Work Header


Chapter Text


     “Hey, mech.”

     “Go away, I’m busy,” Red Alert replied absently, optics intent on the bank of monitors in front of him. Then he startled, looking over his shoulder. “How did you get in?!”

     Jazz rubbed a thumb along his jaw, arms crossed nonchalantly over his bumper. He indolently shrugged. “Door was unlocked.”

     Red Alert’s optics widened in outrage. “No, it wasn’t!”

     “Maybe… subconsciously… you wanted me to visit, and so you unlocked the door as I was amblin’ by,” Jazz offered, pushing off from the wall he was leaning against. 

     “That is absolutely preposterous! Now get out of here and stop pestering me!” Red Alert snapped, turning back to his monitors. 

     “But I might do something naughty,” Jazz purred, practically in Red Alert’s audial. When had he gotten so close? Damn the mech for always walking around on silent pedes. “Wouldn’t you rather keep an optic on me in here where I can’t get into trouble?”

     Red Alert whipped around, retort ready on his glossa, but paused when he realized just how close the saboteur was. For being such a small frame-type, he certainly did put off a lot of heat. And it got so cold in here sometimes... Unconsciously, Red leaned forward, towards that enticing warmth. 

     Jazz’s lips curled upwards, head tilted towards the side invitingly. "You don't want me out there causin' trouble, now do you?"

     “You’ll… you’ll get us both in trouble,” Red Alert replied faintly.

     Jazz’s smile widened, visor flashing in the dim overhead light. “One can only hope.” 

Chapter Text

     “Sunny. Look…”

     Sunstreaker followed Sideswipe’s line of sight and blinked rapidly when he saw Ratchet intently staring back at them from across the room. 

     “What’s he doing?” Sunstreaker asked, puzzled.Then his frame grew hot as Ratchet smirked before meaningfully raking his gaze down Sunstreaker’s body. When the CMO met Sunstreaker’s shocked stare a moment later, one of Ratchet’s optics dimmed in a slow and deliberate wink.

     The medic raised his cube of energon, tipping it in their direction before taking a sip. Sunstreaker felt like he was in a game of chess, and Ratchet had just made his move.

Chapter Text

     “So how about it?”

     “How about what?” Sideswipe replied, glancing over at the sleek, blue, racing type who had just sidled his way between Sideswipe and the mech sitting next to him at the bar. Across the room, Sunstreaker looked over, optics assessing. 

     “How about you and me going someplace a little more quiet?” the bot asked. He looked vaguely familiar, but not familiar enough for him to lay a hand on Sideswipe’s wrist. In the back of his head, Sunstreaker snarled at the other mech’s audacity. 

     “You might not like what you find when you get there,” Sideswipe cautioned, amused at both of them. 

     “I’ll take my chances.” the racer said, expression confident. 

     Sideswipe shrugged, waving away the bartender who had finally noticed him. One vice in trade for another, and this one was far prettier than the inside of an energon cube. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chapter Text

     “You break his spark…”

     “… and we’ll break your face,” Sunstreaker finished for his twin. 

     The two frontliners seemed to loom over Inferno, despite the fact that he was in fact both bigger and stronger than them. But they were faster and far more vicious, so he bobbed his head in understanding. 

     Yet he didn’t back down. 

     “I understand. May I see him now?” Inferno asked, gesturing at the door nearly hidden by their bulk. 

     The twins exchanged a glance before they reluctantly stepped aside

     “Even Ratchet wouldn’t be able to put you back together,” Sideswipe muttered in a final warning.  

Chapter Text

     The screaming echoed through the halls, even after Tracks had been carted away to the MedBay, Ratchet’s curses drowned out by the Corvette’s spark-wrenching wails. 

     A cluster of mechs lingered in the hallway outside Tracks’ quarters, staring at the trail of pitted flooring tiles leading from the mech’s berth to the door. 

     “It looked like his armor was melting off,” Bluestreaker murmured, doorwings practically plastered to his back. 

     “Had to be an acid of some kind,” Hound replied, sounding sick to his tanks. “Who would do that? And why? The Decepticons have sunk to a new low.”

     “I can’t believe…” someone else said, vocalizer thick with static.

     At the back of the group, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe watched silently. No one thought much of it; Tracks and Sunstreaker were friendly rivals, but there wasn’t enough hatred or affection there for the twins to be either joyous or vindictive. 

     They turned as one and began walking away. And if someone thought it was odd that Sideswipe’s hand was placed comfortingly on Sunstreaker’s lower back or Sunstreaker was leaning into Sideswipe, well… while Sideswipe had been away, Sunstreaker and Tracks had been spending more time together, hadn’t they? Maybe the notoriously antisocial frontliner had made a friend, after all. 

     Wasn’t that nice?

Chapter Text

     “I have several reports to finish,” Prowl protested, as the twins bodily lifted him out of his chair. They set him down on his feet and caged him in between broad chestplates. 

     “They’ll be there tomorrow,” Sideswipe said, their hands insistently pressing him forward. Prowl dug in his heels and stared longingly over his shoulder.

     “On top of the new reports. Really, you’re just making more work for me,” Prowl said, trying to reason with them. 

     The twins exchanged glances before continuing to usher him out of his office. 

     “Then we’ll make sure you’re well rested and refueled before tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

     “This feels like the beginning of a bad fanfiction,” Sideswipe quipped and then coughed violently, a small cloud of dust floating off his frame at the motion. The particles almost immediately settled back down, Sideswipe’s crimson colors more of a rust brown now. 

     “Fanfiction?” Prowl questioned, confused. 

     “Yeah. Humans write the stuff - they take movies and tv shows and books and extrapolate past the endings or change who frags who, or anything they want.”

     “… ex.. extrap…apolate… bbbig… wwword,” Sunstreaker murmured, vocalizer spitting more static than words. His optics remained offline, faceplates creased with pain. Prowl patted the frontliner on the shoulder, shushing him. 

     “You shouldn’t try and talk, Sunstreaker,” Prowl cautioned, watching as more energon bubbled up from the large tear in the side of the other mech’s neck. 

     “Yeah, Sunny, just get some rest,” Sideswipe added, glancing worriedly at his twin. The neck wound wouldn’t kill him although it certainly didn’t help his overall energon loss. No, what was more concerning was the huge rip in the frontliner’s chest cavity from which weak sparklight wavered. 

     It had taken Prowl and Sideswipe hours to remove the multitude of rocks off Sunstreaker’s frame, all the while staring at the ceiling of their impromptu cave with wary glances as the ground and walls around them continually rumbled. Things has settled down some within the past hour, and Prowl guessed the battle had either ended or moved off to another location. He hoped the others would find them soon; they all needed medical attention beyond Prowl’s field repair capabilities, although Sunstreaker was most certainly the worst. 

     Unfortunately, they were buried so far under this mountain that their communication lines wouldn’t reach out. Prowl just hoped someone had seen the twins grab him and all three of them dive into this cave to escape the unexpected bombing. If not, it shouldn’t be too difficult for someone to… hmm… extrapolate… that this was where they had gone. The cave had been very close to his position where he had been directing the battle and there should be obvious changes to the earth from the Seeker’s fire. Jazz at least should be able to connect the dots. 

     Sideswipe beseechingly looked up at Prowl, optics wide and bright with distress. Prowl had no doubt the red twin was in a great deal of pain; he had said he was fine, but the shredding of his left leg from hip to ankle was proof otherwise. The wound extended to the small of Sideswipe’s back where several main sensory clusters were located and every movement prompted a strangled gasp from the frontliner. Yet Prowl knew Sideswipe was far more concerned about his twin than himself. He kept wiping down Sunstreakr’s chest with an old cleaning rag, doing his best to keep the dust from contaminating Sunstreaker's spark chamber. 

     Prowl wanted to reassure Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but he simply couldn’t. He would not lie to them and say it would all be fine, because there was a good chance that it wouldn’t. So he reached over Sunstreaker and patted Sideswipe on the shoulder as well.

     “I still do not see how this is like a bad fanfiction,” he said instead. 

     “Well,” Sideswipe began to explain, laboriously scooting himself forward. He stretched out on the ground next to his brother with a muffled groan, hand coming to settle across Sunstreaker’s chest. “Lots of fanfictions use the ‘trapped in a cave’ plot device to get two characters together to confess their love for one another. It usually ends up with the two of them clanging.”

     Sideswipe inched upwards so that he could non-ceremoniously lay his head on Prowl’s thigh. He craned his neck upwards and met Prowl’s surprised gaze. “I think I’m gonna have to take a raincheck on the clanging. That sound ok with you?” Sideswipe asked wearily. 

     “I would prefer it actually,” Prowl said softly, placing a hand on Sideswipe’s helm between his audial horns. “I don’t see either of you that way. Does that happen in these… fanfictions?”

     “Sometimes,” Sideswipe replied, optics dimming and then offlining. He nudged Prowl’s hand and it was an instinctive reaction to start petting the frontliner’s helm. This at least, Prowl could do. How could he not with Sideswipe placing himself so trustingly beneath Prowl’s hands?

     “Love is still love,” Sideswipe continued. His voice quieted as his own hand started stroking his brother’s chest. “Don’t always need fragging.”

Chapter Text

     Sunstreaker checked his chronometer once more, confirming he’d have at least five hours before his brother came back. Plenty of time for what he had planed. He turned off all the lights in the room except for the small lamp on his desk. Then he sprawled across the couch, getting comfortable, legs spreading automatically. 

     He checked to make sure he had everything he needed before nodding once in satisfaction. Time to get this party started!

     As he reached for the remote, he started singing under his breath, “… safe in my heart and my heart will go ooonnn…” 

     Ahhh. Three and a half hours of Titantic, energon snacks, and most importantly… alone time. What was better than this?

Chapter Text

     “How’s that? Too tight?” Wheeljack asked, patting Sideswipe on the knee. 

     The red twin strained against his bonds, arms and legs held akimbo. He was able to shift his hips a few inches back and forth and could still lift his head, but that was about it. 

     “Nah, not a problem. Snug as a bug in a rug!” he replied cheerfully. 

     “When you’re done there could you scan his processor?” Sunstreaker asked, bent over his drawing pad and charcoal flying furiously across the surface. He’d already done at least three rough sketches of them during the time it took Wheeljack to bind his brother. “It will likely be one of the few times in his life he’ll hold still. I’ve been wondering about some things…”

     “Frag you, Sunbeam!” Sideswipe chirped. 

     Sunstreaker’s hand paused and he looked up, glancing over to the tray of assorted toys laid out by the bed. Sideswipe had oohed and ahhed over them for several minutes before admitting he didn’t even know what half of them were and could they get started now, please? Like, right now?

     “I rather think that’s going to be you,” Sunstreaker returned with a leer. 

     “Hush, children,” Wheeljack chided, picking up something long, silver, and slender and admiring it in the light. “Daddy’s working.”

Chapter Text

     Sunstreaker walked into the quarters he shared with his twin and heard singing.

     That was his first indication of impending disaster.

     Sideswipe had a pleasant voice… when he managed to hit the notes, which was only about 40% of the time. That was why he rarely sang and when he did, he was usually enormously proud with himself. And anytime Sideswipe was proud of himself, Sunstreaker became wary. The things that pleased Sideswipe usually boded ill for everyone else, including Sunstreaker. 

     The second clue wasn't even a clue really. More like a glaring neon sign consisting of the scattered remains of Sunstreaker’s detailing kit. Cloths, jars of paint, wax, and polish practically littered the floor of their living area and made a trail into the other room; he immediately noted that there were several key colors missing, namely red, black, and white. 

     Horrified, Sunstreaker rushed into their berthroom, dreading what he would find. 

     “Hi, there, Sunny!” Sideswipe greeted cheerfully, rising from a crouch. He plunked a brush back into the scrapped empty pot of red paint and waved. Spatters of black flew from his hands onto the wall. 

     “Wh… what… you…” Sunstreaker sputtered, gesturing wildly at Sideswipe’s dripping frame. White dripped onto red, red onto black, and black onto the floor. It was a disaster. There was no other word for it. 

     “I painted myself!” Sideswipe announced, holding his arms out to better showcase himself. “So you don’t have to tonight. I know how much time you spend doing it, so I thought I would help you out!” 

     “You… you…”

     “… are a kind and wonderful brother!” Sideswipe helpfully supplied. 

     “Gah! Get over here!” Sunstreaker leaped forward and grabbed his twin, mech-handling him straight across the room and into the washrack. 

     “But, Sunny…!” Sideswipe protested, spitting water out of his intake as Sunstreaker directed the spray of water onto Sideswipe's head. 

     “Not one word. Not one pitslagged word,” Sunstreaker warned, grabbing the cleanser and dumping some out over his brother’s shoulders. 

     He proceeded to wash the wet paint off his brother, roughly yanking him this way and that to get at every nook and cranny. Sideswipe let himself be turned and scrubbed down, his pout never leaving his face. 

     “Stay there,” Sunstreaker commanded, once the wet paint had swirled away down the drain. He angrily shut the water off and made to leave the washrack. 

     “But I just…”


     Sideswipe crossed his arms over his chest, looking very downtrodden as water dripped off him. Sunstreaker could care less. He had a limited supply of paints and Sideswipe had wasted the majority of it. Sunstreaker was tempted to leave his brother as he was, dented and nicked from the last battle. But just as he hated to look anything less than pristine, he felt even more so for this brother. Sideswipe was an idiot, with only Sunstreaker looking out for him. It reflected badly on Sunstreaker if Sideswipe looked scruffy.

     Sunstreaker headed back into the berthroom, ready to scavenge for what leftover jars he could find. He was brought up short by the large bag sitting on the very center of their bed. Not surprisingly, he had missed it earlier when faced with the disaster that was his twin. The label on the bag was one from one of his favorite supply shops. Sunstreaker didn’t remember keeping one of the bags from a former purchase; what was this? 

     He carefully opened the bag, peering inside. Then his jaw dropped in surprise as he reached inside and one by one, began pulling out containers of paint in his and Sideswipe's colors of red, yellow, black, white, and even gray. He had never owned this much paint at once!

     “The stuff I used on me was the leftover supply; I know you wanted to get rid of it since you said it was starting to go clumpy. You were going to have to wash me anyway, so I figured might as well use it up…” Sideswipe offered from behind him. 

     Sunstreaker startled and looked over his shoulder to see his twin clasping the doorway of the washrack and peering around the edge of it. He was smiling tentatively. 

     “You… you…” Sunstreaker sputtered, this time for an entirely different reason. “There’s so much!”

     Sideswipe shrugged. “Smokey made a bad bet. Bad for him, good for me. I came into a little extra cash; no better way to spend it than on you.” 

     Sunstreaker gaped at him for a moment longer before ducking his head, spark warming with a gentle glow. “You are a kind and wonderful brother.”

     “Yeah, I know,” Sideswipe said, with not a trace of modesty. “Come on, finish me up,” he instructed, holding out a welcoming hand. 

Chapter Text

     “What do you mean, you don’t know where my brother is?!”

     Sunstreaker’s voice rose over the din of the medical bay and helms either ducked to find cover or rose to see what was happening. 

     “I’m sorry, Sunstreaker,” Optimus said, optics shining with sincerity. “The Decepticons have not given notice of ransom, nor did we find any… evidence... of Sideswipe on the battlefield. We had many wounded, so we could not delay return any further for a more detailed search.”

     Optimus attempted to reach out his one functioning arm and lay his hand on Sunstreaker’s shoulder, but the frontliner shied away from it, expression set in disbelief and anger. 

     “Don’t be sorry… find him!” Sunstreaker exclaimed. “No, you know what? I can’t trust you to bring him back, so I’ll find him myself!”

     He began struggling against the cords and wires attaching him to the treatment bed, finally resorting to ripping them off, droplets of energon flying as a needle was pulled from his wrist port. 

     “Sunstreaker, please, you’ll hurt yourself further,” Optimus begged, trying without success to calm the frontliner down. 

     Sunstreaker pulled his legs, one by one, over the side of the bed, and then slid off it. He immediately crumpled to the floor with a frustrated whine as his sensory blocked lower half refused to support him. 

     “What in the Pit are you doing, Sunstreaker?!” Ratchet yelled from across the room. “Don’t you dare move. Swoop - get him back on that berth!”

     The Dinobot left off from cleaning a gash in Hound’s arm and began walking over to Sunstreaker. The frontliner was now determinedly using his arms to drag himself towards the exit, Optimus hovering helplessly nearby. 

     “No!” Sunstreaker growled as Swoop came closer. “No, I’m going to find him. Don’t touch me. Get your hands off me! No. NO!” he shrieked as Swoop got a good grip on the frontliner and hefted him into the air. The Dinobot’s expression firmed into one of resolve as Sunstreaker started wildly punching the other mech in fury. 

     Swoop didn’t say one word in protest, only made soothing little chirps as he deposited Sunstreaker back on the bed. One large hand planted itself on Sunstreaker’s chest as he immediately tried to throw himself off the edge of the bed again. 

     “What were you thinking!?” Ratchet hissed as he shoved the Prime. The medic’s hand whipped out and with unerring accuracy, shoved a syringe into Sunstreaker’s port at the side of his neck. He quickly depressed the plunger and within moments, Sunstreaker’s wild flailing began to slow and then finally stop. He looked up at the ceiling, optics hazy and chest heaving with his ventilations. 

     “Sides…” he panted. 

     “Please, Ratchet, do not be too harsh with him…” Optimus began only to back up a step as Ratchet whirled on him with furious optics. 

     “I wasn’t talking to him! I was talking to you! Standard protocol is to sedate whichever twin you're about to give bad news about the other to. Or have the entire horde of Dinobots at the ready. I could have told you this would happen,” Ratchet exclaimed, waving at Sunstreaker. “Now I’m going to have to restrain him, because that sedative will only work for so long.”

     Ratchet glared down at the golden twin with a look of frustration before transferring his gaze to the Autobot leader. “You better find his brother, and fast, or this will look like a little temper tantrum in comparison to what he’ll do next!”

Chapter Text

     “You put that down right now!”

     Prowl froze and looked up, wide-opticked, as Ratchet stormed across the medbay. 

     “Ratchet, it is merely an unfinished report I had nearly completed when…”

     “When you collapsed in the middle of the rec room and gave everyone there a spark attack?” Ratchet demanded, snatching the data pad from Prowl’s hand when he was close enough. “How did you even get that?”

     “It was in my subspace…Ratchet!” Prowl gasped in outrage as Ratchet leaned over Prowl’s medical berth and promptly proceeded to rummage through all of Prowl’s subspace pockets. 

     “That is incredibly rude!” Prowl protested as every single data pad Prowl had been carrying was extracted. Unfortunately, as weak as he was, Prowl could do no more than ineffectually bat at Ratchet’s hands as they invaded his privacy. 

     “Shut it. I’m your medic; I have access to every bit of you while you’re under my care. And these…” Ratchet brandished the handful of files, “...will not help you recover any faster!”

     “But what shall I do?” Prowl asked mournfully. “There is nothing wrong with my processor; I might as well work.”

     He was on bed rest for at least the next three weeks due to weak spark output and core temperature irregularities. Hooked up to multiple lines of coolant, energon, and other fluids, he was confined to this berth with no avenue of escape. 

     “Working is what got you into this mess,” Ratchet retorted. “If you want something to do, I’ll give you something to do. Don’t go anywhere.”

     Ratchet stomped back off across the ‘Bay to his office. While the medic’s back was turned, Prowl indulged in feeling sorry for himself. This was ridiculous. He knew he had over done things; collapse because of near spark failure was a big warning sign, even to him. But he was stable now. Or stable enough to at least finish some reports. 

     A metallic squeal alerted Prowl to Ratchet’s return. The CMO was wheeling a large medical cart towards him, piled high with… well, Prowl didn’t quite know what.  

     “I was saving the collection for when you started to get bored. I had a feeling it was coming soon. You know, since you’ve been cognizant for at least an hour,” Ratchet snarked. 

     “What is all this?” Prowl asked as Ratchet parked the cart by his bedside. 

     “Gifts from your fans. Jazz and Blaster compiled audio files of all your favorite music, as well as some new ones they’d think you like. Hound gathered up his collection of nature videos; Beachcomber brought some wave sounds and videos. The Twins brought pretty much their entire movie collection,” Ratchet said, pointing to the towering piles of data pads on the bottom, “and Sunstreaker also lent you several of his artbooks, including a few of Praxus. Trailbreaker and Mirage brought some puzzle books, and Bumblebee sent you several files of riddles. There are other things too; pretty much the entire crew sent you something,” Ratchet said, gesturing to the pile. 

     Prowl stared at the cart, speechless. He pointed at it, finger trembling. “This is… all for me?”

     “Twins started up a collection. Sideswipe said bedrest was the worst torture a bot could endure,” Ratchet explained with a wry quirk of the lips. “The crew loves you, you know. You scared quite a few of them. I dare say you’ll have a great many visitors. Once I allow them in, of course.”

     Prowl’s chest cavity warmed and tingled. 

     He chalked it up to another flare of his core temperature. 

Chapter Text

     “I’m nothing but a friend to you, aren’t I?” Smokescreen murmured sadly, tucking the blanket around Sideswipe’s shoulders. 

     The red twin snuffled in recharge and buried his face further against Smokescreen’s right sensory panel. Smokescreen didn’t have the spark to be mad. Not any longer. Not when Sideswipe was dented and scraped up and exhausted, kicked out of the Med Bay as his twin underwent an intensive surgery which would hopefully save his life. 

     Smokescreen welcomed Sideswipe to his berth more frequently than many knew. Whenever Sunstreaker was in critical condition and Ratchet wouldn’t let Sideswipe stay by his brother’s side… whenever the twins were fighting… whenever Sunstreaker painted… 

     Sideswipe and Smokescreen were the very definition of ‘friends with benefits’ just as Sunstreaker and Tracks were. But that’s all that it would ever be, for both Smokescreen and Tracks. Because as much as the twins argued, they were still twins. Meant for one another and two parts of a whole, et cetera, et cetera. There was no room for a third. 

     “At least you’re mine for the night,” Smokescreen said softly. He sighed before initializing recharge protocols. As he gave into his own tiredness, he felt Sideswipe shift against him, likely spooning closer. 

     Sideswipe’s optics onlined, and he stared into Smokescreen’s face, so close to his own. Frowning, Sideswipe reached up and lightly touched Smokescreen’s cheek. 

     “Well, that’s a problem,” Sideswipe muttered regretfully. 

Chapter Text

     “Don’t leave me,” Bluestreak whispered into the dark. 

     Fingers tentatively scraped over Bluestreak’s shoulder, and he reached up to clutch at them. 

     “Kinda not going anywhere,” Sunstreaker rasped. 

     Oh, he sounded horrible. Bluestreaker so desperately wished he could see, but his optical circuits weren’t responding, fried from being too close to that last blast. Not that it would matter one way or another. They were both pinned by boulders shaken loose in the explosion. Sunstreaker was only an arm’s length away; so close and yet so far when three quarters of your body was lying underneath half a mountain. 

     “No, physically, you can’t go anywhere, but that’s not what I meant. What I meant… you…” Bluestreak trailed off, unable to say the words. 

     “I’m not going anywhere,” Sunstreaker repeated, the fingers within Bluestreak’s grip lightly flexing against his palm. Sunstreaker didn’t like to be touched; Bluestreak probably should let him go, but the thought terrified him. “You really think I can be killed by a measly little rock?”

     “You can’t move it. It can’t be that little,” Bluestreak pointed out. 

     “Pfft. I’m just resting. Got nothing better to do. I’ll move it when I feel like it.”

     Bluestreak knew Sunstreaker was lying. He was well and truly trapped beneath the boulder, just like Bluestreak was. But it was nice to pretend otherwise. 

     “Good. That’s good. Because I don’t want you to die,” Bluestreak said in a small voice. “You’re my friend, even though you don’t like me. And Sideswipe would be miserable. And I know he likes me, but I wouldn’t be enough for him. No one would be enough for him.” 

     “I’m not going to die, Bluestreak,” Sunstreaker replied with a little hint of irritation in his voice. “And I never said I didn’t like you. You just jabber a lot, and I like it quiet.”

     “Oh. That makes sense. Considering how much Sideswipe talks. He talks a lot too, huh? Not as much as me, cuz no one talks as much as me. That’s what everyone says, at least. So then are you my friend?”

     Sunstreaker was silent for a long moment before Bluestreak heard him sigh. “Yeah, Blue. I consider you a friend.”

     Blind, unable to move more than an arm, Bluestreak’s spark still warmed within his chest, chasing away some of the terror which had previously filled it. Even now, the sound of familiar voices were approaching. It would be all right. They would be rescued, but until then, he had a friend to keep him company.

Chapter Text

     “Hey, Ratch?” Sideswipe murmured. 

     “Hmm?” Ratchet replied sleepily, gaze focused on the clear night sky. His internal systems hummed quietly beneath Sideswipe’s helm from where it rested atop Ratchet’s chest. Sunstreaker mirrored him on the other side of Ratchet and as Sideswipe watched, his brother’s optics onlined. They glowed dimly in the dark as they met Sideswipe’s gaze. 

     A tendril of trepidation curled through their bond, but Sideswipe couldn’t quite tell which one of them it originated from. He opened his mouth to speak, but his vocalizer suddenly failed him. 

     The quiescent hand on the back of his neck shifted, fingers curling in a slow caress. “Sideswipe? What is it?” Ratchet asked, when the silence persisted. 

     Sideswipe shifted, raising up on an elbow to look down at their lover. Ratchet looked back, white face practically luminescent in the moonlight. Sideswipe’s spark constricted at the beautiful sight. Ratchet always denied their claims that he was handsome but Sideswipe shared a spark with a mech whose picture was in the dictionary next to ‘gorgeous’. Sideswipe knew pretty. 

     But looks weren't the only thing which drew the twins back to Ratchet over and over again. Intelligence, wit, strength, determination... the list went on and on. 

     “Would you ever consider bonding with us?” Sideswipe blurted out, flinching as soon as he said it. He had meant to work up to that, but Ratchet was lying there so peaceful and the words had just popped out. He shrugged apologetically to Sunstreaker. 


     Sideswipe’s head whipped back around. “’Yes’?” he repeated, shocked. “You’ll consider it?”

     Ratchet’s hand reached up and cupped Sideswipe’s cheek, opposite arm drawing Sunstreaker in even closer. “I’ve already considered it. I decided I would say yes centuries ago.

      I was just waiting for you to ask."

Chapter Text

     “I wish you would all just die,” Ratchet announced loudly, apropos of nothing. 

     Startled, the four other mechs sitting in the rec room broke off from their conversation and turned to look at the CMO.

     The medic was at his own table in the corner of the room, three empty energon cubes littered across the table surface. A fourth was held loosely in his hand, and Ratchet was morosely staring down into it, half slumped into his chair.

     It was a quiet night. A quiet week, in fact. To Jazz’s knowledge, there was no one lingering in the MedBay. Besides, Ratchet was in the middle of an enforced five day mini vacation, thus his partaking in unhealthy amounts of high grade. 

     “You got a problem with those cubes, man?” Blaster asked hesitantly.  

     Ratchet’s head rose, optics hazy and pale, head wobbling a little on his shoulders. His finger shook as it rose through the air and pointed straight at their table. 

     “No. I got a problem with you. And you. And you, and all of you!” Ratchet exclaimed, gesturing wildly, “Why won’t you all just stay dead?!”

     Next to him, Bluestreak gave an uncertain whine. Jazz automatically reached out and patted the sniper’s knee while turning around to face the table’s occupants. Mirage’s expression was carefully blank, Blaster’s shocked, and Smokescreen’s sad. Jazz didn’t have to look at Bluestreak to know his lower lip was wibbling in distress. 

     “Time to call it a night, guys,” Jazz said, jerking his head towards the door. He stood, dusted himself off, and began walking towards Ratchet’s table. Behind him, he heard Bluestreak protest and then fall silent as one of the others hushed him. 

     Then the room was empty except for a belligerently glaring medic and a solemn faced saboteur. 

     “You die, or you almost die, and I yank you back, and then you go out and I have to do it all over again!” Ratchet shouted up at Jazz. The half empty cube of energon slammed onto the table, some of the liquid splashing out onto Ratchet’s hand. “You and Optimus… ‘Hide and ‘Jack… those pitslagged twins!! I’m fragging tired of it!”

     Jazz tilted his head, optics considering Ratchet’s trembling form, the bristly energy field flaring with pain and fear and anger. And this was why Ratchet worked himself down to the strut. So he could divert his processing power to the patients beneath his hands, the torn wires and cracked plating. Without a distraction, all these ugly emotions rose up and swallowed him. 

     Nodding, Jazz smoothly slid onto Ratchet’s lap, winding his arms around the medic’s shoulders. Ratchet stiffened, hands landing on Jazz’s waist and flexing as if about to push him off. But in the next moment, Ratchet’s vents hiccuped and he bent his head, resting it on Jazz’s shoulder. 

     “I know, baby. I know,” Jazz murmured, stroking the back of Ratchet’s helm. There was nothing else he could say, not now, not stalemated as they were. So he just held Ratchet close, murmuring nonsense into his audial and pulsing his spark to let Ratchet know Jazz was there. 

     And still very much alive. 

Chapter Text

     You never see them coming. One moment you are looking over your shoulder and when you look back, there is a fist flying towards your face. There’s no time to duck; your nasal ridge crumples. Your left optic shatters and your lower lip splits, energon filling your mouth. 

     The blow is enough to daze you, bring you to the ground, but you never reach it. Instead, arms come around you gently, like a lover’s. They slid up over your chest, raising your own arms up and rendering them useless. 

     You lick your lip, wincing at the sharp pain your glossa produces as it prods at the wound. Your right arm twitches, instinctively trying to bring your hand to your face to poke at it and better evaluate the damage. But you’re immobilized and all you can do is weakly struggle. 

     “You’re going to pay for hurting Ratchet,” a voice hisses into your audial. “He’s just a medic, for frag’s sake. You’re a filthy piece of slag. Hit him, Sunny!” the voice instructs, turning away from you and speaking to someone else. “Hit him until he hurts as much as Ratch does.”

     A hand lifts your chin and your one functioning optic meets the narrowed-opticked gaze of one severely fragged off frontliner. Not that this particular one is ever in a good mood when you meet on the battlefield, but even you can tell by the angry lash of his energy field that you are in for one Pit of a beating. 

     You left the medic functioning at least. Hopefully they’ll do you the same courtesy.

Chapter Text

     Sideswipe loved Wheeljack’s hands. 

     They were sturdy and strong, with thick fingers surprisingly adept at working with small instruments and components. Working in the lab always left them rough and pitted, little imperfections he never bothered to buff out or repair. 

     So every time Wheeljack slid those digits in and out of Sideswipe’s valve, the width of them stretched the walls, the roughness dragging against the delicate inner lining. Sideswipe could overload from Wheeljack’s fingers alone, sprawled in the engineer’s lap and clutching at his arms as his hand worked between Sideswipe’s thighs. 

     With Wheeljack’s spike a promising presence against Sideswipe’s aft and Sunstreaker’s heated gaze raking over them both, Sideswipe once again silently congratulated himself on picking the engineer to invite to their berth.

Chapter Text


     Sideswipe looked almost offended at the shiny, silver links dangling from Prowl’s finger. “Why do I need those?”

     “Because you can never keep your hands to yourself,” Prowl returned. “You always have to touch.”

     Sideswipe snorted even as Sunstreaker smirked. “Uh, yeah! Have you seen the two specimens I’m faced with?” he asked, gesturing between Sunstreaker and the 2IC.

     “These will help you resist temptation,” Prowl explained.

     Sunstreaker took the cuffs and tossed them onto the desk, wrapping himself around their lover with a purr. “Tell him no touching. Sideswipe loves a challenge. If he fails, then use them.”

Chapter Text

     “How many?”

     Jazz panicked, vents hiccupping. Frag. What number were they on again?!

     “Tw… twelve,” Jazz stuttered.

     There was a long silence from behind him. Just when Jazz began to worry, Ratchet appeared in Jazz’s side vision, crop lightly tapping at his own thigh.

     He slid a hand beneath Jazz’s chin and lifted his helm so their gazes met.

     “Fourteen actually. Apparently I’m not having a big enough impact on you if you’ve forgotten two of those strikes already. We’ll start again. From the beginning.”

     Jazz shuddered, half in dread, half delight. Ratchet would make this next set memorable for sure.

Chapter Text

     “Is this all right?”

     Prowl considered how to answer that question. He ended up frowning.

     Optimus immediately backed up a step, hands clutching the protective spike sheath. “We could try something else… I could… ”

     “No. It is not you. It is the entire situation in general,” Prowl growled, gesturing to his distended abdomen and both of their bared arrays. Prowl’s valve glistened in the overhead light.

     “How did this happen in the first place?” Optimus inquired, uncharacteristically fidgeting.

     Prowl’s frown morphed into a glower. Those damn Twins. “I really do not want to talk about it. Ever. Please continue.”

Chapter Text

     “It would be most effective if we deployed Ironhide and his team to…”


     Prowl looked up, startled. “Sir!” he protested. Not again. Not this time. He was right on this, damnit.

     Optimus shook his head, slowing down and then pausing in the hallway to turn and face Prowl. “Ironhide is needed most where he is. The humans…”

     “Will be fine! We will lose this battle without the extra reinforcements, Optimus!”

     “I trust you to find another way.”

     Optimus looked down on Prowl with earnest optics, and Prowl found himself nodding in the face of Prime’s complete faith in him. 

Chapter Text

     Jazz’s vocalizer has been shut off for the past ten minutes. Bluestreak had ordered it so because mecha keep knocking on the door with concerned expressions and Prowl had sent him a pointed communique about respecting his neighbors’ rest. 


     If more mecha respected Jazz’s limits than maybe Bluestreak wouldn’t have to resort to tying Jazz up and delivering him to that place where his helm finally cleared of all the responsibility and duty which hung on his narrow shoulders. 

     Not that Bluestreak found that to be a chore.

     Surveying Jazz’s arched back and distended valve, Bluestreak could definitely say that it was his pleasure to serve Jazz thus. 

     Bluestreak slowly thrust in alongside the thick dildo already deeply seated within Jazz’s port. Lubricant welled up along both spikes, real and molded plastic alike, as Jazz threw his head back in a silent scream. 

     Oh yes. Definitely a pleasure. 

Chapter Text

     “Like that?” 

     Ratchet reached out and pressed down on the back of Sideswipe’s hand. Sunstreaker’s plating buckled just slightly under the extra weight, and the gold twin moaned quietly. 

     “Sensor cluster there is a little deeper than the others,” Ratchet explained, lightening his touch and merely piggybacking on Sideswipe’s wrist as he pressed harder with his thumb. 

     “Hmm,” Sideswipe hummed thoughtfully, shifting his digit just to the left and then beginning to circle the cluster. His hips swayed slightly, aft brushing up against Ratchet’s thigh. Ratchet transferred his hand to Sideswipe’s waist, sliding his palm around his lower back to cup his opposite hip. “How much pressure until I damage something?”

     “Quite a lot, especially considering how deep that one is. Of course, you could potentially cause a lot of pain before true damage occurs.”

     “Yeah.” Sideswipe drew back his arm slightly, fingers tightening into a fist. 

     “Woah, there,” Ratchet cautioned, nudging Sideswipe’s hip with his own. Sideswipe looked over at him, optics dark and an orbital ridge raised in polite question. 

     Ratchet’s lips quirked up in one corner. “There’s another way. Want to see?” 

     Sideswipe’s head dipped in acquiescence. “Always,” he replied.  

     “Everything,” he added after the briefest of pauses. 

Chapter Text

     “You are idiots,” Sunstreak said flatly. 

     “Me, maybe. But ‘Jack’s a bone a fide genius,” Sideswipe cheerfully replied. 

      Wheeljack paused as he adjusted the jetpack connectors on Sideswipe’s back. The inventor frowned at Sideswipe, gently swatting his shoulder. 

     “Thank you, but don’t sell yourself short, Sideswipe. This was your idea, after all.”

     “Yeah and you went along with it. I rest my case,” Sunstreaker interjected. He took a step back as Wheeljack flicked one of the large canisters now strapped to Sideswipe’s back and nodded in satisfaction. Wheeljack had a matching contraption already attached to his own frame. 

     “It’ll be fine! It’s basically my original ‘pack just… made more bad ass,” Sideswipe exclaimed. “Once you see how fast I can go, I bet you’ll be begging for a turn.”

     “No, I’ll be begging Ratchet to fix you because you’re going to end up in a hundred pieces,” Sunstreaker snapped back. 

     Wheeljack left off fiddling with Sideswipe’s new piece of equipment and stepped over to Sunstreaker, placing a hand on the golden twin’s chestplate. Wheeljack soothingly patted it and Sunstreaker subsided a little. 

     “Give us a kiss for luck?” Wheeljack suggested. 

     Sunstreaker stared at him for a long moment before turning and tugging Wheeljack along after him towards the Ark. “I think you might need a whole frag. Let’s go do that. Right now. Come on, Sideswipe! You're helping!”

Chapter Text

     Ratchet stumbled back with an oath, clutching his fingers. “Did you just *bite* me?!” he rumbled, voice deepening dangerously. 

     Jazz shrunk back as far as his bonds would allow him and managed to look both terrified and belligerent. “Maybe.”

     Ratchet shook his hand after examining it, observing the deep denta marks in the index finger tip. It stung, but wasn’t something serious enough that his nanites couldn’t take care of it. Still. It was the principle of the thing. 

     “You like biting, do you?” Ratchet questioned, taking a step forward and raising a hand. Jazz’s optic band brightened in response.

     “You said… you said no marks.”

     Ratchet’s lips curved upwards in a smirk, one designed to make uppity subs both quake in their plating and slick their thighs. “I said no visible marks.” 

Chapter Text

“What him Sideswipe doing?” Grimlock asked, perplexed, as Sideswipe slid into the Dinobots’ rec area and clambered over several pieces of furniture before sliding to a stop behind the T-Rex. He lifted the heavy tail and curled himself up under the base, making Grimlock produce an embarrassing squeak-growl at the intrusive action. He silently snarled at Slag when he perked up at the odd sound. 

“Hiding. You don’t mind, do you?” Sideswipe whisper-shouted. The words were accompanied by a warm rush of ex-vented air directly over Grimlock’s hidden interface panel, and the Dinobot somehow couldn’t find the impetus to remove the impertinent frontliner from between Grimlock’s legs. 

“What him Sideswipe hiding from?” Grimlock asked instead, very carefully not moving. Sideswipe’s frame was incredibly warm where it brushed against the inside of Grimlock’s short legs. 


Moments later, Grimlock heard the stamp of feet coming down the hallway. A shadow filled the rec room doorway and then Prowl leaned in, sharp blue optics sweeping the room. 

“What him Prowl want?” Grimlock rumbled, not moving from his spot in front of the couch. From here, with the piece of furniture blocking the way, Sideswipe was hidden from Prowl’s line of sight. And Grimlock’s sheer presence seemed to be keeping the 2IC from entering the room. 

“Hello, Grimlock. Slag,” Prowl acknowledged. “Have you seen Sideswipe?” 

“What him Prowl want with him Sideswipe?” Grimlock questioned, ignoring the frantic pokes to his ankle. Slag followed his lead and kept silent. 

Prowl smiled, a humorous expression which showcased great deal of denta. Grimlock approved. But he approved more of the warm, squirming frontliner crouched beneath his tail. 

“I wish to speak with him regarding a prank. Jazz has had… an unfortunate incident involving industrial strength adhesive,” Prowl explained. 

“Oh? Him Jazz stuck to wall?” 

“No. More like he’s stuck to himself. His legs have been glued together,” Prowl elaborated. 

Grimlock barked out an amused laugh. “Him Prowl more bothered than him Jazz, eh?” Grimlock commented, leering toothily at the tactician who was not so secretly involved with the head of SpecOps. A very quiet snicker arose from beneath Grimlock’s tail. Fortunately, Prowl was too far away, and too flustered, to hear. 

Prowl’s optics widened and he took a step back. “I… No… that’s… it was dangerous! He could have been seriously hurt!” Prowl exclaimed, gaining momentum. “Anyway, if you see Sideswipe, please tell him to come see me.” 

Grimlock nodded and Prowl left, continuing on down the hallway. When the sound of his footsteps had completely faded away, Grimlock bent and grasped Sideswipe around the neck, yanking the frontliner forward. Surprised, Sideswipe ended up sprawled on his back, looking up at Grimlock. 

“Him Sideswipe - go see him Prowl,” Grimlock instructed. 

Sideswipe’s startled expression morphed into a lopsided grin. “Yeah, boss, will do. Thanks for the assist.” He started to roll to his side, but Grimlock shifted and one large pede planted itself on red abdominal armor. 


“What him Sideswipe going to do for him Grimlock?” He snorted a hot ex-vent into Sideswipe’s surprised face, bending at the knees so that one short arm could reach out and trail fingers down Sideswipe’s neck. 

Sideswipe swallowed audibly, fingers spasming on their grip around Grimlock’s ankle. “Um… Whatcha want, buddy?”

Grimlock smiled, liking the feel of the smaller mech continually pushing up against his pede. Mmm. This was a feisty one. And Grimlock had always liked the color red… 

“I want you between my legs again.”

Chapter Text

     The timer goes off and Prowl promptly withdraws from the deep kiss, causing Ratchet to groan miserably. 

     “Seriously?” Ratchet complains, huffily sitting back in his chair when Prowl pushes at his chestplate. 

     “You chose this activity for the evening,” Prowl primly reminds the medic, gesturing at the three pair of dice and timer. “I told you when we started that the odds of all the dice landing on ‘sex’ at once was…”

     “Yeah, yeah!” Ratchet interrupts with an irritated hand wave. One that oh-so- accidentally knocks two pair of dice off the table, leaving only one pair behind. They clatter onto the floor and roll up under the berth. “What about now? What are the odds now?” 

      Ratchet picks up the remaining dice and palms them, a hollow clinking sound emerging from his fingers as the dice rattle against them. 

     Core temperature raised considerably, Prowl can’t find it within himself to protest the blatant cheating. Not after that blasted timer had robbed him of a very satisfactory valve overload via Ratchet’s glossa. 

     “The odds are good. Roll.” 

Chapter Text

     “Stay down!” Sunstreaker hissed and shoved Ratchet’s helm behind the twisted metal of fallen building.

     If a trio of drones hadn’t been passing by just then, Ratchet would have growled and thrown Sunstreaker’s hand off, but even his indignation didn’t warrant exposing their positions. So he stayed silent and seethed, glaring daggers up at the side of Sunstreaker’s pretty face.

     Which was soot and mud covered. Ha!

     Several tense minutes later, Sunstreaker released Ratchet, still gesturing for silence. Ratchet warily rose back onto his knees and peered around their cover, but couldn’t spot any more of the enemy drones. A subtle vibration in the ground behind him caused Ratchet to whirl around, blaster raised and finger hovering over the trigger. 

     “Woah, Ratchet, I know I get on your nerves, but that’s a little excessive, isn’t it?” Sideswipe asked in a whisper, sliding into Ratchet and Sunstreaker’s little alcove. 

     “Sideswipe, damnit!” Ratchet hissed, quickly dropping the weapon. “Make some noise! I almost shot you.”

     “Kinda against the point of being sneaky,” Sideswipe replied with an arched orbital ridge. 

     “Shut up, the both of you!” Sunstreaker growled. “We still have a ways to go, and I’m not keen on the idea of spending the night in the ‘con brig.”

     “I agree,” Ratchet said, shifting around to push himself to this feet. Halfway there, a flare of pain shot up his side, but he ignored it as best as he could and made it upright. “Ready?”

     He looked over at Sideswipe to see the frontliner staring at him, optics narrowed in consideration. Seconds later, Sunstreaker’s head turned and Ratchet was pinned in place by two intense gazes. 

     “What?” Ratchet exclaimed. Quietly. 

     “You winced,” Sideswipe accused, pointing a finger at Ratchet’s side.

     Well, damn. He was hoping no one had noticed that. “Yeah, so? I told you I took a few hits,” Ratchet said crossly. 

     “You said it wasn’t anything worse than a scratch,” Sunstreaker retorted, reaching out faster than Ratchet could duck away from. Then his knees were buckling out from under him as a white hot spike of pain pierced his sensory net. His optics fritzed, but he could still see Sunstreaker’s fingers liberally coated in fresh energon when he lifted them up in front of Ratchet’s face. “This is not just a scratch.”

     “A deep scratch,” Ratchet gasped. “It’s fine.”

     “Ratchet,” Sideswipe warned, kneeling down at Ratchet’s side. "Tell us the truth. It’s ok if it’s bad; we're no strangers to that. But we gotta know so we can prepare.”

     Ratchet darted a glance over at Sunstreaker, then back at Sideswipe, seeing no help from either twin. He didn’t want to worry them, but Sideswipe was right. They would need to know. 

     “I think it’s a nick in one of the main aortal branches. Self repair isn’t keeping up, which means it’s a vessel under high pressure. But it’s also not accessible in field repair conditions,” Ratchet explained with a heavy sigh. 

     “Which means what exactly in non medic babble?” Sideswipe questioned snarkily. 

     Ratchet rolled his optics, a bad habit he’d picked up from the very same mechs who were currently interrogating him. 

     “It means that if I don’t get knocked out and on a table in roughly six hours, I’m going to bleed out,” Ratchet snapped.  

Chapter Text

     “Yes, that’s it, Swoop, just like that!” Hoist gasps, grasping the edge of the exam table so tightly his knuckles creak. 

     The Dinobot looks up at Hoist from between the medic’s spread legs, optics bright and hungry despite the tremulous set of his lips. “No pain?”

     Hoist rapidly shakes his head, doing his best to relax his drawn up legs. He slowly lowers them until his pedes are flat on the table once more, pelvis upturned to better accept the wide girth of Swoop’s fist. 

     “Uh… it’s… it’s a gggoo…good ppppain,” Hoist strains to get out, waves of bliss and discomfort alternatively streaking through his sensor net. The apprentice’s hand is much larger than Hoist’s own and stretches his valve to its utmost limits. Hoist loves it and has to damp down the urge to scream out his pleasure. Swoop had been uncertain at Hoist’s proposal and had taken a lot of convincing to agree to this trial run. Hoist couldn’t afford to scare his partner off with wild cries. “Just… gggo slow.” 

     Swoop uses his other hand to rub comforting circles into the plating covering Hoist’s lower belly. “Him Hoist really like this?”

     Hoist’s head thunks back down to the berth surface and he blindly stares up at the orange ceiling. Why had he ever agreed to that horrid color?!

     “So much,” he whispers desperately. “Please… please, more. All…. all of it.”

Chapter Text

     “Prowl. Come with me.”

     Prowl looked up from his desk in surprise. For a mech as large as he was, Optimus could certainly move quietly when he wanted to. Prowl had had no idea Optimus was standing in the doorway of the office until Prime had spoken up. 

     “What is it?” Prowl inquired, immediately standing and flicking off the report he had been working on. “Is it an attack?”

     “No. Follow me.”

     Confused, Prowl did as instructed, trailing along behind his leader and scanning the ship wide frequencies for any sign of problems. There were none, although Ratchet’s grumbling on the officer channel did not bode well for the twins. 

     “Sir? Optimus? Where are we going?” Prowl asked when they exited the Ark and began walking up the mountainside. “And why are we going there?”

     “You’ll see,” Optimus said mysteriously, facing straight forward and his expression not giving Prowl any hints. 

     A little frustrated, Prowl fell silent and continue to follow, internally fretting about what could be wrong. 

     Finally, after several more minutes, Optimus stopped at a ledge that peered out over the edge of the valley. They were quite high up on the side of the volcano and a strong breeze made Prowl rock in place, his sensory panels flaring wide to catch the current. 

     “Look,” Optimus instructed, pointing out into the forest. 

     “Where? What am I looking for?” Prowl asked, scanning the trees for a glint of metal or some other sign of importance. 

     “Peace,” Optimus replied, drawing in a large draught of air and releasing it in one big gust. 

     Prowl did a double take at his leader. “I beg your pardon?”

     Finally, Optimus turned his head and looked fully at Prowl for the first time since he had ordered Prowl to follow him. 

     “You have been on shift without a break for a week, my friend,” Optimus replied quietly. 

     “Yes, of course, many of the crew are still under Ratchet’s care and being so short staffed, I have had to…” 

     Prowl’s sensory panels flared upwards in an alarmed ‘vee’ as Optimus reached out and placed a gentle large finger against Prowl’s lips, forcing him silent. 

     “I have had to as well. I quite understand. But now, there are others to shoulder the burden, at least for a little while. For the rest of the day, it’s Jazz’s problem. And you and I will sit here and enjoy the beauty of this planet, together as friends.”

     Optimus removed his hand and Prowl’s shoulders sagged as he looked out over the valley. It really was quite peaceful up here. 

     “Yes, sir.”

     Optimus gave him a disappointed look as he lowered himself to the ground and Prowl chuckled lightly as he did the same. “Yes… Optimus.” 

     They relaxed, armor plating shifting and unclamping to better soak up the overhead sun. Prowl shuttered his optics and tilted his head to the side, listening to the various bird calls rising up from the trees below. A particularly loud, full-throated song made Prowl open his optics in realization. 

    “… Optimus? Ratchet too, has been working long hours. I’m not sure he’s had a break yet either…” Prowl began. 

    “Ah, yes. Ratchet,” Optimus said, glancing over at Prowl with a mischievous glint in his optics. “Never fear, Prowl. I have already set plans in motion for our dear medic.”

Chapter Text

     “Here, hold ‘im’,” Jazz says and hands off his weeks old sparkling to the nearest mech while hurrying forward to help Prowl off the medical berth. 

     The tactician still experienced inefficient energy conversion post unfurling and Ratchet was having the Praxian come in on a daily basis to directly infuse his tanks. Of course this meant Jazz and Camber came along too. Normally Hoist was sparkling sitter during these visits but he was currently seeing to a small incident involving Ironhide and the ammunition room. 

     Which left Ratchet monitoring Prowl and the nearest mech to be… oh slag. 

     Sideswipe blinks down at the tiny bundle of soft metal which had suddenly been deposited in his arms.

     The twins weren't even supposed to be in the MedBay; they had gotten tired of waiting on Ratchet and had wandered in, Sunstreaker immediately sitting on a nearby berth and Sideswipe poking his nasal ridge in the cabinets across the room. Ratchet had kept an optic on him, but he surprisingly had stayed out of trouble. Finally getting bored, he had passed directly behind Jazz on his way to join his twin, just in time for Jazz to swing around and blindly shove Camber into Sideswipe's chest. 

     Ratchet shoots a glance at Prowl to see him slowly leveraging himself up with Jazz’s assistance. “Sideswipe, you’ll need to support… oh.” Ratchet turns back toward the sparkling and gets the shock of his lifetime. 

     Sideswipe gives Ratchet a withering look, the red twin already doing as instructed. “Support his head. I’m not an idiot, you know.” 

     Ratchet merely gapes at the sight in front of him, unable to utter a word. Not even when Sunstreaker pushes off from his seat and walks to his twin, peering over Sideswipe’s shoulder in frank interest. 

     The red frontliner twists his body so that Sunstreaker can see better and together they dip their heads to stare at the young sparkling cradled so securely in Sideswipe’s arms. Sunstreaker reaches out and lightly strokes the gray sparkling’s cheek, causing Camber to gurgle happily. 

     In response, Sunstreaker trills quietly, and Sideswipe begins lightly bobbing in place, humming softly. 

     Not normally one for sentimentality of any kind, Ratchet’s spark spasms and starts melting in his chest. All he can do is stare as Jazz and Prowl pass him. 

     “Same time tomorrow, Ratchet?” Prowl asks. 

     “Oh, yes! We’ll see how this new mixture does,” Ratchet replies, his attention snapping back to the two parents. 

     “Hopefully well. Thanks, Sides,” Jazz says, easily scooping Camber out of Sideswipe’s arms. “You hold ‘im like you’ve done it before.”

     “No problem. Yeah, we were at the orphanage for a long time. Saw a lot of young ones; we used to help out when the keepers were overrun,” Sideswipe explains, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at Camber a little wistfully. 

     “Good to know the next time we need another sitter,” Jazz says with a wink. Prowl dips his head in gratitude to Ratchet and then the two leave. As they do, Ratchet finds himself intently staring at the twins. 

     They turn around from watching the door swing shut and startle in unison. “What?” Sideswipe says defensively. 

     “The cot. Now,” Ratchet informs them, pointing at the door to his office. The bed in his quarters would be far better suited for all three of them, but there was no way he'd last long enough to get there.  

     “You’re still on shift,” Sunstreaker points out, looking confused. 

     “Hoist is actually, as of five seconds ago. Come on, let’s go!” Ratchet replies, waving urgently at them. 

     The brothers glance at one another and then Sideswipe steps forward, a sly look on his face. “You liked seeing us with the kid!” he exclaims in delight. He glances at the office door. “What are you gonna do, Ratch? Frag us while imaging us full and round with your get?” he purrs, sliding a hand down his chestplate to his belly. 

     Grunting in impatience, Ratchet steps forward and latches onto both Sideswipe’s and Sunstreaker’s wrist. “Yes, or me with yours, now move your afts!”  

     He hadn’t ever wanted a sparkling before and especially not in the tail end of a war. But peace was right around the corner and the twins had looked so natural holding Camber… 

     He guessed mechs changed, even him. 

Chapter Text

     “We’re rich!” Sideswipe crowed, skipping in circles around Sunstreaker as they walked down the alley. 

     “I think that’s going a little far,” Sunstreaker replied, watching his brother cavort like a sparkling. He couldn’t find it in him to tell Sideswipe to stop, however. It had been a long time since he had seen Sideswipe so happy. 

     “Ok, so we’re not rich-rich. But we’re richer than we were when we woke up this morning!” Sideswipe pointed out, latching on to Sunstreaker’s elbow and peering up at him with an unbridled smile. 

     Sunstreaker nodded, once more feeling that warm sensation of satisfaction he had experienced earlier when his last two paintings had been purchased. “True. And now time to start making more art.” 

     “Noooo!” Sideswipe whined, pouting. “We should celebrate! We have money now!”

     “We have money to buy more supplies,” Sunstreaker said gently. “And to get you back to that medic.”

     “What?” Sideswipe asked, coming to a stop and widening his optics innocently. Sunstreaker wasn't fooled in the slightest. “I’m fine…”

     Sunstreaker also stopped, placing his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “We sleep in the same bed. If you think I can’t hear your vents wheezing in the middle of the night, you’re crazy,” he said, referring to Sideswipe’s damaged ventilation system. 

     After having part of it torn out in their last Pit fight, Sideswipe had never been quite the same, especially without proper medical care. Every credit they stole, and now earned, went first and foremost to food and shelter and second to doctors for Sideswipe, and to some extent Sunstreaker himself. His hips still didn’t move right, even after several adjustments.  

     “Oh, it’s just the grit around here!” Sideswipe said, gesturing at the dusty air surrounding them. 

     Sunstreaker merely crossed his arms over his chest and raised an orbital ridge. Sideswipe fidgeted in place under Sunstreaker's stare until he threw up both hands in surrender. 

     “Fine! Alright, they’ve been acting up. We’ll go see the doc in the morning after we replenish your canvases and paints. But you need to have a treat too. You’ve been working so hard on those paintings,” Sideswipe wheedled, using the turbopuppy optics. 

     “And you’ve been working pretty hard selling them,” Sunstreaker added. While he knew he had talent, he was far to shy too approach anyone about his art. While Sideswipe, on the other hand, had no qualms about going up to random strangers and entering into conversations about anything and everything. 

     “So then it’s agreed - rust sticks and candied energon drinks at Filter’s?” Sideswipe asked eagerly, optics shining in anticipation. 

     “Lead the way,” Sunstreaker replied, his grin matching his brother’s. 

Chapter Text

     “Kinda late, isn’t it?” 

     Ratchet startled at the sudden voice behind him and whirled around, nearly overbalancing as his energon-starved systems complained about the too-quick movement. 

     A hand shot out and gripped his shoulder, steadying him. Ratchet looked up into violet optics and his ‘thank you’ died on his lips. 

     “Not that late,” Ratchet replied, shrugging out from under Sunstreaker’s hold. 

     Sideswipe made a show of looking around at the near empty MedBay. The only patient still present was Trailbreaker, his healing leg propped up on a pillow and optics shuttered closed in stasis. 

     “So much to occupy your time,” Sideswipe commented. Sunstreaker didn’t say anything, merely crossed his arms over his chest. 

     “There is, actually,” Ratchet retorted. “Surgery to clean, reports to write… I don’t just go out onto the battlefield, kill some ‘cons, and then call it a day, you know. My work lasts a little longer than that.”

     “Damn, Ratch. Tell us how you really feel,” Sideswipe returned with a beckoning wave of his hand. 

     Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, neither twin seemed to take the scathing retort seriously.

     Why wouldn’t they just leave him alone in peace? They had been sniffing around him for years, but these past few months the playful leers had turned into concerned glances and the pinches to his aft had morphed into a gentle touch on his lower back. It was infuriating and distracting and just another example of something he couldn’t have. 

     “What I really feel is exhausted, and I’d like to finish up here so I can eat something and rest,” Ratchet replied in defeat. “So please... just go so I can get back to work?”

     The twins exchanged glances and then Sunstreaker parted his abdominal armor with a fine-fingered hand, reaching inside his internals to pull out a cube of energon. He shoved it at Ratchet and he fumbled to hold on to it, his hands eagerly registering the container’s warmth. 

     “Can’t help you on the reports, but while you write them and eat, we can clean surgery,” Sideswipe explained. 

     Ratchet stared between the two of them, uncomprehending. “What?”

     Sunstreaker stepped forward, gripped Ratchet by the shoulders and propelled him backward. Astonished, Ratchet let him despite the fact that he outweighed the frontliner by almost half. A moment later, the back of his knees hit something hard; he dropped like a stone onto the seat of his desk chair. 

     The golden twin tapped the unopened top of the energon cube meaningfully. “Drink,” he instructed before straightening and striding off in the direction of the surgery suite. 

     Ratchet turned back from watching the natural sway of Sunstreaker’s hips to see Sideswipe looking at him. Sideswipe raised an orbital ridge and took a step forward. 

     “We know you work long hours. But you don’t have to do it all alone. Like you said… we got a lot of free time on our hands,” Sideswipe said with a wry twist to his lips. Then he gave Ratchet a nod and headed off after his brother. 

     “That’s… not what I meant…” Ratchet started and trailed off into a murmur. He rested his elbow on his desk, dropping his forehelm into his palm. He was a stubborn old grump; that’s what Wheeljack had said when he had tried this very same maneuver an hour ago. But Wheeljack had respected Ratchet’s warning signs; the twins knew them by now, but happily ignored them. 

     Maybe that’s why Ratchet allowed Sideswipe and Sunstreaker things like this more and more frequently and Wheeljack continued to walk away with nothing but a wrench to the helm. 

     The frontliners were wearing him down, Ratchet decided. And he couldn’t quite decide how he felt about that. 

Chapter Text

     “Mirage can turn invisible!” Trailbreaker gushed. “Isn’t that amazing?!”

     “Yes, I suppose so,” Hound returned, touching an evergreen’s branch with awe. Every single needle was coated with frost, each crystal unique and beautiful. 

     “Well, you don’t sound amazed,” Trailbreaker huffed. 

     Hound shrugged. “I could still find him,” he said, touching the side of his nasal ridge with its enhanced sensors. 




     “He moves so gracefully,” Bluestreak sighed, watching the noble easily parry a sword strike from Ironhide. 

     Hound’s optics catch on the gentle flutter of Bluestreak’s sensory panels. “Mmhm.” 




     “Where do you think Mirage gets his wax?” Sunstreaker mused, staring across the room. Hound looked over his shoulder at the mech in question as Sideswipe leaned into his twin, following Sunstreaker’s gaze. 

     “Why? You jealous?” Sideswipe teased. “Not feeling up to par when standing next to nobility? Hey, who do you think is prettier, Hound? Sunny here or Mr Snooty?”

     Hound turned back around to look at the twins; Sideswipe was wearing a grin, but Sunstreaker was looking at Hound expectantly. 

     Wait. Oh, he was actually supposed to answer that? How could he? Sunstreaker and Mirage were as different as night and day, both pleasing to the optics in their own way.





     “Ratchet,” Mirage’s soft voice called and the medic looked over his shoulder from where he was pulling sparking wires out of Hound’s knee.

     “Primus forsake it!” Ratchet growled, immediately wiping his hands and striding over to the noble. He helped Mirage support Jazz’s sagging form to the nearest table. 

     “What did he do now?” Ratchet demanded, hands flying over the black and white frame. Mirage took a step back and respectfully folded his hands together. 

     “He did not move fast enough.”

     “Oh shush,” Jazz slurred. “Yer not ‘posed to tell.”

     Mirage gave a quiet chuckle and turned to walk away. As he did so, his left knee buckled and he nearly fell, Hound lurching forward as if he could help from across the room. 

     Ratchet looked up and frowned. “What happened to you?”

     “Oh, it is nothing,” Mirage insisted, waving away Ratchet’s concern. 

     “s’not. Took a knife to the back of it,” Jazz piped up. “He carried me most of the way here on it. Make him sit, Ratch.”

     “Shhh, Jazz. You are not supposed to tell,” Mirage responded with a small smile, gazing at his superior with a fond expression. 

     Hound stared at the other mech, suddenly transfixed by the upturn of Mirage’s lips. Had Mirage always had such a beautiful smile? Hound searched his data banks but could not recall a time where he had ever seen the other mech wear such an open expression. 

     It was like seeing the first rays of the sun touch the horizon and bathe the ground in soft gold, and Hound’s spark began to spin faster in its suddenly too-tight casing. 

Chapter Text

     It’s surprisingly easy to provoke Prowl. A cutting word, a mention of yesterday’s battle loses, and a sneer are all that is needed for the tactician to grab Jazz and shove him across the desk. Most times, Jazz lands face down. But every now and then, Prowl twists him onto his back. 

     That’s Jazz’s favorite. It’s one thing to feel Prowl’s heated ex-vents bathe the back of Jazz’s neck, but it’s another when it’s directed against his mouth, Prowl’s royal blue gaze boring into Jazz’s. 

     Prowl used to have gold optics, Jazz knows. Prowl had them changed the moment he joined the Autobots. Sometimes Jazz stares into Prowl’s optics, searching for even a hint of gold, of the mech that existed before the war twisted him into something cold. 

     Jazz also knows that that coldness is merely a mask. It’s a good one. Jazz has plenty of his own, so he recognizes it for what it is. 

     And he delights in tearing Prowl’s down, revealing the burning embers of passion, dedication, and hope. 

     The strut-shattering overloads aren’t a bad bonus either. 

Chapter Text

     There was giggling. Giggling emerging from behind his closed habsuite door where there should only be silence. And maybe a little snuffling from his pet who tended to snore when he napped.

     When Sunstreaker pressed his audial to the door, he heard chittering as well. Definitely not snoring. 

     Sunstreaker unlocked the door to his quarters, and slowly slid it open a fraction. The giggling became louder, interspersed with a few snorts and grunts. But the source of the noise wasn’t immediately visible. 

     He pushed the door open wider, far enough for him to step inside. And then he saw them. 

     Bluestreak was lying on his back in front of the berth. He was practically convulsing with giggles as Bob scrambled over Bluestreak’s belly, flattening himself to the floor on the other side of the mech. He wiggled his aft before scrambling back over, his short little arms patting at Bluestreak’s face as he did so. Once back on the floor, he hunkered down, wiggled some more and started the whole process over again. 

     “Daft bug,” Sunstreaker muttered to himself and shaking his head. But he couldn’t resist the smile that crept across his face. 

Chapter Text

     Sideswipe was wearing clothes. Red and white and black pieces of cloth which seemed awfully familiar. Now where had Ratchet seen an outfit like that before?

     Ah, yes. The ‘Sexy Nurse’ from Spike’s Halloween costume catalog. Of course that one would catch Sideswipe's attention. 

     Ratchet scanned the outfit again, observing the sheer amount of cloth. He was certain there was a seamstress somewhere lamenting her career choice. 

     “Doctor,” Sideswipe simpered, curtsying in place. “So nice of you to join us.”

     Sunstreaker walked out from the twins’ sleeping quarters, joining Ratchet and Sideswipe in the recreational area of their room. He came to a stop next to his twin, propping one hand on an out turned hip. Ratchet had to blink several times at Sunstreaker’s appearance. He wore a costume which was the exact duplicate of Sideswipe’s, although he moved much more stiffly in it than his brother did. 

     “It’s about time you got here,” Sunstreaker said gruffly in greeting. 

     Ratchet just continued to stare. Ten Earth days straight of MedBay shifts and recharge caught only in small increments between checking on patients made him feel like his processor was playing tricks on him. 

     But no, both wins were dressed up as human nurses, even to the point of little white caps on their heads. Ridiculous. 

     His lovers were absolutely ridiculous. 

     “We have you all to ourselves for the next two days and we have plans. We just finished setting up a hot oil bath for you,” Sideswipe began, holding out a hand and ticking his fingers off. “Then we'll rinse you off in the washracks, give you a buffing and waxing, massage to get you all nice and relaxed, and… Hey, where are you going? We’re going to play doctor with you!”

     “I’m ready. Let’s get started,” Ratchet replied, already following his heat sensors into the next room. 

     Ridiculous, yes. But also absolutely perfect.

Chapter Text

     “So smart.”

     “So beautiful.”

     Ratchet squirmed as Sunstreaker placed a barely-there kiss to the nape of Ratchet’s sensitive neck. And as Sideswipe continued to murmur, Ratchet began squirming for another reason entirely. 

     “Fierce.” Sideswipe nuzzled Ratchet’s lower belly, kissing it before moving up a few inches to lick at a seemingly random spot just to the right of midline.

     “Protective.” Kiss. “Dedicated.” Nuzzle, this time directly over his spark chamber. 

     Sunstreaker pressed his lips against Ratchet’s shoulder and spoke as Sideswipe began laving the Autobot symbol emblazoned below Ratchet’s windshield.

     “Caretaker. Lover. Mentor. Friend.”

     “What the frag are you two doing?” Ratchet asked, but quietly and without any real heat. The brothers’ fields were warm and soothing, lapping against Ratchet’s and lulling him into a sense of safety and relaxation. And he was so exhausted that he just couldn’t find the energy within him to start a fight. 

     “It’s everything we love about you,” Sideswipe replied, looking up at him with adoring optics. 

     “Everything we admire,” Sunstreaker added, tightening his embrace around Ratchet’s waist. 

     “Everything that’s you,” Sideswipe finished, the two of their voices mingling so seamlessly that Ratchet could barely tell who was speaking. 

     Ratchet had the briefest of urges to add to their list: Failure, Killer, Weak, Cowardly. To name a few. 

     But instead, he closed his optics and leaned back against Sunstreaker, allowing them their kisses and misguided impressions. 

Chapter Text

     “Ratchet! What are you doing up?” Optimus chides gently as he turns the corner into the main control room. 

     The medic looks up, swaying in place. A determined expression settles onto his features, and Optimus braces himself for the inevitable argument.  

     “I’m working!” Ratchet snaps. “I have work to do. So I’m working.”

     “I see that,” Optimus replies, walking further into the room and viewing Ratchet’s ‘scratch board’. It’s where he writes out his ideas for the synthetic energon formula as well as suggestions for their equipment. The enlarged version of a data pad is suspiciously blank except for a random little squiggle in the corner.  

     “Have you come to any conclusions?” Optimus asks, coming to stand next to his friend. As he does so, he spies Wheeljack in the far corner of the room, surprisingly well hidden despite his lighter colors. When he sees Optimus looking, he gives him a brief nod and meanders off. 

     Optimus' spark warms; despite Wheeljack’s propensity for aloofness, it seems he cared enough to keep an optic on the ill medic until one of the others noticed he was missing from his bed. 

     “…no,” Ratchet admits. “But I’m almost there!” 

     “I’m sure,” Optimus remarks, placing a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder. Optimus barely manages to rein in his hiss of surprise. The other’s armor is even warmer than when he had originally managed to convince Ratchet to lay down several hours earlier. The virus is very similar to the humans’ flu, nothing dangerous in an otherwise healthy mech, but still enough to make the afflicted individual overheated, sluggish, and nauseous. Ratchet should definitely be in bed. “Maybe another break will help?” he suggests. 

     “No!” Ratchet spins and knocks Optimus’ hand aside, wobbling dangerously in the process. “I’m almost there! We need this!”

     “I greatly value the work that you do, old friend,” Optimus replies, hands held at the ready in case Ratchet should overbalance. “But we all think better after rest.”

     “I’ve rested enough,” Ratchet growls, his optics flaring. He continues to sway back and forth, and his body makes an ominous gurgle. “I… I… oh, scrap,” he mutters, just moments before he falls to his knees and purges his tanks. 

     All over Optimus’ pedes. 

     Ratchet sinks to his side with a piteous moan, his optics shuttering closed. Optimus frowns down at his feet, feeling warm, barely congealed energon trickling between the gears of his ankles. 

     Well. That will need to be cleaned. 

     “I think not quite enough,” Optimus murmurs to himself, lifting one foot and shaking some of the excess liquid off. 

     He reaches down for Ratchet, only to be stopped by a black hand which gently pushes Optimus’ arm aside. “I got him,” Wheeljack insists, appearing out of nowhere. “Why don’t you clean yourself up, Prime?”

     “Are you sure?” Optimus inquires. The Wrecker and medic are roughly of the same size, but Ratchet is surprisingly heavy due to his alternative form. 

     “Are you kidding?” Wheeljack replies, gently pulling on Ratchet’s arm until he’s sitting somewhat upright. Then the swordsmech kneels and smoothly pulls Ratchet over Wheeljack’s shoulder, hefting him easily. Ratchet moans something unintelligible, briefly struggling before subsiding against the other mech. “I’ve been wanting to toss the Doc around since I met him.” 

     Wheeljack flashes Optimus a grin and then begins making his way down the hallway to the living quarters. The Wrecker walks with surprising care, Ratchet barely even shifting with every step. Optimus stares after them both, a little confused by the dichotomy of Wheeljack’s words and actions. 

     Perhaps there isn’t as much animosity between the two mechs as Optimus had originally thought. 

     Regardless, Ratchet has been taken care of for now. 

     And Optimus has a trip to the washracks to make.  

Chapter Text

     “Boss would know!” Rumble argued, shoving his brother’s shoulder as they walked down the hallway. 

     “Maybe. Maybe not,” Frenzy said slyly, shoving back. “If we hid out for a while…”

     Rumble rolled his optics. “That’s kinda telling in its… woah!”

     The cassettes jumped sideways, plastering themselves against the far wall as they stared at the door they had just passed. Another floor-shaking ‘thump’ sounded, this time accompanied by a moan. 

     Frenzy snorted after quickly identifying the door. “Overclocked seekers,” he scoffed. Rumble smirked, elbowing his brother. 

     “That reminds me…” 

     There was a pause as the twins stared at one another, Rumble’s smirk growing and Frenzy mirroring his expression. With a whoop, they ran off down the hallway, pushing and shoving at one another. And if hands wandered, well… they were only mimicking what their ‘betters’ were already doing. 




     Starscream groaned as he lay on the floor, holding the back of his helm. “That hurt, you glitch!” he whined, shoving at the mass of metal sprawled atop him. 

     Skywarp shifted, causing Thundercracker to grunt as a knee landed in an unfortunate place. As much as Starscream’s head hurt, he had to admit that TC’s wings were probably in even more discomfort. How had he managed to get the left one stuck up under the berth? 

     Their black and purple mate wriggled until his mass was evenly dispersed across the two of them. Optics sparkling in glee, he grinned down at them. “All’s fair in tickle wars!” he replied in a sing-song voice. 

Chapter Text

     Ratchet has marveled on many occasion just how a grumpy, boxy fusspot like himself ever ended up with both twins much less one of them. 

     Sunstreaker is a beautiful mech. Not just good-looking or handsome, but flawless. Sideswipe is the same and yet different than his brother. The red twin’s handsomeness is made more accessible by his easy air, the ever present lopsided grin. He’s still able to make Ratchet’s spark flutter when their glances meet across the room, but Sideswipe has never really embraced his looks. Not the way Sunstreaker has. 

     Sunstreaker absolutely knows how gorgeous he is, and he wears it like a badge of honor, a shield. He doesn’t smile easily or fully, nor does the tense set of his shoulders inspire approachability. His beauty is that of a rare gem showcased at a museum; something to be oohed and ahhed over, but never touched. 

     Which is why Ratchet counts himself so incredibly lucky to witness Sunstreaker’s face as it is now. Utterly open, optics crinkled up at the edges, and mouth forming helpless little giggles as Ratchet’s fingers mercilessly tickle the other mech’s sides. 

     Sunstreaker squirms and thrashes, laughing carelessly. Out of the corner of one optic, Ratchet sees Sideswipe come to stand next to the bed. He stares down at his brother, trademark grin softened into something gentle and adoring. The look he then slants towards Ratchet is contemplative. 

     “The medic with the magic fingers,” Sideswipe murmurs before flopping atop the bed and adding his hands to Ratchet’s. 

     Sunstreaker’s laughter rings out into the room, and Ratchet records every minute of the joyous sound. 

Chapter Text

               “… uh, what?”

               Sideswipe stared at Ratchet, not comprehending the words which had just emerged from the medic’s mouth.

               Ratchet spared him a glance as he checked something in his subspace.

               “I said ‘stay here’.”

               Sideswipe continued to stare, his processor practically fizzling as it tried to understand. “Nuh… I… eh… but…”

               His aborted words trailed off, ending in a trilled click of pure frustration. He pointed at the still smoking ship which had just landed. Then he pointed at himself and threw both hands out in the direction of the landing vessel as if the gesture would be able to convey everything he couldn’t seem to with words.

               Ratchet paused, pursing his lips. “The ship’s long range communications were disrupted in their last firefight. It’s only now that Prowl was able to tell us that the entire crew is under quarantine. Several of the mechs on board have been infected with cosmic rust,” the medic explained.

               “So?!” Sideswipe managed, restlessly rocking back and forth on his wheels.

               “Your brother is among them,” Ratchet reported.

               Sideswipe blinked at the other mech, his spark lurching in its casing.

               Sunstreaker was claustrophobic, something not many knew. Given the chance, he’d put himself offline before enduring a long space journey. Which was why Sideswipe hadn’t panicked when he hadn’t be able to communicate with his twin as the ship had neared Earth. And as it landed, he had pushed the lack of contact out of his processor, but he couldn’t ignore it any longer, not with this news.

               “How bad is he?” Sideswipe asked shrilly, lurching forward.

