[IDW] Wired For Sound

Tarn was a master of sound, whether by voice or song or both.

Vos, however, had long since mastered the art of silence. Wordless communication and gestures. Effortless domination without a single barked command, relying only on a look and a sweep of his energy field.

Silence filled the space between them, damp and heavy, a tangible weight. Almost as heady as the sensation of so much power, to have a mechanism such as Tarn kneeling before him, draped in bonds of Vos’ choosing. Delicate things which could break but Tarn would never dare.

Vos drew in a deep ventilation, tasting Tarn’s submission. It was a tantalizing thing.

The silence made the whoosh of the crop, as it whipped through the air, even louder. Vos watched Tarn eye the crop, the crimson of his optics tracking each arc through the slits in his facemask.

Yet, he did not move. He’d braced himself, true, but there was the agony of waiting in his field, a yearning.

Tarn didn’t plead. He knew words were useless here. But his field, oh, his field. It begged and thrashed. It quivered with heat where Vos had surrounded him, bending in, flexing forward, melding and molding, effortlessly subduing.

He circled Tarn one last time, examining the bonds. Wrists cuffed behind him, to his ankles no less. It bent his frame backward at an angle, forced his knees wide to compensate. The spreader bar notched between his knees assisted, and Tarn’s cables trembled from the strain. The bonds were a thick, braided steel. Magnacuffs and stasis cuffs were useless.

Tarn’s excitement had burned through one too many pairs of electronically inclined cuffs. Vos had learned to work with the basics, and now found he preferred the sight of braided steel around his leader’s limbs.

Sometimes, they used a spike ring. While wholly unnecessary, Vos liked the aesthetic of it. It was often a simple construction of manual locks, looping around Tarn’s spike and pressing in on a node on the underside, delaying release until Vos granted it. Tarn didn’t have such problems with self-control, but sometimes, it was about the illusion of it.

This particular session, the spike ring was absent. Vos tested Tarn’s control, because to watch his commander struggle to keep it was a sight saved for Vos alone, and it was a sinful thing.

Satisfied, Vos returned to facing Tarn, his field surrounding his commander’s from all directions, pushing in, shrinking the space until Tarn was swallowed by him. He twitched the crop through the air again, such a simple thing. It wasn’t electrified, and didn’t even have the sharp hooks or heavy nubs.

Vos didn’t intend to do damage.

He swung the crop, back and forth, watched Tarn watch him. A drop of pre-fluid oozed from Tarn’s spike, dripping to the floor, inches in front of the puddle already forming beneath his exposed valve. Biolights brightened and dimmed to the same beat as Tarn’s rapidly quickening ventilations.

Vos’s engine purred. He moved forward, pressed the flattened tip of the crop to the pierced tip of Tarn’s spike, and gave it a nudge.

Tarn shivered, his engine shifting from idle to a dull roar. His field pulsed heat, pushed back against the strength of Vos’, and a low moan escaped him when Vos’ field proved unyielding.

“Please,” he said, one of the few words he was allowed. It was a ponderous sound, with nary a growl, and not a hint of the timbre which would make Vos’ spark ache.

Vos took mercy. He nudged Tarn’s spikehead again, toyed with the ring piercing Tarn’s transfluid slit. The tip of the crop hooked onto the bead in the ring, giving it a light tug, drawing another one of those gorgeous sounds from his commander’s intake.

Only then did he move on.

He slid the crop down the length of Tarn’s spike and nudged at the base node, giving it a light tap. Tarn jerked, his vents snapping open in a wheeze, more heat pouring off his frame.

Vos would have smirked, had he the capability. Instead, his optics flashed, his own fans clicking on with a whirr.

He slipped the crop-tip further down, until it brushed over Tarn’s anterior node cluster. There he lingered, circling the tip again and again, until Tarn’s hips moved in truncated pumps and more lubricant welled free, soaking the swollen lips of his valve.

Beautiful.

Tarn panted, frame creaking.

Vos moved on. The tip of the crop stroked over Tarn’s valve, up one lip and then the other, tracing around the rim and gathering lubricant onto the thickly woven metalmesh. Tarn wheezed, his field trying again to push against Vos’, begging without words.

