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Triple Tier

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It was love, or something like it.

At least that was what you’d been told, a visibly distraught and highly uncomfortable Bulkhead tripping over an endless stream of awkward apologies that stuttered out halfway through and morphed into an endless stream of increasingly confused babbling - They’re not usually like this, he gesticulated, waving his arms wildly over his head and looking desperately over at a very still and very stone faced Prowl for some kind (any kind) of moral support that was unfortunately just not forthcoming, and all the poor Autobot could do was whine terribly. They’re really good bots actually, I promise - !!

They’re positively smitten by you, your not-so-little problem(s), practically adore the very ground you walk upon and all but exalt the very air you breath - And perhaps it’s a biological phenomena (you aren’t quite the first person they’ve ever been obsessed with, but unlike certain spiders your aren’t about to twist and manipulation these poor, heart-struck mechs into doing anything uncouth for you anytime soon), or perhaps they’re just lonely and hurting and desperate to connect with someone who hadn’t spent the majority of their existence as a non-sentient attraction aimed towards small, awful children - But whatever the reason was for their behaviour didn’t actually matter, not really, not when Grimlock reaches down and carefully brushes the back of his servo against your cheek like he’s touching glass, pressing the flat of his terrifying, razor sharp mouth against your soft pliant lips while a servo rests possessively on your hip. And maybe (just maybe) you were being a little overdramatic about the whole thing, because as …Unusual as your not-so-little predicament was, there were still far worse fates to find yourself entangled in other than being subjected to the very aggressive, very mutual romantic interests of three brooding and territorial Dinobots - One of whom was currently hovering over you from behind in a manner that should have intimidated you (and you had to admit, it still did), but by now had become so intimately familiar that you felt nothing if not safe and loved under his looming shadow.

Swoop wastes no time before pressing infinitely less dangerous but no less heated, reverent kisses against your jaw and along your pulse, his helm buried in the juncture of your neck and shoulder while he slides two fingers inside of you and sings - All while Snarl watches you with enough smoldering intensity to make you blush. The brooding triceratops cocks his head to the side when you reach up and place your hands on either side of his face, a gentle smile on your lips as you coax him even closer to you so you can press your forehead against the cool metal of his helm, and his absolute,almost religious longing for you is betrayed only by the twitching of his fingers and the gentle glow of his pressurized spike’s biolights - You’re just so small, they talk amongst themselves in tones of mixed awe and humbled disbelief, so impossibly precious and treasured and beloved, but did you really understand what you meant to them, how much you meant to them …?? A rumbling growl runs deep from Grimlock’s heavy frame, the sound low and dangerous and exciting, and it’s all the warning you get from him before he’s pushing the blunt head of his interface between your dripping, trembling legs - Swoop spreads you open for his Alpha, and the servo not currently buried two fingers deep inside of you winds around your waist to hold you still and snug against his slender, heated frame.

The way Grimlock enters you is anything but gentle, though it’s not unkind and it never demands for more than you can give, and the way he places a heavy servo over the back of your head makes you feel inexplicably cherished, fills up with a sense of security you can’t coherently justify or even properly grasp as he breaches you not unlike the massive, hulking beast that he is, hips slamming against your pelvis hard and fast and frenzied as he fucks you with an almost obsessive urgency. Each and every one of his thrusts are deep (so very, very deep) and drawn out before he pulls out and rolls his hips, pushing back into you as though he just can’t get enough of you, thrusts against you like he’s both suffocating and drowning and your body is the very air he so desperately needs. Behind you, Swoop is all but purring, the otherwise reserved pteranodon trembling and rutting heatedly against the small of your back in time with each of Grimlock’s thrusts, hard enough that you’re left gasping sharply and begging brokenly, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach and something infinitely warm and tight and almost painful coiling and coiling and coiling and - !! Snarl’s servos find their way to your chest, groping heavily at your soft, warm flesh as a spark of shame makes it’s home in your heart when you realize that you had forgotten all about the quiet triceratops, and somehow despite everything that was happening all at once it was as though the other two Dinobots could sense your distress, because even though Grimlock’s chuffs aggressively in irritation at your ridiculous sentimentality he does not hesitate to move almost imperceptibly to the side, just enough for Snarl to press closer to you and lavish your naked skin with kisses and with his glossa, pawing and groping and touching every part of your tiny, ineffective body as he possibly can.

