How the hell did this happen?
No really – how the hell did this happen, again? One minute you’re in the backseat of your buddy’s car, pounding down your sixth beer with a few others, laughing and giggling and interrupting each other as you’re trying to talk, and next thing you know, their tail lights are disappearing over the next hill as somebody sticks their head out the window to yell something at you.
That was half an hour ago, and the sun isn’t as high in the sky as you’d like for it to be.
With a grumbling sigh you reach into the pocket of your jacket to check your phone: no service still.
Phone back in pocket, and hands too, as you continue trudging along the service easement for the high-tension power lines high above your head. It’s dead quiet out here, and its starting to get to you.
“Some idea for a fuckin’ joke,” you mumble angrily to yourself, still swaying a little as you walk. Your bladder suddenly surges with the remnants of your third beer, and you beeline for the nearest tree.
You make little squiggles against the bark as you relieve yourself, snorting at the amusing stupidity of it, before tucking yourself back in and resuming your walk of shame. Those assholes had better come back for you! This shit isn’t even funny. You’ve seen the crime shows, half of them start off with somebody getting into a stupid situation like this, and –
Your ears catch the sound of a vehicle maybe a quarter mile away, and a smile lights up your face. “About time,” you grunt, but then it dawns on you that the sound is coming from behind, which is not the direction that Taylor had driven off in. You turn around, and notice somebody heading up the dirt service road, kicking up dust. Squinting, you recognize it as a Jeep, and your shoulders slump a little. Just some guy wheeling around for the afternoon, probably. That is what you all were doing earlier, after all.
Compulsively, you check your phone again. Why you’re expecting there to be service now when there wasn’t just 50 feet ago is beyond you, but there was no hurt in trying, right? Your stomach grumbles, and you realize that you really, really just want to get home before nightfall.
So you stop walking, and as the strange car approaches you wave your hand a little. Just a little, though – you want to convey your frustration, a little self-deprecation, and a heaping side of charm for this, but your embarrassment at the obvious keeps your hand from doing anything more but a single pass from left to right before being stuffed back into your pocket. So, uh, this really stupid thing happened to me… care to help me out, stranger? it says.
The Jeep – a real nice Rubi, you note – pulls up to a stop beside you, dirt crunching under those gorgeous 38s. The passenger-side window rolls down and the man behind the wheel leans over to get a good look at you.
“Gee, how’d you get all the way out here?”
You get a good look at him, too.
Thick arms, tanned face, and a mess of brown hair frames a chiseled jaw and cheekbones while a gray t-shirt clings to an impressively built chest. His strong hands look like he was born holding an ax or a wrench or a tallboy, you can’t decide, and you find your eye darting toward his ring finger almost like a reflex: there’s nothing there. Fuck – you realize you’ve been staring too long and so you quickly turn your gaze back up the road in the direction your friends had gone.
You glance back his way just long enough to watch his brows press together as he takes a sniff at the air, and you realize you haven’t said anything.
“You’ve been drinking?”
You swallow, feeling heat rise to your face. Is it that obvious?
“Well c’mon, hop in,” he says, opening the door for you. “No way you’re gonna be able to make it back to civilization before sundown. Especially if you can’t walk a straight line, kid.”
Kid? He couldn’t have been more than 10 years older than you!
“You mean, you’re not worried I’m some axe-murderer or something?” You chuckle to mask your frustration at the whole situation, closing the door and strapping in.
“Now you’ve been watching too much TV,” he says with a little smirk as he puts the truck into gear and continues course. “It rots your brain, you know. So where are your friends?”
The ride on this thing is nice. If you closed your eyes, you wouldn’t even know you weren’t on pavement. “Came out here to have a few beers, then they ditched me for some reason.” You shrug.
He eyes you with a little bemusement. “For some reason? C’mon, that’s a bunch of baloney and you know it.”
You shrug again. “I dunno. I guess I opened my big mouth about somebody’s girlfriend and that was that.”
“Uh oh, do I smell a love triangle?”
“Hell no!” you blurt, making a face. “I’m not into --” You catch yourself, almost too late. Holy shit, you almost…! “Cheaters,” you quickly ad lib. “Sh-she cheated on him. I don’t fool around with… with people who cheat.” When you realize that none of what you said was actually a lie, you allow yourself a moment to marvel at your surprisingly quick wit. Smooth fucking operator, you tell yourself.
