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Barricade grew up with his carrier, and his bastard of a step-sire. His step-sire liked Engex, and when he was on it — which was most of his spare time — he had a penchant for beating his conjux to scrap. Sometimes, when Barricade didn't manage to hide quickly enough, or well enough, he got smacked around too. The Enforcers were called out by the neighbors — over and over they came out to check the domestic disturbances — but Barricade's carrier always had a good exuse for his sorry state, and whenever it was needed, for the way Barricade looked too.
"I fell down some stairs:"
"I slipped in the washracks."
"He fell down when he was playing at school."
"He knocked a pot from a shelf and it landed on his helm. He was stealing energon treats from the jar. You know, kids and their antics..."
As if they ever had any energon treats. Barricade was glad when he didn't have to go to berth with an almost empty tank.
The Enforcers were unable to do anything, since nobody was ever filing charges, and the one time Barricade said something that made social services investigate more... Well, he would not risk that again. Ever. So he would keep his vocalizer shut, nodding to show he agreed with whatever his carrier said, and the Enforcers would leave.
Then it would start over again.
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He never knew anything else, not until he got older, at least. The few friends he made in school never looked like him — as if they had gone through the scrapper — and he started to realize that what happened in their home probably wasn't what happened in every family, wasn't right. His friends parents took their younglings for trips, helped them with homework, played with them, and comforted them when they were sad, and he wanted that too. Primus, did he want it.
But there was nothing he could do about that injustice.
Up until then, he had been smacked around now and then, had been called names more times than he cared to count, and one time, his carrier locked him in a closet — after thoroughly explaining how unwanted he was, and that Barricade was the only reason his carrier hadn't become rich and famous. In hindsight, Barricade would gladly have it stay that way. The way it was when he was just a kid, and not a youngling.
His step-sire started to look differently at him as soon as he got into his fourth frame and got his altmode, just one reformat from being fully grown up. It was worrying, the way he garnered attention, because the mech had never taken much interest in him — if Barricade was careful to stay out of his way — something that probably had saved the Saleen from a lot of the worst beatings. Now though, there were long gazes lingering on his plating, openly staring at his shoulder-wings, ogling his aft. It stopped at staring, though.
Until one day, when Barricade's carrier was working when Barricade got home from a friend's house. His stepsire called out as the Saleen passed the living room. The youngling hesitantly stepped into the room, just past the threshold, watching the unkempt mech on the couch with wary optics, because attention was always a precursor of something bad.
"Come here, Barricade."
Chapter 3
Notes:
I do consider Barricade to be above the age of legal consent here, so it's not underage, but what his step-sire is doing is all kinds of fucked up, and it's still not consensual on Barricade's part. If you're uncomfortable with this, please skip this chapter, and the following 4 chapters.
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He obeyed, though slowly, not certain what to expect. There was a half empty bottle of Engex on the table after all, and his step-sire had never expressed interest in coming anywhere near Barricade before. Unless for 'teaching him a lesson' for something the Mustang had done or said, but he couldn't remember doing anything wrong lately. Not that what he considered right or wrong ever mattered.
"You're growing into a really hot little mech, Barricade. Remind me so much of your carrier when he was younger and leaner, you know. Why don't you come and sit on my lap for a while? I'll teach you a thing or two you need to know, now that you're getting all grown up."
The mech's voice was a low, rough purr, a tone of voice Barricade hadn't heard before, and he knew very well that 'unknown' often equaled 'dangerous'. Hesitantly, he obeyed, afraid to do anything else and risk evoking the mech's bad temper for being disobedient. He did not want another beating.
"Straddle me." The mech wheezed when Barricade reached him, a servo curling around the Mustang's hip to urge him forward.
Barricade did, sitting stiffly as his step-sire slid his servos up the Saleen's thighs, thumbs trailing the inside of them, tracing seams in his dark plating. The servos reached the juncture of Barricade's hips, thumbs stroking the front of his pelvic plating, and the Mustang felt something behind it respond, throbbing in time with his spark, and he choked on a gasp, not wanting his step-sire to know about his reaction. The touch did feel kind of good, in spite of the mere thought of the mech's servos on his frame making Barricade's plating crawl, and it was utterly confusing.
"You're getting hot behind this panel." The mech smirked knowingly.
Barricade flushed, because something about the mech's voice made it sound like it was something bad to get hot there, and Barricade could feel an odd wetness behind the plate. He couldn't explain why — because nobody had ever touched him like that before, and it did feel sort of good — but he really didn't want anyone to know how he reacted to the touches. Especially not his step-sire.
A tap of a digit against the plate the mech was stroking. "Open up. I'll make you feel good. Make you a grown up."
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Barricade didn't know what the mech was on about, and he wasn't certain he should really go along with it, but that panel was starting to feel too warm, something behind it betraying his disgust of being so close to his step-sire and wanting more of those touches.
"How? I don't know how to open it." He said, feeling small and stupid for having to ask.
"It's under interface protocols, but I'll help you this time." The mech offered.
A digit dug into the seam, clumsily seeking around for something, and suddenly, something disengaged and the panel popped open. The mech pushed it to the side, made it slip under another plate to disappear. Barricade stared at the components he had never seen before — the ones that had come with his latest reformat — and so did his step-sire, optics bright. A dirty servo reached for him, and Barricade gasped as a digit slipped through pliable folds, feeling around. The Saleen shuddered, his plating crawling every time they touched, and yet being touched down there felt strangely good.
His step-sire found a sensitive spot and started rubbing it, circling it with the tip of his digit, and Barricade's frame started heating up, the components down there feeling increasingly heavy. The Mustang couldn't silence a startled yelp when another component, in front of the parts his step-sire was toying with, suddenly extended. The mech didn't touch that part, just kept playing with the other components.
"Little slut, getting all worked up for having your valve played with."
He really needed to read through the manual of his new frame later. He'd skipped that after the reformat, as he always had done before, but he needed to know what this was, why it felt so good when those components were touched.
The digit started feeling more and more slick, making it feel even better when it slipped over that sensitive spot, and his hips twitched of their own accord to rub against that servo. A digit slipped into him, wriggling around, then the servo stilled as the digit hit something inside, something blocking that digit from going deeper. The mech smirked and let his digit slip out.
"Lay down. I'll make a mech of you."
Chapter 5
Notes:
Barricade non-consensually losing his virginity to his step-sire in this one. If you think it might be triggering, skip this.
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Barricade hesitated. He was apprehensive about what his step-sire was planning now, but the mech's drunken grin, optics bright with overcharge, was enough for him to obey. He didn't want to make the mech angry, not when his carrier wasn't there to intervene. And it did feel kind of good to be touched down there so maybe this would be better than being beaten up again.
He tipped over on his back, and his step-sire kneed his legs apart. There was a click of plating shifting, and when Barricade looked down, the mech had pressurized a component that looked similar to the one jutting out from Barricade's pelvic plating. The Saleen tensed for what was going to happen while the mech lined up with Barricade's parts, and then he thrust forward, hilting himself inside the young Praxian.
The Saleen cried out, because the intrusion hurt. Frag did it hurt! He felt his other component recess into it's sheath, and his servos flew up to scrabble against his step-sire's plating to get him away, to stop stabbing him down there.
"Oh, shut up, it's not that bad." The mech grunted, starting to thrust quickly. "Don't be a whiny glitch, you were rocking into my touches just a minute ago. Stop flailing, it'll feel better soon."
Barricade sobbed silently, afraid to make another sound and anger the mech, and he stared off to the side, not wanting to see the disgusting bastard, vents smelling like stale Engex, his dirty plating misting with condensation as he moved on top of the Saleen. His step-sire pushed in deep and stayed still, grunting strangely, and then he sat back up, pulling out of Barricade. He closed the Mustang's panel manually.
"You should at least try to look alive when someone 'faces you. Cheer up, you're a grown mech now. But you better not tell anyone about this. People do it all the time, but they don't talk about it. It's frowned upon to spread your legs for mechs, you slut. Only little bitches take it in the valve."
Barricade nodded mechanically and got up to leave, stiffening when he could feel the inside of his panel go wet, servo instinctively coming down to stop the leaking, but whatever it was didn't leak out. His stepsire smirked and handed him the bottle of Engex, and the Saleen grabbed it with numb servos.
"Remember: it's our little secret. Now go clean up."
Chapter 6
Notes:
Aftermath after non-con, and implications of another assault.
Chapter Text
The Interceptor headed for the washracks, feeling strangely numb. Barricade set the bottle on the sink, staring at it indecisively while waiting for the solvent to get hot enough. He didn't dare having a taste — he'd gotten it from the bastard, after all, and he didn't really want it because of that.
He got under the spray, and vigorously cleaned his plating with scorching hot solvent, feeling filthy in a way he couldn't quite explain, trying to process what had just happened. The components behind his panel felt sticky, and sore, and it was such a disgusting reminder of the things he'd rather forget.
Finding the interface protocols took a while, and required a skim through of the manual, but eventually, he managed to open his panel. Barricade bent forward to have a look, just to find a thick liquid oozing out of the opening of his valve. His valve, where the bastard spike had stuck his spike.
The glop was mixed with energon. Scared, the Saleen started sobbing, letting the pelting solvent drown the sounds as he sank to the floor, curling up against the wall, wrapping his arms around his helm in an attempt to comfort himself.
The manual said nothing about this filthy feeling, or the pain. Just how the components worked, and how to use them. A cold, and clinical description of function, and technical specifications that left out how awful it felt to use them.
Barricade sat there for a very long time, sobbing into his knees, before he gathered enough composure to actually start cleaning himself down there. Spreading his legs — unable to bring himself to get up from the floor — he grabbed the sponge and scrubbed until he felt raw. Eventually he was forced to realize that he wouldn't feel clean, no matter how thoroughly he washed himself, so after quickly drying up, Barricade grabbed the bottle and headed for his room.
After some hesitation, he tasted the Engex. It tasted horrible, but the effect went straight to his helm, and the numb fuzziness was very welcome. He took a few more deep swigs, and then a few more, then he stretched out on his berth, dizzy and tired.
Sipping it to keep the buzz going, he slowly got more and more drunk. By the time his step-sire slipped into his room, he was too out of it to even lift his helm, and so he hardly moved when the mech ran his fingers over Barricade's panel, even if he wanted the mech to just go away and leave him alone.
There was a click of a latch, and then the cool air brushed his array. The Interceptor squirmed weakly, but a servo on his hip pressed him deeper into the worn mattress, and he stilled, too tired to resist more. Digits slipped through his folds, making something low in his stomach twitch in response, and suddenly, Barricade was thankful for his drunken stupor. What the mech was doing hardly seemed to matter at the moment. Then his step-sire climbed on top of him and nudged his legs apart again.
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It took quite some time before his carrier noticed. It wasn't that Barricade had started liking it, and wanted it, but he was helpless to do anything about it, and so he just went along with his step-sire's wishes. The Saleen knew that his step-sire would beat him if he didn't obey, and as awful as letting the mech touch his frame was, the beatings were much worse. And he often got some Engex as a reward afterwards, so he could always forget it for a while, unlike after a beating, when he was left in pain, and forced to try to cover the dents for days. The best times were when he got the Engex before, so he didn't need to be all that aware of what was going on. Trying to defend himself was futile, he was too small, and too weak.
His carrier came home early from work one day to find Barricade bent over the couch, his step-sire fragging him from behind. He really hated it, that intense feeling of bending over of his own accord to let the mech have him, as if he wanted this. The way his step-sire groped his aft and shoulder-wings — not for Barricade's pleasure, but for his own.
It was far from the first time the mech had waited for him when he got home from school, already charged up and ready to go, having spent the day watching porn for "inspiration", while waiting for his juicy little piece of youngling to get home.
But this time, they were caught. One second, he was bracing his arms against the backrest, waiting for the gross mech behind him to finish and let him slip into the shower to clean up, the next, his carrier stepped through the door to find the illicit scene. Barricade had never seen his carrier so angry. He threw things at Barricade's step-sire, yelling and screaming.
For once, his step-sire didn't go on the offensive to deal with the attack. He dodged, and held his servos up to deflect the barrage of anything of a reasonable size to throw, stumbling around the furniture to get away.
"I'm not the only one to blame here!" His step-sire yelled back. "Barricade isn't exactly innocent in this. I mean, look at him: he keeps clean and fairly polished. Unlike you."
"Because I fragging work in a factory! I fix up for my days off, isn't that good enough?! There's not much point to primp myself when I barely have time to refuel and recharge before the next shift."
"Well, he's inviting. You always have 'a helm-ache', or 'gestation cramps', or are 'too tired after work.' He's always willing to crawl into my lap to get some cock."
His carrier made an incoherent noise of outrage, throwing an empty bottle at the other mech. Then he turned to Barricade, who stood frozen by the couch, not having moved more than straightening from his pose. His carrier looked down to his still open panel, thighs slick with lubricant and pre-transfluid, and made a face of disgust and anger. "You, you slagging slut! Of course you couldn't keep your legs closed and your panel shut now that you've been upgraded! Of course you had to frag my mech at the first opportunity!" His carrier snarled at him, slapping him across the cheek, before going back to throwing things at his step-sire.
Chapter 8
Notes:
To anyone jumping in right here to avoid the child abuse: this chapter is the last of Barricade childhood, as I accidentally added a chapter before, but there's nothing graphic here, and it's on a lighter note, with hope for the future.
Chapter Text
The sirens wailed in the distance — as usual when his step-sire and carrier got into one of their many fights — and then the Enforcers barged in, the door nearly flying off it's hinges. Barricade still stood frozen on the spot, panel still open, uncertain what to do as he stared at his carrier tearing his step-sire a new one, his step-sire blaming Barricade and his carrier for it all, the Enforcers stomping in...
"Hey, mech. Are you alright?" An Enforcer asked him softly, snapping him out of his stupor.
"I-I.." Was he? "I don't know." He said numbly.
"First of all, let's get you covered up." The Enforcer said and grabbed the tattered blanket from the couch, wrapping it around Barricade's hips to cover his array.
"Thank you?"
"You're welcome. Now, I know that this is going to be hard, but I need your statement so that we finally can put that aft away. This isn't your doing you know, and you have nothing to fear or be ashamed of. Let us help you. Let's go somewhere more quiet."
Barricade followed the Enforcer outside, away from the ruckus of other Enforcers breaking up the fight still going on. He gratefully took the energon bar the Enforcer pulled from his subspace, and the cop sat down on the rickety couch on the porch with him, softly asking Barricade questions.
The Saleen watched as his step-sire and carrier were dragged outside to the transport in cuffs, his carrier still shouting insults, but now he had turned his ire towards the Enforcers. His step-sire glared dangerously at Barricade, a clear warning to shut up, and the Mustang averted his optics, spark speeding up with fear.
Could he really do this? Should he say more than he already had said? Or would his step-sire get back at him, and he'd have hell to pay for being a snitch?
"Don't mind them. You're the important one here. If you let us help you, that mech is going to be put away, and you will be safe." The Enforcer said, pulling Barricade's attention from his step-sire.
If he didn't say anything, everything would go back to the way it was. Or worse. He had to speak up. They said that they would keep him safe, that his step-sire would be put away.
The questions continued, and the Enforcer was very supportive — letting the young mech take his time, encouraging him, and when he needed it, soothed him — as everything Barricade had been through poured out of his vocalizer in a sometimes disjointed tale of various types of neglect and abuse.
They arranged housing for him, while his step-sire was arrested. This time, he wouldn't make excuses, or tell them lies.
Afterwards, Barricade knew without a doubt what he was going to be when he was fully grown. He wasn't going to be helpless again, he was going to help others in his position, mechs who couldn't help themselves.
He was going to be an Enforcer.
Chapter 9
Notes:
We're now a few years out of Barricade's childhood, and he did indeed become an Enforcer. So far, he has kept on the straight and narrow, but... Temptation.
Chapter Text
The first time he did it, it was such a rush of being in control in a way he'd never been before.
The pleasurebot Barricade was frisking suddenly broke down when the Enforcer found a small bag of boosters in his subspace. It caught the Saleen off guard when the mech started crying, field roiling with fear and despair. It wasn't what usually happened when they brought someone in: hardened criminals just sneered and went stone faced, ready to do their time if their lawyers didn't manage to snivel them out of long sentences. And the other petty crimes he had brought mechs in for had never made them react quite like this. Being upset and protesting, sure, but crying in panic? No, definite first time. He couldn't help but feel bad for the mech.
"Please, don't take me in for this! I'm not selling, I just need a little something to get through the day, 'k? I've already been sentenced twice, this would be my third stike. I'll go away for years, and I never have more than this!" He cried. "Please, Officer, don't report this. I'll do anything!"
He shouldn't listen. If the mech was going away for a long time, that was his own fault. The mech shouldn't be using, and he shouldn't be selling his frame either. But a third strike sentence... it would be a very harsh punishment for such a small amount of drugs, it was obvious that the mech wouldn't be selling what little he had, it was nowhere near enough. Most of the mechs in this area were just trying to scrape enough together to get by day to day, and to numb themselves when the day was over.
"Anything?" Barricade's processor was working in overdrive.
But what could this mech give him? The booster-helm had nothing. What could he possibly ask for, that would be worth the risk he would be taking, and wouldn't be too cheap a price for a favor like that?
"Why, yes, Officer. Anything!" The mech purred, slipping into his pleasurebot persona, stroking Barricade's pelvic plating with deft digits tracing the seams of his interface plate. Barricade's intakes hitched, because he wasn't prepared for that kind of touch, but his spike twitched with interest behind the cover. "You look like you need to blow off some steam, Officer, look awfully tense. Why don't you let me take care of that, let me show you a good time, and release some of that stress?"
Chapter Text
He really shouldn't.
But he would be doing the mech a favor, saving him from going to prison for half his functioning for just holding a negligible amount of boosters. Drugs that only served to numb the mech from his position in life. Right? He'd do the justice system a favor too, leaving a cell in prison open for one of the really bad criminals, one of those who did deserve that really long sentence. Right?
And there was something intensely arousing about knowing that he could send this mech away for a long time, and that he could also choose to let it slip, a heady sense of being powerful, and in control. It was all up to him. He was judge and jury. Behind his panel, his spike throbbed with a level of arousal he'd never felt before.
"I'm taking this," he said, holding up the bag of boosters, "and how about a blowjob? Then I'll let it go for this time."
The mech's face fell momentarily when Barricade said that he'd confiscate the drugs, but he composed himself quickly.
"Of course, Officer." He purred, sinking to his knees, keeping optic contact, giving Barricade a sultry smile.
Barricade opened his interface plate, spike pressurizing immediately, and the mech sucked it right into his intake without a second's hesitation. The Interceptor leaned his back against the wall, staring down at the bobbing helm, and put a servo on the back of the pleasurebot's helm to push in deeper.
"Ah, yeah, just like that..." He groaned, so very close already.
He had never felt more powerful in his entire life. The mechs future was in his servos, he could get the mech to do this by just saying so. It was forbidden, and oh, so arousing, downright addictive.
He came, hilting himself in the mech's intake, feeling the protesting twitches of the whore's throat tubing, and Barricade's optics flickered with the sheer power of his overload. The mech swallowed, and then he stood as Barricade depressurized his spike and closed his panel.
"You're free to go, but don't let me catch you with more drugs."
"Thank you, Officer, that's so kind of you!" The mech gushed and hurried off.
It was a good thing that most of the shift was over, because it didn't take long for Barricade to be aroused again, that power intoxicating. As soon as he got home, he stepped into the washracks to rub one out, thinking about that intake wrapped around his spike, the pleasurebot's future in his servos.
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It got easier for every time, no more doubts or regrets if he really should, if he'd done the right thing. No more questioning himself what the fuck he was doing. The mechs avoided to go to prison for an extended time for petty crimes, and Barricade got off, or other things he wanted. In the beginning, he always flushed the drugs he seized, but being a cop was stressful. The astro-weed and the routers were nice. He tried boosters twice, and once he did syk, but he didn't like those, didn't like the nervous, twitchy energy. He just needed to chill out, to relax, not crawl up the walls.
He was getting well known among the hookers, and the dealers in the area he patrolled when command suddenly decided that he should have a patrol partner. Barricade wasn't thrilled, because he didn't feel like sharing, but apparently, command thought that he needed help, because the rate of apprehensions had fallen too much. He needed to be more careful.
His new partner turned out to be such a stickler, exactly the type of mech Barricade didn't want as a partner. On the upside, Prowl would never want a cut, so it was still all Barricade when it came to making deals. On the downside, it made it very hard for Barricade to do his thing, because Prowl certainly would not approve and see between his digits with it. Barricade managed to implement that they went to deal with things one on one — stating that since he knew the locals, they were more inclined to open up and talk to him — but if he was too slow, Prowl may very well come and check on him, to make sure he didn't need back up.
This also mean that Barricade sometimes was forced to bring mechs in when he normally wouldn't have, or it would look strange that Prowl made all the arrests, and Barricade none. He kept to bringing in the ones not on third strike, though — to keep on the right side with the mechs he knew, and to keep earning the favors he liked so much, and not make someone thinking about snitching him out — but sometimes, he had to make deals to come back to collect the payment after his shift, incredibly annoying, and sometimes a hassle, since it meant he had to track the mechs down again before getting what he wanted.
Chapter Text
"Why, hello, Cade." The Polyhexian purred when Barricade rounded the corner. The boxy little mech was sitting on top of a dumpster, pedes dangling lazily over the side, leaning back on his servos to show of his bumper.
"Don't call me that." He hissed. "It's either Officer or, if I'm off duty, Barricade."
"Sorry." Jazz smirked, entirely unapologetic. "Stressful day?"
"Still got that stickler of a partner riding herd on me."
The Polyhexian pouted. "I thought I was goin' ta ride ya."
Barricade grabbed his hips and pulled him close, stealing a kiss, servo sneaking down between Jazz's legs to cop a feel of the panel he just wanted to get out of the way. "Later. I'll be by after shift." He mumbled against Jazz's lip-plates.
"Mhm, I sure hope so. Oh, n' I have some stress-relief for ya." Jazz drawled with a smirk, holding up a bag of astro-weed. "I know ya're stressin' out over that Prowl dude.
"I don't think I can take that right now. I don't know, sometimes I get the feeling that my lovely partner is scanning my subspace." Barricade grimaced, staring longingly at the weed.
"Well, if ya bend over, I could insert it somewhere I think he won't look..." Jazz murmured suggestively, servo sliding down to grope the Saleen's aft, a digit rubbing the panel covering his port.
"Pit no!" Barricade hissed, backing away with a shudder. Not stooping to that level.
"Just sayin'..." Jazz shrugged. "Anyway, see ya later then."
Barricade eyed the bag still dangling in Jazz's servo. "Give me that. I'm sure he can't scan my deepest pockets, and I really need something to silver line my energon break."
Jazz smirked and handed it to him, blowing the Interceptor a kiss.
Barricade stuffed the bag into his subspace pocket and hurried back to the cruiser transport, spark feeling lighter.
Sure, Jazz was still a pleasurebot with a minor drug problem, but Barricade didn't really care. Jazz was different. Jazz was a mech he wanted to get away from the streets. He often spent the night with Jazz, and they actually spent some of their time together not fucking. Like sprawling on the berth, watching movies in whatever motel room Jazz was staying in for the night. When he thought about it more thoroughly, Barricade could admit to himself that he may want even more than that with Jazz.
Little did he know that he wouldn't come by later, that he wouldn't get the chance to have anything at all for quite some time.
Chapter Text
The shift was finally over, and they got back to the station, Barricade eager to get rid of his annoying partner. Why did they have to get him a partner? He was doing just fine on his own. And if he absolutely, necessarily had to have a partner, why did he have to get Prowl? They were completely incompatible. At least the mech didn't insist on them hanging out in their spare time too, like some Enforcer duos did. No, he left Barricade well enough alone as soon as they were off the clock, and the Interceptor was thankful for not being forced to constantly come up with lame excuses.
So, when their superior Officer called them into the interrogation room, Barricade was not at all worried, but twice as annoyed by it.
He was looking forward to go see Jazz — to get high, and get laid, and just kick back — after a long day at work, trudging through awkward silences and stunted attempts at conversation with his rather bland partner. He did not want any extra hours, not even for the extra credits it would bring. It just wasn't worth it.
"Have a seat." Their boss said to the Saleen, pointing at the seat the suspects usually sat in.
Barricade raised an optical ridge, but still took the seat, leaning back and crossing his arms in nonchalant annoyance when his Commander, and his partner took the seats normally occupied by the interrogating officers or detectives. Enough was enough. He was not going to sit there and be deferential in his spare time.
"What's this about? Some of us have lives outside of work, you know." He said snarkily. Lives, and sweet little Polyhexians with willing valves, and eager mouths waiting, a cygar of astro-weed, and a cube of high grade probably already waiting for him on the bedside when he stepped through the door. Jazz was so good at catering to his needs.
"This is about our code of conduct. You know, the one you're not following. Along with a list of laws you are breaking on a regular basis." Their boss said, folding his arms as he stared the Interceptor down.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Barricade growled, insulted by the insinuation — even as his spark was speeding up with nerves. What had they heard?
"It means that we know that you're corrupt. That you systematically take bribes in return for letting criminals run free, instead of arresting them as you should. That's one of the violations of the policy, as well the first on the long list of your crimes."
Chapter Text
Barricade's spark went cold.
"That's a lie! I'm not in anyones pocket."
Technically, it was true. No mech paid him off on a regular basis to make him consistently look the other way. It wasn't like he was dealing with the mobsters to make evidence disappear it anything like that. He just traded a favor for a favor now and then.
"Spare us the excuses," Prowl said flatly, "you may not be involved with the big gearfish out there, may not deal with the mobs or the gangs, but we do know that you see between your digits on a whole lot of misdemeanors and petty crimes, and you get paid in kind for it." His partner sounded disgusted.
"This," their boss said, taking out a box Barricade recognized all too well, his spark plummeting, "was what the hounds sniffed out in your apartment. The amount of astro-weed alone is a felony, not to talk about these heavy routers." He poured a handful of re-routing chips onto the table to ram home the point.
"My apartment?!" Barricade asked stupidly, because even if he knew in his spark that the box they had confiscated had indeed been in his apartment this morning, he still didn't want to comprehend that they had found it. They couldn't just go searching his dwelling like that, could they? That had to be against some sort of protocol, right?
"We had a warrant, and the search was legit," Prowl told him, as if he knew what Barricade was thinking, "so as evidence, that'll hold up in court."
Frag, frag, frag...
"Before we proceed any further, you need to take a drug test. We need to know if you've been under influence at work too." His Commander said, holding out a cup for him. "I guess you know how this goes, but: go through that door, waste fluid in this cup, leave it on the counter in there for the analysts." He added, pointing to the adjacent room.
Barricade slowly took the cup, knowing what the test would show, and that he had no way of leaving a fake one. So fucking stupid to not have a contingency plan.
Numbly, he walked into the maintenance room specifically placed there for this, a room he had followed numerous suspects before, but this time he was the one being followed. By Prowl. His own partner.
Chapter Text
The Mustang did what he had to, trying his best to ignore Prowl standing by the door, waiting for him to finish. Watching him take a drug test that he knew would not come back clean. Then he left the cup on the counter, and followed the other Praxian back to the interrogation room with increasingly heavy steps.
"Empty your subspace, please."
Dammit!
With slow movements, digits feeling numb and clumsy, he started pulling everything out, placing it on the table. There wasn't much, because he didn't like toting too many things around, but Barricade flushed when he pulled the packet of jimmys out. He ignored the bag of weed that suddenly seemed to weigh more than the average minibot. Surely, they wouldn't search him?
"If that evidence isn't enough," the Commander said, pointing at the confiscated box of drugs, "we have a few recordings..."
Of course they would have recordings...
"You didn't get everything from your subspace." Prowl interrupted.
"Yeah, I did." Barricade sneered, fuel pump hammering.
"No, you did not. I have specialized sensor suites, far more sensitive than is standard. There's something left in your subspace. The pocket on your side."
It would probably be easier to pull his denta out than that bag, but he did, tossing it to land on the table with a muffled thud. Barricade almost started cackling hysterically. Something that hammered another nail into his coffin should be louder, shouldn't it?
The Superior Officer and Prowl stared at the bag for long seconds, and Barricade just wanted to cry.
"Right, the recorded evidence." The Commander snapped out of his surprise, and pointed to a screen on the wall.
It flickered to life, showing footage of Barricade and one of the many pleasurebots he was acquainted to.
He was even wearing his Primus damned badge, so he was on duty when he frisked the mech, servos lingering between the streetwalker's legs, on his chest-plates. On the screen, Barricade pulled a bag of powder from the pleasurebot's subspace.
"I swear, Officer, I'm not selling! Please, just take it, I don't need it."
"What else can you provide as payment for my inconvenient need to stay silent?" Barricade asked, pawing his own interface panel.
As answer, the pleasurebot turned around, bracing his arms against the wall, arching his back. Barricade pulled down the flimsy fabric hotpants — a lot of the local pleasuremechs had taken to using those instead of interface plating, a custom adopted from the higher end bordellos of Iacon, and Vos. And mech, did he like those thin coverings, revealing most of the merchandise? The power he felt when he tugged them down without the mech protesting... — on the screen, he manually pushed his own panel to the side, his spike pressurizing. Then he stepped up behind the mech and thrust inside, rutting without finesse, chasing his own overload.
Chapter Text
In any other setting, just thinking about that kind of interfacing — the glorious power rush he felt whenever he took what he wanted, had a mech completely at his mercy, obeying his every whim — would've had his spike knocking on his panel, and he probably would've had to jerk off before he could do anything else.
But there — in the interrogation room, with the screen playing piece after piece of incriminating evidence of his well documented corruption — his spike wasn't interested at all. All the Interceptor could feel was growing terror.
He was going to prison. They knew, knew it all, and he hadn't realized they did, hadn't even considered that what he was doing could so easily land him in a steaming pile of waste...
He slowly turned to Prowl. "You set me up. You turned me in. We were supposed to be partners, we were supposed to have each others' backs." He said, voice hoarse with emotions.
He felt so fucking betrayed, even if he had realized early on that Prowl wasn't the type of mech who would indulge in anything outside the regular agenda. He never thought the mech would be capable of doing this.
"Actually, I'm from internal affairs. We received numerous complaints about an Officer interfacing in public in broad daylight. With known prostitutes. A few concerned citizens spoke of an Officer taking drugs without making arrests. Or maybe it was the prostitutes who just got tired of having their drugs confiscated just because you're too cheap to pay for it yourself, and dropped an anonymous tip to get rid of you? You're despicable, a disgrace to this profession, and the force is better off without you. Good riddance." Prowl retorted coldly.
"Our system is flawed. Putting mechs away for half their life, just because they keep a little stash for recreational use, for a little escape from reality, is unreasonably harsh." Barricade defended his choices. Why fill the prisons with petty stuff like that, while the top dogs always got away with murder? He did everyone a favor.
"I guess you would think so. This probably should be counted as your tenth strike if you had been caught every time, considering all the occasions you've broken laws on. But it's not our jobs to judge, nor to rewrite laws as we see fit. All we need to do is enforce them, and you failed spectacularly at that. But it doesn't matter anymore. You will go away for a very long time, and you will never serve law enforcement ever again."
As bitter as it tasted, he knew that they were right. Frag his functioning, he was so screwed.
Chapter Text
The trial was a quick affair; with all the evidence piled high, a verdict was delivered, and Barricade was sent off to prison in under an hour. In the transport, some of the other inmates threw glances his way, and he didn't like the way they looked at him. He sank deeper into his seat, well aware of his paint job. Even with all the markings of rank stripped, he might as well have a bullseye painted on his back.
He just needed to make it until he was repainted in prison orange, then he could blend in, right? Unless his reputation superseded him. Or they got him before he even was repainted.
Barricade cringed thinking about himself in garish prison orange, in spite of logically knowing that it would be the least of his problems. He exited last, to not leave his back to the other to-be prisoners, and they were herded into booking by a small army of guards.
"Open your panels, and all your subspace pockets." A guard barked an order.
Several other guards came in to take over the process of booking the new inmates, and Barricade, last in line, did his best to not watch what they were doing, even if it was out of horrified curiosity. Staring at his fellow inmates when they were exposed like that certainly wouldn't be a good way to make friends. Then a rather big mech, probably Kaonite, stepped up to him. Servos dug into his pockets, felt around under his flared plating, and Barricade shuddered under the touch, cringing away from the rather invasive search.
"Open your intake."
He did, allowing the guard to check that he hadn't hidden something in his mouth.
"Squat and exvent hard."
It was utterly humiliating. He sank down slowly, nauseated of having to do this with others watching, and then he made that hard exvent. He knew the procedure from his job, and logically, he knew that this was just another day at work for the guards, but actually going through it himself was still more humiliating than he ever thought it would be.
"Waste fluid sample." The guard said, holding out a cup.
"Right here?!"
"Yes. Do it over the drain, try not to spill, and if you don't like it, you shouldn't have committed the crime in the first place."
Chapter Text
The Saleen moved over the drain and squatted over the cup, cursing that he had never gotten around to install that maintenance hose that would've made this much less awkward. It took a while for him to get the nozzle to cooperate and open, because it wasn't easy to go when it felt like everyone was staring. In reality, nobot really cared, it was just any other day at work, and the other inmates were busy with their own procedures, but Barricade still failed to convince his processor about that. Eventually, he managed to squeeze some fluid out, and put the cup on the cart the onsite medic pushed past them.
"Go to the reception over there. They'll sign you in." The guard said, pointing to the desk.
Barricade obeyed, the guard just a few steps behind him, and he waited in the line of inmates. There were a couple of bots that looked really nervous, and Barricade could relate. Probably first timers. Like him. A big, red mech with etchings all over his plating stared at him for long moments, crossing his arms and cocking his helm in consideration, and the Mustang had to fight the urge to squirm under the unreadable mech's gaze.
Should he stare back defiantly, and show that he wasn't afraid and didn't take any slag, or should he look away to avoid provoking the mech and risk showing weakness? He knew some hand to hand combat from work, but the bot was massive, and he didn't know the skillset of his adversary. Or if the mech had friends waiting inside.
He feigned to get distracted when an unusually small minibot with an annoying voice was ushered forward to join the others who were already being moved along from the booking area.
"Bracelet, please." The guard behind the counter told him.
Barricade held his arm up, and the mech scanned the bracelet he'd gotten when placed in holding, awaiting his trial.
"Designation: Barricade. Do you want me to put you in solitary?"
"Solitary?" He stared dumbly at the bot, resetting all his optics. Why would he want to go to solitary? Wasn't that for the really dangerous mechs? And wasn't isolation a punishment on top of the regular punishment.
"Considering your... former profession, we have a policy to ask. It would be for your own safety. If you're not friends with the right people, we cannot guarantee your safety. We do our best, but mechs can be very inventive. Ex-Enforcers tend to not last long here."
Chapter Text
The reminder of his status as en ex-Enforcer left a sour taste in his intake, but it was a valid point. He never worked with the shot callers, or any other high ranking criminals, so he'd probably be fucked in general population. Literally. It still felt like a defeat to be forced to be put in solitary for his own protection.
"Solitary, please." He mumbled, not looking forward to be isolated for the years to come, locked up in a tiny cell with nothing to do, and nobody to talk to.
As if he deserved an even harsher punishment than what he had already been dealt. Just because he wasn't just any criminal, like everyone else in here, but a former Enforcer. And nobody cares that he was in here because he had helped other criminals. The very unsweet irony...
The inmate collar was handed over to the guard waiting behind him, and snapped in place around his neck, the electrodes digging into the wiring in his neck in an uncomfortable way. The sound of the lock on the collar engaging was like a gunshot to his audials, He was well and truly an inmate now. He'd be there for years. Barricade pushed down the urge to cry. Showing weakness would not benefit him in any way, even if he was going to solitary.
The guard led him away, following the hallway between two recreational areas, and he watched the inmates on both sides, most of them gathered closer to the bars to look at the newcomers. Someone catcalled as they passed.
"New plating incoming!"
"Look at that sweet piece of aft."
"Hey Mohawk, you want to be my conjux for the stay?!" Someone shouted from behind the bars.
"How about you be my glitch instead, Warp?!" The small mech with spikes on his helm called back, strutting down the isle with a confidence that seemed way over the top for someone so small.
There were "oohs," and raucous laughter among the crowd as the bickering between the two continued, the mech with the spiky helm pushed into the rec area to be greeted like a long lost friend by the mech he was trading insults with.
So much politics, so many who knew each other. Did he know someone in here, maybe someone he'd helped at one point? Would it even matter? They were just junkies and prostitutes, hardly a crowd to mingle with to stay safe. If they'd even want to be friends with him. Solitary was the best option.
Chapter Text
The nervous looking bot in front of Barricade shied away when one mech pressed up against the bars, staring with a bright visor, glossa flicking lewdly.
"Hello, pretty. How about I fuck your face tonight, and you'll survive to see tomorrow." The Rotary mech purred.
"Knock it off, Vortex." One of the guards barked.
"I'm just welcoming the new glitches. Can't fault a mech for flirting with such a pretty little thing..." The Helo said, raising his servos in a placating gesture.
"One more threatening comment, and you're going back to solitary."
"I was flirting! If I wanted to be threatening, I'd tell him what I'll do if I don't get to fuck his face."
"That's it. You're back in the hole."
"Fine! My friends in there have probably missed me anyway. They really like my stories..." The mech trailed off with a giggle, looking decidedly unhinged. "I usually tell them about how nice it feels when a mech's energon is dripping down my servos. Gets me so hard, I have to jerk off every time."
Barricade felt a chill travel down his back-struts when the mech's field grazed his, a roilling morass of sadism and arousal.
"Yo, Sides! My mech!" The big silver Flier with one optic who came on the same transport as Barricade shouted, moving on in the directed pace until the guards pushed him into the general area.
Another mech — slightly shorter, and already painted in the hideous prison orange — stepped up and grabbed the Flier's servo, pulling him in for the most mechly hug Barricade had ever seen. The resident criminal led the newcomer to a table crowded by a several other massive mechs. Even through the prison orange paint, Barricade could see that their chests were adorned with badges matching what the Flier had on his chest-plates: a serious looking face Barricade had seen back in the academy, when they were taking a course in organized crime. A gang badge. He couldn't stifle a shudder.
Solitary certainly wasn't looking so bad after all.
Chapter Text
"Hey, check this out! We got the law in the house!" Someone called out, and everyone turned to stare at Barricade.
"The new prison transport!" The Helicopter who just hassled one of the other new inmates shouted, and everyone started cackling.
"Do you know why we call you that?" A mech close to the bars asked him, smirking.
Barricade shook his helm as he came to a stop, transfixed by the mechs reaching out to him with nothing but ill intent..
"Because eventually, everyone will have taken you for long, hard ride that's not appreciated by everyone involved." The Helicopter drawled, humping the air in front of him with short, hard thrusts. It seemed like everyone joined in on the howl of laughter that followed. "You'll be able to take two Triple changers when we're done with you, copper." The mech's manic smirk turned into a nasty sneer. "Because for as bad as we are, you're worse. The lowest of the low. How many mechs in here were put away by you? Bet they want som payment for their suffering. That little aft of yours look like a sweet start..."
The cloying EM fields clinging to his plating slowly morphed from sadistic amusement into something dangerous, something hungry and malicious, biding the time for a shot at degrading and hurting him.
The Saleen wasn't a pushover, not by a long shot. He wasn't stupid either, and with all these mechs seeing him as prey, he wouldn't stand a chance, not even for a day. Even with a new paintjob, it was just a matter of time before they recognized him, and they would come for him. Solitary would be a way to survive. Maybe he'd be able to get out of there eventually, when he had been orange long enough for them to forget his original paintjob. Long enough for a lot of these mechs to have been released already, or moved to different facilities. Long enough for him to become just one of the inmates instead of the ex-Enforcer, a mech other Enforcers looked down on with contempt, and so did the criminals.
Long enough for him to no longer identify with the function he once defined himself by.
Chapter Text
One of the guards pushed him forward, out of patience with the interactions. "Move, you're going to AdSeg. Stop loitering. If you stand around here all day and speak with them, then you don't need to be in solitary."
"Aaw, come on now! Don't go already! We just need something pretty to look at! We'll take care of him, make him our sweet little bitch. I promise! Let him in here, we're just going to pet his helm, and test the specifications of his intake." The Helo whined to the guard as Barricade was shoved forward.
"What is it with you and face fucking, Tex?" One of the many orange mechs asked.
"I dunno. I just like it when they look up at me, all adoringly, with their mouths around my cock. Don't complain, you can still have his port while he's sucking my dick, you know, like the last little bitch I had. Mech, was he sweet and obedient when I had broken him in properly."
"True that. Aren't you afraid of biters?"
"Nah, I just break their denta if they're too feisty." The Helicopter said offhandedly. "Hey, you coward! Come back here and take it like a mech!" He yelled after Barricade.
AdSeg it was.
Barricade allowed the guard to steer him away from the raucous crowd, through the heavy doors into the AdSeg ward. When ordered to, he stepped into the cell, the door slamming shut behind him.The Interceptor looked around the small cubicle, and his spark dropped. A hard berth, a floor drain, and nothing else. With a sigh, he settled on the berth, stretching out to stare at the ceiling, painted in the same sickly beige-green as the rest of the room. So this was his functioning now. He offlined his optics and tried to slip into recharge, because what else could he do?
Except let his despair overtake him completely.
Chapter Text
He stayed like that for a long time, slipping in and out of recharge, haunted by nightmares of what would happen to him if he was put in genpop, of things he had been through before that he had repressed. And when he was awake, he thought a lot about the things he did that landed him in this mess.
He could've avoided this, could still have been an Enforcer, with a job to go to every day. Maybe even have something more with Jazz by now, with the pretty Polyhexian sleeping in his berth every night, wishing him a good morning in that sexy, sleep rough voice of his when Barricade was off to work... He ruthlessly squashed that line of thought, because it was all too depressing.
And it got him wondering about Jazz. Was he ok, where was he, why hadn't he shown up to visit... Another line of thought that he killed in cold blood, but the trembling dread in his spark remained.
The monotony was only broken by the guards delivering energon, and the trips to the washracks. At one point, they took him out to paint him in prison orange, and Barricade spent the remainder of that day cringing at the horrible color, because it was easier to focus on such an inane topic. He had no mirror to see how it looked on his face and wings, and that was both annoying and a relief. There was a medical check-up somewhere along the way, performed by a disinterested medic with uncareful servos, and he left it feeling depersonized and vaguely violated.
With his new colors in place, he was offered to spend time outside his cell, a scheduled hour every other day when he was allowed to sit alone in their version of a recreational area, but it didn't differ much from his cell, except for being more roomy. He could speak to the other inmates through their cell doors, but he didn't want to make friends with the type of mechs who were in there.
Barricade lost track of time as the weeks passed since his chronometer was disabled, there were no windows that showed the outside, and the lights of the area outside his cell, and inside his cell too weren't any help to keep track of the days, as they weren't even turned off for the night, making it impossible to know if he recharged a day away.
Chapter 24
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Got a visitor, Barricade." A guard called out, banging on the cell door, waking Barricade from his fitful slumber.
The Interceptor sat up. A visitor? He found himself getting excited far beyond what he had been in a long time. A mech wanted to see him?! Nobdy had come by before, none of his former friends and colleagues. His friends from before he went to the Enforcer academy, he had long lost contact with, and the one's from the academy, and from work either didn't know that he had been put away, or hadn't bothered visiting the corrupt Enforcer. Deep down, he suspected the latter, but Barricade preferred to blame the first reason, because it was much less painful to think they just didn't know, than to think that they had cut him out of their lives.
They didn't bother to cuff him when he was led down the hallway, because he wasn't in solitary for being considered dangerous, and was an unusually cooperative inmate. He walked in front of the guard, following the directions to the visitors area, sitting down at the appointed booth. A thick panel of glass separated him from Jazz, the Polyhexian such a sight for sore optics, the Interceptor almost started sobbing in relief. Barricade wished that he could touch him, could nuzzle him to take in the scent of tangy polish and sweet astro-weed smoke that was Jazz, but all he could do was splay his servo against the glass, finding that it blocked their EM fields, and pick up the comm headset.
"Hi. Ya never showed up that night." Jazz said, splaying his servo on the other side of the glass. "I didn' know where ya went. Took me a lotta work ta find out."
"I never got a chance to contact you." Barricade answered apologetically, drinking in the sight of the familiar mech. They had never exchanged comms for some reason, and after his arrest, he'd had no way of finding Jazz. "I've missed you so much."
"I missed ya too."
They lapsed into silence, Barricade not knowing what to say. It wasn't like his life was very eventful nowadays, and he had a very long time left before he'd get out. And he was so relieved just seeing a familiar face — a friendly one — he just wanted to cling to the moment and look at the Polyhexian, memorizing his pretty face-plates.
"That color is..."
"I know. I really don't like it."
"Sorry, babe, but ya look like shit." Jazz smirked, but it was a sad smirk, lacking the humor he was trying to put into it.
"Yeah." Barricade said, appreciating the attempt at levity anyway, even if it was bittersweet in a way that left a lump in his throat.
Notes:
For the second time in half a year, I had to very suddenly let one of my dogs go yesterday. It's too much right now, so I'm going to go on hiatus over the weekend and start up posting again sometime next week. I hope you all understand.
Chapter Text
Jazz looked worn. He was skinnier than before — the fine plating of his face sunken, making his features look gaunt — and when Barricade looked carefully, he could see the dents and scrapes marring his plating. The Polyhexian had obviously tried to cover them up, but either they were fresh, or his self repair was lagging behind. His visor looked dull too, as if he was severely lacking recharge.
"You don't look so hot yourself. Are you using a lot? You look thin."
Jazz had never liked boosters, or Syk, but it wasn't impossible that his addictions had changed while Barricade was away. How many weeks had it been? 8? 21? More? Not enough, he wanted out now, wanted to wrap his arms around Jazz and just hold him, wanted to curl up in berth and just listen to Jazz's vents the entire night, and stay there for day's before bothering to get up.
Jazz shook his helm. "New crew has moved into tha territory. Stuff is gettin' really expensive, and they're hasslin' us ta push us out, n' get their own merchandise on tha streets. I's gettin' hard ta make enough ta afford both housin' n' fuel, n' I prefer sleepin safely over refuelin'."
"They rough you up? Is that why you're dented?" Barricade asked, bristling at his own helplessness, feeling utterly useless for not being able to provide any kind of help for his... whatever Jazz was to him.
"Nah, I've managed ta keep away from that. A client invited a coupl'a friends," Jazz said with a grimace, distaste dripping from his voice, "n' it turned out they were into some rough stuff, and there was no negotiatin' tha terms."
The implications were spark wrenching, and Barricade made a face of disgust and impotent anger. Jazz started sobbing.
"I need protection. I can't be on my own anymore, not tha way tha neighborhood is gettin' worse. Last week, some slagger..."Jazz broke off in the middle of the sentence, visibly fighting to repress whatever had happened to him last week. "Ya know what, it doesn' matter anyway. I'm still sore, n' I'm outta cash."
Chapter Text
Barricade's spark felt cold. There was not a single thing he could do. He had years left of his sentence, didn't have any contacts outside prison. Not on the inside either.
"I wish I could do something."
Primus, he felt so fucking helpless. Jazz needed to get off the streets, just like he had wanted things to go before this mess. But alas, here he was; completely useless behind bars, while the opposite of getting Jazz off the streets was happening.
"I'm gonna move, I think, find a new block or somethin'. If that doesn't work out, I don' know what ta do." Jazz said sadly.
Barricade understood him. If the Polyhexian was run out of the places where his customers could pick him up — as distasteful as that thought was — Jazz would be out of business, and without the credits, he would be homeless, and would starve. And here he was, stuck in solitary with no way of helping.
"Time's up." The guard called.
"I'll miss you." Barricade said hurriedly, with a dangerous amount of emotion leaking into his voice, hoping that Jazz would return soon.
"I'll miss ya too."
Then Barricade was forced to go back to his cell, optics lingering on Jazz for as long as he could see him, rubbernecking to give himself a chance to memorize every line in the mech's face and frame, praying to a God he didn't believe in that it wouldn't be long before his lover would show up again. It was the only thing he had to look forward to.
But weeks turned to months, and then to years, and Jazz never returned. The only thing Barricade could hope for was that he was still online and had just moved on. To someone not stuck behind thick walls, someone who could keep Jazz warm at night. Spending his days and nights alone, that thought wrenched his spark into a cold knot.
He had lost the most important thing he ever had, and he hadn't even had the mental presence to fully appreciate it while he had it.
Chapter Text
There's something to be said about showering. The first times he was taken to the washracks, it was the highlight of the week, or however long time passed between the occasions. Anything that got him out of the tiny, barren cell was a very good thing, and hot solvent running over his plating felt very luxurious, even if he was supervised while showering. At least he never had to share the washracks with other prisoners, so dropping the solvent bottle wasn't much of a problem.
But then they got a new guard.
Barricade had seen him a couple of times during his rec time, but didn't think much of it. Personnel came and went, transferring between wards or other facilities, and it didn't matter much to the Saleen.
Except the next time he had to shower.
"Come on, Barricade. Time to go to the washracks."
The Interceptor rose from his berth, walking past the mech towards the washracks. The cell door slammed shut behind them as he left, and the guard fell into step behind him, just like they always did when moving him somewhere. The door to the washracks slid open when they approached it, and Barricade walked straight to the showerhead, because the guards didn't like it when he stalled, and he wanted to get as much time under the solvent as possible. Without hesitation, Barricade opened his panels and flared his plating, letting the solvent run into every nook and cranny on his frame relishing the feeling of hot solvent loosing up the kinks in his cables.
He turned back and forth under the stream, rubbing solvent into his plating, and the cables and wires he could get at, but he froze on the spot, servo still between his legs, when he turned in the direction where the guard was standing, happening a glance at the mech.
The mech was staring with bright optics, ogling him as he showered.
The other guards had always waited for him to get finished, keeping watch out of the corner of their optics, but this mech's optics were riveted to Barricade.
"What are you waiting for? Clean yourself, or you won't have time to finish." The mech said, voice hoarse as he stared at Barricade's servo still lingering between his legs.
Barricade forced himself to start moving again, turning his back to the guard to get some sense of privacy while cleaning his array.
"No. Turn back around. I want to make sure that you clean yourself thoroughly, and that you're not pulling contraband out of any parts of you."
Like he could get any contraband when spending most of his time in his cell, and never having visitors. He still obeyed, because he didn't want to be left with solvent to dry on his frame.
"Good mech. Be really thorough."
In spite of being in the shower, Barricade had rarely felt more filthy in his entire functioning. With stiff movements, he slipped his soap-slicked digits through the folds of his valve, opening the cover to his spike and extending it. Sliding his servo along it to get it clean did not feel good, not with a mech following his every movement, and he hastened through it.
It was the first time it felt like he couldn't get done quickly enough, but sadly not the last time.
Chapter Text
He never got accustomed to the stares, but as long as that was the only thing that happened, he didn't argue about it.
What could he say, really? The mech was just staring, and the inmates were required to be supervised in the washracks, and the guard could state that he was just doing his job, making sure that Barricade wasn't up to something questionable.
But eventually it wasn't enough to just stare. Barricade stepped under the spray, eager to get the shower over with, and turned towards the mech to find him holding his spike, slowly stroking it. The Saleen's spark hiccuped with fear, and his tank roiled with disgust. Would the guard ask for more than just watching this time? This wasn't right, prisoner or not, he had rights. He shouldn't have to stand this.
"I'm pretty sure that's against the regulations." He said reasonably, because snark probably wouldn't get him anywhere.
"So what are you going to do about it?" The mech said derisively.
"I could file a complaint about harassment."
The guard actually snickered at that. "You think they will believe you over me? I mean, since you've been so boldly showing off your assets, clearly trying to seduce me, something I suspect you learned from all those pleasuremechs you took bribes from. But you didn't manage to do that — because I'm a mech who adhere to the laws, unlike some — you obviously tried getting back at me by filing a bogus complaint."
Barricade could feel his intake hanging open in shock, because that was not what he had been prepared for.
"I'll make sure you get locked down. No time outside your cell at all, the window in the door blacked out, no showering..."
He hadn't even considered that things could be even worse than they already were, that he could be even more isolated, stripped of what little distractions he was allowed to have.
"If you don't want that to happen, I suggest you start cleaning yourself."
Spark cold, Barricade grabbed the bottle of solvent and started to clean his array, pressing down the energon at the back of his intake as the guard continued to stroke his spike.
Chapter Text
The only upside to it was that the guard still hadn't worked up the nerve to demand more from Barricade than just the shows. It still disgusted the Saleen as much as the first time, it was still humiliating to be forced to perform like that just to keep from being punished even harsher, but at least he hadn't been asked to touch the mech in any way.
That made it all the more alarming when eventually the mech stepped closer, leaving his usual spot just inside the door, coming to stand right in front of Barricade. The Saleen froze on the spot, solvent still pelting down over him from the overhead shower, spattering the guard's plating as he stood there, bright optics trained on the Saleen, a nasty smirk on his face, hard spike in hand.
Barricade felt his tank convulsing with dread, the rush of energon in his audials so loud, he hardly heard the solvent hitting the floor.
The mech would want more, and while Barricade could try to fight back, it would only land him in worse trouble. What if he was transferred to a worse facility? One where he'd be even more isolated. Or maybe he'd be sent out into the general population? Nobody would ever believe him if he told the truth, and what would be the punishment of being perceived as lying? And the guard would want revenge...
The guard leaned even closer, front brushing against Barricade as he reached past the Interceptor. He turned the knob and shut the solvent. The Saleen's spark spun out of control in it's chamber, and his plating crawled where they touched, instinctively flattening against his wet protoform to try to get away. A shiver that wasn't all from the cold air of the room wracked his frame. He tilted his helm back to look up at the other mech, a sour taste in his intake when he swallowed the lump in his throat, waiting for an order he certainly would not want to obey.
But what choice did he have?
"Kneel."
Chapter Text
Spark plummeting, Barricade slowly sank to his knees, fuel pump hammering.
There's a first time for everything, but why did this have to be the first time he sucked spike? Why did he have to do it at all? He never had felt any inclinationto do it. Not even his fragging step-sire had ever forced him to suck cock, why did he have to catch this bastard's optics? Why couldn't he just be left alone?
He swallowed queasily, optics riveted to the head of the mech's spike, the pre-transfluid beading there as the guard slowly stroked the length, waiting for the mech to order him to suck, lick or something else equally degrading.
He was not at all prepared for the mech to overload, sticky ropes of transfluid landing across his face-plates. Barricade recoiled and instinctively made a face, accidentally parting his lip-plates enough for some of the fluid to get into his intake.
"Stay still, if you know what's good for you." The guard growled when Barricade started moving.
As degrading as it was, Barricade froze, shutting his mouth to not get more of the bitter and tacky fluid into his intake, the taste already clinging to his glossa, making him want to purge. The mech kept milking his spike until he couldn't get another drop out of it, then he stepped back.
"Looks good on you. Too bad you'll have to wash it off."
Barricade knealt there, still frozen in shock and disgust, staring up at the guard.
"Go on, get to it. I don't have all day. I'm done with you. For now."
Numbly the Interceptor got up, vigorously scrubbing his face without feeling cleaner for it, trying to rinse his mouth without the guard noticing. He dried up quickly, eager to get out of there, and he managed to hold it together until he was back in his cell.
As soon as the door slammed shut and the guard left him — after a last leer through the little window in his door — he fell to his servos and knees over the floor drain, violently purging his tanks, and not for the first time since he went to prison, Barricade started crying.
Chapter Text
Showering kept being a dreaded moment for some time. The mech never touched him, but having someone cum all over him was disgusting enough.
For all the vile things his step-sire had done to him, this was the most degrading, most humiliating thing he had ever been through. Just thinking about it made him want to puke his tanks out.
Or maybe it wasn't any more vile than what he had been through before? It was hard to draw a comparison years after the fact.
All Barricade knew was that it was the same kind of helplessness. Someone who held his functioning in their servos, his future, abused that power by forcing him to do things he would never have done otherwise. And just like he couldn't file charges against his step-sire back then, not until someone witnessed it, filing complaints against the guard would be futile.
Then the mech disappeared. Barricade hadn't seen him for a few days, but that wasn't out of the ordinary with shift changes, vacations, and the likes. But for the first time for a while, he was taken to the washracks by someone else, someone who kept watch, but didn't stare at him.
It was luxurious, like taking a day at the spa, even if he didn't get more time than normal. Or maybe he did? Either way, the Saleen savoured every second under that showerhead without optics paying rapt attention. He washed himself thoroughly, feeling clean for the first time since that aft of a guard had started working there, and even if he knew that it might be the odd occasion, and that his nightmare might begin again again at any time, he pushed those thoughts away and showered like there was no tomorrow.
In the end, his worries were unnecessary. That guard never showed up again, and Barricade never dared asking if the mech had been caught and convicted, or transferred to torment someone else. Why jinx it by asking? He really didn't need to know where the mech was. The bastard was gone, and he could enjoy his showers in peace again, and that was all that mattered. And he wasn't going to spend his time fretting about if it would happen again in the future. Not when there was nothing he could do about it anyway.
Chapter Text
After long enough in solitary, anything that breaks the monotony is a welcome distraction. There was a time when Barricade would've found it distasteful with the rapt attention everyone paid when something went down in the ward, but those days were long gone.
His attention roused by a commotion outside, Barricade stopped his idle picking at a dent in the wall and went to the door to peek out through the tiny window.
The doors to the general ward were open, guards in tactical armor wrangling a big mech inside. There were cheers and hollering that could be heard from the general area, and the mech being dragged inside was cheering, somehow managing to wave his arms victoriously, even though two guards were holding on to them for all their worth.
"Yeah! You know who's the glitch now! How do you like that? Get some!"
Then he rumbled a laugh as the doors slammed shut behind him, apparently very satisfied with himself and whatever he'd done.
His entire frame was spattered with energon, and his knuckles were visibly dented. He had a couple of scuffmarks here and there on his frame, but nothing close to explaining all the energon. Was it a riot, or had it "just" been a fight? There was a lot of energon, but the mech seemed more exhilarated than agitated, at least at this point.
"Do you need medical assistance?" One of the guards shouted. "And calm the frag down, or we'll be forced to knock you out."
"Nah, it's just a scrape. You should've seen the other mech though..." The Flier said, focusing on the guard with a bright optic that seemed hungry for spilling more energon.
Barricade suddenly recognized the mech. The Flier who was booked when he was. The mech was all orange now, but it was definitely him.
"Alright, then you're going into your cell, and we'll come get you for cleaning up later." They started to lead the big thug down the row of cells.
"What?!" The Flier roared. "Hell no, I ain't going into the hole! He fucking started it. It's not my fault that he couldn't stand a little self defense, someone fighting back for once!"
He started struggling again, vicious determination turned towards the guards, and one of them was sent stumbling into one of the bolted down tables, grunting in pain as he hit it and lost his balance, ending up sprawled on the floor.
Then someone activated the inmate's stun-collar, and the big mech went down, frame convulsing with the shocks. A pained whine left his vocalizer, and even when the shocks subsided, he was still twitching, vents ragged. The guards dragged him along easily when he didn't resist anymore, and he was dumped into a cell.
The slamming shut of the cell door marked the end of the entertainment of the week, and Barricade went back to picking at the wall.
Chapter Text
"Hey. Hey, I'm talking to you." Someone hissed as Barricade paced the rec area.
The Saleen ignored it as usual. There were few mechs who reached out to him — most of the mechs in here were just temporary, usually for having misbehaved in gen pop, and already had friends, and a few of those in AdSeg for the same reasons as Barricade had done it before without the Saleen answering, and had already given up on him taking any interest in them — So it had to be a mech new to the ward.
Curiosity clawed at him, something that happened more frequently these days. In the begining, he just didn't want anything to do with anyone, but after a while the loneliness was getting unbearable. It was almost a compulsory need to know who was talking to him, but he didn't stop walking. He was a Speedster, and he needed to move. Preferably at speed, he needed to feel the wind against his sensors, but pacing the rec room the times he was let out of his tiny cell was what he got, and he would make the most of it and not waste time standing still. Something new was always a welcome distraction though, something he could twist and turn in his processor for hours to come to keep himself occupied when he was locked up again, and he couldn't help but flick one optic in the mech's direction, just to see who it was this time.
The Flier. So the mech was still in segregation since the brawl a few — how long had it been? Days? Weeks? — well, whenever it was.
"Come on, mech. I haven't seen you before at all, so either you've been in here for a really long time, or you're new. Either way, I bet you need some friends, right? For that day when you finally get back out of this Primus damned hole."
The Saleen stopped, not turning his helm, but flicking another optic in the mech's direction. A single, red optic studied him where he stood, waiting for him to do something or say something. And he had reacted to the mech's words, had stopped to think about it, so he was as good as hooked, had shown interest in those words.
Like he was ever getting out of solitary. But the thought was still strangely compelling. He hadn't had a friend in a very long time, had hardly used his vocalizer. No, that wasn't true. He answered the questions the medics had, and the guards when spoken to, and he used to hum to himself now and then, and yesterday, he told himself a story out loud.
Ok, maybe he did need friends.
Chapter Text
Cautiously, he approached the mech's cell, because criminals could be very inventive when it came to ways to entertain themselves by harming others, and there was always the risk of the Flier remembering him as the resident ex-Enforcer, and just faking his ignorance. He came to a stop in front of the door at what he figured was a safe distance, meeting the mech's optic through the small window in the door.
"So what's the deal? Why are you in the hole?"
"What's it to you?" Barricade jutted his chin out with fake bravado, spark spinning wildly with nerves. Don't show weakness.
"I don't see a brand on you, you have no visible etchings, and you've not been in gen pop for as long as I've been there, and that's quite some time. Either you're really high up, and really really dangerous, or you're truly unaffiliated and need protection."
Barricade cocked an optical ridge without saying anything, hoping that the thug would go on and get to the point without the Mustang confirming anything.
If they believed that he was very dangerous, if this mech didn't remember him even though they came on the same bus, maybe he could roll with that image? Maybe he could get out of solitary, and just play that part? In here, he could be anyone. He could keep to himself, and just nurse the image of being the scary mobster, and everyone would leave him alone. He would be allowed to go outside — like outside the building, into the yard, to feel the wind against his plating — if he was in gen pop, would have much more time out of his cell over all. Distractions to keep him from thinking about all the things he didn't have anymore, all the ways he'd fucked up his life. He'd be allowed to have data pads to read, and he would be around other mechs, and maybe even be able to have a few friends. They wouldn't dare do anything to him, because they'd think there would be hell to pay.
Chapter Text
"I know some small mechs who are fairly dangerous, but they are few and far between. So I'm guessing you're unaffiliated, and in her for your own protection." The mech continued.
"What makes you think I'm not affiliated? What makes you think I'm not in here because they want to keep me from seeing my subordinates? What makes you think I need protection?" He scoffed, going for nonchalant irritation.
He was bummed out that the mech so easily poked a hole in his fantasy of a chance of getting out of solitary, since it seemed he wasn't recognizable anymore. The big mech chuckled.
"If you really were a higher up, I would've known. My intel says there's no top dogs in this joint. Not one of ours we should protect, and not one of the others who'd get a different treatment."
Oh. He didn't consider that a gangster boss could be even more at risk.
"And the kill for thrills are in a different facility, so you're not that. You lack the swagger too, you know, that commanding presence that just oozes authority and danger. So my bet is you being too small and cute to walk around unaffiliated in the general population." The mech continued.
Barricade bristled at being called cute, but it was dismaying to be reminded of how he really had no option but to remain in solitary. That even if they forgot about his past, it didn't matter. He would never be safe out there. If he didn't make friends. But did he really want to make friends with the other criminals? What if they found out about his past?
"Must be awfully lonely and boring to sit around in here. That could change, you know. Get an in with the right people, you could get protection and be out in gen pop."
It was so tempting. But what if it was a trick? What if the Flier just wanted to lure him out to get a chance to hurt him?
"How, and why would I 'get an in with the right people'?"
"You're talking to the right people right now, and it just so happens that one of my cellmates is being released any day now. That leaves us with an empty berth. You could always make a request for a transfer to our cell, say that you are one of ours, that you belong with us. And we certainly wouldn't mind sharing you."
Chapter Text
There was an obvious leer in the last sentence, and Barricade was disgusted. Of course! Why did he think anything else? Gross fucking bastard. The mech's optic trailed his frame slowly, all lascivious intent, and disgusting focus.
"I'm not going to be your prison bitch!" He growled.
"I'd say it would be more like you being our conjux. You know, a polyamorous relationship. You could keep the cell clean, and polish us, and would be ours to fuck whenever we feel like it, but we wouldn't let others fuck you. Or hurt you for that matter."
As if that would be a much better arrangement.
"I'm not shareware."
"Obviously not while stuck in segregation, but you could be."
Ugh. And the mech said it as if it was a tempting offer he was making.
"Just imagine the freedom it would give you: regular access to the yard, cygars and treats from the commissary, people to talk to..."
The mech's voice sounded strained, and he leaned closer to the window, exvents misting up the glass. Barricade noticed that he was moving slightly as he spoke. As if...
Eew.
"Are you seriously jerking off right now?!"
"Yeah!" The Flier grunted. "Have my optic on the prettiest little frame I've seen in a long time, talking about facing, and I can imagine how hot you would look, aft up on my cot, legs spread, valve dripping for me. It's not like I've gotten any action since I went into solitary."
Eew, eew, eew!
Without another word, Barricade fled back to his cell.
He'd had quite enough of moving around in full view of the disgusting bastard, thank you very much.
Chapter Text
As welcome as distractions were when stuck in AdSeg — because he never took the gross Flier up on his offer of being a prison conjux just to get out of his solitary confinement — some distractions, Barricade would rather have been without.
Of course they'd have a shakedown because someone had managed to smuggle drugs into the ward.
Rolling his optics, Barricade stepped out of his cell to let the turbohound search the cell. Like he had any place to hide contraband. His mattress was hardly better than a slab of metal covered in metal mesh — an uncomfortable piece that hardly earned the name furniture, let alone made a good hiding spot for anything — and then it was just the floor drain left. The hound cleared the cell, and the guards took over, turning everything upside down to check an extra round for things the hound was not trained for finding.
"Cell's clear, now it's just you left." One of the guards told him.
Barricade knew the drill by now. He turned around to face the wall, placed his servos against it, pedes planted wide, and waited for them to trigger open his subspace.
It was ludicrous. He didn't even have access to his own subspace, so why did they need to check? On the other servo, with so much time on his hands, maybe he could've hacked it, but still.
"Move it along, Barricade. We're going to the medbay."
What?
"Why?"
"Because we don't do the full frame searches. Only the medics do that."
Chapter Text
He stared at the guard, refusing to understand for long moments, but then horror gripped him when he realized exactly what procedure they were going to do. And they were indeed going to do it to him.
"Move it, Barricade."
"No! You can't do that, you have no right..." He snarled, sidestepping and holding up his arm to block the guard who reached for the Interceptor.
"We have every right to search for contraband. By all means necessary."
"But I don't have anything! I have no opportunities at all to get any contraband, and I don't even want it anyway." He protested with rising panic, struggling against the hold the guard managed to get on his arm. "Let go of me! I have rights!"
"You do. You have the right to remain silent..."
"We've gotten a tip that you mule drugs between drop off points inside the ward. We checked the alleged dropoffs, and we have found drugs there, so the tip was accurate so far." One of the other guards said.
For the first time since Barricade was locked up, he didn't comply. No, when the other guard tried to grab his other arm, he put his self defense skills to use, twirling his arm out of the way, while kicking the mech's pedes out from under him. The guard hit the floor with a loud clang and a pained grunt, and Barricade turned on the guard still holding his arm, using the mech's distarction to land a solid hit across the mech's throat. Then his arms were free, and he turned to run.
Where the hell was he going to go?
The corner of the corridor seemed like the easiest defendable position.
He just needed to get the guards to see reason. He wasn't that type of mech, surely they would listen to him if he just got a chance to talk this through.
Another servo grasped at his shoulder-wing, and he elbowed the mech in the side, freeing himself again, then he was off down the corridor.
He made it all of ten steps, then his collar was activated, and with an agonized warble, Barricade hit the floor.
Chapter 39
Notes:
To counter Barricade's very awful day, here's a throwback to his time as a corrupt cop, having some fun with Jazz. https://mostly-him.tumblr.com/post/188509958307/comission-for-steena82-uncensored-version-here
Chapter Text
"Well that was entertaining, funniest thing I've seen for weeks. Almost makes up for you being too robochicken to go out into gen pop, cop-bot."
Barricade fought the urge to puke, slowly turning his helm to look up at the cell door he had been felled in front of. Oral lubricant hung in long strings from his intake, and he felt like he had been run over by some sort of mining mech after taking a punch to the helm.
The crazy Helicopter from his first day there.
"Well, have fun being fisted. Oh, sorry, I mean searched." The bastard smiled innocently.
Barricade dry heaved, and it made the mech's grin widen.
"And you're welcome by the way. You seemed to be a bit lonely and bored here, I thought I'd add a bit of excitement to your functioning. Some penetration. Hope you enjoy it."
The fucker set him up!
Barricade had never wanted to offline someone so badly before, wanted to bash the mech's smug smirk off his face-plates and keep hitting until the Helo was scrap. But alas, the Interceptor could hardly move, frame still uncooperative after the shocks, so the only thing he could do was lay there with impotent anger and cold dread turning his tank. And drool. At least he didn't void his waste tank in front of the Helo...
The guards grabbed his arms, pulled them behind his back and he was cuffed. Not that he could have resisted at all, but they were obviously not taking any chances.
"You really shouldn't have done that." One of the guards growled.
Well, no shit.
"You're still going to be searched, but now you earned yourself some time in full lock-in when this is done."
Would've been worth it if it had gotten him out of the search.
They hauled him upright, Barricade still dangling limply between them, and dragged him towards the medbay.
Fuck his functioning. With a fist, apparently.
Behind him, the Helicopter cackled gleefully.
Chapter Text
The guards dumped him on his side on the medberth, servos still cuffed behind his back, the medic looking very unimpressed.
"Fighter?"
"Yep. Check us over first. Had to shock him, so he'll be immobile for a little while longer.
Barricade zoned out the conversation as the medic checked the damage he'd done to the guards in his attempt to buy himself a little time. Fat lot of good that did him.
For all the humiliating procedures he had submitted to since that day when he was arrested, he had not had the displeasure of going through a cavity search. But there's always a first time for everything. Hopefully, it would be the last too.
Then all too soon the medic came to stand in front of Barricade.
"I guess you know this procedure considering your former job, but I'll walk you through it anyway."
"Please don't do this. I don't have anything, I never would do something like that. Why would I want to risk adding more time on my sentence?" Barricade begged, voice still rough with static from the shocks. Or was it because he was so close to crying?
"I have heard those exuses before." The medic sounded bored. "Unfortunately for you, it's not only that we have the right to examine you, but we are legally obligated to do it on suspicion of smuggling. My recommendation is that you cooperate, or we will be forced to restrain you for this. And even more resistance would not look good on your part if you're going up for parole at some point."
"I'm being set up. One of the other inmates did this just for me to wind up here. You have to believe me. Please!" Barricade's voice broke with a sob he couldn't stifle.
"It's not an option to not search you. We can't just take your word for it. What we're going to do here today is check your cavities for contraband manually, and then check all your tanks with cameras. Will you submit to this, or do we have to restrain you?"
What good would it do to resist? They would just force him, and he'd be punished for resistance afterwards.
"I'll cooperate." He whispered weakly.
Chapter 41
Notes:
This one, and the upcoming four chapters, are all depictions of uncomfortable medical procedures that are not really consensual. Ye be warned.
Chapter Text
The cuffs were released, and after the medic thoroughly inspected his intake — even feeling around with a gloved digit — he was handed a small cube with a cloudy, gray fluid in it. Barricade stared at the contents, the look of it not the least appetizing.
"That'll numb your throat for when we take a look with the camera. Drink it all."
The thick, syrupy glop tasted bitter, and clung inside his intake in a disgusting way, but he managed to force it down.
"Good. While waiting for that to take full effect, we're going to proceed with the other steps. Were going to use that berth over there. If you hop on it, put your legs up over those supports, and scoot down until your aft is almost hanging over the edge, I'll get the other things. Oh, and open your panels."
How was it even possible that he could hit a new low after everything he'd been through? Barricade threw a glance at the guards who still lingered in the medbay, in case he decided to get violent again. Why not make him felt even more exposed for it? They were there to keep an optic on him after all, so of course they would be staring at him.
He clambered onto the berth, put his legs up, and opened his panels, and he mentally squirmed at the position. The medic came back with a small table on wheels, heaped with boxes of equipment, and stepped up between Barricade's spread legs.
"This is another numbing agent for your waste fluid nozzle."
It was all the warning he got before something slick pressed into the tiny nozzle, and his entire frame, his very being screamed that things were not meant to go into that component. He flailed his arms reflexively, back tensing, and yelped. Then he could feel liquid trickle into him, and he squirmed in a full frame discomfort he couldn't put words on. The tiny hose was pulled out again, leaving the nozzle irritated, and feeling... weakened.
"Good. Now that'll have to sit for a while. I'll proceed with your valve."
"I need to void." He blurted desperately, because it felt like it would happen at any second now, wheter he wanted to or not.
"It's just the nozzle tricking your frame, and the numbness that's starting to take effect. You'll be fine." The medic dismissed.
Fine then. If the bastard wanted to be pissed on, let him have it, if it turned out Barricade was right.
Then digits slipped into his valve, and it threw him back to the last time he had been fingered. One leg over the back of the couch, one over the edge of the seat, his step-sire hunched over him, pumping his gross digits into Barricade's valve, and then with a gloating smirk, he pushed that bottle into him instead, too thick, and square and just not fitting...
"No, please don't! Stop, stop, no!" He cried out as long repressed panic welled up in his spark, scrabbling up the bert to get out of reach the same way he had done back then. And it had earned him the punishment-fuck of the century...
"Want us to restrain him?"
"Yes."
Chapter Text
Servos cuffed to the rail of the berth, a thick belt across his hips, and his legs strapped to the supports, Barricade was effortlessly immobilized and completely helpless. He cried silently in disgust and terror when the digits slipped into his valve again, feeling around.
"Is this a seal?"
"Y-yes."
"I need to verify the authenticity of course, so you're not lying, and this is to cover contraband."
Of course, why just leave his valve alone?
The medic picked up a fibreoptic camera and slipped it into Barricade's valve, turning it around to look closely at the seal.
"Indeed, it is a true manufacturing seal."
Like he said.
"If you had been cooperating, you would have been allowed take your legs down for this next procedure, but it's too timeconsuming to wrangle you back and forth, and it's your own fault. I need to check your fueltank while the anesthesia is still effective. For your own comfort."
The upper part of the berth lowered until he was flat on his back, legs still spread for anyone who wanted to see. He couldn't even close his panels, because the medic had put blocking clamps on them to hinder them from sliding shut. It was so utterly humiliating, and he felt so vulnerable, the guards standing close by. Fucking unnecessary, what would he be able to do when tied down like this?
The part of the berth his helm rested on folded away, and his helm hung over the edge. Like those deepthroating videos he'd seen. Just the thought of that made him cringe, even if this technically was a medical procedure. He squirmed what little he could in discomfort.
"Open up." The medic said, holding a tube with a camera in the end in front of Barricade's intake.
The Saleen forced himself to open his intake. It was invasive, and the position was awful because of the way it made him think of other acts, but swallowing a camera wasn't nearly as humiliating as the position he was in. The tube slipped in, and he tensed, but he was so numb, it didn't hurt, even though he could feel it slide down his throat. It wasn't much of a relief, but at least it was something. The medic stared at the screen for what seemed like hours.
"No contraband here."
He told them so! Why did they listen more to that fragging lunatic Helicopter?
The camera slipped out of his intake, and the support for his neck returned to it's original position. The medic put the camera away and returned to stand between Barricade's legs again, grabbing a much smaller tool, and Barricade just wanted to wake up and find this a nightmare.
Chapter Text
It didn't actually hurt, the anesthetic was that good, but he did feel something this time too, and he really wished that he wouldn't
The tiny camera slipped into the nozzle of his waste tank, and it sent a zing of sensation up his back-struts that had him tense again, and he couldn't help trying to squirm. He felt so fucking violated.
He lifted his helm to look at what the medic was doing, but all he could see was the mech staring at the screen, moving his servo, probably to get every angle, and those movements renewed that sensation of urgently having to void. Barricade ground his denta, his entire body clenching with the instinctive reflex to try to hold it.
"Nothing illegal here either. Just two steps left. I need him on the other berth."
Two steps he'd rather not endure.
The medic stepped away, rolling the table with tools with him to the other berth while the guards released Barricade's restraints.
"Please don't! I don't have anything there either, I swear." He sobbed. "I can squat and exvent to show you, please..."
"Regulations state that everything has to be controlled when there's a suspicion of smuggling."
The guards led him back to the other berth, and Barricade reluctantly allowed it, because fighting them would be futile.
"Which side is your oil reservoir and filters on?" The medic asked.
"Left." His voice was a broken whisper.
"Then I want you on that side. Pull your knees up a bit, and try to relax."
Like he could ever relax when he was about to have a servo shoved up his ass.
He crawled onto the berth and laid down as instucted, they guards cuffing his servos and pedes to the railing of the berth. A strap across his waist fixed him in place, and the sound of an examination glove snapping against plating made his frame shiver with disgust, and his optics snapped to the medic.
He watched as the medic poured lube on his servo, and when the mech went around the berth to stand behind him, Barricade offlined his optics and forced down the energon rising to the back of his intake.
Chapter Text
Nothing could ever have prepared him for it. The easy way the slick digits slipped into him, no matter how hard his ass clenched reflexively. It made it all the more disgusting, that way he was empty one second, and then suddenly he was so fucking full, and there was apparently nothing he could do to keep those fingers out of him.
The medic twisted his digits, and Barricade mewled in disgust when his insides were stroked as those fingers smoothed the walls of his maintenance port, checking for hidden objects that didn't exist, before they finally slipped out, helped along by his clenching calipers.
He sobbed in humiliation, still restrained and bared for those present to see, ass slick with lubricant, feeling robbed of his privacy as well as the last shreds of his dignity.
And then something slipped into him again, much slimmer, but equally unwanted. He jerked when something felt inredibly wrong in there as the tool nudged the drain valve to his oil reservoir to get it free from the drain hose, and then the component sent him a pop-up in his HUD about a possible malfunction or a breach, and Barricade wanted so desperately to crawl under something and hide, to purge his tank, and to take a shower, and he couldn't even decide in what order. He whined in disgust.
"Stop squirming, I'm just checking your oil tank. When was the last time you had an oil-change? Do you have a centrifuge oil filter?"
As if he could focus on that when his fucking drain valve was saying that it wasn't working properly!
"I don't fucking know! Check the medical notes or something, it was done here. I had long life oil, and my centrifuge wasn't cleaned last time, now get that the fuck out of me!" He ground out, gripping the railing of the berth so hard it creaked.
As if to punish him for being difficult, the thing lingered inside him for long moments before it finally was pulled out. It was immediately replaced with the digits again and Barricade tried to squirm away.
"Just making sure your drain valve doesn't need a recalibration after that, and reattaching it to the hose. You don't want to be forced to do your oil changes this way from now on, would you? And I don't feel like having you complaining about leakage after this. This is for your own sake, so stop squirming!" The medic said before Barricade could protest, sounding annoyed.
Chapter Text
Those digits had to go awfully far into him to touch the drainage, and Barricade shuddered at the stretch, and the strange feeling when something brushed the waste gate. Then, after what seemed like hours, the digits finally slipped out of him. The blocks were removed, and he slammed his panels shut immedately, not wanting to be bare a second longer.
The guards loosened his restraints, and Barricade slowly sat up, feeling sore and achy everywhere. The lubricant made him feel wet in a disgusting way, and he gingerly slid off the berth, standing stiffly with his pedes planted wide out of discomfort.
"Let's go. You're going straight into full lock-in."
"I'm not even allowed to shower first?" He said weakly, spark plummeting. He felt disgusting, washing himself would at least remove most of the lubricant.
"You would've been if you had cooperated. But you harmed three guards, and actively fought the search. Immediate lock-in it is."
He walked stiffly in front of the guards, a dull ache deep in his chassies, the slickness of his entire undercarriage a disgusting reminder of how thoroughly his frame had been invaded, and he hobbled down the corridor, optics on the floor.
Everyone watching — and it was always everyone, because entertainment was sparse in AdSeg — had seen the raid, and how he had been taken down. They knew where he had been dragged off to, and of course they would know what had been done to him. And if that wasn't enough, he would be reminded of it for the foreseeable future with the slick wetness of artificial lube lingering inside him. At least until he was allowed to shower again, whenever that might be.
"There he goes..." The Helicopter sang cheerily as he passed. "Is that lubricant on your aft? You look... loosened up. Not such a tight-ass anymore. Did you like it?" He cackled. "I bet you could easily take the biggest cock anywhere right now, might as well just go into gen pop and offer. They'll keep you slack and sloppy for the rest of your stay, make it easier on you the next time you get searched and get a servo up your ass."
Barricade could feel his face-plates burning with humiliation, and he hurried his steps, eager to pull his ratty blanket over his helm and hide from the world for a decade or two.
Chapter Text
The next time he wound up in the medbay, it was no more lovely than the first.
If it was an honest mistake or a set-up, he would never know, but one second, he was pacing the rec area as usual, eager to stretch his struts and get to move a bit, the next a mech punched him in the helm, sending him flying to land sprawled on the floor. Completely caught off guard — there shouldn't even be an inmate there with him, he was always let out alone, and the guards seemed to have disappeared — he didn't even have time to put his self defense skills to use.
He curled up as much as he could to shield himself from the vicious kicks, tried to roll away to get his pedes under him, to get up from the floor, but the mech straddled him instead, forcing him to lay on his back. The other inmate was much bigger than Barricade, and his attempt to use a technique he had learned to buck an attacker off him was futile.
Through the agony from punch after punch landing against his helm and upper body, Barricade had time to be terrified that the mech was going to use him in other ways after he was done beating him up. If he didn't offline him right here.
"I know what you did to my little brother, you little fucker!" The mech snarled.
Another punch to his helm.
"He was just into his new grown up frame, and he had minor drug charges left from his last year at school, but he was on the straight and narrow, on his way to the academy, a bright future before him. You busted him, and you took advantage of him."
More punches landed, and Barricade's audials were ringing so loudly he could hardly hear what the mech was saying over the noise. The Saleen almost feelt as if he was sinking into himself.
"You literally fucked him over for just a little bit of weed, and to cope, he started using heavy routers..."
Whatever the mech said next was lost to him, as Barricade slipped into unconsciousness.
The next thing he knew, he onlined in the medbay. It was obvious that he had been given some strong painkillers, but still his entire frame managed to throb in pain. The medics had clearly plugged in and cleared his fault reports, because he couldn't find anything on what kind of damage he had sustained.
Including no reports on wheter he'd been fucked or not.
He didn't want to ask either, didn't want to talk to the medics if he didn't have to, so he waited until the night, when the staff on duty didn't do more than rounds to check, between drinking hot energon in the staff room. After one round, when he was fairly certain he'd be left alone for a while, he opened his panel and reached between his legs.
No aches, and no soreness. He slipped his digit inside slowly, relieved when he hit the seal. At least the mech didn't do that to him. Then he cringed when he realized that he could've been violated in other ways. Barricade reached further, nudged the entrance to his port. It wasn't sore, didn't feel torn or loose. He was still untouched.
Sighing with relief, he offlined his optics and waited for recharge to claim him.
Chapter 47
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
His release-date is finally here! He got his parole! Barricade is jittery with nervous anticipation when the guard comes to get him. The Saleen gets his repaint and returns to his old monochromatic style — sans service signs, of course — because he doesn't know what other colors to get. He pointedly avoids the thought of how that's the only thing left of his identity, because he defined himself by his profession first and foremost, so who is he now that he is not a cop anymore?
The Mustang waits impatiently for the paint to dry, and then he's walked out to the reception. The administrative forms are processed — it seems like it takes hours to answer all the questions, and sign all the documents — but then the collar is finally removed, and the meager possessions he had in his subspace when they brought him in is returned. 10 credits, a couple of rags, and a long expired pack of condoms.
Then he's finally a free mech again, and with his spark spinning wildly with excitement, he steps through the doors. It isn't one of those moments seen in the movies, when the ex-inmate steps out into the summer heat, turning his face towards the sun shining from a cloudless sky, dragging a deep vent of fresh air to smell the blooming crystals and freedom, the petrobirds singing.
No, Barricade steps out into the cold drizzle, the thick clouds making the day look dark and dreary, and the sour smell of the pollution from the nearby factories permeating the air. It doesn't matter, it still smells like freedom.
Slowly folding into his alt mode, savoring the feeling of transforming for anything more than just the check-up in the prison medbay, he runs a self calibration of his systems, engine revving excitedly before he drives off.
Notes:
The world's longest prologue has come to an end, and our Saleen is finally out of the joint! He has been inside for a rather long time, and he's so ready to be back out in the world. But has the world waited for him?
Chapter Text
Just moving around unhindered keeps him occupied for most of the day, the simple act of finally driving again such a relief on his high performance systems. Barricade runs down the highway, his systems buzzing with the thrill of feeling the wind whipping around him. The Saleen pulls off into a rest stop, empty of others, and indulges in transforming back and forth at least a dozen times, not stopping until his t-cog is starting to feel sore from overexertion. He hasn't done this for so long, and it's such a relief. Then he speeds back down the highway, back towards the city, without a care in the world. He's free!
But inevitably, he has to stop and think about his situation, because with freedom comes the responsibility to set himself up with the necessities of life.
Fuel levels on thirty percent, he's low on cash, evening is closing in, and everything he had before he was put away is gone.
He has no apartment to go to anymore; it was lost because he couldn't pay for it while inside. His possessions were most likely thrown away, or sold off by the landlords when he was evicted in his absence. His meager savings have been eaten up by his rent, and mortgages.
Barricade's friends and former co-workers have all estranged him, at least he supposes so, because they never showed up to visit him in prison, or even sent him a message, and he's not keen on seeking them out just to grovel for a place to stay. That would just add another layer to this distasteful cake of humiliation.
At least his carrier has taken the time to inform Barricade that he has moved to another city state, and to make it abundantly clear that he is re-conjuxed in a good way. He wants nothing to do with his son — the result of a short and tumultuous affair of interface and high grade he'd rather forget, brought up in a bonding he'd rather forget — who made himself famous by being convicted for his corruption, and doesn't fit into his new life, married to a low level politician.
Barricade's sire never wanted anything to do with him. The Mustang hasn't met him since he was very young — the one time his carrier tried to introduce him in an effort to win his sire's affections back — and hardly even remember the mech's face, but he do remember the smell of booster-burned circuitry, and the annoyed disgust in the mech's field when he saw Barricade.
Seeking out his step-sire is out of the question. He'd rather recharge behind a dumpster.
And what little money he has in his subspace isn't enough for a motel room, so spending a night behind a dumpster is looking more and more likely.
Chapter Text
Stripped of all those options, Barricade does the only ting he can think of: he starts to look for Jazz. It isn't easy, as street mechs are inherently wary of an Enforcer style mech asking questions — service signs or no — as if it isn't enough of a complication that he hasn't been around for years, and not many of the mechs Barricade knew before his incarceration seems to be around anymore. Finally, after spending most of his meager wad on a cube of high grade — and a hefty tip he can't really afford — in a run down bar, he manages to get a lead worth following.
The Polyhexian has moved, just like he said he would, but at least he hasn't left the city. Close to midnight, Barricade has narrowed down his search area, and is fairly certain that he's finally cruising the right streets. The neighborhood is slightly better than where Jazz used to hang out before, and even if there's hookers at every other corner, and mechs Barricade's trained optics would peg for either dealers or pimps, the streets seem rather calm. The way the optics of the residents linger on him as he drive by doesn't elude him, and he knows that stopping to ask for Jazz will bring him up short. These mechs won't talk to him because of his colors.
He turns another corner and finally, the shareware leaning against the wall is a fairly familiar Polyhexian frame. The lines are slightly different — some of his plating has been removed to show off more of his protoform, and it looks like he may have changed his altmode — but the Mustang holds no doubt that the mech is Jazz. He stops in front of the mech and transforms.
"Hi." He says, because for all the time he has been looking for his former lover, he hasn't actually spent much time trying to figure out how to do this, and what to say, because he was drawing a blank and gave up.
What if Jazz has a new mech? He never came back to visit, after all. And it isn't like Barricade has been a catch for someone like Jazz for a very long time. He's not really a catch for anyone right now.
Chapter 50
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Barricade?! Ya're out?!" Jazz calls out, optics focusing on the Saleen.
"Yeah. Got out earlier today..." He trails off, rubbing his neck awkwardly, feeling incredibly self-conscious. What if Jazz doesn't want him here?
His fretting proves to be unnecessary. Jazz runs up to him and jumps at him, clinging to the Interceptor like a cybermonkey. Surprisingly strong arms wrap around Barricade's neck, and optic-catching legs cling around his hips. Instinctively, Barricade splays his servos on Jazz's aft to support him.
"I missed ya!" Jazz purrs, rubbing himself against the Interceptor, trailing little kisses along his neck.
Barricade bites back a groan. Jazz has lost his interface plating while Barricade has been away, and now he's wearing fabric pants instead — like so many pleasuremechs do to entice their potential clients — and now the thin fabric is the only thing between his own rapidly heating plate and the hot dampness between Jazz's legs. Years of celibacy — which he is not going to complain about, thank Primus for that — has his frame responding instantly. Interface protocols request start up, but he sets them in standby, even if he knows that it's kind of presumptuous. Just in case.
"I missed you too. How are you? Are you going off shift soon?" The Interceptor forces out, grinding against the Solstice.
Jazz never kept working whenever Barricade showed up, but back then, he would pay for anything the Polyhexian needed to get him to stop for the rest of the night. Right now, the Interceptor only has three credits in his subspace, and it sure won't be enough to pay for a room, and some fuel. And to get some of that hot, wet pussy. His interface protocols ping him again. Maybe just a quickie against the wall? One for the road first?
"I'm supposed ta be workin' all night, but I think I can convince Hide ta let me have tha rest of tha night off. I mean, it's not every day one of my friends get outta jail, n' I've already earned really good this week."
Hide?
Notes:
Chapter 50, and we celebrate it with a hint of an upcoming inevitable introduction!
Chapter Text
"D'ya have someplace we can go n' get... reacquainted?" Jazz purrs with all lascivious intent, toying with Barricade's sensitive shoulder-wing with a precision that makes Barricade's vents hitch.
"No, I... I was kind of hoping that you have a motel room we could crash in, or some other place we can go to." He admits, feeling like a loser. He is a loser. He had a good job, and a good apartment, and he fucked it all up. He has nothing.
"I usually don' bring outsider mechs home, it's not really approved if it isn't prospects, business associates, or hang arounds who've been cleared. But I'll fix it. Hide's nice, n' I've earned it. I'm sure he'll make an exception of I vouch for ya."
Jazz is still clinging to him, rubbing against him, but Barricade can tell that he is on the comm with someone.
"All set, let's go, baby." Jazz murmurs in his audial, unwrapping his legs to get back down on the ground.
The mech folds into his new alt mode — a Solstice — just like one of Jazz's favorite TV show reluctant hero from a series they used to watch back in the day. Jazz always dreamt about reformatting into that form, and now he has apparently afforded it somehow, though he does lack some of the plating even in alt mode. Then he rolls out, Barricade following him.
It's not a very long drive before they come up to a compound that has Barricade pausing warily outside the gates. The house is big, an old mansion left in the middle of the projects, probably abandoned for quite sometime before the current residents moved in. Some repairs have been done to the exterior, but it still needs some work before it is fully restored to it's former glory. What was at some point a large garden — judging by the long dead organic plants, a very expensive imported luxury, it was ostentatious in it's blatant display of the inhabitant's wealth — is now lit by floodlights, the dry ground dusty and marred by pede tracks as well as marks from wheels, and scorched by thrusters. The perimeter is circled by high walls, topped with wires that Barricade guesses are electrified.
A serious looking, absolutely massive mech — according to Barricade's nervously discreet scan, he has some heavy weaponry concealed in his frame — lets them through the gates, suspiciously watching the Interceptor, and Barricade can't help but think that this is just another prison. He still follows Jazz though, because he has nowhere else to go, and he really wants to catch up with Jazz. They roll up to the house, and Barricade transforms back to root mode when Jazz does, looking up at the looming building with an uneasy feeling in his tank.
Chapter Text
"What is this place?" Barricade mumbles, half aimed at Jazz, half musing out loud.
His gut instinct is screaming at him to leave while he still can, and he's more than half inclined to heed that call. If he just had somewhere else to go.
"This is Hide's house. He's my employer, ya could say. He supplies me with everythin' I need, n' I get ta keep 10% of what I make." Jazz says, sounding rather fond of this 'Hide'.
Barricade just nods, not interested in going further into the details of the 'employment.' He follows Jazz up the stairs to the massive double doors. Adorned with that emblem of a face he saw on a few of his fellow prisoners, here painted in a vivid red. He's stepping into gang territory.
"I've set us up for a cube, n' a frag in my room, but ya hafta sleep on tha couch. Hide doesn't really trust strangers with his mechs, n' he wouldn' budge on tha' point." Jazz says apologetically.
Figures. At least Jazz has someone who looks out for him. Even if it's his pimp.
The Saleen allows himself to be led through what seems like a recreational area just inside the doors — what was probably just an opulent entrance back in the golden age, now comfortably furnished with plush couches and chairs. Jazz grabs his servo and drags him down a hallway through what looks like a recharging wing of the house. The door he's ushered through looks like all the other doors, but the room behind it is comfortable, personal, and looks lived in.
The Saleen looks around while Jazz fetches energon for them both. There's knickknacks and pictures adorning the shelves and walls, and there's no doubt that this is where Jazz lives, and Barricade can't help but think that it's a step up from the long line of anonymous motel rooms his lover used to frequent, the only personal things he toted around was what could fit in his subspace. Primus knows that it's more than he's got at the moment.
Jazz comes back, handing the Interceptor a cube, a smile playing on his lips when he sinks to sit on the berth. He motions to a box on the nightstand in silent invitation, then he reaches for it and grabs himself a cygar. Barricade sits next to him, and even though he doesn't want to seem greedy, he drinks half the cube pretty quickly. He was getting kind of low. Jazz lights up the cyg and draws a deep vent through it, coughing a little as he does, then he hands it to Barricade.
The Interceptor smells the weed it's laced with and declines it. It's very tempting, but it seems stupid to get high the first day out. Wouldn't it be just his luck if someone from law enforcement decides to make a random check on him, and he's high as a kite the day after getting out on parole? He'd be stamped "second strike" and back in prison so fast his helm would still be spinning when he was pushed into gen pop and earned the nickname 'prison transport'.
"I'll pass this time."
"Suit yourself. It's some really fine weed."
Don't do it.
"Just one taste." He says.
Jazz holds the cyg out, and Barricade wraps his lip-plates around it, brushing Jazz's fingers. They used to share smokes like this way back when, and the familiar act is comforting, and feels like coming home in a way that makes his spark clench.
Chapter 53
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Barricade downs the rest of his cube, and then he just can't keep his servos off of Jazz anymore. He grabs the mech, pulls him closer to steal a kiss, servos sliding down his sides to his hips. Jazz hums an amused chuckle against his lip-plates, pressing closer. Barricade pushes him down, eagerly tugging those flimsy hotpants down well polished legs, discarding them on the floor. His hungry optics roam Jazz's bare array, and he stops himself for a few seconds, sliding digits through slick folds, dipping inside the hot and charged valve bared before him. Jazz mewls and arches into the touch and Barricade can't take it anymore. He crawls on top of the Solstice and is about to line up, when Jazz stops him.
"Wait! We need this." The Polyhexian says, reaching for something on the night stand. Barricade watches as he opens the wrapping of a jimmy.
That's new.
Jazz rolls it onto Barricade's spike with practiced ease. "I only bareback the brothers now." He says apologetically as he finishes and lines the Saleen's spike up.
Barricade decides to think about that statement later, and thrusts inside. Jazz wraps his legs around his hips to push him deeper, closer, and Barricade drapes himself over his lover, searching his intake out for another scorching kiss.
They move against each other, a familiar dance even after so long, and Barricade's charge is skyrocketing. He hasn't even jerked off during his time in prison, he couldn't get it up.
Overload hits fast and hard, and Barricade groans into Jazz's neck-cables, then he falls into reboot.
Notes:
Fun fact: for this story, I headcanon that Jazz's altmode before his reformat was an early 1980s Ford fiesta.
Chapter Text
How long he remains offline, he can't tell, but when he onlines again, Jazz is draped over his chest, and the condom has been removed and discarded, and he has been wiped down.
"I don' wanna kick ya out, but ya hafta go take tha couch now." The Solstice says mournfully.
"But I just came!" Barricade whines.
"I know, babe, n' I really want ya ta stay, but I promised Hide. B'sides, we will just recharge anyway, n' I'll see ya first thing in tha mornin'."
It's true, but Barricade really would enjoy recharging with Jazz, tangled up, fields laced. Just like they used to do. He still allows the Solstice to lead him out of the room, back to the recreational area, digits laced together. Barricade does notice how his lover doesn't even put his pants back on, nor his panel. He just walks out there completely bare for all to see, but Barricade doesn't comment on it.
"This is Barricade, n' he's my guest. He's takin' tha couch tonight. It has been cleared by Ironhide." Jazz says to the mechs loitering in the lobby.
Optics sweep up and down Jazz's frame, lingering on his array, and then the attention is turned to the Saleen, every inch of his plating closely inspected. The careful scrutiny forces Barricade to stifle a shudder, because somehow it reminds him of the sleazy prison guard who used to stare at him while he showered. There's a long moment of silence, and Barricade can practically feel the buzz of active comms in the air.
Are they discussing the arrangement, or is it his frame they're talking about? Perhaps it's his paint job? They're gang bangers after all, and he still looks like an Enforcer.
Then there's nods all around, and he lets out a vent he didn't know that he was holding.
"There's a blanket on tha couch in tha corner. I'll come get ya in tha morning n' set ya up with some fuel, k'?" Jazz instructs as he drags the Interceptor to said couch.
They kiss briefly, Jazz pulling away before it gets heated, and then the Polyhexian leaves him there. Barricade grabs the blanket and curls up on the couch, burrowing in the soft fabric that smells like dust and lack of use.
One of the mechs gets up when Jazz passes, sliding his digits teasingly across the mech's shoulders. He follows Jazz when he goes upp the stairs instead of back to his room, and Barricade can't help the way his tank roils when the mech pats Jazz's aft, the Polyhexian laughing at something the mech murmurs in his audial as he presses up against Jazz's back.
In spite of being exhausted, it takes him a very long time to fall into recharge with unknown mechs so close by. With Jazz in someone else's berth. It's not that the mechs lounging around are raucous. The conversation is low, even though it's sometimes broken by momentary laughter. No, it's just that they're there. His cell in solitary felt safer than this place.
Chapter Text
They fall into a routine. Well, as much of a routine as one can establish in a week. Jazz wakes him up and invites him to his room for a frag, some cuddles, and morning energon. Then the Solstice follows him out to look for a job until Jazz has to work. He'll give Barricade a few credits, and the Interceptor spends the night nursing his energon in some bar as Jazz works, then he follows Jazz back, gets laid, and then he crashes on the couch. It isn't as intimate as he'd like, but it is what he gets, and Barricade can do nothing but settle for it. At least he gets fuel, and has a roof over his helm.
At first, Barricade has some hopes of finding a real job, but the first thing that's always asked is why he isn't on the force anymore, and when they learn that he's a felon — which he's required by law to inform potential employers of — he is turned away. The Saleen is starting to get desperate. Jazz's smile gets more tight-lipped for every day he draws a blank too.
Then late in the eight afternoon when they come home briefly, Jazz needing to freshen up before his shift, things take a turn for the worse. They're passing the recreational area, heading for Jazz's room, when a mech Barricade hasn't seen before comes down the stairs.
Massive arms that according to Barricade's scan conceals heavy weaponry, thick, black armor, except for chrome details. Like his rims, for example, perfectly polished and screaming wealth in that in-your-faceplates way only a thug would go for.
"Jazz, you're working in-house tonight."
"Really?" Jazz seems surprised, but sounds happy about the change in schedule, whatever it means.
"You can get out here in two hours. Go to your room until then. I need to talk to your... friend. Alone."
"As ya wish, Hide." Jazz says, even though his facial expression betrays that he isn't thrilled about that. The smile he gives Barricade seems forced. He still turns on his heel and heads for his room without protests.
The mech comes to a stop in front of Barricade, looking the smaller mech up and down in a deliberate way. The Saleen tries to not show his apprehension, feeling rather unplated under the heavy gaze. Jazz called him Hide. This is the boss here.
"Designation?" The mech's voice is a deep rumble.
"Barricade." He says, stifling the urge to end it with a 'Sir'. The mech is inherently commanding, the obvious alpha mech in this territory.
"Well, Barricade," icy blue optics sweep his frame again, "I think I've been fairly hospitable, I know that getting out of prison doesn't make it easy to get everything settled for a few days, but this is not a charity. If you're going to stay, you better start earning your keep."
Chapter Text
Barricade works his intake, caught off guard. "I... Jazz said that it was ok..." He says weakly, spark and processor spinning a million miles an hour. He really doesn't want to cross this mech, and he really thought that Jazz had it covered. Should he have handled it differently? Jazz made it seem ok.
"Jazz and I made a deal for a couple of nights, but Jazz ain't got enough to pay for both of you in the long run. A new deal must be made. A personal one, between me and you."
"I've been looking for a job..." Barricade mumbles. Maybe he can get a payment plan? As soon as he's starting to make some money, he can pay off the debt and then get his own place and move out. He's not the type to mooch on others, he wants to pay for himself.
"Yeah, well here's the deal until you find one: we have four currencies here: gas, grass, cash, or ass. I'm all set on gas and grass, and I'm pretty certain you don't have a penny to your name, so that leaves you with one option."
Barricade stares at the bot with bright optics, stupefied. He feels his own intake hang open. Is the mech seriously proposing that he should pay rent with his frame?! He is, isn't he? Gross fucking bastard!
"No! Not going to happen!" Barricade says heatedly. He's not a whore!
"Suit yourself, but the couch ain't free anymore. Either you stay the nights in my berth, or you don't stay at all."
"I'm not going to interface with you as payment." The Interceptor grinds out.
"Then you know where the door is." Hide says, crossing his arms, and raising an optical ridge in challenge.
Chapter Text
Barricade glares back for several seconds, wanting to defy the mech. How coldsparked has someone got to be to kick a mech to the curb to be homeless? What kind of fucked up values does the bastard have to see interfacing as currency? But the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that there isn't anything he can do about it.
He's in Ironhide's territory, and the mech could probably fling him over the wall if he tries to defy the order of leaving. Or the mech can just have one of his even bigger goons do it for him. Or something even worse. Dead mechs don't complain and make scenes...
The Saleen slowly turns around, walking towards the door with heavy pedes, feeling those optics burning against his back. Out the door, down the stairs and down the driveway. The mech at the gates open for him, and when the heavy gates to the compound slam shut behind him, he knows that they won't open again.
The Interceptor transforms and drives away, not sure what to do. He has no money, and still nowhere to go. His so called partner from back in the day definitely won't help, and while the parole officer he has gotten seems to be pretty much the same kind of stickler for following the rules, helpful, he is not. Barricade has had one meeting and already dislikes the mech with a passion, because he seems more likely to try to find a reason to throw him back in jail than helping him get back on his pedes and have his situation settled.
He drives around for a while, moving away from the area Jazz normally works — Ironhide's territory — but that make's him burn through his fuel quicker, so when dusk begins to settle, he transforms into root mode again, trying to figure out where to spend the night. The mechs of the night starts to fill the alleys and corners, peddling their frames and various substances, and his paint job is dragging their attention to him, optics glaring warily from the shadows.
It would be so easy to pretend, to pressure one of them into giving up any fuel they have, or maybe a bag of astro-weed. He really would like to numb himself a bit for the long night he's doubtlessly in for.
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He moves in on a lanky mech, going for the casual approach. "Hello," he purrs smoothly. The mech looks warily at him as he approaches, "do you have any samples of weed?" Barricade asks. That was usually the que that made them hand over anything they had.
"I do." The mech says nervously and hands over a bag with a thin cygar. Barricade grabs it, about to walk away when the mech speaks again. "Hey, it's two credits."
"What?" The Saleen looks incredulously at him. He never had to pay for stuff like that before. They were always just glad that he didn't bring them in.
"Please don't arrest me! I-I, they won't let me hand it out for free..." The mech's voice trembles when he speaks, optics shifting around nervously, and now Barricade notices how dented he is.
"Who won't let you give away a sample? It's either that, or I'm going to arrest you. Want to go to prison? I bet the mechs in there really would enjoy getting some new shareware." If the mech really thinks that he's an Enforcer, he isn't going to correct that misconception.
The mech doesn't answer, and his optics lock on something behind Barricade. The pleasurebot backs away until his back hits the wall. "Please, Berserker, I-I'm just negotiating the price..." He cries out, clearly frightened.
Barricade swings around to find a massive mech approaching them. The Saleen instinctively backs away too, because the behemoth looks lethal, and his field spreads a sense of impending doom.
"Shut up, you stupid skank." Berserker growls, the buymech whimpering where he's pressed against the wall.
A heavy backhand lands across the pleasurebot's face-plates, and he crumples to the ground, sobbing in terror. Barricade stares in shock, because he wasn't prepared for that to happen so openly. Then Berserker turns to Barricade, sharp optics zone in on him, and the Saleen has much bigger problems than the public slapping around of a pleasurebot.
"You're not a real cop, so you better stop tricking my merchandise, or I'll make you a helm shorter, and nobody is ever going to find what's left of your pathetic little frame." The pimp snarls at Barricade, guns onlining.
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Barricade does what seems the wisest: he runs for his functioning. Transforming into alt mode, he doesn't hesitate to burn most of what's left in his tank to get away from what seems like certain deactivation. The mech gives chase at first, shouting about giving the sample back, before transforming into his alt mode, but Barricade doesn't even want to stay long enough to do that, so he flees.
The ex-Enforcer eventually finds an alley to hide in, hopefully far enough away from Berserker's territory, and he sits down, leaning against the wall to save what fuel he has left, vents still ragged, and his fans spinning quickly to cool his frame.
He lights up the cygar, and invents deeply through it. So much for staying clean now that he's newly released. The weed brings a very welcome calming effect, and he relaxes against the wall, leaning his helm against it to stare at the cloudy skies while his spark slows down to normal revs. His situation seems less dire, but logically, he knows that it's just chemical relief. He really needs a plan to get some cash, to get someplace to live.
"Hey! Dis is our turf!" A small mech shouts.
Barricade rolls his optics, because the mech swaggering down the alley can hardly be more than a symbiont at best, but then another one shows up, and then another. They creep out of the corners, from the dark behind the dumpsters, a couple dropping from the overhead fire escapes, sliding down the drainpipes. They're so many. Small, dirty, and dented, but they have the numbers to make themselves a problem, and a cunning glitter to their optics that tells Barricade to not underestimate them. In spite of their small statures, they're still making it out here, which is more than can be said about him at the moment.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I'm not trying to intrude or anything, I just needed to sit down for a while." He tries to placate what is essentially a horde. Can't he just have a two minute break from everyone?
"I accept dat. How 'bout we do a deal? My friend 'as got some nice tings to lece dat smoke wit', ta cut it wit. We do dat, and share da smoke, and ya get one of our cubes of energon."
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It's a really good deal, since Barricade has no energon, and he really needs it after the chase that made him burn through a lot of fuel. Barricade nods.
The tiny gang leader seems pleased when the Interceptor puts the cyg out and hands it to the mech who's pulling out a bottle of a sickly green liquid. It's poured into the cygar, and then it's handed to the leader. A cube is taken out of someones subspace and handed to Barricade, tiny, of course, but better than nothing. The other mechs take out their own cubes and sit down around Barricade.
The leader lights up the cyg, taking a deep drag before handing it to Barricade. The Saleen takes a testing invent.
It's bitter beneath the sweetness of the weed, but it's still good enough, and he can feel the punch behind it. Good. They're many sharing it, and he really wants the effect.
Barricade hands it over to the next mech, and it does a round between them all before he gets it back for the next smoke. It's very numbing — much stronger than just the weed — but in a perfect way. He doesn't feel too out of it, even if his face-plates are starting to feel pretty numb, but it certainly makes it much easier to handle that he's sitting outside in an alley, and that this is going to be his recharging quarters for the night. At least he's not alone.
He grabs the cube and takes a sip. It's very good. Tangy and sweet, a type of energon he has never had before. He tells the leader so, and something sly passes the little mech's face-plates, a knowing smirk that holds secrets. They toast — why, he can't really tell, because they're still sitting in a dirty alley, and he still has nowhere to go when the energon and the cyg is gone, but it feels right anyway — and Barricade watches as the cyg does another lap around the crowd before he gets it again.
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The energon must pack it's own punch, or it reacts with the weed, and the stuff the cyg is laced with, because Barricade is feeling very drowsy by the time the smoke has done another round and he takes the next hit. He's almost getting to a point where everything around him is fading, as if all his senses are slowly being turned down.
Everything is so blurry, and he thinks that two of his optics might've shut down, but he isn't sure, because he fails to keep track of which feed is from which optic and it's wildly confusing. Whatever the mechs around him are saying, he can't make it out, because his audials seem to be malfunctioning, and whatever sound they are picking up is distorted by a strange echoing effect. The little mechs' dialect doesn't make it easier to understand what they're saying. Are they even really speaking neocybex, or is it some other language?
Someone says something, and the group barks with raucous laughter. It's contagious, and he joins in, even if the Mustang doesn't even know what they are laughing about. He doesn't need to know, everything is just so funny.
Barricade tips back to stretch out on the ground staring up towards a sky he can't see through his intoxicated haze. Is this right? It feels good, but should he really react this strongly to a little energon and a tiny amount of drugs? The small mechs seem fine... He can't focus on that line of thought for long, though. Shouldn't the ground feel cold against his back? But he is kind of numb, isn't he? At least his pedes are. Probably, because he can't really tell if he even has pedes anymore. In fact, it seems like he's sinking into himself, or maybe into a black hole? Whatever it is, it's swallowing his floating self, however that works? He can't levitate, now can he?
He's so fragging tired...
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Morning brings bright light, and crushing helmache, and Barricade groans when he reboots, still stretched out on the ground. The gang of little mechs is gone, and he slowly starts to move, working out his aching joints, stiff from spending a cold night in an awkward position on the ground. His subspace pockets are open and empty. Not that there was much in them to begin with, though... Every single one of them is completely empty, save for some metal shavings he hasn't bothered to clean out, and the packet which used to hold a few expired condoms. They stole those. The pockets facing up are partially filled with the mildly acidic rain that has obviously fallen sometime during the night, and it itches.
He feels so fucking stupid, on top of freezing, and his wicked hangover. The only upside is that they didn't do worse things to his frame while he was out. They could've stolen parts, or used him in other ways, but he seems intact and unmolested.
Barricade clambers to his pedes, bending forward to empty his sloshing pockets, even though the motion makes him dizzy, and his helm throbs painfully. He quickly stretches again, closing all his pockets, but the motion makes his tank turn, and equally quick, he bends forward again, dry heaving. The quick motion makes his gyros go haywire, and all of a sudden, he's sprawled on the ground again.
"Carrier, what is he doing?" A small voice asks from the mouth of the alley that leads into the wider street.
"Shh. He's probably on something. Hurry up, you can't trust mechs like that. They might rob you, or hurt you." The mechling's carrier hisses, urging the little one to walk faster.
"But he fell. Maybe he hurt himself..."
"Serves him right. He shouldn't use drugs. I'm calling the Enforcers. Mechs like that should be rounded up and put away."
They disappear out of sight, and Barricade clambers to his pedes as quickly as he can, then he leaves the alley. If the mech is really calling the Enforcers, he better get going. The Saleen stops in the street, wondering where to go. Not anywhere Berserker might show up, because he does not feel like getting beaten to slag, and right now he wouldn't be able to run anywhere at all. His fuel levels are quite low, the gague soon dipping into red, and he feels dirty after a night outside.
He needs something to clean himself with — especially his subspace pockets — and some fuel. But he has no money, and nothing to sell, so what is he supposed to do? Barricade starts walking again — slowly to save fuel — and because he has nowhere to go anyway. It isn't until afternoon the Saleen winds up somewhere that has him halting.
A supermarket.
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Standing just outside the entrance, Barricade dawdles for quite some time.
Should he beg the passersby for some fuel? Just a tiny treat to keep him from falling into stasis? A credit, so he can buy himself something?
The thought is humiliating, so very degrading, and he really tries to come up with a different idea. But the advertisements for different sorts of energon, the pictures of all the goodies on sale, the smiling mech with clean, polished, shiny plating telling him about what wax is the best is so alluring.
And the thin layer of acid in his subspace is itching, and he's afraid of it affecting the subspace generator if he doesn't clean up, because the risk is very real, and it would be much harder to deal with than mere acid residue. Especially since he have nothing to pay a medic with.
The Mustang takes a steeling vent, and then he walks through the doors. He knows that he's looking rather bedraggled, but there's other mechs who are less than perfectly polished too, so hopefully, he shouldn't attract too much attention.
Barricade walks along the rows of shelves, and the sheer amount of products is almost overwhelming after his time in prison. He hasn't been inside a store like this since before he was locked up.
He finds the washing supplies first. The Mustang stares at the bottles of solvent, the waxes and scented polishes, and he wants them all, wants to get into a washrack, and clean and polish himself for an entire day, because the last time he had a good, really long shower was before he was put away, and the daydream is so alluring. Then he spots the boxes of solvent-enriched wipes, and putting fantasies of luxurious showers aside, he knows that he can at least satisfy the need for wiping his pockets clean from the itchy residue with those. Glancing around, he snags a pack and quickly subspaces it, then he hurriedly leaves that isle, spark spinning wildly in his chest.
He has never shoplifted before. Way to go to start a new life on probation.
It feels like everyone is staring at him now that he has hot merchandise in his pocket, so when it comes to fuel, Barricade quickly turns down the first isle that's empty of mechs, just randomly grabbing two bags of solid treats as he passes by, jamming them into a different pocket. Then he heads for the exit.
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"Excuse me, Sir!" A clerk calls out to him.
Barricade ignores him, pretends that he doesn't hear the mech, and walks even faster. The mech speeds up, calling for him again.
"You don't have what I was looking for. I need to go now." Barricade says over his shoulder, hoping the mech is just overzealous about customer service.
"We have everything, Sir. Would you please stop?"
"I'm running late, I have to go."
"Call security." He hears the clerk following him saying to another employee as he passes.
Frag!
The Saleen starts running, hoping that he has enough fuel in his tank to get away. Wouldn't it be a very pathetic defeat to steal fuel, and then not getting a chance to even eat it and fall into stasis while trying to flee and get caught? To go back to jail within a couple of weeks, and for shoplifting of all things? For stealing stuff worth less than ten credits, stuff he needs to even survive to see the inside of a cell again.
Barricade pushes himself, ignoring the warnings, but as he gets closer to the registers, he sees security coming to intercept him, and the Saleen turns sharply, running for the entrance. The guards speed up, trying to catch up with him, and for dragged out seconds of warnings about his fuel consumption, and a spark spinning like crazy, he's certain that he won't make it, because the entrance has one-way doors, opening for customers coming in, but not for mechs going out.
He still runs through the flimsy electronic gates, setting of the alarm, and he's forced to bowl a shiny looking racer over, tackling his way out as the door opens to let the other mech in. Barricade trips over the downed mech who's cursing wildly, but he manages to stagger on, and then he's free. Transforming into his alt mode, he guns his engine and runs so hard, the risk of sudden stasis is very real.
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Security probably stays in the shop, since they don't have any jurisdiction outside it, but the risk of them calling the Enforcers keeps him running anyway, because he does not want to be found after that debacle. They'd probably add aggravated assault for him shouldering his way out, on top of the shoplifting, and the drugs they would find in his systems. He'd be back in jail by the end of the day, and parole would not be granted a second time after this epic fail.
When the fuel gauge in his HUD is blinking an angry red warning, Barricade finally stops, and he ducks into an alley, desperately devouring the treats he stole. They're not nearly enough; in his haste to just randomly grab something, the Interceptor got a very light and puffy sort, and they do little to fill his tank. The gauge hardly leaves the red zone.
The wipes do the trick to get his pockets clean at least, so that's a discomfort and a worry to file away as history, but night is drawing closer by the minute, and Barricade isn't keen on a repeat of last night. Not even a version without being drugged and robbed.
He has precious few options. Either he swallows his pride, and go begging, but the chances of him getting enough cash to stay in a motel seems slim to none. Even the simple garages, mere cubicals for recharging in alt mode is too expensive to possibly be within the amount he may get by begging. The Saleen has nothing to sell... Except his frame. Barricade grimaces at the thought. It's very unpalatable to think about trying to lure some creep in, and letting someone use him like that in a dirty alley. He carefully takes a detour around the thought of kharmic retribution, considering what landed him in this situation in the first place.
He could try to steal something to sell, but then he'd need to actually sell it to get some money, so that's a slower process. Robbing someone is... He's too easily recognizable like this, with this optic catching paint job. If he's unlucky enough that the mechs in the supermarket care to report the shoplifting, he will easily be found in the records when described. But if he's lucky for once, and that the shop owner doesn't bother for such a petty infraction, and he isn't wanted for something yet, then robbing someone would certainly catch the attention of the law enforcement to which he does not belong anymore, and a warrant would go out to all precincts. No, robbing is out of the question.
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So, it's either spending another night outside in an alley, hoping to get through it without going into stasis from fuel deprivation, or being jumped by someone worse than those small bastards. Or going back to ask if Hide's offer still stands. Joy.
The mere thought of crawling back to ask Ironhide for help leaves a bitter taste in his intake, but he needs fuel soon, or he really is likely to go into stasis, and that would be the end of him, because nobody will come looking, so his frame will be open game for someone wanting to strip him for parts. Or for the underground rings of slavers he has heard of, looking for easy pickings to traffic. At least, he will just need to put out to one mech, instead of trying to peddle himself to all and sundry, and Hide probably will let him wash up too. And he will get to stay in a berth, even if it's with entirely unwanted company.
Feeling utterly defeated, he transforms into his altmode and slowly drives down the streets back to the compound. The gate is closed as usual, and a couple of goons are sitting in sturdy chairs in the dusty driveway, playing some sort of card game. Barricade stops outside, indecisive, working up the nerve to go through with this, while his processor is frantically trying to come up with an alternative plan. One that doesn't involve him interfacing with a pimp.
"Hey, cop! The frag are you looking at?" The massive rotary growls, rising from his seat to tower over Barricade even from where he stands inside the gates. "The Chief was here this morning, making apologies for the very inconvenient raid we were subjected to on false accusations, so I suggest you move along before your boss needs to be informed that you're hassling us for no good reason."
"He ain't no cop, B.O, he ain't got no service signs." The other black mech says, not bothering to get up. "And you lost this round. Pay up, rotor bot!" He adds with a cackle, throwing his cards on the table.
Barricade draws a deep vent to steel himself for the worst request of his functioning.
"I'm not a cop, but I came to see Hide? I, ah, tell him it's Barricade." He mumbles, staring at the ground, wondering if those two are aware of what he's about to do.
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The Helo just stares at him for a long time, but then he nods. "He'll be right down." Then he takes his seat again, dismissing the Saleen from his interest while the gates open to let Barricade through.
A big pick-up comes running down from the house, transforming into the gang boss Barricade is about to offer his frame to. His optics sweep Barricade's frame, and there's a tingle that's probably a scan, but Ironhide doesn't say anything. No, he just stares at Barricade, waiting for the small mech to start speaking, raising an optical ridge in question.
He just can't get the words out, can't ask if the mech still is interested in fucking him as payment for a rent and fuel.
"I find it very interesting that we were raided by enforcement the same night you left. How do I know you weren't the one making the complaint to be a spiteful little bitch just because I don't hand out stuff for free?" Ironhide finally rumbles, face-plates going stony, crossing his massive arms.
Barricade's spark speeds up. He didn't do it, but what if Ironhide doesn't believe him?
"I-I didn't... I don't know anything about that! Please, you have to believe me. If nothing else, believe that I wouldn't put Jazz at risk like that." He tries, hoping that it'll be enough.
"I really hope so. For your sake. I'm sure you've heard the expression 'snitches end up in ditches' before..." Ironhide says, glaring at him.
Barricade makes a tiny noise of fear, hearing how ridiculous he sounds, and entirely too scared to find it in himself to care. "Please, you have to believe me; I know nothing about that. I swear!"
"So what brings you here then, Barricade?"
"Your proposition..." saying it is like pulling denta, "is it still valid?"
Ironhide says nothing, but his intake curls into a smirk as he watches the obviously struggling Interceptor.
"I-I... Please! I need some place to stay, and I do need fuel, and I... I have nowhere else to go. I really need the deal you can offer."
Ugh. Crawling in on his empty belly, groveling to the pimp to please use his frame. How far he has fallen.
The mech's smirk stretches into a grin. "Yeah, I'll trade you... fulfillment of your essential needs for your company. Come on, let's get you inside." Hide says, putting an arm around Barricade's waist, a servo slipping down to squeeze his aft.
"So hot! Hide sure knows how to rope all the pretty ones." One of the mechs on guard duty whispers wistfully to the other mech.
Barricade forces himself not to shudder. It's not like the big mech is being very suave, or has charmed him into his berth. Hide just has what he needs, and he has no other options than to go through with this transaction of favors. He swallows queasily when he thinks of the kind of favors.
"First of all, you're going to the washracks, because you smell even worse than you look. Then I'll hook you up with some fuel. I think you need some energy to handle me." There's a distinct leer in Hide's voice.
"I don't want to be pushy," Barricade says, afraid to overstep the lines, "but my fuel gauge has been blinking since late afternoon. Could I please have a little something first? I don't want to fall into stasis in the shower."
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Hide nods as they step through the door, his optics scanning the area. "Drift! a cube!" He barks loudly, holdings a servo up.
A mech with prominent helm fins hurriedly gets a cube from the bar and comes up to them, presenting it to Hide with a saucy smirk, a sideways glance at Barricade with a quick once over the only way he acknowledges the newcomer's presence.
"For him," Ironhide says, tilting his helm in Barricade's direction, "this is Barricade, he's new here."
Something sharp glints in Drift's optics when he looks at Barricade, gone so fast Barricade can't pinpoint what it means, and then the Racer hands Barricade the cube.
"Nice to meet you, Barricade." He says sweetly, plastering a smile on his face-plates in a way that must be long practiced, because it looks genuine while his field says that it's not. Not it feels like he's hostile either, just some sort of... Reluctance?
"Nice to meet you too, Drift." Barricade says, forcing himself to not stare at how the mech's interface panel is shamelessly left open.
Staring probably wouldn't earn him any bonus points, and Drift already seems to dislike him for some reason.
The Speedster dismisses him with a distracted nod, immediately looking back to Ironhide as the big mech lets go of Barricade. Another flirtatious smile blooms on Drift's pretty face as soon as his optics are on Ironhide again. The Saleen drinks greedily from the cube and looks around, not wanting to intrude on the conversation Drift is having with Hide.
Barricade always left when Jazz did, before the other inhabitants of the house slithered out of whatever hole they spend the days in, and then he didn't come back until most of them had disappeared for the night. It's surprisingly crowded at this time, and even if it's just a Tuesday like any other, he still gets the feeling of it being a party night. There's high grade, and cygars being had, and everyone seem relaxed, enjoying themselves. Then he catches how Drift is pouting about Hide being busy for the night, even though he isn't trying to listen in on their conversation. Reality takes over where his curiosity momentarily made him forget the situation he's in.
It's not like he wants Hide to be busy all night, he'd happily hand that over to Drift, if the Speedster wants it so badly. He'd be more than fine with taking the couch again. But alas, that's just not in his cards.
Taking another deep swig, he tries to push away the thoughts of what is going to happen soon, and the apprehension those thoughts bring.
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There's mechs loitering on the couches and in the chairs in the rec room, all of them wearing that red face badge on their chests.
Except Drift. His mark isn't a badge, but an etching on the small of his back. A tramp stamp. Ugh.
Barricade notices it when he turns back to Hide and finds Drift pressed up against him. The big mech looks at Barricade over Drift's shoulder and sees that he has drained the fuel. He pats Drift's aft and gently guides him to step back and turn around, motioning for Drift to take the empty cube. The Speedster does it without protest, but with another sharp glare and a slip of his carefully controlled field, and now Barricade realizes why. He really is jealous.
Ironhide's arm wraps around him, and they start towards the stairs again, but they haven't taken many steps before someone calls out to Ironhide again. The big mech smirks, field flickering with amusement.
"Wait here, I'll be right back." Ironhide tells Barricade.
Then he heads for the black and green mech stretched out on one of the couches, one leg hooked over the back of the couch, one hanging over the edge of the seat. The mech flashes Hide a saucy grin, arching his back slightly to show off his chest-plates as Ironhide approaches.
Barricade can't help but stare as Ironhide bends down to get closer to the mech, a few quiet words exchanged as Ironhide slips a servo between the other mech's spread legs, the plating on his lower arm shifting as he apparently works the mech's array. The green mech tugs him closer for a kiss, then he falls back, servos sliding down his front to join Hide's servo, an almost dopey smile on his face.
Hide lets the mech take over, and then comes back to Barricade, who's still trying his best to not outright stare at the mech who's now playing with himself, apparently enjoying the hungry optics of the gathered mechs who have all their attention on him.
This is a whole new level of depravity compared to the street walkers he knew, or even the exotic dance clubs he has been to before. And he's playing his part in it now.
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Hide wraps his arm around Barricade again, servo on the Interceptor's aft, and guides him towards the stairs, and Barricade half hopes that someone will interrupt them yet again. The Saleen sees the raised optical ridges, the leers of those seated around the room, practically feels the optics sweeping his frame, making his plating crawl.
"Have fun, boss." Someone snickers.
"I sure will." Ironhide rumbles.
He lets go of Barricade when they reach the foot of the stairs, patting the Saleen's aft to get him going. "I'll hang back and admire the view. Mh, your aft sure is a sight to behold."
Ugh.
With heavy steps, Barricade walks up the stairs, Ironhide following a few steps behind. Staring at his aft.
"The door at the end of the hallway." The gang leader rumbles in his audial.
Barricade walks down the hallway, past the other closed doors, pedes sinking into the thick, luxurious carpet that's probably a pricey replica of the original one, installed as a tribute to the opulence of this house's past and apparently present. The Saleen briefly wonders about that promised shower, because he knows that the washracks are downstairs, in the wing Jazz lives in, but he keeps walking towards the door, feeling like he's walking to his execution. Or at the very least the painful removal of what's left of his dignity.
The doors slide open with a quiet hiss when he reaches it, and he steps through into a large suite, dimly lit by designer LEDs, and furnished with what is clearly not furniture from some local outlet or second hand store. It's like something straight out of one of the TV shows about the houses of the celebrities. The huge berth catches his optics, and his processor supplies him with a very unwelcome picture of himself there, sprawled on his back underneath the behemoth of a mech, selling his frame for sleeping in a berth, a few cubes of fuel, and a shower.
Oh, how very far he has fallen.
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"Washracks are in there. Use whatever solvent you want. I'll wait here." Ironhide says, grabbing a data pad before taking a seat in one of the comfiest looking chairs Barricade has ever seen.
The spray of solvent does lift his spirits a bit, and if he offlines his optics, he can almost pretend that he isn't getting ready for spreading his legs for a pimp.
Focus on the shower, the luxury you were fantasizing about while stealing wet wipes. This washrack is fancier than any you've ever seen before. Enjoy that.
The ensuite washracks are luxurious, and this definitely has been the master berthroom at one point in the history of the building. Still is, in a way, with the top pimp living here.
Shower. Focus.
Way back, when this was a fancy neighborhood, this place probably teemed with servants — and slaves — to take good care of the nobles. How little things have changed, really. It's different, but still the same. And he's a part of it, until he manages to find a real job.
Shower! Hot solvent! Fancy wax schampoo!
Deciding to grab the Topkick by the smokestacks — because he can't fully enjoy the shower anyway, and he's getting more nervous by the minute — Barricade rinses off the last of the solvent, clean and actually feeling slightly better than before, and he grabs a cloth to dry himself. The door to the washracks is left open, but at least Ironhide has given him the courtesy of not staring at him throughout his shower.
His spark spinning wildly with nerves, Barricade walks into the berthroom, coming to stand in the middle of the floor, not certain what's expected. He feels small, vulnerable, and pathetically inexperienced, and in way over his helm when Ironhide looks up from his data pad, optics sweeping Barricade's frame.
Should he just open his panels and crawl onto the berth? Or will Ironhide want some kind of show? Like what the mech downstairs was performing when they left?
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The Topkick walks in a slow circle around him to appraise his frame, then Ironhide comes to a stop in front of him. Barricade swallows nervously. This is it. He can't bring himself to look the mech in the optics, so he stares at broad chest-plates, and well polished chrome trimmings around a rather good-looking grill.
Hide's servo comes up to nudge his chin, tilting his helm back to finally meet his optics. Barricade is so tense, his hydraulics are screaming with built up pressure.
"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you." His optics slither down Barricades frame. "You really are a very pretty mech."
The compliment surprises the Interceptor, because he expected the brute to say something crude, expected leering, but it doesn't take away the fact that this is a business transaction.
"Hurt or not, this is entirely unwanted." Barricade grinds out between clenched denta, just to regret the comment as soon as it's out.
He was trying to not seem scared shitless, which he is, but it came out way too challenging, and he's so helpless, always so fucking helpless when someone wants to fuck him, and he had repressed how vulnerable and scared he felt every time, the revulsion of being touched, and used. The self hatred over what a slut he is, letting mechs fuck him. Now, all of that is bubbling to the surface.
Ironhide smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his optics. "I assure you that things could be so much worse."
"That's debatable."
"Look here, I'll make this good for you if you just allow yourself to enjoy it. Relax, have some fun. We'll both get off, and then a good night's recharge. Just two mechs having a good time, nothing wrong with that."
"It doesn't change the fact that this is a business arrangement."
Something flicker across Ironhide's face-plates, so fast Barricade can't pinpoint the emotion, but then the Topkick's face hardens.
"You were the one to come back to ask for this. But if that's the way you choose to perceive this," a thick digit taps at Barricade's interface plate, "then open up and show me the merchandise."
Chapter Text
The Saleen reels his field in, and offlines his optics when he opens the panel to expose his array. Spark spinning wildly, he waits for touches, but nothing happens. He onlines one optic to look at Hide, frowning in confusion. Ironhide smirks at him and cocks an optical ridge, clearly amused.
"That's a very pretty piece of equipment. May I touch?" He asks, servo hovering inches from Barricade's bared array.
No. "Go ahead." It's inevitable anyway, might as well get it over with, so he can get another cube, and go to recharge.
Thick digits is pushed through his uncomfortably dry folds, and then one of them is pushed into his valve, slowly going deeper and deeper, until the movement suddenly stops, the tip of the finger hitting a barrier. The pressure is uncomfortable, and it reminds him all too much about the first time he... No, don't think about that. Not now, not ever. What catches Barricade's attention when he pushes the memory to the side is Ironhide's astonished look.
"You're sealed."
"Yes." Is that a problem? He didn't even think about that possibility. Is he going to be kicked out for that?
"You've never interfaced before?"
"Not that way." He says, spark spinning with nerves. "Not in this frame." He mutters, pointedly not thinking about the interfacing he did do in his last frame.
"Then you don't have precautions installed either?"
"Uhm... No?"
"Primus damn it." Ironhide growls, clearly annoyed. "Come on. We're going for a drive."
Chapter Text
The Topkick leads the way through the neighborhood, flanked by a massive black Truck, and a sleek silver Racer who were already waiting for them in the driveway when they got out. Barricade drives between the two others, behind Ironhide, and he does notice the way the other mechs on the road give way to them as they drive by. Not once do they need to break formation. It's even more tangible than when he still was an Enforcer, and people tended to give way.
They stop outside a clinic, the building standing out with how neat and clean the windows are compared to the surrounding shops and business. They all step through the doors into the waiting room, and Barricade feels kind of ridiculous, considering the appointment is obviously for him, and he has no less than three mechs coming with him to the doctor. More than ever accompanied him when he was a sparkling. Whatever he's doing here.
A bright yellow bot with medic insignias step into the waiting room.
"Oh, you." He tersely addresses Hide, servos on his hips. "What is it this time? Another gunshot wound? A raging epidemic of cybernetic Chlamydia among your ranks?"
The Topkick snorts and indicates Barricade with his thumb. "Pretty mech over there needs a few mods and upgrades.
The medic looks him up and down, and Barricade squirms under his intense gaze. He doesn't know what he ever did to the Medic, but he is clearly pissed off. Maybe it's because he knows that Barricade is going to whore himself out and disapproves of an Enforcer doing such a thing?
Ex-Enforcer. A whore now.
Like he has a choice! But what could this well polished medic possibly know about falling so far?
"Drift says 'Hi'. He's a demanding little mech, but between all of us, we can keep him fairly satisfied." Ironhide leers.
The medic makes a face.
"You should come see him. I'm sure he'd love to take you for a ride. On the house, of course."
The medics servo trembles violently around the wrench he's holding, and for a moment, Barricade is certain that he's going to throw it at Hide. Ironhide's arm transforms into a huge cannon, and he spins it meaningfully, smirking insolently at the Medic, raising an optical ridge in challenge.
"Remember how your clinic is never looted or vandalized these days? Security is expensive... And right now, that little sweet butt needs a few mods ASAP."
"Right. This way." The medic's voice is thin with fury when he addresses Barricade, spinning on his heel, leading the way into the next room, apparently eager to leave that conversation behind. "I'm Ratchet, by the way."
Chapter Text
"You don't need to be here for this." Ratchet swivels around again, crossing his arms when he grinds the words out to Ironhide, who has followed them into the exam room.
"I think I do. He's one of my mechs, and I want to know that he does the things that should be done. He's not getting a chance to hide behind lies, and your patient confidentiality. Or would you rather have me let Knockie do it? You know he lost his certification a long time ago, and his tools have seen better days, but he does live under my roof..."
Barricade bristles. He's not anyone's mech but his own, thank you very much, and his cop honor would make him do what is being asked without supervision.
Yeah, the same cop honor that landed you in this mess?
Shut up. It's not like he has a choice but to go along with whatever Hide wants. Then the Saleen startles. What kind of modifications is it, exactly, that the mech wants him to have?
Ratchet grimaces, gearing up for an argument, and while the chivalry is rather endearing, Barricade's deal is still hanging in the balance, and this will hardly be more mortifying than whatever the rest of the night will hold for him. At least the rest of the posse stayed in the waiting room for this.
"It's fine, Hide can stay." He says, not believing that he actually uttered the words.
The Medic glares at him, scrutinizing him closely. "Fine. On the berth, spread your legs, and open your panel." He finally says.
"Install a bolt in his gestational chamber, update his antivirals, and give him the upgraded protocols for spike control that everyone new gets." Hide rattles off the order, as if Barricade isn't even there.
Ratchet grumbles something unintelligible, takes something out of a drawer, and sits down with Barricade's array in full view. The Saleen resists the urge to close his legs. Digits slick with lubricant slides into his valve, then the Medic pulls them out again, helm snapping around to glare at Ironhide.
"For frags sake, he's sealed!"
"I noticed." Ironhide says dryly. "Remove that. I don't care much for breaking it anyway. Completely overrated, just makes for a lot of bitching, and that one is definitely a whiner. I already know that I'm the first one to defile him."
"You've never interfaced before?" Ratchet asks Barricade, voice much softer.
"Not since my last reformat."
The Medics optics flare. "But with your previous frame?"
"Yes. Didn't like it, never felt the urge to try it again."
"Are you sure you want to do this? Taking the seal out is more comfortable than keeping it for sure, but I'm not talking about that; I mean giving your first time away for... Well, you know."
Hell no! He really doesn't want to sell his valve, no matter if it's the first time or the hundredth.
"Yes."
But it isn't like he has any options.
Chapter Text
When they walk back into the house, the first thing Barricade sees is the green and black mech and Drift making out on the table. He can't help but stop to gawk. The big truckformer who followed them to the clinic — Motormaster — whistles. Ironhide rumbles a laugh and stops to look appreciatively at the two mechs.
The green mech breaks the heated kiss to throw his helm back, moaning loudly, when Drift's servo thrusts between his legs. Drift's own hips are jerking rhythmically, because clearly the favor is being returned.
Barricade feels an unfamiliar heaviness between his legs, his own array heating up at the sight, and there's this strange wet feeling.
It's probably just lubricant from the examination, and the heaviness is just the bolt Ratchet mounted in his chamber. He still feels a bit strange from that.
"Those two sure know how to enjoy themselves." Hide murmurs in his audial, and Barricade can't tell if it's a barb or just an amused comment.
Digits tease the base of his shoulder-wing, and a shiver of unexpected pleasure trickle down his back-struts to settle between his legs when the sensitive components are stimulated with surprising skill. His new protocols ping him a request if his spike should be primed, and it's a distasteful reminder of how he has been turned into a valve mech now. He pushes that thought away, focusing on the mechs putting on a show, even if it feels like too private a moment to stare at.
They do seem to have a very good time though, shamelessly ignoring all the optics following their every move. Because surely they can't be enjoying the attention?
Sure they can. They're whores. Just like you. Modified to fit the desires of others. Look at you, going all wet.
"Dibs on Cross' valve when the fucking starts." The silver Racer called Sideswipe yells from the door.
"You get seconds! Nitro already called it."
"This is getting me revved up. Come on. Let's go upstairs." Ironhide murmurs in Barricade's audial.
It puts a damper on Barricade's arousal, but it's not quite enough to fully squash it, and he lets his optics linger on the couple on the table even as they climb the stairs.
Chapter Text
"So, you haven't interfaced when in this frame, and you didn't enjoy it before. Was it so bad, you never wanted to try again?" Ironhide asks when the door slides shut behind them, and they're alone in Ironhide's suite.
Do they really have to talk about this? Can't the Bruiser just fuck him, and get it over with?
His spark is starting to speed up with nerves, and his very being is screaming at him to just bolt out that door and leave this behind, and it feels like it's either fucking before he loses what nerve he has, or fleeing.
Coward.
"Step-sire took my seal, when I was newly reformatted into my last youngling frame. It hurt, and was humiliating, and I hated it. The first time, and every single time after that."
Something hard and dangerous crosses Ironhide's faceplates before he schools his expression, but Barricade is still taken aback. The mech looked absolutely lethal for a moment, and there's a lot about this mech that Barricade still doesn't know. Ironhide is resolute in his demands, but he has not been violent or truly forceful to the Saleen so far, even if he was a bit intimidating before he let him in.
"I won't hurt you, that I promise you. If it hurts, you tell me, alright? I wont kick you out for not just shutting up and taking it. If you need me to give you a break, I will."
Barricade nods hesitantly. It sounds good, but the question is for how long Ironhide would go along with that before he gets tired of it and kicks him out anyway. And Ironhide said nothing about the humiliation, just that he won't hurt him. Better just get it over with.
"Come here." Ironhide waves him over, already crawling onto the berth, sprawling with an easy confidence that makes Barricade even more nervous.
Without finesse, Barricade joins him on the berth, crawling in a decidedly unsexy way, and he plunks down on his back next to the big mech, stiff and nervous, feeling very vulnerable.
A servo slides down his front, and he forces his panel to open again. Digits find his folds still slightly slick after his reaction to the show the other mechs put on in the rec room, and Barricade can't help but gasp when Hide expertly finds a very sensitive nub just above his valve.
"Relax, my mech. I'll show you a good time."
Chapter Text
He has overloaded around those digits two times when he's nudged to roll over on his front, and it's confusing and alarming that he actually kind of enjoyed that. It did feel good.
Liked being fingered by the pimp he's selling his frame to. How can he enjoy that? His step-sire was right all those years ago, he really is a slut.
"On all fours. I want to see that sweet little aft, and those pretty shoulder-wings while I fuck you." Ironhide grunts.
Barricade's spark starts to spin quickly, but now it isn't from arousal, but from apprehension.
He really doesn't want to do this, doesn't want to stand on servos and knees, being fucked like a little bitch in heat. The position is far too submissive for his liking.
It's not like you are anything but a submissive little bitch in this.
He obeys the request, because the sooner this is done, the quicker it is over.
A big servo curls around his hip, and then something thick and blunt nudges his slick folds. It slips inside surprisingly easy, but then again, he is soaking wet after Hide's earlier ministrations. There's stretch, and it's a bit uncomfortable, but it doesn't really hurt, and it doesn't feel bad, like he expected. Ironhide's other servo grabs his shoulder-wing for leverage, thumb deftly teasing seams in his plating in a way that sets his sensor net alight, and then the Topkick starts thrusting. The slick slide of a spike over his inside nodes feels surprisingly good, and that realization has Barricade warring with himself, because he doesn't want to enjoy this.
What kind of a pleasurebot is he, if he enjoys what is done to him while he's selling his frame ?
When a servo comes around to slide between his legs, rubbing that exterior node again, he can't stop the little moans and gasps of pleasure that leave his vocalizer, even if he doesn't want Ironhide to know that it feels good.
Chapter Text
Hide is recharging soundly, snoring away, but recharge eludes the Interceptor. A heavy arm is slung across his waist, pinning him in place, Hide's front pressed against his back, and Barricade stares at the wall, trying to hold off the pathetic little sobs that are threatening to break free from his vocalizer.
He sold his frame for fuel and a roof over his helm, his frame has been altered to suit his new station in his functioning. And he overloaded for the mech who's paying for his frame. Came for his customer. Just like any other pleasurebot.
Ironhide's first words to him echoes in his processor. Ass is a currency, and the only thing he has to pay with.
You're a whore now.
The Saleen feels another glob of transfluid dribble out from his valve, trickling down his thigh to soak the bedding underneath him, and this time he does sob quietly, feeling cheap and used.
Three times, the Topkick had him. And he overloaded every single time. He was an Enforcer, had his own apartment, and a good life. Good friends. And now he's the berthwarmer of a whore mongering gang boss.
He wriggles forward, tries to get out of Hide's grasp, reaching for the astro-weed cygar on the night stand.
It's doubtful if it would be worse to be tested positive for drugs and sent back to prison, he might as well numb himself with what he can. If he's nothing but a fuck toy here or in prison hardly matters. And he isn't an ex-Enforcer this time if he goes back, he's a pleasurebot.
His wriggling rubs his aft against the Topkick's groin, and behind him Ironhide stirs when he lights up the cyg.
"Horny again, little mech?" He rumbles, voice rough with recharge, but there's definitely a smirk there. "Good thing I'm a fit mech."
Digits slide through his folds, already slick with transfluid and lubricant, and with practiced ease, Ironhide finds the spots that make a low moan leave Barricade's vocalizer, while his hips buck against that servo of their own accord.
Chapter Text
Barricade wakes up abruptly, sitting up quickly and it takes him a second to remember where he is.
In Ironhide's berth. You were fucked into it four times last night, remember? Wailed into these expensive sheets when you came.
Shut up.
The room is dark, thick curtains blocking out the daylight, but when he checks his chronometer, it's almost noon. He's alone in Ironhide's berth, and there's no signs of the gang leader, so Barricade falls back, slowly stretching his frame, giving himself some time to fully reboot.
And the berth really is comfortable.
With all his systems up and running, he can't push away the thoughts of why he's in this comfortable berth in the first place anymore, though, so he gets up and indulges in a long, hot shower wondering what he's going to do now. He needs to occupy his mind to keep himself from thinking about last night. And the evening that's closing in with the looming inevitability of more interfacing.
Barricade decides on trying to find some fuel, and with his spark fluttering nervously, he descends the stairs, uncertain what he is supposed to do when he's not spreading his legs for the Topkick with an admittedly impressive libido.
The top floor is full of closed doors, and whatever they lead to; berthrooms, offices, or something else, he isn't going to explore it on his own. The rec room downstairs is probably safe, and he guesses that the wing where Jazz's room is might be the quarters of the other...
The other whores. Get used to it, Barricade.
Drift is sprawled on his front on a couch in the rec room, still in recharge. His leg is hanging over the edge of the seat, making it clear that the panels covering his array and his port are still open. Maybe he doesn't even have them?
Barricade shudders. He thinks about seeing if Jazz is in his room, but he wants energon first. Or is he just stalling? He hasn't told his... whatever they are, that he took Hide up on his offer, and it's not something he's proud to tell. It's a good thing his former co-workers can't see him now.
He goes to find an energon dispenser, and walks as quietly as he can through a hallway, not keen on attracting attention. Maybe he should ask for a tour, and introductions?
Through an open door further down the hallway, he hears voices, and Barricade follows them. He slowly pushes the door open, intending to just peek inside, but it suddenly swings open with a loud creak from the ancient door opening mechanism.
Everything goes quiet, and they all stare at him.
"Uhm... Hi?"
Chapter Text
"Well 'ello, gorgeous! Welcome te the 'umble abode of the Autobots." The black and green mech he saw yesterday — sprawled on the couch, playing with himself — says, looking him up and down.
He grabs Barricade's wrist-strut where the Saleen's servo still hangs awkwardly in the air from where the Mustang froze up when the door decided to fly open, and yanks the smaller Interceptor into the room that turns out to be a refuelling room.
"Hi?" He repeats, keenly aware of all the optics glued to him.
"I bet ye need some fuel, considerin' Hide 'ad ye all night. We 'ave all sorts of energon. 'elp yerself." The mech establishes in an accent the Saleen is not familiar with.
Barricade flushes when it sinks in that what he did all night is apparently common knowledge, but he allows himself tugged along to an energon dispenser. An empty cube is shoved into his servo, and no matter how awkward it all feels, it is kind of nice that this mech — who he has seen being finger fucked on two occasions, but still doesn't know the designation of — is helpful and at least he seems welcoming.
"Thank you...?" He says while looking through the options in the dispenser.
They really do have everything, both varieties of fuel, and more additives than he cares to look through. Barricade doesn't have a hard time choosing, because his favorite energon is there too. He hasn't had it since before he went to jail. The Saleen fills his cube before he turns back to the mech.
"The designation is Crosshairs. In-'ouse entertainment division." The mech says with a saucy smirk.
"Nice to meet you, Crosshairs. I'm Barricade."
Maybe he has found someone he can be on friendly terms with? Even if Crosshairs is one of the hookers.
That's the moment when he notices something else about Crosshairs, something he has been to busy to see until now.
"Uhm... Your panel is open." He whispers to the Racer, glancing at the other mechs gathered around the island in the prep area of the refuelling room.
Crosshairs actually laughs at that. "It's in my room. I've removed it. It's no' like any of 'em 'aven't seen, an' fucked it anyway, so why bother coverin' it?"
Barricade feels his intake move, though no sound is spilling over his lip-plates. It's going to take a while to get used to this.
Chapter Text
"So what's your deal here?" A big Flight frame asks, a digit sliding along Barricade's shoulder-wing, making the Interceptor twitch nervously. "You sure are a pretty mech..."
Barricade looks up at the mech over his shoulder, the Flier much too close for comfort. There's something familiar about the mech.
"I-I think I'm supposed to pay Hide in kind for fuel and a place to recharge safely?" He stammers uncertainly, because Barricade never considered any other options. The Topkick said that he should stay in his berth, right? Or was that a misunderstanding?
"Just Hide?" That servo grabs his shoulder-wing more firmly, a strong thumb rubbing circles into the plating, and it would probably feel nice if it wasn't so unwanted.
"Quit 'asslin' 'im, Nitro, an' call Hide an' ask instead." Crosshairs says, putting his servos on his hips, glaring at the taller mech.
Barricade chances a glance up at the mech called Nitro again, currently still toying with the Interceptor's shoulder-wing.
One red optic, unusually broad frame for a flier. It's the gross bastard who made a disgusting offer when he was still inside. But of course. If not sooner, then later, or what? Primus must really hate him.
He lets out an exvent he didn't know he was holding when the mech lets go of his wing, stepping back.
"Boss says you still belong to him." Nitro sounds disappointed.
Barricade bristles, because while he has made a deal, he does not belong to anyone, nor is he something that can be passed around between them. He bites his glossa though, because until he is certain of all the details of the deal, he isn't going to risk pissing someone off unnecessarily, and get himself kicked out.
"Do you know if Jazz is in?" He asks Crosshairs instead, to divert everyone's attention, as well as give himself a way out before the conversation takes an even more uncomfortable turn.
"Think so. 'e usually sleeps in, and 'e likes te stay in berth for a while after 'e wakes up." Crosshairs tells him, smirking. "He wants sweet energon in the mornin', if ye want te bring 'im somethin'."
Barricade nods gratefully, and fills a cube to bring to Jazz, then he hurries out into the hallway, not paying much attention to the conversations that start up again when he leaves.
"'ave fun..." He hears Crosshairs' parting shot, though, and in spite of everything, he flushes.
Chapter Text
"Come in." Jazz's voice reaches him through the door.
Barricade steps inside, balancing both the cubes, and then he stops just inside as it slides shut behind him and hovers uncertainly, because he doesn't know what to say. If Jazz knows what kind of deal he has made with Ironhide.
"I brought some energon."
"That's so sweet, babe!" Jazz coos happily.
The Solstice is stretched out on his front on the berth in the middle of a heap of his bedding, propped up on his elbows, and it looks very comfortable. He stretches his servo out for the cube, and Barricade walks over to the berth, handing him the cube, then he stands there awkwardly.
"Ya not gonna join me?" Jazz pats the empty space beside him, before taking a sip of the energon.
Barricade sinks down to perch on the edge of the berth, feeling incredibly awkward.
"I was worried when ya disappeared."
"I've made a deal with Hide." Barricade admits quietly, looking down into his lap.
"I heard tha rumours. I'm glad. It's much safer than beein' on tha streets."
"You're glad that I'm sleeping with someone else?!" He stares incredulously at Jazz.
Jazz chuckles. "It's not like I don' do it myself, n' I really don' wantcha ta get into trouble. This is tha safest ya can be, an I really like ta know that ya're safe." Jazz downs the rest of the energon, placing the cube on the floor, before he rolls over on his back, looking up at Barricade. "I don' like ya less for what ya do ta keep yourself clean, fueled, n' safe, how could I? Most of my friends do it too, n' ya're here, with me. I'll rather share ya, than don't have ya at all, or even worse, somethin' bad ta happen to ya."
There's some twisted logic in that reasoning, but it's still hard to reconcile with it all. Fortunately for Barricade, Jazz has other plans than letting him wallow in the cluster fuck his functioning has turned into.
"Are ya gonna sit there all day, or are ya gonna kiss me?"
It's not one of the hard choices he's been forced to make lately.
Chapter Text
They lay on Jazz's berth for hours, tangled comfortably, and Barricade is so content with cuddling, some of the bad feelings from the night before dissipates.
"Not that I want ta leave, but I hafta get ready for work." Jazz finally says, untangling himself and getting up.
Work. It's like a bucket of freezing cold solvent tipped over him, because it reminds him of what his own job is these days, and it's a sour tasting reminder of what kind of mech is fragging Barricade. A mech who sells other mechs. A gang boss who exploits vulnerable mechs and keeps them around for interfacing.
"How can you stand to put yourself on the streets for him, for them?"
Jazz turns to give him a flat stare. "It's tha same thing I did before, ya know."
"Yes, but then you did it for yourself. You still fuck whomever is willing to pay you, but most of the money goes to someone else. They're taking advantage of you."
"Like ya didn' take advantage of me back when we met? Or all those other hookers ya extorted for a fuck."
"That's different! And I did not extort anyone! I did you a favor — did you all a favor — kept you from going to jail! I think it was only fair that I got something in return for that." Look where it landed him after all: in prison for years, stripped of his rank, and all his worldly possessions.
"Consider this, then: Hide's doin' ya a favor. He keeps ya from starvin', or bein' kidnapped, robbed, or raped out there. N' he doesn't threaten ya into it, ya're free ta leave whenever ya want. Don'cha think it's fair that he gets something in return for that?" Jazz bitingly turns his own fucking words against him.
It's not the same fucking thing! He doesn't even enjoy using his valve and he certainly isn't the type who sells his frame!
Liar! You overload good enough for Hide, you like it, you little slut! And it does seem like you do sell your frame when it's convenient.
Shut up!
"You were already a whore! What was another frag or two to keep you from going to jail?"
Chapter Text
Jazz looks taken aback, jaw hanging open in shock.
"So jus' 'cause I was already sellin' my frame ta survive, ya think what ya did was less abusive? Fuck, ya can be such an ignorant asshole sometimes! Ya never considered that I did it with ya outta fear for what ya could do ta me? And ya kept showin' up, wantin' more, n' I was terrified, because at any moment, ya could demand something I normally wouldn't sell, and I'd have no choice but ta do it, or I'd go ta prison. Jus' tha thought that ya could hog my time for free, n' I wouldn't have time ta get enough payin' customers to actually afford some fuel n' a place ta stay..."
He never thought about that. Was it like that for all the pleasurebots he had done deals with? They had always seemed so happy to do it, had been so thankful for the deals they made. Had it been an act? He had never considered that.
"It really took me quite some time ta figure out that ya really like me, that ya kept showing up for me, not just ta get your cock wet, n' your power-kink satisfied."
Fucking hell. The one mech he had ever felt something for, and he had literally assaulted him several times, and not even realized what he was doing.
Barricade's insides feel cold in a strange way when he thinks about it.
"I'm so sorry, Jazz. So very sorry. I never even thought about that. I thought you knew I liked you."
Jazz laughs without humor. "Yeah. But don'cha dare come questioning me 'bout my arrangement here. My contract is none of your business. I have everythin' I need. I don' need ta find a motel I can afford ta recharge comfortably, I don' hafta choose between a safe place ta stay or fuel when I have had a bad week. They keep me safe on tha streets, n' there's always someone just a comm away if a customer gets nasty. It could be so much worse, ya know. There's some really bad pimps out there, slavers, really. Hide is a good guy, he really cares for us. N' he's good in tha sack, so just count yourself lucky ya caught his attention. A lotta mechs would wanna trade places with ya." There's a slight hitch in Jazz's voice, hardly noticeable, but clearly there.
Field still simmering with indignant anger, Jazz turns to his storage unit, and pulls out a pair of his fabric working pants. He grabs the new bottle of solvent from on top of it, and a cloth hanging over a chair next to it.
"I'm gonna shower. Stay as long as ya like, but Hide will want ya back in his quarters tonight, n' ya better be there." And with that, Jazz heads for the washracks, leaving Barricade to mull over this new functioning of his.
He's still a berthwarmer for a pimp, and now Jazz is rightfully angry with him. Lovely.
Chapter Text
"I need a clarification about the rules here, and what's expected of me." Barricade says, standing awkwardly inside the door to Hide's quarters. "And I think maybe I should have your comm connection?"
"Of course. My bad. You're just so very distracting, I failed to remember all of that yesterday." Ironhide beckons him with crooking a digit in a come hither motion.
His optics roam Barricade's frame, and it's still so very uncomfortable with that kind of attention. The Interceptor still obeys, coming to stand in front of the mech. Big servos encircle his waist, and he's pulled into Ironhide's lap, straddling sturdy thighs. A request for a comm connection pings, and he accepts it, then a data file is sent to him.
"There, that's the connections to everyone who lives in this house. The rules are like this: refuel as much as you like, you're free to move around the house, and get what you want from the energon dispensers, but the rooms on this floor are off limits unless invited. The living quarters downstairs are the same, of course, everyone deserves their privacy. You can leave the premises whenever you want, but you need to inform a brother of where you're going, and when we can expect you back. It's for your own safety. You can frag anyone you want, but for now, your only obligation is to me."
For now.
"Our deal said nothing about others. You said I'd stay in your berth."
A servo slides between his legs, rubbing his interface plate, and Barricade opens it. If he doesn't, Hide will just ask, and he'll have to do it anyway.
"Contracts are always renegotiated at some point. I'm not much for exclusiveness, or for hogging the goodies for myself. You stay with me during your introduction, if you accept the conditions when the trial period is over, you get your own room. You're always free to turn a deal down and leave, you're not a prisoner here."
As if he has much of a choice.
"I-I'm on parole." Barricade confesses.
"Isn't everyone? I'll make a few calls tomorrow and we'll get back to that later. Anything else?"
"Not that I can think of right now."
Digits slip through his dry folds, teasing his anterior node, and his valve twitches with interest at the contact.
At least Hide knows how to make it feel good physically.
Chapter Text
A few nights later, Barricade is stretched out on his front on Ironhide's berth, nursing a cube of high grade he has dared to get himself from the bar in the rec room, when the Topkick walks in. Barricade glances over his shoulder and catches how Ironhide smirks appreciatively as his optics trails Barricade's frame, and he quickly looks away again, still uncomfortable with the blatant ogling. Barricade motions to the cube he has left on the bedside table. He still doesn't dare to believe that he really can just grab what he wants, so he brought Ironhide one too, because it looks better.
"This is a sight I approve of coming home to: a hot mech, and a cube of high grade waiting for me. Damn, you look fine on my berth." Ironhide rumbles.
Barricade doesn't know how to respond. Hide is always saying these nice things, complimenting him, and it's just not something he's used to. It's flattering to a point of making him flush, but how is he supposed to answer it? And is it even sincere? He squirms in embarrssment. Surely, it's just Hide being slick to cream him up for the night's fucking.
"I made a few calls." Ironhide says when Barricade doesn't answer, throwing a data pad on the berth next to Barricade. "Set a few things up to make things easier for you. As long as you're one of my mechs, these deals are in play."
Barricade plucks the data pad off the berth carefully, as if it might bite him.
"From now on, you can do astro-weed without being nervous, but if I catch you bringing a single router chip, or anything else heavy in here, I'll punt you over the wall myself. If you need help to stay clean from that crap, tell me, and we'll fix that. Now I'm going to shower, because I'm not getting into berth like this."
Barricade's jaw is hanging open as he scrolls through the pad, but he glances up at Ironhide again, and this time he does a double take, because now he notices the mess on the mech's plating.
Is all that processed energon? Holy fucking Primus.
The spatter on his leg looks like coolant, though.
As if it matters what frame fluid it is.
He decides to not think about that right now as Ironhide hits the washracks, and he refocuses on the data pad.
He has gotten a new parole officer assigned to his case, there's a prescription for medical astro-weed for his anxiety, he has an official living adress, with a rent contract that looks legit. On top of it, he has employment with Autobot Inc. as an entertainer. He's a stand up citizen, squeaky clean. There's no reason for the parole board to send him back to jail.
"Hey, Barricade?! I need help scrubbing my back. And other parts of me." Ironhide leers from the washracks.
No reason at all as long as he keeps giving up his frame for entertainment to a mech who comes home dripping of someone's energon, and sells other mechs to buy luxury bedding.
The washracks are nice though, you really like that. Maybe he'll let you use the oil jacuzzi if you bend over for him?
Shut up.
"I'll be right there!"
So eager!
Shut up!
Chapter Text
There's something arousing about running his servos down that broad back. Something about all the power in the bunched cables that ripple under his questing digits as they slip though the seams of dark plating.
Barricade really doesn't like that. Still, he keeps cleaning Ironhide, the big mech leaning his forearms against the wall, forehelm against his servos as he slowly relaxes under Barricade's ministrations. The water pours down over them from the overhead shower head, sluicing down the drain, tainted with the fluids coming off of Ironhide's frame as Barricade cleans him.
He's a spike mech.
A liter of lubricant says you're not exclusively a spike mech.
Shut up. What the fuck is a liter anyway?
Distracting yourself much?
"Bloody Pit, you're so good with your servos." Ironhide groans approvingly.
"I... I try my best?"
"Mhm. How about you work that magic on my spike too?" Ironhide murmurs suggestively.
Barricade doesn't even have time to get grossed out before Ironhide turns around, pressurized spike bobbing between them, and the Saleen can't help but stare at the component.
It's massive!
Well, you didn't complain when it was in your pussy...
He can't even come up with a retort to his aggravating thoughts, beacuse Barricade is too stunned about it.
He has had that fragging pole inside his valve!
Ironhide chuckles. "It won't bite you..."
"I know that!"
It comes out way too sharp and shrill because of his mortified apprehension and indignance, but Ironhide just grins wider when Barricade reaches out to wrap his servo around the component. The big mech leans his back against the wall, allowing Barricade to stroke his spike, looking the Interceptor right in the optics as Barricade tries all the moves he knows that he enjoys himself.
It's too intimate.
No matter how badly Barricade doesn't want to yield, he can't make himself keep optic contact while stroking the pimp's thick cock.
To not just stand there, jerking Ironhide off while staring stupidly at anything but what he's doing, Barricade leans forward, hesitantly licking at Ironhide's grill. It's not like he knows if it's even pleasurable, but at least he gets something to focus on.
Chapter Text
"I think I'm good to go. You slick?" Ironhide says, servo reaching out to cup Barricade's array.
His panel is already open, because he figured he might as well do that when he entered the washracks, and while it was kind of arousing to wash Ironhide, it isn't like he's close to overloading. Moist may be a good description. Digits are pushed inside, and it's not an uncomfortable friction, but it isn't exactly a slick slide either, and he curls his lip-plates in semi-discomfort.
Ironhide bites his audial fin, and Barricade sqeaks at the unexpected pain, but it does send an unexpected jolt of pleasure straight to his array. Ironhide licks the fin to soothe the bite, and it's even better, making his valve clench around the intruding digits. Barricade grinds down on the servo, frame moving without his permission.
"That's it, little mech. Fucking hell, I get so revved up by taking care of business, I've been half pressurized since before I got home..." Ironhide growls, digits slipping out of Barricade's valve.
Suddenly Ironhide swivels around, grabbing Barricade's arms to spin him too, and the Mustang barely has time to register the movement before his back is smashed against the wall and Ironhide is crowding him. Barricade's spark flips over with sudden fear, and then Ironhide's arms nudge his legs apart, servos splaying on his aft to easily lift him. Barricade clings to his neck for stability, and The Topkick lines Barricade's valve up with his spike effortlessly, even supporting Barricade's weight, and then he slams inside.
Barricade mewls, because that spike is still thick and long, and the angle makes the head mash his ceiling node in a way he has never experienced before, and he can't quite tell if it feels good or uncomfortable.
"Yeah, take it just like that. Primus, you're still pretty fucking tight." Ironhide grunts as he starts thrusting, pelvic plating pressing against Barricade's anterior node with every harsh thrust.
Barricade is feeling small and helpless where he's held up with his back against the wall, but at the same time, the way Ironhide is pounding into him, the way he's filled up, the way the ridges on that massive spike is sliding over the nodes inside his valve...
He suddenly overloads with a surprised wail, arching his back as much as he can where he's pinned between the wall and the massive Topkick. It brings Ironhide over too. With a deep growl, the mech slams in deep, hot spurts of transfluid painting the insides of Barricade's valve.
Barricade feels spent and strutless when Ironhide lets him slide to the floor, the water still pelting down on them.
"Dry up and get on the berth. I've got a few more loads in me." Ironhide rumbles.
Chapter Text
There's a lot of things he doesn't like with his new life, but the mornings? The mornings are nice.
For being so fond of high grade, and astro-weed, and fucking all night long, Hide isn't lazy about getting up in the morning. The Topkick usually gets up well before noon, leaving the fucked out Interceptor alone in the large bed to recharge for a few more hours.
The Saleen comes out of recharge slowly, lazily stretching his frame. The soft, imported, organic sheets slide luxuriously against his plating, and even if it's past noon, he indulges in the comfort of the soft berth, pushing his face into the fluffy pillow instead of getting up, the sybaritic self-gratification making his intake pull into a rare smile. It's not like he has anywhere he needs to be anyway, nothing he has to do, except for taking a long, hot shower, and getting some energon, then he'll go back to berth and smoke weed, and watch movies all day.
So you're not going to talk to Jazz today either?
Jazz probably hasn't come out of recharge yet.
Excuses, excuses. Coward.
Barricade pushes that thought away — he has been avoiding the Solstice, procrastinating the conversation they need to have to clear the air — in favor of thinking about more pleasant things.
If he'd still been a cop, he probably would've been working by now; chased out of the warmth of his berth several hours ago, roused by the hostile blaring of the alarm clock, needing the kick of heated energon to get his processor going, and force himself to head out into the cold dampness of pre-dawn. Not carelessly lounging in the most luxurious berth he has ever planted his aft in, without any obligations what so ever.
Except at night, when he's expected to pay for his newly acquired rock and roll lifestyle. With his valve.
Whore.
Chapter Text
"There are some things you need to adjust with your attitude, Barricade."
The Saleen is sitting on Ironhide's berth, waiting for the mech to finish whatever he's doing on his data pad and get on with the night's fucking. He looks questioningly at the big mech, waiting for him to elaborate.
"While your reactions when finally in the sack are nothing short of delightful, you don't really invite to fragging. You don't exactly make me feel welcome and wanted."
Isn't it enough that he spreads his legs whenever Hide wants him to, that he goes along with whatever the thug asks for? That he doesn't try to hide when things do feel good? Does he really need to pretend to want it, just to stroke the mech's ego? He's doing well enough, and the Topkick knows it, he's just being an aft.
"Because you're not."
The Topkick heaves a sighing vent. "I'm not forcing you to be here. You can leave whenever you want, you know."
Like he truly has an option.
"You have everything you need here, and the only thing I ask for in return — what any of us ask for when we pick someone to share our berth — is to feel appreciated and wanted for providing that. To feel like at least some of the care I invest in my mechs is returned, and that you are happy to have me."
"Providing?! You do realize that it's your whores who pay for this, don't you?! Why should I appreciate you for that?!" Barricade scoffs. Care? Like the brute cares about anything other than sticking his cock in a wet valve every night.
Ironhide's face-plates harden.
"Trust me, I do have many other sources of income that is far more profitable than the streetwalker business. And you are not really making any money at all right now, so acting like you want me is a fairly small price to pay for sleeping in a comfortable berth, drinking my energon, washing up in my washracks, smoking my pot, and being kept out of jail, now isn't it? Consider it a bit of customer service, if you absolutely have to think about this as nothing but a business transaction. You really want me to find you interesting enough to come back for seconds..."
Barricade doesn't answer but he can't stop himself from making a grimace.
"You have no fucking idea how lucky you are to be here, do you?"
Chapter Text
Lucky indeed, spreading his legs for the neighborhood pimp. He crosses his arms and stares stubbornly at the wall, unable to force himself to even look at the Topkick.
"There's plenty of others doing the same thing as I do, but with far less palatable methods. Or how about being homeless, and starving, and that parole board just waiting for an opportunity to throw you back behind bars for a long time? But you're free to try your luck elsewhere if you'd rather want that. I'm not forcing you to stay."
He just want a real job, and some of his dignity back, he just wants to wake up from this fucking nightmare, back in his own apartment, and he'll flush his stash of drugs, and he's never going to even look at a pleasurebot again — except for bringing them in and putting them away. He'll rescue a cyberhound and start to collect crystals to keep occupied. He pinches a sensory relay in his arm to wake up. But alas, he's already awake, and this conversation is really happening.
Ironhide takes his silence as a capitulation. He throws something that lands on the berth next to the Interceptor.
"Use that if you can't get wet by yourself. Go get ready in the washracks, and come back when you're ready to convince me that you want me to frag you." His tone is harsh and demanding, as if he's tired of the Saleen acting like a spoiled brat, and Barricade's spark speeds up with an apprehension he hasn't really felt around the mech before.
There' an uglier side to Ironhide that he hasn't really thought much about, because he hasn't seen it himself. Hide didn't get to be the leader of an organization like this by being nice through and through, and he did come home smeared with energon. He knows this, he just prefers to not think about it too closely.
Numbly, he grabs the bottle Ironhide threw to him, looking at it as he slowly crawls off the berth. The humiliation burns his faceplates when he turns it over to read the label.
Synthetic lubricant
Chapter Text
As soon as the door to the washracks close behind him, Barricade sinks to the floor, curling into a ball, and starts to sob hysterically. His vents hitch and rattle with distress, and he swallows repeatedly to stifle the need to purge.
He can't do this. It's one thing to give up his frame — even to show his honest reactions to what Ironhide does with him — but it's a whole different thing to act like he wants it to happen before the fact.
But his options are very limited, and he's not keen on spending another night in an alley somewhere, and risk being mugged, or so much worse. He wraps his arms around himself in a futile attempt to find some comfort.
The worst part is that Ironhide is right. Barricade knows very well from his line of work about the mech smugglers, and the traffickers, and the pimps who really are nothing but slavers, he knows that many pleasurebots are kept in line with brute force or forced drug addiction. But logically knowing that is just cold comfort, because it's still something elusive he hasn't really seen up close in real life — as a regular patrol officer, he never worked with the task forces against organized crime — while the bottle of lubricant, and the demand for customer service is all too real.
He had everything he needed, had a real job, and was respected, and now he's nothing, he has nothing, and the only thing keeping him from being a guttermech, starving in a dirty, cold alley, is if he manages to convince a pimp that he really wants to be fucked by him.
Barricade stays there — curled up on the plush rug that makes the heated floor even more comfortable, another mocking reminder of how he has nothing, and yet he has access to so much more luxuries than when he had a good job — for half an hour, wallowing in his self pity. Eventually, he can't justify staying any longer though, and he forces himself to get up, grabbing the hated bottle that he dropped like it was on fire as soon as he was out of sight of Ironhide.
Mechanically, he opens his panel, pouring a hefty amount of the slick substance on his servo, and then he dips his digits inside to slick his unaroused valve. Pulling out again, he slips his digits through his folds, and he twitches when he passes over his anterior node, the slick making it feel good. Barricade flicks it a couple of times, and he feels his array heating up, his valve-lips getting puffier.
That has to do.
With a deep vent to steel himself, he swallows his pride, and steps back into the berthroom.
Chapter Text
The Topkick looks up from his data pad when Barricade enters, appraising his frame. Barricade plasters on what he hopes is a sultry smirk, even though it feels more like a stiff grimace, and then he walks over to stand in front of Ironhide. The Saleen looks the mech up and down, and he leans in to drag his digits along Ironhide's cannon. Hide's engine revs. It's clearly a sensitive spot on the mech's frame. Barricade makes a note of that.
"It's so big." He purrs, flicking his optics up to meet Ironhide's gaze. "Got some other big components that I can play with?"
Ironhide grins up at him, clearly approving of Barricade's adjustment of attitude. The Topkick pops his panel and pressurizes his spike. "Good enough for you? Maybe you should have a taste? You havent done that yet."
A taste?! Ugh.
With an even more strained smile, Barricade sinks down to kneel between Ironhide's pedes. He leans forward, grabbing the spike that bobs proudly in front of him, and hesitantly licks the tip of it. Ironhide groans, and Barricade is thankful for the position where the Topkick can't se the face he makes when he tastes the pre-transfluid. He sucks the head of the spike into his intake, working his glossa around it, trying to guess what to do.
Is this what the pleasurebots felt like when he demanded a blowjob for not taking them in? Degraded, dirty, and used...
"Ah, yes, like that." Ironhide hisses when he licks one of the ridges. "I don't mind if you play with yourself while you do this."
It's not really a request or a demand, but it can't hurt to do it anyway, even if Barricade is disgusted, and not aroused. He slips one servo between his thighs and starts to toy with himself. It's not something he really has done before either, but from the nights he has spent with Ironhide, he has learned that he enjoys to have his node stimulated, and that there's a spot inside him, so he flicks his node, because it's the easiest thing to reach.
A big servo lands on the back of his helm, not pushing, just resting there, but it really feels like a dominant gesture he can't say he likes. Barricade tries to ignore it, focusing on getting the Topkick off as quickly as possible, taking note of what the big mech seems to like for future reference.
It's disgusting that his functioning has come to circle around knowing how to get a mech off.
Chapter Text
"That's enough of that. I want you to ride me."
Barricade's spark sinks, because for as disgusting the prospect of swallowing a load of transfluid is, it'll be much harder to pretend to like this when he's facing Ironhide. He still gets up from the floor and straddles the big mech's legs. The Topkick's servos come up to rest on his hips, but he doesn't do more than that, and at first, Barricade is bewildered by it.
"Go ahead, it's all yours."
Ironhide wants him to take it of his own accord.
Barricade reaches between them and grabs the thick spike, lifting off to give himself room to line it up, and then he sinks down on Ironhide's cock. A gasp leaves his vocalizer, because his earlier toying with his node did make him charged, and the ridged thing does stimulate sensitive nodes inside him in a very pleasant way.
"Good little mech. You're so pretty when you allow yourself to enjoy the things we do." Ironhide murmurs.
Enjoys it, like a little slut. It does feel good physically, but he still doesn't want this.
The Mustang leans forward, pressing his face against Ironhide's shoulder, nipping and licking at cables and wires to hide the derisive face he isn't able to keep himself from making, and then he starts to bounce on the Topkick's lap. Ironhide bucks up to meet him, pushing in deep, and Barricade groans, because it does feel so very good in that way he hates. The servos on his hips tighten, and the big mech starts to lift and drop him, helping him to keep the rhythm, grunting as his overload is nearing.
He won't overload from just this.
Barricade hesitates, because on one servo, he doesn't want to get off on fucking the pimp, but on the other, the only one losing if he is left high and dry when Ironhide finishes is himself. He reaches between his legs and starts to circle his node with one digit, the slickness making it feel so good.
"That's right, take your pleasure." Ironhide groans, bright optics locked on where Barricade is working himself.
He overloads.
With a quiet mewl, frame stiffening, his hips jerk uncontrollably, and Barricade comes while Ironhide takes full control of pacing the thrusts into his soaked valve. The Topkick bucks up to slide into him to the hilt through his overload, and then he overloads too, pressing Barricade down on his length. The Interceptor tilts forward, resting his helm on Ironhide's shoulder, fans spinning rapidly to cool his frame, and for a few moments — when he's satisfied, and spent, and his processor is muzzy with post-facing bliss — he feels comfortably relaxed in Hide's lap. He breathes in the familiar scent of heated plating and expensive polish that is distinctly Ironhide. The mech smells so good, smells like home, because this is what the berth smells like when he wakes up every morning, warm, safe, and comfortable.
Then he realizes what he's doing, and the self derision sets in.
Chapter Text
"I'm sorry for being a slaghelm. It's just... I'm still struggling with dealing with this, and you confronted me with truths — some of them very ugly to realize about myself — and I handled it badly."
"Mhm."
"That you already were a pleasurebot was an incredibly bad excuse. But I had never thought about what I did as a form of assault, and I got defensive, because I really don't want to be a... I don't want to be a rapist, and relizing that that's what I did was.... ugh. And that I did it to you without even realizing? The mech I like? I'm so fucking sorry, Jazz."
Not that he wants to be convicted for more crimes than he already has on his rap sheet, but it's kind of unsettling that for all the footage they had gathered as evidence, not a single point about the assaults he committed was even discussed as a charge. And they were right there, on high resolution video! And now he's the one in a position where things could go much further than he can agree with, and there's definitely no laws protecting him. Or at least, the laws won't make any difference at all.
"Well, I already forgave ya for tha coercion. I know ya ain't a bad mech, not in your spark. What pissed me off was tha way ya just dismissed me, how obvious it was that ya saw me as somethin' less worthy than you. I'm a whore, n' that's that, but ya think ya're too good ta do it? Like I'm lower than you." Jazz's voice hitches at the end, as if the most painful part of it really was finding out that Barricade thought that whoring was good enough for Jazz but not good enough for him.
It probably was.
"I can't say that I have come to terms with this, with my new role, I'm not going to lie to you about that. But I don't consider you less of a person than me. Before I was arrested, I was hoping that I could provide for you, that I could take you out of there. But here we are now..."
"Here we are."
"You still mean a lot to me, Jazz, I really like you."
"I do like ya too, Barricade. We can't be exclusive for obvious reasons, but I don' think it'll be a problem. What we can have is deeper than just exclusive facin'."
"Yeah. So... you want to 'face now? I... uhm, I missed being with you." Barricade says sheepishly, because it sounds bad, even if what he's really after is the intimacy of interfacing with someone out of his own free will.
"Thought ya'd never ask!" Jazz snorts, both amused and annoyed.
"Do you," the Saleen breaks of, gathering his courage, "ah, do you want to spike me? I never even thought about that, I just took for granted that you were a valve mech, since you always offered your valve. And I really want you to spike me."
Jazz tackles the Interceptor, smirking wickedly when he pins him to the mattress. "I'd love ta spike ya."
Chapter Text
He isn't unfamiliar with how it can feel to use his valve. Barricade has learned that he can derive a lot of pleasure form having it skillfully stimulated. It's still different when Jazz does it, because there's no warring emotions about this, he really wants to do it.
Jazz slips his digits through Barricade's folds, and he's going slicker by the second, heat pooling in his array quicker than he ever has experienced before. One of his servos is still pinned to the mattress, but Barricade's attention is on the way Jazz toys with his anterior node; slow, teasing touches that is light enugh to make him want to grind against that servo to get more friction. Jazz nips and licks at his chest-plates, lapping at his headlights and lightly biting his grill, and Barricade is embarrassed by how quickly he is getting revved up.
Jazz probably notices, because he starts to kiss his way up to Barricade's neck, nibbling at the cables and wires, and Barricade arches his back, pressing up against Jazz's frame.
"Oh, baby, ya're so needy." Jazz murmurs.
Barricade doesn't even have time to come up with an ineloquent answer, because Jazz leans in to capture his intake in a kiss, and Barricade eagerly responds.
He missed Jazz so fucking much, more than he realized.
Digits slide into his soaked valve, and he moves against that servo, moaning into Jazz's mouth, because the Solstice expertly finds the spot inside him that makes his valve clench around those digits.
Barricade is already racing towards the edge when Jazz pulls his digits out, breaking the kiss to dip down to press his lip-plates against Barricade's neck.
"Please, Jazz, don't stop..." He whimpers.
"I ain't stoppin' darlin'. Jus' gonna give you somethin' even better..."
Chapter Text
Jazz nudges Barricade's legs farther apart, and the Saleen looks down to see Jazz stroking his spike, and he's entranced by the component he has never seen before.
It's a pretty component; silver, with black and white highlighting the ridges, a few softly glowing blue LEDs accentuating the length. Jazz has clearly gone through the effort of having it modified, even if it probably sees far less use than his valve. Then the time for admiration is over, because Jazz lines it up and sinks into his valve instead, and a chill of pleasure travels up Barricade's back-struts.
Jazz's spike is smaller than Ironhide's, but Barricade doesn't find it lacking. On the contrary, it feels very good inside him, the ridges stimulating his inside nodes in a delicious way, and instinctively, he wraps his legs around Jazz's hips to urge him to go deeper, faster... anything.
"Take it easy, babe, I gotcha!" Jazz purrs, voice sinful amusement.
"More, more, please!" Barricade mewls, because he's still pretty close, and still nowhere close enough, and he needs...
Jazz starts to thrust in an almost languorous pace, long, slow strokes, bottoming out with every thrust, and Barricade curls his back to meet him, to get him as deep as possible. Jazz's pelvic plating pushes against his node every time he surges forward, and it's building Barricade's charge.
"Ya know, I'd really like it if ya'd get on top. Would ya allow me ta show ya something?"
"Yes-yes-yes, just make me overload soon." Barricade says.
"Ya're so impatient!" Jazz snickers.
He grabs Barricade's hips and rolls them, spike still hilted in the Interceptor, and Barricade finds himself straddling the stretched out Jazz instead.
"There. Now, ya just rock back n' forth, rub yarself against me. That'll feel so good for us both." Jazz says, pushing and pulling on Barricade's hips to show him what he means and set a pace.
The movement is easy to get into and find a rhythm, and Barricade gasps as his node is rubbed against Jazz's plating. It doesn't take long to find the right amount of pressure, and the angle that really gets his node in the best way.
It's so much better than bouncing up and down, stimulates him in all the right places, and spares the hydraulics in his legs. It's definitely his new favorite position.
Barricade grabs ahold of the plating on Jazz's chest, rubbing himself furiously against his lover, chasing his overload.
"I'm gonna cum soon if ya don' slow down." Jazz warns in a strained voice.
"I'm close too."
Under him, Jazz tenses and bucks up when he overloads, and Barricade grinds down harder, rubbing himself against Jazz until he too tumbles over the edge. He tips forward, fans spinning furiously, and buries his face in Jazz's neck.
"Ya good, babe?"
"Perfect." He mumbles dopily against Jazz's neck-cables.
Chapter Text
"So, how 'bout round two?"
Barricade onlines one optic to peer at Jazz, finding the Solstice grinning cheekily at him. He grinds against Barricade's thigh, and sure enough, his spike is hard again. They've been cuddling for a while, but it's still impressive that he's ready to go again already.
"Already?"
"What can I say, ya're just that hot. I'll do all tha work, n' ya can just enjoy yarself."
What they just did was very satisfying, but Barricade isn't opposed to another round. And Jazz's promise of doing all the work is tempting.
"Sounds good."
"Lay on your front."
Barricade stretches out, and Jazz nudges his legs apart, digits sliding into the Mustang's sloppy valve, still wet with lubricant and transfluid. Then he lines up and slides inside, bracing himself on his knees and one elbow, chest rubbing against Barricade's back when he starts thrusting. Barricade arches his back to give Jazz better access, enjoying the slick slide of a spike in his valve. Jazz's arm snakes between him and the mattress, and clever digits search out his anterior node. Barricade's hips jerk with approval of their own accord, and he grunts into the pillow.
"Feelin' good?"
"Yeah. Really good."
Jazz nibbles Barricade's shoulder-wing, and the Interceptor hisses with surprised pleasure. He did not expect that, and the added stimulation, ramps his charge higher.
So many things that feel good at once; inside him, against his node, his sensitive wing...
Barricade doesn't even notice how he's starting to push back against Jazz, to meet every lazy thrust into him. All he knows is that he's getting closer to an overload, and that he really wants to tip over the edge again.
"Ya're so hot when ya're enjoyin' yarself. So fuckin' sexy when ya let go like this." Jazz murmurs in his audial.
The only answer Barricade gives is an incohereent mewl, because he's teetering on the edge of overload, entire frame going stiff as he waits for that last touch that'll release him.
Then finally his valve starts to pulse around Jazz's spike, and with a drawn out moan, hips pumping in the same rhythm as his valve contracts, Barricade finally overloads. He hears the grunt, and he feels when Jazz bites his shoulder-wing slightly too hard, but he just goes lax under his lover, allowing Jazz to collapse on top of him in post-coital bliss.
Chapter 100
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"I can't believe that for such a long time, I didn't manage to make it clear that I really want you. How could we fail so spectacularly at communicating?" Barricade muses out loud.
The Saleen is still stretched out on Jazz's berth, the Solstice draped halfway on top of him, and he toys with the silver mech's shoulder tire.
Jazz has spiked him for the first time, and it felt surprisingly good. Barricade realizes that he still has some things to learn about how to please a partner when spiking them, because the stimulation Jazz was generous with, the things that actually were what made him overload, isn't something he would do. He'd always just fragged a mech and counted on that being enough.
"Not ta point digits, but ya never said anythin'. I mean, If ya'd said that ya wanted me for yourself, that ya liked me, I might've actually believed it. But ya just picked me up, n' paid for a room, n' fuel, n' for a long time, I jus' thought ya wanned ta control me. Ya gave me all those things, of course ya wanned sex in return. N' I was indebted to ya, so I didn' think I had a choice, or ya'd turn me in. N' if ya suddenly didn' set me up with a room n' fuel one day, would ya be mad that I screwed someone else ta get money enough? So many practicalities were goin' through my mind, I didn' even think about tha possibility that ya actually liked me."
"I should've invited you to my place. What the fuck was I thinking, always hanging out in motels? I wanted to get you off the streets, I wanted to be with you. I should've brought you home."
"Yeah, that would've gone a long way ta convince me. But ya know what? It doesn' matter anymore. That time is gone, those chances are in tha past. Let's jus' go forward. Let's make tha most of what we can have now."
Yay. Make the most of both being whores, living in a brothel, allowed by their nice pimp to frag and cuddle during the day, just to spend the night's in someone else's berth, selling their frames.
Notes:
100 chapters! Where did all this time go? :o
Chapter Text
He has mainly stayed in Ironhide's or Jazz's rooms — with Jazz during the days, spending the nights with Hide — avoiding to socialize with the other mechs much, but he should've known that he couldn't keep that up forever.
"Come on, let's go downstairs." Ironhide rumbles when Barricade steps out of the washracks, already standing by the door.
Barricade freezes like a turbo deer. "L-like this?" He stutters, because after he dried himself, he made sure that he is slick, and he left his panel open.
"Hm. I do like the view," Hide leers, and Barricade's tank drops, "but I'll leave that up to you tonight."
There's no hesitation; the Saleen slams his panel shut immediately. Hide looks slightly disappointed, but he just holds his arm out, and Barricade lets himself be tucked under it as they leave the room. His spark spins nervously, because while they have not renegotiated their deal, it's not like he has much leverage if Ironhide decides that now is the time to push the limits.
"We're having a party. My suggestion is that you try to relax and enjoy it. Have some fun, get to know the other mechanisms a little. You might find that you actually like it. There's a lot of good people here."
He doubts that, but no matter how much he wants to sulk in the corner, Hide probably won't let him.
They descend the stairs to find the rec room buzzing with mechs, more than he has ever seen here before. He recognizes some of the pleasuremechs — all of them newly polished, and there's more of the brothers than usual gathered. The high grade seems to be flowing, there's bowls of cy-gars everywhere, and everyone seems relaxed and enjoying the party.
"So, what are we celebrating?"
"Sunny has finally been released. It has been a very long process, with numerous appeals, and he has been in AdSeg for the duration of the debacle, but now it's finally over, and he's a free mech." Hide explains, handing him a cube and a cyg without letting go of Barricade.
The Saleen nods, taking a deep swig of the high grade, not at all calmed by the explanation.
Chapter 102
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Finally we get another look at your sweet aft." Nitro purrs in his audial, patting said aft.
Barricade swivels around, not prepared for suddenly having the big mech so close. Hide has just let go of him and turned the other way for a couple of seconds, speaking to someone.
They're like sharkticons, smelling a fresh prey, and he's the wounded cyberlamb that fell overboard, fresh plating for the picking.
"What do you say, little mech, want to have some fun?" Nitro rumbles and curls a servo around his hip.
What the frag is he supposed to say? Hide said that he doesn't have to, but if he don't volunteer, then maybe there will be a renegotiation and he will be obligated anyway?
"But I just came here?" He tries, sounding so weak and insecure, and small and ridiculous. "And I'm with Hide?"
"Aaw, but we could just go for a quickie." The big mech pouts. "You know, get back here as soon as we've scratched that itch."
Not that he's is feeling particularly itchy right now, but when has that mattered lately?
"I just want to mingle for a while. Get to know more people." Get drunk as fuck before he's going to have to let someone have his frame.
"You'd get to know me better..."
"Cool your thrusters, Nitro. If he doesn't want to, he doesn't have to." Ironhide butts into the conversation, and Barricade has never been more grateful for the thug's presence.
"I know, I know. A mech can still try to suggest things, right? This one really has such a sweet little aft. Can't wait for open season." Nitro rumbles, cocking his optic ridge at Barricade. "I'll show you what fun really means."
"Sure can suggest, but he's still mine." Hide says before turning back to Barricade. "Come on, lets take a seat."
The arm is back across his shoulders, and it feels safer when he's tugged along to one of the couches. Ironhide lights Barricade's cygar, and hands him another cube of high grade.
"Let's get some entertainment over here, shall we?" Without waiting for Barricade's answer, he lets out a sharp whistle, and waves a couple of mechs over.
Pressing into Ironhide's side without even realizing it, Barricade quickly downs half the cube before taking a deep drag on the cyg.
Notes:
To everyone celebrate something today: happy holidays, and Merry Christmas!
Chapter Text
"'ello, Ironhide," Crosshairs purrs, leaning a servo against the Topkick's thigh, the tips of his digits teasing Ironhide's interface plate, "wha' can we do ye fer tonight? I'm gettin'all wet just lookin' at ye." His lip-plates ghost Ironhide's in an almost-kiss when he speaks.
"How about a little demonstration for starters? You know what I enjoy seeing, so you are free to come up with something fun."
Crosshairs hums in pleased amusement. "I think I 'ave an idea or two." Then he licks Ironhide's bottom lip-plate, trying to coax the Topkick to play along with him.
Ironhide allows Crosshairs's questing tongue to slip into his intake, answering the kiss, and Barricade looks out of the corner of his optics, one tracking the kiss, one staring at how Crosshairs' digits blatantly rubs the bigger mech's interface plate.
His other two optics are locked on the other mech, a mech he hasn't seen before. He lacks the colourful plating of Crosshairs, multicolored in an almost rusty brown and worn blue, decorated with glyphs. His entire frame looks sharp and angled, and he has eight bright red optics. Barricade pointedly does not look closer at how his interface panel is left open. The mech's toothy intake pulls into a smirk, then he leans in close to Barricade.
"So you're the reason the big boss has been... unavailable all night for weeks. Can't say I blame him; you're so damned pretty. I'm Dreadbot." His voice is sultry and inviting.
"B-Barricade." The Saleen stutters in a squeaky voice, because apparently, Dreadbot prefers to greet mechs by toying with the plating on the inside of the mech's thigh, instead of just shaking servos.
"It will be a pleasure to... get to know you."
Barricade's vents hitch when the innuendo is followed by a glossa slowly sliding along his helm-fin before Dreadbot straightens to look down at Barricade, smirk still in place.
"Enjoy the show." He says, momentarily offlining four of his optics in a wink, servos reaching for Crosshairs, who's still making out with Ironhide.
Chapter Text
Dreadbot folds back his sharp denta to form supple lip-plates instead, and Crosshairs meets him in a kiss that would border on lewd and lascivious behavior if they had been in public; all battling glossa and wandering servos. And that's even before taking the rubbing of their bare arrays against each other's thighs with grinding rolls of their hips into account.
Barricade is almost embarrassed to look, because it does feel like something he shouldn't be watching, but he can't even force himself to look away, because it's such an arousing display, his optics seem glued to the two mechs. They're completely shameless, unaffected by the optics following their every move, fields extended and openly aroused.
"They really do know how to enjoy themselves." Ironhide murmurs in his audial, and Barricade still can't tell if it's a barb.
He just nods, optics still riveted to the mechs making out in front of him, mind too preoccupied to linger on what the Topkick means.
"On the table?" Crosshairs murmurs, smirking against Dreadbot's lips.
"Table's fine." Ironhide answers, reminding Barricade of who's really in charge of this perverted little show.
Dreadbot takes a seat on the edge of the table, legs spread to give them perfect view of his bare array, and then he reclines to lean on his elbows. Crosshairs takes a seat next to him, servo slowly sliding down ventral plating towards the other mech's puffy valve-lips, while he leans in to lick along a seam in Dreadbot's chest-plates.
He really shouldn't look, and he really, really shouldn't get aroused by what these pleasurebots are doing for their pimp. But he's unable to stop himself.
Chapter Text
There's something utterly delectable about the way Dreadbot lets his helm fall back, intake opening in a quiet gasp that is anything but insincere, when Crosshairs digits explore his folds with deliberate slowness. The black and green mech throws a lascivious smirk their way as he flicks Dreadbot's node, the other mech moaning loudly.
Barricade distractedly takes another deep swig of his high grade, as if that would be enough to give him the strength to look away from the blatant display of an act that should be so very private.
Is that what it looks like when Ironhide toys with his array? No wonder why the Topkick seems to enjoy to play with him, and stare at what he's doing; it's so fucking hot.
Absentmindedly, Barricade closes the information pop-up about the increase in speed of his cooling fans, and takes another drag on his cyg, just to occupy himself with something.
As if physically doing something else would absolve him from the guilt of taking pleasure in watching this brand of "entertainment." Sure, he has been to clubs before, but this is different, and not just because the clubs followed the rules, and no show ever went this far. Those mechs worked there of their own free will. Here, they're all owned by Ironhide, right?
Those thoughts are forgotten when Crosshairs' digits slip into Dreadbot's valve, and Barricade's optics are riveted to how they disappear between plump valve-lips, just to emerge again, glistening with lubricant. The noise Dreadbot does when the digits slide inside again is unadulterated want and unashamed pleasure, and his field flares in an enticing way that's new to Barricade, but it sends another wave of confusing heat to his own valve nonetheless.
Is he really the sort of mech who enjoys bottoming for others? Will he be the one being fingered in public the next time? Will he be the one doing the pleasuring? Will he enjoy it?
Chapter Text
Ironhide's servo slides up the inside of his thigh, a ghost of a touch against his heated plating, digits stopping just inches before they reach Barricade's interface plate. Barricade shifts to get it higher without thinking about it, unconsciously wanting something to relieve the throbbing that's turning into an ache. As if his frame is jealous of the attention Dreadbot's array is getting.
He's definitely slick behind his still closed panel now, his frame is getting too hot, and he can't tear his optics away from the pair of mechs having a good time on the table.
They clearly enjoy this, fields aroused and reaching out to mingle with Barricade's in a clear invitation, and his field latches on to Ironhide's too, the Topkick clearly turned on and unashamed about it. It's hard not to be reeled into it, get dragged under by the staggering amount of arousal assaulting him.
The high grade is getting to his helm, the astro-weed certainly isn't helping and Barricade's panel pops open without permission as he grinds against those digits that hasn't made any moves yet, just hovered there to allow him to decide if he wants to take his own pleasure or not.
Lubricant dribbles out, gathered to pool behind the plate already, and it obscenely runs down his aft to stain the couch, and he's somehow vaguely mortified without really being able to care when cooler air finally reaches his uncomfortably hot and swollen valve-lips.
"Want us te show ye a good time, Cade?" Crosshairs asks, bright optics locked on Barricade's bare valve, fingers still pumping into Dreadbot's wet valve. "Ye look like ye could need some release..."
Does he? They're in the middle of the room, there's a party going on around him, but somehow that feels so distant, as if the other mechs are behind a screen and can't see, won't notice, and he's so revved up, valve hot and swollen, pulsing with an aching need...
"Yes, please!"
Chapter Text
Crosshairs stops playing with Dreadbot and kneels between Barricade's pedes instead. He smirks up at the Interceptor when he cups Barricade's aft and pulls him closer to the edge of the seat.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Barricade squeaks.
"Relax and just enjoy it. Cross is really good at what he does." Ironhide murmurs in his audial, digits stroking Barricade's headlight.
Crosshairs pushes Barricade's thighs farther apart, exposing his array, and the Saleen swallows nervously. Dreadbot slithers up next to him, one servo toying with Barricade's shoulder-wing, the other teasing the seams in his chest-plates, but the Mustang's attention is still on Crosshairs when the black and green mech leans forward...
Swiping his glossa through Barricade's wet slit!
The Interceptor mewls at the contact, unprepared for it. Dreadbot leans in to nibble his neck-cables, and it's so much sensation at once, Barricade doesn't know what to focus on. Crosshairs starts to flick Barricade's node with his glossa, Dreadbot expertly finds sensor relays and sensitive wiring beneath his plating, and Barricade's charge is skyrocketing. Evereything else falls away, and he's reduced to a trembling, mewling mess, racing towards release, that sweet edge he just want to throw himself over as quickly as he can.
A single digit slips into him, slowly teasing with light caresses, and it's nowhere near enough. He grinds down against it, but Crosshairs backs off, lapping the rim of Barricade's valve instead of his node.
The Saleen growls in frustration, and it earns him a chuckle from Dreadbot.
"You wan't more?" Dreadbot purrs.
"Yes!" Isn't that obvious?
"What do you want?"
Suddenly, he's flustered, because dirty talk isn't something Barricade is used to engaging in. Well, except for the degrading kind he used to spew when fucking hookers. Asking for what he wants them to do with his valve is a very different thing. He doesn't even really know himself.
"I... more! Keep doing that, I want to overload."
"So ye don' want somethin' bigger in this soaked pussy of yers?" Crosshairs asks, slowly sliding another digit into Barricade's valve.
It feels so good with the stretch, with something for his calipers to clench around. Maybe he does? But he really likes what they're doing, the barrage of pleasurable input. But something bigger inside him would feel so good...
"I do, but please don't stop with the other things you're doing."
"Good answer." Dreadbot murmurs in his audial, a smirk in his voice.
Chapter 108
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"So how about we let the big boss provide the cock and Cross and I keep taking care of you?"
What?
"H-how do you mean?"
Crosshairs is still pumping his digits into Barricade's valve, circling his node with a deft thumb, and it's just too hard to try to figure things out by himself.
"You could take a ride and let us handle the rest."
Barricade's optics brighten, because he had actually forgotten that Ironhide was sitting right beside him. He whips his helm around to find the massive Bot watching him with bright optics, langorously stroking his spike. Crosshairs stops playing with his valve, and Barricade whimpers at the loss.
"All yours if you want it." Hide rumbles, voice laced with static.
Whether he wants it or not. But Barricade is intoxicated, and revved higher than he has been in a long time, and for the first time he really wants to have something inside him, filling him up in that way that actually feels kind of good. Might as well take Hide's cock now and get something out of it.
Barricade swings around to straddle the Topkick's thighs, his valve drooling lubricant over the mech's plating.
"Good choice." Dreadbot purrs in his audial before turning his attention to licking and sucking at Barricade's neck-cables, one servo finding his shoulder-wing again.
Barricade rolls his hips, making the head of Ironhide's spike slip through his slick folds, and then he grinds down to get it inside. Behind him, Crosshairs leans in to nip at his other shoulder-wing, one of his servos sliding down Barricade's ventral plating to where the Interceptor and the Topkick are joined, deft digit continuing to stroke Barricade's node. Dreadbot plucks with wires and cables on Barricade's frame, quickly mapping out his sensitive spots, and Barricade rides Ironhide quickly, racing towards his overload at a pace he might've found embarrassing, had he had the wherewithal to think about it.
"Ye're so ho' like this." Crosshairs murmurs in his audial, still working Barricade's node with his digits.
It takes no more than a few more flicks of his node for Barricade to overload. With a loud warble, he grinds down on Ironhide's spike, and Crosshairs' digit, and rides it out, valve contracting around that spike.
Frame going lax, he tips forward, resting his helm against Ironhide's chest-plates while he catches his vents, fans spinning on full speed.
Notes:
Happy New year to everyone who celebrates that! May 2020 be a prosperous year, with lots of awesome fics!
Edit: I'm leaving this note here just to let everyone have a laugh at me, because apparently new year's Eve is tommorow.🙈 In my defense, I had just woken up and not gotten any coffee...
Chapter 109
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
While he's completely spent, Ironhide's spike is still hard inside him. Barricade is vaguely aware of how it's probably rude to stop before Ironhide has overloaded too, but for long seconds, he's too blissed out to care. Then he's rudely reminded of where they are.
"I'll give him 5 for initiative, 9 for eagerness, but the overall impression only gets a 6 for lack of stamina." Nitro Zeus rumbles to Ironhide.
Ironhide barks a laugh, bucking up into the still limp — but now also mortified Interceptor — who's hiding his face against Ironhide's chest-plates.
Nitro saw, and he just doesn't want to know exactly how big an audience they have.
"So, Daddy... May I 'ave the honor te finish ye?" Crosshairs purrs to Ironhide.
"You did so well, that was so hot." Dreadbot murmurs in Barricade's audial. "C'mon, let's watch Cross take care of the boss."
He's helped from Ironhide's lap and plunks down on the couch next to Ironhide. His thighs and array are still wet and slick of his lubricant, but he can't find it in himself to care, not when he's physically still feeling so good after his overload — while simultaneously wanting to melt through the couch from embarrassment. Dreadbot hands him another cube of high grade, and he immediately drinks half of it to occupy himself, and to take the edge off. Seeing Crosshairs licking Ironhide's plating, cleaning away Barricade's lubricant with his glossa is all too sobering, and a quick glance around the room confirms that there probably was quite a few mechs who witnessed him doing...that.
Dreadbot presses up to him, wrapping his arms around Barricade to pluck with cables and plates, and they watch Crosshairs suck Ironhide's spike into his intake, eagerly bobbing his helm. Ironhide's servo comes to rest at the back of his helm.
"He can take you all the way, can't he?" Nitro Zeus rumbles from behind them, patting Hide's shoulder.
"You know it. A really good little slut."
Crosshairs mewls around the spike in his intake, and Nitro barks a laugh at the attempted confirmation.
As if to demonstrate it, Ironhide bucks up, pushing Crosshairs helm deeper until his nasal ridge nudges Ironhide's pelvic plating. Crosshairs moans, and then he's obviously swallowing frantically when Ironhide overloads.
Barricade feels his lips curl with disgust.
He really enjoyed getting blowjobs, but swallowing cum is just... Ugh.
He takes another deep swig from his high grade, trying to wash away the imagined taste of spike in his intake.
Notes:
And let's try this again, since it's the right day today! XD
Happy New year!
Chapter Text
It's his first hangover since he went to prison, and it's so much worse than he remembered it. Well, except that time in the alley, but that was different.
Barricade onlines his optics and is immediately immensely thankful for Ironhide's penchant for always having the thick curtains closed. He finds himself sprawled on his front, helm at the foot of the berth, and after he stretches, he offlines his optics again, not feeling the least ready to get up. Not even to get coolant, and judging by his helm ache, he probably needs coolant. Barricade's tank protests too, rolling queasily, but there's no way he's going to drag himself all the way to the refuelling room. Ignoring that his legs are tangled with someone's arm or leg, the helm on his lower back, and the servo on his aft, he allows his mind to go blank, slipping back into recharge. It's probably way too early anyway.
He wakes up again sometime later, and in spite of not feeling much better, he finally drags his sorry aft from the berth.
Untangling himself takes a bit of manoeuvering, but he crawls over the foot of the berth to not disturb his berth partner, and plunks down to sit on the floor to allow the room to stop spinning, and to gather the power to get into the washracks.
He needs a quick shower, and then some coolant, and maybe a pain re-router chip or two. Probably should have some low grade too.
His processor is really muzzy, so even after he stands up, it takes him far more seconds than usual to compute his optical feed into something coherent. Or maybe it's just incredulity?
Barricade doesn't even notice how his servos cover his intake in horror, his spark sinking into his tank.
There's no less than four other mechs still recharging on the berth. He's been in a fragging orgy.
Servos still covering his intake, he runs into the washracks and barely reaches the sink before he purges.
Chapter Text
He rinses his mouth and drinks some water from the faucet, knowing that he should have properly mixed coolant, but not in the mood to make even a quick run to the refuelling room. He needs a fragging shower, like, yesterday.
Barricade starts the solvent and sinks to the floor under the spray, tank still in upheaval. He reaches down to touch his array, trying to piece together what he did, even if he isn't really sure he wants to know.
Not what he did, who. Ironhide, Nitro Zeus, Crosshairs, and Dreadbot is who he did.
His valve is slippery, and there's the feeling of having been fucked last night, but that's not out of the ordinary, not these days, but he's not that sore.
The things they did on the couch, he remembers, and while the memory still make Barricade flush, he's more worried about what happened later. The Mustang remembers drinking high grade, and smoking, and Dreadbot working his frame again. Making out with Jazz? It's a heavily fragmented memory, but Barricade is certain: at some point, he was making out with Jazz. Fingering his lover. Mechs watching. Even under the cool solvent, he can feel his face-plates burning. He's no different than Crosshairs and Dreadbot.
Barricade pushes those thoughts to the side. What else. Drift passed out? Across the lap of a golden mech, who was doing stuff with the Speedster's array, digits pumping into Drift's valve. The Interceptor frowns. That's not ok. Was that what happened to him when he wound up in Hide's berth with all the others? Passed out and used...
Doing his best to not think about that, Barricade rises from the floor, starting to scrub his frame, because he feels more filthy for every second he thinks about last night.
He can ask Crosshairs later. The mech will probably tell him what happened in great detail. If he really wants to know.
Chapter Text
At least he's clean, but that doesn't really make him feel any better when he pads down the hallway and down the stairs, heading for the refuelling room. Barricade passes the recreational area, walking as quietly as he can, because there are still mechs recharging on the couches, passed out more or less on top of each other, and he doesn't feel like interacting with people he's hardly acquainted with but still might know more about what he has done than he does himself.
Thankfully, the refuelling room is empty, and Barricade digs out a bottle of coolant from the cooler, and then he grabs a cube from the cupboard, pouring half a cube of med grade. He downs in one go, grimacing at the taste, before he refills it with sweetened low grade.
Barricade turns to leave the room, but then he pauses.
He can't go back to Ironhide's room. It has been his living quarters too for his stay here, but he really doesn't feel like going back there right now and possibly face the other mechs in there.
What Barricade really wants is to drink his coolant and energon, and then go back to recharge, but where is he going to do that? Barricade knows that he could try his luck and go to Jazz's room, but he's hesitant about it.
What if Jazz isn't there? He could be in someone else's berth. Or worse, he could have company in there already.
It's not logical, because Barricade knows what Jazz does for a living, and he's painfully aware of how he's paying rent himself, but he can't help it. Seeing it first hand is something he isn't sure he can stomach right now.
But he doesn't feel like trying to find an empty couch in the rec room either, so steeling himself, Barricade grabs another bottle of coolant and a cube of energon, then he heads for Jazz's room.
Chapter Text
He knocks on the door, and there's a muffled grunt from inside the room before the door swings open. Jazz is sprawled on his berth, but thankfully, he's alone.
"Mornin'." Jazz's voice is rough, and he sounds like he just wants to go back to recharge.
"Hey. Brought you some stuff."
"Aaw, that's so sweet of ya, babe. I have pain routers in tha storage unit. Can ya grab me a couple?" Jazz asks sweetly, an impish smile in place.
Barricade opens the top drawer and spots the package. "Can I have a couple too?"
"Of course."
He grabs the entire package before he goes to sit on the berth. Jazz grabs the bottle of coolant and drinks it all in one go, while Barricade grabs a couple of routers and plugs them into his medical sockets. Jazz does the same before he even touches the energon.
"So... uhm, last night?" Barricade asks uncertainly.
He has been drunk before, but he rarely has allowed himself to get that wasted. No, he usually preferred to feel like he was still in control.
For good reasons, apparently, considering he obviously turns into a total slut when he's drunk off his aft.
"It was so wild!" Jazz says, sounding much more enthusiastic than Barricade feels. "But tha brothers always knew how ta throw a good party. I heard Cross went down on ya, ya lucky bastard. He's so fuckin' good with his mouth!"
"I-I guess he is..." Barricade stutters, thrown for a loop.
"Don' look so surprised," Jazz snickers, "jus' 'cause we sell interfacin' for a job doesn' mean we never do it for fun. I frag you, ya know. That's 'cause I like ya, 'n I wanna sleep with ya n' share a good time."
"Yeah, it's just... I'm still getting used to everything. And I don't really remember everything that happened yesterday."
Jazz pats the berth next to him, having finished his cube. Barricade sets his empty bottle on the floor next Jazz's, stretching out beside Jazz. He wraps an arm around his lover, feeling tired, and Jazz's field tells him that the other mech wants to recharge some more too.
"We had some fun, and ya primed me for Blackout. Then ya started making out with Dreadbot again when I left with Blackout, n' by tha time I came back, ya had already gone ta Hide's room.
"I don't remember that. I just remember waking up in the same berth as Ironhide, Nitro Zeus, Crosshairs, and Dreadbot." Barricade whispers weakly.
"Sounds like an interesting night. I can try ta help ya ta recover those memories later, but I wanna recharge more first." Jazz says, snuggling closer.
Well, he's not really in a hurry. Does he even want to know what he did?
Chapter Text
He reboots slowly, not feeling sick anymore, just worn in that way he remembers that he always used to get after a night of heavy drinking.
"Afternoon, babe," Jazz purrs, pressing in closer, "wanna frag?"
He has been fragging like a petrorabbit since he moved in here, and he's still a bit hung over, and all he wants to do is cuddle and slip in and out of recharge all day. How can Jazz possibly want to fuck right now?
"Is it really what you want to do?"
"I dunno. I thought ya wanned ta."
"Not right now, I'm still tired. Is it fine with you to just snuggle?" His spark spins nervously when he asks the question, and it's an alien emotion in this situation, because he always used to go for fucking, and cuddling was something that happened afterwards.
What if Jazz doesn't want him to hog half his berth, what if he wants to go find someone else who might be up for a frag?
"Cuddlin' sounds good. I like that. I jus' wasn' sure what ya wanned." He presses his lip-plates against Barricade's cheek as if to prove a point, settling in and making himself comfortable. "Ya want me ta help ya with tha memory files?"
"I don't know if I really want to know..."
"Whatever ya did, I think it's safe ta say that it ain't anythin' anyone here will raise an optical ridge at. So it's up ta ya ta decide if ya'll think more about it if ya don' know or if ya know what happened."
Does he really want to know? He can't be embarrassed about something he can't remember and relate to. But then again, he will not be able to answer if someone alludes to whatever happened.
"Can you help me with it? I think I won't ever stop wondering what happened otherwise.
"Sure thing!"
Jazz pulls out a data cable and hands it to Barricade. He takes the cable and slips the plug into the socket on one of his arms, tank tightening with nerves. Barricade grabs a bottle of coolant and drinks from it, mostly to occupy his servos, when virtual handshakes are exchanged, and he allows Jazz access to some of his files.
Chapter Text
It's almost a shock to find that he didn't interface with all the mechs he woke up with. At least not while he was conscious, but Jazz informs him that neither Ironhide, nor Nitro Zeus think it's fun to use an unresponsive mech, especially not when there's willing mechs who are still awake and eager to play. A pleasant surprise, of course, but he was so certain that he had been the center of attention, he's almost befuddled to find out he wasn't.
He feels Jazz's amusement over the connection when they check the memory files together, and see Ironhide shove Nitro Zeus onto the berth with a grin.
"Get on there, you glitch!" Ironhide growls.
The big Flier lands on his front, laughing when Crosshairs pounces on him, straddling his back. Ironhide joins the pair, but then Barricade gets distracted by Dreadbot again, and he doesn't see what the others engage in, because he's fully preoccupied with the wonderful things Dreadbot does with his digits, and with sucking and licking at every cable and wire he can reach on Dreadbot's frame.
The memories are glitchy at best due to the high grade he'd had, but they find enough for him to feel certain he wasn't tag teamed by everyone, and that's enough for Barricade to feel better.
He isn't ready for dealing with something like that, even if he wasn't unwilling to do what he did with Dreadbot.
"Ya good?"
"Yeah, much better. Thanks for the help."
"Of course, babe! Any time." Jazz says, disconnecting his cable.
"You know, I never got around to ask how you wound up here."
"With Hide?"
"Yeah. I mean, I know you told me that you were thinking about moving, but then you disappeared, and since I was released, we never really talked about that."
Come to think of it, they never really had deeper conversations at all, except when they made up after he realized what he did to Jazz.
Barricade could smack himself in the face for it.
Way to go to build a more meaningful relationship than just being fuck buddies when they are not whoring themselves out to others.
Chapter Text
"I moved, found a new area, but I didn' know it was controlled by tha Decepticons. One night, one of their pimps approached me. Said I better start payin' rent for my corner. I didn' have a lot of credits, n' I needed them for fuel. He dragged me ta their boss — Onslaught." Jazz says with a shudder. There's a slight tremble to his voice when he speaks.
Barricade hugs him, presses Jazz close to his chest in what meager comfort he can offer.
"They had a brothel, n' the deal was that I'd pay off my debt by working there for some time. I'd get energon at work, so outside of working tha brothel, I only had ta hook enough ta get money ta rent a room at a motel. It sounded fair. Tha only problem was that I had ta keep paying rent for tha corner I used ta make my rent money, so I had ta work a lot in tha brothel ta make a dent in my debt at tha same time as I was payin' tha current rent."
Which doesn't seem much worse than what Jazz is doing now, because while Ironhide provides everything, Jazz hardly makes any credits himself. And he's still fucking anyone for a living.
"One of the Cons took a likin' ta me. Brawl, a big Tank of a mech. He started out bein' pretty nice, n' I hooked up with him outside of work for a while. Turned out ta be a sadist, though. He was only satisfied when I cried n' begged him ta stop honestly, wouldn' settle for me acting. Slapped me around when I tried ta break up with him. He kept me so sore, I could hardly get through my shifts, let alone work tha corner."
"So why didn't you just move again?" Seems stupid to stay in a place like that, allowing himself to be a victim.
"I would've, if it had been an option, I mean I'm not a complete dummy!" Jazz says sharply.
He's doing it again, isn't he? Being a judgemental aft, jumping to conclusions.
Yeah, you are. Or are you liking it so much here — being a whore — you've already forgotten what hard choices life offers at some points? How it feels to do stuff you don't want to just to survive?
Shut up. He wouldn't stay if he was being abused.
Right...
Fuck you.
Chapter Text
"I tried ta leave. Got kicked outta tha motel I was stayin' at because I couldn' pay, n' I was completely broke. So I was drivin' off, thinking I could just split, n' not work for them anymore. I mean, I was gonna leave their territory, so I didn' hafta pay rent anymore, right? Turned out I was wrong. Turned a corner, almost ran right into Brawl. He dragged me back ta tha brothel. Onslaught beat me ta scrap for tryn'a run, n' then I was chained ta a berth."
Barricade can't stay still anymore. He untangles himself from Jazz, because even if his lover might need the comfort, Barricade's entire frame is crawling.
"They chained you to a berth?! What the fuck! What kind of twisted punishment is that?" He snarls as he paces the room, gesticulating wildly.
"Wasn' a punishment," Jazz says quietly, squirming in discomfort when thinking about it, "it was my new 'workin' conditions'. Made it easy for 'em ta know I wasn' runnin' away, n' jus' sell as much time with me as they saw fit. I took a lotta customers every night, no matter how sore or tired I was..."
"Who the hell would want to fuck someone like that? It had to be obvious that you didn't want it!"
He should've been there, should've kept Jazz from winding up there. It was so far beyond what he had ever imagined. He'd spent the nights when recharge eluded him wallowing in jealousy, thinking Jazz had someone new who spent his night's in Jazz's berth. All the while, his lover had been chained to a berth and raped over and over.
"Well, ya have tha sadists, they're obviously goin' ta have a field day, n' then there's tha more garden variety power-kinks. Some jus' want a hole ta stick their spikes in..."
Barricade wants to just clap his servos over his audials — because he doesn't want to hear it, wants to deny it, and he hates how bland Jazz manages to sound when he talks about it — but he doesn't, because it would just be proof of how he's constantly preoccupied with his own sensibilities.
"It did get better after a while, when they started ta keep me drugged."
Chapter Text
"Excuse me. Still hung over, need to purge." Barricade manages to grind out, swallowing repeatedly to push down the energon and coolant rising to the back of his intake.
"I'm not goin' anywhere anytime soon." Jazz mumbles, still sounding tired, but there's a suspicious waver to his voice.
Barricade manages to nod, then he hurries towards the maintenance room. He barely makes it in time, but as soon as the door slams shut behind him, he bends over the sink and purges. Leaning his forehelm against his arms, he vents unsteadily, riding out the next wave of nausea with a shudder wracking his frame, then he rinses his mouth with the water from the tap before he feels good to go back.
Jazz is still stretched out on the berth, and Barricade joins him, snuggling in close again.
"Sorry," he says a bit sheepishly, because once again, he let himself take precedence over Jazz, "you said they started to drug you?"
"Ya. Got me hooked ta heavy routers. Made it less painful ta be used so much, n' in tha ways they did, but it was just a different variety of chains. Guess who controlled tha router-trade in tha area?"
"They did." Barricade says flatly, because it isn't hard to guess.
"Yep, n' they kept me so out of it, I didn' really think 'bout runnin'. They stopped chainin' me after a while, but I still wasn' allowed ta leave tha bordello, n' they had guards at tha door at all times."
"So how did you even get out of there?"
"One of my coworkers kept ramblin' 'bout how he shouldn've left 'them', that it was better there, that he should'a behaved. First time he was brought in, he had an etching, later I learned it was the Autobrand. Berserker tore that plate clean off him without anythin' for tha pain, laughin' as he did it. Anyway, I thought it was just junkie ramblings, he was very unhinged, but he kept cryin' for Motormaster whenever we were alone. He never sobered up enough ta tell a coherent story, n' then he offlined from an overdose a few weeks later."
"So that's how you heard of the Autobots?"
"Nah, didn' know what tha brand was, n' Wildrider never mentioned them by name. He'd probably be beaten up by Onslaught if he did. I don' even know for how long I was there, but it was a very long time. Then the turf war began."
Chapter Text
"Turf war?"
"I was pretty drugged up most of tha time, but I did see injured Cons comin' in from time ta time, n' I heard of casualties. Onslaught was so pissed off 'bout it, because they lost some territory too, n' part of tha drug supply routes were cut off. I didn' care much, not 's long as they kept me on a roll."
It's both easy and hard to imagine Jazz that deep into drug abuse, because while Barricade knew that he was using a little bit of this and that back then, Jazz somehow always kept from getting too deep into his addictions.
"Then one night, the war reached us. I'd been twirlin' 'round a dance pole, runnin' on Nuke alone for so many hours, I was 'bout ta collapse. So I glanced at tha bouncer, wondering if I could sneak off for jus' a minute or two ta steal some energon n' sit down, or I'd fall into stasis. Overlord was guardin' tha door that night, a big, brutal bastard. I hated him so damned much, but as I glared at him, his fuckin' helm exploded. I freaked out, high as I was, thinking I did that." Jazz says, shuddering at the memory.
Barricade pulls him closer, gluing himself to Jazz as closely as he can.
In spite of the action he did see while he was on the force, it was never a situation like that, and he can't even begin to imagine how terrifying it would be when unarmed and high, and not clear helmed and running on emergency protocols to speed up his processor.
"Everything was quiet enough ta hear a pin drop for seconds that felt like years. Then suddenly everyone was panickin' n' screamin', n' I unfroze n' ran to tha back of tha room on pure instinct, along with all tha other pleasurebots. Tha Decepticons scrambled ta get ready ta fight, shoutin' ta each other, tryin' ta reach their brothers over comms, but the comms were jammed. It was complete chaos. So we just ran through tha door to tha backstage hallway, lined with storage n' detailin' rooms, n' a backdoor at tha end of it. Tha door was always locked — ta not give us a way ta escape — but we ran for it anyway. I was first, n' I remember swearin' ta Primus that I'd do whatever he pointed me to for tha rest of my functioning if he'd just give me this one thing, if that fuckin' door would just cooperate n' not trap me back there. I was just meters away when I heard a shot n' tha door was kicked open."
Chapter Text
"Ow!"
"Oh! Sorry, Jazz. Didn't mean to grab you so hard. I just wanted to hold on to you..." Barricade says sheepishly, releasing his grip on his... Whatever they are.
"'s ok."
"Well, what happened?! The door opened..."
"I came to a screeching halt, stopping just before skiddin' straight into Blackout. He towered over me; huge, dark as the night, n' completely terrifyin', guns everywhere, all of them charged n' ready. I fell ta my knees, convinced my time was up, n' I remember cryin', n' beggin' him ta spare me."
The way Jazz is telling it has Barricade on edge, and he has to fight the urge to grab the Solstice harder again out of reflex.
"He told me ta shut up, n' to this day, I don't know how I managed ta obey, because I was wailin' in terror at that point. Blackout grabbed me by the arm n' hoisted me up, orderin' everyone into tha detailin' room. He dragged me there, n' shoved me inside. I remember fallin' flat on my front, hearin' him growlin' that if we made a single sound or somethin' else stupid, he would come back, shoot us all, n' watch us leak out. Then he locked us in there."
Barricade shudders, the distress in Jazz's field contagious.
"I curled up against the farthest wall, hiding among the fabric clothing hangin' from a rack there, convinced he'd come back n' shoot me, 'cause I just couldn' stop sobbin'. There was more shoutin' n' shots fired — all muffled by tha door — n' it felt like it went on forever, but then it got quiet. Like, really quiet. I think I held my vents from then until tha door opened again. I didn' dare ta look, covered my helm with my arms n' listened while several sets of heavy pedesteps came into tha room. Everyone else fell quiet, I just waited for the screaming ta start when they decided ta just execute us."
Jazz drags a deep but shuddering vent and turns to reach for a cyg. Well, the need for prescription weed for anxiety might not be all that much of a lie in this place. If something like that had happened to an Enforcer, they'd get counseling.
"I heard one of 'em bark an order ta check us fort etchings n' stuff, n' they started ta mechhandle everyone, checkin' our platin'. We were all so scared, nobody protested either." Jazz says, stifling a sob.
"Come on Jazz, you're killing me here, and you're upsetting yourself. If it's really hard on you to think about it, you don't have to tell me the story if you don't want to." Even if he's dying to know in that 'watching the trainwreck' kind of way.
"I want ya ta know, 's jus' hard. Maybe I can show ya tha memory instead?"
"Sounds like a good idea." Barricade says, holding out his arm for Jazz to plug in. Even if he isn't certain he wants to see whatever happened next.
Chapter Text
There's a moment of vertigo when they connect, then he is in the memory Jazz opens. Barricade can feel the presence of Jazz, and it grounds him as the memory starts, a thin thread pf safety that keeps him from being completely lost when he's immersed in Jazz's experience.
He's huddled among the hanging fabrics on the rack he is cowering under, and he can see the others be pulled from their places along the walls and under the tables with polish and waxes, none of them putting up a real fight, just the weak reluctance of terrified mechs, far outmassed and outgunned.
Everyone is checked over and inspected, patted down, and felt up. Then he's the only one left, his pede grabbed by a dangerous looking truck former — somewhere he knows that it's Motormaster, but Jazz didn't know back then, so the knowledge seems like a figment of his imagination — and he's pulled out of his hidingplace. He hears the whimpering that leaves his vocalizer, but nobody gives a fuck about his distress when he's pulled to his pedes. Rough servos search him, groping under plating, scans tingle, and he feels small and bare when cold optics scrutinize him.
Like a cyberlamb in a marketplace, to be sold or carted off to slaughter.
Jazz's thought flashes into his consciousness as if it was his own, and it makes Barricade shudder, because it's such a fitting description and so disturbingly clear and reasonable in the context of the situation in spite of the memories being hazed by terror and drugs.
They find his Decepticon brand, aquired at some point when Jazz was so drugged up, he didn't even notice, and as unwanted as any slave-brand would ever be.
"Get out! Back to the main room!" Blackout barks an order, waving his gun around, and they all get moving, crowding each other in the narrow doorway to not be the last one out.
Barricade can feel his sobs and hitching vents, the terror rippling down his back-struts as they are lead back to the room they fleed when the shooting started.
It is a battle-zone. Tables and chairs are knocked over — if they aren't in pieces — and there's energon and other fluids spattered all over the place. A frame is hanging halfway over tha edge of a podium. Brawl, the sadist, and Jazz's memory is painted by vindictive glee when watching the limp and gray frame.
Then a movement catches his admittedly hazy optics, and finally, he spots the other mech in the room. In the middle of the mayhem, Ironhide is sitting on the center stage, lazily dangling his legs over the edge.
As if it is just a day by the lake, and not the aftermath of a bloody war.
He almost cackles hysterically when he thinks that they're POWs, waiting for their judgement, unhinged in the way only a terrified mech can be. Ironhide is obviously the boss, and he'll be the judge, the jury, and possibly the executioner if he enjoys that kind of action, and they can do jack shit about it.
Ironhide looks over the spoils carefully before he jumps down from the stage with a smooth movement, far more agile than one would expect from such a massive mech, and he comes to stand in front of the scared pleasurebots.
"There's been a change of management in this area."
Chapter Text
"Are anyone of you here of your own free will?" Ironhide rumbles, icy optics scanning the crowd.
He doesn't dare to speak up, but someone else is either braver, or suicidal. "No!"
More mechs chime in, lower and more hesitant, but still agreeing, and Jazz dares shaking his helm to show that he isn't either.
"Right. Like I said, the old management is either deactivated, or running off somewhere to clean the piss from their panels, so you are free all mechs. We don't deal in slaves, so if you have other places to go, feel free to leave."
It's all quiet for some time, all the pleasurebots looking incredulously between one another, not daring to believe it. Jazz has the fleeting thought that it's a trick, that as soon as someone tries to leave, they will be shot, but then that brave/suicidal Racer breaks out of the crowd and heads for the door with quick steps, and nothing happens.
More mechs follow, filing out quickly, but Jazz lingers. He's running on nothing, withdrawal is setting in, it's obviously night already, and he has nowhere to go.
He'll be lucky to get through the night without going into stasis, and that's before considering what may happen to him out in the streets.
It's such a risk, because who knows what this mech is like, what he can do, and it isn't like Jazz wants to stay in this place, in the situation he has been for such a long time, but time is of the essence, and he just can't afford to look for a new place to work right now, let alone try to get enough money for fuel, drugs, and a motel room before something gives. Ironhide studies the dawdling pleasurebots.
"I do employ whores who meet my demands and are willing to make a deal." Ironhide says.
Jazz finds himself nodding, and he sees how Ironhide's intake pulls into a smirk as he slowly looks Jazz up and down, cocking his helm in consideration.
"Hide! Cross commed me. Enforcement is coming in fast." One of the other gang mechs calls out.
"Then we better go. So, little mechs, if you want to hear my offer, I suggest you follow me."
With that, all the gang mechs scatter. Jazz glances at the other pleasurebot still lingering, then he heads for the bar, pouring down the drink still standing on the counter to get some energy into his systems. He subspaces as many bottles as he can before following Ironhide's retreating form out the front door, then he transforms and is forced to redline his little engine to keep up with the black Topkick as they run away from the approaching sirens, the other pleasurebot driving off the other way.
Chapter Text
The memory file ends, and Jazz picks through them to make a time skip forward.
When the next one starts, he's standing in root mode in an alley with Ironhide. Nitro Zeus lands behind Jazz, between him and the only way out of the alley. His spark speeds up, because he's small, weak, and unarmed, boxed in alone with two big and heavily armed thugs he knows nothing about, except that they don't hesitate to use violence to get what they want.
"Frag, Hide, this one's hot." Nitro Zeus says, pressing up against Jazz from behind.
The Flier slides big servos down Jazz's sides, thumbs hooking in the waist of his fabric pants as if he's going to pull them down. He toys with the edge for endless seconds, then his thumbs dip deeper, rubbing the bare protoform where Jazz's interface plate used to be, just above his spike cover.
Jazz doesn't even tense up. If he's about to be hurt or fucked, it's nothing new, and there's nothing he can do about it. He's so used to not have any right to personal space, he doesn't react when one big servo moves to squeeze his aft.
"You on drugs?" Ironhide asks Jazz, ignoring the Jet who's still groping the pleasurebot.
As if his tremors of withdrawal isn't enough to tell.
"Yeah. They supplied me ta make me ta stay."
They did more than that, but he doesn't need to go into details with this stranger who might not be much better.
"No heavy drugs in my place. You sober up today if you're going to stay with me. Start using again, your ass is out so fast your helm will be spinning."
Jazz nods slowly, knowing what kind of hell he's in for when quitting, but he has no idea what else to do. One of Nitro's servos slide between his legs, rubbing his array through the thin fabric, and it's a kind of gentle touch he isn't used to, something he hasn't had in a very long time. Jazz's array grows a bit hotter and slicker.
Maybe it's a test? To see if he can take it without cringing... After everything he has been through, good petting really isn't something he's going to complain about. The mech knows how to prime a valve, that's for sure. He moves against that servo, because showing approval can't be wrong.
"I think he's a good choice." Nitro says.
"I provide a place to stay, fuel, maintenance and repairs you need, 90% of your earnings go to me. If we're satisfied with your performance during your trial period, and if you want to stay when it's over." Ironhide addresses Jazz, still ignoring Nitro Zeus.
"So I'm free ta leave if I want?"
"Like I said; I don't deal in slaves. Do as you're told, follow our rules, everything will be fine. You don't like something, you can leave at any minute. There's always someone else who'd like their own hab suite, free fuel and high grade, and medical benefits, I don't see a point in forcing mechs to stay."
Jazz is still uncertain, thinking about all the times he has been roughed up for one transgression or another because of rules that suddenly change, and just downright sadistic pimps. There's no way to know if these mechs will be violent with him or not, but at least they haven't done anything like that yet, and even if Nitro has pushed Jazz's hotpants down to bare his array at this point, he still isn't getting raped, just groped in a way that's surprisingly pleasant. Then he spots it: the badge Hide is wearing.
"Do ya have a mech named Motormaster in your crew?"
Hide's optics dims suspiciously. "Why?"
"Met a mech called Wildrider. He was always cryin' for Motormaster. Had an etching like your badge when he came in." Jazz says.
"Where is he?" Nitro Zeus rumbles behind Jazz, servos stilling.
"Overdosed and deactivated."
"Fuck!" Nitro Zeus mutters, letting go of him.
Emotions flicker across Ironhide's face-plates, to quick to identify, but then he's as stonefaced as ever again.
"Do we have a deal or not?"
Chapter Text
"n' obviously, I made a deal." Jazz says out loud while checking through his files, digits plucking with the plating on Barricade's front.
He opens the next file, and they're at Ratchet's. The cranky Medic — in no better mood than when Barricade visited him — supplies Jazz with a routing chip that'll keep the withdrawal down a bit as the other drugs leave his systems. He gets some upgrades, and he has a physical examination.
"You need to administer this cream twice a day to both your valve and your port. And no interfacing for at least three days."
Ironhide starts to protest, saying something about painkillers, but Ratchet cuts him off immediately.
"Look, not only is he damaged and need time for his self repair to catch up, but he also has contagious rust! If you don't want everyone scratching themselves in two days or whatever your turnover for berth fellows is, Do. Not. Fuck. Him. Because I'm sure none of you would deign to use a condom." He says derisively.
"How about oral?"
Ratchet looks like he's about to explode, but Jazz holds up a servo to catch his attention.
"If I'm not a health hazard, I don' mind suckin' some spike, Doc, so am I good ta go?"
"Yes, your intake is clean." Ratchet says with a disgusted grimace.
"Good, then let's go." Ironhide says and walks out the door, Jazz hurrying to follow.
He's still hard pressed to keep up with Ironhide, who's well fueled and has a powerful engine that's perfectly maintained. He's even more disadvantaged to Nitro Zeus who follows them in the sky at a leisurely pace. They drive through the neighborhood, and a black and green Corvette joins them, revving his engine playfully when they turn the corner and the mansion comes into view. The gates are opened and they drive straight up to the house, transforming when Nitro Zeus lands.
Crosshairs looks Jazz up and down, and he whistles.
"Damn, mech! Yer altmode did no' betray how ho' ye are. New employee?"
Jazz nods. "On trial."
"Knock Out is goin' te 'ave a seizure when 'e sees yer platin', but nothin' a good polish n' waxin' can' fix. We'll get tha' sorted tomorrow."
"Thanks?" Jazz says, overwhelmed, but relieved by how friendly the mech seems.
"Don' mention it. I'm Crosshairs, in-house entertainment division, n' first slut of this place." He says, before turning to Hide, "an' if 'e's stayin', ye better get 'im a reformat, 'cause tha' alt mode is an affront te someone so pretty."
Hide snorts and rolls his optics at that, and the reaction makes even more to put Jazz at ease, because if Ironhide doesn't flip out over demands like that, then he's probably not a randomly violent mech to be around.
"Come on...?" Crosshairs says, waving Jazz over.
"I'm Jazz."
"Welcome here, Jazz. Now let's go get some 'igh grade and some good fuckin'. I'm all revved up."
Chapter Text
Jazz doesn't play any more memories after that.
"I was let in, n' I spent tha nights of my trial period in tha berth of whomever wanned me for tha night, n' in tha days I got ta know tha other mechs here. I worked in-house for my trial, ta see if I was good enough ta keep around; that I could follow tha rules n' kick tha drugs. Tha brothers take a vote when tha trial is over, ta make sure that they're all on tha same page. Then when we renegotiated tha contract, I got my own room."
"And you started working the streets again."
"Yeah. In-house workers are picked from those who has stuck 'round for tha longest of time, or are exceptionally good at what they do."
"So you're good enough to stay, but not good enough to not be sold to all and sundry." Barricade says flatly.
It's disgusting, that "retirement" is being allowed to "just" do the gang members in their cushy home, instead of paying for said home by selling themselves on the streets.
You forgot the one's who are "exceptionally good at what they do." You could earn that spot. Be the best little whore you can be, and work in-house.
He's not staying here that long. He's going to really start looking for another job again and he's going to find one before his time as Hide's personal frag buddy is over. Then he's going to get both him and Jazz out of here.
You mean his personal slut. You did have fun with Dreadbot though. That mech is very good at what he does. You should be more like him. You're never getting out of here anyway, nobody wants to hire you.
Shut up.
"They don' kick someone out from that position easily, so there hasn't been an openin' for me ta try for. Either tha mechs alread on in-house duty has ta give up a spot vonluntarily for some reason, or they do somethin' bad n' get demoted. Tha only thing I can do, is wait for an openin' n' make sure I earn that spot."
He needs to think about these things, because as gross as he finds this hierarchy, at least it tells him that Ironhide isn't fickle with taking away privileges someone has earned, and that's another point that speaks in favor of Ironhide having earned Jazz's respect and liking.
"I'm so terribly sorry about what happened to you before, I'm completely speechless."
"I try not ta think about it anymore, but I'm glad that it's over. I had bad dreams for months after. Still happens sometimes, but not as much. I'm relieved Ironhide looked past it n' kept me anyway, especially after I woke up in his berth, not knowin' where I was, n' completely freakin' out. It cannot've been a sexy sight, but he jus' pulled me closer n' put his massive fraggin' gun on top of me ta make me feel safe. He didn' judge me too fragged in tha helm ta keep, so I got ta stay, n' I'm thankful for that."
It's awful to live in a world where PTSD could've gotten Jazz kicked out to fend for himself on the streets, risking to fall into the cruel servos of some other nasty pimp, but at least that didn't happen.
"So what did ya think about Crosshairs' skills with his glossa?" Jazz leers conspiratorially, clearly done with the heavy topics.
"What?!" Barricade says, flushing.
"He's so good, isn' he? I swear, I had never squirted before he ate me out n' finished me off with his digits."
"I-I... he's good!" Barricade squeaks, but the vivid image in his helm of Crosshairs licking Jazz to overload sends a heat to his groin.
"Ya looked so hot yesterday when he ate ya, so surprised n' still enjoyin' it. I'm gettin' hot just thinkin' 'bout it. Ya know what, I haven't gotten a blowjob for some time. If yas suck my spike, I'll return tha favor with tha oral of your choice."
He doesn't really like to suck cock, but this is Jazz, and it's not like he can complain, considering how many times Jazz has felt forced to do it for him. If there's someone he should put the effort in to learn it for, it's Jazz.
"Deal."
Chapter Text
It is kind of different to do it for Jazz. Barricade still doesn't like to have a spike in his intake, but it's not that bad when it's Jazz he's giving pleasure. It doesn't feel like a big sacrifice to make for his... his lover.
Because that's what he considered them before, and no matter what they do with others at times, the intimacy when he's together with Jazz is different, so that's the best description of what they are now.
And Jazz's reactions when he rolls his glossa around Jazz's spike really are kind of delightful. Small gasps of unadulterated pleasure, the tensing of his legs when Barricade finds a particularly sensitive spot. He chanses a glance up at Jazz, but the Solstice's helm is thrown back — as much as is possible, considering he's still stretched out on the berth — and Barricade can't see his facial expression.
Slim claws are toying with his audial fin, little caresses and tweaks that Jazz probably isn't even aware of doing, but there's nothing dominating with the grip. It just adds to the impression that Jazz is rather incoherent.
And he's the one doing that to Jazz.
"Oh, Primus, yes! Yes, yes, yes, keep doing that, oh, fuckin' hell..." Jazz rambles before trailing off into a wordless mewl of pleasure.
Barricade twirls his glossa across that spot again, making Jazz's hips twitch, but then he backs of and starts to slowly bob his helm up and down, keeping his glossa still to only stimulate Jazz with his lip-plates for a while.
"Please, Cade! No edging! Please!" Jazz cries out, squirming under him.
He's not really aware of what edging is, but a quick search on the data net supplies him with some info, and while it's an interesting prospect, he listens to Jazz's wishes.
And the hinges to his jaw is getting sore.
With quick flicks of his glossa, mapping out all the sensitive spots he has found on Jazz's spike, he quickly works Jazz closer to release.
"I'm gonna cum." Jazz grinds out.
He could pull back, could avoid swallowing the transfluid if he wants to.
But he doesn't.
Chapter Text
"Dang, ya're good at that." Jazz mumbels with a dopey grin.
He pulls Barricade in for a kiss, completely unbothered by the taste of transfluid lingering on Barricade's glossa. Somehow that makes it feel less repulsive, because if Jazz isn't too disgusted to kiss him after that, it can't be that bad, can it?
It's just Jazz's spike anyway. Imagine all the spikes he had sucked before he kissed you back before you went to jail... All the transfluid that had dribbled over his tongue before you smooched him...
Barricade ignores the toxic voice, because it doesn't matter.
"Ya want me ta suck your spike now?"
It would be so easy to ask for that, but he has had that done so many times before, and while he always enjoyed it immensely back then, it was with the connotations of the power he felt with a mech on their knees in front of him, staring up at him with bright optics, and now that he has been tried to be the one with an unwanted spike on his intake, taking his pleasure from it feels tainted and dirty. And he is rather curious about some other stuff, and trying things with Jazz feels better than being thrown into it with whomever is close by.
"I'd like it if you want to lick my valve."
Jazz grins slowly. "I can dig that."
He crawls down Barricade's frame, kissing his way down the Saleen's chest-plates, down his ventral plating. Barricade opens his panel before Jazz even gets down there, and Jazz plants a kiss right on his node.
"Ya know, your components are pretty n' all, but maybe we could find some fancy LEDs or somethin'? Not that I don' like this, but this is standard issue adult Praxian Enforcer. Ya should have somethin' that says ya're not cop-mech number one hundred and fifty three, ya're Barricade."
He has never considered mods before, for obvious reasons, not being a valve mech. But Jazz knowing exactly how standard he is brings a different unwelcome thought: Jazz has seen a lot of cop arrays, and Barricade looks just like them.
"Is that the number of Enforcers you have serviced in some way?" He asks, because the thought grows roots.
"Ya really were that number in tha line, if we're countin' all departments I'd had customers from, n' we set the number our first time. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that ya're special ta me." Jazz says, dragging his glossa over Barricade's node.
His hips twitch with the pleasure, and while it is slightly offputting to think about Jazz's job, he really has to be special to Jazz in some way, or he probably wouldn't be here right now, because Jazz would be with one of them. He still wants Jazz to remember who it is he's with when they're... making love.
He will think about getting a mod. As soon as he gets a job and can pay for it.
Then he can't focus on anything but the things Jazz does to his array, because that clever glossa wriggles inside and manages to dance over all his sensitive spots one by one, setting his sensory network alight with pleasure.
Chapter Text
"Since last night was party night, we have tha night off. It's always like that: party means everyone workin' in-house, n' tha next night is work free, 'cause everyone is usually hung over." Jazz says sitting on the edge of the berth, smoking a cygar.
"I wonder if that includes me." Barricade says, almost not daring to hope for it. And where is he going to sleep if it does?
"Probably does, but check in with Hide just ta be sure. We don' work tha streets tonight, n' we have no obligations to tha brothers n' don' hafta try ta entice them. We're free ta decline propositions, but I usually don't. Givin' that little bit extra is probably smart when aiming for gettin' ta work in-house someday, n' most of 'em are fun in tha sack anyway."
Ugh, but of course. A day off means no obligations, but putting out as a freebie is the corporate culture. Wonderful. And he's on trial, so he probably should drag his sorry aft back to Hide's room and show how willing he is. To keep Hide from handing him out to others before he can find a different job and get the hell out of here.
"Wanna come with me ta tha employee rec room? We usually watch movies together these nights until we hit a berth, it's quite fun, n' ya'll get ta hang out a little with tha others."
He has kept to himself most of his time here, but it probably can't hurt to get to know the others a little. Before he winds up in the same berth as them in one way or the other, because it's obvious that even if he's still exclusively Ironhide's, the Topkick has now qualms about inviting more mechs into his berth while Barricade is there.
::Jazz asked if I want to hang out with the others in the rec room tonight. Is it OK if I do that for a while before I come to berth?:: He comms Ironhide, because it seems like the best way to deal with this.
::Sure. You don't have to come back here if you find a different berth to spend the night in either. But you're welcome if you want to.::
::Okay.::
"I'd like to join you. I checked with Hide, it's okay."
Barricade reaches for Jazz's cygar and plucks it from his mouth to bring it to his own, taking a deep drag. He's a little bit nervous, but he certainly isn't up for a drink at the moment, so the weed comes in handy.
"Hide said I could spend the night in some other berth if I wanted. Does that include your berth, or does it have to be a brother's?"
"You should've asked him. I dunno, but I'm guessing Hide isn't gonna go around ta ask all tha brothers if they fucked ya tonight, so it should be fine ta stay in mine, or one of tha other entertainers' if that's what ya want."
Chapter Text
The weed making him pleasantly buzzed and relaxed, Barricade follows Jazz to the rec room. It's not the one by the entrance, but a smaller room further down the hallway of the wing Jazz stays in. They step through the doors, and Barricade flushes when the optics of the other mechs find him, because he knows that he has been isolating himself, and they probably know it too. He still follows Jazz to one of the big chairs, clearly made for bigger mechs than them, because they can both sit rather comfortably in it. He curls up between Jazz and the armrest, making himself small, and he knows it's a defense mechanism, but he's not going to fight it right now.
"Drift and Cross are making popped energon kernels." Dreadbot drawls, his helm lazily lolling to the side to look at them from where he's reclining on a couch.
"Oh, Primus, I hope Drift's better at it than Crosshairs..." Jazz groans.
Dreadbot laughs. "That's why I didn't allow Cross to do it by himself..."
Barricade looks back and forth between the mechs, not understanding what they're talking about. Jazz catches his befuddled look.
"Crosshairs is completely shit at cookin'. Could set fire ta tha energon in an automatic heater. He grew up with servants n' stuff, went ta private school, n' just never learned even tha basics. So he was gonna do some pops, but he didn' know how to, n' thought 'grease as grease', ya know? So he used tha closest grease he had; tha flavored lube in his subspace pocket. 'n it was this sweet, sticky flavor that just did not go well with pops..." Jazz makes a face as he remembers the incident.
How does someone fall so completely, from being rich enough to probably never have to work at all, to selling his frame to have someplace to stay, and doing it for long enough to earn a spot on in-house duty?
"It was completely inedible. I doubt even the glitchmice would try it." Dreadbot fills in.
"He agreed himself, though. Didn' even try ta force it down n' keep a straight face ta make himself seem better, n' take some embarrassment away."
"Yeah, he knows that it isn't his forte, and he's honest about it."
It's kind of surreal with all these personal details of strengths and weaknesses, because he has been so preoccupied with focusing on everyone being a pleasurebot, he failed to think about all the other stuff that people are. He doesn't even know if Jazz knows his way around a kitchen, or what his preferences for fuel and such are. And these mechs seem to know each other far beyond what working together invites to, much more than he ever knew about his co-workers.
On the other servo, they do share berth buddies, and probably sleep with each other regularly as a part of their job, and for fun, and they do live in the same house...
Chapter 130
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Ta-da! These pops are the best I've ever made, if I may say so myself." Crosshairs says as he swoops in with a huge bowl of popped kernels, Drift following in his wake.
"Which doesn't tell us anything, really." Dreadbot quips.
"Glitch." Crosshairs chuckles, flipping the other mech off. "Anyway, wha' are we watchin'?" He plunks down next to Dreadbot while Drift stretches out on a huge pillow on the floor.
"Pretty mech. It's about a prostitute making a deal with some rich dude to be his professional consort for a while and falls in love with him." Dreadbot says.
Barricade tries to not make a face — because, the irony of it — but he's not successful. He remembers seeing a movie like that way back, thinking it was kind of cute, but with his new place in life, he sees it in an entirely different light. Jazz grins at him though, clearly just amused by it all.
"For frags sake, can' we watch somethin' with explosions?" Crosshairs says.
"Knockie's pick." Dreadbot says, shrugging.
"You would've just picked a porno anyway." Knock Out snarks at Crosshairs.
"Oi, there's nothin' wrong with porn! 'sides, I 'adn't chosen porn tonight, 'cause I want te see the new movie with Brush Wheelies. It has explosions."
"And Brush dropping a lot of plating." Drift snorts.
"Well, 'e's ho', so I'm no' gonna complain 'bout tha'! I really want explosions, though. The nakedness's jus' a bonus." Crosshairs smirks.
"Shut up. We're watching this movie, it was my turn to pick, and this is what we're seeing." Knock Out interrupts them.
"Yeah, yeah, we'll watch it." Dreadbot says, holding up his servos in a placating gesture. "By the way, have any of you seen Blackout without the coverings on and around his rotor hub? Holy smokes, is that hot!"
"Are ye actively tryin' to get me wet? I seriously wish 'e could fuck me while I jus' stare at 'im when 'e's unplated like tha'."
There's something intriguing about the discussion, makes him curious to see more unplated mechs. Some of the pleasurebots have removed a few plates here and there, but he has gotten used to the way they do that to look more streamlined, hardly notices it anymore. But other plates, on other mechs... He's going to search the web later.
Notes:
Sometimes I feel like this kind of chapters are too boring and should be left our, but at the same time, I think they do a lot to build the setting, and the characters, so I'm ambivalent. What do you say, is it redundant, or does a bit of gossip and banter have a place in the story?
Chapter Text
The movie is absolutely cringe worthy. It's like dropping all the sweetener into a cup of energon, and then drink it anyway, with the underlying sourness of the knowledge of that power imbalance. And then at the end, when the rich mech declares his love for the pleasurebot and swoops him off the streets, Barricade can't help but think that this was kind of what he wanted to do with Jazz way back when, and it leaves a vaguely bitter aftertaste that he can't say if it is because of the cliché, or of how oblivious he was back then.
"We should go shopping someday. I really want to see if I can find stickers like what the pleasurebot had." Drift says.
"An' I need more toys." Crosshairs fills in.
Jazz snorts in amusement. "Like ya don' have enough? I can't imagine Hide payin' for more toys for ya."
"Can there ever be enough toys?" Crosshairs asks.
Dreadbot laughs. "Crosshairs will get Hide to hand over the credit sticks in no time." He makes a lewd motion with his servo against his intake, glossa sticking out between the denta at the opposing side of his face with every motion.
"I want to check the new line of wax that's about to be released." Knock Out muses.
"An' ye probably need paint remover for yer asshole." Crosshairs snickers.
