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Chapter 32: Barrel and SwiftStroke II
C.M.D: Mild warning here! Barrel is identified as a child and he does go into heat, thus SwiftStroke (reluctantly) helps him out (and by that, I mean sleeps with him). If you still find this uncomfortable to read, you may skip over this chapter or view the censored version on FF.net.
When SwiftStroke found Barrel, it was
to see the saint bernard sitting on a bench in the condo's playground
in the dark, servos trapped tight between his shuffling thighs. The
autodog barely noticed as his friend approached, his gaze glued to
the ground beneath his antsy pedes. And SwiftStroke was soon to
discover why.
The smell of fresh lubricant hit his
olfactory sensors as he neared Barrel; the fox's frame tensing as he
was affected by the alluring scent of the pup's heat cycle.
“Barrel.....,” the small mech
called, surprising the other. Barrel snapped his helm upwards,
flinching as SwiftStroke padded silently towards him. He whined as
the fox came to a pause just in front of him, his tiny servos held
appropriately at his sides. He really wanted to have those teal-grey
fingers running through his fur though; petting and stroking at his
ears while soft lip components pressed gentle kisses across his
cheekplates.
“S-swift, I.....”
“You are in heat,” SwiftStroke
remarked bluntly. He stepped onto the bench, a servo cupping under
the autodog's chin as he turned the sparkling's helm to face him.
“Your first cycle..... Much too young though. What brought this
on?”
Barrel didn't quite understand what the
other 'bot was going on about. “S-swindle, he...h-he t-told me to
g-get out. H-he was d-doing strange th-things with h-his friend,”
the saint bernard mumbled, thighs rubbing together uselessly as the
itch under his plating increased with the fox's touch. “B-but
I....I-i feel weird....”
The teal-grey mech shuttered his optics
slowly as he absorbed this bit of news, refraining from cursing at
the sparkling's guardian out loud. The mech should have known that
the rich heat cycle of a full-grown 'bot could trigger another's
cycle, especially if that someone was a sparkling and if there was
another partner there to consummate the act; scents, both tantalizing
and sharp, mixing in a heady blend as transfluid and lubricants were
swapped. Swindle, if he'd had any decency, would have boarded his
room against the smell or otherwise done such with Barrel's room. But
no, he'd been careless, and now this sparkling -much too young to be
in a heat cycle, let alone comprehend the act of interfacing- was
well on his way to being charged and had been abandoned to suffer
without relief.
SwiftStroke was forced to tear himself
out of his thoughts when he noticed that the autodog was now nuzzling
against his palm, servos twitching by the mech's pedes as he whined
weakly. “Sw-swift....,” he panted heavily, “Y-you.... you smell
r-really good. C-could I....?”
The fox tried to back away immediately,
but Barrel grabbed him around the waist, yellow optics peering up at
the other, begging silently, as he hunched over with the action.
“P-please Swift.... d-don't go,” the sparkling keened, coolant
glazing his optics. “Pl-please....?”
Where was Stroke when he needed her,
the mech wondered silently. He could have used her guidance at this
moment.
The sparkling was now nuzzling his
chestplates, olfactory sensor brushing against Swift's collar strut.
“S-smell.... smell s-so ni-nice.....,” he mumbled dazedly,
whimpering as he pulled the fox closer. The teal-grey mech gasped a
little as he was pressed against Barrel's frame, almost scalded by
the heat coming out from the larger 'bot's seams. The sound made the
saint bernard grip him tighter.
“S-swift....”
SwiftStroke onlined his optics at the
broken sob, staring up at the night sky as he came to a decision.
Turning his helm down, he cupped Barrel's cheekplate with one servo,
the other patting down the sparkling's helm. “Lay back down,” he
instructed, “Pull down your shorts and retract your codpiece. You
know what that is, don't you?”
A slow, uncertain nod was his reply.
The fox shuttered his optics back.
