#kind of valveplug

[mychlapci]

requests? I've had vampire Springer x First Aid on the brain all day... (but only if you're up to it!)

for some ungodly reason i decided to put a bunch of dialogue into this one. and dialogue is the bane of my existence.

Springer’s frame was odd, to say the least. First Aid was utterly fascinated by what little specs he possessed of Springer’s internal systems. Apparently, he was very adamant about never taking his check-ups, which the wreckers tolerated if not outwardly ignored completely, but First Aid was not having that. He wanted to see more. Something could be seriously wrong!

Getting Springer into the med-bay was the hard part. Scanning him was just as hard, if not harder.

„You could’ve gotten seriously damaged out there, if I could just check you over”–

„It’s fine,” Springer mumbled. He looked fine, but he shouldn’t, not with how hard he’s gotten banged up on the battlefield just mere cycles ago „I’ve had worse,”

„You don’t know if you have internal damage,”

„I don't,” Springer was clearly getting irritated, when his facial plate suddenly softened and he shrugged „Take your readings, or something, you’ll see I’m not bleeding,”

First Aid huffed. Wreckers and their pride. Fine. He plugged a quick medical interface cable into Springer’s arm and checked over his energon readings. How odd. He wasn’t losing energon, but it burned at an odd rate, and was currently pretty low „No bleeding,” First Aid begrudgingly admitted „Fine, but you should drink some energon. You’re low,”

That made Springer’s EM field ripple, but he quickly hid it underneath another aloof shrug, pedes twisting as he gets ready to leave „Sure, I got some in my room,”

Oh, First Aid was onto something „No, you’re going to drink energon here, so I’m sure you’re actually fueling,”

He throws a look into the corner, where some stray cubes of med-grade and standard energon were waiting for consumption.

Springer snorte „You're gonna make me drink in front of you, like a sparkling?”

„Yeah,”

„That’s stupid, I’m leaving,”

First Aid blinks „What? Hey! Your systems are, as per medical terms, all out of whack, you need energon,”

„Not your kind of energon,” Springer said as he exited the room, briefly looking back with an expression of regret on his face, as if he didn’t mean to say that.

First Aid spends the rest of the day and also maybe the rest of the week thinking about it. Something is up with Springer, and he’s not telling him what. That’s okay. First Aid can’t let that get to him, they’re not all that close, Springer doesn’t have to tell him anything. A dietary restriction, though, that's something you let your doctor know about.

So, fed up with Springer’s lack of professionalism, First Aid raids his room one day. While Springer is in it, of course. He’s not a creep or anything like that. Just a bit pushy.

„Hey, I have energon,”

Springer sighs where he was caught idly standing by a closet „Again with that? I said I’m not bleeding,”

„Yes, but you’re not fueling,” First Aid raises his voice „I saw it, you never go out for morning energon, I don’t know what’s going on, but”–

He could say he cares about Springer, but he fears that might lay it on too thick. Besides, curiosity is First Aid’s drive right now.

„It’s weird. And I want to know what it is,”

Springer scoffed.

„Close the door,”

First Aid’s spark almost jumped out of his chassis. He’ll be in a closed room with Springer! In his bedroom! Now, only if he knew why the bot’s gaze made him feel oddly uneasy. But it’s too late to back out, the doors already slid closed with a pressurized hiss, and Springer was on top of him in an instant. The cube of fresh energon shattered on the floor.

„Woah woah woah, I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything, I'm not telling anyone”–

„I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m trying to show you,” Springer said when First Aid wouldn’t stop squirming.

„What?” First Aid’s visor blinks, and he stills under Springer as the bot slowly leans forwards and��� presses his lips against his neck tubing. Now, First Aid could be a romantic and just assume Springer was so in love he couldn’t fuel, but that was wishful thinking that has no place in this war, and easily discarded when Springer’s dentae suddenly perforated a non-major line in his energon cabling.

First Aid shuddered at the sound of Springer’s wet lips sliding over the dribbling indent.

„I’ve been like this since my creation,”

„Like what?” First Aid cringed at how quiet he sounded.

„Hungry,” Springer answers, and then wraps his mouth around First Aid’s neck again, sucking on his warm energon with audible gulps. First Aid doesn’t think to move, doesn’t think to squirm, he just lies there and stares over Springer’s shoulder with awe in his optics, vents growing more and more laboured as Springer’s heavier, bulkier body presses down on him.

