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Look, Skywarp could've chosen far worse people to be his conjunx. On top of choosing Starscream of all seekers to be in his trine, Skywarp's judgment is already questionable enough but, really? Bombshell? That guy? That's the guy he chooses? Well, Bombshell's no Unicron but the absolute bafflement on Starscream's face should've been sign enough that maybe Skywarp should've chosen different. Not like he cared about Starscream's opinion on that though. He's not the one in cahoots with a squishy. COUGH COUGH THUNDERCRACKER COUGH.
A finger flick to his helm grounds Skywarp back to reality; though being a flier, that could've used better phrasing. It's Bombshell that flicked him, and also is currently inside of him, so maybe the flicking was warranted.
It's of little matter how they ended up fucking in the closet, but it should noted that they've well moved past the foreplay and straight into actual fucking, thank you very much. They got to step one (or maybe it's two since they had to do the foreplay or is that step zero, uhh), which was insertion, to which Skywarp's processor had briefly drifted off.
"Is there anything in that helm of yours?"
Skywarp mock scoffs. "Pft. Only you."
"Well I don't want my conjunx's processor to be running off when we're supposed to be embracing," is the reply. Sharp digits trace across his cockpit glass and trail up to grab Skywarp by the face. He can feel the sharp points flit against his taut protoform. "Or should we stop now?"
Skywarp coughs a laugh. He holds those servos flush with his face. "Just do your brain mind pill shell shooty thingies on me if you want to so bad. I won't mind. I think I'd like a bit of it."
Bombshell pulls his servos away. It stung, for it to be done so suddenly. "I… I wouldn't do that to you." A beat. "Not anymore. Not for that." He looks away. "Don't say stuff like that."
The way Bombshell's voice softens, becomes small, feels much too awkward for Skywarp's liking. The silence feels somewhat suffocating though it's not helped by the fact they're in a literal closet. The way his face turns pensive, closed off and avoiding, is weird and kinda bad, in a way Skywarp can't articulate. Y'know, for a Con that does mind control, it's a wonder that the mech's processor can even focus on doing that when it goes miles a minute.
"Shelly, buddy." He squishes Bombshell's face with his servos to face him. "I can smell your processor smoking. You've got way too much going on in your helm, and why isn't all about me?"
A quiet beat. Bombshell grasps him by the arms. "You're a little too trusting of me."
"You're already in me. If anything, you're the one who's trusting me too much. Y' feel so good, Shelly." Skywarp give a little tap to Bombshell's ventail. "Now open up. I wanna kiss you."
"Tch." The sound is of annoyance but Bombshell complies. Locks hiss and split the ventail in two, rotating out to reveal his face. Nerves edge out from Bombshell in an perceptible way, by way of him tracing the canines of his dentae with his glossa, which is a lot considering nearly all of his dentae are basically canines.
Bombshell's mouth is the beautiful sort, paired with the strong, straight point of his nasal ridge. His dentae are a majority sharp, only flat in the back molars, but it's all behind those pretty lips of his. Full and straight, only enhanced more by the curve of his jaw, where a small smile flows the line of sight into his optics. They're big optics, but its all the better to see Skywarp with.
Skywarp beams, satisfied to see his lovely partner's face exposed to only him. He isn't the possessive type— he doesn't have the processing power to be jealous except in the moment— but it is a luxury to have Bombshell only let him see his wonderful face.
Skywarp rocks his hips forward, moaning as he dips his helm down to kiss his partner well. They don't kiss very well, admittedly; Skywarp is too much of an impatient dolt to figure rushing his helm in makes it more awkward than it should and Bombshell trying to force his glossa in past two sets of erratic dentae makes the kiss more crass that it should. The two distinctly do not care. Skywarp is delightfully squeezing down on a glorious spike and Bombshell is hitting a ceiling node just right.
Bombshell's not even thrusting; Skywarp's just grinding their arrays together, letting Bombshell's intimate rock back and forth into his ceiling node and notching up against his gestational seal. Skywarp is dumb, but he's not dumb enough to unlock the seal and make a child the sticky way, but wow is it tempting. The idea of forge penetration and letting the fluids swirl around inside him makes Skywarp shiver and let the charge glide down to his calipers, and he squeezes.
Bombshell lets out a hiss in the kiss, grabbing Skywarp by the hips and crushing their arrays further into each other. Skywarp lets out a moan. Bombshell pulls away, cupping his servo at the base of his partner's neck. "You are teasing me." He sounds strained.