It is starting to get a little warm inside, though.
The Jeep encounters a rough, washed-out patch in the road, which it handles with ease. You’re too busy looking out the window to have seen the size of the rock you just drove over, though, because you’re afraid that if you chance one more look at your savior, you won’t want to tear your eyes away. You try getting a whiff of his scent after a moment – surely, he’d have some kind of masculine smell that you could revel in. Maybe barrel-aged whiskey, or sandalwood aftershave, or just that heady, clean scent of pure man. But there’s nothing – it just smells faintly of car upholstery and wet leaves. You fight a frown.
“You know, I just realized I never introduced myself,” the driver says, and you suddenly find his hand held out in your direction. For what – a shake? Really? “I’m Hank.”
You look at that big hand and blink a few times before taking it. Oh god. It’s everything you imagined it to be and more: firm, warm, comforting, and ridiculously strong. “Uh, hi... I-I’m y/n.”
You lift your eyes again, and his gaze meets yours. “Nice to meet you, y/n.” Genuine, you decide. He seems so genuine. “Now where should I take you when we get back to the highway?”
There’s a blush in your goddamn cheeks, you can feel it. Stupid, stupid…! God, he’s probably not even gay.
“I, uh, I live off in Burnett.”
“Perfect, I was going to pass that way myself. I can take you home.”
“Home?” you start. “N-no really, it’s ok. There’s a Dairy Queen at the first light. I’ll just… as soon as I get cell, I’ll call somebody and have them meet us there. You really don’t have to take me all the way home.”
He smiles, waves his hand at you. “It’s no big deal, I promise.” Fuck. He’s like, 100x as handsome when he’s smiling, somehow. And no, it’s not because you’re still drunk. “Hey, you want the radio on?”
“Sure.” A pause as he tunes into some rock station with patchy coverage, turning it down for the sake of background noise. “And thanks, Hank. You’re a pretty cool guy.”
“Don’t mention it.”
You shoot the shit for a few minutes, asking about his rig. He chuckles awkwardly and does a little shrugging himself, trying to brush off your compliments on the tires and black-painted hood.
“No, really,” you insist, not sure why he’s getting bashful about it. Most of those kinds of guys are quicker to show off their Jeeps than their own wives. “This has got to be the best-looking one I’ve seen around here! It’s gorgeous.”
Hank seems to be blushing, you notice. “Heh, uh… thanks. Really.” But he clears his throat and changes the subject to the weather, which is funny because it’s quite obvious to your still-drunk mind that he doesn’t actually care about the weather.
Either way, you find out that it’s supposed to rain on Tuesday. Fascinating.
A few more minutes go by and the urge to pee is overwhelming again. There’s no chance in hell that you’ll be able to hold it until you even pass the next tower.
“Hey, would you mind, er… would you mind pulling over?” you ask, realizing too late that your choice of words was stupid.
Hank’s brows shoot up and he looks at you with a little fear in his blue eyes as he stops suddenly. “You need to puke?” he asks.
You look at him and start laughing, but not too much because your bladder will explode if you do. “God no.” You shake your head. “Just had a lot of beer is all… gotta take a leak.”
He looks relieved and leans back in his seat again. “Oh, yeah, go ahead.”
You’re still chuckling to yourself as you disembark and head around the car and over to another tree. “It’s what I get for having beers instead of booze.”
He laughs a little too and you quickly hobble into position, fumbling with your pants. Relief never felt so good, but then… hm. You wonder something. You’re only partially hidden by the tree, which means he has a good view of your admittedly cute backside – if he’s looking your way, that is.
So, you let the seat of your pants droop just a little, showing off a little skin from under the bottom hem of your jacket. Just enough to catch his possible attention. You move your hips a little, too, something you don’t normally do when you’re peeing, and you arch your back the faintest bit to show off your ass – definitely something you don’t normally do when you’re peeing.
Shaking off and putting yourself away, you zip up and head back over, and realize, with a little heat to your face, that it didn’t appear that he’d looked away.
“I, uh,” he starts. “I take it we’ll have to do that again?”
You slide your palm across the hood as you walk around to the passenger side and notice the RPMs jump a little – HA! His foot slipped! You do have his attention! Oh man, this could be a very nice ride home after all.