Woah! First Aid wakes up in his bed, panels painfully hot. Primus, that was a weird dream, he thinks as he brushes a hand over his neck. It felt so real, he can still feel that ache in his tubing. Odd.

[charlie-nsfw]

[brandwhorestarscream]

part 4? can we get a part 4? holy fuck

i love these stupid pregnant robots . what da hell

big dad alpha trion also just Y_Y is so good.... what an utter papa bear

Here we go anon, as requested! I love stupid pregnant robots too uwu

Previous parts are here: part 1, part 2, part 3

And yes I agree, Alpha Trion is such a big cuddly papa bear 🥺 I'm so glad you see my vision. Anyway, without further ado, please enjoy part 4.

...

“You…” he takes a shaky invent. “Y-You really… wouldn’t mind?” Orion nods in affirmation, and Dee gives his first, weak little smile in days. “Ok,” it comes out in a whispered rush. “Alright… y-yeah, ok… let’s- l-let’s do it.”

It’s a small comfort that the cave is spacious, with many side caverns and walls to duck behind for privacy. Dee can’t stand the idea of anyone else seeing, of being on display. He doesn’t want anyone else to see him, nor does he want to see anyone else… no one but Orion.

They’re both nervous, and unsure of what to do. They sit side by side in a cozy, private little alcove away from the others, side by side with shoulders pressed together and EM fields mingling gently.

Beside him, Orion is warm. An ever comforting presence.

D-16 swallows, and inches his fingers over toward Pax. Their digits brush and he flinches minutely but Orion isn’t bothered. He turns his servo over, pressing the back of his digits into the dirt, leaving his palm open and waiting. Dee slowly, carefully, sliding his hand into his, fingers curling together to hold each other gently.

“...I’m scared.” he admits in a tiny, croaking voice, and Orion squeezes his hand.

“I know,” he leans over to lay his helm on the silver mech’s shoulder. “I am too.”

“How…” Dee shifts his weight. “How do we… I mean-” he covers his face, embarrassed. “H-How should we… start…?”

This is unexplored territory for both of them. They’d never interfaced with anyone properly. They’d never been taught how. And after everything with Sentinel, well… they’re both worried.

Orion looks up at him, optics twinkling. He offers a shaky smile. “Well, uh… i-in the books, we- we would, um-!” he lets out a sudden, anxious sound almost like a breathless laugh. Heat gushes out of his vents and he startles, beginning to stammer. “I- I mean, it’s just- you know, in- in the books we’d- ah, s-sorry, I- hehe…!”

It’s rare to see Orion so flustered he can’t get his words out, and Dee’s spark warms in his chassis.

“In the books, we‘d…?” he jostles his shoulder as Orion’s face visibly discolors in flushed embarrassment. “What? We’d… kiss each other?”

“Y- Yeah!” his best friend’s optics are darting around, looking at anything but him. “That. Can I…? I mean, i-if you’re ok with it?”

When Dee nods, Orion sits up, wringing his servos nervously before leaning forward, reaching out to him. His servo delicately cups one silver cheek, thumb brushing over the soft, beautiful expanse of his face, and his optics soften. A gooey smile spreads on his face, and Dee squirms as his sparkpulse quickens. Orion’s never… looked at him quite like that before. “I’m,” Orion looks just as nervous as he feels. “G-Gonna… kiss you, now. Ok?”

Again, Dee nods, wholly trusting, and lets his optics fall closed, face slack and lips slightly parting in preparation.

Their first kiss is soft, and clumsy, and a bubbling, flying euphoria erupts in his chest with such intensity he actually reels back. D-16’s optics fly open wide when Orion’s mouth connects with his, and it’s every bit as wonderful and magical as he always dreamt it would be. Jazz had once described it as having a nest of scraplets in your tummy, which sounded wholly unenjoyable, but now that he’s living it? He feels like he’s floating: it’s like gravity has released it’s chains on him and he’s free of the shackles. The joy and contentment, the love, that springs forth in his core at that one, simple act is indescribable.

