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Things had changed, he wasn’t a fool; he had noticed it. Maybe it was the way the Prime’s optics lingered after a meeting, or how his engine tended to purr when they were alone- all of which the Protector could ignore. But then there were the small gestures– constantly present throughout all of their interactions.
The soft tap of the energon cube, low grade with a tin twist and silver shards, stood there on his desk, the energon swaying hypnotically before him.
“Thank you.” He spoke, intake dry, he reached for the cube.
Blue digits pulled it back.
The growl escaped him — it was too late for games. He had reports to fill out, review training regiments, inspect the outer defenses. Primus, he had to watch the War Games soon so hopefully the whole military force would pass inspection.
Who knew being a Protector had so much extra leg work?
“Prime.” He hissed, optics trailing up the blue servo, then to the red shoulder.
“Protector.” There it was. The helm tilt, his antennas flicked out then leaned to the side.
“What is this?”
Prime hummed, lifting the energon up to the light, swirling it above them. “Energon — the way you like it. Silver flakes, low grade boiled a few extra clicks with the tin added in, and… honey.” He perked up, doing that small smug smile.
“Can I have it?”
“Depends. If I give it to you, are you going to go to berth?”
“We both know the answer to that.”
The smile flipped to a pout.
“Then nope. All mine, mmm, mmm! I love overly sweet energon this late in the evening,” He licked his lips and sipped the energon, his nose crinkled. “Way too sweet — Lord Protector likes his honey I guess.”
Megatron rolled his optics — there was no time for his Prime’s pesky games. Besides, honey always made him… sleepy. That's what he was going to describe it. Sleepy. Sure, his panels would feel a bit wet and his spark seemed to buzz, but that was it. Nothing else.
And honey was a good sweetener!
So he returned to his reports, flicking through them.
“Really!” Prime grumbled, tossing his servo up. “Really? Just like that, you're going back to work?”
“It’s part of my job title — you keep the peace inside Cybertron, I keep the peace outside of Cybertron. You manage several meetings with city mechs, improve infrastructure and education, smile here and there, wave, and make some jokes for mechs in their adult upgrades. I make sure that Cybertron stays safe, that our forces are strong and assist our allies against the Quintesson threat. You do your job, I do mine.”
He really could go for one of those cubes right now, though. And, admittedly, his Prime made a nice blend — always using the right honey too, the kind with the little kick. It made his processor fuzzy and his frame itch.
Those pretty blue optics met his, that was the other thing about Prime — no sense of personal space — then again he did tell some great jokes when they were leaned close. “Please?”
“Not until my work is done.”
“I’ll make you another cube; fresh, hot, toasty.”
“Prime.”
“Protector?”
They glared at one another, tension thick in the air, an immovable object meeting an unstoppable force. That was something he respected about his Prime. He didn’t give up, but he didn’t try the same thing over and over again. He learned, adapted and did something new — sure it wouldn’t always work, but he’d get his results and then try again the next orn.
So he tried something new. Holding the cube up, swirling the half empty cube in front of him, “Come on, you know you want a new cube, I’ll share mine, make you a brand new one? Hmm? Some energon sounds like a good trade for your rest? Good deal huh?”
The chair creaked as Megatron leaned back, folded his arms over his chassis, Prime’s optics weren’t lost on him. Oh no, he watched those supernova blue optics trail up, and up his chassis. Looking at him like some sort of deranged cyberbeast — they always lingered on his chassis a bit longer than everything else. Megatron snorted. “I have too much to get done—”
“UGH!” The cube snapped on the desk and Prime threw both of his servos up into the air, “What do you want me to do? Beg? Steal all your data pads? Learn how to have a resting bitch face so you can finally recharge? Protector, it’s late into the night and you haven’t taken a single break! You’re toiling away and I’m worried that you’re not going to get the proper rest that you deserve!”
That’s a fun way to admit you’ve got a crush.