Skywarp goes in for another kiss, pushing Bombshell back into the shelves. He pulls away laughing. "Hah, mn… So what if I am?"
"Oh, you—" Bombshell pouts, a sight odd to most, before he lifts Skywarp's hips and thrusts himself in. And he lifts, and he drops. Lift and drop, lift and drop, lift and drop until Skywarp is a moaning mess of being hilted again and again, until the pace is ragged and erratic and rougher than such. It is a mutual pleasure, Skywarp pushing to meet his array with his partner's to bottom out every time.
Skywarp is holding Bombshell's helm to his cockpit, stroking at his horn and pulling to get some stability. "Fffffffuck—!"
"Ghk! Don't grab it, you..! Agh. Oh, oh Primus…"
More and more builds up. The seeker can feel the blunt digits grip his wings and mashed the pair closer together. It's half grinding and thrusting to wring out their lust. A glossa licks against his cockpit glass. He shivers. All he wants is his touch to mar him. All he wants is that touch to be his.
"Shell— mnnnn! Buh- Bombshell..!"
The shelves rattle at their activity, displacing the contents but not spilling them everywhere as a mess. Skywarp is practically gushing lubricant down his lover and the floor, and lewdly leaving the paint transfers that wouldn't look out of place on either. Black, yellow, and purple are good color combos.
They kiss again, this time instigated by Bombshell, shoving a glossa straight into Skywarp's mouth as the glossas swirl and pass by each other. Erotica they've never read would phrase it in a cliche way, but they don't set out to dominate each other's mouth if you wondered that so. Bombshell maybe bites, tugs on Skywarp's glossa, but little else. The seeker whines, pushing back at him, groping at him.
"Gah, you're a needy one." The beetleformer brushes up against his helm vents. "I love it. Ngmmhm!"
As you would imagine, with an idiot like Skywarp and an unhinged being like Bombshell, their interfacing is as messy as either of those traits. The stuff around them clatters as they love make, scrapes against the walls and floor, they try to mash into each other like some unholy fusion, as if they would want that. Spit and drool comes out as a droll, an obscene mix of fluids combine and will become even more obscene, paired well with a make-out sesh that is this close to drawing into the energon lines.
And so, as you would imagine, release comes easy for both when you're a couple like this; the first is Bombshell and then Skywarp.
Bombshell's overload spills hot, spills in spurts that fill his partner with a dizzying pink. It splatters against Skywarp's insides to gather a warmth within whilst Bombshell groans. Hilted all the way, they both seem to take it all in stride; Skywarp is taking all of what Bombshell is giving him. Soon after, the seeker follows suit, his calipers spasming and squeezing, milking him for all it's worth. It prolongs the pleasure, better still that they're grinding into each other as they overload. Lewd and erotic and yet, they're still not done.
His voice vibrates as he oscillates his hips, and Skywarp bites his mouth shut to get into a more comfortable position. The closet is really tight, barely enough room for the shelves, even less when there's a beetleformer and seeker straddling each other. Bombshell being short does not make it easier as you would think.
"Let me–" Bombshell's shinguards bat against the shelves across from them when he tries to shift them both. "Agh, this place is too small!"
Skywarp whines as he presses down, still trying to grind that spike into his sweet spots. He ignores the lewd squelch of their fluids in where their sexes meet. It's lewd enough that all that transfluid is in there; it's even more that it's leaking out of between them. "Nng, you're the one that wanted t' fuck in here— ah!"
The seeker grits his dentae. Bombshell's teasing his anterior node this time all while Skywarp is trying to cycle down on him. The beetle hums. "Hm, should we do this more at my home then?"
"Ah ah, ng, aha. N-no way. Too far to warp. 'Nd I don't want your two boyfs hearing us go at it. Ghk!" The more Bombshell plays with his node, the less composure Skywarp feels, though it wasn't like he had much while they were screwing anyway.
"You are my only conjunx. I don't need any more," Bombshell says. He leans against cockpit glass. The touch sends a shiver down Skywarp's spinal struts.
"'M not opposed to more, but alright." A mutual groan ekes out of both of them when the seeker grinds back and forth once more, teasing both spike and valve. "A-ah fuck, right there…"
"Yyour room?" is the next question.
"O-oh, oh. Fshhh ngh. Sh-shelly—"
"Your room. Ah. Nngh. Oh. Fff…" The moan that leaves Bombshell is a delight. "Yes or no?"
"Nno. You really want Starscream walking in on us? Ah! Yes yes yes, there! Keep..!"
Leave it to Bombshell to ignore the mention of a mood killer like Starscream and instead start thrusting again.