Barricade chokes on the swig of energon he was just about to swallow, coughing and sputtering. What the actual frag?!
"Shut up! That only happened once, and you know it!" Knock Out yells, throwing a pillow at the Corvette as the room erupts in laughter.
"Yeah, but it was funny as hell!" Dreadbot cackles.
Knock Out covers his flushed face-plates with his servos.
"What happened?" Barricade whispers to Jazz, but of course everyone hears it.
"K.O. was kind of new back then, and he was so sweet on Breakdown. Only both of them were a bit shy about their fucking, so they usually did it in private." Dreadbot starts to tell the story.
Bumblebee fills in with some beeps and churrs, but Barricade still hasn't learned how to de-code the sounds.
"Yeh, they were both pretty drunk." Crosshairs takes over. "Anyway, they were too lazy te go upstairs, so they wound up in the supply room. An' it's no' well lit. Breakdown obviously thought 'e grabbed the lube, but what 'e really got was my touch up paint. So 'e banged Knock Out really good against a shelf, an' when they came out of there, K.O's asshole was a lovely bright green. It was like an I-take-it-up-the-ass-too beacon against 'is regular paint job."
"Ugh, but I did set the new record for earnings that week. Every customer I had wanted to upgrade the deal as soon as I bent over. None of you bitches have ever made that much in a week." Knock Out smirks.
"Touché. With a very pretty green..." Crosshairs quips.
Barricade can't do anything but stare at them with wide optics, because he's completely stunned by how at ease they seem with this, how they can joke about it, and most of all how Knock Out managed to turn his embarrassment into a victory.
Chapter Text
"I'm horny, I'll go see if Blackout wants ta stick 'is spike in me." Crosshairs states, getting up from his spot. "Ye wanna join me?" He asks Dreadbot.
"Sure. Maybe we can get him to drop those covers?"
"Sunny commed me a little while ago, I'll go to his room." Drift says.
"Sleep tight, wake up loose." Dreadbot snickers.
Barricade glances at Jazz, not getting the joke.
"Sunstreaker prefers his lovers passed out. That way, they don' move 'round 'n fuck up his paint job. So spendin' a night with him is basically pluggin' a recharge stick in, or gettin' really drunk, n' then wakin' up in tha mornin', guessin' what happened."
It's weird, but it's also oddly tempting. What a relief to not having to pretend to be willing, to not even remember what has happened. Or maybe it isn't? It wasn't fun to not know when he woke up this morning.
"I'll be with Breakdown." Knock Out says, throwing the remote on the table.
So this is why Jazz wouldn't say no if someone asked him to give it up on his night off. If he's going to have a chance to start working in-house, Jazz better keep everyone happy with him, has to earn it. And if he himself is going to stay in Ironhide's berth a while longer, he probably should make sure Hide is pleased with him. Ugh...
"I probably should check if Ironhide has company..." He mumbles to Jazz, not wanting to turn down more time with Jazz, but feeling like he has no choice.
"I understand. I'll comm Sideswipe, see if he wanna hook up."
Barricade's spark feels a bit cold when Jazz reveals his plan, even though he logically knows that it isn't some sort of revenge for Barricade propositioning Hide, he knows that Jazz isn't out to hurt him with the words. It's just so very awful that they can't even spend this nigh off together, but have to go spend their night in someone else's berth.
"I see. Hope you have fun?"
What the fuck is he supposed to say? He doesn't like that Jazz will sleep with someone else, but it isn't like he hopes that Jazz is going to be miserable all night either.
"I will, one way or tha other, it'll be a good night. I'm not workin', ya know." Jazz smiles, and it looks genuine. "N' I really hope ya have fun too."
"Yeah... See you tomorrow?"
"Ya bet!"
Barricade rises from his seat, but as he turns to look at Jazz, the Solstice tugs him in for a kiss, their glossas rolling around each other in a slow, hot kiss that has Barricade's valve going slick and his spike requesting permission to pressurize. Bumblebee makes a dragged out beep, rising and falling in pitch to mimic a catcall. Then Jazz breaks the kiss, patting Barricade's aft.
"Go get 'em, ya sexy fragger!"
Chapter Text
::Are you busy, or do you want some company?:: He comms Ironhide as he walks up the stairs.
::Give me five minutes. Go get energon and some coolant.::
He turns and heads back down the stairs to get those things, and Barricade snags himself a cyg when he passes one of the bowls still standing on a table. The room looks better in shape, someone has cleaned up all the empty cubes and bottles and have wiped the tables from spilled beverages while he has been with Jazz.
Who did that? He has a hard time picturing any of the brothers doing something like that, especially after a night of partying, but it seems unlikely that they have a cleaning crew who can just walk in as they please. Maybe some of the pleasurebots? Should he have helped out? But then Jazz would've told him, right? He should ask what's customary, if there's another party before he has managed to get out of here.
He lights the cyg and takes a deep vent through it, continuing down the hallway to the refueling room, mourning that he will probably lose the prescription for weed when he moves out, one of the few things he will truly miss. It'll be worth it, though. The question is what kind of job he could get. He needs to look at the works nobody wants first, then he can hopefully get something else. It's always easier to find a job when you already have one, and you have references.
Musing about what he could do — it's not like he can afford a reformat, so something alt mode specific like street sweeping, or wastedisposal are out of the question, he's too small for hauling goods, mining, or other heavy tasks, and it's very unlikely that anyone would trust him with express deliveries of goods, or working in a driving school.
Grabbing a few bottles of mid grade — because he isn't hung over anymore, but high grade still feels like too much, even though he doesn't feel like staying sober — one of the big jugs of coolant, and a bottle of a sweet, thick flavoring, because sometimes the weed gives him such a sweet tooth.
Checking his chronometer, Barricade walks back up the stairs, feeling like he has given Ironhide enough time to finish whatever he was doing. He's almost within range for the door to open for him if it's unlocked when it slides open, the doorframe filled with one very obnoxious Flier.
"Well, hello, pipsqueak. You're a sight for my sore optic." Nitro Zeus steps to the side to let him in, the alledgedly sore optic raking over Barricade's frame.
"Hi, Nitro." He says as dismissively as he can, trying to look more confident than he feels when he puts the bottles on the table, doing his best to move in a way that'll show off his frame to Ironhide, who's already sitting on the berth.
"So, Hide... Want to share?" Nitro purrs.
Chapter Text
Barricade fumbles with the small bottle of flavoring, almost dropping it in his alarm. He glances at Ironhide, forcing a smile as he tries to smooth it over.
"I don't know..." Ironhide drawls, studying Barricade intently.
Please, Primus not yet, just give him a little more time before this gross, horny bastard is given the go-ahead. Just enough time for him to find a different job and be out of here.
"Come on, Hide. You know I won't steal all the attention from you. The more, the merrier..."
Ironhide snorts, optics flicking to Nitro. "You always try to steal all the attention." After long seconds of staring at the Jet — something passing between them, or maybe they're speaking over comms — he turns back to Barricade. "What do you say, Barricade?"
Barricade swallows nervously, processor working overtime.
What the pit is he going to say? He's supposed to be inviting, and he was ready to do his best to seem interested, but having two mechs at once was not in his plan for the night, and he's not at all ready for this, but if he says no, Ironhide is going to see that as something very negative, and he really should try to keep Hide happy...
"I-I... uhm. I don't know, I've never...."
"Aaw, come on..." Nitro whines.
"You didn't have any problems with playing with both Dreadbot and Crosshairs yesterday..." Hide trails off.
"I... no, but this... uhm..."
It's one thing to have two mechs pleasuring him with their digits and glossas, quite another to have two big brutes fragging him at once. He's barely getting used to sucking spike, to be fucked by both of them is such a giant leap into a depravity he isn't keen on trying.
Hypocrite! You certainly wouldn't mind fucking Jazz while he was licking someone....
That mental image is very tantalizing, with Jazz's face buried between Dreadbot's thighs, his own spike slipping into Jazz's soaking wet pussy, drooling for him.
Totally different scenario.
Like I said: Hypocrite. Spread your legs, open your mouth and make them both very pleased with you. Can't hurt to be on their good sides...
A servo waves slowly in front of his face, catching his optics.
"Uhm, Prez? I think we broke him..." Nitro Zeus rumbles.
"I-I don't think I'm ready for that." Barricade says weakly, legs feeling like rubber.
"You're still on trial, and this is your night off anyway, so that's fine." Ironhide says, but there's an obvious implication there, that when the trial is over, he better be ready to do it.
"You don't know what you're missing out on, but it's your loss..." Nitro says, shrugging.
Yeah, sure. It's the big bastard's loss, because he is going to be out of here before the Jet gets his filthy servos on him.
Nitro leaves them, and Ironhide reaches for the coolant, drinking straight from the jug. He pats the berth next to him, and Barricade crawls onto it, stretching out to give Ironhide a good view of his backside, because he knows that Hide likes his aft, and his shoulder-wings.
"So, what do you feel like doing tonight?" Ironhide asks.
"I want to take a ride?"
Chapter Text
"Grab that bottle of flavoring for me." Ironhide says, moving back to lean against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him.
Barricade crawls down the berth slowly, trying his best to give Ironhide a good opticful of his aft. He grabs the bottle between his denta and crawls back to sit next to Ironhide, leaning on his servos to stick his front out. Ironhide smirks, one servo coming up to toy with Barricade's crash bar and lights. The touches feel good, toying with the components with just the right amount of pressure. Ironhide grabs the bottle with his other servo.
"You've got a craving for something sweet?"
Barricade nods, glancing longingly at the bottle. Ironhide opens it and puts it to his own lip-plates, tipping his helm back as if to drink from the bottle. Barricade nearly whines. He really wanted that syrup. Then Ironhide turns to him, sticking his glossa out to reveal that both his lips and tongue are coated in it.
"Help yourself."
It's intimate, and yet it's not, because Barricade is having a craving and would lick that syrup from almost anything. Almost.
Without hesitation, he leans in to lick the big mech's lip-plates, slowly sliding his glossa across the smooth plates to get every minuscule trace of the sweet liquid. Then he goes for Hide's glossa, licking and sucking, plunging his glossa into Hide's intake to get every single drop of that sweetness. Ironhide responds, curling his glossa to turn it all into a lazy kiss, and something in Barricade responds, his spike requesting permission to pressurize, and his valve feeling hot and slick. He moves closer without even noticing, servos coming up to brace on broad shoulders, and suddenly he's lost in the kiss instead of just trying to get sweets, pressing in closer. It's Ironhide who finally breaks the kiss.
"You're good at that." He murmurs, pressing his lips to Barricades' one more time. "Want some more sweets?"
Barricade nods, feeling oddly breathless. He hasn't kissed anyone but Jazz in such a long time, and Hide caught him off guard by being surprisingly good at it.
He watches as Hide raises the bottle again, following the way the syrup moves inside it when he tips it to pour a thin rivulet of the contents down his chest and ventral plating.
Seriously? He's supposed to lick that off of Ironhide's plating?
Barricade glances up at Ironhide who raises an optical ridge in wordless challenge.
Well, he does want that sweet syrup, and it's just his plating...
Chapter Text
Barricade leans in to lick at Ironhide's chest-plates, the sweet syrup sticking to his glossa and getting smeared against the smooth plating in a sticky way.
At least Hide is clean, so it isn't very different from licking the syrup from a plate. Warmer, and with faint traces of wax, but not unpleasant.
In a fit of defiantness, Barricade glances up to meet Ironhide's optics, lapping at the mechs plating with broad strokes of his glossa.
He isn't going to back out from this little challenge.
It doesn't have the effect he expected, because Ironhide's optics brighten, and a quiet groan leaves the mech's vocalizer as his field gets tinted with an arousal that wasn't there before.
It's mortifying, because this is exactly what the bastard wants; Barricade, eagerly pleasuring him, but at the same time, he feels strangely victorious. He's the one who makes Ironhide react like that with the things he does, and not just because he's a convenient frag who's handily available.
Then he reaches Ironhide's pelvic plating, and that powerfulness is gone again, because licking syrup from someone's admittedly well shaped ventral plating is vastly different from continuing further.
Barricade still leans in to lick at the plate, because he's not going to back down just to have Ironhide pour syrup there and make it another challenge. The panel is growing warmer by the second, and Barricade expects Ironhide's spike to pressurize at any second.
It doesn't. Oh, the panel pops, but the secondary spike cover is still closed, and Barricade stares dumbly for a second or two before he realizes that he's going to have to work for that too.
Ugh, fucking bastard, showing off his power by forcing Barricade to arouse him.
Maybe he's just tired? He did have a berthful of whores all night, and a good part of the day.
Shut up. He's just being an aft. I know this power play, I've done it myself.
I rest my case. Final plea: you're a bastard too.
Since he doesn't want to think more about that, Barricade focuses on the still closed cover, alternately lapping at it, and teasing it with the tip of his glossa.
"Fuck, you're good at that too!" Ironhide groans.
Then the cover finally opens, and Barricade forces himself to hold still and let the spike pressurize straight into his mouth.
Chapter Text
He sucks Ironhide's spike, bobbing his helm up and down to take it as deep as he can.
Which isn't all that deep, considering he saw Crosshairs take all of it. He's not going to ask for tips on how to do that, though. He's not going to stay here long enough to need to know that.
"Lick it from the base to the tip."
Barricade forces himself to not make a face — even if he can't stop himself from flushing — and obediently does as he's told, because not doing it will lead him nowhere. He flattens his glossa and slowly licks the length, as if he was still lapping up that sweet flavoring.
Maybe you should ask if you can pour flavoring on it?
Wouldn't that be an insult?
You're right. His pre-transfluid should be the only spice needed.
"Look at me."
He's halfway up the shaft when the request interrupts his thoughts, and Barricade feels his spark sink, because it feels so humiliating to be so acutely aware of someone looking while he's doing his best to give oral pleasure. He tilts his helm back as he continues, finally meeting Ironhide's optics when he reaches the head of the spike, slick pre-transfluid coating it, clinging to his glossa.
"Oh, that's so hot. You're getting so good at this." Ironhide groans, keeping optic contact while Barricade keeps sliding his glossa around the thick spike.
He can feel how badly he's flushing, but thankfully, Ironhide doesn't comment on it. No, he just looks at Barricade, clearly enraptured with the sight. Barricade forces himself to not look away, but then suddenly, he remembers something.
He said that he wanted to ride Ironhide, and it isn't like he's really prepped. Hopefully he'll be forgiven for this.
No, you're already beyond saving, you slut.
I didn't mean forgiven in the biblical way, I meant being selfish enough to play with myself while doing this.
I know you liked it when the pleasurebots did it while sucking your spike...
Barricade reaches between his legs, digits finding his node, and he slowly starts to circle it, dipping his digit into his valve to get some slickness. The arousal that started to grow when they kissed isn't fully gone, merely forgotten when he had to start this, and it doesn't take many slick slides over his sensitive nub before he groans with pleasure.
Ironhide is clearly pleased with his idea, watching him hungrily as he laps at Ironhide's spike with less finesse, grinding against his servo.
"Need to get something bigger in that litte pussy of yours?"
"Yes, please." Barricade says sounding much more breathless and genuine than he expected to pull off.
Truth be told, partially he really is eager because then he don't have to lick at a cock anymore, but there's also a shameful, greedy, selfish little part of him that wants the easy gratification that is an overload.
"Well, you made sure that I'm ready for you, so just hop on."
Chapter Text
Crawling up Ironhide's frame to straddle him feels strangely easy. Barricade doesn't hesitate when he lines up the thick spike and sinks down on it, taking it all in one slick slide, and he shudders with pleasure. Ironhide smirks when he watches Barricade's intake fall open, looking very pleased, but Barricade decides to not think more about that right now.
He's just going to take his pleasure from the smug aft, use him to get off.
He steadies himself with one servo on Ironhide's shoulder, the other on his side, and starts to grind against him, rocking back and forth to get that friction against his node, the way the fat cock inside him stirs his juices, hitting every single one of his inside nodes. It feels fucking good.
An indecent whimper leaves his vocalizer, an honest wanton moan, and he rubs harder.
"That's right, little mech, take what you need." Ironhide murmurs, servos grasping Barricade's hips to help with the rhythm.
He's so fucking close, and he just wants to overload, but then he'd come before Ironhide and that's probably not acceptable...
"I'm gonna overload soon if we don't slow down." He confesses.
"Go ahead if you want to, I don't have any reservations about you coming more than once, but I'm not that close yet, so don't stop just because you're finished. That's kind of rude."
It is rude, of course it is, but he'll be so sensitive after his overload.
Barricade starts to lift off and sink down instead, lessening the stimulation on his node to slow his charge down a bit. Ironhide's servos cup his aft instead, stroking the plating with every movement,
"Nitro is right, you really do have such a sweet little aft."
He grabs Barricade's hips again, getting the Saleen back into the previous rythm of grinding.
"You know what, I want you to overload like this. I know how I want to finish."
If he wasn't getting so close, if his mind wasn't addled with pleasure, he might've reacted to the comment more, might've thought more carefully about the lack of information on exactly what Ironhide wants to do to finish. But Barricade is too far gone for that, mindlessly rutting against Ironhide to reach his peak.
It doesn't take long, then he hunches forward, digits diggin into Ironhide's plating as he rides out his overload with a loud wail.
"Wow, you can really be a loud one. I like it."
Chapter 139
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Off you go!" Ironhide says cheerily, easily pushing Barricade off his lap to land ungracefully next to him on the berth. The big mech rumbles a laugh, but it isn't a nasty one.
Barricade has found the mech to be an enigma in berth, because just as much as he can be demanding, he sometimes shows a sense of humor and an unexpected playfulness, and he already surprised Barricade with the kiss, because that showed yet another unexpected side.
Barricade squeals like a turbo piglet when a huge servo slaps his aft, easily spanning half of the plating.
"Hey, what the frag?!" He squeals indignantly when another slap lands to even the burn over his entire aft.
Ironhide laughs again. "There's that feisty spark! Like a turbo puppy, yapping and growling. You're so cute when you let this attitude out for a bit, instead of just sulking."
"You are not going to spank me like I'm some unruly youngling...!" Barricade growls.
"Nah, not tonight. Good to know how to get a rise out of you, though. But I know you're still tired from your overload, so I'll make it easy for you; you don't need to do anything but mewl into the pillow and enjoy it."
Into the pillow?
Then Ironhide wrangles his arms behind his back and grabs both his wrist-struts in one servo, effectively immobilizing him. His hips are hiked up, and Barricade has enough time to be embarrassed about how his soaked valve is on display, but then that thick spike slides into him and he does mewl into the pillow, because fucking hell, that thing hits all the spots in the best way!
Ironhide sets a quick pace, every thrust jostling Barricade, and there's some filthy, perverted little part of him that is delighted with this handling of him, the superior strength of the mech fucking him making him feel small in a thrilling way.
So you're that kind of slut? Getting off on the big, bad thug using you, fucking you without caring what you think about it? Showing his true colors, being the brute who just takes what he wants.
Shut up. He's not like that. He doesn't use physical force to get what he wants. I don't need to be scared of him, he's just playing.
Yeah, sure. You've known him for a few weeks, you probably know best. But it's ok, you know. Nothing wrong with being a submissive slut. Just embrace who you are.
Fuck you.
Actually, you're the one being fucked.
We both are, so shut up.
Ironhide's pace is brutal, but there's no nasty commentary, no disgusting attempts to degrade Barricade. Just low grunts and powerful rutting, and while he's definitely in control, it doesn't really feel like Ironhide is really doing it for the forceful part. More like he wanted Barricade's aft perfectly presented to watch while giving it hard and deep, and this happened to be the best position.
With a muffled wail — face still pressed into the pillow — Barricade overloads again. Ironhide growls and slams in deep, and Barricade feels the transfluid being pressed out around that thick cock, running down his legs. Then Ironhide pulls out and tips over to stretch out next to Barricade, and the Mustang lets his knees slide out from under him, stretching out on his front.
"Seriously sweet aft." Ironhide mutters, curling his frame to reach to press his lip-plates against Barricade's aft, before stretching out again, an arm across Barricade's back.
In a dopey fit of postcoital playfulness, Barricade wiggles his aft, and smirks into the pillow.
Notes:
Heh, and here y'all thought it was time for Barricade to take it in the port for the first time. :D
Chapter 140
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He has some downtime in the early evening a few days later, when Jazz has left for work, and before Ironhide gets back from whatever he has been doing, so he takes the chance to do a search for mechs dropping some of their plating.
Sure, he has seen a bit of it; many pleasurebots remove a few plates here and there to look more sleek, but it's mostly not so show off what's underneath, more like removing sharp angles and points to make them look more touchable.
Except Dreadbot, who's one of the most pointy, sharp looking mechs he has ever seen, complete with really nasty denta when he doesn't fold them down. His appearance is completely at odds with what pleasurebots normally go for. The brothers don't seem to mind, though.
Well, his talent probably makes up for it...
What Barricade is looking for now, though, is much more extreme, considered taboo, and way too kinky for most mechs. At least to admit out loud that they look at it.
The first one he finds is a Racer, sleek to begin with, but with his leg stripped to the core components, he almost looks spindly.
Barricade flicks through the pages, finding that most of the time, only a specific part of the frame is unplated, and he understands why; removing it all is a lot of work, and mechs probably tend to have specific predilections for what they want to see anyway. There's something fascinating about it all though; the way cylinders and hoses are laid bare to see in an organized way, completely unlike when a mech has lost plating from an injury, and everything is a mess. He has seen his fair share of that in his earlier line of work, and never thought he would find looking at deeper components titillating, no matter that they're unblemished.
He modifies the search parameters, looking for war frames, and larger classes of mechs. Racers, Seekers, and various types of small Fliers seem to be the most common frame types in the business, but it was not what they were talking about the other day.
Then he finally finds a truck former, the plating on the mech's shoulders and arms missing. It's a marked difference from the Racers, because the struts and cylinders, all the components, are so much bigger than on the smaller frames, and the protoform sort of bulges with optic catching curves. Not just from the size difference, but from the need for raw power. It's tantalizing in a way that's new, and Barricade's array feels a bit warmer. He bookmarks the image before he scrolls down the page, looking for more of the same mech, or other frame types.
He finds a Flier, not a Seeker, but heavier, like Nitro Zeus, and it's quite interesting to see the difference from the truck former, because he's built for speed, and is definitely more streamlined than the heavy hauler, still powerful, but not as bulky. Another image is bookmarked, and his array gets slightly warmer.
Then Barricade finally finds a Helicopter. The mech isn't nearly the size of Blackout, more likely a recon type, and his rotors doesn't fold down, but the hub... It's easy to see where the power outtake happens, even if the components are deceptively slender. Barricade stares at it for a long time, and his valve is getting slick before he bookmarks it and scrolls further down the pages.
He should see if there are any pictures featuring Pick up trucks.
Notes:
For this, I'm thinking that Seekers are built like TFP Starscream. Nitro may be a Flier too, but he's definitely bulkier.
Chapter Text
Morning energon with the pleasurebots is an interesting experience, and definitely something he has missed out on while spending his mornings sleeping in, and the rest of the day keeping away from everyone.
This morning, Barricade woke up earlier than he usually does, and he headed down to the refueling room, finding a few of the others gathered around the kitchen island.
"I swear, Blackout's spike's so massive, my ovaries go' knocked outta place." Crosshairs cackles.
Knock Out rolls his optics. "You're not an organic. You don't have ovaries."
"No, bu' if I 'ad them, they'd be in my neck right now. They'd be bulging out 'ere." Crosshairs indicates the sides of his neck, drawing little bumps in the air with his digits.
"This discussion is so fucking stupid." Knock Out groans.
"'e really is massive, though, ye 'ave te agree on tha'."
"Yeah, but it's because he is big all over. He's not disproportionately well endowed."
"True, an' probably good fer us small mechs. Now, Sideswipe on the other servo..."
"Yeah, now we're talking! Small mech, big dick. And that vibration mod..."
"Oh, Primus, I love tha' one!"
Barricade grabs a cube and fills it with his favorite energon, leaning against the counter next to Jazz, who's just listening to the others, smirking in amusement.
"Mornin' babe." Jazz murmurs.
"Morning." Barricade leans in to give Jazz a peck on his lip-plates.
"Aaw, the two of ye are so sweet tegether." Crosshairs coos. "Go ahead an' do it properly. We won' mind." He smirks, resting his chin against his palm, elbow braced on the counter.
"Ya jus' want a show, n' then ya'll get all hot n' bothered." Jazz snorts.
"Nothin' wrong with seein' some lovin' in the mornin', an' I already masturbated earlier, so I'm cool."
Jazz giggles and shakes his helm, but Barricade can't resist the urge to humor Crosshairs — or the urge to kiss Jazz — and pulls Jazz in for a much more heated kiss. Jazz answers it almost instantly, their glossas rolling around each other at a languorous pace.
"Aaw, ye really are denta rottingly sweet. But now I need te go play with myself."
Jazz momentarily breaks the kiss. "I told ya!" He yells after Crosshairs, then he catches Barricade's intake again.
Chapter Text
Barricade is stretched out on his front, legs spread, and Ironhide is kneeling between his legs, thick digit swiping through Barricade's slick folds.
It doesn't really feel embarrassing anymore, doesn't make him feel exposed and vulnerable like it used to. He really has been here too long, he needs to find a job and get out.
Then maybe you should actually try to look for a job. A quick search on the web every other day while loitering in Jazz's berth can't exactly be seen as an effort.
Shut up. He has done more than that to come up with a plan. He has just needed a day off now and then.
"So, I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you never have taken it in the ass."
A digit slides under the still closed cover to rub the opening, and Barricade squeaks and scrambles forward, coming to a stop sitting defensively curled by the headboard.
Ironhide smirks amusedly, servo still hovering in the air. "I'll take that as a 'no'. Do you have a drain hose, or do you change your oil the old-fashioned way?"
"Please, don't. I-I... Just, no." Barricade stutters hoarsely.
"Come on, Barricade, I'll take it slow, give you time to adjust. You know I don't want to hurt you. It's going to happen sooner or later, and you're going to thank me when the trial period is over that you tried it with me. So what does your configuration look like?"
There are implications there that definitely are an incentive to kick it into gear with finding a new job, but that's nowhere near helpful in the present situation.
"You're too big, it'll never fit! I-I, I can't... Please, I need some time to train myself and get used to it before I can take your cock." Barricade goes for stalling.
If he gets a few days, he can find a way out of here before Ironhide claims... That.
"Configuration?" Ironhide says impatiently.
"Drain hose." Barricade mumbles.
"Good. Then you don't need to clean up before."
Eew.
"Please, Hide!" Barricade whines, trying to look small and cute, because he's certainly not below a bit of manipulation, and he has seen the other pleasurebots go for the sweet and innocent approach when wanting something. "I mean, look at it! Your cock is so massive. I can never take that big gun back there for my first time."
Ironhide looks at him for long seconds, them a grin slowly stretches his lip-plates.
"Well played, little mech. I'll give you two days to get ready for taking my spike."
He has two days to find a job.
"But your training starts today."
What?!
Chapter Text
Barricade is still sitting by the headboard when Crosshairs and Drift walks in. Ironhide moves to sit in his chair, and Drift stops behind him, massaging his shoulders before sliding his servos down Ironhide's front, nipping and kissing the big mech's neck-cables, glossa working sensitive wiring as he goes. Crosshairs drops the box he is carrying on the floor before crawling onto the berth to join Barricade.
"I want to watch your first lesson." Ironhide says.
What?!
Crosshairs is probably smaller. Maybe he's going to be the first one to fuck you in the ass?
Crosshairs servo slides up Barricade's thigh, the Pleasurebot leaning in to nip at Barricade's jaw, touches that are pleasurable, but Barricade can't lose himself to that. Not in this situation.
"I really don't want to do this." Barricade whispers.
"I can' do anythin' 'bout tha', but I promise I'll take it slow, an' I'll make it as good as I possibly can fer ye. Jus' relax an' try te enjoy it, it's the best we can do." Crosshairs murmurs.
"Easy for you to say, you're not the one receiving tonight."
"Actually, I like takin' it in the port. I'm hopin' Hide will finish with fuckin' me, 'cause 'e isn' really tha' inta fuckin' somebot in the ass, so 'e rarely gives it to me like tha'."
Well, if you're aiming for working in-house, you sure have to up your game with this competition.
Fuck you.
I am you, so technically, I will be. In the ass.
"Come on, le's get ye comfortable." Crosshairs urges him to stretch out on the berth again. "I think layin' on yer front will feel the least awkward."
Yeah, so he doesn't have to see the audience.
Just pretend it's a full frame search.
Shut up.
"'ere we go." Crosshairs says, pushing a pillow under Barricade's hips to lift his aft a bit, making his back arch slightly. "Open up." He strokes the plate still covering Barricade's port.
He does, somehow expecting slick digits to invade him immediately, but instead, Crosshairs starts to finger his valve. Barricade chances a glance over his shoulder, and then he flushes, because Ironhide's optics are riveted to him, even as Drift is kneeling between the thug's pedes, obviously sucking his spike. Barricade turns back to press his face into the mattress.
Something cold and slippery slides into his port, and he stiffens.
"A lube-stick. It'll melt by yer frame heat. It'll make ye really slippery, an' we want lots of lube there." Crosshairs murmurs in his audial.
Ugh.
Pay attention. You'll want to know this in a couple of days.
Ugh.
Chapter Text
Crosshairs fingers his valve, and Barricade's charge is rising rather quick in spite of the situation. Then a digit slips inside his ass, and he stiffens. Crosshairs curls the digit, hitting a sensitive spot in there, and Barricade groans in surprise, because that felt kind of nice. His spike requests permission to pressurize, but he denies it.
Another digit is added, sliding in easily, even if the stretch is slightly uncomfortable. Crosshairs keeps working his anterior node, and Barricade's charge keeps rising. Then the digits slip out as Crosshairs reaches for something in the box.
Something thicker, blunter, presses against his port, and then it pops inside when his calipers give in and allows it entrance. Barricade squirms, the stretch not painful, but not comfortable either.
"Doin' good. Try ta relax." Crosshairs murmurs.
Barricade presses his face-plates into the bedding, but nods. The toy is slowly pushed deeper, sliding slickly over that spot inside him, and he gasps quietly when Crosshairs starts to work his node again, hips jerking. The toy in his aft is pulled out a bit, then pushed in again, slowly sliding deeper into him. Barricade shudders in a confusing mix of pleasure and discomfort, because he really doesn't want it in there, and it's uncomfortable, but at the same time, it's rubbing that spot, and the digits on his node are glorious...
Crosshairs servo touches his aft, the toy all the way inside. He stops for a moment, just flicking Barricade's node, then he starts to pull it out again.
"All the way out. I want to see it going in again." Ironhide says.
Barricade whines quietly into the mattress, embarrassed by the reminder of the audience. The toy slips out of him, and Crosshairs pumps his digits into him a couple of times, the digits going in much easier now. It's so humiliating.
The toy is pushed inside again, popping in easier this time, and Crosshairs pushes it inside quicker, fucking him with it a handful of thrusts before pulling it out again. He repeats the motion of letting it slip inside just past the rim, and then pulling it out again. For Ironhide's benefit.
Then Crosshairs drops the toy on the berth and grabs another toy, pushing it against Barricade's slick opening.
Chapter Text
It's thicker than the first toy, and Barricade whines in discomfort.
"Ye're doin' great." Crosshairs comforts him. "Jus' a little bit more, then the first bead is in."
The push resumes, and then it's inside, his calipers clenching around the narrower part. Crosshairs dips his digits into Barricade's valve to gather some of his lubricant, then he strokes his node again.
Barricade's hips jerk of their own accord, because the stimulation to his node is glorious, and in spite of everything, he's running a rather high charge. The press against his opening is renewed, but this time, it goes in a bit quicker, and the momentarily uncomfortable stretch is eased with the next narrow part of the toy.
For each bead pushed inside, he feels more and more full, but every time the toy goes deeper, it rubs against that spot, and it feels good.
Why does he like that? He doesn't want to like that, but it is kind of pleasurable.
The digit on his node is working quicker now, and Barricade is moving against it, moving against the toy in his aft as Crosshairs changes from pushing it in one segment at a time to a slow, continuous slide, slowly going deeper until he reverses the action, pulling it out.
Barricade overloads hard, wailing into the mattress, squirming as the toy keeps sliding out of him, and then he goes limp. He's still aware of being spread out in front of Ironhide and Crosshairs — and Drift, if he doesn't still have his mouth full of Ironhide's spike — but it's easier to pretend he isn't when his face-plates are buried in the bedding.
"Can' ye fuck me now, Daddy? Please." Crosshairs purrs.
That gets Barricade moving. He rolls over on his side, looking at the Corvette who's sitting next to him on the berth, and how he manages to look so innocent — in spite of fingering himself — Barricade cannot understand.
"Haven' I been good, Daddy?" He whines.
Ironhide cocks an optical ridge, considering.
Crosshairs twists around to stand on his knees and elbows. His legs, and the covers where he has been sitting, is stained with lubricant. Barricade can't help but stare at the blatant display. Crosshairs's valve-lips are swollen, and his biolights flicker invitingly, lubricant drooling out of his valve. Barricade's spike requests permission to pressurize, and, oh, how badly he wants to fuck Crosshairs right then, just sink his cock into that soaking wet pussy. But alas, it isn't for him to take.
"Please! Jus' fuck me! My ass feels so empty!" Crosshairs whines again.
Ironhide smirks.
"Can you check if he's ready for me, Barricade? Make sure his ass is slick enough?"
Barricade works his intake. It's not something he has done before.
"Please, come on!" Crosshairs whines. "Jus' check with yer digits so 'e can take me already. I'm slick, an' I really need some cock."
Chapter Text
In Barricade's opinion, Crosshairs's valve looks so inviting, there's no need to stick anything anywhere else. But apparently, Crosshairs himself is of a different opinion, and so is Hide.
Well, better Crosshairs than him...
He pushes a digit inside.
It's hot around his finger, slick with lubricant Crosshairs has apparently already administered himself, and oh, so fucking tight.
"More, please, somethin' bigger!" Crosshairs mewls, pushing back against his servo.
Barricade adds another digit, pumping them slowly.
"What do you say, is he slick enough?" Ironhide asks.
Barricade flushes, because he was so focused on the way Crosshairs's calipers are squeezing his digits, as if trying to suck his fingers deeper, he forgot that the Topkick is watching.
"Yeah. Tight, though..."
He can't take Hide like this, can he?
Ironhide throws his helm back and barks a laugh.
"I fucking hope so!"
Crosshairs makes this wordless, needy little whimper, and it goes straight to Barricade's array, his spike wanting to pressurize again, his valve going slicker.
"Please, Hide, do me like ye fucked me the first time..." Crosshairs pleads, and he sounds so desperate.
Ironhide snorts, but he gets up from the chair.
"So that's what you want? You slutty little bitch..."
He crawls onto the berth to kneel behind Crosshairs, and Barricade backs away to leave them room, optics still riveted to them.
Chapter Text
Ironhide lines up his spike, and Crosshairs tries to rock back to get it inside. It earns him a shove that topples him over to land sprawled on his front.
"That's not how the first time I did this to you went, you needy little slut. I remember you squirming, and whining into the pillow about getting sore." Ironhide growls.
He grabs Crosshairs hips and hikes them up, then he pulls Crosshairs backwards at the same time as he makes a harsh jab with his hips, hilting himself in one thrust. Crosshairs wails into the bedding, and Barricade can't tell if it's from pain or pleasure. Ironhide starts thrusting — quick, powerful thrusts — and he bends over Crosshairs to grab the back of his helm, pushing his face into the mattress to muffle the whimpers.
"Shut it, bitch, or the whole cellblock is going to hear you. We don't want the guards coming in, do we?"
It's disconcerting to watch, but what's most unsettling is the way Barricade's array heats up by this display, and it's disturbing that he can't pinpoint exactly what it is about it that's arousing him so damned much. Crosshairs field is still swamped with arousal, but the entire scene feels dubious at best, and he's ashamed to be turned on by that after... everything.
Then Crosshairs suddenly overloads, entire frame shuddering, and it pulls Ironhide with him. The big mech groans and slams in deep, holding himself hilted. Crosshairs goes limp under him, and as soon as Ironhide lets go of his hips, he slides forward to stretch out on the berth. Ironhide smirks, then he turns to Barricade.
"Still think he's tight?"
"Uhm...no?"
"You should check."
Hesitantly, he leans forward.
Really doesn't look tight; Crosshairs's port is drooling transfluid, the rim slack.
"Check with your digits."
It feels wrong to do it on Ironhide's prompt, and not Crosshairs's, but there's something steely under the velvet of Hide's voice, so he better do it and hope that Crosshairs isn't offended by it.
Barricade's digits slide in easily this time, with no real resistance.
"I bet you can get three digits in there this time."
He can, easily. Barricade pumps his digits, not certain what Ironhide wants with this. Crosshairs doesn't complain, just lies there and allows it to happen.
This'll be you in two days, all loose and slick with transfluid.
It makes Barricade aware of how his port feels right then; slick, and a strange, sore-but-not-really-sore sensation. Chafed, maybe? He stifles the urge to touch it, to check if he's loose too.
Not now, not with all these mechs here, watching.
Chapter Text
Barricade set his alarm to wake up early for once, and he is the first one to get up. Ironhide wakes up when Barricade gets out of bed, but he just looks at the Interceptor and pulls Crosshairs and Drift closer, the smaller mechs not waking up, but snuggling closer to the Topkick, helms resting on his shoulders.
"Those toys will remain here to give you something to practice with. If you need help, just ask Crosshairs." Ironhide says quietly.
Barricade stifles the urge to make a face and nods before slinking into the washracks.
He prods his port with one digit, and Barricade is relieved to find it tighter than yesterday. He waited until everyone was in recharge to test it, and he did not like what he found.
Considering what you'll take back there tomorrow night, being a bit loose is probably a mercy.
Shut up.
You didn't mind the demonstrations yesterday, got all hot by watching, and Crosshairs and Drift sure seemed to enjoy being fucked like that. Maybe you should go get a toy and learn how to take it, so you can enjoy it too?
Nope, I'm going to get our of here before that.
Sure...
Barricade finishes the shower, as if fleeing the washracks is the same thing as leaving his argument behind, and he heads for the refueling room for a quick cube.
It's still too early for anyone to be up, so he's alone while he waits for the energon heater to get finished, and it's tempting to sit down and drink his energon in the quiet, to savor the peaceful moment — like he used to do in what seems like another lifetime — but he doesn't have time for that today. He grabs the disposable cube and heads out.
It's still cold, the first rays of sun not yet having chased the dampness of the night away, but it serves to help him wake up, and somehow it all makes Barricade very hopeful.
Today, he's going to find a real job, one that doesn't involve training his aft for fucking.
Chapter Text
Barricade doesn't return until evening. He has spent the day looking for a job, visiting every single possible employer in the area, asking for the shittiest, unqualified jobs he can come up with, but even those jobs are surprisingly hard to find. Probably because in this neighborhood — unlike where he lived when he was an Enforcer, a better part of the city — there's a never-ending line of mechs without any real qualifications, but who'd rather do those jobs than the alternative.
The alternative he will be forced to do if he doesn't find a job tomorrow.
It's the same thing you've been doing for a while now, the only difference is which hole he's going to stick it in. You shouldn't knock stuff you haven't tried at least three times, you know.
He's not going to take it up the ass, and he's not going to give it out to more people. That's the line he's drawing.
Whatever you say.
He walks into the rec room, heading for the bar to have a cube of high grade to steel himself for tonight's training session.
"You!" Sideswipe snarls, crowding him.
Barricade's spark flies up into his intake and he backs away, back hitting the bar.
"Go upstairs right now, Hide's waiting for you. You broke the rules, and he's expecting a very good explanation. You better be ready to make him really happy."
"I-I, what?! I didn't... I don't know what you're talking about?"
"Go. Upstairs. Now. Either you're lying, or you're stupid, and I'll leave it to Hide to decide which."
Barricade nods jerkily, and then he hurries up the stairs, eager to get away from the angry thug.
Not that a pissed off Ironhide seems like a much better option, but maybe he will see reason? He didn't mean to break the rules, isn't even certain what rule he broke.
The door opens for him, and he steps through, but he doesn't have time to react before Ironhide is on him. A massive servo wraps around his throat, and his back is smashed against the now closed door.
"Where the hell have you been?!"
Chapter Text
"Let go of me! Please!" Barricade cries out, terrified.
He instinctively claws at Ironhide's lower arm to try to free himself. Even if the firm grip doesn't restrict his energon flow or dent anything, it's still terrifying. In a moment of clarity, he tries a technique he learned in self defense class, but it proves ineffectual. Ironhide grins nastily, looking like a sharkticon smelling energon.
"Cute, but I have mods to counteract the common tricks tiny little mechs use to put bigger ones on the floor. Fight like a mech, or just give in."
Barricade slowly allows his frame to go limp, vents still hitching with his distress.
"Where have you been?"
"I went looking for a job, I left a message for you when I left this morning."
Is that not allowed? He is free to leave when he wants, right?
"Didn't I tell you to inform me of roughly where you're going? And when you will be back? A vague message doesn't cut it, and..."
"Yes, but I..."
"Don't interrupt me, and no excuses. I don't care what you come up with. How fucking hard can it be to check in by comm now and then, and inform someone about where you're going next?"
He drops Barricade, and the Saleen crumples to the floor, not prepared for suddenly taking his own weight. Boxed in between Ironhide and the door, curled up on the floor, he feels so very small, and his spark spins wildly in it's chamber.
"Makes me wonder if you didn't want me to know where you were going for some reason..."
"It's not like that!"
"Don't fucking interrupt me!" Ironhide growls. "You know, if you're trying to rat about something going on here to get back in favor with law enforcement, you will be sorely disappointed. They won't find anything, any investigation will be shut down, and you will be seen as a liar. And I will know what you have done."
"I would never... I just went looking for a job, and I thought saying as much would be enough. It was a mistake, I'm so sorry." Barricade grovels, vents hitching.
Primus knows what Hide will do to him if he doesn't believe the explanation.
"A job isn't a geographical location. I want to know what area you're in at all times."
"Why didn't you just comm me and ask where I was then? I didn't mean to keep away from you, I thought I'd done enough, and then I was distracted by everything else."
And even if his old life was a long time ago, he isn't used to constantly check in with dispatch in his spare time.
"You didn't answer. I had Jazz try to get ahold of you too, but you didn't answer him either. He was rather upset about it."
Frag! He set his comms to silence incoming calls when he spoke to the manager at the first place he went to, then he forgot to open them again.
Barricade checks his inbox, and sure enough, he has 27 missed calls from Ironhide, and 34 from Jazz.
"I'm very sorry, I just forgot..." Barricade whispers weakly.
"Yeah, yeah. Go shower, and comm Jazz to apologize. He was a complete mess of nerves over it."
Chapter Text
Barricade hurries into the washracks, relieved to get some distance to Ironhide, hoping that the Topkick will be calmer when he gets out of there.
::Hey, it's me...:: He comms Jazz.
::Barricade! Are ya ok?! I was so worried! Where are ya?! Ya didn't say anythin', n' I couldn' get ahold of ya, n'...::
::Slow down. I'm back at the house, I'm in the shower right now. Hide ripped me a new one for going awol, though.::
::I fuckin' hope he did! What if somethin' had happened? We wouldn't know where ta start lookin' for ya!::
Jazz sounds so upset, and maybe it's for a valid reason, but Barricade feels like Jazz is overreacting. It's not that late, and it isn't like he has been spending the day in the shadiest alleys he could find.
::It's fine, I'm fine! Primus, I'm a grown mech, I can trundle around the neighborhood in the middle of the day without a standby SWAT team...:: He rolls his optics, starting to scrub his frame.
::Rules are rules, n' they're there for a reason, not just 'cause tha brothers feel like it. Did ya cross Wing nut Drive?"
::Yeah, I went a couple of blocks further.::
::That's not Autobot territory! See, that's why ya should check in. Unfriendly mechs who find out about ya bein' associated with tha Bots could make sure ya have a really lousy day. Or worse.::
Upset has turned to anger, Jazz seemingly gearing up for stripping his plating again and while he understands better why now, it doesn't really feel like he deserves it. He has had a shitty day; not finding a job, Ironhide getting mad at him, and now Jazz is lining up for giving him another figurative slap in the face.
::I won't do it again. It was a mistake. I really am sorry that I scared you.:: He says to appease Jazz and hopefully steer the conversation to something else.
::No, ya won't. If ya do, ya could get kicked out. Rules are rules.::
Ugh. He doesn't want to get kicked out, but he better find a job tomorrow, before...yeah.
Aft up, bitch.
Shut up.
The thought brings back the apprehension for the night, and Barricade wonders if it'll be just him and Hide tonight, or if others will join them again. Suddenly, he's antsy and can't enjoy the shower anymore.
::Anyway, I guess I should go make it up to Hide...::
::Yeah, n' my customer is hopefully done soon. He's takin' forever, though, I should charge him extra. I swear some of these ol' coots should get themselves a router ta help keep their spikes pressurized.::
His customer?!
::You're on the comms while fucking a customer?!::
::Well, yeah! I wanned ta talk to ya, n' it isn't like I need ta focus. He jus' wanned ta bend me over a dumpster, so I jus' need ta stand here n' take it. Make a couple of noises now n' then.:: Jazz laughs. ::Sometimes we comm each other and tell jokes ta seeif we can make tha others lose focus.::
What the fuck...
Maybe they did that when you fucked hookers? Imagine being so bad in the sack, someone make comm calls while waiting for you to finish. At least Hide is good enough to keep you properly occupied. If he isn't still pissed off at you.
::Yay, he finally overloaded!::
:: ... Right. So, I'll see you tomorrow?::
::I'll hold ya to it!::
Chapter Text
Ironhide is stretched out on the berth when Barricade returns from the shower. The big mech is watching TV, chin resting on his lower arms.
"You look tense." Barricade says quietly, so nervous that the tension is lingering anger, he fails to try to make it sound suggestive. "Let me rub you shoulders?"
Ironhide grunts an affirmative, and Barricade clambers onto the berth, trying to find a good way to reach the bunched cables on the Topkick's massive back.
"Is it ok if I straddle you? I can't reach..."
"Go ahead."
Hide sounds grumpy, and for the first time since he got here, Barricade wishes he'd tease and leer, and say crude stuff the way he usually does. This truly bad mood is new, and he doesn't like it, because he doesn't know what it'll mean for him. Barricade digs his digits into the thick cables of Ironhide's upper back, trying to coax the kinks out of them without really knowing what he's doing. He works in silence for a while, tense on top of the gang boss, and the longer he sits there, the more nervous he gets when Ironhide doesn't say anything.
"I really didn't mean to disappear on you like that. I forgot I'd set my comms to unavailable. I'm sorry." Barricade breaks the silence.
"Yeah. You're new here, I get that it's a lot to keep track of." Ironhide grunts, sounding sarcastic.
Barricade wants to argue, because he wasn't exactly given a schedule for how often to check in and such, so he doesn't think it's fair to blame him, but fairness has little to do with it when Ironhide holds the power and has decided that Barricade fucked up. Jazz is right, he could be kicked out if he doesn't follow the rules, and he doesn't want that to happen.
Even if he wants to be out of the house before tomorrow night.
Yeah, you know, you're not going to make it. Might as well start working on loosening up...
Shut up!
"I will do better. I'll tell you where I'm going as soon as I leave a place." He says to appease Ironhide, even if he thinks it's a violation of his freedom, even more so than being on parole is.
"I'm expecting that. It's better that you check in one time too many than not. When you're uncertain of the rules, just ask. If you feel like you're bothering me or the other brothers by comming us too often, just ask the other whores, they can always fill you in."
The other whores. Ironhide bunches him with them.
You already know that's what you are.
"Does everyone always run everything by you? I mean, it has to be exhausting to keep track of everyone." Barricade muses out loud, abscentmindedly tweaking a bracket on Ironhide's shoulder that feels stuck.
The big mech grunts a chuckle. "Frag, that one was bad. You're good at this. Actually, everyone checks in with Nitro Zeus or Blackout. Nitro is our Sergeant at arms, and Blackout is our Enforcer. They report to me if need be, and everyone knows who to ask if they're looking for someone. It's just noobs who answer directly to me on these matters."
This is news to Barricade, but it's not really a mercy. He certainly doesn't want to talk to Nitro Zeus more than necessary, and to have the sleazy Jet know where he is constantly doesn't seem wise. Barricade doesn't really know Blackout, more than that he's huge and rather scary.
And according to the other pleasurebots, he's hot when he takes the plating around his hub off.
You stared at the pictures of unplated mechs of similar type for a pretty long time. Maybe you should call him. See if you can get under his plating...
Barricade flushes when thinking about the pictures he found on the data net, and works Ironhide's back with more fervor to get something else to focus on. Then Hide shifts, as if he's had enough.
"But if you've been that busy all day, I guess you haven't had time to try to prepare yourself for tomorrow. I think it's time for some exercise..." He says, the leer back in his voice.
His flips around, and his servo shoots out, trapping Barricade's wrist-strut in a vicelike grip, and then he twists them around. Barricade has time to squeak, then he's pinned under the heavy mech, spark doing backflips.
Chapter Text
"So what would you prefer; me playing with you, or you doing it yourself?"
It's one hell of a question, because Barricade would certainly prefer to not have anyone doing anything with his ass, but if this keeps Ironhide happy without moving up the date of his next loss of a virginity to right this instant, it's half a win.
"What would you prefer?" Barricade purrs, plastering on a coy smile, because he really can't decide which would be the least humiliating of the two options.
Ironhide seems to weigh his options, and suddenly Barricade feels quite certain that putting on a show would be the worse option.
"Curl up on your side." Ironhide says, moving off Barricade.
The Interceptor does as he's told, opening that panel while Ironhide rummages through the box Crosshairs left on the floor.
Will Crosshairs miss those toys? What would he need all of them for, considering all the cock he can get here...?
Maybe he's not such a prude and likes to make himself feel good? With and without an audience.
"You toy with your node, or stick your digits in your pussy, whatever you prefer. I'll take care of the rest."
Obediently, Barricade presses one servo between his legs and starts to slowly circle his node. He forces himself to not tense when a thick digit, slick with lubricant, rubs his opening, but when it slips inside, he squirms.
"I-I had a full frame search in prison. I really hated that..." He blurts, not knowing if it is to explain his squirming, or a plea to not be expected to do this.
"I would've been more surprised if you had enjoyed it. I can't think of anyone who does." Ironhide says, and suddenly Barricade realizes that he may not be the only one in this house who has gone through that.
Hide has said things before that points to more than him being on parole, and the mechs here seems far more likely to be the type that would be suspected of smuggling than he is. Maybe Nitro was searched when he was in jail? Maybe even Hide has been through it at some point? But wouldn't that make him understand why Barricade doesn't want to do this?
This is interfacing, completely different than a cavity search, and Hide wants to frag your aft. Just get used to being seen as three fraggable holes.
"You're opening up pretty nicely. Still, my two fingers are nowhere near as thick as my spike."
Does the bastard get turned on by embarrassing him, by saying crude things?
Probably.
And when the hell did he slip a second digit inside?
Then Barricade wants to hide his helm under a pillow, because if he didn't notice that, then he really must be getting pretty loose.
The digits slip out, and then something bigger presses against his port, easily sliding in the first bit, but the the tapered shape meets resistance. Ironhide wiggles it, twists it, and pushes it in a little bit, pumping it with small movements.
"Keep working yourself, don't focus on this."
He really tries to, and it does surprise him how wet he is getting, as if his frame is approving more than his processor. Even if the stretch is a bit uncomfortable, it's also stimulating in a way that has his charge rising.
You'll be a really good little whore in no time.
Shut up.
Chapter Text
It slides into place and settles, filling him up and Barricade grabs the sheet, venting deeply to get used to it.
"This is a good start. You still have a way to go to take me, though..." Ironhide notes.
He does something with the toy, and suddenly it starts to vibrate. Barricade mewls in surprise at the strange input, the tickling deep in his chassis. His spike requests permission to pressurize, but he denies it.
"Ride me." Ironhide says, flopping over on his back.
With the fucking thing still inside?!
Well, duh...
He doesn't dawdle for too long, because Ironhide has stated what he wants, and so Barricade has to seem willing and eager. He straddles the mech, rubbing his soaked folds along the thick shaft a few times before lining it up and sliding down it. Ironhide groans.
"I can feel those vibrations too, frag that feels good!"
It does feel good to have his valve filled, Barricade is charged, and his inside nodes are very sensitive. He starts to grind against Ironhide's pelvic plating to get some friction on his anterior node.
It's almost too much, he's already racing towards the edge, and Hide certainly won't want to stop just because Barricade overloads in a matter of seconds. He starts to lift off and sink down instead to pace himself, Ironhide's optics locked on where his thick spike is sliding in and out of the Saleen's valve, big servos gripping his thighs. Barricade's digits dig into the seams of Ironhide's ventral plating, and he is hard pressed to not increase the pace and chase his overload.
"Get on all fours. I want to see." Ironhide rumbles, nudging Barricade's hip.
He's quick to obey this time, wanting to get that overload that's pending.
Starting to lose some of your inhibitions, eh? Not getting embarrassed by this.
Barricade ignores the thought, and it's easy to do when Ironhide grabs the toy and wiggles it, making the Saleen squirm from the confusing mix of a weird sensation that's not that uncomfortable, and pleasure. Then the vibrations change pattern, and the Topkick's spike slides into him again, and he rocks back with a moan. Ironhide snickers.
"So needy. I like it."
He starts to pound into Barricade, setting a quick pace, and Barricade grabs on to the sheets, rocking back to meet each thrust. Hide's servo comes around to rub his node, and it's a matter of seconds before Barricade overloads with a loud wail. He pants, arms trembling with the need to go limp and just tip forward, but Ironhide is not done yet, so he forces himself to remain on servos and knees.
Ironhide pulls out, and Barricade feels the hot spatters of transfluid landing on his back and aft, and he has enough energy to be embarrassed and indignant about it, but he doesn't say anything.
Ironhide flops back on the berth, watching as Barricade reaches back to stop the vibrations of the toy, fumbling around with the controls and accidentally changing the vibration patterns a couple of times before managing turn it off. He grabs the base and pulls, forced to wiggle it a bit to get it out.
"You can clean that tomorrow." Ironhide says, handing him a rag to wipe away the cum from his plating.
Barricade does that, and discards the toy and the towel on the floor, then he stretches out on his front next to the Topkick. Digits slip into his aft easily now, he's still slick with lubricant. Barricade flushes, because it's embarrassing to be loosened up like this.
"Do you really have to...?"
"No, but I want to. You take three digits easily now." Ironhide says, amusement coloring his field.
Ugh.
Chapter Text
Barricade never thought that this would be the thing he'd do first thing in the morning, but fate really is dealing him a lot of those kinds of cards these days.
He's curled up on Ironhide's berth, assfucking himself with a toy, and it's cold comfort that the thug left early to go on what he called a repo run, because Barricade still has a fake spike in his ass.
Pushing it in and out pretty slowly, because quicker movements doesn't feel all that good, he's flicking his node to get to the overload so he can quit.
He needs to get going to go find himself a job. This is just a backup plan if he doesn't.
You know, you don't have to overload from this. You could just quit now, since you can take this size. Maybe grab a bigger one and try with that?
But doing it just to stretch himself would make it feel even more gross, so Barricade is going to overload and pretend that he does it for fun.
He doesn't need to keep his spike away now, though...
Barricade allows it to pressurize and grabs it, slowly stroking it. Pre-transfluid is already beading from the head, and he smears it along the shaft, twisting his servo as he strokes himself, his rhythm with the fake spike faltering. The position; curled up on his side is too awkward, and he tries to kneel instead, but it's not much better. He bends forward until his face is pressed against the mattress, aft in the air, and at that moment, Barricade is very thankful for being alone in the room.
He starts to slide the toy into himself again, and this time, he hits that spot Crosshairs found inside him. The Mustang's hips jerk, his spike being pushed into his servo, and he groans.
With the servo around his spike, he sets a quick pace, and he angles the toy to hit that spot with every slide of it, and it doesn't take long before he overloads, transfluid landing in sticky ropes on the sheet. His frame feels limp and relaxed, and he would really enjoy to just lay there for a while, but he doesn't have time for that.
Throw the sheets in the washer, wash the toys, quick shower, find a job.
Chapter Text
Of course he doesn't find a job. Noon turns to afternoon, and then late afternoon, and with a sinking feeling in his spark, he has to admit defeat and go back to the house, because he has things he has to do to prepare himself for the inevitable. He finds Jazz in the main rec room, lazily lounging on a couch.
"Hi, Cade. W'sup?"
"I really need you to fuck me in the ass right now." Barricade hisses, spark in his throat-tubing.
Of course he doesn't say it quietly enough. Everyone falls silent, turning their helms to them.
"No little mech of ours should have to be left so desperate. I have a nice, big dick for you to sit on if you need it." Nitro Zeus leers.
Barricade glares at the Flier, barely keeping himself from making a disgusted face when Nitro Zeus pressurizes his spike, slowly stroking the thick length of admittedly impressive ridges and biolights.
Off course he'd have mods to make up for the lack of a fancy paint job, and the way his bulky frame can't measure up to the sleek beauty of a seeker. If you don't have the looks, make sure your dick has them instead, or what?
Those ridges probably hit every single spot, though...
Shut up.
"I'm fine, thank you." Barricade grinds out.
Nitro shrugs. "Suit yourself, it's your loss." He looks around, still holding his pressurized spike. "Hey, Roddy! Take care of this for me. I mean, now that the beast is good to go, I might as well put it to use."
The mech with the gaudy paint job looks at the Flier. "Sure. Tell Sunny, though. I mean, if it makes me late for work."
"I'll make it quick." Nitro says, pulling Hot Rod into his lap and sinking his spike inside immediately.
"Babe?" Jazz says, catching Barricade's attention. "Wanna take this ta my room?"
"Yeah."
Jazz gets up, and Barricade follows him, glancing at where Nitro is fucking Roddy, the smaller mech steadying himself with servos on the Flier's broad shoulders. Hot Rod looks like he's thinking about something else, as if he couldn't care less about the spiking he's getting, and Barricade gets a niggling feeling in the back of his processor about why Ironhide wants him to show a little enthusiasm, because that looks kind of boring.
At least Roddy won't be competition when they're looking for in-house entertainment the next time.
Ugh.
Chapter Text
"Now that is a request I never thought I'd hear from you." Jazz drawls when they're in his room, door shut behind them.
"Hide's going to do it tonight. He already took my valve virginity, and the first blowjob I've ever given. I'd rather not give everything to him. And I'm not sure he'll be all that gentle either, and he's kind of massive, so..."
"He won't damage ya, but I'm not gonna say no ta an offer like that!" Jazz says, patting the berth next to him.
Barricade sits down, but he doesn't lay back, nervously toying with a plate on his thigh. He's had toys in his port a few times now, but it feels like a very long step to be the kind of mech who takes spike up his ass too, even if it will happen soon anyway.
"Do you do it? Take it in the port, I mean."
"Yeah. I didn' back when we met, n' I was so scared that ya'd demand that, because I wasn' sellin' it n' I really didn' wanna do it. Then Brawl happened, n' I wasn' allowed ta choose anymore. By tha time I got here, I was so used ta it, I never really thought about not doin' it."
It makes horrible, disgusting sense, but at least it settles some of Barricade's nerves, because at least Jazz won't think less of him for going along with this.
He crawls up to stretch out on his front next to Jazz, burying his face in the pillow when he tilts his hips to grant access, and opens the covers.
Jazz's servo is there immediately, and he can feel the eager anticipation trembling in his lover's field. It doesn't feel good, because it somehow feels like Jazz has just been waiting to get a chance to literally have at his aft. Barricade doesn't like feeling objectified like that — especially not by his lover — even if he can't say if it really is like that, or if his processor is interpreting Jazz's eagerness wrong.
Jazz's thumb, slicked with lubricant slides into his aft, Jazz's other digits sliding through his slit to circle his node, and Barricade forces himself to try to relax.
"Ya've been practicin'."
"Yeah." Barricade squeaks, embarrassed.
The thumb slides out, and he hears how Jazz pours more lubricant on his servo, then two digits slip into him, pumping in and out slowly. Excitement is trembling in Jazz's field, and he can sense the impatience even before Jazz speaks the next time.
"Ya think ya're ready? Ya're slick n' kind of inviting, n' I don' wanna rub ya raw by fingering ya for too long..."
He'll never be ready.
"Just do it, I think I can handle it."
He might as well get it over with.
"My pleasure. Lift your hips, it'll feel better n' help ya take me."
Chapter 158
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jazz nudges his knees farther apart, and the angle forces Barricade to arch his back, hips lifting in what feels like an obscene invitation.
Just like they do in the pornos.
Then the head of Jazz's spike pushes against his slick entrance. It stings when he's pried open, the stretch burning, and Barricade grunts in discomfort, because it is bigger than anything he has taken before, and while there was some discomfort whenever he tried a bigger toy, he was at least more prepped when he sized up. This is so much worse.
"Ya're doin' great, hun!" Jazz encourages him in a strained voice. "Ya know, ya can bite tha pillow while ya get used to it. Even mechs who like ta get it hard n' deep often do."
Barricade's answer is a wordless keen, but he doesn't take the advice — because it sounds ridiculous, and why would anyone want to do it like that of their own free will — but when the head of Jazz's spike pops inside, Barricade suddenly finds his intake full of fluffy pillow.
Fucking pit, Jazz never felt too big, but right now, he feels massive.
Imagine how Ironhide will feel.
Not right now. Please.
Oh, look, he's getting humbled!
Jazz slowly rolls his hips, pushing in a little deeper every time, and Barricade is panting into the pillow, whimpering with every push. It's so much, and he can't understand how Jazz manages to pull out or push in at all, because they should be stuck like this, considering how thick that lenght feels inside him.
"Fuck ya feel good like this, so fuckin' tight, n' hot. Yare takin' me so well too." Jazz praises him, a servo sliding along his back-struts in a soothing manner. "Halfway there already!"
Halfway?! Half-fucking-way?! He's going to die. The notice of his demise in the news site will say "died with a cock in his ass, like a full fledged fucking pleasurebot."
Heh.
"I-I... I can't. It's too much, I..." Barricade whines, spitting out the pillow.
"Aw, babe, I know tha first time can be a bit rough. Ya'll learn, though. N' ya won' enjoy doin' this with Hide if ya can't even take me. He's big."
"I know, I just..."
"It'll feel better soon, I'll hold still for a while. I'm sorry for rushin', but ya know, if ya'd been a little earlier, I'd have more time ta rev ya up before. I need ta finish before I hafta go to work."
Well, fuck his functioning, but it's his own damned fault that this is so uncomfortable. He should've asked Jazz much sooner for help with this.
Jazz starts to toy with Barricade's anterior node, holding still, and after a while of that, the discomfort slowly tapers off to a duller ache, and a fullness Barricade isn't used to yet. His charge is rising from Jazz's ministrations, and his valve is feeling slick.
It'll have to do, he wants this over with.
"You can move now."
Jazz's only answer is slow rolls of his hips, pushing in a little deeper with each thrust, and this time, it's a bit easier to take it.
"Ya should keep playin' with your node. It's hard for me ta reach like this."
He does, because while he doesn't want to enjoy anything about this, the only one losing if he doesn't is himself. Jazz increase the pace, long thrusts that make's his pelvic plating clang against Barricade's aft every time he hilts himself, servos digging into Barricade's hips for leverage. It feels kind of degrading.
Barricade finally manages to coax himself to an overload, but it's shallow and unsatisfying, then Jazz pulls out, spilling his transfluid on Barricade's aft.
"Sorry for makin' a mess, but I don' wanna cream ya up before ya're goin' ta Hide. That was nice, I'd be happy ta do it again if ya wanna. I hafta go now, I'm already late for work. Sorry ta run out on ya, but Sunny has no patience at all."
"It's fine. See you tomorrow." Barricade mumbles.
Nope, they're not doing this again anytime soon.
Notes:
I'm kind of mad at Jazz for this, he's being kind of an ass.
Chapter Text
He has cleaned up and is curled up by the headboard on Ironhide's berth, smoking a cyg to calm his nerves by the time the thug shows up.
The Topkick smirks at him, then it turns into a predatory grin, full of anticipation. Ironhide slowly crawls up the berth on all fours, stalking him like a cyberwolf would, and Barricade stifles a shudder that's not just fear. Ironhide reaches out to pluck the cyg from Barricade's lip-plates, taking a drag from it without breaking optic contact, then he puts it out and discards it on the nightstand. Barricade bites his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. A big servo slides up his thigh, urging his legs apart, trying to open his defensive pose.
The dam breaks.
Barricade starts to sob, trembling violently, and he buries his face against his knees, wrapping his arms around his helm to hide.
"I-I'm sorry! I can't do it! I tried, I really did, and it hurt so much, so very very much, and I just can't, because you're so big, and I'll fall into stasis, and..."
Ironhide heaves a sigh, sitting back, and Barricade is convinced that the Topkick has had enough, that he's going to kick Barricade out, and he really doesn't want to risk to eventually be forced to this by someone much worse.
But it hurt so much, and just thinking about it makes him on edge, and...
"Hey, take it easy. You were doing well last night. What happened?"
"I wanted to make sure I could take something bigger before trying with you, but J... the mech I went to was in a rush, and it hurt so fucking bad, and he's nowhere near your size..." Barricade wails into his knees.
"Who did it?" Ironhide sounds annoyed.
Oh shit! He didn't mean to get Jazz in trouble!
"It doesn't matter. I just... I'm so scared, because I know this will hurt much worse."
"It matters a lot, because if it's a brother, I still have claimed you for myself, and even if you volunteered, they can't damage you. And if it's one of the whores..."
"I'm not damaged, it just hurt." Barricade mumbles.
"Your loss of cooperation is something I consider damage. Loss of cooperation is time, time is money. Now, who owes me money for the time I need to invest in getting you cooperative again?"
"I don't want to get him in trouble, please don't... I'll make it up to you. He needed to go to work, and I was keeping him from going. Please, I'll make it up to you, don't blame him."
"So, it's Jazz."
"Please, he didn't mean to. I'll do whatever you want, just don't be mad at him." Barricade mumbles in a small voice, terrified for what Ironhide could do to Jazz, and how his accidental snitching could impact their relationship.
"You know what I want. We even scheduled this, so keep your end of the bargain, and I don't have to take the payment elsewhere."
Another sob wracks Barricade's frame, but still he nods his agreement.
For Jazz. He'll bite the fragging pillow for Jazz.
Chapter Text
"Come here. Straddle me." Ironhide says, leaning his back against the headboard, stretching his legs out.
It's unexpected, because Barricade was so convinced that he'd be aft up, face in the bedding for this, nothing else came to mind. He swings his leg over Ironhide's thighs, servos on the big mech's shoulders, and sits there awkwardly.
"I told you I don't want to hurt you, and it's true, so we'll go slow. I'm not a complete bastard, even if you like to think I am."
Barricade flushes but nods, opening his panels when Ironhide's servo slides between his legs. A thick digit slips into his valve, already slick with lubricant, because he did prep himself after his shower. Ironhide's other servo cups the back of his helm, urging him forward to meet the Topkick in a slow kiss.
It throws Barricade off balance, because this kind of foreplay wasn't what he expected. The digit inside him slips out to do a lap around his node before slipping inside again. Barricade allows himself to get into the kiss, slowly relaxing as Ironhide coaxes him to get charged, his valve getting slicker with his honest arousal. Barricade hardly notices when the digit slides back to be pushed into his port. A strong arm wraps around his back to pull him closer, chest-plates pressed against Ironhide's, and another digit joins the first without any real discomfort. Barricade throws himself into the kiss, speeding it up, making it more feral and hungry with clashing denta, ignoring as another digit slides into him until Ironhide breaks the kiss, nipping at Barricade's jaw before speaking up.
"I want you to ride me. Take what you can, I want us both to have a good time tonight."
Ironhide grabs his rock hard spike to keep it steady, and Barricade feels it rub sticky pre-cum against the plating on his aft. He swallows nervously, but still he lifts himself, shifting to line it up against his port. Barricade slowly starts to sink down, and it's surprisingly easy when it starts to open him up.
Loose whore, easily taking it up the ass...
Then he hits resistance, and he stops, grinding his denta.
"You're doing good, just a little bit more, and you'll have the tip inside." Ironhide praises him, stroking soothingly down Barricade's back-strut with his big servo.
Barricade lifts off, giving himself a slight respite, waiting out the reflexive clench of his calipers before pushing down again. The resistance is still there, but he's determined, ignoring the burning stretch, and suddenly he's rewarded with the head of Ironhide's spike popping into him when the thickest part gets past his calipers.
Ironhide grinds his denta, optics momentarily rolling back into his helm. "Fuck, you're so tight!" He growls, servos sliding up and down Barricade's sides, and it is unclear if it is a soothing gesture, or a way to distract himself to keep from overloading on the spot.
There's something very satisfying about unraveling the bastard like that, something that feels like he holds some power there, and Barricade clenches around that spike, smirking at Ironhide. It isn't comfortable to clench around the thick cock, but he ignores that, because the satisfaction of Ironhide's reaction outweighs it. Ironhide bares his denta, sucking in a sharp vent when his spike is squeezed even tighter.
"Watch it, little minx..." Ironhide growls, but pleased amusement is coloring his field.
Chapter Text
He has worked himself further down on Ironhide's spike, not all the way, but he's so fragging full when Hide starts to tease his anterior node again.
"You're more than halfway, and I'd say that's enough for today if you want to finish now."
Barricade nods, still continuing to lift off and sink down a little deeper each time. Ironhide's servo on his aft urges him to increase the pace and he does. It's impossible to get any deeper with this pace, it brings a twinging deep in his chassis, but as long as he doesn't try to take more of it, the pace feels ok, especially when Ironhide increases the pressure on the touches to his node.
"Rotate your chassis a bit, it'll make it better for you."
He tries it, and it takes a few slides along the shaft to get it right, but then Ironhide's spike hits that spot inside him, and his hips buck with the intensity of the sensation.
"That's it, keep that up." Ironhide grinds out, obviously close.
Barricade mewls the next time he slides down the thick spike and it hits that spot again, his valve contracting as he already teeters on the edge. Then Ironhide flicks his node one more time, and Barricade overloads with a wail, hips bucking uncontrollably. He sinks down deeper on Ironhide's spike, and the big mech growls when he overloads, arms shaking from the effort of not just pressing Barricade down to push in to the hilt.
The Saleen lurches forward, leaning his helm against Ironhide's shoulder, frame feeling strutless and spent, and he waits out the rhythmic pulsing as Ironhide spills his transfluid inside him.
"Thank you for being patient." Barricade mumbles.
Ironhide could've just had him, could've told him to get on his knees and servos and fucked him no matter how bad it felt for Barricade, but he didn't. No, he did this surprisingly good for Barricade.
You come so hard when you've something up your ass, are you starting to like it.
Shut up.
"I don't enjoy hurting mechs. Unless they're into that, then I can dig it, but you are not. You'll manage to take it all tomorrow, I'm certain of it, and I'm not in a rush. Now, stretch out on your front."
Barricade climbs off of Ironhide's lap, the spike slipping out followed by a trickle of transfluid, and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. Ironhide smirks as if he knows exactly, and it makes Barricade even more embarrassed. He still obeys, stretching out as instructed, feeling the warm fluid still dribbling out. Ironhide reaches out to stroke his port, pushing a couple of digits inside without resistance, scissoring them to let a bigger glob of fluid to run out.
"I like this; seeing you all loose, drooling my cum, feeling how sloppy you are from accommodating my cock."
Barricade buries his face in the mattress, so very embarrassed by it all, but even more embarrassed by how nice those stroking digits feel on the rim of his port, lazily toying with him.
Then Hide has seen enough, and he stretches out next to Barricade, slinging an arm across the Interceptor and pulling him close. The lights go off, and Barricade is stunned by the suddenness of it all.
"What a fucking day, I'm so tired. And you really wore me out. We can clean up tomorrow." Hide mumbles, apparently already halfway into recharge. "You should talk to Crosshairs about some extra protocols for your port. Might come in handy. For your own sake."
Ugh, more things to turn him into the perfect pleasurebot.
"How would that be for my sake?"
But Ironhide is already in recharge, so no answer is forthcoming. Ignoring his general stickiness, Barricade offlines his optics and nestles into the big frame next to him, because recharging like that is kind of comfortable.
Chapter Text
Barricade comes to a halt just inside the door to the refueling room, and he knows that staring is rude, but he just can't help himself.
Dreadbot is curled up on top of a bar stool, reading a data pad, slowly chewing energon gels he's picking form a plate on the table. That's not what has Barricade staring.
He's completely covered in fluffy, light blue fabric.
"What?" Dreadbot asks around a bite, sounding annoyed.
"Sorry. I just... I've never seen something like that?" Barricade indicates Dreadbot with a motion of his servo.
Dreadbot smirks, sliding down from the chair, doing a little twirl to show off the garment that covers him from neck to pede.
"It's comfortable." Dreadbot says, taking his seat again.
"Can I touch it?" Barricade asks, feeling ridiculous as soon as the words are out, but the fluffyness is very compelling.
"Sure."
Barricade stops by Dreadbot, stroking his servo along the mech's back to get a feel of the fabric, and he can see why it is comfortable. The softness of the fabric makes him want to touch it all day. He strokes it once more, then he heads for the energon dispenser.
"Incredibly soft, I can see why you like it."
Dreadbot smirks without looking up from his data pad, nodding. Barricade turns back to the energon heater, pouring a serving into the pot, then he hears the door opening. He glances over his shoulder, and when he spots Knock Out and Crosshairs, he pours more energon into the heater.
"Good morning, my pretties." Knock Out purrs.
Barricade answers over his shoulder, and turns back to face them as soon as the heater is started.
"I, ah, I need to talk to you, Crosshairs. Alone? After we have had energon of course." Barricade says hesitantly, because he isn't exactly looking forward to have a discussion about modifying the protocols for his aft.
"Absolutely!"
The door flies open again, and Nitro Zeus steps in, optic locking on Dreadbot, brightening considerably. He makes a beeline for the smaller mech, scooping him up from his seat.
"Hey, what the hell..."
"You, me, my room, right now." Nitro rumbles, throwing Dreadbot over his shoulder, pinning his legs between a strong arm and massive chest-plates.
Dreadbot flails uselessly, making a noise of outrage as Nitro Zeus turns and heads for the door.
"Put me down you fragging oaf! I have not agreed to this!"
"Then you shouldn't dress like that, looking all inviting." Nitro says, his free servo stroking the soft fabric covering Dreadbot's aft.
"It's a free fucking country, I can dress however I damned well please! Now put me down, you uncivilized cave troll." Dreadbot snarls before sinking his denta into Nitro's back.
"Ow! Bitch." Nitro cackles in amusement, stopping the fondling of Dreadbot's aft in favor of spanking him instead.
"I was refueling, you underclocked bastard, I have both the right and the need to get some sustenance!"
Nitro stops and walks backwards to the table.
"You're right, you need the energy to keep up with me. Go on, stuff your face."
Dreadbot hangs there for long seconds, scowling at Nitro, then he grabs the gels and stuffs all of them into his intake at once.
"I'll make you pay for this!" He snarls around the mouthful, spanking Nitro's aft with both his servos since he can't really do anything else.
"Technically, I already am paying for this, but I will enjoy seeing you try."
"Fucking asshole!" Dreadbot growls.
Nitro Zeus barks a laugh. "Promise?!"
Then the door swings shut behind them, and Barricade fidgets, feeling uneasy about it.
"Shouldn't we help him? I mean..." He trails off, watching as Crosshairs grabs the data pad for himself and Knock Out puts the plate in the washer as if their co-worker wasn't just taken away against his will to be fucked by a bastard.
"Nah, tha's jus' foreplay. 'e never complains when 'e returns." Crosshairs says, shrugging.
Chapter Text
"Ye wanned te speak te me?" Crosshairs says when Knock Out has grabbed his energon and left the refueling room.
"Yeah, I," Barricade starts, flushing horribly. "Hide said I should ask you about... About modified protocols for my, uhm, my port." He mumbles.
"Alright, wha' d'ye need te know?" Crosshairs smirks, clearly amused by Barricade's embarrassment.
"Uhm, everything? I don't know, he just said I should ask you. That it was for my own sake."
"Well, ye were pretty tight, so it might be a good idea. An' it has other advantages. Ye want me te show ye 'ow mine work?"
Well, that won't be awkward...
Maybe he'll let you try him? You'd really like that, wouldn't you. Bend him over something and stick it up his ass, see if it is good to do it like that.
Well, he wouldn't complain about it if Crosshairs offers...
"Sure..."
"Let's go te my room. I could do it 'ere, but I'm no' sure I'd get te finish the demonstration if someone walks in..." Crosshairs says suggestively as he heads for the door.
Barricade follows him, certain that Crosshairs is right. They go to the pleasurebot wing, and Crosshairs lets him into his room. It's bigger than Jazz's, and he has more things, but then again, he has been here longer than Jazz, so that probably isn't strange. Barricade's optics lock on the chest of drawers, or rather the impressive collection of toys on top of it. There's so many fake spikes, it's a miracle that they don't fall over the edge.
No, there's actually a few on the floor too.
Crosshairs crawls onto the berth, and flops down on his back, spreading his legs, panels open.
"Grab the thick, blue an' red dildo in the top drawer, an' the lube. Then come sit 'ere." He says to Barricade.
It's so weird to dig around in a drawer that should be so private, but Barricade opens the drawer, gawking at the huge toy inside. He takes it hesitantly, because he still isn't really used to these things, even finds them a bit gross.
The thing is fucking massive.
He grabs the lube and returns to the berth, kneeling between Crosshairs legs. With a smirk, the Corvette puts a pede on his shoulder.
"I 'ave full control over my calipers. Normally, we don', they operate automatically, but with my extra protocols, I can adjust them as I want. Go ahead an' lube me up. Test 'ow tight I am now, an' I'll show ye the difference."
Chapter Text
Crosshairs is really tight. The lube makes Barricade's digit slide in quite easily anyway, but the rim really squeezes his digit. Crosshairs hums appreciatively when Barricade slowly pumps his digit to smear the lube.
"Tight, yeh?"
"Yes."
"Now, pour some lube on the toy."
"Are you sure? This thing is so thick..."
On the other servo, Crosshairs didn't seem to have any problems taking Ironhide's spike. It's smaller than the toy, but definitely big enough.
Crosshairs grins. "'bout the same size as Blackout." He grabs the backs of his thighs, pulling his knees up to his chest to give Barricade full access.
The Saleen smears a good amount of lube on the pole of a toy, then he lines it up, using both servos to be able to hold it.
"Push it in. Don' be afraid te push 'ard."
Barricade goes slowly, not really daring to push hard as Crosshairs told. The Corvette grimaces and rolls his helm from side to side as he's slowly pried open.
"Should I stop?"
"Nah, this is jus' a demonstration. Ye see? I could probably take it, but no' easily. Keep pushing!"
Barricade pushes a little harder, watching Crosshairs writhe.
"Normally, ye'd need te be prepped, an' slowly stretched te be able te take this, but I can control my calipers..."
Suddenly the toy slides inside without resistance, and Barricade almost topples forward. Crosshairs grins up at him.
"See, I jus' opened up to le' i' in. Doesn' 'urt at all."
Barricade stares down at where Crosshairs frame is swallowing the massive toy. It looks obscene, both disturbing and slightly arousing in a confusing way.
"Pull i' ou'."
As soon as the massive toy slides free, Barricade stares at Crosshairs's loose hole, gaping as widely as the toy stretched him.
"If I don' close it manually, or switch te the automatic mode, it stays the size I put it to. Comes in 'andy with the mechs who likes te watch their transfluid drool out of a wrecked ass. Or when Motormaster wants te pour midgrade into me first."
Barricade feels himself make a face.
"It ain't bad. I mean, i' doesn't affect the waste gate, an' I 'ave a drain 'ose, so i' doesn't mix with my oil, or get dirty or cause leakage. An' midgrade is mildly conductive, so i' kind of stimulates the inside nodes in two ways. Almost feels like bein' licked really deep, but so lightly, i's jus' teasin'..." Crosshairs's voice is getting rougher while he talks, and his optics are getting brighter. He's getting charged.
"Okay, got it. Seems like a good way to make it not hurt." Barricade says, because sitting there, staring at that gaping port is starting to feel awkward.
"Yeah, an' then when I'm done, I can tighten it again, I don' 'ave te wait fer my frame te do it by itself, because tha' usually takes some time." Crosshairs says, his port closing quickly. "Test it now, all good an' tight again."
Barricade pushes his digit inside again, and just like Crosshairs said, he's as tight as before they started.
Wouldn't it be pretty nice if you could take a spike that easily?
He's not going to stay long enough to get cock in his ass that much.
Keep telling yourself that.
It would feel good to not be all loose until the day after, or even longer, though...
"Seems like a nifty modification. How do I get it?"
Chapter Text
"Ratch can do i'. Either ye ask Hide fer credits an' work off the debt, or ye offer Ratchet a test drive as thanks."
Barricade nods, not at all keen on paying for mods with his frame, and borrowing from Ironhide seems like a bad idea since he's going to leave soon.
"Ratchet insist on charging fer frivolous an' unnecessary procedures an' mods, says it pays fer his charity work tha's needed. I ain't never 'eard of 'im actually takin' the offer of facin' as payment though, 'e jus' drops the bill instead. Pity, really, I bet 'e's fantastic in the sack, with 'is knowledge of frames."
"Well, I guess it can't hurt to ask if we can make some sort of deal."
"I'll go with ye. His drop-in doesn' open until afternoon though. But ye know, I'm prepped already, an' I'm kinda randy..." Crosshairs rolls over on his front, wiggling his aft. "Wanna fuck me?"
Barricade's spike sends double request for pressurization when Crosshairs port visibly goes a little slacker slacker, already glistening with lubricant. He allows it, pre-transfluid already weeping from the head.
"Sure you're ready?" He asks, slipping two digits inside, because he's not going to make this as bad as the first time was for him, even if it seems like Crosshairs can deal with it way better.
"Yes! So ready" Crosshairs whines.
He lines up and slides inside, Crosshairs easily taking him, and Barricade can't stop himself before he's hilted.
So fucking tight and hot, so very good around his spike. He should've tried this a long time ago.
Oh, look, now it's okay with port stuff!
"Do you want me to stroke your spike?" Because that seems like a polite thing to do, and he's not going to be the only one having a good time here.
"Nah, I don' care much fer usin' my spike if I'm not already fully stuffed."
Barricade doesn't have the wits to try to figure out how that works, not when he's starting to thrust, and Crosshairs squeezes around his spike.
"Flick your node then?"
"Please do if ye want to." Crosshairs mewls.
Barricade reaches around to stroke the Corvettes anterior node, and it earns him a loud wail of approval. The enthusiasm is arousing, if the tight heat around his spike wasn't enough, and he's racing towards the edge quickly.
"I'm going to overload soon." He grinds out.
"Me too!"
"Where should I shoot my load?"
"Inside me! I wan' my ass full of cum."
Well, that's one way to put it.
Don't say you don't like it, though, the thought of him wanting it, and this mental image of your spunk in his aft.
Crosshairs overloads, wailing into the mattress, and Barricade is right behind, slamming in deep when the coil in the pit of his stomach is finally released. Crosshairs goes strutless, hips held up by Barricade's denting grip until the Interceptor has spilled everything, then he lets go of the Corvette, and Crosshairs collapses on the berth.
Barricade can't help but stare in fascination at the slack rim of Crosshairs port, the way his transfluid is dribbling out, and his spike gives a dull throb.
Well fucked ass. He really should've tried this a long time ago.
See why Hide wants to watch your little butt drool? Can't complain much about that now can you?
Whatever.
Chapter Text
"So will you do it? I don't have any credits, but you can get the first test drive..." Barricade says, not feeling nearly as smooth and seductive as he is trying to be.
Ratchet frowns, but it's hard to say if it's pity, mild disgust, or that he doesn't think Barricade's effort to be sexy is good enough.
"Ye fixed it fer me, so I know ye 'ave the right stuff te do it, Doc. Ye always know what te do. Please?" Crosshairs says, tacking on that innocent, sweet smile that makes it impossible to believe that he was begging for cum in his aft an hour ago.
"I'll do it for free this time. But don't think everything will always be free! I'm just not keen on fixing up a busted port. Calipers can be a bitch to fix." Ratchet mutters.
"Thank you, Sir!" Barricade says with honest relief before he climbs up on the repair berth.
"Keeping you from unnecessary pain and damage is justifiable. Did the seal removal work? I mean, you didn't notice any complications?"
"No, it worked well. It didn't hurt or anything when I Interfaced."
"'oly scrap! Ye were a virgin when ye moved in?!"
Ratchet scowls at Crosshairs as if he had forgotten about Barricade's self proclaimed moral support.
"Yeah."
"Enough! We will get this done so I can move on to the next patient, who may be in a more dire situation than just fucking in every way all the time!" Ratchet growls.
"We will talk about this later." Crosshairs stage whispers.
Barricade just rolls his optics. He isn't keen on talking about that, especially since he hasn't even shared everything with Jazz, but he's definitely not going to get into an argument when Ratchet has basically told them to shut up. Who knows what the medic will do? Nope, hes not risking his aft over this. Literally.
Chapter Text
The most awkward part is the test of his new protocols. The installation is easy: Ratchet hardlines with him and installs them, and the first control protocols are unpacked quickly.
"The rest of the installation will take some time, so we'll do a quick test now, and then you go home. If something feels off when the installation is finished, you come back. It's just parameters, presettings and finer motor control, so nothing crucial. You should be able to control your calipers fairly well now. Curl up on your side, and open your panel."
His favorite position! Ugh.
A digit slips into him.
"Squeeze."
Barricade finds the right protocol and activates it, feeling his port clench around the digit. It feels weird to have that kind of control.
"Good. Open up."
It's even weirder to feel his calipers lose their grip on the digit.
"More."
"Ye'll easily take Hide now!"
Ratchet field flares irritably at the same time as Barricade flushes with embarrassment, and then a clang resounds through the room.
"Ow! No wrenches!" Crosshairs whines.
"Then take the chair, like a normal moral support, instead of behaving as if this is one of your perverted shows!"
"Maybe ye wouldn' be so cranky if ye came te one o' our shows? A bit o' pussy te unwind..." Crosshairs mutter-pouts, and when he comes into Barricade's line of vision — to take the chair as he was ordered — he's rubbing his helm. "Drift would be thrilled te do a li'l dance, an' make a li'l love."
"I'm old enough to be his Sire."
"'e could need a Daddy."
Ratchet's field does a mighty cringe.
"Can we not talk about that?"
"Drift's also good at more pedestrian stuff, if ye prefer tha'. Ooh, ye could play doctor! 'Open up, I need te make sure yer reformat went well, an' all the components are functioning properly.'"
If Ratchet's field isn't way off, he's probably glaring at Crosshairs, and Barricade is half certain that Crosshairs will suddenly have a hole burned through his helm. The annoyance is not fully covering the Medic's embarrassed arousal, though.
"Enough! One more word, and you're out!"
"Ye're the Doc!" Crosshairs leers innocently before making a gesture that he's locking his lip-plates shut.
"Sorry about that, Barricade, but you're the one who wanted to let him stay in here."
"'s alright, Ratchet." Barricade says, because he's not going to complain and risk peeving the Medic off even more.
"Close your port again, please."
He does, squeezing a digit before it slips out.
"It's working properly so far. You should experiment a bit with it when it's fully installed, and learn how it works. There's a manual in the data package too, read that. And you're free to go."
Barricade closes his plate and slips down from the berth."
"Thank you, Ratchet. If I can make it up to you somehow, you let me know."
Not that he knows anything he could do, except letting Ratchet fuck him, but it's always good to try to stay on the mech's good side.
"You're welcome. You can do me a favor and get him out of here. I'm sure his aft is about to explode from keeping his mouth shut for so long." Ratchet mutters, pointing at Crosshairs.
They don't linger.
Chapter Text
Crosshairs's field is vibrating with curiosity when they leave Ratchet's place.
"Ye were still a virgin when ye moved in? 'ow's tha' even possible?! Ye were like tegether with Jazz before, right?"
He doesn't want to talk about it, both because it means bringing up stuff he'd rather forget, but also because there's a very real risk that the truth about his relationship with Jazz will make his current situation far worse, if the pleasurebots will hold a grudge against him for it.
"How much has Jazz told you?"
"Jus' tha' ye kept 'im out o' jail, an' tha' ye were like frag buddies or somethin'. He didn' define it, almost sounded like 'e wasn' certain 'imself about wha' ye were."
"I was an Enforcer back then, and I asked for sexual favors — among other things — in exchange for looking the other way and not bringing some mechs in. I didn't want to use my valve, so I only spiked him."
Crosshairs frowns but doesn't say anything.
"I mean, I was thinking I did a good thing: mechs kept from getting their third strike for ridiculously petty stuff. Then I really fell for Jazz, and I wanted to be with him for real, but internal affairs found out about my drug use, and that I was letting mechs get away with some crimes if they paid me for it, so I went to prison before we really had a chance to get serious."
It's a polished version, because it sounds better than spelling out just how abusive it was, but it's close enough to the truth.
"But 'ow can ye never 'ave tried usin' yer valve?! It's the best thing!" Crosshairs says, apparently not that concerned with the entire consent part of Barricade's sordid history.
Barricade is relieved that Crosshairs doesn't seem to judge his past too harshly.
On the other servo, crooked cops are probably what keeps Crosshairs and a good part of Ironhide's crew out of prison, so maybe his past is even something positive?
They fold into alt mode and drive back towards the house.
::Step-sire took advantage of me when I still had my last frame — took my seal on that array — and when that was finally over, I never wanted to do it again. Kept that promise to myself until... Well, until Ironhide.::
Crosshairs is silent for a while.
::I 'ad a teacher like tha'. A slimy, ugly bastard. But I 'ad already acquired some positive experience before tha', so I wouldn' let 'im destroy it fer me. I really like te be fragged.::
::It can be pretty good.:: Barricade admits, because he does like it with Jazz, and Ironhide has made it very pleasurable most of the time, and the rest of the times, he's made sure that Barricade makes it pleasing himself.
They drive up in front of the house and transforms back to root mode.
"It's the best thing! An' I really like 'ow special it makes me feel when I'm chosen. Like, we go' all these ho' mechs livin' 'ere, but I can make them all want me. I 'ave what they crave. The brothers could probably get anyone they want in the entire city, bu' they come te me, because I'm wha' they want. Makes me feel like a million credits."
That doesn't really sound like healthy reasoning...
Chapter Text
"How did you wind up here? I mean, I heard that you grew up in a rich family..."
"My carrier deactivated durin' my emergence. My sire didn' 'ave time fer me when I was little, 'e 'ad a business te run, an 'e was gettin' into politics, an' my big brother Percy was like a prodigy or somethin', so 'e was the favorite whenever dad was 'ome anyway. I was taken care of by servants, an' raised myself until I started goin' te school. I was always actin' up te get attention, an' le' me tell ye, tha' did no' improve the way dad saw me."
They walk into the house, and the rec room is empty of people for once. Crosshairs walks over to the bar and pours a cube of high grade.
"Ye wan' one too? We can go te my room an' swap stories."
He doesn't really want to tell his story, but on the other servo, he's so curious about Crosshairs's way from towers brat to whore. He can always choose what parts of his past to talk about and what not to.
"Yes, please."
Crosshairs pours another one, and Barricade grabs it before following Crosshairs back to his room.
"I was in 'igh school when dad was up for 'is first election, an' we were livin' in the suburbs, an' one thing tha' was discussed a lo' back then was the difference in quality of schools from area te area. So dad proposed tha' a few students from a poor neighborhood would go te our school. I' was nothin' but a publicity stunt, but i' was such a spectacle made 'bout it in the press, an' it was so exciting when they started there. War frames. I'd never seen one in real life, an' they were both cool an' ho'. I didn' 'ave many friends, because all the parents thought I was a bad influence."
They step into Crosshairs's room, and Barricade's optics fall on something he didn't notice before, something fluffy, and pink, vaguely looking like a cyberpony, but with a horn on the forehelm, and much plumper. It's almost the same length as Barricade.
"What is that?"
"My unicorn! Hide ordered i' fer me. It's modelled after a species of animals on an organic planet in the next solar system. I really 'ate te recharge alone, an' the few times I do, I like te cuddle it."
It's a weird quirk, but Barricade certainly isn't going to comment on it. The unicorn thingy does look very soft and cuddle friendly.
Chapter Text
Crosshairs plunks down on his berth and pats the covers next to him, inviting Barricade to take a seat.
"Anyway, I wanned te 'ang out with them, so I started te try te talk te them. Nobot else did, the other students looked down their olfactories on them. At first, they jus' kept te themselves, they were jus' political pawns, not really interested in goin' te our school at all. They wanned te be with their own crowd, of course. But eventually, they le' me share cygs with them at the breaks, hangin' out behind the school, an' I finally felt like I belonged te a crowd too. I 'ad friends."
Barricade remembers hearing about that kind of exchange of students when he was in school. His district wasn't one of the chosen areas though.
"Wan' me te show ye instead?" Crosshairs says, indicating a hatch on his arm.
It's quicker than telling the story, and showing memories really shows the feelings that comes with them, but Barricade is surprised that Crosshairs is so willing to share vulnerabilities and experiences so openly.
"We all do it 'ere — us entertainers at least — almost everyone 'as showed each other things 'bout their past. Makes it easier te be around each other, an' te know wha's ok an' wha might no' be te do an' say."
It does make sense, and even if they still are obligated to go along with what the brothers want, at least the pleasurebots can keep from making jokes or suggestions to each other that will put someone severely off. And if he returns the favor, he can choose what memories to show.
"Sounds good."
He unrolls his cable and plugs it into the data port on Crosshairs lower arm. Then there's that moment of vertigo before he's seeing everything from Crosshairs point of view at the time.
A very hazy, definitely drunken point of view.
He's at a party, a really wild one apparently. No parents at home. He's thrilled, because he has never been to a party like this. There's a jug of home distilled energon on a table, and sweet energon to mix it with, the air smells of cyg smoke, both regular and laced with weed. It's like a wall of noise he's walking through, everyone more or less drunk. A few mechs, as young as him, are passed out already, and there's a few couples in a stage somewhere between making out and full on interfacing on the couches. He doesn't know any of the mechs he's passing, but they still greet him nicely, looking him up and down, because his streamlined raceframe sticks out like a sore thumb among all the heavy War frames.
Someone snags him with a massive arm across his waist, and everything spins when he's hauled back. When everything slows down, his sitting in Impactor's lap. He's handed another drink, and Crosshairs downs half of it in one go.
"'ello!" He grins up at the massive mech, one of the three in this party he knows.
A servo slides up his thigh, and Impactor smirks.
"Hey, Crosshairs. Having fun?"
"Oh, yeh!"
A thumb starts to rub the panel between his legs, and he squirms, because it feels kind of nice. He knows the mechanics of interfacing, the dry facts provided in a couple of short lessons at school, and he also knows that he shouldn't do it yet.
Something about the right age, and some intricate social rules?
He can't remember, and certainly can't focus on it when Impactor's servo feel so good on his frame, and he's getting hot, and everything is so very fuzzy.
When did they start kissing?
Suddenly, he's so sensitive down there, hips jerking with every move of those digits, bucking into the touch, because it's too much and not enough at the same time. Crosshairs manages to break the kiss, looking down, and he can't believe his optics — when he finally manages to get them to focus — and sees his panel open, his array bare to see for anyone looking.
"Wanna take this somewhere else?" Impactor murmurs into his audial, voice crackling with static, digits still slipping through Crosshairs's wet folds.
"I-I'm no'... I don'... I think I shouldn'?"
Why shouldn't he? Why is it so fragging hard to think?
"So you are a whimp after all. Just like everyone else in school. I thought you were cooler than that, thought you were more like us. Not some little Daddy's bot, doing everything your Sire says."
"I'm no' a whimp." Crosshairs grinds out.
He doesn't obey his Sire when he doesn't want to.
Chapter Text
It feels like he's going to fall over — gyros out of whack, and his processor is spinning — but Impactor's broad front against his back is pretty solid, and the servo roaming his unsteady frame helps him stumble through the walk down the hallway and into a berth room. Crosshairs flops down on the lumpy mattress, and he starts to giggle, and he can't exactly say what about this feels so funny, but it's just hilarious somehow.
Impactor crawls onto the berth, pushing him until he's sprawled in the middle of it. Crosshairs's knees are nudged apart, the digits find his slick array again, and he arches his back to get more friction, a mewl leaving his vocalizer.
"That eager?"
Crosshairs doesn't have the wherewithal to answer, moving against the servo.
"I don' 'ave any of the cost... constra..." He slurs when he suddenly remembers that part of what they're doing.
Oh, shit! They're actually going to do it, aren't they?! He shouldn't. But he wants to be cool too. And what Impactor is doing feels great...
"I'll wrap it. I don't want to knock you up more than you want that to happen."
Crosshairs manages to lift his helm to look at the mech, partially in disappointment, because the wonderful fingers are gone from his aching array. Impactor is rolling something onto his spike, and Crosshairs's processor manages to compute that it's a condom. It's a relief, so he lets his helm fall back, his entire frame feeling numb and weak.
He feels when Impactor rubs his spike back and forth through Crosshairs's slick slit, and then the blunt head pushes against the opening, popping inside when his calipers give in. It's a bit uncomfortable, but not that bad. A big servo grab his hip for leverage, lifting him up for a better angle, the dangerous looking spear resting across the small of his back to hold him up.
"This may hurt a bit, but that'll be over quickly, then it'll feel good." Impactor says, then he surges forward.
Chapter Text
There's a sharp pain that makes him cry out when Impactor hilts himself in one thrust, but the big mech holds still, and the pain fades. Crosshairs squirms, the spike's girth pressing against things inside him that are already sensitive from his charge. It feels kind of good, but it just isn't enough, doesn't bring that tightening in the pit of his stomach that Impactor's digits did.
Impactor takes his squirming as a go-ahead sign, and starts moving; long thrusts that makes Crosshairs slide up the berth every time Impactor bottoms out. He's trying to meet Impactor with his hips, but he can't really move much with the way Impactor is holding him. There's that tightening coil in the lower part of his abdomen, a pressure building slowly, and even if Crosshairs has no idea what it is, he is certain that he wants it to be released.
"I-I can'... please keep touchin' me!" He whines, not sure exactly what he needs.
"Can't. I'm the one holding you up. Touch yourself. Flick your node, stroke your spike, whatever floats your boat."
In spite of the situation he's in, Crosshairs flushes, because he hasn't even noticed that his spike has pressurized. It lasts only for a few moments, then he reaches down to his array, digits numbed by high grade clumsily exploring the folds. He feels the thick spike sliding in and out of him, and his digits linger there for long seconds — skimming over the slick length as it slides in and out of him at a steady rhythm — as he finds it both intriguing and exciting. Then he goes back to exploring the external parts of his array and finds the sensitive nub Impactor was touching before, and he starts circling it with his digit.
It feels so good.
He moans loudly, optics meeting Impactor's, and the big mech smirks hungrily at him, rhythm not faltering. Crosshairs grabs his spike too, starting to stroke it, and with all the stimulation, it doesn't take long before the pressure is released. Crosshairs overloads with a wail, his spike shooting sticky fluid across his abdominal plating, valve clenching around the spike inside him. It pulls Impactor with him, the War frame's hips stuttering before he presses in deep.
Crosshairs goes limp, and Impactor drops him and pulls out, toppling forward to land stretched out next to Crosshairs, pressing a kiss to the Corvette's lip-plates before pulling him closer.
"You're all sticky. Not bad for a first-timer, though. I'll give you 9.0 out of 10 points for your performance."
Crosshairs snorts, rolling over on his side and pressing his back against Impactor's front. A servo splays on his hip, and it is nice, because it really feels like a display of affection. Secretly, Crosshairs is thrilled.
"I need to rest a little, then we can do it again." Impactor says, servo slipping down to Crosshairs's ventral plating.
Impactor thinks he's good at this. Nobot ever thinks he's good at anything. Nobot ever wants to hang out with him, but Impactor wanted to get as close as possible, closer than he thought possible, and now Impactor wants to do it again soon. He has interfaced for the first time, and he feels so bad in a good way, so cool.
Then he passes out.
Chapter Text
"Ye know, I was so hung over when I woke up, I thought I might offline. An' I 'ad te get back 'ome without anyone 'earin' me sneak in. I don' think I was fit te drive really, but I did. It was really early, an' no' many mecha were out, bu' it felt like all of 'em knew I wasn't a virgin anymore, an I was freakin' out abou' it." Crosshairs chuckles. "At least I wasn' pulled over, an I managed te get into the 'ouse without anyone wakin' up." He tells Barricade out loud, tipping back to stretch out on the berth.
Barricade follows Crosshairs's example, laying next to him, while Crosshairs sifts through his memory files. There's short flashes of them seeping over their link when he watches a few seconds here and there before dismissing them.
Perceptor telling him to stop acting like a slut, that he's embarrassed to have a little brother who's flirting with a War frame. Ha, if only he knew that flirting isn't the only thing he's doing with Impactor...
His Sire in a towering rage after the cleaning drone found the bottle of high grade under his berth and snitched him out.
The teacher yelling at him for being late again, giving him detention, and his smugness knowing what exactly he was doing in the gymnasium washracks that made him late. Or rather who he was doing.
One of the files starts playing for real, and after the quick flashes, it's very disorienting to suddenly be immersed again.
Barricade recognizes the rotary mech, not only because Crosshairs knows him and Barricade is in his memory, but because he has met him before.
Vortex, the horrible bastard from prison.
The Helo is younger, not upgraded to his adult frame yet, but it's obviously him. They're hanging out behind the school, in the park. It's so obvious that it's a school in a wealthy area, because it's nothing like the surroundings of the school Barricade went to. Organic plants make the park look like a foreign world, exotic. Secluded.
"Come on, please?" Vortex coaxes. "I'd really like it." His servo comes up to cup Crosshairs's helm, thumb rubbing his bottom lip. "You're so pretty."
"Bu' I'm with Impactor. I shouldn'..."
But it's such a heady feeling to be wanted, to be called pretty.
"He'll be fine with it." Vortex lifts his helm, looking at something behind Crosshairs. "Right, Pac?"
"Yeah, I don't mind. I think it would be really hot, actually. Go ahead, give him a blow job."
Crosshairs looks over his shoulder to find Impactor smirking at them, arms crossed. Whirl is there too.
"You see? He doesn't mind sharing. And that's so good, because we all want to touch you, and fuck you, and we know that you're so willing. And you're pretty." Vortex murmurs. "So, how about you make me really happy and suck my spike?"
They all want him. He finally belongs somewhere.
It isn't hard to sink to his knees, licking the head of Vortex's spike. The Copter plants a servo on his helm, holding the shaft of his spike with the other, and with a roll of his hips, he pushes it into Crosshairs's intake with a groan. It tastes bitter of pre-transfluid, a cloying taste sticking to his glossa, but Crosshairs doesn't mind, because he's happy to do this.
Vortex said he was pretty, and they all want him.
"Look at me when you do this. You look so good like that..." Vortex says.
Crosshairs flicks his optics up to meet the Helo's visor as Vortex starts to thrust slowly into his mouth. He places his servos on Vortex's hips for balance when his knees are nudged apart, a servo making quick work of opening his interface cover.
"This is so hot." Impactor growls, lining up his spike and pushing inside Crosshairs's dry valve.
Whirl is standing to the side, stroking his spike, and it sends a heat to Crosshairs's array, quickly slicking him up.
They're all turned on by him.
"Damn, you're getting wet fast, you horny little slut. Whirl will take over when one of us finishes, so you can decide which hole you get him in by getting one of us off fast." Impactor rumbles behind him, pounding into him with powerful thrusts.
Crosshairs mewls around the spike in his intake and clenches his valve repeatedly, hoping for another cock to fill his pussy before this is over.
Chapter Text
"I finally found somethin' I was good at. The mech's in school 'ad always stayed away from me, but it was really funny te see 'ow quickly they'd turn interested if I flirted a li'l. Perceptor said 'e was so ashamed of bein' my brother, but I think 'e was jealous of the attention I was gettin'." In spite of Crosshairs sounding proud and cocky about it, his field betrays an underlying insecurity, a sliver of a feeling of inadequacy, but it's subdued, as if he's trying to hide it.
Barricade crawls closer, pressing up against Crosshairs to comfort him. He knows all too well about loneliness. The circumstances are vastly different, but being considered stupid and worthless is something he is familiar with.
"Thank you for sharing. You're strong to do it."
Crosshairs just nods, then the next memory starts.
He's drunk again, and the loud music is audible through the wall to the berth room he's in. Crosshairs is on his back, legs hooked over the mech's arms as the Tank is pounding into him. He can't remember the mech's name, but it doesn't matter; he's hot, and he gives it good. Crosshairs overloads with a wail, and the tank follows him over, grunting as he spills inside Crosshairs's valve.
"We should do this again sometime." The Tank says.
"Absolutely!"
"You coming with me, or are you staying here?"
A glob of transfluid dribbles out of his valve, mingling with the fluids already staining the mattress.
"I'm tired, I think I'll rest fer a while."
The Tank leaves, and Crosshairs is almost dropping off into recharge when someone else comes into the room. He forces his optics to online, and finds Impactor standing there.
"'ello, babe." Crosshairs mumbles, sliding his servos down his ventral plating. "Wanna 'ave some fun?"
Impactor reaches for Crosshairs's array, spreading his valve-lips with his digits, looking down at the drooling opening.
"Ugh, sloppy seconds, and I don't have any more jimmys. Turn over."
Crosshairs flops over on his front while Impactor rummages through the drawers of a storage unit. He's close to falling into recharge when the berth dips and Impactor kneels between his legs. His hips are hiked up, and he hears the snap of a bottle, then something slips into his aft, and Crosshairs squirms.
"Oi, what're ye doin'?" He slurs.
"Shh, I just need to lube you up first. Your cunt is all creamed up, I'm not plowing that, but I'm horny, and this will be so good..."
Impactor sissors his digits, and something cold is poured into Crosshairs's port. Impactor pumps his digits a couple of times, then he pulls out, and Crosshairs hears a wet, slick sound as Impactor strokes spike a couple of times to smear it with the lubricant, and then the head of his spike is pushed against Crosshairs's ass. He whines into the pillow when it pops inside, because it's anything but comfortable.
"Pit, you're so tight. My favorite slut, this is why I like you so much; you don't hesitate to do the things everyone else is saying 'no' to. The best cock sleeve, always up for anything." Impactor grunts, pushing inside.
Crosshairs bites the pillow to not cry out, but he doesn't ask Impactor to stop either, because if this is what keeps Impactor coming back to him, then he's going to take it.
Digits start to toy with his anterior node, and in spite of the uncomfortable stretch, his charge rises quickly, and suddenly, he overloads. Impactor slams in deep, spike pulsing as he overloads, then he pulls out and crawls off the berth.
"All yours." He says.
Crosshairs looks up, and finds Vortex and Whirl there too, staring hungrily at him.
"I can't believe he takes it up the ass too. What a floozy." Vortex says to nobody in particular as Whirl crawls up behind Crosshairs.
A small part of Crosshairs — one that's coherent enough to process what they actually think about him — is offended.
"I know! Tight as fuck, though. Well, maybe not now..." Impactor snickers.
But he doesn't want to risk that they'll get bored of him though, and he's too drunk and tired to protest anyway, so he doesn't say anything.
Impactor slips out of the room while Whirl's spike slips into Crosshairs's ass.
Chapter Text
Whirl is done and has left, and Vortex is the one fucking him when the door flies open. The Helo turns, and then he scrambles backwards. Crosshairs doesn't have time to react — not that he is really capable of processing anything quickly — before his arm is grabbed and he's yanked off the berth.
"What in the pit do you think you are doing?!" His Sire snarls as Crosshairs tumbles to the floor, hitting his knee and hip in the landing.
"Hey, he offered, and I just..." Vortex starts to defend himself.
"Shut up, if you know what's good for you."
Crosshairs is climbing to his pedes, not a very easy task considering how everything is spinning.
"You filthy, disgusting little slut!" His Sire spits vehemently, and Crosshairs is backhanded so hard across the face, he falls to the floor with a clatter, crying out in pain. "Look at you; bent over with your panels open, all covered in fluids. How many have you allowed to fuck you?"
"I-I... I don' know." He cries, and suddenly he's so humiliated by everything — the lubricant and transfluid on his thighs and aft, the weird slickness in his loose port, still dribbling transfluid — he just wants to melt into the floor. "F-five..."
"You're a thoroughly disgusting little whore, and it would've been better if you hadn't made it through your emergence. You're a disgrace to our family." His Sire growls, his field conveying every bit of the derisive disgust he feels when he looks at his youngest creation.
Crosshairs curls up there, crying into his knees, feeling lower than he ever has felt before. Vortex has slipped out of the room while his Sire has vented his feelings, but that hardly matters.
"Let's go, I have our transport waiting."
Crosshairs slowly gets up. He can't seem to find the protocols to close his panels, so with numb and uncoordinated digits, he clumsily tries to close them manually.
"Don't bother. I think everyone is already aware of what a worthless, disgusting little harlot you are."
It's the worst walk of shame he has ever been through. Optics locked on the floor, he walks through the house, his Sire just a few steps behind him.
They're all going to laugh at him, being picked up by his Sire. How he spread his legs, the way he let them take him...
Their driver puts a protective cover on the seat before he's allowed into the transport.
"Call Pharma."
"At this hour, Sir? Shouldn't we call the Enforcers? The quicker an assault is reported, the better, and the Enforcers have their own medics."
"I just want him checked for diseases and unwanted sparkings. I can't exactly file charges against mecha for interfacing with a willing little whore."
"Oh. Oh! Certainly, Sir." The driver pulls out into the street. "Pharma is standing by, Sir."
Chapter Text
Pharma's lips curl with disgust at his appearance.
"Do you need me to get rape kits?" The Medic asks his Sire.
"No, it was consensual." His Sire spits. "Just check for transmittable diseases and signs of carrying. I hold no hopes for him still having a seal."
"Then you can shower first." Pharma says, clearly relieved to not be forced to deal with the amount of fluids on Crosshairs's frame.
In the washracks, Crosshairs sinks to the floor, curling up under the stream of water, crying into his knees. He knows of the rumors about him, the things people at school are saying about him — nasty comments about his character — but he hasn't taken it to spark, because in spite of what they are saying to their friends, a lot of them certainly don't say no to a roll in the berth. But this is so utterly humiliating, and he's also worried that his friends are going to get in trouble, and will blame him for it.
Still drunk, and feeling horribly tired, he decides to just get it over with, so that he can go home and recharge. He grabs the hose and washes up before going back to the examination room.
Crawling onto the medberth and spreading his legs is another humiliating experience, and he offlines his optics to not see the Medic he has always disliked, and his seething Sire. Digits prod his valve, and something is pushed inside and swirled around.
"Test shows no signs of disease. Is that a bolt you've installed in the chamber?"
"Yes..." He whispers hoarsely, because it's certainly a testament to his activities.
"Figures."
"Contraception?!" His Sire asks.
"Yes." Pharma confirms.
"Well, of course: so you can whore yourself out and not think of the consequences." His Sire snarls at him.
Crosshairs's lip trembles, but he refuses to start crying.
"I see that you recently have been penetrated in the port too, so I need to check for pathogens there too."
His Sire's field flares with derision and disgust, and then another scanning wand slips into him. He's a bit sore back there, but still slick, and the tool isn't thick, so the humiliation of knowing that they know he took it there is the worst part.
"Have you had oral sex?"
"No' tonight."
"But of course you've sucked cock before..." His Sire mutters.
"I'll check your intake too, then."
"And when you're done, remove the bolt. Maybe he can keep his legs closed with that risk hanging over his helm?" Then his Sire turns to him. "I'd leave you here and let you find your way home by yourself, but I don't trust you to not find a cock to suck before you make it home."
Chapter Text
Crosshairs skips a bunch of memories in his timeline, opening a few here and there, going back and forth to find the one he's looking for. At one point, he lingers on one where he's at home and a mech who's a friend of his older brother Perceptor is there. He touches Crosshairs, servos roaming his frame, saying he has fantasized about getting him alone for a while. They wind up fucking on the couch in the TV room Crosshairs shares with his brother, then in the shower, and then in Crosshairs's berth. He's forced to sneak out in the evening to find a pharmacy that's still open and get an emergency contraception router, and since he's grounded and his allowance withheld, he's forced to steal money from Perceptor to buy it. The next time he hooks up with the mech — just a couple of days later, the mech skipping school just to see Crosshairs — he takes it up the ass instead, because it's just easier.
"I managed te sneak enough money from Dad te get a new bolt installed after 'bout a week. Wasn' easy te get te the clinic, all the servants were watchin' me on Dad's orders, but I managed. Didn' get a chance te meet up with my friends though..." He trails off as he finds the next piece of his history that he finds relevant to share.
It starts with him standing in their huge refueling room. Crosshairs has found it close to impossible to meet his Sire's optics since that night, and he feels lucky that his Sire is working so much. But now he has been summoned, and he's standing by the table, optics riveted to the floor, while his Sire slowly finishes his aluminum crackers before wiping his intake with a chamois napkin.
"You cannot go to school with them anymore, but too much is at stake for me to kick them out. Believe me, I really would, but it would be a scandal if I did so after being the one to initiate this exchange program. All optics are on me, and this project. Just sending you to another school somewhere close by may raise questions too. If some nosey fragger starts digging, my career is on the line if my name gets squandered like that. So, I only see one option: you're going to boarding school far away."
"Wha'?! Why?!"
"Are you stupid? No, scratch that, I already know that you are. I've had it with you, and all the shit you pull that could jeapordize my entire career. This is just the last one in a long line of transgressions. I represent the conservative party. Just think about all the occasions where I've made your misdemeanors go away just to keep the lid on them. I can't get the kind of publicity like my creation getting pulled over for constant traffic violations, possession of astro-weed, underage drinking, and now this."
"I's my frame! An I wasn' the only one involved. Why am I the one who need te leave everything? It takes two mechs ta interface."
"Funny how it seemed like you needed nine mechs to interface, not two. In one night."
Nine?!
"It was five." Impactor, Whirl, Vortex, that Tank he can't remember the designation of, and a Shuttle before that.
"Not according to Pharma's preliminary analysis of transfluid. And if someone was using a condom, it may very well have been more than nine. And all of them spilled inside you, you harlot. You allowed them to have you like that, spread your legs like a common whore."
Crosshairs feels his face flush, because he certainly can't remember that many. His Sire is silent for long moments to let the shame sink in, take root, and bloom.
"This is a good indication that you need to keep away from high grade, and need to learn of proper practices for interfacing. And since you seem to not be a real mech, not interested in using your spike, you really do need to keep your legs closed, so that your next seal is intact and I at least can wed you to someone important. You clearly will never be anything yourself, so if you enjoy spreading your legs, a conjux is all you'll ever be. I'll be damned if I will let myself be humiliated by trying to find a mech for an unsealed harlot. I'm sending you to a school run by the priesthood."
It's too much, so many nasty things to hear about himself at once, and he's being sent away, away from the only friends he has, the only mechs who have ever seen him as anything more than a nuisance.
Holding back the sobs wracking his frame just long enought to hear the door to the refueling room shut behind him, Crosshairs flees to his room and curls up on his berth, wailing into his pillow.
Chapter Text
"So they shipped me off te the religious school. As if a tramp like me wouldn' be able te find someone te frag there."
The words sound cocky, but there's something in Crosshairs's tone of voice that betrays how deeply hurt he was by the entire ordeal, and
Over their link, Barricade sees the clips as Crosshairs's sifts through the memories, and there's quite a few of a cute looking praxian.
"Bluestreak. 'e was so sweet, an' we were really into each other. 'ad te keep it quiet, stay under the radar of the teachers, an' tha' was such a thrill. 'e was a good li'l bot, though, so we never go' further than a few chaste kisses, an' some hugs, then 'e'd stop it. An me, bein' a slut who needs physical connection, felt like I wasn' good enough. So, 'is cousin Smokescreen 'ad been flirtin' with me, makin' all these jokes with lascivious innuendos an' stuff, so one day, I let 'im frag me in the laundry room. Then I broke up with Blue."
He finally finds the memory he's looking for, and Barricade slips into it, immediately experiencing a chill that travel down his back-struts that isn't his — it accompanies the memory — but it might as well have been his own revulsion.
Dirge is staring at him again.
The Seeker has done so from day one, and it creeps him out, because he can't know for sure why Dirge stares at him. Crosshairs just gets the feeling that the Seeker does so a lot more than what he notices, because he gets these feelings of being watched, and when he looks around, he often finds Dirge close by. Not necessarily always watching him when he spots him, but it feels as if he has just turned away, or perhaps watching him with some of his other sensors. It creeps him out because Dirge is old, and not at all attractive, and when he stares, Crosshairs can't help but wonder if the teacher finds him attractive, and that really is a gross line of thought, because he does not want Dirge to think of him like that.
He hurries off to his next class, just to get out of the Seeker's line of sight, but his spark is spinning a little too quickly, because he knows that he'll arrive early, and will have to wait in the hallway, and if he's the first one there, Dirge can still go there and stare at him. He winds up hiding in the maintenance room until just before the class starts.
Of course that's just a way to borrow some time, because the class will be over eventually, and if he doesn't see Dirge anymore today, they will meet again tomorrow. And the next day, and...
But he's just looking, so it's nothing to care about, right? He's overreacting. Dirge has never been anything but polite, and he is generous when grading Crosshairs papers, because truth be told, even he can see that he may not have earned the grades he has gotten so far. Maybe he's just taking some extra care to make sure that the student who was very hastily transferred in the middle of the semester is getting settled?
Feeling much calmer, he settles into the drone of the teacher's lecture on a part of the covenant of Primus, nearly falling into light recharge as the hours wear on, so he focuses back on the enigma that is the Seeker.
He's going to show Dirge that there's nothing to worry about. He's going to start to greet him in the hallways, and show that he has settled in and adapted to this boring fragging place. Then Dirge won't have to try to figure those things out.
But when is anything ever that simple?
Chapter Text
"We need to talk about your grades, Crosshairs." Dirge says, shutting the door to his office before taking his seat at the oppulent desk.
The office reminds him of his Sire's office. Crosshairs is sitting on the chair opposite his teacher, and his spark is starting to speed up, partially our of habit. He has been in this situation before, being told exactly how worthless he is, and all his shortcomings.
"My grades 'ave been adequate, 'aven' they?" He asks nervously. He isn't smart like Perceptor, but he hasn't flunked any tests at all so far.
"Yes, but I've been very lenient when grading your papers. I know it's hard to transfer in the middle of the semester, but I can't continue like that."
He has been studying, what more can he do? Granted, he probably could study more, but he just doesn't see the point. It's hard, and boring, and no matter how many times he reads the homework, it just doesn't seem to stick in his processor. It's as if his CPU starts clapping it's audials, singing loudly just to get out of it.
"So wha' am I supposed te do? I'm jus' no' tha' clever..."
Dirge is silent for a long time, studying him. Crosshairs can sense how nervous the Seeker is, but also the anticipation in his field.
"I know why you're here, what made your Sire request the transfer..."
Crosshairs feels queasy as bright optics momentarily flick down to his chest-plates.
It isn't really that surprising that his Sire has told them about it, because they are supposed to keep him from interfacing more. He's not that ashamed of most of the things he did, because he enjoys interfacing, and how good it makes him feel when he manages to snare someone new. Granted, the time at the party when his Sire found out did get a bit out of hand... It still irks him that Dirge knows for some reason, and he feels his face-plates flush.
"If you let me touch you a little, I'll leave the grades the way they are."
"Wha' about yer vow of chastity?" Crosshairs whispers weakly.
"Just a little touching. Nobot will ever know. It's in both our interests that we keep this quiet. I think your Sire would be very disappointed if your grades dropped..."
"I-I'll study 'arder! I'll earn those grades. Jus' give me some time."
"Don't be shy now, Crosshairs. I know you want it, I've noticed the way you've been flirting with me; always making sure to get a few words with me in the hallway, the way you always smile at me... It's just a little touching. I know you like that sort of stuff, that you enjoy spreading your legs for mechs. If you don't want to do these things, then you shouldn't flirt with mechs... It would be such a pity if your grades dropped, and your Father found out about you trying to flirt with your teachers..."
Chapter Text
Just the thought of Dirge's servos on his frame makes his entire protoform crawl, but Primus knows what his Sire will do if he can't even manage to get half decent grades. Or if his Father believes that he really was flirting.
"How do you want me?" He forces out around the lump in his throat, voice sounding thin and tinny.
Dirge's optics brighten, and his smile is as excited as a youngling's when getting a new toy.
"Come sit on my lap."
His knees shake when he walks around the desk, stopping in front of the seated Seeker. He has never felt this hesitant about something so simple. Should he straddle him, or what? The least gross way to do this would be with his back to the mech. Servos on his hips urges him to turn and sit sideways, eager fingers haphazardly slipping under his plating without finesse. It feels awkward, because he has never done this with someone he really doesn't want to touch before, so he doesn't know where to put his servos. A sharp pinch to a sensitive wire under his chest-plates makes him wince.
"Ow!"
"Oh, you're sensitive there? I've never done this before."
The servo slides down between his legs, nudging his thighs to part, and even if his mind is screaming in protest, he does it. Unskilled digits grope the panel, and there's nothing arousing about it. It's clear that Dirge isn't going to manage to open it manually, so Crosshairs forces it open, swallowing repeatedly to not purge.
"That's right, you little slut, open up."
The digits are there immediately, pinching his valve-lips, slipping over his node, through his slit, all the way back to his port.
"Tha's my aft." He says stiffly.
He may have taken it there a few times to please the mechs fucking him, but he's not really that into it, and he's definitely not keen on having this gross bastard doing anything back there.
"I know. You've taken spike here too, haven't you, you slut?" Dirge purrs, cloying arousal swamping his field.
"Yes." Crosshairs whispers, ashamed to admit it.
A digit is pushed inside, but then it's pulled out again, just to be pushed inside his valve instead, and it's probably just dumb luck on the Seeker's part, but it hits a spot inside that makes Crosshairs's valve clench, and the lubrication to initiate. Crosshairs is absolutely mortified, disgusted with how his frame is responding to this gross mech. The Seeker sets a quick pace, fucking Crosshairs with a single digit, and it doesn't feel all that good, but Dirge still manages to hit that spot inside over and over, and he's getting so very wet.
"You like that, you little trollop."
Crosshairs doesn't answer, because he's mortified of his own frame's reactions. Dirge's hips are grinding against his aft, his pressurized spike leaving sticky trails of pre-transfluid on Crosshairs's plating, and in the midst of all the disgusting things, his own charge is rising.
Dirge overloads, transfluid making his lap wet to sit on, but he doesn't stop fingering Crosshairs, and the Corvette overloads too.
"Ah, you easy little slut. Bend over the desk. I'll clean you."
Face-plates flushing, Crosshairs leans his elbows on the desk, and allows Dirge to wipe him down with a rag.
"There," the Seeker says, patting his aft, "off you go. And remember; this is our little secret."
Crosshairs hurries out without another word, heading straight for the washracks. It's a good thing the stalls are sectioned off to keep them from looking at each other and get lustful ideas when showering, because as soon as he's under the spray, he starts to sob violently, leaning against the wall to keep from just sinking to the floor in a heap. He purges twice before he's finished cleaning, and no matter how much he scrubs himself, phantom stickiness is making his plating crawl where Dirge's transfluid clung to him.
Chapter Text
Barricade crawls even closer to Crosshairs, wrapping his arm around him.
"I know exactly how you felt." He whispers hoarsely, because the emotional files that came with the memory reminded him so much of how it felt when his step-sire touched him.
Crosshairs hugs him back, but he's still flicking through his memories, and Barricade almost recoils from the accompanying numbness of the next one, because it's so very familiar; the same numbness he felt when he had gotten used to the assaults, when he'd reached the point where he just let it happen and waited for it to be over, detached.
Crosshairs is bent over that desk, cheek pressed against the cool surface. Crosshairs optics are locked on a Petro bird, hopping on a crystal outside the window, and he's thinking about what energon to have for dinner, all the while Dirge is rutting into him. Every thrust rocks him, makes him slide back and forth against the smooth surface.
"Yes, take that, you little slut." Dirge grunts, pulling out to shoot his transfluid over Crosshairs aft.
Crosshairs doesn't move even when it's over. He allows the digits spreading his valve-lips before slipping into him, doesn't protest when a thumb is pushed into his port. He waits patiently while Dirge sates his desires and wipes him down. Dirge closes his panel manually for him, because the Seeker likes it that way; to feel that he's the one who decides when Crosshairs should be naked or covered.
"There, little harlot, pristine on the surface so nobody knows what a corrupted and defiled little slut you are. You've just earned yourself a B on tomorrow's test."
"Why don' I ever earn an A?" He asks, stretching from his position.
"You know why; A for 'Aft'."
He's not going to stoop to that level if he can help it, not with this gross bastard. Though he is aware of how Dirge could easily demand it from him by just threatening to ruin his grades.
Crosshairs stops the memory.
"Ugh, how could you stand it?" Barricade says, cringing, even though he's all too aware of how 'standing it' has little to do with enduring something that's impossible to get away from.
"It go' a lo' easier when I started seein' it as the ultimate 'fuck ye' te Dad. 'e sent me te religious school te keep me from bein' my slutty self, an' there I was, bangin' a teacher of all mechs."
He can't even tell if it's good or just twisted that Crosshairs manged to find empowerment in being raped.
The crimes doesn't get less heinous just because he found a way to not feel victimized. Too bad he doesn't seem to realize that a lot of his experience so far was assaults too.
Did you just sort of agree with me?
Yes...?
Weird.
Yeah...
"How did you manage to not be completely put off from using your valve? I mean, I know how gross you thought he was, even if you managed to find a way to see it like a 'fuck you, Dad'. Fucking him doesn't really invite to wanting more with others."
"The facin' I'd done before I was sent away was good enough, made me feel good enough for somethin', te make me want more. One bastard couldn' ruin tha'. An' I was fuckin' Smokescreen whenever I could, so there was good things te remind me of why I liked it in the first place."
Crosshairs finding his only self worth in if he can make mechs want him for shallow interfacing still isn't a healthy coping strategy, but somehow he can relate, because he has been told of his own uselessness enough times to understand that black pit of self loathing and worthlessness. And considering where his own control issues landed him, he really shouldn't be too judgemental.
Look! We're agreeing again!
Chapter Text
It's a startling difference when the next memory starts, and Crosshairs is straddling Dirge, servos on the desk, riding the Seeker with abandon. Dirge is groping Crosshairs's chest-plates, and Crosshairs could almost believe that it's Vortex, considering the lack of skills in those servos. Sure, not having to look at him while fucking makes it so much easier to pretend that it's someone else he's riding, but there's a lot of spiteful glee there too.
His Sire really should see him now!
Rough servos slide down to get a denting grip on his hips, urging him to go faster, and Crosshairs mewls exaggeratedly, because it can't be bad for his grades to make the mech believe that he really wants this.
The door flies open, and the principal gawks at them. Crosshairs doesn't know what to do, but Dirge pushes him off his lap, and he falls to the floor.
"Sunstorm! I can explain...!" Dirge says.
Sunstorm is already on Crosshairs, grabbing his arm to hoist him to his pedes. The principal glares down at his still bare array; the lubricant and pre-transfluid that's staining his thighs, and he makes a disgusted face.
"What's to explain? You fell for the little harlot's wicked suggestions and temptations. He exploited your weakness to lure you to lay with him."
"I..." Dirge starts, apparently already headed up to try to defend himself, but then he breaks off momentarily. "Y-yes. That's what happened! I tried to ward him off, tried to say no, but he was relentless! His filthy servos always straying to my plating, the way he'd whisper temptations in my audials..."
Sunstorm slaps Crosshairs across the cheek, and the Corvette cries out, servo instinctively coming up to cup his burning cheek.
"'ang on a second, I didn' do tha'..."
"Spare us your lies!" Sunstorm roars. "We know what kind of strumpet you are, and nothing you can say will convince me that one of my pious brothers would be the one to initiate something like that. You're doing the work of Unicron, and if you can't find the right path here, then you're forever doomed to be a cursed glutton for lust and sin."
"Oi! 'e threatened te flunk me if I didn' let 'im 'ave me!"
"Do you really expect me to believe that? That one of the teachers here — with a clean record, mind you, no complaints at all — would stoop so low as to extort you for your already overused, loose little valve? That the admitted slut would have nothing to do with this, while a devout mech would? Please..." Sunstorm scoffs. "You sure didn't look like you were completely against it when I came in. I will call your Sire. You're going to be expelled, and you will never be welcome back."
Chapter Text
The next line of memories Crosshairs skims over is a lot of his Sire yelling, and sometimes Crosshairs yelling back.
— "You were supposed to keep your legs closed, not seduce a teacher!"
"'e forced me! Wouldn' give me good grades if I didn' do it!"
"Well if you hadn't been so stupid, you could've studied to get those grades, like a normal mech!" —
There's a few bitch slaps from his brother Perceptor.
— "You disgust me. Even everyone at my school knows what a harlot you are, that you sleep with anyone who is willing to stick his cock in you. You're an embarrassment. It's your fault Carrier died too. It should've been you who didn't make it." —
There's drinking, drug use, and interfacing. Sneaking out from house arrest, being pulled over by Enforcers — for being drunk, for speeding, for reckless driving — his Sire bailing him out several times. He's grounded, more yelling, more slaps. Pharma disabling his t-cog to make him unable to transform. Knock Out shows up briefly, looking very young, enabling his t-cog again.
"Knockie is a few years older than me, 'an 'e was fresh outta med school when this 'appened. We weren't friends, but we grew up in the same neighborhood, an' 'e 'elped me with my t-cog for a bottle of nice high grade I stole from Dad, an' a promise of doin' 'im a favor if 'e ever needed one, even if I thought I'd never be able te 'elp 'im with anythin'. But when 'e developed a racin' 'abit 'e couldn' afford a few years later, turns out I actually could. I set 'im up with Hide."
So he recruited Knock Out.
Well, there's a lot of ways mechs can wind up here, that's for sure.
Apparently.
Crosshairs flicks through stepping out from his upgrade to his adult frame, looking in the mirror and finding himself good enough for seducing mechs. The celebration later that night in a club, drunk as a petroskunk, dancing on the bar, and shouting to the crowd that he is sealed if anyone is interested in ridding him of that. The following orgy with five mechs he doesn't know the designations of.
"Ah, 'ere it is."
The next memory starts, and Barricade recognizes the signs of Crosshairs being high as a Shuttle. It's broad daylight, and he's on his back on a lawn, so it's obvious that he's in some fancy neighborhood. Someone is stroking his interface plate, and it feels so good, but he needs more.
"Come on, please! Why can' ye fuck me?" He whines, grinding against the servo.
"Because we're in the middle of the park, and people are already staring. Let's go to your place." Vortex says.
Whirl and Vortex helps him to his pedes, and it's needed, because he's so intoxicated. Crosshairs still manages to grab the bottle of high grade, and he clutches it in his servo, even as the two Helicopters put his arms over their shoulders to help him walk. They're unsteady themselves, but better off than him, at least.
The walk derails into make out- and heavy petting sessions at several points, but they're making progress towards Crosshairs's house. He tries to remember if his Sire or his brother is at home, but can't, and decides that they should do this in the pool house.
"Oh, scrap!" Whirl blurts "Enforcers. We need to split up and shake them!"
Both the Helos take to the sky, and Crosshairs tries to initiate his transformation sequence, but he's too drunk to remember how, and winds up flapping his plating uselessly. The Enforcers pull up, transforming, and Crosshairs turns and bolts. He manages eight and a half step, then he's tackled to the ground.
"Not so fast, Crosshairs. We need to go back to the station and have a chat. We've had a whole bunch of complaints about you."
He's cuffed, hoisted to his pedes, and frisked, and they find his astro-weed, the boosters, and the routers, as well as the knife he's carrying these days because all his friends does, and he feels cool with it in his subspace pocket.
"Really need a chat."
The transport pulls up and he's pushed into it. It's a familiar trip by now, sitting in the back seat, going to the Enforcer station. He offlines his optics and rests his helm against the back rest.
He could've been sandwiched between two Helicopters by now if these bores hadn't caught him.
Chapter Text
He's embarrassed about purging in the transport, but the combination of syk, high grade, and a moving vehicle was too much at once. They dump him in the interrogation room, cuffed to the table, while they book him. Crosshairs leans his helm against the cool table, feeling nauseous, tired, and he needs to void his tank too. It seems like forever before they come back.
"I need te go te the maintenance room."
"We need to ask you a few questions first."
"Aw, come on!" Crosshairs groans.
"The drugs in your subspace; where did you get them?"
"Don' remember." They've done this dance before, and his Sire always bails him out and puts a lid on it. The Enforcers could spare their precious time and just call his Sire, so he can go home and sleep it off. He squirms in his chair. "Come on, mech, lemme go te the maintenance room."
"The quicker you answer the questions, the quicker you'll get there. Drugs and knife; where did you get those? The model of knife you carried is illegal. Telling me will help your case."
"I don' know where i' came from! Someone must've put it in my pockets when I was recharging."
The Enforcer snorts. "Why would anyone do that?"
"I don' know. Te get rid of evidence? Te frame me?" Crosshairs lets his optics roam the Enforcers frame before making optic contact. He bites his lip and cocks an optical ridge suggestively. "Te thank me fer a good night? Ye know, I've never done i' with an Enforcer before..." He purrs, sticking his chest out.
The cop frowns, looking mildly disgusted.
"Ye can' prove those things are mine, so jus' call Dad, an' le' me go void my tank."
Crosshairs tries to not show how desperate he's getting, because he will start leaking soon, and if the Enforcer knows that, they will definitely keep using it as leverage. He doesn't want to confess and get his friends into trouble, but he's definitely not going to piss himself here. He squirms, pressing his legs together.
Maybe the cop would get off on seeing him wet himself? It wouldn't surprise him. Gross turbopig.
"Just the fact that they were in your possession is enough. But let's take a walk to the maintenance room. Your optics are bright in a way that tells me that you have more than just high grade in your systems, so I think we should do a drug test."
"Whatever."
His Sire always makes the accusations go away anyway.
Chapter Text
"Ye goin' te watch me do this? What, ye get off on seein' others takin' a piss or wha'?"
"Yes, I am going to watch you, and no, in a perfect world, I would never have to witness that. But I don't trust you to actually leave the sample otherwise, so just deal with it. If you don't like it, then maybe you should try obeying the laws."
Bah.
He manages to collect some in the cup he has been given, and it is a messy business, because he was getting so full, he just can't stop when his waste valve opens the second he sits down in the chute. Crosshairs gags, because it's gross when the hot fluid dribbles over his digits, and his tank is already in upheaval from the high grade, and the drugs slowly leaving his systems. He hands the cup to the Enforcer, and is silently jealous of the gloves the mech got for this. At least he is allowed to wash his servos afterwards.
Crosshairs is escorted back to the holding cell while the test is processed, and on the way there, they stop by the comm unit to let him have his one call. It takes a while before his Sire picks up, and for long moments, Crosshairs is worried that his Sire might not be in his office, and he should've made a point to remember where he is, so he could call the right place. Then finally the screen flicks to show a picture of his Sire.
"'ey, Dad. I'm at the police station. Could ye come bail me out?"
His Sire looks thunderous, just like all the other times Crosshairs has made this call, but then his optics dim. "I'll come in later. I have some important things to attend to first."
"K, thanks."
He's put in the holding cell, and he finds a seat. A huge truck former is looking him up and down hungrily, but Crosshairs doesn't feel like flirting, because he's starting to feel more hung over than intoxicated, and it's a very unsexy feeling.
It's not like he could act on it here anyway.
It takes hours for his Sire to show up, and Crosshairs is fighting the urge to puke again, really longing for his berth, and a pain rerouter for his helmache. He immediately gets up from his seat when his Sire shows up at the reception, visible through the glass that separates it from the holding cell area, but it takes longer than it usually does before someone comes to get him.
His chronometer tells him it's over an hour before one of the Enforcers lets him out of the holding cell, but then he ushers Crosshairs into the interrogation room again. Crosshairs wonders why, because this is definitely not the standard procedure. He's cuffed to the table again, and it takes a few more minutes before his Sire is let inside.
"What's goin' on, Dad?"
"Apparently, you're going to prison."
Chapter Text
"Wha'?! Why?! Can' ye ge' me outta here?!"
His spark speeds up, and his entire frame feels cold with a dread he has never experienced before.
"I've had it. I'm done. I've bailed you out time and again, and it leads to nothing. I'm not doing it again. I can get you out, but I'm not going to." His Sire says venomously.
"Tha's no' fair! Ye could've warned me first, ye can' jus' ditch me 'ere..."
"Warned you?!" His Sire snarls. "Because the numerous apprehensions by the Enforcers aren't warning enough?! Are you really that stupid?!"
"Come on, Dad, don' do this! Jus' give me one more chance, I'll behave! I'll make it up te ye, jus' ge' me out. Please, I know ye're serious now, I'll do better."
"It's too late. You've been kicked out of school, you're too stupid to even try to graduate with the online classes I signed you up for, and I know that you're not sealed, so I can't arrange a respectable bonding for you. I don't want you in my house anymore, you're a disgrace. A filthy harlot. You disgust me."
"So ye're lettin' me go te prison?" He says weakly, knees feeling like rubber.
"You're a grown up now, Crosshairs. Face the consequences of your actions. I won't pay for a lawyer; you'll get a public defender — just like those lowlifes you like to hang out with would — and if you're found guilty, you'll get your fair punishment."
"Do ye know wha' they do te pretty li'l mechs like me in prison?" His voice sounds hoarse and hollow.
He's not a very big mech, and he's not a fighter either. They'll do what they want, and he won't be able to stop them.
"Yes. So I guess you'll like it there, you easy little slut."
It'll be like with Dirge all over again.
"I'll die in there."
There's no chance he'll make it out of there.
"Good riddance."
It's like a kick in the ventral plating, and he feels his lip-plates tremble, but he manages to keep from crying. His voice wavers when he speaks again, making a last ditch attempt to appeal to his Sire to help him out this time too.
Just this last time. He'll do better now that he knows that his Sire won't help him.
"Wha' about the publicity? Ye can' 'ave a kid in jail. The scandal..."
"You're not my kid anymore, I've disowned you. It has been in motion for some time — the bureaucracy tends to be slow — but I managed to get them to rush the appeal now that you messed up yet again. I finished the paperwork before I got here, there's nothing that ties you to me. You have no registered creators anymore, as if you were an MTO."
"Wha'?!"
"Don't come to my house again. You're a nobody, and you're not welcome."
His Sire turns to leave, and Crosshairs starts to yank on the cuffs in panic.
"No! Dad, wait! Please, Dad, don' leave me here! Ye can'! Please! Dad!"
"Goodbye, Crosshairs." His Sire says dismissively over his shoulder, not even slowing down.
The door slams shut, and Crosshairs sinks to his knees in an awkward pose forced by his servos still cuffed to the table, wailing like a sparkling.
He's going to prison. And even if he doesn't — if he gets an ankle bracelet instead — he'll be a homeless MTO with no credits, no job, and no skills.
The Enforcer pats him on the shoulder. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for you, kid. You may deserve the punishment for your crimes, but you didn't deserve that. I wish you had listened when we tried to talk to you when you were younger."
The cop's field is laced with sincere pity, but it doesn't do anything to comfort Crosshairs.
He's so screwed.
Chapter Text
"Of course I went te prison. Was put in a cell with three small bots, the nerds of the joint who were always bullied. At least I dared rechargin', bu' I was terrified durin' the days. One o' the others go' raped in the washracks an' sent te the medbay jus' a few days after I got in there, an I knew I 'ad te find other friends, because 'alf the ward was starin' at me like I was a pack o' treats. So I hung out in the corner o' the yard, scoutin' for who'd be a good ally."
Crosshairs tells Barricade as he's scrolling his timeline for the next memory. Then he finds it and Barricade is standing in the corner of the yard he never got to see while he was in prison.
Crosshairs has been evaluating his options for a few days, and he has noticed the different groups, mapped out who leads them, and their interactions. It's all a wild gamble, because he doesn't know how they will react — or if one group is really better than the others — but if he doesn't want to become the next victim of a gang rape in the washracks, he better get some friends who doesn't have alt modes like data pads, cleaning drones, and memory sticks.
With his spark in his throat, he walks towards the table with a crowd of big brutes. A huge Helo he hasn't seen before comes into the yard and walks over to them too, and Crosshairs momentarily stops, watching as the others get up, greeting the Rotary mech in succession with clasped servos and a one armed hug.
"Welcome back, brother. You healing up well?"
"Yeah, it's all good. Got the lines patched and a couple of mounting brackets straightened out. Then they just kept me to monitor the healing. You sorted it out?"
"They were worse off than you when the dust settled, you fought well. They should've known better than to try to drop you, even if they were three against one. The politics have been handled."
They all take their seats again, but Crosshairs lingers, momentarily losing his nerve, and it's enough for them to catch him staring.
"What?" The mech who seems to be their leader snarls, icy blue optics locking on him, all sharp hostility.
Crosshairs swallows nervously, but then he straightens his back and takes a deep vent to steel himself.
"Just admirin' the view." He says saucily, plastering on a smirk. "So, are ye up fer some fun? 'cause I'm definitely the best lay ye'll get in 'ere." He tries to purr seductively even if his spark is spinning out of control.
The mech looks him up and down skeptically. "Are you even upgraded to a frame with the proper equipment?"
"Didn't know they're sending the jailbait into the prison these days, Hide. Maybe they're looking to keep us in here with additional charges of statutory?" The Helo says, earning a round of laughter from the gathered mechs.
It's offensive, they're belittling him and thinking that he's a kid.
"Oi! This is my adult frame!" It's more of a pout than a snarl, because they're still big, he's alone, and they're definitely dangerous. "I wouldn' be in 'ere if I wasn' an adult, I'd be in juvie."
"What makes you want to be our bitch?" Hide asks.
"Our bitch", not "my bitch"? That was not what he planned!
"I-I... I thought I could be yer conjux fer the stay? Ye keep me from windin' up deactivated, or damaged an 'urt, an' I'll keep ye really 'appy?"
Hide snorts. "You know, being my 'conjux' entails being all our little bitch, and being our bitch means that we do what we want and you shut up and take it." He crosses his arms, reclining against the wall, cocking an optical ridge in challenge.
It doesn't sound very promising, but he's certain that he will be hurt one way or the other anyway, and hopefully, they won't damage him too badly.
"Ye get te 'ave me as ye please, an ye don' let anyone else 'urt me?"
Hide looks him up and down again — they all do — and then he smirks slowly.
"I guess we could take you for a test ride, see if you're worth the trouble. We have the washracks at 1400h. Be there."
Chapter Text
His spark is doing nervous backflips when he enters the washracks. They're all there, waiting for him, and he feels small and vulnerable, and insecure in a way he hasn't been around interfacing before. He still folds away his panels and stands stiffly in the middle of the room, waiting for them to initiate something. Hide walks a slow circle around him, lecherous optics roving Crosshairs's frame.
"You do have a sweet little frame." Hide says, pressing up against Crosshairs's back.
A servo slides down his front to his array, and a digit is pushed into him. Ironhide groans and starts to pump his digit. The finger slides slickly into him, because Crosshairs did finger himself before coming here, getting himself ready, in case they'd just want to shove inside and take him.
"Wet already. Such a horny little slut."
Crosshairs is still nervous, but the appreciative comment makes him relax a little, and being called a slut is kind of arousing, as is the way bright optics are locked on them, the hard spikes waiting for their turn with him. One of them is keeping optic contact with Crosshairs while stroking his spike.
They all want him.
"Yeh, so please don' keep me waitin'!" He mewls wantonly, arching his back to grind his aft against Hide.
Hide doesn't. He urges Crosshairs to get on all fours, flips his coat to the side, and then he slams inside immediately, his grip on Crosshairs's hips denting.
"Fuck, it has been way too long." He grunts, setting a fast pace. "Springer, try his mouth!"
The mech who has been stroking himself comes up to them, holding his spike out, and Crosshairs reaches up, steadying himself with his servos on the mech's hips, and without breaking optic contact, he sucks the spike into his mouth as deep as he can, working it with his glossa.
"Damn, he is good at this!" Springer grunts, putting his servo on Crosshairs's helm.
The praise makes him relax more, the nervousness ebbing away, and Crosshairs can finally appreciate the situation he's in; two hot mechs fucking him good, three more who wants him, waiting for their turn.
He's such a bad little slut, taking all the cock he can get.
Crosshairs reaches between his legs, rubbing his node with his digits, and he moans around the spike in his intake.
"Damn, Hide, he really is a horny little slut, he actually likes it." Someone in the audience says appreciatively.
Hide's only answer is a wordless grunt, then he slams in deep as he overloads.
Chapter Text
"You have a go, Blackout." Ironhide says as he stands up.
Crosshairs is still sucking Springer's spike, and he shudders in anticipation as the big Helo, sinks to his knees behind him.
"This is gonna be a tight fit." Blackout rumbles, then he pushes inside without preamble.
It really is a tight fit, and Crosshairs squirms, more full than he ever has been before. The massive spike presses against all his inside nodes, and he whines around the cock in his mouth, because it's bordering on too much but somehow it's still quite pleasurable. Then Blackout starts to move, long, langorous thrusts that hit everything inside him, and he overloads so hard his optical feed goes pixelated for a while. Springer pushes in deeper and shoots his load down Crosshairs's throat, then he steps back. Crosshairs braces his elbows against the floor, feeling spent, but Blackout is still pounding into him, and two mechs have not had their go yet.
"Hey Roadbuster, you gonna try his mouth, or are you waiting for something else?" Someone snickers.
"He has a really nice intake." Springer says.
"Might as well give it a go then." The mech called Roadbuster says, sinking to his knees in front of Crosshairs.
He sucks this spike into his intake too, as eagerly as the first one, and then he's caught in a push and pull between the mechs as they fuck him. Crosshairs reaches between his legs, circling his node with a digit, because his charge is rising again, and the audience snickers.
"Sure is eager, think we should keep him, boss." Springer says.
Crosshairs mewls and shudders his way through another overload, valve clenching around the massive spike inside him, and it pulls Blackout over the edge. With a groan, the Helo overloads, then he pulls out and backs away.
"Your turn, Moto."
"I'll wait until he's done. You know what I want, and I don't want him to accidentally bite Roadie."
"Thanks, bro." Roadbuster grinds out, rutting into Crosshairs's intake.
Roadbuster overloads, his transfluid being pushed out around his spike as he keeps fucking Crosshairs's mouth, then he pulls out, the last spurts of transfluid landing across Crosshairs's face-plates. He curls his arms, resting his helm against the floor, feeling worn out in that good way fucking makes him feel; almost as if he was on a mild rerouter or something. The last mech kneels behind him, and Crosshairs hears the sound of a bottle being opened, and the slick slide of a servo against a spike.
"Can't get ahold of lube here, so hydraulic fluid will have to do."
The blunt head of a thick spike presses against his port.
"This is a dealbreaker, if you can't take this, we're not keeping you." The mech says.
Crosshairs grimaces when the thick spike is slowly pushed inside him, big servos grabbing his hips for leverage as soon as the head is inside him and the mech doesn't need to steer anymore. He squirms a little, fingers scrabbling over the tiles as the thick spike slides deeper and deeper, biting his lip-plate to try to stifle a whine, but he doesn't complain.
"Yeah, I like it when you squirm in discomfort and still take it." The mech hisses, field sticky with arousal. "A good little slut, putting your own comfort second to my pleasure, taking it in your tight little ass."
The dirty talk is turning him on, and Crosshairs squirms again, this time to get some friction against his node. His valve-lips are starting to feel heavy again, and he gasps when the mech behind him rolls his hips and hits that spot inside him.
"Will you overload for me? Will you cum from me fucking you in the ass?"
"I-I might need te rub my node..."
"Then go ahead. We want to see you overload with a cock up your ass, like the needy little bitch you are."
There's no hesitation when he reaches between his legs and starts to rub his node again, his charge rising surprisingly quickly even after his previous overloads. He moans with every thrust, relishing every slide of the thick spike in his port — undoubtedly the biggest one he has ever taken.
He's such a bad little slut, being fucked in every way, enjoying to be their little toy.
Chapter Text
"Hey, Motormaster! Wanna share?" Springer asks.
A strong arm winding around Crosshairs's chest, lifting him up to kneel in front of Motormaster is the only answer, and then Springer kneels in front of him. The big mechs lift him, rearranging him so that his legs are hooked over Springer's arms, his back braced against Motormasters chest, and then Motormaster slips into his ass again, Springer pushing into his valve. Crosshairs has done a whole lot of interesting things in the berth, but he has never felt so completely at someone's mercy before. They're in control, and all he can do is let them continue.
Not that he would ever complain, the way they both thrust into him is simply glorious. Motormaster claps a servo over his intake, because apparently, he is getting loud. Crosshairs squirms around, getting close to overload, but it's eluding him, spent as his frame is, and he wails in frustration into the servo. He hears the snickers from the audience, and his optics flick to the mechs watching with bright optics.
It's what tips him over the edge, frame bucking wildly as he clamps down around the spikes inside him. Both the thugs groan, but their rhythm doesn't falter, they keep pounding into him even as he goes limp and strutless between them.
Motormaster comes first, and he slams in deep, keeping still inside Crosshairs while he spills his transfluid, then Spinger does the same moments later. Springer pulls out first, stepping back, and Motormaster slides his arms uner Crosshairs legs to keep him suspended in the awkward pose, his dribbling valve on display for everyone.
"Hey, watch this." Motormaster snickers, then he pulls out.
The spike slips out, followed by a rush of transfluid, and if Crosshiars wasn't so completely spent, he might've found it humiliating in that way that he finds a bit exciting when the others snicker. Blackout walks over, kneeling in front of them, thick spike in one of his servos. He looks down at Crosshairs's array and port, reaching for it with his other hand, then his optics flick up to meet Crosshairs's, and he smirks.
"You can't feel this, can you?"
Crosshairs frowns and shakes his helm, looking down.
"You're so loose, I can stick my digit in there without actually touching you."
Crosshairs's optics snap up to meet Blackout's again.
"If you take Hide up on the offer, you'll take this little baby back there too." Blackot pumps his spike with his servo a few times for emphasis, and it's such a massive piece of equipment. "Lick it. I still have a bit of a load left in me."
He holds his spike out for Crosshairs, and the Corvette leans forward, lapping at the head.
"Yeah, that's it. Just like that."
It doesn't take many strokes with his glossa before the Helo overloads, transfluid shooting over his glossa and face-plates.
"I like that look on you."
Motormaster lets him slip to the floor, and Crosshairs goes limp and strutless, too spent to stand.
"Lets wash up and get out of here." Ironhide says, nudging Crosshairs with his pede.
"'m too tired, ye rode me too good." Crosshairs mumbles.
Someone snickers. "You don't want anyone else finding you here like this."
Ironhide slings him over his shoulder and carries him to one of the overhead shower heads. He starts the water and puts Crosshairs down, steadying him. "Lets get this done, shall we? We don't want the guards to see this."
Crosshairs leans against the wall, still too tired to actually comply. Blackout and Roadbuster grabs sponges and starts to scrub his frame while Ironhide holds him up with big servos under his arms. It's kind of ridiculous, as if he was a sparkling, but his knees wants to give out, and he just wants to fall into recharge. Servos grope him and cop feels while they wash him, but he really doesn't mind.
"Done."
Ironhide rearranges him, folds him over one of his strong arms, and he hangs there, aft on display, wondering what now, but too spent to do anything about it.
"Here." Springer says to catch his attention, holding his servo out to show Crosshairs something. It looks like a condom stuffed with things. "Painkillers, in case you have trouble sitting down tomorrow, and a little bottle of high grade as thanks for the test drive."
He steps up behind Crosshairs, and then something pushes against Crosshairs sore port.
"He's tightening up, but he's too slow. It's just going to fall out."
"If you get the bottle in sideways it won't."
Someone cackles.
"No, give me that. Like this."
Crosshairs squirms, because it feels decidedly uncomfortable when the thing settles inside him.
"For fucks sake." Someone snickers.
"Hey, at least it isn't falling out now!"
"He's still drooling cum and hydraulic fluid, his fragging panel is going to leak."
"Stick a sponge in there." Ironhide says, trying and failing to suppress his laughter.
There's more fiddling with his ass, and quiet laughter, and then finally they're done. He dredges up enough energy to stand of his own accord.
"From now on, I'll call you Sponge-Cross Cum panel." Roadbuster laughs.
Crosshairs flips him off and immediately regrets it, because they could take that very badly. Nobody seem to care, though, and he slowly relaxes.
"If you're still interested in being our conjux, request a transfer to my cell. Say that you're affiliated with the Autobots, and that you are not safe anywhere else. They tend to try to make it easy for themselves to not have corpses turning up at every corner, so a request like that usually goes through." Ironhide says, and then he leaves without waiting for an answer.
"I'm looking forward to our wedding night." Blackout rumbles, optics roaming Crosshairs's frame, before he follows the others out of the washracks.
Crosshairs reaches back to check his port, and there is indeed a sponge sticking out of there. Then he hurries back to his cell to get the things out of him, hoping his cellmates are not there.
Chapter Text
"They were such assholes!" Barricade says vehemently, hoping that Crosshairs didn't take them up on the offer, even if he's pretty sure that Crosshairs did.
"Nah, they were jus' bored, an' 'ad been locked up for a pretty long time when I offered myself. Of course they'd 'ave their fun." Crosshairs says, shrugging, as if that excuses their behavior.
"Yeah, but still... Did you really go along with it? The deal, I mean"
"I did. I'll admit, I didn' exactly know what I was doin'. I was scared, because unaffiliated mechs like me got raped, an' shivved, and crap like tha', an' I didn' know them, or anythin' 'bout survivin' prison. Sure, it was one 'ell of a test drive, but I go' painkillers, an' high grade, an' tha' pointed te at least some level of care. They didn' damage me, so I put in the request, an' 'oped I was right when I guessed tha' they wouldn' want their new cellmate te turn up in the medbay, an' the guards startin' te investigate."
"Couldn't you've been put in segregation for your own protection or something? I mean, being upperclass, some mechs would be out for your energon just for that. Sounds horrible that you had to let yourself be their toy just to stay safe."
"I was stripped of my status, remember? On the papers, I'm an MTO." Crosshairs sad smile turns into a smirk. "B'sides, I already was a randy li'l slut, an gettin' five ho' lovers was more temptin' than bein' stuck in isolation. Ugh, I don' wanna think about bein' stuck with only my servos te keep me satisfied."
Barricade cannot relate at all, except for not liking to be locked up alone.
"Yeah, but still. They were so gross about the way they handled you."
"Ye need te think 'bout the situation we were in. They 'ad reputations te maintain, an I might've backed out of it and gone blabberin' about them bein' soft or somethin'. An sometimes, just bein' in a group goads them inta bein' extra rough an' stuff. Most of 'em aren't like that all the time, every time we fuck. They're still off the assembly line War frames, though. Morality an' empathy typically isn' part of the standard issue programming."
It's still a horrible excuse for them to treat Crosshairs like that, and potentially a very worrying reveal about the emotional protocols of the brothers. Barricade has never learned much about War frames, or the potential difference between MTOs and sparked War frames, because Enforcement would treat them the same way as any other mech, and MTOs were mostly handled internally in the military when Barricade was still on the force. It's intriguing, and he really needs to research it later. Still, Barricade is very curious about a whole lot of other things too.
"Did all of you share one cell?"
The cells weren't that big were they? And if they were, how the hell did Crosshairs get through his time in there without being fucked to pieces?
"Nah. Hide, Blackout, Springer an' I shared one. Roadbuster an' Motormaster was in another one with a couple of unaffiliated mechs. So I fucked Roadie an' Moto in the washracks, or in our cell in the days when we were let out, and the other three, I fucked during the nights. Well, mostly i' was like tha'."
Barricade nods slowly. It's both fascinating and gross, and there's so many things he's curious about that he doesn't dare to ask, because it feels so intrusive. Like if Crosshairs didn't get sore, and what happened if he was tired. There is one thing he just has to know, though...
"How did the wedding night go?"
"I've never been so thoroughly fucked in all my functioning, I could 'ardly walk fer days! All three of them fragged all my 'oles, and' Blackout an' Hide gave me an extra round each. Then in the mornin' when the cells were unlocked, Motormaster an' Roadbuster came over an did the same. An' then I was fully accepted as their li'l bitch, an' I was so proud tha' I made it."
What a mess.
And still you're wishing he'd show you those memories.
...
"But how did you get through it the next night? I mean, with the soreness and all."
"They're nice mechs. I go' painkillers, an' I didn' need te do more than give 'em 'ead the next night."
Ugh. "Nice" indeed...
Chapter Text
"Ye really wanna see it, don' ye?" Crosshairs asks, sounding smug.
"I-I... You don't need to tell me if you don't want to! I mean... I... I just can't believe you made it through that night in one piece..." Barricade stammers, flushing, because he feels so busted.
"I's alright! I's kind of a ho' show, really."
There's so many things with that statement that's just wrong, because it's a business transaction, and Crosshairs's state of mind makes even given consent dubious at best, and it sure isn't a show...
It's intriguing, and enlightening regarding the social structure, and...
Just fucking admit that you want to see cock meet pussy, mouth and ass...
Shut up.
Hehe...
Then it's suddenly too late to back out, because Crosshairs has found the relevant memories while Barricade was arguing with himself, and he's submerged in them.
He's sitting on the berth in his cell when a guard walks in. It's past curfew, and everyone is locked in their cells.
"Pack your stuff. Your transfer was approved, and it's time for you to move."
He doesn't have any stuff; he has no money from the outside to spend in the commissary, and nothing from the outside — not that he had anything legal in his subspace when he was arrested anyway — would be allowed to be kept.
"I'm ready te go." He says, rising from his berth without gathering any things.
The guard looks him up and down, and then his optics sweep the cell.
"Ye know, they wouldn' let me bring my Syk..." Crosshairs says sarcastically, even if he knows it's probably not a good idea.
The guard's intake pulls into a sneer, but Crosshairs just waits by the door.
"Alright. You requested a transfer to a cell with 'Autobots' to whom you claim to have ties."
"I did."
"Let's get you there then. I hope you know what you're doing." The mech says, ushering Crosshairs into the corridor.
"I'm goin' te a place where I'll be safe, with my crew."
"Yeah, because you fit in so well with the MTO War frames. Totally your crew."
"Ye'd be surprised..."
The guard snorts. "Hardly. I've worked here long enough to have seen it all, and then some more. Mechs tend to stick to their own kind in here. And you," his optics sweep Crosshairs frame, "you just don't fit in with their kind, pretty bot."
"Whatever ye say..." Crosshairs says, giving up the discussion.
It's not like it matters if the mech suspects that he didn't know the Autobots before this. The transfer was approved, and this guard won't change that.
They stop outside a different cell, and the guard opens the door.
"Your new cell mate has arrived."
Crosshairs looks past the mech and sees Springer, Blackout, and Ironhide reclining on their berths. They all look up, but none of them say anything, and Crosshairs's spark makes a nervous flip.
This is it, no going back now. Is he really doing the smartest thing? He knows what they can do in under an hour — how tired and sore he was after the test drive — and now he'll be locked inside with them all night.
"What are you waiting for? Get in there." The guard says challengingly, as if he knows why Crosshairs is hesitating.
He slowly steps over the threshold, feeling the hungry optics of the residents on him, roving his plating.
"Have fun." The guard leers.
Then the door slams shut behind him, and he's alone with three huge War frames.
Chapter Text
Crosshairs stands there, suddenly awkward and very insecure. They're all looking him up and down, but nobody says anything, and he is forced to bite back a nervous cackle that's threatening to break free from his vocalizer. He can't even muster up some fake bravado, and it's unfamiliar to be so insecure when it comes to something as simple as interfacing.
Get a grip. You've done this a thousand times. They're starved of interfacing, it's not like you'll need to do much to impress them.
"Uhm, hi? So... 'ere I am." He says, and immediately feels ridiculous.
Ironhide cocks an optical ridge. "Indeed. So how about you get over here?" He says, patting his lap.
Crosshairs knees feel like rubber when he takes the few steps to reach the thug's berth, but he still manages to move pretty smoothly when he straddles Hide's thighs. Ironhide's optics slowly trail down Crosshairs's front, and there's a decidedly satisfied little smirk pulling on the corners of his intake. Big servos slide up Crosshairs's thighs, thumbs dipping into the juncture of his hips, before one servo reaches for his modesty panel. Ironhide immediately finds the latches, nimbly flicking them open, and pushing the panel out of the way, digits slipping through dry folds.
"Like a desert." He rumbles.
"Yeh, I... I wasn' prepared when I was picked up fer transfer. An' I'm a li'l nervous." He admits.
Ironhide starts circling Crosshairs's anterior node with his thumb, pushing one digit into Crosshairs's valve, curling it to hit that spot in there.
"Nothing to be nervous about. We're just going to fuck you, and I know you both can and want to take it. That you like it."
Crosshairs's valve is going slick and hot with Ironhide's ministrations. Hide's really good with his digits, and it does help Crosshairs to relax.
He has been fingered before, but Hide is better than any of his previous lovers. The big mech doesn't seem to be in a rush, and that's a novelty, because mostly, his lovers want to get inside him as quickly as possible — only cares to get him just slick enough to avoid chafing — but Ironhide is still mapping out Crosshairs's array, even as lubricant is starting to cover his servo, showing no signs of hurrying things along. Then again, they do have a lot of time on their servos here...
Crosshairs's charge is rising quickly, and his hips are starting to move against the servo of their own accord.
"Please, I wan' ye in me!" He moans, wanting more, something thicker.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, I wan' yer thick spike."
"Much obliged." Ironhide rumbles, grabbing Crosshairs hips and pulling him forward, pressurizing his spike straight into Crosshairs's valve.
Chapter Text
Ironhide slides down a bit from where he's lounging against the wall — planting his pedes on the floor, shoulders and helm still leaning against the wall — and he guides Crosshairs to rock back and forth. Crosshairs has never tried that before, but it's quickly turning this into the best ride he has ever taken.
The way that thick spike fills him up, stirring inside him to hit every node, and his anterior node rubbing against Ironhide's pelvic plating is simply glorious, and lubricant is drooling out around Ironhide's spike. Ironhide bucks up to help him get even more friction against his node.
"Damn, you're getting wet."
"So good! Yes!" Crosshairs pants, grinding desperately against Hide.
Fucking hell, why have he never tried this before? Why has he always been bouncing up and down in that not-as-good-as-this way? Yeah, he'll happily ride this spike at every opportunity for the rest of his functioning.
"He warmed up pretty fast, Prez. A greedy little slut after all." One of the others snicker, Crosshairs can't focus enough to figure out who.
"Warm, wet and needy. Doesn't get much better than that." Ironhide grunts. "Hop off. I want you on your back." He says to Crosshairs, patting his hip.
It's not that Crosshairs really wants to stop this, because he was getting close, and it really is one of his best interfacing experiences so far. Definitely top three. Maybe even the best ever, but he needs time to think about it with a clear helm to figure that out.
But alas, the ride is over, and Crosshairs knows that he is in no position to protest, so he tips off Ironhide, landing on the berth next to him.
"Fine. But ye better continue fuckin' me this good, because I really liked tha'." He dares pouting.
Ironhide smirks, easily pulling Crosshairs to the center of the berth, kneeling between the smaller mech's thighs. "I think you'll enjoy this too."
Strong servos wrap around Crosshairs's waist, and he's pulled into Ironhide's lap, shoulders still on the bedding, and he's forced to arch his back.
"Mh, seriously sweet view." Ironhide says, sliding his splayed servo up Crosshairs's ventral plating, up to his chest-plates.
"He sure is easier on the optics than Springer's aft when he bends over." Blackout says.
"Like I would ever let you anywhere near my aft." Springer snorts, throwing a pillow at Blackout.
"Your Carrier didn't complain when..."
"You fucked the conveyor belt I was built on?! I mean, I knew your ugly mug doesn't get you much pussy, but I didn't think you were desperate enough to fuck insentient machinery..."
"Shut up."
They're being dorks, but Crosshairs chances a glance at them, and a shiver of pleasure trickles down his back-struts when he sees the way their bright optics are still locked on him.
Then Ironhide's spike slides into him again, a clever digit circling his node, and he dissolves into incoherency.
Chapter Text
Crosshairs's heels are digging into Ironhide's aft in an attempt to get Ironhide's spike even deeper, and there's a pop-up message in his HUD warning him of the hydraulics in his legs overheating from the strain, but he just can't stop himself from doing it.
Not when he's teetering on the edge, so close to overload, and still it eludes him when Ironhide's digit on his node eases up on the stimulation yet again.
"Don' fuckin' stop!" He growls in frustration.
More like desperation, he's definitely not used to someone teasing him like this, bringing him to the brink, just to deny him.
"Please!"
Maybe begging will work better?
Ironhide cocks his helm, smirking at him. "You know, it's not like I can move much really..." He wiggles his hips to emphasize the way Crosshairs is more or less glued to him. "And while you would doubtlessly overload if I just did this a couple of times," a flick against Crosshairs's node makes the smaller mech jerk as if shocked, moaning loudly, "it wouldn't do it for me. Don't you think that would be kind of rude of you? I mean, the way you're clinging to me, I can't even move to take my own pleasure."
"It's generally considered bad form for a bitch to not even return the favor." Springer adds his opinion.
He didn't even think about that, he was so preoccupied with what Hide has been doing to his frame, the way he has been brought close several times just for the mech to back off in that frustratingly smug way.
"I-I..." Crosshairs struggles to put together an excuse. "I'm no' used te goin' fer this long?" It's a lame fucking excuse, and he knows it, but he's used to less finesse, and hurrying to even get to overload before his lover would shoot his load. Stamina is not something he's used to.
Ironhide barks a surprised laugh. "Well, then this is going to be a long fucking night for you." He easily pries Crosshairs's legs from around him, showing how much brute strength there is in his frame. "Face in the pillow, aft up, so you can't hinder me anymore. I promise I'll let you cum. When it suits me."
Crosshairs has no time to protest before he's flipped over on his front, hips hiked up, and his arms held behind his back with one servo around his wrist-struts. His spark speeds up, because the position makes it impossible to deny that he really is completely helpless.
He squeaks when a digit prods his port.
"You've tightened up since the last time." Ironhide notes.
Crosshairs feels his face-plates flush, and he squirms in embarrassment.
He isn't used to his lovers saying those things to him — just about him — and it's both embarrassing, and arousing.
"We'll rectify that tonight."
It sounds as if it's Blackout who says it, then there's the clang of a high five, and Ironhide rumbles a laugh. Crosshairs's valve clenches needily around nothing, and he whines into the pillow, mortified of his own nervous anticipation.
They're just getting started.
Chapter Text
Ironhide's spike finally slip into his valve again, and Crosshairs moans into the pillow, a shiver of pleasure traveling up his back-struts.
"Fucking hell, you feel so good around me." Ironhide groans, starting to pound into Crosshairs with, long, hard thrusts. "Just listen to how wet you are, you needy little slut; all soaking wet and revved up."
Oh, the sounds are absolutely mortifying — downright obscene — as is the way his lubricant is actually dribbling down his legs, welling out every time Ironhide pulls out. It's such a turn on to be such a needy, wet, bad little slut, spreading his legs for an MTO brute.
Ironhide reaches around and starts to circle Crosshairs's node with light touches; enough to slowly built his already ramped up charge, but not enough to bring him over quickly.
"Maybe he's a squirter too? I mean, he's already dripping..." Blackout muses.
"Are you a squirter, little slut?" Springer asks.
Crosshairs is only vaguely familiar with the term, but he can't stop his field from flaring with mortification. Or his valve clenching around Ironhide's spike.
He's not used to these kinds of discussions. His previous lovers never went into details in this very casual way.
"N-no?" He says, but it's muffled by the pillow, barely comprehensible.
Hide increases the pressure on his node, and Crosshairs squirms in desperation.
So damned close!
Blackout groans. "That field..." There's a sound of plating shifting, and then a wet slide that may very well be a servo stroking a spike, already slick with pre-transfluid.
"That field says he may very well be a squirter."
"Yeah, he just doesn't know it yet."
"Definitely is a drooler." Ironhide adds, pulling out.
Crosshairs makes a sound of protest, then Ironhide drags the tips of his digits from the front of Crosshairs's array, over his valve-lips, gathering lubricant in his cupped servo.
"Just look at this!" Ironhide says.
Crosshairs doesn't even dare to try look what he's doing when the others snicker, because he just knows it'll be mortifying.
"Now that's what I call a puddle! Springer says.
Then Ironhide slams into Crosshairs's valve again, setting a quicker pace, flicking his node just so, and Crosshairs is racing towards the edge again.
"Would be rude of me to hog you all night, the others want some sopping wet pussy too..."
Finally, it sends Crosshairs into the hardest overload he has ever had.
Chapter Text
Crosshairs's audials are rebooting, and he's vaguely aware of Ironhide's pelvic plating pressing against his aft, the thick spike inside him pulsing rhythmically.
Oh, he's overloading too.
The only thing keeping him in the position he's in is a big servo on the front of his pelvic plating — probably repurposed from stimulating his node to keep him in position when the overload wracked his frame — and the servo still holding his wrist-struts. He feels completely fucked out and strutless, in a way he has never been before, not even after several of his lovers have tag-teamed him.
And this was just the first round. He'll be a puddle before they're done with him.
He giggles dopily into the pillow at the picture his processor conjures up; himself, but completely made of silicone.
Ironhide lets go of him, and he slides down, stretched out on his front.
"...are you alive there, little mech?"
He manages to twist his helm to get his face-plates out of the pillow.
"Yeh. Think 'alf my systems rebooted." He says with a grin.
Ironhide smirks.
"Tha' was the best fuck I've ever 'ad. I mean, no offense 'bout the time in the washracks, but it wasn' like we 'ad much time then."
"That was your best round ever? Primus, what kind of losers have you been fucking?" Ironhide asks.
"I dunno. I though' they were good at the time... But, then I was of'en really drunk, or high, so maybe tha' numbed me?"
"Perhaps..." Ironhide says slowly, and when Crosshairs glances up at him, his face is unreadable. "You'll get more good dick now, though. Blackout looks horny to me."
"Now?! I mean, my valve is still twitchin'. Can' I get a little break?" He'll be too sensitive, it'll just feel weird.
"I guess I could settle for a blow job right now. Might be good to take the edge off, so that I can go a really long time when I go for your valve. 'cause I am going to fuck you tonight, and you're going to enjoy it."
There's that dirty talk again, the casual way they just tell him what they're going to do with him, and it's arousing, but Crosshairs is just too spent to really get charged.
Or move.
"I don' know if I even 'ave the strength to kneel in front of ye."
Blackout's intake pulls into a hungry grin, full of sharp denta. "I think we can manage anyway." He rises from his berth, coming over to Ironhide's berth. Ironhide moves away, taking a seat on Blackout's berth. "On your back little mech. I want so see those pretty lips around my cock."
And it's a big fucking cock.
Crosshairs manages to roll over, wondering what the big mech is planning, and his spark is speeding up with nerves when Blackout grabs his arms and pulls him closer, all the way to the edge of the berth, and further until Crosshairs's helm hangs over it.
"Just try to relax your throat-tubing. And your jaw hinges."
Chapter Text
"I, uhm, wha're ye goin' te do?"
"Never been deepthroated before?"
"No..."
"Then this'll be interesting. Here's what's going to happen: you open that pretty little intake of yours, and I'll try to fit my entire spike in there."
Crosshairs stares at the massive spike as Blackout kneels to get level with Crosshairs's helm.
There's no way that's going to fit!
"I think I can kneel in fron' of ye, actually, 'm gettin' my power back."
"You shouldn't strain yourself, we have a long night in front of us. Just lay back, relax, let me have my fun, and then you'll be rested enough when it's Springer's turn. I'll go slow, let you adjust. It's not like I want to put you out of commission."
Crosshairs swallows nervously, still staring at that thick cock, but then he finally nods and opens his mouth.
He did take the offer of being their bitch — well informed that they'll do what they want, and he's supposed to shut up and take it — so he can't really complain about them taking their due, especially not when they're being nice about it, and actually telling him what they're going to do, instead of just sticking it wherever they want.
"Slap my hip if you get warnings or reports about damage from your systems."
Blackout pushes forward, the thick head of his spike smearing Crosshairs's lips with pre-transfluid as it slips into his mouth. It slides deeper, all the way to the back of his intake, and Crosshairs's frame does a convulsion when he suppresses the reflex to purge. Blackout stops.
"Just try to relax. Let it in, as if you were trying to swallow it."
"Technically, he is trying to swallow it."
Blackout chuckles, and when Crosshairs momentarily manages to relax his throat tubing, he pushes forward, getting deeper.
It feels weird, but at least it doesn't hurt. He still squirms, not certain he really enjoys it. Blackout cradles his neck with a big servo, and then he starts to slowly move; little rolls of his hips gradually getting him deeper.
"Close your nasal vent and use the others. It'll make it easier." Ironhide instructs him. "So, Blackout, can you see your dick yet?"
"Yeah, that little tube is bulging really nicely."
Springer and Ironhide comes over to them, and while Crosshairs can only see their pedes from his upside down point of view, he knows that they're watching him; splayed out with his array bare and his thighs sticky with cum and lubricant, with a cock deeper down his throat than he has ever taken it before. It's embarrassing, and it turns him on. His valve-lips are starting to feel warm and swollen, and he mewls around the spike in his throat.
"Oh, fucking hell! Do that again!" Blackout groans.
A digit strokes his throat-tubing, following the spike's movements when Blackout slowly fucks him.
They must see the way the cock moves inside him, as it stretches the tube.
"A real talent."
"That looks so fucking hot, just look at the way he lets that cock in."
Crosshairs hums, and it earns him a grunt from Blackout.
He's the center of attention, the one who manages to draw those noises from the big Helicopter. He's so good at being bad, and they all want him.
He reaches between his legs, circling his node with one of his digits, and it makes him moan.
"Horny little tramp." Springer snickers in amusement. "Look, Blackout, you make him all hot and bothered!"
"Nothing like a big spike to get a small bitch going."
"Don't you overload now, little slut. You'll get yours when one of us gives it to you." Ironhide warns Crosshairs, and the sharp and commanding edge in his voice sends a thrill down Crosshairs's back-struts.
Blackout is increasing the pace, movements becoming more erratic, and it strains Crosshairs's throat-tubing, but then the big mech pulls out, shooting his load over Crosshairs face.
"Glazed slut!"
They laugh, but Crosshairs doesn't really mind.
He can take it deep in his throat. And now he's going to get fucked again and earn the overload he wants.
Chapter Text
Springer swipes his digits through the ropes of cum on Crosshairs's face-plates, then he holds his fingers in front of Crosshairs's intake.
Hesitantly — because he isn't certain that he's interpreting the gesture correctly — he sticks his glossa out, lapping at one of Springer's digits.
"Yeah, that's right. Just like that." Springer croons.
Crosshairs sucks the finger into his mouth, encouraged by the bright optics following his actions, the way Springer licks his lip-plates hungrily when he's watching Crosshairs suck his digit.
He cleans that servo thoroughly with his glossa; sucking every finger into his mouth in succession, rolling his tongue around those digits.
"Mh, yeah, a natural talent for sure." Springer murmurs to nobody in particular. "But now I really want my spike to get some attention."
"'ow do ye wan' me?"
"You know, I really enjoyed your mouth — and I will definitely be having it again soon — but right now I'm up for some slippery cunt..."
Crosshairs flushes. "I'm already creamed up. I mean, jus'... Ye know, not pristine."
Not that he has ever had any second thoughts about being tag-teamed before, but this feels different somehow, because these mechs consider what they want, and they tell him all the details, and it feels like he should give them the same courtesy. And it's arousing to admit that he's a little slut who just spread his legs for someone, and he's going to do it again.
Springer chuckles, and it's kind of a dark sound. "Oh, I'm counting on it. No squeaky clean little virgin would ever give it as good as a well defiled slut can."
He leans forward, servo reaching for Crosshairs's array, and when his digits slip into Crosshairs's supple, wet valve, there's this mortifying squelching sound.
"Just listen to that. So slippery and ready for me, and who would I be to complain about you being slick from having fun with my Prez? Especially since the show was so nice. Do your legs work again?"
"Yes...?"
Probably. His hydraulics have cooled down by now, and there's no damage reports, so he should be good to go again.
"Good. I want you on your knees and servos."
"Am I allowed te wipe my face first?"
They all smirk a him.
"Well, since you ask so nicely..." Ironhide says, holding out a rag.
"Sad to see it go." Blackout says mournfully when Crosshairs starts to wipe his face clean.
"He isn't yours to mark."
"I know, but it's still a good look on him."
"Agreed. We could all mark him at once." Ironhide muses.
"I'm sure he'll be dripping all of our cum — from everywhere — for days when we're done." Springer adds.
"True."
"So, get on your knees and servos. If you'd be so slutty, please."
It's not like he has much choice, but he'd be lying if he said that he didn't feel excited about it. Springer's spike is bobbing in the air, looking all tantalizing, and he has had it inside him before, and it was good...
Crosshairs rolls over as smoothly as he can, turning so that his aft is to the three mechs watching him. He's not confident enough to throw them a meaningful glance over his shoulder, but the thought of them staring at him getting into position makes his valve throb. He flicks his coattails to the side to give them as good a view as he can provide, and then he just waits.
The berth dips when Springer kneels behind him, and Crosshairs shudders in anticipation.
"You have such a sweet little frame, such a lovely aft."
Servos grip his hips, and then he's pulled backwards, getting impaled on the thick spike waiting for his empty valve.
"Swallowed you right away."
"Fucking pit, you feel so good around me!" Springer growls.
"Should've gone for a blowjob first, brother. Now you won't last long."
"The night is still young, and none of us are going anywhere." Ironhide rumbles, voice crackling with static. "I think we'll all be sated when we're done. You will get your fill, you horny little slut, rest assured." He says to Crosshairs, servo slipping around Crosshairs's thigh, reaching for his array to stroke his node.
A mewl leaves the Corvette's vocalizer, because his processor isn't in a state to come up with a witty retort.
Not with a good sized dick pounding his valve, and skilled digits teasing his node.
With a moan, he arches his back and spreads his legs wider to give better access, and a good view.
They all want him so much, think he's sexy, and they're generous with pleasure too. He'll make it worth their while.
Chapter 200
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Springer slows down again, but the way his movements stutter, his overload is probably getting harder to hold off.
Not that it matters for Crosshairs, because Ironhide is still stroking his node, but every time Crosshairs is getting close he backs off in that infuriating manner that seems to be his modus operandi.
"What do you say, Springer? Should I let him overload, or do you think he deserves to wait a little while longer?" Ironhide asks.
"No, please, lemme cum!" Crosshairs whines.
He's been so close so many tiy, his valve has contracted in that first quiver of sweet release, just for the stimulation to stop at the last second to abort his pending overload, and his valve is almost aching with the need to release the charge now.
Ironhide tuts. "Sir. 'Please, let me cum, Sir.' You forgot to address me properly. What do you mechs say?"
Springer makes an unintelligible grunt while fucking Crosshairs very slowly.
"Well, usually I'd be all for leaving him high and dry — and giving him a good spanking too for good measure — for his insubordination, but it is his first night after all. Besides, I think his aft will be sore enough anyway tomorrow, when we're done with him..." Blackout voices his opinion.
Crosshairs hips move of their own accord, trying to find some friction by rutting against Ironhide's servo. It's futile; Ironhide easily evades him, and Springer's denting grip on his hips makes it hard to move much anyway. A desperate sob escapes him.
"Please, Sir! Please make me overload, Sir."
The confusingly arousing pictures in his processor does absolutely nothing to make this easier. As frustrating as it is that Ironhide controls him, denies him much needed release, there's also something arousing about it. And the thought of one of them spanking him really shouldn't be so very interesting...
"I, wha' do ye wan' me te do? Tell me, so I can do it! Please, Sir!"
There's something very arousing about deferring to Ironhide. To all of them really, but Ironhide is the one commanding right now, and it's so hot. It's new, because he never really knew he would enjoy being made to obey someone's orders, and it's different from his earlier experiences, because now he can choose to go along with what they do, and before it kind of just happened. There's this part of him that is thrilled with nervous curiosity about what it would be like to disobey.
Then Springer slams in to the hilt, grinding against Crosshairs's aft, and the only thing Ironhide does is teasing Crosshairs's node with featherlight touches, far from enough to make Crosshairs overload.
He growls in frustration when Springer pulls out, and he's left empty and unsatisfied.
"Oups, I guess you were too slow with asking nicely. I mean, I didn't get enough time to bring you over before Springer came. Better don't delay the good behavior next time." Ironhide says unrepentantly.
Crosshairs bites back the rude answer he wants to growl at the smug bastard.
"Yes, Sir! I'll try 'arder. 'ow do ye wan' me now, Sir." He grinds out.
Ironhide grins. "Blackout? I want him on his knees on the floor. Make sure he doesn't try to sneak an overload without permission.
Blackout's chuckle is wicked. "Absolutely, Prez."
Notes:
Well, 200 chapters, and what better way to celebrate than with more smut? :D
Chapter Text
He's lifted from the berth, and Blackout puts him down on his knees in the middle of the floor. His arms are easily wrangled behind his back, and his wrist-struts are trapped in one of Blackout's servos, but Crosshairs dares trying to rub his legs together to get some friction.
Maybe if he's quick he can steal that overload?
"None of that. You heard the boss. You get yours when we grant you an overload." Blackout rumbles.
The huge mech nudges Crosshairs's knees farther apart with his pede, and then he kneels between Crosshairs's calves, making it impossible to do anything to try to sneak an overload.
"Nicely done, Blackout. It's like you read my mind." Ironhide says approvingly, coming to stand in front of Crosshairs.
"He's in his rightful place; on his knees for you." Blackout rumbles, squeezing Crosshairs's wrists — not hard enough to make it painful, but certainly enough to demonstrate his strength.
Ironhide smirks at Crosshairs. "You know, Springer looks awfully messy, and only a fraction of it is our jizz. The rest is your lubricant, you wet little slut. Maybe you should help him clean up? Put that talented mouth of yours to good use."
"Will ye make me overload if I do?"
Ironhide barks a surprised laugh. "No. We may let you when we get to you sucking my spike. If you do as we tell you, and you address me properly. And the step towards that is to lick Springer's cock clean."
It's not that he finds it gross that makes him shake his helm.
It's the embarrassment, both for all of them watching, and — most of all — for being turned on by it. By being so wet that what Ironhide says is true, and by the way his valve clenches at the thought of licking Springer clean with an audience.
"No?" Ironhide bends down to slide his servo up Crosshairs's chest-plates, up his throat. He pauses at the inmate collar, gripping it with his digits to tug at it. "Pretty things like you shouldn't be kept in cages, but I certainly don't mind the way a collar looks on you." He lets go of the collar again and takes a new grip above it, with his digits wrapped around Crosshairs's throat, rubbing little circles into the sensitive components with his thumb. "Seems like you're not really in a position to argue."
Crosshairs swallows, but he can't tell if it's because he's so nervous, or if it's because it's turning him on. His valve throbs heavily.
Ironhide's servo continues up Crosshairs's throat in what is almost a caress, until his index digit nudges Crosshairs's chin to tilt his helm further back, and Ironhide leans closer. Close enough that their lip-plates almost touch when he murmurs the next words.
"Stop playing at being a prude. We know this is turning you on. Your field is quite... tantalizing."
Crosshairs feels his face-plates flush when he meets those calculating optics.
"So what's it going to be, little slut?" Ironhide says, tilting his helm in a way that makes him look like a predator.
"I'll clean him, Sir."
Chapter Text
Ironhide grins wickedly and steps to the side, allowing Springer to take his place. Crosshairs spark is spinning with nerves, and he feels his face-plates flush when he looks at the mess on Springer's pelvic plating.
"Go on." Springer says, splaying his servo on the back of Crosshairs's helm.
He leans in to lap at the unpressurized component, tasting the bitter transfluid and a tart, sticky flavor that has to be his own lubricant. He's never done this before, and nobody has ever been interested in him doing anything with their valves. Crosshairs starts to lick with broad strokes of his glossa to clean away the mess.
"Oh, yeah, just like that." Springer groans. "I may actually get hard again, even if I just came, you're so fucking good at this."
It spurs him on, that appreciative comment, and Crosshairs starts to lap at Springer's spike with more fervor. Blackout still is holding his servos behind his back, but the big mech reaches around Crosshairs, going for his array.
Thick digits slide easily through his slick folds, and Crosshairs gasps when his node is rubbed a couple of times before the fingers are pushed into him.
"I think he's eager for that overload. Look at how efficiently he is cleaning Springer's cock, just waiting to get your spike in his intake, Hide." Blackout rumbles. "Would you like that, little slut? To get the boss's big cock in your mouth?"
What he really wants is a fucking overload, but he has no objections to sucking Hide's spike either. He's such a bad little slut, and they all like him for it.
"Yes!" He hisses between licks. "Sir! Yes, Sir!"
Blackout chuckles, and slowly pumps his digits into Crosshairs's valve, pressing against his node every time he pushes in, and it's slowly bringing him closer to the peak, but he knows that he has to earn that overload.
He can do so much better than this.
Crosshairs shifts his optics up to meet Springer's, and lets the now half pressurized spike rest on his stretched out glossa, intake wide open. He bobs his helm, not enough to get the spike into his mouth, but just enough to stimulate a sensitive node on the underside, close to the head, and to give them a spectacular view. Springer groans. Crosshairs's hips jerk to try to meet Blackout's servo, and he suddenly realizes his mistake when Blackout backs off with his ministrations, removing his servo.
He may earn his overload when he's sucking Ironhide's spike! He should've hurried up with just getting Springer clean, not making him all hot and ready to go again!
He whines in frustration
"Can you cum again, Springer? It would look so fucking hot." Ironhide asks, and of course he's stroking his spike.
"Sadly, I can't."
"Pity."
Crosshairs goes back to lapping at Springer's spike, but he doesn't break optic contact, because the mech clearly enjoys it.
And it makes him feel bad in that way that gets his juices flowing when he sees the way every move he makes is followed with rapt attention.
He squeaks in surprise, squirming, when Blackout's thumb slips into his port, slicked up with Crosshairs's own lubricant.
"Sure has tightened up well." The thumb curls, hitting that spot, and Crosshairs moans shakily. Blackout's digits find his node again. "You like this too, don't you? Getting something in your aft."
Crosshairs feels himself flush again, because what Blackout is doing does feel good, and up until now, he has always counted that as one of those things he can put up with for his lover's pleasure.
"I really hope you do like it, because you will take my spike there, sooner rather than later. So, do you like this? Are you an aft slut as well?"
Crosshairs mewls when Blackout curls his thumb again, averting his optics from Springer out of embarrassment. "I-I... It feels good. Sir." He confesses, even if he isn't certain Blackout's spike will feel as good.
"Of course it does." Ironhide snickers. "Will it feel good to have my cock in your mouth as well?"
Springer moves out of the way, Hide steps up in front of him. Crosshairs feels incredibly small where he's kneeling in front of the big thug, but he still licks his lip-plates in anticipation, because it's such a turn on, the way they easily handle him, and the thrill of being so helpless.
"Yes, Sir."
Chapter Text
Ironhide's spike bobs just in front of his intake, close enough to be an invitation, but not touching him.
Hide wants him to take the initiative. He wants that fucking overload, so he sure isn't going to disappoint. He's good at sucking.
Crosshairs leans forward, mouthing lightly at the head with his lip-plates, not breaking optic contact. Ironhide smirks down at him, his bright optics a good sign that he's pleased with Crosshairs's idea.
Pre-transfluid slicks his lips, and he smirks back at Hide when he slowly licks away the sticky fluid. He hears Springer groaning.
"That's so fragging hot."
"Yeah, you really do know what you're doing, little slut." Ironhide rumbles, voice crackling with static.
The only answer Crosshairs gives is flat-tonguing the head of Ironhide's spike a couple of times before searching out that spot underneath the spike — the node that's usually very sensitive — with the tip of his glossa, circling it a few times. Ironhide's hips jerk, and Crosshairs suspects that it isn't a voluntary motion. Without breaking optic contact, Crosshairs sucks the spike into his intake, slowly taking it deeper and deeper, working the underside with his glossa.
Blackout curls his thumb a couple of times — having kept it still for a little while — and strokes his node with a digit. Crosshairs squirms to get more friction, but the servo stills again.
"So, what do you say, Hide? Is he doing well enough to earn some pleasure?" Blackout asks.
Crosshairs sucks the spike deeper, trying and failing to shift his helm to be able to get it deeper into when it hits the back of his intake.
He just can't, not in this position. He's already pushing the limit of his gag reflex, and if he tries more, this won't be pretty.
A tiny growl of frustration escapes him when he backs off, slowly bobbing his helm to at least offer some sort of stimulation. He hollows his cheeks, sucking lightly, and rubs his glossa against the ridged length.
Probably no use being in a rush, Hide seems to enjoy taking his time.
"He's doing well, he really is good at this. Tried to take it deeper than the position really allows too, and keeps optic contact. Yeah, I think he has earned himself some slow building of his charge." The words are very businesslike, but there's a strain to Hide's voice that tells on how Crosshairs's ministrations affect him.
Blackout starts to pump the thumb in Crosshairs's port, and it makes Crosshairs's squirm, because it's too dry with just the tiny amount of his natural lubricant Blackout has used to get in there, but at the same time Blackout is hitting that spot inside him every time, and that feels kind of good.
"Meh, too dry for this. You're lucky we've pilfered some slick stuff. Did it just for this night, but I'll save it for later, and you will thank me for that." Blackout murmurs in his audial, going back to just curling and uncurling his thumb inside Crosshairs, flicking his anterior node with his digits from time to time.
They really do care about his comfort. They even got something to use for lube, and that was probably a theft, so they could've easily just not done it.
Crosshairs's charge is slowly rising — not that it wasn't already annoyingly high — and it's getting harder and harder for him to focus on the things he does to Hide's spike, but he really has to, or they'll stop again, keep teasing him. He lets the spike slip out of his intake, just pressing his lip-plates against the head for a second, giving his jaw a tiny break, then he slowly sucks it into his mouth again, looking up at Ironhide as he does it. The big mech is staring at him, enthralled, and in spite of his position, Crosshairs feels kind of powerful, because he's the one who makes Ironhide's fans spin at full speed, he's the one who holds the mech's attention. Crosshairs starts working quicker, feeling the way the spike in his mouth is twitching whenever he hits a sensitive spot, and while Ironhide has stamina, he probably doesn't like to be kept waiting if he doesn't choose to go slow himself.
Ironhide's optics flick away to look over Crosshairs's shoulder for a few seconds, and he nods once before turning his attention back to Crosshairs, grin widening. Blackout starts to toy with his node, repeatedly hitting a spot that feels kind of strange, but at the same time, it feels so very good.
Ironhide plants a servo on Crosshairs's helm, starting to rut into his intake, not deep enough to hit the back of his intake, but almost. It's a relief really, because he's teetering on the edge again, and Crosshairs just can't focus on trying to make it good for Ironhide, and if this is good enough, he sure isn't going to complain.
Crosshairs's entire frame locks up with tension when he's teetering on the edge, and for a long, horrible moment, he thinks he won't make it, that his frame won't let him get that release after being denied so many times. He squirms against Blackout's servo as the big mech keeps hitting that spot that feels so strange...
Then he finally tips over. With a wail around the spike in his mouth, he cums. In spite of how powerful the overload is, he still can feel the fluid running down his thighs, he hears it splashing on the floor, and he does hear someone chuckling. He wants to look down, to see what the hell happened, mortified, but Ironhide holds his helm in a steady grip, and then he overloads. Crosshairs swallows desperately, some of the cum still running down his chin as he can't swallow it all. He goes limp, leaning back against Blackout's massive front, and he pants too cool himself when Ironhide steps back.
"Told you he's a squirter!"
Chapter Text
"Let me guess: you're all spent, and your valve is twitching and you need a break." Blackout rumbles.
Crosshairs is really feeling strutless, leaning against the 'copter, still flushing when he's looking at the small puddle of lubricant on the floor beneath him.
"Uhm, yeh..." He mumbles, still processing the whole... squirting-business.
"You really have no stamina! Nobody ever gave you multiple overloads before?" Ironhide asks, voice smug.
"No' like this! I never 'ad an overload this powerful." He confesses.
Springer tuts. "Pity. I mean, you have the skills of a fairly experienced slut, but clearly nobody bothered to return the favor..."
Crosshairs doesn't answer, because he has nothing to say.
He always thought his lovers were good. Sure, they never tried to figure out what he really enjoyed most, and never took their time to work him like this, but they always made him overload.
"So, are you ready for another fuck? Blackout asks.
"I-I... I think I'll be too sensitive."
"Hm. Sounds like we can't let him overload if we plan on sticking our cocks in his pussy shortly after. Maybe we should make a flowchart on what order we can do things to keep this going?" Blackout teases.
"I... Please, don' tease me more. I-I wan' te do it, I'm jus' no' used te cuming so 'ard..." Crosshairs almost sobs.
"We'll keep it in mind." Blackout says. "Springer, are you ready to go again?"
"In a couple of minutes. Why?"
"He has tightened up again, and I don't want to wreck him..." There's such a lecherous leer in Blackout's voice, and Crosshairs's valve clenches in spite of everything.
"Are you saying that I'm small?" Springer says.
"No. Just that I'm bigger, and it would be very nice of you to prepare him before I have a go."
Are they talking about taking him in the aft?
"Wha' are ye goin' te do?!" He asks nervously.
"We'll claim all of you, and have our way with you, just as you promised that we can when you struck a deal with Hide. Don't worry, Springer is not much bigger than Motormaster, and he doesn't back away from some foreplay." Blackout murmurs in his audial.
Crosshairs doesn't really have a chance to protest before Springer and Ironhide grabs his arms and hoists him to his pedes.
"Across my lap." Springer says, and Crosshairs is helped — dragged really — to Springer's berth.
Ironhide steadies him while Springer takes a seat, and then he's mechhandled to lay across the big mech's lap — chest-plates and knees on the berth, and his hips on top of Springer's thighs.
Digits slip into his wet valve, and he jerks at the contact, still sensitive, then they're pushed into his port.
"I know your valve is too sensitive, but you'll get your respite. Hide just needs to get me the lube so I can slick you up for us."
He's not much for taking it up the ass, but he has done it before, and he'll do it for them. When it's done, they will continue with the stuff he likes.
Crosshairs arches his back to lift his aft in a silent invitation, and Springer twists his digits, catching a thrown bottle with his other servo at the same time. Crosshairs glances over his shoulder at Springer, but then he flushes and averts his optics when the mech smirks at him. The digits inside him is scissored, and then there's the sound of a spray bottle being used, and the coldness of something inside him.
Springer starts to pump his digits, and they go in easily. Whatever slick he's using it's very slippery, and Crosshairs is experienced enough to know how to relax his port. Another digit is added, and there's stretch, but it's not uncomfortable, and Springer makes a point to hit that sweet spot every time he pumps or twists his digits. Crosshairs starts to move his hips to meet the servo, surprised at how good this feels.
"Nobody ever fingered me like this there before." He confesses shakily, charge starting to rise again.
"Such a pity. Your reactions are delightful." Ironhide says from where he has taken a seat on one of the other berths when Crosshairs buries his face into the bedding to muffle a moan.
"Looks like he's quite the willing little aft slut." Blackout fills in.
"He's almost sucking me in already. Needy little bitch, wanting it in the ass." Springer says.
He's mortified by how he's reacting, because this is the one thing where his previous lovers truly could be derisive about him doing it, and here he is, enjoying these ministrations.
"I... I do this te heed our deal, I don' like it." He croaks, but it turns into half a moan.
"Your field says otherwise. And you will enjoy it when I fuck you too. I'm ready for you, time to sit on my spike."
Chapter Text
Crosshairs doesn't move for long seconds — even as Springer's digits slip out of him — uncertain how to proceed.
Usually, someone just mounts him and fucks him, and how is he supposed to initiate something so uncomfortable? Biting the pillow is usually the best way to deal with it...
"Come on now. I want you, and they want to see you..." Springer murmurs encouragingly
"I... 'ow do ye wan' me? Should I...ride ye?"
"Mh, yes... I want you to take all of me of your own accord; back to me, servos on my knees, so they can see your face, and I can see your aft swallowing my spike."
The graphic description is both mortifying and arousing. Crosshairs climbs to his servos and knees, straddling Springer. He places his servos as he was told, leaning forward, but throwing a glance over his shoulder. Springer is staring at his aft with an intensity that has Crosshairs flushing again.
"That's right. I'll line it up for you, all you have to do is sit back and take it. Just wait a second, I'll slick my cock a bit for you."
It's awkward to stand like that, waiting. Especially with two other mechs watching, smirking, fields pawing at his with arousal. He hears the spray bottle, and the wet sound of servo against spike.
"Sit back slowly, so I can steer, and take it at your own pace."
Crosshairs slowly starts to sink back, stopping momentarily when the head of Springer's spike nudges his port.
"There you go, take it at your own pace. You're well prepped, you know. It'll go in easily." Springer croons.
He obeys, pressing against the blunt spike, and he's both mortified of how easily he opens for it.
"I love the face he makes; embarrassedly surprised by how his ass is readily taking cock." Blackout says.
"It is kind of cute. Such a cocky slut, and yet so innocent." Ironhide fills in. "I just want to keep you in my berth for a month, little slut, and defile you, and show you pleasure."
Crosshairs makes a face, not at the comment, but at the thick spike slowly sliding deeper into him, because there is some stretch.
Definitely the biggest he has taken, and Blackout said that Springer is smaller than him, and Hide is a bit bigger too...
Springer strokes his hips, sliding his servos down Crosshairs's thighs.
"You're doing very well. Almost there."
Wherever 'there' is.
He still pushes back, because it's definitely not as uncomfortable as it has been the other times, even if Springer is big.
Maybe the fingering really did make a difference?
Then his aft hits Springer's pelvic plating, and obviously, the spike is hilted inside him.
"There you are! All inside you." Springer says approvingly. "Lean back."
He slides his servos to the back of Crosshairs's knees, urging him to reposition himself to hitch his legs over Springer's arms, back against the War frame's chest-plates. Crosshairs obeys, and even if it makes the spike get pressed inside even deeper, it's not uncomfortable.
"That's right, give them a good view of how your drooling little valve is all empty, just because the spike is all the way inside your slutty little ass."
Crosshairs flushes again when Springer's digits slip through his wet slit, highlighting how he's aroused but empty, because the cock is in his ass.
A digit trails down to stroke the rim of his port, stretched around the spike inside him, and Crosshairs squirms, because Ironhide and Blackout are watching with bright optics, lecherous smirks in place.
"I hope you're ready, because I'll start to move now."
Crosshairs doesn't answer, because Springer lifts him slightly, and then he starts to roll his hips, and it's just nothing like what he has experienced before, but actually quite good.
Chapter Text
"You may touch yourself, but you can't overload." Springer says.
"Damn right. I don't want you to be too spent when it's my turn." Blackout's voice is crackling with static.
He obviously likes what he sees.
Crosshairs reaches for his array, stroking his valve-lips with his palm a few times before sliding a digit through his wet folds. Curiosity has him reaching further, and he touches the rim of his port where Springer's spike is sliding in and out of him at an almost languorous pace. Crosshairs strokes the rim a couple of times out of curiosity.
"Think he needs to do some self exploration, Springer." Ironhide says.
Both Ironhide and Blackout is watching with bright optics, and Crosshairs flushes, because he is so exposed in this position. Then Springer lifts him higher and pulls out.
"Test it with your fingers." Blackout all but orders.
Crosshairs pushes a digit inside, and it goes in easily, and even if he can feel it inside him, and the calipers are trying to squeeze his finger, he's definitely slack and relaxed. Not that he knows what it feels like normally, he doesn't play with his aft himself, but he knows how his frame resisted Blackout's digit before by clenching.
"Your calipers are still closing you up. Lovely. It'll make you feel tighter around me." Blackout notes.
"That bit of foreplay really makes all the difference for how well those calipers work." Ironhide says. "Keep fingering yourself, little slut. We want to watch you play with your aft. You can rub your node with your thumb, but you can't overload. Oh, and add a couple of digits."
Touching his node makes all the difference, because even if it feels pretty nice to finger himself like that, it isn't enough to really make his charge rise. He flushes when he sees the way Blackout and Ironhide are watching, both stroking their spikes, because it's so intimate, and he isn't used to put on a show, especially not playing with his aft. He has never felt so sexy before, and the intense focus of three mechs is a heady feeling. Crosshairs moans shakily, feeling his valve-lips go plump under his servo.
"That's enough. Line Springer's cock up with your ass."
Crosshairs reaches for the spike that has been smearing lubricant ad pre-transfluid against the plating of his aft while he was playing with himself. He holds the thick head against the opening, and then Springer drops him, hilting himself in one go. Crosshairs makes a noise of surprise, and he squirms a little, because it was a lot to take at once, and his calipers had obviously started to tighten up. It didn't hurt though, and that's a big step up when it comes to this.
"I just can't decide what I want first. I mean, look at his valve; the way he's drooling again, and those biolights. Now that's a come hither flicker if I ever saw one. But his little port looks really inviting too..." Blackout muses.
"We have enough time to do both."
Crosshairs flushes again, even as his array heats up from the dirty talk. Springer increase the pace, and it doesn't hurt, but even with the slick, it's a little bit uncomfortable. Crosshairs still plays with his node, and even the discomfort is confusingly arousing, and Springer does his that spot inside him.
Blackout glances at Ironhide's spike. "Did you get that modified, or are you that big naturally? I mean, you're definitely smaller than me frame wise, but you're almost as equipped as I am."
"No mods, I swear. I guess the mechs who built me either had humor, a preference, or just took one from the wrong box." Ironhide strokes his spike quicker a couple of times for emphasis.
"Lucky bastard."
"You know, if you were equipped like me proportionally to your size, you'd be stuck fucking heavy machinery. Your spike would go in through the valve and out the intake on the small and pretty."
"True."
"With a great spike comes great responsibility." Ironhide snickers.
Crosshairs stops stroking his node, because he's getting close to an overload, and he isn't keen on testing what they'll do if he overloads in spite of being ordered not to.
Not when they're still focused on his ass, and there's so many ways things can turn to way more uncomfortable.
Springer slams in deep, biting Crosshairs's neck with a growl as he overloads.
"Pull out slowly when you're done. I want to see if his calipers still close fully, or if he'll drool cum." Ironhide says to Springer.
Crosshairs flushes again.
Chapter Text
"Would you look at that, his aft is still tight enough to close up."
"So, how does it feel, little slut, to have your ass full of my cum?" Springer mutters in his audial.
Crosshairs is still sitting on his lap, legs hooked over Springer's knees, spread wide.
"I... uhm... it's... good?" He stutters, embarrassed about how he's actually trying to figure out how it feels.
And how casually Springer asks about these things, especially with the other two watching and listening, and how is it supposed to feel to have cum in his port? He can't really feel it, but there's something arousing about knowing it's there...
Springer reaches between his legs, teasing Crosshairs port with his digits, and Crosshairs feels the opening relaxing slightly under the touch.
"Now you're drooling." Ironhide says, cocking his optical ridge when he meets Crosshairs's optics.
Crosshairs squeaks with embarrassment and squirms, trying to clench his calipers and Springer rumbles a laugh.
"I can feel my cum dribbling down my digits, you loose little slut. You're opening up nicely from just the slightest touch now."
"Looks like he's ready for me now, and I've decided what I want.." Blackout says, getting up from his seat.
"So you're going to make him all sloppy before I can have him?" Ironhide asks.
"Hey, looks like he stays decently tight, and you're not much smaller than me. He'll be good for you too, and it's my turn now."
"Look at them, fighting over who gets you first, little slut. They sure look horny for you." Springer croons in his audial.
Ironhide just laughs, apparently not at all concerned with getting Blackout's sloppy seconds. Blackout reaches for Crosshairs, big servos splayed under Crosshairs's arms, and then he easily lifts the smaller mech and Crosshairs us carried to a different berth. Blackout puts him down across it, on his back, and then he kneels between Crosshairs's legs, pulling him closer. He lines his spike up, and Crosshairs feels so awkward, holding his legs up in a weird pose.
He's usually aft up, face down for this, how is Blackout thinking this will work?
"Here's the lube."
"He looks sloppy enough..."
"Better safe than sorry. Would be a shame to break him the first night, and Roadie and Moto are going to want their fair share tomorrow..." Ironhide says, and his voice brokers no argument.
"Suppose it can't hurt." Blackout says, slicking his spike with what looks like chain lube.
"I.. am I supposed te lay like this?" Crosshairs asks, feeling incredibly awkward. "The hydraulics in my legs may overheat..."
Blackout flashes that predatory grin of his. "No, they won't, and yes, you're going to lay like this, because I want to see my cock sliding into you, and your face when it does so."
How is it even possible to flush so many times in one night?
Then the head of Blackout's spike pops into him, and the big Helo grabs the backs of his knees, folding Crosshairs to the point of almost being uncomfortable, but not quite. Then he rolls his hips and sinks in to the hilt.
Crosshairs feels himself make a face, because Blackout is definitely bigger than Springer, and there's stretch and a fullness he didn't quite think was possible.
"Yeah, just like that, little bitch. Take it all. Do you want to play with yourself, or would you prefer one of my brothers doing it for you?"
"I..."
It feels better when they do it, because they're skilled, but he feels shy asking for it, and isn't that unusual? Though he usually just asked for being fucked, not for what he really wants...
"I'd like if one o' them would do i'..." He almost whispers.
Blackout smirks at him. "Good choice."
Chapter Text
Blackout fucks him at a pace that suggest that the big mech intends to take his sweet time, and Ironhide comes over to them, taking a seat next to Crosshairs. He looks down at where Blackout's spike is sliding into Crosshairs's, a crooked smirk stretching hing his intake, and Crosshairs squirms in mortification.
It's not that he never had an audience before, but nobody has ever scrutinized what he's doing so closely before. They just watched from a distance, waiting for their turn.
"It's almost obscene, the way he's stretched around you. Fit for a frag vid. Pity they shut off our inbuilt recording programs."
"Yeah, this would really earn some good stuff. He's still pretty tight." Blackout's voice is rough. "Aren't you, little slut? Do I feel big inside you?"
"Yes, ye do." Crosshairs grinds out, but it's not all discomfort that makes him grind his denta.
There's something very arousing with the way they talk above him, as if he really is nothing but a toy, but at the same time, he's invited into the conversation, and that's what really hits the spot. He's a participant, and not just a warm frame with slick holes...
"Just so you know," Ironhide grins down at him as he reaches for Crosshairs's array, "Springer's cum is welling out of you around Blackout's spike."
Crosshairs whimpers, not only from embarrassment, but also from the way Ironhide's digit starts to stroke his node. His intake falls open when Blackout changes the angle, hitting that spot inside him again, and he curls his back, lifting his hips to get even more of that glorious pressure.
Blackout pauses when he's hilted, and Crosshairs growls in frustration, because his charge is starting to rise again, and Ironhide is doing a very lazy dance through the slit of Crosshairs's valve with his digits, not hurried at all.
"That's deep. I really can't get deeper than that." Blackout says contemplatively.
"Think you're right." Ironhide says, not stopping his slow exploration of Crosshairs's folds.
"I wonder if he could accommodate me fully..." Blackout muses.
"Don't you fucking dare knotting him before I've had my go." Ironhide growls. "Enough sloppiness is enough."
"I guess that's a fair point."
What the fuck is knotting?!
Crosshairs squirms. "More, please! Sir! I wan' more."
"This is the most you'll get." Then Blackout smirk turns into a feral grin. "Unless you're into double penetration, but somehow, I doubt that you could handle two dicks in one hole..."
"I can' do tha'..."
It's impossible. Blackout alone is more than enough, and unless they have a microbot somewhere around here, there's no way he could take one of the others too.
"At least you're honest about your limitations. I mean it, though: we're not going to completely wreck you here tonight." Ironhide says, and his field shows his honesty.
Blackout starts to move again, those long slow thrusts that really feel like something the he can keep up all night.
Hopefully, they'll let him overload soon if that's the case.
Chapter Text
Ironhide's digits slip away from Crosshairs's node yet again, spreading his valve-lips to really remove all his chances of squirming enough to get some friction.
Not that he can squirm much with the way Blackout is holding his legs.
He groans, longing for that overload, his valve clenching around nothing again.
"Please, le' me overload, Sir." He almost sobs.
"Sorry, no can do. Then I'll have to wait for you to be ready again, and I really, really don't like to be kept waiting..." Ironhide growls in his audial.
It sends a thrill down his back-struts — the danger lacing Ironhide's voice, and how demanding the mech is — bur Crosshairs grimaces.
"I'm gettin' sore. Sir." He whines.
It's true. In spite of all the slick, Blackout has been going for so long, Crosshairs's port is starting to feel chafed, and the fullness is almost turning into an ache — not quite, but definitely an uncomfortable throbbing.
Ironhide looks down at where Crosshairs and Blackout are joined, smirking crookedly.
"Looks fine to me. I do see your point, though. Blackout, are you going to hog him all night? I mean, you still have his pussy to defile, and I think Moto and Roadie will be a little bit disappointed if the bitch is still out cold in recharge by the time they get in here, because we kept him up all night."
"Hey, I'm just making the most of my turn now that I can't knot him."
"If you hurry up, then maybe you'll have enough time to do it later, as an encore?"
"Now, that's some grade A strategical thinking!" Springer cackles.
"I can dig that idea." Blackout grunts, increasing the pace.
His ass feels warm, as if there's friction in spite of the lube and the cum, and the increase in pace doesn't help, but at least Blackout is chasing his overload now, and if he's honest, it's far from the worst discomfort he has been through when interfacing.
Especially when someone takes him in the aft. And Ironhide is back to being generous with the stimulation, so maybe he thinks that Crosshairs deserves the overload that has been kept from him for Primus knows how long.
Blackout growls, hips stuttering before he slams in deep, and Crosshairs squirms, so very full, so very close, and...
Ironhide stops stroking his node, pulling his servo away, and Crosshairs squeaks a frustrated, desperate little noise. He grabs the big mech's wrist-strut and pulls, trying to steer the servo back to his array.
Ironhide chuckles, easily resisting Crosshairs attempt to take control of his extremity.
"Now, isn't this a bit presumptuous for a little bitch?"
"Looks awfully demanding." Blackout agrees through gritted denta.
"I'm... I, please let me overload, Sir!" Crosshairs whines, on the verge of crying. "I didn' mean te be demandin', I jus' need..."
"Aaw, the little slut is needy!" Springer teases. "Maybe we should forgive him for wanting you both so much?"
Blackout jerks back quickly, his spike slipping free with an obscene pop.
"I'm thinking more along the lines that he will make it up to me..." Ironhide muses. "On all fours, little slut."
Chapter Text
"Please, Sir! I'm gettin' sore..." Crosshairs whines, not getting into position, but sitting on his pedes to protect his aft.
"You said that. You also said that we could have you any way we want. This is what I want." Ironhide's voice is smooth, but there's a steely undertone there.
Crosshairs makes a face, ignoring that thrill down his back-struts that Ironhide's voice causes.
"Self-pity isn't a good look on you, sweetie." Blackout says mockingly.
Ironhide's servo slips under his coattails, digits rubbing lazy circles along his back-struts, while the big mech leans closer, lip-plates almost brushing Crosshairs's audials.
"Are you damaged? Any warnings popping up in your HUD?" He murmurs.
"No."
"Good. You know I'm smaller than Blackout. I'll use more lube, and I'll be quick. I'm already worked up from watching you be fucked, you're so hot. Of course I want another piece of such a sexy little slut. Will you be good for me? I promise I'll make you overload..." Ironhide croons.
It should be impossible for his valve to go slicker, but apparently it isn't. He isn't that keen on taking even more cock in his ass, but truth be told, he has been far more sore and still allowed mechs to take him.
"I'll be good." Crosshairs mutters, leaning forward to get into position.
"The best little slut." Ironhide says, pushing Crosshairs's coattails to the side, kneeling behind him. "You can bite the pillow if you want."
Crosshairs feels the coldness when Ironhide sprays the lube on his port, and then the spike slips into him to the hilt. He has tightened up slightly while trying to get out of this, and there's that burning stretch, and the ache is still there.
"Ow." He slumps forward, pressing his face into the pillow. "I'm sore." He mumbles, the words muffled.
"I know, babe, but you're doing so well." Ironhide encourages him.
Crosshairs squirms at the praise. He isn't used to being told he's doing something well with such sincerity. Then Ironhide starts to move, and he actually forgets about the discomfort, because the angle Ironhide is pounding into him at is hitting that spot inside him just so. Crosshairs wails into the pillow, astonished at how quickly his charge is rising.
"You better keep it down, or everyone is going to hear you getting fucked through the berth. We don't want the guards to come in here to investigate, do we? Then you won't get that overload..." Ironhide growls, splaying a big servo on the back of Crosshairs's helm to push his face deeper into the bedding.
It doesn't take many more thrusts before Crosshairs overloads so hard, his vocalizer goes haywire with unintelligible beeps, and then he's knocked into a reboot.
Chapter Text
His reboot is kind of slow, with the cottony feel of slowly waking up after a long night's good sleep, and sleeping in well into the morning.
He's stretched out on his front on the berth, face still buried in the pillow.
"Welcome back to the land of the living..." Blackout snickers.
Crosshairs almost blurts 'shut up', but then reality catches up, and no matter how much it wouldn't be meant as anything but dopey teasing, there's still the risk that they would take it at face value, and things could go so very wrong. He busies himself with taking stock of his frame instead.
No warnings, and no notifications, so he isn't damaged, even if his port feels very slick, sore, and weirdly loose.
"Fuckin' pit, ye make me come 'ard!" Crosshairs says instead, because it's true, and it can't hurt to stroke their egos.
"Well, it's not like it's rocket science. You're really easy to satisfy." Ironhide rumbles, clearly amused.
Crosshairs doesn't answer. He doesn't know what to say. He always prided himself on being easy to bring to overload — even if he has faked it on numerous occasions, just to please his lovers — but this evening has showed him what an overload can feel like, and what he has had before seems like a mocking of an orgasm compared to what the Autobots have given him.
Though, there's a price to pay; he feels strutless and spent, and it would be just perfect to be allowed to drop into recharge right now.
"I'm guessing that you aren't ready for cock in your pussy right now?" Ironhide asks him.
"Ye know me so well..."
"At least we're getting to know your frame. But now you've taken a bit of a nap here, and Springer has a hard-on that's still waiting for you." Ironhide says.
"Yeah, just look at this; all pressurized and weeping for you." Springer leers, slowly stroking his spike for emphasis.
"Looks really tasty. Wan' te try my mouth again? I've 'ad a bit o' practice since last time..." Crosshairs purrs, because initiative can probably never be wrong.
"Sounds like a splendid idea."
"So 'ow do ye wan' me? On my knees, or on my back so ye can go really deep?"
"Deepthroating does sound very tempting, but I want you to do all the work for now. Come here." Springer says, pointing to the floor between his pedes.
His frame still feels tired, but Crosshairs rolls out of the berth, and walks over to Springer, sinking to his knees.
"Sure is a sweet-looking beast." He murmurs, grabbing Springer's spike with his servo, then he leans forward to lick a line from the base to the tip. He makes a show of licking his lips, keeping optic contact with Springer. "Tastes good too."
Chapter Text
He has been giving Springer a really good treatment — a treatment worthy of a Prime, if Primes wants blowjobs from little bitches — but it isn't all unselfish, because every minute he's sucking spike, his other systems are getting a reprieve.
A reprieve from the really good treatment he has been getting.
"Fucking pit, you really are good at this." Springer groans, his helm lolling back where he's reclining on his servos.
Crosshairs only answer is a sloppy, wet suck as he lets the spike slip out of his intake. He laps at the head of the spike immediately, twisting his servo around the base.
It's probably a good idea to not answer, but give Springer more of what he seems to enjoy instead. And it isn't like he thinks it tastes bad.
"He really is good at that. Better than I hoped for, really." Ironhide muses.
"Thought he would protest the deepthroating, but it turns out he's good at it." Blackout says.
"You hear that, little bitch? You're better than we thought when we chose you. We thought that you would be good enough, but you're exceeding our expectations." Springer grunts, approval readily tangible in his field.
He has heard that he's good before, but nobody ever told him, nobody ever said it directly to him. He didn't mind the degradation of being objectified and hearing it in third person, but it's much more powerful to have someone tell him personally. He really likes that.
Crosshairs sucks the spike as deeply into his intake as he can to show that he likes the praise. Springer groans when Crosshairs bobs his helm.
"You can touch yourself if you want to, get ready for the next cock. Though I suppose you're slick enough even if you don't." Springer tells him.
It's true, and that turns him on. He's so wet, he's still practically dripping, both from lubricant, and possibly some lingering transfluid. If it hasn't been flushed out when he squirted.
Crosshairs flushes at that thought, but at the same time, it's arousing. He reaches between his legs to test his folds, if they're still oversensitive, and finds his array ready for more play. He briefly reaches back, touching his port, and it has closed up by now, but it isn't really offering resistance. Crosshairs wiggles his digit a couple of times, but he doesn't find that spot they hit with their spikes, so he pulls out to play with his more well-known parts.
They'll probably do more stuff with his aft soon enough again to sate his curiosity.
"You know what? Get on the berth. I want to finish deep down your throat, and I want to see you fingering yourself when I do it."
Crosshairs lets the spike slip out of his mouth and climbs onto the berth, stretching out on his back, helm hanging over the edge. He immediately slips his servo between his legs, wet noises audible when he slides his digits into himself.
"Eager and obedient. I like it." Ironhide says approvingly. "But don't make yourself overload yet, or you won't give Blackout any choice but to take your little pussy while it's still twitching and oversensitive."
Crosshairs can't nod, nor can he agree verbally, because Springer's spike is slipping down his intake. It's easier this time, because now he knows what to expect, and Springer is smaller than Blackout.
Springer starts to move, fucking Crosshairs's mouth, and Crosshairs fingers his wet valve, feeling the optics of the others as they come to stand next to Springer to watch.
He has never felt so wanted in his entire life.
Springer pushes in to the hilt, and Crosshairs sees the rise in the levels in his tank when the transfluid trickles down the tubing.
There's something hot about that.
Chapter Text
"Mh, sopping wet, needy, little valve. Just the way I like it." Blackout growls, thick digits sliding into Crosshairs's valve without preamble.
Springer has stretched out on one of the berths, looking satisfied, and Crosshairs spends a second to think about how they don't seem to care much about who uses which berth, and that it can be good to know how those things work, but then Blackout effectively distracts him with a clever curl of his digits.
"Well, of course, 'andsome! 'ow could I stay dry an' unprimed aroun' so many ho' mechs?" Crosshairs purrs, bucking up to meet Blackout's servo. "Ye make it so good fer me."
It's not a lie. In just a part of a night, they've showed him how good interfacing can be when someone takes the time to figure out his preferences.
"And I guess you're ready to get something bigger in this drooling little valve of yours?"
"Oh, please, babe! Give it te me. Sir!"
He puts it on rather thick, but it doesn't feel forced. On the contrary; putting on an act is turning him on, and it's hard to tell how much is an act at all.
"Well, since you ask so nicely..."
Blackout kneels between his legs, lining his spike up, and Crosshairs licks his lip-plates in anticipation, because the big spike looks so tantalizing, and he knows how good that beast feels inside him from that time in the washracks. He tilts his hips to get the head closer to the opening of his valve, as close to trying to get it inside as possible without seeming too demanding about it.
"You really need this, don't you? Horny little bitch." Blackout leers.
"I do! Please le' me 'ave it! Sir."
"I feel generous tonight, so I'll indulge you."
Then the spike finally slides into him, and Crosshairs arches his back to let it all inside. He wraps his legs around Blackout's hips to push him deeper.
"Greedy little bitch." Blackout snickers.
"Yeah, he really wants it all. Hard to move like that though..." Hide chips in.
"Agreed. I think I'll use the wall for this."
"Good plan."
Blackout easily pries Crosshairs's legs from around him, getting his arms under the smaller mech's legs, then he lifts Crosshairs without pulling out. Crosshairs hooks his servos over Blackout's shoulders, hard pressed to reach on the massive Helo.
"Wha're ye doin'?"
"I'm gonna pound you really good, give you all you want, and then a few inches more."
Crosshairs's back hits the wall, and Blackout grinds against him, making Crosshairs squirm. He's never had such a big spike before, and the way the head of that spike grinds against his ceiling node is pleasurable in a slightly uncomfortable way.
"Enough for you, little slut?" Blackout rumbles.
"Yeh." Crosshairs pants.
Blackout smirks at him, then he pulls out almost all the way before slamming inside. Crosshairs mewls and makes a face, because it's almost too much, but only almost.
Blackout sets a hard rhythm of powerful thrusts, and Crosshairs mewls every time he bottoms out.
"You want someone pressing a pillow to your face, or should we disconnect your vocalizer? You're getting loud. Don't get me wrong, I like it, but someone who shouldn't may hear you..."
"I'll be quiet."
"We'll hold you to that too."
Crosshairs bites down on his glossa to force himself to be quiet. His digits scrabble haphazardly against Blackout's plating. It's not like he can do much more than hang on and take it.
"Here, let me show you something." Blackout says, grabbing his servo. He reaches between them, guiding Crosshairs's digit to his anterior node, stroking it. "Like this."
It feels really good, very intense, just like when Blackout stroked him to overload, and Crosshairs catches on quickly, continuing by himself.
"I'm getting close, so go ahead and overload."
Then Blackout starts moving again, and Crosshairs continues working his node, charge rising quickly. He grinds his denta to not moan too loudly, and then he finally falls over the edge. His valve clenches, around the massive spike still moving inside him, and he feels the stream of liquid coating Blackout's spike and pelvic plating, and once again, he's mortified by it.
"Yeah!" Blackout groans, probably reacting to Crosshairs field.
"A consistent squirter." Springer says.
Crosshairs mewls in embarrassment where he hangs strutless in Blackout's grip. It sends Blackout over too, and he slams on deep with a low growl. Crosshairs feels spent, but also very contented.
They've all had him in every way, and he has really enjoyed being their bad little slut.
Chapter Text
Blackout puts him down on the berth and Crosshairs relaxes on the lumpy mattress. The others surround him, starting to wipe the fluids from his frame.
It's nice. It should make him feel like a ridiculous sparkling — it always did when Dirge wiped away the evidence of their filthy couplings — but oddly enough, it makes him feel cared for. Nobody ever did this for him before — well, except Dirge — and it is something he never knew that he wanted.
Digits slip under his plating here and there, feeling him up, but Crosshairs really doesn't mind.
Not when it's the best lovers he has ever had who are doing it, and he can bask in the attention of three hot mechs.
"Feel anythin' ye like?" He purrs, but he sounds more dopey from satisfaction than seductive.
Ironhide hums a chuckle, a sinful sound that sends a thrill down Crosshairs's back-struts. "Both see and feel things I like very much. You really have lovely cables and wiring."
Someone's servo slips between his legs, carefully wiping his valve-lips, but avoiding his node and slit, and in spite of how strutless he feels, the teasing touch so close but still not quite there makes something deep inside him twitch. He squirms, even if he isn't certain that he really wants more.
He's so damned well fucked already.
"Flip him."
Everything suddenly spins when they roll him over on his front.
"Oi! What the..."
"Your aft isn't really any less sticky." Springer snickers, flipping Crosshairs's coattails to the side.
Crosshairs makes an embarrassed noise into the pillow, but the servos wiping his thighs and aft feel really nice, almost like a massage.
Yep, he really chose the right people to make a deal with. Even if they just do him this courtesy once now and then, it'll be worth it. They're fragging great in berth too, so...
He squeals in surprise when a digit slips into his ass, and they laugh.
"Definitely a bit looser, but not sloppy. Seems like he's pretty quick with tightening up afterwards." Blackout says, pumping his digit a couple of times, deliberately hitting that spot inside that Crosshairs failed to find earlier.
"Good." Ironhide says. "I mean, especially if you still plan on knotting him."
"Well, I do have some jizz left in my reservoir..."
"Even after all this?" Springer sounds doubtful.
"I've set my specifications to not spill too much each time. More fun like that. And I have a pretty big reservoir too."
Ironhide barks a laugh. "Blackout's well equipped for the kinky stuff."
What the fuck is knotting? But then again, if it's kinky, he's kind of curious...
Chapter Text
His knees are nudged apart, and the bed dips under Blackout's massive frame.
"Wha're ye doin'?" Crosshairs asks over his shoulder, spark speeding up with nerves. He hears the spray bottle again — and how in the pit is it even possible that Blackout can be ready to go again so soon?! — and then the telltale sound of a servo slicking a cock, then the thick head of Blackout's spike nudges his port. "'m still feelin' chafed..."
"Don't worry, I'm not going to move much." The head of his spike slides inside. "Never been knotted before?"
Crosshairs mewls unintelligibly, reluctant to admit that he hasn't even heard of knotting before, let alone tried it.
He has prided himself on having tried a lot of the things most mechs wouldn't want to admit even thinking about.
"I bet a ration of high grade that he hasn't tried it." Ironhide says.
"You're on!" Springer takes the bet.
Blackout pushes in deeper rather slowly, as if he doesn't want to make it unnecessarily uncomfortable. Or maybe he's just savoring it. He bends forward, curling his frame, and Crosshairs shivers as a hot air from Blackout's exvents tickles the sensors around his audials.
"So what is it, little slut? Are you too innocent to have tried being knotted?" Blackout croons as he slides in to the hilt.
"I-I've never tried it before..."
Blackout rumbles a deep laugh. "So I'm the one to pop this cherry? Such a treat."
"Fucking pit! Lost my high grade, and Blackout gets to do the honor..."
"Well, at least you don't have to jerk off tonight. Must be a first for a very long time." Ironhide snickers.
"True."
"So, do you even know what knotting is, little bitch?" Blackout purrs.
Crosshairs flushes. "No' really..."
"I bet you heard of frame-locks in interface education in school?"
"Jus' that it 'appens when tryin' te get sparked, no' exactly 'ow it 'appens."
He remembers it vaguely now, something about the coupling latching on to the gestational chamber, but his bolt would stop that, and then something he can't remember — he wasn't paying attention, because he was still a virgin, and not interested in interfacing back then.
Crosshairs squirms, because suddenly, the stretch feels more intense.
"My spike has a flare just above the base, and when I activate that, it swells, filling out inside the first row of calipers. Works the same way wherever I'm sticking my cock at the moment. Then when I'm firmly coupled, I overload, and it will go on for as long as it takes to empty my reservoir."
Crosshairs makes a noise, because the stretch is a bit uncomfortable by now.
"Take it easy, it won't get much bigger." Blackout croons, then he suddenly pulls back a bit. It makes Crosshairs rock with him. "See? You're not going anywhere until I'm done." There's a dark leer in Blackout's voice, and his field is tacky with ramped up arousal.
It should be scary, and perhaps demeaning, but Crosshairs just can't help that he's turned on by being used like this. It far outweighs the discomfort in his ass. He feels his valve-lips go hot and start to throb.
"Oh, yes! This is so fucking good! You'll be dribbling my cum for days when I'm done." Blackout groans.
"If he isn't so loose, it'll all run out again immediately." Springer snickers.
"Yeah, better have a rag under him when you pull out." Ironhide adds, a grin audible in his voice.
Crosshairs feels like he's full to bursting, but that swelling of Blackout's spike makes it press against the sweet spot inside him. Crosshairs reaches between his legs, starting to stroke his node.
"Maybe give me that rag now? He's so full, my cum is starting to seep out around my spike."
Springer cackles. "Let me see!"
Blackout sits back, and it jostles Crosshairs. He flushes when they all stare at where Blackout is stuck inside him, and he can feel the fluid slowly dribbling down the slit of his valve to coat his digits as he works his node.
"Move your servo. I'm taking over now." Ironhide says.
Crosshairs immediately obeys, pulling his servo out from under him. Ironhide puts a cloth under him, and then he starts to stroke Crosshairs's valve-lips.
"Wouldn't want you to overload too quickly, so I better do this for you."
Chapter Text
Blackout's servos keep his hips in a vice like grip, a few twitching motions of his hips telltale signs that he's overloading. The Copter's fans are spinning on full blast, but otherwise he's quiet for the moment.
Which makes Crosshairs's little whimpers sound so much louder. He presses his face into the pillow in embarrassment to muffle his noises.
He's so, so fucking full, and it's embarrassing to be turned on by it, by knowing that Blackout has topped him up to overflowing, and the way Ironhide's digits are lazily slipping through the slit of his valve, underscoring that he's being a bad little slut again, taking it up his ass...
"Whatever it is that's making your field like this, keep thinking about it, 'cause hot damn..." Blackout groans.
Crosshairs squirms, face still hidden in the pillow to hide how he flushes.
"Maybe someone needs to confess what he's thinking about?" Ironhide purrs.
Crosshairs shakes his helm.
He'll burn up from embarrassment, smelt on the spot and burn a hole in the berth, and become a puddle on the floor.
"Hmh. I think we need to guess then, Bots." Ironhide says, pulling his digits away from where they're drawing lazy circles around Crosshairs's anterior node.
"No, don't stop!" Crosshairs growls in frustration. "Sir!" He still adds it when he catches himself, because he's pretty certain that Ironhide isn't above keeping him from overloading for the rest of this... This knotting. Or the entire night for that matter.
"Maybe he likes getting a fat cock in his port?" Springer muses.
"Possible. Or perhaps it's because he can't keep that cum inside him?" Ironhide says pulling his servo away entirely. "Look at this. My servo is all soaked with transfluid that won't fit inside his tight little ass."
Crosshairs almost squeaks at that comment, and he can't stop himself from snapping his helm around to look at Ironhide.
Sure enough, the big mech is holding up his servo, all smeared with Blackout's transfluid and Crosshairs's own lubricant.
"Could be that he isn't all that tight anymore?" Springer leers.
"Yeah... You know, little slut, my servo looks like it needs a cleaning before I continue to play with your empty, starving little cunt."
Ironhide holds out his servo for Crosshairs, and after some hesitation, Crosshairs pushes his arms under him to rest on his elbows, and leans in to lap at Ironhide's servo. Moving around makes the calipers in his port flutter feebly around the thick spike, and Blackout groans, grinding against him, and manages to get half an inch deeper. Crosshairs feels the transfluid dribble out, running down the slit of his valve to be soaked up by the rag underneath him, and his valve throbs dully. He pushes a servo under him to reach for his array again, but Ironhide grabs it with the servo Crosshairs isn't licking clean.
"None of that, needy little slut. I'll give you what you deserve when you've earned it." Ironhide rumbles in a low voice.
Crosshairs's calipers flutter again, the command sending a thrill down his back-struts. The noise Blackout makes is downright indecent, and Crosshairs can't help but feel smug about it, clenching his calipers again.
Chapter Text
Crosshairs has never really thought about using his spike before. Sure, he jerked off a few times out of curiosity, but it just wasn't as good as interfacing, and when he interfaces, everyone always wants his valve, so it is the natural choice. But with Blackout still overloading, he gets curious.
It really must be awesome when the overload goes on for so long, but what does it feel like when overloading with his spike? Maybe that's different from when he jerks off too? Not that he has any hopes that one of the brothers would let him spike one of them, but maybe one day, when he's out of here, he'll try it with someone.
Crosshairs dips his glossa into the seam of Ironhide's servo, trying to get all the fluids away.
"Too bad I don't have the hands of a medic. Then this would be more than visibly pleasing." Ironhide says to Springer.
Springer snorts. "Yeah, like you would ever be fit to heal mechs. You're better at breaking them."
"Maybe you're right. This one sure falls apart easily under my digits." Ironhide leers.
"He's kind of easy, though..."
"Are you implying I'm not that good?"
"Ye're really good, Sir." Crosshairs interjects.
Ironhide grins, approval seeping into his field. "See? I'm really good."
"Well if he says so..."
"Are you itching to have a go and try me, or what? I mean, I agree with Blackout about your aft not being all that pretty, but if you bend over, I could always offline my optics..."
"The two of you're talking so much about my aft, I'm going to stop picking up the solvent in the washracks."
Ironhide barks a laugh. "Don't worry, we have a pretty little bitch now." He turns to Crosshairs. "Right, little slut? We can have so much pussy, mouth and ass, we don't have to even look at Springer."
"Yeh, ye got all o' me, as much as ye wan'." Crosshairs purrs, sucking one of Hide's digits into his intake.
"You're such a good little slut. I think you deserve a reward."
Ironhide pulls his servo away from Crosshairs, and immediately pushes it underneath the smaller mech again, digits stroking his valve-lips with light touches that just graze his node slightly with every stroke. For so little contact, it's incredibly arousing, but it's also nowhere near enough to get him close. Blackout rolls his hips, even if he can't really move much inside Crosshairs.
"I'm going to knot your pussy too sometime, when my reservoir is filled up again, fuck you feel so good. Might even go for your intake when you're good with deepthroating." Blackout grunts.
He thought he was good at deepthroating! But then again, it was the first time, and practice makes perfect... And he probably isn't ready to be knotted in his mouth just yet anyway.
Ironhide's digits dip into his valve, curling to hit a node that is particularly sensitive, and Crosshairs's hips jerk of their own accord, making the knot press against the calipers in his aft in a way that's both uncomfortable and still feels good somehow. He whines, squirming.
"You see? You're not going anywhere until I'm done." Blackout purrs wickedly.
"I don't think he really wants to go somewhere else..." Ironhide snickers when he draws a circle around Crosshairs anterior node, and Crosshairs moans loudly.
It's probably true. His processor might be a bit hazy, but he really can't think of any place he'd rather be.
Chapter Text
Blackout grunts, sounding pleased. "Damn, it was a long time since the last time I was completely drained!"
It feels like he's slightly less full, but Crosshairs just waits passively, enjoying the touches Hide grants him, and the way Blackout's spike stirs inside him when the big Helo moves.
The stretch tapers off, and then Blackout pulls out, a rush of transfluid dribbling out in the wake of the still massive spike. Ironhide's digits slip out of his valve and back to his port, sliding in without any resistance.
"You're definitely a loose little slut now, but you're still closing up. It may take a few minutes, but you won't be gaping all night. It's almost as if you were built for this..."
Maybe he is? It's the only thing he has ever been fairly good at, maybe Primus's intentions for him really were being a slut all along? And they're teaching him so much, if he really tries to be even better, he's going to be the best at it...
So, wha' do you wan', big Bot?" He purrs, because he still hasn't overloaded, and Ironhide's spike is hard again.
Ironhide cocks an optical ridge, smirking at him. He clicks his vocalizer, then he suddenly stands, grabbing Crosshairs, easily lifting him from the berth. Crosshairs squawks in both surprise and embarrassment, because it makes a glob of transfluid dribble out of him, running down his legs where he dangles in Hide's grip — strong servos holding him under his arms, like a sparkling, or perhaps a turbokitten.
"Blackout, you better clean up a little bit after yourself. I think he'll leave a wet patch big enough all by himself."
"Plug him." Blackout shrugs, but he still grabs a rag and wipes Crosshairs's aft and thighs.
"You know, if you do stick a rag in his aft, he may feel tighter..." Springer muses. "Or did you plan on plowing his ass too? I guess a rag in there would make him feel tighter there too, though..."
Blackout barks a laugh, and Crosshairs grimaces when feels the abrasive surface of the cloth being pushed into him. It's not that the cloth is rough, but he's still feeling a bit chafed.
"Sore?" Ironhide asks, studying his face-plates.
"Yeh."
"Blackout, get the nanite gel. We can't have him all torn up when Moto and Roadie want their share tomorrow."
Blackout pulls the rag out, and walks over to a small shelf, grabbing a tiny bottle. He smears his digits with it, and then he comes back, sliding his fingers into Crosshairs's port. The effect is instantaneous: the cream cools and soothes his sore opening. Blackout pumps his digits a couple of times, and rubs that sensitive spot, and it makes Crosshairs twitch where he's hanging, because it feels good, especially now that all the discomfort is gone.
"That's enough." Ironhide says, and Blackout's digits slip out.
Crosshairs is carried to one of the other berths, and Ironhide throws him at it, grinning like a cyberwolf when Crosshairs bounces on the mattress, squeaking from the mechhandling.
Ironhide crawls onto the berth, stalking him, and Crosshairs barely resists the urge to scramble away, because there's something unnerving about how predatory the big mech manages to look with his surprisingly smooth movements, and intense focus and....
Crosshairs valve clenches and it makes lubricant dribble out of his valve, because he's going indecently wet. Ironhide notices, smirking slowly as he sniffs the air.
"Mmm, live prey..." He rumbles, voice rough.
Then he pounces.
Chapter Text
Crosshairs's wrist-struts are grabbed and pinned above his helm.
"Now something tells me that you're a kinky little slut, who enjoys when we grab ahold of you, and use you as we see fit. That you like it a bit rough."
Crosshairs squirms, because it's true, and even if he always has been turned on by his lovers using him, it's quite different to have it spelled out like this.
It does sound more kinky out loud than it ever did in his helm.
"Am I right? Do you enjoy the thought that I would do this to you even if you cried no, and stop, and please not there? Hm?"
"I-I..."
Oh, Primus, the filthy images in his helm. It's so wrong, especially after Dirge, because he sure didn't enjoy that, but Hide is hot, and he can't really think of anything the big mech could do to him that he wouldn't want to do. But how sick isn't it to want to be forced?
Ironhide wraps a servo around his throat instead, letting go of his wrists, and Crosshairs instinctively grabs Ironhide's massive wrist-strut.
Not that he could really do anything to free himself, but where else should he place his servos?
His valve clenches at the thought that he's at the mercy of the big Warframe.
"Now, this is interesting, because your field says go, but I'm not hearing any words, and I do know that I'm not squeezing that hard, so you should be able to speak. It takes a lot more force to tear out a throat, even on a smallish mech such as yourself." Hide purrs in his audial.
The implication that Ironhide has done that at some point should be terrifying, but Crosshairs valve apparently approves, because it contracts with a throb, making more lubricant dribble out. Ironhide grin is absolutely feral, and he cocks an optical ridge, slowly reaching for Crosshairs's array.
"Am I going to find you sopping wet from the mechhandling, little slut? Because I smell lubricant..."
"I... yes, Sir." Crosshairs mumbles.
Two digits slowly slip into his aching valve.
"Would you look at that. Kinky, kinky little bitch. I have one request, though, even if I can teek your field well enough."
"Anythin'! Sir!"
"If this at any point turns into something you're not enjoying, you say Prime, and we'll do something you do enjoy instead."
"I, uhm, wha'? O-okay?"
"I'm not much for true force and lack of consent, and these kinds of games require a safe word, ergo, if you stop liking what we're doing, you say Prime. I won't have you calling me a rapist after the fact just because you couldn't tell me to stop. Understood?" The last word is almost a barked order, and it makes Crosshairs's valve clench around the digits inside him. It makes Ironhide smirk.
It sounds really weird to give him a stop word. That kind of defies the point of forcing him, doesn't it? Because he really wants to do this, and he's obviously in on it, and he's their little slut anyway, so he will go along with whatever they want. But if that's what it'll take to get Hide to fuck him...
"Y-yes, Sir!"
"Good little Bot."
The servo around his throat squeezes tighter, then Ironhide pulls his digits out from Crosshairs's valve, lining his spike up, and slamming inside in a fast but smooth move.
"Filthy little slut." He growls, setting a harsh pace.
One of the lines in his throat is squeezed hard enough to slow the supply of energon to the power bank in his processor, and instinctively, Crosshairs claws at Ironhide's lower arm. It's kind of scary, because it really shows how helpless he is, and he thrashes under the massive mech.
"Please, don'..." He whines.
"Yeah, I like it when you struggle..." Ironhide grunts.
It seems like he's paying no mind to Crosshairs's pleading, but then a thin thread of reassurance weaves through his field, and suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle falls into place in his mind.
It's part of the game. He has a stop word if he really needs it, but Ironhide is careful about not really grabbing too hard around his throat...
"No, stop i'!" He forces out.
"Shut up, bitch. I'll fuck you however I want. What are you going to do about it?" Hide challenges.
Crosshairs flails wildly, that's what he does about it, trying to squirm away.
As if he wasn't getting turned on by what they're doing at all. Maybe he can sneak a quick overload somehow...
Chapter Text
Ironhide lets go of Crosshairs's throat, and the smaller mech takes advantage, tries to flail free and get away.
Not that he really wants to, but there's something almost intoxicating with how easily Ironhide wrangles him into submission, and if he struggles, the bigger mech will probably show some of that power and restrain him again.
"No, don', please stop!" He cries out, but it doesn't sound entirely sincere.
Ironhide grins at him while he grabs Crosshairs upper arms, pressing him deeper into the mattress by leaning heavily on his arms.
"Now, why would I do that? You came here to be our bitch, and I have rights here. All the rights to fuck you whenever, and however I want."
Crosshairs bucks up to try to get the spike out of him, or at least make it seem like that's what he's doing. He manages to rub his anterior node against Ironhide's pelvic plating in the process, and the growl that leaves his vocalizer has nothing to do with his inability to get away, and everything to do with the pleasure he manages to catch. He keeps squirming, hoping that Ironhide won't catch what he's up to.
Ironhide tuts. "Pathetic."
Crosshairs bucks again, and this time, he can't hold back the moan that leaves his vocalizer. Ironhide grins, obviously catching on.
"Such a needy little slut. You know you only overload when I let you."
"Use him as a cock sleeve." Blackout suggests.
Ironhide barks a laugh. "Good idea."
He grabs Crosshairs's waist, big servos almost reaching around, and then he lifts Crosshairs. The Corvette is held just above the berth, and utterly unable to really do anything but flail, and even his best attempts are useless. Ironhide starts to rock him back and forth, not pulling him back hard enough to mash Crosshairs's node against his pelvic plating.
Crosshairs has had a lot of firsts this night, and while one of them has been a frustration he has never experienced before, Ironhide's minute control of everything lights an anger that he never felt in bed before, and it finally makes Crosshairs snap.
"Ye fuckin' bastard! Don' ye dare deny me an overload again!" He snarls.
Crosshairs manages to grab a pillow and he hits the smug bastard in the helm with it, even as Ironhide is still using him as if he's some sort of masturbation tool.
Springer cackles a laugh. "Feisty!"
"Points for inventiveness." Blackout says.
Ironhide is grinning like a shark, clearly amused by Crosshairs's feeble struggling, and the tiny part of Crosshairs's processor that isn't screaming bloody murder about the charge that's actually being fueled by his anger, notes that this is probably exactly what Ironhide was going for: some honest struggling without truly forcing himself on his "victim."
He changes tactics; lets go of the pillow and reaches for his array instead, staring defiantly into Ironhide's optics while circling his node with his digit. He mewls exaggeratedly and arches his back to show off his frame, and that he isn't just going to let the bastard get his way without a struggle, even if stealing an overload may be an unorthodox way to take his power back.
This power play is kind of arousing though.
"Someone wants to hold his arms for me? I don't feel like switching position, but he's being a brat." Ironhide asks the others.
"No! Fuck you! Fuck ye all!" Crosshairs snarls, because that's just unfair.
"Isn't that what you've been doing all night?" Blackout asks, getting off his berth just to take a seat next to Crosshairs.
He flails to keep his wrist-struts from getting caught, but it doesn't take Blackout long to have them both gathered in one of his servos, and Crosshairs makes a face of defeated annoyance.
"You're kind of cute when you're sulking." Blackout snickers.
"Bastards."
Chapter Text
At least Hide's spike is thick and wonderfully ridged, so it does feel good to be used as a cock sleeve. It's just not enough...
"I wonder if he'll start swearing again, or if he will beg." Springer muses.
"I'm guessing that he wants to beg. I mean, he certainly likes it rough too, but there's this desperation leaking into his field..." Ironhide says, keeping optic contact with Crosshairs as he speaks.
Crosshairs is about to online his vocalizer and curse them all out like they've never heard before.
"And he's a smart little slut, so he probably knows that we're the ones who decide if he gets to overload or not." Blackout fills in.
Fuckers!
He clenches his jaw, because while he isn't going to say something he will pay for in frustration, Crosshairs isn't ready to give in and start pleading for an overload either.
"I thought this was goin' te be about me beggin' ye ye stop, no' beggin' ye te give me more?" He snarks, because the scene has changed quite a bit from how it started.
The only thing he minds about that is the frustration, but that seems to be present in every game they cook up, so he'll probably have to get used to it.
"Maybe we should force him to overload?" Blackout rumbles.
Like they need to force him to do that.
"Yeah, I don't think I'll get any more protests anyway." Ironhide says. "Oh, well, we can come back to this game another time. Springer? Mind giving us a servo or two?"
"Of course not."
"Blackout, make sure he doesn't get too loud."
Blackout grabs a piece of cloth — a clean one, thankfully — and presses it against Crosshairs's intake.
"Oi, wha' are ye doin'?! I don'... knock i' off! I..." The rest gets muffled as the rag is shoved into his mouth.
"Can't have you waking the entire cellblock."
"Fuck you!" He manages to mumble through the fabric.
Crosshairs tries to spit it out, but Blackout's fingers are there to keep the piece of cloth inside his mouth. Then he tries to squirm — not that he can move much, held up as he is — momentarily forgetting the cloth, because Springer's digits slip into his port. It's not enough of an intrusion to cause discomfort, and the nanites have worked to soothe his soreness. It's just unexpected. Then Springer reaches for Crosshairs's array with his other servo, a deft digit putting pressure on his anterior node.
Crosshairs squeaks in a way that is both embarrassing, and a good explanation to why Blackout shoved a rag into his mouth. Springer smirks at him, increasing the pressure, and Crosshairs's digits scrabble in thin air to find purchase that isn't reachable. Ironhide's languorous pace doesn't falter, and Crosshairs has the terrible feeling that he could do this for a very long time.
The digits in his ass curl and wiggle, the pressure against his node is maddening, because while it's enough to drive his charge through the roof very quickly, he needs some friction to get all the way, and there's no way he can get it unless Springer decides to move his finger.
"Please!" He sobs through the rag, teetering on the edge, but unable to overload like this.
"Ah, there's the begging." Blackout says matter of factly. "Good thing you didn't take a bet about this, Springer."
"Shut up." Springer says, punctuating it with a curl of his digits inside Crosshairs.
If he could just...
He tries to squirm again, but it's utterly pointless, and Crosshairs slumps.
If they think he has given up, he might be able to steal that overload from the bastards.
Chapter Text
How did he ever think it would be that simple?