“Hate to say it, but I’ve got a small bladder,” you say with a little laugh as you hop back in. “Sorry.”
Something feels different inside. The thermostat is set to the same temperature, but it feels warmer. Safer. More… hm. Intimate, than before. Did the smell of the car change, maybe?
Hank puts the Jeep back into third gear and you head on your slow, easygoing way. “No, no. Don’t be sorry. Nature calls when nature calls.”
You look around the interior again, marveling at how clean everything is. No dogs, that’s for sure, and no kids, either. Hell, you’re not sure if he even lets anybody in here, what with how immaculate everything is. Not a stitch out of place on the upholstery, not a fingerprint on the dashboard. You reach out to touch the screen above the center console, some high-end aftermarket type you’ve never seen before. You frown when you poke at it and it doesn’t do anything.
“Did I break it?” you ask, sucking on your lip.
“Hm?” His eyes go from the road ahead of you to where your hand is hovering near the display. “Oh! No, it just, ah… it only responds to my, uh… my input.
“Whoa. That must’ve been expensive.”
He smiles again, saying nothing. Just gives a little knowing shrug before turning his gaze ahead.
“How custom is this thing?”
“Honestly, aside from the shape, it’s all custom.” He slows down to dip into a deep pothole and the suspension flexes to effortlessly sail through it like an oceanliner with a swell.
Your eyes light up. Maybe an excuse to see him again. “I’ve got a bunch of buddies who’d love to pick your brain on that stuff. You should come by sometime to show her off!”
He has to think about it for a second, and your shoulders slump. “I mean, maybe. Couldn’t hurt. Especially if your friends are all as cu--” Hank catches himself mid-syllable, his eyes go wide but he keeps them fixed on some point in the distance. “A-as curious as y-you are.”
Nevermind the fact that his point ceased to make any sense with the cover-up word. You know what he’d meant to say. For a few long seconds, all you can hear is the dull thrum of the engine, which to your not-especially-mechanically-inclined brain sounds like its changed pitch. Has he gone into second? You glance at the stick; it’s still in third.
“L-look, y/n. Maybe I should drop you off at that DQ after all.”
You’re not sure where you’ve worked up the ridiculous amount of courage to do this, but you turn toward that handsome damn redneck and look him up at down anyway. “Even if I think you’re cute too?” you say quietly, letting your pitch raise the tiniest bit.
Hank stops the car, both hands on the beefy steering wheel. He inhales slowly and lets it out. “I’m sorry. We can’t do this. I’m… I’m not who you think I am.”
You shrink back a little at those words. They’re not what you were expecting to hear… at all. The hell? “What are you talking about?” You look at him suspiciously, suddenly trying to find something amiss that you might not have noticed before.
He puts it in park and takes off his seatbelt so he can turn his whole built body toward you and not just his face. “Can I kiss you?” Again, with that warmth and genuineness that sucked you in 20 minutes ago.
Combined with his previous statement, you’re not sure you want to, but holy shit he’s hot. And he’s asking before doing. That’s a good sign, right?
You don’t say anything, just unbuckle your own belt and lean in toward him. The beer is still heavy on your breath and you know you’re not the best kisser when you’re drunk, but you don’t really care because he’s leaning toward you and this is really happening.
His thick hand gently cradles your chin when he presses his lips to yours, and its all you can do to keep your body from responding the way it really wants to. Your own hands reach up to touch his stubbled face, and that’s when the two of you open your mouths.
It’s hot and wet and he tastes so clean. Your tongues slide across each other, grazing teeth, and you suck and bite at those addicting lips.
Hank breaks away, though, to murmur a breathy “Damn,” and smile as he looks you up and down.
You, on the other hand, are panting, fidgeting as you feel your pants get just a little tighter. You suck on your lips for him and flash you own little smile. “You’re… you’re really hot. Should we move to the, uh… backseat?” You’ve almost forgotten what he’d said about not being who you think he is.
“Uh, about that...” He looks away and scratches the back of his head, which strikes you as being something that a cartoon character would do. For someone with arms as thick as his, the display is downright adorable. “I don’t think we should take this any further.”