They separate and Orion’s optics flutter: he feels it too, the rising excitement, the rush of emotion; his face splits into a beaming smile and he starts giggling, before grabbing Dee’s face in both hands and kissing him again. Not forceful, just excited, and Dee can feel the way delighted laughter makes his frame tremble. Despite himself, he starts laughing too, and kisses him back, bringing his arms up to clumsily wrap around his neck and pull him closer.

They tumble into the dirt together, giggling and holding onto each other. They're clumsy and inexperienced, and sometimes the kisses are even downright sloppy, but they're both happier than they've been in awhile just to be there with each other. Hands running over each other's bodies, stroking at seams and shyly looking for sensitive spots, they work at steadily building charge as one.

It's not long before Dee is squirming: his insides feel warm and gooey, and there's a throbbing, hungry sensation deep down in his core. His valve feels wet and slippery, his spike feels tight inside it's housing, and they're both pulsing with the desire to be touched.

His interface panel retracts with a soft click, and Orion kisses his neck. “...are you nervous?” The blue mech asks, and D-16 can feel the warm gush of air from his vents.

“...yeah,” he shivers and curls closer to Orion, snaking one leg between his. “But… I wanna do this. I,” he swallows. “I'm ready.”

A blue servo gently cups his face, and Orion gives him the gentlest, softest kiss that makes his spark stutter in his chassis. A punch of heat rolls into his belly, and D-16 whimpers, needy.

With great care, Orion sits up as Dee lays out on his back. He slides his hands up thick silver thighs, intently watching his friend’s face for any sign of discomfort. There is none, and rather, he tries to wiggle closer. Orion gently parts his thighs, maneuvering himself between them, taking a moment to admire D-16’s bared array. He's beautiful, chubby spike bobbing in the air with every shallow inhale and exhale, pulsing softly with yellow biolights, a drop of pearlescent, glowing fluid gathering at the tip and growing larger with each breath. His valve is even cuter, lips round and plush to protect his most intimate area, already visibly wet, pink lubrication collecting like dewdrops all along the rim. He trembles under Orion's gaze, cheeks discolored as he mumbles, “Hey, c-c'mon, don't stare…”

“Sorry-” Orion sounds breathless, struggling to pull his optics away to look up at his face. “I'm sorry, you're just-” his glossa darts out to moisten his derma. “P-Pretty.”

Dee's vocalizer makes an embarrassed squeaking noise, and he covers his face, a bright but undeniably flustered smile spreading on his face. He giggles behind his fingers, and Orion can't help but snicker along with him, leaning down to kiss his forehelm. Pulling back, he rubs his thighs a few more times before delicately moving his servos toward the bared interface array. His fingers just barely brush the other mech's spike, and D-16 gasps, hips jumping. Fluid dribbles down his spike, and his biolights flash fever bright.

“Sorry-!” He's biting one finger, looking down at himself with wide optics. His fans have kicked on full blast. “S- Sensitive!”

Orion smiles, and lowers himself down, sliding into the dirt so he's laying on his belly between his legs. He's never done this before–except for with Sentinel, and that did not count–but he'd read plenty of explicit novels, and in those, starting off with oral was always a safe option. He wraps both servos around Dee's spike, exhaling a breath over it and smiling at the way his hips jerk again. He kisses the tip of his spike then sucks it into his mouth: above him, D-16 helm drops back and he moans up the ceiling above. He tastes salty, and sweet, and Orion hums to himself as he works it to the back of his mouth, glossa swirling around the length to wet it and aid the slide. Dee swiftly unravels, every vent paired with a wheezy moan as Orion works him over.

When the head of his spike bumps the back of his mouth, Orion pulls back, till only the tip is between his lips. He suckles at it, swirling his glossa around the tip, before sucking it back down in. Dee thrashes, hips stuttering and trying to roll into the sensation: Orion sets a pace as well as he can, bobbing his helm up and down, sucking and licking like he's one of those cold, dissolvable treats Ratchet sometimes gives them when they inevitably overheat during the hot season.

“Pax, Pax!” D-16 is swiftly coming undone, servos clawing at the ground, vents fast and shallow as he tries to warn him, “I'm gonna- gonna-!”