“I worked in the mines—”
“Nope— You know what?” He clapped his servos together, snagged the cube and chugged it down. “MMM-MMM!” Prime, The Prime , the one who was sent to improve trade, and build relationships with other cultures. The single mech who had full control over Cybertron, then, in a very mature way, leaned in, intake full of energon and swallowed it all, not breaking optic contact with Megatron. “ DE-licious. ” He licked his lips.
“Glad you like it.”
“Oh you fragger.” Prime’s engine rumbled and he stood tall. “ Fine! Fine, you win, you totally win this round, but one day I’m going to get you into your berth and I’ll keep you there until you’re fully relaxed and your frame gets rest. Then the very next day you’ll say ‘ Wow thanks Prime for forcing me to recharge at a reasonable time instead of keeping myself wide awake like a crazy mech!’ ” He hissed before he spun on his pedes and stomped out of the Protector’s office.
The door shut.
Megatron laughed, shook his helm. “He’s so bad at hiding his crush.”
With that he returned to his work, tsk-ing. That energon did sound really good right now.
One by one the reports were read.
One by one files were approved or returned.
One by one his pile slowly shrunk.
His optics became blurry and he reset them, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This was getting tiresome, it would be nice to recharge in late next orn. But that was a dream. The War Games were starting, and he needed to supervise — he had promised that the war games would have no accidents under his watch . That was a promise he made when he first took the mantle of Protector.
The door opened again.
He groaned.
This time it wasn’t a soft tap like the cube — instead it was more of a thud . There it was, a kettle, the largest kettle he ever seen, it was boiling, steam billowed out of it. There was a softer thud, this time it was a large jar of honey. The kind he loved.
Prime grinned. “You’re going to berth so help me.”
Megatron rolled his optics.
“I saw that!”
“Sureee, and my alt mode is the Matrix itself . Don’t you have a meeting with that famous Nyonian racer, Hot Rod? Hot Shot? Rodimus? When is he coming tomorrow — early in the morning?” He raised an optic ridge.
“I’ll send Thunderclash to show him around, he’ll himbo his way around Hot Rod just enough to win Hot Rod over, or at least stall him.”
Did Prime not know that Thunderclash was kinda… friendly, a bit too friendly?
Megatron sighed, then leaned back into his work — listening to the soothing sounds of his Prime slapping the honey out of the jar, and failing poorly. Then grumbling and cursing under his breath, slapping some more before placing the cap back on then shaking it really hard, taking the cap off — only to snarl as the honey crawled at a glacial pace.
“You know, too much honey isn’t a good thing.” Megatron didn’t even look up from his datapads, the blueprints for the mock battlefield, Starscream’s Seekers were going to have a tough time this solar cycle. Then again he was a WingLord and loved to impress his bonded Skyfire and their bits at every turn.
“You love this stuff.”
“I do, but—” He glanced up, just as the jar was emptied, “How much honey was that?”
Prime paused.
“Ummm….. A jar?”
“Prime… That’s way too much honey.” He swallowed, intake watering. It would be a very bad idea to drink that. A normal amount would only put a strain on his engine, his spark would flare, but that amount?
“So what, it’s just extra sweet, I'm sure if I stir it in, you won’t be affected.” Prime waved him off.
Welp, now it was his time to step in. Megatron set the datapad aside, and got to his pedes, his helm spun a bit — he’d sat too long. “Give me the kettle.”
“Nope, my treat.” Prime picked it up and turned away from him.
Megatron followed, reaching out. “I’m not drinking that.”
“It’s not that bad.” He glanced over, then gasped because Megatron was shockingly a lot faster than he expected. “Eep!”
“Prime, hand it over.” Megatron really just wanted to get back to work, now he was chasing the Prime around his office like a carrier tracking down a sparkling.
“Nope!” He hissed and got behind Megatron’s chair, holding the kettle high, still stirring. “Just some extra tin, I promise it’ll taste good.” The desk between the two of them.
He leaned to the right, Prime learned to the left, Megatron leaned to the left, Prime ran to the right. Megatron chased him. The colorful bot squealed and scurried around the desk, somehow not spilling a drop of the boiling energon, which was impressive. Megatron’s engine rumbled at the chase, it was simple, stupid really, but fun, it woke him up.