               “I don’t know yet,” Ratchet replied calmly, squaring his shoulders. He gaze flicked to some point behind Sideswipe. “But until I do, you’re staying put.”

               “Like Pit,” Sideswipe snarled, optics intent on the ship’s loading dock door. His processor told him he could make it there in under five seconds, even from a cold start. After that he’d…

               A hand descended upon his shoulder, and Sideswipe ducked and spun out from under it. Only to crash into Ironhide’s heavy frame, the old warrior’s hands latching onto Sideswipe’s elbows.

               “Sorry, Sides. Doc’s orders,” Ironhide rumbled.

               “It is for everyone’s safety,” Optimus added, taking a step forward, his hand still outstretched.

               He hadn’t even felt them moving up to surround him, as focused as he had been on his twin spark’s faint signal that was so close. So close after all this time and once again he was denied it.

               Sideswipe had been teetering on the edge for a long, long time. Twins weren’t meant to be separated, not for as long as he and Sunstreaker had. Sideswipe had become reckless over these past few years. Reckless, obstinate, temperamental, and a whole slew of other adjectives that he’d heard mentioned in whispers behind his back and in shouts to his face.

               So this was really just a natural progression. And one he dimly hoped he would be forgiven for, but he couldn’t… he just couldn’t…

               He burst into motion, kicking at Ironhide’s knee and unsheathing a sword which sliced off three of Ironhide’s fingers on his left hand. The warrior roared in pain and anger, throwing a punch with his good hand that Sideswipe just barely dodged. A quiet creak to his right and Sideswipe spun into Optimus’ reach, sliding up close to the larger mech and slicing his other sword across red and blue abdominal armor.

               And then he was free of their grasping hands and wheeling across the tarmac. No one could beat him in a straight sprint, at least no one here on Earth. He would make it to the ship, claw his way through the doors if he had to, and find his brother, find Sunst…

               Something hit him from behind and he went down, howling out his frustration and fury. The mech atop him was heavy, but Sideswipe was running on feral instinct. He bucked and wriggled and was nearly out of the other’s grasp when hands grabbed his ankles and pinned them to the ground.

               “It’s for your own damn good,” Ratchet puffed against Sideswipe’s audial. A sharp pain made itself known in the side of his neck and he screamed as a warm lassitude began spreading outwards from the spot.

               “No!” he shouted, giving one last heave and somehow rolling free of both mechs. The ground shook behind him, Ratchet cursing Sideswipe and Sunstreaker both as the medic tumbled loose.

               “He needs me!” Sideswipe gasped out, his gaze still locked on the ship as he scrambled to his hands and knees. He got his feet under him and promptly tilted sideways, barely catching himself with a palm to the tarmac as his gyros complained.

               He pushed himself back onto his wheels, making it twenty yards before he stumbled again, dropping back onto his knees. Keening in despair, Sideswipe began crawling, ignoring the scrape of rough concrete against his palms. His vision was wavering, his audial input echoing, too loud one moment and almost complete silence the next.

               He made it a few more yards before having to drop to his belly, his entire frame warm and loose and responding sluggishly to his demands.

               “Frag you,” he moaned, reaching out towards the ship. “How could you… Ratch…”

               Large hands slid themselves under Sideswipe’s frame, easily flipping him over and drawing him against another body. A steadily thrumming engine vibrated against his back, helping to lull him into compliance.

               “…sorry… as soon… prom… ‘wipe…” Ratchet’s voice came from far away and as Sideswipe’s vision began to go white around the edges, he spied a blur of chartreuse moving out of the corner of his optic.

               “Shhh,” Optimus whispered against Sideswipe’s audial, those large hands continuing to arrange Sideswipe against the Prime’s chest. “It will be all right.”

               Sideswipe wanted to scream and shout and wail because how could it? Sunstreaker was right there. How could they do this to him? How couldOptimus? He was a twin himself, he knew the pain of separation!

               All Sideswipe could do was whine piteously, the sound tapering off into silence as his audials gave up the fight.

               Optimus merely held him closer and pulsed his spark, the jagged resonance scraping against Sideswipe’s own broken edges as blackness overcame him.

Chapter Text

                “No,” Sunstreaker barked, ducking and whirling around to glare at his twin.

                Sideswipe pouted, still holding out the Cybertronian sized headband. “Why not?” he whined. “Everyone else is wearing them!”

                “Everyone else? Prowl? You got Prowl to wear that trash?” Sunstreaker demanded.

                “It’s not trash!” Sideswipe gasped indignantly. “They’re reindeer antlers. For the Christmas party. They’re cute!”

                Sunstreaker crossed his arms over his chest and raised an orbital ridge in challenge. “They’re ridiculous. And you never answered me.”

                Sideswipe dropped his arm with a sigh and fiddled with one of the floppy brown horns. “No. He wouldn’t put it on,” Sideswipe reported dejectedly.

                “Let me cut you a deal. You get Prowl to wear them, for at least five minutes. Show me proof and I’ll wear them a pair all night,” Sunstreaker challenged, knowing Prowl would never agree.

                Sideswipe’s optics gleamed and he raised his chin in determination. “Deal!” he exclaimed, turning on one heel and bounding off. For a split second, Sunstreaker felt a trickle of unease crawl up his backstrut.

                It faded away pretty quickly once he spotted the short little tail Sideswipe had dangling off his backside.

Chapter Text

                “I don’t know why he didn’t show up, Sunny. I can’t read minds, you… woah!” Sideswipe exclaimed, nearly running into the back of his twin as he walked through the doorway to their quarters. A collision was averted only because Sideswipe had heard the odd little choking sound Sunstreaker made once he was several steps inside the room.

                “What’s…?” Sideswipe questioned, taking a step forward and nudging his brother to move out of the way. “Oh. Found Blurr,” Sideswipe continued faintly once he got a view of their room.

                “Hey there, boys,” Blurr purred, waving a languid hand. He was sprawled gracefully across a mountain of pillows (where did all the pillows come from? They had, like, two) which decorated their overwide berth. His paintjob practically sparkled, and Sideswipe caught the whiff of a very expensive and exotic wax. To top it all off, a bright red ribbon spiraled up Blurr’s erect spike, leading to a fluffy bow stuck to the tip; another bow, overlarge and gold, decorated his chestplate.

                “Santa dropped me off a little early. Hope you don’t mind,” Blurr added with a wink of one optic.

                Sideswipe looked at Sunstreaker.

                Sunstreaker looked at Sideswipe.

                Jazz gave a wolf whistle as he walked by the open door, and Sideswipe realized that it was still gripped tightly in his hand.

                “We don’t mind at all,” Sunstreaker and Sideswipe said in unison.

                Sunstreaker began stalking forward, head lowered and optics fixed unerringly on the grinning racer lounging so delectably on their bed. “Close the door, Sideswipe. I’m going to start upwrapping our present.”

                “Right behind you, bro. Right behind you.”

Chapter Text

     “We need to work out the details,” Prowl said. 

     Ironhide looked at the other mech askance. “What details? Spike in valve. Repeat until credit shot.” 

     Prowl’s doorwings rose, and Ironhide stared at them warily. He’d have to make sure he got Prowl on his back during the shoot. Otherwise those things might whap him in his face. And while it wasn’t pretty like Prowl’s was, it still had its charm. 

     “That is boiling things down to the most basic. What positions do you prefer? How is your timing? I’m assuming you’ll need to take breaks?” Prowl replied archly, gaze trailing down Ironhide’s frame in a dismissive manner. 

     Ironhide took a step forward, sneering down at the smaller mech. Prowl didn’t appear impressed. “Breaks?” Ironhide sneered. “I aint some little priss. One scene, one shot. That’s how I roll. If you can’t keep up, maybe we shouldn’t do this.” 

     Prowl sniffed delicately. “I will have no problem ‘keeping up’. Just be sure to have the medic check you out before we shoot. I would hate to have you keel over mid-scene,” he retorted. “I will not hold back.” 

     “Wouldn’t want you to. And I can take whatever you dish out,” Ironhide replied boastfully. 

     “Excellent. Then it is agreed. You shall wear an inhibitor, be bound, and I shall spike you until you beg for release. Which will only happen if you perform suitably, and I achieve my own completion. I am glad we discussed this. I shall see you tomorrow,” Prowl announced with a firm nod. Then he whirled on one heel and walked away, sensory panels flouncing with every step. 

     Ironhide stared after him, jaw dropped in shock. “Y… you… but… I… I’m supposed to spike you!!”

Chapter Text

     I think this music is putting Ratch to sleep, Sideswipe complained. 

     Sunstreaker slanted a glance upwards to gaze at Ratchet, who had his optics shuttered and wore a peaceful expression on his faceplates. His ventilations were soft and even, his EM field open and calm.

     Is that such a bad thing? Sunstreaker returned, feeling Ratchet’s fingers twitch against his belly. 

     Sideswipe stroked the side of Sunstreaker’s helm fin, also looking up at their lover before meeting Sunstreaker’s optics. 

     Naw, guess not. I’d rather wear him out the old fashioned way, Sideswipe said with a small leer, but this will work too.

Chapter Text

     “You need to be fast,” Sunstreaker cautioned in a whisper, making Sideswipe pause. He looked over his shoulder in disbelief. 

     “Oh, really? I never thought of that. Just keep an optic out for Ratchet. You know he can only count inventory for about ten minutes before he gets bored and takes a break.”

     Nodding in agreement, Sunstreaker propped himself up against the wall beside Ratchet’s office, giving him a direct line of sight to the rest of MedBay. Moving silently, Sideswipe cracked open the office door and slipped inside, stirrings of gleeful mischief snaking their way across the bond. 

     Shock followed only seconds later. 

     Sunny. Come take a look at this, Sideswipe said, sounding almost awed. 

     But Ratchet…

     You don’t have to worry about him; he’s here. 

     Forehelm furrowed, Sunstreaker edged his way through the still open door, almost running into the back of his brother. He peered over Sideswipe’s shoulder, optics widening in surprise at the sight which greeted him. 

     Indeed, Ratchet was here. Slumped over his desk, helm pillowed on one outstretched arm while the other dangled at his side. His optics were shuttered, mouth open the tiniest amount as he made the most adorable rasp with every ex-vent. 

     He didn’t even make it to his cot, Sunstreaker commented, both of them knowing Ratchet kept a narrow berth in the attached closet for quick naps between checking on hospitalized patients. 

     Poor thing. He must have been so tired, Sideswipe said. Sunstreaker nodded, and then leaned forward to prop his chin on his twin’s shoulder. They stood there for several minutes, just watching the medic sleep. It was odd seeing him so quiet and still. 

     Well, I can’t prank him now. He looks too damn peaceful! Sideswipe suddenly complained, rousing Sunstreaker from his reverie. 

     Should we move him to the cot? Sunstreaker ventured hesitantly, knowing his brother was merely putting on a front. Their pranks on Ratchet had lately become less of a way to amuse themselves and more of a cry for attention that neither of them liked examining too closely. 

     We’d probably wake him, Sideswipe replied. But we could grab one of his blankets. Keep him from getting cold. 

     Good idea. I’ll get it. Sunstreaker pushed past his brother and quietly strode across the office to the closet. Opening the door, he quickly grabbed the top most blanket on the cot and turned back around. He froze when he saw his brother standing at Ratchet’s side. 

     Sideswipe was staring down at the medic’s face, his own set in an expression of contemplation. 

     What’s wrong?


     Sunstreaker cocked his head at his brother. You sure?

     Sideswipe bit his lower lip and looked up. I think we’re falling for him. 

     I think… I think we fell for him a while ago, Sunstreaker admitted slowly.

     Yeah… I think you’re right

     Sideswipe sighed, the sound barely audible over Ratchet’s quiet snores. Come on, let’s cover him up and then get out of here. I need to drown my confused brain in some high grade. 

     Together, they unfolded the blanket and spread it out over Ratchet, carefully tucking it around his shoulders. Ratchet didn’t stir once other than to make a snuffling noise and press his face further into his arm. Both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker paused at that, Sideswipe looking as if someone had just stuck a knife into his spark. Sunstreaker sympathized because his own was melting at the adorable sight. 

     Task completed, the left Ratchet’s office, each of them glancing over their shoulders several times as they departed. They shut the door behind them and looked at each other with identical looks of despair before walking away, shoulders slumped in defeat. 


     Ratchet raised his head, blinking into the darkness of his office. He’d always been a light sleeper; he had to when he needed to be alert at a moment’s notice to deal with a crashing patient. Yet, he hadn’t even noticed the twins coming into his office until gentle hands were soothing a blanket around his shoulders. 

     He had been tempted to jerk up and scare the diodes out of them, but instead, he’d let them be, curious to see if he could catch them red-handed in a prank set-up. But they had just stood there for a minute before leaving. Without doing anything other than covering up his slumbering frame. 


     Clutching the blanket around his shoulders, he stood up and shuffled his way over too his cot, feeling strangely light at spark. 

Chapter Text

     “Well, aren’t you just about the cutest little thing…” Sideswipe purred, stepping into Ratchet’s space. 

     The medic bristled, his mouth opening to speak, only for it to open wider in shock as Sunstreaker stepped up behind him and ghosted hands over white shoulders. 

     “What do you think you’re doing?” Ratchet demanded, trying to turn himself so he could keep both twins in sight. He had probably intended for it to sound imperious but his voice shook just a little in nervousness.  

     “Thanking you for saving my brother’s life,” Sunstreaker supplied. “You were… impressive… the other day.” 

     “I have to take Sunny’s word for it. But, I guess me standing here is proof enough,” Sideswipe added with a cheeky grin. 

     “Oh. You’re… you’re welcome,” Ratchet ventured hesitantly. “How are you feeling?”

     Sideswipe’s smile widened and his optics lidded as he leaned in. “Oh, I’m fine. Just like you are.”

     “Sunstreaker! Sideswipe!” The twins’ heads shot up in unison at Hoist’s call from across the medical bay. “Leave Ratchet alone.” 

     “We’re not bothering him,” Sunstreaker growled, shifting so that their arms brushed. “He didn’t tell us to leave.”

     “Because he’s too polite to do so. But I’m not. Unless you’re injured, leave,” Hoist instructed. 

     “I don’t know… my spark is feeling kind of funny,” Sideswipe murmured, turning to stare intently at Ratchet. 

     Ratchet looked back at him, plating flaring in surprise. Then his faceplates heated and he ducked his head. “I think you should probably go.” 

     Sunstreaker and Sideswipe exchanged a glance before they reluctantly stepped back. “If that’s what you want. See you around, Ratch,” Sideswipe said, waving over his shoulder as they began walking away, Hoist glaring at them the entire time. 



Chapter Text

     “Here is the one I was telling you about,” Magnus said, handing over the data file. 

     Megatron took it, optics lighting up. “Ah, excellent! A very exciting read, I’m sure. This will definitely keep me occupied for a while. How are you finding the series I lent you?”

     “The Sherlock Holmes? Surprisingly entertaining,” Magnus admits, settling back into his chair. “I was not sure that I would like it, certain that the conclusions to each mystery would come to me too quickly. However, due to the alien nature of the author, I have found myself surprised countless times.”

     “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Even with my in depth exposure to the human race, there were some mysteries I could not solve either.” Megatron made himself comfortable in the other chair. He took a sip of his energon, making a face at the taste. First Aid had procured some energon additives for Megatron to try, but as of yet, none of them quite masked the bitterness of the Fool’s Energon.

     “You shall have to let me know what you think of the Fli’o’choque poetry. I find each poem quite soothing,” Magnus replied, withdrawing a data pad from his subspace and powering it on. 

     “Yes, absolutely,” Megatron returned absently, already scanning the contents of his new data file. 


     The sat in silence for hours, each absorbed in their own reading. Every now and then one of them would make a pleased sound or a little grunt of surprise. But for the most part, they were quiet, their softly humming systems the only sounds. 

     At least in Magnus’ quarters. Outside in the rest of the ship, there was the occasional shout or loud conversation. Several times, there was the sound of banging and once, the scrape of something being dragged down the hallway. 

     That had almost pulled Magnus up from his chair, but Megatron had just shook his head, and Magnus had reluctantly sat back down. 

     All normal noise above the Lost Light. Nothing to worry about. Especially when a Co-Captain and Third in Command were both still on duty.

Chapter Text

     When Sideswipe wakes up, Sunstreaker isn’t there. 

     He’d feel a little hurt, but Sunstreaker hadn’t been keeping him company out of brotherly duty. Sunstreaker had been lying in the bed next to him because he’d nearly had his spark shot out. 

     Sideswipe had only felt the echoes, but it had fragging hurt. That combined with the explosion that had ripped into Sideswipe’s back and subsequent spinal relays had put him out of commission for quite a while. 

     Neither one of them should have been up and about, yet here Sideswipe lies, all alone. He feels a brief moment of panic, but realizes the surgical suite’s lights are off so his brother hadn’t been carted back into surgery. In fact, the MedBay is pretty quiet and dark, only a single light on in Ratchet’s office. 

     Where are you? he questions his twin. 

     Four beds over. With Ironhide, comes the prompt reply. 

     Sideswipe scrunches up his face in confusion. Ironhide? What happened to him?

     He rolls himself onto his side and then sits up, fresh waves of agony pouring down his back. Despite that, he pushes himself to his feet and shuffles past the privacy curtain and towards the sensation of his brother. 

     Got fragged, was Sunstreaker’s curt reply. 

     I assumed, Sideswipe retorted in irritation. Doing what?

     A fight. They don’t just stop because we’re down for the count, you know. 

     “I’m aware of that,” Sideswipe hisses as he finally makes it to the area where Ironhide is. “But what hap… oh.”

     Got fragged, indeed. Ironhide is lying very still on the medical berth, wires and tubes connecting him to practically every monitor Ratchet has. Nearly Ironhide’s entire body is covered with weld lines. 

     “Damn,” Sideswipe whispers, coming to stand next to his brother. “At least he’s out here in general pop. What the Pit did he do?”

     “There are claw marks. Tooth marks,” Sunstreaker says, pointing them out. “I think he went after Soundwave.”

     Sideswipe sighs wearily. “Of course he did. When’s he gonna realize we can take care of ourselves?”

     Sunstreaker turns and looks at him. Then his optics flick to Sideswipe’s back. 

     Sideswipe makes a face, reaching out a hand and carefully flicking one of Sunstreaker’s own weld lines across his chest. 

     “Mostly,” Sideswipe amends, surveying the old warrior. “Wonder how bad Soundwave got beat up.” 

     “Badly, I’m sure,” Sunstreaker says viciously, Sideswipe nodding in agreement. Their unofficial guardian was fierce and experienced; he had taken both of them down more times than they could count. Sideswipe was certain he had given as good as he got.

     Next to him, Sunstreaker suddenly sags in place and Sideswipe reaches out to pull him close. “Do you think he’ll be ok?” Sunstreaker whispers, leaning against Sideswipe. 

     They sort of prop each other up as they look down at Ironhide. 

     “Never a doubt,” Sideswipe proclaims, although he feels a little uneasy at how still Ironhide is.

     He looks at the space on either side of Ironhide’s body. “So… do you think we’d both fit?”


Chapter Text

      “Have a good day at work, sweetums?” Sideswipe called out as Optimus walked through the front door. 

      After making sure the reinforced metal was secured and locked, Optimus fell back against it and stared across the room to where the twins were lounging on the couch. Sunstreaker was slumped at the far end while Sideswipe sprawled across the length of furniture, head in his brother’s lap. 

     “Ugh. Someone get over here and suck my spike,” Optimus instructed wearily.

     “That bad, huh?” Sunstreaker asked, Sideswipe rolling off the couch. He landed on his hands and knees and began crawling towards Optimus. 

     Sunstreaker’s optics drifted towards the sway of Sideswipe’s aft, and Optimus had a brief moment of envy that he was denied that view. 

     Of course, Sideswipe’s heavily lidded optics and smirk promised more than just a view. 

     “A fight broke out in the Council over the stupidest thing: lightposts. Fragging lightposts! This is why I’m Primus’ chosen leader? To mediate an argument over streetlights?!” Optimus exclaimed. 

     “Could be worse,” Sunstreaker mused. 

     “Yeah? How?” Optimus demanded, throwing his arms up. 

     “You could be entering an empty house, where no one awaited your return,” Sideswipe supplied, finally reaching Optimus’ feet. He pressed against Optimus’ legs, slithering up them until his arms rested across broad hips. 

     “Think of how sad you would be then,” Sideswipe whispered, bending his head and pressing a kiss against Optimus’ modesty panel. 

     “How bored you would be,” Sunstreaker added, striding forward. “How… frustrated…”

     “…with no one to help you out with those frustrations,” Sideswipe finished in that eerie way they had sometimes. 

     “That would be horrible,” Optimus admitted as Sunstreaker came up to his side. He licked his lips at the delectable arch of the golden twin’s neck as he tilted his head to consider his brother. 

     “Truly,” Sunstreaker agreed, reaching down and petting the center of Sideswipe’s helm. Then he held his hand out. 

     Sideswipe took it and Sunstreaker pulled him to his feet, both of them grinning evilly. Optimus made a wordless sound of protest as they backed up.  

     “Fortunately, you don’t have that problem,” Sunstreaker said, his brother’s hands groping his hip.  

     “No, you have two handsome mechs right here. You should thank Primus you’re that lucky… and probably them too,” Sideswipe added with a wink of one optic. He purred as Sunstreaker’s hand dipped between his thighs. 

     Chuckling, Sunstreaker removed his hand and then the both of them were running out of the room, peals of laughter echoing behind them. 

     They didn’t care that he was Prime. All they cared was that he was worthy. And hunting them down and tackling them to the berth was their favorite way of him proving that. 


     The exercise would do wonders in relieving some of his tension. 


Chapter Text

     “What’s wrong with you?” Sunstreaker asked, striding into their shared room and taking in the sight of Sideswipe curled up at one end of the couch. He was blindly staring at the floor in front of him, the room otherwise silent. “All I’ve been feeling from you is doom and gloom for the past half of my shift.” 

     Sideswipe shifted, tucking his chin further into the tops of his knees. 

     “Nothing,” he replied sullenly. 

     Sunstreaker rolled his optics. “Uh huh. Ok, well, I’m going down to the range. Mirage was talking slag about Bluestreak’s shooting, and I want to watch our boy wipe the floor with that pretentious snob. You coming?”

     “No,” Sideswipe said, giving Sunstreaker pause. Sideswipe was always up for watching competitions like this one. 

     “You sure?” Sunstreaker hesitantly asked, now starting to feel a little worried. 

     “Yeah. Go, tell me who wins. It’ll be Blue, of course, but you can tell me all the details,” Sideswipe replied, mustering up a small, encouraging smile. 

     “Well… ok… You can always head down later. They’re both pretty good, it may take a while…” Sunstreaker offered. 

     “Yeah. I’ll think about it.” Sideswipe uncurled a little, reaching for the TV remote. “There’s a show on I want to see.” 

     “Oh. Ok. Have fun then. You know where I’ll be if you need me.” Sunstreaker started backing towards the door, optics locked on his brother. Sideswipe merely gave him a listless wave and starting flipping through channels. 

     Giving a little huff of irritation, Sunstreaker gave up and left. Sometimes Sideswipe got into a sulk and nothing but time would get him out of it. 

     Several hours later, Sunstreaker returned to see Sideswipe sitting in the exact same spot, the television silent once more. 

     “All right, seriously. What is going on with you?” Sunstreaker demanded, coming over to stand in front of his twin and glare down at him. 

     Sideswipe’s gaze slowly focused in on Sunstreaker’s face, those familiar violet optics dim and hazy. “I just… I don’t know,” he replied helplessly, shrugging. 

     All of Sunstreaker’s irritation left him in one quiet rush. He sat down next to his twin, nudging his shoulder with Sunstreaker’s own. 

     “What do you need?” 

     “Don’t hit me… but I don’t know,” Sideswipe replied softly. 

     “I’m not gonna…” Sunstreaker trailed off before sighing. “Come here.” 

     He held his arms out, and Sideswipe’s expression brightened. He hesitantly turned, snuggling into Sunstreaker’s chest. 

     “You hate cuddles,” Sideswipe said, muffled against Sunstreaker’s throat. He tightened his arms around his brother’s back, letting his chin rest on the top of Sideswipe’s helm. 

     “I hate you like this even more,” Sunstreaker murmured. Then, “You wanna hear about the upset down on the range?”

     Sideswipe ex-vented, relaxing in Sunstreaker’s hold. “Yeah. Tell me all about it.”


Chapter Text

     Rodimus gesticulates. Waves his arms around, paces, is always in motion. His feet, his mouth… every bit of him is constantly moving. 

     It should weary Magnus. And it did, a little, at first. Or maybe that was due to the noise. Because Rodimus is also loud, speaking his mind whenever the opportunity presents itself, regardless if someone has asked him for his opinion or not. 

     Yes, Magnus thinks. It was the volume that at first exhausted Magnus. But now, he’s used to it, just like he is accustomed to the perpetual activity. 

     He doesn’t want to be used to either the motion or volume. He wants to hate them, and Rodimus… or at feel dislike or disdain. Instead, Magnus feels a sort of fond exasperation. 


     No, that’s too strong a word. 

     Well. Maybe not. Maybe it’s just right. 

     And Magnus doesn’t quite know what to do about it. 

     He never expected to feel this way. Never wanted to, about anyone. Never expected to become accustomed to noise and frenzied motion. He’s frankly at a loss. 

     He doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to treat his own processor which surprises him at every turn. Like prompting him to smile behind Rodimus’ back as he gushes about something ridiculous to Drift. 

     Surely it’s all the cause of a virus?

     Maybe he should see Ratchet. Ambulon even. 

     Yet that thought fills him with a dull sort of dread. Remove his fondness for Rodimus? Magnus would probably get so much more work done. 

     But would he enjoy his time as much? 

Chapter Text

     “You look tired, Ratchet.”

     “When’s the last time you recharged? Or had a cube?” 

     “Have you waxed recently?”

     Ratchet whirled around and threw everything that had been piled in his arms at the three mechs trailing behind him. As he had only been carrying mesh bandages, they weren’t too effective at driving the three miscreants away. Instead they merely stared at him as the thin squares slowly fluttered to the ground. 

     “Mazel tov?” Sideswipe ventured hesitantly, batting one of the meshes away from his face. 

     “Go. Away,” Ratchet growled. 

     “No, you,” Drift returned, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re off the clock. What are you even still doing here?”

     Ratchet’s hands closed in and out of fists and the other occupants of the room mysteriously all vanished behind the nearest solid object. 

     “I’m the Chief Medical Officer. I do not need to explain myself to a trio of scruffy frontliners -”

     “Scruffy?!” Sunstreaker exclaimed, pushing himself off from the wall he had been leaning against. 

     “ - who can’t seem to keep their noses out of my bloody business!”

     “I’m not scruffy!” Sunstreaker growled, striding forward and poking Ratchet in the chest. The golden twin glared down at Ratchet, optics practically spitting fire. Ratchet met his stare and bared his denta in a threatening smile. 

     “If you touch me one more time, you will be,” Ratchet warned. 

     “Guys, guys!” Sideswipe exclaimed, reaching for Sunstreaker and tugging him away from Ratchet. “We’re just concerned for you, Ratch. Just last week you were missing half your chest. If that had been one of us, you’d still have us on light duty. Why don’t you take a break and let us get you some fuel… maybe even give your back a little scrub from the MedBay grime, huh?”

     And when was Sideswipe the reasonable one? 

     It wouldn’t be so bad, but it was all three of them now, all the time. Hounding him to take care of himself, giving him little trinkets and baubles, leaving energon gels on his desk, and being so well-behaved that Ratchet kept looking over his shoulder waiting for the anvil to fall. It had been bad enough when it was just the twins. Then Drift joined in. Now they appeared to all be working together. 

     And Ratchet was slowly going insane. 

     He took a step back away from the trio and held his hands up. “I will do those things right now. On my own!” he added as they each took an excited step forward. 

     “And tomorrow, you three will meet me at my office at the end of second shift and we’ll talk about what you all want. Because I have no idea what it is, and you are driving me up the wall,” Ratchet said, exasperated. 

     “But, Ratchet…” Drift said softly, all three of them leaning forward with, frankly creepy, matching earnest expressions. “Isn’t it obvious? We want you.” 


Chapter Text

     “You are ridiculously small,” Megatron commented, one large hand resting atop Rung’s back and nearly covering it completely. 

     Rung stirred, lifting his head from where it rested atop Megatron’s chest. “I might protest that you are ridiculously large.” 

     “You might?” Megatron asked with one raised orbital ridge.

     “But I don’t. I quite enjoy your frame size,” Rung returned, snuggling back down with a small, contented smile. 

     “You enjoy lounging on top of me as if you were a cat. I already have one of those.”

     Rung shifted, smoothly parting his legs to either side of Megatron’s thighs and sitting up. 

     “You do make an excellent pillow,” Rung replied, patting Megatron’s chest. “But mostly I like it when your great big frame shivers and shakes beneath me.”

     Megatron’s ventilations catch as Rung slides even farther down Megatron’s body. Rung’s gaze drops coyly as his hips swivel slowly atop Megatron’s cooling panel. 

     Not so any more. 

     “Does that make you feel powerful? To reduce me so?” Megatron questioned, his hands cupping Rung’s hips. Not to direct him, but just to feel the subtle motions. 

     “Quite,” Rung replied with a flash of a smile. “But not how you think. It gives me great joy to serve your needs.”

     “You serve me? I seem to recall I was servicing you not too long ago,” Megatron commented, his optics dropping to the expanse of inner thigh exposed by Rung’s position. 

     “Mmm, yes,” Rung said with a fond smile. He dropped his hand to his lower belly, stroking it. “That was nice. I quite enjoyed that. Just as you enjoyed performing the act. Do you see?”

     Megatron quirked his lips upward in a smile. “You are merely here to care for me? I guess there’s no one else who would know better than you what my needs were.” 

     “That is true,” Rung commented airily, his hand slipping farther between his thighs. “I am naturally a care giver. It’s what I do best.” 

     “Mmm. I think there are quite a few things you do well,” Megatron purred, avidly watching Rung begin to stroke himself. 


Chapter Text


     It’s a struggle, but he finally manages to lift his head. His vision swims as he peers out through his remaining optic, the orb cracked and fractured. 

     “Hiya, Megs. How’s it hangin?” he says and then starts cackling. Oh, the irony.

     His wrists burn from where the hooks pierce them. The chains leave him dangling just an inch above the floor. So close and yet so far away to support his own body weight. 

     Megatron crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “Clearly Vortex has been going too hard on you.” 

     “Naw. I can take it. Bring it on. I used to frag you after all, so this is nothing,” Smokescreen replies, his vocalizer spitting static. 

     Megatron raises an orbital ridge. “You’re comparing our interfacing to torture?”

     Smokescreen thinks back, smiling a little in remembrance. “If you’re doing it right, it should be a bit like torture.”

     “Then every time,” Megatron says smugly, taking a step closer.

     “Mm. For you maybe. Those last few years? Your spark just wasn’t in it, Megsy,” Smokescreem replies with a grimace. 

     “Is that why you left me?” Megatron asks, frank curiosity on his face. He reaches out, winds an arm around Smokescreen’s waist, and lifts him up easily. 

     Smokescreen can’t help the sigh of relief as his frame is supported, relieving the agony in his arms. He gazes down into his former lover’s face, observing the familiar slant of optics, the straight line of his nasal ridge. 

     “I left you for a lot of reasons, Megatron,” Smokescreen sighs again. 

     “Selfish ones, I’m sure,” Megatron replies, his lips twisting. “You were always a bit demanding.” 

     Smokescreen scoffs. “How dare I demand someone who acknowledged I existed? Someone who I once thought I could make a home with?”

     “We never would have been allowed to have that. Not as we were,” Megatron growls. “I had to change things.”

     Smokescreens chuckles, a dark, mirthless sound. “Good job, lover. You sure changed things.” 

     Megatron scowls and abruptly drops Smokescreen, taking a step back from him as he howls in pain. 

     “And I will continue to do so. I suggest you give Vortex the information we’re seeking,” Megatron snaps, striding off and hitting the light switch as he left the room. 

     Darkness descends once more as Smokescreen slowly sways back and forth. He allows himself a small keen, both for his current pain and for the past.


Chapter Text

     Sideswipe barely acknowledges Sunstreaker as he sweeps into their quarters and breezes right past into the sleeping room. 

     Not that Sunstreaker really cares that his brother has essentially ignored him. His forearm is nearly finished and then it will be time to…

     He pauses as he hears an odd little choking sound. Looking up, Sunstreaker sees Sideswipe standing in the doorway to their recharge area. He’s got one hand on the sill and he’s half turned, looking back at Sunstreaker. 

     Sideswipe looks faintly horrified and Sunstreaker’s battle protocols stir in response. “What is it?” he asks, optics darting around the room. 

     “That’s not the right color.”

     Sunstreaker blinks at his twin, confused. “What are you talking about?”

     Sideswipe turns around fully and gestures at Sunstreaker’s freshly painted arm. “That’s the wrong color, Sunny. It doesn’t match the rest.” 

     “Do you really think I wouldn’t know my own paint shade?” Sunstreaker asks in disbelief. 

     “I do when you’ve just been released by Ratchet after having a head injury. There’s something still not right up in there,” Sideswipe replies, striding forward and grabbing the pot of paint by Sunstreaker’s knee. He makes a wordless protest, but before he can stop his brother, Sideswipe twists the top back on and flips it upside down, pointing to the color identification code. 

     “See? 917- Saffron, not 017- Bright Gold. Do you really think I wouldn’t know my twin’s preferred paint shade?” Sideswipe asks in a mocking tone. 

     Sunstreaker barely hears it over the roaring in his audials. He’d painted himself the wrong color. Saffron! He can’t decide if he’s disgusted or horrified. 

     “C’mon, we need to get you back to Ratchet,” Sideswipe commands, putting down the pot and gesturing to Sunstreaker. 

     “I can’t go through the halls looking mismatched!” Sunstreaker protests, aghast at the very thought. “I won’t! What if Tracks sees?”

     “What if your head spontaneously combusts? Wouldn’t that be worse?” Sideswipe retorts, yet he grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and wraps it around Sunstreaker’s arm. 

     “No!” Sunstreaker wails, even as Sideswipe pulls him up. “They’ll know something’s wrong!” 

     “Sunny,” Sideswipe starts grimly, tugging him along. “By now, everyone knows there’s something not quite right about you…”



Chapter Text

      “All right, mechs, time ta go inta stealth mode,” Jazz instructed quietly, his gaze focused on the expanse of desert in front of them. 

     One by one, the members of the strike team turned off their lights and switched on infrared sensors. Barely thirty seconds later, Jazz spun around in a crouch. 

     “I said headlights ofwoah! Sunshine, didja know that yer glowin?”

     There was the quiet sound of transformation as Sunstreaker stood up and looked down at his frame. Every spot of gold now glowed strongly with an eerie white-green shine. 

     “Sideswipe…” he growled, looking down at his twin and raising a fist. 

     The crimson frontliner leaped into his own transformation and danced out of the way, his wide optics illuminated by his twin’s glow. 

     “No, dude, not me! Swear on our spark!” he protested. Then he cocked his head to the side in speculation. “But it certainly is pretty,” he commented, reaching out and trailing a hand down Sunstreaker’s arm. As he was batted away, Sunstreaker turned his glare on Jazz. 

     The saboteur only shook his head, his visor reflecting the odd glow. “Not me either. Ya really think I’d endanger this mission by bringin’ along someone who can be seen from miles away? Na uh. Go back home.”


     It had been slow for days! He’d been itching for some heads to bash in and now he was being sent home like an errant youngling?!

     “Go. I already commed Prowl. Get yerself seen by Ratch and/or ‘Jack to get that whatever that is off ya,” Jazz instructed. 

     “But…” Sunstreaker protested, gaze sliding over to Sideswipe. His fool brother would be going into a fortified enemy stronghold without Sunstreaker to back him up! 

     “Siders will be fine,” Jazz retorted, striding forward and pushing at Sunstreaker’s shoulder. Lightly. Carefully. Even Jazz didn’t get much leeway when it came to Sunstreaker’s highly guarded personal space. “Git on now. Everyone else, move out!”

      Gesturing the rest of the team forward, Jazz neatly folded down into his alt form after and sped away. 

     As the others took off after him, Sidsewipe and Sunstreaker looked at each other, Sideswipe chewing on his bottom lip. 

     “Don’t be stupid,” Sunstreaker finally said, socking Sideswipe in the shoulder.

     Translation: Please be careful because I don’t want to live without you, and I won’t be there to have your back.

     Sideswipe punched him back. “Yeah, well don’t get lost on the way back.”

     Translation: Seriously. Don’t get lost, because for some reason your GPS sucks tailpipe. Also, I love you too. 

     “Hn. See you later,” Sunstreaker said and transformed back into his alt mode. As he started driving away, he wondered if he could get someone to take pictures of him like this. He was a fine looking specimen to begin with but now he looked good both in the light and the dark. 




     Barely a mile from base, something pinged off his proximity sensor and he slid to a stop, blasters at the ready as he sprung to his feet. Something rustled in the nearby bushes and a deep voice said “shiny”. 

     Sunstreaker squinted and pinged a communication query, getting Grimlock and Snarl’s ident codes back. He relaxed his defensive stance and tucked the weapons away. 

     “Yeah, yeah,” Sunstreaker said dismissively and decided to just walk the rest of the way back. Prowl hadn’t commed him with any updated orders and Sunstreaker figured the longer the dawdled, the less Prowl could assign him. 

     “You Sunstreaker… very shiny,” Grimlock commented, pushing past trees to join him on the road. Snarl trailed along behind him, both of them in root mode. 

     “You Grimlock, very dumb,” Sunstreaker responded snidely, trying to sidestep around the duo. 

     “Me Grimlock, not dumb. Made you Sunstreaker… extra shiny,” Grimlock rumbled, pointing at Sunstreaker’s chest. 

     “You did this to me?!” Sunstreaker exclaimed, coming to a halt. “Why you overgrown…”

     A presence at his back made him whirl around, fists up. Somehow, Snarl had made his way around him and now stood there, visor glowing an indigo blue. He was smiling, sharpened denta bared. 

     Suddenly, heavy hands were on his shoulders and a deep voice was rumbling in his audial. “Him Snarl likes shiny things.”




     The next day Sideswipe looked all over the Ark in an attempt to find his twin. He finally battered down the blocks Sunstreaker had put up on their bond and followed the enraged grumbles to a little used wash rack in the bowels of the ship. So few came here because the water was actually too hot, but there Sunstreaker was, furiously scrubbing at himself beneath one of the showerheads.

     “Sunny, Sunny, woah, bro! What are you doing?!” Sideswipe demanded, running forward and shoving his brother out of the steaming stream of water. Nearly all of Sunstreaker’s gold was gone and in some places he had rubbed so much that the primer had disappeared and base gray was showing through. 

     “He licked me! Touched me and… and licked me!” Sunstreaker replied, half hysterical, trying to grab for the brush Sideswipe had yanked away. 

     “What?” Sideswipe asked faintly, optics wide. “What are you talking about?!”

     “Grimlock!” Sunstreaker exclaimed, throwing his hands up and then crossing his arms over his chest to hunch in on himself defensively. 

     “Grimlock… licked you?” Sideswipe repeated, trying to wrap his processor around the concept. 

     “No, you glitch! Snarl licked me! Grimlock sabotaged my wax so I would glow in the dark for that… that… He licked me, Sideswipe!!” Sunstreaker yelled, and then immediately looked over at the open door as if expecting the entirety of the Ark to be there, witnessing Sunstreaker’s story of woe.  

     “Where are you hurt?” Sideswipe demanded, looking for signs of wounds. He didn’t care if the Dinobots were some of the few mechanisms that outclassed he and his twin. They would be going down for doing harm to his brother. 

     “…I’m not. Although that brute Grimlock didn’t have to hold me down so hard,” Sunstreaker muttered, rubbing his wrists. 

     “They… ? Did he…” Sideswipe optics trailed down his brother’s body, alighting on his groin.

     Sunstreaker waved a hand through the air. “No!” 

     Sideswipe squinted an optic at his brother. “Ok. So they didn’t actually hurt you and they didn’t give you the ‘bad touch’…” he said, using air quotes. “…so what are you upset about again?”

     “Five hours. Five hours, Sideswipe! Five hours of being pawed at and licked in random places like I was some kind of… of… trophy for a robotic crow! I’m covered in Dinobot saliva!” Sunstreaker screeched. “I’m contaminated!”

     “They don’t actually have saliva, none of us do. That’s a human thing,” Sideswipe said reasonably and ducked out of the way of his twin’s wild swing. 

     “All right, all right! I get it! I’ll help you wash up, but you can’t be hurting yourself,” Sideswipe called out, well out of reach.

     “You’ll help? You promise?” Sunstreaker asked piteously, immediately looking like a pleading turbopuppy. And Sideswipe had never been able to resist that look.

     “Yes! Come here, you big sparkling.” Sideswipe reached for the solvent Sunstreaker had been using and slathered some on the bristled brush.

     “Ugh. Diva. Can’t live with attention, can’t live without it,” Sideswipe muttered to himself as he began scrubbing his twin’s back.


Chapter Text

     An oil bath is one of the few ways to completely relax Prowl. Not that he partakes that often. There’s always some excuse: too many reports, too little supplies, too many aftermath of pranks to deal with… 

     But tonight Jazz has divided up the reports among Prowl’s subordinates, every department has been well stocked thanks to Jazz’s subordinates, and the twins have been threatened into hiding in their quarters until the night is over, all so that Jazz can drag Prowl to the bathing pools for a little relaxation time. 

     And once Prowl dips a pede into the steaming oil, it doesn’t take long for the rest of him to follow, black and white plating automatically flaring to allow the flow of warm liquid over and around tense substructures. 

     “Feel good?” Jazz murmurs, watching Prowl’s doorwings slowly drag back and forth through the oil. He’s been doing it for several minutes now and Jazz suspects Prowl quite enjoys the sensation of his panels moving through the slightly viscous liquid. 

     “Mmm,” Prowl hums. He slumps further against Jazz’s chest, tucking his chin more firmly over Jazz’s shoulder. “This was a good idea, thank you.”

     Jazz tightens his grip on Prowl’s waist. The tactician is so limp that he seems ready to slide off Jazz’s lap and just disappear under the surface.  “You’re welcome, love. You’re quite welcome.”

Chapter Text

     “Mm. You didn’t set your alarm again. You’re going to be late,” Sideswipe murmured sleepily, stretching. Then he promptly plastered himself against Ratchet’s front, their arms and legs tangling. 

     “Well, I guess I should get going then,” Ratchet replied loftily, shifting as if to sit up. Sideswipe whined an unhappy noise and hide his face in the hollow of Ratchet’s throat.

     Behind Ratchet, Sunstreaker’s engine gave a disgruntled rumble and his arm tightened around Ratchet’s waist. “You still have five minutes before you need to leave. Stay.” 

     Hiding his smile against the top of Sideswipe’s head, Ratchet settled back down. “If you insist.”

Chapter Text

     “Ow! Sunny!” Sideswipe protested, glaring at the back of his brother’s helm. 

     Sunstreaker looked over his shoulder, one arm raised into the air as the opposite hand smoothed a soapy sponge down his side. “What?” he asked, brow furrowing in confusion. 

     Sideswipe waved at Sunstreaker and then indicated the corner of the washrack that he and Ratchet were huddled in. “There are other people in here too, you know! Why do you have to hog all the space?”

     “I’m not hogging all the space,” Sunstreaker retorted, completely turning around with an irritated huff. “I just need more maintenance than you.” The glance he shot down his brother’s frame was dismissive and Sideswipe’s hands clenched into fists. 

    Before things escalated, Ratchet stepped in. Literally. 

    He moved between the twins, reaching for the sponge. “Well, if that’s true, why don’t we help? There are two extra set of hands here that certainly don’t mind touching you,” he said with a wink of one optic. 

    “Now you’re gonna get him used to using us as his personal cleaning slaves,” Sideswipe complained, even as he moved forward. 

    “That’s not such a bad thing,” Ratchet murmured, avidly watching Sunstreaker arch and purr beneath Ratchet’s touch.

Chapter Text

     “It’s crooked,” Sunstreaker stated, referring to the large painting they were attempting to hang. 

     “It is not!” Sideswipe protested, whirling around to glare at his twin. Unfortunately, as he was precariously perched on a wobbly chair set atop the desk, the action threw his equilibrium off. His arms windmilled as he tried to regain his balance, but ultimately failed. He was only a dozen or so feet off the ground, yet he still winced in anticipation of impact. 

     One which never came. Instead broad hands grabbed him around his waist and pushed him back upright. 

     Sideswipe opened his optics and blinked down in surprise at Ratchet’s wry grin. “Clumsy,” the medic commented. “Now I see why you’re always ending up in Medical.”

Chapter Text

     “Wow. Nice,” was the comment that immediately followed the wolf whistle. 

     All three of them startled and looked over at the MedBay doors. Jazz was standing there, the door solidly closed behind him. His right arm was hanging oddly at his side, but a slag-eating grin practically split the width of his face. 

     “Can I join in?” Jazz asked, sauntering forward with a purr. 

     Sunstreaker’s hands tightened around Ratchet’s chest and he glared at the third in command. A loud rev of Sideswipe’s engine cut through the air in warning as he turned and backed up between the vee of Ratchet’s spread thighs. 

     “No,” Sideswipe snapped. “Ours.” 

     “Oh, for Primus’ sake,” Ratchet grumbled, suddenly coming to life as the haze of pleasure he had been floating in dissipated. He began struggling against the hands on him and the twins immediately backed off, letting him slide off the exam berth. “You two… out. We’ll pick this up later. Jazz… get on up here so I can take a look at that arm.” 

     Jazz cocked his head to the side and looked at the exam table Ratchet had just gotten off of. “That one? You sure it’s clean?” he asked with a saucy grin. 

Chapter Text

     “I love you,” Sideswipe slurred, leaning against Sunstreaker’s side. A heavy helm plunked itself down upon Sunstreaker’s shoulder and he sighed.

     “Yeah, I know.” 

     “Do you love me too?” Sideswipe asked plaintively, winding himself around Sunstreaker’s now trapped arm. 

     Motion on the other side of the room made Sunstreaker look up. He glared at the other soldiers in the rec area, mechs and femmes alike both snickering and giving them looks. 

     Locking optics with an ugly blue mech who was laughing the loudest, Sunstreaker bent his head and pressed a kiss to the top of Sideswipe’s helm. “Always,” he murmured, the softness of his voice at odds with the heat in his optics. 

Chapter Text

     “Harder. Harder, Sides,” Sunstreaker commanded, his knees clamping even tighter around Sideswipe’s waist. Sharp talons scrapped down Sideswipe’s back and he adjusted his grip on his brother’s hips to comply. 

     “Yes, your majesty. Of course, your majesty,” Sideswipe panted, ducking his head and hiding his face against the side of Sunstreaker’s neck. The smile faded fast though, Sunstreaker’s valve rippling urgently around Sideswipe’s spike and more than enough to distract him from the flare of humor. 

     “Are you back-talking me?” Sunstreaker demanded, his voice strained as he tried for an imperious tone and ending up sounding faint and needy. 

     Just the way Sideswipe liked him. 

     “Absolutely,” Sideswipe whispered, nasal ridge nudging up under Sunstreaker’s jaw. His brother obliged him, long expanse of throat baring itself. “I guess I could find something else for my mouth to do though…”

     His denta sunk into Sunstreaker’s main energon line, the firm tubing buckling under the pressure of Sideswipe’s bite. 

     Sunstreaker gave a strangled moan, hips jerking upwards to meet Sideswipe’s next thrust with a clang of metal. 

     “Yeah. Do that instead,” Sunstreaker instructed through pleasure-laced vocals. 

Chapter Text

     Attention! I’d like to remind everyone of the Autobot code of conduct, particularly the section pertaining to public displays of indecency. 

     Red Alert’s voice over the shipwide comms was a strange mixture of amusement and panic. 

     Jazz tore his mouth away from Prowl’s and started laughing, hiding his face in the bend of Prowl’s neck. “Do you think he means us?” Jazz chortled, swiveling his hips. 

     The action made his partner groan, fingers flexing on Jazz’s aft. The second in command reluctantly began shoving at the legs wrapped around his waist. “We are not indecent. Our panels are in place.”

     “For now,” Jazz replied with a smirk. “Get me behind closed doors and that’s gonna change, real fast.” 

     Before Prowl could reply, they heard a shocked gasp come over the loudspeaker. 

     Sir, I really do not think that is appropriate at all! What would the ancients think of a Prime behaving like this?!

     Jazz blinked up at Prowl in shock as the tactician nonchalantly shrugged. “See? I knew he did not mean us.” 

Chapter Text

     First Aid absently turned and then stumbled over his own two feet at the sight of a familiar frame standing in the doorway. “You… you’re back!”

     Ambulon hesitantly stepped into the room. “I am. Is that a problem?”

     “No, I… I just didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” First Aid replied, placing his armful of supplies on a nearby table. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.” 

     “Really?” Ambulon drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

     First Aid nodded, shyly retracting his face mask as he began walking towards the other mech. Ambulon’s arms dropped and he stood up straighter as First Aid approached. 

     “I really did. Come here,” he said softly, standing on pedetip. He reached out and grasped Ambulon’s shoulder, tugging him closer. 

     “I missed you too,” Ambulon murmured, his optics dimming as their nasal ridges brushed. 

     “Show me how much,” First Aid suggested, pressing his lips against Ambulon’s. 

Chapter Text

     “You’re amazing,” Sunstreaker murmured, ex-vents trickling warmth on the inside of Ratchet’s wrist. “These are amazing. The things you do…”

     “I’m just another mech…” Ratchet replied, biting his lip in embarrassment. “I’m no one special.” 

     Sunstreaker placed a kiss at the base of Ratchet’s thumb. “Tell that to Death. I’m sure he’d disagree.” 

     “Sunny…” Ratchet began, but trailed off with a sharp exhale as Sunstreaker bit down on the plate of metal stretching between Ratchet’s thumb and first finger. 

     “Shhh…” Sunstreaker admonished, looking up to meet Ratchet’s astonished gaze. “I have my brother because of you. I have my own spark. Just let me thank you.” 

     Another kiss at the tip of Ratchet’s index finger made him shiver. “If you insist…” 

Chapter Text

     “So your Sideswipe died?” Sideswipe Prime asked, watching Sunstreaker prowl around him. He had taken to calling himself ‘Prime’ in his head, not because of any claim to leadership, but just because 'Sideswipe the First' was kind of a mouthful. And a little pretentious, especially if this alternate universe thing was actually a real thing. 

     “In battle. Like a proper warrior,” Sunstreaker replied, drawing himself up and looking Sideswipe in the optic. He was still working on an identifier for this Sunstreaker. Maybe ‘Sunstreaker the Creepy Vibe Giver’?

     Sideswipe raised an orbital ridge at Sunstreaker’s answer, something in his spark twisting a little. “But you’re here. You didn’t die.”

     Sunstreaker’s chest puffed out a little. “Sideswipe was good, but I’m even better.”

     “Sure,” Sideswipe said easily. “My Sunny has always been the tiniest bit stronger and meaner than I am. But that’s not what I meant. I meant that you didn’t die when your brother did. You didn’t follow him… like a proper twin would,” he growled, disdain filling his voice. 

     He knew there had been a reason he had disliked this version of Sunstreaker right off the bat. 

Chapter Text

     “I can’t believe you’re serious,” Sideswipe snapped, turning and beginning to pace within the small confines of Prowl’s office. 

     “Sideswipe…” Prowl began but trailed off as Sideswipe held up his arms and shook the right one. 

     “Piledrivers, remember?”

     “I do, in fact. However, the chances are too high that the Decepticons have someone stationed outside the door and will hear. They trapped me here for a reason, to take me as prisoner after the raid is complete. It is unlikely that they will harm me beyond an incapacitating wound, but you, they would outright kill,” Prowl explained. 

     “I don’t care! I’m needed out there!” Sideswipe burst out, resuming his pacing. 

     “Your skills are valuable during battle,” Prowl conceded. “But there is a base full of other soldiers.”

     “Stop being so fragging logical!” Sideswipe shouted, coming to a stop and glaring at Prowl with indigo optics. The frontliner’s hands were clenched into fists and he seemed ready to come across the desk at Prowl. “Primus! Sometimes you just gotta take a chance, you cold-sparked glitch!”

     Prowl gazed back at the bristling warrior, frowning. Usually Sideswipe was much more composed than this and he had never directly insulted Prowl before. And he and the twins had certainly had their differences in the past. 

     But ah, that was part of it wasn’t it? Sideswipe was separated from his twin and angered by his unusual ineffectiveness. 

     “Sunstreaker will be fine,” Prowl said gently. 

     In answer, Sideswipe crossed his arms over his chest and spun around to glare at the hacked door. 

     “He’d better be,” Sideswipe muttered darkly. “Or otherwise I’m gonna see how fast I can bust through that wall.” 

Chapter Text

     “What’s wrong?” Prowl demanded as Jazz slipped through the open office door. Almost immediately after entering, Jazz had plastered himself to the bare wall beside the door. 

     “Nuthin’,” Jazz replied with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “I can’t come say ‘hi’ to my best friend after getting back from a mission?”

     Prowl regarded the other mech for a long moment. It was well into beta shift. Jazz had been debriefed over several hours ago and should have been resting. Not stalking the hallways and attempting to sneak into Prowl’s office. 

     “You told me hello when you first got back,” Prowl pointed out. 

     Jazz shrugged again, head dropping slightly as he intently studied the floor. “You’re working late. Thought you might like some company.”

     Prowl frowned; Jazz was acting peculiar as he sometimes did after work out in the field. There wasn’t much to be done about it except let Jazz work out whatever it was that was bothering him on his own. But he didn’t have to do it alone. 

     “I would like that. I have missed you,” Prowl admitted. 

     The corner of Jazz’s mouth twitched as he slunk forward towards one of the chairs that faced Prowl’s desk. 

     “Missed you too,” Jazz murmured. “There’s no place like home.”

Chapter Text

                “…please… please, sir, no more,” Skywarp begged, writhing in his bonds.

                “No more?” Prowl asked imperiously, taking a step to the side and meeting Skywarp’s pleading optics. “I thought you liked overloads. Do you not enjoy them?”

                He moved closer, placing a hand atop Skywarp’s lower abdomen and slowly sliding his fingers down. Skywarp sucked in a ventilation as Prowl’s smallest finger flicked the top of the vibrator’s harness, pulling the small toy tight against Skywarp’s node for a split second.

                “I do… I do like them, Master,” Skywarp hurried to say, peering down at Prowl’s shorter frame. “But I’m sore… it hurts a little…”

                Prowl tilted his head back to look into Skywarp’s face. “A little? I apologize…”

                Skywarp heaved a sigh of relief as Prowl reached for the strap again. Surely he was going to take it off now.

                “… I must not be doing it right,” Prowl finished, wrapping his fingers in the harness and yanking it taut.

                Skywarp threw his head back and howled, electric blissagony coursing through him as the vibrating toy was pulled tight against his already hypersensitized nub.

                “Master… master, please!” Skywarp keened, his wings flapping madly behind him. His limbs were well and truly bound however, and he did nothing more but create a strong breeze in the room.

                “I decide when we stop,” Prowl purred, pressing himself against Skywarp’s side, bumper rubbing against his cockpit. “And if it hurts a great deal by then… then so be it.”

Chapter Text


                Bluestreak bit off a shriek as nimble fingers ghosted over the edges of his sensory panels. Whirling around, he glared at the digits’ owners.

                “Why do you keep doing that?” he snapped.

                Skywarp took a step backwards, wide smile drooping at the edges. “Because it’s fun?”

                “Well, it’s not fun for me! You practically make my spark jump out of my chest each and every time and today I nearly shot Ironhide!” Bluestreak exclaimed.

                Skywarp worried his lower lip while gazing out over the battlefield. Things were dying down now and Megatron looked about ready to call a retreat.

                “I don’t mean to scare you. I don’t care if you shoot that old rust bucket, but I don’t want you having a spark attack. I’m sorry,” he said, trailing off and ducking his head.

                “It’s… you shouldn’t even be over here,” Bluestreak replied, sighing. “What if Megatron catches you?”

                “He ain’t gonna catch me. He doesn’t pay attention to what I do. Besides…” SKywarp pointed out, brightening. “…shouldn’t I care more about you catching me?”

                “I don’t really think I could capture you,” Bluestreak said, looking Skywarp over doubtfully. “You’re bigger than I am and you can teleport away in an instant.”

                Skywarp reached out and took hold of the end of Bluestreak’s rifle. Bluestreak’s grip was still slack from his earlier shock and it was easy for Skywarp to direct the muzzle at his left side, almost at his hip.

                “That’s my teleportation drive. You hit me there and I won’t be going anywhere for a while. And then maybe I could tickle your wings anytime I wanted,” Skywarp said with a small leer.

                Bluestreak stared up at him, blinking rapidly. “That… that doesn’t really make much sense…”

                Skywarp shrugged. “Does to me. You’re cute. You can tickle my wings anytime you wanted. Oh! Screamer’s calling. Gotta go!”

                Waving cheerfully, Skywarp popped back out of existence, leaving Bluestreak staring at the spot where he had been standing, horribly bemused.

                Did… did Skywarp mean what Bluestreak thought he did?

Chapter Text

               “Aren’t you done yet?” Wheeljack asked, leaning against the doorframe of Ratchet’s office. He did his best to not impatiently tap his foot against the floor; Ratchet had never responded well to that.

                Ratchet raised an orbital ridge. “Almost. The fair will still be there if we leave a few minutes later than planned.”

                “But that’s a few minutes less I’ll have to look around the science expo!” Wheeljack protested.

                “We have all night,” Ratchet reasoned dismissively, ducking his head to focus back on his report. “The expo is open only to us.”

                “Hoist’s already gone. Perceptor too,” Wheeljack muttered, thinking of the microscope’s cheery wave as he had left nearly half an hour ago.

                “Mmhm,” Ratchet replied absently, stylus practically flying across his datapad.

                Wheeljack watched the medic for another minute more before he pushed off from the doorway and began stalking across the room. He ended up directly behind Ratchet, who didn’t even seem to notice. Of course, Ratchet trusted Wheeljack explicitly.

                He really shouldn’t.

                An instant later, Ratchet jumped in his chair with a screech, frantically trying to twist around.

                “Stop it! Jack, stop!” Ratchet shouted, squirming to get away from the fingers which were driven deep into the plating cracks of his sides. Now many knew just how ticklish Ratchet was here, but Wheeljack was privy to all of his best friend’s greatest secrets. He rarely used them against Ratchet and only in time of great need.

                And Wheeljack had a mighty need.

                “Can we go now?” Wheeljack asked, raising his voice to be heard over Ratchet’s bellows. Motion in the doorway caught Wheeljack’s attention and he grinned at First Aid’s alarm-bright visor as it peeked around the edge of the open door.

                “No! Stop it! You’re… acting… like a… sparkling!”

                “Yup,” Wheeljack replied smugly. There was no way Ratchet was getting away from him, not in this position all smashed up against his desk as he was. “And this sparkling wants to go to the Science Expo - so can we go now?”

                “Fine! Yes! Yes, we can go now!” Ratchet snarled, engine revving.

                Wheeljack immediately removed his hands and stepped back. Coincidentally, First Aid ducked back into the MedBay proper, likely not wanting to get caught up in the fallout.

                Ratchet whirled around in his chair, glaring hard enough that Wheeljack was half afraid he was going to catch on fire.

                “You are ridiculous,” Ratchet growled lowly.

                “Yeah, but you love me,” Wheeljack returned smugly, daring to reach down and tug on Ratchet’s arm.

                Ratchet grudgingly let himself be pulled up and dragged along behind Wheeljack. He knew better than to put off leaving any longer. Once Wheeljack started tickling… he meant business.

Chapter Text

                Ratchet was so engrossed with his reports that when Whelejack banged into his office, Ratchet jumped about four feet into the air. Spark spinning far too fast, he glared at the engineer as he strode around Ratchet’s desk.

                “What in Primus’ name are you doing? Jack? …Wheeljack?” Ratchet questioned, annoyed, but then confused by Wheeljack’s silence.

                “You haven’t taken a break in nearly three days,” Wheeljack finally replied, bending over to shove Ratchet’s chair away from the desk. “And I know you ain’t gonna, but I can at least get ya to relax a bit while you work.”

                Once there was enough space between Ratchet’s chair and the desk, Wheeljack dropped into it, landing on his knees. Ratchet watched bemusedly, more than a little dazed from being abruptly yanked out of his paperwork state of mind.

                Had it really been three days?

                Well, to be fair at least half the Ark’s occupants were still lying out in MedBay after the most recent battle. He had been a little busy, he thought crossly.

                He came back to himself at the sensation of Wheeljack unceremoniously spreading Ratchet’s legs and sliding between them. Wheeljack quickly bent his head, blast mask transforming aside so he could press a hot, open-mouthed kiss directly atop Ratchet’s interface panel.

                He jerked in place, hands raising up in the air to hover over Wheeljack’s head. He couldn’t tell if it was to push Wheeljack away or pull him closer.

                “Open up. It’ll go a lot faster and then you can get back to work,” Wheeljack murmured, glossa laving at the cover as if he could lick through it and get to the more exciting bits beneath.

                Well, that seemed like sound reasoning. Ratchet’s interface panel transformed aside and he jerked again as Wheeljack pressed forward immediately, mouth slotting over Ratchet’s valve and sucking. His anterior node was gently caught up between Wheeljack’s lips and Ratchet’s head fell backwards, a soft moan escaping him.

                Frag, but that felt good.

                It didn’t take long for Ratchet to begin producing lubricant, drops of it welling up only for Wheeljack to lap it away. His hand played with Ratchet’s spike housing until his length pressurized, sliding up into the cage of Wheeljack’s fingers like they were made for one another.

                Head spinning, Ratchet felt himself relaxing back into his chair, his entire focus on the pleasure coiling up tight in in his lower belly. Nothing else mattered in the moment, not his paperwork or the dozen downed mechs just a room away.

                He let his optics slip offline and just listened to the moist sounds of Wheeljack’s mouth moving against Ratchet’s array. Wheeljack was humming a little, some almost familiar melody that came and went depending on his concentration. Ratchet’d have to ask his friend the name of it later as right now, he was well on the way to overload, especially with the way Wheeljack’s fingers were slipping inside Ratchet’s valve, caressing its walls.

                Ratchet finally decided what to do with his hands. He laid them on the back of Wheeljack’s helm, fingers tightening in an unspoken plea to keep going. Wheeljack merely redoubled his efforts and Ratchet’s back arched, little zaps of charge zinging down his legs.

                “Jack… Jackie, please,” Ratchet muttered fretfully, hovering at the edge. Wheeljack didn’t keep him there long, lips reattaching themselves to Ratchet’s node and suckling noisily while his fingers curled up beneath Ratchet’s valve rim, pressing against the smaller nodes there. A firm squeeze to Ratchet’s spike and he was overloading with a long, drawn-out moan, transfluid spattering against his lower belly.

                Ratchet’s hands kept Wheeljack’s head firmly in place until the stimulation of his mouth against Ratchet’s node became too much and he started squirming. Wheeljack gave one final lick to the throbbing sensor before nosing against the underside of Ratchet’s spike, finding and lapping up each drop of transfluid as Ratchet’s arms fell limply to the sides of his chair.

                “There,” Wheeljack said smugly between licks, “…isn’t that better?”

                “Mmm,” Ratchet hummed back, lassitude seeping through every line of his body. “s’nice…”

                “Ready to go back to work now?” Wheeljack asked, ventilations tickling Ratchet’s lower abdomen. His forehelm creased, optics still offline.

                “…yeah. I just gotta…”

                Ratchet honestly couldn’t remember what he had been doing. Or what he was supposed to do. Just lying here, sprawled out in his chair, seemed like a good idea for right now. He’d sit up in just a second, get back to whatever he was supposed to do.

                In just… another… second…

Chapter Text

                 “Just a little more…” Jazz crooned, attaching another clip to the underside of Prowl’s left doorwing. As soon as the two metals made contact, Prowl moaned and shuddered from the additional input of electricity.

                “Please… please…” Prowl whispered, head hanging low.

                “You’re almost there,” Jazz replied, smoothing a hand over Prowl’s lower back. “Just a handful left.”

                Prowl moaned again, his body trembling as it rested on knees and palms. Jazz’s hand continued in a meandering path, squeezing a hip and tickling Prowl’s lower belly. The tactician’s hips hunched forward, his swollen spike stabbing the air as Jazz’s fingers teasingly stroked around the overly warm cord housing.

                “Please… want to…”

                “You wanna overload?” Jazz asked, dancing his fingertips up the underside of Prowl’s spike.

                Prowl nodded rapidly as those digits wrapped around the throbbing length and gripped it firmly. The vibrating rod nestled within his transfluid channel buzzed cheerfully, sending snaps of charge throughout his neural net as Jazz’s fingers began to squeeze and kneed Prowl’s spike.

                “I bet you do. You’re hot, love. Practically burning up. It’s gonna feel so good when I take this ring off and let you come all over my hand.” Jazz’s fingers slid down to the base of Prowl’s spike, one digit caressing the thick metal inhibitor that had been placed there over an hour ago.

                “If you’re good…” Jazz murmured, leaning forward and whispering the words against Prowl’s audial. “… I’ll let you overload down my throat.”

                Prowl groaned as if in pain. He lifted and turned his head. His optics were dark, offlined as instructed, so his motions were tentative as he tried to nose against Jazz’s face, seeking his lips.

                “Yes… please…” Prowl panted, planting a messy kiss on Jazz’s cheek. “I’ll be good… please, sir… may I have the clips?”

                Jazz abruptly pulled away, making Prowl whine in disappointment. The whine morphed into a shuddering moan as Jazz reached up and tugged on some of the wires feeding low levels of electricity into Prowl’s sensory panels. Jazz released the wires and reached for one of the unattached clips hanging from the generator suspended above Prowl’s back.

                “Well, since you asked so nicely…” Jazz purred.

Chapter Text

                “You have got to be joking,” Ratchet said flatly as Sideswipe came to a stop in front of a door.

                Sideswipe turned around, bouncing on the tips of his pedes. His optics were bright, fans loud in the otherwise quiet hallway.

                “Does he look like he’s joking?” Sunstreaker rumbled against Ratchet’s audial, the frontliner’s fans a match for his twin’s. Pit, for Ratchet’s too at this point.

                He had always refused to interface in the medbay, no matter how tempting the twins could get. He considered most other public places off limits too, although hands certainly seemed to wander when they visited the washracks. Pit, he’d almost let Sideswipe frag him through the stall wall earlier this evening, but a raucous trio of minibots had wandered in, putting a stop to things.

                The minibots had almost lost a few limbs, judging by the glint in Sunstreaker’s optic, but Ratchet had snagged both the twins’ arms and led them out into the hallway. From there, they had proceeded to stumble their way back towards the twins’ room, their hands groping him at every opportunity. Until Sideswipe had broken away at one particular intersection, practically dancing down a different corridor and to their current destination.

                 “Aww, come on, it’s closer than our room, and I know the code,” Sideswipe cajoled, sidling up to Ratchet’s front and caressing the underside of his windshield. The twins know all of Ratchet’s hotspots by now, the fraggers. “Plus he’s off duty. I checked.”

                 “Well, I’d hope he’d be off duty!” Ratchet exclaimed, feeling his knees start to wobble as Sunstreaker attacked his hips with dexterous fingers.

                 “C’mon,” Sideswipe whispered, nibbling at Ratchet’s jaw. “C’mon, it’ll be fun, promise.”

                 “Need you,” Ratchet heard murmured from behind him and then a hard spike was painting pre-transfluid over Ratchet’s aft in hot little streaks.

                 “Oh, for Primus’ sake,” Ratchet muttered, valve suddenly achingly empty. “Open the door,” he commanded with a reluctant sigh.

                 Sideswipe jumped back and quickly hacked the door lock, rushing inside.

                 Ratchet almost didn’t make it, Sunstreaker’s spike finding its way between Ratchet’s thighs to rub insistently against his panel. He ended up gripping the doorjam, sorely tempted to say frag it all and let Sunstreaker have him right then and there.

                But he dredged up his very last iota of restraint and practically fell inside the room, stumbling across the floor to the large desk. Where Sideswipe had sprawled, legs already spread and valve glistening in the overhead light.

                “C’mere, Ratch,” Sideswipe crooned, holding out a hand and beckoning Ratchet forward. “I got what you need.”

                “A script for a bad pornovid,” Sunstreaker muttered, shutting and locking the door behind him.

                Ratchet ignored him, making a beeline for Sideswipe and that hot, wet hole which was waiting for him. His spike found its way inside within seconds, Sideswipe’s head flinging backwards with a muttered ‘finally!’ A thrust later and Ratchet’s hips were grabbed tightly, stilling him so that Sunstreaker could enter him from behind.

                And then they were rocking together, sometimes in sync, sometimes out of it due to their frantic need. Their movements began sliding the desk across the floor causing several items atop it to roll off and hit the floor. Ratchet could care less. The desk’s owner was off duty and they’d have plenty of time to clean up later.

               Overdue overloads first.


               “Aw, c’mon, you’re really going back to work? Can’t ya hang with me for a little while longer?” Jazz cajoled from a few steps away where he was gesturing further up the hallway to his quarters.

               Prowl reached out and punched in his code to the door lock. “You convinced me to break for energon and company, which I did. ‘Hanging’ was not mentioned. Enjoy the rest of your off shift, Jazz, I’ll…”

               Prowl fell silent when the door swung open, long enough that Jazz became worried the tactician had frozen again. When Jazz’s pede scrapped against the floor, Prowl jumped and slammed the door shut. He spun abruptly on his heel and began striding towards Jazz, doorwings fluttering in an uncharacteristic display.

               “Hanging. Yes, we can hang,” Prowl announced, sweeping past Jazz and storming through the door to Jazz’s quarters as if there were scraplets on his rear bumper. Jazz stared at Prowl’s office door with narrowed optics, but he wasn’t about to pass this opportunity up. He sauntered into his room after Prowl, ignoring a familiar muffled bellow which rang out into the hallway just before the door closed behind Jazz. 


~ End

Chapter Text


                Sideswipe shot a glance first at Red Alert whose back was turned to them, and then over to his brother. Yeah?

                Medbay isolation 3, Sunstreaker replied, his optics practically glued to the screen in front of him.

                Sideswipe didn’t know why Sunstreaker was insistent on using their bond to speak. Red Alert was plugged directly into the Hub, after all. He only did it for short periods of time as it strained his processor. And he only plugged in when others were present as nothing short of an explosion would otherwise catch his attention.

                Despite that, the twins tended not to fool around too much while on monitor duty. It was one of the most boring shifts available, but they had learned their lesson the day Ravage had snuck aboard and attacked Sparkplug. One of the cameras they should have been watching had actually caught the spy’s progress through the Ark. Their guilt after the fact had been enough for them to pay better attention to the monitors as they cycled through their multiple visual input.

                With one more look over his shoulder, Sideswipe pulled up the camera Sunstreaker had indicated. Fortunately, with Red Alert plugged in, their presence was more of a guardianship. His processor was quite adept at analyzing input from nearly a hundred different sources at once.

                It took Sideswipe a second to find what Sunstreaker wanted him to look at but once he saw it, his arm shot out and grabbed his twin’s elbow.

                Holy slag! Ratchet and Hound?! Sideswipe practically shrieked across their bond.


                Wow. They never even talk to one another, Sideswipe commented, now just as focused as his brother on the viewing screen. It was hard to look away from the rhythmic pumping of Ratchet’s hips or the blissful expression on Hound’s face.

                I don’t exactly think they’re talking now, Sunstreaker commented dryly.

                Sunstreaker had a point, Sideswipe conceded.

                Damn, Sideswipe finally said after another few seconds. This’s actually kinda hot…

                He felt Sunstreaker shift and he glanced over to see his brother staring at him. Sideswipe shrugged, not in the least bit embarrassed.

                What? It is! He protested, feeling his core temperature rise a bit as he looked back down at the monitor. Hound was appearing increasingly desperate, knees clamped down tight around Ratchet’s waist.

                Yeah, I guess, Sunstreaker replied after a long pause. His admission was accompanied by a soft chirr of transformation and when Sideswipe next looked over, the tip of his brother’s spike was just visible over the armrest of his chair.

                Well, if Sunstreaker was going to have his spike out… Sideswipe licked his lips and allowed his own aching interface cover to transform aside. He moaned as his hand wrapped around himself and then froze, peering over his shoulder to check on Red Alert.

                Still plugged in and not showing any evidence that he would be pulling out of the Hub anytime soon. Settling back down in his seat, Sideswipe squirmed to get comfortable, legs spreading wide.

                They look good together, Sideswipe commented. Of course, any two bots actively going at it looked good to him. He liked to participate, but he had to admit it was also fun watching at times.

                No, they don’t, Sunstreaker scoffed. Hound’s colors are already horrid to begin with and they’re so… dull… next to Ratchet’s. Plus, they’re both far too blocky.

                Hmm. You do realize this is a free show, right? Sideswipe returned, hand speeding up a beat after Ratchet began thrusting faster into Hound’s very willing body.

                Sunstreaker didn’t reply, his own hand practically a blur as he stroked his spike. Sideswipe kept looking over and watching for a few seconds, torn between the monitor and his own twin. It was always hard to look away from Sunstreaker.

                Suddenly, on the soundless video monitor, Hound threw his head back, optics squeezing shut as his mouth opened. Crying out, Sideswipe imagined, and overloading hard judging by the shudders running through the tracker’s frame.

                Ratchet continued to pump in and out of Hound’s valve, thrusts forceful. Those cherry red hands stood out in stark contrast against Hound’s olive green plating as he gripped the tracker’s waist tightly.

                Wish I could see his face… Sideswipe murmured mournfully, the tension in his lower belly wound tight. What would Ratchet’s expression look like? Vacant? Blissful? Focused?

                Sideswipe shivered at the thought of himself in Hound’s place, Ratchet looking down at him with that particular stare he had, the one which could stop a mech cold. Combine that with Ratchet’s heavy weight on top of him, keeping him trapped…

                Orgasm hit him suddenly and he bit his lower lip to keep from making more than a pleased grunt. Optics falling offline, he slumped in place, ventilating heavily as the pleasure gradually seeped away.

                When he finally stirred, he turned his head, automatically looking to his twin. Sideswipe blinked in surprise at what he saw. The residue of transfluid covering his brother’s spike wasn’t unexpected, but the look of pain on Sunstreaker’s face was.