Vos pushed back, and Tarn trembled.

The tip of the crop found Tarn’s caudal node. He gave it a light tap, one not even audible. Tarn’s engine growled hard enough to vibrate his frame. Lust soaked his field. His spike jerked, dribbling pre-fluid.

“More,” he moaned, hips still moving in little rocks, the puddle of lubricant beneath his aft growing.

A shiver danced down Vos’ backstrut. He ignored the pings of his own equipment, his valve welling with lubricant, calipers clenching weakly on nothing. That would come soon enough.

Vos tapped Tarn’s caudal node again, a touch stronger this time, and purred when Tarn jerked. He dragged the flattened head of the crop against the puffy pleats of Tarn’s valve and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed, until Tarn’s hips followed the rhythm again, his biolights pulsing fitfully.

And then he struck. He swatted Tarn’s valve with the crop, lightly at first, but then gaining in force, until the wet slap of hardened mesh against Tarn’s swollen rim echoed around them. A desperate sound rose in Tarn’s intake, strangled and hungry. Vos’ sensor net tingled.

He shifted, slapping lightly on Tarn’s anterior node, the bright purple nub swelling with each smack of the crop, until it glowed brightly. Lubricant spilled from Tarn’s valve, dribbling down his aft, onto his thighs, glittering where it pooled on the floor.

Tarn moaned, low and deep, his field shivering against Vos’. It pulsed desire and need, again and again, begging for more without words.

Vos abandoned Tarn’s valve and took aim at his spike. He dragged the damp crop up and down the length off Tarn’s spike before he gave it a light swat. Tarn’s spike bobbed, pre-fluid beading up in the slit. The ring gleamed in the overhead light.

Vos swatted it again, and again, the second more forceful than the first. Tarn’s engine rumbled, and he jerked, hips pumping upward, spike twitching. The biolights spiraling around his spike pulsed in erratic bursts, betraying his arousal.

“Please,” Tarn gritted out, through what had to be clenched denta, his vents roaring, his plating shifting aside to expose his tender protoform.

That was play for a different cycle, however.

Vos swatted his spike again, across the head, glancing over the ring. Tarn whimpered and his frame creaked. His spike swayed.

Vos’ valve clenched again. His panel juttered, and he decided not to deny himself any longer. A sigh whooshed out of his vents as his array opened, freeing his valve to the air. Lubricant quickly gathered around his rim, which twitched.

Tarn’s field begged him, pulsing hard against Vos’, and Vos responded by tightening his hold, by flexing his field in on Tarn’s, swallowing him with a bold declaration of mine. Tarn visibly shivered. His optics flared, vents billowing out heat.

“Please,” he said, again. His spike dribbled copiously, pre-fluid streaking down the length of it.

Vos’ internals twisted into knots of heat. His grip around the crop turned shaky.

//Don’t overload,// he said at last, a single reminder. One, perhaps, not needed, but sometimes his voice could do things to Tarn, as effective as Tarn’s own ability.

Tarn’s head jerked in a nod. He trembled as he held himself still, as Vos set the crop aside, still sticky with Tarn’s fluids, and moved between Tarn’s legs. Their size difference was all the more apparent now, and Vos’ valve clenched. He knew, however, how Tarn fit within him.

If he lasted longer than a handful of thrusts, it would be a miracle.

Vos hooked his fingers in Tarn’s chest seam and climbed onto Tarn’s lap, straddling his commander’s hips. His valve hovered over Tarn’s spike, dripping lubricant down onto it. Tarn trembled beneath him, his armor twitching, his frame billowing heat.

Vos shifted, rolling his hips, stroking his valve lips over the length of Tarn’s spike. Charge crackled between their arrays, Tarn’s own hips moving in little rocks as if trying to nudge himself toward Vos’ valve.

He slipped his fingers deeper into Tarn’s armor seam, little talons nicking at cables beneath in warning. Tarn stilled, though his field cried with frustrated arousal. His vents blasted heat, tickling through Vos’ seams and his substructure.

//Do not overload,// Vos repeated, and canted his hips.

