#fics: megarod

[dacialogansuperfan]

megarod fic under the cut

rated e

also edited & posted on ao3

when megatron says “i haven’t done this in years. i haven’t wanted to do this in years,” rodimus prepares for it to be… not necessarily bad, he doesn’t think it could be – just getting to see megatron like that – open, vulnerable – will be worth it. but maybe not good either.

mostly, that warm, syrupy feeling sliding down his spinal strut at the thought that he’s the first mech in millennia to make megatron want keeps him from feeling too disappointed. he lets megatron set the pace, back him up against the bulkhead and tip his helm back into a slow kiss with a shockingly gentle hand under his chin.

for a while, that’s all they do. soft, exploratory kisses become deep, sensual drags of lip plates against each other, over his jaw and under, a hint of teeth against neck cabling. rodimus almost forgets there’s the promise of more, lost in the building charge crackling between megatron’s mouth and his own rapidly heating plating, until strong hands slide under his thighs and lift him bodily off the ground.

he doesn’t yelp, and even if he had, there’s no way megatron heard it over the clatter of their armour colliding, the screech of metal scraping against metal as his thighs are guided around megatron’s hips, so there’s no reason for him to be laughing.

ok, maybe it’s not so much a laugh as a quiet chuckle, one that rumbles through his chest and all the way down to rodimus’ pedes, but rodimus smacks him anyway, hand coming down to rest on one broad shoulder. the other hovers awkwardly at his side, floating in the air until one of megatron’s – much larger, primus – lifts away from his thigh to wrap fully around it.

rodimus turns his head to watch his hand disappear into the curl of megatron’s, bright yellow paint eclipsed under a cover of scuffed, matte black. if he focuses, he can feel every unmended dent and scratch, is so absorbed in it that he doesn’t notice megatron moving until his back hits the berth. gently, with megatron’s other hand curled around his helm to keep it from smacking against the criminally underpadded recharge slab megatron has the audacity to call a berth.

rodimus’ eyes snap back to megatron’s. a lopsided curl to his lips, not quite a smile, but enough to soften the deep, dark red of his optics.

(rodimus sometimes wonders if the subroutines for actual smiling were permanently deleted from megatron’s processor after sitting unused for millions of years. he’d tease him about it if he didn’t suspect it, just a little, of being true)

he’s quiet for a little too long, staring at megatron and forgetting to do anything with his face. the almost-smile slips from megatron’s lips, his hand squeezing rodimus’ where their fingers are still tangled loosely together against the berth.

“still good?” spoken so softly, megatron’s weight and heat inching backwards, giving rodimus the space to push him away. he doesn’t think he’s ever heard megatron this quiet, the whisper smoothing out the rasp in his voice, leaving a pleasantly low rumble. a shiver passes through rodimus, and he brings his arm up to clutch at megatron’s waist. oh yeah, definitely still good.

still, he grins up at megatron, says “what do you mean still? we haven’t even started yet,” going for that exasperated look megatron gives him with less frequency now, which only makes him feel like he has to work harder to earn it.

if he gets it he can’t tell, megatron’s mouth pressed insistently to his almost as soon as he gets the words out. there’s nothing hesitant about this kiss, firm and almost desperate from the start. the heat between them skyrockets, megatron’s hands hot over his plating, running from his arms to over his chest, sliding down his waist like his need to touch is overwhelming his ability to decide where first.

rodimus gasps when sharp denta nip at his bottom lip, his fingers sliding down megatron’s chest and coming to grip just under the armour, hooked into the panel just above his vents. megatron groans, and the sound vibrates from rodimus’ fingers up his arms, leaves him jittery and wanting more.

he teases the fingers of one hand in between the slats and megatron shudders, his lips sliding hot over rodimus’ cheek, open in a pant. it’s intensely gratifying, and rodimus is about to do it again until those lips move down, brushing over his spoiler before a hot, wet glossa licks a wide stripe across the guard and rodimus shouts.

in retaliation, rodimus hooks the fingers of his other hand in as well and tugs, pulling a low moan of out megatron and crushing their chests together.

megatron is shaking over him, and while at first rodimus is sure it’s in pleasure, and he won, he realizes a half-second later the afthole is laughing again. it may or may not have taken him a bit to realize because through his chuckles, megaton has started rubbing circles on the inside of rodimus’ thigh with his thumb.

“rodimus, it’s not a competition.” he can’t see megatron’s face from where it’s tucked into the crook of his neck, warm breath ghosting over the cabling there, drawing small shivers from his frame, but he can hear the slag eating grin.  

“the pit it isn’t.” sliding one hand free from under megatron’s chest, he brings it down between his legs, cupping the panel there and feeling the heat radiating from it. “also, i’m totally winning.” megatron says nothing, but bites down just a little rougher on his neck, pinching a cable between his teeth, creasing it. rodimus groans, his back arching up off the berth before megatron’s grip on his thigh pushes him back down again.

“primus.” rodimus curses when megatron’s lips move back to his spoiler, his tongue dragging a path across it that has rodimus’ whole frame shaking, but he doesn’t linger. his mouth moves down rodimus’ chest, soft kisses over plating and long teasing licks to transformation seams a contrast that has his processor spinning, optics heavy lidded as he watches megaton make his way down his frame until his lips brush over his panel and – oh, frag – come away wet.

he hadn’t even noticed when he’d started leaking, tracks of lubricant smeared around the edges of his panel and spotting his thighs, and he hasn’t even opened his fragging panel yet.

he would be embarrassed about that, maybe – he can’t see what state megatron is in, and his hand slid away from megatron’s hips when he began his descent down rodimus’ body and ended up curled in the thin cover laid over the berth – except.   

except megatron is looking up at him through optics blown wide with a desire so intense it pins rodimus to the berth, his whole body still as he watches megatron’s optics cycle to their widest setting, heavy lidded as his tongue moves slowly, torturously over lip plates slick with rodimus’ fluids, like he can’t bear to miss a single drop.

rodimus tries to say something. his vocalizer clicks once, twice, before rebooting entirely. the air between them fills with the heavy, stagnant haze of both their vents running at full speed and managing to do nothing but push the superheated air in circles around them.

megatron lowers his lips to rodimus array cover again and, lip plates dragging over sensitive seams manages a hoarse “please,” that nearly sends rodimus into a full system failure. his panel snaps open with a quiet click that is inaudible over their roaring fans.

one of megatron’s hands cups rodimus’ thigh, lifts it to bring it up over his shoulder. rodimus gets the hint and moves his other leg to mirror it, thighs clenching once around megatron’s helm before relaxing. megatron’s other hand rests on his hip, for now just stroking the plating in soothing, abstract patterns until rodimus relaxes fully and, propped up on his elbows, gives megatron a brisk nod. his stupid vocalizer is still running sudden restart debugging routines.

the first touch of megatron’s glossa to his array is a soft, broad stoke over the slit of his valve. rodimus shivers, already struggling to hold himself up but needing to see the way megatron shudders, his optics sliding shut as he repeats the motion, this time flicking his tongue over rodimus’ anterior node. rodimus’ thighs tighten around his helm, but megatron barely seems to notice. he looks completely blissed out, like he’s the one getting his valve eaten out.