You’ve gotten your hopes up. “You’re married or something, aren’t you? Ugh, I knew it!” You settle back into the seat with a dejected scowl and hide your face behind your hand. “All the hot guys are either straight or taken.”
But Hank laughs. “Primus, I wish it were that!”
Primus? What’s Primus?
“The problem is like I said. I’m just not who you think I am.” He says it so matter-of-factly. You get the feeling that he’s been a let-down like this many times before.
“Yeah?” you challenge. “How so.”
“Scoot your butt on out and I’ll show ya.”
You honestly half-expect him to drive off without you as you step out of the car, supposing to close the door as you take a few steps backward to wait for whatever demonstration he has in mind.
The window rolls down though, and you see him lean toward it. “The car, by the way, isn’t a she,” he calls out to you, winking.
And then Hank proceeds to… disappear.
A weird little cry erupts from you, like a quick, strangled shout, and you back away even more as the Jeep unfolds like an origami sculpture made of metal instead of paper. Those badass 38s get sucked up into the chaos, helping to form limbs and, eventually, a torso. Things become other things – wide black fenders are shoulders, the grille a pair of pecs, tailgate and hard top form legs – and you watch, so enraptured, that you’ve forgotten to be scared.
Eventually, what stands before you is way more man-shaped then car-shaped. And, by the time you tilt your head to the side and blink a few times, you realize that it’s really rather handsome.
Sorry – he.
He is rather handsome.
Hank shrugs those massive shoulders and holds his arms out as he looks down at you with a pair of bright, luminescent eyes set in a whitish face. “Uh… surprise,” he says, forcing a smile. It looks like he’s expecting the worst.
You take one step closer, then another. He stands very still as you approach, and eventually you find yourself standing beside one of his big green feet. “Well, I mean, it was pretty obvious that you worked out,” you say with a little chuckle. “But I wasn’t expecting steroids.”
He laughs up above you; still so genuine. And relieved too, it sounds like.
“So you’re one of those car-robot guys, huh?” you ask, forgoing the jokes for now. You reach out to trace your fingers down the back of his calf, a handsome green swell of metal layered above another thick plate of black below it.
“Car-robot guys,” he repeats, turning the term over in his head with some amusement. “Yeah, sure. That’s good enough a name as any.”
You look skywards to meet his gaze again, squinting in the light. “Well, it explains why you talk like my grandpa, minus the swear words.” A chuckle. “You know, I never thought I’d say this to a giant robot, but I thought I’d let you know that you’re even hotter than the Rubicon.”
“I believe the word you used was ‘gorgeous’.”
“I believe I called you a ‘she’ too. So you know what, let’s start over.” You hold your hand up to him for a shake, trying to suppress a grin. “Hi, my name’s y/n. What’s yours?”
He gets down into a crouch beside you, something that sets your heart racing at the immensity of him moving like that. “Hound,” he replies, swallowing your hand up in his and giving it a very gentle jiggle. “Pleasure meeting you, y/n.”
You stay like that for a little while, trying not to laugh at the craziness of the situation. The fact that this robot – this Autobot, you correct yourself – is just as good-looking as his fake human driver has you, honestly, confused. And a little excited.
His glowing eyes pass over you from head to toe, slowly, before meeting your gaze again and holding it with not a little… assertiveness. One of the eyebrow-looking structures twitches upwards and the corners of his mouth curl upwards just a little.
“Can I... kiss you again?”
The words send a flutter through your belly and you step into the space between his knees. “Yes, please.”
He surrounds you this time, though its somehow just as gentle as before. One of his big hands covers the entirety of your back from shoulder to shoulder and then some, while the other takes your chin between thumb and forefinger to tilt you upwards. He bends deeply to capture your lips this time, and you have no idea what to expect; sure enough, it’s fantastic.
It’s just a glorified peck, really. You can’t help but graze your tongue along that oversized lip, dragging your teeth across it. Your hands reach up and out for something to hold onto, and manage to find the lip of a heavy bumper on his chest. When he withdraws, he keeps his mouth very close to your face, and his hands don’t budge.
“I… don’t suppose there’ll be any backseat action today, huh,” you murmur with a smile.
He chuckles a little. “No, but...” Hank – er, Hound – doesn’t finish, simply trailing his eyes downward in time with his forgotten sentence. He takes the hand at your chin and traces down your sternum with a single finger just as wide, until it comes to the waist of your jeans.
