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The emptiness of the distant outpost is full. It’s difficult for there to be nothing around when Noah’s dizzy with feeling, dizzy with sensation, illicit and familiar and everything the streak of wildness underpinning his concentration and loyalty desires. He slips, picks himself up again. Mirage makes it easy—he’s everywhere Noah looks, everything Noah can see, guiding his partner back up every time he threatens to fall.
Noah finally gets a good grip, thighs tucked into the dip of Mirage’s waist. He can hear the mech’s talking, but the words run right off—he’s focused, and nothing in Mirage’s ramble suggests discomfort. Noah lifts up, uses his core to hold himself—Mirage is on another tangent, and Noah’s brain snaps back to focus. “You with me, man?”
He can’t help it; he chuckles. Out there on some secret Army base in the middle of nowhere, he’s perched on top of his car, and he’d have it no other way. “Yeah,” says Noah. “I’m with you.”
Mirage’s ex-vent flutters his hair. “Alright, remember—”
Noah rolls his eyes—something quick, something taking flight, and Mirage’s vocalizer clicks to off. “I know, I know, go slow.”
Somewhere out in the trees, a bird calls, all the louder for Mirage’s silence. Noah gives him time, idling above Mirage’s idling engine, running balled fists over his own thighs. Concentrate. Listen.
“—Can I?”
Noah’s never been a stickler for grammar, but I don’t know, can you? flits across his thoughts. Can you be a good boy and stay patient for me? He peeks over his shoulder, catches Mirage’s optic to see the way they blow wide. “Go on,” Noah teases instead, and Mirage scoops him up in one hand.
He swears that he’ll remember the texture, the pressure of living metal for as long as he lives. The servo-tip is insistent but slow, and Noah does his best to remain patient…. It catches, and Mirage ex-vents, coaxing and familiar, and Noah relaxes.
The slide is gentle, all things considered, and when Noah thinks back on the time he’s spent beforehand, he can only think worth it. It’s worth it for Mirage in him, rubbing against his walls and making him squirm as he watches the mech’s spike swell through the gaps between Mirage’s servos. He’s never been good at waiting, but Noah lets himself focus and finds it easy to lose himself in Mirage’s little hums of pleasure and concentration and the foreign sensation that’s rapidly becoming known.
Sometimes he counts—one, two, maybe more—but most of the time he simply feels and lets Mirage care for him. Then: “C’mere, I….”
Noah huffs; he knows where this is going. “Yeah, should be good for….” he snickers despite himself. Welcome back to high school. “Just the tip.”
Mirage snickers too, but the tip of his spike is inhumanly warm, and Noah bites down a whine. Mirage hisses as Noah presses back, steady and determined under Mirage’s supporting servos, and though it’s…. well, big, Noah isn’t concerned. He knows himself, and he trusts Mirage, and sure enough, Mirage slides in. It’s not the full spike head, not by a long shot, and Noah bites down the momentary flash of disappointment--don’t rush ahead, you’ll get there in time, he’s just so much bigger than you are. Noah didn’t think he could flush any darker, but he does, Mirage cooing at him as he looks down at the ground and at the silver making up the mech’s thighs.
He’s warm all over, and Mirage is so warm against him and even hotter inside of him, but the way Mirage reacts is familiar. “Go on, ‘Raj.” There’s no need to repeat himself—Mirage is shifting one hand away to stroke his spike, tight and eager, and Noah smiles. Could’ve described it exactly. He knows the way Mirage’s vents will hiss hot air, the way he’ll overclock, even the half-groan he’ll make when he’s ready to overload but stubbornly holding on.
Noah waits, waits, hears it, and goes in for the kill: “Poor ‘Raj, just too big for me. But that’s alright—still very good for me.”
“Fuck, I…. Noa—ngh!” Noah’s body and mind go still, utterly pliant against the brace of Mirage’s servos, as the first splash of transfluid jolts through him. It’s so much more intense than he expected, even though the head isn’t fully in, and as Mirage’s spike pulses against him, Noah tries to cling, tries to hold on—he’s going to lose it, going to lose his grip, and—
Mirage pushes in.
It’s a barely-there shift of the Porsche’s hips by Cybertronian standards, but it’s enough for poor Noah, and the head pops in. “Ooh!” Mirage squeals, and Noah’s jaw drops—instinct kicks in, and he ragdolls, silent as he screams. He shouldn’t move. Don’t move. “Ahn, oh God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I…. will I hurt you if I pull out?”
Noah hears the blood rushing through his ears, his pulse pounding through his body, and Mirage’s wishbone-like biolights brighten and dim in time. It’s a simple thought, a silly thought, and it carries Noah through the tide. “I’m good,” he wheezes, “’M good.”
“Uh, you sure?” The gentle pressure of Mirage’s servos dimple Noah’s back; he stays where he is as Mirage gives him the space to breathe.
