening of his own, even as his engine ran hotter yet, until heat is radiating off his metal like a furnace. His white face plate is smeared with her wetness, shining in the cool overhead lighting of the hallway.

He bends back to task and his tongue slips back between her folds, but this time he doesn't stop at laving across the surface of it. Instead, impossibly agile and encountering no resistance with how ready she is, he pushes it inside of her.

She doesn't expect him to push inside her, that's not something humans are able to do so easily, but he does and she falls apart. Her shout echoes through the long metal hall, overtaking the delightful sound of his engine and whatever that sound was he'd just made. Her body shakes as that pressure crescendos and shatters, and she clings to whatever she can touch while her muscles tighten, especially those surrounding his incredibly talented tongue. She can't see him, her head thrown back as she rides that wave of pleasure that some part of her never wants to end.

Knock Out keeps pace with her as she comes hard, and skillfully wrings every ounce of rapture from her while she clings to him, dragging it out until her body begins to protest the overstimulation. He catches her when her legs give out, lowering her carefully to the floor on her back.

He barely has time to remove his hands when his capacitance buffers cascade fail.

Knock Out's optics are fever-bright, so much that the red has begun to bleach white at their lens cores, and his fans are a full roar. His armor has subtly changed positions too, expanded at the seams to help shed heat buildup. His plating is partly pulled back, and white-blue electricity crackles beneath it, spiderwebbing along invisible pathways like ley-lines, sparks zinging from his seams.

He backs off a meter then two, until there's distance enough that he's less afraid of accidentally electrocuting her while she recovers.

She doesn't know how he does it, prolonging that ecstasy he's given her, but by the time he helps her to the floor, her heart is racing and it's a struggle to catch her breath. Her body trembles in the aftershocks, but as soon as she has her wits about her again, she looks for him, the cold of the floor making her miss his heat terribly.

When she sees him, a different kind of shock runs through her and she sits up straight, eyes wide as she takes in the electricity visibly dancing through him. Is that what—

"Lord, sugar, is this what happens when you get all worked up?" There's no teasing in her tone, just a bit of concern.

For several long seconds, he won't meet her gaze and when he does, there's a complex tangle of emotions at play there. Desire, dread, and guilt all war for most prominent. Now that Rogue has regained her equilibrium, would she find what they'd done to be objectionable? They're not... compatible. They're not even the same species. They're not even close to the same baseline.

That isn't even the worst of it.

One could argue that he'd used her for satiation just as much, especially given that last part (and his spark churns in hot remembrance, certain he'd never hear anyone speak like that to him ever again), even if physically he had not been completed. Who used a friend so obviously in need for their own satisfaction?

Someone like him, obviously.

"It's fine," he says lowly. "My systems will handle it."

Edited (TENSES OMFG) 2020-07-07 23:28 (UTC)

It's telling enough the way he avoids looking her in the eye, but when he does... No. No no no. She can't read the finer details of whatever mess is running through his head, but she can see enough to understand that he still has needs and feels guilty for that. Because she'd asked him to help her and he'd gotten caught up in it himself? There was no shame in that, especially not when they were consenting adults who were both clearly enjoying the festivities.

Pulling her legs under her, she tries to stand but wobbles a bit too much, her muscles still relearning how to not be jelly, so she leans up against that cool wall again.

"My legs still aren't working too well just yet, but just give me a minute and I'll be right over there," she informs him in a somewhat stern tone, which would probably be much more effective if she weren't naked with what she guesses is probably wild 'I just had sex' hair. "'Cause I want to help you, Knock Out, the way you helped me." Her tone softens as she adds, "I want to do this for you, if I can and if you'll let me."

Knock Out shutters his optics for a moment, trying to get his own thoughts ordered and his head back where it belongs. It's a monumental effort, and it takes every bit of mental strength he has to separate this current moment from wherever his thoughts have taken him, but when he opens them again, his expression is less conflicted.

Seeing her try to get to her feet motivates him to reclose the distance between them, arranging himself sitting next to her and using the wall for a brace. He vents deeply, still working on bring his core temperature down, but the air in the hallway has no movement and it's rapidly rising with all the heat he's throwing off.

"Be careful, my chassis is well above normal temp," Knock Out warns. It's not hot enough to burn her, but it won't be comfortable to touch.

Then he hesitates before speaking again. "I apologize. I... forgot myself for a moment earlier, but everything's— fine. And yes, this is being overclocked."

It's a relief when he comes close again, though she can feel the heat radiating off of him even more than before. Even the hallway at large is starting to feel warmer; it's nice for her while she's still sans clothing but it doesn't do one bit to chase away her worry for him.

"You don't have to apologize, sugar," she tells him softly, moving as close as she can without actually touching him yet. "With the way I was acting, anyone would probably get a bit worked up in response. I just want to help you through this before you spontaneously combust."

She reaches out then to carefully set a hand on his chassis. It isn't comfortable, the metal just a few degrees too hot, but it doesn't hurt, either. "What can I do?"

Knock Out ex-vents in a startled burst when he realizes where her assumptions lay, and it's so askew to the actual problem that he laughs because he doesn't know how to properly respond to it otherwise.

"No," he says helplessly, and leans into her, tucking his head into her shoulder. (His own, still damaged, is a long-forgotten ache by this point.)

"No, I expected that much. That's not..."

His plating seams expand further, inviting. Ignoring the stray fizzles of current, Knock Out reaches for one such parted gap in his forearm where bundles of wires and connecting cables are visible. The slender tips of his claws have no trouble slipping into the narrow juncture, pinching and rolling the wires in his grip. It doesn't look like he's doing much, but the rev of his engine picks up again.

"Like this," he says, his voice crackling at the edges with static once more. "And what you did with my crests... everything carries a charge... if I build enough, I'll overload."

Rogue frowns slightly, not understanding. If he wasn't upset about the way he'd reacted physically... There are a thousand possibilities but not one of them stands out among the rest. If he won't explain it to her now, maybe he will later, when they've both recovered from their exertions.

With him leaning into her, she slips one arm around behind his neck; he's too big for her to be able to reach all the way around him like this, but that's okay. With one hand, she slips her fingers into that gap in his forearm, using the same pressure she had on the cables at his neck to massage the wires and cables here. Even pressure, then a pinch, a roll, listening to the sound of his engine. And with her other hand, she finds one of those crests, caressing the sensitive metal with the pads of her fingertips.

"I've got you, sugar," she assures him quietly, something a bit sultry in her tone as she enjoys the feeling of his engine rumbling through her where they touch. When she finds he responds to something in particular, she does it again, a bit firmer, faster. And then, because she has a hunch, she adds in a more pleading tone, "Please, Knock Out. Just let go."

psl.

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