You welcome the affection wholeheartedly and return it in kind, gently cupping Snarl’s face and murmuring soft, soothing words of encouragement against his audials as he rubs his servos over your sides, thick fingers finding purchase just above your waist and pulling you closer, closer still. You offer no sort of resistance whatsoever when the triceratops nips at your skin, electricity racing through your veins when his blunt teeth brush against your throat almost hard enough to bruise, but never (never ever) hard enough to break, and Swoop takes the opportunity to slide a servo past the gentle swell of your stomach and down between your legs to thumb purposefully at your sensitive sex in time with Grimlock’s increasingly wild and desperate thrusts, the Dinobot’s twitching spike stretching you out in a way that was painful only in the most pleasurable of ways - Your back arches beautifully against Swoop’s chest when you come, lovely little noises spilling out from between parted lips and your fingers digging into the seams of Snarl’s plating to tangle around sensitive wiring as Grimlock continues to rock in and out of you, spilling his load inside of you with an utterly beastial roar that was loud enough to make your ears ring - You feel Swoop’s spike twitch once, twitch twice against the small of your back before he comes, his transfluid spilling all over your behind and between your thighs.

You’re exhausted, utterly spent and deliciously boneless and all too incapable (and rather unwilling, to be quite honest) of defending yourself from an onslaught of a completely different sort when Grimlock pulls out of you, thickly bubbling transfluid spilling out and dripping heavily between your legs - But then the feeling of emptiness inside of you doesn’t actually last very long (not at all), not when Swoop wordlessly presses his head against your thighs, pushing his way against your body and swiping his glossa over your overstimulated sex. He lays you down on your back with such care, such open reverence and so much unguarded love shining bright in his hooded blue optics that you feel your heart skid and skip and drop down to your stomach, because god damn it you hadn’t ever done anything to deserve that kind of look, and yet - !! The beginnings of your little pity party is dutifully squashed and purposefully trampled on when the pteranodon goes in for the kill and practically gulps you down, nose pressed up firmly against your pubis while he thrusts his glossa in as far and as deep inside of you as he possibly, physically can (and farther than that still), lapping away at your arousal and humming in sweet contentment when he presses up against a particularly sensitive cluster of nerves that has you shamelessly, wantonly bucking your hips against his face. It’s somewhere through the honey-thick haze of another impending orgasm that you notice squat little Snarl yet again, watching you with optics the colour of clear blue skies turned dark by a wordless, desperate want.

And somehow, despite the sudden absence of any verbal coherency at your disposal, you manage to beckon Snarl closer, eyes heavy with content and fingers curling in a come hither motion that sends another pang of arousal down his aching spike, the triceratops wasting no time in moving obediently to your side, carefully settling down beside your head as you motion for him to lower himself down onto his knees. His spike suits him wonderfully you think, matches him perfectly and fantastically, short and robust but so much thicker than anything you’ve ever had inside of you before, thicker than anything you’ve ever even seen before. Really though, the sight alone is enough to make you drool deliriously with desire (or perhaps that was all Swoop’s doing, and oh was he doing so very, very good down there between your legs, his mouth doing wonders to soothe the lovely soreness Grimlock had left behind), and you lick at your lips and swallow thickly before tilting your head forward to press an open mouth kiss against the weeping tip of Snarl’s spike, taking in as much of him as you can into your mouth, your tongue sliding along the gentle curve of its head. The shame that bloomed in your chest earlier was replaced with pride at a job well done when he keens, a trembling servo grasping at the side of your head and tangling in your hair while the other fists desperately against the ground, hard enough that the steel flooring beneath you shudders and weeps and crumples under Snarl’s weight as he thrusts erratically into your lovely little mouth, your name escaping his vocalizers in broken bursts of static when Swoop tears another orgasm out of you, so wickedly intense and drawn out that your toes curl and your eyes roll to the back of your head. You whine and whimper around Snarl’s spike, swallowing down everything he has to give you as he comes, your breathing wet and shallow and labored when he pulls away from you just as Grimlock’s arms wrap around your body to pull you flush against him -

Softness and warmth envelopes your body when the Dinobots’ leader retreats with you into the comfort of the comically oversized bed-nest that both Bulkhead and Sari (bless that perfect, wonderful child) had somehow cobbled together for the Dinobots’ consumption the first time they set up shop in Lake Erie, the absurdity of the situation lost amidst the cacophony of noise, of creaking and screaming springs and heavy groans laced with broken growls and contented chirps that was infinitely comforting to you while your paramores curled about around you, different servos seeking out your small hands while chaste and pure and achingly gentle kisses were peppered lovingly over your forehead and cheeks and the corners of your mouth, happily chasing you off into a dark and dreamless sleep.

Love or something like it indeed.