Whining softly, the saint bernard released him, laying back as much
as he was able to on the bench, retracting his codpiece as told,
letting his spike finally pressurize, breaking the seal covering it
in the process. The thin cable was already slicked with transfluids;
the valve just beneath seeping out intoxicating lubricants through
the pink seal stretched across it thinly.
Without waiting for the questions he
was certain would come, SwiftStroke dropped to his knees, his mouth
closing over the tip. Sliding down as much as he was able -which only
was about a third of the way- the smaller mech wrapped his servos
around the rest of the sparkling's spike, squeezing and groping at
the heated metal while he bobbed his helm. Barrel threw his helm back
as his spike was swallowed up by the fox, crying and wriggling wildly
at the conflicting sensations that rose. He felt he should push his
friend away, not understanding what he was doing, but it felt so good
and the autodog couldn't help but to want more.
“Sw-swift!,” the saint bernard
cried out sharply as he suddenly hit his peak, overloading hard in
the other's mouth. Transfluid ruptured out of the corner of the fox's
mouth, forcing SwiftStroke to pull back, gagging, as his mouth was
over flooded with Barrel's liquid. A few more spurts shot out from
the larger mech's spike as he retreated, splashing across his ears
and cheekplates.
The sparkling blushed, sitting up
quickly as he stared at SwiftStroke, who was slowly lifting fingers
up to his face, wiping some of the sticky fluid off. “I-i-i, I'm
so-sorry!!,” Barrel stuttered loudly. “S-swift, I-i re-really am,
I-i-!”
“Don't worry about it,” the fox
interrupted. SwiftStroke pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket,
wiping at his face. “Cover yourself up and head back inside. It's
getting late.” He turned to leave, when two large arms wrapped
around his waist, yanking him back. The teal-grey mech made a small
sound as the intakes were forced from him as he slammed back a little
too roughly against the sparkling's chestplates; pressurized spike
trembling between his thighs as he found himself seated on Barrel's
lap.
“I-i-i..... I still f-feel weird,
S-swift....,” the pup was saying against his ear. “C-can I.....
I-i do t-the same t-to you? Pl-please...?”
SwiftStroke opened his mouth to decline
the offer, but only moaned as a warm glossa lapped at the base of his
ear. “O-okay.....,” he whispered. “D-do as you wi-wish.”
Immediately, gentle servos were moving
along his frame; one pushing his shirt up to his collar strut, the
other unzipping his pants and sliding inside of them. For a while,
Barrel just simply petted him, obviously unsure of what to do next.
Charge buzzing now, SwiftStroke grew impatient with the naive
sparkling, pushing up off of the saint bernard. Quickly, he took off
his pants, retracting his codpiece and climbing back onto the other's
lap before Barrel had a chance to complain.
“Lay back down,” the fox ordered,
pushing at the autodog's chestplates as he aligned himself above the
sparkling's spike. “Relax.”
The teal-grey mech glanced quickly at
the spike between his spread legs, evaluating the size and length.
Even as slick as it was, Barrel was fairly larger than him by at
least a forearm..... it would be a tight fit at best; more than
likely it would tear something in the process. No matter, SwiftStroke
thought. The sparkling was suffering as it was with his heat cycle.
Shuttering his optics, the fox slid down on the spike quickly,
pausing for a moment as the tip breached his valve, before clenching
his denta and forcing himself down the rest of the way.
“S-swwaaaaaaah!,” the sparkling
cried, servos squeezing the bench so hard that the wood groaned under
the pressure. Barrel whimpered, overwhelmed by the pleasure of the
other's tight, wet valve clamping around his virgin spike. He felt
SwiftStroke's knees press into his stomach plating, fingers digging
into his chestplates harshly, as the fox lifted himself off and
slammed back down again; breathless gasps escaping the smaller 'bot
and molten walls rippling along the ridges of his cable.