He overloads with a wail of Orion's name, a warbling affair that tapers off into wordless moaning. His spike swells in Orion’s mouth and hot fluid gushes onto his tongue, smoky-sweet and nearly scalding. He chokes in surprise, a trickle of it splashing over his bottom lip, but he swiftly gulps the rest down, swallowing more on reflex than anything. It tastes good, he realizes, pulling back to let the spent spike ease out of his mouth. He licks his lips, wiping one hand over his chin to clean up the mess; his glossa is already halfway through licking up the transfluid on his fingers before he even realizes it. 

D-16 looks incredibly relaxed, splayed out on his back and twitching softly, mouth open and panting, optics flickering as he stares up at the ceiling.

“...was it good?” Orion asks hesitantly, hoping he did alright.

Dee responds with a noncommittal noise and a shaky thumbs up. Orion preens, feeling proud of himself. While his partner is still cycling his vents and coming down from the high, Orion sits up again. His interface retracts with an audible ‘schlkk!’ and D-16 twitches.

“Sorry-” Orion tries to stuff his spike back away, but it's uncooperative, straining and hard despite his forceful pushing. Dee’s dazed optics are fixed on him, blinking sleepily. “S-Sorry, it's ok, we can wait, w-we don't have to if you're not ready yet-”

One silver leg lifts and clumsily wraps around him, trying to pull him closer. “‘m ready,” he murmurs, sounding dazed as he reaches both arms out toward Orion. “Please, Pax… I'm ready.” The smile on his face is fragile, but so deep and genuine it makes Orion’s spark feel gooey. “I wanna… do it with you. Touch me… please?”

And there his spark goes, swelling with such tender, affectionate emotion it could only be love. He nods, throat suddenly feeling tight. “Kay- O-Ok!”

He inches closer, hands sliding over his thighs to grab Dee-16 by the hips, pulling him close. He can feel the heat radiating from between his partner's legs, and it makes his spike throb desperately. It's a bit awkward, trying to line up with his valve, and after two unsuccessful attempts he dips his helm, cheeks feeling hot, wrapping one servo around his spike and nearly yelping at the sensation. Primus, he's sensitive! He guides the tip of his spike to the lips of Dee’s valve, and just bumping against the warm, wet entrance has him clenching his denta and willing himself not to overload already.

Beneath him, Dee whimpers, and he catches a glance of his expression. His optics are wide and round, something frightened at the edge of his expression, as if bracing for impact, and Orion knows he's unwillingly thinking about Sentinel.

“...hey,” he uses his free hand to take one of Dee's, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. He pulls his hand up to kiss, nuzzling the back with his nose. “It's ok. It's just the two of us, he can't get you. It's just us.”

D-16 sobs, and Orion leans down to kiss his forehelm. Dee let's go of his hand, instead winding both arms around his neck. “I know,” his expression is watery. “Y-You're not him. You're not,” he presses his face into the underside of Orion’s neck. He takes several deep vents, then says, “...ok. I'm- I'm ready now. You can, um-” he squeaks in embarrassment, unable to voice their word. “G-Go ahead.”

Orion's spike breaches the rim of his valve, and the silver mech keens. Both legs tense on either side of his partner, and his arms tighten around him. Orion sinks in slowly, as slow as he possibly can, gently pushing his spike further and further in. There's little resistance or friction, but it's still an incredibly tight fit. Dee’s valve flutters around him, slippery and warm, and he bites his glossa. Don't cum yet, don't cum yet, don't cum yet-!

Beneath him, D-16 whimpers, and his lips begin pressing clumsy kisses to his neck. Over two sensitive neck cables, then his glossa ghosts over a very particular nerve cluster, and Orion breaks. Overload rockets through him like a surge of electricity and he crumples forward onto his partner, pressing him into the cave floor, spike twitching and suddenly letting off a burst of transfluid before he's even fully sheathed inside his valve. Orion moans and tries to stop it, but he's helpless, hips stuttering in mini thrusts as he spills his load.

“Pax-”

“I'msorry-” he lets out in a rush as he finishes, shame burning at his audials. “I'm so sorry, I- I didn't mean-”

Beneath him, D-16 snorts, to his dismay, then starts laughing. His EM field suddenly flares to life; where it had previously been tucked in and nervous, suddenly it's warm and relaxed and happy.

“Aww, Pax,” Dee gently lifts his helm, optics warm and smile loving, contrasted by Orion's embarrassed pout. All the previous tension has bled out of his frame, and he brings his servos down to gently cradle his partner's face. He kisses the tip of his nose. “S'ok. Really. Don't be upset!”