Of course they're not relaxing just because he slumped, giving him a way to get off. Blackout's servo is as unrelenting as ever around his wrist-struts, Hide is still using him as some sort of jerk off toy, and Springer is keeping that maddening pressure that has him teetering on the edge, and there's absolutely nothing Crosshairs can do to change any of that. He still tries to yank his arms free, because if he's quick when he frees himself, he may be able to at least get Springer's servo to move a bit before they catch him again, and he's fairly certain that it'll be enough.
But alas, Blackout's grip is unbreakable, and the only thing that happens is that his hydraulics protest, and Ironhide's grip on his hips tightens.
"Primus damn it." He groans around the rag in his intake.
"Did he just call someone Primus?"
Springer laughs. "Wanna bet about if he means my fingers or your cock?"
"Didn't you learn anything from the last bet you made?" Blackout snickers. "And you're out of high grade, so that leaves your ass as the only currency."
"Shut up."
"S no' wha' I meant." Crosshairs mumbles.
"You better not scream Primus's name when we make you overload. He has nothing to do with this." Ironhide growls.
Like it matters what he screams when his intake s stuffed with a rag.
"No, Sir." He says.
"Good little mech. Springer, give him the first one."
Crosshairs doesn't even have time to process that statement before Springer starts flicking his node instead, and he immediately overloads. His charge is so high, the overload makes his optical feed go pixelated, and vocalizer hums with feedback. Crosshairs's back arches, and that makes his hips tilt at a different angle, making Ironhide's spike hit something inside him that makes his valve clench even harder, and he howls into that rag.
He tries to squirm away, because the stimulation to his node doesn't let up, and it's too much, feels really weird, and a bit uncomfortable. It's impossible though, and Springer keeps rubbing his node, making his overloads last longer. He thinks that he squirts again, but he can't really be sure, close to falling into reboot.
The reboot eludes him when Ironhide just keeps his rhythm, and Springer finally backs off, drawing circles around his node without touching it, stroking his valve-lips to keep his charge going. Crosshairs valve pulses lazily in aftershocks.
"You will have two more before we're done." Ironhide decides.
Two! He can't, it's impossible. He's completely ready to go into some relaxed afterglow, spent and strutless, and his array is way too sensitive for more. Not that Ironhide's spike inside him feels bad, he can take that for a while longer, but that his charge would rise again now is impossible.
"I can' 'ave more." He mumbles through the rag, which in hindsight probably was a very good idea.
"Yes, you can. You just don't know it yet, because you've always been fucked by unskilled losers before." Ironhide's voice brokers no argument.
"'m spent."
"Fuel-levels?"
He checks it in his HUD. "Fifteen percent!"
He has really burned through his fuel, he was at forty when he left his old cell what seems like ages ago. Did he sleep through one day and they started over again without telling him?
"Should be enough, but tell us if you get into the red zone. I think we have some sweets or something else to power you with." Springer says, flicking Crosshairs node again.
He squeals, because it's pleasure, but too much pleasure, something he thought was impossible. Springer starts to stroke his node with light touches, and that's more tolerable, but he still can't believe his charge will rise. His digits scrabble in thin air again when Springer increase the pressure, and Crosshairs whines.
Springer backs off again, circling around his node before laying his digits flat along Crosshairs's valve-lips. He scissors his digits, spreading Crosshairs open.
"Thought you might like this view, Hide, to see him all split open by your cock."
"Yeah, I can see him drooling, and how wet my spike is from all his lubricant."
Crosshairs flushes again, but his valve clenches of it's own accord.
Chapter Text
Once that oversensitivity goes away — which is quicker than he thought it would be, Springer really balances on a fine line with the stimulation, and makes it enough to start building a new charge, while not pushing too much too fast — his charge builds up again surprisingly fast. Crosshairs is well on his way to his next overload.
And incoherency. Fucking pit, how can Hide keep that pace for so long without tiring? Or overloading... Hide already has had him three times though, so maybe that's the explanation?
Crosshairs's legs are hanging limply, because with the way Hide is still using him as a cock sleeve, it's useless to try to wrap them around Hide's hips to keep them up, so he lets his frame be limp and pliable for them to position as they see fit.
"He's kind of like a doll right now. Want us to do something to get him more animated?" Blackout asks.
He's not a fucking doll! He's just tired, and moving around is pretty useless. And it is kind of easy to just let them do what they want and bring him the pleasure without having to make much of an effort himself.
"Sounds good. Got any ideas?"
"Puppeteering?" Blackout suggests.
Springer snorts. "You're such a dumbass."
What the...
"Wha's puppeteering?" He asks.
And hey, someone removed the rag and he didn't even notice.
"You know what a puppet is, right? You know, those little puppet plays for younglings..."
"Yeh?"
"You know how they make the puppets move their arms, or their intakes?"
"Yeh?"
...
Oh.
Oh!
No more hanging limply like a doll. Crosshairs flails around as much as he possibly can with his servos still held by Blackout, and Hide holding him up by his hips.
He's not taking a servo, and Primus knows how much of an arm up his aft!
"Who's the dumbass now? You're welcome, boss."
"Don't worry. My servo isn't that big." Springer purrs soothingly, adding another digit into Crosshairs's port.
The opening is relaxed, and it doesn't feel bad, but it makes him squirm even more.
Big or not, he's not going to have an entire servo back there! Is he?
"Please don'! I don' wan' tha'!"
Ironhide cocks an optical ridge. "You did get a specific word to use if you really want out, remember?"
Right! He totally forgot. But will they even care, and listen to his wishes? Why is he more afraid of the disappointment he will feel if they don't listen, than the fear of the actual act itself?
It doesn't matter. He doesn't want a servo up his aft.
"Prime."
Ironhide immediately stops, Blackout's grip loosen a bit, and Springer's digits halt their movements.
"Do you want us to stop alltogether, or is it something very specific you want to avoid?" Hide asks seriously.
"No servos up my ass, please. Sir."
Ironhide snickers. "But the rest of the things we're doing is fine?"
"Yeh?"
Ironhide grins, looking feral. "As you were then, my mechs."
Chapter Text
It's even easier to let go, to let himself get fully into what they're doing now that he knows that he can stop them if he doesn't like it.
He always went along with everything mechs wanted to do with him before, but even if the brothers are doing more kinky stuff than anything he remembers trying at some point, this feels less derisively degrading somehow. Not that he can really process it right now, but he will think about it when he has a chance.
Crosshairs's charge kicks up another notch along with his fans when Springer does a stroking motion across his node, breaking the pattern of smaller and smaller circles. Crosshairs gasps, writhing in Ironhide's and Blackout's grips.
So fucking close!
"What do you say, Prez? Should we give him another one? He's moving a lot more now, so maybe he earned it?"
"I suppose you're right. Go ahead, give it to him. He still has one to go after this one."
He can't, can he? But then again, he thought he wouldn't be able to have a second one, yet here he is, craving another release.
Springer increases the pressure a little with every stroke, and Crosshairs's hips twitch in time with the touches.
It's so fucking intense, bordering on too much.
Ironhide changes the angle, getting deeper, and Crosshairs's valve lights up with the slide over a few nodes previously left untouched by the thick spike.
Oh, how he wants to dig his digits into those sensitive cables just under his chest-plates, and stroke along the seams right now, and tease his headlights.
But Blackout's grip is still unyielding, and all he can do is wiggle his digits pathetically. He makes a sudden jerk, trying to surprise the big Helo and break the grip, but he's unsuccessful.
"Nice try, little Bot." Blackout rumbles in amusement.
Maybe he can try begging for more stuff? They seem to respond well to his pleading...
"Please, Sir, touch me."
Blackout quirks an optical ridge. "Isn't Springer good enough?"
"'e is! But I... Please, touch my chest-plates! Sir."
Blackout grins, showing off all those sharp denta, and it sends another thrill down Crosshairs's back-struts.
"Well, you did ask nicely... What do you say, Hide? Has he earned it?"
"You know, I think he has."
Blackout's big servo is splayed across his ventral plating, sliding up over his chest-plates, all the way up to Crosshairs throat. Crosshairs's spark flips when Blackout wraps his servo around his throat, almost reaching all the way around, and squeezes lightly. The Helicopter grins like cyberwolf, flashing those sharp denta again.
"Such a good little bitch."
Then his servo slips down to Crosshairs's chest-plates again, and Crosshairs's spark speeds up when sharp talons extend, easily slipping into the seams, finding sensitive cables and wires.
"I don't need to teek your field, I can smell your arousal from here." Blackout smirks.
Crosshairs flushes.
"Cute how he still becomes embarrassed by things like that." Springer snickers.
"Yeah, and he's obviously turned on by a little bit of danger." Blackout notes, toying with the cabling to Crosshairs's chest-plates in a way that borders on painful, that could easily do harm with just a little more force.
Crosshairs's valve clenches hard.
He can say 'Prime' and stop them, but he really doesn't want them to, he wants them to continue.
He pushes up against the servo, wanting more. Blackout obviously understands the silent plea, because he continues to pull at the cables, and Crosshairs lets out a breathy moan.
Then Springer increase the pace of the stroking on his node, and Crosshairs teeters on the edge for just a second before his entire frame bucks when he overloads.
"I'll take it from here."
He hears Ironhide say it, but it's distant, and he can't really process it, and he's just vaguely aware of Springer's digits disappearing, Blackout's claws retracting. Then the grip around his wrists is gone, and his back hits the mattress, but he's still overloading, so it feels unimportant.
Chapter Text
All his systems feel frazzled, because they were getting ready for a reboot, but Ironhide continuing to fuck him forces everything to keep going instead, emergency halting the reboot. It's not dangerous — everything will reset when he is allowed to go to recharge — but it feels weird, and for long moments everything seems to be hitching.
"You ok, little mech? Your optics are flickering, and your power seems to be fluctuating."
"'m f'ne." Crosshairs grinds out, his vocalizer hitching too.
"If you get warnings in your HUD — about anything — tell me."
"Yes, Sir." His voice is steadier already.
Ironhide's pace is languorous; long, slow thrusts that nudge Crosshairs's ceiling node every time he's fully hilted. It keeps some of his charge from going away, and his systems tingle from it.
It makes him crave another overload, and he wants the charge to be built up again.
How can he need more, how can his frame crave it when he felt so spent after the other overloads?
His thoughts are interrupted by Ironhide grinding against him, the head of Ironhide's spike pushing against the opening to his gestational chamber in a way it hasn't before. Crosshairs squirms, because it is a bit uncomfortable.
"I hope your bolt is well fastened. Wouldn't want to knock it all the way into your chamber."
"Blackout didn', an' 'e's bigger than you." Crosshairs says, not realizing how snarky it sound until it's already out.
Ironhide grins. "Ouch. Am I too small for you? I mean, I could just stop..." He says, starting to pull out.
"I didn' mean tha' ye're small! Jus' tha' 'e's even bigger, Sir! Please, don' stop, Sir."
Even if it's just a low charge, it's enough to make him eager to not sit around and wait for it to taper off, he wants it built up again and released.
He's such a horny, needy slut, craving cock.
The thought makes his valve clench around Ironhide's spike.
"What was it that made that happen?" Ironhide says cocking an optical ridge.
"I... uhm... I though' tha' I'm such a needy slut." Crosshairs mumbles, embarrassed by his filthy processor, and by being turned on by something like that.
"That you are."
Ironhide suddenly slams in as deep as possible, holding still. Crosshairs squirms at first, because it puts uncomfortable pressure against his ceiling node, but then that somehow disappears, and it feels better.
It would feel even better if Hide started to move again.
Then he feels very full, but it takes just a second for him to know what's going on this time.
Hide is knotting him.
The fullness increase, stretching his calipers, and the spike inside him presses against every single node inside in a way that does get his charge to climb slowly.
He wants more.
Crosshairs doesn't hesitate to reach for his array, digits sliding over his node before he strokes what little of Hide's spike he can reach, exploring where they're joined. He feels the way his rim is stretched around the spike, but he manages to get the tip of his digit inside.
It's impossible to feel the knot though, it's hidden inside the first set of his calipers, and it's impossible to breach those, stretched to full capacity as they are.
He pulls out again, focusing on stroking his node, and Ironhide doesn't seem to mind, because he doesn't do anything to stop him. The spike inside him seems to stop swelling, and Ironhide grunts, optics going brighter. Crosshairs feels the slow pulsing that indicates that Ironhide is overloading, filling him up with transfluid.
It's filthy, and it turns him on.
Ironhide rolls them, Crosshairs winding up straddling Hide. He doesn't stop stroking his node, his charge creeping upwards again.
"Look at me when you do that."
Looking Ironhide in the optics while pleasuring himself makes him feel very exposed, and Crosshairs flushes. Ironhide smirks, clearly noticing it, but he doesn't comment on it.
"Want me to take over?"
"Yes, please, Sir."
It's much better when someone else does it for him.
Big servos slide up his thighs, and it makes his valve twinge in anticipation. Then Ironhide's skilled digits push his out of the way, expertly circling his node.
Chapter Text
He really enjoys being on top.
It's not that he hasn't been on top before, but he never really thought it was anything special. Not until tonight.
And isn't it ironic that he had to go to prison to find out how much he really enjoys facing? His father would hate it. That just makes it even sweeter.
Now, though, he feels so hot, straddling Hide, and it feels good; the way he's filled up, and how Ironhide has easy access to work his node, in spite of it feeling like his valve-lips are glued to Ironhide's pelvic plating. There's just no way to get that fat cock any deeper. He can't really move — considering the knot — not in a way that actually brings him more stimulation, at least, but that doesn't really matter. It's enough with the way Ironhide's spike stretches his valve, and the digits toying with his anterior node.
Springer and Blackout have stretched out on their berths, lazily looking at what they're doing.
It's not much of a show with him just sitting there, Ironhide's servo the only thing that's really doing any work...
"Ye know, I'm so full, the transfluid is startin' te trickle out 'round Hide's spike." He says to the audience, rolling his hips what little he can.
"Doesn't surprise me." Springer says, smirking.
"Maybe it's just your lubricant? You're an awfully wet little creature..." Blackout adds.
He snaps his helm around, staring down at the fluid dribbling out where they're joined, running down Ironhide's plating, and Blackout laughs when he flushes.
It's a mix of both lubricant and transfluid.
"You know, with that field of yours being so very tantalizing, I'd love to have another go. It's almost a shame I knotted you, because if I hadn't, I could have fucked you again."
"Can't get it up?" Springer snarks.
"Like you can get yours up before the reservoir is starting to fill up again when you've drained it completely. Or maybe you can't get your knot to swell, so you've never actually tried it?"
"Fuck you!"
"Oh, baby, you just promise stuff, but you never come through!" Blackout moans exaggeratedly, arching his back.
Pillows are thrown back and forth a couple of times, and Crosshairs shakes his helm.
Dorks.
"Blackout is right, though." Ironhide's voice is strained. "You really are a wet little slut."
"I's yer fault!" Crosshairs squeaks, mortified.
"Really?! My fault?" Ironhide punctuates it with a harder flick of Crosshairs's node, making his hips buck what little they can.
"I...uhm, all yer faults, Sir. Ye jus' make it so good fer me..." Crosshairs grinds out, because it's very hard to think and speak when Ironhide is repeatedly stroking his node just so.
Ironhide makes a non-committal noise, bucking up against Crosshairs. Not that it makes any difference for how deep he gets, but Crosshairs grabs on to the big mech's ventral plating, digging deep into the seams.
"Mh, just like that. My sensory circuits aren't very sensitive, but when you grab like that, it feels really good." Hide grunts.
Crosshairs digs in harder, drawing a moan from Ironhide. Ironhide retaliates with a rough circle on Crosshairs's node, and Crosshairs mewls, valve pulsing as he suddenly is on the edge of overload again. Transfluid and lubricant gushes out with the contraction, and he flushes again.
Wet and filthy.
He overloads hard, bucking against Ironhide, digits digging in even deeper. The overload stretches out, as if the long build up, and all his previous overloads makes this one deeper, and more powerful, and it seems like it lasts forever before he slumps over the Warframe.
Not that he can move, Hide's spike is still stuck inside him, still pulsing more transfluid into him, so Crosshairs just lays there, fans on full blast to cool his frame, valve drooling.
"Wettest little slut ever."
Chapter Text
He's completely spent, and really just wants to fall into recharge, but he doesn't allow himself to nod off. Instead, he sits up again, feeling very awkward.
"So... What do ye wan' me te do?" He asks, rolling his hips a bit.
There's definitely not another overload to wring out of his frame, but it feels kind of weird to just sit there and wait for Hide to finish, as if he's just a receptacle now that he has gotten off.
A thick digit trails the seams in his chest-plates, making Crosshairs spark do a nervous flip. Ironhide's optics roam his frame.
"I've got a very pretty view here, so how about you stroke your headlights?"
It's a simple request, and nothing embarrassing. Crosshairs slides his servos up his ventral plating, up to his headlights, and circles the components with the tips of his digits. Ironhide slowly runs his servos up and down Crosshairs's thighs, bright optics locked on where Crosshairs is toying with himself.
He feels so sexy. Not that he's really getting charged, but still. If he wasn't so creamed up already, then maybe he would be able tell if he's going slick.
Crosshairs arches his back to give an even better view of his front, flat-palming his headlights with slow strokes without breaking optic contact. Ironhide groans, bucking up, even if he's already hilted as deeply as possible.
"Open your chest-plates. I want to see more of you."
Crosshairs freezes, spark speeding up.
He has never done anything like that, and he's pretty sure it would be a terrible idea to bare himself like that, making himself vulnerable. But he doesn't exactly have a way of getting away from it. Or does he?
"Prime."
"I'm not meaning that you have to bare your spark or anything. Just open your chest-plates, and show me your chamber, toy a little with the sensitive wiring in there. If I wanted to hurt you, I've had so many chances already, I wouldn't have to ask you to open up for that. But it's entirely up to you." Ironhide murmurs.
Hide does have a point. The Warframe could probably pry his chest-plates open without much effort. And it's just a show...
It takes him a few seconds to find the command to open them, as it's the first time, but then they slide apart, revealing his deeper components. Suddenly feeling shy, Crosshairs covers the petals of the opening of his spark chamber with his servo.
"Show me."
Taking a deep vent, he lets his servo drop, resting it on his ventral plating. Ironhide groans approvingly, then he reaches out. Crosshairs holds his vents. Ironhide's digits slide along a wire, just a featherlight touch to a very sensitive component, and Crosshairs lets out a low moan, and his valve throbs dully. Ironhide maps out a few more cables and wires, before drawing circles over the plates still protecting his spark. Crosshairs grabs Ironhide's abdominal plating to steady himself.
It feels so good.
"Take over. I want to see you do this to yourself."
His fingers tremble slightly when he reaches inside his chest-plates, touching components that he hasn't touched before, and a groan leaves his vocalizer when he realizes how sensitive he is there.
He can't overload again, not now. But he wishes he could.
Chapter Text
His vents are short and shallow, and his spark is spinning quickly behind the thin plates that are the only thing separating his spark from Ironhide's digits.
So close to the one thing he would've hesitated to let anyone touch, had anyone asked. Yet here he is, with his chest-plates open, and now he's curious. Not curious enough to ask for more, though. The spark is supposed to be saved for his mate. So was his valve, really, but the spark is different. If he asks for that, they would get a bond, and it's so much more than just another type of interfacing, that much he remembers from the interface education.
But the way Ironhide's toying with his spark chamber has thrills of pleasure and nerves traveling down his back-struts is tantalizing, and even if he doesn't dare, he's definitely intrigued.
If he's that sensitive with his chamber still closed, what would it be like to merge?
Ironhide traces the seams in the opening of his spark chamber again, and Crosshairs's valve clenches of it's own accord.
His Sire should see him now, straddling an MTO, getting so much cock, he can't even get it out, chest-plates open... It would be even better if his Sire's friends, foes and voters saw him. The slutty little prison bitch, doing what he knows best.
The pressure from Ironhide's digits increase, and Crosshairs's spark does another nervous flip, because it reminds him of how vulnerable he really is right now.
Has been the entire night, small and at the mercy of the three Warframes. He just forgot it, because they made him feel safe.
Ironhide's servo slips down, leaving his chamber, and rolling a sensitive cable between his digits instead, modulating the pressure perfectly. Crosshairs whines, grinding against the big mech. Ironhide smirks, letting his servo slip down to Crosshairs's array instead, exploring where they're joined.
"I'm finished. Do you want me to give you another overload?"
It could be a trick question, and even if Crosshairs says 'yes', it doesn't mean that Ironhide actually would do it, just that he wants to know.
But the charge he's running isn't enough to actually make him crave another one, and Crosshairs is tired, so very tired.
"I'm good, actually. Ye've all fucked me so thoroughly already. I've overloaded more an' 'arder than I ever thought I would."
Ironhide grins. "Good. You do take it in a very good way. I'm inclined to think you're right: you probably are the best lay in this place."
Crosshairs almost makes a face when he thinks about that.
How clueless he was back then, and it's just days ago, even if it seems like a lifetime.
"You know, Roadie and Motormaster are going to want to seal this deal tomorrow, so you probably should rest."
Crosshairs tries to lift off Ironhide's cock, the component not pulsing with overload anymore, now that he thinks about it.
It's impossible, the thing is still too thick inside him, the knot still hooking inside the first row of calipers. Crosshairs doesn't panic, but his spark does make another flip, because he doesn't know how this is supposed to work.
Blackout just slipped out when he was done, and wouldn't it be mortifying if the guards came to let them out and he'd be stuck like this?
"I can' ge' off!"
"I think you've proven quite capable of getting both yourself and us off."
"I don' mean like tha'!"
"Oh." Ironhide says, face-plates innocent, but there's a teasing grin in his voice. "You're right, though. My knot does take a long time to let go, I usually fall into recharge before that happens. So I guess you better just settle in."
...
Should he be mad about this? It feels like he should be indignant, even if he made a deal saying they can have him however they want. But then recharging on top of Hide sounds kind of nice, actually...
He makes a show of slamming his chest-plates shut. "Ye could've tol' me tha' before." He snips.
"Oh, I most definitely could. But then I'd miss this little tantrum."
Crosshairs sticks his glossa out in a fit of childishness.
Ironhide rumbles a quiet laugh, then he pulls Crosshairs forward to slump over the bigger mech again.
"Good night, little slut."
Crosshairs pushes back against the heavy arm to at least seem to fight it for a few seconds before he goes limp, relaxing.
It's kind of nice actually.
"Good night, Sir."
Chapter 229
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"I was out like a light jus' minutes later, but come mornin', Hide wasn' stuck inside me anymore. I was still tired, but Roadbuster and Motormaster wanted their fair share too, so I 'ad te mech up an go at it again. They made it worth my while though..." Crosshairs stares wistfully into the distance.
It's a lot to take in, because the way the first three treated Crosshairs was unexpected. Sure, they were pushy, and didn't exactly ask before they did something, but rather showed what they meant first, but for being three interface starved thugs with a new bitch — just Crosshairs's presence in that cell would be seen as given consent by many, maybe even by himself at one point — they certainly seemed to pay attention to what Crosshairs thought about it. But safewords and overloads or not, they still used Crosshairs, and some parts did feel uncomfortable.
"But they were degrading, and really showed you that you're nothing but a fuck toy."
"Ye know, I'd never felt as attractive, important and powerful as I did when I was accepted by them. They all wanned me, an' weren' afraid te tell me tha', an' they brought me stuff from the commissary, an' gave me contraband. Nobody ever gave me anythin' before. An' when I le' them use me, their position of power strengthened amongst the other inmates. I was one o' the things tha' made the others respect 'em."
"How does that even work?"
Crosshairs world view is a bit skewed at times, and Barricade can't see any way a fuck toy could ever be powerful.
Even if he technically had the power to stop their games. If the safeword would work every time, because they could just ignore something as simple as a word if they decided that they wanted what Crosshairs didn't willingly offer.
Crosshairs smirks, and then he starts a que of memories he has been arranging while they talked.
He's back in the washracks again, scrubbing his frame. There's others there as well, and Crosshairs is a bit wary. Sure, he's affiliated with the Autobots now, but they're not here, and he doesn't know how it will work yet, it's still the early days of his new role.
The door opens, and Ironhide and Roadbuster comes in. Crosshairs feels relieved, but when they both stride up to him, his spark makes a nervous flip, because maybe he broke some unwritten rule or something? They do wear those stony expressions that only relax when they're alone without prying optics.
Ironhide plants a servo on his chest-plates and pushes him until his back hits the wall. The water is pelting down on both of them, and Ironhide ogles his frame before reaching for his array.
"Is my little slut getting clean?" He asks, pushing two digits into Crosshairs's valve without preamble.
"Y-yes?"
Everyone is looking. Not directly, but he can feel them watching from the corners of their optics. It's embarrassing and arousing.
"Get on your knees, bitch. I want those pretty lips around my cock."
He sinks to his knees and opens his mouth, allowing Ironhide's heavy spike to slide over his glossa, and he forces the back of his intake to relax to allow it to go in deep. Roadbuster flips his coat to the side and nudges his knees apart, grabs his hips, and pushes in to the hilt. He isn't really prepared, but he's still slick from last night's fucking, so it doesn't sting too badly.
"Frag, Prez, you really got us a good little bitch." Roadbuster grunts.
"I always do. Hear that, slut? You're ours, and we'll do you how ever we damned well please." Ironhide says mockingly.
Crosshairs hums an affirmation around the spike in his intake. The audience is watching more openly now, and it's getting his charge going.
"He's getting really wet." Roadbuster groans.
Ironhide just grunts, rutting into Crosshairs's mouth, and the combination of his embarrassment for the audience, and the slick slide of a spike over his inside nodes makes him shudder through an overload. Crosshairs manages to stifle a moan when Roadbuster slams in deep and spills his transfluid deep inside their little bitch. Ironhide pulls out and shoots his load across Crosshairs face, and he hears the audience snickering, someone slow clapping.
"You're our little bitch, so you better not go whoring yourself out to anyone else without my permission." Ironhide says threateningly.
"N-no, Sir." Crosshairs mumbles.
He still stands there, on his knees, when Ironhide and Roadbuster leave the washracks. His disheveled appearance doesn't matter, everyone else has averted their optics.
He's publicly claimed. Everyone knows that he's the Bots' bitch.
That gets him moving, hurrying to clean up.
If he's lucky, one of the other brothers are up for a bit of fun, because he's charged again.
Notes:
I have been terrible at answering comments lately, and I want to apologize for that. I find myself swamped and I have to prioritize trying to keep this fic going, as I hardly have any time and energy to write at the moment. Every comment is greatly appreciated, and I try to answer as soon as I can.
Chapter Text
He notices the difference after that time in the washracks, the way others aren't ogling him anymore. Being claimed by the Autobots so openly has made the other inmates wary. He still hears the gossip at times, the whispers about how to not cross the Bots, lest you want to be turned into a fuck toy, the rumors about him being too cocky for his own good, and that being the reason for Ironhide asserting his power. He doesn't care what the others think. The only thing that matters is that the brothers want him in their berth each night. And sometimes in the days. And in the washracks at times...
"I have a little mission for you. A job, if you will." Ironhide says.
Crosshairs is stretched out on the berth Blackout favors, reading the list of ingredients on a pack of gels Ironhide bought for him in the commissary, because he has nothing better to do at the moment.
"Me?!"
"Yeah. See, I've made a deal with Black Shadow, and I need some goods exchanged..."
"Okay...?" He says hesitantly, because he has been kept out of the hustle until now.
He's just their little conjux, helping them get filthy, and wash up. Not necessarily in that order...
"I've got some boosters I need to get to him, and he has a bottle of high grade for me."
Crosshairs nods.
"And he's going to fuck you to settle the price difference."
"No, Hide! I don' wan' te do tha'. Please, don' make me do tha'. I'll deliver the stuff, jus' don'... I'm yers, all of yers, only yers..."
He doesn't even know who Black Shadow is, and he wants to choose his lovers, that's why he made this deal in the first place. And maybe he's getting spoiled, but the brothers are good, and he's really not up for the possibility of having 'bland' now that he knows what 'tasty' really means.
"Come on now, sweetie," Ironhide coaxes, stroking a digit down Crosshairs's side, "I know you're ours. It's just that we need your talent for this. I mean, you enjoy some benefits for being our conjux, and here's your chance to help out with the business. We can't do this, we need someone pretty for this — like you — someone with your expertise. I couldn't send Springer for that, could I? I mean, I'd have to send optic blinders with him so that Black Shadow doesn't have to stare at his ugly aft while doing him."
"Hey! Enough with talking about my aft already." Springer acts offended.
"I think yer aft is really ho', Springer." Crosshairs says, because he really thinks that, and maybe Springer will help him get out of this if he plays his cards right?
"Thanks, sweetie. But you know I'm with Hide on this one. We really need your help." Springer coaxes.
"Of course you'll get a ration of the high grade too... I mean, you're doing the work, of course you get paid for that. Let's not fight about this. You can do it. You're so hot, he'll probably shoot his load just looking at you, the fucking loser. And then we can get drunk and make tonight a party..." His servo slides over Crosshairs's ventral plating, down to his interface panel. "You know we'll make sure you enjoy it. Come on, Cross, you're our only chance to get that booze."
It's so flattering to be needed.
"Alright, I'll do i'. Fer you."
Ironhide grins at him. "That's the spirit. You know we couldn't do this without you, you're invaluable." He leans in to nip at Crosshairs neck-cables, then he licks the bite. "And you taste so fucking good too."
"Tha' may be Roadie's jizz. Don' know if I go' it all out in the shower."
Blackout barks a laugh.
Ironhide rolls his optics. "Well, I can't complain about you being marinated in the cum of me and my brothers. But trust me," he says, licking along another line on Crosshairs's neck, "this taste is all you."
"President kinky!" Blackout snickers.
Chapter Text
Crosshairs spreads his legs, and Roadbuster pushes the wrapped routers into his valve.
"There's a jimmy in there, he better wrap it before fucking you. I'm not whipping that loser's cream."
Then Crosshairs is sent off to Black Shadow's cell, spark spinning nervously as he steps into it. The big mech looks up.
"Hide sent me?"
"Got the goods?"
Crosshairs puts his pede on the berth and opens his panel, pulling it out, throwing it to the mech who's optics have brightened considerably by the blatant display. The mech unwraps it and inspects the routers.
"Do we have to use this?" He says, holding up the condom.
"Yeh. I jus' do wha' they tell me. 'ow do ye wan' me?"
"Bend over the berth." Black Shadow says, rolling the Jimmy onto his spike.
He does, and the mech kneels behind him, lining up with his valve, and slams inside. Black Shadow's fairly big, but the brothers are bigger, so he doesn't have any problems taking it, and the condom is lubed, so his lack of arousal is compensated. Black Shadow starts to rut into him, grunting meaningless, nasty little comments as he chases his overload, and Crosshairs just waits for him to finish.
At least the big mech is less gross than Dirge, and he won't have Black Shadow's sauce inside him for the rest of the day.
Black Shadow overloads, and then he pulls out almost immediately.
"You're kind of loose, but I guess that's to be expected when whoring for all of them. Might make things easier for you too." He says, pulling something out from under the mattress.
Crosshairs might've been offended if he didn't know that it isn't as much about him being loose as it is about Black Shadow lacking girth.
"So will you carry it in your valve or your port?" Black Shadow asks.
It's a bottle, and it's a pretty fucking big one. Not bigger than Blackout's cock though, so he'll be able to take it.
"Port."
It'll stay inside easier there.
The mech snickers.
"Whatever floats your boat."
He pushes two digits of each of his servos into Crosshairs's port, to pry him open and steer the bottle, and then he pushes his pelvic plating against the bottle to push it inside. Crosshairs bites the bedding, digits digging into it, because it's uncomfortable as all hell to not be prepped, and he's not lubed up either. But the bottle settles, and Black Shadow lets his calipers grab on to it, pulling his digits out. He pats Crosshairs's aft.
"Tell Hide it's a pleasure doing business with him."
Crosshairs slams his panel shut, then he hurries back to their cell as quickly as he can, even if he'd really like to waddle along to keep from jostling the thing inside him. He rushes inside, and throws himself on the berth.
"Ge' it outta me!" He groans, opening his panel.
Blackout grabs the neck of the bottle that's sticking out, pulling. Crosshairs squirms and whines, because the thing makes no sign of coming out of him, and it's uncomfortable when Blackout pulls. Then his spark speeds up with rising panic.
What if he'll have to go to the medbay to have it removed?!
"Squat and exvent." Motormaster snorts.
Crosshairs glares at him.
"No, really! I think that'll be easier."
He crawls off the berth and squats, Springer grabbing the bottle. Crosshairs exvents, and finally the thing slips out.
"Congratulations, Hide! You know, this is a real sweetspark." Springer cackles.
They all bark a laugh.
"You did really great, sweetie, you're the mech of the hour." Ironhide murmurs in Crosshairs's audial as he helps him up. "Come on let's celebrate." He says before licking a slow line over Crosshairs's audial in a way that's almost sensual.
Suddenly, it's all worth the humiliation and discomfort.
Chapter Text
He's alone in the washracks when the creep comes in. Crosshairs just glances at him: looks like some kind of street utility vehicle type of mech, bigger than him, but not as massive as the brothers. He doesn't know the mech's name, because the mech hasn't been in gen pop for that long, but he's wary of him because of the way he tends to look at Crosshairs. He hasn't felt unsafe since he hooked up with Hide, though, so he dismisses the ugly grounder from his interest, and focuses on getting clean.
Crosshairs is entirely unprepared when he's pushed up against the wall, the mech's servos roaming his frame.
"Let go of me!" Crosshairs snarls, trying to elbow the mech and turn around.
"Aaw, don't be like that. I know you just need a good pounding. You'll like it as soon as I'm inside."
"I don'. Gedoff me, I'm already claimed."
Crosshairs is a terrible fighter. He does his best to kick and punch the mech, but when they clatter to the floor, he's on his front with his arm twisted up on his back.
"Ye'll pay fer this!" He hisses.
"You think anyone cares about a bitch? You're just holes to frag." A servo slides up the back of Crosshairs's thigh, and the mech groans as he gropes Crosshairs's aft, servo slipping between his thighs, digits being pushed through his dry and unaroused folds. "Damn, it was too long ago. You're kind of loose, but you'll do."
"Hide's gonna scrap ye fer this!"
"Hide's just another bitch who thinks he is someone. He talks the talk, but he doesn't walk the walk. He hasn't done anything to anyone, and I know him and his crew are just taking credit for stuff others have done. He's too much of a coward to really hurt someone."
The servo wraps around his hip, and Crosshairs struggles as much as he can without dislocating his arm, panic making energon burn at the back of his intake.
What if the mech is right? What if Hide is just a poser? He doesn't know what Ironhide is really capable of, maybe he just bought into a stereotype, a well executed role-play, and got himself "protection" from someone who's all talk and no business?
Chapter Text
"Oh, you hurt my feelings." Hide's voice rumbles mockingly from the door to the washracks, heavy pedesteps approaching them.
The mech on top of him is suddenly not there anymore, and Crosshairs scrambles up just in time to see Ironhide throwing him to the floor, pressing his knee down on the mech's throat.
"See, I'm not much for staying in prison, so I make sure that my retaliations can't be connected to me and make my stay longer. But I guess you're too underclocked to realize. And now you've touched what is mine without even asking. That has a price, you know..."
Ironhide sounds frighteningly reasonable, even as the mech flailing to free himself is starting to panic. Hide holds his servo out.
"Solvent."
Springer hands him a bottle.
"Stuff his vents."
Blackout and Springer grabs sponges and starts to push them into the visible vents on the mech's frame.
"No, please! What are you doing?!" The mech cries out, struggling underneath the bigger mechs.
"I'm just making sure you don't touch my stuff again."
Ironhide grabs the mech's face, pressing harshly against his cheeks to force him to open his intake, and then he starts pouring the solvent into his mouth. The mech is spluttering and coughing, swallowing repeatedly.
"Pour it down his olfactory vent instead, then he can't swallow it as easily." Blackout says.
Ironhide smirks and grabs the mech's forehelm instead, keeping his helm still, while pouring the solvent into his nose. Blackout stuffs a sponge into the mech's intake. Crosshairs stares as the mech flails in panic, engine stuttering as his airflow is cut off. Crosshairs is frightened, but there's a thread of vindictive glee weaving through his fear.
The mech tried to rape him, but he's getting what he deserves. Finally someone isn't getting away with treating him like shit, and hurting him.
"Prez, we've been here for too long. Roadbuster says from the door.
The mech's thrashing is down to twitching, and Crosshairs sees when he voids his tank.
"We need to go." Blackout rumbles.
They pull the sponges out of the mech's vents, quickly washing them in solvent before throwing them down the garbage disposal to the incinerator.
"Come on." Roadbuster says, pulling Crosshairs with him, since the Corvette is standing frozen staring at the frame.
"I'd teach you how to fight back, but I can't do it here, the guards will pitch a fit." Springer says. "That was pathetic."
"We can show him in the cell tonight, when the guards are chewing donuts and jerking each other off in their break room." Ironhide says.
Blackout snorts. "Maybe they jerk off with the donuts? And then they eat them."
"I think the play jerk-donut." Roadbuster pitches in.
"What the fuck is jerk-donut?"
"You know, you put a donut in the middle, and everyone stands around it, jerking off. Last one to shoot his load eats the glazed donut."
"Gross!" Blackout cackles.
"Stop talking about donuts, I'm getting hungry." Motormaster grouses.
"Yeah, let's go grab some energon. The lunch room is open now." Blackout says.
It's such an absurd conversation, Crosshairs starts to cackle almost hysterically.
Today's scheduled activities: almost getting raped in the washracks, watch someone get killed, and make crude jokes about the guards. And then we have lunch...
Chapter Text
"'e didn' deactivate, though. The guards found 'im jus' in time, an' the medics managed te keep 'im functional. Well, at least until 'e was back in gen pop, then 'bout a month later, 'e was stabbed an' leaked out. Guess 'e 'ad made more enemies than friends. Never bothered me again, though." Crosshairs says out loud when he feels how conflicted Barricade is about the entire ordeal.
On one servo, the mech was a rapist bastard. On the other, they tried to murder a mech, and now he knows more about what Ironhide and his crew are capable of... They didn't seem to have any second thoughts at all.
"Anyway, ye'll see why I'm no' very negative 'bout crooked law enforcement mechs."
That catches his attention, but he's immediately thrown into a memory as it starts.
"I have a job for you. Really important one." Ironhide says.
"'k." Crosshairs answers without hesitation.
"We've gotten a guard to help us a bit, so well really get some fine goods to trade, and to have ourselves. But I need a mule..."
"'k."
Ironhide grins. "You're such a good little mech. I'm glad that we decided to try you. Anyway, he'll take you to an interrogation room, you do what he wants, he'll give you some things that are ours, and you bring them back. Really simple."
"Anythin' fer ye, Hide." Crosshairs purrs.
"And that's one of the things I really like about you. Here, top up with coolant. Mech said you'll need it."
His levels are already good, but if that's what's needed, he's not going to protest. He downs one of the bottles immediately, and then half of the other, feeling his tank slosh in an uncomfortable way. He still manages to drink it all before the guard shows up.
"Let's go, Crosshairs." The guard says from the door, and Crosshairs gets up from his spot on the berth.
He's led down the walkway, through the rec area, and towards the block with the interrogation rooms. It's evening, and the interrogation ward isn't used at the moment, so they're alone in the hallway. He's led into one of the rooms, and cuffed to the table.
"The cameras are off, and nobody will be in this unit at this hour. I'll be back in a while."
Crosshairs nods, a bit apprehensive, because he has no idea what's expected of him, and there's still room for the guard to not honor whatever agreement he has with Hide. Left alone with his thoughts, Crosshairs tries to not let his nerves get the better of him while he waits for the guard to come back.
Chapter Text
Crosshairs is about to explode by the time the guard gets back.
"I need te go te the maintenance room. Please, Sir." He says as deferentially as he can while fighting with his desperation — because he wants to go yesterday, but he's also aware of how the guards hate to feel like they're being ordered around, and attitude from the inmates, so he tried to not press the issue too hard — standing from his seat to press his legs together.
"I figured as much. You're a grown mech, though, so I think you can hold it a few more minutes."
Crosshairs makes a face, because he's certain that he can't, he's even doubting his ability to actually make it to the maintenance room, even if he was allowed to go there immediately.
The guard is plucking with the things he brought when coming back, not really doing anything productive.
Just fiddling, really, in an unnecessary way.
The humiliating, horrible reality dawn's on Crosshairs.
The mech is waiting for him to lose control, and wet himself. He doesn't just want Crosshairs to beg and plead for relief.
"Please, Sir! Jus' let me go te the maintenance room..." He whines, barely stifling the sob that's threatening to escape him.
He's not going to break down like that too, it would just be another level of humiliation.
"You can do it. Just a few more minutes..." The guard says, watching him with bright optics.
Crosshairs whines, squirming where he stands, pressing his thighs together.
He can't win this. He'll stand here until he pisses himself, and there's no way getting out of it.
In spite of knowing that it's a losing battle, he can't get himself to give in and let go. Something deep inside him keeps Crosshairs fighting to hold it, the last dredge of hope that the mech will find it enough and allow him to keep what dignity he has and let him go to the maintenance room.
Of course the mech doesn't. Instead, he watches, riveted, while Crosshairs squirms and writhes, repeatedly denying the requests to void his primary, ignoring the warnings about the levels.
Then the overflow gauge activates, and there's nothing he can do anymore. He feels his face-plates flush as hot as the stream of fluid trickling out through the seams of his panel, running down his legs to splash onto the floor. He presses his lip-plates together to keep them from trembling, determined not to start crying on top of this mortification, but he can do nothing but awkwardly stand there and wait for his tank to empty itself.
The guard has pressurized his spike, slowly stroking it as he watches with bright optics. He crawls onto the table, kneeling over Crosshairs's still cuffed servos, and then he leans back to hold his cock out for Crosshairs.
"Suck my spike."
Chapter Text
Crosshairs hasn't been this unwilling since Dirge, but it's not like he has much of a choice. At least the mech is honoring Hide's demand for a jimmy, so he won't be forced to swallow the mech's jizz. It's still gross.
For the brothers. And for the things he'll earn, at least there's always something in the deals for him too.
It doesn't take much finesse to get the mech off, he's so charged by watching Crosshairs wet himself, it's just a few bobs of his helm, then the mech is trembling through his overload.
"That was good, pleasure doing business with Hide. Clean the floor, then I'll take you to the washracks back here, and then you'll get the goods."
He's uncuffed and handed rags and a trash can, and Crosshairs starts to wipe the floor, flushing from embarrassment as it reminds him of what happened here. When he's done, he's led into a small washrack, but no matter how much he scrubs himself, he doesn't feel clean. It doesn't help that the guards is watching — leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and bright optics riveted to Crosshairs, and his field tells the Corvette that the guard is getting aroused by watching him — so he gives up when he can't find any visible traces of his shame.
"These are the items. What should go where?"
A big bottle of high grade, a pack of what is most likely drugs, and a sheathed knife that makes Crosshairs's spark flip. It's a sturdy sheath, but still... He's going to have a knife inside him.
"Bottle in my aft, the other stuff in my valve." He says, bracing his lower arms against the wall.
The guard pushes the things inside him, a discomfort he's getting used to.
No wonder Motormaster said it was a deal breaker if he could take cock up his ass without much prep. They usually do prep him, but for this, it's necessary to be a bit loose. Good thing they all have big dicks and fuck him regularly.
He closes his panel, and then he's taken back to the cell.
Crosshairs flops down on his back on one of the berths, opening his panel and spreading his legs, and Ironhide pulls the goods out of him.
"Nice!" Blackout says, inspecting the knife.
"You know if we got a tap for the bottle of high grade, we could leave it inside him and just have the neck poke out to be able to pour it. Would be the fanciest and hottest bottle stand in this state." Springer says when the bottle slips out of Crosshairs.
"Then you'd have to make do with fucking his mouth, because your dick isn't going anywhere near the high grade." Blackout rumbles.
"Yeah, you're right. Scratch that plan. It would be kind of funny, though."
"One day, when we're out of here, and have a few more sluts around, we will do that." Blackout promises.
Does that mean that they want to keep him around even when they're free?
"Hey, did everything go well?" Ironhide murmurs in his audial. "You're awfully quiet."
"Yeh, i's just...ugh." Crosshairs jumps up from the berth, still feeling filthy, and embarrassed just thinking about what just happened.
He can't tell them!
"You did really well. We couldn't have done this without you. You'll get your share of the high grade, of course." Ironhide praises him, wrapping an arm around him, rubbing soothing circles into Crosshairs's hip with his thumb.
"He made me pee myself." Crosshairs whispers, feeling his face-plates flush when he thinks about it.
Ironhide snickers. "So he's a kinky fragger? Good to know. See, nobody can gather blackmail material like you can. We're so lucky to have you."
Crosshairs is about to preen, but Blackout cuts him off.
"Seriously, Hide, are you just going to snuggle him, or are you going to get something done, that embarrassed field makes me wish I had three spikes, so I could fuck him in all his holes at once."
"How would that even work? You wouldn't reach." Springer cackles.
"I was with a shuttle once, an' they 'ave these tentacle lookin' thingies for dockin'. The thing is, those tentacles are really sensitive. So I sucked 'is spike, an' 'e fucked me with those. 'oly fuck, I was so full..." Crosshairs tells them, rubbing his legs together for friction, getting slick thinking about it.
"Want us to fill you up now?" Ironhide growls, grabbing his hip more roughly.
"Please!" Crosshairs mewls.
When they all surround him, servos pawing at his plating, the unpleasantness of what happened before melts away.
If they eagerly want him for doing those things for them, he'll gladly do it again.
Chapter Text
Barricade really doesn't know how to react, what to say. On one servo, Ironhide was blatantly using Crosshairs's issues to get what he wants by manipulating the smaller mech. Crosshairs may not have noticed, starved of care as he was, but to Barricade — who may have his own baggage to carry, but has the advantage of seeing this from an outside point of view, and with much more life experience than Crosshairs had at the time — it's obvious that Ironhide knew just how to play Crosshairs to get him to do exactly what Ironhide wanted. On the other servo, he did make sure that Crosshairs didn't get injured in the process, and considering what could have happen — as proved by the incident in the washracks — it may be the better option, no matter how unpalatable it was. But still...
"He didn't renegotiate the deal."
"Wha'? Who?"
"Ironhide. You made a deal where you would be their conjux, and they wouldn't let others fuck you. He never renegotiated those terms before he started... He started selling you."
Crosshairs smirks slowly. "I guess ye're right. But 'e did pay me fer every time by givin' me a share of the payment, so I just saw i' as a bit o' overtime. Call it an extracurricular activity if ye will."
"One hell of a extracurricular..." Barricade mutters, thinking about the intense humiliation in the last memory.
"Yeah, well Hide is generous. Ye know, I never 'ad anyone on the outside to put some money into my account te get anythin' from the commissary. If I wanned anythin' beyond the bland low grade supplied by the facility, it was paid fer by one of the brothers, an' they were generous. This was my chance te give somethin' back. The deal was; they kept me safe, I kept them sated. Everythin' else was extras: they bought me stuff in the commissary, an' 'andled the hustle. I 'andled payment an' transportation of goods, and I go' a share of wha' we kept."
"I suppose so..."
It's so different from his own experience with prison, he really can't relate, and even if Crosshairs was manipulated and used, he seems fine with it for reasons that make sense, and not just because he doesn't understand how Ironhide used Crosshairs's weaknesses for his own gain.
Crosshairs laughs. "Ye know, I think I was drunk almost every night for the remainder of the sentence. Things were so much easier with the deal with the guard; 'e gave us 'eads ups when there was goin' te be a shakedown, an' business was easier to 'andle when 'e was on shift an' looked the other way."
"For the small price of you pissing yourself and sucking his spike." Barricade says, making a face.
"I go' used te i'." Crosshairs says, shrugging. "It really isn't tha' bad. I mean, drink a bunch o' coolant, wait fer things te 'appen by themselves. Squirm a bi', act embarrassed, whine 'bout needin' te go... Ye know privacy wasn' a thing in the joint, we 'ad te pee with an audience fer all the drugtest an' stuff, I'm sure ye did too. This wasn' really tha' different when I thought 'bout it. An' 'e was definitely an easy customer afterwards; 'e'd shoot 'is load in seconds. Then I could clean up an' go back te the Bots te get some proper fuckin'."
It does sound easy, but no less gross for it. He would take a tedious blowjob over that any day.
Are you really considering how you would pay?! My, your boundaries really have moved lately. How about that ass-knotting? Would you rather take that?
...
"Anyway, on with the show." Crosshairs says theatrically, and restarts the que of memories.
Chapter Text
It's cleverly orchestrated, the way they're separated from the other brothers.
They're in the yard, and all of a sudden, Crosshairs and Ironhide are alone in the corner, two other Warframes facing them down. Ironhide steps forward minutely, putting himself between Crosshairs and the other mechs.
"So... MTO... You really think a drone should rule this joint?" One of them sneers to Hide.
Ironhide doesn't answer, he just sizes them up, looking very much like a predator eyeing a potential next meal.
"Ridiculous, really. You're just waiting for a new Master your coding can latch onto. Someone to be a bitch for." The other mech mocks.
"You're Warframes too..." Ironhide rumbles.
"Sparked and created from real life mechs. Not constructed to specifications on some assembly line, made to fit someone else's needs. Tell me, does it feel good when your Master asks you to bend over for him? I mean, your coding would compel you to comply, but doesn't it make you feel like a good little bot too?"
Something sharp and deadly crosses Ironhide's face.
"Are you just here to ask me to tell you about what kind of bitches your carriers are, or did you want something? Because your words certainly aren't going hurt me..." Ironhide challenges, drawing himself up to his full height.
The other mechs do the same, not backing down.
"Spare yourself some pain and humiliation, MTO, and just hand over that bitch of yours, and any goods you have, and we won't beat you to a pile of scrap."
The slow grin that stretches Ironhide's lip-plates is cold and calculating, and his field flares with sharp lust for violence, a dangerous, hungry need that seems to be ingrained into his core. An energon thirst that comes so naturally, it must be second nature.
"You're sparked Warframes; the product of adventurous sparked little sluts, sneaking into some army base to let some true Warframes have their way with them. That means your coding is a haphazard product of a combination of your creators' coding. My coding, on the other hand, is created with the sole purpose of being as effective as possible in battle. And my battle computer tells me that you two won't come out on top from this. So, do you feel lucky, punks? Or are you too scared to fight me? All talk and no fight, like robochickens." He ends it with clucking like a chicken.
Crosshairs has learned a bit of self defense, the brothers have given him tips and trained him what little they can in the cell, but he's definitely not a fighter, and his spark is spinning out of control when one of the mech sneers hatefully and charges Hide.
Ironhide deflects the hit with one arm, stepping to the side to send the other mech stumbling past him. Hide's optics are bright, and he's actually grinning, as if he's been longing for this, and it's just a funny distraction to pass some time.
"Pathetic!"
The next second, he grunts when the other mech lands a hit against his side, but he returns it with an elbow to the mech's face.
"See, this is where my coding is superior," he rumbles, going on the offensive with a punch to the mech's ventral plating, "you hit where you think my weakest spots are, while I know how to make the most damage."
He wraps his massive servo around the mech's side, digging his fingers into the plating and then he tears off a chunk of the components there, leaving sparking wires, severed hydraulic lines and leaking fuel lines hanging from the injury. The mech shrieks with a shrill voice and falls to the ground when he loses motor control of his leg. Ironhide straddles him, laughing as he starts punching the mech repeatedly in the face.
"Guess you weren't so lucky after all..."
Crosshairs is just staring, frozen in place, not certain what to do. He's so focused on his certainty that Ironhide is about to kill the mech if the guards doesn't get there soon, he doesn't notice the other mech sneaking up on him until he's grabbed around the neck and pulled back.
Chapter Text
"Hide!" He manages to garble, but Hide's too busy to notice.
Another mech comes up to them, grabbing Crosshairs too.
"Help is coming, but we need to take him down before he gets help from his mechs." The mech hisses to the Warframe who instigated the fight, but was lucky enough to not get Ironhide's full attention once he had been brushed off.
Crosshairs manages to elbow the mech holding him in the ventral plating, and the mech's grip falters.
"Hide, more ass'oles incomin'!" He shouts, and finally he catches Ironhide's attention.
Hide's helm snaps around, taking in the mechs closing in, and since the mech he was gleefully slagging is out cold anyway, he flies to his pedes, quicker than one would anticipate from such a massive mech.
"Really brave to grab the smallest mech around". He says sarcastically, glaring at the mechs holding Crosshairs.
Someone tries to jump Hide from behind when he's distracted, and Crosshairs tries to warn Ironhide, but the grip on his neck has been renewed, and all he manages is a croak.
It doesn't matter; Ironhide seems to anticipate it. He reaches over his shoulder and grabs the mech midair, flinging him over his helm, before landing a vicious kick. The grip on Crosshairs falters, and he can feel in their EM fields how the mechs holding him are losing their nerve.
Then suddenly they're all bowled over when Blackout tackles all three of them at once. There's the sound of rending metal, and an agonized scream when an arm is torn right off from a body, and the melee intensifies, as the initial attackers are turned into prey.
"I may be an MT-fucking-O, but I'm nobody's bitch, servant or pawn! We're Autobots, were autonomous, and you all better fucking remember it!" Ironhide snarls victoriously, before spitting on the mech he just threw to the ground and kicked.
"Yeah!" All the brothers chime in, and some of their hang-arounds too, joining the fight.
Then every single mech in the yard hits the floor when one of the guards finds the panic button that engages all the shock collars.
Chapter Text
When the next memory opens, Crosshairs is sharing the bunk with Ironhide. It's quite the contrast to the other memories, because for once, he isn't being ruthlessly fragged.
It's dark, and quiet, everyone else in recharge, and Crosshairs is tucked under Hide's arm, helm on Hide's shoulder. A big servo is lazily toying with the plates on his hip. He rolls over to his back, allowing easier access to his already bare array.
"Need some more pussy?" He purrs.
"Is fragging really what you want right now?" Ironhide asks, servo slipping between Crosshairs's thighs.
"I like overloadin'..."
Hide is quiet for a while. "Want me to eat you?" He whispers.
"Wha'?"
"You know, oral. Lick you to overload."
"I've never... Wha'? Ye mean my array?"
"No, your digits... Of course I mean your array. Has nobody ever licked you before?"
"No?"
"Fucking pit." Ironhide crawls downwards, trailing little nips and kisses down Crosshairs's ventral plating. "You better be quiet. If you wake anyone up, or you tell someone about this, I'll fragging kill you."
"Why?" Crosshairs hisses, squirming when Ironhide licks the sensitive protoform just above Crosshairs's spike cover.
"Because I don't service my bitches, my bitches serve me." Ironhide sounds annoyed.
He licks the plump lips of Crosshairs valve before ghosting a touch to his node, and Crosshairs's pedes curls, as if they're trying to grab on to the big mech's back in a movement Crosshairs has little control over. Ironhide continues with the frustratingly light licks, and Crosshairs writhes, back arching, servos grabbing on to the bedding. He stifles the noises that are threatening to leave his vocalizer, panting desperately, hips bucking in an attempt to rub against Ironhide.
Crosshairs's servos come up to grab Ironhide's helm, toying with his audial fins haphazardly without any finesse, and he hears a snicker from the tease between his legs as he starts to work Crosshairs's node with his lip-plates.
"Please, please, please..." He hisses as quietly as he can, frustrated in a glorious way.
Ironhide starts to lick the slit of his valve, long, slow drags of his glossa, dipping into his valve, up to do a little twirl around his node, and then starting over again, and Crosshairs's charge is skyrocketing.
His pedes press against Ironhide's back to force the mech closer, his servo grabs that audial horn, and then Crosshairs grabs the pillow and presses it against his face, biting it to keep from squealing when he overloads so hard, his entire frame bucks. He goes limp and strutless when he comes down from his overload, a dopey grin on his face when Ironhide crawls up to stretch out beside him.
"Wow! Do tha' now an' then, an' ye'll 'ave my eternal devotion."
Ironhide grunts. "You give that devotion away way too easily, kid."
Chapter Text
Ironhide leans over Crosshairs to press his lip-plates against Crosshairs's, nipping his bottom lip, before sliding his glossa against Crosshairs's lips to request entrance.
It's kind of novel, because while it isn't the first time Crosshairs has kissed someone, it's not something he has done a lot — most mechs have been too preoccupied with fucking to care for kissing and stuff like that — and it's the first kiss since he went to prison. He answers it, allows Ironhide to deepen the kiss, tasting himself on Hide's glossa.
Why is he so surprised to find that the mech is very good at kissing, considering how Hide just demonstrated his skills with his glossa?
There's an intimacy in the act that Crosshairs finds himself wanting more of, and he eagerly answers the slow rolls of Ironhide's glossa against his.
Ironhide can put his glossa in his mouth or on his valve anytime he wants.
When they break apart, Ironhide rests his helm on Crosshairs's shoulder, sprawled halfway on top of the smaller mech. The heavy frame pressing him deeper into the bedding makes him feel safe.
"Have you really never had your valve licked before?"
"No."
They fall silent, and Crosshairs starts to drift into recharge.
"G'night, Daddy." He mumbles.
Ironhide stiffens. "What did you call me?"
"Daddy. Ye're everything I could want from my Daddy."
"You want your sire to fuck you?" Ironhide says skeptically, sounding put off.
Crosshairs snorts. "No' like tha'! I mean, ye keep me safe, an' ye tell me when I do somethin' good, an' ye see some potential in me. Like a good Daddy should. Ye're the best one I ever 'ad."
Ironhide is quiet for a while, thinking it through. "You really are a fucked up little mech, aren't you?"
"Maybe. Doesn' matter, as long as ye still want me." Crosshairs mumbles, almost in recharge.
He feels the tightening of Ironhide's arms around him before recharge claims him.
Chapter Text
"Roadbuster an' Motormaster got out first, and then I was let out. They decided te keep me, so I crashed with them in their apartment. Then Hide was let out, an 'e go' this place, an I moved in 'ere with the mechs who wanted te live 'ere. Over the years, Hide has picked up more sluts, but I was first."
Crosshairs sounds so contented, and that's almost the worst part of it, because he literally had every opportunity to have everything at one point, but instead, he's still nothing more than the bitch he was in prison.
As if he didn't know how to stop when he got out.
He probably didn't.
"Don't you ever resent it? I mean, don't you wish that you could do something else?"
"Nah. Wha' would I do? I'm no' very smart or talented. This is wha' I'm good at, an' I like the people 'ere."
"You could be living in a fragging mansion, in one of the best neighborhoods..."
Crosshairs snorts. "Ye know, this is a mansion, an' the brothers pretty much own this neighborhood... anyway, tha would jus' be a fancy prison. I 'ave all the same luxuries 'ere, but 'ere I 'ave friends, lovers. Ye know what I'd 'ave been if I'd not been kicked out? Since I'm obviously a valve mech, an' no' clever enough te run the family business or somethin' like tha', I would've been married off te someone of my Sire's choice. I'd 'ave te spred my legs fer someone I didn' choose, an' carry 'is sparklings, and I'd be sittin' alone in 'is big 'ouse, with servant drones and the kids as my main company. I'd 'ave te groom the younglings te fit the mould , while my bonded was away in business, probably spendin' 'is nights with expensive, professional entertainers, because sleepin' around is ok as long as it's the spike mech who does it, seen as somethin' normal. I'd be un'appy te see my kids grow up te be like Perceptor, or like me, an' I'd probably start drinkin', an' poppin' prescription routers."
"Uhm... Sounds dramatic..." Because it almost sounds like a story Crosshairs has made up and repeated until he is convinced it's the only way it could ever have ended, to convince himself that he's better off now.
"True story. Many times over. Jus' no' mine, but I saw enough growin' up te know how the story goes. Percy knocked a couple of Mechs up, but tha' was swept under the rug without consequences. The scandal tha' I used protection te be able te safely sleep around, though..."
"If you don't mind me saying so, I really dislike your Sire for the way he treated you for that."
"I've reconciled with it. If it wasn't for tha', I wouldn' be 'ere. I'm with people who like me, an' protect me, an' every time I sleep with one of 'em, it's like a big 'fuck you' te dad, because 'e'd 'ate that I wanna do it with MTOs. An' when the fucking is over, an I get te stay the night in their berths, I know tha' they care. I's in the li'l things with these mechs. They 'ave this thick armor, and ye need te look past it."
Barricade nods slowly.
"It also 'elps tha' my Sire is deactivated." Crosshairs blurts, not sounding sad at all.
"Huh?!" Barricade grunts ineloquently.
"Politician, ye know. Must've made the wrong enemies, because someone took 'im out. Shot 'im in the helm one day when 'e left 'is office. Good riddance."
Chapter Text
"So wha' 'bout you? I know ye were busted fer corruption, but 'ow did tha' appen? Praxys usually seem te 'ave this built in moral compass tha' stops 'em."
"I've never shared the story, and I think I owe it to Jazz to let him be the first to hear it, if you don't mind?"
Crosshairs shrugs. "Sounds like the right way te do it, since the two of ye are a thing."
"Key notes are: my Sire didn't want anything to do with me, and my Carrier bonded with a drunken loser. He beat me, and when I got old enough, he abused me sexually. The Enforcers finally got him, and I was taken out of there, put in boarding school for orphan younglings for the last few months until I graduated and then I got into the academy. My step-sire was never convicted due to lack of evidence of assault, but at least I didn't have to see him again."
"'e's still functioning?"
"As far as I know... I haven't looked him up since I got out. Anyway, I became an Enforcer, and after a while, I became a bit disillusioned about the justice system. I mean, my step-sire got away with what he did to me, and mechs just using a few routers to get through the day were sent away for close to the rest of their functioning on third strike charges? It felt fucked up. So I started taking bribes to look away when someone was risking a disproportionately long sentence."
"This is why I'm no' tha' negative te crooked cops. Ye did 'elp mechs who really 'ad nothin'."
"Yeah, well I wasn't all good about it, though. I was pushy about what I wanted for payment at times, and I got this power trip from being in charge that was kind of abusive, and I didn't even realize it." He admits.
"But ye're no' tha' guy anymore, are ye?"
Barricade snorts. "No, obviously not. It's impossible to remain ignorant about what I was actually doing with the hand fate has dealt me now."
"Then ye deserve another chance in my opinion."
Barricade nods slowly. "Thank you."
"So... prison. Didn' ye find yerself a couple o' ho' lovers te pass the time?" Crosshairs asks conspiratorially.
"I did not. I was put in AdSeg for my own protection, and I stayed in there the whole time. Ex-Enforcers tend to get whacked in gen pop."
"Tha' sucks!"
"Yeah. I met Nitro, though. He was in AdSeg for a while. Offered me to be his and his cellmates' prison conjux. I turned him down."
"Shame. Ye would've 'ad much more fun with 'im, 'e knows 'ow te use 'is equipment. An' Nitro would've been able te pretect ye too, 'e's really vicious in a fight."
"Yeah..." Barricade says, not feeling up to go into the details of why he didn't go along with it.
And after Crosshairs's story, he's really glad he didn't take the offer. Not that he's going to tell Crosshairs though, that would just be insulting.
"Are the new protocols installed fully yet?"
"Yeah."
"Then ye should try them. Te practice fer tonight. Want my 'elp, or ye want te do it yerself? Or maybe get Jazz's 'elp?"
"I'll try them myself." He's had enough of others playing with his aft lately. "Thank you for all your help, though. And the, uhm, demonstration."
"No problems! We 'oes need te stick tegether."
"Yeah..."
"Grab yerself a couple o' toys from the bottom drawer if ye wan'. May come in 'andy when ye practice."
Barricade flushes, but he does see the point, and he crawls off the berth and opens the bottom drawer. It sticks a bit, and when he pulls harder at it, it jostles the entire chest, some of the toys on top of it falling over the edge. Crosshairs snorts a laugh.
"I really need more storage fer those. Take one with a suction cup at the base. Makes it easier te put it on somethin' an' fuckin' yerself on it."
The bottom drawer is full of brand new toys, still in their packaging. Barricade looks through them, reading the labels, trying to figure out what he should get. He settles for a smooth one, purple with black flames, and a suction cup at the base.
"Uhm, I'll take this one. Thanks."
"Good choice, I really like tha' model." Crosshairs smirks.
"Why do you have this if you already have one like it?"
"Extras, of course. If I break one... Or if someone is in dire need to get a toy. If ye ever need somethin', just ask. I might 'ave it."
Of course...
"Good to know. So, I should get going. Thanks a lot."
"'ave fun." Crosshairs smirks, waggling his fingers.
Chapter Text
"Ya've been with Crosshairs?" Jazz asks with an amused smile when he sees the toy Barricade is carrying.
Barricade snorts, looking att the package again. "Is it that obvious?"
"Well, he really is tha go-to guy when in need of toys. N' I don' think ya're tha type ta go out shoppin' for one in some sex store, and then not put it in a bag labeled somethin' else than sex paraphernalia."
"Am I really that much of a prude?"
"Maybe not a prude, but ya're kind of private 'bout it. I think it's cute that ya still get flustered by this n' that."
"How about this for being a not quite prude then: today, I've gotten new protocols for the calipers in my ass. To make me better at taking spike."
Jazz nods approvingly. "That's 'nother step towards liberation; ya're claimin' your sexuality. Good for ya!"
Feels more like shackles and fetters than liberation. He's definitely a pleasurebot now.
Oh, shut up, whiny brat. It's just a mod, and things could be worse. You should try the toy, maybe now it'll be really pleasurable?
"Yeah. You know, Crosshairs and I talked a bit about our past, but I want to tell you first. Not that it excuses the way I treated you, but... I want you to know before anyone else." He plunks down on Jazz's berth, putting the box with the toy on the floor, and he fidgets nervously.
"I'd love ta know if ya wanna tell me. But first, I need ta apologize. I'm sorry I wasn' more careful with ya. I got carried away, because I was... I was so thrilled at toppin' ya like that, n' I got a bit of a power kick. It's tha ugly truth, but tha truth nonetheless. I did need ta get done before work, but that ya finally offered yourself up so completely like that was jus'...It went ta my helm, an' I didn' realize that I hurt ya."
"It wasn't your fault. I mean, I asked you to do it, and I never told you to stop, so how would you know?"
"Maybe, but still... I've been forced ta do stuff, I should know when things go overboard. I should've noticed."
"It wasn't good, I won't lie about that, but none of us were communicating properly. I don't hold it against you."
"I'm glad ya don't, but I didn' want ta hurt ya back, n' I really want ya ta know that."
"Your apology is accepted, and I really don't blame you."
"Thank you!" Jazz tackles him, and they land stretched out on the berth. "Now I wanna hear 'bout li'l Cade."
Chapter Text
Barricade has told Jazz about what happened when he grew up, and they lay silently for a while, Jazz atill snuggling up to him.
"Ye know, I can see why ya fell inta your bad habits, why that power went ta you helm. Ta finally be in control after having had none. It's not an excuse, but I get it. N' ya're tryin' ta be better now that ya've realized, n' that's what's important ta me."
"I can't thank you enough for giving me a new chance. I mean, when I showed up straight out of prison, you could've just turned me away, and you didn't. And then I fucked up over and over, and was such an insensitive asshole, and still you gave me more chances."
"I like ye a lot, Barricade. I want ya around, n' I know ya can be better than ya were before, that ya're a good person. I've seen glimpses of it way back, when I figured out that ya like me."
"Yeah, well I've not been very grateful for your patience, while I'm trying to adapt to everything, but I always sort of defined myself by my work, and now that I'm not an Enforcer anymore, then who am I? You know, I need to redefine myself completely. How did you accept yourself as 'Jazz, the pleasurebot'?"
"Well, 'Jazz, the waif', n' 'Jazz, the juvenile delinquent' wasn' exactly any better, and I don't define myself by something as simple as tha way I make a livin'. I'm much more than that."
It's actually a much healthier way of reasoning than defining himself by something as flimsy as a profession. He could've been laid off for simpler reasons than he was, or even damaged in the line of duty, forcing him to switch careers. He really should be more than a job.
"So, Jazz the waif?"
"My carrier got himself a new mech n' wanned ta get rid of all tha reminders of his old life. That included me, so he kicked me out. I got by through stealin' fuel, n' scrap mechs had left unattended, n' hustlin' it. Hadn't been upgraded ta a frame with an array yet, I was so young, so when this old dude asked for a handjob, I didn' really understand what I was doin', but he gave me more money than I had ever seen. It was a little weird, but it was the easiest money I'd ever gotten. I almost popped my tank, I bought so much fuel n' jus' gorged that night."
Barricade's spark feels cold in his chest as Jazz reveals his horrible past. For all the crap he lived through, at least he was spared until he was old enough to be considered physically mature, and he always had a roof over his helm.
"I did try ta sell that, but a lot of mechs were really outraged when I tried offerin' that service." Jazz laughs. "I understand why now, I mean, I was a sparkling. But I didn' even understand why grown ups had an array n' I didn', n' I didn' get why what I was doin' was so upsettin'. Got more careful though, a lot of people were contacting social services when I offered, n' they came runnin', lookin' for me. I realized that I had to learn to spot the creeps who might be interested in my services, though. In the meantime, I tried my servo at robbin' people. I wasn' very good at that, it was a disaster. I mean, I was even smaller than I am now, so it was risky. Got beat up more than once, n' chased 'round the neighborhood on foot as I didn' have an alt mode yet."
"Couldn't you've gotten help? I mean, get placed somewhere? I was sent to boarding school to finish when my step-sire was finally found out, I didn't need to go into foster care..." Barricade asks, still cringing inwardly about the way Jazz had made money back then, and the disgusting creeps that didn't hesitate to take advantage of someone in such a vulnerable position.
Notes:
Some wonderful art inspired by this fic has seen the light!
https://twitter.com/Challengergirl9/status/1260982411531337728?s=19
https://twitter.com/Zippy_Blurr/status/1261111271577042945?s=19
Chapter 246
Notes:
Mentions of underage in this chapter.
Chapter Text
"I was sent inta foster care a bunch'a times when I was younger, but I really didn' like it, so I tried my damnedest ta not go inta foster again. I mean, some of 'em were pretty nice n' all, but I was always tha outsider. N' some were not nice at all, jus' in it for tha creds."
"Did you even get to finish school?" Barricade asks, because he suddenly realizes how hard it would be for Jazz to ever get into society if he didn't.
"Nah. Was close ta catchin' up when I was in juvie, but my sentence was up, n' I dropped out again when I got out."
"How did you wind up in juvie?"
"One night — I was short on cash as usual, n' I had started ta smoke some pot when I could get my servos on it, so I really wanted a hit — I spotted this creep lurking around, noticed tha way he looked at me, so I thought 'easy money', right? Well, I was fuckin' wrong. Turns out he was an undercover cop, and that's how I got my stint in juvie. It did not help that I was identified by a witness for a robbery too. So I went in there. Then when I got out, I was sent inta foster care, but I split at the first chance I got."
"Had you been upgraded by then?"
"Nah, n' that became an issue pretty soon after, because I was good at keepin' away from the authorities, but that also kept me away from getting a welfare reformat. I didn' wanna go back ta foster care though, so I kept away. My platin' was nowhere near big enough, n' I looked a ridiculous mess — not ta mention that it was startin' ta hurt — when a mech took pity on me. Offered me a reformat n' a place ta stay in exchange of certain services."
Barricade swallows queasily. "What kind of services?" He asks flatly, because he can guess where this is going.
"Started with tha odd handjob while I was still in my kid frame, waitin' for tha upgrades ta be made. It took some time ta have it delivered. N' then, when tha reformat was done, n' I was legal, he wanted interfacin' too, of course."
Barricade makes a face.
"It wasn' that bad. I mean, he was kind of gentle, never hurt me, n' he made it pleasurable for me too when we faced. He had a pretty nice apartment, n' kept me well fueled. It was the best livin' conditions I'd ever had as a free mech up until then — n' more comfy, n' better fuel than juvie — Nmn' he didn' really ask for that much interfacin'. A couple'a times per week. I think he mostly wanned company."
"He was still breaking the law when it started, you were underage. And even if you were legal as soon as you were upgraded, it still wasn't right. I mean, I understand why you did what you did, but I hate that you had to make those choices to get your reformat and everything to begin with."
"Yeah, but it's in tha past, no point in dwellin' on it, because it won't change anythin'. The mech was old, n' had some health issues, so he had a spark attack n' deactivated, n' I couldn' get the lease on the apartment, 'cause I was still not an adult. I had ta leave, or I'd go back inta foster care. Maybe at my age, I would've been placed in a boarding school like you until I was an adult, but I thought I'd go into home fostering again. I really didn' wanna try another family. So I started hookin', because it was the easiest way I knew ta get enough money ta live in motels n' stuff. Pity he didn' live until I was an adult, I might've gotten his apartment."
Chapter Text
Barricade doesn't know what to say.
Jazz's childhood really was a mess, but his lover seems to honestly have gotten over it. Or he doesn't realize exactly how fucked up it was, desensitized by the way he lived. And later parts of Jazz's life have been far worse, so it isn't strange if the distant memories of this are played down by the fresher trauma. He isn't going to dig further into it, because what would he gain from potentially reminding Jazz of how bad it was at the time? Absolutely nothing.
"Thank you for sharing this with me. You know, I always thought that just because I managed to get out of the situation I was in and get myself an education and a good job, so could everyone else, if they just applied themselves and worked hard. I guess that's why I was always so judgemental. I never thought of how many things could go wrong, or how bad the odds could be. I was lucky to get out when I did, and that was what got me on the right track and kick-started me to get a career. Look how I screwed that up. I was given an opportunity many would've wanted, and I blew it."
"Ya did start out by helping those who needed it, though, with good intentions. Ya jus' took it too far. But then again, I probably wouldn' have met ya if ya didn'..."
"I guess... Well, at least I'm getting to see things from a new perspective now. But you were in your adult frame when I met you. How did you get that upgrade? I remember how hard it was for you to get enough to pay for fuel and a place to stay."
Jazz smirks. "When I came ta tha point I was needin' my reformat, I went ta one of tha free clinics, thought I could mooch it for a bargain prize, n' some regular fuckin'. So I waltzed inta Ratchet's clinic, n' was completely turned down on tha facin' bit. He was smart, though, because of course he appealed for charity components, and since I became an adult with tha reformat, I didn' need ta go back inta foster care when it was done, n' didn' need ta be worried 'bout social services ta come hunt me down. That's why I had that hideous alt mode back then, though. At least it was free."
"I think you were kind of cute..." Barricade teases.
"Shut up! I was boxy, n' slow." Jazz laughs.
"And this frame?"
"Hide paid for it. He's pretty generous ta those who deserve it. And it's a win-win situation, 'cause I'm definitely easier on tha brothers' optics now." Jazz says, wiggling his decidedly hot little frame.
Because everything is always about them, isn't it?
"Dreadbot is more scary than cute, though..." Barricade notes.
And that's something he doesn't really understand, especially if Hide pays for mods and reformats for his mechs if it makes them prettier. Why would they even want to get him into the stable in the first place with looks like that.
Something passes across Jazz's face-plates, and Barricade thinks it's dismay, or maybe pity. "Dreadbot's road here wasn' pretty. I mean, ta me, what Hide offered seemed like a blessin', but for Dreadbot... he wound up here through a mess of hurt feelings, betrayal, fear n' desperation, n' things were very different when he bumped inta tha brothers tha first time. It's his story ta tell, but there's a reason why he looks tha way he does, n' has that alt mode."
Barricade nods and doesn't push for more, even if he's even more curious now. He hasn't seen Dreadbot in his alt mode either.
Maybe he'll ask Dreadbot about it some day. The way the pleasurebots are protective of each other is very endearing, though.
"So, ya want help gettin' used ta your new mod?"
He was planning on doing it alone, because he's still not entirely comfortable with it. But then again, this is Jazz...
"Sure, if you're up for it."
"Ya bet! I'll be better this time, tho."
Chapter Text
Barricade rolls over on his front, opening the control protocols.
It's odd, feels kind of like a business arrangement to just roll over and get prepared instead of doing some foreplay.
He just wants to get it over with, though, so foreplay feels redundant.
And he should be able to go immediately with this new mod, so he might as well learn to just get going for the occasion when that will be required. Ugh.
He hears when Jazz slicks his spike with lubricant, and Barricade arches his back, tilting his hips to give better access.
"If it's uncomfortable, ya tell me, right? I don' wanna hurt ya."
"Yes, I will tell you. It should be fine though. Maybe go slow? So I have time to get the settings right."
What a fucking discussion to have.
He feels the head of Jazz's spike against the opening, and he initiates the calipers to open up.
"Ehm, I'm flattered ya think I'm that big, but... I have the head inside ya now."
He has opened too much, he can't even feel Jazz.
Barricade flushes at the mental image of his aft gaping around Jazz's spike. He makes his calipers clench.
"Are ya try'na strangle li'l Jazz? Pit, that is tight." Jazz groans.
"Sorry!"
Barricade flicks through the settings, finding that he can preset a pressure of his choice.
"Tell me when it feels good." He says, slowly loosening up again.
"Ah, there! Fuck, ya feel good like this!" Jazz moans.
Barricade saves the pressure setting and engages the automatic control that'll keep the pressure constant even when Jazz starts to move. He marks the setting with 'Jazz' for future use, then he does a mental cringe.
For the next time Jazz wants to fuck him in the ass. As if he wants this to happen again.
Might as well be prepared for your lover when you let others fuck you like that.
"I'll start ta move now, if that's ok."
"It's fine."
What can he say, really? He wants it over with, but it's also a matter of trial and error, because he has no idea how to do this the best way.
Jazz starts to roll his hips slowly, deep languorous thrusts that allows Barricade's new protocols to perfectly calibrate the calipers.
It feels good, better than he really wants it to feel. He doesn't want to be like that, doesn't want to like this, but the automatic protocols he's running have removed all the discomfort, and that leaves his sensory network free to focus on the pleasure.
And is there pleasure!
The slow slide of Jazz's spike against all the nodes in his port has his charge skyrocketing, and it doesn't take long for Barricade to become a moaning, squirming mess.
"Wan' me ta stroke your spike while I fuck ya?"
"Please!"
Barricade lifts his hips from the mattress to give Jazz access, his spike pressurizing into Jazz's waiting servo. Barricade's hips jerk, bucking into that hand, and then he pulls back, meeting Jazz's thrust, and it's so much sensation, much more than he expected.
"I'm close." He grinds out.
"Cum when ya want." Jazz pants. "I'm so fuckin' close too."
Barricade starts rutting into Jazz's servo, meeting the the thrusts into his aft every time he pulls back, and it's not even a minute before he falls over the edge, transfluid spilling through Jazz's digits onto the covers of the berth.
Chapter Text
Jazz has the courtesy to pull out when he overloads, sticky ropes of transfluid painting the plating on Barricade's aft, then he topples over, landing stretched out next to Barricade.
"Yeah, tha' was good. Better than tha last time." Jazz says.
"Definitely better." Barricade agrees, even if he's still ambivalent about liking it in the first place.
And then there's the next feature of the mod he needs to try, and suddenly he remembers that it's one of the reasons he planned to try this by himself.
Burying his face in the pillows, flushing furiously, he reaches back and slips a digit into his aft. It hasn't closed fully, still adjusted to accommodate Jazz's spike. Barricade stops the sequence that's now labeled 'Jazz' and initiates the protocols that's for when he isn't facing. His port closes around his digit, quickly going back to what he supposes is the normal tightness it had when he was still a virgin back there.
It's not like he fiddled back there before, so he can't be sure.
"All good?" Jazz asks.
"Yeah, just making sure the closing protocols work." Barricade says, flushing again when he pulls his finger out of his ass.
"Lemme try."
Barricade makes an unintelligible whine, because he isn't keen on having anyone poking around there, even if it's Jazz.
Especially not now, when he has gotten mods to not even need foreplay.
But it's more pleasurable now... Maybe you'll enjoy the fingering even more?
Shut up!
"Come on! I wanna see if it's a mod I should get too. I don' really think it's tha' uncomfortable ta take it like that anymore, but if it makes thing even more efficient, it might be worth it."
"Fine."
There's still a little slick left, so Jazz's digit slips inside smoothly, even if Barricade definitely has tightened up.
"Yeah, you're good n' tight again. Think I might get me this mod. Would be nice ta be this tight again even when someone has knotted me."
That's an experience Barricade hopes he can somehow get out of gaining, but then he really need to get on with finding a different job.
At least you have the proper mods for trying that now.
Ugh.
"Come on, let's go have a shower. Ya're a mess."
It's true. Barricade reluctantly gets up from his position, wiping the worst of the stickiness from his plating with the sheet. He brings the sheet with him, because there's a washing machine in the washracks, and since he shot his load all over Jazz's bedding the least he can do is wash it for him.
"Hey, ya forgot your toy!"
It's not like he needs it now, Jazz has helped him out with the testing, but it would be kind of rude to leave his things laying around in Jazz's room, so he grabs it anyway, then they head off to the washracks.
Chapter 250
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They help each other clean up, and even if they kiss — slow and sweet, in a way he's still not used to, but is definitely becoming one of his favorite things — it doesn't derail into fucking. Barricade really savors the moment, because it feels so intimate, and it's something he wants more of, what he was looking for way back when they met, even if he didn't know it at the time.
But eventually they have to part, because they're both expected elsewhere, for the kind of fucking that's the opposite of making love. They dry themselves in silence, content to be together, and then they share one last kiss before Jazz heads out into the street, and Barricade goes upstairs to wait for Ironhide to get back from wherever he has been.
Barricade carries the toy in his servo through the house — the package is too big to fit in his subspace pockets — and he doesn't miss the leering quirk of Nitro's optical ridge when the Flier spots what he's carrying. Barricade just rolls his optics and heads upstairs.
Horny bastard.
He enters Hide's room, and then he comes to a halt just inside the door, spark suddenly dropping.
Where the hell is he going to put that toy?! It's not like he has a storage unit of his own; he hasn't had anything to store up until now, so he didn't even consider it. He could try to hide the toy, but how mortifying wouldn't it be when Ironhide finds it? Because Hide would find it, there's no way he could get away with this, he has no luck whatsoever.
Barricade stares at the box with the thing inside.
Crosshairs had his toys all over the place, but he isn't Crosshairs, and this isn't his room.
The toy is smaller than the package, maybe it could fit in your subspace if you take it out?
It's not like he can come up with a better option, so Barricade tears the box open and pulls the thing out, staring at it with a mix of fascination and disgust. It's made of some semi-wobbly gel material, smooth to the touch. He shakes it experimentally, and it wiggles in the air.
Well, he doesn't have many options.
It fits inside the pocket high up on his side, and it's a relief when the pocket shuts, and it's like he has never had a sex toy in the first place.
At least until someone scans him for some reason.
The box, he throws down the trash shute to the incinerator. Feeling much calmer now that he has disposed of the evidence, he stretches out on the berth, trying and failing to forget that his mods are going to be put to good use again soon.
They did seem to work, though, spared him from discomfort. But Hide is definitely bigger than Jazz, and he hasn't really learned all the settings available through the new protocols yet, so what if he doesn't succeed with using them right? Maybe it'll be even worse?
He opens the program again to play around with the settings, trying to figure out where he can find them when he needs them at a moment's notice. Barricade can feel his port loosening and tightening up repeatedly as he changes the settings, but he doesn't have any reference point, so it's haphazard at best.
The dildo in his subspace. He could try it with that. Just to get a feel for what he can do with the protocols... It was a bit rushed with Jazz — because he wanted to get it over with, and is still a bit embarrassed about it all — and scrolling all the settings, he can see that there's many more options than those he used...
Notes:
250 chapters! I can't believe I'm this far into it already. So much plot to be written now, if things don't derail into month-long porn scenes frequently. XD
Chapter Text
Crosshairs was right: it is much easier with a toy with a suction cup.
At first, Barricade tries putting it on the bathroom floor, the tiles giving a good surface to stick it to. It bobs obscenely where it stands, and Barricade makes a face at it, but then he mechs up and grabs the lube, stroking it a few times to slick it.
You're getting very good at that. Very handy!
Shut up.
He kneels over the shiny length, slowly sinking down until it presses against his aft. Barricade hasn't adjusted any of the settings yet, and his port is still tight. The pressure is uncomfortable.
Automatic settings would probably be a good way to start, but that means he has to know the circumference of whatever he's about to take.
Planning on taking others than Jazz and Ironhide, are we?
No! Just... Precautions. If Hide wants to bring toys and hookers again.
Mhm.
Ignoring the unsettling realization that maybe he is taking precautions to be able to take different cocks up the ass, Barricade starts to go through all the different variables and settings.
It does seem ungainly to figure out the circumference for every new mech, there has to be simpler automatization than that. Maybe just go from Jazz preference with the pressure and adjust size until it feels good even if someone is thicker?
Barricade tries to guesstimate the circumference of the toy, as a good optic measure would be helpful, then he sinks down on it. Easily.
Apparently, he has a tendency to overestimate the size of his partner. At least that could be considered flattering.
Then the toy hits that spot inside him, and his hips jerk of their own accord. The hydraulics of his right leg protest against the awkward position, and the strain it puts on them. He quickly lifts off the toy to keep the pistons from overheating and getting stuck.
Frag. He really needs to figure this out before Hide shows up, or it's going to be really awkward.
Stick it to the wall in the shower and fuck yourself on it. You know, turbo hound-style.
Why has his life come to these considerations?
But then he thinks about the shower he just had with Jazz, and how he wouldn't have that if he hadn't been taken in here.
He just has to stay long enough that he can get them both out, so they can have a better life together.
Yes, and right now, that means you've got to satisfy the pimp, which means you need to get to know those protocols down to a T before he shows up.
He pulls the toy from the floor and sticks it to the glass wall at the entrance of the shower, starting the water.
Might as well get a little steam and heat in there to help him relax.
Barricade pours lube on his digits, pushing them inside to slick up his hole, on case the water has washed some of the slick already on the toy away, and he gets into position in front of the thing.
Sensor connected automatic pressure control. Sounds about right.
For long seconds, the protocols boot and connect to the sensors in his port, calibrating, and it feels weird — a tingling sensation as all the sensors are tested one by one, and minuscule twitches of the calipers — then he gets a pop-up in his HUD that the systems are ready to go.
He rocks back, the toy sliding smoothly into him, lighting up the sensors that seem to be ramped up to the most sensitive setting, and he's hard pressed to focus on adjusting the pressure of the calipers. Tighter means firmer pressure against his sensors, but too much equals discomfort. He tries loosening up as an experiment, but that almost tickles, in a very teasing way.
Oh, he can dial down the sensitivity a bit too, that's neat. It's not like he wants to overload every twenty seconds from this.
He plays with the adjustments back and forth to try it out, rocking against the toy.
"Well isn't this a nice little surprise to find in the shower?"
Chapter 252
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He squeaks and throws himself forward, landing sprawled on his front in the thankfully good-sized shower, all too aware of his aft still being in Ironhide's line of sight.
And he isn't sure if those settings will make him close up or not!
Barricade rolls over on his back to meet the big mech's optics, just to also meet the taunting bobbing of the dildo still attached to the glass wall separating him from Hide.
What the fuck was he thinking?!
"Don't feel obligated to stop for my sake. I love a good show as much as anyone, and your aft is a pretty view in itself."
"I-I...uhm... I was just..."
Well, it's fairly obvious what he was doing, and apparently, Ironhide doesn't object at all, but he has never been much of a masturbator, and whenever he did, it was kept to a quick jerk off, in private, and this is just...
"Fucking yourself in the ass on a dildo. Yes, I did notice. Kind of hard to miss, actually." Ironhide's intake pulls into that lascivious grin of his, and he quirks an optical ridge.
Barricade feels his face flush, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't move, because he really doesn't know what to say or do.
"I reckon you talked to Cross."
"I...yes, I did."
"Feels better?"
Of course he'd know. Crosshairs probably relayed everything said and done immediately. Considering the long history between the two, why wouldn't he?
Barricade can't even be annoyed about it, because logically, there's probably more to being at the top of the hierarchy of the hookers than just being good at spreading his legs, and Ironhide certainly seems like the type who'd rely on intel, and hate surprises.
But right now, his biggest problems are a leering Topkick, a still jiggling dildo, and the charge that's still running through his systems in spite of everything.
"So far, it seems to work well." Barricade answers in a strained voice, flushing again.
"Mhm." Ironhide's optics slither over his entire frame. "I'm not the kind to waste an opportunity when I see one. I mean; the shower is already hot, you're already hot, I'm in need of a shower and good lay, and I'm going to fuck you tonight anyway..."
Then he opens the glass door, stepping inside to join Barricade. He towers over the Saleen, who's still sprawled on the floor.
"Good thing you're cute when you're too flustered to move, considering how often you are. Come on," Ironhide says, stretching a servo out for Barricade to take, "I can't imagine I made your legs glitch with my mere presence."
Barricade hesitates for long seconds, but then he grabs that servo and is hoisted to his pedes.
Notes:
Forgot to mention yesterday that this series has been expanded with another tiny piece. It's called insubordination, and it's a snippet of Ironhide's life before he got to be a gang boss.
Chapter Text
Ironhide's servos roam his frame as the big mech presses up against him, and it's a rather familiar feeling by now. Then he's suddenly spun around and his front is pushed against the wall, a big servo stroking his aft before two digits slip into his port.
"Tight, but still pliable, and so slick..." Ironhide groans.
It's kind of odd how he isn't offended by the handling, or the comments, like he used to be.
You're learning, accepting your new station.
It's just temporary. Shut up.
"You're so short..." Ironhide kind of grouses, his spike rubbing against Barricade's lower back when he grinds forward for emphasis.
"Maybe you should have a ladder in here for me to stand on then, big Bot?" Barricade quips, before snapping his intake shut in surprise at his own bold joking.
Ironhide barks a laugh though, clearly amused by Barricade's snarky sass.
"No need. You ain't tall, but you're not heavy either."
Ironhide grabs his hips, and easily lifts Barricade. The Saleen braces his lower arms against the wall, pedes dangling in the air. Then Ironhide's spike nudges his port and slips inside easily.
The sensors light up again with the stimulation, and he sees in the gauges in his HUD how the program adjusts the calipers to accommodate the thicker intrusion. The lack of discomfort is novel, and very welcome, and he lets out a low moan as the thick length slides over the sensitive nodes inside him when Ironhide starts to fuck him with long, powerful thrusts.
"Touch your valve." Ironhide grunts.
Barricade glances I've his shoulder, but the big mech doesn't notice, occupied with staring down at where his spike slides in and out of Barricade's aft. He reaches between his legs with one servo, still leaning the other arm against the wall for support, and slides a digit through the wet slit.
"See what a bad little bot you are? Valve all empty and drooling because you're being fucked in the aft instead." Ironhide rumbles in his audial, pressing his front against Barricade's back as he leans closer. "Mh, yes, such a naughty little mech."
"Yes?"
Dirty talk isn't really his thing, but at least this isn't degrading.
Well, it's true at least; you really are a bad bot, or you wouldn't be in this situation in the first place, now would you?
Not the same thing.
Let's just stick to your empty pussy and your really full ass then.
Ironhide pulls him back to meet the next thrust, changing the angle to his that sensitive spot inside Barricade, and the Interceptor mewls loudly, in spite of being forced to yank his servo from his array to stop himself from faceplanting against the wall.
"Would you come from just this, or do you need to flick your node too?"
"I-I I think I can overload from just this?"
It certainly feels that way, at least if Ironhide isn't about to overload in the next few thrusts.
"Let's try, shall we?"
"Yes!" Barricade hisses when Ironhide thrust into him again.
He dials up the sensitivity another few steps, arching his back to give Ironhide better access.
Ironhide increases the pace, pelvic plating clanging against Barricade's aft with every thrust, and Barricade can't control the moans leaving him every time Ironhide surges forward.
"You like that, don't you?" Ironhide grunts.
He does. He shouldn't, but he really does.
Just enjoy it. Pleasure certainly isn't something to mope about.
"Yes!"
Ironhide chuckles and there's a thread of smugness weaving through his field, but he increases the pace even more.
Barricade overloads hard, the calipers in his aft clenching with the same pulsing rhythm his valve does. His digits scrabble against the wall, and his vocalizer makes an undignified squeal. Ironhide follows him over with a grunt, and with the sensitivity amped up, Barricade can feel the hot transfluid spilling inside him, pooling around the thick spike to stretch him even more.
Ironhide pulls out, putting Barricade back on the floor, steadying him until he's certain that the Saleen can stand of his own power. Barricade rests his face against his lower arms, leaning against the wall. He hears Ironhide doing something but he doesn't look.
Then something slips into his aft, and Barricade whips his helm around. Ironhide grins unrepentantly, pulling the toy out of Barricade to hold it up to show him.
"You tighten up quickly: this still fits!"
Barricade can't help himself, he reaches back, touching his port to test it, then he flushes when Ironhide's grin widens.
He's closed, not gaping open.
His relief is short lived.
Ironhide's cum is still inside him. He needs to get it out.
Ironhide hands him the toy and steps under the stream of water, grabbing a bottle of solvent.
He could just turn around, and then open the calipers to let it dribble out and hope Hide doesn't notice.
Fat chance that he won't, especially with you flushing just thinking about it. He did enjoy seeing your port drool his cum, and he just handed you the toy. Put on a show with it. It's not like he hasn't seen it before. Through the glass wall.
Barricade flushes furiously.
Fuck his functioning. In the ass. With a dildo.
"So, big Bot, do you want me to continue the show?" Barricade tries to purr seductively, even if he thinks he sounds ridiculous.
Ironhide's smirk is answer enough, so Barricade buries his face-plates in the crook of his arm, still braced against the wall, and with his other servo, he lines up the toy and slides it into his still slick port, adjusting the settings to allow the cum inside him to dribble out everytime he pulls the toy out.
Chapter Text
The berth is empty when he wakes up, but he's used to that by now; Ironhide is always up before him. Barricade takes a quick shower before he heads for the refueling room.
It's not unusual that he finds other mechs there, having morning energon, but it's the first time Ironhide is present. He's sitting on a bar stool, leaning against the countertop, and Crosshairs is perched on his lap.
"Morning." Barricade says, walking to the energon heater, trying to covertly stare at them.
"Morning." Everyone present says in unison.
"Ye should try this one." Crosshairs says, grabbing a gel from the plate on the counter behind Ironhide.
"Oh, yeah?" Hide says amusedly, raising an optical ridge.
Crosshairs nods and pops it into his intake, pulling his lip-plates back to show that he's squeezing it against the roof of his intake with his glossa, then he sticks his glossa out.
Ironhide grins, then he sucks Crosshairs's glossa into his mouth. The kiss heats up instantly, with a big servo slowly stroking Crosshairs side, thumbs dipping between plating. Crosshairs presses his chest against Ironhide, moaning into his mouth.
Barricade's array is heating up, because it's a sensual, rather intimate display, and it is so different from what he's used to witnessing here.
They finally break apart, Ironhide pressing his lip-plates against Crosshairs's before pulling back.
"It's good, though everything tastes good on you."
"Yeh? Then try this one."
Crosshairs grabs a gel in a different color and repeats the procedure, and what really strikes Barricade is the indulgence Ironhide looks at Crosshairs with, and how genuinely happy they both seem. There's something different in the way they interact that Barricade hasn't seen before, and it blurs the line from pimp/whore, or perhaps employer/employee, to what seems more like good friends with benefits.
"Why don't we ever do that? I want to do that too!" Nitro Zeus almost whines to Dreadbot.
"Because you haven't deserved it, you mech-whore." Dreadbot quips, rolling all of his optics out of sync.
Nitro somehow manages to convey a pout even though his intake configuration can't really pull one off.
"Besides, look at us both. It would be tongue licking, and at best tongue fucking each other's intake, and we'd be lucky if we didn't cut up our glossas on our denta."
"You can reshape yours, and I don't mind tongue fucking your mouth."
"Dreadbot an' Nitro, sittin' in a tree..." Crosshairs sings.
"Shut up and keep kissing me." Ironhide growls playfully, pulling him back in to get his will.
"We can try it tonight, I don't want you slobbering all over me now that I just showered." Dreadbot snarks.
Nitro Zeus suddenly pounces on the smaller mech, licking a very wet line across his face-plates.
"Hey, what the... Bastard!" Dreadbot growls as threateningly as someone being held in place and repeatedly licked — like a turbo kitten getting a cleaning from it's mother — can.
Nitro let's him go, smirking smugly. "So, what are you going to do about that?"
"I will find a way to make you pay. You just wait and see..."
"I don't even know if that's a threat or a promise."
Chapter Text
"I should take a vacation. Bring you with me and go somewhere. Just drinking, and relaxing, and fucking. Blow off some steam." Ironhide says to Crosshairs. "Some nice hotel, with room service, so we don't need to leave the room if I don't want to."
"Sounds nice, but I think Nitro would be jealous." Crosshairs says, stroking Ironhide's chest-plates.
"I'm sure Dreadbot can keep him occupied."
"This is not fair! You get a working vacation, and I just get more work?" Dreadbot grumbles, still wiping his face with a rag.
"So, get Nitro te take ye somewhere!" Crosshairs says cheerily.
"You know what a cheap ass he is."
Ironhide snorts. "Don't we all?"
"I'll take you anyway you want, babe." Nitro leers, putting an arm across Dreadbot's shoulders.
"You better..."
"Ye know wha' would be fun though, an' would benefi' everyone 'ere?"
"I can think of a lot of things." Ironhide mumbles against Crosshairs's neck-cables.
"I want te go shootin'. Please, Daddy? Can' we hit the range some day?"
"Yeah, please, Daddy." Dreadbot chimes in.
"I want to shoot too, Daddy." Knock Out agrees.
"Daddy, don't forget me! I wanna blow some shit up too." Jazz adds as he enters, catching the tail end of the conversation.
"Alright, alright! I'll look into it. Stop making me feel old." Ironhide grumbles, but he sounds more fondly exasperated than truly annoyed.
"Ye are old."
"I'm the same age as Knockie!"
"Yeh, but 'e was still piddlin' 'is panel, trundlin' 'round 'is playpen when ye were already out shootin' stuff."
Ironhide glares at Crosshairs, but then he cracks up and shakes his helm before pressing a kiss to Crosshairs audial.
"So... I want to go shooting too, D..." Nitro Zeus starts to speak, but Ironhide interrupts him.
"You better not finish that sentence, or I'm going to shove my cannon up your ass."
Nitro cocks his helm, looking at Ironhide's arm, then he turns to look at his own aft over his shoulder.
"Oh, Prez, you really do love me after all..." He moans exaggeratedly, leaning his elbows against the counter, sticking his aft out.
Ironhide rolls his optics.
"Hide? Should I?" Dreadbot asks, twirling the rag in the air.
"Please do." Ironhide says, nodding.
Dreadbot slaps Nitro across the aft, managing to hit protoform through a seam in Nitro's plating. The big mech flies up from his pose, howling in pain, and everyone starts laughing.
"That's it!" Nitro growls, throwing Dreadbot over his shoulder, heading for the door.
"You said anyway I want. Babe." Dreadbot laughs.
"I say a lot of things..."
"Yeah, you really do need to learn how to keep your big vocalizer shut." Dreadbot quips
"I agree with Dreadbot! On both accounts!" Ironhide shouts after them.
The door slams shut behind them.
"It really would be fun te go shootin', though..." Crosshairs says.
"I'll arrange something, sweetie."
Chapter Text
Jazz wraps his arms around Barricade, pressing a kiss to the Mustang's neck-cables.
"Mornin', babe. Did yer new mod work well?" He murmurs to keep the conversation fairly private.
"Yeah. All the difference."
He's not ready to admit — not even to himself to be honest — that it was quite pleasurable, now that he was able to accommodate Hide's spike easily. And he certainly isn't keen on going into the details about how the deed was done. What was he thinking with the glass wall?
"Huh. Maybe I should get that mod too..." Jazz muses, not noticing the way Barricade flushes, and it's a welcome distraction.
"Don't you feel... like, loose afterwards? I mean, since you don't have it..."
What a fucking conversation to have over breakfast.
"Maybe sometimes? I guess I'm used ta that too, I don' really think 'bout it." Jazz giggles.
Ugh. Time to change subject.
"So, you want to do something today? Just the two of us."
Not that he knows what, because he has no credits, and he'd really like to take Jazz to lunch or something. Maybe find a park to take a walk in, or something else that's free?
"Sounds fun. Wanna go for hot energon, n' a movie?" Jazz asks.
"I... I'd love to, but I have no credits, and I've already been enough of a financial burden for you..."
"Here." Ironhide interrupts Barricade, and the Saleen turns around, just in time to catch a credit chip thrown his way.
"My treat."
Barricade gapes at the chip, because he wasn't prepared for the sudden generosity.
"Thank you, Hide. Thank you so much!" He says, as soon as he snaps out of his stupor.
"You've earned it." Ironhide says, then he grins at Crosshairs. "And you have put me in a very good mood, darling. I think I'm going to dunk you in the oil jacuzzi and ravage you all day long." He grinds up against Crosshairs to emphasize his good mood, leering lasciviously.
"'ow 'bout ye make sweet love te me?" Crosshairs answers cheekily.
"That what you want?" Ironhide asks, standing from his seat, carrying Crosshairs as if he weighs nothing.
"Maybe?" Crosshairs says, suddenly sounding insecure.
"Any way you want, sweetspark." Ironhide says, pressing a kiss to Crosshairs's helm. "You two, have fun. Jazz, check in with Nitro where you go."
"Sir, yes, Sir!" Jazz says, making a sloppy salute.
Crosshairs snorts a laugh, and Ironhide offlines one of his optics in a wink to Jazz, then the door shuts behind them, and Jazz, and Barricade, and Knock Out are the only ones left in the kitchen.
"You know any good energon shops?" Barricade asks Jazz.
"I do. Let's go, we can check what movies are on when were there." Jazz says, lacing their digits.
"The two of you are so darn cute." Knock Out says, smirking at them. "Have fun, I'll see you tonight."
"You have a nice day too." Barricade says, a warm feeling in his chest.
They look cute together, and Jazz is holding his servo, and they kind of have a date...
Chapter 257
Notes:
Art! Lovely Barricade. <3 https://twitter.com/Challengergirl9/status/1265443007005941765?s=19
Chapter Text
Jazz leads the way to a nice little energon shop — not one of the new, big chains that keep popping up new spots everywhere in the better neighborhoods, but a rather bohemic little place, with mismatched furniture that all have pricetags, and cubes and plates that doesn't really go together — and they sink into comfortably worn chairs.
"Everythin' here is for sale, n' I'm lookin' for a small table ta put next ta my berth." Jazz says.
"So it's kind of like a thrift store too?"
"Yeah, I've bought my carpet here. Sometimes, they have some really nice things."
Barricade nods, taking another look around the room. It suddenly feels a bit awkward, like a first date, and he doesn't know what to say. It's kind of weird to be speechless, considering the topics they've been talking about lately — not to think of what they've done — but they never did this before, so it really kind of is their first date.
"So, this is where you go in your spare time? Are there any other fun things to do around here?" He tries for a conversation starter, because he really doesn't know what Jazz does when he's off the clock, and he isn't hanging out in his room with Barricade.
"Yeah, we all come here now n' then. Grab a snack n' hang out for a bit. There's a detailin' shop 'round tha corner that's not too pricey, but don' tell Knock Out I said so. He's better with the polish, n' he does it for free for all of us, but they have this deep cleanin' offer that's more of a massage, n' it's so relaxin'."
It sounds divine.
"Maybe we can go there sometime. When I'm making some money..."
Which right now would mean that he needs to sleep with more mechs than Hide, so hopefully not in the nearest future.
"Sounds like a plan." Jazz grins.
They lapse into silence, and Barricade tries to not think about making money.
"What kind of movie do you want to see?" He asks to distract himself, scrolling the list of movies available at the moment.
"Not 'pretty mech' or somethin' like that, that's for sure." Jazz chuckles.
"Primus, no! And please, not something about crooked cops."
Jazz smirks. "How 'bout a thriller 'bout tha underground racin' circuit?"
"I like the sound of that!"
"Drive-by-wire is one of few two-wheelers that has qualified to the cup-race on the illegal gravel circuit. A lot of credits are at stake, but the four-wheelers doesn't like the competition from the smaller mechs. Drive-by-wire never cared, but then one of the other two-wheelers disappears without a trace, just to turn up deactivated a week later."
Barricade finds the trailer for the movie, and it does seem like the stereotype action movie, with tire squealing, fist fights, and a dusting of sexual tension.
"Let's see that one."
"It starts soon, we better hurry. I need ta buy pops, n' tha line is always so long!"
"Maybe you can ask Crosshairs to make some and deliver them."
Jazz laughs. "I don' think Hide will let him outta tha jacuzzi anytime soon."
"What's up with those two? I mean, they were looking pretty cuddly and sweet this morning..."
Jazz shrugs. "Sometimes some of tha brothers want some smoochin'. They don' really do love n' stuff, even if some of 'em have tampered a little with their emotional protocols, but sometimes, they so stuff that edges on what mechs do in relationships, or at least what they've seen on TV. I'm pretty sure Crosshairs is a bit in love with Hide, n' Hide is pretty indulgent when he feels like it — especially with Crosshairs — so it could be that too. I mean, Hide has been occupied with you every night for quite some time now, and keeping his number one slut happy is probably a good idea."
Barricade nods and drops the subject. He's not going to spend their date thinking about that, even if he feels a bit sorry for Crosshairs, if it's true that Crosshairs is in love with a mech who can't really return it, and spends his nights with others.
At least he can have something special with Jazz.
Chapter Text
"So, wha' didya think of tha movie?" Jazz asks when they leave the theater.
"A bit cliché with the action scenes, but I liked the plot twist about the murderer. Seven out of ten?"
"It really got me longin' for a bit of racin'."
"Maybe we could go to a track someday? Do a few laps. If it isn't too expensive." Barricade says, checking how many credits are still left after he paid for the movie and the snacks.
Should be enough for at least one lap each, if prices haven't skyrocketed while he was in prison.
Jazz snorts a laugh. "Or we could jus' race down tha streets."
"What?! We can't do that?!"
"Why not?"
Well, not because he's an Enforcer, and it's against regulations, at least.
"But... what if we get caught? I can't pay a ticket, and what if the parole officer finds out and reports it to the parole board, and I could go back to prison, and..."
It just feels wrong. He still doesn't see himself as a lawbreaker, even if his criminal record states otherwise. He never engaged in reckless rule breaking before.
Sure you didn't...
Shut up, that was different. At least at some point before it derailed.
Mhm...
"Last one ta tha coolant tower is a rotten sharkticon egg." Jazz says, folding into his alt mode.
Do sharkticons even lay eggs?
You're giving him a head start, and you're going to lose.
Standing around while the attention of the crowd is turned to them as Jazz peels out is probably even worse than following, so Barricade transforms as fast as he can, and then he guns his engine. His spark speeds up with nerves for what they're doing, but also the thrill of the speed, the way they weave in and out of traffic.
It's almost like the chases back when he was an Enforcer, but this time, he doesn't have to mind any rules of engagement.
Jazz is fast, and by the way he overtakes slower moving mechs and transports shows that this isn't the first time he's doing some high speed driving, but Barricade has the advantage of having practiced with instructors.
Sure, it was a long time ago, but he still remembers.
He sees his chance when Jazz gets boxed in behind a heavy hauler, and he pushes his engine to the red line as he overtakes him. He slips back into his lane, nearly colliding with an oncoming SUV, and the mech honks his horn angrily. Barricade feels the rush of adrenaline, and it almost makes him giggle.
Traffic thins out for the last stretch, and he can really run flat out, keeping the distance to Jazz. When he skids to a stop in front of the coolant tower, he transforms, leaning a servo against the wall, as if he has been casually lounging there for a while, even though his fans are spinning at top speed, and his plating is clicking as it starts to cool down.
Jazz pulls up just seconds later, transforming too.
"Hi, egg. Something smells funny here." Barricade grins.
"Shut up!" Jazz laughs, before tackling Barricade, smashing his back against the wall, and attacking him with a heated kiss.
Chapter Text
"Ya know, we really need ta go." Jazz murmurs against his lip-plates, momentarily breaking the kiss.
"Yeah. The heat is probably on to us..." Barricade pants, grinding down against the thigh Jazz has slotted between his legs.
"Oh, it feels like at least one of us is goin' inta heat."
Barricade snorts, secure in the knowledge that heats are extremely rare, and even if they weren't, they both have precautions installed.
Thank you, Hide.
Shut up.
"So where are we going?" He mumbles, before biting Jazz's lip.
"Ta tha pit, probably." Jazz snickers, squeezing Barricade's aft.
"True, but I meant the nearest future. Like, right the fuck now." Barricade groans, spike requesting to pressurize, valve going slicker by the second.
"Well, it wouldn' be tha first time we fucked outside, but I do think a berth would be nice for our first real date." Jazz says without letting up on his assault on the sensitive seams around Barricade's pelvic plating.
It's a bit bitter sweet, because while they did hang out in their spare time way back, they never really had a date, and there was so many wrongs with what they did, this really is their first date.
"I totally agree. I don't have one, though. I think I have enough credits for a motel..."
"Don' bother. My room is better than a cheap motel, n' if tha law actually is lookin' for us, they won' look there."
He wouldn't hesitate to pay for a room if Jazz didn't feel like going home to the bordello to continue this, but he's still grateful that he doesn't have to spend his entire wad. Then maybe he can buy something else for Jazz later on.
"Your room is nice." Barricade agrees.
They don't stop making out. In the distance, a siren wails.
"I think we should go." Barricade mumbles between kisses.
"I know."
"You need to move, I'm sandwiched between you and the wall."
"I know "
One last kiss before Jazz steps back and folds into his alt mode. He whips around, fish tailing enticingly, before speeding out. Of course Barricade gives chase.
Chapter Text
The gates open for them automatically, and there's nobody around to guard the gates. It's kind of strange, because mostly, one of the brothers sit by to check everyone coming through, at least the times Barricade has been out.
::Where is everyone? Shouldn't there be someone by the gate?::
::If ya didn' stay in berth half tha days, ya'd know a new surveillance system has been installed. Blackout has been workin' on it. They could surveil remotely before too, but this is much more reliable.::
High tech criminals. Why is he even surprised?
Barricade suddenly realizes that he has no idea what the brothers were in for when Crosshairs met them. Considering what he knows of their age, they can't have been in for too long before Crosshairs was convicted, and they didn't stay much longer either.
Had to be first strike, single charges, and apparently no murders.
He dismisses the thought as he may never find out, and it really doesn't matter much anyway.
They've done what they've done, and they have probably not been convicted for more than a fraction of it.
They both transform, and Jazz pulls Barricade in for another kiss, before lacing their digits and pulling the Mustang with him into the house.
"You know, these days, I'm actually more surprised when I come in here and nobody is fucking on the couch than I am when someone is." Barricade muses as Jazz drags him to the bar in the rec area that's empty for once. "Not much of a prude anymore, I guess."
Jazz snorts. "Ye're adjustin'! Soon it'll be like it always has been that way."
Not that he wants to adjust like that, but there's no point telling Jazz that.
"So, what d'ya want?" Jazz asks, pouring himself a flavored high grade and sweet coolant.
"Just give me a bottle of mid grade."
Jazz opens it and takes a swig before he hands it to Barricade.
Barricade suddenly feels bold and licks the top of the bottle, keeping optic contact. Jazz groans, optics brightening, and it spurs Barricade to pull Jazz in for another kiss, a kiss that heats up very quickly. The drinks are disposed on the bar top, and questing servos map out plating.
A sudden noise of a chair being pulled out startles them to break apart, whipping around in the direction of the sound.
"Don't mind me. I'm just enjoying the show." Nitro Zeus leers, leaning against the bar, optic ridge quirked. "Unless you want me to join you..."
Jazz's optics flick to Barricade in a quick glance.
"Dreadbot let ya outta tha berth already?"
::We don' hafta let him join, we're not really working right now, n' Hide sent us off on a date, n' I told Nitro, so he's aware of it.::
"Little glitch like Dreadbot can only handle so much, and you know I'm packing." Nitro stretches to his full height, rubbing his interface panel. "He's taking a nap. So what do you say, little mechs? Wanna keep me company for a while?"
"I'm not sure I could handle you." Barricade says, laying on thickly with shy innocence. "I mean, you're so massive and all..."
Nitro just stares at him for long seconds before suddenly barking a laugh. "Then I fucking hope Hide will get on with loosening you up. But you have fun, little mechs. I'll go see if my massive size will fit inside little Dreadbot again." He says, grabbing a bottle of high grade before he leaves the two Racers behind.
"C'mon, babe, le's get ta my room." Jazz says, grabbing the drinks. "I really wanna get my spike inside ya, n' then I wanna switch."
Chapter Text
"Why is he always like that?"
"Who? Nitro?"
"Yeah. He's such a gross bastard."
Jazz shrugs. "Not always ta this extent. I guess it's jus' what he considers fun. Ya do react in a rather amusing way, so I can see why he persists... Plus he has tha hots for ya, so he'll try everythin' ta get ya in tha sack."
Barricade makes a face before dismissing those thoughts. "Well, let's not allow him to ruin the mood." He says, wrapping an arm around Jazz. "You said something about sticking your spike in me...?"
"Oh, yeah! I wanna shove ya down n' have my way with ya, n' then I wan'cha ta do that same ta me." Jazz purrs.
Barricade snickers, slipping his servo down to curl around Jazz's hip. "I like the sound of this."
Jazz giggles, handing him the bottle of mid grade back, and Barricade drinks deeply, their progress momentarily going unsteady as he tilts his helm back to drink. Jazz drags him along, and the door to his room opens for them. Barricade isn't prepared for Jazz to actually shove him towards the berth, and he trips and falls flat on his front on the mattress, the bottle sent flying to spread the rest of the contents over the floor.
"Whoops." Jazz says unrepentantly, then he pounces on the Mustang, straddling Barricade's aft, leaning in to nip at Barricade's neck.
Skilled servos toy with Barricade's shoulder-wings, finding the sensitive cables and wires at the base, and he groans, the charge he was already running quickly getting amplified. Then Jazz licks at the sensitive components, oral lubricant leaving a trail of wetness that provides another level of sensation when it cools. Barricade spreads his legs, baring his slick and empty valve.
When did his panel open?
"Please, Jazz! I want you in me..." He groans.
"Good, 'cause I ain't really patient enough ta tease ya." Jazz confesses, sliding back to kneel between Barricade's spread thighs, nudging them farther apart.
Barricade arches his back in invitation, and Jazz greedily heeds the call, his spike momentarily nudging through the wet slit of Barricade's valve before finding the right line to slip inside. Barricade moans loudly when the length slide over his inside nodes, and Jazz nips at the base of his shoulder-wing, providing a delicious sting he hasn't experienced before. Barricade pushes back to get that delicious spike deeper, and Jazz increases the pace of his thrusts, pounding into Barricade.
Barricade arches his back even more, chest-plates still pressed against the bedding, aft in the air, and there's something intensely erotic about the position, because it's Jazz he's spreading his legs for, and it just feels so right. He pushes an arm under himself to circle his node with a digit, and it makes his charge skyrocket, lubricant welling out of his valve every time Jazz pulls out.
Then Jazz bites a cable to his shoulder-wing, and Barricade is going into a hard overload, hips jerking in time with the contractions in his valve. He hears the curse Jazz grunts when he overloads too, then he goes limp under the Solstice. It takes a few more seconds, then Jazz collapses on top of him, vents ragged and fans on full blast.
"Fuckin' pit, babe, that was awesome!" Jazz pants.
Barricade grins into the pillow.
It really was. What a wonderful day.
Chapter Text
They lay stretched out, resting, snuggled close, and arms and legs tangled together.
"I could get used to this."
"Me too. Ya know, I really enjoy spiking ya, but I like getting spiked by ya too."
"Yeah, same. I also really like doing other stuff with you... It has been a really fun day."
"I agree! We should do stuff more often."
If he could afford it, they'd do stuff every day.
"We should, but I don't want to mooch on you, and I'm not exactly rich..." Barricade says self-deprecatingly.
"I know, babe. The thought is what counts in my opinion. N' drinks n' snacks, a movie in here, n' cuddlin' is good too. Tha street race was for free though!"
Jazz has a good point. He has been so focused on what he can't offer, he hasn't seen what he could. Not everything nice they can do require credits.
"I'll try my servo at giving you a deep cleaning someday. I'm not a pro, but maybe you could guide me?"
At least until he can afford to indulge Jazz with an appointment with a pro. But then again, doing it himself gives him an excuse to get his servos on Jazz...
"Oh, babe! Tha thought alone is so seductive!" Jazz moans, and even if it's a bit exaggerated and said in good humor, his field is ratting out that he's both flattered and longing for that massage.
"I can do other seductive things too..." Barricade purrs, tilting his helm to lick a line in Jazz's neck.
It's very satisfying when Jazz's vents hitch, as is the shift in Jazz's position, a minute move to open him up for touching.
Barricade doesn't want to seem pushy and desperate, but he slips his servo between Jazz's thighs nonetheless, careful to only play with the plating around the Solstice's array.
Jazz's response is even more delightful than he imagined, silvery hips bucking to get his servo where Jazz wants it, a frustrated little mewl that sends a heat to Barricade's groin leaving Jazz's vocalizer. Barricade slowly strokes the puffy lips of Jazz's valve, and he can feel the dampness spreading from the slit.
"Don' tease!"
"But you make these cute little sounds when you're frustrated..." Barricade says innocently, flicking Jazz's anterior node once before going back to stroking his valve-lips.
"I'll show ya cute!" Jazz growls.
For once, Barricade has the upper hand, even if Jazz isn't completely helpless in the wrestling match that ensues. Curiosity has Barricade allowing himself to lose though, and he winds up on his back, Jazz straddling him. Jazz grinds against him, spreading his lubricant over Barricade's plating, but the Saleen finds that his upgraded spike control protocols come in handy.
It's a power play, and he's aware, but this time nobody is getting hurt. Well, except maybe a few paint transfers on his pelvic plating from Jazz's insistent grinding.
"Come on now, give it ta me!" Jazz snarls.
It's delightful, the way Jazz reacts. Barricade isn't certain he'd feel okay with Jazz begging, and he doesn't want to tell Jazz to work for it, that kind of action between them is still too close in memory, if not time. But Jazz being pushy and demanding is definitely amusing, and really hot.
"It seems like you want something, honey?"
Jazz looks furious for a second, but then he switches to a sweet smile. "Barricade? Honey? If ya don' get that cock of yours out n' inside me right now, I'm gonna find a way ta pressurize it for ya."
Barricade can't help but laugh, but he obeys the demand, pressurizing his spike.
"I'm not good at aiming, it seems." He says, as Jazz's position makes it impossible to pressurize it straight into him.
"Lemme help ya with that then." Jazz leers, reaching down to line Barricade up, then he sinks down all the way.
There's no question if Jazz is chasing his own overload or not, he grinds against Barricade to get his node stimulated, and it's so hot to know that Jazz is into this for himself, and the difference from the facing they had way back.
And it's really hot when Jazz takes charge like this, and isn't shy to say what he wants.
Barricade's charge is skyrocketing, and from the little noises Jazz makes, he's getting there quickly too. Barricade grabs Jazz's hips to help him keep the fast pace.
"I'm gonna overload soon." He grunts, because he doesn't want to finish before Jazz has a chance to overload too.
The only answer he gets is a wordless wail, and Jazz's digits digging into the seams of his ventral plating. Then Barricade overloads too, bucking up to get deeper even if it isn't really possible.
Jazz slumps over him, fans whirring loudly, and Barricade toys lazily with his plating, letting his frame go lax, just relishing the moment.
Such an awesome day.
Chapter Text
"So who wants te go shootin'?" Crosshairs asks the second he steps through the doors to the refueling room.
It has been over a week since they talked about that, and in all honesty, Barricade had forgotten about it, so he finds himself getting excited.
He really enjoyed shooting back when he was an Enforcer, and he was pretty good at it. The prospect of getting to do something fun is so very tempting, but...
"I don't know if I can afford it?" He really has no idea what it would cost to go to a range, and hire a gun these days.
Is he even allowed to do that, being on parole and all?
"Don't worry about that. Hide sets these outings up for everyone, so it's all payed for." Knock Out says.
"My parole... Am I even allowed on a gun range?"
"No' an issue." Crosshairs says smugly.
Barricade dawdles for long seconds, because while he's very excited about the prospect of shooting again, he's still afraid that it'll put him in trouble somehow, even if the others say it's fine.
It would be just his luck...
"I'm goin'..." Jazz says.
"In that case, I really want to join you." He finally decides.
"This is going to be awesome!" Dreadbot cackles giddily.
"So, Drift, ye wanna shoot at somethin', or do ye still prefer wavin' yer blades around?"
"I'll pass."
"Drift prefers having a few shots over shooting." Dreadbot says, smirk looking sharp with all his denta and the intense focus of eight optics.
"As long as 'e ain't shootin' up..."
"I bet someone will come back packing, loaded, and cocked for him to enjoy..."
Drift makes a face at his co-workers, but they don't seem particularly concerned.
"So, listen up, bitches. Hide an' Motormaster will meet us there. K.O, Roddy, an' Bumblebee will go first, with Roadbuster, an' Springer. I will go with Barricade, Dreadbot, an' Jazz a bit later, with Nitro, an' Blackout." Crosshairs informs them gathered pleasurebots.
Not even being in the same group as Nitro can really put a damper on his excitement.
He's going to go to the gun range! He'll get to shoot again! It's the first time since Primus knows when he'll get to do something that he's actually decent at.
Barricade catches the way Jazz looks at him, a smile curling the corners of his intake.
"What?"
"Nothin' really. It's jus' that ya're really cute when ya're excited. Lookin' forward ta shootin'?"
Barricade feels himself flush, and his spark feels all warm from the compliment.
"Yes. I haven't gone shooting for so long. I always enjoyed it way back. I was one of the better marksmechs in my precinct." He says, carefully avoiding to think to much about those days.
He's going to go shooting. He won't let bitter memories destroy that.
"Then this is goin' ta be such a good day. I really like shootin' too!" Jazz says happily.
Chapter Text
They are getting ready to leave just an hour after the first group, but it feels more like a day later, and Barricade is getting impatient by the time they leave.
"Ya really are eager." Jazz snickers.
"I am." Barricade confesses. "It may feel like ages ago, but it isn't that long since I spent almost all my time in a barren cell, and except my dates with you, I haven't really had any extracurricular activities on my schedule since I got out."
"That's true." Jazz says, stroking Barricade's back. "I didn' mean ta be an aft, it's jus' that I rarely see ya this excited."
"It's fine. I do feel a bit like a sparkling getting this worked up. Can't help it though."
"Mh, this is such a good view!" Nitro leers as he walks by them, looking them all up and down.
On some cue Barricade doesn't catch, Dreadbot reaches for Crosshairs, pulling him close, at the same moment Crosshairs leans in to lick at the other pleasurebot's sharp denta. Dreadbot's dangerous looking talons slowly slide down Crosshairs's sides without so much as leaving a scuff mark, and they press up against each other in a very deliberate way. Nitro's engine whines.
"Keep it behind your panel, horn-bot. There will be no fucking until shots have been fired." Dreadbot says sternly.
"Actually, I wouldn' mind a quickie before we go..." Crosshairs muses.
Dreadbot rolls his optics. "You're ruining our leverage, dummy! We'll never get going if you do that." He hisses.
"Yeh, but I'm..."
"You know, if you get yourself stuck on his dick, you won't get to see Hide shoot. And you know how revved up it gets him. So he's going to want a fuck, but you'll be stuck here on Nitro, so one of us is going to take care of Hide. But that's fine, it was a while since he had me. I could definitely go for some Topkick-cock today."
"Sorry, Nitro. It's ye an' yer 'and if ye wan' some before we go."
"Aaw." Nitro whines, looking at his servo with dismay that's hard to pin as sincere or fake.
"You could always take Drift for a ride. I mean, you can literally catch up with us in a matter of seconds." Dreadbot says.
"Hide said I should go with you as escort." Nitro shrugs, not really sounding annoyed with the task.
"What, you think I can't handle to keep four little Autosluts in line?" Blackout rumbles, stretching to his full height.
"I'm not sure you can, rotor-bub..." Nitro flares his plating threateningly.
They clash together, a few sparks flying, and the sound of metal on metal impact, and Barricade's spark speeds up.
He's never seen Warframes in action, and it escalated to violence so quickly...
"Warframes!" Dreadbot says condescendingly, rolling his optics.
"Ye should save yer power for the range." Crosshairs says loudly.
Barricade stares uneasily at where Nitro has Blackout in a rotor lock, but the bigger Helo can't really be counted out of the match yet, as he has a good grip on the thick chain Nitro wears around his neck.
"Oh, I have enough power, alright." Blackout leers tugging at the chain, forcing Nitro bend further.
An empty mount on Nitro's shoulder makes a sweep as answer, and he does something that's probably a grin as he pulls on Blackout's rotors, eliciting a sound of protesting metal.
They're just playing. It really looked like a nasty fight — even compared to some of the fights Barricade broke up when he was still on the force — and it's a testament to the difference between ordinary mecha and Warframes.
"Warframes." Dreadbot says derisively again, with another optic roll.
Chapter Text
He's about to transform, but Barricade halts the process and stares at Dreadbot for long seconds when the other has folded into his alt mode.
The rusty, old looking microbus alt mode sticks out like a sore thumb among the flashy Racers. Then he forces himself to transform, because it's rude to stare, and he really won't figure out why Dreadbot looks like that by standing around anyway.
He falls into line beside Jazz, Dreadbot and Crosshairs leading the way, and Blackout and Nitro follow them from high up in the sky. Barricade tries to remember where there's shooting ranges, but they're not going towards any of those he remembers, and it was a long time since he updated himself on it, so there may have popped up new ones.
At first, they do a seemingly aimless lap, driving in a circle, but then they head towards the edge of the city, a rather fancy suburban neighborhood.
::This is where I grew up.:: Crosshairs comms them all.
::We should blow something up here.:: Dreadbot says, and it's hard to tell if he's really joking.
::Nah, my brother doesn' live 'ere anymore.::
They drive onto the freeway, and leave the city behind, speeding up, but still sticking to the speed limit. The road stretches out in front of them through the vast badlands, and to Barricade's knowledge, there's nothing but rest stops, a few motels, and energon shops for miles and miles. He doesn't say anything though, because the others clearly know where they're going.
They pass two rest stops, but at the third, they pull off the road and into the parking lot. It's empty, but they don't linger. Crosshairs leads the way around the rocks and crystals that provide a bit of shelter from the wind, and then they're going off the map. As soon as they've left the public roads behind, everyone speeds up. Dreadbot guns his engine and accelerates impressively, showing that his exterior may look like he has seen better days and lived in the gutter for a long time, but his finely tuned engine doesn't match his looks.
Barricade hasn't spent much time driving on gravel, and it takes some effort to get the hang of it. He doesn't fall behind, but he certainly doesn't feel safe keeping up.
::I need to flex my wings, I'll do a fly by.:: Nitro comms them, and then he's off, rapidly becoming nothing more than a tiny dot on the horizon.
::Show off!:: Dreadbot snickers.
::Looks damn good when 'e's showin' off though...::
::What he lacks in processors, he makes up for with speed.:: Blackout grunts.
::Don't hate the player, hate the game! Jealousy isn't a good look on you, B.O.:: Nitro taunts from somewhere far off in the distance.
::I'm not jealous of you, dimwit. Well, maybe your front landing gear...:: Blackout grumbles with grudging admiration.
::Yeh, but ye know tha' ye 'ave the sexiest hub I've ever seen, Blackie.:: Crosshairs says, voice just a little bit rough.
Chapter Text
It shouldn't be surprising that "the range" isn't one of the legal shooting ranges in the city, but somehow, going far out into the desert to shoot wasn't an option Barricade considered.
The mechs from the first group are waiting for them, lounging in the sun, and if they're impatient, their demeanor doesn't betray it.
Blackout transforms and lands with a heavy thud, flexing his rotors a couple of times before they smooth down into their normal position along his back.
"Mech, it was a good flight."
"Yeah, gotta be hard to just have one alt mode." The mech Barricade recognizes from Crosshairs's memories as Springer says snarkily.
"Shut up, or I'm going to sit on you, little one." Blackout rumbles, and the two of them starts tussling, laughing as they wrestle on the ground, uncaring of the damage their paint jobs are taking.
Nitro Zeus comes in fast, slowing down as he approaches, and then he transforms fluidly to land on surprisingly light pedes, robbing Barricade of a peek at the allegedly admirable landing gear.
Not that he'd know what to look for, what makes landing gear more or less appealing, really? And not like he wants to even be caught dead ogling Nitro Zeus of all mechs.
How would that even work?
I... Fuck, I don't know.
"Everything is clear and good to go. Motormaster is en route, he should be here in a couple of minutes. I dropped the targets as we said, and I made a special one for Cross." Nitro reports to Hide.
"Sounds good. Felt good to do some recon?"
Nitro exhales in what seems like relief, stance relaxing minutely. "Primus, yes. I feel so relaxed."
"Good. And as soon as Moto shows up, we'll get to blow off some more steam."
"A perfect day, Prez. The only thing left to arrange is some good fucking afterwards."
"As if that's ever a problem." Ironhide laughs.
At least they do have their priorities clearly mapped out.
Crosshairs bounces in place a couple of times, the only one of the pleasurebots showing some impatience.
"You like shooting, I gather?" Barricade asks.
"Yeh, I love i'!"
"Something you used to do when you were younger?"
Mechs with more money than Barricade's family often joined clubs for various pass time activities.
"Nah, Hide taught me. 'e thought it might come in 'andy, an' it turns out I really enjoy it too. Oh, look, Motormaster! 'e's bringing the guns."
The Truck is coming in fast over the dusty ground, not slowed down much by hauling a trailer. He comes to a halt and disconnects from the trailer before transforming.
"Finally!" Nitro shouts.
"Like you could get everything here faster, thruster-helm."
Blackout and Springer has stopped wrestling on the ground and head for the doors to the trailer. Barricade stays behind with the pleasurebots in spite of his impatience. Jazz wraps an arm around his waist.
"This is gonna be so fun! Ya know, I never saw ya shoot before." Jazz murmurs.
"Hope I still remember how to calculate targeting. It was an awfully long time ago." Barricade mutters back.
Chapter Text
Barricade knows a lot about the gun laws, but it doesn't take an expert to know that there's a high probability that not a single one of the items being unloaded from the trailer and attached to the mounts on the brothers' frames is legal.
It's fucking military equipment, fucking cannons, and lasers, and grenade launchers...
He just stares, ambivalent.
They probably wouldn't do this if it wasn't safe, but at the same time, it's enough fire power to fucking evaporate an entire city — maybe even a small planet — and he had this picture in his helm of motorized targets and Enforcer issue blasters...
"Got you something special..." Ironhide murmurs to Crosshairs, taking out an honest to Primus Sniper rifle — one that's definitely more advanced than anything they ever had on the force — and handing it to the pleasurebot.
"Aaw, Daddy! Tha's so sweet of ye!"
"Selfish too, though. I really like watching you shoot..." Ironhide purrs, patting Crosshairs's aft.
"So, what's your tool of choice?" Jazz asks him, interrupting his eavesdropping.
"Don't really know. I've only used standard issue weapons..." He says hesitantly, still focused on the brothers mounting guns in brackets all over their frames with practiced ease.
"Try this one then." Dreadbot says, handing him what looks like a smaller version of the cannon Hide just mounted on his right arm.
Barricade grabs it, surprised by how heavy it is; he's forced to shift his weight to not drop it. Dreadbot smirks as he catches it.
"I know, but it's hella fun to shoot with. Connect it to your own systems with the cable under the barrel. You do have targeting systems, don't you?"
"Uhm... I do, but I don't know if they support integration like that? I only ever tried the 'aim with your optics and pull the trigger' method..."
"Shame, but you should give it a try anyway. Your systems may support it even if you don't know it yet, and if they don't, you'll have fun with that baby anyway." Dreadbot says, and without waiting for an answer, he walks back to the trailer to pull out more equipment.
"You look very fancy like that, Nitro!" Dreadbot calls to the big flier, and Barricade's optics search the Flier out in the crowd of their own accord.
Fancy certainly is to push it, but he can admit that Nitro looks impressive with the guns in place.
The brothers all do, actually, looking even bigger than usually with all the weaponry attached to their frames.
Is that the level of armament they'd wear when still in the military? They certainly look intimidating enough to make most mechs roll over and capitulate.
Then Ironhide swings around, and without any visible pause to aim, he fires off a couple of quick rounds. Somewhere in the distance, something is blown up, leaving a cloud of dust and debris, and a small fire.
"Let's get this show started!" Ironhide shouts.
"Fuck yeah!" Nitro answers, before firing a round himself.
Then the brothers spread out, scanning the area for the targets.
Chapter Text
Barricade zooms in on one of the targets, and his spark does a queasy flip when the little thing skitters away.
"They're... they're not sentient, are they?" He mumbles to nobody in particular.
"Sure they are! There are so many street-younglings, nobody is going to miss a few, and this is more merciful than letting them stay on the streets to be raped and whatnot." Dreadbot says cheerily.
Barricade stutters an unintelligible whine of horror.
Knock Out cuffs Dreadbot around the back of his helm. "Of course they're not sentient! Geez, what are you thinking?!"
"I-I... I don't know, honestly. They just look so real..." Barricade mumbles, embarrassed about the implication.
"And we don't use technimals either. Blackout suggested it one time, but Cross freaked out and wouldn't stop wailing like a sparkling until Hide, Sideswipe, Springer, and Nitro all swore across their sparks to vote for making that against the rules."
Crosshairs shrugs, clearly not embarrassed by the incident. "I really like turbohounds. Nitro says 'e's allergic, so I can' ge' one, though. Those targets are jus' li'l drones, no sparks, no real intelligence."
Calmed by that, Barricade turns back to watch the brothers in action.
It seems to be more chaos than order to Barricade. No waiting in line, no getting into the right stance for maximum balance and accuracy. Targets have been spread out all over the place, and everyone shoots at all of them in what at first seems like a haphazard order, but it soon becomes clear that the brothers seamlessly coordinate their shots to not shoot at the same target at the same time, moving fluidly between their different guns for different targets with long practiced ease. The only thing tattling on it not being a real military drill is their excited shouts, and raucous laughter.
Or maybe they did that in battle too? They're apparently built to enjoy the fight.
"We get te play when they're done." Crosshairs tells him, as Barricade is the only one who hasn't been to one of these events before.
"Yeah, get some!" Nitro cackles when Ironhide uses the massive cannon he has mounted on his left arm, and there's a loud clang when Nitro high fives Ironhide. "Nice shot, Prez."
"Hide is so fuckin' ho' when 'e's fully equipped." Crosshairs mutters to Dreadbot.
"He is. But seriously, Nitro's shoulder cannon... Mh, I just want to lick it."
"'e'd let ye, but ye might burn yer glossa." Crosshairs snickers.
Barricade turns his attention to the cannon he's holding, trying to figure out how to use all the settings. It's far more advanced than any guns he ever used. Jazz leans closer.
"Nervous?" He murmurs quietly.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Your field."
"I haven't gone shooting for such a long time, and I never used something like this... Feels like I have to be good, considering I'm... I was an Enforcer."
"Just start on a low settin', n' get a feel for tha targetin', n' stabilizin' that's built inta it. I don' think anyone here's expectin' an Enforcer ta have as good targetin' as tha brothers. They're made for this. No pressure, jus' have some fun."
Barricade nods, plugging in the cable Dreadbot told him about to busy himself with trying to connect to it and figure it out while the Warframes have their fun. He still keeps a couple of optics on the gang members, because it's rather fascinating to watch.
Their target acquisition must be made while they move towards a target, because they never stop to aim before firing. It's just fluid motion, and then they fire, but somehow they almost always seem to hit.
Someone fires something that must be a cluster bomb of some sort, because it crackles like fireworks when it detonates.
"Could take out a scraplet swarm with those babies!" Springer cackles, slapping Roadbuster on the back.
Chapter Text
When they're done, there's not much left of the targets.
Makes cleaning up and covering their tracks much easier...
Nitro Zeus, Blackout, and Springer takes to the sky again, and Barricade watches as they put out new targets.
"Your turn." Ironhide says to the waiting pleasurebots. "One target close and one distant each. I think most of you will recognize which ones are yours..."
Barricade zooms in to look at all the little drones ambling around in their spots.
Most of them have pictures attached over what would be their face-plates, but there's no picture he recognizes.
Crosshairs starts cackling gleefully, and soon the others join in.
"Thank ye!"
"You're welcome." Nitro Zeus snickers, patting Crosshairs's aft.
Barricade is confused, but then Jazz points at something.
"Out there. Really far out, ya hafta zoom in really much."
Two sets of two little drones, and they're...
"Are they fucking?!" Barricade asks, incredulous.
Crosshairs laughs again. "Yeh! It's Dirge, an' my Sire." He says, laughing so hard he can hardly speak.
Barricade looks again, and now he recognizes them from Crosshairs's memories. One of the sets has Dirge fucking Crosshairs's Sire from behind, the other set is the other way around, with Dirge receiving.
"I thought you would enjoy that." Nitro says, sounding smug.
"I love i'!"
"You go first. I've been waiting for this all week." Nitro says, blatantly pressing up against Crosshairs.
Of course the Warframes will get off on seeing their hookers play with guns.
"I'll do two, then ye can do me, then I'll do the other two." Crosshairs purrs.
"Yes!" Nitro Zeus hisses.
"I'll go first. You can have my sloppy seconds." Ironhide says to Nitro.
"Mm, sloppy seconds..." Nitro says, making it sound like the best thing, and not just... gross.
Then Crosshairs walks over to a crystal with a fairly flat top, and climbs onto it. He stretches out, adjusting the support rods to give him a good working angle with an ease that tells on this not being the first time he does this.
"His aft looks extra good in that position." Nitro stage whispers.
"Ye, and jus' so ye know: I'm no' wearing my valve panel." Crosshairs says offhandedly. "Think I'll go fer their arms first."
Ironhide unsuccessfully tries to stifle an engine rev.
Chapter Text
The first shot goes a little high, the bullet zipping past the drone's arm. The little things scramble apart, going in opposite directions.
"Pit!" Crosshairs hisses.
"It'll be easier hitting their arms when they're split up." Blackout says.
"Yeh, but I 'ate missin'."
"New weapon, you wouldn't have missed with your other gun. It takes time to get used to it. Your targeting programs need to calibrate themselves for it. It's the same for all of us." Ironhide says.
Crosshairs's only answer is a deep vent, and then he pulls the trigger again.
This time, it's a hit. The little drone looking like Dirge loses what would've been it's servo, if it had been a real mech.
"Yes!" Crosshairs hisses triumphantly.
"Nice." Nitro Zeus rumbles.
Crosshairs fires again, this time taking the other drone's would-be servo off, showing that he can handle two moving targets, and do it damned well. The drones change direction as a result of the hits, running towards each other again.
"Will they start fuckin' again if I let them reach each other?" Crosshairs asks.
"Don't know. I suppose they would. They're programmed to keep doing it..." Nitro says.
Roadbuster starts laughing. "Did they fuck around in your subspace the whole time when you brought them?"
"No, I let them have a go at your Carrier before we left, so they kept still for a while after that."
"That glitch would probably enjoy it." Roadbuster sneers.
Crosshairs completely ignores the bickering, successfully taking the entire arm off of the little Dirge-drone.
He's better than the Snipers they had at the precinct. Much better.
"Cross didn't have targeting programs — most of us didn't — so Hide made a copy of his and gave it to us. Turns out something about Crosshairs processors makes him able to use them with almost scary efficiency. This far out, he's the most accurate, even better than the brothers. I mean, they can just fire something heavy enough to leave nothing but a crater and blow that drone to pit, but he's the most accurate with a gun like that one." Knock Out tells Barricade.
"And that's fucking hot." Nitro Zeus adds his very professional opinion. "Are you getting wet, Cross?"
"Of course I am!" Crosshairs says, then he fires again, taking the other arm off the drone. He moans exaggeratedly, as if he derives pleasure straight from the gun. "Yes!" He wiggles his aft a couple of times before taking another shot, again hitting his target.
He has never seen someone who is that accurate with so many distractions around. Crosshairs may first and foremost be a pleasure pet to a gang, but there's no doubt about him being dangerous with a rifle.
Just as good with other "rifles" too, heh.
Barricade cringes inwardly at the crude joke his processor conjured up.
Nitro Zeus's jokes are more than enough grossness.
Chapter Text
Crosshairs takes his sweet time to dismantle the drones piece by piece with the bullets — even if it's impressive to watch, Barricade is getting impatient to get to do something himself — but as soon as the first two drones are reduced to scattered components, things move fast.
Ironhide flicks Crosshairs's coattails to the side, exposing that he does indeed wear a half panel that looks like a regular one when he walks around, but stretched out on his front and with his legs slightly spread, his valve is exposed.
Ironhide growls at the sight, two thick digits easily slipping into the Sniper's slick valve. Crosshairs spreads his legs further to grant access.
"Ye always ge' so randy when ye've fired yer cannons." Crosshairs snickers, but it doesn't sound like he minds.
"Yeah, and watching you shoot like that — half naked nonetheless — really doesn't help. I'm so fucking hard right now..."
"Then ye better get inside me." Crosshairs purrs.
"Come on, Prez... share?" Nitro Zeus interjects.
"Tag team. You get my sloppy seconds. Unless Cross really wants two dicks at once?"
"I like it an' all, but I think Nitro should plow the field ye already sowed..." Crosshairs leers, as if that thought is really tantalizing.
"Sloppy seconds it is then." Ironhide rumbles, clearly amused.
Barricade looks away from the increasingly explicit display, focusing on those waiting for their turn. Jazz catches his questing stares.
"Dreadbot's next. In-house always go first — and have first pick — of everything."
Of course...
At least Hide lets those who have earned it have their privileges.
Barricade grabs one of the bottles of coolant and takes a seat on the ground.
He'll probably be the last one to have a go, considering he's last to move into the house, and he doesn't want to try to push it and possibly make some enemies among the pleasurebots.
"Did you know how to shoot before you wound up with Hide?" He asks Jazz, who sits down next to him.
"Primus, no! I never knew anyone who could supply me with guns — it wasn' like I had friends with that sorta contacts, I just hooked, 'n most of my customers were jus' horny regular mechs — an ya know I wouldn' be able ta get myself a gun license. I could never afford tha training needed, n' my convictions would've stopped it anyway. I carried knives for safety."
It makes sense: getting a license does require several hours on the shooting range, with a certified instructor, and passing a test at the end of the course. And Jazz may just have been a petty criminal, but a criminal nonetheless.
"How was your first time shooting?"
"I was completely useless, a danger ta everyone!" Jazz giggles at the memory, hiding his optics behind his servos. "Springer said that it was the worst he's seen so far, n' Nitro was actually gobsmacked for a long time. Hide just shook his helm n' gave me a memory stick with targetin' n' safety protocols while Nitro fixed Hide's pede. I stupidly thought I wouldn' need 'em before I started, but I was terrifyingly wrong. I was lucky ta hit Hide, n' not someone who'd get really mad 'bout it. Ugh, I was so terrified when I realized I hit him."
Chapter Text
Barricade just gapes att Jazz for long moments.
"How in the pit...? Why? How did you think that was a good idea? To not have safety protocols, I mean."
Jazz shrugs. "I dunno. I thought it was overrated with protocols jus' for that. I think I was kinda desperate ta show that I wasn' this helpless dweeb..."
"So you shot fucking Ironhide in the pede?!" Barricade hisses to not raise the attention of the others, horrified by the possible outcome of that particular fuck up of all fuck ups.
"Tha safety was off, n' I didn' realize, so I happened ta pop off a round, n' it ricocheted against a crystal, n' it ripped a few small lines in his pede. Nothin' serious, but after my time with Onslaught, n' that crew, I was convinced I was gonna be killed. Think Nitro was 'bout ta do it, he's really serious 'bout keeping tha Prez alive n' well. Hide jus' gave me this look that showed exactly how much of an idiot he considered me for sayin' I didn' need tha protocols he offered, handed me that memory stick, n' said I'd never even touch a gun again if I didn' get my scrap together."
It could've been so much worse. In fact, if Ironhide had been a certified instructor, or a police officer, he might've gotten to see Jazz in prison. It's not something he wishes had happened. Hide not beating Jazz to a pile of scrap is a testament to the mech being more patient and forgiving than what he lets on at times.
"Hey! No fucking against my trailer, fucker!" Motormaster calls out, and Barricade's optics are drawn back to the ongoing interfacing.
Ironhide seems done, leaning against a crystal, watching Nitro Zeus fucking Crosshairs. The Flier probably had planned to smash Crosshairs's back against the trailer, but he apparently respects Motormaster's request, and is holding Crosshairs suspended in the air, slowly sliding in and out of the Corvette's slick valve, looking indecisive about what to use for leverage with his slow, shallow thrusting.
In the background, something is blown up, and Dreadbot cheers, quickly joined by the other pleasurebots. Blackout rumbles an encouraging comment on Dreadbot's technique.
"I can't say I was hard ta convince after that debacle, I think my spark didn' slow down until I managed ta fall inta recharge that night."
Not hard to imagine, with Nitro apparently considering to cut Jazz's life short. He has been so preoccupied with being annoyed and disgusted with the crude Flier, he hasn't really thought about how dangerous — and downright terrifying — he probably is when the leering and innuendos give way for deadly seriousness.
Dreadbot is done, and Knock Out is the one shooting. Springer is being helpful in a handsy way, pressed up against Knock Out's back, servos sliding down his arms to correct his stance. Apparently, the Racer can't shoot on the move the same way the brothers can, but Springer certainly doesn't seem to mind teaching him a thing or two. Crosshairs is sitting on the ground, leaning his back against a crystal. His legs are blatantly spread, and his lack of panel exposes the way transfluid is oozing out of his valve, and he looks very pleased with the day's activities so far. Nitro and Hide doesn't seem as spent as the pleasurebot, and have turned back to watch Knock Out shoot.
For something so far out of what ordinary used to be, it feels disturbingly normal.
Chapter Text
"Jazz! Your turn!" Roadbuster calls out, interrupting their smalltalk.
Serious topics have been replaced with talk about their first date, and Barricade has been so happy discussing that — and tentatively plan another day for just the two of them — he has forgotten about his impatience.
Hot Rod and Bumblebee have already had their turns, and their drones are reduced to small pieces. Springer and Knock Out have disappeared behind a crystal, but the noises they make leave little to the imagination.
Jazz grabs his gun and connects it to the data port on his wrist as he stands.
"Who does your drones look like?" Barricade asks before Jazz walks off.
"Brawl, n' Overlord."
From what he has heard, he can understand why Brawl is a candidate, but Overlord, he hasn't really heard anything about. More than him being dead through what's apparently an assassination, and that he was a brutal bastard. Considering Jazz's past, he has to be something special to earn being called brutal...
He's curious, so very curious, but he knows how hard it has been on Jazz to talk about his past, so Barricade vows to never push Jazz into talking about it.
Jazz lines up his gun, getting into a semi-acceptable stance, and Barricade shakes his helm to clear it.
It won't do to not watch Jazz doing this just because he's stuck in his own helm.
The first round hits the furthest target, but it isn't a neat hit, and a clean deactivation, in spite of Jazz's gun of choice is pretty powerful. The little drone rolls away, clearly damaged, but still functional.
"Take it easy, if you can't hit well shooting on the move, take a second of stillness to aim. Gradually, you'll get quicker when you learn how to do it." Dreadbot encourages Jazz.
"Doesn' feel like I can be still when the drone is runnin''..." Jazz says, optics zooming in on the drone.
"You need to follow it, of course, but then you sort of need to imagine that stillness. Let the protocols calculate the distance and trajectory, find the spot where it's going, the you have a few milliseconds to be ready when the targeting gives green light, and you pull the trigger." Roadbuster instructs.
Jazz slowly turns, following the fleeing target, and then he pulls the trigger again. This time, it's a perfect hit. The others cheer.
"Fuck you, Brawl!" Dreadbot whoops, fistpumping. "Nice shot!"
"Heh, ya know tha only sad part 'bout gettin' better ta shoot is that tha targets are destroyed so quickly." Jazz says, clearly a little flustered by the praise.
"You just don't quit until you're done, no matter what state of the target."
"Sounds like a plan." Jazz says, firing off another round that just grazes the target.
"Now you got sloppy. You can do better than that, as we just saw." Blackout says.
"Yeah, I jus' tried ta be quicker this time, but I'm clearly not quite there yet..."
"Just keep taking that tiny pause to aim until you get it right, then you can start to speed things up."
Jazz takes the advice, obliterating what's left of the little drone with shot after shot, the other drone cluelessly waiting for it's turn.
Chapter Text
"You're up next." Jazz says, pushing Barricade in the back towards the spot all the pleasurebots have stood when shooting.
Barricade's spark spins wildly.
Everyone is watching, and they probably know that he has been an Enforcer, so it feels like he can't suck at this. He should be a good shot, but he has never handled a gun like the one he's holding right now...
"Has the gun connected to your targeting programs?" Ironhide asks.
"Yes, and they seem to be compatible..."
There's a green little light at the bottom of the grid and crosshairs overlay on his optical feed, that has to be right...?
"Yours and Crosshairs's last two drones are the only ones left. Your targets are anonymous, I didn't know what face to put on them." Nitro Zeus says, pointing at the two drones that are Barricade's. "I'm sorry they're not special, but it was impossible for me, you know, with the way you haven't allowed me to... get to know you." The last bit is a leer.
Nope, and it wouldn't be worth it just to have faces on the drones, not with the big, ugly oaf. He's probably a few seconds shy of being a one minute mech too...
"It's fine." Barricade manages to keep from sounding snappy.
"Show us what you've got." Ironhide gives the go-ahead.
Barricade lifts the gun to a position where he can hold it steady, even if it's a heavy piece. He focuses on the grid, which feels very strange, since he's used to line the gun up, and look down the physical sight.
He goes for the closest one first, waits that fraction of a section to lock onto it, and then he pulls the trigger. Barricade is forced to take a half step back with one pede to keep his balance when the recoil hits, so he doesn't see what happens, but the cheering from the audience tells him that it's a hit. He zooms in on the drone again, feeling his spark slow down as he lets out a vent he didn't know he was holding.
"Not bad for a cop." Ironhide says, nodding approvingly.
The little drone is missing a leg, crawling around on the ground.
"Not bad for a cannon virgin..." Nitro adds, bringing quite a few laughs.
Fuck him.
You just said you didn't want to...
Not like that!!
Barricade aims again to take another shot.
It feels a bit strange. Sure, he knows that the little drone isn't sentient, isn't really more alive than the energon dispenser back in the kitchen, but it looks enough like a mech, and it's wounded by him... He had to pull his gun a few times back when he was on the force, but he never had to use it.
He squeezes the trigger again, and this time the little thing is obliterated.
"That thing is fully automatic. Try holding the trigger and just aim." Blackout says. "Brace for the recoils, though, little bit."
He'd bristle about being called little if it wasn't for literally just coming up to Blackout's interface plate even when stretching.
He braces for the recoil, because it is kind of powerful, and then he squeezes the trigger again, holding it.
The gun fires in a rapid succession, powerful blasts that rocks his frame with the recoils. It feels a bit uncontrolled, and he stops, but it has already made ten little craters in the ground where the target used to be.
"Do it again. Just keep track of the targeting grid, and focus on that." Nitro says, as if he knows why Barricade stopped.
He does, even if it felt a bit out of hand the first time.
This time, it feels better, now that he knows what to expect.
Following Nitro's instructions, he keeps track of where he wants the shots to land, and his spark is speeding up with exhilaration.
There's so much power in that gun, and he can control it.
He stops the shooting with an excited whoop.
"It's really fun, isn't it?" Ironhide asks, smirking at him.
"It's awesome!"
Chapter Text
It's over far too soon.
Nobody tells him that his time is up, or anything like that, but his targets are long obliterated, and it feels like he's just hogging the range, even if he isn't sure how long the others went for, or even how long he has been shooting himself.
He got so excited, he lost track of his chronometer.
The only one left to shoot is Crosshairs, his two little drones still fucking far out in the distance. Barricade looks at his gun indecisively.
"Thank you so much for this opportunity. Should I do some maintenance or something on this now...?" He says, flicking his optics between the brothers to address them all.
"Just put it in the truck. It's nowhere near the usage hour count to require service yet." Nitro says.
"Okay..."
"Everyone gets the afternoon and early evening off. We're throwing a party tonight, because why round off a good day with a mediocre night?" Ironhide says. "We're staying to watch Crosshairs shoot again, but if you want to go back home now, that's fine. Stay alert for tails, and at the least bit of suspicion, call one of us."
Hot Rod, and Bumblebee salutes Ironhide — forms rather appalling — and then they fold into their alt modes, speeding away over the gritty ground.
"Ya wanna stay n' watch tha rest, or should we go?" Jazz asks him.
It's impressive to see Crosshairs shoot, but he has seen it, and he really doesn't need to see the orgy that'll probably be the end result of the shooting...
"Let's go home. We can hang out until the party."
They can fuck in Jazz's berth, and then they can cuddle, watching TV, to gather some energy for a long night of partying.
Jazz nods approvingly. "Sounds good." He turns back to the brothers. "Hey, Nitro! We're goin' home. Will check in while goin', n' will ping ya when we get home."
"Good." Nitro says, ogling them as they transform and speed away.
::Sweet tail ends!:: He comms them as a parting shot, obviously unashamed about his staring.
Horny bastard.
Chapter Text
Jazz makes a wrong turn on the way back to the house.
::That's not the closest way...::
::Jus' a bit of a detour ta avoid Con territory.:: Jazz answers, voice a bit unsteady.
Barricade feels something inside him twitch, but he can't say if it's from pity, or nerves.
::Didn' ya look that up after that time ya went searchin' for a job?::
::I... no, I didn't.::
He's determined to not become part of Ironhide's stable, so he shouldn't need to know what territories are safe, and which are not. He's not a part of that world, he's just... a temporary house guest.
::I'll make a copy of my map n' send it ta ya when we get home. Ya really shouldn' run around not knowin' where it's safe ta go.::
::Sounds like a good idea.::
He doesn't need to use it, but if it makes Jazz feel better that he has it, he won't argue against getting it.
It's not that bad of a detour, and it doesn't take long before they're back at the house. The mechs who stayed behind are nowhere to be seen, but that's not uncommon. Barricade hasn't really seen much of Drift, and he gets the distinct feeling that the pleasurebot doesn't like him.
Not like that matters, he can't really appease everyone, and if Drift doesn't like him, that's mainly Drift's problem.
"Hot Rod just commed me; they're shopping for tha party tonight. We should go help them." Jazz says as soon as they're inside the door.
"Aaw, come on! I thought we had the afternoon off? Can't we just go to your room and rest a little?"
Jazz gives him a rather significant look. "We do have tha afternoon off, but someone has ta get stuff for tha party. The more mechs help out, the less any single mech has ta do." He says sharply.
"I know, but I just thought we'd get to spend some time together." He pouts.
"We do get ta spend time together! Jus' not in my berth, but we'll go shoppin'!"
Definitely not the same, but then again, shopping would be something they had to do now and then if they had their own place, so maybe it's an opportunity to see what life will be like when they get out of here, and not all their spare time will be spent fucking or cuddling?
"Alright, we'll help. Maybe we can find some good, sweet energon or something?"
There's always loads of high grade of different kinds, but most are the more bitter types, strong and burning. He likes sweeter drinks, and if they're in charge of stocking up, they can hopefully add a few things not usually on the shopping list without the brothers getting mad about it. Everyone was in a very good mood after the shooting...
"Yeah, Sideswipe handed Bee a bunch'a credits, so we can go wild!"
Chapter Text
They catch up with Hot Rod and Bumblebee at the supermarket. The other two have already filled one cart with snacks, and low grade energon of different flavors to mix with high grades, and Jazz and Barricade find them in the high grade alley.
"Ooh, I love this one!" Hot Rod says excitedly, holding up a bottle of an already mixed drink. "Reminds me of a vacation off planet when I graduated from school. Just soaking up the sunlight, drinking... Happy days."
"Take four bottles then. I want some too, n' I know both Sunny n' Breakdown drink sweet stuff like that when nobody is watchin'." Jazz says.
Bumblebee beeps something that's probably a snort, and then he starts to laugh.
"Yeah, but don' tell anyone I said so. Ya know how they are, with tha tough images ta maintain. Can't drink bitch-drinks, now can they?" Jazz says.
"It's kind of ridiculous, really." Hot Rod says.
"Oh, I agree, but ya know how they are. Especially Sunny."
"I actually thought he really didn't like stuff like that. I brought him something like that once, when I was new, and he batted it away, the glass breaking against the wall, and he yelled at me, and I thought I was going to pee myself, I was so scared. He seemed so mad."
"That's Sunny for ya!" Jazz says cheerily. "He certainly didn' mind tha drinks I was mixin' for him tha last time I was alone with him, though."
"You were awake for it?"
"Tha tranquilizers take a lot of time ta have effect on me, so we were waitin' for 'em ta kick in." Jazz says, picking a few bottles from a shelf and putting them in the other cart Bumblebee and Hot Rod is pulling along.
"I really hate that." Hot Rod says vehemently.
"You hate everything!" Bumblebee suddenly says, catching Barricade completely off guard.
"You can talk?" He asks incredulously, even if it's probably offensive.
"Sometimes, he uses recordings, or cut stuff together from radio/TV feeds." Hot Rod says. "And, yeah, you're right: I really do hate everything that has to do with interfacing."
"Ya really are in the wrong line of work."
"I know, but there's not much I can do about it right now."
Maybe Hot Rod isn't that much different? He really doesn't want to interface as a job, even if he enjoys it for leisure. Hot Rod doesn't seem to want it at all, but being stuck doing it for now is something they have in common...
"What about you, Barricade? You've had quite a long time on trial with just Hide. You think he's going to let you go to the next level tonight? And let the other brothers try you to see if you're worth keeping." Hot Rod asks.
Chapter Text
It's as if the ground has opened up underneath him — a second of vertigo, and then he's free falling.
Except that reality is nowhere near that kind, so the ground isn't going to close above him and take him away from this situation.
Barricade's spark has gone cold, and his tank is turning queasily.
"I mean, it must be a pit to be left hanging in uncertainty for so long. You're nowhere near a vote at this point, so you have no idea if you will actually be allowed to stay. No matter how much you try to impress Hide, you still would need majority, and you can't really work for that now, can you?"
It doesn't make it feel a single pixel better.
"I remember my trial period. I really didn't want to become a hooker, and I had such a hard time to do it. I mean, I still find it hard, but back then, I could hardly keep from acting like they were assaulting me. I literally had to keep a scoreboard of how many times I fragged up and was terrible — and who I ruined it with — so I could keep a balance: one frag up meant I had to keep it together for the next lay to even the score. Got in with one vote majority." Hot Rod says rather offhandedly, giving a bottle a critical look before putting it in the cart.
So many layers of fragged up, he doesn't even know where to begin to count. He's curious, of course, but he does know that this isn't the time or place to ask questions, even if it would be the perfect distraction from the dread that's threatening to drown his spark.
"I-I... uhm, I haven't really thought about it." He mumbles.
"You should push for it, get it over with, so you can settle in, or move on. At least you'll know."
Bumblebee makes a series of beeps and churrs that are unintelligible to Barricade.
"I don't really see the difference. Unwanted facing is unwanted facing." Hot Rod answers, putting more bottles in the cart, next to the ones Jazz just chose.
"Bee jus' said he gets why ya'd rather stay on trial than go work tha streets."
The energon in Barricade's tank rises into his throat, and he swallows repeatedly.
"Whore mongers or customers doesn't really matter. They all want someplace warm to stick their dick so bad they pay for it in one way or another."
"I like doin' it with a few of the brothers. I mean, none of 'em are really bad in tha sack, n' it's tha least I can do." Jazz adds his opinion, but that knowledge really doesn't make it feel any better for Barricade.
"Sure you do!" Hot Rod says in a sweet voice that sound anything but sincere.
Bumblebee beeps again, seemingly trying to deescalate the situation, and he waves a bottle with a questioning gesture. Hot Rod nods approvingly, and the bottle goes into the cart.
Jazz snorts. "Yeah, that was awful!" Jazz turns towards Barricade. "Last month, I had this customer who insisted on takin' me ta this shabby motel, even if tha alley probably was cleaner than that place. Anyway, I commed security, n' went with him. He was clumsy as all pit, n' could hardly get it up, but he finally got inside, n' was humpin' me over tha table, when tha door bursted open! Turns it he had a conjux, n' said conjux found out! Conjux started screamin', my customer was apologizin' — spike still bobbin' proudly, 'cuz he tried some sort'a pills ta make it last before we started — n' all I wanted was ta get my money so I could leave..."
Jazz's story is interrupted by an affronted gasp, and they all turn around to find a mech staring at them, face flushed, servos clapped over the audials of a youngling.
"You disgusting buymechs! Can't you at least keep your slutty, depraved ways out of audialshot of impressionable younglings? Since you can't keep your legs closed, and leave others' conjuxes alone, the least you could do is keep away from the optics of the public. You disgusting little whores!"
Barricade is just gaping, because someone being so openly demeaning is shocking, especially since he knows that these mechs are just trying to get by.
The mech is meaning you too, you know...
What?! I... No! I mean...
"Oh, shut up! Dragging that impressionable youngling to the high grade aisle, and calling other mechs derogatory slurs has to be a much worse example than us discussing someone choosing to pay for a really hot frame. Sit your aft down, glitch." Hot Rod says, cocking his hip to show off that hot frame, before waving dismissively.
The mech makes and affronted noise, before hurrying away, youngling in tow.
"Come on, let's finish this before the glitch finds himself an upset mob of hypocrites to yell insults at us as if their conjuxes aren't paying for our services of their own free will, but are being forced by us."
Chapter Text
They hurry up, filling the cart with all sorts of booze, not discriminating as carefully as before, just grabbing the bottles that are a staple in the bar. Barricade helps out with numb digits, feeling detached in a horrified way he hasn't really felt since he watched the evidence against him be piled high in front of him, piece after painful piece.
It may happen tonight, he may have to give himself to someone else. Somehow, he has gotten used to dealing with Ironhide, and even if he has been very reluctant to some things they've done, at least he had somehow managed to forget how it felt those first nights, before he got just a bit numb to the situation.
Stop whining. At least you get pleasure from being fucked by Hide. Hot Rod seems to hate all facing, so it's probably worse for him.
Just because it's bad for Hot Rod doesn't make i less bad for him.
No, but it's worse for Hot Rod. You're not the only one bad things happen to, and other mechs can have it worse...
Of course they can have it worse! He's just not really prepared for what may happen tonight.
They leave the store without any interceptions from the moral brigade, and one of the others have ordered delivery of the goods, so a van is waiting for them. It's a good thing someone else had enough processors to think of that, because Barricade certainly didn't think about how little his own subspace will hold, and how the others probably doesn't have much more space. And carrying the stuff in their own baggage compartments would be very unwieldy, with one mech having to distribute it all when they had transformed, if everything would even fit.
"I think we have everything." Jazz says.
Bumblebee nods, watching the delivery mech drive away.
Barricade has no clue.
"Let's go. We need to get everything unpacked, and I want to have time to take a nap before the party." Hot Rod says, and it's easy to tell that he isn't excited about the party at all.
He can relate.
They all fold into their alt modes, going back at just above the speed limit, Hot Rod leading the way, eager to get home, but apparently not up to attracting attention from the Enforcers.
::Do you think Hide is going to let the others have a g... uhm, proposition me tonight?:: He comms Jazz on a personal line, fleetingly wondering if Bumblebee speaks over comms, or if he just beeps.
::I dunno. I think he'll tell ya beforehand if that's that case, but if ya're uncertain, ya should ask.::
There's no way he's going to ask, and accidentally give the bastard the idea that he wants that. He'll try to avoid it until the day Ironhide boots him from his berth, and then he'll deal with it, if he hasn't gotten a job. Which he should really get on top of, instead of frolicking in the desert, playing with military grade guns...
They get back to the house to find the delivery van parked outside the gates. Barricade can sense the mech's em field, and he's nervous, but a bit excited.
Typical stupid youngling, nervously thrilled by running an errand for the local criminals. As if Hide and his crew are rockstars.
They unload the groceries, and the young mech — probably just got his alt mode, and the delivery job as a job beside studies, he looks so young — transforms to root more, looking through the gates up towards the house in what seems like awe.
"Stay in school, kid." Barricade mutters to the youngling, even if he knows that staying in school is only half of it to make — and keep — a good life for oneself.
He grabs two bags, just like the others do, and then they start up the driveway that seems unusually long when moving in root mode, weighed down by booze for their pimps.
At least they bought some things mostly for themselves.
Chapter Text
They all help out unpacking, restocking the bar, and readying the tools needed to make whatever drinks might be required. Not that the brothers need more than cubes and chilled high grade of different sorts, but most if them enjoy getting something more fancy now and then.
As long as it isn't too weak and sweet.
Barricade rolls his optics, because it is a bit ridiculous to judge someone by what drinks they have.
Hot Rod slips off to have his coveted nap, Bumblebee goes to do whatever Bumblebee does when off duty, and Barricade and Jazz are left alone.
"So..." Barricade trails off, not sure where to go with his conversation starter.
"Still wanna fuck?" Jazz says saucily.
Is it even honest, or is it what Jazz thinks he wants to hear? Old habits die hard, after all...
"Don't know. I don't even know if that's what I really wanted in the first place."
It's true. He can't really tell, maybe he would've been satisfied to just stay in Jazz's berth to cuddle the rest of the day.
Jazz doesn't seem disappointed with the answer.
"Maybe we could jus' relax, n' chill out on my berth, half rechargin'? It'll be a long night, after all."
"Sounds good."
It really does: some physical proximity, and some rest. It has been a long day, with so many impressions, and his processor feels ready for a defrag and a reboot to sort everything.
He follows Jazz down the hallway of the pleasurebot wing, already thinking of Jazz's comfortable berth, and the soft bedding lining it, all the pillows that could be arranged into a fluffy nest if he felt like it...
"Did ya ask Hide if ya're expandin' your repertoire tonight?"
"No. I think you were right: why would he wait with springing that knowledge until the last second?"
Jazz shrugs. "He may be tempted by havin' someone else himself, n' one of tha brothers may persuade him ta let ya start tryin' new mechs."
Barricade's tank turns, and he swallows again.
Nitro Zeus will certainly try his best to get Ironhide to let him loose on Barricade.
"Well, if he does, then I'll have to deal with it then. Until then, I'm still exclusively Hide's."
He hears Jazz sighing, but his lover doesn't say anything else on the topic.
Chapter Text
It's ridiculous, and he knows it.
Hiding behind the bar — or rather behind the excuse of pouring drinks as a reason not to approach Hide — is both cowardly, and ultimately ineffectual, since the mech could just comm him.
He really should get over there and be a saucy little minx to secure a place in Hide's berth tonight too, but he just can't bring himself to do it.
And Ironhide is busy with mechs he really can't compete with — both Drift and Dreadbot are draped over him, and Crosshairs is within easy reach where he's straddling Nitro Zeus, who's sitting next to Ironhide, arms stretched out along the back of the couch, letting the pleasurebot work him as much or as little as he wants, but not reciprocating.
Selfish fucking bastard. There's no way he's going over to Hide while Nitro Zeus is there, that might increase the risk...
Coward. Just get it over with, instead of dawdling around, letting all the others do all the real work.
As if on que, Hot Rod is escorted past the bar, towards the upper floor where the brothers' rooms are. Motormaster's servos are roaming his plating, and his plastered on smile has slipped now that his back is towards his customer.
See? They may not like it more than you do, and you are being a selfish bastard.
Barricade allows himself to be distracted from that unwelcome thought by staring at Jazz straddling Roadbuster. Jazz giggles at something Roadbuster says, wrapping his arms around the gang mech's neck, and Barricade feels a frisson of jealousy chill his spark.
They don't really look like pleasurebot/customer. More like a casual hookup between friends. He can't really lay claims on Jazz but, oh, how he wishes he would be in Roadbuster's place, and Jazz didn't have to sleep with other mechs for a living.
He looks away, not keen on seeing more of Jazz behaving much like he does when he's with Barricade with someone else, and tries to dredge up the courage to go over to Ironhide, even if the gross bastard is there.
He's too late.
Ironhide is already walking up the stairs, arms wrapped around Dreadbot and Drift, and Nitro Zeus is following him, Crosshairs slung over his shoulder in that uncivilized nomad tribesmech way that seems to be his trademark.
Not that Crosshairs seems to mind; he's quite busy fondling Nitro Zeus's aft.
Well, look at that ship sailing. What are you going to do now? Or rather, who...
Barricade watches as Bumblebee and Breakdown meets the others on the stairs, coming back from their tryst in Breakdown's room.
Shut up! I'll hang out here, and wait for Ironhide to come back. I'll take the second round, Hide usually wants more than one frag on party nights, and it's better to take the later one, so I get to stay in his berth.
Sure you will... And certainly, Dreadbot and Drift won't do everything to get to stay in the big boss's berth. Maybe Crosshairs too, if Nitro and Hide really enjoy sharing their little sluts. Will you still go with Hide if Nitro wants to join you?
...
Hide won't let him. He didn't the last time.
Sure he won't...
Shut up!
Chapter Text
He's sipping a souped up cube of the premixed drink they bought, made stronger with a hefty pour of a palatable high grade, but he's definitely not anywhere near drunk enough when Blackout plunks into the couch opposite of where he's sitting, optics riveted to Barricade.
Barricade nervously flick his optics to the sides, scanning the room for who else is there, but Jazz and Roadbuster have retreated somewhere more private, Crosshairs and Dreadbot are still with Hide and Nitro Zeus. Knock Out is busy with Breakdown, and Hot Rod hasn't come back yet.
Not that he'd expect help/sympathy from Hot Rod, but still...
Red optics sweep his frame, and he feels tiny, vulnerable and very naked when Blackout cocks his helm in consideration, face unreadable. Barricade squirms, and it makes the corners of Blackout's intake quirk slightly, which just makes him seem even more dangerous.
Should he try to start a conversation, or what's he supposed to do?
Blackout's intake pulls into a toothy grin, and Barricade realizes that he's still fidgeting nervously. He abruptly stops, and it makes Blackout's grin widen even more, and the Helo shakes his helm in amusement, clearly pleased with unsettling Barricade. He stretches an arm out on the back of the couch, and it makes it even more obvious how freakishly big he is, almost dwarfing the couch that Barricade himself feels like a youngling when he sits in, due to it being made for mechs the size of most of the brothers.
"So... Barricade," he says slowly, as if he's testing how the designation tastes on his glossa, "you seem to be settling in well."
Barricade swallows nervously, spark spinning so wildly, it feels like it's about to explode. He takes a deep drink from his cube to buy himself some time, processor blanking out on good answers, glossa sticking to the roof of his intake.
"I... uhm, I-I guess so?" He finally manages to stutter, voice sounding squeaky and ridiculous.
"Mhm." Blackout rumbles the wordless answer, optics still locked on Barricade.
He takes another swig of his drink to occupy himself, all four optics focusing on the bottom of the cube just to get away from the intense scrutiny when Blackout's optics sweep his frame again, deliberately slow. Blackout licks his lips, showing just a hint of the row of sharp denta.
"Then you should start putting out."
Chapter Text
Barricade wants to purge, wants to just fall into recharge and wake up to find everything just being a nightmare, or perhaps just magically sink through the couch and disappear.
But of course none of those things happen.
He sits there, spark spinning out of control, clutching the drink that's nowhere near big enough, nor emptied enough, red optics locked on him without as much as a slight waver.
Barricade fidgets nervously again, which just brings another shark like grin to Blackout's face-plates.
"I-I... Ironhide hasn't said I have to?" He stutters, clinging desperately to the hope that he's still under Ironhide's protection.
Protection?! It certainly didn't sound like that the first nights you stayed in his berth...
"Hide is a very... Charitable mech sometimes," Blackout says, and his deep, raspy voice is hard to gauge — is that approval or annoyance, the way he emphasizes charitable — when he once again lets his optics sweep Barricade's frame, "but that he hasn't said that you have to doesn't automatically mean that you're not allowed to."
Fuck!!
Probably as much as you want, and then some. By a Helo with a dick as big as... Well, it's fucking massive.
Shut up, just shut the fuck up!! That's not what I meant!
Heh...
How the hell is he going to get out of this?! Of course he's allowed to go along with this, so he can't really deny Blackout without showing that he's unwilling, but at the same time, he doesn't want to do it until he's explicitly ordered to do it... Well, not even then, but that's the point of no choice, and it's so different from going along with it of his own accord.
He tries to comm Ironhide, but he just receives a busy tone.
Fuck!
"I-I... I'm not sure if I am allowed...?" He stutters to buy some time, frantically coming Ironhide, just to be taunted by that busy tone again. "I don't know if he wants me to stay exclusive, and I can't reach him..."
Blackout rumbles a laugh. "Yeah, because exclusiveness is so Hide's thing."
Filthy little liar, Hide has said that you're free to fuck whomever you want, has said that he's not much for hogging the goods for himself.
I don't want to fuck Blackout.
Do you have the ball bearings to tell him that?
"Don't bother trying to get ahold of him; Hide and Nitro just herded a flock of whores upstairs. They're probably pelvic plating deep in a slut each by now."
Chapter Text
The last statement — while technically true — leaves a bitter taste in Barricade's intake.
He may not always have had very charitable thoughts about pleasurebots, but he has changed. Blackout has to know that they're more than just whores. He lives under the same roof as them, and certainly isn't above making the most of their services, but he sees them every day, so he has to know them all pretty well...
Services he wants you to provide right now...
Shut up!!
He has been quiet for far too long, not responding to Blackout's crass — but probably true — statement.
"Then I can't check with him what my deal states. We'll wait until I get ahold of him to verify."
An inpatient sneer flitters across Blackout's face-plates, but then it slowly morphs into a nasty grin again, and Barricade fidgets in discomfort he's hard pressed to hide. Blackout looks at something somewhere behind Barricade, and then he does a come hither motion with two of his digits.
"Since you won't spread your legs for me, then maybe you could help me out with getting some entertainment elsewhere as compensation? I do know for a fact that you have no problems fucking around with the other whores, and that Ironhide doesn't mind..."
Barricade's spark plummets, and he takes a deep swig of his drink, as if that will settle the roiling in his tank.
"Not to speak of that very interesting little show you put on with Crosshairs and Dreadbot the first party you attended here, when Hide fucked you after Crosshairs licked you."
Barricade feels himself flushing horribly.
He had forgotten about that!
Blackout smirks knowingly, and Barricade really wants to slap him right in his smug fucking face-plates.
Not that the bastard would feel much of it, probably. But it would still be so satisfying.
Blackout finally looks away from Barricade when Bumblebee steps up to the table, a pleasant smile on his face-plates that Barricade really can't say if it's genuine or not. He makes an inquiring gesture along with a wordless beep.
"On your servos and knees on the table, aft this way."
Bumblebee obediently climbs onto the table as instructed, his panels already open, just like most of the other pleasurebots, even if some of them wear those hot pants Barricade isn't as keen on these days as he was back when... Yeah. Barricade has his panels closed, even if he knows that it sets him apart from the others.
"I'm here, brother, what's the plan?" Springer asks as he plunks down on the end of the couch.
Their sizes makes it seem crowded, even with just two mechs sitting there.
Blackout flashes a wide cyberwolf grin. "Something we promised ourselves to do, and should've done a long time ago."
Chapter Text
Barricade glances nervously at Bumblebee, just to find that the smile has slipped form his face, and he looks... Neutral?
Maybe he's waiting to judge if this will be good or bad until he finds out what's going to be done?
"We talked about it in the joint but never got around to it..." Blackout says.
I don't really see a way anything about this could be good...
Maybe they'll want you to finger him to get him ready, or something like that? Bumblebee is probably used to having an audience, and a fingering can be really good. Or maybe some oral. You didn't mind when Crosshairs licked you...
Springer starts laughing, snapping Barricade out of his nervous musings.
"Come here, Barricade." Blackout says smoothly. "I need a little bit of help with this, surely you can assist me with taking care of this while we have a bit of fun?" He holds up a bottle of high grade Springer brought from the bar.
Barricade hesitantly gets up from the couch, getting closer to the bigger mechs. Bumblebee doesn't move from his pose. Blackout hands him the bottle, and Barricade understands why he needs an extra servo; it's a type of bottle made to be placed on a hinged stand for ease of pouring, with a rounded bottom that makes it impossible to put down without the stand. Barricade grabs it.
"Thank you." Blackout rumbles, but the way Springer grins makes Barricade wary.
"I'm glad I can be of some service." Because an attempt at supplication can never be wrong.
"We'll hold you to that." Springer says, stifling a laugh.
"Now, here's the thing I really need help with; as you can see, I have a decent looking bottle stand in front of me. I'm not sure it's ready to hold a bottle, though, and that's where you come into this picture: it would be very nice of you to prep him for the bottle for me. I'd really like to watch that. I'm sure it'll make things much more comfortable for the little slut too, don't you think?
Barricade's intake moves, but no sound is coming out, because even his processor is gobsmacked. Blackout leans forward, pushing two digits into Bumblebee's port without preamble, and there's a minute tensing of the pleasurebot's frame as answer to the sudden intrusion.
"See? He can't even take my digits as is, if I tried sticking that bottle in there right now, that would probably not be all that comfortable. This is your chance to help us all out. I mean, we will both enjoy watching you prep his ass, and I bet the little slut would be really grateful for not having a bottle stuck up his ass without being stretched first, some lube, and whatnot."
It's such a fucked up thing to consider entertainment, and he really doesn't want to get in on it, but what choice does he have? If he says no to this too, then he will seem very uncooperative, and there's always the risk of other fucked up propositions. This way, he'll help Bumblebee avoid this being painful, even if it'll still be humiliating.
"What's it going to be, ex-cop?"
Fucking asshole. It's not like he has much choice, though.
"You don't happen to have some lube?" He asks, because he certainly doesn't carry that around.
Chapter Text
"I don't. Haven't the other whores taught you to always have some in your subspace? Could find yourself in very uncomfortable situations otherwise..." Blackout says, making it sound like Barricade is the most stupid mech on he planet.
Bumblebee makes a noise, and Barricade turns to look at him, finding a subspace pocket opening on the other mech's thigh. He reaches inside, which feels way more intimate than he's comfortable with, but on the other servo, he's about to finger Bumblebee's aft, so he really needs to get over it. Barricade feels around, finding what feels like a few balls on a string, something that feels like a package of condoms, a soft, flexible ring of some sort, a cone shaped thing with a flare at the thickest end, and then finally a bottle. He pulls the bottle out, and is relieved to find that it is lubricant.
"Pour a nice, big glob on his hole, and work it in with your digits." Springer says. "What? I have preferences..." He adds, shrugging when Blackout glances at him.
"Does sound like a decent show."
Barricade hands Blackout the bottle of high grade again, and then he does as Springer requested. The lubricant is thick and greasy, and dark blue, contrasting against the yellow of Bumblebee's protoform. Barricade smears it over the opening, feeling it clench under his digit. He pushes one digit inside, even if it feels incredibly wrong to do this with a mech he technically hasn't even spoken to, in front of others nonetheless.
Bumblebee's port is tight and hot around his finger, and his spike asks for permission to pressurize, but sadly, this has nothing to do with pleasure.
At least not for him or Bumblebee.
"Yeah, listen to that sucking noise!" Springer cackles, mimicking the squelching sound that's the result when Barricade starts pumping his digit in and out to get Bumblebee to relax.
Barricade flushes on Bumblebee's behalf.
"Add another digit. We don't have all night. Since you're so parsimonious with sharing pleasure, we'll need to find it elsewhere when you're done with this, and I don't want to risk all the good whores being busy." Blackout almost growls in impatience, his field lashing with arousal.
Ugh.
Still Barricade adds another digit as requested, because he's quite eager to get this over with as soon as possible, while still not causing Bumblebee unnecessary discomfort. He pumps, and twists, and scissors his digits, and it's apparent that Bumblebee is used to backdoor entry, because he's loosening up really fast. He adds another digit, even if he probably could add two.
Doing an entire broadside with his servo is more than he can bring himself to do, it feels too degrading and perverted, even if the bottle is as wide in diameter as his servo is.
You know, your new mod would make this easy for you...
Barricade flushes furiously when imagining himself in Bumblebee's position, aft swallowing an entire bottle, while the two disgusting bastards stare with bright optics...
At least he evaded that. And it'll be easier for Bumblebee with his help...
He adds the last digit and pushes his servo inside until his thumb stops further advances.
Chapter Text
"Good enough. Now get the bottle in there. I need a fucking drink." Blackout says, handing Barricade the rather massive bottle.
"And I need both a drink, and some fucking." Springer states.
Barricade's spark does a nervous flip, because he can't be certain that they won't force the issue.
Or get ahold of Hide and actually get permission...
Barricade stares at the bottle, letting his servo slip out of Bumblebee's port. The opening is slack and soft, but the bottle is big...
"Ehm... How do I... I mean, this thing is so big. How do I get it, eh, how do I get it in there?"
Springer starts laughing. "Just ram it home and say ˋpop goes the weasel!' or whatever. It's not that massive."
Says the mech who's not getting it shoved into their afts.
"Do it like I fuck: slide it in and keep going until it's all in. The squirming and whining usually stops once I'm hilted, and I'm bigger than that." Blackout tells him. "And that little bitch can take it, rest assured. I've done my... research." The last part is a leer.
Barricade manages to refrain from making a nasty face — it would probably just amuse the bastards anyway — but he stares at the bottle for a few more seconds, trying to come up with the nicest course of action.
Lube is probably a good idea.
He squeezes more onto Bumblebee's port, and then he presses the rounded bottom of the bottle against the opening. The way Bumblebee adjusts his position slightly, it's obvious that he's trying to relax and ready himself for the intrusion. Barricade takes a steeling vent, pity gnawing at him, but then he pushes.
The rounded bottom goes in — not without resistance — and he can see the way Bumblebee's digits are clawing against the surface of the table in obvious discomfort.
If only he'd gotten some more time to prep him.
The yellow and black Racer's vents are quick and shallow as Barricade pushes the bottle deeper and deeper, and Barricade wants to stop, but he doesn't dare.
The stretch won't feel better anyway, even if it may be good to get a respite. But then he doesn't know what the bastards may do to speed things up. It could probably get even more unpleasant for all involved.
He really doesn't want to admit that there's something intriguing, and just a little exciting — in a very obscene way — with the way Bumblebee's port is stretched around the bottle, the way it's slowly disappearing into his frame.
Then suddenly the bottle is past his calipers and is sucked in the last bit, leaving just the neck poking out through the loose rim. The audience cackles and claps, and Blackout immediately opens the tap on the bottle to pour himself a cube.
Springer pops his panel, allowing his spike to pressurize, completely unashamed, and Barricade just stands there, feeling redundant, and wildly out of place.
And shamefully aroused. Not very much, but enough for it to feel very wrong.
Springer has walked around the table, holding his spike out for Bumblebee, and the Camaro sucks it deeply into his intake without further prompting.
"This is so much more fun than I ever imagined." Springer grunts.
Blackout turns to Barricade. "So, you want to get some now that you got some foreplay?"
Barricade shakes his helm with tiny movements, not wanting to annoy the mech, but very much not up for having an orgy.
Though saying 'no' didn't really serve him well the last time, did it?
"Then skedaddle."
Chapter Text
Barricade wakes up when he's pulled off the couch he's recharging on. His helm is pounding, and maybe he'd notice how his neck-struts are all kinked and painful from the position he has recharged in, if it wasn't for the way his hip hits the floor, or the screaming his still muzzy processor can make sense of. The sunlight is harsh against his optics, shining in through a window where the heavy curtains are not pulled shut, and it takes him long moments of taking slap after slap to his face-plates before he can make sense of anything.
"...self-centered fucking bitch!" He catches the tail end of what Drift screams, obviously in a towering rage.
At first, he doesn't have the wherewithal to do anything but cover his helm as best as he can.
"You're just too good to do what we do, are you?"
"I...what?!"
"You're too good to put out, and have a bit of fun, so you force others to do the dirty work for you! I don't know why anyone thought you'd be better than you were before, you're still just an abuser!"
Barricade finally rolls away, momentarily getting his face-plates out of reach. The fragged off Racer keeps hitting wherever he can reach, though.
"Glitch-fight!" Someone yells.
"You were too good to let Blackout fuck you, sitting on your high zap ponies, thinking only the whores should do that kind of work, and so Bee had to suffer through that! You even have the mods to take that better than he did, but no, not Barricade! He's too good to even get some spike, but he has no problem fist fucking a whore, is that it?"
"Ten credits on the pissy ex-junkie." Nitro Zeus says to someone.
"That's not it at all, I didn't mean for Bumblebee to need to do anything in my stead." Barricade yells.
"You're on! I think cop-mech has some tricks up his subspace." It sounds like Roadbuster.
"And you couldn't figure that out yourself?! And worse, you didn't protest helping out, and didn't even make it that much easier and better!" Drift snarls.
"I think he sticks his tricks somewhere else..." Nitro Zeus leers, making Roadbuster laugh.
Barricade has finally managed to get his bearings enough to make a move; he sweeps around, taking Drift's pedes out from under him. Drift tumbles to the floor, and Barricade scrambles to get on top of him.
Roadbuster whoops victoriously, and Nitro Zeus exclaims his displeasure.
"They said they'd do it without any prep, and they were rushing me..." He says, finally straddling Drift, trying and failing to grab the Racer's flailing arms.
"It's not done yet!" Nitro says excitedly to Roadbuster.
"Sure, blame the brothers! If you had been a little more interested in learning the way things work around here, you would've known that they don't damage us!"
Drift manages to land a slap that makes Barricade's already pounding helm feels like it just hit a wall.
"Hah!" Nitro Zeus cackles.
"Frag you! I didn't damage him! They rushed me when I prepped him and..." Barricade hisses, getting fed up with the erratic mech.
Who would've ever thought that he would long for curling up in the fluffy bedding in Ironhide's berth and snooze the day away?
"It was unnecessarily uncomfortable for Bee. You could've put on a better show, could've made it worth their time! But, noo, you can't even open your fragging panel, you prude...
Fuck his helmache, fuck fighting fairly, Barricade headbutts Drift right in the face just to shut him up. There's a horrible crunch, Drift cries out in pain, and Barricade's helm explodes. He slumps on top of the dazed whore, feeling like he's going to offline, but he regrets nothing. Roadbuster cheers, and it does nothing to help Barricade's helmache, then Nitro Zeus grumbles when he pays the winner of the stupid bet.
"Thats enough!" Ironhide's voice booms, and suddenly Barricade is airborn.
He's more or less flung onto the couch, the impact making his head throb, and Drift is dragged from the floor rather unceremoniously, and placed on his pedes.
"You better fucking sort this out yourselves, and get your scrap together, or I'll punt you both over the wall! Crosshairs!"
"Yes, Hide?" Crosshairs says, sounding tense and serious in an uncharacteristic way.
"Make sure Drift gets to a medic, and get everyone's helms straight before tonight."
"Yes, Hide."
"I lost a bet again, Prez." Nitro says mournfully.
"That's because you're an idiot. Come on, we have work to do."
Chapter Text
Rather unsurprisingly, Bumblebee and Hot Rod helps Drift away from the scene, supposedly taking him to a medic. Barricade remains slumped on the couch where he was more or less thrown, offlining his optics to get away from the sunlight as much as reality.
"So, I don' really 'ave yer story, jus' what I've 'eard from others..." Crosshairs says in a low voice — perfectly modulated to not be jarring to a hungover mech —as he plunks down next to Barricade.
"You mean the way I was sleeping off my hangover on the couch when he dumped me on the floor and started slapping me?"
"No, tha' part is quite clear. I was thinkin' 'bout las' night...?"
"Blackout came on to me. Hide hasn't told me to sleep with others, and I said as much. Then he called Bee over, and told me to do the thing with the bottle, or he'd make it himself in a much worse way, basically."
"Mhm."
"How was I supposed to know if he meant it or not? I tried to make it easier on Bumblebee with the time limit I had, and I really hoped that it would be enough."
"I see why ye went te prison, because ye sure 'aven't go' the street smarts... Did B.O. explicitly say that 'e would do i'?"
Barricade tries to get his processor to focus, but the memories are fuzzy with stress and high grade, and he's distracted by the slow throbbing of his helm that's slowly killing him.
"I... I don't know. I don't think he said it outright. More like 'it would be uncomfortable if he did it without' and stuff?"
"Ok, pay attention, because ye really need the advice I'm goin' te give ye: If they say stuff in a 'ypothetical way, they're usually tryin' te manipulate ye. Some of 'em are more clever with i' than others, but try no' te let 'em play ye. Fer yer own sake. But ye really should've jus' fucked B.O in the first place. 'is spike is big, an' it would've spared ye from all the drama."
It's so easy to say for someone who likes doing it with anyone and everyone. He's not like that, he doesn't crave spike, even if he likes when Jazz spikes him, and finds pleasure when doing it with Ironhide. That doesn't make him the type who spreads his legs for anyone.
Unlike Hot Rod, who likes it so very much...
Go back to your hangover corner! He won't do what Hot Rod does until he absolutely has to, and all other options are gone.
"I just didn't feel ready. He's huge, and I've still not had much good valve interfacing..." He says, hoping his insecure act is coming through right in spite of his hangover.
"Can' say I understand, but I guess tha's a valid point, an' I think it's a fairly reasonable excuse. Ye really should consider tryin a few more of the brothers, though. Before ye're appointed te someone else than Hide. It's easier when ye get te choose. Like I chose Hide back in prison, but the others were mandatory, an' it took a li'l more te ge' myself te do 'em in the beginning."
Barricade is relieved, because it does seem like he's off the hook of blame for both Bumblebee's bad experience, and the altercation where he damaged one of the in-house crew.
Even if he isn't going to take the advice on fragging around with the brothers.
"Thank you. I really will try to get over my nervousness and my hang-ups."
Nope, he's going to try even harder to find a different job.
Chapter Text
"I'm so sorry, Bumblebee, I really hope you weren't damaged. I honestly thought there was no other way, and I really believed that they were going to just 'ram it home' without prep. I could've done much better, but I really thought I was doing my best, considering the seemingly rushed time schedule."
Bumblebee looks at him for long moments, but Barricade doesn't fidget.
It's the truth. He really thought he was doing the best thing he could for Bumblebee.
::Apology accepted. I wasn't damaged, just a bit sore. They were running a hard game at playing you, I can see why you fell for it.:: Bumblebee's comm voice is completely normal, much to his surprise.
But then, why wouldn't it be?
::I'm sorry for what Drift did to you. It was not my intention when I talked to him about it.:: Bumblebee's voice is rather melodic in a very pleasant way.
"I guess we can't control what others do for us, or what they trick us into doing, right?" Barricade says.
::I guess...::
It's all they need to say to get it over with, even if Barricade has no real grasp on if Bumblebee was sincere or not, and if the mech has truly forgiven him.
Fucking Blackout, it's all his fault, but he will probably never be held accountable.
The next mech to face to make sure their 'scrap is together' is Drift, and Barricade really doesn't feel inclined to forgive him easily, just as he's pretty sure Drift won't just forget this.
"I don't want to fight, and I didn't intend for it to go the way it did. We'll both be worse off if we can't keep a truce. I'm good if you are."
He can keep from landing the first punch, but he certainly hasn't forgiven Drift, and he will not lay down and take it if the Racer wants another go.
"I still think you're an egocentric aft, but I do know that some mechs are too naive to handle a bit of manipulation. I won't cause trouble if you don't."
It's half a threat, half an insult, and not really an apology, but he's fine with that. He can't be friends with everyone, and what Bumblebee thinks is the most important thing, because Bumblebee is the one who was impacted by the debacle in the first place. Drift didn't really have anything to do with it.
"Whatever. Let's be on our 'merry' way then..."
"Yeah, let's!"
Bitch!
He turns and walks away, grinding his denta in annoyance with the Racer, and with guilt for what Bumblebee had to go through at his servos. Barricade picks up the garbage bag he was toting when Drift and the others came back from Ratchet, helping out with clean up after the party. He's still hungover, and just wants to go back to sleep, but this is the least he can do.
And he can't really afford to make the others more annoyed with him right now, it's bad enough to wonder if the way the hookers are glancing at him is good or bad, if they all want to do what Drift did. Even if it wasn't his fault.
Chapter Text
"What in tha Pit happened last night? I've jus' heard half of it..."
Barricade jumps in surprise and swivels around, startled, because he didn't hear Jazz come up to him, and he stares at his lover for a few seconds, processing his words.
It's kind of nice to know that the gossip dosn't travel to every single mech instantaneously.
"I don't really want to talk about it, but basically, Blackout tricked me into sticking a bottle into Bumblebee's aft. I fell for what he was saying about it being nicer if I prepped Bumblebee, instead of him and Springer just pushing it in, and then I unintentionally made Bumblebee's night miserable because of it by not giving a good enough show and buying time for him to adjust." He says quietly.
"Oh. I think ya did great with tha apology, though. How was Drift involved? N' what happened ta his nasal ridge? Looks like it's newly repaired..."
"He decided to get even on Bumblebee's behalf, so I kind of head-butted him..."
Jazz stares blankly at Barricade for long seconds, then he starts laughing. "What?!"
"He jumped me when I was recharging on the couch, and started hitting me, so I defended myself rather offensively..." Barricade hisses, not wanting the others to hear that Jazz finds this hilarious, both for his own sake, and for Jazz's.
"Tha's what I get for sleepin' in: I miss all tha action!"
"Yeah, well, Hide wasn't very impressed with it, he threatened to kick us out if we can't behave ourselves, and I don't know what the others think about me getting Bumblebee into that game." Barricade mutters, nervous about what Jazz will think, but knowing that it's better that he tells Jazz about it himself.
"Whaddya mean?"
"Blackout said that I should start putting out, and wanted to frag me. I kind of freaked out, and said that I had to wait for approval from Hide, that I didn't know if I was allowed to sleep with others."
Jazz frowns, and Barricade's spark constricts in a strange way when he sees the way Jazz's intake pulls into a thin line.
"I was just trying to stall it, but then he came up with this stupid game, and Bumblebee got pulled into it, and drew the shortest straw."
Jazz looks annoyed. "Ya really would make it easier for everyone if ya got 'round ta try someone else. Jus' pick one who's easy on tha optics, n' get it over with already."
Of course he was prepared for Jazz not fully being on his side, but it still stings a bit.
"I'll think about it. So how was your night?" He decides to change the subject.
"It was nice. Roadbuster knows how ta use his equipment, n' he really is decent at dirty talkin'. Doesn't drool when he falls into recharge on your shoulder either."
As stupid as it sounds, it was definitely a better night than he had.
Chapter Text
"I do have an opening..." The manager says, looking him up and down skeptically with beady optics.
Barricade's spark makes a funny flip, because he was so certain that he was walking into yet another turn down.
"You do?!"
"Yeah. I need someone to handle the dishes. There's a lot of those when making gels..." The manager looks him up and down again. "You sure you could do it? You don't look like a maintenance type of bot to me... What's your alt mode?"
It feels like his spark is crawling up his throat, but Barricade hasn't been this hopeful since... well, since he opened the data package from the academy to see if he'd been rejected or not.
"I'm a car, but I swear I can do some dishes! I'll work hard, clean them by servo..."
"You've done it before?"
"Not professionally, but I did my own dishes when I..." He falters, because he doesn't know how to say that he did them before going to prison. "I did them, and I know how to do it, and I really need a job, any job," but he's obligated by law to say it, so he takes a deep vent to continue, "I was convicted, and went to prison, and without a job, I can't get back on track to being a stand up citizen again. I'll do what it takes to work my way up, and I'm not afraid to get my servos grubby, if that's what it takes! I want to do right."
The manager looks him over again with those critical optics that gives Barricade worse heebiejeebies than even Nitro Zeus's leering does.
"Someone with a dishwasher alt would be much more effective, so I can't give you the same pay as one of them... You'll get 5 credits an hour, and I need you for four hours a day on the weekdays. Trial time is two weeks, then we renegotiate wage and weekly hours. If you make the cut."
"Absolutely, Sir! Thank you so much for this opportunity!"
"Yeah, yeah, just be here at 6:45 in the morning on Thursday, then we'll go from there."
Barricade hurries out of the shop, thrilled to a point where his spark is speeding, and he wants to dance around like an idiot.
Sure, the wage is low, and he would've been grateful for more hours, but it's a start, and with hard work, he may get more hours. And having a job is such an advantage when applying for a new one, should this one turn out to be bad, and hopefully, he'll get a reference out of it, if nothing else.
He folds into his alt mode, turning to drive back to the house early for one of his job searching trips.
He finally got one! He's not going to spend the afternoon searching for another one, not considering his nonexistent luck so far. No, he's going to enjoy the afternoon to the max, knowing that he has found the entrance to a path out of his current situation. He's going to make calculations, look at housing alternatives, and scour the data net for affordable necessities, and then he's going to plan his future. Until he has to return to Hide's berth, but that's easy to handle now, it's just temporary. He's got a job now.
Chapter Text
It's a very tight budget.
Four hundred credits a month certainly isn't much. Seventy five of those credits will go to taxes immediately. Barricade is looking at the renting market, and it's a let down. Even the tiniest apartment will cost him at least two hundred, and those apartments are so small, he could barely fit both a berth and a chair. And after fueling himself, there's hardly any credits left, even if he buys the cheapest low grade fuel there is. Even getting the credits to buy himself a berth, and an energon dispenser will take months and months to save up, and that's if he does nothing frivolous at all, and if nothing unexpected happens.
He still peeks at the data net site of the cheapest bargain furniture warehouse, because daydreaming a bit is an indulgence that is free.
Even the cheapest berth is a hundred and twenty credits, and it doesn't even look that comfortable, with the thin mattress.
Certainly not as comfortable as Ironhide's berth...
Oh, shut up.
He looks at bedding, and there's gaudy prints, and optic damaging colors in abundance, but what really has him browsing to a different site is the quality.
Rough tarps, and materials he knows are going to rustle and chafe.
Not everyone can afford the luxury to get the highest end imported fabrics, even if your pimp can...
Whatever.
Barricade stares longingly at the finer bedding, knowing that buying those are far off in the future, before he shuts the browser and stretches out on Ironhide's berth.
He could stay here while doing his trial period at his new job, maybe even a bit longer. Save up the credits he makes, and work his aft off. Hopefully he'll get a bit of a raise, and a few more hours a week once the trial is over. If he can find a cheap apartment then, maybe he'll have enough money to buy a berth straight away, at least. If the deposit doesn't eat up all of his savings.
So now you'll stay here willingly, even if you could technically leave?!
It's just temporary, to set himself up for a better start.
You do realize that you'll have to sleep with Hide as long as you stay here?
Just a few more weeks. And he makes it good for me, so I can live with that to get a little extra credits as a buffer.
Prostitute...
He ignores that, because it's no different than what he has been doing lately, only now it's a means to an end, a way to finally get out of here, and start a real life.
But he can't take Jazz with him, he won't be able to afford fuel for them both. And he can't tell Jazz that he'll have to keep ho... working, because they'll still be in Hide's territory, and Hide probably won't like Jazz doing his own thing like that.
Maybe Jazz can still work for Hide, but move out with you? You could split the cost for rent. Jazz will probably make more credits like that, when he doesn't need to pay rent to Hide. Not that you know what Jazz makes right now...
He can't tell Jazz that he'll have to keep working for Hide!
Why not? It's what he has been doing his entire life...
He just can't be that much of an asshole, he'll be no better than Hide if he asks Jazz to sell his frame to pay for rent. Even if it certainly would make it easier to make ends meet with two incomes, and Jazz has furniture and stuff... But no. He can't do that. He'll invite Jazz to move in with him when he makes more money himself.
Chapter Text
"I'll get up early tomorrow. I...ah, I've gotten a job." Barricade finally says, spark spinning in his chest.
"Hm?" Ironhide grunts, almost in recharge already.
Barricade shifts nervously, and it makes another glob of transfluid dribble out of his valve, as if to underscore what will be different soon.
"I've gotten a day job. It's not much, just a few hours a day, but it's something, I guess." For some reason, it feels almost shamefully inadequate when telling Hide, even if he was so proud of it. "Well within the territory."
Which may actually work in his advantage now that he's talking to his landlord about it, even if it'll probably make him a resident in this territory once he moves out of Hide's House of Horrors.
It wasn't horror that made you squeal half an hour ago...
Shut up.
"I start working at seven tomorrow morning."
Ironhide onlines one optic, and quirks an optical ridge. One corner of his intake quirks up, as if amused.
"Good luck with that."
His tone of voice isn't sarcastic, or implying that he truly disapproves, but it sounds as if he doesn't believe that Barricade will be able to handle it, and that he's just amused by the thought of Barricade trying. Barricade's temper flares, because who is the bastard to think that he knows what Barricade can and can't do?!
Barricade still tamps down on his irritation, because he will gain nothing from confronting Ironhide about that. Hide isn't annoyed that he has gotten a job, and that's probably the best he could hope for right now.
"Thank you." He says, pretending that the amusement flew right by him.
Ironhide turns over on his front, grabbing one of the big, fluffy pillows, and buries his face in it, stretching and wriggling a bit before settling in.
"I guess we should go to recharge, then. Getting up early is tough on too little recharge." He mutters, as his frame goes lax.
Barricade can't really tell if it's another barb or not. He has been prone to sleep in ever since he got out of prison, after all.
But that's just because he hasn't had a reason to get up. Sure, he has been hunting for a job, but it's not like getting to the places where he has asked for one early would've helped with that. It would just have left him with more time to just sit around and wait for Hide to claim the night's rent.
Sure, and it has nothing to do with how comfortable this berth is, and your reluctance to get out of it because of the fluffiness of the pillows...
I had no problems getting up in the mornings when I was an Enforcer...
But then you didn't spend half the nights being fucked into the berth...
Shut up. A bit of hot energon, and I'll be up and running just fine!
Next to him, Ironhide's vents have evened out, and the big mech is already in recharge.
Barricade turns over on his side, offlining his optics, but it takes a while for recharge to claim him, nervous excitement keeping him awake.
He has a job, and he starts tomorrow!
Chapter Text
It's really hard work.
Normally, he'd sleep most of the time he now spends at work, and then he'd hang out with Jazz. He still hangs out with Jazz, of course, he wouldn't stop with that, but more than once, he catches himself nodding off into recharge while they cuddle, and the times they interface, falling into recharge afterwards is a certain. When Jazz has to get ready for work, Barricade moseys off to Hide's room, trying to catch some more recharge before Ironhide decides to come back.
It's exhausting.
Hide does keep him up at night — not more than usual, it isn't a bastardly scheme or anything, even Barricade can admit that —and it's much harder to keep up now that Barricade has to get up early, missing his normal recharge hours. And the hours he gets between being with Jazz and Hide's arrival each night aren't really enough, but he'll be damned if he has to pass on spending time with Jazz just to recharge.
On top of that, the work is hard in itself. Barricade never thought doing dishes would be so taxing, but he has to try to measure up with a mech with a dishwasher alt mode, so he really needs to work quickly and efficiently. His spark is spinning quickly the entire shifts, not because it's really heavy work, but his frame is interpreting it as a need for more power to increase speed, so it heightens his power output, and that really adds onto the strain. He'd probably be fine if he could get longer consecutive recharge, but that's impossible at the moment.
His servos flitter over the trays and moulds, scrubbing the sticky residue out of them as quickly as he can, the finer motoric hydraulics and motors in his lower arms close to overheating as he scrubs with the little brush. Barricade's arms are always so sore these days, even fingering Jazz makes his hydraulics hurt with a dull ache, and all he wants to do is rest his frame.
It's just temporary. He just has to go through this, and show that he's good at this, get a bit of a raise, and then he'll be out of Hide's place, and get himself an apartment. It'll be worth it in the end, with his own berth, and he'll get to recharge all night...
Because Jazz won't be there to keep him up, he'll still be working.
One thing at a time. An apartment, and then working his way up a bit, so he can afford to invite Jazz to live with him. He has to start somewhere.
"Are the moulds ready yet, Barricade?" The manager asks, his voice sharp.
"Almost, Sir. They were more sticky than usual this time, Sir. New recipe?" He say, suddenly nervous that the mech thinks he's working too slowly.
They were not stickier than usual. It's just that the moulds are hard to clean, and after almost a week of intense work, he's had the bad luck to get a bunch of them to scrub, unlike the trays he usually has cleaned so far. Barricade's arms are so sore, they're almost seizing up.
He really needs to get some rest, and perhaps get his joints greased up to make them move smoother. But soon, it's weekend, and he's really going to take full advantage of it, and rest as much as possible.
"Same recipe as always." The manager says, sounding unimpressed, and Barricade is suddenly nervous that he unintentionally insulted the products, and the manager's skills.
His distal hydraulic pump whines in protest when he forces himself to work even faster to make up for it if he did.
Chapter Text
Barricade steps out of the gelery, taking a deep vent in relief.
Finally friday!
He's just about ready to go back home, cuddle up with Jazz — or even fall into Hide's fluffy berth — and recharge until monday.
Sure, a good massage, and a greasing of his joints would feel so good, but consecutive recharge would go a long way to hit the spot, along with some good quality fuel, and some supplements. But mostly, he just wants to recharge.
But that won't happen — the recharging until monday part — even if Saturdays and Sundays are rather slow in the house. The weekend means more customers in the streets, so the pleasurebots — and whomever is on pimp-duty for the night — have their busiest nights on Fridays and Saturdays, and in-house parties are reserved for other nights, when business usually is slower.
But Ironhide wants payment of the rent night by night, and Jazz will be working, so Barricade will have to make do with looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow.
Jazz usually wants to sleep in on Saturdays, though, so he isn't really missing out on spending time together, even if he's out until noon.
For the first time, Barricade truly understands why Jazz is so lazy in the mornings, and how him not interrupting his lover's recharge will be a gift, and not a sign of disinterest.
He transforms and drives straight back to the house, and he makes a beeline for the washracks. Nitro is sitting on the couch in the rec room, smoking a laced cyg, but he hardly seems to notice Barricade, stoned as he is. His optic is dim, almost completely dark, and even if it tracks Barricade's movements across the room — his helm lolling lazily against the backrest as he does so — the bastard doesn't say anything, and it's impossible to tell if the quirk of his mandibles is a smirk or not.
Barricade steps into the washracks in the pleasurebot wing, not keen on going to Ironhide's quarters to wash up before he's off to see if Jazz is awake. The water is warm, and it helps soothing his aching frame, bringing his spirits up even more.
It's weekend, and he has done more than half of his trial! Just three more days to go, then he'll get to renegotiate his hours and pay. The manager is hard to read at best, but the mech doesn't seem dissatisfied with his efforts so far, so hopefully, he'll be able to make a better deal. And if he doesn't he can survive on the credits he gets, he has calculated it over and over. He just has to be very aware of every credit he spends.
He scrubs the smell and dust of energon dust from his frame, taking the solvent in the biggest bottle on the shelf, hoping it's for everyone to use. He looks at the bottle, apparently a supermarket budget brand, and he sniffs the open bottle. It doesn't smell bad, and he files away a picture of the bottle for when it's time to go shopping.
He can probably save money by buying generic solvent like this when he moves out, even if the scent can be hit or miss. He'll just need to find the good ones.
Chapter Text
Barricade knocks quietly on Jazz's door. It's not that he doesn't want Jazz to hear him, but if Jazz is still in recharge, Barricade really doesn't want to disturb him. His lover needs his rest, and Barricade can always come back a little later. He's holding two large cubes of low grade energon, because he doesn't feel like getting buzzed right now, but he really need some energy. Jazz may feel like getting drunk already — he doesn't care much for the stigma that states at what times it's appropriate to drink, and when not to — but it'll probably bee good for him to stay sober for a few hours too.
The door slides open for him, and he steps inside. Jazz is stretched out on the berth, and Barricade sets the cubes on the nightstand.
"Brought some breakfast." He says, looking down at his lover, but then he frowns. "What happened to your face-plates?!"
Jazz's servo comes up to gingerly touch his right cheek, the plating dented and scratched.
"Nasty customer who didn' wanna stick ta tha deal we struck." He says.
"What?! How..." He trails off, still fighting to comprehend the reality. "Can you report it or something?"
It's a stupid question, because he knows that Jazz can't file charges, can't do anything. He's a prostitute, and it'll be word against word about the abuse, and there's a very real risk that Jazz's character will be questioned because of his previous convictions, and the customer will have the upper hand since Jazz is selling his frame.
"No I can't." Jazz says, looking at Barricade as if he's stupid. Which his question really suggests. "Don' worry, it's been handled. He just slapped me once, wasn't even that hard."
"Yeah, but he should pay for what he did! I mean, what's the justice.."
Jazz snorts. "I said that it has been handled. Ya think he walked outta there looking better than I look right now? With Nitro n' Motormaster handlin' tha security? That glitch won' hurt a scraplet in tha foreseeable future..." Jazz says, and his field is thick with smug satisfaction.
He didn't even consider the option that someone would deal swift justice for hurting one of the whores.
"As long as you're happy with it..."
It's not like the law would protect Jazz from something like this. Primus knows he did nothing but take advantage when he was the law...
"I feel like justice have been served."
"Well, if I'd known, I would've brought some med grade too."
Jazz sniffs the cube. "This is just low grade!" He says, sounding disappointed.
"Yeah. If I have anything stronger, I'll be in deep recharge in a matter of minutes, and I really want to spend the afternoon with you being awake... I thought your fuel filter could probably do well with something milder too."
"Are ya sayin' I drink too much high grade?"
"No, just that we both work hard, and should take care of our frames." Barricade evades the very valid question.
He does think that Jazz might be drinking too much, but right now, he's just too fragging tired to take that discussion.
"Well, ya work hard, at least..."
"Do you want me to fetch you some supplements?" Barricade says, carefully sliding his fingers over the injury on Jazz's face.
"Nah, I'm good. Jus' get on tha berth with me, n' cuddle. Ya look too worn ta go back ta tha bar jus' for some supplements for li'l ol' me." Jazz says, tugging at Barricade's wrist, a smile stretching his intake.
He's not going to argue against any of those points.
Chapter Text
Barricade tightens his grip on Ironhide's spike, slipping his servos along the thick, hard shaft, but suddenly, his servos let go without warning, his fingers seizing up, unable to grab on again.
Ironhide onlines his optics with a grunt, starting to say something, but immediately stops when he sees Barricade's bright-opticed stare, and his slowly moving digits.
"I-I'm sorry, Hide, I didn't m-mean to... My servos just... I can't close them!" Barricade stutters with rising panic, trying to understand what's going on when his digits doesn't obey him.
Ironhide grabs one of his hovering servos, bending the digits to close it for Barricade.
Something feels utterly wrong in the hydraulic cylinders in his lower arm, a strange, creeping sensation that tickles in a way that makes Barricade queasy with unexplainable disgust.
"Aah! Please don't do that... doesn't hurt, but..." He trails off swallowing repeatedly to stop another gag from forcing it's way up his intake.
"Cylinder creeps?" Ironhide asks, looking Barricade's arms over as he flexes and stretches the Mustang's digits one by one.
"I guess... My servos feel weak, and when you do those movements of my servos, it feels really weird in all of my hydraulics."
Ironhide lets go of Barricade's arm again, and the Mustang tries to move his digits, finding that he can move them, but very slowly, and when he stops trying, they still move of their own accord, only even slower.
"Looks like internal leakage. Could be that you've shot a few seals in your cylinders."
Barricade makes a noise of distress.
How is he going to work when his servos are fragged up?!
He stares at his servos, stifling a sob.
"I'll be fine with a blowjob." Ironhide says, shrugging.
Did he say it out loud? It was not that kind of work he meant, though.
"But what will I do with my arms?!" Barricade says, still on the verge of sobbing, and just not in a helm space to argue what he considers work.
"When you're done here, you'll go to Ratchet. I've already commed him, he'll open the clinic for you, take a look, and if he doesn't have replacements in stock, you'll get them tomorrow, and he'll fix you up before tomorrow evening."
It sounds so very good, there's just one issue: it's Friday night, and tomorrow is Saturday. Everything is closed until Monday. Not to speak of how his meager earnings will be gone once he pays for everything.
"I-I can't afford that. The on-call hour fee, and no parts shops will be open tommorow..." He whispers.
He'll have to wait until Monday, and then it'll be too late, and he won't get the job.
"You don't need to pay Ratchet for this, I told him to do it as part of our agreement. And if he doesn't have the parts, comm me a list of what's needed, and it will be sorted until tomorrow. Anything else?"
"I... ah... Not that I can think of right now, no."
It feels like he'll be indebted to Ironhide for this, but it's the best option. He can make up for it by being extra pliant in berth, and in a week, he'll be out of here.
"Then let's finish this so you can be off to Ratchet, now that he's waiting for you." Ironhide says, pointing at his half pressurized spike.
Arrogant bastard.
Still he obediently bends forward, and sucks the thick spike into his intake.
Chapter Text
"So, what's your malfunction?" Ratchet asks without preamble as soon as Barricade steps through the door.
The medic seems cranky, and probably for good reason. Working late at Friday night, and from what Barricade understands, not getting a single credit for it, would put anyone in a bad mood. He'd like to give the medic a tip, but he just can't afford it.
"My servos seized up momentarily, and it seems like I have cylinder creep?" He says, holding his servos out to show the mech how his fingers move of their own accord while they walk into the examination room.
"Primus on a pike, what did he have you do for this to happen?!"
"I... uhm... I was giving him a hand job. I've been working extra washing dishes in a gelery too, though. I really hope to get an employment so I can get my own apartment..." Barricade trails off.
Ratchet frowns. "Mhm. Let's take a look then." He says, voice a bit softer.
Barricade lays down on the berth, and Ratchet plugs a scanner into Barricade's systems. While it goes through his systems, Ratchet starts to remove plating to get access to the deeper components in Barricade's arms.
"So, doing dishes... How long have you been doing this?"
"Since last Thursday. It was fine the first days, but my hydraulics really started to feel strained as this week wore on."
Ratchet doesn't answer, focusing on the components in Barricade's arm.
"I'll check my stock, but I don't think I have all the seals. You should get ceramic coated ones anyway, they'll last longer, and won't wear the pistons as badly when you strain yourself like that. I only have a few of those" Ratchet says, disappearing into an adjacent room.
"Are those expensive?" He asks, spark feeling cold.
"Pricier than the standard ones, but Hide can afford it, and we don't need to tell him that I'm upgrading you. That's the least he can do, the bastard. I'd also suggest upgrading all the electrical motors to more powerful ones. One in each arm is burnt out, but the other ones are not in a good condition. It's just a matter of time before they give out too."
Barricade's spark sinks, because even if Ratchet doesn't tell Hide exactly what was needed, and what are upgrades, Ironhide will see the bill, and Barricade will feel like he owes the Topkick.
But he needs this if he's going to keep working. Especially if his stock equipment hardly holds up for two weeks. He will not be able to afford repairs like this twice a month when he's on his own.
"So how long will the upgraded parts hold up?"
Ratchet shrugs. "Two months, perhaps? Who knows, it depends on the workload, and how much it strains your systems. To be certain, you'd need to upgrade your entire arms: stronger distal hydraulic pumps, sturdier pistons, upgraded electrics to power bigger motors... It would be a pretty extensive rebuild, the question is if it would be any cheaper and easier than just getting reformatted into a dishwasher."
Pit no, he's not going to become a dishwasher! Forced to walk everywhere, or take transports for all eternity. He's a Racer, he can't even imagine himself as a dishwasher, how humiliating. But he can't afford that kind of rebuild, so he will have to make do with the upgrades Ratchet can get him, hope for a good raise, and make sure to save as much as he can for the next time he needs to get repaired.
Chapter 300
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Greetings, glitches!" Nitro says loudly when he steps into the refueling room, sounding way more chipper than should be allowed a rather early Saturday morning.
Barricade's plans of sleeping in were wrecked by last night's trip to Ratchet. When he got back, Ironhide had left his room, and he didn't come back at all during the night. It should've give Barricade extra time to recharge, but instead it gave him time to grind his gears with worry about the future.
It would almost have been preferable if Ironhide had still been in berth, because interfacing would've distracted him from the thoughts and calculations, and made him fall into recharge easily when they were done. Almost preferable.
Barricade can't help but be a bit curious about where Hide spent the night.
Or maybe he was working, whatever that would mean.
A hail storm of energon gels start to hit the big mech.
"Hey..."
"Put the cyg out!" Dreadbot yells, keeping up the bombardment.
"No smokin' in the kitchen!" Crosshairs shouts.
Nitro Zeus glares for a second, then he does something that's probably a shark-like grin, and flicks the cyg onto the plate of gels the entertainers were using as ammunition. It instantly flares up into a fire, and Crosshairs shrieks, running for the sink to get water to put it out.
"Not water, you idiot, it'll vaporize and make it worse!" Dreadbot shouts. "We need to smother it!"
Jazz grabs a large bowl and throws it over the plate, where the flames are already decreasing as the fuel is consumed by the fire.
Hopefully, those gels were made by an insentient machine, and nobody had to scrub the moulds used to make the gels, just for them to end up burning .
"Our breakfast!" Dreadbot says mournfully.
"I guess you could lick the gels off my plating if you're still hungry. Was that the plan to begin with? Because you could've just asked..." Nitro chuckles at Dreadbot and Crosshairs.
"Oh, shut up! I'll tell Hide 'bou' this. 'e'll 'ave yer aft on a plate."
"There's no plate big enough for that size of an ass. He'll fucking wreck you for attempting to burn down the kitchen, though." Dreadbot sounds very satisfied with that.
"A small, fairly controlled fire just brightens the morning, and livens up the day. As does Crosshairs's panicked turbo piglet squeal, that's very cute, and totally worth it. Hide will agree." Nitro shrugs, heading for Barricade.
Ugh, not again. Will he ever get the hint?
"Don't look so skeptical. I come bearing gifts." He rumbles, sinking to his knees in front of Barricade, holding a few packets out in his open servos, as if it's an offering in supplication.
Barricade slowly takes the boxes and small bags, squeezing the parts between his servos when he takes them, because Ratchet plugged the hydraulics to stop the creeping, and the involuntary movements, so his digits don't work at all.
New seals for his hydraulics, the electrical motors he needed, and some high quality joint grease.
"I think it is legal to give gifts to pretty mechs, right, Officer?"
Barricade stares at the things for long moments.
Brand new, high quality replacement parts. On a Saturday morning.
"It's not illegal. Unless the goods come from... questionable sourcing." Barricade says, cocking an optical ridge, because he'll be damned before immediately showing how grateful he is. "I suppose that the shop did open specifically for this..."
"Do you really want to know?"
"Probably not. Thank you, though."
"You're welcome." Nitro Zeus says, rising to his pedes again. "Now, who wants to help me clean my plating? Bring a friend if you like. Pit, bring two, or even better, all of your friends!"
Jazz nudges Barricade with his elbow to get the Mustang's attention. "Ya wanna go with Nitro? I think we would have pretty fun..." He whispers.
Barricade shakes his helm. "I'm going to Ratchet to get this fixed as soon as possible."
"I'm always 'ungry..." Crosshairs purrs, tucking himself under Nitro's arm.
"Fucking deserter!" Dreadbot grumbles.
"I'll give you a nice, juicy dessert, babe!" Nitro leers, wrapping his other arm around Dreadbot and pulling him along.
"You better. Hide's still going to hear about this."
"Yeah, yeah, tell your Daddy all about it. I'm not afraid of him."
Notes:
Chapter 300, and we celebrate it with a small (but fairly controlled) fire.
Chapter Text
His right arm has been dismantled, and Ratchet is changing the seals in the pistons.
"I wish I could pay you something for this..." Barricade says sincerely.
Even though you have some credits squirreled away that he clearly isn't paying ratchet with.
He can't afford to lose them. He has to take advantage of Hide's deal with Ratchet this time.
"It's fine." Ratchet grunts.
"Maybe, but I appreciate it nonetheless. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be able to work on Monday. I'd lose my job, and I would be back to square one with getting one, and moving out of Hide's."
"I do hope you get the job, it's not that, but be prepared for problems with your arms if you keep doing a lot of dishes by servo on a limited time. Make sure to change your hydraulic filters often, and don't wait too long with changing the fluid either, and grease all the joints very regularly. And see if you can get a medical plan from your employer, otherwise I'd suggest a medical insurance. You will not hold up well for that kind of job, even with these upgrades."
It's disheartening to know that it isn't an if, but rather a when he's going to break again, but he's too embarrassed to tell Ratchet that there's no way he can afford an insurance. Not if he doesn't get a good raise, at least, and he doesn't dare hoping for that kind of credits.
"I'll be meticulous about maintenance."
He'll use budget filters, and the cheapest fluid he can find, and hopefully, he can find grease at one of the bargain stores, and he'll do the maintenance as often as he can.
"Are you a friend of Drift's?" Ratchet asks.
"Not really. He, uhm, he doesn't really like me. Flipped his lid at some stupid stuff I didn't even mean to get involved in."
Ratchet chuckles. "He does have a bit of a temper at times."
Kind of like a certain medic. Maybe they're related? How awkward wouldn't that be, considering Ratchet probably knows what Drift does for a living.
"Yeah, I noticed... How do you know each other? If you don't mind me asking."
Ratchet's face goes solemn. "He was one of street mechs I helped from time to time. When he let me. He kind of grew on me, rough around the edges as he was, and I always tried to get him to clean up his act and get a job, because I knew that he could be more than that. Then Hide moved into the neighborhood, and Drift was dragged into that world. I tried talking to him, get him to get a better job, but he didn't want to leave, said he was better off with Hide."
Ratchet lapses into silence, but Barricade can tell that the medic blames himself, and that he's disappointed with how things turned out.
What on Cybertron would possess someone to think that whoring for Ironhide is better than a real job, and self reliance?
"Couldn't you help him in some way? I mean, with your contacts as a medic." He hastily adds the last parts when he realizes how accusing it sounds.
Ratchet shakes his helm. "He couldn't afford rehab, and after the first time he relapsed while in rehab, my appeals for goodwill always were declined. I couldn't get him to stop either, it's impossible if a mech doesn't truly want to quit. Hide has managed to keep him on the straight and narrow somehow, though. I'll give him that."
Chapter Text
Barricade reboots slowly, warm and content, and not at all inclined to get up anytime soon.
Then he registers the heavy arm slung across him, something that is definitely out of the ordinary. He still doesn't feel like onlining his optics, because a quick scan shows him that it's Ironhide, and the Topkick is still recharging. Barricade checks his chronometer, because while he never wakes up when the big mech leaves, he has this niggling feeling that it isn't that early right now, and that Hide usually disappears earlier than this.
Six in the morning. The only time he woke up this early was that first time he really went all in looking for a job, and Ironhide was still in berth then. It's entirely possible that he always stays this long.
But it's Sunday, and Barricade has promised himself to make the most of this weekend to rest and recuperate, his arms feel better than they've done in years — if they ever felt this good — so he wiggles deeper into the fluffy berth, pressing his back against Ironhide's front for some additional warmth, and lets himself relax.
It's even more satisfying to indulge in this laziness when he has gotten up early, and worked hard all week. Not that he didn't enjoy it before, but now he really appreciates the opportunity to just go back into recharge again. He'll do this every weekend from now on.
His systems start to power down, one by one shutting down, or going into power saving mode, and his processor is starting to randomly defrag his thoughts until they don't make sense at all.
Barricade hardly doesn't even notice when Ironhide's grip on him tightens, but he's quick-booted when the Topkick growls.
"Dammit, come on, soldier! We need to go right now. Follow me, that's an order! I'm your superior too, you will obey my command, don't listen to him, I'm your unit commander, the orders should go through me. We have to get the fuck out of here! you follow me, and if we're separated, you need to get to the rendezvous point I've pinged you on your own. That's the current mission. Now you offline your audials and comms. We're going silent." Ironhide barks, spark putting out so much energy, his plating is scorching hot.
There's some flailing, and suddenly Ironhide is sitting up, vents ragged.
Barricade doesn't know why, but he feigns recharge.
Or maybe deactivation. How dignified: playing dead just because the mech he's screwing talked a little in his sleep.
The Mustang doesn't budge though, doesn't do anything to show that he noticed.
"Frag." Ironhide grunts, and Barricade hears the grinding noise when he drags his servo down his face-plates.
There's rustling of fabric, and the berth dips when Ironhide gets up. Barricade hears how he lights up a cyg, and takes a deep drag. Then there's long moments of silence while Ironhide smokes some more, sitting at the edge of the berth. Then he gets up and walks out the door, without any sign of even considering if Barricade was awake or not.
Barricade immediate flops over — because of course everything starts itching and aching when he has to lay perfectly still, making it near unbearable — and he looks around the room, even if he knows that there will be no clues to what set Ironhide off — if it was a memory, or just something cooked up by his recharging processor — or where he went.
Chapter Text
Barricade is awake, but he's still loitering in the berth when Ironhide comes back. He rolls over on his back, feeling well rested, and in a very good mood.
His arms have been fixed and upgraded, he has slept well this night — not counting the interruption earlier — and everything is all in all looking much brighter.
"Well, good morning." He kind of purrs.
Ironhide has been very generous these last few days, helping him out in spite of not really having any obligations to do so. The least he can do is meet the mech somewhere on the way, and not just go along with what is asked of him, but actually showing a bit of that want Ironhide is fond of seeing from his berth fellows.
"Good morning, Barricade. You look very good today. Relaxed, and happy. It really suits you." Ironhide says, giving him a once-over, before rummaging through his desk for something.
"Why, thank you, Hide." Barricade tries the coy voice, because he feels playful, and he has seen the roles the others play. "You look excellent yourself. Sturd... uhm, powerful?"
Ironhide chuckles. "Thank you." He leans his aft against the desk, looking at Barricade.
The Interceptor squirms, both because he wants to treat Ironhide to a show, but also because it's kind of embarrassing to do it with those optics following his every move.
"I have a task for you to do today." Ironhide says slowly, optics glued to Barricade's moving frame.
"Hm?"
"You will chose one of my brothers to interface with. I think you're ready to expand your... experience."
Barricade freezes mid sensual slide of pedes along the expensive sheet.
"What?!"
"You need to pick a different lover."
More like a different customer.
"Why?"
"You've been in my berth every night for quite some time now. While I've enjoyed it immensely — and will enjoy it everytime we do it in the future — others have been set aside. It wouldn't be fair to anyone to keep doing this."
Barricade's intake moves, and his vocalizer clicks, but he's speechless with horrification.
"I told you right away that I'm not much for hogging the goods for myself, and that the deals get renegotiated at some point. This is the point. Everything I offered is still in play, except now you will find different berths to spend the nights in. Different landlords, if you will, I know you prefer to see this as a business transaction. If you earn it, you may get something extra for your efforts. Recharging on the couch will not be tolerated, you need to pay the rent each night. You're allowed to turn a brother down, but remember that it really won't be in your favor when it becomes time to vote about if we want you to stay or not, so I suggest you choose wisely when doing that."
This is it, he's really a whore now. And he knows that arguing will not get him anywhere. He has to do this, and he really has to make it work with his other job, so he can get out of here as soon as possible. Before he has gone around the entire house.
"But what if I don't find a berth to spend the night in? What if nobody is interested? I can't be blamed for that, can I?" He says weakly, hoping that it will be tolerated, because then he can keep away, and blame that nobody picked him.
"That won't be an issue. I've had several requests for borrowing you. I don't want to overwhelm you," Ironhide says with an amused grin, "I'm certain you're not ready for a gang bang on the rec room table, so I'm telling you this now, to give you a chance to seduce a mech of your choice tonight, instead of just... releasing the dogs on you."
How generous.
"But who am I going to pick?" He whispers, half to himself, thinking about what he has seen of the other brothers, both in action, and in others' memories.
"How the fuck would I know that? Ask the other whores, if you still have delicacies you need to consider, they know everyone's preferences. But — considering how many of my brothers are drooling over you — if you can't get anyone to fuck you each night, you're doing something very wrong."
Chapter Text
It's not that he hasn't heard similar topics be discussed before, but it's so different to be the one asking. Barricade takes a seat by the table, fidgeting nervously with his cube of hot energon.
"So... uhm, I'm supposed to try someone new tonight. Any suggestions for whom to start with?"
The others glance at each other for long seconds, probably speaking over comms, Barricade realizes, and then Dreadbot smirks at him.
"Nitro." He says at the same time as Crosshairs, cocking an optical ridge. Crosshairs nods his agreement.
Barricade feels his face fall, and then he glares at the gathered mechs.
"He has paid you to say it, hasn't he?" He grumbles, disappointed when he thought he would actually get some serious help with chosing a suitable new customer.
"Wha'?! No! Hoes before bros!" Crosshairs says, sounding shocked that Barricade would think that they're not serious.
"I would've said Motormaster." Drift says, shrugging, and Barricade gets the feeling that Motormaster would be the worst possible to begin with.
"Why would ye even think we would do tha'? An' why would 'e do tha'?" Crosshairs almost sounds hurt.
"Because he has been persistently hassling me since I moved in, and I wouldn't put it past him to do something like that just to get his way. You did say yourself that some of the brothers are manipulative..." Barricade trails off, feeling like he did a horrible mistake, but not certain where he went wrong.
It really wouldn't surprise him if Nitro Zeus bribed all the others just to get him into berth.
"You're so full of yourself, aren't you?" Dreadbot grinds out between clenched denta.
"What?!"
"You come in here, sitting on your high cyber pony, thinking it's below you to pay with your frame, even if you really have nothing else to offer. You know that it's insulting, right? Makes it seem like you think we're less than you, and it's fine that we whore ourselves out, but you shouldn't have to. Do you really think any of us woke up one day and thought 'oh, gee, I think I'm going to become a prostitute'? Do you really think that none of us would have wanted something — anything — else than this at some point?! You're insulting Nitro Zeus too, insinuating that he would have to bribe his way into a berth, and insulting the mechs who literally own everything you take advantage of — every comfort you enjoy right now — is a dangerous path to walk. He'd probably just laugh at it, because he knows that it isn't true, and he's more likely to find humor in it, but my friendly suggestion is; don't try that attitude with anyone else..."
Barricade works his intake, because he has thought about this before, has learned that it's rarely about a mech wanting to sell himself, but he never thought that his reluctance to do it would be hurtful to someone else.
"I-I know that not everyone chose this life," he says carefully, not wanting to accidentally hurt Crosshairs, or anyone else who might actually think this is the best thing that could've happened to them, "but I didn't consider that my mindset would be hurtful. I don't think you're any less than me, it's just that I struggle with the thought to do this myself..."
"If you'd been a little more open-minded, and tried to make friends in the house, you would've realized that we care for each other. You may see this as a halfway house for you to get out of before you have to spread your legs for someone else, but you know what? It's not always that simple, and the crystals always seem brighter on the other side of the fence. Ever considered that we have reasons to stay here that isn't just about being happy to let everyone use us? We do look after each other here, and we've been trying to help you, but you just insult us back. You're a fucking asshole, and you're just lucky that Jazz is so forgiving, because you're insulting him too."
Barricade's tank is churning, and his spark is feeling cold with the ugly truths that are being revealed in that low growl of Dreadbot's.
"I'm sorry..." He says meekly.
"Yeah, yeah, just cut it out with the 'poor li'l me' attitude. It's very unbecoming for a mech your age, and it's fucking time you learn to play with the hand fate has dealt you. The only choices you have are play or fold."
Chapter Text
Dreadbot strides up to Barricade, and holds out his data cable in a way one might wield a very sharp knife.
His talons really are similar to sharp blades.
Barricade slowly reaches out to take it, but then he just sits there, holding it awkwardly, not sure he wants to plug in when Dreadbot is so annoyed with him.
"You think you're the only one who didn't want to do this from the beginning? I'll show you how I wound up here. You really think you're the first one reluctant to make a deal? The first one who doesn't want to give your frame up for to everyone to use, to strangers, basically? At least you have the advantage of having people to ask what the brothers are like. Crosshairs didn't, he had to guess, and hope for the best. I had Crosshairs, but I had never met him before I moved in, so how was I to know if I could trust him? And not everyone is so lucky as to get the first week for free."
Barricade dawdles with the plug for long seconds, but then he pushes it into the data port on his arm.
"I was so young, and so fucking stupid..." Dreadbot grumbles.
"Ye were in love..." Crosshairs says comfortingly, rubbing a servo up and down Dreadbot's back-struts before wrapping his arm around Dreadbot's waist.
"Yeah, well I'm not making that mistake again."
As Dreadbot flips through his memories, Barricade is shown brief flashes of his backstory.
— Dreadbot posing for pictures, smiling at the camera, preening to show off how pretty a mech will be if they use the wax in the advertisement the photos are going into.
— The yard sale to sell his furniture and other things, to make his baggage lighter, and because he wants to start over with everything fresh and new now that he's pursuing his dreams — and for some extra credits to have as a buffer — and then cleaning out his rented room.
— Arriving to Polyhex, stepping off the rail transport with his two bags of knick knacks, full of hopes and dreams.
He's going to be an actor/model, everyone at home always said he's so pretty, so hot, and he's so talented.
There's rejection — again and again — because the competition in Polyhex is much harder than it was back in Uraya.
Everyone is so pretty, he's an average at best here. And he certainly isn't going to sleep with the casting crews, or the talent scouts just to get a role.
But ends must meet, and he winds up doing some soft porn.
Just to pay the rent on his shitty little apartment, and all the expensive waxes and polishes he needs to stay in a perfect condition. And to pay for the even more expensive drinks he nurses on the mingle parties he has to attend to try to meet the right people. Many actors have done some porn, or erotic photos, it won't impact his future career.
He manages to make it to the centerfold of one of the higher end erotic magazines, and then his real career finally kicks off.
Sure, it's just tiny roles in b-movies, but it's something, and he may be noticed for something else than opening his panel, and cracking open his chest armor.
And then one evening, he goes to yet another party, and he meets a very charming script writer/director/producer.
Swindle.
Chapter Text
"Do I know you? You look familiar. Been in any movies I've seen?" Swindle asks, studying Dreadbot.
His optics sweep over Dreadbot's frame, and momentarily stop at his chest-plates, a look of recognition passing his face almost too quickly to notice.
"I have had a few smaller roles. I played Needleshot, the drug dealer in Alleyways, that was my biggest role."
"Ah, then that's definitely where I recognize you from. That movie was good. It should've gotten more attention, everyone really was spot on with the acting." Swindle says with a smarmy smile.
"Well, I'm partial, but I agree." Dreadbot says, flushing with embarrassed pride. "So how about you? Done anything I might've seen?"
"I've been doing a lot of smaller live plays in various theaters since I moved to Polyhex, and before that, I mostly made low budget indie movies. It always looks good on the resume to have done some live work, and that I don't just sell my scripts to anyone. Shows that the art is more important than just getting it on the screen."
Dreadbot feels a bit stupid to not have thought about that.
Maybe he should join a theater group? Do some amateur theater to get some time in front of an audience, and maybe get a review in a paper or something?
"Oh, of course! I really like it when a script writer doesn't just sell out. I mean, the choice of director and actors really make or break the movie."
"I did write and direct 'Three days of power out', it was available on cheapflix streaming for a few weeks."
Dreadbot has never heard of the movie. "Oh, I loved that movie! Too bad they stopped streaming it..." But he doesn't want to blow this shot at getting the right contacts.
"Come on, let me buy you a drink. I have this project I'm working on that I think you'll find interesting." Swindle says, placing his servo on the small of Dreadbot's back, leading him towards the bar. "It's an action thriller, and I think you could fit the part as the main character.
Dreadbot's sparks speeds up with excitement as he follows the older mech.
Maybe he's going to make it this time!
Chapter Text
He falls into berth with Swindle that first night — drunk and giddy, elated by the situation, the possibilities — and then he falls in love.
Dreadbot has had flings and flirts, and a few mech friends, but they've all been his age, and now they seem immature. Swindle is a sophisticated mech, he has traveled, and lived in so many places, done so many interesting things, and Dreadbot learns to find him handsome, even if he wasn't that physically attracted to him instantly.
Personality is much more important than looks in a real relationship anyway, and Swindle is very charming, and they can have interesting conversations when Swindle tells him about all the places he has seen, all the exciting things he has experienced.
"I think we should move in together." Swindle says one day. "I mean, were pretty serious now, and with two incomes, we could get a much nicer apartment than this slag hole." He motions around the tiny, worn down, one room apartment Dreadbot is renting, and Dreadbot flushes with shame that he can't afford better on his own, even as his spark soars at the thought of Swindle wanting to be that serious. "I mean, my apartment is nice, but since they never get done with the renovations after the water damage, I might as well move out since we can't use it, and this is a bit cramped for us both. My script will be finished soon, and then we can start hoisting in the money when we go into production."
He can't really afford much more for rent, the waiter job he has in a local diner doesn't pay that well, but they'll be two to share the rent, so it could be doable, if he takes on a few more hours. And he'll get to live with Swindle for real!
"Yes! Yes! I want to do that!"
"Come on, let's go then. I've found the perfect apartment for us — nice neighborhood, top floor, newly remodeled — and if we go now, we can get a viewing, and sign the lease today, before someone else nabs it!"
It's a bit quicker than he anticipated, and Dreadbot almost reels from the suddenness, but they can't wait, or the apartment will be rented out before they get the chance.
They drive there, and Dreadbot forces down the jealousy when Swindle flirts with the landlord.
It's just the way he is, it doesn't mean anything.
"Uhm, can you sign the lease, babe? I would co-sign, but then I might not get the loans for financing the movie..."
"Sure." Dreadbot says, signing the contract.
It makes sense, and if Swindle doesn't get the financing, then the movie won't be made, and he won't get his role, and his breakthrough will be postponed to the next time he gets a part.
He immediately sends the notice to his landlord that he wants to end his current lease, because he has to pay rent for three months after ending the contract, even if he moves out the same day, unless the landlord can find a new tenant to take over his lease.
Hopefully, they'll find a new tenant soon. There's always mechs wanting an apartment, right? Double rent for three months really will put a big dent in his meager savings.
He can't worry too much about it, though, because he's so excited about moving into their fancy apartment together.
Chapter Text
Dreadbot uses a bit more of his savings to buy some furniture for the new apartment, and some of it goes into the rent, because Swindle is down on his luck, and temporarily not making any credits. The script for a TV show he has been working on, that Swindle expected to bring in a truckload of credits, was turned down.
Dreadbot nabs a few stale energon gels from the diner to keep the fuel cost down. Swindle only drinks the better fuels, so Dreadbot can't buy the budget ones to keep at home. This way, he can at least cut his own costs.
Dreadbot drives home from another long shift at the diner, pedes aching from the long workday, and he just wants to fall into berth and recharge as soon as he's inside, but he really needs a shower and a polish first. Swindle says he has been getting sloppy with his looks now that he works more, and that won't do if he really wants to be an actor.
Not that he has much time and energy to go to auditions and mingles nowadays, but Swindle does, saying that he really tries to find someone willing to give Dreadbot a role, as if he was his manager, but doing it for free. That's so nice of Swindle.
Even if he really doesn't like the way Swindle stays out late, and comes home smelling of others' polish, but Swindle says he just dances, and give polite hugs, and that it's expected of him to do so.
Dreadbot walks through the door, and immediately spots Swindle stretched out on the couch, a pile of wrappings from tungsten bars on the table.
"Did you eat all of them?" He says disappointedly, because he was unusually self indulgent when he bought them for himself, for days like these, when he really needs a little extra something to cheer him up.
"Yes. They're not that good though. Too tangy."
"Couldn't you've saved a few then?" Dreadbot sneers.
"Aaw, babe, don't be like that. We were out of the aluminum crackers I like, and I really felt like chewing on something when watching TV."
"Whatever." Dreadbot says, heading for the shower.
"But I have good news! The script is finished. I've applied for financing, so we'll hopefully start shooting it within a month!" Swindle says excitedly. "And I've made sure the financing will cover our living costs while we shoot, so you can quit your job too, and focus on this."
Dreadbot's spark soars.
Finally!
"You need to get reformatted, though."
"What?! Why?!"
"The lead role needs to be scorching hot. I mean, you're fine and all, but you're not up to big screen standards, if you see what I mean. You need to be more like this..." Swindle says, showing a picture of a shiny, red Ferrari alt mode.
His spark plummets again.
"I can't afford that..." He almost whispers.
His savings are almost gone, and he's barely getting by. An alt mode like that is crazy expensive.
"Just pop your panels, and do a few more nudes or something for the advance, then you can get a payment plan for the rest."
"You knew about the nudes?!"
"Yeah, I recognized you from Playbot. We can clear the payment plan as soon as we get the financing, don't worry about it. And, as a bonus, when you become a star, nobody can connect you to the pin up pictures if you have a new alt mode, so you won't have to deal with that baggage."
It's definitely a blow to his self esteem that Swindle doesn't think he's good enough as is, but Swindle does know better what's needed for the movie to take the market with a landslide.
He's going to be a star, of course he has to look the part.
"You see where this is going, don't you?" Dreadbot says out loud to Barricade, sounding derisive, but where his derisiveness aimed is impossible to say. "I mean, I can certainly see it now, but I was a naive fool back then, so I was clueless."
"I do see it, but I'm not sure I would've seen through it if it had happened to me when I was that age." Barricade says diplomatically.
"I wouldn' 'ave seen through it either." Crosshairs says, hugging Dreadbot tighter, leaning his helm against Dreadbot's shoulder. "Ye know tha' if I ever ge' 'im in my sights, I'll kill 'im fer ye, babe."
Dreadbot snorts. "Shoot to wound. I want to finish him myself."
The glint in Dreadbot's optics makes it hard to tell if he's really joking.
Chapter Text
Of course Dreadbot does the posing; grinding his exposed array against a whitewall tire; cracking his chest-plates, folding his digits around the edges as if he's opening up just for you — yes, Sir, you, please come fuck me, I want you — smiling into the camera. He gets the credits, and it goes straight into the deposit for his new alt mode.
When he's finally reformatted — there was a big of a waiting list — he stands there, staring at himself in the mirror with bright optics.
He just can't believe that it's actually him. He's smoking hot! It was so worth a few more lewds.
He quits his job, because the financing is processing, and the credits will land in Swindle's account any day now, that's what Swindle tells him.
But the financing drags, and he winds up using the last of his savings, and what little is left of the credits he got from the pin-up pictures, to pay the next rent, and the first down payment on his alt mode. Dreadbot is thinking about trying to get another photo shoot to get some quick credits, but Swindle says no; he needs to keep his new looks from getting that kind of attention. He doesn't want to be known for that when he has his breakthrough, does he?
The credits will be here any day now, anyway.
He wants to go back to the diner and see if he can get a few hours to make some credits, but Swindle wants him to stay at home.
"I like it better when you stay at home with me, and let me explore your new frame thoroughly." Swindle pouts, and he's so cute when he does it, Dreadbot just can't say no.
Dreadbot winds up taking a short term loan to pay the next rent, and he doesn't tell Swindle about it, because Swindle will be mad, but it's Dreadbot's name on the lease, and he doesn't want to get evicted, and have a black mark in his tenant record that'll make him unable to rent anything else.
"Oh, babe, you're so incredibly hot." Swindle groans when Dreadbot saunters into the living room.
Dreadbot preens, because he never gets tired of hearing that.
"Come here." Swindle says, patting his thigh, and Dreadbot obeys, straddling the older mech.
A servo slips between his thighs, rubbing against his panel, and Dreadbot opens it immediately, knowing what Swindle wants, even if he's not really aroused himself at the moment. Swindle stares down at Dreadbot's array with bright optics.
"Would you pose for me?"
"Pose?
"Yeah, you know, like you did for the magazine. I'd really love a private show."
"I... uhm, I guess I could..." He says, suddenly feeling shy.
It's much more intimate to do it like that, and not with a camera between himself and a pro who has already seen it all, and is rather indifferent about it.
"Excellent!" Swindle says excitedly. "Bend over the table for me?"
"Okay..."
He does it, resting his front against the table, feeling utterly stupid.
"Beautiful..." Swindle breathes, slipping his digit through Dreadbot's rather dry folds. "Open this too?" He asks when he reaches Dreadbot's port cover, flicking it with his digit.
Dreadbot flushes when he does it, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.
"Look at me, babe."
He turns around to meet Swindle's bright optics. Swindle groans, reaching out to slip his digits through the folds of Dreadbot's valve again, going all the way to his port. Dreadbot jerks forward, but his hips thump against the table, stopping him from getting away.
"You've never taken it in the port, babe?"
"No." He mumbles, flushing again, because he has never felt inclined to try that, but he doesn't like feeling inexperienced either.
"Want to try it?" Swindle asks, stroking the opening with his thumb. "I haven't had that for so long, it would be so good to finally get a tight aft again. And I'd really enjoy taking one of your virginities at least..."
The comment makes him feel both slutty, and inexperienced at the same time, but also jealous and worried, because Swindle has done that to someone else at some point, and seems to really want it, so if he denies Swindle this, maybe he'll find someone more experienced, who'll let him do that?
"Yes."
"What did you want, babe? Use your words, honey."
"I want you to take my last virginity."
"And where's that?"
"My... Uhm, my aft."
Chapter Text
Dreadbot closes the memory before Barricade can catch more than the head of a spike pressing against an unstretched port.
"Goes to show that we really have nothing for saving our fucking virginities for someone special. A lot of us wouldn't recognize Mister Right even if he waved his dick in our faces, because that's what they all do." Dreadbot says derisively.
"Even I know tha' Mister Right probably won' wave 'is dick in yer face..." Crosshairs says.
"At least then you know what you get. Smooth talk and sweet gifts can just be a way to dupe a mech into spreading his legs anyway..." Dreadbot says, sounding very bitter.
"Ye know it's Mister Right when 'e waves 'is gift wrapped spike at ye."
Knock Out snorts. "Anyone ever do that for you, Cross?"
"It 'as 'appened on several occasions, yes. But I only do Mister Right fer the Night."
"Yeah, never do love. It's cyber pony scrap." Dreadbot says.
Barricade has no time to comment on how cynical that sound, because he is plunged into the next memory Dreadbot opens.
Dreadbot has been to the store to get some more fuel. He can't really afford it, because the credits for the movie still hasn't come through, but he has taken another short term loan. He's really tired, because he's running on the cheapest low grade available, and his alt mode isn't very efficient with fuel, so to save fuel, he opted to walk to the bargain market, a two hour walk one way.
They have the best prices on the crackers Swindle likes, so it's worth it.
He puts the bags down in the elevator, leaning against the wall as it takes him to their floor. The corridor seems longer than usual, but he's finally at home. The door slides open for him, and he walks inside just to freeze as soon as he's inside. The door slams shut behind him, but he just can't hear that, because he's in shock.
All the furniture in the living room are gone.
He walks through the room slowly, not believing his own optics, because it's surreal.
It feels like a weird dream, or perhaps a scene from a movie.
He continues to check the rest of the apartment.