He caught the head of Tarn’s spike with his rim and slowly sank down, shuddering as Tarn’s spike parted his calipers and plunged into him, filling him wide. Vos’ valve welcomed him, however, so often had he taken his commander. He moaned, low and staticky, as he swallowed Tarn bit by bit, until Tarn’s spikehead notched against the top of his valve, that ring toying with his ceiling node.

The raised ridges of Tarn’s spiraling biolights scrubbed over Vos’ internal nodes. He shivered as he worked his hips, grinding Tarn deep. Nodes and sensors snapped together, exchanging charge, and Vos’ thighs trembled around his commander’s hips.

He pulled himself up and dropped down, backstrut arching as pleasure lit up through his sensornet like lightning. Tarn trembled beneath him, some of his armor clamping tight, his engine revving and his vents roaring.

Vos panted air through his vents and his field slipped, allowing Tarn to push back against his, sizzling with restrained fire. Tarn groaned and rolled beneath him, moving with Vos’ efforts. Lubricant squelched between their arrays as Vos lifted and dropped himself, faster and faster, his calipers clutching and releasing Tarn’s spike in eager intervals.

He groaned, pleasure lighting through him, tightening in his internals into a hard knot.

//D-Do not overload,// he reminded Tarn, though his words stuttered and concentration started to ebb in the face of it all.

Tarn beneath him, trembling and pliant, obedient. Hot and tense, shaking, his spike throbbing and swelling, that piercing rubbing endlessly against Vos’ node. He was close to overload, Vos could taste it in Tarn’s field, yet his commander held back. Mastered himself.

All at Vos’ command.

Vos slammed down on Tarn’s spike, taking him to the hilt, as pleasure lit up his backstrut and flooded his entire sensornet. He overloaded, body spasming, his valve milking Tarn for all that his commander’s spike would give him, his claws pricking at Tarn’s substructure with the force of his grip.

He keened, field flickering madly around Tarn’s, as his hips moved in little jerks, extending his overload as long as possible until he tipped forward, panting for ventilations. He twitched, valve quivering around Tarn’s spike, vents whirring, as overload left him throbbing with pleasure.

“P-please.”

Tarn’s engine roared mightily, vibrating straight into Vos’ frame. His plea was a staticky sound, a croak more or less, that held nothing of his vaunted self-control.

Vos gathered himself, returned to mostly upright, and started circling his hips once more. Tarn’s spike was solid within him, so hard he must ache, his spike throbbing and throbbing.

Vos slid a hand up Tarn’s frame, long and narrow fingers stroking over his commander’s intake. He could feel the clicking of Tarn’s vocalizer, how he restrained himself.

//Yes,// Vos purred as he rolled his hips, grinding Tarn deep, freeing the cage he’d made of Tarn’s field. //Overload.//

And overload his commander did.

With a spiraling cry, Tarn’s head tossed back, his intake bared to Vos’ claws. His hips snapped up, nearly throwing Vos off, as he spilled his transfluid deep into Vos’ valve. He pumped his hips, his release washing over Vos’ sensitized nodes, making him tremble with the added bursts of pleasure.

Vos tipped back forward, draping himself on Tarn’s chest, even as Tarn sagged, panting, his fans spinning noisily. Heat throbbed in the minute spaces between them. His spike lingered in Vos’ valve, half-pressurized and twitching, little bursts of charge teasing where their arrays connected.

Vos hummed and nuzzled Tarn’s chest. Tarn’s field winnowed about his, ripe with sated hunger and brimming with satisfaction. Tarn shook beneath him, the tremors of a fantastic overload, and his vents whirred.

Yet, his field still hungered, still pushed at Vos’ for more.

//Again?// Vos asked as he stroked a finger down Tarn’s intake, catching and holding his commander’s gaze.

Tarn jerked his head in a nod. His field purred where it stroked over Vos’. “Yes,” he said.

Vos purred and rolled his hips. His valve twitched around Tarn’s spike, slowly repressurizing within him.

Again. Yes. Again and again.

Until both of them were whirring and sated heaps of intertwined metal, coated in fluids and condensation alike, cuddled together on the berth, their fields enmeshed.

Yes.

That sounded just fine to Vos.

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