“No! No no no, you’re not catching me!” He ran around the desk yet again.
Annoyed, Megatron stopped, Prime stopped, his face bright, a slight blush under those optics, there was the desk, then the wall behind his Prime. Too easy. Megatron rested his servos on the desk, taking a deep vent.
“My lord?” Prime leaned over the desk, resting the kettle on it. “Are you okay—”
The desk screamed as it was shoved, he moved fast, pushing the desk forward, it collided with Prime’s thighs, pinning him against the wall. With that the game was over, he won, clearly, Megatron snarled and he towered over Prime, cupping his chin, glaring down at him.
“I win.”
Prime’s engine rumbled, his face darkened and he swallowed, unable to take his optics off of Megatron’s. Their chassis were close, touching, he could feel the vibration, feel it deep within his frame, his intake was dry. Yet he stood firm, he knew what his Prime did to his frame, knew exactly what was going to happen next.
Megatron won, plain and simple.
Honey did a lot of a mech’s frame, so why not make his Prime learn his lesson, he played a stupid game and won a stupid prize.
There it was, the slight twitch in those optics, Megatron saw it, and he leaned in, he towered over Prime, the blush was deep, not the kind that you could hide, no, the kind where you were caught red handed putting your spike in the vacuum. Prime swallowed, his servos flat against the wall, scrapping a line up, his frame shivered, and he bit his lip.
Cute.
Protector waited, he wasn’t done, if this is what his Prime wanted, then he was going to have it. Swiftly he grabbed both servos, pulling them up, above Prime’s blue helm, holding them there against the wall. Their chassis were touching now, Prime’s engine rumbled, it throbbed, ached, it was calling out to Megatron, pleading even.
So he answered.
He pressed his chassis against the Primes, feeling them scrape, his engine roared to life.
There was a whimper.
He tilted his helm, the exact same way Prime did, softening his optics, he released Prime’s chin, but lifted him up, off the ground, free from the desk, setting him down. There was a shiver that ran through Prime’s whole frame, the blush was there, making his handsome face change colors. He freed the much smaller wrists and Prime finally looked away, rubbing them.
Megatron pulled his desk back, placing it right were it was, the kettle still produced steam.
“You know, don’t you?”
“It wasn’t that hard to tell, when you’re trained to watch for details and read mechs before the charge you or try to kill your Prime, you have to take in everything.”
“What gave it away?”
He vented, resting his servos on the desk, tapping his digits. “I’ve had my fair share of admirers, foolish ones, some tried to serenade me, others wrote love notes, some changed colors daily. I’m not sure why mechs seem to take a liking towards me.” He inspected the kettle, turning it down, and letting the energon rest, it was too hot to drink now. “You were… a bit harder to read at first, your optics lingered, I’m sure you’ve never seen a miner, turned gladiator to medic, and now protector. I thought you were trying to be friendly, build a relationship, you learned about me, the same way I learned about you, you found things I liked, mostly treats, you tried to help me with my work, and always keep an optic on me. Which it should be the other way around.”
“Oh, so…” He fidgeted behind Megatron, tapping his digits on his arm.
“Honey, do you know what that does to a mech’s frame?”
“N-no, not really.”
This was going to be a fun night, sure a little riled up Prime wouldn’t be too hard to handle, maybe a bit more touchy, but he could handle a Quintession Dungeness class cruiser, with a skeleton crew. He could handle a needy Prime.
The kettle still pilled and the smell made his intake water, Megatron ex-vented, this was it, he might’ve won a round, but Prime had won the game. Checkmate. He stacked his pile of reports, folding them neatly into his desk, grabbed the kettle and ignored the sweet scent. “Come on Prime,”
“What?”
Megatron finally turned to him, his free servo reached out. “You’re the one who needs to rest.”
His servo was much smaller compared to Megatron’s, it was half of his size, it was blue, polished, waxed, even buffed, shined brighter than any Carbide lamp. It rested inside of Megatron’s servo, comfortably, snug. “Let’s get you to your hab.”
Whoever invented elevator music should be banished from history.
