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robooby · 8 months

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@mychlapci i was inspired by one of your posts about Rodimus being something of a spike sleeve for Ultra Magnus and Megatron (but this one focuses on Magnus). I’ve written porn or smut before, but nothing quite like this, so I hope you enjoy it!

Being captain of the Lost Light was good. Rodimus had always enjoyed it, even when bad things happened, no matter how much he complained and bitched. It gave him purpose, something to be, a job to do. It was good. It was all Rodimus could’ve asked for, even if he did have to share the title with Megatron, of all mechs.

But, Primus, this was so much better. Ultra Magnus’ hips jerked up slightly, barely a movement at all, but it still had Rodimus biting his lip to keep a whine in. His valve cycled and clenched around the thick spike inside him, desperately wishing it would move and pound him until he couldn’t see straight.

They were on the Bridge, Ultra Magnus in the captains chair with Rodimus in his lap, valve and spike out and exposed to the rest of the room. He’d been told some time ago, Rodimus couldn’t even remember when, his processor so destroyed with mind-numbing pleasure, that if he was going to slack off on his paperwork and make Ultra Magnus and Megatron do it for them, he’d at least keep them warm while they did.

So began Rodimus’ new career as little more than a spike-sleeve.

Rodimus gripped the arms of the seat so tightly he was a little worried he’d damage it, but then his valve clenched involuntarily, and the thought was gone while pleasure lit up along his nodes. He had to keep his hands on the chair, else he’d be unable to stop himself from rubbing his anterior node raw.

“Stay still,” Ultra Magnus chided him. Rodimus bit back another whine, so desperate for an overload, just one. Anything other than the teasing, almost enough weight of the spike in his valve. At the same time, though, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered more than being pliant and obedient, a perfect, warm place for Ultra Magnus to stick his spike.

Being like this, just a stupid, tight, wet place for Ultra Magnus, and Megatron, for that matter, to keep their spikes, was both a gift for him, and a punishment.

It was good, wonderful, even, to constantly have a spike inside of him, to have to worry about nothing more than a solid overload. Therein lied the punishment, though. They were in this because he was almost of doing data-work, half of a captains entire responsibility. That was why Magnus and Megatron had to take over, and why he was what he was now. Rodimus had to earn his keep, make it up to them, in other ways. One of the main ones being unable to overload until they said he could. Another, smaller one, was that he wasn’t supposed to make noise until he could overload, to keep from distracting the others on the Bridge with how desperately he was for spike.

Rodimus moved a little again, just the barest rock of his hips. It didn’t do anything aside from grin Magnus’ spike into his ceiling node, but Primus, was it good. He melted a little at the friction, weighing the benefits of continuing until he’d caught his overload.

A big hand quickly dropped down to Rodimus’ array, and then two thick fingers were cruelly pinching his neglected anterior node. Rodimus squealed, his jerking at the pleasure-pain lighting up his processor.

“I told you to stay still once, already,” Ultra Magnus scolded him and tugged on the node again, just to get his point across. Rodimus moaned loudly at that, finally giving up at being quiet, his mouth dropping open and his tongue falling out. “Is this too hard for you?”

It was mocking. Oh, Primus, it was mean and rude and not like how Magnus usually was. It made a fresh gush of lubricant leak out around the thick spike spearing his valve open, making everything all the wetter.

He started babbling a little, barely even aware of the quiet, breathy, “please, please, please, please, please”’s coming out of him as oral fluid dripped down his chin. Rodimus needed to overload, he needed it so bad, he’d been sitting there for so long, charge crackling all over his frame, just begging for a release that he wasn’t getting, he needed, he needed, he needed–

A loud, wet, squelching snap cracked through the bridge, not even registering to everyone else on shift, all very used to this situation. Rodimus choked a bit on his own oral fluid, pain climbing up from his array where his poor, sensitive node was just slapped, stimulation just short of enough.

“Stay still,” Magnus ordered, and Rodimus did his best to obey.

They stayed like that for the rest of the shift, Ultra Magnus being productive and efficient while his pretty spike sleeve did his best to stay still and undistracting. Every now and again, he would screw up, and his pretty, puffy node would get pinched or slapped, and Rodimus would try again. He wound up thinking less, getting dumber and dumber the longer he was denied overload.

Eventually, though, Ultra Magnus set aside his last data-pad. Rodimus, too floaty and out of it to notice, simply sat there, thighs quivering. Using the moment of distraction, Ultra Magnus grabbed his red, pretty hips and lifted him up, then quickly dropped down. Rodimus dropped with a squeal, his charge sky-rocketing with the friction. If he’d been a touch more aware of himself, he would’ve fear lighting on fire.

As it was, he didn’t care, and so he lifted himself up as best he could, and bounced on the big, thick, marvellous spike inside him, fast as he could manage. Everytime he dropped down, Magnus would thrust up, and pound into his ceiling node. The length of it lit every node in Rodimus’ valve aflame, and he moaned each time he felt it.

It didn’t take very long until Magnus reached around and rubbed at Rodimus’ puffy node, red and sensitive from all the pinching and slapping. He rubbed at it furiously, causing Rodimus to writhe with pleasure, going from bouncing to instead grind the spikehead as deep as he could, until it was butting up against his gestation tank.

Rodimus was moaning long and loud, barely able to catch a breath before another wave of pleasure forced him to moan again. Then, then, it started cresting, building higher and higher, taking him further and further from the bridge, getting whiter and brighter and all consuming and–

Overload washed over him, his valve squirting out fluid around Magnus’ spike while his own spike spurted up all over himself. He twitched with aftershocks while Magnus kept pounding into him, chasing his own overload. Optical fluid leaked out from the corners of his optics as his valve was roughly used, overstimulation making his spoiler quake. Then, it stopped, heat flooding his valve and gestation tank.

Rodimus flopped against Magnus’ chassis, only partially aware of Magnus pulling out of him and thick transfluid oozing out of him. Magnus gentle picked him up and set him back down on the chair after Magnus slipped out. His valve was slowly leaking a puddle onto the seat as Rodimus noticed Megatron walking on the Bridge, his panels transforming aside and spike pressurising at the sight of him.

#valveplug #my writing #rodimus prime #rodimags #ultra magnus #megatron #megarod <- implied #not beta read

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