                “Sunny?” he questioned softly, not even caring if Red Alert heard them.

                Sunstreaker’s head turned slowly, optics darkened with fading lust and emerging sadness. “Why Hound? Why not…?”

                Sideswipe’s optics widened at the words unspoken and he was out of his chair and in his brother’s lap in an instant. “Oh, bro…” he said faintly, winding his arms around Sunstreaker’s neck. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

                “I… I didn’t even really know…” Sunstreaker said plaintively and buried his face in Sideswipe’s throat. “Do you…?”

                Sideswipe looked back over his shoulder, watching Ratchet’s back as it heaved with the force of his ventilations. He was propped up over Hound, otherwise motionless after having overloaded.

                They were both quite fond of Ratchet, in the way that older street kids often adopted those younger then themselves, protecting them. Ratchet was far, far older than they by hundreds of centuries, but he could barely keep himself functioning. They didn’t understand how he had made it this far without someone like them looking out for him and bringing him his rations.

                But maybe it was more than just a protective urge keeping them orbiting Ratchet. Maybe there was something else there.

                “… yeah. I think so.”

                Just then, Red Alert’s console beeped. He jolted in place and Sideswipe dove back into his own chair, both of them hastily wiping themselves down.

                We’ll talk about this later, ok? Sideswipe asked, meeting his twin’s still pained glance. Sunstreaker nodded and they returned their attention to their respective monitors, quickly switching away from the exhausted couple in Isolation 3.


~ End 

Chapter Text

               “So strong,” Starscream murmured, sliding his hands across Vhee’s upper arms. “You must be so fast on these firm, little tires.”

                He squeezed them and Vhee moaned, unable to hold back the shudder. Starscream’s fingers were so thin, so dexterous! They were beautiful, just like every other bit of the second in command. He still couldn’t believe Starscream was straddling him, even with his knees tight against Vhee’s sides. How had he gotten so lucky!?

                “I… I’m pretty quick,” Vhee choked out, fingers clenching in and out of fists. He so badly wanted to touch all that shiny plating just an arm’s length away, but Starscream had said to keep his hands where they were, above his head. And who was Vhee to disobey? He was honored Starscream had even looked at him, much less was still here, touching him.

                “Mmm…” Starscream hummed, lips curving up at the corners. “I just bet you are. Are you quick in other ways too?”

                The Air Commander’s hips swiveled in a suggestive figure-eight and Vhee’s optics rolled behind his full face visor.

                “Nn…no…?” Vhee replied, voice wavering. He would love to be able to say he had the staying power of an experienced lover, but truth be told, he hadn’t ever interfaced before. Very few of the Vehicons had. And Starscream was just so perfect and smelled like a warm sunny day… Vhee’d probably overload as soon as his equipment was touched.

                “No, of course not. You could satisfy me for hours, couldn’t you?” Starscream asked, slipping a hand down Vhee’s chest and towards his belly. Vhee’s ventilations stalled and his temperature gauge spiked as Starscream’s talons scratched against the transformation seam of Vhee’s lower abdomen.

                “… I would try. I would try so hard, Starscream, I promise!” Vhee erupted in a squawk as Starscream’s hand dipped lower, brushing against both his panel and Vhee’s.

                Starscream slid backwards, centering himself atop Vhee’s lower thighs. Then with a lazy-lidded glance, Starscream bent and laid a kiss just above Vhee’s interface cover. An agile glossa poked out from between Starscream’s lips, dipping into a tiny plating seam there and sending a bolt of pure lust straight through Vhee.

                He almost broke his promise to Starscream then. Fingers spasming, Vhee forced his hands back down to the berth surface, clutching the edge of his narrow bunk.  Starscream had only asked one thing of him; Vhee could at least do that.

                “Hmm. You would try and please me. I’m certain you would attempt it. But you’d fail,” Starscream announced haughtily, sitting upright once more. “And do you know why?”

                Vhee gazed up at Starscream, processor dazed. What …what was Starscream saying?

                Before Vhee could answer, Starscream continued.

                “Because you’re barely better than a sparkless drone. You’re a grounder,” Starscream spat, gorgeous features twisting into an expression of distaste. He abruptly flung himself off Vhee, lightly landing on his pedes at the side of the berth. “You’re just one amongst the many and you are not worthy of a mech as great as I am. Do you understand? You’re nothing to me!”

                Starscream took a step back, sneering as Vhee continued to just stare at the second in command, shocked and confused.

                “You could never be anything to me but cannon fodder,” Starscream hissed, crimson optics flaring wildly. “So stop following me. Stop staring at me. If I catch you doing either one more time I will not hesitate to rip your spark out with my own hands, is that clear?!”

                Vhee began to shake, the bright flame of happiness that had been dancing in his spark dimming and fizzling out completely. “But… I…”

                Vhee trailed off as Starscream shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest and hugging himself. “Disgusting!” Starscream exclaimed and then whirled on a perfectly pointed heel and stalked out of the tiny quarters Vhee shared with Jay.

                Vents rasping in distress, Vhee stared after the Air Commander, frame rigid and cold. He should have known better. Steve kept telling Vhee that he shouldn’t look, should keep his head down. But those wings… those beautiful, amazing wings…

                Vhee sat up, processor suddenly whirling. He could get wings. He could change his alt mode. Knock Out would do it, if Breakdown asked nicely and Breakdown was always so sweet to the Vehicons.

                Yes, wings. Starscream wanted someone with wings, well then wings Vhee would get.


Chapter Text

                “You’re really good at this,” Jazz commented, watching Soundwave finishing wrapping one of Jazz’s arms in the coil of rope and start on the opposite one.

                Soundwave merely nodded, head bent to his task.

                “You get much practice?” Jazz teased, causing his lover to pause. He shrugged and continued on, his fingers moving perhaps a touch faster.

                Jazz’s head tilted back, studying the ceiling. “Your bitlets are hellions. Maybe you’ve had to tie them up a few different times.”

                The rope rasped over Jazz’s plating as Soundwave suddenly tugged on it, pulling it taut. It slipped through Jazz’s transformation seams directly over his elbow and rubbed harshly against an exposed gear, making him hiss in pain.

                “All right, all right! Not the kiddos, then. Sorry, love, I was just teasing.” Jazz reached out a foot and soothingly stroked the outside of it against Soundwave’s lower leg. The rope loosened, Soundwave’s fingers carefully plucking it out of Jazz’s joint. The wrapping continued.

                “Not the bitlets then,” Jazz mused, staring at the side of Soundwave’s helm. “Megatron?”

                Soundwave paused again and he tilted his head to look at Jazz. Even with visor and facemask, Jazz could easily discern an expression of disbelief.

                It was Jazz’s turn to shrug. “Had to ask. Hmm… who else?”

                As Jazz pondered the question, Soundwave moved behind him and gently pulled Jazz’s arms around to his back. They were quickly tied together with more rope, putting a light strain on his shoulder joints. Jazz tried to roll his shoulders in response, but the ropes prevented the motion. He shivered and Soundwave quickly moved around to his front, placing a palm against Jazz’s chestplate.

                Soundwave didn’t move again until Jazz’s sparkrate calmed back down, their gazes locked together through their visors. When Jazz finally nodded, Soundwave reached down and picked up another length of rope. He tapped at Jazz’s right knee, indicating with a small gesture for Jazz to spread his legs.

                He shuffled his feet apart and made a noise of surprise when Soundwave immediately reached between his thighs and cupped Jazz’s interface array.

                “Jazz: open,” Soundwave commanded.

                “Wow, just going for it there, aren’t you, Sounders,” Jazz commented in amusement as he did as instructed. To his disappointment, Soundwave didn’t touch him there further, but merely began wrapping Jazz’s left upper thigh.

                “Hmm… Starscream, then? I bet he’s a kinky fragger.”

                A shake of the head was combined with a quiet snort.

                Jazz grinned and continued going through the options.

                “Thundercracker? Skywarp? Onslaught? Motormaster?”

                No, no, no, and no, all of them.

                Still thinking, Jazz didn’t realize that Soundwave was moving around him until a pull on the rope made him yelp in surprise and rise up on pedetips. He looked down at himself, seeing a single length of cord pressed against his exposed slit and threaded down and up over his aft. There was some tugging at his waist and the length of rope was passed over his valve again, the piece snugging up tightly against his node.

                Soundwave paused to look into Jazz’s face, a tilt of Soundwave’s head as good as a smirk.

                “Question: does it matter?”

                As Soundwave put extra tension on the rope, tightening it around Jazz’s pelvis and valve, he rapidly shook his head.

                “Naw, mech. Doesn’t matter. You just keeping doin’ your thing.”

Chapter Text

                “That was a stupid stunt,” Starscream groused, although his hands on Skywarp’s lower back were gentle. “Never do that again.”

                “I didn’t mean to,” Skywarp muttered, voice partly muffled from where his face was buried in Thundercracker’s shoulder. “Ow. Hurts, TC.”

                Thundercracker lightened his touch, barely gliding his fingers over the top edges of Skywarp’s wings. “I agree with Star,” Thundercracker rumbled from where he sat at the head of the berth. “You could have died.”

                “I get it, ok?! I was dumb. You should be used to it by now,” Skywarp said lowly. His wings fluttered in distress, dislodging Thundercracker’s fingers.

                Starscream and Thundercracker exchanged glances over Skywarp’s slumped form. He was bent over at the waist, leaning against Thundercracker’s canopy so that they could each reach his back. His poor, dented and scraped up back, bearing wings which had been strained to the point of bending.

                “We could never get used to the absence of you,” Starscream replied quietly. “That’s all we’re trying to say.”

                Thundercracker’s hands descended to Skywarp’s nape, Starscream’s hands sliding down to massage Skywarp’s hips. Their touches made Skywarp produced a pleased sound deep in the back of his throat.

                “Are you saying you’d miss me if I were gone?” Skywarp questioned, his tone turning flirty.

                “An odd little glitch like you?” Starscream exclaimed. “Never!”

                But his words were belied by the gentle kiss he laid upon the very center of Skywarp’s back. And the nimble fingers that delved into Skywarp’s sensitive hip joints.

                “Who else would make us laugh?” Thundercracker asked, running his hands down Skywarp’s arms and stroking up his sides. Thundercracker’s thumbs found the edge of Skywarp’s canopy and massaged it, a low purr vibrating out from Skywarp’s throat. “Who else could keep up with us?”

                “Who else would complete us?” Starscream added, one of his cooling fans clicking on as Skywarp’s hips shifted, canting backwards towards Starscream in a subtle plea for more.

                “The both of you are saps,” Skywarp announced, suddenly pushing himself upright. He looked over his shoulder at Starscream, giving him a brilliant smile. All traces of his earlier bitterness had disappeared leaving behind the carefree air Skywarp normally boasted.

                “But you’re my saps,” he added, turning back and looping a hand around Thundercracker’s neck, tugging him forward.

                “And you complete me too,” Skywarp whispered against Thundercracker’s lips, free hand reaching back for Starscream’s hand and holding it tight.

Chapter Text

                 Blurr’s seen a lot of things in his time. Some incredible, some horrifying. But none of it, absolutely nothing, has prepared him for the sight of Sunstreaker sinking down to his knees at Blurr’s feet.

                The warrior practically screams ‘I’m on top’ in every line of his frame, walk, and twist of the lips. And he’s certainly been in that position a great number of times with Blurr. But lately, he’s been letting Blurr do what he wants, even if that’s spiking the larger mech.

                And now there’s this.

                Blurr doesn’t know what Sunstreaker’s intending although Blurr’s spike is certainly hopeful for some attention from that ridiculously beautiful mouth. Sunstreaker does nuzzle the straining length once, but then he descends even farther, aft rising into the air as he plants a kiss to the top of Blurr’s pede.

                “Sometimes I forget just how fast you are,” Sunstreaker murmurs before nibbling at the edge of the tire there.

                Blurr is speechless and his vents have stalled. All he can do is watch as Sunstreaker traces the inner rim of the tire with his glossa, shooting bolts of lust straight to Blurr’s interface array.

                “Uh… yeah… fff-fast… me…” Blurr stutters, holding onto his own arms in an attempt to keep from falling over.

                “Saved my aft out there,” Sunstreaker says. His hands rise up and cradle Blurr’s ankle, fingers delving deep into the joint to stroke supporting cables. “Wanted to thank you.”

                Blurr’s knees are weak… just like his protest. “… you don’t have to...”

                Sunstreaker pauses to look up, lips twisting in a devilish smirk. “Sure do. And I’m just getting started.” 

Chapter Text

                “Mmm… you taste so good,” Sideswipe murmured, nibbling the edge of Wheeljack’s mask. “Open up for me?”

                The blast mask obligingly slid aside and Sideswipe immediately pressed his mouth to Wheeljack’s, glossa expertly slipping between the other mech’s lips. Their glossa tangled for a moment before Sideswipe drew back, giving the engineer a saucy grin.

                “Taste even better there.”

                “Tha…ah!” Wheeljack jerked in place, shuddering a little bit. Sideswipe shifted to the side to peer around Wheeljack’s elbow, seeing Sunstreaker with his hands buried at the base of Wheeljack’s winglets.

                “Sensitive,” Sunstreaker commented. Sideswipe smiled triumphantly and squeezed Wheeljack’s waist, pressing close against his side.

                “I love finding all your hot spots. Does it rev you up as much as it does us?” Sideswipe murmured, reaching down to cup the apex of Wheeljack’s thighs.

                The engineer groaned, one of his hands shooting out and grasping Sideswipe’s wrist. “No… stop!” he gasped out.

                Both twins immediately sprang backwards, causing Wheeljack to wobble at the sudden lack of support.

                “What did we do?” Sideswipe asked, hands hovering until Wheeljack steadied himself against the wall. “Did we hurt you?”

“No. No, it’s just… I’m not ready… for that,” Wheeljack admitted, gesturing to his groin.

                Sunstreaker moved next to Sideswipe and in unison, they stared down at where Wheeljack had indicated. At their gaze, Wheeljack’s helmfins blushed a rosy pink and he twisted his hips to the side as if hiding himself. Sideswipe didn’t know why; the other mech’s panel was still firmly in place.

                The twins exchanged a look and then Sunstreaker spoke up.

                “You’re not ready? We’ve been seeing you for a few weeks now. You seemed eager enough for this,” Sunstreaker remarked, gesturing around the lab’s storage closet that they were standing in.

                 “’Course, this is all it’s really been, hasn’t it? You don’t even sit with us in the rec room. Are we not good enough for you or something?” Sunstreaker demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

                Sideswipe tilted his head to the side, waiting for an answer. Wouldn’t be the first time someone was ashamed of them. Of course, usually they were berthed a few times first before getting shown the door.

                “No!” Wheeljack exclaimed, taking a step forward. “That’s not it at all! I didn’t think you wanted it publicly known we were together. I’m not exactly the ship’s best catch, after all.”

                The engineer ducked his head, shuffling his feet like an errant youngling. “I mean… I haven’t even ever done it. That’s why I’ve been holding back… I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

                Sideswipe’s head tilted even further in confusion. “Huh? Done what?”

                Helmfins turning a ruddier pink, Wheeljack hunched in on himself. “You know… it.”

                The two of them stared at Wheeljack for a long moment until Sunstreaker jerked in place, arms dropping to his side. “You’re a virgin?!”

                Sideswipe turned to his brother, looking at him askance. “What? He’s like… as old as Ratchet. Of course he’s…”

                “… yes,” Wheeljack whispered, jerking Sideswipe’s head back around.

                “What?! Are you serious?!” Sideswipe exclaimed.

                Wheeljack flinched backwards and Sideswipe immediately regretted the volume. But the idea was just so farfetched…

                “Yeah. I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to see me anymore.”

                Sideswipe exchanged a glance with his twin and then scoffed, moving back into Wheeljack’s space and gently grabbing hold of his hips.

                “We still want to see you. The virgin thing is weird, yeah… but also kinda sexy.”

                Wheeljack’s head shot up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

                Sunstreaker reached out and cupped Wheeljack’s chin, swiping a thumb along the engineer’s exposed lower lip. “We get to watch you try things out for the first time. And trust me… we got a lot to show you.”

Chapter Text

         Sunstreaker sighed, optics slipping closed as Sideswipe suckled Sunstreaker’s main energon line in his neck. In turn, he stroked his hands down Sideswipe’s back, caressing the top of his aft.

        That delightful rear end undulated beneath Sunstreaker’s touch, rubbing a very pressurized spike against Sunstreaker’s own.

        Their arrays were getting messy, both of them hard and leaking, Sideswipe’s valve open and trickling out lubricant in steady little drips. Yet Sunstreaker couldn’t find it him to push for more.

        Their last battle had been rough. They’d both walked away, but there had been a terror filled moment in which Sunstreaker had thought his twin was going to die, really die this time. Sideswipe had been steps away from Megatron, the glowing end of his fusion cannon aimed unerringly at his spark. But Optimus had come barreling in from the side, making the shot go wide.

        Once the fight had ended and they had gotten cleared by Medical, they had returned to their quarters. Well, after a quick trip to the washracks. Clean, and warmed from the volcano-hot water, they had tumbled into bed together, kissing almost frantically.

        Things had slowed quickly, each of them savoring the touch of the each other’s plating and the taste of their mouths, until their array covers had slid aside in near perfect unison. Even then, neither of them seemed in a rush, continuing their slow exploration of each other’s frames.

        He had almost lost this today, Sunstreaker realized through the haze of pleasure. It was a risk they took every time they stepped out on a battlefield and one they accepted. But in the quiet times in their quarters, it made couplings like this all the more important.

        “I love you,” Sunstreaker murmured, fingers tightening on his twin’s waist.

        Sideswipe released Sunstreaker’s neck with one last little lick and raised his head. His optics were hazy, his smile soft and adoring as he looked down at Sunstreaker.

        “Love you too, Sunny,” he said softly. “Can I…?”

        “Yeah,” Sunstreaker breathed, reaching up and pulling Sideswipe’s head back down, their lips meeting in another slow kiss. As Sunstreaker’s glossa explored his brother’s mouth, Sideswipe shifted atop him, lining up his spike and pushing inside Sunstreaker’s valve with a slow thrust.

        Sunstreaker hummed happily in the back of throat, reaching back down to grasp Sideswipe’s aft and encourage him to move.

        They had a whole shift to themselves, and Sunstreaker didn’t want to waste one moment of it.

Chapter Text

                “You’re an idiot,” Ratchet says, placing a kiss on Jazz’s side.

                “I love ya too, sweetums,” Jazz replies wryly, staring down at the top of Ratchet’s head.

                “I nearly couldn’t save you this time,” Ratchet mutters with a shake of his head. He moves down a few inches and traces a near invisible scar with his glossa, pressing another kiss to the far end of the old wound.

                Jazz tries to stroke the top of Ratchet’s helm, but the medic bats Jazz’s hand away. Jazz takes the hint and folds his arms under his head instead, propping himself up to watch as Ratchet continues to pepper kisses all over the black and white plating in front of him.

                “But ya did. And one time ya won’t. But it won’t be yer fault. It’ll be mine. Cuz I’m an idiot, like you said.”

                Ratchet’s hands tighten briefly on Jazz’s hips before deft fingers find their way to the joints, plucking at tension wires and making Jazz jerk. Some of those cables are still healing, and the sensation is an aching pleasure.

                The medic finds another old wound on the outside of Jazz’s thigh and nuzzles it, hot ex-vents making Jazz shiver. That mouth could better service Jazz elsewhere, in his opinion.

                But Ratchet gets like this sometimes, especially after the bad injuries. Like his scans and his instruments aren’t enough and he has to inspect Jazz’s entire body with hands and mouth to ensure all is well.

                Jazz doesn’t really mind. There’s not much sexuality in it, but it reassures Ratchet. Jazz will do anything to keep Ratchet happy. Well, anything that is in Jazz’s power to do, anyway. He can’t stop going on missions or getting injured on the battlefield. And that’s the only thing that would ever make Ratchet truly happy.

                But this Jazz can do – he can let Ratchet have his little inspection and complaints. In a way, it’s just as reassuring to Jazz. It’s a sign that he’s home, and safe, and he’s made it through another long day.

Chapter Text

                “Well. Lookie here. A sweet little bot, all out on his own. Whatcha doin’ in this neighborhood – are ya lost?”

                Prowl’s sensory panels fluttered in nervousness and he wrung his hands together. Although the mech in front of him was smaller than Prowl, his confident stance and wide smile made him appear bigger. “I’m… I think I am. Could you… could you show me the way home?”

                The stranger sauntered closer, hips swinging from side to side in a way that drew Prowl’s optics to them. “I could. But what are you gonna do for it?”

                “I… I have a few credits…” Prowl offered, shrinking back against the wall as the other mech leaned forward, placing a palm on the vertical surface, right by Prowl’s head.

                “So do I, love. How about something else instead? You have a beautiful mouth. I’d love to see it wrapped around my spike,” the mech suggested, reaching out with his free hand to swipe a thumb over Prowl’s lower lip. He jerked back, panels scrapping against the rough surface behind him.

                “I don’t… I’ve never!” Prowl protested, beginning to panic. What was he going to do? He could probably shove the other mech away and run for it, but where would he run to?

                “Oh, don’t worry about that. Ol’ Jazz will show ya what to do. And you’re gonna like it, I promise.”

                “Please don’t hurt me,” Prowl begged, ducking his head down and to the side.

                “Naw, love. It won’t hurt. Down on your knees now, though. And open your mouth, yeah?” Jazz said, placing a hand on Prowl’s shoulder and exerting a downwards pressure.

                Seeing no other alternative, Prowl fell to his knees, just in time for Jazz’s interface cover to slid aside. A black spike, inlayed with white biolights, emerged from its sheath, hard and bobbing in the air in front of Prowl’s face. He whimpered at the sight; how was that supposed to fit in his mouth?!

                “That’s it. Now, open. Good boy,” Jazz praised as Prowl dropped his jaw, optics flicking from side to side looking for help. “I’m just gonna give ya a little first. There…. frag...” Jazz swore, guiding the tip of his spike between Prowl’s lips.

                Prowl whined as the hard length popped into his mouth, smearing something tingly across his glossa. He reflexively swallowed and Jazz cursed again, grabbing the back of Prowl’s head.

                “That’s it, sexy. That’s all ya gotta do. I’ll handle the rest,” Jazz promised, sliding out a fraction before pushing back in. Prowl’s hands rose to grab ahold of Jazz’s thighs, holding on for dear life as Jazz began thrusting in and out.

                “Tighten your lips… yeah, that’s it. Frag, that’s so hot. You’re so hot. Sexy little whore, aren’t ya?” Jazz commented, sounding strangled.

                Prowl tried to shake his head, but Jazz’s fingers merely dug into the back of his helm. “Yeah, ya are. Down on your knees in an alley… nuthin’ but a filthy little slut. All you’re good for is my spike. Suck it… suck it, whore!”

                Moaning in despair, Prowl did as commanded, glossa lashing the underside of Jazz’s spike as it penetrated deep into the back of Prowl’s mouth. More of that tingliness lingered, mixing with Prowl’s own oral lubricants and trickling out the sides of his mouth.

                “Fraggin’ hot,” Jazz repeated in a harsh whisper, one of his hands sliding down and around to Prowl’s throat. Taloned fingers squeezed and Prowl gagged as his intake tubing was compressed.

                “That’s it… nice and tight… aw, slag… I’m already close. You ready? Gonna spill down your throat. Or maybe… maybe I’ll shoot all over that pretty little face…nnngh!”

                Jazz shoved Prowl’s head back against the wall and brutally thrust into his mouth two more times before freezing with a guttural groan. Fluid shot out from his spike, hitting the back of Prowl’s intake and making him cough. Fortunately, Jazz jerked backwards, allowing Prowl to clear his throat, but more spatters of liquid landed on his cheeks and lips.

                Prowl wrinkled his nasal ridge at the strong ozone odor coming from the fluid now decorating his face. He reached up to paw it away, but Jazz grabbed at his wrist, forcing it against the wall.

                “Naw… leave it there, mech. Good look on ya,” he murmured, leering down at Prowl with a flash of his visor.

                “Love seeing my spunk all over you,” Jazz continued, wiping some of the liquid away with the pad of his thumb. “Not too rough, was I?”

                Prowl shook his head, capturing Jazz’s thumb and suckling the tip of it. Jazz shuddered, wavering on his feet.

                “Not at all,” Prowl purred, releasing the digit. “You overloaded quite quickly. I take it you enjoyed the scenario?”

                “Pit, yeah. You’re good at that little innocent look. You really are related to Blue, huh?”

                Prowl made a face. “Please do not mention my cousin while we are interfacing. It is not conducive to maintaining my charge.”

                Jazz grinned. “Sorry ‘bout that. Let me make it up to ya…”

Chapter Text

                They chose their own collars.

                Sunstreaker presented Optimus with a thin, silver, triple-braided chain. It had a single small ring that hung in the hollow of Sunstreaker’s throat, the entire collar lying just above the curve of his neck and shoulder. If it was slid up Sunstreaker’s neck, one of Optimus’ fingers could just fit beneath it.

                Sideswipe picked out a thick black band of leather, half as wide as his own hand. It was studded on the inside with hard metal nubbins, and a large metal D-ring decorated the outside at each compass point. The entire collar fastened so tightly around Sideswipe’s neck that he spoke with an odd rasp due to the compression of his voice box.

                Neither had seemed surprised by the other’s choice, although Optimus had been intrigued. And quite delighted in their individuality. The collars said quite a bit about what they wanted and needed.

                Optimus chose the leashes. They were chains as thick around as the twins’ wrists, the bulky clasp barely fitting into Sunstreaker’s collar ring. The chains made a racket if the twins so much as twitched, and it was noticeably difficult for them to keep their heads up beneath the great weight.

                Best of all, the leashes were short. They had a small amount of slack if they were kneeling and Optimus had the chains clutched in his hand. But if they were standing, they had to slouch to keep the leashes from being pulled too taut.

                They would never be able to stray far away from him, and that was just the way Optimus liked it.

Chapter Text

        Sideswipe had no shame.

        This was a well-known fact, one that pretty much no one tried to dispute.

        But every now and then, something managed to install within him a little niggle of embarrassment. He hated it, especially because it was such a rare, uncomfortable feeling for him.

        He couldn’t joke or fight his way out of this though, especially when it had been his idea in the first place. All he could do was go through with it. It was only Sunstreaker, anyway.

        Mustering up a smile, he waltzed into the main room of their quarters and struck a pose. “You asked for a maid?” he asked flirtatiously.

        Or at least tried to. His voice came out rather faint and thready instead.

        Sunstreaker put down his sketch pad and looked him over, face carefully blank. His side of the bond was oddly silent as well.

        “I didn’t, actually. Daily, I ask Primus for a twin who doesn’t pull stunts like this, but I definitely didn’t ask for a maid,” Sunstreaker finally returned.

        That was a clear invitation to banter, but Sideswipe just couldn’t get a return quip out. Instead he just blinked a few times and ducked his head.


        Crossing his arms over his clothed chest, he turned and started to walk out of the room. Just as he turned into the washracks, he felt a hand wrap around his elbow and he was jerked to a halt.

        Surprised, he turned around to see his brother staring at him. “What are you doing? Just because I didn’t ask for a maid, doesn’t mean I won’t be able to use one. You should see my brother’s room – absolutely a mess. Come on, I’ll show you.”

        Sunstreaker tugged at him and a little shocked, Sideswipe allowed his brother to pull him into their tiny sleeping quarters. “See?” Sunstreaker asked, gesturing around, “Do you think you could clean this?”

        Licking his lower lip in nervousness, Sideswipe nodded. “Y-yeah.”

        “Good. Start there,” Sunstreaker said, pointing to the scattered collection of video games on the floor by their berth. “Could you pick them up for me?”

        “Sure!” Sideswipe replied, nodding happily. This… this wasn’t so bad after all. Just another role play; Sunny wasn’t making a big deal at all about the costume.

        Sideswipe took a few steps forward and bent over to pick up the first game. As soon as he did so, he felt a breeze along the back of his thighs and jerked as a hand slid up under his short skirt.

        “This seems like it might get in the way. Do you want to take it off?” Sunstreaker asked in a purr. His thumb played with the elastic edge of the panties beneath the skirt.

        Sideswipe coyly looked over his shoulder. “I don’t have much on underneath.”

        Sunstreaker’s optics gleamed. “Even better.”



        Five minutes later, as Sunstreaker was plowing into Sideswipe from behind, skirt flipped up across his back and the crotch of the panties shoved aside, all Sideswipe could wonder was why he had ever been embarrassed in the first place.

        He looked good in anything.


Chapter Text

                He should have known something was up. But there were two of them and every time there was even an iota of processing power available to think, one of them swooped in and distracted him. And they were damn good at kissing.

                So good in fact, that it took him a ridiculously long time to realize that that was all they were doing. He lay sandwiched between them, frame heating up more and more from their combined warmth and his own rising charge. They took turns – one kissed him while the other’s hands roamed across his chest and belly. It was nice; his lips had never felt this worshiped before. It was almost like a drug.

                But he wasn’t so far under its influence to ignore his rising desires. When his panel eventually slid aside, he hitched his hips upwards in wordless entreaty. Only to have his pelvis completely ignored.

                He thought maybe they hadn’t noticed; they were awfully intent on sucking his processor out through his mouth. So he took measures into his own hands by grabbing one of theirs and directing it between his legs.

                Both twins froze, the twin who was kissing him drawing back. Wheeljack’s optic shutters fluttered open to see Sideswipe staring down at him from mere inches away. Which meant it was Sunstreaker’s hand that was trembling atop Wheeljack’s valve.

                “Going awfully fast, aren’t you?” Sideswipe asked, shaky grin appearing on his face.

                Wheeljack blinked. “I… we’ve been kissing for nearly an hour.”

                “You don’t like kissing?” Sunstreaker asked, carefully sliding his hand over to Wheeljack’s thigh.

                “I love it,” Wheeljack admitted truthfully. “But I love a lot of other things too,” he said hoping they would get the hint. He looked from brother to brother seeing matching blank looks. “Like actually interfacing?”

                Now it was the twins’ turn to blink and they shrunk back from him a little. “Well… what exactly do you want to do?”

                Rumor had it that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe berthed hopped more than Jazz, but Wheeljack didn’t put much stock in gossip. He also knew that twins had a special relationship all their own and taking a third partner probably entailed much more than he had assumed. Maybe moving slow was part of it.

                Wheeljack reached out and stroked Sideswipe’s lower belly. “We could start by letting me touch you.” His fingers drifted down across the red twin’s warmed interface panel and Sideswipe jumped as if he had been electrocuted. He sat up, hips twisting his body out of Wheeljack’s reach.

                “You don’t have to do that,” Sideswipe stammered. “Really. Cuz I might…”

                Exasperated, Wheeljack watched Sunstreaker scoot farther away as well. “Might what? Overload? Because that is the point to all this, isn’t it?”

                “You don’t get it,” Sideswipe said, ducking his head.

                “We’re not… we haven’t …” Sunstreaker added, gaze drifting off to the side.

                Wheeljack reached out and snagged an arm a piece, looking from one to the other in consideration. “I’m making you uncomfortable, but I don’t understand why. You have to tell me; I don’t want to hurt you.”

                “We’ve never fragged before!” Sideswipe suddenly blurted out, yanking his arm out of Wheeljack’s grasp. The frontliner’s optics were a little wild as he pushed himself onto his knees, facing Wheeljack.                

                “You… never?” Wheeljack questioned, astonished. They were some of the youngest crew members, but they were still far out of their youngling years. “Not even with each other?”

                Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchanged glances before shaking their heads. “We’ve spark merged,” Sunstreaker offered.

                “But you haven’t used your arrays.” Wheeljack surmised. “I’m fine with that, I really am. But why now? Why me?”

                Sunstreaker twisted his arm within Wheeljack’s grip, grasping his hand almost hesitantly. “We like you. And if something were to happen… you’re big. We don’t think we’d hurt you.”

                Wheeljack stared at the golden twin for a long moment before reaching out to cup his cheek. “Nothing’s going to happen. Other than I plan to show you what you’ve been missing out on,” he promised with an eager grin.

Chapter Text

                Jazz’s engine roared with the force of his overload, back bowing and entire body tensing for several long moments before he collapsed back to the berth with a long drawn out moan.

                His head lolled to the side, visor overbright. Condensation dripped off his frame, dampening the cover beneath him. Beneath his aft, a puddle of lubricant was forming despite Jazz’s locked interface cover.

                “Nice,” Ratchet commented, shifting on the edge of the berth and reaching for something on the floor. He retrieved a dry towel and began wiping down Jazz’s chest and arms, tsking at the heat pouring off the saboteur’s frame. “Getting hot there, Jazz. What was that, your sixth?”

                “Seventh,” Jazz panted, licking his lower lip. A thin trail of energon wound its way from a bit lip plate, down his chin to pool in the hollow of this throat. “As you know. Devil.”

                “Oh, now, Jazz, that’s not nice,” Ratchet scolded, wiping the towel over Jazz’s belly and pressing the cloth against a burning hot array. “You wanted overloads. I’m giving them to you.”

                Jazz’s head reared up and he glared at Ratchet. “Wanted them with you! Wanted your valve! Or your spike! Just something other than…”

                “…this?” Ratchet finished, gesturing to Jazz’s bound form. Both his legs and arms were spread-eagled on the bed, thin stasis cuffs the only thing keeping Jazz in place. “This is just the beginning, lover. You’re always talking about your stamina. And spikes and valves… pft. There’s more to a frame than just those, you know.”

                Ratchet leaned over and dragged his fingertips across Jazz’s plating from elbows to armpits, the smaller mech’s jaw dropping open on a faint cry. His expression was one of surprise, making Ratchet grin in triumph.

                “We’ll get there, sweetspark. But first, I’m going to draw pleasure out from every inch of your body,” Ratchet promised with a confident smirk.


Chapter Text

                Starscream purred, rubbing up against Ratchet’s back like an over happy voltacat. Thin fingers skated over Ratchet’s sides and he couldn’t help but arch into the touch.

                “You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning,” Ratchet warned, unable to stop himself from sinking down to his knees. Starscream followed him, attached like a limpet and with as many arms as an octopus, judging from the various streams of pleasure Ratchet’s sensory hub was receiving.

                “Probably,” Starscream murmured, voice a soft rasp in Ratchet’s audial. “What about you?”

                Ratchet shrugged, his aching interface cover slipping aside as Starscream’s spike rubbed against his aft, painting warm streaks of dampness against the plating. “Not like we haven’t done this before.”

                “It’s been a while. You’re different,” Starscream observed, leaning back enough to slip a hand between Ratchet’s thighs. He jolted, moaning brokenly as his valve was breached, calipers eagerly clutching at the intruders. It shouldn’t matter, but it felt so much better when it was someone else’s fingers.

                “Not much so,” Ratchet replied, shrugging out of Starscream’s grasp to lower his front half to the ground. His aft rose, thighs spreading in open invitation. No time for foreplay. “We gonna do this or not?”

                “So romantic,” Starscream snarked, but he removed his fingers and shifted behind Ratchet. The blunt tip of a spike head nudged up against Ratchet’s entrance and a firm push hilted Starscream completely. The both moaned, Starscream’s hands coming up to grip Ratchet’s waist as if worried Ratchet would squirm away.

                Which of course was the farthest thing from Ratchet’s mind at the moment.

                “What’s so romantic about all this?” Ratchet gasped, savoring the sudden penetration. Some of the heat running through his lines abated a little at the first thrust, but the urgency was already building back up again.

                “Star crossed enemies… former classmates… former lovers…” Starscream mused, drawing back and pushing in slowly with a little circle of his pelvis.

                “Caught up together in a cloud of organic pollen which is seemingly the galaxy’s most potent aphrodisiac?” Ratchet suggested wryly.

                Starscream began moving in earnest, building up speed and ferocity. Ratchet’s fingers dug into the ground, anchoring him so he could push back into every delicious thrust.

                “I’ll take… what I… can get,” Starscream gasped, his weight draping itself across Ratchet’s back. Shadows crept across the ground by Ratchet’s hands and he realized Starscream’s wings had arched up over them both.

               Ratchet shuddered in lust. He’d always had a thing for wings, and Starscream’s had always been particularly sexy.

               “… always wanted another go at you,” Starscream murmured, lipping at Ratchet’s back.

               They’d both had two overloads apiece at their own hands before they decided to try and work off the charge together. They didn’t know if this would work, but they had to try or otherwise burn out their own frames. Ratchet halfway hoped that one coupling wouldn’t be enough. He wanted to see those wings spread out on the ground, fluttering with every one of Ratchet’s thrusts into the Seeker.

               “Same,” Ratchet moaned as a particular hard push nudged Starscream’s spike directly against a sensitive ceiling node. “I’m on top next…”

               Starscream’s forehelm thunked against Ratchet’s back as he draped himself over him, hips the only thing moving. “Looking forward to it,” he purred.

Chapter Text

               “What a pretty little thing you are,” Sideswipe commented, circling Ratchet as he stood in the middle of the room. “Don’t you think, Sunny?”

                Sunstreaker grunted where he reclined on their berth, arms crossed over his chest. Ratchet glanced at him in an attempt to gauge his expression, but the warrior’s face was carefully blank. He hadn’t seemed bothered by Ratchet’s request to wear clothing and of course Sideswipe was up for anything.

Ratchet knew it was an odd fetish, one he had never mentioned to the twins before. But he had always enjoyed the feel of cloth over his plating and after a hard couple of weeks he had decided to give into the rare urge to indulge himself.

                “It’s like a new paintjob, or touchups… but not,” Sideswipe remarked. He paused at Ratchet’s side, reaching out to feel the drape of black cloth over Ratchet’s hips. “Is it comfortable?”

                “Yes,” Ratchet replied truthfully. It wasn’t just about looking good if he spied himself in the mirror; he wanted to feel good too.

                “How long does it take to put on?” Sideswipe inquired, optics bright with interest as he continued to touch the various articles of clothing layered across Ratchet’s frame.

                “Not long. I’ve had practice. You have to be careful not to catch things on bits of kibble, though,” Ratchet said, thinking of the time he had ripped a hole in one of his shirts as he had carelessly tossed it over his head. His chevrons did have points, after all.

                “I like it,” Sideswipe announced after he had made another full circuit around Ratchet. “Sunny?”

                Both Ratchet and Sideswipe looked over at the golden twin. At the mention of his name, Sunstreaker ex-vented and pushed himself to his feet. He slowly approached Ratchet, gaze roving over the skirt and shirt. To Ratchet’s surprise, Sunstreaker moved close enough that they almost touched. It was only then that Sunstreaker stopped, placing one hand on Ratchet’s waist.

                Optics meeting Ratchet’s, Sunstreaker reached down and fingered the edge of Ratchet’s skirt. Then he slid his hand beneath the fall of cloth, finding Ratchet’s thigh and sliding up it and over to stroke Ratchet’s interface array.

                Startling, Ratchet’s optics went wide as Sunstreaker slowly smirked, his fingers exploring the silky smooth panties that were already a bit damp at the crotch.

                “I can work with it,” Sunstreaker purred.

Chapter Text

               “Wow. You lookin’ extra shiny tonight,” Raoul commented when Tracks drove around the corner and parked in front of him.

                Tracks shifted on his shocks, preening a little under the glow of the streetlights. “Do I? That’s so kind of you to say.”

                Raoul grinned, removing one of his hands from his jacket pockets. He strode forward and leaned against Tracks’ side, smoothing his hand down the Corvette’s hood. Tracks’ engine purred and he arched into the touch.

                “How many hours you spend primpin’?” he asked, fingers moving frictionless against the satin-smooth surface.

                “I do not ‘primp’,” Tracts retorted haughtily. Raoul merely raised an eyebrow and stared down the Corvette’s windshield. After a long moment, Tracks sunk onto his tires, engine skipping a little. “Five.”


                “But you look good as well. You are wearing a tie!” Tracks pointed out, surging up a few inches in protest.

                Raoul looked down at himself, the hand he had been using to stroke Tracks’ hood smoothing down his tie. “It’s just a tie. Still wearing jeans and sneakers,” he mumbled in embarrassment.

                “And you made your hair different,” Tracks commented. “It is neater. I like it. Did you do that for me?”

                Raoul’s hand flew up and he felt the back of his neck where the barber had trimmed the strands shorter than normal. “Yeah.”

                He scuffed his sneaker against the curb, looking down at the cracked pavement. “Wanted to look good for you. For our date.”

                Tracks leaned against Raoul’s knee, driver’s side door popping open with a soft click. It swung open in invitation. “I think you look very handsome,” he murmured. “Are you ready to go?”

                Raoul pressed back against the warmed metal, gently patting the edge of Tracks’ hood. “Anywhere as long as it’s with you.”

Chapter Text

     “What a filthy little thing you are,” Rung commented idly, trailing a finger across Whirl’s shoulder. The condensation beading up on the dark blue plating quickly coated his digit tip and he licked it into his mouth, suckling it as Whirl wearily raised his head.

     His optic light widened at the sight, limp spike twitching in interest. Rung observed the reaction and he removed his finger from his mouth, holding his hand up.

     “Oh? Is that something you want? Would you like me to get down on my knees and service you, Whirl? I’m so much smaller than you, as you’re aware. I bet my mouth would be nice and tight around your spike,” Rung mused.

     Whirl groaned, hips twitching forwards and back as the vibrator deep within his valve continued to pump and turn. “No…” he gasped out, struggling for the umpteenth time against his bonds.

     “No?” Rung inquired, raising an orbital ridge. He took a step forward, mouth turning down at the corners. “Did you just tell me ‘no’?”

     Whirl flinched back as Rung reached for him, only to dip his head and nuzzle into the psychiatrist’s palm when Rung merely cradled his helm. “…like listening to you.”

     “Ahh,” Rung murmured in understanding. “I see. Well then, I will not deprive you of that since you were so honest. I could always use my valve instead. You haven’t felt that yet, have you? These ties are very versatile. I could loosen one here,” Rung murmured, tracing the rope wound around Whirl’s outstretched right arm, “and tighten one here,” his hand moved to pluck at another bind around Whirl’s straining cockpit, “and lay you back.

     “Then I could climb atop you. Sink down and ride you until I finally reach my own completion. I’ve been very kind to you tonight,” Rung commented, lifting one pede and rubbing it against the base of the vibrating false spike. “I think it’s my turn.”

     Whirl jerked in place, a muttered oath emerging as a groan. “It is… use me, doc. Wanna see you come. Wanna hear you.”

     Rung smiled benevolently, stroking the top of Whirl’s helm once more. “I’m quite loud when I overload. I tend to scream out my partner’s name. Would you like to hear that?”

     Whirl leaned forward, seemingly trying to burrow into Rung. “Please… please, doc. I’d like that.”

     “So would I. Unfortunately…” Rung sighed, pushing back from Whirl with an abrupt shove. “…I don’t have a lot to work with.” His pede moved higher and pressed against Whirl’s half-hard spike, rubbing it meaningfully.

     “Please! Please, it won’t take long! I’ll get hard again for you, just give me a few minutes!” Whirl cried out desperately, hips swiveling as he tried to work up more charge.

     Rung took several steps backwards, until he was able to lean against his desk. His interface panel slid aside with a quiet little click as his thighs spread, giving Whirl a perfect view. Rung dropped his left hand and cupped his array, shuddering as he slid a finger into himself. Whirl looked on, optic wide as he took in the sight.

     “In a few minutes, I might have taken care of myself,” Rung said with a shrug. “Let us see who can get there first.”                                                                                                            

Chapter Text

                 The amount of optics on them is more than unnerving. Despite popular opinion, Sunstreaker does not like being the center of attention.

                Oh, Sideswipe and Ratchet are here too, of course. But Sideswipe doesn’t have the same hangups about being on display as Sunstreaker does, and Ratchet apparently was quite the exhibitionist in his heyday.

                They know of his discomfort, which is why they sandwich him between the two of them, Ratchet sitting on one of the tables with his thighs spread around Sunstreaker’s waist and Sideswipe at Sunstreaker’s back. Their presence is almost enough to distract him from the rest of the room; Ratchet’s hot, clutching valve is certainly easy enough to get lost in, while Sideswipe’s spike fills Sunstreaker up so nicely.

                But Sunstreaker is still not far enough gone to ignore the whispers echoing around him.

                “Beautiful,” a deep, sonorous voice remarks from off to the side. Sunstreaker’s head whips up, his rhythm faltering, making Sideswipe whine and Ratchet’s hands reflexively clutch at Sunstreaker.

                His optics search the darkened room and alight upon Optimus Prime, the large mech slowly circling their table. The Autobot leader’s gaze is heated, his optics bright with lust as he watches Ratchet squirm in an attempt to spurn Sunstreaker on.

                Optimus had passed by earlier as well, but he hadn’t said anything, merely continued on to the next group. The lithe forms of Mirage and Jazz tangled together had caught his attention, with good reason. Jazz is damn bendy.

                But now apparently the Prime’s interest is aroused by the twins and Ratchet. Not surprising since this is their first time at Orgy Night.  

                “Wanna join?” Sideswipe asks teasingly, circling his hips and stirring his spike within Sunstreaker’s valve.

                The notion of a fourth joining their coupling, even if it is Optimus Prime himself, creates a maelstrom of emotion with Sunstreaker.  He thrusts deep into Ratchet, bottoming out, while hooking the claws of one hand into Sideswipe’s hip seam and tugging him closer. Sunstreaker growls low in his throat, glaring at Prime with slitted optics.

                “No. He doesn’t,” Sunstreaker snarls through gritted denta. “Look all you want, but that’s it.”

                Optimus inclines his head in acquiescence. Then he takes a step back and lowers himself into a nearby chair. It’s only a seat away from Hound who is enthusiastically bouncing atop Tracks’ spike, but Optimus pays the duo no mind. Instead his focus is utterly and completely on Sunstreaker as he resumes his thrusting.

                Minutes later, Optimus’ face is the last thing Sunstreaker sees before his optics instinctively offine from the force of his powerful overload.

                Maybe interfacing in public has its advantages after all.

Chapter Text

                “Now this may be a little chilly,” Ratchet cautioned, just before a slick finger traced Sunstreaker’s entrance.

                Even with the warning, Sunstreaker jerked. That artificial lubricant was cold.

                “I’m going to massage this in a little, spread it around before I take a look, all right?” Ratchet asked.

                Sunstreaker nodded, staring at the ceiling. “Ok,” he said, and no, his voice did not waver at all.

                “You just let me know if you need anything while the doctor’s working. Ok, dear?” Sideswipe suddenly said, popping into Sunstreaker’s field of vision like a demented jack-in-the-box. He wore a sugary-sweet smile, his nurse’s cap haphazardly sitting on top of his helm.

                “Yeah, nurse. Thanks,” Sunstreaker responded, giving Sideswipe a Look.

                His brother wouldn’t allow for himself to be a simple bystander during this roleplay. He had jumped at the chance to play Ratchet’s assistant, even going so far as to special order his little head gear. He had wanted to get a full costume, but there hadn’t been enough time. ‘Next time’ he had said.

                Sunstreaker was still waiting to be convinced about this time, despite it having all been his idea in the first place.

                “You’re very tight,” Ratchet commented, breaking into Sunstreaker’s thoughts. “The speculum will never fit; I will have to loosen you up first.”

                Without waiting for Sunstreaker to reply, Ratchet slid two of his fingers into Sunstreaker’s valve and scissored them open. Sunstreaker grunted in surprise, but relaxed back into the stirrups as pleasure started stirring in his array.

                “There we go, much better,” Ratchet praised, his thumb sliding up to circle Sunstreaker’s node and rub against it. “Does that feel ok?”

                “Feels good,” Sunstreaker said faintly, his hips minutely moving with every thrust of Ratchet’s wide fingers. Primus, but Sunstreaker loved Ratchet’s hands.

                “Excellent. Nurse, hand me the speculum; I think he’s ready.”

                “Yes, Doctor!” Sideswipe chirped and bounced out of Sunstreaker’s field of vision only to pop back in a moment later. He was holding something to his chest, his engine revving audibly.

                “Here you go. I tried to warm it up a little,” Sideswipe informed Sunstreaker in an aside as the tool was handed off to their lover. Sideswipe’s smile was nearly blinding and he looked ridiculously pleased with himself. His vents were also blowing hard and his optics were overbright.

                At least someone was enjoying himself.

                Ratchet removed his fingers and they were placed with something hard and unyielding. Not warm, but not as cold as the lube had been either and Sunstreaker gave his twin a mental ‘thank you’ for that. The object slid into him with ease, Sunstreaker hearing a soft squelching sound as it moved through all the lube Ratchet had smeared around and in his valve.

                “Very good, Sunstreaker. Now I’m going to open you up so I can better look, all right?” Ratchet said, patting Sunstreaker’s thigh.

                “Ok,” Sunstreaker replied faintly as the first hint of a burn announced itself within his valve. It gained strength as Ratchet spread the instrument’s calipers, forcing Sunstreaker open. It was very different than a spike, even a false one, and Sunstreaker resisted it, making the discomfort worse. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, the tool stopped spreading.

                “You’re ok,” Sideswipe murmured, suddenly leaning over him with concerned optics. His hand rested on Sunstreaker’s chestplate and their bond warmed as Sideswipe sent a wordless pulse of reassurance along it.

                Sunstreaker looked down the length of his body and realized that he had clamped his knees together. He made an effort to spread them again, revealing Ratchet’s worried face staring up at him.

                “I’m fine. It’s just… odd,” Sunstreaker finished lamely, doing his best to still the tremble in his thighs. He felt so exposed, so open.

                That had been the whole point, but it was still disconcerting.

                “I’m sure it is,” Ratchet said soothingly, stroking Sunstreaker’s pede with still-damp fingers. “But it won’t be much longer. I just need to collect my samples and then we’ll be done. Nurse?”

                “Oh, right, sure,” Sideswipe said, hastening back to Ratchet’s side with a pat to Sunstreaker’s hand. “Here you go.”

                Sideswipe handed Ratchet a swab and he bent his head, aiming the tip of it at Sunstreaker’s valve. Ratchet frowned after a moment.

                “Huh. There’s something interesting there,” Ratchet commented. “But I can’t seem to get it loose. Nurse, can you hand me that wand.”

                “Sure thing, boss!” Sideswipe exclaimed and handed Ratchet a long, silver rod with a curved, bulbous tip at the end. Ratchet carefully inserted it past the speculm and an instant later, Sunstreaker felt a pressure deep in his valve, right next to his ceiling node. Ratchet hemmed and hawed and then with a flicker of his finger along the base of the tool, the wand came to life, vibrating softly against his port walls.

                Sunstreaker sucked in a deep vent as the vibrations moved to his deepest node, centering over it unerringly. He began to tremble for a completely different reason as pleasure started coursing through him.

                “You see that,” Ratchet said, beckoning Sideswipe closer. “His calipers are definitely working correctly.”

                “Holy Primus,” Sideswipe whispered, the words rising up from between Sunstreaker’s thighs in a reverent hush. “That is so hot.”

                “It’s an interesting reaction to be sure,” Ratchet agreed. “Why don’t you massage his anterior node so we can see what happens when both of these sensory nexuses are stimulated?”

                Sunstreaker moaned quietly as Sideswipe’s index and middle fingers did as requested, sending bursts of charge up his spinal strut.

                Maybe being so open and exposed like this had benefits after all…

Chapter Text

                “Just relax…” Jazz murmured, fingers dipping down between transformation seams. He wasn’t really getting very far however, digit-tips just barely brushing cables and wiring. He definitely couldn’t reach Soundwave’s struts. The mech’s plating kept rippling, lifting obligingly but tightening in the next second, again and again, as if fighting the urge to clamp down his armor completely.

                After a few minutes of trying to coax the carrier mech to let him in, Jazz gave up and decided to try a different tactic. Maybe the position was just too vulnerable right now; their relationship was new after all and they had been at odds with each other for millennia.

                “Why don’t ya lay back, instead?” Jazz suggested, moving to Soundwave’s side and gently pressing against his shoulder. “Let me do your front.”

                Soundwave nodded, his visor flashing in relief. “My apologies.”

                “No need to apologize,” Jazz replied cheerfully. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

                Soundwave laid down willingly enough, his visor brightening when Jazz settled across Soundwave’s thighs.

                “Uh, uh…” Jazz chastised with a grin when Soundwave’s hands smoothed up Jazz’s waist. “I’m doing the touchin’ here. I’m tryin’ to relax ya, not get ya excited.”

                “Too late,” Soundwave rumbled, lightly thrusting a warm interface panel against Jazz’s aft.

                Jazz laughed, pushing Soundwave’s hands down to his sides. “We’ll get there, lover. Let me spoil ya a bit first.”

                “As you wish,” Soundwave replied, amusement clear in his tone.

                This time, Soundwave flared his plating and allowed Jazz’s slim fingers to delve beneath the edges. He kneaded thick abdominal cables and caressed thin wires with a light touch. The other mech’s struts were just out of reach, but Jazz made up for it by stroking every other structure he could get his hands on.

                As the minutes passed, Jazz could both see and feel Soundwave start to sink back into the berth covers.

                “There ya go…” Jazz murmured, stroking Soundwave’s docking compartment and tracing the edges of it. It was empty; Soundwave always ejected his cassettes whenever he and Jazz were alone together.

                Surprisingly, the compartment clicked open beneath Jazz’s touch and without thought, he dipped his hands inside. Soundwave moaned, arching up beneath Jazz and clutching at his knees.

                “Sensitive?” Jazz asked in a hushed tone.

                The other mech didn’t reply, visor going dark as Jazz carefully explored the docking area within Soundwave’s chest. Jazz had never seen nor touched a carrier’s symbiote connections before; it was fascinating to watch his larger lover writhe beneath him with every new caress.

                And then Jazz’s hands found a deeper compartment, another cover which spiraled open to allow Jazz access. He almost jerked his hands away at the tell-tale tingle of electricity which bit at his fingertips. Instead he carefully traced the edges of Soundwave’s spark chamber, protective crystal still intact.

                It made sense that Soundwave’s spark would be located so closely to his cassettes’ as they drew on their host every time they were docked. No wonder the whole compartment was so sensitive.

                Jazz ground his pelvis down against Soundwave’s. “You want this… or this?” Jazz asked, lightly pinching the edge Soundwave’s spark chamber. The carrier moaned softly and lifted his hands to tightly wrap fingers around Jazz’s forearms. Soundwave pulled slightly, pressing Jazz’s digits more firmly against Soundwave’s spark structures.

                Then he released Jazz’s arms, dropping his own to curl his fingers around Jazz’s knees, anchoring himself.

                “As ya wish,” Jazz whispered, grinning in delight.

                It wasn’t quite the massage he had intended, but he could work with it.

Chapter Text

                They keep trying to make him feel better, and it’s driving Prowl a little crazy. Crazier than having five other voices in your head, that is.




                “I brought you some energon gels – new mix. Pretttty tasty, if I do say so myself,” Mixmaster said, waving the plate under Prowl’s nasal ridge. Which Prowl promptly wrinkled.

                “Is there aluminum in there?” Prowl asked, drawing back in alarm. “You know I’m allergic to that.”

                Mixmaster blinked once and then his optics widened. “Frag!” he spat, and whirled around on his heel.




                “Got you a book,” Bonecrusher announced, dropping a datapad on the table in front of Prowl. “Know you’re into that sort of thing.”

                “A book?” Prowl asked, picking up the device with this thumb and forefinger and examining the lit screen. “’A Dummies’ Guide to Statistics’. Ah. Well. That should be utterly useless.”

                Bonescrusher growled and threw up his hands before stalking off.




                “Your engine sounds awful,” Hook haughtily informed Prowl. “You should come see me for a tune up.”

                Prowl’s attention remained focused on the monitor in front of him. “My engine is fine.”

                “Well, what about those dents and scrapes? You should let me buff those out for you. My hands are the most skilled for that type of work, you know,” Hook insisted.

                “I have no time for such frippery. I am fully functional. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Withdrawing a data pad from subspace, Prowl began tapping at its surface and walked away, leaving a glaring Hook behind.




                “Wanna go for a drive?” Scavenger said, sidling up to Prowl as he poured energon into a cube. “Weather’s nice today.”

                Prowl looked over at him, down the length of his nasal ridge. “You could not possibly keep up with me. And I’m busy.”

                Scavenger ducked his head and scrapped a pede across the floor. “Yeah. Right, yer probably right. Sorry to bother you.”

                Feet dragging, he left the room, ex-venting a heavy sigh.




                “I got some movies! Let’s pop one in!” Long Haul announced, skipping into the room and making the stylet on Prowl’s table bounce a little. Prowl reached out for it and picked it up with a pinched expression on his face.

                “What movies?”

                “Gladiator and Fight Club,” Long Haul proudly announced, holding out the tiny DVD cases on his palm.

                Prowl shook his head dismissively. “Drivel. I prefer a good mystery.”




                Prowl walked by their shared berth room and paused before taking a step back. He looked into the room to see five large purple and green mechs draped dejectedly across the overlarge bed. Rolling his optics a bit, he checked his chronometer and reluctantly placed his data pad back into subspace.

                Then he walked across the room and knelt on the berth between Scavenger and Hook. Holding his sensory wings close to his back so as not to hit anyone, he crawled the rest of the way into the center of the berth, lying down with a sigh. As he moved to get comfortable on his back, his head found its way onto Long Haul’s shoulder, pedes slipping into Bonecrusher’s lap.

                As five surprised gazes looked down on him, he closed his own optics. “Time for bed, isn’t it?” he asked idly.

                There was complete silence for all of three seconds and then a chorus of ‘yes, Prowl’ echoed in the room, mixed in with the scrape of metal against metal as they crowded in around him. Normally, he would shout and shove at them to get off him, but today, he merely patted Mixmaster’s helm as it rested on his stomach and drifted off into recharge surrounded by five happily rumbling engines.

                And quite a number of groping hands but ultimately, it was nice to be wanted.

Chapter Text

                “Please open your panel. I will need to have a good look,” Optimus instructed.

                Megatron lifted his head from the pillow on the exam table and stared down at the length of his own body. Optimus looked back, expression expectant. Megatron wanted to laugh at the drape of white cloth over Optimus’ shoulders and the tiny little hat perched neatly between his antennae, but instead, Megatron’s vocalizer clicked in a reboot.

                “Yes, Nurse,” Megatron replied in a faint voice, his interface cover already sliding aside, spike spearing into the air.

                Optimus’ gaze dropped to the vee of Megatron’s spread legs and his face brightened. “Well, here’s your problem! You’re far too hard!”

                Megatron’s spike was gripped in a firm hand and lightly squeezed in demonstration. He gave a strangled groan in response, hips bucking up in an attempt to get more of the touch.

                “What… what needs to be done?” he asked through gritted teeth, trying to remain in character. Optimus never asked for much and this little scenario was easy enough to accommodate. Although it made Megatron doubt Optimus’ claim that he and Ratchet had never been anything other than friends.

                “We’ll have to relieve the swelling, of course. It might be painful,” Optimus warned, stroking to the tip of Megatron’s spike and circling the flared head.

                “Do what… you… have to!” Megatron gasped, fingers tightening on the edge of the table.

                Optimus looked up at him, a gleam in those innocent-blue optics. “Oh, I plan to,” he purred.

Chapter Text

                 “No, not… lower… to the right… almost… Primus damn you, stick it in me, already!!” Starscream snapped, thrusting his hips up impatiently. The tip of the tentacle slipped against Starscream’s slick valve opening, skittering off to prod at his thigh.

Starscream snarled soundlessly before glaring at the central knot of writhing limbs. “If you’d release my arms…” he growled, but the strange plant merely tightened its grip on all of Starscream’s appendages.

                “Yes, that’s what I thought. So get it together and ahhh!” Starscream’s head flung backwards as the thick tentacle rooting between his thighs suddenly thrust inside him, deep enough to nudge up against his gestational tank.

                “Oh… yes, that’s it…” Starscream said faintly, the walls of his port registering a delightful fullness. “Now, move!’

                And the tentacle did move, but instead of withdrawing, it started rotating, corkscrewing to the left and then back to the right.

                Which was different, but Starscream soon discovered that it was not without its pleasures, especially as that blunt tip remained pressed against his tank opening with all its associated ceiling nodes.

                He was soon panting and moaning, lubricant freely dripping down his thighs. The plant creature started humming as Starscream’s HUD registered the slow opening of his gestational tank entrance and its motions picked up speed as if sensing Starscream’s frame was ready to receive transfluid.

                Of course, Starscream had no idea what, if any, discharge the plant would produce. He didn’t even know if it would orgasm although its increased speed of rotations and writhing of its unoccupied limbs seemed to indicate that it would do something of the sort. But unless it produced a metal-rotting acid, he could care less. He had his own overload to anticipate.

                “Faster. Faster, damn you!” Starscream cried out in demand as his calipers started tightening down around the wide tentacle.

                As if understanding him, the plant did as instructed, Starscream’s port walls registering a new kind of friction as the tentacle began rotating at nearly 360 degree turns. The entire plant started pulsing as well, the base of the appendage inside him darkening. Starscream barely noticed, hips rocking and wings fluttering behind him as tension coiled up tight inside his lower belly.

                An instant later, the tentacle vibrated mightily and the extra sensation tipped Starscream over the edge. His optics locked on the ceiling as he let out a wailing cry, sweet bliss washing over him. During the spasms of overload, he dimly felt a rise in pressure within his gestational tank, indicating that the plant had also achieved some sort of completion, but the fullness only deepened his own pleasure.

                His frame didn’t seem to be dissolving from the inside out, so what did he care if it deposited its reproductive fluids inside him?

Chapter Text

               “Careful… careful,” Knock Out chastised as one of Soundwave’s data cables tightened around Knock Out’s knee. “I just waxed, remember, and if you scratch me… mmph!”

                Another data cable snaked out from Soundwave’s abdomen and slid around Knock Out’s helm, winding around his lower face several times and effectively silencing the racer’s protests.

                Knock Out’s optics widened in outrage and he began struggling, his saw spinning to life. Soundwave merely grasped the other mech’s wrist with a cable and gently pinned the arm to the berth. His other limbs received the same treatment, thighs spreading wide around Soundwave’s frame.

                Soundwave’s personal comm unit received several insistent pings, but he merely shunted them to the side, laying hands on Knock Out’s bumper and flicking a headlight in warning. Glaring, Knock Out subsided, his optics promising painful dismemberment once he was loosened.

                He wouldn’t though. He would complain of the treatment, at great length, but at the end of the rant he would admit through a backhanded compliment that he enjoyed the impromptu bondage. Because ultimately, Soundwave wasn’t forcing him; he was merely holding him still to better admire him.

                And Knock Out did so love to be admired.

                If it was up to Soundwave, the lithe form beneath him would never leave his berth. The warm crimson plating would always lighten up his dark quarters and exist for the sole purpose of being worshipped. Megatron was Soundwave’s leader, and as such had all of his respect and loyalty, but every inch of Soundwave’s devotion was laid at the fickle feet of the racer ventilating angrily on the berth.

                Soundwave gentled his touch, sliding thin fingers over Knock Out’s sides. Smooth seams were stroked, coaxing the plating to loosen and finally fluff in reluctant pleasure. Soundwave immediately sent more data cables beneath the armor, flexible wires wrapping around Knock Out’s spinal strut and lightly squeezing.

                Knock Out’s optics brightened and his head tilted back, exposed throat tubing flexing as he swallowed. Engine kicking over with a purr, the racer thrust his chest upwards, wordlessly begging for more. Soundwave obliged, talon points scratching the underside of the puffed up armor segments, tickling them and inciting them to flare even further.

                The grounder shifted restlessly, groaning when Soundwave’s hands traveled upwards, caressing the white walled tires. He rhythmically squeezed the rubber, Knock Out shuddering pleasantly. Knock Out’s wheels were particularly sensitive, a fact Soundwave ruthlessly used until the racer was writhing in the cables’ grip, ventilations harried.

                It was only then that Soundwave continued onward, stroking down Knock Out’s slim waist and wider hips. His lover’s interface panel slid aside with a needy click when he neared the area, but Soundwave ignored the moistened valve and pressurizing spike. Stimulating those areas were easy; Soundwave wanted to lavish attention on every bit of Knock Out’s frame tonight. Press and stroke, and yes, even lick and nibble.

                Very few things were worth exposing his face for, not even Megatron or the Cause. But Knock Out…

                Knock Out was deserving of every part of Soundwave.

Chapter Text

               “Star… Star, look, I captured their medic!” Skywarp crowed as he popped into existence next to Starscream.

               Starscream raised a disbelieving orbital ridge as he glanced over at his trinemate and then did a double take. What in the Pit…?!

               “How did you…?” Starscream demanded, pointing at familiar white and red frame held tight to Skywarp’s cockpit. The medic looked dazed, although a teleportation from someone not used to it could certainly do that to a mech. However, Ratchet was well known for his temper and his spunk; it was odd that he was just limply hanging there.

               “Found him wandering over by the edge of the fighting. No one was with him. And he smelled so good, I just couldn’t resist,” Skywarp explained cheerfully.


               Cocking his head to the side, Starscream took a step forward. Two things happened at once. One, Skywarp’s wings bristled in a warning display and two, a whiff of something sweetly burnt crossed Starscream’s nasal sensors.

               Starscream immediately shut them down and promptly smacked Skywarp up the side of the head. Skywarp’s wings immediately lowered, and he ducked his head in submission.

               “I thought…”

               “You were thinking with your spike. He’s in heat. That’s why he’s not even resisting,” Starscream explained, gesturing at Ratchet. Whose head seemed to be clearing from teleportation fog, judging by the slow brightening of his optics.

               “I’ll show you resisting,” the medic burst out, immediately beginning to squirm. Except it wasn’t more effectual than grinding his aft back against Skywarp’s belly.

               Skywarp’s cooling fans clicked on with an audible hum, and he turned pleading optics to Starscream. “Can we keep him? He’s so warm and cuddly.”

               “We bring him into the Nemesis and it will be an all-out war amongst the crew to get to him,” Starscream hissed, glaring. Then he blinked, straightening. “Oh…”

               “We could have him first though, right?” Skywarp asked in a wheedling tone, nuzzling the top of Ratchet’s helm. The medic snarled and kicked his feet backwards, utterly missing Skywarp.

               “Hmm…” Starscream gazed at the medic for a long moment before stepping forward and putting his arms around Ratchet to reach Skywarp’s waist. “Get us to my lab.”

               “Will do! I ain’t even gonna complain about carrying two mechs!” Skywarp crowed and the field around them winked out of sight, replaced by the inside of Starscream’s work room a moment later.

               Skywarp staggered as they landed; transporting another mech much less two was difficult for him. His grip on Ratchet loosened and the medic fell against Starscream’s chest, groaning.

               “How can you stand that?” Ratchet muttered as his hands scrambled against Starscream’s plating, trying to steady himself.

               “Practice,” Starscream replied, hefting Ratchet into his arms with a grunt. The other mech was smaller than him, but surprisingly heavy. “’Warp, go back for Thundercracker and meet me in our quarters.”

               Skywarp looked up, optics wide in protest. “You’re gonna start without us?!”

               “I’m not going to start at all,” Starscream replied, batting at Skywarp’s hand when he reached out. “He’s not here to sate your urges; he’s here to help me usurp Megatron.”

               Skywarp’s hand fell, just like his expression. “Oh. Well, I want no part of that. I’m gonna go get TC and we’re gonna hide out. Don’t get killed.”

               A second later, he blinked out, leaving Starscream and Ratchet alone. The medic looked up when Starscream set him on his feet, optics still bright. “Gonna toss me into a room full of ‘Cons and sort out the pieces later, hmm?” Ratchet remarked, gaze raking over Starscream’s face.

               “That’s the plan,” Starscream replied, absently searching for something to bind Ratchet’s hands together.  

               “Not a bad plan. There’s just one thing,” Ratchet said, his voice coming out oddly. Starscream turned back and only got the smallest glimpse of a devious glint in Ratchet’s optics before Starscream’s back was hitting the ground. In the next second, a heavy weight settled over Starscream’s thighs.

               “I can’t wait that long,” Ratchet purred, leaning forward and trapping Starscream’s hands above his head. He heard a soft whirl of transformation and then a heady odor rose up between them, somehow making its way past the filter covering Starscream’s nasal sensors. He shuddered as the insidious smell lit up interfacing protocols left and right, his spike onlining with a painful surge.

               “Mmm, that’s it,” Ratchet moaned, grinding down against Starscream’s groin. Warm lubricant was already gathering there, steadily trickling out of the medic’s exposed valve. Starscream refused to look down, afraid the sight would completely obliterate all sense from his processor. “Open up, pretty bird.”

               “You…!” Starscream spat, furious with his own body’s betrayal. His cover was aching to open, spike eager to push up into that needy little valve just begging to be taken.

               “Me,” Ratchet agreed with a nod and a wink of one darkening optic. “Sorry ‘bout this. Would much rather be at home for this type of thing, but I’ll take what I can get. And I can’t say I’m really complaining about what I’ve got.”

               Ratchet licked his lower lip as his gaze meandered across Starscream’s upper body, lingering on his wings. The medic groaned faintly as they twitched in protest. He began rocking atop Starscream’s panel and it was the last straw.

               His cover snapped aside, fully pressurized spike springing forth to rub against Ratchet’s inner thigh. The medic made a delighted sound, gaze returning to their groins instead of molesting Starscream’s wings with his optics alone.

               Better. If Starscream’s wings were going to be molested, he’d prefer something a little more tangible, thank you very much.

               “That’s more like it,” Ratchet murmured, hitching his hips forward and up. He smoothly slid down onto Starscream’s spike as if he had done it a thousand times before.

               “Thank Primus!” Ratchet gasped, valve clutching at Starscream’s length as if it would never let go.

               Starscream was perfectly fine with that. He had never wanted to interface a grounder before, but the idea was starting to have its appeal.

               “Are you going to move or what?” Starscream snapped after a span of some seconds in which Ratchet just sat there.

               Ratchet pushed himself upright, rolling his optics. “I’m savoring. Just who is the one in heat here?”

               But he was already moving, aft lifting up only to slide back down Starscream’s spike an instant later.

               “Mmmm…” Ratchet purred, optics slipping closed. He released Starscream’s wrists to better prop himself up on the flier’s chest. “Maybe you should call your trinemates in. Think I’m going to wear you out before I’m done.”                

               “Like slag!” Starscream exclaimed, grasping Ratchet’s waist and slamming the other mech down onto his spike. “You’re mine now, medic, and don’t you forget it.”

               Ratchet licked his lips, staring down at Starscream from between slitted optics. “Prove it,” he challenged with smirk.

Chapter Text

                “Now wadday say?” Jazz murmured after tossing the flogger aside. He crouched down in front of the mech at his feet and stared expectantly at him.

                Ratchet’s head hung low, condensation dripping off him readily. The water only added to the puddle of lubricant slowly spreading on the floor between Ratchet’s knees. His vents were open full bore and his plating flared, both his body’s attempts to dump the excess heat from his overworked engine.

                “Well?” Jazz prompted when Ratchet didn’t speak. Jazz waited another moment and then reached out to grasp Ratchet’s chin. He lifted his lover’s head until they were on optic level, the entire weight of Ratchet’s helm completely resting within Jazz’s palm.

                “Are ya with me, Ratchet?” Jazz asked softly, noting the unfocused optics and thin line of oral lubricant seeping from the corner of the medic’s mouth.

                After several sparkbeats, Ratchet shuddered, his optics gradually clearing. “Y-yeah. I’m… I’m with you.”

                “That’s good, Ratch, real good. So how does yer back feel?” Jazz asked, gaze flicking up to consider the scored plating on Ratchet’s dorsum. Many of the whip marks were deep, and one even seeped small beads of energon, indicating just how deep the flogger had bit.

                Ratchet grimaced, arms shaking as he held his position on hands and knees. “Hurts.”

                “Yeah, I bet. And yer valve? How does that feel?” Jazz asked, gesturing towards Ratchet’s rear end. As he did so, Jazz nudged the switch on the remote held in his palm.

                Ratchet choked, body swaying in place as the vibrating dildo locked behind his valve panel sped up a notch.

                “Gg… good. Nnngh… frag, good,” Ratchet moaned. “Thank… thank you.”

                Jazz smiled gently. “I’m glad ya like my toys. Now what do ya say?”

                He flicked the switch again and when Ratchet moaned this time it was in disappointment as the vibrator stopped all motion.

                “… I’ll recharge regularly… take all my rations…” Ratchet recited grudgingly.

                “Do ya promise?”

                Jazz held up the remove for Ratchet to see, thumb held over the power switch. Ratchet stared at for a long moment, glossa flicking out to lick his lower lip. Then he dropped his gaze, expression turning contrite.

Jazz didn’t believe it for a second.

                “…I promise.”

                “Mm,” Jazz hummed, considering his lover. Then he abruptly grabbed the flogger and stood up, turning the vibrator on to its lowest setting.

                “I don’t believe ya,” he added, tucking the remote into a subspace pocked. “But I’ll give ya another chance to convince me after a third round.”

                “No! No, no,” Ratchet cried, already hunching his shoulders in preparation of more blows. But he didn’t move away, only resettled his hands and knees to keep himself upright during the coming onslaught.

                Jazz shook his head, out of sight of Ratchet. The medic was stubborn, but Jazz would wear him down. Ratchet would agree to take care of himself and he would live up to his promise.

                For a little while at least.

Chapter Text

                “Ohhh… that’s it, baby, just a little more,” Sideswipe panted, thighs shaking as he dropped another inch.

                Skyfire drew back off Sunstreaker’s spike, glancing down at his lap and the wide girth of his spike disappearing inside Sideswipe’s body. There was still several more inches left to go before Sideswipe would be fully seated and already his valve lips were obscenely spread.

                “Careful,” Skyware warned, hand tightening on Sideswipe’s hip. “Don’t rush.”

                “He’s fine,” Sunstreaker interjected dismissively and grabbed the side of Skyfire’s helm to turn him back towards Sunstreaker’s groin. “He can take it.”

                “If you’re sure…” Skyfire said reluctantly, mouthing Sunstreaker’s spike while still looking down at Sideswipe’s shaking form.

                “He’s taken my fist before, and you’re not much wider around than that,” Sunstreaker explained, shifting impatiently from foot to foot.

Skyfire gently stroked the back of Sunstreaker’s closest thigh, reaching up to cup his aft in one large palm.

                “It’s not necessarily the width I’m concerned about,” Skyfire murmured before opening his mouth to take in Sunstreaker’s spike once more. And unlike the twins, Skyfire had no difficulty swallowing Sunstreaker to the root.