megatron’s tongue pushes past the folds of his valve, sweeping upwards, seeking sensor clusters that light up under his tongue and send a feedback loop of charge through megatron’s mouth and every concentric ring in rodimus’ valve.

his head hits the berth with a loud crash he barely notices as megatron’s tongue continues its exploration of his valve, hot and wet and almost perfect, he just needs –

his vocalizer comes back online with a loud click and he’s shouting, arching up off the berth and then curling forward as megatron pulls back to suck on his anterior node, a soft suction and brush of tongue. rodimus’ hands fly to his shoulders, scramble against his back as megatron moves between his node and his valve, alternating long, broad swipes of his tongue with teasing licks.

his hand lands on the turret on megatron’s back and he grips it tight, keeping his hold on it when megatron’s strong servos push him back to lie flat on the berth again before he starts tongue fucking him in earnest, glossa pushing as deep into his valve as it can go. calipers cling at it as it moves back, rodimus’ valve desperately trying to clench down.

megatron releases his hips to bring a hand up to his array, thumb brushing over his node while megatron’s tongue is buried inside him. rodimus thinks he shouts, thinks he’s been making humiliating noises this whole time but can’t actually be bothered to care. he uses his grip on megatron’s turret to push his hips up into megatron’s mouth, start a dirty grind that pushes that sinfully talented glossa even deeper, and megatron moans. that powerful engine sends the sound all through rodimus’ frame, shaking his legs over megatron’s shoulders, vibrating his tongue inside rodimus’ valve and suddenly his overload is crashing into him, head thrown back, optics glitching, megatron’s name on his lips.

pleasure crawls over his plating, runs through every line for what feels like an eternity before he finally starts to come down, and realizes several things all at once.

one, his thighs have a death grip on megatron’s helm, enough to have dented it.

two, ditto for the turret. his fingers have left long, gauging scratches in it.

three, megatron is covered, obscenely covered in a heady mix of trasfluid and lubricant, rodimus’ transfluid and lubricant, coating his mouth, nose, and chin, except for the places where megatron is currently licking it away. rodimus is similarly debauched, which might have escaped his notice for a somewhat humiliating amount of time while he stared at megatron if not for the fact that the mech himself had started cleaning the inside of rodimus’ thigh with his tongue.

when he can finally speak again, he goes with “haven’t done this in years my aft.”

megatron’s optics cycle slowly, lazily as they flicker between rodimus’ eyes and his array. his tongue gives one final, soft lick over the swollen mesh that makes rodimus’ shiver before his levers himself up, rodimus’ strutless legs falling from his shoulders to rest in the crook of his elbows.

“it’s true.” at rodimus’ skeptic look he just shrugs, one of those massive shoulders lifting up and jostling rodimus’ leg. megatron slides his palm from ankle joint to the inside of rodimus’ knee, using a light grip to tug rodimus forward on the berth, until they’re pressed chest to chest again. his optics, the low, rough tone of his voice dripping satisfaction when he continues, “i will admit to thinking about doing that recently. often.” they’re kissing again before rodimus can even begin to think of something suitably clever to say to that.

at the feeling of hot, hard metal against his inner thigh rodimus breaks away with a gasp, hands flying away from megatron’s shoulders and down his frame, knuckles brushing against the ridged, interlocking panels of a thick spike, already slick with pre fluid. megatron shudders above him, whole frame rocking forward, catching himself against the birth just before his weight crashes into rodimus.

rodimus grins, relishing the broken sound that leaves the strained vocalizer of the massive mech above him at the first real stoke of his curled fingers.

“that can’t be all you’ve been thinking about, big guy.” a breathless laugh, tumbling into a low groan when rodmus’ thumb swipes over the head. megatron’s servos come back up to cup his thighs again, already mechhandling rodimus so he can fit between his spread legs, one massive knee propped in between them on the berth.

“no, captain, we’re just getting started.”

[transingthoseformers]

This is why I love Rodimus and he should be in more transformers movies/series

[largishcat]

😳 what if we kissed in the ancient, forgotten temple of Unicron 😳 and we were narrative foils 😳😳

my awesome partner this year was @flamin-hotrod-69 and THIS is my entry for the 2023 @tf-bigbang

[heliopauseentertainments]

I couldn't find another way to get these to you, so apologies for the slightly odd ask! I have been thinking for ages about that time when you asked for music recs for Reforged, and I spent forever trying to find a bass/counter-tenor duet for M&R (specifically the two of them in the sparkfield recharging scene) and failed miserably. So when I got a bit of spare disposable income unexpectedly I tried to commission one. This thing is not that thing, for a variety of reasons (among others, that the composer can't produce voices very easily, but is a talented instrumentalist with access to electronic instrumentation). I very much like it all the same, and I especially love the bonus track.

Anyway, in the spirit of giving you at the beginning of the New Year something you might like during the rest of it - here you go!

Commissioned… music? I'm… I'm absolutely floored. That's so generous of you to try to commission music to pair with one of my fics. That's so kind.

I gave these a listen this morning. These are gorgeous! The bonus track especially.

It nearly knocked me out of my seat! I love the large, grandiose sounds and the heavy percussion. It takes up space in one's bones. It's absolutely wonderful.

And "Recipe for Reformation" is much more mellow, but still very dramatic.

I love these so much; I am trying to save copies of the files to listen to again later. These are amazing. I hope that everyone who's taken the time to read Reforged can get a chance to listen to these.

This is such a thoughtful gift and for the start of the new year too. Thank you so much!

The instrumentalist you worked with produced such beautiful pieces of music; please give them my thanks as well. What is their name/handle?

[heliossecretdeskdrawer]

Workflow Interruption

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Rodimus/Megatron

Characters: Megatron & Rodimus

Warnings: Sticky sexual content, cock warming, blowjobs, masturbation, fingering, not beta read

Summary: In which Megatron tries to discreetly enjoy himself while helping Rodimus with paperwork.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

It wasn’t that Rodimus didn’t do any work on the Lost Light, no. It was more that the amount of administrative burden was… ridiculous. Often to the point where it could easily become overwhelming. While great strides had been made over the years in reducing the burden through various means—expanding the command staff, delegating some approvals to other, more appropriate units, taking a hands-off stance to some menial procedures, setting a daily messaging limit for Minimus, and otherwise streamlining workflows—there were often still mountains of things to review and approve. Never mind coming up with executive action plans.

Unfortunately, some things required Rodimus’s approval only, due to separation of duties on the ship.

Megatron, therefore, had to get creative to assist him in actually hacking away at the pile of things that couldn’t otherwise be delegated. He couldn’t remove some of the work, but he could remove some of the stress associated with it, making the task hopefully more bearable. Rodimus would even get a reward out of the whole thing.

It had taken some careful maneuvering and minor mass shifting to fit under the desk, but he’d done it, now wedged in the limited space available. These desks were not made with the intent that large mechs climbed under them.

“And you’re sure this is going to work?”

Rodimus’s chair was already pushed all the way in, his legs jammed against Megatron’s body. There was no way for him to see what would be going on under the desk, but he wouldn’t need to. If anything allowing him to see would pose more of a distraction.

“No,” Megatron said, keeping his hands on Rodimus’s knees, lest they slam shut on his head. Again. “That’s why this is a test.”