Not just cleaned, no, far from it, like chucked helm first into a blackhole.
That’s all he could think about, well one of the things he was thinking about while they were trapped in the elevator. Which normal elevator rides lasted a moment or two, which was hardly a blink in a Cybertroinian’s life, they could live watching a whole alien world develop, fall and a new one restart. So an elevator ride wouldn’t seem to drag on.
BUT IT DID!
For some reason every single second felt like a whole month, every vent was a cycle, when he blinked a whole age would pass. Why was it taking so long?! He wanted nothing more than to return to his hab, curl up with some cheesy movie and okay admittedly self service.
What was going on with his frame? It was burning, he was burning, his spark felt wobbly, it was sensitive and throbbed in his chassis, his engine was purring and worst of all, his panels might be melting off. Not the best considering his crush is right there.
Optimus stared at their blurry reflections, he was so small, so colorful next to the Protector, if the mech really wanted to he could easily lift Optimus up with a single servo, which he did. That was hot, it was hot being pinned against that desk, their chassis rubbing, those burning optics glaring down at him, servos pinned above his helm.
He swallowed, gasping as hot ex-vents curled out of his intake.
He failed to get Protector ro rest, failed to help up, and it was shockingly hard to get him to drink the energon. Optimus set out with a simple mission, get Protector in his hab, recharging, the mech overworked and refused to ask for any help which was admirable, to a point. That point was recharging in your desk and complaining about your sore struts and a helmache the next day.
It started out with a cube, the same cube he always made for his Protector, that was his poly to get his Protector out of his office.
Failed that.
He gasped as the elevator jerked, his array was tight, swollen against his panels, his spike ached.
“Prime?”
“I’m okay, just tired.” He bit his lip, this wasn’t good.
The reflection of the massive mech next to him leaned in, his arm reached out and he pulled Optimus close, it was soft, comforting. With that he relinquished his pride, using the big mech as a wall, something to lean on, it felt good.
This was getting bad, there was the scent, it was deep with a faint tang, like gun oil, his frame was firm, big but warm, very warm. There was always a new scratch, a dent, which most mechs would find far from appealing, but in the right light there was a shimmer. No photos could really catch it, always making him the big scary mech in the background, but there was that iridescence. Then there was his voice, firm with a bit of rust in it, but Optimus learned he had a dorky laugh, and liked a good raunchy joke.
Yea, he had a crush.
Which was stupid.
It was a stupid cliche, one that was expected, there was a whole ‘romance’ section where Primes and Protectors became couples. He was not falling for that trope, nope, there was no reason why he would ever fall for his Protector.
Finally the elevator slowed, doors opened with a faint ping, his spark sank. Why couldn’t the doors take a bit longer? Or just another floor up? Just a little bit longer here, held carefully.
They opened up to nothing, a darkly lit hallway, crystal plants lined the walls, elegant chandeliers and art work decorated it. It stretched out and out, he could hardly see the very end of the hall, that was where he lived.
He wanted to groan, scream, yell, something, he failed to get Protector to rest, and now he’s pent up in the arms of his crush.
“Come on,” Protector rumbled, his chassis purred, this time his servo lowered onto Optimus’ back struts and they pressed forward. Together they strolled through the darkness to the hab, where it opened with a ping.
The whole time he rested his helm on his Protector’s shoulder, dozing quietly, hating that at any moment he would be alone. It was nice, content being here, almost content, besides his panels were burning, but he would handle that later.
They stepped into his hab, it was dimly lit, that was a timer, it would stay that way most of the time unless he had guests over or needed the lighting to read, but besides that it was always dim. At least the seeker proof glass would bring in enough lighting during the day time. To him the hab was empty, there wasn’t much, anything important was set aside, he lived there for a while but never made it his own.
He was a newer Prime.
Sentinel lived here before.
The tacky decorations were sold or taken away, donated mostly just to get rid of them.
“Hmmm, I thought by now you’d have something up… at least there’s no pornography on the walls.”
Optimus’ frame was rigid, his optics widened and he swallowed anything in his intake. “What?”