The berthroom is empty too.
The only thing left in there is the living crystal on the window sill. He stares at it for long moments — like a strange looking artifact in the desolate room — before he unfreezes, and hurriedly walks into the washracks, unable to look at the mockingly lonely crystal.
The crystal he bought as a gift for for Swindle.
He tears open the doors to the cupboards and storage units in the bathroom, just to freeze up again, vents feeling clogged and labored.
All the polishes and waxes are gone, all the expensive things he bought to keep himself in the condition Swindle wanted him. The only things left are a few rags, most of them used.
The refueling room is equally empty; the cooler is cleaned out, as are the cupboards, not the slightest crumb of anything edible is left behind, he turns around, unable to grasp what's going on, and that's when he spots the memory stick on the counter. He plucks it with numb digits, half expecting it to shock him, but nothing happens, and he plugs it into the socket on his arm.
It's a text file, and he opens it apprehensively.
Well, I guess this is goodbye, Dreadbot. I found someone else, someone more mature, more on my wavelength. We had some good times, and I'll definitely miss the interfacing. I sold your furniture, hope you don't mind. They weren't that fancy anyway, and I needed some credits to start up new, I'm sure you understand. You can buy new, better ones, your new alt mode will probably open up for you to make more credits, and you'll want something that can impress people. Sloppy kisses, and my spike in your tight port. ;)
/S
Dreadbot staggers, barely catching himself against the counter, then he sinks to the floor, spark spinning irregularly, feeling cold.
The lease on the apartment! The down payments for his alt! The short term loans! He quit his fucking job!
With a sound that resembles something a dying technimal might make leave his vocalizer, Dreadbot breaks.
Chapter Text
Barricade works his intake, swallowing hard to try to steady himself to say something. The utter despair from Dreadbot's memory lingers, and he isn't certain he even could speak without his voice hitching.
"I'm so sorry Dreadbot. I know it doesn't mean scrap, but fuck, that was such an ugly thing..."
"Appreciate the sentiment."
Dreadbot skims over the immediate future; his intense attempts to make the most of his new alt mode, going to auditions until he's exhausted. He has the looks now, but it always seems like his acting falls short, and what pieces of his self-esteem remains are being ground down. He's reluctant to do another pin-up, because then it could mean that he doesn't get a serious role because of it. Dreadbot isn't picky about what he auditions for now, and would even take a role in a sparkling movie, but he knows he wouldn't get a role like that after a pin-up. His old boss has found a replacement for his job, and there's always so much competing for the jobs that don't require any special skills. He ends the lease on the apartment, but there's still the three months to go after the notice.
There's the first reminders for unpaid bills, and he's forced to give up, and do a pin-up. It doesn't pay enough to pay all the bills he is behind on, and then he's old news, and can't do another pin-up for a while.
The second round of reminders ping in his inbox, and then there's even more desperate job searching.
Dreadbot gets the eviction notice.
Monday, you must be out before noon. If you refuse to leave, we call in the Enforcers to remove you for trespassing.
Dreadbot knows when it's time to throw in the rag and admit defeat. The last credits he have — because they're nowhere near enough to make even a small dent in all his debts anyway — he decides to burn on high grade and get hammered.
He goes to a bar in a less fancy neighborhood, where cheap high grade flows, and nobody will judge him for what he has in the cube. It's Friday night, and a lot of mechs are out partying. His sleek race frame sticks out in the crowd, and he gets many appreciative looks, and offers about free drinks, and more lewd suggestions too. Dreadbot turns them down.
He remembers what happened the last time he let someone charm him into berth, he's not going there again, and he certainly doesn't feel like fucking anyone here.
Dreadbot is pretty drunk when he stumbles outside, heading back to the apartment he only has for three more nights. Then he'll be homeless.
A heavy arm wraps around his shoulders, and he's suddenly tucked into the side of a mech.
"Walk with me for a bit, pretty." A deep voice rumbles smoothly.
He looks up, annoyed with the presumptuousness and ready to tell the mech off for thinking it's enough to call him pretty to get his way, but even his confusing optic input — eight optics really suck when drunk — makes the words stick in his vocalizer, because the mech is massive.
"I'm going the other way." He tries, spark speeding up.
"No, you're not."
Sharp, blue optics, dark frame... In the poorly lit street the mech is darkness incarnate, with optics like ice.
Fear starts to overcome Dreadbot, and he struggles weakly, finding the grip tightening to easily keep him from running away. He draws a deep vent to scream. Thick digits graze his throat, sharp talons extending to slip deeper among his cables.
"Careful now. You don't want to lose your vocalizer too, so no screaming." It's a low growl, and Dreadbot can't help but think of Unicron.
He's lead down the street in the opposite direction of the safety of his apartment.
"Who are you?" He sobs hoarsely.
"You have missed the down payments on your reformat, Dreadbot," the mech rumbles, turning them into an alley where several other mechs are waiting, according to Dreadbot's proximity sensors all at least as massive as the one walking him, "and your financer gave us the job to repo your alt mode."
Chapter Text
"Get in the trailer. We're going somewhere else." A deep, hoarse voice says from somewhere in the darkness, and now Dreadbot is almost convinced that they're all demons from the pit.
"No! It wasn't my fault!" He cries out, terrified, and he starts to really struggle against the grip around his shoulders. "Please! Have mercy, don't do this. I wanted to pay, I swear, but my mech... My ex tricked me, and I..."
How is it even going to work to repossess his alt mode? What are they going to do to him?!
"I'm sure you know all about not being able to pay the bills. This is our job, and we have bills to pay. It's neither about mercy, nor personal. It's just business." Someone rumbles.
Pit, they're all so big, he can't even get out of the grip of the one.
"I-I... I need to pee." He says in a rush, flushing, because he's only half trying to buy some time.
He has been drinking, and they're scaring him, and he'll pee himself in the trailer otherwise.
"Tough luck."
"You better not piss in my fucking trailer! Your lack of alt mode, and your debts will be the least of your problems." Someone snarls, and Dreadbot cowers.
They show no empathy for his situation at all, doesn't care about him beyond that he's a mealticket.
He pushes against the mech who's still restraining him, a whimper of terror leaving his vocalizer.
Someone snorts.
"There's a drain right there. Go ahead, just don't do anything stupid. Like trying to run." The mech holding him says.
He's pushed towards the drain, almost tripping from the forceful shove, and the way his drunken, uncooperative systems can't keep up with the sudden movement, and he stumbles over to the grate.
Are they expecting him to go just like that, while they're watching?!
But from what he can tell, they don't seem bothered, or even interested, as if they're used to the functions of the frame, needs must, and make do with what the opportunity offers. Someone lights up a cyg while waiting, the dim glow only serving to cast the mech's face in eerie shadows. They smalltalk among each other, too low for Dreadbot to really catch what they're saying, someone chuckling, and it's such a contrast to the terror he's feeling, it's almost a mockery of the seriousness of the situation.
Dreadbot squats over the grate, opening his panel, and after long seconds of panic that his frame won't cooperate on this with an audience, he finally manages to go, the sounds of the waste fluid trickling down the drain pipe to hit the surface far below echoing in a mortifying way.
Could he run for it as soon as he's done? Transform into his alt mode and make use of how fast he is...
Dreadbot looks around, but the alley is a dead end, and the mechs are all standing between him and the street.
There's no way he will be able to run past them all.
He stands up as soon as he's ready, and instantly, strong servos grab his arms, steering him towards the trailer.
"Let's get this over with, shall we?"
Without waiting for an answer, he's more or less thrown into the trailer, tumbling to land in an ungraceful heap, and then he hears how the doors are locked behind him. Through the walls, he hears how the others transform; the lift off of what sounds like a Jet, more than one Rotary, and several cars pulling out. Then the trailer rocks and a loud clang resounds through it, a powerful engine growls, and they start moving. Dreadbot curls up in the corner, sobbing into his knees.
What the fuck are they going to do to him?
Chapter Text
It's futile to cower in the corner, and he knows it. That doesn't stop Dreadbot from pressing himself against the farthest wall when the doors to the trailer opens, spark spinning wildly in his chest.
"Please don't...!" He cries.
"Get out here now. Don't make it harder than it has to be."
Instead, Dreadbot curls further into the corner, as if hiding his face will make them disappear.
"For fucks sake."
Someone reaches inside and grabs his collar fairing, easily pulling him out. Dreadbot flails desperately, trying to find something to grab on to, but he's quickly tumbling out of the trailer, landing with a painful clang on the floor of the brightly lit warehouse they're in now.
"Watch it. If the parts are too dented, we won't get fully paid." Someone growls.
"No! Please don't do this!" Dreadbot sobs, trying to scramble away, but a heavy servo on his upper back easily pins his front to the floor.
"Anyone else thinking he's kind of familiar? I swear I've seen him somewhere."
"Looks like every other would-be actor/model. They're all interchangeable and generic"
His wrist-struts, and ankle-struts are grabbed and pinned to the floor, and the servo on his back disappears. He looks up at the mech kneeling by his helm, holding his arms.
Gray plating in what looks like some sort utilitarian shade — it's not shiny, like the paint on a Racer would be — covered with etchings and painted glyphs, one optic and no real intake. More like mandibles or something. And a huge gun on his shoulder.
The mech stares back, and his mandibles quirk, but Dreadbot really can't interpret if it's a grin or a sneer, and it's equally terrifying either way. Then he's distracted by other servos on his frame, fiddling with the plating on his arms and legs.
"What are you... Please, stop!" Dreadbot whimpers, lifting his helm to see what's going on. He looks over his shoulder to see two mechs doing things with his legs, and two watching.
The first bits of his armor has been dismounted and are placed on the floor next to him.
They're dismantling him! They're taking his plating, and who knows what else they're going to take? Are they going to take him apart completely?
"No! Help! Help!" He screams, thrashing wildly enough to buck the servos off his frame momentarily, even if he can't break the grips of the mechs pinning him.
The big mech with the blue optics comes up to squat next to his helm, placing a big servo on Dreadbot's back to force him down.
"Sch. Remember what I said about your vocalizer?" His voice is a quiet growl, but it feels even more threatening because of the low volume. "Screaming is pointless anyway; where we are, nobody will hear you. And if someone did, against all odds, they won't rescue you anyway..." His arm transforms into a cannon, and he grins at Dreadbot's terrified gasp, and the way he freezes.
"What are you going to do to me? Are," Dreadbot's voice hitches, "are you g-going to kill me?" He sobs.
"It's not our intention... We're just going to take back what you haven't paid for."
Not their intention... But it could happen?
Dreadbot looks around at all the mechs, knowing that he's outmatched.
Struggling is useless, as is screaming, apparently.
He starts to cry quietly, momentarily meeting the optics of the big, black mech standing by the mech holding Dreadbot's pedes, looking at the proceedings. The mech suddenly grins.
"Hey, Bots! Now I know where I know this one from! I recognized him when he looked over his shoulder like that, his optic set up is really not generic. That one's on cherrypop."
What?
Chapter Text
"The fuck is cherrypop?" One of the mechs working on Dreadbot's legs asks, discarding another plate on the floor.
"This data net site with amateur porn, where mechs can upload their own frag vids and memories, and sell downloads. Specialized in the taking of virginities, of course, hence the site name. That one took it up the ass for the first time, it's a really good memory file from the mech fucking him."
Dreadbot feels like he's going to purge.
Just when he thought he couldn't be brought lower. Swindle sold that awful time as porn. Is that why Swindle didn't want him to do a pin-up before he had done this? Because Swindle knew that he would resort to it later, and it would be better financially to already have that... that porno uploaded when he did? After his pin-up, the demand for that download probably skyrocketed. No wonder Swindle didn't seem to care if he enjoyed it or not, and did it in such a humiliating and horrible way, he planned this all along.
Dreadbot slumps on the floor, crying quietly as the mechs keep removing plate after plate from his legs and arms, gradually getting closer to his torso. He tunes out their smalltalk as best as he can, because he was there when Swindle fucked him, he doesn't need the retelling of every filthy little detail of that from a different point of view. Dreadbot cries until he feels empty, as if there are no sobs left in him, and he's just a dried up, numb husk laying there on the floor.
He tenses again when the servos get to his aft, removing the plates there.
"Please..." He whispers.
"We need all the plates." Someone grunts.
Digits slip under the plates to reach the screws to the mounting brackets, much too close to his port for comfort. Dreadbot whines, then the last plates are removed, and he's bare for them to see.
"Well, I guess he tightened up since he lost his virginity." Someone cackles, and everyone starts laughing.
Dreadbot flushes with humiliation, once again reminded of a time he'd rather forget.
"Ugh, his field is making me pressurize. Can't wait until we're done, and I can get my spike wet." Someone groans.
Dreadbot starts to thrash around in panic.
They're going to fuck him! They're taking him apart, and then they're going to use him, and there's nothing he can do about it. They liked Swindle's point of view from that Primus awful time, and they want to reenact it in real life, and he'll just have to go along with it. Or something unintentional might happen.
"Don't do it, please!" He cries, squirming in those unbreakable grips.
"Be still, you glitch. This side is done, we're halfway through." Someone grumbles.
"Let's flip him."
He's easily lifted by his arms and legs, and turned over while suspended in the air, then his naked back hits the cold, hard floor, and he's pinned again as they start to work on the other side of his arms and legs.
At least they didn't just go for it immediately, but who knows what'll happen when they're done with this side of him too?
Chapter Text
The floor is cold against his naked back, and Dreadbot starts shivering after a while, but he still feels empty, unable to cry more over his misery.
When the mechs working on his arms — the one with a cannon in his arm has joined the green and yellow mech who was initially alone with working on the upper part of him — reaches his torso, digits slipping under his chest-plates to work on the mountings there, Dreadbot starts to struggle again.
They're too close to all the sensitive components, his spark chamber, and he'll be so vulnerable, already is, but when they lift those pieces of armor...
"Please don't..." He says, even if he knows that they won't listen.
He tries to break the grip around his wrist-struts, but it's impossible.
"Let go, please. I won't struggle." He pleads quietly, while the last mounting screws are being loosened.
The mech holding him glances at the one with the cannon, and he gets a nod in answer, then he lets go of Dreadbot's arms. When his chest-plates are lifted from his frame, he folds his arms over his chest to cover the thin petals covering the opening to his chamber, to provide him the tiniest sense of modesty. He's not quick enough, though.
"Hey, this one has been in Playbot too!" The green and yellow mech says, looking up at the others. "I recognize those wires." He points to the right side of Dreadbot's chamber, now covered by his arms. "Had a different frame back then, though."
Dreadbot flushes.
Can everything stupid he ever has done just stop haunting him? Even things he never really considered stupid until they came back to humiliate him on this lowest point of his life, as if to grind in that he's trash, never was anything but trash, and never will be anything better either. But of course these bastards will do nothing but consume porn constantly, so they'd know. They probably can't get much pussy. Even if a few of them could be considered attractive, their assholishness completely retracts from it.
"Let me see." The big Rotary says, stretching to see without letting go of Dreadbot's ankles.
His arms are pried away, and the Helo nods approvingly.
"Yup, he was in that increasingly sticky porno mag you had back in the slam, before we got Crosshairs to keep us occupied."
Fuck his functioning. Primus must hate him, or is that Unicron cackling in his audial? But of course they've been to prison. His spark speeds up. The million dollar question — which he seriously can't afford betting on — that can completely make or break his night is why.
"He's been in Playbot again after that, with this frame." The mech who has seen him on cherrypop says.
They let go of his arms again, and Dreadbot immediately covers up, even if they all have seen him now.
And apparently, a lot of them have seen him before too. At least covering up gives him an illusion of being a little less vulnerable.
Chapter Text
Dreadbot is shuddering with cold, back to crying when his thighs are pried apart, and they start to remove his pelvic plating. His interface panel is manually opened to give access to the screws and clips everything is mounted with, and he squirms in discomfort from knowing that they're all watching. Then digits start to work way too close to his valve, a servo repeatedly brushing his valve-lips as the digits work on a bolt under the remaining plating.
"You've done porn too, haven't you? Some softcore nonsense, getting fingered, but no pussy or anything really visible." The big Helo rumbles, quirking an optical ridge.
"Since when do you watch soft porn, B.O?!" Someone laughs.
"Bought the wrong download, might as well watch it since I paid for it. Did learn a few tricks to get the sluts to cream up good, so it wasn't completely wasted, even if it wasn't much to jerk off to."
"If you're talking about Crosshairs, you can just tie a ribbon around your cock and wave it in his face, and he'll cream up. Don't really need any more tricks than that." The green and yellow mech cackles.
The Helo barks a laugh, and flips him off, momentarily letting go of one of Dreadbot's thighs.
Dreadbot wishes he'd dare kicking the bastard in the face, but he doesn't. So far, they haven't damaged him — or even touched him inappropriately, not more than necessary, considering what they're doing — but that could probably change very quickly. A single blow in retaliation could be fatal, especially now that he's almost completely bare.
They could certainly do nasty things he'll survive too...
Then the last plates are lifted from his frame, and he immediately cups his array with one of his servos to shield it from their lingering optics, even if his legs are still held spread by the Helo. Dreadbot is so slim now that he's naked, the mech's servos easily circumvents his thighs, adding to that feeling of helpless vulnerability. The servos slowly slide up his thighs, and Dreadbot's vents hitch with horror when he sees the way the Helicopter's bright optics roam his protoform.
"Please don't..." He sobs.
"Blackout..."
"His field is even more tantalizing like this than just the mortification; all thick and sticky with fear... Whatever happened with the law that stated that 'if they can't fight you off, they're fair game'?" The Helicopter says — his voice rough with static, field cloying with arousal — easily prying Dreadbot's servo from his array, and his other arm from where he's curling it protectively across his spark chamber. His wrist-struts are pinned above his helm with one servo, a display of how unevenly matched they are.
"That was a different life, and there's no such law. If you do that now that we're out of that place, you'll get your second strike in no time. I don't think any pussy is worth that, brother." The mech with the cannon says. "I'm pretty sure it really is considered a war crime too, just that our owners encouraged it to make our opponents fear us even more. If someone ever pressed the issue with the galactic council, I bet our owners would just blame the soldiers involved for malfunctioning, and smelt them to appease the ones seeking justice..."
The Helicopter grunts derisively, but he lets go of Dreadbot and gets up. Dreadbot immediately sits up, curling up to cover himself, and to preserve what little warmth he can. The mechs start to gather the plating, wrapping the parts in rags to prevent scratching, putting it in shipping crates, and Dreadbot feels dismissed, but he just doesn't move.
Instead, he stares with strange detachment as they gather what was parts of his frame a few hours ago.
A hysterical laugh forces it's way out of his vocalizer, strangely electronic, and he can hardly tell if he's laughing or crying. A few of the mechs turn to look at him as if he's grown a second helm, but Dreadbot can't care, he stares down at his thin struts and soft protoform, all the holes where screws and bolts kept his armor in place.
He's half the mech he thought he was, the rest was just borrowed fairings.
Chapter Text
"Oh, I almost forgot. We need your t-cog too." The mech with the cannon says. "Nitro and Springer, could you hold him for me?"
It kicks Dreadbot into gear; he scrambles backwards, uncaring about how the rough floor scrapes his protoform.
"No! Please don't take that too!" He cries, coming to a stop when his back hits the wall.
Not that he has an alt mode to turn into now, but without a t-cog he's... He doesn't even know what he will be, only sparklings have no ability to transform, but he's not a sparkling, and a grown mech who can't transform is...
"You upgraded it when you got that alt mode, it's part of the deal. Just go back to using your old one."
"I-I don't have my old one! I don't have anything of my old format left!" He cries.
The mechs pause, looking at each other. "Nothing? Did you trade it in to get a discount on this one? Most mechs don't do that with the t-cog, even if they do it with the alt mode."
"No! The mechs at the shop said it was all junk, and they were kind enough to dispose of it without charging me for the recycling..."
"They probably tricked you. Used alt modes bring in fairly nice prices, and you old one was rather pretty too. Most likely, they sold it to someone who couldn't afford a new one."
It does nothing to comfort Dreadbot, but he stills, feeling stupid, betrayed, and utterly useless. It's enough for them to grab him; one mech holding his arms, the other prying his legs apart again, and the one with the cannon reaches for his array.
Dreadbot screams.
"Remember what Hide said about your vocalizer..." The one with one optic growls, pushing the digits of one of his servos against Dreadbot's throat, easily restraining him with one servo. "Fucking glitch, think my audial got shot."
"Remember when Blackout tried tearing out the vocalizer on an organic for the first time?" The green and yellow mech snickers.
"Ugh, don't remind me. Took weeks to get the gunk out of my finger joints." The big Helo grunts.
"And still you kept fucking it, even though it offlined before you came." The mech with one optic says, and Dreadbot can't tell if he's making a face or grinning.
"Post-battle libido. I needed to get off. The screaming was stopping that from happening. It was tight and wet enough, and it was still warm when I was finished." The Helo shrugs, smirking.
Dreadbot is so tense, his hydraulics are whining, and he's hard pressed to not start wailing in terror and subsequently lose his vocalizer too.
Digits dig deep into Dreadbot's chassis in the juncture of his hip, close to his array, and there's this strange twinge in his entire lower frame when his t-cog is popped out of it's socket.
"Thank you." The mech says when he has extracted it, tossing it between his servos in a playful way.
It's a mockery of politeness, because it has nothing to do with choice, and Dreadbot certainly wasn't offering the part. The other mechs lets go of him, and they leave him where he's falls to his knees, legs refusing to carry his weight. They continue to load up the parts, as if he isn't sitting there, cold, naked, broke, and soon to be homeless. The crates are locked shut, the door to the warehouse is rolled open, and the first mechs start to step out before Dreadbot come to his senses.
"Are you just going to leave me here like this?!" He shouts. It isn't logical to ask them that, and he knows that, but he's panicking, because he really doesn't know what to do.
They all turn to him. "Yeah?" The mech with just one optic says questioningly.
"But... What... What am I supposed to do?" He sobs, curling up harder.
"Uhm, go home?" The green and yellow mech asks.
"How? I can't walk through the city like this!" Dreadbot whispers hoarsely, motioning to his naked struts, shivering with cold.
He'll be raped, and if he's held up outside for too long, he'll go into stasis from the cold. It's probably a long way to go, he isn't certain where he is, but it was a pretty long ride.
"Take a transport then."
"I don't have any credits." He whispers. "That's why I'm behind on the down payments. Couldn't pay the rent either, so I'll be evicted on Monday. And I can't work like this..." He sobs, for every word it sinks in how bad off he really is.
"You could do porn. It's nothing new for you." The Truck says, shrugging. "You look hot like that too."
Even if he does some porn — which he really doesn't want to — it'll be too little, too late. He can't show himself outside like this, won't even be able to get to the set. And he'll be homeless in a few days, there's no way he'll get creadits before that.
Dreadbot curls up, crying into his knees.
He's all alone in this.
Chapter Text
"You know, Hide, I'm tired of waiting in line for Crosshairs to be available. Maybe we should consider hiring?" Blackout says.
"Yes..." Hide looks Dreadbot up and down as much as possible considering how he's huddled, making him curl up even harder. "Anyone opposed to this?"
The other mechs say they're not against the idea. Dreadbot has stopped sobbing, apprehensive about what's going on.
"Are you interested in making a deal for staying safe, warm, and well fueled? Keep you off the streets."
A deal with Unicron. It sounds too good to be true. He's not going to be a bastard like they are.
"Yes. Depending on the terms."
Not that he really have any other options.
"You live in my house, get all the fuel you want, and all necessities will be provided. You pay for this privilege by providing us with service and entertainment."
Still sounds too good to be true.
"What does 'service and entertainment' entail?"
"Whatever we consider at the moment. A lap dance, a nice show, a blow job, some good fucking..."
Of course.
"I'm not a whore!"
"Not yet..." Someone snickers.
"Suit yourself. The door is there. Just go home, and figure out a better way yourself." Hide says, crossing his arms across his broad chest-plates, raising a challenging optical ridge.
Dreadbot slowly rises to his pedes, walking past them all like a mech going to his execution.
He needs to stay in the shadows when he walks home, can't draw the attention of others. Someone is going to be enough of a bastard to put the last nail in the coffin of this wretched night. Especially considering what neighborhoods he has to walk through...
As soon as he steps out of the building into the crispy night air, he realizes that it's much colder than he expected. Dreadbot can feel his movements go slow when his components are chilled, and the hydraulic fluid thickens, making him slow and clumsy. A sob leaves his vocalizer.
He'll never make it. And even if he does, there are too many obstacles to overcome before he has a new apartment, and a new job, and he's back on his pedes. He won't be allowed to rent without someone else co-signing as safety, he lost contact with his friends while he was swept up in his relationship with Swindle, and those he has reached out to has been very reluctant to help financially or in any other way that could be useful. He's so fucking tired of hearing how they're supportive, but unable to help right now. He has to get a new alt mode, and he's already neck deep in debts.
He falls to his knees, feeling defeated, broken.
What's really the difference between fucking a mech he isn't attracted to in front of a camera, or fucking these mechs in a private setting?
"I still have a lot of debts, they need to be paid, I need to make credits to start paying them back..." He confesses.
"I'll look into what I can do about that. And if you do well, we could consider getting you a new alt mode later on."
It's still a fucking deal with Unicron, but it's the best shot he's got right now.
"I accept your offer." He says, a shudder traveling down his frame from the cold.
"Excellent. I think it'll be a good deal for everyone." Ironhide says, sounding very satisfied. Dreadbot doesn't exactly agree, but he stays quiet. "Well, since Blackout was the one to hatch this idea, and he's all revved up already, he can do the test drive. Motormaster, you drive him home when Blackout is finished. I'll take the goods to the drop off. And please don't damage him. I want a round later on."
Test drive?!
Chapter Text
Blackout strides up to Dreadbot, towering over him, and he has never felt so small before. The big mech gives him a wolf grin, falling to his knees for easier reach to feel Dreadbot up.
Dreadbot whimpers when huge servos slide down his sides, thumbs stroking his front, down to his array. He still presses into the touch, because the servos are warm, and he's freezing.
A test drive... Then he needs to show them that he'll be as good as they expect, and not show his reluctance. Even if this particular mech doesn't seem to care either way.
"So...Sir? How do you want me?" He tries to purr, doing his best to conjure up the attitude he displayed when on a photoshoot, even if he's close to crying, and way out of his depth.
Thick digits slip through his still dry folds, but there's nothing he can do about the lack of lubrication now, and he can't think of anything that helps arousing him when the servo not toying with his array gropes his aft..
"I'll throw you on that container over there, and fuck you really deep." Blackout tells him, nodding towards the container while his optics still roam Dreadbot's frame.
Crude, but at least honest, and it doesn't sound that bad. Unless the mech has some nasty mods or something.
The digits slip inside him, quickly finding the spots that has him going slick, the ball of Blackout's servo rubbing against his anterior node in a surprisingly pleasurable way. Then Dreadbot yelps when Blackout suddenly stops, just to lift Dreadbot. He's dumped on his front on top of the container, legs dangling in the air. It's much too soon, what little interest his valve was starting to show from the fingering fizzes out and dies immediately. Unaware of that, and quite possibly completely uncaring, Blackout steps up behind him, lines up, and slides inside in one smooth movement.
It's so fucking much, the spike inside him is so big, hitting everything at once. It feels like it's pushing against his spark chamber every time the big mech bottoms out
The container is cold against his front, but the big servos grabbing his hips supplies some warmth. As soon as the Helo is hilted, he starts thrusting, and Dreadbot arches his back to give better access, hoping that Blackout will finish soon. When the Helo pulls out, he whines, afraid that Blackout is eager to try what Swindle did to him, and he's fairly certain that he will need repairs if the bastard goes for that, repairs that he can't afford.
The only good thing about that time with Swindle was that he wasn't very well endowed. Blackout is, though...
"Easy there, eager little slut. I'm just switching positions." Blackout snickers.
Oh, he hates being called a slut — and he's anything but eager — but this is hardly about what he wants or not. The best he can do is get the bastard to enjoy himself, and overload, and it probably won't hurt if he can manage to make Blackout think he's a real stud too.
He's turned around, and Dreadbot wraps his legs around Blackout as well as he can reach, digging his digits into the Helo's collar fairing to cling to something, finding that pressing close has the additional benefit that he gets some heat from the big Rotary's frame. Blackout easily holds him up with big servos splayed on Dreadbot's aft. He slides inside again, and Dreadbot whines with faked pleasure when the length slides into his slick valve. Blackout starts to use him as a cock sleeve, moving Dreadbot along his thick shaft, and the smaller mech can't do much but let him.
At least he doesn't need to do all the work.
He's pretending to be teetering on the edge, whimpering and moaning, when a thick digit is pushed into his port. Dreadbot squeals, and squirms, trying to get away from the unannounced — and unwanted — intrusion, and the mechs watching them snickers. Blackout just keeps his pace and it's just a couple of more thrusts before he overloads, hips stuttering before he grinds in deep, and then Dreadbot feels even more full and realizes that Blackout is filling him with transfluid.
Gross. At least he was quick.
"I think we'll have a lot of fun with this one." Blackout states.
He yanks his digit out of Dreadbot's port, and it's uncomfortable, the way it pulls on the mesh, and his port clenches. Dreadbot yips, and everyone laughs. Blackout pulls out, putting Dreadbot down, steadying him for a few seconds with wandering servos — or rather taking another chance at groping him — before finally getting his servos away.
Transfluid drools out of Dreadbot's valve, and standing on his own pedes again, he can feel it run down his legs in a mortifying way. He's handed a rag, and wipes himself down as well as he can, feeling how loose his valve is after taking such a massive spike.
He hops into the trailer as requested, and the doors are closed behind him. Curling up in the corner as they roll out, the cold seeping into his struts again, reality catches up with him, and he starts sobbing.
He's a whore now, and he's being transported to a future where the only thing certain is that he's going to be fucked by the mechs who took his alt mode.
Chapter Text
Dreadbot hurries into the house as soon as he's let out of the trailer and the door is pointed out, not wanting any passerby to see him like this, and he's still freezing.
And not very keen on staying outside with Motormaster, and the Fliers landing one after the other, the mechs lighting up cygs, or tussling with each other, apparently in a very good mood from a successfully done job. And a new acquisition of their own.
"'ello. I'm Crosshairs." A mech about the same size as him greets him when he steps through the door, halting to take in the surroundings.
It's kind of a relief to see someone who's not huge.
"Hi. I'm Dreadbot."
"I've made some ho' energon, an' grabbed ye a blanket." Crosshairs says, throwing the blanket to Dreadbot, and motioning for him to follow him to the bar.
Dreadbot wraps the blanket around himself, and follows slowly, looking around.
The house is huge, and has been very fancy at one point, but it seems like it has been empty and left to wither for a long time. The fancy furniture in the apparent rec room clashes with the dilapidation, but some parts of the room looks like it has been repaired, and there's tools by a half finished wall, so it's obviously a work in progress. Crosshairs hands him a huge cube of energon, and Dreadbot sips it thankfully.
There's definitely high grade in it, and it's high quality ingredients. He takes a deeper drink, because he can't remember when he had really good fuel the last time.
Probably sometime in the beginning with Swindle. It tastes wonderful, and he really needs it, as his now bare frame uses a lot more to keep him warm.
"Hide said ye'll spend the night with 'im, an' tha' I should answer any questions ye 'ave until 'e gets back."
Dreadbot nods, still feeling numb about the situation.
"So you're a, uhm, a whore too?"
"I'm their lover, an' they provide fer me."
"So how does it work, they can fuck us however they want, whenever they want, no matter what we think about it?"
"I guess... I never saw a reason te object. They don' damage ye deliberately, though, an' if ye need rest, fuel, or somethin' needs some time te heal, ye'll be excused."
It's still a whole lot of fucking that could be required. And no 'deliberate' damage? But accidental might happen? Just like the didn't 'intend' to kill him? Could that happen too? Unintentionally...
"What if they want stuff you don't want to do?"
He's not taking it up the ass again.
"I wan' te try everythin'! An' the things I'm no' tha' inte, I can do now an' then for their sake. I's no big deal." Crosshairs shrugs. "An' I like it when they get aroused by the things they do te me, so i's a win-win anyway."
It's a huge fucking deal. There's things he doesn't want to do, and nobody should ever get to force him to do them.
"What do we get out of all this? Except a place to stay, and fuel."
"Repairs if we need 'em, Hide 'as a deal with a good medic. We always 'ave the best fuel, an' if ye wan' yer own room, ye can pick one, an' repair an' decorate it the way ye like. If ye do well, Ironhide is pretty generous with buying stuff ye wan' fer it too."
That sounds pretty good actually; his own space, almost like an apartment of his own, just smaller. The way he'll pay for it is not very nice though.
"What did you do to wind up here?" He changes the subject, because his thoughts and the discussion isn't making anything feel better.
"I'm their prison conjux." Crosshairs says proudly.
Fucking pit!
"D'ye like weed?"
"Uhm..." He never tried it. He tried boosters a few times when going to the mingles, but it was too expensive for him to become a habit. "I don't know. Never tried it."
"Ye seem like ye need some. Come on, we've got some really nice cygs, an' if ye like it, Ironhide will set ye up with a prescription to make it legal fer ye te smoke."
Chapter Text
High grade and weed gets him to relax a bit — enough to not be terrified when some of the mechs are done outside and comes inside to have drinks, and kick back — and the blanket helps him feel less exposed and vulnerable, and to warm up enough to stop shivering, even if he's still feeling cold to his struts when Ironhide comes back.
Unlike Crosshairs, who's straddling the green and yellow mech he now knows is Springer, trailing little kisses along his neck while Springer speaks to the Nitro Zeus as if he doesn't even notice. Is that what his future will look like? Trying his best to get these mechs interested in fucking him? Even if he doesn't want it. Ugh.
"Come on. Let's go to my room." Ironhide murmurs in his audial, and Dreadbot jumps around on the couch, almost headbutting him.
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't hear you approaching, and..."
Ironhide chuckles in what seems to be nothing more sinister than amusement, stretching from where he's bending over the back of the couch, then he offers Dreadbot a servo. Dreadbot hesitantly takes it and stands, allowing Ironhide to guide him towards the stairs. The big mech laces their digits, pulling him along — weirdly enough, it feels like a scene from a movie, where they're on a frat party, hooking up, and how often does that end up well — and Nitro whistles. Dreadbot feels himself flushing, because everyone knows what's going to happen when Ironhide has led him up the stairs.
"Still cold?"
"Yeah..." He mumbles.
"I think I can remedy that."
Dreadbot manages to not make a face, at least.
It's the deal he made, he better just get used to it. It's just his frame...
The door slides open, and Dreadbot is surprised when he sees the room. He expected it to be cluttered and messy, dark and dingy, full of stolen parts. Instead it's neat, with tasteful furniture chosen with comfort in mind, and pleasant lighting that's easy on the optics. The shutters for the ceiling window are open, and he can see the sky, strewn with stars, and it's kind of the view he imagined he'd have from his berth when he made it to the big screen, and had all the riches, and the fancy house, and all the things. He'd have a skylight just like that, and...
"Want a drink?"
"Yes, please."
It'll be easier to go through with this if he's drunk. He's already had one of them, and who knows how many he'll have to take tonight? Might as well numb himself.
"So what's your poison of choice?"
"Something strong? I-I don't really know much about different kinds and things like that. I usually just get what the bartender recommends." He says sheepishly, feeling inexperienced.
He never drank much, because he couldn't afford it, and while the buzz he's feeling from the high grade already in his systems is nice, it makes it harder to think.
I've got a few options, as long as you don't want sweet."
Does that apply to interfacing too? He can't even decide of that's a pro or a con.
"It's fine. I like tangy more than sweet." He manages to say without cackling hysterically when thinking about what this night will entail.
Ironhide grabs a bottle from a cabinet next to his desk, two cubes, and pour generous servings. He hands one to Dreadbot, who sticks one of his spindly arms out through a gap in the blanket, wanting to start crying again when he sees the state of himself. He busies himself with a big mouthful, almost sputtering because the high grade packs one hell of a punch, burning it's way down his throat.
Ironhide smirks at him, probably catching his struggle. "Is it good?"
"Mhm!" Dreadbot squeaks. "Strong, like I asked for."
Ironhide shakes his helm in amusement. "Come on, let's get you warmed up." He wraps an arm around Dreadbot's shoulders.
Dreadbot's tank turns with nerves, even though the warmth of Ironhide's frame feels so good against his.
This is it. He should've emptied the drink in one go. Spread your skinny legs, you whore...
He follows along — not that he could break free unless Ironhide allows it — in spite of wanting to just run out of there, curl up in a corner and wake up to find this a nightmare. But Hide doesn't lead him to the berth like he expected. He steers Dreadbot towards a door, and the would-be actor/model turned hooker can do nothing but follow and see what's behind door number two.
Chapter Text
It's the washracks, and Dreadbot just can't decide if he's relieved — because of the glory of the prospect of a hot shower — or despairing, because this is it, there's going to be interfacing now.
But Ironhide pulls him along to the right, and when his optics leave the lit up shower stall, he notices the oil Jacuzzi in the darker part of the washracks, partially obscured by a wall. Low lights in warm tones — hidden behind decorative shelves, and artistic installments of crystals and metals, around the tub — slowly lights up to a comfortable setting.
This is what he was supposed to have when he got his breakthrough and became a star and had all the credits.
He stands there — staring in reluctant awe, clutching his cube of high grade — so absorbed in his gawking, he almost flinches when the massive arm slips from his shoulder, strong fingers gently stripping the blanket from him.
"Can't bring this rag, but I promise you won't freeze in there anyway."
His servo is grabbed again, and he's pulled along to the stairs that lead into the hot oil. It's such a strange act in the situation, because there's no leering, no excessive touches, just a careful urging with a chaste touch.
Almost gentlemechly.
He takes the first step down the stairs, and a servo on his hip shatters the moment where this isn't a business transaction, and his frame isn't currency.
"Watch it. I haven't gotten around to put the slip protection on the stairs. I would have to empty the tub to install them, and I just can't bring myself to do it. I enjoy it too much, and I'm reluctant to be without it even for just a day."
It's an understandable reason, but he doesn't want to hear things he can relate to, and doesn't want to hope that it means that the servo on his hip is there just to steady him. Bastard.
Dreadbot still allows Ironhide to help him into the tub — it's really more of a pool, at least for a mech Dreadbot's size — and the warmth is so very welcoming, enveloping his cold and sensitive struts and protoform in an almost sensual way. He slips into the oil up to his neck, taking a seat on the padded ledge, and Ironhide follows his example, sitting on a distance that doesn't seem standoffish, but not intrusive either. The big mech stretches his arms along the edge, comfortable in his own space and plating.
Easy to be comfortable when you have plating, much harder to be cocky when you're naked, in someone else's house, where you're basically a slave. (A prisoner? it's not like he can go out looking like this...)
"I hope you'll find the accomodations to be to your taste. It's a work in progress — well obviously — but what we have accomplished so far will hopefully keep you comfortable." Ironhide says, sipping his drink.
It's so fucking surreal. They're discussing the state of renovations of the house, when all this really is, is a transaction of sexual favors. As if this is truly a two-sided agreement, and not one mech in a power position, and one who really has no other option.
Dreadbot smiles, and it feels like the plaster is flaking off of his face-plates from how fake it is.
"It's very nice!"
Far nicer than anything he has ever seen before — at least the parts that are renovated — but he doesn't want to be here, even if he'd want this place. It's a very confusing mix of jealousy and derision he needs to analyze before he'll know what he feels about it.
Chapter Text
"Fuck, you're so tense. Relax. I'm not going to hurt you." Ironhide says, tipping his helm back to rest it against the edge of the tub, staring up at the dim leds lighting the ceiling.
More than he already has. Well, not hurt him physically, per se, but Ironhide has taken the only thing he had left...
"This is one of my favorite things; just coming in here and have a nice, relaxing bath. Always reminds me of how fragging lucky I am. But, then we're the blacksmith's of our own fortune."
Dreadbot nods, because he doesn't know what to say.
He certainly hasn't forged any luck.
"What about you? What do you enjoy to do in your spare time?"
Is the mech seriously smalltalking? Why not just get to the fucking, and get it over with? It's not like they're on a date. Maybe an employment interview...
"I..."
What the fuck does he enjoy? He was focusing on auditions, pursuing his career — when he wasn't working to make a living — and then he was hanging out with Swindle, awed by his life experience, but that was probably all lies, and being awed by a bastard like Swindle isn't much of a hobby, and certainly not an indulgence...
"I don't know..." He says, rather miserably. "I was working so much, and then I was trying so hard to please someone else..."
He doesn't want to admit how stupid he was.
"I can relate to that." There's a hard edge to Ironhide's voice, and he lifts his helm from the edge again, looking at Dreadbot with bright optics. "But how about you come over here, and we do something... enjoyable in our spare time?" He leers.
Of course the smalltalk would lead to fucking. It's what he agreed to, after all...
Dreadbot certainly isn't a virgin — not in any way, thanks to Swindle, and everyone here knows it. Again, thanks to Swindle — but he has absolutely no idea how to start. Whenever he faced with a new mech before, it often started with tentatively making out with his lover, and then it escalated. But he doesn't want this mech to fuck him, and he certainly doesn't want to make out with him. In fact, he doesn't feel like being touched at all, by anyone. It's not that Ironhide isn't his type. Dreadbot would find him attractive if they met under different circumstances, but tonight is just a disaster through and through, and Dreadbot just wants to sink under the surface of this tub, and wake up in the lumpy berth he had in his old apartment, sputtering for air, just to find it all a nightmare.
But he has to do this right now, has to start moving, and doing something. Maybe he can do what Crosshairs did to Springer? That seemed neutral enough, and then Ironhide can just shove his spike inside at his own leisure, and he can just allow it to happen.
He scoots closer, not wanting to stand up and show his naked struts, because he feels so vulnerable. As soon as he's within reach, Ironhide grabs his hips and easily lifts him into position, straddling the big mech. Dreadbot's thighs are spread wide, and his bare array is pressed against Ironhide's still closed interface plate.
Ironhide's optics lock on Dreadbot's exposed spark chamber, now just above the surface. A thick digit trails the seam between two of the platelets, and Dreadbot whimpers with fear, entire frame tense.
"If I was really into your pain and humiliation, I would have let Blackout do his thing back at the warehouse, and taken the second round. If I hadn't gone first. I want to hear you whimper, but not out of terror or pain."
Dreadbot is lifted higher, and it forces him to steady himself with his servos on Hide's shoulders, spark spinning wildly in his chamber. Then Ironhide leans in to tease one of the seams between the thin plates with his glossa, and Dreadbot mewls, surprised by how good that felt.
Chapter Text
He's grinding against Ironhide's ventral plating, charged up beyond the limit of shame, arching his back to give the best possible access to the sensitive plates covering the opening to his spark chamber.
Like the little whore he has become, enjoying himself with his customer.
Thick digits fumble between his legs — digits that can easily be turned into sharp talons — but he can't bring himself to even say something about it.
Not that he really can protest, he's a toy now...
The digits slip into his heavy valve, slick with oil, if his own lubricant would be insufficient.
There's something arousing about the overall slickness, in spite of how he wants to hate everything about this.
Dreadbot grinds down against the servo when Hide's digits are finally hilted. He feels the way the mech's lip-plates curve against his spark chamber, but it's just too good for him to be annoyed about the smugness.
The mech knows his way around a frame, that's for sure.
Dreadbot finds some comfort in spitefully reminding himself that Swindle wasn't even half this good in his best days.
The digits slip out, and he keens in protest.
"Want more?"
He does, but not cock. He's still not keen on being used as a transfluid receptacle again, he wants to overload too. Not that he has been spoilt with overloads when fucking up until now, he usually don't, but he really wants this one. Not just build up, and then cruelly missing out for someone else's pleasure.
"Yes!"
It sounds good, even if he means more of this and leaves it open for interpretation. He has no real say here anyway.
"Let's get into the shower then. I don't want to splash the oil all over the place. Or get transfluid in it for that matter."
Cleanliness. He wants to be scathing about it, but it's a trait he can't disapprove of.
Ironhide easily lifts him, and Dreadbot makes a noise of surprise, wrapping his legs around the sturdy mech's waist. Oil drips from their frames when Ironhide carries him out of the bath, grunting about getting those slip protections installed, and then it's just a few steps to get to the shower stall. The water is already running — there must be controls for it by the tub, another tech luxury that he is reluctantly awed by — and set to a perfect temperature, and then Dreadbot's back is slammed against the wall, the heavy frame pressing against him.
Ironhide still hasn't opened his panel, he's just grinding his pelvic plating against Dreadbot, but he manages to apply just the right amount of pressure on Dreadbot's node, and Dreadbot's digits scrabble against his back armor of their own accord.
Then Ironhide pulls away, and Dreadbot growls in frustration, because he was getting close. Ironhide hums, reaching for Dreadbot's valve with his servo, easily keeping him up with just one arm.
"Are you ready for me now?" He purrs, slipping two thick fingers into Dreadbot's slick valve.
He will never be ready for that.
But Ironhide expertly curls his digits, hitting nodes inside Dreadbot, and all that leaves his vocalizer is a desperate whimper. He makes a disappointed noise when the digits are pulled out again, but they're immediately replaced with Ironhide's spike, pressurizing straight into him.
Chapter Text
He really wishes that it wouldn't feel this good, that he could just stay indifferent and let the mech finish, but it's impossible when this is the best interfacing he's had for a very long time.
Ironhide has set a langorous pace of long, hard thrusts, seemingly hitting every spot inside him, and if that wasn't enough, he slams against Dreadbot's anterior node every time he bottoms out.
Dreadbot arches his back, not in a position to do much at all, but it makes Ironhide adjust his grip to get one servo free to toy with Dreadbot's spark chamber again.
It makes Dreadbot's charge rise immediately, even just the slight brush of a thumb along a seam is enough to have him teetering on the edge of an overload.
"Please..." He whines, everything forgotten except his urgent need to overload.
"Well, since you ask so nicely..."
A slightly firmer touch to his spark chamber is all it takes, and the loud, drawn out moan Dreadbot makes surprises himself. His entire frame is tense as a bowstring when he rides the high, and then he slumps, still held up by Ironhide. Dreadbot's vents are fast, and his fan is making the water splash around when he comes down from the overload. Ironhide puts him down, steadying him with his servos on Dreadbot's shoulders.
Dreadbot's post overload bliss evaporates when he realizes that Ironhide's spike is still pressurized.
Hide didn't overload. It's probably not good for a whore to cum before their customer. Not to think of what he'll want as compensation...
"You didn't overload!" He blurts, and then his spark flips, because it sounded a lot like an accusation.
Ironhide chuckles. "No, my stamina isn't that bad. What is it with pretty little mech's, and only having experience with one minute mech's?"
Dreadbot flushes, because now he feels like an inexperienced fool, who just overloaded immediately.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I didn't really think at all."
It's not like he's an experienced whore, even if they sure are doing a effective job at getting him there.
"I figured as much." Hide sounds amused, and he quirks an optical ridge. "It has been a stressful night for you, and I know it's not unusual that it'll make a mech really horny. I don't mind that you enjoy yourself. Quite the opposite, actually."
He rubs a mild solvent into Dreadbot's struts and wires, thick digits mapping out the components, and Dreadbot is once gain reminded of how vulnerable he is, and bare for the mech to see. He wants to cover up again, now that he isn't too distracted to remember things like modesty, but he knows how rude it would be to try to cover himself now.
"But what about you?"
Not that he really cares — he'd much rather be left out of it — but he made a deal to entertain, so he better perform well enough to satisfy Hide. Even if a blow job would be kind of gross, at least it would mean his aft is safe for now, and maybe he'll be allowed to stay the night, and avoid winding up in someone else's berth. And he certainly doesn't need to be kicked to the curb right now.
"All in due time. Right now, I want us both to get clean enough to get into the berth."
Chapter Text
Dreadbot is handed a sponge, and he hesitantly starts to wash Ironhide, even if the act throws him for a loop.
He was convinced that it always would be more or less like with Blackout; no real concern for his pleasure, and he'd be lucky if it didn't hurt too bad or was too humiliating.
Showering together like this feels intimate, not at all what he'd expected, and he is mentally flailing, because he rarely did it before, and doesn't exactly know what's expected of him.
Well, washing, of course, but is he supposed to make it more sensual in some way?
Ironhide seems very certain about what he's doing, though, so Dreadbot tries to follow his lead, scrubbing the planes of his armor with the sponge, and dipping his digits between the plates to reach the deeper components. He avoids the area too close to Ironhide's spike, knowing full well that it's just procrastinating the inevitable, but he's spared from being caught dawdling when Hide sinks to his knees, starting to scrub Dreadbot's legs. He starts at Dreadbot's ankles, slowly working his way up, and when he reaches the inside of Dreadbot's thighs, Dreadbot feels himself starting to heat up again. Ironhide has almost reached the juncture of Dreadbot's hips — his hips that are twitching with aborted attempts to get those digits somewhere else — when Hide looks up, smirking at him.
"You've been washing that plate for a long time now. If I were more delicate, it would be stripped of paint by now..."
Dreadbot snatches his servo away in embarrassed alarm, because he's fucking up and it's apparent why, and he really doesn't want the bastard to know that he is annoyingly good at this.
"Pray tell, little mech, what is distracting you so badly?"
He's not going to admit that his valve-lips are starting to feel heavy again, and that he's longing for something inside him, or on his node, anything really. Not when he's with the bastard who oh, so generously offered him help after picking both him, and his future apart.
"I was thinking about how good you look, kneeling for me."
Ironhide's optical ridges raises.
Fuck, it wasn't meant to come out like that! He was aiming for a fairly neutral compliment! Well, all this was for naught, he'll get to meet Unicron for real tonight. Stupid, stupid...
The big mech rumbles a deep laugh. He shakes his helm in clear amusement, and then he rises to his pedes. Dreadbot presses his back against the wall, uncertain what to do, because he doesn't know what to expect. Ironhide plants a servo aginst the wall next to Dreadbot's helm, leaning in closer, and Dreadbot tries his best to become one with the wall.
"Feisty! I like it." Ironhide murmurs in a dangerous voice, flashing sharp denta.
"Not that feisty back in that alley, or the warehouse." Dreadbot mumbles, trying to remind Hide that he can't provide much resistance, if that's wat the mech is after.
"You had no chance, and you're not suicidal. You're a survivor; you do what it takes to get out of a situation. Most mechs would still be sitting on that floor, crying in self pity, but not you. You calculated your options, and you went with the one that will let you live to see tomorrow, even if it's not an easy choice. You're an opportunist, and I like that in a mech."
Ugh. Why does he find this the most flattering thing anyone has ever said to him? Why is this bastard managing to make him flush with confused pride? Everyone else always complimented him on his looks — which are clearly a matter of easy come, easy go — but these words touch something in him that he didn't know needed some attention.
"I'm guessing what really distracted you was the need for this, though..." Ironhide leers, slipping his digits through Dreadbot's slick folds.
Dreadbot is not prepared, still thinking about what Ironhide just said, and he bucks into the touch without a chance to stop the movement that gives him away.
"Yeah, I thought so. Come on, lets get out of here. You won't freeze in my berth either, I promise you that."
Smug bastard.
Chapter Text
They dry up with rags, even though there's an air dryer installed in the washracks, because — according to Ironhide — the air dryer is overrated. Dreadbot is ushered back into the berthroom, walking in front of Ironhide, and the big mech pats his aft, clearly having overcome his almost gentlemechly ways from before.
Then again, why would he be a gentlemech when he already has had his spike inside his newly acquired whore?
"Frag, you are so pretty." Hide groans, sliding a servo up Dreadbot's side.
Something about the words has Dreadbot's insides knotting up. "Please don't call me that." He whispers hoarsely.
"Anything else would be a lie."
"Maybe, but my prettiness never ever brought anything good into my functioning..." Dreadbot answers, thinking about how he wouldn't have come to Polyhex, convinced that he would become a star, and live the good life.
How he wouldn't have wound up doing pin-up pictures that'll follow him for the rest of his life, if he ever gets to leave the house again. How he wouldn't have landed here, being a whore for a bunch of mechs with questionable ways of making money, and probably no morality. Mechs sharing a rundown, but halfway repaired house in a rather unorthodox set up he can't wrap his processor around. And already having their prison bitch living here, but they're tired of waiting in line, so they recruited him, because he really couldn't say no.
Yeah, fuck 'pretty'.
"As you wish, feisty."
Then Dreadbot yelps when his aft is cupped, and he's flung onto the berth.
The landing is soft, not at all like it would've been if this had been the berth Swindle stole from him.
Swindle was too weak to be able to throw him like this anyway, the small, weak, deceiving little bastard. Wasn't handsome either, and he wouldn't have smelled good if he hadn't "borrowed" the good solvent. And his cock was lacking in size too, as well as his overall performance in berth.
He flips over on his back just in time to see Ironhide crawl up the berth, stalking him with a wild glint in his optics. Dreadbot squeaks again, crab walking towards the headboard. It's futile, of course, but Ironhide grins like a cyberwolf and grabs his ankle-strut, pulling him down to lay stretched on his back. Ironhide nudges his legs apart, settling on top of Dreadbot, and his weight easily pins the smaller mech, even resting on his knees and elbows. Ironhide peers down at Dreadbot's spark chamber.
"I'll probably never get tired of this view."
"You said I may get an alt mode." Dreadbot says, sounding much more whiny than he planned, but his spark is plummeting.
If they like him like this, he'll be naked forever.
"You can earn one. I don't just give stuff away without getting something back."
Yeah, right. Not if they don't want him to succeed. He'll never be that good a whore anyway.
"Fuck." He grinds out, saying it to himself.
"Much obliged."
Ironhide rolls his hips, hilting himself in a smooth move, and Dreadbot mewls in spite of himself.
"That's not what I meant." He dares saying, because Hide seems to be amused by him talking back.
"No? How about this, then?" Hide starts moving with slow, deep thrusts, rocking Dreadbot.
"Meh... You're not getting at my anterior node. I really like when that's stimulated too." Dreadbot really tries to sound indifferent, even if chills of pleasure shiver up his back-struts everytime Hide bottoms out.
"M-hm." It sounds rather dismissive, but Ironhide manages to get an arm between them all the same.
Dreadbot feels encouraged. "Better, still but a bit sloppy. Circle it with the tip of one digit."
Ironhide gets up from on top of him to kneel, pulling Dreadbot's hips into his lap.
"I guess I'll have to do it like this, then." He holds on to Dreadbot's hip with one servo, circling his node with one thumb, and the angle really hits everything Dreadbot could want. "I get a very good view as a bonus."
"You can show your appreciation by applying yourself. Actions speak louder than words." Dreadbot snarks, but it comes out a breathy moan, so it loses some of the effect.
Ironhide just smirks and continues what he's doing.
Chapter Text
Dreadbot is reduced to a mewling mess, arching his back to get that thick spike as deep as possible inside him.
"Up to your standards?" Ironhide asks smugly, brushing his thumb over Dreadbot's anterior node.
"Yes, yes, yes!" Dreadbot hisses, unable to play the snippy part anymore.
Ironhide pulls out.
"What?! No! Don't stop now, fragger!" Dreadbot growls.
Ironhide grins at him, petting his valve-lips in an infuriatingly teasing way that does absolutely nothing to bring Dreadbot closer to his overload.
"You're so demanding." Two thick digits slip into Dreadbot's valve, and he tries to grind down on the servo. "I want you on all fours, so I can fuck you as good as you deserve."
It's not really his favorite position, there's something about it that feels demeaning, and even if it's his valve that's being used at the moment, it reminds him about that time with Swindle that wound up on the data net, and the position clearly was about the humiliating effect.
But there's not much of a choice for him here, and Dreadbot resigns to just being thankful that his ass is still untouched. He smoothly rolls off Ironhide's lap, the digits slipping out as he does so, and then he stands there, waiting, all too aware of how Hide is probably ogling his array.
"Could you show me how you like it?"
"What?"
"Show me how you like to be touched."
Dreadbot turns his helm to stare at the mech, but then he realizes what that probably looks like — like a damned pin-up pose — and he turns away again.
Of course the bastard wants a show. Points for not just ordering him to 'masturbate for me', at least.
He reaches between his legs, slipping a finger through his soaked folds, flushing when he feels how stretched he is.
Well fucked. At least the mech has a decent spike.
Dreadbot slowly circles his node, and it feels so good, because he's revved up, and the slick slide of his digit over his node is a well-known sensation. He never did it in this position before, but there's something comforting about the familiar action, and he's getting closer to his peak. Dreadbot lets his helm loll forward, a quiet moan leaving his vocalizer.
He almost startles when Ironhide's servo slides around his hip, joining his own servo, one digit on top of his own, following his movements.
"Like this?" Ironhide asks, kneeling behind him.
"Yes!" He hisses, because it feels so good, he can't really focus in the trail of pre-transfluid the head of Ironhide's spike is leaving behind when it rubs against his aft.
Ironhide's other servo strokes slowly up his back-struts, and then it wraps around the back of his neck, squeezing lightly. Dreadbot's spark hiccups, and he's certain that his face-plates are going to be smashed into the bedding, and he's going to be brutally fucked, that Ironhide just humored him because he finds amusement in letting him have a go at being in charge, and then yanking his figurative leash.
That doesn't happen, though. After that squeeze, the servo slips around him, digits finding the opening to his spark chamber again. Dreadbot makes a noise and presses against the touch, forgetting about stimulating his node. It doesn't matter, because Ironhide takes over. Dreadbot grabs on to the bedding, trying to rock against both the servos, and when Ironhide rolls his hips, spike slipping into Dreadbot's slick valve, Dreadbot moans so earnestly, he flushes with how wanton he sounds. Then Ironhide flicks his node in a particularly effective way, and Dreadbot's valve clenches.
"Oh, yeah..." Ironhide groans, speeding up his thrusts.
Between the thick spike moving inside him, the skilled digits on his node, and the novelty of touches to his spark chamber, it doesn't take Dreadbot long to reach his peak. He shudders through the overload, hips jerking, and he pushes back to give better access, to get that spike deeper.
Dreadbot's arms give out, and he keels forward, but strong servos wrap around his hips, keeping them hiked up as Ironhide relentlessly pounds into him a few more times, chasing his own overload. Dreadbot's face-plates are pressed into the bedding, but his systems are shutting down as he's falling into reboot, so he doesn't have the wherewithal to think about that, doesn't find his position humiliating. The last thing he feels before he falls into reboot is Ironhide pressing in deep, spilling inside him.
Chapter Text
It's Blackout who's on top of him, easily restraining his arms, and even if he tries bucking and writhing, there's nothing he can do. The thick spike is pushed into his valve, no matter how dry and unprepared he is, and he screams in pain and revulsion, because he certainly doesn't want the Helo in any way, and especially not like this.
"Shut up, you fucking glitch! My audial got shot!" Blackout growls with Nitro Zeus's voice, grabbing for Dreadbot's vocalizer.
His spark speeds up even more, feeling like it's going to explode with terror...
Dreadbot's optics online, his vents hard and fast, and he frantically takes in his surroundings, trying to make sense of reality. He struggles with the thick cover he's almost buried under, feeling claustrophobic, until he's finally free, and coherent enough to realize what's going on.
It was just a nightmare.
Then he's finally awake enough to have it all come crashing down on him.
The repo — his alt mode is gone — and Blackout almost raping him. The deal with Hide, and that's where he is now: in Hide's berth. He's a whore for the Autobots, and he paid his rent before falling into reboot, selling his frame to the mech who's recharging next to him. Gross. And still he overloaded from it, physically enjoyed it...
Energon rises quickly at the back of his throat — from disgust and what's well on it's way to become a hangover. Dreadbot flies out of berth, hurrying into the washracks, and he just makes it to the sink in time, his entire frame convulsing as he purges violently several times.
Everything is gone; his apartment, everything he called his own. Swindle sold his furniture, and his personal mementos were thrown out when he moved in with Swindle, as his 'boyfriend' thought they were useless.
Dreadbot rests his forehead against the cool sink for a long time just standing there, waiting for his tanks to settle. It takes a while, but when he finally feels certain that he won't puke again, he rinses his intake, and sinks to the floor, curling up on the heated tiles.
Another mocking reminder of the luxuries he dreamt about, what he was supposed to have when he made it big. Not what he wants to have rubbed in his face that the only way he'll ever get it is if his pimp has it.
He starts to sob quietly, but as soon as the dam is open, it quickly turns into loud keens and hiccups. Dreadbot wraps his arms around himself, but the way he reaches around his thin frame reminds him of what he lost, what his life has become.
There's no way out for the foreseeable future. He really needs someplace to stay, and this is the only available place. He has to make sure that he'll be allowed to stay, and to do that, he'll have to please the mechs. No matter how unwilling he really is. He's a whore now.
Chapter Text
"Are you still feeling nauseous?"
Dreadbot startles from his restless slumber when Ironhide speaks. He's still curled up on the floor, and while the tiles are warm against him, he's still shivering, naked as he is.
"No." He says in a small voice, feeling stupid, and embarrassed that Ironhide knows that he threw up.
"Then come back to berth." Ironhide says, not waiting for a reply as he easily scoops Dreadbot up, carrying him bridal style.
Dreadbot stifles a sob, because he wants to say no, but it's not like he'll be able to do anything to enforce it anyway.
If Hide wants to fuck again, he better just spread his legs.
"I guarantee that you will be more comfortable there."
"The floor is good enough." Dreadbot grinds out, and he hears that he sounds like a petulant sparkling.
How dignified.
"The way you're shaking with cold tells me otherwise."
He's placed on the berth rather carefully, and it really is much softer and nicer. Not that he will admit that.
"Here," Ironhide hands him a cube full of energon, and a rerouter chip, "for the hangover, and to get you to relax a bit."
Dreadbot slowly takes the rerouter, staring at it, because he isn't certain that it's legal. A scan of the cube tells him that it's med grade mixed with a some high grade, which is a dichotomy, but really not all that surprising. He takes a deep drink, and it's not very tasty, but probably exactly what he needs.
It was such a long time since anyone brought him anything in berth like this, way back in Uraya. Why is this bastard the one who shows him more care than anyone else has done?
"It's just the equivalent of an over the counter rerouter against nausea. Nothing to be worried about." Ironhide says, and Dreadbot realizes that he has been staring at the rerouter for quite some time.
"I think I'm good with this." He says, holding up his cube. "I've never taken much meds, so I don't know how I'll react to using it with the energon. I'm not nauseous now anyway."
He probably could get nauseous if he starts thinking too much of his situation again.
Ironhide shrugs. "It's your frame, and your recharge."
Not really his frame anymore.
Dreadbot sits on the berth, drinking his fuel rather slowly. Not that stalling really benefits him; the fucking is going to happen anyway, and it would probably be better to just get it over with. But he's too miserable, and really doesn't want to.
Ironhide stretches out on the berth next to him, punching his pillow a couple of times to fluff it up. He groans in pleasure when he lets his frame go limp and relaxed, and Dreadbot can't help but feel envious, because it looks so comfortable, and the sound Ironhide made makes him want to feel the same way.
"Are you planning on finishing that this side of the morrow?" Ironhide grunts, sounding surprisingly crabby.
"Well, excuse me for not coping well with being chop-shopped and turned into a slave!" Dreadbot bites back to stop himself from starting to ugly cry again.
Ironhide's optics flash, and Dreadbot's spark flips, because it reminds him of being led into that alley by Hide, how dangerous the mech is.
"Trust me on this; this is nothing like slavery. You're free to go at any time, if you don't see this fitting you."
"Like I have anywhere to go. Like I could leave, looking like this."
"But you still have two options. Even if you consider both of them bad, you still have them."
"Well... I guess..."
"Here's a suggestion for the rest of the night — a suggestion you're free to listen to or not, it's really up to you, as the free mech you are — down that drink, crawl down under these covers, and get some good rest in a safe, comfortable, warm berth. You've earned it, after all, and I honestly think it would be foolish to waste a comfort you've earned by sleeping on the hard floor in the bathroom. Then you can consider your options tomorrow, when your processor is defragged and clear."
The fucking bastard has a point. If he has paid for this, he should take the opportunity to sleep comfortably. He has spent enough nights on the floor since Swindle stole his berth.
Dreadbot downs the drink and stretches out next to Ironhide, keeping a distance between them, because he sure as pit isn't going to curl up against the bastard.
The berth really is obscenely comfortable.
He wriggles deeper into the plush mattress, pulling at the pillow to get it to support his neck, and then he sighs in bliss. His frame is much more sensitive without his plating, but this berth is nice enough to be more comfortable like this than his apartment floor was when he was fully armored. The high grade starts to make him tired, and he feels his struts relaxing.
"Good choice." Ironhide mumbles, sounding halfway into recharge already. He still throws the fluffy cover over Dreadbot before relaxing again, and then his vents even out.
Dreadbot is awake for all of ten seconds after Ironhide falls asleep, then he's out like a light.
Chapter Text
"Here, I got you this. If it fits, I'll get you a few more. It should suffice to keep you a bit warmer."
Dreadbot stares at the unshapely pile of organic fabric Ironhide holds out for him for long seconds before he gingerly grabs it. He shakes it out, and holding it to dangle at it's full length reveals that it's roughly shaped as his frame.
"The zipper is the most fragile part, so zip it carefully."
Dreadbot finally finds the wherewithal to start moving, and he pulls down the part he is assuming is the "zipper," sticking his pedes into the legs of the garment.
He won't be naked anymore. The fabric coverings may be flimsy, but roaming optics won't find their target, and he'll get a bit of modesty and privacy again. And as a bonus it isn't anything like the coverings that's popular with dancers, and for some erotic magazines. And whores. Those coverings leave little to the imagination. This is made to cover him.
It certainly doesn't hurt that the fabric is so soft against his protoform, instantly warming him up. Dreadbot quickly shrugs his shoulders into the the fluffy onesie, wriggling to get it settled, and then he pulls the zipper shut.
"Thank you! This is really nice!" He says sincerely, because even if it would be preferable to get some new armor, this is more than he would've ever expected when not even a full week has passed since he made the deal. He wraps his arms around himself, rubbing his servos up and down to just touch the fluffy fabric. "Isn't things like this very expensive?"
"We can't expect you to freeze all the time, and it isn't much of a cost when you've been off world and made trading contacts, and don't ship it in by the regular trading routes." Ironhide says, folding his arms across his chest-plates, a satisfied smirk stretching his lip-plates. "And you shouldn't feel forced to huddle in someone's berth all the time just to keep warm. I mean, I do enjoy finding you there when I get home, but you should be free to move around comfortably, and enjoy your side of the benefits of our deal."
Dreadbot makes a face.
It feels so much dirtier when he's reminded that the comforts he's allowed to enjoy here is paid for with his frame. It's easier to push those thoughts away when he has been thoroughly fragged into the berth, and is snuggled up in thick covers, nicely buzzed on weed, and high grade. Sure, the rerun of his first time taking it in the port — bring a friend this time — was an utterly degrading and horrible experience, but it was expected to happen sooner or later, and both Blackout and Motormaster shot their loads pretty quickly, and then it was over. And the 'no damage' rule allowed him more prep, so it was less painful than that time with Swindle. Otherwise, it hasn't been that bad. All the mechs he has fragged so far look good, they're clean, and have been decent in the sack. Not much different from the one night stands he has had before, except the much fancier living spaces.
"Can we not continue to mention my deal all the time? It kind of makes me feel much more like a prostitute."
"Technically, you are one. I thought it made it easier for you to deal with this to remember that it's business."
"Sometimes it does, but I don't really feel like a whore when I'm in your berth. Or Roadbuster's. Springer's... We're just two mechs having fun, and that's preferable."
"Well, that mindset is something I appreciate, and I'd rather have you see it that way, because that's how I want to see it myself. Just remember that you're employed, and that gives you certain benefits. Even if you're thinking of it differently when you do the deed, that won't change the fact that you have rights to certain things, and you're allowed to make requests for things you want. I won't rip you off, like your ex did."
Dreadbot feels his lip-plates twitch, and he's close to start crying, reminded of how Swindle fooled him and is the reason why he's here.
Why is he safer and better off with someone who's basically a pimp than he was with his boyfriend? Why does it feel better to have a deal with clearly stated terms, instead of a relationship with someone? Shouldn't love be better than business? But then again, Swindle used his love, and made business of it...
"I hate him so much." Dreadbot blurts, voice hitching.
"You have every right to. If you decide to kill him, please do it in a way that we can clean up easily, though." Ironhide says, wrapping his arm around Dreadbot's shoulders.
Dreadbot doesn't know what to say, but his spark makes a backflip, because Ironhide sounds like he really means it, and he's just not used to mechs being so casual about murder.
Chapter Text
"What is that?! Why is he covered up?!" Blackout asks Ironhide when Dreadbot enters the rec room.
Dreadbot's chest feels cold, because if enough of the brothers — gang members, he reckons by now — object to him being clothed, he may be back to walking around naked again.
He's there for their sake, after all.
"He can't walk around naked all the time. Do you really think his shuddering is sexy?" Ironhide says, voice with an edge of finality.
"I suppose it does put a damper on his attractiveness."
"And he was uncomfortable, and we can't expect our employees to be uncomfortable all the time. Then we wouldn't be any better than our owners were."
What the fuck is this talk about their 'owners'? Now that Ironhide said it, he remembers it being mentioned during the warehouse incident he'd rather not think about.
Blackout makes a terrifying face when their owners are mentioned. "Ugh, it's so hard to try to wrap my processor around all these rules — not to mention all the unwritten social protocols — that applies to civil life."
"That's because your processor is made from a brick that was sanded down to the shape of a processor." Springer snorts.
Blackout shoots him with one of his lasers on a very low setting, leaving behind bare metal, and the stench of burnt paint.
"Hey, I was polished this morning!"
"If you wreck something, the credits to replace it will come out of your share." Ironhide says. "And since we really didn't like it where we were— and not in prison either — we better try to figure out a way to do this, and that means not treating our employees like or owners treated us. And I think it's unsexy with the shuddering and shivering."
"And the chattering denta is such a turn off." Nitro Zeus voice is a dangerous purr close to Dreadbot's audial.
Dreadbot startles, and swivels around. His spark is still spinning wildly and it refuses to slow down when he sees the way Nitro is ogling his frame.
He hasn't done it with Nitro yet, doesn't know much about the mech, more than that his humor is lewd and sometimes annoying.
"This, though," Nitro says, servos sliding over the fluffy fabric from Dreadbot's hips, up his sides, "this certainly is not a turn off."
He grabs the zipper and slowly pulls it down, bright optic watching the slowly revealed protoform, before it flicks up to meet Dreadbot's optics. Dreadbot's spark is still spinning nervously, because he knows where this is going, and it's always a certain amount of tension when trying someone new. He still turns his knees outwards to give Nitro Zeus better access when the big Flier slips a servo inside the onesie, digits caressing the front of Dreadbot's pelvic plating, slipping over his spike cover before stroking his valve-lips. The touch is as chaste as could be — considering where Nitro's servo is moving — a soft petting of Dreadbot's valve-lips, no digits slipping into his folds, and it's an unexpected teasing that makes something inside him twinge with need for more. He gasps, widening his stance without really thinking about it, rubbing against those digits. Nitro Zeus makes that quirk of his intake that's his version of a smirk.
"Hide says you're feisty."
"Perhaps? I just have standards." Dreadbot immediately snips, because the role actually comes quite naturally.
Nitro Zeus chuckles wickedly. "Is that so? I hope this baby is up to your standards..." He holds out the servo he isn't playing with Dreadbot's array with, pressurizing his spike into it, holding it in a way that implies that it's heavy.
Dreadbot stares, still not used to such blatant displays.
It's a nice spike. A few simple mods; a couple of ridges, and a few LEDs that probably aren't stock, and a decent size. Not fancy, but certainly adequate. If the mech knows how to use it. His talented fingers implies at least some skill.
"It'll do, I guess."
Nitro grins. "Trust me, I'll do. I'll do a lot."
Dreadbot shrieks when he's suddenly hoisted up, and slung over Nitro's shoulder.
"Hey! What the...?!"
"Mh, I love the way you squeal, babe." He says, quickly carrying Dreadbot up the stairs.
Dreadbot stops the memory, and Barricade almost protest, because he really wanted to see the rest, but he restrains himself.
It would be awfully rude.
"You know, I might've shared this with you, if you hadn't been such an ass when we gave you our opinions — which you asked for — and if you had shown at least a hint of willingness to do what we all do here. Now it's up to you to make your decision on who to fuck. You're going to do them all sooner or later anyway, and if you won't believe us, then I see no point in giving you advice. Good luck tonight." Dreadbot bumps his hip against Crosshairs, the Corvette still wrapped around Dreadbot. "Come on, Springer commed me. I think we should give him a two-for-one deal."
"Sounds like fun."
They quickly down their energon and leave Barricade standing there, feeling stupid.
He's going to ask Jazz anyway, he doesn't need their advice, but he really has to be more mindful of what he says if he doesn't want to make more enemies among the pleasurebots.
Chapter Text
"So, Ironhide told me to try someone else tonight..." Barricade trails off awkwardly.
What a fucking conversation to have with his lover.
"That isn't unexpected. He has given ya a whole lotta time ta get ta it yourself. Guess he finally realized that ya'll never do it of your own accord." Jazz's voice isn't scathing, but the comment still has an edge.
He has managed to insult Jazz again. Fucking stupid, but he really doesn't want to do it.
"Yeah, well I was just wondering if you have any suggestions? I mean, you... know all of them, so who's a good choice to start with?
"I'd say Nitro is the best for a first time, but Roadbuster is good too. Or Springer."
"Why is everyone so hung up on Nitro? What can that asshole possibly do that redeems him?" Barricade thinks out loud.
"We don' share what tha brothers do behind closed doors ta outsiders, n' I'm sorry honey, but ya haven't done anythin' ta be considered an insider. I really like ya Cade, but I ain't gonna tell ya 'bout his fuckin'-habits. Once ya decide ta be one of us, I can do that, but I'm not gonna be tha one who blabs stuff all over tha place. Keepin' a level of discretion comes with this job." Jazz says pointedly. "We do share between us entertainers, because it's in all our interest ta know how ta make all that brothers happy, but we don' tell anyone else their dirty little secrets. That way, it's up ta tha brothers ta decide what they want ya ta know 'bout them, and if they do somethin' with ya when ya're alone that they don't do anywhere else, then ya've been entrusted with a secret of theirs, n' ya better not break that trust n' tell anyone outside of us, not even tha other brothers."
"Like an oath, or something?"
The whore's pledge of silence, or what?
"Nothin' that fancy. It's just common sense, really. I mean, we're professionals, n' while I don' think twice 'bout gossipin' 'bout regular customers, tha brothers is a different game. Not only because they're our employers, but because we get to share some very intimate times with them since we live here, n' often spend tha whole nights with 'em. They're more than just customers, n' they often treat us differently than other customers do."
It sounds logical. If the brothers have kinks they'd rather keep secret, it's probably wise to not go spreading it around, and if the pleasurebots all keep quiet outside their own ranks, then they could share important information, without being slagged by a humiliated Warframe.
"I'll see who's available tonight, then."
And pray to Primus that it isn't just Blackout who hasn't hooked up already. He better not wait too long, or everyone else may be taken already.
Chapter Text
The day passes far too quickly for his liking. He isn't keen on going back to his job tomorrow, not when his arms feel this great, and he knows that the wear and tear will start immediately, but the prospect of fucking someone else tonight is far worse. Barricade even had a hard time focusing on when Jazz fucked him, and he feels guilty about that. Jazz didn't say anything about it, but Barricade has no illusions that Jazz didn't notice.
He needs to get out of here, so that he can be his best for Jazz.
They head to the washracks together to get ready for the evening. Jazz is working in-house — most of the pleasurebots are on Sundays — and even if it kind of feels nice that Jazz will be close by, he can't help but think that all of them are competition, and he can't dawdle for too long, or he'll be stuck with Blackout, or Motormaster.
Springer was an aft too with the whole bottle thing with Bumblebee, but Jazz suggested him. For someone who has been tied to a berth and systematically raped, anything less than that might seem nice, though...
"Lemme scrub your wings. They're so pretty, ya really should display them their best." Jazz says, sliding the sponge over the sensitive surface.
"Sure... Thanks." Barricade says absentmindedly.
Jazz starts to work on his shoulder-wings in silence, and Barricade can almost feel where his service signs used to be.
"I'm sorry that I'm so slow with accepting everything, and that it makes me come off as an asshole. I worked so hard to be self sufficient, I was a mech who could provide for myself, and probably for someone else too. Now I... I have nothing."
"Well, ya did bring it onto yourself. I know ya don't wanna hear that, but it's true. But there's no point beatin' yourself up 'bout it either, because ya can't change tha past. What ya can do now is make tha best of the situation. I mean, if your other job works out, that's great, but until it does, ya really should try ta take advantage of tha things ya have here. I mean, medical benefits, and not just comforts, but actual luxuries..."
Well, the legal weed is nice, and the shooting was fun, and he likes the high grade... It's just the fucking that he doesn't enjoy. Actually, Hide is good in the berth, so it's nice physically. It's just the reasons for the fucking that are unpalatable.
"I'll try."
They finish up, and after a few kisses that turn heated, they head for the rec room. The music is already audible, the smell of weed reaches his olfactory sensors before they leave their corridor, and there's that telltale buzz of voices that shows that the party is already brewing.
Who is he going to try? Will someone of the suggested mech's — not Motormaster — still be open for suggestions, or will the others already have hooked the allegedly nice ones? And who the frag is he going to pick? Trying to snare Nitro after he flat out refused to believe Dreadbot — and Crosshairs, and Jazz too — feels like a defeat. But then again, Springer did nothing to get Blackout to rethink his bastardly ideas...
According to Jazz, Roadbuster doesn't drool when he falls into recharge, that has to count for something, right? And Springer had some skills with his servos, if you take Crosshairs's memories into account...
Even Blackout seemed decent in those, so it's hard to judge. The mech did maim-murder-rape at least one victim in Primus knows what order...
So, three votes for Nitro Zeus, one for Motormaster, and one suggestion for Springer or Roadbuster. Seems like an easy choice, really.
But it's still the crude, horny bastard. Ugh.
Chapter Text
The rec room is full of mechs: Roddy and Drift are bringing drinks to the brothers lounging on the couches, then Roddy slips into Sunstreaker's lap — carefully, minding the mech's pristine paint job — and Drift wraps himself around Sideswipe. Bumblebee is already cuddled up to Roadbuster.
One of his options already preoccupied.
Barricade looks around, spotting Breakdown by the bar, talking to Motormaster.
Nobody mentioned Breakdown. Is it because he has some weird kinks, or is it because Knock Out is sweet on him? But then again, Crosshairs has a crush on Ironhide, and everyone is eager to get into his berth anyway...
And thinking about Crosshairs summons the pleasurebot in question: Springer comes down the stairs, with both Crosshairs and Dreadbot tucked under his arms, a smug smirk stretching his lip-plates, because he's the stud who spent the entire day with two whores, and everyone knows it.
Ugh.
Out of options, and knowing that he will have to be quick to land his last resort — Nitro — he looks around the room to find the mech he'll have to spend the night with, lest he'll wind up with someone who might be worse. But Nitro is nowhere to be found, and Barricade I starting to feel nervous.
What if he won't be here at all? What if he has business to deal with? Or just is too hung over, and not at all in a mood to party. He does smoke a lot at times, so maybe he's out for the count...
On further inspection, Ironhide is missing too, which would confirm that business is being handled. Barricade's spark makes a queasy revolution, because who is he going to pick if Nitro won't show up at all tonight?
Does it matter? You'll fuck them all eventually, just like Dreadbot says. And you weren't very keen on trying Nitro before, so why is he suddenly your savior now?
Blackout walks through the front door, and when everyone turns to see who's coming, he raises both his servos and howls victoriously. All the brothers join in — Motormaster and Breakdown reaches over the bar to pull out glasses and bottles of high grade, pouring servings — and Barricade doesn't know what they're celebrating, but he guesses it has something to do with business.
Or perhaps getting away from the law.
"I wonder if Cross n' Dreadie are done with Springer for tha night. It was a while since I was with him..." Jazz muses.
Is Jazz trying to kick him into gear, or does he honestly consider trying to seduce Springer?
It hardly matters. Barricade needs to make up his mind, even if Nitro isn't here yet. Blackout is here, and if Barricade doesn't want to get caught alone by the Helo again, he better find himself some company.
Chapter Text
Jazz drags him to the bar and hands him one of the shots Breakdown and Motormaster has lined up. Barricade downs it as quickl as he can while still being at least semi-polite. It burns all the way down to his tank, but that's just welcome, showing him how strong the high grade is, with a promise of a good buzz as soon as it takes effect.
He might need it.
"Relax, honey. I know ya really like facin', we do it a lot. Jus' try ta have a good time. It doesn' hafta be bad." Jazz says, stroking down Barricade's back-struts.
"I know..."
It isn't bad with Hide, but that's because he's been with Hide so many times by now, it's become familiar, the new normal.
Wonder how long it'll take you to get familiar with everyone else...
Hopefully, he'll be out of here before this starts to feel normal.
Then he's spared from his thoughts when Ironhide walks down the stairs, Nitro Zeus following in his wake. Barricade's spark makes a nervous flip as he takes in the crude bastard, as massive as Ironhide, and no less powerful. They both come over to the bar, grabbing two shots each, downing them in rapid succession.
Barricade's spark spins wildly with nerves, and he takes a deep vent to steel himself, then he steps up to Nitro Zeus.
"Uhm, Nitro? I'm... ah, I'm supposed to..." what the fuck is he supposed to say? Ugh, how to seduce someone you really doesn't want? But then again, how hard can it be to get this horny fragger into the sack? "I'm supposed to sleep with someone else tonight. I know you've been... interested, so I thought we could... do it?" He can't bring himself to be more seductive, or crude.
Nitro's intake quirks, and then he rumbles a laugh. "That's officially the worst pick-up line I've ever heard!" He wraps an arm around Barricade's shoulders. "But that's fine, I'm not picky about those things. Let's go, Officer." He turns them towards the stairs.
Barricade's spark skips a revolution.
What if Nitro is interested in him because fucking an Enforcer is a fantasy of his? Then this could turn into a very long, and not very funny night.
Ironhide flicks Nitro's arm with a finger, and the Flier stops momentarily, getting a meaningful look from Ironhide. Something passes between the Warframes, possibly words over comm, or just a silent conversation, and then Nitro nods once, before he starts moving again.
"How come the new ones always pick you first, you underclocked drone?" Blackout asks Nitro as they pass.
"Because I've got the best equipment!" Nitro laughs, grabbing his interface plate.
"Mine's bigger than yours."
"Yeah, but I know how to use mine! And my landing gears look good too."
"Nitro would fuck himself if he could." Motormaster snickers.
"I totally would, but, you know, my wood is too solid! I can't bend it enough to get it inside myself." Nitro quips, complete with gestures indicating trying to get his spike into his own valve.
Ugh, inflated ego on top of the crudeness.
Breakdown is laughing, but that may be the weed turning him into a giggling mess, because there's no way anyone thought the joke was that funny.
Nitro slides his servo down to Barricade's aft, giving it a squeeze, pulling him along up the stairs. His room isn't as far down the hallway as Hide's, and they get to a door that slides open for them way too quickly. Nitro ushers him through, and Barricade stops just inside the door, staring at the huge berth as if it's a torture device.
This is truly it.
Nitro presses up against his back, pushing him inside to get the door to close behind them, and then he squeezes past Barricade, heading for the berth.
He can't just stand here, looking stupid, he has to at least try to make Nitro happy with this. How hard could it be? The bastard has been horny for him since day one...
"So... uhm... How do you want me?" It comes out a nervous squeak, not very sexy.
"I want you to sit on my face."
Chapter Text
Barricade works his intake, staring at the Flier, completely stupefied. Nitro walks over to his berth, plunking down on it, and stretching out on his back.
"I beg you pardon?"
"I want you to sit on my face."
"I-I... uhm."
It's definitely not what he expected, and Barricade only has a vague idea of what Nitro is asking for.
Surely, it isn't what he thinks it is?
"Come here." Nitro beckons.
Barricade hesitantly walks over to the berth, just to be lifted as if he weighs nothing, "what are you doing?!" He squawks, then he's dumped kneeling over Nitro's helm. Barricade flushes, even if he hasn't even opened his panel yet.
"I'm just helping you get into position. But you need to open this," Nitro says, then he licks a line over Barricade's interface panel for emphasis, "for this to work."
"And what, exactly, is this?" Barricade goes for stalling, because he isn't comfortable with opening his panel with Nitro there, with a very close up view of his array.
"Don't tell me you haven't been licked before, because I've seen Crosshairs go down on you."
Well, it is pretty obvious with the position what's going to happen. You're not that stupid, are you?
He just can't quite believe that this is what Nitro Zeus wants to do.
It takes four attempts to open his panel, because he gets ridiculously shy when he looks down to see Nitro's bright optic locked on it.
"Such a pretty little component, Officer." Nitro says, voice rough with static.
Then there's the confusing input of both his valve-lips being stroked — separate inputs, as if stroked with a digit each — even though Nitro's servos still are resting on Barricade's hips.
Is his sensors malfunctioning or something? Has he been fucked to failure?
You know, the only way it could feel like this... But that can't be it, can it?
"Do you seriously have two glossas?!"
Nitro's optic quirk with what's probably a smirk, and smugness is weaving through his field.
"It's split. I have two tongue-tips. Ambidextrous."
Fragging pit!
Something inside Barricade pulses in time with his spark, and his valve-lips suddenly feel very heavy.
"So, how is this going to go?"
Because certainly, Nitro isn't just going to get him off, and then send him on his merry way?
"Here," Nitro says, grabbing Barricade's servos, pulling Barricade to tip forward slightly as he stretches his arms above his helm, "pin my wrists."
Incredulous, Barricade grabs the thick struts, pinning them to the mattress.
Not that he could possibly pin Nitro Zeus physically.
"Now here's how it's going to work: I'm going to eat you like you've never been eaten before, and when you think I've been a good little Bot, you'll tell me exactly how you want me to fuck you."
Chapter Text
Nitro Zeus licks a line along Barricade's slit a couple of times, and it doesn't feel much different than with a normal glossa, but then he circles Barricade's anterior node at the same time as he slides one of the tips into Barricade's valve. The tips are slim, but tapering, so the deeper he sinks it into Barricade, the more substantial it feels, while the tip circling his node is a very accurate pinpoint.
Barricade squeezes the thick struts he's holding on to, forcing himself to not grind against Nitro's face. He can't stop himself from moaning shakily, though. His spark hiccups when the sharp denta of Nitro's mandibles graze his valve-lips, but they gently nudge his folds apart, opening him up to give Nitro better access without so much as the slight sting.
Barricade looks down, and then he immediately looks away, because he flushes furiously when he sees Nitro's helm there. Nitro pulls his tongue out again, lapping a few broad lines with his entire glossa over Barricade's node, before starting to toy with it with both the tips working their own pattern. Barricade's charge is skyrocketing, and he's really hard pressed to not start grinding against Nitro to get more.
Nitro slips both the tips into Barricade, a thicker penetration, tongue fucking him for a little while, mapping out all the internal nodes and sensors. Barricade is going very wet, and the next time he dares to glance down at Nitro, he sees that the fliers face is smeared with his lubricant. It make him flush again, embarrassed by how quickly he's reduced to a mewling, drooling mess.
Nitro makes optic contact, and how one optic can manage to convey a wicked grin when his intake isn't even visible — and occupied — is unexplainable. He starts to circle Barricade's anterior node with one tip of his tongue again, the other continuing to fuck him, and Barricade is rapidly getting closer to the edge.
He glances over his shoulder to see Nitro's spike — thick, ridged, and definitely modded since that memory Dreadbot shared — fully pressurized, weeping pre-transfluid that stains the Jet's ventral plating.
He's getting close, and he really wants this overload. It would be so easy to just let Nitro keep going until he does, and just say that he wasn't good enough, and didn't deserve anything. But that would be very selfish, it definitely wouldn't help his case, and most of all, it would be a lie, because holy fucking pit is the mech good with his not-mouth! And he said that he'd do it any way Barricade wanted, so he won't miss out on his overload just because he stops doing this. And something thick inside him really would feel nice.
"You're such a good boy!" He moans, and then immediately he regrets it, because he has no idea how he wants to be fucked by the bastard.
Why is it this hard to have a choice?
Chapter Text
"So how do you want it, Officer?" Nitro purrs from between his legs, then he gives Barricade's node a more firm flick with his glossa. "If you don't mind me calling you that."
He hasn't really thought much about that. He has been preoccupied with other things when the Flier has called him Officer; first his injuries, and then his nervousness and reluctance for this night. In a way, it could be bitter to be reminded of what he had and lost, but he's so used to be called Officer, it feels more like a nickname.
"I don't mind." He says, processor frantically trying to figure out how he wants it.
Not on his back, it's probably too hard to reach his node like that, but he isn't very keen on being fucked from behind either. It still holds too many connotations of dominance, and degradation.
"You need to let me up..." Nitro says, wriggling under him, struggling feebly against Barricade's grip on his thick wrists-struts.
It's kind of ridiculous, really, because Nitro could easily throw Barricade across the room, probably hard enough to leave a Praxian-shaped dent in the wall, but there he is, looking completely helpless.
Barricade's valve clenches, and suddenly he knows what he wants.
"I'm going to ride you; take my own pleasure from your frame."
Nitro's engine whines when Barricade starts to climb off of him. He straddles Nitro's massive chest while rearranging the Flier's arms, because he won't reach to pin them above Nitro's helm when he's riding the massive Bot. When he slides back to straddle Nitro's hips, his valve leaves a trail of lubricant down the Jet's front, but Barricade isn't embarrassed by that. Not when Nitro's face is smeared with his... Ok, maybe a little embarrassed.
He grinds against Nitro's spike, rubbing his slick folds against the impressive length, ridges stimulating his anterior node just so, and Barricade briefly considers just continuing that.
He'd definitely overload quickly, and when Nitro shoots his load, it wouldn't be inside him, which would be nice for a change. But then again, he doesn't know for how long Nitro wants to play this game, and the cleanup may be less fun...
Barricade tilts his hips to get the spike inside his valve, not letting go of Nitro's wrists that he's now pinning by the Jet's sides. He groans when he slowly lets the spike slip inside, savoring the way the ridges stimulate his internal nodes and sensors.
Nitro bucks up, hilting himself, and it's unclear if he really meant to, or if it is a — heh — a hip-jerk reaction to the stimulation.
"Don't move!" Barricade says with the same authority he let slip into his voice whenever he apprehended someone.
"I'm sorry, Officer!" Nitro almost whines. "I didn't mean to!"
Chapter Text
Barricade starts to rock back and forth, rubbing his anterior node against Nitro's pelvic plating, the thick spike in his valve stirring his insides, stimulating every single node in his valve.
Nitro is tense under him, but he obeys the order to not move, frame shuddering with the effort.
Serves him right. Though, the Flier has exceeded his expectations tonight. But he has still been an asshole far more times than he has been nice, it's only fair that he gets to struggle a bit for it.
It's just a brief thought, because Barricade can't focus on it for long. His charge is building up too quickly, and he's getting close.
Nitro Zeus makes a strained noise under him, and Barricade sees the way the flier grinds his denta.
"Don't overload before I do. I don't want to be forced to try to finish on a limp spike." He orders, speeding up his grinding.
He still wouldn't put it past the bastard to shoot his load and leave him high and dry, and find some amusement from it.
"Sir, yes, Sir!" Nitro pants dutifully.
Barricade's digits dig deeper into the thick struts he's holding on to, but Nitro Zeus doesn't seem to mind, if he even notices it at all.
Barricade mewls in unadulterated pleasure as he grinds against Nitro, the lubricant drooling out of his valve making for a slick slide against the Flier's pelvic plating.
There's something intensely erotic about taking his pleasure like this, to use the bastards frame to get off.
The way Nitro seems to enjoy it doesn't withdraw from Barricade's pleasure.
He's racing towards his overload, teetering on the precipice, when he feels Nitro going even more rigid underneath him.
"Am I allowed to overload when you do, Officer?" Nitro Zeus grinds out through clenched mandibles.
Barricade doesn't have the wherewithal to really think about the question, or the appropriate answer, doesn't even think about how easily he could be petty, and tell Nitro that he can't.
"Yes!" He hisses, still rutting against Nitro.
Then he topples over the edge, his valve contracting around Nitro's spike in one of the hardest overloads Barricade has ever had. He hears when Nitro groans, and he does notice when the Flier breaks the order to not move, and bucks up to get deeper. Nitro's spike pulses inside him, and he feels slicker and warmer, telltale signs that the mech is pumping his transfluid into Barricade's valve.
It doesn't matter.
Barricade's systems are falling offline one by one, even as his valve is still contracting rhythmically around the spike inside him. The Saleen feels his grip on Nitro's wrists go weak, and he keels forward to land sprawled across the Flier's broad chest-plates, but that doesn't matter either, because he's powerless to do anything about it, and he's too satisfied to really object.
Nitro bucks up one more time, hilting himself inside Barricade, and that's the last thing Barricade knows before he falls into reboot.
Chapter Text
Barricade reboots, and at first he's a bit confused, because he doesn't recognize the room, but then he spots Nitro Zeus, and he remembers everything.
Including how hard he overloaded. The bastard certainly is good.
"I made an awful mess, Officer." Nitro says, pointedly looking between Barricade's spread legs.
He's stretched out on his back now — Nitro Zeus kneeling between his legs — and he's just about to be annoyed by Nitro being back to his usual crude grossness — and the way he has been positioned on display without being asked — when the Flier speaks again. "Do you want me to clean it up?"
There's a hungry leer in the last sentence, and Barricade's processor is still too muzzy to figure out why that is, but seriously, no matter how Nitro plans on getting the transfluid and lubricant away, it'll be nice to not be all sticky and gross.
"Yes. You made the mess, you clean it up."
Nitro's field flares smugly, and then he all but dives down between Barricade's legs. "Thank you, Sir."
"Hey, what...?"
Nitro pushes his arms under Barricade's aft to lift the Mustang's hips for better access, and then he starts to lap at Barricade's plating, licking the lubricant and transfluid from Barricade's thighs, slowly working his way towards his array.
"I'm cleaning you."
Barricade is spent, and he's fairly certain that he's not going to get aroused again — not right now, at least — but the long, slow licks are very soothing, slowly warming his frame. Nitro dips his nimble glossa between Barricade's plates to get every drop of the fluids, and it's momentary teasing touches to sensitive components, before he returns to lavish attention on the less sensitive plates again.
His array starts to feel hot again — in spite of what he thought initially — and he squirms slightly, getting impatient, because Nitro is closing in on his array, but not nearly fast enough.
"Did I do something wrong, Sir?" Nitro says, stopping his ministrations.
It only serves to make Barricade more frustrated.
"Not at all! But you're awfully slow to get done."
"I'm sorry, Officer. I just wanted to make sure I didn't miss a spot. I'll do better."
Nitro continues his work, moving more quickly towards Barricade's array, and the Saleen feels his valve-lips start to swell, throbbing heavily with increasing need. Nitro's glossa strokes his valve-lips for what seems like an eternity, before momentarily slipping over his port — a tickle that makes him jerk with surprise — and then finally, it slips through his slit.
Barricade groans when Nitro laps over his node once, just to return to cleaning his valve-lips again, before dipping into Barricade's valve. Nitro doesn't utilize his special feature, using his glossa as if it wasn't split, slowly sinking it deeper into Barricade, before pulling out again, and then repeating.
The langorous tongue fucking is bringing Barricade's charge up slowly, gently, in a way that doesn't bring any of the discomfort that's sometimes the result of trying to go again too soon after an overload. Barricade spreads his legs more, enjoying the lack of rush, and the slow build of his charge.
Chapter Text
It takes a while, but eventually, Barricade really starts to be charged. His servo has found a place on the back of Nitro's helm somewhere along the way, and his hips are starting to twitch to rub against the Jet.
Nitro's field is an aroused mess against his, and when Barr glances down, he notices that the Flier is grinding against the mattress.
"Are you seriously rutting against the berth?"
Nitro whines an affirmative, but neither stops with the licking, nor the grinding.
The tongue fucking is really nice, and he's reluctant to have Nitro stop just yet, but at some point — probably fairly soon — he'll want some spike.
"You better not overload. I want you to fuck me when I've had enough of this."
He never thought he'd willingly utter those words to anyone in this house — except for Jazz — and especially not to Nitro.
Good thing you decided to listen to the others after all.
Nitro's field flares with arousal from Barricade's half order, and that level of want is quite heady. Nitro squirms, not entirely stopping the grinding, and he starts to work more quickly with his glossa, eager to get Barricade ready to be fucked.
So, how does he want to get fucked this time? His legs are tired from the riding, it would be comfortable to let Nitro do all the work... Not from behind, though. Even if he probably doesn't get his face smashed into the berth by Nitro, it still isn't his favorite. He's actually quite comfortable as he is right now...
"That's enough of this. I want you to fuck me, but you have to stimulate my anterior node too. I'm comfortable like this — on my back — but I'm sure you can figure out a way to do it the way I want it."
Nitro apparently has no problems coming up with a plan. He sits back on his pedes, pulling Barricade's hips into his lap, and then he starts to circle Barricade's node with his thumb. The position is obviously not quite as comfortable as being sprawled on his back, but Nitro is too good with his servo to really let Barricade have the processor power to think, or complain, about that.
Nitro tilts his hips, and then his spike smoothly sinks into Barricade's slick valve. Barricade's back arches of it's own accord, digits digging into the bedding, and Nitro's field trembles with satisfaction that lacks the smugness Barricade would've expected.
The Flier's fucking getting off on pleasing him!
Are you going to complain about that too?
No! He's just... He still didn't quite expect that either.
Nitro sets a languorous pace that really is an extension of how he tongue fucked Barricade, cleverly timing the circling around Barricade's node with every thrust. It serves well to slowly build Barricade's charge even higher, and Barricade has to admit that the mech certainly knows how to drag things out, while still keeping them interesting, instead of just frustrating.
Chapter Text
"Harder!" It comes out more of a mewling plea than an order, but Nitro has been keeping the same pace for quite some time, and Barricade is getting close, but he just won't be able to overload from this.
It'll take a while, at least, and he isn't much for delayed gratification and frustration.
"Which? The fucking, or the circling?"
Oh, right. What did he mean? Either will send him over, but which will be the most effective? Or feel the best? Is 'effective' and 'best' the same? He wants to cum hard... Dammit, all these choices are so hard!
Easier to just spread your legs and let someone have their way? Hide makes it really good without directions, and you can just lay back — or bend over — and get it good. In all your holes.
This is good, he just needs a fragging plan.
Heh. Fragging-plan.
"Both."
Nitro immediately obeys, rolling his hips to hilt himself hard over and over, gradually increasing the pressure against Barricade's node.
"Yes! Like that!" Barricade hisses when the big mech hits his node just so.
The praise makes Nitro's field squirm happily, flaring with arousal, but he doesn't falter with anything, rapidly bringing Barricade closer to the edge.
"Can I knot you, Sir?"
Frag! He has never tried that!
You really should have, considering how often mechs are knotted in the memories you've seen so far.
Shut up, it was only Crosshairs!
Yeah, but he got it good several times. It was just a matter of time before someone wanted it. Crosshairs seemed to like it.
He likes everything...
"Do you get much thicker?" Barricade pants, so close already. "I mean, I don't want to get damaged..."
He doesn't really have much say, even if Nitro is playing at Barricade is the one in control.
It's a bit bitter to be reminded that he really isn't the one in charge.
"You feel relaxed and supple enough. You'll feel full, but it won't tear you or anything like that."
Well, then he really can't say no.
Admit that you're a bit curious too.
Maybe a little?
"Fine. Just because you've been a good Bot."
Nitro's intake quirks in what's probably his version of a wolfish grin, and he presses in deep, thrusts becoming short, almost grinding movements. He still keeps his thumb on Barricade's node — working it slower again — while Barricade is starting to feel more and more full.
Chapter Text
It's kind of a weird feeling, but not unpleasant. Just novel.
The base of Nitro's spike is thick inside him, and he can feel the head of it nudging the bolt at the entrance to his chamber, trying to get a connection. It's not uncomfortable. On the contrary, it nudges some node he wasn't even aware of having, and it's a low key pleasure, not enough in itself, but combined with the other ways he's being stimulated, it's adding another layer of pleasure. The rim of his valve is stretched around the base of Nitro's spike; thicker now, but not as thick as the bulging knot just inside his first row of calipers.
Or the way he's feeling more and more full by the transfluid being pumped into him; all his inside nodes are stimulated with the increasing stretch.
Nitro's hips are twitching rhythmically, and the big Flier's fans are working at full capacity, but he doesn't stop the stroking of Barricade's node with his thumb, no matter how distracted he might be by his own drawn out overload.
"You're good, such a good Bot! Barricade whimpers, because there's no point in denying the truth, and Nitro does seem to enjoy hearing the encouragements.
Nitro answers with something — voice rough, field flaring with pleasure — but Barricade doesn't catch the words, because he's finally tipping over the edge, valve throbbing heavily around the thick spike inside him, his back arching up as his entire frame goes tense. The contractions make transfluid well out around Nitro's spike, in spite of the tight fit, but Barricade is far beyond even recognizing it as something that could be embarrassing.
The second he twitches from the thumb on his node — too sensitive from his overload— Nitro stops the circling, and grabs on to Barricade's hips with both his servos, holding himself hilted deep. Barricade's frame slumps when he slowly comes down from his overload, valve still pulsing sluggishly, frame feeling strut-less.
It should've been awkward — the way he's stretched out in postcoital bliss, while Nitro is still cumming inside him — but he's just too satisfied, his systems too relaxed and sated, to even allow him to feel like that.
No, the dopey afterglow is lovely, and he allows himself to relax, even if he's technically still interfacing. Nitro doesn't seem to mind that Barricade isn't participating more actively, so why try to engage in something that may not actually make a difference?
Don't fix it if it ain't broken.
Nitro leans forward, reaching out to stroke Barricade's shoulder-wing, a firm stroke that isn't aimed to tease. More like a massage.
"I never even got around to give these pretty components some well-deserved attention." He says, voice strained from his ongoing overload.
"There's time for that later."
Did he actually say that? But then again, if he wants to stay the night, there probably has to be a promise of more if Nitro wants it.
But you won't mind more of this either.
It's better to do Nitro more than finding another mech to test drive. Who knows what the others want?
What if Nitro wants to swap the roles?
"I mean, I really enjoyed what we did even without wing-play!" Barricade clarifies.
Nitro does that weird grin of his, and then he plants his servos on Barricade's wings, leaning a bit on them to effectively pin the Saleen. Barricade's spark makes a strange shudder of almost nerves, but at the same time it doesn't feel frightening or overwhelming. He isn't really more pinned than he was with Nitro's servos on his hips, just differently, and the steady pressure against his wings isn't uncomfortable, but actually almost soothing. Barricade relaxes under the big mech again, and Nitro grinds against him what little he can move, still stuck inside Barricade.
Chapter Text
Eventually, Nitro Zeus's spike depressurizes, and he slips out of Barricade, followed by a rush of transfluid. The Flier stretches out next to him, looking very relaxed.
"Fuck, that was so good." He rumbles dopily.
"It was." Barricade says honestly. There's no reason to deny it.
They're silent for a while, and Barricade starts to drift off into recharge, spent as he is. He startles awake when Nitro Zeus gets up from the berth.
Do Warframes never just allow themselves to rest lazily like other mechs? Like, just crash from exhaustion, and stay there until noon, because it's totally validated.
"I'm going to have a shower." Nitro says, and it's easy to see why, because there's quite the mess on his plating.
"Ok..." Barricade mumbles, still on the edge of recharge, and it's not like he's going to complain about cleanliness.
Nitro slips through a door that presumably leads to the washracks, and Barricade is left alone.
He really should have a shower too, because he's not much better off than Nitro was, even if Nitro cleaned him quite thoroughly. The knotting left an even worse mess than the first round.
And he's laying on a rather massive wet patch...
But he's also really relaxed — in that way good sex brings, where all his systems are sated, feeling almost doped up on something — and reluctant to leave the incredibly comfortable berth.
Damn the brothers for their taste in comfortable furniture.
It doesn't take long for Barricade to nod off again, helm sinking into the plush pillows just so. He startles awake yet again when the door to the washracks shuts, not overly noisy, but enough to wake him up.
"I'm going back to the party for a while."
Barricade's spark flips, because he thought he was secure for the night.
"O-ok..." He stutters.
"You don't need to come with me. I mean, you're basically laid out from what we did, and you need your rest. Especially to keep up with another round when you're back out of recharge..."
It could just be a lie to make Nitro look like even more of a stud to the others, even if it sounds like a nice offer, but whatever Nitro's motives are, it's a chance for him to stay here and recharge.
"I'd appreciate to recuperate a little." Barricade says, hoping Nitro will understand. "I, ah, I need to get up early tomorrow. I start working really early..." Why does he feel stupid saying that?
"Then you really should burrow in here and wait for me to get back." Nitro says, voice and field unreadable for secondary motivations.
"I will. Thank you..for this, and for the fucking." Barricade lays it on thick, because it can't hurt his case.
"You're welcome. See you later."
"Will do."
Chapter Text
Barricade is slipping back into recharge, and he really wants to just let oblivion claim him, but the wet spot on the sheet is uncomfortable, so he forces himself to get up, dragging the sheet from the berth. He wipes himself with it — because if Nitro Zeus does come back later, itching to have another go, a shower will not give lasting results anyway — and then he dumps it on the floor.
If Nitro has a washing machine in the washracks, he can throw the sheet in there when he has his morning shower.
Barricade's internal alarm is already set early enough to give him time to have a shower before he goes to work. He looks around, trying to figure out where Nitro has spare bedding. He doesn't want to snoop around, but changing the sheets really is the polite thing to do, may even be expected to be done by the entertainers, even though he hasn't been told to do it.
And it's nice to not recharge on soaked sheets.
The Mustang tries a big storage chest that sits by the foot of the berth, but it's locked. He almost reels back when he opens the storage unit by the wall, because the first thing his optics meet is the barrel of a big gun. The entire shelf is full of spare parts for weapons, but also different sorts of prying tools. Barricade's spark lurches a bit.
Does he use those for "business" reasons? Like, to convince mechs and stuff?
He's a gang member. What do you think, that he moonlights as a dent popper?
Barricade's optics fall on a set of law enforcement grade handcuffs, as well as some sturdy chains, and it takes him long seconds before he can tear his optics from them. Then he glances quickly sound the storage unit, but since there are no sheets there, he slams the door shut and hurries to occupy himself with looking everywhere but at the storage unit.
He should've guessed it.
There's a cyg left on the bedside table, and Barricade grabs it, lighting it up, and taking a deep smoke to soothe his nerves. His optics fall on a drawer, built into the bedframe, and he slowly pulls it out, not knowing what to expect.
He lets out a vent he didn't realized he was holding when he finds that it's nothing more sinister than the spare bedding he was searching for, and grabs a new sheet, pulling it out from the pile. They're kind of thick and heavy, and when Barricade glances at the berth, he suddenly realized why.
They're liquid repellant. The mattress is still dry, even after... Yeah.
He's such a kinky bastard, but it's also a clever choice. The surface of the sheet still feels as luxurious as anything, and...
Barricade is distracted when something tumbles from the sheet when he lifts it, landing with a heavy thud in the pile still left in the drawer. He stares at it for long seconds, scanning it too.
A strap with a heavy buckle on it, and a slimmer strap attached at two points to form a loop. There's a metal ring around the slimmer loop too...
The scan comes back as "leather", an organic material made of the skin of animals. Barricade makes a face, because the choice of material seems gross. He still picks the thing up, and is forced to admit that it's very soft and smooth.
He turns it over, bending it to look at the shape it will have when it's buckled, one of the holes clearly worn from the pin, and Barricade does a picture search on the data net.
The Saleen drops the thing as if it burned him, and instantly regrets looking it up the second the search results load.
It's a collar!
He stares at the thing, unable to unsee the pictures from his search, of mechs wearing collars, being led around...
Maybe Nitro wears it, and Dreadbot holds on to the handle while he rides Nitro's face?
The thought is confusingly arousing, but Barricade tries to shut that thought away, slamming the drawer shut, and quickly making the bed.
He has work in the morning, and he really needs some rest. Especially if Nitro comes back and wants another round before the night is over. A round not involving a collar.
Chapter Text
Nitro does return — high as a kite — but he doesn't ask Barricade for any more services. The Flier plunks down on the berth, drinking mid grade, eating gels straight from a huge bag, and giggling at a show on TV that's really not that funny.
According to Barricade's chronometer, it's just over an hour before he needs to get up, so he off-lines his audials, pushes he face deeper into the pillow, and goes back to recharge.
When his alarm starts blaring — much earlier than he'd like, he seriously isn't a morning mech, but there's not much he can do about it — Nitro is already gone again. Barricade grabs the sheet from the floor and is heading for the washracks when he spots a data stick with his name on it on the bedside table. He stares at it for a few moments, then he picks it up, and plugs it into the socket on his arm.
Last night was great. I think you deserved this tip. / Nitro
Barricade stares at the sum for long moments.
20 credits. The same as he makes in a day at the gelery.
He transfers it to his digital wallet, writes a thank you message to Nitro, and puts the stick back on the table for the Jet to find when he returns.
The layout of the washracks is similar to Ironhide's, but the decor is different. He finds a washer hidden behind a sliding door, along with supplies like polishes, solvents, and rags, and he throws the sheet in before stepping into the shower.
Cool water helps a little to wake him up, but he really needs the hot energon he brings in a travel mug as he walks to his job. Sure, driving would be quicker, but the cool morning air ads a little extra kick to get him going.
Just three more days before he gets to renegotiate his contract. If he makes the cut, and he certainly is going to try his best. Hopefully, he can make a few more tips in the meantime, to boost his savings account a little more.
Prostitution has it's advantages.
Shut up. It's just a means to an end. He needs to pay his rent anyway, and some pleasurable fucking isn't really something to complain about, and some extra credits in his account is a very helpful bonus.
I rest my case.
He arrives to work a few minutes early, as always. If he wants to impress his employer, he better not be late. Barricade subspaces his mug — empty now — and walks straight to his work station. The counter is already filled with trays that need washing, since the gelers start much earlier than he does. Their work seems more fun, and he'd like to try it, but Barricade isn't sure he'd be able to do it for a living.
He really isn't a morning mech, even if he somehow managed to get up early when he was an Enforcer.
Could be the chemical pick me ups you used back then. Just look where that landed you...
"Hurry up, Barricade! They're almost out of trays, and the next batch is close to ready for pouring."
Barricade grabs the sponge harder, speeding up his scrubbing, throwing a few trays into the sink to let them soak a few seconds at least, to make it easier to get them clean.
Maybe he should come in a bit earlier to let the trays soak before he starts working? To make it easier for himself.
Will you be able to get up even earlier when you've spent a night earning tips?
Shut up.
Chapter Text
"So, how was your night with Nitro?" Jazz asks with a smirk when Barricade enters his room.
The Solstice is stretched out on his berth, as he usually is when Barricade returns from his workday. Jazz looks well rested, and he's apparently just lounging because he can, and it's comfortable, and Barricade is almost jealous, because he's tired, and his boss really pushed him today. He puts the cubes on the nightstand, taking a seat.
At least his arms are holding up so far; no soreness or anything like that, and the heat in the components of his arms is almost gone after his walk home.
"Above expectation."
He's not that keen on discussing Nitro right now, even if he has to admit that the mech proved to be much nicer, and better in the sack, than he ever expected.
"He licked ya, didn' he?"
"He did."
Jazz grins. "He's so skilled, and his patience ta jus' keep goin', n' goin' really is Primus sent..."
It's rare that Barricade gets jealous, even if it sometimes feels a bit odd that they sleep around this way and that, but hearing Jazz talking about how good Nitro is in the berth doesn't sit well with him, it's just too much. He doesn't say anything about it, though, because it is what it is, and there is a possibility that he's overreacting because he's tired, and a bit worried that his boss wasn't happy with his work today, and he only has two more days to show his worth...
"I'm glad I listened to your advice." He says diplomatically, because it's true, and it's all that needs to be said on the subject.
"So, what's your plan for tonight? Who are ya goin' for? Or are ya gonna try ta snare Nitro again? He certainly has been droolin' over ya for a long time, I think he'd be happy ta do a repeat performance. I mean, he let ya rest in his berth jus' so he could have ya again later."
Barricade doesn't correct Jazz's assumption of more rounds happening last night. He hasn't really thought as far ahead as tonight, with recharging, and then work, and the shower when he got back here.
And the fetching of energon for them both, while Jazz is just lazing around because he can, and doesn't have anything he has to do until tonight.
"I don't know. I guess I'll just have to wait and see who's available." It does come out a bit testy, but on top of everything, thinking about tonight is making him a bit nervous. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired. You know, I was thinking; who does the shopping, and cleaning, and stuff like that around here?"
Maybe he could take on a few chores instead of fucking?
Are you considering becoming a housekeeper for a criminal gang?
Yes. Yes, he is. It's better than whoring, and it's just temporary anyway. Why didn't he think of this before?
"Tha brothers clean tha 'members only' rooms, n' their own rooms, but a few of 'em sometimes ask someone of us if we can fix their rooms, n' pay us for it. Tha refuelin' room, n' tha rec room is tha in-house crew's responsibility, but everyone helps out after tha parties. We rotate cleaning the communal spaces of our wing. In-house does tha regular shoppin', but on some occasions, when we don' have time ta order, whoever can will go together. Like we did for tha last party."
It makes sense, because it's not like they can have a cleaning service coming and going in the house, the pleasurebots are already here anyway, and he really has a hard time picturing the brothers cleaning more than just the things they want to keep private.
Unlike their spikes, they do enjoy having those washed by someone else. Nothing private about that.
Change of subject. Damn, he really hoped he could get away with a negotiation for some domestic services excluding the use of his valve.
"I see."
"I'm glad ya asked! Ya're finally startin' ta fit in. Most noobs ask 'bout this straight away ta become part of tha crew."
"Yeah..."
Chapter Text
Barricade follows Jazz's second suggestion that night, and approaches Roadbuster. He's still a bit wary of Springer after that debacle with Blackout and Bumblebee, doesn't trust the mech, even if Jazz said that he's good to start out with.
And Nitro is occupied elsewhere, apparently, because he's doing a no-show.
You could comm him...
And say what? "Hey, it's Barricade. Wanna hook up?"
Yes.
Nitro might think he's doing it to get more money.
And that would be bad how?
But he's just not that straightforward about it all yet, so Barricade goes for a recommended mech who is present in the rec room.
"Hi. I'm Barricade." He says awkwardly, still not certain how to go about picking mechs up like this.
"Roadbuster." The mech gives back, rather subtly looking Barricade up and down, as if he's curious, but unimpressed.
Roadbuster hasn't shown much interest in Barricade so far, and now that the Saleen is trying to pick him up, he realizes — far too late — that he probably needs much better lines than what he used for hooking Nitro when going for someone who hasn't been trying to get him into the berth from the get go.
Fuck, even Blackout would probably have been easier. At least the snaring him part... He just has no clue what Roadbuster likes, if the mech even thinks he's fraggable.
"I... I really like your stickers." He says, looking at said decals, hoping it will seem like he's checking Roadbuster out.
Not that the mech has a bad frame or anything... He just doesn't really want to do things this way. It's a lot of pressure.
"Thanks." Roadbuster answers, the corner of his intake twitching up in half a smirk.
"Especially this one." Barricade says in a voice that he wishes was more sultry, dragging his digit along what he realizes is an etching, looking like the brothers' badges.
"Well, it is a very pretty motive..." Roadbuster says, turning to show it off better.
What the fuck is he supposed to do? What would Dreadbot or Crosshairs do?
"Will you let me taste this?" Barricade says, sliding a digit along the custom paint that says 'Impala' on Roadbuster's chest-plates.
Did he just say that out loud? In the fragging rec room?!
"Go ahead. The plating is definitely more sensitive since I got that paint job."
Barricade does it immediately, because it's not a hard thing to do.
You really are starting to fit in.
Shut up.
Chapter Text
Barricade drags his glossa over the etching, and then he trails the cracked seams in Roadbuster's chest-plates. If it wasn't for the way he's configured behind them, it would be rather obscene. Now it's just tantalizing, showing a hint of reinforced cooling fans, and his radiator. It seems a bit impractical for a Warframe, but on the other servo, from what Barricade understands, Roadbuster isn't an MTO. And Barricade have no doubts that the format is deceiving, that the components aren't as vulnerable as they look.
"Hm, someone taught you well." Roadbuster hums, wrapping an arm around Barricade's neck, servo sliding up his shoulder-wings. "But let's go have a few drinks first. I'm nowhere near ready to turn in for the night yet." He slips his servo to Barricade's shoulder to turn him around, pulling the Saleen close to his side.
Oh, he didn't consider that!
"Drinks sound good."
"If you weren't just looking for a quickie to be free for other adventures later..."
Hell no! He certainly doesn't want to try to hook up with yet another mech after the quickie!
Even if you may get twice the tip then...
It's not about the money. He has to pay his rent.
The more savings you have, the better off you'll be.
Not worth it.
"I'm not in a rush." Barricade concludes, following along when Roadbuster steers him towards the bar. He wraps an arm around the mech's rather slender waist after a few moments of hesitation.
If Roadbuster wants to play this like a casual hookup, then what's he's supposed to do? Talk to him as if it's a date? What's he supposed to talk about? The weather? It's not like his life is very interesting. 'Yeah, I wash dishes, and get fucked a lot.' He's such a catch...
::I'm about to have drinks with Roadbuster. What am I supposed to do more than drink? It's not like I have a lot to talk about, and I need to take my time.:: He opens a comm to Jazz, realizing too late what Jazz might be doing. ::I hope I'm not interrupting you...::
::Nah, it's a slow night, n' I'm good at doin' two things at tha same time anyway. So, is he alone, or does he have other brothers for company?::
::Alone.::
::Play coy. Say flatterin' things 'bout his frame, ask 'bout his etchings; if they hurt to do n' stuff. Make it all 'bout him, make him feel like ya're really hot for him, but a bit shy. Try ta charm him, n' then get gradually more handsy. Like, touch tha etchings ya ask 'bout, gradually gettin' closer ta his interface panel.::
Sounds easy enough.
Barricade glances around the room, spotting Sunstreaker, Sideswipe on the couch, and Breakdown coming down the stairs from the brothers' floor.
::What if he gets company by one of the brothers?::
::Even easier. Just drape yourself over him, n' look like Primus sent him. Let tha mechs do their talking, n' just look pretty, be a little bit handsy. Like ya can't keep you hands away from him. Make sure he has fresh drinks, n' just be attentive n' cute, n' ya'll be in his berth in no time.::
So basically be a starstruck groupie...
::Cater to his needs, act wanton, don't interrupt. Got it.::
::Ya'll do great! Nobody is as easily flustered as you are, n' ya're so cute when ya are!:: Jazz says, sounding rather innocent.
::Shut up!:: Barricade growls playfully, in a much better mood now, on spite of... Yeah.
::Oh, I will! For now.:: Jazz laughs, breaking the connection.
He can do this, it doesn't sound that hard.
Chapter Text
"So, what can I get you?" Barricade asks, freeing himself from Roadbuster's grasp just to be able to get behind the bar.
"There's a good high grade there, the bottle says 'vintage starfall'. I'll take it plain.
Barricade rummages through the shelves to find it, and pulls out a cube, pouring a generous serving.
He should seem impressed and interested in anything Roadbuster says and does.
"Is it good? I've never tried it..." He says, and he's being honest, even if he's laying on thickly with an attempt at bright opticed innocence.
Roadbuster grabs the cube, but he holds it out to Barricade in silent invitation. The Saleen stares at it for long seconds before he understands the gesture.
He grabs the cube — still hesitant and slow, but he tries a smile at the mech — and takes a sip.
It's really strong, and it burns it's way down to his tank, but at the same time, it's rich in flavor, with many interesting layers, and a rather sweet aftertaste.
"Mm, it's good." He says, and it isn't just to appease the Racer. Warframe? Assault vehicle, maybe?
Barricade gives the cube back, and grabs one for himself, pouring the same high grade into it. He adds a bunch of balls of frozen low grade to chill it, and to dilute it a little when they thaw, because he still thinks that it's a bit to strong.
"Do you want any snacks?"
"Nah, I'm good with this."
Barricade puts the bottle back on it's place, making a mental note to which one it is, because it can't hurt to remember what Roadbuster likes. He walks around the bar again, pulling a chair closer, moving slowly, because he's uncertain how close he should be to seem eager enough, but not desperate.
So many details to figure out, and he's not even close to a berth yet.
Maybe you should ask the others for lessons?
He's not going to stay here long enough to need to be that good. Two more days, then he'll renegotiate the conditions to his real job.
Onwards with the show then. Try to get tips in your savings account.
"So, we were talking about your mods," Barricade decides to continue where they left off, because it's the easiest way to start the conversation, "did it hurt to do them?"
Roadbuster grins slowly. "Depends on which mods you're asking about..." There's definitely a leer in his voice.
Right, considering how he looks, he probably has mods on his finer parts too.
Barricade flushes. "Well, I can't ask about mods I haven't seen yet," he tries to sound suggestive, "so, how about your etchings?" He leans in to drag his finger along an etched pattern on Roadbuster's lower arm, flicking two optics up to meet Roadbuster's.
"That one was easy. The custom paint on my hood, though... That was a glitch and a half, both the sanding, and then the warring nanites."
Chapter Text
Barricade is pouring them a third round of drinks, the one he makes for himself very low on high grade. He's already pleasantly buzzed, and even if it would be easier to do this if he was more intoxicated, he's still a lightweight when it comes to high grade, and he doesn't want to get too hammered. There's always the risk that Roadbuster won't be interested anymore if he is. And he really can't afford to be hungover when he has to go to his real job. It'll be tough enough just being tired.
Hopefully, Roadbuster will want to go to berth soon.
"Maybe we should move to the couch?" Barricade says, brushing up against Roadbuster when he hands him a drink.
It'll be easier to get close, and inspire some naughty thoughts.
"Alright." Roadbuster says, getting up from the chair.
He wraps an arm around Barricade's shoulders to pull him along, and Barricade slides his servo across the small of Roadbuster's back, not daring to squeeze the mech's aft. He rests his servo on Roadbuster's hip instead, hoping that the tips of his digits against the mech's ventral plating will be enough.
They can't really sit like that, so Barricade untangled himself, and curls up next to Roadbuster, daring to put one leg across Roadbuster's, resting his helm on the mech's shoulder. He touches the sticker on the Assault vehicle's ventral plating.
"Do you have topcoat over this, or is it a custom paint job too?"
"Topcoat to seal it. I plan on getting it done properly as a paint job, but I want Sunny to do it, and he has been busy."
"It looks good like this too."
Roadbuster's digits slip down Barricade's back-struts in a way that makes him shiver with pleasure. The servo continue down to his aft, the digits stroking over his port panel, and then grazing his valve cover, but the servo continue to the back of his thigh.
"So, how about you? Any etchings or stickers I haven't noticed?"
"No, I... Everything custom vanished with my last repaint." Barricade mumbles.
The repaint he got when he left prison. He got the colors, but of course none of the service signs, it the precinct shields.
"Any other mods?" There's a bit of a leer in Roadbuster's voice.
Barricade is about to say 'no', bit then he remembers that he actually has a mod, and he almost flushes when he thinks about what mod he has.
"Only functional so far, nothing visible."
"Well, you have to start somewhere..." Roadbuster says, groping Barricade's aft again.
Chapter Text
Roadbuster has pulled him into his lap, and Barricade is straddling his thighs, feeling awkward again.
Should he kiss him, or what is he supposed to do? Or maybe the brothers think that's ridiculous, and not something they really do in public?
Roadbuster's optics are locked on his chest-plates, though, so Barricade sticks his chest out a bit.
"See anything you like?" He tries to purr, smiling at the mech.
"Is this sensitive?" Roadbuster asks, grabbing Barricade's crash bar.
"Not really..." He says, then he instantly regrets it.
Should he have pretended it is? If it's a part Roadbuster wants to toy with, should he just pretend that it's the best thing that has ever happened?
"So, it could be used as a handle without it being painful?"
"I guess..."
Roadbuster grabs it roughly, and pulls Barricade forward, making the Saleen's spark flip over nervously.
"This feels okay?"
"...yes?"
"Good to know." Roadbuster lets go of the crash bar, circling Barricade's headlight with his thumb instead, his other servo caressing Barricade's aft.
Barricade's frame starts heating up, the touches enough to slowly build some arousal. He knows that he has to reciprocate in some way, so he leans forward, nipping at Roadbuster's neck-cables, sliding his servos down the mech's sides, hoping that it'll do.
"Open up." Roadbuster says, fiddling with his interface panel.
He really doesn't want to do that, not here, where everyone can see, and he knows that he can say no, but if he does that now, he needs to find different company for the night, and he has already invested a lot of time into trying to get Roadbuster into berth. If he has to start over, he seriously is at risk of not getting any recharge at all. Barricade glances around the room.
And the only mechs present are Sunstreaker, and Blackout, and considering Sunny's predilection, he could still be out cold when it's time to leave for work, and everything will be ruined. And he really wants to avoid Blackout if he can.
"Here? I mean, anyone can see..." He gives Roadbuster a shy smile.
Roadbuster smirks. "Yeah, but not many mechs are around. And since you don't have any visible mods, I guarantee that it isn't anything they haven't already seen."
He slips his digits into the seam of Barricade's interface plate, feeling around for the latches, and Barricade sees no option but to open. The panel slides away, and Roadbuster's fingers are there immediately, exploring his puffy valve-lips, and slick folds.
At least the fooling around they've been doing has made him aroused. That has to be good.
Two digits slide inside him, and it feels so strange to let someone he hardly knows do that. Barricade works his thumbs over the plating surrounding Roadbuster's spike cover, still hesitant about just going for touching.
"Sit back a bit."
Barricade stops what he's doing, spark speeding up nervously.
Did he do something wrong?
"Touch yourself. I want a bit of a show."
Chapter Text
The request is simple enough, but doing it is not. But it's not like Barricade has a heap of options, so he hesitantly reaches between his legs, feeling his puffy valve-lips, and the lubricant Roadbuster smeared when he felt around down there.
Barricade circles his node, and while he's fairly certain that this is one of the least entertaining shows ever put on in this house, he's at a loss, because he just doesn't know what else to do. Roadbuster can't even see all that much from his angle...
Dreadbot and Crosshairs would probably get on the table or something, but he just can't bring himself to such a blatant display, especially not since they're not alone in the room.
Instead, he sticks his chest-plates out again, circling one of his headlights with his digits.
"So, what do you want to see?" He asks before he can lose his nerve, plastering on a smile.
"This is good enough for now, just keep it up."
Roadbuster sips his drink, and seems to enjoy the show on spite of Barricade's inexperience, optics locked between Barricade's legs. It's embarrassing to have someone watch something so private — something he actually doesn't even do in private — but the stimulation still feels good, and Barricade's charge rises, lubricant slowly coating his servo.
Face-sitting certainly beats this, though...
"Should I overload, or do you want me to save that for you?"
What a fucking thing to ask about.
"Can't you overload more than once?"
"Not right after each other, but with a bit of time between..."
"I'm not in a rush. I want to see you make yourself cum."
Sure, his charge is rising, but not quickly enough for Barricade's liking. Not when he has someone watching him do this. He really wants to get there, to get this over with, but his frame doesn't cooperate.
Maybe he can fake it? Moan and buck with increasing intensity, and then wail a bit when he 'overloads'?
He decides against it, though, because he isn't sure he could pull it off, and Roadbuster might not enjoy an attempt at trickery.
If only he had a vibrator right now, because he's having such a hard time finding a good spot on his node, it's as if most of it isn't sensitive enough, and when he does manage to hit a good spot repeatedly, it's almost like it gets numbed. Maybe it's just his nerves, and the entire situation, that makes it hard to get into it?
He still pushes on, trying to conjure up a fantasy that will help arouse him, but it's impossible to pretend that he's putting on a show for Jazz when he's sitting in Roadbuster's lap, and offlining his optics seems like a very rude thing to do.
Not that he would really feel sexy doing this for Jazz either. He just feels ridiculous.
Eventually, he manages to overload, bucking into his own servo, a low moan leaving his vocalizer. Not much of a show, but the overload was shallow and not very satisfying, and it's kind of pitiable that this is what he can do for himself, while Nitro of all mechs can fuck him into reboot.
Hey, that's a pitch...
"Sorry I'm not better at this, but I prefer to be fucked well by a hot mech..." He smiles at Roadbuster. "My servos feel like a bad surrogate when I'm sitting in the lap of a gorgeous mech.
Roadbuster's engine revs.
Bingo.
Chapter Text
They fool around some more, if that's what it's called when they're basically feeling each other up, and Barricade nipping at Roadbuster's neck-cables.
If he was just a little more drunk, this could actually be quite enjoyable. Roadbuster is good with his servos, and with some more intoxicants, he may have been able to tune out that there are others present, and that this is just a business transaction. But alas, he has work tomorrow, so he really can't drink more right now.
Barricade has at least found the courage to rub his servo over Roadbuster's still closed interface panel, because he needs to get them moving to the berth room soon, if he's going to have any chance at all to get enough recharge.
Nitro was actually quite nice to let him have his berth like that when they were done.
"Let's go to my room." Roadbuster groans when Barricade bites just a little harder on a cable that gets the mech's engine growl a little louder. "If you don't prefer to continue here..."
"Your room sounds nice."
Sounds like the only option in his opinion.
"As you wish." Roadbuster says, patting Barricade's aft to urge him to move from his lap.
Roadbuster wraps an arm around Barricade's shoulders, and the Saleen tucks himself into the mech's side to seem eager, following along up the stairs.
How odd that he's doing this walk now, the one he has seen so many do; up the stairs, pressed against one of the brothers, seemingly lusting for the bastards. Is this the way all of them feel when they do this?
They're almost halfway up the stairs before he realizes that his panel is still open.
You really are starting to fit in; walking around naked like the other pleasurebots. But then again, you may get good tips for that, so there's that...
Shut up.
He doesn't close his panel, though, because he doesn't want to seem reluctant now that he finally seems to have landed himself a berth for the night.
Barricade glances over the railing, looking out over the rec room, and he catches the way Blackout is looking at him. He stifles a shudder, quickly breaking optic contact, because holding the Helicopter's attention doesn't seem promising for his upcoming nights.
He just has to keep away for one more night, then he can renegotiate his contract, and find a recharge cubicle to rent until he finds an apartment.
Barricade hurriedly looks back to Roadbuster, giving the mech a shaky smile. Roadbuster doesn't seem to notice his hesitance, or he doesn't care. He just leads Barricade to his room, the door sliding shut behind them.
Barricade has time enough to notice the difference from Ironhide's room; the color scheme is more optic catching, bordering on gaudy, and it's a bit messy, with things strewn around.
Then he's pushed towards the berth, stumbling with the force behind it, landing face down on the plush mattress.
Chapter Text
Barricade's spark speeds up with nerves when Roadbuster is immediately on him, crawling up his frame to straddle his aft.
He feels trapped, but at the same time, the position isn't really alarming. A servo slides down his aft, digits finding his slick valve, and Roadbuster pumps his digits into Barricade.
"Fuck, yeah! So wet..." Roadbuster groans.
What the fuck is he supposed to do? It's not like he can reciprocate much from here...
"Yes, I'm so horny..." Barricade mumbles into the bedding, and it's not a lie, even if he's not that aroused.
"I'll give you what you need..." Roadbuster growls, scooting backwards again.
Barricade's wrists-struts are grabbed, and his legs are nudged apart. Roadbuster gathers Barricade's wrists in one servo, hiking the Saleen's hips up with his other hand, and then he slides inside to the hilt in one go.
Not really his favorite position, but at least he doesn't need much acting skills with his face-plates in the bedding...
Roadbuster's spike is nice though, and while Barricade didn't get a look at it before the fucking started, he can definitely tell that there's some ridge or something that's rubbing against that really good spot inside him with every thrust. He's actually heating up quite quickly. Then Roadbuster makes better use of the servo he initially wrapped around Barricade's hip, by reaching around to circle Barricade's anterior node with one digit.
The frame exploration they engaged in before they went upstairs already had him running a light charge, and with the really nice stimulation he's getting, Barricade is going slicker and more aroused by the second.
"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" Roadbuster groans.
"Oh, yes! Barricade mewls, and it's not an exaggeration.
"So fragging wet and warm, I could stay inside you for the entire night. Would you like that?"
"Please, more!" Barricade mewls.
He'd prefer to get some recharge before work, but if Roadbuster wants to hear how much Barricade is enjoying this, it's an easy request to fill, and hopefully a quick way to get the mech to overload.
And if it wasn't for his need to get up so damned early, he would probably enjoy this even more, and he wouldn't feel so stressed about the hour getting late.
"That's what I thought."
With the way Roadbuster's spike is repeatedly rubbing against that sensitive spot inside him, and the skilled stimulation of his node, Barricade is racing towards the edge.
Roadbuster seems to be getting close to an overload too, apparently more revved up than he let on before they went to his room. Barricade can't do much, but he tries to arch his back to meet Roadbuster.
It makes the ridge on Roadbuster's spike hit that spot just so, and Barricade overloads rather suddenly, biting into the mattress, wriggling his hips at the intensity.
"Yeah, I knew you'd like that." Roadbuster grunts before pressing in deep, spike pulsing with his own overload.
Chapter Text
Barricade slowly sinks down to stretch out on his front, frame lax. Roadbuster's softening spike slips out of him, and transfluid dribbles out in it's wake, but Barricade knows the feeling too well to be embarrassed or disgusted by it, and he's too spent to care.
"Fuck, that was good!" Roadbuster groans, sprawled on top of Barricade.
"Yeah." Barricade murmurs.
It kind of was. It definitely could've been worse. Jazz was right about Roadbuster knowing how to use his equipment, and even if he didn't really enjoy the dirty talk, at least it wasn't something that turned him off, nothing degrading.
"Do you have a mod on your spike or something?" He asks, partially to not seem disinterested, but mostly because he's certain that Roadbuster has some feature to enhance his performance, and he is a little curious.
Lip-plates curve against his neck-cables.
"I do..."
Roadbuster rolls off him, and Barricade turns around to have a look. The Assault vehicle's spike is depressurized and soft, but it's impossible to not notice the rod piercing the head of it, tiny metal balls adorning the ends.
Perfectly placed to stimulate that sensitive spot inside his valve.
"Did it hurt to do it?" Barricade asks curiously, because it's kind of intriguing.
"Like a carrierfucker, but then it got crazy sensitive almost immediately. Spent the first evening lightly nudging it, because it was almost as good as any fucking I'd ever had, in spite of the soreness, such an intense feeling. Then everything caught up, and the next days were pure hell. Could hardly keep my panel closed, and just let it hang out as much as possible. It got better when it healed, though, and now it's certainly enjoyable. Totally worth it in the end."
There's ridiculous points there, like Roadbuster walking around with his sore spike hanging out, or the first night tugging at it, but what's even more intriguing is the information about the heightened sensitivity.
He always thought piercings were a rebellion, a way to shock others, or perhaps a way to get attention for how kinky the wearer was; a blatant display of some sort he couldn't quite understand. That it might enhance the experience for at least one, and possibly both partners was beyond his grasp.
"It did hit a nice spot inside me." Because it can never be wrong to compliment skills/components.
"Yeah, I chose the placement carefully for maximum effect." Roadbuster smirks, and grabs the rod, toying with it. "Here, try playing with it." He tilts his hips to get closer to Barricade.
The Saleen hesitantly reaches out and touches the thing, grabbing it like Roadbuster held it. "Doesn't it hurt?"
"Not if you're not planning on fucking pulling it or something. Ah, yeah, like that." The last part is a groan, brought about Barricade circling his thumb around the ball at the end of the rod, caressing the head of Roadbuster's spike in the same movement. "Keep doing that."
Chapter Text
Barricade toys with the piercing, and Roadbuster's spike is slowly getting harder.
"Could you lick it for me?"
Definitely not his favorite thing to do, but what can he do about that? The quicker he gets Roadbuster off, the quicker he will get to recharge, since the mech is clearly rearing for another go.
Barricade doesn't answer, he just curls his frame to reach, sticking his glossa out to drag it over the head of Roadbuster's spike, twirling it around the piercing. The spike instantly goes rock hard, twitching under his ministrations.
"Damn, you're great at that!" Roadbuster groans. "Look at me while you lick it."
Why do they always seem to want that? It just feels degrading.
Remember how powerful you felt with a whore on his knees in front of you, lip-plates wrapped around your cock, optics looking up at you?
Ugh. Yeah... That has lost some of the enticing veneer since he started to see it from the other point of view.
He obediently flicks his optics up to meet Roadbuster's, continuing to slowly lap at the head of his spike, glossa circling the piercing every time he passes it.
"So fucking hot."
Pre-transfluid is starting to leak from Roadbuster's spike, and Barricade laps it up.
Hopefully, Roadbuster won't just shoot the load across his face without a warning...
The mech squirms a bit, lifting his hips, and Barricade takes it as an urging to take more. He sucks the spike into his intake, which earns him a pleased groan.
"Get up here, or I'll shoot my load way too soon."
Barricade crawls up Roadbuster's frame, thinking he'll be asked to ride him, but then his crash bar is grabbed, and he's rolled onto his back. Roadbuster slips his arms under Barricade's thighs and lifts, curling Barricade's back into a rather helpless position, then he hilts himself inside the Saleen. Remaining lubricant and transfluid makes the slide slick, and Barricade is already loose from their earlier round.
It's not very comfortable to be folded like that, but it doesn't hurt, and Roadbuster starts to fuck him with a rather rough rhythm, slamming into Barricade's ceiling node with every thrust.
Barricade mewls, because it's a very intense feeling, but it feels kind of good, and his charge is rising surprisingly quickly, considering it wasn't long since his last overload.
Hopefully Roadbuster is getting there as quickly as he is.
Chapter Text
Barricade overloads hard, but Roadbuster keeps his rhythm, making the Saleen squirm, because he's overly sensitive, and the intense way Roadbuster's spike is hitting nodes inside him is too much. He doesn't want to ask for a respite, and prolong the fucking, but it's just too much.
"I, ah, I... please, I need a break, it is too intense!" He groans, trying to squirm away. "My valve is all oversensitive."
Roadbuster stops mid thrust, looking down at where they are joined as if contemplating something.
"I can suck your spike again for a while, my sensors just need to cool off a little." Barricade adds hurriedly when he realizes that Roadbuster could be thinking about fucking him in the ass instead.
Sure, he has a mod that makes it feel alright, but he just doesn't want to do that if he can avoid it.
"Sounds good." Roadbuster says, shrugging.
He pulls out, and drops Barricade back on the berth, standing on his knees. Barricade hesitates, because he's expecting Roadbuster to sit back or something, but he just doesn't.
"On all fours..." Roadbuster says, making a circling motion with his digit to indicate that Barricade should turn around.
It's a weird request, but Barricade crawls around on all fours, stretching his neck to suck Roadbuster's bobbing spike into his intake. Roadbuster's servo immediately is placed on the back of his helm, and then he starts to fuck Barricade's intake. Luckily, Roadbuster's spike isn't as massive as Ironhide's, or Nitro's, or it would've been very uncomfortable. Barricade tries to relax his throat tubing, but it's hard, and it's probably not the best position to learn it in. Roadbuster's piercing doesn't help either, scraping the roof of his mouth, and teasing the gag reflex at the back of his throat.
Hopefully, Roadbuster will want to continue fucking his valve soon, and his sensors better cool off quickly.
"Oh, yeah, this is so good." Roadbuster groans, rutting into Barricade's mouth.
At least you don't need to do much work.
Roadbuster grabs Barricade's shoulder-wing with one servo, using it for leverage when he thrusts into Barricade's mouth, getting deeper this time. Barricade stifles a shudder when it teases his gag reflex again, digging his fingers into the bedding.
Roadbuster thrusts a few more times before he pulls out, the head of his spike painting a smear of pre-transfluid and oral lubricant across Barricade's face when it slips free.
"Turn around. Your sensors must be fine by now."
Barricade hurries to obey, eager to not be fucked more in his mouth.
He'll just deal with it if his nodes still are oversensitive.
Roadbuster grabs his shoulder-wing, and his crash bar, pulling Barricade back to hilt himself as soon as Barricade is in front of him. He pulls Barricade into his lap, holding the Saleen up with his strong grips, and then he guides Barricade up and down along his shaft, and Barricade is relieved to find that he's not oversensitive anymore, but not sore either, and the remaining slickness is more than enough.
It actually feels good again.
Chapter Text
"I'll cum... Touch yourself if you want to overload." Roadbuster groans, pounding into Barricade.
Barricade is close again, and he doesn't want to miss out on the overload, so he reaches between his legs, and starts to circle his anterior node. Roadbuster presses in deep when he overloads, and for long moments, Barricade thinks that he won't make it before the other is finished, but then he tips over too, wailing loudly.
Roadbuster allows him to fall forward and stretch out on the berth, and then he plunks down next to Barricade. He grabs a couple of rags from a box under the berth, and hands one to Barricade, using the other to wipe his spike, and his sticky crotch plating.
"I don't care about the bedding, I'm spent and don't want to get up." Roadbuster says, indicating the wet patches.
Sleeping in a dry, clean berth is nice, but he would rather get to the recharging quickly.
"Fine by me. I can change it before I go if you're not still in recharge." He offers, because even if he doesn't get to do it, it probably can't hurt to show that he intends to clean up after them both.
Even if it seems a bit ridiculous that it should be the whore's who clean up.
"Good, good."
"I don't know if you're aware of my job? I get up early..."
"Yes, I heard something about that. Isn't it hard to be forced to get up early every day, when you play most of the night?"
Play. More like a different job than play. But the brothers probably see it all as fun and games...
"It is, but I want to do things right, want to work my way up."
Roadbuster makes a contemplative noise. "That's exemplary of you, and I guess a very admirable persuasion, but the system doesn't really reward hard work in many instances. Sure, there are always the inspirational stories of mechs coming from nothing and making it big, but for every story like that, there's always millions of mechs who struggle and suffer while the profit goes to someone else."
Deep post coital discussions with a customer when he needs to be sleeping. Who would've thought...
"I've done it once, and I'll try again."
"Oh, it's not impossible! Absolutely not. I'm just saying, that when mechs are in certain positions, they're easy to exploit, and a lot of employers capitalize from it."
Like employing desperate mechs as whores?
"I'm sure they do. I'll be careful."
"Well, at least you have your heritage working for you, with a civilian frame and all. Being sparked doesn't help much when you're half Warframe, let me tell you that."
He never really considering that, because it always felt like he came from the bottom of the fuel chain, and he never worked in a precinct where Warframes were a regular occurrence. Maybe he should read up on the laws, and the general biases to learn more?
"But let's talk about something more interesting. You said you have a mod that isn't visible. Care to share what you have?" Roadbuster leers lazily.
Chapter Text
"I... I have a functional mod for the control protocols of my port." Barricade mumbles.
A digit slips into his slick valve to gather some lubricant, and then it's pushed into his aft.
"Like what Crosshairs, and Dreadbot, and a few of the others have?"
"Yeah..."
"That's a good one."
The digit is pumped into him a couple of times, and Barricade activates the protocols, loosening up to more easily accommodate the finger in spite of the inadequate slickness.
There goes his recharge...
"Too bad I didn't ask before. It'll be a while before I'll be ready for another round." Roadbuster laments, pulling his digit out.
Barricade is relieved, but he tries to keep it out of his field, at least.
"Such a shame. Maybe next time?" Barricade manages to sound pretty sincere.
Except there will be no next time. He'll be out of here the day after tomorrow, and he's definitely going to try to get Hide or Nitro for his last night here. No need to fuck around with more mechs than necessary, and he knows what he gets with those two.
Yeah, you like them big, bad Bots...
Shut up. He just doesn't want to get around more, and while Roadbuster has given him his share of overloads, Nitro's glossa seems like an adequate way to end this collaboration on a positive note.
Roadbuster makes an unintelligible noise, servo stroking up and down Barricade's hip.
"You know what, open up." Roadbuster says, tapping Barricade's port with the tip of his digit twice, which would've been much more striking if the opening had clenched to let the digit bounce against it, instead of half inviting it in by giving way to allow entrance.
"What?"
"I was thinking that if you gape wide open, I can get my spike inside, and then you close up a bit to hold it in there. It'll be kind of interesting to see if we fall asleep before I get hard again, don't you think?"
Not really.
"We could try..."
There's something utterly degrading about opening up without anything physically prying him open, but it's easily done with the new protocols, and then he feels when Roadbuster steers his soft spike right before pressing in as deep as he can, pelvic plating pressed against Barricade's aft.
"You can close up now."
"Tell me when the pressure is right..."
Ugh.
Barricade slowly tightens his port around the spike, the increasing pressure teasing his sensors.
"Ah, yeah, that's so good..." Roadbuster groans.
Barricade stops, and the pressure and lack of lubricant is perfect for keeping the spike inside him. Roadbuster wraps an arm around his waist, pressing his face into Barricade's neck.
"This is nice.. don't be offended if I fall into recharge. You're very cuddle friendly. And either my dick slips out, or I'm gonna wake you up in a rather spectacular way, it'll be a fun little experiment."
Hopefully, it'll slip out.
Chapter Text
At least the mod is good for allowing him to fall asleep with a cock in his ass.
Barricade realizes this when he's rebooted before his alarm by an alert in his HUD.
The intrusion in his port has gotten bigger, and the sensors are alerting him about the increased girth. Does he want to adjust the settings?
Roadbuster stirs, pressing closer with a groan.
"You awake?"
"... yeah..."
"Fuck, you're so tight and warm..." Roadbuster grunts, starting to move his hips without any real rhythm or apparent plan.
"I'm, ah, I'm not... We haven't used any lube..."
He certainly doesn't want to be fucked dry, and have massive soreness to deal with on top of his wearing day job, and lack of sleep.
"Right. So, could you clench repeatedly or something? I don't want to pull out right now, it feels so fucking good."
"I guess I could..."
Barricade fiddles around with the settings, which is proving to be a rather advanced task when waken up at an unprimely hour. He finally gets it right, and manages to set a rhythmical contraction to squeeze the spike inside him.
Maybe he could let the program control it all, and he could go back to recharge? Or would the program cycle down to some sort of standby? Alerting him of an intrusion is probably a far less advanced function to program than automatically working a spike...
He doesn't get around to look through the options, because Roadbuster starts fiddling with his anterior node, and if the mech wants him to get into it, then it's not an option anyway.
In spite of being tired, and wanting to go back to sleep, Barricade does start to heat up. Roadbuster is clever with his digits, and everytime Barricade's calipers clench around the spike in his port, the sensors inside are stimulated. His valve is getting slick, and Roadbuster takes advantage of that by swiping his digits through his wet slit to gather lubricant. The glide of the wet digits over his node makes Barricade gasp quietly, charge rising.
It's oddly low-key to fuck like this; not much movement — a general lack of action, really — but it just makes it more intense, because there's no distractions from what his sensors are registering.
Roadbuster bites his shoulder-wing lightly when he overloads, and it sends Barricade over the edge too. They come down from their overloads still cuddled up, and Barricade contemplates going back to recharge, because he's more comfortable than he'd like to admit. Roadbuster's spike has slipped free, what transfluid left inside Barricade isn't really noticeable, and the berth is the perfect temperature and softness. But alas, he'll just have time to fall into deeper recharge just before his alarm blares, and it'll leave him even more exhausted and cranky.
"I'm getting up. I have to go to work soon, and I want a shower and some energon..."
"Aaw, but you're so cuddle friendly!" Roadbuster whines dopily, sounding halfway into recharge. "Go, it's fine! I'll leave the tip on the nightstand." He dismisses Barricade, fiddling clumsily with a memory stick and one of his data sockets, before tossing the stick on the bedside table, and cuddling deeper into the bedding.
Barricade is more than a little jealous when he slips into the washracks, and Roadbuster is already fast asleep again.
Chapter Text
33 credits.
Barricade leans against the counter for a minute, sipping his hot energon, because he isn't expected at work for another three quarters of an hour, and he can take a few minutes to get himself started up, short on sleep as he is.
It's more than he makes in a day. More than Nitro paid him, and he thought the Flier was generous. Though, Roadbuster did require some more effort.
He sips his energon, enjoying the stillness of the morning. Nobody is up yet, which is kind of interesting, since at least Hide seems to be an early bird, and Nitro did leave before Barricade got up the night they spent parts of together. Though whatever the brothers consider work probably happens whenever it suits them, which may vary greatly.
Like working shifts, except controlling their own work hours. Roadbuster certainly had the pillow wedged deeply in his audial, still in sound recharge, when he left.
Barricade sips his energon for a few more minutes, repeatedly looking at the sum added to his digital wallet. He's still waiting for his first paycheck, so what he earns honestly is just a number in his processor, while the tips are a number in his account.
But staring at the money won't make him more, so he tops up his cup, and then he walks out of the quiet house, the gravelly ground metal crunching under his pedes as he walks towards the gate that opens for his signature. Somewhere in the house, there's definitely someone on watch duty who stirs as the gates open, woken by the notification that he's leaving, and he sends a text to Nitro about his whereabouts, even if the Flier already knows his routine. The mechs he disturbs are probably back in recharge in a matter of minutes — if they're not already up — while Barricade walks down the street, shivering from the cold morning air.
He reaches the gelery, and walks into the stuffy heat, drawing a deep invent to smell the delectable goods in various stages of cooking, and he finishes his beverage, putting the cup on the shelf where the employees can store their personal items until their shift is done.
"You're early." The manager says, looking questioningly at Barricade.
"Yeah, I was... Uhm, I was already up..."
"You're not getting overtime for it."
"No, no, I wasn't expecting it either..." Barricade says, still putting the stack of dirty trays in the sink, starting to fill it with warm water."
"Good."
For once, the mech seems satisfied with something Barricade does, and it's such a relief, when he's so close to his negotiation, Barricade doesn't even reflect on how the mech could've just let him push his hours and went home a little earlier to keep his hour count in balance with his pay.
Chapter 364
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Soaking the trays does help a bit, but Barricade is finding it hard to be patient with waiting for them to soak for long enough. He's just too afraid to fall behind, and so he starts scrubbing, even if his official work hours haven't started yet.
The morning pass slowly, and he finds his optics dimming on several occasions, almost making him miss spots on the trays at a couple of occasions.
When he puts the last moulds in the drying rack, just a couple of minutes after the end of his shift, he's so relieved, he could almost fall to his knees.
Just one more day before the negotiation. This will be so much easier when he isn't kept up all night. Now, he's just going to go home, down a cube, and he'll cuddle up to Jazz and recharge until he really has to get up.. maybe Jazz will let him stay in his berth for a while even after Jazz leaves? The brothers are kind of night owls, he could probably wait with showing up until the evening is getting later without any problems.
"You really look like shit, Barricade." Tailgate says as he walks by, mopping the floor.
"Thank you." Barricade says sarcastically.
"No, I mean, it really looks like you need some rest. Nothing wrong with being tired if you work hard." The little cleaner backpedals. "Do you have another job too?"
It's a valid question, because Barricade is the only one working part-time here, and even if it's hard to do dishes when it's not your real function, he shouldn't be this worn out from just four hours.
"Yes. I do."
"So...? Is it also doing dishes?"
"I... Sometimes. I do, eh, household chores, so whatever needs to be done at the moment. But I get a lot of strange work hours to fit my employer's non-existent schedule."
"Oof, sounds tough. Well, I'm not going to keep you then, and ruin your chances for a nap. See you tomorrow!"
"You have a good one." Barricade says, feeling his intake quirk into a smile, because Tailgate seems so genuinely friendly.
He grabs his cup, and walks home, taking a quick shower, before grabbing a couple of cubes, heading for Jazz's room, as he always do. He texts Nitro that he's home, and is going to rest before he starts working tonight, because subtly putting ideas in Nitro's processor may get the Flier to show up for a reprise. He receives an answer with a string of emoticons that's decidedly lewd, even if he doesn't even know half the symbols, since they probably depict things the brothers have seen when off world.
Jazz's door slides open for him, and Barricade almost startles when he enters, and his optics track movement to the right.
Bumblebee is sitting in the chair, an empty cube in his servo.
"Hello." Bumblebee uses a recording to greet Barricade.
"Hi, Bumblebee." Barricade says, feeling awkward all of a sudden. "I didn't expect you, so I didn't bring you a cube... Do you want one of these? I can go get another one..." He offers, both because he doesn't want to be rude — especially not after... yeah — but also because it would give him a reason to leave, and gather himself before coming back.
Bumblebee waves his servo dismissively, and shakes his helm, holding up his empty cube. "I'm on a diet." A different voice comes from his speaker.
Barricade works his intake, flabbergasted, while his optics trail Bumblebee's sleek frame.
"It was a joke, babe!" Jazz giggles, patting the bedding in invitation.
Bumblebee shakes with silent laughter.
"I...oh." Barricade takes a seat, and Jazz distracts him with a kiss while nabbing one of the cubes.
"Hello, babe." Jazz smiles against Barricade's lip-plates.
Bumblebee plays a sound clip from some show, where an entire audience says "aaw."
Notes:
I headcanon that Nitro sent a bunch of corncobs, and donuts, and a tongue out mouth and other alien smileys.
Chapter Text
::I'm going to leave you two love birds alone. You're so cute, my denta are rotting.:: Bumblebee comms them both, getting up from the chair.
Barricade is relieved, because he has no idea what to say to Bumblebee. Smalltalk just feels awkward after what happened at the party, shallow and forced.
"So, how was work?" Jazz asks, sipping from his cube, before putting it on the floor to wrap his arms around Barricade's waist.
Barricade makes a non-committal noise, because it isn't fun, or fulfilling in any way. "It was work, but it is a job, at least..."
"Ya make it sound so borin'."
"Well, it's dishwashing. It's not like it's fun, but, like I said, it's a job. I earn credits."
"Ya do here now too." Jazz says into his side.
"Yes. It's good to get some extra into my savings account."
"I bet it is."
"I'll need it when I find an apartment." Barricade says, spark spinning nervously, because it's the first time they really talk about this.
"Wut?" Jazz says, sitting up from his cuddly position.
"I plan to move out. You know I've been looking for a job to be able to pay rent..." Barricade says, fiddling with his cube.
"Yeah, but I thought ya'd gotten over that!"
"Gotten over not wanting to be forced to sleep with mechs?"
"I know ya have your hang-ups 'bout that, but I thought ya'd get used ta it... I mean, with all tha benefits we get here n' such..."
"Not yet. I want my frame to be exclusive for someone special. For you..."
"That's sweet." Jazz's voice still sounds rather flat when he says it. "But then we won't live tagether anymore."
"My work is close by, I'll find somewhere to live around here somewhere. You can come visit me in the afternoon, when I get home."
"I guess..."
It won't exactly be like their afternoons together now, because he probably will need to exercise restraint when shopping for energon, and he probably won't be able to get furniture right away, but at least, it'll be his own place.
"My renegotiation is tomorrow, so please cross your digits for me?"
"Yeah, I hope ya can get a deal ya can accept."
Chapter Text
"I just want to not be dependent on someone else. I haven't been free like that since before prison, and I just want to really enjoy my freedom without obligations to all these mechs." Barricade tries to explain, stretching out beside Jazz after he has downed his energon.
"Yeah..." Jazz says thoughtfully. "I think I understand what ya're lookin' for, but I just don' see any perks with it. I mean, I sort of had that, well, before ya went to prison, but there's always a catch. There were tha times I went hungry, because a customer decided not ta pay, n' tha nights I couldn' afford a room until tha mornin' after. Ya'll be reliant on your boss, he could jus' decide ya're not workin' fast enough, or tha business will drop, n' ya're out of work."
"But that's the same for all mecha."
"Sure, but that doesn' mean that it's right, or a good way ta live. But ya do what ya want." Jazz says, shrugging. "It's jus' that we can really be tagether here, n' see each other a lot..."
"We'll make it work, and find the time to be together. Just the two of us, just like we are now, but at my place instead."
"I guess we will..."
"We will! We just have to decide to do it, and make an effort." Barricade says with conviction, wrapping his arms around Jazz.
That's all it takes. If there's a will, there's a way. They can make it, they just need to work for it, and be determined to not let circumstances get the better of them. If they were quitters, they'd already be over with, right?
"We'll give it a try!" Jazz says, pressing up against him. "Now, what are we goin' ta try taday...?" He leers.
Oh, if he'd only have the energy to try new things! But alas, he has recharged way too little, and worked far too hard...
"I was thinking we could cuddle and take a nap before our shifts?"
Jazz's field reeks with disappointment, and Barricade feels bad, because if someone should want to bed Jazz, and take every opportunity to do so, it's him.
But he's so tired, and he just wants some sweet intimacy without the pressure of fucking, some sweet touches, a light backrub, a few kisses, and a good nap, tangled up and close...
"I really like being close to you, without pressure. Especially since I now know what I did to you before... I just want to snuggle, and enjoy being with you, without the demand for something sexual. Something genuine."
Rejection strands through Jazz's field before he reigns it in.
"I understand. So; hugs and recharge again?"
"I'd love that. I really recharge best with you close."
"I've noticed..."
Chapter Text
He lets Jazz fuck him when he wakes up, because he feels guilty for rejecting Jazz before. It's good, as usual, and they snuggle a little afterwards, before Barricade helps him change the sheets, and then they head for the washracks.
"What's it like to take customers in the street?"
They haven't really talked about that, but it's probably something he should know. Jazz doesn't seem ashamed of his job, so why should he tippy toe around the topic? Especially since Jazz doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get out of it for some reason.
"It's fine. Less work than with one of tha brothers, though I don' consider most of 'em work per se."
"How do you mean less work?"
Jazz smirks. "Honey, it's not like the Johns rent us for an entire night very often. Remember how quick a blowjob can be...?"
Barricade flushes, remember how quickly he usually shot his load back when he was on a very wrong track.
"Yeah, I... Are they always quick?"
"Not always, but often enough. And sure, sometimes they wanna take us to a motel or somethin', but mostly it's a dip, check, thank you, mech kind of deal. A lot of bendin' over a dumpster, or leanin' against a wall for a few minutes. They take their pleasure, n' I can give 'em the courtesy of a few moans or somethin'. They require very little sincerity, n' not much solicitin'."
Barricade thinks about how he had to work on getting Roadbuster into berth.
"Nitro didn't need much soliciting either." He muses out loud.
Jazz starts laughing. "That's because he has wanned ta jump your struts since ya got here. He can be really hard ta flirt inta tha sack when he's in that mood, lemme tell ya that."
Hopefully, Nitro will not be in that mood tonight, if he shows up. It would be a very easy last night here to go with him again.
"Dreadbot usually manages. I guess that's what happens when ya've been in-house long enough; he really knows which buttons ta push ta get Nitro revved up. I've tried doin' tha role he plays, ya know, bein' a snarky bitch, but I haven't quite managed ta get it right yet. I feel awkward n' ridiculous when I do it. I do it for other customers too sometimes, but it's much easier, since they're mostly not used ta a pro, who knows their preferences inside out, so they're happy with very little."
Barricade nods slowly, having a hard time grasping what it would be like to be picked up in the street and then fragged by a complete stranger.
Ugh.
"How much do you make?" He asks to distract himself.
Jazz shrugs. "Depends. I do get ten percent of what I earn, the rest goes ta tha Autobots. Tha more I sell, tha more I make."
"What are the prices like, then?"
Ten percent isn't a good share, but the price really is what makes or breaks the case.
"Blowjob 70 credits, valve or spike 100, port is 130."
Chapter Text
Well, Nitro Zeus is there, alright. That doesn't mean that he's available. Barricade certainly doesn't see a point in making a dick move and try to get between Dreadbot and his chosen target for the night.
Especially not when Dreadbot is already straddling Nitro's sturdy thighs, and the Flier seems very happy about the situation, cupping Dreadbot's aft through the fluffy fabric covering his entire frame, bright optic hungrily roving the light lavender expanse.
Fucking hell...
The only thing missing is sparks flying between them, and he just knows that he doesn't stand a chance.
Not to mention how utterly unnecessary it would be to try to push Dreadbot out of the way. Just because he doesn't intend to stay, that doesn't justify being a bastard. Even though it would've been nice to have a last night with Nitro before he moves out...
I can't believe you thought that!
Shut up. He's brilliant with his tongue.
One mech that isn't currently occupied is Springer, and Jazz has recommended the mech, and what Barricade saw in Crosshairs's memories was promising. He approaches the mech, plastering a smile on his face-plates.
"Hi. Can I get you anything?" He asks, motioning towards the bar.
Springer looks him up and down, smirking approvingly.
"A bottle..."
Barricade feels his knees go weak when he remembers the whole thing with Bumblebee, and what Springer may enjoy a whole lot, and what it could mean for him, and holy fuck, the bastard is asking for a bottle, and..
"Mid grade. Get me a bottle of mid grade, please. And a shot of 'to kill ya' high grade."
Barricade nods, not daring to let go of the vent he's holding.
He just wants drinks.
Barricade hurries back to the bar to fetch the requested drinks, pouring a shot for himself, quickly downing it to calm his nerves. He grabs the bottle and the shot glass, and one bottle of mid grade for himself, because it does seem better to join someone for drinks than to sit and stare while they have them. He approaches Springer again.
"Do you mind if I join you?" He asks while Springer grabs the bottle and his shot.
Springer's optics sweep his frame again, and the Triple changer licks his lip-plates.
"Not at all."
Barricade plunks down on the couch next to him, sipping his drink.
Springer doesn't have any etchings, or stickers, no visible mods, so what's he supposed to talk about?
"So, you're a Triple changer, right?"
"Sure am."
"What's it like?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean... I don't know, what's it like to be able to choose? I'm a car, and that kind of defines me, I guess. But you have two modes..."
"You mean if I've got a split personality? Like the ignorant assholes tend to think about us?"
"No, not like that! I didn't even know... Do mecha really say that about Triple changers?!"
"Yeah, mostly at the same time as they say that Warframes aren't fully developed in the processor, that we're dumb. Oh, and that the military hires us because it's the only thing we can do, and a Warframe who doesn't want to be in the military is a dud. Those kinds of things."
Fuck, he really should've read up on the prejudice...
"Well, you're obviously not dumb... And I meant more that you must feel so free to be able to choose. Like, do I take the road today, or do I fly."
Chapter Text
"I never thought about it that way. It's always been like that, so I don't reflect much on it. How does it feel to be a sparked mech?"
"I... I don't know. I've never thought about it, I guess..."
"There you have it."
"Perhaps... I know that I really miss driving fast when I don't get to do it for a while, and I've heard Fliers complain about something similar when they can't take to the sky. I was just curious if you need both, or if fulfilling one cancels the other?"
"That is a good question, actually. I do like both flying and driving, but I guess I'd do well with just doing one of them. Flying is really convenient at a lot of times, but I wouldn't go bonkers if I was grounded for a while, if I just got to drive..."
Barricade remembers the fits of claustrophobia in prison — the urgent need to drive, drive, drive! — and something about the way Springer says it makes the Saleen feel like this mech knows the feeling.
It probably won't be beneficial to bring up such things, and compare discomfort notes from their stints behind bars...
"It's so sweet to have the open road stretched out in front of you, and just gun your engine and go..." Barricade almost startles from how sultry his voice is when saying that.
Springer tips his helm to get a better look at him, smirking knowingly.
"Yeah, a long, straight freeway — not many others on it to slow things down — just long enough to get you going, then there's some turns, and a hairpin exit, if you want to get wild, and push yourself until your tires squeal, and your brakes are running almost as hot as your manifold..."
Barricade's engine revs of it's own accord, and he can feel the first drops of dampness behind his plate. Springer's servo slides up his thigh, digits finding Barricade's heating panel.
"This starts to look very warm when I look at you with my infrared mode..."
"I-I... Yes." Barricade whimpers, going even slicker when clever digits stroke his panel, teasing the seams around it.
His panel pops open without his permission, and Springer's digits are there immediately, slipping through his slick folds, dipping into him.
"Hot indeed..." Springer croons, pumping his digits into Barricade's valve.
"You really know how to turn my crank." Barricade mewls, and he does notice Springer's field flaring smugly.
He's pulled into Springer's lap, legs hooked over the massive mech's knees, and Springer continues to toy with his array.
He's on display for anyone to see, his lubricant coating the big mech's digits...
"Pray tell, little Bot, what is making you so embarrassed? You look delectable like this..." Springer purrs in his audial, fingers leaving Barricade's array for long moments to stroke up his ventral plating, tugging lightly at his crash bar, before returning his attention to Barricade's heating valve.
"I... anyone can see me like this!"
"Oh, yes, and it's such a nice view..."
Under Barricade's aft, Springer's interface plate is getting very hot.
He may be fucked in public again tonight.
I wonder if there's extra tips for the show.
Shut up.
Chapter Text
Barricade is squirming in Springer's lap, too aware of where they are to be able to relax enough to overload, but Springer is good enough to get him really close, and it's incredibly frustrating.
"Can't we..."
He really doesn't want to ask for more, because he may get it without further ado, and he's just not drunk enough to do it right here.
"Can't we take this to your room?" He tries to purr, but it comes out more of a moan.
Springer hums thoughtfully, fingers slowing down inside Barricade, twisting and pumping languorously.
"I suppose we could..."
He grabs Barricade's hips, and pushes him to stand. Barricade takes a few steps to the side to leave Springer room to get up, starting towards the stairs, but it's more of a hobble than an actual walk.
His entire array feels swollen and slick, and walking stimulates everything. Barricade tries to keep his legs apart to not have his valve-lips put pressure on his node with every step, but it's not very effective. Springer snickers.
"Now that's a very smooth and sexy gait."
"Shush. It's your doing." Barricade grunts, flushing.
"I could spare you the walk. The table works great. Or the couch..."
"Or you could carry me." Barricade mutters, mostly to himself.
"Very easily."
Barricade squeaks in surprise when Springer hoists him up, cupping his aft with big servos. Barricade wraps his legs around the Triple changer's hips, and grabs on to his collar fairing for stability. A shaky moan leaves him when Springer adjusts him, and pressurizes his spike straight into Barricade's valve. A shudder of pleasure travels down his back-struts when Springer starts to walk towards the stairs, his spike teasing against the sensitive nodes inside Barricade, but nowhere near enough to bring him closer to overload.
"I should do this more often. It's really nice to just keep my spike warm and wet."
Barricade grunts non-committally.
It's certainly one of the less bad things that could be done in public, but it doesn't matter, because he's not staying here for it.
Springer carries him into his room, and Barricade just has time to see that the color scheme matches Springer's paint, then the Triple changer spins around, pressing Barricade's back against the closed door. He rolls his hips, pressing in deep, and Barricade's digits scrabble against his collar fairing, as the sudden fullness is bordering on too much.
"Oh, yeah..." Springer groans, starting to move with slow, deep thrusts.
Barricade arches his back in an attempt to get Springer's pelvic plating to press against his anterior node, tilting his hips experimentally.
"You can touch you node yourself if you want to. I mean, my servos are occupied..." Springer says, voice rough.
Barricade curls his back to leave some room between their frames to work with his servo, and it allows Springer to get even deeper. He whimpers when that thick spike hits everything inside him, and spike his digits through his slick folds, feeling the spike slip in and out of him, before he starts circling his node.
He's not going to last long.
Chapter Text
Barricade is teetering on the edge, and he really wants to just keep rubbing his node to get that overload.
"Are you close? He whimpers, because if Springer isn't, then he's going to have to hold off for a while more.
"Not particularly."
Barricade can't stop himself from making a frustrated noise when he pulls his servo away, and it makes Springer smirk smugly at him.
"Would be such a shame to have this end so quickly. And I don't feel like making a mess here. We should take this to the washracks." Springer murmurs into his audial.
Barricade couldn't care less where — well, at least behind the closed door — Springer wants to take this, as long as they continue, so that he can have his overload.
"Yes!" He hisses.
Springer doesn't pull out, he just carries Barricade through the door — the layout of the room is similar to Ironhide's and Nitro's — spike still hilted inside the Saleen. The shower starts up automatically as they approach, and Springer opens the glass door with one servo, testing the waters with his servo, leaving Barricade clinging to him to not hit the floor.
The big mech steps inside, apparently satisfied with the temperature, and immediately smashes Barricade's back against the wall pounding into him.
They seriously have to have reinforced tiles in this place, or the fucking would break the walls.
Unlike what you will have in whatever crummy apartment you'll be able to afford.
Shut up.
Springer pulls out, and sets Barricade on his own pedes.
"Hey, why did you..." Barricade almost snarls, and it's startling how annoyed he is that Springer stopped, because he's supposed to not like it?
"Patience! Just setting things up to make it better for you." Springer smirks.
He grabs the showerhead from the wall, and dismounts it from the hose, placing his thumb over the stream to steer it.
"Do like this, and angle the stream against your anterior node."
Then he turns Barricade around grabbing his thighs, easily hoisting him up. Barricade braces one lower arm against the wall, and Springer slides into his valve again, setting a langorous, powerful rhythm of thrusts.
Barricade stares at the stream from the hose for long seconds, experimentally shifting his thumb around to change the pressure and angle. Then he does as Springer told him; he reaches down, aiming towards his array.
At first, he hits his valve-lip, bet a little adjustment, and then it hits his node, a pinpoint of pressure, against the plump, sensitive component.
Barricade wails, completely unprepared for the intense pleasure, and he hurriedly moves the stream away, or he would probably overload in point five seconds. Springer snickers, but his rhythm doesn't falter.
He shifts his thumb to lower the pressure if the stream, and then he starts to circle his node with it.
It's fucking glorious, completely ingenious, and he both wants to overload right now, and at the same time, he wants to do this all day.
Barricade cries out, moaning and whimpering in a way that would be embarrassing, if he had half the processor to spare for such thoughts.
Springer grunts, pressing in deep, biting down around the edge Barricade's shoulder-wing, and Barricade is spared from edging his overload further. He angles the stream just so, and immediately overloads, valve pulsing heavily around the spike inside him, legs tense to a point of shaking. His helm lolls forward to rest against the arm he's bracing against the wall, and then his frame slumps, completely spent.
Chapter Text
"Where did you learn that trick?" Barricade asks.
Springer remounts the showerhead while Barricade is still leaning against the wall — hard pressed to stand up of his own accord — and the hot water is pelting down on them.
"What trick is that?"
"The thing with the shower hose."
Which is something he's definitely going to try again, when he's alone in the shower.
"I lost a bet."
"Hm?"
"I lost a bet. To Dreadbot. I challenged him to overload in under a minute without another mech to help him. I thought a different set of servos were always better than masturbation. I stupidly allowed him to choose what tools to use, expecting him to grab a thick fake spike or something. He just walked in here, grabbed the hose, and came really hard in 42.4 seconds."
"Oh."
Why is he even surprised?
"Quite the optic opener. I mean, being better than mediocre really takes some effort when competing against that."
"I guess you're right..."
He never would've thought that these mechs actually care about 'being good'. Sure, Ironhide, Nitro Zeus, and Roadbuster all have made it pleasurable, but that the pimps actively try to be better than masturbation is a step farther than just getting their partners to overload.
He grabs a sponge, starting to wash Springer, because it's probably what's expected when in the shower together, and if he gets Springer's spike clean when he just had an overload lessens the risk of the washing leading to another round of fucking.
Not that the fucking is bad. It's just that he really wants to get his beauty recharge, so he can make tomorrow count before he renegotiates his employment.
"You said some things before, about things mecha say about Warframes. I must admit that I never really knew about that. Could you tell me a little about it?"
First hand experience has to be better than searching the data net.
"What do you want to know? What do you already know?"
"What I kn... what I've heard is that MTOs are built for certain purposes, and since they're created in a specific way, they're offered jobs in the sector they're built for. Since no more are built than there's demand for, they rarely get unemployed, and since they're coded to do a specific task, they rarely want to do anything else, so even as an Enforcer, we rarely saw any MTOs. They just didn't get involved in crime. But now I know that it's not the full picture..."
"Offered a job..." Springer mutters derisively. "That you didn't see many MTOs may also be a result that a 'malfunctioning' MTO would be sent back to the maker, for reprogramming, or destruction. To say that we're offered jobs is a smokescreen to cover the fact that we don't get a choice. It's so much easier if the general public just don't think about — and possibly get upset about — how the cybertronian empire is kept safe and expanded by a force of slaves, who are created to obey orders, and die on command. It's much cheaper for the big war corporations to not be forced to take care of their soldiers, and pay salaries, and give them decent living conditions."
Barricade's spark feels cold.
It's such a can of worms he has opened, because he was always told that the military had jurisdiction of any employed soldier, should they commit crimes, so the Enforcers were just supposed to return him to his employment.
"So, an MTO who got out of the compound, and did some crimes... What would happen when he was returned to his employer?"
Springer shrugs. "Depends on what he did, and what his service value would be at the moment. Anything from a public punishment, to being smelted."
Chapter Text
"But you all went to prison! How did that happen? Shouldn't you have been handed over to the military?"
"We're all registered as retired, so we're not military anymore. By now, we're so old, we're past our expiration dates too." Springer says smugly.
Barricade frowns. "Do they do that once you've served long enough?"
"No, not really. Very few mechs are allowed to retire, mostly that happens if they're sold off to the private sector as security. Some Warframes with good track records get to serve as bodyguards to some big shots and stuff, and the owner can choose to retire them when they want to get a newer model. Passing the expiration date in the army mostly means being smelted, as most of the parts will be too old and worn to be recycled. We're very lucky to have a good hacker in our ranks, and since we're now registered as retired, they can't claim us. But now we adhere to civilian laws, and back then, we just knew nothing about those, so we made a few stupid things that got us put behind bars."
He can't really blame them for changing their identities in an illegal way to save themselves from being smelted, it's what anyone would do.
"So the lack of MTO Warframes in society isn't down to MTOs being happy about getting to do what they're created for, and never leaving the army to try their luck elsewhere, but because they doesn't really have a choice?" Barricade asks just to clarify, because he's not really willing to comprehend that something so ugly is the truth, and that slavery technically still exist, in spite of what he thought he knew of the modern Cybertronian society.
"Exactly. It's not all that glorious to constantly risk your functioning, to automatically calculate if your fellow soldiers should be rescued and repaired, or just left to extinguish and be treated like scrap. Or how about being whipped until you can hardly stand because you retreated when the strategists had decided that you and all your friends are expendable collateral damage to win a battle?"
"No, that certainly does not sound likea dream job."
Suddenly washing dishes until his arms fail seems really nice.
Digits sliding along the edge of Barricade's shoulder-wing pulls him out of his thoughts.
"But enough with the heavy conversations for now. I consider us clean enough for my berth. Unless you want to play a little more with the shower hose before we finish this."
It's really tempting to do it again, he's really curious about it, and want to experiment more with it. But Springer would watch, and he's not quite ready for doing that with an audience.
He fingered you in the rec room, and you did play with yourself for Roadbuster...
But now he's allowed to choose.
"I'm good for now. Your berth sounds like a plan."
Chapter Text
Springer's berth is as comfortable as all the other berths he has been in so far, covered in bedding matching the Triple changer's paint job. Barricade stretches out, wiggling deeper into the fluffy covers, and Springer watches him hungrily.
"You have such a nice frame..." He says, voice gravelly.
Barricade realizes that he was putting on a bit of a show, even if he didn't intend to, and he flushes.
"Thank you." He mumbles.
At this rate, he's going to get himself fucked again, and he really needs some recharge.
But then again, if you get fucked again, you'll get a better tip. Just look at the credits you have earned so far: ten percent of the street value for every overload the mechs have had, and it's more than a day's work earns you...
The berth dips when Springer crawls onto it, stretching out next to him. A big servo stroke the Mustang's ventral plating, up to his chest-plates, teasing his headlight, before sliding up to wrap around his throat. Barricade's spark skips a revolution, and he swallows nervously when Springer's servo presses against his chin, tilting his helm back to expose the sensitive tubes and wires.
Springer makes a contemplative noise, and then a digit trails Barricade's intake tube. Barricade is laying stock still, frame tense, because once again, it's highlighted how small and helpless he is with the Warframes.
The digit trailing his throat probably has extendable talons, and the servo wrapped around it could easily crush all the components.
"What do you want?" He manages to force out, voice unsteady.
"I'm thinking about how nice this little tube would look, stretched around my cock. Scoot over to the edge of the berth, and let your helm hang over the edge."
Springer lets go of him and Barricade scrambles to obey, even if his spark is speeding out of control. He lets his helm loll over the edge of the berth as requested, even if it feels rather obscene, and he watches as Springer crawls off the berth again, kneeling in front of him to give barricade a very close up view of his interface plate.
"Mh, yes, you look so nice like this."
Springer's spike pressurizes, and the Triple changer presses it against Barricade's lip-plates.
"I-I... I've never done this before." Barricade says against the head of the spike, pre-transfluid getting smeared across his lip-plates.
"Just relax your throat and let it in. I'll go slow."
Chapter Text
There's an awful moment when Springer's spike reaches the back of his intake, pushing against the sensitive tubing there, and Barricade's throat convulses, closing up. Springer pulls back just a little to take the pressure off.
"Just relax. You can do this." Springer croons encouragingly, cupping the back of Barricade's neck to support him. "Just like swallowing a piece of frozen low grade..."
Easy to say for someone who's not on the receiving end.
He doesn't really see any other options than trying to make it work, though, so when Springer presses in deeper again, he tries to swallow the thick spike.
It passes the sensitive spot at the back of his intake, and after a moment of a very strong urge to gag, it feels easier. The spike slides deeper, and there's a weird stretch in the tubing, but it's not as uncomfortable as he thought it would be.
Probably worth it for the tips! You're getting so good at this!
Shut up.
Don't you mean 'chuch u'k'? Heh.
Seriously.
Springer slowly starting to thrust distracts him from his thoughts.
"Yeah, this looks so hot." Springer groans.
Barricade can only guess what part of him Springer means, because all he can see is the Triple changer's sturdy thighs, but it's probably whatever his throat tubing looks like when Springer's spike slips in and out of it.
At least it's much less work than being fucked. Sure, he could finger himself, but it hasn't been requested, and it's kind of easy to just let Springer do his thing, and not even need to find the energy for another overload.
Springer is picking up the pace, probably getting closer to his overload, but it's not like Barricade can do much about it. Then Springer grabs his crash bar for leverage, starting to thrust in earnest.
It's not comfortable, but at least it's quickly over when Springer presses in deep, spike pulsing in Barricade's throat. He sees the rise in the levels in his tank, but otherwise, he doesn't really notice the other's cum, which isn't something negative.
Springer pulls out, crawling onto the berth, and stretches out next to Barricade.
"Frag, that was so good. Not bad at all for a first timer."
However it's possible to be good or bad when doing something that really mostly is about waiting for the mech to finish.
Barricade turns around, grabbing one of the pillows Springer isn't using at the moment. The Triple changer throws an arm across Barricade's waist, pulling him closer. A big servo cups the Saleen's aft.
"You good to recharge now?" Springer asks.
"Sounds nice."
Chapter Text
It feels easier to work than it usually does. Maybe it's the amount of recharge — Springer let him off the hook rather early, after all, and didn't demand more before Barricade left — or perhaps it's because it's the last day on trial, and after his negotiation, he'll be able to move out.
No more having a dick down his throat, or up his ass, if he doesn't decide to do that for Jazz on occasion.
He's still careful about doing a good job, and not slacking off, because it would be easy to let his relief make him sloppy or slow, and Barricade is not keen on falling flat just before the finish line.
The manager has shut himself in his office and doesn't come out until Barricade's shift is almost over. Barricade has put all the trays in the drying rack, and is cleaning his work station.
"Hello, Sir."
"Barricade." The manager greets him. "I've been thinking really hard about your efforts this week. You're punctual, you do what you're told, and you work at your best capacity."
"I do what I can, Sir."
Barricade's spark is spinning out of control with nerves."
This is it.
"You've served me well so far — in spite of being an ex convict — and I want to give you an opportunity to try to be an upstanding citizen. We have a lot to do here, and the business going very well, so I want you to take an eight hour shift: starting at three thirty in the morning, and finishing at twelve."
Barricade's spark soars in a funny way.
"However, you're nowhere near as efficient as a mech with a dishwasher alt. I can only offer you four credits and hour. I also count on that you'll be having some of the gels in your breaks, so there will be a fuel deduction of five credits a day."
Barricade's world seems to spin. He doesn't want to seem ungrateful, but this isn't what he hoped for.
Sure, he's getting more hours, but with the cutback in pay, and then the deduction for fuel, he won't be making much more a day than he does now. And with the added hours, his arms will probably be worn more quickly.
Three fucks, and you'd have made more, and paid for the rent too, and won't need repairs. Well, not that kind, at least.
Shut up.
You'll have to get up really early too. And you really love mornings, don't you?
Not helping.
"I-I... I need to think about it." He blurts, and then he realizes how it may make him seem lazy when the manager gives him a very unimpressed look. "I mean, I'm really thankful that you want to hire me... Do we get... some sort of medical benefits?"
"Medical benefits? That's what you have an insurance for. And I don't see why I should be responsible for your need of repairs. And here I thought I was being generous to offer you a chance. I'm sure you know that many employers wouldn't hire a convict..."
"I know how hard it is to find a job, and I really am thankful. I just... I need to do the math, so I can afford the necessities, or if I need to get a second job too, and if I'll have time to work more."
"You have all weekend to have a second job. But you know what, take the afternoon to do your math. If you want the job, you'll be here at three thirty tomorrow morning, or I'll just hire someone else."
Chapter Text
27 credits a day. That's far less than he hoped for. And the five credits for fuel certainly is a bastard deal. If he bought cheap fuel in bigger packs in a discount store, and brought his own in a container, he could get away with much less for his breakfast. Sweet gels really don't appeal to him for sustenance anyway, and that's the kind they make. Maybe a tidbit here and there, but certainly not as a meal.
He scrubs himself down quickly, and then he heads for the rec room in the pleasurebot wing. It's rarely used, as everyone tends to wind up in the main one, and he's going to use that to his advantage.
If he decides to take the job, he better get to recharge right away, because he'll be up really early, and he's probably not going to have a chance to get much recharge tonight. Hopefully, Jazz will understand that he can't afford the time to talk and cuddle.
He grabs a blanket from one of the chairs, and stretches out on a couch, offlining his optics.
But recharge eludes him, because there are so many things to consider, and he really needs to do that math, so he grabs the data pad Ironhide has given him, and starts searching for insurance, because when rent and fuel is paid for, insurance certainly is at the top of the list of things he should try to have.
It's expensive.
Sure, there are cheap options, but when he checks the terms, the cheaper ones don't cover damage from doing something your alt mode isn't created for, and often there's also a clause about not covering work related damage. The employee insurances are far more expensive than he'll be able to afford.
It's such a downer, he tries to cheer himself up by looking through ads for apartments. He briefly glances at a few where mechs are looking for a roommate to split the rent, but they always require the prospective tenants to have a clean rap sheet, so there's no point in trying.
Such a shame. It would make it much easier to find something he can afford, and he may have been convicted, but he's really trying to turn his life around.
The cheapest apartment he can find is three hundred a month, and it'll put a dent in his earnings, but he should be able to afford it.
And then he may be able to find another job, and the budget won't be as tight. Hopefully, his boss can provide a reference if he looks for another one, and it'll be easier to get one.
Or you could stay here. Make the same kind of credits, but rent and fuel is already paid, and you get to sleep in. In comfortable berths with expensive sheets and pillows. And then you can have an oil bath, while smoking a doobie.
And work with degrading himself in every way he can think of, and probably some ways he doesn't even know yet.
Chapter Text
Apparently, he nodded off, because Barricade wakes up when his alarm tells him that it's time to start working again. The data pad is perched on his chest where it has slipped out of his grasp when he fell into recharge. Barricade subspaces it again, and folds the blanket, hanging it over the back of the couch, before he heads to the other rec room.
He had planned to be out of here tonight, but with the job offer he got, he really is doing the right thing to not let it be a hasty decision.
And you can always make some extra tips tonight, and spend some time in a fancy washrack, or a comfortable berth before you kiss those luxuries goodbye. If you take the job and move out...
He's not going to resign to be a whore, that he can't do better.
His thoughts are interrupted when his crash bar is grabbed, and he's swung around, back hitting the bar.
"You claimed for the night?" Sideswipe asks, optics slithering up and down his frame.
"No...?" Barricade says hesitantly, stifling a shudder.
"Wanna have some fun?"
He never considered Sideswipe, because he never really interacted with the mech before — except that time Sideswipe yelled at him — and aside from lingering oglings that doesn't really stand out from the rest of the crowd, the mech hasn't shown much interest in him.
"Uhm, yeah?"
"I like it a bit rough, but you'll get well paid for it."
That doesn't sound promising.
Money, money, money... And look, he has a badge that says 'vice president'! This is the highest ranking mech after Hide!
Not really important, is it?
Is it really unimportant?
"I don't want to be damaged, but we could give it a try?"
Sideswipe downs the rest of his cube, then he smirks as he looks Barricade up and down again.
"Excellent."
He's tugged along towards the stairs, spark spinning nervously. He has been mech handled a bit before, but that Sideswipe actually says he wants to be rough makes him wonder if this is going to be worse. He's seen what Blackout does without asking if rough is okay, so maybe this is the next level rough.
At least Sideswipe said that he'll get well paid, and if he doesn't get damaged, then it probably can't be too bad.
And you really like the credits.
Shut up. I might as well fill up my savings account as much as possible, since I still have to pay my rent here anyway.
Right...
"Move it, Officer." Sideswipe growls, pushing Barricade to walk in front of him up the stairs.
Chapter Text
"I want to cuff you." Sideswipe says as soon as they're inside his room.
"Ok..." Barricade says after a long moment of hesitation.
"Just say melon if you need to be released."
"What's a melon?"
"Apparently some kind of organic thing some of the others had fun throwing at each other when they were off world. I figure it's a good word, because it's not something you'd say in any other context." Sideswipe says, while locking the cuffs around Barricade's wrists-struts. "There. On your knees, Officer."
Barricade sinks to his knees, even though it makes him nervous. Sideswipe steps up in front of him, grabbing one of Barricade's audial horn. He holds out his spike for Barricade.
"Certainly not everyday I get an Enforcer in this position. Lick my spike."
Barricade obeys, lapping at the thick head of Sideswipe's spike, drawing a groan from the big mech. Sideswipe lets him work without guidance for a little while, then he suddenly rolls his hips, pushing into Barricade's intake. Barricade can't really do much but allow it when Sideswipe starts to fuck his mouth none too gently. He shivers when that spike hits the back of his throat repeatedly, but he manages to relax enough to not gag, at least.
Well, now you know what it felt like for the whores when you did this...
Barricade can't even deny it.
At least he wasn't quite this rough.
No, but at least you're going to get well paid for this.
Sideswipe pulls out, and then he grabs Barricade's arms, pulling at them to force him to bend over until his cheek is pressed to the floor. His legs are nudged farther apart, and Sideswipe kneels behind him, deftly opening the manual latches to Barricade's interface plate. Two digits are pushed into his valve without preamble, and it's quite uncomfortable, because Barricade is not really aroused. At least Sideswipe has the courtesy to pump his digits a few times, hitting that spot inside him that really starts his lubrication.
The digits are pulled out, and replaced with Sideswipe's spike. The mech holds on to Barricade's cuffed wrists with one servo, and his hip with the other, and immediately sets a punishing pace, rocking Barricade with each thrust.
Chapter Text
Well, at least his mod came in handy again.
Yeah, but you should probably start lubing yourself up before your shifts anyway. You kind of killed the mood there for a moment, and that may be visible on the paycheck.
He's not doing more shifts here. He starts work in a few hours, and then he'll be out of here for good.
Barricade washes the transfluid from the plating on his back and aft, using Sideswipe's solvent. It's the top notch stuff, as everything else the brothers surround themselves with.
Then you'll be washing up with the swill.
Shut up.
"Join me in the hot tub when you're done." Sideswipe says from where he's reclining in the tub.
Well, there's really no point in trying to catch some more recharge anyway.
Barricade finishes up in the shower and stops by the stairs leading into the oil. Sideswipe has placed a cube on the edge of the tub, and he points to it.
"For you." He says, before sipping from his own one.
"Thanks." Barricade says as he steps into the tub.
The oil is the perfect temperature, and he groans with pleasure when he sinks into it. It caresses his tired cables and struts, and he feels himself relaxing.
"Was this your first time doing that sort of... I guess you can call it roleplay?"
"Yes." Barricade says, occupying himself with sipping from the cube, because it's not exactly what he wants to talk about.
But alas, you suck at leading a conversation, so you'll just have to take what you get.
"You should've said something. We could've talked about the details before we started. I'm so used to everyone knowing my preferences, I didn't think about that."
"I just thought... I don't know, that I should just allow you to have your way?"
"Well, it's what I expect, since you did go along with me, but I thought you'd be a bit more responsive, act a little less pliable. But how would you know that? I'm sorry I didn't realize this earlier. We should've talked about it beforehand, both for you to know what I want, but also so I could do something for your enjoyment."
"We'll do that the next time." Barricade says slowly.
Not that there's going to be a next time.
"In the meantime, you could let me make it up to you. Come sit in my lap."
Chapter Text
Barricade's helm lolls forward, his forehelm thunking against Sideswipe's shoulder.
The vibrating base of the mech's spike is a surprise, but he certainly isn't going to complain.
He rocks his hips, grinding against Sideswipe. Not because he needs more stimulation, it's purely his frame showing it's approval without his consent.
"You like that?" Sideswipe asks, a smirk audible in his voice.
"Yes!" Barricade hisses.
Vaguely, he remembers a mention of this mod, but he really could never imagine that it would feel this good.
It's perfect when he's riding Sideswipe in the hot tub, not wanting to move around too much to splash the oil everywhere. And also because it feels so gloriously good.
"How the pit does this mod add up with your sadistic streak?" He groans in honest wonder.
Sideswipe chuckles. "I like to play rough. I also like it when my partner is enjoying to be with me. Those things don't need to be mutually exclusive..."
Digits map out Barricade's shoulder-wings, tweaking the wiring to all the sensors, and rubbing the plating, and the focus the sensitive components is rather novel. Sideswipe's mod leaves his servos free to play like this, and Barricade really can't disapprove of this. He leans back slightly to leave a little room between their frames, and strokes up Sideswipe's chest-plates, teasing his headlights.
Sideswipe groans, then he reciprocates by rolling a particularly sensitive cable in one of Barricade's transformation joints. It causes Barricade's valve to clench, a surge of charge trickling through his entire systems.
"Would you overload from just having your wings toyed with?"
"I... ah, I don't know..." Barricade says, hard pressed to process the question. "Never tried it."
"Hm. We could try that later. I don't know about Praxians, but some Fliers can."
It's an experiment he actually wouldn't mind participating in.
"We could do that." He groans, grinding against Sideswipe again.
Not that he really minds this vibrating spike inside him, building his charge slowly...
Barricade leans in to lick at Sideswipe's chest-plates, glossa finding a thin ridge in the otherwise smooth metal; a scar from a weld that hasn't healed perfectly.
A battle scar.
Chapter Text
The night might not have started out very nicely, but it certainly took a turn for the better with that bath, he'll admit that.
Barricade stretches, and rolls over to look at Sideswipe again.
For a mech who likes to be rough, and has a kink for fake raping an Enforcer, he does know how to give pleasure too.
Sideswipe is in recharge, and Barricade wishes he could be that carefree too, especially after that overload in the jacuzzi, and then the second one when they tried that tactile idea of Sideswipe's. Apparently, Barricade can't overload from just having his shoulder-wings stroked and tweaked, but Sideswipe was quick to provide what was needed to get Barricade over the edge.
But Barricade is still awake, because he can't allow himself to fall into recharge.
He probably couldn't, even if he wanted to, allowed himself to do it. Not with all the things spinning around in his processor now, to the ominous backdrop of his chronometer steadily ticking towards the deadline when he will have to make the final decision.
The decision if you can just accept this job, and live the good life thanks to it, or if you prefer to scrub plates for the rest of eternity.
At least he gets to keep his dignity if he takes that job and moves out.
Yes, because doing a job with a ridiculous pay, for a boss who has never said anything positive about your efforts at all, and is using the fact that you have a rap sheet against you. Certainly sounds like you're keeping your dignity.
What Sideswipe started the night with firmly convinced him that he really should take the job at the gelery. He could always look for a different job later on.
But that oil bath, and good energon, is dangerously alluring. He never had excess before, even if he had a comfortable life before he went away. He can make do with less, but knowing that he'll be forced to only have the cheapest of the budget stuff makes the sweet temptation of nice baths, expensive polish, and top shelf fuel all the more enticing.
It's just the way he'd pay for it that's really a problem, but after two really nice rounds with Sideswipe, and two good overloads, it suddenly doesn't seem that bad anymore.
Then he's reminded about the mechs he still hasn't tried, and the hints he has gotten about what they're interested in, and he's back to square one. He certainly didn't enjoy Sideswipe mechhandling him the way he did, the way the Vice president just used Barricade to get off, and there's a very real risk that that's the way he's going to be treated a lot of the time.
It brings him back to square one. Should he stay, or should he take the job and accept a period of poverty?
Chapter Text
"I accept your offer."
"You surprise me. I actually thought you wouldn't make it here, that you were a quitter. I mean, there's a reason that you landed in jail in the first place, so I thought you'd take the easy route and go for easier money, instead of an honest job."
Barricade doesn't bother to correct the mech's misconception.
Sure, he took bribes, but it was never about money, and even if he has realized that it derailed horribly, at least he started out with good intentions.
"Well, get to scrubbing. We have a lot to do here today. As always." The manager says, before heading for his office.
Barricade briefly opens his digital wallet. The credits for his trial weeks are there, all 200. But then there's the 110 credits he has earned in just four nights, 110 he has earned after rent, and fuel has been paid for.
It actually is easy credits. Sideswipe's tip of 45 credits — 33 for the fucking, and then he rounded it upwards for the special stuff — really highlights that.
If you did a foursome, you'd do 30 credits in one go. Three of those a night, you'd almost make a week's pay in one night. Springer's cock down your throat, Nitro's in your valve, and Roadbuster's in your aft...
Shut up. He's not going to do it like that.
"Scrap, mech! You look really scratched up..." Tailgate says as he walks by.
"Hm? I suppose..."
He did shower, but he didn't really think about getting a polish. Not that he would've have had much time for it, and he probably wouldn't have been able to reach the paint transfers, but he could've done something to make it less obvious. He was just too busy having his shoulder-wings caressed, and then there was the fretting...
"Uh, yeah... Something happened?" Tailgate asks slowly, taking in Barricade's frame.
Barricade looks down at himself, which he hasn't done since getting out of Sideswipe's berth at the last minute, drawing out the decision until it was nearly too late.
He really looks like slag. At least Sideswipe's penchant for playing roughly makes him equally scratched up all over, and not just in a telltale pattern on his hips, thighs, and pelvic plating.
"Nothing serious. Just... My old job. I just... it was the middle of the night, and I slipped on the stairs in the dark and took a tumble. Not enough recharge, you know, I told you about the bad schedule..." He tries to look adequately sheepish.
"Okay..." Tailgate says, sounding doubtful.
For good reason. It's the shittiest lie ever.
"It doesn't matter now, though. I'm quitting that job. I got hired!"
"Oh, yes, I heard! Congratulations!" Tailgate says excitedly, clearly not the kind to snoop, and easily distracted.
"Thank you! It feels good to be onboard with a better job."
It's not a lie. Even if the quickly adding up credits from the tips, and all the other pros of staying at Hide's house are very tempting, this is the first time since before he went to prison he's truly standing on his own pedes. Barricade really feels that he is making progress in creating a better life for himself.
He's going to go find Hide after his shift is done, and tell him in person that he's quitting, and moving out. It is more polite than just comming him, or sending a text, but mostly, he wants to see Hide's face — since he seemed so smugly amused when Barricade started his trial, as if he didn't think it would work out — when he says that he has found a new job. And tonight, he's going to celebrate by taking a few credits from his hard earned credits, and spend it on a small cube of good high grade, and a recharge cubicle.
Chapter Text
"Can I talk to you, Hide? In private."
"Sure, we can go to my room."
"So that's what you kids call it these days." Nitro Zeus snickers. "Have fun, Prez." He leers, pouring another round of shots.
"You better let him out of your room before tonight. Other mechs have needs..." Blackout rumbles, downing his shot in one go, motioning for Nitro to fill the glass again.
It's fucking 01:10 in the afternoon, and they're already aiming for 'drunk'!
One of the perks of working here: that's totally socially accepted.
It's kind of odd to do the walk up the stairs again, even if it wasn't many nights since he last went to Ironhide's room, and not even a day since he did this walk with Sideswipe. There's something final about it this time, and even if Barricade remembers how it felt in the beginning, and how it felt to go with Nitro, and Roadbuster — that feeling of helplessness, and how badly he didn't want to do it — this time, it's almost a little melancholic.
An era ending. He's moving out, and life as he knows it — because this has been his reintroduction to life outside prison — is about to change.
The door slides shut behind them, and Barricade takes a seat in the chair, to emphasize that he isn't there for fucking.
Even if it mostly was good. He's going to be exclusive from now on.
It almost feels strange.
Yeah...
"So what's up?" Ironhide asks.
"I've gotten a full-time employment. I want to end my trial, and move out. Tonight."
Ironhide cocks his helm. "Sure. As I've always said: you're a free mech, and you're free to go at any time."
"Yeah."
It kind of feels strange that it's that easy.
"I think it's a shame, though. From what I've heard, everyone of my Bros have been satisfied with your performance so far. You've got potential."
"Uh... Okay?"
Not exactly what he wants to have potential for...
But the credits! The credits are so good! And sometimes the fucking too...
"There will be some disappointed mechs here, that's for sure. Anyway, as long as the spot hasn't been taken by someone else, you're welcome back to continue your trial."
"Thanks."
Not that he wants to...
"I'll give you some time to reconsider, so I won't tell your parole supervisor yet, and I'll leave the prescription for weed until it needs to be renewed. Have you talked to Jazz?"
"Thank you, that's very generous. And no, I'm going to do that now."
"Good."
Chapter Text
"I've accepted my job offer."
"Oh."
"Yeah, I got the offer yesterday — and I'm sorry for not showing up, but I really needed the recharge — and I accepted it this morning."
Jazz's visor covers some of his expression, but the frown of his mouth looks like sadness and disappointment. "I'm glad ya got an offer." He says, but it doesn't sound sincere.
"I didn't make the decision lightly, but I really want to work my way to being a good citizen all on my own, without the help of dubious contacts for the right paperwork and stuff."
Jazz's face-plates smooth out again. "I guess I can understand that. Ya wanna do it of your own power, n' not be helped by a pimp... Still seems like a lonely place ta me. N' much harder than I would like, but ta each his own, I guess."
"I still want to see you, I like you a lot, Jazz, and I respect your choices. It's just that I worked so hard to get somewhere, and then I lost my way and fucked up horribly. I want to try to find my way back to the path I was on, want to right my wrongs."
"Ya know that ya wouldn' have met me past arrestin' me if ya had followed that righteous path, right?"
"I know. It did lead to good things too, but I want to secure that the good things can continue, and for that, I feel like I need my rap sheet to be squeaky clean . I don't want to think about what would happen if Prowl decided to make a surprise check..."
"Hide has it covered. Jus' so ya know. But I understand."
"I'm glad you do. I'll tell you as soon as I've found an apartment, but I hope we can go for energon or something before that?"
"Yeah. I mean, I'm free in tha afternoons, n' ya'll need ta go ta home ta recharge by that time I need ta get ready for work. Of course I wanna see ya."
That Jazz still will have that particular job twists something inside him, but there's nothing he can do about it. Not until he has things set up well enough to provide for them both.
"I am going to miss our lazy afternoons..." He says, leaning his helm against Jazz's shoulder.
"Me too! I really have enjoyed havin' ya 'round. I really wanna see ya as much as possible..." Jazz wraps his arm around Barricade's neck, leaning in to kiss his neck-cables.
They fall back on the berth, and Jazz is immediately on him; kissing, nipping, fiddling with the components that are extra sensitive. Barricade reciprocates, slim talons slipping through seams in Jazz's plating. Jazz crawls on top of him, grinding against him, and Barricade isn't slow to go along with the silent request.
But if they're going to keep seeing each other, why does this feel like a breakup?
Chapter Text
The recharge cubicle is very cramped — of course it is, it's a garage just big enough for him to recharge in, and he can't afford to get a bigger one — and Barricade is really stiff in the mornings when he transforms to root mode. He stares at his "room" and decides to not go in there until evening, when he needs to do it to get enough recharge for his next shift. It's boring to spend time in there anyway, folded up into his alt mode.
A shower would be glorious, but the cubicle is 17 credits a day, and the shower is extra, so he really tries to put it off for as long as he can to not get forced into digging into his meager savings just for a shower.
He really needs to find an apartment, so he doesn't need to spend so much a day, and to have his own washracks included. At least he can get fuel at work, since the cost is already deducted whether he takes it or not.
But not showering, and not cramming himself into the glorified garage, leaves him with time to spare, and no place to go.
He hasn't seen Jazz since he moved out a week ago...
::H'llo, babe.::
::Hello, Jazz. Want to go someplace for some hot energon and a chat?:: He says as soon as Jazz responds to his comm.
::Sure, sounds good! Same place as tha last time?::
::I'd like that, meet you there?::
::Yeah! I'm jus' gonna have a quick shower first.::
Barricade looks himself over; the lingering dust and dirt in his struts that he can't get out with a mere wipe down; a few stains from the solvent he washes the moulds in; the scratched paint on his digits.
He'd like to clean up before seeing Jazz, but there's not much he can do about that. At least it's mostly dirt from work, so he'll just have to see it as a badge of honor.
::Alright. See you soon!::
::Can't wait!::
The hang up, and Barricade slowly starts to walk towards the energon shop. Spending so much time in alt mode in his cubicle makes him reluctant to drive. He gets so stiff when he transforms back to root mode.
He probably needy some oil infused energon, but that's expensive. Hopefully, he'll find an apartment soon, then he'll be able to afford it. If he even needs it when he can recharge in root mode.
You know there's a a way to solve all those problems in one go?
I'm not going back there.
Chapter Text
He's nursing his hot energon when Jazz walks in, perfectly polished, and looking perky. A couple of Construction frames sitting by a table more or less rubbernecks to ogle Jazz, and it's easy to see why.
He's so damned gorgeous.
He always was, but his new alt mode really makes his kibble ridiculously appealing, and he looks healthier than he ever did when they met. Quality fuel, maintenance, and no more heavy drugs really does make a difference.
Jazz doesn't seem to notice the looks he's getting, he spots Barricade, and waves cheerily at him, smiling widely as he approaches.
"Hey, babe! I'm gonna order somethin' for me. Ya want a refill or somethin? My treat."
Oh, he'd love another cup of the delicious, rather tart energon he's having, but this was his idea, and it just doesn't feel right to mooch on Jazz. The fuel is rather expensive.
"Maybe a tungsten crisp, please?" He asks, because he loves those, and they are pretty cheap, so he doesn't need to feel bad about it.
"Ya got it!" Jazz grins, heading for the counter to order.
Barricade sits back, studying his lover.
Jazz really is handsome, and he's such a sweetspark; considerate, forgiving, and almost always happy and easy-going. Just generally easy to be around.
You really need to get on with finding an apartment so you can see him more.
Yeah.
Jazz comes back, carrying his energon, and a plate with two tungsten crisps, and a rather elaborate creation with fluffy grease, and rusty crumbles on top, drizzled with PTFE-oil. Barricade feels his oral lubrication increase when he watches the rich goodness.
"I got ya two crisps. Ya really don't look like ya need ta go on a diet." Jazz says, putting the plate, and his cube down before leaning in to steal a kiss from Barricade.
"It looks like you're hungry, though." Barricade says, ogling Jazz's cake.
"I really am. We went racin' yesterday!" Jazz says excitedly, before he shoves a spoonful into his mouth, moaning around the bite. "It was so fun, Hide managed ta get us a trainin' slot at tha racing stadium, n' everyone with a ground alt went. Springer beat Knock Out, n' it was so fun ta see Knockie try ta hide what a sore loser he is — Knock Out was a street racer before he started workin' for Hide, ya know, so he's kind of tetchy 'bout bein' called slow — n' Dreadbot is fuckin' great. He looks like he'll fall apart at any moment, but he sure has had the right upgrades on his engine..."
Barricade listens to Jazz's excited retelling of their outing, and he's almost jealous.
It sound so fun!
"... anyway, it was so cool when we walked into tha stadium, n' this stuck up racer said 'you don't win by having the most paddock mechs, you need a frame for it.' ta Hide, n' Knockie recognized tha fragger from his street racin' days, n' jus' stuck his hip out n' said 'so you finally sucked the right dick to get someone to buy NOs for you.' in that haughty way he can. Everyone started laughin', n' tha mech flushed horribly, so apparently that was true. He skittered off ta cower in his paddock when Hide grinned like he was gonna eat him — n' not in a good way — n' jus' said 'I don't need to be fast, I know how to aim.' I mean, I know that Hide is fast too, but tha look on tha mech's face was priceless."
At least Jazz is having fun, even if it is without him.
Chapter Text
"So how about ya? Been doin' anythin' fun?" Jazz asks him when he has finished his story about their exciting day at the race track.
"Not really. I've been working, and looking for an apartment..." Barricade trails off, because that's literally the only things he has done, and it feels too mundane to talk about, especially after what Jazz has told him.
"Found a place yet?"
"No, I'm still looking for something affordable."
Barricade has always been too late so far, as it has turned out that the cheap apartments are really sought after. Even if he has been quick to call the advertisers, he hasn't had any luck, and someone else has already booked the apartment.
He feels so fucking pathetic; he moved out to get his own place, and he hasn't even been able to do that, in spite of literally not doing anything but working, and searching for a place to live.
And your salary certainly isn't anything to write home about.
"Yeah, it's a tough market." Jazz cocks his helm as he looks Barricade up and down. "Is tha work hard?"
Barricade is aware of what he looks like on closer inspection, and he can guess that Jazz is really asking about his physical state.
He should've wiped down more carefully, but he was getting out of wipes, and he doesn't want to spend too much.
"It is. My arms are always feeling worn, and at the end of the week, they're getting sore, but it'll soon be weekend again, so I'll hopefully be able to get some rest.
Even if the cubicle doesn't really allow for him to properly rest, crammed up as he is.
"Sounds exhaustin'. I would not be able ta do it. I'm jus' too lazy." Jazz says with a rather sheepish smile.
"It's not easy, but I really want to try before I give up."
He's not going back to Hide's.
Jazz looks him up and down again. "So, how 'bout we go get a detailin'? I do know this shop close by. My treat."
He really doesn't want to mooch on Jazz, but he hasn't had a shower since he left Hide's house, and he feels rather gross — especially when comparing to Jazz, who's perfectly polished — and he has no idea what to do now that they've had their snack and beverages, and he has no place to invite Jazz too.
"If it's not too expensive? I don't want to be a burden to you..."
"Oh no! I really wanna treat ya ta somethin' nice."
Chapter Text
"We both want a light waxin'." Jazz tells the mech at the reception of the detailing shop.
"Absolutely, Sir. Shared room?"
"Yeah."
"Both at the same time, or do you want to wait for each other? I do have two detailers ready in about fifteen munutes, so you could book both."
"Sounds good."
"Very well, Sir. Pay together, or split the tab?"
"I'll pay for us both."
"Would you like to try our new solvent, Sir? We have small bottles for you if you want to sample it. They're on special offer right now for one credit a bottle, and a full-size bottle is five credits."
"Then we'll take two of tha samples. N' I wanna get the pede special too. Ya wanna have that too, babe? A little extra attention ta your pedes?"
"No, I'm fine. Thank you." Barricade says, because he's already feeling like he's getting way too much.
"That'll be one hundred and twelve credits."
Barricade feels weak when he hears the sum, because there's just no way he can do anything to return this very generous gesture. He watches as Jazz makes the transaction, and then they're handed a very fluffy drying cloth, and a small bottle of the solvent Jazz added to the order each, then the mech points towards a door.
"The washracks are in the hallway behind the door, number five is big enough to allow you both at the same time. The detailing rooms are through the pink door at the end of the hallway, number three will be ready for you in twenty minutes."
"Thank ya!" Jazz beams at the mech, before leading the way through the door, towards the washracks. "This is gonna be so nice! I love gettin' waxed, really relaxes me." Jazz says, sounding excited.
"It's going to be lovely. Thank you so much for this."
Barricade feels uncomfortably awkward to get something so expensive gifted to him, and that awkwardness makes it feel like he doesn't seem appropriately excited and thankful, and that adds to his discomfort, makes him nervous about seeming ungrateful.
"Don' mention it! I've earned really well this week, n' I feel like indulging myself too. I rarely do things like this by myself, jus' don' get around ta it, but doin' it tagether like this will be fun."
The door to their washrack closes behind them, and they both put their towels on the bench outside the shower stall, and Jazz starts the water to set the temperature. The washracks aren't as luxurious as what the brothers had, but they're clean and modern. After a week with just wiping himself clean, Barricade would be fine with a shed and a hose, and this shower looks divine. He quickly joins Jazz, enthusiasm for the shower pushing away his earlier discomfort.
He's having a shower again. With Jazz.
Chapter Text
The solvent smells really good, and it turns into this thick foam that feels downright luxurious. It leaves his struts and plating feeling almost waxed, and if Barricade had a little more credits, he would definitely buy a bottle.
But alas, he's too poor, and at the moment, he doesn't even have access to washracks to use the fancy solvent in anyway.
It's easy to push those thoughts to the side when the grime is dissolved, and sluice down the drain. Especially since his digits are mapping out Jazz's frame as he helps the Solstice to wash up, and Jazz's slim digits dip into the seams in Barricade's plating. Barricade's frame is heating up with the ministrations. Jazz leans in for a kiss, pressing his chest-plates against Barricade's
"Ya know, we haven't done this for quite some time. I've missed it." Jazz purrs against his lip-plates, servo slipping down to Barricade's interface panel.
The panel snaps open of it's own accord, and his spike asks for permission to pressurize — a reminder of his time in Hide's house, when he was given protocols for his spike to ask permission before responding to physical stimuli.
"I... What, here?!" He stumbles over the words, almost feeling shy for some reason.
They're not exactly in public, but it still feels wrong to do it here. Surely there must be rules against that kind of interaction?
"Why not? We have time..." Jazz mumbles against his neck-cables between trailing little nips and kisses down his cables and wires.
"What if... I mean, I know that nobody can just barge in here, but..." He breaks off, hissing when Jazz circles his spike cover in a way that's glorious, before dipping to his valve.
"We've done it in more public places before..." Jazz snorts at Barricade's sudden onset of shyness.
"Yeah but... This feels... Forbidden?"
"All tha more fun." Jazz says, smirking.
Jazz expertly works his array, slipping his digits inside, and Barricade's valve goes slick and hot, but there's some lingering nervousness about being caught for some reason. He still reciprocates the touches, groping Jazz's plating, and his hips buck into Jazz's servo of their own accord.
"Oh, babe! I've missed this!" Jazz groans, grinding against Barricade's hip, his spike pressurized now. "I really wanna fuck ya against tha wall."
It still feels off, but he is getting charged, and he knows that nobody can catch them in here.
The receptionist even suggested that they used the same washracks, and the mech had to know where that would lead, right? And it feels wrong to say no to Jazz after he got him crisps, and paid for this detailing.
"How do you want me?" He purrs as seductively as he can.
It comes quite easily, even though it's half an act this time, as he's still too nervous and out of his element to really get into it.
You learned a thing or two in your time at Hide's.
"Chest-plates against tha wall? I wanna fuck ya from behind, so I can play with your wings while I do ya."
"I like the sound of some wing-petting."
It's not a lie: he really likes when his wings get some attention, and Jazz is really good with his servos. Even if he feels uneasy about the whole fucking-thing.
Barricade turns around, pressing his chest-plates against the tiles, sticking his aft out and wiggling it as enticingly as he can. He hears the way Jazz's engine revs.
"Oh, babe, ya're so hot..." Jazz groans, grabbing Barricade's hips.
The slick head of Jazz's spike slips through his folds, and then it's pushed inside. It teases the sensitive nodes in a very familiar way, and in spite of everything, it feels pretty good. One of Jazz's servos slip up his back-struts to tease the brackets at the base of his wing, and Barricade arches into the touch, gasping with pleasure.
Chapter Text
It's nice.
One of Jazz's servos curls around his hip for leverage, but the other is tweaking the wiring at the base of his shoulder-wing, and it's driving his charge up. Jazz's spike in his valve certainly doesn't make things worse; it hits all the sensitive spots in that familiar way he's really enjoying.
"Oh, babe, I'm so close!" Jazz moans. "Ya need somethin' more?"
He's charged, but not there yet, but he doesn't want to be demanding.
"I want to touch my anterior node..." He pants, frame hot enough to run his fans at high speed, and his venting to be labored.
"Of course! Or ya want me ta do it for ya?"
"I... I can do it myself." He grunts, reaching between his legs.
" If ya say so..." Jazz trails off, tweaking that coupling in Barricade's wing joint that is extra sensitive before moving in to a wire that's kinked from work, and then recharging in alt mode.
"Oh, keep doing that..." Barricade groans, even if it is the odd spot of the area that doesn't send a heat to his array.
It's more like a massage, and it's glorious in a way that's slightly painful.
Jazz obeys, and Barricade almost stops circling his node with his digit, wanting more of the massage.
Soon. He'll get a waxing soon, and it will be like a massage.
Jazz's fans are speeding up, and his thrusting is increasing in pace, so he's probably getting really close, and Barricade focuses back on his node to get his overload. He manages to tweak it, wringing a small overload out of himself, behind him Jazz grunts, pushing in deep.
Jazz rests his helm against Barricade's back for long seconds, wrapping his arms around Barricade's waist while his spike slowly depressurizes, slipping out of Barricade's valve.
"I've missed this." He mumbles against Barricade's back. "Well, not just this! I've missed you."
"I've missed you too."
It's not a lie, and even if this wasn't the best interface he's ever had, it's what he can get right now, since he doesn't even have a motel room they can go to.
Jazz let's go of him, and Barricade turns around to face him.
"I guess we better clean up." He says, reaching for his array.
"Wan' me ta help ya?" Jazz leers.
"You'll just start over again, and then we'll be late for the waxing." Barricade smirks, cocking an optical ridge.
Jazz pouts, and he's so cute when he does that, Barricade's spark skips a revolution.
"It is true, though..." Jazz says, handing Barricade the solvent.
They clean up in silence, but it doesn't feel oppressive, and Barricade's awkwardness about the situation has disappeared.
Facing really does help relieving tension, and he's going to enjoy this generous gift.
Yeah, anything else would be silly.
Chapter Text
It would be very easy to doze off.
Yes, and very rude, so don't.
Not going to. I just ascertained it.
The mech who's stroking the wax into his plating is very good — he's a pro, after all, so that's not really a surprise — applying it with the perfect amount of force to not tickle, but not to jostle the brackets that are sore from his work. Having his arms waxed is glorious, because it really helps his kinked cables and wires loosen their tension and smooth into place.
::Ya look like ya're in tha eight level of tha well, havin' a feast with Primus himself.:: Jazz comms him, amusement in his voice.
::This is glorious! Didn't know I needed it this bad... Thank you so much for coming up with this idea.::
::Ya looked like ya needed it; all tense, n' stiff. N' I really should do this more often too. I always promise myself ta do when I'm here, but then I wind up for gettin' it.::
Jazz can afford to go at least once a month, probably more if he wants to.
Yeah, the job may be bad, but the pay and the benefits are not...
He's not going back there. Not with Blackout still wanting a piece of him — a piece he doesn't want to give — and the looming prospect of picking up random Johns in the streets if he makes the cut and get permanently employed.
You'd be with Jazz much more, though...
Which really is the most alluring thing about going back to Ironhide. He really wants to live with Jazz, but he's going to try to make that happen in a different way first.
::What'cha thinkin' 'bout?::
::How I want to spend more time with you. This is lovely, but I miss cuddling up, watching a movie and things like that too. I really need to find an apartment.::
::Housin' market tough?::
::Yeah, and the segment I'm looking at is pretty limited, and everyone who works a lower wage job is competing for those apartments. I've always been to late calling so far.::
::Ya'll get one soon. I'm sure you will.::
::I really hope so.::
It's nice that Jazz is so supportive, even though he really tried to talk him into staying with Hide before.
He really is a keeper, that one. You better come up with a way to make this work, and keep his interest.
He's painfully aware of that. Jazz really is a gem. If the brothers did conjuxes, Jazz would already be taken, and if it wasn't for his job, he would probably not still have been single.
You're pretty lucky, aren't you? Even if you make dumbass decisions now and then.
"..."
Chapter Text
Barricade is sitting on a bench in the park, loath to go back to his cubicle yet.
Three weeks, and still not a real place to live.
Jazz drove home an hour ago, to get ready for work. Sunday is party night, so he was very happy to declare that he was on in-house duty today.
Wonder who he'll be fucking?
Maybe more than one brother? It's very lucrative, after all.
Unlike washing dishes. Every weekend, he's forced to eat into his meager savings to pay for the cubicle, and to get some fuel. Jazz paid for a motel room last week, to get them a place where they could fuck, and cuddle, and since he rented it for twenty-four hours, Barricade finally got to recharge in a berth. It was very much needed, recharging in alt mode is taking it's toll on his joints.
He flexes his servos repeatedly when he gets a creeping sensation in one of the cylinders, spark going cold with dread.
Is he already starting to break down?
The creeping stops, and he blows out a vent he didn't know he was holding.
Not yet.
But it feels like a warning that he not only needs to find a better place to stay for his frame to have a chance at proper rest and recovery, but in the long run, he also needs to find a different job.
Barricade idly picks at the bench, because he has nothing else to do, and even if it's getting cold, he doesn't want to go back to his tiny cubicle, and cram himself into his alt mode to wait for recharge to claim him.
Everything is so different from what he imagined when he decided to take the job and going at it alone.
Instead of the freedom of being self reliant, he literally has nothing. No, things of his own, nothing to entertain him in the waking hours between recharge and work. His only options are sitting there in his cubicle, or hanging out somewhere outside, or someplace that's free. And sitting around in the tiny mall got old fairly quickly, especially since there's a few energon houses there, and the alluring smell is just mocking him for not being able to afford anything on the menu.
No, there's not much freedom in the life he's living at the moment, but there's one point he never even considered when he moved out of Hide's house.
He's so fucking lonely.
Chapter Text
"I want to come back."
The words taste bitter on his glossa, but he has thought about this a lot, gone over the pros and cons again and again, and — for now — this is his best options.
The creeps in his arms, have come back at a couple of occasions, and Barricade knows that it's just a matter of time before something gives, and he'll need repairs he can't afford. His parole officer wasn't impressed that he didn't have a real address anymore, and his lack of insurance — though not required — was yet another thing that didn't speak in his favor. Apparently, that increases the risk of becoming a repeat offender.
Not that he could repeat the offenses he was convicted of. Not even the possession of drugs, because he can't afford it.
He has almost emptied his savings account just paying for the cubicle, and for the occasional med grade fuel, and some lubricants for his joints and bushings, and he's at risk of actually having to be homeless each weekend to make it.
Or evade his taxes, but that's probably the quickest way to get back into jail.
It's not a defeat, Barricade refuses to see it that way. He's not going to stay forever, but he might as well live comfortably, and save up while looking for a better job, with a better employer.
Ironhide steeples his digits, looking Barricade over, face unreadable. And Barricade's spark speeds up.
What if he's spot has been taken by someone else? Or if Hide has changed his mind, and doesn't want him back?
"So, it didn't work out for you?"
At least Ironhide isn't smirking, or saying something along the I told you so lines.
He'd be entitled to do it. Even Roadbuster warned you about the type of employer you wound up with.
The Brothers are not much better, they exploit mechs too.
And just like all the others here, you're allowed to leave this exploitation at any second, yet here you are again...
"No. I'm not made for that kind of job, so I'd break components again, and the wage was impossible to live on."
Ironhide nods thoughtfully.
"I said that you're welcome back, and I meant it. This is the last time, though. You've left and come back two times now, and you will continue your trial, and possibly be voted in to stay when that is over, then you get to stay as long as you like. But if you leave again, it is for good. I'm all about second chances, but I don't do yo-yo employees. Loyalty is something I take seriously, and you need to make up your mind. You don't need to decide the rest of your future today, but know that if you leave again, that's it."
It's not unreasonable — they are a criminal gang, after all — and mechs coming and going could be a potential problem. Someone not committed enough may be the perfect opportunity for law enforcement to find themselves a snitch.
"I understand. Is the paperwork you set me up with still valid?"
"Everything that was in our original deal still stands. I think your weed prescription has expired, but I'll get it renewed for you." Ironhide finally cracks a grin, and Barricade is relieved, because he seemed too serious throughout the conversation, even if it's a mercy that he didn't gloat. "Quite a few mechs are going to be thrilled about this. Welcome back."
Maybe not what he wanted to think about, but it is inevitable — it's why he's here — and he'll just get through it, and watch the flow into his savings account, instead of the dwindling number.
"Thank you. It's good to be back."
With a roof over his helm, and berths to recharge in, and oil baths, high grade and...
"May I suggest a trip to the washracks before you go to see Jazz?
Barricade flushes, because he knows what he looks like.
Chapter Text
A shower, and some fuel, makes him feel like a new mech, and then he heads for Jazz's room. It's been a while since he did this routine, but it still feels very familiar in a rather comforting way.
The door slides open even before he knocks, and he steps inside to find both Jazz and Dreadbot stretched out on the berth.
"Hey babe!" Jazz says cheerily.
"Hi. Both of you." Barricade answers, walking over to them, leaning in to kiss Jazz, before he puts the cubes of energon on the floor.
"Well, you two are just denta rottingly adorable. Welcome back, Barricade." Dreadbot says, scooting to the side to make room for Barricade to join them.
"Thank you." Barricade stretches out next to Jazz, wrapping an arm around his waist. "I guess I could have commed you and told you I'm back. I just wanted a shower first." He says sheepishly.
"Oh, Nitro has already tattled. He's excellent at finding out what's going on at any given moment, but he's also the worst gossip ever. Completely scrap at keeping his vocalizer shut. I swear, sometimes I think keeping a secret would cause him to rupture something." Dreadbot tells him, sounding fondly exasperated.
Jazz snorts. "Yeah, he commed us all, n' told us tha second he found out."
It's kind of ridiculous, really. Shouldn't Warframes be good at keeping secrets? Holding out against interrogation to not spill the intel. But then again, maybe they weren't trusted with any important knowledge? At least it means that he doesn't need to go through the humiliation of every mech in the house asking about, or commenting his return.
"So... The outside world wasn't as fun as it seemed?" Dreadbot prods.
Barricade can't help but wonder how much Jazz has told the others about everything. Even if he has decided to not see his own return as a defeat, and even if Ironhide didn't seem to think that either, there's always the risk that the pleasurebots think he was stupid to not listen to them and stay in the first place.
Maybe Dreadbot being here is something he can use to his advantage? Let the gossip mill do a little work for him...
"No. I really thought it would be easier to find an apartment, and when I didn't, the situation just wasn't working."
"I see."
"And once you get used to comfortable berths, and having people around, it's hard to get used to not having that."
Dreadbot nods slowly. "By the time my debts were paid, I had really settled in here. And I'm not interested in going back to barely scraping by, and shitty jobs. Not when I can pay for this by getting Nitro to eat me regularly."
Barricade snorts his mouthful of energon through his olfactory vent, which makes both Jazz and Dreadbot grin at him.
"It's fun that we still can shock ya so easily." Jazz grins.
Chapter Text
"So, Barricade, are you ready for your comeback?" Dreadbot asks him.
"I guess..."
"Oh, don't sound so hesitant. A few drinks, a good cyg, kick back, relax, and have some fun. After your time away, it'll be like a weekend after a long week of working. The difference between going to a club and partying here isn't really that big. I mean, if you go home with a mech you pick up on a club, you may wind up with someone really awful anyway, and here, you don't have to worry about getting a cab, or date rape."
"I'll remember that."
Not that he was much for clubbing, and one night stands, but there are some valid points in Dreadbot's statement.
"N' Sunny always talk ta ya before, he never sneaks ya drugs without your knowledge." Jazz supplies.
"That's... good to know."
"Come on, mechs. Let's go get some drinks. Get an early start." Dreadbot says cheekily, climbing off the berth.
Jazz and Barricade follows suit, and they walk down the hallway to the rec room, Dreadbot making a beeline for the bar. He's intercepted by Nitro.
"Allow me to escort you to the bar, and join me for a drink, my pretty?" The mech says with a bad take at an old Vosian accent, holding his lower arm out.
"Why, thank you, Sir." Dreadbot giggles primly, covering his intake with his servo, an innocent look on his face. He puts his servo on Nitro's arm, allowing Nitro to lead him to the bar. "And here I thought chivalry was dead."
Jazz shakes his helm, an amused smile on his face. "I jus' can't understand why he didn' get a breakthrough. I mean, it's obvious he's been an actor. Took me some time ta fit in, but I watched him — n' Cross, n' Drift too — ta learn how ta navigate this. It's so different from what I did before. I don' mean my time with tha Cons, but I definitely had ta act more here before it came more natural."
That's kind of surprising for a seasoned prostitute.
"I guess it's easier to just offer a blow job, and get on your knees, than..." he motions to Dreadbot and Nitro, where they're now having drinks, but Dreadbot is still giggling coyly at what Nitro says, like a maiden of times long gone, "...that."
"Yeah. Ya get used ta it, though. Jus' try ta be as natural as ya can, think 'bout it as picking up a mech in a bar or something, n' what doesn' come natural, jus' see it as roleplay."
"You make it sound easy when you say it like that."
"Well, it isn' rocket science..."
"I guess not."
"Jus' know that ya're not tha only one who finds it hard in tha beginning." Jazz pats his aft. "Ya can do it."
"I think I'm mostly apprehensive about the things I don't really want to do. I mean, some mechs have ideas I'd rather not be part of."
Jazz shrugs. "Then that's work, n' tha things ya can dig is paid leisure."
It sound so easy, and he's going to try to get into that mindset, but it's not as easy as Jazz makes it sound.
"So should we follow the example of those two, and get an early start with the drinks?"
"Now ya're startin' ta get tha hang of this!" Jazz grins, then he drags Barricade along to the bar.
Jazz mixes them each two shots, while Barricade takes a seat, glancing at Nitro and Dreadbot. Their little roleplay seems to be over, but Dreadbot is still giggling at something Nitro said.
He's so fucking lucky to be Nitro's favorite.
Maybe luck has nothing to do with it? Maybe he just knows how to turn the big mechs crank, and is very good at what he does?
Nitro catches his optics, and Barricade gets nervous that he was inadvertently staring too intensely, so he occupies himself with downing one of his shots.
"This certainly beats being solitary, don't you think?" Nitro rumbles.
Chapter Text
Barricade works his intake, uncertain what to say.
Does Nitro recognize him after all? His history is known among the pleasurebots, but does Nitro remember him? Will it have an impact on things around here?
They probably won't think less of you for hiding away and cowering in solitary. They already think so little of you, it can't be much worse.
Shut up.
"I guess..."
"Yeah, I mean living all alone sounds boring. Drinking alone..." Nitro quirks his optical ridge, raising his glass in a semi-toast, "no easy access to good dick." The following grab of his own interface plate shouldn't be surprising, but at least Barricade manages to keep from making a face.
"Oh, behave, you crude mech-whore, the world doesn't revolve around you, or your spike." Dreadbot chides him, slapping his arm lightly, but he's grinning.
"I'm just saying... I've never lived alone, though, so I don't know. We were always crammed into the barracks, and I can't say I mind having mechs around." Nitro shrugs, taking a deep swig from his drink.
Barricade relaxes.
It was just a general question, and a bit of Nitro's trademark crudeness.
"But I guess you're used to being alone from your time in prison."
"I-I..." Barricade stutters. "You recognize me after all?"
Nitro Zeus does that smug smirk of his that Barricade has learned to recognize.
"Reconnaissance is my forte, and generally, it's smart to mind your surroundings. I remember being booked at the same time as a cop, and that's something to file away for further reference, and more careful research. And even when you were painted orange, a Praxian with your optic set up is distinctive enough to recognize."
"And yet you invited me to your cell."
"I was horny," Nitro leers unrepentantly, "and your frame was one of the nicest ones in there. I figured you'd be tired of being in solitary after so long, but in need of protection to dare get back into gen pop, so my money was that you'd be more likely than anyone else to make a deal."
"Looked like you were good enough with your own servo to keep busy."
Nitro barks a laugh. "Oh, I'm experienced, and quite adept at it. Doesn't mean that pussy isn't better."
"I wasn't sure that you weren't just tricking me. Saying you'd keep me safe, just to offline me at the first chance."
But that's not the real reason, is it? You were just too prude to do it...
Maybe that too, but a mech really doesn't need to be a prude to not want to be gang raped and murdered in prison.
You wouldn't have done it anyway, even if you knew it was safe. Yet here you are now...
"A valid concern, I suppose."
"So what were you in for? If you don't mind me asking."
Nitro shakes his helm, a chuckle leaving his vocalizer, as if he thinks it's both unbelievable, and amusing.
"FUI, resisting arrest, assaulting an Enforcer."
Chapter Text
"I was so fucking drunk. I don't even know why I decided to take a flight. But I did, and somehow I kind of fell out of the sky? I don't know," Nitro says, shrugging, "suddenly, I was chewing pavement, anyway, and these cops were approaching me. I didn't listen to what they were saying, my processes were focused on trying to get my leg to fully transform back to root mode so I could climb out of the hole in the ground. Then they started yelling, and when they drew their guns, my defensive protocols kicked into gear..."
It's a damned nightmare scenario for anyone who has ever patrolled the streets, even if he never worked the really rough neighborhoods. He can totally understand why the Enforcers would be on edge with a mech like Nitro — clearly on something — not even listening to what they're saying.
"Before I knew it, armed mechs were everywhere — of course they called in the SWAT team — but I had faced worse odds and survived, so there was just no way I'd lay down and die."
"So you took them on..." Barricade says weakly, because the convictions speak for themselves, and even if the Enforcers just wanted to arrest him, Nitro was clearly in Warframe survival mode and didn't see it that way.
"Of course I did! They were tiny, with inferior coding. Almost took them down too!" Nitro says proudly. "Punched one into reboot, tore the leg off one of them, smacked one of the others in the helm with the torn off leg to dislocate his audial, severed the shoulder-wing on the fourth one, and ripped the chest-plates off one of them before some coward found the emp gun."
"Assaulting an officer?"
"Technically, it was six counts of that charge."
"Six?"
"Managed to bite one of the ones who dragged me into the transport after the sucker-stun too." Nitro says, sounding very satisfied about that.
"Of course. How are you already out of prison again?"
"My lawyer claimed temporary insanity. I'm a war veteran, you know. Of course they triggered my defensive protocols by being so heavy handed. I mean, what was I supposed to do? PTSD is a bitch."
It's impossible to say if Nitro is honest about his PTSD, and his temporary insanity, or if he's mocking the justice system. He doesn't know the Flier well enough to tell the difference. It's a plausible argument, though, because from what he has heard so far, being in the military isn't a picnic, and behind his crudely humorous facade, Nitro may very well be more than a little damaged.
"Good thing I was so wasted, or there probably would've been at least ten wrecks, and mechslaughter charges at minimum."
He isn't really apologetic about it, though.
"Yeah, the high grade really saved the day..."
"Don't look so worried. I'm not gonna smack you around, as long as you don't try to arrest me for real, Officer." Nitro leers.
"Good to know."
Chapter Text
"I missed you while you were in prison." Dreadbot says, leaning his helm against Nitro's massive shoulder, and this time, it doesn't seem like an act.
"Of course you did! You really are a sucker for my spike." Nitro rumbles smugly.
Barricade is fairly certain that Nitro's dick isn't what makes or breaks the case, even if it's a nice dick, and he knows how to use it.
He startles when a massive arm reaches around him to grab a bottle from the bar. Barricade whips around, the stool he's sitting on the kind that spins, but he does it so fast, he almost falls of it. His spark speeds up when the mech who is crowding him — and saved him from a very ungraceful fall by grabbing his crash bar and holding him in place — turns out to be Blackout.
"I think we were talking about how it's smart to mind your surroundings?" Nitro grins at him.
"I-I...ugh, yeah."
"How eloquent." Blackout says quirking an optical ridge. "So Nitro... did you put your greedy servos on all these little glitches for the night?"
"No, I'm good with just this one." Nitro answers, grabbing Dreadbot around the neck, giving him a little shake.
"Then you're free to claim." Blackout's grins at Barricade, looking much like a hungry cyberwolf.
"I suppose..." Barricade squeaks.
No,no,no! But Hide said he can turn a brother down, maybe he should use the get out of berth free card now?
You need votes. Remember how not-fun it was when you moved out? You don't want to be voted out and not be allowed back.
It's just one mech, he probably has at least three votes so far, possibly four.
Stop whining. You were fine with Sideswipe, even with his request. Like Jazz said; it's just business.
"I know I look good, but it's rare that they get completely speechless." Blackout says to Nitro.
"Maybe it's the other way around? They're wondering if you landed badly on an ugly-chrystal."
"Fuck you."
"In your dreams."
"More like nightmares."
"Oh, you hurt my feelings!" Nitro says, sounding like he's about to burst out crying.
Then they both bark a laugh, and Barricade is reminded of how they don't really have the emotional protocols of sparked mechs.
Like empathy.
"Come on. Let's take the couch." Blackout makes the decision for Barricade, a big servo splayed on the Saleen's upper back ushering him down from the barstool, and it's such a reminder of how small and helpless he is.
Chapter Text
Blackout is so ridiculously huge, he actually has hunch a bit to keep his servo on Barricade's back when he walks him to the couch. Blackout takes a seat, and Barricade sits down next to him, intending to tuck himself into the Helo's side in that way the brothers seem to enjoy the others doing, then he immediately regrets it, because their size difference is quite noticable sitting down too, and he feels ridiculous when his helm hardly reaches the lower edge of Blackout's chest-plates.
"Where did you go?" Blackout grins, pretending to search for Barricade between the cushions.
"Ha ha. Really funny." Barricade grumbles, then he squeaks when he's hoisted into Blackout's lap.
"Hilarious." Blackout says dryly, taking a cyg from his subspace, lighting it, and taking a deep drag. "You came back, after all. Felt like you were missing out?" The last bit is a leer, and he rolls his hips for emphasis.
"Something like that."
Blackout holds the cyg out, and Barricade takes a drag, thankful for whatever intoxication he can get before things get real.
"So, an ex-cop — a crooked one, taking bribes, and payments from others' frames — winds up a whore. How ironic."
"I've heard that most mechs in this house are rather positive to corrupt Enforcers. I did it to help others."
"Oh, they're often very useful. You, I wouldn't have had any use for," Blackout rumbles, pressing the tip of his digit to Barricade's chin to lift his helm, "since you didn't deal in a compatible currency, did you?"
"I guess not..."
"I bet you liked it, didn't you?" Blackout murmurs. "You can tell yourself that you were helping others all you want, but the truth is quite different, isn't it?"
"I... Yes. I did enjoy it."
"It's quite arousing, isn't it? To hold all the cards, to be have the power to make others do what you ask for, even though they may not want it."
"I never understood that they really didn't want it." Barricade says weakly. "They were pros, and never showed their reluctance."
"But still... You did enjoy telling them to get on their knees, or bend over for you — the heady rush of being in control."
"I-I did."
"Is your spike requesting permission to pressurize when we talk about it?" Blackout takes another drag on the cyg, grinning knowingly.
"Y-yes."
"Keep it behind your panel. I do hear that you really understand me — my wants and needs — that we have common interests. But you're not a crooked cop anymore, so you won't be the one telling anyone what to do tonight. No, you're a whore now, and you know what I like. And since you're not yet a pro, I think you'll give me exactly what I want."
Barricade squirms under the intense stare, the anticipation in Blackout's field, and the hungry grin stretching the Helo's intake.
"For starters, I want a show. Bend over the table, and finger yourself."
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He could still say no.
But then Blackout will probably be annoyed with you. He really doesn't seem like a patient mech, and you've already backed out once before.
He had no obligations to others than Hide then.
No, but you still could've gone along with it. Shown a bit of good will for being allowed to stay here. If you push this on the future yet again, you're giving him time to come up with worse things to ask you for. This mech is not the type you want to come back frustrated.
"I'm still waiting." Blackout's almost bored voice can't conceal how his field is dripping with arousal, and how Barricade's hesitation does nothing to quell it.
On the contrary. It's turning him on.
"I-I was just..."
"Oh, I know you're just stalling because you're not into this, you little prude. Or rather, not really a prude, it's just that you would prefer to be me right now. But since that's not the case, you should just bend over, and pop your panels."
Barricade flushes, and he can't control his field enough to keep the indignation out of it. Blackout just smirks, clearly noticing.
"Do you need some help? I could always get one of the other hookers over here..."
Fucking pit, no! Who knows what kind of show Blackout would demand then...
"No-no, I'm fine! I was just trying to decide what to do." Barricade says, voice strained, but at least he manages to plaster on a smile as he gets up from the couch.
Blackout snorts. "It's not rocket science; bend over the table, pop your panels, finger yourself."
As if Blackout would find it easy to do if the bastard Helo was in his position...
"Could I be in all fours on the table instead? The height is a bit awkward..."
Ugh, what a question.
But the table is made to be practical for larger mechs — made for the Warframes — to put their beverages on, so bending over it will be awkward and uncomfortable.
"Fine by me."
Barricade crawls onto the table, turning his aft to Blackout, and opening his panels.
At least he doesn't need to see the bastard, and if he makes it a good enough show, maybe Blackout will shut up and let him forget that he's there?
Knees spread wide, resting on one elbow, he reaches between his legs, pushing two digits through his dry folds.
He really should start lubing up before he goes to work. He did for a while with Hide, then he stopped again, because he was getting comfortable, and didn't need it.
Easy days...
He circles his node a couple of times, then he pushes his digits inside, pumping them to hit that spot that gets his juices going.
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"You know what, turn over on your back instead. I want to see your face."
Barricade can't decide which will be worse, but it's not like there's a point in refusing now, so he does as he's told, flushing when he realizes that Breakdown is standing behind the couch, watching him with a slightly bored expression. He stretches out flat on his back, legs spread wide, continuing to finger himself.
"I said I wanted to see your face, that's hardly possible when you're laying like that."
He lifts his torso, leaning on one of his elbows, flushing again when Blackout holds optic contact with him.
"Make yourself overload." The Helo says, smirking at him.
At least he's charged up, because he's getting fairly good at hitting the right spots, but he's not really close yet, too tense knowing that he has optics following his every move.
Maybe there's a mod for that? Some protocols that could make him overload by just starting them? He doesn't dare attempt to fake it.
Maybe you could practice with one of the pleasurebots? A bit of acting school.
That's actually not a bad idea.
"Forget it, I have a better idea." Blackout says, leaning forward, and pushing Barricade's servo out of the way.
Thick digits slip inside his valve, curling to hit that sweet spot, and for some reason, it's more effective when Blackout does it than when he's fingering himself. It's surprising that the Helicopter is so good at it, Barricade didn't think he had bothered to learn how to please a partner, but that doesn't really make it any less humiliating.
Blackout circles his node, finding a spot that makes it feel good, or maybe too much — Barricade can't really decide which, but it feels weird — and he's getting charged quickly, squirming on the table. A desperate whimper leaves his vocalizer when he's teetering on the edge, and then the tightening coil low in his belly is finally released.
He feels the stream of liquid rushing over Blackout's servo, and in the middle of the powerful overload, he's mortified.
"You're so fucking good at making them do that." Breakdown snickers.
"Practice makes perfect." Blackout says, sitting back, his smug field rubbing against Barricade's.
Barricade sits up, looking down at himself, and the table, the puddle he's sitting in.
He fucking squirted!
"Clean that up, then you can start with licking my servo clean, you filthy slut, while I decide what I want now that I've given you some pleasure."
Ugh.
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Barricade grabs a rag from behind the bar, and wipes the table clean. He'd really like to wipe his legs clean, but it feels to intimate somehow.
It's ridiculous after what he just did, but trying to clean himself feels like such a private act, he can't really bring himself to do it. He throws the rag into the hamper, and then he goes back to Blackout.
"Do you want anything else before we continue?" He asks, wringing his servos.
He could fetch drinks all evening, that sounds like a good job...
"No, I'm good. Get over here."
Barricade approaches the Helo, tense about what the bastard has come up with now.
"You can kneel between my pedes. Like I said: I want you to lick my servo clean. You did make an awful mess, after all..."
Barricade flushes again, and Blackout grins, clearly noticing, and finding amusement in it.
Fucking bastard.
He wasn't wrong, though; you really enjoyed it when you were the one holding all the power.
He never took it this far!
You didn't really have an opportunity when just going at it in an alley, you misguided fool. Don't forget that you used to tell Jazz what you wanted when you started to get a room for the two of us.
I didn't mean it like that.
You did. Maybe not to the same extent, but you did.
"I'm not getting any cleaner, you know..." Blackout says, wiggling his digits, but he doesn't sound impatient.
No, he clearly enjoys how Barricade wars with himself. The Saleen forces himself to start moving, taking the last few steps, and then slowly sinking to his knees in front of Blackout. It still showcases the difference in size, but for some reason, it doesn't feel intimidating.
Blackout holds out his servo, and Barricade grabs his wrist-strut — thick, powerful components, made to stand up to the strain of war — just to do something with his servos, then he slowly sucks at one digit, working his glossa into the joints. Barricade can feel the ridges of healed or repaired damage to cables and plates, and rough patches where heat, or acid, has burnt the plating, and the wounds have been left to heal by themselves. He has noticed it on some of the others too; Roadbuster and Sideswipe have scars, but nowhere near to the extent Ironhide, and Nitro Zeus have them.
Blackout seems to fall into the second category.
Lapping at the servo, Barricade glances at the sturdy thigh next to him, taking a closer look, and even if it seems like some components have been replaced; shiny, and smooth, and without visible scarring, close scrutiny reveals signs of old damage to many parts.
"Mh, you really have a talent there, using your glossa. I have a better idea for how you can use it."
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"You know, ever since I was thrown into the joint, I've wanted to have an Enforcer warm my cock for me, and I'm certainly not in a rush to finish tonight, so this seems like a good opportunity to make that dream come true don't you think?"
Not really...
Hey, you've done this before! With Roadbuster. You were asleep, though, but you can do this! I don't think Blackout's asking for your ass, though...
He's not going to ask which hole the bastard wants, that would be like an invitation.
"You want me to suck your spike?"
Blackout chuckles. "Is it that hard to believe? Besides, you don't need to do much sucking initially. Just keep it warm and wet."
"Of course I can!" Barricade says, trying to sound cheery about it.
Not that the bastard cares about his enthusiasm, but it could actually take away some of the fun in this, if it's his reluctance Blackout really gets off on.
"Any time now. You may need to get it hard for me. I'm not that aroused yet."
Barricade's optics flick up from the huge interface plate to meet Blackout's optics, briefly losing control of his expression. He knows that the Helo catches the little face he makes, because Blackout's smirk widens. He gestures towards his still closed panel, tilting his helm in a wordless question.
You're not backing out now. Make sure to get the mech's credits. The more, the better.
Keeping optic contact when he leans in to lick at Blackout's plate is the only act defiance he can entertain, but Blackout's engine whines with arousal when he does so, so it falls flat.
Barricade licks Blackout's panel, working his digits into the seams of the plating on the Helo's thighs to hopefully speed things up. It still takes what seems like hours before the panel slides away, and he can start working on the spike cover.
A big servo on the back of his helm is all the warning he gets, then Blackout's massive spike pushes between his lip-plates as it pressurizes straight into his intake. Barricade makes a noise of surprise, and then he squirms when the massive component hits the back of his intake.
"I didn't expect it all to fit, but this is kind of a disappointment." Blackout says.
"Would you rather have a convoy class do this?" Breakdown asks, reminding Barricade that he's still watching. "One of those could probably fit more in there. Just never figured you'd be into fucking someone like Motormaster..." He snickers.
"Hey, I'm not picky... But you're right; the little ones are hotter. I guess having a big spike is kind of a first world problem."
"Totally."
Barricade feels himself flushing, but the probably can't see it. Not with him bent over Blackout's lap, spike firmly in his mouth, easily held in place.
"I have an idea. Breakie, pull the table closer, would you?"
Chapter Text
Barricade is easily hauled up and dumped on the couch next to Blackout, and the Helo puts his pedes on the table when Breakdown pushes it closer. Blackout grabs a cushion, putting it on the couch between his spread legs, tilting his helm as if considering whatever he's planning with this.
"Yeah, that'll probably work. stretch out on your back. Make yourself comfortable." He smirks at Barricade.
The Saleen slowly crawls into his lap, and then he stretches out as he was told. Blackout bends his knees to give Barricade room to wriggle into place, and then he straightens his legs again, effectively pinning Barricade's shoulder-wings with his thighs. Barricade's helm hangs over the edge of the cushion, and his spark sinks, because he sees where this is going. Then his crash bar is grabbed and he's pulled closer, the slick head of Blackout's spike rubbing against his lip-plates.
"Open up, little cop, my spike needs some warming."
It's less humiliating to do as he's told than to get his entire face get smeared with Blackout's pre-transfluid, so he opens up a little, just a gesture to go ahead, because he can't really move much of his own accord.
He really doesn't need to do much himself: Blackout gives his crash bar another tug, and the spike is rammed in deep. Barricade's olfactory ridge presses against Blackout's closed valve-panel, and the discomfort in his throat tubing makes him wiggle his digits, because there's not much more he can do.
"Ah, that's better." Blackout grunts.
"He's good at that." Someone says, and that someone has to be Springer, since he's the only one who has tested Barricade in that way before.
"Yeah, he's descent."
"His other holes look awfully empty though, the poor little dear..."
Not that he has seriously considered a threesome up until now, but if he has to try it, at least he had hoped to preserve a modicum of dignity, and get to do it behind closed doors, without the risk of an audience, or it turning into an orgy.
The tips would be awesome with an orgy, though.
Not. The. Point.
"Stuff him with this for me, would you?"
Blackout shifts, as if stretching a bit, probably handing Springer something, and Barricade goes stiff.
"Relax, little slut. It's for your enjoyment."
Barricade doesn't even want to guess what he's going to be filled with, and even if it really does provide him with pleasure, it will also add to his humiliation to be on display like this. Blackout groans, so his reluctance and mortification probably leaked into his field.
Fucking gross bastard.
Then the blunt tip of something presses against his valve, and something else presses against his port. Barricade doesn't even have time to initiate his modified protocols before the tip is already inside him, but at least it isn't thick enough to cause pain. Springer pushes it in until the u-shaped toy magnetize in place.