“O-oh... ooh, S-swift. Swift, I-i....
aah.... s-so good....,” the saint bernard choked. “I-i....
ohh....” Barrel attempted to lift his helm, watching through
half-shuttered optics as the teal-grey mech rode him. The sight
before him -of a delicate mouth wide open, panting, as cheekplates
were stained lilac, entire little frame trembling- proved too much
for the autodog. He gave one last wail, bucking upwards into the
valve that clutched tightly around him, milking him for all he was
worth. Thick, sticky and hot transfluid erupted inside of the fox,
making him flinch as his passage was suddenly swamped; the liquid
rupturing out of the seams between them and splattering on Barrel's
and SwiftStroke's plating.
“P-primus....,” Barrel mumbled
through numb lip components.
SwiftStroke said nothing, weakly
pushing himself up altogether; moaning softly as transfluids gushed
out of his valve at the motion. He stepped back, turning around to
grab his discarded pants. The fox gasped though when he found himself
pushed down suddenly into the bench's seat, Barrel's heated frame
pressing against his backstruts.
“S-swift,” the saint bernard
murmured against his ears. The glossa was back again, laving gently
at the fur. “C-can I..... Swift, c-could I? Ag-again?”
The smaller mech barely had a chance to
reply, before he could feel the autodog's spike pressing against the
outer rim of his valve again. Hiking his aft into the air,
SwiftStroke bit his bottom lip component as Barrel slid in easily,
his soaked passage spreading wide for the sparkling's second entry.
He didn't think the cycle would be strong enough that Barrel would
need more than two overloads. All other thought was thrown from
SwiftStroke's processor though when the saint bernard broke out into
a wild pace; Barrel whining and gasping, hunched over above him, as
he pounded into the smaller one.
“B-barrel!,” SwiftStroke cried,
clinging to the bench as the pixels scattered before his optics,
again and again, in colorful bursts of static with every powerful
thrust the saint bernard gave. He moaned loudly, unable to restrain
the sounds. Behind him, Barrel keened and groaned, moving erratically
as he spiraled towards his third overload that night.
“Sw-swift!,” the sparkling howled
to the heavens above as he reached his peak violently. He could feel
his friend give a sharp yip as the small valve spasmed around his
spike again, clenched tightly like a vice. Whimpering as he came down
from his high, Barrel rocked slowly into the fox, gently pulling
himself back after a klik. “S-swift....,” he sighed, nuzzling the
back of the other's helm.
The teal-grey 'bot turned slowly, wide
magenta optics lifting to smile at him kindly. Blushing, the saint
bernard quickly tugged his shorts back up, looking at the other
shyly. “H-hi Stroke....,” he mumbled, embarrassed that he had
been seen in such a state by Swift's other half.
The “femme” chuckled lightly,
pushing herself up with a short hiss and patting the autodog's
cheekplate. “Hey, Bell,” she said. “I'm glad to see you're
feeling better.”
The saint bernard could only nod his
helm.
Laughing lightly again, Stroke leaned
forward, kissing Barrel on the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, for
this. I know Swift was just trying to help, but it really means a lot
to us. He cares for you a lot, you know, even if he'll never admit
it.”
“R-really?!,” the sparkling gaped,
perking up in his seat. His tail wagged eagerly beside him.
At the adorable sight, Stroke hugged
the larger 'bot, giggling again. Her giggles turned into a small
sound of pain though as the action strained some of her sore cables.
“It's alright,” she answered to Barrel's silent inquiry, pulling
back a little to look him in the optic. “Unfortunately I don't
think I'll be able to get home. If I gave you the directions, could
you take us home? I know Swift wouldn't want you staying outside all
night either.”
The pup was beaming now. Trying to
suppress the smile growing, Barrel hurried to get off the creaking
bench, gently scooping the fox up into his arms. He made sure to grab
SwiftStroke's pants, tucking them over an arm as the smaller 'bot
curled against his chestplates.
“Thanks Barrel,” Stroke said again,
nuzzling the saint bernard.
“N-no.... no problem, S-stroke,”
Barrel returned, blushing again.
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