but your lips are venomous poisson (apathocles) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2007-09-26 07:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | a: apathocles, f: transformers, p: frenzy/mikaela, september 07 |
Buzzkill, Transformers 2007 movie (Mikaela/Frenzy)
Title: Buzzkill
Author: Apathy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Graphic interspecies sex. Also, occasional bad language (ohnoes).
Word count: 2726.
Prompt: Mikaela/Frenzy: sex toys - “special features”
Summary: Always read the instructions carefully.
A/N: I don't know which to apologise for more -- the fact that I'm posting this story several weeks late, or the fact that I'm posting it at all. :/
The lock slides into place with a ka-chunk, and she takes a moment to lean back against the door, eyes closed.
Finally.
Between school, studying, hanging out with Sam and the Autobots, and making polite dinner conversation with her foster parents, she hasn't had a free moment to herself all day.
But now her foster father's gone off to his pottery class, and her foster mother has passed out in front of the television. Sports section of the evening news, and she's out like a light, every time. Mikaela had poked her gently in the ribs a few times to make sure; the hitched snore had given her the answer she wanted.
Now... now, she goes to the bottom drawer of her bedside table, rifling through the long-disused clothes and general rubbish until she finds what she's after.
Odd. She's sure it was better hidden than that.
The vibrator gleams wickedly in the light, all space-age silver and curved lines and inexplicable attachments.
It's not a sex toy; it's a sex monstrosity. Probably banned as a lethal weapon in forty-seven states.
It was Sam's idea, in his roundabout, embarrassed way; she'd had to coax it out of him, resorting to bluntness when he couldn't seem to get the words out. Turns out Sam Witwicky has a kinky streak -- if an endearingly flustered one -- and she'd agreed that it was probably time she replaced Old Faithful with something a little more high-tech.
The two of them had headed off to Joe's Tasteful Good-Time Fun Emporium, Mikaela browsing with interest, Sam alternately boggling and trying to look smooth. The old guy behind the counter hadn't even looked up from his magazine, let alone asked for ID, and they'd headed back home with something that looked like it wouldn't go astray as a prop on some sci-fi show.
... And that was where it had ended, because neither of them could work out how the hell it worked. Not to Mikaela's satisfaction, anyway -- no way was she going to stick that thing inside herself without some sort of assurance that it wasn't going to do something futuristic and freaky and generally detrimental to her well-being.
She digs out the instructions now, going over them for the millionth time. They're in some other language -- Japanese, she guesses -- and the diagrams appear to be of some other model entirely, covered in arrows and squiggles and numbers and God knows what else. Not for the first time, she curses Sam for not wanting something a little simpler, and herself for not insisting on it. Her stupid inquisitiveness had got the better of her. Because hey, with all those attachments, it has to be good.
Right?
She examines the vibrator thoughtfully, pressing a button here, fiddling with the batteries there. There is no way she's going to let this thing defeat her. She can take apart a car's engine blindfolded; surely she can manage to get a frigging vibe to turn on.
She clicks an attachment into place, and the vibrator shudders, with a choked-off noise that sounds... oddly familiar, although she can't quite place it. Curious, she removes and re-attaches the part. The shuddering is much more subdued this time, but definitely there.
Well, that's something, at least. A weird something, but something nonetheless.
A little more poking and prodding, and suddenly, everything clicks into place. The thing whirs to life, managing to look both horribly intimidating and incredibly inviting at the same time. She has no idea what seven of the nine attachments are even supposed to do, but she's determined to do whatever it takes to find out. No sacrifice, no victory.
She turns it off and chucks it onto the bed, and then digs through the drawer for some lube. Having achieved success in that part of her mission, she peels off her underwear and kicks it into the corner of the room, rucking her skirt up around her hips and settling herself down onto the bed. Curiosity over the technical aspects of the vibe's design has given way to overwhelming horniness in one hell of a hurry, and she slides it inside herself with more urgency than is probably advisable, positioning it so that everything sits in the right place.
A flick of a switch, and it comes to life. And... oh.
Oh.
Its designers obviously didn't believe in starting out slowly; it's on its lowest setting, and yet she arches helplessly and cries out, insides turning to liquid fire.
She fumbles for the remote control -- because obviously the best damned thing she's ever felt in her life just isn't enough -- and turns it up a couple of settings.
When she can scrape together the brainpower for a semi-coherent thought, she hopes that her foster mother is really deeply asleep, because the sounds she's making are just embarrassing. And also because she's just been disabused of the notion that creaking bedsprings are something only heard in movies.
She slips one trembling hand up underneath her bra, cupping her breast, and momentarily loses the ability to breathe as the sensation between her legs skyrockets in intensity.
