#tf deadlock

• Stepping up behind you, he hooks a ped against the inside of your foot to slide it some, hands on your waist to turn you slightly. “Don’t face the target full on. You want to make as small a target of yourself as you can,” he murmurs, the softness of you a shock under his hands. Making his servos flex against you. Hand cupping your elbow to lift it, he vents and his whole frame shudders at the way you scent. Of heat and arousal and he responds. Need twisting through him as the smell of you triggers his own rut and he’s frozen, hands on you, spike aching to release.

• His big frame brushes your back and you’re aware of him in a way you’d never been of your ex. Those hands of his so big, all you can think of is how they feel on you. When he vents, warm air fans your cheek, winding you up. Know it’s just the novelty of him. Probably the lingering anger and hurt at your ex. That he’d called you a bumper humper just because you’d checked out a Cybertronian. The same one standing right behind you, touching you. “Behave,” he growls, voice roughening as you shiver. Head turning, you meet his optics. “You keep that up and I’m going to bend you over the divider.” Breath catching, you’re pretty sure that’s a warning, but all you can think of is him doing just that. And a vindictive part of you wants that. Wants to flip your ex off spectacularly and screwing one of the aliens he hates so much right after he dumped you? One you’re already attracted to? Already want?

• Stiffening with a rumbling growl when your hips push back against him, his hands tighten on you. “Don’t play unless you want the consequences, sweetspark,” he warns and you huff out a soft laugh that goes straight through him. ‘What do you think I’m doing?’ You whisper, your scent filling him with every intake of air through his vents until he’s aching to claim you. Swearing as his hands go to your hips, you’re toeing off your sneakers as he tugs down your pants and underwear. “You sure you want this? Me?” He growls, palming your waist as he lifts you up and bends you over the divider counter like he’d threatened. ‘Don’t stop.’ Maybe you’re just into aliens. Knows some humans are. Hadn’t thought he was, but you’re soft, warm, smell amazing.

• Stomach on the counter, the edge digging into the crease of your thigh, you feel his hands on your waist. Keeping you still so you don’t pitch forward over the edge. Heart racing, you can’t believe you’re actually going through with this. Making a soft noise as you feel his spike release to pressurize against your butt, the head is already slippery, smearing slick on your skin as he shifts behind you. Head turning, you watch him lift a hand, popping two servos in his mouth and sucking as he watches you. Before he’s cupping you. Pressing first one, then the other wet servo inside you and stroking until you’re squirming.

• You’re so tight as he thrusts his servos, the noises you’re making have him glad no one else is in the building. Doesn’t want anyone else to hear you like this. Because those sounds? They’re his. Only his. Lips twitching at the sound of protest you make when he moves his hand, he lines himself up and his jaw clenches as he slowly presses deep. Trying to not overload just from the feel of you wrapped tight around his spike as he finds a rhythm. Letting himself get lost in the feel of your silken heat fisting him. Hips pumping as he ruts against you, he’s trying to get the need to fill you over and over out of his system.

• Trembling as you get close, his rumbling sinks into you, his frame brushing against your butt and back as he thrusts, his spike stretching you until you can feel every inch of him. You’re surrounded by him in a way that should be overwhelming, even as you love it. Completely aware of him, his scent, his voice, the feel of him against you. Inside you. Can hear him growling in his own language in your ear as his hips pump, servos flexing on your waist. And he shifts behind you, changing his angle just enough to push you over the edge as you come apart, trembling and his hips roll as he groans, shuddering with his overload, the heat of his release filling you and trailing down your inner thighs as you pant. Before your eyes widen when he begins moving again. “We’re not done,” he growls in your ear and your toes curl.

• Skin prickling as the mass displaced Cybertronian behind the counter stares you down, you gesture at the stack of paper targets behind him. “Some more of those, too,” you say, trying to get him to back off and let you have the box. ‘Shooting angry,’ he mutters and you can’t tell if there’s any real censure in his words or if he’s amused by that. You’ve seen the mech around town a few times, but hadn’t realized this was where he worked. And it has to be strange to be the only Cybertronian in town, but then maybe he moved here just to avoid his own kind. Don’t really know anything about him except that he’s got a handsome face. That he’s the reason you’re here alone and angry. Because your ex had caught you checking out the alien in passing and had at least had the decency to wait until you were both home to blow up about it since he and his family are apparently part of the “Our World” movement actively protesting Cybertronians on Earth and you hadn’t even known.

• “Is that a problem?” You ask and he shrugs, keeping a servo on the box as he leans to grab a stack of targets. ‘Only if you make it one,’ he growls. Though that anger of yours is so tempting. Making him want to push, because anger like that? It’s something he understands all too well. Feels like a ticking time bomb sometimes. Had stayed here because of the promise of a fresh start. No corrupt senate. No aristocracy. No war. He could be what he wanted to be. Live how he wanted. Isn’t sure why he’d expected humans to be any different than Cybertronians, though. Aware of the looks he gets on the street. The judgement. ‘Don’t really like aliens, do you?’ He guesses.

• Laughing despite yourself when the question catches you off guard, your face flushes. Trying to tone down on the hostility as you realize how you’re coming off, you force a smile you don’t really feel. It’s not this guy’s fault your fiancé lost his shit screaming at you. You’re the one who’d been looking. Who’d been curious because the internet is full of stories about interspecies relationships and you’d wondered what that would be like. What he was like. “Liking aliens is why I’m now single,” you mutter, embarrassed to admit it as you grab the box and tug at it, stumbling back when he lets you have it, those pretty optics watching you. His head tips slightly, lips pressed into a thin, serious line. Making you wonder if he just always looks mad at the world.

• Venting in amusement as you grab the targets, his lips twitch. “Hey, do you have a sharpie by any chance?” You ask, some of the angry tension fading. ‘Depends,’ he answers and your brows lift. “I want to doodle my ex’s stupid face on some of these,” you add holding up the targets and his lips twitch. Almost smiles. Guessing you’d messed around with a Cybertronian and had gotten caught, which is none of his business. At all. Some humans chase after aliens. Reaching under the counter to find a marker, he slides it over. And you start to turn away, but he spots the folded paper sticking out of your back pocket. ‘Is that your best one?’ He asks and you look back, embarrassed again as you pull out the target to show him your abysmal pattern as he rumbles. ‘Frag,’ he growls, locking up the gun he’d been checking and coming around the counter. ‘Let’s go.’ Because someone needs to teach you how to shoot properly.

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