"Looks nice." Springer says approvingly.
Ugh.
Then the toy starts to vibrate, and Barricade squirms, unprepared for the sudden stimulation.
Chapter 406
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Barricade may have started out counting the seconds until this is over, but the vibrator threw his focus out the window.
It's obscenely nice.
Just the right amount of stimulation inside him to get his charge to rise slowly — not too much stimulation at any point, but just enough to constantly make him wish for more to get over the precipice. The Saleen is a squirming mess between Blackout's legs, while the Helo is just sitting there, apparently content with just having his cock shoved down Barricade's throat.
The worst humiliation isn't really any of the things he thought would be; being on display, or the whole deepthroating in public business. No, Barricade is almost thankful for having Blackout's spike down his throat, because otherwise, there's a very real risk that he would start begging for being fucked, and he really doesn't like that thought.
The vibrations stop again — they've done this a couple of times already — and Barricade squirms in frustration, even if he manages to not growl around the spike.
Wouldn't Blackout really love that, the smug bastard? Who would've thought that he is such a tease?
The vibrations start up again, and even if Barricade can't see Blackout's face, he doesn't have to; the Helo is definitely smirking at him, if his field is anything to go by. Barricade's hips bucks when his frame tries to get more stimulation, even though that hardly makes a difference for him, except the flush when he gets control over his frame again, and can't help but wonder who witnessed that. Blackout clearly enjoys that, though, arousal weaving through his field.
It would've been better if Springer had been invited. Less frustration. You should think about that the next time. And the tips.
I remember Crosshairs's memories. Springer can be a relentless tease too.
The horrors of not getting an overload quickly enough. Your life is so hard...
His crash bar is grabbed again, and he's dragged back and forth a few times when Blackout uses him as a cock sleeve, then he's pulled off the thick spike.
"You seem to need more to get to that overload. How about you get back on the table and fuck yourself with that toy?"
He's too quick to obey, his need overpowering his embarrassment, and he almost eagerly gets on all fours between Blackout's pedes, then he grabs the toy, starting to pump it in and out, too needy to even look around to see if anyone is watching.
The vibrations coupled with his fast thrusting of the toy brings him closer to overload quickly, and Barricade almost rocks back against his servo to get it in quicker and deeper.
Then suddenly his servo is grabbed, and the toy is taken from him.
"No! Hey, what are you...? Give that back!" He whines.
"Don't worry, I have something much nicer for you to sit on."
His hips are grabbed, and Barricade squeaks when he's pulled back, and Blackout hilts his big spike inside him in one go, the Saleen shuddering as a thrill of pleasure shivers up his back-struts.
"Yeah, you cops make really good, and really pretty little sluts." Blackout rumbles. "I always thought so; that you wanted a place of authority just to cover up that you really are nothing but little bitches."
Not true, but there's no point in arguing about it, because to Blackout, that would just prove his point.
Just enjoy the better parts of him. Like his nice cock. Now, that head is absolutely much better than the one on his shoulders. If nothing else, at least for not speaking.
Are we agreeing again?
Yeah... Weird.
Blackout pushes him forward, and Barricade braces his servos on the big mech's thighs, straddling the thick struts, while Blackout just continues to use him as a cock sleeve. The thick spike inside him hits all the right spots, and Barricade can't help but whine and pant with pleasure.
Notes:
I'm pretty certain that a vocalizer isn't really dependent on the ability to move the lip-plates and glossa, but I completely bypass that fact because what kind of snarky world would it be if it wasn't even possible to shut Nitro up with a ball gag? XD
Chapter Text
Barricade overloads, and he tries to squirm as his inside nodes go very sensitive, but there's not much he can do when the much larger mech is using him like this.
And Blackout probably won't care about that.
Hey, it's your lack of stamina that's creating these problems in the first place. And if he doesn't get to finish like this, you won't get any tips.
Or he'll come up with something worse than this.
The problem sorts itself out when Blackout overloads just seconds later. Barricade feels the rush of hot transfluid inside him, feels it welling out around the thick spike, running down his thighs.
Blackout pushes Barricade off his spike, and the Saleen lands sprawled on his legs. Barricade flushes when a digit traces the rim of his valve.
"You look pretty wrecked and sloppy now, little cop. Just the way you should be."
Barricade hides his face against Blackout's legs while the Helo plays with the slack rim of his valve.
"Here, take this." Someone says to Blackout, and the Helo cackles a laugh.
"Thanks, bro."
Then something pushes against Barricade's port, making the Mustang flail to move away.
"Hey, what are you.."
A big servo across the small of his back easily stops him
"Aaw, come on now. It'll look so good in you..." Blackout pouts, pushing deeper. "I want you to wear this until my spike gets hard again."
He could refuse, but as long as he stays here, Blackout could ask him again and again every night. And if he doesn't get his way, he could get increasingly nasty ideas. And there's also the voting-thing.
"Fine." Barricade grumbles, quick starting his new protocols to make it easier to take whatever it is that's being shoved into him.
It sinks in easily when the calipers in his port relax, even if the lack of lubricant tugs a little at the mesh. It slips into place and settles, the rim of his port squeezing just enough to keep it in place, and it's not uncomfortable.
"I shouldn't be surprised that you have that mod. I mean, I always suspected that you cops are nothing but little whores taking it this way and that."
Blackout knows Barricade's preferences, so he's clearly just out to humiliate the Saleen. Barricade knows this, but still he can't stop himself from being mortified. It's too much at once; laying there on display, with a toy up his ass, and Blackout finding out about the mod he did indeed get to be a whore.
"For your information, the plug inside you is made of glass, so it looks like you're gaping wide open."
It really feels like his face catches fire, and his mortification obviously seeps into his field, if Blackout's groan is anything to go by.
Chapter Text
At first it's awkward to lay there, on display, but after a little while, it actually gets a bit boring.
Sure, Blackout intermittently reminds him about his state by flicking the plug with a digit, and then there's the subsequent snickering at Barricade's embarrassed squirm, but other than that, he feels kind of... dismissed.
Springer and Motormaster are loitering around, the brothers talking about some siege they were in ages ago, allowing Bumblebee and Drift to try their best to seduce them while not really reacting much to the ministrations of the prostitutes.
Huh. He really thought that the brothers were basically walking around with constant hard-ons, and the prostitutes just needed to be there to be grabbed, and fucked, and then get paid.
Even the brothers are mechs, you know. They probably want to hang out, and have their drinks, and talk at times too. And considering how well paid this job is, it has to entail some harder work at times too. Or maybe those Bots just aren't into Drift and Bumblebee? Different strokes for different folks and all that.
"So, how did the CNA test go, Blackout?"
"As expected. I don't know why that fucking glitch made another appeal. I mean, the court ruled that I wasn't the Sire, and I knew for a fact that I never fucked his ugly ass. At least I have proof now that the sparkling isn't mine."
"Of course he'd try to get economic support. I bet he was kicked out the second he was found out to be carrying. And if he wasn't then, he'd definitely be when the kid came out already sporting gun mounts."
"True. But I mean, he changed his fucking story. First he said he snuck into base and I fucked him there, and then he changed his mind, saying we did it after I was retired when he realized that I wasn't even in the army when the sparkling was created. Geez, desperate much?" Blackout scoffs.
"You sure you never fucked him? I mean, a hook up in a bar or something."
"Absolutely certain that I would've turned him down. I'm fucking tired of the whiny civilians, with their delicacies. And even if I did, his story didn't add up. My guess is he found himself a Helo on base, and then he realized that he won't get any money from a Warframe still in the army, so he went for one who has money, hoping I'd be too dumb to call his bluff."
"Probably. You know, the way mecha underestimate our intelligence is kind of insulting, but mostly, it's actually quite convenient."
"Convenient or not, it would still be quite satisfying to pull their helms from their frames slowly."
Springer cackles a laugh. "Remember that time on skjoon'z 3? With the techno-organics with seven arms?"
Blackout starts laughing. "Yeah, that was crazy. I wonder if our owners expected that when they launched those gas bombs?"
"Probably not. It was funny as all hell, though."
The plug inside Barricade is flicked again.
"Are you still awake?"
"I am."
"Good. I'm ready to play again."
Chapter Text
"Since you have that mod, I want you tight, but your closing reflex should be slow once I'm inside."
Barricade flushes furiously again, but he opens the settings, making an attempt at getting it right. He has a better grasp on them now, but it's still a bit to figure out to get it right when trying something new, which he hasn't done lately when he was busy washing dishes.
The plug is pulled, and since he already has tightened up, it doesn't come out easily. Barricade makes a noise when Blackout pulls it out of him, and it tugs at the rim of Barricade's port, and the other mechs laugh at his reaction.
"On the table, face down, aft up." Blackout orders him, and Barricade crawls forward, his port still feeling a bit weird. "And I suppose you deserve to lube yourself up a bit."
A tube is thrown on the table by his servo, and Barricade glares at it for long seconds, even if he knows that it really will make all the difference for how uncomfortable this is going to be.
They're all going to watch him finger his own aft.
You've already had Hide watching while toys were stuffed into you, not to talk about that time when you practiced in the shower...
But it's very different to be a passive receiver, or that inadvertent show he didn't mean to give, and having several mechs watching. He still flicks the lid open, pouring a good amount on his digits, because if he refuses, and backs out now, he'll miss out on some of the credits for this, and someone will definitely come up with a way to get him to do this — or something worse — sooner or later anyway.
His digits slip inside easily in spite of the right setting of his calipers — looser than if he shuts the control program down, but it'll be tight enough, considering Blackout's size. Barricade pumps his digits a couple of times to slick himself up, but it isn't really pleasurable, so he doesn't continue for longer than absolutely necessary, and then he folds his arms to get into the requested position.
"I'm ready for you."
Blackout kneels behind him — due to their size difference, it's probably a pretty awkward position that might be laughable, if he wasn't personally involved in this, but at least the height of the the table helps a bit — then the thick head of Blackout's spike pops inside him with a quick jab. Barricade's digits scrabble against the table top when the sudden penetration stretches him uncomfortably. Blackout pulls out quickly again, and with the slow closing setting, it makes an obscene noise, kind of a sucking pop, that makes the audience cackle, and Barricade flushes, and offlines his optics in mortification.
"Oh, yeah, that's great." Blackout groans, pushing inside again.
Not that great, but at least the mod makes it no worse than uncomfortable. The humiliation is actually the worst part of it.
The Helo plays that game for a few more times, then he pushes deeper instead, which actually is a relief, because it's easier for his protocols to accommodate.
Blackout's spike is massive, though, and when he finally bottoms out, Barricade is squirming, because it feels really weird to have something so deep inside him.
"I knew you'd like this, you little slut."
Chapter Text
Barricade thinks that he won't overload this time, because Blackout's long, powerful thrusts doesn't really do it for him. He won't complain, though, because he doesn't feel a need to get off on this in front of everyone who feels like watching.
But of course it won't be that simple. Blackout changes the rhythm, and Barricade thinks he's getting close, but then the Helicopter reaches around to play with Barricade's node.
"Can't have you think I never give something back to my bitches." The big mech rumbles.
Barricade grinds his denta — it would've been kind of satisfying if Blackout was bad with his fingers — but the Helo is either talented, very practiced, or quite possibly both. Suddenly Barricade's entire array is very into what they're doing, his valve-lips going plump and heavy, his anterior node swelling under the slick touch of Blackout's digits. He bites into his wrist-strut to stifle a whimper.
"Aaw, come on, don't be shy now! Just show us how much you enjoy to be my little bitch."
Barricade flushes, because this is the lowest position he ever thought anyone could find themselves in, and here he is now, not only taking the spike of a thug up his ass, but also quickly getting closer to overload from it. In public.
But there's no way for him to control his frame's reactions to the skilled digits, and when he overloads, he allows himself to mewl, and his field free reign to show his embarrassment, because Blackout will enjoy it, and that brings more credits.
He really is here anyway, and they're all watching, so why not just give in and play along?
Apparently, it works, because Blackout groans, and presses in deep, and Barricade feels the stretch when transfluid fills him up. Then Blackout pulls out again, with an even more mortifying sound than before, and Barricade feels the rush of transfluid running out of him, his calipers slowly closing as he has set them to do.
"Wrecked cop!" Someone cackles.
"It's a good look on you."Blackout snickers, fiddling with two digits in Barricade's gaping port for emphasis.
Probably to get another taste of Barricade's field, because the Saleen can't stop himself from flushing yet again.
"Clean the table, and get me a rag. And another drink."
Barricade crawls off the table, and being ordered around, and dismissed like this feels kind of humiliating too.
It really rubs in who holds all the power, but at least it's over for now.
"What drink do you want?"
"Single filter jet fuel."
Of course he'd want the strongest stuff.
Barricade heads for the bar, still loose and sticky, but he fixes Blackout's request first; filling a cube, and getting cleaning supplies. The audience have moved on to different distractions when he returns, and Barricade hands Blackout the drink and the rag, busying himself with cleaning the table, because now he's feeling awkward again.
What's he supposed to say? And what about the payment? Does he even dare asking?
"You should get a shower when you're done. Can use my washracks if you want."
He really does need a shower, but he'd be much more comfortable doing it in the pleasurebot wing. That might seem ungrateful, though, and he still hasn't gotten his payment...
And you need a place to recharge tonight. But maybe you'd rather find yourself another customer when you're clean?
"Thank you, that's very generous. Which room is yours?"
"Third on the right. Help yourself to the solvent. If you can't reach the shelf, there's more in the cupboard."
It's impossible to say if the last part is just a helpful comment, or if Blackout is mocking him.
Chapter Text
The blinds are closed — of course they are, Blackout seems like the type to live in a dungeon — but it's not like the outside lights would grant more than a kind of eerie illumination anyway. At least there's a lamp lit to give a soft ambient light that's enough to lead the way through the room to the door that has to be the washracks without bumping into everything.
Barricade walks through Blackout's room rather quickly, eager to get to the shower, and get clean.
It has nothing to do with how he doesn't want to snoop around the Helicopter's personal space, and potentially aggravate him. Not at all...
The door to the washracks slide open, and even if Barricade has gotten used to the high ceilings, and spacious rooms of the house, this really highlights how huge Blackout is.
The washracks provide enough space to allow even a mech of Blackout's stature enough room to invite — and fuck — the glitches who catches his fancy. It's definitely not built to accommodate his often much smaller partners, though, because the shelves are placed high enough to suit the Helo, leaving them out of reach for smaller mechs. Barricade almost shudders at the decor, because even if the spots on the dark tiles are a cloudy red that doesn't look like anything he knows, he still knows that kind of spatter pattern when he sees it.
The bastard may have been making fun of him, but his advice was still valid. He's so going to need to find the solvent in the cupboard, because there's no way he'll ever reach the shelves.
Barricade opens the doors to the cupboard, and finds a bottle of solvent, and a single use sponge, hoping he's allowed to use it.
Or you can always pay it back later ...
He barely reaches the controls to the shower head, but tippy toeing, he manages to get the temperature right after a little fiddling.
Getting clean is glorious, and he savors the moment, pushing away the thoughts of what he may need to do to get to crash in a berth tonight.
At least Blackout allowed him to clean up. And after what he did tonight, Hide can hardly be mad if he doesn't get anything but the couch. He worked nicely, right? It's not like he can force his way into someone's berth for the sake of it...
Finally clean, he drys up, throwing the cloths into the washer and starting it.
The least he can do.
Barricade walks back to the berth room, glancing around as he passes through it, and that's when he spots the box. Oh, he knows that he should just head for the door and walk out the second he spots it, but morbid curiosity is a very seductive lover, so of course he heads for it, even if it's pushed into the tight space between the desk and the storage unit, as if to be hidden away.
It's full of plates and struts, and other components.
Dented, crooked, stained with energon, and just downright wrong to be in a box in someone's berth room.
He takes souvenirs! The crazy bastard keeps parts of his victims!
Well, run! You fucking nitwit, get the fuck out, and hide wherever you can!
Barricade can't even hear his labored venting as the panic wells up in his chest, staring at the stained parts of frames, all gathered in a box.
"I see you've taken a shine to my... collection."
Chapter Text
Blackout gets up from the chair in the darkest corner of the room, onlining his optics. It's impressive that such a massive mech can make himself nearly invisible, but Barricade is too terrified to appreciate how the Helo managed to be stealthy enough to hide in plain sight. With a whimper, he finally starts moving, making a run for the door. His attempted flight is easily thwarted when Blackout grabs his arm, spinning him around, and then he's thrown onto the huge berth.
Barricade's spark races when Blackout crawls after him, a huge servo sliding up his chest-plates to wrap around his throat — easily reaching around all the delicate tubes and wires — pinning him to the fluffy bedding. Blackout grins at him; all sharp denta, piercing red optics looking down at his prey. Barricade is on the verge of sobbing, frozen with terror.
"You're not going to piss my berth, are you? Because as entertaining as I might find it, the cleanup will be a hassle, and you don't have a berth I can crash in while you do that."
Barricade feels his lip-plates moving, but it's more trembling than an attempt to form words, and he can't get a single sound out, so he shakes his helm with tiny movements, while he clenches to not accidentally void his tank.
"Pray tell, what has made you so spooked?" Blackout grabs a plate on the side of Barricade's chest, twisting it just enough for it to toe the border between discomfort and pain, and Barricade starts trembling, unable to stop the little noise of terror leaving him. "Mh, my, your reactions really are delectable."
"Those are frame parts! And it's obvious that they're not just new spare parts, and that they have been removed in a crude way!" Barricade squeaks, squirming under the massive mech.
Blackout rumbles a laugh, and then he lets go of the plate, giving Barricade's neck a squeeze, then his talons slip through the seam in Barricade's interface plate, slim enough to flick the manual latch open. The sharp tips scrape along Barricade's valve-lips, and Barricade whimpers, waiting for them to slip inside and stab him internally.
Well, who would've ever thought that this is the way we're going to go...
"And where do you think I got them, hm?"
The blunt tip of Blackout's digit — talons obviously folded away again — is pressed into Barricade's unaroused valve, expertly hitting the spot that causes him to lubricate.
"I-I... I think you took them from someone. Or someones."
"Oh, do you now? But why on Cybertron would I take someone's used plating?"
In spite of everything, Barricade's valve is going slick, and his charge is rising.
"Because you can. To save as a trophy. Or a memento."
"Mhm." Blackout hums, as if he's considering it, starting to circle Barricade's anterior node with his thumb. "But why would I want a trophy? Or a memento."
"Because you're like that!" Barricade squeaks when Blackout flicks his node just so.
"Like what?"
"You wish you could brag about it, but you can't, so you'll keep reminders for your own si... your pleasure, to remind you about what you did." The heat in Barricade's voice wavers when Blackout touches him in a way that makes his hips buck.
"What did I do, that I'm so desperate to remember?"
"You ki..." Barricade's voice hitches when Blackout almost makes him overload, just to back off with the stimulation, "you killed them." He snarls.
Blackout laughs again, and if it wasn't for the fucked up situation, all the warring emotions, and Barricade's frustration that this seems to be the way Primus wants him to offline, Barricade might even have noticed that Blackout's laugh is rather nice; deep, and just the right kind of gravelly to make one think of long hours of toe curling fucking.
The Helo lines up his spike with Barricade's hot and wet valve, pressing the head against the slick slit.
"You think I'm a serial killer."
Then he slides inside.
Chapter Text
Barricade shudders when Blackout bottoms out, the thick spike inside him hitting every node.
"I'm pretty sure you are." He grinds out.
"Because of a few parts in a box? Oh, please... Never heard of plausible deniability?" Blackout purrs, rolling his hips in a slow, steady rhythm.
"Of course I have! But you... ah!" Barricade groans when Blackout adjusts the angle to hit his anterior node. "You're the right type, and who would ever keep things like that in their berth room, if it wasn't something precious?"
Blackout hums a chuckle. "And you like it, don't you, little cop? Knowing that you're spreading your legs for the worst of the worst; a mech who gets off on killing others... Such a bad little cop."
He'll never admit how aroused he is. It's not because he's some thrill seeker, or because he has a fetish for murderers, though. It's as simple as Blackout being really good at fucking him in a way that gets him going.
"I don't..." Barricade starts before his voice hitches when Blackout rolls his hips again, hitting every sweet spot just so.
"Looks to me like you do." Blackout states. "So what do you think I did to them?" He adds, every word a low purr, dripping with sin.
"I..."
He doesn't really have an idea. Not that he can't imagine what Blackout might do — they did some case studies at the academy, and he has heard the horror stories like any other mech — but there are just so many options, and who knows exactly what Blackout would find entertaining?
It feels so fucking wrong to get all wet, and charged up when talking and thinking about this.
You're damn right, it feels wrong!
"You still haven't answered, little cop. What do you think I do to them?" Blackout says, slowly circling Barricade's node with his thumb.
He remembers what was said in Dreadbot's memories, about that organic.
"I think you kill them while you fuck them. Tear their throats out, or something like that."
The words are out before he realizes what an inspiration that may be, considering Blackout still has a grip on his throat. The immediate squeeze following his words makes his spark race again.
"Crude, but effective. But would I really stop there? Just fuck and kill? That's kind of unimaginative, and would get old quickly, I'd say."
"Well, how would I know what you'd enjoy doing? I'm not like that..." Barricade trails off with a whimper.
It's getting increasingly hard to think, because Blackout is damned skilled in the berth when he feels like it, and Barricade is getting close.
"Keep guessing, then."
Why is he getting so fucking charged while thinking about this? He should be turned off, but his frame responds anyway.
"Maybe you'd tear off plates one by one, twisting to warp the brackets, and sever the cables and wires slowly?"
Blackout grunts, and slams in harder. "Maybe I would?"
"Or you'd play mechanic first, and when they're leaking, and in agony, slowly offlining, you'd fuck their nearly graying frame?" Barricade wails, the last words, overloading when Blackout deftly flicks his node.
Blackout follows him over with a low growl, holding himself hilted, sharp talons pressing against Barricade's neck hard enough to sting.
Chapter Text
Blackout rolls off him, stretching out on his back, his rotors clattering against each other in a way that sounds painful when he lands on the mattress, but he seems completely unaffected.
Warframe. Resilient to pain. And to others' suffering.
Why did we overload to that, though? It's really disturbing.
Oh, he completely agrees.
Transfluid slowly runs out of him, but Barricade is so used to that by now, he isn't even disgusted. He's too busy thinking about what just happened, the way he got off when he thought of those gross, horrible things.
"Come on. We both need a shower." Blackout says.
Barricade squeaks when Blackout lifts him, and then he flushes, because Blackout holds his lower arm under his aft, Barricade's legs dangling on each side of his waist, just like one would carry a small sparkling. The size difference really is similar to a sparkling and his Sire, and Barricade suddenly feels ridiculous.
Definitely not the kind of Daddy you want.
Blackout's intake quirk, so he probably notices Barricade's sudden indignation, but he doesn't say anything about. He carries Barricade into the washracks.
"You still haven't told me what you did to them." Barricade says, that morbid curiosity rearing it's helm again.
Blackout puts him down, and then he reaches for the showerhead, starting the water.
"Maybe I drowned them?" The way he says it makes it sound sensual.
Barricade stares at the showerhead for a split second, then he turns and runs for the door with an eep. His shoulder-wing is grabbed, and his momentum strains the mounting brackets when he's stopped in his tracks, and swung around, back hitting the wall. Blackout kneels in front of him to put them at a more level height.
"These make good handles." He notes, pressing Barricade's wing against the wall to keep him in place.
He lifts the showerhead, and Barricade is certain that he's going to attempt to drown him.
"Please, don't do it! I'll do anything you want. I won't tell anyone about this, or the parts out there!" He sobs.
It's one of his nightmares, one of the things he's truly terrified of, and it does it. Barricade doesn't even notice at first, he's just too panicked, but then he registers the warmth along his legs. He's too afraid to even be humiliated, though. Blackout rumbles a laugh.
"Well, you chose a much better place than my berth." It's a casual comment, but arousal simmers through his field again.
Barricade doesn't answer. His bottom lip trembles, and he sobs quietly.
He has nothing to say.
That's unusual.
Yeah.
We should have some last words ready. If we survive this.
Blackout's optics slither up and down his frame, taking in the fluid glistening on Barricade's thigh plating.
"Now, I really enjoy your reactions, and this probably will withdraw from them, but someone so entertaining is hard to find. I'm not going to offline you."
Barricade's knees give in when the tension finally leaves his frame after long seconds of not believing the Helo. He's still pinned to the wall, though, so he doesn't crumple to the floor, and it strains those brackets again. He manages to find the strength to stand to relieve his shoulder-wing, but now that his spark is slowing down, he has the wherewithal to be mortified about having an accident. Blackout obviously notices, as he makes a low noise of pleasure.
"You did that on purpose!" Barricade accuses, trying to cover his mortification with anger.
Blackout smirks. "Might have. Didn't think I'd get this level of... entertainment, though."
"Asshole." Barricade grumbles, bowing his helm, staring at the floor to hide his flush.
Blackout laughs again. "You really don't think I'm very clever, do you."
"What? No, I... uhm, I haven't even thought about that..." Barricade says nervously.
He really hasn't, and why is this being discussed? Has he offended Blackout in some way without even meaning it?
"As fun as it might be to offline you while fucking you, it really is an effective way to just have you once. Letting you live means I can have you many more times. And I really don't think it would be worth going back to jail again for a single frag. Which brings us to the next point; do you really think I'm so stupid, I'd keep evidence around if I really was a serial killer? And don't give me some bogus about narcissists thinking they won't get caught. I know what I am, and I know that as a Warframe, I'd be the first to be investigated. And again; I didn't survive this long, and manage to get out of the army, and stay out of jail after that first mishap by being dumb."
Barricade flushes, but this time it's from shame.
It's not that he was thinking about it like that, but it certainly seems like it when Blackout counts it off like that.
"I don't think you're stupid. I... I really wasn't thinking clearly. I'm sorry, it's was not my intention to make it seem like that."
"Apology accepted."
"So, those components... where do they come from?" Why is he so fucking stuck on that? "You know, as a former cop, I tend to be curious." He adds.
Blackout grins. "They're parts from me. Whenever I get upgrades, or repairs, I keep what's salvageable, and then I sell them to mechs who fix them up, and sell them in second hand stores. Plenty of mechs out there who can't afford new components. This way, resources don't get wasted, and mechs in need may be able to get things they wouldn't otherwise."
Oh. That's actually kind of nice.
Yeah... We fragged up big time when judging him.
Chapter Text
"Wake up." Barricade is suddenly rolled over on his front, and his legs are nudged apart. "I'm horny."
Thick digits slide through his folds, only slightly moist from what little transfluid was left inside him after the shower.
"'m not." He mumbles, still only halfway out of recharge.
"You tend to heat up quickly with just a little bit of this."
Blackout circles his anterior node, and Barricade offlines his optics again, really just wanting to go back into recharge.
Even if Blackout is damned good at this when he wants to be.
And now I know how the others put up with him.
Last night was too much, though.
But now I know he won't kill us. He didn't even do any damage. That makes it much easier to go with him again.
The big bastard has slipped his digits inside Barricade's now slick valve, slowly pumping them. Barricade is fully booted by now, and spreads his legs a little more in invitation, because it really would be nice to not need to do anything but lay like this, and let Blackout do all the work.
Blackout makes an effort get inside, but with the size difference, it's just awkward, and he's trying different ways to angle his hips, servos planted on the berth far above Barricade's helm.
"Sometimes, it actually would be easier to fuck someone a bit taller." The Helo grunts.
He lifts Barricade, rumbling a laugh at the squeak that escapes the Saleen, and then he hilts himself inside Barricade. He rocks the smaller mech back and forth, using him as a cock sleeve, and, yeah, he did hope for not needing to do any work, but this was not what he had in mind.
It feels damned good though, Blackout's spike is nice.
Should touch my node. And say something nice.
"Good thing you're so strong, and have such stamina." Barricade says, and it comes out a breathless moan.
Blackout grunts something unintelligible, but it does sound approving. Barricade starts to circle his node, and is surprised how quickly his charge is rising. He even needs to back off for a while to wait for Blackout to reach his peak.
He bounces on the berth when Blackout drops him, feeling strut-less and spent, and then he flails when the cover of one of his data port is flicked to the side, and a plug is jammed into his socket.
"Hey! What..."
"Payment."
Barricade watches the wallet pop up as 55 credits are transferred. He feels his spark do a revolution.
Three times in his valve, one in the ass, that's 43, so the rest is for the show, and possibly to compensate for scaring the living daylights out of him.
I really should do this again.
Chapter Text
Barricade sends a text to Jazz, asking if he's in his room, just in case Jazz is still in recharge. He doesn't want to wake him up unnecessarily, and a text will be there to find when it suits his lover.
One of the perks of this job is the opportunity to sleep in, after all.
In the meantime, he heads for the refueling room, just to find it empty.
Well, it is earlier than he usually wakes up. Blackout's morning wood is an early riser.
Barricade smirks at his own bad joke. After last night's experience, the morning was actually quite nice, though.
I guess there's a reason why the others doesn't seem to actively avoid Blackout. Some of the things he enjoys are less than pleasant, but all in all, the money is good, and he doesn't do any damage. And his berth is huge.
Dreadbot walks in, wearing a purple onesie.
"Morning. Had a good night?" Dreadbot asks, grabbing his favorite gels from the fridge.
"I think so. I mean, there was the whole terror thing that was a bit much, but the credits were good, and he's actually not that bad in the sack..." Barricade tries to summarize.
Dreadbot snorts. "Yeah, I know what you mean. He's nicer now, though. When I started here, he was a lot more serious, and a lot less adapted to handle civilians. Back then, saying no wasn't really an option for us. Hide really has made changes here as he has learned more and more."
Barricade shudders, because he remembers Dreadbot's memories of his first time with Blackout, and he can imagine what it was like.
"He does know his way around a frame though." Barricade says.
Dreadbot grins. "Crosshairs and I did a thing of putting on really hot shows with each other, and then we got him to take care of one of us, while the other got him off. And then we used it as ammunition, always underscoring when we flirted with him that we wanted to be with him because he's so good with his fingers, or how he uses his spike. It obviously worked, because we've retrained him from thinking that foreplay is redundant, and he's the only one who needs to get off, to actually mostly making sure his partner overloads too. I mean, he can still be condescending about it, but I don't care about the humiliation kink, as long as I get something out of it aside from his decent tips."
"I guess the brothers aren't the only ones being manipulative here."
"Oh, no, baby. You'll learn too." Dreadbot smirks at him, quirking an optical ridge.
"So, do you know where Jazz is?"
"He hit the high score, so he's probably still curled up with big Daddy. He snagged Ironhide yesterday."
Chapter Text
It still feels a bit weird to hear that Jazz is sleeping with someone else, even if recharging may be the only thing they're currently doing.
If Ironhide didn't wake up as horny as Blackout.
At least it doesn't invoke any jealousy this time.
Is he settling in? Or is it just that he knows what it's like to be with Hide, and that it doesn't have to mean anything? Perhaps it's because he spent the night in another berth himself?
"Cybertron to Barricade." Dreadbot says, waving a servo in front of Barricade's face-plates.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"I asked if you negotiated bath privileges with Blackout."
"... Should I have?"
"I guess it depends on if you like a bath or not. You know, if you ask nicely for things like that, you often get what you want. Like, when they're paying you, you try to look cute, and ask if you can borrow the tub for an hour or two. It really is such a good way to relax, and recuperate after a night of fun. We're going to ask Hide if we can get one to share in the washracks in our wing, but until then, make the best of the situation, and milk them for what you can get."
"I never thought about that. I mean, the tips are pretty good already..."
"Yeah, but you should always try to get some extra perks. Sometimes, the brother you're asking will join you, and there will be more fucking, but hey, still a bath, and then extra money too."
"You must make a whole lot of money."
"In-house is different. I have a fixed income, but I need to always be available. Streetwalkers get tips, but aside from parties, they can claim to be off hours. You're on trial, so you have no other way to make money, making everyone pay you what you'd earn in the streets per overload. The tips are more fluid later on, more kinky stuff earning more, and simple stuff earning less. And a lot of the pleasurebots give freebies to their favorite Brothers when they're in the mood for just having some fun."
Well, getting Nitro to give some oral is something he could do without getting paid...
"If you don't mind me asking; how much do you make for in-house work.?"
Could be a good deal, or a bad one, depending on how much they get.
"I get 1200 credits a month."
"After rent and everything has been paid?!"
"Yeah. That's before taxes, though."
"You must have one hell of a savings account..." Barricade mutters.
"Well it's easy to get expensive habits when you can afford it, but I do have a fair amount saved up."
"Wouldn't you be able to quit this?"
"It took me quite some time to pay off my debts, so I haven't been saving since day one. Besides, I like it here. This is my family. I don't want a crappy job, which is probably the only kind I'd get since I don't have any references, and I don't want to watch my savings account dwindle just to afford to live somewhere. I have a rainy day fund, so if anything happens to the Bros — like going to prison or something — I'll be pretty fine, but the more I save, the safer I am."
Chapter Text
Dreadbot excuses himself, saying that Nitro is waiting for him to return, grabbing a bowl of gels to bring back to the Flier. Barricade still hasn't heard back from Jazz, so he grabs a cup of hot energon, and heads for the pleasurebot wing.
If Jazz's door opens for him, he'll lounge in Jazz's berth — possibly snoozing for a while — until the Solstice returns. If it doesn't, he'll go to the pleasurebots' rec room, and take a nap on the couch.
He could probably call Blackout, and ask if he wants some more company too...
He's not going to do that, though. The Helo seemed satisfied when Barricade left, and it would be quite humiliating to be turned down.
And he really wants a nap, not more fucking. Cuddles with Jazz would be really nice too, but love making would be more satisfying when he's well rested, so that seems like a past noon activity.
Jazz's door does open for him, and as soon as he steps into the room, Barricade sends another message to Jazz to tell his lover that he's borrowing his berth to make sure it doesn't seem like he's taking everything for granted.
Jazz's berth is very comfortable, though smaller than the brothers' for obvious reasons. He wonders briefly about how much of the furnishings come as part of the deal for housing, and how much are things the employee is supposed to buy himself. Jazz did go looking for some used furniture after all.
If he gets a berth, and hopefully a storage unit, that's a good enough start. Far more than he had in the cubicle. Hopefully, he has already secured most of the votes he needs already, but it's definitely not time to slack off.
::Mornin', babe.:: Jazz comms him, voice still rough with recharge.
::Good morning. How are you doing?::
::Like a li'l Primeling. Hide's berth is sooo comfortable...::
Barricade can practically hear the languorous stretch Jazz puts on as he trails off with a content noise.
::Yeah, it is.:: It's not a lie. He has spent many mornings there himself, lounging among the covers and pillows, too lazy to get up. ::Is he still there?::
Maybe Jazz needs to... attend to the President of this crew for a while more before he can sneak away? Maybe he wants to do that?
::Nah, ya know how Hide is; always tha early riser.::
He is. Barricade remembers the time he woke up before Ironhide got up — the nightmare the Warframe had — and he can't help but wonder if that happens often, or if Ironhide just has a habit of getting an early start anyway.
The military probably didn't take well to slacking off. Nitro was also gone when he got up. And Blackout was up before him. In more ways than one...
:: Well you know where I am when you deign to get up...::
Jazz cackles a laugh. ::Are ya callin' me lazy, ya asshole?!::
::I don't know? Do you deserve to be called lazy?::
::I totally am lazy::
Chapter Text
It takes a while before Jazz shows up, bit when he does, it's obvious that he's fresh out of the shower: plating still slightly damp, smelling of Ironhide's solvent. He is carrying a pack of crisps, and a big bottle of low grade, and he puts the goodies on the floor, before stretching out on his front on the berth, within reach of the goodies.
"'lo, babe." He says, patting the bedding to urge Barricade to turn to lay beside him.
"Hi."
"Now, I'm dead curious; how did tha night go?" Jazz says conspiratorially.
"Uh... Fine? I think? Confusing as all hell, but he pays well for it?"
"I think that sums up tha first times with Blackout pretty well." Jazz says, nodding.
"I mean, I was ready for some humiliation — not that it makes it more likeable — but then he was scary as fuck, and still made me get off..." Barricade wraps an arm around Jazz. Not that the memories are still freaking him out — not after the shower that turned pretty nice after the initial scare, and the subsequent good recharge in the bastard's bed — but they really are confusing.
Especially since he came while talking about hypothetical murder.
"It gets better after a few times, when ya know he ain't gonna slag ya, or just force ya, but he really makes tha most of any new mechs since he can't scare us tha same way after a few times. If ya learn how ta act terrified n' humiliated, ya can make a lot of cash outta him. I think tha's why Roddy will never wanna be in-house; his reluctance would make Blackout a steady customer."
"I mean, squealing and trying not flee isn't that hard is it?"
"It's much harder ta get your field right, n' tha's what he gets off on. Somethin' with his codin' that makes those feelin's arousin'. Dreadbot, n' Crosshairs can do it, even if Cross gets off on fake rape, so he kind of wavers back n' forth with arousal. Drift is good at it too, n' I think Knock Out is startin' ta get tha hang of it."
"Good to know. Who would've thought I'd need acting lessons for this..."
Jazz grins. "As long as ya don' act with me..."
"You wouldn't like that? Oh, please, Jazz! Don't do this to me. Your spike is way too big, and I'm still a virgin!" Barricade says in a high pitched voice, in a quite appalling effort that would fit right into a porno movie.
Jazz starts to laugh. "Are we talkin' 'bout your nasal vent, or your audial, 'cause I'm pretty sure tha's that places ya're most likely ta still be a virgin."
"Are you calling me a harlot, Sir?" Barricade continues his act.
"Do ya deserve ta be called a harlot?!" Jazz cackles.
"The nerve!"
Chapter Text
Their banter turns into a wrestling match, all squealing, and laughing, and tickling, ridiculous like younglings without a care in the world.
Maybe this is what real happiness feels like? Maybe this is... love?
Barricade hardly dares to think in those lines, because it's almost scary, things he knows very little about. But whatever it is, he likes it, and craves more of it.
He feigns defeat, fans on full blast to cool his frame — for once not heated by fucking — and Jazz straddles his hips, folding forward to press his lip-plates to Barricade's.
"I'm really glad ya came back. I missed our daily time tagether." Jazz murmurs.
It feels strange, but right now, he's glad that he came back to this place too. The few hours they spent together now and then when he was out of here just weren't enough, and quality time like this was even more scarce. And this is the most important thing now; what he has with Jazz.
"Me too." He slides his servos down Jazz's back to cup his aft.
Jazz rolls his hips, rubbing himself against Barricade.
"So, Sir, would you be interested in a coupling?" Jazz purrs, but the suppressed laughter is audible in his voice.
"Oh, is that what you want? But isn't a sweet little mech — such as yourself— supposed to save yourself for conjuxing?"
"I am, but I wanna have some fun, n' whadd'ey don' know won't hurt me..."
"I see. But what if they find out? That would be rather disastrous for me. Even if that seal of yours is very tempting."
"No seal." Jazz admits, looking falsely innocent while he reaches between his legs and slips two digits inside.
"No seal?! Well, I probably should've guessed that... You floozy."
Jazz gasps as if it's a preposterous accusation. "It fell out!" He says indignantly, but he seems hard pressed to not burst out laughing.
Barricade can't keep his face straight anymore, though, he cracks up into a grin. "And here I thought you'd offer me your port to spare that seal..."
"Perv!" Jazz says, managing to keep up the act.
Barricade schools his face-plates. "I mean, it's a convenient option..."
"Do you want that?" It's hard to tell if Jazz is still acting, or if he's serious now.
Barricade thinks about it, but then he shakes his helm. "No, it's overrated." He grins. "And since your seal fell out, I guess we can proceed without caution."
He reaches for Jazz's array, slipping his digits through Jazz's slick folds, and Jazz removes his own servo to give Barricade access.
Yeah, going back to Hide's house to live with Jazz, is really the best thing he could do.
Chapter Text
Jazz lines Barricade's spike up, and sinks down on it, and Barricade groans, digits digging into Jazz's thighs of their own accord.
It's kind of amazing that he's still so tight after a night with Hide.
"Do you have mods or something to stay so tight?" He grinds out when Jazz starts to move.
Jazz giggles. "I told ya I'm a virgin, my seal jus' fell out."
Barricade snorts, but it turns into a moan when Jazz squeezes his spike.
"I actually have adjustable settings in my stock codin'. I jus' set tha calipers ta tighten up pretty quickly, n' I calibrate their default tightness often. N' I'm meticulous 'bout oiling n' greasing 'em."
Huh. He really should look up if he can do any of that too. Now, though...
"Why do I find talking about this hot?"
"Because ya're tha floozy?"
"That's it!" Barricade growls, trying to buck Jazz off him.
Jazz squeezes Barricade's hips with his thighs, easily staying in place, like one of those mechs who tame cyber ponys. "Oh no, Mister! Ya ain't goin' nowhere!" Then he starts to grind against Barricade with clear intent to reach his peak quickly, his valve clamping down around Barricade's spike.
He doesn't last long with the tight, slick heat around his spike, and Barricade overloads with a low moan, Jazz continuing for several seconds before he follows him over. The Solstice slumps over him, burying his face-plates in Barricade's neck-cables, idly picking with the plating on Barricade's sides. Barricade wraps his arms around him.
"This is so nice." Jazz mumbles. "Is this what ya wanned way back too?"
Barricade contemplates it for long seconds.
"I think so. I mean, I wanted to be involved with you, but I had no idea what it would be like, because I was inexperienced relationship-wise. I still am, but so far, I really like what this is evolving into."
Jazz hums contemplatively.
"I had no idea either. I mean, I sorta was in a relationship when I was young, but that wasn' like this at all. I think I expected our relationship ta be kinda like that back then. Maybe it would've been in the beginning at least, but that wouldn' have been a good start. I don' like that ya were put away, n' everythin', but I think it's good we got some time ta mature before we got tagether, because this is great."
Barricade's spark swells in it's chamber.
"I think you're right." He says, stroking a servo up and down Jazz's back-struts.
He certainly wouldn't have wanted to be like that creep for Jazz, and even if the circumstances here are what they are, at least what they have together is far better than he ever imagined it.
Chapter Text
He had planned to take Jazz out, and treat him to something nice, but it feels like it can wait. Not because he's being a cheap aft, but because staying in for the afternoon allows them the privacy, and the intimate time they haven't had for quite some time now. They've done the energon shops, and hanging out in public, but now they can be alone, just the two of them, and it feels like it will do them both more good to push the fancy dates a day or two.
The bars, the cinemas, and the restaurants won't go anywhere, and they can do it all tomorrow if they want.Today is about the two of them, and nothing else, and it feels right to stay in bed, and cuddle, and enjoy being close.
But as usual, time to work rolls around, and they wash up, and head for the rec room. Normally, Jazz would hit the streets, and Barricade would work in-house, but apparently, it's the anniversary of The Big Escape From The Military, so it's another party night at the house.
"... so, from what I know, Nitro didn' get out at this date like that other MTOs, n' Roadbuster, Sideswipe, n' Sunstreaker are sparked mechs, so they weren't in tha military either, but it's still celebrated annually, as is tha gotcha day for Nitro's liberation. I like it, celebratin' stuff is always fun, n' we really should be better at findin' things ta be grateful for."
"I used to celebrate my graduation day from the academy for a few years, but then it kind of ran out into the sand. I don't know why, I guess I just forgot about it, and after that, I haven't had much to celebrate."
"We celebrate tha day tha brothers got me away from tha Cons. I get tha day off, n' there's a party in tha evening where I choose what I wanna do; if I decide ta sleep with someone, it's completely on my terms. N' us pleasurebots have our own parties for everyone's votin' in-day."
"Sounds like it adds up to a whole lot of partying."
Jazz grins. "I know, it's awesome!"
They grab drinks from the bar, and takes seats on the couch, and it doesn't take long before Ironhide joins them.
"Good evening, mechs."
"Hi!" Jazz says, smiling a megawatt smile.
"Hello, Hide." Barricade says, thinking that it would be kind of nice to be back in Hide's berth fort the night.
"You both doing well?"
"Oh, yeah! We had a lovely afternoon stayin' in, n', I now we celebrate everythin' we have here really. Happy Escape-day!"
"Yes, congratulations to getting out of the military."
"Thank you both. It really is a good day. Worthy of celebrating. If it wasn't for this day, we would be offline by now."
"I probably would be too." Jazz says. "I don't think I would've survived much longer with tha Cons, so if ya hadn't been there n' freed me, I'd be gone too. Ya're my savior."
Ironhide nods, almost looking a bit uncomfortable with being called that.
"I didn't really know anything about how the military works before I came here. I must say that what I've heard is very ugly, and it's especially distasteful that the public doesn't know." Barricade says, and he really means it. "I'm glad you got out, I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
Well, maybe a few bastards — like his stepsire — but generally not.
"It's convenient for them, and I guess people would find out if they really wanted to know, but ignorance is bliss. I don't know what would happen if the military was disbanded. It would take time to get as effective a defense with voluntary mechs, mechs not created for war. Many of the offense campaigns we went on created sources of substantial income for Cybertron. The economy would suffer a great blow, and then the general public may not be as interested in the fate of a bunch of MTOs. And then there's the potential havoc of setting all those Warframes free, without any way to support themselves. They would need reprogramming too, especially the newbuilds often make Blackout look like a sweetspark..."
"Blackout is a sweetspark!" Jazz says cheerily. "When he's in recharge..."
Ironhide snorts a laugh. "You hear that, B.O? You're a sweetspark when you recharge."
Blackout takes a seat, the couch dipping enough to make both Barricade and Jazz slide closer to him.
"That's the last time I fall into recharge before any of you." He grunts.
"Aaw, but ya're always so tired when ya're done with me!"
"Yeah, and I wouldn't dare falling into recharge while you're still awake." Barricade adds.
"Both are good points." Blackout acknowledges, taking a deep swig of his drink. "Happy Escape-day, Hide."
"Right back at you, brother."
Chapter Text
Jazz has crawled into Blackout's lap, and Barricade really feels the need to do something too.
And if he wants to get a night with Ironhide, he probably better get on with it before the other's sink their claws into him.
"Want company on that couch?" He asks, trying to make his smile suggestive.
"Absolutely."
Barricade walks around the table, sinking into the couch next to Hide, pressing up against his side. They watch Blackout and Jazz in silence for a little while; Jazz playing with Blackout's chest-plates, and Blackout's huge servos groping the little Solstice's aft.
"There's something intriguing about seeing such a tiny mech with such a huge one." Ironhide murmurs to Barricade.
"Yeah. When seeing it like this, it boggles my mind that it actually works, but it does, somehow..." Barricade says, thinking about how Blackout's massive spike filled him up. "It feels like he hits the spark-chamber at times, though."
Blackout rumbles a laugh, then he pressurizes his spike, lining it up with Jazz's front to take a measure. It easily reaches the bottom of Jazz's chest-plates.
"It probably does hit the spark-chamber when I go in deep."
"What a fucking place to get dented." Ironhide muses.
"I'm pretty solid, but I don't think I'm hard enough to dent a chamber through the other components. Besides, I know that nobody has taken damage like that. It's impossible to function properly with a banged up chamber."
"You would be the one to know what it feels like." Ironhide notes. "Cheers, brother, for surviving long enough to retire."
Both the Warframes lift their cubes in a salute, and then they drink deeply. Barricade is getting used to these allusions to events he doesn't know anything about, so he doesn't pay it much attention.
If they want him to know, they'll tell him, or maybe he will ask sometime in a more private setting, but asking about every single thing the brothers talk about just seems nosey and tedious. He can't have them grow bored of him.
He presses himself closer to Hide, slipping a servo across the big mech's ventral plating.
"You're not small yourself..." He purrs.
Ironhide smirks at him, then he grabs Barricade's hips and pulls the Saleen into his lap to straddle him. Barricade wraps his arms around Ironhide's neck.
"Are we talking about my stature, or the size of my spike?"
"Both! You're tall and powerful, and, I mean, so is your spike, I guess." Barricade blabbers, feeling himself flush, because bit came out more ridiculous than flattering.
Ironhide grins. "Hear that, Blackout? My spike is powerful."
"How many BHP have you got in that piston of yours, Prez?" Blackout laughs.
"I don't know, like seventeen, maybe? I think the torque is more important, though..." Ironhide muses.
"I guess us Fliers have the advantage, though. I mean, with our thrust and all..."
Ironhide barks a laugh. "Touché!"
Chapter Text
"You know, Hide, we have some new plating here. I mean, Barricade did put on a decent show yesterday, but it was a long time since we saw him with one of the other glitches."
"That's true. Got anything in mind?"
"Mmm-hm." Blackout hums, and with his deep and raspy voice, it sounds like sin. He cups Jazz's chin with a digit, tipping the smaller mech's helm back. "How about you lick him? We can watch, and I'll fuck you when I feel like it."
"I'd like that!" Jazz chirps, and he really seems to mean it.
Barricade's spark flips nervously.
He's never been in a threesome before. Well, technically, there was that time when Dreadbot and Crosshairs played with him, and Hide fucked him, but it feels like that doesn't count the same way for some reason. On the other servo, doing it with Jazz as one of the participants is probably the easiest way to start out. But what about Hide? He really wants to spend the night with him, and have a fairly easy night...
"Barricade is good at deepthroating, so you can always have his mouth if you want to, Hide." Blackout adds.
Oh. At least Hide won't slip away to find other distractions for the night if they do this...
"Sounds... I mean, I'm game if you are..." Barricade says, spark flipping nervously again.
He looks up at Ironhide, and the big mech smirks at him, cocking an optical ridge. "I really like your new attitude."
Barricade shrugs. "I tried something different, and it wasn't any good. Why not try to make the most of this now that I'm here?"
It's good credits, after all, and he does get his fair share of pleasure.
"I agree. It's still a huge leap forward, and I want you to know that I see it, and approve."
At least that's a good sign for his continued employment here when his trial period is over.
Ironhide pats his aft. "Hop onto the table."
Barricade feels anything but graceful when he crawls onto the table.
"Which way? For both your views, I mean..."
Ironhide rises from the couch. "On your back. I'll switch seats." He takes a new seat next to Blackout.
"So much power on that little couch." Jazz says, holding back a snicker.
"Shut up!" Barricade says, flushing, and the Warframes burst out in laughter.
"Better get ready for my thrust." Blackout says to Jazz, stroking his still pressurized spike for emphasis.
Jazz makes a cute little noise, and it's impossible to tell that he's acting, but there's no way he'd still be that coy. The Solstice nudges Barricade's thighs to make him spread his legs, and then he leans forward to lick at Barricade's still closed interface plate, and to give the Warframes a good view of his wiggling aft; the flimsy fabric of his camouflage hot pants the only thing that covers his array from roving optics.
Barricade immediately opens up, and Jazz swipes his glossa through Barricade's slit, wet with synthetic lubricant, but not aroused. The optics following their every move makes it harder to relax, but Jazz is good, and Barricade feels his valve-lips go plumper, a heat slowly blooming in his core. He reaches his field out to gauge what Ironhide and Blackout thinks of their little display, and the fields that mingle with his are aroused. It helps him with getting into the mood — it's almost contagious when he allows it to be — and Jazz's excellent technique makes his charge rise, his own lubricant slicking him up.
"Watch it now, Jazz, so you don't get all messy. He's a squirter." Blackout says.
Barricade feels himself flushing, and judging from Blackout's groan, his embarrassment definitely slips into his field.
Chapter Text
He may be propped up on his elbows, watching Jazz working his array, but Barricade has been far too preoccupied by that to look farther than Jazz's helm between his legs. When Blackout slides out of the couch to kneel behind Jazz, he's rather surprised, even if the Helo has been stroking his spike for quite some time.
Jazz's hot pants have obviously already been pulled down, because Blackout just lines up and pushes inside, and the mewl that escapes Jazz's vocalizer is nothing but needy pleasure, so he has obviously been warned up already.
He's not going to delude himself to think that licking him is what makes Jazz all hot and ready. If it is, then he better hear it from Jazz than being presumptuous.
"Fuck. Always so tight!" Blackout groans when he starts thrusting into the much smaller Solstice.
Jazz mewls, swiping his glossa more forcefully against Barricade's node. Barricade's hips buck to meet the stimulation, but he's frustratingly left wanting when Blackout grabs Jazz's hips and pulls him to meet the next thrust. Barricade makes an annoyed noise, but Blackout just grins at him.
"Your little glitch is getting needy." Blackout says to Hide.
"Yeah, he does that a lot."
"Kind of entertaining."
Blackout's next thrust pushes Jazz forward, allowing his glossa to finally connect with Barricade's array again,and Barricade moans when Jazz flicks his node.
He can't even be embarrassed about what they're saying about him, because it's all true; he really does have a tendency to be easily frustrated when denied.
"Want me to shut him up?"
"If you want to. I don't really care if he makes noises."
"Well, my powerful spike is starting to feel neglected..."
Blackout laughs, and then his rhythm falters, and he groams, even though Barricade can't be flustered by the comments; he's too aroused.
"Do that again!" He says, slapping Jazz's aft, making Jazz squeak.
Whatever Jazz does — probably squeezing around Blackout's spike or something like that — it makes the Helo's optics flicker momentarily, and he grunts again, a vice like grip on Jazz's hips.
Ironhide's servo on his shoulder interrupts him, and Barricade's helm whips around. He was too preoccupied to notice the big mech coming around the table. Ironhide urges him to lay down, and Barricade knows the position, tipping his helm over the edge of the table to straighten his intake tubing, opening his mouth for Ironhide's thick spike.
"Good little mech." Ironhide encourages him, and then he slowly pushes inside, allowing Barricade to adjust to the intrusion.
Chapter Text
Barricade really can't do much to contribute. Sure, he grabs Ironhide's thighs, slipping his digits into the seams in the plating, but that's about it. Ironhide fucks his intake with slow thrusts, and Jazz is licking his cunt, and Barricade is racing towards the edge with no possibility to slow down, or even to ask for it.
He's going to overload soon.
He's teetering on the edge when Ironhide groans, pushing in deep, and the level in Barricade's tank rises. Then Jazz finally flicks Barricade's node one last time with his glossa, and Barricade overloads, a quiet mewl the only noise he can make with the thick spike still jammed in his throat.
Jazz bites into a plate on Barricade's thigh, but the stinging pain isn't too bad.
Ironhide slowly pulls out, but Barricade doesn't move when his spike slips free from Barricade's intake. Instead, he allows his throat tubing to relax after the stretch, allowing himself a moment to think about what they just did.
He has had a foursome, a real foursome, and it wasn't as bad as he might have expected. Some deepthroating, and getting eaten out certainly isn't that kinky. And he really expected all group activities to be more perverted than the last.
Barricade slowly sits up, looking down at where Jazz is still resting his helm on Barricade's thigh while coming down from his own overload. Blackout has already taken a seat on the couch again, looking at the... The two mechs on the table. Ironhide has taken a seat too, wiping himself with a rag. Barricade swallowed well — it's hard to fail when the spike almost reaches your tank — but there's some oral lubricant on the mech's pelvic plating. Barricade crudely wipes his mouth with the back of his servo, and something about the gesture makes Ironhide smirk.
He should start keeping a few rags in his subspace, along with the lube Jazz gave him.
"Well fucked sluts." Blackout says, sounding satisfied.
"The best kind of sluts."
"Untouched is fun too. Hard to come by though."
Ironhide snorts. "Especially when looking among the pleasurebots."
"I wonder if there's some kind of mod to make them feel sealed..."
Barricade cringes.
He remembers what it was like to be unsealed, and it isn't something he'd like to experience again.
"This one is almost tight enough to feel like a virgin, though." Blackout says, slapping Jazz's aft again.
Jazz squeals, flying up from his still slumped pose over the table. "What that frag...?!" He growls.
Blackout grins at him, all nasty challenge — try me!
"Ya know how hard it is ta get a dent outta tha' plate?" Jazz pouts.
"I'm sure Knock Out can fix it for you."
Jazz mutters something unintelligible, but Blackout chuckles, which makes Barricade wonder how good his hearing is.
Warframes probably have very acute senses.
"We need drinks." Ironhide says to Jazz and Barricade.
"Absolutely! What'cha want?" Jazz sounds cheery again, clapping his servos together.
"High grade. Surprise me."
"Make that two." Blackout says.
Jazz gives him a wide smile, before pulling Barricade with him to the bar.
"Blackout really is a bastard." Barricade hisses. "I fucking hope we won't be required to get seal-mods? If they exist?"
"I've had way worse." Jazz voice is flat, and he doesn't need to elaborate. "It's kind of easy to give him some of what he wants, though, and he pays well."
That's true enough. That Jazz doesn't say anything about the possible modification requirement is far more worrying, though.
Chapter Text
::So how do we proceed now? Keep working them, or we move on when they've had their drinks?::
::Relax. Don' think too much 'bout everythin'. It's party night! Have some fun, take it as it comes. We'll bring drinks, n' if we're not dismissed, we'll have a seat, talk a bit, n' see where it leads.::
Jazz makes everything seem so easy.
::Just do as if ya're hangin' out n' havin' drinks with a hot crush of yours, n' ya really wanna get'im inta berth.::
Not that he has been in that situation many times; he never socialized in a way that he'd play optic candy — or tried his hardest to be interesting in other ways — to get someone into berth.
::I think I get what you mean.::
Jazz was clever enough to get four cubes, a bottle of high grade, and some sweet energon to mix it with for himself and Barricade, instead of just bringing the brothers their cubes.
Though it makes it unnecessary to go to the bar again for some time. On the other servo, he doesn't want to leave Ironhide alone for too long if he really wants to spend the night in the big mech's berth.
Barricade takes a seat next to the Topkick again, handing him the cube Jazz filled, before grabbing his own mixed drink. Ironhide holds out a cyg for him, and he grabs it, inhaling through it before holding his vents for a second.
"Your prescription is up to date again."
"That's great. Thank you."
"No problem."
Barricade presses up against Ironhide to show his gratitude for that rather nice benefit but showing some eagerness for the mech himself.
It's not a lie. Hide is good in the sack, and he always lets him get enough recharge. Spending a night with him now will feel rather easy.
"Ya know, if ya weren't so damned tall, I'd drape myself across your shoulders, but I jus' can't reach." Jazz says.
Blackout barks a laugh, then he grabs Jazz and drapes him over his shoulders, Jazz's midsection squeezed between the back of his helm, and his rotorhub.
"Very fancy." Ironhide chuckles.
"I could get used to this." Blackout says, groping Jazz's aft.
Jazz reaches for Blackout's hub, fiddling with something there. Blackout hums in pleasure.
"Definitely could get used to this. This is your new job now."
Jazz squirms a bit. "But all tha credits I make ya?! Ya'll lose income."
"I could always rob a bank."
Then Blackout does the closest thing to a squeal Barricade can imagine the big mech is capable of.
"Fuck, you're worse than mice running around in my struts!" He growls, but his voice is wavering. "Stop it, it tickles!"
Ironhide laughs at the rather ridiculous sight, but Barricade doesn't dare doing so.
Blackout flails around to get ahold of Jazz, and then he dumps him on the couch, smacking his aft a couple of times, and it's Jazz's time to squeal.
"You're lucky I'm in a good mood, little glitch."
Chapter Text
Dreadbot drapes himself around Blackout's neck as he tumbles over the back of the couch in a very practiced and smooth manner.
"Well, hello, handsome..." He purrs. "Care for some... unwilling company tonight?"
It could've been offensive — it certainly seem like a hostile takeover — if it wasn't for Barricade's comm crackling to life.
::Spend the night with Jazz. Both of you have earned some quality time that isn't a hungover afternoon, waiting for your next shifts.::
Barricade is flabbergasted, unable to answer Ironhide for long seconds.
::Thank you so much, Sir! I really appreciate it...::
More than he can express with words.
::De nada. Everyone deserve some grade A private time now and then, and I figure your rent is already paid for the night. I've already sent the tip to your account.::
::Thank you. That's very generous of you.::
Ironhide just nods once, then he jerks his helm to the side to send Barricade off. Barricade glances at Blackout, but the big mech is completely occupied with Dreadbot, so Barricade sneaks off before he can notice. Jazz is already waiting for him, waving for him to come along.
::Are you fine with this? I don't want to just dump this on you and run...:: He comms Dreadbot.
::I know how to work him, and I'm used to his shenanigans. You go have a night with your sweetspark, and don't worry about me.::
Barricade glances at them again. Crosshairs has joined Ironhide on the couch, and Dreadbot is stretched out sideways across Blackout's lap, Blackout fingering him.
Looks like he isn't the only pleasurebot who gets to spend the night with his special someone. It's just Dreadbot who drew a short straw.
He hurries over to Jazz, and they quickly leave the rec room to get out before someone else requests their services, heading for Jazz's room.
"Do you want a shower first?" He asks, because Jazz may still have transfluid lingering inside him, or between his plates.
"Sounds like a plan."
"This was really nice of Hide."
"I told ya he takes care of us."
"Yeah."
Jazz grabs his solvent, and Barricade sets the temperature of the water. As soon as they're under the spray, Jazz pulls Barricade in for a kiss, his digits digging into Barricade's aft.
"We have tha entire night just for us..." He purrs against Barricade's lip-plates. "Don'cha think we should make tha most of it?"
Barricade's valve twinges with interest, and his spike requests permission to pressurize.
"Oh, yeah..." He groans when Jazz slips one of his servos up to Barricade's shoulder-wing, tweaking a bundle of cables.
Chapter Text
It's less of a shower to get clean, and more of a make out session. Barricade is grinding against Jazz's thigh, and Jazz is still tweaking his shoulder-wing. Barricade nips at Jazz's neck-cables.
"So, babe," Jazz starts, servo slipping down to grope Barricade's aft again, "how 'bout lettin' me stick my spike in your tight li'l port?" He says, stroking the rim of Barricade's port.
He doesn't feel like it, but then again he does it for everyone else who wants that, so he definitely should do it for Jazz.
"Sure."
"Sweet!"
Jazz spins him around, and Barricade braces his forearms against the wall. A digit prods his port, slipping inside easily with the lubricant he already administered before their shift. Jazz pumps his digit, before adding a second one.
"D'ya want me ta play with ya first, or ya wanna use your mod?"
It can feel pretty good with some foreplay, even when it's preparation for backdoor entry, but Barricade isn't in the mood to be fingered here in the shower, where he's standing awkwardly.
"I'll just use my mod." He says, changing the settings.
Barricade feels himself go slacker and more pliable around Jazz's digits.
"Ya feel ready?"
"Yeah."
Jazz's spike presses against his aft, slipping inside easily. Jazz groans, grabbing Barricade's hips, and sliding in to the hilt slowly, savoring it.
"Even with tha, mod, your ass is so fragging tight!"
He really needs to look up those settings for his valve. If he's tighter there, Jazz might want to go for that instead of this. It's not that this is uncomfortable, per se. It's just not his favorite thing.
"Want me ta stroke your spike, or ya prefer me ta play with your node?"
"Spike sounds good." Barricade says, allowing it to pressurize.
Jazz reaches around, grabbing Barricade's spike in a firm grip. The water pelting down on them washes away any pre-transfluid, so the slide isn't slick, but it still feels good. Barricade bucks into the servo, and as he does so, the angle of his hips change, making Jazz's spike hit that spot inside him. Barricade groans, angling his hips to make Jazz hit it again.
Barricade's charge rises much quicker now that the spot inside him is stimulated too, making it more than just a push and pull, and he moans into his forearms. Jazz speeds up his ministrations on Barricade's spike, and it brings him over, transfluid landing against the wall just to immediately be washed away again. Behind him, Jazz pushes in deep with a loud moan, spike pulsing as he fills Barricade with his transfluid.
Chapter 430
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The washing up after is less heated and more sweet; slow kisses, and caressing touches. Once they've dried up, Barricade heads for Jazz's room, while Jazz goes to the rec room in the pleasurebot wing to see if any snacks have been left behind, as none of them want to pass the big rec room just to go to the refueling room.
Barricade stretches out on the berth, and after a couple of minutes, Jazz returns with the loot.
"Found a bag of crisps, n' some sweet energon drinks. And I grabbed a couple'a movies." He says, waving a data stick in the air, before plugging it into the TV.
"It's not pretty mech, is it?"
Jazz snorts. "No, it's a action movies."
"Thank Primus for that." Barricade groans.
"I think it's bad bots one, and two."
"Isn't that kind of Ironic? I mean, in this house..."
Jazz shrugs. "Everyone love a good movie. Especially with explosions n' stuff."
"True."
Jazz pulls up a table to put the snacks and drinks on, then he stretches out next to Barricade, helm propped up on his arm. The Saleen throws an arm across Jazz's back, pulling him closer. The lights dim — Jazz has remote control for them — and the movie starts.
They're half an hour into the movie before Jazz lifts his helm, turning to Barricade.
"Ya never were that close with your partner when ya were an Enforcer," Jazz says, motioning to the cops on the screen, "I remember that he was a stickler, n' ya were so annoyed by him."
Barricade makes a face. "Yeah, and it turns out I was right about not trusting him. He was from internal affairs."
"What?! Noo, I never knew that!"
"Well, I found out when I was arrested, and we didn't have time to talk about it when you came to see me in prison."
"Now, that's some underhanded tactics, I'd say."
"It worked." Barricade says, shrugging with a nonchalance he doesn't really feel.
It's still a sore spot.
"I wonder what would have happened if ya hadn' been put away. I mean, with tha two of us. I wouldn've met Brawl..."
"Maybe you would have? Maybe we would've broken up, or maybe he'd been a customer, and one night I would suddenly be unable to reach you..." Barricade says, feeling cold dread fill his spark at the mere thought.
It's a very good thing that Jazz found capable protection when he got out of the other brothel.
"Would you've come for me? Like in tha movie; scramblin' ta tha rescue ta save your beloved li'l mech?" Jazz says breathlessly, with a humorous glint in his visor.
He'd like to think so, but who knows what he would've done back then?
"Oh, yes! Guns ablazing, kicking down doors, yelling cliché swearwords."
"I knew it!" Jazz grins.
Barricade pulls him closer and presses a kiss to his neck-cables.
Notes:
I'm sorry for not answering any comments yesterday. I've been completely swamped. I read them all, and they're all precious to me.
Chapter Text
They've started the second movie, but it doesn't take long before they start making out instead of watching it.
He really would be fine with just this, it doesn't necessarily need to turn into fucking every time. Cuddling, talking, and making out is more than enough.
It's quite a revelation, because right after he got out of prison, he would always go for fucking.
Then again, he didn't fuck all night long every night back then.
It's not just that, though. What they do here is special, something he never really had before— they did have a few lazy nights together before he went to prison, but they still hadn't really gotten to know each other, so it didn't feel as intimate as this — and he wants to savor it.
Not everything has to be foreplay, or lead to facing. Kissing is so good in itself.
Kissing is also quite arousing, so of course it slowly heats up, with wandering servos, and more and more intimate touches. Barricade slips his digits through Jazz's folds.
He really feels like spiking this time.
Jazz spreads his legs, allowing Barricade access, and Barricade circles his anterior node a few times, before dipping inside to gather some of Jazz's lubricant for a slicker slide.
"Oh, yes, Cade!" Jazz moans against his lip-plates.
Once upon a time, he would've been annoyed by the pet name — would've thought it was a way to belittle him — but not anymore. Now he sees it for what it is; an endearment from someone who is close enough to want to give him a pet name.
"How do you want it?"
"Hmm... Spoonin'?"
It's not a position he has done many times before, but when Jazz rolls over in his arms, grinding his aft against Barricade's hard spike, making it slip through Jazz's slick folds, he finds no reason at all to object. He briefly entertains the idea of asking if he can try Jazz's port — he has done that for Jazz a few times now, after all — but then he decides against it.
Jazz said he didn't want to do it before, and that he got used to it in a very ugly way. But just because Jazz is used to it, that doesn't mean that he should expect his lover to like it. Besides, Jazz's valve is really tight, and with natural slick. He really sees no point in going for the port.
He slides inside with a groan, nipping at Jazz's shoulder since the position makes kissing a bit awkward. Jazz arches his back to get Barricade deeper inside, and Barricade pushes at the back of Jazz's thigh to make him move it a little to leave room for him to reach Jazz's node. He lets his digits linger where he's sliding in and out of Jazz; the way his spike is slipping between Jazz's puffy valve-lips, how Jazz's snug valve is split open around him.
Barricade groans, thinking about what it must look like, and he increases the pace of his thrusts, starting to circle Jazz's node.
The position would be perfect for slow, sensual, intimate interfacing, if it wasn't for him getting so charged up. Jazz is equally charged, though, so he doesn't need to feel bad that his stamina is bad since the position turned out to be more erotic than he imagined.
Jazz overloads first, grinding back against him, and it tips Barricade over too. He pushes in deep, and when he comes down from his overload, he pulls Jazz closer, and buries his face into Jazz's neck-cables, reveling in how easy it feels to be close to him.
Chapter Text
They're back to their usual routine — Jazz works the streets, and Barricade spends the night with one of the brothers, then they meet up a little before noon, spending the afternoons together.
Maybe he should make a serious attempt at setting an alarm? He could just get up, go to Jazz's room, and then they could snuggle, reacharge and frag for quite a few more hours each day...
Truth be told, though, that he has tried setting an alarm, but he has just shut it off immediately, going back to recharge. Getting up means having a shower, and then trundling over to Jazz's room, and when the alarm wakes him, he's so tired and groggy.
He knows he's being lazy — he did get up early when he was an Enforcer, that doesn't mean that he likes it, though — but Jazz isn't a morning person either. The reality is that he would probably just wake Jazz up, Jazz would scoot over to leave him place in the berth, and then they'd fall into recharge again. The intermission in his recharge cycle would probably just mess with his systems, and leave him more tired when they get up.
Barricade can't even tell if it's a good reason for him to not really trying, and immediately going back to sleep when he has shut the alarm, or if it's just a poor excuse.
But this early evening, it seems like he has other problems than thinking about what time to set an alarm for it to work, or if he should ditch that idea all together.
Drift is looking his way now and then, and it really is more of a glare than a glance.
The Racer has ignored him so far, something Barricade really has been fine with. In turn, he has left Drift be, not trying to appease him. There are so many other mechs in the house to get to know, and Barricade has figured that Drift is more likely to come around when the others start to get to know him, and maybe become friends with him. But tonight, it seems like Drift is pissed off for some reason. Barricade searches his memories for something he might've said or done, but he really can't come up with anything, even when he scrutinizes everything very critically.
Could it be that he got Hide into berth the other night? All the pleasurebots do at some point, and Drift doesn't seem bothered by that. And he hasn't really seen any signs that Drift has a crush on the big mech. More than that night when he came back here, and Drift seemed jealous. Maybe it's someone else of the brothers? He did have Roadbuster again too.
Unable to find a reason for why Drift would be extra annoyed by him tonight, Barricade can't do anything but try to ignore it, and focus on doing what he is supposed to, and make sure that it will be beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn't the instigator if Drift decides to get confrontational.
He flicks one of his optics in Drift's direction again to keep track of his whereabouts.
Hopefully, someone will drag the Racer off to berth soon, if he isn't picked and sequestered away in the safety of someone's berth before that happens.
He sees the way Drift's optics are locked on him, oddly bright.
Chapter Text
Barricade busies himself with putting the bottles right behind the bar, and sorting the cubes. Not because it really matters, they tend to find what they need easily enough anyway, but doing something makes it easier to not think too much about Drift, and get stuck in a staring contest.
And it always looks better to take some initiative, and doing something productive. He's still on trial after all.
Motormaster and Breakdown come by, getting a few drinks, and Barricade's spark skips a few revolutions when Motormaster looks him over contemplatively, but it turns out that the two of them have pimping duty, so he's safe for now. Blackout and Springer get drinks too, but the night is still young, and they seem to have things to discuss, because they just grab the drinks he pours for them, and dismisses his offer of company for the moment, taking seats in a couple of chairs in the corner.
It's fine. Sometimes the brothers don't want to fuck on sight. Sometimes they just want to hang out with their friends for a while before getting company. It's just that he's feeling very eager to get someone into a berth tonight, and get out of here.
Eventually, Ironhide walks in, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker following in his wake, Nitro trailing behind. They plunk down on the couches, and suddenly it's quite obvious what Drift's problem was.
Barricade is heading towards the just returned mechs, to ask if they want anything, and very hopeful that someone will want to take him to their room.
Even Sideswipe, because even if the mech has some predilections that are not to Barricade's tastes, he also can be very good in the sack, and with a bit of instructions, it may not be as bad this time anyway...
Drift passes him, making a beeline for Ironhide. He slips into the Topkick's lap, straddling sturdy thighs, and Barricade can't help but stop in his tracks, surprised by it all.
What little he has seen of Drift in action has mostly mirrored Crosshairs and Dreadbot; smooth flirting, and while they're pushy, they're still rather subtle about it.
But not tonight, apparently. The way Drift climbs into Ironhide's lap seems presumptuous and rude, rather than seductive and tantalizing, even Barricade can see that.
Ironhide does seem a bit bewildered at the sudden lapful of sleek Racer too, so Barricade can't be wrong about it being out of character. Barricade starts moving again, even if he's walking slowly, on edge about interrupting whatever is going on.
Drift didn't even ask if they wanted drinks or anything else before he pounced on Ironhide.
It does provide Barricade with an opportunity to do something the brothers will probably approve of, though, so he isn't going to look under the hood of a gift transport. He is going to offer to fetch drinks, even if he isn't eager to stay and entertain one of the other brothers as long as Drift is there.
He comes to a sudden halt again, spark racing, when Ironhide suddenly grabs Drift, flying up from his seat.
Drift flails, but Ironhide easily holds him, slamming him onto the floor, face stony.
"Hey, what are you..." Drift protests.
Ironhide doesn't answer and the smaller mech is easily mechhandled to his front and pinned.
Chapter 434
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Nitro is up in a flash, but he just stands at the ready, as if waiting for Ironhide to request his help.
"What are you..." Drift cries.
"Blackout!" Ironhide barks.
The big Helo is surprisingly quick — none of his conceited sauntering, just quick steps, and a vault over the couch to land next to the two mechs on the floor — and it speaks volumes of how dangerous he is when needed.
"Yeah, Prez?" It may not be the correct way to address a superior in the military, but they're not in the military, and it's clear that Blackout is ready to do whatever Ironhide asks of him without question.
"Check his systems."
"No, please don't!" Drift cries, struggling against Hide's grip on him.
Nobody listens to his plea, and Ironhide's grip on him tightens to keep him still, while Blackout squats next to them, easily prying open the panel to Drift's data port. The Helo jams his plug into the socket, and then his optics flicker while he's working his way into Drift's systems.
The Racer is sobbing quietly. "I haven't done anything..." He whines. "Please don't..."
"System boosters, and there seems to be a cleverly added circuit breaker too." Blackout says, pulling his cord free from Drift's socket. "He's all scrambled up."
"Please, Hide! I-I fucked up! I won't do it again, I promise! I-I... I give you my word!"
"Your word means nothing when I don't trust you."
"I swear I'll do better, I won't do it again..."
"That's what you said the last time. I gave you a chance, gave you the benefit of a doubt, but you are proving to not be trustworthy. You're out."
"What?! No! You can't do this, please Hide, I..."
"I can't trust you with this, so how am I supposed to trust that you don't do anything worse? I warned you..."
"I know you warned me! And I really mean it; I'm going to be good, won't even look at the drugs again, and I'll do anything you say..."
"No. You had your second chance, and you blew it."
"What about third strike? Don't I get another chance?"
Blackout snorts. "Do we look like the fucking justice system? Cops, and lawyers, and judges, and juries... Third strike.." He sneers.
"No. I don't see this going anywhere. You'll just do this over and over again — fucking up, and begging for forgiveness. I mean it; you're out." Ironhide says, voice dangerously low.
"Hide..." Nitro says, as if he's not fully agreeing with Ironhide.
"He's too much of a liability."
"We'll lose the leverage on the good doctor."
"The leverage on the medic will mean nothing when we're trying to convince the jury that we had nothing to do with the boosters found streuseled around here, and the excuse is that they fell out of the junkie whore's subspace."
Notes:
Well, people were hoping for Barricade to get an in-house spot, and now it seems like there will be an opening...
Chapter Text
"Nitro, you strip him of any etchings, and other insignias that has to do with us." Ironhide addresses the Jet, heedless of Drift's pleading.
"Sure, Prez. Remove the plates, or just grind the etchings away?"
"Grind them." Ironhide turns to the Helo. "Blackout, you help out, and make sure you find out who got him the drugs."
"It'll be my pleasure, Prez."
"I'm sure it will." Ironhide mutters to himself, adjusting his grip on Drift. "Make sure you leave this one outside our territory, then find the dealer and make sure he won't deal in our territory ever again."
"Please, Hide, don't do this." Drift begs.
"You know the rules, know the consequences. I have offered you help if you needed it, but you never asked for it. Instead, you went behind my back, and jeopardized everything, and everyone. Excuses that will make this frag up look better doesn't exist."
Drift slumps in his grip, sobbing in defeat. It's a very harsh sentence, but Barricade can admit to himself that what Ironhide says is true.
It's not just the brothers who might get in trouble if Drift brought something into the house, and there would be a raid, and they were found. He himself is on parole, and has been convicted for possession of drugs, Crosshairs has been convicted at least once, Jazz would be up for his third strike, and it's quite possible that the other pleasurebots are in similar situations. He doesn't wish a life on the streets on anyone — not even Drift, who has been an aft to him — but nobody should have to take the fall for what he does.
Ironhide pulls Drift to his pedes, and Blackout grabs Drift's arm.
"Stay out of our territory. You don't want us finding you anywhere here." Ironhide says, letting go of Drift.
"I kind of want you to show up. Then I can finally have my brand of fun without the Prez getting annoyed about the damage." Blackout says, voice rough with static from whatever he's thinking about doing.
Barricade shudders.
"Get him out of here, before I do something I'm going to regret." Ironhide grinds out between clenched denta. "Nitro, come see me when you're done."
"Got it, Prez."
Blackout drags Drift along, the Racer not going very willingly, but he isn't fighting too hard either, knowing how futile it would be.
"Crosshairs!" Ironhide barks.
"Yes, Sir?" Crosshairs almost stand at attention, clearly on edge.
"Help me search his room. I know he probably would hide his stash elsewhere in the house if he even has a stash, but I have no idea where else to start. Too bad it was routers this time, if it had been syk, we could've gotten the hound here again to sniff it out."
Crosshairs seems to deflate at the tedious task he's given.
"Uhm, Hide, Sir? I still have my scanners from my time as a cop. I can scan for electronic devices if they're not hidden too deeply, and I know what hidden routers look like compared to the regular wiring of a building." Barricade speaks up.
Hopefully, he won't need to fuck with someone when he's done, because the house will probably take all night.
Chapter Text
Barricade follows Ironhide and Crosshairs down the hall in the pleasurebot wing.
"Start with his personal things. Crosshairs, you box everything up as soon as Barricade has scanned it."
"Yes, Sir." Crosshairs says, and the way the normally cheeky prostitute answers — formally enough to be taken for anyone in a professional chain of command, certainly deferential enough to be acceptable among the Enforcers — is quite telling of how serious the situation is.
"Yes, Sir." Barricade says, not wanting to do something wrong right now.
Who knows how a lesson would be taught during these circumstances?
"Considering someone would've heard if he cut a wall open, and we'd probably notice if he painted it after — not to mention how much of a hassle it would be for him to get a fix if he hid it like that — I'm thinking we could limit the search to vents, and other nooks and crannies. In my experience, most users hide it like that, and it'll be much quicker. Walls are harder to scan through, and I think we want to get through the whole house fairly quickly. But it's your call, of course." Barricade says, making sure to let Ironhide know that he's the boss.
"Sounds like a good plan. It would be kind of ironic if we're so thorough, we don't get to search the entire house, and then the Enforcers raid the place and find a stash where we haven't looked yet."
"I guess it's easier for the Enforcers too, considering they can just pull everything out and make a mess. We don't want to turn the house upside down."
"Ugh, don' remind me!" Crosshairs says. "We were cleanin' up 'alf the night, n' almost the entire day after the last raid."
"I can imagine."
He remembers how it usually looked when they had gone in with a warrant to search and apartment or house, looking for illegal things.
The door opens, and they step into Drift's room. It's kind of strange to know that the mech who lived here is gone.
Well, not gone gone, but to them he might as well be offline, with the way Ironhide decided that he's shunned. And considering what it's like out there, he may very well offline, either from an overdose, or in some other way the street mechs may get into final trouble. It's almost a death sentence.
Ironhide sinks into a chair, and Barricade starts to scan the smaller things first; data pads, photo frames, and other items, handing them to Crosshairs as soon as the scan comes back clean. His optics linger for a few seconds extra on a picture of Ratchet, before he hurriedly gives it to Crosshairs to put in the storage box, his spark constricting in an uncomfortable way.
There seems to be some sort of mutual interest between the two of them, and even if Drift isn't dead, it's still strangely painful that he's gone, and someone is going to miss him, perhaps wonder where he is.
Chapter Text
It really is tedious work. When Drift's room is done, they continue with the rest of the house, slowly moving from room to room. He's let into the other pleasurebots' rooms, and Barricade really feels like an intruder when he walks around in their rooms — rooms he hasn't seen before, because he has never been invited, and he never really gave them a reason to invite him — scanning everything while they're out working. That Ironhide is the one who lets him in doesn't make much of a difference.
Crosshairs leaves them when they're done with Drift's room, ordered to take away the gathered personal belongings, and then go back to work.
Barricade works as fast as he can, eager to be done with the rooms and move on to the communal spaces.
"Do you really think that he has hidden drugs somewhere here?" Barricade asks Ironhide while they walk down the hallway at creep speed while he scans everything.
"Blackout found some in his subspace, and I'm fairly certain that it's all he got, but I'm still not taking any unnecessary risks."
It isn't a bad idea, even if the work is extra tedious since he doesn't really think he'll find anything.
Definitely not the thrill of the raids when he was an Enforcer, and they helped out with investigations and went in with a search warrant.
They're done with the bottom floor by the time Nitro shows up.
"You wanted to see me, Prez."
"Yeah. Let's go upstairs. I want a full briefing."
"Sure. Any rooms cleared yet?"
Ironhide turns to Barricade. "Check my room first." He turns back to Nitro. "We can do it there. I don't feel like sitting in the board room."
"Sounds good."
Barricade clears Ironhide's room, Nitro sinking into the chair as soon as it's cleared.
"Maybe we should get one of the hookers up here when we're done talking?" Nitro says to Ironhide, optic sweeping Barricade's frame.
Barricade's spark does a nervous spin, because while he has already tried... group activities, and has been with both Hide and Nitro before, it's still kind of daunting to think about an entire night with the two massive mechs.
"Blackout will accompany you for the rest of the sweep. He's waiting in the hallway."
Oh, he's off the hook to do the boring job instead. Which isn't necessarily better than an orgy, not when he'll spend the rest of the night with the nasty Helo.
Barricade still nods, and steps out to leave the two of them alone to manage their business.
Blackout is languorously sprawled in a chair in the hallway, looking like a sated mech.
But when was he ever that lucky?
"Do your thing with the hallway." He waves his servo to indicate everything.
Barricade does a double take when he spots the spatter pattern of energon, hydraulic fluid, and coolant on Blackout's plating. Blackout obviously notices, grinning sharply at him, keeping optic contact, while he wipes at one of the stains with his digit, then he slowly licks his digit.
Barricade makes a face.
"Is Drift still alive?" He asks, dreading the answer.
"As per the boss' orders."
Barricade nods slowly.
They were supposed to make sure the dealer didn't sell in their territory anymore, though.
"This is just from a bit of... persuasion." Blackout says, as if he knows what Barricade is thinking about. "I thought you could lick it off me when you're done."
Barricade makes a face again. "Gross!"
Blackout barks a laugh.
Chapter Text
When he's done with the hallway, Barricade is appointed the uncomfortable task of searching the Brothers' rooms. Blackout leans against the door jamb, keeping watch as Barricade scans everything that could potentially hold a few routers.
It's kind of unnerving to have Blackout hovering — heh — over him while he's trying to work.
"I do share berth with these mechs now and then, you know...
"I would question why you're still in the house if you didn't."
Of course. Blunt bastard. And he doesn't get a hint either...
"I meant that you don't have to follow me around. If I wanted to steal something, I've already had opportunities."
"Boss's orders. You're still too new to be trusted. And it has nothing to do with potential stealing. If you find something illegal, you could just decide to leave it there, and then call your ex co-workers to tattle.
He didn't even think about the opportunities to cause problems this way of helping could provide him with. On one servo, it's kind of offensive to not be trusted, but then again, he's not all that certain that it wouldn't be exactly what he would've done before his time away from the house, and he hasn't been back here long enough after that to really prove himself trustworthy.
"How would you know? I mean, I could just pretend to not see it..."
What the hell?! Why is he all but implicating himself?!
"You'd get nervous. I can smell that from a mile away. If I couldn't hear your spark speeding up."
Holy Primus on a moon hopper.
"I know you wouldn't do that, though. The price for that kind of betrayal..."
Barricade stiffens where he's going through a drawer of assorted data pads, memory sticks, and a bunch of spare relays.
Drift got kicked out — and tortured, if nothing else the removal of his etchings would be a bit painful — for just using drugs...
"What would you do?"
What the fuck?! That morbid curiosity again...
He jumps when Blackout's knees hit the floor with a loud clang, the Helo suddenly pressing up against his back. Barricade didn't even hear him approaching.
"Mh, your spark is racing..." Blackout purrs in his audial, digits caressing the edge of Barricade's shoulder-wing in a way that feels confusingly sensual and dangerous at the same time. "Perhaps I would flay you?" He muses. "Not in the pretty way we picked Dreadbot apart, but a bit more... messy."
Barricade whimpers. "I'm not going to do that. I... I wouldn't."
A servo slides down his side, momentarily squeezing a few cables in a way that feels threatening. "I believe you." Blackout says, getting up. "I'll let you get to it. Don't want you to wet yourself here." He returns to the doorway.
Barricade flushes when he's reminded of that occasion.
"Too bad for you that you got this boring watching me do everything right-duty." He mutters, trying to cover his mortification.
"I don't mind. I enjoy the view, and I can bide my time."
Chapter Text
Of course Blackout saves his own room for last.
The prospects for going straight to recharge when he's done are glaringly bleak.
"Shouldn't you be recused for this part of the search? I doubt your presence here is in line with jurisprudence and common practice."
Barricade can't even tell why he utters those ridiculous words — he did his best to evade the laws himself even when he was an Enforcer, after all — if it's an honest, but futile, attempt to alleviate some of his rising apprehension by getting someone else to oversee it, or if it's a bad attempt at humor, stemming from said apprehension.
He did hear how Blackout mocked the justice system when Drift tried to get a third shot at abiding the rules, but having the resident of the room — this resident in particular — watching him potentially find what he's searching for is scary. He's nowhere near in control here, if Blackout decides he needs to be silenced, no backup to haul the other in.
Blackout obviously takes it as humor, because he roars a laugh.
"Recused..." He trails off into more chuckling. "You are so funny. We're searching for Drift's drugs, remember? So if you find something, I'm still in the clear. I'm not challengeable."
"That would be such an excellent cover if it is your drugs. Blame Drift, and just watch the evidence be taken care of in plain sight."
What the fuck?! He really needs to learn to keep his vocalizer shut, or his obituary will read sadly, he never knew when to stop speaking.
Blackout cocks his helm in consideration, but it looks more like he's measuring up his prey.
"It would, wouldn't it? But since I'm trusted, it won't come into question."
"So your employees are not trustworthy, but you are? That's scrap."
Dammit!
"Pardon my Vosian, but none of you glitches have come close to do for us what we have done for each other. And Hide's stance on heavy drugs is shared by all of us. Those drugs cause nothing but problems. He's a bit nicer than I am, though; I think the best course of action would be to just shoot anyone who can't stay clean — even with the offer of legal substances to help — and be done with it."
Barricade feels faint, and he grabs on to the desk to steady himself.
"Don't piss yourself yet."
"I-I..." He can't even feel mortified, he's too dizzy.
"I'm not going to hurt you for finding something in here. On the contrary. I don't want to get caught and sent back to the slam, should there be another raid. Especially not for something I haven't done. So would you please do your scanning so we can be done with this? And be thorough, because if you fail to find something that's here, that flaying will be very dragged out once I'm out of jail and I come find you."
"Already on it!" Barricade says, frantically scanning things.
Chapter Text
"I'm a hundred percent certain that there's nothing here." Barricade says, foregoing to mention the gun parts, because he's fairly certain that Blackout already knows that some of them are from weapons that are illegal without a license.
But he can't be charged for just storing parts, the gun needs to be complete to get him convicted, so the bastard is safe.
"Good. Then we can finally get to the... celebration."
"I was hoping for some recharge. It is eight in the morning, and I've been working all night..."
Blackout hoists him up, pressing Barricade between the wall and himself.
"I always forget how much recharge you civilians need to not turn into whiny glitches."
"I bet your self repair would be more efficient if you recharged more. Is it a compulsion to not sleep much? Or do you have massive back up batteries? Is that why you're so heavy?"
"Are you calling me fat?!" Blackout growls, wrapping a servo around Barricade's neck, then the big Helo groans when it makes Barricade's spark race.
He seems to actually be able to hear sparks. That's... quite something.
"It was just a question! I don't know how you were built! I just know that defragging is important, and you can't do that if you don't recharge for long enough." Barricade backpedals.
"I don't like defragging. I'm much more into fragging." Blackout purrs.
Of course...
Blackout grinds his pelvic plating against Barricade.
"Aren't you going to wash that off first?" Barricade says, looking at the gore on Blackout's chest-plates.
"No. I like the way it looks, and smells. Turns me on."
Barricade makes a face. "I think it's gross."
"I'm sure I can make you overload like a good little slut anyway."
Barricade's spark makes a funny flip, because he can't really say for certain that Blackout is wrong, and that's unnerving.
He really shouldn't overload in spite of all the things Blackout puts in his processor, it should be a turn off. Better not deny it, though, because the bastard would just see it as a challenge.
"I'm sure you could, but I don't think it's very hygienic."
Blackout grins, but then he cocks his helm in consideration.
"If I wash it off, would you let me nick a few of your lines? Nothing big, just to get a little energon to smear for the look, and the smell."
"Eew, no." Barricade recoils as much as possible when pressed between a mech and a wall.
"It would only be your own energon on our plating then..."
Barricade shakes his helm, even though he really wants Blackout to just please have a shower before they get to the fucking, and the subsequent recharge.
"I'll give you a hundred credits for it."
"Ok."
Chapter Text
"You said you'd wash it off." Barricade says when Blackout keeps grinding against him.
"No, I asked a hypothetical question." Blackout's purrs, digits toying with Barricade's interface plate.
"And I said you could... Ah, you could cut me on the terms that you did wash it off."
Blackout hums in amusement when Barricade's interface plate slides away. Thick digits stroke the Saleen's valve-lips.
"You did."
The Helo puts Barricade down, motioning towards the washracks, and Barricade has to stop himself from hurrying.
He really wants to make sure Blackout doesn't change his mind, but the bastard would certainly find great amusement in seeing him almost running into the washracks, and he's not going to give him that.
"Too bad you're so short, it's so hard to pat that hot little aft of yours."
"The first world problem of the day."
Blackout just laughs at that, trailing in Barricade's wake.
The Helo grabs the showerhead, sinking to his knees to get more level with Barricade, and hands the showerhead and a sponge to the Mustang.
"You better do, so it's up to your standards, your highness."
Barricade rolls his optics, but grabs it and starts to rinse Blackout's plating, following up with rubbing with the sponge. Blackout looks more like he stoically puts up with it, than enjoying it, but it may be a facade — Barricade really can't tell.
Blackout's rotors doesn't have any spatter on them, so they get a quick rub down, and Barricade is almost disappointed, because he's kind of curious about them.
The shower is over way too quickly, and then Blackout ushers him back to the berth. Barricade stretches out, spark spinning with nerves for what he has gotten himself into.
"You got good levels of fuel?"
"Yeah."
"This is going to sting a little."
Barricade expects him to take out a blade, but instead Blackout holds his servos out, palms up, and then a micro transformation extends his talons. Barricade's spark speeds up even more.
Blackout grins, baring sharp denta — almost like a predator's anticipation of a kill — and then he reaches for Barricade's throat.
Chapter Text
Blackout's servo wraps around Barricade's neck, claws finding the lines there, but not digging in. Barricade still makes a nervous noise.
The Helo grins down at him, his other servo gently caressing Barricade's plating, but the way his talons scrape over the smooth surface is a reminder of the danger. Barricade shudders when the claws stroke a very sensitive wire in a way that send a thrill of pleasure down his back-struts.
Barricade hisses in surprise when the talon sinks into a line in his side, a sudden pain, and a pop-up in his HUD informing him about minor damage and a small leak. Blackout vents in deeply, optics brightening. He strokes the line with the back of his digit before bringing his servo up to look at the smeared digit, and Barricade feels the flare of arousal in Blackout's field as well as he feels the trickle of fuel smearing the components around the perforated line. He hears the sound of a transformation, and he doesn't need to look to know that Blackout's spike is pressurized.
Blackout moves a bit more urgently now, expertly finding lines under Barricade's plating. The Saleen is tense under the Helicopter, because even if Blackout only makes small cuts in his lines, it could quickly escalate, and he can't really do much about it. The increasingly long list of damage reports in his HUD is unnerving too, as is the burn wherever he has been cut, a pain to remind him about the damage to more and more parts of his frame.
Then Blackout squeezes around his neck, perforating the lines there in several places, and it's so sudden, Barricade flails, lulled into a false sense of safety from the way Blackout has just been keeping him down with light pressure around his throat.
Blackout sits back, looking down at Barricade with bright optics. He slowly strokes up Barricade's thighs, smearing the energon over the Mustang's plating. He stops at Barricade's array — almost as an afterthought — pumping his digits into Barricade's valve to get even the slightest slickness going.
He probably should be thankful for that, considering how much Blackout is paying him for this, he can't really expect the Helo to do the work to get him into the mood.
Barricade squirms to get the digits to really hit the spot he needs to start lubricating. Blackout seems distracted, not managing to apply his usual skill.
"Fuck, you're so hot like this." Blackout says, voice thick and rough.
Barricade just makes a noise, because he doesn't know what the mech wants to hear at this point. The servo not toying with his array keeps stroking his plating smearing the trickles of energon. Then Blackout seems satisfied with the slickness gathering in Barricade's valve, lining up his spike, and pushing inside. His servo wraps around Barricade's throat again, sharp talons dangerously close to sensitive wires, and Barricade's spark hiccups when they dig deeper into the components, stretching one wiring harness.
"Scream for me." Blackout growls, voice rough with static.
Chapter Text
He doesn't really have to act to obey Blackout when the Pave Low's grip tightens, stretching the wires even more. Barricade even flails, smacking the Blackout's thickly armored chest. It just brings a broad grin to the Helo's face, and he starts to thrust into Barricade.
The thick spike inside him is as good as ever, and even through the stinging from his cuts, and the fear for what will happen if Blackout slips on that wire he's still stretching, though admittedly with less pressure now.
Barricade's spark hiccups again when Blackout reaches between the plates in his torso with the servo not holding his throat, finding one of his main wiring harnesses with his sharp talons. Blackout plucks the wires, and Barricade lets out a loud whimper, because if those particular wires are severed, he'll definitely need repairs, if it isn't one of the wires to his spark-chamber, then he's done for.
But through the fear, it makes him hot, because Blackout obviously knows exactly how to handle sensitive components like that; the way he rolls the cables between his talons — almost gently, completely painless — is still a threat, but also a very good way to arouse a mech.
Barricade squeals when Blackout pushes in deeper, grinding against his ceiling node, and it's bordering on too much pleasure at once. Blackout groans, letting go of Barricade's throat, to grab his hips instead. Blackout sits back, pulling Barricade's hips into his lap, forcing the Saleen's back to arch, the back of his helm still on the berth. He glances up at the Helicopter, and Blackout's optics are almost going white as he stares down at Barricade's energon covered frame.
"Can I touch myself?" Barricade asks shakily, close to his overload, but not getting there.
He has always been allowed to do it before, but it's quite possible that it won't fit into this particular fantasy of Blackout's, and he doesn't want to lose some of the tips just because he didn't perform, not after everything he has been through to get those credits.
"Sure." Blackout grunts, increasing the pace.
Barricade reaches for his array, circling his node with practiced skill to get himself off as quickly as possible. It doesn't take long for him to tip over the edge, and he wails with pleasure, valve contracting around the thick spike inside him.
Blackout follows him over with a low growl, hunching over him as he presses in deep, filling Barricade with his transfluid. When he pulls out, he doesn't flop down on the berth next to the Interceptor the way Barricade expected. Instead, he reaches into a storage drawer under his berth, and for a moment Barricade can only wonder what kind of kinky stuff he's going to pull out now, but then Blackout pulls out a repair kit.
"How are your energon levels?"
"Fine. I was pretty topped up before."
Blackout nods, handing him a capsule, and a bottle of low grade. "Repair nanite capsule to speed up the healing. I'll put patches on the cuts."
Barricade washes the capsule down with some of the energon immediately, flaring his plating, and watching as Blackout applies a patch to one of the lines. "Thank you."
Blackout just shrugs, looking for the next injury.
Chapter Text
By the time the repairs are done — he never would've thought that Blackout would be good at repairing a mech, but then again, a Warrior probably needs to have some skills in field repairs — the long, and intense night has already caught up with Barricade. He flops down on the berth, feeling strut-less and worn out, and the comfortable mattress, and the fluffy bedding certainly does their part in getting him to immediately relax.
Plus it's almost ten in the morning, and if he leaves now, it means he'll have to be rude, and wake Jazz up to have a place to stay. It certainly has nothing to do with him just wanting to crash right now, and spending his recharge with Blackout seems quite alright compared to walking, even if it just would be through the house.
Blackout steps out from the washracks, plating still damp. He did offer Barricade to join him, but the Saleen turned him down.
He's too tired, and they did wipe the worst parts of it from his plating after the repairs were done anyway.
"I really like that look on you..." Blackout rumbles in that hoarse voice of his.
"I'm sure you do, but now we will recharge." Barricade mumbles, almost slipping into recharge already. "Right?" He adds when his processor catches up, and he realizes how bossy he sounds in a situation where he has no real control.
"That does sound kind of good." Blackout says, stretching out next to Barricade. The big Helo presses up against Barricade's back, wrapping an arm around him. "Never stop fearing me..." He mumbles into Barricade's neck-cables, then he nips something, and it stings.
Barricade can't say if it's merely a wish, or if Blackout is giving him an honest advice because he thinks that Barricade is getting too comfortable. Either way, it makes his spark flip, but he doesn't move away. He feels the way Blackout grins against his neck when his spark speeds up.
"I don't think I can. I would appreciate if you let me recharge without reminding me why, though. I get, ah, I get really cranky when I don't recharge enough." He says, then he flushes, because it sounds kind of ridiculous.
Blackout rumbles a laugh. "I think I can agree to that, even if it would be very amusing to have you flailing, and hissing, and spitting when we fuck after we've recharged."
"When we... I... You mean to keep me here all day?!"
Blackout laughs again. " No, but I always wake up with a hard-on, and I really had enough of my servo when I was in the military. You're conveniently placed for giving me something more entertaining to stick my spike in."
Barricade makes an affronted noise, that makes Blackout laugh even more.
He does have a nice laugh, though.
"Fair enough." Barricade grumbles. "Just let me get enough recharge."
"Then you better hurry up falling asleep. Like I said, I never recharge for very long."
Chapter Text
Blackout did let him recharge for a pretty long time — more than Barricade expected — but he's still feeling a bit muzzy when he leaves Blackout's room.
He has had a shower after the morning —more like late afternoon — fuck that Blackout woke him up with, but his lack of sleep, and the way his day and night cycle has been twisted, Barricade really wouldn't mind sleeping more. He gets a few moments with Jazz, when they just hang out in the pleasurebot rec room with a few of the others.
"Anyone got a clue as to whom the Bros will vote for?" Knock Out asks, clearly pointing the question to what's left of the in-house crew.
"No clue. I was with Hide and Nitro all night, and they didn't do much talking after I got there. Fuck, Hide can be rough when he's pissy." Dreadbot groans in a way that doesn't really imply him minding the roughness, even though he flares his plating to show off the bruised protoform on his side.
"Ye really can' complain when ye 'ad both of 'em all night." Crosshairs quips.
"Yeah, true, I guess. But, no, I haven't heard anything."
"An' I was with Springer, an' 'e did' say anythin' either." Crosshairs fills in.
"Dammit, I'm curious!" Knock Out whines.
"How long will it be before tha votin'?" Jazz asks.
Crosshairs shrugs. "I don' know. Guess it depends on 'ow urgently they need someone te step in. I think most of 'em already know which way they slant, they've 'ad ye all enough te know who does what. I don' know 'bout yer position, though, Barricade. Ye 'aven't been with everyone yet, an' ye're still on trial. Maybe they'll wan' te let ye finish before they decide, if ye're lucky. Or maybe ye'll 'ave enough votes te get the spot anyway?"
"I-I... I have no idea?" It comes out a question, because even if he has entertained the idea of wanting to work in-house, he hasn't really considered it. The slots were all filled, and last night — and most of the day — he was too busy to think about it.
Would it make him enemies among the pleasurebots if he got the job after such a short time in the house? How would Jazz react? Blackout may vote for him. The others... Truth be told, he probably hasn't been all that good, and when the novelty of his cop colors wear off, how many would actually vote for him?
"At least we know that Roddy won't want the job, so that's one less to compete with." Knock Out says, and it's impossible to say how much of a competition he sees leading up to the voting.
Chapter Text
There's definitely things to consider.
Being a streetwalker isn't exactly what he wants for his future, but then again, he hasn't even tried all the Brothers yet. Blackout certainly is a mixed bag, and while his generous tips make up for his predilections to some extent, if he makes it to in-house, he'll be expected to go along with it without getting anything extra for it. And Sideswipe wants to hurt and humiliate a cop...
Not to think about the possible resentment from the mechs who have been here for a while — including Jazz. His relationship may be doomed if he gets the job. And getting his hopes up is probably a good way to set himself up for disappointment, since he probably won't get it. And what about quitting, if he got it, and then the Brothers left to try turns out to be horrible, and Blackout ups the ante, and Sideswipe really gets into his sadism. Wouldn't it be offensive to get the "top job" and then not want it?
Barricade is still tired after the long night, and from turning his normal recharge pattern on it's helm, and the many thoughts whirling in his processor is starting to give him a helmache. It's almost a welcome distraction to start his shift, even if he is mostly looking forward to when it's done, and he gets to crash in a comfy berth.
He walks over to the bar with Dreadbot and Crosshairs, the three of them the only ones left to keep everyone entertained when the streetwalkers are out working.
"I see you've been with Blackout." Dreadbot says quietly.
"I... Yeah?"
"He's the only one who makes us require patches afterwards." Dreadbot smirks, indicating his own throat.
"I don' like it when 'e wan's tha'. I much prefer the rape games." Crosshairs says.
Rape games? But why is he even remotely surprised...
"I really don't like that. Reminds me too much of my repo." Dreadbot says very quietly. "But here comes one of the Brothers. Hello, handsome!" He purrs the last part to Sunstreaker as the golden mech approaches the bar.
"Hi. Give me a double filtered high grade." Sunstreaker says, optics sweeping Barricade's frame. "Are you available for the night?"
Sunstreaker. The surly mech who almost constantly scowls, the Brother who prefers the mechs he fucks to be out cold. If he's going to back out of something, going to sleep early — even if it's unnerving to know that he won't even know what's being done to him — seems like the least smart choice, especially considering what he hasn't backed out of up until now.
"I sure am!" He says, plastering a smile on his face.
"Good. Come on. I feel like turning in early."
Ironically, that's exactly what Barricade wants to do too, he just didn't figure it would be this way.
Barricade follows the Golden mech up the stairs, nervous, even if he isn't going to be aware of what's happening, and after Blackout, that should be kind of a relief.
Chapter Text
Sunstreaker's room is spotless, and everything seems to be in it's place to an almost compulsive level. The entire room is tastefully decorated in an almost subtle, yet striking black and gold.
If he doesn't count the things on the table by the window.
Barricade's optics are repeatedly drawn to the the messy table. A half finished painting is leaning against the wall, and there are jars and containers with paint, and other materials that could probably be useful when creating something like that.
Not that he would know, he certainly isn't artistic.
"Have a seat." Sunstreaker breaks him out of his thoughts that seem almost like an attempted escape from thinking about what's about to happen.
Barricade sinks down in the chair he's pointed to.
"So, how does this work?" He asks nervously.
"You pick what you want to help you fall into recharge, or be immobilized. I have some good, safe recharge capsules, and recharge routers, but also a type of router that leaves you conscious, but unable to move."
It's not an easy choice. Being conscious is tempting in a way, to allow him to know what's going on, and what is done to his frame. But then again, he was really tired just a few minutes ago — he's nervous enough for that to have been temporarily pushed away — and it could be really nice to not even have to be checked in, and still do a night's work.
"I think I prefer recharging this time?" He says hesitantly, because he needs to catch up on his recharge, and not having any control of his frame, being unable to stop anything he doesn't want to happen, seems even more unnerving than just being unaware.
"I have two options for you: a recharge chip that'll send you under and keep you there until I remove it, the kind a medic would use for extensive repairs, and the sedative that you can either swallow, or take out the powder and inject, and that'll have effect on your systems for about seven hours, give or take for individual differences in filtration."
"Are any of those even legal? I mean, if there was a raid..."
Sunstreaker snorts. "I keep up with the legislation, only using things that aren't under any restrictions. Mostly, it's just a matter of checking what the medics use in the other city-states. The legislation doesn't keep up well, so controlled substances there may be perfectly legal here."
"Good to know."
Then at least the drugs themselves should be safe, and he won't be arrested if he's checked, and they linger in his systems.
"I'll take the one I can swallow."
The option where he's not relying on Sunstreaker to wake him up.
"Fair enough. The effect is quicker if you inject it, but it's up to you."
"I... I think I'll still swallow it. To ease myself into this?"
Sunstreaker's lip-plates actually quirk, something Barricade has rarely seen on the golden mech when he speaks with one of the pleasurebots. He usually reserves any hints of amusement to his interactions with the other Brothers. He hands Barricade a capsule with green powder in it, and a bottle of coolant from a small cooler hidden in a cabinet.
Barricade pops the capsule into his intake, and then he washes it down before he lose his nerve and change his mind.
"What's the appeal of this?" He asks, curious about what fun it could possibly be to fuck someone who's unconscious.
"I don't like to get my paint scratched. Unconscious mechs don't dig their fingers into my plating and whatnot."
"Is that really all there is to it? I mean, you could just tie them up to stop that, and at least get a few reactions for your efforts."
Barricade is starting to get loopy, but even he hears the way it sounds when his processor to mouth filter clearly malfunctions.
"I-I, it's not that I'm asking for that instead!"
Sunstreaker's lip-plates quirk again. "No, that's more of my brother's thing. I do enjoy the way I'm free to do what I want with the mech in my berth when he's out. It's the thrill, I guess, to have that kind of power over someone. I don't do damage, though, and you will get paid."
Barricade's spark would probably still speed up, if the drug wasn't taking effect. "Good to know." He forces out, but his vocalizer feels like it's full of lint, and the words are slurred.
Chapter Text
His helm lolls back, and it feels like he's about to nod off, but awaking with a start, even though he can't really lift his helm with the state he's in. Barricade hears when Sunstreaker moves towards him, and then arms wrap around him very carefully.
To make sure his paint isn't scratched. Sunstreaker's, that is, not his paint.
Barricade giggles at his own rambling thoughts, feeling giddy, then there's the sense of momentarily floating in the air, before gravity makes his back hit the top of the berth. He tries to wiggle deeper into the bedding that feels softer than anything he's ever laid on before, but his frame is rather uncooperative. Two of his optics offline, and he feels his systems shutting down one by one.
It feels so good, he's so tired, and he can finally just relax...
Servos slide up his thighs, and then thumbs stroke his interface plate.
"Open up. I don't want to be forced to break this open..." Someone says.
Barricade forces two of his optics to online again.
When did he offline them, and who is talking to him?
"Mn...ma-ma-noo-l la'ch..." He manages to get out, looking for the protocols to open the plate, but unable to find them.
A slim talon slips through the seam around his interface plate, feeling around to find the latch.
"M're to... Fro..." He trails off, optics offlining again, and he feels the welcome darkness of recharge dancing at the edge of his consciousness.
The mech above him chuckles, expertly hitting the latch with the guidance Barricade provided, and it's kind of startling with the pop-up in his HUD about it as it flashes in a bright orange. Barricade shuts the pop-up, and tries to focus enough to find the settings.
Why does he have so many settings? He hardly ever touches them, why does he need them? They just make it harder to find the setting he's looking for... Ooh, night mode?! He has that?!
Barricade opens the profile he has never checked before, and is delighted to find that it mutes all the alerts and message sounds, and he can choose to minimize the pop-ups. He can even choose to make it block his comm.
This is something he's definitely going to use from now on.
He activates the profile.
If he remembers. He's so damn tired.
He notices when the digits playing with his array stops their ministrations, and he's rolled over on his front, and he's wondering what's happening, but he's too tired to ask, let alone do anything about it. His legs are nudged apart.
Then recharge claims him.
Chapter Text
Coming out of recharge is a slow and fuzzy affair, and it takes Barricade far longer than usual to reboot. When his optics finally online, he still needs almost a minute before he figures out where he is.
In Sunstreaker's berth. He spent the night here, being fucked.
Barricade would've hurried to dig out the files that saves what happens to his frame, if it wasn't for his processor's unusual slowness, and the troubles focusing. He finally finds the files, but decrypting them certainly isn't easy.
Just a long line of sensor numbers, and times for deviations in input exceeding the normal parameters. In short, just very unhelpful, and raising more questions than it answers.
The easiest route to go is a manual control, so Barricade lays there for another fifteen minutes to let his motoric systems to boot fully, and more control over his frame to return, before he reaches down to check his array.
His valve-lips feels slack — as they usually do in the morning these days — and he's slightly sore. The slightly sticky wetness tells him that his valve has been utilized.
He reaches farther back.
His port seems unused. That's... Kind of surprising? Or maybe his protocols makes it feel that way? How do they operate when he's in recharge, do they start automatically if his frame detects something going on?
Barricade drags his other servo down his face, and he feels the dried transfluid as a rough coating.
Why is he surprised about that? At least Sunny had the courtesy to not cum in his mouth, and drown him in jizz.
Barricade turns his helm to look at the mech in question, almost startled to find him awake, watching him check himself.
"Uhm... Good morning."
"Yeah. I really like the way you check your frame. It's entertaining."
"Thanks, I guess?"
Sunstreaker holds out a data stick.
"Your payment."
"I... Okay?" Barricade says, still feeling disoriented. "So, we're done?"
"Yeah."
"What time is it?" His chronometer hasn't started up yet, but he does feel well rested.
"A little past eight in the morning."
"Oh. Can I use the washracks?"
"Of course. Just rinse it afterwards, and scrape the water away. I hate dried solvents and stuff staining the tiles."
"I... Sure."
Not an unreasonable thing to ask for, considering Sunstreaker just gave him a 30 credit tip for sleeping.
Chapter Text
"Jazz! The boss needs to talk to you." Blackout says, and the stony look on his face does not bode well.
Barricade feels the way Jazz's field trembles with uncertainty.
"What did you do?" He hisses.
"I dunno. I think I've been doin' good. Thought I'd been meetin' my quota..." Jazz says quietly.
"You haven't had a relapse with the drugs, have you?" Barricade mumbles, because it feels so intrusive to ask but he's so afraid for that being the reason for this talk.
"No, I'm clean. Really don' wanna do it again, n' I know I get help if I ask.
"Stop gossiping, and start moving!" Blackout barks impatiently, jerking his helm towards the stairs, and it's a reminder how final the Brothers' words are, and how little the pleasurebots have a say.
It gets Jazz moving, and with a last nervous glance at Barricade, he hurries to not make Blackout even more irritated, and keep Ironhide waiting.
The grin Blackout sends Barricade's way makes the big Helo look like he's contemplating a murder, and it makes Barricade's spark skip a revolution or two, then Blackout is off, trailing behind Jazz up the stairs.
Barricade looks after them until they disappear along the upstairs hallway, then he finds himself unable to just sit around and wait for Jazz to return.
Or be kicked out. What if Blackout is allowed to have his version of fun?
Barricade starts cleaning the bar, and the rec room, because that's the only thing he can come up with to occupy himself. He doesn't want to leave the rec room, because then he might miss when Jazz comes back — or, Primus forbid, is taken out — so the drive he's really craving to blow off some steam will have to wait.
He's done with the bar when Hot Rod shows up, grabbing himself a drink.
"What's the occasion?"
"Nothing. Just need to have something to occupy myself with." Barricade says, wiping the table that's more often used to fuck on than to put glasses down.
Hot Rod nods, taking a seat. Apparently he doesn't feel the need to occupy himself with anything more productive than drinking.
"I'm just curious, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but I know how you feel about everything that has to do with sex, so I'm wondering why you still work here." Barricade almost rambles.
"You didn't seem so keen yourself, and you're still here."
"Yeah, but this is my best opportunity to be with Jazz right now, and I mean, the deal is good, and most of the sex isn't that bad..."
"The deal really is pretty good. And technically, I'm dead, and people don't tend to look too hard on a random whore."
Chapter Text
"You're dead." Barricade says flatly, listening intently to try to detect Hot Rod's spark.
"Well, the real me — or my old self, depending on how you see it — was declared dead, and it's not like I want to draw unnecessary attention to myself. Here, I don't need a lease for an apartment, or worrying about having a boss that might answer questions, and get curious about why someone is asking them, should a situation arise. If there's one thing I can be certain about here, it's that the Brothers won't talk, and that I have some serious muscle to protect me."
"Sounds like you've been in some deep scrap."
Hot Rod laughs, a dry, hollow sound, lacking real amusement. "You could say that again. I was conjuxed off — as is customary where I come from — to an incredibly powerful mech. He wasn't nice. Not anywhere near decent, even. Long story short, after more trips to the medics than I care to count, and several times where I was hanging on by a thread, I had had it. I saw no other way out than disappearing. I stole a good amount of credits from my conjux, and bribed my way to being declared dead. Then I ran. Moved cities several times, living on the streets just to avoid leaving a trail. It was awful, but I was alive, so in a way, that didn't matter. I was always looking over my shoulder, though. Eventually, I stumbled over Hide and his crew, and I joined them, even if I found the work almost unbearable."
"You think your conjux is still looking for you, even though you faked your own death?"
Hot Rod shrugs. "I don't know. I can't be sure he bought it, and he has the money and power to search infinitely if he suspects I'm still alive. I couldn't afford a new identity when I ran, and it was so hard to not having any identification. I was unable to even get myself a motel room or something like that, so I wound up picking mechs up in bars, trying to get to crash with the mechs I picked up, and when I'd followed them home, I drugged them. Then I'd steal some fuel, and a few credits before they woke up, and then I'd start over. Couldn't stay in one area for very long, though, and there was always the risk that my description would wind up somewhere my husband would find out eventually."
"So you moved in here...?"
"Tried my magic on Springer one night, with the intentions to do my thing. He brought me here, and I started to realize that I was in trouble when I came in and all the brothers were waiting for me. Thought they were all going to fuck me first, and I panicked, and started crying, and apologizing for my plans. Turns out they'd heard rumors about me, and what I was doing, and since I had unwittingly done it in their territory, they were out for me, because I was bad for their business."
"Oh, fuck..." Barricade groans, because he can easily see exactly how deep slag Hot Rod was in.
The brothers run the prostitution, if people started thinking that Hot Rod was one of theirs, that would be bad for business, and if there's one thing he has picked up on, it's that the Brothers are dead serious about business.
"Yeah, I thought they'd kill me, but when I cried and rambled my apologies, and explanations, they offered me a deal: a reformat, protection, and a new identity, and I'll pay it off with hooking."
"And it was too good to turn down, even though you don't like sex."
"Yeah. The only comfort is that it's no worse than when I had to sleep with my conjux. I don't want to have sex with other mechs at all, I just don't get aroused by being with someone else. I can find some pleasure in masturbation at times, but there's something off with my wiring, so it's more like the satisfaction of scratching an itch, and I have a really hard time getting an overload, and when I finally do, it isn't the wow-moment everyone else is talking about."
"I can't say I can relate, but I do feel for you. I didn't like sex for other reasons, but at least I can enjoy it physically."
"Yeah. I just try to see it as a job. I mean, there are other jobs that are really gross, but most of them don't pay anywhere near what I make here, and I wouldn't have been able to hide if I got one of those jobs instead."
"I hear you."
It's so much like his job as a dishwasher, except Hot Rod has even more incentive to stay here. He can't help but be curious about his ex conjux, though. It sounds like Hot Rod comes from a similar background to Crosshairs.
Chapter Text
It's a couple of hours before Jazz finally returns.
Or rather, Nitro has the Solstice slung over his shoulder, carrying him downstairs.
"Cross, Dreadie! See to your new co-worker!" He bellows.
Crosshairs and Dreadbot hurries over to the Flier, and Jazz is put down between them, an arm across each of their shoulders for support. Barricade's spark spins wildly, but he's still slow to approach, uncertain if he's allowed to, since he wasn't called.
"Ye alright?"
Jazz grins, looking extremely dopey. His legs are covered in cum and lubricant, and there's smears around his mouth, and on his front.
"Yeah, jus' fucked senseless."
Dreadbot smirks. "Welcome to in-house. Let's get you cleaned up."
Barricade can't decide what to think. Jazz seems very happy about being voted in, but at the same time, he looks like the initiation was a little over the top.
"Do you need my help?" He asks.
"No' ye', hun. We'll clean 'im up, an' we'll discuss some in-house business while we do. Ye'll ge' 'im back later." Crosshairs answers before Jazz has time to say anything.
Barricade nods, feeling kind of left out and redundant when Jazz is led away towards the pleasurebot wing, and a well needed shower.
"Good thing I'm so loose it all runs out, or I'd be sloshin' with jizz!" Jazz cackles, and Barricade hears how the others start laughing too.
"Come on. We can tell the others about the vote while they fix Jazz up." Hot Rod says, getting up from the couch.
"I guess we could." Barricade says slowly, following Hot Rod the same way the others went.
::The vote is done. See you in our rec room.:: Hot Rod comms on the pleasurebot group connection. There are affirmative pings, and they walk past the washracks door that shuts behind the in-house crew.
Knock Out, and Bumblebee are already there when they arrive, Bumblebee sitting in a chair, but Knock Out is still standing, as if he's nervous, or agitated.
"I guess we weren't chosen then, since we're here." Knock Out says, sounding kind of snippy.
"Jazz got the spot." Roddy says, shrugging.
Knock Out crosses his arms, looking annoyed.
::I think Jazz deserves it.:: Bumblebee comms.
"Yeah, no, I'm not thinking he didn't. It's just... I've been doing so much lately to get the votes, and it was all for nothing, you know?"
"Jazz has probably done it all the entire time he has been here. Then it looks more effortless." Roddy says.
::And he doesn't have a go-to Brother, so he's available for the others more than you are, which also makes a good point.:: Bumblebee comms again.
"I know, I know. I'm just disappointed that I didn't get the spot. I'm not holding it against Jazz."
"Good. We don't want to piss the big boss off with drama so soon after the Drift debacle." Roddy says rather sharply.
"I'm not going to!" Knock Out says with an annoyed gesture of his servos.
Barricade can't help but think that he's kind of relieved that he didn't get that job, even if if Knock Out says that he isn't going to cause trouble. He certau doesn't want to be the cause of jealousy.
Chapter Text
They're still hanging out in the rec room when the in-house crew reemerges from the washracks. Jazz is walking without help, and he certainly looks a lot better now that he's cleaned up, even if they haven't gotten all the paint transfers out.
Jazz squeezes himself into the chair Barricade is occupying.
"Are you ok?" Barricade asks.
"I'm fabulous! I still can' quite understand that I got tha job!" Jazz says, indeed sounding very excited.
"It looked like you got one hell of an initiation..."
"They all had a go, but tha' was it. A whole lotta overloadin', though." Jazz giggles.
"I'm glad that you're happy." Barricade says, and he really means it.
"I'm not a streetwalker anymore, n' I make a lot of money! Who would've ever thought I'd be somethin' one day?"
Even if he's still a prostitute... Jazz is kind of right, though, because it certainly is a step up from what he had when they met.
"You've worked your way up, and you deserve it."
"Thank ya! I'm actually all thrilled 'bout tonight's shift, my first one in-house that isn' a party."
Barricade leans his helm against Jazz's shoulder.
He hasn't been that thrilled about his nightshifts, but this really highlights the difference between walking the streets, and doing what he has been doing during his trial. What Jazz is going to do now. That does retract from the revenue from the hookers, though, so maybe his own trial will be hurried along to fill that slot? He hopes it isn't, he isn't in a hurry to get to that point.
"I hope it lives up to your expectations."
"I'm gonna try ta get Roadbuster into tha sack tonight.' Jazz says very decisively.
"Good choice."
"Yeah, he's nice. N' doesn' drool."
Barricade snorts. "That seems very important to you."
"I like not bein' slobbered all over when I recharge."
"Does anyone else do that? They seem to always wake up before I do..."
"'cause ya're a lazy-aft."
"I am not!" Barricade says with mock indignation.
"Totally are! But not as lazy as I am."
"Fair enough."
"Sideswipe, n' Motormaster. Tha others tend ta wake up earlier than me, so if they do, they wipe it off."
"Breakdown drools too. I think it's cute, though..." Knock Out says.
"You'd think everything he does is cute." Hot Rod interjects.
"True."
::Do you really think anyone would care about wiping it off, though?:: Bumblebee comms them.
"I dunno, maybe they'd think it was embarrassin'?" Jazz asks, shrugging questioningly.
"Nitro doesn't. Wipe it off, that is. Or find it embarrassing." Dreadbot says, rolling his optics.
Crosshairs starts laughing. "I be' 'e does it on purpose jus' te tick ye off!"
The others join in the laughter, and so does Barricade, because it's both ridiculous, and sounds very likely, considering what Nitro is like.
"I wouldn't be the least surprised if you're right." Dreadbot grumbles.
Chapter Text
Barricade has taken a seat at the bar, sipping his drink, when Blackout leans against the counter next to him, looking him up and down. Barricade is completely unprepared when an arm is slung across his shoulders, and he's pulled off balance, face-planting against a massive chest.
"Come on, you've been hogging this one a lot lately, B.O. Let another Brother play with the little cop." Nitro rumbles, allowing Barricade to push off and sit up straight again, indignant about the mechhandling.
"Was that really necessary?" He snips to Nitro Zeus.
"No, but it was fun!" Nitro laughs unrepentantly.
"Aren't you quite the comedian?" Barricade mutters, grabbing a cloth to wipe up what he spilled in the process.
"I'm pretty close to laughing gas."
Barricade doesn't understand the joke at all, so he just nods, giving Nitro an unimpressed look. "Sure you are."
"Looks like the little cop prefers someone more serious." Blackout, says, pressing up against Barricade from the other side. He flicks his wrist, and as he does so, extends his talons quickly, and it's impressive for all the threat that's in the gesture.
Barricade whimpers when Blackout caresses his throat with those sharp claws, and he presses further into Nitro Zeus out of survival instinct.
"If you make him wet himself here, you clean it up." Nitro says.
"He can do it himself."
"Not when he's occupied in my washracks..."
"Oh, gentlemechs... Enough with the cockfight." Dreadbot sing-songs.
"Maybe we should let our measurements decide this cockfight?" Blackout smirks at Nitro.
"Well, if you bend over first, I'll show you a really good size..."
"You wish!"
"Only when my optic is malfunctioning."
"Whatever. Your little dick wouldn't be nearly enough anyway."
"Ha! As if that's the real problem..." Nitro makes a humping motion. "Oh, Blackout, you need to stop sleeping around so much, you're getting so loose..."
"I'm tighter than your daddy ever was."
"I wouldn't know, I usually sit on his lap..." Nitro manages to sound even more sleazy than usual.
"Eew!" Blackout says, making a face.
Nitro shrugs. "He told me he loves me. Only a mother could love your ugly mug. Too bad your momma is so loose, he could easily take a city former..."
Blackout throws the first ceramic puff, and then the most ridiculous war in history erupts. Dreadbot hands Nitro a pack of gels as ammunition, and it sticks to Blackout's plating.
"Hey, that's not fair..." Blackout growls at Dreadbot.
"I'll lick it all off ye when ye win the fight!" Crosshairs shouts from where he's ducking for cover behind the bar.
Then hopefully he will get to spend the night with Nitro. Luckily, the Flier has other qualities than humor.
Chapter Text
Blackout manages to snag a few gels too, so when the throwing of edible items finally stops, Nitro has a few globs of sweet goodness splattered on his plating too. Barricade takes the chance to lean in to lick one off, flicking his optics up to meet Nitro's, plastering on a smile.
"Hungry, little mech?" Nitro leers.
"M-hm." Barricade hums, licking the plate again.
Blackout has already hoisted Crosshairs over his shoulder and walked off with him.
"And I get the cleanup." Dreadbot grumbles from his position on all fours the floor, picking up puffs, and wiping away smeared gels.
"You keep waggling your aft like that, someone will grab you before you're done, babe." Nitro says before he follows Blackout's example and throws Barricade over his shoulder.
"Hey!" Barricade squeaks in surprise, but the indignant protest is more of a knee jerk reaction, than sincere.
"Cool your manifold, pipsqueak." Nitro rumbles, pinning Barricade's legs against his chest-plates with a massive arm, while patting Barricade's aft with his servo.
He's actually getting used to this mechhandling, and Nitro's version is more undignified than scary, like Blackout's.
"You should get me a cleaning drone for my emergence day!" Dreadbot yells after Nitro, still scrubbing the floor.
"Maybe I will? If you're a good little Bot."
Dreadbot grumbles something Barricade can't quite make out, but Nitro rumbles a laugh, then he takes the stairs two steps at a time, obviously in a rush to get Barricade into his room.
Maybe into the washracks? He was talking about that with Blackout. And here he has been almost taking for granted that this always would be like the first time, what if Nitro has other predilections too? Blackout certainly has many varying ideas on his theme...
Nitro obviously isn't up for shower interfacing — not yet anyway — because he flings Barricade onto the berth, amusement lacing his field at the surprised squeak. Barricade lays there, propped up on his elbows, nervously watching as the Flier starts rummaging through his storage unit.
The storage unit where he has guns, and chains, and such. What is he going to want this time?
Chapter Text
"Ah, there." Nitro says to himself, reaching deeper into the storage unit to pull something out.
Barricade follows the movement apprehensively.
He may be in over his helm, depending on what Nitro wants. Sure, he did some fairly advanced things with Sideswipe, but then he could just go along. If Nitro wants him to be more active, he still doesn't really know how to do it. Maybe he can find a tutorial online?
The idea is discarded as quickly as he comes up with it.
Online tutorials really vary greatly in quality. He doesn't have time to go through several, and simultaneously try to figure out which of the quite likely contradictory advice is right, and he certainly doesn't want to fuck this up.
Nitro turns around, holding up a rope and a clamp.
"You'll need to guide me a bit? I don't know what you expect..." Barricade says hesitantly.
There. That has to be acceptable, right?
"I want you to fake arresting me. Use this like you would use cuffs. And then tell me what to do to get out of being arrested."
It should be easy, because he did this before, but then he used his spike, and he's fairly certain Nitro doesn't do blowjobs. If Nitro wants that sort of action, he'll ask for it.
Barricade takes the rope, looking at it for long seconds. It's a clever way to give Barricade a tool to restrain him, but still being in control. Nitro can easily tear the rope if he wants to. It's also a testament that Nitro doesn't completely trust him in this game, because the Flier has handcuffs, but he chooses not to use them. Barricade doesn't feel offended by it, but it's good information to have.
"What's the crime?"
Nitro grins. "I was going to go for assault, but maybe we should start out with a little less wrangling?"
"How about public indecency? You really should stop fucking hookers out in the open where people can see..."
Nitro barks a laugh. "But it's such a thrill to do it!"
"This time that thrill will land you in the can until we can process you. Turn around, servos against the wall."
"Oh, Officer. I'm sure we can come to an understanding. I have credits..." Nitro says, still obeying the order.
"Save them for the fines you'll get." Barricade says, wrangling Nitro's arms behind his back, looping the rope around his wrist-struts, and locking it in place with a clamp.
"But I already have a few misdemeanors! I'll go to jail! You know I wouldn't last a week in there. Do you know what they do to pretty little mechs like me in jail?"
Barricade stifles a snort, while starting to search Nitro's frame.
"It wouldn't be the first time you interfaced in pub... Uh, you should put that away." He says when his servo finds Nitro's hard spike. Barricade wasn't prepared for that, still pretending to search the Jet for dangerous and illegal objects.
"I can't. It's not my fault you interrupted me mid-interface."
Barricade does something he never would've done back when he was a cop: he strokes the hard component a couple of times. Nitro's engine whines.
"You know, maybe there is a way for us to come to an understanding..."
Chapter Text
Nitro groans when Barricade strokes his spike. "So, Officer, what kind of understanding could we come to?"
The entire scenario is incredibly arousing, but his spike is asking permission to pressurize, and that's just not in the books this time. Mournfully, he denies the request.
And this is the one roleplay he's never ever going to ask Jazz for, that would feel so very wrong.
Barricade pulls Nitro away from the wall, and the massive mech follows easily, stepping back, and then turning to look at him at Barricade's urging.
"You know," Barricade starts, reaching down to manually open his valve cover — he can't say why he finds something in the gesture that makes it feel like a power move, but he always did — and quirks his optical ridge at Nitro, "I haven't been thoroughly eaten out in a while..."
"You'll drop the charges if I do? Forget about what you saw?"
"If you're good enough."
Nitro Zeus slowly sinks to his knees, and Barricade's valve clenches in anticipation. Nitro is so tall, he has to sit on his pedes to be able to do it.
It's so fucking hot, the same power rush he always felt back in the day. The only thing that could make this better would be getting his spike sucked.
Barricade steps closer, tilting his hips to give better access, and then he places his servo on Nitro's helm, urging him forward. Nitro slides his glossa through Barricade's already damp folds, his glossa rubbing against Barricade's anterior node. Barricade shudders in pleasure.
"You could hitch your knee over my shoulder if you want, Officer. It'll give me better access to pleasure you."
"Well, it's your own responsibility to make this good enough to earn my forgetfulness, but I suppose I can be a bit accommodating."
Barricade does as Nitro suggested, pressing his lower leg against Nitro's back, and pushing Nitro's helm closer to underscore that he's still the one in control. Nitro plunges his glossa into Barricade's valve, working both the tips in a repetitive pattern of twists and turns to stimulate all of Barricade's inside nodes, before he pulls one tip out to circle his anterior node. Barricade groans, and lets his helm fall back, because Nitro is as good as he remembers.
A selfish part of him wishes that this was like back then, that he could just let Nitro lick him to completion and then they'd be done, but he knows that this time, it won't be like that.
But he's certainly going to let the Jet work for the fuck this is going to lead up to.
Chapter 458
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It's so very tempting to let Nitro bring him to an overload with his clever glossa, but Barricade knows that he'll need some time before he'll be ready for being fucked if he does.
He could suck Nitro's spike, but it doesn't fit the scene.
"You're good at this, but now I want your spike."
"Will you forget about my... exhibitionism if you get it?"
"If you fuck me good enough. No overloading before I do."
"Are you going to cut me lose? Allow me to help out with my servos?"
"No. I'm sure you'll figure something out. Your freedom depends on it, after all."
"And what guarantee do I have that you will honor our deal when we're done?"
"I guess you'll just have to trust my word on that."
"I don't like those odds."
"I mean, we could just stop it right now, and you'll come with me to the station to be booked..." Barricade reaches out to stroke Nitro's hard spike again, and the Flier bucks into his servo. "You do seem interested enough. It'll be hard for you to stuff that away, and I'm sure you don't want to walk to the precinct looking like this."
"This is blackmail." Nitro says in a strained voice, clearly fighting the urge to start rutting into Barricade's hand.
"See it as an opportunity. You get off, and if I'm satisfied with your performance, you stay out of jail. It's all up to you..."
Barricade lets go of Nitro's spike, standing up to look down at the Jet, and it's so appealing to have someone kneeling for him, Barricade's valve clenches around nothing. He sends a nasty grin Nitro's way, and Barricade is aware that he is toeing the line to not really acting anymore. He turns around, climbing onto the berth, standing on all fours.
It wasn't that long ago, he'd be flushing over this, but right now, he's too turned on to be embarrassed.
"Go on, what are you waiting for? You want to remain free, don't you?"
He hears Nitro getting up, walking closer, then the head of Nitro's spike slips through his folds when Nitro tries to line it up. Nitro rolls his hips, but the slickness makes his spike slip again, pushing in under the plate covering Barricade's port.
"Oups." Nitro says, not sounding repentant at all.
"Watch it! You don't want to disappoint me." Barricade snaps, wriggling out of the way.
"I would've made you love that too."
"Big words from someone who's future is depending on what I decide." Barricade's sneering comment turns into a mewl when Nitro hits the target, his spike sliding into Barricade's valve.
"Sounds like I can please you even with my hands tied." Nitro says smugly, starting to thrust with long, slow movements to really hit every node inside Barricade.
"Don't be cocky."
Nitro snorts, rolling his hips very deliberately, and Barricade grabs on to the bedding as the spike inside him stirs the walls of his valve.
"Cocky is exactly what I am."
Notes:
Wow, new record for late posting. Today completely blew up literally ten minutes after I got up. Should've followed my first impulse and called in quitting my job and pulled the comfort over my head again. X_x
Chapter Text
It doesn't take long for Barricade to tip over the edge, in spite of forcing Nitro to do it without using his servos.
The mech really does know how to use his spike.
Too late, Barricade realizes that he could've told Nitro to not cum inside him, and with that, we would've saved himself from being filled up, and all sticky.
Though the lubricant staining his thighs may be there because of Nitro, but it certainly isn't the Flier's fluids.
It doesn't matter, though, because Nitro is already filling him up, and Barricade feels strut-less enough to not really find it in himself to care. He waits for Nitro to be finished, tempted to just stretch out on his front, sprawling on the berth, but since he decided to leave Nitro tied up, he can't.
Should he still keep acting, or is the scene over now that they have overloaded? It's probably better to keep playing until the rope has come off, at least. Even if he could fall asleep, and Nitro could just tear the ropes.
"I've decided to cut you lose. I'm already starting to feel forgetful of what you did." He says, sounding more dopey than he anticipated.
"Thank you, Officer."
Barricade turns around, and the way Nitro is standing there, with his servos behind his back, he really looks like a soldier standing at ease.
Well, except for his softening spike that's still not packed away behind his panel.
Barricade crawls off the berth, and Nitro turns to give him access to the clamp around the rope. Barricade loosens it, pulling the rope from around Nitro's thick wrist-struts, and he notices a few scuffs, but nothing serious.
There's old scarring there too, in some of the struts. Some of the parts look newer, and have probably been replaced, but there has definitely been damage circumfering Nitro's wrists. If it is from his military days, or if it's games like this gone bad, is impossible to know. It would explain why they're using a rather flimsy rope.
"This was kind of fun." Barricade says.
"Yeah. You're definitely not out of practice, even if it was a long time since you were an Enforcer.
Barricade almost makes a face.
Being corrupt and abusive isn't really a good thing to so easily slip into again. And it makes Blackout so very right that first time he had the big Helo; he really enjoys it, and is still turned on by it. In a sense, he's no better than Blackout. Nope, so not playing this game with Jazz.
"I'm glad that you're happy." He answers, because that's the best way he can see this.
Chapter Text
"There's a problem by the gate." Breakdown says to Sideswipe.
"Define the problem." Sideswipe says, sounding annoyed.
"Drift is back."
Barricade dials up the volume of his audials, because this could potentially be something that impacts this evening a lot, and if the Brothers don't want eavesdroppers, they'd definitely leave the rec room, that much he's certain of. He glances at Jazz, and sees that he has heard it too, because he looks worried.
"Where's Blackout?" Sideswipe asks.
"Hide took both him and Nitro with him when he went to do that thing up on the north side."
Sideswipe rubs his face. "Fuck."
"Drift's... he's going to attract attention if he stays there. I'm patching the camera feed through to you."
Sideswipe is silent for long moments while he checks the feed. "Fuck. Yeah, you're right. It's just a matter of when, not if, the Enforcers show up, and I really don't trust him to keep his vocalizer shut. Take Springer, and get him inside. I'll ping Hide. We can't get rid of him now, someone is bound to see."
Breakdown nods and turns on his heel, jerking his helm to get Springer to accompany him. Barricade follows them with his optics.
"He better not come back ta steal my job!" Jazz hisses to Barricade.
It is not the first thing he expected Jazz to say. On the contrary, he thought the other pleasurebots were upset by what happened to Drift, just that they don't show it to appease the Brothers.
But then again, Jazz really seems to like his new job so far.
"I'm sure Hide wouldn't just demote you and give Drift his position back. He was so pissed after what happened." Barricade whispers. "And Hide seems like the type of mech who doesn't just switch up the employment conditions on a whim."
Hide really does seem like a mech who stays true to his word. Which leaves the unsettling question what will happen tonight, because he was very clear on what Drift's conditions for being left alive were, yet here he is, in Autobot territory. Maybe Blackout will actually get him...
Barricade shudders, because the thought of Blackout getting free reins is terrifying.
Chapter Text
Barricade knows how bad it looks to be the nosey spectator, but he tries to justify it with at least not staring at some random mech on the street, but someone he is acquainted with.
And this is his home for the moment, so what happens is kind of his business too, in a way. It's not like they're running outside to line up and stare. They're peeking through the windows.
The brothers are a lot less interested than the pleasurebots, but then again, they're probably discussing their business over comms, and it's quite possible that they really don't care much for this little drama.
And what a drama it is. Too bad they can't hear what's being said.
Breakdown grabs Drift's collar fairing, hoisting him to his pedes, and shoving him through the gate. Drift stumbles by the force of it, landing on his servos and knees, but he immediately scrambles up. Springer motions towards the house with a gesture that brooks no argument, and Drift hurries up towards the house, the Warframes trailing behind rather leisurely. Outside the door Drift dawdles — it isn't his home any more, after all — and he winds up standing there, fidgeting nervously until Breakdown passes him and takes the lead, Springer ushering Drift to follow the blue mech.
They're barely through the door before they pounce on Drift. The Racer whimpers, but he allows them to mechhandle him while they search him, checking all his subspace pockets, and digging in under his plating to make sure he isn't carrying anything.
"Sit." Springer orders Drift.
"Wh-what? Here?!"
"Yes, here. On the floor. You're not supposed to be here at all, so don't expect us to let you sully a chair, and even if our scans come back negative for anything dangerous, we're not taking any chances. You'll sit here until our favorite interrogator comes back to... check you."
"I'm not carrying anything. I just want to ask for another chance. I need another chance." Drift sobs, sinking to his knees.
None of the Warframes deign to answer, and both of them moves away, taking seats, but without letting Drift out of their sights. Barricade gets the feeling that even if they haven't taken out any guns, they're definitely ready to do it in an instant if they need it, and from their trip to the shooting range, he also knows that their internal guns have very fast transformation sequences.
Now that everything has slowed down to just waiting, he has time to really take a closer look at Drift.
The Racer is dented, scratched, and dirty, and there's no mistaking the dried transfluid stains on his legs.
The dried energon it's mixed with is a much worse sign of what his time away from the house has entailed.
From what Barricade can tell, Drift isn't high at the moment, and it's kind of a relief, because even if he does know that the Brothers can be violent, he still hasn't seen them in true action, and he's getting anxious thinking about what may happen tonight.
Even if they don't do anything here, he'll kind of know what happens when Drift is taken away, and his imagination can supply him with enough suggestions. It's one thing to think about it hypothetically, and a whole different ballgame to know that it may come true for someone he knows.
Chapter Text
They can't very well stand around staring at the stalemate, and it seems unlikely that their services will be asked for at the moment, so they get back to the bar to at least look busy. Dreadbot stops by Springer and Breakdown to ask if they want anything while waiting for Hide, and Jazz heads for Sideswipe, who has been joined by Motormaster, and Sunstreaker at his table.
Crosshairs' face is set in a frown, and it really highlights the seriousness of the situation, because it's very rare that he doesn't seem happy, and even more rare that he looks angry.
"I really don' like this." Crosshairs says quietly when Dreadbot, and Jazz are back at the bar, picking up bottles of low grade.
Apparently, the situation is serious enough for the Brothers to not even want something stronger.
"I hope they kick him out. It would serve him right." Dreadbot whisper growls, before he walks back to Springer and Breakdown to serve their drinks.
"I don' know, I mean, I don' want him ta take my place, but it's so easy ta slip, n' I'm all 'bout forgiveness..." Jazz trails off, clearly conflicted.
Not that strange, Jazz seems fine, but if he's struggling with staying clean at times, what happens here tonight can be either reassuring, or a terrifying reminder to keep in line.
"Ye don' need te worry 'bout 'im takin' yer job. Hide won' allow tha'. But I think Hide deserves tha' we follow 'is rules. We 'ave all the 'elp we want an' need — without judgement fer askin' fer it — there's no reason te slip. Actions 'ave consequences."
Barricade wasn't really prepared for the hostility from the in-house mechs, even if Crosshairs' arguments are valid.
"It could go a lot worse than just kicking him out, though..." Barricade says as Jazz walks off with a few bottles.
Crosshairs shrugs. "Yeh. I mean, I don' wan' 'im dead, but 'e shouldn't be 'ere. I don' trust 'im, an' I don' wanna risk goin' te jail fer 'is sake.
"I see your point, but it is still kind of cold."
"The world's a cruel place te live. You n' I both know tha'."
"I guess..."
Dreadbot and Jazz gets back to the bar at the same time as the door opens and Ironhide walks in, Blackout and Nitro Zeus flanking him. The way Blackout is grinning when he looks at Drift does not bode well, and a chill trickles down Barricade's back-struts.
"Death by Blackout doesn't seem like a fun way to go." Barricade murmurs quietly.
"Even turbohounds get let off leash at times." Dreadbot says, sipping his cube of high grade.
Chapter Text
Without preamble, Blackout grabs Drift's helm, forcing him to bend forward into a position that looks really uncomfortable. He quickly flicks the cover over the data port in Drift's neck open, and then he pushes his cable into the socket.
Direct access to his processors, the most intimate, and vulnerable data port.
Drift whimpers, and Blackout just grins wider, clearly amused.
"Yeah, keep fighting. I love it when you do."
It takes a couple of minutes before Blackout pulls his plug out.
"Nothing to worry about, no foul play. Just a desperate little junkie." Blackout says, stepping back.
"Really must be fucking desperate to come back here." Ironhide sneers.
"I am. Please, Hide, I want to come back. I can't make it out there..."
"You knew that before you very deliberately made an effort to get ahold of those boosters, and then proceeded to use them. You knew the rules, and you chose to break them. Knew the consequences too."
Drift makes a face, then his face-plates scrunches up as he starts to sob. "I did, and when I had gotten them, I almost backed out, almost resisted. But then I was so ashamed of having gotten them in the first place, I didn't want to tell anyone to help me get rid of them. Tried to do that by myself, but I was too weak, and then the temptation was overwhelming."
"There's a reason we have that policy. You risked everyone for your selfish needs, and now this: your own pride came in the way. How could we ever trust you to not let that get in the way of getting help when you need it?"
"I don't know how you could trust me, I just don't want to be out there... And I want to be able to see Ratchet without risk of being found in your territory without permission. I want to stay clean, he's so happy when I am, but I can't do that on my own, I'm not that strong. I need your help." Drift cries.
He understands Drift's reasoning, and there's a twinge in his spark when Drift talks about Ratchet, because he can understand what it would be like to be forced away from someone he likes.
The brothers go silent, but there's apparently a conversation going on over comms. Blackout crosses his arms, looking pissed off. It takes several minutes, and all the while, Drift is curled up on the floor, crying. Barricade's spark is spinning quickly.
This is it, they're deciding if this evening is going to be about bloody murder.
The in-house mechs are still gathered by the bar with him, but it almost seems like everyone has stopped venting, waiting for the judgement to fall.
"Alright, we've voted. You get to stay." Ironhide says.
"For fucks sake, Hide," Blackout growls, "rules are rules, they must be upheld, or there are no rules."
"Haven't we seen enough mechs sent out to a certain death?" Springer asks.
"This is different, he made chocies. Actions have consequences." Blackout says, flexing his digits, before extending his talons.
"They will have consequences, alright." Ironhide says. "Drift, you're not allowed to ever leave the house without a Brother, or one of the in-house whores to accompany you. You'll start working the streets tomorrow night, and all your tips will be witheld for the rest of the year as a fine. And we will mount a lo-jack on your aft to make sure you don't try to sneak out."
"Fucking hell!" Dreadbot hisses venomously, making Barricade jump.
"Yeh, even more work fer us." Crosshairs agrees.
"They should've given him to Blackout, now it'll be up to us to put him in a better mood. Rock, paper scissors?"
"Sounds good. Jazz, we do this, an' the one who wins the first round is out, an' the loser of the second round 'as te do this night with Blackout."
"Sounds fair." Jazz says.
Crosshairs wins the first round, and Barricade's spark spins, because a pissed of Blackout is certainly much worse than bloodthirsty for fun Blackout, and even if he doesn't really wish it on anyone, he can't help that he's rooting for Jazz.
Chapter Text
Dreadbot doesn't swear or anything when he holds out his scissored digits against Jazz's closed servo, but he can't keep the apprehension from showing on his face-plates.
"It was fun getting to know you, guys. I guess I'll see you in the well." He says, trying to sound cheery, but failing miserably.
They're interrupted, and their attention is drawn back to where Drift is still sitting on the floor when Ratchet walks through the door. Most of the brothers have already taken seats again, but Blackout is pacing restlessly, and Nitro Zeus is still standing at ease close to where Drift is sitting, as if he still has a need to keep an optic on the mech in house arrest.
"Oh, good, you're already here. Make him good enough to work tomorrow night. You know, check for STDs, contraception, and patch up what you can." Ironhide says offhandedly to Ratchet, waving in Drift's direction with one servo as he grabs himself a bottle of high grade from the bar. "Want a drink, doc? Now that you're here anyway, and I'm sure we can provide some entertainment for you tonight if you want."
Ratchet glares daggers at Ironhide, and then he turns his helm towards the mech on the floor. Revulsion and anger morphs his face into a sneer. "What the hell have you done to him?!" He spits.
Ratchet is so preoccupied with looking between the rather wrecked Racer on the floor, and a seemingly very nonplussed Ironhide — who's taking a deep swig from the bottle — he doesn't even notice the massive Helo circling them, stalking Ratchet as if he's a cyberwolf on the hunt.
"Oh, I wish I was so lucky, I was the one who has done that..." He purrs in Ratchet's audial.
The medic startles badly, jumping away, but Blackout just grins nastily at him as he continues to pace.
"I think it's time te ge' 'im out of 'ere..." Crosshairs says quietly to Dreadbot.
Dreadbot nods once, swallowing nervously, then he heads for Blackout, stepping into his path. It makes Blackout glare at him, as if he's very displeased by being stopped in his tracks, and for a long, horrible moment, Barricade is convinced that the Pave low is going to ignore the no damage rule — does it even apply outside the berth, if the pleasurebots misbehave — and slap him.
"You look awfully wound up, Sir. Let me help you to wind down?" The waver in Dreadbot's voice is probably genuine, and not thanks to his acting skills.
Blackout suddenly grabs Dreadbot's wrist, making the much smaller mech whimper. "Am I dismissed, Hide?"
"Yeah, just make sure you get a lo-jack tomorrow."
Dreadbot is pulled along towards the stairs none too gently, and it's easy to see how reluctant he is.
"No non-negotiated damage, Bro." Nitro says as they pass him.
"We will negotiate, alright."
Chapter Text
Dreadbot is already in the refueling room when Barricade gets there in the morning. He's kind of hunched over the table, one leg folded under him, sipping something that smells like heated low grade spiked with high grade, and he looks really tired.
"Are you alright?"
"I've been better. Could be worse too, I guess. I deserve a fucking raise, though..."
Barricade looks him over more closely, and he can see patches here and there on his fuel lines, implying that there has been some blood play. Otherwise, he looks surprisingly good; a few scratches, and a couple of small dents, but certainly not anything that makes it look like he has been mauled by a brutal sadist. The image of Dreadbot being fairly ok evaporates when he gets up from his seat, and it looks like every movement hurts. He stops mid stretch, wincing, and then he continues much more slowly, walking stiffly towards the cooler, and Barricade is about to ask if he needs help when a few others walk through the door, among them Nitro Zeus.
"Hey, babe. Grab the packet of gels." Nitro says to Dreadbot. "I have plans for you, me, and a hot tub."
Dreadbot certainly doesn't look enthusiastic. "Sure." He says, grabbing the packet from the cooler.
Nitro lifts him, but at least he foregoes the usual throwing Dreadbot over his shoulder. This time, he picks him up rather carefully, carrying him bridal style.
"I nabbed the code to Hide's door, we're going to use his jacuzzi."
"Why can't we use yours?"
"Hide's is bigger..."
"It really is, but they say size doesn't matter." Dreadbot quips.
"Ha ha, you little comedian. We need the big tub, because I've gotten this." Nitro says, waving with the box he has been holding in his servo all along.
Dreadbot takes the box, reading the label, then he snorts. "You got an inflatable boat."
"Yup." Nitro says sounding proud.
"Hide is going to pitch a fit."
"I know."
"I'll blame you."
"I know that too."
"So what are the gels for?"
"If we're going to get shipwrecked, we should have provisions." Nitro leers. "I also have a bottle of rum in my subspace, because we're pirates."
Dreadbot groans, letting his helm loll back in exasperation, but it's at least partially an act, because he cracks a grin as Nitro carries him out the door.
Chapter Text
"I take it Jazz isn't up yet?" Knock Out asks.
Barricade turns back to the mechs still present. Both Bumblebee and Knock Out are there, but Hot Rod hasn't shown up yet.
"No, not yet."
"And Crosshairs isn't answering his comm, so he's probably still in recharge, wherever he may be."
Barricade suddenly realizes that they missed what happened last night since they were already out working.
It's probably the in-house mechs who inform about changes in the employee roster, but they're not here, and he knows what happened. Would it be appropriate for him to tell them? Maybe he don't need to go into details...
"Probably..." He answers slowly,
"But you're here. And you were here last night."
"Yeah."
"So, we got the key notes; Drift has been pardoned — with sanctions in place — and he starts working tonight."
"Sums it up pretty well, yes."
"You know what? We haven't really had much opportunity to get to know each other. How about I treat you to a polish, and we can have a chat, and get to know each other a little better?" Knock Out asks solicitously.
It feels like a trap. On one servo, it's probabe that Knock Out wants to know all the details about Drift's return. On the other servo, if he declines, that probably won't be taken all that well, especially since his introduction to the house and it's residents was less than smooth. The question is how much he can share without being labeled the house gossip, or worse, breaking a rule he doesn't know?
"Sure. That would be nice of you." Barricade says, trying to hide his apprehensiveness.
"Lovely. Grab your energon, we'll do this in my room.
Barricade follows Knock Out through the door, at first surprised that Bumblebee follows them too.
But why is he surprised? Hearing the first hand version of what happened is better than the passed on one, and they really do everything together — or in front of each other — here. Getting a polish is hardly a personal affair.
Suddenly he's reminded of that awful time Blackout played him in the beginning, and Drift's following hissy fit.
Hopefully, Knock Out is just curious...
Chapter Text
It isn't surprising that Knock Out's room is neat to a point of bordering on an obsession. It's very rare that the Racer shows up with even the smallest scratches, and in his line of work, it's quite telling.
Of course he pulls out a single use sheet to throw on top of the berth before he even thinks about showing off his selection of polishes. Bumblebee plunks down in a chair in the corner while Barricade picks a polish at random, since he doesn't really know what's the best one. He hasn't really delved into the luxury waxes and polishes since he got out of prison, they just weren't a priority.
"So, Drift is back in spite of his slip. How did that happen?" Knock Out asks, motioning for Barricade to get on the berth.
"I don't really know, the Brothers did most of the talking over comms. Springer said something about having seen enough mechs be sent to inevitable offlining? They voted to allow him to stay, anyway."
Knock Out's polisher is clearly a high end machine; the low whirring isn't at all intrusive on the conversation, and they don't have to raise their voices more than a fraction.
"And his sanctions? Crosshairs was too busy to really tell us more than that when he commed us about it last night."
"Drift can't leave the house without being accompanied by a Brother, or one of the in-house mechs. He's supposed to wear a tracking device, and he won't make any credits, they'll be witheld as a fine."
"Huh. That sounds downright civil." Knock Out muses, moving on to the next plate.
"Yeah. More civil than the justice system in some ways..."
"That's right... Enforcer. Isn't it almost a bit poetic that you wound up here after what you did?"
The comment leaves a bitter taste in Barricade's intake.
"Perhaps. I would like to think that I've already taken my punishment by going to prison..." He really doesn't want to talk about this, because that'll make him think about the things he has finally accepted for now, and it won't do him any good. "So, how did you wind up here? I heard you were a medic." The last statement is definitely a petty comeback for Knock Out picking at his former status as someone with a good job that should've kept him out of this situation.
"I was. I got into street racing. It was such a thrill."
Barricade remembers the attempts to catch the racers, and all the work enforcement put into getting intel on the when and where to be able to do a real bust. Sometimes, they did get to see one of the mechs sent off to jail.
"You got caught?"
"No, I'm better than that. Not good enough though, the starting fees were rather expensive, and I didn't win enough to break even. But I got hooked on the rush of the race as much as the gamble it was with the credits, so I found myself in debt to this really nasty loanshark. I reached out to Crosshairs, because he owed me one since way back, and Hide offered me a deal."
"What did you think of the deal when you heard what it entailed?"
"Ugh. I was so grossed out, and offended. Don't know why I didn't see it coming — considering I reached out to Crosshairs — but I turned it down. Then a couple of goons came to collect a down payment. Took all my medical instruments, and told me they were stripping me for parts the next time I failed to pay. Couldn't do my job, and basically had a price on my head, so I couldn't do much but crawl back here and ask for a chance."
Chapter 468
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"And what's going on between you and Breakdown? If you don't mind me asking." Barricade says, because he remembers Crosshairs mentioning that they're sweet on each other, and not getting between them might be a good idea to not make enemies in the house.
And it might mean one less mech to fuck.
Bumblebee makes a noise that sounds a lot like a snort, which causes Knock Out to throw a rag at him.
"When I was new here, I didn't know much about Warframes. I was hoping that I could charm myself into becoming more of a conjux. I thought they'd want someone special, and I was even convincing myself that I'd be fine with my other half sleeping around, as long as he didn't do it right in front of me. So during my trial, I really spent my time trying to find a good candidate for marriage. I... I kind of fell for Breakdown. And I did become his favorite, but that was it. None of them seem interested in getting a conjux, and Breakdown isn't any different." Knock out has stopped polishing, and is fiddling with one of the plates on Barricade's back. "I've gotten used to the idea that he doesn't love me back, and it isn't painful anymore, but I wish things were different."
"I'm sorry." Barricade says lamely.
It's kind of tragic, the way Knock Out fell flat of his own devices. It may have started out manipulative, but it's not really that bad of an idea. At least not with one of the nicer Brothers.
"I'm used to it by now, I know we'll never have that. But it's nice that I'm still one of his favorites, it feels like we're friends with benefits by now, and that'll have to do."
"I guess that's better than nothing." Barricade says slowly, and Knock Out continues the polishing. "What about you, Bumblebee?" He says to distract them both, and change the subject.
::I was a singer. You, know, did some backup to some pretty famous mechs and things like that. Had a decent voice too...::
Barricade feels something inside him twist in an uncomfortable way, because he has a feeling this is going to be an ugly story.
::But I wasn't good enough to make it big on my own. I made enough credits to live pretty comfortably, and I was one of the first choices for a couple of producers when needing choir mechs and stuff, so I had a steady income.::
"Sounds like a good life."
::It was, especially in hindsight.::
"Are you comfortable talk... comming about what happened?"
Bumblebee snorts again. ::It's no worse than thinking about it, which I do every time I want to say something.::
Ouch. It makes sense, but still...
::I got greedy. For more credits, but most of all the fame. I wanted a solo career, I wanted to be the one who needed the anonymous mechs doing backup. So I loaned a bunch of credits to get my vocalizer upgraded.::
"Isn't that illegal?"
::It is...::
Notes:
To everyone who's celebrating Christmas, merry Christmas Eve! And to all who don't, may you have a lovely day too.
Chapter Text
::Obviously, I couldn't get a loan from a bank for an illegal procedure. The bank wanted some safety to tie to the loan, and I already had mortgages on my apartment, and a few smaller loans for a couple of upgrades, so I couldn't get a blanked loan. So I went to a mech who provided private loans, off the books. It was better for my career too, I mean, when I got famous, I didn't want something the tabloids could use against me, right?::
"I guess not..." Barricade says, and he does see the point, because the tabloids really can be relentless when trying to find juicy secrets of celebrities.
::I got the upgraded vocalizer, it had all the top of the line specs, but then it turned out that my vocal circuits wasn't good enough to actually use it to the full capacity.::
"I'm not sure I understand how those things work. I rarely even sing in the shower."
::There's a few dedicated processors on the motherboard that controls what kind of output the vocalizer makes. It's why it's such a complicated procedure, and it's illegal; many mechs have been disabled with processor damage when trying to switch these things out. I didn't know that, I just thought it was for all the voice recognition programs, to keep criminals from changing their voices to get away with what they've done. Anyway, I had to have a few new processors installed on my motherboard, and some circuits rewired, and a few extra relays installed, but I had done the first procedure, and I wasn't going to stop there.::
Knock Out nudges Barricade to get him to turn over, and the Saleen does so slowly, careful not to mess up Knock Out's work.
"So you had someone mess with your helm?!"
::Yeah. When I look back at it now, it seems crazy, but back then, it just felt like what I had to do. I didn't want to have gone through the hassle of getting a new vocalizer just to stay a choir bot. It did involve another loan, though, and finding a medic willing to do that wasn't easy, and certainly not cheap. So I got it done, and my voice still didn't work right. I was panicking, of course, until I figured out that my programming couldn't handle the new hardware. So I had to find a mech who could do new vocal protocols for me. It took a while, and during this time, I couldn't even do my backup singing, so my unpaid bills were piling up rapidly. The eviction notice was still a few weeks out when the private loaner caught up with me, though...::
"Let me guess; there was a repo coming your way." Barricade says weakly, feeling ill.
He knows what the Brothers did to Dreadbot.
::Oh, yes. But at least they started with a bunch of my other belongings, thankfully, but I still had nowhere near enough to pay the entire debt. I signed my apartment over to him, but my mortgage on the was still rather high, so it didn't really put a dent in my debt, and my rent went up, because he needed to make some credits off his new property, of course.::
"Couldn't you get your career going? I mean, the programming was being made, right?"
::Since I couldn't pay, the mech who was coding the program paused his work, waiting for the next down payment. And I couldn't pay. So I never got to try my new vocalizer. They took that, and the new circuitry, and even the processors from my motherboard. I'm lucky I didn't die, or sustained permanent damage. It was such a hack job, I can't get new components without seriously risking to become a vegetable.::
"And then they offered you a deal to stay here..."
::What?! No! It wasn't the Autobots doing the repo. It was the Decepticons.::
Chapter Text
"I really love my new job!" Jazz says cheerily, plunking down next to Barricade on the couch in the rec room.
Jazz is about a week into his new employment, and it certainly has been obvious that he likes it; he has been even more cheery than usual, even if he sometimes gets called away for a fuck at hours he'd normally be off the clock.
It's not hard to imagine, though, because from what Barricade has learned, most of the pleasurebots came from something better, and fell to this position, while being in-house here is Jazz's all time high.
"I can tell, and I'm glad that you do."
"Don' tell anyone 'bout this, but it's such a difference. I'm trusted now. Tha Bros lemme see sides of 'em they haven't shown me before, when I was a regular pleasurebot, n' I'm gettin' to know 'em even better now. I can't go inta details, of course, that would be breakin' tha trust, but yeah, they're defo more relaxed 'round me now."
"Thank you for waking my curiosity, and then leaving me hanging!" Barricade quips, playfully slapping Jazz's upper arm with the back of his servo.
"I really wish I could tell ya! But I'm not fraggin' this up immediately."
"And I don't think you should, you tease." Barricade grumbles, but all in good humor.
He's so fucking curious, though. He's seen some of how the brothers are different behind closed doors, and want to do stuff nobody would've guessed they were into, but he's pretty sure Jazz has seen that too, and if they relax more... Jazz seems happy about it, so it can't be nasty kinks they're talking about, so maybe cuddling? Confessions? Ugh, he'll be thinking about this forever.
"So, I hear ya're gettin' ta know tha' others."
"Yeah, been swapping some backstories. It does put things into perspective..."
"Did Hot Rod tell ya his?"
"Only bits and pieces of it."
"Yeah, he doesn' really like talkin' 'bout it, n' I can see why. I think he drew tha shortest straw."
"Probably..."
"Lemme tell ya, though, for as bad as my childhood, n' youngling hood was, I'm really glad I wasn' highborn. At least I chose my sugar daddy, Hot Rod didn' — look how that turned out — n' Crosshairs wouldn' have been allowed ta either."
"I guess you're right."
He never really thought about it, because outwards, it always seemed like the rich mecha was so happy. And maybe some of them were, but there's obviously losers in that class too.
"I need ta go, Springer is requesting some service. Talk ta ya later?"
Barricade nods. "Have fun..."
"I will." Jazz grins.
Chapter Text
It's before their shift starts, and they hear the heavy vehicle skidding to a stop in front of the house. There's shouting, more vehicles arriving — both groundbound ones and aerials — and then the doors burst open, Blackout running inside with Sideswipe in his arms, the other Brothers hot on his heels.
"Barricade! You must have some emergency training! Get over here!" Blackout barks.
"Where the fuck is Knock Out?! Get him now!" Ironhide shouts, sending the remaining in-house mechs skittering in every direction, even as they open comm lines to find him.
Sideswipe is put down on the bigger dinner table — the one they rarely use — and Barricade hurries up to him. The Autobots are barking orders — shouting out what they are doing, which supplies they are getting, to keep track of what tasks are still not taken care of — and Barricade gets a rather terrifying insight into how efficient they must be in battle.
He doesn't have time to think about that though, not when he reaches the table and sees the limp frame, all the energon already pooling under the VP, the sparking wires.
The spark light shining through the huge hole in his chest.
"Gunshot wound to the chest, heavy leaking somewhere in there, and his spark-chamber has been damaged." Blackout rattles off.
"That's not a gunshot wound, that looks more like a hit from heavy artillery." Barricade blurts, feeling dizzy.
There's no way he can do something about this, this is a battle wound, far beyond the basic training he got a long, long time ago.
"Are we really going to mince words right now?" Blackout growls, and Barricade's spark makes a flip, because the serious side of Blackout is much more terrifying than his terrifying for funzies side.
"Ratchet is en route, Springer and Roadbuster are bringing patches, Breakdown is getting fuel and oil bags for ILs, and Motormaster is sitting on Sunny." Ironhide reports.
Knock Out skids to a stop. "Fucking hell! Barricade, pinch those two lines to slow down the leaking. Blackout, cover his spark-casing with your servo. How long until the patches are here?"
"Here." Springer says, dropping a bunch of patches in different sizes on the table. "Need anything else?"
"Soldering tools."
"Roadbuster is bringing them as we speak."
"Then a prayer would probably be in it's place."
Chapter Text
Knock Out just plugs the lines as it's impossible to see where they're supposed to go at the moment.
"Breakdown, hook him up to the I.Ls, Barricade, search out as many lines as you can find that go together and just connect them with the protoform patches. It'll do for now. Blackout, you just keep your servo there, I need some time to shape these plates before I can fit them." Knock Out takes the lead, but even if it sounds like he knows what he's doing, his field is trembling with nerves.
Barricade is happy to get something to occupy himself with, even if it isn't easy to see what should go where in Sideswipe's wrecked torso. Some of the lines are partially melted, and he needs to use several patches to even get them to reach. There's a lot of severed wiring too.
He hears the sirens coming up the driveway, and then Ratchet hurries through the door.
"Sideswipe was shot. Knock Out can give you details." Ironhide says, pointing to them.
Ratchet makes a face, but then he comes over to them, his optics brightening when he sees the state of Sideswipe.
"Primus! You know, I'm not a battle medic..."
"Congratulations, you're promoted." Ironhide interrupts him.
"It doesn't work that way! I don't have the equipment to repair all this damage here. This is an emergency surgery in a field setting, I'm not trained to repair this extent of damage..."
"Figured you didn't want us to bring him to your clinic like this. You, know all the questions..."
"He needs a hospital!"
"No can do. You know, all the questions!" Ironhide says, voice much sharper now.
Ratchet is about to say something more, but Blackout has enough reach to crowd him threateningly without taking his servo away from Sideswipe's spark-chamber.
"Precious time is getting wasted. I suggest you stop yapping, and start repairing." He growls.
Ratchet flinches, but it gets him moving. Knock Out rattles off what has been done so far, and they slip into medic lingo that's beyond Barricade's comprehension.
"Thank you, Barricade, I'll take it from here." Ratchet says.
Barricade is relieved to be dismissed. He was really trying, but with the bad state Sideswipe is in, it felt like a futile effort fumbling to repair things he doesn't understand.
"Anything we can do for you?" Dreadbot asks Ironhide.
"Get rags, and solvent, for them. They should have it available if they need it. Tell the other hookers that they're off duty tonight. Then heat a whole lotta energon. It's going to be a long night..."
"I'll ge' pillows, an' comforters." Crosshairs says.
"I'll help ya with that." Jazz volunteers.
"I'll start the energon heater, and you can get the supplies?" Barricade says to Dreadbot.
Dreadbot nods. "Then we can get a few mattresses. The couches won't be enough for everyone."
He certainly would've preferred another regular night of fucking over this.
Chapter Text
They've settled into the trudging creep speed of the night, and Barricade is sharing a mattress with Jazz, Crosshairs, and Dreadbot. Jazz has stretched out next to him, resting his helm on Barricade's shoulder, and the other two are curled up together, sharing a comforter. There's the low drone of Ratchet and Knock Out talking during the procedure, trying to figure out what should go where, and how to make it there with the limited selection of spare parts at hand. At some point, Blackout and Nitro were sent out to get more, some from Ratchet's clinic, and some from some source Ratchet said he didn't want to know anything about.
The Brothers are scattered around the room, sitting in chairs and couches, most of them sticking to heated energon. Blackout is leaning against the bar, and he has grabbed himself a drink, but for once, he's sipping it slowly. Sunny has calmed down enough to not be restrained anymore.
It kind of reminds him of the times he visited the waiting room at the hospital, where family members gathered to wait for the outcome for a loved one.
The undercurrent of anger is similar to when someone was in surgery after a hit and run, or an accident caused by a drunk driver, but there's a simmering determination promising bloody vengeance that is definitely going to happen, a stark contrast to the usual want for a vengeance that most would back out of, the helplessness most mecha feel. Because the Autobots have the ability to tear a bloody swath through whoever did this, and there's no doubt that they will use that ability.
It's foreboding, ominous. It feels like a war is brewing.
Stony faced Warframes have waved the pleasurebots off for once, and is communicating over comms only.
"Multimeter!" Ratchet says urgently, and they turn their optics to the table again, the atmosphere of the room going tense. "And hold these cables for me."
Knock Out utters a few colorful words, quickly trying to grab whatever Ratchet is indicating.
"Fuck!" Ratchet snarls, but whatever he says after that is drowned out by Sideswipe starting to thrash violently, arms and legs hitting the table, and the flailing medics trying to work on him.
Chapter Text
"This cable isn't the issue!" Ratchet sounds almost incredulous.
"His readings are fluctuating wildly, his spark is guttering."
Ratchet works frantically, aiming his light this way and that to see what's going on inside Sideswipe.
"His chamber looks good, the welds are neat and solid, the risk of inside dross is minimal." Knock Out notes. "Why is there an issue?"
"Did you take his output readings when he came in?"
"Sending them as we speak."
There's a momentary silence that seems to stretch for a decade.
"Dammit, that's really low even for the state he was in."
"He's a split spark twin..." Knock Out says, sounding subdued.
"Oh, that's not good..."
"Run his backup batteries through the inverter to get extra power to stabilize?"
"Do it."
Sideswipe's flailing has stopped, and his frame looks limp on the table. The Brothers have drawn closer, and Dreadbot and Crosshairs are sitting up to watch, but keeping their distance. It almost seems like everyone is holding their vents, even if the thinly veiled violence is still lurking under veneer of unnatural stillness in the lines of the Warframes.
"We need to jumpstart him, to see if we can get his spark to even out, or he may get permanent damage." Ratchet grinds out.
"Sunny, your Brother needs you."
"Nitro has the highest output..." Ironhide starts to say.
"It isn't just raw power, Sunny's is the same wavelength, the same speed. We can't just chock him into space, we need to even him out." Knock Out interrupts him.
Sunstreaker is already moving towards them, and the click of the locks on his chest-plates disengaging is like a gunshot in the room.
Sideswipe's vents rattle strangely, and his fans — running on a very low speed already, since his frame is getting colder from his malfunctioning spark — grind to a halt. The silence they leave behind is deafening, and even from his place on the mattress, Barricade can see the ashen grayness start to overtake an arm haphazardly slung over the edge of the table.
"Hurry up!" Ratchet shouts.
Sunstreaker falls to his knees, and then he keels forward to support himself on one servo, the other servo coming up to press against his chest-plates.
"It's too late." He whispers hoarsely. "It's too fucking late." Sunstreaker screams, punching the floor.
"We can still try, we might be able to kickstart him..."
"I felt him go... He's gone."
Chapter 475
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Nitro, get over here! We'll try to jumpstart him." Ratchet doesn't snarl, but it's close.
"Good call, doc." Ironhide says, and the comment feels inherently threatening, even if Ironhide sounds calm.
Nitro cracks open his chest-plates, holding his servo out. "Give me the cables."
"I'll attach them for you, this is no monkey business." Ratchet says.
"You're not getting near my spark unless I'm the one on that table."
"Do you know how dangerous it could be if you don't connect them in the right way?"
"You think I haven't done this before?"
Ratchet seems taken aback. I... ah, I don't..."
"You may not be a battle medic, and neither am I, but this, I've done a few times. With bombs dropping around me, so I think I can do it here."
Knock Out hands him the cables, and Nitro reaches inside his chest to clamt them on the points of his own choice.
"All set."
Ratchet hooks the other ends to Sideswipe. Then there's nothing. Restarting a spark isn't done with a short burst of high current, it's more like running power through the chamber to see if it ignites again. The only way for Barricade to see if it works would be color returning to Sideswipe's plating, or perhaps that he'd move.
Ironhide suddenly grabs Nitro around the throat, sharp talons pressing deep between his cables. "Do I need to get Blackout to point a gun to your helm too?"
"That's enough!" Ratchet shouts. "The readings are already off the chart."
"Ease up a bit, his chamber is going red. He's not made for this kind of output." Knock Out fills in.
Ironhide lets go of Nitro's throat, and silence fills the room while everyone seems to be holding their vents again. It takes several minutes before anyone speaks up again.
"I'm sorry, but if this was going to work, it already would have..." Ratchet says.
"We know." Nitro sounds subdued, but matter of fact when he starts to unhook the jumper cables from himself.
"I'm going to kill them!" Sunstreaker snarls, flying up from the floor.
Blackout intercepts him before he reaches the door, pinning him to the wall. "We are, but not right now."
"How can you let them win like that?! After this?!" Sunstreaker growls, but his voice wavers.
"We won't. Absolutely not. But enforcement is already on edge from what has gone down tonight, so if we rush out now, it won't end well. We can't honor our fallen soldier by going to jail. And if we go to jail, others will claim our territory, and everything will be for nothing, we lose everything that we have worked for — including Sideswipe — and how would that be honoring him?" Ironhide says.
Sunstreaker makes a wordless noise.
"We will get back for him. But first, he should have a proper burial, and respects paid to his memory. He was a good mech, and he deserves that. Then we bring hell to their doorstep."
Notes:
Well this year ended on a very serious note in this fic. Be safe everyone, and when midnight comes around wherever you are, I wish you a happy new year.
Chapter Text
The funeral is arranged quickly — for good reasons, they can't very well have a corpse laying on their table for a long time — and the pleasurebots help the Brothers to get ready. They're all perfectly polished, and so are the pleasurebots.
"Are we supposed to come too?" Barricade asks Jazz.
"If ya wanna. I mean, ya haven't been here for long, so I don' think anyone would be surprised if ya didn'. I'm goin'. I liked Sides, n' I wanna say a last goodbye."
"I think I'll go too."
Sideswipe wasn't a bad mech the time they were together, even if it started out a bit unpleasant. And it probably looks better if he honors the fallen Vice president.
The Brothers manages to fold Sideswipe into his alt mode, and it makes the damage less visible. He's wiped down, so no soot is left, and then he's carried out to Motormaster's flatbed trailer. A flag with the Autobrand is folded, and placed on his hood.
"We've mapped out the best route to avoid trouble. Me and Sunny take the lead, Motormaster will follow, Springer, Breakdown, and Roadbuster closes up. Everyone else follow in whatever order you want." Ironhide says, before folding into his alt mode.
"In-house goes first..." Jazz says slowly to Barricade.
"I get it. I'll go last, I guess."
Jazz makes a non-committal movement with his helm, as if there's no pecking order to mind this time, then he transforms, following Crosshairs and Dreadbot.
"Come on. It's just us and Bumblebee left. Drift did the smart thing, and decided that it would be unfitting for him to be there, and Hot Rod doesn't want to risk being seen." Knock out tells him.
Bumblebee has already followed Jazz, and when Knock Out transforms, Barricade follows suit, catching up to drive next to him.
They drive rather quickly, and as soon as they're out of their neighborhood, they take smaller streets, doing a lot of twists and turns, probably to avoid nosy enforcers to show up, and to not make themselves a target. It's not like any cortege Barricade has ever been in before, but those were always a legal. It shouldn't come as a surprise when they get to a recycling yard, rather than a regular smelting facility.
Sideswipe is unloaded, and Sunny is the first to take a moment with his fallen Brother, then the others follow according to rank.
"We go all at once." Jazz whispers to Barricade, as if he knows how Barricade is wondering how they're going to do this.
They all surround Sideswipe's frame, putting a servo on him, and Barricade is thankful that nobody says anything, because he wouldn't know what to say. He just didn't know the mech well enough. They take a minute, and then they all step away for the other mechs to handle whatever comes next.
Ironhide strips the badge from Sideswipe and hands it to Sunstreaker, along with the flag.
"He was a good Brother, and a very good friend. He's a loss to us all."
Sunstreaker just nods, staring at the items.
A green mech comes up to Ironhide. "I'm sorry for your loss, Hide." He nods towards Sunstreaker. "Sunny, He was a good mech. My condolences."
Sunny nods, and turns to leave.
"Scavenger and Long haul have readied the smelter."
"Thank you, Scrapper. I've wired the credits as we agreed."
"I know, you always honor our agreements. It's a pleasure doing business with you, even if this time, it's a business we would rather not have had."
Ironhide nods. "Again, thank you."
Two other mech comes up to them, starting to push Sideswipe away.
"Bonecrusher and Long haul will make sure that everything goes smoothly. Nothing that may cause trouble will be left."
"As always. Well, we're not going to keep you any longer."
Scrapper nods, and then they both turn, Scrapper to go about his business, and Ironhide to transform to drive back.
::We split up now. Jazz, Crosshairs, you go with me, Sunny, and Nitro. Dreadbot, Bumblebee, go with Roadbuster, Breakdown and Blackout, the rest of you, Springer has his route planned. Roll out.::
::We need to change that command. I'm not rolling anywhere.:: Blackout grumbles.
::You're just jealous because I can do a barrel roll to follow that order, and you can't.:: Nitro quips.
::For fucks sake.:: Ironhide interrupts them, and the optic roll is even audible in his voice.
Chapter Text
I' was a nice ceremony." Crosshairs says when they're back at the house, preparing for the night. "Much more personal than the stuffy scrap my Site used te drag me along te, where almost everyone there was jus' makin' an appearance, mos'ly jus' 'appy te be rid of a rival."
"I remember my grand-carriers funeral. I still miss him." Dreadbot says quietly.
"Hide said i's the first real funeral they've done. They never lost anyone since they retired, an' in the army, the best they could do was a salute to the ones they 'ad te leave be'ind. The one's they brought back, was jus' te be dumped in the recycling baracks, or dumped in the smelter as soon as they go' back."
"It reminded me of the ceremony when one of my coworkers was killed in the line of duty. With the flag and all." Barricade says.
He wasn't close to the mech, but most of them went anyway, because another Enforcer was kind of family, and showing his support for the conjux left behind, and pay respects to a fallen fellow officer felt like the right thing to do.
"I think they planned it ta look like tha ceremonies they've seen in movies n' stuff. It's kind of weird that they always do ceremonies in war movies, considering it's so far from reality." Jazz muses.
"I guess leavin' their fallen comrades te rust doesn' 'ave the same visual impact, n' won' endear the 'eroes te the audience."
"Or dumping them in the smelter. Nitro told me once — when he was drunk as all fuck — that they learned to quietly offline the ones who were irreparable before they got back. Said they were told to dump them in the smelter upon arrival, so their comrades smelted alive if they didn't. Or they were recycled, and the mechs doing it always started to pick them apart immediately. He said that the more their protocols changed, the more the screaming got to them."
Barricade cringes, and so does the others.
"I jus' wan' te go te an army base an' shoot all the superiors." Crosshairs growls. "It's fuckin' crazy."
"I think mecha like your Sire are the ones who are really responsible though..." Dreadbot says.
"Good riddance. I still wan' te see this entire society burn te the ground."
"Some choice individuals, at least."
He may have been a part of the problem with this society at one point, but he does agree with them now. Some mecha would be better off in a smelter.
Chapter Text
"We need more wax. I thought maybe we could, you know, drive to the store to get it?" Drift asks Dreadbot.
"Last time I checked, we had a lot of wax. Otherwise, I would've ordered more."
"The kind I use is all out."
"Then take the generic wax until we order the next time."
"But that's not good, you know I look better with wax for metallic paints..."
"I doubt the johns care." Dreadbot mutters.
"Come on, please. Ivey been cooped up here since I got back, I really would enjoy going outside that isn't just work."
"Can't you see I'm busy watching TV?" Dreadbot says, pointedly grabbing the remote to start the TV. "Ask Crosshairs."
"I can'. I'm watchin' TV too."
*Breaking news, we are reporting live from a shooting in progress in the west side of the city.*
The thinly veiled excitement in the on-site news anchor's voice catches their attention, and they all turn to the TV, the petty argument forgotten. Breakdown, and Springer, who were sitting by the table in the corner come closer to watch too.
*What seems to have started as a fight between rival gangs has escalated to a standoff since the Enforcers arrived. From what we can discern, it's down to one mech who has taken cover in an energon house, and the Enforcers surrounding the building.*
They all look up when Nitro Zeus, and Ironhide come running down the stairs.
"Fucking hell." Nitro growls, staring at the screen. "Your contact was probably right."
"I can't tell from this jumpy footage, but the Enforcers will probably have a much better view. I guess we should prepare for a raid."
"You heard the mech!" Springer barks, cuffing Crosshairs — who just happens to be closest — around the back of his helm. "Start moving! You know what to do!"
The in-house mechs scramble from the couch, running to the pleasurebot wing, leaving Barricade standing there awkwardly.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"No. The less you know, the better. Sit down, and stay out of the way." Nitro orders, the Brothers already leaving to do whatever it is they do to prepare for a raid.
"You better let Blackout kick his ass for going at this alone, if that really is Sunny!" Springer shouts, taking the stairs two steps at a time.
"We'll vote for it, when this is over." Ironhide answers, heading for the door leading to the opposite wing of where the pleasurebots reside, a part of the house Barricade has never seen.
And as far as he knows, none of the other pleasurebots have either. It seems to be exclusively for the Brothers.
Chapter Text
It does highlight how he's not really a part of this house yet, the way he's left there on the couch, while the others do Primus knows what. Drift apparently saw a chance to try to redeem himself, because he followed the others.
Barricade stares at the screen, because it's either that, or looking what Knock Out and Roadbuster are doing behind the bar, and if they're preparing for the raid too, then he may seem nosey, and that's probably not smart right now.
The standoff turns into a flurry of motion when the mech who has been taking cover in the energon shop suddenly charges through the door, heading straight for the Enforcers. One of the camera mechs — a helicopter — scrambles back when Sunstreaker aims for him, but he's too slow, and there's a loud clang when he's hit, and then everything spins out of control. The footage quickly is shifted to a different camera mech, while the reporter is screaming about his co-worker having been hit. There's brief footage of the medics scrambling to help the crashed Helicopter, but then they turn back to Sunstreaker.
"Uhm, guys?" Barricade calls out to the two mechs behind the bar. It kind of feels intrusive to watch this, but at the same time, they may need the information.
Knock Out doesn't stop whatever he's doing, but Roadbuster comes to stand behind the couch
"Fucking pit!" Roadbuster says.
They watch as Sunstreaker opens fire, sweeping from left to right with a gun that is clearly something that no civilian would be allowed to have, aiming for the Enforcers who are ducking for cover behind their transports.
All the Enforcers open fire, and Barricade and Roadbuster watches as slug after slug hit the golden mech. He manages to stand for several seconds through the onslaught, hitting several Enforcers with his own rounds, then he drops to his knees, before falling flat on his front.
"Aw, damn." Roadbuster says. "He certainly made sure that the medics will tend to a lot of mechs before they get to him." Then he hurries away, disappearing into the wing where Ironhide and Nitro went.
Barricade can do nothing but watch as the Enforcers surround the unmoving Sunstreaker, cuffing his servos behind his back before they check for signs that he's still online.
It may very well have been a suicide. Sunstreaker has behaved really oddly since Sideswipe's funeral. What will this mean for the other Autobots? Of Sunstreaker took more mechs with him, the footage has swept the scene, and medics are tending to several downed officers, and the news Helicopter has been transported to the hospital.
"Enforcement is at the gates." Blackout says as he comes down the stairs.
Barricade turns around, and sees that Ironhide and the others are gathering too.
"It would be fun to ambush them here. Have someone open the door, and then just..." Blackout mimics the sound of a silenced gun, making a blow-up sign with his servo.
"Then we'd have to clean the furniture." Nitro says.
"Isn't that one of the reasons we keep whores? Besides, I just said it would be fun. One can always fantasize..."
"I hear you, Brother."
Chapter Text
"We have the building surrounded! Come out with your servos where we can see them, or we will come in!"
Blackout already opened the gates for them as they approached, but apparently, the Enforcers aren't just going to walk straight into that ambush Blackout was just fantasizing about.
It's kind of a nightmare just to imagine raiding this place: all the rooms to search, all the places a big, heavily armed mech could be lying in wait, optics ablaze, spark spinning with excitement and lust for spilling energon.
Barricade can all too easily imagine the situation for the Enforcers.
But the Brothers have decided to be cooperative, so they walk out, servos held up to show how they're unarmed, and the pleasurebots follow their lead. Barricade's spark is spinning with nerves, because he has never been on this side of a raid, and even if he wasn't on the SWAT team, he know what kind of mecha are, and he better not do anything odd...
"On your knees, servos on the back of your helms!"
The SWAT team is already moving in on them, moving with that precision Barricade and his co-workers never managed to reach. From the corner of his optics, Barricade sees the way Blackout grins, and the way he extends his talons, while still moving slowly enough to project his movements when he places his servos on the back of his helm. The Enforcers seem clearly on edge around him, and he smirks, obviously goading them with the silent threat.
"Maybe I should sit on my aft instead? So you can reach to get my servos behind my back..." He taunts.
"Shut up!" One of the Enforcers growl.
"Isn't that more of a right than an order? I mean, if you do this correctly."
Technically, Blackout is right, but Barricade can easily understand how annoying he is in this tense situation.
"Care to tell us why we're being forced out of our home at gunpoint?" Ironhide asks coldly, as stone faced as ever.
"Ow! Police brutality..." Nitro snarks when one of the Enforcers pulls his arms down to cuff them behind his back. "Hey, I know you! How's that new leg working for you? I thought you would've retired after that." He goads the mech, zooming in on him in a way that's pretty threatening.
"Frag you! I wouldn't step back and let pieces of scrap like you win. You're finally going down, MTO."
"Oi, tha's insultin'!" Crosshairs defends Nitro.
"No it's not. He's a criminal, and we're bringing him down."
"Ye said MTO, tha's no' the same thing as criminal. I think tha" should be reported, slurs are unnecessary. I'm goin' te file a complaint."
The cop cracks a grin. "Like anyone would ever listen to a little glitch like you..."
"Oi, my Sire was really influential..."
"I guess that's why you're a slut for a bunch of Warframes now."
"No, tha's because I like a big spike, an' mechs like ye are no'..."
"Watch it, or I am getting you put away for slander."
"I guess you touched a nerve there, sweetie." Nitro stage whispers to Crosshairs. "Problems getting it up after your leg transplant?"
"We do have a nice, cozy cell for you down at the station, MTO."
"I was just going to offer to make sure you get to transplant the other one too. Might even things out, so you can get it up."
Chapter Text
"We have a warrant to search this place for illegal firearms, and then all of you are to give a statement. One of you people made a lot of mess just now." Barricade hears the commander tell Ironhide.
"Do feel free to search the house, but we can save you a lot of time and hassle by telling you there's nothing to find in there."
Barricade glances at the big mech, because he has no idea how Ironhide can seem so calm right now. He saw the gun parts Nitro keeps, and even if the parts aren't illegal per se, he's pretty certain that they don't just keep a bunch of random parts around either.
"Yeah, we're not trusting you on that. Show me your internal weaponry, and I want the full paperwork on them."
"Can't show them all while I'm cuffed. And why am I being treated like a suspect, again? It would be nice to know what you're trying to charge me for."
"Then just show me what you can, and the paperwork. If I don't trust you after that, I'll jack in and check your systems." The Officer says nonchalantly, as if it isn't a big thing to rummage through someone's systems. "One of your gang members has been in a shooting. Injured several cops. Since he's one of yours, it's only natural that we suspect all of you for being involved somehow."
"How prejudiced. Just because we're all Warframes — veterans — and have found solace in each others' company, that doesn't mean we're a gang..."
"And all of you just so happen to be convicted for various crimes against the gun laws, or other violent crimes."
"That's in the past, though. We may be a bunch of ex convicts, but we just like each other's company. We have a lot in common." Ironhide says, transforming out a whole lot of guns on his frame. "See, plugged as they should be. And the paperwork is sent to your precinct, as everytime we do this. I took the liberty to send the prescription for astro-weed to, since I'm sure you'll find some in there."
"Oh, don't worry about the weed. We won't just trust what we find that isn't flushed down. Everyone is going to do a drug test."
It really makes sense that Ironhide is so set on the rule that forbids use of heavier drugs.
"And speaking of everyone, Sunstreakers twin Sideswipe isn't here. We'd really like to speak to him. Care to tell us where he is?"
"Do I look like his keeper?"
"I know you bots tend to keep track of each other at all times."
"We're all free mechs here, free to come and go as we please. Sideswipe hasn't been at home for a little while."
So they're trying to keep the lid on about what happened to Sideswipe?
"Well, well, well, lookie who we have here. If it isn't the pride of the force! They let you out early, Barricade?"
Chapter Text
"Ground Hog." Barricade greets his ex coworker through his denta, adamant to not let the obnoxious loudmouth get to him.
"Fancy seeing you here. So different from the last time I saw you." Ground Hog gloats.
They never really got along. Ground Hog was kind of ambitious, but not in the way of trying to advance to the higher ranks. No, Ground Hog has surprisingly much in common with him, because Ground Hog's ambition was always to get to a point where he holds power over someone in a much nastier way than a clean cut chief can ever do.
While Barricade got his fix for power by offering prostitutes and addicts degrading deals, Ground Hog was always more about the humiliation a situation like this can bring to a subject who is inherently vulnerable in this position.
How lovely.
"Some things change, some people change. Some don't, I guess." Barricade says cryptically, and even if he knows that it's probably bad for himself if Ground Hog understands the covert implication against the now SWAT team member, Barricade's still hoping that it won't fly above his helm.
"Your position certainly has."
"It has."
Not necessarily for the worse. He really has a good relationship with Jazz now, which he couldn't before. There's downsides, of course, but when isn't there...
"So, what are you now, a gang member?"
"No, I'm employed by the Autobots. My parole officer has looked at all my paperwork, and it's solid. I'm doing what I should..." He hurries to say, because he certainly doesn't need trouble of that kind now, not after the mess when he moved out, and his P.O. wasn't impressed at all.
"Employed. So you're a whore now?"
"I'm an entertainer."
"What kind of entertainment do you provide?" Ground Hog smirks, enjoying himself way too much.
"Dancing. Waiting tables. And some household chores in between." Barricade grinds out, because he knows what it looks like, he knows what he would've thought if he was in Ground Hog's place, and the roles were reversed. "You can find this in my paperwork, Ground Hog, do we..."
"Ground Hog?!" Springer cackles, apparently listening in. "Hey, Bots! The Groundhog isn't running to hide, I guess spring will be early this year!"
The other MTOs start laughing, so Barricade can just assume that it's yet another off-world joke they share, but he really does feel a bit smug and thankful for it when he sees the confusedly insulted look on Ground Hog's face-plates.
Serves him right, the smug asshole.
Chapter Text
They're taken to the Enforcer station in groups, or rather, as far as he can see, that's the way they do it. It does remind him of what it was like to be incarcerated, even if he logically knows that the Enforcers are doing it this way to make the work more efficient.
It feels like they're cattle. Being free is easy to get used to.
The most interesting mechs — the Brothers, of course, but also Barricade himself — are first to be herded to the mobile drug test transport for a pre-check before being brought in. It kind of puzzles him at first, but as he wait in line with the others, he has time to think a little more about it, and it's kind of obvious really.
He's the only one who hasn't been in a raid before. They probably have a hunch about how much — or little — the other pleasurebots know. And as long as the Enforcers don't have leverage, how little the pleasurebots will talk. He is new, though, and he is an ex Enforcer. A parolee. They're probably hoping that he will be talkative and inclined to help.
Not all that long ago, he would've jumped at the chance to try to get into the good graces of enforcement again. Now though, now he isn't so certain anymore. He doesn't really have anything of importance to tell, and because of that, they won't offer him anything worth the risk. Because tattling on the Autobots would certainly be risky.
"For fucks sake, this is taking all day. Just hold the cups out for us. I bet we can aim good enough even with our hands cuffed." Motormaster rumbles, sounding impatient.
The others cackle.
"Imagine if we could've had all this privacy in the army!" Breakdown agrees.
"They do have to heed our possible sensibilities." Blackout says, quirking an optical ridge.
"Yeah, well I want to get this over with, so we can go home, get drunk, and get laid." Motormaster still sounds annoyed.
"I need a smoke." Nitro says, addressing one of the Officers.
"Too bad, you have to wait until the hearing is over."
"I need it for my anxiety. I'm getting very anxious from all this tension, I can't handle all the pressure."
"I guess you'll just have to mech up, and ride it out."
"I have a prescription for my weed; I need it for my anxiety. This situation is very stressful for me."
The Officer looks bored. "I'm sure it is — waiting for us to put you behind bars, that is — but I guess you better get used to being without the weed. It's prohibited in jail."
"That's like refusing to give me my meds. I need a smoke now."
"No. You'll just have to survive this massive stress."
"That's what new-leg over there said..."
Then Barricade is ushered into the testing van, and the rest of the bickering is lost on him.
Hopefully, the Brothers' unruliness won't impact his situation. It really would be nice if he gets to go home tonight, and doesn't have to spend the night in the arrest.
Chapter Text
"Hi, Barricade." Roller Force says, and he fails to keep his voice neutral.
Barricade almost turns to walk out again, but then he'll just give them an opportunity to force him in here again, which would just drag this out, and make it even more humiliating. Of course Motorhead is there too, but he doesn't seem to gloat about Barricade's position. At least he doesn't say anything while he uncuffs Barricade, then he steps back to watch the processing, and aft as security for Roller Force.
"Where's your socket?" Roller Force asks, leaning over the table, holding the cable from the scanner out.
"Arm." Barricade says, jerking his helm towards his shoulder, opening the cover.
He holds his arm out, and Roller Force plugs in, immediately starting the scan to see if Barricade has any illegal rerouters plugged in.
At least they don't do it the way Blackout did when he checked Drift.
"Alright, this is clean." Roller Force says, and it's hard to tell if he's surprised or disappointed.
"I don't do that scrap anymore." Barricade says shortly while Roller Force unplugs the scanner. Barricade slams the cover shut, because it's the only statement he can really do here.
Roller Force smirks when he hands over a cup. "We'll see. The drain is there." He says, pointing to the corner. "Try not to spill."
Helm high, pretend it doesn't bother him. Next mod he's getting is definitely a new outlet for his waste tank, so he can take the tests with his spike, instead of squatting over the damned cup. And then he'll just have to learn to be as unbothered about waving his spike around as the Brothers are.
"Isn't it about time you got the new scanners? The ones that can detect additives too, and not just the electrical enhancers? I mean, the tech isn't even that new, and from what I've heard a lot of city states have already used them for years." Barricade asks.
Those are a lot less intrusive, and he knows that Iacon had banned this type of manual testing to safeguard the citizens' integrity. But, alas, he's still in Polyhex.
"We prefer to invest in mechpower. You know, to be able to bring more criminals to justice. Like the scum you're 'employed' by. We need investigators, and special agents, you know, not fancy tech."
Barricade decides not to argue that this procedure would've been much quicker with that sort of scanner, and thus would free up mechpower to do other things. He's not even a real suspect, and he has nothing to gain by riling the mech up.
"I don't even know what you're complaining about, you must be used to doing these tests by now."
He is, but it doesn't make it any more fun, especially not when he has to do it in front of his former co-workers.
Barricade doesn't answer, he just turns his back to the Enforcers, and pretends that it gives him some privacy. He briefly thinks about 'spilling' more than just a little on the floor, give the asshole something to clean up, but it'll probably just make the rest of the day even worse, so he refrains.
He has done this so many times, he's good at aiming, which certainly isn't a skill he'd write home about.
Chapter Text
The ride to the station is quiet. Apparently the Brothers have resigned to just get through the procedure without more protesting.
Or it's just another tactic. The transports are surveilled, after all, so they can't discuss anything of importance anyway, and none of the Officers travelling with them will have mandate to change the outcome of this.
It's a small mercy that they're not going to his old precinct, that would be even worse than this, but he's still getting nervous, of course.
They're not put in the regular arrest cell, but taken into hearing rooms and drunk tanks just to be kept separated, and it clearly shows how well planned this raid was.
Enforcement has been waiting for a chance to do this.
It feels like forever before someone comes to get him, and Barricade is thankful for getting out. He was working his way through anxiety towards a claustrophobic panic attack, being reminded of his time in the barren cell in solitary. The Enforcer leads him to an interrogation room, and he's actually uncuffed.
"I don't believe you're a violent mech, Barricade, so see this as an act of good will."
It just makes him more nervous. What's he supposed to say, and what shouldn't be mentioned?
"Thank you."
"So, how you been with the Autobots since you were released from prison?"
"I... Pretty much, yes."
"Are they contacts from before prison, or did you make their acquaintance inside?"
"No, I worked a different precinct way back, and I was in solitary my entire time when I was incarcerated. You can verify that."
"Yes, but mecha can be very inventive when it comes to communicating even in solitary."
"I spoke to Nitro Zeus once through the door when I was having my one hour rec time. That's it."
"I see. So how did you wind up with them?"
"When I got out, I contacted my old... uhm, the mech I was dating before I was convicted. He was working for them, and I crashed with him for about a week."
"A week. And then?"
"I was offered a deal for work, and I turned it down. I went back and took the job the day after, though. I just needed to think about it."
Ugh, he certainly doesn't want to think about that day anymore.
"But you went back, to become an," the mech looks through his papers, "an entertainer."
Please don't go into the details. He never thought about how utterly humiliating this is when he was the one at the other side of the table.
"That's right. I did leave for a brief time, to try my luck elsewhere with a different job, but I came back again."
"What on Cybertron would posses you to go back?"
"The other job didn't pay a living wage, I had no benefits, and my arms were failing from.the job. The Autobots do offer very good employment conditions."
It's a no-brainer, really, when he counts it off like that.
"So what do you have to do to earn these good working conditions?"
"I wait tables, do house chores, and I entertain them when they have parties."
"How do you entertain them?"
"I... I put on shows." Barricade mumbles. "You know, like in some of the erotic clubs?"
It's far more than those shows, but he doesn't need to say that, right? They don't really need to know. He really should read up on the law, though, he isn't even certain if prostitution is illegal in the setting Ironhide has him in right now.
"Are you required to interface with them?"
"No, I only do that if I want to."
"Have you slept with Sunstreaker?"
Pick his life apart, why don't you?
"I did. He's very attractive."
"I see. What was he like?"
"Pretty quiet, doesn't say much to us entertainers at all. I've never had any problems with him."
"So he didn't mention anything that could've warned you about this incident today."
"Not at all."
It's true.
"Do you have any idea what set it off?"
"No."
"Are you sure? Think carefully now, Barricade. You're on parole, you don't want to protect these monsters. Certainly, you have to overhear stuff when you... entertain them?"
Of course it would come to this.
"They don't talk much when we're around. I just see them when they relax, and have fun."
"Sure about that? You know, we've tried to get an in with this crew for years. And now you work for them. This is your opportunity to really pay your dues for what you did. I'm sure you didn't become an Enforcer to go down for some petty corruption, you wanted to do the right thing. Well, here's your chance. Become our informant, and help us bring them down. I'm sure we can work out some kind of deal that will benefit you too. Wouldn't it be nice to be back to work with bringing people to justice? They're just MTOs anyway, they shouldn't even be out in society, you'd really do the city a favor."
Chapter Text
"That's a very vague offer."
"Of course you'd get compensated if you help us bring them down. The more information, the better the compensation."
"That's still vague. Especially since you," he can't say that he'd be putting his life on the line, that would really imply that he knows some of what the Brothers do, and that it indeed is information he could give, "are asking me to try to snoop and find dirt on the only mecha who deigned to help me when I got out of prison."
"Well, I can't promise you the world if I just get back a few reports of speeding, and some alt mode loitering, you understand that, right?"
Barricade nods slowly, managing to not sneer at the mech.
Even the deals he offered criminals were better than this. He really doesn't trust this mech.
"But for the right kind of information — the kind that will put them behind bars for a long time, or even get them offlined — that certainly could would be worth a lot. You'd get a life again, a real life."
That would mean that he'd have to be able to testify about a murder, or a really nasty assault. Or perhaps some smuggling, but he has no idea what Ironhide brings in through his trade routes — considering how firmly he's against harder drugs — and smuggling things like fabric onesies probably won't lead to more than a fines, and a tax debt to pay. Perhaps a short jail sentence, but not enough to make this asshole give him a new life. Not worth the risk.
"I don't think I'll ever get that kind of information. If there even is information like that to get."
There was that time they went shooting, though. Those guns... How many years behind bars would the possession of those cost the Brothers? Though, he was there too, and didn't report it to enforcement at the time, which could blow up in his face. He certainly doesn't trust this mech.
"So you didn't know anything about what Sunstreaker was about to do?"
"Like I said; no. I found out when we started the TV and the news came on, just like everyone else."
"So he went rogue? You see? This is why we want to keep the MTOs off the streets; they're volatile, and impossible to trust. At any time, their coding could flare up, and they go on a killing spree."
That sounds more like prejudice than facts. Even Blackout is more disciplined than that. If he indulged in a few murders, he'd definitely do it quietly, and cover his tracks.
"Sunny isn't an MTO, he's sparked."
The interrogator makes a face. "So he was just half Warframe. It doesn't really change much, that war coding isn't fit for a civilized society. I don't even know why they agreed to be retired, most MTOs want to keep their employment in the military, where they can do what they were created for."
Like offlining ingloriously, or being smelted alive.
"I guess they got old and tired."
"Help me out here, Barricade. Give yourself a chance to have more than being an entertainer for them. Why are you protecting these assholes?"
"I'm not protecting them, I just don't know anything of value."
"Do you know what they have done?"
Chapter Text
Barricade's spark flips nervously.
He doesn't know most of it, and finding out in this situation is a tightrope to walk, because his reactions could make this much harder for him, if the interrogator senses that he's appalled. And he is supposed to go back to live with them when this is over.
"Can't say I do, no."
"Oh, it's a very long list, but I'm going to pick a few tidbits for you. Just so you know what kind of mecha you're working for. Sleeping with, when you feel like it. How about resisting arrest, assaulting an officer, armed robbery, breaking and entering, assault with deadly weapons, possession of illegal firearms among other things? Sound like nice people? People fit for living in our society."
"I'm guessing they were convicted for it and served their time?"
"They where, and they did. The justice system works to some degree."
"Well, I'm not really in a position to be too judgemental, and complain about mechs getting second chances."
The interrogation scoffs. "I'll be honest, I really think what you did is despicable. A smudge on every Enforcer's reputation. That said, what they did is so much worse. Mechs like them shouldn't be given another chance. Shouldn't be free to walk the streets again, with their cocky swagger, like they own everything..."
Wow, bitter much? Sounds more like this mech has been outsmarted by 'dumb MTOs' enough times to take their existence personally.
"But you're fine to live under the same roof as them? Even though you know that they're violent, that they don't hesitate to take what they want if the opportunity arise? Completely selfish, serving themselves, and doing what's best for them."
Like beating up mechs who mistreat Jazz when he's working, or hauling Dreadbot off for some weird version of care when he seemed to need it. Or providing him with medical assistance they could certainly deny him when he broke himself washing dishes.
"I am. I haven't seen anything that indicates that they didn't clean up their act. At the very least, they're generous employers."
The interrogator doesn't bother with stopping himself from making a face.
"And Sideswipe? We still need to talk to him about his twin. If we get to know his whereabouts, it may get your friends off the hook for a while, so you may as well tell us. As a favor for the rest of them."
"I haven't seen him in a while..."
Not a lie.
"Do you know where he was heading the last time you saw him?"
"He didn't say... They never tell us, though, so that isn't unusual. Everyone te... takes off — comes and goes — as they want." He barely manages to stop himself from letting it slip that everyone tell Nitro Zeus or Blackout whenever they leave.
It's fucking hard to keep track of everything, what to say and what not to!
Chapter Text
Eventually, the interrogator seems to decide that he won't get more out of Barricade.
There's probably other mechs waiting for questioning too, the other pleasurebots must've been taken in by now.
"Well, I can't offer you a deal for now. But if you ever change your mind, grow tired of working there, or just see things that makes you understand my standpoint, give us a call." The mech says as they're finishing up.
He holds out a business card, and Barricade stares at it for long seconds, then he grabs it and puts it in his subspace pocket. It's not that he thinks he's going to use it, but at least some of the things the interrogator said has struck a chord with him.
And it looks better if he plays cooperative, because still on parole...
Then he's finally released, and even if he has no idea if it's the correct thing to do, he drives back to the house by himself.
It's not like he has a choice, everyone else still has blocked comms.
It's really strange with an empty house. The gates open for him, as they always do, and the automatic lights are already on, so it looks as occupied as always — inviting even, with lights filtering out through the windows — from the outside, but the deafening silence when he enters the house is unsettling to the point that Barricade feels a trickle of unease shudder it's way down his back-struts. He calls out, even though he already knows that nobody else has been released yet, because nobody is picking up when he calls.
It's more to fill the silence, to slow down his spinning spark.
Barricade never had a problem with being alone before, he always preferred it. At least until he met Jazz, then he started to come around to the idea of a relationship. Then there was solitary, and that awkward beginning here, when he would've preferred to be alone over sleeping on the couch, and later on other things. Now the desolate house almost freaks him out. He really has gotten used to almost always bumping into someone, the noises of mechs going about their day. The Brothers' rooms may be well shielded from noises, but it's rarely quiet. Even when it is, and his bed mate for the night actually has left before he woke up in the morning, he has always known that there's someone's else there, that someone is recharging in the next room, or having energon in the refueling room, or getting drunk in the rec room.
Now he knows that nobody but him is here, and it's unnerving. Barricade looks around at the mess the enforcers have left behind, and he sees an opportunity to occupy himself. The Saleen heads for the sound system first, and after a bit of swearing and scratching his helm, he finds a radio channel that only broadcasts music.
He doesn't feel like accidentally catching the news, and hear about what Sunstreaker did. Or even worse; getting to know if the golden mech will pull through— or if he offlines — from the radio instead of getting told by one of the others.
With a little noise to distract himself from how he obviously is alone here right now, he sets about picking up and sorting stuff. It'll probably be a while before everyone finds everything, because most of the stuff, he has no idea where it should be, so he just stuffs it into the nearest storage where it seems to fit.
But picking up, and putting things away, and spare the others that job whenever they get back is still the least he can do while he waits for the others. And hey, he can have a smoke while doing it too. To calm his nerves even more.
Chapter Text
The first one to walk through the door is Hot Rod. He looks decidedly harried, and makes a beeline for the bar.
"Do you want something?" He asks, pouring himself a generous serving of high grade into a rather large cube, drinking a few mouthfuls straight from the bottle before putting it down.
"I'm good." Barricade says, holding up the cyg he's smoking.
"Good idea." Hot Rod answers, taking a few deep gulps from his cube before he starts rummaging behind the bar for the stash they usually have there.
"They're in the cupboard behind you. I put them all in the fancy box. I think the Enforcers have checked every single one of them, they were scattered over the counter."
"Assholes. They should know by now that we don't keep hard drugs around."
"They were just doing their job."
"So what? They always turn everything upside down, and leave a mess for us — thanks for cleaning up by the way, it looks nice here — and never find anything. And that's on top of the whole interrogation and scrap."
"I guess they're hoping that... we will slip, and have something illegal squirreled away somewhere at some point."
Hot Rod light up his cyg, and takes a deep drag. "I guess. I just..." He looks like he's about to keel over, grabbing the counter top to steady himself, then he plunks down on a chair, as if his knees suddenly gave out. He takes another drag at the cyg, and then he drinks a couple of mouthfuls. "I'm terrified every single time." He says, voice wavering. "What if they find out about my false identity, and I'm handed back to my conjux?" Hot Rod's voice breaks.
It's a good thing that Barricade is pretty high by now, because he doesn't know what to do in this situation, and the weed takes the edge off the awkwardness.
"If they haven't seen through it yet, I think it's safe to say that they won't, that the identity is solid." At least he thinks so. Then his processor finally catches up with something else. "What do you mean handed back?! You're not his property, right? They can't just ship you back to an abusive conjux, they should make sure to keep you hidden!"
Hot Rod glares at him, but at the same time it doesn't feel like his ire isn't directed at Barricade personally. "I made the mistake to tell them one time, and it was not worth the aftermath. With enough credits, mecha can get away with a lot, but with the title Prime, they can get away with everything. You're probably right, since they haven't recognized me yet, but every time an Enforcer starts his vocalizer, I'm expecting to be made, and it's all just one long freakout, and I'm so exhausted..." Hot Rod rambles, and Barricade takes that as a sign that the tensions are letting up.
"Do you need anything?"
Hot Rod seems to think it through, then he shakes his helm. "Just to finish my drink, and my cyg, and then I really just want to recharge." His helm thunks against the countertop. "But I guess I need to pick all my stuff up after the hurricane Enforcers first."
"Can't you just make your berth and fix the rest tomorrow? That's what I'd do, just leave the stuff on the floor, and deal with it when I'm feeling better. And I've already set everything straight here, and in the refueling room too, so you don't need to worry about that either."
Hot Rod looks up, optics bright from the high grade. "That's an excellent idea. And thank you for cleaning up."
"It was nothing, I was freaking out myself, and it gave me something else to focus on. Did I do the right thing driving home even without telling anyone?" He says, suddenly getting worried again.
"Yeah, we don't know when the Brothers are released, so we don't have to wait around for them. Primus knows I wouldn't want to look at a bunch of ugly cops all night. No offense."
"None taken. You think they'll keep them overnight?"
"I'm certain. They always do, so we have the night off. Anyways, I'll go take a shower, and then I'm hitting my berth." Hot Rod says, grabbing his drink as he headsbfor the pleasurebot wing. "Night."
"Good night."
Then Barricade is left to ponder that Hot Rod is the undead conjux of a Prime. Barricade starts to cackle.
Undead...
The world is crazy.
Thank Primus for weed on prescription.
Chapter 490
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Barricade startles awake, gasping for air, flailing to get ready to meet the threat.
It's just Jazz.
His reaction is a good gauge on how on edge he still is, and he takes a few deep vents to calm himself down.
"Sorry babe, didn' mean ta wake ya." Jazz murmurs, cuddling down into the bedding next to him.
"It's ok. I wasn't prepared, that's all." Barricade answers, trying to calm his racing spark. "You good?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. Had some energon, n' a shower, so I feel like I'm finally relaxed, n' safely at home. Still wanna sleep until noon, though..."
"We can do that. I really want to do that."
He really does. Especially since he suspects that there will be some kind of recap when the Brothers get home, and it will require a clear helm, and sharp attention. He never thought prostitution would take so much mental effort, but he's getting tired just thinking about it.
Jazz cuddles closer, and Barricade is reminded of what he has here, what ratting would take away from him. He wraps an arm around his lover, pulling him closer, pressing his front against Jazz's back.
"Have anyone else been released?" He asks, suddenly reminded of everyone else.
"Yeah, Bumblebee n' Knock Out are bunking tagether toni'te, n' Cross, n' Dreadbot are back too. Think they'll snuggle into Nitro's or Hide's berth."
"Good, that's good. Wouldn't want them to be stuck at the station..."
"Yeah, no, they're free. I don't know anythin' 'bout Drift, though. I'm fine as long as he doesn't blame us if he doesn't come back clean. I mean, I'm not the kind of mech who holds on to a grudge, but he really stepped over the lines."
"This raid really happened soon after he came back..." Barricade muses.
"Yeah, but I don't think he ratted or anythin'. If he did, we wouldn't be out yet, n' there would've been additional questions for us ta answer."
So all the preparations the others were doing was to cover something up after all, even though Hide once told him that the Enforcers wouldn't find anything in the house.
"Isn't there a big risk with keeping illegal stuff around? I mean, if we don't get a heads up about an imminent raid, there would be problems."
"They didn't keep things like that in the house before Sideswipe was killed. I guess it's a calculated risk."
Makes sense to keep some guns around, but could mean that they all go to prison again.
"You know, if they remove the firing mechanism, the guns are legal to keep as 'decorations'. Then they just need to hide the mechanism instead of the entire gun. In case they need them, they could just mount the mechanism."
"What?! Ya're kiddin' me!"
"No. Not unless the laws have changed since I went to jail."
"Well, that would be much easier than disassemlin' n' assemblin' tha entire guns each time. Ya tell them 'bout this tomorrow. Ya'll definitely get aluminum cookie points for it."
Notes:
490 chapters, and I can say with certainty that — if nothing happens that makes me just quick-finish this and go into hibernation — this is going to be longer than The Pound.
Chapter Text
"Barricade! We need to talk to you." Ironhide calls out from the stairs.
It's not unexpected, but his spark still makes a tiny jump in it's chamber. He gets up from the chair, and follows the massive mech up the stairs. A door opens for them — to a room Barricade hasn't been inside yet — and Ironhide steps in first.
It looks like a conference room, and it underscores that this is a serious situation, especially since the last briefing he attended was done in Ironhide's own private quarters. Nitro Zeus, and Blackout are already at the table, and Ironhide takes a seat between them. Barricade dawdles for a second about where to sit, but he resigns to guess that they want him to sit opposite to them.
A classic move to show that they're in a position of power. As if they need to do that to show him how little he is in this situation.
"Your first raid." Ironhide says.
"At least from this side of things." Barricade says, and immediately regrets it.
Nitro laughs. "Touché."
"I've heard that you cleaned up the mess in all the communal spaces before anyone else got back. Well done." Blackout actually sounds approving.
Barricade nods, taking a deep vent to steel himself.
"And the interrogation?" Ironhide asks. "Anything we need to know? It's better if we find out now rather than later, from other sources."
"They tried to make me a rat. Offered me some bogus unspecified deal in exchange for giving them dirt on you. I don't trust them at all, said I didn't know anything. And that's mostly true."
Blackout nods. "I could still check his memories, Hide."
There's an anticipation in Blackout's field that puts Barricade on edge, because he isn't keen on that kind of interrogation, while Blackout is clearly looking forward to it.
"No, we're not hacking mechs this way and that. I do trust that you're telling the truth about doing the right thing. I know you want to keep Jazz safe, right?"
Barricade swallows nervously, then he nods.
"I took the liberty to check the gun laws this morning," Barricade says, changing the topic, and taking back some control, "and I found that guns that can't be fired are legal to keep as decorations. If you dismount the firing mechanism, you could hang all your weapons on the walls, and nobody can do a damned thing about it."
They all stare at him in silence for a second, and with a shaking servo, Barricade pushes his data pad towards them across the table. He has highlighted the relevant text for them, a tiny footnote of an addition to the laws that clearly is mistakenly formulated. Originally, it was written to appease collectors of historical guns, who just wanted to legally display their ridiculously expensive items, but there's nothing written about it not applying to guns that aren't possible to own privately even with a license. A mech could keep the latest kind of long range missile, as long as the firing mechanism is removed. It's sort of ridiculous — especially since actually buying or selling those kinds of weapons is illegal — but laws aren't always logical.
Ironhide grins widely. "This changes everything! We could rebuild the firing mechanisms to just slot in, and lock in place with a bayonet mount, and then just put the firing mechanisms in the safe spaces. Well done, Barricade!"
What has he done?
Chapter Text
"This is like hanging porn on all the walls." Nitro says, adjusting the mount to straighten the cannon he just hung on the wall in the rec room.
"Maybe we should stick a couple of the whores there too?" Blackout muses, sounding frighteningly serious.
"They're still mecha, you know..." Roadbuster says, still admiring Nitro's work.
"We could use velcro? I mean, we want to be able to get them down fast too, when we need one of them. I just think it would be neat; we always know where they are, they can't get in trouble when attached to the wall, nice to look at, and still readily available."
"Imagine the noise, though..." Nitro snorts. "They'd never shut up."
"Vocalizers are a privilege, not a right."
"I have good news, and bad news." Ironhide interrupts them, stepping through the door to the part of the house that's off limits for the pleasurebots.
"Don't keep us waiting, Prez." Springer says.
"Sunny is going to pull through. Just managed to get some intel from the hospital, and he rebooted this morning."
Everyone cheers, and Motormaster pours them all a round of shots, and while the Brothers go to the bar to fetch their glasses, Crosshairs pours shots for the pleasurebots who are present and hands them out. They all salute Sunstreaker's continued existence, and down their drinks.
"The bad news is that he's going to go away for a long time. At best. They could go for capital punishment."
"What an irony to survive being shot, just to be offlined anyway." Breakdown says.
"Yeah."
"Can't he plea temporary insanity?" Nitro asks. "I mean, under the circumstances, it's probably what set it off in the first place. I guess, I don't know much about how split sparks work."
"That would mean that they need to know that Sideswipe is offline, and if anyone tells them, they're implicated in that mess." Blackout says. "And we had him smelted, so there's no frame that could just turn up somewhere to be found."
"What if Sunny admits that he's offline, but says that he doesn't know how, or where, just that he felt it happen?" Ironhide suggests.
"Is he in a mental state to do that?" Roadbuster sounds doubtful.
"He better be, for his sake, and ours." Blackout growls. "After this mess he put us all in, he's just going to have to suck it up, and do what's needed."
"Let's take this discussion elsewhere. Too many audials here." Ironhide says, turning back to the private parts of the house. "Jazz, I'll call you in a while. You'll be the one to tell Sunstreaker what he's going to do when we have decided. And you will be his proxy for the vote. Can you do that?" He calls out over his shoulder.
"It's an honor, Hide!"
Chapter Text
Jazz grins happily at Barricade, and Barricade reels his field in, because he doesn't want to ruin a happy moment for Jazz, but he just can't help the apprehensiveness he's feeling.
"See? I'm trusted now. I get important tasks ta do, things any other pleasurebot just wouldn' be trusted with."
"Yeah, I see. I'm happy for you." Barricade says, forcing a smile. "Just be careful."
"Always am!"
Barricade nods, even though he doesn't feel comforted at all.
This will put Jazz in the spotlight, make the Enforcers more interested in him. If he doesn't play his cards right, he could get into trouble, and he's just not sure how subtle Jazz can be, and how good of an actor he is outside of the sack.
"Do you know what vote they're talking about?" Barricade asks just to change the topic before he says something stupid just because he's worried for Jazz.
Another question he's a bit apprehensive about, because if it's the vote about if he gets to stay, he certainly isn't ready yet. He really needs to step it up, and do it with the rest of the brothers to get the votes, especially now that Sideswipe is gone, and he probably lost one vote.
"No idea. Guess I'll find out when they brief me for my mission." Jazz cracks up in a grin again, squeeing. "I have a mission!"
"And what a mission..."
"Yeah. I understand why they can't go themselves, but I never really thought I'd reach a point where I would be tha one they sent." Jazz says, clearly interpreting Barricade's words as awe, or perhaps a bit of envy.
It's just as well. No point in getting into an argument about this.
"Just be careful. You don't want the Enforcers to get too interested in you."
"No problem. I'll just play tha gangster groupie with a crush on tha thug. I'll scratch myself up a li'l, n' then go heavy with tha cheap polish, n' look really trashy."
"Too bad you can't easily convert back to your old alt mode."
Barricade keeps a straight face for all of two seconds while Jazz stares at him, gaping in offense. Then Barricade cracks, and grins at him.
"Shut up! I was gorgeous back then too." Jazz grins back, slapping Barricade's upper arm.
"You really were, and you know I thought so."
"Yeah. Asshole."
Then they both start laughing, and Barricade feels some of his tension draining.
Chapter Text
Jazz has tottered off to visit Sunny — smeared in too thick a layer of color enhancing wax, and with added pinstripes around his optics, and to highlight his cheek bones — and even though he wasn't putting on an act when he left, he'll fit the part perfectly.
If he had been working as an Enforcer, guarding a suspect, and Jazz had walked in, he would definitely have believed that Jazz was Sunny's latest hopeful fling. Come to think of it, Jazz is playing a role that's very close to the reality for some of the pleasurebots with their favorite Brothers.
Appearances may be a great help, but it won't be enough if Jazz's acting isn't spot on, or if something he says is overheard, though. That knowledge leaves Barricade fretting. He knows that this will take a while, and he's powerless to do anything but wait.
"He'll be fine." Dreadbot says as he passes by. "He did practice a bit while getting polished, and he was doing great."
"Yeah..."
"It's cute that you worry, but it won't help. Get something to do to take your mind off of things until he's back."
"I probably should, but I honestly don't know what."
Jazz's room is already cleaned, and he doesn't feel like cleaning up elsewhere. Plus it could be seen as a criticism, because the in-house crew has tidied the rec room already.
"You could always do who instead of what..."
"But it's just afternoon?"
Dreadbot starts laughing. "Never heard of daytime interfacing?" You think Crosshairs waits until the morally correct hour for fucking before he does it?"
"No, I just... I kind of thought the Brothers have stuff to do, you know? That they don't have time for that until evening."
The smile Dreadbot gives him kind of looks tired. "No, they rarely can't find the time for a quick fuck."
Breakdown comes walking down the stairs.
"And here comes a perfect subject! You haven't tried him yet, might be a good distraction?"
Dreadbot doesn't talk as quietly as Barricade would have preferred, considering the topic, but then again, the Warframes seem to have very good hearing, so Breakdown would probably hear them anyway.
"But Knock Out..."
"They're not exclusive, and KO knows the deal here; you're supposed to try Breakdown at one point or another. He'll just have to suck it up."
"Is that what you do?" The words are out before he can stop himself. "Sorry, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have..."
"You have no idea..." Dreadbot mutters. "Look, it's not really different than what you do here. You share Jazz with others too."
"I do... I... It's not that bad, actually."
"Exactly! So go get yourself some spike, earn another vote, and pass the time until Jazz is back — because he will be — and in need of help to remove the ghastly polish."
Votes! Jazz is supposed to be Sunny's proxy! What if it's about if he gets to stay or not? He hasn't even fragged everyone yet, he needs to hurry up with it. What if the vote is today, or in the coming week?!
"You're right."
Chapter Text
"Hello, handsome." Barricade purrs to Breakdown.
The blue mech cocks his helm, looking questioningly at him, and that shouldn't be surprising, considering how Barricade has avoided the Brothers up until fairly recently, and he has never really spoken with Breakdown.
"Can I get you anything?" Suddenly it feels awkward, because he always did this when the mechs were getting ready to relax, and he has no idea what to do now that Breakdown probably isn't here to hang out a bit with the other Autobots until he decides that it's time for fucking. "I mean, anything." He purrs suggestively, shifting his weight to pose and show off his frame.
He fragging needs to take some acting lessons with Dreadbot.
Breakdown slowly looks him up and down, optic following every plane and angle of Barricade's plating and Barricade resists the urge to squirm under the intense scrutiny.
"I suppose it would be nice to get my cock wet before I go out. Come on." He says, jerking his helm in the direction he just came from before turning to lead the way.
Barricade follows him, and it does feel a bit strange to do so without any preamble of flirting and touching.
Like a business agreement — which it basically always is, but this time it really feels like it more than most times — where he's just supposed to perform a service and nothing more.
Breakdown's room is a bit messy, but not in a disgusting, dirty way. More lived in, with a bit of clutter like recharge cables for his data pads thrown haphazardly on the desk, and video game controllers — a couple of them broken — thrown in different places.
"So, how do you want me?" Barricade tries to sound suggestive, because he doesn't know what to do to seem sexy in this situation that feels kind of unsexy at the moment.
"With your panel open for starters."
Breakdown pulls him closer, touching him for the first time, thick digits stroking Barricade's interface plate, and Barricade obediently opens up, allowing Breakdown access. Thick digits pet his unaroused valve-lips, and Barricade can practically feel the components going plumper under the ministrations as his frame anticipates what's coming. It doesn't take long for his folds to grow slicker, and he starts to move his hips to get those digits on his node, or inside his valve, anywhere that provides more stimulation.
"Please..."
"On the berth, then. On all fours."
Barricade obeys.
"Knees closer together."
That's a new request.
"Damn, your aft looks fine like that." Breakdown says, stepping up behind him.
Chapter Text
Breakdown tries Barricade's valve with his digits, pumping them a few times, then he lines up, and slides inside.
It feels nice — he is a bit aroused from Breakdown fingering him — but it isn't spectacular. Barricade feels kind of detached, not exactly into it, and it feels a bit... mechanical.
When the valve is slick, insert the spike into it, thrust until completion. This feels like a very basic
He does realize that he certainly isn't doing much to get that vote, that he hasn't provided the little extra that he should.
He wasn't prepared, and if he really wants to stay, he must get better at delivering at all times.
Breakdown is silently thrusting into him, and it's impossible to say if he's even enjoying it, beyond the fact that he at least isn't softening.
It's not even like he can do much in this position.
Barricade's charge is rising slowly, but he grabs on to the sheets, hoping Breakdown will see it, and take it as a sign that he's enjoying himself. He moans, and it feels incredibly fake, because all noises he has ever done in berth before has happened without him actually controlling it. He quivers his shoulder-wings, hoping that will distract Breakdown from the sound he just made.
"Oh, yes..." He half whispers, arching his back to get Breakdown's spike deeper.
A digit starts to circle his node, and Barricade is relieved, because he can't reach to do it himself with his legs together like this, and he's certain that he couldn't possibly fake an overload and make it seem like the real deal.
Breakdown is good with his fingers, and now that he's rubbing Barricade's node, the Mustang's bchatge is rising quickly. The next moan that leaves his vocalizer is honest, and he starts to rock back to get the spike inside him deeper, timing it to meet Breakdown's thrusts.
The overload isn't mind-blowing, but it is okay, enough to draw a louder moan from Barricade, and almost as soon as he has overloaded, Breakdown does so too. As soon as the utility vehicle lets go of his hips, Barricade allows himself to keel forward, almost face-planting in the soft bedding.
"We should do this again." He mumbles into the sheets.
He really needs a chance to make this better, to secure that vote, and for that to work, he needs to be more in his element, where he can be more natural, and it would take a little more time.
"I don't have any plans for tonight." Breakdown says, and even if he didn't agree with Barricade that this was good, he at least doesn't say no to another round later on.
"I'd like that." Barricade says flopping over on his back, grabbing a rag from his subspace to wipe himself with.
He probably isn't supposed to linger after a quickie like this.
Chapter Text
It's such a relief when Jazz finally returns, but they don't really get any time to talk. Ironhide, Blackout, and Nitro Zeus brings him upstairs to the conference room for a debrief, and Barricade settles for taking a shower to pass the time until they're done, or his shift starts, whichever happens first.
At least he knows that Jazz is back, that the Enforcers didn't keep him. Or maybe they did — he was gone awfully long — but in that case, they didn't keep him indefinitely, and that's something.
He returns to the rec room just in time to see the Brothers file into the private parts of the house — all of them — and the pleasurebots loiter in the rec room, even if it's past their regular start of the shift.
"They told us to have drinks and wait, that we don't have to start to working until they're done with whatever they're doing." Hot Rod says, shrugging, when Barricade asks what's going on.
Of course he wouldn't question something that keep him from working.
"Jazz went to wash off that Primus awful wax, and the paint." Knock Out says, shuddering. "It was a good disguise, but damned tacky."
Barricade agrees. Jazz looks lovely in anything, of course, but it was a bit over the top.
"So we have no idea what's happening?" Maybe it's the cop part of him that really wants to know, or maybe he's just nervous about the possibility of a vote about him happening.
Bumblebee shrugs, and makes a beeping noise that Barricade gets the distinxt feeling means "fuck if I know."
"They're probably discussing what Jazz relayed from Sunny, and trying to get a plan together to get him out as soon as possible." Hot Rod says, sounding bored.
"Shouldn't he kind of be your favorite Brother? I mean, it must be the bast way you can do this." Knock Out says.
"I still know what has been done to me, and it's no less wanted, but yeah, it is kind of easier than most other times." Hot Rod seems to reluctantly agree.
"I don't see a way they can keep him out of jail, but hopefully they can keep him from going away for life." Knock Out muses.
::Maybe they'll break him out? You know, make a sting operation against the transport or something.:: Bumblebee comms them all.
"They probably could, but I guess the risk of that going sideways is too high." Knock Out says. "And where would they hide him? If they send him to one of the other charters, that's the first place the Enforcers would make local Enforcement look for them, and then they'd try to extradite him."
::Kaon would probably be safe, they don't really cooperate like that.::
"Yeah, but I doubt he'd want to go back there."
Barricade notes that there's apparently other branches of Autobot Inc, and it's an interesting discussion, but at the same time, his own tension is rising, because of thepl possibility of a vote about him going on.
"Ye know, I wish I'd go te jail, an' the Brothers' would come whisk me away." Crosshairs says wistfully, plunking down next to Hot Rod. "I' would be so romantic."
"You have a fucked up view on romance, Cross." Knock Out snickers.
"Per'aps, but I mean, come on, doesn' it sound the least bi' appealin'? Imagine bein' the li'le mech in distress, an' one o' the Brothers break down the door, scoopin' ye up, an' takin' ye away te make love all night once again."
Bumblebee snorts, and Hot Rod rolls his optics.
"Maybe someone could roleplay that with you?" Knock Out asks. "Like, punch your door in, and carry you upstairs."
"Hide would be too concerned with the door."
"No, he wouldn't."
Chapter Text
"So 'ow did i' go?" Crosshairs asks Jazz as soon as the silver mech joins them.
"Good, I think. Tha Enforcer who guarded him seemed curious, but not overly nosey. Sunny looks like scrap, n' he's still pretty weak, but he's recoverin'."
"What game are they playing?" Knock Out asks.
"He's gonna say that Sideswipe is offline, but that he don' know how it happened, that he just felt it, and Sideswipe wasn't around here when it happened. The lawyer is gonna claim temporary insanity."
Everyone nods.
It probably is the best defense.
"Did any of tha cops he shot offline?" Jazz asks.
They haven't really had time to get up to speed with what happened for the other side of the shooting, preoccupied with the raid, and the aftermath of that, and each other.
"Two." Crosshairs says.
"Ouch. That's going to be a problem. Even if they buy the temporary insanity plea, it'll weight heavily. Especially with his prior conviction, and the fact that he was using illegal guns." Hot Rod says.
"An' five was 'ospitalized fer their damage. Plus tha' news mech, an' two civilians."
They all fall silent, taking in the weight of the situation.
They probably won't see Sunstreaker for a long time.
"Kaon almost seems like a better option." Hot Rod muses.
"Speakin' of Kaon, it was a long time since we saw Grindor." Crosshairs says.
"Thank Primus for that." Dreadbot almost spits as he walks up to them with a bottle and glasses, finally joining them.
Wearing one of his onesies, which doesn't exactly seem like work wear for their line of work, but on the other servo, Nitro seemed to like it in his memories...
"Who's Grindor?" Jazz asks.
"Blackout's brother."
"I thought they were all Brothers?" Knock Out sounds honestly confused.
"They see each other as brothers in arms, but then there's the thing between the MTOs where they were built on the same assembly line, and shared their early funtionings. And then there's mecha like Blackout and Grindor." Dreadbot looks uneasy.
"What's special 'bout 'em?" Jazz
"The rumor is that their owners were so happy with Blackout's performance as a young MTO, they decided to try to replicate him — a thing we have managed to find out about MTOs is that the builders do work with sentio metallico to build them, and that's not easy to form to their will. That's why they're not just a bunch of mecha who all look the same; the engineers can't control everything about the build — but of course they wanted to go bigger, better, and nastier. They succeeded admirably from their point of view."
"He's ho', tha's a success." Crosshairs gives his very professional point of view.
"Perhaps, but he's fragging scary. Anyway, he and Blackout are enough alike to be true siblings. Even have the rivalry, and a good portion of hate-admiration for each other. I'm just happy that he was with another unit, and that he's not in this charter." Dreadbot says, shuddering.
Chapter Text
The discussion is interrupted when all the Brothers file out into the rec room. They're clearly upbeat, bumping into each other, laughing, and talking.
"Crosshairs! Shots for everyone!" Ironhide shouts.
"Dibs on Springer tenight!" Crosshairs murmurs to the gathered pleasurebots. "Oi, Springer! Congratulations!" He shouts to Springer, before getting up and heading to the bar to pour a round of shots for everyone. He hands one to Springer, while the others pick their own up.
"Greedy glitch." Dreadbot mutters looking at Crosshairs. "Congratulations, Springer!" He calls out, pointing at his own chest.
Barricade looks at Dreadbot at first, but when he looks at Springer, he sees the new badge on the Triple changer's chest. He zooms in on it.
V. President
So that's what the vote was about.
Barricade follows the others to the bar to pick up their shots.
"Congratulations, VP." He says to Springer as he passes.
Springer nods, smirking at him.
"Nobody work the streets tonight, this calls for a celebration!" Ironhide calls out, and the Brothers cheer.
Am arm wraps around Barricade's shoulders, and he looks up to find Breakdown pulling him closer. He glances at Knock Out, because it feels kind of wrong, even if it is bound to happen now and then.
Why is he even feeling bad about it? He doesn't hesitate to do Nitro, or Hide, and that's kind of the same thing...
Knock Out isn't even looking at them, he's sliding up on the other side of Springer.
"I hope there's enough of you for both of us." He purrs to Springer.
Springer barks a laugh. "I could fuck you all, and still have more to give." He says, wrapping his arm around Knock Out, pulling both the pleasurebots towards the couch.
Breakdown's servo slides down Barricade's back to squeeze his aft. "Grab a few cubes, and bottle of gear grinder, then come join me on the couch." He says before letting go of Barricade and heading for the couch.
Barricade gathers the things, stacking a few cubes in his servo, noting that he's getting quite good at it. As he approaches the couch, Dreadbot steps up on the table.
The Microbus grabs the zipper of his onesie, smiling solicitously at Springer as he slowly pulls it down. Nitro Zeus whistles appreciatively, and Springer's optics are locked on the prostitute.
Dreadbot shrugs out of the piece of clothing with practiced ease, and it falls off him to pool around his pedes, and he steps out of it.
Completely naked, all his plating removed to flaunt his bare protoform, and deeper components.
There's something tantalizing about the rather obscene display, such a taboo, and a temptation at the same time. Barricade denies his spike permission to pressurize.
"Hold on to this for me?" Dreadbot says, handing the onesie to Nitro, and the Flier subspaces it.
Dreadbot straddles Springer, kneeling to get at a height where he can push his spark-chamber against the new Vice President's face. "Congratulations, Vice Prez." He murmurs in a sultry voice.
Springer just licks his lip-plates, staring at the thin petals that are the only thing covering Dreadbot's spark.
Chapter Text
Dreadbot strokes his spark-chamber with one servo, wrapping the other around Springer's neck to steady himself. He moans loudly when he toys with the thin petals. Springer slowly slips his servo up Dreadbot's side before he reaches for Dreadbot's spark-chamber.
It must take an astounding amount of trust for Dreadbot to be bare like this, and to let someone touch him there, but then again, it was the way he started out, so he has to be used to it by now.
Springer strokes the component, and Dreadbot's helm lolls back in apparent pleasure.
"How about a show for me?" Springer asks.
There's a minute stiffening of Dreadbot's frame before he manages to catch himself.
"Of course." He smiles, managing to sound as happy about it as ever. "Cross?"
"Sure."
"On the table?"
"Table's good." Springer decides.
Dreadbot stretches out, slowly dragging his servos down his sides to show off his frame. Crosshairs pats Dreadbot's thigh, then he reaches for his array. Dreadbot takes what seems to be a steeling vent, and then he starts to toy with his spark-chamber again, optics flicking to meet Springer's.
Springer says something to Knock Out, and the Racer gracefully slides to the floor, kneeling between Springer's pedes, then he leans in to suck Springer's spike.
There's a low sound of moving parts, then Dreadbot's spark light is visible, a rapidly pulsing light. Dreadbot groans when his digits dip into his open chamber, and the light seems to reach for his digits.
It's obscene, something he has just seen in a kinky porno a long time ago, but it's also tantalizing.
Dreadbot is bucking against Crosshairs's servo, apparently getting close, and he's swirling his digits through the tendrils of light that seem to playfully follow.
Then he tips over the edge with a loud moan, his spark brightening like a tiny supernova. Dreadbot arches into his own servo, gasping his vents, and then he goes limp and strut-less, his servo resting over his still open chamber, the glow from his spark less intense after the overload.
All the Brothers cheer and applaud, and Blackout leans over Dreadbot, stroking down his throat to his chest, caressing Dreadbot's servo out of the way, looking down at the still open chamber.
"If the V.P doesn't take you for the night, I have ideas for us." He murmurs to Dreadbot, still staring at the smaller mech's spark.
Chapter Text
It seems like Springer will get away with being greedy, because Dreadbot is called back to his lap, and Crosshairs, and Knock Out clings to him from their places next to him.
Blackout's optics sweep the other pleasurebots, and Barricade gets going, and hurries over to Breakdown.
He knows that it's cowardly to leave whatever Blackout has come up with to someone else, but he and Breakdown did decide to hook up again tonight.
His spark flips when Blackout's optics linger on Jazz, but the Helo is too late; Hide is already waving him over.
They should try spark play as soon as possible, before someone else claims his first time.
He idly wonders if Jazz has already tried it.
"So, handsome, I guess we skipped right to the fucking. Now I want to know more about you." Barricade says to Breakdown, and he finds that it's true, and not just a pick-up line to do his job.
"What do you want to know?"
"I... Weren't you with the unit who got out on the first attempt to escape the military?"
"I was."
"What was it like? I mean, the first time as a free mech."
"Confusing, and short."
"Short?"
"Yeah, we went to prison pretty damned fast. Though, prison was still a lot better than the military."
Springer cackles. "Maybe we wouldn't have if Blackout hadn't walked around robbing old mecha of their hot energon?"
Everyone starts laughing.
"Hey, that was a misunderstanding." Blackout grunts.
"We were so fucking clueless..." Ironhide says, shaking his helm, grinning.
"What did ya do?" Jazz asks Blackout.
"We spent our first time roaming the city, because we had nowhere to go, didn't know what to do, and we were still paranoid about our owners coming to find us."
"I remember how it felt like everyone was constantly staring at us." Breakdown fills in.
"Probably because we still were fully armed." Springer injects.
"Yeah, I guess moving around constantly was what kept us free; Enforcement just didn't find us, because someone probably reported that." Ironhide says.
"Anyway, we were walking down the street, and I was getting so low on fuel. Then I smell something I've never smelled before, and it smells so delicious, my intake is starting to lubricate, you know?" Blackout continues his story. "This little mech comes walking, carrying a takeaway cup, and that smells is just... I could fucking kill a whole squadron for a cup of that."
"The sludge we got as fuel in the army was terrible, so we didn't really know anything about how much good fuel there is. It was quite overwhelming when we got out, and everything smelled so delicious, and we were so poorly fueled." Breakdown explains to Barricade.
"So, I said 'I want that' to nobody in particular, I just said it, so my Brothers would know. The mech kind of did this whimpering noise, and just handed me the cup."
"Imagine it, the little mech running away for his functioning, and Blackout goes 'everyone is so nice in the free world!', sipping that heated energon" Springer laughs.
"Imagine my surprise when they read my charges, and they counted that as an armed robbery."
Chapter 502
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"A simple misunderstanding like that wouldn't put you all away for long, though..." Barricade says.
"Perhaps not, but they seemed really horny for getting the maximum penalty possible for everything." Blackout sounds derisive. "Guess they were goaded by how we weren't scared of them or the situation, mecha like that thrive on power. Reminded me a lot of our owners, but without the whippings and whatnot."
"What was it that brought you there? Except the robbery..." Barricade asks.
The others might already know, but he's kind of curious about their pasts, and if the mechs want to tell, he is eager to listen.
"We were used to living outdoors, we often stayed outside when we were deployed, sometimes for months at a time. The barracks we lived in were scrap anyway, with poor heating, cramped, and too small bunks, with lumpy, uncomfortable bedding, so it wasn't like we thought staying outside was bad as long as there wasn't acidic rain or something." Breakdown continues the story. "We were quickly getting tired of it, though. I mean, we were free mechs, right? The fuel might've been the worst low grade possible in the military, but we were given supplies, and when we waited for a go ahead, or intel, we always found someplace to set up camp, hunker down, and get some good recharge when we were deployed. That was completely hopeless in the city. Even taking turns with guard duty, there's so many noises, too much light, just constantly too much going on... Our defensive protocols wouldn't allow us to power down, and get some recharge. We were tired, running in fumes, we had no strategy to operate by in this weird world..."
It's hard to imagine them living like vagrants since he always has seen them in this situation, where they have everything they need, and a lot more. He knows himself how hard it is to be on the streets, but they were a lot better prepared for surviving "in the wild" than he was, and they have the safety of numbers. And massive guns.
"So we did what we always had done before we retired: we went to the supply warehouse and got what we needed, when we finally found one." Motormaster chips in.
"I still think that those charges should've been shoplifting, not armed robbery." Springer says.
"I guess prejudice might've played a part. And the fact that we still had all our visible — illegal — guns mounted." Ironhide muses. "Still mostly prejudice, though."
"So we went into this huge supermarket, awed that we were allowed to go into the warehouse — the military always had their warehouse mechs giving us the supplies we were granted at the counter — and mech, what an experience! Shelves upon shelves with bright packets of different kinds of fuels. We just didn't know what to get, so we grabbed randomly. We found so many types of lubricant, we didn't even know what to use for what, and the same with polishes and stuff. So we grabbed what we thought we needed, told the cowering cashier that we were done, and left, completely stoked about how great the free world is to let us choose our own supplies."
Notes:
I was groaning and facepalming my way through writing this chapter.
Chapter Text
"We found an abandoned warehouse we slummed it in for a while, but we got tired of that quite quickly. I mean, we were still free and all, but we saw how other mecha lived, and we wanted something like that, something better than an old warehouse that hardly even had the same standards as the barracks." Breakdown continues.
Barricade glances around the room, and everyone is listening. Sure, the pleasurebots are still clinging to the mechs they're trying to land for the night, but everyone still seems fascinated.
Maybe they haven't already heard all of it?
"So we did what we did best back then, because we had no idea how to go about getting housing for ourselves, it was always arranged for us in the military. Except when we needed a camp when we were deployed, we handled that on our own, choosing a suitable place, securing it..." Ironhide trails off.
"So we scouted different neighborhoods with houses in different sizes to find the best kind. The more fancy ones were scratched from the list early on — starting with gated communities with guards, to different levels of alarm systems — which brought us to more modest parts of the city, though we were careful to find a place where we would have enough space inside. In hindsight, it was a small fragging house for all of us, but back then, we thought it was a big house for our small crew. Our perspective was different when it came to living space."
"We did our recon, scouted the premises when everyone living there was in recharge, managed to map out how the current residents moved, their schedule, and times, and who came and went but wasn't a permanent part of the unit." Blackout smirks. "And still they never saw us coming."
"Plans were made, strategies memorized, and at twenty three hundred hours, we entered the house in our standard formation, except no aerial support. We figured that hovering Helos would make us before we entered, so Blackout, and Springer were ground bound." Ironhide elaborates.
"It was the easiest mission we'd ever been on. The two adults, and both the younglings were recharging like turbo piglets. We cleared the house, woke them up, and they didn't even try to resist, just obeyed the orders immediately. If we would've known how easily civilians roll over, we would've gone for a bigger house. Blackout could've hacked the alarm, but we thought more external safety would mean more firepower behind the door too. Maybe it would have, but it hadn't been enough to pose a problem. Anyway, we debated for a while what to do with the prisoners of war, since we didn't really needed them for trading, or intel, and we didn't have anyone to bring them back to." Breakdown says.
It's a fucking nightmare for anyone, even if the Brothers just did the only thing they knew according to their world picture.
"I wanted to keep them for entertainment, so cutting them loose is on all of you." Blackout grunts.
"Yeah, good thing we didn't listen to you. We'd have a bunch of charges more then." Springer quips.
"We let them go, and they ran to Enforcement and tattled immediately." Breakdown says.
"We would've been caught anyway, if nothing else their schools and workplaces, or friends and neighbors would've started reaching out, and it had been the same outcome eventually." Ironhide grunts.
"You're probably right. So, Enforcement came to arrest us, and we responded like we would have if our stronghold had been attacked in a battle." Breakdown doesn't need to elaborate more than that.
"I hope the mechs had good insurance for their house." Blackout cackles.
"How did they manage to get you out of there?" Barricade can't imagine what the Enforcers could possibly do to bring these Bots down.
What a nightmare scenario for any Enforcer.
Ironhide snorts. "They threatened to call in the military. We didn't want to risk having to fight Nitro, and it could be detrimental to our plans to get him out and retire him too. Plus we're good, but the military have endless numbers of mechs they'd be all too happy to have offlined in the line of duty, conveniently paid for by the city. So we surrendered."
Chapter Text
"So, we surrendered. Or, the plan was to look like we did, catch them by surprise, and escape. We figured we had a better chance against the Enforcers — we really thought they were a sort of military unit, and figured they were the most ridiculous ones in history — than against other units of our Brothers. The had brought in the SWAT team and everything, but come on! Their guns were kind of ridiculous compared to what we were packing. 'Servos up'? Seriously!" Breakdown starts to laugh. "Most of our guns weren't even hand held."
"We did as they said, came out slowly, with our hands over our helms, like we was supposed to — nobody will get hurt, they promised — ready to blow them all to pieces and hit the road before any survivors got the wits to call for back up. The others were going to get the ground forces, and me and Springer were supposed to deal with the 'copters they had. Tiny little things." Blackout says.
"They had cute tail rotors, though." Springer says.
"Not cute enough." Blackout grunts.
"So what went wrong?" Jazz asks, sounding convinced that they would've been able to pull it off.
To be fair, he has seen them in action on the shooting range. The SWAT team — no offence to his former co-workers, they were good, just... Not that good — wouldn't have stood a chance if they were following the rules of engagement, and the Brothers followed that plan.
"Sucker shot with an emp cluster bomb. As soon as we were all clear of the door, before we were in position and could make our move, the fucking dropped that bomb on us. We were down long enough for them to cuff us, and mount dampers on our weaponry." Springer makes a face.
"Fuckers got me in the hub. I couldn't feel my damned rotors for days." Blackout grinds out.
"Remember how the dampers were everywhere? Because they didn't trust their scans, and figured betters safe than sorry." Motormaster laughs. "Right, Hide?"
"I couldn't feel my spike for days even when they removed that one. Fuckers needed their medic to confirm that it actually is my spike and not a hidden cannon." Ironhide sounds disgruntled.
"Well, i's an impressive piece, Daddy." Crosshairs says saucily, and everyone starts laughing.
Chapter Text
"They processed us, and tried to keep us in separate cells for a while, but they ran out of space, so we were kept together for some time too. The more we were interrogated, the more both they and we realized how... uneducated we were, and I guess that added to their decision to let is share a cell in the arrest. They brought the military commanders in, wondering how the hell they could retire us without explaining stuff, and everything was hanging in the balance for a while, but luckily enough, those fuckers never managed to prove that we were the ones who escaped, since Blackout changed the records when he retired us. According to their files, a few mechs who in reality went MIA are the ones who they think escaped, and we're retired. Good thing they don't care enough to learn which MTO is which." Springer says derisively.
"Our lawyer was actually quite alright, he did his best to keep our sentences down, and got us enrolled in a kind of life and society skills class in prison, so we at least got a chance to know what goes and what doesn't. And we got to know about the data net, that was such an optic opener. Could've saved us a whole lot of trouble if we'd known about it, and had searched some things." Ironhide says.
"And then we met this sweet little hustler on the inside, and he really helped us out a lot!" Motormaster says, grabbing Roadbuster, giving him a noogie on the helm.
"Lucky you! Crosshairs had more street smarts than you had!" Roadbuster quips, grabbing on to Motormaster to wrestle him off.
"Oi! I 'ad smarts enough te get myself some protection..."
Dreadbot snorts. "You were smart enough to get some good dick, that's what you were."
"Well... True."
"Prison wasn't really that bad." Springer muses. "Sure, it was a bit boring, and not the freedom we pictured when escaping the military, but the berths were better than in the military, the cells less cramped and overall better than the barracks, the fuel was definitely better, and we got to shower every day."