“Sentinel had a lot of porn, you didn’t notice?”
His face burning, far hotter than his aray. “I donated everything… to the public.”
“Oh, so that’s why there was a whole PR nightmare when you first came here, you donated millions of credits worth of Pornogaphy to the local thrift store!” Megatron slapped his helm, a smirk on his face, his deep laugh bubbling up as his wide chassis bounced. “I was so confused, I thought that you were here for 5 minutes and already had a whole scandal on your public record. But you threw out porn-pfft HAHAHA!” He lost it, optics watering, he stumbled and stilled holding Optimus tight, claws sinking in on his hip.
Okay that was pretty funny.
His spark burned and he stared at his Protector, aching, needing. “I guess I didn’t look too much at them?” He shrugged.
The hab grew quiet and he felt itchy, a heavy question pressed on his processor, it had always been there, nagging poking prodding him. The moment the matrix accepted his spark, he stepped into the Prime title, and the exactly 5 seconds he spent staring at Sentinel he needed to know.
Optimus turned away, his antennas flicked back. “Did he ever-”
“No,” Protector was firm, his servo tightened on Optimus’ back. “He tried once, it was horrible, he learned his lesson.”
“What did you do?”
He rumbled, pulling Optimus close, cupping his chin with his digits. “I tore him to ribbons,” he grinned, fangs peeking out and dipping into his lip, those burning optics staring right into Optimus’ spark. “I knew he couldn’t handle it, all bark, no bite, then again he always wanted to look better. So tell me Prime, you’re more of a proactive leader, always using your actions to speak louder than your words, are you a barker or a biter?” His red optics narrowed.
Optimus felt his spark climb up his helm and his processor turned to mush. “Want to find out?”
The deep chuckle filled the hab, and those claws left his chin. “Kneel then.”
Kneel?! Kneel? As in the position in which the body is supported by knees and showing submission? Holy frag! Are we going to? Am I going to get his valve, spike? Both?
The floor was cold, his frame was burning and his panel was tight.
He couldn’t help himself, not with that gasp, the red optics burning like coals in the darkness, he was gentle, something that he learned his Protector liked. With delicate digits he slipped them between waist and hip panels, there was a bite, a small charge that bounced off of the Protector. The bridge of his nose rested against the burning panels, he could feel the throb, the deep ache under the thin sheet of metal. It made his intake water.
Stupid honey.
His optics trailed up, and up, over his Protector’s frame, over the red waist plates, his vents, his massive chassis, the chassis that loomed over him, where he stared when no one was looking, that chassis that held so many secrets. The elegant engraving was like a bow, a bow he wanted to tear open, where he wanted to stare right at his Protector’s bare spark, and beg.
The red optics stared down at him, half closed, he showed no emotion.
“Please.” It was desperate, a plea, a whimper.
His Protector, his strong, scary, wonderful Protector tilted his helm, his engine rumbled, it was deep, it shook Optimus’ frame. “Is that all you got?”
Pride was chucked out the window and was currently spiraling through the complex buildings of Iacon and awaited its death at the mercy of the streets below.
He rested his helm to the side, ex-venting his fumes, his fans clicked on. “My Protector,” He licked his lips, still tasting his Lord. “I need you, I want to taste more of you, your spike, your valve, let me taste you.”
There was a faint cloud that escaped the Protector’s nose, his optics narrowed. “One condition.” He learned down, his claws scraped Optimus’ neck cables, up and up cupping his chin. “Make that two, now that I think about it. I overload first, no matter what.”
That was a yes!
This was happening?!
There was a burning, a deep ache inside of him that roused, it lazily blinked it’s optics and perked up, waiting inside of him claws drawn, tanks empty, and a deep purpose that Optimus can not ignore anymore. “Yes, my Protector?” His voice was dry, thirsty.
His Protector laughed, his intake curled up. “You call me Megatron, is that understood, Optimus?”
Megatron?
His spinal struts wavered and he gripped those hips, his antennas flicked. “Acknowledged… Megatron.”
