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Jan. 30th, 2007 03:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seiberwingWhy the bloody hell am I not studying? *is so lazy*
“Hey, Cyc.” A clawed hand slid across Cyclonus’ wing, far too slow and intimate to be a mere greeting.
Cyclonus batted it away and kept looking over battle reports. He had a feeling Onslaught was overstating his casualty claims; it wouldn’t be the first time. “I’m busy, Scourge.”
Cyclonus heard the sound of the door locking. “No, I don’t think so.” Scourge swiped his arm across the desk, spilling the datapads onto the floor. He twisted Cyclonus around and pinned him on his back against the desk before he could protest.
“Always “busy, busy, busy” with you. You’ve been avoiding me. Teasing me. Pretending you don't need me.” Scourge grabbed his triadmate’s hands and pinned them over his head, slipping a pair of restraints around his wrists and clamping them to the edge of the desk. "You've been waiting for me to do this to you."
“Scourge, what do you think you're doing?” Cyclonus bucked up and Scourge shoved him back down again, smiling cruelly. The security cameras were off, the door was locked, and Galvatron was on the other side of the base. No one was coming to stop him.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” the tracker snarled, his lips brushing softly against one of Cyclonus’ horns. “You belong with me. Only me.”
“Stop this,” Cyclonus hissed back, trying to break free. Scourge took hold of the warrior’s chin and forced him into a kiss, denting and tearing his lips as Cyclonus struggled beneath him. “Galvatron will—”
“Galvatron never has to know,” Scourge whispered. His glossa lethargically traced its way up Cyclonus’ jawline, just far away enough to avoid being bitten. “You’re mine. I’ll prove it to you.” He kissed his way down a dark wing, his claws leaving long furrows against Cyclonus’ thigh and holding him against the desk. “Every...last...part of you. All mine.”
Cyclonus began trembling. The slightest snicker slipped from his lips before he threw his head back and broke down laughing. Scourge folded his arms on top of his triadmate and groaned. “Cut me a break, Cyc. I really was trying that time.”
“I could tell. But you are…less than diabolical.” Cyclonus twisted his arms and slipped out of the restraints. They were flimsy things; Scourge had probably stolen them from someone else with a interest in cuffs and little knowledge on how to use them.
“I should write my dialogue in advance next time. Or maybe talk to Vortex.” Scourge drummed his fingers on the desk, chuckling resignedly at that mental image. “You wanna try again from the beginning or are you gonna get back to the things that I’m too lazy to do?” He kicked one of the datapads towards the desk.
Cyclonus spun the cuffs around his finger. “The moment seems to have run off. But…” He smirked.
“But?” Scourge perked up as the cuffs were dangled in from of his face.
“The reports aren’t due until this evening. We have plenty of time to find it again.”
“Hey, Cyc.” A clawed hand slid across Cyclonus’ wing, far too slow and intimate to be a mere greeting.
Cyclonus batted it away and kept looking over battle reports. He had a feeling Onslaught was overstating his casualty claims; it wouldn’t be the first time. “I’m busy, Scourge.”
Cyclonus heard the sound of the door locking. “No, I don’t think so.” Scourge swiped his arm across the desk, spilling the datapads onto the floor. He twisted Cyclonus around and pinned him on his back against the desk before he could protest.
“Always “busy, busy, busy” with you. You’ve been avoiding me. Teasing me. Pretending you don't need me.” Scourge grabbed his triadmate’s hands and pinned them over his head, slipping a pair of restraints around his wrists and clamping them to the edge of the desk. "You've been waiting for me to do this to you."
“Scourge, what do you think you're doing?” Cyclonus bucked up and Scourge shoved him back down again, smiling cruelly. The security cameras were off, the door was locked, and Galvatron was on the other side of the base. No one was coming to stop him.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” the tracker snarled, his lips brushing softly against one of Cyclonus’ horns. “You belong with me. Only me.”
“Stop this,” Cyclonus hissed back, trying to break free. Scourge took hold of the warrior’s chin and forced him into a kiss, denting and tearing his lips as Cyclonus struggled beneath him. “Galvatron will—”
“Galvatron never has to know,” Scourge whispered. His glossa lethargically traced its way up Cyclonus’ jawline, just far away enough to avoid being bitten. “You’re mine. I’ll prove it to you.” He kissed his way down a dark wing, his claws leaving long furrows against Cyclonus’ thigh and holding him against the desk. “Every...last...part of you. All mine.”
Cyclonus began trembling. The slightest snicker slipped from his lips before he threw his head back and broke down laughing. Scourge folded his arms on top of his triadmate and groaned. “Cut me a break, Cyc. I really was trying that time.”
“I could tell. But you are…less than diabolical.” Cyclonus twisted his arms and slipped out of the restraints. They were flimsy things; Scourge had probably stolen them from someone else with a interest in cuffs and little knowledge on how to use them.
“I should write my dialogue in advance next time. Or maybe talk to Vortex.” Scourge drummed his fingers on the desk, chuckling resignedly at that mental image. “You wanna try again from the beginning or are you gonna get back to the things that I’m too lazy to do?” He kicked one of the datapads towards the desk.
Cyclonus spun the cuffs around his finger. “The moment seems to have run off. But…” He smirked.
“But?” Scourge perked up as the cuffs were dangled in from of his face.
“The reports aren’t due until this evening. We have plenty of time to find it again.”