"Yeah, for a punishment, prison was a lot nicer than the military. And we did get an opportunity to make contacts with other mecha, learn what we needed to know when we got out again, and form a plan for after our release." Ironhide agrees.
Barricade feels like a fucking idiot.
The Brothers were painfully oblivious about how society works, but they used their time inside to prepare for life outside, while he threw one really long pity party, and spent his days driving himself crazy. He probably could've taken classes too, if he hadn't been so busy feeling sorry for himself, and indignant about what he thought was much too harsh a sentence.
"I will take credit for teaching you the importance of doing your taxes, though." Roadbuster grunts, still wrestling with Motormaster, and losing.
Breakdown rumbles a laugh, turning to Barricade. "Roadbuster was in for theft, burglary, selling stolen stuff, fraud, but what really made his sentence long was his tax evasion."
"It wasn't even that much! But I guess stealing from the state is worse than murder." Roadbuster complains.
"So, the first thing we set up when we came out and started a business was an accountant." Springer says. "If we're going to jail again, it certainly won't be for tax fraud."
Chapter Text
"You all had a steep learning curve." Barricade says to Breakdown, and he doesn't have to act impressed, because they certainly have come a long way.
"Yeah. It was kind of fun, because we had seen a few movies that had been smuggled into the base now and then, but it all seemed so unbelievable, we thought it was all fake, and didn't really know what to expect. Like when we were arrested; we were so certain that they would punish us like they did in the military, and whip us until we couldn't stand. Free housing, and good fuel was not what we expected."
"I guess expectations can make an experience quite different." Barricade muses. "I thought the berth was horrible, and the fuel was barely adequate."
"Sounds like you were spoiled."
"Not really, or I don't think so. I just come from a civilian background, so I take the different kinds of fuels for granted, as well as having a berth I've chosen to fit my frame. I do understand that it almost was like a hotel for you, considering what I've been told about life in the military."
"Solitary was a bitch, though. We're not built for being on our own. Sure, we can operate on our own if need be on the battlefield, but our coding always strive to regroup. Our downtime was always spent with our unit, and others. It didn't take long in solitary before I was going crazy. We were the first MTOs in that joint, though, so the guards didn't take it seriously at first. It took a couple of incidents, several trips to the medics, our lawyer getting involved again, and consults with a medical coding expert before they set new protocols for how to use solitary on ex-military."
"I was in solitary the whole time. For my own protection." Barricade says, and he can attest to how wearing it is to be isolated.
"You're more resilient than you look, then."
"Uhm, thanks?"
Was that supposed to be a compliment?
"You look small, and rather fragile, but your protocols must be pretty strong to let you get through that without going crazy."
"I guess... I did start talking to myself, and I kept doing it for some time after I got out." He confesses.
"You usually get the best answers from yourself."
"Not in this case." Barricade mutters, relieved that the voice is gone.
He didn't even notice.
Thinking back, it disappeared when it started agreeing with him, and he didn't need to argue with it.
The damned Helo scared him straight. How ironic that that was what he needed.
"But now we're free mechs, and free mechs have fun." Breakdown leers, pulling Barricade into his lap.
Chapter Text
"What do you enjoy then, big Bot?" Barricade purrs, then he's momentarily distracted by Motormaster pinning Roadbuster to the floor, everyone cheering.
"I'm not a complicated mech. Some drinking," he motions to where Motormaster is helping Roadbuster up, "simple distractions, and then finishing up with some good interfacing." He takes a deep swig of his drink.
That doesn't sound bad, actually.
"Come on, Springer! Show us why you're the new VP!" Roadbuster shouts, laughing.
"Springer, Springer, Springer..." Everyone starts chanting.
Barricade turns to see Springer extract himself from the cluster of pleasurebots clinging to him, making excuses, and then he clasps Motormaster's forearm, a gesture that is returned by Motormaster. Then the new wrestling match is on, and everyone starts cheering them on.
"Sounds like a good night." Barricade agrees.
Barricade wraps an arm around Breakdown's sturdy neck, turning from where he's straddling him, to sit sideways on the blue mech's lap instead. That way, he can watch the wrestling without rubbernecking, which would just be impolite to Breakdown. He toys with Breakdown's spare tire, pressing close to the big mech.
It's kind of nice, actually.
"Watch out for the pushback!" Breakdown calls out to the combatants, Barricade isn't certain which one of them.
The others are cheering them on too, calling out helpful advice, sometimes teasing one of them for a mistake. They're rather evenly matched, but eventually, Springer comes out on top. He helps Motormaster up, and the others applaud them.
"Want another go around, v-Prez?" Nitro's voice is dripping with innuendo.
"Well, if you're offering..." Springer says, looking Nitro up and down. "Just bend over the table."
"Sorry, I only do that for Hide."
Everyone starts laughing, but Springer and Nitro starts to circle each other, looking for an opening to pounce.
"We should get a small pool in here, and fill it with oil, then the pleasurebots could do some matches too." Breakdown says to Roadbuster, who has taken a seat next to them.
"That's a great... Oof! Hey!" Nitro's momentary distraction gives Springer the opening he needed, and the Jet is suddenly held in a headlock.
"Your attention span always was your weakest point." Springer's laugh gets strained when Nitro catches up with the game and starts to take countermeasures.
"If you win, I'll give you a morning blowjob tomorrow." Dreadbot calls out.
Springer grunts when Nitro strains his frame, intensifying his attempt to turn the match around.
"See, he can focus, he just needs the right kind of motivation."
"Traitor!" Springer calls back to Dreadbot.
"The same deal stands for you! It's up to you to win it..."
Chapter Text
He's a little surprised when Nitro actually defeats Springer, because Barricade kind of took for granted that the strongest fighter would be kind of a natural choice for a higher rank among these mechs, even if they vote democratically, and don't have battles to decide. He says as much to Breakdown — or rather asks about it — because he's intrigued, and wants to understand them more.
He clearly still has misconceptions, even if they may be more harmless these days than in the beginning.
Nitro Zeus wraps an arm around Springer's neck, pulling him in for a rough hug, patting Springer's shoulder. "This one is one of the processors of the operation. Me? I'm the powerhouse." He explains, because of course it doesn't matter that Barricade kept his voice down when the Brothers have such keen sensory systems.
"You're a powerhouse of bullshit." Blackout quips.
"You're just jealous, and wish you were as good as me."
Blackout snorts. "Why would I want to get worse? I already am bigger and stronger than you."
"It's not the size, it's all about the thrust."
"I've got enough for both of us. So, can someone just take him down a few notches?"
"I never thought robo-chickens had rotors." Nitro goads, imitating a chicken. "Not that they were so big either... Come do it yourself. If you dare..."
"I'm busy." Blackout rolls his hips for emphasis and Drift squirms when the massive spike is forced deeper down his throat.
Nitro clucks like a chicken again, and Blackout flips him off, which just makes Nitro grin victoriously. "So, Prez! Wanna dance?" Nitro asks Ironhide.
Hide rumbles a laugh. "Ready to hit the floor?"
"Ha! We'll see about that."
Ironhide gets up from the couch, handing his drink to Crosshairs. "Be a doll, and hold this for me, will you?"
"Of course! Go get 'im, Daddy!" Crosshairs beams, immediately taking a sip of the drink.
"It's a good thing you have sturdy furniture." Barricade says to Breakdown, and it makes everyone laugh.
"Yeah, we quickly learned that we need it. This is much less damaging than when we still hadn't voted for not using our guns inside, though."
Barricade can't help but stare at Breakdown, speechless. The blue mech shrugs, then he goes back to watching Hide and Nitro grapple.
"How are you even allowed to have guns after your convictions?!"
"They're integrated. It was quite a pile of bureaucracy, but in the end, a judge ruled that they can't expect mecha to remove parts of themselves. We got licenses, but must keep them plugged, and the visible ones had to be removed in public."
Springer starts laughing. "The face the judge made when Hide pointed out that if the Enforcers had their say about what are acceptable parts, they'd remove his spike too."
"Ha! He just wished that Hide would tap him!"
Then everyone cheers when Ironhide pins Nitro to the floor. The Flier, goes still for long seconds before making a last ditch attempt as soon as Ironhide's grip lets up even a fraction. Ironhide is prepared though, and keeps him on place, even if it takes some effort.
"And that's why I'm the Prez." He rumbles, smirking down at Nitro.
"Ah, you mean brains before beauty?"
Ironhide barks a laugh. "Touché!" He climbs off Nitro, and helps him up.
"I think ye're ho', though, Hide!" Crosshairs calls out.
Ironhide looks over to Crosshairs. "And you finished my drink, how helpful of you." He says, arching an optical ridge.
Crosshairs smirks. "Lemme make it up te ye?" He slowly sucks his digit, giving Hide a flirty smile. "Or maybe Daddy needs te punish me?"
"That mech really knows how to make the processors move south." Nitro says, clapping Hide on the shoulder.
"Yeah."
Chapter Text
Hide winning over Nitro seems to establish who's the winner of the wrestling series for now, and things simmer down to conversations and drinking.
Not even public fucking yet. Well, except that ongoing blowjob... No, wait! Oh, that's done for now.
Barricade rarely went to parties, he didn't really make good enough friends to be invited, but the few after work get togethers he tagged along to wasn't that different from this.
Except he technically is working. It doesn't really feel like working, though...
Roadbuster and Breakdown are talking about some new video game they're planning on getting, and Barricade really has no clue about anything like that, so he just leans against Breakdown, listening to them — could be good information to know at some point — letting them take the lead.
"Do you need help?" He asks as Jazz passes by, going to the bar.
"Nah, I'm good. Just gettin' a coupl'a bottles. Thanks anyway."
"Do you have everything you need, or should I get something?" He asks when there's a lull in the conversation between Breakdown and Roadbuster.
"Just top it up." Breakdown says, holding out his half full cube.
Barricade leans towards the table to get the bottle, then he squeaks when a servo slaps his aft, and he almost topples over. Both Breakdown and Roadbuster starts laughing, but at least Breakdown catches Barricade before he takes a very undignified tumble.
"Thank you." Breakdown says when Barricade pours the fuel.
"You're welcome." Barricade says sweetly, managing to school his face, because he has no idea who did it anyway. "Can I tempt you as well?" He asks Roadbuster, holding up the bottle for him to see."
"Not with that..." Roadbuster murmurs meaningfully.
Barricade feels himself flush.
Not because he hasn't done it with Roadbuster before, but... Both of them? Sure, he did that moresome, and technically the other one, but still...
"You know, I'm actually not sure what I find the most appealing; panel open from start, or it being closed, so I can do this." Breakdown says conversationally to Roadbuster, all the while making quick work of finding the latches to Barricade's interface panel and flicking it open. "There's something erotic about the whole opening process."
"Well, I do like that," Roadbuster says, pointing to the still naked Dreadbot — splayed out in Springer's lap, getting fingered by Crosshairs and Knock Out simultaneously, "but the whole uncovering part can be nice to look at sometimes too. Or, in this case: do."
He hasn't really thought about starting to walk around with his panel open, but at least it sounds like some of the Brothers won't hold that against him.
Chapter Text
Maybe it's the booze that makes him less inhibited, and makes it easier to get into it, or maybe it's as simple as the interaction before the interfacing. Whatever it is, it doesn't feel awkward like their quickie did when Barricade turns around to straddle Breakdown again. Not even the probable audience gives him much of a pause.
"I really like this." He says, kneading Breakdown's spare tire.
There's something quite appealing about it, perfectly placed to grab, and generally just... touch friendly.
Breakdown just smirks at him, one servo wrapping around Barricade's hip, the other slowly sliding up his thigh plating.
He really does enjoy these touches, it doesn't take much, but it makes all the difference for how he responds.
"I hope you like it too? When I touch it, I mean." Barricade asks, suddenly uncertain.
What if it isn't Breakdown's thing?
"I do. It feels nice. Don't be afraid to grab on to it if you need to. I'm not delicate."
Barricade nods slowly, not sure what to say.
"Good to know?"
Breakdown's servo slides between Barricade's legs, stroking his valve-lips a couple of times before slipping through the slick slit. The anticipation gets Barricade's charge to rise almost more than the actual touch, and when the digit finds his node, it makes his valve clench with want.
"You know, our new VP is really making the most of his celebration, hogging a lot of the entertainment — as he should, it's his party — and my friend here is looking a little... inspired." Breakdown says, nodding towards Roadbuster. "So, how about we let him join? You do have a spare hole or two..."
The servo wrapped around Barricade's hip slide around to squeeze his aft, one digit stroking the panel covering his port. At the same time, Breakdown pushes a couple of broad digits into Barricade's valve. The Mustang gasps, grinding against that servo.
It's such a polite question for a lewd act.
Barricade almost laughs out loud, but at least some of his repressed cackle is from nerves.
But he has already done things like that, so it wold be rude to say 'no' to the most polite suggestion so far.
"Sure..." He fumbles around in one of his subspace pockets to get the bottle of lube he stores there now. "I need to... Well, you know... Just..."
He did prep himself a bit before their shift was supposed to start, but less is more really doesn't apply here.
Breakdown makes a non-committal noise, then his panel slides away, his spike pressurizing to rub against Barricade's pelvic plating. Barricade's spike requests permission to pressurize when Breakdown's spike slides against his spike cover, and Barricade denies the request without even thinking about it.
"He could do it himself." Breakdown says, flicking Barricade's port cover out of the way before grabbing Barricade's hips, lifting him just enough to line his spike up.
Roadbuster grabs the lube, and Barricade watches as he strokes his spike to cover it. Breakdown slides deeper on the couch to reposition them, moving his pedes further apart to allow Roadbuster room to kneel behind Barricade.
Barricade almost forgets to change the settings of his port calipers, too preoccupied with watching Roadbuster's working his own spike, pouring more lube onto it.
Chapter Text
Breakdown is keeping still inside him while Roadbusters slick digits circle Barricade's port a couple of times, before pushing two digits inside. They slip inside with ease, Barricade's calipers automatically adjusting to the intrusion. Roadbuster pumps his digits, and Barricade increase the sensitivity of his pressure sensors, because if this is going to happen, he might as well get the most out of it. He gasps when Roadbuster curls his digits, and hits that spot just so.
Barricade's apparent approval seems to urge Roadbuster on; he pulls his digits out, and lines up his spike instead, the head of it rubbing against Barricade's port. Barricade wouldn't even admit it under gunpoint, but the stimulation feels good, and he's almost anticipating the penetration.
He's ready for it, it won't hurt, and it does hit some spots inside him that really feels good.
He tries to push back against it, but it's impossible with the way Breakdown is holding him in place with strong servos on Barricade's hips.
Roadbuster grabs on to his shoulder-wing for leverage, rubbing his spike against Barricade's opening again, and the teasing touch draws a low moan from the Saleen. The grip on his shoulder-wing tightens, and it's the only warning he gets before Roadbuster rolls his hips, pushing inside. The slick, and Barricade's relaxed calipers, makes it easy, and Roadbuster grunts when he's suddenly halfway inside. Barricade squirms, but it isn't from discomfort, just the sudden fullness, and with how sensitive made himself, he kind of wants more. Roadbuster takes it as a sign to move, and he slowly slides deeper, drawing a gasp from Barricade, and another attempt to move.
Breakdown lifts him a little, and then he starts moving under Barricade, rather short thrust from how they're positioned. Roadbuster starts to match his pace, and each time they bottom out, Barricade mewls.
It's so much at once, so much input from his sensors, so much inside him.
Barricade is indeed clinging to Breakdown's spare tire, lifting himself more to give Breakdown more room to move under him, but Breakdown pulls him back down instead, jolting both himself at Roadbuster in one go.
"Ride us, you'll get more that way."
Barricade does as he says; lifts off and sinks back down, setting the pace, and it really is much easier than them trying to match their paces. Barricade reaches between his legs to circle his node with one digit, because he isn't quite getting there.
"I'm not going to last much longer." Roadbuster says, voice strained. "You're so tight and good around me."
Barricade increases the rubbing on his node, because he wants to overload before Roadbuster is done and pulls out, and but the way Breakdown is biting his lip-plate, he's probably not far behind. Then Roadbuster presses in deep, keeping Barricade still while his spike pulses inside Barricade. Barricade flicks his node one last time, the deep penetration helping to set his overload off, and he makes a static noise he has no control over. His valve clenching around Breakdown's spike pulls the big mech with them over the edge, and Breakdown groans, pushing Barricade down to get really deep.
Chapter Text
The hangover isn't nice, even if it's kind of mild — a bit of a helmache, and some dizziness — but the night was nice.
Barricade allows himself to fall back onto the berth when the room spins a bit from sitting up quickly.
At least he doesn't feel nauseous.
Breakdown is already up, and Barricade muses that the brothers must have incredible filtering systems, or one hell of a fuel consumption to make them all such early risers even after a party night.
A very nice party. He had fun, he learned so much about the Brothers. Is this what it's like to have friends? And Breakdown was good in the sack. Beyond the threesome he didn't request anything really kinky, just some good fucking, and it was quite pleasureable.
Barricade just lazes around in berth for another half hour before he decides to get up to go get some coolant.
Jazz is already in the refueling room, eating some crisps, and drinking coolant straight from the jug. Bumblebee is there too.
"Mornin' babe." Jazz says cheerily.
Barricade leans in to steal a kiss as he passes.
"Good morning." He smirks against Jazz's lip-plates, then he looks up at Bumblebee. "Good morning."
Bumblebee makes a salute, sipping his hot energon as Barricade heads for the fridge.
"I hope you didn't take all the coolant?" Barricade mock growls at Jazz.
"Nah, just emptyin' this one. Of course there's more in tha fridge! I'm one of tha mechs who are responsible for restockin'!" Jazz sounds affronted, but when Barricade looks at him, he cracks a grin.
Barricade grabs a coolant, turning back towards the table just in time to see Crosshairs burst through the door.
"We're goin' on a road trip!" He says excitedly.
Ironhide follows in his wake at a more leisurely pace. "We're going to Kaon tomorrow morning. I want Crosshairs, Dreadbot, Jazz and Barricade to come with us."
Barricade can't really tell what he feels about it.
In one way, it's exciting and thrilling with the prospect of traveling. On the other servo, he has kind of a bad feeling about it. And then there's that other problem...
"I'm pretty certain I'm not allowed to leave Polyhex. You know, my parole?"
"I'll take care of the necessary papers for you."
Barricade nods, even more of those mixed feelings welling up inside him when he knows without a doubt that he'll be going. He never traveled before, so it's the first time he'll leave Polyhex, and it's almost scary.
And they're not going to some nice resort, they're going to Kaon.
Crosshairs holds out his servo to Ironhide, making a grabby motion, smiling sweetly.
"We need te go shoppin'. 'ave te look our best an' make ye proud te call us yer sluts, ye know?"
Ironhide rolls his optics, but still he unsubspaces a credit stick, handing it to Crosshairs.
Chapter Text
"Come on, le's go shoppin'!" Crosshairs exclaims victoriously, waving the credit stick around as soon as Ironhide has left the room.
"What do we need?" Jazz asks.
"I don' know?" Crosshairs shrugs. "Whatever makes ye look fancy? I'm goin' te ge' some stickers te enhance my paint job. An' some polish tha' brings out my colors. Hide already gave me the credits, so we jus' get what we want."
Jazz works his intake as if he doesn't know what to say.
"So, you just ripped him off? You didn't really need anything?" Barricade asks, because it seems that way, and it doesn't feel right, considering he's not a permanent fixture in this house.
"'ell no! We're representin'! The Polyhex chapter are the originals, of course it'll look good if they 'ave top notch glitches an' everythin'. If the other charters are better off, it'll look bad politically, so we need te look our best."
"Ya always look amazin'." Jazz sounds kind of doubtful.
"Yeh, but I'm no' leavin' anythin' te chance. Ergo, we go shoppin'."
Barricade doesn't say anything, he waits for Jazz's que, because he's the one who actually has earned a spot here, and even he seemed hesitant.
"I commed Dreadbot, 'e's gettin' plated. Come on, mechs. I's all paid fer an' everythin'."
Crosshairs grabs a bottle of low grade from the fridge and walks out the door. Jazz and Barricade shares a look, and Jazz shrugs, turning to follow Crosshairs out.
"See ya later." Jazz says to Bumblebee, and the black and yellow mech makes a beeping noise for an answer.
Barricade follows Jazz, because he doesn't really see any other course of action.
They're going to a different city state tomorrow.
Dreadbot catches up with them in the rec room, attaching the last few plates to his shoulder as he's walking up to Crosshairs, who's waiting for him.
"For the record, I really hate everything about this." Dreadbot hisses, struggling with the latch for the last of the plates.
"Try te see it as a workin' vacation." Crosshairs says, shrugging. He grabs the plate Dreadbot is getting increasingly rough with as his frustration is growing, adjusting it to get the latch to grab on to it.
"Fucking easy for you to say." Dreadbot mutters, but he allows Crosshairs to fix the plate for him.
Dreadbot's field doesn't match his sullenly resigned voice; it broadcasts his pain and insecurity loud and clear.
"I's jus' a day an' one night. Ye 'ave nothin' te worry 'bout."
"No, it's not just a day and a night. Nitro is not going with us through the ground bridge tomorrow morning, he's flying there tonight. He and Starscream will have all night, and there's nothing I can do about that."
Chapter Text
Barricade follows the others, flanking Jazz, Crosshairs and Dreadbot taking the lead.
::Fer fuck's sake, babe, ye don' need te worry 'bout the winged frag-helm.:: Crosshairs sounds exasperated when he breaks the silence on their mutual comm link.
::Then why the hell does he have to go tonight?::
::I don' know! Bu' the important thing is that' 'e's comin' 'ome again.::
Dreadbot transforms to root mode in front of the shop.
"He's coming home for his Brothers. I'm just a consolation prize. If he doesn't manage to persuade that fucking cunt to come back here, then I'll be redundant." Dreadbot hisses, but his voice breaks in a way that takes the edge off the venom. He turns to stride towards the door before Crosshairs has a chance to answer.
"Dreads is a really smart mech, but Screamer is like 'is... 'is kryptonite. I's as if all 'is logics circuits are fried, an' 'e needs a change of fuses or somethin'." Crosshairs explains, twirling a digit against his temple, before he follows Dreadbot.
Barricade shares a glance with Jazz, and then they follow the other two into the shop.
"I don' even know why ye ge' so upse'. Screamer ain't got nothin' on ye. Ya 'ave no problems sharin' Nitro at 'ome either."
"Because I know where he stands with everyone else. I know what I am to him, and that nobody in the house is trying to take that away, that I'm as special as I can ever be. And I know what Starscream is trying to do, and there's nothing I can do about it, because it's not like Nitro and I are exclusive or anything. The worst thing is that I think what Screamer is doing is working. I mean, Nitro clearly is dropping everything to go there earlier just to get extra time with him. I'm just not special enough." Dreadbot clenches his denta as if to stop himself from starting to cry, picking haphazardly with a few packets of stickers on a shelf.
Barricade wraps an arm around Jazz, and he feels his spark clench for Dreadbot.
Sharing Jazz the way he does now isn't really a problem, but it would be very different if someone was trying to take over what they have together.
"Ye know ye're Nitro's favorite. An' ye're smokin' ho'! Don' worry 'bout it. Starscream is jus' a distraction, jus' like any other whore Nitro might do while 'e's there. I'm a 'undred percent certain tha' Screamer isn' special for Nitro, an' 'as somethin' ye don'. I mean, 'e can' get nekkid fer one." Crosshairs says, looking through the stickers with more purpose than Dreadbot does.
"He can fly. Starscream could easily get modified to be able to strip, but I will never be a Flier." Dreadbot sounds completely defeated.
"Ye know, of all things tha' Nitro could care 'bout, whether ye're a Flier or no' certainly isn' important to 'im. 'e's no' like tha', an' ye know it. Now, stop sulkin', get somethin' te wear tomorrow, an' ye go te Kaon, an' take back yer mech. Make 'im show ye 'ow sorry 'e is, an' make it up te ye. Make 'im lick yer cunt like 'e'd never lick someone else." Crosshairs smiles sweetly at a mech who's gawking at him. "'ello, I can really recommend face-sittin', an' gettin' eaten really good." Then he turns back to flipping through a display of stickers. "Oooh, look, this one is fer ye, Barricade!"
He steps back to let the others see, and Barricade looks at what looks like Enforcer service signs, except instey of a city, or department, it says pussy patrol.
"And these te go with tha'." Crosshairs points to another sticker.
Instead of to serve and protect, it says to punish and enslave.
Chapter Text
Barricade stares at the stickers for long moments. Or rather gawks at them, speechless.
It's both tantalizing, because it will make him look like himself again, but at the same time, it's such a blatant display of something very different.
"I can't wear those!" He says, but it feels like he's trying to convince himself as much as someone else.
"Why no'? They're funny. Some of the Brothers really appreciate some 'umor. Ooh, Dreadbot, ye should get some funny stickers! Nitro's a sucker fer humor, an' tha's certainly one of the things ye beat Starscream at, ol' Screecher can' even spell 'umor." Crosshairs seems very excited about both the ideas, and he turns back to Barricade after his little interlude to Dreadbot. "So, whadd'ye say? These would look awesome on ye."
"I... Yeah, but isn't that illegal? I mean, like impersonating an officer..."
"Nope, the stickers 'ere are all cleared fer use. They're different enough from the real deal te be ok te use."
"I'm, ah, the punish and enslave bit? That's kind of a suggestion I'm not sure I want to plant in someones helm..."
Oh, the weak excuses why he shouldn't, when he really wants them.
"Sideswipe was the only one in our charter who liked tha' kind of elaborate games, the others prefer other kinds of power plays. Ye know, 'old down, an' frag 'ard, an' tha' sorta stuff." Crosshairs says. "An' the Kaonians are pretty straightforward too. With yer paint job, ye might as well go all in."
"Nitro would laugh at those." Dreadbot says thoughtfully. "I have an idea, I'll be over there." He says, pointing to the isle with a sign that says safety and instructionals.
He sounds determined, and it's much better than the defeat that has been permeating everything in both his voice and his field so far.
"Go wild." Crosshairs encourages Dreadbot as the Hippie van leaves them, heading for what doesn't exactly seem like the sexiest collection of stickers.
"What do you think?" Barricade asks Jazz, still dawdling.
"I think ya would look great with them, if ya wanna wear them. Sure they won't be too much of a reminder of your old life, though?"
The is a risk that he could be reminded of what he has lost, but then again, tonight will probably be very full of distractions.
"I want them."
"Then ya should get them."
Crosshairs makes an excited noise, and immediately pulls out a sealed kit from the shelf underneath the display rack. He hands them to Barricade.
"Now, what are we gettin' fer you..." He says thoughtfully, looking Jazz up and down.
"I've never tried racin' stripes, but I do kind of like them...?" Jazz asks uncertainly.
"Oh, yes! I'm thinkin' some almost iridescent blue, an' some Autobot red? If ye get em this wide," Crosshairs says, shamelessly stroking Jazz's grill to show how wide the stripes might be, "ye'll really make this pretty li'l front of yers stick out."
"That sounds really nice" Jazz says.
"Come on, the stripes are over 'ere. I'm goin' te get some fer my ventral platin', an' my thighs too. I mean, these plates are made fer 'ighlightin'." He says, pointing to the slanted plates that'll really frame his ventral plating, and his interface panel — which he's wearing for once now that they're in public — when they're striped.
Chapter Text
Traveling by groundbridge is a bit unsettling, and even if it's a quick event, there's some lingering creeps in his wiring as they leave the station. They all transform as soon as they're in the transformation lot, following Ironhide down the street, Blackout flanking them from above.
::I fraggin' 'ope Nitro meets us outside, those lights look stunnin' when ye're in alt mode.:: Crosshairs says to Dreadbot over a link Jazz and Barricade can hear too.
Crosshairs is absolutely right. Barricade was mildly confused by the colorful string of lights Dreadbot had wrapped around his arm, because it did seem quite random. Most mechs would get little biolights installed permanently or — if they didn't have the time and credits for it — mount self adhesive ones under a few plates to enhance certain features, not just wrap them around their arm. In alt mode, though, they somehow seem to wind up inside, giving his windows a warm glow. It's a bit confusing how it looks inviting and cosy, considering he can't get inside Dreadbot's alt mode, but it's a case of 'if Dreadbot was a transport, he'd be a comfy one.'
Staring at Dreadbot is a good distraction from the nerves that threaten to make him all jittery, because even if he knows roughly what to expect — a house similar to Hide's, full of big brutes and their pleasurebots — it's still new brutes, and new pleasurebots, and the unwritten social protocols might differ with this crew.
The neighborhood they drive through looks expensive, fancier than the one they live in, and even if the architecture is much more pointy, and dark, almost a bit unsettling, the lights in the windows, and in the yards still manage to make the houses look nice.
::Maybe we should move to Kaon, Hide? Look at this neighborhood. There's no way we could live in a place like this in Polyhex. The property prices here are really much more affordable, look at this. I just did a quick search on the data net.:: Blackout says, clearly not caring about the pleasurebots' opinion but still using the comm link to all of them.
Dreadbot's field flares with a turmoil of negative emotions.
::We probably could afford it in Polyhex too, but it would be a hassle territory wise.::
::Which wouldn't be an issue if we moved here.::
::True, but then we'd have the disadvantage of one less location globally. And we'd have to make a lot of adjustments to our processes. Two charters on one turf would take a whole lot of negotiation. I think we're good where we are.::
Dreadbot's field trembles with hesitant relief when Hide has said what he thinks.
::Yeah...:: Blackout doesn't sound convinced.
They pull up to the gates of one of the biggest houses, the gates deceptively fancy and elaborately done for being reinforced and pointy to stop intruders in their tracks. The gates swing open for them, and they drive up to the house. The doors look thick and heavy; massive slabs of gunmetal and black, adorned with the Autobot brand, backlit to make it pop out from the dark doors.
"That's new. Nice." Ironhide comments, pointing at the brand, before stepping up to the door.
It slides open, and Ironhide and Blackout steps inside. Barricade can see how tense Dreadbot is, and he feels the same way, but for very different reasons.
Chapter Text
Barricade is looking around, so he almost bumps into Dreadbot who has turned and is heading for the door again. Crosshairs grabs the Hippie van, turning him again, and by that also stopping the near collision from happening.
"None o' tha'! Ye can do this." Crosshairs hisses.
Barricade looks past them, and it's easy to see what has made Dreadbot's face look like he has eaten something very sour, and he's about to leave.
Nitro is sitting on the couch, and perched on his lap, leaning into Nitro's broad chest is a seeker, and Barricade is certain that it must be Starscream. Barricade instantly dislikes the mech, because the smug grin on his face-plates shows that he has seen Dreadbot's reaction, and that he takes delight in it.
"Ye're lettin' I'm win. Don' let 'im see ye react like tha'." Crosshairs coaches Dreadbot.
Barricade watches as the seeker turns back to Nitro, obviously going to do something more provoking, but then he flails and squawks indignantly, landing on his back on the couch in a very ungraceful way when Nitro just pushes Starscream off his lap, getting up from the couch.
It may not mean anything, Nitro can be an aft to the pleasurebots as much as the other Brothers — especially when other Warframes are present — but there's still something satisfying about seeing him dismiss the glitch in such an undignified way.
"Good to see you, Prez." Nitro says, heading for them. He greets Ironhide with the standard clasped forearm and one armed hug, and then he does the same with Blackout. "Hey, Brother. The trip go well?"
"It was uneventful."
The resident Autobots are coming their way, greeting Ironhide and Blackout in the same way, and Barricade keeps a couple of optics on them while he really focuses on Crosshairs and Dreadbot, because he's curious, but the Warframes doesn't even seem to notice them, so he probably isn't expected to be polite, or anything yet.
"Come on now! Ye're ready, ye're gorgeous. 'e won' be able te resist." Crosshairs murmurs
"He probably won't even notice." Dreadbot mutters.
Nitro turns around, as if he picked up their voices, and suddenly noticed that they're there.
"Hey, babe! Was the trip ok for you too?" He asks Dreadbot.
Dreadbot straightens his back, visibly finding his resolve.
"It was. I need to... get ready for tonight. Where can I do that?"
Nitro's digits ghost the plating on Dreadbot's arm, toying with the string of lights. "This is new."
"Yes."
"Looking really good."
"I know."
Barricade catches the way Crosshairs rolls his optics, and he totally agrees, because this is going really well from his point of view, and Dreadbot being snippy might just make it worse.
Nitro cups Dreadbot's chin, tipping his helm to look at the sticker that's barely visible between the plating and struts of his neck, then the Flier rumbles a laugh. "Clever."
"Yes. So where can I get ready?"
"I'm in the guest room down the hall, third door on the right, you can use that." Nitro says, looking Dreadbot up and down.
"Nitro, come back here. We were having so much fun!" Starscream pouts, having collected himself, and perhaps a shard of dignity.
Barricade just wants to slap him.
Nitro glances at the Seeker before turning back to Dreadbot. "There's adjacent washracks."
Dreadbot nods once. "I'll use your room then." He forces out, then he hurries away.
Nitro looks after Dreadbot, head tilted in consideration, then he turns to follow his Brothers who have already headed for the bar.
In the rec room, where Starscream is grinning victoriously.
"Ye're such a fuckin' asshole!" Crosshairs hisses to the Flier.
Nitro stops, turning back to look at Crosshairs, completely nonplussed.
"Me? What did I do?!"
"Oh, ye know exactly what ye're doin'!" Crosshairs growl. "Tell Hide I'm 'elpin' Dreadbot te get ready. Will be out soon."
"Sure." Nitro says, shrugging, then he heads into the rec room again.
Chapter Text
"Come on. We'll go in there n' ask if our services are needed." Jazz says, starting towards the bar. "N' introduce ourselves."
Barricade nods, even though he's very reluctant to follow.
It's not like he wants to try to be polite to Starscream when he clearly doesn't deserve it, but he really isn't itching to provide services for the Kaon crew either.
Jazz heads straight for the bar, and it isn't that surprising; Bros before hoes when it comes to business.
"Excuse me, Hide, but do ya need anythin' from us right now?"
"Cute accent..." One of the mechs from the Kaon crew notes.
"Thanks." Jazz says, putting on a flirty smile. "'m Jazz, by tha way."
"Keep it behind your panel, Topspin. We have business to tend to first." The big Helo that can only be Grindor says.
He really is freakishly massive, and Dreadbot and Crosshairs weren't lying when they said he could be Blackout's brother; they really look very much alike, even if Grindor is much bigger.
"You have a cop." Someone says, sounding impressed.
"Former..." Barricade mumbles.
"Barricade is as corrupt as they come." Ironhide says with a smirk.
"These are hilarious." Nitro says, poking the service signs on Barricade's shoulder-wing.
"Thank you?" Barricade asks, not sure if it's a compliment or just a statement.
"He must make you plenty of credits. I mean, who doesn't want to fuck the Enforcers?" Grindor muses.
"He's not on the streets yet. We're still test-driving him." Blackout leers.
"You are so nice with your whores. I just put them on a corner, and if they don't make enough, they don't get a spot." Grindor shrugs.
"It's a waste to let the fresh pussy be all used up before we get to have it." Ironhide injects.
"I guess that's true... So no johns have had these two? Just our Brothers?"
"Not the cop. The other one has recently been promoted to just be our entertainment, so he has had johns before, but not in a little while."
"You know, that sounds kind of clean and fresh, really." Grindor muses.
"It is, and we always have pussy available, mechs who know exactly what we want." Nitro says, glancing over his shoulder, but it's impossible to say if he's looking at Starscream, or towards the hallway Dreadbot and Crosshairs disappeared down to go to his room.
Nitro's preferences could be pretty gross if he did it with streetwalkers who don't use condoms, actually.
"Do you make your streetwalkers demand jimmies too?" Blackout asks.
"All our whores go on the streets, we pick a few to keep us satisfied each night. You know, jimmies sound like a good idea, actually. Would save us a few itches."
Hide makes a face. "Yeah, we came up with that idea even before we got whores. I got some scrap from some bitch who walked into camp while I was in the army, and I'm not getting that again."
"We all got it, so after that, we decided to only frag whores proven clean without, so we keep our stable nice and neat, so we don't have to use them." Blackout sounds gloating.
"Ah, always the tactical genius." Grindor says, sounding a bit biting.
Ah, right. The hate-admiration between competitive siblings.
Chapter Text
"We don't need you right now, we have business to discuss first." Hide finally tells them. "We'll comm you if you're not already out here when we are done, so you can go join the other two if you don't want to hang out here."
"N' what are we allowed ta do here? May we have a few drinks, Grindor?" Jazz asks deferentially, smiling sweetly at the massive Helicopter.
"I like how well behaved and respectful they are. A little bit of will to please." Grindor says to Hide.
"You just need to give them the right motivation."
Grindor makes a contemplative noise. "We will discuss those things too. And to answer your questions, Jazz, you can use anything in the rec room, and yes, you may have drinks."
"Thank ya!" Jazz beams at Grindor.
"Thank you." Barricade says too, since it's probably a good idea to be on the good side of their hosts, and Grindor seems to like it when they're polite.
The Brothers leave them by the bar, and disappear out a door at the back of the room, and Barricade looks around once again, while Jazz pours them both a drink. It's not even noon, but as soon as Barricade spots Starscream on the couch, he knows that they're going to need those drinks. Then another Seeker approaches them.
"Hello. I'm Thundercracker. Everyone calls me TC, though."
"Nice ta meet ya! I'm Jazz, n' this is Barricade."
"Hello Thundercracker." Barricade says.
"We got an ok from Grindor ta have drinks, ya want one too?"
"I usually don't drink this early, but what the hell. Once every now and then won't do any harm." Thundercracker says, mixing high grade and sweet low grade in a tall cube.
"Give me some of the bubbly midgrade, TC." Starscream demands.
Thundercracker looks a bit annoyed, but he still pours some of the requested energon into a flute glass and walks over to the couch to hand it to Starscream. There's no thank you or other sign of gratitude for the service.
::That mech certainly is hard to like.:: He comms Jazz.
Jazz snorts inelegantly, some of the sip he just to spraying out of his nasal vent.
::I see what ya mean.::
Thundercracker returns to them, but then he waves at someone behind them, and both Jazz and Barricade turn to look.
Dreadbot and Crosshairs are coming into the rec room, Dreadbot dressed in one of his fluffy onesies.
"OMP, what the fuck is that?!" Starscream exclaims at the same time as Thundercracker calls out a greeting.
Chapter Text
Starscream cackles nastily, but Dreadbot doesn't seem to care about that at least, heading for the bar without sparing the Seeker a glance.
"Hello, TC. How are you doing?" Dreadbot asks.
"I'm good, I guess. I mean, I'm still in this line of work, but it could always be worse."
"Where's everyone else?" Crosshairs asks.
"Probably keeping away for as long as they can get away with it. You know, guests could be a hit or miss."
"I guess ye're right."
"What's the policy on weed here?" Dreadbot asks Thundercracker while pouring himself a drink.
"We can earn it from the Brothers, we don't have our own stash."
"Dammit. I really wanted a smoke."
"Who doesn't?" Thundercracker mutters.
"Does anyone know why we're here?" Jazz asks. "I mean tha Brothers. It's kinda obvious why we are here." He giggles, but sounds nervous.
Thundercracker shakes his helm.
"I know why Nitro Zeus is here." Starscream pipes up, and Barricade wants to jam something in his vocalizer. "And I can totally see why. Fluffy McFrump over there isn't exactly easy on the optics."
"Don' take the bait. 'e doesn' know wha' ye don' ave underneath tha' onesie, use tha' te yer advantage. 'e'll be unprepared fer yer sexiness." Crosshairs murmurs quietly. "Ye know Nitro likes ye in the clothes as well."
Dreadbot grinds his denta but doesn't say anything. Thundercracker walks over to the couch.
"Why are you doing this?" He asks Starscream, clearly disapproving of the other Seeker's games.
"I don't know what you're talking about. It's not my fault that Nitro needs a hot Flier to take care of him and show him a good time. I mean, a grounder can never give him what I can, and who would I be to complain about a hot Jet coming here a day earlier just to spend a night with me? And I can totally see why, if that," Starscream motions to Dreadbot, "is what he's getting at home. If he got what he needs, he wouldn't need to come here, right?"
Dreadbot's field is churning with insecurity and sorrow. Starscream's comments obviously hit home. Crosshairs is holding the Microbus back with a servo on his shoulder, but if Dreadbot is about to flee, or jump Starscream is impossible to say.
"Jus' leave 'im alone." Crosshairs says, sounding annoyed. He doesn't elaborate if he means Nitro, Dreadbot, or both.
Starscream gets up from the couch, preening to show off his tall, and slender frame. He's admittedly gorgeous; mile long, slim legs with striking heel thrusters, and he tilts his wings invitingly to showcase the feature Dreadbot just doesn't have.
"You should probably tell Nitro that. Mech just can't keep his servos off me. He's such a stud too, kept me up all night. Guess it has been a long time of mediocre fucking, considering how many times he wanted to have me. My legs were like gel when we finally had to do the polite thing and get out of berth." Starscream gloats.
Everything happens so fast, none of them even have time to react. Dreadbot throws himself towards Starscream, slapping him across the face-plates. Starscream squeaks in a way that explains his designation, stumbling against the couch. Dreadbot is on him immediately, and Starscream claws back. Both of them are yelling insults, tumbling to the floor in a spitting, hissing, and clawing heap, the others still too shocked to do anything.
And of course that's when the door opens, and the Brothers come back from their meeting.
Chapter Text
"Glitch fight!" Nitro exclaims, sounding rather excited. "Thousand credits on Team Polyhex!"
"Could you not encourage this nonsense?" Ironhide growls.
"You're on." Grindor says, bumping his fist against Nitro's.
"Sorry, Prez, has to make tha moneys." Nitro answers Ironhide with a fake accent.
Ironhide doesn't look the least bit amused, glaring at Nitro.
On the floor, the fighters roll around, Starscream digging his claws into Dreadbot. It looks painful, especially considering Barricade knows that Dreadbot doesn't have any protective armor under that flimsy onesie, the fabric being more torn for each second that passes. Dreadbot gives as good as he gets; slapping, biting and clawing at the Seeker just as much as he receives the same treatment. Starscream swipes his claws across the Hippie van's chest. Dreadbot shrieks in pain and anger, and then his fist connects with Starscream's jaw, sending the Seeker off balance. Nitro cheers, and Grindor growls a threat aimed at Starscream. Dreadbot straddles him immediately, punching him in the face again. A third hit lands, then Dreadbot's pulled back arm is caught in a vicelike grip, and he's hauled to his pedes.
Dreadbot whimpers and struggles to get free, terror seeping into his field. Grindor grins nastily.
"I think we can declare this one the winner," Grindor says, turning to Nitro, holding out a credit stick, "and I've lost enough of money on this, so I'm not having him damage my ware more than he already has."
Dreadbot struggles even more when Grindor tugs him closer, but there's not much he can do against the massive mech.
"You hear that, little whore? You cost me credits with this little stunt. You need to be shown your place, and I need to be compensated..." The massive Helo purrs, field cloying with anticipation and arousal.
"No, please! He started it, I just couldn't help it!" Dreadbot starts crying.
Grindor hums, clearly enjoying Dreadbot's field as it broadcasts the smaller mech's terror.
"This one's repairs will cost us too, so how about I deal with our glitch, and you deal with yours?" Nitro suggests.
Long seconds pass as Grindor decides, the only sound Dreadbot's terrified sobbing. Starscream groans as he reboots, catching Grindor's attention.
"I guess that's fair." He finally says, but he does sound disappointed.
Grindor shoves Dreadbot in Nitro's direction, the smaller mech stumbling, Nitro saving him from falling over by grabbing his arm rather harshly.
"I'll deal with this." Nitro says to Ironhide, dragging Dreadbot towards the hallway, and supposedly his room.
Dreadbot seems uncertain about it, and doesn't go along willingly, but not strong enough to do much either. Then Nitro is stopped by Blackout, the Helo placing a servo on Nitro's shoulder.
"Since I'm the Enforcer, I think it's my job to uphold our rules. And to punish those that don't follow them..."
Nitro hesitates for a few seconds, then he lets go of Dreadbot's arm.
"I guess you're right, Brother."
Blackout grins like a shark, pulling Dreadbot closer. Dreadbot whimpers again, trying to free his arm from Blackout's grip.
"You've behaved very badly, damaging our Brothers' whore. I'll make sure you won't do it again."
"No, please, Blackout! I didn't mean to... He started it!" Dreadbot pleads to Blackout's inexistent mercy.
The Helo is obviously enjoying himself way too much to listen to any reasons.
"Shut up. I will punish you, and you will get what you deserve."
More like what Blackout wants to do.
"Now strip."
Chapter Text
It's a bit like watching a trainwreck; he just can't look away, even if he knows he should. Barricade glances at where Grindor is dealing with Starscream — sharp talons digging in among the Seeker's neck-cables, apparently pinching something that's making Starscream struggle in panic to get away from the grip. It can't hold his attention, though, because in his opinion, Starscream deserves it, and he doesn't really care. He does care about what's going to happen to Dreadbot, though, because he really didn't deserve this.
And whatever is going to happen here is something that probably could happen to him if he fucks up at some point too.
Nitro is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, following the proceedings. If he's disappointed that Blackout pulled rank, he's not showing it.
"You heard me. Strip." Blackout growls to Dreadbot.
"Interfacing is not a punishment." Ironhide says quietly to Blackout, tone holding a warning.
"Oh, I know that. But it can be a very effective way to show appeasement to superiors when a mech has been insubordinate. And to make reparations when a mech has cost someone credits and trouble. To show how sorry he is for not behaving appropriately." Blackout says with a smirk.
With a trembling servo, Dreadbot slowly opens the zipper to his torn up onesie. His vents are ragged, and his movements are stiff and mechanical when he pushes it off his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. There's no sign of his usual sassy confidence when he hunches as if trying to make himself smaller, and he looks so very vulnerable, visibly fighting the urge to try to cover himself with his arms.
"Now that is a sight to behold!" Grindor says, looking Dreadbot up and down.
Starscream is looking much more sluggish with his flailing, but suddenly it picks up again.
The bastard is pinching lines in his neck, edging him between losing consciousness — or even offlining — as a very terrifying punishment. Especially considering Grindor doesn't seem like the type who'd care all that much if he accidentally took it too far.
"Indeed." Blackout hums, field dripping with anticipation. The Pave low walks over to the couch, taking a seat. "Come here." He says to Dreadbot, voice deceptively soft and all the more worrying for it, pointing to the floor between his pedes.
Dreadbot obeys, but he's looking like a mech going to his execution when he takes slow steps towards Blackout, every strut in his frame tense. He stops in front of Blackout, seemingly torn between looking everywhere but at Blackout, or not letting him out of his sight. Blackout notices his trepidation, a satisfied smirk stretching his lip-plates.
"Bend over my knees."
Disbelief registers on Dreadbot's face, and Blackout's grin widens when he sees the moment Dreadbot catches on, and indignation and resentment replaces the initial shock.
"No, please, Blackout! Come on, you can't..."
"Oh, I can, and I will. You should've thought about how actions have consequences before you went and got yourself into some cat fight. Behave like a silly youngling, and you get treated like one. Now do as I say."
Dreadbot does the stupid thing, and turns to run, even though he has nowhere to go. Barricade can still understand him, because Blackout is powerful, and may very well inflict some serious pain, and just the thought of the sheer indignity of this punishment is enough to make him cringe. Blackout probably anticipated the move though, because even if he looks relaxed where he's sitting, he manages to grab Dreadbot's wrist-strut, easily keeping him from running.
"You just prolonged your own punishment."
"Not even younglings get treated like this in civilized society!" Dreadbot tries to plead to the other brothers, because there's no point in trying to reason with Blackout, especially not when he's enjoying the struggling and begging.
"Considering your behavior is an embarrassment to the Prez, you can just consider yourself lucky that we don't do military style punishments." Nitro says, sounding bored.
Blackout tugs on Dreadbot's arm, easily wrangling the flailing Microbus into position across his legs, then his big servo lands against Dreadbot's aft with a clang. Dreadbot's field flares with mortification, and he struggles uselessly against the strong Helo.
Chapter Text
Barricade doesn't count the slaps, but it does seem to go on for a long time. Dreadbot's struggling has stopped, and he's down to sobbing quietly when Blackout finally stops. The Helo lets go go of his wrist-struts, stroking down Dreadbot's back-struts in what could've been a tender gesture, if it wasn't Blackout who did it.
"I think I've given you what you deserve properly."
Dreadbot sobs harder, humiliation thick in his field, and he doesn't even try to get up. It's impossible to say if it's because he's hurting, or if it's because he's ashamed.
"It has had other effects too — as I'm sure you can feel against that soft, sensitive abdomen of yours — and this gives you an opportunity to pay back some of what you owe us. You know, show me that you really regret what you did, and that you're willing to give me something in return."
Blackout pinches the protoform of Dreadbot's aft, and the Hippie van draws a sharp vent when the sore part is mechhandled.
"I think the most appropriate thing you could give me to show your good will would be what you dislike the most. You know, to show that you're willing to make sacrifices..."
Blackout's servo slides up and down the back of Dreadbot's thigh; another mocking of tenderness. Dreadbot just lays there, field churning with mortification.
"I mean, if you've learned your lesson yet... If not, I'll need to continue until you've learned that bad behavior won't be tolerated... It would be polite to at least decline this opportunity to make it up to me verbally, and show some respect."
Another hard slap lands against Dreadbot's aft, and the Microbus squeals, probably feeling the full force of it now that he has had a respite. Blackout pulls his servo back, preparing for another hit.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please, no more! Dreadbot cries. "I will be good, Sir."
"Then you better show me some initiative to good behavior."
"What do you want, Sir?"
"That's up to you. Showing me that you're willing to set your own discomfort to the side, and give me what you prefer not to give would be a nice gesture. And I will notice if you're trying to trick me by choosing something you enjoy a lot and just pretend to not enjoy it."
Dreadbot hesitates for too long, and Blackout squeezes Dreadbot's aft, and Dreadbot makes a pained face.
"So what's it going to be?"
"Would you enjoy having my port? Sir." Dreadbot whispers defeatedly.
Blackout smirks. "If you're not up for it."
"I'm not."
"Well, as you can feel, I'm already hard, so just hop on."
"I need to prep, I haven't..."
"Which could make this even more fun, but I don't think putting you out of commission would serve a purpose here. So go ahead. We will all enjoy the show."
"I... I don't have any lube with me..." Dreadbot mumbles, clearly apprehensive about what that piece of information will bring.
Does Dreadbot even have a subspace to store it in? His own subspace generators are attached to his plating and the mounting brackets for the plating.
Blackout reaches into his own subspace, and then he holds something out for Dreadbot, barely keeping his grin in check when Dreadbot hesitates, as if he's trying to hide how very amused he is by this.
Whatever purpose that would serve. Sadistic bastard.
Dreadbot unwraps the lube stick, fiddling with the wrapper for a few seconds.
"Where can I dispose of the garbage, Sir?"
"Ask the mech who owns the house."
Dreadbot flushes furiously, reminded of how many mechs are watching.
"Grindor? Where can I put this? Sir."
"Put it on the table. You can clean up when you're done fucking."
Dreadbot does, then he reaches back, movements slow with his reluctance.
"If you really want to show how sorry you are, you could shut that mod of yours off and use the factory settings."
Dreadbot doesn't correct Blackout on the detail that he isn't from some factory, and it's probably a smart move.
"Yes, Sir. Of course." He mumbles, servo hovering above his aft for a few seconds. Then he pushes the lube stick against the tight opening and slides it inside.
Chapter Text
"You look slick now, ready. If you still want to show me how well you can behave when you want to."
"Yes, Sir." Dreadbot says, voice hoarse.
He slowly gets up, straddling Blackout's thighs instead, leaning his servos against the Helo's knees.
"A very good initiative, but today, I would prefer to have you the other way around. I want to see your face."
It could've been a rather sweet request, but it isn't, because Blackout is clearly just out to see Dreadbot's discomfort. Dreadbot still turns around, but he's not performing his usual act, where he'd seem eager and willing.
But then again, Blackout probably prefers this.
"Take it at your own leisure." Blackout says, smirking.
Dreadbot nods once, crawling forward, and without further ado, he grabs Blackout's spike, lines it up, and slowly sinks down on it. He grimaces, and it's understandable, because Blackout is fragging big, and if Dreadbot obeyed — and who wouldn't, considering Blackout could decide to demand to check his systems — he's basically reset to be a virgin again. Dreadbot steadies himself with a servo on Blackout's chest, working himself down with slow movements. Blackout groans, optics almost turning orange with how bright they are.
It would be hilarious if the bastard came already, not even hilted. Not that he'd dare laughing...
But alas, Blackout has so much more control of himself than that.
Dreadbot stops momentarily, venting deeply while he lets his frame get used to the stretch, then he continues to lift off and sink down a little bit deeper again.
It takes several minutes before he's all the way down, his probably still sore aft pressed against Blackout's pelvic plating, then he starts to ride quicker, clearly aiming to get Blackout off as quickly as possible. He doesn't do anything for his own pleasure, doesn't touch himself anywhere, but Barricade can understand why he doesn't; there's just nothing arousing at all with this situation, and Blackout probably prefers this anyway.
It seems like an eternity before Blackout grabs Dreadbot's hips — the first thing he does to participate more than merely sitting there and letting Dreadbot do all the work — and presses in deep.
Even when he lets go of Dreadbot again, the smaller mech remains in place.
"Will that be all, Sir?"
"You've performed well enough. Now clean up after yourself."
Dreadbot nods, slowly rising. It's visible how he makes an effort to keep it all inside, but without the help of his mod, and the way he stretched himself quickly, at least some of the transfluid dribbles out when Blackout slips free, landing in sticky globs on Blackout's thigh plating.
"Do you have a rag, Sir." Dreadbot asks, flushing.
Blackout grins. "I'm afraid I don't. Ask the mech who owns the house, maybe he has some you can borrow?"
Dreadbot nods, walking over to Grindor. His gait is a bit stiff, and he seems unable to force himself to meet Grindor's optics.
"Excuse me, Sir, do you have any rags I can borrow?"
"What for?"
"I-I... I dribbled a little." Dreadbot flushes.
"Because you're a loose little whore?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Alright. Behind the bar, in the big bin."
"Thank you, Sir. That's very generous."
"Don't forget to wash them. There's a washer in the washracks down the hall." Grindor says, pointing to a door. "And don't forget your garbage." He points to the wrapper still left on the table.
"Yes, Sir. Forgive me for being forgetful." Dreadbot grovels.
"You could always make it up to me later..."
Dreadbot visibly schools his face. "If you want me to."
Grindor leaves it at that, dismissing Dreadbot with a smirk and a wave of his servo. "Go clean up after yourself before that dries up on my Brother's plating."
Dreadbot nods, and hurries to do all the things he's supposed to, wiping down Blackout's plating meticulously.
"Everything to your satisfaction, Sir?" He finally asks.
"Yes, you've paid your dues well enough."
"I'll get this one fixed up. He's rather unsightly." Nitro says, pointing to the still leaking cuts where Dreadbot was clawed and bitten by Starscream.
"It's ok to say that you were inspired." Blackout smirks, grabbing his pelvic plating meaningfully, and the other Brothers start to laugh.
Nitro smirks. "Oh, I have some ideas, alright." He grabs Dreadbot's arm, easily dragging the smaller mech with him. "Barricade, you too." Barricade's spark hiccups when everyone whistles, and starts clapping. "I know you have some first aid training from your time as a cop."
Chapter Text
Barricade follows the other two apprehensively, because the way Nitro is dragging Dreadbot along doesn't exactly bode well. The door to Nitro's room opens, and the Flier shoves Dreadbot inside, pointing to the berth.
"Sit." Nitro orders, sounding angry. "Barricade, repair his back first." He grabs a field repair kit from his subspace and throws it to Barricade, who barely manages to catch it.
Dreadbot stares at the berth for long seconds, but then he slumps in defeat, slowly sinking down to sit on it. He makes a face as he puts more and more weight on his aft.
"Oh, I know it hurts, but your fuel lines look nasty, and you're not getting away with mumbling into the pillow." Nitro crosses his arms, which just makes him look even more massive and intimidating, especially with the way he's glaring at Dreadbot.
His usually easy-going personality makes it easy to forget how dangerous he really is.
Barricade hurries onto the berth to check Dreadbot's injuries, and he's taken aback by how much damage there is, damage he hasn't noticed, because of all the drama.
"I can patch his fuel lines, but his protoform is beyond what I know how to do." He says, then he suddenly feels useless. "Sorry, I just wasn't educated for that..."
"I'll staple it after we've had a little talk." Nitro says, still glaring at Dreadbot. "So, care to tell me what the hell your malfunctioning is?"
Dreadbot wrings his servos, staring at them. "I just... he started it. He was so mean..." He almost whispers, voice trembling with suppressed crying.
"That's no excuse! You could just ignore it, you never care what other mechs think! It's not like his opinion matters."
"He's just... he knows how to wound." Dreadbot croaks, and this time it is through sobs.
"It's true. Starscream specifically targeted him. Went for him in the most hurtful way, again, and again." Barricade chips in, because Dreadbot's field is pure agony, all self hatred, insecurity, and regret. He wraps the last part of another patch, then he pulls another one out of the kit just to get away with not looking at Nitro while talking to him.
"Yeah, but still... One part of me wants to pick up where Blackout left off, because someone clearly needs to smack some sense into you. Do you understand how utterly stupid that was? Do you have any idea what Grindor could've done to you?!"
In Barricade's mind, it's as if the elevator music stops with a record scratch, and he's all audials, because that certainly sounded like something easily mistakable for care.
"I... I think I may have an inkling?"
Nitro rubs his servo down his face-plates. "It's not like I enjoy having my battle protocols emergency booted by your screaming nightmares. Don't add to them when you can avoid it." He grumbles.
"I guess I shouldn't." Dreadbot whispers, still seemingly thinking that he's about to be kicked out of Nitro's life.
"What on Cybertron could he possibly say that made you go that angry?"
Dreadbot squirms. "Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that..."
Nitro raises his optical ridge. "Seriously? You're a clever mech, you wouldn't let little bits of anything make you lose it this bad."
Dreadbot wars with himself for long seconds, then he sighs defeatedly. "I know I can't give you what he can. And it's not like I own you or anything!" He adds hurriedly. "It's just that... It's hard to know that someone else makes you happier than I do. It's not easy to admit that kind of defeat."
"I... You... Happier? What?! What are you talking about?"
"Just stop it! Stop playing with me! I know you want to be all over Starscream, and inside him too. I know he has that Flier thing going for you, and I know I'm just a consolation prize, so just stop pretending, and toying with me!" Dreadbot screams. "Flirting as soon as I get here, just to go back to that glitch immediately..." He mutters to himself. "I know you always say that you don't know what love is, but you're in love with that flying frag, aren't you?" Dreadbot finally grinds out, voice breaking.
Chapter Text
Nitro stares at Dreadbot, completely unreadable, for what seems like an eternity, and Barricade is holding his vents.
Then Nitro cackles a laugh. "What?! Me and Screechy?! In love? Haha, eew! Pit no!"
Dreadbot gapes at him. "But you fuck him all the time, and you fly together?!"
"I flew with him once, but I don't see a point in a repeat of that. It's not like he can be my wing mech anyway, he just likes to fly fast and show off."
"But you do fuck him! You were so impressed with his wings the last time we were here, it was all you could keep your optic on, and you're all over him all the time, and you even flew out here early to see him!" Dreadbot rants, voice rising in pitch.
"He was on my lap all night that time, flapping his wings all over the place, and they were activating my targeting protocols. It was hard not to look at them, and kind of amusing to get to use my targeting anyway. Plus they distracted me from his incessant, smarmy prattling, so that was a bonus."
"But you still fucked him!"
"It was the only pussy not already claimed for the night, and I didn't see a point in being ungrateful for Grindor's hospitality, and just have my own servo to satisfy myself."
No, how on Cybertron would anyone survive with just jerking off for one night? What a preposterous idea.
"But you went here before us, and had him all night?" Dreadbot sounds suspicious.
"I really wanted to make the flight! It's not often I get to fly intercity at full speed, and it's so wonderful to get a chance to really punch it while going for a longer flight. It's such a bureaucratic hassle though, and this was the only slot they would approve. You'd think I was requesting a permission to do a strafing run considering how uptight they are about it. The department of transportation approved a single evening slot yesterday — on the low traffic hours — or I wouldn't be allowed to fly at all. And the parole board have to be informed about me leaving the city state — and they cooperate with the d.o.t on the slot times for ex-convicts — so if I'd declined the slot I was offered and had gone this morning without a permit instead, I would risk going back to jail."
Dreadbot works his intake. "But you were with him last night? You fucked him silly, and didn't want to get up at all this morning..." He says weakly.
"Damn, you really seem fixated on who I'm fucking! I never knew you to be the type to care about that?"
"Because it feels like he's going to get you to stay here, and I'll lose you completely! Or you'll take him with you back home, and I'll be the spare tire, and I'll be forced to watch you two all happy together and I have to make do with whatever scraps I get!" Dreadbot snarls to cover how close he is go crying again.
Nitro just stares at him for long seconds, then he cracks up into his version of a grin.
"Let me just get this straight: the two of you were fighting over me?!"
Barricade sighs, helm lolling back in exasperation.
Of course that's what Nitro would take away from this.
Chapter Text
"I-I... I guess so..." Dreadbot whispers, because he certainly doesn't seem to find any humor in this, and for good reasons.
"But — again — you've never cared about who I fuck?"
"Because you never seemed as enamored as you did with him the last time we were here, and you went earlier this time, and he said that you fucked him all night, and then he was draped all over you when I got here, and as soon as you had pointed out where your room is, you just left me to it and went back to him." Dreadbot sounds insecure about his case now, and to be fair, Nitro has rebutted some of his arguments rather convincingly.
"Starscream is like one of those patches with super sticky adhesive, you know? You pull it off, and it sticks to your digits, so you shake your servo, but that doesn't help. Then you pull it off with your other servo, and it sticks to those digits instead, so you wipe it off against your thigh, and it just sticks there, so you pull it off with your servo, getting it stuck there again, and then it goes on and on until you finally come up with the idea to stick it to a wall. Then you happily walk off, thinking it's dealt with, just to have Hide pitch a fit about the used patch stuck to the wall when he sees it." Nitro scratches his helm. "Well, maybe that wasn't exactly like it, but you get what I mean. I was just sitting on the couch, waiting for you guys, and all of a sudden he was on my lap again." Nitro smirks. " It's kind of amusing, really, because he's so preoccupied with trying to get whatever he's after, he doesn't understand that I see right through his act, that he's just trying to manipulate me into liking him by constantly saying and doing whatever he thinks I want. He makes a fool of himself."
"But you still fucked him last night."
"I did, but only once, not all night. I find it kind of hilarious to ask for things he's obviously not going to enjoy and watch him squirm his way through it with a forced smile. I'm fairly certain he wasn't all that enthusiastic about taking my spike up his aft all dry. Sure, he tried to pretend that he liked it, but he's not that good of an actor, so it was pretty obvious that he just wanted it to seem like he enjoys anything I give him just to snare me. Anyway, I kicked him out as soon as I'd overloaded, and that was that."
"But you went back to him when I went to your room, instead of coming with me." Dreadbot still seems unable to believe it.
"No, I joined my Brothers by the bar, and then we headed to our meeting. You seemed like you wanted to be alone, so I thought I'd give you some space."
That's kind of sweet, especially considering how the Brothers have full access to the in-house pleasurebots no matter what.
"He said you fucked him all night."
"Is that what set this off? Is that the most important thing? Because that's a lie."
"Not just that..."
"I thought that you knew I'm better at gauging other mechs. There's no way I'd let that glitch stay the night. He's exactly the type who'd suck up to you and when you relax the slightest, he decides that it's better to try to kill you instead. He's more throwable than trustable."
Dreadbot's field flares with contrition. "I do know that... It's just that he's an expert at finding my weak spots and insecurities, and push those buttons. I came here already convinced that you'd take him over me any day. I mean, he is a Flier, and he's so attractive..."
"Seriously? You know I don't give a scrap about what alt mode mechs have. It's not like I'm fucking in the air anyway. And he really doesn't measure up to you, not even close. He's just a Seeker. Besides, if I'd let him sit on my face a couple of times, that would go to his helm, and he'd become a serious problem, using that for his scheming. He's too horny for power, and everything he does seems calculated to get him what he wants. I wouldn't be surprised if he's after me just because I'm more or less Hide's bodyguard, and his closest mech, and I'm just some pawn in a scheme of his. Or, considering the goading and your reactions, that he enjoys grinding you down, that he makes himself feel better by making others feel bad."
Never underestimate how clever Nitro is, and how aware he is of his surroundings. Even if he's stupidly blind when it comes to Dreadbot's love for him. But to be fair, Dreadbot normally is pretty good at not showing it too much when the Brothers are present, and their emotional protocols are a bit sketchy.
Chapter Text
"So you really don't think he's anything special, even though he's feisty and hot?" Dreadbot still sounds as if he doesn't dare believing it.
"Babe, the only thing he could give me that you can't is an STD."
Barricade snorts, unable to control himself. He hastily busies himself with the patch again, realizing that he has been so preoccupied listening, he has paused his repairing of Dreadbot's lines. Nitro griny, clearly satisfied with being amusing.
Dreadbot's field is slowly smoothing out as the realization that it's really true sinks in.
"I would never move here just for him, and I definitely am not bringing trouble into the house. Even if I had wanted him like that — which I don't — it would be asking for problems. There's a reason we're picky about who moves in, and he doesn't fit in with us. Hide is too nice to keep him in line." Nitro steps forward, tilting Dreadbot's helm back to meet his optic with a digit under his chin. "Besides, I already have everything I need, why would I want that glitch?"
"I... that's nice to know." Dreadbot says, field squirming in happy embarrassment.
They're ridiculously cute for mechs not in love, but now he also knows how important it is to fit in. And that he has to be fitting in well enough so far.
Nitro's digits trail the scratches across Dreadbot's chest, and Dreadbot flinches.
"He really tore you up bad. You'll have scars for sure."
Dreadbot's field whiplashes to insecurity and self loathing.
"Like a warrior. You fought well, and I'm proud of you." Nitro holds out the credit stick. "Hide will probably have my ass for sort of encouraging you, but I think you earned this. Just don't tell him that I gave it to you."
Dreadbot grabs the stick slowly, as if he can't believe it.
That's a thousand credits! Almost an entire months salary for an in-house mech!
"Thank you." Dreadbot says shakily.
Nitro waves it off. "Barricade, there's some numbing gel in my field kit, smear it around the gashes on his protoform."
"It's been here the entire time, and you haven't said it until now?!" Barricade says, glaring at Nitro.
Nitro shrugs unrepentantly. "I was pissed at him because he put himself in this position. I really didn't think about that, I was more focused on getting to know why."
It really could've gone much worse, and Nitro genuinely seem to do everything out of care, even if there probably are nicer ways...
Barricade manages to keep from calling the bastard an asshole, rummaging through the little bag instead. He finds the little tube and pulls it out, immediately dotting little globs around Dreadbot's wounds. He carefully smears it to not cause any unnecessary discomfort, handing Dreadbot the tube to put some on the scratches across his chest.
"I'm done with your back. At least the repairs I know how to do." Barricade says, kind of pointedly addressing Dreadbot, because the Hippie van is still a free mech, and he doesn't like talking over Dreadbot about his repairs.
"I'll take it from here then. I'll staple the damage to your protoform, and I'll apply some nanite gel to get it to heal as efficiently as possible." Nitro says.
"Sounds good." Dreadbot agrees with the plan.
"Stretch out on your front. I think you should be fine to do it now that you've had the gel."
"Otherwise I'll have to stand on all fours. If you can manage to focus if I do..." Dreadbot leers.
Barricade gets up to leave, because he doesn't feel any inclination to stay and watch the repairs and whatever else is going to happen.
Dreadbot groans in pain, and Barricade turns back to look what happened, and Nitro is moving his servo away from Dreadbot's aft
"I don't think you'd really enjoy it if I fragged you right now, considering how sore you are. I'll get you a rerouter for the pain, and you should stay in berth for a while. We have business to take care of anyway, so you have some time to rest."
"Thank you." Dreadbot says, sounding relieved. "My onesie got ruined, and I think it'll hurt to put my plating on."
"I have one in my subspace."
"What? Why? I mean, not that I'm not happy that you do, just..."
"I like to sniff it while I masturbate."
Barricade stops and turns around. "Seriously?! You literally live in a brothel, when would you ever need to jerk off?!"
"Hey, sometimes a mech just needs to take things into his own servos." Nitro grins.
"I think it's kind of cute that you sniff my clothes while you do it." Dreadbot giggles.
"I could put on a show for you." Nitro suggests.
Aaand there's the cue for him to make a strategic exit.
Chapter Text
"'ow is 'e?" Crosshairs asks quietly as soon as Barricade is back in the rec room.
"I think he's going to be good. He was pretty torn up, but Nitro is stapling his protoform, so at least he won't have open wounds."
He doesn't want to tell the everything right now, in case the Brothers overhear. If Nitro reports to Hide or not is impossible to say, but he probably will brag about the glitches fighting over him, the conceited aft. Whatever he decides to say or withhold, Barricade doesn't want to be the one who accidentally blabs stuff he shouldn't.
Crosshairs nods slowly, then he tilts his helm in question. Barricade has no idea how to communicate like that, so he puts on a smile, giving Crosshairs a nod to at least try to show him that they were making progress.
They both look up when Grindor steps into the rec room, and then Barricade wished he had stayed to watch the show, because the huge Helo makes a beeline for them.
"What was that all about?"
"I... Some old disagreement, I think? I just patched his fuel lines, and then I left before Nitro Zeus was done with him"
Grindor nods slowly, stepping closer to crowd Barricade and really make him feel small. He squats to be at a more level height with Barricade, then a sharp talon presses under Barricade's chin, forcing him to tip his helm back and look at the massive mech. Barricade's spark starts racing so fast, he's feeling light helmed. Grindor grins, all sharp denta.
"You sure about that? Didn't Nitro squeeze any information out of that little slut?" Grindor increases the pressure with his talon, and it starts to be painful.
If he jabs it in there, Grindor may actually reach to damage his motherboard.
Barricade whimpers at the thought, and that makes Grindor smirk.
"I was preoccupied with the repairs, and I didn't really think it was any of my business, so I didn't listen. He was... Nitro was making sure he doesn't do it again when I left." Barricade can't stop his voice from glitching out of fear.
Grindor looks at him for what seems like an eternity, then he removes his digit, rising to stand and look down at Barricade to make him feel just how small and vulnerable he really is.
"It's my house, and I'm entitled to the information I want about what's going on here. That said, I do like a whore who stays out of our business. That you were in that room and still don't have anything to tell is something I appreciate. Hide certainly knows how to train you well."
With that, he leaves the two of them and goes back to his Brothers.
"Ye ok?"
"Yeah. Might've dribbled a few drops of waste fluid in my panel." Barricade mutters, cause fucking hell, that bastard is scary.
"Fer me, it's lubricant. 'oly fuck is 'e ho'! Ye know, 'is rape games are top I'm the line too."
Well, he is kind of attractive, but not enough to make up for how fucking scary he is. And then there's the question of where the line between those games and plain rape is drawn.
"I wouldn't bareback him if I was you. If I could help it..."
"Absolutely no'! Hide would put me in quarantine if I did, so I'd 'ave te make do with my toys. Can' 'ave tha'."
Barricade rolls his optics.
"Can someone comm that horn-dog and get him off the hole so we can go deal with some business?" Blackout says impatiently.
Grindor snorts. "Let him blow off some steam, he'll be much more focused if he isn't thinking about pussy."
"Well, I'm thinking about business and it's making me all hot. I want to get to it, and then get a mouth around my spike."
"I hear you, Brother, and that's a plan I can agree on." Grindor says.
Nitro emerges from the hallway.
"Well, mechs, it turns out they were fighting over me."
"Why the fuck is everyone always throwing themselves at you?" Blackout wonders out loud.
"Don't be jealous, Blackie. I've already told you I have the best equipment, and I know how to use it."
The Brothers all start laughing, leaving the house in no specific order, everyone seemingly upbeat and cheerful about whatever business they are about to conduct.
Chapter Text
"I don't think there will be any more issues. Nitro straightened everything out, and Dreadbot finally saw reason." Barricade whispers as soon as the Brothers have left.
"Good. We don' need any more trouble, especially no' unnecessary trouble jus' 'cause Dreadbot is stubborn.
"Nitro was really clear, and by the time I left, Dreadbot was happy again. It turns out all of it was a bunch of misunderstandings. Dreadbot's position was never threatened, and he doesn't even like Starscream all that much."
Crosshairs nods. "I tried te tell 'im, but te be fair, I though' Nitro a' least was interested in Screechy, an' tha' 'e was rilin' Dreadbot jus' te show 'im tha' Dreads doesn' own 'im. I'm glad it wasn' like tha'."
"Dreadbot is resting a bit, letting the repairs settle until they get back. We could hang out with him. Or should we stay here?"
It would be easier to hang out just the four of them, but that could be seems as kind of snobbish, and it seems bad to give the other pleasurebots that impression. Especially considering that they work under much worse circumstances. Not that any of them are here...
"Where is everyone?"
"TC took Starscream back ta his room ta fix him up a bit when Grindor was done. Lemme tell ya, I don' think Grindor has tha no damage rule... Or tha interfacin's not a punishment one for that matter. None of tha others have been 'round so far." Jazz says.
"Tha's actually more of 'is normal interfacin' style. 'e's rough. I think 'e was jus' randy after the punishment." Crosshairs chuckles. "Ye should've seen my platin' when 'e 'ad me the last time. Fuck, I looked like I'd been through a grinder."
"And still you want to fuck him again." Barricade says, feeling taken aback, because it feels like Crosshairs is treading a damned fine line playing with fire.
"Well, tha' was when they 'ad jus' left the army. I figure 'e'll be a li'le more refined now."
Maybe refined like a high functioning sociopath. Which he is.
Barricade shudders. "He's fucking scary is what he is."
"Yeah, but 'is rape games! Mh-hm, I've never felt so small an' 'elpless. Well, maybe back in prison, the first time, but I think 'e actually topped tha' too. I really fel' like a sex toy, 'e could so easily jus' 'andle me, an' do wha'ever 'e damned well pleased, no matter wha' I said."
And without a safe word, that's iffy at best, and very very dangerous. Is it wrong to want to smack Crosshairs until he realizes that? Frag, he's turning into Blackout. Or maybe not, that bastard would do it for funzies.
Chapter Text
"You know, I wondered where I had put this one..." Dreadbot muses, looking down at himself, while pulling at the fabric of his onesie. "I've been looking for it, thinking I was having a glitch in my memory banks, because I couldn't for the life of me figure out how I'd lost it."
He has finally joined them, his optics still a bit bleary, and it's obvious that he has taken a good nap.
"Ya forgot it here that last time?" Jazz asks.
"No, Nitro had it. Turns out he has a physical spankbank as well as the one in his processor."
"Tha' is so ho'!"
"I know!" Dreadbot grins excitedly.
Maybe he should start stealing some of Jazz's hotpants for that purpose? But then again, he never really jerks off these days...
"Ye look awesome in tha'. I's such a nice fabric, an' the pattern is so striking."
The onesie really is quite different from the fluffy ones Dreadbot usually wears; smooth, black fabric with a swirling red print down one side, and the Autobrand wrapping around the hip on the other side.
"Ya might wind up in a Bro-pile." Jazz snickers.
"As long as they don't wreck this." Dreadbot almost grumbles, even if it would be their right to do so. He smooths down the fabric, as if to memorize the feel of it, just in case. "I really like this one."
"So how are you feeling?" Barricade ask tentatively.
He doesn't want to ruin Dreadbot's good mood, but if he still is in pain, maybe they can help in some way?
"I'm feeling good, actually. Nitro gave me a rerouter, so I'm not in much pain. Some of the staples pulls a bit if I stretch, but all in all, it's not that bad. And it doesn't feel like I'm falling apart anymore, so that's good too."
They lapse into silence, and it's enough for Barricade to become a bit anxious about the night.
Hopefully, Crosshairs will be able to snare Grindor, but the most important thing is probably to keep Dreadbot out of his claws. Grindor seemed pretty impressed with his lack of plating, and considering the damage already done to him, Grindor could probably have a very fun night making sure he feels all of it without putting another scratch on Dreadbot.
"Anyone else wanting another drink?" He asks.
Everyone does, and Barricade busies himself with mixing them for everyone. Thundercracker shows up, but Starscream doesn't accompany him yet.
"Grindor just commed me, ETA five minutes, and he wants high grade and shot cubes ready when they arrive."
"Which one of the high grades?" Barricade starts to look through the lines of bottles in the shelves."
"Just take two at random. They only have the expensive, fancy stuff anyway."
Barricade grabs one with some sort of organic on the bottle; a tentacly, pink thing, with white spots on it, a patch over one optic, and a primitive sword, and one with a stylized glyph, the lable saying it's called Knock over.
Thundercracker nods approvingly, lining up glasses.
"So, what's happening now?" Barricade asks.
Thundercracker shrugs. "My guess is a few shots, then maybe showers? With or without company. Then it's party time, I guess."
Chapter Text
Starscream has returned, and they've been quickly introduced to the other pleasurebots on duty in the house; Skids, and Mudflap — a couple of twins who seem nice, even if they're loud, and don't seem particularly clever — Red Alert, a mech who seems rather nervous, constantly checking everything and everyone in such a paranoid way, Barricade would've guessed that he was on something, had it not been for the policy on heavier drugs that Grindor shares with Hide.
Barricade can't help but stare when another mech walks in from the direction of what he supposes is the pleasurebot wing.
The mech is beautiful.
If Starscream could be called stereotypically pretty, he ready has nothing on this mech. His entire frame is slender, except his shoulders, that looks powerful, and the plating of his arms is flat, reflecting the light in optic catching ways. And if his frame wasn't enough to put him in his own category, the mystery of a face hidden behind a mask certainly makes him even more interesting,
"Wow." Jazz whispers.
"I know." Barricade answers.
The mech steps up to the bar with an air of dignity that belies his probable work.
"Nice ta meet ya! I'm Jazz, n' this is Barricade." Jazz says, first to manage to pick his chin off the floor.
"Designation: Soundwave." Appears on the screen, followed by a simple drawing of a happy face. The mech leaves them staring after him as he walks over to the bar.
"He's amazin'. Like, otherworldly?"
"Yeah."
"He sucks cock, just like the rest of us." Starscream sneers.
"Jealous much?" Crosshairs asks bitingly.
"Haters gonna hate." Jazz adds.
"How does that even work?" Barricade asks, because he somehow didn't imagine that Soundwave actually had a face behind that screen.
"He tips the screen back, of course." Starscream says, sounding as if he thinks Barricade is the most stupid being on the planet, while at least pretending to ignore the other comments.
Then they're distracted by the return of the Brothers. All the Warframes seem to be in a good mood — that's a good sign for how the night will go, and it's always nice when nobody has been shot — and make a beeline for the bar. Thundercracker pours high grade on request, and they all lift their small cubes.
Though to be fair, the shot glasses that seem to be custom made for Warframes are bigger than mini bot glasses.
"To a very successful joint effort!" Grindor says.
"Huzzah!" Everyone exclaims, then they down their shots.
"Work is done, let's have some other fun." Ironhide says, then he grins at the horrible poetry. Everyone starts laughing.
"I think I need some help in the shower..." Grindor says, looking Barricade up and down.
"I think I've earned first pick, Brother." Blackout says, grabbing Barricade's shoulder-wing.
Grindor's optics dim, as if he's displeased with the sudden possessiveness. "I guess you're right. Age before beauty, and all that..."
Who would've ever thought that he'd be relieved to be picked by Blackout?
Then Grindor snags Jazz instead, and it's not much relief at all.
"No damage." Blackout says.
Grindor glares, looking like he's very displeased to be told what to do — and not to do — in his own house.
"We like them in working condition, and pretty." Ironhide chips in.
"I guess I can understand that." Grindor says slowly.
Barricade is dragged away by Blackout, but he still has time to see Starscream head for Nitro — the glitch is persistent if nothing else — but Nitro either doesn't see him, or he just ignores him, making a beeline for Dreadbot instead. The look on Starscream's face when he's so obviously given the cold shoulder is very satisfying to see.
Chapter Text
Barricade follows Blackout's physical directions — steering Barricade with the grip on his shoulder-wing — to his room without resistance.
It's odd how easy it feels this time.
Blackout is a know evil, and that's comforting in itself, but after the exchange with Grindor, the big Helo has unintentionally kind of fettered himself to the rules as well.
He can't very well come back with a mech who looks banged up after telling Grindor to not do any damage.
He's pushed through the room and into the washracks, just catching that the room looks pretty much the same as the one Nitro stays in.
"Grab some solvent from the shelf." Blackout orders, pointing to the little shelf with an assortment of bottles.
He looks at the labels, picking one that probably will give a good gloss for Blackout's dark plating while Blackout starts the water.
"I have some stuff in my rotor hub, get that cleaned out." Blackout says, kneeling to get to a height where Barricade can reach. The movements of one of his legs momentarily hitch halfway, and Blackout growls, adjusting the angle of his leg to get down.
"Are you hurt?" Barricade says, realizing how worried he sounds when the words are out.
"Old battle injury. It rarely acts up like this, so I always forget to get those bearings replaced."
Barricade nods, joining Blackout in the shower stall. He isn't surprised when he finds that the gunk in Blackout's rotor hub is energon, coolant, and other fluids, but he still turns his helm away when the sour smell of gear oil reaches his olfactory receptors. He pushes his digits deep into the cabling, rubbing the components with the solvent to get it all out.
"You know, this would be easier if you removed some of the plates..." He suggests.
It has nothing to do with curiosity about how Blackout would look without them. Totally professional, Sir, yes, Sir.
"It takes too much time, that'll have to wait until we get home."
"I'll do my best then, but I don't think I'll be able to get it all out."
Blackout grunts, and the noise he makes sounds displeased. Barricade works harder to try to appease him, even if it's hard to reach into all the nooks and crannies. Then suddenly Blackout pushes into the touch, groaning.
"Oh, yeah, right there. Keep doing that."
"Is this sensitive?" Barricade says, rubbing what feels like a solenoid with the same amount of pressure.
"Enough to make that feel really good." Blackout says, shuddering. "You can go a little harder, though."
Of course Barricade obeys.
Chapter Text
"That's enough, I'm good. Does everything look clean?" Blackout says.
"Your rotors need a quick wash too."
Blackout nods, shifting slightly to make it easier for Barricade to reach. Barricade works the solvent over the long, smooth components.
"Are these sensitive too?"
"No. Nothing external is, beyond registering touch. Too much of a liability in battle. Why?"
"Maybe it's a myth, but rotors are thought to be extremely sensitive, almost to a point of being an erogenous zone."
"Maybe true for civvies, I don't know. It could be different for sparked mecha. Or it's just because rotors are kind of fetishized by many grounders."
"Perhaps... Are rotors fetishized?"
He never really thought about it before.
"Yeah. It's horribly annoying, one of the reasons I avoid going to regular bars. Mecha drink too much and lose their common sense — if they even had some to begin with — and then they get handsy. It's way too common that they all of a sudden stop being a bit cautious around my personal space, and want to fuck instead. And they always wind up stroking my rotors, coy smiles in place, thinking they're arousing me without even introducing themselves, thinking they're worth the effort. I just want to break their fucking servos for touching me without permission. I don't just want anyone to grope me at their own leisure, you know? What makes them think I want that?"
"How anyone would dare touching you without a written invitation is beyond me." Barricade mutters.
Blackout snorts. "It would be interesting — the psychology behind it — if it wasn't so damned annoying. At first they treat me like some sort of predatory animal, avoiding me. Then the high grade goes in, and the wits go out, and all of a sudden they're horny for me, I mean what the fuck is that? Some kind of flee or fuck scenario? Maybe they think that fucking me would keep them safe? Or maybe they're thrill seekers, wanting to find out if they'd survive to tell the tale?" Blackout chuckles darkly, a sound that sends a thrill down Barricade's back-struts.
If only those mechs knew what they're playing with...
"For me, rotor-petting doesn't do anything. I'm more into the screams of my victims, and the smell of energon."
"And our fields when you scare us halfway to offlining." Barricade fills in.
It's unsettling, the way Blackout's statement isn't really outrageous anymore. He should be appalled by such a confession, but he really isn't. It's just Blackout being Blackout, and he controls himself very well, so it feels oddly safe to be with him.
Blackout hums as if he just tasted something delicious. "That too. Do I look clean now?"
"There's still some on your back."
Blackout makes an impatient noise. "I guess you must know a thing or two about being fetishized, having been an Enforcer."
"I've had a mech or two approach me for it, yes. I did make the most of it, though. They usually weren't really handsy either, it was more of an I have been bad, Officer scenario. I could roll with that. Got me some good one night stands, and a few nice blow jobs."
"Of course you would."
"Oh, shut up! You would've done it too."
"Probably." Blackout sounds completely unrepentant.
It's kind of nice to not feel judged for what he's done.
Chapter Text
I can't see anymore stains, I think you look good." Barricade says, wiping away something that turns out to be lather from the solvent from one of the plates on Blackout's back.
"Flatterer." Blackout rumbles, stretching to his full height, his leg hitching again, making him grind his denta in either frustration or pain.
"You should make a note to have that looked at."
"Thank you, captain obvious, for your invaluable advice."
Barricade mentally rolls his optics, because he doesn't dare doing it physically.
"So, what do you want to do now?" He asks instead.
"I know that I said before that I wanted a mouth around my spike, but you know what, I've changed my mind. The idea is rather tantalizing, but you're so small, the only way it is meaningful is if you deepthroat it, and that isn't happening in here. At least not without it being quite advanced..." Blackout muses, as if still considering whatever he has come up with. "And like this, you'll just be able to take the head of it, and not much more." He says, stepping closer to Barricade, massive spike bobbing at face-level for the much smaller Saleen.
Crass bastard.
Barricade squeaks when he's hoisted from the floor, and his back is smashed against the wall. His legs dangle ridiculously in the air, and when Blackout nudges them apart to line up with Barricade's valve, he can't do much but wrap them around the Helo's hips. Blackout's servos slip down to Barricade's hips, grabbing them to easily hold the Mustang in place. Blackout groans when his spike slides inside.
"Oh, fuck it has been a pain to keep this behind the panel for so long." Blackout grunts.
Barricade can't help but wonder if the Helo has had a semi-hard on since before they went to do whatever business was conducted. He doesn't have much time to think about that, though, because Blackout starts moving them both; thrusting hard while pulling Barricade to meet every thrust. Barricade can't really do anything but cling to the massive mech, digging his digits into the seams of Blackout's plating to hold on. Each thrust mashes Barricade's anterior node, and the massive spike moving inside him stimulates everything inside him at once.
It's too much, and at the same time, it isn't.
His charge is rising quickly, even if Blackout is clearly just chasing his own overload, and Barricade's digits scribble across thick plating, as if that's going to do any difference.
It's a wonder how Blackout's spike isn't inside his gestation chamber.
Another hard thrust slams against his ceiling node, and Barricade overloads with a wail, legs twitching with the strain as he tries to arch his back, and push Blackout's spike deeper.
"Greedy." Blackout grunts, then he pushes in deeper — which seemed impossible until he did — spike pulsing with his overload.
Chapter Text
He's put down on his pedes again, and Barricade leans against the wall, because his legs feel a bit rubbery. Blackout rinses his spike before tucking it behind the panel. Barricade can't help but look at it.
Even depressurizing, it's kind of huge.
"See something you like?"
Barricade flushes, because he was caught staring. "I, ah, yeah. It's impressive."
Blackout snorts.
"Is Grindor proportional?"
"How the fuck should I know that?"
"Don't you have dick measuring contests?"
Blackout barks a surprised laugh, and it makes Barricade feel a bit victorious, because not everyone can amuse Blackout without being terrified, humiliated, or... well, a Brother.
"Would you like that?" Blackout asks, quirking an optical ridge. "Would you want to watch?"
Barricade flushes again, much worse this time. It's not something he has considered or given any thought before. "Uhm, maybe?" He squeaks.
Blackout hums noncommittally. "I've never had one with this unit."
"But you all fuck in front of each other all the time, and you're not shy about stroking yourselves if there's a show to watch..."
"Sure, but I'm not all that interested in seeing if Grindor is proportional or not. Geez, you think I stare at my Brothers' junk just because we do some stuff in public? That's just... Besides, it's rude to stare of you're not interested in having it."
And there's a trap he has already walked into, because either he could be considered rude, or wanting.
"But you must have an idea..."
"Why are you so interested in Grindor's spike anyway?" Blackout sounds really put off.
"Because I don't want to have internal damage if he decides to go for me tonight. And I'm kind of praying that Jazz isn't hollowed out up to his neck."
Blackout smirks, probably at the thought of hollowing someone out with his cock.
Did he just suggest something Blackout is going to want to try? Fuck. All mini bots better beware...
"We said no damage. If you start having pop-up with warnings, you just tell him. His servos are tied."
Which would be pretty hot, actually, if it wasn't just metaphorically.
"And what about the risk of getting an itch?"
Because that's not hot at all.
"Grindor stopped by a shop and got a test kit. If they're not clean, they're not fucking any of you without a jimmy."
Which is nice to know, but also bad, because then anyone can go for him tonight.
"Are you done with the thousand questions? I want a drink."
"Drinks sound good."
Chapter Text
"What can I get you?" Barricade asks Blackout as they enter the rec room.
"Some kind of jet fuel. Surprise me."
Barricade nods, and hurries off to the bar. Jazz is there, and this serves the purpose of letting him have a moment with Jazz, as well as pleasing Blackout.
In times like these, it's probably smart to stay on the good side of their Enforcer.
"How are you doing?" Barricade asks Jazz, keeping his voice down, while looking though the assortment of high grades.
"'m fine." Jazz says, equally quiet. "He's fuckin' intimidatin', but knowin' that he wasn' allowed ta damage me helped. He mechhandled me a bit, then he jus' fucked me ta get off, n' I helped him clean up. All in all, I've had much worse."
"That's good..." Barricade is relieved that Grindor seems to have honored the conditions. "Did he say that they got a test kit for STDs?"
"Yeah. Showed me the results n' all. He's clean."
"Good to know." Barricade turns another bottle, before giving up. "Hey, Thundercracker? Which one of these jet fuels are good? I don't recognize any of them, and I had a request for some sort of jet fuel of my choice."
"Depends on what he likes."
"Strong. I don't really know?"
"That one has a sort of metallic taste, like cupper. The fumes of this one could knock out a semi truck. And that one's my least favorite, it has this weird smell, almost like heated coolant. You know, like when someone has a leak, and it's dripping on a hot component." Thundercracker says, pointing to the bottles as he describes them.
What could possibly fit Blackout better than something that smells like gore?
"Great, thanks." Barricade says, filling up a cube with it, having a whiff at it, just to scrunch his olfactory.
"You're welcome."
Barricade grabs the drink Thundercracker hands him, and the Seeker sets a glass in front of Jazz too. They all grab their drinks — for themselves, and for whoever ordered something — and head for the couches, where some of the brothers already are gathered.
"Here you go." Barricade says, handing the drink to Blackout. "Do you want some company?"
"Have a seat." Blackout says, grabbing the cube. He sniffs it, and takes a sip. "This is good. Nice choice."
"I saved a picture of the bottle, in case you want to add it to our stock at home."
"Clever plan." Blackout sounds appreciative. "I like the initiative."
Grindor is watching the exchange with his helm cocked. He glances to the side when Crosshairs approaches him.
"'ello, Sir. Can I interest ye in some company?" Crosshairs shifts to show off his front better.
Grindor's optics slither along the Racer's frame, then hi slips his servo up Crosshairs's thigh, up to his hip, thumb rubbing at Crosshairs's bare array a couple of times. Crosshairs hums approvingly.
"Sure." He says slowly.
Crosshairs sinks into the couch, pressing up against Grindor.
"So explain this more thoroughly; these are your private whores?" He asks Ironhide, motioning to Barricade, Crosshairs, and Jazz.
Chapter Text
"For the moment, yes. Barricade is on trial and not voted in-house only yet." Ironhide answers.
"So how do they earn their keep? It's not like they make any money staying at home."
"Neither does the hookers you choose to keep at home for the night." Blackout says. "You will always have a profit loss one way or the other."
"I know that." Grindor says irritably, clearly annoyed by Blackout's condescending big brother behavior.
"It gives everyone something to strive for. It could be considered a promotion for great service. We vote for who we think should get the spot when it's time for a change of duties. The position comes with privileges, but also more responsibilities." Ironhide explains.
"Sounds fair, but I still don't think it's economically the best solution. What do you pay your whores? Both the streetwalkers, and the private ones."
"Streetwalkers get ten percent of what they earn, a room of their own, fuel, and needed medical services." Blackout says, and it's kind of weird to see him be proud of their rather generous working conditions, rather than annoyed by it, which is his more common response.
The things sibling rivalry can do to a mech...
"And the privates?"
"1200 a month — fixed salary — and of course the same things as the others."
"That's too much!" Grindor says. "Especially with the other things they get."
"It's supposed to be a motivator." Ironhide says, shrugging. "They're always on duty, if we want pussy, all we need to do is comm them."
"Your others aren't?!"
"No. We could always ask, and often they go along anyway, but they get a small tip for it, and they're free to decline."
"So you have a bunch of whores sitting around, drinking your fuel, and they're free to say no?" Grindor almost sounds offended.
"The thing is that they rarely do say no. And often they don't even want a tip."
Grindor looks at Hide with disbelief.
"This is where the motivation comes into play. If they want to be taken into consideration the next time we vote for an in-house spot, they need to earn that by standing out among the others."
"We just tell ours to get their afts to where we want them, if they don't put out, they're out. Of course all of them are always on duty." Top Spin says, shrugging.
"It really sounds like you don't make much credits on it this way." Grindor fills in.
"We make enough for it to still be profitable. We decided early on that we don't want to be like our owners, and just wring out as much as we can at all cost. This way, our pleasurebots often stay long term, because it's a good deal." Ironhide turns when Nitro enters, Dreadbot hanging over his shoulder. "Right, Dreadbot?"
"Yeah. I really didn't want to do this when I started, but it's the best job I can get. I can't think of anything I'd rather do. At least not when the conditions are taken into account."
Grindor cocks his helm in consideration.
"And even if prostitution in itself isn't illegal in Polyhex these days — it's a gray area, where it isn't considered a job, but they don't charge hookers either — trafficking is not. We want our stable to be loyal, in case the Enforcers come snooping around. We provide security, legal employment, a place to stay, all the things needed, and the things they can't have just hooking by themselves. We don't want our hookers to go tattling on us the second they can, and have us sent back to the slam, so we make sure they want to stay with us." Blackout says, sounding proud about it.
Look at you, being a mechlitarian. Grindor should be around more to make you nicer.
"Would you send me to jail?" Nitro asks Dreadbot, stroking his aft.
"I'd rather go to jail with you than send you there to just have your servo to keep you company! Do you think they'd let us borrow a pair of cuffs?"
Ironhide snorts, shrugging at Grindor, who looks astonished.
Chapter Text
"A bonus of our system is that they learn our preferences. Both in the sack, and other things." Nitro says, putting Dreadbot down. "Drinks for both of us." He says to the smaller mech.
Dreadbot smiles at him, nodding, then he heads for the bar.
"It is really effortless to have a good time when they can get us the drinks we like, and know how to please us in the sack." Ironhide says.
"Yeah, you know when you're tired, and just making the decision for what fuel to have feels like a chore, you don't even have to make a decision, you just comm someone and tell them to get something and bring it to you. And you may be surprised by what you get, but it's going to be good, because your taste is going to be taken into consideration." Nitro says. "Like ordering custom made take out to your oil bath. With some pussy for dessert." Nitro says while he takes a seat.
Blackout snorts. "You do this a lot, Nitro?"
"You'd be surprised."
"Lazy aft."
"I just know how to enjoy myself. I know you're totally going to do it when we get home too, especially after this discussion."
"Perhaps."
Nitro laughs.
"I guess that sounds logical, especially if they stick around for a long time..." Grindor says, optics following Dreadbot when he returns with two drinks.
Dreadbot hands one of them to Nitro, and the Flier lifts his arm in silent invitation to have a seat next to him. Dreadbot absolutely beams, and takes the seat, pressing up against Nitro. There's something in the lines of his frame that speaks of how much tension has been released after too long, and he almost looks relaxed.
And there's definitely some postcoital bliss lingering in his rather dim optics.
"How do you handle restocking your supply? For the bar, and solvents, and other daily things?" Ironhide asks Grindor.
The big Helo makes a face. "We rotate the chore, because we all hate it. If someone frags something up, they may get it as a punishment. It's so fucking tedious."
"We just have our in-house hookers do it. It's part of their responsibilities. We just tell them what we want, and they'll fix it. And they keep track of the inventory, making sure we never run out of things. It's really neat, they know what solvents we want, what fuel to get, and they either order it, or go out to get it. And they clean up, and do the laundry." Blackout says.
It's almost visible how the gears are turning in Grindor's helm.
"Ye know, we're the ones who make sure everythin' is runnin' smoothly. We do the ground work in the background, an' they can focus on the important stuff, like business an', relaxin' after the business is done." Crosshairs says to Grindor, smoothing his servo down Grindor's ventral plating. "I never though' I'd ever get such an important job."
Crosshairs self image certainly is a mess.
Chapter Text
"It does sound interesting, and adding other tasks motivates the salary, I think. What do you Bots say?" Grindor says, looking around at his mechs.
"I mean we could try it. If it doesn't work, we could always go back to how we're doing things now." The mech Barricade is fairly certain is called Octane says.
There's nods all around, then Grindor turns to Soundwave. "You're in-house now, if you want that kind of deal."
Soundwave presses his digits to his spark-chamber in a silent question, probably not believing what Grindor says. Somewhere behind Barricade, Starscream makes an affronted noise.
"Yeah, we unanimously chose you, you've earned it. If you don't prefer to work the streets...?"
Soundwave shakes his helm fervently. "Thank you!" Appears on his screen.
"I've pinged you a copy of our contract as an example. It's always best if all parties know exactly what's expected."
Grindor nods. "Everyone, read through this, and give me your thoughts." There's silence while everyone does.
"I think the starting salary should be adjusted 800 credits. It's more in line with the salaries here, and with the other boons, plus an annual raise of 1,5 percent, it's a really good offer." Top Spin says.
"Sounds fair." Grindor says, and the others agree. "I'm sending it to you now, Soundwave. Review it, and if you think it looks good, sign it."
Soundwave nods, and even if he seems to be a very controlled mech, his excitement is visible in his frame.
"I've signed it too, and I'm sending you a copy." Grindor says. "Congratulations on your promotion. You can move into one of the guest rooms tomorrow, and we'll look at setting up a private room for you in your part of the house."
"You don't have private rooms for everyone?" Blackout asks.
"Nah, just one dorm room with bunks. It's not like they're supposed to spend much time there anyway, and it's cheaper like that."
::We're so lucky to be employed by Hide.:: Dreadbot comms them all.
::Yeh, Grindor may be ho', but I don' wanna live 'ere.:: Crosshairs answers.
::The only good thing would be that we could put solvent bars in socks, sneak up on Starscream, and wake him up by beating him with them.::
Crosshairs snorts out loud, making Grindor look funny at him.
Crosshairs waves him off, grinning. "I's jus' the booze, an' me bein' so 'appy te be 'ere."
"So..." Ironhide says, making a come hither motion with one digit to Soundwave, the slim mech immediately obeying, stopping between Ironhide's pedes, "do you want to inaugurate your new in-house mech yourselves, or can I have him?" Ironhide asks, sliding his servos up Soundwave's thighs.
"Of course OG has first pick. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you." Grindor says.
Ironhide grins, pulling Soundwave into his lap. Soundwave goes along easily, straddling Hide's thighs.
"Maybe we should promote TC too?" Octane says. "I mean, we're pretty many to share just one..."
"You can still have the others. But let's discuss it in a week, when we see how this is panning out." Grindor says.
"This is not fair." Starscream can't keep quiet anymore. "I was supposed to be the Wing Lord of Vos..."
"Yeah, yeah, but now you're nothing more than a whore." Grindor's voice has an edge of danger, and Starscream doesn't seem willing to argument anymore.
Chapter Text
It doesn't take long before Lead Foot grabs Starscream and heads for his own room, excusing himself with not having gotten any since last night.
"How do you keep him under your thumb? He seems like the kind who'd only come up with more elaborate assassination attempts if you try to beat him into submission. The kind of mech who could only be kept in line for so long." Nitro asks Grindor.
"He knows that I would kill him." Grindor says, shrugging. The big mech takes a sip of his drink.
As if it isn't a big deal. Like talking about the weather.
"Doesn't that kind of threat lose it's efficiency after a couple of times without a follow through?"
"No, because I don't do threats more than once." Grindor grins in delight, a grin that promises violence. "He knows that he isn't worth enough to keep alive if he doesn't behave. And he knows that I wouldn't mind following through in that threat, because it would be very entertaining to kill him as slowly and painfully as possible. After I've done it to TC, and made Starscream watch. Starscream is the type who only behaves and stays in line if he's ruled with an iron fist. You can't coddle a mech like that, and throw empty threats around."
Nitro's servo squeezes Dreadbot's shoulder, and he rubs it a couple of times. It's a subtle gesture of comfort, but then he slides his servo up to Dreadbot's throat, easily wrapping around it. "You hear that? It's always best to behave properly..." He murmurs.
Dreadbot nods, looking appropriately — and probably genuinely — shaken.
"It wasn't enough today, though." Blackout says, quirking an optical ridge, smirking crookedly at Grindor.
Grindor's optics dim at the challenge. He clicks his vocalizer. "From what I've heard, he was just running his vocalizer again, and someone else was the one to start the fight." Grindor says, looking at Dreadbot with unveiled hunger. "Over something as silly as possessiveness of someone, even though they're nothing but whores, literally here to please us.
Dreadbot is stiff where he's sitting, pressed against Nitro's side.
"Hey, what can I say? I'm just that good in the sack." Nitro says, grinning.
It breaks the tension again, and Blackout rolls his optics.
"Taste good too, don't I?" Nitro asks Dreadbot, quirking his optical ridge.
Dreadbot smiles sweetly, nodding eagerly. He slips down to kneel between Nitro's pedes, folding his denta back, and when Nitro's spike pressurize, he eagerly sucks it into his mouth.
"As you can see, this one does know how to behave well at times too." Nitro groans, bucking up to get his entire spike into Dreadbot's intake.
Chapter Text
"I did say before that I wanted a mouth around my spike..." Blackout muses.
Barricade doesn't cringe physically, but his field probably does, because Blackout quirks his optical ridge, a smirk pulling on his intake. Barricade's spark makes a nervous flip.
Everything has been about their behavior so far, if he shows reluctance, Blackout may see that as an excuse to exact a punishment of the Helo's choice. No damage is cold comfort when he's so inventive. And reluctance will probably attract Grindor's interested too.
"Absolutely, Sir. How do you want me?" He says, plastering on a smile.
The prospect of doing things here highlights how comfortable he has gotten with doing sexual stuff in front of everyone at home, because suddenly, all the awkwardness, reluctance and something bordering on shyness is back.
"Could you take it all if you stand on all fours on the table?"
"I... uhm, I don't know, Sir."
"Then this is a good opportunity to see if you can." Blackout motions towards the table.
Barricade gets up from his seat, crawling onto the table as requested. Blackout doesn't get up at first, and Barricade is wondering why, intensely aware of how everyone is looking at him where he stands, waiting for Blackout to fuck his mouth. He flushes when he notices all the optics on him, and when he meets Blackout's optics, the Help looks smug.
Of course... Bastard.
Blackout slowly slides down from the couch to kneel in front of Barricade.
"What if I can't take it all, Sir?" Barricade almost stutters.
He doesn't want to seem too hesitant, but it's a whole lot of dick to swallow.
"Then you'll just have to lay on your back. I know you can do it like that."
Blackout's spike pressurizes, and he grabs the back of Barricade's helm with one servo, the other steering his spike. The head is slick with pre-transfluid, sliding slickly against Barricade's lip-plates. The Mustang opens his mouth, and Blackout pushes inside slowly. Barricade does his best to relax the tubing of his throat, trying to angle his helm to make it as easy as possible. Blackout groans, slowly going deeper.
"That's the best look I've ever seen on a cop." Someone snickers.
"Mind if I use his valve while you're at it?" Top Spin asks Blackout.
"Nah, go ahead, Brother."
Digits fumble with Barricade's still closed panel, and he immediately opens it, even if he doesn't really want it.
Ugh, couldn't Blackout just have brought him back to his room and pretend to murder him while fucking him or something?
Top Spin pushes inside, and Barricade suddenly realizes that he didn't lube himself up after the shower.
"He's kind of dry."
"Yeah, he's like that sometimes. He still have some delicacies about doing stuff in public. He does slick up really fast once you get going. Just rub his node a little, and he'll be a wanton, mewling little mess in no time."
Fingers touch his node, flicking back and forth, and even if it lacks the slick slide that would make it feel really good, it's enought to make him lubricate. Top Spin is fucking him slowly, almost carefully, spreading the lubricant around, and slicking him up with every thrust. Barricade realizes that Too Spin is following the no damage rule, going slow enough to not cause chafing or tears.
At least that's something.
Blackout is going slow, almost gently, savoring the moment. He fucks Barricade's intake with lazy thrusts, and it gives Barricade a chance to really feel what Top Spin is doing, which he wouldn't have if Blackout had been fucking him ruthlessly.
The fingers on his node are not as skilled as he has grown used to — which is almost a surprise, he's a bit spoiled, apparently — but with his lubricant having slicked his folds by now, it's good enough to make his charge rise. He moans around the spike in his intake. Blackout groans, rhythm faltering.
"You were right, he really does like it." Top Spin grunts.
Barricade flushes with embarrassment, and Blackout groans again, momentarily flexing his digits and keeping Barricade still, as if holding back his overload. Barricade tries to swallow, clenching his throat in spitefulness to try to get Blackout to overload. Amusement colors Blackout's field, as if the Helo realizes what Barricade was trying.
Top Spin pushes in deep, overloading, and then he pulls out, leaving Barricade empty, and slightly charged, and it's almost a disappointment, even if he didn't want it at first.
He may as well get something out of this too, being left high and dry sucks.
Barricade shouldn't have worried, though. As soon as Top Spin has moved away, another mech takes his place.
Chapter Text
The second mech finishes without Barricade reaching his peak, and now he can't fully hold back his annoyance.
How hard could it be to flick his node properly a couple of times? Isn't that the least they could do? At least Blackout is doing his damnedest to show off his stamina, and even if the Helo is big as frag, he'd rather suck his spike than anyone else's. Well, Nitro and Hide would be fine too, but hopefully, Nitro has his servos full with Dreadbot, and Hide did seem to be eager for testing Soundwave.
Heavy pedesteps — too heavy to be anyone else than Grindor — pulls him from his musings. Barricade tries to glance in the direction of the mech, because it feels like a bad idea to not always keep an optic on him. It's impossible, though. He squirms when an aroused field tacks to his, feeling vulnerable and out of control. There's a heavy thud when Grindor sinks to his knees behind Barricade, then the head of a spike presses against Barricade's aft. He still has his mod, but he didn't lube himself up there either. Barricade jerks forward to get away, hitting his olfactory ridge against Blackout's pelvic plating. He hears the displeased noise Grindor makes, and it feels like Barricade's spark tries to join the cock in his throat.
"Is he slick enough?"
"Is that my problem?"
"It will be if he's damaged."
"Fucking annoying rules and stuff, killing the mood." Grindor mutters. "Shouldn't he have prepped before this if he needs it?"
"I kept him occupied. Mechs forget things now and then when they're thoroughly fucked. And damage would mean no fucking tomorrow..."
"It wouldn't, because it's their job to fuck no matter what. The extra squealing is a bonus."
Blackout's spike twitches, and envy weaves into his field before he ruthlessly tamps down on it.
"That's just a different version of what our owners did. Don't be them." Blackout slowly fucks Barricade's intake, and Barricade has never felt so vulnerable in his entire functioning, standing there on all fours, his array and port on offer to a sadist. "You're just too unimaginative about the fun that still can be had." Blackout makes a motion that Barricade can't see from his position. "Cross, get over here and give Grindor a show."
"Yes, Sir!"
There's shuffling, and then the noise of another mech kneeling behind him. Barricade feels himself flush.
"Pay attention to his field." Blackout says. "Cross, I'm sure you could get him to overload from just playing with his ass, right?"
"I think so."
"Try." There's a grin in Blackout's voice, and anticipation weaves through his field.
Grindor's and Crosshairs's fields mingle, but the intrigue has to be Grindor's, and the envy is definitely Crosshairs's.
The click of the lid to a bottle is loud even over the background noise of the party, then a cold glob of lube lands on his port. Barricade adjusts the settings to his port, allowing Crosshairs's digits to slickly slide inside.
Chapter Text
Between the charge he's already running, and Crosshairs's skilled digits, it doesn't take long before Barricade is teetering on the edge. Barricade sees in his peripheral vision that Blackout makes a gesture, and then Crosshairs's digits slip out. Barricade makes a frustrated noise, rocking back to get them inside again.
"See how eager the little slut is now, Brother?" Blackout says, all smug superiority. "I personally think that there's something very tantalizing about a cop debasing himself like this, eagerly wanting to be spitroasted by criminals. I bet he'll overload just from being fucked in the ass and the mouth at the same time." Blackout thrusts into his intake for emphasis.
There's no way of telling how many are watching them, and even if Barricade has gotten somewhat used to doing things in public, Blackout still is an expert at pulling mortification from him. It's an odd mix of feelings when he's flushing with embarrassment, while still hoping someone will take pity on him and let him overload soon.
Grindor groans. "You're right about his field..."
"He'll probably overload as soon as you're inside. You know, raping a cop is easy, any idiot with half a processor and some good hydraulics can do that. It takes more skill to bring out shameful want. It's a much more interesting game."
Barricade flushes even more, because, yeah, Blackout has played him perfectly, and he really does want that overload.
The head of Grindor's spike presses against his port again, and Barricade immediately rocks back, the head popping inside easily. He mewls around Blackout's spike, and Blackout groans, hips jerking forward. Grindor starts to move, and Barricade's charge skyrockets again. His digits scrabble uselessly over the tabletop when he's teetering on the edge again, caught in the push and pull of the two mechs fucking him.
Then he finally overloads, moaning around the spike in his intake, ports clenching around Grindor's spike. He'd go limp and strut-less, if it wasn't for the mechs still pounding into him holding him up, using his frame.
He came that hard just from being fucked by two bastards. He didn't even need to rub his node.
Mortification blooms again when he thinks about it, how he eagerly rocked back on the spike.
Like Blackout said; debasing himself, wanting to be fucked.
"I'm going to overload, let you have a little time on your own." Blackout's voice is strained, then he pushes in deep.
The only answer from Grindor is a grunt, and he keeps pound into Barricade. The Saleen sees the levels of his tank rising, then Blackout pulls out. Barricade sinks down to rest his front and his helm against the table, and Blackout takes his seat again, grabbing his drink.
::He's smaller than you. Well, his cock is smaller than yours, I mean...:: Barricade comms Blackout.
Blackout snorts, almost spraying the high grade through his olfactory vent, and Barricade can't help but feeling more than a little satisfied with that tiny win. Blackout raises an optical ridge, and Barricade just gives him an innocent smile.
Grindor overloads, and Barricade has the wherewithal to set his calipers to close up slowly, because Grindor seems like the type who'll enjoy seeing him wrecked, and satisfying Grindor seems like a good way to maybe keep him from wanting to up this game further.
Grindor's spike is pulled out with an obscene pop, and Barricade feels the rush of transfluid following it. He tries to imagine what he looks like; aft up, port gaping and drooling cum, to really get his mortification to bloom, because his acting skills aren't nearly good enough to artificially create that in his field. It's rather effortless to pull it off when thinking about how Grindor is still standing there, watching.
Chapter Text
Hatchet is probably the most unnerving mech Barricade has ever met. Not because he's an obvious sadist like Grindor and Blackout, or anything like that. It's just his looks, and Barricade must admit that he's a bit ashamed of himself for being so shallow.
He should know better than that by now, shouldn't he?
Hatchet is not built like a regular mech, he looks kind of like an animal.
A rather terrifying one at that.
At first, Barricade thought that the Kaon mechs had gotten themselves a guard animal, but the more he saw, the more it was clear that the rather quiet mech was one of the Brothers; no less intelligent, and definitely able to speak. To make it even stranger, he has an extremely smooth voice, lighter in pitch than Barricade expected, and with just the right amount of huskiness to be made for working on an erotic comm line.
At least if he used a made up picture for the choosing page.
Animal formers are very unusual, because most mechs who have the misfortune to be created with that sort of root mode either have parents willing to do almost anything — including indebting themselves — to reformat their sparkling, or they do it themselves as soon as they can. Only the poorest families can't do it, and with the low number of mechs created with the deformity, not many remain animal formers for long.
Hatchet probably wasn't a mishap, though, because he'd probably be very efficient in a battle situation. Though, there is the odd risk that he really is an accident, considering how working with sentio metallico doesn't generate exactly what's expected every time.
Either way, Hatchet must be completely at ease in his own plating, considering he could afford a reformat by now, but hasn't bothered to do one.
Barricade is fully aware of how Hatchet is a mech like any of the others present, but still, it feels really odd when the massive mech slowly rounds the table on all fours. Barricade turns his helm, not letting Hatchet out of his sight, frame tense when the mech stops to sniff Barricade's array — much like a real technimal might do. His optics flick up to meet Barricade, and he smirks slowly, probably noticing the Saleen's apprehension.
It's probably not the first time someone is nervous to be this close to him. Disgust is probably common too, because it feels extremely wrong to do this with someone looking like an animal, and currently behaving like an animal too.
Hatchet steps up on the table with his front paws — servos? What should he call them? — walking forward until he's bracing himself with his servos on each side of Barricade, covering his frame. The rather slim head of a spike fumbles around Barricade's array before finding his slick valve, and then it sinks inside.
Hatchet's spike seems tapered, because the narrow head is quickly followed by an increasing fullness the deeper the spike slides into him. Hatchet sets a languorous pace, seemingly not in a hurry, and the way Barricade's valve is repeatedly going from rather empty to full again is intense on his internal nodes. Barricade is racing towards another peak quickly.
It's frustrating when Hatchet presses in deep, because he isn't quite there yet, and Barricade makes an annoyed noise.
"See how needy he is, Brother?" Blackout says to Grindor.
"Yeah, like a bitch in heat."
Crosshairs is lapping at Grindor's spike, cleaning it after his coupling with Barricade as Grindor ordered him. The Helo is rock hard again, and definitely not as big as Blackout.
The spike inside him swells, increasing the pressure on his calipers and all the sensitive nodes inside, and finally Barricade tips over the edge, moaning loudly as Hatchet's transfluid starts to fill him up.
Chapter Text
The way Hatchet's knot is pressing against the nodes inside him makes Barricade's charge rise again, in spite of him overloading just seconds ago.
It's the perfect stimulation against his sensitized nodes; just pressure, no friction, and Barricade holds as still as he can, savoring the sensation, because the relaxation from the last overload makes him feel sated and lazy, and this slowly rising charge on top of that is wonderful. He allows his arms to fold, resting his cheek against them. Hatchet's spike is pulsing slowly with his overload, his transfluid stretching Barricade more and more.
Barricade overloads again. His frame tenses minutely, and a low moan slips from his vocalizerz, then he relaxes completely.
It's a good thing that he's perfectly positioned to hold his pose without any effort at all, because otherwise, he'd be hanging on Hatchet's knot.
Barricade almost giggles at the thought, then the picture in his helm makes him sober up, because he is reminded of the situation, and who he is fucking.
Not that Hatchet really is an animal, but his looks are still something he isn't used to.
Hatchet is done though, his knot slowly deflating, and as soon as he pulls out, Barricade allows himself to slide down to lay stretched out on the table. Hatchet pats his aft, and the gesture feels kind of condescending, but he isn't bothered much by it.
He's too blissed out. He could take a bit of a nap.
Reality returns like a cold shower when Hatchet steps away, and Barricade is made aware of the other mechs present.
Is someone else going to fuck him now? He really could need a break. And it would be nice to not do the rest of them in public too... But then again, that would mean being alone with them. He should try to get Top Spin, or Lead Foot — if he's done with Screechy — because he's fairly certain that they're sparked mecha, so their emotional protocols should be a tad more functional than the others. Could be, at least.
"Clean the table, it's a mess." Blackout orders him.
"Yes, Sir." Barricade mumbles, not really wanting to get up.
Though everyone may be staring at the wreckage.
"Can I have a shower when I'm done, Sir? I'm awfully messy, and I want to be fresh for all of you."
Why is this the most distasteful part of all of this? Has he really gotten so numb that being fucked by all and sundry — with an audience, mind you — is less degrading than asking for having a shower to clean up the results?
"I think you've been a good enough little slut, and it is nice with clean ware. You can take my washracks. When the table is decent again."
Chapter Text
The shower is refreshing — Barricade uses rather cold water — and it gives his frame a pause. His processor gets an opportunity to run at full speed, though.
He's getting too good at this, at being the perfect servant and pleasurebot. Too used to being fragged by everyone, even with an audience. He even did his best to get embarrassment to seep into his field, just to give that little extra to Grindor.
Desperate for distraction, he comms Jazz.
::Hope I'm not disturbing you. Are you with someone?::
::Yeah, I'm with Crankcase. Ya ain't interruptin' anythin' fun, though.::
::Is he bad?::
::I wouldn' say bad... Unskilled? Self-centered, maybe?::
::Sounds bad to me.::
::Nah, not bad. I mean, he's just out to get what he wants, but he isn't into anythin' I hate. Le's jus' say he's not generous with stimulation, but he ain't hurting me either. He's jus' poundin' my valve, chasin' his overload.::
::So, boring, but could be much worse, got it.::
Jazz laughs. ::So what 'bout you? Still on tha table?::
::No. Managed to sneak a shower, so I'm in Blackout's room.::
::Good job. He's bein' kind of sweet to ya.::
::I don't know if I would call it sweet...:: Barricade mutters, thinking about the whole ordeal on the table. ::Who was the second mech who fucked me? All I could see was Blackout's pelvic plating.::
::Crowbar. Which one of 'em was the best? Maybe I can try ta get a good one next round...:: Jazz muses. ::If ya're not goin' for him again!::
Barricade is silent for a while, thinking it through, scrubbing the dried fluids out of a bracket absentmindedly. ::I'd say Hatchet.:: He finally comes to a surprising conclusion.
::Eew!::
::What? No, I mean, I know what he looks like, but he's sentient.::
::Yeah, but still! "Please, doggy, fuck me! Attaboy..." Gross. Gives doggystyle a whole new meanin'.::
::At least his spike is good enough to give an overload even when he's just chasing his own, so I'd say he's better than Crankcase.::
It comes out rather sharp, and he doesn't even know why. It's not like he's invested in Hatchet in any way, and he shared Jazz's point of view just half an hour ago.
Maybe it is because Jazz's response implies that he is into really weird stuff?
::Whatever.:: Jazz sounds a bit sour.
Why are they fighting about this? But he's not going to apologize about this, because this time, he's not the ignorant and prejudiced one.
::I guess I need to get back to the party. Don't want to give Blackout a reason to come get me, and possibly punish me for keeping away.::
::Sounds like a plan. Think CC is goin' ta overload soon anyway, so I probably need ta focus a li'l.::
Chapter Text
He was planning on going back to Blackout, because while the Helicopter seems to enjoy passing him around, at least he's a known evil, and that brings a sense of safety. But when Barricade comes back to the rec room, Blackout is nowhere to be seen, and that makes Barricade's spark sink.
He was kind of hoping that Blackout would pick him for the night. Spending the entire night in someone else's berth feels... About as good as it felt that first time he was kicked out of Hide's berth, and had to choose someone else. Which turned out really nice in the end, so maybe he shouldn't be so nervous?
"Where did Blackout go?" He still asks.
Dreadbot quirks an optical ridge. "He took TC outside to get some fresh air."
Whatever that might mean. Just fucking outside? Wouldn't he just say that?
Soundwave has his arms wrapped around Ironhide's neck, pressed up close to the Polyhexian President. Ironhide's arm is wrapped around Soundwave's slim waist, servo toying with the plating on his thigh. Soundwave has been wiped down, but a few stains of transfluid and lubricant tells a tale of a coupling. Dreadbot is sitting in Nitro's lap, servos roaming the Flier's frame.
"Your whores seem pretty enamored with you..." Grindor says to Ironhide, even though Crosshairs is still wrapped around him rather adoringly.
"I don't know if I would call it that, but a little generosity goes a long way. In the berth as well as elsewhere."
"Like this." Nitro says, nudging Dreadbot's thighs apart.
He pulls down the zipper to Dreadbot's onesie, slipping his servo down Dreadbot's bare front to his array. Dreadbot arches his back when Nitro works him, a low mewl leaving his vocalizer.
Barricade feels himself go wet, watching what could be considered a softporn show, considering he can't really see anything. He rubs his thighs together, then he flushes when Grindor apparently catches his movement, looking at him.
"Looks like you need cock."
Barricade jumps when someone speaks just behind him, and he whips around, startled.
Octane smirks down at him, quirking an optical ridge, and Barricade feels put on the spot with the blunt statement.
Sure, he has a budding charge, but he'd prefer what Dreadbot is getting, if he's completely honest. But the polite thing is else than honesty, especially here.
"I do..."
"Try what he's doing." Grindor suggests, pointing at Nitro, who has turned Dreadbot into a squirming, panting mess by now.
Octane tilts his helm in consideration. "Walk me through it?" He asks Nitro.
"Sure." Nitro shrugs, then he whispers something to Dreadbot, and the smaller mech promptly overloads, his vocalizer spitting static, before he slumps against Nitro.
"That does look kind of hot." Hatchet muses.
"On your back on the table, and spread your legs, Barricade." Nitro says.
Barricade obeys, flushing again when he has Nitro, Dreadbot, Ironhide, and Soundwave dating at his bare array. Grindor comes around to stand behind the couch to get a better view, and Hatchet plunks down on the floor. Octane takes a seat on the table beside Barricade.
"Do a little walk-around first, feel up his thighs and hips, and his pelvic plating." Nitro says.
Octane looks questioningly at him, but still reaches for Barricade's lower ventral plating.
Chapter Text
Octane fiddles with Barricade's ventral plating without any skill; plucks a plate between his digits and lifts, pokes him through a seam, actually gives him an awkward pat, and Barricade is astonished how someone could fail so spectacularly with something that seems so simple.
He really has been spoiled with the Polyhexian Brothers. This is just boring.
"Stroke him. Flat servos along the plating, as if you want to test exactly how smooth his finish is. This could be interesting for you to, if you just get into it a bit." Nitro instructs.
Octane shifts to do as Nitro said, stroking up Barricade's thighs instead, and that's a whole different story. Thumbs graze the insides of his thighs, getting closer to his array, and Barricade's valve is heating up.
"Good. Dip into the seam at the juncture of his hip, map out the cables and wires with your digits. Gently, you just want to find out where they are, and what makes him tick."
This action draws a moan from Barricade, and he squirms a bit, his valve going slicker. Octane looks funny at him at first, then he smirks, as if he realizes what's going on.
"Now his ventral plating; stroke up to his chest-plates, and do the same thing there. You could stroke his headlights too, they're often sensitive on civilians. Check his reactions, not everyone likes the same things, and the mechs working for us may not always be inclined to tell you what they prefer."
"So this is all for them?" Hatchet asks.
Nitro shrugs. "Not just for them. I think it's kind of cool to find out what turns other mechs on. They're a lot more sensitive than us, and it's fun to make them unravel with just a little touching. Plus it makes them come back for more."
"Or fight over you." Grindor says, quirking an optical ridge.
Nitro just grins smugly, and Dreadbot wiggles his aft, grinding against Nitro's pelvic plating. Nitro slides a servo up his front, big servo wrapping around Dreadbot's throat.
"Behave." He purrs dangerously, voice laced with wicked promise.
Dreadbot whimpers, but it's not just from fear.
Octane finds a particularly sensitive wire just inside the seam where Barricade's chest-plates meet his ventral plating, and Barricade mewls, not prepared for the mech to be so spot on. Octane tilts his helm, looking at Barricade as he strokes the wire again.
"And if you're going all in on this, and really decide to try to take the spot as the number one mech on their to fuck list, you really should ask what they like, and tell them to ask for what they want. You're still in control, you decide if you want to do it or not, but if they're not afraid to ask for something, you'll get a different level of participation."
Octane's servo slides up to Barricade's headlight, trailing the fairing around it, and the next moan that leaves Barricade is rather loud.
"What do you want, little cop?" Octane asks, one servo sliding down Barricade's side, the other still toying with his headlight.
"I... My, oh, my a-anterior node." Barricade manages to get out, just a little embarrassed to ask in front of all these mechs, and mostly just revved up. "Circle it with your digit." He pants.
Octane's digits fumble around with his array for a few seconds, then he finds Barricade's node when the Saleen bucks up to meet his servo.
"They never need this in the pornos." Octane says.
"Yeah, those aren't really the best way to learn how to get all the glitches creamed up and ready to go." Ironhide says.
Barricade glances at them.
Looks like Soundwave is treated to the Prez's skilled digits.
Chapter 550
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Edging can be fun." Ironhide says.
"Edging?" Hatchet asks, looking very interested.
Barricade flicks his optics to Ironhide, on the brink of telling him to fuck off, because he's close, and he certainly doesn't feel like being subjected to edging just because Ironhide decided that the Kaonians need this skill.
Soundwave doesn't seem all that amused either; the silent mech has grabbed Ironhide's lower arm, trying desperately to steer the mech's servo, of course to no avail.
"You let them get really close, then you back off for a while, then you bring them to the brink again. Continue for as long as you feel like it. They may get frustrated, and whine, and swear, and threaten, and bargain, but it's a good way to give them the overload of the week." Ironhide continues when quite a few of the gathered mechs look at him.
Soundwave is splayed out on his lap, slender legs hooked over Ironhide's sturdy ones, and Ironhide is slowly working his array with teasing touches to plump valve-lips, and shallow dips into the slick slit. Soundwave is silent, of course, and his face is still covered by the screen, but his frustrated squirming is enough to make it crystal clear how desperate he's getting.
It's so hot.
Barricade briefly thinks about trying to steal his own overload before they have a chance to teach Octane how to pull the edging off, but then he decides against it.
Even if he manages to sneak it by Octane, someone will notice that his sudden overload was intentional, and they'll all get to use him for practice. Or something like that.
Soundwave is trying his damnedest to get Ironhide's digits where he needs them to get his overload, but Ironhide is too skilled at the game, and too strong.
"You want to overload, little slut?" He purrs to Soundwave.
The silent mech nods quickly.
"Would you like something bigger inside you?" Ironhide slowly pumps his digit into Soundwave's valve.
Another vigorous nod.
"Feel free to take it."
Soundwave almost throws himself around to straddle Ironhide, reaching down to grab Hide's spike as it pressurizes. He lines it up, and sinks down on it in one go.
Grindor claps his servos slowly. "Not bad at all. To get that little prude to so eagerly take your spike is impressive."
Ironhide chuckles, but it does sound a bit strained.
No wonder, with Soundwave riding him like a cyberpony on the racetrack.
Watching them does nothing to ease his own charge, though, and Barricade is hard pressed to not just let himself overload too, consequences be damned.
Soundwave overloads, skinny digits digging deep into the seams on Ironhide's shoulders, and Ironhide overloads too.
The completion of that coupling brings the focus back on him, and Octane renews the efforts that admittedly got a bit sloppy while he was distracted by Ironhide and Soundwave.
Blackout returns, stopping momentarily next to them, looking intently at Octane's digits working Barricade's array.
"If you flick it like this," he says, reaching for Barricade's array, "at this spot right here," Barricade mewls and bucks when Blackout expertly finds the most sensitive part of his anterior node, demonstratinh what he means, "he'll probably squirt."
Notes:
This story is now as long as The Pound, and tomorrow, I'll break my personal record for chapter count. I... did not believe that when I started this story.
A tidbit of gossip for celebration: a couple of chapters ago Nitro fingered Dreadbot to overload, whispering something in his audial to tip him over. He totally said something about how good the onesie was going to smell from Dreadbot's lubricant, and that he'll definitely sniff it while masturbating.
Chapter Text
Octane follows Blackout's advice, imitating what the big Helo did, and Barricade feels his desperation rise, but now it has nothing to do with edging.
On the contrary, he really wishes that he could just hold off his overload, because everyone is looking, and if he does squirt with all these mechs following his every move, it's quite possible that he's going to be embarrassed enough to melt.
Cold showers, popsicles, space is cold too (or so he heard)...
But his frame doesn't agree with his attempt to no allow his charge to rise, it greedily responds to the stimulation. Barricade recognize the odd tension between his legs, and he's certain that Blackout's instructions did the trick, and that he is indeed going to squirt. He's embarrassed, of course, but at least Octane doesn't make a pleased noise because of it, like Blackout or Grindor probably would have.
Then he overloads, moaning loudly, and he feels the stream of fluids covering Octane's servo. Barricade tried to not let the embarrassment take over, focusing on how good the release is, but it's kind of hard when a part of the audience cheers. He goes strut-less and limp when he comes down from his overload, allowing himself a moment of relaxation.
Hopefully they won't be disappointed by how he doesn't immediately offer services. It does seem to be a lesson in how to be a better lover, and a bit of patience could probably do these guys some good.
"That wasn't much of edging, though." Grindor says.
"I got distracted by the prospect of getting him to squirt." Octane says sheepishly.
"And thank you for that, I... uhm, I'm a bit too impatient to enjoy the edging?" Barricade says, because voicing that seems like an increasingly bad idea the more words that leave his vocalizer.
Grindor tilts his helm in consideration, then a slow smirk stretches his intake.
Oh, frag, the bastard probably got some ideas that will be incredibly frustrating for whomever will be subjected to them, and it's all his fault. Oh, well, it could be much worse with that bastard.
A servo sneaks up Grindor's thigh, and Barricade recognize Crosshairs arm, even if he's hidden behind the other mechs.
Crosshairs would probably be more happy with the rape games, but this does seem a lot more safe than that, at least.
"So what about if I let someone edge me until I get frustrated and fuck you a little roughly, but make sure you overload too? Would anyone enjoy something like that?" Hatchet asks.
Dreadbot stretches his servo into the air. Barricade follows suit, because it does sound like a much better night than could be had, so why not? More and more pleasurebots vote for Hatchet's suggestion.
"Hatchet, you stud!" Nitro chuckles. "If anyone ever wonders where all the glitches are, they'll be with Hatchet!"
Everyone starts laughing.
Grindor lifts Crosshairs, and Crosshairs wraps his legs around his waist as well as he can when he's held in place against Grindor's front.
"Ye're so big, Sir." He purrs.
Grindor smirks.
::Not his cock, though.:: Blackout comms Barricade, sounding smug.
Barricade snorts, and that makes Octane turn back to him.
Back to work, then.
Chapter Text
"Any more ideas for things you want to try?" Barricade purrs. He sits up, wrapping an arm around Octane's waist, fiddling with a few plates. "Thank you for not going for the edging thing."
"I'm not much for delayed gratification myself, I don't think I have the patience to do that for long."
"So how do you like to chase that quick gratification?"
"I'm a simple mech, I guess. Getting my spike in a hot valve is really all I need."
How easy everything was when that was all he needed too, and he never needed to do anything else.
"Nothing wrong with that."
Barricade climbs into Octane's lap, straddling the big mech. Octane reaches for Barricade's array, thick digit slipping through Barricade's slick folds. Barricade's hips jerk when Octane touches his anterior node.
"That's still really sensitive after my overload. I'm very slick and ready for you though, Sir."
"So I can't touch this more?"
Who would've ever thought that he'd be a sex-tutor? Good thing he's had so much time with Hide's mechs, or he'd be totally lost right now. He seriously should experiment more with this with Jazz. Maybe they should invite Dreadbot or Crosshairs too? Or both...
"It's kind of like with the spike — you know, getting too sensitive after an overload — you could play around it, and start slowly to stimulate it more and more. With your preferences, I'd say getting inside me is the way to go. The nodes inside my valve will be more receptive to stimulation, and after a little while, I'll be ready for this again. I could overload from just fucking too, but it does take a little longer, and some shifting around to find the right angle."
Octane makes a thoughtful noise, looking down between them, even if the angle makes it impossible for him to really see Barricade's array. Barricade reaches down to grab Octane's spike.
"May I?"
"Of course."
Barricade lines it up with his valve, and sinks down on it.
"Fuck, that's so hot and wet!" Octane groans.
"Nice, isn't it?"
Octane's only answer is a moan.
Barricade starts to ride him slowly, flicking a couple of optics to take in the surroundings. Soundwave is wrapped around Hide, helm resting against Hide's chest-plates, frame still lax with his post-coital glow. His long digits toy with the seams in Ironhide's plating. Grindor and Crosshairs are nowhere to be seen. Hatchet standing in front of Nitro catches his attention.
"Please, Nitro?" Dreadbot pleads, putting on his sweetest smile.
"Alright, you can borrow him for a while, but I want him back before the night is over." Nitro says to Hatchet.
The animal former nods once, and Dreadbot claps his servos excitedly.
"Carry me?" Dreadbot asks Hatchet.
Hatchet tilts his helm inquisitively.
Dreadbot climbs onto Hatchet, straddling his strong back, leaning forward so he can wrap his arms around Hatchet's neck. Nitro grins, and Dreadbot smiles widely as Hatchet turns to look at him. Hatchet shakes his helm in what seems to be astonished amusement, and then he trots off towards the hallway where the guest rooms are. Dreadbot laughs, and then he whispers something to Hatchet that makes Hatchet laugh too.
They're not even out of the room before Starscream makes a beeline for Nitro Zeus, and Barricade almost groans in exasperation at the potential trouble brewing on the horizon, but Nitro either doesn't see the Seeker, or he just ignores him, beckoning Thundercracker with his digits. Thundercracker smoothly slides into Nitro's lap, and Starscream is intercepted by Blackout, which he doesn't seem all too happy about.
Ungrateful glitch. Blackout is actually quite good in the sack.
Barricade returns his full focus to Octane.
He's getting quite good at looking at other things while fucking without letting it distract him.
"I think you can touch my node now. If you want to."
Chapter Text
Octane listens to Barricade's instructions, and it turns into a decent fuck. Barricade gets his overload, and so does Octane.
"Continue like this, and you can title yourself an attentive lover." Barricade says, just slightly dopey as he comes down from his overload.
"Wouldn't that take away from my cool?" Octane quirks an optical ridge.
"Not when you have droves of glitches hanging off you, trying to get you into the sack."
Octane chuckles. "That does sound appealing."
"I don't know about you, but I don't think Hide looks like some kind of whimp..." Barricade jerks his helm in Ironhide's direction. "Or Nitro for that matter."
Soundwave is still wrapped around him, fiddling with his plating. Nitro's servo is between Thundercracker's thighs, and the plating of his lower arm is shifting as he plays with the Seeker's array. Thundercracker is riding him slowly, as if he's savoring the moment.
Too bad he won't be treated to Nitro's glossa. But then again, they may have a migration of workers as a result, and that could be complicated on so many levels.
"You're right." Octane says.
Barricade turns back to him, nodding. "Was that all for now?"
"Yeah, I'm good for now."
"Let me get this for you." Barricade says when he slips out of Octane's lap, pulling a rag from his subspace.
He wipes the lubricant and transfluid from Octane's plating, then he wipes himself fairly clean.
"Can I get you a drink or something?"
"I'll accompany you to the bar."
They walk the short distance in silence, and find Jazz behind the bar, already pouring drinks.
"What can I get ya, Sir?" He asks Octane.
"Te kill ya high grade. With ice."
Jazz nods, grabbing a cube, and pouring a generous serving, popping the ice cubes into it. Octane grabs it, taking a sip, before nodding appreciatively to Jazz.
"I'll go talk to my Brothers." He excuses himself, heading for the couches again.
"He any good?" Jazz asks quietly.
"If he keeps it up with the practice, and asks what mechs like, he will be. It was decent enough." Barricade whispers.
Jazz snorts. "Join me with those two?" He nods in the direction of a table.
Top Spin and Lead Foot. The mechs who probably are sparked.
"Sure."
Chapter Text
"Do ya handsome mechs want some company?" Jazz asks, setting Top Spin's and Lead Foot's cubes on the table.
Top Spin looks him up and down, then he ogles Barricade, a slow smirk stretching his lip-plates. "Sure."
Lead Foot looks at them, face-plates unreadable. He grabs his drink, taking a deep swig, then he sets it back down, crossing his arms, stretching his legs out, and crosses his ankles. "So, from cop to whore. Now, that sounds like a whole lot of bad choices. I mean, who wants to become a cop in the first place? Nobody likes cops..."
Barricade's spark seems to free fall, and then it starts to spin quicker.
He seems to have misjudged everything spectacularly, and if Lead Foot really hates cops, the rest of his night may be really, really awful.
"I-I just wanted to help people! I wanted to be the hero who protected the weak who couldn't protect themselves." He says, because a very long time ago, that was exactly what made him want to be an Enforcer.
Fuck, he really strayed badly from his first reason.
Lead Foot snorts derisively. "Aren't you the gallant knight? So what about your alleged crookedness? Still being a hero then?"
"I thought so, at least. I took bribes for letting petty criminals walk away instead of getting a third strike."
"Very heroic."
He has gone over this so many times himself, he knows how abusive he was. Why can't he just not be reminded about it again? Why does this asshole need to drag that up? He must know that Barricade has had this rubbed in his face a lot, it's not astro physics to guess that.
"So what about you? What did you do to wind up in a gang?"
Being confrontational is either brave, stupid, or both, but Barricade just can't help himself, Lead Foot really pushes his buttons.
"It's not easy to get a job when you look like me."
Fat and ugly?
"I can imagine..."
"I had some business going when the Autobots moved in, and I figured that the smartest thing would be joining them instead of starting a war."
Wow, he managed to figure that out all by himself!
Chapter Text
"Soundwave certainly seems to have thawed up a bit with the treatment." Top Spin notes.
The Brothers have returned to talking to each other — over Jazz's and Barricade's helms — and they're discussing the lesson just given.
"So what? Isn't the entire point with keeping whores around to not have to do all that work? If I wanted to do all the foreplay and stuff, I wouldn't pay for it. I prefer it when they bend over, take what I give, and that's it."
::And he probably sucks at the foreplay anyway, plus he's fat and ugly, so nobody would want him without getting paid.:: Barriy comms Jazz.
::What's wrong with bein' fat?::
Did that sound judgey?
::Nothing, I guess. It's just not to my taste, and I projected my preferences.::
::Cause I think a bit of a belly can be kinda cute.::
::His ugly personality is extremely unattractive, though.::
::I've had worse.::
Of course he has, but that doesn't really excuse that Lead Foot is an asshole.
"So, cop, on your knees." Lead Foot turns to Barricade, grinning nastily.
Ugh. At least it isn't really new, and everyone seem rather preoccupied, so he won't even have much of an audience this time.
Barricade does as he's ordered, watching Lead Foot as he gets up from his seat, and comes to stand in front of Barricade. His spike pressurizes — nothing to write home about, Barricade has definitely taken bigger and fancier — and a servo lands on the back of the Saleen's helm.
"Do what you cops do best."
Lead Foot grabs his spike and presses it against Barricade's intake, pre-transfluid getting smeared on Barricade's lip-plates. Barricade hasn't really thought about for some time now, but with this mech, he finds it disgusting.
It doesn't matter; Lead Foot rolls his hips, his spike forced into Barricade's intake, and then he starts rutting. Disgust aside, it's surprisingly easy to accommodate the mech. Barricade lets his processor stray while Lead Foot ruts mindlessly into his mouth, grunting obscenities and insults.
How unimaginative. Lead Foot could at least be a bit inventive if he's trying to humiliate him. But he does seem to be lacking in the processor department. This is the last time he makes the mistake to think sparked mechs are nicer than MTOs, though.
Chapter Text
At least it's over fairly quickly. Lead Foot just uses his mouth until completion, then he pulls out and shoots his load on Barricade's face. Sticky transfluid clings to his plating in that disgusting way he really hates.
Especially the glob covering one of his optics. At least he can't focus that close, he really doesn't need a macro shot of jizz, ugh.
"Can I wipe myself now?" He asks when Lead Foot finally seems done with degrading him verbally, telling Barricade how it's a good look on a cop and so on. Barricade didn't really pay attention to it. "I want to be clean for the next mech wanting a blowjob." He adds.
Lead Foot smirks slowly. "Already looking forward to the next blowjob. Now that's some thinking I can approve of from a bitch. Sure, you can clean up. Too Spin, do you request something from the Enforcer?"
Barricade grabs a rag from his subspace, wiping his face. The sticky feeling lingers, but he's fairly certain that it's just in his processor.
"Nah, I already had his valve earlier, and I'm thinking about getting this little thing into berth now anyway." Top Spin says, stroking Jazz's bumper.
At least Jazz doesn't have to spend the night with Lead Foot. But that means that he has to remain properly polite until Lead Foot decides that he's done with him.
"Anything more I can get you, Sir?"
Lead Foot seems to consider it for long seconds, but then he shakes his helm. "No, you've already done the only thing you're good for."
Well, fuck you too.
"Then I'll go see if there's someone else who needs some service. If you'll excuse me, Sir."
"Yeah, go do your thing." Lead Foot waves dismissively.
Barricade gets up from the floor, looking around to see who's still around. Thundercracker is still in Nitro's lap, and Soundwave hasn't moved much either.
Damn. He was hoping to get a Polyhexian Brother to spend the night with. Nitro did ask to have Dreadbot returned though, so he's probably taken already, and he doesn't want to impose by suggesting a threesome. Not after everything that has happened here.
He still joins them, because Crowbar and Crankcase are there too, so hopefully they'll at least get some pointers beforehand if they decide to have him for the night.
"Does anyone need something?"
"A hot mech in my lap." Crankcase says, pointing to his thigh. He quirks a meaningful optical ridge at Barricade, optics roaming the Saleen's frame.
Everyone chuckles, but Barricade obeys, wrapping an arm around Crankcase's neck as he presses close.
Chapter Text
It really is an easy job when the Brothers are talking about some army base they met on at some point. Barricade can just fiddle a bit with Crankcase's plating, and space out while they get their reminiscing over with.
But then again, the longer the conversation keeps going, the longer this sort of break is.
"You have all seen so many places. I mean, I understand that it wasn't fun to be in the military, and that it wasn't vacations, but you've been off world and everything." He says to Crankcase, putting on a bit thickly with the wide opticed wonder. And the ditziness.
Crankcase seems surprised, but then he grins. "Yeah. Silent missions were the best. We had to keep long range comm silence, so our superiors were off our backs, and sometimes the scouting and getting into position took weeks. It was a taste of freedom. And the best times were when it was too much of a hassle to get us back to base between missions. We'd get shore leave."
"All those fucking instructions, though..." Nitro grumbles.
Barricade tries to wrap his helm around how that would work, considering how utterly ignorant about civilized society at least the Polyhexian Brothers were when they freed themselves, but he just can't.
"Did you get a wad of credits for fuel and housing? And company..." He asks Crankcase.
"No, we never got to handle anything like that. Mostly, our owners would rent a warehouse or something like that, send us there, and arrange fuel to be sent there. We were ordered to keep to ourselves, and not interact too much with the locals. It was still like a vacation, though, because we had no supervision, and we could move around a lot even without interacting. And sometimes, they'd send in a few whores to keep us occupied."
Barricade manages to refrain from making a face on the behalf of the poor prostitutes.
A bunch of these mechs back when their protocols were even less evolved? Rest in pieces all ye who enter here.
"Remember the tentacly things we got one time, Hide?" Nitro laughs.
"Yeah, that was utterly confusing." Ironhide says, grinning. "They didn't have any holes for interfacing, so we didn't know what to do. They didn't speak any language we knew either, so it wasn't like we could ask how to use them. Blackout suggested just making a hole, but we decided not to, because our owners probably wouldn't be happy to pay for that. Anyway, they put on this weird show, wrapping their tentacles together, and then they seemed to overload, so we figured they could jerk us off. And it was great! They could run a light current through their tentacles, and I think everyone came in just a matter of seconds. Frag, tentacles can be such a great feature! I had forgotten about that."
A couple of cables unspools from Soundwave's frame, hovering in front of Ironhide's face for a few seconds, humming with a light charge.
"Well, what do you know..." Ironhide says slowly, seemingly mesmerized by the cables.
One of the cables stroke slowly down his chest-plates, and Ironhide groans in pleasure, pressing into the touch. There's something about Soundwave that seems distinctly smug, but Barricade can't put his digit on what, because the mech is as unreadable as ever.
Chapter Text
"You really have a way to get the glitches in an accomodating mood." Crankcase says, optics tracking Soundwave's movements.
"It's not that hard, really. You just need to ask what they want, and give them a bit of that." Nitro says, stroking a servo down Thundercracker's side.
Crankcase shifts under him, and Barricade is suddenly sitting on a pressurized spike.
Guess the break's over then.
Crankcase's servo slips between his legs, mapping out his array rather haphazardly.
"May I show you?" Barricade asks, figuring it'll be quicker that way.
Crankcase is silent for long seconds, but the he nods slowly. "We can try that."
Barricade covers Crankcase's servo with his own, guiding the Warframe's digits to stroke his valve-lips.
"A bit of patience goes a long way. Granting an extra minute or two for your partner to get as revved up as you will make a whole lot of difference." Barricade murmurs to Crankcase.
He directs Crankcase's digit to circle his node, and Barricade shifts, spreading his legs wider to make it easier. He hums in pleasure.
"This isn't even that hard." Crankcase says, taking over the movements of his servo.
"I know..." Barricade says, removing his servo now that Crankcase is getting the hang of it.
It really isn't, and even if he was a kind of scrappy lover in the beginning when he was with Jazz, he has learned a lot, and realized how dull it is to be on the receiving end of 'uncaring in the berth'.
He watches with one optic when Hatchet stalks into the room. Dreadbot is clinging to his back again.
"What are you, Hatchet, some kind of camel for whores?" Someone asks, sounding mildly derisive.
"He just fucked me so good, my legs aren't working yet." Dreadbot says with a dopey grin. He can't throw me over his shoulder, and I can't very well stay in his berth all night..."
"Fair enough..." Someone else says.
Hatchet walks up to the couch, and Nitro reaches for Dreadbot, pulling him into his lap.
"Thanks for letting me have a go, Brother."
"Of course! You seem to have had fun?"
"He's excellent at what he does."
"I know!" Nitro grins.
Dreadbot leans in to whisper something to Thundercracker. The Seeker's optics go bright, and he turns to look at Dreadbot in astonishment. Dreadbot grins, waggling his optical ridges.
"So, uhm, Sir? Do you still want me to stay now that your company is back, or should I entertain someone else?" Thundercracker asks Nitro.
"You're free to go if you want to. I don't mind having you both if you want to stay, though."
"That's tempting and all, but now that Dreadbot here has been returned to you, Hatchet is looking rather lonely..."
Nitro grins at Hatchet. "Already hogging the glitches..." He turns back to Thundercracker. "How could I say no, and leave my Brother with just his servo for company? Of course you can go please Hatchet."
"Thank you, Sir." Thundercracker smiles sweetly, and slips out of Nitro's lap, then he drapes an arm across Hatchet's shoulders. "Lead the way, Sir."
As they disappear into the hallway, Barricade returns his full focus to Crankcase.
Chapter Text
"Notice how slick I'm getting? That's because you're clever with your digits." Barricade purrs. "But now I want something inside me too."
He shifts around, reaching down to grab Crankcase's spike, and lines it up, rubbing it back and forth through his slit a few times. Barricade is revved up enough to twitch when it slips over his sensitive anterior node. He sinks down on Crankcase's spike in a teasingly slow movement. Crankcase groans, and his servos tighten on Barricade's hips, but he doesn't take control and shove inside.
"See? It doesn't always have to be full steam ahead to the fucking. It's nice to take it slow sometimes too."
"I see your point." Crankcase sounds strained.
Barricade starts to ride him, sticking to that slow pace. The spike inside him isn't decently sized, and has a few ridges, but it isn't really anything special.
He probably wouldn't overload just from being fucked.
"Is it ok if I touch my node while we do this?"
"I guess..."
"It helps me reach my peak faster."
Crankcase makes a thoughtful noise, looking as Barricade reaches for his array. Barricade starts to circle his anterior node quickly to catch up.
His charge rise, and hime increases the pace he's riding Crankcase's spike without even noticing. The Warframe doesn't say anything about it though, so he probably doesn't mind.
"I'm so close," Barricade hisses, "are you?"
"Yeah." Crankcase grinds out.
"Fuck me hard!"
Crankcase starts to move Barricade, increasing the pace, pulling him down while bucking up to hilt himself with every thrust. Barricade rubs his node even quicker, chasing his overload. He cums hard, vocalizer crackling with static, and he pulls Crankcase with him. The Warframe growls, keeping himself hilted, spike pulsing as he overloads. Barricade allows himself to slump against the mech, even if he doesn't know if it's socially acceptable.
The mech seemed curious and open-minded enough, and Nitro and Ironhide will probably say something about it if Crankcase responds badly.
"Fragging pit, that was good." Barricade says, even though it could be considered laying it on a bit thickly.
He did do most of the job himself.
"It really was."
It's not much of a compliment, but with how surprised Crankcase sounds, Barricade guesses that he's still processing what they did, and the differences compared to his regular fucking.
"Do you keep your whores for the night?" Blackout asks, and Barricade flinches, because he didn't notice the Helicopter returning.
"No, I don't. I don't trust them enough to let them stay the night."
"Then I can have that one when you're done?"
"Sure... You let them recharge in your berth?"
"I think it's practical; wake up with a hard-on, have a hole within arms reach."
Chapter Text
When Barricade has wiped Crankcase and himself Blackout hands him a bottle of high grade.
"You can go have a shower, and then wait in my berth."
"Wouldn't that be rude of me? I mean, if someone else wants some service until you're done here..."
"Not when I've told you to go. I won't be long anyway, and I want you nice and clean, so chances are, you won't even get to the berth before I'll be there."
"Shouldn't we have cubes?" Barricade asks, holding up the bottle."
Blackout grins. "Are you too prissy to drink straight out of the bottle?"
"No, I just... I don't even know. Brute."
Blackout barks a laugh. "Then it's settled. Off you go. And don't drink it all before I get there."
"Absolutely not. I'd probably offline if I did."
"And if you should die in berth, it really should be in a much more spectacular way..." Blackout trails off, staring at Barricade with unveiled hunger. His engine revs subtly — not much, but enough for Barricade's spark to make a nervous flip — and a slow grin stretches Blackout's intake at whatever is playing out in his processor. "Hurry on out of here." He says, voice rough.
Barricade is quick too obey, but not too quick, because prey run, and Blackout doesn't need more ideas planted in that twisted processor of his.
He shouldn't have turned his back on the Helo. Fucking pit, he would never survive in the wild.
As soon as he's in Blackout's room, Barricade opens the bottle, and takes a few deep gulps of the burning high grade go settle his nerves. It doesn't really help much, or at least too slowly for immediate comfort, but he doesn't have any weed, so this will have to do.
At least Blackout can't very well damage him now that he has been enforcing the no damage rule so enthusiastically.
Barricade steps into the shower, grabbing the solvent from the shelf that is almost out of reach for him.
Why do Warframes have to be so fragging huge? It's so undignified to stand on the tips of his toes to reach all the time. Oh, well, at least he wasn't sparked a mini bot.
He hurries through the shower while still being meticulous, because while the last shower frag was good, Blackout is drunk, and seems hungry for his version of fun, and being in the shower seems risky.
Where spilled energon or other fluids could be easily washed away to cover up damage and humiliation inflicted in clever ways.
Chapter Text
Barricade cleans up quickly, but at the same time Blackout requested nice and clean, so he's attempting to be thorough, but quick. It's anything but a relaxing shower, but at least the high grade is starting to have some effect and take the edge off.
::Don't forget to slick yourself up...:: Blackout purrs over comm.
::Definitely not. That would be a terrible way to offline too.::
Blackout barks a laugh.
Barricade finishes the shower before Blackout shows up, and dries himself with a rag. He takes out a bottle of spray lube, sticks the nozzle into his valve, and sprays enough to feel it start to trickle out again. Then he sticks it into his port, counting the seconds he's spraying — five seconds constant stream should be enough — before subspacing it again.
Handy things, those spray bottles. Really allows him to slick himself up easily and thoroughly.
He throws the rags into the washer, and then he walks back to the berth room.
What's he supposed to do now?
Barricade stares at the huge berth.
Should he display himself all tantalizing for when Blackout decides to make an appearance? But what is tantalizing for Blackout? Since he isn't an energon covered wreck...
Barricade takes a few big mouthfuls more of the strong high grade.
Maybe it'll be enough to lay on the berth? Blackout probably has his own ideas anyway, ideas he has no chances of guessing. And the berth looks really comfortable.
Barricade finds a data pad and switches it on.
He could pretend to be a nice little mech, sitting in his room, watching some vid clips or something, and Blackout can be the bad home intruder who decides to have his way with the nice little mech.
He closes his panels.
Blackout probably enjoys making him open it —or just opening it manually — more than finding him already uncovered.
Bringing the data pad, Barricade crawls onto the berth, fluffing up the pillows, and arranging them into a supportive little nest against the headboard to really give his frame a chance to relax — even his shoulder-wings will get some support — for whatever time he has before Blackout comes back.
He starts up the intergalactic self broadcasting app, where all sorts of beings post their own videos. It's the perfect pass-time while waiting for his... yeah.
Why the app suggests he should look at the video of some terrifying alien organic — weird, rounded snout, terrifying denta, and yellow eyes — talk about his favorite species of potted plant, while repotting it with his short, weird arms is beyond Barricade. But the alien has a nice voice, and how he's so good at repotting with those vicious looking claws is just the right amount of mind boggling for Barricade to be intrigued. The footage is very relaxing too, low light, and a bit of slow motion. He sips from the bottle of high grade, watching the alien prune the plant a little.
Maybe he should ask Hide if they could import a plant? It would be kind of interesting, and the one in the vid is rather decorative, and Jazz would...
Tired from the long day, he slips into recharge, video still playing.
Chapter Text
Barricade doesn't quick boot when being moved is what wakes him up. The movements are rather gentle, and he wakes up slowly, systems starting one by one.
That's probably the reason why he doesn't immediately realizes that something is wrong. His first hint is when his arms are gathered behind his back — being rolled over to lay on his front was what woke him up — and then they're tied together.
He turns his helm to see what's going on, but his optics refuse to send input. Barricade's spark speeds up when he reboots them, and they start up the way they should, but he's still not getting any vision. He starts to struggle against whatever he's tied with, but it doesn't give at all.
A servo slides up his back, wrapping around his neck, and Barricade does register that the servo is big.
He's in Blackout's room, of course the bastard would find pleasure in waking him up, and freaking him out.
He calms down a little with that realization, but it's still unnerving to not be certain that it really is Blackout — and that he's alone — but at least it makes it a little easier to deal with.
Talons slip into the seam to his interface panel, fumbling around for the latches.
Doesn't Blackout know where his latches are? Why can't he remember if the bastard has opened it for him before, or if Barricade always have opened up for him?
The latches are found, and the panel is pushed out of the way, then the digits go for the panel covering his port. They're found a little quicker, but opening them seems to be something of a hassle. Barricade's spark speeds up again, because Blackout always seems so skilled with his digits.
A talon dips into his valve, and Barricade goes stock still, and completely stiff.
Blackout always folded his talons away when he fingered Barricade, these sharp talons in such a vulnerable place could turn ugly and painful very quickly.
The talon slips out, and Barricade immediately starts to struggle for all he's worth to get away. The grip on his neck tightens, and he's pushed deeper into the pillow. A knee comes down across his back, pinning him to the mattress. The talon is pushed against his port, and Barricade hurriedly activates his protocols to loosen him up, going completely still again. His spark spins wildly in his chest, and his vents are getting labored. The talon is pumped in and out a few times.
He's rolled over — not gently this time — and then that talon slips into the seam to his chest-plates.
Barricade draws a vent to scream, but sharp talons dig into his throat.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You don't want to force me to mute you..."
Barricade barely manages to keep from making a terrified noise, and his spark is spinning so quickly, it feels like his chamber is about to melt.
He doesn't recognize the voice.
Chapter Text
Barricade's processor seems to be racing with his spark for a trophy as he's trying to get a grip on the situation at the same time as he's frantically searching for a way out of it.
He opens a comm link to Blackout, but receives nothing but the flat silence of not reaching a network. In panic, he tries both Nitro Zeus, and Ironhide too, with the same lack of results.
"Did you really think that I wouldn't take precautions against you reaching out to ruin my fun? You have an inhibitor on your comm unit."
The digits pry at his chest-plates again, and Barricade squirms underneath the heavy mech.
"Please, don't do this." Barricade sobs. "I'll do anything you want."
"This is what I want." The first latch is opened, and the mech moves on to find the next one.
Barricade sobs helplessly while the mech works on the lock, then he makes a decision he really doesn't want to make.
"Move your digits so I don't pinch them when I open for you." He says quietly.
The mech goes still for a few seconds, and for terrifying moments, Barricade thinks that he made the wrong decision. Then the digits slip away, and it feels like the mech sits back a bit.
Barricade opens the remaining locks one by one, and then he forces his chest-plates to open.
He should've merged with Jazz when he thought about it first. Now his first time is going to be with this asshole.
A sharp talon traces the seams of the petals that still covers his spark, and Barricade whimpers, trying to press deeper into the berth.
"These components are so fragile." The mech says almost reverently, voice so rough, it glitches.
The talon presses against one of the petals, an uncomfortable pressure, and Barricade's spark speeds up to impossible revolutions when he realizes that the mech may not stop at just merging with him. He makes a small noise if distress when the pressure increases.
The mech groans, and then a thick spike is pushed into Barricade's already slicked up valve.
Prepped for someone else than this bastard.
The mech starts to fuck him in a languorous pace, big spike hitting his inside nodes, making him lubricate in spite of his unwillingness. The talon scrapes over the thin metal still covering Barricade's spark.
"You should open this too."
Chapter Text
The talon slowly circles his chamber, tracing the edge around the opening.
It's no less threatening than the pushing against the thin petals. But would claws be worse than any big servo? Isn't the spark energy, and wouldn't be damaged by a piercing claw? But crushing it could disperse the energy, and so could probably a quick swipe with sharp talons. And a crushed chamber could choke it, or a pierced one could hemorrhage...
Barricade can't control the whimpers leaving his vocalizer, nor his ragged venting, but he still obeys, because not doing it won't lead anywhere better than doing so.
"Mh. I really like this view." The mech groans, still stroking Barricade's chamber with his claws..
There's a very strange sensation in his chest — almost as if he's being pulled forward — and in spite of everything, Barricade arches into it.
Heat blooms in his chest, his spark surging in a surprisingly pleasurable way, and Barricade moans.
It doesn't feel like the mech has leaned forward enough for this to be a merge, and wouldn't he be able to feel the other mech if he did? That's what he's heard, at least.
But whatever is going on, that heat seems to spread outwards, throughout his chest, and Barricade's whimpers have turned from fear to pleasure. The mech is still fucking him slowly, thick spike hitting all his inside nodes, and Barricade's charge is surging in time with his spark.
The mech starts to circle his anterior node, because there's no need for controlling grips on the Saleen anymore, he has turned to putty in the mech's servos. It's a small mercy that Barricade is beyond caring, his systems teetering on an overload that feels like it's building towards a supernova.
His frame is pushed up the berth with every hard thrust, the mech increasing the pace. Barricade's chest feels full, like it's going to explode.
His valve feels so full too, the thick spike sliding deliciously over his inside nodes, filling him up, and...
Barricade overloads harder than he ever has before, his furious scream turning into a wail of pleasure. The overload seems to drag out forever, and his mind is turning pleasurably blank — if it goes on for seconds or minutes, he can't tell — and then he slumps, entire frame lax and strut-less.
With wherewithal, his anger returns.
"You absolute fucking asshole! Blackout." He snarls.
The mech chuckles, then his vocalizer clicks strangely, followed by a hollow and tinny noise.
"You did figure it out. Well done. What was it that made you realize?" Blackout says, his hoarse, deep voice unmistakeable.
"Your fragging cock. Nobody else fills me up like that, and I hardly believe a non-Autobot would dare sneaking into this house, doing this."
Blackout rumbles a laugh, removing the inhibitor from Barricade's helm, allowing his optical feed to start up again. "You know, when you're open like this, I can see your valve stretch when I fuck you. At least a bit of it, your ventral plating is still intact, of course. I really do hit the bottom of your spark-chamber." He says, rolling his hips for emphasis, looking into Barricade's still open chest.
"Fascinating." Barricade spits venomously.
"It really is, so don't close up yet. I want to see that while I finish."
He wants to close his chest-plates just to be spiteful, but he still is tied up, and Blackout could easily force him to open again if he wants to. It has been far to easy to forget what the mech can be like.
"Just hurry up."
Blackout barks a laugh. "Sure." He says insincerely.
Chapter Text
Blackout takes his time.
Of course he does. He wouldn't put it past the bastard to do it just to spite him, or ram home — heh — that he's the one with the big dick, and the one in control.
That the aft manages to make Barricade overload one more time only partially mitigates what he did. At least Barricade's servos are untied as soon as he's done, and Barricade stomps off into the shower.
If only he could slam the door shut after himself.
Blackout joins him, but not until Barricade is already halfway done, because of course the bastard wanted to have a drink and a cyg before he deigns to wash up.
Barricade just hurries to get the shower over with, not even pretending to be helpful or solicitous. He dries up quickly before Blackout is done, intending to go...
Anywhere but here with the bastard. Hopefully, he can find a different berth to stay the night in, or at least get a bunk in the pleasurebot dorm, if nobody wants him to recharge with them.
"You're staying with me for the night." Blackout says as Barricade steps over the threshold to the berth room.
He stops, turning around, crossing his arms protectively across his chest. "No, I think I should be polite, and see if someone else requests some company."
"They won't. Everyone is already off to berth." Blackout grins slowly. "But feel free to go. I do enjoy a good mech-hunt..."
Barricade almost manages to not shudder, but Blackout obviously catches it, because his grin widens, taking on a predatory edge.
"Besides, I can't pay you if you're not here. I bet you want your tip for this, yes?"
"Fine, I'll stay." Barricade tries to not sound too eager, but he didn't think he was going to get tips on this trip. He hasn't really thought about anything like that, he has been too preoccupied with everything else. "Do you have something to smoke?"
It's the least the bastard could do, and he really needs something to take the edge off.
"I do." Blackout steps out of the shower, grabbing a huge rag to wipe himself.
"Can I have one?"
Of course the bastard doesn't offer.
"Sure." Blackout passes him, heading for the berth. He stretches out on his back, bracing his helm on his servos. "It's in my subspace. Come get it yourself."
Barricade stares at him for long seconds, and Blackout cocks an optical ridge in challenge. Barricade finally resigns, climbing onto the berth.
Blackout's subspace pockets are open — at least some of them — and the big Helo is obviously waiting for him to begin.
If this was planned — and whenever isn't Blackout calculating and scheming what he's going to do — he probably stored it close to his crotch.
Barricade starts with the pockets just above the juncture of Blackout's hips.
Chapter Text
Score on the first try!
Barricade's digits wrap around the cyg — no, actually there's two, so he grabs both at once — and pulls them out, ready to cheer his loot. Then he flails and drops them both as if they were lit and he was burnt by them as soon as his processor registers that it's not two cygs, but one cygar, and one obviously used hydraulic hose, clearly torn from wherever if was mounted. Still covered in hydraulic fluid.
"So there's where I put that." Blackout says innocently, but his field doesn't quite manage to stay flat enough to hide his mirth.
Barricade glares at him while getting up from the berth, servos held up to not contaminate anything. "Troll." He grumbles, heading to the washracks to wash his servos.
Blackout just laughs.
Barricade cleans his servos very thoroughly, and then he brings a rag to use to lift the component, and to wrap it in. It's gone when he returns, though. He looks suspiciously around to make sure there won't be any nasty surprises. Blackout holds out the cyg, and it's already lit.
"Here. You seem to need it."
Barricade makes a face. "No, thank you. I know what that shared pockets with."
Blackout shrugs, looking at the cyg momentarily before taking a deep drag, leaning back against the headboard. "You're so sensitive. You're missing out on the good stuff. And you really do seem to need it."
"I wonder who's fault that is..." Barricade mutters. "I just have to manage without it."
"I do have another one." Blackout says, smirking at Barricade's sceptical look. "In a different pocket." He adds, motioning to his still open pockets.
"I'm not sticking my servos into your pockets again." Barricade snaps.
Primus knows what else is in Blackout's pockets...
"But if I take it out for you, you won't know if it's clean. Surely, potential gore is better on your digits than in your intake?"
Fucking clever bastard. Why does he have to have a point?
"Besides, you need to dig out that credit stick with your tip too..."
Excuse me, Grindor, where is your local void? I need to go scream into it for the rest of eternity.
"Then I guess I'll find out which one I find first and go from there."
"You are so horny for money." Blackout grins.
Barricade flushes, because he haven't thought about it in such crass terms before, but Blackout does have one of those annoying points again.
He climbs onto the berth before he can overthink things, immediately starting to dig around in Blackout's pockets. It's kind of nerve-wracking everytime he reaches into a new one, because Blackout may very well have put nasty things into more pockets.
Blackout certainly doesn't seem to have any problems with carrying gross stuff around. Maybe he has even more stuff in pockets he hasn't opened?
He finds the credit stick in one of the pockets on the side of Blackout's chest, the other cyg still eluding him. Barricade dawdles for a while, because he really does want that cyg, but winds up opting out. He plunks down new to Blackout.
"Give me the bottle. Please." He says, plugging the credit stick on to check how much he got.
Blackout drinks deeply from it first, then he gives it to Barricade. Barricade sips more moderately, but still almost does a spit-take when he sees the sum he got.
200 credits!
He drinks again, just to give himself some time to process his mixed feelings.
It makes it rather worth it, but at the same time, he isn't sure how to feel about finding it rather worth it.
"You sure you don't want some of this?" Blackout asks, holding out the cyg again.
It's probably clean now that Blackout has been smoking it.
"Yeah, what the hell..." He says, grabbing it to take a deep drag. "I may never fall into recharge again anyway." He mutters, thinking about how he woke up the last time, handing the cyg back. He scoots down to stretch out on the berth.
Blackout takes another drag on the cyg, then he puts it out, following Barricade's example to stretch out. "Don't worry, little mech, I'll keep all the monsters out."
"Except the nastiest one is sleeping in the berth with me." Barricade mutters.
"Trust me, little mech," Blackout says, pulling Barricade close, "there are a lot of mecha worse than me out there." He mumbles.
Blackout's vents even out, and Barricade is left awake, conflicted about how safe he feels with that heavy arm slung across him. It doesn't take long for him to slip into recharge, though.
Chapter Text
He's woken up by a push that rocks him, and this time he emergency boots, as if his systems are responding to a threat.
Which it could be, considering how it went the last time. He'll probably recharge more lightly from now on.
"Oh, good! You're awake."
"Thanks to you." Barricade mutters, just wanting to go back to recharge.
"You're welcome."
Blackout rolls him over on his front, thick digits — talons retracted this time, thank you very much — sliding through the slit of Barricade's valve. A digit prods his port.
"You can activate that mod of yours."
"Thank you, your gracefulness."
Blackout snorts. "Don't, get me wrong; it would be very entertaining to do this without it. I don't want to have to explain a ruptured port to Hide, though. I think you better slick yourself a little more."
Barricade sighs, and reaches for the subspace pocket where he stores some lube. He just wants to go back to recharge.
How strange that he doesn't even feel embarrassed to do this in front of Blackout anymore. Sure, he would be with a bigger audience, but with just one mech, it doesn't feel weird at all.
"Wait. I'll do it for you."
What? No show?
Barricade squeaks when what feels like a small bottle is pushed inside, and Blackout squeezes it, the contents running into him.
"That should be enough."
The tube lands on the floor, and Barricade zooms in on it, suspicious that it's going to be something less innocent than lubricant, but the print does indeed say that it's ultra slick adhesive oil.
Blackout grabs his hips and slowly slides in to the hilt. He holds still, and Barricade starts to feel more and more full.
"Are you knotting me?!" He kind of panics a little, because he doesn't know how well his mod will accommodate that kind of size.
His calipers may not have the specs for that.
"Yeah." Blackout groans.
Barricade squirms, because he really is feeling extremely full, and the squirming makes the knot rub against that spot inside him that feels so good, making Barricade moan. Blackout reaches around to start circling his node with a digit.
Barricade a mewling, panting mess when Blackout suddenly stills. Barricade is about to curse him out — edging is not his favorite game — when Blackout's talons press against his vocalizer. Barricade goes stock still and quiet, even though Blackout picks up the circling of his node with his other servo.
"I'll be out in a little while. I'm kind of stuck right now..."
There's a few moments of silence. "Are you knotting someone?" Hide asks.
He has put Hide on speaker-comm!
"Yeah."
Barricade bites his glossa and shudders, so close to his overload. Blackout backs off with the stimulation again.
Hide chuckles. "And you call Nitro a horn-dog."
"Hey, I like to really empty out in the morning. Makes me more mellow during the day."
"And it doesn't matter as much if it takes all day before getting some pussy again."
"Or ass."
"So that's what you're doing right now?"
"Mhm, so tight and good." Blackout groans, rocking his hips.
It jostles Barricade and makes Blackout's knot hit that spot again. Barricade overloads, fighting to not moan out loud, squirming under the massive Helicopter.
"You know, that does sound great. I think I'll follow your example. You won't be out for a while anyway."
"Sounds like an excellent plan boss."
Chapter 568
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They're getting ready to go home — the Brothers are still sitting in the meeting that was slightly delayed by the morning fucking — gathering in the rec room.
"This 'as mos'ly been a fun trip." Crosshairs says.
"All in all, it actually has been good. At least in the long run." Dreadbot agrees.
He's still slightly careful whenever he takes a seat, but definitely better than yesterday, and now that he has put his plating back on, that probably helps too.
Thundercracker comes in from the hallway where the Brothers' rooms are, looking disheveled with recharge.
"Where have you been?" Starscream asks. He's sitting at the bar, pointedly not joining the Polyhexian pleasurebots on the couches.
"I was in recharge. I was fucked into reboot, and he let me stay the night." Thundercracker sounds astonished.
Dreadbot smirks. "Sounds like a fun night."
Thundercracker takes a seat with them, and he doesn't seem to notice the glare Starscream sends his way.
Suck it, Screechy, nice people get the friends.
"It was... I've never been fucked all night before. I mean, not all night, but several times with just a bit of a break in between."
"Don' they usually tag team ye?" Crosshairs ask.
"They do, but this was something else. Normally, I just do my thing, and that's that, they get off, and I move on to the next one. This... I," he breaks off, looking around, then he speaks in a much quieter voice, " I was begging him to fuck me. Holy Primus on a moon hopper, the mech can be such a tease. The overloads I got! And he really is good at listening to what you want..." Thundercracker trails off, seemingly still processing last night. "The third round, it didn't feel like work at all anymore."
"You're welcome." Dreadbot grins.
"Did you teach him that thing with his g..." Thundercracker goes quiet when the Brothers walk in.
Dreadbot seems to get what he means, and nods.
"I guess it's time for us to go. It was really nice seeing you again, Brothers." Ironhide says.
"My flight slot is later tonight, so I'll stay behind." Nitro says.
"No more FUIs."
Nitro grins. "Why not? It's always entertaining to go mach 2+ when intoxicated." Ironhide glares at him, and Nitro punches his shoulder playfully. "I'm kidding, Dad."
Ironhide rolls his optics. "Bad joke, considering your last conviction. And stop calling me that."
"Unnecessary orders get silly answers, and you are behaving like a robochicken-papa."
"But you're not a chicken. I'd say you're more like a space-turkey."
Nitro barks a laugh. "I promise to behave, pops. But before you go, I need something to keep me all good and relaxed..." He turns to Dreadbot. "Get your aft over here." He barks. Dreadbot hurries to obey, getting grabbed and hoisted up as soon as he's within reach. Nitro smashes his back against the wall, grinding against him. "Need some pussy before you go, so I'll be good until I get home." Nitro grinds out.
"I've been wet since you walked into the room." Dreadbot purrs.
Barricade doesn't miss the victorious grin Dreadbot sends Starscream's way when Nitro slides inside and starts to fuck him.
Notes:
And for everyone who's curious about what happened between Dreadbot and Hatchet, there's another piece in this series now, called "What happens in Kaon..."
Chapter Text
"You've got the night off. I think you all earned it after such an intense trip."
"The fuck, Hide?" Blackout growls.
"The others will work in-house, you'll get some pussy."
"I can be yer personal li'l strumpet all night if ye wan', Daddy..." Crosshairs purrs, pressing his chest-plates against Hide.
Hide licks his lips, looking at Crosshairs' stuck out chest. "That's an offer I'm not going to decline."
"I just commed Nitro. He needs some company too tonight."
"Why do I even bother giving you nights off when you throw yourself into berth with someone anyway?" Hide grins.
"Because you are the best employer!" Dreadbot says enthusiastically. "I'm going to Nitro's room to wait for him."
Barricade catches the way Blackout is looking at him, but he pretends that he doesn't notice.
Does the bastard really think that he's going to offer? Just because half of their time together was rather decent? The other half was really unpleasant. And he has Jazz to slip into berth with. Which may actually not be a good thing for them, considering the others in the in-house crew offers to some of the Brothers even if they have the night off. It looks better outwardly. Even if they're doing it because they have crushes on the mechs in questions, there's a rather good chance that most of the Brothers are completely unaware. That he and Jazz sneaks off to be with each other doesn't seem nearly as service minded. But he's not going to invite Blackout now that they finally have some time for themselves...
"Snuggle in your berth?" He murmurs to Jazz.
"M-hm, sounds like a wonderful idea. N' I have a pack of Kaonian gels in my subspace — Soundwave gave 'em ta me — so we have some really good snacks too. They're so hard ta come by."
"I don't want to eat all your snacks for you. Hey, Maybe we could get Hide to import some? If Grindor sends them as a gift, he can avoid the import taxes." Barricade says, following Jazz towards his room.
"Maybe? We could double team him, n' ask nicely when he's all satisfied n' dopey."
"Sex really can get you anything." Barricade mutters, but he's really amused that Jazz has taken up the same modus operandi as the rest of the in-house crew to get things. "Do you think he would get us an organic potted plant?"
"A plant?!"
"Yeah. Some of them look kind of cool."
Jazz makes a thoughtful noise. "I guess there's no harm in askin'..."
They both plunk down on the berth, stretching out, wrapping their arms around each other.
"So how was your night?" Barricade asks, because they haven't had any time to talk about it."
"It wasn' bad. I was with Top Spin, he fucked me a coupl'a times, n' then he sent me off ta recharge in a berth in tha pleasurebot dorm."
"Doesn't sound too bad."
"I mean, Top Spin wasn' great, but I got an overload outta it, n' then some decent recharge, so it could've been a lot worse. How was your night?"
How was his night, if he thinks carefully about it?
Chapter Text
"I could handle it. It wasn't fun to be the center of attention in that way, but I managed to get through it."
"Yeah, from what I saw, ya did what ya could."
Barricade steels himself for what he needs to say next. He doesn't want to ruin this moment, but procrastinating won't do them any good in the long run.
"We need to talk about the way we talk to each other."
"Whadd'ya mean?"
"We called each other out on some prejudice yesterday — which I think is a good thing — but we really ended those conversations on a bad note. If something happens to one of us, it's always bad if the last conversation we have is ended with us being annoyed with each other."
"I guess... But, I mean, we do some fucking in tha house, what would happen ta us?"
"I... You never know. It could be a raid, and one of us gets mixed up in something, or just... Accidents happen. Or just a sudden spark failure or something."
The last might very well happen when Blackout is playing his fucking games. The bastard.
"Yeah..." Jazz says thoughtfully. "I guess ya're right. N' it really wasn' for good reasons either. Why should we be annoyed with each other for some mechs we don' even know?"
"I agree. I still think we should tell each other when one of us says something about someone that they don't deserve, but we shouldn't be upset with each other about it. I'm sure we both have some things we think and say that aren't thought through. Like how I don't find fat mechs attractive; it's fine to think that way, but it's not okay to use it as a slur."
Jazz nods. "So... Hatchet?" He seems to fight to not make a face.
"I don't know. It's not like I know him, or he was fantastically better than the others who lined up and fucked me. His spike was nice, and I did overload. I guess you should ask Dreadbot if you're curious. I think he gave Hatchet a lesson. Dreadbot looked like a puddle when he was returned to Nitro..."
"Ooh, and all tha drama! I'm glad Nitro chose Dreadbot in the end."
"From what I heard, it wasn't ever a competition. Dreadbot had gotten it all the wrong way around."
Jazz makes a happy squeaking noise. "I'm so happy for him! I wonder if he really is jus' waitin' for Nitro, or if he's settin' up this romantic night? Ya know, puttin' some of those floatin' bioluminescent crystals in tha hut tub, n' oil lamps all around tha washracks, n' flute glasses with some fizzy energon..."
"Do you think Nitro is into that?"
He does seem rather indulgent with Dreadbot, but the picture Jazz is painting clashes so badly with Nitro's image. He seems much more likely to want that pirate ship again.
"I have no idea. I kind of hope so, 'cause it's such a lovely scenario. N' then they make some sweet love on his berth."
This sounds very detailed for something Jazz is just cooking up now...
"Is this something you would like?"
"I don' know. Nobody ever did it for me. It would be nice ta try it sometime though."
Maybe he could convince one of the Brothers to let him borrow their tub and berth at some point? It would be kind of fun to see how Jazz would react if does all this as a surprise.
Chapter Text
"Have you ever done spark-play?" Barricade asks nervously.
"Jus' some touchin'. No merge or anythin'. Too afraid I'd accidentally cause a bond."
"Did you like the touching?"
"Yeah, I kind of did. It was with my first mech-friend, ya know, tha guy who got me off tha streets. We did some touchin' each other's spark, but nothin' more than that. I did trust him, so it wasn' scary. Plus, I was young n' naive, so I guess that helped." Jazz gives him a small smile. "Why?"
"I tried it for the first time the other day, and I really would've wanted you to be the first."
Not that he had much say in the trying part...
"Oh. I'm kinda honored, but I don' mind that ya've done it with someone else before."
"I'm glad to hear that. I was kind of thinking though... About merging? What if someone asks for that? And I've never done it, and I'd be giving it away to someone else than you."
"I've never thought 'bout it ta be honest. I've never been asked for it, n' I guess I kinda jus' figured nobody would wanna do a merge, considerin' tha risk of bondin' n' stuff."
"Yeah, I do get your point, but I did some searchin' on the data net, and from what I found, it's quite possible to do it without bonding."
"Isn't that really hard though? Ya'd need great control ta pull it off, n' it's still risky..."
"From what I've found, it seems like it isn't as hard as it's made out to be. And there are devices to plug into your systems to help you notice if you're getting too deep into it to help you keep from creating a bond, so we could try it together."
"Oh."
Barricade's spark feels a bit cold at the short answer.
That doesn't exactly sound promising.
"I mean, we don't have to, of course. And I don't take it lightly, I want to do it in a safe way, so we know where we're going with it."
"M-hm."
Jazz offlines his visor, face unreadable.
Barricade waits for what feels like eternity, but Jazz doesn't say anything more, and eventually, Barricade can't take the silence.
"Did I say something wrong?"
"I dunno... I jus' thought that when someone asked me ta merge, it would be a proposal for a bondin'. Not a description of how it can be done without creatin' a bond."
Barricade just stares at Jazz for long seconds, speechless.
Oh, fuck! Jazz basically told him a romantic fantasy just seconds ago, of course this could be interpreted as if he just wants to get under Jazz's plating. He was just trying to make sure to not put any pressure into it, but Jazz probably was hoping for a romantic proposal, and...
"It's not that I don't want to bond with you, but do you really think we're ready for that?" He says nervously, because Barricade certainly doesn't feel ready.
"Mebbe not..."
"I always pictured bonding... Well, I never imagined myself getting bonded, really, but I always thought it was something mechs would do when they have stability in their life. I mean, I'm not even voted in here permanently, and we both saw how strained everything got when I moved out the last time. I don't know how a bond would've affected that."
"Maybe a bond would've helped us through that?"
"Perhaps..."
Probably not.
"Are we even allowed to bond?" Barricade strokes Jazz's arm with his digits. "I didn't mean for it to come out like I'm not interested in bonding with you. I just thought — especially with the tech available — that a merge may be requested at some point, and I want my first time to mean something, and that's with you."
Chapter Text
"Yeah..." Jazz sounds thoughtful. "I guess I kinda got a li'l wrapped up in tha romantic fantasy."
"Nothing wrong with that. I just think we will do better when we have a more stable situation. I'm pretty sure I have votes enough to get to stay, but I want to be sure. Far too many mechs bond when they have spark-lit optics, and then the trouble begins." Barricade rolls over on his back to stare at the ceiling. "I wonder if that happened to my Carrier?" He muses out loud. "I think he was bonded to my Stepsire, but I'm not sure."
"Where is your Carrier?"
"I don't know. Last time I spoke to him, he made it abundantly clear that he didn't want anything to do with me. He was conjuxed to some politician in Staniz, but considering his track record, the odds are they got divorced by now."
"Oh. I guess I can see why ya're a bit apprehensive 'bout bondin'."
"I... never thought about it that way, but maybe you're right. I didn't want to push you into a merge if you don't want to. I just wanted you to have another one of my firsts. Too many have been taken in situations I didn't want."
"Raincheck taday, n' we look inta these tech thingies ya were talkin' 'bout?"
"Sounds like a good idea." Barricade says, wrapping his arms around Jazz again, feeling like it's the right place to end this discussion.
"So, bioluminescent crystals, and oil lamps?"
Jazz gives him a sheepish smile. "Maybe it isn't just Knock Out who enjoys sappy movies?"
Barricade grins. "Well, I can't whisk you away to my big mansion, and I don't have any oil lamps in my subspace, but I can offer some lovemaking..." He nips at Jazz's chest-plates, immediately soothing the plating with a kiss.
"Ya better make up for that lack of oil lamps then." Jazz snickers, but he's already arching into Barricade's ministrations.
Barricade kisses and nibbles his way down Jazz's abdominal plating to his interface panel — Jazz reinstalled it for their trip to Kaon, and he has been using it more and more at home too — lapping at it.
"So what is your preference for the day, your highness?"
"Mmm, I think I want your spike ta begin with. After ya've had a healthy servin' of my pussy."
Barricade almost snort at that. "As you wish."
Chapter Text
"These nights are the best." Barricade mumbles against Jazz's chest-plates.
His helm is resting on Jazz's shoulder, his arm wrapped around the Solstice's midsection.
They really are. It's good to see Jazz every day, and spend the days with him, but there's nothing like falling into recharge tangled together. Unfortunately, it's a rather rare occurrence with their work schedules.
Jazz hums in agreement. "Yeah, this is really nice." He mumbles after such a long pays, Barricade thought he had fallen into recharge.
Maybe he did, and woke up by the talking?
"I wish we could do this more often."
"Yeah, but that's jus' not in tha cards. We can always make tha most of out mornings together, n' enjoy tha hell outta tha night we do get."
"I fully agree."
Even if it would be even nicer to get more of these nights. That was probably the only thing better in Grindor's house; the pleasurebots were expected to return to their own berths when the brothers were done with them. But on the other servo, they'd have to share a bunk in a dorm, and not a rather comfortable — and generously sized, at least for them — in a private room. Yeah, things definitely could me worse.
"Were you always such a romantic?"
"I don' think so? I never thought much 'bout those things in tha terms of it bein' done for me, but I always enjoyed a romantic movie now n' then. It doesn' hafta be extremely elaborate, or expensive, n' a full night out ta make me go sappy over tha things in tha movie. It's tha thought that matters. Like a pack of somethin' nice ta eat, some cozy lights, maybe a drink, n' just enjoyin' each other's company. I do like tha cozy lights, though, they're important. Tha characters softly lit, jus' talkin' n' gigglin'..."
"I think that sounds like something nice for reality too."
It sounds like Jazz is playing it down a bit, but even a little more than the basics shouldn't be too hard to set up.
"Yeah..." Jazz mumbles, then his vents even out as he slips into recharge, the discussion clearly over for now. Barricade gets the request for initiating his own recharge as a pop-up in his HUD, but he snoozes the request.
He wants to enjoy this for a little bit longer, even if he is tired to the struts after the stressful day and long night in Kaon. He pointedly avoids to think about what happened with Blackout, because he doesn't want to ruin his good mood.
Right now, it feels like he has made a really good deal to stay here, and he wants to keep it that way, doesn't want to think about what he has to endure at some points. It's worth it for these moments, but only if he can avoid letting the bad parts sully the good parts.
Chapter Text
Sadly, nights off ends, and regular nights take their place. They've o ky been back from Kaon for a few nights when Motormaster — the last Brother for Barricade to try — grabs him and drags him to his room.
Barricade has never thought about it before, but when morning finally arrives, he's kind of glad that Cybertronians can decide to erase memories. It's not something done lightly — of course not, erasing a memory will impact how one reacts to things in the future, and may make a mech do the same mistakes again — but sometimes, it does serve a purpose; if he didn't do it, he'd probably leave again — no job, and no security net be damned — and this time, he wouldn't be allowed to come back.
Where's Blackout, and his mind tricks, and rape games when you need him?
The whole pouring low grade into him may have been a confusingly degrading yet still pleasurable experience enough — fullness and the bubbles teasing his sensors, while knowing how he was being used for Motormaster's pleasure in a rather gross way — but the whole fucking it out of him business was anything but pleasant.
And here he thought he was getting used to mechs trying to humiliate him and didn't really let it get to him anymore.
Perversely, he can't stop himself from reviewing it one more time before he presses the erase button.
It doesn't feel better watching it this time.
Barricade makes notes to not only ask for some acting tips on how to change his field at will, but also on how to not let more kinky stuff get to him.
Surely, the others can't just be numbed enough to just not think anything of it, that it's just another day on the job for them? They have to have some trick on how to deal with it in the situation, some way to zone out, or retreat into themselves, and work on some kind of automation.
He adds a note to say that he has been with Motormaster, because if he erases the memory, he won't know why he wrote this note.
It's such a hassle to erase memories, even if it feels convenient at first glance. But he really doesn't want this particular memory to show up in a dream. Or nightmare.
The memory plays the gross and weird feeling of the liquid welling out with every pullout of Motormaster's spike, and Barricade shudders with disgust.
Yeah, being able to erase memories is kind of a blessing.
Chapter Text
"I don' know why ye're all so whiny 'bout it." Crosshairs sounds as if he thinks they're all ridiculous.
"Well, me neither, since I erased the memory. But I guess I will know the next time, because he'll ask for it again, I presume?" Barricade says.
"It's just gross! How hard can that be to understand. I mean, I have the maintenance hose like everyone else here, so it's not like I know what it feels like to drain my oil through the port, but there's still some rudimentary coding that instinctually tells me I am doing just that, and it feels wrong, and unsexy, and just... Ugh." Dreadbot takes the side Barricade knows he's on, but he can't say why anymore.
"But it does feel nice while i's in there! Ye know, the way it kind of tingles, an' the fullness..."
"Yeah, that just doesn't make up for when it's going out." Knock Out agrees.
"Well, maybe tha' part is a bit weird, I can give ye all tha'."
Bumblebee gags, and this time, he doesn't need words to get the message through to the others, everyone nods, understanding perfectly.
"You all know my stance on this." Hot Rod says, shrugging.
"What about you, Jazz?" Barricade asks. "And please don't say 'Ive had worse.' Sexual slavery isn't a good measuring stick for your employment."
"Dangit, babe, ya stole my words!" Jazz says, but it only sounds like a half-joke.
"He's right, though. You really need to start thinking about how you can make your conditions better for yourself. If we all band together, we have a good point for negotiating our terms." Dreadbot says.
"I don' particularly enjoy it, but I can stand it as a job. It usually doesn' last long anyway."
"Maybe we could convince Hide that only mechs who don't mind have to do it?" Knock Out muses.
"I like the sound of that! Between is all, we could easily split all the kinkier stuff and keep the Bros happy, while not having to do the stuff we really hate. Well, except Roddy, but we can't do much for you there, honey." Dreadbot says. "See, if we all band together in this, we have leverage for negotiating. So then it would be Crosshairs, Jazz and Drift who'd be available for that."
::We don't know what Drift thinks about it.:: Bumblebee comms them all.
"Who gives a shit?!" Dreadbot says heatedly.
"'e'll jus' 'ave te suck it up, an' take it." Crosshairs says at the same time.
So, still on the shit list. Wow. The Pit hath no fury like an in-house pleasurebot scorned.
"I feel like I don't really have any leverage. I mean, I haven't been voted in yet."
"If you break a strike — if we strike — we'll sand you raw and piss on you." Dreadbot says heatedly.
Barricade works his intake, speechless.
"I'm kidding. I think. But you know what, I think you'd still be safe. If we all walk out of here, at least Motormaster and Blackout would go to jail for rape in a week or so, when their servos are getting chafed, and they go for some regular civilian. They have too poor an understanding of consent. They can't afford to lose more Brothers right now, and they know it."
"Where would we go? An' whadd'bout credits?" Crosshairs asks. "An' cock?"
Dreadbot rolls his optics. "We'll set you up with some cock, and make some credits at the same time." He rubs his chin. "No, but seriously, I think we should start a mutual savings account. Everyone chips in with just a little of their pay, and if we need to strike as leverage in a negotiation, we'll have funds to stay somewhere, and get fuel and stuff while on a strike."
Crosshairs opens his mouth.
"Just bring a few of your toys, and I'm certain someone here wouldn't mind fucking you."
"This sounds so tedious when all we need te do is suck Hide's spike real good, an' then ask fer wha' we want." Crosshairs says.
"I know you like how his spike tastes, but this is for the negotiations when he might say no."
"That 'as never 'appened so far."
"That's true. But just in case..."
"Ye know Hide would send Nitro te negotiate with ye. It would fall fla'.'
"Shut up!"
Chapter Text
The interest in a union isn't big enough to go anywhere; Crosshairs doesn't see the point, but Know Out is all in. For Hot Rod, things would just get marginally better, so he doesn't see the point either. Bumblebee seems a bit interested, but since Dreadbot just seem unable to bring himself to be democratic enough to let Drift join them, the black and yellow mech opts out. Jazz is too stuck with that he has had worse — and some sort of thankfulness to the Brothers for getting him out of there, and offering him a good job — to want to do something like that.
It's such a pity. They really need to talk more about that, Jazz should value himself, and what he does more.
Barricade himself would really want to join the union, but he's still not permanently employed, and it may be a negative factor, especially since they're just three who wants to join.
"At least negotiate your contract when you get voted in." Dreadbot says to him.
"Uhm, sure... Though, I need to be voted in first."
He has no idea what to bargain for, or what the contract will look like. If he gets voted in.
"Of course you'll be voted in. Everyone seems happy with you so far. Blackout certainly has a thing for you..." Dreadbot leers.
Barricade can't stop himself from making a face. "Yeah..." He's still ambivalent about the bastard Helo.
On one servo, they did have some fun in Kaon. On the other servo, Blackout is still a sadistic aft. He's good in berth, though. When he isn't scaring the living daylights out of his victim. And then he tips well.
"Well, I recognize that feeling." Dreadbot says. "I'm pretty sure you'll get voted in, though. And if it's not in the contract, you should negotiate that you're not on call at all hours. You do your street work, or a party, but you are not required to always be available. That's optional on your part."
Right. Street work. He had almost forgotten what his employment will entail, that it will be different. But then again, he won't have to interface with Motormaster, or Blackout again...
"Do I get tips if I do go along with what they ask for."
"You can always negotiate that if you want to. How do the rest of you do it?"
"I mostly don't. I was aiming for in-house, so I was hoping I'd score points by giving it out for free." Knock Out says.
"I actually don't either. It's not that often they ask me anyway, and those who do usually tips me without a negotiation." Hot Rod says.
::I do it sometimes. Depending on what they want.:: Bumblebee comms them.
So he could go along with Motormaster's gross kink, negotiating a really nice tip every time, and then just erase the memory...
Chapter Text
Every time the Brothers are having a meeting — which is about every other day for the shorter ones, and every Wednesday they hold a longer one — Barricade is a mess of nerves.
They may be voting about him. It should be time, right? Maybe he should just tell them to get it over with? Pull the patch off quickly or something.
It messes with his recharge cycle, because he knows that they have their meetings before noon, and that makes him wake up early. He trundles off to Jazz's room, but since Jazz was voted in-house, he rarely is there in the morning, like he was when he worked the streets.
Barricade doesn't have the spark to comm him, and wake him up, not just for his own problems. Jazz is on duty all the time now, and when the Brothers have a meeting, that's the best time to catch some shut-eye.
This morning, he's in luck; Jazz is indeed stretched out on his berth. Barricade crawls onto the berth as quietly as he can, not wanting to wake his lover up.
"Mornin'." Jazz mumbles, scooting a little to the side.
"Good morning."
Barricade stretches out next to him, wrapping an arm around Jazz's midsection. Jazz scoots closer, pressing against him.
"What has ya so nervous."
"The vote. I don't know when it's going to happen. But let's not talk about that right now. You need your beauty sleep."
"Ya'll be fine, of course ya'll get tha job!" Jazz murmurs, sounding halfway into recharge, stroking Barricade's arm encouragingly. "Are ya callin' me ugly?"
"No, just a bit unsightly." Barricade says, pressing his lip-plates together to stifle a grin.
Jazz makes an affronted noise, slapping Barricade's arm, and Barricade can't stop himself from laughing.
"No, babe, you're beautiful as ever. I don't want to keep you from recharging, though. You need to be well rested."
"I really am kinda tired."
"Then go back to recharge. I'll probably fall asleep soon too, and if I don't, I like watching you sleep."
"Tha's kinda creepy."
"What?! No! You're so cute when you recharge, and I just can't believe I'm so lucky, I get to sleep with someone so pretty."
"M-hm. Even though it's jus' sleepin'."
"Yes. I like cuddling up to you. Plus, I can always keep count of how much you drool in your sleep."
Jazz squeaks, visor flashing bright from the dim glow it had up until now. "I do not drool!"
"I think it's cute, and..."
"I don't drool!" Jazz insists vehemently.
"Whatever you say..."
Jazz starts to wipe his mouth with his wrist.
"I'm kidding babe! You don't drool. But even if you did, I'd just think it was cute." Barricade reassures him, but he can't keep himself from grinning.
"Asshole!" Jazz growls, slapping Barricade's arm again before slumping tiredly. He grins slowly, though, turning to Barricade. "Asshole." He says again, but this time, it sounds like an endearment.
"Your asshole."
"Tha sounds wrong." Jazz giggles.
"Yeah, that didn't come out right."
They both start laughing.
Chapter Text
It stirs something that almost could be called a commotion when Springer returns from wherever he has been in the afternoon. Barricade doesn't keep track exactly who's coming and going — he does sleep in to much to have a shot at that — but the other Brothers almost crowding the Vice President isn't the standard procedure.
Perhaps he had a paternity test too, like Blackout did at some point?
Then he realizes that they aren't really crowding Springer, but a mech following him. The usual raucous terms of endearment, and friendly slapping of plating is a giveaway for greeting a friend. Barricade tries to sneak a peek between all the heavy frames, but all he catches is more dark plating.
The cluster of mechs break up a bit, and just when Barricade is anticipating a glimpse of the new arrival, he's distracted distracted — bouncing on the couch with a startle, really — when Dreadbot squeals happily, waving like crazy. Since the Brothers seem to have done their greeting ritual, Dreadbot hurries over, wrapping an arm over Hatchet's withers.
"Welcome to Polyhex, handsome. Had a good trip?"
"It was decent." He looks Dreadbot up and down. "The arrival is better, though."
Dreadbot presses closer. "So are you having drinks, or do you have business first?"
Hatchet turns to Hide.
"Shots for everyone. I think we can take the time to greet our Brother properly before we get serious."
Nitro claps his servos. "Amen to that!"
Jazz nudges Barricade. "Come on, le's go look cute, n' help Crosshairs serve everyone. Even if it seem like there won't be any fuckin' yet."
Barricade nods, getting up and following Jazz to the bar. Dreadbot is still glued to Hatchet, and Crosshairs is handing out shot glasses as he fills them, flirting with everyone, but the Brothers are chatting with each other, clearly not set on getting laid right now.
"So, is this a vacation on your own, since you come all alone?" Dreadbot asks, voice silky, the glyghs chosen implying that Hatchet certainly won't need to feel lonely while he stays.
It seems like such an innocent question, but with the way Crosshairs seem to listen intently while still serving drinks makes Barricade certain that they're gathering intelligence.
"You could say that." Hatchet says slowly after a moment's silence, and a glance at Hide.
"Make sure you get some time to let us take good care of you." Dreadbot flashes Hatchet's a genuine smile, subtly sticking his chest out.
Hatchet's engine revs subtly, and two of his optics lock on Dreadbot's chest-plates. "I sure will."
::Ugh, I really don' wanna...:: Jazz comms Barricade. :I know we talked 'bout this, but it still freaks me out.::
::He doesn't seem bad. Maybe you should ask Dreadbot what he's like behind closed doors. He seemed happy enough in Kaon, when Hatchet returned him to Nitro.::
::Yeah, maybe I should.::
::You probably won't have to do it tonight anyway. I think Dreadbot will go for him.::
::Ya're right. But it looks better if I at least act interested.::
::I'm sure you can pull that off.::
He did back when they met.
Chapter Text
Barricade is up early for once — for being him — Blackout had an early morning boner as usual, and after that was dealt with, Barricade was unable to go back to recharge because he's still nervous about the vote.
Even if he gets the feeling that the Brothers are too busy to put much thought into the pleasurebots right now, and it may not be imminent.
He opts for some hot energon, and since nobody else is up yet, he sits on the couch in the rec room, instead of in the refueling room, with the less comfortable seats. Barricade is half-sparkedly looking at some vid clips on the self broadcasting app when Nitro Zeus walks through the door. Barricade stares at the Jet for long seconds, flabbergasted.
"What the actual fuck?" Barricade finally blurts. "What is that?!"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Yeah, I know what it is, but why?" Barricade stares at the wheelchair Nitro puts down, pushing it in front of him towards the stairs.
"It's for Dreadbot."
"What did you do to him?!" Barricade almost shrieks, spark speeding up. "The no damage rule..."
"I didn't damage him, you doofus." Nitro interrupts him.
"And yet he needs a wheelchair..."
"I tag teamed him with Hatchet last night, and Dreadbot was repeatedly saying that he would be unable to walk all day. Thought I might as well give him one of these. You know, since he has humor..."
Barricade can't even care about the jab, because it's just too weird and ridiculous.
"We don't have an elevator..." He says, seeing for his minds optics how going down the stairs in a wheelchair would end.
That actually sounds like something the Brothers would do for fun when they're drinking.
Nitro barks a laugh. "I can carry him downstairs while he's sitting in it." He easily lifts the chair with one servo to show his strength.
Why are they even discussing this? It's not like Dreadbot really is unable to walk, thankfully.
"So, those are issued on a statement of necessity..."
"Indeed." Nitro stops halfway up the stairs, turning to look at him.
"Am I going to see reports on the news about some poor handicapped mech getting robbed of his wheelchair?"
Nitro does his version of a grin, and it does look a bit dangerous. "Probably not."
Which could actually mean that the mech won't report it for some ugly reason.
"Do I even want to know?" Barricade mutters to himself.
"You really do. You're a curious little shit, and the cop in you desperately wants to know."
Barricade startles, because once again, he underestimated how sharp the Warframes' senses are. He didn't think Nitro would hear him.
"So, Officer... Is this interrogation over? Am I free to go help my poor little mech in distress?"
Barricade rolls his optics. "Yeah, you brute. You're free to go."
Chapter Text
"So from what information I managed to suck out of them, Hatchet is on kind of a loan out, since we're down two mechs here." Dreadbot says, sitting in his wheelchair in the refueling room.
"In other words, 'e's 'ere long term, if no' permanently." Crosshairs muses, sipping his heated energon.
"I think so. I haven't seen any prospects around for a long time, so initiating someone new won't happen in the near future. If the Kaon chapter has prospects, they could probably spare one mech for a long time, and since we need one..."
"'e any good?" Crosshairs asks suggestively.
"Taught him everything I know..." Dreadbot leers. "Well, maybe not everything, but enough. And I think he has been hard at practice since we saw him the last time."
Crosshairs cackles. "'ard at practice, good one!"
Barricade glances at Jazz.
::See? Dreadbot seems satisfied with the treatment he got...::
::I know. I jus'... I guess I jus' hafta throw myself into it, n' let him change my mind for me.::
::That... That sounds like a pretty good strategy, actually.::
::I'm an tactical genius when it comes ta...::
Whatever Jazz is about to say is lost when Bumblebee runs into the refueling room, beeping wildly.
"Bee! We don' understand when ye do it this quickly!"
::Sorry, I just... Have you guys seen the news?::
"No...?"
::Apparently they moved the transfer date for Sunny..."
"What?! He wasn't supposed to be taken to jail until next week!" Dreadbot sounds pissed off.
::Yeah, but apparently they did move the date until today...::
"The fuckin' reporters are coverin' 'is transfer? Fuckin' nosey glitches." Crosshairs spits.
::Could you just let me finish?!::
"Oh. Sorry." Dreadbot says, actually sounding a bit repentant.
::They weren't covering his transfer, because Enforcement kept a lid on the change of date. The news are covering the aftermath of the heist.::
"The heist?"
::The transport was attacked. It's still patchy with the details about it, but apparently, Enforcement was completely overwhelmed by the ambush. Sunny is free. Come on, everyone else is gathered in the rec room, watching the broadcast.::
Chapter Text
Bumblebee wasn't kidding when he said that everyone was gathered in the rec room; the Brothers are all there, as well as the other pleasurebots.
Barricade turns to the the projection everyone is watching. He never noticed the holo projector on the ceiling, so either it's new, or it just hasn't been used when he's present up until now. It doesn't take long of watching the footage from the airborne news mech to see why grounders may not use it much: it's very unsettling with the three dimension imagery, almost feels like he's flying himself, and that's just not meant to happens.
To curb the almost vertigo feeling, Barricade focuses on what's actually happening on the screen.
It looks like a battle zone.
The transport has been tipped over, and it almost looks as if someone has torn a hole in the side of it. The road is full of craters, and medics are still working on stabilizing some of the Enforcers for transport to the hospital.
It cuts to footage that seems to be from a dash cam.
*We have managed to get some of the available footage from the hit. The assailants are still at large, and Enforcement urge the public to come forward if you know any of these mechs. The thumbnail photo is of the dangerous criminal that was freed.*
Barricade notes that it sounds like the same reporter as the last time Sunstreaker was on the news.
The projection shows the two Enforcement vehicles — the heavy utility vehicles that are typical alt modes of SWAT — that are leading the convoy suddenly transforms to root mode, turning on the transport, firing cannons on the road to make an effective block. Everything turns chaotic, and the dash cam has a very limited view, but Barricade thinks he can hear a Rotary mech with a powerful engine landing somewhere out of sight.
The mechs who were obviously just disguised as Enforcement are vaguely familiar. Familiar enough for him to recognize Crankcase and Crowbar, but still different enough to make a positive ID difficult.
"They're going to get a ton of tips about me. I look similar enough to them." Hatchet says.
"Good thing you were gardening with us all morning then." Ironhide says.
"Gardening." Barricade says flatly, turning to the Brothers in disbelief. "You were gardening?"
"Well, we have a garden, and it needs to be maintained to not start looking like scrap." Roadbuster says, shrugging.
Springer is trying to stifle a grin.
"The garden already looks like scrap." Barricade says.
The organic plants are dead, the crystals are dead too, and slowly eroding, the ground is scorched and full of tire tracks, and it's just not maintained at all.
"Even better reason to get on top of it. I've removed loads of wild crystals by the fence, now we can place some good looking ones there instead." Blackout says.
"I just ordered a few of those sponge trees from Betelgeuse 15. And substrate to plant them in. Thought we could replace the dead plants." Ironhide tells them all.
"Can we actually harvest sponges from them?" Nitro sounds interested.
"I think they need good substrate to bear sponges, and only part of the year, but yes, we should be able to do that." Ironhide says.
Oh, Primus...
"You were all gardening." Barricade says again, still incredulous.
"Why, yes, it was a lovely morning for it, so why not?" Blackout challenges him, because of course he would. "Had a nice chat with the neighbors too, got some really good advice on what crystals to get for ground coverage in the crystal bed I was fixing."
A tiny lightbulb in Barricade's processor suddenly gets lit up.
They were creating perfect alibis.
Chapter Text
The news broadcast continue, and Barricade's tank makes a free fall when they announce that three of the Enforcers didn't make it: one offlined on the scene, and two gave up on the hospital despite the efforts of the medics. The Brothers are still discussing the garden, nobody batting an optic at the casualties.
Like a letter in the mail, law enforcement shows up at the door. The Brothers simultaneously rises from their seats, casually walking outside with their servos in the air. The pleasurebots follow their example.
"I think we can clear this up rather fast. You don't even have to take us to the station this time." Springer says.
"That's not for you to decide." One of the Enforcers snarls.
The cops slowly come closer, guns drawn. This time, Barricade doesn't feel as apprehensive, because with three mechs lost, the cops won't be interested in nailing him for petty things and throwing him into jail again. The relief brings guilt as a side order, the cause of why he's safe leaving a bad taste on his glossa.
"You," one of them points at Blackout with his gun, "and you," he points at Dreadbot too, "and you," the barrel of his gun fixates on Hatchet, "servos against that wall."
"Why is it always me?" Blackout sneers.
"Because you pretty much match the description of one of the assailants."
"If you check the memory stick I have in my servo, you'll know that I'm innocent." He waggles his digits to show the memory stick he's holding kind of like a cygar.
The Enforcer immediately backs up. "Call in the bomb squad!" He yells to the others, voice high pitched with fear.
"For fucks sake, of I wanted to kill you all in a very obvious way in the garden, with the entire street as witnesses, I'd just gun you down and be done with it." Blackout says, an optic roll audible in his voice. He still places his servos against the wall, lining up with the other two neatly, and obediently.
"My condolences for your fallen comrades, captain." Ironhide says to one of the Enforcers.
"Don't you dare mock the like that! You lot of all mechs have no place to give condolences for them." The mech hisses.
"We have all lost many friends and comrades in battle. It's always a pity when someone lose their life in the line of duty."
"They would still be online if it wasn't for you people! I'm sure you had something to do with this... this act of terrorism."
"I'm fairly certain that this isn't counted as terrorism. But let's not go into semantics. Blackout over there has a memory stick with the footage from our security cameras. You will see that we've spent the morning in the garden."
The Enforcer makes a face, optics dimming in suspicion.
"When we heard about the attack, we figured we might as well get that footage. We knew we'd be suspected immediately." Springer fills in.
"I need to get down, I can't stand like this any longer." Hatchet says.
"I find it hard to believe that a Warframe doesn't have better stamina than that." One of the Enforcers guarding the trio up against the wall sneers.
"I'm not made for standing like this..."
"Boo-hoo, then you shouldn't associatiate with criminals."
"He's a four peder, you du..." Dreadbot catches himself before saying something bad. "You protector of civilians. Civilians like him, who can't stand like this without potentially damaging his hydraulics."
Barricade focuses in on a movement by the fence. An old mech comes up to it — the neighbor, apparently, since he's in the yard next to theirs — and one of the Enforcers goes to meet him.
"Sir, you should go back inside."
"What's all this about?"
"They're suspected of an armed attack, and freeing a prisoner this morning."
"They have been here all morning. They're finally getting around to fix the yard. We talked about different kinds living crystals, and the big Rotary you have up against the wall at gunpoint helped me get my grandkids off to school. They're always trying to refuse, and I'm just too old to really be able to handle them. He backed me up, and they trotted off nicely."
"They're not all sweet and innocent."
"But this time, they are. And they've never caused me any troubles. In fact, the attempted burglaries I had here every other week stopped shortly after they moved in. They're just a bunch of veterans trying to get by in this world, and you Sir, are a presumptuous racist."
Chapter Text
Barricade looks around, and notices the bystanders in the street, pushed back by a few officers to keep their distance.
They don't seem gleeful, like they're happy about the raid, and that the Brothers are once again possibly being apprehended. More curious, and more than one is actually glaring at the Enforcers. But that could just be because they're held back from coming closer to quench their curiosity.
Hatchet has finally been let down, and ordered to lay down on the ground instead. He is laying with his legs folded in, and his arms stretched out in front of him, resting his helm on his arms, just like a cyberhound might do. The Enforcers are throwing uneasy glances at him, clearly a bit discomposed by his appearance.
How rude.
"Place the memory stick on the ground and go to stand against the wall over there instead." Blackout is ordered when the bomb squad shows up.
"This is the last time we do this your way, Hide. Next time we do it my way instead." Blackout says. "Fat lot of good it did us to have evidence of our innocence ready to get out of having guns of trigger-happy mechs pointed at us again."
The Enforcers doesn't seem to understand, luckily enough, because the threat in Blackout's statement is loud and clear for anyone who knows Blackout the slightest.
It would be a pity if he was sent away for threatening the officers after going through great lengths to stay out of jail. Then again, Blackout is clever, he wouldn't say anything they can really stick to him and have him convicted for.
"Yeah, you could at least let Dreadbot go. He's clearly too small to be one of the mechs, even if his face-plates vaguely resembles them. Plus he has no gun mounts whatsoever, and no internal guns." Ironhide says, nodding to Dreadbot who has been ushered away from the data stick.
"I guess they've seen some of my pin-ups and want to take the chance to cop a feel." Dreadbot says, earning a round of laughter from the Brothers and the pleasurebots. "Sure, I was a little cuter back then, but maybe you lot want to live a bit dangerously? Oh, that's right! Many of you want to be relieved of your power in the berth, I've heard, want to be dominated a bit." He makes a whip noise. "I'm sorry, but I'm not interested. The whole appeal of mecha with Enforcement signs disappeared around the fourth time my friends had guns pointed at them simply because of the way they were created."
"This is just a data stick." The mech from the bomb squad calls out.
Barricade can't help but roll his optics.
"You could have saved time and tax payers' credits by listening to me." Blackout grouses.
The Enforcers ignore him, plugging the stick into a data pad.
Chapter Text
"You're new. Designation?" One of the Enforcers ask Hatchet as they reluctantly let him get up from the ground.
"Hatchet. I'll send you all my paperwork. I'm here on a permit of temporary residence."
"Where are you from?"
"I live in Kaon."
The Enforcer doesn't quite manage to hide a sneer. "So is this a vacation, or are you planning on filing for permanent residence?"
"You never know. If I like it here, I might stay."
"You do know that you will need an employment to get a permit to stay permanently."
"Yes. I'm sure I can figure something out. My Brothers can help me."
"Of course. Your Brothers. How does that work?"
"We came from the same assembly line. Just different batches, I guess you could say."
"His paperwork checks out. Everything is in order." One of the other Enforcers say. "We need to go, this lot is a waste of time."
"I'm sure they're involved somehow."
"Perhaps, but we need to find the assailants before we can find proof of that."
"I guess you're right..." The Enforcer says, still staring at Hatchet with poorly veiled hostility for long seconds.
Then they finally pack up and leave, and it's such a relief that he hasn't really been noticed.
Maybe they understand that he won't have any vital information anyway?
"Are you bots alright in there?" The neighbor calls out to them.
"We're fine. It's not the first time we have to deal with the Enforcers. Thanks for asking." Springer calls back.
"Well, I'd say it's a bunch of scrap, the way they're here every other week, waving their guns around, harassing you.
"I guess they're just doing their jobs." Springer says diplomatically.
Well, where were they when the neighborhood was getting run down with drug dealers, and robberies and burglaries were everyday business? Wasn't that their jobs too?" The old mech says heatedly.
"I... I have no good answer." Springer says.
"Thank you for telling them that you saw us this morning." Ironhide says.
"If course I would tell them! They come here, waving their guns even though you're cooperating, when they could just ask questions politely, like they would any other mech. You know, I lived in Vos for many years way back when, and as a ground frame, I've seen my fair share of prejudice. What they're doing ain't right. There's no reason to treat you like that just because you're Warframes."
"It would be nice to not always be asked questions at gun point." Nitro says.
"You know what, I'm making lithium cookies. I'll go fetch you a bag. You Bots probably need something sweet to wind down your nerves. Wait here." The mech says, walking back to his house.
"I like this guy." Nitro says, indicating the mech with a helm jerk.
"Yeah. Let's offer to help him if he ever needs some heavy lifting done or something." Springer says.
Chapter Text
The good thing about Sunny's escape — at least from Barricade's point of view, he hardly knew the mech after all — is that it's a good distraction from trivial things like the vote about his future in the house. The Brothers are rather preoccupied, even if he isn't certain what they're doing, and either the holoprojector or the TV seems to be running constantly on the news channel.
Even though the Brothers probably know what's going on, and get their information from other sources. At least it serves as a distraction for him too.
No sightings of Sunstreaker has been reported as far as he knows, but it's not certain that enforcement would give that information to the press, so that doesn't really say much.
The golden mech could be hunkered down in Grindor's house, not leaving the building to keep hidden. Or they're still traveling there. The Brothers are used to camping outside for stretches of time, they may be traveling by foot, in the dark, to keep from prying optics.
He's sitting in the rec room, watching another news broadcast — even though they're talking less and less about Sunstreaker's escape by now, with no new leads or details from the police, the reports find new things to dissect — when Ironhide comes down the stairs.
"Barricade, can I talk to you?"
"Sure."
His spark spins wildly in his chest when he follows the massive mech upstairs to the conference room where he was interrogated once before. Ironhide takes a seat, and Barricade follows his example, sitting across the table. He feels ridiculous, because the table and the chairs are made for Warframes, and he's too small to sit comfortably there. He can put his arms on the table, but he has to strain his shoulders to do so. Instead, he rests his servos in his lap, feeling ridiculous with hardly more than his helm reaching above the tabletop.
"We've had a discussion about you, Barricade, and we've come to a conclusion. Even if you started out very reluctant, and didn't really put some effort into your work, you've come around in leaps and bounds. Furthermore, your relationship with Jazz has not turned out to be a problem, which we were concerned with initially. Therefore, we've come to the conclusion that we can offer you a job."
Ironhide pushes a data pad across the table to him, and Barricade slowly takes it with trembling digits.
It's a contract on there, stating the terms of his employment: the rent, and what else is granted him, how much he gets to keep, everything except exactly what his work entails. Entertainment is a rather vague term.
But then again, he is allowed legally to sell his frame, but the Brothers are not allowed to provide security.
"The official story for this contract is that you entertain us. If you want to sell your frame on the streets, that's up to you. I'm sure you can see the benefits of this versus being on your own and doing it."
"I do."
"It's ridiculous, really, I can't hire you for the street walking, but you can sell yourself, and if something happens, we just happen to be around to help you out."
It is kind of ridiculous when put that way, but he's fairly certain that the law is to protect mecha from being treated like Jazz and that shuttle he tried to... well, rob, really.
"So, how many... business transactions do I need to make each day?
"Depends on what you do, we don't have a daily quota per see. I want you to bring in at least four thousand credits each month, that would average two customers a day on a five day work week. Anything above that, you get twenty percent in commission, and fifty percent goes to your disability-fund. That means that if you need to take time off a month when you haven't earned enough yet, you have that as backup for the rent and medical. If you've earned what you need before the month is over, and you don't want the extra money, you can schedule time off."
Chapter Text
"When do I start working the streets?"
"Tonight. One of the mechs handling security will call you later and give you the time. Wednesday are usually medium busy, with mecha celebrating little Saturday, that half the week is over, so you should have a fairly easy start."
Barricade nods slowly.
Fairly easy. As if selling his frame to a total stranger will ever be easy. He did manage in Kaon, but somehow it felt different when it was mechs his friends know than some random mech on the street.
"May I suggest that you remove your stickers? At least until you're getting more known by both the locals and the more regular customers. Looking too much like a real Enforcer may spook them and make it harder for you to reel them in."
"I guess you're right... So, what about a room for me?"
"It's up to you and Jazz to decide if you want to share, or if you want separate rooms. There are some old furniture in the storage, Crosshairs can show you. You can take what you need there. I think there's a bigger berth too, if you decide to move in together and you feel like you need one. If you decide to share room, there's a bigger one still available further down the hallway. It's still not renovated, but it's livable."
"I'm sure it's better than the cell in solitary." Barricade blurts, slightly overwhelmed, and getting nervous about the evening.
Ironhide laughs. "I dare to promise that it is."
They lapse into silence while Barricade wraps his helm around everything. He kind of hoped for this — hope with a lacing of dread for what it will entail — and now that it's happening, he feels a bit gobsmacked.
"If that's all, and you don't have any more questions, all you need to do is sign the contract."
"I'm not on call at all hours, am I?"
"No, but you're always free to take someone up on a proposition. Don't do it outside the house, though. We can't guarantee your safety if you work after hours so to speak."
"That's not going to happen."
"Good. Then we have an agreement."
Barricade nods slowly, then he plugs into the data pad to put his ID in the signature attachment. It holds a weight of seriousness omwhen the file slots into place, and his spark makes a few quick revolutions.
"Great. I'll send a note to your parole officer that you're permanently employed."
"Thanks." Barricade hands the data pad back. He waits a few seconds before rising from his seat to not look as if he's fleeing.
"Welcome to the house."
"Thank you."
"Go talk to Jazz, decide about your recharging arrangements. Then comm Crosshairs, he'll show you the storage unit with the furniture. If there's something else you need that you can't find there, you can put in a request, send it to Roadbuster if that's the case."
"I will. Uhm, about tonight? How do I handle payments and stuff?"
"Security will give you the information, and the equipment you need before you hit the streets."
Barricade nods, tank rolling a bit uneasily.
Things he need for prostitution.
Chapter Text
"Have you got a second?" Barricade asks as soon as he meets Jazz in the rec room.
"For ya, babe? Of course I do!" Jazz says sweetly, offlining half his visor in a flirty wink.
Barricade can't help but smile, bit then he turns serious again, spark doing a nervous flip. "I got the job." Barricade says quietly, and then he wonders why. No brothers are present, and even if they were, they already know. The pleasurebots will know too the second he's rounded up for work tonight, and the in-house crew may already know.
"Congratulations, babe! Though I must say i never expected anythin' else."
"Thank you. You know, Ironhide said we could decide out recharging arrangements ourselves. We could either have separate rooms, or we're allowed to move into a bigger room together if we want to..."
Now that's a part he doesn't want everyone to hear. Of course he wants to share a room with Jazz, but he isn't sure what Jazz will want, especially not after the talk about spark merges, and bonding. They haven't spoken about it since, and moving in may be a step Jazz doesn't feel ready for.
"Oh. That's neat..."
"I mean, we don't have to move in together. And I'm sure the option still stands if we decide to do it at a later date..."
"Yeah, no, I wanna move in tagether! I jus' haven't thought 'bout it before."
It feels like Barricade's spark starts spinning again.
"Great! Hide said the room isn't renovated, so maybe we should check it out? Maybe it needs some refurbishing before we can move in at all..." He says, still leaving the door open for Jazz to keep his own room for a little while longer.
"Yeah! Maybe we should paint it first no matter what it looks like? Jus' ta get our own touch on things."
"Sounds like a good idea." Barricade says, following Jazz towards the pleasurebot wing.
"Ya can live in my room while we do."
"Thanks. Oh, and we were allowed to get a bigger berth from the storage if we wanted to. Not sure it'll fit in your room, but we could check it out and see if we could grab that right away?"
"Sounds awesome! Which room did he say we could have?"
"I don't know, one further down the hall from you?"
"Ah, then I know which one."
Jazz leads the way, and the door opens for them when they approach, either never locked, or programmed to admit them both.
They step inside to take a first look on their first shared living space.
Chapter 588
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In need of repairs comes to mind when he checks the room, but it has potential.
Probably. He doesn't really know anything about those things. He only ever rented an apartment that looked nice enough, and that was it.
"Tha berth could go there," Jazz says, pointing to one of the walls, "n' one storage there, n' one there."
"Yeah, but... the walls? And the floor?"
Jazz looks around again, as if he didn't really notice. "Mmm... maybe ya're right."
"Your room looks nice, didn't you fix that up when you moved in?"
"Nah, it was already repaired. But I mean, this is better than most places I've lived..."
"Perhaps, but if we're allowed to make it the way we want it, shouldn't we go for it? We'd be doing Hide a favor too by fixing it, so maybe we can get him to pay for what is needed."
Jazz looks at him for long seconds, then a slow grin stretches his intake. "I like tha way ya think there!" He looks around again, visor sticking on the big window. "We should have some nice curtains too."
"Yes. Yes, we should."
::This room does need some paint, and the floor looks terrible. Do you have some sort of fund for renovations or something?:: He comms Ironhide.
::Everyone always comm me to get money...:: Ironhide grouses, and there's a story there that doesn't seem to involve a good blowjob. ::How's the structural integrity? Does it need a complete overhaul, or just some touching up?::
::Uhm...:: Barricade tries his scanners on different settings. ::It isn't falling over?::
::I'll send Springer down to have a look, and if it needs structural work, we'll help you with that.:: Ironhide says, obviously sensing how terribly inadequate Barricade and Jazz would be at that kind of work. ::For the esthetics, I'll have Roadbuster set a budget for you, and you can order everything through Crosshairs.::
So many mecha involved for prettying up a single room. Is that how a building company works? No wonder the houses are so expensive.
::Sounds good. Thank you.::
"We'll get some help, and a budget for making this place the prettiest place we've ever lived in." He says to Jazz.
Jazz does a happy flail with his servos, squeeing in delight. "I think we should use red n' blue, like my stickers. I really like these stripes."
"Isn't that going to be a bit gaudy?"
Jazz's face falls. "I think it's a pretty combination, n' lively colors. But maybe we should go with standard issue black n' white instead."
"Are you dissing my paint job?"
"It does seem a bit flat for decoration."
"I guess it's better to paint everything blue, and then just paint red flames on it all. Won't be tacky. Not the least."
"I didn' say we should do that!"
Notes:
I apologize for not answering comments yesterday. RL is kicking my ass.
Chapter Text
"What if we do gray, with black and red accents? Gray is in between my colors, and you're silver..."
Jazz purses his lip-plates, looking around again as if he's trying to invision it. "That could work. One wall with blue, tha rest gray?"
"A lighter gray to not make it gloomy, maybe? And then some red highlights to get some warmth."
"We could have red curtains. N' maybe a soft light."
"Red lights make it seem like a brothel."
Jazz snorts. "Okay..."
"I think you should do it all in yellow and green." Springer says as he walks inside.
Jazz beams at him with a flirty smile. "But then we'd always think about you."
"I don't see that as a problem." He leers.
At least his grin is rather attractive, and he does seem to just be joking.
"So, have you added construction scanners and coding or what? Since you got this job." Barricade asks.
"Nah, structural integrity is good to know on battle, so it's my original equipment. Makes it easier to bomb a building to dust, and to not walk into a building that's coming down."
"Oh."
"This looks good, though. Just needs the old paint to be removed, and some primer before the new paint is applied."
"That's great. I know nothing about constructing and stuff."
"Tip from the coach: painted the walls and everything first, and put in new floors after that. Then you don't have to be as careful about masking and spilling."
"That's a good idea."
Then he almost balks, because they have to choose floors too, and that's going to be another thing they have to negotiate for.
"Do you have any tips for sturdy flooring that looks nice and fits the budget?"
Springer shrugs. "I think we have an assortment of tiles left over from the other rooms we've done, you could checks that out first. The first times we did it, we ordered way too much, so there's a heap of the kind we have in the rec room."
Jazz squeaks happily. "I love that floor!"
"There may not be enough, but you could mix it with other kinds to create a pattern or something. Anyway, it's in the subspace of the house, there's a hatch in the storage unit down the hall."
"Great, thank you!" Jazz beams.
"Roadbuster will send you and Crosshairs a budget for this, and Crosshairs will order what you need. He knows where we shop these things and have a discount, so you should ask him about where you could look at samples."
The prospect of actually bickering over color samples makes it feel very real
They're really doing this, they're moving in together.
Chapter Text
::Time to go to work.:: Springer comms him, and it feels like Barricade's spark makes a couple of revolutions the wrong way.
"I-I... I have to go. Work." He says to Jazz.
Jazz looks up from where he's sitting on the floor in their room to be, a bunch of tiles spread out in front of him.
"It's that late already? Gosh, I lost track of time doin' this."
"Me too."
"You first day! Good luck! I'll see ya later."
"Thanks. Don't tile the floor without me."
Jazz snorts. "Ya know I can't. Besides, someone will request my company soon, I'm sure."
Barricade nods, then he leans in for a kiss that he wants to completely lose himself in, and just forget about work. Jazz breaks it though, as if he knows, gently pushing Barricade back enough to look him in the optics.
"Don' let tha Bros wait."
"Right."
He hurries to the rec room, finding Springer and Nitro waiting there with Hot Rod and Bumblebee.
At least he isn't the last one to get there.
"Here." Springer says, holding out a few items. "You do nothing with the customers with this. That's not negotiable. They need to upload the payment to this this console, you don't plug anything into yourself."
Barricade looks at the things before slowly plucking them from Springer's servo.
A pack of condoms, and a portable payment console.
"If you run into any kind of trouble at all, you comm one of us immediately." Nitro fills in.
Barricade nods, subspacing the things quickly, as if that's going to make this less real. Drift and Knock Out finally shows up, and they all file out.
The flock of whores is herded out.
Barricade almost cackles nervously when he thinks of the terrible wording Blackout used so long ago.
Easier days, even if he didn't know it back then.
Chapter Text
"Come on, we can share a corner." Knock Out says.
"Sure... If it doesn't make it harder to... make a few deals?"
"Mecha who knows that this is the street to go to usually cruise by to check who's available anyway. If they want you, or me, they'll approach no matter if we're alone or two."
"I didn't have time to pull my stickers off. Hide said they may spook mecha to think I'm a real... that I'm still an Enforcer."
It's not like he can honestly mourn if he isn't approached tonight — just standing here all night is enough of an experience for now — but at the same time, he's going to need to do this anyway, and postponing it won't really benefit him either. And he doesn't want to ruin Knock Out's shift, the Racer might have a strategy to take as many as possible at the beginning of the month, and get a lot of time off.
"I could pull them off for you now, but it would probably not be all that comfortable. Besides, if you stand here with me, mecha who knows what I do won't be spooked. It's not like Enforcement would send in a fully signed mech to try to bust someone."
"I guess you're right..." Barricade fidgets nervously as a smallish utility vehicle cruises by slowly. He can almost feel the scanners sweeping his frame, as the mech looks for the merchandise he wants to take for a ride. Beside him, Knock Out preens. "So how does it work? I mean, if someone picks me, I mean, what do I do."
"The mech gets the price for the service he wants, if he accepts, you let him pay to your console. When the payment is cleared, you go do what he settled on, and then you get back here. Tell security where you're going, even if it's just the next alley over, and check in when you're done. If it takes longer than normal, they'll check in over comm, and you have to answer. If you don't, they'll come find you. Don't cross cables with anyone, decline drinks, and if someone attacks you, send a distress signal to security."
"You make it sound so simple."
Knock Out snorts, but it does sound rather humorless. "Well, it's not spark surge science, trust me on that."
"Did you do those kinds of repairs before... well..." Barricade gestures vaguely around them.
"I was studying for it. Had done about one third of the course when everything went to pit."
"That's terrible." Barricade really feels for Knock Out, no matter how much the Racer landed himself in this mess completely by his own doing.
"Yeah, I try not to dwell on it. Or I'd probably drive myself insane, beating myself up about it. It is what it is. At least I'm not homeless, and hunted by the mecha who was collecting my debts initially. Or offline." Another vehicle cruises by slowly, and Knock Out smiles, waving his digits.
Maybe he's just working, but it feels like Knock Out is doing it to put a halt to where the conversation was going.
Barricade's spark starts to spin quicker when the mech slows down even more.
Time for one of them to work, it seems.
Chapter Text
"Oh, no..." Knock Out groans as soon as the mech transforms to root mode, apparently interested.
Barricade glances at him, confused, because wasn't Knock Out flirting just a second ago?
"One of my old clients. From before I started doing this..."
Oh! A patient. How utterly humiliating. Somehow, he never thought about how he might encounter someone he knows when doing this. He just thought about Enforcers doing raids at the house.
"You know, this says more about him than it does about you. You want to survive, he's just looking to get off. If he isn't just going to say hello to someone he knows, then you can play it off ass if you recognized him." Barricade murmurs quietly.
Wow, he's learning how to think on the fly!
"Hi." Knock Out says to the mech, toning down the flirtiness now.
"Knock Out? It was such a long time ago." The mech looks him up and down. "I always wondered where you went, you just up and left. Made a change of career, I see."
"Yeah, Roll Cage, I had to do things a bit differently."
The mech looks Barricade up and down, optics roaming his frame making Barricade's plating crawl.
"And I see that your friend here needed to switch jobs too."
"Things don't always work out the way we thought." Knock Out shrugs with a seeming nonchalance Barricade would be hard pressed to pull off.
"Indeed. So, pretty, want to have some fun?" The mech says to Barricade.
Not really.
"Sure." He tries to purr. "What would you fancy?" He sticks his chest out, and then he regrets it, because that's the thing he really doesn't want to offer.
Is he required to do that? He didn't get a price tag for it, at least.
"Depends on the price."
Ugh.
"Blowjob seventy, valve a hundred, port a hundred and thirty."
::Am I supposed to just blurt the prices like this?:: He comms Knock Out, because it feels wrong.
::Most customers will state what they want, not have a price list, but if they ask, answer. It's not illegal. Better take the payment somewhere more discreet, though, some stickler may see it as lewd, lascivious behavior, and that's really unnecessary.::
"It's a shame I have to choose between the two of you..." Roll Cage says, glancing at Knock Out again.
"You don't have to choose if you don't want to..." Knock Out says suggestively.
"For that price, I do..."
He's trying to get a two for one bargain or something. How utterly gross.
"Can't do much about that." Knock Out says sweetly. "We'd make it worth your while, though. You know, two blowjobs are just ten credits more than one port interface."
"Yeah, well I don't really need two blowjobs in one night."
"Such a shame." Knock Out pouts.
::He probably can't get it up twice.::
Barricade almost snorts out loud.
The mech shrugs. "Then I'll have something to look forward to the next time. But for now, I'll make do with you." He says, turning to Barricade.
Make do?! Condescending asshole.
Chapter Text
"Alright, handsome. Where to?" Barricade asks, stepping forward with a last glance at Knock Out.
"Follow me. I know a good place just around the corner."
Barricade nods, folding into his alt mode as Roll Cage does, following him down the street.
::Going with a client, ping you my location when we stop.:: He comms Nitro Zeus, receiving a wordless affirmation noise.
His spark speeds up on the short drive, having time to think about what he's actually about to do.
At least is isn't the first time he interfaces with an acquaintance of someone he knows.
The mech turns the corner, and then they drive into a narrow alley. Barricade scans it to make sure they're alone, slowly following Roll Cage, ready to back out if he finds someone.
Who would've thought that going with a client has similarities with responding to some of the calls as an Enforcers. Going into alleys even ended with interfacing sometimes, when the calls were about certain crimes...
Roll Cage transforms, and so does Barricade, pinging Nitro with his location. He plasters on a smile, even if he's fairly certain it doesn't matter much how inviting he's playing.
The mech already has a hard on.
"So, what can I do for you, Sir?"
"Nothing fancy, just bend over the dumpster over there."
"Alright," Barricade takes out the payment console, feeling really awkward and embarrassed about it because it feels like he's openly distrusting the mech — which is true, because he seems like the type to try to get the price down after the fact, but it's still awkward to be so open about the distrust, so impolite — he holds out the console "valve or port?" Barricade feels himself flush when he asks it so bluntly.
"Valve."
"That'll be a hundred credits."
Roll Cage takes out a credit stick, plugging it into the console. "It's a steep price you're asking. One pit of an hourly wage." He grouses.
"Have to make up for all the slow hours." Barricade answers, because it's kind of true, he guesses.
"Maybe the hours wouldn't be so slow if you were more affordable."
"Perhaps not."
The console makes a noise to indicate that the credits are transfered.
"There, let's get to it."
Barricade glances down to see Roll Cage's pressurized spike, dripping pre-transfluid.
At least he's eager. How can it feel so gross to be wanted by someone?
Barricade stuffs the console away, fumbling with the pack of condoms to take one out. He holds it out to Roll Cage. "And you need this."
Roll Cage stares at it, making a face. "Is that really necessary? For the price I'm paying for this, I should be allowed to fully enjoy it."
"It's for you as much as it is for me. You don't know where the last mech I had has been."
He knows, though; around all the bots living under the same roof as he does. And that mech is definitely nicer than this dork.
Roll Cage grabs it roughly, tearing the wrapping, and rolling it onto his spike with irritated, jerky movements.
"That's really a hot show." Barricade says, trying to make up for the requirement.
"Whatever. Just bend over."
Aft.
He leans his lower arms against the dumpster, spreading his stance, and opening his panel. The head of Roll Cage's spike nudges between his folds, and as soon as it's inside, the mech starts to thrust, chasing his own overload.
"You should have the same price for valve and port. You would sell more that way." Roll Cage grunts, rutting into him.
"Thank you for the financial advice."
He needs to lube up his port when they're done, though, in case someone wants that. He totally forgot before they left home, too occupied with tiles.
Chapter Text
Roll Cage grunts, pressing in deep, and Barricade is relieved that it's over so quickly.
Actually easier than the first time he was with Ironhide, or any of the others, if he thinks closely about it. How numb has he already become to the indignity of selling his frame if he finds this easy?
Roll Cage pulls out, stepping back, and Barricade turns around, grabbing a rag from his subspace to wipe himself with.
What is he supposed to say now?
"It was a pleasure."
To get the credits from you. There, that has to do.
"Yeah, I might be back for seconds when I've saved up," Roll Cage says, pulling the condom off his depressurized spike, before holding it out for Barricade, "since you insisted, I think it's fair that you're the one getting rid of this."
Eew.
Barricade still grabs it, because he's caught off guard by the request.
"Well, might see you around..." Roll Cage says, transforming into his alt mode.
Barricade stares at him until he turns the corner, then he ties off the condom, throwing it in the dumpster. He tries to rub out any paint transfers he can see, and rubs the plates on his aft he can't, just to not look like he was freshly fucked.
Selling his frame, bending over a dumpster for a mech paying for interfacing. At least he isn't filled up with transfluid.
With a thorough scan and look around, he grabs the lube from his subspace, puring a big glob on his digits, before reaching back to smear it on his port. He pumps his digitsa in and out a couple of times to slick himself up thoroughly, then he quickly slams the cover shut, wiping his digits on the rag.
::I'm done. On my way back to the corner.:: He comms Nitro Zeus, about to fold into his alt mode.
::I see that.::
He stops his transformation sequence, taking another look around, face burning.
Nitro was watching. Not that it's something he hasn't seen before, but still... An audience makes it feel worse somehow.
::Higher.::
Barricade looks up to the rooftops, but still he can't see Nitro.
::Flier, you know...::
Finally, he spots the Jet — no more than a couple of tiny specs that are his position lights — circling leisurely at a very high altitude.
::Voyeuring much?:: He snips, transforming, and heading out of the alley.
::Just doing my job. I'm not all that confident that you're certain about where the lines go for what's included in your deals. Can't keep you safe if I don't know that you won't put off comming me until it's too late.::
At least he earns the money he makes from providing for the hookers.
::Thanks. I think I know when to negotiate a bit extra, and what's expected.::
Huh. For once, his greed will serve him well. Of course he wouldn't give his customers more than what they pay for.
::Perhaps. The lines aren't always crystal clear, though, there is a grey area where a bit rough resides, for example. How much roughness is acceptable for the regular price, and when does it cross the line to too much?::
Barricade slows down, thinking about it.
Damage or no damage isn't the line, that's for sure, but where does it go? How much would he have put up with before comming for help? In an unnegotiated situation? What's included in the regular price, and what isn't?
::Thank you. For keeping me safe. I didn't even think about that.::
::You're welcome.::
Chapter Text
"In-house are already occupied, elsewhere, so what do you say about a roll in the berth, and then spending the night?" Springer asks Bumblebee.
Bumblebee makes a noise that can be nothing but a "sure."
::Are you busy?:: Barricade comms Jazz
::Yeah. 'm with Motormaster.::
Barricade cringes, even though he can't remember what it was like. ::Are you spending the night?::
::Probably. He usually prefers that.::
Knock Out has already headed for the shower, Breakdown waiting for him. Hot Rod is aiming for a shower too, but his berth is the only one waiting for him, and he's perfectly fine with that. Barricade doesn't give a single scrap about where Drift is going.
But he's going to spend the night alone... How odd that that is something he isn't looking forward too, even though Jazz can't share the berth with him.
"I'll go crash Hide's little party with Dreadbot. That's usually a fun three-way." Nitro says.
Springer cackles, clapping Nitro on the shoulder.
::So how was your first shift?:: Jazz asks him.
::It was ok, I guess. Three customers; two valve, and one blowjob. One of them was a bit slow to finish, but nothing terrible.::
::Tha's great! Already one blowjob ahead of tha needed average ta fill tha quota.::
::Yeah...::
That is good, actually. Maybe he can earn some time off even though it's just his first month. Or maybe he should work through it, and let the credits accumulate? Get a bit of extra funds.
::Gotta go. Need ta focus on Motormaster. See ya tomorrow, though. We have tiles ta discuss.::
Barricade smiles, even if it'll look odd to anyone watching. ::We do! Have a... Not awful night?::
::You know me; I've had worse!:: Jazz says, but it's clearly a joke this time.
::I'm sure you have.::
::I really gotta go now, though. Good night, babe.::
::Good night.::
By the time they finish their conversation, everyone else has already left, but Barricade still lingers in the rec room.
Sure, he needs a shower, but then he'll have nothing to do but go back to Jazz's empty berth and have all night to think about what he did this evening, and possibly feed that self loathing that's still lurking on the edges of his awareness.
::Are you busy?::
::Not particularly...:: Blackout grunts.
::Do you want some company tonight?::
::I'm not paying you for it when you're the one calling me.::
::Fine, but then you can't do anything outlandish.::
::I don't know what you're talking about.::
Of course not.
::I just need a shower first, then I'll be up.:: Barricade says, heading for the communal showers in the pleasurebot wing.
::I still have washracks.::
Barricade turns back after a halt of hesitation.
He might as well, now that he's spending the night there.
::Do you have cygs.::
A smoke would be nice.
::Do you think I ever go without things I enjoy?::
Of course not.
Chapter Text
Blackout is sprawled on his berth, watching something on a data pad when Barricade enters. He just glances at Barricade, jerking his helm once in silent greeting, then he goes back to staring at his data pad. Barricade feels a bit dismissed but the disinterest.
But then again, aren't there predators who feign disinterest to get their prey to relax? And shouldn't he be pleased that it seems like he'll get to take a shower in peace and quiet? Maybe it's a trap?
The door to the washracks slide open as usual — nothing strange there — and he stops just inside to look around the room, making sure nothing seem out of place.
Though it's not like Blackout could hide in a cupboard, even if he's freakishly stealthy for his freakish size.
Barricade still glances over his shoulder to make sure the ba... mech is still sitting on the berth.
He does, seemingly engrossed in his data pad.
The only thing new in there is a ladder leaning against the wall. A ladder that is much too small for Blackout himself to use — and it's not like he needs it — but perfect in size for Barricade to reach the shelf with solvents.
Ha ha. Funny fucker. No way that just happened to be forgotten here by someone.
It may be an annoying reminder of his lack of length, but at the same time, he really needs it. Barricade grabs it and brings it into the washracks, picking out the solvent that he likes. He climbs down again, putting the ladder outside the stall to keep it from getting wet.
And standing on a ladder, getting all soaped up seems like a recipe for disaster. Imagine slipping, and Blackout coming too the rescue... Crosshairs may have fantasies about being rescued like a Primeling in distress in a tower in the castle, but Blackout sure as pit is not a shining knight.
The shower is uneventful: no mishaps, and no Helo crashing the party in any way, and Barricade finishes up with wiping himself dry, putting the rags in the washer, and putting the ladder back in it's place.
Blackout is still sprawled on the berth. Barricade climbs onto it to join him, since nothing else is requested. When he gets closer, he picks up on the sound from whatever Blackout is watching, set so low, he couldn't hear it from further away.
Screaming and sobbing.
Energon curdling screams of terror and agony. Barricade's spark feels cold, and suddenly he has an urge to leave. He hesitates where he stands on all fours, doesn't crawl any closer. Blackout looks up at him, cocking an optical ridge.
"What are you watching?"
Does he even want to know?
"The news."
"The news." Barricade repeats flatly.
Sounds more like a horror movie, except the screams are too real.
"They've gotten ahold of security footage from one of our colonies in the outskirts of Cybertronian territory, a colony that has been invaded. The mechs surviving the invasion was tortured rather crudely."
"They're showing that?!"
"I know, I'm as stoked as you!"
He wouldn't say that he's stoked...
"Why would they show that?"
Blackout shrugs. "A clever way to get the popular opinion to scream for troops being sent there and take it back. Nobody will question the expense of sending heaps of soldiers there when they're screaming for vengeance."
How true, and how distasteful.
Barricade doesn't want to see that, but he isn't ready to leave either. "What was it like? I mean, being in the military. I've come to understand that your coding has changed a lot, but how did it feel in the beginning?"
Blackout presses a button on the data pad, putting it in power save mode, and puts it on the nightstand. He flicks a panel on his arm open, slowly unspooling a cable hidden behind it. Barricade stares, mesmerized, when he grabs the plug, twirling it between his digits. Blackout smirks.
"Do you want to see?"
Chapter Text
Barricade stares at the plug.
On one servo, it's so tempting to learn more about their lives in the army. On the other servo, this is still Blackout, and the bastard would probably find great amusement in showing him exactly what he's capable of.
Blackout twirls the plug challengingly. "Afraid of what you'll see? Or afraid you might like it..."
Barricade cringes. "I'm not like that."
"You do overload awfully hard while talking about what you think I might have done."
"That's just because you're good at fucking." Barricade blurts, then he flushes.
Blackout grins, humming sinfully.
"I'm interested in your background, to learn more what the military is really like, since the truth is held from us civilians."
"So you can feel righteously angry, while still keep denying the truth about what kind of mech you willingly crawl into berth with?"
Barricade works his intake, because it may actually be true that he plays down the implications a bit.
Oh, he knows that Blackout is a sadistic sociopath, and he knows what he thought about him the first time they went to berth. It's much easier to pretend it isn't really like that when he hasn't seen what Blackout has done.
"Don't worry about it, it's no different from the others you fuck. You think the others were different back then? You think Hide, or Springer hasn't fucked someone into offlining?"
Barricade's spark sinks. "But you would still enjoy it. They wouldn't."
"Perhaps. Or maybe they just do what I do, and keep their impulses in check? Just because they're not violent with you doesn't mean they don't enjoy it."
There was that time when Hide came home covered in gore, itching for pussy, revved up by "handling business"...
"I-I... I'm not comfortable with this..."
"Your comfort is not a priority of mine."
"I know that."
Blackout twirls the plug again. "Maintaining their own comfort is what keeps mecha in denial about exactly what the MTOs defending the Cybertronian empire's glory is going through." He says, expertly poking the button that Barricade doesn't want to be ignorant like everyone else.
It's the goading that's needed. Barricade grabs the plug rather roughly, and Blackout grins, watching as the Saleen jams it into his socket.
"Don't make me purge on your berth." He all but spits.
"Let's start easy then. My first memory; coming online."
Chapter Text
There's no slow booting, no gradual onlining of his systems and senses. Suddenly he's aware, and he flies to his pedes, his surroundings a flurry of motion and noise as countless others do the same thing. His HUD is filled with spinning numbers, rapid calculation of trajectories for all his guns, and target assessment for everything that's moving around him, calculations of who should be shot with what gun to take everyone out as quickly as possible.
Don't stop shooting until they stop moving, he needs to kill them all, always kill everything, and...
"Attention, soldiers, stand down!" Some barks.
Before his language systems even have time to compute the words to useful information, his frame obeys the order, snapping to attention, offlining his guns.
Blackout instantly hates it with a passion, the way his frame is controlled by someone else. His target programs are still running, and he's in a room full of high level threats, and there's nothing he can do but stand there in this stiff pose to show respect for a mech he's quickly coming to hate.
"The mechanisms in here are not your enemies. You will go into battle together, defending the glory of the Cybertronian empire."
His battle systems power down, and instead a map of the empire lights up, along with an explanation what Cybertron is.
Their planet and colonies that they are to defend with their functionings.
Blackout has no attachment to their world, doesn't really see a point in risking his functioning for other machines he doesn't know, or things he hasn't seen yet.
"Your purpose is to shed the fuel of, and strike fear in the sparks of our enemies."
Something in his basal coding stirs, and he just knows that this is the balm to that virtual itch he hasn't been aware of, but now, it's glaringly obvious, and he just can't scratch it.
He wants — needs — fluids to stain his servos, and he craves...
"Two lines, follow me outside."
"Sir, yes, Sir!" His coding forces him to shout in unison with the others.
On the inside he's snarling at the compulsion, but outwardly, he does like all the other puppets, obediently lining up, marching outside as they follow their Commander.
"At ease!" The Commander barks as they line up outside, and ther frame take more relaxed stances. "We will divide you into units. You will operate together, and — aside from your missions — your units will be the most important thing to you. You will bring each other back as functioning as possible and make sure we don't suffer unnecessary monetary losses. Your programs will tell you when someone is salvageable, and when it's better to leave scraps behind."
Other Commanders look them over, picking out mechs, and pointing them to different cones lined up in the yard. The soldiers walk to their appointed units and stand at ease in neat lines, face-plates blank.
Is that what he looks like? Are they seething as much as he does about not being in control of their own frames?
Chapter Text
He's sent over to a group of mechs, and this time it's hard to know if it's compulsion, or if he's actually moving of his own volition, because he doesn't mind getting a unit.
On the contrary, something feels good about it, but he can't tell if it's something in his personality that wants to join the small group of mechs, or if it's yet another part of the compulsion.
Ugh, so confusing. He wants a period of time to sit down and untangle everything, to find out who he is, but alas, his coding informs him that time is credits — whatever credits are — and he shouldn't waste it.