You suck in a ragged breath, chewing on your lip as your hips tilt forward seemingly of their own accord. Oh god, this really is happening, isn’t it? He’s gunning right for a home run. Your dick pushes up against the fabric of your briefs a little, and you stifle a moan.
The giant robot nibbles at the nape of your neck. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Then he dips a finger down behind the fabric and gives it a little tug downwards. You buck into him and decide to help him out with your smaller, quicker fingers.
“Hell no,” you say before even thinking about it. “My momma didn’t raise no quitter.”
Hound laughs, capturing your lips once more. You pull your half-mast out just as you both quickly move to open-mouth kissing, and his hand is immediately on the scene. The instant he starts stroking you with fingers bigger than your own cock, a powerful surge of blood firms you up rock-hard and you can’t help the panting moan you make against his lip.
You moan again, rocking into the touch and holding on now to his face. “Shit, yeah...” Your mind swims with the intensity of the sensation, and you suddenly realize just how small you are compared to him. His body blocks almost your whole view, and behind you, his hulking legs keep going. If you curled up into a fetal position, you could probably fit in the palm of his hand.
You hiss when he lets go to massage your balls with the tip of one careful finger.
“Tell me where to touch you,” you murmur against the expanse of his face. “I-I wanna...”
He takes your hand and puts it in the gap between his chest plates, where you’re made aware of a warmth and a faint, vibrating thrum. Your curiosity is piqued and Hound stops his ministrations you so you can focus on him for a second.
He straightens up a little so he can see what you’re doing better, but not so much that you can’t reach. Still, the spot is above eye-level, but you do your best. Your fingers dip inside, feeling around. You have no idea what is what, but when you brush against the warmest structure, almost hot to the touch, Hound makes a deep rumbling sound and you know you done good. You stroke along the strange anatomy, and as you do the vibrating intensifies.
“Is this how I get you to come?”
Hound is blissed-out above you, and a lazy grin parts his lips as something inside of him lets out a gust of warm air. “It’s – ah – it’s one of ‘em...”
That piques your interest too. “Of course a hot machine like you would have a few tricks up your sleeve.” You continue dancing your fingers across that metal inside of him, and he starts to mimic your motions with his own fingers on your back, sliding up and underneath your jacket and shirt to touch your skin. “So how come you were out prowling around here? Cruising for hitchhiking boys like me to pick up?” You lean into the touch, wanting more.
He laughs. “No, but if this is liable to happen again, I might’ve found a new hobby.” Hound suddenly pushes you, and you tip backwards into the palm of his hand with a little cry of surprise. Lifting you up off the ground, you feel like you don’t weigh a thing in his hands. He eases backwards into a proper sitting position as he brings the whole of you closer to his face.
Hound dips his head and his nose pushes up your shirt to reveal a relatively flat stomach. Your hardon brushes against his chin as he plants kisses along your hip bones and around your belly button.
“You’re soft,” he says, clearly enticed by this fact. You are, you ponder dumbly?
“You’re not,” you reply similarly. “So how do you know what you’re doing, exactly? How many humans have you fucked before?”
He hasn’t taken his lips off your belly, so you decide to start taking off your jacket to help encourage him to move around a little more. “Oh, a few...” Then: “I just can’t get over how soft you all are.”
You turn a little red. “Well, compared to metal, pretty much everything is soft,” you laugh, ignoring the fact that you’ve been trying to work out for the past 8 months for the express purpose of being a little less soft.
You lose the jacket and work on pulling your shirt up. Before you’re even done, his mouth is on one of your pert nipples and you suck in a ragged breath. How did he know you loved that?
“I’m not metal everywhere,” he mutters lazily against you. His voice is changing, like a human’s would: it’s gaining a depth and a roughness it didn’t quite have before, and you can’t get enough of it. You could listen to him read a phone book and it would be a turn-on. “Not exactly soft, though, either.”
That one goes straight to your shaft in the form of a little dribble of precum wetting the tip.