                “Gonna take it all… every last inch,” Sideswipe promised between pants. “Just you wait and see…”



                 Snarling in impotent fury, Ratchet paused the video recording and tore his hand away from his valve.

                 What? He snapped.

                 There was a long pause and then First Aid spoke again, so hesitantly that Ratchet almost forgave him for pinging Ratchet on his off shift.


                 You told me to contact you when Trailbreaker woke up. And he… well, he just woke up.

                 Ratchet ground his denta together. Trailbreaker’s force field component kept trying to implode and in a fit of desperation, they had tried a hard reboot to see if his systems would reintegrate the operating system. Ratchet really needed to be there to determine if it had worked or not, but he was so close…

                 I’ll be right there, he curtly replied and cut the comm link. Sighing, he ground his palms into his optics and groaned. His port ached and he wanted so badly to continue his little self-service session, but time was of the essence for Trailbreaker.

                 He’d just have to see if Sideswipe could live up to his word at a later time.

                 At least he wouldn’t miss anything, unlike a live visual. Once again, Ratchet congratulated himself for setting up cameras in the little used isolation wards.


Chapter Text

               “Wow. That’s quite the mess,” Sunstreaker commented as he sauntered into the living room. Wheeljack felt a gaze rove over him and he had to fight the urge to hunch in on himself. He was on display for a reason after all.

                After a moment, Wheeljack felt the currents of air move and then a pede was snugging itself between Wheeljack’s thighs, nudging one after the other in a signal to spread them farther. Wheeljack immediately complied, the bullet vibe deep inside him shifting with his motion. Another spurt of lubricant welled up over the edge of his valve and splashed down into the puddle steadily growing beneath him.

                “Yeah,” Sideswipe sighed from where he was sprawled out on the couch. “Definitely not a plus.”

                Sunstreaker moved into view of the corner of Wheeljack’s optic, sitting down next to his brother. He leaned over and nuzzled Sideswipe’s shoulder, one hand stroking a white thigh. Both of them gleamed under the overhead lights, but Sunstreaker in particular was pristine. Of course he taken far longer in the washrack than his brother had. “Was there a plus to this one?”

                “There had been… but I’ve kinda forgotten what it was,” Sideswipe admitted. “I’m honestly a little bored. We should have picked up the other model.”

                Wheeljack make a despairing sound around his gag and looking up at Sideswipe pleadingly. Sunstreaker immediately reacted, leaning forward to smack the back of Wheeljack’s helm.

                “Keep your optics on the floor, fragbot!” Sunstreaker barked. “You’re here for us to look at, not the other way around. And you’re not even all that pretty.”

                Ducking his head, Wheeljack whimpered, experiencing another hot flush of embarrassment. What did they want from him? Did they want him to overload? Service them? But he couldn’t orgasm, not with the ring snuggly fastened to the base of his spike. And he couldn’t service them because of the gag and their insistence he remain in this position.

                He’d been purchased several times since he came on the market, but these two were the first who seemed displeased with him.

                “We don’t have to look at it. Just use it,” Sideswipe said, pulling Sunstreaker back. “Why don’t you slip inside its port and have a go? I know how frustrated you’ve been lately.”

                Out of the corner of one optic, Wheeljack saw Sideswipe’s hand disappear between Sunstreaker’s thighs. A moment later and Wheeljack heard the transformation sequence of an interface panel sliding aside.

                “Damn straight,” Sunstreaker replied. He paused for a long moment, engine revving as Sideswipe’s hand began to move.

                “You know… I bet we could both fit. It’s certainly wet enough. And even if we break it… we got the extra insurance,” Sunstreaker mentioned idly. Wheeljack’s lines ran cold and he whined in distress.  Both of them? They would never fit! He’d taken some large mechs before but never two at once!

                “I like how you think, bro,” Sideswipe purred, pushing himself to the edge of the couch. “Let’s get started.”

Chapter Text

                “Just what do you think you are doing?”

                Skywarp looked over his shoulder, optics wide. “I’m bringing you your energon, My Lord,” he replied softly.

                Megatron raised an orbital ridge and gestured at Skywarp’s polished frame. “Do you often wax yourself to a high sheen when you bring your leader fuel?”

                Wings wiggling a fraction, Skywarp straightened up his bent over position. A position which had thrust his aft practically into Megatron’s face. Turning, Skywarp pressed a hand over his mouth, his gaze downcast.

                “Do you often ogle the soldiers who bring you your meal?” he replied in a coy tone. “The smoother my plating, the faster I fly. That’s all.”

                Megatron shifted in his seat, slumping indolently against the back of the throne. “That’s all, hmm? Just how smooth is it?”

                Skywarp turned again, lowering one of wings until the tip hovered just above the Decepticon thighs. “Would you care to feel?”

                There was a moment of silence and then Skywarp squealed in delight as Megatron grabbed the wing and toppled the Seeker into his lap. The warlord rumbled, a hand unerringly slipping between Skywarp’s thighs to grasp the slick, warmed panel between them.

                “Mmm… very smooth,” Megatron purred, bending his head to nibble the side of Skywarp’s throat. “It is important that you fly well… I can’t have incompetent soldiers in my army.”

                Skywarp arched his back, grinding down against Megatron’s palm. Wings fluttering in a display pattern, Skywarp looked down at the larger mech with a grin.

                “I live to serve,” Skywarp murmured, his interface panel snapping aside.

Chapter Text

     “Welp,” Sideswipe announced, his back hitting the wall of the alley as the racer crowded in close. “I guess this is quieter.”

     The blue mech slid his hands along Sideswipe’s waist and nuzzled up under his throat. The smaller frame was already vibrating and it was no chore at all for Sideswipe to place his own hands on the racer’s back, fingers crooking to lightly rake the thinner armor. Much lighter than his own gladiatorial-grade plating and smooth to the touch.

     They’d had to be careful with this one. Despite his aggressiveness, they could easily hurt him if they didn’t control themselves.

     “What’s your name, anyway?”

     “Blurr,” the other mech answered, nipping at the main energon line running up the left side of Sideswipe’s neck. Sideswipe’s optic shutters slid shut in pleasure and he licked his lips. “You?”


     Blurr suddenly stiffened within Sideswipe’s arms; he opened his optics to meet those of his twin, who had come up behind the racer and had taken hold of his hips.
“And that’s my twin, Sunstreaker,” Sideswipe added with a smirk.

     The racer didn’t look so confident any more. In fact, he looked a little nervous, and Sideswipe ran a soothing hand down his back.

     “We’re a package deal. Still wanna do this?” Sideswipe asked.

     The smaller mech was cute. They’d never been with a racer, but Sideswipe had heard about their stamina. He would hate to lose his chance with this one, but they never forced anyone to their bed.

     Blinking, Blurr looked over his shoulder and flinched a little at the intense look Sunstreaker was giving him. Sunstreaker liked pretty things; Sideswipe wasn’t surprised that his brother’s initial ire had turned into lust.

     “You’d let me walk away?” Blurr replied slowly as if he didn’t believe it. In answer, Sunstreaker stepped back and Sideswipe dropped his hands from the racer’s back.

     “Your loss,” Sunstreaker rumbled dismissively, as if he didn’t care. But Sideswipe could feel the disappointment seeping through their link.

     “We’d understand. Lots of mecha think twins are weird. Interfacing us is usually something kinky to check off on a list,” Sideswipe explained, crossing his arms over his chest as Blurr put a few inches of space between them.

     Blurr’s orbital ridges furrowed. “I don’t think it’s weird,” he said slowly. “I’m quite the fan of orgies, personally. The only question I have is… will it be fun?”

     Sunstreaker and Sideswipe exchanged surprised glances. Then Sunstreaker’s expression turned heated and he smirked a little at Blurr.

     “Never any doubt.”

Chapter Text

                “Are you comfortable?” Prowl asked, smoothing his hands down Optimus’ thighs before looking up at him inquiringly.

                Optimus gazed back at his partner and smiled dreamily. “I am.”

                Frowning, Prowl leaned forward and stroked his hands up over the bulge of Optimus’ abdomen. He let his hands rest on the straining armor and Optimus brought his own hands up to lay over Prowl’s.

                “They are fine,” Optimus volunteered, tilting his hips up imploringly. The motion stirred Prowl’s spike within Optimus’ valve and the Prime’s optic shutters fluttered in pleasure.

                “You are sure?” Prowl pressed, seemingly unable to resist circling his hips and grinding the tip of his spike against Optimus’ ceiling node  

                He sighed happily, spreading his thighs wider. “Yes. Please, Prowl. I need you.”

                “You are very far along, Optimus. I wouldn’t want to… jostle… anything.”

                “The eggs are quite secure,” Optimus said, smiling gently and squeezing Prowl’s wrists. “Please…”

                “Very well,” Prowl replied, his thumbs sweeping across Optimus’ lower abdomen. He leaned down and pressed his lips against Optimus’ windshield in a soft kiss. “Please let me know if you experience any pain.”

                “I will not. You will take care of me,” Optimus replied confidently. “You and the sparklings both. Now, please… move?”

                He drew his knees up, lightly nudging the back of Prowl’s aft. Engine rumbling, he circled his hips, moaning lightly at the stimulation.

                “For if you don’t, I will climb atop you and take my own pleasure,” Optimus warned, optics sparkling.

                One of Prowl’s orbital ridges rose in amusement. Apparently reassured, he slowly withdrew partway out and then thrust back in. His rhythm picked up until he was steadily pumping in and out of Optimus’ valve. “Perhaps later. You are just as voracious as our children.”

                Optimus relaxed back into the mound of pillows supporting the upper half of his body, optics slipping shut. Prowl grasped Optimus’ hips as he began thrusting faster, and Optimus’s hands slid back up to cradle his belly and the five nearly full grown eggs contained within.

                “They do drain me so,” Optimus admitted in a murmur. “Such a shame that this is the only way to replenish my charge.”

                “Truly,” Prowl replied distractedly, his cooling fans spinning loudly. “A shame.”

Chapter Text

                Soundwave is all spindly limbs and sharp corners. His waist is ridiculously small; Ratchet’s fingers meet and overlap where they grip Soundwave’s middle. It makes for a good handle to keep Soundwave still as Ratchet pounds into him from behind.

                The Decepticon never speaks during these little trysts. At first it was hard to gauge if the other mech even felt pleasure. But Ratchet soon learned that Soundwave moaned in static; at first, soft little bursts of it teasing Ratchet’s audials and then later, long stretches of loud, crackling noise which made Ratchet’s spike throb in triumph.

                There is a great deal of static now… high pitched and whining as Ratchet holds Soundwave tight as Ratchet's overload washes over him. And amidst the pleasure curling up Ratchet’s struts, he feels it: a bloom of warmth beneath his fingers… a barely perceptible out bowing of Soundwave’s abdominal plating as Ratchet’s transfluid fills Soundwave’s valve and overflows into his gestational tank.

                Ratchet isn’t considered overly large by anyone’s standards. But he’s not a small mech either. And whereas Soundwave is a head taller than him, Ratchet has the larger mass by far. As a result, he imagines Soundwave’s tank is much smaller than his own. He wonders how much transfluid it would take to fill that tank, to make it bulge noticeably.

                His spark spasms with the thought, hips grinding against Soundwave’s aft in an attempt to root himself even deeper. The idea excites Ratchet – to thrust into Soundwave again and again until that full belly hangs beneath him, cupped in Ratchet’s hands. That amount of fluid would take hours to absorb. While it did, Ratchet could plant himself between Soundwave’s thighs, glossa and lips working at his valve until the other mech screamed static. And Ratchet would have the perfect view of Soundwave’s taut abdominal plating the whole time.

                … he’s almost certain he has a plug somewhere. And if he can’t find it, that little deviant motorcycle is bound to have one he could borrow.

Chapter Text

     “Oh,” Ratchet said faintly, staring at the painting in front of him. 

     “Do you like it?” Sunstreaker asked, his arms crossing even tighter over his chest. 

     Ratchet reached out a hesitant hand and traced a finger over the face looking back at him. His own, with optics downcast and a small, barely there smile on his face. The mech in the painting looked handsome and carefree, expression free of worry lines. 

     “That’s not me,” Ratchet replied in wonder. 

     So lost in taking in every line and detail, Ratchet missed Sunstreaker’s movement. But he didn’t miss the light press of a pair of dry lips against his cheek. He whipped around and stared at Sunstreaker in astonishment. 

     “Yes, it is. Or it is as I see you, anyway,” Sunstreaker murmured, shyly meeting Ratchet’s gaze. 

Chapter Text

                “Head down.”

                Optimus obliges and lowers his head so that Wheeljack can wind the blindfold around his helm. The cloth is soft, but thick, and two passes over his optics are enough to block out 95% of ambient light. A third pass does the rest and now he is visually blind.

                Oh, his secondary sensors can still pinpoint Wheeljack’s movement around him, but he can’t see the other mech’s expressions. Nor does his thermal input let him identify what tool Wheeljack will pick up next.

                “Comfortable?” Wheeljack asks, resting a hand on Optimus’ shoulder.

                Optimus takes stock. He is on his knees, tilting precariously forward. The only reason he doesn’t fall is due to the fact that his arms are straight out behind him and pulled upwards by ropes. His shoulders continually twinge at the strain, but he’s had much worse.

                “I am not in pain,” Optimus replies.

                “Heh. Let me get you a little closer then,” Wheeljack says and walks away. Optimus listens to the sounds of clinking metal for a few moments before he registers the Wrecker walking up behind him.

                “Spread your knees,” Wheeljack instructs, flicking the back of Optimus’ left thigh.

                Optimus does as commanded, but Wheeljack’s touch slides to his inner thigh and raps there with one knuckle. “Wider.”

                He tries, but doing so lowers his frame and the ropes pull harder on his arms. The twinges turn into actual strain and Optimus grunts softly in protest.

                “That’s it. There’s where I want you,” Wheeljack comments. Optimus can’t tell if he means the level of discomfort or the actual position. Nevertheless, Optimus feels cool metal fasten across each of his lower thighs, just above the knee. A spreader bar, he realizes, experimentally trying to close his legs.

                “How ‘bout now? How’re you feelin’?”

                “I am distinctly not comfortable,” Optimus immediately returns, making Wheeljack chuckle.

                “That’s the goal. Now how about you open for me?” Wheeljack asks, a warm hand slipping between Optimus’ thighs and boldly cupping his interface panel. Surprising himself, Optimus realizes that it’s warm.

                Hesitantly, Optimus sends the signal to slide his cover aside, expecting the normally impatient mech to immediately grope Optimus’ equipment. But Wheeljack hadn’t rushed through set-up and all he does now is continue to cup his hand over Optimus’s valve.

                “Good,” Wheeljack murmurs, ex-vents mixing with the word and painting Optimus’ back in a warm stripe. “You ready?”

                Ready for Wheeljack to teach him how pain could be turned to pleasure? Optimus had been hesitant to agree to this, but Wheeljack rarely asked for anything. And it seemed like such a simple thing. Endure pain. Something he had done for centuries because of one reason or another. Wheeljack is one of the better reasons.

                Regardless, Optimus hadn’t believed Wheeljack. Yet here he is, a drop of lubricant welling up and falling down to be caught by Wheeljack’s palm. And Wheeljack’s familiar warmth is at his back, energy field mostly contained except for the occasional lick of excitement.

                “Yes,” Optimus murmurs. “I’m ready.”


~ End Chapter


Chapter Text

                Jazz slowly pumped his hips, Ratchet’s big hands cupping Jazz’s aft and pulling his weight to bear down fully on the medic’s sturdy frame. Their spikes slid together with a delicious friction, bolts of lust shooting up Jazz’s spinal strut with every suck on Jazz’s closest audial horn. Jazz’s only regret was that they were not of a compatible size that they could kiss comfortably like this, but it was difficult enough to lie flat atop one another with Jazz’s bumper in the way. Instead, Jazz had to lie somewhat twisted to the side.

                So Jazz made do by kissing and licking Ratchet’s windshield until it shone.

                “Mmm… Jazz…” Ratchet murmured. The vibration of the sound around Jazz’s horn made the  rhythm of his hips stutter.

                “Ngh… yeah…?”

                “Can I try something?” Ratchet asked, giving the sensitive piece of metal in his mouth one final lick before drawing away.

                Jazz’s disappointment was tempered by the magic words. He’d been around the block more than once in his many years, but before Ratchet, he’d never been with a medic. It was only now that he realized what he had been missing out on. Ratchet knew things. Wonderful, delightful, screaming-until-your-vocalizer-shorted-out type of things.

                “Mech, ya know ya don’t even have to ask anymore,” Jazz said, lifting his head and grinning at his lover.

                “Don’t want to surprise you,” Ratchet returned, the delicate metalmesh around his optics looking a little pinched. “And this is… some get a little disturbed by it.”

                The motion of Jazz’s hips slowed, and he propped his elbows up on Ratchet’s chest. “Is this one of yer unique frame things?”

                Jazz was old. Ratchet was old. But it didn’t mean that their frames had the same peculiarities.


                “Have I ever been disturbed by anything you’ve done?” Jazz asked, his voice softening. For such a confident mech, Ratchet had a lot of hidden insecurities.

                “No. Course, you are an excellent actor,” Ratchet admitted.

                Jazz nodded at the fact. “I am. But I ain’t acting with you. C’mon, you’ve got me all intrigued now.”

                Ratchet rolled his optics at the same time he rolled the rest of his body, and Jazz yelped as he landed on his side on the berth.

                “Thought ya said ya didn’t want to surprise me?” Jazz joked, watching Ratchet squirm around until he was comfortable.

                Ratchet glared and reached for his spike, stroking it a few times. “You’ve toppled me to the bed plenty of times. Make sure your spike’s wet,” he instructed.         

                Jazz hurriedly spit excess oral lubricant into his palm and stroked it over his spike. Not that he wasn’t already leaking from watching Ratchet touch himself.

                “What are ya…?”

                Jazz trailed off as Ratchet’s hand dropped to the base of his spike and massaged it. After a moment, he stroked up his spike and a thin layer of metalmesh came with it, muting the red swirls spiraling through the white.

                “How are you...?”

                “Hush,” Ratchet replied, continuing to stimulate himself. With every stroke, the mesh expanded farther down his length, seeming to come from deep within his spike housing. Within a minute, it was at the head and shortly after that, Ratchet rolled it over the tip, practically obscuring the transfluid channel.

                Ratchet was beginning to pant, his vents puffing out hot gusts of air which drifted over Jazz’s armor. Not that he needed any extraneous heat; his core temperature was already skyrocketing at this new sight.

                “Come here,” Ratchet spoke, startling Jazz out of his daze. “Give me your spike.”

                Jazz hurriedly wiggled closer, letting Ratchet take hold of Jazz’s spike. He lined it up with his own, pressing the heads together. The slick tips slipped against one another until Jazz took his spike by the base and steadied it.

                “Oh, slag…” Jazz whimpered as Ratchet resumed jerking himself. He continued to pull the mesh with every stroke, until it popped over the end of Jazz’s spike and lodged behind the gently flared head. Ratchet paused a moment and then resumed stroking. On every down stroke, the mesh dragged across Jazz’s spike tip. Then it rolled back across the head, inching farther and farther down his length.

                Jazz reached out and blindly grasped Ratchet’s shoulder, gaze glued to where his spike was essentially inserted into Ratchet’s.

                “Ratch… frag, mech, what the actual fuck?” Jazz choked out, his hips jerking incrementally every time Ratchet’s hand slid from his spike to Jazz’s.

                “Don’t like it?” Ratchet asked hesitantly, his hand stilling.

                “Don’t stop!” Jazz insisted, squeezing Ratchet’s shoulder in encouragement.

                Ratchet’s hand resumed its motion, now with more surety and a faster speed. One which Jazz whole-sparkedly agreed with. Jazz had no idea why anyone would find this disturbing. He thought it was downright amazing.

                So amazing in fact that overload was already rearing its lovely head. Jazz had a moment to spare to be embarrassed and then he quickly dismissed it. After all, they had been fooling around for a good twenty minutes before Ratchet had decided to blow Jazz’s poor little mind again.

                “Ratch… Ratchet, I’m gonna…” Jazz moaned, biting his lower lip as tension wound tighter and tighter in the pit of his belly. “Can I… like this…?”

                Ratchet made a noise like a dying mech that Jazz assumed was agreement. Especially as the other mech’s hand picked up even more speed.

                “Do it,” Ratchet croaked out, his vocals near unintelligible due to static. “Jazz… oh, frag, Jazz…”

                Jazz found himself nodding his head and then overloading with a thin moan. His spike jerked and Ratchet clamped his hand down on their spikes’ junction, ensuring that they would stay tangled together. Jazz felt his transfluid shoot out and then fill up in the tiny space around his spike head, soaking it in warmth. A moment later, Ratchet cried out and that liquid heat doubled. Jazz’s spike tip slipped against Ratchet’s as the medic shallowly pumped his hips several times, their mix of transfluid slowly trickling out from under Ratchet’s excess metalmesh.

                Jazz could only gape as Ratchet began pulling back, the thin layer of flexible metal gradually rolling back and sinking down into Ratchet’s spike housing. Ratchet kept the ends of their spikes cupped in his big hand, the palm filling with silvery liquid as it dripped off their lengths. Jazz’s mouth twitched and he vowed he would dive down there in another second and lick up the mess (and maybe even push Ratchet into a hand-sensor induced overload because boy howdy did he deserve it!), but for now all he could do was lie there and pant.

                “Holy slag, Ratch… we are so doing that one again!”

                Ratchet met Jazz’s gaze and whatever he saw there must have convinced him of Jazz’s earnestness, because a smirk slowly stretched the corner of his lips up.

                “I’ll keep that in mind.”


~ End Chapter 

Chapter Text

                Rung hummed absently as he worked, the occasional snippet sounding vaguely familiar to Perceptor’s audials. Just familiar enough for him to strain his memory banks in an attempt to identify the various songs.

                As his recollection algorithms were pushed to their limits, so too was his frame.

                His armor creaked with every ventilation, each exchange of air pushing his plating against the confining ropes. Rung had instructed him to take in a large draught of air and hold it while the silken lengths were slowly wound around his torso. It had confused Perceptor at first, until he was instructed to ex-vent the heated waste gases. Then he realized that Rung had created enough slack so that Perceptor could continue to ventilate normally. Or at least shallowly.

                It wasn’t enough to keep him completely cool. He was more rope than plating now, practically every inch of armor on his limbs and trunk completely covered with thin, black cord. It was tight enough that the heat produced by his internals remained trapped against his substructure, the rising temperature making his struts feel like gelatin and his processor fuzzy.

                Ah. That was probably why his memory was so sluggish to respond to his inquiries.

                Rung pulled on a length of rope and deftly knotted it in place in Perceptor’s left axillary region. The psychologist took a step back and tilted his head to the side in a considering manner.

                “How does that feel?” he asked, picking up a thinner cord.

                Hot. Helpless. Beautiful. Wanted. Excited. Safe.

                That and more. So much more.

                Normally loquacious to a fault, all Perceptor could say in reply was ‘good’, in a wretched, choked off voice.

                “Excellent,” Rung murmured, optics glowing softly. “We’re almost done. Just your neck and head. Be still now.”

                As if Perceptor had moved a single inch from his original position.

                He hadn’t. He’d had practice remaining still for long periods of time, after all. He had stood motionlessly as Rung had wrapped each individual leg. Then Perceptor’s arms. And finally the waist up to his neck, arms bound tightly against his back.

                Now Rung was so close to being done. So close to encasing Perceptor completely.

                Offlining his optics, Perceptor lifted his chin.

                “Yes, Master,” he said faintly, his final words until Rung deemed it time to unravel the cords and bring him back into the world.


~ End Chapter 

Chapter Text

                “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Sunstreaker murmured, nuzzling up underneath Jazz’s jaw. The scrape of denta down his throat made Jazz tilt his head back with a wordless murmur of encouragement. It was better to focus on that, rather than the fingers brushing over his chest internals.

                It was exceptionally odd to feel a non-medic’s hand there. As it was, Jazz let only Ratchet handle any spark related injuries, unless it was an emergency that couldn’t wait for the CMO. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the other medics…

                Well… it was that he didn’t trust the other medics, actually. It wasn’t personal. It was just bad memories of a particular Decepticon doctor experimenting on his very essence early in the war. And the Autobot surgeon who had made things worse by not knowing what he was doing.

                Ratchet knew what he was doing. First Aid was still learning, Hoist was more of a general practitioner and Perceptor… frag, Perceptor was just too much like that creepy four-armed ‘con who had stuck a scalpel blade into Jazz’s spark just to hear him scream. Not that Perceptor had a cruel strut in his body, but the thoughtful way he sometimes hummed and tilted his head…

                No, thank you.

                And don’t let him get started on Wheeljack. The engineer was a great guy to have a drink with, but he never stopped fiddling. If he got into Jazz’s chest, he’d probably try and up Jazz’s energy input to his spark or something equally ridiculous.

                Jazz already had enough energy to burn. He got any more and Prowl would probably handcuff him to a cell.

                … now there’s a thought that made his lines warm.

                But it wasn’t Prowl with Jazz tonight. It was Sunstreaker, a mech Jazz had never thought he’d trust enough to be more than a one night stand, let alone a spark-play partner. Yet here they were, Sunstreaker’s hood armor transformed away and everything on display.

                Jazz’s plating was a bit trickier, on purpose. That bit of bumper mechs liked to fondle was a nice bit of protection for his spark when he was out of alt-mode. It took several microtransformations to move the mass of it out of the way and allow a small opening into Jazz’s thoracic cavity.

                One which Sunstreaker had been gently playing with for the past several minutes.

                Jazz had to admit it felt good. No one had ever touched him there before, not in a sexual way. Each brush of Sunstreaker’s digits made Jazz twitch in tense pleasure, heat centering in his groin and behind his spark. The damn thing kept spinning wildly, eagerly pressing up against its casing.

                At least something was looking forward to this.

                “I won’t hurt you,” Sunstreaker said quietly, his energy field lapping gently at Jazz’s.

                “I wouldn’t let ya,” Jazz responded automatically and cringed a little as Sunstreaker drew back. But the frontliner merely moved to rest his head on a propped up elbow, gazing down at Jazz.

                “Maybe,” Sunstreaker replied, his fingers stilling. “Crystals aren’t that strong. You’re all open; I could punch through your spark faster than you could draw on me.”

                Jazz frowned, his spark spinning a little faster. There was a bit of fear there, but also a little excitement. Sunstreaker was… volatile. And strong. Jazz’s strengths were speed and stealth. Things he couldn’t utilize fully while partially trapped under the larger mech’s bulk.

                But Jazz had been in this very position before without sustaining damage. That was part of the draw to the vain twin; the potential for violence.

                “You ain’t gonna do that though, are ya?” Jazz replied, the frown turning into a sly smile as he looked into Sunstreaker’s lust-darkened optics. Indigo was a good look on Sunstreaker.

                “Much rather hear you scream for a different reason,” Sunstreaker murmured silkily, dipping his hand further inside Jazz’s chest. A shaky gasp marked the brushing of a fingertip against Jazz’s spark casing. “Think you can do that? Scream for me?”

                Jazz shuddered as one finger became two and the pressure deepened to what could only be called a stroke. Damn Sunstreaker’s talented fingers. He could rip arms off, paint indescribable pieces of art, and reduce Jazz to a limp, panting pile of metal with barely any effort.

                Almost of its own volition, Jazz’s plating slid aside even further, widening the gap in his protective armor. Sunstreaker immediately took advantage, sliding his hand down around Jazz’s crystal and cupping it, thumb rubbing soothingly across the surface.

                It would be so easy. So easy for Sunstreaker to grip and pull back, yanking Jazz’s spark completely out of his chest. There wouldn’t be anything Jazz could do.

                So Jazz triggered the multiple locks on his spark casing and went limp.

                “Do you’re worst, Sunbeam,” Jazz challenged.


~ End Chapter


Chapter Text

                Red Alert settled onto his bed, giving his room one last visual inspection. He’d already made a total of five circles around his quarters, checking for bugs, ensuring locks were in place, even on the ventilation shaft covers.

                He’d learned his lesson that one time Bumbleebee had come tumbling down out of the ceiling. Why did a race of non-organic mechanisms even need ventilation shafts anyway?! Highly suspicious if you asked Red Alert. Which no one did.

                So few interacted with him with any type of seriousness. Even Optimus and Prowl would occasionally give him that Look. The one that said he was overdoing it again.

                Well, there was at least one mecha out there who took him seriously.

                Red Alert squirmed atop his berth, finally getting comfortable. Optics flicking around, his hand hovered over his opposite wrist. Finally deciding he was alone and safe, he popped open the secret compartment in his forearm and withdrew a thin data stick.

                It looked innocuous, but Red Alert’s fuel pump started beating faster the more he stared at it. Finally, he gave into temptation and plugged it into the data port on the side of his neck, just beneath his audial. He could have used any port, but this one was the closest to his processor. It felt right to use it. Almost as if he was closer to the original owner of the data this way.

                He offlined his optics as his multitude of firewalls dropped one by one, the data trickling in to his systems. To most, it was gibberish. But to Red Alert, it was beauty. Encrypted data had always fascinated Red Alert and he was one of the best in the Autobot army at deciphering. Possibly only Jazz was better. But even Jazz would have a difficult time with this particular set of information, whereas Red Alert peeled away the protective layers with ease.

                And then all that was left was the final kernel. His frame overwarm with excitement and anticipation, he delicately prodded at the small bit of data, moaning when it finally unraveled under his familiar touch.

                It was like a firecracker bursting in his processor, the falling sparks traveling through his system like the warm rush of high grade. He shuddered as his body took the new data and rolled it around, examined it from every angle.

                The crafting was exquisite. Soundwave’s work always was. It continually pushed Red Alert’s abilities to the utmost to make something just as good. Something harmless, completely meaningless to either side of the war, made for the sheer joy of creation and shared by two creatures who lived for each byte of data they encountered. 

                But Red Alert was ready. He already had something in mind. He would build again, encircle the tiny creation in layers of protective nonsense, encrypt it, and embed it within a routine transmission. Maybe this time in something to Cosmos.

                That was half the fun, tracking down each private message in the millions of data bytes they each sorted through day after day.

                But oh, what fun it was when he finally found it.


~ End Chapter

Chapter Text

     “What’s this?” Ratchet asked, sinking down onto the twins’ couch with a weary sigh.

     “What’s what?” Sunstreaker asked distractedly, face set in an expression of irritation as he picked up various objects around the room and tossed them onto Sideswipe’s desk. The piece of furniture was used less for a workspace and more for storage, unlike Sunstreaker’s mini-studio on the opposite side of the room. “Are you absolutely positive he’s my twin? How can a mech this messy have the other half of my spark?”

     Ratchet waved a datapad in the air. On top of its screen was a small note that said ‘watch me’ in Sideswipe’s messy scrawl. “This. And I’m afraid you’d know best if he’s your twin or not.”

     Sunstreaker picked up a switched off energy knife buried beneath several console games and made a face. He then tucked the knife into subspace and walked over to stand behind Ratchet, peering down at the ‘pad and its accompanying note.

     “I have no idea what it is. But Sideswipe’s had a full shift without us, so I’m sure he got bored and it’s something utterly stupid,” Sunstreaker complained, pushing off from the couch. “Watch it if you want. I need to finish cleaning this mess up. If I don’t do it daily, it starts to multiply.”

     Ratchet debated tossing the datapad aside and helping Sunstreaker straighten up. But despite his misgivings, he hit the power button on the device and reflexively cringed, waiting to see what popped up. With Sideswipe, you never could tell.

     The screen flickered to life, wreathed in static, and then the image cleared. Ratchet’s optics nearly bulged out of his head once it did.

     “Hey, lovers,” Sideswipe’s recorded voice purred out from the speakers. “Missed you both. Got bored. Got lonely. Decided to ask Wheeljack to make me a friend.”

     “Sweet Primus,” Sunstreaker announced, his back turned across the room. “Make him a friend? Really? No one would…”

     He trailed off as a faint clinking sound emerged from the datapad in Ratchet’s hand. “What is that noise? Ratchet?”

     Ratchet looked up and beckoned him over with wide optics. “It’s your brother… he’s…”

     Sunstreaker ex-vented in exasperation, dropping his pile of rags on top of his desk and walking back over to plop down next to Ratchet. “What? What’s he done no… oh.”

     Oh, indeed.

     Ratchet felt his internal temperature abruptly spike as he watched an obviously cobbled together contraption pump a dildo in and out of Sideswipe’s wet valve. The red frontliner was lounging on the couch, in nearly the exact same spot as Ratchet was now. He wore an expression of smugness as he stared directly into the camera. The repetitive clinking sound was the machine cycling and moving the arm on which the fake spike was attached.

     Sunstreaker and Ratchet watched the video for several seconds, Sunstreaker’s cooling fans clicking on with a slight whirr as Sideswipe twitched his hips forward, the dildo sinking deep.

     “…Wheeljack made him that?” Sunstreaker asked faintly.

     “Looks like it,” Ratchet replied, although he wasn’t really looking at the machine. Instead, his optics were taking in every detail of the mech in the video: his shiny plating, the lubricant smeared on his inner thighs, the look of sheer, unaltered pleasure on his faceplates.

     “He seems to be enjoying it,” Sunstreaker commented when Sideswipe’s head fell back with a moan as the machine started picking up speed.

     Ratchet noted that Sideswipe held something in his hand and assumed it was a remote for the toy. Every time the machine sped up or slowed down, it was proceeded by a small movement of Sideswipe’s thumb atop the object held in his grip.

     “Mmm… this is good…” Sideswipe groaned appreciatively. “Your spikes are better… but this will do. Keep on watching, lovers. You left me all alone for hours.”

     He looked over at the camera and smirked. Licking his lips, he reclined further back, one foot coming up to rest on the couch and more fully exposing himself. The machine started fragging him in long, slow strokes that had Sideswipe panting in no time.

     “… hours,” Ratchet whispered, a little awestruck. Did Sideswipe film it all? Knowing the little hellion, he probably did. Every filthy detail of it.

     “Well…” Sunstreaker said, one of his hands coming to rest on Ratchet’s nearest thigh. “… we have hours in which to watch it. And maybe even film something for him in return.”


~ End Chapter

Chapter Text

                “You’re a mess,” Sideswipe announced, plopping down in the chair beside Sunstreaker’s recovery berth. He leaned back and propped his pedes up on the bed right beside Sunstreaker’s hip.

                Sideswipe’s feet were surprisingly clean. So was the rest of him, Sunstreaker irritably noted. So while Sunstreaker had been stuck here getting repaired, Sideswipe had ran off to the washracks. Without Sunstreaker.

                “I see that you’re not,” Sunstreaker replied frostily, his plating practically itching from its spattering of mud and dirt. Some twin Sideswipe was; couldn’t even wait a few hours for his injured brother’s spinal blocks to wear off.

                “Yeah, well…” Sideswipe said with a shrug, examining the fingertips of one hand, “… had some things that needed tending to.”

                “In the washracks?” Sunstreaker asked skeptically, raising an orbital ridge.

                Sideswipe’s head rose and he met Sunstreaker’s optics. Surprisingly, Sunstreaker found no trace of amusement in his brother’s expression. Rather his optics were pinched, and his lips were thin, a sure sign that he was irritated verging on furious.

                “Yes. In the washracks. Where the water washes the evidence down the drain.”

                Sunstreaker squinted at his brother, confused. “What evidence? Sideswipe… what did you do?”

                Sideswipe stared at him in astonishment before dropping his feet to the floor and leaning into the side of the bed.

                “You’re kidding, right? Instead of helping you when they saw what was happening, they ran off. You got fragging trampled by Menasor and none of those slaggers lifted a finger to help you,” Sideswipe hissed, optics practically glowing. “I showed them what it was like to be stepped on by a combiner since they were so lucky to miss the original encounter.”

                Oh. Oh, yeah.

                “I didn’t need their help anyway,” Sunstreaker muttered, looking away from his twin’s gaze. “Are they still functional?”

                Sideswipe shrugged, throwing himself back into his seat. “Probably. Don’t really care. Worth it.” 

                Sunstreaker sighed, thinking about the consequences. Usually that was Sideswipe’s job. Sunstreaker was the one who normally started fights, and Sideswipe smoothed things over after. It wasn’t often that Sideswipe got truly angry. When he lost his temper, everything Sunstreaker did paled in comparison, so they were fortunate it didn’t happen often.

                “We’re gonna get kicked out again.”

                “Maybe. It’s not like we’ve ever been appreciated here, so why not?” Sideswipe replied bitterly, picking at his knee joint.

                “I appreciate you,” Sunstreaker murmured, holding out a hand to his twin. Sideswipe stared at it for a long moment before taking it, pushing to his feet only to crawl on top of the berth next to Sunstreaker. Sideswipe snuggled close, burying his nasal ridge against the side of Sunstreaker’s neck.

                “Good thing we’ll always have each other,” Sideswipe whispered back, clutching Sunstreaker close.


~ End Chapter 

Chapter Text

                “Mmm… that’s it,” Optimus purred against Megatron’s audial. “You move so well on top of me.”

                Megatron choked back a despairing sob and continue to rock his hips, impaling himself over and over again with Optimus’ spike. It was long and thick and despite himself, pleasure was spreading outwards from his pelvis. He hated the warming of his frame, but Optimus had promised that if Megatron did this, he would spare the other captured Decepticons.

                One could never be certain that Optimus would keep his word, but Megatron would do all that he could. And if it stole a bit of his dignity from him, well, there was no one else to witness it.

                “You have such a sweet valve,” Optimus commented, his fingers dipping below Megatron’s waist. The digits brushed over Megatron’s sensory nub and he jerked in place, reflexively tightening down on the spike within him. “Mmm… I just may keep you. I’m not sure I could give this up.”

                “As long as my soldiers go free,” Megatron spat out through gritted denta. Damn Optimus. He had spent several breems working Megatron’s valve to readiness, and now he was halfway to overload, despite what his processor was telling him.

                “Ah, now, I promised that they would be left unharmed. Never that they would go free. Although… I could make that happen… if you accepted providing for my soldiers,” Optimus offered, rubbing at Megatron’s node harder.

                “I am not a toy to be passed around!” Megatron exclaimed, his plating shuddering at the thought. He jerked again on the chains shackling his wrists but they held firm. Optimus clamped his other hand on Megatron’s waist, keeping him in place.

                “No, of course not. I would never share this,” Optimus said, thrusting upwards to penetrate Megatron even deeper. Megatron threw his head back with a groan as Optimus’ firm spike head ground against Megatron’s ceiling node cluster. The fingers on his anterior node rubbed and plucked and Megatron moaned again, this time in anguish. He was so close to overloading and judging by the swelling of the spike filling him up, so was Optimus. Megatron wished it could just be over.

                “I would however, let the others watch,” Optimus hissed, furiously starting to pump his hips. Optimus’ own motion was halted by his violent bounce on the other mech’s lap.

                “Watch… wha… ahhhh!”

                Optimus’ fingers pressed down hard, and Megatron cried out as overload burst through him. The mech beneath him grunted as Megatron’s valve spiraled down, milking Optimus’ spike. Leaving off from Megatron’s node, Optimus took hold of Megatron’s hips, holding him still as he thrust up into his spasming valve several more times before roaring out his own release. Megatron’s nodes felt the pressure from Optimus’ spill and he cringed, suspecting Optimus would not let him clean away the evidence of their interface.

                “Mmm… very nice,” Optimus sighed, lowering Megatron back flush against Optimus’ thighs. “Don’t you agree, gentlemechs?” Optimus asked, raising his voice.

                “Award worthy,” a deep, staticky voice replied, and Megatron startled, looking up into a reflective visor. Two of them actually.

                Megatron recognized Jazz and Ricochet, Optimus’ elite bodyguards, staring back at him from behind the large mirror set in the wall of the interrogation room. Megatron had thought the reflective glass was there for Optimus to watch as he fragged his conquests. But now it was obvious that mirror was two-way, with a control that allowed both sides to see each other.   

                Mortification spread like ice through his lines. Had the twins been there this whole time? Watching and commenting? Despite the rumors that the brothers hated each other, their hands were wrapped around one another’s depressurizing spikes, transfluid stripping their thighs and bellies. They appeared to have enjoyed what they had seen.

                “Don’t worry,” Optimus said, said with a reassuring pat to Megatron’s hip. “They recorded it so the whole crew will be able to see it. But that’s just a preview. I’ll be sure to gather everyone in the rec hall for the main show later tonight!”


~ End Chapter

Chapter Text

               “You’re so hot,” Sunstreaker murmured against Sideswipe’s lower side.

                Sideswipe dazedly raised his head up and peered along the length of his frame to watch Sunstreaker’s glossa dip between plating gaps. It stroked the underside of his armor and brushed against a sensitive wire bundle, making Sideswipe moan faintly.

                “You’ve overloaded me… three times now,” Sideswipe remarked in between panted ventilations, weakly tugging on the cuffs which kept his arms restrained above his head. “I’m a little overheated.”

                Sunstreaker shook his head and drew himself up Sideswipe’s body until his lips hovered over his twin’s. “There’s that,” he said softly, glossa flicking out against Sideswipe’s lower lip. “And there’s the fact that you’re gorgeous.”

                Uncharacteristically, Sideswipe’s faceplates heated and he averted his gaze. “Stop it. We both know you’re the pretty one.”

                “Sure, I’m good-looking,” Sunstreaker agreed easily. “But it doesn’t mean that you’re hideous.”

                He brushed his nasal ridge against Sideswipe’s cheek arch and then nuzzled his jawline. Sunstreaker slowly and thoroughly kissed his way down the side of Sideswipe’s throat, his helm tipping back automatically to give Sunstreaker room.

                “You always say I’m crooked,” Sideswipe complained, pouting up at the ceiling.

                “Just your smile. And I’ve gotten used to it. It’s part of your charm.”

                Sunstreaker stroked his hands over Sideswipe’s shoulders, gently fingering the empty rocket mount until Sideswipe started to moan. Sunstreaker had always been good about finding the spots that made Sideswipe squirm with agonized pleasure.

                “So you admit I have charm?” Sideswipe said, the last word ending on a squeak when Sunstreaker suddenly bit the edge of Sideswipe’s collar fairing.

                “And a really nice frame,” Sunstreaker added, gently swiveling his hips. His heated panel cover rubbed against Sideswipe’s soaked array, making him groan and tilt his pelvis up entreatingly. “I could worship it all day.”

                Sunstreaker began to drift back down Sideswipe’s body, stopping to thoroughly grope and lick his headlights.

                “Or you could frag it,” Sideswipe suggested, feeling a lazy charge gather in his lines from the touching. He definitely wasn’t averse to another overload, but he also wanted to share it with his twin who hadn’t climaxed at all yet.

                “Mmm,” Sunstreaker hummed thoughtfully. He licked up a stray streak of transfluid on Sideswipe’s lower abdomen, hands now sliding down the side of Sideswipe’s thighs and creating tiny curls of charge from the barely-there friction. “I could do that.”

                Sunstreaker kissed lower, just bypassing Sideswipe’s repressurizing spike. Nibbling on Sideswipe’s panel edge, Sunstreaker pressed on the underside of Sideswipe’s knees, digit tips massaging the exposed cabling. Sideswipe didn’t melt from the touch there like Sunstreaker would, but it still felt good. As did the heated air currently being blown over his very empty valve.

                “Or maybe I’ll just keep going. Until you believe I think you’re handsome too,” his evil, evil twin said, moving lower and nipping at the inside of Sideswipe’s right thigh.

                “I believe you!” Sideswipe protested, array beginning to ache as his lust started to rebuild.

                He was good-looking. He knew that. Mecha threw themselves at their feet both individually and when they were together. And Sunstreaker spurned 95% of then, preferring to ‘face Sideswipe. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t find Sideswipe attractive.

                “Do you?” Sunstreaker questioned. He lifted his head and tilted it to the side. “Or do you just think I’m with you because I’m your twin?”

                Sideswipe’s optics widened and his lower jaw dropped. Where had Sunstreaker ever gotten that idea!? Well… it’s not like they both didn’t have insecurities every now and then. There was always that 5% that they both indulged in. And Sunstreaker’s recent fling with Mirage had been intense and consumed most of Sunstreaker’s free time. Sideswipe had borne the loneliness with grace. Or at least, he thought he had.

                 “That’s not… I… I know you… my… you’re…”

                “Hush,” Sunstreaker admonished, exposing his talons and dragging them across Sideswipe’s shin plating. Sunstreaker smirked when Sideswipe shivered at the near pain. “We both know you’re better with words than I am. Let me show you instead.”

                Sunstreaker continued his path down Sideswipe’s body and then back up, again and again until Sideswipe was a sobbing mess. Sunstreaker ignored his pleas, instead whispering endearments into the hypersensitive plating covering Sideswipe’s frame. Finally, when Sideswipe started chanting “I believe you, I believe you’ Sunstreaker encouraged Sideswipe’s chest to transform. Once his spark was exposed, Sunstreaker did the same. Only then did Sunstreaker grant Sideswipe another overload, through the pleasure-drenched affirmation of Sunstreaker’s love.


~ End Chapter

Chapter Text

                “What is it?” Skywarp asked impatiently, trying to crane his neck up to see. “Are you done yet?”

                The human perched atop Skywarp’s fuel reserve batted away the Seeker’s inquisitive finger, the paintbrush not even pausing in its motion.

                “No, it ain’t done yet. When it is, you’ll see it.”

                Skywarp whined wordlessly, the digits of his opposite hand digging into the damp sand. “How much longer? It tickles.”

                Rock ‘n Roll’s (no, Craig. He had said to call him Craig when they were by themselves) head popped up above the edge of Skywarp’s chest cavity. One brown eye squinted at Skywarp. “Yeah? Thought you said it would feel good.”

                The Seeker scowled. “It does. Mostly.”

                Spark casings were not as sensitive as the actual sparks themselves, but he’d known mechs to overload just by stimulation to the crystal alone. Himself included.

                Of course, he was finding that a human’s touch lacked the force behind it that another mecha’s would. And Craig wasn’t even using his own hand; he was lightly brushing colored dyes along the surface of Skywarp’s casing in patterns apparently only Craig was allowed to know.

                So while the novelty of a human practically touching Skywarp’s spark was arousing, it still tickled.

                All of a sudden, Craig pushed off from the reserve fuel tank, lightly landing directly atop Skywarp’s spark crystal. He jerked in response, moaning as the impact’s shockwaves rippled through his core.

                “Give me another five minutes,” Craig instructed, dipping down below Skywarp’s line of sight. “Shouldn’t take long to finish up. Then maybe I’ll get in a round of PT before the sun sets. A hundred jumping jacks should do the trick, don’t you think?”

                It only took a second to search for what a ‘jumping jack’ was. As soon as Skywarp discovered the meaning of the phrase, he shivered in anticipation. If Craig’s original landing was any indication, one hundred more impacts of that magnitude would definitely do the trick.


~ End Chapter

Chapter Text

                Sideswipe was never late to the party. He started the party. He was the first through the door to where the party was and the last one to be dragged away from the dancefloor.

                He was the party.

                It was the same during battle. He and Sunstreaker were usually the first ones to clash with the Decepticons on the field. They were frontliners, after all. Front of the line and first to the fight.

                Sideswipe just liked to be first, all right? So did Sunstreaker, so it had been a point of contention between the two of them their whole lives.

                He didn’t like to hang back at the edge of the crowd during an event, and he sure as the Pit didn’t like to hang back during a battle with the less traditional combatants like the snipers and tacticians. They served a purpose, but they weren’t were where the action was at. There was nothing wrong with what they did, per se, but they weren’t real fighters.

                Not like he and Sunstreaker.

                So when he turned the corner and saw the pile of smoking and deactivated frames, he assumed Sunstreaker had made it to this position first. Yet when he looked around, he didn’t see the familiar paint job of his twin nor did he feel him anywhere close by.

                “You’re late,” a voice announced, and Sideswipe focused on in the black and white frame rising to his feet and throwing a rifle over his shoulder. “I ran out of pellets and was reduced to hand to hand.”

                “Are you hurt?” Sideswipe demanded of Prowl. He walked towards the tactician, quickly surveying the other mech’s frame, worriedly looking for injuries.

                Prowl was important. Prowl made the plans which caused Sideswipe’s processor to ache, yet always resulted in success and low causalities. It would be Bad if Prowl was hurt.

                “No,” Prowl replied in one of the most withering tones Sideswipe had ever heard. “There were merely nine of them.”

                Sideswipe’s optics widened, and he took another glance around, confirming Prowl’s count. “H-how many were there?”

                Prowl sighed, as Sideswipe was the dumbest grunt he had ever worked with. Which, come on, had Prowl met Brawn?

                “Nine. And they have all been neutralimmph!”

                And then Sideswipe was sliding backwards on his pedes, fingers pressed against his split lip.

                “You… you kissed me!” Prowl exclaimed, doorwings hiked as high as Sideswipe had ever seen them. Wow, he looked pissed.

                Not surprising considering Sideswipe had given no warning before pouncing on the other mech and laying one on him. But he couldn’t help himself! Who know how… how capable Prowl was?!

                “I think I love you,” Sideswipe replied, staring at Prowl’s faceplates in sheer adoration. “You’re amazing. And hot. Have I ever told you how hot you are?”

                “No!” Prowl spat, striding forward past Sideswipe with a furious set to his thinned lips. “Nor will you ever again.”

                Prowl paused in the doorway for a moment and then looked over his shoulder. Sideswipe guiltily raised his gaze from Prowl’s aft to optic level.

                “At least not in public,” Prowl added, his lips lifting at the corner in the barest of smiles.


~ End Chapter


Chapter Text

               “You’re back!” First Aid exclaimed, striding forward. He ran the last few steps, picking up enough speed to jump into Sunstreaker’s arms. “Oh, I’m so glad you didn’t have to stay in their brig too long; I’ve heard so many stories about what Vortex does to mechs!”

                He leaned up to kiss Sunstreaker and the other mech met him willingly, licking at the seams of First Aid’s lips.

                “Oh!” First Aid cried out, jerking backwards after a moment. “You don’t taste right!”

                “That’s three, bro,” Sideswipe said, coming up alongside them, startling First Aid. He had only optics for Sunstreaker when he had walked in and hadn’t even noticed Sideswipe trailing behind his brother. “I told you something wasn’t right.”

                “I’m fine!” Sunstreaker snapped, tightening his grip on the back of First Aid’s thighs.

                “What. What’s three? Is there something wrong?” First Aid demanded, looking from twin to twin.

                “No!” Sunstreaker barked out at the same time Sideswipe loudly said ‘yes!’

                “His spark is beating way too fast, and he keeps zoning out,” Sideswipe complained. “I think they gave him something when he was captured.”

                “I told you,” Sunstreaker growled, releasing First Aid so that he slid down the length of the frontliner’s body until his pedes met the floor. “Nothing happened. If anything had happened, I would have said something!”

                “Not necessarily,” First Aid said at the same time Sideswipe snorted and exclaimed, ‘no, you wouldn’t!”

                The two of them looked at one another and then back at Sunstreaker with accusing optics. Sunstreaker threw up his hands and took a step backwards.

                “Guys, I promised, nothing happened.”

                “’Aid, I’ll hold him down for ya,” Sideswipe said with a glint to his optics. “You just tell me where you want ‘im.”

                “No one’s going to hold anyone down,” Ratchet rumbled, coming up behind them. “You!” he said, pointing to the nearest exam table. “Get up there. ‘Aid, what would you say he tasted like?”

                The CMO brushed past Sideswipe and First Aid with determined intent written over every inch of him. Sunstreaker rolled his optics and hopped up on the berth. Once Ratchet got involved, there wasn’t any point in resisting. The twins had been under Ratchet’s care long enough to have learned that. Now if only they obeyed First Aid as well!

                “Like week old rusty energon. Really rusty,” First Aid reported, swiping his glossa along the back of his denta.

                “Rinse your mouth out with decontamination fluids,” Ratchet instructed, pulling out a scanner and passing it over Sunstreaker’s chest. Now Sunstreaker suddenly looked worried.

                “What? Why? What’s wrong?” he demanded.

                “Just taking precautions,” Ratchet said quietly, intently studying the results on the scanner’s screen. “Well, damn.”

                First Aid paused mid-turn and Sideswipe stepped forward, crossing his arms over his chest. His optics flickered in alarm and First Aid turned back towards his mentor, looking for a clue to the gravity of the situation.

                “He’s got something, doesn’t he?” Sideswipe asked quietly.

                “Sideswipe, First Aid, both of you – full decontamination showers, now! Sunstreaker, I need to know every single step you’ve taken since you left the Nemesis. Somehow you’ve contracted the Merconian strain of cosmic rust. Sides is right; you may not have known it but the Decepticons likely infected you at some point.”

                Complete silence descended over the MedBay and all three of them stared at Ratchet, aghast. He must have felt their stares or noted the lack of pedesteps because his head jerked up and he looked around. 

                “What the Pit are you waiting for?!” Ratchet roared, waving the scanner at Sideswipe. “Move!”

                “But…” Sideswipe protested, optics slowly bleaching of color. First Aid darted forward and grabbed Sideswipe’s arm. He started tugging, but Sideswipe barely moved.

                “Sideswipe!” Sunstreaker barked, staring desperately at his twin. His optics flicked over to First Aid and then back to his brother. Sideswipe whined wordlessly, but he took ahold of First Aid’s shoulder and started propelling him forward to the far corner of the room.

                “What’s the difference between the Merconian strain and the regular cosmic rust?” Sideswipe asked when they got to the showers. Over the quiet hiss of the doors sliding aside, First Aid heard Ratchet’s voice come over the general communication line, calmly stating the Medical Bay was under strict quarantine. He would next be contacting Optimus and Prowl to give them the details of the situation.

                “It’s a slower infection, but it penetrates more deeply. It’s less noticeable because it has been altered to mimic the host’s paint nanintes and doesn’t create that typical change in color that the original strain does,” First Aid explained, his voice shaking. He didn’t add that it was nearly impossible to eradicate.

                “Is Sunny gonna be ok?” Sideswipe asked, optics darting back to his twin. First Aid followed his gaze to see Ratchet gesturing for Sunstreaker to lie down.

                “You know I care deeply about your brother, Sideswipe,” First Aid replied, tearing his gaze away. He couldn’t afford to worry about his lover right now. Now he needed to think like a medical professional and put the needs of the many over the few.

                “Unfortunately, he’s not the only one we need to worry about. This strain is incredibly contagious. The two of us have likely already contracted it. I know he rode in on Skyfire with Mirage, Bee, and Hound. It’s highly probable they’ve got it too. Which means it’ll spread quickly through the rest of the Ark. It’s already shaping up to be an epidemic.” 

                With one last look back at Sunstreaker, First Aid shut his optics and stepped into the foul-smelling spray of liquid.


~ End Chapter

Chapter Text

               “Breakdown? Do you have a moment?”

                Knock Out’s voice wafted out from the medical bay’s washroom, and Breakdown raised his head to stare at the empty doorway. He heard two sets of running solvent: the one Knock Out was supposedly using to wash the grime off himself and the sink in which Breakdown was cleaning surgical instruments.

                “Yeah, I guess,” Breakdown replied, rinsing his hands off and turning off the sink’s supply of fluids. “Whatcha need?”

                He expected to hear a request for some grooming product that Knock Out had forgotten or to go on a random errand that Knock Out suddenly remembered needed to be done. Breakdown liked his boss quite a bit, but in the privacy in his own helm, Breakdown freely admitted that Knock Out could be a little absent-minded.

                “Come in here, will you?”

                Breakdown blinked in surprise, confused as to what the speedster needed. But he walked over to the doorway and stood just inside it, fidgeting a little.

                “Yeah, KO?” he ventured, steadfastly keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. While Knock Out was often inviting of others’ admiration, in contrast he could be oddly private about some things. And washing in front of others was one of those things.

                Breakdown heard an irritated sigh over the patter of fluid falling down on armor. “All the way in, Breakdown. I need your help with something and you’re not going to be able to assist if you’re way over there.”

                Shuffling forward, Breakdown moved into the cloud of steam and raised his gaze about ankle level, still uncertain about the whole situation.

                “Wha… what do ya need me to do?”

                A long fingered hand reached out and grabbed Breakdown’s wrist, lifting his arm. His gaze went with it and he nearly choked on oral lubricant as Knock Out’s frame came into view.

                The majority of Knock Out’s armor lay in neat little piles at the other end of the washrack. And Knock Out stood there, completely plating-free except for a broad piece which stretched across his upper back. This was where Knock Out directed Breakdown’s hand, placing it on top of Knock Out’s right shoulder.

                “There’s a catch on the outer edge of this plate… I don’t know how energon got under there, but it’s gummed up and I can’t get it to loosen from this angle. Get it for me, will you?” Knock Out asked, turning back the way he had been facing.

                “Uh…” Breakdown swallowed thickly. “I’ll try.”

                He slid his hand down to the indicated edge and curled his fingers around it, searching for the manual release. The entire time, he fought to keep his optics trained on his hand instead of all the gleaming metal of the other mech’s struts. All the smooth bundles of cables called to Breakdown and it took every ounce of his will power to keep focused on the task at hand.

                “So… uh… do you do this a lot?” Breakdown asked, helped somewhat by his inability to really get a hold of the catch.

                Knock Out looked over his shoulder, an amused glint in his optics. “You mean wash? Yes, actually, quite frequently. I would think you had noticed that.”

                Breakdown ducked his head and bit his lower lip. “No. I mean, yeah. I noticed. But… like this?” he gestured, trying to encompass all that was Knock Out’s shiny, vulnerable nakedness. Primus, but Breakdown wanted to touch it all. And lick it. Maybe even nibble.

                Knock Out’s optics dipped as he looked over himself. “A complete scrub, you mean? Not as frequently, no. But I simply cannot stand the buildup of debris I get under my plating after a battle like that last one.”

                He shuddered. “I would never be able to recharge if I didn’t get it all washed out.”

                “Oh. Hey, got it!” Breakdown, momentarily distracted as his longest finger managed to hook around the latch and flick it open.

                “Excellent. You might as do the second one since you’re back there,” Knock Out suggested.

                The opposite latch opened much more easily and Breakdown automatically lifted the armor up and away, marveling at its lightness. Definitely not a match for his thicker plating.

                He was distracted as Knock Out whirled around, grabbing the piece of armor and setting it aside with the others. He then straightened up and surveyed Breakdown.

                “Might as well use you to scrub my back while you’re here. It’s a pain to contort myself to get every single nook and cranny,” Knock Out mused.

                Breakdown just about passed out.

                “You… isn’t that a bit… intimate?” Breakdown asked, voice high and wavery. Was he actually being asked to touch?!

                Knock Out raised an orbital ridge, his face one of the few places still protected. “Do you plan on harming me while I’m like this? Because surely you must have realized that it would take little effort for you to do so, even while armored.”

                Breakdown took a step back, hands raised up defensively. “No! I wouldn’t ever hurt ya! It’s just… you’re…”

                He gestured towards Knock Out again, this time his glossa slipping out to swipe along his lower lip.

                Knock Out’s optics brightened, and he stepped forward, eliminating the space between them. “Ahhh… not too many mecha in this war have ever even seen an exposed frame, let alone pleasured one. I take it it’s a practice you’ve indulged in before? Or thought about?”

                The doctor’s hip cocked out to the side as he crossed his arms over his chest and Breakdown couldn’t stop the whimper that emerged from the back of his throat.

                “Done it before. A few times,” Breakdown croaked out.

                “Hmm… interesting.” Knock Out shifted forward into Breakdown’s space, the doctor’s lips quirked upwards in a smirk. Breakdown shuddered from the struggle not to reach out to that solvent-warmed frame that was so close. “Well, I know what I’m doing. Why don’t you show me what you know?”


~ End Chapter

Chapter Text

                Ratchet nearly jumped out of his plating when an arm reached over his shoulder and picked up a sponge. Whirling around, his pedes slipped in the puddle of cleanser on the floor and only Sunstreaker’s quick grab kept Ratchet on his feet.

                “Damnit, Sunny,” Ratchet growled, fingers digging into Sunstreaker’s forearm plating. “You nearly stopped my spark!”

                The flinch was so subtle Ratchet nearly missed it. But Ratchet saw it and he ground his denta together at his slip of the glossa.

                “Ah, Sunstreaker, I’m sorry, I…”

                His spill of words was halted by the press of lips against his own, and Ratchet melted against the other mech’s chest. Sunstreaker quickly backed Ratchet into the corner of the stall, Sunstreaker’s lips, glossa, and denta busy at work at Ratchet’s mouth and neck. Ratchet relaxed back against the damp wall, pinned in by the frontliner and feeling safer than he had in a long time.

                It had been a bad, bad day and right now Sunstreaker was the only good thing about it.

                The touch of Sunstreaker’s fingers, the heat of his frame… it was familiar and welcoming. Ratchet didn’t even protest Sunstreaker reaching down and hefting Ratchet up, encouraging his legs to wrap around Sunstreaker’s waist. It was the officers’ washracks, but Ratchet was one of the few currently off duty. The others were either on shift or recovering in his MedBay; it was unlikely they would be walked in on.

                And Ratchet needed this. Needed the thump of Sunstreaker’s spark so close to Ratchet’s own, the hot press of Sunstreaker’s spike against Ratchet’s thigh. He yielded to everything Sunstreaker silently demanded, knowing the other mech needed this as well.

                Despite his supposed recklessness, Sideswipe never managed to injure himself as frequently as Sunstreaker. Yet when Sideswipe did, it was always worse than anything Sunstreaker seemed to manage. And this time, Sideswipe almost hadn’t made it. In fact, his spark had stopped twice, once on the way back to the Ark and again in surgery. When Ratchet had walked out of recovery after finally stabilizing Sideswipe, he had been greeted by a nearly catatonic Sunstreaker crumpled in a heap by the door.

                Ratchet had hauled Sunstreaker up and shoved him into the recovery room, watching the frontliner instinctively crawl up next to Sideswipe and settle in. And Ratchet had continued on to his other patients, the ones stable yet still needing his surgical expertise.

                When he had finally finished, he had stumbled out of the Bay and headed directly for the washracks, desperately needing to wash the energon of his friends, comrades, and lover off his hands. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Sunstreaker had been keeping tabs and had followed him. In a way, it was a relief because the twins would only leave one another if the injured one was stable. It was more reliable than any monitor Ratchet had at his disposal.

                Sunstreaker thrust against Ratchet’s pelvis, spike rubbing against Ratchet’s exposed valve, but not sinking in. Ratchet threw his head back with a strangled groan, not even remembering when his panel had slid aside. It didn’t matter; he was empty and aching and he needed the burn of Sunstreaker’s spike in him.


                But that didn’t seem to be part of Sunstreaker’s plan. The frontliner swiveled his hips once and then pushed Ratchet’s legs down from around his waist. Moaning a protest, Ratchet confusedly let himself be propped up against the wall, hands weakly tugging at Sunstreaker’s shoulders as the other mech bent and then slid to his knees.

                “Sunny… what…?”

                Sunstreaker shoved Ratchet’s thighs farther apart and then dove into their apex, lips unerringly latching themselves around Ratchet’s throbbing anterior node. Ratchet’s shout echoed throughout the room, and he clutched the back of Sunstreaker’s helm with one hand, the other shooting out to brace himself on the wall.

                Pleasure wound up in to a tense, vibrating coil of sensation deep in his lower abdomen. Overload would be embarrassingly quick under Sunstreaker’s talented mouth. In a way, Ratchet was glad. It would be good, oh so good. But Ratchet wanted the scrape of Sunstreaker’s chest against his own, the heat of the other mech’s frame buffeting him. Ratchet wanted closeness, the sense of connection with his partner, especially after the scare he’d had earlier today.

                But Ratchet didn’t protest; Sunstreaker needed to do this. One day, Ratchet would fail. He’d be too slow, too distracted… not good enough. He’d lose this wordless gratitude and Primus only knew what Ratchet would get instead. For now, however… he’d enjoy every minute of it, knowing that this time… this time, he had succeeded.


~ End Chapter

Chapter Text

                Prowl opened his optics to crimson optics and a smirk.

                The smirk wasn’t new. There were any number of his Autobot comrades who would smirk at him on a regular basis. The red optics, however…

                He blinked his own to clear his staticky vision, but Skywarp’s visage didn’t change. Except that the smirk grew wider.

                “Welcome back to the land of the conscious!” Skywarp said cheerfully.

                Prowl took stock. His helm hurt. He was horizontal, held snugly in Skywarp’s arms. By the sounds of it, the battle still waged on, although it sounded as if it had moved some distance away. The rest of his body seemed intact, other than some scrapes and dings.

                And he was held in Skywarp’s arms.

                What was the (much) larger mech planning? To crush him? Drop him from an elevated height? Teleport Prowl away to the Nemesis? Prowl’s processor spun with the possibilities.

                “Aww…” Skywarp’s disappointed voice brought Prowl’s attention back to the present. “Don’t do that.”

                “Don’t do what?” Prowl automatically responded. His body was growing tenser by the second, uncertainty triggering all of his battle protocols and readying him to react if the opportunity arose.

                “Look like that. You were so cute when you were offline. Now you look like you just sucked on a lemon,” Skywarp responded.

                Thankfully, Prowl’s association with Spike and Sparkplug had given him some insight into human vernacular or otherwise he would have been very confused.

                “Forgive me,” Prowl said dryly. “I tend to look like this when I’m calculating my own odds of survival.”

                Skywarp raised an orbital ridge. “Hey, you’re the one that fainted into my arms.”

                Prowl’s gyros abruptly spun as Skywarp whirled around and shifted Prowl so that he slid out of the Seeker’s arms onto the ground. He wobbled slightly before catching his balance, hand automatically rising to the side of his head where his fingers felt char residue. Had someone shot him? Had Prowl been shot in the head?

                “You know, cutie, you didn’t have to go to such extremes as falling off a cliff just to catch my attention,” Skywarp commented idly, his head gently smacking Prowl’s rear end.

                Wide-opticked, Prowl looked over his shoulder at Skywarp.

                “I… you…”

                “Yeah, I am pretty hot,” Skywarp said, preening. “But still. Those things aren’t actually wings,” he said, reaching out and dismissively flicking Prowl’s closest sensory panel. “Leave the flying to the professionals. And just call me next time.”

                With another smirk and a wink of one of those crimson optics, Skywarp kicked on his boosters and rose into the sky. As soon as he gained enough altitude, the Seeker transformed and flew off with a saucy waggle of his wings.

                Prowl stared after him, fingers still digging into the side of his helm. His processor ached. It was definitely looking like he had been shot, although it appeared to have been a glancing impact.

                Still it had been enough to knock him out and cause him to pitch forward over the edge of the ridge he had been standing on, directing the troops. And apparently Skywarp had noticed and caught him before he’d hit the rocky ground below.

                At least, Prowl thought that was what happened. It seemed logical. Except for the bit where it had been Skywarp that had caught him.

                … and had Skywarp really just patted Prowl on the aft?!


~ End Chapter 

Chapter Text

                Jazz was a natural flirt. Tactile too. He was always in someone’s space, lips curved upwards in a conspiratorial smile and field inviting. He liked to lean on others and throw an arm around their shoulders.

                Beyond satisfying a need within Jazz, it also benefited the crew. Jazz could always be counted on for a friendly grin and warm hug. Self-proclaimed morale officer, Jazz welcomed the opportunity to get close to everyone.

                Prowl knew this. Accepted this. It didn’t bother him, because it was Prowl’s arms that Jazz retreated to when the smiles became forced and his field turned sour at the edges. It was Prowl’s berth Jazz wound up in every night, warm and sated and purring after hours of interfacing.

                But tonight, Prowl was finding it difficult to remember that. Especially with Jazz curled up so cozily in Ratchet’s lap in the corner. It was nothing untoward, but Jazz’s visor was fixed so intently on his former lover’s face, and Ratchet’s fingers were wrapped around Jazz’s outside hip with long familiarity.

                Jazz and Ratchet’s relationship had ended eons ago, but they had remained close friends. Their interactions had never bothered Prowl before but apparently the two of them had been sequestered in that little alcove all night. It was one thing for Jazz to circulate through the room and flirt with every mech there. It was quite another for Jazz to focus on just one.

                Other than Prowl, that is.

                He didn’t quite know what to do. Not one for making a scene, Prowl merely remained in his seat and slowly sipped his energon. He did his best to ignore the other two although judging by Smokescreen’s concerned expression, Prowl was failing in that aspect.

                “You should go over there and say something,” Bluestreak announced, frowning at Jazz and Ratchet.

                “No, Bluestreak, that’s not…” Prowl began, but Bluestreak interrupted him, doorwings twitching agitatedly.

                “Who does he think he is anyway?” Bluestreak exclaimed. “I’ve never seen you look at another mech the way you do Jazz, and there he is, draped all over Ratchet!”

                Prowl smiled indulgently at his former ward although Bluestreak’s glare was too fixed for him to notice. Bluestreak was just as protective of Prowl as Prowl was of him.

                “Oh, slag,” Bluestreak muttered, abruptly spinning around in his seat. Prowl looked over Bluestreak’s shoulder to see Jazz looking right at them. Prowl felt the urge to look away, but instead he kept his optics locked on that pretty visor. Maybe even sharpened his gaze a little bit and raised an orbital ridge in challenge.

                Jazz gave him the tiniest of smirks and then his attention moved away. Prowl followed Jazz’s stare to see Sideswipe and Sunstreaker enter the rec room, still dirt-streaked from patrol. They paused just inside the doorway, surveying the room. Then Sunstreaker settled back against the wall and Sideswipe made a beeline for the corner. As he walked over, Jazz slowly extricated himself from Ratchet’s lap and stood up, stretching.

                Prowl’s spark skipped a beat as he caught a tantalizing glimpse of cables in Jazz’s side. He was so entranced in the sway of Jazz’s hips that he barely even realized Jazz was sauntering across the room towards his table.

                He certainly noticed it when Jazz swung around Bluestreak and leaded against the table edge, hip propped up on it. He stared down at Prowl, pede nudging against Prowl’s knee. It was the most physical interaction Prowl allowed between the two of them in public.

                “Ready to go over those reports, Prowler?” Jazz asked with a smile.

                “Are you sure you don’t want Ratchet to go over them with you?” Bluestreak asked, every inch of him sarcastic an impertinent. Smokescreen covered up his snort by coughing into his hand and Prowl glared over at the sniper before glancing back to see Jazz’s smile widen.

                “Naw, mech. Ratchet’s got his own things to review. Twins’ll help him with that,” Jazz said, waving a nonchalant hand at the slow moving forms of Sideswipe and Ratchet.

                The medic walked as if he were in pain, shoulders hunched forward and lips set in a thin line. Sideswipe was practically plastered to his side, one arm waving around and optics bright as he presumably told a story. But the more Prowl looked, the more he could see that Sideswipe’s grin was strained around the edges. And Sunstreaker looked as if he was barely restraining himself from leaping across the distance between the three of them.

                “Oh,” Prowl murmured softly, realization hitting him and causing a flush of embarrassment to suffice his frame. “Yes, Jazz. We can go over those reports now.”

                He stood and indicated for Jazz to move first. Bluestreak stared after Jazz, confused. Before he could say anything, Smokescreen placed a hand on the other mech’s forearm. Prowl gave his cousin a nod of gratitude and then followed Jazz.

                Smokescreen would explain. Prowl didn’t have time to; he had an apology to make.

                By the time Jazz and Prowl had made it to the doorway, the twins and Ratchet had disappeared. Once in the corridor, Prowl fell into step beside his lover, field brushing out against Jazz’s.

                “Will he be all right?”

                “Alright as any of us can be,” Jazz said with a sigh. “The twins’ll take care of him; I was just filling in until they got there.”

                “I realize that now,” Prowl murmured, ashamed of himself. “I did not know that the three of them had taken up together.”

                “Mm. Been a few weeks. Good for all of ‘em, I think,” Jazz commented as they turned down the hallway to the officer quarters. “You should keep up with the ship’s gossip, Prowler. Would have saved you a spot of jealousy.”

                Jazz abruptly reached out and shoved Prowl into the bulkhead, the other mech crowding in close, lips curved up dangerously.

                “I think that’s the first time I ever seen ya look at me like that, Prowler,” Jazz purred, hands kneading at Prowl’s waist while Prowl blinked down at the other mech, surprised. “Kinda hot.”

                “I wasn’t…” Prowl protested, although he didn’t know why. It was obvious Jazz had noticed.

                “You were,” Jazz immediately retorted. “I wanted ya to take me right there in the rec. Didn’t even want a bed. Just you and everyone knowing who I belonged to. Cuz ya know that’s you, right?”

                Prowl subconsciously licked his lips and his interface cover pinged him its readiness to release when he saw Jazz’s visor cock to the side to follow the motion of Prowl’s glossa.

                Prowl nodded. “Yes,” he said faintly. While he was still mortified of his own behavior, he was relieved that Jazz hadn’t taken offense. Of course, like Jazz often did, he defied all of Prowl’s expectations.

                “…but I’d still prefer a bed.”


~ End Chapter

Chapter Text

                Ratchet trudged out of his office, waving wearily to Hoist as he passed by the other mech.

                “Comm me if you need anything,” Ratchet said, frowning in the direction of Ironhide’s recovery berth. It had been touch and go with the old soldier for a while, and Ratchet still anticipated setbacks over the next few days.

                “He’ll be fine,” Hoist replied. “Unless he’s crashing, you won’t hear from me.”

                Ratchet’s frown deepened. “I’m serious, Hoist. It’s not just crashing – if that spark monitor shows even the slightest variation from normal…”

                “Go!” Hoist commanded, throwing an arm out and pointing at the exit. “I’m perfectly capable. And you won’t be unless you get some rest.”

                Ratchet threw up his hands and whirled on one heel, stomping towards the doors. He had a nasty retort on the tip of his glossa, but the more rational part of him knew Hoist didn’t deserve it. Hoist was capable of monitoring Ironhide; he was also capable of responding if necessary. And Ratchet had been on his pedes for three shifts straight.

                He pushed through the exit and came to a halt as two heads wearily rose up. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were curled up together on the floor directly across from the MedBay entrance. Sunstreaker had an arm slung around Sideswipe’s waist, hand resting on the red twin’s hip. And Sideswipe’s legs were drawn up, pedes resting on the floor on the other side of Sunstreaker’s thighs.

                “How long have you two been out here?” Ratchet demanded, guilt curling through his lines.

                “Not long,” Sideswipe responded, uncurling from Sunstreaker’s lap. “We were assigned to town clean up after you brought Ironhide back. First Aid checked us over, and then we had perimeter check. We just got came from the rec room for energon about… an hour ago?”