The others in his unit stand unmoving, face-plates as blank as before when he gets closer, but optics sweep his frame, and there is some relief in finding that they seem to be as curious about him as he is about them.
Not just mindless drones then, hopefully.
The waiting gets to him, impatience setting in quickly after he has taken his place in their neat formation. A couple of mechs more join their unit, but it seem like it takes forever for the Commanders to divide the remaining mechs.
And he's not supposed to waste time...
"Introduce yourself to your teams."
"Sir, yes, Sir!"
They all get out of their positions, turning towards the others, and then everyone look as lost as he feels.
Who is he?
"Are we supposed to give each other our serial numbers?" The dark mech with blue optics asks.
"Feels like a good way to sprain a vocalizer." The one with just one optic says.
They all make a weird little noise.
"What was that?" The boxy black mech asks.
"Chuckle: a quiet laugh of mild amusement." His HUD helpfully supplies him.
"Your designations are in the files that lists your weaponry." One of the Commanders shout, then he turns to one of the other Commanders. "These seem a bit underclocked."
"Underclocked: slur often implying that someone is slow."
"They're always like this when they're new. It gets better, the ones who're really stupid don't last long, and the rest get smart enough to not be a nuisance fairly quickly." The other Commander says.
"Did you hear that too?" He asks quietly, seething. "Did you understand."
"Of course I did. Are you implying I'm underclocked?" The one with one optic says, quirking an optical ridge, but he doesn't really sound angry.
Blackout tries to decipher the way his mandibles are quirking, but he can't. "How would I know, I don't know you yet."
The mech laughs, but in a hushed voice.
Seems smart. Are they allowed to laugh, or is it a waste of time and credits?
"I heard, and I don't like it." The dark one with blue optics says quietly.
"I'm a Jet!" The one with one optic says, sounding excited. "I can fly! And my designation is..." It looks like he scowls. "Well, fuck that, I'm not going to call myself Crash Site! I'm Nitro Zeus!"
Blackout looks through his own files.
Smelterward. Uh, nope.
He looks through his weaponry list, finding an electromagnetic pulse weapon that could wipe out power.
"I'm Blackout." It feels right coming out of his vocalizer.
The dark mech flaps his plating in a kind of funny way. "Ironhide."
"What does it matter if we come up with better names, we're just going to offline soon anyway..." One of the others say.
"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?" Nitro Zeus quirks his mandibles. "Designation?"
"I'm Dead End."
Chapter Text
They get to practice with their guns in the shooting range for the rest of the afternoon, and that's fun! Starting out with dead objects as targets, they move on to slow moving drones after a while. Watching the things be blown to pieces, set on fire, or cut in half is exhilarating, and everyone is cheering and whooping increasingly loudly as they gradually find that they're not discouraged from doing it. A bit of interteam competitiveness starts to rise, and they collectively want to outdo the others. By the end of the exercise, he's feeling comfortable with the others.
"We call it a day, soldiers. Follow me to the mess hall." One of the Commanders shouts.
"Sir, yes, Sir!"
They fall into line in formation with their units, a neat row of three by three mechs with the right distance between each unit. The doors to an enormous building slide open, and they all file in.
To Barricade, the insides are really run down, looking worse than the rec areas of the prison, even. But to a new spark like Blackout, it's just interesting, and he's curious.
"Single line to the dispensary, you'll be handed your fuel rations after the ID-tags around your neck have been scanned."
"Sir, yes, Sir!"
They line up, waiting for... fuel?
Fuel: any material that can be made to react with other substances so that it releases energy as heat energy or to be used for work.
Blackout stares at the unhelpful description in his HUD.
I guess I'll just have to wait and see, then.
The mechs behind the counter scans their ID-tags, and they're handed cubes without niceties or conversation. The tables and benches are the floor mounted kind, spaced and sized to fit a unit each, so they take a table, and sit down around it.
"Is it just me, or does anyone else feel like we're missing a leg?" Drag strip asks.
Nitro looks under the table, counting out loud to himself. "Nope, all there."
Ironhide snorts a laugh, fiddling with the lid to his cube.
"I agree." Breakdown says, and Motormaster nods.
"What does it matter, we're just g..." Dead End starts, but Motormaster smacks him around the back of his helm to shut him up.
Dead End's yelp attracts the attention of one of the Commanders, but since none of them are doing anything against the regulations, he just glares suspiciously. Ironhide gives him an innocent smile, raising his cube to take a drink. He makes a face when he swallows the first mouthful.
"Well, it's a shame that this is vital, because eew."
Nitro holds his cube up to stare at it. "This will be awkward..." He tries to wrap his mandibles around the edge of the cube, but when he tips his helm back to drink, some of it dribbles onto his chest-plates. He bites down harder, breaking the cube. "Aw, hell... Uh, Sir? I kind of failed, Sir..." He says to the Commander nearest him.
The Commander whips out a stick, jamming it into Nitro's back, and Nitro screams in agony as current courses through his systems. He falls off the bench, slowly writhing on the floor when the shock stops, but the Commander doesn't stop there; he beats Nitro Zeus several times with the stick.
"Don't waste the fuel! You get your ration, not a drop more. And do not break military equipment! Big or small, all things belong to the army — just like you do — and if you break things, we will take the payment out of your plating." He stands back. "Let this be a lesson to all of you!" He shouts to the entire room.
"Sir, yes, Sir!"
"Get that thing off the floor." He snarls to Ironhide, pointing to Nitro, before he leaves.
"Sir, yes, Sir." Ironhide says. "I fucking hate that guy." He says quietly, helping Nitro up to take his seat again.
"Makes us two." Nitro groans.
Blackout agrees.
Chapter Text
The Commanders leads them into a barack that's called their dorm. Barricade cringes when he sees the huge room that is their recharging quarters; long rows of worn bunks, lumpy, stained mattresses, and the floor is covered with dead scraplets. Blackout knows nothing about quality accommodations, though, so his memory isn't one filled with disgust and horror.
"Good thing we did get that extermination done. This many scraplets could actually be enough to pose a problem." One of the Commanders says, kicking a huge scraplet — thankfully dead — out of the way.
Barricade can feel Blackout's amusement when he starts to scratch himself, the mere thought of the gross pests enough to make his protoform crawl.
"Bunk up with your units — get a berth, lay down, and initiate recharge. I suggest you get an early night, wakeup will be at dawn, and stragglers will be punished, no exceptions."
With that, they're locked into the room, and the lights go out. It takes a few seconds for him to find a setting for his optics that allows him to see in the abrupt darkness, and Blackout's spark speeds up, his defensive protocols automatically preparing him for battle. The whining of loading systems around him is a telltale that everyone else has the same reaction, bet before his guns come online, his night vision does, and he finally has the wherewithal to actually look at the red, blinking glyphs in his HUD.
Do not destroy military equipment. Right. He's supposed to keep his unit safe, not take them out, and the other units in here will work with them. And he certainly doesn't want to be subjected to the kind of lesson Nitro Zeus was taught before.
Everyone seems to come to the same conclusion at the same time he does, because the tension in the room slowly drops, and the whining turns to one of guns powering down.
"I'll have this berth." Nitro says pointing to one of the lower berths.
"Don't tell me you're afraid of heights." Blackout quirks an optical ridge at the other Flier.
Nitro laughs. "No. Just thought I'd let the ground bound ones get a chance to come up a bit in the world."
Blackout laughs. "True."
"So we're just going to lay here now?" Springer asks.
"I guess..." Dispensor sounds hesitant.
"My energy levels are fine, I don't need recharge now." Motormaster sounds grumpy, but that seems to be his MO so far.
"If I die before I wake, I pray..." Dead End mumbles. Motormaster cuffs him around the back of his helm again.
"If those bastards say it's best to get what recharge we can, maybe we should listen? I mean, we'll see what happens tomorrow, and then we can make an educated decision on if we need it, or if it's just convenient for them to send us to bert early." Ironhide says.
The mech seems clever, an asset for their unit.
"I agree with Ironhide." He says, taking one of the lower berths, stretching out as well as he can. It's a bit cramped, but he can make it work.
Around the room, the other mechs are getting into berth too, the murmur of similar discussions as they had slowly dying down. Vents even out, systems go more quiet as everyone is settling in, but recharge eludes Blackout for quite some time, his processor sorting and filing all the impressions of the day.
Chapter Text
"It was a good thing that Ironhide was smart. At first light, they woke is up with banging on pots and pans to quick boot us, and then we were training until after nightfall. The morning fuel was actually even worse — some lumpy, tasteless glop we ate with spoons — and then we didn't get anything at all until we we're done. They wanted to teach us right from the start to function and do our jobs even when the warnings were blaring. It kind of put a massive damper on whatever excitement we had about life from the day before. We trained, recharged and refueled, and that was it."
It's absolutely horrendous. They may have been huge and powerful, armed to the denta, and more developed in the processors than sparklings usually are, but they were still newsparks.
"Was it like that the entire time?"
"No." Blackout grabs a cyg, lighting it up. He hands it to Barricade without prompting, and grabs one for himself. Barricade is aware of how he's flipping through his memories in the background, but he's good at not showing what memories and keeping the process private, even if they're still linked up. "We were deployed for the first time after a week of training. Lost Dispensor in that battle. It was the first time I saw the credit meter when I looked at someone, and it remained in my HUD until we escaped."
Barricade feels sick, and to distract himself — and hopefully calm his roiling tank — he takes a deep drag on the cyg. "What were your estimated value?" He asks, morbid curiosity winning out.
"It varied a bit. See, they always built new frames with as much recycled materials and scrap pieces as possible, because they expected a lot of us to be Cannon fodder. Then they used better parts to repair the ones who made it and showed their value. My value as newly created was 536.857 credits. It peaked out a 1.864.295 credits when I was at my best. Then it started dropping again, not because I wasn't as good at what I was doing anymore — if I hadn't been, I wouldn't have survived to tell the tale — but because I was getting old, and they wouldn't repair me as well anymore. And statistically, the longer we survived after the first few battles, the more the risk increased that we'd offline, so they just didn't spend as much on us. When we saw our sinking rates, we knew we had to get out."
"That's disgusting. Putting credit value on mechs." Barricade takes another drag on the cyg. "What was the value on civilians?"
"The same as for the Commanders: it always said invaluable."
So horrible people like his stepsire, or that Brawl mech Jazz was with were worth more than these mechs?
He knows he shouldn't ask, but Barricade is just too curious about things even though he knows that they will appall him.
"What was battle like?"
Chapter Text
Blackout quirks an optical ridge. "I thought you said you didn't want to throw up on my berth."
"You don't have to show me. Just tell me?"
Blackout seems to think it over, perhaps looking for the right words. "Chaotic. Thrilling. It was kind of a downer when Dispensor offlined, but we were so new, we hadn't really bonded closely with each other, so it wasn't like we were sad. It was just the way it was. When Dead End was severely damaged, we brought him back as we were required. They started dismantling him while he was still online, fixing him would've been too expensive. Ironhide shot Drag Strip. A mercy kill, instead of letting them do that to him. As we grew more skilled, we got different kinds of assignments, more sting operations where we worked autonomously. That was a bit better. We could camp outside for weeks at a time, waiting for the go-ahead, scouting and stuff, all without the Commanders being on our asses for something or other. We were getting better at bending the orders and rules too, so we could take a bit of advantage."
"Does all MTOs who survive a bit longer do that? I mean, wouldn't everyone try to escape if that was the case?"
"They don't. Ironhide was the one who started, by fixing Nitro when he was injured, instead of bringing him back for salvaging. Got Nitro's value up enough to make him worth fixing. We all wondered how he came up with that idea, and it really got all of us thinking. Maybe we didn't have to just accept the suckier parts of our reality? It wasn't like we wanted to see our Brothers offline, our protocols just told us that it was the right thing to do, protocols that our owners had put in our processors in the first place. So we all started to consciously try to fight the compulsion to obey — think over what was really our opinions, and what was planted — and not just doing what our protocols decided for us. We couldn't do it too obviously, though. If they thought we were malfunctioning, they'd send us to be reprogrammed."
Barricade shudders.
It is a disgusting reality when not even a mech's mind is his own.
"Were you ever punished? The way Nitro was that first day."
Blackout snorts derisively. "Of course I was. Everyone was. They did prefer public whippings." He turns a bit, flaring a plate on his side, pushing it up further with his digits to reveal a nasty scar in his protoform, an obviously deep cut that was never properly repaired and didn't heal well. "They always aimed for the protoform. It was what hurt the most, and they didn't want to damage their precious weapons and armor."
Then Barricade is plunged into another memory as Blackout decides that they're done talking.
They're in the barrack again, back from their first battle. They've been allowed to use the washracks for the first time, an experience he still hasn't made up his mind about. On one servo, it feels good to be clean. On the other, the water was so cold, his components are still not feeling quite right.
"Tonight, you get both a reward for your victory, and some education. You're going to learn about interfacing, and how to claim spoils when you've defeated your enemies." He plugs a data stick into the old and worn TV. The screen flickers a couple of times, but then the grainy picture displays the title of the movie.
Unwilling glitches - if they can't fight you off, they're fair game.
Barricade has heard of this movie — there was quite the outrage when it was released because of how brutal it is — and suddenly he can place the "rule" Blackout was talking about in Dreadbot's memory.
They learned about interfacing through rape porn.
Chapter Text
Up until this moment, Blackout didn't know that he has a spike. They all watch the proceedings on the screen — a collection of short chapters with varying scenarios — with great interest. There's the chapter with two Warframes fighting, the winner mounting the loser when the fight is done, and Blackout tries to picture that as the end result of sparring with his brothers.
Eew, nope. With an enemy in a battle though...
That thought makes something stir between his legs. He still denies the request to pressurize his spike, too curious about what's going on on the screen to explore his frame right now. He's pretty sure what would happen if he didn't deny the request, because some of the other soldiers are already fondling their components. Blackout looks at the screen again.
If being mounted like that is what happens if he loses a fight, he's never going to lose. He won't be anyone's glitch.
His engine really revs up when they get to the chapter where the bigger mech is stalking the smaller one. Blackout can practically feel the anticipation of sneaking up on the unsuspecting little glitch, walking down the street, all alone on the dark. His hydraulic hoses shift when the pressure mounts as his entire frame coils for the pounce, and between his legs, his still unpressurized spike is throbbing.
Oh, how he wants to be there, how he wishes he was the one, frame coiling for the attack.
The little glitch screams when the mech on the screen grabs him and pulls him into the alley. It's arousing, the way the little one is begging and pleading, crying, and how the bigger one easily tears his panel open, sinking inside. Blackout allows his spike to pressurize to relieve the painful throbbing. He takes a quick look at it, but his attention is almost immediately dragged back to the screen, but at the same time, he tries what a lot of the others are doing, grabbing his spike to feel it up.
It feels good.
He finds a pattern of strokes that makes his frame heat up even quicker, watching the mech on the screen roughly fucking the crying little glitch until he's satisfied, leaving the sobbing glitch in a heap on the ground as he tucks himself away, before making a hasty retreat.
The next chapter is different. The little glitch is having fuel, smiling and talking to a bigger mech, touching him, saying things that seem positive about his size, and plating. They leave the building together, the little one seeming very happy about it. Blackout tilts his helm in consideration, because it's so different. Outside, the scene quickly changes, though, more mechs meeting up with them. The little glitch tries to make a run for it, desperation in his optics, but he's easily caught. Blackout groans when the glitch is pushed back into the center of the ring the mechs are forming around him. He falls to his knees, begging them not to hurt him.
This is the most arousing chapter so far, because while he enjoyed the hunt of the last chapter, this is more elaborate. The glitch is promised to not be harmed if he just cooperates a bit, and he does, opening his panels with trembling servos, lip-plates quivering with held back crying. He obviously hates it, just like he hates wrapping his intake around the spike of one mech, but he still does it anyway, doing whatever they ask of him.
The coiling tension in his lower abdomen is released, his servo getting full of sticky goo. Blackout looks at it, fascinated, feeling more relaxed than he ever has before. He still watches the proceedings on the screen, his systems twitching with interest again in a matter of minutes.
They should do that sometime, he and his unit.
Chapter Text
Blackout kind of honors their agreement — well, his version of honoring Barricade's request at least — by not showing the memories of rape and maiming in detail.
Then again, he's good enough to search through the memories and show less than he is doing, and that he still does show Barricade snippets of the memories he flicks through is obviously because he wants Barricade to see little flashes of them.
There's Nitro, accidentally tearing the arm off a mech while trying to hold him down while raping him. Blackout himself strangling someone, overloading when the mech offlines. Motormaster fucking some sort of organic that doesn't look willing. Ironhide and what looks like a civilian in a pile of rubble that probably was a town at some point.
Barricade's spark feels cold, because there's no denying what they've done after seeing this.
They couldn't really help it in the beginning, how were they supposed to know... But that's not really what's gnawing on him, is it?
No, the question that has his spark trembling with horror is if they stopped when they started to realize what they were doing, or did they keep doing it because it still felt good? He doesn't need to ask Blackout what he did, because he's pretty certain that he already knows the answer, and he doesn't like it.
Blackout certainly seemed to have fun when he staged that scene when they were in Kaon.
"You really have good self control to do power play." He says vaguely, mostly to distract himself.
Blackout laughs. "Oh, trust me, we were all little more than horny, clumsy animals in the beginning. I might've enjoyed the power play I saw in that video, but when it came to the real deal, I only got halfway inside before I shot my load. It took quite some time to develop the restraint to really play with someone."
Barricade manages to not shudder at the casual talk about cruelty.
His own approach may have been vastly different, but the hookers he used were never more willing than Blackout's victims, and he should not forget that.
"So you what, picked a soldier you wanted to fuck, and tried to get him away from his unit?"
Blackout snorts. "It's easy to tell that you're a civilian, or you would know that there isn't time for that in battle. No, it wasn't personal like that — not beyond taking everything from a defeated enemy, at least — just convenience. I was revved up by the thrill of surviving a battle, and winning, and I wanted to get off. A whore would probably have sufficed, even if it was a bit of icing on the cake that it was someone who tried to fight me and lost." Blackout studies him. "Do you want to see what it was like? Do you want me to show you a complete memory with feelings and all from a battle" He quirks an optical ridge, smirking challengingly.
No. He said so. No gore. He doesn't want to see that. But the bastard has expertly maneuvered him to the point where he knows that he won't understand without seeing it. Or it's just his damned curiosity again.
"Yes."
Chapter Text
Barricade is plunged into the memory at the point where they jump out of the aerial transport. The transports immediately return to orbit to await the pickup que, and they, and all the other units charge ahead.
They're the flood wave of the assault, more experienced units already in place to do their job in other locations while they serve as a distraction of the local defense forces. They're still too young to understand that they're cannon fodder, calculated expendable enough to send in as live targets to make the battle behind the lines more efficient.
Blackout's spark is spinning quickly, all his systems running at their highest capacity when he throws himself into the crowd of techno-organic enemy soldiers sent out to meet them. He keeps track of his unit as he goes, ripping, tearing, punching and shooting as needed. A frame slams into his back, momentarily knocking his rotors to the side in an uncomfortable way, and he spins around to meet the assault, off balance.
The mech is already down, and a movement above him catches his optics. Nitro passes quickly.
::Thanks.::
::Any time.::
Springer is fighting two opponents, struggling since one of them is hanging on to him, weighing him down, and stopping him from taking to the sky. Blackout grabs the one hitting Springer with some sort of melee weapon, and quickly disposes it with a shot to the helm, splattering stinky goo all over the place. The other one screams something in a language they don't understand, and loses it's grip on Springer. The Triple changer swiftly turns around and sinks a blade into a gap in the armor on the thing's abdomen. It sinks to the ground with a pained noise, holding a servo over the leak to no avail.
They both immediately turn away, occupied with not letting anyone jump them. His unit is fighting well today — so far, nobody has received any damage that could pose a problem — but that could change quickly if they stand around in relief just because one enemy is down.
Ironhide takes a hit of some sort of weapon, but at least his designation is fitting, and he comes away with little more than scorch marks and a dent.
::We're too exposed down here, that shot was from somewhere higher up, further ahead!:: Blackout shouts over their unit comm, because he has seen this pattern before, when they fight with all their might, and get picked off by snipers and artillery stationed behind the battle front.
::I know, but what can we do?:: Ironhide shouts back, already engaged with another enemy soldier.
Frames are piling up — both theirs and the techno-organics — but it seems like they're making progress.
It'll still be a lot of salvaging to do, entire units that need to be dragged back to the transport to be brought back and recycled.
At least the techno-organics don't hold up against the onslaught, and the battle front is slowly moving forward, advancing between the buildings of the town, splitting them up in the streets, the number of soldiers from the enemy side dwindling.
Maybe they're dwindling too? He can't see the other units anymore. But the most important thing is that his unit is going to get out of here alive, there's no alternative.
::I'm picking up bogeys in the two storey building to the right.:: Nitro says, landing on top of the soldier wrestling with Breakdown, simply tearing it's helm off.
"Fuck, these things stink!" Breakdown says, splattered with the fluids pumping out from the lines of the thing.
"Seems like they're manufactured differently than the units waiting up there. They're all mechs." Nitro says, indicating the building with his helm.
Motormaster and Ironhide dispose of the last enemies in the street, and then they move into the cover of the narrow alley between two buildings.
"Let's get up there." Springer says.
"Could be a trap." Ironhide muses.
"It's either winning, or offlining. At least until a retreat is called by the Commanders." Nitro says.
He kind of agrees with Hide, because he isn't keen on offlining because they ran mindlessly into a situation, but it's not like they can do anything else.
"Then we better surprise them, and make sure the trap doesn't work the way they planned." Blackout says, scanning the building for clues to what they're about to walk into.
Chapter Text
The first impulse is to kick the door in — or blow it to pieces — because they're programmed to take action, and to not hesitate. They're still young, and somewhat ignorant, but at the same time, they didn't make it this far by not being adaptable, and for every battle they survive, they get better at it. Charging forward is perfect for the kind of head-on battle they've been in so far, but the enemy isn't charging out the door to meet them, so they can't treat these mechs like their usual enemy soldiers.
Maybe this is the reason they just can't resist the impulse to sneak up on each other, pounce, and tussle when they're off duty? Their coding's way of making them practice. Or maybe that is nothing more than a fixed action pattern misfire. Either way, it's fun.
So instead of following that first impulse, they have a go at the lock. It's a clumsy attempt by amateurs at best; Blackout does his best at hacking — for some reason it feels natural for him to do so, and they've already seen the benefits of letting a mech do the things he seems to have a natural inclination towards — it to no avail, Ironhide tries to pick open the mechanism, but none of them are successful.
"We're like parked Tractors out here." Breakdown hisses quietly.
"I know!" Ironhide growls back, abandoning the careful picking in favor of frustrated whisking with the metal sticks he's trying to use as lock-picking tools.
"Fuck it, they have to know we're here already." Nitro says, simply tearing the console free.
They all stop venting for long seconds, waiting for an alarm to go off, the enemy to catch up, anything...
Nothing happens.
Ironhide tries the door again, but it's still locked.
"Now what?" Ironhide grunts, glaring at Nitro.
"I don't know. It was worth a try." Nitro seems completely unrepentant.
"Give me that." Motormaster says, grabbing the console, still hanging by the wires. He starts yanking at the cables.
"What are you doing?" Springer hisses.
"Trying to hot-wire it." Motormaster glances up to see their incredulous looks. "What, you don't know how to hot-wire someone? Or yourselves?"
"Yeah I do, but not a door..." Breakdown says.
Motormaster crosses two of the cables, and sparks fly around everywhere. "Do you have a better idea?"
The door swings open.
"Guess we don't need one." Ironhide says, shrugging. He raises his cannon, sweeping the room inside with the muzzle while scanning it. ::Clear. Springer, Breakdown; we go right at the top of the stairs. Blackout, Motormaster, Nitro; you take left.:: He says, switching to comms at the odd chance that the enemy still hasn't noticed them.
::Aye-aye, Cap'n!:: Nitro says cheerily. ::To death!::
::No, you idiot!:: Springer says.
::Someone's gonna die. We just have to make sure it isn't us.:: Nitro answers.
He's right.
Blackout's spark speeds up to increase the output, and he cranks up all his senses, and the hydraulic pressure, then he steps through the door.
Chapter Text
They employ all the stealth tactics they have learned so far when they sneak up the stairs, even if they have to assume that the mechs up there have already noticed them. They split off as was decided, continuously scanning for movements from their bogeys. Nothing seems suspicious — well, maybe a blip here and there, all turning out to be nothing on closer inspection — as they sneak down the corridor towards the room where they can detect warm frames. The mechs seem to be sitting around, not moving, so perhaps they haven't been noticed after all? Or the mechs think they're hiding, and don't understand how many useful scanners his unit has.
::Everything good on your end so far?:: Ironhide asks.
::Nothing to take note of so far.:: He says, focusing on the shapes he can make out when using his heat seeking sensors.
::I don't like this, it seems off." Nitro says, even speaking quietly over comms, as if it would make a difference.
::Civilians?:: Motormaster asks.
::Could be. Don't know how those would behave.:: Springer says.
::I guess we have no choice but to find out." Ironhide sounds tense.
::Can't do much else." Breakdown chips in.
::We all go in on one. Let's not give ourselves away by being out of sync...:: Ironhide leaves the call open for disagreements.
::Good idea.:: He agrees, and nobody objects.
::Three...two...::
The word two echoes from somewhere in the hallway, as if said out loud, with just a little delay. They all whip around, raising their guns.
There's nothing there.
The plating on Blackout's back raises to stand on end.
::What the frag?!:: Motormaster says, and his words echoes out too.
::Let's move! It's a dist...:: Ironhide's words are cut off into a pained grunt, a loud clang, and everyone yelling.
Blackout's little group doesn't have time to do anything more as they're attacked too. Something drops from the ceiling to land on top of Blackout, and he spins around out of instinct, a move that's useless. Digits dig into the wiring to his hub, and he smaches his back against the wall to try to get rid of the mech on top of him. The mech grunts, but doesn't give up his position. The digits dig into the seams of the armor on Blackout's neck, searching for vital cables and lines. Blackout screams in pain when something sharp sink into one of the seams on his neck, and he is forced to drop his handheld gun to try to grab the mech as the mech pulls his arm back to make another stab at him. A damage report pops up into his HUD; a puncture wound to the protoform, a nicked energon line, and a severed wire to an extension sensor.
Nothing deadly. Yet.
Chapter Text
They crash through the door, even if there's a risk that back up for their opponents is waiting in there. It isn't intentional, everyone I'd just trying to get out on top and stay alive. Every word they say over their comm connection — not many right now, they're all kind of busy, and orders are redundant — are echoed out over the hallway.
Their comm connection must've been hacked. Their enemies knew everything they said.
The mech on his back pushes the knife in once again, but this time in a spot where Blackout can reach to grab his wrist. There's a pained cry when he crushes the component, the knife clattering to the floor without finding it's mark. He yanks with all his might, and this time, the mech loses his grip, clattering to the floor next to the knife. Blackout kicks it out of reach while the mech is still dazed from his landing, then he kicks the mech in the abdomen for good measure. He trains his lasers on his opponent, and then he looks over at his team, ready to dispatch the glitch and go help them if he needs to.
There's no need. The others have subdued their enemies too. Well, Motormaster's is clearly offline, but Nitro has his pinned to the floor. Blackout takes a look around the room, and he sees the heat signatures they saw before, but they're not mecha, just some sort of dummies. Their real enemies have heat signatures now that they've come out of what must've been shielded hiding places, and they were probably the blips they ignored, thinking it was nothing.
They're not making that mistake again.
::Do you guys need back up?:: Nitro asks over comm, his voice still echoing down the hallway in that eerie way.
They need to learn to communicate without comms too.
::We've got everything under control.:: Ironhide answers.
The mech on the floor is slowly crawling away, as if he thinks he can make a run for it. Blackout steps on his pede, and the mech groans in pain.
They fragging made it! It was a close call, but they all survived, and he beat the little glitch.
Blackout touches his neck, hissing when he reaches between his plates to touch his torn open protoform, the damaged components. Energon stains his digits.
So close to his main power wires to his processor.
His spark races with exhilaration of still being alive, all his systems are already ramped up to the max, and now that he has a second to reflect, everything comes crashing over him, making reality feel more real than possible.
The mech writhing on the floor, trying to get his pede lose to make a feeble run for it, face twisted with pain and terror. The smell of heated frames, the lingering residue of fired weapons, the smell of spilt energon and fear...
Blackout's entire frame is buzzing with pent up power. He steps off the pede, taking a step back, crouching. His frame is coiled to pounce or hunt.
"Three... two..." He whispers to the mech on the floor.
It takes a few seconds of bright opticed, incredulous staring before the mech realizes what's going on, then his face contorts with horror, and he scrambles to make a run for it, even though his pede isn't really functional. He limps across the room, towards the back, and Blackout is trembling with anticipation.
"One."
Chapter Text
The hunt is over way too fast. The hobbling mech hardly reaches the stairs at the back of the room before Blackout catches up with him.
The little scrap nearly killed him, but the tables have turned, and he's in power.
It's one of the few times he has power over anything, because he doesn't even have true power over his own frame, bound to obey his Commanders as he is.
Behind his panel, Blackout's spike throbs, aching for release, exacerbated by all the pent up energy in his frame. At first, he savors the flailing and struggle, doesn't immediately pin the terrified mech, but his patience with the game is short lived. With a heavy servo on the mech's back, he nudges the smaller mech's legs apart, and tears out his panel. The mech screams in pain, and Blackout releases his spike, drinking in the fear, desperation, and hatred of the other mech.
There's something more there too, something he doesn't have a word for, but that teases his field in a way he wants more of. It reminds him about what his fellow soldiers feel when losing a spar, only stronger, much more intense.
Blackout can hear the energon rushing through his own lines, the terrified spinning and stuttering of the other mech's spark, and he can smell the fear.
Intoxicating.
He pushes inside — tight fit, and resistance from the dry mesh — and the smaller mech screams, trying to buck up to get away. Blackout puts more weight on the mech's back to keep him down, rutting into the slickening valve. He looks down to see his spike slide in and out, and notices that the slick is energon. Blackout groans quietly. He still pulls out, unhappy with the position.
Blackout rolls the smaller mech, who renews his struggling. Blackout grins, because it makes for better sport, and the mech is decent at fighting, but Blackout's longer reach gives him the advantage. Wrapping one servo around the mech's thigh, and the other around his throat, he slides inside again. The mech's digits claw against the plating on his arm, trying to reach a controlling component to mess up Blackout's grip. The Helo clamps his plating to leave minimal gaps, and squeezes harder. The mech panics, his fighting taking on a new desperation, and it's almost enough to bring Blackout over.
He doesn't want to finish yet, it has been a while since he got pussy.
When the mech's optics go dim, and his frame is going limp, Blackout loosens his grip on the mech's throat, allowing him to stay conscious. The mech coughs and vents rapidly, gasping for air. Blackout grins when the mech starts to sob, saying words in a language Blackout doesn't know.
Begging. He doesn't need to know the words to recognize it.
The terror in the mech's field is delectable, and Blackout starts to rut faster, chasing his overload, while tightening his grip on the mech's throat again. The mech seems to have given up at first, but the closer Blackout brings him to offlining, the more he tries, an instinct that's impossible to control.
Blackout overloads. He pushes in deep, spilling his transfluid, but then he feels the way the mech is going still — hears his sparks guttering — and he pulls out, shooting the last sticky ropes on the mech's stomach when the mech goes limp, and voids his waste tank.
Yeah he's not making the mistake to stay inside when that happens again. Some fluids are nice to be covered in, but that's where he draws the line. Eew.
He can hear that the mech's spark has burned out, and lets go, standing up.
"You done?" Nitro asks.
"Yeah. He's dead, though, so no sloppy seconds for you." He says, then he tilts his helm in consideration. "He's still warm, though, so I guess it would work."
"Thanks, but I got one myself. Moto and I shared."
"Nice. Let's go then."
::All units return for pickup. Mission accomplished. Bring back the scraps.:: Their Commander orders over a broad comm link.
"Finished just in time!" Motormaster laughs.
They really got lucky today.
Chapter Text
Blackout tilts his helm, optics going to where Barricade is pressing a servo against his interface plate.
It's disgusting, he really shouldn't react like this. It's so wrong, what they did, but he's coming out of the memory from Blackout's perspective, and the intensity of everything about is still overwhelming, and the rush of power is something he's familiar with, even if the M.O is worlds apart.
But his spike has requested to pressurize, and he can feel the pre-transfluid making his sheath feel wet. Blackout smirks, raising an optical ridge.
"I can see why you got revved up by surviving that, but what you did was still terrible." He says, taking a deep drag on the cyg to calm himself.
"Sure about that?" Blackout motions to where Barricade is still physically holding his panel shut.
"A hundred percent certain. If a whore would've sufficed, that would've been a much better option."
"They were in rather short supply on the battlefront."
"I..." Barricade works his intake.
And from what he has seen, it's highly unlikely that the military would supply them with a bunch of hookers as a homecoming reward. And they were literally raised to do what Blackout did.
"You think I wouldn't have been treated the same if I had lost like that at some point?"
"That... That doesn't make it right."
Blackout shrugs. "There's absolutely nothing we can do about it now anyway. It was what we knew about interfacing at that point."
"But you learned. Obviously."
"And being good at getting someone off can be just as entertaining as killing them. When we got promoted — so to speak, we never got a higher rank, of course, but our unit started getting other kinds of assignments — we often had more time on our servos. We could be on a mission for weeks at a time, pushing the battlefront more stealthily through more remote areas and things like that, and we were rarely in a rush. As long as stuff got done, communications with our superiors were kept down. Somewhere along the line, I found that there's something even more tantalizing with making the enemy soldier overload for me. The mortification, and the humiliation and self hatred is hard to beat. Five stars for leaving him alive to remember, and bonus points for letting at least one of his comrades watch." Blackout's voice has a slightly rough edge, as if he's getting turned on.
Why did he ask to know these things? But then again, he knew that they've all done bad stuff, and they're different now. Blackout does have excellent self control. And this is rather intriguing, to really get to know what makes this beast tick. And he can understand what a power trip that must be.
"Kind of like when you fuck us in the rec room then, only that's more civilized."
Because it's similar, just that they're volunteers, and he pays them well for it.
"Whores are no longer in short supply." Blackout grins.
He's not going to take the bait and be offended. He is a whore after all.
"Mecha like Roadbuster, though...? Half Warframes?"
"Mmm, yes, that was the best nights back at base. Some little slut would walk into camp, looking for a thrill and a big spike. Sometimes, they didn't have the wits to use protection. I guess sometimes they did, but the bolt got knocked loose, and that's when mecha like Roadbuster happened." Blackout starts flicking through his memories again. "What do you want to see: the first one found by someone in our batch, the first one our unit found, or the first one where we knew a little what we were doing?"
Chapter 612
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"What do you mean with your batch?"
"We were built and online at the same time. All the mechs in our dorm in the barrack was from our batch."
"Did you have the same kind of loyalty to them as you do with your unit."
"Unit always come first, but other soldiers sent in at the same time needed to be preserved as much as possible too. I never got to know them as well though, in many instances because they didn't live long enough. They were all friends — not Brothers, more like cousins, maybe — but unit is even more."
Brothers, capitalized. Family.
"Anyway, the first time someone stumbled across a civilian in camp was pretty early on. The longer we lived, the more downtime we had; they didn't need us to constantly run drills, and we were allowed to move around the entire barrack, not only our dorm. If we hadn't fragged up, then we had sort of room arrest. This was back when we rarely got access to anything but our dorm though. We split guard duties of patrolling the base, and that's when a couple of mechs from a different unit found a little trespasser. Orders were to apprehend the mech, and that was vague enought to leave room for interpretations when the little mech started flirting with the guards.
Barricade doesn't have time to say anything more before Blackout starts up the next memory.
He never got to choose what he wants to see. Wants to?
He's back in the dorm, all of his unit members are there too. Ironhide and Nitro are playing some kind of strategic game — a very primitive one, with small pieces of scrap metal scattered on top of the berth they're sitting on. Springer is watching. The door opens and the guards return. Blackout notices, because it isn't really time for a shift change yet.
They're leading a short, slender mech between them, and when everyone's attention turns to them, the sleek mech seems to balk, trying to turn around. He's easily kept in place.
"No, what are you..." He says, panic in his voice.
"What's going on?" A mech from a different unit asks.
"Found this one trespassing."
"Trespassers are to be apprehended." Someone says, quoting the order.
"We did. This one made a compelling argument, though..."
"I didn't mean all of you! You can't be serious!" The little mech's voice is rising in pitch, and he starts to struggle.
"Said he wanted to have some fun. Listen to this; he wants to get spiked." One of the Warframes holding the little civilian's arm says, quirking an optical ridge.
"I-I... Not like this!" The civilian tries to yank his arms free, but the grips on his arms are unbreakable.
"Didn't you tell us you wanted to get fucked? That you'd heard that Warframes have big cocks, and your pussy needed to be filled?"
"I... Yes, I did say that, but I didn't mean the whole army!" His voice trembles. "Please, just let me go home."
"No can do; you were trespassing, we have to turn you in."
The mech's face falls, and he hunches in on himself.
"Who's berth do we use?"
"Take Demolishor's, it's the only one that doesn't have a top bunk."
"Oh, so I'm recharging in the wet patch? How nice of all of you."
"It's not our fault that your fat tires can't fit in a regular bunk."
Everyone starts laughing.
"Please let me go." The little mech almost whispers.
"When we're done."
The civilian is shoved into the berth, and one of the mech's who brought him climbs on top of him immediately.
"Anyone else interested?" The other guard calls out.
His unit trade glances. Ironhide shrugs. "I'm not one to turn down some pussy. My servo is getting boring."
"I hear you, Bro!" Breakdown snickers.
They all shout yes in unison with the rest of their batch.
"Well, form a line down this row of berths then."
"Do we really have to? Can't we have some sort of digital que system?" Someone says
"Maybe we can set one up until the next time?"
"Fragging hell, we're going to stand in line?" Springer grouses.
"Seems that way." Nitro shrugs, and then he leaves the game to get in line. "It'll be worth it when it's our turn."
Notes:
I was trying to answer comments yesterday, but AO3 was eating all my text. I'll try to get back to you later today.
Chapter Text
The line is moving very slowly — at least it feels that way, waiting for pussy — and they wind up sitting on whatever berth is closest while they wait to move forward. Springer tries to sneak in before Nitro, and they wind up wrestling for a bit, evenly matched, but with Nitro taking back his place.
"What on Cybertron would possess someone to want to give their valve up?" Motormaster asks, sounding incredulous.
Ironhide shrugs. "I'm not going to pop the hood on a gift raceframe. If we got more mechs coming here who wanted that, we wouldn't need to wear out or own servos."
"Wouldn't that be great?" Springer sounds almost dreamy. "If we could get some a couple of times a week..."
It sounds delightful, but also like a fucking pipe dream. Willing pussy can't be that common.
Blackout cranks up his audials to listen in on what's currently going on in Demolishor's berth.
"Please... Can't you just have my valve, like the others?" The little mech sobs.
"I thought we were generous to listen to your suggestions, instead of doing our duty. You would be reported for trespassing on a military base if we brought you back to our superiors. Like we're supposed to."
"Please don't report me. My Sire would definitely have his will rewritten." The little civilian says weakly.
"M-hm... I have no idea what you're talking about, but I won't report you if you just suck my spike."
"Fine."
Blackout leans out from where he's sitting to try to catch a glimpse.
So offering a choice could get mecha to offer willingly? Kind of like that chapter in the first porno they saw, where a gang of mechs got the little one to cooperate. Interesting.
"Any of you ever stuck your dick in a mech's mouth?" He asks, because even if he has seen it done in the movies, he hasn't had the opportunity to try it himself yet.
"No. I don't want to get it bitten off." Breakdown says.
"I did. But I broke the mech's jaw first as a safety measure, so it wasn't anything spectacular. It was kind of loose, had to get all the way into the mech's throat to make it feel good." Motormaster says.
"That one is sucking voluntarily. Looks pretty good." Blackout jerks his helm towards Demolishor's berth.
His entire unit turns to have a look.
"Yeah, that looks quite different." Motormaster says. "Oh, he's using his glossa too. Looks like Gorge is going to be quick with that treatment."
"His designation is Gorge?" Springer asks.
"Yeah..." Ironhide answer.
"I thought it was George. Explains while he rarely listens to me."
"Nobody ever listen to you anyway." Nitro challenges.
Everyone starts laughing, Springer flips him off, and then the wrestling match is on again.
Chapter Text
Nitro is the first one of his unit in line. The little mech is a complete mess by now; his thighs and pelvic plating are covered in transfluid — quite a lot, since Glug accidentally discovered the knotting function on his spike and by that made them wait even longer in line. The Racer's lip-plates are puffy and looking raw — more than one have wanted to try his intake — and he has uncountable paint transfers. Nitro tilts his helm in consideration, and the little mech looks up at him with bleary optics, both resignment and apprehension in his field.
"On all fours." Nitro says to the Racer, but it sounds more like testing the words than an order.
The mech makes a face, the corner of his intake pulling back, lip-plates trembling, but then he slowly rolls over on his front. He starts to get up on all fours like he was asked to, but his movements are still slow. Not sluggish, as if his systems are malfunctioning.
Reluctance. He doesn't want to, but he still does it.
Blackout don't understand why the mech is reluctant — he came here, wanting to be fucked, after all — all of a sudden. The why matters little though, because what is overwhelming is how arousing it is. Sure, he gets off on the hunt, and he likes to take whatever he wants, but there's something much more alluring with the power to tell someone what to do, and get them to do it even if they don't want to.
His spike throbs behind his panel, and he's hard pressed to keep it locked away when Nitro kneels behind the little mech and slides inside.
What's he going to try when it's his turn? He never tried the intake, but if it isn't as good as he's hoping, he will have wasted the opportunity to get some good pussy. Ass is nice, but he's not sure how he could get the mech to give that up in a way that would satisfy this fantasy. He needs to think more about that, and he doesn't have time to process it properly now that it'll soon be his turn.
Nitro is rutting into the civilian, powerful thrusts making a clanging noise every time his hips hit the little mech's aft.
"Will we have time to have more than one go?" Blackout asks.
Everyone looks at each other as if they haven't even considered it.
"I guess the next guard shift needs to get out there on time, otherwise we should have time."
"So if the current guard shift are already done, you can go back out there now to not raise suspicion. The next shift can skip in line as soon as they can go again to have their two rounds before they get out there, and you guys can have your second rounds when you get back." Ironhide suggests.
There's nodding all around, everyone seeming to accept the plan. The mechs currently on guard duty leaves to go back on patrol.
He can try the intake, and if it sucks — heh — be can have pussy later. Or ass if he feels like that.
"Hey, Nitro. What do you say about sharing?" Blackout suggests
Nitro looks questioningly at him, slowing the pace.
"I'll try his intake."
Nitro grins slowly. "Sure."
Blackout steps forward, climbing onto the berth in front of the civilian, spike pressurizing without his permission. Even kneeling, he's too tall, thick spike bobbing above the mech's helm. Blackout has to sit on his pedes to get at an adequate height. The Racer is staring at his spike, optics bright.
"I know that you know what to do with it, so go ahead."
The mech's field flares with disgust and humiliation, and his face flushes. It makes Blackout's spike twitch.
It would be easy to just grab the mechs helm, and ram his spike down his throat, but this is much more arousing.
The mech licks at the head of his spike, smearing the beading pre-transfluid.
It would be kind of fun to shoot his load on the pretty mechs face-plates, make him look like the little slut he is.
The mech sucks the head of Blackout's spike into his intake, and Blackout groans.
So wet, and hot, and good.
"Hey, I just calculated it; if we're this efficient, and go two at a time, we could definitely get three rounds each before it's time for the wake-up call." Someone says.
Chapter Text
Blackout pulls out, shooting his load on the mech's face, and the way the wayward civilian's field squirms with humiliation makes his overload even more powerful, and prolongs it. He groans, holding his spike to steady it to aim, feeling more powerful than ever.
This gun — heh — gives him as much power as his others, if not more. The little slut sucked his dick on command.
As soon as he's done, he leaves room for Springer, because it's rude to hog all the good stuff from his Brothers, no matter how much he wants to have fun, and experiment with the little glitch all night. Instead, he and Nitro walks back to the end of the line to take a place to wait for the next round. Nitro was already finished, but staid to watch Blackout.
"Mouth good?" Nitro asks.
Blackout groans, spike already managing to twitch with interest again. "Pit yes! He did this thing with his glossa around the head..."
The memory fades out, and Barricade finds himself with his spike in his servo, no longer holding his panel shut. Blackout quirks an optical ridge, smirking knowingly.
"This is not what it looks like..." Barricade says, dropping his spike as if it burned his servo.
It bobs there in the air, fully pressurized, which isn't a single bit better than him holding it. He grabs it again, even though that doesn't make it go away, or even cover it up, and he feels his face flush.
"No, I'm sure it's just your baton."
"I-I..." Barricade flushes even more. "This is just because you were aroused, and I was feeling your feelings."
"You get off on having power over others. We've already established that. Of course this would be right up your alley."
"That was different! I never forced anyone in that way, and I..."
"No, you just coerced them, right?" Blackout scoffs. "And how was that different?"
"I never threatened them."
"It wasn't like we threatened that little civilian. Except for turning him in. He was pretty compliant from scratch, I'd say."
"There's an implied threat just in being dragged into a room of — what were you, seventy? — fully armed Warframes. What was he supposed to do, fight you off?"
"Ninety three. And we didn't really hurt him — sure, he walked funny, and was probably really sore when we were done — but we were pretty damned careful not to spoil the fun for everyone else by breaking him too badly before everyone had their turns."
"Saved by the loyalty between Warframes, yeah that really makes it alright." Barricade sneers. "How was he supposed to know that you wouldn't damage him if he didn't comply?"
"Tall words for someone still having his dick in his servo. I reckon he'd realize once everyone had their first turn that we wouldn't damage him much."
Barricade both makes a face, and flushes, trying to get his stubborn spike to depressurize.
"There's still a lot of pain that could be inflicted even without damage."
"Oh, yes there is! And a lot of fear and misery too. Like going to prison. Is it really less threatening to be offered a stay out of jail card for the price of degrading yourself than it is to comply because someone has the ability to harm you? And in extension, does that ability make it impossible to have fully consensual interfacing? Can any of us ever have fully consensual sex, or will there always be a risk that what starts as consensual might change, because our partners change their minds but doesn't say anything because of the implied threat of what we could do? Because why should we even bother with the consent in the first place, if that's the case?"
Barricade's processor is starting to hurt.
"I have a proposal for you." Blackout says.
"What?"
"You suck my spike, and I'll let you borrow the washracks to jerk off."
"That's not even a good deal."
Blackout transforms all his guns out, grinning like a sharkticon. "Isn't it?"
Chapter Text
Blackout is... impressive with all his guns out, and Barricade feels really small. He knows that Blackout won't damage him — at least not much enough to piss the others off — but Barricade will probably never stop being a bit apprehensive when around him.
Accidents happen, and there's not much to do after the fact. Even if Blackout is forced to pay for the repairs for the damage, or fines to the other Brothers, he could just decide that it's worth it.
"Fine." He snips.
Barricade reaches for Blackout's plug.
"Leave it." Blackout's voice has a razors edge to it.
Barricade pauses, servo hovering above the plug, and he meets Blackout's optics.
He really means it.
Barricade nods once, then he gets in position, and sucks the head of Blackout's spike into his intake.
He won't be able to take much in this position, but if this is Blackout's choice, he might as well just roll with it.
"You really are turning into a good slut; sucking spike even without credits involved, and without threats."
Barricade flushes, but at least Blackout can't see that. The Helo groans, so he must've noticed either by his field, or their uplink.
It's true, and he didn't even think about it. He came here of his own volition, knowing that he wouldn't get paid, and now he's doing this, which certainly isn't for his own pleasure. And getting to use the washracks to jerk off sounds inadequate as payment. So why is he doing this?
"Or maybe it's the implied threat of me being me, with all my guns and stuff?" Blackout muses. Barricade reaches the limit for how much of the spike he can take in this position, and starts to let it slide out again. "Oh, come on. I know you can take a bit more than that." Blackout says, stroking the back of Barricade's helm with his massive servo.
Encouragement or a threat to just jam it in there?
"I can never tell why anyone does the stuff they do. Are they afraid of what I might do, do they want what I can offer? Do they just want me for reasons unknown? Mecha are selfish, they have some motivation or other driving their actions. And I find it hard to believe that my charming personality is the reason."
Barricade pushes his helm down, relaxing the back of his intake, and he manages to take another two inches.
"Ah, that's good." Blackout groans, hips twitching as he seems to tamp down on the urge to buck up. "But you aren't getting any credits for this, you're not obligated to be here to pay for rent, and I didn't threaten you to get your aft here now. That makes me draw the conclusion that you consensually suck cock, because you like it."
Chapter Text
It's not like Barricade can answer with a spike in his mouth, pressing against his vocalizer to make it impossible to speak. And maybe that's a good thing, because he has absolutely no idea what to say.
On one servo, he wants to deny it immediately, and vehemently. On the other...
Why is he here? He knew what would happen, even if he requested nothing outlandish. This is still Blackout, with his predilections. Sure, he didn't want to recharge alone, but was he really desperate enough for company to wind up here, knowing what ideas Blackout might have? Or is there something else? He certainly doesn't like to suck cock for a john on the street, but for the Brothers it's... fine. Liking it may be a stretch — he likes doing it for Jazz, though — but he thinks it's ok.
The revelation of how his mindset has changed brings about a flare of embarrassment, and Blackout catches that, of course, groaning with pleasure.
"I guess I was right." Blackout says, taking Barricade's embarrassment as confirmation.
Barricade can't do anything to correct his misconception. Instead, he bobs his helm, and works his glossa around the head of Blackout's spike.
"Let me cum on your face." Blackout groans as he's getting close.
Barricade isn't thrilled about that, but he rolls his glossa around Blackout's spike a few more times, then he backs off, sliding his servo along the thick shaft, aiming at his own face-plates.
Sticky ropes of hot transfluid clings to his plating — the glob across two of his optics is particularly annoying — and he flushes when he looks up to see Blackout's bright optics.
Blackout's spike slowly depressurizes, and Barricade sits back.
"Did you like that too?" Blackout asks, looking at Barricade's handiwork.
"Not particularly, no."
"Then why did you do it?"
Why did he do it? Because he thought he didn't have a choice? Because he's so used to doing what others tell him?
"You told me to do it." Barricade shrugs, feeling a bit confused about it himself.
"That's it?"
"I guess... I don't know. It never occured to me that I might have a choice."
Blackout rubs his chin thoughtfully. "See? This whole consent thing is so confusing. How was I supposed to know that you didn't want to do that?"
"But if I had said no, you might've hurt me?"
"Ah, the implied threat again. So even if I tried to not force you, you'd still do things you didn't want, wouldn't say no. And then I'm the bad guy after the fact." Blackout sounds annoyed. "Why do I even bother trying to play by the rules? I'm set up to lose anyway, and I have much more fun when I break them."
"I guess there's also the lingering thought that you're my customer, and I should please you. Even if I don't get paid tonight, it's how we've interacted before. You know, it wasn't that bad anyway. I don't enjoy it, it doesn't bring me pleasure, but I can still do it for someone else's sake. I can do some things that pleases my partner for their sake sometimes."
He does let Jazz do that at times, because Jazz enjoys it.
Blackout nods, seeming to process it.
"Right. Let's get into the washracks then."
"The washracks?"
"Yeah, you should get your jerk off time."
"And you're joining me?"
Is Blackout going to give him a handjob?!
Barricade's semi-soft spike twitches.
Or is he just going to watch?
Blackout taps the cable they're s connected through.
"Yes. I'll supply you with something to jerk off to."
Chapter Text
"It's weird to have you watch." Barricade says, awkwardly holding his semi-hard spike.
"It's not something I haven't seen before. We had no privacy in the baracks. And trust me, I don't get off on it."
Barricade feels when Blackout sorts through his memories, then the big Helo grins wickedly.
"You should recognize this one." He says.
Barricade doesn't have time to answer, he's flung into the memory.
Nitro is pulling Dreadbot along, and for once, the little glitch isn't climbing all over him, or even walking along nicely.
He's not much for stealing the fun from his Brothers, but the glitch needs to learn how to behave anyway, and Nitro clearly isn't planning on letting them share the fun. And technically, it is his job.
He places a servo on Nitro's shoulder to make him pause.
"Since I'm the Enforcer, I think it's my job to uphold our rules. And to punish those that don't follow them..."
Nitro hesitates, and he understands why.
He wouldn't be keen to hand the fun over to someone else either. But this is an opportunity he just can't pass on.
Blackout grabs Dreadbot as soon as Nitro lets go, and the way Dreadbot immediately starts to struggle and beg is going straight to his spike.
So many things he could do...
"Now strip."
It would be so easy to tear those clothes off, go overpower the little glitch, but that feels a bit clumsy and crude, like something Grindor would do. The best way to remind the glitch of his place is showing him that he needs to obey, make the right choices. Make him show that he can obey. Putting fear in him by damaging him would be easy, any idiot could do that, like Grindor would. There are better ways, though, more clever ones. More fun ones.
Dreadbot hesitates, his field churning with fear, and he's clearly apprehensive about what Blackout is going to come up with. It's a good thing that he enjoys delayed gratification, that he likes to build up to his overload, or his panel would pop, and he'd just go for the glitch right now.
"You heard me. Strip." He growls, because as much as he may enjoy to take his time, his patience isn't unlimited.
"Interfacing is not a punishment." Ironhide reminds him.
Only if you're a crude bore like Grindor. Well, it could be fun, but it's too simple. Dreadbot would probably be relieved by such an easy punishment. He does take rough sex rather well.
"Oh, I know that. But it can be a very effective way to show appeasement to superiors when a mech has been insubordinate. And to make reparations when a mech has cost someone credits and trouble. To show how sorry he is for not behaving appropriately."
It's trickier with someone like this little glitch, he's so used to doing all the things he found humiliating in the beginning, it won't make as much of an impact. And he doesn't feel like damaging the little glitch, it'll be much more fun to outsmart Grindor by humbling the little glitch into submission without wrecking him, like his oaf of a Brother would certainly do. It's much more fun to get the glitch to voluntarily do what he doesn't want to, and have everyone watch. Some pain would probably do him good to, but most of it should be from his wounded pride.
Dreadbot slowly undresses, his field conveying how vulnerable he feels, not at all the confidence he usually has when being naked, even mortification about his state weaves through his field. He tries to cover himself, and makes himself smaller, and Blackout's spike is painful behind his panel. Grindor says something or other, and Blackout gives him a noncommittal answer, not really paying attention. He takes one more look at the little glitch, and suddenly, he knows exactly what to do. Blackout strides over to the couch, because it'll give him a good position for what he has in mind.
"Come here." He purrs softly, making it sound like an invitation, pointing to the floor between his pedes.
Chapter Text
As soon as Dreadbot is sprawled agross his lap, he allows his spike to pressurize, pre-transfluid getting smeared across Dreadbot's bare ventral protoform. There's some sort of reaction from the smaller mech's field, but it's neither humiliation, nor disgust. Dreadbot's used to that after so long being a prostitute, it doesn't really bother him anymore. Blackout expected as much, but it's still a bit disappointing. His servo lands across the smaller mech's aft and the squirming and sobbing, and the utter humiliation makes up for it.
Barricade struggles to get out of the memory, fighting against the stream.
"Please don't do this. I don't want to watch this."
"The rather frantic way you're masturbating is telling me otherwise."
"My frame responds to the feelings accompanying your memory. I do like the power, the control. I don't want to feel that while watching Dreadbot. I didn't want him to go through that, and I don't think he deserved it."
Blackout cocks his helm. "You enjoy it, but you don't want to, so you try to avoid it to feel better about yourself? But if it was someone else, you would watch it." He sounds like he's trying to decipher a particularly hard riddle.
"Because I like Dreadbot, and I have to look him in the optics after this. I will feel like a piece of scrap for getting off on watching one of his low points."
"Why does it matter who it is? Do you think there's a difference between mechs depending if you know them or not? What they deserve..."
Who would've thought something as simple as jerking off would be so hard on the processor?
"I can empathize with him. Look, I know I'm not perfect for being like that towards people I don't know, but I can put myself in Dreadbot's place and understand what it would feel like. And I don't want him to feel like that. Can't you do that at all? Can't you imagine what it would be like to be in Dreadbot's place?"
"Can't say I do, no."
"So you never had a punishment that was unfair? You can't imagine that he would feel like you did then?"
"His punishment was fair, he needed to learn. That I got off on it was just a bonus. I don't see anything wrong in that."
"Of course you don't." Barricade mutters. "This is one of the reasons why the other entertainers rarely seek your company because they feel like it. You're just not a good person, and you don't even try to play a little nice now and then."
"So it would be better if I tried to be someone else? Would it feel good if I played the role of a nice guy? Wouldn't it feel horrible if I outwardly did holding servos, sweet smiles, and tender kisses, making sweet love, all the while fantasizing about all the things I could put you through? And if I did lie like that — because it would be a very elaborate lie — and you found out, wouldn't that feel terrible? To be deceived like that? By someone you trust nonetheless."
"I-I... I don't know..."
The bastard is right. It would feel terrible to fall for him based on a lie, and then find out what kind of monster he can be.
Barricade stifles a shudder when he comes to think of something else that's even more unsettling.
What if Nitro and Hide are just playing nice to fit into society? Or something as simple as getting free pussy.
Chapter Text
"I guess you're right. It wouldn't be better."
Barricade finally agrees, because as easy at it would be to say that Blackout could try playing nice now and then, the point would be moot when it wouldn't be genuine, and the disappointment to find out that it was yet another act would be such a downfall every single time.
He kind of pities the bastard, because Blackout is missing out on many things. Not that he knows what Crosshairs and Ironhide does behind closed doors, but he knows what it's like to be with Jazz, and Blackout isn't even getting a fraction of that. Not that the Helo would feel like he's missing out, but that's for his lack of understanding. No ridiculous squabbling, no snuggling lazily while watching some movie...
But at the same time, Blackout has something to offer; constant challenge. Their conversations are rarely easy or comfortable, but they do stimulate his intellect, and his emotions, and they're very interesting to a level he's reluctant to admit that he can't quite reach when talking to Jazz. Jazz has many interesting perspectives, but he doesn't challenge him personally in the same way.
"I have no good answer for all of this. All I can say is that I didn't find that punishment fair, and even if my frame responds to being in power, I would feel terribly bad for getting off on it, because I like Dreadbot."
"Fair enough." Blackout says after long seconds of contemplating what Barricade said. "Then we'll try another one."
Barricade almost gets vertigo when he's flung into the next memory.
Blackout and his Brothers are all standing behind the ruins of a building. The stench of fire, discharged weapons, and spilled fluids are heavy in his olfactories, and he's wired on running his systems at full capacity, and surviving battle.
A unit of enemy soldiers are tied up, sitting with their backs against the wall, looking at them with bright optics, field sticky with fear.
Finally some mechs. Sure, organics are fun in their way, but it has been a while since they got some plating.
Blackout grabs one of them, hauling him to his pedes. The others start to protest, swearing at him, but he doesn't care; their opinions are worth nothing to him. He pulls the mech with him around the corner to get some privacy.
"What are you going to do to us?" The mech asks.
"That's up to you, really. We have no use for you, our commanders don't need low ranking POWs, so we could just dispose of you..." Blackout says, grabbing one of the plates on the mech's chest, twisting it harshly.
The mech cries out.
"Then you could just let us go." It's a bold request, but the mech's voice is unsteady with fear.
"I suppose we could..." Blackout rubs at a wire underneath the now deformed plate, making the mech hiss in pain. "How about a bit of a deal, hm? You allow us all to fuck you, and we let your entire unit go."
The mech opens his intake to protest vehemently, but then he snaps it shut again when when Blackout pulls that wire out, and the implications of what would happen if he doesn't take the deal sink in fully.
"It's not that hard; you just go along with what we want, and all of you get to go home today." Blackout purrs, walking around to stand behind the smaller mech, leaning in closer. He nips the mech's neck, and the shudder of disgust in both the mech's field and frame goes straight to his groin.
If the mech refuses, he'll fuck him against the wall, get rid of this charge. Ooh, he could smash the mech's helm against the wall while he does it. Not hard enough to knock him out, just enough to...
"Fine. If everyone of us gets to go."
"You have my word. I'll even make you enjoy it."
"I will never enjoy being fucked by you!"
"We'll see..."
Chapter Text
Blackout grabs the mech, pulling him with him back towards the others.
"What are you doing?! I said I'll cooperate!" The mech says, voice rising in pitch with fear.
Blackout groans when the mech's field flares with fear. "Going to seal our deal."
"B-but I thought you wanted privacy?!" The mech is struggling now, even though it's kind of useless, tied up as he is, and with Blackout's greater mass to take on.
"For this discussion, yes." He stops, turning to the mech. "But if you've changed your mind, there's other ways I could have fun..." He leers, tugging at another cable laid bare by the plate he has already twisted out of place. "I've never really picked a mech apart little by little. Maybe you could learn something too? Of course it wouldn't matter, since I'd kill you in the end, but I'll let you watch as I do it to your comrades." He can't help but grin widely at the noise of terror the mech makes.
"I-I'll do what you say! Please, just don't..."
"Good, then just trot along nicely, let us have our fun, and you're all free to go."
The mech slumps in both defeat and relief, and then he follows Blackout without struggling, even if he is dragging his pedes a little.
"Mechs, we have a winner!" Blackout exclaims when he rounds the corner.
His Brothers cheer, and the mech Blackout is leading hesitates for half a step, glaring at the ground. Blackout pushes him to stand in front of the lined up enemies.
"I'll untie you, but you better behave yourself, or everyone is going to be offlined." He murmurs in the mech's audial.
"I w-won't do anything stupid."
"And you better put your glossa into it if someone wants your mouth. A little optic contact is kind of courteous too."
The mech's lip-plates tremble as if he's stifling a sob, but he nods once. Blackout unties him, and steps back.
"Who wants to go first?" He asks his Brothers.
"Well, since you're asking so nicely..." Ironhide smirks, coming up to them. "Share the ware?"
"What are you going to have."
"I want valve."
The mech's unit starts to protest wildly.
"Then I'll wait. I want that too." Blackout says. He's really itching to have a go, but Hide is their unit leader, and it'll be a nice build up to see the little glitch get through the humiliation of having his enemies fuck him in front of his mechs.
Patience makes the release even more gratifying.
"I can have his mouth while you do it." Springer says.
"Sure." Ironhide says. "Get on your knees." He says to the mech.
Springer steps up in front of him, grabbing his jaw to hold his intake open.
"I... I'll use my g-glossa! If you let me work..." The mech stammers with fear of having his jaw broken, flushing with humiliation at the words leaving his vocalizer.
Springer looks at Blackout, and Blackout nods.
"Even better." He holds his spike to steady it in front of the mech.
The mech stares at it for long seconds, swallowing hard, then he licks at the head of it, tongue getting covered in the pre-transfluid already beading. Blackout's spike twitches behind it's cover when he feels the revulsion in the mech's field.
The stunned, horrified silence of the mech's unit is just as sweet as begging, pleading, and protests.
Chapter Text
Their glitch is doing a pretty good job with going along with what they're doing to him. It would almost be a bit boring if it wasn't for his field betraying how much he hates it. Blackout glances at the lined up mech's along the wall. They seem to be numb to it by now, staring emptily at what's going on, as of they've come to terms with what their unit comrade is doing.
He turns back to where the glitch moans around Nitro's spike, brought to overload by Breakdown's digits on his node. The glitch's field flares with mortification.
His Brothers were quick to start using the knowledge from that weird porno someone smuggled into the barack, the one where the glitch was willing as hell, and the mech were touching him like that. He can agree that it does bring some entertaining reactions, especially when the setting is right.
Like now, when the glitch really doesn't want to enjoy himself.
It's his turn now, everyone else done, and he strides over to the mech, keeping optic contact as he goes. The glitch just waits there, on all fours on the ground, transfluid clinging to his chin, staining his aft and back, and dribbling down his thighs.
It would be kind of fun to keep a glitch like this; always ready to do what they want, no matter how much he hates it. Maybe they could? Pretend that he's one of theirs, and smuggle him in. But if they're found out, the punishment will definitely be worse than the regular ones, and he's not keen on being reprogrammed it recycled. And they'd have to keep the glitch in line to pretend being one of theirs, and it would be too tedious to really be fun.
Blackout kneels behind the mech, patting his sticky aft. The mech's field flares with indignance, but he doesn't protest.
"Your port looks a bit loose." He says, prodding the opening with his digit, reminding the little glitch that he was taken there, and overloaded then too.
The reaction is immediate; the mech's field flares with self loathing, revulsion, and mortification.
Motormaster does have some skills with humiliating the glitches.
Blackout reaches around to stroke the glitch's sensitive nub, and it earns him a twitch of the mech's hips.
Still sensitive from his last overload.
He lines up and slides inside, the glitch's valve slick with transfluid and lubricant. Blackout shudders with pleasure, already revved up from watching his Brothers have their way with the glitch. He immediately starts to rut into the glitch, rubbing his node at the same time, and it doesn't take long before the glitch overloads again, systems already primed by his previous overloads. Blackout follows him over, pressing in deep to fill him up with transfluid.
The glitch will feel this for days.
As soon as he's done, they untie the glitch's unit. They all stand around awkwardly, their little glitch refusing to meet the optics of his unit. Blackout throws a pilfered rag at him, and he barely catches it.
"Better not come back to your superiors, looking like you just had a lot of fun with the enemy." He says, smirking.
The glitch makes a face, still staring at the ground.
"Now, get out of here, before we decide to shoot you all!" Springer barks.
They all get moving, scrambling around the corner. Ironhide looks questioningly at him, and Springer shrugs.
"They can't shoot us in the back if they're running away."
"We took their guns." Ironhide says.
"Yeah, but I don't trust them anyway."
"Better safe than sorry I always say!" Motormaster laughs.
"And yet you never use a condom, even when you've managed to get ahold of one." Nitro snickers.
"Ruins the fun."
"That's why you always go last unless you take a hole nobody else wants for the moment." Ironhide says, making a face.
Chapter Text
The memory fades away, and Barricade stares at the transfluid staining the wall, and his servo with very mixed feelings.
It feels so wrong to get off on that. At the same time, the power trip was intoxicating. Just like it was back when he was a much worse person than he's trying to be now. Maybe he's still that bad person? Maybe he's a hypocrite, pretending to be someone he still isn't? Maybe he's the liar — even going as far as deceiving himself — that Blackout was talking about?
He intends to grab the shower head to rinse the wall, but then he's just reminded that he's to short to reach it, staring at it where it's mocking him. Blackout seems to understand his intentions — and maybe he can see that over their connection, who knows what he can and can't do — and takes it down, handing it to Barricade. It's helpful, but at the same time, it feels condescending.
"I take it this was better than watching Dreadbot?"
"I don't know. I do feel a bit bad about getting off on it. I shouldn't enjoy it."
Blackout shrugs. "It's not like it can be undone anyway, the memories are already there. Might as well put them to good use."
Well, he is kind of right. He isn't doing it again, he's reusing an old memory. That must be better. And then the mech who was violated wasn't used for just a one-time fix, which would be worse, right?
"So... You got itches from time to time?"
Blackout snorts and makes a face at the same time. "Yeah, sharing random soldiers and horny civilians makes for one hell of a cesspool. The first time was such a bitch. We had no idea what it was, but it was itching, and not looking nice at all, and the only thing we were certain about was that we couldn't report it as damage to have it repaired. Such a non-essential component might just be removed, and besides play fighting, and made up games, jerking off was the only pass-time we had. It took quite a while before we could get rid of that, we didn't dare use up all our nanite gel for just that."
"I'm amazed you managed to get rid of it at all, considering how you had nothing to work with."
"It was dumb luck, the first time we stumbled upon a pharmacy that hadn't been obliterated. We did some exploring at times, but time was often short in the beginning, when we were mostly cannon fodder. Then we got other types of assignments, and often were deployed in places that weren't completely razed. We had already started to grab things we wanted to smuggle back — mostly games and porn at first, we rarely found useful stuff, since places often had been looted already — and had made the habit of quickly checking buildings when we had the opportunity. So we walked into this place and started looking through what was left and just couldn't believe our optics; some nanite gels, patches, splints, staples, supplements. Apparently, the looters hadn't had time to clear it out. So we stuffed our subspaces, and then Nitro is just staring at this shelf, reading it. Our programs to compute text from optical input were rudimentary when we were created — not installed to be used, just a few latent protocols our owners never intended to be there in the first place, I guess — so we had to learn to read by cross-referencing everything to our HUD protocols, making reading really slow. Anyway, the shelf was almost full, and eventually, we managed to figure out that it was the "intimate" products. Found a pamphlet on safe sex, stuffed our pockets with as much as we could spare room for, and decided to look into it more closely when we made camp for the night."
It's kind of funny to imagine them slowly reading labels and a little pamphlet around a campfire, and Barricade can't help but grin.
"I'm sorry, but just the mental image of you Bots reading a pamphlet about safe sex, and trying to figure out what products you found is kind of funny."
Blackout barks a laugh. "Then you should've seen the first time we found a bar!"
Chapter Text
"What happened when you found a bar?" Barricade asks, eager to grab on to something a little more light-sparked than the ethical and moral discussions.
"We had no idea about different grades of fuel, we had only ever had the tasteless glop we got in the military, and some horrible fuels we had found on some worlds when we were desperate for supplies. Our systems are made to function on many sorts of fuels in case we need to pilfer something in battle. The quality of what we found varied a lot, though, but up until then, we had never found anything fancy."
Barricade finishes his washing, and they get out of the shower, heading back to the berth.
"We were all on like thirty percent levels, and when we realized that it was fuel, we started drinking. Nitro was kind of lucky, the first thing he tried was a lower grade, and he liked the taste, so he drank a few bottles of that first. Hide got a high grade. He didn't really like the taste, but then he saw how quickly his energy levels went up, even with a small amount, so we all just binged on high grade, completely stoked how much energy we'd have with our tanks full of that 'super-fuel'."
Barricade wants to facepalm, but he refrains from, because how could they possibly have known?
"I think you can see where this is going. Frag, we got so drunk. At first we just enjoyed the nice buzz, but it quickly went overboard. Everyone was stumbling around, knocking stuff over, tripping over air, and puking their tanks out. We had no idea what was going on, so we thought we had been poisoned, and were going to die. Then we passed out, and woke up with the hangover of the millennium. If it wasn't for Nitro, we would've ditched all the fuel we had stuffed in our subspaces, but he was relatively fine since he got the low grade first, and it was enough to dilute the high grade to get him good drunk, and not like us. After that, we learned to try new fuels more carefully, and eventually we knew the difference between different grades. And it was great to have a bit of booze available for those boring nights in the barack."
"Didn't you ever get in trouble for the stuff you brought back?"
"We didn't, actually. They never checked our subspaces. But we were really careful to keep things hidden. Either they didn't know that everyone was doing it, or they didn't care as long as it didn't interfere with their purposes for us."
"Then I'm guessing that you never got really drunk in the barack."
"We did kind of have parties a few times. Whenever a new batch was onlined, the Commanders were busy with their basic training, so they locked us in the barack to keep us out of the way if we weren't deployed at the moment. After a few times, we knew roughly how much time we would have unsupervised."
"Then you could have all the porn, board games and booze you wanted."
Blackout snorts. "I know it doesn't sound like much of a party."
"No, considering what your life was like back then, I can see how that was a good time."
"The only thing missing was a glitche. We never managed to smuggle one in."
Barricade shudders.
Being locked in with drunken Warframes for a few days doesn't sound like a good time. Well maybe for Crosshairs.
"And you wouldn't do anything sexual with each other."
Blackout quirks an optical ridge. "Well, there was that one mech who got a little hot for his unit members, but they punched that idea out of him pretty quickly. Can't trust a glitch in battle. He went missing in action soon after that revelation. Guess he was malfunctioning."
Barricade isn't that surprised by it not being socially acceptable, but he's still a bit taken aback that the mech got beaten up by his own unit for that.
And the question is how he went missing in action.
"So, are you one of those who like the idea of two Warframes getting it on?" Blackout asks.
"I haven't really thought about it..."
But now he does, and it could be kind of hot. Like that scene in Unwilling glitches, where the winner mounts the loser. Or maybe just the good old fashioned bending someone over a table...
"One of the mechs from my batch managed to escape too; Demolishor. He's a pornstar, doing that kind of movies. He's always topping, and the co-star is almost always a halfbreed, or just a mech with fake guns mounted. Do a data net search for 'drill me deep' if you want to check it out."
Barricade flushes. "I-I might do that..."
Chapter Text
"You're quite adept at giving pleasure, and considering your background, that's not something that's a given that you'd learn. How did you come up with that idea, and how did you learn?"
Watching porn rarely is a good way.
"The more things we pilfered when on missions, the more we had to put together to get a more complete picture of interfacing. Some porn, more pamphlets, lube advertising. Then it was down to experimentation whenever we had the chance. It made it much easier whenever a glitch walked into base. Keeping them happy also kept them quiet, and we didn't need to bring them back to the barack. Just our unit and a glitch in dark corner of the base, all night."
"I guess mechs who got that treatment were more likely to return for seconds too."
"Perhaps. They'd probably run into someone else, though, and the results could be different." Blackout shrugs.
"Did you all learn to read eventually?"
"Yes, eventually those programs started to adapt and evolve. The more we used them, the quicker they got as more words were stored." Blackout snorts. "Someone brought back a data pad with a book collection at some point, and we took turns reading out loud to each other. Turns out it was a collection of juicy erotica, and romantic drivel books from all over the universe. Can you imagine Nitro reading 'his thick cock, skin like velvet, veins throbbing with his pulse, stood to salute me, and I felt like an empty cavern, ready to be occupied' out loud to a barack full of Warframes?"
Barricade grins. "Actually, I can."
This conversation — all the anecdotes he has heard, all the memories shown — makes it easy to understand why the Brothers are so close to each other, even through all the macho culture.
"You know, all these little things of fun and time off makes my mind kind of trail off from all the terribleness you went through. I guess it's some sort of psychological mechanism to make things seem better than they were."
It has been so much about the Brothers doing the bad things, or just the better times they had, he kind of lost track of how much they were victims too.
"I can correct that."
Then he's thrown into another memory before he can protest.
Blackout is providing aerial support when the Commander orders him to leave his brothers behind and help a different unit. The other unit is trying to take out a few enemies in a skyscraper. It's a key position. Blackout can see what's going on as he closes in; the organics in the skyscraper has both snipers, and artillery, and the other unit isn't successful at getting in.
The enemies open fire on him, one round clipping his rotor, and the unit below take the opportunity of their enemies' distraction to cross the street. Over his comm, his own unit are screaming orders and warnings.
They're losing. They need his support, or they're all going to offline.
Blackout has no chance to return the fire from the organics in the building, he's completely occupied with trying to avoid getting shot down. A few rounds hit their mark, his HUD flaring with damage reports, pain spreading from where the bullets are lodged in protoform and components. He manages to get off a few rounds, but his aim is scrap with how he has to throw himself this way and that to avoid more hits, and especially the rounds from the artillery.
In his HUD, his value blinks angrily, dropping with every hit. A glance towards his brothers tells him that they're dropping fast too. The unit in the building, climbing the stairs are worth much more.
His superiors are sacrificing him and his unit. He's just a distraction. He isn't meant to get out of here alive.
Unit always comes first.
There's code protesting, protocols screaming angrily at him that he should obey his orders, but he manages to ignore the compulsion, quickly doing a one eighty, heading back to his unit.
Springer is grounded, and they need aerial support to have a chance at getting out of there.
His Commander is screaming at him over the comm, but he doesn't answer, gunning his engine to reach his unit before it's too late.
::Hold out, fuckers, I'm inbound! We're leaving this place online!::
Chapter Text
He go in guns ablazing, giving all he has, because he knows that it's all or nothing; win or die. He takes a couple of the enemies on a rooftop by surprise, killing one of them immediately, and downing the second one. It goes Nitro an opening to do a quick back and forth transformation to land on the roof, finishing the second one, and taking the strategic position for shooting. Nitro's alt mode is very convenient at times, but when they fight like this, between lower buildings, in cramped streets, it's a disadvantage. It's not like he can lay a carpet of cluster bombs when his unit is in the streets together with the enemy, and his speed is redundant. The fact that they are two mechs with Rotary alt modes, and a Jet is probably what has made their unit so successful at staying alive: they're very versatile.
Just getting Nitro take position on that roof makes a lot of difference, and combined with Blackout's aerial support, the tides are turning for the organics. Ironhide and Motormaster start to make progress isntead of being pushed even further into the dead end alley they were cornered in, and Breakdown and Springer aren't at risk of being overrun any second anymore.
::Yeah, Brothers! We're all going home today!:: Nitro shouts over their unit comm link, excitement in his voice now that it looks like they're going to survive.
Home to some sort of consequences.
A reminder of his damage reports pings in his HUD, but he's too wired to really feel the pain right now. The repairs won't be fun, though.
He catches one enemy trying to sneak up on Ironhide from behind, and he's about to call a warning, but the organic's head explodes from a well placed round from Nitro, and Blackout can go back to support Breakdown and Springer.
It's quick work now that they are all there and have taken their position. Motormaster dispatches the last enemy with a helm shot, and then everything goes quiet enough to hear shots fired in the distance, where battle is still raging.
Blackout lands, and Nitro comes down from the roof to reconvene. Springer is limping, but otherwise he looks fairly fine, but then again looks can be deceiving. They all duck into a building for cover, to take a second to assess everything, and Blackout's injuries catch up with him. He sinks down to sit on the floor, groaning in pain.
A bullet lodged in the protoform on his right shoulder, a torn wiring harness above his right hip, and his right knee has been seared with a few glancing hits. Fuck. Repairs will be uncomfortable.
"You okay, Brother?" Nitro asks him.
"Not really." He grunts. "Got a few injuries here.
"Yeah, your tag does look low."
Blackout prods his knee with his digit, hissing in pain.
"Got a bullet in my shoulder, and some torn wiring. My sensor suit is going heywire." He points to the plates where energon and coolant is seeping out from his wound.
Nitro squats down, smearing some nanite gel on the burns on Blackout's knee. With a little luck, they'll have time to raise his value a bit before they're called back.
"That bullet is sitting really deep. Not sure I can get it out here, at least not in the time we have..."
"Patch it, and try to splice my wires instead. The more we can fix fully, the better..."
Nitro Zeus nods once and gets to work. It stings, but it's nothing he can't handle, most of the pain drowned out by the wound in his shoulder.
"I disobeyed a direct order." He confesses. "They ordered me to not come back here to help you, and I managed to push it aside, because unit always come first."
"Oh, fuck." Nitro splices another cable. "How does it feel? To manage to break a command."
"Like a tightening choke chain that finally snaps."
Hopefully, they won't offline or reprogram him for it, but at least they're all still alive.
Chapter Text
They're done with their field repairs, and are getting ready to leave their hiding place and go back to the battle, bit before they can call in for a new set of orders, the que to return to the pick-up spot is issued. It's kind of a relief, because every time he moves his shoulder, Blackout winces in pain, and his value drops a few credits, indicating his injury is getting worse.
At least the burns on his leg are getting a bit better with the nanites Nitro smeared there.
They go back to the transport, but even if it's called out a victory over comms, the city officially taken, none of them really feel like celebrating. Blackout doesn't feel the usual exhilaration of survival.
It was too close, he's still in pain, and there will be more. At best.
::If they reprogram me, will you remind me who I was before the procedure?::
::We'll try. When it's appropriate...:: Nitro answers.
::Thanks.::
He understands the hesitation. Nitro is the one who has the most issues with bending the rules, and he often have to convince himself to go the most logical route to survival when it's in conflict with the orders he has received. There's always one program or other of his that tells him he should try to stop the rule bending. If Blackout is reprogrammed, he'll be untrustworthy, and they'll have to treat him like an outsider until they're sure he can keep their secret.
If he ever will be able to.
A shiver of cold trickles down his back-struts.
Being recycled is almost preferable.
They get into the transport, taking their seats on the hard benches along the walls. Blackout leans his helm against the cold metal behind himself and offlines his optics.
It would be nice to get some recharge before whatever's going to happen when he gets back.
But alas, they travel by spacebridge, so they'll be home very quickly. He glances at his value reading, hoping it's enough to keep him online.
Getting the bullet out would've been dandy too, get his value up a bit before his judgement. But even if they leave him online, there's still the risk that he'll be lobotomized, and he will be someone else tonight.
Blackout has seen that happen, others who were malfunctioning and were reprogrammed. It's unsettling, the way they looked like themselves, but behaved differently, and it always caused a rift in the unit, often leading to shortened functionings.
"Whatever happens, we're in this together. We'll start you out with small things, like reading, and the movies, and other stuff to get you back on track." Ironhide murmurs, probably sensing his apprehension.
"Yeah. If they don't just kill me."
"That would be strategically unsound, just like sending you to be a decoy. We're too efficient in the setup we're now."
"And yet they made the decision to sacrifice me, us all, really. I disobeyed an order. They won't let that slip." Blackout says, shaking his helm as the gravity of the situation once again catches up with him.
"So did I. We're in this together."
"What?"
"They commed me, told me to comm you and order you back to your assignment."
"You didn't comm me."
"Exactly."
"Fuck."
"We fight together. Always." Ironhide says, and even if they're speaking quietly, there's an edge to his voice.
"Brothers. Always." Springer hisses heatedly.
"Unit first. Always." Blackout says, feeling ready for battle in spite of everything.
Then there's the disconcerting feeling of free falling when they go through the spacebridge.
Chapter Text
They disembark the transport, and Blackout's spark is spinning quickly.
"My damage report has been approved for repairs, I'm going to the med bay." Springer says, sounding apologetic.
"I'll help you, I'm going there too." Breakdown says.
His own damage report has been denied, and he's supposed to contact a Commander for a "debrief" before he can reappeal.
"I guess there's no way but forward." Ironhide murmurs.
He nods, and then they approach the closest Commander.
"Sir, we're supposed to report for debriefing, Sir." Ironhide says.
A scan sweep their frames to check their ID transponders. The Commander scowls, and then he waves another Commander over.
"Disobedience. Nearly cost us the win. The general has requested a hearing before a decision is made on consequences. I've sent you the details on both. Which one do you want?"
The other Commander looks back and forth between them, scanning them for ID to pair them with the reports made on them. "That one." He finally says, pointing at Ironhide. "Soldiers, we're going to hangar 20C, move out."
"Sir, yes, Sir." Blackout says, limping towards the hangar.
At least it's not the recycling center. Or the programming ward. Yet.
"Sir, I don't understand? I didn't diso... ack!" Ironhide breaks off when one of the Commanders jab a shock prod into a gap in his armor on his back, frame twitching.
"You failed to relay an order, sub-commander."
"I never heard an order! Maybe my comm was malfunctioning? I always do my be... ack!" Ironhide's voice started out laced with static from the last shock, and his vocalizer makes an odd screech with this one.
Fucking bastards. Hide has a good idea there, though. His protocols are screaming at him that lying is bad, but maybe he can use his survival protocols to pull it off?
"And now you're speaking out of place. We'll do our debrief, and we'll find out if you're malfunctioning or not."
Ironhide doesn't say anything more, and they walk into the hangar in a heavy silence that feels like a portent of doom.
Which it could be, if they're unlucky.
"You, in here." The one with the shock prod orders Ironhide as they reach a door. "Alright, let's test your obedience first; kneel." He says as soon as Ironhide is inside the room. Ironhide immediately obeys, a loud clang when he hits the floor heavily. "Good, servos on the floor too."
"Keep moving!" The other Commander barks at him, and Blackout starts limping further down the corridor.
"Open."
It's the last order Blackout hears before the door is shut behind the other two, and it feels like the word echoes down the hallway, and resonates in his audials. He makes a face of impotent rage, wondering if Ironhide will be forced to give in to compulsion, or if he will be forced to go along to cover how far he has come with breaking the protocols.
Not that it matters, it's equally distasteful.
Then he wonders how his own protocols will react to whatever he's going to be put through, because he certainly hasn't perfected the process of disobedience yet, and if his compulsion wins out at the wrong moment, the programming ward may be his next stop.
Chapter Text
"Have a seat."
The order sounds kind of polite, more of a suggestion, and it throws Blackout for a loop, because he was expecting a treatment similar to what Hide is probably receiving. He does as he's told, not even bothering to object to the compulsion.
Later. Hopefully.
"While your unit-leader failed to relay the order to you, one of our Commanders contacted you, and told you explicitly to go back and continue your assignment. If your comms failed, I want to see the damage report on it."
Frag. He should've forged something... should learn to forge reports and documents. For the next time.
"Sir, my comm was swamped, Sir. My unit were yelling orders at each other the entire time. It was hard to distinguish anything, Sir."
It could be true.
His programs flare angrily at the attempted deception, but at least the compulsion doesn't force him to blurt that he'd rather stay online.
Though, they have been ordered to minimize losses, and that's conflicting at best when sent in as expendable.
"That may be, but you are supposed to listen to your Commander at all times."
"Sir, yes, Sir. But I was told upon onlining that I always needed to bring my unit back, that it was a priority, Sir. I just did what I thought I was supposed to do, Sir." His protocols doesn't even protest his words, they're true enough, apparently.
The Commander narrows his optics, obviously not impressed with the insinuation that the way they process the newbuilds may be flawed.
"You have to know by now that your Commanders' words are always the highest priority."
"Sir, I do, but my coding gets conflicted. The order about my unit is so ingrained since it's the first thing I learned, Sir."
A big, fat lie, and he has to fight viciously against the compulsion to not give away something dangerous, like how much they mean to him, or how he puts his own and their survival above the — to him — seemingly pointless goals of his owner's.
"Conflict or not, disobedience can't be tolerated." The mech looks at him for long seconds. "Bend over the table." He says, smirking nastily.
If Blackout has to pick just one time when he really wants to disobey, this is the moment. But this is also the most dangerous time to do so — even hesitating for too long may be a risk — so the only thing he can do, is get up from the chair, and fold forward. It makes the wound in his shoulder throb, and he feels energon oozing out to pool on the table under him.
All the times he has fought like a mother fucker to not be made someone's glitch, and here he is now, forced to take it without so much as a verbal protest.
The Commander comes around to stand behind him, and Blackout just waits for the order to open up, the order where he can't allow himself to fight the compulsion, no matter how desperately he wants to.
A digit flicks a panel open on the back of his neck, and Blackout shudders when a plug slides into his socket, and something suddenly slithers through his firewalls with great ease.
He isn't alone in his processor anymore, he's going to be reprogrammed!
It's a good thing his processor is too jumbled to allow him to focus enough to fight the compulsion, or this would turn ugly, and he'd probably wind up in the smelter. The only thing he can think about is his Brothers, how he doesn't want to lose them, which he will, when he loses himself after the reformat. Blackout's frame is so tense, he starts to overheat, his fans clicking on to work at maximum capacity to cool his frame, while the foreign consciousness pokes and prods around.
"Heh, you thought I wanted to fuck you?" The Commander says, clearly misinterpreting why Blackout's fans are running on full blast. "Eew, pit no! I know some mech's get off on fucking you drones, but I don't know what you are up to in the baracks, and with whom. And on top of it, you lot are incredibly unattractive. I prefer real mecha; sweet little Racers, pretty Seekers... And I think it's bloody boring with the way you lot just follow orders and go along with everything."
The plug is pulled out of his socket, and Blackout releases a vent he didn't know he was holding.
"Well, you're right about the fixation on your unit. I think we need to have a briefing to get some information about priorities out to everyone, and set an example. Come on, let's go to the gallows."
Blackout slowly stretches to his full height, and even if he knows that this briefing isn't going to be fun, it still feels like he dodged a blast from Ironhide's cannon. Or two, even.
"Ugh, you're leaking. Clean that up." The Commander says, pointing to the puddle of energon on the table, throwing a rag at Blackout.
Chapter Text
"Both at once, or one at a time?" The Commander who interrogated him asks the other when they meet up by the gallows. "I kind of wanna get this shift over with and get going. Got a hot little date already waiting in my berth. Sent me pictures and all. Just look at this."
There's a pause when he probably sends the pictures.
"Frag, lucky you, getting lucky tonight! He's hot!"
"Mhm, and seems really horny too, always up for a good frag. Met him on Twink, you know, the new app."
"Nice. Well, I think we should do them one at a time, but both of us. Get this done properly, but get you home to your little pussy."
"Sounds good."
Blackout glances at Ironhide, but whatever happened when the doors were closed, he doesn't show anything.
The mech is stoic, and he admires him for it. Few things seem to ruffle him, and even in the face of this punishment, he's as stone faced and outwardly collected as ever.
"I think this one should watch his unit leader's punishment."
"Fair enough."
All the mechs from their batch, and all the younger ones are gathered now — except maybe a few still in the med bay — standing in in lines, posing stiffly to show how well they fit in, and not attract attention.
"We seem to have a problem, a conflict of interest, if you will." One of the Commanders speak up.
The other one orders Ironhide forward towards one of the steel squares that are called the gallows, the chains with cuffs already lowering. Ironhide stands at ease, waiting patiently — like any well-programmed drone would — for the agony they know he's about to suffer.
"It has come to our knowledge that some of you have the delusion that your units are of higher priority than even your superiors' orders. Naturally, this is not the case."
The cuffs click shut around Ironhide's wrist-struts, a quiet noise, that still somehow manage to echo like a gunshot, and then the winches start to pull his arms up, forcing him to stand stretched.
The idiot should've relayed the order. Now they'll both be out of commission for a while. But then again, if Ironhide had relayed the order, and he had been overwhelmed by the compulsion to go back to help the other unit, they would all be offline by now.
"These two let their comms be overwhelming, and made the decision to abandon a task they were given to go support their unit instead. That won't do, and let their punishment serve as a reminder to all of you that your actions have consequences. And for your own sakes, I suggest you put a priority notification on all comm connections to command."
The Commander setting Ironhide up for the punishment hands the other mech a whip, his own already glowing, ready to deal some agony. They take place behind Ironhide, one on each side.
"Good thing for you I'm ambidextrous with this thing, or this might've been a set up for a workplace accident, and you to be late for your date." One of them jokes with the other.
"Well, if you weren't after all the training you've gotten, I'd expect your wage to be lower than mine." The other one quips.
Then they both raise their arms, and with practiced ease they fall into a rhythm of taking turns with every other lash.
Chapter Text
"Is it just me, or do they get more whiny with age?"
"I've never thought about it, but now that you mention it..."
Ironhide is released, falling to the ground the second the winch is unlocked and allowed to unspool. He groans, trying to get up from the ground. Nitro Zeus is there to pick him up, and bring him back to their dorm. They know the drill by now; get your unit members out of the way, and back to the barack when the punishment is done. Those who have no unit members left are always helped by someone else, batch may be second to unit, but they're still batch.
The bastards are right. Newbuilds always think that there's some kind of glory in taking it quietly, but after a few times, they learn that the punishment is over quicker if they scream and beg. Not too quickly; they still don't want to be seen as week by the other soldiers, or the trick found out by the Commanders, but there's no point in keeping your vocalizer shut until you reboot from the pain it just prolongs it to that reboot.
"So, if tonight going as planned, I'll have my weekend mapped out for me." The one who has a date — they never know their Commanders' designations, they're all just Sir — leers. "How about you? You're off shift for the weekend too, aren't you?"
He's ordered forward with a mere wave of the Commander's servo.
"Yeah. As soon as this is done, I'll hit the shower, then I'll go get some nice crystals, and a good bottle of fizzy midgrade. My conjux will make dinner, and I'll hang out with the kids in the meantime. Frag, I miss them when I'm on duty for the entire week. Hopefully, the midgrade will pave the road for some homecoming nookie when the kids hit the berth too."
"Do you dare? I mean, you already have a bunch of sparklings, haven't you?"
"Ever heard of contraception?" The Commanders Snickers. "The eldest is getting his second to last reformat next week, actually."
Blackout doesn't understand this talk about a reformat.
He would guess that it's sort of a reprogramming, but then why does the Commander almost seem proud of it?
The cuffs lock around his wrist-struts, and the winch starts up again, slowly stretching his arms upwards.
"Already?! Frag, time really flies. What alt has he picked?"
"He hasn't yet. We're going tomorrow. Told him we're having a family trip to the zoo. He's so pissy, thinking he's too old for that. Think it'll sound a bit different when I take him to pick an alt."
"That's such a great plan."
Blackout loses focus on their conversation when his arms are stretched above shoulder height, aggravating his bullet wound.
There will be a lot for his Brothers to deal with when he's finally back in the barack.
"Have you prepared a proper shovel talk?"
He catches the sentence, but not the answer, because the first lash lands sloppily against his upper arm, and he wasn't prepared for that.
"This one's frame is worthless for these kinds of punishments; his rotors aren't sensitive enough, too expensive, and they're positioned right where we need access."
They reposition themselves, trying to hit upwards to reach his back without the rotors taking most of the force. Almost all the lashes hit his aft, and it hurts just as bad as when they manage to hit his back, but for some reason, they don't seem satisfied with that.
"Maybe we should spank him next time?" One of them cackles.
"We could hit front to back..."
"Let's try."
They both move around to stand in front of him, and Blackout tugs on the bindings, trying to get lose.
His front is more sensitive than his back, but if he shows that, they'll do this every time, and...
The first lash lands, and while it should be a relief that it isn't aimed at his lower abdomen, or his interface plate, or even the seam in his chest-plates, it's dealt with brutal force, hitting between plates on his side, wrapping around his back like a cruel embrace. Blackout flinches and yelps, and if their nasty grins are anything to go by, it didn't evade the Commanders.
One of them seem to find amusement in trying to aim for the same spot each time, and even if not all the hits land there, enough does to make him feel how the wound in his protoform gets deeper and deeper.
The way they hit reaches both his sides and back, and with the frequency their combined efforts can keep up, it doesn't take long to turn him from stoic warrior to thrashing, whining, and pleading.
Or maybe it isn't quick? It certainly feels like hours.
They don't stop until he's hanging limply in the restraints, wishing he'd just fall into reboot. The lock on the winches are released, and Blackout crashes to the ground in an ungraceful heap. It hurts like pit fire, and he gets a warning in his HUD about the state of his frame.
He's getting low on fuel, the shot wound has been leaking for a long time by now. They never get fuel after they've been punished. Hopefully, someone will have a little to spare.
"Everyone return to your dorms and await the next order." One of the Commanders shout, and everyone files out of there, heading back to their baracks.
Motormaster helps him up, and it's pure agony. Not that the Truck could've done it in a more gentle way, it's impossible to spare him and still get him off the ground. Blackout hangs on Motormaster's back to be half carried, half dragged back to their dorm.
No shower tonight, he hasn't gotten washrack privileges. Not that he's in any state to manage a shower anyway.
Chapter Text
Nitro Zeus is still working on Ironhide's back when they get back to the baracks. Motormaster helps Blackout to his berth, and he sinks down on his front, not that it feels like his position will matter much.
"We should get that bullet out before anything else." Nitro says, and Blackout wants to smack him, because he's not looking forward to that, but at the same time Nitro is right; the line of other damages pales comparing to the hole in his shoulder.
"Does anyone have a few drops of fuel to spare? I'm running low, and who knows when I will get a serving..." He understands if nobody has anything for him, they don't have better access to fuel than he does.
"Got some high grade in my subspace. You can have it, if that'll do." Springer says, returning from the repair bay.
"I could kiss you right now, but it would be weird and gross." Blackout says as Springer pulls out a bottle.
"A blowjob will suffice."
"I think I'd rather go into stas..." He never gets to finish the sentence, because vertigo sets in, and everything spins out of control even though he's laying down. It's a good thing that his tank is dry, because he winds up dry heaving instead of vomiting, which would make his berth really gross. Not that Blackout can be grateful for that. Not when his HUD goes read, blinking in a way that makes his processor throb.
The others shout, but he can't make out the words, helm swimming. He does notice that he's turned over on his side, and someone is tearing at the lines in his side. A fuel line is pinched, then there's the sting of it being cut, hardly noticeable over all his wounds that are disturbed by the frantic action. There's another stinging pinch, and then after long seconds, the blinking in his HUD stops, and his systems start to clear up. When he looks, he finds that Springer has hooked him up directly to one of his own fuel lines, drinking from the bottle in deep gulps.
"I couldn't very well pour it down your throat when you were seizing." Springer says to answer his look. "You'll have to make do with getting it filtered through me."
With his systems still dancing on the edge of falling into stasis, it's not like he can disagree: getting drunk might sound tempting, but getting his systems more scrambled does not.
"We need to get that bullet out." Nitro says, finishing his work on Ironhide's back. "Anyone has some rerouters, or circuit breakers to spare? Even the simplest one will be better than nothing."
"Here, I have a couple of really good rerouters." Demolishor says, reaching into a subspace pocket.
"Thank you." Blackout rasps, really meaning it.
Demolishor doesn't have to give him anything, has no obligation to waste his personal stash on someone else, but he chooses to, and it'll make his night far less miserable.
"I found a whole bunch on this mission, and you need them more than I do right now." Demolishor shrugs.
"I'll make it up to you. Somehow, someday, I will return the favor."
If he survives long enough to do.
Chapter Text
Motormaster lifts a plate to look at the wound. Blackout hisses and jerks away, the mount sore.
"That's deep. We need to remove this first." Motormaster comments, bending the plate even more to get at the bolts holding it in place.
Blackout growls, even though he knows that it's the only way, and that Motormaster isn't just doing it to be annoying. Nobody pays attention, because they all know what it's like to have to go through some repairs when on this state.
Nitro finally gets the rerouters spliced in place, and it's such a relief when the numbness sets in, dulling most of the pain.
"They should have these things in the med bay." Blackout mumbles, feeling a bit out of it.
Is that from the rerouters, or is it a combination with the high grade? He wants more of it, wants it all the time.
Springer is looking a bit overcharged, optics bright, and even if Blackout is getting half processed energon, it could still have some effect.
"I wonder if they do in the civilian world. I mean, they have them readily available in their warehouses, so maybe they use them in their med bays?" Ironhide sounds groggy, probably having gotten a rerouter too. His optics are dim, and he's watching the proceedings stretched out on his front.
"It's nice when it takes the edge off. You know, when it feels like everything isn't in standby, but actually in a real power save mode."
"Mhm, yeah, I agree. I could be like this all the time, but I guess it would lead to a severely shortened lifespan."
"Killjoy. A mech could dream, though, right?" Blackout says, vocalizer feeling like it's full of organic fluff, something he usually hate when that happens, but right now, he doesn't mind much.
"And it's a good dream."
"Demolishor, we need you here." Nitro says.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Sit on this one. We need to keep him still."
"What?" Blackout suddenly pays attention to what the others are doing.
"We need to pull that out without doing much damage." Motormaster says, holding a makeshift tool no sane mech would want anywhere near their protoform. "We can't have you thrashing around. And you need to be on your shredded back."
Frag his functioning. But at least he still is functioning.
They roll him over without warning, and his pained buck is forced down when both Nitro and Demolishor throw themselves on top of him.
"Sorry, Brother, it needs to be done." Motormaster says, then he jams the thing into the wound.
Blackout screams when the entry wound is forced to widen to allow the rod through. He feels when the toothed jaws at the end of it — probably taken from someone's frame at some point, the tip of a ripper-cable — start to work on getting a grip on the bullet.
It feels like being chewed on from the inside.
It's a good thing that he's held down by two heavy mechs, or he'd certainly be thrashing around and make it impossible to hit the mark. His world is spinning, even with the rerouters, the pain is enough to send his systems towards a reboot.
There's a gross, wet feeling when the tool is pulled out, as if his protoform has latched on to it, sucking it in, and is pulled with it, and it makes him dry heave again, his entire frame shuddering with a sudden chill.
"It's out, in with the nanites." Motormaster says.
Blackout screams again when Breakdown jams a narrow pipe in there, pouring a nanite solution through it as he slowly pulls it out. Motormaster is ready with a patch the second the pipe is out, and then they step back, leaving him some room. Nitro and Demolishor immediately get off him, and Blackout tries to get control of his vents again.
Slow and steady, in and out.
"You did great, Brother." Nitro says. "You can roll back to lay on your side again. We'll look at your lashes."
His frame feels heavy and sluggish, drained of all energy by how he has just tensed and strained everything, but he manages to do as Nitro asked.
"Got a really deep one on the side."
"I see it. I'll staple it, and we'll patch the others. I think we have nanite solution enough to get at least some on all of them."
Blackout nods tiredly.
The worst part is over, even if the staples will probably sting a bit.
Chapter Text
With the bullet gone, a steady supply of fuel, more and more of his wounds cleaned up and stapled or taped to help the healing, and the opportunity to rest in a safe place and divert energy from his battle programs, Blackout's self repair finally starts up. It takes as much energy as possible, making him feel drained and cold. It doesn't take long for the shivers to set in, making his plating clatter. A quick glance at Ironhide reveals that he's trembling just as badly.
If the baracks just weren't so fragging cold... What wouldn't he give for an opportunity to soak up some sun right now.
"Imagine being in that desert we were complaining about a few missions back..." He says to Ironhide, denta rattling.
"The sand would still be annoying." Ironhide says, sounding like he's doing his best to convince himself about how dreadful it would've been.
"Yeah, but just sitting there in the sun in alt mode would be glorious right now."
"Yeah."
"Reacharge pile?" Springer slurs, clearly inebriated by drinking the high grade to have enough fuel to supply them both.
"Not if you're gonna be so drunk, you purge." Motormaster grouses. "Give me that." He takes the bottle from Springer.
"Hey, I..."
"He's right, though." Breakdown interrupts. "And I think Blackout is capable of drinking it himself now."
"Dilute it a bit." Nitro says. "We don't know if the rerouters impact the control systems." He digs out a bottle from his subspace. "Low grade."
There isn't much in the bottle, but Motormaster takes it, pouring it into the high grade. A few more mechs have mostly empty bottles, and there's half a field ration someone has squirrelled away in his subspace added to the mix too, then the bottle is handed to Blackout. He takes a sip, and the mix isn't something that's going to win a contest, but it's still better than the rations they get from the military. Springer disconnects their fuel lines, but Breakdown has to help him to connect his own again, and Motormaster fixes Blackout's lines.
"So what do you say, do you need that recharge pile?" Nitro asks.
"I wouldn't say no to a little bit of warmth." Ironhide says through clenched denta, voice still trembling from his shivering.
The others start to pull their mattresses from the berths, pushing the berths to the side to leave room, and putting the mattresses side by side on the floor. Blackout hands Ironhide the bottle, and the Top kick takes a few gulps before handing it back.
"I think you need it more than me, Brother. Thank you." Ironhide says.
"I can't hog all the fuel, you're damaged too."
Chapter Text
"I don't regret not relaying that order." Ironhide says quietly.
"I don't regret breaking the orders either. And I'm glad you didn't relay it. I don't know if I could've resisted your order."
Ironhide makes a face, but then he nods, and looks thoughtful for long seconds. Blackout waits for him to say something clever, or interesting and challenging, like he usually does, but suddenly it's as if a button is pushed, and Ironhide just looks tired, almost like he's falling into recharge. The small amount of high grade is having effect, and his self repair is probably kicking up a notch.
"Imagine not having to listen to orders ever." Ironhide mumbles, sounding halfway into recharge. "Not making decisions based on how slagged they will get you."
Blackout tries to imagine it, but it's hard.
What would he do? How would he know what to do, and where to go? Would he even go into battle? It's thrilling, but dangerous, and is it really thrilling enough to risk his functioning if he could decide not to do it? Staying at base forever would get boring fast, though. Especially since he wouldn't be able to procure new things for entertainment. No more booze, no new videos... Would he be allowed to ask for those things?
But it's just a pipedream anyway, and he's getting really tired, processor muddling everything up, so he abandons the thought, because it's ridiculous, too outlandish to get a grip on.
But he is going to try to learn to forge damage reports. That could keep them from getting slagged.
"Come on, Brothers. Let's go to berth." Nitro says, almost dragging Ironhide off his berth. Ironhide wakes up enough to not just be a sack of scrap, but to actually take some of his own weight as they hobble over to the mattresses on the floor.
Breakdown and Motormaster helps Blackout up, and even if it's very uncomfortable, it isn't the agony from before, the rerouters are really good. He plunks down on his front in the middle of the mattresses, and Springer crawls over to wedge between Blackout and Ironhide. The others take places around them, pressing in close to share heat from their frames, just like they do sometimes when they're in standby on missions in cold places.
"Too bad your butt is all patched up and sore. It's kind of cute." Springer leers jokingly, poking one of the few plates that isn't damaged.
"If you try something with my butt, I'll smack you with my rotors, because they're not sore." Blackout growls, but he's still thankful for the ridiculous distraction.
Springer giggles. "Afraid you might like it, big Bot?"
"Not particularly. Keep your stuff behind the panel, you horny drunk."
"Dammit, Springer, put that away. Ironhide grunts. "Or go somewhere else, don't you fucking dare jerking off here!"
"Dude, that's gross!" Motormaster fills in.
Springer makes a noise. "I hope a glitch walks into base soon. Like, right now."
For once, Blackout disagrees about that.
He just wants to bury himself deeper in this warm pile of frames and recharge for a week.
It doesn't take long for him to slip into recharge, shivers finally stopping now that he has help warming up.
Chapter Text
Barricade can still feel the phantom sting of lashes on his plating and protoform when the memory stops.
"I don't really have any words that feel adequate and not like cliches."
Blackout shrugs. "It is what it is, and it's over."
"Yeah, but still..." Barricade trails off, thinking about the mech who debriefed Ironhide.
No wonder Ironhide makes the kinds of deals he does with the pleasurebots, he always had even worse choices to make and probably doesn't see it as problematic or coercive to ask for sex as payment for rent and fuel. Or is it the other way around, and it's payment in kind to the pleasurebots for sex?
Barricade's processor is protesting against even more puzzles to twist and turn, and he abandons that line of thought.
"I've noticed your scars before, but I always thought that they were from battle. Many of them are from punishments, aren't they?"
"Yeah. And I had way more before. We all had. But since we were created with cheaper materials, and recycled parts, we've had to change a lot of them since we got out of the military. They were getting worn, and stopped working, or coming loose at the bolts and rivets. You know, they didn't expect us to function for very long, so there was no need to build us to last. Now we buy the best we can get our servos on every time we need to replace anything, eventually, we will be all good, new parts."
Which is another level of disgusting calculation, the way they were created cheaply, and the parts expected to be used to create more cheap mechs when they perished.
"Except your protoforms."
Blackout nods. "Those scars will be there for the rest of my functioning."
"You know, it really makes sense now, the way you stick together. It's a bit unusual to live together like this — to me as a civilian, it would bring about speculations — but for you, it's more normal than living separately would be."
Blackout snorts. "When we first moved in here, we all shared the rec room. It felt strange as all pit that we were going to get separate rooms, so we repaired our berth rooms up before moving in. I think Hide was the quickest one to be done, but it was probably partly as a distraction until we had an opportunity to bust Nitro out. Hide always felt terribly bad about having to leave him behind. I mean, we all thought it sucked to leave a Brother behind, but it was Hide who came up with the plan, and that he failed to get everyone out was hard on him, even if there wasn't much more he could do, really, and the plan was as solid as it could possibly be. Anyway, he was so on edge while we were setting things up to get Nitro out, he buried himself in work."
Considering how close all the Brothers are, it's easy to see how stressing it must be to lay low and wait for the right opportunity, knowing that Nitro's days were numbered with age and risk.
"At least you managed at the second attempt."
"It was a close call that time too, but we did." Blackout grabs a bottle from the nightstand, taking a deep drink. "And since this knowledge is evidence of how we got him out, and that we're here on false papers, I'm going to erase those memories. Once a cop, always a cop." He says throwing himself after Barricade when the Saleen scrambles off the berth to flee.
Chapter Text
Blackout's cable is yanked out of his socket, and Barricade tumbles off the berth, scrambling towards the door on all fours while simultaneously trying to get up on his pedes. Blackout's digits graze his door-wing, but the Helo doesn't manage to get a grip on him.
The bastard is going to lock the door anyway, isn't he? But then again, Blackout said that he likes a good hunt, and it isn't like he has anywhere to go where he can keep away for too long. He's still not just giving up.
A big servo wraps around his ankle-strut, and Barricade keels over forward, landing heavily on his front. His vents are knocked out of him, and while he's still trying to get air to his stuttering engine, Blackout crawls up his frame in a languorous way that could be seen as insulting.
"I won't tell anyone, I swear! Please let me keep these memories, I don't want to remain ignorant, and..."
Barricade goes stock still, his vocalizer glitching into a hum of feedback when the cover to the data socket on the back of his helm is flicked open.
"So much struggle for memories that are pretty inconsequential. I mean, you've been fairly informed about our backgrounds even before this little show and tell..." Blackout murmurs. "So why would what I showed you be so precious? Is it because you want to make a copy, and hand it over to the Enforcers? Get a deal for wit sec, while we're processed."
"No, not at all, it's not like that!"
Though it would be neat to not need to sell himself in the streets...
Blackout's plug slots into his socket, and Barricade shudders as a presence pokes at his firewalls.
"Damn, these are outdated." Blackout mutters, and then he slips through as if it's more of a flimsy curtain than a firewall.
Barricade tries to thrash around under him, tries to get loose enough to pull the plug out at least, but Blackout is just too massive. Barricade whimpers when Blackout starts to poke through his timeline, checking memories not exclusively from tonight.
"Please don't..." He sobs.
Blackout nudges Barricade's legs apart with his knee, and Barricade immediately opens his panel on reflex, trying to appease him.
"I won't show anyone, I swear..."
Blackout pushes inside. Barricade isn't really slick, but Blackout is surprisingly gentle, and it's a minor discomfort.
Especially compared to be robbed of his memories.
"I could erase all your memories of our times together, and I could get that terrified reaction again and again..." Blackout muses, but it sounds like he's talking to himself.
Then Barricade realizes that Blackout didn't say it out loud, that it was in his processor, and if that was a thought, then it seems more likely to be a plan, than just an empty threat.
Barricade screams, struggling violently when Blackout tugs at the memory of the night in Kaon. He tries to fight back both physically, and mentally, but he doesn't really know how to fight being hacked, so it turns into more of a struggle to free himself physically.
Blackout starts to fuck him quicker, getting closer to his overload with the arousal Barricade's terrified struggle brings, and then a pop-up appears in Barricade's HUD.
Downloading.
Blackout is uploading something into him, some vile program that's going to do Primus knows what to him...
Then Blackout pushes the heads feeling of being in complete control over someone else into Barricade's processor through their connection. Through all the conflict, it takes over, and Barricade suddenly overloads with a wail, hardly even noticing when Blackout follows him over.
Chapter Text
Barricade feels numb and exhausted after the massive overload, but he does notice when Blackout slips out of his systems, and the plug is pulled out of his socket. He slowly, meticulously, checks his timeline, because he isn't sure what it would feel like — if he'd notice the erasing of memories, or if they'd just be gone — when someone else is messing with his systems.
It didn't feel like Blackout erased anything, but maybe there are unexplainable missing slots in his timeline?
Barricade checks this evening, but nothing is missing, then he checks from their trip to Kaon, but that seems complete too.
Though Blackout knows how to forge stuff, can he forge memories? But would he let Barricade remember being hacked if he did so?
It's almost confusing when everything seems intact.
"Are you going to spend all night on the floor?" Blackout asks.
The Helo has moved back to the berth, smoking a cyg, drinking his high grade.
As if he didn't just hack someone, and got off on it.
"I..."
What is he going to do? Running out of here and not coming back again seems like the most logical thing to do, but he came here because he didn't want to spend the night alone... And getting up from the floor forces him to decide what to do.
"I assure you that my berth is more comfortable."
"I just want to check my systems first! To make sure you didn't wreck something." Barricade snarls.
Fucking bastard.
Blackout just shrugs and leans back against the headboard, continuing to smoke his cyg. He grabs a data pad, but whatever he's watching has no sound.
Barricade opens his firewall programs to see what if it'll give him any clues to what Blackout did.
And what he planted.
Barricade is afraid to find out what the bastard uploaded into him, but at the same time he needs to know.
Then he freezes, staring silently at the pop-up in his HUD for long seconds, not believing what he's seeing.
"You upgraded my firewalls?! And my antivirals?!"
"Yeah, like I told you; they were incredibly outdated."
Barricade flies up from the floor, anger surging quickly. "Couldn't you just have told me?! Instead of just shoving unknown programs into my processor!" He snarls.
Blackout quirks an optical ridge, smirking slowly. "And miss all the lovely reactions? It was too good an opportunity to pass up."
Barricade growls wordlessly in frustration and impotent anger. "You are the most frustrating bastard on the planet!" He yells.
Blackout's smirk turns into a broad grin of amusement, and he doesn't deny Barricade's accusations. Instead he pats the berth next to him, something that makes Barricade's temper flare even more. He glares at the unrepentant Helo for long seconds, then he relents, crawling onto the berth.
He doesn't want so recharge alone tonight.
Chapter Text
Time flies by, and suddenly, it's the day for his first pay. Barricade stares at the number in his account.
Two hundred and two credits. After taxes, the wage specification tells him, because his employment is legit, and the accountant or whoever does the wages is doing everything right.
Barricade has only worked two weeks so far, and he was a little ahead of the average thousand credits a week goal. It's nice to know that this is pocket money, all necessities are already paid for.
He's even getting used to the job enough to space out and think about nicer things while he does it.
With these credits on hand, he wants to do something nice for Jazz. With Jazz's romantic fantasy in mind, he does a quick search for a jacuzzi. Their shared room has a private maintenance room, after all, and they could probably cram a small hot tub in there...
Looking at the prices he balks.
Nope, not going to happen anytime soon, and he frankly isn't ready to save up for one either. Living cheap forever, and piling his money high just to spend it all on a hot tub doesn't appeal to him.
Barricade looks at their room. They've moved in, even though they haven't finished the repairs, and it was probably a bad idea; their efforts quickly tapered off, and now it remains partially done, and nobody really works on it. Two walls need at least another layer of paint, and then they need to move everything out again to put the floor in. They haven't even started on the maintenance room.
It's easy to slip into the trap of wanting to do funnier things together when they have some spare time, and they always do.
Barricade is about to order a pack of mixed bioluminescent crystals, but then he backs out.
It's not like they have anywhere to put them, and scattering them across the berth might looks pretty, but it'll be really uncomfortable.
Since it seems like romantic gestures have to wait, he heads for the rec room with a different idea. Springer, Ironhide, Nitro Zeus, and Hatchet are there, having midday mid grade. And shots.
"We've gotten stuck with repairing our room, we just don't get it done." He starts.
"That's because you have zero discipline." Ironhide says bluntly.
Nitro snorts.
Barricade works his intake, just a little insulted.
"No, really." Ironhide continues. "You have a lot of time on your servos, you just lack the discipline to actually get started and do it. You have everything you need to get it done, you just don't do it."
Well, it's true, even if it isn't very nice to be confronted with it.
"You're right." He admits slowly. "I do have a tendency to slip into doing things I find more entertaining."
"Considering what you were convicted for, that doesn't really come as a surprise." Nitro says.
"Anyway, I was going to ask if someone wanted to help me out. I'll pay for it, of course. Either with the credits I make, ehm," suddenly he feels awkward and ridiculous, "or in any other way you want?" He tries to sound seductive, preening just a little bit.
The Brothers look back and forth between each other.
"Sure, we'll help you." Ironhide says, and they all get up, bringing their bottles of mid grade.
"All of you?!"
"Yeah." Springer says. "And you can keep your credits..."
Chapter Text
They have done this before, that's obvious from how they know exactly what to do, and it's another display of how well they work together.
Springer goes to get the tiles from the house's subspace, Ironhide and Nitro moves the furniture as far out of the way as possible, and Hatchet starts covering everything to protect it from paint spatter. Barricade... feels utterly redundant.
"I didn't mean for you to do everything for me..." He says, standing around awkwardly, wondering what he can do to help.
"Heavy lifting doesn't seem like your forte." Hatchet almost seems to console him.
"No, but..." Barricade finally finds something he can do, getting the paints and brushes from the corner where they've been collecting dust.
"Are you planning to stab someone with this?" Nitro asks, wielding one of the hard, dry brushes with skills that tattles about him being very dangerous with a blade.
"I think we have a few more in this box." He says, rummaging through the supplies they still have left.
"Tip from the coach with the money: put the brush in a bag to keep it from drying out too quickly." Ironhide says. "Though I suppose that it will be moot if you only paint once every other week."
Barricade flushes.
They really have been lazy, opting for sleeping in, cuddling, and fucking when they have some spare time. Maybe their relationship should contain some 'doing boring stuff that needs to be done, trying to have fun doing it'?
He finally finds the brushes, and hands them out, grabbing one for himself too, because he isn't going to be an ass, and just watch them do it for him.
Hatchet and Ironhide starts on one of the walls, Hatchet painting close to the floor, and Ironhide higher up. Nitro takes the other wall in need of painting, and Barricade decides to help him out to spread the workload evenly.
"Hey, watch it!" Hatchet says, shrugging his plating in a shake.
Ironhide snorts. "Sorry." He says, not sounding repentant at all.
There's a big blotch of blue paint on Hatchet's back, running down the plates towards his side.
"You should ask Knock Out to polish you later. He's good with everything polish-y." Nitro says, turning around in a way that nearly makes him paint Barricade's face-plates.
Barricade squeaks, bending backwards to get out of the way of the brush, and Nitro grins.
"Oh, didn't see you there, little bit." He says insincerely. "Good thing you have quick reflexes, it would be a shame if your pretty face-plates were to get painted." Barricade scowls at the Flier, but Nitro just grins at him. "This color is better than the terrible prison orange!" Nitro says.
Barricade winces, blowing out a deep vent. "Yeah, that doesn't fit anyone."
"Hey, I look good in anything." Nitro says, turning back to the wall, narrowly missing Barricade's face-plates again.
Chapter Text
Springer comes in with a pile of the requested tiles, setting them down to figure out where to start. Nitro whips around so quickly, Barricade startles. The Flier's arm lashes out, and half a second later, his brush smacks into Springer's chest-plates, leaving a big blotch of gray, before thudding onto the floor.
"Hey..."
"Retirement is making you sloppy. Imagine if it had beena blade." Nitro grins. "Or this poor, horribly abused little brush..." He adds, waving the dried brush around. Apparently, he has decided to keep it for some reason.
Barricade looks around to make sure Nitro's shenanigans didn't mess up any of their hard work.
"I thought retirement was the time to relax." Springer grumbles, but at the same time, he's grinning, so it seems he found it more funny than insulting or annoying. He wipes at the paint with a rag, almost succeeding with getting it off his plating.
Nitro picks up the brush, looking critically at it. "This is full of dust and debris. Don't you clean your room?"
Barricade flushes. "I-I... We do..." He counts back through the days, flushing even more when he realizes that the last time they cleaned was when they put the painting supplies in the corner, which was the third morning in this room. "I mean, we were going to..."
"Tiny slobs." Nitro says.
"Like I said: zero discipline." Ironhide chips in.
"And mecha think I'm an animal..." Hatchet says.
He can't exactly deny it, and the Brothers' rooms — while cluttered with their stuff at times — are always clean. Granted that they sometimes pay the pleasurebots to clean for them, but even that signals that they think enough about cleanliness to arrange for it to happen regularly.
"How often do you change the sheets?" Springer asks looking half grossed out, as if he knows the answer already.
"We did when we moved in..."
"Eew!" Nitro exclaims.
"Well, the orgy won't happen in this bed, then." Ironhide says, and the others nod their agreement.
"We're clean when we go to berth, we always shower first!" Barricade defends themselves.
"And you chastely kiss each other goodnight, and recharge with your servos on top of the covers, of course." Hatchet says, quirking an optical ridge.
"Well, no..."
Ironhide shakes his helm. "I really don't get it. I mean, you have the opportunity to make this a really nice place for you, and you don't."
"You're right, we really don't have any discipline." Barricade admits, even though he doesn't want to. "How come you're such clean freaks? Blackout has shown me some memories, it's not like you were created like that, the baracks were filthy."
Ironhide curls his upper lip-plate in disgust. "Trust me, you get tired of scraplet infestations, bedding stinking of your own dried fluids, and so much grit on the floor, your pede joints are always full of it. It was what it was back then, but after prison, where we had daily shower privileges, decently clean bedding, and regular access to cleaning supplies, we would never want to go back to living like that."
Hatchet swipes at the floor with his digits, staring critically at his servo. "I mean, a vacuuming drone cost next to nothing, you could at least get one of those if you're too lazy to do the bare minimum manually."
Chapter Text
The walls are painted, and the Brothers are putting in the last of the tiles for now — they can't move the furniture before the flooring they've already put in has set — and Barricade knows how lucky he is that he has someone to ask, because he would never have been able to do this himself.
Or maybe he would, but it would've taken a lot longer, and he would've done so many mistakes along the road.
"How do you know so much about this? I mean, how did you learn?"
He can't really see them have unending patience with trial and error.
"Tutorials on the self broadcasting network and other sites, downloading books, and trial and error." Springer says.
"When our sentence in prison was coming to an end, we were looking into what kind of housing we could get with the funds we had managed to raise. It was either tiny apartments, like the one Motormaster and Roadbuster shared until the rest of us got out, or a house ready to more or less come down. This wasn't even in the market, the owner had inherited it from a distant relative and then forgot about it as they had never even been to Polyhex. Roadbuster found out about it somehow, and we got it really cheap. We knew we had a lot to do, so we spent some time to learn how to do things. Then it was still trial and error when we started doing it." Ironhide explains.
"I just did what he told me. He made me work around the clock." Nitro says, pointing to Hide.
Springer snorts. "I guess he wanted you to get your own washracks, so you could stop occupying his."
Nitro shrugs unrepentantly. "It's not my fault his washracks were so fancy. You lot were spoiled with showers everyday at that point, and I was not."
Something passes over Ironhide's face-plates, too quickly for Barricade to decipher, something dark in spite of the light tone in Springer's and Nitro's bickering.
"You could probably do this for a living." Barricade says to change the subject, looking around at what they've done so far.
Hatchet barks a laugh. "Yeah, imagine all the mechs who would let us into their homes to work. They wouldn't even open the door when we showed up."
"The neighbor next door doesn't seem to care, and there's probably others. Word of mouth would make some mecha willing to give you a chance when they see what nice work you can do."
"We'll keep your suggestion in mind." Ironhide says. "Now, who has changed their sheets lately?"
Chapter Text
They decide on Hatchet's berth, even if the reasons are unknown to Barricade. He can't help but be a bit excited by that, because Hatchet has moved into Sideswipe's old room, and Barricade hasn't been there since Hatchet took over it.
He has other work now, and when he has been working in-house for parties, he has wound up elsewhere.
With renovations fresh in mind, he's curious of Hatchet has remodeled anything. He hasn't brought his own furniture from Kaon as far as Barricade knows, but then again, that could happen while he is working, or sleeping.
Or it's too much of a hassle, and he'll buy new ones. Is it possible to transport them through spacebridge?
Then Springer pats his aft, and he's back in the present, walking up the stairs, surrounded by four Warframes who are going to fuck him.
And here he is, thinking about what Hatchet's room will look like, and not the upcoming gang bang. How things have changed since he first moved in here.
The door slides open, and he follows Hatchet inside, almost a bit disappointed to see that nothing has changed, except for Sideswipe's personal belongings having been cleaned out, making the room seem strangely impersonal.
Hatchet jumps up on the berth, then he immediately makes another jump, doing a roll in the air, landing on his back. It's kind of acrobatic, and shows that he's more agile than the first impression of him gives away. He pats his lower ventral plating meaningfully, looking at Barricade.
Barricade crawls up on the berth and straddles Hatchet. "So, how do you..." He reaches between his legs — panel already open — but Hatchet lightly bats it away.
"You don't have to act here, I prefer your genuine reactions." Hatchet pushes his finger through Barricade's rather dry folds.
Barricade feels a bit self conscious about that. It's not that he's grossed out by Hatchet or anything, but his mind has been occupied with other things, so he isn't really aroused yet, and he didn't have time to prep. He was hoping that he could put on a bit of a show playing with himself, and to get his own lubricant going to cover up his lack of arousal. Hatchet doesn't mention it, he just licks his digit — slowly, keeping optic contact — coating it in oral lubricant, and there's something about the action that catches Barricade off guard, and makes his valve clench and heat up.
Does Hatchet enjoy giving oral? But that probably won't happen now anyway, not with all these mechs here. He'll definitely ask around about it, though. Thundercracker did mention something about his glossa.
With the slick, Hatchet's digit slips easily through Barricade's folds, teasing his sensitive nub, and Barricade exvents sharply, servos grabbing on to Hatchet's ventral plating of their own accord. Hatchet's intake twitches in something that's threatening to be a conceited smirk.
With all rights; the mech is good at this.
A digit slips into Barricade's valve, curling to hit that sensitive spot inside him, and he bucks into Hatchet's servo, feeling himself go more wet. Hatchet rubs the ball of his thumb-joint against Barricade's anterior node, and the Saleen meals, grinding against it.
He needs to pace himself, or he'll be strutless before they're done with him.
Chapter Text
Hatchet has turned Barricade into a panting, needy mess, grinding against his servo, and Barricade is all but ready to beg for spike.
"Mind if I join, brother?" Nitro asks, voice rough.
"Not at all."
Nitro climbs onto the berth, straddling Hatchet's legs behind where Barricade is sitting. Digits stroke Barricade's port.
"I didn't prep. We..." It's fucking hard to talk coherently when Hatchet is getting him close to overloading. "I didn't think about that, and then we were busy."
"Got lube?" Nitro asks.
Hatchet shows that he's excellent at doing two things at a time by grabbing a bottle of lube from a drawer in the nightstand, handing it to Nitro while not fumbling what he's doing to Barricade's array.
Barricade never hear the bottle open, too preoccupied with the frustration of being so close, and not being allowed to overload, as Hatchet backs off when he's teetering on the edge.
He hates edging, it's too frustrating! ...w ell, so much for pacing himself.
Nitro's thick digits slip into his port easily with the slick, and Barricade makes a small noise of surprise, squirming. Nitro pumps his digits, and Hatchet flicks his node a couple of times, and Barricade finally is granted his overload, hips rocking against the servos working on him. He hunches over Hatchet, resting some of his weight on his arms, servos splayed on Hatchet's ventral plating. Hatchet lifts him a bit, reaching between them with his other servo to line up his spike with Barricade's still quivering valve, then he drops Barricade. It slides in easily, the tapered shape of it perfect for Barricade's sensitive valve — not too much, but still enough to gently start to stimulate him again — and then Nitro's spike presses against his port, pushing inside against more resistance.
Nitro is all the way inside before Barricade realizes that he hasn't even started his modification. Luckily, he doesn't have time to think about the implications of the lack of discomfort even without using the mod; Nitro starts to move, and Hatchet rocks Barricade instead of bucking up to get his friction.
Barricade mewls when Hatchet pulls him down, Barricade's anterior node being pressed against Hatchet's pelvic plating. It's almost too soon, almost too much, but at the same time, it feels good. Nitro grabs his shoulder-wings at the base, digits digging into the sensitive wiring there, toying with relays and connectors. Barricade squeals.
"Too much?" Nitro asks, voice rough.
"No, keep doing that!" Barricade mewls, his entire frame lighting up with charge.
Chapter Text
"Would you mind helping a mech out?" Springer asks Barricade as he steps up to the berth, spike in his servo.
"I can't deepthroat you in this position." Barricade manages to say between mewls.
"That's fine."
Barricade opens his intake, and Springer pushes inside, placing one servo on the back of Barricade's helm.
It should feel degrading, the way Springer fucks his mouth, but it doesn't. Not when he asked nicely, and the other two are working in tandem to make it feel great for everyone involved. He's a participant, not just something they use.
Barricade tries to glance around to see where Ironhide is, but he can't see the big mech.
It almost feels rude that Ironhide is excluded, but it's not like he has more holes...
Then he can't focus on that anymore when it seem like Hatchet has decided to grant him another overload, circling Barricade's anterior node more quickly. Nitro increases his pace too, pounding into Barricade in a way that rocks him along Hatchet's shaft. Hatchet finds that spot that feels almost too much, and then Barricade overloads, moaning around the spike in his mouth. He feels the rush of fluid when his valve contracts around Hatchet's spike, and Hatchet bucks up as he overloads too, more fluid being pushed out around his spike.
"Did he squirt?" Nitro asks through clenched denta, getting close.
"Yeah." Hatchet pants.
Nitro pushes in deep, spike twitching as he fills Barricade with his transfluid.
Barricade would go limp and strutless if he could, but that isn't in the cards, because Springer is still going, rutting into his intake.
"Want to finish in a different way, Brother?" Hatchet asks.
"That would be nice."
Nitro pulls out, a rush of transfluid running out to stain Hatchet's plating. Barricade flushes furiously when he feels that. Nitro slips two digits into Barricade's port without resistance.
"You're a bit looser now." He murmurs in Barricade's audial, pumping his digits. "It's fun when you don't always use that mod of yours." He grabs Barricade's servo, steering it to make Barricade touch his own port, guiding his digits through the slick fluids, into his relaxed and accommodating hole.
It doesn't feel degrading for some reason, just embarrassing, but in a kind of ok way. Maybe even a bit arousing, actually.
Springer pulls out, allowing Barricade to crawl off of Hatchet. Barricade looks at the mess on Hatchet's plating; mingling transfluid, and his own lubricant.
"Think I might need a shower." Hatchet says, quirking a meaningful optical ridge.
Barricade feels his face-plates heat up. "Probably."
"Don't worry, the Prez, and the V-Prez will keep you occupied while Hatchet is gone." Nitro purrs in Barricade's audial, letting go of his servo.
Ironhide gets up from the chair he has been sprawled in, spike already hard. In spite of just having overloaded, Barricade's valve clenches greedily.
Chapter Text
"Well, looks like I need a quick wash too." Nitro says as he crawls off the berth, looking down at his sticky pelvic plating. "And I wanted to watch..." He adds mournfully.
"Be quick then." Barricade says absentmindedly, looking back and forth between Springer and Ironhide.
Nitro chuckles.
Ironhide kneels on the berth, then he sits back, aft on his heels. "Your glossa on my spike would feel really good right now."
A simple request, and Barricade leans forward, putting his weight on his elbows. He licks along the shaft, doing a little twirl around the head of the spike before starting over. Ironhide groans, hips twitching. The berth dips when Springer kneels behind Barricade.
Digits stroke Barricade's valve-lips, just a ghost of a touch, before spreading them open.
"Well plowed field." Springer hums, drawing a circle around Barricade's port before doing the same around his anterior node.
Barricade's hips buck, his node still sensitive from the last overload, but Springer just lets up a bit on the pressure and keeps circling his node to get Barricade's charge going again. It makes concentrating on licking Ironhide's spike with any skill hard, and more than once, Barricade manages to smear the pre-transfluid beading from the channel on his cheek plates, his forehelm, and one time, across his optic, when he leans deeper to lick from the base again. He resorts to cleaning the pre-transfluid off with his glossa before going back down again, processor getting increasingly garbled when Springer slowly and steadily beings him closer.
"He's getting a bit needy, I think." Ironhide says to Springer. "He's getting awfully sloppy with his glossa."
"I think so, too, I can see how his valve clenches as if it's trying to suck something in."
A digit slips into Barricade's valve — just one — and it's just enough to tease his internal nodes, and not nearly enough. He rocks back impatiently, because they're right; he's so needy, lubricant is dribbling out of him, and he really wants something in his hot, throbbing valve.
"Please, just fuck me already!" It comes out whiny and even more pleading than he intended it.
"What do you say, Brother? Should I take pity on the poor, needy little thing?" Springer asks.
"I guess it would be the merciful thing to do."
"Are we merciful, though?" Springer muses, rubbing slowly against that spot inside Barricade that builds a weird pressure inside him as he's getting closer.
Barricade whines, trying to rock back against the servo to get more friction, and try to get that overload he's building towards.
They need to be merciful.
"I'm not sure he has earned it." Ironhide says slowly. "He's not doing much generous stuff himself right now, just trying to steal his own pleasure. I mean, he isn't even doing something as simple as licking my spike right now..."
Oh, damn. He kind of forgot!
"Then he needs to earn it before he gets the cock he's craving." Springer decides at the same time as Barricade almost throws himself over Ironhide's spike the way a starving mech would a huge cube of fuel.
Chapter Text
It seems like forever before Ironhide is happy with his performance. On some signal Barricade doesn't pick up, Ironhide notifies the Vice president, and finally Springer's spike nudges through Barricade's folds, and with a quick jab of his hips, he bottoms out.
Barricade squeals, the intensity of finally being filled almost enough to making him overload immediately.
"So needy." Ironhide snickers.
"Yeah. Is he still earning this?" Springer grunts, slowly fucking Barricade.
He is! He is trying so hard to make it good for Hide, even if he just wants to bury his face in the bedding and squeal in delight at the way Springer's spike seem to light up every single sensor inside his valve.
"I think so, but I'm not counting on him being coherent for long now that he's getting cock..."
"Let me know when he loses it."
"Will do."
Damnit! He needs to keep his performance up, or Springer might stop...
Barricade renews his efforts, flattening his glossa and licking with broad swipes up Ironhide's rock hard shaft.
Is it greedy of him to hope that he'll be fucked by Hide too? Well, probably, but he does have a good spike.
His panting has turned to mewls and moans, and he makes a noise everytime Springer bottoms out. Barricade's technique with his glossa is getting increasingly sloppy, and he knows it, but his jaw is getting strained, and frankly, it's just so good to be fucked — especially now that Springer is circling his anterior node with a skilled digit — and he can't really concentrate.
"Please..." He whines.
"Please what?" Springer asks.
"My jaw... My hydraulics are straining."
Just because it's predictable it doesn't make it any less frustrating when Springer stops. "Do you need a break?" He asks mildly.
"No! I mean, just with the licking."
"But we can't leave poor Hide high and dry..."
"No, but I was kind of hoping that I'd get his spike too..."
If Springer just finished up quickly, and then Hide can fuck him, and let him overload quickly, that would be good.
"Maybe that can be arranged?" Springer says slowly.
"Perhaps..." Ironhide answers.
Springer pulls out, and Barricade rocks back, trying to get him inside again, a frustrated whine leaving his vocalizer.
Ironhide snickers.
"Easy now, mech! We'll get there!" Springer says, grabbing Barricade to lift him from his position and turn him around.
Springer cups his aft, and Barricade clings to Springer, servos on the back of his sturdy neck, wrapping his legs around Springer's hips. Springer lines up, and slides inside when Barricade bucks his hips against him, then he just holds still. Barricade is about to protest — or maybe beg — but then he registers the movement behind him just a moment before Ironhide presses up against his back. Massive chest-plates rub against his shoulder-wings, and then the head of Ironhide's spike press against his port.
"Don't worry, you'll get all the cock you need." Springer croons.
Ironhide pushes inside, and Barricade is still slick and loose enough to feel the stretch when the thick spike enters him, but no discomfort.
Chapter Text
It's apparent that they have done this before, with the easy way Ironhide and Springer gets into a rhythm where one pushes in while the other pulls out. Springer is holding Barricade up, and Ironhide is holding him in place by his shoulder-wings.
He's so fragging close.
Teetering on the edge for what seems like eternity, frame going increasingly tense as he desperately tries to reach his peak.
Just a ghost of a touch to his node would be enough.
But he can't really reach right now, pressed between the other two, and it seems like he's not going to get the release he craves by just this.
"Please, I need..." His voice breaks off into static, charge running so high, his vocalizer feels raw.
"Well, that's obvious."
"I mean my node! I need to touch it." He almost sobs, still teetering on the edge.
Ironhide hums thoughtfully, sliding one servo down Barricade's ventral plating, frustratingly enough foregoing his node just to rest his digits along Barricade's valve-lips. Barricade growls in frustration.
"Maybe we should help you out?" Ironhide murmurs, hunching to nip at Barricade's neck.
"Or should we just finish up ourselves?" Springer muses.
"No! I need my overload!" Barricade snarls.
"I'm sure you do, but won't you get all spent then? Seems like our Brothers might need another round..." Ironhide croons, nipping Barricade's neck again.
The Saleen shudders, because Ironhide's deep voice does things to him, and those denta pinching at his lines just so adds the spice of a hint of danger. Then Ironhide's words finally register completely, and Barricade whips his helm around.
Nitro is sitting in the chair, slowly stroking his hard spike. He shrugs unrepentantly when they all look at him.
"Ain't my fault that you're putting on such a good show."
"So what do you say, little mech, hm? Can you still take another round even if we let you overload now?" Springer asks."
Barricade stares at Nitro's servo sliding along his spike, slick with pre-transfluid. Hatchet is sitting on his haunches, stroking his spike too.
It's kind of heady to feel so desired.
"He better." Ironhide says, flicking Barricade's node, sending him over the edge in a hard overload.
Chapter Text
His frame is limp, and he feels kind of like one of those dolls sparklings get — the ones with all their joints loose, their limbs hanging limply, and their entire frame seemingly strutless — when Ironhide and Springer keeps pounding into him even after he has overloaded. They easily hold him up, even if his grip on Springer's neck has slipped to just be a placement of his servos.
They've increased their pace now, working towards their overloads, and Barricade is thankful that they're not trying to wrong another one out of him right now.
At least his valve isn't hypersensitive, that would've made this uncomfortable too.
No, he isn't squirming in discomfort, both his holes feel as slack as the rest of him.
And Nitro wants another go, and probably Hatchet too... He should offer his intake first, to get a bit of a break.
Springer overloads first, pressing in deep, while Ironhide keeps fucking him. It's kind of weird when Springer's spike depressurizes, slowly slipping out of him, and Ironhide is still going.
"Are you holding off just to make me stand here and hold him up for you?" Springer asks.
"Would I ever do something like that?" It sounds like Ironhide is trying to stifle a scrapeating grin.
"Well, yeah."
Ironhide doesn't answer, but after three more thrusts, he presses in deep, and Barricade feels the stretch as he's being filled with transfluid. When Ironhide pulls out, Barricade feels it trickle out of him, but he's too spent to even be mortified by that, not moving an inch as they lay him down on the berth, wiping themselves with rags. Barricade's comm chimes and he opens without checking who it is.
::Where the fuck are you? Time to go to work.:: Blackout growls. ::Or maybe you want me to hunt you down...?:: He adds, voice dripping with predatory anticipation.
Barriy eeps out loud, thinking about what he looks like right now; sprawled on the berth, covered in fluids, his holes all slack and used.
Ironhide quirks an optical ridge in question.
"Time for me to go to work. Got Blackout on the line, he says I should go..."
Nitro whines. "But what about this...?" He strokes his spike more quickly for emphasis.
Ironhide rolls his optics. "Patch me into the call."
Barricade does as asked.
::Hey, brother. Barricade is a bit... preoccupied right now.::
There's a pause where Barricade gets the feeling of a file transfer happening.
::You gluttonous little piggies.:: Blackout snickers. ::I'll keep this image, since I wasn't invited to the party.::
Barricade flushes, even if he doesn't know exactly what picture Ironhide sent to Blackout.
:: Don't jerk off too much while you're on duty.:: Ironhide says.
Blackout snorts, something that sounds a bit odd over comms. ::As if I ever do.::
They hang up.
"But credits?" Barricade says. "I need to earn my keep..."
"Could you even walk to the washracks right now?" Springer sounds doubtful. "Let alone on the street."
"I... No."
"We could stick him in that wheelchair. There's probably someone who'd get off on that." Hatchet suggests. "I mean, if he really wants to go to work right now."
"But what about this?!" Nitro says, pointing frantically to his hard spike with both his servos.
Chapter Text
"Don't worry, Nitro will compensate you for not being able to work tonight." Ironhide says to the still sprawled Mustang.
"Me?! Why should I be the one to pay for this? You had your fun too."
"That was his payment for the painting. Now he's not at work, and you're still waving your dick around. Pay the mech for the next round."
"I... Yeah, but he wouldn't be able to work anyway, I mean look at him."
"Don't be cheap now." Springer says.
"But I'm out of credits..." Nitro sounds like he's pouting.
"What?! How on Cybertron did you manage to blow all those credits this quick?" Ironhide sounds annoyed.
"I lost a bet..."
"Figures. Do I really need to supervise you constantly?"
"Probably."
"It's fine. You can pay me when you get credits. Two percent interest for every day it's still unpaid." Barricade says.
"Oh, look! It's alive!" Hatchet says.
Everyone starts laughing, even Barricade chuckles.
"And if you try to rip me off, I'll tell my boss." Barricade adds.
"Someone is learning..." Ironhide says, sounding approving.
"Yeah, at my expense." Nitro grumbles.
"Hey it's not my fault that you're horny twenty-four seven. Jerking off is free." Barricade shrugs with fake nonchalance, but as soon as the words are out, he kind of feels like he has no place to be sassy, still sprawled in an almost-faceplant.
"Come on, you can't expect me to jerk off when we finally have the house full of pussy."
Barricade rolls his optics at the kind of ridiculous posturing. He knows that Nitro jerks off at times, sniffing Dreadbot's onesies, but apparently that's just pleasurebot knowledge, and not for the Brothers to know. "I guess you need to either earn it, or pay up then."
"But the others don't have to pay..."
"I'll pay for my next round." Hatchet says, shrugging.
"I... Does the interest deal extend to more mecha?" Springer asks. "I'm kinda low on cash too..."
Ironhide gives him a Look.
Springer squirms just a little. "It was the same bet..." He says contritely.
"For fucks sake..." Ironhide groans, dragging his servo down his face-plates. "You should try acting like mature, responsible mechs sometime."
"It seemed like a safe bet!" Nitro says.
"And who got richer?"
"Dreadbot..." Springer says quietly.
"There you go. Has he ever lost a bet to you?"
"Uhm... No?"
"Precisely. Good thing someone in this house has half a processor."
"This is fine, Hide! It's a good deal for me, I can wait a few days for the credits." Barricade says, because this really makes him richer too.
"Oh, he's still alive! And apparently horny, since he wants to get on with it." Hatchet leers.
"Don't mind if I do." Nitro says, crawling onto the berth, probably having learned nothing.
Chapter Text
Barricade is sprawled on their berth, feeling completely spent when Jazz comes back to their room.
"Wow! How in tha world did ya manage ta do all of this?" He says, motioning around the room with his servo.
"I wish I could take full credit for it, but I did get some help."
"But still..." Jazz says, stretching out next to Barricade.
"There's still some of the floor left to fix, Springer has promised me to help us with that. We really need to clean our room, though."
Jazz looks around again.
"I changed the sheets, but I'm too tired to do the rest right now." Barricade adds.
"Maybe we do need ta clean..."
"Yeah, I had it pointed out in a not-so-delicate way that we're not keeping our room nice and tidy."
"The sign makes sense then."
"The sign?"
"Yeah, I was gonna ask ya, but I was thrown off by how awesome our room looks. There's a new sign on tha door. Says beware of tiny slobs, n' there's a dried out paintbrush attached ta it."
Barricade snorts. "Maybe we deserved that one. You know, Hatchet had a great idea, though; that we could get one of those little vacuuming drones. I looked them up on the data net, they aren't really that expensive."
"I suppose we could..."
"Either that, or we need to make a schedule to do it manually. I mean, I'm absolutely certain that I'm going to forget about it otherwise. We should do a schedule for all other things we need to do too, or at least a list of what needs to be cleaned. It was terribly embarrassing when the Brothers kind of hinted that their prison cell was cleaner than our room."
"Oh. Was it that bad, huh?" Jazz does sound at least a bit contrite.
"Yeah. They wouldn't even frag in our berth because they thought it was gross that we change the sheets so rarely."
Jazz covers his face-plates with his servos in secondhand embarrassment. "I guess we have been a bit lazy. But it's so nice ta do this!" He says, wrapping his arm around Barricade, cuddling close.
"I know, I enjoy it too. Maybe we can do the cleaning together, and try to have fun while we do it? Some music, a drink or two..."
"And the vacuuming drone. We'll get one of those. Maybe we can split tha cost?"
"That's a good idea."
Chapter Text
"I'm suddenly not certainw we're ready for this type of commitment." Jazz says.
They both stare at the little vacuuming drone sitting on the floor in front of them. Barricade pauses the instructional video on how to get started with the settings.
"What do you mean?" He says nervously.
Does Jazz mean getting things together? It kind of is the next step in their relationship.
"A drone. We've gotten ourselves a drone."
"Yeah? It's not like we got a sparkling. It came in a box, you know. I'm pretty sure they don't do that to anything sentient. Not even pets are sold that way..."
Imagine the trouble of trying to stuff one of the Brothers into a box...
"But he has AI..." Jazz says, looking at the box again.
"Artificial intelligence."
"MTOs aren't considered very intelligent either... N' they evolve, what if this li'l one evolves too? Then we'll have a li'l person ta take care of. N' how would we know if it's gettin' smart, n' we're treatin' it as a dumb thing, n' then we're no better than..."
"Then we make sure to always treat it well." Barricade interrupts. "It can communicate with us through the app, so we can always give it the maintenance it needs. We could change the filters more often than demanded, and always let it recharge fully before giving it a task again."
Isn't this getting just a little out of servo? But then again, if Jazz is right, he really doesn't want to be treating it badly out of ignorance. Especially not in this house.
"I can roll with that."
"Great! I'll just finish watching this instruction vid, then we can set the app up for us both, with notifications, so we won't miss anything it needs." Barricade says, starting the vid clip again.
It doesn't seem too hard to get everything started, but he wants to know all the features, especially now that Jazz got worried.
"So what's his designation?" Jazz asks.
"Designation?" Barricade says stupidly, still focused on the vid.
"Yeah. He can't jus' be called a model nr."
Definitely out of servo. But then again, if the little thing wakes up sentient one day, it would be kind of offensive to not have a name...
"I suppose not. Do you have any suggestions? There's no name anywhere in the instructions."
"Mumbo." Jazz says with conviction, and the glyph clearly isn't Cybertronian, at least not neocybex.
"Mumbo?! What kind of designation is that?"
Jazz shrugs. "I dunno. I think it sounds cute and it fits him."
"Uh-huh."
"What? It's not like I suggested that we should call him Bob or something like that."
Completely out of servo.
"Mumbo it is then."
Chapter Text
The first customer for the evening — a mech he has worked a couple of times before — wants the usual; a bit of groping, and then bend over the dumpster. Barricade leans his lower arms against the lid, opens his panel, and reaches between his legs, splaying two digits along his valve-lips to open himself up. It's a trick he learned a couple of weeks ago, just after his first paycheck; it drives the customers wild, make them even more revved up, and prone to finish quicker. The real reason he does it is to make it easier to get their spike inside, even if he slicks himself up before, his valve-lips are often a bit dry. Even if the condoms are pre-lubed, this makes it even easier.
"Ah, yeah, needy slut." The customer groans, it's the first time Barricade has done that for him.
The spike slides inside, and the mech immediately start to rut into him, chasing his overload.
The mech will be quick. Easy credits.
Barricade wonders if Jazz has ordered that mopping drone they were talking about. Jazz — even if he was a bit hesitant about the vacuuming drone when they got it — really has taken to it. He activated the voice control after just a week of having it, and now he has taught it names for the different parts of their room. It's a little over the top in Barricade's opinion, but at the same time, it's kind of cute when Jazz says thank you, Mumbo, and the little thing says you're welcome, and scurries back to the recharging station. A mopping robot does feel a bit overkill for their little room, but Jazz did find one that wasn't too expensive, and it really can't hurt to have a clean room...
The mech behind him grunts, pressing in deep, and Barricade is pulled out of his thoughts, waiting until the mech pulls out, and steps back. He takes a rag out to wipe himself clean of the lubricant that has dripped onto his thighs, while the mech removes the condom, and throws it in the dumpster.
"As good as always." The mech says.
"Thank you, Sir." Barricade answers, giving him a slightly flirtatious smile.
The mech wipes down, and then he leaves. Barricade lingers, pulling out the bottle of spray lubricant to slick himself up again, getting ready for the next customer.
It's kind of strange how natural this feels these days; wait for the john to leave, then just pull out a bottle of lubricant, panel still open, even if he's standing in an alley.
He puts the bottle back in his subspace, closes his panel, then he walks back towards the street. They didn't go far from the corner he was sharing with Knock Out, so he doesn't feel the need to transform and drive.
Barricade is almost back at the street when a mech walking down the street stops, staring at him. Barricade freezes, staring back.
"Barricade?! Is that really you?" The mech takes a step in his direction, quirking an optical ridge, smirk slowly stretching his intake. "Long time no see..."
Barricade takes an involuntary step back, frantically pinching a sensor in his arm.
It's a dream, no a nightmare, it can't be true!
The mech follows him deeper into the alley. "You look good, even better in your adult frame, actually."
Barricade keeps backing up, spark spinning out of control. The mech is older, and he certainly hasn't aged gracefully; he looks worn, and he's as ugly as ever.
His stepsire.
Chapter Text
Barricade takes another step back, and his step-sire follows.
"Wow, not even a hello to the mech who made sure you had fuel in your cube. I see you're as ungrateful as ever."
"From what I recall, Carrier was the one to put fuel in both our cubes."
His stepsire looks unimpressed. "Whatever. But pray tell, sweet little Barricade, what are you doing in this neighborhood, at this time of night?" Barricade realizes how much he has backed up when his shoulder-wings hits the wall. His step-sire keeps coming closer, until he's almost pressed chest to chest with Barricade, slowly stroking the edge of Barricade's right wing. Barricade shudders. "With fake service signs, and," his optics flick down momentarily, "lubricant on your thighs."
Barricade looks down, mortified, just to find a single, tiny spot on his plating, one that isn't even clearly that kind of lubricant. His flushing face-plates give him away, though, he just knows it, and he can't even meet the mech's optics. The servo toying with his shoulder-wing slips down to Barricade's chest, sneaking in behind his crash bar to grope the plating, and it's just too disgustingly familiar, all the emotions from back then washing over him like a tidal wave.
In that moment, when his step-sire's other servo slips between his legs to grope his interface panel, Barricade isn't the ex-cop, who has gone through self defense training. He isn't even the prostitute, with no less than two armed and doubtlessly lethal pimps, probably game for some violence, and just a comm call away. No, he's back to being the youngling who just turned legal, the little mech who got to learn that interfacing is something disgusting and ugly. He pushes his step-sire, trying to get the mech off him, managing to make him stumble back. His step-sire looks livid, and then he slaps Barricade so hard across his cheek, Barricade's optic feed goes pixelated for long seconds.
"Still the ungrateful brat! The least you can do is give me a fucking blow job." He grabs Barricade's shoulder-wing, bending it to force the still stunned Mustang to his knees. "I mean, if you're already whoring yourself out, I think you can treat me to one for old time's sake."
There's a click of locks, and his step-sire's panel opens, his spike pressurizing to bob disgustingly in front of Barricade's face-plates. Barricade tries to shy away when the mech rolls his hips to thrust into his intake, and it earns Barricade the tank turning experience of getting the pre-transfluid smeared across his cheek, just below his optic. His step-sire grabs one of his audial horns to keep him in place, his other servo gripping Barricade's jaw to force him to open his intake, and then he thrusts inside. Barricade gags when the head of the spike hits the back of his intake, but it's not like his step-sire cares, starting to roughly thrust into Barricade's mouth.
Chapter Text
It doesn't take long for his step-sire to overload, nauseating, bitter transfluid suddenly filling Barricade's mouth. He swallows as much as he can, because he doesn't want it dribbling down his chin more than it already is, feeling utterly pathetic and stupid.
He has been an Enforcer! His self defense training might not have been enough to free him from Ironhide's grip, but that's not the norm. He could've taken this asshole down! He should have! He could've called his friends and gotten help. But no, he's nothing but a pathetic little loser, allowing himself to be used so easily.
His step-sire tucks himself away, looking down at Barricade who's still kneeling, even though he isn't held in place anymore.
"You still got the same comm?"
Barricade doesn't answer.
Why would he ever want to stay in contact with this fuckface?
His comm pings, and he flinches. His step-sire quirks an optical ridge. "I suppose you do. Make sure to pick up when I call." He taps his temple. "A really nice memory I got here, you look really good with my cock in your mouth. I would enjoy to make more memories like this. It's getting old, looking at those I already have of you. But even if they're getting old for me, their might be new and interesting for others..."
Both Barricade's spark and his tank plummets.
He never thought about that! The mech can do to him what Swindle did to Dreadbot! Everyone will know everything he has ever done!
"I'll pick up." Barricade mumbles.
"Good." He turns to leave, but looks back over his shoulder. "You know, I had friends back then who wanted a piece of you too, but I was a bit greedy, didn't want you to be everyone's slut. How ironic that you have turned into a whore."
Barricade can't answer, he's fighting the urge to purge his tank. He just averts his optics, staring at the ground, listening tho his step-sire leaving.
For now.
As soon as the mech is out of sight, Barricade rinses his intake with some coolant he has in his subspace, desperately trying to get rid of the taste. He wipes himself meticulously, but it seems impossible, he can still feel the pre-transfluid sticking to his cheek, and the cum clinging to his chin, making him feel dirty.
They didn't use a condom! He could've caught something.
Barricade gives up on feeling clean, and decides to go back to the corner.
::I'm done, going back to my spot.:: He comms Motormaster.
::He was slow, that one.::
Thankfully, he wasn't. But Motormaster doesn't know about the freebie blowjob, just the real customer.
::Yeah, he softened halfway through, so he had to get it up again. Think he got nervous or something.::
Motormaster laughs, but doesn't comment. Barricade reaches their corner, and he is suddenly worried about how his cheek looks after the slap he got. He pretends to scratch himself to check it with his digits. It's sore, and possibly a bit swollen, so he turns his helm, pretending to look at something in the street as he reaches Knock Out.
"Was that just one, or did you get another customer while I was away?"
"Nah, just the one."
"Fuck, he took his time. Should've asked for an extra tip for taking so long."
"Yeah..."
Hopefully, the rest of the shift will be quick, so he can go home, wash up, have a few drinks and a cyg to take the edge off, and just embrace the sweet oblivion of recharge.
Chapter Text
The rest of the shift, Barricade feels like he's on autopilot. At least he doesn't have to give someone a blowjob — he doesn't want to risk spreading something around and it getting back to the Brothers — but it gets a bit weird to try to not show half his face to Knock Out the entire time, and he's afraid the Racer will notice the way Barricade is always looking this way and that.
When he finally gets home, he hurries inside, eager to have a shower, and then just go to berth.
It's the first time ever he's not happy to be met by Jazz. It rarely happens, Jazz being with someone when Barricade gets back, but of all nights, tonight is the night when he's practically waiting inside the door. Barricade forgoes the kiss he can see Jazz aiming for, throwing himself around Jazz's neck, pressing his lip-plates to Jazz's neck-cables.
He doesn't even want to do that, doesn't even want to hug Jazz before he's had a shower, and kissing will have to wait until he has been to Ratchet to make sure he didn't catch something. He'd like to go right away, but that would raise questions, so it'll have to wait for a more inconspicuous time.
"It's good to be home." He mumbles against Jazz's neck-cables. "I've such a bad helm ache, I'll just hit the shower, and then I'll go recharge."
"Ya ok?" Jazz says, trying subtly to untangle himself to look at Barricade.
Barricade hugs him harder, pretending to cling to him. "I don't know. Might be having a bad grounding point or something. I'll go straight to Ratchet tomorrow if a little recharge and defrag doesn't that care of it. Could just be one of my circuit boards running a little hot."
"Ya sure?" Jazz sounds worried.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
"Well, Hatchet has asked for my company, but hopefully, he'll let me go sneak a look at ya later. Jus' ta make sure ya're not crahin'."
Fuck! If his face looks bad, and Jazz comes in while he's recharging, he may not be able to hide it.
"I'm sure it's fine, you don't need to worry. Go earn all those credits you make, we can talk in the morning."
Barricade presses another kiss to Jazz's neck-cables, and then he slips away, all sensors trained on Jazz. He walks slowly, making sure Jazz has turned away before he stops and reaches behind over the bar to grab a bottle of high grade, and a cyg, then he's finally off to the washracks.
Good thing they have their own, he really doesn't want to have to wait in line.
The door to their room slides open without any more awkward interactions being necessary — everyone has trundled off to wherever they're spending the night — and Barricade puts the bottle and the cyg on the nightstand, then he hurries into the washracks, anxious to see the damage.
His reflection in the mirror thankfully shows that it isn't as bad as he thought it might be; just slightly swollen, and a bit flushed. There's a tiny dent too, but not readily noticeable. Barricade still smears his face with nanite gel to make it heal as quickly as possible, then he heads for the shower.
Chapter Text
"I need a test for... ah, for transmittable diseases." Barricade says, voice doing quieter as he speaks.
Ratchet manages to give him a flat look. "Just to be clear; guessing that you're talking about infections transmittable through interfacing."
Barricade averts his optics. "Yes."
"I guess you know the drill; on the chair, pedes in the stirrups. I'll take a swab..."
"It's just my intake. And I will pay for this myself."
"Hide should pay for this, considering what he makes you do."
"I, it's... not from that. Hide makes us use protection," Ratchet makes a face that makes Barricade momentarily lose his track, "this is from... an old acquaintance."
"Very well then," Ratchet turns to a cupboard, pulling out a drawer to grab the things he needs, "you can still have a seat on the berth."
Barricade does as he's told, waiting while Ratchet pulls out the swab from the package. He opens his mouth as soon as Ratchet comes over, just wanting it to be over with. Ratchet scrapes against the sensitive mesh in Barricade's intake on several places, making Barricade gag when he hits the back of his mouth. Ratchet brings the swab to the analyzer, putting it inside. There's a quiet whining as it's being processed.
"So, the damage to your cheek... Is that from this acquaintance too?"
Barricade feels caught, and for some reason terribly guilty. "How did you even see that?!"
He checked this morning, the nanites worked well, and he deemed that it could hardly be noticed if one wasn't looking really closely.
"The nanites you used showed up on my initial scan. And there's still a bit of swelling. Paired with the damage to the mesh at the back of your intake, it paints a certain type of picture."
Barricade glares at his lap. "It isn't what it looks like."
"Uh-huh."
"We had an argument."
"Was that before or after your throat was damaged?"
There's no accusation in Ratchet's voice, it's just a simple question. It still points out how Barricade is lying, trying to gloss it over, even for himself.
But it's not like he has much of a choice. He doesn't want his step-sire to get any stupid ideas about what to do with the imagery from what they did. It was humiliating enough that the bastard got away with a slap across his servos for what they did, seeing as the fuckface just coerced him into it, and he didn't really fight back.
"After." Barricade lies. It doesn't feel right, but he still does it.
Ratchet gives him a doubtful look. "I think you should talk to Hide about that. I don't particularly like what he does, but you should at least reap the benefits of what you have to endure."
"Thanks for the advice."
The analyzer finally beeps to signal the test is ready, interrupting the conversation Barricade is rather desperate to get out of. Ratchet checks the screen before removing the sample.
"It came back negative. You're clear."
Barricade exhales sharply in relief. "Thanks."
He still feels dirty and gross, reminded about swallowing the bastards transfluid, the way it tasted on his glossa...
"I'm sending you the invoice, you can choose to pay it yourself or forward it as you wish. And I still think you should talk to someone about this."
"I think I will."
"Good." Ratchet says, leaving it at that, even if he sounds like he doesn't believe it. "And please feel free to come back if you need more tests. You know where I am, and that everything you say or do here is strictly confidential."
"Thank you."
Chapter 658
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When his comm chimes with an unknown caller ID, Barricade already knows who it is.
He opens the line, but doesn't say anything.
He was about to say what do you want, but he already knows that. He's not going to give the bastard the satisfaction of calling hand stupid and spelling pit what they're going to do. Not is he going to be solicitous,and answer as if they are on friendly terms.
::Anybody there?::
Maybe he could pretend to not be? Change numbers really fast. But then the bastard will release those memory clips...
::Yeah, I'm here. Got distracted.:: He says sourly.
::Don't get distracted tonight, we're going to have a little fun.::
::I can't. I have to work tonight.::
His step-sire laughs. ::Oh, yes, selling yourself on the streets. I'm sure you can't be late for that.:: He says mockingly.
::I need to make credits for the rent.::
For his pimps. Would it make it better or worse to say that he has a pimp? More humiliating, but maybe he'll be left alone? Maybe he should take Ratchet's advice and talk to Hide?
::Oh, you could always move in here. Wouldn't be the first time you mooch on me. You can pay the rent with your frame.::
That old deal. He remembers how disgusting he found it to pay like that to Hide. It would be even worse to do it for this bastard.
::I'd rather not mooch again.:: He says diplomatically.
::Then hurry on over here.:: He gets coordinates sent to him, complete with a map. ::So we have time to finish before you need to go to your precious work.::
His step-sire hangs up before Barricade can answer. Barricade makes a face, thinking about what's to come, but he doesn't drag his pedes.
Better just get it over with.
The rec room is full of mechs. Breakdown is unpacking what looks like action figures, probably from some videogame of his. He puts one on the table, and then he unpacks the next one. Crosshairs picks the first one up, twisting the arms and legs into a ratcher suggestive pose. Dreadbot — sitting in Nitro's lap, reclining against his chest-plates — watches.
"He's kind of hot." Dreadbot says.
"Weird." Breakdown says, making Knock Out smirk where he's sitting next to Breakdown.
The next figure is unpacked, and Crosshairs takes it as soon as Breakdown puts it on the table, tangling the two figures.
"Oh, commander! Fuck me, up against the wall. My hole is achin' fer ye!" He says, distorting his voice.
Dreadbot laughs. "So you read the new chapter?"
"Yeh." Crosshairs leers.
"But they're enemies..." Nitro says, sounding like they lost him a long time ago.
"No' in the story we're readin'."
"I'm going down with that ship." Dreadbot says.
"You are talking gibberish again." Hatchet says, sounding confused.
"They're at war!" Breakdown says.
"Yeh, at first!" Crosshairs exclaims. "I's an enemies te lovers kinda deal."
"Then they fight more with their meat rifles." Dreadbot cackles.
Nitro makes a face.
Crosshairs starts laughing, even as he's making one figure hump the other. "I fraggin' love tha' expression. They should make sex toys of said rifles..." He leers.
"Mmm..." Dreadbot hums dreamily.
Barricade stops momentarily, watching the scene, suddenly feeling like an outsider without having realized that he has been feeling like an insider for quite some time.
They seem so carefree and happy.
"I'm going out. I'll be back by the time we start working." He says, sending coordinates just a little off from where he's going to Nitro.
He gets an acknowledgement, the others still absorbed in what Crosshairs is saying and doing with the two figures, and Barricade somehow feels like a traitor when he leaves, as if he's going to do something terrible that will impact them.
He just needs to get through this, then he can go back and pretend it didn't happen.
Notes:
Spot the Rammstein reference if you can!
Chapter Text
Barricade stops outside the house, staring at it. It's in a shabbier neighborhood than where they live — so who was his step-sire to comment on where he was working — and it's a pretty run down house.
It fits; a glitchrat hole for a glitchrat.
Barricade slowly walk up the broken slabs leading up to the door, then he rings the bell. It doesn't take many seconds for his step-sire to open the door manually.
Not even an older version of an automatic opener. Or it's broken, and the bastard is too much of a ham handed, lazy drunk to fix it.
His step-sire moves to the side to let Barricade in, optics roving Barricade's frame. Barricade's aft is pinched, and his shoulder-wing groped as soon as the door is shut, and his step-sire presses up against him.
"Welcome to my humble abode."
It's gross.
Barricade has gotten so used to clean rooms — his and Jazz's short stint of slobiness not withstanding — and generally tidy accomodations, this place feels filthy and disgusting. Dirty cubes and half empty bottles litter the table — some sitting in pools of spilled fuel — single use containers adding to the clutter. Dirty rags are seemingly left where they landed, and the floor is so filthy, it feels like walking on metal shavings and grit. A glance towards the kitchenette reveals that it's equally gross.
Wonder what the berth room looks like, when he last changed the sheets...
Barricade stifles a shudder, then his spark leaps when a mech comes out of one of the small rooms at the end of the combined living room and entrance.
"My roommate. I told him about how good you are with your mouth, and he's eager to try."
Sour fuel burns at the back of Barricade's intake when he looks at the mech.
He clearly hasn't showered today.
"You were right; he really is hot."
The mech joins them, reaching up to stroke Barricade's cheek, thumb rubbing at Barricade's bottom lip-plate. Then he presses his thumb into Barricade's intake, and Barricade wants to gag, but he knows that it's probably a bad idea. He presses down the fuel rising at the back of his intake, and sucks the thumb that tastes like gearbox oil smells.
"Promising." The mech leers. "On all fours."
Barricade sinks down on the filthy floor as gracefully as he can, in a very futile attempt to keep some of his dignity. The mech kneels in front of him, already pressurized spike bobbing in front of Barricade's face.
"I would appreciate if we used protection." He says.
Definitely not showered today, if the smell is anything to go by. What he wouldn't give for this to be one of the brothers instead, with their cleanliness, and generally good looks.
Barricade's step-sire cackles a laugh. "Yeah, right..." He fiddles with Barricade's interface plate, and Barricade opens it. "It's easy to tell that you're a prostitute, considering how fast you open up." His step-sire says, pushing a digit into Barricade's prelubricated valve.
The other mech pushes his spike into Barricade's intake without warning, and Barricade just relaxes his jaw, allowing it to happen. The digit is pushed into Barricade's port.
"You sell this too?"
"Yech." Barricade says around the spike. It's not big enough to make him unable to speak.
His step-sire cackles. "He had already slicked his ass up for us."
"Nice! I definitely want to try that later. His mouth is so good, it's easy to tell that he's a pro."
And he isn't even working the mech, they really don't have high expectations. But maybe slicking himself was a mistake? Maybe he should've lied, and said that he doesn't sell it, and would've gotten out of being taken everywhere by these gross bastards. But then again, lying to this bastard never ended well.
His step-sire pushes inside to the hilt in one go, grabbing on to Barricade's hips hard enough to dent.
Chapter Text
The shower is just as filthy as the rest of the house — disgusting gunk in the corners and along the walls, some sort of spatter on the glass door, cheap solvent that smells too strongly, and doesn't really seem to make all that much difference when applied — and no matter how much Barricade scrubs himself, he just won't feel clean. He foregoes wiping himself with the rags, suspecting that they won't be washed since forever.
He hurries out the front door after his step-sire has "promised" him to call him soon, transforming into alt mode, and hurrying down the street.
::I'm running a bit late. I just forgot about the time, but I'll be there soon.:: He comms Nitro.
::Don't get speeding tickets.:: Nitro jokingly reassures him that there's no rush.
It's such a contrast to what the last hours have been like, Barricade feels like crying. He manages to hold back his sobs, and slows down, because Nitro is right. He stops by a fast fuel place, buying a crispy fuel bar, and a bottle of coolant to top up on, before going to the corner he usually shares with Knock Out.
"Welcome to the party." Knock Out says.
Barricade pulls out his fuel items, and then he feels bad. "I should've asked you if you wanted something when I bought this."
"Eh, it's fine. I'm not very fond of fast fuel, and I did refuel before I left the house."
"So, has it been slow so far? Sorry I'm late."
"Pretty slow. Just one cheap asshole who settled for a blowjob."
An unfancy sedan rolls by slowly, clearly checking them out, and Barricade stiffens.
He doesn't know what alt mode his step-sire has these days. And he doesn't know what the bastard's roommate looks like either. What if they show up when he's working?
The sedan makes a U-turn farther down the street, stopping to transform when he's in front of them. The mech isn't handsome, but at least he looks cleaner than...
Ugh.
Barricade suddenly feels dirty again, his plating crawling with disgust.
At least he can use protection for this.
"I... Ah..." The mech stutters, face flushing. He glances around, before looking back at them again.
First time doing this? It's kind of entertaining, actually.
Knock Out probably agrees, considering his smile. He manages to keep it friendly and salacious, though.
"What can we do you for, handsome?" Knock Out says smoothly.
"I have a, uhm, a special request? A blowjob and something extra?"
"Sure, we can arrange that. Care to tell us what you desire?"
The mech looks around again before turning back to them. "I want a couple of digits in my port while my spike is being sucked." He whispers, face-plates flushing again.
Chapter Text
"I suppose you still haven't talked to someone about this." Ratchet says, sounding disappointed. "A lot can be said about those ba... Bots but I do figure they're careful about using protection, considering how rarely I've seen infections transmittable through interfacing among you."
Barricade looks away. "No I haven't. It's complicated."
It's the fourth time he's here to get himself checked. Even if he has been clean so far, there's no way of knowing whatever his step-sire and his friends are up to between the times he visits.
And then there's the addition of new friends every time, friends with unknown health statuses.
Barricade suppresses the urge to gag when thinking about it.
Surprisingly enough, working afterwards isn't the hardest part. That's impersonal, and he uses protectiy anyway, so it's easy to just do the thing. Working in-house for parties is harder, because beven if he has gotten himself checked, there's the lingering worry that he's carrying something that evaded the tests.
Or just that someone somehow will know what he does with nasty, disgusting mechs.
But the absolutely hardest part is when he's with Jazz. He really doesn't feel like kissing, because he knows where his own mouth has been, and he feels filthy. It's the same for giving up his valve, or his port, it feels like he has been sullied, and no matter how much he cleans himself, he can't wash away the lingering filth from the disgusting acts.
"I should start having clip cards; every tenth test is free." Ratchet mutters while the swab is being processed.
Barricade climbs down from the chair, closing his panel.
The analyzer beeps, and there's a red line on the screen. Barricade can't see what it says, so he zooms in, but there's just a sample number, and a medical code.
"That doesn't seem good..." He says, spark spinning quickly in it's chamber.
Ratchet is looking at the screen. "Cyborrea. At least it's limited to your port, so that's good. Makes it easier to treat."
Lovely.
"Do you have medication for it?"
"Unfortunately, I don't. You need to go to the pharmacy for that. Luckily enough, there's one that's open around the clock on Industrial street."
"I've seen the signs, now that you mention it."
"I've sent in a prescription connected to your ID. The treatment is a three step administration for five days; a suppository in the morning, a rinse for midday, and a shot of a gel for the evening. The package come with instructions, make sure to read it carefully before starting the treatment. The timing of administration may impact the efficiency."
Why, oh why couldn't he have gotten this disease in his mouth instead?
Chapter Text
Barricade procrastinates getting out of berth.
Because getting up means starting the treatment, and he's not looking forward to that.
He's getting warm, and pushes the quilt off the upper part of his frame, but he still stays where he is, flopping over on the other side, since his frame is apparently more than ready to get up, and he's getting a bit uncomfortable. The room is completely dark, but he doesn't mind.
Then he screams, throwing himself backwards, when red optics online to stare at him. Barricade's pedes get tangled in the bedding, and he tumbles to the floor with a loud thud.
"Light on!" He shouts at the voice controlled lamp they've installed, just as something heavy lands on top of him.
Blackout is grinning down at him, easily mechhandling Barricade to lay front down, chest-plates pressed to the tiles.
"You've been avoiding me." Blackout states, easily flipping open the cover to the data socket on Barricade's neck. "Care to tell me why, or do I have to pry it out of your pretty little helm?"
Barricade squirms, not at all in the mood for Blackout's games, and especially not for being hacked. "Stop it! Let me go! This is not in my contract!" He says, voice squeaky with nerves, his spark spinning out of control.
"Perhaps not, but a very suspicious pattern has been drawn out, and I'm just making sure that our rules are upheld."
Fuck! He thought he was subtle?
"Suspicious pattern? I don't know what you mean."
"Don't play stupid." Blackout scoffs, jamming his plug into Barricade's socket. "You go from voluntarily seeking me out, to avoid interfacing in the house as much as possible. My Brothers and I have overheard Jazz speaking to the other whores, being upset about you suddenly being kind of standoffish. And you give new coordinates every time you leave — always in the same neighborhood — but not the right address. Are you ratting on us?" The last question is growled out just as Blackout figuratively kicks the door in on Barricade's firewalls.
"I... It's a family matter! I just didn't think it would be important!" He yells, panicking at how easily Blackout got into his systems. He's too off balance to hide the disgust when saying that it's a family matter, reminded of the disgusting bastard and his gross friends.
"Family matter?!" Blackout laughs incredulously. "You mean the carrier who completely estranged you while you were in prison, the ever absent sire, or the step-sire who molested you and got away with it?"
Fuckfuckfuck... He should've known he had been thoroughly vetted, should've known that they knew already!
"I-I... Ah, ack..."
What the fuck is he going to say?
He can feel Blackout latch on to his panic, prying at the processes going on, like a leech, sucking out whatever he can.
Oh, Primus, don't let Blackout check the subspace pocket on his side!
Of course that crystal clear, panicked thought is snatched up, and strong digits start to press against the subspace generator there, threatening to break it of it doesn't open.
The hacking finds the way before that happens, though, and Barricade can do nothing but watch as the command is sent, and the pocket opens. Blackout's digits slip inside, and then he pulls out the package with the medications.
Barricade slumps underneath him as Blackout reads the label, feeling humiliated and disgusting. He offlines his optics, sobbing quietly.
"Eew. Should I be worried about my dick?" Blackout asks, withdrawing from Barricade's processor, quickly pulling out his plug, as if he's afraid it would be contagious through the connection.
"No, it's new. I've been continuously testing myself, and I've been clean up until no... Aah!" He trails off into a squeal when Blackout hoists him up, throwing him over his shoulder the way Nitro usually does with Dreadbot. Barricade squirms. "What are you doing."
"This is above my pay grade. We're going to have a chat with the board."
Chapter 663
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He shouldn't be surprised that he's unceremoniously dumped in a heap on the floor as soon as the door to the conference room shuts behind them, and he certainly shouldn't feel offended by the handling, but it does make him feel a bit depersonalized, and more like a piece of property.
Then the packages with the components of the treatment tumble over the table top as Blackout rolls it towards the gathered mechs, and Barricade hides his face-plates in the crook of his arm, and suddenly a bit of rough handling is the least terrible part of this.
"Apparently he isn't ratting, and I found no evidence of drug use, but I did find this..." Blackout says. "Our wayward little employee has been collecting something else, it seems."
"Eew!" Nitro almost shouts, and there's a sound that can be nothing but disgusted flapping of plating. A chair is pushed back, and then there's pacing pede steps, and more flapping. "I'll call Ratchet. We'll all need to be tested ASAP. Ugh."
"That's not necessary." Barricade mumbles into his arm.
"I don't think I'll trust your opinion on health and hygiene." Nitro mutters.
"I've tested myself before having unprotected sex with anyone. I caught the infection yesterday, I haven't done it with anyone since, and I start the treatment today."
"I'm sorry, but it completely flies over my helm how you managed to get anything— and why you continuously have to get tested — when protection is required if you fuck around outside the house." Springer says. "Furthermore, I don't see a point on doing so at all, since you're in a relationship with Jazz, you are not allowed to run a competing business on the side, and between your relationship, your job, and the fucking you do for fun in the house could be considered plenty."
"You're not helping your case by cowering on the floor like a petulant toddler." Ironhide says, and he certainly sounds like he's at the end of his rope.
"Says it's a family matter." Blackout says, grabbing Barricade's arm and hoisting him up to stand.
Barricade crosses his arms defensively over his chest-plates, forcing himself to at least look in the general direction of the Brothers sitting at the table. He can't meet their optics, so he stares at the tabletop, but then he sees the packages, and he just can't stand staring at those, so he resorts to staring at Ironhide's chest-plates.
"A family matter." Nitro says flatly. "I hope it's a cousin, otherwise it's illegal."
Barricade makes a face. "It's not like that." He mumbles.
"Then go on and enlighten us. Make a case for yourself, and convince us why we should keep someone who is risking the health of everyone here." Ironhide says.
Barricade draws a deep vent, steeling himself. "My step-sire showed up, stumbled upon me at work one night. I guess he saw an opportunity to... To have me again. Threatened to upload his old memories of me. You know, like on cherry pop, and sites like that. It felt like the futile trial all over again, where everything was meticulously picked apart and scrutinized, and after all my shame was laid bare, he walked off with nothing but a warning. I panicked, and went along with what he asked for. Which started with a couple of fucks for him and his roommate, but quickly escalated to several of his friends."
"This is why you have pimps." Springer says blandly. "So when someone tries to take advantage, you tell us, and we make sure they don't."
"I... I know. But I was so ashamed, and then when it had happened a couple of times, I was even more ashamed, and I didn't know how to tell you."
"It usually starts with going to someone and onlining your vocalizer..." Nitro says, sounding irritated.
"So this is still an ongoing situation?" Ironhide asks.
Barricade nods. "I haven't said that I won't do it anymore, so I figure he'll get in touch again."
"Do you want us to handle it?" Springer asks.
"The bare minimum would be enforcing the use of protection, if you for some reason don't want us to put an end to this." Ironhide says.
"What the fuck?! Of course this needs to be stopped." Nitro says.
Ironhide shrugs. "I can't know what he wants to do, and I'm not intervening if Barricade doesn't want me to. That said, you don't need to worry about him being vindictive, and posting those memories and vids somewhere. He won't."
Notes:
Several songs have been inspirational for me with this fic, and I'll start the reveal of which songs. We start out with Texas Hippie Coalition — Turn it up. The verses inspired the personalities of Crosshairs, and Dreadbot.
Chapter 664
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He can be rid of the bastard forever. He won't need to look over his shoulder, or wonder if mecha have seen vids of him if someone stares at him.
"I would appreciate if you put an end to this. I don't like him more now than I did back then."
Ironhide nods once.
"I'll make sure he gets the medication distributed as he's supposed to." Blackout says, jerking his helm in Barricade's direction.
Barricade whips around, watching with bright optics as the others throw the packages to Blackout.
"You can't be serious..." Barricade says weakly.
"I'm dead serious." Blackout says, but the corner of his intake quirks ever so slightly. "You've not exactly shown that you keep your end of the bargain lately, and this is important stuff, because everyone's health is hanging in the balance. From what I read about this treatment, the timing is important, and we all want to be sure it is done diligently. I've performed more advanced medical procedures than this on a battlefield."
"I'll set an internal alarm! I'll do it right on time!"
"I'll do it right on time for you."
"Come on, this is ridiculous..."
"Considering this concerns everyone's continued health, we could just as easily do this publicly, so nobody feel any hesitation about it being properly done."
Barricade gets the feeling that Blackout wouldn't mind that at all
Of course he wouldn't mind it, considering how much he enjoyed punishing Dreadbot in public. He'd have a field day with this. Five field days.
"Hide, please, I can do this myself! I'm a grown mech, and I want to be rid of this infection as much as everyone else want me to be clean." He tries to plead to the mech who probably won't get off or find amusement in playing medic.
"Actually, doing it publicly would have the added benefit to work as a demonstration to everyone else how important it is to use protection." Springer says.
Barricade wants to sink through the floor, and wind up in a dimension where he has enjoyed celibacy since ever.
Ironhide rubs his chin thoughtfully. "You might be right, but with the regularity of the schedule for the treatment, it does seem a bit tedious. I say we let Blackout handle it."
Odd are the times when getting medication applied to his port by a sadist with a humiliation kink feels like a relief.
Notes:
Second inspirational song: Stone Sour — Road hogs. It was one of the original inspirations for the Brothers. They just turned out to be a bit cleaner, and a little nicer than they started out.
Chapter Text
Barricade fleetingly thinks about making a run for it, but he's pretty certain that it would be futile. Blackout is much quicker than one would imagine when first seeing the massive mech, and — more importantly — it's not like Barricade would have anythiy to gain from getting away. He really wants to be rid of the infection, and Blackout has all the medicine securely stashed in his subspace.
Clever bastard.
"Your room?"
"If you still don't prefer the rec room."
"Your room it is."
Blackout snickers behind him as Barricade stops outside his door. Blackout's field is thick with anticipation, and it kind of feels like walking into a trap when the door slides open to admit them.
Barricade stops just inside the door, uncertain how this is going to be performed, and he watches as Blackout opens one of his storage units, rummaging through a box in there. He almost gawks when he pulls out a couple of gloves that looks like the single use type medics use, except they're a green color that would match Crosshairs' paint job. Blackout pulls them on, letting go of one to let it snap against his plating, smirking at Barricade.
"You're wearing gloves." Barricade states redundantly, because he really didn't expect that for some reason.
"Well, duh."
Blackout sits down on the berth, and after long seconds of just looking back as Barricade is staring at him — which obviously serves to make Barricade acutely aware of what they're doing here, considering how he grins when Barricade squirms — he finally pats his thigh.
"Across my lap, aft up."
Barricade feels his face flush, but he doesn't protest.
That would just make it more humiliating.
He slowly does as instructed, and Blackout immediately taps the plate covering his port. Barricade opens it. Blackout starts fiddling in his subspace, pulling out the packages, lining them up on the nightstand for Barricade to see, making him flush again. Blackout takes the instruction pamphlet, and at first Barricade is confused as to why, because he was pretty certain that Blackout had already read the instructions somewhere.
"The treatment is performed in three steps..." Blackout reads out loud, stroking Barricade's aft, and suddenly it's crystal clear why he's doing it: Barricade is reminded of his position, and how many times he'll have to be, and he flushes furiously. Blackout groans. "Step one is a suppository. After insertion, it will melt and be absorbed by the mesh. It's best to rest with the hips on a pillow or similar for five minutes after insertion to prevent it from running out before it has been absorbed." Blackout holds out the pamphlet for Barricade to see the instructional picture. "They clearly meant if it was in the valve, with the way the mech is on his back, legs spread. Oh, look, there's some additional information!" He says, pulling the pamphlet out of Barricade's line of view to read more. "If the medication needs to be taken in the port, let it melt just slightly against the opening to get some lubrication. Do not use additional lubricant, as it might alter the effect of the active substance."
Blackout pats Barricade's aft, then he grabs one of the packets containing a suppository. He peels it, and then he rubs it in slow circles against Barricade's port. "And don't get any ideas about using that mod of yours."
Wouldn't that be great? Just open up, let it fall inside, and then close again.
Barricade can feel as the thing starts to melt, a wet and slick feeling, and embarrassingly enough, it feels kind of good. He's so used to have mecha play with his aft, his frame responds accordingly. He feels his face flush again at the realization, and Blackout doesn't fully manage to stifle a groan. His interface plate is getting hot underneath Barricade.
Suddenly, Blackout pushes the thing inside as far as he can reach. It slips in easily with the slick, and Barricade's relaxed port. Blackout holds it in place inside Barricade for a few seconds before he pulls his digit out, taking the gloves off.
Barricade lays still, waiting, as the thing melts inside him. His valve is feeling a bit hot, and it's making him flustered, something Blackout has to notice, considering his interface plate is getting even hotter.
"So, what happens now?" Barricade asks slowly as soon as he's let up.
"I'm going to jerk off."
"I... uh, what?! I thought you'd want some service." He says, feeling strangely dismissed and rebuffed.
Blackout shudders, turning to face Barricade. "You may only have caught a disease in one hole, but the others have been around the block just as much. I think I'll pass for a while."
Chapter 666
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Jazz? I need to talk to you."
"Sure."
Then nothing happens, as Jazz seems to wait for Barricade to babble away right there in the rec room.
"I was thinking we could go to our room. Get a little privacy?"
"Okay." Jazz gets up from the couch.
"Don't catch anything. I still have a dick that needs attention." Nitro says.
Barricade flushes.
"I can attend to your cock." Dreadbot says. "In fact, I've gotten something for him. Here." He pulls something out of his subspace. "I saw this, and just knew it would be the right size. Now he can ask for attention looking like a gentleman."
Nitro grabs the thing holding it up for inspection, then he rumbles a laugh, looking at the little top hat. He pressurizes his spike — of course — and puts the little hat on the head of his spike.
"He should have a mustache too." Hatchet snickers.
"I can paint that on." Dreadbot says suggestively.
"Oh, please do! I feel so naked without my mustache!" Nitro says in a squeaky voice, moving his spike slightly to indicay that it's his spike that's talking.
Hatchet starts to laugh, and Nitro scoops Dreadbot up, throwing him over his shoulder.
"Hey! I thought you were a gentleman now!" Dreadbot grumbles.
"No-no, that's just my spike." Nitro says, the top hat still stuck on the head of his spike somehow, bobbing ridiculously as he walks.
"Ya gonna stand there all day, or are we havin' this talk?" Jazz says, snapping Barricade's attention back to the confession at hand.
Jazz is obviously not in a very good mood, which is understandable.
Barricade grabs his servo, and laces their digits, giving Jazz a small smile. He really wants to jump Jazz and kiss him senseless now that he knows that his intake is clean, but if Jazz's reaction is anything like the Brothers', that wouldn't be popular once he has told Jazz everything.
"I know I've been kind of distant lately, but we're going to change that now. But I really need to talk to you first, and let you make an educated decision." He says as they walk towards their room.
"That sounds kinda ominous."
"Yeah... But it's getting solved now, so no worries."
"Mh-hm." Jazz says slowly.
The door slides shut behind them.
"First of all, I want to apologize profusely. I have been pushing you away, and for that I am very sorry. My step-sire reemerged, and he blackmailed me into interfacing with him." Barricade says in a rush, eager to get it off his chest. "And a bunch of his friends. I felt filthy and disgusting, and even if I tested myself after every time, I still felt so dirty, I didn't want to... I don't know, sully you?"
Jazz works his intake, looking completely taken off guard. "But couldn't the Brothers help you?"
"I, uhm, I didn't ask for help." Barricade mumbles. "And now I've caught an infection..."
Notes:
Next song is The offspring — OC guns. One of the songs that got the general idea for this fic to start brewing in my head.
Chapter 667
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"An infection?! But ya're supposed ta use protection when fuckin' outside tha house! What kinda infection?!" Jazz draws in a horrified vent. "Has anyone else been infected by ya?!"
"It's cyborrea. I haven't put anyone else at risk."
Just thinking about having the infection makes his port itch, and Barricade squirms slightly.
"But why?"
"He threatened me to upload vids of when he did stuff to me when I was younger."
"So?"
"I didn't want that to be brought up again! It has been buried for so long, I didn't want it to come back to haunt me. Is that really so hard to see?" Barricade immediately regrets his lash out at Jazz, because it comes from frustration that nobody seems to understand. "I'm sorry. It's just that it feels like opening a wound that was at least partially healed. And then having dirt rubbed into that wound. With a stick."
"And this feels much better than some vids where most mecha wouldn' even recognize ya?"
"Well, no."
In hindsight, it would probably have been better to rip that weld open quickly by telling the Brothers.
"Have ya talked ta tha Brothers? Ya broke tha rules. Fessin' up is probably your best chance right now."
"I... They caught me. Blackout confronted me, and I told them everything. They're going to help me get rid of the bastard."
"Tha's good. N' ya're goin' ta Ratchet ta get meds, right?"
"I already did. I've had him check me constantly to make sure I didn't spread anything around. I have gotten a prescription..." He trails off, checking his chronometer to see how long he has before he's going to have to try the next step of the treatment. "I'm sorry I kind of pushed you away, and avoided you. Even when I knew I didn't have anything contagious, I still felt gross. No matter how many times I brushed my denta, and rinsed my intake, I could still feel stuff on my glossa." Barricade says, making a face at the mere thought.
"I understand, but I still think it was a dick move. I thought ya were gonna break up with me, n' I was so upset. Ya could at least've told me ya didn't feel well or somethin'."
"I know, I'm sorry."
"But ya're good to kiss me now, or is that a risk too?"
"My intake is clean..."
Jazz grins, and then he leans in to press his lip-plates to Barricade's, the kiss quickly escalating as it feels like everything is falling into place again.
"Then ya're good ta give me a blow job ta show how sorry ya are, right?"
"It's only my port that's off limits."
"Oh, back there?! Fun place ta treat yourself." Jazz grins against Barricade's lip-plates. "Ya need some assistance with it? I can stuff things up your butt ta make sure ya get ready for fuckin' as soon as possible." Jazz rubs the plate covering Barricade's port with one digit.
"You little sadist!" Barricade acuses him halfsparkedly.
Jazz shrugs. "It's not my fault that ya need some treatment, n' I think I've deserved ta overload good inside ya. Ya know, ta show how sorry ya are for treatin' me with a dry spell."
"Considering how many mechs you sleep with, it can't be counted as a dry spell!"
"I'm gonna take liberties with what I call a dry spell, n' this was a dry spell. If I can't stick my spike in there, I wanna stuff other things into ya."
"Too bad for you that Blackout already claimed the duty to administer my medications then." Barricade grins, because it feels so good to be back to bantering.
Jazz cackles a laugh. "Good for him!"
Barricade makes an affronted noise.
"Well, ya deserve it. Now, on your knees, n' show me how sorry ya are!"
Notes:
We continue the inspirational playlist with Nickelback — Rockstar. It fits in well with both Dreadbot's and Bumblebee's backgrounds of doing anything to become stars, but also the Brothers quest for getting "everything" and leading a kind of rock n roll lifestyle.
Chapter 668
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Barricade really puts some work into the blow job, both to really show Jazz how sorry he is, but also because it feels good to be there, on his knees, giving Jazz the pleasure he has withheld. He bobs his helm, and rolls his glossa around the head of Jazz's spike. Jazz's servo on the back of his helm feels more reassuring than oppressive, even as Jazz is starting to roll his hips, chasing his overload. He swallows the transfluid, finishing with giving the head of Jazz's spike a couple of cleaning licks, making Jazz's hips twitch.
"Mhm, babe, I really missed this." Jazz says, sounding a little dopey.
"Me too."
As weird as it might sound, he really did.
"No more secrets." Jazz says sternly.
"No more secrets." Barricade promises as he gets up from the floor.
"N' no more infections!" Jazz slaps Barricade's aft playfully.
"Definitely not!"
"So, how many more treatments before ya can be cleared?"
"You really are horny for my aft..."
"Ya know, the appeal of tha forbidden fruit n' all."
"I've gotten the first one, so there's fourteen left, distributed over five days."
Jazz makes a distressed noise.
"I'm sure you can wait for five days."
"As long as ya compensate me with other pleasure during this long week of waitin'." Jazz says dramatically.
"I promise I will."
"N' dick pics."
"What?"
"I wantcha ta send me pictures of your dick. When ya jerk off or somethin'."
"What, like now?"
"No, silly! When I least expect it! I wanna just get a message from ya, n' when I open it, bam! There it is; a picture ta make me cream my skimpy hotpants while I wait for ya ta be fully treated."
Just the thought of Jazz's hotpants all damp, clinging to his valve-lips, makes Barricade's spike request permission to pressurize, and his panel to feel uncomfortably hot.
"I don't know... We'll see." He says, to keep Jazz guessing, even if he's more than ready to just whip it out. "I mean, you could have it if you want it..."
He certainly wouldn't mind nailing Jazz to the nearest surface.
"Ha! Ya ain't gettin' anythin' until tha treatment is done, an ya've earned it!" Jazz says, starting to remove the plating on his hips and aft. Barricade can do nothing but stare when Jazz rummages through one of his drawers, deliberately bending deeper than necessary to show off his bared valve and port. Jazz steps into the hotpants he takes out, but before he pulls them up, he looks at Barricade over his shoulder, offlining his visor in a wink, and then he, slides a digit from his anterior node, through his slit, all the way to his port. "My sweet li'l holes, all needy. Don' worry, though. I'll make sure I get filled until ya've earned ta get into my pants." He says, pulling his pants up to cover those needy holes.
Barricade groans quietly.
Jazz is good at punishments, it seems.
"Have fun playin' doctor with BO."
And it's time for that punishment soon too.
Notes:
I guess this song is a given for this fic: Rammstein — Pussy. This song is especially inspirational for writing Nitro.
Chapter 669
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
::Don't drag your steps already. It's just the second treatment, and it's unbecoming.:: Blackout comms him when it's time for his second treatment.
::I don't. You're just too eager. I still have a few minutes left, and I'm already on my way.:: Barricade says, getting up from the berth in his and Jazz's room.
::Perhaps, but I'm not certain you would've been on time if I didn't remind you.::
He'd probably be at least a few minutes late if Blackout didn't comm him, but he doesn't want to admit that.
Barricade actually hurries his steps, not wanting to give Blackout the opportunity to gloat about being right. He takes the steps on the stairs two at a time, then he takes deep vents to get his spark rate down, because he doesn't want Blackout to notice that he did have to run to make it on time.
The door opens for him, and he walsk in to find Blackout lounging on his berth. The Helo slowly smirks at him.
"Punctual." He notes.
"As I said."
Blackout swings his legs over the edge of the berth, inviting Barricade into his lap with a gesture.
"You know the position already." He says, bringing out the package and the instructional pamphlet from his subspace, pulling on a new pair of gloves.
Barricade takes his position, opening his panel.
"This time, it's a rinse!" Blackout says, sounding as if he's reading a story, and something very exciting just happened to the main character.
Hardly the case.
"Let's see..." He says, studying the pamphlet more closely, as of he hasn't been reading it several time s before. "There are two nozzles; the cupped one that fits against the inner valve-lips, and the flared one for the port. Mount the correct nozzle on the bottle." Blackout grabs the correct nozzle, making a show of taking the cap off the bottle and mounting the nozzle. "Only use the provided lube as it has no negative interactions with the active substance, and helps create a seal against the nozzle. Well, we wouldn't want any leakage, would we?" He grabs the single pack of lube, smearing the thick substance around the nozzle. "Insert the nozzle gently. If there's resistance, do not force it in quickly, allow the frame to get used to the sensation." Blackout snorts. "One would think that if you've gotten an infection back there, you probably have taken bigger things than this little nozzle and can handle this." He pushes the nozzle against Barricade's port, and it slips in easily. "Well, no troubles with tightness."
Barricade flushes.
"Press the pump-lever on the bottom of the bottle twice, wait five seconds to let the solution spread over the mesh, and then repeat. Continue the two-pump, five seconds wait until bottle is empty. Leave solution inside for at least a minute, then expell into maintenance chute. If it's hard to hold inside, leave the nozzle in to provide a secure plug."
Oh, hell! Blackout is probably not going to let him do that without overseeing. And he has to actually get to a maintenance chute...
Barricade feels his face go hot, then he squeaks and squirms when Blackout apparently presses the lever. It tickles when the rinse trickles along his mesh — apparently the nozzle is some sort of misting pressurized thing, because even if the bottle is small, and it can't be much coming out with every pump, it feels like it tickles everywhere — and Blackout's servo across his back is what stops his squirming.
"Does it sting?"
"No, it tickles." Barricade groans when Blackout presses the lever again.
Blackout makes a noncommittal noise as only answer.
Of course he wouldn't mind either way.
"Do you, ah, do you even have maintenance facilities here?" Barricade forces out, face-plates burning again.
"Kind of." There's a grin in Blackout's voice.
That doesn't sound good.
"What do you..." Barricade breaks off into a squeal when Blackout pushes the lever again. "What do you mean kind of?"
"I have a drain hose like most mechs, so I just have a fold away funnel for changing my oil. But it's fitted to my height, so I guess you'll have to climb... If you don't want me to lift you..."
Notes:
We continue the soundtrack with The Bastard Suns — S.B.M.T, a good pick me up after this weirdness.
Chapter 670
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Of course Blackout has a foldaway funnel. He isn't really surprised as only really old buildings have the other type of maintenance chute as standard, and removing the chute and installing a funnel is often one of the first changes done when renovating maintenance rooms. Very few mecha don't have drain hoses these days.
But knowing that does nothing for Barricade's predicament, and the only thing he can do is lay there and think about it while Blackout is counting seconds, and probably enjoying Barricade's field.
Maybe he can at least get Blackout to take the bottle out when it's empty? It would make for a slightly more dignified... Is he going to climb, or ask to be carried? His mod should make him able to keep it inside without the bottle. But then again, if it doesn't, every sliver of his dignity left is certainly is out the window...
Barricade flushes just thinking about it.
"The requried minute is up. Do you want to be carried, or do you want to go yourself?"
"I can go myself."
Blackout pats his aft. "Sure. Just don't drop anything." He flicks the bottle, which sends a strange reverberation through Barricade's port, making Barricade squirm again, then Blackout's servos are removed, and it's up to Barricade to get going.
The second he starts to get up, it feels like the bottle is about to slip out, and he grabs it in panic, holding it inside with his servo. Potential crisis averted, he slowly lets up on the force he's holding it with, trying to move to see if it starts to slip.
It doesn't, but Barricade isn't willing to take any chances, so he rests his servo on it just in case when he crawls off Blackout's lap, and starts moving towards the washracks, starting up his mod, setting it to adapt to the nozzle, and squeeze it to keep it inside. Blackout watches for long seconds before he gets up to follow.
"You look quite entertaining, waddling like that. I should stuff you with a butt plug and make you wear it all day sometime."
That would be very good credits...
"We'll see."
Blackout walks past him as soon as they're in the washracks, opening a hatch on the wall next to the storage and sink. Barricade hasn't noticed it before — it blends in well, tiled to match the wall — but now it makes his spark sink.
Blackout must have his drain hose really high up, because he can hardly reach the edge of the chute.
Barricade looks around. "Didn't you have a ladder in here?"
Blackout looks around theatrically. "You're right, I did! I wonder where that is. Oh, well, someone short must've needed it."
Of course...
Barricade puts his servo on the countertop next to the sink, pulling at it to test how sturdy it is. "Will this hold for me climbing on it? I don't want to tear it from the wall.
"It's built to last."
Barricade opens the door, using the shelves as a ladder. It works perfectly, and for a moment, he's so excited that it does, he can ignore what he's going to do when he reaches that chute. Then he's about to crawl over the edge and pull himself onto the counter, and the way he bends his frame, he can feel the bottle change angle in his port, and start to slip out. He slams his servo against it in panic, accidentally pushing it deeper inside, jamming both the nozzle and the neck inside himself. At the same time, his suddenly shifted center of gravity, along with just having one servo on the counter makes him start to slide backwards.
Blackout saves him from tumbling to the floor with a servo around the base of his shoulder-wing in a grip that's not very comfortable, but does the work. "I guess that's one way to do it." Blackout chuckles.
Barricade flushes, hanging there for long, indecisive seconds, holding the bottle in place, trying to come up with a way to get up without more help from Blackout.
It's impossible. If Blackout lets go, he'll fall, and while the fall in itself will hurt, the worst part will probably be something else, because depending on his landing, everything could take a turn for the much more humiliating.
"Please, lift me up there?" He mumbles, refusing to meet Blackout's optics.
"I beg you pardon?"
"Could you please lift me up there?"
"Where?"
"To the chute."
"Why?"
"Because it would be exceedingly nice of you?"
"It would, but I mean what are you going to do all the way up there?"
Barricade draws a deep vent, face catching fire. "I'm going to remove this bottle from my ass and get rid of the rinse inside me!" He blurts as quickly as possible.
Blackout grins. "Good bot, use your words." He praises, then he grabs Barricade under his arms, easily hoisting him up to put him down on the edge of the funnel, keeping his grip to steady Barricade.
Like a sparkling.
"There you go."
Suddenly, Barricade doesn't really want to pull the bottle out. Not with Blackout there. Blackout waits patiently while Barricade wars with himself. Barricade stares at the Helo's chest-plates, and then he pulls the bottle out. Some of the rinse runs out before his calipers close him up.
"Good thing you didn't pull it out before you tried to climb." Blackout notes.
Barricade flushes again, struggling with the protocols to his port, because suddenly his calipers seem completely unwilling to open and let it all out.
He can't do it with an audience.
Then he finally succeeds, but it is more mortifying than relieving.
Notes:
Today's song is Mustasch — Thank you for the demon.
Chapter 671
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
On one servo, it would be easy to erase the memory of the rinse. But then he would have no idea about what is going to happen when it's time for his next rinse, and he would have to go through it as of it's the first time again, so he doesn't erase it.
This time, it doesn't leave him mildly aroused, at least, and Blackout sending him on his way without asking for service doesn't feel as much like a rejection.
Barricade freezes mid step, the calipers in his port suddenly clenching when it feels like there's some rinse left, and it's trickling along the mesh inside him. There's a lingering tingling, and it's quite possible that it's just tricking his sensors to think that there's more rinse left, but it still feels weird, and he's not taking any risks. Barricade's comm chimes, and for some reason, he's certain that it's Blackout.
::What?:: He snaps, slowly starting to walk towards the washracks in the pleasurebot wing.
::How rude! That's no way to greet someone who fed you for years. Come by tomorrow afternoon. I'll teach you some manners before we can have some fun.:: His step-sire says, sounding annoyed.
Barricade's spark speeds up, feeling terribly cold. ::I didn't check the caller ID. I'm sorry, I thought it was someone else.::
Someone much preferable, even if he can be an ass.
::Then you should start checking the caller ID before you answer.::
::I will do that.:: Barricade says, stepping into the washracks.
He opens the funnel — a little high, but much more convenient than the one in Blackout's washracks — waiting for his step-sire to hang up.
::I'll humble you properly. You'll be walking funny for days.::
Apparently, he isn't going to hang up. But then again, why should he wait for the bastard to finish his rambling?
Climbing onto the funnel while his step-sire is still talking may be a very petty defiance, but it's one of the most satisfying things Barricade has ever done involving his step-sire. He automatically answers to the ramblings, but outwardly, he's grinning while opening the protocols for his port and opening his calipers. It's almost a disappointment when there's merely a few drops running out of him, but the symbolism is still enough for him to almost snicker. Barricade voids his waste tank while he's at it.
This is what you are to me; just waste.
He's given a time to be there — conveniently for Barricade, it's right between his treatments — and it makes Barricade's spark do a queasy roll on instinct.
But this stops tomorrow.
He finishes up when his step-sire hangs up, and then he decides to take a shower, because even talking to the bastard on comms kind of leaves a dirty feeling on his plating.
::Hide? My step-sire just called. Wants to see me tomorrow at, ah," he says, pausing to recalculate the time, "fifteen hundred hours.::
It feels weird to use the time format the Brothers use, but it is a very convenient way to clearly specify the time. Especially in a house that has a bit of a different schedule than most working mecha.
::Good. Send me a floor plan, and some photos of the house, and the surroundings, and notes on what you think would be the best way for us to enter the premises. This would be preferable to do at night, but it's not reasonable to let you "entertain" him until it's convenient for us.::
::I'm grateful for that.:: Barricade says, expecting them to hang up, but Ironhide doesn't end the conversation for some reason. ::So, I'm in the shower...:: Barricade says flirtily.
::Good for you.:: Ironhide says, sounding distracted.
::You could join me...::
Ironhide snorts, and it sounds really weird over comm. ::I think I'll pass for a while.::
::Nobody wants to do me.:: Barricade pouts.
::I'm sure you have a toy or two you can play with, otherwise you can get a few from Crosshairs. He says you can help yourself to the ones in the bottom drawer, the door is open.::
Notes:
Next song up: System of a down — Violent pornography. This song was running in my head while the scene where the Warframes get to see their first porno was conjured up as a montage of scenes from the movie, and cuts to the Warframes jerking off.
Chapter Text
Barricade considers taking them up on the offer, but then he decides against it.
He's not that desperate. If he really needs some, his digits will do. Or he can get a toy later on in addition to the one he has that he hasn't been using so far.
Spark spinning quicker, he takes a deep vent to steady himself, then he opens a comm connection.
::What is it now, Barricade?:: His step-sire says in the tone of voice one would use to a particularly persistent sparkling in the worst questioning-age.
::I know you preferred that we'd meet up in the evening instead of the afternoon. I was just thinking I could come by later. I have a few errands to make anyway, and I have credits enough to take a night off?::
His step-sire barks an ugly laugh. ::That would be splendid! How about we push the time four hours forward?::
::Sounds good.::
::See you tomorrow, then.::
::Will do.::
They hang up, and Barricade immediately open a comm to Ironhide.
::You do have access to the house library. There's a rather extensive porn collection if you look under entertainment, sub file porn. If the toys aren't enough. There should be something that fits your taste, there's great variety.:: Ironhide says.
::Good to know. This wasn't about that, though; I called my step-sire and changed the time. I'll be there at 1900 hours.::
::That's great. Good job, Barricade. Over and out.::
This time Ironhide hangs up immediately.
Ironhide's probably fucking. Who would've ever thought that he'd be jealous of whomever is underneath that mech?
Still not desperate enough to resort to masturbation, Barricade finishes his shower, and goes back to his and Jazz's room. The cleaning drones have done their work well, so there's no need to do the floors. Barricade does a lap around the room, wiping stuff with a rag to remove any dust that has gathered on furniture and things, and then he changes the sheets. They have picked up on their cleanliness, and since he has nothing else to do right now, he might as well get those chores over with.
And it might put him back in favor with Jazz, so he doesn't have to wait too long to get some.
With that done, he stretches out on the berth, grabbing a data pad.
He needs to check his account, the tests, the treatment has cost him a fair bit, and now he's on sick leave, so he won't be making any credits. It's a bummer, because he really was thinking about getting a mopping drone too. Barricade finds that there are some he can afford, but the reviews are mixed at best, so he decides to wait until he has a little more credits.
Since the only thing he can do to pass the time — well, maybe not the only thing, but he's curious as all hell to be honest — is check out the porn collection, he accesses the house library.
Chapter Text
Watching porn certainly doesn't alleviate his predicament, and Barricade gives in and plays with himself. When he jerks off, he sends a dick pic to Jazz, because why not?
It seems like every porno anyone in the house has ever downloaded has been saved in the library, and the variety is indeed wide. Some of the vids and memories are more intriguing than arousing, at least for Barricade, and one makes him cringe.
That one is probably Motormaster's...
Finsing a better vid, and feeling a bit creative, Barricade grabs a mirror, making a gif of sliding two digits into his wet valve before finishing himself off. He sends the gif, looking through the library, and then his comm chimes.
::While I do appreciate the effort — and it was a very hot gif — I'll still wait until your treatment is done at the minimum.:: Ironhide rumbles, sounding amused.
Barricade's face-plates catches fire, and he frantically checks his send history. Indeed he chose the wrong connection when he sent it.
:: I-I, ah... I was going to send it to Jazz!:: He squeaks. ::I'm sorry, I didn't mean to impose..."
Ironhide laughs. ::Don't worry about it. It's not the first time this happens, and I did enjoy the gif.::
:: It won't happen again, I'll be really careful when sending stuff from here on...::
Or just not send stuff, and accidentally send porn to the wrong mechs.
::Like I said; don't worry about it, I've gotten much worse things sent to me before. I'm keeping this one, though.::
::Yes, of course!::
::Good. As you were, then.:: Ironhide snickers, then he hangs up.
Oh, Primus...
He flushes again just thinking about it.
He must seem so desperate.
The only consolation is that he sent it to Ironhide. It could've been much worse. The Prez can be as lascivious as any of them, but some of them would use it relentlessly to get reactions out of him.
And thinking of...
It's time for his meetup with Blackout. This time, he's not going to give the other the satisfaction of knowing that he wants to avoid it. He's going to be there before it's time.
Gathering what silvers of dignity he has left — maybe he should just leave that behind all together — Barricade leaves their room, heading for Blackout's, and the third step of the first day of treatment.
Chapter Text
Blackout's door slides open for him, even if he didn't comm the Helo beforehand. Of course, he's already expected, but at the same time, he's actually a bit early, and being welcome to come in as he pleases makes him feel a bit funny with some emotion he can't quite pinpoint.
"Even early this time." Blackout says approvingly.
"It's not like I have anything to gain from delaying it."
"Want to get started right away? We're within the right timeframe."
"Sure."
Blackout scoots forward on the chair he's sitting in, patting his thigh, and Barricade crawls into position. The standard procedure with lining everything up is performed, and Barricade waits there, aft up, over Blackout's lap.
"The gel needs to be left inside overnight. When it's time for the suppository, it will have coagulated, and will be easy to pull out with the string. The gel will expand a bit upon insertion, some mechs find it a bit uncomfortable, but it's not dangerous, and the frame will adjust in a few minutes. Allow the gel to set for five minutes before getting up." Blackout reads out loud, then he turns the pamphlet over to look at the instructional pictures. He grabs the piece of soft looking string, and a slim plastic rod. "I'm going to insert this first, then the tube is supposed to go in beside this." He looks at the pamphlet again. "This is quite fiddly. Good thing you're getting help with this."
"Help..."
Blackout wraps the string over the end of the plastic rod, holding both ends and the rod between his digits, lining it up with Barricade's port. "I can't use any lubricant for this." He says, then he presses the rod and the string inside.
It's uncomfortable to get it pushed in dry,and then Barricade feels himself flush when Blackout let's go of the thing as soon as it is in place, and he's laying there with the plastic rod poking out of his aft. Blackout probably notices, but he doesn't outwardly react, busy with mounting the tube to the syringe.
"This is kind of funny, I mean I did think about plugging you up just hours ago, and here we are, basically moulding a big anal bead straight in your ass."
Barricade flushes again, and squirms a bit when Blackout pushes the tube inside beside the other things. The plastic rod is pulled out, and then Blackout starts to push the plunger.
"This gel is really thick." He notes. "Needs some power to push it in there."
Barricade squirms, because as soon as the gel leaves the tube, it starts to expand, a mushy, strange feeling against his inside nodes.
"It feels really weird, almost like it turns into some sort of foam or something." He says, squirming more as more is pushed into him.
"Hold still." Blackout grunts, grabbing his hip to force him to remain in place.
It's not just that it feels weird, it does hit all the nodes inside with gentle pressure, and the tingling effect on the mesh is not helping.
Barricade's valve is going slick and hot, and his spike requests to pressurize, and he's absolutely mortified by how his frame is reacting.
He's getting medication for fucks sake!
The more Blackout is pushing the plunger, the more full he's feeling, more internal nodes are stimulated, and Barricade is getting increasingly revved up. His fans are speeding up, the lubricant in his valve is starting to dribble out to pool in his panel, and he's almost down to praying that it won't start to leak on the five minutes he's going to have to remain where he is.
The tube is slowly pulled out, and the last of the gel presses his calipers to open slightly, forming a seal.
"It really does expand quite a bit. Looks like you have a mushroom cloud stuffed into your ass."
Barricade flushes furiously. "Thank you for that visual."
He receives a picture, of course, and it does look quite ridiculous.
And now Blackout has a picture, but then again, he has the entire memory, so there's that.
Barricade stiffens when he feels lubricant trickling through the seam in his interface plate, knowing it's just a matter of time before it will drip onto Blackout's plating.
These are going to be very long minutes...
Chapter Text
"So, your step-sire. Care to tell me?"
"Not really..."
"I found the court protocols, so I know about the trial. Or rather the farce called a trial."
Should he be grateful for Blackout starting a very unwanted conversation that just might distract the Helo from realizing how charged he is? Which is worse, really? Who's cackling? Is that Unicron? Frag his functioning...
"Then you know what happened."
"From dry documents."
"What do you want, a juicy, detailed description?"
"Just your side, the real side. Why he still can sway you to get into trouble like this." Blackout says, tapping the now solid part of the gel sticking out of Barricade.
"I wasn't prepared when he showed up, and then after the fact I knew I had broken the rules, and that made it even worse to tell you. And I don't want everyone to see me like that. See what happened."
"The law has changed. If he would've published those memories, you could dispute them with the hosting company. They'd have to either remove it, or pay you half of the credits it brings in. Whichever you chose. Dreadbot is making money from that vid of his now."
"I certainly wouldn't want credits for letting others watch that! And even if they take it down, some mecha might've seen before they did."
"I guess Dreadbot is even more of a slut for money than you then." Blackout muses.
"Would you want anyone to see what the Commanders did to you? Bend over the table... Or any of your Brothers, would they want the world to see whatever they were forced to go through?"
Blackout's field suddenly feels abrasive. "Not obeying would mean offlining, or reprogramming. Progress had to be covered up by all means necessary to stay online. You had a choice."
"I did not have a choice! Obeying meant fuel and a place to stay. Disobeying might've meant that I'd be kicked out..."
"How's that different from what we do here?"
"I was going to say that it also meant not getting beat up. But yeah, in the beginning, I didn't see much difference. You offer a really good deal, though."
"So credits and benefits makes it consensual, even if you don't want it? So if he had paid you, it would've been fine?"
"No! I mean... I don't know, I didn't think credits justified it before. I guess I just got used to it...?"
All these hard questions with ambiguous answers...
"I was a kid! He abused my dependency."
"So were we. We may not have looked the part, but it wasn't like we were truly adults."
"What's the point of this discussion? Who had it worse? Who consented the least? I didn't want anything of what he did to me ever. I hate him more than anything I can think of, and think he's the most disgusting bastard ever!"
"I don't know what the point is, but we always loop back to the changeability of consent, it seems, so I guess it proves my point that it's an illusion anyway."
Barricade wants to facepalm.
At least he knows when he consents, and when he doesn't.
"You raped me in Kaon."
"You happily trotted off to my berth room and waited for me, and you know me well enough to know what it might entail."
"But I didn't know it was you for the most part, and you threatened me into compliance, because I didn't know what you were capable of since I didn't know that it was you."
"Did you want anything of what I did to you the first time?"
"Well, no, but I needed the vote..."
"So it was coerced consent."
"I suppose it was."
"Then there was never any true consent, no?"
"I..."
At least the budding processor ache is distracting him enough to bring his charge down.
Chapter Text
"You never really answered my question. I know that you did what you had to do to survive, but how would you feel if one of your Commanders posted it on some site?"
Smug satisfaction weaves through Blackout's field, and Barricade gets the impression of a cat that finally got the bird that has been taunting it. "That won't happen."
A shiver trickles down Barricade's back-struts. "Did you kill them all?"
"Wouldn't that be illegal?" Blackout ask, a grin audible in his voice.
Barricade mind makes a double take, and an out of control tailspin. "Yes?"
"We did not. But it does seem like they're unusually prone to accident's, and attracting robberies that go wrong and whatnot. I'm surprised by how many of them have perished."
Right...
Barricade decides to not prod further on that particular subject.
Even if it makes him think about tomorrow night, and what's going to happen.
"But say that someone did post it. Hypothetically. Just to give you an idea what I was afraid of."
"Fair enough. And I do want to point out that my answer here is a very good reason for why you should've told us. Remember that you've friends now, who can help you deal with problems. First, I'd contact the company hosting the site, and tell them to take it down. Most sites these days are really careful about putting things out before knowing that everyone involved has consented to publication, they don't want expensive law suits on there servos. But, hypothetically, let's say it's some shady site that try to get away with it. I'd let our lawyer deal with it, and if he couldn't get them to take it down, I have some tactical ways to make servers out of order."
"Tactical?" Barricade turns around to look up at Blackout.
"Military lingo." Blackout doesn't elaborate, but his slag eating grin is enough of an explanation.
"Right..."
"And in the meantime, waiting for our lawyer to do his thing, I'd make the bastard watch while I eviscerated his family, and then he'd be next. Hypothetically."
Barricade splutters at the sudden graphicness of Blackout's hypothetical plan.
"His family would be innocent..." He says weakly.
Blackout shrugs. "Collateral damage. Just like he sent so many of my Brothers to be. Just like he sent me to become. I could take out his family all the way to fifth cousins and still technically have a lower kill count than any of the Commanders. Excluding what I did as a soldier, of course."
"Collateral damage is kind of frowned upon in the civil world."
"I'll make an exception."
"I'm not sure that's how it works..."
"Fine then; I don't give a fuck about your sensibilities. Hypothetically, of course. There, is that better?"
"Not really, but they say it's hard to teach old dogs new tricks."
"It isn't. Did you just call me old?!" Blackout's servo wraps around the back of Barricade's neck.
"For a Warframe, you are... So, hypothetically?" Barricade squeaks.
Blackout flicks the coagulated gel, making Barricade squirm. "You do know that your five minutes was up ten minutes ago? I'm starting to suspect that you're just enjoying this."
"I... I do kind of enjoy the discussion."
Blackout helps him up, and Barricade tries shifting around. It feels weird with he fullness in his port, but at least it doesn't feel like the solidified gel is about to fall out.
"Off you go. See you when it's time for the next treatment."
Jazz isn't sleeping in their room tonight.
"Can't I stay here?"
Blackout quirks an optical ridge. "Fine. But don't you dare trying any funny business."
"Imagine the day when you're saying this to me..." Barricade mutters.
Blackout just grins.
Chapter Text
It's almost weird. Almost...
No, scratch that! It's weird as all hell to wake up of his own accord next to Blackout.
The standard procedure would be some level of nudging or pushing, and a grunt about the big Helo being horny, implying that facing was imminent, and not really up for debate.
To lay curled up on his side, back pressed against Blackout's side certainly is a first. Barricade stretches, momentarily stiffening when the movement reminds him of the thing in his aft, then ignores is as best as he can, rolling over to lay on his back. He looks up at Blackout.
The big mech has one arm curled behind his helm, his hub buried in the mound of pillows he's resting against. His optics are offline, and the quiet humming of his systems imply that he's still in recharge. Barricade rolls over on his other side, propping his helm up on his arm to take the opportunity to study the mech he has been returning to with a disturbing frequency.
He's quite attractive.
Most of the Brothers are, in their own rugged ways, but he doesn't seek them out like this. Granted that they're often already preoccupied with someone else, and it's not like he wants to go to Motormaster...
The challenge of their conversations is both infuriating and intriguing, but an intellectual challenge coming at the price of possibly being raped and hacked really should give him pause. Sure, he has to go here for the treatment right now, but recharging here certainly wasn't Blackout's idea.
Something on Blackout's frame shifts, a shrill sound of metal sliding against metal, but there's no sign that the mech comes out of recharge.
Maybe it's as simple as that thing they talked about in one of the further training classes they had frequently at the precinct. The science bit, where the processor is bad at distinguishing between the signal substances of fear and elation, and a mech coould almost mistake fear for love. Not that he's in love with Blackout, but still... A chemoreceptor interpretation misfire certainly feels better to blame than some other explanations for his presence here.
One of the plates on the side of Blackout's chest looks a bit misaligned now that the hydraulic pressure is lowered for recharge, leaving a wider gap between it and the plates around it. Barricade leans in to take a closer look, because it seems off for a mech who continuously exchange parts that are worn or broken.
The scarring on Blackout's protoform is almost shocking, much worse than the scars he has shown so far, and Barricade can see how the very mount for the bracket is crooked because of the distorted protoform it's attached to.
It would require extensive surgery to get it straightened out, if it's even possible.
He strokes the bared protoform with the tips of his digits, feeling the rough surface.
This must've hurt. And probably nearly killed him.
Chapter Text
"Don't you remember what I said about touching me without permission?"
Barricade squeaks and throws himself backwards, completely unprepared for Blackout to speak. His servo slips on the edge of the berth, and for a second or two, he's hanging in the balance, pedes trying to grasp the bedding to keep him from falling. Blackout doesn't move to help him, just watching, tilting his helm as if he's trying to figure out what Barricade is doing. Barricade finally regains his balance, slowly crawling fully onto the berth again.
"Recharging in the same berth kind of implies that touching might happen." Barricade defends himself.
But what he did certainly was more intimate than even slinging an arm across his berth partner to cuddle up closer.
Then he spots Blackout's servo, or to be more precise, the nasty looking blade Blackout is holding. He stares at the sharp edge for long seconds, then he flicks his optics back to meet Blackout's, swallowing nervously.
Blackout smirks, quirking an optical ridge. He holds up his servo to show Barricade as he initiates a transformation sequence that folds it back into his wrist. The way the plates slide against each other creates that shrill noise again, and the sound etches itself into Barricade's processor as a herald of possibly messy deactivation.
"I do apologize. I did step over the line of what could be seen as appropriate recharge buddy touching." Barricade says, because he knows that he did, even if he doesn't really want to admit how readily he trampled straight over that line.
"Apology accepted."
"Did I wake you? It was not my intention."
"Every time you move."
"That must be exhausting."
Blackout shrugs. "I just go straight back to recharge. I usually get enough of recharge, I'm used to it. You don't move around that much anyway."
"But still..." Barricade looks at Blackout's servo that's back to normal. "Do you bring out the knife every time?"
"Nah."
"So you were awake the entire time?"
"Yeah. I was curious to see what you were gonna do."
Barricade is about to say that he didn't have to scare him like that, but before he onlines his vocalizer, he realizes that it probably was the whole point anyway.
"What were you doing with the blade?"
"I was going to scare you worse, but then I realized that you might wet yourself again, and I hate trying to get the stench out of the mattress."
Of course! It's so inconvenient...
"Self-centered asshole."
"Unrepentantly so."
"So, is the waking up some inbuilt security protocol or something?"
Blackout shrugs. "Or just old habit. I have no idea at this point."
"Is it like that no matter who you're recharging with?"
"Not when I pile up with my Brothers, then we can take turns keeping guard and I can let them take their shifts. But with everyone else, I do."
"You can let me take a shift." Barricade says, holding his servos up in front of him as if he's doing some boxing. "I'm trained at self defense."
Blackout snorts. "Yeah..."
Chapter Text
Suddenly Blackout pounces on him, and Barricade squeaks in surprise, flailing to try to avoid being caught, even if he's fairly certain that struggling won't get him all that far.
"Didn't you say that you're trained in self-defense? I think I'll continue to keep watch myself..."
Barricade does get a bit indignant about it, because they did spend a fair amount of time training their techniques, and it feels ridiculous to be so easily outclassed and mechhandled. Barricade tries one of the moves he was good at to get out from under someone else, straining his entire frame...
Pop!
He stiffens and stops struggling, face flushing. Blackout tilts his helm, quirking an optical ridge.
"Barricade? What just happened?" Blackout asks, sounding as if he's about to start snickering.
He's almost about to lie and say nothing, but it's most likely that this wrestling match will end with Blackout finding out anyway, and he doesn't want to be caught with a lie. "The, uhm, the gel thing fell out." Barricade mumbles, looking everywhere but at Blackout.
Blackout rolls him over on his front, and Barricade buries his face in the bedding.
"Well, what do you know, you are right." Blackout sits there next to him, probably looking at his aft.
Barricade engages his mod and sends the command to close him up, just in case his calipers didn't do it automatically. He's too mortified to focus on the parameters, all he knows is that he feels kind of empty.
"Huh, I guess that's one way to do it." Blackout says.
Blackout gets up from the berth, and Barricade hears how he opens a storage unit, rummaging around. The berth dips when he crawls onto it again, but Barricade doesn't look at him. There's rustling of plastic, and the snap of Blackout putting on gloves.
"Look at this!" Blackout snickers.
He doesn't want to.
Barricade still turns his helm, needing a few seconds to actually get his optics to cooperate to look at Blackout.
"It's what the inside of your ass looks like." Blackout grins, holding up the plug. It dangles obscenely, held by the string, taunting Barricade with it's mere existence.
"Fascinating." Barricade mumbles, face catching fire.
Blackout drops it in a bag. "I'll go dispose of this. You change the sheets. Wash it as hot as possible, and go heavy on the detergent. I'll administer the suppository when we're done."
"Washing? But we just recharged? Why do I have to do laundry for that?"
Blackout stops just inside the door, looking at Barricade over his shoulder. "I'm not the one throwing things that might be carrying a contagion around. You change the sheets and wait for me to return. On all fours on the berth, a towel underneath you."
And with that, he's out the door.
Chapter Text
Barricade hasn't been this nervous since... He can't even remember. Driving to his step-sire's house is nerve-wracking.
::You go in there as you always do, keep him distracted while we get into the backyard, and get the door open.:: Ironhide says.
::And no fucking to keep him distracted! As much fun as we're having with the treatment, we don't want you out of commission for longer just because you caught something more.:: Blackout says.
Fun...
::He'll hit me if I refuse.:: Barricade says, even if that certainly isn't a good reason to just go along with whatever the bastard wants this time.
::He'll regret it.:: Nitro says.
::Yeah...:: Barricade says uncertainly.
The Brothers have agreed to rough the bastard up, tell him off, make sure that the asshole won't bother him again. It still feels off to sanction violence against someone, no matter how bad he is.
Barricade's spark makes an uneasy spin.
What if they're caught? What if the bastard tattles? They'll all go back to jail. Can they really scare him enough to make him keep quiet about whatever they're going to do to him?
His sensors trail Blackout for a few seconds, and suddenly, he feels calmer.
They can.
He still feels nervous when the Brothers break out of their formation, taking different routes to reach the alley behind the house.
He's alone again, but not really. Not for long.
It doesn't make it much easier to walk up the path to the door. It slides open for him, and he walks inside. His step-sire is sitting on the couch, watching TV, almost as if he didn't expect Barricade to show up. It's all for show, though, Barricade is certain.
"So you finally deign to show up."
"I'm not even late."
"You postponed our meeting."
"You were the one to tell me time and again that you would prefer to meet me in the evenings."
"Snooty fucking brat." His step-sire says, and Barricade recognizes the tone of voice that always tipped him off that he had done something irrevocably displeasing, and nothing he could say would ever appease the bastard. "You could've come by yesterday. You don't have to wait until I call you. You are allowed to come here of your own accord."
He can afford to talk back, the bastard won't have time to beat him much. He just needs to stall the fucking long enough for the Brothers to come rescue him, and being beaten a bit is better than fucking this bastard. Rescue?
"I'd rather cut off a servo and a pede with a dull gel knife."
Chapter Text
His step-sire's face-plates contort with rage.
"You always were such an ungrateful brat!"
"What, you mean the way I hated being used? Or maybe you mean how I needed fuel to live, and sometimes protested against going hungry? You know what? This stops tonight. You're not using me anymore. And if you try to share those memories, I will do everything in my power to get you charged for it."
His step-sire's optics narrow with displeasure, but it seems like Barricade's words surprised him enough to give him a bit of pause, and Barricade will take any win he can.
"Everything in your power? Honey, you're a whore. What power could you possibly have? Especially with your sordid past." His step-sire sneers.
"I've done my punishment, and I do have a real employment too. My parole officer is very happy with my conduct. No matter how much my character comes into question, publishing those memories will be clearly illegal. I'm done with this, I won't let you abuse me anymore."
His step-sire's face contorts with rage, and his servo shoots out to slap Barricade.
This time, he isn't the helpless youngling anymore, frozen with fear and humiliation. Barricade easily deflects the servo, and follows up with a punch to the mech's ventral plating. His step-sire's doubles over, gasping for air.
"Not bad." Nitro rumbles approvingly.
Barricade looks up. He didn't hear them enter. Nitro is leaning against the door jamb, and Hide has his arms crossed, looking quite satisfied with Barricade's performance.
"Who the fuck are you?" His step-sire coughs.
"We're the ones who make sure that Barricade is safe and unharmed." Ironhide answers.
"You brought your pimps?!" His step-sire sneers.
"I brought friends."
His step-sire snorts. "Friends who sell you."
"I sell myself. They help me paint my room."
"Like family who sell you is any better." Nitro sneers.
"Stay out of this! This is my kid, and I think I have a right to get something back..."
"Your kid?! This is what you do to your kid?!" Ironhide snarls. "I think you owe him for what you got paid for your friends to use him — don't look so surprised, it's obvious you're taking credits for it — and for the fucking medical treatment he needs to have because of you."
Barricade can't believe his optics when his step-sire puffs himself up, taking a step towards Ironhide. "No, you listen here, you dumb brute..."
Nitro flicks his servo back, a strut extending from his wrist. He grabs it, and then he swings, in one hard hit taking the bastard's knee-joint out, sending him to the floor with a howl of pain.
"Oups." Nitro grins.
Chapter Text
"He's kind of whiny, isn't he?" Ironhide says, tilting his helm in consideration when he looks at the mech writhing on the floor, wailing in pain.
"Yeah." Nitro agrees.
He hasn't let go of the rod he hit the bastard with, and when Barricade zooms in on it, it looks more like a tire iron than an actual strut.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Barricade's step-sire tries to snarl at Ironhide, or Nitro, but it comes out more of a whimper.
"The bushing in one of my pistons needs to be replaced, otherwise everything is fine." Nitro says, looking himself over as if searching for things that might be wrong.
Ironhide snorts a laugh.
"Your kind should be kept in pens." The bastard grunts.
Ironhide's laugh dies, and his face turns stony. Nitro swings the rod again, this time taking out the bastard's servo.
"You always say that I'm a mouthy brat for voicing my opinions or wishes, but you're so much worse," Barricade says, stepping up to the bastard, "you insult people, and you hurt others in any way you see fit just to get what you want, or in some cases just because you can. You've hurt me for as long as I've known you — even when I didn't see you for years — and what you did has festered and poisoned some experiences my entire adult life. You say you have the right to keep abusing me? I'd say it's only fair that you get hurt for once."
His step-sire's optics flash, and Barricade feels that reflexive tightening of his tank, the way his spark speeds up for the beating he'd normally get, but then the bastard glances at the Brothers when Ironhide shifts his weight, and he looks... scared? Barricade takes a deep vent to calm himself.
He's not the one who'll get hurt today.
He still feels nervous and apprehensive, because even if he has seen his fair share of the aftermath of violence while on the force, it's quite something different to see the violence as it happens, and to a mech he knows far too well.
"Go ahead." He says to Nitro and Ironhide, spark racing.
The Brothers look at each other.
"You want this one? He's seems so weak, the fun would be over in a minute if we both go at him." Nitro says.
"You're so generous," Ironhide sounds taunting, staring at the bastard as he speaks, "I'd love to." He steps forward, reaching for the bastard. "I don't think you need this." He grabs something in the bastards shoulder and yanks, making the mech scream as what looks like a relay and some wires are torn loose and discarded on the floor. Ironhide follows up with a kick to the mech's ventral plating when the bastard starts to crawl away, emergency survival protocols overriding the sensory input from his busted components.
"You weak little coward! Can't even do it yourself!" He snarls to Barricade.
He flinches, a visceral reaction when it feels like something inside him finally snaps. Suddenly, there's no apprehension left, just a cold detachment to contrast his burning hate.
"Hide? Blackout can have the rest when you're done."
Even hounds are let off the leash from time to time.
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"C-can I get a few hits in too?" Barricade asks, spark spinning wildly.
Ironhide pauses immediately. Barricade didn't exactly know what he to expect, but somehow, he pictured that the Brothers would go at this like frenzied animal.
And why did he think that? Prejudice! He should've known better, of course.
Of course Ironhide doesn't do it like that. He has been almost leisurely as he goes; one hit, then letting the bastard catch his vents before delivering the next one, a rhythm of metal against metal, and the rushed air flow, and pained grunts and whimpers. It's such a contrast, though, the way his step-sire is dented and scratched up all over, while Ironhide's knuckles are the only parts showing any signs of this.
"Of course. Ironhide says. I just thought you couldn't stomach it."
"Or just enjoyed the view." Nitro leers, licking his sharp denta.
"Is that detachable?" Barricade asks, pointing to the tire iron, not capable of handling innuendos at the moment.
Nitro nimbly flicks it around in his servo to show that it's already detached, holding it out for Barricade to take.
Barricade slowly grabs it, as if it might bite him. His audials are ringing, his spark is spinning so fast, he's getting light headed, and he stares at the weapon for long moments, servo shaking slightly.
For all his shortcomings, and all the bad stuff he has done himself, Barricade never was a violent mech. He never used that kind of force and the thought of doing so feels kind of wrong. But at the same time, he's absolutely certain that this bastard would never get the point that he should leave Barricade alone unless someone beats it into him, and that's why Barricade asked the Brothers to do it. But just that hit he actually got in before clearly wasn't enough to humble the bastard even the slightest, and show that Barricade can stand up to him now, and there's something alluring about doing it himself.
Maybe just to show that he isn't helpless anymore? Or maybe to prove that to himself?
He very carefully sidesteps the point that he probably has sanctioned a messy murder, because as easy as it was to utter the words, it's quite something else to think it over more thoroughly.
Barricade walks over to the bastard, raising the rod, and then he swings it before he can lose his nerve. It almost glances off the plating on his step-sire's upper arm, a clumsy hit by a nervous first timer.
"Don't rush it, aim more carefully to get the most of it. The armor needs much more power in the hit, if you aim between the plates, you'll get a better effect." Nitro says.
"Aren't you quite the momma cat, teaching the cub how to wound?" Ironhide says, elbowing Nitro in the side.
"Are you calling me a pussy?"
Barricade just zones out the talk, spark spinning wildly as he tries to aim better for his next hit.
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He wishes he could bring himself to do more damage, but it's as if his frame is resisting, somehow making him hold back a bit. It's frustrating as fuck, but at least it seems like he's causing pain enough for his step-sire to not notice his hesitation.
"Not so tough now, are you? How brave of you to prey on a kid, and exploit my dependency. Were there others? Kids you raped, I mean."
"Yet you went along with it for weeks without protest in adult age too." His step-sire wheezes. "And brought some fragging lowlifes to fix your problem for you. Talk about bravery."
"Because you blackmailed me!" Barricade snarls, bringing the tire iron down with more force this time. The bastard groans, slowly trying to crawl away, and it's so satisfying, Barricade grins. "That's even more cowardly, but I guess someone like you have to do it; your ugly personality matches your face-plates." He swings again, this time hitting the bastard in the side, managing to get between plates.
::Hey, Blackout. You want to have some fun too?::
::Do I ever say no to fun?::
::You do after you've treated me.::
::Infections are not fun.::
::I only have it in one hole. We could do other stuff...::
::I'm not trusting that it can't spread to the rest of the frame.::
::The scientific evidence shows that cyborrea doesn't spread internally. Don't you trust science?::
::I was created through science, do you trust me?::
Ack!
::Fair point.::
::Tell him to wear gloves when he jerks you off, Blackout.:: Nitro butts in.
Barricade flushes when he checks and realizes that he opened the comm link to all three Brothers accompanying him.
"I think I'll pass on that too." Blackout says as he steps through the door. "Why does everyone have to be so fucking short?! This ceiling is inconvenient." He growls as he has to hunch when walking into the house.
Blackout comes to a stop next to Barricade. "So, how do you want to do it?" Barricade asks nervously, because no matter how much he hates the bastard, this is still...
"Get a room!" Nitro says, cupping his servos around his intake, and distorting his voice.
There's a subsequent clang when Ironhide slaps him, but the Prez is also chuckling. Blackout rolls his optics and flips them off in a way that seems almost reflexive. Barricade draws a few deeps vents to try to steady himself.
Maybe he's a whimp, but thinking about killing the bastard is quite different than standing here, about to do it.
His spark spins so fast, it feels like it's about to turn into a supernova and fizz out.
"I don't know. What do we want him to feel most; pain or humiliation? We can do both, but too much pain drowns out everything else."
They can choose? Well, of course they can, but just like that? And what is most important?
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"I think we should go with humiliation."
He has been ashamed of so many things this bastard has made him do — both long ago, and recently — and it's about fucking time the asshole get to try being on the receiving end.
Blackout quirks an optical ridge, smirking slowly. "Good choice."
::So what's the game plan here? What should we do? We know that he's likely to have caught something, either from you, or someone else, so I'm not sticking my dick in that even with a rubber, but how about you?:: Blackout comms him.
::Eew, no! One treatment is enough, thank you very much, and I've had enough of fucking him for a lifetime anyway.::
"Did Crosshairs make those?" Ironhide sounds suspicious, and it catches Barricade's attention.
Nitro Zeus and Ironhide have taken a seat on the couch, and it looks quite ridiculous, because the couch is made for mecha in Barricade's size, making the two of them look like they're sitting on toy furniture, or perhaps having squeezed themselves into an armchair.
"No, I made them myself! Dreadbot has shown me how to." Nitro says, shaking the box he's holding, making the content rustle.
Ironhide reaches inside, picking up a popped energon kernel to study it. "They look right." He says, putting it in his intake, and then chewing it carefully. He nods approvingly. "Taste right too."
Nitro grabs a handful, stuffing his intake. "Of course! I'm awesome at this!" He says, grabbing a bunch of the pops.
Barricade turns back to look at the bastard who's glaring apprehensively at Blackout.
::It would be kind of humiliating for him if we only do him using jimmys, but that isn't appealing enough for me.:: Blackout muses, apparently still thinking about a crude approach.
::Me neither.::
It feels weird to contemplate a rape or something similar. Sure, he got off on the power play he used against hookers way back, but he was stupid enough to not really consider it rape, and just brutalizing this bastard doesn't exactly feel appealing, he isn't really into the whole taking by physical force. But coercion feels more interesting...
::Maybe we could make him comply in some way? Promises to not harm him if he does some stuff?:: He asks, because he did say that Blackout could have his fun, so it's not really up to Barricade to decide.
::One of my favorite games. So what do we want first?::
::I don't know, some kind of show maybe?::
Blackout rumbles a sinful chuckle. "You should open this plate." he says to the bastard, tapping his interface plate. Barricade's step-sire flinches away, closing his legs, and his face is a mask of disgust. "Or do you prefer me to tear it off?"
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His step-sire glares back and forth between them. "Really, Barricade?
"Really."
"I never threatened to force you. I asked you to go along, and you did."
"The threat was implied. You never hesitated to smack me around, why would it be different if I said no to interfacing? You could've kicked me out."
"Barricade did what he had to do to survive. Now it's your turn to be in that position. You can choose how this night will go; the easier way, or the hard way." Blackout says, and his field clearly broadcasts how much he enjoys this, no matter what way it's going to take. "Your panel needs to be open, and you can choose to do it yourself, or we'll do it for you."
::Pry bar, talons, or hacking if it comes to that?::
Apparently, hard choices will be the theme of the night.
He's spared from making that choice when his step-sire's panel slides open, the bastard glaring at Blackout again. Blackout smirks nastily, pulling out a pair of the kind of gloves he uses when Barricade gets his treatment.
"Do you have an entire pack in there?" Barricade asks, and as soon as it's out, it feels weird with the normalcy of the banter in this situation that is decidedly not normal.
"Perhaps... You never know when you need them. I'd let you have a pair, but I guess they're too big." He kneels — apparently tired of hunching because of the low ceiling — and then he pulls at one of the plates Ironhide has dented.
Barricade is surprised, because he was certain that Blackout would feel the bastard up after all, but his step-sire winces, hissing with pain.
"Looks uncomfortable." Blackout says conversationally, but Barricade recognizes the implied threat. "But I'm sure it's nothing you can't handle. So, where do we start, Barricade?"
"I think he should give us a sample of his skills. You know, a bit of warm up."
"Good idea." Blackout says, looking around the room before turning back to the bastard. "And don't fake it. I'm a hundred percent certain that you won't enjoy your next task if you're all dry..."
::He's terrible at picking up after himself. An awful lot of bottles laying around...:: Blackout comms Barricade.
The memory of the bottle slipping into Bumblebee's aft pops into Barricade's processor, and the conflicting arousal accompanies it. But here he can be aroused by the same thing without guilt, because this bastard drew it upon himself, instead of being collateral damage. He starts to turn to get a bottle.
::No, not yet! Leave him in dark about what the next step is actually going to be. He doesn't know that we don't want to fuck him.::
::You're right.::
::As usual.::
::And the poster child for modesty.::
::Every poster needs a model::
"Go on; pinch your node, finger your cunt... Whatever floats your boat." Blackout says.
"I don't like valve play."
"Neither did Barricade, but that's not here, nor there. The important thing here is choice. You can choose to skip your warm up, but then step two will be really uncomfortable." Blackout shrugs.
A shiver trickles down Barricade's back-struts when he hears that shrill sound of Blackout bringing out the knife. He watches the blade, mesmerized by the smooth, black surface.
"Just look at this," Blackout says to Barricade, "isn't it pretty?" He slowly drags his glossa along the blade, and Barricade's valve is suddenly feeling all heavy and wet. Blackout turns it, holding the blade to show off the handle, a sleek piece of metal with curves to fit Blackout's digits.
That handle could probably be used for other things than just holding it...
Blackout hands him the knife, and Barricade takes it slowly and carefully, noticing the etchings.
It's a piece of art, really.
In his small servos, it almost looks like a short sword instead of just a knife. He glances at Blackout, and the Helo subtly tilts his helm in the direction of his step-sire, smirking.
::Don't cream your panel yet, we have more playing to do.::
Barricade turns his helm to look at the mech on the floor.
The implied threat of the knife apparently got his step-sire going with making a choice, and starting the warm-up.
Chapter Text
His step-sire is circling his anterior node, dipping his digits inside, but it doesn't look like he's getting any slicker, or getting aroused.
::Is it just me, or do you agree on this show kind of sucking? Sure, he hates it, but it kind of lacks some of the effect if he doesn't get off.:: Barricade comms Blackout.
::I completely agree. There's no incentive for him to actually overload, though, so I doubt that he will try very hard. But we could always just tell him to fuck himself with a bottle or two even though he's dry. It will be uncomfortable for him, and entertaining for us..::
It would probably hurt a lot, but it's not what he wants to see. Barricade wants to see the bastard humiliated in the same way he humilated Barricade, hating every second of what he's doing, and still overloading.
"This is a terrible show. You should at least try to get off." Barricade says.
"I told you that I don't like valve play."
"The frame can still be manipulated into an overload quite easily. At least if you have any skill at all."
::We could threaten to kill him if he doesn't overload.:: Blackout suggests.
Scaring him like that could be fun, but Barricade is getting a more and more clear picture of what he wants to achieve, and masturbating to save his functioning is too easy for the bastard to reason away as doing what he had to to survive. Barricade takes out a tube of lubricant, throwing it to his step-sire.
"Slick yourself up. And put some effort into this. It's getting boring." He says.
::Isn't that kind of the opposite of what we're trying to achieve here? Why do you help him with slick?:: Blackout asks.
::Since none of us even want to poke him with a stick, we can't force him to overload from things he doesn't want to enjoy the way you usually do. The slick will make it easier for him to overload, or maybe I should say harder to not overload. And being handed lube is kind of a low point, trust me on that.:: Barricade says, remembering that time he had a meltdown when Ironhide told him to slick himself up.
His step-sire is pumping his digits into his valve, smearing the lube, and Barricade can see that his valve-lips are getting a bit plumper already, folds glistening with the added slick.
"You know what, slick your port too."
"No."
Blackout takes the tire iron Barricade is still holding, and Barricade sees the way his step-sire's optics brighten, and he tries to crawl away, grimacing when he puts his busted servo on the floor, stilling again.
"Yes, you will. Finger that hole like you mean it." Blackout says.
The bastard slowly reaches for his port, field thick with fear, disgust, and humiliation.
It's such a heady mix.
Chapter Text
It would be so much more effective if he could bring himself to touch the bastard, because Barricade is fairly certain that he could get that overload out of his step-sire, and overloading is kind of the point here.
He knows how much he hated to overload from things he didn't really want to like, and it's exactly what he want the bastard to experience.
::Does anyone have any toys in their subspace? Like a node vibrator, or something else that vibrates.:: He asks everyone.
Blackout quirks an optical ridge.
::Then we don't need to touch him. The vibrator will have to be scrapped for hygiene reasons, though.:: Barricade explains.
::Actually not a bad idea.:: Blackout muses.
::There's going to be an uprising if you scrap that one...:: Nitro says, and Barricade looks at the two mechs on the couch.
Ironhide is holding out a kind of funny looking vibrator with two legs, slightly bent at the end.
::I'll get you a new one.:: Barricade says to Ironhide, grabbing the thing, turning it over in his servos to take a closer look. It's covered in smooth silicone, light blue in color, and doesn't look like something he'd ever think he'd find in Ironhide's subspace.
::I have several of those.::
::You do?!:: Nitro sounds surprised.
::It sucks when the batteries run out in the middle of everything.:: Ironhide shrugs.
::You've never used one on me.:: Barricade says.
::Now that you mention it, I didn't. I just never thought about it.::
::We should try it...:: Barricade says, fiddling with the buttons, and realizing that it has three vibrators: one in the end of each leg, and one in the base.
It probably fits around a spike too, could probably be used as a cock ring. Well, maybe not around Hide's. He's kind of thick.
::Either you wait until you have a clean bill of health, or you get one of those to experiment with yourself. ::
Damn it! Well, back to the business at servo.
"Give me that pillow." He says, pointing at the pillow Nitro has thrown on the floor to make room for him and Hide.
Nitro throws it to him, and Barricade puts it down on the floor next to his step-sire.
"I know your knee hurts, so I figure you need some help to stay comfortable." He says mockingly. "Roll over on this, aft up, legs spread."
The hateful glare he receives is laughable. His step-sire slowly does as he's told, trying to keep his damaged servo and knee from getting jostled too much. He groans in pain when the knee inevitably has to be placed on the floor.
"Keep fingering your ass." Barricade orders.
The bastard is slow to obey, but he does it, digits slipping inside easily with the slick. His field blooms with humiliation, and Barricade feels his spike starting to feel strained — not ready to pressurize quite yet, but priming for it — his frame reacting to being in control again. He grabs a bottle from the table, a low grade one, not too thick, and hunches down next to his step-sire.
"You're going to enjoy this, and we're all going to watch." He murmurs, going for sensual, because it feels like that would make this even worse.
His step-sire's field is laced with disgust and mortification. "I will not enjoy it!" He hisses.
"We'll see..."
Chapter Text
Barricade nudges the neck of the bottle through his step-sire's folds, pushing inside gently. It would be easy to just ram it in there, but adding more pain now would distract the fucker from the pleasure, and it would be harder to make him overload. The bottle slides in easily with the slick, and Barricade starts pumping it slowly, at the same time stroking the bastard's node with the still turned off vibrator. It's the touch to his node that draws a gasp from his vocalizer, and Barricade smirks when mortification trickles into the bastard's field.
"Increase the pace with your digit. You know what, add another digit."
"One is enough."
"Like we said; you choose the easy way or the hard way yourself. I'd really recommend another digit, but it's up to you."
Uncertainty and apprehension weaves into the bastard's field, and he doesn't dawdle for long before he pushes another digit inside. Even with the slick, he clearly needs to push hard to get both digits inside.
So tight! It would feel so good to slip inside... The bastard shouldn't have any infections back there, he probably never took it up the ass before. If he uses a jimmy... But then Blackout and the others are still watching, and if he does it, he'll probably be quarantined even longer. It would be so very sweet to conquer the asshole — heh — in that way, and make him like it, though.
Barricade's spike sends him a double request to pressurize when he imagines how sweet it would be to watch his cock slowly slide into that tight port. He starts the vibrator to distract himself, but the filthy mewl that leaves the bastard's vocalizer does nothing to bring his charge down. He increases the pace he works the bottle with, adjusting the vibrator, and it makes his step-sire's hips jerk.
::How do I make him squirt?:: He comms Blackout.
::Move it a bit closer to his cunt. I don't know with that thing, but maybe move it a bit back and forth, so he doesn't get all numb from the vibrations?::
These words send a heat to his own valve. It has nothing to do with his step-sire, but everything to do with the image of Blackout doing this to him — the experimenting with the vibrator, not the bottle fucking, or perhaps using a dildo — making his valve drip before his overload.
His step-sire overloads suddenly, squirting a cascade of fluid, moaning loudly, his field an explosion of mortification and self-derision.
Barricade almost cackles, but he manages to restrain himself, no matter how gleeful he is.