Oh my god, you think. Oh my god. Not only is it happening, but it’s happening. Images fill your lecherous little mind, one right after the other. How big is it? Does it shoot spunk like a human’s does? Is it warm? Is it –
The bottom of your sneaker has come to brace against the black and green hood of what you could have compared to a collarbone as he kisses you again, dipping his big tongue into your mouth and stretching you wide. You don’t notice that his free hand is doing something below you, and you only just barely hear the clicks and whirs of armor plates rearranging themselves.
“Would ya like to see for yourself?” he asks with a smile when his mouth is no longer full of you.
Your face lights up and you don’t even bother responding because you’re busy trying to get a good look at it below you. After a second of fumbling around in his hand, he chuckles and puts you back on the ground right in front of it.
And it is majestic.
Hound is sitting on the ground, legs wide open as he rests one arm on a knee, the opposite hand on his hip. And at the center of it all, framed by the towering strength of his limbs and chest, is by far the biggest cock you’ve seen in your entire life. It’s pretty obvious that Hound’s proud of it, though he’s trying not to be.
“Can I feel for myself, too?” you ask, giddy with want.
“Well it’s definitely not just for looks,” he says with a wink, a little giddy himself, too.
The blue of his eyes flash, you notice, as you approach. Your own cock stands at firm attention in the presence of such a magnificent tool as his, and you find yourself licking your lips. You wrap your fingers around the base of the head first, feeling that it is not, in fact, metal, but something like a dense, but still pliable, silicone. Your ass clenches as you wish it were small enough to fuck you. Ah well.
As your hands roam around the head, you bite your lip and listen intently at all the little sounds coming from the metal giant above you. He’s too big for your fingers to even touch as they wrap around him, which is a sight you never thought you could get off on. Thumbs wind up rubbing at that spot underneath the head that you like, and you hope that he likes it too.
He does. He revs, and something warm and wet comes oozing out of the hole at the end. You stifle a gasp when you touch the stuff and your skin winds up tingling like a nerve has fallen asleep. It’s strange and exciting and you want more.
Hound reaches for you, and you feel his fingers against the back of your head. Impossibly huge fingers, impossibly gentle. They massage your hair a little bit before you feel the barest hint of a nudge.
“You should put your mouth on it,” he says, voice lower and quieter and deeper than it was before. You’re eye-level with his solar plexus, on either side of you are silver thighs thicker than telephone poles, and a hand large enough to wrap fully around your waist is guiding your delicate human head toward a cock that could probably dent tank armor. Since when was this a good idea, you wonder for a spit second.
Since right the fuck now.
Your mouth finds that broad cockhead, and you start with a long drag of your tongue along the slit. The stuff, as you expected, makes the inside of your mouth tingle pleasantly.
“Oh, slag,” the giant machine groans quietly above you.
The sound winds up turning you on so much that you find yourself starting to bubble with words. “That feel good, huh?” you goad with a wicked grin, making sure to look up, up, and meet that blue gaze. “You like my mouth on your thick cock?”
His eyes brighten, though his expression doesn’t change much. Something in his eyes – little white circles like pupils – dilates and the hand against the back of your skull suddenly seems to possess a little more… urgency. If you thought this guy was a pushover, it’s best time to reevaluate.
“Mmh,” he grunts in agreement. There's a little twinkle in his eye and a tug at his mouth that lets you know he's getting into character. “Boys like you better be careful with lips like that – never know what sort of trouble they might get you into.” Character or not, he's good at this.
Your own cock throbs, needing attention. But your hands are preoccupied with the task at hand: rubbing and stroking at that monster length. A little more clear liquid leaks out for your efforts and you lap it up like ice cream melting down the side of a cone.
“Trouble?” You smile again, coming up for air, and feign ignorance. “I hardly know what you mean.”
His hand, with a little bit of force, guides your head now down along the underside of his warm shaft, and you’re left with no choice but to kiss and suck until you reach the base, where he firmly holds you.
“Twenty minutes ago I thought I was just helping out a cute stranger… now look what you’ve gone and made me do. Got this ol’ Autobot all worked up.” He chuckles a little before his voice gets a little serious. “Got me wanting to blow a nice, big load all over this cute stranger.”
You shiver and moan against him, sticking your ass in the air as you work your mouth and hands along the base of his shaft, and the armor surrounding it. You hungrily run your tongue along where a massive pair of balls would otherwise be, which he seems to like anyway. You’re rewarded with a finger burying itself under your jeans and boxers, curling down between your cheeks to massage at your own sack.