Megatron chuckled, it was that deep, rich smoky chuckle, the one that Optimus carved like a drug, the one he wanted to hear every single day. “I’m sure you get this a lot, but you’re quite a cutie, but we’ll have to work on your begging.”
He stared up at those coals, that thing inside of him rustled, it’s plates flexed outwards, a growl climbing up its throat.
Then there was the distinct click, the click that he only heard when he was alone, when his processor was overtaxed with the depictions, the lewd thoughts, all of the revolving around his Protector. His array was tight. His spike throbbed, valve dribble.
There was a warmth, a scent, and his intake watered, Optimus painfully pulled his optics away from his lord.
The valve was brilliant, it fit his Protector. There was a burning note, it glowed like a light in the darkness, then there was a bombshell, the node glowed, but the luminosity reflected, not once but twice. For a moment he thought that his Lord had three nodes, no that wasn’t right, that was a piercing. A piercing that hugged his node, pinching it.
The lust inside of his tanks bared his fangs.
The valve lips were plush, swollen, condensation lingered on them, and a line of valve fluid dripped out.
His spark was in his throat. “Megatron,” His digits dipped down, applying pressure to sensitive areas. “Oh frag, please, I want to, I need to-”
“You have your orders.” he rested his claws on Optimus’ helm, dragging them through his polished paint job. Scraping long lines of blue off. “Follow them.”
With that he was pushed towards the hot valve.
Optimus would've welcomed it, opening his intake and easily swallowing the array. His tongue dared out and lapped his Protector’s node. Tasting the build up of lubricants and the metallic linger of the piercing. He welcomed it, needed it, restlessly circling, lapping, dragging his tongue over the node, feeling the heat burning off of it. He explored this, tracking his tongue between the lips and spreading them, ex-venting boiling air out.
This was happening?
It really was happening!
The engine above him snapped. “You have orders, don’t you?”
Yes, that’s right, orders!
With that Optimus did what he did best, whatever the frag his Protector wanted, and eating out valve. He pulled himself off, gasping, only to lick his lips and dive back in, pressing kisses along the lips. Dipping his tongue between the lips, gracing nodes but only for a moment. He rubbed his thumbs between Megatron’s plates, trialing a line of kisses down the lips.
“Cute, but not exactly your orders.” Megatron sighed.
He grinned. Taking his tongue out and splitting the lips once again, and sinking his face back into the hot valve. Nose brushing the node before he curled his upper lip over his denta and sunk down on the node.
His Protector wanted an overload.
Optimus wouldn’t fail him.
His tongue circled the node, taking the piercing and pulling it up and down, pinning the node between the hard balls. Like knocking on a door.
Megatron gasped, his optics fluttered, and Optimus stared up at his Protector.
He lapped, taking his whole flat tongue, rolling it over and over the node, not once did he look away from his Lord’s face. He wanted to watch.
Optimus wouldn’t fail again.
His Lord will whimper.
HIs Protector will scream.
His Megatron will get that overload.
And he will not fail.
He then sucked on the node, swirling his tongue around Megatron’s node.
Dam this felt good, very good, when was the last time someone ate him out like this?
Years ago, well before he became Protector, when he was a gladiator? It was a bit blurry, hard to exactly recall when he has his array treated as if it was made out of a divine energon candy. Then again it was getting pretty hard to think. Megatron ex-vented softly in the dark hab, his claws trailed down Optimus’ helm, sapphire optics stared up at him, a faint blush lingered under them.
There was suction and he felt his spark leap in his chassis, it was deep, wet and his nodes burned. That tongue darted out again, finding his piercing and toying with it, lifting it up and down, circling around it. Each movement sent shivers up his struts and made his processor lag.
The Prime’s engine purred and he dipped his digits between Megatron’s thighs, rubbing cabling, pinching plates.
He swayed and firmly grasped Optimus’ helm, bucking towards those lips. Hot lines of valve lubricant dripped down his array and that tongue eagerly darted out, licking them up. He fought the urge to sit on the smaller mech, knowing full well that wouldn’t be a fun conversation with Ratchet.