'Fuh... nngh....'
It's not possible, the rapidly-diminishing rational part of her brain screams.
Guh, the rest of her mind replies with a great deal of feeling.
No way does that kind of tech exist yet. A vibrator can't react to the tactile input you're receiving in other parts of your body. Humans don't have technology that advanced.
She nods pointlessly to herself, one hand reaching for the remote to turn it off, even as the other trails lightly down her thigh. She holds the remote for long moments, finger hovering over the off switch.
And then throws it over the edge of the bed.
Fuck it. She doesn't care. She knows there's something wrong with this situation, that she needs to deal with it, but it can wait until after the mind-blowing orgasm that's surely only seconds away, if that.
Her entire body tenses, straining, and she's almost there, so close --
And then she hears it, muffled, static-garbled, but so definitely there:
banes banes allspark wicky-witwicky banes banes banes ah ah ah ah ahhhhhh
She screams.
And then she screams again because oh God, she's coming, she's masturbating with a seriously disturbed Decepticon sex toy and she's coming and it's the best damned orgasm she has ever had, and ever will. Unless she goes for another round, and --
No.
She yanks him -- it, it -- out and flings him against the wall, where parts of him shatter spectacularly.
And then she glances to the right and sees a gigantic blue robotic eye peering through the window, and really, she's sick of all the screaming she's doing, but it seems to be the only logical way to react.
'For God's sake! Can't you people learn to knock?'
'Mikaela! Are you all right?' Optimus Prime's voice is full of nothing but concern, but she kind of hates him right now, anyway. 'Frenzy wasn't as dead as we thought he was. We've tracked him here. Have you seen him?'
Her head turns to the left without consulting with her brain first, and Optimus Prime follows her gaze to the half-transformed Decepticon thrashing about in the corner of the room.
His optics turn back to her, taking in her dishevelled state.
Then back to Frenzy, taking in his state.
And, for the first time ever, she sees the mighty Optimus Prime at a loss for words.
'... Uh.' He clears his vocaliser. 'I... see you have located him for us already. Thank you.'
She stands there with her mouth hanging open, and tries to alter the time stream through sheer force of will.
-- And there's a flurry of activity, and suddenly she finds Frenzy clamped to her back, apparently trying to give her a lethal noogie. She slams herself backwards into the wall, crushing him until he loses his grip and tumbles to the floor.
Searching the room frantically for a weapon, she spies her science textbook sticking out of her schoolbag. A few vicious whacks, and Frenzy is down for the count, sputtering and twitching. She belts him a few more times for good measure.
Ironhide butts in, shoving one of his cannons through the window. 'Don't worry -- I'll take care of him.'
'No!' she yelps, and takes a deep breath, trying to soothe her shattered nerves. 'No. Thanks, Ironhide, but I don't think my foster parents would appreciate an enormous hole in the wall.' She picks the battered Decepticon up by the neck and holds him out at arm's length, eyeing him with distrust, and not a little horror.
Ironhide grumbles, but lowers his arm. The movement allows her to spy Ratchet just beyond.
'Great,' she mutters. 'The gang's all here.' And all looking rather curious. She belatedly smooths her skirt back down with her free hand.
Now that things are quieter, she can pick out strains of the Beach Boys.
Bumblebee.
And where Bumblebee goes....
Yep, there's Sam, perched on 'Bee's shoulder. Her only consolation is that his expression of complete and utter shock is surely even stupider than hers.
Ratchet sniffs, and that seems to break the spell. Mikaela scowls.
'If you make one comment about pheromones, I swear I will rip your circuits out and beat you to death with them.'
Ratchet raises his hands in mock surrender, and Mikaela suddenly realises that she's brandishing a still-spasming, half-transformed Frenzy like a particularly kinky weapon.
She lowers her arm with all the dignity she can muster -- she meant to do that, nothing to see here, move right along -- and wonders if it's possible for a person's face to burn right off through sheer embarrassment.
And then she looks more closely at what she's holding, and realises that Frenzy is still....
Is still....
Oh, God.
'Be right back, guys,' she chirps brightly, and bolts for the door before any of them can so much as open their mouths.
She sprints towards the bathroom, fingers tight around Frenzy's neck. The little bastard squawks pitifully as he smashes into a wall after she takes a corner too fast, and normally, she'd almost feel sorry for him, but she's way beyond such concepts right now.
Skidding to a stop, she slams the bathroom door behind her and tries to bring her breathing down to something approximating normal.
She looks around wildly, trying to work out the best plan of action that doesn't involve finding some dark corner and going foetal for the rest of eternity. As much as she feels that a dunking in the toilet is worthy punishment, she's not going to hand Frenzy over in a dirtier state than he already is.