Unable to restrain yourself any longer, you reach down and grab yourself. God, you’re hard as a rock!
“Ah, that’s it, stroke yourself for me...”
Hound’s thick digit is massaging your asshole now, up and down, up and down… it sends little tremors through you and your opening throbs.
“Oh god,” you breathe. “Fuck me please. I don’t care how, just… just stuff something in me.”
“I dunno, y/n.”
“Dammit, come on!” you whine. “Please?”
He presses harder, and the pressure makes your breath hitch. “Think I’ll fit?”
You moan and reach up to grab the underside of Hound’s giant cock and cover as much of it as you can with your comparatively small hand. It pulses with some kind of energy under your touch and you risk sliding your mouth up along its side. Hound groans.
“I can… take a lot,” you pant against him.
His finger pushes against your sphincter muscles, and with an exhale you relax and let him in. It’s a tight fit and you almost come then and there, grinding out a haggard moan at being filled up with just one finger. Oh fuck you, this is amazing.
“I am quite a lot for a human.” His words make you shudder. Lifting your gaze you watch him lean that huge, solid body backwards enough to get a good look at you in return. On his face is a sloppy grin and he winks.
You’re actually hoping that you don’t come first. You want to be 100% present and accounted for when the big guy does. But every one of his gentle thrusts into you sends jolts of fiery pleasure right to your cock, and if you give into his touch completely that’s It, you’re done.
“H-Hound,” you mewl, still pushing back into his hand as he rolls his finger in and out of you. “I’m gonna… if you don’t stop I’m gonna come...”
Quickly, he pulls out of you and you wind up on your back on a soft patch of long grass. With the whine of hydraulics and heavy gears and a shuffling of metal in the dirt, Hound is now above you, mouth hovering just over your shaft. One side of his mouth is turned upward in a curious little grin as one hand pulls your thighs apart.
“W-wait,” you whine. The palm of your hand is pressed to his hard nose and he pauses to look your way. “I want you to come first.”
“No can do, y/n,” he responds matter-of-factly. “Humans go first. That’s just how I do things.” Something in his voice, as soft-spoken as he is, tells you there’s no debating this.
He takes you between his fingers again and draws long, slow strokes. “But I wanted to make you come, and I dunno if I’m going to have the energy for that after you -”
But you’re silenced by a finger to your mouth. You’ve officially been shushed. “Don’t overthink it. Just let me...” Blue eyes fell on your straining shaft again. “...Make you feel good.”
He wraps those big lips around you now and you see stars.
Pants are tugged further down your thighs, giving better access. Before you know it, he’s got your cock and balls in his mouth. You’re not long for this world.
“C’mon, y/n. Come for me. I wanna know how sweet you taste,” he goads throatily.
The wave crests and with a few muscle-clenching bucks and panting moans you shoot a half-dozen bursts directly into the giant’s metal gullet while he watches your face with rapt attention. It’s a toe-curler and your dick almost hurts from the effort.
Panting, you fall back against the ground as sleepiness washes over you.
Hound releases your shaft and kisses a line up your trunk before stopping to let his lips hover just over your face. Half-lidded and rosy from your afterglow, you look up at him and stretch a little, just to show off.
“Primus, you’re a cute kid,” he chuckles, closing the remaining inches between you to give you a deep, lip-plumping kiss. “And ya taste good to boot.”
“And what about you, huh? Just gonna let me lay here in a useless heap?”
“Oh, slag no. I promised you a big load and -” He pauses here to nibble at your neck and drag his fingers down your side. “- I intend to deliver.”
You plant your hands, hot and moist from your exertion, along either side of his helm to hold his huge face there. “I wanna watch you stroke it, I wanna watch your face as you smother me in spunk, big guy.”
Hound’s hand is on himself already, pumping away. You can hear the sound of him slicking up with his own leaking fluid, the impossibly long strokes from head to even just half-mast.
“You will, y/n,” he whispers into your shoulder.
The mech straightens up to give you the show of a lifetime. With a folded leg on either side of you, he starts jacking off like a porn star – clearly, he’s done his research! – hips tilted just so, shoulders back to lengthen his torso and show off every handsome bit of metal anatomy, and now two gunmetal hands working away at a 2-foot-long, equally-gunmetal tool.