 “I mean, sure, a test but even if it works, that doesn’t mean it’s going to pass an ethics audit.”

“Perhaps not, but you are working and I’m not on the clock, so we’re not wasting salary hours.”

And the backlog would, at any rate, be smaller if Rodimus managed to finish even one thing in that stack.

“There is, you realize, one crucial thing you need to do for this to work.”

Rodimus made a confused noise quickly followed by “oh.”

A panel retracted and a flaccid spike emerged from the housing. Not immediately useful but a problem. Still a step in the right direction.

Rodimus must have been nervous. A work situation wasn’t the usual time for this sort of activity, so perhaps it would take a little goading to get the plan in motion.

Then again, the goal was to relieve some of the stress of an overwhelming pile of paperwork by making Rodimus more comfortable, not necessarily actively pleasing him. A stiff spike would be convenient, but not necessarily required. Besides, it would react on its own before long.

With an easy lean forward, he took the head into his mouth. The taste was familiar, but clean. Thankfully someone had decided to take hygiene into account before showing up to the office today. There was even the faint, pleasant fragrance of mid-grade polish wafting from the thighs.

Already the internal pressure was rising, but for now he just held the spike this way. There was no need to rush and he was fulfilling his end of the agreement.

All he had to do was keep the spike warm until Rodimus either gave up or made headway in the stack on his desk. Anything else he chose to do was extra.

Strictly, he wasn’t even obligated to give Rodimus release at the end if he didn’t feel like it.

Rodimus shifted, leaning back in the chair and sighing.

If he wanted to get too comfortable there and do nothing, that was his business, but Megatron wouldn’t move. He could stay here, unmoving, with the head of a spike in his mouth for as long as necessary.

The spike continued to stiffen, pushing more into his mouth. Megatron simply leaned back to keep it at the same depth. For the moment, he ignored the tension building behind his own paneling.

There was a whine, followed by a clattering of datapads above him as Rodimus clearly remembered what was supposed to be happening.

He could hear the scrabbling of a light-pen across the surface of the forms. The pace was slow, like Rodimus was already leaning against his elbow, frowning at the poorly formatted blocks of text. The way the paperwork was organized was not always easy or comfortable to parse, especially under time pressure.

Megatron lightly flicked his tongue over the newly dripping slit in the head of the spike as encouragement. Just to ease the tension, not enough to be an additional distraction… ideally. If Rodimus was less stressed, his work would hopefully be less arduous.

Another sigh and more scrabbling.

Was this even helpful?

Hard to say.

He let the spike sink deeper into his mouth, about halfway. It slipped easily along his tongue before being allowed to rest squarely in the middle, a comfortable weight.

The warm pulsing between his own legs grew, a new distraction as he was tempted to simply let the spike reach all the way to his throat. Denying himself that was an act of discipline.

Unfortunately, with his mouth understandably full, Megatron was unable to ask Rodimus for feedback. Instead, he gave the spike a quick, gentle suck, as though that counted as posing a general question.

Rodimus groaned, but whether it was from frustration or pleasure or both was unclear without being able to see his face.

“Are you teasing me or helping me?”

At this point, probably a bit of both.

But, so be it.

If Rodimus didn’t want him to move, then he wouldn’t. There were other ways to keep busy while he waited for Rodimus to either give up or complete his tasks.

Megatron himself wasn’t on duty and the tension in his own array could have stood to be dissipated.

He let one of his hands leave Rodimus’s knees, sliding it down to where his own legs joined his trunk.

A panel clicked open beneath his finger and he pressed the tip against the swollen, rubbery node. It wasn’t lubricated yet—though he would shortly remedy this—but he allowed himself to poke and press gently, not quite circling it while still ensuring it was ready for more robust personal attention.

Inconsistent little blooms of weak pleasure popped across his circuits as he brushed against the dry node.

Rodimus probably hadn’t even heard his panel open over the mad writing spree on the desk above. The clattering of datapads and frustrated grumbles dominated the soundscape.

If Megatron were careful, there wouldn’t be any noise at all to catch Rodimus’s attention while he sought his own relief. Not that it would matter if Rodimus noticed or not—No, on second thought, that would probably be a greater distraction to his ability to focus than anything else.

Best to be discreet.

Keeping his head still, he let a finger slip backward between his legs, towards his valve to steal some of the escaping lubrication. He coated his finger in just enough to allow the tip an easy glide over his node. This, with the smaller motions and more localized fluid spatter, would be a far less disruptive avenue than what using his own spike would be.

For now, he just circled the node in slow, lazy motions. He had all the time in the world for this while Rodimus scrambled to get work done.

The spike in his mouth twitched, leaking a tiny volume of saline prefluid onto his tongue. He didn’t care for that particular flavor but it a tolerable necessity, easily overcome by everything else.

On instinct, he gave the spike another light suck, only for Rodimus’s legs to shake.

Megatron still wasn’t sure if this was actually helping Rodimus accomplish anything or if the chosen method of stress relief was actually getting in the way of the goal. The writing and complaining were the only tells that anything was happening up there. Would the reports being reviewed even be looked at critically or would they need another eye?

Of course, given the situation, he said nothing, as his frame relaxed, coaxed by the idle rub of his slick finger against his node.

No need to rush. Rodimus’s spike wouldn’t be going anywhere for some time, even as it wobbled and dripped in want.

Rodimus surely had no idea that he was the only one suffering, unable to hear even the small, soft noises of the lubricant’s surface tension occasionally breaking as the finger moved.

A calm pace was the key to remaining undetected. Being unhurried also allowed him to thoroughly massage every side of his node, including the small places that generally went overlooked when only seeking overload, like the almost hidden shaft under the hood. No part would be ignored while he let the charge gradually build.

His empty valve began to tense as the prickling tingle of charge grew in his node; it wouldn’t be long now. It was almost a shame that he couldn’t have warmed the spike in there instead but the positioning would never have worked… and Rodimus would have undoubtedly begun to notice by now what he was doing. For now, he just let the weight of the spike rest comfortably on his tongue.

Every now and then, Rodimus even canted his hips forward like he was trying to get relief, but Megatron just matched the motion to keep the friction minimal.

The only real stimulation for Rodimus probably came from the flexing of Megatron’s cheeks when he had to occasionally swallow down the build up of prefluid in his mouth.

Even the slightest slide of the interlocking metal plates across the sensors in his mouth sent charge straight south, adding to what was generated by the easy motion of his fingertip.

Lubricant, cooling as it met the brisk office air, flowed away slowly down the sides of his legs.

No, not long now at all.

There would be no way to hide what he had been doing after he and Rodimus were done here, but that would be alright. The worst that would happen would probably be Rodimus accusing him, rightfully so this time, of being selfish. And then Megatron would make it up to him, perhaps in private quarters and—

He tensed, trying, somewhat in vain, to prevent the spasms of overload from obviously shuddering his body under the desk. His legs shook, but he managed to keep his upper body steady. It took all of his will to not force the spike further back towards his throat and swallow hard.

The most damning evidence if Rodimus was paying attention was the soft gasp that escaped his mouth, muffled by the spike, as his finger‘s rubbing of his node slowed to a stop.