Orion's brow furrows, cheeks puffing out as he averts his optics. “S'not funny.”

“It's cute,” D-16 insist, before pulling his face close to kiss him. He feels better now, honestly, so much more comfortable. Orion has no experience, same as him. They're figuring it out together, they've not had a chance to build their skills. It's comforting, honestly, knowing that they're stumbling into uncharted territory together. It makes him feel safe. Like an equal. The kiss deepens after a moment, Dee's glossa rubbing at his bottom lip and into his mouth–only to recoil, sputtering. “Primus!” he coughs at Orion's confused look. “Is that what I taste like?!”

“Pfffft-!” That breaks Orion's self-conscious cloud, and suddenly he's laughing, too. “I mean… yeah?”

“Augh!” Dee shakes his helm, sticking his glossa out. “Gross!”

“I liked it.” an impish smirk spreads on Orion’s face, and he moves to kiss him again, but Dee blocks his mouth with one hand.

“No!” He yelps, snickering. “You are not kissing me like that, not til you wash your mouth out!”

“Fiiiine,” he pops an energon cube out of storage, chewing it as fast as he can to freshen his breath. “Better?”

Dee kisses him again, nodding. “Much.” He gently wiggles in place, and a half-moan tumbles out of his lips. Orion's spike is still buried deep inside him, still hard, still throbbing against sensitive nerve clusters. His valve tightens around him, trying to pull him in, and Orion whimpers.

D-16 reclines back against the floor, pulling Orion with him. Their hands entwine, lips tangling together. Their first time interfacing is clumsy, gentle, and rife with overwhelming love and trust. Embracing in the cavern, they make love to each other for the first time, EM fields blending as one and sparks singing in euphoria between them. Pleasure builds between them to a great, soaring crescendo, and they cling to each other, sobbing in ecstasy when imminent overload swallows them both.

D-16 clings to Orion in all aspects: chest to chest, mouth to mouth, fingers grasping tightly to him as his legs lock around his hips, keeping his spike buried deep in his valve. He feels overstimulated in the best way, electric pleasure thrumming through his whole body and he sobs in ecstasy through his first and second and third overload. He can feel Orion’s transfluid filling him up, siphoned into his gestation tank. The transfluid levels creep from red to yellow to green, and his middle begins to feel heavy and warm and full. He imagines the sparkling growing inside of him, body grown from the seeds of a mech he loves and adores so much. An adorable child with his and Orion's features alike, perhaps with his lover’s crooked smile or his little helm horns or the shape of his optics, and the thought is so enticing a fourth overload rolls through his body. All he can do is hang on and moan, trying not to drool.

By the time his gestation tank is topped up, they're both sweaty, sticky, and swollen: Orion collapses on top of him, vents heaving great clouds of steam as D-16 pants and gasps beneath him.

The blue mech rolls off and then, with a final heave of strength, switches their positions. Orion laying in the dirt with D-16 half on top of him. Gazing at each other, dazed, the tips of their noses touch. Orion cracks an exhausted, barely there smile, and Dee returns it, using his last bit of energy to move his head forward, pressing their forehelms together.

“I love you…”

The murmured declaration comes as they snuggle against each other, afterglow lulling them to recharge. It’s like being surrounded in the warm glow of a lantern, cuddled together like that: he’s never felt quite so warm or safe or loved, and laying his helm down on Orion’s chassis, he truly feels that everything will be alright. So long as they have each other, so long as he can bask in this connection forever, nothing could ever be unfixable or impossible. Orion’s arms come up to hold him, one servo bracing gently on his belly, and D-16 turns his helm to press a sleepy kiss against his chassis.

They’re going to be ok.

...

And that's a wrap on part 4! Sorry it took a bit longer than anticipated, I really wanted to nail these two in this scene. Awkward, sweet first-time sex gave me more trouble than I thought it would. I'm out of practice lmao.

Aaaaaanyways, I hope you enjoyed! Same thing as always, I'll get started on part 5 and post it once ya'll lmk you wanna see more. Beat the crap out of my ask box, do the rebloggy thing, comment, you know what to do!

[staticnonapus]

shibari but it’s transformer toys in their display boxes…

Remember that Optimus figure?