So, there's nothing for it: she shoves him into the shower, turns on the water, and slams the sliding shower door.
Because there is no way in hell that she's giving him to the Autobots before he's been cleaned off.
Frenzy flails and gibbers, trying to break out, and it occurs to Mikaela that he may not be fully waterproof in his damaged state. Possibly this is something she should've considered before tossing him into the shower. She knows that the Autobots have survived battles in the rain before, so it shouldn't be a problem... but shouldn't isn't really good enough when it comes to whether or not she's going to get electrocuted to death by the insane robot vibrator from hell.
Just as all-out Decepticon attack is starting to look like a really good distraction from her situation, there comes a quiet tapping sound from behind her. She whirls around, trying to discern its source, when it comes again.
She turns her eyes to the window, where one enormous blurry finger is gently knocking on the frosted glass. Despite everything, she can't help the exhausted grin -- one that threatens to turn into stupid, tired, unstoppable giggles if she lets it. She opens the window, to find a somewhat contrite-looking Optimus Prime.
'I'm sorry for intruding, Mikaela. I just wanted to check that you were okay.'
'Yeah... yeah. I'm fine.' She runs her hands over her face and into her hair, closing her eyes and shaking her head a little. 'Scarred for life, but fine.'
Optimus's optics flare in concern. 'I am certain that Ratchet can repair any damage that has occurred -- '
'No, no, no -- it's just an expression. Metaphorical. I'm perfectly fine. Really.' At his dubious expression, she changes the subject, jerking her thumb at the Decepticon flopping about pathetically in the shower. 'Is it safe for me to take him out?'
Optimus's eyes shift slightly in the fashion that she has come to associate with Autobots running a scan, and he delivers his verdict after a moment's contemplation. 'Affirmative.'
She pulls Frenzy out, and, with a little creative manoeuvring, manages to force him out the window. She can't help but notice that Optimus holds him firmly but gently, taking all possible care to not injure him further.
She shakes her head in disbelief, and not a little admiration. There are days when she wonders how the Autobots have survived this long at all.
The two of them move to rejoin the others, she inside, he outside, and Mikaela decides to give up on any pretext of stealth. There have been four Autobots tramping around her way-too-small-for-giant-robots yard for the past fifteen minutes, and yet there are no sirens, no news helicopters, no incredulous shouts from the neighbours, no yelling from her foster mother telling her to keep the noise down.
If ever she'd had any doubts, this just confirms it: people are utterly, monumentally dense.
It takes her less than ten seconds to get back to her bedroom, but in that time, she pulls herself together as best she can. Freakout time is over.
And she's still horny as hell.
She stalks up to where Sam is perched on Bumblebee's shoulder right outside the window, an entertaining mixture of horror, bewilderment, and undisguised lust parading across his face.
The expression abruptly changes to shock when Mikaela's arm shoots out and grabs him by his collar, dragging him inside.
'Hey, what? Mikaela! Gah!' He winces and rubs the back of his head, which has just been cordially introduced to the window frame. 'Geez. Ow.'
'Shut it.'
He shuts it.
She leans out the window, giving the Autobots a wave and a fake grin. 'Thanks for the help, guys. Seeya! Don't be strangers!' With that, she slides the window shut with a bang and jerks the blinds closed.
'What was that for? I -- '
She advances on him, and he backs up against the wall, eyes practically bugging out of his head.
'This is all your fault.'
'... What?'
'You were the one who suggested we go shopping.' She trails one fingernail along his jawline, tilting his head ever so slightly until his eyes meet hers. 'You were the one who wanted to watch.'
'I... that was a joint decision? I thought it was a joint decision.'
'Well, I think that, after all I went through because of your little suggestion, I should be the one to make the next decision.'
'A-anything you say.' Smart boy.
She lets one side of her mouth tilt upwards, baring her teeth in an expression that could only be called a smile by the extremely charitable.
'I think that watching is overrated.'
'You do?' Sam utterly fails to not look crestfallen. 'Well, see, I'd like to investigate that claim before dismissing it entirely, do some research, back it up with scientific evidence -- '
'Sam.' She waits until she has his full attention. A slight change in the position of her left hand ensures that she gets it. 'I don't want you to watch.'
'I... oh.' He grins stupidly. 'Oh.'
They stand there like that for a moment, transfixed, before she rolls her eyes. 'Well?'
'What? Oh, right! Yeah.' Sam attempts to yank his t-shirt off, getting it tangled around his head in the process. Mikaela, feeling altruistic, helps him to remove it as swiftly as possible, before steering him in the direction of the bed. He should be able to provide her with adequate distraction.
And she's got a few brand-new moves she'd like him to try.