For several seconds after the wave of overload ebbed, his valve continued to clench in time to the weak, twitching pulses of the oversensitive node pressed under his finger.

Rodimus said nothing, the continued clattering of the datapads implying that perhaps he hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t even attempted to thrust into Megatron’s mouth in response.

Megatron almost wondered if he was actually getting anything done up there or if he was just making noises to sound like something was being accomplished.

For now, he continued to wait for a few minutes. He knelt in place as the lubricant on his thighs and the outside of his valve began to congeal, turning sticky while he allowed his node to recuperate.

As soon as the pressure from his fingertip no longer caused his node to twitch almost painfully away, he resumed circling it slowly. The old lubricant was still sticky, less useful for its original purpose after being allowed to dry out but fresher lubricant would soon replace it. Charge began to build again and Megatron dipped his fingertip just into his valve to replenish his stock.

His valve twitched again at the touch, a reminder that it too wanted attention.

Later, he reasoned, returning his finger to its smooth, steady pace over his thrumming node.

Rodimus thrust forward in frustration again, his range limited by his posture.

After another few minutes elapsed, with Rodimus’s behavior above him not changing, ideas for how to make this a little more interesting popped into Megatron’s processor alongside the simmering charge in his circuits.

While, of course, he could continue to overload as much as he wanted from discreetly massaging his node until Rodimus was finished with his paperwork, surely that wasn’t all he could do.

Emboldened by his earlier victory, he tilted his head forward, gradually sliding Rodimus’s spike further towards the back of his mouth, nestling the rounded tip against the membrane leading to his throat.

Rodimus whined, but didn’t say anything else.

Tempting fate, Megatron let his hand leave his node, instead slipping two fingers downward until the tips pressed against the rim of his valve.

Just how much could he get away with before Rodimus caught on?

Another soft gasp left his lips as he leisurely pressed those fingers inside. If he went slowly, surely it wouldn’t make a sound.

Once fully inside, Megatron rested there a moment, enjoying the pressure as he let his valve clench around the small intrusion. A spike would be preferable, reaching more deeply and spreading more widely, but fingers, inserted up to the furthest knuckle, would do nicely in a pinch. He even brushed the thumb of that hand against his node.

Everything from here on out would have to be perfect. The slightest misstep in motion could make an unmistakable sound, giving the game away.

He flexed his hand, carefully testing how much he could easily move before slowly withdrawing it, a tingle of pleasure of the clenching valve walls in the fingers’ wake.

Without thinking, he thrust them back in as the spike threatened to slip past the membrane in his throat.

The resulting loud squelch was audible from under the desk.

The clattering stopped and Megatron froze, fingers buried deep in his valve as he was caught in the act.

“I knew it!”

[neighboringheart]

Let's All Get Along

Finally finished the MegaGetaRod fic I've been meaning to have done for ages now lmao let's just call it my summer fic and pretend that this had nothing to do with procrastination or me wanting to work on an entirely different fic at the same time that I keep rewriting endlessly. Anyway,

Snippet:

"We cannot function if we don’t all work together. And to that end, Rodimus had the idea to—in his words—‘use him like a get-along shirt.’ I think that’s far too crude, personally. I prefer to just call it team building.” “So, he thinks that if he gives me good enough head I’ll agree to, what, not think about killing you in every conceivable way whenever I see you? Sorry, I don’t even think Primus could pull that off.”

Read the Rest? (More tags in fic)

[killyourrdarlingss]

We love a good parallel ♥️

[starvonnie]

Listen if anyone is wondering why the next fic in the megarod series is taking so long... this is why

[quetzalpapalotl]

I have very strong feelings about this

[megapwnus]

Lectures Can be a Love Language, or Didn't You Know?

Summary: Megatron insists on lecturing Rodimus over the smallest things. Why does he care if Rodimus makes split-second decisions and endangers himself, anyway? Just because there's no longer any venom in their relationship doesn't mean Rodimus loves the guy. Right? Right?! Drift is hell-bent on finding out.

Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus; Ratchet/Drift; Drift & Rodimus (with ambiguous past)

Rating: All/General Audiences

Setting: IDW1, post-Lost Light, “good timeline”

Link to Chapter 1: The Lecture Nonsense & the Nonsense Lecture

Preview under the cut:

“Rodimus,” Megatron began, sounding half-incredulous, half-long suffering. Oh, here we go, Rodimus thought, already resorting to huffing and fixing his optics somewhere in the direction of the captain’s office ceiling.

“Could you have BEEN any more obvious?!” The last word was delivered in a nasal tone as Megatron pinched at the bridge of his hooked nose, oblivious or uncaring to his garbled formants. It would have been funny were Rodimus’s competencies were not under attack. Actually, scratch that, it was still pretty funny, thought Rodimus. It wasn’t really befitting Megatron’s warlord or newfangled placid, unflappably pax cybertronica captain aesthetic, Rodimus thought, but held his tongue for now. He had his honor to defend, and his processor decided that was the priority here. For now, anyway.

“Megatron,” Rodimus mocked, blocking up his own nasal vents and employing a somber tone. “Obviously, I could have been less obvious. I was not up to date as to where this fell along the infamous obviousness necessity continuum, however, and given the degree of obviousness-ness I chose to employ, I thought that was quite clear, actually. Obvious, even. Do at least try to keep up.” He leveled Megatron with a pitying look that would have been much more effective had he not been craning his neck upward, helm almost flush with his chassis, but that was neither here nor there, of course. When you’re bright red-and-yellow and loud enough, you’re as big as you slag-well wanna be, Rodimus reassured himself.

He heard the telltale sound of Megatron grinding his dentae. Oh, what music to his audial receptors it was. Their verbal sparring was always nearing the end of its swiftly aborted lifespan whenever that little chime went off. Like clockwork, Rodimus thought. Whirl would be proud. In fact, maybe he would mention it to him later at Swerve’s…

“Fine,” Megatron grated. “I would like you to note, however, that should a situation like this arise in the field again, I would prefer to be… kept abreast of your decision-making.” The disapproving yet completely resigned glint in his optics seemed almost fond, Rodimus decided. Yes, definitely fond.

[beardisable]

ok so im reading transformers(2009), getting thru idw

just reached #13 aka "Hot Rod Rodimus singlehandedly... infiltrates a decepticon hideout takes the matrix and gets fucking owned"

and... i dont really know i dont have concrete thoughts about it my brain is just going AAAAAAAAAAAA atp

just........ younger rodimus,,, Dark Metal Megatron,,, and if i turn shipping brain on its. their first meeting that goes fucking INCREDIBLY...

i am so incredibly normal right now i promise

[dacialogansuperfan]

hi hello here's a megarod drabble

rated g

rodimus yanks open the door to his favourite supply-closet-turned-hiding-spot and promptly falls face first into chest armour like a brick wall. the door is swiftly tugged shut again, a broad servo brushing against his lower back for an astrosecond before fingers close around the handle and pull, plunging the small space into near darkness. their optics, fixed on each other, provide just enough light for rodimus to make out the slight downward curve to megatron’s mouth. not a frown, more of a wince.