In and out, in and out. Does it hurt? Noah cocks his head, eyes half-lidded. “Stretched me out good.” He considers it a bit more. “Startled me, too, but it doesn’t hurt that bad.”
“You’re sure sure?”
He shakes his head, but it’s with a grin—at Mirage’s nagging, not at Mirage’s question. It takes Noah a moment to come up with words in the right order, but Mirage waits. “Very, very sure, but you’re welcome to sit and watch me get myself off if you’d rather.” Noah’s eyebrow dances, but Mirage doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even argue.
He just sits there, wide-eyed and taken away from all words. Noah swallows and steels himself to work off of the offending spike slowly so Mirage doesn’t have to worry, when—“Please.”
Well, well, look at that. Noah lets his lips curl, lets his smile go wide, angelic and showing teeth in a way he knows Mirage will be unable to counter. “Huh? Did you say something?”
Noah gives him a moment and lets him begin his sentence: “Noah, pleas—oh!” Neither gets very far; Mirage’s supporting servos keep Noah from slipping even as he rocks down. He doesn’t feel he gains much ground at all, but it must do something for Mirage—metal quivers as Mirage’s free hand digs at the tarmac.
For once in his life, the speedster is quiet. Noah takes his chance: “What do you think?” Good, he expects, or maybe so much.
He gets neither. “Tight,” Mirage groans. He won’t meet Noah’s eye. He’s gone so quiet. “This is gonna sound wrong, but like the sheaths we have to hold us in place.”
Noah hums. He swivels his hips this time, and pleasure blazes through him--that’s better. “Like your pressurization sheath?” Something evil occurs to him slowly, slinking its way up his burning spine. “Though I bet your boy feels smaller than one, huh? Tight because I’m just so small in your lap, not made for your spike.”
Noah shakes as Mirage shivers from helm to pede. His pulse pounds in his ears, a boiling ocean, and although Noah might not be able to take this every day, he can still…. Try….
Transfluid drips and nearly startles him. Noah hadn’t noticed it before, too busy with Mirage pushing in, but now he feels the swell and the slick and knows it’s running out of him with every swivel of his hips. He tuts in mock concern. “Well, if not even your transfluid can fit….” He fights to stay casual, to keep the composure that drives Mirage wild. “I know! Wanna put it away?” Noah twists around as best he can to whisper: “Maybe I can make you come in your panels, what do you think?”
Mirage fucking whimpers, denta sunk deep into his lip as he writhes and struggles to ride the waves without losing himself in the ocean. But he holds his hips still and lets Noah use himself to rub, and rub, and…. “No—Noah!”
Right on the money. Mirage starts high and ends low when he moans, satisfied and just a little bit early, and Noah closes his eyes. While he has let the spike’s head work him open, his legs hang heavy and he is still not ready for Mirage’s overload. The tremors start slow, and Noah’s first thought is that he’s overdone it and is shaking on top of Mirage’s spike, but—that’s from the spike, isn’t it?
What was once small grows and grows, rumbling against the stretch of his walls as transfluid thunders up Mirage’s overpressurized spike. Noah doesn’t even have time to think about it; his hand’s still on the way down when the spike’s logic gates slam open. His mind goes blank. He’d thought Mirage’s transfluid was too much before; he’d had no idea.
Mirage bursts. Noah feels every inch of the spike that’s in him slip free; he really couldn’t hold that much, not when Mirage’s spike is pulsing so hard. Noah pants, half-thoughts rattling around in his head, and his nails bite into his thigh as Mirage’s spike coats him. It runs from his thighs, from between them, and by some stroke of luck or genius on Mirage’s part, splashes where Noah’s achingly hard.
Even the fluid pressure is eye-watering. Noah dents Mirage’s palm as he grabs for purchase, cock twitching as Mirage gives more and more, rubbing against him now, though he still paints a thin line by comparison. Noah sees stars—or maybe those are just the stars through the tears in his eyes. He half-crumples, bracing himself on a forearm, and turns to look at Mirage. The mech is still quiet, but his optics are focused on Noah. Noah presses a kiss to the sensor mesh embedded in Mirage’s wrist and feels, rather than hears, him chuckle. “Are you alright?”
“I should be the one asking you that, imagine we have to go to medbay because I ripped you open, Optimus would lose his head….” Mirage tapers off. “Mhm. I think….” He glances away, turning his head to Noah’s right. “I think you’re just right, by the way. I don’t mind that you’re small. And I obviously don’t mind that you’re human and, well, you. Know we’ve talked about that but just wanted to say it.”
Noah smiles, a flighty thing. It stretches his lips up all the way—something reserved only for family. “And you’re not too big.” Mirage raises an eyebrow, and Noah mock-glares. “I’m serious. You’re always so gentle, even when it drives you crazy.”
“Maybe I like that.”
“‘Course you do. Both being driven, and being driven crazy.”
“Hey! That was cheesy.”
“You’re one to talk.”
The emptiness of the night is nothing when Noah is tucked in Mirage’s palms.