A bit too drunk on pleasure both of them, but still a bit to tired and perhaps oversensitive, the next overload they wrack from each other is weaker. It builds and stews beneath them; think of it as the difference between light taps of a door as opposed to knocking. Both will get your attention, but one will certainly be stronger than the other. It's slower than they'd like but no matter. It is interfacing in earnest and honesty, on account of both parties having zero filter so to speak.
The pressure builds and builds and at last a wave of overload reaches them. Skywarp squeezes down upon Bombshell, and he rocks his hips back and forth to try and at least wring more and more joy out of the feeling. He climaxes with a whine and does some more once Bombshell's release fills him once more. The way Bombshell's face tenses up, the way his dentae dig into his lips to keep himself from losing all sense, holds him close, how an optic shuts in focusing and managing that feeling— oh, Skywarp lives for it.
The transfluid comes in spurts once again, warm, smaller this time, the majority of it spent the first time around. The moan that leaves Bombshell as he tilts his helm back is a delight; his struts almost turn to jelly while the seeker tries to hold him up. But Skywarp is a bit dumb and maybe squeezes and shifts while Bombshell is still inside him, even more sensitive with another overload. The beetleformer jerks a little. The seeker says a light apology.
Bombshell's spent, his optics in that tired sort of blinking, his mouth not even attempting to contain his drool from them kissing each other dizzy. Skywarp grabs his chin, tilting it to see the absolute exhaustion on that face. He tilts up, the dreamy blinks of of the beetleformer passes; their faces are very close now, since it's Skywarp, whose subtlety is on par with a battering ram.
There is but a moment before Bombshell wordlessly surges forth to kiss him, though he's much too tired to even try to force his glossa in. Skywarp's the same in that regard, too spent to be impatient and too uncaring of that to put force into the kiss. It's probably their best yet since they just… keep doing that for a while. They just kiss and feel each other. Their servos simply glide over frames in reverence, with shivers falling down their struts. No more interfacing despite their arrays still slotted into each other, just being in the presence of each other.
The mood isn't killed, rather just knocked out cold, after Bombshell's stomach rumbles. They part with a groan from Bombshell, staring down at his chassis and cupping a palm to it. Insecticons have crazy high metabolisms (Skywarp is like 25% sure that's the right word), with half of their diet being basically anything they can get their servos on. Unfortunately, being stranded on Earth means that it isn't exactly easy to get that other half of said diet without also getting Autobot attention.
Luckily for Skywarp, and by extension his conjunx, the amount of ridiculous inventions that get trashed or destroyed on a weekly Saturday morning basis is innumerable. That is to say, Skywarp took a bunch of broken inventions and now he's feeding it Bombshell. Did he get clearance to take them? No. Did Shockwave know about this? Also no. Did he warp into Shockwave's lab to get them even though the last time the Insecticons ate something experimental they nearly exploded? Uh, …no?
"Answer honestly."
"…yes."
Bombshell stares and stares and stares and stares some more before he sighs, and takes the scrap piece of metal from his conjunx to chomp on it. Skywarp is doubly prepared when he takes out two cubes from his subspace along with more scrap. Bombshell may call him greedy, but it's nothing compared to the beetleformer's voracious appetite— how did he already finish the scrap metal.
"This isn't good for the long term," he says.
"Do we ever think long term?" Skywarp asks.
Bombshell takes a long sip, long enough to half is cube and then some. "No. But I really want to eat those redwoods again. We can't do that with those Autobots breathing down our necks."
"Eh, when Lord Megs conquers up this planet, you and your boyfs can eat up all the trees you want. I'll make sure of it." He ignores his conjunx's sour face and tops off Bombshell's cube with his own, halving it. Skywarp adds on before he drinks, "Can't have my lovely little uwang going hungry."
His partner's voices edges into the heartfelt, a rarity. "Oh, Skywarp…"
Bombshell's ventail suddenly snaps shut as the closet door opens, a blue seeker being the perpetrator. Skywarp has little shame, even with Bombshell in him, to look the intruder straight in the optic and nothing more. The trespasser sighs with a sigh suited for a seeker who did not seek such a sight, and does not break optic contact when he reaches over to grab a spare charger for his datapad. There is a pain in Thundercracker's optics as he shuts the door, but no words are exchanged as the couple is in low light once again.
This was all done while Skywarp is still drinking his energon. Still with constant optic contact. It is a miracle Skywarp has that little shame.
"So," Bombshell says as a matter of fact, "let's make a kid?"
Skywarp chokes on his energon and says yes afterward.