“so,” rodimus starts, leaning back against the door to put what distance he can between them. a frame as large as megatron’s, built for hard labour and cobbled together half from spare parts, runs hotter than the average mech. so does rodimus, for obvious and significantly cooler reasons, and the two of them stuffed into a space that can charitably be called tailgate-sized are beginning to throw off uncomfortable levels of heat, even for him. “come here often?”

megatron sighs. just that small movement of his chest, a quick breath in and released, knocks their plating together, megatron’s armour scraping lightly against his cheek. it already feels a little hot to the touch. when he speaks, rodimus can feel that too, the soft rumble of it passing through him, almost shaking the tips of his helm. 

“no,” and somehow, there’s no reproach in that tone. just a faint, lingering amusement that could be about the existence of rodimus’ secret hiding place, in general, or their present situation, specifically. “but i’m guessing you do.”

rodimus grins. for once, megatron doesn’t have a leg to stand on, vis-à-vis being the more competent captain, if he’s been holed up in the secret hideout longer than rodimus has. which he has. right now, at least, rodimus is totally kicking his aft at being professional, and captainly, and pretty much everything else regarding heading up the lost light, if only because he hasn’t spent the majority of his duty shift in a closet.

never mind that he was planning to spend the rest of his shift in said closet. still is, tentatively, provided megatron’s bizarrely good – as good as it gets with megatron, which pretty much means he’s not actively annoyed at something –  mood lasts, and he doesn’t decide to haul the both of them back to the bridge.

speaking of –

“why are you in here, anyway?” this close, he has to crane his neck to get a good look at megatron’s face, and even then, he’s mostly staring at scuffed chest armour, swooping engravings to either side of an autobot symbol mostly obscured in the dark, and the curve of megatron’s lip plates. he watches them curl into a slight grimace, deepened by the shadows thrown from rodimus’ own optics.

“i’m avoiding minimus.” straight to the point, with only the tiniest bit of shame. rodimus is starting to feel a weird kind of deja vu, but for an experience he’s only ever been on the other side of. it’s both deeply strange, and a little thrilling stepping into megatron’s role, seeing that chastised look in his optics. rodimus takes a step forward, forcing megatron to take one back to keep their plating from colliding.

megatron looks down at him, still wearing that almost-frown, but with a tilt to his helm that suggests confusion, rather than anger. rodimus just smiles at him, brings one hand up to rest over the patterns on his chest.

“i thought you two got along?” at rodimus’ questioning look, one massive shoulder shrugs, scraping against the side of the closet with a muffled shriek. megatron winces, optics shuttering against the noise, and tries to shift his weight away from the wall. he only succeeds in knocking over a cluster of mops leaned against the other side of the supply closet, and his optics stay closed throughout the ensuing clatter that creates. rodimus muffles a laugh into the crook of his free arm, the one not resting against megatron’s heated plating.

when megatron’s optics finally flicker back on, rodimus pokes him in the chest. “so?”

megatron sighs, jostling rodimus’ servo. “you’re right, we usually get along… surprisingly.” that last word softer than the rest, like it wasn’t entirely intentional. rodimus gets that. megatron liking any of them, them liking megatron, was possibly the most surprising thing to happen on this ship – and that was a difficult, if dubious honor to earn. it wasn’t bad, just – hard to wrap a processor around. the relationship between all the autobots on this ship and their co-captain was still tentative, delicate.

rodimus is not entirely sure he’s including himself in that, though.

something else thunks heavily to the floor as megatron brings his arms up behind him to rest, at a somewhat awkward angle, on a low shelf. they’re doing sort of a terrible job at hiding, if that’s what this is. his mouth is a wry smile when he says, “he loses me at alphabetizing.”

rodimus laughs again, a quick burst that is mostly muffled into megatron’s chest. he seems to be doing that often in megatron’s presence, since the universe jump. it’s another one of those tentative, delicate things that he mostly avoids thinking about.

the light of their optics, blue and red overlapping each other in the diminishing space between their faces as rodimus leans up to do something stupid, if only because he hasn’t in a while and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to not think about those delicate things in this tight, hot space with megatron smiling at him like they’re sharing a secret. it reminds him of those flimsy little glasses he’d once picked up on earth, red and blue, held up to his optic and watched the world split into two. this feels sort of like that, between one blink and the next megatron’s smile disappears and is replaced with that same, oddly charming looking of confusion from earlier. rodimus is practically on the tips on his pedes, his arms coming up to wrap around megatron’s neck. holding him in place, or holding himself up.

likely a bit of both.

“well, since we’re here, and we’ve got time to kill,” he says by way of explanation, before brushing his lip plates against megatron’s. quickly, before he can lose his nerve.  

megatron makes a small sound of surprise against his mouth, the soft derma cracked in a half-dozen places of gentle friction against his own, but doesn’t push him away. instead, two rough, large hands come up to rest at his waist, grip paradoxically light. he shivers anyway, pushes himself more firmly against megatron, who finally starts kissing him back.   

rodimus’ back hits the door behind him with a dull thump. he feels himself being pushed, gently, back to the ground, until megatron is bent over him, above and all around him, rodimus’ pedes planted firmly on the floor.

it’s nice. really nice. rodimus can feel the beginnings of charge building lazily between them, the temperature in the already muggy closet climbing by degrees, but for now just this is enough.

when they finally pull away from each other, rodimus slaps a hand to megatron’s mouth.

“we can talk about it later,” and yeah, maybe he makes a face at that, but he does mean it. “okay?”

the look on megatron’s face, what’s visible of it, is almost comically relieved. rodimus snorts, keeping his hand over megatron’s mouth until he gets an eager nod. for a guy who made a name for himself by talking, he avoids the personal kind with an efficiency bordering on pathological. rung might have something to say about it, at least, but rodimus is all for it.

they have time, to deal with whatever this is properly. for now, megatron’s lips over his, warm and yielding, moments after he pulls his hand away – like he can’t wait – is good enough.

[transingthoseformers]

Okay so this was sitting in my pile of funny fic snippets, right?

It's the last line of a decepticon!Rodimus fic, but I like to think this line could be a while damn au of it's own

[dangerouslyclassyhottub]

yall really like starjack don’t you? 

[heliopauseentertainments]

Solar Flare

Now a complete 92k word novel. Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus, one-sided Starscream/Rodimus, Megatron & Starscream, background relationships

Major Characters: Megatron, Rodimus, Starscream, Zeta Prime, Ratchet

Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of VIolence, Blood & Gore, Serious Injuries, Weddings, Suggestive Themes, Horror Elements (I.E. Horror of the Divine), Reincarnation, Ambiguous Relationships, One-Sided Relationships. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags. AU: Canon Divergence, Gods/goddesses, Early War

Summary:  "To destroy a corrupt system, we must first destroy its gods, starting with this one." In which Megatron makes a mistake by sparing Rodimus, the Prime of the Sun.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Note: inspired by this art piece on Tumblr.

1st chapter under cut; the full length is on AO3.

"To destroy a corrupt system, we must first destroy its gods, starting with this one."

Megatron, at first, had been so sure of his words as he pointed at the red and yellow mech across the hall, bedecked in jewelry and silk.

The ornate metal doors that had blocked off the throne room laid crumpled on the polished marble floor under his feet, a testament to the temple’s weakness against real resistance.

