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define: adjourn

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ad•journ (əˈdʒɜrn)

v.t.

 

1. to suspend the meeting of (a legislature, court, committee, etc.) to a future time, another place, or indefinitely.

 

**********

“Your honour, my client has indicated that he would like to speak with me in private.”

“Very well. Court suspended for thirty minutes.”

**********

Magnus stepped into the antechamber, pressing his palm surreptitiously to Megatron’s lower back to hurry him along. The warlord turned to him, smirking, and leaned against the wall.

“I don’t recall asking to speak with you in private. I could have told you what I want to say without a thirty minute break.”

“Your suggestion that we could ’provide the court with something more entertaining than Starscream’ was inappropriate,” said Magnus stiffly, turning away to pour a glass of light energon and sipping it. The stress of the trial was beginning to wear on him, and his hands shook very slightly until he concentrated and made them stop. He was acutely aware that Megatron could tell he was having difficulties.

“Do you mean to say that it was merely the public nature of the proposal that you objected to? Because if that is the case-”

Magnus jumped and turned around sharply as a pair of hands rested on his waist. Megatron grinned at him, his face a lot closer than Magnus was comfortable with.

“-I have no problems with doing it here,” he continued blithely, apparently having gone totally off the deep end in the minute and a half since they’d left the courtroom. Or, at least, he’d swum deeper - having flirted with Magnus wildly since he’d agreed to be Megatron’s advocate in court, he’d now apparently moved on to blatant tactile advances. Magnus swallowed a sip of energon and put the cube down.

He had two options. Say yes, or say no. No would be the obvious choice. The lawful choice. The right choice. The choice that ended in not fragging his current charge, the incredibly handsome former Decepticon leader.

“We have twenty minutes,” he said instead, and felt the surge of surprise and anticipation from Megatron’s field. “Expected me to say no? You’ll find that I’m not as you remember me.”

“Oh, I hope not…”

The next minute was a whirlwind of frantically checking the door to the room was locked, reminding himself that yes, the room was soundproofed and there was no security camera, so when he turned back around to see Megatron lying on the (thankfully very sturdy) stable, panel open, fingers… busy. Well. That solved the question of who was going to take the lead.

He stepped between the spread thighs, hands reaching uncertainly to rest on the dip of Megatron’s waist.

“You could put those to better use, you know. It’s not exactly comfortable, doing this with cuffs on. Can’t get the right angle.”

“I’m sure you’re managing fine.”

Nevertheless, he traced a finger round the edge of Megatron’s valve, dipping in between the warlord’s fingers, feeling lubricant drip down onto his palm. Clearly Megatron had been revved up for some time. He pulled the bound hands away and pressed them above Megatron’s head, an unspoken admonishment telling him to keep them there. Two fingers pressed inside, then three, without resistance. There would be no need to hold back.

“Did Starscream’s little display twist your wires?” he murmured, and got a snarl in return.

“If you’re going to say things like that as foreplay, then just shut up and frag me. I don’t want conversation. I want- ah, yes, that-

Magnus braced against the table, pulling back from where the heavy thrust had buried him deep. Beneath him Megatron arched, cuffed hands grabbing at Magnus’ chest to pull him down for a kiss, biting and pulling - Magnus had the sudden thought of going back out into the courtroom, surrounded by people, with a cut on his lip, the murmuring of the crowd as they saw- he sent a blat of static over the comm and Megatron stopped, biting turning into sucking instead.

“Hands over your head,” he reminded him, and got a twist of hips and a tightening of the valve around him that made him groan instead. The cuffs didn’t stop Megatron from dipping fingertips into crevices of armour, pulling at any exposed cabling, stroking over Magnus’ throat. The image of hands closing over his throat tugged at Magnus, but instead of inspiring horror, his field surged and his thrusts roughened. Megatron’s hands fell to his own spike, fumbling now.

“Eight minutes,” gasped Magnus, and buried his face against Megatron’s shoulder. The table shuddered beneath them both, and the air was thick with the scent of lubricant and the sounds of metal clanging. Magnus’ back arched as he reached his peak and he knocked his partner’s hands away from his spike, taking it in one fist and jerking it roughly. Megatron hissed and writhed, and after a few strokes, overloaded with a cry, forcing Magnus to catch it in his hand as best he could. The less there was to clean up, the better.

Speaking of cleaning up transfluid.. Magnus bit down on the armour beneath him, back bowing, hips losing rythym. Megatron clawed at him awkwardly, pulling, leaving tiny scratches.

“Don’t-” hissed Magnus, “they’ll see, they’ll know!

“You’d love that,” laughed Megatron, “Prowl would be scandalised. Prime would be jealous of both of us. Next time we should invite them both.”

That was that. Magnus overloaded, feeling the armour beneath his teeth dent as he released his load into Megatron’s valve.

“Four minutes,” the warlord said, still amused. Magnus stood and pulled out sharply, making Megatron hide a wince. He dropped a cloth on his chest and snapped his own panel shut. Three minutes of frantic polishing later, they stood and checked each other’s paint. Satisfied of no obvious transfers, Magnus turned to unlock the door.

“Oh, by the way…”

Oh, no. Please no, thought Magnus defeatedly.

“…I’m changing my plea. Not guilty. And I want to make a statement. Thought you should know.”

“…I hope you get the death sentence.”

**********

“Ultra Magnus? You’ve had your thirty minutes. Is there anything you wish to say?”

I just fragged the prisoner. It was great. Arrest me.

“…Well?”

Ultra Magnus speaks.