Prime are you embarrassed

[plainandgeneric]

Ok. I love beetle Megatron's design (Armada). But I can't stop thinking about how they put his cannon there and so often have him hold it like that. (<- doodle below cut)

That cannon sure has a strong recoil mm?

[vitrificvitriol]

Last minute Percy Day celebration! Hope you all had a good one!

[transingthoseformers]

I think Megatron and Whirl should fuck one (1) time while on the Lost Light and never speak of it again

[ikkosu]

Imagine like a crossover of Prowls from different continuities and you’re the spouse of your favorite Prowl. All of them are frothing seeing you on their other version’s shoulder all lovey dovey wishing they could have a piece. Maybe in their universe they could find you? Then getting fucked in front of the other Prowls by your favorite and watching them pathetically rub their spikes wishing they were that Prowler getting to feel your cute human holes cumming on their spike

this ask just made me realize I have a gut wrenching fic about this idea (minus the deliciously horny part) tucked somewhere and I should probably write it again.

okay but sotw prowl is defn dicking me down no doubt and the others can cry about it!!!!

Would it be funny if there’s like some goofy manhunt for the happy-ending-prowl where he gets the human and the other prowls are just desperate to have this version of their human back (because either their version died, or left them or something) and now sotw prowl has to be John wick in some way

[d-16-haha-more-like-deez-nuts]

i have so many carnal thoughts about this mech

[robotsandjunk]

I know I make Soundwave out to be mostly a sub but I firmly believe Cyberverse Soundwave is a dom top, I just can’t see him as anything else

[mychlapci]

helpful diagram btw

[uselessmicrowave]

When you’re feeling better, how about shockblurr with Blurr spiking Shockwave, but Shockwave is clearly in control here?

Blurr was a mech of his words, but if Shockwave kept his petty directions going, he could, possibly, absolutely wreck the purple bot. He just had to promise that he would do whatever was ordered of him. Shockwave stifles a childish giggle.

“Slow down again Blurr,” He whines, “you’re going too fast.” So he slows down.

“Touch me,” He whines, when Blurr only puts a servo on his chassis, Shockwave whines again. “Please, Blurr?”

“Gonna need to be specific.” Blurr would take any amount of the ‘you’re not in control’ feeling he could get. It quickly vanished when Shockwave takes his servo and guides it down to his array.

“Touch.” The blue bot does so, running a digit from the tip of the spike to Shockwave’s anterior node. Blurr can’t help but want more, to take what he wants, but he’ll hold back, just for Shockwave.

“Good bot.”

[oozeandgoo-art]

This is where I blog from.

[ivycorp]

Megatron and his servo

The door slid shut behind Megatron, his quarters quiet and empty as always (but they weren't like that not long ago, he remembered with a twist of the mouth); his frame was hot and charged up despite the time it took to:

Return to Nemesis,

Get told off by Soundwave (it was an interesting thing, to be told of with no words),

Subsequently to be told off by Knock Out that he needed to leave the injured hand to heal or it would require an entire replacement next time.

He was so dazed by the fight earlier, he just nodded and went out into the corridor from the medbay, on automatic letting his legs carry him back to berth. The vehicons he passed in the way scrambled to not cross paths with him, but the warlord didn't really care about them.

No, he had more pressing matters on his mind. 

Taking a look at his freshly repaired arm, he noted with humor that at least it was not the servo he needed tonight anyways. 

With a practiced ease that spoke of the pathetic disposition he was finding himself way too often these days, the silver mech locked the door, put the music on loud and shut off his own audio input. In case of emergency, Soundwave would shoot him a direct comm anyways.

The music was not for his benefit, after all.

As the silence filled his mind, Megatron allowed himself a shudder as his extensive (not extensive enough, whispered his greedy spark) collection of material on Orion-Optimus started taking its place, feeding his newly rediscovered needs like a mech starved.

'My, pet, you are positively begging to be touched, aren't you?' Optimus's voice seemed to drown him, as the silver frame settled itself down on the floor, knees spread, servos held behind his back in a looser grip than he usually preferred, but the medic's warning was enough to keep him from pushing it.

He sighed softly, chasing the memories of the way Orion would look at him, teasing him with the softest strokes, as the latest battle took hold and reminded just how much he enjoyed the digits on his throat.