                Sunstreaker nodded at Sideswipe’s inquiring look. “Looks like you could do with a trip through there yourself.”

                Ratchet looked down at himself and sighed. He had cleaned up superficially after Ironhide’s surgery, but had obviously missed some spots. Plus there was still grime coating him in random places from the drive out to the battle and back.  

                “Yeah, looks like,” Ratchet said dejectedly. Not that he didn’t want to be clean. But now that he had decided on leaving the MedBay and not looking back unless called for, all he wanted to do was recharge.

                “Come on,” Sideswipe said, gathering himself up and getting to his feet. Normally, he would have jumped up with a bounce, but there was none of his usual exuberance in the motion. Proof that even Sideswipe ran out of energy from time to time. “We’ll clean you up. All you have to do is stand there.”

                That sounded… wonderful actually. It wasn’t something he indulged in frequently, but it was soothing to just close his optics and let two sets of hands smooth over his plating, washing the dirt away.

                “Just once,” Sunstreaker commented, waving off Sideswipe’s offered hand, “I’d like for one of our dates to not be interrupted by a ‘con attack.”

                “That would be nice,” Ratchet said, thinking about the tickets to the outdoor concert that had gone to waste. It hadn’t been anything special, other than time away together from the rest of their comrades. That sort of time was few and far in between.

                “How mad do you think Prime’d be if I paid the spec ops guys to creep aboard the Nemesis and assassinate their entire command?” Sideswipe mused as he and his twin fell into step next to Ratchet. 

                “I don’t think you’d have to pay them,” Ratchet replied wearily. “And don’t even say it aloud – it’ll give them ideas. There’s probably one of them in the ventilation shafts right now.”

                Almost in unison, all three of them stopped in the middle of the hallway and looked up at the nearest grate. Nothing looked back at them, but that didn’t mean much when it came to Jazz’s team.

                “And very, by the way,” Ratchet added, continuing on.

                Sunstreaker huffed. “Worth a shot.”


~ End Chapter


Chapter Text

                 Death was heat and cold and pain, and Ratchet’s non-existent helm swam with the overwhelming sensations. He could do nothing but endure it all, lost and afraid of what would happen next.

                Ratchet had been old when his systems had finally given up and quietly wound down. Pit, he’d been old during the war, so he was considered ancient after an additional three millennia beyond its end. Point being, he’d endured a lot. What was a little more?

                A lot, apparently.

                Eventually his essence started to writhe, confused and hurt. Despite not having a frame anymore, he heard himself whimper and whine in distress. He would have been embarrassed, but it wasn’t like there was anyone around to hear him.

                Except there was.

                Gradually, the sensations faded away, leaving him surrounded by a dim coolness. It felt like an invisible hand had lifted him up and encompassed him, blocking him from the buffeting waves of heat and stinging needles of precipitation.

                Ratchet’s cries descended into a murmur of relief as his surroundings flexed and pulsed a pervasive beat into his center. It was like a perfect temperature oil bath, the viscous liquid seeping into all his cracks and crevices and melting his tension away.

                Ratchet didn’t trust it one bit, no matter how good it felt.

                A soft chuckle jostled Ratchet’s being, immediately putting him on edge.

                “Calm, my precious. Nothing will hurt you,” a velvety warm voice said, echoing throughout Ratchet and making him ache in longing.

                “There’s always something to hurt me,” Ratchet retorted, shoving down the sudden yearning for… something. “Who are you?”

                “Not now. Not here,” the voice replied, each glyph full and round and smooth. “And you know who I am. Say my name.”

                The old and crotchety part of Ratchet balked. The part of him that hadn’t been worn all the way down by time and disappointment sat up with wide and astonished optics and rejoiced.

                So he split the difference and with an even tone, said, “Primus.”  

                The hand holding him squeezed gently, approval seeping into Ratchet’s amorphous edges. “Ah. I’ve missed the sound of my name from your lips, precious one. It is good to hear it again.”

                “You never gave me much reason to say it,” Ratchet retorted angrily. How many times had he called his Creator’s name? Pleading and begging and promising anything if only He would let Ratchet save just one more?

                “That’s not how it works,” Primus said gently, chastisement overlaying the approval. “I create. I receive. The rest is up to you.”

                “Ok, well your blueprints could use some work, because some of the sparks which left your hands were defective,” Ratchet snapped, thinking of Megatron and so many others who had delighted in causing pain and destruction.

                “Their sparks were pure at the beginning,” Primus commented sadly. “The world twisted them. Yet I still welcomed them home. Just as I welcome you.”

                “I had a home!”

                The beat pulsed through Ratchet again and this time it was harder to push the hunger away.

                “Did you? The loneliness and anger which came with you suggest otherwise,” Primus said carefully.

                “Of course I was lonely! You took everyone from me! Optimus, Wheeljack, Jazz! Even those thrice damned twins! I was the only one left!” Ratchet shouted in a rage, lashing out at the fingers caging him.

                Primus swelled around him, nearly suffocating Ratchet. “You will be lonely no longer, precious one. They are here with me, kept safe and whole. They have been waiting for you, some more impatiently than others,” Primus said, amusement coloring his tone.

                Ratchet’s anger left him in a rush and his voice came out small. “Really?”

                “Yes. All who came before you.”

                “Why am I the last?” Ratchet murmured, exhaustion leaving him limp.

                Fighting against a god, Ratchet, really?

                Primus laughed softly, warmth pulsing into every dark shadow of Ratchet’s spark and filling up the empty holes.

                “Because, my child… you are so very stubborn.”

                Well. Ratchet couldn’t argue with him there.

                “Are you ready, precious one? Ready to come home now?” Primus murmured, somehow moving closer and sounding as if he was speaking directly into Ratchet’s non-existent audial.

                “I… what do I have to do?”

                “Just come with me,” Primus replied.

                Ratchet hesitated. Surely it couldn’t be that easy? Nothing was ever that easy. “Will it hurt?”

                That hadn’t been what he had wanted to say. Instead he had wanted to ask if this was all a trick. If the easy warmth permeating every inch of him was a lie. Did he really deserve it? After all the times Ratchet had cursed Primus’ name and then had finally ignored him – would he really be welcomed?

                “No, my child. It will not. But I will not open the door until you are ready to go through it. It is your choice and I would never take that from you.”

                Everything had been their choice, Ratchet realized. Politics, the war, healing,… all choices. None of it Primus’ will, all theirs. All Primus wanted was to be reunited with his sparks. Ratchet could feel a yearning that matched his own, gently waiting for Ratchet to (figuratively) take a step forward.

                Ratchet waited a beat before replying.

                “Well, no use in waiting any longer then. Let’s go; I’m ready.”

                Pure joy flooded Ratchet, an infectious emotion that sent a thrill of eagerness through him. Distrust was second nature to him, but the happiness winding its way around him felt far too genuine to be a trick.

                “I am glad,” Primus said simply. “Come, my child. Welcome home.”


 ~ End

Chapter Text

            The Autobot twins are known to be a lot of things.

            They’re fast (pursue them, catch them, beat them) and they love the road. Despite being Autobots, they break the humans’ traffic laws on a daily basis, leading the police on a merry chase as they weave in and out of traffic in a graceful dance.

            They’re flirts and rumor is, they’ll berth anyone willing. But in the end, they’re two halves of the same spark (they’ll leave us eventually; we’re not good enough) and they belong together. Only Primus knows if there will ever be room for anyone else, much less five others, between them.

            They’re devious and love a good laugh (out to get us, will stab us in the back, just you wait and see). No one can quite tell a half-truth like Sideswipe can, and Sunstreaker is very good at using his looks as a distraction.

            They’re crazy and jump on the back of Seekers for the sheer fun of it (leave a smoking ruin behind). No one can quite predict what they’ll do next, but they’ll do it with a gleam in their optics and a grin on their faces.

            They’re deadly (brutal beauties). They’ve been known to rip mechs limb from limb in a sparkbeat and then ruthlessly keep going through entire regiments. They don’t inflict pain for the joy of it, but nor will they hold back if mayhem is what is required.


            The Stunticons don’t agree on much, especially when combined. But as Menasor strokes his turgid spike, all five of them are in agreement to not take their optics off the yellow and red frames writhing together atop Menasor’s chest. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are wild and feral; they will not be tamed, cannot be kept. They return again and again of their own volition and that’s the way Menasor likes it. No one else, Autobot or Decepticon, would understand.

            So no one else will ever know.


~ End Chapter 

Chapter Text

            Wheelack was roused from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps. He cocked his head as they came closer, trying to figure out what type of pedes they belonged to as they seemed a bit uneven and dragging. Maybe a tank?

            Then he spied the owner of the pedes stumbling around the corner of the guard station and realized why the sounds had been off.

            Starscream banged on the partition and Dragstrip jerked awake, practically falling off his stool. “Sir! I…”

            “Don’t wanna hear it!” Starscream proclaimed, voice slurring a little. The hand holding a small clear flask of bright green high grade gestured back behind him. “Get out. Have some questions I need to ask the prisoner.”       

            “But, Megatron…”

            Starscream drew himself up to his full height, wings a-quivering in outrage. “Are you telling me no?” he asked in a dangerous voice made all the more serious by the quiet tone.

            “No! I mean, yes! I mean, I’ll leave you to it, sir!” Dragstrip blurted out, tripping over himself in his haste to flee the scene.

            Once the door to the brig had clanged shut behind the other mech, Starscream leaned around the door way and snagged the seat Dragstrip had been using. Stumbling all the way, Starscream came to a stop in front of Wheeljack’s cell and dropped the stool onto the decking. The seeker plopped himself down, immediately overbalancing with a panicked waggle of wings. It was instinct for Wheeljack to reach out past the energy bars when Starscream began to topple backwards, but the Seeker managed to right himself without any assistance.

            “So…” Starscream announced, meeting Wheeljack’s optics. Starscream’s head wobbled a little on his neck. “Here you are.”

            Wheeljack blinked down at the Decepticon Second in Command. The very drunk second in command.

            “Here I am,” Wheeljack replied warily. “And here you are,” he added. “Can I help you with something?”

            Starscream’s arm punched through the air, a trembling digit pointing directly at Wheeljack’s spark. He automatically flinched back before realizing it was only a finger and not a weapon.

            “You!” Starscream announced.

            And then seemed content to leave it there. Wheeljack cocked his head to the side.

            “Me?” he prompted when Starscream seemed to get lost in his own thoughts. Fortunately, the Seeker dove out of them with a jerk and a glare.

            “You! You never called me back!” he accused.

            Ok, now Wheeljack was really confused. He wondered if Starscream would be willing to share his high grade. Maybe they both needed to be drunk for this conversation to make sense.

            “Ah, when was that exactly?” Wheeljack ventured. It wasn’t as if he had been phoning Starscream on a regular basis throughout the war. Or at all, even before the war.

            “You know! That morning!” Starscream exclaimed, voice raising in indignation.

            “Star, you’re going to have to be a little bit more specific than that,” Wheeljack said, scratching the side of his helm in helplessness. He wasn’t being asked Autobot secrets, so he’d like to help Starscream with whatever this was if possible. Despite everything, Wheeljack had always felt a little sorry for Starscream. He had been brilliant; still was as a matter of fact. He should be running a lab, not an army.

            “The end of finals! The night we… and you left… and you never called me,” Starscream said, gaze turning downcast. His lower lip trembled, and Wheeljack reared back in alarm. A drunk Starscream was one thing. A crying one? Wheeljack was not prepared to deal with that.

            Then the memory hit him.

            “Finals… My senior year at the Academy?! The night we ‘faced?!” Wheeljack inquired. His processor spun, images of that particular night floating through his helm. It wasn’t a complete memory; they had both been pretty sloshed. But the echo of Starscream’s moans rang loud and clear in Wheeljack’s head.

            “I… was I supposed to call you? I thought it was a one night stand type of thing,” Wheeljack mused. It had certainly seemed that way when Starscream had asked, ‘You wanna?’ and Wheeljack had replied ‘Sure, why not?’

            Starscream looked like he had been struck. “That’s all our friendship meant to you?” he asked, aghast.

            “Woah. Woah now,” Wheeljack said, holding out a hand. “I think calling us friends was a bit generous, don’t you?”

            They had been more acquaintances than anything. Starscream was younger and had been pursuing a different field. They had interacted occasionally because they had mutual friends but it certainly hadn’t been Starscream who Wheeljack had meals with and called when he had a problem.

            Starscream abruptly burst into tears, dropping his head into his hands. Wheeljack stared down helplessly at the bawling Seeker, completely at a loss.

            When was Wheeljack supposed to be released again?!


~ End Chapter 

Chapter Text

            “’Aid… what are you doing here?” was what came out of Sunstreaker’s mouth first. Promptly followed by, “Where’s your kibble?!”

            First Aid looked up from his data pad and smiled, his face devoid of both visor and mask. “Sunstreaker! Hello! I thought I would surprise you!”

            Mission achieved. He definitely hadn’t been expected to walk into his berthroom to see First Aid lounging on Sunstreaker’s bunk. Not something that had ever happened before, much less appearing as he was now.

            Sunstreaker stared at his lover’s bare frame, at all the exposed cabling and wiring. He caught glimpses of smooth, shiny struts beneath it all, not a blemish or scar to be seen. Completely the opposite to Sunstreaker’s own. He bet it all would feel so warm and alive beneath his fingertips.


            First Aid’s smile wavered. “Do you not like it?” he asked, sitting up and gesturing at himself.

            “N-no! I like it!” Sunstreaker exclaimed, taking a few steps forward and holding his hands out as if First Aid would bolt. “I just never… where did get the idea?”

            First Aid, ducked his head, adopting a sheepish air. “I, uh… well… I might have asked your brother if there was anything I could do to spice things up.”

            Sunstreaker narrowed his optics as First Aid peered up at him shyly. “You asked him?”

            “Yeees?” First Aid ventured, gaze shifting to the side. He worried his lower lip and Sunstreaker couldn’t help but follow the motion of the other mech’s glossa.

            No. He couldn’t get distracted!

            “You sure about that?” Sunstreaker pressed. First Aid going to Sideswipe for insight into Sunstreaker wasn’t exactly unheard of, but that was generally for suggestions about outings or gifts. This type of topic practically screamed Sideswipe’s instigation.

            First Aid caved, as Sunstreaker knew he would. The medic couldn’t tell a lie to save his own spark.

            “All right, all right! Sideswipe waylaid me a few weeks ago and suggested it. Was he pranking me?” First Aid asked, crossing his arms over his chest and looking discomforted.

            Sunstreaker sighed and rubbed a hand over the back of his helm. “For once… no. It’s actually something we used to do. When we were young and our armor was a lot easier to remove. A lot of mecha don’t like it though… makes them feel too exposed.”

            First Aid blinked and dropped his arms, leaning back on his palms. “I quite like the feeling,” he murmured, raising his gaze defiantly. “Especially since your optics haven’t left me since you entered the room.”

            “Do they ever? Once I catch sight of you, I mean?” Sunstreaker replied, stalking forward. First Aid’s optics gleamed and his legs parted, the cabling in his inner thighs pulling taut.

            “Stop sweet talking me and touch all this!” First Aid demanded, gesturing to himself.

            Sunstreaker grinned, lips spreading in a feral smile. “Oh, I intend to,” he purred, and pounced. In the back of his processor he made a note to thank his meddling twin later.


~ End Chapter 

Chapter Text

            “Oh, that’s beautiful, Sunstreaker,” Wheeljack gushed, leaning over Sunstreaker’s shoulder to examine his sketch pad and the detailed landscape depicted there. “Really well done.”

            “What about mine? Do you like mine, Daddy?” Sideswipe demanded, standing up and shoving his data pad across the table, practically into Wheeljack’s face.

            Sunstreaker growled at his brother. “Manners!”

            Sideswipe stuck out his glossa. “You’re not my Daddy.”

            Wheeljack gently took the datapad from Sideswipe and straightened. “That is correct, Sideswipe; I am. And Sunstreaker is not wrong. I was coming to check on you next,” he chastised gently.

            Sideswipe ducked his head, sinking into his seat. “Sorry, Daddy. But… do you like it?”

            Wheeljack chuckled. “It’s very… colorful,” he said, indicating the stick-figure drawing. He placed it back on the table and crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at Sideswipe.

            “Now. You were very bad just then. You got out of your seat before I told you to, and you spoke out of turn. You shall have to be punished,” Wheeljack announced with a sad shake of his head. His helm fins flashed the muted yellow of disappointment, and Sideswipe bit his lip.

            “Punished? How?” he asked, voice quavering.

            “Send him away so we can have some peace,” Sunstreaker muttered under his breath, still focused on his drawing.

            Sideswipe gasped in outrage and promptly launched himself across the table, knocking Sunstreaker backwards off his stool. “Meanie! Take it back! Take it back!”

            The twins grappled on the floor for a few seconds before Sunstreaker whapped Sideswipe upside the head with his ‘pad. It shocked Sideswipe enough that he sat up, blinking and holding his helm.

            Just as he started to whine, Wheeljack knelt down beside them and took Sideswipe’s head in his hands, examining the scuff. “Sunstreaker, what have I told you about hitting?”

            “He started it!” Sunstreaker protested, scooting back out from under Sideswipe’s weight.

            “You’re fine, Sides,” Wheeljack announced, stroking a hand over Sideswipe’s helm. “And your brother is right. You’re far too old to be constantly resorting to violence. Into the corner with you. Time out for fifteen minutes.”

            “Fifteen!?” Sideswipe repeated, face twisted in horror. “Well, what about Sunny?”

            “Sunstreaker’s getting a spanking. With his own data pad,” Wheeljack said, righting Sunstreaker’s chair and sitting down onto it. He patted his lap and glared at Sunstreaker.

            “Holy frag. Damn, that’s hot, ‘Jack,” Sideswipe said faintly, optics huge. He licked his lower lip, before shaking his head and settling back into character. “Daddy, does my time out start now or after Sunny gets spanked?”

            “Now! And face the wall!” Wheeljack exclaimed, pointing to the nearest corner. “Sunstreaker, get over here. Do not make me tell you twice; I’m highly irritated at the both of you.”

            “Yes, sir,” Sunstreaker said sullenly. He got to his knees and crawled to Wheeljack, climbing up and over his lap. He settled into place, hands clutching Wheeljack’s ankles for balance.

            “Twenty. Count for me,” Wheeljack demanded, raising the data pad into the air. It hovered there for several seconds before he suddenly looked over his shoulder, glaring at the gaping Sideswipe.

            “I told you to go to time out. If you refuse, I will do as Sunstreaker suggested and send you away to your room,” Wheeljack growled, vocal indicators flashing angrily.

            Sideswipe scrambled to obey, moving so fast that he slid on the floor and smashed into the corner with a loud crash. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m in the corner now, please don’t send me away,” he mumbled, face pressed against the wall.

            “Silence, brat!” Wheeljack called out over his shoulder before returning his attention to his lapful of frontliner. His free hand caressed Sunstreaker’s aft, and the golden twin shivered.

            “Now…,” Wheeljack murmured, licking his lips. “Let’s begin!”


~ End Chapter 

Chapter Text

           “Were you good at school today?” Ratchet asked, handing Megatron a small cube of fuel.

            Megatron nodded, bringing the cube up to his lips and sipping delicately. “I got perfect scores on my test.”

            “Wonderful!” Ratchet exclaimed, placing his hands on Megatron’s shoulders. Even perched on the short legged stool as the co-captain was, Ratchet barely even had to bend to kiss the top of the other mech’s helm. “That is very impressive. I think you deserve a reward!”

            “What kind of reward?” Megatron asked, tilting his head to the side with the question. Unfortunately, innocence would never look right on either of their faces, but Ratchet had to give Megatron props for trying.

            Ratchet took a step back and smirked, his panels aching. He had been awaiting Megatron’s arrival for nearly an hour now and anticipation had been a heady aphrodisiac. His valve was well-lubricated, and his spike was knocking up on the underside of its cover in eagerness.

            “You finish that cube and come to bed and you’ll find out,” he said.

            He turned and took several steps towards the berth, but was stopped a step away from it as long arms wound around him. He was pulled tightly against a broad chestplate, the frame behind him plastering itself close. His backplate was instantly warmed; Megatron was throwing off a tremendous amount of heat, his body betraying its own eagerness.

            “I finished my fuel, Daddy,” Megatron whispered huskily into Ratchet’s audial. “May I have my reward now?”

            Ratchet trembled as a warm ex-vent washed across the side of his neck. He patted Megatron’s top arm and couldn’t resist tilting his head to the side to allow Megatron more room. Almost immediately, warm lips pressed against the side of Ratchet’s neck, a glossa flicking out to lick the large energon line there.

            “I think that could be arranged,” Ratchet replied, gently pulling forward. They shuffled the last step to the bed and Ratchet picked his leg up enough to place a knee on the edge. He leaned forward, Megatron coming with him until he was draped across Ratchet’s back. Arching a little, Ratchet let his panels open, sighing in relief as his spike bobbed free.

            He pushed at Megatron’s arms and the other mech released Ratchet with a quiet noise of protest. He hovered as Ratchet moved the rest of the way onto the bed and turned to sit. Ratchet leaned back on one hand while the dropped down to ghost over his array. Megatron loomed over him, gaze hungrily fixed on Ratchet’s spike.

            “Why don’t you climb into my lap?” Ratchet suggested. “Release your covers, I’m sure you’re tired after concentrating on keeping them closed all day.”

            “Yes, Daddy,” Megatron said, licking his lips and visibly trembling. Ratchet’s valve clenched down on nothing at the sight. He loved seeing Megatron so eager, and nothing revved the other mech up more than this type of play. Ratchet had to admit… it certainly quite a few of Ratchet’s own buttons as well.

            Ratchet heard a quiet click and then the large mech was climbing into Ratchet’s lap. His spike registered the blazing heat of Megatron’s valve and Ratchet’s spike firmed even further.

            “Thank you. That feels much better, Daddy,” Megatron sighed, settling atop Ratchet’s thighs. Crimson optics gleamed down at him, bright with charge. “But I’m still so empty inside; it hurts.”

            “You’re welcome, my boy,” Ratchet purred, sitting up so he could grip one of Megatron’s powerful thighs. Ratchet bucked his hips upwards, spike head slipping through the wetness of Megatron’s valve pleats. “Now… how about we find a way to ease that ache completely, hmm?”


~ End Chapter 


Chapter Text


            Hound looked up and smiled when he saw Cliffjumper approaching the table. “Hi, Cliff – how’s your day going?”

            “Oh, you know… pretty routine,” Cliffjumper replied, optics flicking up and fixating on the mech sitting across from Hound. “How are you two gorgeous specimens doing?”

            “Nothing exciting, which is a good thing lately,” Hound answered, turning to look at Mirage. “What about you, Raj?”

            Mirage looked up from his data pad, glancing from Hound to Cliffjumper. “I am having a good day, thank you for asking, Cliffjumper,” he said, a little stiffly, giving the minibot a curt nod. He then promptly returned his attention back to his novel. Out of the corner of his optic, Hound saw Cliffjumper’s smile waver and fade.

            “Right. Well. Hope it continues. See ya, Hound,” Cliffjumper said sadly and turned away. Hound ex-vented a sigh and frowned as Cliffjumper started to walk off. Well, at least Mirage had looked up this time.





            Ratchet glanced over at the minibot’s berth to see Mirage approaching. He ducked his head and did his best to look absorbed in his patient file.

            Cliffjumper dazedly focused in on Mirage, looking confused. “Yeah?”

            “I was sorry to hear of your injuries,” Mirage said softly, gesturing to the minibot’s abdomen, scored with at least a dozen welds. “I thought you might appreciate this; it’s a nanite rich gel which smooths down scars prior to repaint.”

            Mirage carefully placed a small jar on the instrument stand at the head of Cliffjumper’s bed.  His glazed over optics stared at it for a moment before he looked at Mirage again.

            “Thanks. I’ll get right on that,” Cliffjumperd said, sliding an arm up over his abdomen and offlining his optics in pretty clear dismissal.

            Mirage stared at Cliffjumper for several seconds, a small frown forming on his face. He looked as if he were about to speak, but ended up turning away. He spied Ratchet and strode over, orbital ridge raised.

            Ratchet shrugged and spoke quietly once Mirage was in range. “It’s a nice gift. But you basically just told him he’s unsightly and to hurry to get everything painted over.”

            “No, I didn’t!” Mirage protested.

            “No. You didn’t. But that’s the way he took it,” Ratchet replied with a sigh. “He probably would have done better with something to read or otherwise occupy himself while he’s here. When I suggested you give him a present, I thought you would take his interests into mind.”

            Consternation flitted across Mirage’s face. “I’m afraid I am no good at this. If he were a Towers mech, I would know exactly how to proceed.”

            “Well, he’s not, so you have to go about things differently. Next time…”





            “Mm?” Ratchet replied absently, vaguely noting someone had just entered through his office door.

            “May I talk to you for a moment in private?”

            Ratchet looked up to see Hound, of all mechs, hovering just inside the room, hand on the door as if to shut it. A quick scan of the tracker revealed no overt injuries so Ratchet nodded and gestured Hound in.

            “What do you need, Hound?” Ratchet asked, curious. The two of them rarely interacted socially and Hound never got as grievously hurt as the frontliners or Optimus. So it was a little surprising for the other mech to visit.

            “I… you know Mirage well, don’t you?” Hound hesitantly asked.

            “Pretty well. Why? Is there something wrong?” Ratchet returned.

            “No, nothing wrong with him. It’s just that… well, you know I’m pretty good friends with Cliffjumper. And he’s pretty fond of Mirage.” Hound paused, wrinkling his nasal ridge.

            “Perhaps ‘fond’ of too mild a term. He’s smitten, actually. And I don’t know Mirage well at all; he’s probably used to Towers courtships and Cliff’s run out of idea on how to get Mirage to notice him and I’m afraid I’m not all that good at this either. So I thought… since you knew Mirage pretty well… would you be willing to… oh…”

            Hound trailed off as Ratchet held up a hand. “Let me get this straight: Cliffjumper is interested in Mirage?”

            “… yes?”

            Ratchet grinned. “Heh. Then you are gonna love this…”




            “This is ridiculous,” Mirage announced, fingers plucking ineffectually at the ventilation grate. The screws had been soldered in place, and recently too, judging by the residue. “We are well and truly stuck in here.”

            “I could probably just shoot up the door,” Cliffjumper offered.

            Mirage turned around and gazed at the shorter mech. Cliffjumper brandished a gun that Mirage was pretty sure was illegal and would likely blast open not just the door by the hallway on the other side of it. “That seems like a lot of damage for a prank. They’ll let us out eventually.”

            “Do you know who it was? I could have sworn it was Ratchet that pushed me in here. Which is so weird,” Cliffjumper remarked, shaking his head in disbelief.

            Mirage froze. Wasn’t it only yesterday that Ratchet had said he was getting fed up and ready to just lock Mirage and Cliffjumper into a closet until Mirage was ready to admit his feelings?

            “I… that is odd,” Mirage replied, voice a little tight. “I did not get a good look. But I saw a lot of green. And the mech with the most green is…”

            “Hound,” Cliffjumper supplied, looking up to stare at Mirage in horror. “Oh slag. Why would he do that? You’re too good for this!”

            Mirage cocked his head to the side. “I beg pardon?”

            Cliffjumper gestured up and down at Mirage’s frame. “You! You’re all pretty and refined. You deserve someone who could court you properly. Not someone like…”

            The minibot abruptly turned his head away and Mirage stared at him, hope stirring in his spark. He reached out and gently grasping Cliffjumper by the chin, turned his head back.

            “…like you? One does not do what I do and not possess adaptability. The structure of courtship is beautiful, but not necessary.”

            Cliffjumper blinked and then smiled. “Yeah? So I could just sweep you off your feet and you’d be ok with that?”

            Mirage smiled back. “Well, you could try, there is a bit of a height differ… ah!”




            Outside in the hallway, Ratchet and Hound exchanged glances when they heard the sound of delighted laughter from inside the closet they were guarding.

            “Mission success,” Hound said smugly.

            Ratchet reached out and clapped Hound on the shoulder. “Seems like. Nice working with you, partner.”


~ End Chapter 

Chapter Text

            “Get off me!” Megatron roars, and Sideswipe flinches as it’s practically in his audial.

            “Dude, trust me, I’m trying,” Sideswipe promises, squirming madly as the Decepticon leader rolls onto his side, slipping and sliding in the sucking mud. He somehow brings Sideswipe with him, and Sunny’s gonna throw a fit about all the gunk building up under Sideswipe’s armor. “But I think I’m stuck.”

            “Then unstick yourself!”

            Sideswipe ducks an outflung arm and tries to jerk forwards, away from the other mech. He doesn’t get far. “Ok, I think it’s less that I’m stuck and more that I’m melted to you.”

            Megatron stills suddenly. “Explain,” he demands in a dangerous tone. Sideswipe’s very glad that they are back to back; he’s pretty sure Megatron’s glare would melt Sideswipe the rest of the way.

            “Well, my jet pack kinda went on the fritz. You can thank your fearless Second for that, by the way; it took a direct null ray hit. It was making some reeeeeal angry noises when it quit working and dropped me on top of you. I know it was getting pretty toasty there on those last few feet down, probably enough to melt armor. I’ve got a proactive plate between me and its base. What about you; are you feeling hot?”

            A hand reaches around and pats at Sideswipe’s waist. Then fingers dig in, talon screeching across Sideswipe’s plating. “I am,” Megatron growls.

            “Oh, see, so it fused to you. Ha. Well, you know I am one of the hottest mechs walking,” Sideswipe boasts shakily.

            So he is essentially stuck to one of the most dangerous people in Cybertronian history. Awesome.

            “I am not amused,” Megatron warns, Sideswipe’s armor creaking over his hip. “And there are far more attractive mecha.”

            Sideswipe’s mouth drops open in offense as he absently stares across the battlefield. They’re pretty far behind Decepticon lines; he has absolutely no idea how he’s going to get out of this one.

            “Hey, frag you, I’m totally sexy. You don’t know what you’re missing!”

            “Is that an offer?” Megatron… purrs? Damn, the other mech’s voice had gotten pretty seductive there for a moment.

            And what a thought that is: Megatron’s big, battle-roughed hands holding Sideswipe down by the hips as what he certainly hopes is a proportional spike plows its way into Sideswipe’s valve.

            Woo boy. It isn’t just the jet back that’s heating up now.

            “Are you serious?” Sideswipe squeaks.

            In answer, Megatron’s grip loosens, his hand sliding down the slope of Sideswipe’s pelvis. The angle is awkward, but Megatron’s got a long reach, and a finger just brushes the top edge of Sideswipe’ panel.

            “We’ve lost the battle. I’m leaving and apparently, you’re coming with me. Once we’ve been parted, what better way to pass the time until the rest of your comrades realize you’ve been taken and set a ransom?” Megatron suggests.

            Sideswipe considers it. The Nemesis brig is cold and drafty and the more unsavory Decepticons seem to lurk there. He certainly hasn’t been in Megatron’s personal berth before. He bets it’s a lot more comfortable than a cell slab.

            And there’s a first time for everything. Including ‘facing hot Decepticon leaders.

            “I was under duress. It was either be tortured and killed or submit to the evil Decepticon’s wicked requests,” Sideswipe replies in an innocent voice.

            “I am very wicked,” Megatron concurs.


~ End Chapter

Chapter Text

           “You’re going to have to stop wiggling,” Ratchet instructed, head lowered as he worked at his spike, Sideswipe’s continually bumping up against Ratchet’s hand as he fidgeted in place.

            “I’ll try,” Sideswipe said, voice faint. “But it’s just so hot when you… ohhh…that’s just… Sunny, can you see ok?”

            Sunstreaker shifted closer, ducking a little to avoid the beam of light from the lamp. “Mostly. Ratch, pause there a second?”

            Ratchet complied, sheath half rolled over his spike tip. Sunstreaker tilted his head from side to side and then gestured for Ratchet to continue.

            Both twins had been fascinated with this little peculiarity of Ratchet’s frame. Sideswipe for the sheer uniqueness of it; Sunstreaker too, but he had also been intrigued in an artistic sense. He had wanted to draw all the little details of each stage of the dock, including the final ‘product’. As such, he was taking frequent image captures to be used as reference later.

            “Come here, Sides,” Ratchet instructed after another moment. Sideswipe eagerly shuffled forward, lining his spike up. His hand steadied the base as Ratchet gripped just below the head and pressed the two tips together. Sideswipe moaned, biting his lip as Ratchet started stroking his own spike more firmly, beginning to pull the sheath further up.

            “Wait a sec,” Sunstreaker murmured, grabbing the light and repositioning it. He fiddled with it for several seconds, prompting Sideswipe to start squirming.

            “Sunnnnny…” he whined.

            Ratchet looked up and shook his head at the impatient frontliner. “I’m not going anywhere, Sideswipe.”

            “Good. Because my spike is so hard, it’s about to fall off,” Sideswipe retorted, optics blown wide and dark. He couldn’t seem able to look away from where their spikes pressed together.

            “Stop being dramatic,” Sunstreaker replied idly. “You could sit in the corner, and I could do it instead. First person point of view might be better anyway.”

            “No,” Sideswipe immediately went still. “I’ll be good. Do what you need to.”

            Ratchet snorted in amusement. “You’re never good.”

            Sideswipe raised his head, flashing Ratchet a wink and a wicked grin. “True. But damn do I know how to be bad… just think about my glossa on your spike after we’re finished. I’m gonna lick every inch of you, until you’re ready to go again and Sunny gets his first person shots. I might just see how well you can concentrate under pressure… the pressure of me in your valve, that is.”

            In response to the sinfully purred words, Sunstreaker muttered a barely audible curse, roughly cupping his still closed panel. He shut his optics and shook his head while Ratchet glared at Sideswipe, the medic’s cooling fans speeding up with an audible whirr. “You are incorrigible.”

            Blinking purposively widened optics, Sideswipe asked, “Is that just a big word for “awesome spike-sucker’?”


~ End Chapter 

Chapter Text

                “Oh, my.”

                Sideswipe startled at the sudden voice behind him and turned to see… well, he didn’t know what exactly. It certainly didn’t look organic, not with its boxy shape gleaming like polished steel under the lab’s overhead lights. About waist high to Sideswipe, the thing swayed back and forth on a single wheel, a screen on its front flashing a cacophony of colors. Two tentacle like arms emerged from its sides, ending in five fingered white hands.

                “Uh… did you just say that?” Sideswipe asked the wobbling… thing.

                “Yes, yes I did! I apologize, I wasn’t expecting to run across such a delightful creature as yourself.” The light baritone voice emerged from one of the bottom row of dials, and the entire box moved forward, the colors on the screen solidifying into a… smiley face?

                “Well, I don’t know about delightful…” Sideswipe muttered, absently noting that the white of its hands actually appeared to be gloves. Weird. Well, couldn’t hurt to be friendly.

                “I’m Sideswipe. What’s your designation, er, name?”

                “Mettaton. But you can call me Met if you’d like,” Mettaton purred, one hand reaching up to suggestively stroke Sideswipe’s hip.

                Sideswipe stared down at the digits, bemused. Yup, that was definitely a glove covering the fingers currently fondling one of Sideswipe’s transformation seams.

                He’d been hit on by any number of his own species and plenty others in his millennia long existence and it was pretty rare for him to say no to an obvious invitation. Yet he took a step back, Metatton’s hand falling away. Every instinct Sideswipe had was screaming at him to get out of there, and he'd learned to obey those instincts without question.

                The smiley face morphed into a pout, one with just a hint of malice around the mouth.

                “Aww. Don’t be shy. I’m just being friendly,” Mettaton remarked, the face turning leerish.

                “Yeeeah, thanks, but no,” Sideswipe replied, backing up and holding out his hands in what he hoped was a universal gesture of ‘I mean no harm’.

                “Nice to meet you, but I got places to be!” Sideswipe announced as cheerfully as he could. Mettaton remained where he was, but Sideswipe still kept an optic on him as he backed out of the lab’s door. If he looked hard enough, Sideswipe was sure he would find a way around the building and its creepy occupant.


~ End Chapter 

Chapter Text

            Ratchet might, juuuust might, be getting spoiled.

            His fuel levels haven’t gone below 90% in two weeks. Mechs look twice at his updated paint job which is never less than impeccable for more than a few hours at a time. His joints no longer squeak and his processor has been fully defragged, leaving him to think more efficiently than he has in a long time.

            Ratchet looks good. He feels good. He’s full and rested, and at the moment, more content than he can ever remember being.

            It’s a little warm, what with three frames containing high-performance engines draped over him. But the happiness in Drift’s and the twins’ fields negate the extraneous heat. They’ve pampered him and doted on him for nearly a month, and they deserve this.

            Pit, he deserves it.

            It’s damn exhausting resisting them, after all. Anyone else would have caved within days, but no, not Ratchet. He had to fight against their affections, because he hadn’t believed it. He couldn’t entertain the notion of even one of them wanting him, and yet all three of them were here.

            And it wasn’t without fights between them as well. Sunstreaker and Drift had brawled more than once and Sideswipe had verbally laid into Drift hard enough to make the former Decepticon’s finials plaster against his head as he had crept away. The twins had even gotten into it on one memorable occasion.

            Polyamory isn’t easy. Ratchet anticipates many more arguments, fights, and hurt feelings as time passes. But he’s starting to think it might all be worth it.

            Ratchet blinks, cross-opticked, as a black finger pokes him in the middle of his chevron. He turns his head to see Sideswipe blinking sleepily at him.

            “You’re thinking too hard,” Sideswipe whispers, obviously trying not to wake the other two. Regardless, Drift hugs Ratchet tighter around the hips, nuzzling up under Ratchet’s windshield with a quiet murmur. And Sunstreaker opens his optics, indigo gaze accusing.

            “Am I now?” Ratchet replies with an amused smile.

            “You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Drift admonishes and yawns, fangs flashing.

            “We worked hard to tire you out,” Sunstreaker chimes in, cuddling closer to Ratchet’s other side. His hand lands on Drift’s helm, gently rubbing the base of one finial and Drift goes limp.

            It amuses Sideswipe to no end that his twin and Drift can both be reduced to drooping lumps of metal when either of their helm adornments are massaged. Sideswipe’s audial horns aren’t nearly as sensitive, although there are certainly other parts of his anatomy that can make him purr if touched in just the right way. And others that make him go completely silent, which all three of them use ruthlessly.

            Ratchet chuckles. “Maybe I got my second wind. Surely such strapping young mechs such as your selves can go another round?”

            Drift, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe exchange glances. They look a little worried, but to be honest, Ratchet doubted he could move without assistance. Still… he would be completely fine with them lavishing attention upon him via their lips and fingers.

            He deserves it, after all.


~ End Chapter 

Chapter Text

            Ratchet loves the Twins with all his spark, but even he can admit they have a great many flaws. (Not that he doesn’t have his own, but he’s a single individual and the twins… aren’t.)

            They’re both reckless and adrenaline junkies, which Ratchet can understand to an extent. He’s not that old that he can’t remember his ‘glory days’ back in the Academy. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are also battle-born warframes. They’ve had little experience with anything other than fighting for their survival. 

            So their disregard for the Decepticons’ lives is understandable; they’re certainly not alone in that. But Ratchet has also noted a blasé attitude for the majority of the Autobots’ welfare as well. They work alongside and defend their comrades during battle, but they don’t mourn those mechs’ passing or give much thought about their injuries.

            Ratchet is a notable exception to that, as is Bluestreak, Hound, and Perceptor. Ratchet has never asked why he and the others fall into the Twins’ protective circle. He knows why he’s included on that list of course, but has no idea about the others. Or why more aren’t included.

            Of course there’s Sunstreaker’s vanity and Sideswipe’s penchant for pranking, both of which have affected everyone. Ratchet however, has the best seat in the house to their in-fighting. A life-time of intimacy has bred the strongest love but also given them the deepest knowledge of how best to hurt one another.

            The Seekers can drop them, the general Con footsoldier can shoot them, but there are no worse wounds than what they inflict on each other.

            Ratchet has seen chatty Sideswipe reduced to long, brooding silences and quiet Sunstreaker to long, screaming tirades. Physical brawls with no holding back which Ratchet has to break up. It comes to a point when he’s honestly not sure how they’ve lived as long as they have without killing one another.

            And then…

            Then he realizes. They’ve lived peacefully together for centuries. The only new variable is Ratchet.

            Ratchet, who they’re fiercely protective and possessive over… even from each other. Ratchet, who has tried so hard to treat them as individuals, had forgotten to treat them also as equals to one another.

            It hasn’t been intentional; he had just wanted to recognize that they each had their own unique interests. But indulging one twin often means the other is left out. And as much as they love Ratchet, they even more hate being left out of their twin’s immediate circle.

            Deciding to leave them is the hardest decision he’s ever made; telling them will be a battle all its own.

Chapter Text

            Rung never says yes.

            Jazz asks him every time they see one another, but Rung always politely declines. Although it was many centuries ago, Jazz had once been Rung’s patient.

            Prowl, however, has never been Rung’s patient. Although Rung privately thinks therapy would do Prowl a world of good.

            Prowl has never asked. Although there was that one time Prowl had turned around and looked at Rung with his mouth open, about to speak. Then he had shook his head and went on his way, leaving Rung feeling oddly disappointed.

            And life continued on.

            Rung continually tells himself that he is content. He has his patients, and his datapads, and his ships and that’s all he needs in life, really. A relationship would only complicate things; his patients need his full attention. 

            He thinks himself long purged of fanciful notions when one day, Jazz plops himself down across from Rung at the cafeteria. His visor glows a soft blue and the smile on his face is even softer.    

            “Hey, there docbot. Mind some company?” Jazz asks.

            Rung places his energon cube on the table. “It seems as if you have already assumed I would say yes.”

            “Please forgive Jazz; he has no manners,” Prowl’s voice says from behind Rung. Prowl moves forward into Rung’s line of sight and gestures at the seat next to Rung. “May I?”

            Rung looks back and forth between the two mates. Prowl has his ever present mask of blankness on, although there is a sparkle to his optics. And Jazz… Jazz looks almost desperate to hear Rung’s answer.

            Rung supposes he has a right to be; representing both of them, Jazz has been chasing after Rung for a while now. This is the first time Prowl has accompanied Jazz; it changes things.

            He considers them both: long-term acquaintances, former high-ranking officers, and one a previous patient. Although… there had really only been the one session…

            They were beautiful separately and together so perfect. Rung has long wondered why they were interested in him, a third variable.

            Perhaps it is time to find out.

            Rung inclines his head. “Please. Take a seat.”

Chapter Text

            First Aid misses Ratchet desperately. Ratchet would be much better suited to handle the disaster that is facing First Aid now. But noooo… the CMO just had to leave yesterday with Optimus on a diplomatic mission across the country.

            Like Ratchet knew a thing about diplomacy.

            “And… how exactly did this happen?” First Aid asks faintly.

            “Well, you see…” Sideswipe begins, “…it’s not really our fault,” he says, gesturing to Skywarp and himself.

            Who are stuck together, front to front. At least Sideswipe’s face isn’t smushed against Skywarp’s cockpit. It’s almost as if Skywarp had lifted Sideswipe up for a hug with the way Sideswipe’s face is tucked over Skywarp’s right shoulder.

            First Aid rubs the bridge of his visor and understands now why Ratchet always complains of a processor ache. Of course, Sunstreaker cackling over in the corner isn’t helping. Although First Aid supposes he should be grateful Sunstreaker is finding this humorous.

            “It’s totally Wheeljack’s,” Skywarp adds, turning around so he can look at First Aid. Sideswipe’s pedes swing gently with the motion. Sunstreaker laughs harder.

            “And are these really necessary?” Skywarp asks, wiggling his fingers at First Aid. The chains linking the extra-strength stasis cuffs together clinks softly. They’d been placed on him in an attempt to circumvent Skywarp’s teleporting ability. They also bring Skywarp’s arms around Sideswipe’s back in a parody of a loving embrace.

            It just makes the situation all that more ridiculous.

            “Trust me, I’m not going anywhere. I’d much rather be here than with Hook. He’d probably just start slinging his scalpel around, cutting into us. You’re supposed to be nice, right? No scalpels?” Skywarp asks hopefully.

            First Aid blinks several times and then shakes his head. “No,” he says absently. “No scalpels. At least none while you’re awake.”

            While Skywarp makes a distressed sound, First Aid’s processor works madly to find a solution. And a suitable punishment for Wheeljack.

            … definitely not First Aid’s ideal first day on his own.

Chapter Text

            “What are you two doing?”

            Wheeljack’s and Starscream’s heads whip up and Ratchet sees two pairs of wide, surprised optics stare back at him.

            “Nothing,” Wheeljack replies a little too quickly. He drops his head and averts his gaze, every inch of his body screaming guilt. Starscream on the other hand, just lifts his chin a fraction higher in challenge.  

            “Obviously we’re doing something…” Starscream says haughtily, gesturing at the table in front of them. It’s littered with bits of metal, most of which is unidentifiable to Ratchet. There’s also a suspicious amount of paint cans and tubs of what look to be gold glitter.

            “… but it’s nothing important,” Starscream finishes with a sniff.

            Ratchet considers them both for a long moment, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door jam.

            “You know… the two of you have been spending an awful lot of time together,” Ratchet drawls. “I half expected to come in and see you fragging on that table instead of creating the Academy’s greatest prank. Interesting choice of an extracurricular activity.”

            “What makes you think we haven’t already done the one and are in the midst of the other?” Starscream retorts immediately.

            Ratchet’s orbital ridges rise. Well, then. Guess that’s the answer to that question.

            “We’re all going to rue the day the two of you were introduced to one another, aren’t we?” Ratchet muses, making Wheeljack chuckle weakly. His helmfins are a briht pink and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. When he finally meets Ratchet’s optics he just gives Ratchet a helpless shrug.

            Starscream just smiles smugly, and Ratchet experiences the worst sense of impending doom.

Chapter Text

            Not many mechs understand why Bluestreak is friends with them. Oh, Sideswipe is friends with everyone, but given a choice, Bluestreak will chat up Sunstreaker and sit next to him rather than Sideswipe. So maybe it’s rather that not many understand why Bluestreak is friends with Sunstreaker.

            To be honest, Sunstreaker isn’t certain why either. He’s not always nice to Bluestreak and sometimes the conversations between them consist of him silently glaring off into the distance while Bluestreak chatters away.

            But that never seems to bother Bluestreak. He just keeps coming back, time after time.

            At first, Sunstreaker had been tense with anticipation, waiting for the punchline to a bad joke. That being him, of course. After the first few months however, he finally started to relax when the sniper came around. Then he started to actually enjoy Bluestreak’s company.

            It got to the point where Sunstreaker started looking for Bluestreak in the rec room or walking just a little faster to meet Bluestreak if they had been assigned each other as patrol partners. Not that long ago, Sunstreaker had even suggested to Sideswipe that they invite Bluestreak to their game night.

            Sideswipe had stared at him in surprise before a proud, sappy smile had spread across his face. Sunstreaker had promptly punched him in the shoulder, but that night Sideswipe had kept glancing at Sunstreaker and Bluestreak and grinning happily.

            For some reason, Sideswipe’s reaction had made Sunstreaker feel warm inside. Almost as if he had been given Sideswipe’s approval.

            Sunstreaker didn’t have the courage to ask his brother if it was approval for making friends… or for the hint of something more Sunstreaker kept catching glimpses of in Bluestreak’s optics.

            Then again, Sideswipe was the other half of Sunstreaker’s spark. He knew Sunstreaker intimately. He’d probably already seen that something more reflected back in Sunstreaker’s expression every time he looked at Bluestreak.

Chapter Text

          Optimus never recharges well. Grimlock is surprised to learn that he is not the only one who knows this. He guesses it’s not hard to figure out. Especially when Optimus is nearly always found in the middle of his sleep shift, wandering the halls instead of recharging.

          Everyone does what they can to help. Grimlock occasionally catches Ratchet forcing sedative chips into Optimus’ hands. Ironhide drags Optimus to the marathon nights of highgrade consumption a few times a month. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker coax Optimus into long, grueling training sessions all three of them limp away from. And sometimes Grimlock will walk into Optimus’ quarters to find Jazz curled atop the Prime’s broad chest, singing quietly as he strokes Optimus’ furrowed forehelm.

          Prowl is probably the one who manages the most success… if one can call office-chair cat naps in in between endless reports success.

          Grimlock chooses none of the options the others employ and finds his own way. He topples a willing Optimus to his little used berth and makes him moan and writhe beneath Grimlock’s massive bulk. Grimlock overloads Optimus again and again until there is barely a quarter of the Prime’s recharge shift left.

          But Optimus sleeps for those few measly hours. Deeply and undisturbed, guarded against the dark of his dreams by Grimlock’s looming presence at Optimus’ side.

Chapter Text

               “Good sir, never fear, I will defend your honor with my life!” Sideswipe announces, darting in between Jazz and Smokescreen. He holds out a warning hand towards the Praxian, frame straightening to his full height, and throws his shoulders back.

                Jazz peers around Sideswipe’s body, cackling at the look on Smokescreen’s face.

                “Uh… what?”

                “I heard your dastardly proposition!” Sideswipe accuses. “Fairest Jazz would never stoop so low as to have his virtue tarnished by your greedy servos! His… tracts of land… will only be given to one who truly appreciates them!”

                “… what?”

                Jazz collapses back down onto the chair he had just stood up from, body shaking with giggles. Out of the corner of his optic, he catches sight of Sunstreaker who is sitting next to him. The frontliner is gazing at his twin, shaking his head with an exasperated optic roll. It only makes Jazz laugh harder.

                “This is your fault for giving him that movie recommendation,” Sunstreaker says quietly, leaning over to speak to Jazz. “He watched the stupid thing eight times in a row last night.”

                “I do Primus’ work,” Jazz manages to get out in between giggles. He’s not even upset that his and Smokey’s little hook up was getting derailed; the look on Smokescreen’s face more than made up for the lack of sexy times later.

                Besides… maybe Sideswipe will be interested in Jazz’s… tracts of land… instead.

Chapter Text

                “Pick something else,” Thundercracker commanded, gently whapping his ridiculous trinemate upside the back of his head.

                The Purple Wonder turned wounded optics upon Thundercracker and he steeled himself for the wibble of Skywarp’s lower lip. “But… I like it. First I’m here… then I’m there… poof! Like magic!”

                “Magic doesn’t exist,” Thundercracker replied. “Don’t think I didn’t catch you watching that Harry Peter movie the other day. Again.”

                “Harry Potter! And magic does exist. It’s just a human thing,” Skywarp said, petulantly crossing his arms over his cockpit.

                “Pick something else,” Thundercracker insisted, nudging Skywarp’s shoulder with his own. “The Coneheads keep making fun of you calling it that and Star and I can only beat them up so much before Megatron starts getting irritated.”

                “But I don’t know what else to call it!” Skywarp exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. Thundercracker discretely rolled his optics; no one ever guessed Skywarp was the oldest of the three of them. Thundercracker couldn’t imagine why.


                Thundercracker and Skywarp both turned and looked across the room to where Starscream had his nasal ridge buried in a datapad. Probably something dry and scientific but Primus save you if Starscream was interrupted during his reading hour.

                “…what?” Skywarp asked tentatively. Even Skywarp had learned not to bother Starscream during his sacred allotted time.

                “The sound you make. When you arrive someplace new… it sounds like ‘vop’,” Starscream explained absently.

                “'Vop',” Skywarp repeated, stretching out the ‘v’ sound. “Hm. Not bad. No ‘poof’, but not bad. Thanks, Star! That goes on my list!”

                Oh Primus. There was a list?

Chapter Text

               “I’m done, are you just about finished?” Sideswipe announced, flinging his towel into the washing receptacle.

                Sunstreaker turned around and immediately scowled at his obviously deranged twin. “I’m nowhere near done and neither are you.”

                Sideswipe blinked at him. “What are you talking about?” He stared down at himself and Sunstreaker privately despaired. “I’m clean.”

                “Clean, yes,” Sunstreaker acknowledged. Over the centuries he had at least trained Sideswipe to ruthlessly chase down every speck of dirt on his frame. “But there are multiple places you’re still damp and I can tell with one glance that you haven’t buffed evenly.”

                Whining wordlessly, Sideswipe crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s fine! The ‘cons don’t care if I’m ‘evenly buffed’,” he complained, one hand rising enough to make finger quotes.

                “I care,” Sunstreaker retorted, retrieving his extra terrycloth from subspace and stalking over to his brother. “And if you want in our berth tonight, you’ll pretend to care,” he added, thrusting the cloth out.

                Sideswipe wrinkled his nasal ridge in displeasure before taking the buffing towel. Under Sunstreaker’s watchful optic, Sideswipe blotted at his abdomen with half-sparked motions. Ire mounting, Sunstreaker observed for a few moments more before reaching forward and yanking the cloth back.

                “You’re making a mess of things, let me do it,” Sunstreaker huffed, immediately bending over to peer at Sideswipe’s right hip where water droplets had begun to stain the crimson plating.

                Honestly. Was it that difficult?!


                Sideswipe made a big show of sighing and being put out, while internally, he was grinning in triumph. One of these days Sunstreaker was going to realize Sideswipe was just pretending to be completely inept at all this so he could receive a couple of gropes from his brother.

                Honestly. Waxing wasn’t all that difficult.

Chapter Text

                “Hey there, big boy,” Rodimus purred, sliding up to the purple and black flier leaning against the bar. “How’s your night going?”

                Red optics blinked down at him, assessing, and then Rodimus was greeted with a wide, lecherous grin. It just about rivaled Rodimus’ own.

                “Not bad. Although it just got better. Some sexy little grounder offered to buy me a drink. He also made some pretty suggestive innuendos that make me think I’m gonna be flat on my back later, getting my cockpit thoroughly investigated.”

                Rodimus made a moue of awe. “Oh, wow! I’ve never seen a Seeker’s cockpit! Do you think I could come along?”

                Big Purple leaded down and winked, smile widening. “Oh… yeah. You could... come.”

                Rodimus beamed at the other mech. Big, strong, and sassy. Oh, Rodimus had won the jackpot tonight!

Chapter Text

                The bed is cold.

                Starscream slides a hand out in a wide arc, just in case. Then he sighs and wearily pushes himself to the edge of the berth. It’s still early, but sometimes Jazz can be coaxed back beneath the covers for a few more hours of recharge.

                The apartment is dark, but Starscream navigates among the furniture with ease. He stops to fill a small cube with warm energon and then heads directly for the balcony. Despite being a grounder, Jazz still likes to be up high, with as many sightlines as possible. Especially when he’s been spooked by memory purges.

                Yet when Starscream opens the door out to the wide balcony, he finds it empty. He blinks for a moment before craning his neck to check both above and below in case Jazz is feeling especially adventurous in the face of his memories.

                But no, Starscream’s diminutive lover is not clinging to the building anywhere that Starscream can see. Puzzled, Starscream reenters the main room, closing the door behind him. Forehelm furrowed, he slowly drifts back towards the bedroom.  

                He passes the open washroom door along the way, not even considering investigating the small space. While at home in them, Jazz prefers the open when he’s awakened by nightmares.

                Concerned now, Starscream stops in the doorway of the bedroom, frowning. The cube of energon is forgotten in his hand as he considers where else Jazz could have gone.

                Starscream quickly learns Jazz has not gone far at all. A flicker of shadow at the corner of his optic is all the warning he gets as Jazz ghosts out from the dark washroom behind him and pokes Starscream in his side.  

                The energon cube goes flying and Starscream swallows a shriek which would probably have roused their neighbors. As Starscream whirls around, Jazz easily ducks his outflung arm and flicks on the washroom light. The former spy’s grin is unapologetic as he meets Starscream’s furious optics.

                “Boo,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorway. “Getting slow in yer old age, Screamer.”

                “You… you…” Starscream growls, fuming. Here he had been, practically worried sick for Jazz! Now his spark is whirling too fast for a completely different reason and energon is dripping down his front.

                “I’m sorry, sweetspark, I couldn’t resist,” Jazz says, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward earnestly. “It’s Halloween on Earth, you know.”

                “We’re not on Earth!” Starscream exclaims. “You and your ridiculous love for Earth holidays.”

                Jazz chuckles again, snagging a cloth and beginning to pat down Starscream’s cockpit. “You seemed to like me all dolled up in Christmas bows last year.”

                “They framed your spike particularly well, that was all,” Starscream grumbles, allowing Jazz to touch him. It was only right that the little sneak cleaned up his own mess. He hesitates for only a moment before asking. “Are you all right?”

                “A few bad dreams that a little fresh air took care of. I was actually coming back to bed when I saw you get up,” Jazz replies, tossing the cloth back onto the washroom counter. He then presses in close, hands sliding up Starscream’s sides.

                “I have some good ideas about Christmas this year,” Jazz purrs suggestively.

                Starscream wrinkles his nasal ridge haughtily. “I will need quite the large pile of presents to make up for the years you took off my life just now.”

                Jazz’s hands start to roam with long familiarity, and Starscream can’t stay angry for long. Not with the knowledge that Jazz had once again been disturbed by the past tonight. Plus Starscream is not at all averse to taking part in this particular distraction for Jazz.

                “Many presents,” Jazz promises, gently pushing until Starscream starts walking backwards towards the bedroom.

                “Many overloads as well,” Starscream adds, his own hands sliding over sleek curves.

                “That can be arranged,” Jazz replies with a grin, the light from his visor lighting their way through the gloom of their berthroom.

Chapter Text

          Sunstreaker turns left.

          Then right.

          Then left again, peering over his shoulder down the length of his back.

          He frowns, rising up on the tips of his pedes, but the mirror isn’t tall enough.

          “Sideswipe!” he calls, still twisting back and forth.

          “What?” Sideswipe’s distracted sounding voice asks, floating in from the other room.

          “Get in here, I need your help,” Sunstreaker says, tugging on their bond a little to reinforce the importance of the request.

          Sideswipe’s sigh echoes throughout their rooms. “I’m busy.”

          Sunstreaker rolls his optics, wrinkling his nasal ridge. “… please?”

          There’s complete silence from the other room and then Sunstreaker hears a rustle and pedesteps.

          “Alright, what is it? I swear to Primus if you’re debating another color change, I’m gonna rip one of your arms off. Butterscotch and dandelion look exactly the same to me.”

          “Not a color change. And you need to have a medic check out your optics. I keep telling you - they are two utterly different shades,” Sunstreaker informs his twin as Sideswipe moves into the washroom.

           “Ok, so if it’s not a color change, what is it?” Sideswipe asks, gesturing impatiently at Sunstreaker.

           In response, Sunstreaker whirls around, presenting his back to Sideswipe. “Left side is wax ‘A’, right side is ‘B’. Which looks better?”

           Sunstreaker carefully swivels in small increments from side to side, trying to get the beams of the overhead light to hit just right. Sideswipe is quiet so long Sunstreaker thinks about saying something regarding Sideswipe’s optics again.

           “Did you really bring me in here just to ask which side of your aft is shinier?” Sideswipe finally growls.

           Surprised by the vehemence in the question, Sunstreaker looks back at his brother, confused.


           Sideswipe stares at him. Then he turns and walks out, shaking his head.

           “Adopted. I have to be.”


Chapter Text

                “You are heavy,” Starscream stated, his voice muffled due to his faceplant into the pillows.

                “Am I? My apologies,” Grimlock remarked, shifting slightly. His weight resettled enough so that Starscream could bring his arms under himself, allowing his turbine fans room enough to spin.

                “You are overly large. Ridiculously so,” Starscream added. “What were your creators thinking?”

                Grimlock chuckled, the sound pleasantly vibrating Starscream’s frame. Including his oversensitive valve, filled completely by Grimlock’s still firm spike.

                “I’m certain they foresaw a Seeker in need of being caught and tamed,” Grimlock murmured, nuzzling the nape of Starscream’s neck.

                “You have not… tamed me!” Starscream exclaimed, offended by the very idea. He began to squirm in his ire, attempting to slide out from beneath Grimlock’s bulk.

                “Perhaps not,” Grimlock conceded, pressing his pelvis forward and making sparks fly up from the base of Starscream’s spinal strut. Starscream bit his lip at the burst of sensation within his valve, fingers fisting within the bedding. “But I have caught you, have I not?”

                Grimlock’s hands slid beneath Starscream’s cockpit, finding and gripping Starscream’s fists, squeezing gently. “Or is it I that have been caught by you, little spider? My too-large self a fit meal for all your desires?”

                Starscream stared at the whorls and patterns of the pillow inches from his optics. After a moment, he sniffed and relaxed. He squirmed again, sensually twisting his hips and forcing a surprised gasp from Grimlock.

                He was trapped beneath Grimlock’s weight, yes. But there were still advantages to be had while in Starscream’s position.

                And he had many desires that needed fulfilled.

Chapter Text

               It had been a lucky hit; he could have had processor damage. Instead, Sunstreaker had managed to walk away from the battle needing only complete audial recalibration.


                Despite being grateful his processor remained intact, he wasn’t exactly loving the audial echoes he couldn’t turn off. Every voice, every pedestep, every clink of a surgical tool… they all rebounded through his head, doubling over on themselves again and again until he thought he might go insane.

                Ratchet had been honestly apologetic when telling Sunstreaker his would be one of the last injuries addressed. It wasn’t life-threatening and there were several others hovering at the edge of Death’s door.

                Sunstreaker got it. He could deal.

                Or at least he thought he could.

                He turned off his optical sensors first. Then his nasal. Finally, his dermal plating. His processor was already dealing with too much and lessening all of the input helped somewhat. But it still wasn’t enough and he was reduced to clenching the side of the exam table and counting his ventilations, slowly but surely losing himself to sound.

                And that’s when he felt the tug on his spark.

                It was instinct to follow it, trusting its directions as he moved, deaf, blind, and numb to his surroundings. When he settled, he hesitantly onlined his sensors to their lowest setting, just to get his bearings.

                Sideswipe had a nice voice, Sunstreaker decided. A pleasant baritone, pitched low enough that only Sunstreaker could hear him.

                Of course, it helped that they were sitting in the darkest, quietest corner of the MedBay, Sideswipe planted firmly between Sunstreaker and everything else. Sunstreaker’s forehelm rested against Sideswipe’s shoulder and his ridiculous twin was singing lullabies, mouth directed at Sunstreaker’s closest audial.

                It took him awhile to realize Sideswipe was singing lullabies, mostly because Sideswipe was making up the majority of the lyrics. But the words didn’t matter, just the tone. Even, soothing, and drowning out all the other sounds ringing in the dark of his head.

                Soon, Sideswipe’s voice was all there was, the other echoes fading away.

                And if there was one thing Sunstreaker had gotten used to over the years, it was Sideswipe’s voice. If Sunstreaker couldn’t have silence, well… this was the next best thing.

Chapter Text

               “This is you being careful?” First Aid asked. He was proud that his voice didn’t waver, not even as he rapidly cauterized the multitude of leaking lines exposed in Sunstreaker’s left arm stump. First Aid hadn’t offered Sunstreaker a pain block; why should he be rewarded when just this morning he had promised First Aid he would be more cautious on the battlefield?

                Sunstreaker was quiet for a long moment. First Aid could feel the weight of his lover’s gaze on top of his head, but refused to look up, concentrating on keeping his motions efficiently precise.

                Sunstreaker wasn’t going to expire, as long as First Aid got these lines blocked off. His arm would keep once the leaks were stopped; a true fix required a more delicate surgery that neither he nor any of the other medical staff could devote their time to currently. Once the surgical suite was prepped, First Aid would be busy for the next several hours. In the meantime, Sunstreaker could sit in the waiting area with the rest of the non-critical wounded.

                “This was me blocking a hit meant for Ratchet when his back was turned,” Sunstreaker murmured.

                First Aid’s hands stilled for a moment before continuing on with their work. “Thank you, for protecting Ratchet,” he replied quietly. “But next time? Move a little faster and maybe neither of you will need to get patched up.”

                He looked up to see Sunstreaker staring at First Aid, an incredulous twist to his expression. First Aid flashed the right half of his visor in a wink and patted Sunstreaker’s shoulder. “You’re done for now; send the next one in as you leave?”

                “You’re asking a lot, aren’t you?” Sunstreaker commented, his lips slowly curling up into a smile. “… I like the challenge.”  

Chapter Text

           “…and boom! A rather impressive explosion if I do say so myself, and I think I’m a pretty good expert on explosions. Anyway, it only served my point - you *cannot* mix that octane percentage of energon with liquid gadolinium without some… heh… pretttty severe side effects. But even after the explosion, they wouldn’t believe me. ‘We can refine the process’ they said; ‘we can perform further dilutions’ they said. Pfft. I’d love to see the explosions when they do th…mmpf!’

           Wheeljack opened his optics roughly a minute later and stared up at Sunstreaker with dazed optics. 

           “…uh… what was I saying?” Wheeljack murmured, arching against the hot palm that suddenly appeared on his lower belly and continued on down between his spread legs. He licked his lips, tasting the faintest tinge of the high grade they had been drinking at the beginning of the evening. 

           “Things,” Sideswipe replied against Wheeljack’s audial. “We were starting to lose you; had to resort to drastic measures to get you back.” 

           Wheeljack stared fixedly at the tiny smirk curving up Sunstreaker’s lips in one corner. As Wheeljack watched, they curved up even more and he promptly forgot everything he had been saying. 

           “You have my permission to use such measures any time,” Wheeljack replied fervently. 

Chapter Text

          “What?!? Again?”

          Ratchet’s shout echoed throughout the medical bay, and everyone who was capable turned to stare at the irate medic. They followed his line of sight, observed the twins supporting one another and coated with energon… and either turned back to the patients they were working on or continued the contemplation of their own wounds.

          This song and dance was getting almost routine by now, and only one or two mechs were still watching avidly, optics a-gleam at the impending mayhem (ahem, Jazz, we see you over there).

          Sideswipe leaned heavily against Sunstreaker; multi-hued fluids dripped steadily from the sparking hole at his shoulder. At the sound of Ratchet’s shout, Sideswipe looked up and grinned weakly at Ratchet, moving his own detached arm in a macabre wave.

          “Yeah, I know you just reattached it last week, but…”

          “But? BUT?!” Ratchet repeated, volume steadily rising. “I don’t… you… argh!!! Get over here, you reject of a toaster!” Ratchet yelled, gesturing to an empty berth.

Chapter Text

          “Are you kidding me?!” Ratchet shouted, throwing his hands up. 

          “It wasn’t my fault,” Both Sideswipe and Wheeljack chorused. The looked at each other in surprise and then back at Ratchet. 

          “His either,” they said in near unison, pointing at the other. 

          “It’s always your fault,” Ratchet snapped, stomping out from under the meager shelter of the rock overhang he had claimed as an area for field repairs. 

          “Who, me?” Sideswipe asked, rearing back in surprise, expression offended. 

          “Or do you mean me?” Wheeljack asked, reaching out a hand to steady Sideswipe as he swayed in place. The engineer’s helm fins flashed a murky blue-green and he hunched in on himself as Ratchet strode up to them. 

          “You. And you. Both of you. I hate you both,” Ratchet snarled, gaze flicking from one leaking leg stump to the next. “Did you even have the decency to bring your own limbs back with you?”

          All three of them startled as a smoking pile of metal was suddenly dumped on the ground between them. Ratchet blinked down at the white and red tangle of twisted armor and sparking wires. He then raised his head to see a scowling yellow frontliner with his hands on his hips. Sunstreaker was liberally splashed with energon and other fluids and looked ready to rip his way through more bodies until he was completely pink. 

          “I say take their other limbs too,” Sunstreaker barked. “Then maybe we’ll finally get some peace.”

          “You’re just mad that ‘Jack and I managed to beat you here even though we only have two legs to share between us,” Sideswipe boasted. 

          Sunstreaker’s optics blazed. “Soon you’re not gonna have any,” he promised darkly, raising his fist menacingly. 

          “I’ll take it under consideration,” Ratchet interjected, making Sunstreaker look at him in surprise. Then the two of them shared a slow, conspiratorial smile. 

          “Uh oh,” Wheeljack murmured softly to Sideswipe. “Remember that time he left me with no fingers for a week?”

Chapter Text

                “Wow. You look rough.”

                Prowl stopped inside the doorway to his quarters and found just enough energy to glare at the impertinent frontliner lounging across Prowl’s berth.

                “Not all of us are thrice-damned war-frames with thick craniums,” Prowl snapped back, making Sideswipe raise an orbital ridge in surprise. Sideswipe pushed himself upright and then off the bed, making his way towards Prowl.

                “Well, ok then, Prowl. Don’t hold back… tell me what you’re really feeling?”

                Prowl let the door shut behind him and took a step forward, shoulders slumping. He did look rough, he knew it. And he and Sideswipe were still new enough into their relationship that Prowl always took extra effort to ensure he was well-groomed prior to their off duty interactions. Sideswipe had caught him by surprise, coming here.


                “Will your brother be all right?” Prowl inquired. Sideswipe hesitantly reached out and when Prowl showed no sign of refusing him, enfolded Prowl into a warm, supportive embrace. Prowl gratefully leaned in, completely disregarding the layers of grime and weapons char coating his frame. He was quite sure Sideswipe was used to it.

                “Pfft. He’ll be fine. He was bitchin’ so much about having to stay overnight that I got tired of it and left. Thought you might appreciate my company instead.”

                Prowl sighed. “I do. I am sorry I snapped at you.”

                Sideswipe rubbed Prowl’s back, right between the doorwings hinges. Prowl shuddered, slumping further into Sideswipe at the wonderful sensation. “Hey, I get it. It was a rough day.”

                “Yes, it was,” Prowl agreed, “Still, I want you to know that I experience a great many positive emotions regarding you and your comp…”

                Prowl was silenced as Sideswipe withdrew far enough to allow him to press a kiss against Prowl’s lips. Making an appreciative noise, Prowl pressed forward, deepening the kiss.

                After a minute, Sideswipe broke away, pressing his cheek against Prowl’s. Prowl made a mournful noise, but the hand on Prowl’s back resumed petting him, making up for the end of the kiss.

                “I do so love it when you talk dirty to me,” Sideswipe teased, turning his head just slightly to sweetly press his lips against Prowl’s cheek.

Chapter Text

                 It’s kind of an instinctual thing to frag after a bad battle, especially when either one or both of them have been hurt. Especially if it was a moment in which it looked as if one of them were about to become an only child.

                It was life-affirming and all that. Nothing else confirmed that they were both living like being pressed together, sparks thumping in time beneath their chestplates, optics often locked on one another from only inches away.

                Plus, it took their processors off the pain.

                All well and good, except fragging usually overrode medic instructions. Which had its own consequences.

                “Why are you stopping?” Sunstreaker snapped, lower back arching up against Sideswipe’s belly in an utterly distracting way. Painful too, but Sideswipe’d have to be dead to not be aroused by his gorgeous twin.

                “I…” Sideswipe tried leaning one way and then the next, but quickly learned that was a bad idea. “I’m kinda… stuck?”

                Sunstreaker went very still and for a long moment, there was just the sound of their stressed systems filling the air.

                “Stuck, how?” Sunstreaker asked, a dangerous note in his voice. His shifted his weight to his left hand, right reaching back to feel along Sideswipe’s hip. The bad one, the one that had gotten stomped on earlier and the one which had been repaired so many times he’s a little surprised it hasn’t yet locked up on him during battle.

                Well, locking up during interfacing wasn’t much better.

                Sunstreaker’s hand explored and quickly discovered Sideswipe’s leg, awkwardly locked straight behind him. His other was fine, but he also didn’t quite have the leverage to continue thrusting. Sunstreaker’s quivering valve and Sideswipe’s aching spike were both a little upset about this.

                Now that Sideswipe thought about it, on his knees probably hadn’t been the best position.

                Sunstreaker was quiet for a moment longer before he gave Sideswipe’s hip a final pat. “We can fix this… we are not stopping.”

                Sideswipe affectionately nuzzled the middle of Sunstreaker’s back, grinning. Yup. They were both definitely still alive.

Chapter Text

                Wheeljack doesn’t really care a whole lot about his appearance. The ‘cons certainly don’t care, and it’s not like Wheeljack has any admirers battering down his door. Plus in his line of work… he gets dirty. There’s always splashes of something on him – grease, oil, and on one momentous occasion, Kool-aid.

                Thank you ever so much, Sideswipe.

                When he’s rushed to cobble together some sort of miracle defense or weapon, he’s often charred from a close-range explosion. And he doesn’t really mind the explosions so much, but the snide remarks afterwards are a little irritating, to be honest. Out of all of his inventions that he’s properly tested, how many of them have blown up?

                None, that’s how many. But no one ever mentions that.

                Wheeljack huffs to himself and turns under the spray, letting the solvent splash down his back. Not only had something blown up on him this time, but it had been raining for two days prior and the blast had thrown him into a deep pile of mud.

                Mud, which is now strut-deep in his person.

                So now he has to spend even longer than usual getting clean, instead of working in his lab, figuring out what had gone wrong so he doesn’t make the same mistake again.

                Grumbling to himself helps pass the time a bit. Then the screech of the door to the washroom sliding aside stirs Wheeljack from his internal complaints. He looks up and groans silently when he sees who has entered.

                Sunstreaker. Of course. Wheeljack’s honestly surprised it’s taken this long for the notoriously vain frontliner to make it to the washracks. Maybe he wanted a bit of privacy like Wheeljack had.

                Sunstreaker seems surprised to see Wheeljack as well. After giving a barely there nod of acknowledgment, Sunstreaker steps up to the shower head two down from Wheeljack. They’re as far away as is possible and Wheeljack doesn’t miss Sunstreaker’s nasal ridge wrinkling in distaste at the dirty water circling the drain.

                “That mud, huh?” Wheeljack comments, because he feels like he has to say something.              

                Sunstreaker snorts without looking at Wheeljack, instead ducking under the steamy spray of mixed water and solvent. Streams of it wash down Sunstreaker’s arms and back as he turns, thoroughly soaking himself. The light dusting of grime coating his plating quickly washes away, and the water makes the gold color practically gleam.

                Wheeljack’s mouth goes a little dry as Sunstreaker arches his neck back, letting the spray hit his chest. Wheeljack can’t stop staring as each stream of liquid highlights all of Sunstreaker’s strong and beautiful frame.

                It doesn’t take long for Sunstreaker to feel the weight of Wheeljack’s stare. He meets Wheeljack’s optics and tenses. It’s only then Wheeljack realizes how much Sunstreaker had relaxed under the hot spray.

                “What?” Sunstreaker snaps, shoulders rolling forward as if to hide himself.

                Wheeljack flounders, guilt and embarrassment warring within him. “I… you… you’re giving me a complex here,” he finally bursts out, gesturing to himself and then Sunstreaker. “Stop being so attractive!”