His Prime was getting determined, bold even, sinking his tongue deep into Megatron’s valve, searching for the first caliber, where the most sensitive node cluster lay. Each stroke, lick and suck was edging closer and closer, Optimus was hungry. Megatron could feel that, feel it deep in his core, in his spark, if they kept this up he’ll overload in no time.
“Not yet.” He growled, plucking the antenna between his claws.
Optimus whined, but accepted, returning to his softer ministrations, sucking and toying with his piercing.
Maybe sitting on his Prime wasn’t a bad idea?
It was wet and hot, feeling the ex-vents on his array plating, each symbol Optimus carved into his node, those optics staring up at him.
For once there was no shame, no dart away, no jokes. The Prime was staring at him, and admiring him as if he was made of glass.
Maybe he knew that this was a losing war, Optimus always brought him energon tea, always treated him, and best of all, he seemed to always care. Optimus wasn’t like Sentinel, far from it. Megatron was losing.
He moaned, his struts weakening, it took every ounce of him to not push Optimus over, pin his digits above his helm and ride him. Which again, Optimus’ neck could not support a Flying Wing, especially with his railgun, his poor cute Prime wouldn’t survive. So he would settle, for now, he’d accept his participation trophy instead of possibly killing Optimus with his thighs.
Yet those optics never left him, studied him, wide, twitching every now and then, his tongue was relentless, lapping his node, pulling the piercing up and pushing it down, pinching his node over and over again. Optimus’ engine was rumbling, he tapped his digits on Megatron’s thighs, rubbing small circles on his inner panels.
“Damn you Optimus.” Megatron gasped, hot clouds of air escaped him and Megatron snarled, his valve was wet, dripping even, he swallowed and cleared his throat. Then with both servos he rested them on Optimus’ blue helm, pinning his Prime there. Then he rocked, slowly, but firm, using the Prime as nothing more than a toy.
Optimus’ antennas wiggled with glee, a smirk on his intake.
“Just,” He vented, optics fuzzing. “Be a good grinder, and make me overload.” He growled, humping his Prime’s face. Megatron pushed his helm in closed, humping his valve against Optimus’ tongue, feeling denta graze his valve lips. His spark flared and Megatron moaned, claws scraping blue paint. “Frag.”
He was enjoying this.
Every lap, every single lick, and suck, all of it sent shivers up his struts and Megatron gasped. “I think I like you, just like this-” He gasped, feeling the charge start to build. “Maybe I can train you, perhaps you’d like this, waiting on me, my walking toy… no it needs a ring to it, don’t you think?” He asked as the mech’s engine only rumbled, not once did those burning blue optics leave his. “A good name, a fitting name, mmm” He hummed, swallowing whatever was left in his intake.
His node was burning now, the piercing was tugging on sensitive mesh, it wouldn’t be long now, maybe he was tired of waiting. The protector, the single mech who was chosen by the population to protect them, the one who battled Quintessions, and Klingons, was enjoying the intake of his Prime.
This was a dangerous position to be in.
”Good,” He moaned, grabbing one of Optimus’ sparkly antennas and pulling it back, then forward. The prime rumbled and his optics narrowed. “I’d ask you a bit more about your… intentions, but currently your intake is a bit occupied. What were you expecting little Prime?” He hummed twirling the antenna around and around. “I’m sure you know that neither of us can have any blockers, transfluid reveres or gestation chamber wise, but.”
Optimus wheezed as his antenna was yanked forward, his optics doubled, there was a stall in his engine.
”What did you want? My spike? My valve? Primus there’s no way you can carry my spawn, so you would have to prove that you’re ’the little semi that could’.”
Optimus whined, his optics softening, his tongue pressed flat against the piercing and dragged it up and up, simply acting under his outer node. There was a challenge in those optics, a dare, it was a chess piece, bishop to knight.
Well played Prime.
He chuckled hiding the moan as best he could. “IS that what you want? Pretty funny that more then half of Cybertron wants. I wonder how many have placed under the table bets? I’m sure everyone thinks you’d carry the next Prime, pfft-“ He gasped back a moan, spark wavering.