It was enough to cause his charge to grow at once, as he desperately held the self-imposed position; he was even facing the chair the blue and red mech took as his during the stay at Nemesis, from the first time they fell into the familiar dynamic.

Megatron both rejoiced and cursed that moment, as it had changed something between them irrevocably- he had no clue precisely why, but the recent losses they were suffering were telling enough.

They have gotten under each other's plating and Megatron was obviously losing control. He expected Soundwave to lose patience with his behavior any day now.

He grimaced, as he felt his frame shiver at the notion of losing control, of letting Orion take care of him, to make him break apart and be rebuilt over and over again in the most agonizingly pleasurable way there could be.

He could feel his valve clench as lubricant started falling on the floor through the seams, but he kept the cover in place.

There were rules to be followed, even when he was alone.

'Beautiful, my sweet, so obedient for me, thank you for waiting for the commands,' cooed the imaginary Prime, as Megatron could feel himself tremble at the praise; discovering that he liked it made Orion smile so nicely, as he explained one day that it also was something he loved to indulge in.

"What a complementary pair we make, Megatron," the mech said once over Energon, and the silver tyrant couldn't help but agree.

Yet now, ex-vents coming out loud, Megatron could only think about the voice in his helm, which chuckled and finally prompted him to move, but still kept the panels closed.

'I want you to take your time and show me where you would like to be touched,' caused the silver servos to move from behind to the front, as Megatron started to stroke his frame, before he arrived at the throat, neck cables just inches away from his wandering digits.

It was the spot Optimus bit him earlier that day.

Touching on the tingling part of his throat, he suddenly wanted to know if the bite was still visible - Knock Out took a look but did not repair it, so most likely it was not threatening and would be taken care of by his own self repair.

He pressed, hissing, as the motion flared with numb pain, which made his spark throb.

He needed to see it badly.

His imagination fed him another memory, the impression of Orion smiling, walking over to the berth and motioning for Megatron to join him, as it offered an undisturbed view of the mirror in the private washracks.

The silver mech knew better than to rise up, instead crawling hastily and setting himself down, pedes spread so his reflection would show the entirety of the heaving frame between them, servos flat on the floor.

'I can see just how desperate you are - if you keep it up I might even let you overload today, despite your prior behavior,' teased the Prime’s voice, as he fought hard to keep his panels closed and optics down; he did not miss the echo of shame that ran through him on the battlefield about not yielding when Optimus threatened to feel disappointed by him.

He did not want to disappoint Orion. He was good and will keep on being good if it meant he could stay in this dazed state longer.

'Now, pet, I want you to open your panels,' instructed him the warm voice he could listen to forever, as his panels slid open and lubricant gushed out of his needy valve, spike pressurized and aching to be touched.

'Look at yourself as you get your valve prepared for me - tell me when you get close to overloading,' ordered the specter of his memories, as Megatron turned his gaze and locked sights with the reflection and allowed his optics to take in the mark on his neck cables as one of his servos went up and wrapped itself right below it.

His other servo was already in motion, working the sensitive mesh open, rocking onto the digits; he did not think it would take long for him to reach the edge, but when he tightened the hold on his neck and brushed his digit against the anterior node, he was hit with a jolt of pleasure that got him immediately there, and he gasped out:

"I am close, so close, please," came the begging, so much faster than expected. He faintly blamed the forward actions of the Prime for driving him insane with the damned bite, but that thought left quickly as he continued the ministrations on his leaking valve. 

He knew at this point he could probably take some of the largest toys hiding in the closet, but it was too far from him now - and, more importantly, there was no command that specified that anything but his digits were allowed this time.

'That was quick, even for you - but then, I knew the bite would do the trick… or was it the talk about a collar, perhaps?' came the question, as Megatron's servo stuttered in its rhythm, nearly bringing him over the edge.

He wished to reply, but all that left his mouth was just a low keen, words escaping his frayed focus and leaving him bare to the wants of his greedy frame. At this point he would agree to whatever the other would demand, if only he would be granted release.

Yet, as Megatron looked towards the mirror, he could not stop feeling a rush of humiliation at the sight; spike neglected, valve leaking so much lubricant it made a considerable pool on the floor, neck cables held tightly and squeezed to the point of pain whenever he would feel himself get dangerously close, until the charge would die down again just enough to escape the temptation.