                Sunstreaker looks taken back for a moment, then a small smirk lifts the corners of his lips. “If you’d stop rolling around in the mud, you wouldn’t look half-bad,” he remarks. He looks at Wheeljack again, gaze extremely thorough as it moves from the top of Wheeljack’s helm, down to his pedes and then back again.

                Wheeljack feels his temperature rise, from more than just the hot shower.

                “Yeah?” he ventures hesitantly. Surely Sunstreaker isn’t… but he certainly looks as if he’s checking Wheeljack out. And liking what he sees.

                “Mm,” Sunstreaker hums. “You know, I bet you could use a hand there.”

                Wheeljack feels his optics go wide as Sunstreaker slowly but surely starts walking to him. With that damn smirk in place and his head lowered so his intent gaze is made all that more evident; Wheeljack gets the distinct impression that he is being stalked.

                This must be what a petrorabbit feels like when faced with a turbowolf.

                … Wheeljack kind of likes it.

                “You might get dirty,” Wheeljack warns, voice a little thin with anticipation.

                Sunstreaker’s smirk widens and his optics go a little dark. “It’ll be worth it,” he says.

                And pounces.

Chapter Text

                When are you getting back? First Aid asked over comms, carefully drying the latest batch of used surgical instruments.

                A few more hours. Why? Miss me? Sunstreaker’s voice turned a bit sly and First Aid snorted to himself.

                Not in the slightest. There’s just this jar that needs opening…

                Is that all I’m good for? Opening jars? Sunstreaker asked, a hint of amusement underlying the fake outrage.

                Well… you’re not bad on the optics, First Aid remarked. He patted his hands dry with a towel, finished with his task. There was just the tables left to clean.

                Strength and beauty. I could live with that, Sunstreaker remarked smugly and First Aid rolled his optics behind the visor. He gathered up the cleaning supplies needed for the surgical tables and headed into the first suite.

                Have you missed me? First Aid asked, not deigning to encourage his lover’s vanity any more than he already had.

                Sunstreaker replied immediately. Yes. Sideswipe is too tall, he complained. You fit in my arms better.

                So are you saying you can’t wait to get back here and hug me? First Aid asked, frame flushing with a pleased warmth. It was saying something that Sunstreaker admitted he’d rather hold First Aid than his own twin.

                There was a bit of a pause before Sunstreaker answered. That, he said, voice gaining a hint of a purr, and a quite a bit more.

                First Aid smiled, body heating even more with a different kind of warmth. Oh? How did you know I had more than one jar to open?

                There was silence across their open line for a minute and First Aid was half tempted to comm Sideswipe and ask what his brother’s face looked like. First Aid had the feeling he had thrown Sunstreaker for a loop.

                … is that a metaphor for something? Sunstreaker asked uncertainly and First Aid gave into the laughter bubbling up from his chest.

Chapter Text

               “ –swipe. Sideswipe. Sideswipe, are you listening?”

                Sideswipe slowly looks up and meets Ratchet’s optics, blinking twice to bring the medic’s form into focus.

                “… yeah,” Sideswipe replies, voice faint. “What?”

                Ratchet frowns, but it’s not the angry frown which means you need to run, or the irritated frown which means he’s about to start bitching. No, it’s the worried frown.

                Sideswipe hates the worried frown. That’s the expression that always heralds bad news.

                “Is Sunny ok?” Sideswipe asks, drawing himself up out of his slump. He leans over and scans through the various monitors but doesn’t see anything different on the displays than what’s been there over the past day.

                “He’s… stable. I’m more worried about you at the moment,” Ratchet replies.

                “I’m fine,” Sideswipe automatically says. “Do you think he needs another merge?”

                “I think that you need some recharge and a lot of energon. You’re on your last legs, Sideswipe, and that’s not going to help your brother.”

                Ratchet thrusts a cube at Sideswipe, over the prone form of Sunstreaker. Sideswipe glances at it before looking down at his twin.

                “I don’t know if I can,” Sideswipe says, wrinkling his nasal ridge. He knows he should drink; his fuel levels are abysmally low, but his tanks are also roiling. He doesn’t know if the energon will actually stay down him. “And I’m not sleeping.”

                “Try just a sip,” Ratchet urges, coming around the foot of Sunstreaker’s medical berth, still holding the container out. “If you can’t, I’ll have to spike a line. And you’ll need to recharge and defrag eventually.”

                Sideswipe shakes his head. “He needs me. His spark does so much better after we merge,” he says, pointing at the monitor reading Sunstreaker’s spark. It’s been three hours since their last merge and Sunstreaker’s spark is starting to do the tall peak thing every fourth pulse, which means the flutter and dropped beats are next. After that comes the arrest and shouting, and the horrible sensation of being ripped in two.

                “He is basically dependent upon you for living right now, yes,” Ratchet says, nodding. “But if your body is in shut down, it won’t let you merge and recalibrate his spark. So drink. And nap. He’s got some time before we need to merge your two halves again.”

                Sideswipe considers the cube in Ratchet’s outstretched hand for a long moment before he wearily reaches for it. The first sip stays down and so does the second, but he pauses just to wait and see. His gaze automatically drifts back to Sunstreaker’s face, slack and blank.

                “I’m tired,” Sideswipe whispers, reaching out to his twin but once again feeling no answer. “I really wish he’d wake up.”

                “Me too, Sides. Me too,” Ratchet sighs, placing a hand on Sideswipe’s shoulder and squeezing briefly.

Chapter Text

            Ratchet silently curses Jazz as he lays out several tools on the mobile stand.

            ‘You’ve got that special touch, Ratch’ Jazz had said, lips curving up just so. ‘I’m good with the ones who hate pain, but when they like it…’

            Jazz had trailed off meaningfully and Ratchet had glared. Oh, how he had glared, while inside his spark was writhing.

            It wasn’t an easy thing to balance being a medic and a sadist. At least when he was in a scene with a miscreant like Jazz, there were rules and an endgame. What rules were there to be had in an interrogation?

            “Ooh,” Vortex murmurs, head turned to observe Ratchet. “Playtime?”

            Ratchet glares at the trussed up ‘con. “Don’t be so eager.”

            “Oh, but I am,” Vortex purrs. “Not every day I get to see the Great Ratchet lower himself to touch the likes of me.”

            “The likes of you?” Ratchet asks, stepping closer. He leans over Vortex’s prone, bound form, carefully considering every inch of the other mech. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “Deviant,” Vortex hisses, throwing himself against his chains. “Pervert. Do what you want, medic, but I’ll just laugh and ask for more. I ain’t gonna tell you anything. That’s the nice thing about interrogating a masochist.”

            Something clicks inside Ratchet. Probably his medic protocols being overridden. Regardless, it allows a tension to flow off him like water.

            Vortex notices. He stills and his head tilts to the side, watching Ratchet warily.

            “I will do what I like,” Ratchet murmurs, sliding a hand up the sharp edge of a rotor. It trembles almost imperceptibly and Ratchet smiles gently. “And you will ask for more. I guess we’ll just have to see what you’ll do to get it, hmm?”

            “… oh, slag,” Vortex whimpers. Ratchet’s smile widens.


Chapter Text

             Jazz has done a lot of bad things. And questionably bad things. And good things too. Questionably good, depending on who you’re asking.

            He’s pretty fortunate that Optimus’ Disappointment Optics don’t work on him. If they did, Jazz’d probably have snuffed his own spark long ago. 

            To be honest, it’s Prowl’s reactions that Jazz uses to guide himself to ensure he’s not going too darkside. Because he would, he thinks. The longer the war goes on, the more his moral center is worn away.

            Prowl’s moral center is based on numbers and statistics. It might not be the best method for Jazz to check himself, but it works for Prowl. Prowl doesn’t sit up some nights and wonder if he’s gone too far this time.

            At least Jazz still wonders. At least Jazz still feels badly that he relies on Prowl like this.

            But it’s not like he’s not there for Prowl too. The numbers can get to be too much, can twist him into immobility because there are too many choices, none of them good. Indecision can be just as deadly as actual action.

            So he pesters his best friend until the numbers recede and that sly wit of his comes out to play. Just as Jazz reassures Optimus every time they lose, or he pokes at Ratchet until the temper explodes and then cools. Just as he pats Bluestreak on the back and lends an audial to Wheeljack’s babble.

            Good things too. To offset the bad.

Chapter Text

           “You’re quite lovely on your knees,” First Aid commented, walking through their playroom door.

            Vortex cocked his head to the side and smirked. “Yeah? You like being finally able to see the top of my head, shorty?”

            First Aid’s optics brightened, free of their visor just as Vortex had been stripped of his face mask. Concessions on both their parts.

            “Mm. Not as such,” First Aid replied, moving closer until the tips of his pedes nudged Vortex’s knees. “Spread.”

            Vortex shivered. His partner naturally spoke in light, uplifting tones. He asked, he confirmed, he agreed… he rarely ordered others about unless he was in the MedBay. But here… he pulled out some of that steel he had learned from his mentor and wielded it deftly like a surgeon with a scalpel.

            Vortex should know. He was nearly as good with one as First Aid was.

            “How wide, sir?” Vortex asked, letting his weight shift so his knees could slide along the decking.

            First Aid inclined his head forward, watching Vortex’s progress. Then he reached a hand out and thumbed the corner of Vortex’s mouth. Vortex froze, smirk wilting as the thumb pressed in, hooked behind his lower lip and pulled. First Aid’s gaze rose up to meet Vortex’s, optics two shades darker than normal.

            Vortex’s favorite color.

            “All the way, my little toy. Keep going, until your aft is on the floor,” First Aid instructed, fingers digging in on either side of Vortex’s lip. Vortex let his thighs spread wide, pedes turning out to the side. It put painful pressure on his knees to do so, but Vortex’s aft finally met the decking.

            “Is this good, sss…!” Vortex hissed as First Aid’s fingers tightened down. The digit tips practically met as the sharp microblades in First Aid’s fingertips extended, slicing into Vortex’s delicate mouth derma.

            “’Master’,” First Aid said gently. He released Vortex’s lip, flicking tiny drops of energon off his fingers. “You will call me Master tonight, yes?”

            “Yes, Master,” Vortex immediately replied, staring adoringly up at his partner. His knees, his lip. The too tight cuffs digging into his wrists. Such tiny little discomforts, but delicately doled out like the finest treats. First Aid had learned so quickly.

            “And look at you on your knees,” First Aid murmured, sliding a hand over the top of Vortex’s head to cup it. He pulled gently, leading Vortex into a forward lean. “…the perfect height.”          

            First Aid’s fingers pulled him in the final inch and Vortex pressed an energon-stained kiss to First Aid’s interface panel, humming appreciatively.

            … so very quickly.

Chapter Text

                 “You,” Bluestreak announced as he sat down next to Sideswipe at the table, “… are an idiot.”

                Sideswipe didn’t even bother looking up, his head cradled in his arms. “Yup. Definitely an idiot for thinking you’d take my side.”

                The punch to his arm was completely unexpected and managed to rock Sideswipe over. Scrambling to right himself, he stared in astonishment at Bluestreak.

                “What in the Pit…?!”

                “Yes, you are an idiot. But it’s not because you think I’m taking sides. Really. Taking sides between the two of you?” Bluestreak scoffed. “Have I ever done that? No, you’re an idiot because you don’t realize how much Sunstreaker cares about you.”

                “Ah, yes. He cares so much he chews me out in front of the entire Autobot army. Right. Absolutely, he cares about me,” Sideswipe shot back, still feeling the burn of shame and embarrassment.

                “You know he doesn’t care what others think of him,” Bluestreak said.

                “Yeah, I do know. And if I know that, he should know that screaming about how stupid I was in front of everyone isn’t exactly the best motivator for me!” Sideswipe exclaimed.

                Bluestreak blinked and slumped a little. “You’re right. He should.” He looks to the side and then brightens, leaning forward again. “So he must have been scared. Like, really scared to forget that.”

                “I was fine. I am fine,” Sideswipe muttered petulantly. Yeah, there had been a moment where he thought that he was going to die by Megatron’s fusion canon, but the crises had been averted. And he barely had a scratch on him.

                “But you might not have been,” Bluestreak said gently. “You said some pretty cruel things to someone who was just scared to lose you.”

                Sideswipe sighed and leaned forward, letting his forehelm hit the table. “… I know,” he muttered.

                Sunstreaker didn’t care about glory and killing as many Decepticons as possible; Sideswipe knew that, but he had said it anyway, because wasn’t that what everyone else thought? Few others knew that the only things Sunstreaker truly, honestly cared about was Sideswipe and the end of the war.

                “… so what are you going to do about it?” Bluestreak asked, patting Sideswipe’s shoulder.

                He thought about it for 0.4 seconds and then pushed himself to his feet. He nearly bowled Bumblebee over as he ran from the recroom and sprinted down the hall. Along the way, he thought Prowl yelled at him about something, but getting to his quarters was more important.

                Once he arrived, he paused to let his fuel pump slow and to think about what he was going to say. Just as he was about to key in the code to the lock, the door slid aside and Sideswipe stood face to face with his twin.

                Blinking rapidly, Sideswipe’s processor went blank. All the pretty words he had strung together evaporated into mid-air. His only consolation was that Sunstreaker looked equally surprised.

                “Uh… hey,” Sideswipe managed to croak out.

                “… hey,” Sunstreaker returned, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. They stared at each other for several moments before Sideswipe’s processor slowly started to crank. His mouth opened and as they’d done so many times in the past, they acted in unison.

                “I’m sorry.”

                “I’m sorry.”

                Sideswipe would claim that it was him who moved first, but he knows it was something else they did at the same time. They clutched at one another’s shoulders, chest to chest and forehelm to forehelm, staring deep into each other’s optics.

                “I shouldn’t have said…”

                “I shouldn’t have yelled…”

                “Forgive me?” Sideswipe asked hesitantly.

                Sunstreaker immediately responded. “Always.”

                “Always,” Sideswipe said in agreement, letting his optics slip closed in relief.

Chapter Text

               “Mirage… is something wrong?”

                Mirage looks up at the quiet question and is trapped by the earnest look in Hound’s optics. His own gaze shifts to the side as he carefully places his nearly full energon cube back on the table.

                “Whyever do you ask?” Mirage asks, gently tapping the fingers of his left on the table next to the cube.

                A nervous tic. His creators would have sneered at the behavior. There had been a time he would have been punished for such an uncouth affectation in the company of others.

                Now however, there is no one around to punish him for such a transgression. And really. In the grand scheme of things, it’s definitely low on the ladder of importance.

                Still. Old habits die hard.

                As do the echo of recriminations.

                Mirage pulls his hand off the table, laying it in his lap with its opposite and linking his fingers together to prevent fidgeting. He raises his chin and looks placidly back at his friend.

                Hound almost imperceptibly tilts his head to the side and his gaze sharpens. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you haven’t said more than three words this entire evening? You’re not Bluestreak, but I’ve never not known you to keep up a conversation even if it’s just fluff.”

                Mirage’s lips thin. Fluff. Small Talk. Another old habit. Keep them chatting about inconsequential things to take one’s mind off the processor-numbing boredom of their lives. Or to be more applicable, the war.

                “I apologize for not meeting your expectations,” Mirage says stiffly, another gentle tirade echoing through his helm. This time, by one of his tutors.

                Hound huffs, engine grumbling a little. “Stop it. It’s me. You know you don’t have to do that with me. Come on, what’s wrong, Mirage?”

                Hound leans forward, arm scraping along the table surface as he reaches for Mirage. His hand, thick-fingers and all, lie palm up as if in invitation. Mirage stares at it for a long moment before pursing his lips.

                “I am perhaps distracted by memories,” Mirage finally admits.

                Hound hums in the back of his throat and his gaze moves above Mirage’s shoulder, surveying the rest of the recroom.

                “Is this about what Ironhide said earlier?” Hound inquires, referring to the dismissive comments Ironhide had made about the human sport of dog racing. A sport similar enough to turbofox hunts to send Mirage tumbling down recollection pathways in his processor.

                Mirage genteelly shrugs. “He was not wrong,” he replies, traitorous hand rising once more to fiddle with the edge of his energon cube. “Frivolous activities.”

                Of course, that hadn’t been the word crusty, gruff Ironhide had used.

                “Different backgrounds,” Hound quietly reminds Mirage. “You two are from very, very different backgrounds. You know there are things he’s done you would have looked down on. Probably still do.”

                “Yes, but you do not hear me saying it,” Mirage retorts, voice a little sharper than he had intended. To his surprise, Hound glares at him.

                “Now that’s a lie and you know it. You may not stand up in front of a room and shout it out, but you certainly do mutter to yourself a lot,” Hound says. “And not always quietly enough that others don’t hear.”

                Inexplicably, Mirage feels a twinge of shame. And as always, gratefulness. Hound has a way of being blunt that Mirage finds both refreshing and enlightening.

                Usually. When Mirage is not being taken to task.

                “I… perhaps I do,” Mirage murmurs, partly to himself. “Still…”

                “There’s no going back to the past, Mirage. There’s only today and tomorrow,” Hound points out, his hand moving. It slides across the table and captures Mirage’s, gently squeezing. “You’d do well to remind yourself of that.”

                Mirage’s lips quirk themselves into a small smile and he looks up at Hound through half-shuttered optics. It’s a coy expression, but Mirage knows Hound will understand.

                “Why should I? I have you to remind me,” Mirage replies, squeezing back.

Chapter Text

          "You know... Sunny and I are going to be watching Cambor tomorrow..." Sideswipe whispers into Ratchet's audial.  

          Which... really? Now? How does Sideswipe even have the capacity for full speech? Of course, he had slowed down a bit, hadn't he? Ratchet had thought the less ferocious thrusts were because Sideswipe was savoring... or torturing Ratchet. Or both.  

          "We're thinking about getting you to install feeding lines in the both of us," Sunstreaker adds apropos of nothing as he slowly fists his spike. His optics are dark, gone indigo with lust. He’s mostly watching tonight, and had barely even kissed Ratchet before Sideswipe had taken over. Sunstreaker hadn't let Ratchet touch him either, which was a shame. Between the twins was always a good time and Sunstreaker's spike just looked so tasty... 

          "Feeding... lines?" Ratchet gasps as Sideswipe bottoms out. The red twin leans in close, chestplate to Ratchet's dorsum.  

          "So we can feed Cambor, of course. Would you do that for us, Ratch? Help us help Jazz and Prowl out? It'll be good practice..." Sideswipe purrs, hand slipping around Ratchet's hip to brush fingers over the top of his bobbing spike.  

          "Oh, frag..." Ratchet murmurs, optics practically fixated on the slow rise and fall of Sunstreaker's fingers. "Practice?" 

          "Why, for our own little bitlet, of course. You want that, don't you? A little sparkling of our own to take care of. You know we'd keep it safe." 

          Ratchet's optics slip closed and he cants his hips back invitingly. "I know," he replies, choking on the words as Sideswipe pulls out and then slams back in, grinding his spike against Ratchet's ceiling node.  

          "And we'd take care of you too," Sideswipe murmurs, voice lowering. "When you're round and full... barely able to walk. They say twins beget twins... have you heard that?" 

          "... haven't..." Oh, but now Ratchet wonders.    

          It had been no secret that seeing Sideswipe and Sunstreaker with Cambor that first time had done something to Ratchet. Ignited an ember in him that seemed to be just a few words away from a raging fire. It didn't matter if he speculated about carrying himself or one of the twins... although imagining Sunstreaker sparked up inspired both lust and a little bit of horror.  

          Sideswipe's hand moves away, back to Ratchet's abdomen, cupping it. "At the end..." Sideswipe says words burring around the edges. Either Sideswipe's voice is going, or Ratchet's audials are. Hard to say whose, as Sideswipe's rhythm is picking up again.  

          "... at the end, you won't be walking. We're gonna pamper you hand and foot, give you anything you want," Sideswipe pants. "Look... look at Sunny, Ratchet. See how he's laying?" 

          Ratchet's optic shutters pop open and he does as instructed, gazing upon Sunstreaker's sprawled form. His back is propped up with a mountain of pillows and he looks very comfortable. Ratchet would probably go insane with inactivity if he couldn't move from carrying. But the twins taking care of him... that did sound nice. 

          "That's gonna be you," Sideswipe croons, his hands moving to Ratchet's hips, gripping them tightly. Sideswipe starts thrusting harder, faster, Ratchet rocking forward and back on his hands and knees.  

          Ratchet's elbows give out on him and his upper body hit the berth. "Yes... yes!" he hisses. "Do it..." 

          Sideswipe shoves deep, growling out his pleasure as warmth blooms within the depths of Ratchet's valve. The excess pressure on his ceiling node tips Ratchet over the edge into overload and he cries out, visual and audial sensors fritzing.  

          "Please... oh, please..." he whimpers as spams of bliss overtook his frame.  

          It seems like an eternity later when gentle hands maneuver him onto his side, giving his back some much needed relief. A warm body cuddles up behind him and Ratchet sighs, blearily opening his optics to see Sunstreaker sitting in a chair to the side of the berth, stylus flying across his drawing pad.  

          "What are you drawing?" Ratchet asks sleepily. Normally Sunstreaker would be snuggled up on the other side of Ratchet by now.  

          "You," Sunstreaker replies absently. "Sides painted a pretty picture. I wanted to bring it to life. What colors do you think our sparklings would be?" 

         As Ratchet stares at Sunstreaker, it finally sinks in that Ratchet hadn’t been the only one affected by Cambor cradled so safely in the twins’ arms. He had thought the twins had been feeding into Ratchet’s fantasy, but maybe it wasn’t his and his alone…

Chapter Text

                “Woah, there… you’re sinking a little,” Sideswipe murmured, sliding further under Ratchet’s upper body and propping him up.

                Sunstreaker made a tsking noise as this made Ratchet’s lower body bob in the viscous oil, the cleanser-laden sponge slipping out of Sunstreaker’s fingers.

                “I can close my vents,” Ratchet mumbled sleepily. He redirected his left leg, nudging it back against Sunstreaker’s arm. Sunstreaker laughed quietly, but fetched the sponge and began lathering Ratchet’s leg again.

                “That’s too much effort. Especially when I can hold you,” Sideswipe said. His hands smoothed down Ratchet’s shoulders, massaging each and every plating seam in Ratchet’s arms, just as Sunstreaker was doing the same to Ratchet’s legs.

                A hot oil bath was an indulgence Ratchet rarely took part in. But after several long, rough days, Ratchet just couldn’t find it in himself to say no to the twins’ proposal. Now he was doubly glad he had agreed, especially after Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had essentially taken over the act of bathing Ratchet.

                “You’re spoiling me,” Ratchet complained, letting his optics slip back closed.

                Sideswipe kissed the top of Ratchet’s helm, his fingers ghosting over the lateral edges of Ratchet’s windshield. At Ratchet’s other end, Sunstreaker carefully lifted Ratchet’s leg out of the oil and brushed his lips over the bend of Ratchet’s knee.

                “Yes,” Sunstreaker agreed. “Now shush… we’ve only just gotten started.”

Chapter Text

                “So… how do I know you?” Springer asked. Because while every fiber of his being felt drawn to the gruff mech he didn’t recognize standing in front of him, Springer was never one to trust easily.

                Kup shrugged. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told ya.”

                “Try me,” Springer said. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

                Kup raised an orbital ridge and didn’t look the slightest bit impressed. “I time traveled. You and me? We’re bonded. You had an accident; corrupted half your processor and apparently forgot me.”

                Springer blinked a few times. Ah. No wonder the other mech didn’t seem impressed.

                “But I don’t think your spark forgot,” Kup added. He took a step forward and poked the end of his cygar into Springer’s plating, directly over his spark chamber. “Did it?”

                Before he could reply, Springer heard the clink of the distant prison door unlocking and the two of them sprang apart, both dropping down into defensive crouches. They ended up side by side, Springer instinctively pressing against Kup.

                Springer shot a startled glance over at the other mech, just in time to see Kup smirk back at him.

                Time travel, huh?

Chapter Text

                “Please… please,” Starscream moaned, hand outstretched across the grit-strewn floor. His other hand worked between his legs, pumping four fingers as deep as they would go into his aching valve.

                Sunstreaker shot a disdainful look over his shoulder and continued thrusting into his twin, seemingly intent on bending Sideswipe in half.

                Sideswipe shifted, turning his head and staring hazily at Starscream. The blue of his optics was clouded, his mouth slack. Lips moving silently, Sideswipe freed an arm from beneath him and reached it back to smack Sunstreaker in the hip.


                “I’m not sticking my spike in that!” Sunstreaker snapped and clutched Sideswipe’s waist tighter. “It’s bad enough with you!”

                Starscream dimly wondered how the notoriously close brothers would do after they finally got out of this cave and the effects of the odd flowers adorning its walls wore off. But more important than the incestuous ramifications of what the twins were doing, was the hope that Sideswipe somehow could convince his brother to include Starscream in their tryst.

                “You know… how much… it hurt,” Sideswipe said reproachfully between pants. “What if it… kills him?”

                Sunstreaker’s engine growled angrily. “So what?!”

                Starscream sobbed a little, his abdomen clenching in pain. His hand still moved, desperately seeking relief. But it had become clear from the twins that nothing would relieve the ache inside him except another’s spike.

                “Sunny,” Sideswipe chided.

                Sunstreaker’s hips slowed and then stopped. Cursing, Sunstreaker tore away from his twin, Sideswipe’s aft swaying without support. Spike dripping and plastered against his lower abdomen, Sunstreaker strode over to Starscream and grabbed his unoccupied hand.

                Yanking, Sunstreaker slid Starscream across the ground in little increments, tiny rocks scraping painfully against his wings. Starscream could care less. The fingers wrapped around his wrist ignited an even hotter flame within his groin.

                With one giant heave, Sunstreaker tossed Starscream over the last bit of distance separating him and Sideswipe. “Here then. You frag him.”

                Too good to spike Starscream himself, but apparently Sideswipe was fine to do so. Whatever. Starscream would take Megatron’s spike right now it had been available.

                Shaking, Sideswipe shuffled closer, throwing a leg over Starscream’s middle. Sideswipe’s spike dripped transfluid, twitching and bobbing in mid-air. But he didn’t immediately drive into Starscream as he had anticipated.

                “You ok with this?” Sideswipe asked, his weight held up on his palms and knees. Those hazy blue optics locked in on Starscream’s, enough of Sideswipe’s self-control remaining to ask for permission.

                “Stupid Autobot!” Starscream hissed impatiently. While a nice sentiment, Starscream thought he actually might be dying. “Get down here!”

                He tilted his hips up, knees pressing against the outside of Sideswipe’s thighs and fortunately, that was enough consent for the frontliner. His hips snapped forward, seating that delightfully hard spike completely within Starscream’s valve.

                Starscream yowled out in immediate overload, the sound nearly obscuring Sideswipe’s grunt as Sunstreaker knelt behind him and reentered his twin.

                “How the fuck is this my life?” Starscream head Sunstreaker mutter.

                As Starscream spread his legs wider to better fit Sideswipe between them, Starscream found himself wondering the same.


Chapter Text

                At first, he thought he was going to be devoured, plating dissolving away beneath the slippery slime the tentacles produced. It didn’t take long for it to get everywhere. It wasn’t all that viscous, although there was a great deal of it, especially with over sixty limbs slithering over Sunstreaker’s body. The thin goo dribbled down through every crack and seam, quickly coating every wire, cable, and strut. The only place it didn’t go was his spark, as it was sealed tight behind it’s crystal. Thank Primus for that; having his spark smothered by alien tentacle slime was definitely not how Sunstreaker wanted to go.

                Nor was being eaten, for that matter.

                But the goo didn’t dissolve anything. Sunstreaker dripped as if he had just come from an oil bath, but his plating and other bits of kibble remained intact. He had no idea what purpose the slime served after his first theory had been disproved.

                He still doesn’t know. All he knows is that it makes each pass of the tentacles across his plating smooth and practically frictionless. It’s like the best wax massage he’s ever gotten and it doesn’t take long for him to start arching into every slither, engine purring. He feels good, petted and worshipped, and when one thin tentacle inquisitively strokes the seam of his interface panel, he lets it slide aside without any doubt.

                Sunstreaker deserves this. He deserves to be reverently touched and cradled, brought to pleasure over and over again. He’s never been with anyone who’s been able to be everywhere at once like this and Sunstreaker finds it intoxicating.

                He gives in, gives up, like he never has before and floats, serene and accepting.

Chapter Text

                Optimus is a large mech. He has a large engine and even on a regular day, he puts off a lot of heat. Jazz adores that heat. He loves it curled around his back, he loves to sprawl on top of it… any which way he can get it.

                So he’s pretty pleased now, seated atop Optimus’ thighs. Heat buffets Jazz’s frame as if he were sitting on the lip of a volcano. His plating is dripping condensation although it’s nothing like the amount that’s pouring off Optimus’ frame. The bedding beneath him is practically soaked through.

                “Havin’ a good time, love?” Jazz asks, sliding his hands lightly across Optimus’ windshield.

                Optimus arches into the touch with a moan, optics dim. He’s long since gone non-verbal, right about after the fifth overload. Now he just whimpers and whines and groans in a language all of its own.

                Fortunately Jazz is well suited to understand it.

                “Ahh… sounds like a ‘yes’. Think you have a few more in ya?” Jazz scoots forward, the pleats of his valve spreading around Optimus’ hard spike. He rocks back and forth, grinding his anterior node against the raised edge of the spikehead.

                Optimus jerks his arms, the chains holding them taut above his head rattling with the motion. His hips jerk, but they’re tied down as well. Jazz is relatively small in comparison to his lover, and he hadn’t wanted to be bucked off during a sensitive moment.

                “Mm. Another ‘yes’. Good thing… I totally ain’t done yet,” Jazz remarks in a low purr.

                He knows Optimus can get even hotter and Jazz wants every iota of that heat.

Chapter Text

                Sunstreaker looks up. And up.

                The green mech is tall. Sunstreaker isn’t short by any stretch of the imagination, but this… Grimlock… stands taller by a good foot. He has broad shoulders, a lively color scheme, and a charming smile.

                Sunstreaker might fall instantly in love.

                Well, maybe not love. But definitely lust.

                “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Sunstreaker says warmly and extends an arm in greeting. Grimlock hesitantly returns it and they clasp forearms.

                “Yeah, you too. Welcome to Earth. I hope you’ll like it here.”

                Sunstreaker tightens his grip on Grimlock’s arm and uses it to pull himself forward, up into Grimlock’s space. Grimlock looks startled but doesn’t push Sunstreaker away.

                “I’m sure I will,” Sunstreaker purrs. “Especially since you’re here.”

                “Uhhh… Thanks?” Grimlock replies.

                “Really, Sunny?” Sideswipe interjects, physically squirming his way between his twin and Grimlock. “You’ve been here all of five minutes. Leave the poor guy alone.”

                I want him.

                Sideswipe rolls his optics and nudges Sunstreaker to take a step back. Of course you do.

                “You’ll have to excuse my brother, Grim. He’s pretty much permanently overclocked and you are… definitely his type,” Sideswipe says, giving Grimlock a once over.

                Ha! Like they both don’t have the same type. But Sunstreaker gets the feeling that Sideswipe hasn’t indulged himself with this wonderful specimen.

                “His type?” Grimlock asks, looking utterly confused. Sunstreaker’s smile falters.

                “I’ll explain later, Grim. C’mon, Sunny,” Sideswipe says, urging Sunstreaker away.

                “I don’t understand. You haven’t ‘faced him? Surely he knows I was flirting?” Sunstreaker asks, giving a longing glance over his shoulder at the mech they were leaving behind.

                “No, we’re just friends! And I doubt it. Seriously - leave him alone. He’s like a sparkling. A really big sparkling, and I won’t have you corrupting him. He’s the picture of innocence,” Sideswipe says, linking his arm through his brother’s.

                “Oh, but those are the best kind to play with!” Sunstreaker says excitedly. Sideswipe merely glares and sends wordless death threats over their renewed bond.

                Sunstreaker ignores them. He gets what he wants and he wants Grimlock.

Chapter Text

               “I don’t know why he would lie to me like that,” Bluestreak said mournfully.

                Hound frowned. “But what if he wasn’t lying? What if he really did lose track of time?”

                Bluestreak gave Hound a Look. “Prowl? Lose track of time? He has his entire day scheduled down to the millisecond. No. He just hates spending time with me; I probably annoy him.”

                Hound reached out and swatted Bluestreak across the shoulder. “Prowl adores you. Anyone can see it, especially in the way he looks at you. I’m sure he had a really good reason for missing out the on the concert. I mean, it’s not like he’s second in command of the entire Autobot army on Earth or anything.”

                “I know he’s busy, I know he does a lot. But I never get a chance to spend time with him!” Bluestreak whined. “I miss him!”

                “Bluestreak…” Hound grabbed Bluestreak’s shoulders and turned him around so that they faced one another. “Prowl raised you from a sparkling. He loves you and would do anything for you. So have you told him you don’t think the two of you have enough time together? Because if you did, I’m sure he would drop everything, just for you.”

                “Yes!” Then Bluestreak’s sensory panels drooped. “Maybe… ok, no I haven’t said anything.”

                “Yeah, exactly. Primus save him, but Prowl’s kinda a dunce. Even you have to agree to that. He probably has no idea he’s been ignoring you.”

                Bluestreak’s lips quirked upwards in a smile before he could help himself. “You’re right. On both counts. All right, I’ll track him down later tonight and talk to him. Thanks, Hound. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

                Hound grinned. “There would be ten times as many adorable Blue pouts, that’s for sure!”

Chapter Text

                “Starscream. Starscream, you are not yourself,” Megatron growled, pushing the Seeker away for the tenth time.

                “I am every inch of myself. And every inch of me needs you,” Starscream replied, immediately replastering himself back against Megatron’s side. All five of the other mechs in the control room, including Soundwave, were looking anywhere but at the tableau in the corner, and Megatron silently cursed them all for not helping.

                Megatron gazed at the ceiling and silently asked Primus for help. This was the first time Megatron had ever been around a flier in heat and it was… trying… to say the least.

                “Every inch of you needs a heat suppressant,” Megatron retorted, wriggling his hands between their frames in an attempt to get a hold of Starscream and toss him away. Starscream purred at the touch and took it as an invitation. His wings waggled excitedly and as the sharp tang of lubricant filled the air, Megatorn realized Starscream had loosed his panel.

                “It’s too late for that. I need a suitable mate. Only you will do, my liege. Show me, mighty Megatron… show me why you are so mighty…”

                The words were spoken in a dark, needy tone, so unlike Starscream’s whiny high pitch that Megatron reflexively stared down at him. Starscream’s crimson optics gazed back, hazy with lust.

                It was a nice look on him, Megatron decided. There was no hate there, no disdain. Only a desperate need. For Megatron.

                “I have an army to run,” Megatron replied absently. No one had ever looked at Megatron like this; it was actually a little heady. “I have no time for this foolishness.”

                Starscream’s closest leg rose, sliding along the outside of Megatron’s thigh with a soft chime of metal. The odor of lubricant grew stronger and Megatron felt a drop of something spatter against the top of his pede.

                “It’s not foolishness if you want it too,” Starscream whispered. His grip on Megatron’s arms loosened and he stroked up to Megatron’s shoulders. Starscream licked his lower lip, and Megatron broke.

                “Soundwave, you have control. Make sure no one disturbs me unless it is of the utmost urgency,” Megatron announced. He bent at the waist, sliding his arms around Starscream’s middle and hoisting him over Megatron’s shoulder. Starscream giggled, his thrustered heels kicking merrily.

                “Yes, Mighty Megatron,” Soundwave intoned innocently.           

Chapter Text

                “Ratchet? Might I borrow your pet now that you’re done?” Rung asked idly.

                Ratched took a step back, admiring the stripes of transfluid decorating Sideswipe’s face. Sideswipe’s mouth hung open, lips swollen and wet. His glossa swept out, licking up the closest spurts with a hum of satisfaction.

                “What do you have in mind?” Ratchet asked, looking over to see Rung perched atop Megatron’s broad chest. The heavy gray plating was spread wide, the interior of Megatron’s chest cavity lit by the flickering tendrils of Megatron’s spark. As Ratchet watched, Rung dipped a finger into the blue core, making Megatron’s hands twitch where they rested on Rung’s tiny waist.

                “His begging is just pitiful really,” Rung pouted, twirling his finger. Megatron’s neck arched, his optics flickering at the stimulation. A guttural moan tore out of his throat as Rung added a second finger to stroke Megatron’s spark.

                “I thought perhaps Sideswipe could incite him to be a little louder?” Rung suggested.

                Ratchet looked back down at Sideswipe and arched an orbital ridge. “Wanna put that glossa of yours to use again?” Ratchet asked. His thumb stroked along Sideswipe’s puffy lower lip, slipping inside and over the glossa in question. Ratchet twisted his wrist, forcing his thumb as deep as it could go until Sideswipe’s mouth butted up against Ratchet’s hand. Then he withdrew it, painting oral lubricant over Sideswipe’s lips.

                “What’s in it for me?” Sideswipe asked cheekily. He turned his head and latched onto Ratchet’s hand, denta biting down until pressure warnings trickled across Ratchet’s HUD.

                Ratchet lightly slapped the side of Sideswipe’s helm in warning and Sideswipe let go, soothing the bite with a light kiss.

                “While you lick his spark to overload, I’ll eat out your valve until you come. How does that sound?” Rung asked, ever so innocently.

                Sideswipe’s optics brightened, despite the inherent burn he’d surely receive on his unprotected glossa. Of course, after three hours without overloading, Ratchet was pretty sure Sideswipe would do anything to find release. “I’m up for it. Owner?”

                He looked up at Ratchet for permission, head cocked to the side inquisitively. Ratchet nodded. “Off you get. Make him scream for me, pet.”

                Sideswipe grinned, dark and feral, just like the hound he was pretending to be. “Not a problem.”

                He dropped back down to all fours and started crawling on all fours over to where Megatron was sprawled out. The fluffy tail attached to the plug in Sideswipe’s aft port swayed hypnotically with every swing of Sideswipe’s hips.

                Ratchet watched Megatron turn his head to observe Sideswipe approach, optics widening at the expression on Sideswipe’s face. As well he should.

                Sideswipe loved making Megatron scream.

                And Ratchet loved to watch.

Chapter Text

          Never mix with business with pleasure. Vortex knew this. He knew this. Yet what had he done?

           Yell it loud so the rest of the class can hear, students!

           Yup. Vortex had mixed business with pleasure.

           But, honestly, no one could really blame him. The Terror Twins were hot.

           Like… insanely hot. Ok, yeah, they were physically pretty to the naked optic, everyone said so, but the way they tore into their enemies? With claws and knives and swords and everything sharp?

           The wounds they inflicted on the Seekers were beautiful… precise… efficient. It made the energon in his lines run a little faster every time he saw the cuts, framed in rose pink as if to highlight their perfection.

           So when Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had lost to Megatron and had been dragged back to the Nemesis, Vortex had been ever so pleased to earn the honor of interrogating them.

           It had started out normal.

           He was pretty sure he had managed to keep his starry-opticed awe in check at least. But he hadn’t been able to hide the uncertainty when Sunstreaker had started arching his back and purring beneath Vortex’s blades.

           No one did that. They all vocalized… yelled and screamed and shouted, yes, but never moaned like the stars in a pornvid.

           And then Sideswipe had smiled… just a pleased little upturn of his lips like he knew all the answers in the universe.

           “A little to the left,” he had said. And “Harder. Deeper. Trust me, he can take it.”

           And Vortex had followed each instruction, hesitantly at first, then more confidently until Sunstreaker’s plating was streaked with energon and coolant and his optics were clenched tight with bliss.

           When Sideswipe had said ‘stop’, Vortex had immediately ceased all activities and looked at him expectantly. Sideswipe had leaned his helm back against the vertical table and stared back through half-lidded optics.

           “Now me,” he had purred and Vortex had been so eager to do so, he had slipped in a puddle of Sunstreaker’s energon and nearly faceplanted on the floor.

           Halfway through Sideswipe’s torture (torture? interrogation? frag? Vortex still didn’t know what to call it), Sunstreaker had taken over the instruction for his brother. By then Sideswipe was too far gone… panting and moaning deliriously with each slice of Vortex’s knife.

           Starscream had stormed in shortly after, arms crossed over his cockpit and pouting. His spirits had lifted when he had seen what the twins had looked like, but the Seeker had ultimately announced that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been bartered for.

           Later, after the haze had cleared, Vortex had been perplexed at what had happened. Oh, he had always enjoyed his job in a distant way, but what he had done to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been more than a job. And Vortex had gotten more than just enjoyment out of it; he felt like he had hit nirvana.

           He had reassured himself that it was over, though. They were back with their own faction and no one was the wiser. They had gone to the Autobots a mess; no one could deny that Vortex had worked them over.

           But now there’s this. Sprawled on his back in root form, panting up at the mech who had ripped him out of the sky during the latest battle.

           “Hey, there,” Sideswipe murmurs. “Fancy meeting you here. Oh, by the way... wanted to give you a present in return for being such a good host the last time we met.”

           Sideswipe’s arm moves faster than Vortex can track and a lightening hot flare of pain echoes through his chest. He blinks dumbly down at himself to see a blade the length of his forearm buried sideways through his cockpit. His HUD immediately feeds him a list of injuries, but none of them are immediately fatal. In fact, the sharp edge of the shortsword had missed his spark by just millimeters.

           “You keep that,” Sideswipe encourages with a smile and a wink. “Never know when you might have use of it again.”

           Then he shoves off Vortex’s frame, accepting a hand from his twin who had suddenly appeared behind him. Sunstreaker smirks at Vortex and then they bound away, probably to attack another Decepticon, one who won’t appreciate their skill.

           And then Vortex realizes what he has done – mixed business with pleasure and created something unholy.

           There’s no going back. He’s hooked on those bright smiles and pained/pleasured moans and he wants more.


           He’d be filled with remorse except that’s not really a thing Vortex does.



Chapter Text

                Starscream was a hot, needy mess by the time Megatron bared his spike. Anticipation had made Starscream’s valve wet and hungry, especially after Megatron had devoted so much time to it with those wide, blunt fingers Starscream was in love with.

                But seeing Megatron’s spike made Starscream pause.

                “That will fit?” Starscream asked. His wings went motionless, no more fanning restlessly.

                Megatron smiled down at him, not unkindly, and continued stroking his wide length. He used the hand whose fingers had been inside Starscream, so Megatron’s spike glistened more with each passing stroke. The thing seemed huge, much, much larger than two fingers.

                “It will fit. Or are you not up to the challenge?”

                Starscream bristled. “Well, if you insist it will fit, then get down here with it!”

                Megatron smiled again and shuffled forward on his knees. Starscream’s thighs widened to bracket Megatron’s waist as Starscream felt the first gentle prod from the spike. It teased around Starscream’s opening, slipping against his aching node again and again and helping to ease some of his anxiety.

                He sighed, hands clutching at Megatron’s shoulders. Megatron placed a kiss on the side of Starscream’s mouth, nuzzling.

                “It will likely hurt at first, my little innocent,” Megatron murmured, beginning the first inward press.

                “I’m no innocent,” Starscream replied, although the retort lacked heat.

                “Maybe. But the breaking of your seal will sting.”

                Starscream’s head arched backwards as Megatron eased forward until his spike head was completely inside, Starscream’s valve rippling wildly around the intruder. Megatron paused, allowing Starscream to adjust to the new sensation.

                “Very good,” Megatron murmured, kissing Starscream’s jaw. “You’re doing so well.”

                “I’m not doing anything but lying here,” Starscream said waspishly, but Megatron’s words made something deep inside his belly liquefy. It helped take his mind of the feeling of being spread so wide.

                Megatron pushed deeper in reply. “But you’re so lovely doing so.”

                It was hard for Starscream to judge, but he thought Megatron was about a third of the way inserted when Starscream felt a painful ache start to form. He made a startled sound and Megatron immediately stopped and then slowly started to withdraw.

                “No, you don’t have to stop…!” Starscream protested, but was immediately mollified as Megatron thrust forward again shallowly.

                “I have no intention of doing so,” Megatron said, and continued to make short little penetrations with his spike. He started picking up speed and leaned back a bit so he could fit a hand between their bellies. His thumb unerringly found Starscream’s node and circled it.

                Starscream cried out the sensation, reflexively squeezing down on Megatron’s spike.

                “Mm, very nice, my pretty Star. You’re so responsive to me. Does this feel good?” Megatron asked, lightly rubbing directly over Starscream’s nub. His thrusts picked up speed and that ball of liquid heat in the pit of Starscream’s belly started to spread throughout the rest of his body.

                “Yes! Please!” Starscream cried, tilting his pelvis up to better receive Megatron. It no longer felt like Megatron was splitting him open. There was still pressure, an odd pressure, but combined with the manipulation of his node, it only felt good. Really good.

                “Excellent,” Megatron purred, kissing his way to Starscream’s audial. “Will you overload for me?”

                Oh, Starscream would do anything for Megatron at this point. Especially when the mech took Starscream’s node between his digit tips and lightly pinched it. Starscream came with a started shout, hips bucking upwards as his wings fluttered wildly on the berth to either side of him.

                At the height of Starscream’s overload, Megatron reared back and thrust forward again, but this time forcefully enough that Starscream slid up the berth a few inches. He yelped again, this time in pain as Megatron hilted himself completely, his thighs meeting Starscream’s aft.

                Megatron gathered Starscream close as distressed cries poured from Starscream’s mouth, unbidden. That had hurt, enough to make Starscream terrified of moving and optical fluid to well up and spill over his cheeks.

                “Shh, my pretty, shhh… This was the best way. It’s over with now, you did so well.” Megatron continued to praise Starscream and stroke the top of his head. It was several minutes before Starscream managed to relax again, but eventually he dug his talons out of Megatron’s plating.

                “I didn’t like that,” Starscream confessed and Megatron smiled indulgently.

                “Of course not. But you handled it well. And you feel so good around me,” Megatron replied. “So warm and tight.”

                Starscream flushed all over, his wings fluttering again in pleasure at the praise and approving expression on Megatron’s face. If Megatron kept that up, Starscream thought any pain felt in his valve must just be worth it.

Chapter Text

                “Hanging in there?” Sideswipe whispers into Wheeljack’s audial. A warm hand slips over Wheeljack’s side and palms his sagging abdomen.

                Wheeljack rests his cheek on Sunstreaker’s thigh and makes an appreciative hum.

                “How’s the bitlet doing?” Sunstreaker asks, stroking the top of Wheeljack’s helm. Clever fingers fondle Wheeljack’s sensitive crest and he moans, aft arching in entreaty. Sideswipe’s spike slips a fraction deeper, another trickle of mixed fluids spilling over the edge of Wheeljack’s valve.

                Sideswipe’s other hand reaches around and they both cup the mound where the almost-to-term sparkling resides.

                “Restless,” Wheeljack admits. He shifts his weight to one hand and squeezes Sideswipe’s fingers. “You’re not done, are you?”

                “Oh, no,” Sideswipe replies, withdrawing slightly only to thrust deep again. He drapes himself over Wheeljack’s back, forcing him to drop his other hand to the ground or be unbalanced. “We’ve got several more overloads apiece for you. And you’re barely showing.”

                Sunstreaker bends, sliding a hand beneath Wheeljack’s chest. He fondles the feeding pouches there, just now bowing out the plating covering them. As they get more and more engorged, the armor there will get thinner, more pliable. Each load of transfluid encourages the sparkling’s core energies and thus its speed of kindling. The closer Wheeljack is to birth, the larger his pouches will become in preparation for feeding.

                “Good,” Wheeljack says, eagerly clenching his valve calipers around Sideswipe’s spike. Sideswipe shivers, clutching his waist. “Keep going, stretch me out more. I want you both, at once. I want it all.”

Chapter Text

                “Sunstreaker’s gonna live, Sideswipe,” Ratchet snapped, wrist deep in Trailbreaker’s internals. He took a half second to glare at the frontliner who at least isn’t crowding the table too much. “Would you kindly frag off and wait your turn?”

                “I don’t need a turn!” Sideswipe snapped back, deftly sidestepping a spurt of energon. “And I know Sunny’s gonna live, but he hurts. Like, really hurts. He’s begging me across the bond to do something.”

                “I don’t suppose you seeing me fighting to save Trailbreaker’s life here, do you?” Ratchet asked, hands moving rapidly in order to do just that. The other mech’s engine wouldn’t stop sputtering and Ratchet couldn’t quite find the source of the bleed. “What do you expect me to do exactly?”

                Sideswipe threw his hands up in the air. “Tell me what to get, and I’ll give it to him!”

                Suddenly the seepage of energon turned into a flood and Ratchet cursed. “Fragging… Sideswipe, get over here.”

                There’s a sparkbeat of silence and then Ratchet heard a startled “what?!”

                “I need your hands, give me your hands,” Ratchet urged. “NOW!!”

                Sideswipe darted around the table to the opposite side. His hands hovered over Trailbreaker’s open and exposed ventrum until Ratchet grabbed one and pulled in down into the chest cavity.

                “Hold that. Squeeze tight,” Ratchet barked, fitting Sideswipe’s fingers over a rapidly pulsing line just inches away from Trailbreaker’s still intact fuel pump.

                Small miracles.

                Sideswipe made an unhappy noise, but did as instructed, helping to pinch off the line. Ratchet utilized Sideswipe’s other fingers in much the same way farther down Trailbreaker’s abdomen, creating impromptu ligatures.

                “Ewwww…” Sideswipe muttered to himself, although Ratchet caught him staring down into Trailbreaker’s body with fascination.

                “You’re kidding, right?” Ratchet remarked, suctioning up the energon which now seemed to be back down to a seep. “Big bad frontliner like you, always ripping into ‘cons?”

                “That’s different. I like Trailbreaker,” Sideswipe replied. “Well… kinda.”

                “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it. Alright, let go slowly with this hand,” Ratchet instructed, tapping Sideswipe’s right forearm. As he did, Ratchet watched the line he had just patched to ensure the mesh would hold. It did, so Ratchet repeated the process with the other tear, which also stayed intact.

                “That did it,” Ratchet said with no little satisfaction. Trailbreaker was far from being out of the woods, but it was a good first step. “Not bad, Sideswipe. I might use you as a medical assistant more often… Sideswipe?”

                Ratchet peered up at Sideswipe, seeing the other mech's optics clenched tight as if in pain. His energon drenched fingers gripped the edge of Trailbreaker’s plating so tightly that Ratchet could see the armor starting to dent.

                “Woah, woah, Sides, easy there,” Ratchet said softly, peeling back Sideswipe’s fingers. “Sunny?”

                Sideswipe nodded his head, and over the sound of the MedBay’s machinery and two dozen other moaning mechs, Ratchet heard Sideswipe’s engine flip over with a strained roar. He swayed in place, reaching out a hand to grab the table to steady himself. 

                Ratchet reached into subspace and withdrew several vials. He pressed them into Sideswipe’s closest palm. Sideswipe opened his optics and blinked rapidly at Ratchet.

                “Give him one in his main port; if that’s not enough, follow it up with the second.” Ratchet felt the first inkling of doubt as he studied Sideswipe's pain-creased face. Both twins had a high tolerance for pain and for Sideswipe to show it when it wasn't even his... 

                “I have to see to Prowl’s doorwings before his processor overloads from the sensory input. But you can help me by finding out where it hurts your brother the most. Get him to open his armor and take a look. You know injuries; if it looks bad, holler for me. I'll be over as soon as I can.”

                Sideswipe nodded shakily and went to see to his brother, while Ratchet closed Trailbreaker’s chest plates and slapped a remote monitor on him. The immediate danger was taken care of; Ratchet could manually disconnect Prowl’s sensory suite then maybe pop over to see Sunstreaker. 

                Ratchet had already triaged him but maybe he had missed something. He’d leave it up to Sideswipe to decide. Considering their anatomical knowledge learned from millenia of taking things apart, they could triage almost as well as a fully trained medic. Unless their twin was wounded; then the one in need of repair usually took precedence. But over time, they had gradually learned that that couldn't be the way Ratchet or any of the medical team operated. 

                Ratchet trusted Sideswipe would be able to tell the difference between truly critical and able to wait.


                 It took Ratchet another hour to get over to Sunstreaker. Sideswipe hadn’t called for him, and a 'con had apparently shot Ironhide in the back of the helm with a rust pellet. The old warrior's plating was slowly being devoured and it was a centimeter away from Ironhide’s processor when Ratchet had noticed. Which of course meant Ratchet had to do an immediate cut then and there.

                 After that, Ratchet surveyed the bay, ensuring there were no more criticals that needed his attention. When he had concluded there weren't, Ratchet wearily made his way over to the twins. The first thing he saw was Sideswipe straddling his brother on the exam table. Which… was not the oddest thing Ratchet had ever witnessed concerning these two. 

                 Moving to the side of the berth, Ratchet could see Sideswipe bent over, his forehelm pressed against Sunstreaker’s. Sunstreaker’s chest plating was retracted and Sideswipe’s frame was hovering protectively over Sunstreaker’s. To Ratchet’s great concern, he could see the reflections of wildly flickering sparklight in Sideswipe’s paint.

                 “Sideswipe, can you let me see?” Ratchet asked, placing a light hand on the small of Sideswipe’s back. Sideswipe stirred, sluggishly raising up and turning to blink dazedly at Ratchet.

                 “Thanks for the meds. I gave him both; they helped a little.”

                 A little? Three vials would knock out Optimus; Ratchet was surprised Sunstreaker was even awake, but the frontliner was staring sightlessly up at the ceiling, panting rapidly. 

                 “What happened exactly?” Ratchet asked, observing that Sunstreaker’s right chest plate was blackened and blistered.

                 “Megatron’s cannon. Sunny twisted to the side at the last second, but it still caught him. I think some of the blast leaked through the seam, caught his spark,” Sideswipe explained, lifting a leg over his brother so he could kneel at Sunstreaker’s opposite side.

                 Ratchet peered down into Sunstreaker’s chest and winced in sympathy. Sunstreaker’s crystal was intact although severely charred on the side, as well as all the circuitry in the upper right portion of his thoracic cavity.

                 “You need to stop going after him,” Ratchet remarked, fingers ghosting along the line of damage. No wonder Sunstreaker was in so much pain. He had lucked out that his spark housing had held, but the surface contained thousands of microscopic sensory nodules. And there was a very large neural cluster hosting connections from his neck to his right arm that looked burned to a crisp.

                 “He went after Sunny!” Sideswipe protested, looking a little more awake.

                 “Uh huh. Alright, Sunstreaker, that blast did a number on you. You’ve got some circuitry that will need to be replaced, but that’s a bit of a delicate operation that’s going to have to wait for now. Until then, I can either shut you down completely, or block off all sensory input from the neck down. Although despite that, you might still get echoes from your spark.”

                 “… Sides… stays?” Sunstreaker asked through gritted denta.

                 “Yes. He can stay.” It was actually preferred. At close quarters, the twins were able to leech small amounts of pain from one another.

                 “… don’t… shut me… down.”

                 Ratchet nodded having already suspected that was going to be the answer. Neither twin liked getting medically offlined unless absolutely necessary and would outright refuse unless their twin was present. Ratchet stepped closer and initiated a neural uplink, quickly isolating everything from C3 down.

                 Sunstreaker slumped immediately, the tense lines on his face smoothing out. Ratchet patted him on the shoulder, even though he wouldn’t have been able to feet it.

                 “Try and get some rest. Sideswipe, gently try and get some of that soot off his spark housing,” Ratchet said, handing off buffered solution and soft wipes.

                 “Will do, boss,” Sideswipe replied, gathering up the supplies and laying them out on Sunstreaker’s thighs.

                 “And Sunstreaker…?”

                 Sunstreaker’s closest optic opened up a slit and he looked at Ratchet. “Mm?”

                 Ratchet smirked. “Stop being such a baby! I thought you were a big, bad frontliner.”

                 Ratchet almost combusted from the force of Sunstreaker’s glare, but Sideswipe giggled with the air of someone experiencing great relief. He was probably a little giddy from the sudden drop in pain from his twin.

                 “Yeah, Sunny, it’s not like your spark was set on fire or anything!”

Chapter Text


                “… and that idiot just did it again! I don’t know how many times I’ve told him to stop chasing after Megatron, but he never listens...!”


                “... this is the Prime! The supposed wise and all-knowing leader of our race, but can he ever listen?! No, no he cannot...!”


                “… he’s honestly worse that the twins, Ironhide, and Wheeljack combined, if you can believe…”


                Ratchet turned wide optics to his partner and threw his arms up impatiently. “What?”

                Bluestreak leaned back further on the mound of pillows supporting his back. His sensory panels fluttered slowly in an enticement display and he ran his hands along his shiny and oh so prominent bumper.

                “This is supposed to be date night. Not ‘complain about everyone who annoys you’ night. Do you think you could stop talking, please?”

                Ratchet’s orbital ridges furrowed and for a moment, Bluestreak worried he would be the one Ratchet would be directing his ire to next. But then Ratchet’s expression smoothed out and he grinned ruefully.

                “Stop talking and pay attention to you, you mean?” Ratchet asked. He tossed the rag he had been using to wipe himself down with off to the side and placed a knee on the bed. Leaning over Bluestreak’s sprawled out frame, the smile turned to a leer.

                “Have I been neglecting my beautiful mate?” Ratchet whispered, placing a chaste kiss on Bluestreak’s bumper.

                “You have been,” Bluestreak said in agreement. “Terribly so. I demand you make it up to me.”

                “And how would you have me do that?”

                Bluestreak smirked and cupped the side of Ratchet’s face with one palm. “Not that I don’t love your mouth, but I think I’d rather put it to use elsewhere instead of listening to you rant about your special troublemakers.”

                A quiet ‘snickt’ made both of them look down to see Bluestreak’s spike rising from its sheath now that his interface panel had transformed aside.

                “No one makes as much trouble for me as you do,” Ratchet murmured. He held Bluestreak’s gaze for a long moment and then slithered back down the berth until his head was level with Bluestreak’s pelvis.

                “Guess I’ll have to punish you,” Ratchet said, winking.


Chapter Text

                Several millennia of warfare and hatred and strife and it comes down to this: Megatron on his back, legs wrapped around the waist of his worst enemy.

                “Is this all right?” Optimus whispers, sounding reverent. His hands stroke down Megatron’s outer thighs, the touch igniting Megatron’s sensors like little licks of fire.

                ‘Is this all right?’

What a multi-faceted question. Megatron doesn’t answer verbally. Instead his hands tug at Optimus’ hips, pulling him deeper. Because Megatron hates this, but he loves it too, the thick length of Optimus’ spike penetrating the pleats of Megatron’s valve over and over again.


                Megatron hums in the back of his throat, 90% inquiring, 10% irritated. Doesn’t Optimus ever shut up?

                “Megatron… look at me.”

                He doesn’t take orders from others, least of all Optimus Prime. But the way that it is said in the form of an instruction, rather than a polite question typical of Optimus, piques Megatron’s curiosity. His optic shutters unclench themselves and he peers up at Optimus.

                “There you are,” Optimus murmurs, blue (so blue, Megatron’s favorite color, but no one knows that) optics staring intently into Megatron’s red ones.

                “I’m not going anywhere,” Megatron snaps back. It’d normally be much more heated, but Optimus thrusts forward and grinds, the head of his spike nudging against Megatron’s deepest nodes. It makes his vision fritz around the edges.

                “Yes, you were. In your head,” Optimus replies. He leans forward and cups the side of Megatron’s face. “There is no hiding from this; no hiding that you’re doing this with me.”

                “I’m not hiding!” Megatron exclaims, although in a way, he was. Damn Optimus for knowing him so well.

                And not at all in the most important of things.  

                Optimus’ optics crinkle around the edges as he smiles. Something deep within the core of Megatron’s spark tightens at the sight. Orion had always had the loveliest smile.

                “Then you will not object to keeping your optics open. On me,” Optimus says, withdrawing slightly, only to grind forward again.

                Megatron’s tempted to shut his optic shutters again. But then he wouldn’t be able to glare at his enemy/lover. So they stay open, even when his vison nearly goes white with overload.

                Because Optimus never looks away either.

Chapter Text

                “Tell me what you’re feeling?”

                Jazz shifted atop the broad expanse of Optimus’ chest, leveraging himself up so that his head rested atop his folded arms. He stared at the underside of Optimus’ chin; Optimus’s face was tilted up, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

                “Well, hey there, Smokey,” Jazz replied. “What makes ya ask me that?”

                Optimus chuckled lightly, his palm smoothing down Jazz’s back. “Because I want to know. And you’re more likely to tell me when you’re relaxed like this.”

                Relaxed? Pit, Jazz was pretty much limp. He was honestly surprised he hadn’t been in recharge by the time Optimus spoke up. But it was nice to just laze about, feeling the beat of Optimus’ spark thrum through Jazz’s entire body.

                “Hmm. What am I feelin’? Well, I can definitely say that I’m feelin’ warm and worn out,” Jazz replied, wriggling his aft just the tiniest bit.

                “That’s the physical,” Optimus replied. He gently swatted at Jazz’s upturned aft and Jazz purred. “What about the mental – your emotions? Are you… are you happy?”

                Jazz squirmed around and pushed himself up to a sitting position, thighs spread wide over Optimus’ waist. He reached forward and gently grasped the sides of Optimus’s face, pulling until Jazz could see the other mech’s optics.

                “I’m very happy,” Jazz said earnestly, leaning forward to kiss the point of Optimus' chin. “You don’t got to worry ‘bout that none.”

                Optimus stared at him for a brief second before smiling, his optics crinkling up at the corners. “I’m glad. I am happy too.”

                Jazz snuggled back down onto Optimus’ chest, the larger mech wrapping arms around Jazz and holding him tight. Tucking his head up under Optimus’ chin, Jazz sighed and shut his optics.

                He was happy. The fragging was great, and Jazz had always counted Optimus as a close friend. Yet while Jazz was Optimus’ lover, he wasn’t in love with Optimus, and he doubted he’d ever be. Optimus however, seemed to be quite infatuated with Jazz and Jazz knew those three little words could happen at any time. Every time Optimus started talking about feelings, Jazz internally chanted to himself, ‘don’t say it, don’t say it’.

                Eventually Optimus would, Jazz knew that. And then Jazz would have to say them back. He’d have to because Optimus was finally happy and relaxed and that had been the whole point of this.

                They needed Optimus to care again, to find a reason to keep fighting. Fortunately, the rest of command had chosen Jazz for a reason. There wasn’t a better actor within the Ark, nor one with Jazz’s elastic moral code.

                He was willing to lie and say ‘I love you’ as long as it meant Optimus kept his head in the game.

Chapter Text

                “What are… you know what? Never mind, I don’t want to know,” Onslaught said when Vortex walked into the room for the meeting.

                Vortex cocked his head to the side and even with his mask in place, Onslaught knew, just knew, that Vortex was smirking.

                “Oh, you mean these?” Vortex waggled his rotors above his head. They didn’t go far. They were bound together with some sort of rope, all four of them lying flat atop one another. They trembled minutely in the awkward position. Normally Vortex kept them slicked down, practically touching the back of his knees. Onslaught imagined the current position couldn’t be comfortable nor could he even speculate as to why his wayward teammate had done it.

                “It was a challenge. To be in pain while giving it,” Vortex explained. Which really explained nothing.

                Onslaught rubbed the top of his head wearily.

                “All right, I’ll bite. Who gave you this challenge?”

                Vortex stalked closer, optic band bright with glee. “The twins. And you can bite any time you’d like, Ons.”

                Onslaught was taken back, enough that he barely even registered the flirting. “Rumble and Frenzy? Why would they…?”

                “No, oh no. Not them. The Autobot twins. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe? You know the ones who love to jump on passing Seekers and pull them out of the sky?” Vortex said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned his hip against the table.

                “The ones you interrogated a few weeks back?” Onslaught said slowly, trying to connect the dots. To Onslaught’s remembrance, the Autobots hadn’t been with them long, but everyone had seen their condition when they had left. Onslaught had been proud, not that he’d ever tell Vortex that. The obnoxious duo had been barely standing, energon and other fluids streaming down their plating.

                A good few hours work.

                “Yup,” Vortex replied, emphasizing the ‘p’ sound.

                “And… you’re communicating with them?!” Onslaught exclaimed, getting a sinking feeling in his tanks.

                Vortex laughed, sounding incredibly pleased with himself. “Oh, Onsy… I guess you could say that.”

                Now, Onslaught definitely didn’t want to know.

                “Don’t tell me. Seriously, don’t tell me,” Onslaught said, interrupting Vortex. “I want plausible deniability when Megatron rips off your head.”

                “Then you’ll keep your audials off when I come in late tonight,” Vortex suggested. “Or maybe early tomorrow morning. It’s hard to say when I’ll be done with… communications.

                Onslaught groaned and hid his face in his hands. Why? Why was he stuck with this degenerate?! What had he ever done in his past life to deserve this?

Chapter Text

                “It looks good on you,” Wheeljack said softly, coming up to Starscream’s side. Starscream’s gaze caught Wheeljack’s for a moment and then returned to his reflection in the mirror.

                “It seems… more obvious than I thought it would,” Starscream remarked unhappily.

                Wheeljack’s head cocked to the side. “Would you like to leave it behind?”

                Starscream worried his bottom lip. Wheeljack would let him if Starscream said he wasn’t ready. But they had talked about this. And the collar really wasn’t all that noticeable. It was silver and thin and was tight enough only a single digit of Starscream’s could fit under it. Plus, it was barely a fingerwidth tall.

                “No. No, I’ll keep it.”

                Wheeljack brushed his shoulder against Starscream’s. “I also picked up this. We definitely don’t have to use it, but I saw it the other day and thought it would match.”

                Wheeljack held up a thin chain of metal, which when he released part of it, fell to the floor with a soft chime. It took Starscream a moment to realize what it was.

A leash. Wheeljack had purchased a leash.

                Rather than fill Starscream with dread, the sight of the thing made his spark skip a beat. “Oh…” he said softly, reaching out a hand. The links were small and delicate, the silver the exact shade of his collar. “I … I like it. Can you… can you use it when we’re there?”

                Wheeljack’s helmfins lit up, flashing happily and Starscream knew he made the right choice.

                “Absolutely. You ready to head out?”

                Starscream glanced at the door to their apartment. Once they walked outside it, this would all be real. He’d be walking down streets with a collar on, his master at his side and a half pace in front of him. And they were going to a party in which there would be other slaves and masters.

                His wings fluttered once and then went still. Wheeljack would always protect him. He always had. He’d supported him and kept him and loved him when no one else thought he was worth anything. The collar was a claim. Yes, it advertised that he was Wheeljack’s. But with Wheeljack holding the leash, it also meant that Wheeljack was his.

                Starscream straightened, throwing his head back and holding his chin high. “Lead the way, Sir.”

~ End

Chapter Text

                One might think Ratchet wasn’t very flexible.

                And it was true that there were some things Ratchet simply couldn’t do due to frame limitations. He couldn’t sit cross-legged (although there were few bots who could). He couldn’t bend over and touch the floor without bending his knees. He wasn’t able to twist at the waist very well.

                But damn could he ride a spike like a pornovid star.

                Sideswipe adjusted the camera, zooming in on the vee of Ratchet’s thighs, licking his lips as Ratchet’s valve slid smoothly up and down Sunstreaker’s spike. The gold and white rings spiraling up that lovely length glinted in the overhead lights, winking suggestively with each up stroke. Sideswipe kinda wanted to be there, licking at whatever part of Ratchet and Sunstreaker he could reach.

                But not tonight unfortunately. He was on recording duty.

                He stood up, taking the camera with him, so he could film from the side. As Sideswipe moved, Ratchet raised his head and turned it, keeping Sideswipe in his line of vision. It was hot as the Pit seeing Ratchet’s lust-darkened optics track him, especially when Ratchet was looking partly over his shoulder, mouth open a little.

                Sideswipe bet he could put that mouth to use in all kinds of delicious ways. His spike bumped up against its cover, completely on board with the idea.  

                “Are you getting me in there at all? Or are you just ogling Ratchet?” Sunstreaker suddenly demanded.

                “Hush,” Sideswipe chided, rolling his optics. “Yes, you vain child, you’re in here.”

                Specifically, Sunstreaker’s hands resting on Ratchet’s red rump, thumbs making sweeping motions over Ratchet’s aft every time he bottomed out.

                “Ratch? Lean forward a little?” Sideswipe asked, now standing directly behind Sunstreaker.

                Ratchet did as Sideswipe asked, still steadily bouncing on Sunstreaker’s spike. For several seconds he stayed in that position, looking forward. Then he slowly arched his back and craned his neck to look over his shoulder at the camera. Ratchet licked his lips and gave Sideswipe the most ‘come hither’ look he’d ever seen.

                Ratchet’s hand raised up, one finger curling. Like he was attached to it by an invisible rope, Sideswipe stumbled to the side and back around to stand in front of Ratchet. Sideswipe focused the camera in on Ratchet’s face, on the glistening lower lip from where he’d been licking it, and the lazy-lidded optics.

                From this angle, Sideswipe also managed to include Sunstreaker’s upper body up to the crest of his helm. Hopefully he’d be accepting of that when they all watched this later. After all, Sunstreaker loved to look at Ratchet just as much as Sideswipe did.

                “Now…” Sideswipe’s voice failed him and he had to reboot his vocalizer. “… lean backwards? Put your hands… yeah… slag. How are you this hot?”

                Ratchet smirked, hips steadily pumping as he placed his weight behind him, on Sunstreaker’s abdomen. Primus, what a pretty shot.

                “Sunny… spread ‘em,” Sideswipe instructed, slowly lowering the camera to knee level.

                “What? Why?” Sunstreaker’s voice floated up from behind Ratchet. Sideswipe swatted at Sunstreaker’s pede.

                “Because it’ll look good. I can’t paint worth a damn but I can still work a camera,” Sideswipe snapped. And then made a strangled noise as Ratchet shifted his weight to one hand and began stroking his bobbing spike with the other.

                Sunstreaker finally obeyed Sideswipe’s demand and his thighs slid apart. Now every bit of both of them were on view, Sunstreaker’s valve glistening faintly in the shadows between his legs.

                “Primus on a pogo stick,” Sideswipe said faintly when Ratchet’s fingers moved even farther down and bracketed the lips of his valve, highlighting the repetitive insertion of Sunstreaker’s spike.

                “Does it look good?” Sunstreaker asked.

                “Mmm… pretty sure it does,” Ratchet purred, his gaze dropping to Sideswipe’s pelvic region. Oh. Look at that. His panel had involuntary popped and his spike was protruding, twitching excitedly.

“Know what would be even better? How about a little first person point of view?” Ratchet curled that damn finger again, and Sideswipe was helpless to resist following it.

                Besides. A close up of Sideswipe spilling all over Ratchet’s face? Definitely good for private repeat viewing.


~ End

Chapter Text

                “Oh, there ya go, love… just like that,” Jazz crooned, riding the sudden buck of Starscream’s hips. “I bet that feels good, doesn’t it?”

                “You’re… a sadistic… fragger!” Starscream gasped, glaring at Jazz.

                Jazz merely grinned back, flicking the head of the vibrating sound and making Starscream’s arms jerk. His wings fluttered in the most intriguing way and Jazz watched for a moment before turning his attention back to Starscream’s rock hard spike. Even now, transfluid welled up around the sound, dripping down to make a mess of Starscream’s pelvic plating.

                It matched the puddle that was under Starscream’s aft, his valve drooling out lubricant in little trickles.

                “Ah, now that’s a mean thing to say to your favorite person,” Jazz chided. He flicked the sound against and Starscream yelped.

                “I hate you! You’re not my favo….ahh!!”

                Jazz smirked at Starscream as he powered up the vibrator stuffed in the other mech’s valve. It whirled loudly, the buzz echoing through Starscream’s plating and up through Jazz’s. Mmm. Now there was a thought.

                “Hey, that’s nice,” Jazz purred, triggering his valve cover to slide aside. Once it had, he settled himself better atop Starscream’s right thigh. He pushed the control for the vibrator and it started buzzing even louder, making Starscream curse.

                Ooh, so many lovely curses were getting heaped upon Jazz’s name.

                “Oh, shush, you. Your turn is comin’. Eventually. But me first,” Jazz said, beginning to grind atop Starscream’s thigh.

                Starscream’s mouth dropped open a little bit and he raised his head to watch the swivel of Jazz’s hips. His fingers twitched, reaching downward and finally curling into fists when they were brought up by the cuffs.

                “Sir…” Starscream whined.

                Jazz raised an orbital ridge. Oh, now he was ‘sir’ was he?

                “Yes, Star?” He gripped Starscream’s spike with one hand and gently began stroking it. Starscream’s optics flickered wildly and he struggle to keep his head up.

                “… may I… may I lick you?” he managed.

                Jazz slowed and his hips paused, although his hand continue to jerk Starscream off. “Hmm… you mean sit on your face?”

                Starscream nodded vigorously, hissing as Jazz tightened his grip.

                “No. No, I don’t think so. You just want me to come faster so then you can,” Jazz replied, resuming his rocking motions. Starscream growled, his head thrashing back and forth and wings flaring as he was thwarted.

                Jazz got called more names.

                “Aww, my sweet, sweet Screamer,” Jazz mused, squeezing Starscream’s spike again. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to hold off for a long, long while to make sure you get the most of this session.”


~ End

Chapter Text

                “Hold out your hands, please.”

                As if swimming through thick oil, Megatron’s hands rose up until they were perpendicular to his chest. Optimus reached out and took the right one, threading a new rope between each finger and then back again.

                The rope was thin, black. It contrasted nicely against his silver. The thicker white rope tied tight around his trunk in an intricate pattern that he hoped Optimus took a screen capture of, blended more into his paint. It still felt good, tight enough to give his HUD warnings every time he tried to in or out-vent deeply.

                “Where will my hands end up?” Megatron asked, the words coming out slow, as if he were thinking over each one before saying it.

                Not far from the truth. Megatron’s entire worldview had shuttered down to himself and Optimus. Even the periphery of the room was faded and out of focus. Why had he any need to care? Optimus was here. Optimus would take care of him. He would have to. The ropes were tight, restrictive, unbreakable. He wouldn’t be able to protect himself.

                Megatron was completely at Optimus’ mercy.

                “This rope will continue up your wrists and forearms. Your palms will be tied together, as will your lower arms. Then,” Optimus said, gently squeezing Megatron’s fingers, “I will tie a length of rope around your elbows and anchor them to your waist. I will do the same with your wrists, to your thighs.”

                “Ohh…” Megatron sighed, shivering a little. “That will look good.”