In his initial planning, after storming the Temple of the Sun in Nyon, he had thought killing a false god would be the easy part. Especially since this Prime did not have a Lord Protector, no zealous paladin dedicated to defending his worthless spark, Megatron had assumed that there would simply be one less obstacle to his goal.

The defenses had been minimal. Pathetic guards ran screaming for their lives after the mundane frontal assault on the main reinforced doors. There had been no point in giving chase, so Megatron had ordered his soldiers to let them flee. Better to have terrified survivors tell the tale, whereas dead mechs couldn’t spread word of change.

If the other Primal temples were built like this one with pitiful security, their job would be a lot simpler. Megatron doubted that would be the case, but he had also doubted this push would have gone so smoothly.

Now he watched as Primal acolytes pulled on the Prime’s arms and hands, trying in vain to tug him to safety, wherever that might be found, far away from the armed intruders.

The Prime shook them off with an undignified curse before marching unhindered towards Megatron, whom he’d fixed with a glare. Not one of anger, no, one of being inconvenienced.

“What are you doing in my house? You’re freaking out my dudes!”

What.

Megatron wasn’t often taken aback, but it appeared today had yet more surprises in store for him than a suspiciously easy siege.

He had just blasted through reinforced doors with his mechs, neutralized several guards with nary a fatality, and kicked down the door to the sacred throne room where the Prime was expected to waste away his days in luxury and splendor. Yet this… this garish half-pint approached him, fine brocades and bangles swaying with the motion, with neither fear nor hesitation.

Megatron hadn’t been prepared for this.

He had been prepared for the pampered brat cowering on the beautiful, shining marble, begging for his miserable, privileged life. He had been prepared to mercilessly terminate that wastrel with a fusion cannon blast, right through the spark and through that stupid Matrix.

Just as soon as Megatron tired of the sniveling, of course.

Consternation on his face, he powered down his cannon with a soft whir as it was lowered to his side.

“Excuse me?”

The Prime planted his hands on his hips, the bejeweled and festooned fins of his spoiler tilted upward in bold defiance.

"You heard me, bolt brain."

Now that wasn't a very godly thing to say at all. What were they teaching these high-caste deadbeats these days? Insults like that were what Megatron would have expected from an overcharged cadet at a seedy spaceport, not the alleged reincarnation of Solus Prime.

For all the supposed elegance and grace of a Prime, especially the Prime of the Sun, this was a smart-mouthed little punk.

This wasn't remotely what had been expected.

Megatron scowled down at the mech who dared call himself a god.

With a wave of his arm, some of his lollygagging soldiers dispatched towards the back of the throne room to seize fleeing acolytes.

"Don't you realize what's happening here?" Megatron asked, staring right back into the defiant, burning blue gaze. "Are you really that brave or are you just foolish?"

"Oh, yeah, I know what's happening.”

Megatron sincerely doubted that, but better to hear what nonsense this unknowingly condemned moron could come up with. Maybe it would be amusing.

“You're being a total spike right now, bursting in unannounced and trashing my house like one of those medical academy parties they show on the holonet. Wreck your own house!"

Not nearly as amusing as Megatron had hoped.

What in the damned hell was this punk talking about?

No wonder this one had no Lord Protector. Who would tolerate this? Shooting him now would do the world a favor. Making a political statement at this point would be a bonus.

"Didn't your caretakers teach you any manners? Rude." Well, Terminus had tried but…. That was hardly the point. The sheer impertinence of this idiot who had no idea he was about to have a hole put through his spark at point-blank range by a fusion cannon.

"I'm about to kill you and you're upset by my lack of aristocratic manners?"

Manners hadn’t really mattered much where he came from, the predominantly manual-class and disposable-class underground city of Tarn, in the various mines where he’d labored in dangerous conditions for ages, or in the black-market pop-up gladiatorial arenas of Kaon. He had never had use for such niceties and this punk was upset that he wasn’t holding out his little finger while seizing the Primal temple.

Ridiculous.

What next? Did he expect Megatron to use a napkin when painting the floor with the Prime’s slowly dimming lifeblood?

Despite the situation and his rapidly approaching final moment, the Prime relaxed slightly, seeming to consider the contradiction now that it had been pointed out, rubbing his chin all the while.

"I suppose when you put it like that, but only a Prime can kill a Prime so like do whatever—Hey! Wait!"

The hand rubbing his chin abandoned its work to point squarely at Megatron's nose.

"I know you! You're that lunatic that got Kaon blown to slag!"

That was it; they were done here. He had tired of this highborn simpleton’s antics.

“Enough!” Megatron bellowed, smacking that accusing point away with the back of his hand. “I don’t have time for your inane blathering!”

“Hey, rude—“

“Seize him!”

Mechs surged forth, several making grabs for the Prime’s limbs.

The Prime struggled, swearing as he strove to free himself of unwelcome hands. He kicked and punched, denting plate. More than a few titanium teeth from Decepticon mouths pinged against the floor after being knocked out.

Flatline would be rather busy later patching up these morons, Megatron thought, intrigued by just how much of a fight this pampered fool was putting up.

The struggle went on until the soldiers managed to immobilize the Prime’s limbs, removing any space for him to get in another good swing.

"Might I suggest something?" A high-pitched voice piped up behind Megatron’s back, persuasively smooth with all the owner’s public speaking practice despite the underlying tinny screech.

"You may not, but you'll do it regardless of my permission, so out with it, Starscream. Let’s get your suggestion over with."

Starscream stalked closer and began to circle the restrained Prime, as though inspecting a new, expensive purchase. His thrusters clicked haughtily against the smooth floor with every step.

"Rather than immediately dispatch this 'god,' why not simply keep him prisoner?"

"What purpose would that possibly serve?" What a waste of precious fuel and man-hours that could be better allocated elsewhere. Why take on the unnecessary responsibility of babysitting?

"Well, would not a new mech simply be chosen as a puppet to take their place? A supposed reincarnation plucked from a hot spot like a shining miracle in the dark night. The Senate and their drooling lackeys will rally around the divine newspark, stir up the people's faith, and so on and so forth. Keep him alive and that little problem just solves itself, doesn't it?"

Starscream had always had an optic for political nuance, even if Megatron often discarded it in the name of idealogical stringency. He generally felt his time was better spent not playing those games. Direct action tended to suit his purposes far better.

“What of the Matrix?” Megatron asked, gesturing with his thumb at the Prime’s chest. Each Prime had one, bestowed upon them by the priesthood that served their predecessor. Relics passed down between supposed incarnations, a symbol of divinity. Turning that worthless relic into a profane trophy of scrap that would almost as profoundly undermine the blind faith of the populace as actually murdering one of their so-called “gods.”

Megatron tapped his finger against his chin in thought.

“Would not destroying the Matrix render the point moot?” A new god couldn’t be reformatted without it, right? At least, not as far as he knew. The whole thing was rustwash anyway, but that was the official narrative.

Starscream scoffed, waving a hand flippantly at the very idea as he continued to circle the immobilized Prime. His wings fluttered with interest, a behavior Megatron had seen his second-in -command perform on several occasions when he wanted something.

Something about this useless creature had caught Starscream’s attention. That would need to be ironed out later.