And he would start again, because he was not told to stop.

The digits were avoiding his node now, as he knew just a brush would make him overload hard. 

He would not do this without permission. 

There were rules to be followed.

The rules were important. 

He could hold it off for longer.

A hum sounded in his audials, as a curt 'optics up front' made him realize he was looking anywhere but the reflection as he was wrestling with the need to obey and the whispers of his frame.

He burned, and the assault on his valve did not stop as he turned to pleading for permission to overload; seeing the desperation in the mirror only made him glitch up.

Such a wanton display…

'Now, pet, we both know who you need to ask if you want to overload,' reminded him the voice, as he briefly wondered if maybe he could break the invisible hold Orion had on him; it's not like he would know what Megatron was doing right now, and what he wouldn't know wouldn't hurt him.

The warlord shook his helm, disappointed at even entertaining this idea.

He would not fail.

As he opened his comm list, he made sure to pick the adequate encrypted frequency - Optimus told him he would not revoke the access again unless he abused his openness, with a threat of terminating their games once and for all.

He could feel the heady state overtake him, as he dialed for Prime to pick up - the Autobot leader usually did not leave him hanging, and more often than not, his release would come very soon after they connected on the line.

The call dropped. 

He sobbed, as he tried again and again, to no avail. With the last dregs of thought, he realized the Nemesis was jamming communications both ways.

Soundwave. 

It must be his way of punishing him for today's loss. Apparently, the TIC's patience has finally ran out.

The elation he felt at the idea of finally being allowed to overload got replaced by the icy chill of shame that made him feel like he was torn apart at the seams; the wetness of his valve felt wrong, but he still could not stop moving his digits.

He wondered briefly if he was too far gone to ever come back to his life before the Optimus-As-Orion incident.

A sympathetic whisper of 'poor thing, you know what is left to do, come on, maybe next time you will get to overload,' made him openly weep, as he withdrew his digits and pushed himself up, shakily going under the solvent in the washracks, set to the coldest setting. 

As the steam lifted from his burning frame, he rested his helm against the wall, charge gradually dropping to the buzz he started associating with just being awake.

Megatron nearly stepped back into the lubricant on the floor, as he felt at once nauseous at the sight and the throb his tired valve gave at the reminder of what he just did. Grabbing a rag, he began to clear it away, noticing to his dismay that the charge was building up again, fuelled by his own sense of humiliation.

It would seem he will need to stay under the cold solvent for a much longer time than expected…

*****

Fowler frowned at his phone, as he fiddled a bit and checked if maybe his WiFi had disconnected.

No, full bars.

Frustrated, he turned to address Ratchet working on the side, grumbling to himself.

"Are we being jammed? Or jamming the Nemesis?" Fowler asked, trying to discern the possible reason why the vehicon group chat stopped updating mid-rant. 

The medic looked at him puzzled.

"No, I don't think so," he replied, going back to doing the inventory, while in the background Optimus stilled his console repair. He looked pensive, but something must have clicked as he relaxed and chuckled to himself, getting back to work.

The Prime even began humming a soft melody as he was mending the pieces he tore off himself because of…

The agent's eyes opened wide when the dots connected:

The group chat has just remarked on loud music picking up.

The incident earlier that day on the battlefield.

Optimus's air of satisfaction as he mended the mangled parts of the console.

Fowler rolled his eyes hard, and asked himself for the fifteenth time that week as to why he even felt surprised anymore.

*********************

Another one prompted by this post of @paraxodicalundressing as a direct follow up to this (mentioning here the time on Nemesis)

[unsanitarystation]

i need to un-potty train tfa sentinel. i wanna see him pissing all over himself in public regularly. he gets so embarrassed but there's nothing he can do about it. holding it in is such a chore <333

[transingthoseformers]

Starscream trying to seduce anyone he doesn't like because maybe they'll bite him in the throes of Good Pussy and he can conveniently not stop them until they've got a good mouthful of his energon. Oh, did I not tell you I was poisonous? Did I let you keep fucking me, knowing that you were biting me and ingesting poison? Hm, whoops~! Silly me 😜

🪶

EXACTLY

THERE'S A CERTAIN TONE TO IT

glory glory what a hell of a way to die /ref