Digits slipped between his plates again, pinching his sensitive wiring and protoform, rubbing messaging burning nodes. He was unrelenting, determined, he already had Megatron pinned earlier, he played his game well. Even if it was a loosing war for the Protector, he would at least enjoy toying with his Prime, just a little bit longer.
He laughed, it was hardly deep and filled the empty hab suite, flashing his fangs and licking his lips. “I suppose that is your end goal, your pride, then I’ll have to make you work.”
His node throbbed as once again Optimus swirled the piercing around again and again, almost lazy, but it was a teasing, a push here ad tug there. He sucked hard and plundered his tongue as far as he could. Every movement was another step forward, like a cheap net that was unwinding.
Maybe he wanted to loose?
”That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Optimus growled his optics narrowed.
The overload didn’t sneak up on him, no like a well trained gladiator he saw it coming, knew it was waiting for him. Even if he tightened his struts, sucked in cool air, it still would barrel into him like an Iron bear. His hips shivered and he shut his optics tight, letting his Prime get the reward, the soft moan and his optics rolling back.
And for a single moment he couldn’t think, the world might not be under his pads, but frag what was between his thighs was far more important.
Warm servos cupped his aft and steadied him, the wet heat from his node lingered but didn’t engulfed him.
“Megatron?” Such a soft voice, bloated with concern.
He didn’t dare meet Optimus’ optics, instead he favored staring up at the ceiling, allowing himself a moment to vent, to mentally puzzle together what just happened. “Alright,” His horse voice puttered out, his claws scraped down the blue helm, down to his chin, and neck, and resting on his collar piece.
It was a firm tug, not a mean one, no he wouldn’t hurt his Prime. Optimus stood up, his intake was dripping still, red and gun metal paint transferred graffitied his handsome face. “Protector?” he leaned in, resting his servos on Megatron’s bulky shoulder.
“I hope you didn’t change too much of the lay out,” with that he spun on his heel, claws latched onto Optimus’ collar, twisting it slightly, it would bruise a little, swell, maybe scar? Worth it. He stalked forward through the suite down the hall passing, making a mental note to take Optimus shopping, something dorky? Optimus was dorky.
The berth room opened up with a swish and with a huff and a well trained flick, he flung Optimus over his shoulder onto the massive berth. His red and blue frame had the air knocked out of him as he landed, optics wide.
”what was that for?” He spun over, trying to frown, Optimus didn’t have a good frown.
“I’ll list the reasons, you distracted me from my work, you drank my tea, then you made more tea and wasted a whole jar on honey, then you got all touchy and needy in the elevator and I know you were oogling me like a hot rod. There was that stupid teasing you did in the office, you haven’t had a chance to do anything in your hab for how long? If you wanted to frag a bit into me you should at least try more then the college mecha experience, at least your berth has a fragging stand!”
”But!” He threw his servos up. “I just spend 45 minutes eating your valve out like a mech in a rut, don’t I get some-“
Megatron towered over the Prime, he glared down, shutting Optimus’ handsome face up, wit ha snarl he pushed out burning hot ex-vents, miniature clouds of steam hit Optimus’ frame anf fogged his optics up. Once again his claws sunk into the soft collar, it would surly dent and swell tomorrow, he yoinked Optimus up, pressing their intake together, it was violent, deep, his fangs punctured plush lips, energon welled up.
Optimus whimpered, his hips bucked and Megatron shoved his high down with one servo.
Their intakes parted and hot clouds of ex-vents faded away.
“wear you mask all day tomorrow, unless you want mechs to suspect something is going on.” He flopped onto the berth, ignoring the sticky remains between his thighs, tugging a soft pillow to his helm.
”Oh um-“
He flipped over, back struts on the berth, even now no one would caught him unprepared for a battle. Megatron lifted an optic ridge and his arm up.
Optimus reset his optics, intake making a O shape before doing that soft smile that warmed Megatron’s spark. With that he curled up against Megatron’s chassis, their frames intertwined and softened as the tension bleed from them. It was welcoming, the heat of another.
This truly was a dangerous position to be in.