                “It will indeed, Megatron,” Optimus said, smiling softly. “And finally, I will tilt you back onto the bed. Do not forget, I will be with you the entire time. I thought I might read to you, if that would be ok?”

                “Will you stroke my helm?” Megatron asked, his optics slipping closed. The haziness spread in from the edges, threatening to overtake his processor.

                But not yet. Not yet. There was still the rest of his arms to go so he had to stay standing.

                “That sounds lovely. And it will just be the two of us. We decided on two hours, remember?”

                Two hours. Two hours away from the demands of his life. Unable to do anything but lay there, Optimus’ hand on his forehelm and his voice in Megatron’s audial. Utmost peace and safety. A rare indulgence, but one that Optimus equally enjoyed.

                The demands on the Prime and his Protector were great. But it was a nice switch for both of them when Optimus took over the protector role.

                “Yes. Two,” Megatron replied. “Thank you. Thank you, Optimus.”

                Optimus leaned forward and brushed his lips over Megatron’s cheek. “You are quite welcome, my love.”


~ End

Chapter Text

                “Please… please, Grimlock, please…” Optimus moaned, arching up. His dorsum slid against Grimlock’s front with a metallic ring and Grimlock shuttered his optics, gritting his denta.

                “You don’t know what you’re asking,” Grimlock ground out, his control slipping as Optimus’ aft pressed against Grimlock’s groin. It sent a bolt of heat straight into Grimlock’s belly and his hands tightened on Optimus’ wrists. Not that it stopped Optimus from writhing. In fact, it just seemed to encourage him.

                “I do… it burns… Grimlock, please!”

                The want and need was naked in Optimus’ voice. Grimlock was glad he’d forced Optimus onto his front. He didn’t think he’d be able to resist the look of pleading on the Autobot leader’s face.

                Not that Grimlock was having much more luck from behind. It was only a matter of time. The scent wafting off Optimus grew stronger with each passing minute and Grimlock had only so much willpower.

                “Ratchet will come. They’ll fix you,” Grimlock replied, resting his forehelm against the back of Optimus’ shoulders.

                “There’s nothing to fix… it’s a heat… please… I need you… I need you inside me!” Optimus cried out, once more tilting his pelvis back in entreaty.

                “Then someone else will spike you. Not me,” Grimlock swore.

                “Why not? Grimlock, why not?!” Optimus panted. “Please… there are few others would could truly take me the way you can. I want it… I want you…”

                Grimlock groaned at the hoarsely whispered words, the flexing of Optimus’ hands. The scent doubled in strength and his groan turned into a whimper.

                Where in the Pit was everyone?! They had said they were ten minutes out and that was over twenty minutes ago!

                “Please, Grimlock… I need you… I need your power… I need your size. No one else will be able to fill me up like you would…” Optimus moaned, still managing to wriggle beneath the bulk of Grimlock’s weight. He was only a little smaller than Grimlock. But he was a Prime. Strong in his own right.

                He was correct. There weren’t many who’d be able to breed him properly. He’d want a good, hard fragging. Who else could give it to him?

                Ironhide had the size, but not the stamina. Skyfire would be too hesitant to truly give Optimus what he craved… what he needed…

                His nasal receptors tingling and his processor going hazy, Grimlock’s panel snapped aside. His spike hardened so fast it hurt, no relief to be found, even in a quick thrust against Optimus’ upturned aft.

                “Oh… oh, yes!” Optimus exclaimed, no doubt feeling the thick length dribbling pre-transfluid across his lower back. “Yes, Grimlock, that’s it. Give me it… give me your spike… give me your load… over and over… please!”

                Well… Grimlock was created to serve, wasn’t he?

                He pulled back slightly, shifting on his knees. His spike slipped between the back of Optimus’ thighs, into the hot, wet space at their apex. Optimus’ legs were soaked with his lubricants and Grimlock’s spike skidded and slipped across Optimus’ plating. Until he thrust his hips back and up, the head of Grimlock’s spike catching at the other mech’s valve rim.

                They both froze, Optimus’ vents ragged and harsh. He keened, a wordless plea, one Grimlock could no longer ignore. He thrust forward, the calipers within Optimus’ valves clutching at Grimlock hungrily. A second thrust seated Grimlock completely and Optimus wailed out a spiraling cry, valve clamping down so tightly that Grimlock hissed in oversensitization. As soon as the spasms let him, Grimlock drew back and set up a punishing rhythm, one which forced Optimus across the rough ground, inch by inch, every time Grimlock bottomed out.

                Grimlock let his optics shutter closed, hands gripping Optimus’ waist and pulling him into every penetration. The valve around him rippled and twitched, overload after overload shaking Optimus until he was a trembling, sobbing mess. His cries echoed in Grimlock’s audials, spurring him on.

                He overloaded as well… three times… four… until the dirt beneath them turned to mud from their mingled fluids. But he couldn’t stop. Not until Optimus was satisfied.

                And Optimus showed no signs of satiation.

                The others were too late. Optimus was Grimlock’s now and he wouldn’t be letting go any time soon.

Chapter Text

                White ropes look the best against Blurr’s plating. Or cream. Not that cream colored ropes are easy to find, so Sunstreaker sticks with white. They bring out Blurr’s blues so wonderfully, especially that azure of his optics.

                Blurr’s optics are practically burning right now. They’re bright with anger, because Blurr likes to struggle and flail and spit curses.

                Of course, Sunstreaker likes to work to the music in his own head, so the first thing that happens, besides the routine stasis cuffs, is a gag.

                White cloth, obviously.

                Once Blurr is restrained by the cuffs, it’s easier. He’s a racer, through and through, so even the stasis cuffs only slow him down a little. But it’s enough for Sunstreaker to begin.

                He does Blurr’s hands first. Intricate knots around the smooth planes of each segment of each finger. Sunstreaker has to be careful not to let the rope slip into the knuckle joints. Or even pull too closely on the plating closest to the joints. Blurr’s armor is ridiculously thin, but then again Blurr isn’t meant to take the hits that Sunstreaker can.

                He’s meant to run, to speed past the enemy before they even know he’s coming for them.

                And so Sunstreaker always leaves Blurr’s legs last.

                The ropes crisscross over Blurr’s palms, wind their way up his forearms and over his shoulders. They meet other lengths of rope across his back and chest, braid themselves in and snap tight around his neck. Sunstreaker likes to leave intricacy behind at Blurr’s belly, instead just winding the rope around and around Blurr’s trunk lower and lower until it notches over his hips.

                Then Sunstreaker starts a new line, using a thinner rope, one with which he can really create his art. The symbols he creates over Blurr’s thighs are Old Cybertronian. Blurr doesn’t know what they mean, nor will Sunstreaker ever tell him. But Sunstreaker likes to see them, the glyphs spelling out, ‘mine, mine, mine’ over and over, around Blurr’s knees, over his shins. Sunstreaker’s own name is spelled out on the underside of Blurr’s pedes and then Sunstreaker gives a gentle push.

                Blurr howls out impotently behind his gag, spinning slowly on the overhead hook. The lamps are positioned just right and the white-blue-white-blue flashes are pleasing to Sunstreaker’s optic. He hums to himself, along with the songs in his head and Blurr’s shouts slowly fade away, fade into a matching hum, until that azure dims and flickers, and Blurr’s head drops, and he becomes still.

                Finally still.

Chapter Text

                When he’s had a bad day, in the midst of a bad week, surrounded by a bad month, he gets out the collar.

                It’s a simple thing, pure black and two of his fingerwidths tall. Ratchet likes it because it’s soft and supple with a buckle at the back and a simple silver ring at the front. He doesn’t need a lot of frippery, just something he can fasten tight around his neck and attach a leash to.

                He doesn’t have anyone holding the other end of the leash. Hasn’t in a long time. He misses that, but he’s in a position of power and there’s no one he trusts enough to even broach the subject with.


                Wheeljack knows. His ridiculous amica knows everything about Ratchet. But he won’t hold the other end of the leash and Ratchet can never ever fault him for that. It’s not for just anyone.

                Sometimes he looks at his comrades, his patients, his friends… and wonders. Wonders if anyone would be willing to wrap the end of the leash around their fist and pull. But everyone already has so much to bear.

                So he gets out the collar and fastens it around his neck, tight, tight, tighter. It gives him at least a little reprieve.

                The leash, he keeps locked up. Waiting.

Chapter Text

                 “It hurts.”

                 “Yes, Grim, I know. It’s been a while since my last heat, but I remember it being a bit unpleasant at first too,” Whelejack said, examining the rock wall with a critical optic. An explosive there and there and they would be out of here in no time.

                 Too bad Wheeljack didn’t have any explosives on him.

                 Because he didn’t carry any on him routinely, thank you very much, Ratchet.



                 “… Dad…”

                 Grimlock hadn’t called Ratchet or Wheeljack ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’ in years and it was enough to catch Wheeljack’s attention. There was also a note of desperation to Grimlock’s tone that he wasn’t used to hearing so he turned around. Then he covered his optics with one hand, helm fins no doubt blushing a rose pink.

                “Uh… yes… that might help for a bit…” Wheeljack stammered, distinctly uncomfortable with the image now seared into his processor.

                Grimlock and the rest of the Dinobots certainly weren’t his creations. But he had always viewed them as such and he really hadn’t wanted to know what Grimlock’s fingers looked like pumping in and out of his valve.

                “It hurrrrts!” Grimlock exclaimed and now Wheeljack could hear it. Soft, wet sounds, rhythmic and fast and…

                Wheeljack shook his head and whirled back around to stare desperately at the rock several inches from his nasal ridge.

                Now. Now of all times. Grimlock couldn’t have come into his first heat cycle when they were in the Ark where there an abundance of mechs who could help Grimlock through this?

                No. That would be far too easy.

                “You just have to hold out a while longer,” Wheeljack said in a rush, lowering the sensitivity of his audials. “The others will be here soon and we’ll get you home.”

                “But… you can’t do anything now?” Grimlock whined.

                Wheeljack heard a scrapping sound followed by a loud thump which shook his pedes. Grimlock had probably sat on the cave floor. Probably was leaning back, spreading his thighs so he could really get his hand…

                Argh! Bad processor! Bad processor, Wheeljack! That is your sparkling!

                “No, I…”

                But Grimlock wasn’t a sparkling. And he wasn’t Wheeljack’s creation. He was a mech in need… in pain… and a mech who Wheeljack cared for deeply.

                “Dad… Daddy…” Grimlock whined. “Please… it hurts… please…”

                Oh, Ratchet was going to kill him.

                Wheeljack spun on the heel of his pede and strode across the short distance separating them. He knelt down at Grimlock’s side and the Dinobot’s visor flashed in gratitude.

                “You’ll make it better?” Grimlock whimpered, his lubricant damp fingers pawing at Wheeljack’s arm. Wheeljack barely noticed. His optics were fixed on the gleaming lips of Grimlock’s valve. As if it belonged to someone else, Wheeljacks’ hand reached out and stroked the slick pleats and Grimlock moaned, his hips thrusting up.

                “More!” he demanded. “Daddy, more!”

                Wheeljack’s pelvic plating grew unbearably tight at the needy growl and a second later, his panel snapped aside. His spike speared into the air, not caring that his processor was still clamoring at him that the mech before him was his child.

                “It’s alright, Grim,” Wheeljack said, shuffling forward on his knees. He swung a leg over Grimlock’s thigh and situated himself over Grimlocks’ pelvic region. “I’ll give you more.”

                Wheeljack’s first thrust was tentative. His second, only a little less hesitant. But Grimlock was moaning pleas and demands and he kept growling ‘Daddy’ over and over in such a way that Wheeljack’s processor shut down to bare essentials.

                He didn’t hear that little voice anymore.

                All he heard was the big, beautiful mech beneath him begging his Daddy for more, for harder, for deeper…

                And Wheeljack was a Daddy who prided himself on providing for his children.

Chapter Text

                “You should eat something.”

                Ratchet raises up his head. Then his arms. Droplets of clumped energon spatter on the floor.

                “Does it look like I’m in any position to eat something?!” he barks.

                Sunstreaker tilts his head to the side and wrinkles his nasal ridge. “While I like you on your knees, you’d probably want to wash your hands first. Don’t you have apprentices to do this sort of thing?”

                Ratchet’s engine flips over with a growl, only to sputter as a towel is dropped onto his head. Ratchet grabs it and glares up at Sideswipe as he makes a wide pass around Ratchet. He’s wrinkling his nasal ridge as well.

                As if either of them have any right to look disgusted when Ratchet knows full well they’ve been covered in far worse amounts of fluids on the battlefield.

                “Tracer is coming in. He’s… happy… to take over for you,” Sideswipe said, leaning against his brother. They cross their arms over their chests in unison and Sideswipe raises an orbital ridge in challenge.

                “’Happy.’ Right. I’m sure he is,” Ratchet muttered to himself. The twins wouldn’t hesitate to cajole, bribe, or outright threaten the other members of the medical unit into taking over for Ratchet when they deemed him to be overworking himself.

                And the Terror Twins could be pretty damn scary when they wanted to be, especially to newbie medical apprentices.

                “Eh, it’s good for him to learn to do… whatever it is you’re doing…” Sideswipe says. He leans over. “Did you lose something down the drain?”

                Ratchet’s lips draw back in a snarl and his right hand dives into the drain. Fueled by his lovers’ impertinence, he grabs hold of what he had been fishing for for the past ten minutes and gives an almighty yank.

                A spray of congealing fluids spray upwards, making Sunstreaker yelp and dance backwards. Sideswipe blinks at his twin, the corners of his lips twitching. Wisely, he says nothing and takes a step forward to peer at what Ratchet holds in his hand. At his knees, the mix of fluids circles around the drain in a sucking noise finally disappearing into the depths.

                “What is… oh, slag!” Sideswipe yelps, sounding eerily like his brother. He takes a few steps backwards as well, looking a little green around the edges. “Please tell me that’s not yours!”

                “Ironhide’s,” Ratchet replies, pushing himself to his feet. His knees and hips creak and pop and his lower back struts ping him with a long-lived ache. “Damn thing snapped straight off. Blocked up the drain.”

                “That… is… disgusting…” Sunstreaker announces, staring at Ironhide’s trigger finger with a horrified fascination. “You win.”

                Ratchet pauses, halfway over to the surgical sink. “I win?” he questions.

                “You are officially the most badass of us all,” Sideswipe answers for his brother. His normal crimson has definitely gone a little off and he’s rapidly swallowing as if trying to stop purging his tanks. “And to reward you, we’ll take you to the washracks, give you a… really… thorough wash, and then back to our place for a processor-melting frag. Sound good? I bet it does. So can we go now? Away from this house of horrors?”

                Ratchet raises an orbital ridge, feeling oil, coolant, energon, transmission fluid, and every other liquid substance a Cybertronian could produce, trickling down his elbows. His pedes are also a little sloshy; the drain had been pretty backed up. He hasn’t had time to look in a mirror lately, but he has no doubt his chest and thighs have been similarly splashed. It’s been a hellish day and he’s sure his plating shows it.

                He turns on the water in the sink and starts rinsing off Ironhide’s finger. It’ll keep until tomorrow. A missing trigger finger is the least of the old mech’s worries after the last battle.

                “I thought I was supposed to eat something?” Ratchet asks.

                Sideswipe loses the battle with his tanks and he bends over to start spitting up half-processed energon. Sunstreaker leaps away from his twin with another yelp, and Ratchet rolls his optics.


                Bunch of wimps.

Chapter Text

                “Sunstreaker… you have to fight,” Ratchet said softly, placing a hand on his mate’s shoulder. “If not for me… for them…”

                Sunstreaker blankly looked ahead. As Ratchet sought Sunstreaker’s face for any sign of acknowledgement, he witnessed a single coolant tear well up and spill over Sunstreaker’s cheek.   

                “Oh, Sunny…” Ratchet reached up and wiped away the tear, his own optics stinging once more. “Please…”

                After another minute of silence, Ratchet wearily pushed himself to his feet. Just as he was about to take a step away, a hand latched onto Ratchet’s free forearm.

                “I love you,” Sunstreaker rasped, his voice sounding rusty and old. Ratchet looked down to see Sunstreaker staring back up at him. Then his gaze flicked down to Ratchet’s other arm. “I love them…”

                As if on cue, the two sparklings shifted against one another restlessly, emitting tiny little squeaks.

                “… but it’s… distant… I’m… stretched thin, Ratchet,” Sunstreaker added. He shook his head slightly, more tears spilling out over his cheeks. “I can’t do it.”

                Sunstreaker’s hand fell away and Ratchet sank back down. “You can. You can, Sunstreaker. Everything is a choice.”

                “Is it?” Sunstreaker shook his head. “Maybe if it had been me… if it were Sideswipe here… he might be able to stay. He was always stronger than me.”

                “You’re one of the strongest mechs I know, Sunny,” Ratchet said, his voice shaking. The still unnamed sparklings shifted again and Ratchet automatically stroked over their heads, soothing them. “We’re here for you. We all are. Just hold them. Hold your creations.”

                Ratchet tried to hand off the sparklings but Sunstreaker just shuttered his optics and turned his head away, hands limp in his lap.

                “It’s not enough, Ratchet,” Sunstreaker whispered. “I can’t… be… without Sideswipe.”

                Ratchet wanted to rage and scream at Sunstreaker, shake him until his optics popped open and sense flooded back into them. But his automatic scans picked up the thump of Sunstreaker’s spark, arrhythmic and so very slow.

                Spark twins rarely lived after one of them died. No one knew if it was because they couldn’t, or because they wouldn’t. Ratchet was honestly surprised Sunstreaker hadn’t followed his brother immediately. Maybe it had been Sunstreaker’s natural instinct to fight. Maybe it had been the new bond with his creations, or Ratchet’s long familiar presence.

                But neither were apparently enough and Sunstreaker obviously wasn’t fighting any longer.

Chapter Text

                Sideswipe felt a spike of emotion from his brother that he couldn’t immediately identify… panic? shock? Whatever it was, Sideswipe was instinctively drawn to Sunstreaker, first throwing down the rest of the credits to the startled receptionist and then sprinting back to the recovery room.

                He burst in through the doors, ignoring the nurse’s started shout, and immediately strode over to his twin’s side. Sunstreaker’s optics were tightly shuttered, the doctor’s hands hovering in the air in front of Sunstreaker’s face.

                “Sunny? Sunny, what’s wrong?” Sideswipe questioned. He silently snarled at the doctor, making him take a step back.

                “… different. It’s all different,” Sunstreaker whispered. He grasped ahold of Sideswipe’s forearm and squeezed it, almost as if trying to convince himself Sideswipe was real.

                “What’s different?” Sideswipe asked bewildered. He glared up at the doctor. “You said it was going to be a simple replacement! What happened?!”

                “Nothing! Everything went normally. But…”

                “But what?!” Sideswipe rumbled, engine revving warningly.

                “His original optics were… subpar. I’m not sure how he came into possession of them, but they severely limited his visual input. Sunstreaker is now seeing colors he never has before. And in startling detail and sharpness. These new lenses are quite standard, but in comparison to the old ones… it’s a big upgrade,” Zephyr explained.

                How did either of them ever come into the parts they had? Through scrounging and luck, bartering and stealing. Sunstreaker’s original optics had never been replaced to Sideswipe’s knowledge, so they had come with the frame his spark had been placed into when kindled. Of course, Sunstreaker had been a surprise, so the frame had been cobbled together, some of its parts even stolen from Sideswipe’s to be completed.

                They had grown up always lacking something or another. Only the money earned from their Pit fights had finally allowed them to upgrade themselves now that they were adults.

                “Sideswipe…” Sunstreaker murmured. A ripple of awe floated down the bond, and Sideswipe turned back to his twin to see Sunstreaker looking at Sideswipe’s arm as if he had never seen it before. Sunstreaker’s thumb was stroking the plating reverently. “This is red?”

                “Yeah… I’ve always been red. What did you see before?” Sideswipe asked, despairing. His poor twin had been seeing in muted colors all this time?

                “Kind of a dark gray? I… oh…” Sunstreaker’s head raised and his optics widened when he caught sight of Sideswipe’s face. “You’re so beautiful…”

                Their bond swelled with love and more awe as Sunstreaker reached up and traced Sideswipe’s cheek. “You’re optics are so bright, they just… the red and the blue… wait…”

                Sunstreaker held his own arm out and stared at the dark green paint critically. “This color is horrible,” he said, aghast.

                Sideswipe collapsed down onto the exam berth at Sunstreaker’s side, pressing his forehelm against Sunstreaker’s nearest shoulder. He probably shouldn’t be laughing, but he couldn’t quite control the helpless giggles which bubbled up out of him.

                “We’ll go shopping after we get out of here, bro,” Sideswipe promised. He couldn’t wait to show Sunstreakers all the colors he’d been missing out on.

Chapter Text

                “Training room?” Sunstreaker suggests, coming up behind Sideswipe on the couch. He rests his chin on top of his twin’s helm and places his hands on Sideswipe’s shoulders.

                 Sideswipe tilts his head up and kisses the bottom of Sunstreaker’s chin. “Tigers!” he says and points at the television, resuming his original position.

                 Sunstreaker ponders the screen, watching what appears to be a documentary that the humans produced. “Pets?”

                 Several of the other bots in the area, all scientists of some kind Sunstreaker notes, gasp and give him dirty looks. Sunstreaker raises an orbital ridge and ignores them, turning his attention back to Sideswipe.

                 “Naw. Can’t,” Sideswipe explains. He makes an odd gesture with his hand.

                 “What?” Sunstreaker asks. His thumbs stroke up the large cables in the side of Sideswipe’s neck and he sinks down in his seat a little at the touch. 

                 “That,” Sideswipe says, wriggling his shoulders a bit.

                 So Sunstreaker continues to rub the gradually loosening cables, until the end of the program. Then he tilts his head and nips the tip of Sideswipe’s right sensory horn, making him jump.

                 “Mean,” Sideswipe announces, slumping further. “More.”

                 “Spoiled,” Sunstreaker replies with a sigh. He draws back, but only enough that he can lift a leg and clamber over the back of the couch, gracefully landing between Sideswipe and the arm of the piece of furniture.

                 Sideswipe clicks a binary glyph of happiness and promptly throws himself against Sunstreaker’s lap, wriggling until he is comfortable. Sunstreaker’s hand lands on Sideswipe’s forehelm and he begins stroking.

                 “Good,” Sideswipe murmurs, nuzzling Sunstreaker’s knee.

                 “Training room,” Sunstreaker replies and Sideswipe nods. They both fall silent for several minutes, only half watching the television which is now showing something about colorful birds.

                 “Why do I get the feelin’ the two of you just had an entire conversation consistin’ of about a dozen and a half words?” Jazz suddenly asks, prompting both twins to look up at him from where he is leaning against a nearby wall. Despite the visor and the nonchalant pose, Sunstreaker can feel him intently studying the two of them.

                 “Do we need more?” Sideswipe asks, yawning.

                 “You and I would. But you and your brother don’t, do you?” Jazz shrewdly comments.

                 Sideswipe rolls over a little and looks at Sunstreaker, arching an orbital ridge. Sunstreaker lifts one shoulder in a shrug and Jazz throws up his hands in exasperation.

                 “That wasn’t a challenge to do it with no words!”

                 Sideswipe sighs and sits up. “Does it matter?”

                 Sunstreaker can feel Sideswipe struggling to come up with an explanation that someone who isn’t a twin would understand. They rely on more than just verbal words. There is frame language, gestures and expressions. Little wisps of emotions will flash across their bond, sometimes tied to a snippet of memory. It’s an entire complex language that is ever-evolving.

                 Jazz cocks his head to the side, his lips thinning. “No, I suppose it don’t,” he finally says and Sideswipe’s shoulders sag a little in relief. He looks at Sunstreaker, then sends a pulse of pale red over the bond, optics flicking to the doorway. It’s a little earlier than they had agreed to leave for the training room, but neither one of them really like to be stared at and dissected either.

                 Sunstreaker nods and they stand in unison, making Jazz tense.

                 “You know, every time I get the two of you figured out, you do somethin’ that surprises me,” he comments.

                 “Sounds like that’s your problem,” Sideswipe remarks. Sunstreaker sends a sound bite of buzzing bees and Sideswipe snorts in amusement.

                 “One of these days, boys… one of these days…” Jazz warns, half joking, half utterly serious.

                 Sunstreaker grunts. Good luck with that. They barely have themselves figured out. Most of its instinct and they’ve learned to just trust it.

                 They don’t particularly care one way or another if someone ‘gets them’. It’s nice to have friends, but nothing beats your own twin.

Chapter Text

                He’s gonna need a new desk, Ratchet thinks as he’s bent over it for the third time in as many days.

                It’s hard to really complain though, what with the delicious slide of Sunstreaker’s spike deep into Ratchet’s valve. That burst of sensation more than makes up for the new scuffs adorning the desk’s surface.

                Of course, if the three of them keep going the way they have been since they started this… thing… the desk might just collapse from the valiant effort of holding up the weight of three rather large mechs.

                Although Ratchet has discovered that it only has to hold up the weight of two mechs more often than not. Because Sideswipe likes to watch.

                Just like now.

                Sideswipe is perpendicular to both one end of the desk and Sunstreaker and Ratchet’s moving bodies. He has his hands on the table surface and is leaning in, optics avidly switching between where Sunstreaker is penetrating Ratchet and each of their faces.

                And he’s talking.

                “Slower, Sunny,” Sideswipe murmurs. “Make him arch for it. You’ll do that for my brother, won’t you, Ratchet? Meet him halfway?”

                Sideswipe’s voice is surprisingly quiet and oddly polite in every instruction and suggestion. There’s no condescension in his words, only a spark-felt desire to ensure things feel and look perfectly. It’s like he’s a director of a play, positioning each actor just so.

                They first time he’d done it, Ratchet had been a little miffed. But Sunstreaker had gone along with it like it was second nature to him. It hadn’t taken long for Ratchet to follow Sunstreaker’s lead.

                He’s not sure why. Ratchet’s never been one to follow orders. But he does it anyway. He’s found that he likes the focus Sideswipe gives him, likes the way his optics gleam when they move together how Sideswipe wants.

                So Sunstreaker slows down and Ratchet shifts his feet under him to raise his aft. He rocks back into each one of Sunstreaker’s deep, deep thrusts, vision fritzing around the edges because it’s even better like this.

                Of course it is.

                “Mmmm… now you feel it,” Sideswipe sighs, pleased. He bends over farther, optics level with Ratchet’s. “It’s good, isn’t it? I bet he’s hitting every node you have. Tighten up a little; squeeze him. Make every push and pull work you both.”

                Ratchet does as Sideswipe says, Sunstreaker cursing as he draws back, Ratchet’s valve snug around his spike. Sunstreaker’s hands tighten on Ratchet’s waist, prompting Ratchet to dig his fingers into the desk.

                “That’s it, yes,” Sideswipe says, sounding awed. “So beautiful, the both of you. Just like that… keep going.”

                Ratchet also might… just might… be developing a kink for the praise Sideswipe delivers when he’s watching them. It’s just so… honest. Ratchet knows he’s not good-looking, but he almost believes it when Sideswipe says it, because he believes it.

                “Are you going to join any time soon?” Sunstreaker asks, his voice grating. It sounds like the words are forced out past gritted denta and Ratchet knows the feeling. His entire body is warm and tight, held in a perfect plane of pleasure.

                Sideswipe’s gaze remains locked on Ratchet’s, unwavering and intense. Ratchet uncharacteristically flushes and wishes he could turn his head the other way, face away from Sideswipe.

                “I might,” Sideswipe murmurs. One of his hands creep across the desk and he gently brushes the back of one finger over Ratchet’s parted lips. “Then again…” Sideswipe pauses as Ratchet’s glossa peeks out and flits over the black plating. He allows Ratchet to mouth at his digit for a moment and then slides it past Ratchet’s lips to lie curved over the top of his glossa.

                “… then again… aren’t I already?”

Chapter Text

                “This is a storage room,” Grimlock announced, stumbling a little as Bluestreak pulled him through the doorway.

                “Very astute. Your visor seems to be working,” Bluestreak snipped, and Grimlock growled a little. First Slag and now his very own lover? Must everyone give him lip today?

                “Don’t grumble at me,” Bluestreak admonished, flicking on the overhead light and shutting the door. He whirled around and placed his hands on his hips, glaring.

                It was such an unusual expression for his normally mild-mannered partner than Grimlock took pause.

                “You like it when I grumble at you,” he said cautiously, stepping forward and reaching out for Bluestreak’s arms. Bluestreak promptly side-stepped him and pointed a finger at Grimlock’s chest.

                “That’s in the berth. This is real life. What you said to Hound was mean. He’s one of the gentlest sparks still existing and there was no call for berating him like that. Just because Slag irritated you didn’t mean you had to take it out on Hound.”

                Hound. Bluestreak’s closest friend and though Bluestreak had denied it, Grimlock suspected also a former lover. The thought of Bluestreak siding with Hound instead of him, his partner, infuriated him. It pushed him beyond the normal range of his constantly simmering anger, into something thoughtless and irrational.

                Grimlock growled again and rushed forward, grabbing Bluestreak by the waist. He lifted him and slammed him against the nearest wall. “Shall I take it out on you then?” he snarled, baring his denta.

                Too late, Grimlock realized what he had done. By then, the pinched lines around Bluestreak’s optics had already formed, an indication of the pain in his sensory panels from the unexpected impact against them.

                “If that’s what you need,” Bluestreak replied calmly, his left hand reaching up and cupping Grimlock’s cheek.

                The touch was tender, Bluestreak’s gaze understanding… all far more than Grimlock deserved. He carefully lowered Bluestreak’s dangling pedes back to the ground, pulling him away from the wall as he did so.

                “I’m sorry. Blue… I’m…”

                He hung his head in shame, because Bluestreak was right. Grimlock had been frustrated by Optimus’ continued condescension towards his team, Slag’s constant pushing… Hound had made a mistake, yes, but the mild-mannered mech hadn’t deserved Grimlock’s harsh words.

                Nor had Bluestreak deserved the physical treatment he had just received.

                A finger pressed against Grimlock’s mouth and he froze, looking back up at his partner.

                “I don’t know if I believe you,” Bluestreak said quietly. “Get on your knees and tell me again.”

                He stared at Bluestreak for a long moment and then slowly sank down. Even kneeling, his head was barely a foot lower than Bluestreak’s. He hunched his shoulders, feeling small despite being nearly as wide as Bluestreak’s doorwing-span. 

                “I apologize, Master. I let my anger get the better of me… several times today. Are you hurt?” Grimlock asked. He gently touched the side of Bluestreak’s knee.

                “My panels are tender, but they’ll be fine. May I assume you’ll apologize to Hound?” Bluestreak asked, crossing his arms under his bumper.

                “Yes, sir. I will immediately.”

                Grimlock went to rise and do just that, but a hand on his shoulder made him freeze. He looked up at Bluestreak, questioning.

                “Later. I’m concerned that you’ve regressed. You haven’t laid your hands on me like that in quite a while now,” Bluestreak commented. He considered Grimlock for several seconds, then reached out a hand to trail fingertips down the side of Grimlock’s face. Grimlock turned his hand and nuzzled Bluestreak’s hand, already calmer from the familiar touch.

                “You’re right, sir… I… there’s no excuse for it. You’ve graciously taught me to be better behaved and I… I slipped.”

                To put it mildly.

                “You did,” Bluestreak said, nodding. “Perhaps it’s time we return to the daily paddlings. Just as a reminder of your lessons.”

                Grimlock shuddered, his optics squeezing shut behind his visor. “If that’s what you think is best, Master.”

                Bluestreak stepped forward, the sides of his pedes brushing Grimlock’s knees. His hand stroked down the side of Grimlock’s neck, his fingers encircling it. They notched up under Grimlock’s jawline and forced his head backwards, thumb digging into and compressing an energon line. His partner leaned forward, optics searching Grimlock’s face.

                Grimlock remained very still, barely venting. Despite his greater strength, his larger mass and frame, he knew who was in power here.

                Bluestreak abruptly released Grimlock, the rush of energon into his head making him feel light-headed. His partner stepped backwards, half turning as he moved to the door.

                “Make sure you fuel up. I don’t want you passing out on me like last time,” Bluestreak said. “Be at my quarters fifteen minutes past the start of beta shift… I’ll have the restraints waiting.”


~ End

Chapter Text

                Everyone had been giving him weird looks and while it was starting to get on his nerves, it still couldn’t really keep his good mood down.

                It wasn’t hard to stay happy after the past day he’d had. Yesterday, he’d gotten a package which had turned out to the new paints he had ordered. Three days early.

                After experimenting with some new colors for several hours, Sideswipe had finally dragged him to bed. Five very satisfying overloads and a deep spark merge later, they had both fallen into recharge and had slept in on their day off.

                Sideswipe had refused to be budged from their nest, although Sunstreaker didn’t try all that hard. It was kind of nice to go and take a drive on his own. Sunstreaker loved his twin, but every once in a while, a little silence could go a long way.

                After his short trip to a nearby lake, he had driven back to the Ark to have a friendly spar with Ironhide, followed by a little target practice with Bluestreak and Mirage. Of course, they both wiped the floor with him but he hadn’t let it bother him. He had just gone on to lead his hand to hand combat group through their drills and for once the whole lot hadn’t irritated him every minute of the session.

                Then he had walked to the recroom to pick up two cubes for his and Sideswipe’s dinner. Sideswipe was finally starting to stir over their bond, sleepily prodding at Sunstreaker. Knowing his twin, once they consumed their fuel, they’d probably tumble back into the berth again.

                Not like that was a chore or anything.  


                Sunstreaker blinked out of a memory involving Sideswipe smirking up at him while on his knees and turned around to look at who had just spoken. Jazz stood behind him, his head tilted to the side.

                “Yeah, Jazz?”

                “Did ya know that yer hummin’?”

                Sunstreaker considered the question and realized that he had actually been humming to himself off and on all day.

                “I do now. Problem with it?” Sunstreaker asked mildly.

                Jazz held up his hands in a non-threatening manner. “Mech, I am not the person to have a problem with other people enjoyin’ some tunes. Plus it’s amusin’ the Pit out of me watchin’ everyone else tryin’ to figure what’s goin’ on.”

                Ah. That’s what all the staring had been about.

                “Nothing’s going on, really. Just a good day.” He reached out and clasped Jazz on the shoulder, squeezing lightly. Jazz tensed, but otherwise his smile stayed in place.

                “Glad to hear it, mech. Glad to hear it.”

                After that, Sunstreaker made it a point to hum even louder. A few times he even sang out loud. And he took multiple image captures of every surprised and wary expression.

                Sideswipe was going to find this absolutely hilarious.

~ End

Chapter Text

                 Ratchet has had a soft spot for the twins since he’d met them. Not many can understand why. They’re often belligerent, foolhardy, reckless, irreverent… and a dozen other adjectives as well. But those mechs don’t get to see all of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker... not like Ratchet does.

                “Brought that new datafile,” Sideswipe announced, flouncing into Sunstreaker’s recovery room like he owned it. “Hey, Ratch!”

                Ratchet grunted a wordless greeting at him, mostly focused on the back of the multi-monitor, whose screen has been flickering off and on all day.

                “Did you bring the paints?” Sunstreaker demanded as Sideswipe upended a small bag onto Sunstreaker’s legs. Well. Leg. The other was awaiting reattachment, but the sensory lines in Sunstreaker’s hip also got fried so his self-repair nanites had to do their job first.

                “Of course. And some music. So how bored are you on a scale of 1 to punt Cliffjumper through the ceiling?” Sideswipe chirped, bouncing onto the recovery berth.

                Sunstreaker sighed and reached his hands out for the paints, not answering. Out of the corner of his optic, Ratchet caught Sideswipe frowning at his twin’s bowed head.

                “Na uh. Book first. I’ll read it to you. Scoot over.”

                “Sideswipe… I don’t want you to read to me. My optics are working perfectly fine. Aren’t they, Ratchet?” Sunstreaker asked, raising his voice.

                Ratchet shrugged nonchalantly. “You were in the center of that blast. While not your main concern, I’m sure your optics were affected a little.”

                “Ha! See? I’m reading.”

                Sideswipe squirmed his way up the bed and plopped down next to Sunstreaker. There was a lot of grumbling and grunting until they settled, but they managed to arrange themselves comfortably. Ratchet was always a little amazed at how well two sizable mechs like the twins were able to both fit on a single table.

                Sideswipe started reading aloud, changing his voice for the different characters. Ratchet wasn’t really following along, other than appreciating the quiet background sounds. Sideswipe had a nice voice, especially when he was doing something like this.

                It took about another half hour before Ratchet finally found the source of the problem; a burnt out wire hidden in the guts of the machine. By then, Sideswipe was starting to go a little hoarse and they had both migrated from sitting upright to laying inclined on the nest of pillows Sideswipe had brought the night before.

                Ratchet was about to leave to fetch a replacement wire when he caught sight of Sunstreaker’s face. He had rolled over practically on top of his twin, propping his chin up on Sideswipe’s belly. Sideswipe was absently rubbing the edge of Sunstreaker’s left helm fin as he read from his datapad. And Sunstreaker was gazing up at his brother with frank adoration on his faceplates.

                And this… this was why Ratchet looked out for the twins. Because while mecha hooked up left and right for one night stands, there were few others who loved someone else like this. Unconditionally. With their whole spark.

                Or their half, as the case may be.

                It was something that needed to be protected, to be cherished. So maybe Ratchet stood up for them in command meetings. Maybe he always considered them a little differently while triaging. And maybe he hung around during moments like this just to remind himself what they all were fighting for.

~ End

Chapter Text

                “How’s it going down there?” Sunstreaker asked, leaning over Whirl’s back.

                There was a pregnant pause and then Sunstreaker heard Whirl’s muffled voice. “Bored.”

                “Oh? Bored? I’m guess I’m not trying hard enough then,” Sunstreaker mused. He flicked the switch for the vibrating egg buried deep in Whirl’s valve and watched the rotary’s hips jerk in response.

                Despite that, Whirl snickered. “Hah… hard.

                Unseen, Sunstreaker rolled his optics. Honestly. It was like talking to Sideswipe sometimes.

                Without preamble, Sunstreaker reached out and landed an open hand blow against Whirl’s scrawny aft. While Whirl’s yelp still echoed in the room, Sunstreaker plunged two fingers into the other mech’s valve and yanked on the cord attached to the bullet, pulling it out completely.

                Whirl howled, jerking against his bonds. “Put it back! Put it back!”

                “Put it back? It sounds like you want something a little more substantial,” Sunstreaker murmured, shifting even further behind Whirl and lining himself up. He sunk deep into Whirl’s valve with one steady push, Whirl moaning when Sunstreaker finally bottomed out.

                “If… if you call that substantial… sure,” Whirl gasped. But his valve told another story, rippling around Sunstreaker’s spike.

                “You’re so cheeky tonight,” Sunstreaker said, resting his pelvis against While’s aft. While the valve snug around him felt good, he was still completely in control of himself.

                “So sorry, Master. I’ll be better, Master,” Whirl said, simpering.

                Sunstreaker sighed in disappointment. “Will you really, though? Or do you need some incentive?”

                Still pressed tight against Whirl’s body, he leaned over and raked his talons down Whirl’s rotor blades.



                Whirl screeched and started flailing.

                “No! NO! NO TICKLING!!!”

                Gently clawing at the blades over and over again, Sunstreaker began making short little thrusts into Whirl’s valve. Soon, there were moans mixing in with the protests, Whirl’s engine making hiccupping sounds as he was torn between the two sensations.

                All of a sudden, Sunstreaker stilled and he let Whirl collapse down against his bonds for a few moments. Then he withdrew from Whirl’s valve, carefully replacing the bullet. He flicked it up to its top speed and slid around to Whirl’s head.

                Grabbing the other mech’s antenna, Sunstreaker used one hand to yank Whirl’s head up so that he could look into his optic. The other hand went around Whirl’s intake and gently squeezed.

                “Still bored?”


~ End

Chapter Text

                “This is for you.”

                Prowl looked up, startled. Apparently he had been so caught up in his reading, he hadn’t noted the entrance of the two gleaming frontliners who now stood in front of his office desk.

                “I beg your pardon?”

                Sunstreaker stepped forward and set the thing he had been holding down onto Prowl’s desk. Prowl dumbly stared at it for a long moment before his spark gave a painful lurch in his chest. Barely daring to ventilate, Prowl carefully reached out and picked up the tiny pot, bringing it closer to him. He reverently touched the tip of the black crystal, admiring the smooth surface, free of any cracks or blemishes.

                “Oh. Oh, it’s beautiful,” Prowl said faintly. He looked back up at the twins, confused. “Why…?”

                “Typically… suitors begin with a courting with a gift of remembrance. That’s what Mirage said, anyway. And we thought… well… you being from Praxus and all…” Sideswipe trailed off, gesturing at the small fragment.

                “Did you grow this yourselves?” Prowl asked, entranced with the clear crystal. It was in amazing condition and…

                His head shot back up. “Wait… what did you say? About courting?”

                Sideswipe and Sunstreaker glanced at each other. “We’d like to court you,” Sunstreaker said slowly. “We… like you.”

                Prowl blinked rapidly, the back of his head starting to ache. “You like me?” he asked, disbelieving. “Since when?”

                “Since…?” Sideswipe looked at him askance. “Like… a while now? I mean… why do you think we gave you those bookfiles?”

                “Or that waxing kit?” Sunstreaker added.

                “The energon treats?”

                “The carwash coupons?”

                “The engraving pen?”

                Prowl leaned forward and waved a hand through the air, confused. “You two gave me all those?”

                Sunstreaker suddenly whapped Sideswipe along the back of helm. “I told you we should have signed them!”

                Sideswipe pouted, rubbing the sore area. “I thought he would figure it out!” he protested. His gaze locked back on Prowl, his optics disappointed. “You really didn’t know it was us?”

                “No. I honestly didn’t. I appreciated the gifts, I truly did, but I had no idea who left them for me,” Prowl admitted. “I had hoped they were from…”

                Prowl abruptly trailed off, snapping his mouth closed. But too late. The damage had already been done.

                Sideswipe’s shoulders slumped and Sunstreaker stiffened as if bracing himself. “From who?” Sunstreaker demanded. “Who did you want them to be from?”

                Prowl considered first one twin then the other and then sighed, gently placing the pot back on the desk. He carefully slid it across, towards Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. “Does it matter?”

                Sunstreaker squared his shoulders, his expression turned belligerent. “No. Guess it doesn’t. C’mon, Sides…”

                He turned to go, but Sideswipe was still staring at Prowl, desperately searching his face. Prowl couldn’t decide which twin’s reaction pained him more. Both were spark-breaking and Prowl wished he had had better tact.

                Once more, he nudged at the pot. “Thank you, but I can’t accept this.”

                Sideswipe swallowed and somehow managed to muster up a grin. “Naw. Keep it. It’s a miracle a couple of dumb grunts like us managed to grow it as far as we did. It’ll probably do better here than in our mess of a room.”

                He whirled on one heel and made his way over to his brother who was waiting for him by the door. Sunstreaker held an arm out and Sideswipe tucked in against his twin’s side. They practically fled, their backs disappearing beyond the edge of the door before Prowl could open his mouth.

                He stared at the slowly closing door, frowning. “Neither of you are dumb,” he said out loud to the suddenly quiet room. Heaving a sigh, he reached out for the pot and cuddled it close to his chest. It wasn’t a present from who he had wanted his secret admirer to be, but it was still a precious gift, one that he would treasure.

                And it gave him a good idea for something to leave on Ratchet’s desk tomorrow.


~ End

Chapter Text

                “What the ever loving fuck?!” Sideswipe blurted out.

                Sunstreaker’s head shot up and he looked at his twin, alarmed by the sudden ball of mixed emotions flooding their bond. He followed Sideswipe’s line of sight, noting Ratchet chatting with a largely white mech at the energon dispenser.

                This was surprising for two reasons. One – Ratchet had his own energon dispenser in both his quarters and the Medical Bay. Two – when both of those dispensers were down (and maybe Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had had something to do with that once or twice), Ratchet always stomped into the commissary and got his ration while glowering at everyone as if silently warning them not to engage.

                To see him relaxed was… Holy Primus… was Ratchet smiling?!

                “Who is that?” Sunstreaker growled, his fingers tightening on the data pad he had been holding. It creaked alarmingly but Sideswipe never looked away from Ratchet.

                “Drift. New recruit. Or old recruit. Remember Deadlock?” Sideswipe asked.

                “Yeah. What about him?” Sunstreaker returned, examining every visible inch of the new guy.

                “Now he goes by Drift.”

                Sunstreaker’s engine rumbled angrily. “Are you kidding me? Ratchet is buddying up to a former ‘con?”

                Sideswipe finally turned to look at him. The expression on Sideswipe’s face was both befuddled and hurt. “I don’t get it,” he complained. “They look like they’re old friends. Like they…”

                He trailed off, suddenly ducking his head. He stared at his lap and his fingers twisted together absently as he frowned. His vents hiccupped quietly and Sunstreaker leaned in, wrapping his arm around Sideswipe’s waist. Sideswipe automatically turned in to him.

                “Maybe they are. Old friends, that is,” Sunstreaker offered, hating the way Sideswipe seemed so discouraged. “You know sometimes that happened.”

                Sideswipe notched his chin over Sunstreaker’s shoulder, staring at the wall behind them and hiding his face from view of the rest of the room. He sniffed quietly.

                “Yeah. That’s true. And… and it’s nice to see Ratchet happy. He deserves to be happy,” Sideswipe said determinedly.

                Sunstreaker’s gaze roved over Drift’s form one more time, watching as Ratchet laughed at something the other mech had said.

                “Yeah, he does,” Sunstreaker said. “But… if he’d let us… we’d make him happy too. Don’t give up just yet.”

~ End

Chapter Text

          “I want those reports by tomorrow. And do something about that whiny Conehead… Rustleg or Aciddrop or whatever the frag his name is… he keeps popping up in random places asking me for a transfer,” Megatron complained. “Something about Starscream being mean.”

          “Yes, Lord Megatron,” Soundwave intoned, coming to a halt in front of Megatron’s door. “Recharge…”

          Soundwave broke off and tilted his head to the side, looking down the corridor and then up at the ceiling. Megatron watched in confusion.

          “What is it?” he asked, his cannon powering up.

          After a long moment, Soundwave gave a little shake of his head. “Soundwave: heard something.”

          “Rats maybe,” Megatron said with a twist of his lips. “More of the vermin have been getting in, I’ve been told. Disgusting organic creatures.”

          Soundwave hesitated and then slowly nodded. “Yes, Lord Megatron. Recharge well.”

          His third in command turned smartly on one heel and walked back down the hallway, shooting the occasional glance at the ceiling until he turned the corner and moved out of view. Megatron waited until he could no longer hear Soundwave’s pedesteps and then entered his quarters. He carefully searched every nook and cranny, just to be safe, but he found no intruders.

          He settled at his desk with a sigh, retrieving several data pads from subspace. He spread them out over the surface of his desk and had just turned on the first one when he felt a whisper of a breeze against the back of his neck.

          “Rats, hmm?” a voice purred into Megatron’s audial. It was immediately followed by slim fingers descending on his shoulders, stroking lightly down his arms.

          Megatron relaxed out of his reflexive tense posture and grunted as a lithe form slid around him and plopped down in his lap. He met the visor of the Autobot’s SpecOps leader and frowned.

          “You need to be more careful. Need I remind you that if you get caught, I’ll deny ever knowing of your visits?” he asked.

          Jazz leaned back on the desk, propping himself up on his elbows and putting his prominent bumper on display. Megatron could never resist touching it, and this time was no different, prompting a deeper purr from the mech straddling him.

          “A picture’s worth a thousand words, lover,” Jazz said, visor light flickering with amusement. “And I have so… so many of them. Video too. And mmm… the sound files. Trust me, Megs… those keep me company at night.”

          “I rather you kept me company at night,” Megatron retorted, his hands bracketing Jazz’s waist with long familiarity. Jazz’s knees tightened on Megatron’s hips and he sinuously moved in a little shimmy.

          “I would too. But that ups the chance of my bein’ caught. And what a scandal that would be,” Jazz remarked, covering his mouth with one hand, pretending to be shocked.

          Megatron growled and pulled Jazz forward, his chest scraping over that delightful bumper. “You’ll never get caught.”

          Jazz laughed and let himself be hoisted into the air and deposited on the desk, legs wrapping right back around Megatron’s hips.

          “Oh, baby, you’re right… I’ll never get caught,” he murmured confidently, lips curving up in that dangerous smile that thrilled Megatron so much.

          He was playing with fire with Jazz. Beautiful, captivating… dangerous fire. And Megatron loved every scandalous minute of it.


~ End

Chapter Text

               “Mmm… I’ve been a bad, bad Decepticon, Daddy. Are you going to punish me?” Vortex purred, crawling his way up Optimus’ frame.  

                Optimus let his datapad fall to the side and raised both his orbital ridges at Vortex’s leer. “Actually, I think you’ve been quite the good little Decepticon. Defecting and all that. Great job.” 

                He leaned down to pat Vortex on the head and then raised his datafile, hiding his smile at Vortex’s miffed expression. 

                “Right, but I’m still a bad ‘bot. Bad at spark… all of those soldiers I tortured for information…” Vortex said, nudging Optimus’ hip.  

                “Wasn’t half of those your own side?” Optimus asked absently, as if he absolutely wasn’t paying attention to Vortex’s grasping fingers. They were slim and dexterous and a little distracting as they played with the transformation seams of Optimus’ hips. 

                “I got bored and they were good playthings. Matter of fact… I’m bored now…” Vortex whined. “Play with me!” 

                Optimus sighed, flicking off his datapad and tossing it onto the stand by the head of the berth. He took hold of Vortex’s shoulders and bodily pulled him up until he perched atop Optimus’ lower belly. 

                “Ooohhh…” Vortex said, wriggling excitedly. “This is more like it!” 

                “So you want to be played with, do you?” Optimus asked. He pushed himself up off the incline and pillows and captured Vortex’s exposed mouth. Vortex melted against him, hands groping Optimus’ windshield. While Vortex’s fingers were busy, Optimus slid his own hands around Vortex’s back and up to caress his rotor hub. Then he clasped Vortex close with one arm, his fingers crooking to lightly scrape down the nearest of Vortex’s blades.               

                Vortex murmured a protest and wriggled again, this time trying to shrug off the touch. But Optimus only did it again. 

                And again and again until Vortex was shrieking and thrashing and giggling. 

                “Maybe you do deserve to be punished…” Optimus murmured, rolling Vortex over with an eager rev of his engine.



Chapter Text

                “I got something new for you,” Ratchet said, grinning a little as he hovered on all fours over Starscream’s prone frame.

                “Oh, did you now? I guess I’ve been a good boy then,” Starscream purred. He looked coyly up at Ratchet though lowered optic shutters and Ratchet snorted. Plopping down on Starscream’s abdomen, he raised an orbital ridge.

                “You? Good? Don’t make me laugh,” Ratchet said, crossing his hands over his windshield.

                Starscream wriggled a little because while his mate wasn’t huge, he was heavy. Most times, Starscream loved that bulk pressing him down into the mattress. Most times he was ten seconds away from an explosive overload, though.

                “Fine. Then I was a bad boy. I’m horrible at being good anyway. So are you going to get on with the punishing then?” Starscream said, tugging at the bonds holding his wrists at the side of the bed.

                “I’m not sure you really want to be encouraging me to punish you,” Ratchet said, but he reached inside of his subspace and pulled something out. He proudly held it up so Starscream could see.

                “It’s… a dildo,” Starscream said doubtfully. “Oh, Primus, no, not a dildo! However will I cope with the agony?”

                Ratchet smiled, the corners of his mouth twitching. “This is not just any dildo, Starscream. This is the dildo to end all dildos.”

                Starscream’s mouth opened and closed a little. Ratchet was being uncommonly gleeful. Whenever his mate was like this, Starscream knew to be on high alert. He wasn’t exactly sure what to look out for, but he’d be ready.

                “Stop saying dildo. It’s weirding me out,” Starscream muttered, staring up at the plain black sex toy with a little trepidation.

                “Dildo, dildo, dildo. Now spread ‘em and let’s see if we can’t find a home for this beauty.”




                Starscream thought he’d be ready.

                He wasn’t. Nothing could have prepared him for a toy which broke into separate, connecting pieces. A slim probe slid deep into his aftport, a thicker section penetrated his valve, and a tiny little soft cup covered his anterior node.

                It vibrated. Every part of it. And it didn’t just vibrate… it also sucked. It seemed to find every node in his body, nodes Starscream didn’t even know he had. The toy latched on to them and suckled them in tight little waves of pleasure that had Starscream overloading in under thirty seconds.

                Then Ratchet increased the intensity, and Starscream overloaded again.

                The damn toy had ten settings, each kicking up the strength of the vibrations and suction a klick. When he reached level nine, Starscream shorted out his vocalizer from screaming. Level ten knocked him into a hard reset which lasted for exactly twelve minutes.

                When he finally came to, his arms were free and he had been rolled against Ratchet’s side, his wings draped limply across the bed behind him. He felt exhausted and wrung out, his processor pleasantly empty.

                It was perfect.

                “You are the Devil,” he slurred against Ratchet’s windshield, blowing a little bubble in the small puddle of drool which had accumulated under his cheek. There was no way he could let Ratchet know just how much he had loved the experience. He’d be smug for the rest of their lives together.

                “Sure I am,” Ratchet agreed.

                And damn it… that was the smug voice. Somehow, Ratchet knew.

                It was probably the drool. Starscream had never lost control of his body to the point of drooling before.

                “I hate you,” Starscream whined, because he had his pride, damn it!

                “Mmhm. And I’m sure you hated that toy too.”

                Ratchet tucked Starscream’s head under his chin and held him even tighter. A betraying purr vibrated out of Starscream’s chest, and he did his best to appear nonchalant while utterly limp.

                “It was all right,” he mumbled.

                Ratchet’s quiet laughter and the safety of his warm embrace carried Starscream into a sated and sound recharge.


~ End

Chapter Text

               “All right… how would you like to get started?” Ratchet asked, clapping his hands together in a strange fit of nervousness. He turned around and regarded Optimus, the door quietly shutting behind his taller frame. Optimus had was hunched slightly as Ratchet had taken one of the smaller rooms with a lower ceiling. Ratchet immediately leapt forward, took hold of Optimus’ closest hand and started dragging him across the room towards the berth.

                Of course, Optimus let himself be dragged. Ratchet was strong, all medics were. But none of them had the strength to match a Prime.

                Optimus graciously sat where indicated and Ratchet released his hand, drawing back a few steps. Before Optimus could say anything, Ratchet held up a finger as a thought occurred to him. He dove down onto his knees, forcing his way between Optimus’ legs.

                Optimus let out a strangled beep of surprise, but Ratchet barely heard it. It was nearly eclipsed by the loud screech his toy box made as he dragged it out from under his berth. He whirled it around, flung open the top, gesturing at the contents.

                “I have plenty of items to assist us with play,” Ratchet offered, gazing up eagerly at Optimus.

                Optimus leaned over, peering into the box. His gaze flicked up to meet Ratchet’s and then back down. His lips quirked a little and he slowly reached out. He took hold of the lid and gently closed it.

                “That’s a lot of toys,” he commented quietly. He carefully slid it to the side with one pede.

                Ratchet promptly flushed, his entire frame growing overly hot. “Yeah, well… I’ve been alone for a while now,” he mumbled.

                He startled when large hands landed on his shoulders. Ratchet stood when Optimus tugged on him, and he followed Optimus’ wordless instructions until he was straddling Optimus’ lap, aft balancing on Optimus’ thighs.

                “You are not alone now,” Optimus intoned, staring down at Ratchet with those beautiful, expressive optics that Ratchet loved so much. “And for the moment, I would like to play with you and only you.”

                Ratchet flushed again; this time the heat centered behind his interface panel. “Can’t promise you much,” Ratchet warned, although he practically melted at the way fingers trailed themselves down his back. “Not like I’m a fancy model or anything.”

                “Regardless of the model you are, you are you… and I want you, Ratchet,” Optimus said. Ratchet blinked at the mech currently acting as Ratchet’s chair. Then he leaned forward, brushing his lips across Optimus’.

                “Yeah, you’re a lot better than any toy,” Ratchet murmured.


~ End

Chapter Text

                 Hound’s optics were fixated on the screen in front of him. His back was to the door, but he didn’t have a roommate and none of his friends would come over without sending a comm first. There was no one to worry about seeing what he was watching.

                “Oh, yeahhh…” the small blue porn star moaned, thrusting his aft higher into the air. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

                The larger, dark green femme smacked Blue’s aft and grinned. “You’re such a slut. You’re gonna come around my knot, aren’t you? Gonna leak all around it.”

                Hound let out a shaky ex-vent and fisted his spike harder. He slouched down even further in his chair, spreading his legs a bit.

                “Yeah, yeah, I’m gonna do it!” Blue exclaimed, undulating wildly. “Come on, give it to me! I want you to spark me up!”

                Green growled, grabbing hold of Blue’s hips and holding him in place as she slammed deep. Her lower body froze for an instant and then she hunched forward, pelvis moving in small little jerks.

                Blue and Hound moaned in unison, Blue’s optics whiting out as the femme knotted her partner. Hound tightened his fingers around his spike, imagining that his tight grip was actually someone’s valve, hot and wet and rippling as his knot steadily expanded.

                Green grunted, throwing her head back in abandon as she started to overload. She kept thrusting in tiny little motions, her spike pulsing out a new load of transfluid with each wave. Every time she moved, Blue moved with her, Green’s knot firmly lodged in her partner’s valve.

                “Frag… frag…” Blue whimpered. He slowly sank down, his chest resting on the berth, and turned his head to the side, facing the camera. “Primus… oh, Primus, I can feel it. I can feel you. It’s so much… you’re giving me so much… you’re putting a sparkling in me… I can feel it.”

                “Damn straight I am,” Green growled. “Now shut up and take it, slut!”

                Hound whimpered as his lower abdomen tightened. His release was close… so close… just a little bit more… just a little tighter…

                His spike swelled and he groaned in anticipation. Optics slamming closed, he leaned his head back against the top of his chair and just listened to the wet smacking sounds on the screen.

                Blue cried out in ecstasy, begging and pleading for more. He had to be overflowing by now, Hound thought. Transfluid seeping up and around Green’s knot… it would spill over down Blue’s thighs once Green’s knot finally subsided. So much fluid, puddling on the floor around their knees. Hound could practically taste it… those warm, charged up silver streaks marring Blue’s plating. Maybe Green would lean down and lap it up, lap up her own… oh… oh frag

                Hound’s back arched and he stroked his spike furiously, a pained groan crawling up the back of his throat. His fingers were soon soaked, his spill seeping in through the cracks of his plating to his joints. After a long, shining moment, his moment collapsed back against his chair and his cooling fans clicked to their highest speed with a whine.

                He open-mouth panted, frame overly hot and tight. His hand moved up and down his spike slowly, and as the buzz faded, he couldn’t ignore the fact that his spike was smooth and uniform.

                Sighing in disappointment, Hound opened his optics and stared blindly at the screen. He ached to properly use his knot; he could never get his hand tight enough. No toy could mimic the real deal, but no one wanted to date him, much less ‘face him.

                The screen went blank, his empty quarters ringing with the echoes of Green’s satisfied moans. He dropped his arm back to his side and stared down at his depressurizing spike.

                One day. One day he’d have a partner who begged Hound for the knot just as much as Blue had begged Green.


~ End

Chapter Text

                They all knew they could be caught at any time. So they did their best to be careful and cover their tracks.

                They never met at the same place twice. They never left their bases at the same time of day. Sometimes three days passed before they got together, other times three months. The communications line they used was private, encrypted, and had a rotating algorithm that both Starscream and Sideswipe had worked on together, ensuring not one side or the other could easily break it.

                Sometimes Sunstreaker wondered if it was all worth it. He loved his twin. He tolerated Starscream.

                But there was something to be said about the thrill they experienced when they snuck out of the Ark. The illicit danger of interfacing not only a Decepticon, but the second in command of the enemy force. That… and Starscream was damn sexy.

                It was enough to keep them coming back for more.

                Starscream generally lived up to his name, so they often gagged him to help prevent discovery. The kinky glitch always protested, but Sideswipe and Sunstreaker knew it was just show. He liked being held down, to be handled roughly. It secretly made them wonder about all the beatings Megatron gave Starscream, but they never mentioned it. What Starscream did or didn’t do back at his home base was his own business.

                This time around, Sunstreaker had his hand clamped down over Starscream’s mouth when Grimlock abruptly walked into the clearing they were using. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker tended to be quiet and with Sunstreaker muffling Starscream’s cries, he had no idea how Grimlock had found them. For a moment, all Sunstreaker could do was stare.

                Then his leg kicked out, getting Sideswipe in the shoulder. When it got no response, he did it again, harder. Sideswipe finally stirred. He rose up onto his hands, blinking in confusion as Starscream’s lubricants trickled down his face. “What?” he demanded.

                Between Sunstreaker’s legs, Starscream thrashed a bit before finally ripping Sunstreaker’s hand away. “You’ll get your turn! I haven’t… wait…what’s wrong?”

                Almost in unison, Sideswipe and Starscream moved to look in the direction Sunstreaker was staring. There was a low buzz of surprise along his bond with Sideswipe, but Starscream had a much more intense reaction.

                He shot up, struggling to free himself from between the two of them. “I knew it! I knew you would turn me over at some point!” he hissed, thrusters igniting.

                Sunstreaker and Sideswipe shot to their feet as well, Sideswipe violently shaking his head as Sunstreaker held his hands up in a gesture of submission. Starscream hesitated, looking back and forth between the two of them.

                “We didn’t! I swear on our spark!” Sideswipe protested. “I have no idea why he’s here. Grimlock, why are you here?”

                As one, all three of their heads turned to stare at the Dinobot. Finally unfreezing, Grimlock finished out the step he had been in the middle of, his foot coming down onto the ground with a soft thud. He shrugged.

                “Me Grimlock, take walk. What you Twins and Screamer doing?”

                “It’s Starscream, you dolt!” Starscream spat. “And take a walk, my shiny aft! You’re here to kidnap me, aren’t you?”

                Grimlock recoiled, his expression one of disgust. “Grimlock, no kidnap. Grimlock just walk.”

                Sunstreaker let his hands slowly fall back to his sides. Grimlock had honestly been just as startled as they had. “Star… I think he’s telling the truth.”

                Starscream turned his baleful glare onto Sunstreaker. “He had better be,” Starscream warned, waggling a finger at them. “I get taken in, I’m telling them everything.”

                Sideswipe snorted and batted the finger down as he came up next to Starscream. “Right. Like they don’t already know we like to break the rules and fuck a lot. This is honestly just the next step; I doubt anyone'd be surprised.”

                He glanced over at Grimlock, propping his hands on his hips. Faceplates still streaked with interfacing fluids, he still managed to radiate a deadly serious ‘go away’ vibe.

                “Just out a walk, huh? Better get back to it then. And do us a favor? Don’t tell anyone about this, will you?” Sideswipe said cheerfully. Despite the tone, Sideswipe was tense. Sunstreaker was too. What were they supposed to do? It wasn’t like they could harm their one of their own.

                “What if I don’t want to keep on walking?” Grimlock asked, both his visor and face mask sliding aside. Purple optics roved over each of their frames, lingering on the smears of lubricant decorating Sideswipe’s mouth and on Starscream’s thighs. 

                “Wh… did you just talk?” Sideswipe asked, taking a surprised step back.

                Grimlock rolled his optics and crossed his arms over his chest. It was a nice chest, Sunstreaker thought absently. Perhaps not absently enough as it earned him a look of disbelief from his twin.

                “I’ve always talked,” Grimlock said, shrugging indolently.

                “You’ve always talked like a child,” Starscream commented, gazing shrewdly at Grimlock. “To hide the fact that you’re actually intelligent and not a mere brute. Interesting.”

                Well. That was two out of three. Not that Sunstreaker thought Sideswipe would need much convincing. As it was, he was looking back and forth between Sunstreaker and Starscream, noting their obvious interest. Finally he huffed and threw up his hands.

                “Fine! Don’t keep on walking. Join us, please, oh great king of the Dinobots,” Sideswipe said sarcastically, performing an elaborate bow. Grimlock came forward and stopped in front of Sideswipe just as he straightened up.

                “I like the sound of that,” Grimlock purred. He leaned down and cupped Sideswipe’s chin. “Scream it for me later?”

                Sideswipe’s mouth dropped open in shock and Grimlock took advantage, sweeping his thumb along Sideswipe’s lower lip. Sunstreaker swayed in place at the sight, reaching out a hand to grip Starscream’s arm in support.

                When he glanced over, he met Starscream’s surprised, but lust-filled optics. “Shall we?” Starscream murmured, gesturing towards where Grimlock had Sideswipe practically bent over backwards, their mouths firmly pressed together.

                Sideswipe whimpered along their bond, his hands clutching at Grimlock’s broad shoulders. Sunstreaker suddenly, desperately, wanted to exchange places with his twin. Or watch Grimlock’s big hands splay out over Starscream’s wings as he took him from behind. So many possibilities.

                What a great day for Grimlock to take a walk.


~ End

Chapter Text

“You’re doing so well,” Ratchet says, and Starscream’s entire body flushes at the words.

                Stupid. He doesn’t need some ancient, blocky medic’s validation. He doesn’t need his smile or his warm optics. He’s here for the chains and the toys, and that’s all.

                “You look really good like this,” Ratchet adds, and Starscream reflexively sneers at him.

                “Bound and at your mercy?” Starscream snaps back, because yes, he had agreed to the spreaders and the ropes, but Ratchet had tied him up so thoroughly. With knowledgeable and sure fingers. This wasn’t a skill he had just picked up.

                Ratchet was good at this.

                And Starscream was starting to realize that maybe he was in over his head. In more ways than one.

                Ratchet shifted on the bed, placing his hand on Starscream’s cockpit. He left it there, palm warm and his thumb gently stroking the glass.

                “…surrendering,” Ratchet replies after a moment. “I don’t think you realize just how relaxed you are.”

                “I am not…! I…”

                He’s not sure what to say. He’s supposed to get pleasure out of this… but not too much pleasure. Yet, Ratchet is right. As soon as the last buckle had been set in place, Starscream had felt his entire body loosen.

                “It’s all right,” Ratchet says, his entire hand now stroking Starscream’s cockpit. The motions are slow and soothing, and if anything Starscream’s frame grows even limper. “You don’t have to put a label on it; just feel.”

                “I am feeling. I’m feeling bored, matter of fact,” Starscream says peevishly, although he is anything but. “You promised me toys. Where are the toys?”

                Ratchet cocks his head to the side and studies Starscream for a long moment. He frowns a little. “I’m sorry, Starscream. I thought you knew… you are the toy for the evening. Mine to position as I please… mine to use as I see fit.”

                Starscream’s spark gives a slow and heavy throb and his vents catch. “I’m not a toy!” he protests weakly.

                Giving him a reassuring smile, Ratchet pushes himself up onto his knees and hovers next Starscream’s chest.

                “I’m sure you’ll be my favorite. And never fear… I take quite good care of my toys,” Ratchet says, his fingers curling under as they stroke the side of Starscream’s chest. They somehow find one of Starscream’s most sensitive seams and make him shudder at the sharp lick of pleasure.

                “But now that you know your role,” Ratchet continues, “I want to make sure you still want me to proceed. I will use you, Starscream. I will use you like any other toy to make myself feel good. I’ll be sure to use you carefully, however. I don’t want you breaking or wearing out on me. And at the end of it all, you’ll be cleaned and recharged, fresh and ready to go again in the future. Are you ok with that?”

                “What do I get out of it?” Starscream asks, his processor slowing to a murky stall at Ratchet’s words.

                Ratchet shifts and throws a leg over Starscream’s middle. When he settles, Starscream feels heat and moisture against his lower belly and he has to fight not to make a sound.

                “Do you know what the best thing about toys are?” Ratchet says idly, gently swiveling his hips back and forth. More wetness slowly smears over Starscream’s plating, sensitizing it further. “They don’t have to think. They don’t have to make decisions or be responsible. They just exist for someone else’s pleasure. And they feel good, because they’re doing the job that they were built to do.”

                Ratchet tweaks that chest seam again, and a moan ekes out from between Starscream’s lips. “Tell me, Starscream… what were you built to do?”

                Starscream shivers, unable to look away from Ratchet’s warm optics. He should feel offended… to be treated like an inanimate object! Yet the idea somehow appeals to him. To just… be.

                “I… I was built… to pleasure you?” Starscream ventures hesitantly. As every second passes, the concept feels more and more right.

                “Yes, very good,” Ratchet says, voice ringing with sincerity and that flush hits Starscream again, making both his spark and array ache in an unfamiliar way. “You’re going to be so good at this, I can just tell.”

                “Please…” Starscream begs, suddenly desperate for more of that praise, “… please tell me how. I want to be good for you…”

                “I’ll show you,” Ratchet promises and Starscream does what Ratchet had already recognized the beginnings of.

                He surrenders.


~ End

Chapter Text

                 The sounds of an uninhibited Starscream always makes Megatron flush with heat. There’s no snide remarks, no simpering or pleading. Instead, it’s all fury and honesty and Starscream brought down to a most basic level of need.

                “Give it to me!” Starscream rasps, pedes kicking. “I wanna overload… let me overload!”

                “No, I don’t think so,” Megatron murmurs, stroking the vibrating toy in and out of Starscream’s valve faster. His spike strains upwards into the air, pre-fluids dribbling down to pool around the inhibitor ring snug at the base. Hips working to meet each thrust, Starscream growls out his irritation.

                “Frag you, you glitched reject of a scraplet!” Starscream hisses. He pulls against the ropes holding his arms up above his head, fingers wriggling uselessly.

                “Maybe later,” Megatron says with a smirk. He licks the palm of his free hand and wraps it around his own rigid length, Starscream’s gaze hungrily tracking the motion. “I want you hovering on the edge.”

                “I’m there!” Starscream exclaims. “What are you waiting for?! Take the slagging ring off already!”

                Megatron abruptly removes the toy from Starscream’s valve and lifts it to his mouth, sucking the tip in. His glossa tingles with the charged particles of Starscream’s lubricant, the vibrations from the dildo rumbling through his entire oral cavity. Starscream shrieks wordlessly at the loss of sensation. His wings flap and flutter and the scream dissolves into spitted curses.

                “That’s one,” Megatron remarks, giving the toy one last lick. He flicks off the vibrator’s switch and tosses it to the side. Then he reaches for a small box, opening it and withdrawing a long, silver rod.

                Starscream abruptly goes silent and still, optics wide as he watches Megatron pour artificial lubricant over one end of the sound.

                “By my count, you threatened my life four times this past week. That I’m aware of, anyway,” Megatron says. “So that’s four overloads I’m going to deny you.”

                “… and the fifth?” Starscream ventures, because fair’s fair after all. Even with Starscream.

                “I haven’t decided yet,” Megatron says with a shrug. He slides forward and grasps Starscream’s spike, steadying it against the sound’s tip. “You know me… not an ounce of pity in my spark.”

                Starscream shuts his optics and moans in despair.


~ End

Chapter Text

                “Is there something wrong?” Grimlock asked delicately. He made sure to keep his gaze locked on the datapad in his hand. Too much focus on him and Starscream would defensively bristle.

                “No, of course not. What makes you think something is wrong?” Starscream replied.

                Grimlock glanced up briefly. “You’ve been pacing for the past half hour. And your wings are fluttering.”

                “My wings don’t flutter!” Starscream snapped as he calm to a halt. Grimlock sighed. Too far then. Well, no going back. He flicked the datapad off, laid it on the nearby table, and gave his mate his full attention. After a moment, he raised a finger and silently pointed at Starscream’s left wing.

                Which was fluttering.

                Starscream glanced over at it, his startled expression turning into a glare. “It’s not fluttering,” he insisted. “The air currents are weird in here and it’s irritating my sensors.”

                Grimlock let the lie pass, although he couldn’t help looking up and around the windowless room that they were in. There was not a single air vent.

                “And the pacing?”

                Starscream huffed, threw his hands up in the air, and resumed said activity. “I’m just… what is taking them so long already?!”

                “Dotting the ‘i’s and crossing the ‘t’s I suppose,” Grimlock said. He pushed himself to his feet and on Starscream’s next turn, he reached out and caught hold of his shoulders, pulling him in close. Bending his head, he gently kissed Starscream’s forehelm and then his lips.

                “It’ll be all right,” Grimlock murmured, nuzzling Starscream’s cheek.

                Starscream fidgeted for a moment and then pressed against Grimlock’s chest. “But what if it’s not? What if they say no? What if…?”

                “You have to stop playing that game, Star,” Grimlock chided. “You’re just working yourself up.”

                “I know… I know…” Starscream muttered, slumping against Grimlock. “I just want this so badly.”

                Grimlock stroked Starscream’s back, thumbing the sensitive areas where his wings attached. “What do the humans say? Good things come to he who waits?”

                Starscream snorted into Grimlock’s chest. “That’s my problem? I’m not patient enough? I’ll have you know…”

                He was interrupted by the quiet hiss of a door sliding aside. Starscream whirled around and the two of them stared at the mech framed in the doorway. Grimlock thought his name was ShortShift. He couldn’t really remember, and anyway, he was far more interested in the news the mech had for them than his name.

                “Well?” Starscream demanded. Grimlock reflexively stroked his hands across his mate’s shoulders, trying to soothe down the rising anxiety.

                “Thank you so much for waiting,” the official said, ignoring Starscream’s impatience with a small smile. “I’m happy to announce the approval of your adoption paperwork. Congratulations!”

                Grimlock ran a quick diagnostic on his audials to ensure they were working right and he had heard correctly. He needn’t have worried as Starscream suddenly starting shaking under his hands. He whirled around within Grimlock’s embrace, a wing tip nearly taking out an optic.

                “We’re going to be parents!” Starscream screeched and practically climbed up Grimlock to press their frames together. Grimlock automatically held his mate close, closing his optics as the flood of relief passed over him.

                He had been just as anxious to hear the adoption center’s answer, but he had known ahead of time that he would need to be strong for Starscream. Just in case.

                It felt so good to let that strength go and just cling to his mate, giddy with joy.

                “Thank you,” he whispered over Starscream’s shoulder to the official. ShortShift, that was it, smiled beamed back at him, hands crossed together over his lower abdomen. He nodded graciously and Grimlock squeezed Starscream even tighter. “Thank you.”

~ End

Chapter Text

                Sideswipe flopped down and squirmed until he fit snugly between his brother and Grimlock. Sunstreaker subvocally grumbled at him, but his optics were already closed, his body starting to cool from all their exertions.