You watch, positively mesmerized, as those heavy, solid fingers slide and tug along the softer length, passing over little seams and sensor nodes that cause a moan to catch in his throat someplace. Left hand squeezes the base, right hand fists away at the head. The “skin” pulls and pushes and glistens with slick. When another heavy glob weeps from the hole at the end, you lick your lips. Hound smiles high above you and thrusts a bit, letting a little of the liquid drip onto your leg.
“Fuck, this is hot,” you whine. “So fuckin’ hot...”
You reach over to stroke his thigh, running your greasy little human fingers along that smooth metal with some urgency.
He picks up his pace, and his optics darken as he focuses on his ministrations. His insides are making deep rumbling sounds, and from his parted lips come haggard moans and grunts of pleasure.
“Primus, y/n, I’m gonna -”
You point at your open mouth while your tongue glides against your teeth. “Right here, big guy.”
The giant is caught between a burst of laughter and a few stiff grunts as he comes. He’s so big you can see the throbbing in his cock as he pumps out one, two, three, four massive salvos.
“Unh! Unh! Hnn-nnh!”
He aims fast and they all mostly land on you: warm, viscous liquid, foggy in color and with an electrical charge strong enough to make your limp cock jump at the contact. The fourth burst landed dutifully about your neck, and the tiniest bit manages to splash across your eager tongue. Your mouth goes pleasantly numb for a few seconds and you think he tastes like… hmm, glycerin, maybe.
You lick your lips and prop yourself up onto your elbows as the Autobot comes down from his high with a lazy grin and a sigh.
“You didn’t aim for my mouth?” you ask, fingering at the spunk dripping from your collarbones.
Hound chuckles, playfully wiping a finger across the fluid covering your belly. “Didn’t want to get any in your eyes.” The way he says it makes you think that he may just be uncomfortable with facials, but that’s his business. Still, he’s not wrong. You’re not exactly sure you want your eyeballs going numb.
He worms his fingers under you now and lifts you to his chest for a kiss and a few brief moments of cuddling – inasmuch as you might call being held 6 feet off the ground while pressing yourself to the grille of a tricked out Rubicon ‘cuddling’. But you’ll take it.
“You know,” you start, the thought occurring to you. “I don’t feel like I actually did anything.”
“You came,” Hound offers. “Which is tied for being my favorite part of the whole thing.”
Your face twists into a pout as you look him into those gorgeous blue eyes. He cocks a brow at you. “Yeah, but you did most of the work.”
“Isn’t that what tops do?” He flashes a smile. “Besides, I’ll put it this way: one man’s a skeleton crew for this “ship”.”
“Oh?” you say, cocking your own brow in return. “That sounds like a challenge. I see your fifteen feet of metal hunk and raise you a human ingenuity.”
Hound bursts into laughter. “And the chips are down! Well, my cute little human friend, I expect to be in the area for a few more weeks… maybe we’ll get to test your endurance at some point.”
You turn red at those words, and excitement brightens up your face. But a cool breeze picks up from the east and you realize you’ve taken off your jacket.
The mech seems to take note of your shiver, and he shields you from the slowly falling temperature with his other hand. “But in the meantime,” he gently continues, “Let’s get you home.”
You’re set back on the ground, where you straighten out your shirt, zip up your pants, and shrug your jacket back on. Hound transforms behind you as you gather yourself, and you twist around just in time to catch the last of the process. And like icing on a cake, the illusion is compete with the re-appearance of that handsome driver behind the wheel. The door opens for you on its own.
You slide into the seat, closing the door behind you, and the cabin is warm. Comfortable. Safe. The seat reclines a little for you and you start with a surprised giggle before settling back down for the ride back into town. As he puts himself into gear, you wonder if anyone’s ever asked him out on a date. You wonder how that would even work.
“Hey,” you announce when you take out your phone again. “I’ve got cell.”
“Got lucky that I was coming up this way,” Hound – Hank – chides you. “And I’ll be remiss if I don’t say anything, so: next time, kid, maybe use a little tact when trying to tell a buddy of yours that his girlfriend’s a cheating scumbag, OK?”
You roll your eyes and sigh. But then a smile creeps across your face as you look out the window. “Yeah, I got lucky alright.”