“Please. They probably keep a bunch of them in the basement or in a bunker somewhere or something. You break one, someone steals a backup and claims it’s the real thing, safely defended from our destructive irreverence. You get accused of having destroyed a fake one for publicity and the whole ‘message’ you want to send crumbles in shame. You know how it is with these ‘relics.’ A shanix a dozen. Best keep this one as ‘proof’ for now.”

A broad, knowing grin stretched across Starscream’s face, shining with implication.

“And, after all, you can only have the fun of killing him once.”

He hated that Starscream had a point—several, in fact. Telling the seeker so, however, would just cause more problems—the overinflated ego sort—down the line.

Megatron would settle for a simple acknowledgment as he leaned down to get a better look at this bedighted speedster.

The Prime was practically encrusted with jewels and precious metals in the form of ornate jewelry, brocaded mesh draped luxuriously over the fins of his spoiler. Feet planted firmly on the ground, the Prime glared defiantly back up at his captor. In any other situation, Megatron would have thought him a beauty to behold, but now the red mech was just a symbol of resources squandered on mere opulence.

The sight disgusted him or… it should have.

“Very well, Starscream.”

Megatron heaved a tired sigh.

“I haven’t decided what his fate will be just yet,” he said, straightening back up. “Lock him up somewhere. I don’t care where. It doesn’t matter. Just get him out of my sight.”

A few of his mechs hesitated, the ones holding the arms and shoulders of acolytes, as though they weren’t sure what to do with their prisoners. Megatron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stood back up. Did he have to spell out everything for these idiots?

“The cultists too! Just go!”

--

Finally.

The throne room was at peace without that Prime spitting and screaming, now that the brat had been hauled off somewhere in the temple complex, preferably kept under lock and guard.

With the quiet, Megatron could finally get a look around, take stock of the damage and what exactly they had just conquered. This place held many, many valuable resources that they could utilize, either directly or by fencing the goods. Furthermore, he’d gotten it all for the low price of a few explosives, a couple of boot-licking lives, and inadvertent custody a very rude little “god.”

He would figure out what to do with that brat later.

Megatron took a long and slow ventilation before approaching the now abandoned, golden throne at the far end of the room. It glittered in the warm yellow-orange light from the lamps. An impression of the sun was embossed into the high back of the throne and again, smaller, on the arms and seat. It was almost too small, hardly having room for the treads on his back. It was made for more regal frames than his own, intended for heavy industrial work below ground.

The soldiers that still lingered in the room, along with his few lieutenants that had accompanied him, watched in silence.

“We will reinforce the Temple of the Sun, make it an impregnable fortress,” he said, sitting and relaxing into the Primal throne. He supposedly “desecrated” it merely by touch, let alone smearing it with spilled energon and oil from fighting his way through the temple. A shame some of that shed fuel didn’t belong to the previous occupant of this glorified chair.

No matter. It belonged to him now.

From here, it was a short step to de facto controlling the city of Nyon and its weak council.

“With a little work, it’ll make a fine base.” The first, in fact, unless one counted the ruins of Kaon, the last city he and his forces held, he thought, caressing one of the cushioned arms of the throne. After Senate forces bombed the city from the surface of Cybertron, the revolutionaries were forced underground.

Megatron gestured for his lieutenants to approach.

Starscream strode forward, an impatient twitch to his wings and several complaints no doubt already at the tip of his tongue. He still looked smug from his earlier “victory” in changing Megatron’s plans. In stark contrast, Soundwave, ever the professional, simply walked and waited in inscrutable silence for his orders.

"Now, as you know, the Senate is de facto independent, even if they nominally operate under the First Prime in Iacon. They serve no gods but themselves,” Megatron began, “we need to work quickly to fortify our position here. We have some time because they need to calculate the political risk of assaulting Nyon."

They could make good use of this place if they were quick, before the Senate could retaliate for the revolutionaries’ transgressions against the gods. Nyon, however, had one beautiful advantage that Kaon did not: a Primal temple. Even they would hesitate to simply annihilate a sacred location, no matter who held it. Not because they believed, but because the face they would lose with the public would be incalculable.

Megatron smirked, getting comfortable in the stolen throne. Just sitting here was daring the Senate to do something self-destructive and drastic. It was perfect.

Starscream opened his mouth, probably to object, but before he could get words out, he was cut off by a finger pointed in his direction.

“Organize the fortification efforts and recall Shockwave to our new position. Soundwave—“ The blue mech straightened up further to show he was giving his leader his undivided attention. “Round up and contain the remainder of the priesthood. We’re moving in. Once you’ve done that, turn your attention to following the newsfeeds. I want to know the nanoklik Iacon thinks about making a move.”

With a nod, the Soundwave turned on his heel to carry out the command.

Now he just needed to figure out what to do with the blasted Prime of the Sun. Throttling him was unfortunately off the table, for today at least.

Starscream loudly cleared his vocalizer, apparently having something else to say before getting on with his duties.

“What is it now, Starscream?”

“Well, if I may, I have a potential solution to your little Prime problem,” he started, still beaming. It was as though he had guessed Megatron’s thoughts.

“One that could legitimize our position here.”

“I’m listening.” Begrudgingly, but he would hear Starscream out. Might as well.

Megatron narrowed his optics but said nothing as he leaned his face on a raised fist. The seeker took that as permission to continue, a slippery grin stretching across the smooth metal of his face.

“What do you think of the title of Lord Protector? ‘Lord Megatron’ has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

[heliossecretdeskdrawer]

Off The Clock

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus

Characters: Rodimus & Megatron

Warnings: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Porn Without Plot, Masturbation, Voyeurism

Summary: In which Rodimus tries to ask Megatron something while he's off-shift.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

One of these days, Rodimus would learn to knock.

Unfortunately—or maybe it was fortunate, from a certain perspective—today was not the hypothetical day in question.

It seemed a little stupid, however, to be standing just past the threshold of his co-captain’s quarters with a datapad in hand while said co-captain was seated on the edge of his berth with a finger resting on his glowing anterior node.

Rodimus had been planning to ask him why Ultra Magnus had denied a line item on Brainstorm’s expense report for a recent project … uncharacteristically without comment. Usually any denials would be accompanied by several paragraphs of explanation, with relevant policies cited down to the specific relevant clause. The only possible explanation for this change in behavior must have been that Mags was suffering from some illness without telling anyone… anyone except his war criminal confidant.

Who was presently, uh, occupied.

And glaring right at him, finger frozen in place. Much like the icy bloom of embarrassment in Rodimus’s spark.

Mouth hanging open like a moron, Rodimus rifled through his processor to try and find anything to say, anything that could make up for just thoughtlessly bursting in on what was clearly a… delicate situation for his good buddy.

“Uh.” Not enough. “My bad.”

Nailed it.

Now to just step backward through the open door and not let his optics drift downward—The red glow from the partially obstructed node haloing the black finger, moist with lubricant, that had been caressing it was dangerously attention-grabbing. His feet were frozen to the floor.

The lubricant coating the finger and smearing the partially visible valve folds told him that Megatron had been at this for at least a several minutes… if not longer. It was possible Rodimus had walked in after an overload or two, but certainly not at the very outset.