                “Mm… that was fun,” Sideswipe said, stretching his arms up above his head. His frame felt loose and pleasantly warm, the dispersed charge leaving him tingly. He could still go for several more rounds, but past experience told him that neither his twin nor Grimlock would likely be willing to keep going. Sunstreaker was already halfway into recharge and Grimlock…

                … was staring down at him with a considering look on his face.

                Oooh. Now that showed promise. Sideswipe stretched again, arching his back in an inviting way. “What’s up, big boy?” Sideswipe asked quietly, in deference to his twin’s sleepiness. “You want something?”

                Grimlock hummed and cocked his head to the side. “Maybe.”

                “Maybe?” Sideswipe arched an orbital ridge and sat back up. Now he was the one looking down on their partner. “Want is usually a pretty straightforward ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

                “Ok… then yes… I want something. But I’m not sure either one of you would want to do it,” Grimlock finally admitted.

                “I’m out,” Sunstreaker mumbled. “Sides… that’s all you.”

                Without looking, Sideswipe reached out and stroked Sunstreaker’s hip soothingly. Poor guy had only been discharged from Medical last night. His stamina wasn’t quite up to par, but that was ok. Sideswipe was pretty much willing to try anything.

                “Ask away,” Sideswipe encouraged. “I’ll probably say yes.”

                Grimlock looked off to the side for a second before returning his gaze to Sideswipe. To Sideswipe’s collar fairing to be exact; he wouldn’t meet Sideswipe’s optics.

                “I want to eat you out.”

                “Uh… that’s not new,” Sideswipe said, although the idea made a bolt of lust shoot through him. A warm glossa curling up into him, over his nub…mmmm…

                “Um… not like this. Like…” Grimlock made a vague gesture, and Sideswipe pursed his lips, trying to decipher it.

                “Gotta spell it out for me, Grim. Not sure what you’re saying,” Sideswipe finally said.

                Grimlock sighed, shifting a little. “I want to eat you out… while I’m my alt mode.”

                It took a second for the words to sink in. Once they did, Sideswipe straightened, a ball of heat settling down deep inside his lower abdomen.

                “In… in your alt mode? Full Dinobot?” Sideswipe asked faintly, processor swimming from the idea. Grimlock had an impressive array of denta when he was in his T. Rex form. Sharp and gleaming, framing a glossa more agile than in his root mode. What would that feel like, licking into him? Would there be a brush of fangs against his delicate valve plating, able to tear into him at any moment?

                “It’s stupid. I could really hurt you,” Grimlock abruptly said. He must have taken Sideswipe’s hesitant reply as negative, and Sideswipe frantically shook his head. Then he twisted so he could throw himself down on the foot of the bed. He hurriedly spread his legs.

                “Do it,” Sideswipe urged. “I want to try it. I trust you.”

                His engine thrummed excitedly and he could already feel a trickle of fluids seep out from his valve. He reached down and touched it, still a little swollen and sensitive from earlier.

                Grimlock blinked at him and slowly sat up. “Really? Are you sure?”

                “Get over here!” Sideswipe demanded, reaching out a hand and moving his fingers in a ‘gimme’ motion.

                Still moving as if he thought Sideswipe was going to change his mind at any second, Grimlock stood up and initiated his transformation. Already tall in his root mode, he towered even more in his dinobot mode and Sideswipe shivered in anticipation.

                Grimlock snuffled a little and then his lips drew back, exposing those sharp denta. He bent over to start and it was definitely a little awkward at first. Sideswipe had to shift around several times until Grimlock could reach him without over balancing. But they finally managed a good position, and he planted his clawed hands onto the berth on either side of Sideswipe’s hips.

                The hot waft of his ventilations huffed out over Sideswipe’s wet valve and he shuddered. He grasped the sides of Grimlock’s face and helped direct his snout to the vee of Sideswipe’s thighs. Once there, Grimlock nosed around, nuzzling Sideswipe’s inner thighs and valve.

                Sideswipe couldn’t see, not with the way Grimlock’s head was shaped. So he was startled when something wriggled against his entrance.

                “Oh! Oh, that’s…” he trailed off as he realized it was Grimlock’s glossa. Hot and wet, it probed around, mapping out the topography of Sideswipe’s array and ratcheting Sideswipe’s desire even higher.

                “Ok?” Grimlock asked, pausing. His optics rolled, trying to see Sideswipe’s face. Sideswipe patted the top of Grimlock’s head.

                “Yeah, totally. Keep going,” Sideswipe urged.

                Grimlock rumbled a little and proceeded to do just that. He licked at Sideswipe’s valve, over and over, lapping up the mingled juices of their previous mutual overloads. Grimlock couldn’t suck or nibble, but his glossa had more pressure behind it. It was wider and felt thicker, almost like a hand that was passing over his folds.

                It moved a little higher and Sideswipe’s hips jerked upwards as Grimlock licked over his anterior node with long slow passes.

                “Oh, frag,” Sideswipe whispered, staring down at the top of Grimlock’s bulky helm. “Yeah… that’s good, baby. You like it too?”

                Grimlock’s hands shifted and his fingers dug into Sideswipe’s hips as if anchoring him in place. Not that Sideswipe had any intention of going anywhere. Grimlock nuzzled in deeper, each lick seeming to drag up charge from the depth of Sideswipe’s body and deposit it directly into his nub. When his lover growled a little, Sideswipe practically saw stars.

                He let his head fall back, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Fuck… fuck…” he whimpered, pelvis tilting into every lick. “You’re gonna make me overload…”

                Embarrassingly fast, actually. But this was new and exciting and very, very hot, so Sideswipe didn’t particularly care.

                Grimlock rumbled happily, the vibrations traveling through into Sideswipe’s frame. The licks came faster, even heavier, and Sideswipe started writhing a little. The charge was building fast, seconds away from a crescendo.

                “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sideswipe chanted, trying to pull Grimlock’s head into him even more. There was the faintest sensation of something hard and cold just above his node and he clutched at Grimlock’s helm, realizing it was fangs.

                “Ohhhhh…. fuck, that’s it… right there…” Sideswipe gasped out, his back slowly bowing as his frame grew taut.

                Grimlock snarled viciously and dragged his glossa up Sideswipe’s valve so firmly it almost hurt. But not quite. It was actually just enough to tip him over the edge and he moaned loudly, lower half jerking within Grimlock’s grip.

                The licks immediately lightened up, the press of the teeth fading away completely. Grimlock gentled his glossa’s motions and pressure, easing Sideswipe down off his high and extending the pleasure for several seconds longer.

                All Sideswipe could do was gasp a little, still staring up at the ceiling. His fingers finally unclenched from the top of Grimlock’s helm and his arms fell to his side, limp.

                “That… was a pretty awesome thing to want…” Sideswipe said faintly. “You should have asked for that ages ago.”

                Grimlock nodded his head, drawing back. “You taste good,” he said dreamily. “Even better like this.”

                Sideswipe craned his neck and observed Grimlock’s snout, covered in shiny fluids. That long, agile glossa was flicking upwards, trying to catch every drop. Sideswipe’s valve clenched down hard on nothing at the sight.

                The berth mattress shifted and Sideswipe twisted his head around and up, catching Sunstreaker’s avid gaze. His twin was still curled up, weariness evident in every line of his body, but Sideswipe could tell Sunstreaker’s processor was turning speculatively.

                He grinned up at his twin. “Maybe tomorrow, hmm?”

                Sunstreaker’s optics brightened and he nodded slightly. Well. Looked like they had a good idea of what they would be doing tomorrow. But for the rest of the night…

                Sideswipe turned back to Grimlock. He knocked his knee against Grimlock’s side. “Hey, big boy… where exactly is your spike when you’re like this?”

                Grimlock stilled for a second, staring at Sideswipe intently. Then he gave Sideswipe a slow, toothy grin. “You want me to show you?”


~ end

Chapter Text

                “C’mon, harder,” Vortex growled, his back arching up to better present his blades.

                “If I go any harder, I’m gonna strip ya down to the strut,” Jazz warned, a light breeze heralding the next blow of the razor tipped whip. The delightful sting of it against his ripped plating made Vortex’s vents catch.

                “Do it!” Vortex urged, his entire body throbbing eagerly at the idea. “Jazz, do it!”

                Behind him, he heard a soft clatter and then Jazz’s smaller frame draped itself over Vortex’s back. He snuggled down, the scrape of his bumper against Vortex’s abraded rotary panels making his optics fritz. He wiggled atop the steel sawhorse, both trying to get away and get closer. As he did so, the heavy weights attached to his anterior nub swayed back and forth and he moaned.

                “And if I did that, I’d have to stop before I wanted to. You don’t want me to stop, do ya?” Jazz purred. He wormed a hand between their bodies, fingering the spread pleats of Vortex’s valve. He clenched down on the lifeless toy Jazz had inserted at the beginning of this scene and wished it was Jazz’s spike instead. Maybe wearing that special spike sleeve… the one with the rough, raised nubs that irritated his valve lining just enough.

                “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop,” Vortex gasped as Jazz’s fingers slipped in the accumulated lubricant. One of them pressed against the side of the toy and then popped past the ring of resistance. Vortex bucked, the weights swinging harder.

                “Oh, not yet,” Jazz murmured. He drew back a little, fingers of one hand clawing at Vortex’s blade hub while the other pushed another digit inside Vortex’s valve along the first. It stung, Vortex’s calipers rippling angrily, automatically trying to expel the additional penetration.              

                Vortex loved it, his processor blanking a bit at the pain.

                When he blinked next, a third finger was flirting with the distended pleats on the right side of his valve. Jazz was humming distractedly, rubbing the pad of that finger back and forth… back and forth with maddeningly soft strokes.

                “At least not until I have you screamin’ on my spike as well as this one,” Jazz added.

                “Primus… Primus…” Vortex muttered feverishly. He didn’t care about the nubbly sleeve anymore; not in the face of getting stuffed full of spikes, one of them being Jazz’s. It would hurt, especially if Jazz kept with his current pace. He was already pressing a third finger in, a scream clawing its way up the back of Vortex’s throat at the sensations.

                “Oh… frag… frag, the things I’m gonna do to you next time,” Vortex moaned. His blades shuddered when Jazz dug his claws deeper into his raw rotary hub.

                “Mm… promises, promises,” Jazz purred.


~ End

Chapter Text

                “You’re late.”

                “Well, then tell your co-caption to stop going out on fool excursions and getting himself and half of the ship injured,” Ratchet replied crankily, slamming the door behind him. He stomped across the room towards the berth, joints creaking on every other step. Megatron winced at each pop, warily considering the medic’s blocky form. One of these days he swore Ratchet would just fall apart between a single moment and the next.

                “You’re delusional if you think I have any control over Rodimus,” Megatron said wryly. He tried to imagine it, but simply couldn’t. “Speak to Ultra Magnus; he’s somewhat honed the ability.”

                “I swear to a non-existent God that one of these days I’m going to take that idiot, throw him down over my knees, and spank the stupid out of him,” Ratchet snarled, clambering up into the berth. Megatron wisely refrained from helping him, even though the berth was level with Ratchet’s chest and there were no steps.

                He didn’t laugh either. He’d done that once.

                Never again.

                “Hmm… kinky,” Megatron murmured as Ratchet finally emerged on top of the berth, triumphant.

                “You would say that,” Ratchet replied, huffing a little as he shuffled across the surface. He threw a leg over Megatron’s waist and unceremoniously plopped down atop his thighs. “You gonna daydream about that?”

                “I might. I might also daydream about you spanking me,” Megatron said, sliding his hands up the sides of Ratchet’s thighs. The medic’s plating was warm from the walk across the ship and his irritation. Probably mostly from irritation, knowing him.

                …Ratchet pretty much stayed warm all the time.

                “Later,” Ratchet said, rising up a little onto his knees. His hand slipped between his legs, a soft click announcing itself as his interface panel transforming aside. “Now get your spike out; I have an itch that needs scratched.”

                Megatron’s orbital ridges rose, but his panel had started moving aside before Ratchet had even asked it of him. By now, it was almost instinct to do so when Ratchet walked into his quarters. “You say such sweet things, Ratchet.”

                “You want sweet? Then find someone else to berth,” Ratchet snapped, his hand unerringly finding Megatron’s pressurizing length. “I’ve caught Swerve giving you goo-goo optics more than once.”

                Megatron shuddered, half from Ratchet’s sure fingers and half from imagining the talkative minibot in his bed.

                “No, thank you. I far prefer you; there’s a certain charm that keeps me coming back,” Megatron replied absently as Ratchet rose up even further to direct the head of his spike towards Ratchet’s awaiting valve. A bead of lubricant dripped down atop the tip, the head of it bathed in a wafting heat.

                “Likewise,” Ratchet grunted as he sank down in one smooth motion. “If you define charm as being well-endowed and having the skill to use it properly.”

                Megatron’s head slowly tilted backwards to stare at the ceiling as Ratchet starting moving, riding him with confident swivels of his hips. “That’s one of your charms, yes,” Megatron gasped.

                That, and also a voracious sexual appetite that Megatron was always eager to sate. And there was no cuddling after. Just snark and banter and company in the moment. It was exactly what they both wanted and needed.

                Megatron could never have imagined this arrangement, with Ratchet of all mechs, centuries ago. But here they were, and it worked.

                Ratchet started grinding faster and Megatron’s optics closed to savor the hot sparks of pleasure settling in his lower abdomen.

                Oh, it most definitely worked.

Chapter Text

                “Isn’t it time for your meeting?” Wheeljack absently asked, his attention devoted half on his datapad and the other half to the experiment percolating inside the large pan in front of him.

                “Mm,” Starscream replied, just as absently from across the room where he was looking into a microscope. “Not yet.”

                And they each went back to their specific interests until they both startled at a loud knock on the lab door. They exchanged a look and Wheeljack pushed himself to his pedes and ambled over, opening the door a sliver to peer out into the hallway.

                “… yes?”

                “Is Starscream here?” a tiny little minibot asked, peering up at Wheeljack through overlarge optics. Quite a fetching little thing, Wheeljack thought, if one were into such types. He wasn’t, but Wheeljack could still appreciate the beguiling shape of her optics.

                “Yes? How can I help you?” Starscream questioned brusquely, coming up beside Wheeljack, their shoulders brushing. He stared down his nasal ridge, looking imperiously at the small bot standing on the lab’s doorstep.

                Probably already impatient to go back to his microscope, knowing Starscream. And Wheeljack knew Starscream, especially when it came to matters of Science!

                The little mini squirmed under the attention, cheeks flushing. “Y-you’re needed in the Council chambers, sir. The gathering started over an hour ago and…”

                Starscream stiffened for one second and then moved into a flurry of action. Wheeljack glanced over his shoulder in amusement at the wild flail of wings heading towards their owner’s desk, and then looked back down at the minibot.

                “He’ll be right out,” he said with a smile and gently closed the door in the shocked mini’s face. He headed back to his own station, raising an orbital ridge at the frantic way Starscream was shoving samples into the minifridge and other containment units.

                “~… told you it was time for your meeting~” Wheeljack said in a sing-song voice.

                “No, you didn’t! You asked me if it was time and I said it wasn’t, and it wasn’t, because I still had another ten minutes before I had to leave and then I got caught up in this reaction and…”

                “You’re such a nerd,” Wheeljack said fondly, peering down into the depths of his still bubbling sample. “You should give up politics completely, Star. You’d be much happier.”

                “And have the entire planet run itself into the ground? I don’t think so,” Starscream said, huffing in irritation. “Besides, there are plenty of other nerds around for you to play with.”

                Wheeljack glanced to the side, helm fins lighting up with a rosy pink color. “Yes, but you’re my favorite.”

                Starscream blinked at him, taken back. Only for a moment, however. Then he shook his head and headed for the door in a stampeding rush of loud pedesteps and waggling wings. “You’re just saying that because Perceptor’s off planet. I’ll be back later!”

                The door shut behind with a soft click and Wheeljack grinned wryly to himself. One day… one day, Starscream would get it.

                “Still my favorite… on or off planet.”


Chapter Text

                “How long has it been since you’ve recharged?”

                Ratchet paused and looked over his shoulder, narrowing his optics at the golden frontliner sitting on the foot of his twin’s berth. Sunstreaker’s gaze was speculative. Sideswipe’s was barely focused and he blinked sleepily at Ratchet, probably only even looking because his brother was.

                Ah, the good drugs. One of the few ways to shut Sideswipe up.

                “Yeah, Ratch,” Sideswipe slurred, holding up a hand and waving it back and forth a little. “You’re swayin’.”

                Hmph. Apparently Ratchet needed to use juuuuust a tad bit more of the good drugs.

                Not even looking, Sunstreaker reached up and grabbed Sideswipe’s hand, gently pushing it to lay at his brother’s side.

                “That’s you, actually, Sides. But I bet it won’t be long for Ratchet.”

                “I’m fine. No need to worry about me,” Ratchet said brusquely. He strode off across the ‘bay to check on some of other patients. In between rounds, he’d have to run an inventory; nearly three quarters of the Earth Autobot forces had been injured in this battle and he was running low on supplies.

                First Aid, Wheeljack, and Perceptor had been counted among the injured, so all medical duties had fallen on Hoist and Ratchet’s shoulders. It wasn’t a new occurrence, but this time around, Ratchet felt the weariness set in far earlier than it should. No surprise considering how many of his comrades he had to grimly yank back out of Primus’ cold grip.             

                After a while, it wore on not just the body, but also the spark. Ratchet had had days like this before, but each time, it got harder and harder to hide. And to a nosey gaze like Sunstreaker’s, it was starting to get easier to see.

                A quarter of the way into Hoist’s shift, Ratchet was still performing inventory, his sight swimming with every new item. He wasn’t swaying, thank you very much, but his gyros did spin when arms slipped around his waist and bodily lifted him up.

                “What the…?!” he gasped, legs flailing as he was carried a short distance across the room. “No! Sun…!”

                Sideswipe’s optics were still sleepy, but his arms were just as strong as his brother’s as Sunstreaker passed him off. Ratchet was quickly bundled in against Sideswipe’s side, Sunstreaker resuming his place at the foot of the berth. One hand rested on Ratchet’s ankle, exerting a light pressure.

                “Stay. Sleep,” Sunstreaker instructed, when Ratchet glared down at him. “At least for Sides – he said he won’t recharge unless you will. And you want him to heal up… right?”

                Ratchet craned his neck around and looked up into Sideswipe’s hazily smug expression. Seeing no support there, Ratchet growled sub-vocally and forced himself to relax into the soft berth covers. The frontliner’s warmth was starting to seep into Ratchet’s frame and it grew harder to ignore his exhaustion with every passing second.

                “Fine. But only for Sideswipe,” Ratchet grumbled, finally giving up.

                … for Sideswipe, one of those who he actually had lost to Primus for a long frightening minute before Ratchet was able to get him back again. So, it was incredibly reassuring to lay here and just listen to Sideswipe’s slow and steady sparkpulse. And Ratchet supposed it wouldn’t hurt for him to rest a little while, to regain his strength for the next time someone dear to him needed his skills.

Chapter Text

                Sideswipe elbowed Sunstreaker in the side and ignored the resulting glare he received. Instead he gestured with a tilt of his head at Ratchet stomping into the room.

                There was no other word for it. His pedesteps echoed every time the bottom of his feet impacted the decking. If that wasn’t enough to highlight his displeasure, his features were twisted into a fearsome scowl. It was an expression that normally heralded yelling and wrench waving, but Sideswipe ignored theobvious signs of Ratchet’s ire and waved him over.

                Ratchet caught the motion out of the corner of his optic and paused. Then he changed direction and made his way over to them.

                “I reckon you don’t wanna be here either?” Sideswipe asked, grinning widely as Ratchet plopped down on his other side. Sunstreaker leaned forward and gave Ratchet a onceover before directing his attention back to the front of the room.

                “It’s glitching ridiculous!” Ratchet groused, throwing his hands up in the air. “There are so many other things I could be doing right now. Important things. Life-saving things.” Every new phrase was more and more pointed, although Sideswipe didn’t know why it was addressed to him. Wasn’t like any of this was his fault.

                Whatever ‘this’ was.

                “Hey, Optimus is here. Wow, he’s… he’s looking really shifty,” Sunstreaker said, suddenly sitting up straight and looking over his shoulder. Sideswipe turned around and watched as the Prime sidled on in through one of the backdoors and sat down in the last row of chairs. It seemed like he was trying to appear small and unobtrusive but the attempt was laughable. Hard to be inconspicuous with that paint job and size. “What exactly is this for anyway?”

                Sideswipe looked around and noted that the gathering of mechs was pretty random. It was the three of them, Optimus, Cliffjumper, Tracks, Swoop, Ironhide, and Grapple. Sideswipe was hard pressed to find a common denominator.

                “May I have your attention, please?” Prowl called out from the front of the room. “We are about to get started!” Next to him, Red Alert shifted from foot to foot, looking gleefully excited.

                That didn’t bode well.

                “Get started with what?” Cliffjumper immediately retorted. And while the twins hated agreeing with him, they both nodded because this whole thing was getting odder by the minute.

                “The discussion about Inappropriate Public Displays of Affection and General Indecency,” Red Alert said, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down his nasal ridge at the minibot.

                Sideswipe winced and slowly leaned towards Sunstreaker, giving Ratchet a wary look. For a long moment, Ratchet did nothing but stare in confusion at Prowl and Red Alert. Then the lightbulb came on and Ratchet’s head slowly turned.

                “What were you saying the other day about there not being cameras in the rec room?!” Ratchet hissed at Sideswipe.

                Oops. Ok, maybe them being here was his fault.

Chapter Text

                “Here are the schematics. What do you think?”

                Wheeljack glanced from Megatron to Soundwave and back again. Seeing no escape, Wheeljack shuffled forward, the cuffs around his ankles and wrists jangling angrily. He peered down onto the table’s surface, considering the many pages of blueprints.

                After a minute, he frowned behind his mask, shaking his head. “It won’t work.”

                “Yes, I’m aware it won’t work,” Megatron replied through gritted denta. “We’ve tried.”

                “Did someone get blown up? With the way these wires are crossed here, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Wheeljack said, pointing out one of the many flaws he had spied.

                “No. Although it was a close thing. Just a few singed wingtips.” Was it Wheeljack’s imagination or did Megatron sound disappointed?

                … ah. So Starscream had been building the device. While a good scientist in his own right, he wasn’t an engineer. The blueprints were proof of that, although the overall concept was right on the nasal ridge.

                “I don’t know…,” Wheeljack said, trailing off doubtfully. “Do you really want to give an enemy the opportunity to sabotage your next weapon… this ‘freeze ray’?”

                “From what I’ve heard and seen, you sabotage a fair share of your own weapons,” Megatron scoffed. “How many have blown up in your face?”

                “Hey! I once made a coffee pot that didn’t blow up!” Wheeljack protested. “It was the talk of the town; they gave me an award and a feather boa for it – my greatest achievement.”

                The little old ladies at the nursing home had been ridiculously pleased at the self-serve device; it had made tea, hot chocolate and all manners of coffee drinks. It also dispensed juices, soda, and a wide variety of liquor.

                Apparently the nurses had taken it away after a bit of time for some unknown reason, but while it had been in their possession, the patients had been very, very happy. Enough for them to sing several different songs to him and give him multiple trinkets, including the lime green feather boa which just barely fit around his ankle. He still had that bit of floof; it wasn’t often anyone gave him presents for his projects.

                Megatron raised an orbital ridge and sniffed dismissively. “Right. Well. I honestly doubt you can make this any worse. And there are several of your fellows in the brig downstairs who will make excellent test subjects – this is meant to be a pacification weapon, after all. If it works, they won’t come to any real harm, will they?


                Wheeljack sighed. “Fine. Someone give me a pen.”


Chapter Text


                Starscream looked over his shoulder and raised his orbital ridge at Grimlock. “Yes, dear?”

                “What’s going on? What are you doing?” Grimlock asked, slowly coming up behind his bonded. In the room beyond the doorsill Starscream was leaning against, shrieks and screams and thudding sounds were coming at an alarming frequency. Starscream didn’t seem to be worried, so Grimlock decided to take his cue from him.

                “Nothing. I am doing absolutely nothing about this chaos because I…” Starscream drew himself up and gestured into the room, “… simply no longer care.”

                Grimlock stepped up behind his mate and cupped the sides of Starscream’s upper arms, feeling the tension in his mate’s cables beneath the plating. His wings were shivering too, a sure sign of stress.  Grimlock looked past Starscream’s helm and his optics widened.

                Somehow, their offspring had quadrupled.

                “Those aren’t ours,” Grimlock said stupidly, observing five vaguely familiar sparklings frolicking in their living room.

                Frolicking was a loose term; it was more like taking everything that wasn’t bolted down and destroying it. All of the furniture was overturned and handprints of paint were smeared along the walls and floors. Sparkling grade energon dripped from several overturned cubes and reams of paper were shredded into a pile in the corner.

                “You are correct,” Starscream said. “That one,” Starscream pointed to a magenta colored flier hanging off a sky blue and daffodil-yellow grounder, “is Warpspeed, Ion Storm and Dirge’s bitlet. The grounder she’s playing with is… honestly, I’ve forgotten his name. But he belongs to Blurr and Sunstreaker. Sideswipe’s and Megatron’s spawn are over there in the corner,” Starscream said, pointing out a pair of crimson and gray twins who were giggling at one another and smearing paint on each other’s cheeks.

                “Who’s that with Sliver?” Grimlock asked, nodding at the rather squat youngling who was playing tag with Grimlock and Starscream’s femme. Despite the occasional handprint, his paintjob practically sparkled under the overhead light.

                Starscream sighed. “Breakout. Breakdown and Knockout’s kid. Somehow, everyone had an emergency they simply had to attend to. So they all gave me their offspring to me to watch since I’m stuck here.”

                Grimlock gently hugged his pouting mate, careful of the large swelling making his cockpit protrude more than normal. His official due date was three weeks away, but if their sparkling was anything like Sliver, it would be coming any day now. Grimlock frowned to himself, vowing to have a word with the other parents.

                Yes, Starscream was available, but he was in no condition to watch over this many children. Fortunate that Grimlock had just come off his shift. And while this was chaos, it was relatively controlled. None of the kids were in any danger, although some of Grimlock and Starscream’s belongings might be.

                “I’ll take care of it. Go rest, Starling,” Grimlock urged, turning his mate and gently pushing him towards their berthroom. That door was closed so hopefully the room had remained untouched.

                Starscream sniffed and started waddling away. “Good luck. And thank you,” he said, obviously not in a mood to argue.

                Once Starscream had shut the door behind him, Grimlock faced the room full of demons and squared his shoulders. “I think I’m gonna need it,” he muttered to himself.

Chapter Text

                Megatron was somewhat surprised when Ratchet dropped down into the seat next to him. Quick perusal of the room showed several other chairs Ratchet could have taken. Of course, Megatron was seated in the back row, close towards the door. Perhaps Ratchet was looking for a quick exit?

                “I’m thinking you don’t want to be here either,” Ratchet growled, after giving Megatron a quick glance. As if to echo Megatron’s thoughts, Ratchet gazed longingly at the door.

                “As co-captain…” Megatron began but Ratchet’s snort cut him short.

                “Please. Like you had anything to do with this,” Ratchet said, waving at the banner above Rodimus’ head which proclaimed ‘Pre-Happy Holidays’.

                “That is correct. But in Magnus’ absence, I do what I can to mitigate the disasters,” Megatron replied.

                “…from back here?” Ratchet squinted at him suspiciously.

                Megatron shrugged. “I doubt I will be needed. How disastrous could a discussion of a Secret Santa gift exchange be?”

                Closer towards the front of the room, a large blue claw emerged from the crowd, something green and red dangling from the tip. It was not-so-sneakily held over the heads of Tailgate and Cyclonus and then Whirl started chanting.

                “KISS, KISS, KISS!”

                Five seconds later, bodies were flying across the room and everyone was shouting, Whirl’s demented cackling underlying it all.

                “You were saying?” Ratchet said, waving at the chaos which had erupted in less than thirty seconds.

                Megatron sighed and forced himself to his feet. “At least it wasn’t actually Rodimus’ fault… this time.”

Chapter Text

                “Patience… patience, bitlet,” Jazz crooned.

                “… have you met me?!” Rodimus demanded, twisting against his bonds. “Jazz… Jazz… c’mon,I wanna overload!”

                “I’m sure you do,” Jazz replied. He trailed his fingers up the underside of Rodimus’ turgid spike, watching it twitch and droplets of transfluid slowly trickle down towards the base. “But it hasn’t been that long… not really…”

                “It’s been an hour!” Rodimus howled, starting to thrash. “The war is over, you don’t have to torture me!”

                Jazz chuckled and swung his leg over Rodimus’ waist. He plopped down onto Rodimus’ lower abdomen, grinding in a slow, sensual slide of plating against plating. The heat emanating up from the speedster just about matched the one behind Jazz’s array cover. And an hour was a pretty long time, especially for someone as impatient as Rodiums.

                “I’ll torture you if that’s what it takes, impertinent younglin’,” Jazz said, bopping Rodimus on the nose and cackling when Rodimus tried to bite his finger. “Now... what do you say?”

                “Let me fucking come!!” Rodimus hissed, bucking his hips. He glared, optics practically burning in their sockets.

                Jazz shook his head sadly. “Nope. That’s not it, my pet. I’ll give you another chance in say… twenty minutes?”

                He scooted back a little, letting his panel transform aside with a pleased sigh. Once he could feel the cool air caress his heated valve folds, he slipped back even more and ground against Rodimus’ firm spike, painting the upper surface with his lubricants.

                “NO! Please, please Jazz, I’ll do anything you want!” Rodimus cried, his optic shutters slamming closed as Jazz’s wet pleats parted around his spike.

                Jazz chuckled, stroking his hands down Rodimus’ hood, slipping his claws between the seams and tracing them. It made Rodimus shudder, so Jazz leaned down and followed the path of his fingers with his glossa.

                “Oh, you’ll do anything I want, regardless,” Jazz murmured.

Chapter Text

                It was really unfair how graceful Sunstreaker could be. He had heavy armor, practically the same thickness as Megatron’s, yet he moved like it weighed nothing.

                And the mobility. Everyone always underestimated him… they thought they just needed to stay out of his reach so he couldn’t crush them with those strong arms. And then Sunstreaker somehow floated right into their space anyway and gutted them in five seconds, moving so fast as to be a blur.

                Sunstreaker was so, so beautiful.

                … Megatron was not afraid to admit to himself that he had a crush.

                Not that Sunstreaker felt the same way. His roommate mentored Megatron for some unknown reason, but he’d never once expressed any romantic or even sexual desire towards Megatron.

                Maybe it was for the best; Sunstreaker would probably destroy Megatron in the berth, just like he routinely did on the gladiator grounds.

                “Do you see?” Sunstreaker asked, startling Megatron out of his thoughts. He approached Megatron with his usual causal grace, brushing the palms of his hands against one another as if ridding himself of dust. “When you use your opponent’s speed against them?”

                Megatron glanced over to see Pivot on the ground, clutching his knee and feebly moaning. He remembered the two of them entering the ring, but after that Megatron had faded out a bit, lost in admiring the gleam of Sunstreaker’s flashing limbs. “… uh huh.”

                Sunstreaker sighed. “No, you didn't. What the Pit is wrong with you lately? You’re so distracted.”

                Megatron tore his wandering gaze away from watching a drop of condensation slide down Sunstreaker’s left arm. “I’m not distracted,” he protested weakly, focusing back in on Sunstreaker’s uniquely colored violet optics. “Use your opponent’s speed against them; got it.”

                Sunstreaker narrowed those striking optics as he studied Megatron. “You could be good, you know… even better than me. But you have to focus.”

                He considered Megatron for another few seconds before sighing and pushing past him, gesturing for him to follow. Come on,” Sunstreaker said, “Let’s get this over with.”

                Megatron hurried after him, practically tripping over his own pedes. Better than Sunstreaker? Hah! Not likely at this rate.

                “Get what over with?” Megatron asked, hurrying until he was even with Sunstreaker.

                Sunstreaker glanced up at him, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk. “Us fragging. You need to get it out of your system.”

                This time, Megatron actually did trip and he would have went sprawling if not for Sunstreaker’s hand on his arm pulling him back to his feet. “F-fragging?! What? I don’t… no, I’m not…”

                Sunstreaker chuckled, although not meanly. “You want to, I can tell. Don’t feel bad, a lot of people do,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Not that I let them. Most of the other fighters channel the rejection into anger to use against me in bouts, although it doesn’t help much. But you… you’re not going to just give up if I tell you ‘no’… are you?”

                He purred the last few words into Megatron’s face, ever so carefully maneuvering Megatron up against the wall just outside their quarters. And Megatron went, the heat of Sunstreaker proceeding him and making Megatron’s struts feel weak.

                “I’m not… I’m not pining after you, or anything,” Megatron muttered, glancing off to the side in embarrassment. Had he really been that transparent?

                Sunstreaker laughed again, his hands landing on Megatron’s wide waist. Even though Megatron was a little broader and taller, he felt small like this. Like prey to a turbohound.

                “Yes, you are. And that’s ok. You can have me for a little while, and you never know…” Sunstreaker murmured, nuzzling the side of Megatron’s jaw, “... maybe I’ll let you keep me. If you prove interesting for long enough.”

                Megatron closed his optics and dared to reach out to place shaking fingers on Sunstreaker’s hips.

                “I’ll do my best,” Megatron promised. Because this? This beautiful wild creature? Megatron knew he would want him always.

Chapter Text

                See, the thing is… Bluestreak’s really pretty.

                At first, Skywarp noticed the sensory panels; hard not to with the way they twitched all over the place. Similar, yet oh so different than a flier’s wings. The two have a completely different language; understanding a flick of another Seeker’s wings was intrinsic, but not so with sensory panels.

                As time went by, Skywarp became more and more obsessed with deciphering each pass and flap of Bluestreak’s doorwings. He could have looked to Prowl and Smokescreen’s for clues to the translation, but by then…

                … by then, Skywarp had noted Bluestreak’s bumper and chevron. The clean, crisp colors of his varying grays and the pop of his reds. The way his hands cradled a rifle and how his panels finally went utterly still when he looked through the sights to his target. Those aquamarine optics would flash and narrow and he would gain a look of complete concentration.

                It was hot as the Pit.

                So. Yeah. Bluestreak came in a really nice package.

                And inside the package, after he peeled back the wrapping, Skywarp found a sweet, sensitive outer layer which covered up a hidden steel core. Bluestreak would babble and cutely ramble one moment and in the next, he would press Skywarp to his back, those optics issuing a challenge and a demand.

                One Skywarp always loved obeying.

                So, yeah. Skywarp was utterly entranced with Bluestreak. He wanted to snatch him up and take him far away from this war, protect him and be protected in return.

                So he went about doing so. But couldn’t do it alone... there was a list.

                Thundercracker hadn’t been too difficult to sway to Skywarp’s side. He was a romantic at spark, after all. A cross-factional love story made him all not-so-secretly fluttery and sappy.


                Oh, Starscream had been difficult. Skywarp had anticipated it not going well, so he had recruited Thundercracker to help, but the depth of Starscream’s anger had still surprised Skywarp. He had eventually folded down onto the berth, head pressed against his knees and bawled his optics out in despair.

                He loved Bluestreak, but Skywarp didn’t know if he could do this without Starscream’s support. Starscream was trine and not only that, he was Wing Lord.  Skywarp didn’t know if he could go against both his trinemate and his Wing Lord.

                Thundercracker had intervened at that point, prompting a long and drawn out hissed conversation between him and Starscream. Skywarp didn’t know what was said, but after they had finished talking to one another, Starscream had sat down next to Skywarp. He had carefully drawn Skywarp into his embrace and let Skywarp sob until the tears ran out.

                “I don’t understand it, but I want you to be happy. I’ll always do anything within my power to make you happy,” Starscream had said.

                So those were the two more important people in Skywarp’s life. The rest of the Decepticons could suck an exhaust pipe, but if he had his trine supporting him, he could do anything.

                … except there was one more person he had forgotten to add to his list. One very important person who could ruin everything.

                “GO!!! FLY!! FLY FOR YOUR LIFE!!” Bluestreak screamed, racing into the clearing where they had agreed to meet to discuss the final details of the Command Trine’s defection.

                “What? Why? What’s happening?” Skywarp, wings hiked up high and thrusters onlined. “Are you ok? Who…ow! Son of a…!”

                Skywarp brought his left wing forward to examine its surface, spying a slowly spreading patch of acid on the paint. It was already seeping down beneath the plating, irritating the wiring underneath. Skywarp’s spark tightened as a burst of fear spread throughout him. There was only one mech who used a weapon that shot acid pellets. And he was nearly as good of a shot as his adopted creation.

                “How dare you put your filthy hands on my child?” a low voice growled from the underbrush. A moment later, Prowl stepped out from behind a small copse of trees, rifle held at the ready.

                “I will kill you,” Prowl announced, voice grim and optics steady. “Get out of the way, Bluestreak.”


                Oh, slag… Prowl definitely should have been on the list.



Chapter Text

                “Sides! What is taking so long?” Sunstreaker demanded, the stomp of his pedes announcing his entrance back into their quarters. “I thought you said you were meeting me in the rec room before the date?”

                Sideswipe’s head shot up as he accessed his chronometer. “Oh… yeah… I did, but I lost track of time,” he said, wincing. “I’m sorry.”

                “What were you doing? Playing a game or something?” Sunstreaker asked. His gaze darted around the room, but the video console was dark. Sideswipe shook his head as he replaced the damp paintbrush into the holder on Sunstreaker’s desk.

                “No. I was… well, here… how do I look?” Sideswipe asked, straightening up and throwing his arms out to the side. Then he swiveled at the waist in one direction and then back again.

                Sunstreaker squinted at him and then stepped closer. “Is that… is that white piping?” he asked, sounding intrigued. He crowded in close and his fingers traced the air above the thin white stripe Sideswipe had painted along the seams of his side.

                Fragging thing had taken Sideswipe four tries to get it both straight and the width he’d wanted, but he had finally done it. He probably should have let Sunstreaker paint him, but he hadn’t thought there would have been time in between the end of Sunstreaker’s shift and their rendezvous.

                “Yeah. You always said…”

                “… that you should have more accents. It looks good,” Sunstreaker proclaimed, straightening up and giving Sideswipe a proud smile. Out of nowhere a spark of heat flushed through Sideswipe’s lines and he glanced away.

                “Think Prowl will think so too?” Sideswipe asked, letting his arms drop back down to his sides. His fingers nervously wrung together a little as he gazed at his twin through lowered optic shutters.

                “Absolutely,” Sunstreaker replied. He reached out and stroked the side of Sideswipe’s face. “You’re gorgeous. The accent really makes your colors pop. But… are you almost done? We’re going to be late. And you know how Prowl is.”

                “Right. Yeah, I’m done. I just finished the second coat of sealant. I need to grab my weapons though. What do you think? Leave the rocket launcher or not? Go with classy and elegant or badass and cutthroat?” Sideswipe asked, striding across the room to their weapons rack.

                “Hmm… leave the rocket launcher but strap on your energon sword,” Sunstreaker suggested. “That gets you a little bit of both. Plus I like the way your hips move when you wear it.”

                Sideswipe laughed and flirtatiously winked over his shoulder at his twin. “I will keep that in mind… and hopefully Prowl will feel the same way!”



Chapter Text

                “Feeling better?” Sideswipe asked, grinning down at Prowl with what he knew was a roguish smile. He didn’t really have to ask. Prowl was limp, vents open full bore as his engine cooled down. It probably didn’t help that Sunstreaker was still partially draped over Prowl’s side, but he didn’t seem to mind.

                “Much,” Prowl murmured. His optics were slitted, their royal blue lenses glinting at Sideswipe in the overhead light. The fingers of his hand resting on his abdomen twitched, gently tugging on the cable still connecting him to Sideswipe. Sunstreaker’s was buried in Prowl’s jugular port and the circle was completed with Sideswipe’s in Sunstreaker’s abdominal port.

                A very delightful circle still tingling with leftover charge. Sideswipe ran a hand down Prowl’s thigh and all three of them shivered at the feedback.

                “Stop, please… can’t take any more,” Prowl murmured, turning his head to bury his face in Sunstreaker’s neck.

                Sideswipe pouted at their lover before turning his expression towards Sunstreaker. His twin just rolled his optics before disconnecting Sideswipe’s plug and tossing it back at him. He made quick work of the other connections, ignoring Sideswipe’s forlorn expression.

                “But we just got started!” Sideswipe complained. “We have hours left before we have to be on shift!”

                “… which we could use to recharge,” Sunstreaker said, nuzzling Prowl’s cheek. “Come on down here and be still.”

                “Prowl? Really, Prowl, you want to sleep?” Sideswipe questioned, taking hold of Prowl’s wrist and running his fingers on the underside of it in what he hoped was a tempting manner. Maybe if nothing else, Sideswipe could get some more smooches in.

                Prowl was a great kisser and Sideswipe thought they spent far less time indulging in things like kisses than they really should.

                Of course, they indulged in actual interfacing far less than he thought they should too.

                Prowl’s hand was limp, however, and he showed no signs of hearing Sideswipe. He leaned forward, peering into Prowl’s face, only to see his optics completely closed.

                “Are… are you awake? Sunny… did he actually fall asleep already?”

                “Seems like,” Sunstreaker rumbled, his own optic shutters looking heavy. “He was already tired and your boundless energy wore him out.”

                “My boundless energy? You were the one to pounce on him first. I was only here for the second act, remember,” Sideswipe complained. Ironhide had kept him in the armory for a few extra minutes and by the time he had gotten to their quarters, Sunstreaker had already had Prowl crying out in his first overload.

                “You snooze, you lose,” Sunstreaker said with a smirk, closing his optics completely.

                “Oh, don’t even,” Sideswipe grumped. “Fine. Give me a kiss then and I’ll go to sleep.”

                Sunstreaker cracked his optic shutters as Sideswipe leaned in. “One kiss. I’m not getting revved up again,” he warned.

                But Sunstreaker’s hand cradled the side of Sideswipe’s face and steadied him as he kissed Sideswipe so deeply and thoroughly enough that his head started to swim. When Sunstreaker finally drew back, all Sideswipe could do was blink at him, his frame feeling soft and warm.

                “I’ll pounce on you first thing in the morning,” Sunstreaker promised, giving Sideswipe’s shoulder a gentle push. “Now go to sleep.”

                “Mm. I’m keeping you to your word, mister,” Sideswipe murmured, snuggling down against Prowl’s other side. His rampant charge had been tempered a little, enough that he could nod off at least.

                But he’d be ready for his twin in the morning.

                And hopefully Prowl would be awake by then too.


~ End

Chapter Text

                “It itches,” Whirl complained, one claw tip dragging over the lace stretched across his prominent chest.

                Rung placed a hand on Whirl’s claw and pulled. It moved more because Whirl allowed it than anything, but that was Whirl. Rung could give him just a glance and Whirl would do anything for the little guy.

                Even be wrangled into lingerie.

                “I’ll distract you soon enough,” Rung said, patting one of Whirl’s gun muzzles. “Just let me look at you for a moment, alright?”

                He took a step back, and then several more before making a slow circle around Whirl. Whirl could feel the heat of his scorching gaze, and it was hard not to fidget as he grew more and more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by.

                “You hate it,” Rung announced, coming to a stop in front of Whirl again. A small pout had Whirl bending at the knees and desperately shaking his head.

                “It’s not that! It’s alright. Like I said itchy, but I can stand it.”

                “I don’t know why you don’t like this outfit on you; you look splendid,” Rung said sadly, running a hand across Whirl’s garter belt. His small fingers plucked at the lace and he looked so despondent that it took everything within Whirl not to gather him up into his arms and run away with him to a dark room where Rung couldn’t see… oh.

                “I just don’t like you looking at me at all,” Whirl blurted out.

                Then he flinched back because that was a doozy of a statement that would get Rung’s psychiatrist algorithms going at warp speed. Something Whirl very much didn’t want at the moment. He wanted heat and closeness and a small squirmy body petting him and making him keen with the delicious sort of overloads he never knew his frame could have.

                If anything, Rung looked sadder for a moment before he straightened his shoulders and gave a sharp nod.

                “Well, that’s unfortunate. Because I like looking at you. Quite a bit, in fact. So you’re just going to have to deal with it. I’ll try not to prolong it like I did just now, but you do want to please me… don’t you?”

                Rung reached up and took Whirl’s helm in his hands, bare optics widening beseechingly. Whirl’s spark skipped a beat and his insides went all squirmy because he would destroy worlds for Rung. Allowing him to look at his ravaged frame was nothing in comparison, right?

                “I do. I do, Rung, Sir. Anything, sir,” Whirl murmured, claw tips delicately resting on Rung’s scrawny hips.

                “Excellent,” Rung said, smiling so sunnily Whirl thought his optic would go blind. “Let me turn down the lights then. I’ve done my looking… now it’s time to feel.”


~ End

Chapter Text

                The Coneheads are not gentle. One would think a mech with wings would be more careful of appendages that are just as sensitive, but by the time Bluestreak arrives in front of Megatron, his sensory panels are aching from all the grabbing and pulling they had endured.

                Megatron stares down at him along the length of his nasal ridge and sneers. “Why did you bring me this? What am I supposed to do with this?”

                Dirge looks crestfallen. “I thought… hostage?”

                Bluestreak pats the Conehead on the arm and smiles up at him reassuringly. “It’s ok. You probably didn’t know that I’m basically a nobody. I mean, people like me well enough, but I’m not anyone’s mate or sibling. Primus, if I was Sideswipe or Sunstreaker, you’d have a problem, but no one’s really going to care that I didn’t make it back with the others. I mean… I hope they care somewhat, but I’m not exactly going to net a big exchange of cubes or anything, now am I?”

                Megatron sighs and pinches the bridge of his nasal ridge like Bluestreak has seen Ratchet do. He wonders if they picked it up independently of each other.

                “Get him out of my sight. And definitely out of my audial range. In fact, just take him back to the battlefield. He’s right; he’s no one.”

                “Except maybe to a certain Praxian,” a voice drawls and Starscream sidles up to Megatron’s left side, peering at Bluestreak. “You know, even if I hadn’t heard the rumor that that devious tactician had essentially adopted you, any member of a nearly extinct group of citymechs may push for their fellow’s return. I think it’s worth holding on to him.”

                Megatron considers Bluestreak in a new light and Bluestreak does his best to keep his innocent expression on. He’s been told that no one can tell if it’s an act or not although he suspects Jazz is starting to catch on.

                And while it’s true he’s Prowl’s ward, the way Jazz has been circling around Bluestreak lately makes him wonder if there might be someone else invested in his safe and speedy return.

                “Fine then. You handle the exchange,” Megatron barks to Starscream before stomping off.

Starscream triumphantly looks at Bluestreak before gesturing at the Coneheads. “Well? What are you waiting for? Take him to a cell while I make a call.”           

                Bluestreak yelps a wordless protest when Thrust grabs his sensory wing and yanks him backwards. He does his best to go keep up with the three larger mechs, but he’s still a little winded when he’s shoved into a small cell and the door slams shut behind him.

                “You know a little niceness goes a long way!” Bluestreak calls out after the Coneheads, Ramjet sneering over his shoulder. As he moves out of sight, Blluestreak’s optics are caught by a glowing visor in the cell catty corner to his.

                “Not sure they know the meaning of the word,” Vortex drawls. He pushes himself upright out of his slouch on the bare bench and bows mockingly. “Welcome to our lovely brig. Despite the spacious accommodations, I’m getting the vibe that you don’t want to be here either.”

                Bluestreak warily studies the Combaticon. He’s got several dents and scuffs across his frame and even sparks coming from his shoulder.

                “No. But I suddenly don’t feel so bad about my handling,” Bluestreak remarks, gesturing at Vortex’s body.

                “Mmm… if I was them, I would have… handled… you too,” Vortex says, lips curving up in a leer. His normally covered mouth is smeared with dried energon, like someone had punched him.

                Bluestreak can’t imagine why. He knows that even his own gestaltmates don’t like him, and suspects that’s why he’s here in the first place.

                Slowly lowering himself to his bench, Bluestreak prays silently to Primus for Prowl, Jazz, or anyone really, to rescue him soon. He doesn’t know how much more of the creepy leering he can take.


~ End

Chapter Text

                “How do you think it looks?” Wheeljack asked, coming up behind Starscream. He hooked his chin over Starscream’s shoulder and met his optics in the mirror, fingers resting lightly on Starscream’s hips.

                “Ehh…” Starscream struggled to find the words as he took in the lace and chains draping him.

                “You don’t like the outfit,” Wheeljack surmised sadly, and Starscream just knew he was pouting behind the blast mask. “I don’t know why; you look amazing!”

                “I do look good… ” Starscream admitted, admiring the way the flimsy cloth softened his angles. The chains tinkled softly along the plating of his wings as he slowly fanned them back and forth, drawing the gaze to his impressive wingspan. “… but it’s not the most comfortable.”

                The thin metal links were light; every time his frame moved, they slid across the hypersensitive flight armor in a way far more irritating that arousing. And the lace kept getting caught in delicate transformation seams, pinching some of the wiring beneath them. All in all, nothing truly painful, but it felt like miniaturized scraplets were scrambling across and under his plating.

                “Ahhh…” Wheeljack said, sliding his hands up to fondle the outer edges of Starscream’s cockpit. As he did so, the lace chemise slid up, tickling the rim of the glass and making Starscream shiver. “Well, I never asked if it was comfortable, did I, pet?”

                Wheeljack’s energy field rippled outwards, lightly dancing along the forward edges of Starscream’s wings. It was like invisible fingers catching and tangling in the chains, gently tugging them across the armor. Starscream shuddered this time, a bolt of something electric shooting up his back strut.

                “No, sir. No, you didn’t,” Starscream said faintly, his optics lidding. In the mirror, he watched Wheeljack’s mask slide aside and his lips descend to press a moist print atop Starscream’s shoulder. Wheeljack’s expressed turned content when Starscream moaned from a repeat stroke of Wheeljack’s energy field.

                “Besides. I think it will end up working to your advantage,” Wheeljack murmured. His fingertips rubbed back and forth, scraping the lace against the glass cockpit and Starscream nodded absently, intrigued by the unique sensation.

                “Show me how?” Starscream asked, his gaze meeting Wheeljack’s in the reflective glass in front of them.

                “Oh, I plan to, pet,” Wheeljack replied, scarred lips curving up in a secretive smile. It was one that always made Starscream’s knees weak and this time was no exception.


 ~ End

Chapter Text

                When the doorchime rings, Ratchet’s three quarters of the way into recharge, nodding off against Wheeljack’s shoulder. Wheeljack is so involved in his journal article that he doesn’t even hear the pleasant tinkling sound. It’s only when Ratchet grumbles and shifts upright so that he can poke Wheeljack in the side that he notices.

                “Hmm? What is it?” Wheeljack asks, glancing down at Ratchet.

                “Get the door,” Ratchet instructs, just as the bell goes off again.

                “Why me? You’re on the outside,” Wheeljack says, gently nudging his bonded’s shoulder. Ratchet squirms until he’s more prone on their berth, digging his shoulders into the soft mound of pillows.

                “Aren’t you always saying I need to get more rest?” Ratchet replies pointedly. Wheeljack chuckles and pats the tops of Ratchet’s head, prompting a snarl.

                “Cheap shot, sweetspark. Fine. You stay there all nice and cozy. Oh dear… the blanket must have gotten tangled up in my legs…”

                Wheeljack snickers to himself as he throws himself over Ratchet, ever so incidentally taking the thick quilt Ratchet had been tucking in around himself off the side of the bed with him.

                “You are not as cute as you think you are!” Ratchet mutters, just loud enough for Wheeljack to hear.

                As Wheeljack palms the door open, he glances over his shoulder, left helm fin flashing in a wink. “Oh, yes, I am.”

                When he turns back around, the door is already halfway open, and Wheeljack comes to attention when he sees a tall yellow and gray frame standing in the hallway, shoulders hunched and head ducked.

                “Grim? Hey, buddy, what’s up?” Wheeljack askes, reaching out a hand to cup his creation’s chin. He gently lifts the large head, peering up into Grimlock’s visored optics. “Everything ok?”

                “… yes.”

                Wheeljack hears a rustling sound behind him and thinks Ratchet is sitting up. “You don’t sound sure about that, bud. You coming in?”

                Grimlock nods mutely and shuffles sideways through the doorway. As soon as he clears the door and it starts sliding closed he takes a step forward and engulfs Wheeljack in a desperate hug, burying his face against Wheeljack’s shoulder.

                Wheeljack’s vents wheeze a little at the tight embrace, but he immediately returns the hug, holding Grimlock across his upper shoulders. “Grim? What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, soothingly stroking Grimlock’s nape.


                A few seconds later, Wheeljack feels Ratchet press against them both, worming an arm between them so that he could embrace Grimlock around the waist. At the additional touch, Grimlock shudders, letting out a pitiful whine.

                “Tell us what’s wrong, Grimlock,” Ratchet instructs softly. “Tell us so we can help you.”

                Spark aching at his creation’s obvious upset, Wheeljack croons softly into his audial, holding him even tighter.

                “I… I… is love supposed to be like this? Is it supposed to hurt?” Grimlock cries, his large frame shivering so hard that Wheeljack can feel his denta clack together. Over the top of Grimlock’s head, Wheeljack catches Ratchet’s optic and they share a confused look between them.

                “Grimmy? What are you talking about? I didn’t know you were dating someone,” Ratchet says.

                “I’m not! They don’t even know I exist!” Grimlock exclaims, drawing back a little. He sniffles, the sound muffled behind his visor. Wheeljack tsks and abruptly starts pulling Grimlock towards their berth. Ratchet sidesteps them as Grimlock meekly lets himself be tugged along.

                “They? Who is ‘they’?” Ratchet asks in confusion.

                “Ratchet, come here,” Wheeljacl instructs, collapsing onto the bed and pulling Grimlock down with him. Grimlock immediately wriggles close, hiding his face in Wheeljack’s chest.

                “Ok, fine, but who is ‘they?’” Ratchet repeats, slowly climbing onto the berth. As he presses against Grimlock’s back, Wheeljack thinks back over the past few weeks, examining any of Grimlock’s interactions with others that he’s witnessed. A sinking feeling tugs at his spark.

                “Grimlock… are you talking about the twins? Sideswipe and Sunstreaker?” Wheeljack asks softly. Now that he thinks about it, every time he’s seen Grimlock outside of battle, he hasn’t been far from the twins.

                Grimlock flinches as Ratchet jerks back, staring at the back of Grimlock’s helm.

                “What?! The Twins?! How can you say you love the twins? You barely ever talk to them!” Ratchet protests. Wheeljack sighs, and Ratchet turns his demanding gaze to him.

                “You know it doesn’t always work like that, Ratch,” Wheeljack says softly. “The twins are not shrinking violets, after all. Hard to miss and easy on the optics.”

                “They’re brave…,” Grimlock whispers, his ex-vent leaving a warm, damp spot on Wheeljack’s central chest seam. “… and pretty.”

                “Pretty idiotic,” Ratchet mutters and growls at Wheeljack’s gentle whack to his shoulder. “Fine. Yes, they’re brave to the point of stupidity and are handsome. But, Grimlock… they’re split spark twins… they’ve been bonded to each other since unfurling. There’s not a whole lot of room in their sparks for anyone other than each other.”

                “I think that’s the problem, Ratchet,” Wheeljack says quietly, holding his creation tighter when Grimlock keens miserably.

                The Dinobots are a proud bunch and Wheeljack knows it has taken a lot for Grimlock to come here, even to his own creators. Wheeljack desperately wants to fix Grimlock’s breaking spark, but hasn’t the faintest idea how. He knows Ratchet isn’t any better, at least judging by the helplessly frustrated look on his face. All they can do is hold Grimlock, let him know that no matter what… he is loved by them.


~ End

Chapter Text

                Whirl’s spark sinks down to the level of his pointy knees when he sees Nameless Goon #3 haul a petite figure into the room. Nameless Goon #2, who is holding Whirl’s arms high up behind his back, lets out an appreciative whistle when Rung’s frame becomes more visible underneath the too bright, overhead light.

                Then the Goon lets out a choked off gasp as Whirl stomps on the mech’s pede.


                Only Whirl is allowed to ogle Rung. That’s the unspoken rule.

                “Oh, I’m sorry,” Whirl says sweetly, craning his neck around so he can squint his optic at the now glaring Goon. “I was just trying to escape. But alas! You have thwarted me!”

                Ignoring the Goon’s confused expression, Whirl glances over at Rung, noticing a few scratches here and there, but no overt injuries.

                Good. Whirl would hate to have to blow his cover to wreak vengeance if Rung had sprained a joint or something.

                “Found this’un skulkin’ ‘bout the perimeter,” Goon #3 rumbles, giving Rung a little shake. Rung’s glasses nearly fall off his face and he hurriedly shoves them back up his nasal ridge.

                “I assure you,” Rung says calmly, “I was not skulking. I was merely intrigued by the architecture of the building.”

                “Uh huh, sure.” Head Goon pushes off from the wall nearby and stalks over to stare down at Rung. “Because this rattrap was built during the height of the Cybertronian Golden Age,” he says sarcastically.

                “I think it’s more likely that you’re this one’s backup.”

                He points at Whirl and Whirl throws back his head and chortles. “B-backup? Are you kidding?” Whirl asks between the giggles. “One – I don’t need backup. I mean, have ya seen me? And two – that. You think that’s backup? Does he even have any weapons?”

                Goon #3 shakes his head at Head Goon, which takes a bit of wind out of sails. But he just shrugs and gestures at his fellow Goons. “Don’t matter one way or the other. Stick ‘em in the cell for now. Boss’ll decide what to do with them.”

                Whirl and Rung are unceremoniously hauled out of the room, down two dim and funny smelling corridors and shoved into a small room at the end of the last hallway. Goon #3 slams the heavy metal door shut, sneering at them through the tiny clear window. He moves away and Goon #2 takes his place long enough to blow a kiss at Rung. Then they both stomp off, Whirl cocking his head to the side and listening to make sure they move out of hearing distance. Then he spins around, grabs Rung by his scrawny shoulders, and pins him against the wall.

                “What are you doing?!” he hisses into Rung’s face. “I left ya there to protect ya! The other guys are on the way; you were supposed to show them where I was taken to. Now how are they gonna find us?”

                Rung gently pats Whirl’s wrists, seemingly unconcerned at his position. “Before we left, I had Brainstorm implant a tracking device. They’ll follow it and find the both of us together.”

                Whirl hurriedly drops Rung and backpeddles across the room, staring at Rung in horror. “Brainstrom? You let Brainstorm put something inside you? You don’t even let me put anything inside you!”

                “We’re not at that stage of our relationship, Whirl, and that is a completely different matter. Brainstorm assured me it was perfectly safe,” Rung says reasonably, dusting himself off while Whirl throws his claws up into the air.

                “Nerd, when ya gonna realize that nothing Brainstorm makes or do is safe?”

                Rung gives him a disapproving glance before starting to examine the walls of their cell.  “Some might say that of you. Yet, here I am. It will all work out all right.”

                Whirl stomps over to the door and starts poking at its hinges, refusing to look at the happily humming psychologist behind him. “Primus well better be all right,” Whirl grumbles to himself. “Slag that if Brainstorm gets to get inside your plating before I do.”

                “What was that?”

                Rung’s voice floats up from the opposite of the cell, sounding as innocent as any sparkling. Whirl knows better.

                “Nothing, dearest!” Whirl chirps back. “You’re right; we’ll be out of here in no time!”

                The others have exactly ten minutes to get here. Then he would fish the tracker out of Rung and stick it to the door to blow it off its hinges.  

                Knowing Brainstrom, there’s no way that thing isn’t at least the tiniest bit explosive.

~ End

Chapter Text

                “I wanted to take Drift along with me on this next excursion; do you think he’s up to it? He’s up to it. Yeah, I’m sure he’s up to it. Never mind, I’ll just take him.”

                Ratchet grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be a datapad, and flung it at the back of Rodimus’ head as he turned to leave the office. The datapad made a satisfying ‘thunk’ when it impacted. Even more satisfying was the pained yelp Rodimus produced.

                “Ow! Why did you do that for?” Rodimus whined. He pressed a hand to the back of his head and widened his optics at Ratchet, lower lip quivering.

                “Oh, don’t even, you little…” Ratchet growled, circling his desk.

                It had been a bad couple of days, the highlight of which had been repairing the many crew members who had gotten injured on the last ‘excursion’. The worst of which had been Drift, of course, and it infuriated Ratchet that his so called ‘best friend’ would want to go on another excursion so soon, much less drag an injured Drift along with him.

                Drift would go, too, Ratchet knew. He wouldn’t even hesitate, especially if Rodimus gave him those big blue optics of his.

                The ones he was trying to use on Ratchet right now. Well, Ratchet wasn’t fooled.

                “Get in here!” Ratchet snarled, grabbing hold of Rodimus’ arm and yanking him further into the office. As Rodimus stumbled forward, Ratchet slammed the door behind him.

                “Now, Ratchet…” Rodimus said warily, slowly backing away with his hands up. “All you had to say was ‘no’.

                “You don’t understand the word!” Ratchet shouted. “It’s like you’re a sparkling that never learned it! Well if you want to act like a sparkling, I’ll treat you like one. Come here!”

                “Come where… hey… Ratchet, what… what are you doing?!”

                “Bend over,” Ratchet snarled, grabbing Rodimus by his nape. He shoved hard enough that Rodimus’ forehelm gave another nice satisfying sound as it hit the top of Ratchet’s desk.

                “Ratchet, I am your Captain!” Rodimus shrieked. Ratchet kicked Rodimus’ feet apart and leaned over his upper back, growling into the other mech’s audial as he tried to wriggle free.

                “Not right now you’re not.”

                One hand firmly still placed on Rodimus’ neck, the other raised up and swung back down, his palm impacting the upturned red aft with a ringing chime of metal hitting metal. Rodimus gasped and froze, his fingers digging into Ratchet’s desk. His visible optic rolled as he stared up at Ratchet, mouth open in shock.


                Ratchet hit him again. And again and again for a total of ten times, until his palm stung and Rodimus’ aft was hot to the touch. Once Ratchet’s anger finally left him, he shoved himself away from Rodimus, vents puffing with his exertions.

                “You will not be taking Drift. And you’re not going on another excursion as way to relieve your boredom,” Ratchet announced, watching Rodimus slowly straighten up, shoulders hunched in on themselves as he stared at Ratchet.

                “You’ll need a majority decision between you, Magnus, and Megatron before you do anything so stupid as the last trip you made. And if you don’t, next time I’m going to take you over my knee, and this will have felt like a love tap. Do you understand me?” Ratchet demanded.

                Rodimus sniffled and hurriedly wiped at his face. For a moment, Ratchet felt a spike of remorse, but he quickly squashed it back down. Twenty mechs had been hurt, and they’d nearly lost Drift. All for some stupid adventure that didn’t even help them with their quest.

                “… yes, Ratchet,” Rodimus said faintly. “I’m sorry.”

                “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ratchet grumbled, crossing his arms over his windshield. “Get over here.”

                Frame trembling, Rodimus shuffled forward. When he was within reach, Ratchet circled him and gently ran a hand over his aft. The captain’s vents hitched, but he didn’t otherwise make a sound as Ratchet palpated the area.

                “You’re not seriously hurt,” Ratchet announced quietly. Despite himself, he was not unaffected by Rodimus’ continued sniffling. Rodimus was still just a kid after all. A dumb, impetuous kid, but a kid nonetheless. “You’ll be sore for a day or so, but I can give you a cream to help with that if…oof!”

                Rodimus whirled around suddenly and then threw himself at Ratchet, shivering as he tucked himself against Ratchet’s frame. He buried his face in Ratchet’s shoulder and clung, choked sobs rattling Ratchet’s plating.

                The spike of remorse spread and flooded Ratchet’s processor.

                “You’re right! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Rodimus cried as Ratchet’s arms unconsciously came up to encircle the flame painted back. “Is Drift gonna be ok?”

                “He’s gonna be fine,” Ratchet said, gently squeezing Rodimus’ nape. “He’s a tough kid.”

                “You’re right… I’m so stupid. I don’t know why I’m so stupid!” Rodimus exclaimed, shuddering. He resolutely kept his face hidden as Ratchet tried to get a look at him. He eventually gave up and resigned himself to being squeezed out of his plating.

                “You’re not stupid,” Ratchet countered, knowing it to be true. Rodimus didn’t have Rung’s or Perceptor’s level of intelligence, but rather his own blend of intuitive smarts. “You just don’t think things through all the way.”

                “I’ll do better… I’ll do better…” Rodimus muttered, still trying to burrow his way into Ratchet’s plating. Ratchet sighed and hugged him tighter. The misery saturating his field was way more effective than any sort of turbopuppy optics.

                “I know you will, kid,” Ratchet said softly. “I know you will.”


~ End

Chapter Text

                “Look what you did!” Sunstreaker breathed, staring down at the prone form of their next door neighbor.

                “ME?!” Sideswipe exclaimed, sounding offended. Sunstreaker whipped around and glared at his twin. Sideswipe subsided, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.

                “Well, yeah, ok, this one was all me. Although it didn’t help that he knocked at such a crucial time!” Sideswipe protested.

                “Excuses,” Sunstreaker spat. “What are we supposed to do with this? Can you remove it?”

                Sideswipe shrugged. “I don’t even know what I did exactly. Hey… you know, he’s even cuter up close.”

                Sunstreaker whapped Sideswipe along the back of the head and pointed at Mr Ratchet. “You think he’s gonna care how cute you think he is?!”

                “No,” Sideswipe replied sullenly. He jerked away from his brother and turned around, trudging back down the main hallway. “I’ll call Wheeljack. Maybe he’ll know what to do.”




                As it turned out, Wheeljack knew exactly what to do.

                Laugh uproariously for a good five minutes before taking Sideswipe step by step through a reversal spell, interspersed with hilarious giggles.

                “He still out?” Wheeljack asked over speakerphone, the latest fit of chuckles dying down.

                “Yes, thank the Nine,” Sunstreaker replied, leaning against the countertop. “We dragged him in and put him on the couch.”

                “Face down,” Sideswipe supplied helpfully. “I can’t imagine lying down on a brand new appendage like that.”

                Wheeljack burst into laughter again and the twins rolled their eyes at one another. Again. Wheeljack had a lot of knowledge and he was always happy to help, but they swore he dipped into his own potions a little too frequently.

                The loud chuckles were the only reason they missed the footsteps coming down the hall. But they definitely didn’t miss their neighbor stomping through the doorway and fixing them both with the most potent glare they had ever seen.

                “WHAT…THE FUCK… IS GOING ON?!” Mr Ratchet demanded, the floor practically shaking with the volume.

                There was complete and utter silence for several seconds until Wheeljack spoke up. “Woah. Is that the guy? You’re right, Sides, he does sound hot.”


~ End

Chapter Text

                “In, please.”

                “I’d prefer out, actually. Here, with you,” Vortex said, leaning in so that his shoulder brushed Bluestreak’s. Bluestreak held fast and tightened his grip on Vortex’s bound wrists.

                “Unfortunately, that’s not an option,” Bluestreak replied politely, doing his best to ignore the tingle on his plating from the touch of Vortex’s armor.

                Vortex sighed and moved forward through the opening until he stood just inside the cell. Then he looked over his shoulder at Bluestreak, wriggling his fingers at him. “Am I to remained cuffed then?”

                Bluestreak glanced over to where Hound was watching at the guard entrance. At Hound’s nod, Bluestreak stepped forward, reaching for the restraints.

                “I’d much prefer you stay cuffed actually,” Bluestreak muttered. The Decepticon weirded Bluestreak out although he knew that wasn’t an uncommon thing. Apparently he even made other Decepticons uneasy.

                “Oh? I’d never would have taken you for a kinky top!” Vortex exclaimed his delight, his rotors shuffling against one another.

                Frame heating up at the innuendo, Bluestreak gripped Vortex’s right wrist with tight fingers and squeezed. He pressed his front against Vortex’s back, leaning in to speak against his audial.

                “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. But… there are plenty of things you don’t know about me,” Bluestreak said quietly. He pressed his thumb against the cuffs’ scanner and they clicked open, falling into Bluestreak’s hands.

                Vortex slowly turned around and took a step back, one hand massaging his opposite wrist. “Such as?” he purred, visor flickering as he tilted his head down and then back up as he took in Bluestreak’s frame.

                “Such as I could have you screaming my name in under half an hour if I wanted to, cuffs or not,” Bluestreak said confidently. “Too bad you’re a ‘con.”

                Vortex shivered, his plating ruffling. “Well, then. Maybe I should just defect. Because that prospect sounds delicious, darling.”

                Bluestreak raised an orbital ridge and scoffed. “Sure. If you ever defect, you give me a call.”

                With that parting shot, he whirled on his heel and stalked out of the cell, hitting the release. The door slid closed and the energy bars turned on with a quiet hum. Bluestreak made his way out of the brig with the sensation of Vortex’s gaze on his back.

                For some reason, it didn’t weird him out as much as it used to.


~ End 

Chapter Text

                Grimlock’s back impacted the tree hard enough to send a resounding crack echoing through the forest. A flock of birds rose up off their perches and flew away, screeching angrily as the two Cybertronians disturbed their peace.

                As Starscream literally crawled his way up Grimlock’s body, Grimlock found that while he sympathized with the birds’ plight, he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Starscream was a hot, squirming mess plastered to Grimlock’s front, panting and clawing at Grimlock’s armor in an increasingly distracting way.

                “You could try slowing down,” Grimlock suggested, finally grabbing hold of Starscream’s aft and hoisting him upwards. Starscream immediately wrapped his legs around Grimlock’s waist and rocked against his lower stomach.

                “I don’t know if you’ve met me yet,” Starscream gasped, nibbling on the underside of Grimlock’s chin. “Hello, I’m Starscream, the Wing Lord of Vos and Air Commander of the Decepticons. I’m the fastest Seeker that ever existed, and I don’t do slow.”

                He spat the word as if it disgusted him, and Grimlock discretely rolled his optics. As if he needed yet another reminder of how speedy Starscream was.

                “Hi. I’m Grimlock, and I’m a lumbering oaf,” he responded, spinning around so Starscream was pressed against the tree instead. He loosed his array panel and his spike speared the air before rubbing up against the underside of Starscream’s aft. Starscream moaned, his own cover sliding aside with an eager click. He wiggled harder, tilting his pelvis downwards in an attempt to capture the head of Grimlock’s spike and impale himself.

                But Grimlock was having none of it. Their time together was always infrequent and rushed. He didn’t want rushed. He wanted a berth, privacy, and to slowly drive Starscream insane from desire. Grimlock didn’t have the first, the second was debatable if the birds had anything to say about it, and the third he was bound and determined to have even if it meant questions from their factions later.

                “A lumbering oaf who is wasting time,” Starscream growled, struggling in Grimlock’s grip. His wings waved restlessly, the wet heat pressed against Grimlock’s plating getting wetter.

                “We’ve got time,” Grimlock said, gripping Starscream’s hip with one hand. He positioned Starscream how he wanted him and nudged the tip of his spike against that dripping slit that practically begged to be penetrated, deeply and quickly. But Grimlock resisted temptation and instead, he gently rocked his hips, the spike head slipping in the accumulated lubricant.

                “I don’t care if we have time, which we actually don’t!” Starscream screeched, claws digging into Grimlock’s shoulders. “Do you know what I deal with on a daily basis? Fragging get inside me! Now!”

                “Hush. You’ll scare more wildlife,” Grimlock chastised, nuzzling the top of Starscream’s helm. “We do have time, and I do have an idea of what you go through on a daily basis. Which is why I’m going to go slow and drown you in so much pleasure you’ll have something to help get you through the bad days until the next time we meet up.”

                He shifted his pelvis just so, entering Starscream a scant inch before drawing right back out. Starscream froze, staring up at Grimlock with an open mouth and shocked optics.

                “I… you…” he whispered. “I can’t be away long… Megatron will ask questions…”

                “You can,” Grimlock promised, getting a better grip on Starscream’s aft. “You’re the Air Commander of the Decepticons, the fastest Seeker alive. You’ll give him answers until the day you no longer can come up with a reason to leave my side.”

                Starscream made a choked noise and arched his back as Grimlock pushed inside him in one smooth, deep thrust.

                “I hate you,” Starscream whispered, shutting his optics and letting his head fall back against the tree trunk. His legs tightened over Grimlock’s hips. “I never should have started this.”

                “But you have,” Grimlock returned, savoring the hot clasp of Starscream’s valve. He paused, venting in the ozone scent of his lover, rolling his shoulders to better feel the prick of Starscream’s talons.  “And I’ll finish it.”

                Sometimes Grimlock regretted that first tumble they had shared. But more and more frequently, he counted himself lucky. The complicated mech in his arms was a dangerous dichotomy of reactions and motivations, but Grimlock cared for him as deeply as his brothers and his parents. Starscream was his, and Starscream knew it.

                It was all just getting him to accept it and to think of a solution that would finally get them that berth they both desperately wanted.


~ End

Chapter Text

                Sunstreaker rolled over and sleepily flung his arm across Bluestreak’s waist, intending to snuggle in closer.

                But all his hand met was the berth covers. Blinking to clear his optics, Sunstreaker patted the bed farther out, but there was nothing except a lingering warmth in the blankets. Sighing, Sunstreaker pushed himself up onto an elbow and proceeded to get out of bed.

                The covers weren’t cold, which meant Bluestreak had only recently woken. If Sunstreaker caught him in time, there was still a chance he could coax him back to bed.

                Rubbing his optics, Sunstreaker shuffled into the living room. A quick glance located Bluestreak, scrunched up on the window seat and looking forlornly out into the night sky. Sunstreaker walked over to him and gently nudged his shoulder.

                “Oh! Sunny!” Bluestreak startled at the light touch even though Sunstreaker had made no effort to hide his steps. Lost in his head again, Sunstreaker surmised. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

                “No, just rolled over and you weren’t there,” Sunstreaker replied. “Budge up.”

                Bluestreak obligingly scooted forward and Sunstreaker slid onto the seat behind him, parting his thighs so he could pull Bluestreak snugly back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around him, resting his hands on Bluestreak’s belly, just below his bumper.

                “What’s in your head tonight, Blue?” Sunstreaker asked. He gently kissed the side of Bluestreak’s helm and Bluestreak sighed, turning his head into the press of Sunstreaker’s lips.

                “Just… ghosts. People I’ve shot… people I’ve seen shot… people