“You constantly tell me to take time off.” Megatron scoffed, rolling his optics. “And then when I do, you show up to hand off work anyway.”

At least he only seemed to be mildly annoyed. Sometimes the glares were difficult to tell apart; “I’m tired and need a warm beverage” and “I’m listening intently to what you’re saying” and “I’m going to commit unimaginably violent crimes against you personally” all looked very similar. Though, to Megatron’s credit, the last one was more of an unlikely hypothetical these days and Rodimus knew that.

“… You know what, I’ll, uh… I’ll just ask you about this later. I can see that you’re busy.”

The automatic door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss; Rodimus hadn’t beaten the preset close timer. Sure, he could turn around and open it but that would be even more awkward than attempting awesomely moonwalk back into the hall. Which he totally could have done if he had been a nanoklik faster.

And not staring directly at the light under Megatron’s stalled finger.

His face felt warm.

His arms, now aching from being kept in a weird posture, were still held out at his sides from when he had first walked through the door, having stopped mid-stride.

“Do you think this is some kind of show?”

“I—No….” But if it was, he would consider watching.

“Then why are you staring?” That was a great question. “Surely, this is nothing you haven’t seen before; you’ve doubtlessly seen pornographic recordings of people pleasuring themselves. Hardly traumatic. Are you finished here?”

The finger continued to stay right where it was. Not even a twitch. That was some kind of discipline.

And from this angle, Rodimus couldn’t see anything more than the gentle curve of the front side of valve folds.

“If I said ‘no,’ would you be mad?”

The fingertip finally twitched against the smooth surface of the node. The heat from his face went immediately south, certain components throbbing behind their panels with growing interest.

“Not necessarily.”

Rodimus had worked with Megatron long enough to know that meant “no.”

“I’ll… uh… pull up a chair then.”

Rodimus tossed the datapad aside to clatter away on the floor before grabbing a chair from elsewhere in the room. He placed it squarely in front of the corner of the berth where Megatron had perched. A few paces between them to ensure a good view.

He had yet to decide how best to enjoy his good fortune, instead simply opting to let his knees fall widely apart… open to possibilities.

Megatron, however, hadn’t waited for him to get settled. His finger was already hard at work, slowly circling the node and leaving a wet smear in its wake. The light brightened as it was uncovered, now illuminating the soaked berth pad peaking out from underneath the valve folds, confirming Rodimus’s suspicions that he had showed up partway through the session.

“Have you already—“ “Only the once so far.” Then there would probably be a fair amount of show remaining, not that Rodimus knew how many times Megatron tended to overload during a session.

There was a brief, breathy laugh.

“I never took you for a voyeur.”

There was a flash of shame in Rodimus’s spark.

“What are you talking about? Everyone likes—”

Megatron just laughed again, not stopping the slow circling of his middle finger, the motion banishing Rodimus’s shame. The other fingers of his hand held the closest folds away from the node, but with this angle, they revealed nothing of the valve itself. That was still hidden underneath Megatron’s body as he remained sitting upright.

Rodimus pouted, his own hand just waiting on his own panels. He still hadn’t decided.

“I never took you for an exhibitionist.”

“I’m not.”

There probably would have been news reports during the war about it, now that Rodimus thought about it. It would have been hard to hide for someone already in the spotlight.

“Then what?”

“You’ll see.”

Rodimus hummed in doubt.

His own middle finger started mirroring the motion he was watching against the closed paneling of his array. That made it easy to make a decision.

He would choose solidarity then.

The panel retracted with a soft click and he let his hand slip down to pick up lubricant. It was tempting to lean over steal some of Megatron’s more than ample supply—and maybe give his node a flew playful flicks—but that seemed a little too forward.

Unlike Megatron, he also leaned back in the chair, leaving the entirety of his valve’s exterior on display. Modesty had already been thrown out the window.

With a grin, he started circling his own node, glowing orange in contrast to the red of his companion. A pleasant tingle began to build in his circuits, just beginning to soothe over the ache of arousal.

The speed of Megatron’s hand suddenly picked up, switching from circling to a simple up and down rub of the swollen end of the node with the slippery fingertip. The wet noise of the lubricant as it was pushed around echoed in the otherwise quiet room.

“Oh, now I see.” His own node throbbed under his hand at the sight.

“You yourself said ‘everyone.’” Megatron was interrupted by a soft, choked moan, like he had tried to hold it in. “This should hardly come as a surprise.”

More lubricant seeped out onto the berth pad, saturating it. His legs tensed and puffed out of his vents.

Rodimus could feel his gaze locked hungrily on the clumsy motion of Rodimus’s hand awkwardly trying to catch up. Megatron had had a significant head start.

Megatron shouted as his finger stopped rubbing, the node underneath pulsing against its captor.

For a few moments, Rodimus paused his own circling, watching Megatron’s hulking frame heave forward to ventilate as he remained precariously in place on the corner of the berth. What if it was over already? He certainly hoped not.

“Are you—“

With a shake of his head, Megatron thrust his middle finger downward, underneath to relubricate. The loud squelch and the slight lift of hips told Rodimus that he had gone directly to the source. While nothing was visible beyond the flex of Megatron’s wrist and the jump of his knuckle as the finger was repeatedly pumped in and out of soft silicone, Rodimus got the picture.

He opened his mouth to ask if he could see, but before any words could come out, Megatron’s hand retreated from its foxhole to once more massage his node.

It appeared they would, thankfully, be busy for awhile.

--

A hand gently grabbed Rodimus’s shoulder before he could pass through the doorway.

He paused and a scuffed up datapad appeared in front of him.

“You almost left this behind.”

“What is it—Oh.”

That was right; the datapad with the denied expense report and Brainstorm’s complaint. Rodimus had entirely forgotten about it. He also didn’t recall it looking so banged up, but then again… he had tossed it aside with reckless abandon in favor of… other, far more interesting things.

He took it from Megatron’s grasp, turning around to face him.

“I’ll have you look at it later.” If he didn’t forget to ask, though he could count on Brainstorm to follow up regularly when it was his grant money on the line. “When you’re not, uh, taking a break.”

“What is it anyway?”

A dangerous question that could very well lead into working off the clock and they both knew that. But, at that point, that would be Megatron’s problem. Rodimus had already acknowledged that this was supposed to be a “work free” time. If Megatron pursued official tasks anyway, well, that was on him now.

Now it was an opportunity for Rodimus to offload this task.

“Oh, this? Nothing much, just an expense report.” A bright, eager grin stretched across his face. “Mags denied it without any comments—“

“Again?” Megatron cut him off, scoffing like he’d been told a joke beneath his dignity. Did Megatron still have any dignity? “The software update last week rearranged the menu; Ultra Magnus must have hit the wrong button without realizing. It’s happened a couple of times—simple mistake, but, regrettably, the whole thing will have to be reentered fresh. A tedious reduplication of work. Have it resubmitted.”

Rodimus stood there with his mouth still hanging open but the sentence he had been in the middle of.

That certainly wasn’t the explanation he had been expecting, but he also hadn’t experienced any issues with the rearranged menu. It hadn’t even occurred to him that it could have been a problem. At least that was easily solved.

“Uh, great. Thanks.”

Megatron continued, changing topics.

“Shall I see you again at same time in, say, three days?”