Blackout's calmly condescending way of gloating seems better than cackling like some idiot.
"I did tell you that you were going to enjoy this..." He purrs, still pumping the bottle in and out.
Chapter Text
::Not to be a killjoy, but we should get going soon.:: Ironhide comms them.
And he was just getting into it!
Barricade almost feels like pouting, or perhaps trying the tactic of the in-house crew; but Daddy!
He doesn't though, not when Nitro steps inside, apparently having left the house without Barricade noticing.
::Got rid of the mech, but I don't like it. The less mecha that see us, the better.:: Nitro says.
Frag! He didn't even think that far. The bastard probably invited his friends as he usually has done when Barricade is coming over. They drop in as the day goes by, and this was probably just the first one in line.
::Can I squeeze in a quick ass fuck? I really want to make him overload from that...:: Barricade pleads.
::Yeah, don't take too long though.:: Ironhide says.
Barricade pulls the bottle out of his step-sire's valve with a pop. "Move your digits."
"You can't be serious!"
"I'm serious. You know, I just want to show you what you've been missing out on for so long, chosing to only use your spike. But you know, now you have the option to chose to try this the easy way, or the hard way."
"Sometimes your functioning depends on your willingness to try new things." Blackout says conversationally.
His step-sire's field flares with fear, and for good reason. There's something in the deceptively relaxed lines of Blackout's frame that just screams predator.
"Maybe you want to do it yourself?" Barricade asks. "I'm fine with just watching, and playing with the vibrator."
The turmoil in his step-sire's field is delicious, and he can understand why the bastard seems to war with himself about the options: doing it himself is much more humiliating, but Barricade could do it a lot more uncomfortable on a whim.
To hold this power over someone...
It's getting increasingly hard to keep it behind his panel.
"I'll do it myself." His step-sire grinds out.
"Sure." Barricade says, pressing the bottle into his step-sire's servo.
Barricade grabs the lubricant, pouring a glob that lands on his step-sire's port, making the opening clench when the cold gel hits it. The bastard's field blooms with humiliation, but he slowly pushes the neck of the bottle inside. It slips in easily after the fingering he has done to himself. The only thing that keeps Barricade from grabbing his panel and rubbing it is the fact that Blackout and the others are there, and he doesn't want to have worse self control than them.
::It's a pity we won't get off here.:: He says to Blackout.
::We could jerk off and cum on his face. Tell him to open his intake and have a target shooting competition.:: Barricade groans quietly, but Blackout's smirk shows that the Helo picked up on it. ::Or make him do this until his ass gapes, and try to hit that instead.::
::How do you keep it behind the panel right now?:: Barricade groans.
::I'm not an animal, I do have some self-control.::
Chapter Text
His step-sire is slow and careful, and while that might provide a decent show in one way, and will make it easier to get the bastard to overload since there's less discomfort, it also stresses Barricade slightly. He wants to be seen here as little as anyone else, and the slow going delays their departure, and increase the risk of them being caught.
It would be easy to ram the bottle in there, and he would find pleasure in causing the pain and discomfort it would surely bring. But it's even more satisfying to see the bastard debase himself, and his frame to find pleasure in it.
"Angle it differently, make it rub the anterior wall of your port. And try to get it just slightly deeper with every push-in."
His step-sire's field flares with indignance, but he still does as he's told. Barricade slides the vibrator back and forth, just momentarily hitting the bastard's node now and then, saving the inevitable overload for later. He watches the way the rim of his step-sire's port stretches to accommodate the bottle, then still hugs it snugly when the slightly tapered neck pulled out,
Not for long.
He almost cackles.
"Come on now, start working on getting the thicker part inside." He says impatiently.
"I can't."
"That's what he said." Ironhide says.
Nitro starts laughing. "Good one Prez!" He manages to say through the laughing.
Barricade looks at them, and Ironhide is pointing at him "But he managed to take things much bigger than that little bottle. I guess it takes some grit and spirit, though, some dedication, and when I see the way you live your life, I'm guessing that you have none of that. That you sit around, feeling sorry for the hand you've been dealt, and you make yourself feel better by preying on those who have less, on the defenseless."
"That's fucking deep, dude." Nitro puffs, laughing down to chuckling.
"Not as deep as him." Ironhide points at Barricade again, sending Nitro into another laughing fit.
"Just take a deep vent, and push it in." Blackout says impatiently. "Or should we do it for you?"
His step-sire's field flares with apprehension, and it's visible how he pushes harder, grimacing when the part of the bottle that's much wider than the neck presses against the rim of his port, meeting resistance.
::I would enjoy to see his ass gapes wide open after this, but isn't there a risk that his calipers are damaged if he goes too quickly?:: Barricade asks.
Damage will mean pain, and that will make it much harder to make the bastard overload while bottle-fucking his own ass, which right now is the most important point of this. He wants to see him suffer, but the humiliation is much sweeter than agony.
::So what? We're going to kill him soon anyway.:: Blackout says.
Chapter Text
It's one thing to have a vague idea of this being the outcome, it's quite different to have it spelled out so matter-of-factly. Especially when Blackout is the one to say it, because he really is easy to imagine doing it.
It wasn't his intention from the start, he just wanted to have some powerful backup to get the bastard to back off and leave him alone. Maybe rough him up a bit to make a point about it. But everything escalated rather quickly and he got carried away, and it has been rather easy to gloss over what he signed up for when he said that Blackout can have the rest. It somehow didn't feel real, like it was some fantasy or dream, and that it wasn't heading towards the irrevocable end where his step-sire stops existing for all eternity. Is that really what he wants? To carry that knowledge for the rest of his life that he robbed a mech of a continued functioning. On one servo, a dead mech can't repeat the horrible things he has done, but on the other servo, he won't have a chance to do better things either. Like he himself has done — well, maybe not doing great things per se, but at least he has realized his wrongdoings — and he's continuously working on his own flaws, trying to become a better person, and treat others better. What if his step-sire could be too?
::Did you malfunction?:: Nitro asks.
::No, I just... Ah.::
::You do want him offline, no?::
:: I-I, uhm, I think so? It's just... A civilian reaction, I guess? Actually offlining someone...::
Barricade's spark spins out of control, and his tank is roiling.
::We can't do that now. The risk of it coming back to all of us is too big of we do it right now.:: Ironhide says.
::What the fuck, Hide?!:: Blackout growls.
::One mech knows that something is going on here, a mech who knew that Barricade was coming over. If this asshole disappears now, it will be investigated, and the other guy saw Nitro.::
::You didn't kill him?!:: Blackout asks Nitro.
::No, my Daddy has told me not to do stupid things that may get me thrown in jail, and there were people in the street who probably would've noticed if killed someone..::
::Don't call me that! But it was the right call. We'd never get rid of the Enforcers if there's even a remote chance for them to bust us for murder.:: Ironhide says.
::I didn't. Maybe I have another Daddy who told me the same thing?:: Nitro says.
Ironhide cuffs him around the back of his helm.
::If you want him gone, we'll arrange that, of course, but at a later date, when we're not as easily implicated. I'm pretty sure you agree on this bastard not being worth going back to jail, right Barricade?::
It's kind of a relief to have the decision postponed, even if it leaves the bastard online.
::Yeah... But how are we going to make sure he doesn't rat?:: He asks, because there's a risk for that.
::Blackout can bug all his communication and inform him what will happen if he tries to do that. And I guess it's up to you to make sure he's too ashamed to want to tell someone about this. Like he did to you.:: Ironhide says.
Blackout's field — that turned laced with displeasure at the decision not to murder someone today — smooths out into the simmering arousal as he refocuses on Barricade's step-sire who — unknowing of the discussion — has continued to try to get the bottle deeper into his ass. Apparently the Helo is appeased with the plan, and Barricade is kind of relieved, able to refocus on the part of this he was thoroughly enjoying.
Being uncomfortable with murder is a good thing, right?
Chapter Text
Barricade returns his attention to his step-sire just in time to see his ass finally admit the bottle's wider part. His step-sire makes a face of discomfort.
"Don't worry, you'll get used to it." Barricade says, grinning at the glare he's receiving.
Sure, he could only take about half of Ironhide's spike, and then he got the mod, but the training he got from Crosshairs did work, and he could take much more at the end of that session than before.
It's obvious when his step-sire hits that spot inside himself with the bottle; the shudder of unexpected pleasure, the sound of his spike pressurizing, the utter mortification slipping into his field.
"Oh, good! You're starting to enjoy yourself!"
"I don't!" His step-sire states vehemently.
"Sure you don't." Barricade says mockingly, dragging the vibrator through the wet slit of his step-sire's valve. "If there's one thing I know, it's the sound of your spike pressurizing. It's etched into my memory. I hate it."
"Want to remove it?" Blackout asks, and there's anticipation in his field when he allows it to extend.
Barricade's step-sire flinches, fear blooming in his field.
Maybe they should? It would stop the bastard from hurting someone else.
"Maybe later." Barricade says dismissively.
::When he's properly humiliated from getting off on this.:: He comms Blackout to calm the beast.
Blackout grins at him, a baring of sharp denta that reminds him of a cyberwolf about to devour it's prey.
"Don't stop fucking yourself." He says to his step-sire.
The bastard increases the pace with the bottle, but it's impossible to say if it is to appease Barricade, or to chase an impending overload. His hips jerk, and his valve-lips are plump, valve drooling lubricant by now. He grinds against the pillow, probably to get some friction on his spike. Barricade places the vibrator against the bastard's node, deciding to finish up.
Ironhide did want to get going soon, and he's right: the bastard is not worth getting caught for.
It doesn't take long for his step-sire to overload, grinding against the pillow, trying and failing to stifle a moan. He pushes the bottle in too deep, and loses his grip on it, digits slick with the lubricant he prepped with, and the bottle disappears into his aft. Barricade stares at the still gaping port, the bottom of the bottle visible where it's stuck behind the row of calipers. All the Brothers start laughing, and his step-sire's field explodes with humiliation and panic.
"Good luck explaining that when you go to the medic for retrieval!" Blackout cackles. "Now sit up." The last part is an order that conveys how little argument will be tolerated.
The bastard obeys, probably too shocked and panicked to think of protesting.
"Open your intake." Blackout says, hard spike already in his servo. He strokes it languorously, and Barricade's step-sire stares at the massive component with bright optics. "I know you're hungry for this, but you're not getting any."
::Go on. Let's see how good your aim is.:: Blackout comms Barricade.
Chapter Text
"Keep your intake open." Blackout says, and the bastard opens wider.
He probably wasn't even aware of slowly closing his intake, a kind of natural reaction when the hydraulics to the jaw bracket are getting strained. It's a good thing that Blackout caught it, because Barricade was already on the edge of an overload, and it's just seconds before he overloads, his transfluid covering the bastard's face. He doesn't actually hit the intake much, but that probably doesn't really matter, because the bastard's field flares with humiliation and disgust.
"Your aim needs practice." Blackout says, sounding amused.
"Are you volunteering?"
He regrets it as soon as the words are out, because for all the banter they engage in, and all the thing he has called Blackout and said to him, this is probably pushing the line.
Blackout just barks a laugh. "I'm sure we can invite someone to use for target practice." He takes a step closer to Barricade's step-sire. "Now it's up to you if you try to swallow, or let it dribble out all over you."
"It's kind of cheating to get that close." Barricade says.
"Can't cheat when no rules have been specified."
Admirably clever fucking bastard.
Blackout is much better at aiming — he'd probably hit the intake mostly even at the distance he was standing at first — and Barricade's step-sire's throat starts to work to swallow it. It looks more like a reflex when the transfluid hits the back of his intake than a voluntary action to actually swallow, and there's one or two convulsions that look like gagging too. Barricade feels his spike twitch in it's sheath, arousal slowly starting to build again when he feels the mortified and disgusted roiling of his step-sire's field.
As soon as Blackout is done, he closes up, grabbing the bastard's helm. Barricade's step-sire tries to flinch away, but it's useless, Blackout easily keeps him in place. A cover is flicked open, and Blackout jams the plug of his data cable into the socket.
"No, please don't!"
"Shut up, I'm bugging all your communicational output. No matter what way you use to try to snitch, I will get an alert. And if you do that and force us to show up again, you definitely won't have as much fun as tonight." A grin is audible in Blackout's voice, and Barricade's step-sire's field flashes with terror. "Should you manage to get the Enforcers to get us before we get to you somehow, someone else will come in our place. Oh, and we have some lovely memories here too, we could send them to your friends. The show you put on with that bottle is worth an award."
::Do I have time for some editing? I could remove all the memories with us in them.:: Blackout comms them all
Barricade bristles.
Sure, he understands that it would be for their own safety, but he want the bastard to remember the humiliation.
::I could remove the optical input parts that show us, and just leave the rest.::
He can do that?! Fuck, he's so dangerous.
Barricade's valve gets a few degrees warmer.
::Sadly, we don't have time for that. Incoming bogey as we speak.:: Nitro says. ::I'm guessing a buddy of his, walking up the path.::
Both Nitro and Ironhide are already close to the backdoor, having gotten up while Barricade was busy watching Blackout.
"Here's how this is going to go," Blackout says, squatting next to Barricade's step-sire, voice soft in a way that just makes it seem all the more dangerous, "the next mech you planned on selling one of our whores to is arriving as I speak. It's up to you if you let him in or not, but these injuries were you being clumsy, falling over after the great orgy you just had. If you tell him about the bottle or not is also up to you."
Blackout pulls out his plug, and stretches to his full height — well at least as much as he can with the ceiling not admitting him to really stand straight — the bastard staring up at the Helo with bright optics.
"I won't be able to afford repairs!" He says.
"Isn't that kind of a you-problem?" Ironhide says.
"Either you find a charity clinic, or you make the money. Geez, do we really have to explain everything to you?! You've got some talent, I'm sure you can sell your interfacing services. Hey, that mech outside is probably horny already, you could offer your mouth, or your cunt. If you don't get that bottle out, if you do, you can offer your ass. It's already loose and slick, and it's more credits than a blowjob."
There's a knock on the door, and Barricade reeks when his step-sire's field turns from fear and disgust, to mortification and panic.
"It was nice seeing you, for once." Barricade says, then they all hurry out the backdoor.
Chapter Text
"I hope you feel like you got adequate payback, but if you want to take it further, just say the word." Ironhide says.
"I feel good. Just knowing that it's finally over is enough in itself, and letting him feel what it was like for me is like icing on the cake." Barricade says, a light charge budding when he thinks about the humiliation in the bastard's field.
"And now it's time for your treatment!" Blackout says cheerily, as if that's something for Barricade to look forward to.
Yay, a mushroom cloud of gel in his ass!
"Dreadbot has made himself far too comfortable in my berth, so what do you say, Prez, should we make good use of that little slut?"
"Sure, sounds like fun."
"Come now, Barricade, don't drag your pedes!" Blackout says, that gleeful cheer still in his voice.
"Do you think the offer of toys still stand?" He asks Ironhide, following him up the stairs. Blackout is walking behind Barricade, and the Saleen jumps when his aft is pinched.
"I'm sure it does." Ironhide sounds distracted.
Well, at least he'll be able to entertain himself tonight. With a gel-plug in his aft. If he's lucky, Crosshairs has one of those node vibrators to spare.
"You're so needy." Blackout says mildly, amusement in his field.
"Says the mech who jerks off everytime we're done with the treatment. Do you use your servo, or do you have a pocket-pussy you use?"
Nitro barks a laugh. "Gonna need big pockets to fit one of those that'll fit BO's dick."
Barricade's valve goes slick when thinking about the size of said dick, how it hits all the nodes at once...
Dammit, this is backfiring terribly. Damn Nitro, and his humor.
"I use a thermo flask filled with either energon pudding, or energon gels." Blackout says smoothly. "Maybe I should make someone lick it off?" He muses.
Barricade almost volunteers, but at the last seconds he manages to spare himself the embarrassment to be denied yet again.
"I remember when we did that flask thing with pilfered grease. I didn't need to lubricate my spike for months after." Nitro laughs.
"Yeah, that was messy." Ironhide chuckles.
Maybe he should try that? He probably won't find a pocket-pussy in a fitting size in this house, and if he does, nobody will let him borrow it right now anyway. But a jar, or some other suitable container could probably be acquired easily, and then he just needs to fill it with something suitable...
Chapter Text
"Barricade? What are ya doin'?" Jazz says, still standing in the doorway.
He simultaneously onlines his optics and almost throws the jar across the room from the startle, but he somehow manages not to, spinning around and hiding it behind his back instead. Not that it matters, because his spike is still bobbing in front of him, smeared with globs of vibrantly green energon pudding, and Jazz probably saw half of it anyway. He flushes furiously.
"I-I..." It's not like he can deny it. "I was fucking this jar of pudding." He says, holding the jar up.
Jazz's intake stretches into a broad grin. "I did hear somethin' about ya gettin' really horny... Where did ya get tha idea for that?" Jazz says, pointing at the jar.
"Blackout." Barricade mumbles. "He said he did it when he jerked off."
Jazz starts laughing. "Like he ever jerks off! He has a house full of whores! But it does explain why he said I should go see ya, n' send him a picture..."
Of course the bastard would want an embarrassing picture of him.
"He said he jerks off when we're done with my treatment." Barricade pouts.
"I don' think he does, we're called there like clockwork as soon as ya've left."
Barricade gets a strange knot in his tank.
Why would Blackout lie about that? And why does he care that the bastard fucks others three times a day after warming up with him?
::You lied to me, you asshole!:: He comms Blackout.
::Well, hello to you too. Is the homebuilt pocket-pussy to your liking?::
::You said you jerk off after I leave, but you don't; you fuck someone else instead.::
::Yeah. I don't see a point in wearing out my servo when I can have someone else please me.::
::Why did you lie about it?::
Why does he feel betrayed by it? He knows that Blackout fucks anything with a suitable hole, and somethings that don't have suitable holes.
::I thought I'd try being a nicer guy. You've told me several times that I should try being a bit nicer. I thought you would appreciate to not have it rubbed in your face that you're not getting any until you're completely infection free. I figured you would appreciate to not have a different whore meet you in the door every time you leave, while you have to make do with your servos. It seems I was right, though: I can't win this. Either I'm a a selfish bastard, or I'm a lying asshole.::
Fuck! It's exactly what they talked about before, and Blackout really was right. In hindsight, the lying is worse. He'd be miffed if there always had been someone waiting for them to get done, but with this perspective, it would've been better.
::I'm sorry. You really were right, and I was wrong to be mad about it. I must say the honesty is preferable, even when I might not like it."
::Apology accepted. So, how was the pocket-pussy?::
"Have you sent a picture?" He asks Jazz.
"Not yet."
"Do it."
"Can I send a vid clip? I did get a few seconds..."
"Sure."
::It's adequate.::
::Then you see why I prefer the real deal.::
::Yeah.::
Blackout laughs. ::Wash that pudding off as soon as you're done. The sweetener may get sticky when it dries up.::
Chapter Text
Being on sick leave means spending the evenings in the house, and it's a reminder of what can happen when the Brothers don't have anything to do but drink, and come up with new pastimes.
"Suit up." Motormaster says to Jazz, handing him a butt plug, a broad grin stretching his intake.
Jazz stares at it, his usual solicitous smile slipping. "Alright." He says flatly.
Barricade can't really see what has made Jazz so hesitant. Sure, it's a rather big plug, but it's not that big. It's smaller than many of the cocks they take, at least. Jazz takes a bottle of lube out of his subspace, pouring some on the plug before putting the bottle away again. He bends forward, supporting himself against the bar with one servo, then he reaches back to push the plug into place.
Springer cackles, watching from where he's seated on the couch, and Motormaster is staring with bright optics, still grinning.
"Drinks, Barricade." Blackout says, snapping his digits.
"Sure. What do you want, Sir?" Barricade asks, putting on the waiter act, since it's really the only thing he can do right now.
"That high grade you found for me in Kaon."
"Anyone else want anything?"
"We'll have that high grade too." Springer says, pointing to himself and Motormaster.
"I'll have a bottle of mid grade." Roadbuster says.
Barricade busies himself with pouring the drinks, but he looks up when he hears a scraping noise, and sees when the table is moved further away from the couch. Jazz is told to get on the table, on all fours, aft towards the couch. Blackout grins in that way that's... foreboding.
Motormaster hurries up the stairs, and Barricade finishes pouring the drinks, grabbing a tray to be able to carry it all to the mechs on the couch.
He holds the tray out for everyone to take their drinks, since the table is out of reach for them now, glancing at Jazz to try to figure out what the game is. He does a double take when he sees Jazz ass gaping, held open by the hollow plug. He stares for long seconds, then he looks up when Motormaster comes running down the stairs, arms full of ridiculously colorful plastic, excited grin on his face.
It takes Barricade long seconds to realize what Motormaster is carrying, because it's so improbable in this place.
Squirt guns.
Chapter Text
"We're having a bit of a sharpshooting contest here. Do you want to join us?" Blackout murmurs to Barricade. "He'll be deliciously humiliated, and his field is going to be glorious."
He can see how humiliating this would be, and he would hate being the one on the table. There's a very shameful part of him that would enjoy joining the Brothers here — because Blackout is right about how arousing humiliation in a mech's field is, and he wants to taste that again — but he can't do that to Jazz.
Hopefully he wouldn't get off on doing it to Jazz at all. And if he did, he'd feel terrible forever afterwards.
"I'm sorry, I'll have to pass."
"I know you can't get any to get rid of the charge you'll be running when we're done, but maybe we could set you up with a good jar of pudding?" Blackout snickers quietly, intending to keep the conversation to themselves, which Barricade is thankful for.
"That's not the reason. I don't want to get off on doing this to Jazz. Especially not after what I did to him when we first met. That power dynamic has no place on our relationship, and doing this could be detrimental."
"Would you do it if we used one of the other whores target?"
Springer grabs one of the guns, quickly pumping it up, and then he fires. The stream hits Jazz's thigh first, but Springer quickly corrects his aim, the stream hitting it's mark. Everyone cheers, Jazz yips, and squirms, making the rest of the stream miss again, then the pressure in the gun isn't enough to reach. Roadbuster takes the next shot, and Jazz's field is blooming with humiliation. Barricade is hit with the conflicting emotions of simultaneous arousal and pity.
"I-I..."
It would be absolutely delicious to do this to someone else, to teek a field like this as foreplay, and then get a good blowjob, or maybe stick his spike in that stretched, wet ass.
His spike is throbbing behind it's panel.
Blackout quirks an optical ridge, smirking slowly.
"Maybe?" Barricade hisses. "I don't know."
Blackout's optics flick down, gaze slithering over Barricade's frame.
"Your panel is so warm. I bet you'd do it if we put disruptors on the targets' optics, making sure he couldn't see that you were doing it. You'd gleefully try to fill that gaping little hole, and you'd probably cum in your panel if you couldn't stick it somewhere."
Barricade flushes furiously. "The blindfold wouldn't make it better, it would just make the target — the victim — oblivious who did it. I would still know every time I looked at him." He says weakly.
"A dirty little secret of yours to remember every time you see that target... Oh, look! It's my turn."
Blackout grabs his gun, aiming it at Jazz's gaping ass, and Barricade can't help but stare as the stream hits the mark, and Jazz squeaks and squirms again.
Chapter Text
Barricade busies himself with serving, glancing at the game now and then.
When he first got here, he'd be completely grossed out by this demeaning way of playing with a mech, depersonalizing him to nothing more than a toy.
He still doesn't want to be on the receiving end of this, but he can also see the subtle differences; Blackout and Motormaster certainly is getting off on the humiliation — even if only Motormaster has stepped up to Jazz so far, pressing his spike to Jazz's held open port, emptying a load into the smaller mech — but Springer and Roadbuster seems to just have fun with it, without accompanying arousal. Nitro passes by, grabbing a gun and joining for a couple of rounds, equally amused, but he doesn't seem to get revved up by it either.
And here he is, getting hot for the idea of doing this to someone. He's no better than the worst of them. He's never going to do this without given consent from the target, though. He's not going to be like that.
Nitro gives the gun back to Blackout, and then he heads for the bar, taking a seat on one of the stools, just pointing at a bottle to let Barricade know what he wants. "We should have someone make replicas of our real guns, but like these instead!" He says, sounding excited.
"Yeah!" Springer cackles.
"We could have multiple targets too. Different sizes, and have a point system; the smaller the target, the higher the score." Roadbuster muses.
"And a betting pool. I could manage the bookings." Dreadbot says.
"Hell no!" Springer shouts.
"Begone, you tiny swindler!" Nitro says, pointing at Dreadbot, and then the door.
Dreadbot's face falls. "Don't call me that." He says quietly.
"Oh, frag! Sorry, babe. I forgot, I didn't mean it like that." Nitro says, pulling Dreadbot into his lap. Dreadbot straddles his sturdy thighs, still looking unhappy. "I just mean that you manage to lure way too much money off me." His servos slip down Dreadbot's sides to cup his aft. "Let me make it up to you." He purrs, pulling Dreadbot closer, bucking up to grind against him.
"For frags sake, get a room." Barricade mutters, his valve going all hot and heavy from the display.
Just a few more days.
Nitro barks a laugh. "Lewd and lascivious behavior again, Officer? I'm so bad with all this public indecency. Someone should probably teach me how to behave."
The comment reminds him of their little roleplay, and it does nothing to put the brakes on Barricade's charge. "You really are. I'll give you a ticket." He says, because that's all he can do right now. Nitro is definitely one of the mechs who might poke him with a shock prod to keep him at a safe distance right now.
"I can be the bill collector tonight. I'll collect that ticket real good." Dreadbot purrs, apparently having forgiven Nitro.
"I'm sure you will." Nitro says, hoisting Dreadbot over his shoulder, grabbing his drink, and then he heads upstairs.
Chapter 700
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"He's overflowing!" Springer laughs so hard, he has trouble venting.
"Filled to the brim." Motormaster sounds satisfied.
"We're too good at aiming, this was over far too quicky." Blackout says mournfully.
"I mean, we could pour it all out and start over..." Roadbuster says.
Springer starts to laugh even harder.
"The next time we will have more than one target." Blackout decides.
It doesn't matter how much credits they offer him, he won't do this, that's a line he is absolutely certain about.
"I'll take care of this one." Motormaster snickers, walking up to Jazz. He grabs the plug, and starts to wiggle it out carefully. "Try not to spill anything." Jazz bends down deeper, keeping his aft as high as he can. The plug pops out, and Motormaster, pushes his digit into Jazz's aft. "Clench." He slowly pulls his digit out. "Kind of loose. Can you keep it all inside when you walk?"
Jazz slowly straightens up, water and cum immediately starting to dribble out, running down his legs. Jazz eeps, and quickly bends forward. "No, Sir, I can't." He says quietly, face flushing.
Springer is gasping for air, laughing without a sound, writhing on the couch.
"So this is why you wanted one without that mod for this." Blackout says.
"Yeah, it makes for a funnier aftermath when they don't just close up immediately."
Ugh. Of course. Wring the most humiliation possible out of the... Victim? He may enjoy the mortification in the mech's field, but taking it this far is a bit too much, if it isn't done to someone like his step-sire, who deserves it, or someone who likes to be treated like this. However anyone could possibly enjoy that.
"I guess you need to stay like that until you tighten up a bit then." Motormaster says.
Jazz nods.
"You can suck cock while we wait for you to be ready to walk to my room."
"Sure." Jazz actually sounds relived, and in a way it makes sense; he'll be able to focus on something else than his loose ass, and sucking cock is something that isn't even close to humiliating for Jazz.
Blackout kneels in front of Jazz. "If I deepthroat you now, would that make you gush, or can you keep it in?"
"I-I... I don't know." Jazz stutters, flushing again.
Apparently, even Jazz have things that can make him flustered and embarrassed.
Notes:
Well, this was one helluva way to celebrate 700... O_o
Chapter Text
"The treatment has worked, you're free of the infection." Ratchet says after checking the screen on the scanner.
Barricade exvents sharply in relief. "Thank Primus for that."
"Thank the mech who came up with the treatment instead."
"It doesn't have quite the same ring to it; thank you, scientist-who-I-don't-know-the-name-of."
And he certainly isn't going to thank the mech who administered the treatment.
Ratchet snorts. "Perhaps you're right."
"Could you write me some kind of note that I'm healthy?"
"A note?"
"My employers won't touch me if I'm not, and I think your word weighs heavier than mine. I think some sort of certificate would make it clear that I'm good to go."
Did he seriously ask for something that can prove to the Brothers that he's good for fucking, so he don't have to wait longer? How far he has fallen...
Ratchet makes a face, and Barricade feels himself flush.
"It's not about the business part, I like interfacing, and I want to get some. He adds to clarify that not everything is about hooking, and then he flushes again, because that didn't really sound much better.
"I could send you a certificate. Download it to a data pad, and show it to your employers when you want to get some. Do you think that'll suffice?"
"Thank you. I think that will be enough. A stamp across the aft would be simpler, but enough is enough."
Ratchet barks a surprised laugh, and Barricade feels just a little smug that he managed to make the grouchy medic laugh.
"I'll write the certificate this afternoon, when I have some paperwork to do. Will that be sufficient, or do you need it right away?"
It would be nice to go home and get laid immediately, but if he has waited this long, he can wait a few more hours. And maybe Jazz will take his word for it.
"Afternoon will be fine. Thank you for all your help. And for the advice I didn't take."
"That's what I'm here for. I became a medic to help mecha."
"That's why I became an Enforcer. But I was terrible at it, really. I lacked some social skills, and some common sense."
"Well, sometimes we need to work through some issues of our own to be able to help others with theirs."
"Yeah. But it's kind of ironic that I had to become a... an entertainer to gain those skills."
Ratchet nods, probably not knowing what to say. He's straight to the point, and he's not afraid to tell the ugly truths, but at the same time, he isn't the kind to pour magnesium into an open wound, and Barricade likes him all the more for it.
Ratchet kind of reminds him about Blackout, in a way, with the straightforwardness. A nicer Blackout, without the sadism, and with some empathy. Ratchet is kind of handsome too. Is it true, what they say about medic servos?
"I should go..."
Before he suggests something he can't unsay.
"I'll send you the certificate later. Be careful, you don't want a reinfection."
"Thanks again!" Barricade says over his shoulder as he walks out the door.
No reinfections, and no other complications.
Chapter Text
"Well, hello there... Come here often?" Barricade purrs in Jazz's audial, slipping his arm around Jazz's waist to stroke down his ventral plating, toying suggestively with the waistband of Jazz's hotpants.
Jazz turns to look at him with bright optics. "Ya've never told me ya're a smooth seducer!"
"I figured I should save my secret weapon for when I really need it." Barricade hums, rubbing his thumb back and forth over Jazz's ventral plating, looking down as if he's trying to peek down that waistband. "And now that I've been approved by Ratchet..."
Jazz twists around in Barricade's grip, jumping up to wrap his legs around Barricade's hips, nipping at Barricade's neck-cables, grinding his valve — just the flimsy fabric separating his warm valve-lips from Barricade's plating — against Barricade. "Finally!" He groans.
"And you've never told me that you're as agile, and as good a climber as a cyber monkey." Barricade grinds out, toppling over, and just barely managing to save the situation by crashing into the armrest of the couch. If it had been a couch made for them, they'd fallen onto it, bit this is made for the Brothers, and require some effort for the smaller mechs to get onto it.
Jazz giggles, then he grabs the armrest, swinging himself onto the couch, leaving Barricade standing there alone all of a sudden. "Get up here!"
Barricade climbs onto the couch. "I'm here."
"Finally." Jazz says cheekily.
Barricade squeaks in surprise when Jazz grabs his wrist-strut, swinging him around, and mechhandles him to press Barricade's chest-plates against the back of the couch. Barricade could easily get out of the grip — at least he's that good at self-defense — but he's curious to see what Jazz wants to do, and there's a part of him that's a bit turned on by Jazz being a bit rough with him. Jazz presses up against his back, servo fondling Barricade's aft.
"Sometimes, I wish ya'd wear hotpants," Jazz says, fiddling with one of the latches to the panel covering Barricade's port, "it makes for a very hot fantasy ta just pull them down n' fuck ya with them still around your legs."
The same thing that has turned him on so many times. Maybe he should try it? With Jazz, in private, so he can never do it again if he doesn't like it, without someone else knowing and wanting that.
Thinking about Jazz doing it to him makes heat pool between his legs.
Jazz flicks the second latch open.
"Are we doing it right here?!" Barricade asks, because this in the rec room, when they're off duty?
"Yeah. I'm gonna be tha first ta have this newly cleared li'l ass, n' everyone should know." Jazz says, pushing the plate out of the way, stroking the rim of Barricade's port. "Ya're not even slicked up. Babe, I thought ya were gonna make up for tha dry spell..."
"Well, I wasn't quite prepared for your eagerness..."
"Good thing I come prepared then."
Barricade looks over his shoulder when he hears Jazz rummaging through his subspace. A tube is pulled out, and Jazz squeezes out a glob of lube straight on Barricade's port. Barricade squeaks when the tube is pushed inside, then more cold lube is squeezed out.
"There ya go, babe." Jazz purrs, lining up his spike.
For all the urgency up until now, Jazz is slow and gentle pushing inside. He reaches around, stroking Barricade's node, groaning when the head of his spike slips past the calipers.
Chapter Text
"You know this is kind of different. I mean, one of the little ones fucking another of the little ones." Nitro says.
Barricade whips his helm around, finding Nitro and Ironhide watching them.
"Yeah. A little weird, but also intriguing."
"I'm fascinated by how the hydraulics in Jazz's butt is working when he's thrusting. Kind of cool to see all the moving parts just covered with thin fabric." Nitro comments.
Jazz's rhythm falters for a few seconds.
"Don't let us distract you, were just studying this scene." Ironhide says.
"Maybe we should do more of this?" Nitro asks.
"You mean asking the entertainers to spike each other now and then, instead of just using their servos and mouth, or toys?"
"No — well, that too — I meant the hotpants thing. Your hydraulics would look really powerful working under just some thin fabric when you rail Crosshairs into next week." There's a loud clang of metal hitting metal. "Ouch! I mean, you could fuck Dreadbot instead, and Crosshairs wouldn't be able to keep his servos off you."
Jazz snorts. "Like Crosshairs needs more incentive." He murmurs into Barricade's audial, finding his rhythm again. "Ya close, babe?"
"So close!" Barricade grinds out, because even if Jazz lost focus for a few seconds, he was so revved up to begin, with it doesn't take much.
"Good." Jazz says, increasing the pace.
Barricade overloads hard, fingers digging into the back of the couch, and Jazz follows him over, pushing in deep.
"That was efficient." Nitro says.
"Short but sweet. They could work a bit on their stamina." Ironhide says.
"I give them five for enthusiasm, and initiative, but only three for effort." Springer says.
Barricade flushes, because he didn't realize that they had such a large audience.
"I'll pull out now. Ya better keep my jizz inside, ya don't wanna need ta clean the couch." Jazz mutters sternly in Barricade's audial.
"Yes, Sir." Barricade answers.
"Hey, Springer! What do you say, should we start wearing hotpants too when we fuck our little glitches? I think your butt would look great like that." Nitro says, and Ironhide groans.
Springer laughs. "My pelvic plating already kind of look like hotpants."
"More like briefs, actually." Hatchet says as he walks in.
"I guess that means Springer will have to wear a thong to up his sexyness." Nitro says, wiggling his optical ridge.
"Everyone always talk about my aft! This is why I always have the glitches pick things up for me." Springer snickers.
"Well, ya do have a nice aft." Jazz says to Springer.
"Talking about aft, I guess that hot little piece right there is good to go again." Springer says, pointing at Barricade.
"He is! I've creamed him up a bit, but he's slick, n' needy after his sick leave, n' eager ta get some good cock." Jazz says, motioning to Barricade as if he's showing off a thing he's trying to peddle.
He can't even be offended by it, because something about Jazz offering him to these bots is kind of arousing.
Chapter Text
"Ratchet will send me a health certificate this afternoon." Barricade says, because it's not impossible that they really want to wait for that.
"You said that you're clean. That's good enough for me." Hatchet shrugs — which looks a bit peculiar, since he's on all fours — and steps forward.
"Then you trust him." Ironhide says. It's not an accusation, more like a musing, as if Ironhide hasn't quite decided himself if Barricade is trustworthy.
Ouch, but he does kind of deserv that after the mess he got himself into by not being truthful.
Hatchet snorts. "I'm from Kaon. That someone has an inbound certificate that they're clean is far more than I'm used to. And we will know that he lied if the certificate never shows up."
"True, but then the damage is already done." Nitro says, his plating flapping slightly, as if he's trying and failing to keep it from the disgusted shudder. "It's just a few hours wait."
Back in the beginning, when Nitro was constantly trying to get Barricade into berth, he never would've thought that Nitro of all mechs would have 'it's just a few hours' in his vocabulary.
"I figure he wouldn't lie about it to his... you know?" Hatchet waves in Jazz's general direction. "Lover?" He asks, as if he isn't quite certain how to define a relationship. "Besides, I don't think he's stupid enough to do something that would put them both out of commission, and think he'll get away with it."
Hatchet grins at Barricade, all sharp denta, eight bright optics locked on the smaller mech, suddenly all predator. Barricade whimpers, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, because there's something quite arousing about that kind of focus.
Ironhide makes a thoughtful noise.
"Fuck it, I'm in. Both his intake and his valve has been clean the whole time, right?" Springer asks Jazz.
"Yeah."
"What, I'm a horny piggy." Springer says to Nitro, who's frowning. "Please tell me what he can do." Springer asks Jazz.
"Hey, I was first!" Hatchet growls.
"Calm down, gentlemechs, there's enough for all o' ya!" Jazz says, holding his servos up in a supplicating gesture. "Ya can either pick a hole each, or form a line."
Jazz is surprisingly good at playing the pimp.
"What do you want?" Springer asks Hatchet.
"Valve."
"Good." Springer turns back to Jazz. "I want his intake."
"Well, if ya wanna go at tha same time, I suggest tha table. Either on his back, or on all fours. His aft is pretty ta look at from behind, but he's also good at deepthroatin' when he's on his back."
Barricade rubs his legs together.
This dirty talk about him is kind of arousing when it's Jazz who does it, and they're among friends.
Chapter Text
"It's easier for me if he's on all fours..." Hatchet suggests.
"I guess you're right. Maybe we need a higher table? Mean, now that you live here for a while, it would be kind of practical for when we want to do this." Springer muses.
"Or one of those wedge pillows." Hatchet turns to Jazz. "We've decided on the how, so go ahead and get him in position."
Jazz rubs the digits on one servo together. "Credits up front. Ye know the rules." He says slyly, grinning at them.
Both Nitro Zeus and Ironhide start to laugh, Ironhide slow clapping. "You know, if Springer has blown all his credits again, Barricade had a great solution for giving him a credit. I'll make sure he pays up." Ironhide says.
Springer flips him off. "I didn't blow all my credits yet. I'm trying the mature and responsible approach this week."
"Are you doing the same?" Ironhide asks Nitro.
"Not for long! I've found wedge pillows in a shop that ships to Cybertron, and that shop has hotpants in all sizes..."
Barricade squawks when his aft receives a slap at the same time as Ironhide punches Nitro's upper arm. "Are ya still standin' 'round here?! Get on tha table! Tha gentlemechs need some appreciation." Jazz growls.
Barricade hurries up on the table, getting down on all fours. He wiggles his aft to show off to Hatchet, and looks up to meet Springer's optics, licking his lip-plates.
Digits slip through his folds, testing how wet he is, and when it's found satisfactory, Hatchet steps onto the table with his arms.
Front legs? It's kind of what they are, but at the same time, he has real servos, and not paws, and it feels kind of weird to call it front legs on a mech, even if he walks on all fours...
Hatchet's spike slides inside, and Barricade almost goes cross-opticed, moaning loudly, when it rubs against all the primed sensors inside him.
Finally!
Springer pressurizes his spike, holding it out for Barricade, and the Saleen eagerly licks the head, cleaning away the pre-transfluid beading there. He sucks at the tip of the spike, trying to suck it into his intake and urge Springer forward, because he doesn't want to rock forward himself.
The cock moving slowly inside him is too good to move away from.
Chapter Text
Barricade is so revved up, it doesn't take long for him to overload. He doesn't even need to touch his node, his charge runs rampant from just having two cocks inside him.
With Jazz overseeing.
He wails around Springer's spike, rocking back against Hatchet.
"Woah, I know you said he was needy, but that was quick!" Springer says.
"Yeah, he doesn' take ta not get any very well." Jazz snickers.
Barricade flushes, but for once, it's not a bad kind of embarrassment.
He really is so needy. He never was this crazy horny after just a week of not getting any. And he has been masturbating too...
The mechs fucking him hasn't overloaded, though, so they're not stopping. One of Hatchet's servos curls around Barricade's hip for better leverage, rocking him back and forth. Springer holds still, letting Hatchet set the pace, and everytime Barricade is pushed off Hatchet's spike, he's pushed onto Springer's. Barricade tries to angle his helm to let the cock as deep into his throat as possible.
His charge is slowly building again — already, he really is so needy — but there's one thing more that he wants, something that is kind of surprising.
He wants something in his ass too.
That used to be something he allowed others to do, something he learned to kind of enjoy physically, but it has never been a thing he has missed when he isn't getting it.
It was good the last time these mechs all fucked him, and he had a cock in every hole.
::My, ah, my port feels a bit empty...:: He comms Jazz, flushing with embarrassment again.
::Does it now?:: Jazz snickers.
::Yeah.::
"Excuse me, gentlemechs, this voracious li'l creature jus' looks best with a bit o' extra stuffin'. My apologies for not properly preparin' him for ya." Jazz steps closer.
Hatchet pulls out, and lets go of Barricade, leaning back to balance on his pedes. Barricade whines at the loss.
"Even a pacifier isn't enough for him." Springer says, rocking his hips.
Barricade sucks the spike in his intake more vigorously, but most of his focus is trained on what Jazz is doing. Something cool presses against his port, and Jazz pumps it a couple of times, then it slowly slips in deeper. The widest part passes a point of his calipers, and then it's almost sucked inside, settling behind his calipers. Barricade can feel something still outside of him, pressing against the rim of his port. It feels nice.
"That looks nice." Hatchet says.
"And he'll be a bit tighter for ya."
Hatchet grabs Barricade's hips — this time with both his servos, remaining on two pedes — and then he pushes inside again, groaning.
"He really feels tighter. And that looks really hot."
"I told ya." Jazz says smugly.
Chapter Text
Barricade overloads again, and this time, he pulls Hatchet with him. Hatchet presses in deep with a groan, spike pulsing when he shoots his load. Springer thrusts into Barricade's intake a couple of times — Barricade doesn't have the wherewithal to focus on his technique for the blowjob — and then he overloads too.
When they pull out and let go of him, Barricade sinks down on the table, stretching out on his front. Nitro and Ironhide claps.
"Five out of five for enthusiasm." Nitro says.
That really hit the spot.
Both Hatchet and Springer leave data sticks on the table for him, and Barricade lazily grabs them, plugging one in.
It's a tip. Credits are nice, but right now, just the good fucking would've been enough for him.
"While your effort was five out of five, I only give you three for the visual." Nitro says, and Barricade looks up. "You would've gotten higher points if you had worn hotpants. Your butt is just too cute to be covered with bulky plating." He snickers, pinching Springer's aft.
Springer squawks, then he cackles a laugh, and their usual tussling ensues. They fall to the floor, wrestling and laughing.
"If you wore hotpants, I'd give you a wedgie right now!" Springer laughs.
"Is that even a threat?"
"I don't know. We should try doing one on someone and ask how it feels." Springer sounds strained, and it's probably because Nitro is winning the wrestling match.
"This visual really is five out of five, though." Hatchet says, pulling on the thing still sitting in Barricade's port.
Barricade arches his back as the thing presses against the inside of his calipers.
It feels nice.
"What is it?"
"A butt plug."
"I figured as much, but it felt different when Jazz put it in. Cool."
"It does look cool."
Barricade rolls his optics. "I meant temperature wise."
"Well, it's made of anodized aluminum, and it's a very pretty rainbow of colors. I'll send you a picture." Hatchet says, pulling on the plug again, making Barricade arch his back even more, lifting his hips.
He receives the file, and opens it.
It really is kind of pretty.
Like Hatchet said, it's anodized in a rainbow of colors, and the part that's visible is adorned with a crystal, catching the light to look like it too is shining in a multitude of colors.
Some bling that he could wear in secret, inside his panel, and only he, and the mechs he choose to show it would know about.
He feels naughty just thinking about it, and suddenly, his valve is starting to heat up again.
Good thing that Hatchet already is in position.
Chapter Text
"You don't have to work tonight. I'm giving you and Jazz the night off to spend it together." Ironhide says quietly to Barricade when Hatchet is done with him, kneeling by the table Barricade is still sprawled on.
Everyone else is still waiting for the certificate to come in before they want to do anything with Barricade. The Saleen slowly picks himself up from the table.
"But I want to make things right, and make the credits I've lost you while on sick leave. And aren't your Brothers going to be disappointed?"
"Probably, but you should make things right with Jazz, and Jazz really has been earning a night off, performing very well lately."
"You know, I have a proposal..." Barricade says, spark speeding up. "Jazz hinted that he's dreaming about a special kind of date, and it would be the perfect surprise."
"Go on..."
"He wanted to drink fizzy energon in a hot tub, with lots of glowing crystals around him, something like what you see in romantic movies. I can get the props, but I don't have a hot tub... So, if you book us both for the night, your Brothers can't say anything about it, right? We borrow your hot tub for a while, and I make Jazz really happy. Then you can join us afterwards for a night of fun, as payment for letting me do this." Barricade says quietly, glancing at Jazz to make sure he's not paying attention and might overhear.
Ironhide grins slowly. "I like how well you're adapting to life here. This is definitely a deal I can go along with." He says quietly. "Do you have everything you need, or do you need to do some shopping?"
"I'd need to go shopping, so I guess someone needs to keep Jazz occupied while I do so."
"Send a list to Dreadbot, and wire him the credits. He can set everything up too, to really keep Jazz in the dark."
"Dreadbot? Not Crosshairs?"
It feels like Crosshairs often is responsible for these kinds of things, so he's a bit surprised that Mister I don't do love is the one Ironhide would appoint to prepare a romantic date.
Ironhide snorts. "Dreadbot is the one most versed in what would be appreciated in a situation like that, he has some real life experience with 'normal' civilian relationships. Crosshairs might very well think that it would be more fun with glow in the dark sex toys instead of crystals, and a disco ball butt plug to light things up a bit more."
"This sounds too specific to be something that hasn't happened."
Ironhide laughs. "No, actually I made it up. But I know pretty well how Crosshairs's processor works, and that doesn't seem far fetched."
Which is kind of sweet, even if it doesn't seem like they do romantic dating in the hot tub, which is kind of a pity. He likes the idea of them having something special behind closed doors. Or maybe there is a disco ball somewhere in Crosshairs's toy drawer...
Chapter Text
::I hope this is ok with you, I don't want to impose, and give you more work, but Ironhide said I should ask you. I'm setting up a bit of a date for Jazz, to make things right, and I need some supplies.:: He says when he gets ahold of Dreadbot.
::I am fine with shopping for, since it is for that reason. What you did to Jazz was shitty, but I've heard that you're doing your best to make things right, and this is anorher step in the right direction. So, what do you need.::
::I've made a deal for borrowing Hide's hot tub. I know there's great lighting in there for making it cozy, but I know Jazz mentioned glowing crystals at one point, so a bunch of those. And some fizzy energon. I think he likes the slightly sweeter type. I don't know, I'm not very good at this? Is there anything else that would be a nice gesture?::
::I could get new, fluffy towels, and fold them like in a hotel if you think that would be nice. And put a treat on top. Maybe a few nice goodies in a pretty bowl? Have you tried the crystals that grow on the shores of the Mithric Sea?::
::Sounds good. I haven't tried exactly those crystals, just the regular grown ones.::
::They're delicious. Expensive, of course, since they grow on the coast of the Badlands, and the harvest has to be done by servo, but they're so worth the credits. A whole different level than the ones from farms. And there's always something special about the kind of treats nobody can replicate.::
::Alright, buy a few of those too. I've wired you some credits, if you come up with something else we might need, you can get it. I think you're better at this than I am.::
::Will do. I'll set everything up for you, so Jazz won't have any idea what's going on.::
::Thanks, I really appreciate it.::
::Maybe you can return the favor some other time, if I need help fixing something like this?::
Dreadbot sounds a bit insecure and hesitant, and it's kind of sweet that he asks for this, and Barricade really wishes he'll be asked to return the favor at some point.
It would be such a pity if he never gets to have a date like this, and he certainly deserves a bit of romance, even if Dreadbot is still trying to convince himself that he doesn't do love.
::Of course I will!:: He says, even if he suspects that it won't happen if Dreadbot doesn't find a pleasurebot to not be in love with.
::I'll get to work then, over and out!:: Dreadbot sounds like he's back to his usual feisty self when he hangs up.
It's exciting, because it'll be kind of a surprise for himself too what it'll be like. He never did something like this, and since Dreadbot is setting things up, he won't know what it'll look like, and if Dreadbot comes up with some extras.
Chapter Text
::Dreadbot is done, so you can bring Jazz any time you're ready.::
::That's, great. Thanks.::
"Hey, Jazz! Hide just commed me, letsy go to his room." Barricade says to Jazz, who's sitting by the bar.
"'kay." Jazz answers, quickly emptying his drink, before hopping down from the stool he's sitting on. "Are these good enough?" He points at the hotpants he's wearing.
"You look wonderful, as always." Barricade says.
"Thanks, babe." Jazz says with a silly little grin playing on his lips. "Are ya wearin' tha bling?"
Barricade starts laughing. "No, I don't. Maybe I should have?"
"Well, it did look very good in ya, but I do understand if ya don't wear it all tha time."
Maybe he should've worn it? This is a special occasion, after all. But then again, they won't fuck in the hot tub — even if Ironhide didn't state that as a demand, he knows that Ironhide doesn't want transfluid in the tub, so they won't get to any spiking while in there — and he doesn't know how long he can wear it before it gets uncomfortable, and it would be kind of disruptive if he had to remove it halfway through the night. He should try wearing it like that sometime when he can do it without the pressure to wear it for a certain amount of time.
Ironhide's door slides open for them, and the big mech is sprawled on the berth, fiddling with a data pad. The low cackling noises, and grunts indicate that he's playing some sort of game. He looks up when they enter.
"Well, hello there, little mechs. Looks like you could use a shower." He says.
Jazz looks down at himself, inspecting his frame, field suddenly a bit embarrassed, as if he's self-conscious about his cleanliness.
Ironhide momentarily offlines one optic in a wink to Barricade while Jazz is inspecting himself.
"Good idea." Barricade says. "Come on, Jazz."
He leads the way into the washracks, glancing towards the tub. The lights in there are a bit brighter than the usual standby mode, but the shower is lit so brightly, it's not that noticeable. He decides to play along with Hide's feigned suggestion, walking into the shower stall.
"Oh, this is my favorite solvent. Didn' know Hide uses that too." Jazz says, grabbing the bottle.
Thank Primus for Dreadbot, and his knowledge of dates, and Jazz's tastes.
Barricade grabs one of the fluffy sponges, and helps Jazz clean his back, keeping it chaste and kind of boring and effective to not give away that they're not heading straight to Ironhide's berth when they're done.
They can make it more fun when they're showering after the bath.
Jazz reaches for the storage unit where Ironhide keeps clean towels as soon as he's out of the shower.
"Don't bother. We should take a bath too."
"What? Now? But Hide..."
"Hide is fine with it. Come on." Barricade says, holding out his servo.
Jazz takes it, still a bit hesitant,. It he allows himself to be pulled into the alcove where the tub is.
::How do you shut the lights in the shower?:: He asks Ironhide.
::Control panel on the right side of the tub.:: The lights shut off before Barricade does more than spot the panel. ::I also have an app.:: Ironhide adds, sounding smug.
::Thank you.::
He looks at Jazz, who's just staring at everything, intake hanging open.
"Barricade?"
"Yes, babe?"
"I, uh, this...?" Jazz waves his servo around to indicate everything.
It really is perfect.
Bioluminescent crystals are strewn on the ledge around the tub, and the inbuilt lighting is set very low, almost made redundant by the crystals. The promised fluffy towels are folded neatly on the bench, topped with fancy single pack gels. There's a bottle of fizzy energon, flute glasses, and a bowl with the wild grown crystals, all neatly lined up by the recliner seats at the far end of the tub.
"I hope it's something close to what you were imagining?"
Jazz whips around, throwing his arms around Barricade's neck. "It's perfect! Wow!" He squeals, then he presses his lip-plates against Barricade's.
"Come on, let's get in." Barricade grins, tugging Jazz along before the kiss derails even before they've gotten into the tub.
Chapter Text
Barricade opens the bottle, the corck popping when he twists it out. Jazz giggles happily, and the smile on his face is one of the cutest things Barricade has ever seen.
He looks both excited and carefree, and swept up in the moment.
Jazz looks around, taking in the arrangements, while Barricade pours the energon. He hands Jazz one of the glasses, and grabs the other one for himself, taking everything in too, making mental notes to be able to replicate this at some point.
Maybe it would be worth it to save up for a tub of their own? So they could do this now and then.
"To us, but mostly to you, because you're the most wonderful mech I know, and I'm so glad that I get to share my life with you. And that you forgive me when I'm being an idiot." Barricade says, raising his glass.
"Aaw, babe!" Jazz says, clinking his glass against Barricade's. "To us, because without you, this wouldn't be a relationship — good times, and bad."
They sip the energon, and Jazz makes a noise of pleasure. Barricade can understand why, because the energon is really good, a kind he hasn't tried before, but one he will definitely buy again.
"Rumor says that these are really good." He says, picking up one of the crystals in the bowl. "Want the first bite?" He asks, holding it out.
It feels a bit cheesy, but at the same time it doesn't feel as presumptuous as taking it between his denta. He can't be sure if Jazz would find that off-putting.
"I'd love the first bite!" Jazz says. He leans in to take a bite, lip-plates catching the tips of Barricade's digits, and Jazz sucks at them for a second while letting the piece of crystal roll over his glossa. He hums happily. "They are delicious!" He grabs the peice Barricade is still holding, offering it up to Barricade. "They're so soft, and juicy! First, you get some sweetness, but when you bite into it, it turns into a cool gel that's kind of tart, but not sour."
On a whim, he snatches the bit with a low growl, and Jazz shrieks, then he starts to giggle again. Barricade bites into the morsel, and then he groans.
"You are right, they're so delicious."
Jazz sips his drink, and then he grabs another one of the crystals, biting a piece off of it. "Could I interest you on another piece?" He says cheekily, sticking his glossa out, the piece balancing on the tip of it, his glossa tinted by the juice from the crystal.
Barricade leans forward, sucking on Jazz's glossa, stealing the piece. He chews it quickly and swallows it. "I think this one was even more tasty. I need seconds." He says, pressing his lip-plates against Jazz's, nipping at his bottom lip, then he slowly licks the bite.
Jazz answers, opening his mouth to allow Barricade's glossa entrance, meeting it with his own. They savor the kiss, slow and sensual, deepening it, before they break apart. Jazz looks flushed and breathless in a way he rarely does, and Barricade can't help but feel a bit smug about it.
"You should probably eat that one. Get a bit of energy into your systems." He says, nodding to the piece Jazz is still holding.
Barricade sips his drink, watching as Jazz sucks the crystal into his intake, a silly little grin playing on his lips.
So totally worth it.
Chapter Text
Most of the fizzy energon has been consumed, and there's only a few of the crystals left, but he isn't focused on that, those things are left forgotten on the ledge. Their slow and sweet kissing has been heating up, and now they've advanced to petting. Barricade has brought Jazz over the edge with his digits, and he's getting close too under Jazz's skilled ministrations.
"If we want to get to the spiking, we should take this to the shower." He pants against Jazz's neck-cables his legs stiffening when he bucks up against Jazz's servo.
"Is that what ya wanna do?"
"I, ah," he breaks of when Jazz flicks his node just so, "I want this overload." He says, because it feels like a more immediate goal than spiking, or getting spike for that matter.
"Then I've got ya." Jazz murmurs, nipping at Barricade's shoulder. One servo starts to fiddle with the base of Barricade's shoulder-wing, tweaking cables and brackets a bit hesitantly. "Tell me if I do this right?" Jazz asks, sounding a bit insecure when he tugs lightly on a relay.
"Mmm, just like that." Barricade hums when Jazz finds a particularly sensitive lever switch, flicking it back and forth.
The digit circling his node increases the pace, doing one circle around the node, and then one stroke straight over it, repeating the pattern. It brings Barricade's charge up quickly, and combined with the tweaking of his shoulder-wing, he's racing towards the edge.
When he overloads with a loud wail, Jazz nips a bit harder on his neck-cable, then he immediately soothes the bite with broad strokes of his glossa. "Ya're mine, n' now everyone will see." Jazz says smugly, looking at his handiwork that probably left a mark.
Barricade let's his helm loll back against the edge of the tub, his frame going limp with his post-overload bliss. He looks at Jazz's cute little grin of satisfaction when the Solstice studies the mark on Barricade's neck.
"I fragging love you." Barricade mumbles, not even really thinking about the words, they feel so natural rolling out of his vocalizer.
Jazz looks him deep in the optics, looking a bit stunned at first, then he cracks a wide grin, throwing himself around Barricade's neck, kissing the spot he bit just moments ago.
"I love ya too!"
Chapter Text
They immediately start to kiss again, Jazz slipping into Barricade's lap, servos wandering all over each other with new fervour.
"Take it ta tha shower this time?" Jazz asks, before immediately swallowing Barricade's attempt at an answer by kissing him again.
Barricade nods, cupping Jazz's aft. "Yes." He manages to say before catching Jazz's tongue by sucking at it. "I'd carry you, but I think we would end up in a pile when I try to get us out of the tub."
It would be kind of hot to do it, but he isn't as powerful as the Brothers, and with a bit of oil under his pedes, this could quickly turn into a trip to Ratchet.
"Are ya callin' me fat?" Jazz says, but he's grinning so he's not really offended.
"Just cuddlable. Is that a word? You're quite huggable."
"Smooth save." Jazz says, slipping out of Barricade's lap, lacing their digits, pulling him along
"That eager, huh?" Barricade says when he has to hurry to get up, or he'd be dragged along through the oil.
"Oh, shut up! Like ya weren't all desperate a few hours ago." Jazz giggles.
"Yeah, but I'd gone without for days!"
"Mh-hm." Jazz doesn't sound convinced at all. "Ya know, it's a shame ta use these fluffy towels for that oil. Save them for after tha shower?"
"Sounds good to me."
Jazz wipes his pedes on the mat to wipe off the excess oil, and then he tippy-toes into the shower stall looking rather ridiculous doing so.
"Uhm, babe? I got good night vision, but this will turn quite ridiculous..."
"Hold on." Barricade says, getting to the controls. He starts the light, then he follows Jazz into the shower.
Jazz has started the water, but it just pearls, and runs off his oil-slick frame.
It looks quite delicious.
"You're so slick." Barricade purrs, pressing up against Jazz's back.
"Oh, yeah, n' not just my plating." Jazz breathes suggestively.
Barricade slips his servo between Jazz's legs, exploring his slick folds, and then dipping his digit inside Jazz's warm valve.
"Very slick indeed. So, have I earned to use my spike when I pleasure you?"
Jazz spreads his legs, arching his back, his chest and servos braced against the wall.
"Oh, yes! Ya've earned ta choose which hole ta take too." Jazz mewls, wiggling his hips.
Chapter Text
It's a very tempting offer.
Barricade knows how good it feels with a tight port around his spike. But this night has been about doing something special for Jazz, and he knows what Jazz isn't all into taking it back there, even if he has gotten used to doing it.
It would feel like getting paid for something he did without thinking about himself, without any hidden motives.
"Very tempting," he purrs, stroking the rim of Jazz's port, "but I think I'll save this for some other occasion."
He lines up with Jazz's valve, and slides inside with a groan. Jazz moans, arching his back more to meet Barricade.
"Oh, babe, I missed ya." Jazz says.
"I missed you too." Barricade grunts through clenched denta.
He isn't going to last long.
Barricade starts circling Jazz's node quickly, and he knows that it might seem desperate, but it would be even worse to shoot his load before Jazz even gets close.
"I want you inside me when I'm done." He pants into Jazz's audial.
Jazz mewls wordlessly, valve clenching at the words.
"I want you to give it to me as good as you take it." Barricade grinds out, earning another moan.
Jazz is getting off on the dirty talk.
"I love the way your wet little valve clench around my spike, and I want you to make me squeeze you the same way."
The noise Jazz makes is downright filthy, and he rocks back to get Barricade deeper, even though it's impossible.
Barricade changes pattern with the stroking on Jazz's node — in case the node is getting numb from the constant stimulation — and Jazz squeals, valve clenching again. Jazz's servos scrabble against the tiles, but it doesn't seem like he has a real goal with it, and there's nothing to grab on to. Barricade pistons his hips faster, allowing himself to chase his overload now that Jazz seems to be teetering on the edge.
Jazz comes first, valve pulsing heavily around Barricade's spike, and his wail is so loud, Barricade is certain that it could be heard from three rooms away, even with the heavy soundproofing. Warmer liquid than the water in the shower drips on his plating, and he realizes that he made Jazz squirt.
It tips Barricade over the edge too, and he pushes in deep, his spike pulsing in time with the contractions of Jazz's valve as he spills his transfluid. He leans against Jazz when his spike starts to depressurize, resting his helm on Jazz's shoulder, feeling content in a way he seldom has before.
He loves Jazz, and Jazz loves him back.
Chapter Text
It's easy to go along with Jazz sort of mechhandling him, smashing Barricade's back against the wall.
"Ya'd like me ta pound ya good against this wall?" Jazz growls, slotting his leg between Barricade's.
Barricade grinds down against Jazz's thigh to get some friction. "Yes!" He hisses.
There's something so arousing with Jazz being a bit commanding and rough.
Jazz reaches down, hooking hoa arms under Barricade's legs, lifting him. It's not quite as smooth and easy as when one of the Brothers does it, but Jazz is stronger than he looks, so he manages. Jazz fumbles the lining up a bit, his spike at first slipping over Barricade's valve-lip, but then he hits home, sliding inside. Barricade mewls when Jazz bottoms out. His spike is to short to mash his ceiling node, but instead he's treated to the different sensation of the head of Jazz's spike just barely brushing the node. It teases in a good way, a gentle stimulation that's tantalizing in it's own way.
"If ya want anythin' on your anterior node, ya better fix that yarself. I can't reach." Jazz says in that snappy, commanding voice that Barricade is quickly coming to love.
"Yes, Sir! Do you mind if I use a toy?"
"Toy?" Jazz says, sounding almost confused.
"A vibrator instead of my digits."
"Why would I mind?"
"I don't know. I just thought you were in control, so I figured you wanted to decide this too."
It takes a second or too, but then Jazz grins wickedly the moment he realizes that Barricade is playing the game.
"Fine, ya can use a toy."
Barricade unsubspaces the vibrator he hasn't tried yet, the same type as the one he got from Ironhide when they solved the step-sire issue. He starts it up, placing it against his node, then he squirms, surprised by how intense it feels with the vibrations, almost like they reach sensors deeper than he can get at with his digits.
Jazz is studying what he does, even though he's thrusting into Barricade.
"Ya've gotta try that on me sometime." He says when Barricade whines.
Barricade is racing towards his overload quicker than he ever had before, surprised at how quickly he's getting there. "I will!" He squeaks. "I'm close..."
"Then I better hurry up." Jazz says, starting to thrust in earnest.
Barricade overloads hard, arching his back, hips jerking uncontrollably. Jazz momentarily loses his balance when Barricade pushes against him, rhythm faltering, but he manages to steady himself, pounding into Barricade with fervour, before pushing in deep, pumping Barricade's already slick valve full of transfluid. Barricade slumps, and Jazz leans against him, resting his helm on Barricade's chest-plates.
"I love you." Barricade says, grinning with dopey joy.
Everything is so fucking right.
Chapter Text
Both of them satisfied for the moment, they start to clean up.
::Is it ok if I leave everything in here until tomorrow? I can clean it up at the same time as I change the sheets.:: Barricade comms Ironhide.
He's feeling a bit lazy after everything, which may be understandable, but not really good, considering that Ironhide is waiting for them to have a tumble with him.
But then it's even smarter to save the energy for the important stuff.
::Sure.::
They finish up, wiping each other down with the luxuriously soft and fluffy towels, eating the gels — delicious, and dense in energy, something they certainly need right now — and then they stand there for a few moments, just looking at each other.
"Thank ya for this. It really was everythin' I've been fantasizin' about." Jazz says, grinning at him.
"It was my pleasure, I've really enjoyed it too."
"Of course ya have, good sex all evening with this hot li'l mech..." Jazz says sassily, pushing his hip out in a pose, before doing a twirl to show off.
"That too. But just being here with you is plenty enough, the lovely interfacing is just a bonus."
"Aaw, babe!" Jazz says, wrapping his arms around Barricade's neck, pulling him in for a kiss.
The kiss is slow and sweet this time, full of their emotions, and it's a good ending for a lovely date.
"Is Hide waitin' for us now?" Jazz asks when they break apart.
"Yeah." Barricade says, wishing he had negotiated the entire night for themselves.
Not that they won't have fun with Hide, they most certainly will, but it would've been nice to just cuddle up in berth now, and rest.
"Come on then." Jazz says, sounding like he doesn't mind at all. He laces their digits, and then he pulls Barricade along.
The door slides open, and they step out into the berth room. The lights are dimmed, and Ironhide is sprawled on the berth, still playing his game, if the noises are anything to go by. He looks up when they both crawl onto his berth.
"Had a good time?" He asks.
"Mh-hm! It was so nice!" Jazz says. "Thank ya for lettin' us borrow tha tub!"
"It was nothing, really. It's not like it was an inconvenience for me."
"But it meant a lot for us." Barricade says, stretching out next to Ironhide. He strokes up the bigger mech's sturdy thigh.
Ironhide looks at his servo for long moments.
"You know what, I'll make myself scarce for a while, let you two rest for a bit. A hot bath does sound tempting." Ironhide says, getting off the berth.
::I didn't put everything away...:: Barricade says, suddenly feeling self-conscious about it.
Stretching it with Hide's hospitality.
::Like we said. I think I can live with a bunch of crystals around the tub.::
::I think there's some energon and crystals left. If you want leftovers, that is. I can't offer anything better. Well, I can get you something from the bar if you want.::
::At ease, mech. Leftovers are fine. It's not like I'm a prissy tower mech, who needs everything single packed just for me.::
::Help yourself then. And thanks again.::
:: Don't do anything I wouldn't do while I'm in the bath.::
Barricade snorts. ::I don't think that's possible.::
Chapter 717
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They cuddle up close, and explore each other's frames with lazy strokes, too sated to have sexual intentions with the touches.
It's nice, kind of like a gentle massage.
"Ya know, I've been thinking..." Jazz starts, but trails off.
"Mh-hm? Well, I thought it was getting a bit smokey in here."
"Oh, shut up, ya dork!" Jazz giggles, slapping Barricade's arm.
"Ouch! I'm kidding!" Barricade rubs his arm as of Jazz really did some damage.
"N' I was try'na be really serious here." Jazz pouts.
"I'm sorry babe, go on."
"I've been thinkin' 'bout what ya said 'bout spark-play? I wanna try it with ya."
Barricade bolts upright in the berth, whipping around to look at Jazz.
"You do?!"
"Yeah. I think ya were right. I wanna have my first time really mean somethin', but I don't wanna wait until — if — we decide ta get bonded. I think we can share that intimacy, n' it'll mean so much even if we don' get bonded. Somethin' special just for us." Jazz looks a bit flustered and hesitant.
Like a virgin who's about to have his first time, all innocent and nervous. It would be kind of funny for a long time prostitute to seem so inexperienced, if it wasn't so darned cute.
"Aaw, babe!" Barricade says, laying down to wrap an arm around Jazz. "Don't feel pressured into it, but I'm really happy that you want that too." He strokes Jazz's arm. "Not right now, though?" He adds, because even if it would be a natural progression on this night, he's not too keen on Ironhide walking in on them doing that.
The awkwardness of a first time with the added awkwardness of an audience.
"No, not tonight! I've been looking at those safety devices ya talked 'bout, but I think we should choose together, n' then do it in tha comfort of our own room."
"That sounds like an excellent idea."
Less spontaneous, but well thought through probably makes for a much better experience, and a safety device will help them to relax when doing it.
They fall silent, going back to fiddling with each other's plating, and Barricade's excitement about their plans to merge gives way for the tiredness following this days events. He feels himself start to slip into recharge, but he doesn't fight it. Jazz's servos have stopped their explorations, and he has probably fallen into recharge too...
Barricade is startled awake when the door to the washracks open, and Ironhide steps into the room. He hurries to arrange himself in an attempt at a sexy pose, that probably looks more like a haphazard sprawl. Ironhide grins, quirking an optical ridge.
"Ready to cash in on the deal?" Barricade tries to purr, but his voice — rough with recharge — comes out more of a croak.
Ironhide chuckles. "I think I can hold off on it to a different time. You both seem to need some rest." He nods towards Jazz, who's still out. "I think Nitro has hijacked my place, and my fun enough times to owe me to scoot over and share some of the room in his berth, and his little glitch. At least according to Dreadbot, who invited me over."
If Dreadbot is fine with being shared, and doesn't think his private time with Nitro is being interrupted, then he isn't going to complain about getting to go back to recharge.
"Have fun." He says when Ironhide steps out through the door.
"Will do. Sleep tight."
Notes:
I apologize for not answering comments yesterday, RL has been kicking my ass these last few days.
Chapter Text
Jazz helps him clear away all the remnants of their date the next day, and they clean Ironhide's washracks as an extra thank you. They keep the towels and the crystals, storing them in their room for use at another occasion.
They really should do something similar again.
"Babe? I don't need ta be anywhere right now, maybe we should take a look at those devices?" Jazz says, holding up a data pad.
"Good idea."
They crawl onto the berth, leaning against the headboard, and Jazz flips between several tabs.
"These are tha ones I've been lookin' at, but I'm open for suggestions if ya have a better idea?"
Barricade grabs the pad, flipping through the tabs again, and looks over the selection. "This is so hard. Isn't there a comparison generator or something?"
"I dunno. I haven't checked."
Barricade does a search. He doesn't find it, but he does find a few charts, linked to articles with reviews. He opens a few more tabs, and Jazz leans in to read with him.
"This one with two individual devices has the highest rating. It is kind of expensive, though..." He says, pointing to one of the devices Jazz had picked."
"Yeah. I kind of liked it because of the color." Jazz says sheepishly. "And the sales pitch was great too."
"It is kind of pretty. And hey, you can choose different colors for the two parts, so we could have a dedicated one each. It does say in this article that it's the best one they've ever tried. I think we should go for it."
Jazz beams, probably a bit proud that he managed to pick the best one, even if he didn't have any idea what he was doing. "I really want tha unicorn rainbow color."
"It's very pretty. I think I'll go for the dusk and smoke."
"Matches your paint job. I thought ya'd go for ruby sparkles. It would match your optics."
"I've never considered myself a sparkly kind of mech..."
"Never too late ta be fabulous! Besides, it would look pretty on tha nightstand. But tha black and gray one looks very classy."
"You know, I never thought we'd be discussing colors of sex toys to make them look fancy on display." Barricade chuckles. "Have we been around Crosshairs too much?"
Jazz starts to laugh. "I mean, we could use some more decorations, n' why not have those pretties out in tha open? We rarely have anyone else over, n' why not show off what we're doin'? It's not like anyone here is a prude, n' at least Dreadbot does spark fingering play."
Which reminds Barricade about how they could be asked for that at some point, and it sobers him up.
"Maybe you're right. These are not that expensive, considering the warranty. And we need them, so why not get something fancy for ourselves?"
Jazz grins. "We really should get fancy things for ourselves!" He says, flicking through the tabs back to the shop. He chooses unicorn rainbow for device one, then he's about to click the dusk and smoke for device two.
Barricade pushes his servo away. "You know what, I'm going to be a bit wild here. I want the ruby sparkles."
Jazz makes a noise of feigned shock, gaping in surprise, then it turns into a grin. "Ya're so wicked!" He says, then he clicks the color choice, and add to shopping cart. "It'll look so pretty on ya. In ya? I don' even know what ya look like with those plates open."
Barricade finishes the transaction to pay for the devices, but Jazz's comment makes him nervous.
He never opened up like that before. What are they getting into?
Chapter Text
::Time to go to work.:: Blackout says the second Barricade opens the connection.
Of course this time would come way too fast. Jazz is already back on duty, called to Springer's room.
::I know. I honestly thought you'd want to get a round before, though. You know, now that I've gotten my certificate of health. And you did have so much fun with the treatment.::
Blackout chuckles. ::Missed me?::
::I...ah...::
Did he? Well, not the treatment, of course, but the interfacing is always good at some point — even when he pulls one of his nasty stunts — and the pillow talk is always interesting.
::Maybe I did?:: Barricade answers with a question, because he doesn't want to give the conceited bastard more water to run his mill, and even if he isn't certain that he missed Blackout, he was getting increasingly disappointed as the day wore on, and he wasn't called to Blackout's room.
::You know, in this economy one can't always just throw one's credits on every little bit of entertainment one wants. Sometimes, one has to be patient, and wait. Sometimes, the entertainment waltzes in for free later on, when you least expect it.::
Barricade's temper rises quickly when the words sink in. ::You cheap ass!::
::I promise you that there isn't enough credits in the universe to pay for my ass.::
::Everything has a price, but that's beside the point. You don't want to pay me for it, so you're just waiting for me to finish my job, and then you expect to get a freebie?!::
::It's not that far fetched, as you often do precisely that. And I know that you were getting really horny there at the end of the treatment, and while you have gotten some good dick, chances are that you want more still.::
The worst part is that it's highly likely that he would've done exactly that. The bastard knows him, and his behavioral patterns far too well.
::It isn't like it's always a freebie, though. I do pay you sometimes.::
::Yeah, when you do things I didn't want you to do.::
::And you're so horny for credits, I suspect you would stop coming by if I only did things you explicitly asked for, and you didn't get any credits. Or do you think that would be better? A round of good, old-fashioned missionary facing — in-out-cum-over — and then recharging with our servos on top of the covers.::
Barricade flushes, because that really sounds like something he wouldn't go back for more than once, and only in the hopes of it not being like that the second time.
Which paints a gnarly picture of his hunger for credits, but the real centerpiece of said picture is his apparent want for at least some of the things Blackout does to him, and then he's back at square on with the whole consent issue, because he always thinks that he doesn't want it, but at the same time, he wouldn't go to Blackout if it was different, and what the hell...?!
::No, that wouldn't be better.::
::As we were, then.::
Barricade honestly doesn't know what to say. They should need a change in their dynamic, but he just can't pinpoint where the golden middle line is, so he can't even suggest anything.
::Get your healthy little ass down here now. You need to make your credits.::
Chapter Text
Being back on the street in itself may not be the nicest thing that has happened to him, but there's something to be said about returning to a familiar routine.
No more infection, no complications from his step-sire. Just doing his job, earning his credits, paying his rent, and then he can go home to his love.
Barricade's first customer is an easy bend over - wait for him to finish - thank you for the (think credits) fun time, Sir. Then he can go back to the corner he's sharing with Hot Rod tonight. They almost always share their corners, because it's nice to have someone to talk to while waiting for an "opportunity" to work.
"How does it work? You know, what you have with Jazz." Roddy asks.
"Uhm, fine?" Barricade says dumbly, because he doesn't exactly understand the question.
Roddy snorts. "That's kind of apparent. But I mean the sex. You both do this for a living — and I know you were not all that keen on it from the start — but then you still do it with each other, like a hobby or something."
"It's different with Jazz. Just like the Johns aren't the same as sleeping with the Brothers."
Hot Rod makes a thoughtful noise. "I guess there is some difference. It's not that I want it with the Brothers either, but there is a familiarity afterwards that can be nice. The cyg and a bit of conversation that they like to do before falling into recharge. But that's still disconnected from the sex."
"It's even more different with Jazz. Everytime I look at him, my spark does this extra revolution, and I just have to look a little bit longer, and I just can't believe that he wants to be with me. There's this deep connection we have that is strengthened when we interface. Like we can show each other every part of ourselves, and accept each other's vulnerabilities. And we can play, and try new things, and it feels safe, because we can talk about it, and opt out. And it's not just about my own gratification, I can give him pleasure, and take pleasure in seeing him enjoy it without actually getting any back, and it's fine." Barricade tries to explain what it's like. Granted that they weren't always good at trying new things, Primus knows that the first time Jazz took him in the port was anything but fun, or experienced with good communication, but they have learned. "The last part was discovered while I had my infection, though, and I was off limits. Before that, it was always about both of us getting to the finish line." He adds sheepishly.
Hot Rod nods, looking thoughtful. "I guess it doesn't help that no part at all with my so called relationship was good. I think I can understand what you mean, but I have never met a mech who really made me tick. I just don't feel it. Neither in my spark, nor between my legs."
"Do you even get aroused when you do it with the Brothers?"
"They can get me off, but it's very hard for me to reach an overload, so often, I fake it. If it's someone who wants me to get off too, some of them doesn't even bother, and I'm fine with that. Makes for less pressure on me."
"You don't play with yourself at all?"
"Nah. Makes for a tedious and boring experience, so I stopped that a long time ago. I just don't feel any need for it."
"Not with your spike either?"
"Sometimes, if I wake up with a morning stiffy, but it always winds up feeling like it's more like scratching an itch, and it's always disappointing, so only when enough time has passed, and I forget how boring it was."
"You don't even like getting a blowjob?"
"I... I've never tried that, actually. Never saw the point in asking someone to degrade themselves like that for me, and the thought of having someone on their knees in front of me doesn't really do anything for me."
"Well, tell me if you change your mind. I would be honored to give you that experience, and I wouldn't feel degraded by it."
Chapter Text
"I'll keep that in mind." Hot Rod says.
"No pressure, but the offer stands if you get curious." Barricade says, shrugging.
"Would you give me a pede rub?"
"I... Yeah? I think so?"
Not that he has ever given anyone a pede massage before, or gotten one for that matter, but if that's what Roddy wants, he could do it, right?
Hot Rod let's his helm loll back. "Primus, I love pede rubs. You know, that slow, firm but still gentle kind, that just unkinks every knotted wire..."
"Actually, I don't? I've never gotten a pede massage..." Barricade says, feeling inexperienced, and it's weird, because... yeah.
Hot Rod whips his helm around. "Never?!"
"No, I... I guess I just never thought about it."
"Then you should try it. You know what, I can do yours — show you the ropes — and then you can do mine. And when you've learned, you should do it for Jazz. He's probably going to enjoy it too."
"You've made me curious about this, and I really want to try it now."
"We could do it after the shift is over. Nothing beats winding down with some mid grade, and a pede rub."
It would be perfect; some company, a new experience, and a reason not to do exactly what Blackout is expecting him to do. The conceited bastard.
"Sounds like a plan."
Then a customer stops, waving Hot Rod over.
"Time to do my job." Roddy says, and if he's disgusted about it, nothing about his expression or field betrays that.
"Be safe."
Barricade busies himself with searching the data net for information about foot rubs; points to be extra careful with, and spots to put extra effort in.
"Well, hello there..." A mech leers, interrupting his reading.
"Hi, handsome." Barricade flirts. "What can I do for you, Sir?"
The mech looks him up and down. "What do you offer?"
"Depends on what you're willing to pay."
"Got anything we could party with?"
Barricade is flabbergasted for long seconds. "What? You mean like stimulants?"
"Well, I like a bit of sugaring on my treats. Prefer something that keeps me going."
::Uhm, Blackout? A dude is trying to get me to sell drugs to him.::
::So? Just say you don't deal. How hard can it be, you don't even have anything like that to sell. Do I really have to explain everything?:: There's a short pause. ::Or do you have drugs to sell? You can tell me right now,:: Blackout growls, but it turns into a dangerous purr, ::because if you lie about it, I'll still find out, and you will die much slower than if you confess...::
Barricade swallows nervously. ::I swear, I do not have drugs! I've fragged up enough lately, I'm staying far out of trouble.::
"Sorry, Sir, but I don't do that. I only offer other services..." Barricade says, smiling sweetly, dragging his digits down his own front to show off the goods.
The mech hums appreciatively. "Tempting enough in itself. I have a motel room not far from here. Join me?"
Chapter Text
It's the first time he's asked to follow someone to a room, and Barricade's spark makes an uneasy extra revolution.
"Sure." He still says, because he knows that Jazz did that, from that story he told about when a conjux walked in on Jazz and the customer.
::Going with a customer to a motel, ping you the location before I enter.:: He comms Blackout.
::M-hm, and no fucking lying about the correct location this time.::
::Absolutely not. One such debacle was quite enough, thank you.::
The mech transforms, and so does Barricade following him down the street. He pulls up a map, trying to figure out which motel it is, suddenly worried that they're going to leave Autobot territory, but just as they're approaching the border, the mech makes a turn, keeping them on the edge of it. The only motel in this area is one just off the highway going through the city, and Barricade is relieved, because that one is inside the territory. They pull up into the transformation lot in front of it, the mech transforming quickly to ogle Barricade while he follows suit.
"This way." The mech says, motioning for Barricade to walk in front of him. "Up the stairs, to the right. Room 205."
Barricade walks up the stairs, mulling over the differences compared to going up the stairs at home, followed by a Brother.
He'd put some extra sway into his hips if he was with a Brother. Maybe he should try a nervous tremble of his shoulder-wings the next time with Blackout? Which will not be tonight.
Thinking about the bastard Flier reminds him to ping his location, so he does, then he goes back to contemplate the differences between the types of mechs he fucks. This mech is just a regular customer, though, and while he does flirt a bit, and put on a customer friendly attitude, he doesn't do that much extra. It's not like he'll be paid more for that, and the mech is already horny for him, so why bother?
The door slides open as they approach, and Barricade steps inside, checking the room. It hardly looks like anyone lives there; no possessions scattered, the berth is still perfectly made, and there are no bags or suitcases.
"Just got into town? Or just needing a night of fun away from home?" He purrs to the mech as he turns around to face him. "It would be fun to mess up that comfy looking berth." He adds suggestively, stepping closer.
The mech smirks, looking him up and down again. "Something like that. So, what do I call you, pretty?"
Barricade has never been asked for his designation before, nobody has bothered with it when all they want is a warm hole to use for a quick fuck in an alley. Something inside him is reluctant about giving his real name, though.
"I'm Rampart."
Chapter Text
The mech quirks an optical ridge. "Rampart?"
Yeah, a rampart is sturdier than a barricade, an he knows how not tall he is, but he didn't have anything more clever thought out, and at least a synonym will be easier to remember.
"Mh-hm." He says, smiling at the mech, as if he's too dumb to notice the kind of rude amusement. "So, what should I call you, handsome?"
"Spinister."
The name seems vaguely familiar, but he can't place it. It tugs on his memory banks, something from long ago, but he just can't remember where he has heard it.
"So, Spinister, how do you want me?" Barricade purrs, stroking up the mechs thick arm.
He's usually not this solicitous with his customers, but in this situation, he feels quite lost, and it's easier to fall back on what he knows from the house, even if this is more than expected for the money he makes here. Spinster — why does his designation feel familiar — doesn't exactly seem to be in a rush.
"We never really went over the price list. Do you have some kind of menu, or something?"
"Oral is seventy credits, valve a hundred, port a hundred and thirty." Barricade rattles off.
"That's it?"
"I... I haven't had any other requests before?" Barricade says insecurely, spark sinking. "So, do you have anything special in mind? We could negotiate prices."
How far does he have to go before he can turn the customer down? And how does he put a price tag on something more advanced than just regular facing?
He tries his comm, to ask Blackout these things, but he receives nothing but the hollow sound of no reception. Barricade feels the smile on his face slip.
"Don't look so worried, little mech." Spinster purrs. "For now, I just want you to keep talking. I quite like the sound of your voice."
"What do you want me to talk about?" Barricade forces his voice to not tremble, while calculating his chances of taking the bulky mech down long enough to get out of this room.
"Tell me about your paint job. How come you chose one like that?"
"I... I always wanted to be an Enforcer."
Spinister steps around him, sliding his servos up Barricade's shoulder-wings. "Let me frisk you." Spinister groans, nibbling on Barricade's neck-cables, prodding a subspace generator with one of his digits.
"I want twenty credits for that." Barricade says, half hoping the mech won't find it worth it.
"Add it to my tab."
"Credits up front." Barricade says with a confidence he isn't feeling, holding out the payment console.
Spinister scoffs, but he plugs into it, transferring the credits. "This is kind of disruptive for the mood, are you going to interrupt everything to get paid first?"
"We could negotiate what you want, and then you can pay it all at once."
"Takes some of the spontaneity out of it."
"I guess it does."
The asshole could always do this with someone who don't want to get paid for it, who does it for fun. How about that?
Barricade still opens his pockets, and there's something about the efficiency with which Spinister does the search that's a bit alarming. He finds the pack of condoms, the lubricant, the vibrator, the rags, and all the other little knick knacks Barricade is carrying around, and the cyg of weed.
He should ask for a blade like the one Blackout has. Something built into his frame, that won't be found in a standard search. Just to keep himself safe.
"You weren't lying about not having any boosters." Spinister sounds half surprised. "That cyg is laced, though."
"I'm not selling, and I have a prescription for it."
Not that he needs to defend himself to a john.
"I'm sure you do. Good, this is good. Keep talking. Barricade."
Chapter Text
He has become a better actor during his time at the house, but his specialty isn't thrillers, but rather explicit content. Barricade knows he shouldn't stiffen, but his frame has already done that at the mention of his real designation, and he has given himself away.
"Relax, mech, I just want to talk to you." Spinister says, stepping away from Barricade.
"You know, if you just want some company, you could've just picked someone up from a bar. I'm sure you could find a talkative mech in the motel barbif you wanted to." Barricade tries to stall by being snarky, wracking his memory for clues to who this mech is.
But not too snarky, that could be dangerous too. He just needs to get out of the room, then he can comm Blackout.
"But they wouldn't have anything interesting to say. Go sit on the berth. Do you want a drink?"
"No, thank you. I need to drive back later, and I don't need a DUI right now." Barricade says, and even though he'd prefer to stand here, and let Spinister come around him to face him — which would put Barricade closer to the door — he doesn't know what the other is capable of, so he does as he's told.
Spinister hums. "Clever mech."
"Well, I'm not keen on getting in trouble, so I try to follow the laws and regulations."
"Squeaky clean. Just like all the items in your subspace. Nothing to see here, mecha, move it along."
"Let's cut the moose poop," Barricade says, using a term he has heard the Brothers use for slag talk, even though he isn't sure what moose poop really is, "you know my name, so you obviously wanted me personally. Why?"
Spinister's face turns serious, and he drops the charade. "Because I know where you came from. Let's face the facts; you were a police officer — not a very good one, but an officer still — and now you've managed to do what we have failed with for so long; you've found an in with the Autobots. You're placed smack in the middle of the organization we have tried and failed to take down time and again. Oh, we have tried to infiltrate those crews over and over, and several agents have vanished in the process. You are right where we need someone."
Spinister is a fragging cop!
Barricade's spark is spinning so fast, it feels like it's going to come out of his intake, or perhaps burst through his chest-plates. "I've already told you people, I'm not entrusted with anything of importance. It's not like I'm a Brother. I'm just an entertainer, and they are just my landlords."
"Entertainer. Is that why you're hooking on the streets?"
"A mech needs some extra cash."
"You must be filthy rich with the prices you demand."
"I'm doing well enough."
"So you wouldn't want something better for yourself? Your own place to live, a real job."
"Your coworker has offered me vague deals before to rat, but just like that time, I don't know anything of value to offer."
Spinister actually laughs. "My coworkers?! No-no, that was Local Enforcement, their ability to even put a dent in the organized crime is a joke. I'm with the Inter Citystate Intelligence Agency. We're going after the entire Autobot organization, planet wide. And I do have the authority to recruit infiltrators when it can bring our operation forward."
Chapter Text
"We'll make a proper deal, of course. Wipe your criminal record, relocate you, new identity. If you help us take them down, you could just do an add-on class, and then be employed by us. Doesn't that sound better than being sold on the streets?"
The words dangle like the sweetest morsel in front of a starving mech, just within reach.
"I-I... I don't know anything of value, nothing that can be pinned on them." Barricade says weakly, stalling.
He'd be back as he were, but with a promotion, and he'd never frag it up this time, he'd do the right things. But he needs to get Jazz included into the deal, but he can't say that right now, because then Jazz would be an obvious target for these mecha, Jazz would be Barricade's weakness, and could get in trouble. He doesn't really have anything to offer to ensure that he can get that written into the deal.
Except that the Brothers do have illegal guns — even if he doesn't know where they are, and the ones at the house have had their firing mechanisms removed and are technically just decorations — and the way Sideswipe disappeared, or who broke Sunny out.
"We could start easily: the trafficking..." Spinister trails off.
"I sell myself." Barricade says reflexively.
Prostitution is legal after all.
"So if I check your account, all the credits you make wind up there."
"I, ah, no..." Fuck! He doesn't know what the accounting system looks like!
"No? But you just said you sell yourself. Does it all wind up in your pimp's account?"
"Look, I'm terrible with finances, I'd go back to jail for tax fraud just because of some stupid mistake I'd make, and I don't want that. Their accountant handles everything; the taxes, deducting rent and everything, and then I get what I earn at the same time as my entertainer salary."
Hopefully that's a good enough explanation. The Brothers and the accountant have hopefully been clever enough to set everything up to make it perfectly legal.
Spinister makes a thoughtful noise. "So you don't have a pimp somewhere, overseeing what you're doing, making sure you don't go slacking off in an alley or something?"
Barricade hesitates for a second, and there's no way that Spinister doesn't notice that.
Is it illegal to hire someone for safety when hooking? Would it be fine to put it as if he's paying the Brothers to keep him safe??
"No."
Technically true. He doesn't need someone to force him to do his job. Even if that's a distasteful fact he doesn't want to divulge.
"So if I triggered your emergency signal, there wouldn't be an Autobot barging in here to grab his shareware?"
Chapter Text
Oh, fuck! It's probable that both Blackout, and Roadbuster would come to get him, since he can't get a comm out to give a status report, and tell them what kind of trouble he's in. They're not the kind to walk blind into a situation without back up. And he has no idea what they're carrying...
"Perhaps." He says nonchalantly after a too long pause, but Barricade's spark is spinning so quickly, it feels like Spinister can hear it. Or at least see the heightened heat output, because Barricade feels like he's burning up, and he has to force his cooling fans to not speed up too quickly. "But that doesn't mean much, really. Friends should look out for one another."
The quirk of Spinister's optical ridge is a sign that he isn't buying Barricade's little act.
"Just like family should. And speaking of friends and family, have you seen that step-sire of yours lately?"
"No," Barricade says slowly, spark speeding up even more, "it has been a while."
"Then you know nothing of the possible assault he went through."
"He did?!" Barricade says, trying to look surprised. "No, we don't keep in touch." He takes a deep vent. "For good reasons. I really don't like him, I'm not going to pretend I do, and I don't feel sorry for him if he was assaulted either. He deserves it in my opinion."
"Sounds like a motive."
"I haven't liked him since the day I met him. I'm finally out of jail, though, and since I like to stay out of jail, it would be ridiculously stupid to do something now, if I haven't for all the years from me moving out of that place up until now."
Logical, right? And the bastard can't have ratted, since Blackout would know about that.
"Motive is one thing, then there's opportunity. Which I can imagine is much easier with your new friends. Landlords. Or whatever you want to call them."
"Why are we even discussing this? I mean, you said possible assault... Is this a hypothetical question, or what?"
"I don't know. I was hoping you could shed some light on it. See, his friend filed charges out of concern, but your step-sire just said to the Enforcers that it was all good and fun up until a mishap with a bottle, and then he was just clumsy and fell. The injuries didn't quite add up with his story, though."
"I'm sorry, but I can't help you with that. He always was a pervert, though, so it's quite possible that he is telling the truth." Barricade says, feeling like he's trembling inside his plating.
At least his voice sounds steady. Bit that won't really help if his plating starts to clatter.
"I guess that's the reason why witnesses saw a mech fitting the description of Nitro Zeus at your step-sire's house the night this went down."
Chapter Text
Barricade really needs to swallow, his intake suddenly seems to produce twice as much lubricant as normal, but he knows that it would give away how nervous he is.
"I mean, I can't say I'd blame you for wanting to get back on him, it's quite natural." Spinister says.
He manages to swallow, hoping he was discreet about it, while Spinister talks.
"What I want or not doesn't matter much, though. It's one thing to think about hurting someone else, it's quite different to actually do it."
As he has learned by doing. And that's not even thinking about murdering someone.
"Indeed. Let's just hope that Nitro Zeus says the same thing when we speak to him. It would be awfully awkward if he tells us that you were there when you've said that you were not. You know, in the place you were expected to be, according to that witness."
Barricade's spark sinks, and he barely manages to keep from making a face when thinking about that witness, who was there to fuck him.
There's very hardcore loyalty between the Brothers, but how far will they go to protect a pleasurebot, if Spinister pushes Nitro to choose between himself or Barricade?
Then he catches on to something — later, he might wonder if it's because he's getting used to mind games and clever wordings from hanging out with Blackout — that changes the entire discussion.
"If he didn't file charges, then there's no case. Why are you even wasting your time with that sidetrack that has nothing to do with us?"
"Oh, I don't know. Sometimes mecha get much more inclined to speak up if they get the right kind of deals. You think your step-sire would become more talkative if his safety is guaranteed for the rest of his functioning? A nice, comfy house somewhere undisclosed for just telling the truth."
The worst part is that the bastard probably is pretty easy to bribe. If he thinks that they could keep him safe from the Brothers, he'd tattle, even more so when there's an added bonus of a cushy life, all paid for by wit sec.
"Maybe he would, but then he'd just tell you that I wasn't there. And neither of the brothers either." Barricade tries lying through his denta. "But I'm pretty sure you can't arrest Nitro when there are no charges.
"Who said anything about arresting him? I just like talking to mecha, like I'm doing now. That's not illegal."
"I'm sure he won't just talk to you anyway."
Spinister smiles lightly. "You'd be surprised how much I can find out through an easy conversation, such as ours."
Barricade doesn't know what to say to that.
It's hardly an easy conversation, though.
"But let's move on to nicer subjects. Like vacations. How was Kaon?"
Chapter Text
He shouldn't be surprised, Spinister do seem to have done his homework, after all, but somehow, he's still taken off guard, partially by the sudden change of subject.
The way the mech keeps piling on hints of how much he knows, just to back away from the subjects is unnerving. Barricade keeps waiting for Spinister to let the hammer fall, and drive in just how screwed Barricade — and all of them — is, like the predator toying with his prey finally tiring of the game, and deciding to pounce.
"It was... nice." He says, at the last second avoiding to say interesting.
Except the whole debacle with Dreadbot and Starscream, and Blackout's little game, and the orgy he didn't exactly feel ready for.
Spinister snorts. "Nice?! It's Kaon!"
"I'm not much for being snobbish about where mecha live, and not all of Kaon is a big slum anyway."
"I know that Kaon has different neighborhoods like any other city, some better than others. But still..."
"I guess it also depends on the company." Barricade says, pushing away the thoughts of all the less nice things with the trip. "We we're well taken care of, and we had a good time."
"With the Autobots of Kaon."
"Yes."
"Pray tell, what were you doing there?"
"I was accompanying the mechs who went there."
"I meant the entire delegation. Why did the Autobots go there?"
"To see their Brothers. As far as I know, it was a pleasure trip. They wanted to catch up with their friends."
"A pleasure trip. Is that why they brought prostitutes?"
"We are entertainers, we went there to entertain, and help out with serving drinks and things like that."
"And you have no idea what they were really doing there?"
"As I said; they wanted to catch up with their Brothers. All I heard was a lot of reminiscing, and some crude jokes, laughing, and just mechs kicking back, having a good time." Barricade says, and it isn't much of a lie. He knows that they handled some business, but all he heard and saw was mecha drinking, smoking, and fucking.
"What a coincidence that this little trip is so close in time to the freeing of Sunstreaker."
"A very unfortunate circumstance, but really, it is just a coincidence."
"And the way the footage from the raid shows mechs resembling some of the Autobots from Kaon is just happenstance. As is the very timely transfer of the mech designated Hatchet to the Polyhex chapter. Oh, yes, I'm sure it's all coincidence, now that you lost Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe seems to be missing for some reason."
Chapter Text
"I guess you don't have any evidence that it really was the Kaonian Autobots who freed Sunny. I mean, if there's anyone who knows how we can't take liberties with the law, it's me, and resembling someone who've done something bad wasn't a crime the last time I checked." Barricade says.
If Spinister gets impatient, he doesn't show it, and Barricade can't help but think that this is probably the point where Blackout would've begun the torture, if it wasn't already happening.
"There's also the mess with the jurisdiction; Kaonian Enforcement is so corrupted, they're not helpful at all. That's why I want someone on the inside, someone who can get me the evidence I want, and then I can so easily pull rank on the locals. I have no doubts that you went to the academy because you wanted to do good things, pit, I read your statement, I know you thought you were doing a good thing with your corruption too. Well, here's your chance to be the hero of the century. Get reinstated, be the one who does all those good things you wanted to do."
Suddenly the credit stick drops, and Barricade recognizes Spinister. He's had some mods, probably to obscure his identity, but he's still similar enough for Barricade to finally make the connection.
"We went to the academy together."
Spinister smirks slowly. "Could you prove that in a court of law? With facial recognition, I mean. Indeed, we did go there together. Our careers took vastly different turns afterwards, though." The last part is a leer, and Spinister's optics sweep up and down Barricade's frame.
Barriy works his intake, but no words come out.
"I know you couldn't prove it in court. Just like facial recognition doesn't work on the Kaonians for the freeing of Sunstreaker. But just like you know who I am, I know who did that, and I will bring them down, with or without your help. This is your chance to get back on track, get that career going, helping others. Just like you wanted to. But maybe you enjoy being a whore for some criminals?"
"Speaking of, I should get back to work. I'm not making any credits here."
Barricade is suddenly aware of how he has to explain this when he gets back. With how long he has been gone, and the only credits he has made was for the frisking, and it isn't enough to cover the time that has passed in a credible way.
"If you take my offer, you'll get all the credits you need to cover this night. And you'll walk out of here an undercover agent, instead of a prostitute."
There it is, dangling in front of him again: a future. In a hundred years from now, will he still be a prostitute, regretting that he didn't take the offer that could bring him his own home, a more regular job, a good income? His slate wiped clean, a fresh start to do everything right. Instead of endlessly selling his frame, with no bigger plans than tonight's fucking, the post-coital cyg, and the drink on the nightstand, and then repeat.
He turns to leave, torn between the bright future within his reach, and the caution he feels, because nothing is ever as good as it seems, and if he strikes a deal tonight, there will surely be points he'll think about too late, and loopholes that'll work against him.
"Aaw, I honestly thought you weren't like that." Spinister says.
Barricade stops, but he doesn't turn back. "I can't give you anything anyway. I'm just a prostitute, remember."
"I doubt that. Just remember, Barricade, that we will bring them all down. It's a matter of deciding which side you will be on when we do." Barricade's comm chimes. "There, now you've got my connection, if you decide that your future as a free mech is dear to you, and you change your mind."
Chapter Text
::I'm done here.:: Barricade comms Blackout as he transforms outside the motel.
::Great, then we can go home. The others are already done for the night.::
Barricade drives back the way they came, keeping inside the territory but still vigilant for anything that could mean danger. He notices the Helicopter as he trails Barricade from above, and a quick check reveals that it's Blackout. They go back to the house in silence, and Barricade transforms as Blackout touches down on heavy pedes, stretching to his full height. Suddenly Barricade is so very aware of how massive Blackout is, and how utterly defenseless he is against the big mech.
He really has to make up his mind about what to do right now. If he wants to stick with the Autobots, he needs to confess what happened in that motel room tonight. If he dawdles, and doesn't come clean until a few days have passed, who knows what will happen, how the Brothers will react. Just standing here next to Blackout is enough to show exactly how bad an idea it would be to rat on them, how dangerous an assignment it is. At the same time, if nobody ever was willing to put themselves in danger, no laws would ever be upheld... And if the Autobots are taken down — which seems far more likely, now that ICIA are involved — then what will happen to him? Will he be thrown back in jail, and the key smelted?
"I'm gonna hit the shower." He says, walking away with hurried steps, not able to handle Blackout's quiet scrutiny for another second.
What if Spinister put a bug in his subspace while he frisked him? He has to check right now, before he's scanned, and possibly found with some incriminating equipment he isn't even aware of.
Barricade can feel Blackout's optics on his fleeing form, and it's a relief when he's through the door, hurrying through the rec room.
He should fill his subspace with water when he showers. On the other servo, ICIA probably have bugs that could withstand such a treatment.
He still opens his subspace pockets, allowing the water to run inside, wracking his mind for what he could pour on there that would destroy a potential bug without damaging him. Barricade doesn't dare searching the web for ideas, in case Spinister decides to tap his search history.
Barricade starts to thoroughly search through his pockets, finding nothing of interest, then he continues with cleaning the rest of his frame, feeling behind every plate Spinister could possibly have magnetized something to. His search comes out clean, but he's still feeling paranoid about it, not trusting that he has checked every place possible.
And if he's going through with keeping this secret to give himself time to think this through more thoroughly, he has to wire some credits to make it look like Spinister paid for a blowjob or something.
Chapter Text
::I hope I'm not disturbing you.:: Barricade says.
::It's the middle of the night, what do you think?:: Ironhide sounds crabby, almost as if his beauty sleep — or some other activity he was enjoying — is interrupted by a chatty whore, and he's not amused by that.
::I apologize, but I really need to speak with you. The entire board, actually. I have something very important to talk to you about.::
Ironhide grunts, sounding annoyed. ::This better be good...:: He says, but it sounds like he's talking to himself. ::Alright, conference room upstairs. Over and out.::
Barricade hurries out of their room, through the empty rec room, and up the stairs, spark spinning wildly in his chest. Dreadbot peeks out the door to Ironhide's room, and their optics meet, but then Dreadbot shuts the door, and Barricade is all alone again. He takes a deep vent, and then he enters the conference room. Ironhide and Nitro are already there. Barricade stops just inside the door, taking in the massive mechs sitting by the table, watching him in silence. The door slides open again, and Blackout steps inside, crowding Barricade from behind, and the Saleen feels trapped, his spark speeding up even more.
Which Blackout can definitely hear.
"What's this about?" Blackout rumbles, sounding annoyed.
"Before we say anything more, can someone please check me for bugs? I've checked and, checked, and checked some more, but I just can't bring myself to feel sure I'm clean."
"Bugs?!" Nitro asks.
"Yeah, you know, surveillance equipment." Barricade says.
"I know that! I was surprised that you think you have one on you."
"Oh, sorry." Barricade says, realizing that he kind of did insinuate that Nitro was being slow. After making everyone leave whatever they were doing to come here.
Blackout methodically searches Barricade, even more thoroughly than Barricade himself did, since Blackout doesn't stop when it becomes uncomfortable. A scan tingles over Barricade's frame as Blackout goes, and Barricade complies by flaring his plating, and giving Blackout easier access in every way he can.
"You're clean. If there's something on you now, it's something you'd definitely notice being put there. But then again, asking for this search could be a smokescreen to look innocent, and you really have something more advanced on you. So maybe I should do a more... invasive search?"
"You know me well enough to know that I'm not good enough with mind games to come up with such a plan." Barricade says, spark spinning so fast, he's getting jittery.
Blackout quirks an optical ridge, but he doesn't say anything, and there's no trademark smirk that would indicate that he'd do it for fun this time.
Why does it feel so bad that Blackout is considering something like that seriously, instead of for his own pleasure?
Springer finally arrives, taking his seat, frowning. He doesn't seem happy to be called here at this time either. Blackout shoves Barricade closer to the table, and then he grabs a chair for himself, optics locked on Barricade.
Was it a mistake to think that it would be safer to tell them all at once instead of just going to Hide?
Chapter Text
Barricade takes a deep vent to steady himself.
"I talked to an Enforcer today. Well, not really an Enforcer, but an agent with the ICIA."
Ironhide's optics slowly goes more and more pinpointed. "When did this happen?"
"He approached me, posing as a customer. Brought me with him to a motel, and then he said he wanted to talk to me."
"What did the two of you talk about, then?" Blackout asks in a frighteningly smooth voice. The Helo's field is pulled in tightly, not giving anything away, but Barricade is fairly certain that he's livid, and just excellent at controlling himself.
"He wanted to recruit me. Saw a chance to get an insider on his payroll. I walked out of there without making a deal..."
"So that's why you thought you were bugged." Nitro interrupts him.
"Yes. Before he told me that he was an agent, he frisked me, playing at just enjoying that as foreplay. I was worried that he planted something on me when he did so."
"And it didn't occur to you that you could ask me to search you before we entered the house." Blackout states.
"I do like my helm attached to my frame, you know."
Blackout quirks his optical ridge. "Do you really think I would just lose it like that?"
"Well, no. Not in hindsight, but I was stressing out at that point. I did spend a lot of time in the shower, trying to drown potential bugs, but I just couldn't trust my skills in finding them in the end."
"But what did you talk about, Barricade?" Springer pushes.
"They have so many suspicions, and they're working so many angles. They don't just want to get you put away, they want to bring down every Brother you have. ICIA are trying to get the Kaonians for busting out Sunstreaker, and if they find something, they could probably pull rank on the Kaonian law enforcement. If they manage to make it an intercity state case, then everyone could be in danger to be charged for organized crime."
"The law enforcement in Kaon doesn't work with anyone else, intercity or not." Nitro says.
"I know. But if the ICIA are taking Autobots down in several other city states, and they have evidence against the Kaonians, the politicians may be pressured into giving in, and opening their borders for enforcement cooperation. It would not look good to the public opinion in many places if criminals can just run to Kaon and walk free."
"It's quite a long stride to get to that point, though. Especially if they still don't really have any evidence. Ironhide says.
"It is. But that won't stop them from trying, and in the meantime, they will probably do their damnedest to bring as many as possible down in the city states that do cooperate with ICIA. Including Polyhex. When this agent realized that I wasn't going to flip for pretty promises, or appealing to my reasons for why I became an officer in the first place, he really tried to scare me into becoming his rat by being adamant that you will be brought down, and so will us entertainers. He was talking about my step-sire, and his injuries, and he knows that someone who looks like you was there, Nitro. He might approach you."
Nitro exvents sharply, dragging a servo down his face-plates. "I should've killed everyone in that street."
Chapter Text
"That probably wouldn't have been a better idea. Now they really don't have anything to pin on you."
"Blackout, did you notice anything while I was with him?"
"What do you mean?"
"I pinged you my location, but the first thing that really made me suspect something off was when I tried to comm you to ask something. He used some kind of blocker, or shielding, as if I didn't have any reception."
"I didn't notice that."
"He was speaking about trying to get my step-sire to flip. If he uses that shielding and talks to him, will your surveillance work?"
Blackout looks thoughtful. "I'm not sure. It's not impossible that I could've reached you — at least with some effort to hack the disruptive signal — but since I don't know what kind of equipment he uses, it's possible that I wouldn't be able. And I don't know how my surveillance hacks would hold up against it."
"We need to get our servos on some ICIA equipment and run some tests." Ironhide says.
"On it." Nitro sounds formal, as if speaking to a superior.
"I could do the same surveillance hacks to Barricade. If this agent," Blackout almost spits the word out, " reaches out again, we can see how it reacts. I mean, just to be safe, if that happens before we get ahold of the equipment we need."
"Do it." Ironhide orders.
"Hey! I'm being cooperative here! Shouldn't I have a say in having my privacy invaded like that?!" Barricade snaps.
"No." Ironhide is as blunt and unyielding as ever.
Blackout smirks at Barricade. "What, afraid I'll hear you ratting, and come get you? Or just embarrassed to have me hear the lovey-dovey nonsense you talk with Jazz about?"
"Shut up." Barricade mumbles. "And I'm not ratting."
"You don't have a say because this could make or break our entire situation here. Everyone's freedom— including yours, since you didn't make a deal with the ICIA — is on the line, and if surveiling you could be the thing that gives us valuable information to keep everyone from going to jail, you just have to suck it up and do it for the greater good." Ironhide says with finality.
"What about the step-sire? It might take too long to find out if we can get through the shielding, they may get him to talk before that." Springer says.
"Let's take that discussion more privately." Ironhide decides. "Blackout, install the hacks, then come join us downstairs. I'll wake the others."
Chapter Text
"Come here." Blackout orders, pointing at a spot on the floor next to him, by the table.
Barricade reluctantly does as he's told, but this time, his disinclination isn't caused by Blackout being the one to order him around. He's just not that enthusiastic about being under surveillance.
How strange. Not that long ago, he would've had to war with himself to follow Blackout's commands for other reasons.
The others leave the room, while Barricade stops where Blackout pointed, and the Helo gets up from his chair.
"Bend over the table."
Barricade quirks an optical ridge. "You're going to fuck me now?"
Blackout grabs his shoulder-wing, easily turning him, and then forcing him to bend forward. "No, I don't have time for that right now."
The cover over the data port in Barricade's neck is flicked open by a sharp talon, and Barricade can't help but stiffen.
He still doesn't enjoy this kind of hardlining.
Blackout's plug is jammed into his socket, and before Barricade can even allow him access to show that he's cooperative, Blackout forces himself through Barricade's firewalls.
Because he fragging enjoys doing it forcefully.
Programs are opened and settings are altered, new protocols are uploaded in a flurry Barricade can't quite follow, and then Blackout retracts, pulling his plug out. He lets go of Barricade's shoulder-wing, and when Barricade lingers with his chest-plates against the table for a few seconds longer, Blackout smacks his aft.
"Don't stand around here, hoping I'm going to fuck you now. I have business to deal with, and besides; I'd have to pay you if I did."
"You cheap aft!" Barricade says, straightening.
"Yeah, and if I wait a little longer, you'll be free aft." Blackout snickers, turning to walk towards the door.
"So, can you hear everything I say now? Both over comms, and out loud?"
Blackout stops, turning back to Barricade. "Yeah, and I can see written messages. As soon as any of your language programs activates, I get a notification. If you write by servo, I can access the feed from those programs to see what you're telling your servo to write."
"What if I draw something?"
"I hardly believe you'd be able to doodle a testimony."
"I could try."
Blackout barks a laugh. "I'm looking forward to the challenge of deciphering it. And when I do, you know what's coming for you."
Even as he turns his back on Barricade again, stepping out the door, the shrill sound of Blackout's blade transforming out from his wrist-strut sends a chill down Barricade's spine.
Chapter Text
Barricade's reveal sets things in motion. The Brothers are very busy the following day. They don't say anything about pulling the prostitutes from the streets — that probably would make it too obvious that they have been informed — but the Brothers are out of the house most of the day.
"Babe? Ya've been awfully quiet taday..." Jazz says, sounding worried.
"Hm? Yeah." Barricade says, terribly aware of someone listening in.
"Somethin' wrong?"
::How much can I say about this?:: He asks Blackout, because the Helo is the one who's listening, and definitely is the type who'd kill both Barricade and Jazz without asking the other Brothers on the note that it's easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.
::You could always try your way through it, and if you frag up, I'll kill you both.::
::Ha ha, very funny. Stop being bitter for not getting any.::
::Who says I didn't?:: Blackout leers.
Barricade almost grinds his denta.
It's not jealousy. Right? No, it isn't! He's just angry that he can't even get back on the bastard by not putting out. Yep.
::No, but seriously. How much can I say to the others?::
There's a pause — perhaps Blackout is discussing it with someone else — before he speaks again. ::You can say everything you know, but add that Ironhide will inform them all about the situation tonight. He doesn't want them to panic.::
::He doesn't want it, but you do?::
::Of course! A house full of panicked whores sounds like a party to me.::
Of course.
::Roger that, over and out.:: Barricade decides to do the mature thing and don't take the bait.
Jazz is staring at him, looking even more worried now.
"Sorry, darling, I just needed to be clear on what I'm allowed to say right now."
"Sounds ominous."
"I was approached by an ICIA agent last night while I was working. They tried to flip me, said they're trying to take all the Autobots down, and everyone associated they can get their servos on. I told the Brothers about it, and they're working on it now, I suppose."
Jazz works his intake, looking even more worried. "We really should do tha spark-play. In case stuff goes down, n' we won' get an opportunity ta do it for a while."
"We shouldn't rush into it, but we have been talking about it, and I really want to do it." Barricade says, then he realizes that talking about it might give Blackout ideas. "I'm under surveillance. Blackout is tapping my language output, so everything I say or write, he checks. It's an experiment, if the agent shows up again, they want to see if they can breach the shielding he uses to block comms and stuff." He hurriedly adds when Jazz looks even more worried.
Barricade wracks his mind for how to convey that he's worried that Blackout will try to get him before they can do it together. He hurriedly points at Jazz, and himself, then his spark chamber, making a thumbs up. Jazz cocks his helm, looking like Barricade is a complete idiot, when he waves his arm around to mimic a rotor, pointing to his audial.
"A space turkey?"
Barricade shakes his helm, pointing to a black plate on his frame, waving his arm again, before holding them out to the sides to mimic a big mech, walking around with an exaggerated swagger.
Jazz snickers. "I don't think Blackout would be happy bein' called fat."
"Well, if Blackout doesn't want to be called fat, then maybe he shouldn't be so damned heavy?" Barricade says, feeling petty for having to go to these ridiculous lengths to have a private conversation, and knowing full well he might pay for this later on.
He continues his ridiculous walk, pushing Jazz out of the way, then he goes back to being himself, flailing wildly as if trying to fight off someone.
"Ya think he'll try ta get it with one of us before we get ta do it if he knows what we're plannin'?"
"Exactly!" Barricade says in a rush, relieved that jazz is so perceptive.
"Well, then we better go do it now!"
Chapter Text
They read the instructions for their protective devices together, Barricade pointing some things out with his digit.
Not that he thinks that Blackout would actually barge in here if he finds out what they're planning to do, but he still doesn't want him to know.
He helps Jazz install his device with nervously trembling digits, double checking the manual several times to make sure it's plugged in right. When he's done, he leans back to study his work.
"That looks really nice."
"Thank ya." Jazz says shyly. "Here, lemme help ya too." Jazz grabs Barricade's device.
It's kind of awkward to open up like this, and Barricade feels as shy as Jazz seems.
"This isn't like how you imagined this, is it? I know it sure isn't for me." Barricade says as Jazz reaches inside his chest.
It kind of tickles when the plugs are installed, and the device magnetizing to his chamee feels like a slight pressure, a weight tugging lightly on it, but it isn't uncomfortable.
"No, I had some romantic idea 'bout it that would be perfect for a movie, but probably wouldn' be a great idea for real life. This is much more technical, but it's for tha better."
Barricade nods, because he feels the same. Sure, this may be more awkward than just opening up after some foreplay in a dimly lit room, but it feels safe. He leans in to kiss Jazz, and Jazz meets him almost hesitantly, slowly rolling his glossa against Barricade's. The kiss quickly heats up as the tension breaks, and they scoot closer, servos starting to roam each other's plating. Their open chests are pressed against each other, but none of them initiate something more. Barricade isn't even sure exactly how to do it.
Is it really as simple asjust opening their chambers, and then everything is automated?
Barricade's spark is speeding up, both with nerves and arousal, and he feels this strange pressure inside his chamber, as if his very spark is expanding. He moans, because it feels good in a very strange and foreign way, then he's distracted by a quick line flashing in his HUD as protocols start up, communicating with the device.
He hears when the petals to his spark chamber slides out of the way, and then his chest-plates latch on to Jazz's. He feels Jazz's locks engaging too, keeping him in place. Barricade breaks the kiss, and he sees the way Jazz's face is lit by their sparklight, mouth open in a silent moan .
The way their sparks mingle, spinning together to create what feels like a supernova in his chest has him racing towards the edge quicker than anything ever has before, but he still tries to focus on every sensation the merge brings.
It's so much: his charge skyrocketing, Jazz's charge, and he can feel what Jazz feels too; both the love for him, and the rising arousal, and it's more intimate than anything they have ever done before.
They're clinging to each other, racing towards the edge, far beyond shyness and nerves, joined on a way Barricade never thought possible, almost as if they are one.
The overload is a flash of light, blinding him, his back arching to meet Jazz, even though he can't get any closer because of the locks, and he feels Jazz pushing back, feels Jazz's bliss through the overload that seems to stretch forever, and at the same time it feels like reality is speeding. His systems start to fall into reboot in quick succession, but before he's too far gone, he manages to get them both to tip over on the berth, making sure they won't tumble to the floor.
Chapter Text
"I still can' quite believe we did that!" Jazz says, sounding excited, as they walk out to the rec room.
"I know. It was great, though."
"We're definitely gonna do that again. A lot. Ya know it's possible ta do it while doin' regular facin' too?"
"I know, and I really think we should try that."
It's hard to watch his vocalizer all the time, but he has to let Jazz do the talking.
On the other servo, he has a really hard time imagining Blackout getting ideas about trying merging. For all his crudeness, he doesn't seem like the type to just whip his spark out. It does take trust, and Blackout isn't the trusting type. He probably only trust his Brothers enough for that, but they wouldn't ever consider doing something like that with each other. A shame, really.
"Wouldn't it be hot if the Brothers merged with each other?" He asks.
Blackout might as well get an audial full of things he'll be grossed out by, the fragging voyeur."
"What?!" Jazz cackles an incredulous laugh. "I guess...?"
"Yeah, I mean take Blackout and Springer for example; their color schemes match really well, and they would look really nice wrapped around each other, chest-plates locked together, helms thrown back in extasy."
"Huh. Ya know, I never thought 'bout it, but it would be kinda hot." Jazz says as they enter the rec room, looking back and forth between Blackout and Springer.
Blackout sends a mighty glare in Barricade's direction, looking disgusted. Barricade just smiles innocently.
"I wonder if they'd do some spiking at the same time, and who would bottom." He says, casually looking away from Blackout, trying to stifle a grin.
"Springer's the VP, he'd do tha spikin'."
On one servo, it would've been hilarious if Blackout heard how certain Jazz seems to be about it, ad Barricade mourns that the bastard doesn't tap his audial input too. On the other servo, he really likes Jazz alive, so maybe it's for the better.
"Mh, I'd like to see that." He leers.
Ironhide bangs a bottle against the bar a couple of times. "Simmer down! We have gathered you all here because we have some very important things to tell you." He says, and it's easy to tell how serious the situation is.
The gathered pleasurebots, who were still joking and talking amongst each other fall silent.
Chapter Text
"It has come to our attention that we are under investigation. The ICIA are after all of the Autobots, trying to build a case to go after us for organized crime. This means everyone in this house could be scrutinized, both because they're trying to find someone to be their rat, but also be brought down for your association. I think it's important that you know this, so you can make an educated decision on whether you want to stay or not. If you think the risk is too great, we understand that." Ironhide says.
The pleasurebots look at each other, seeming almost lost.
"If this ship sinks, I'm goin' down with i'!" Crosshairs says immediately. "We've been te prison before, we can do i' again."
Dreadbot looks torn, but then he pushes his chin out. "Count me in. It's not like I have anywhere to go, or something better to do."
Barricade is fairly certain that Dreadbot would be able to pay for a place of his own, and do something else if he really wanted to, but what's really keeping him is Nitro. It's both sweet and depressing at once.
"I'm staying." Knock Out says.
"Me too." Jazz says, looking at Barricade.
"You already know my stance on this." Barricade says. Ironhide nods to him.
"I-I... Extra scrutiny..." Hot Rod stammers. "What if they find out? They'd have leverage I'm not sure I could handle..." He says weakly. "But I have nowhere to go."
"You could relocate to Kaon. We can't make promises that they won't get jurisdiction there eventually, but for now, you'd be safe. Local enforcement does not cooperate, and they pull rank to get the ICIA out of there as often as they can." Hatchet says.
Dreadbot shudders. "It's a nice offer, but the Kaonians don't have the same kind of deals we have here..."
"They've been working on changing it up since we were there the last time, and we'll help you write a contract that suits you, Roddy." Ironhide says.
Bumblebee pats Hot Rod's thigh, making one of his beeping noises, and a hand sign.
"You don't have to go for my sake." Hot Rod says to Bumblebee.
"I wanna da..." Bumblebee plays a clip from a song over his speaker, cutting it a little too late.
"Thank you." Hot Rod says quietly, giving Bumblebee a small smile.
"Drift?" Springer asks.
"Staying."
"Very well, then. We will start making arrangements for those of you who are relocating tomorrow. Everyone stay on your toes, and report anything suspicious you see or hear."
"If they bring Starscream here as a trade for Hot Rod, I'll go down for murder." Dreadbot mutters to Crosshairs.
"No unprovoked murders right now! That goes for all of you." Ironhide says.
"Just a little one? Pleeease, Daddy!" Nitro says.
Ironhide rolls his optics. "Don't call me that!" He says, smacking Nitro's arm with a data pad hard enough to crack the screen.
Chapter 739
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"This put a damper on the evenin'." Crosshairs says.
The Brothers disappear into the the part of the house that's their exclusively to do Primus knows what, and the pleasurebots are given the evening off. The heavy atmosphere is like a wet blanket over them, and they sit there in the rec room, nobody even getting up to get them drinks. Dreadbot lights up a cyg, though, sharing it with Crosshairs.
"I'm going to be twitchy until the second I cross the border to Kaon." Hot Rod says gloomily.
"Really hope that the Kaonians have made all those changes they say. That place is a hell hole to be employed in." Dreadbot says.
"Gee, thanks for making this seem even worse!"
"Sorry, I was just being honest. And I think it's better to be prepared for the worst and be positively surprised, than the other way around."
They fall silent for a while, everyone deep in their own thoughts.
"Should we watch a movie, play a game, or something? To take our minds off of this, I mean. It's not like moping will change the situation, and we just have to get used to this anyway, because the ICIA aren't going away anytime soon." Knock Out says.
"You know what we were talking about when we walked in here, Jazz?" Barricade asks.
"Tha mergin'? Tha Brothers?"
Everyone looks puzzled.
"The Brothers. I was thinking about that fanfic thing you two were talking about," he nods to Crosshairs and Dreadbot, "I could read them out loud..." He points to himself and then his audial.
Jazz starts cackling. "Barricade is under surveillance..."
"So you want to read fanfiction to everyone?" Dreadbot sounds confused..
"Not just any fanfiction: our own fanfiction!" Barricade explains.
"Of tha Brothers." Jazz giggles. "Blackout is listenin' in ta everythin' Barricade says or writes. So if we cook up some juicy goodness, n' Barricade reads it out loud, he'll be forced ta listen ta it all!"
"The two of you are apparently suicidal." Hot Rod says. "I'd very much like to survive until I can be relocated."
"But if I won't tell who wrote what?" Barricade says, feeling less certain about it now.
Though Hide probably won't allow murder right now. Then again, Blackout is patient when he has to be.
"I'm in." Dreadbot says, shrugging. "I've already had one public punishment from Blackout, and this would actually be worth it."
He's probably right about it not getting to be a worse punishment than that, and he has already been humilated in many ways. It really would be worth it.
"Great! So everyone who's in can grab a data pad, and do your thing, and then I'll read it for you all!"
Notes:
Suggestions for pairings? I'll do a few.
Chapter Text
Barricade doesn't write one himself, because Blackout would know which one was his instantly, but that's also kind of an excuse; Barricade really doesn't know what to write. He hasn't read enough fiction — or erotica for that matter — to have an idea what to put down. He waits while the others finish, because they decided to mix all the data pads, making it impossible to know who wrote what. If Barricade doesn't know, then Blackout can't get him to confess who's the main culprit when Blackout inevitably gets pissed about one of the fics. Eventually, they're all finished, though, the pads stacked in a pile on the table. Barricade pulls one out.
"Let's see... This one is called Rub, starring Springer and Hatchet!" Barricade says, actually feeling excited about this.
It'll be kind of fun to see what the others think about. He did have that awkward talk with Blackout in Kaon, when he was kind of certain that the Brothers have dick measuring contests, and that could actually be kind of entertaining to read. Or maybe write.
And now he's thinking about Blackout's big dick again, even though he had decided to give the mech the cold shoulder. The bastard really deserves to listen in to this, damn him for being well endowed.
Barricade pushes the thoughts away, happy to have something else to focus on. "Alright, here we go!" He says, zooming in on the text to be able to read more quickly, and get a smoother transition to his vocalizer. "I will do you all a service, and not do this with different voices.
*****
Hatchet hurried in through the door, looking stressed out. Springer sat at the bar, looking questioningly at the four peder.
"What's up, Brother, you're looking like you're being chased?!"
"I am! I don't know if it's my new joint lubricant or what, but everyone is just throwing themselves at me!" Hatchet said, grabbing a bottle from the bar. He drank deeply from it to calm his nerves, visibly trembling, as if he had pushed his frame to the limits.
"Well, you do smell very nice..." Springer purred, petting one of the plates on the back of Hatchet's neck.
"Not you too!" Hatchet yelled, backing away from the handsy Vice President, getting ready to run to his own room to hide from all the sex-crazed bots.
"Hey, calm down, bro! I'm kidding!" Springer said, holding up his servos in a placating gesture.
"Are you sure?" Hatchet said suspiciously. "Because it wasn't just the pleasurebots hunting me out of the house in the first place..."
"Really?! Well, my olfactory receptors are overdue to be calibrated, so they're not very effective."
Hatchet exvented sharply in relief. "Ugh. I really need something for my frazzled nerves. This day has been completely out of wack."
"We could go to my room. I've chosen the colors to be very relaxing, and I do have a few laced cygs we could have, " Springer said, reaching over the bar to grab a bottle, "if we add this, you'll be good and comfortable in no time."
Chapter Text
Barricade looks up, and then he takes the cube Crosshairs hands him, sipping from it. It's a semi-sweet mixed drink, and Crosshairs has made a large pitcher, handing everyone a cube. Barricade returns his attention to the data pad with the story.
*****
Hatchet followed Springer up the stairs, still on edge in case the Triple changer's olfactories suddenly decided to work again, or whatever madness seemed to have gripped everyone else would descend on Springer.
Nothing like that happened, though, and when the door slid shut behind Hatchet, Springer was already sitting on his berth, taking out a cyg each for them from a box on the night stand. Hatchet slowly moved closer to the berth, looking around. The room was decorated in Springer's colors, and while bright, the colors really were quite relaxing with the way they were combinated.
"Come on." Springer said, patting the berth. "I don't have any cubes, but I think we could share the bottle, right?"
"Sure." Hatchet jumped onto the berth, grabbing the cyg Springer held out for him.
A few deep drags later had him winding down, and Hatchet stretched out on his front on the berth, arms hanging over one side, pedes sticking out on the other.
"Frag, my pedes hurt from all the running." Hatchet groaned, taking another deep drag on the cyg.
"Want me to give them a rub?"
"A rub?"
"Yeah, you know, like a massage?"
Hatchet tilted his helm.
He had never gotten a foot rub before, nobody had ever offered. But it did sound kind of tempting, and he was curious...
"Sure, if you want to?"
"No problem! I like getting foot rubs myself, and I know how good it can be when you're stressed. And how hard it can be to get one. Well, a good one, anyway. The pleasurebots do it if you ask, of course, but they are a little too weak to really tweak our heavy frames the right way." Springer said, dropping down on the floor. "Stay like that, if your joints won't object." He grabbed Hatchet's pede in a light touch, digging his thumbs into the brackets on the underside.
Hatchet groaned with surprised pleasure, feeling the struts in his pede relax from their kinked positions. He took another deep drag on the cyg, and then he offlined his optics for long seconds, just enjoying how Springer carefully and meticulously tweaked all points in one cable that needed some adjustments.
Springer worked in silence, stretching all the joints in Hatchet's pede, finding more cables to coax into relaxation, and a very pleasant warmth started spreading through Hatchet's entire frame. The four peder took another drag on the cyg, partially to get something to do to keep himself from nodding off, getting up to rest on his elbows instead of being flat on his front for the same reason. Springer finished the pede he was working on, grabbing the bottle to drink deeply. He handed the bottle to Hatchet, before starting on the next pede.
One wire was kinked enough to actually hurt when Springer started to manipulate it, but with just a little coaxing, the discomfort disappeared, and Hatchet could almost feel how the joint to one of his toes felt more limber already.
He took another drag on the cyg, feeling content as Springer finished the other pede.
"Want me to do your legs too?" Springer asked.
"If it's not too much trouble...?"
Chapter Text
Barricade could probably guess who wrote this fic, but then again, anyone of the gathered bots could be tired of interfacing, and just want some good, old-fashioned comfort.
Or maybe it'll lead up to hot fragging?
Barricade took another sip of his drink, continuing to read.
*****
"Not at all!" Springer said. "If you enjoy this, we could trade this favor now and then." He set to work on Hatchet's lower leg. "Not that you have to reciprocate this if you don't feel like it! But it could be an opportunity for both of us to get a good kneading through now and then."
Hatchet took a deep drink, thinking about it. "You'd have to guide me the first times, but I could definitely do this for you, and I really would like to have this done to me again." He put the cyg out, putting it on the bedside table, placed the bottle on the floor, and sunk down on his front again, relishing the way Springer's digits dug into a bracket.
Several systems powered down as Springer slowly worked his way up the backside of Hatchet's leg, and Ratchet felt his processor wandering aimlessly, almost as if he was halfway into recharge. He could still hear Springer's systems — almost too clearly, slightly unreal — but had little control of his processes that seems to flitter about. When Springer reached Hatchet's pelvic plating, he switched over to the other leg, starting from the pede, working his way up again.
Hatchet's processor conjured up an image of his frame slowly melting from his pedes up, but it wasn't really alarming.
He was melting in the good way.
Slipping in and out of recharge, time seemed to fly, and suddenly Springer had worked his way up to his pelvic plating again.
"Want me to continue?"
"Hm? Yeah..." Hatchet said, hearing how dopey he sounded.
The servos on his aft almost startled him, even if he should've realized that it would be the natural progression of this. He still swung his tail over, placing it over the plate covering his port. If Springer realized why he put his tail there, he didn't comment on it, he just continued to work on Hatchet's pelvic plating.
"Should I rub your tail too?" Springer asked when he was done with Hatchet's aft.
"I... Try? I don't know how it'll feel." He said, suddenly feeling a bit insecure.
His tail was a part he got self-conscious about at times, because it was the one thing that always set him apart from other, more regularly shaped mecha. In berth, he could almost be taken for a two peder — well, at least in most positions — but his tail was always there to serve as a reminder of his root mode.
Springer grabbed it with a gentle servo, lifting it from it's position. Hatchet tensed minutely, because it made him feel slightly exposed again. Then Springer gently started kneading the joints between the segments, gently nudging them to move back and forth, and sideways to dislodge some light rust and debris that always seemed impossible to get out of the bushings, and even the slight improvement made Hatchet sigh with pleasure.
"I could use some maintenance oil spray for these joints. Get them moving smoothly again."
"Oh, yes, please!" Hatchet almost moaned.
Springer got off the berth, rummaging through a storage unit to get the spray bottle he was looking for, and a big towel. He put the towel over Hatchet's legs, placing Hatchet's tail on top of the towel. The first spray was a bit unexpected, the oil cold, but then Hatchet was prepared when Springer started to spray some oil on every pin to let it sit while he worked on the first joint.
Hatchet had never had anyone do something to his tain before, but the more Springer worked on it, the more he was convinced that he should. He'd never realized that it was kind of a sensitive part of him. Not that it segments themselves were sensitive, but the cables to the motors controlling the joints sent a tingling sensation up his back-struts every time Springer manipulated the position of a joint, making the terminal block between his spine an his spark chamber fizz in a very pleasant way.
Chapter Text
"You know, I always thought Hatchet's tail is kind of hot, but I never thought about how it could be pleasurable if I played with it." Dreadbot muses in the pause when Barricade sips his drink.
"Me neither." Crosshairs says.
"I really need to ask him the next time I'm with him. I'm dead curious now." Dreadbot says.
"No' if I ge'te 'im first!" Crosshairs challenges.
Barricade smiles for himself.
Racing for tail. Literally.
He resets his vocalizer noisily to get everyone's attention when he goes back to reading.
*****
When Springer was done with Hatchet's tail, he continued up the four peder's back, and it enhanced the pleasant fizz in that terminal block. Everything below his waist already felt strutless like gel, and that feeling spread to every part Springer worked on.
"Do you mind if I touch your protoform?" Springer asked.
"No."
It was an intimate touch — more so than what Springer had already done — but it felt right in this situation. In other circumstances, he'd be weirded out by one of his Brothers almost caressing his protoform, but right then, he actually wanted it. Before, touching protoform had always been about repairs — done as professionally as possible by one of his brothers, or occasionally a medic — or interfacing, with someone who wasn't his Brother. What Springer was doing there was neither, and he didn't really have a word for it, but it was nice.
Springer rubbed and stretched his protoform, and he actually winced when the Triple changer pulled on a rather sore spot.
"Sorry. You have a scar here that's really tight. It'll be uncomfortable, but if I can coax it to loosen up a bit, you'll get better freedom of movement. It'll probably take a few sessions to have full effect, though. If you want me to do that. I mean, we could just keep this to softer, relaxing touches if you prefer that."
"Nah, go ahead and do what's needed. It was probably worse when the scars were created anyway, right?"
Springer was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, that was definitely worse." He said quietly.
It did take away some of the relaxation, the way it hurt when Springer pulled on the scar tissue, but at the same time, it was a good kind of hurt. When Springer moved on from the scar, it left the protoform there feeling heated and tingling.
There were a few more scars like that, that needed a more firm treatment, but most of the touching of his protoform brought Hatchet to the edge of recharge, and more than once, he was roused by his own oral lubricant dribbling out of his intake, his face slack with his relaxation.
Springer continued up his neck, all the way to the base of his helm, and then he gave Hatchet's arms and servos the same treatment, the hand massage a surprisingly lovely experience.
"Do you want me to continue with your front?" Springer asked when he was done.
Hatchet mulled it over. "Maybe we could postpone it until tomorrow? If I relax more now, I might fall into stasis."
He's so tired and relaxed, he just wants to go to recharge.
Springer hummed a chuckle. "Sounds like a plan. Wanna go to your room, or do you want to do a recharge pile for two?"
"Recharge pile sounds nice."
It was kind of a long time since he did that, now that they're free mechs, they rarely do.
Springer pulled him around to lay the right way on the berth, stretching out next to him. They arranged their pillows, and Springer slung an arm and a leg across Hatchet, laying halfway on top of him. The lights went out, and it didn't take many minutes until Hatchet was deep in recharge.
Chapter Text
"Tha's it?!" Crosshairs almost sounds offended when Barricade declares that it's the end of the fic. "No porn?!"
"Does it always have to be porn?" Barricade asks.
"I think it was wholesome, and actually quite a nice surprise that it didn't lead to fucking. It's like I was waiting for the mandatory interfacing, but it didn't happen, and it was so sweet instead." Dreadbot adds his opinion.
"Yeh, but I fel' like we were slowly diggin' our way inte a glorious lookin' cake, an' then it turned out te be fillin'-less."
"That's just 'cause ya're a nympho." Jazz snickers.
"Heh, I guess."
Barricade pulls out another data pad from the pile. "Alright, my mechs, we have another story. It's called Colors, and our lead characters are Springer and Roadbuster."
The others ooh, and cheer, turning their attention back to Barricade.
*****
Springer knew he was too drunk for anyone's good, but what was a Brother to do when all the pleasurebots had been granted the night off for a team building activity?
They all were pretty dang drunk, but for Springer it was worse, because he was a horny drunk.
He stared into his half empty cube again, mourning the fact that he lived in a house that was nigh on a warehouse of sex toys, but as far as he knew, there was not a single one to stick his spike in.
Maybe he should get one of those that was kind of like a bust, only it was a butt, with a fuckable valve and a port? Though to be fair, it was very rare that they didn't have any pleasurebots around...
His musings were interrupted when Roadbuster took a seat next to him. Springer looked at his Brother.
"You know, I don't think I ever told you this, but I really like your paint job." Springer said to his Brother.
Roadbuster looked down at himself. "Thanks, mech! Yours is good too. Your colors really compliment each other. The way the contrast really puts the attention on your thighs." Roadbuster pointed to the edge of Springer's pelvic plating.
"I guess it does..." Springer said. He'd never really thought about it.
"It's kind of fascinating how sleek your thighs are. Your plating really transforms so smoothly." Roadbuster said, stroking his palm up Springer's thigh. "I can feel the seams, but that's it, there's no real gap between the plates."
The servo slowly sliding closer to his array did nothing to quell his horniness.
"I think it's kind of intriguing with the way it's possible to see your struts. And it makes for a better opportunity to reach sensitive protoform." Springer hurried to blurt, reaching for Roadbuster's thigh in an attempt to cover how he was reacting to his Brother's touches.
Why was he getting turned on by being touched by one of his brothers?!
Chapter Text
Barricade almost snickers, because the whole conversation, and the entire beginning of the fic feels very cliche.
"I guess we need to set up a few cameras the next time we have a team building activity." He says, and the others giggle. Barricade picks up the story again.
*****
"Have you seen my new bedding?" Springer asked.
"I don't think so?" Roadbuster said, still focused on Springer's thigh, his digits stroking the plating close to the edge of Springer's pelvic plating.
"They match my paint job perfectly. Want to see?"
Hopefully, Roadbuster will take him up on the offer, because if the Racer continues fiddling with those plates, it's just a matter of time before he'll have to explain to his Brother why his panel is popping. And why is it almost popping for his Brother? Is he really that kind of deviant?
"Sure." Roadbuster said, finally removing his servo.
Springer jumped up from his chair, and Roadbuster followed him.
"I custom ordered the bedding, choosing the colors for the pattern. I think it's kind of cool, because I can hide among them, almost like it's personal camouflage." Springer rambled.
Why is he rambling as if he was nervous? He's just showing his Brother his room.
Roadbuster made a thoughtful noise.
The door slid open, and they stepped inside, stopping to look at the berth — not perfectly made, but at least not a complete mess either.
"That's really nice." Roadbuster said, nodding approvingly.
"Try it! I think it would look really cool with your shade of green on it too. Like a pretty accent."
Roadbuster chuckled, but he did as Springer asked, stretching out on the berth in a suggestive pose.
"Looking good enough, V.P?"
Springer swallowed thickly. "Very good."
Too good, with the way Roadbuster's color makes him stand out against the backdrop of his own colors. And the way Roadbuster's fan is visible is kind of an indecent detail he hasn't really thought about before...
"Show me how well you blend in?" Roadbuster said, patting the berth.
"Sure."
Springer crawled onto the berth, stretching out front down, and tried to position himself in a way that would make him blend in as much as possible.
"Pretty decent camouflage," Roadbuster said, "but you need to put more effort into it if you're going to be able to hide that cute little butt of yours."
Springer was still processing the words when his aft was pinched, and he squawked a very undignified noise of surprise. Roadbuster started laughing, smacking him on the aft, and it finally got Springer moving, rolling over to try to wrestle Roadbuster onto his front to be able to slap him back. He managed to land a pinch, at least, but Roadbuster was kind of limber, and a quick wrestler, so he quickly retaliated with a pinch of his own.
Chapter Text
"I hope everyone is enjoying this?" Barricade says, grinning with glee, because he knows at least on mech somewhere who's probably protesting wildly internally, and that makes it extra pleasing.
"Even I enjoy this, it's ridiculous, cute, and even if it ends with interfacing, it's going to be entertaining interfacing." Hot Rod says.
Barricade nods, because he agrees, and then he continues reading.
*****
Springer was the stronger of the two, but Roadbuster matched him surprisingly well with his speed and agility. There was a long, awkward moment when Springer managed to pin Roadbuster chest down, aft up, and Springer's spike requested permission to pressurize as his interface plate was rubbing against Roadbuster's aft.
What the fuck is wrong with him?!
Springer let go of Roadbuster quickly, almost as if he was burned by the slightly smaller mech, and if Roadbuster noticed what happened, he didn't show it, immediately tackling Springer. Springer groaned when Roadbuster wound up on top of him, Roadbuster's thigh rubbing against Springer's interface plate, and he barley managed to not buck into the friction.
Suddenly Roadbuster froze, mortification weaving through his field, and in the silence, Springer could hear a micro transformation. Something warm and hard pressed against his thigh.
Roadbuster rolled off him as quickly as possible. "Sorry, Bro! I didn't... I don't know why that happened!" Roadbuster stuttered, holding his servos up in a placating gesture. He glanced down, jumping as if shocked by seeing his still pressurized spike bobbing there, and covered the component, trying to press it back in it's sheath.
In other circumstances, Springer would probably have been disgusted and put off by this, might even have reacted violently. But considering the effort he'd had to put into keeping his own spike behind the panel, he didn't feel like he had any right to complain.
"I... uhm, I kind of had the request for the same thing pop up..." Springer said slowly.
"What the hell is going on, did someone put something in the energon, or what?" Roadbuster sounded flustered, still working on getting his spike behind the cover.
"Maybe?"
It would be a logical explanation. Maybe the pleasurebots had some bottle spiked with aphrodisiacs to keep up with all the powerful mechs, and he and Roadbuster took the wrong bottle.
"And now that no pleasurebots are around, of course we would react to each other!" Roadbuster said with conviction.
"Yeah, that must be it!" Springer said, feeling relieved.
They're not deviants after all!
"But I'm still really horny, and as we just said, we don't have any hookers tonight..." Roadbuster sounded miserable.
Chapter Text
"We should start doing this more often." Dreadbot says. "This is going to be so good!"
Jazz looks kind of proud at that, and Barricade gets curious if he's the one who wrote this. Not that he wants to know, but at least Blackout hasn't pitched a complete fit yet, or he'd probably be here already, with an intent to maim.
*****
"How did you do it in the military? I mean, not in the field — I know how you dealt with it there, and we can't exactly do that now — but I mean, in the barracks? Did you just jerk off until some little glitch walked in?" Roadbuster asked.
"Yeah, what else should we have done?"
For all the dirty jokes and innuendos they always pulled on each other, he never got the hots for his Brothers before.
Or maybe he did? They all often go to one of the hookers as soon as they stop wrestling, is that because they get revved up by each other, but are in denial?
"I don't know, help each other out or something?" Roadbuster said slowly.
Springer cackled an incredulous laugh. "No!"
"Not even give each other a hand?"
Roadbuster stroked quickly up Springer's thigh, and the sudden stimulation made Springer's panel pop before he could stop it, his spike pressurizing.
"Hey, what the...?!" Springer blurted, covering his spike with his servos.
Not that he usually was shy, but there were no glitches there, and things were getting a bit too personal with just the two of them with their spikes out.
"Just evening things out." Roadbuster grinned.
"What are you suggesting? That we should jerk each other off?!"
"I dunno. It would be weird, wouldn't it?"
"Really weird."
"We could close our optics while we do it."
He'd still know that it's Roadbuster, though. But then again, would he really mind? He has always been close with his Brothers, and they've seen each other at their worst. Roadbuster wasn't with them back then, but he has proven himself to be as much a part of their unit as the others. They've never been close like that, bit would he really mind.
"I mean, we could go out and pick up a glitch each, but it's such a hassle with the need for protection and stuff..." Roadbuster added.
"Maybe we should make a deal. I help you, you help me, nobody else ever knows..." Springer mused.
"So, how far should we take this...?" Roadbuster asked, stroking his servo up Springer's thigh again.
Chapter Text
"All the way! Please tell me tha' they'll take it all the way!" Crosshairs almost moans.
Dreadbot snorts. "Patient as ever."
"Wha'? I jus' can' stand UST!"
Barricade snickers along with the others, taking another sip of his drink, throwing a glance at the door where the Brothers disappeared.
So far, no energonshed.
*****
"Uhm... I don't know?" Springer said dumbly, because he didn't really consider anything but a mere handjob an option.
Hardly that, even. There's still a part of him that's screaming about how wrong this is.
"I mean, I'm really revved up, and if we're trading favor for favor..." Roadbuster trailed off.
"You mean what I'm willing to offer you." Springer almost spat.
He's not going to suck spike, and he isn't positive about offering his valve. And ass is definitely out of the question.
Roadbuster shrugged. "Or what I'm willing to offer you. We'll only take what we'll give... And if we don't like it, it's not like it's going to happen again. It's just this once, now that the pleasurebots are gone for the night, and we've had some energon someone tampered with. It's basically like helping each other through a medical issue."
He really is awfully revved up too, and a fuck would be much better than just waiting this charge out. Or even jerking off.
"I guess you're right. So what would you be willing to offer. Port is out of the question for me. And I'm not sure about sucking spike either..." Springer said.
"That kind of narrows the options down, but I do agree. So, you get to fuck my valve, and I'll get to fuck yours?"
A shiver trickled down Springer's spine, because just thinking about getting spiked reminded him of the humiliation the military put him through.
But at the same time, a hot valve would feel really nice around his spike right now, and this is the price he has to pay.
"Alright. But if I tell you to stop, you better listen."
"Likewise. Who goes first?" Roadbuster asked.
"I will."
Maybe it would be easier to get it over with, but he needs some time to build up his courage.
Roadbuster quirked an optical ridge. "Sure... So, how do you want to do this, Brother?"
Chapter Text
"'ard an' deep!" Crosshairs yells, flailing with his arms in excitement.
The others start laughing.
"Tender, sweet, lovemaking!" Knock Out quips.
"We'll see who's right." Barricade snickers, going back to the reading.
*****
It's kind of a hard choice. On one servo, it feels kind of degrading to tell Roadbuster to get on his servos and knees — as if he wants to dominate him, and show him who's the boss, but that's not why he's doing this — on the other, it's weird to think about looking Roadbuster in the optics while fucking him.
"Uhm... Lay on your back?"
His cooling fan and chest-plates look really good, though.
Roadbuster stretched out, slowly spreading his legs. It was obvious that he was a bit hesitant, and it took a few long seconds before his valve panel snapped to the side. Springer stared at Roadbuster's array for the first time.
"You've got piercings there too." He said stupidly.
"Yeah."
"Can I touch them?"
Roadbuster snorted. "Well, you're gonna have to if you're gonna fuck me."
"Yeah, but I mean... Doesn't it hurt? Can I touch them with my digits?"
"It'll hurt if you're really uncareful, but otherwise they don't. And, yeah, you can touch them with your digits."
Springer stroked Roadbuster's valve lips, up to the rings going through them. He carefully fiddled with the rings, then he stroked the protoform where they went through, feeling the hard metal under the silky skin. Roadbuster shifted, exventing noisily.
"Does it hurt?" Springer stopped the stroking.
"No, it felt kind of good, actually." Roadbuster said quietly.
Encouraged, Springer moved on to to stroking Roadbuster's anterior node. He didn't have a ring there, but one little ball on each side of the node showed where the slim rod went through. Springer stroked over it, feeling the solid metal through the softer component. Roadbuster squirmed again, and Springer paused.
"Keep going, it's nice."
"Why did you do these?" Springer was curious. It seemed like the piercings brought pleasure for Roadbuster, but he never thought Roadbuster was that kind of mech.
"To prove that I could? You know, I was young, and I wanted to be tough, and we always came up with these dares to prove to each other that we could stand pain and stuff. So we made a bet who could get the most piercings down there. I won, the other guy paid for the piercings, and I earned ten credits. I didn't want to remove them straight away, and then I just got used to having them. They feel like just another component now, I rarely..." he broke off with a hiss, hips twitching when Springer rubbed his anterior node again, pressing the tissue against the metal going through it, "think about them." Roadbuster ground out, then it turned into a shaky moan.
Chapter Text
Barricade sips his drink slowly, turning it into a theatrical pause, being a bastard, enjoying the power he's holding to leave the others hanging for a few seconds extra.
"Don't be an aft, babe!" Jazz mutters, smacking Barricade's arm with the back of his servo, grinning knowingly.
Barricade does the mature thing, and sticks his glossa out, but then he picks up the reading.
*****
Springer explored Roadbuster's piercings a bit more, but then his own arousal started taking over.
"Are you good to go as is?"
"I... I might need a bit of lube?" Roadbuster looked thoughtful. "Fuck, it's hard to know. I know the glitches ask for lube sometimes, and I guess there has to be a reason."
"Never had your valve taken before?" Springer asked, pointedly not thinking about his own state of being unsealed.
"I have, it's just... it was a long time ago, and it wasn't good. Didn't use lube back then, but I can appreciate the lube even when spiking, so it might make it less uncomfortable to receive..." Roadbuster trailed of, sounding very thoughtful.
"I'm not gonna deny you that." Springer said, reaching for the drawer in the nightstand where he always kept a bottle of lube.
Springer was curious about why Roadbuster had been fragged before — he knew that civilians weren't supposed to use it to punish or dominate the way the military did — if he had made some kind of deal, or lost a bet, but he was not drunk enough to ask about it now.
That could be such a mood killer. For both of them.
He handed Roadbuster the lube, feeling awkward as all hell watching his Brother stare at the bottle with a weird look on his face-plates.
"Never thought I'd use it on myself..." Roadbuster muttered.
"You don't have to," Springer started, but then his processor caught up, and he realized that it was a lousy reassurance to say that Roadbuster didn't have to do something he was actually doing for himself, "I mean, uh, you... ah, you want me to do it for you?"
He has done it for their glitches now and then, of course he should be as courteous to his Brother.
Roadbuster bit his lip as he thought about it, and Springer was almost taken aback by how attractive — cute even — that expression was on his Brother.
"Maybe you could try doing it? I honestly don't know what I prefer..."
Chapter Text
"I was right!" Knock Out sounds triumphant. "It's going to be sweet lovemaking."
"They could still go at it 'ard an' deep!" Crosshairs says hopefully.
Jazz giggles.
*****
Springer grabbed the bottle of lubricant, pouring some on his digits, and then he stroked Roadbuster's node again a few times, before slipping his digits through Roadbuster's silky folds. He slowly dipped two digits inside, pumping them with careful movements to slick Roadbuster up. He pulled out again to stroke his node instead, as that seemed to produce more of a reaction, putting light pressure on right over the piercing.
Roadbuster groaned, shifting his hips to move into the touch, and his spike visibly hardened more. Springer stroked up the shaft with his thumb, kind of curious. He'd never done it with someone who had his spike out while they were interfacing, and it felt very peculiar. Roadbuster didn't seem to mind, bucking up to meet that stimulation too.
Springer pushed his digits into Roadbuster's valve again, testing if he felt ready. The warm slickness around his digits had his own spike aching with need.
"You ready?" He asked thickly.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
Springer lined up, and sank inside slowly, not stopping until he was hilted, fighting the urge to start thrusting. Roadbuster's valve was hot around him, and very tight — much tighter than the well-used pleasurebot he had last night — and there was something incredibly arousing about having his Brother splayed out under him like this. Springer started to roll his hips, staring in fascination at his spike slipping in and out of Roadbuster's valve. He reached down to stroke Roadbuster's node again, drawing a moan out of the smaller green mech.
Roadbuster arched his back, digits digging into the bedding, and Springer rubbed quicker on Roadbuster's node. He was racing towards his own overload embarrassingly quickly, and he really wanted Roadbuster to get one too. When they made this deal, he didn't think Roadbuster would enjoy this, and that he would just lay there and wait for Springer to finish, but now that it was obvious that Roadbuster was having a good time, Springer really wanted him to reach the peak too.
Maybe he'll get another round later if Roadbuster enjoys this...
After a few moments of hesitation, Springer grabbed Roadbuster's spike, smearing the pre-transfluid over the head, and then letting it slick the shaft as he started stroking it, not stopping the toying with Roadbuster's node. What hesitancy he'd felt about playing with someone's spike vanished when Roadbuster instantly reacted with a loud moan, and bucking into the touch. Roadbuster's valve clenches around Springer's spike, and it almost pulled him over the edge prematurely.
He just needs to get Roadbuster there first, then he can cum.
Chapter Text
"I'm never going to be able to look at those two wrestling again after this, not without my mind going places..." Dreadbot says.
"Shut up! We need te get te the overloads!" Crosshairs whines.
"And then what? Isn't the anticipation the fun part of this?" Hot Rod asks. "It's not like we will finish just because they do in the story."
"No, but then we get te see Springer get it good. Right? It doesn' stop 'ere, does it?" Crosshairs sounds worried.
Barricade scrolls down to check the fic. "I think we can all agree that we want to see Springer get it good and hard, and this doesn't stop when they've finished what they currently are doing."
Everyone cheers, and Jazz straightens his back. Barricade sees the preen for what it is, and he thinks Jazz is right for being proud of this story.
*****
Roadbuster's valve clamped down around Springer's spike, strong caliper almost making them stick together. Springer grunted, the tightness bordering on too much. The wail that left Roadbuster's vocalizer was downright indecent, stemming from unadulterated pleasure.
Springer pushed in deep, his spike being milked by the rhythmic contractions of Roadbuster's valve. Roadbuster's spike twitched, shooting sticky ropes of transfluid over his own abdominal plating. Roadbuster didn't seem to notice, bucking up to meet Springer.
The Triple changer could feel the tight valve around his spike go slicker for every hot spurt of transfluid he pumped into Roadbuster.
He better have a bolt installed, or some other protection.
The crystal clear thought was most unwelcome as Springer's spike started to depressurize, slipping out of Roadbuster's valve, followed by a rush of transfluid.
"That was surprisingly great." Roadbuster said, looking decidedly dopey.
"You thought I wouldn't be any good?"
"No, I... I thought I wouldn't like it regardless of your skills. I was convinced that I just dislike receiving."
"So, uhm, talking about receiving. Do you have protection? Like a bolt or something..."
Roadbuster's optics brightened. "Oh! Yeah, I think I have a bolt. If it hasn't fallen out at some point, it hasn't been checked since prison... It's not like I've had to think about those things for a very long time."
"Then maybe we should both take tests after this. I haven't checked mine either, and I'm guessing that you won't want to use a raincoat for your turn..." Springer managed to not shudder at the thought of bottoming.
"I guess we should. Maybe we can order them online? Like, get them in anonymous packs or something. Instead of having to spread our legs for a medic."
Chapter Text
"Ye know, maybe it's time fer a check-up on our own bolts..." Crosshairs muses.
"I can do it for you." Knock Out offers.
"That'd be weird." Jazz says.
Barricade kind of agrees. He knows it's prejudiced, but he has such a hard time picturing Knock Out as a medic.
"So that's where you draw the line, Jazz." Hot Rod Snickers.
"I dunno, maybe I jus' need ta get used ta the thought." Jazz shrugs.
"Barricade, le's 'ear the rest!" Crosshairs orders, clearly having lost patience.
*****
Springer threw a rag to Roadbuster, grabbing one for himself to wipe down too. He watched as Roadbuster sloppily wiped his ventral plating, some smears left once he was done. Roadbuster almost looked a little out of it, grinning slowly as he caught Springer staring.
"What?"
"Nothing. I just... You look so... tired?" Springer couldn't put a word on it.
Blissed out, maybe?
"Well, it was intense! Definitely more powerful than just a spike overload. The way you treated both my spike, and my valve was... Yeah, I came really hard. My hydraulic pressure is still a bit low, but it's all good. I feel so fragging relaxed."
"Then you don't want to have a go right now?"
Springer laid down next to Roadbuster, hoping that he might not have to take it after all.
If Roadbuster got that satisfied from this, then maybe he wouldn't need to get some valve?
"I don't think I can get it up right now, let alone do some pounding."
Pounding. Doesn't exactly sound sexy.
Springer made a noncommittal noise.
He did owe Roadbuster one after all.
"I don't think I ever overloaded with my valve before." Roadbuster said slowly, looking thoughtful.
"I definitely didn't." Springer said.
And he probably never will. He's kind of curious, though, because he really didn't think that Roadbuster would either.
"It's this deep, heavy pulse of contractions, and it just keeps going. My valve is still twitching, actually. And my legs feel like gel. I mean, how can my legs feel tired even though I was on my back?!"
"That's kind of weird. You know, I never asked the entertainers what it feels like, I never thought about it before. It was just their thing."
Roadbuster makes a noise of agreement — one that sounds thoughtful — and it makes Springer curious, because it might imply that Roadbuster might want this again. He doesn't ask though, the question is too loaded.
Becoming a willing valve mech is such a big step from just helping each other out with a medical problem. What would he do if Roadbuster turned into a glitch? Could he trust him?
Springer's thoughts derailed when Roadbuster's servo slid down his ventral plating, past his receded spike, to slowly stroke his valve-lips.
Chapter Text
"Ooh, things are heating up again!" Dreadbot leers.
"Yeh, Roadie, give it te 'im good!" Crosshairs cheers.
"You really are into the thought of Springer getting fucked.
Crosshairs shrugs unrepentantly. "'e 'as a nice aft, an' 'e does seem like the type who'd make a really good bottom. Come on now, Barricade, don' let us wait longer!"
Barricade does take pity on the poor in-house mech and continues reading.
*****
Springer couldn't help stiffening. It was a long time since someone touched him there, and so far, the nicest things he had experienced was the clinical touches when getting medical check-ups.
"I don't know why I didn't expect your valve-lips to be this soft." Roadbuster mutters. "Maybe it's because you look kind of rugged?"
Springer doesn't answer. He's too busy trying to force his frame to relax, and even if it was kind of a funny assumption, he just can't appreciate it.
Roadbuster strokes his valve-lips again, mapping out the smooth surface.
"You're not really aroused, are you? You're not the least heated here..."
"Not yet." Springer forces out.
He didn't want to do this wrong. Roadbuster really showed him a good time, and he didn't want to give a half-assed repayment. But it was so hard to get into it when his frame was expecting something to hurt soon.
"Just relax, Bro. I still can't get it up, it'll be a while before I can bone you. In the meantime, maybe I can explore this sweet component of yours?"
It's not like he has much of a choice.
"Sure, go ahead."
"As long as you're this stiff, it probably won't feel any good..." Roadbuster teased, quirking an optical ridge. "Just try to focus on how it feels, and like we said before, you can tell me to stop of I do something you really don't like."
"I'll try."
Springer took a deep vent to steady himself, trying to focus on what Roadbuster was doing. There was light touch, and the tips of his digits felt warm against his valve-lips. The touch felt intimate, but at the same time harmless, not going straight for his valve. Roadbuster drew patterns over the soft protoform, and slowly, Springer started to feel a bit warmer down there.
His valve-lips started to feel hotter, and a bit swollen. Springer knew the reaction from every time he had fingered a glitch, but to experience it himself felt a bit strange. It wasn't hurtful, but the way his valve-lips felt strained was almost a bit uncomfortable. Then Roadbuster's digit slipped through his slick slit, and that was not uncomfortable at all.
Chapter Text
"This is so relatable." Dreadbot groans.
"Yeah, I think we can all agree about this being relatable. Well, maybe not you, Crosshairs..." Barricade answers, because Blackout might as well hear this. "That feeling where you have to make yourself vulnerable like that, even though you don't want to."
Jazz shrugs. "I've had worse."
Hot Rod grabs a pillow and throws it at Jazz. "One really bad thing doesn't make other bad things less bad than they are."
"I guess you're right." Jazz says.
"Onwards with the porn!" Crosshairs yells.
*****
Roadbuster circled his node and it tingled in a very pleasant way, Springer's valve quickly feeling even hotter.
It was kind of curious, the way the touch sent pleasant thrills that spread down his thighs, and up into the inner parts of him, as if every internal component surrounding his valve were interconnected.
"Feels ok?" Roadbuster asked, slipping his digit through Springer's slit to gather some lubricant before circling his node again.
"Yeah..." Springer said hesitantly, taking stock of all the input more deliberately. "Yeah, it feels kind of nice."
Roadbuster went back to circling his node, propping himself up on an elbow to be able to watch his handy work.
Springer felt exposed, and the embarrassment wasn't something he was used to, but it didn't feel humiliating with Roadbuster intently looking at his array.
It was actually a bit hot, with the way Roadbuster's optics were brightening with arousal, his field projecting his appreciation for the view.
He dared to spread his legs more, to give better access, and he would be lying if he said that it wasn't because he enjoyed the touches.
On the contrary, he could feel how slick he was getting, his valve-lips feeling puffy to a point where Roadbuster's digits slipped over them easily without them kind of being tugged along with his digits.
A digit slipped back and forth over his entrance, dipping a bit deeper, and Springer tensed on reflex.
"Would you be fine with a finger or two now?"
Probably not, but he's going to take Roadbuster's cock soon, so he might as well mech up and allow it.
"Sure."
"If you need me to, I'll stop."
"Yeah, yeah, it's fine." He waved the concern away.
Not even being able to take a digit easily suddenly made him feel like a whimp.
He's had so much worse, this should be easy. Roadbuster took it without a problem. He's the fragging V.P, he should be able to take a damned finger in his cunt without wussing out.
Chapter Text
Barricade vividly remembers that vulnerable feeling when he was with Ironhide in the beginning, how exposed and uncertain he felt. Jazz really has managed to capture that, and it's a reminder of what it was like.
Good thing that his mindset has changed.
*****
Roadbuster's digit slipped into his valve, and Springer felt stiff as a board. It didn't hurt — wasn't even uncomfortable — with how slick his valve was. Roadbuster pumped his digit a couple of times, then he added another digit. The added thickness gave his calipers something to grip, and the slick slide in and out turned more pleasurable. Roadbuster's thumb drew a few circles around Springer's anterior node. Slowly, Springer's frame started to relax, and he released a vent he didn't know he was holding. The tingling heat started to return with the slow, and rather gentle touches, having fizzed out when the first talk about digits in his valve started.
The digits inside him curled to rub against a spot that fet both weird and good. He knew how to make that move — he had used it on glitches so many times — but to experience it was quite different. On one servo, it felt like Roadbuster was pressing on his waste tank, and it was weird, but on the other servo, he was going slick very fast, and the pressure was sending increased charge through his array. His legs spread more of their own accord.
Springer's vents had gone faster without him noticing, and he was surprised when he heard a breathy moan leave him.
"Feels alright?" Roadbuster asked.
"Yeah."
Roadbuster sped up the circling of Springer's node, and the Triple changer's hips bucked up to meet the digits. His charge was increasing rapidly now, a strange pressure building in his array.
Almost feels like he needs to void his tank, but at the same time not, and he wants this tension to be released.
"Are you ready for something bigger?" Roadbuster asked, stopping what he was doing.
Springer almost growled in frustration, not wanting Roadbuster to stop what he was doing, and wasn't that unexpected?
His charge took a hit when he thought about having to take cock now, nerves overcoming him with apprehension for how Roadbuster would want to claim his turn.
"I think so?"
Aft up, glitch.
"You got any preference for a position?" Roadbuster asked.
"No." Springer almost hissed.
What did Roadbuster think, that he was well versed enough in this to have a favorite position to be taken?
Roadbuster shrugged, his field smoothing against Springer's almost apologetically. "I just wanted you to have a say, if there's a position that you really hate..."
Oh, shit! Roadbuster was trying to be nice, and he's not being very accommodating, considering the deal they made.
"I prefer to not be bent over." He says.
Even if it's just as bad to be on his back, and see the mech who's taking him; bright optics, nasty field...
"That's fine, I would like you to be on top..."
Chapter Text
"I like where this is going." Dreadbot leers.
Crosshairs snorts. "Of course ye do!"
Dreadbot shrugs unrepentantly.
"I'm with Dreadbot on this." Hot Rod says.
Bumblebee makes a noise of agreement.
Barricade agrees too.
*****
On top?! He wasn't expecting that...
It granted him some control — which was great, nobody could hurt him when he was in control — but the control also cane with a side dish of doing this of his own accord. Laying back and spreading his legs may be unpalatable, but it could also be allowed to conceal his participation. To actively get on top of Roadbuster and taking his spike required acts that implied that he really wanted it.
But then again, even spreading his legs for Roadbuster was his choice this time, part of a deal they made that he had enjoyed so far...
"Sure. I know nothing about how to do this, though..."
Technically a lie; he has had glitches ride him more times than he cared to count, and he knew the mechanics. It was quite different to try to do it on someone else, though.
"I'm sure we'll figure it out. Just get on top of me, and tell me what you like. I'll try some moves on you, see if I can make it feel good. And you decide when to take my spike."
Never. He'll never decide to take a spike. But refusing isn't an option, not when Roadbuster allowed him to have his valve.
He felt clumsy and awkward crawling on top of Roadbuster, straddling the Assault vehicle's hips. Roadbuster's semi-hard spike rested against his valve-lips, and his anterior node, and he could feel how slick his own slickness.
Roadbuster reached for his array again, finding Springer's anterior node with practiced ease. Springer's own lubricant was still enough to provide a slick glide when he started to circle it. Springer's hips bucked into the touch, and his slick folds slid along Roadbuster's spike. Springer sucked in a sharp vent when the head of the spike nudged at his entrance. Roadbuster didn't do anything to get inside him, though, his spike still not fully pressurized.
"You wore me out good, my hydraulic pressure is still a bit low." Roadbuster smirked.
Springer felt a grin pull at his intake. He rocked his hips again, taking up the challenge to get his Brother's spike up again. Roadbuster followed his movement as far as he could, then he allowed Springer to grind his node against Roadbuster's spike, waiting him out, then immediately circling his node again as soon as Springer rocked forward.
"Want some more slick? It really made a difference for me..."
It's preparation for enjoying this, but then again, why shouldn't he take the chance to make this feel good, instead of toughing it out. He can control things here, he doesn't have to just endure. And he'd be lying if he said that he isn't a bit curious about how powerful Roadbuster's overload have to have been for him to still not have full hydraulic pressure.
He grabbed the bottle of lubricant, handing it to Roadbuster without saying a word. He still couldn't quite bring himself to ask for it.
Roadbuster poured a hefty amount on his digits, then he patted Springer's aft to urge him to rise a bit. The Vice President did so, allowing Roadbuster to smear the lubricant over his node and folds, digits dipping inside his valve to slick him up.
Chapter Text
"'e's gonna get it good!" Crosshairs squeals.
Everyone starts laughing.
"Even I hope so too at this point." Hot Rod says.
Barricade doesn't leave them waiting.
*****
The digits slipped in and out easily, nudging his calipers to loosen up, and it felt kind of nice when the wider, jointed part of the digits momentarily opened him up more as they passed the ring if calipers at his entrance. Springer grabbed on to Roadbuster's chest plates to steady himself.
"Feeling ready?" Roadbuster asked, voice rough.
"Not really — at least not mentally."
"Just do it at your own pace."
His Brother was evil enough to stop what he was doing with his digits, and Springer almost protested, but he managed to stop himself.
The aphrodisiac must be to blame, right? Surely, a little bit of fingering can't possibly be enough to turn him into a wanton glitch?
Roadbuster stroked his palms up Springer's thighs, and the gesture felt both soothing, and encouraging.
Roadbuster's servos curled around his hips, urging him forward, and Springer went along witch it, rocking forward. It made his array slide over Roadbuster's now fully pressurized spike, and the friction and pressure against his node felt wonderful. He gasped, increasing the pace of the rocking. Roadbuster's servos were steady, working with him through the motion without feeling oppressive or forceful.
The only thing missing is the digits inside him, hitting that sweet spot.
Taking a deep vent and then holding it, Springer tilted his hips to try to line up with the spike, like the glitches had done for him so many times before. It made the head of the spike nudged its way through his folds, teasing the entrance to his valve, but he didn't manage to get it inside. He released the breath he was holding, rolling his hips to try again, but again, it was to no avail.
In a way, it would be easier if Roadbuster grabbed his own spike and just pushed it inside — he wouldn't feel as the instigator, just a passive participant — but at the same time, he had been granted the courtesy to take control, and take it at his own pace.
Springer reached down, grabbing Roadbuster's spike, pointing it upwards. He'd seen the piercing before, but he did stare for a second or two anyway, then he offlined his optics, and mustered up the courage to sink down on the spike.
It slid in easily with all the lubricant, but he went slow anyway, apprehensive about it suddenly turning painful. Roadbuster groaned, and then Springer's aft suddenly hit Roadbuster's hips.
He's taking it all, and it isn't the least uncomfortable.
Chapter Text
Everyone is quiet for once, the silence filled with anticipation, Barricade enjoys the power again, the way he can keep them hanging, but only for a moment.
He really wants to know how this will go too.
*****
Springer started to lift off and sink down, feeling a bit clumsy and awkward doing it. Roadbuster kept circling his node, and Springer felt himself go much slicker rather quickly, as Roadbuster's spike continuously hit a spot inside him that both felt incredibly good, and seemed to be make him extremely wet.
His spike pressurized without much warning — just a quick pop-up, but no waiting for him to answer the request — and Springer stared down at it in surprise.
Sure, it felt really good, but he didn't think he was that aroused.
"Fuck, you are so tight." Roadbuster groaned, the servo still on Springer's hip urging him on for a few seconds, before he grabbed Springer's spike.
Springer was surprised by how readily Roadbuster would do that, but he wasn't going to complain. He did almost complain when Roadbuster stopped again.
"Just going to get some more slick " Roadbuster said hurriedly before Springer had a chance to say anything.
Roadbuster grabbed the bottle, and looted a hefty amount into his palm. He dipped his digits into the puddle, resuming the circling of Springer's node. With his other servo, he appeared the lube along Springer's hard shaft, then he took a new grip, stroking it with firm moves.
The slick made it feel awesome, and without noticing, Springer started to ride Roadbuster faster, chasing his overload in what way he could. He was so wet, every time he lifted off or sank down, it produced a squelching sound, and he was vaguely embarrassed by it.
His frame really seemed to enjoy this.
Roadbuster groaned, bucking up to get deeper, and Springer met him, grinding down to get the spike even deeper into his valve. A coil of tension was building deep in the pit of Springer's abdomen, almost like a creeping sensation. He increased the pace, straining the hydraulics in his legs, trying to get Roadbuster's spike to rub quicker against that sweet spot inside him.
"I'm gonna..." Roadbuster gritted out through clenched denta.
"Don't you fucking dare before I do!" Springer growled, grabbing on to Roadbuster's chest-plates, riding him wildly to get to the edge.
Roadbuster rubbed almost frantically at Springer's node, stroking his spike at the same pace.
It did the trick. Suddenly, the coil in his abdomen was released, and Springer could feel the heavy pulsing inside him when his valve contracted. He wailed out his pleasure, his spike shooting sticky ropes of transfluid over Roadbuster's ventral plating. Roadbuster grunted in pain when Springer inadvertently grabbed his chest-plates even harder, slightly denting the metal, but then he bucked up with a loud moan, spilling his transfluid in Springer's valve.
Springer keeled forward, coming to rest on top of Roadbuster, too spent to even roll off his Brother.
Chapter Text
"Tha's it, I ship those two now!" Crosshairs says.
Bumblebee makes a noise that even Barricade can understand as a me too!
"This story leaves off perfectly for sequels. I mean, after this, they're bound to want to get a bit of valve action now and then, and it's easier to go to someone who already knows..." Dreadbot trails off, his optics a bit unfocused, probably already imagining the next scenario. "Just a hint for the author for the next time we do this."
He really hopes more of them want to do this again, it's so fun.
Barricade pulls out another data pad, looking at the text. His spark speeds up, but at the same time, he can't stop himself from grinning.
"Everyone have an exit strategy ready, please, we're going deeper down the rabbit hole with the next piece: Deflowerment, with Ironhide and," Barricade takes a deep vent, "and Blackout." He holds his vents for what seems like a minute, but in reality it's just seconds, listening for the sound of a massive mech coming to get them.
Nothing happens, so he starts reading.
*****
They've been out in the field for far too long, waiting for orders, their unit divided in pairs this time. Blackout found this perfect spot on a rocky height, giving them good view of the surroundings, but still providing some shelter from the elements with a small cave under a rocky outcropping.
It's a good thing with the shelter, the weather on this dusty planet is terrible. They're currently ducking for cover from a sand storm, but judging by the smell the wind brings, the sand will soon be grounded by heavy rain.
Ironhide stares at Blackout's rotor hub again.
"What?" The big Helo asks, looking over his shoulder.
"Nothing. Just admiring your hub. It's a nicely constructed component. Especially with the mods we've made."
"Yeah, go figure that being damaged and making unauthorized repairs ourselves with scrap is an improvement from what the medics do."
"Yeah." Ironhide pulls out a bottle of high grade he still has left from the last time they had an opportunity to go looting. He takes a swig, then he hands it to Blackout. "Not surprising, though, considering how much damage they do themselves when they punish us."
Blackout grunts a sour acknowledgement, then he takes a drink.
"They ever did something to your array?" Ironhide asks, because for some reason, he's been thinking a lot about Blackout's valve these last days.
Blackout laughs hoarsely. "No. I guess being 'ugly' and 'obedient' is a blessing. But I guess it's just a matter of time before someone with different tastes will be the one to punish me..."
Chapter Text
"Still alive, but dead curious!" Hot Rod hisses excitedly when Barricade makes another pause just to listen for signs of imminent doom.
They'll probably regret this at some point, but at the same time, he can't really bring himself to regret this.
*****
"So you're still sealed." Ironhide states the obvious.
"Yep." Blackout almost sounds proud. He takes another drink from the bottle before handing it back.
"Want me to take your seal?" Ironhide blurts, the mere thought of it making his spike throb uncomfortably behind his panel.
"What?!" Blackout snarls.
Yeah, that did come out a bit too pushy.
"I mean, instead of losing it to one of the bastards... I'd make it better, I know I can make it good for you, and you don't have to let them ruin it for you..." Ironhide rambles to try to explain why he wants to do this, even if he isn't sure himself.
Why does he have the hots for his Brother?
Blackout frowns, looking grim. "I'm not some glitch..."
"I know that. I just... You know how we can make the glitches have a really good time? Wouldn't that be better?
"The glitches want to be fucked in the first place."
"Yeah. But at some point, you might not have a choice anymore. Wouldn't it be better to have the choice of doing it with someone who won't do it to hurt you? I'll try to make it pain free, they won't. And taking away their opportunity to steal your first time is such a fuck you to the Commanders. Even if they don't know, you will."
Blackout is still frowning, but he seems to be mulling over his options.
"I know I would've preferred someone of my choice to have my seal." Ironhide says quietly.
Blackout's optics brighten, and he stares at Ironhide, field projecting anger and disgust. It's impossible to say if it's aimed at the Commanders, or at Ironhide for confessing that he wanted one of his Brothers to fuck him.
"If you tell anyone about it..." Blackout growls.
"Of course I wouldn't. Just like I wouldn't make fun of you if one of the Commanders have you first."
"And I'm not your glitch afterwards."
Ironhide grins at him. "You're always my glitch. In the sparring ring."
Blackout flips him off, but it's accompanied by a snort, and a smirk of amusement, and it breaks the tension that was accumulating. "Alright, you can take my seal for me. Choice always trumps everything else."
Chapter Text
There's that old saying about how curiosity kills. And Barricade knows that it would be the death of him to actually ask, but he can't help but wonder what Blackout thinks of this. Not just the story, but the actual topic. They've had many hard discussions about consent, but it would be interesting to hear what Blackout actually would do in a situation like this. Especially with the luxury of hindsight.
Then again, he doesn't know if Blackout ever was raped, considering the fake out the Helo showed him.
Maybe he'll feel a bit adventurous/suicidal someday, and ask Blackout about the choice in this story. Just reading it like this is enough of a dance with Unicron, and even if the bastard is just a comm away, Barricade doesn't want to give him a reason to shut — shoot? — this storytime down.
*****
Ironhide can hardly believe his audials. His spike can, though, because it instantly knocks on the inside of the cover, as if begging insistently to be released.
If this truly was about just helping a Brother, would he really be this eager, or is it something more?
Well, Blackout is rather attractive...
"Should I try to just remove the seal manually first?" He asks distractedly.
"Sure. If you succeed, you don't have to frag me." Blackout says, making it sound like that would be a good thing.
Fuck! If he gets the seal out, he won't get any...
"Yeah, it's definitely worth a shot!" Ironhide forces out. "So, uhm, spread your legs and open your panel?"
It feels wrong to ask his Brother so bluntly for this, but he just doesn't know how else to do it.
Blackout makes a face, but he leans back on his elbows, letting his knees fall to the sides. It takes a few seconds for him to open his panel, a hesitation that's probably normal for any virgin. Ironhide tries his damnedest to not stare at the panel too eagerly when it slides to the side, and as soon as it's fully open, he fights the urge to reach for Blackout's pretty array immediately.
It's cruel to think about how his Brother's nice looking valve probably was chosen to please their superiors, he'll rather pretend that it's pretty for him.
"You ready?"
"Don't think I'll ever be."
"As ready as you can?"
"Probably. Just get it done."
The words are sobering, showing how little Blackout is matching his own arousal.
"I'll be gentle." Ironhide promises, partly to make up for his own eagerness, even if Blackout is unaware of it.
He reaches for Blackout's array, digits nudging the soft folds open to allow him access to the sweet slit.
Blackout is dry as the dusty ground of the cave they're in. It's a miracle that there are no creaking, protesting noises of friction when he tries to push his digits inside. Blackout makes a face of discomfort and disgust.
"Have you got any lube?" Ironhide asks.
"No."
"Damn, and I'm all out too. You've got anything we could use?"
"No. It's been a while since we were allowed to restock, my joint lube and nanite gel is all gone."
"I know, Brother." Ironhide says quietly, all too aware of their lack of supplies. "I guess I could use some pre-transfluid..." He muses out loud.
It's slick enough, and it'll give him a reason to release his aching spike.
Chapter Text
"That would be kind of gross." Dreadbot says.
Hot Rod nods his agreement, and Bumblebee makes a noise that indicates that he agrees too.
"It works." Jazz shrugs.
"Ye get it in ye anyway as soon as the dick goes in." Crosshairs snickers.
"I know, but it's different to actually deliberately use it as lube. Strangely enough, I find the idea a bit hot in the fic, even if I wouldn't want it in real life." Dreadbot muses.
Barricade finds himself agreeing.
Some things that are hot to fantasize about are not as appealing to actually try.
*****
"Sure." Blackout sounds unimpressed.
Ironhide's panel pops a little too fast, but there's nothing he can do about it.
At least he's kneeling in a way that Blackout won't see his rock hard spike.
He strokes along the shaft a couple of times, then he gathers the slick fluid with his digits. As careful as possible, he opens Blackout's valve with the digits of his other servo to not lose too much of the slick before even getting his digits inside.
Blackout tenses when his digits slip inside, but he doesn't say anything.
"It doesn't hurt, does it?" Ironhide asks worriedly.
"No. And even if it did, it's probably better than what someone else would do."
Ironhide frowns.
He doesn't want this to just be less bad than it could be, but then again, Blackout's eager enjoyment is a lot to ask for, probably way too much.
"Tell me if it's uncomfortable. I don't want this to be unpleasant for you."
"That's a very hard parameter to work into this equation."
Ironhide's digits hit the seal, and Blackout squirms when he pushes a bit harder on it. He tries to get a grip on the soft and flexible, yet tough membrane.
"Yeah, that feels weird." Blackout grunts.
"I'm going to try to get you to relax a bit more before I try again." Ironhide decides.
If he can get Blackout to enjoy it even the least, that might make it easier. Or might make the Helo less reluctant to let him take the seal in the more common way instead.
Blackout makes a non-committal noise for an answer, clearly not impressed with the plan, and it makes Ironhide even more determined to make this a surprisingly nice experience for Blackout. He starts to slowly pump his digits in and out, rubbing that spot that triggers lubrication in some frames.
When he gets enough slick to make it easier to rub Blackout's anterior node, he's going to go for that, and hopefully, Blackout will have the wiring to really enjoy it.
Chapter Text
"I wish Hide would've taken my seal." Crosshairs says wistfully.
Jazz giggles. "I wonder how he would'a done it if ya'd been a virgin in prison."
"They would've wrestled fer it in the washracks, an' Hide would've won the right te do the honor." Crosshairs sounds downright dreamy.
"Sounds like a good fic to write." Dreadbot says. "Then we can hear it later, when Blackout's seal is obliterated." He's clearly eager to hear the rest.
*****
It doesn't take long to get Blackout to start lubricating, and Ironhide hears the way his Brother's fans speed up. Blackout doesn't say anything, or make any noises to indicate that he's enjoying it, but that's probably to be expected.
It's probably a bit embarrassing to admit liking having his valve stimulated.
Ironhide pulls his digits out, circling Blackout's anterior node, and that gets a reaction; Blackout's hips buck up. It encourages Ironhide to keep going, and he can already feel the heat Blackout's frame is giving off.
His Brother is getting charged.
Ironhide is very aroused himself, rock hard spike weeping pre-transfluid that drips down to stain the ground.
Blackout suddenly moans quietly, and it goes straight to Ironhide's cock, making it throb almost painfully. He doesn't dare asking Blackout if he's ready, because it feels like a question that might put Blackout off, and truth be told, he doesn't want to wait much longer to get inside. He slips his digits inside Blackout's valve again.
"I might be able to poke a hole in this, that could make it less uncomfortable." He says, prodding the seal again.
He may want his Brother's valve really badly, but he doesn't want to cause Blackout unnecessary pain.
"Sure." Blackout grunts.
"Tell me if I hurt you." Ironhide says, spark speeding up.
"I will."
Ironhide extends a talon slowly, pushing it against the seal. There's resistance for a second, then the tip cuts through. He immediately retracts the claw, pushing at the hole with his blunt digit instead, widening the opening. He can feel it tear more, and it's a relief that it seems to give quite easily.
He pulls his digit out, and it's followed by a rush of lubricant, built up behind the seal, and now free to run out. Blackout's valve suddenly is twice as soaked, and even more inviting.
Ironhide shifts to kneel between Blackout's legs, spike bobbing close to Blackout's inviting opening. Blackout's valve-lips are puffy and hot, giving away the Helo's arousal.
Ironhide grabs his spike, lining it up. He rubs the head through Blackout's folds a couple of times, smearing the lubricant and transfluid to slick everything up even more. Blackout's lack of resistance is probably the best sign of consent he'll get.
He rolls his hips, the head of his spike popping inside through the ring of tight calipers. Ironhide grabs Blackout's hips.
"Ready or not, Brother, here I come."
Chapter Text
"I wonder if he is — was? — tight for real? I mean he's huge, maybe he's loose from the get go. Stock pussy made for a mech the same size to do." Hot Rod muses.
Barricade almost chokes on the vent he was taking, and then he starts to laugh along with the others.
"Dibs on not being the one to ask Blackout if he's tight or not." He says, knowing full well who's listening.
And maybe this will be incentive for Blackout to volunteer the answer without being asked the next time they have weird and dubious, yet strangely satisfying sex? One can hope.
*****
Ironhide pushes forward rather slowly, even if his frame is screaming at him to thrust forward, and bury himself in the wet heat embracing his spike. He hits the seal, feels the resistance, and as gently as possible, he pushes against it before backing off, repeating it to try to get the hole he's already made in it to widen or tear.
On the fifth thrust, it gives, and he sinks in easily.
"Feeling okay?"
"Yeah, it's alright." Blackout says, but his feigned disinterest can't quite cover the arousal curling through his field.
Ironhide takes that encouragement, and starts to circle Blackout's node again, thrusting with long but rather slow movements. Blackout rocks everytime he bottoms out, even though he's trying to restrain himself from going too harshly.
Blackout isn't giving him any input on if it's good or not, so Ironhide i forced to teek his field, and listen for the smaller tells, like the way Blackout's vents are quicker now, or the twitching of his hips, as if he's trying to get Ironhide's digits to hit a certain spot.
Ironhide's charge is building far too quickly, and he's hard pressed to hold back.
He really wants Blackout to overload too, but it's hard to say how close the Pave low is, if he's not all that close, or if he's trying to hide it because he doesn't want to be the kind of mech who enjoys this.
A quiet moan escaping the Helo gives away that Blackout probably is enjoying it far more than he lets on. Ironhide feels bold enough to stop.
He has to anyway, or he'll shoot his load in a second or two.
He pulls out, taking his digit away from Blackout's node, not missing the way Blackout follows him, as if trying to get more.
"Why did you stop?!" Blackout almost growls.
Ironhide manages to stifle a slag eating grin, schooling his face into a bored mask. "Your seal is broken, so I guess we're done with what we started this for."
"We're not entirely done, are we?" Blackout almost snaps.
"I suppose we could continue, if you want to..."
"Yes." Blackout hisses.
"As you wish." Ironhide says, quirking an optical ridge, smirking at his Brother.
"Don't be so full of yourself." Blackout scoffs, but it turns into a mewl when Ironhide rolls his hips, sinking in to the hilt.
"I think you're the one who's full of me at this point."
Ironhide starts to circle Blackout's node again, and this time, Blackout allows little noises of approval to leave his vocalizer, and he moves his hips to meet Ironhide's thrusts.
It makes it even harder to hold his overload back, but just seconds later, it turns out to be unnecessary when Blackout overloads with a loud wail, bucking up to meet Ironhide.
It pulls him over, and he slams in deep, spilling his transfluid in Blackout's valve before collapsing on top of the Helo, frame spent.
"I hope it was better than you expected?" He asks, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.
"Yeah. I might even consider doing this again."
Chapter Text
"Yeh, more o' tha'!" Crosshairs cheers, clapping his servos.
"They would be insanely hot tagether." Jazz agrees.
Barricade pulls out another data pad, starting up the screen, then he groans.
"You are all trying to get me maimed, aren't you?" He almost whines. "The next fic is called Heat, and our horny heroes are Hatchet and, uhm, and Blackout." He whispers Blackout's designation, as if that would keep from catching the attention of said Helicopter, then he listens intently, half expecting to hear the cackling of Unicron as background music to heavy pedesteps.
*****
It was a rare occurrence, but it was inconvenient nonetheless. Blackout stepped into the washracks for the second time that day, letting the cool water run down his frame for a few seconds, before grabbing the showerhead to aim the stream at his valve. He grabbed some mild solvent, cleaning away the lubricant slicking his folds, valve-lips swollen and almost sore.
Why did he have to be the one with glitching mating protocols? It was mostly animal formers who had heat cycles, but now and then, protocols like that would be active in regular mechs too. But why him?
It seemed to take forever to get the lubricant away, probably because the more he washed and touched down there, the more his damned frame produced. Eventually he felt satisfied with the result, shutting the water, grabbing a towel to dry himself.
Blackout squirmed when he closed his panel, his valve feeling weird and uncomfortable.
As if his insides suddenly had increased in weight, and threatened to fall out or something.
The Helo resigned to once again get through this ridiculous state. He always had such a hard time focusing when he was in heat, and nothing seemed to help. He could fuck the little whores all night, but it never brought the charge creaking along his wiring down, not even the least.
He was just four steps out the door to his berth room before he could feel the lubricant dribble out, slicking his folds again. His valve-lips rubbed against each other, and against his node, and Blackout couldn't help but twitch from the sensation, then he froze momentarily when more lubricant dribbled out.
Frag it, he'll need a pad or something, or he's going to start leaking.
With a deep sigh, Blackout returned to his room, pressing the towel against his array as soon as he opened his panel. It was a good thing he did, because a rush of lubricant dribbled out.
Ugh.
Blackout grabbed a small rag from the drawer, and then he folded it to a small square, poking it in place with his claw as he slowly closed his panel. It wasn't really comfortable, pressing against his swollen valve-lips, but at least it would stop him from leaking. He grabbed a bottle of joint lubricant, spraying some on random joints here and there on his frame.
Just to cover the smell of his own lubricant.
Chapter Text
"Yay, heat fic!" Jazz claps his servos.
"You like that?" Dreadbot asks.
"Yeah. There's somethin' very erotic 'bout a mech succumbing ta his need."
"Can't argue with that." Dreadbot says.
And the particular pairing is very promising.
*****
If anyone noticed the way he smelled, they didn't comment on it. Hopefully, they thought nothing of it, thought that he just hadn't showered since he got laid the last time.
Blackout changed the rag frequently. It got uncomfortable rather quickly as the fabric was soaked with his lubricant.
At least they're not in a battle situation. It must be easier to deal with here. Good thing these issues only started after they got out of the military. And prison. Strange, though, that it didn't start earlier? Maybe his frame was too taxed with self repair, and sub par fuel? Or maybe he just wasn't mature enough back then? Do the others go into heat too? He hasn't noticed...
Blackout's musings were cut short when he caught Hatchet looking at him.
"What?" He asked, coming off a little too snappy.
"Peace, Bro." Hatchet said, holding up his servos in a placating gesture, but then he cocked his helm, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "Just tried to figure out what's different."
"Nothing!"
Hatchet quirked an optical ridge. "Sure..." He said slowly. "Whatever you say."
"Damned right! Come on, let's go! Got work to do." Blackout said, trying to distract the animal former.
They went outside and transformed, heading for the cargo harbor. They had a shipment coming in, and they needed to make sure all the goods were in the condition it should. Blackout was relieved to get something else to do, to keep his mind occupied, because he was kind of unnerved by the way his frame reacted when he followed Hatchet outside, and he got a good view of Hatchet's haunches.
Flying didn't help, though. The increased output of his engine sent more charge coursing through his systems, heating his valve even more. Blackout thudded down on the landing spot on heavy pedes, eager to get out of alt mode.
Hatchet came to a stop and initiated his transformation sequence, and Blackout couldn't help but stare at the smooth shifting of Hatchet's frame, plates sliding into place almost languorously. Hatchet stretched, and then he shook his frame, plating fluffing up before smoothing back into place.
Blackout's valve throbbed heavier a couple of times, and his fans kicked up a notch. Hatchet glanced at him, optics flicking down Blackout's frame in a quick once-over, and Blackout felt his face-plates flush when his Brother subtly scented the air.
"Let's get to it then..." Hatchet's voice sounded slightly rougher than usual, but he took the lead, heading for the warehouse where their goods were stored for the moment.
Blackout had to force himself to not stare at Hatchet's powerful hindquarters.
Chapter Text
::I have a feeling that everyone is going to be staring at Hatchet's butt a lot. First the thing with the tail, and now his good looking hindquarters.:: Bumblebee comms them, snickering.
"I mean, I knew that I find his frame easy on the optics, but his behind really has been highlighted by this, and I feel like I need to check reality vs fiction. For research purposes, of course." Dreadbot says, sounding very serious.
But then, he is an actor.
"More like recreational purposes." Crosshairs leers.
"Hatchet really does have a nice looking aft." Barricade says, only partially for Blackout's... benefit? anyway, it's true.
*****
Blackout found himself struggling to focus on the task at hand. His frame seemed intensely aware of where the other mechs were at all times, both Hatchet and their associates who brought the goods. Blackout's sensory suite always were very sensitive, but it seemed like everything was cranked up to the max right now. He could practically feel the heat of another frame from across the room, could tell every move the others made.
Hatchet checked a few crates, and then he came closer to where Blackout was flipping through the same things for the third time without actually seeing the state of the goods.
Blackout was acutely aware of every move his Brother made; from the leisurely pedesteps, to the slow swishing of Hatchet's tail when he stopped. Blackout's field tried to latch on to the animal former's, and he reeled it in, almost a bit panicked by his own reaction.
"Everything looks good?" Hatchet asked, studying Blackout.
"Yeah, yeah." Blackout said hurriedly, trying to cover his own unease.
"Nothing off with the color of those in the middle?"
"What? No!" He zoomed in on the items. "I mean, now that you mention it..."
They did seem a bit suspicious when he looked closely, and he had nearly missed that.
"You seem a bit distracted, Brother." Hatchet said, tilting his helm in consideration. He sniffed the air, and then he stepped closer. "And you are quite distracting too..." He purred.
"I, what, don't come any closer!" Blackout hurriedly backed away, turning the corner of the crate to keep it between them.
"Why not?" Hatchet jumped onto the the crate with ease, making Blackout scramble back, tripping over something on the floor, and landing ungracefully on his aft. "My guess is that you really want me even closer..." He dragged a deep vent. "My, you smell so... delectable." Voice rough and surprisingly gravelly with apparent arousal, Hatchet crouched, frame tensing for an attack.
Then he pounced, and with a very unmechly squeal, Blackout barely managed to roll out of the way in time, in the process sending Hatchet tumbling further down the isle between stacks of crates. He scrambled to his pedes, fleeing around another stack of crates as Hatchet was getting up with a growl that sounded more like an invitation than a threat?
Wtf, how was that even possible?!
He didn't have time to think more about that, though, not when he heard the noise of Hatchet's claws skittering over the floor as his Brother picked up speed, giving chase.
Chapter Text
"Catch him, catch him, catch him...." Everyone starts chanting.
*****
Blackout ran for his functioning, trying to get away from the footfalls. Hatchet — created as a scout, and now Blackout could really appreciate how effective his Brother would be in that role — was really hard to spot on a good day, his frame made to deflect radar and other sort of tracking, and make him almost invisible, and Blackout was forced to admit that he wasn't having a good day. His processor was in a jumble, he wasn't using his own systems as effectively as possible, and he had very limited options as to where to run.
And his Brother was very silent too, even running at full speed. Only when he took a corner and dug his claws in was it possible to hear him. At least while running himself.
Blackout turned all the corners he could, but it was getting unsustainable, he couldn't very well run around in the maze of shipping crates forever. He found a hole in one of the rows, where two crates at the bottom level wasn't placed close to each other, and there were a couple on top to create cover from above. It was just dumb luck that it was the larger model of crates, or Blackout would never have been able to fit in there.
He scanned the crates to make sure it looked solid enough — it would be too ridiculous to die, being crushed by a falling shipping crate while being chased by his Brother after everything he had survived through — and then he crawled into his hideout.
Probably the best he was going to find here, with exits in both directions.
Blackout trained his sensors on the aisles on both sides, not wanting to be caught off guard, hoping that it would be enough.
He should be able to see Hatchet coming, at least. Maybe he should use his FLIR? Oh, and don't forget the isles behind you! Damn, his processor was muddled.
He sat there for a while in the cramped space he had holed up in, wondering what he was going to do next. He couldn't very well sit here until his heat passed, could he? It could take days.
Maybe Hatchet would give up and go home? Then what? He could sneak into the house when everyone was in recharge, maybe?
"That looks uncomfortable, but I'll give you points for creativity in finding shelter." Hatchet's voice suddenly broke the silence.
Blackout squeaked in surprise, his spark racing, and his valve throbbing in time with his spark. He frantically looked around to spot the quadruped.
Hatchet was lounging on top of the next row of crates, frame stretched out with deceptive laziness.
"How long have you been there?!" Blackout yelled, but his valve seemed to approve of Hatchet's skill in finding him, and his overall stealthy performance.
"A little while. Admiring the view." Hatchet said, rising from his spot. He stretched, as if he was getting up from a nap.
It should be insulting that he was so casual about having caught Blackout with ease, but Blackout was too preoccupied admiring the view when his Brother stretched.
"But I think we could do more entertaining stuff than just looking." Hatchet purred, scenting the air.
It knocked Blackout out of his stupor, and he scrambled out into the next isle just as Hatchet landed on the floor on surprisingly soft pedes.
"Still not convinced I'm a good enough mate for you? You'll see. I give you five seconds head start." Hatchet said. "One..."
Chapter Text
"C'mon, B.O, jus' give it up! 'e found ye, 'e's a good enough mate..." Crosshairs coaches the fictional character, making everyone laugh.
"This could be an interesting roleplay." Dreadbot muses.
Jazz makes a thoughtful noise.
"I guess that depends on who'd do the chasing." Barricade says.
He wouldn't want to be chased by Blackout. Which might very well happen in the not too far off future. It's still worth it, though.
*****
Blackout ran down the isle, turning the corner as quickly as possible. The part of his processor that still was rather rational was screaming about the ridiculousness of it, but at the same time, what was he supposed to do? Beat Hatchet up?
Give in?!
Since none of the options seemed like a good plan — even if the less rational part of his processor was rather convinced that the latter was an absolutely excellent option — he ran. Blackout heard Hatchet call out five, and it did actually sound like he honored his promise to give Blackout a head start. Not that it would do him much good, considering how he had nowhere to go but in circles inside the warehouse.
He could leave. He could run out the door, and take to the air, and be gone.
But that would kind of mean shirking his duties, because they weren't done checking the goods — especially not since there seemed to be a discrepancy — and then he'd have to explain to the rest of his Brothers why he had tucked tail like a coward, and ran out of an assignment. It had nothing to do with the protesting of his heat addled processor.
Not that he was really making any progress with his duties now, though. But they could always continue once they were done with the...
Blackout wanted to slap that thought out of his processor, because the image that was conjured up was an act that would definitely raze his own self image.
He needed a better place to hide, where he could ride this out until his Brother came to his senses, and they could pretend that this was just a bad dream.
Just to be sure, Blackout pinched a sensor in his arm, but it only proved that he was indeed awake, and this was actually happening.
Despair was creeping in on him, but then he passed the tiny booth of an employee space in the corner of the warehouse, and he suddenly had an idea.
He could hide in there.
It was a risk to try to break in: Hatchet was coming, and Blackout had to stop moving, and focus on the lock instead of looking for signs of Hatchet closing in on him, but he had to do something, and this was his best shot.
At least the lock was easy to deal with, nothing advanced, and it didn't take him long to open it. With a last glance over his shoulder — just to make sure he wasn't giving his new hideout away, and getting himself stuck in a dead end — he slipped through the door, closing it as silently as he could.
It turned out to be a combined refueling and resting area, sparse, but far more comfortable than the office he had expected. On one wall, lockers for personal effects were lined up, and there were a few of mattresses leaning against another wall, and some bedding stashed in a storage shelf. He looked into the cooler to see if there was any fuel he could take, but it was empty, except for an already opened cube with fuel that smelled like it had been there for far too long.
Blackout pushed the mattresses over, pulling them together, and arranged them to make a decent mound for him to rest on. He pulled the bedding out, making a supportive pile to lean against, and then he crawled into the makeshift berth, deciding to hunker down and wait things out.
Chapter Text
"I never thought about nesting before, but it's actually kind of cute." Hot Rod muses.
"I didn't even think about it as nesting, but I guess you're right. And it is kind of cute." Dreadbot says.
Jazz starts giggling. "Anyone else who's gonna start lookin' at how Blackout's beddin' is arranged after this?"
Everyone starts to laugh.
*****
It took a while for Blackout to rearrange the bedding in a satisfactory way, but eventually, it was as comfortable as he wanted it to be. He settled down, bringing out the spare fuel he always kept in his subspace. The nonperishables were not very palatable, but they would do for keeping him occupied for a little while, and to make up for the fuel he lost during Hatchet's hunt.
His valve throbbed again when he thought about his Brother's efficiency. Blackout opened his panel. The rag was soaked through already, and combined with how swollen his valve-lips were, it was getting very uncomfortable. He threw the rag in the sink, intending to rinse it later, and grabbed a new one out of his subspace. The cool air felt nice against his hot valve, and he wasn't keen on shutting his panel again. Even if the new rag was dry, it would still be a tight fit, and his valve-lips were getting sore by having a rag crammed into the narrow space between his panel and his array. Blackout decided to leave it open for a while, to give his valve some relief. He wiped his array with the rag, almost alarmed when his hips bucked of their own accord.
It felt kind of good.
He put the rag to the side, tentatively stroking his plump valve-lips with his digits. They were so swollen, his slick slit almost felt opened and exposed, his equally plump anterior node poking out. Blackout's digits brushed against it, and it sent a frizzon of pleasure tingling along his wiring. Tentatively, he dipped a digit inside. His valve felt hot and soaked around his digit, calipers quivering to get a grip on it, as if trying to suck it deeper.
It felt so good with something sliding over the sensitive mesh in his valve, but it wasn't enough. Blackout quickly pushed another digit into his valve, moaning when the increased girth made more inside nodes get some much needed stimulation. He started pumping his digits eagerly.
There was that tiny part — quickly diminishing as it was — that was appalled by what he was doing. Blackout had never succumbed to the heat this badly before, had never stooped to actually do something to his valve
But Primus, did it feel great!
Blackout lost himself to the sensation of slick slide over sensitive nodes, processor going blank. He was in fact so lost to the pleasure, he didn't hear the lock being tampered with, or the door opening.
Hatchet didn't even need to try to sneak in, it's questionable if the sprawled out Helo would've noticed the door being kicked in.
"My, this is such a nice little nest you've built." Hatchet purred, circling said nest.
Blackout squawked in shock, pulling his digits out of his valve, staring at the four peder circling him as if he was a tasty snack. His valve throbbed heavily, unhappy about the lack of stimulation, but also approving of how good a hunter Hatchet was.
Hatchet preened, then he nudged Blackout's rotor that was sticking out over the edge of the nest. Blackout moaned shakily, and Hatchet nuzzled the component, before nipping at it.
Blackout's frame responded of its own accord. He arched his back and spread his legs. Hatchet hummed against his rotor, servo nudging Blackout to roll over on his front. Blackout obeyed much more readily than he'd ever be comfortable thinking about.
"Such a good little mate." Hatchet purred.
The mattress dipped slightly when he stepped into the nest, standing between Blackout's spread legs, and Blackout could feel his valve contracting, lubricant dribbling out. Hatchet nipped at the plating of Blackout's aft, and Blackout mewled, arching his back as his frame tried to get something where he wanted it the most.
Chapter Text
"At this point, I think I'm goin' inte heat too!" Crosshairs groans, rubbing his interface plate.
"I wonder if Hatchet would be offended if someone asked him to mate with them." Hot Rod muses.
It could be offensive to ask — at least depending on how one would word it — since it puts a highlight on Hatchet's frame type, and not necessarily the good kind of light.
"It's not impossible, but then again, he knows that we know that he isn't an animal, and it's not like I'd want to mate with a real animal." Dreadbot says.
*****
Hatchet's glossa slithered through Blackout's slit, making the Helo rock back against him with a loud moan.
"You're at your most receptive right now." Hatchet said, sounding astonished.
What? What did that mean? And how would Hatchet know? Did he have receptors in his glossa.
Then Blackout's processes deteriorated when Hatchet's glossa slipped into his valve, pumping in and out a few times. Blackout squirmed, whining, because it was good, but it just wasn't enough.
Hatchet didn't keep him waiting any longer. As soon as he'd pulled his glossa out, he stepped closer, servos grabbing Blackout's hips. A shiver of anticipation trickled down Blackout's back-strut, then he moaned with relief when Hatchet's spike slid into him.
Hatchet's spike was tapered, the head kind of narrow, but the base thick, and it was perfect for Blackout's long unused channel, gently opening him before the broader parts sank home. Blackout's calipers happily grabbed on to the spike, trying to suck it deeper, and Blackout rocked back, meeting Hatchet's thrusts.
Blackout suddenly overloaded, the way his valve clamped down on Hatchet's spike pulling a grunt from the animal former.
Hatchet bent deeper over Blackout, denta sinking into a plate on Blackout's back, and Pave low stilled on instinct. Hatchet pressed in deep, and Blackout felt the rim of his valve stretch when Hatchet's knot started to swell. A whimper of need left Blackout's vocalizer, but he remained in place, charge rising again from the pressure building in his valve with the increased fullness.
Something shifted inside him do accommodate the spike, and then it felt like something clicked into place. A pop-up in his HUD caught his attention.
Frame lock complete. Transfer initiated.
Hatchet groaned against his plating, and then Blackout felt something hot pooling inside him. It pulled him over the edge again, and he wailed out his overload, his hips bucking. Hatchet growled against his back, displeased with being jostled when they were stuck together, and Blackout stilled again.
His overload continued — the contractions of his valve greedily milking Hatchet's spike for every last drop of transfluid — until something shifted inside him again, Hatchet's spike slipping free. Blackout collapsed onto his front, and Hatchet stretched out next to him. Another pop-up appeared in Blackout's HUD.
Transfer successfully completed. Current level: 1/16. Estimated need: 15 more matings.
"What's you level?" Hatchet asked, as if he knew what was going on.
"One sixteenth."
Hatchet grinned. "Sounds like we're going to have a lot of fun before this is over. Don't worry, though, as long as your frame keeps giving off pheromones that you need more, my frame will increase the transfluid production. I've got you for this, I'll get you through this heat."
Blackout should be appalled by the idea, but his valve clenched happily.
He'd found himself a good, strong mate, worthy of siring his cubs.
...
Wait, what?!
Chapter Text
"They would have gorgeous cubs." Dreadbot says.
"The 'ardest part would be waitin' for them te come of age." Crosshairs snickers.
"Perv!" Hot Rod throws a pillow at Crosshairs.
"Wha'? They'd be smokin'! Imagine Hatchet, bu' with a hub like Blackout's..." Crosshairs sounds downright dreamy.
"Hatch-out n' Blacket." Jazz tests designations.
"What?! No! I hope nobody ever entrusts you with naming a sparkling!" Knock Out sounds horrified, hiding his face behind his hands.
"Wha's wrong with those names?" Jazz sounds bewildered.
"Hatch-out?! What's his super-power, dive-bombing with eggs?" Knock Out sounds appalled.
"Maybe he'd be an expert incubator? You know, sitting on top of those eggs to keep them warm." Dreadbot grins, wiggling his aft on the couch to indicate sitting on eggs.
Crosshairs makes a face. "No' even I can find anythin' ho' 'bout tha'."
"Jazz, you ruined the children." Hot Rod sounds disappointed, but then he cracks up.
"Was tha' all?" Crosshairs asks Barricade.
"Yeah, it was the end."
"Aaw, an' I was 'opin' we'd get te see 15 more accounts of knottin'."
"Hopefully, there will be a sequel at some point. I really want to see Blackout all round with Hatchet's cubs." Dreadbot says.
"And hopefully, the author will be excellent at naming those cubs." Hot Rod says.
"So ye go' somethin' else fer us te listen te? I mean, now tha' we won' get te 'ear a detailed description of 'ow Hatchet fills Blackout te the brim with transfluid."
"As a matter of fact, there are a couple of stories more here." Barricade says, pulling out another data pad.
He onlines the screen, and then he just stares at the words, unable to decide if he should cackle gleefully — there's one part of him that really wants to do that, or maybe it's more hysteria than glee — or start to cry.
"You lot really want to see me dead, don't you?"
Everyone shakes their helms. Well, everyone except Drift, but at least he doesn't nod either.
"Tha' bad?" Crosshairs asks.
"Maybe it's more like several of us wanting to grab the opportunity to make fun of a certain assholish Helo?" Dreadbot asks.
"Yeah..." Barricade says, taking a steeling vent. "Well our next story is called Helicopter-wrecked, and it even has a bit of a summary," Barricade says, glancing at the door to where the Brothers disappeared earlier, then he starts to read the summary, "Being stranded on a deserted island could be boring. But maybe Grindor is willing to fulfill a fantasy Blackout has had for a very long time? Few mechs are big enough to treat Blackout like the slutty little glitch he wants to be, but Grindor is both hot, and capable."
Chapter Text
They all hold their vents for a few seconds, expecting doom, and quick, painful death.
Nothing happens.
They all trade glances, nodding their agreements.
It's worth it. Probably.
*****
Blackout stares at Grindor's broad shoulders for the umpteenth time. Getting stuck on this island with his little Brother has forced him to realize things he has vehemently denied for a very long time.
The first one is that his competitiveness with Grindor isn't as much about a need to show himself better than Grindor, but rather to impress him. Like a silly youngling with a crush, who just can't express his feelings, so he resorts to rotor-pulling, throwing gels, and bickering.
The second — even more unwelcome — realization is that he isn't just like a silly youngling with a crush, he actually is attracted to his Brother.
Oh, the night he woke up from a dream of Grindor pinning him to the damp moss on the ground,having his way with Blackout... His damned panel open, valve throbbing around nothing.
At least Grindor was in recharge when it happened, so he didn't have to explain why he had to sit in the creek for half an hour to cool his aching array.
It didn't stop there, far from it. His traitorous processor conjures up filthy images every time Grindor flexes his massive frame, images of Blackout being pinned to some hard surface and fucked like there is no tomorrow.
And it isn't even that he has a hard-on for his little Brother. No, he would very much enjoy being made Grindor's little glitch.
Just the thought of getting on his knees, Grindor shoving his spike into Blackout's intake rather roughly, a big servo on the back of his helm....
Yeah, that thought is more than enough to make Blackout's face-plates flush, and his valve feel heavy. He looks over at where Grindor is stacking stones for some reason, and it's equally arousing and annoying.
"Why are you even doing that?" Blackout sneers, more annoyed with his own reactions than the actual action.
And maybe it can push Grindor into one of their wrestling matches? One that could end with...
"It keeps my hydraulics in shape. Besides, there's not much else to do around here." Grindor grunts.
Me. You can do me.
Blackout wants to slap his own processor.
"You're right, you are starting to look a bit out of shape." Blackout challenges.
Chapter Text
"This is so great, I don' know why I didn' think of writin' this myself." Crosshairs says. He hasn't opened his panel yet, but he's certainly not trying to hide that he's rubbing it.
"Shh! We don't want to know who wrote what, don't want a single clue." Knock Out hisses.
No, definitely not. Plausible deniability sound's like a strategically sound goal.
*****
"What?!" Grindor snarls.
"Well, you know. Looks like your pressure isn't quite up to par." Blackout says nonchalantly, and waves his servo to indicate both the stones, and his Brother.
But that's fine, as long as his spike pressurize as it should.
"Funny how you're talking about how well tuned my frame is, considering you haven't really done anything since we had to make an emergency landing here..." Grindor growls, closing in on Blackout.
"Well, if we want to get out of here, we need fully charged batteries. I'm preserving energy to top up my levels as quickly as possible." Blackout says, barely managing to keep a nervous quiver out of his voice as Grindor is getting closer. His spark speeds up.
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. I knew I'm the smarter one of us, but I thought that even you could figure that out."
"Then you really should be recharging at night, shouldn't you? You do drain more if you run around in the dark, when you get nothing from your solar panels."
Frag! Grindor was awake?!
Blackout feels his face flush. He was so hot when he sat in that creek, a few of the local critters got coagulated by the water temperature.
And it's quite possible that Grindor knows that.
"I thought I heard something! And since you were snoring away, it was up to me to handle it."
Grindor snorts derisively. "Would you have handled it, though? I mean, you'd have to spend so much of your coveted energy..."
"Of course I would!" Blackout grinds out between clenched denta. He may have been the instigator of this petty bickering, but Grindor really is an expert at pressing his buttons, and when it comes to giving it all when it's needed, he hasn't slacked off just because he's retired. Blackout shoves Grindor. For emphasis, of course.
Grindor takes half a step back, unprepared for the rather childish action, his optics narrowing. His lip-plates curl to bare his denta, and then he pushes back.
Blackout makes an offended noise, then he shoves Grindor again, trying to hook his leg around Grindor's to trip him.
It only succeeds enough to get Grindor to almost fall, and when Grindor tries to de-tangle his leg, he gets a grip on Blackout's rotor, tugging harshly. They both topple over, knocking over the stack of stones Grindor has built.
"That's it! I'll make you pay for that!" Grindor snarls as they tumble downhill.
"We'll see!" Blackout growls, but his frame is heating up, and it's not from exertion.
Chapter Text
A trickle of cold terror flutters down Barricade's back-strut when he hears that shrill sound of metal on metal that's etched into his memory, and he breaks off from reading.
"Do you really think that this is the most productive thing you can do right now?"
Crosshairs shrieks, pulling his servo from his panel as if burned. They all jolt as badly when Blackout's voice suddenly rings out from the direction of their living quarters. It's very unexpected, since it's the opposite direction than they would've expected him to barge out from rather noisily.
They all make stammering noises, but nobody gets a word out. Someone's plating starts to rattle.
Blackout steps out from the shadows, and Barricade has been intimidated by him so many times, he should be used to it, but dammit if he isn't even more terrifying than usual, huge and looming, field pulled in, and his optics burning.
"We're in a very tricky situation, working to make plans for everyone's safety — including your's, which I'd say you don't really deserve — and this is the thanks we get?! You're doing your best to distract me from my job with these little stories of your's. You know what it is? It's disrespectful."
They all sit there, not saying a word, all stiff. Even if Blackout seems far calmer and more collected than Barricade would've imagined when Blackout finally had enough of their little game, but there's something in the lines of his massive frame that's screaming danger.
As if he's lulling them into stillness, just to tear them apart the moment they relax.
"We we're... We we're just trying to lighten the mood, and blow off some steam." Barricade squeaks.
Blackout hums thoughtfully, coming towards Barricade almost leisurely. There's a flash when the lights reflect off the blade in his servo, and Barricade swallows nervously.
"What I wouldn't give to blow off some steam..." Blackout murmurs.
"Don't let him grab the data pads!" Dreadbot yells, and the others all suddenly unfreeze, scrambling to grab one each, scattering over the room.
The one in Barricade's servo is snatched away by someone, just before Blackout can reach it. Instead the Helo grabs Barricade's neck, pulling him up to stand on the couch, back pressed against Blackout's front. Sharp denta graze his audial, and the flat side of the blade rests against his neck-cables.
For now, it's the broadside.
"If you kill Barricade, we'll publish these!" Dreadbot yells.
Barricade feels when Blackout's grin against his audial, a baring of denta. "He's stupidly brave, that one." He murmurs. "Your vindication would be short lived, just like you." He says to Dreadbot.
"Hide said..." Dreadbot falters, "Hide said no unprovoked murders!"
"I think this could be classified as provocation." Blackout muses, and Barricade feels how the blade shifts so that the edge scrapes against his neck. He whimpers quietly.
"We're reading stories! That's not provocation enough to warrant murder!"
"Who said anything about murder? Bad shit happens to whores when their pimps turn their back momentarily. And since pimping is illegal, you don't even have one." Blackout says.
Dreadbot's face falls, and he works his intake without any sound leaving his vocalizer.
"What's going on here?"
Barricade has never been so relieved to see Nitro before.
Chapter Text
"Casual murder!" Barricade yells, the last word turning to a squeak when Blackout's grip in his neck tighten, the blade pressing harder against his cables.
"Nothing unprovoked..." Blackout says.
"Barricade was just reading fanfiction to us!" Knock Out argues.
"And we all know what kind of fanfiction you read..." Nitro snickers.
"Oh, they've done more than just reading, Brother." Blackout almost spits. "Writing their own, tailor made to annoy me. Kind of disrespectful to distract me like that when I'm trying to help them all stay out of jail."
"That may be the case, but considering that Barricade was the one who was approached by an agent, his demise would be very untimely." Ironhide says.
The pressure from the blade decreases slightly, but Barricade still doesn't dare to move a single component.
"How bad can it be?" Hatchet asks, snatching the data pad Bumblebee is holding, catching the black and yellow mech off guard.
"Absolutely terrible and gross." Blackout sneers.
Hatchet onlines the screen of the data pad, reading it. Nitro peeks over his shoulder.
"My powerful hindquarters...?" Hatchet sounds puzzled.
"Like I said; it's atrocious." Blackout says.
"Aaw, you don't like my derriere?!" Hatchet pouts. He bows, elbows against the floor, and then he wags his tail, making his entire back end wiggle.
"You've been hanging out with Nitro too much!" Blackout sounds annoyed, his grip on Barricade faltering.
Nitro barks a laugh. "But it really is such a fine posterior!" He says, holding his servos up to form a frame for Hatchet's aft.
"Why, thank you, Brother." Hatchet says, doing an extra wiggle before standing up again. Nitro pats his butt.
Ironhide facepalms.
"You're not the ones going into heat in these gross little ficlets." Blackout growls.
"You're taking yourself far too seriously." Nitro advices, then he grabs the data pad Dreadbot is holding.
"Yeah, well I'm not keen on hearing about anyone of you fragging me. It's gross, we're all Brothers. I'm sure you wouldn't want to either."
Nitro's next laugh is one of gleeful anticipation. "This one, I've got to hear! Swat, and the summary says Nitro's shenanigans have gotten out of servo, and Hide knows that it's time to bend him over the knee. Good thing Nitro's Daddy can handle that. Hah! You hear that, Daddy?!"
Ironhide presses his digits to his optics. "I swear it would be easier to just go back to prison..." He mutters.
Chapter Text
"You can't be serious?!" Blackout snarls. "They're doing this on purpose because of the surveillance, the surveillance in place for all our safety! They're fucking spitting on what we provide for them. We need to teach them all to get in line and do what they're told, or consequences will happen."
Nitro quirks his optical ridge. "You know, you do sound a lot like Grindor right now..."
"I do not!"
"Actually, you do..." Hatchet says, nodding.
Blackout growls in frustration, and Barricade stiffens when the grip on his neck tightens again, even if Blackout probably isn't even aware of it.
"Getting in line and doing as told is exactly the opposite of what we did, and that's a good thing. We wouldn't be here if we'd gone back to our place and accepted everything blindly." Ironhide says.
"That was different. They still need to learn to show some respect." Blackout growls, the blade shifting against Barricade's neck again.
"Fear doesn't equal respect. You know that. I know you're not stupid, of course you know the difference. You do respect us, yes?" Nitro says, motioning to the gathered Brothers. "But I know you don't fear us."
"But they don't respect us, so fear is a valid substitute. Especially now."
Nitro shrugs. "If you want to keep them in line, threaten to use their wallets for target practice. Or hack their bank accounts, and hold their assets hostage."
Dreadbot makes a noise of outrage. "What the hell, Nitro?!"
"You all know what you did. While I don't care much about the topic myself, it's obvious that this was done in spite. At a time like this, it's inappropriate, and I fully agree that some consequences could be in order."
"You know, I feel like a pile of slag now, thinking about it that way. I apologize, Blackout." Barricade mutters, honestly feeling like a petty youngling for this idea.
Who knew that Nitro would be so good at chastising mecha?!
"I'll file it away for further reference, but don't think you're getting away that easily." Blackout murmurs in his audial.
Barricade rolls his optics.
"Never did."
A mech could dream for a few moments, though.
"But now I really want to hear what you naughty bots have cooked up!" Nitro says, all signs of seriousness gone.
"Give me a break! We have business to take care of!" Ironhide growls.
"The ICIA sure ain't going anywhere, we've done a lot already, and I think a break is exactly what we need! You know, to clear our helms will make us focus better when we get back to it." He plasters on a ridiculous grin — at least to anyone who knows him, to others, it would just be terrifying — and tilts his helm. "Please, Daddy?!"
Chapter Text
"Fine." Ironhide sounds annoyed. That may be because Nitro already has taken a seat on the couch to listen to the story, not waiting for Ironhide to decide.
"Blackout, let our narrator go." Hatchet coaxes.
The grip on Barricade tightens for a moment. "For now." Blackout growls in his audial, then he steps back, the telltale noise ratting on the blade being transformed away again.
Barricade takes a few steadying vents before even daring to sit back down.
"Go on." Nitro encourages, handing him the data pad.
"Bu' we weren' finished with the last story!" Crosshairs pouts.
Barricade glances at Blackout and gets the feeling of a bomb about to go off.
"You can continue that one later. Maybe someone else could read the rest of it?" Nitro says diplomatically, turning his optic to Blackout.
Blackout grimaces, obviously not happy with the story being allowed to continue existing, but then he nods.
Ironhide takes a seat next to Nitro, and Hatchet sits on the floor. The pleasurebots slowly return to their places, still keeping an optic or two on Blackout. Blackout himself grabs a bottle of high grade, and takes a seat at the bar.
"Let's hear about Daddy!" Nitro leers.
*****
The solvent in the hot tub was just the first event. Ironhide came into his room, and foam trickling out under the door to the washracks caught his keen optics. Hesitantly, he went up to the door.
"What the hell..?" He muttered.
He couldn't very well just stand there and try to figure out what was going on, so he reluctantly opened the door. A wall of foam met him, and he had to step into the washracks to try to stop whatever was going on. The entire room was filled with suds, making it impossible to see where it originated from. With his servos stretched out in front of him to not bump into something, Ironhide slowly made his way through the washracks, towards the jacuzzi, where the foam seemed thicker.
And he could hear splashing that sounded louder than the regular circulation of a tub in standby.
Fumbling through the foam to the edge of the tub, he finally could make out the contours of a mech doing... something in the tub.
"What's going on here?" Ironhide growled.
The yelp that left the other mech tattled on it being Nitro Zeus, the Flier falling around as if he was trying to hide something, before freezing on the spot.
"Nothing! I mean, I was just gonna..."
"Why is the entire bathroom filled with foam?!"
"I... I was just going to have a foamy bath, but the jets in the tub kind of exacerbated how much it foamed..." Nitro said sheepishly.
"For frags sake, you have your own tub..." Ironhide said in exasperation. "Clean this up."
"I'm trying!"
"Stop the jets first."
"Oh. Good idea."
Ironhide sighed.
The things he had to put up with.
Chapter Text
"You know, this doesn't sound that far fetched..." Ironhide smirks.
Nitro elbows him in the side. "Come on, you know I would know to turn the jets off before trying to get rid of the foam!"
"Perhaps..."
Nitro just barks a laugh.
*****
It didn't stop with the foam.
Ironhide glared at the mess that was his room.
Sparkling!
In a double meaning kind of way, because Nitro certainly could behave like sparkling at times, but also that his room literally was sparkling. Ironhide turned to glare at Nitro again.
"Seriously?! Glitter?!"
"It was an accident! I didn't intend for this to happen." At least Nitro had the courtesy to look contrite.
"You set off a glitter bomb and didn't expect this to happen?"
"It wasn't that kind of bomb..."
"It certainly seems like it was." Ironhide muttered.
"It was a bath bomb. You know, the kind that smells good, and fizzes when you put it in the tub? I wasn't going to repeat the whole foam thing, so I thought one of those would be a better idea."
"But why one with glitter?"
"It looked kind of fancy on the shelf, and I thought the glitter would dissolve! How was I supposed to know that it didn't?!"
"But why is it all over the place?" Ironhide asked as calmly as he could, event though he felt like screaming in exasperation and frustration.
Literally everywhere. His berth? Streuseled with glitter. The floor? It was there too.
He looked up to the ceiling window and zoomed in on it.
Well, what do you know...
"It's a bit sticky. Like, i don't know, static electricity kind of sticky? I tried washing it off, but it clung to me, and then when I dried up, it started falling off. I'm still a bit sparkling, though."
"More than just a bit." Ironhide muttered, not meaning the shiny flakes on Nitro's plating.
Something suddenly struck Ironhide.
"If this is what the berth room looks like, what are the washracks like?" He was almost afraid to ask.
"You could call that the epicenter."
"You have your own bath tub! Why always in mine?!"
Nitro grinned. "Because it's kind of extra fun..."
Chapter Text
"How drunk are you, Blackout?" Hatchet asks.
"Not nearly enough." Blackout grunts, taking another swig from the bottle.
"Isn't that kind of an unhealthy coping mechanism?" Dreadbot asks.
"What are you now, my mother?"
"Would you like that?"
Blackout's only answer is taking another drink, keeping optic contact with Dreadbot in a clear challenge.
"Did anyone else see the big, fat bunny hop by?" Knock Out asks.
The pleasurebots all nod, smirking. Nitro looks around, clearly confused. "Bunny...?"
Hatchet gets up, crouching as if getting ready to pounce. "Lemme at it!"
Everyone starts laughing, because the thought of Hatchet chasing a plot bunny is just ridiculous.
"Is jus' a figure of speech." Crosshairs says.
*****
"Fun or not, I would appreciate if you didn't mess up my room in the process."
"Aaw, but I really didn't mean to..." Nitro pouts.
"Sure you didn't. Just like you had nothing to do with it when my berth accidentally got covered in ball bearings. Under the covers, so it wasn't noticeable until I laid down."
"Those weren't mine, I still have my ball bearings. Besides, mine are bigger." Nitro says unrepentantly.
Massive child.
"You just don't know when to stop, do you?"
"No, the limits are a bit fuzzy."
Well, if that's the way it's going to be...
Ironhide grabs Nitro's upper arm, pulling him along towards the berth.
"Hey, what are you doing?!" Nitro protests, but he doesn't really put up a struggle.
"You leave me no choice but to address this issue. You've crossed the line. A joke or two now and then might be fine, but your pranks are taking up an increasing amount of my time, with the lengthy clean up that's often needed. And this glitter? I'm not sure I'll even be able to get it all out. It'll take months before it all has finally disappeared."
"So what are you going to do about it?" Nitro challenges, digging his pedes in.
"You're behaving like a silly youngling, so I'm going to treat you like one. I've spent fifteen hours cleaning up after you so far this month. I think it's fair that you take one swat for each hour."
"Swat? What are you talking about?"
Ironhide yanks at Nitro's arm, and the Flier stumbles closer, caught off guard. Ironhide plunks down on the berth, still holding Nitro's arm in a strong grip.
"It seems to me like I need to teach you how to behave. Are you going to be a good little mech for Daddy, and bend over my knee and take your deserved punishment, or are you going to be stubborn, and force me to teach you that it only makes things harder for yourself when you defy me?"
Chapter Text
Nitro gasps theatrically. "You would never do that to me, would you?! Daddy." He says, covering his intake with his servo.
Ironhide rolls his optics. "Primus knows that it would be tempting at times."
"You'd be perpetuating the image of being his Daddy if you did." Dreadbot says.
"Why do you think I refrain? I don't want to encourage it." Ironhide answers.
*****
"Are you serious?!" Nitro sounded rather incredulous, especially considering how he was calling Ironhide Daddy now and then.
"I am. You need to deal with the consequences of your actions. Either you realize that it's fair, and take your punishment, or I'll have to make sure you'll think twice the next time you come up with a stupid prank. I'm certainly tired of being the one dealing with the consequences of your actions." Ironhide tugged harder on Nitros arm to pull him closer.
"No, come on, Hide! This is ridiculous!" Nitro protested.
"Perhaps it is, but you've set this up yourself."
Ironhide didn't miss the slight arousal weaving through Nitro's field, though, and it put him at ease. He wasn't much for corporal punishment, but at the same time, he really was at his wits end with Nitro's behavior. He finally managed to yank Nitro forward, the Flier stumbling, barely coming to a stop between Ironhide's pedes instead off falling over him.
"Now, are you going to be a good mech for Daddy, and take your punishment, or are you going to continue being a brat, and struggle all the way?" He asked, not relenting with the pull on Nitro's arm.
Nitro's field squirmed more notably than he physically did. There was a careful little thread of insecurity there, a hesitancy over the entire thing, but it was surpassed by the want.
"I'll be good, Daddy." He finally mumbled, bending forward surprisingly gracefully to take place across Ironhide's lap.
There was something quite arousing with having such a powerful mech hand over the control so willingly, and it caught Ironhide off guard. His intentions were not sexual in the least when he got this idea, but now, his frame was heating up.
"You will count each hit you get," it took Ironhide back a bit to utter the words, because they made it crystal clear that he was actually about to hit his Broth, "count backwards from fifteen. If you loose track, we have to start over."
"Yes, Daddy." Nitro mumbled.
"What was that? Speak up clearly, or I might miss when you do your counting. It'll only make things worse for yourself..." He said, slapping Nitro's aft, taking the opportunity to gauge how much force he'd need to use.
Nitro flinched, yelping in what was probably more surprise than actual pain.
So, a bit more force if he wanted to make Nitro remember this more than just until he was out the door.
"One!" Nitro almost squeaked.
"What did I say about the counting?"
"What?"
Nitro started to get up, but Ironhide pushed his arm down across the small of Nitro's back, pinning him down.
"Didn't I specify the order?"
"Fifteen! I mean fifteen."
"Oh, no-no! You're not getting away that easily. You wasted that slap, you'll start over with the countdown from the next one."
Chapter Text
"I don't think you could really make me yelp like that. I have sturdy plating." Nitro says.
"Don't be too sure." Ironhide answers.
Nitro quickly flips around, resting his elbows against the back of the couch, knees on the seat. He wiggles his aft. "Doesn't this look sturdy enough to withstand a slap of a servo?"
"I'd say more scrumptious than sturdy." Hatchet leers.
Ironhide actually slaps Nitro's aft. "Sit your ass back down." He snickers.
"Yes, Daddy."
Everyone turns at the sound of a heavy thud coming from the bar. Blackout has faceplanted against the countertop, but if it's out of exasperation, or intoxication is impossible to say. He doesn't seem inclined to get up, though.
It would be really interesting to get to see his memory of this.
*****
"Eleven!" Nitro whined, having successfully gotten that far through the spanking.
He was squirming for each slap, flinching slightly, but at the same time, his field was an aroused mess.
Ironhide was feeling much more comfortable with the punishment now that it was so clear that Nitro wasn't responding negatively to it.
But then again was something really a punishment if someone enjoyed it?
"Ten!"
Ironhide was enjoying it too, but the momentary guilt that the realization brought was quickly gone again, since it was crystal clear that Nitro enjoyed it.
"Nine! Please, Daddy, I-I'll be good..." Nitro whimpered.
"I'm sure you will. Especially when this punishment is completed." His servo made contact with Nitro's plating again.
"But I, eight!" Nitro interrupted himself to call out the next number, "please, I'm getting sore."
It was a borderline case, because Nitro just barely fulfilled his task to continue the countdown in a timely manner. At the same time, Ironhide didn't want to overdo it, restart again, and perhaps push this too far.
And he wasn't keen on prolonging this for selfish reasons too, he was getting more aroused for each spank he doled out, and the longer this took, the longer before he could deal with the charge he was running.
"That's the whole point of this. I don't want you to take this punishment lightly, then it wouldn't serve much of a purpose, would it?" He slapped Nitro again, and the Flier flinched under his servo.
"Seven! I won't forget! I promise, Daddy!"
"I'll make sure you won't."
"Six! Please, Daddy!"
Nitro would probably feel this for days whenever he sat down, and the thought of Nitro squirming in discomfort, and the way it would remind Ironhide about what had happened here every time he'd catch the Flier trying to sit almost made Hide's spike pressurize of it's own accord.
Chapter Text
"The mech who wrote this has very high thoughts of Nitro's patience." Hatchet snickers.
Ironhide snorts. "Yeah, especially since the author himself isn't very patient."
"You know who wrote it?" Hatchet sounds surprised.
"I do have an inkling. I've gotten to know most of these mechs pretty well."
"That's really one of the benefits with your way of running things. It's nice, I like it. And this is fun." Hatchet says. "Well, for most of us." He adds, jerking his helm in Blackout's direction. Motormaster is sitting close by the bar too, smoking his third cyg.
Everyone starts laughing.
*****
"Please, Daddy, I can't..." Nitro begged, desperation in his voice.
Ironhide slapped him again, but this time, Nitro didn't count it. Instead, he made an alarmed noise, and Ironhide's spark skipped a revolution, both because he was afraid that he'd taken it too far, but also because if he didn't want to start over again. Then Ironhide felt Nitro stiffening, his plating shifting against Ironhide's thighs, and then a rush of fluid trickling over his plating. Something hard pressed against Ironhide's thigh. Nitro's field flared with embarrassment.
"Did your panel just pop?"
"Yes." Nitro mumbled. "I'm sorry."
Ironhide stroked Nitro's aft. The plating felt heated from the friction of his slaps. Nitro made a noise that made Hide's spike press harder against his interface plate.
"I guess we can stop here..." Ironhide trailed off, wracking his mind for how to proceed with this. The plan had been half formed at best, and he hadn't really thought about what it would lead to.
"I-I..." Nitro stuttered, but he didn't seem to really have an answer.
"I hope you've learned your lesson."
"I want to be good for you, Daddy!" Nitro whined. The Flier shifted, spreading his legs more. "Maybe I could make it up to you, since I didn't manage to take the entire punishment?" He adds, sounding insecure.
Ironhide just barely manages to keep his spike from pressurizing. He slowly slides his servo down, digits grazing Nitro's valve. He keeps track of Nitro's field as he does so, to make sure he doesn't push this too far.
Nitro's valve-lips are scorching hot, swollen and plump, and all slick from the lubricant that gathered while his panel was still closed. Hide stifles a groan when he slips a digit through the slick folds. Nitro doesn't cover the moan that escapes him, and he arches his back slightly to give Ironhide better access.
"You've got any idea about how to make it up to your Daddy?"
Chapter Text
"I guess a blowjob is out of the question." Breakdown cackles.
"What?! I have excellent control of my denta." Nitro says.
Yeah, excellent enough to spread valve-lips without even the slightest prickle.
"I'm with Breakdown on this." Ironhide says.
Nitro pouts.
*****
"Maybe I could... sit on your lap, Daddy?" Nitro suggested hesitantly, insecurity lacing his field.
Ironhide's control slipped, and his spike pressurized. "I suppose that might work." He ground out, trying to stay in character, and still be mildly displeased, rather than ridiculously eager.
He removed his arm from Nitro's lower back to give the Flier permission to get up from his position. Nitro almost jumped up, field trembling with excitement and arousal. Nitro straddled Hide's thighs, and wrapped his arms around Ironhide's neck.
"I'll be so good for you, Daddy." Nitro said sweetly, pressing his face against Ironhide's neck.
"I'm sure you will." Ironhide said, cupping Nitro's aft to pull him closer.
Nitro ground down, rubbing his anterior node against Hide's pelvic plating, Ironhide's spike slipping against his slick folds.
"What do you want me to do for you, Daddy?" Nitro sounded so innocent, and his digits was drawing figures on Hide's chest-plate.
"Maybe you can keep my spike warm for a while?"
Nitro giggled. "Is it getting cold?"
"It is rather cold in here. You're feeling warm, though."
"Mh-hm. I'm really warm for you, Daddy. Want to put it in?"
Nitro lifted himself slightly, leaving room for Ironhide to line up. The head of Ironhide's spike rubbed against Nitro's valve-lips as he did so, and Ironhide had to bite his glossa, and force himself to not buck up, and bury himself to the hilt in one go.
"There you go. Take it at your own pace." Ironhide ground out.
"But Daddy! It's so big!" Nitro whimpered as he sank down just enough for the head of Ironhide's spike to press against the rim of his valve.
"I know, honey. I'm sure you can handle it." Ironhide crooned encouragingly. "You want to be good for your Daddy, don't you?"
"I'll try." Nitro said.
He slowly sank down, the head of Hide's spike popping in when the calipers gave up their resistance and allowed him access.
It was going to be really hard to not shoot his load way too soon with how snug Nitro's hot, wet valve were welcoming him.
Chapter Text
"Lacking some stamina, Daddy?" Nitro quirks an optical ridge.
"Can't help myself when your valve is so snug." Ironhide quips.
"F'r fucksch sake." Blackout groans. "I'd go take a fly-flyte, but i'sh not like I'dno here dish." He clumsily tries to grab the bottle again, but he misses it, grabbing thin air.
Dreadbot snorts. "Sounds like it's time to put some of the kids to berth, or what do you think, Daddy?"
"Yeah, you're not flying anywhere right now, at least. Don't force me to magnetize your aft to the chair, or put a rotor lock on you." Springer answers instead of Ironhide.
"You have a rotor lock?!" Dreadbot sounds very interested.
"Yeah. You never know when you might need one."
"Indeed..." Dreadbot says slowly, and Barricade can almost see the cogs turning in Dreadbot's processor.
*****
Nitro sank down all the way, steadying himself with his servos on Ironhide's shoulders. He waited for a few seconds, letting his valve adjust, and then he lifted off again, starting to ride Ironhide.
"Good like this, Daddy?"
"Very good." Ironhide groaned, stroking Nitro's hips encouragingly. He caught a slight flinch when he pulled Nitro closer earlier, and it reminded him about Nitro probably being sore from the spanking. Sure, he wanted Nitro to learn his lesson, but that was that, interfacing was not a punishment.
The next time Nitro sank down, he ground against Ironhide's pelvic plating.
"Something more you need, little mech?" Hide crooned.
He already knew what Nitro was chasing, but hearing it admitted out loud was something he really enjoyed, and found quite arousing.
"More! Please, Daddy, I need touches down there too!"
The desperate, needy whine went straight to Ironhide's spike, and he had to stifle a groan, momentarily grabbing Nitro's hips harder.
"Do you think you have deserved that?"
Nitro's face fell. "But I'm trying so hard to be good, Daddy!" He whimpered, grinding against Hide in desperation. "Please..."
"You are being quite good." Ironhide took pity on the needy Flier. He reached into his subspace and grabbed a vibrator. "Move it." He said, lifting Nitro. The Jet made a noise of protest, but Ironhide easily lifted him. "Easy now, just going to get this in place for you."
Nitro stared hungrily while Ironhide threaded his spike through the opening in the vibrator. It was a bit of a tight fit, but when it rested against his pelvic plating, the two vibrating little nubs would do the trick on Nitro's node. He started the vibrator, choosing a pattern that intermittently switched between high frequency and low, then he grabbed Nitro's hips again, encouraging him to continue. Nitro reached down to line the spike up, and then he sank down again, a surprised yip leaving him when he touched the vibrator. Ironhide couldn't help but smirk smugly.
"Better, little mech?"
"Yes, Daddy!" Nitro mewled, already rocking back and forth to rub his node against the vibrator.
Chapter Text
"Isn't that a bit lazy of you? To use a vibrator, I mean." Nitro quirks an optical ridge at Ironhide.
Ironhide shrugs. "What's wrong with being lazy? As long as it works."
"True, I guess."
"I mean, I wouldn't have let you get a vibrator like that, you clearly hadn't deserved it."
"Hey..."
"The punishment wasn't done, and you were offering to make up for it in a way that's more of a self-reward than anything."
"He's right, you mech-whore. All about your own gratification." Dreadbot chips in.
Nitro grabs Dreadbot around the back of his neck, giving him a little shake, but he's grinning while he does it.
*****
The way Hide's spike was stirring Nitro's insides when Nitro was grinding back and forth instead off lifting off and sinking down triggered Hide's knotting protocols. It was very sudden, and he didn't even have time to ask Nitro about it before his knot started to swell.
"What's happening, Daddy?!" Nitro squeaked, but he didn't stop grinding against Ironhide.
"I'm filling you up really good, little mech." Ironhide grunted.
Nitro's valve was so tight around him, calipers fluttering to massage his thick shaft, and Hide could feel tension coiling in the pit of his stomach as his frame was getting ready to pump all his transfluid into Nitro.
Nitro tried to lift off, and it rocked Ironhide's hips, but didn't make him slip free.
He was stuck now, and he couldn't find a single reason to mind.
Apparently Nitro didn't mind either, because he continued grinding against the vibrator, chasing his overload.
Hide felt the head of his spike nudging against the bolt in the opening to Nitro's gestational chamber, attempting to complete a frame-lock, but all to no avail; the bolt was well mounted. The first hot spurt of transfluid hit Nitro's ceiling node, and the Flier squealed in delight.
"That good for you?" Ironhide managed to grind out, riding the waves of pleasure from his own ongoing overload.
"Yes, Daddy!" Nitro mewled, hips jerking when he finally reached his peak. He moaned loudly, grinding against the vibrator, digits scribbling over Ironhide's sturdy shoulder plating.
Nitro's valve was feeling tighter with every hot spurt of transfluid pumped into him, the Flier filled to the brim with Hide's juice. Nitro collapsed against Ironhide, spent, but his hips were still twitching, the vibrator relentless against his sensitive node.
"Please, Daddy, I can't..." Nitro whined.
"Alright, you've been good enough."
It would've been fun to wring another overload out of him, but maybe that was too much to ask for this time.
He reached around to press the button and stop the vibrator, digit accidentally rubbing against Nitro's port. Hide would've expected Nitro to try to jump up and get out of the way — even if the knot would've stoped him — but instead, Nitro shifted into his touch. Ironhide's spike twitched at the thought of trying that little hole too, the next spurt of transfluid gushing over Nitro's ceiling node even more powerfully.
Maybe next time.
Ironhide could feel his knot start to deflate, and suddenly, he realized what a mess it would be when he slipped out of Nitro's valve.
"Hang on. I'll carry you into the shower."
It would be easier to clean up the mess in there. And when Nitro saw the glittery mess he had caused, maybe he'd be willing to go another round to make up for it?
Chapter Text
"Going for the butt too, Daddy? Didn't think you'd be like that." Nitro grins, quirking an optical ridge.
"In reality, I don't think you could handle my size." Ironhide quips, grabbing his interface plate.
Nitro starts laughing. "Is it just me being a tight-ass, or do you speak from experience? Springer always do seem rather worried for his butt, is there more to that story?"
"Well, you know what it's like in prison. Sometimes you just have to make do..." Ironhide leers, looking Springer up and down.
"No-no-no-no, don't give him ideas!" Springer protests, throwing a pillow at Ironhide. "And for the record, I'm better than just make do material."
"Of course you are, sweetie." Ironhide smiles insincerely.
"Ye're really ho'!" Crosshairs says, wiping his servo on his own thigh plating. He doesn't bother to close his panel, lubricant glistening on his still puffy valve-lips.
"Thank you. At least someone knows a fine mech when they see one." Springer says.
"So, Hide? Since it seems like your meetin' is officially tabled, maybe there's room fer som mecha te 'ave some fun?" Crosshairs smiles sweetly.
"Perhaps..."
"Great!" Crosshairs obviously decides to take the digit and grab the entire arm. "So, Springer? Ye wan'te treat me to your fine frame?" He bites his bottom lip. "'m already warmed up fer ye."
"You don't have to ask twice." Springer says, getting up. He holds his servo out for Crosshairs, helping the giggling pleasurebot up.
Breakdown is reading one of the data pads. "I think I know who wrote this."
"Really?" Ironhide asks, clearly interested.
"Please don't!" Hot Rod protests, and the other pleasurebots join in. "We decided to be anonymous for a reason...
"We won't hold it against you. Besides, there's a chance we could figure it out ourselves anyway." Ironhide sounds decisive.
"Well, heat-fic, frame-lock, and cubs... Yeah, I know who's likely to write something like this."
"How do you know? Breakdown, have you been indulging in some kinky roleplay?" Nitro coaxes with a slag eating grin.
Breakdown snorts. "No, but sometimes, I read over a mech's shoulder when he reads." He shrugs. "What can I say, I'm curious."
"I must say I am too now." Hatchet admits.
"Makes us three." Nitro says.
Looks like there will be a lot of reading going on in the future. If they don't go to jail first.
Chapter Text
"I'm so tired." Hot Rod says quietly.
Barricade can relate. It has been quite intense, first with the worry about the ICIA problem — which still isn't resolved — then the merge, and now just the long rollercoaster of a night that has been quite nice, death threats notwithstanding.
"You all have the night off, feel free to make the most of it in any way you please." Ironhide says.
"Thank you." Roddy smiles, but it looks a bit thin. "Bee, want to join me? Maybe we can trade backrubs..."
Bumblebee plays a cheering clip over his speakers.
"Maybe we can go snuggle, babe?" Jazz sounds a bit hesitant.
"I want nothing more." Barricade says, but he catches Jazz glancing at Ironhide. "That's fine, right Hide?"
"Of course."
Knock Out whispers something to Breakdown, and then they excuse themselves, heading for Breakdown's room.
"Up for some fun, or are you planning to entertain yourself?" Roadbuster asks Drift.
It could've been a simple request for some company, but at the same time, Drift still isn't fully trusted, and the Brothers are on high alert.
"Sure." Drift says after long seconds of hesitation, then they both leave.
"So, the most of this evening..." Dreadbot muses. "I see no less than three very handsome mechs who are both conscious, and lacking some company." He does a twirl, showing off his frame. "Anyone in need of some company?"
"I don't know if my Daddy will let me..." Nitro trails off.
"Oh, stop it!" Ironhide rolls his optics, half sparkedly slapping Nitro on the arm.
"Spanking me again already?" Nitro quirks his optical ridge. "If I drop the soap, I'm not going to pick it up. Just so you know."
"Oh, that's totally fine! Since you will be using your own washracks."
"But yours is bigger, Hide!" Dreadbot pouts exaggeratedly.
"I know, honey, but I'm not risking a sparkly mess in my washracks. And don't even try to convince me you didn't get ideas, Nitro."
The Flier looks just a little caught.
"You could just not leave us unattended..." Dreadbot suggests. "I think I could need some really good attention."
"I have attention in spades." Hatchet purrs."
"Hey, I was first..." Nitro protests.
"Being the fastest one isn't always a good thing." Dreadbot quips.
"That's it!" Nitro laughs, throwing Dreadbot over his shoulder.
"Gentlemechs! There's plenty of me to go around!" Dreadbot squeaks.
"There better be!" Ironhide says, slapping Dreadbot's aft, pulling another squeak from the smaller mech.
"Uhm, gentlemechs? What about those two?" Barricade asks, pointing at the passed out mechs at the bar.
"They don't seem to need attention right now." Dreadbot says, making Hatchet snicker.
"Should we just leave them like that?"
"You're right! We should totally paint mustaches on them!" Dreadbot sounds thoroughly convinced. Nitro slaps his aft, making him squeak again.
"If you hand me Dreadbot, the two of you can carry those two upstairs." Hatchet says.
"And let you go first?!" Nitro sounds very determined to not let that happen.
"I'm sure you'll keep up, Mister 57 seconds." Dreadbot snarks.
"Hey, I usually make it to 59 seconds!" Nitro protests, but he still puts Dreadbot down on Hatchet's back.
"Sure you do..."
Hatchet trots off with Dreadbot on his back, and Nitro and Ironhide picks up Blackout and Motormaster, before heading up the stairs in a rather odd procession.
Chapter Text
They just slip into berth, cuddling up close, content with just snuggling. Now that the distraction of fiction is over, serious thoughts reemerges.
"How much do you know about the Brothers' business."
"Whaddya mean?" Jazz almost sounds suspicious.
"I mean that we all are at risk of going to jail, and we don't even know what they do. They're obviously into heavy enough crime to pop up on the radar of ICIA. That implies that it's far beyond some petty pimping. Let's face it; considering it's very unlikely that dropout prostitutes from here run to the Enforcers and tell tales of terrible slavery and mecha-trading, just this garden-variety trafficking won't make them enemy of the state number one."
Jazz makes a non-committal noise.
"I don't think they're involved in the drug trade. Sure, they could be, and just keep their own neighborhood clean from that to not raise suspicion, but that seems like a lot of hassle."
"Maybe it's mainly somethin' tha other crews do?" Jazz says, fiddling with the bedding. "We know Grindor ain't exactly nice, maybe others are like him as well? N' then they go after Hide n' everyone jus' 'cause of that."
"Maybe..."
Barricade is not convinced about that. He knows that violence happens, and it seems unlikely that shady bookkeeping would be the cause of Sideswipe's demise. But shady bookkeeping is only needed if one has credits that need to be laundered in the first place, and from what he knows, the Brothers are not doing off the book construction work.
In a way, it's a blessing to not know exactly what they do, because that would make him complicit, but at the same time, he's risking to go back to jail, and he doesn't even know why.
Maybe he is a nosey fucker, just like Nitro said?
"I know from the memory that Dreadbot showed me that they have access to trade routes and shipping that seem to be outside the controlled import routes. That would add up with the need for a good bookkeeper to keep from going down for tax fraud. The question is what they're trading in. Both import and export. Is it legal stuff, but off the books to save credits on taxes, or is it illegal stuff?"
"Ya know, all these questions could seem suspicious, especially considerin' how the ICIA are tryn'a flip ya..."
"Blackout is passed out, and I'm just being curious. It does affect my future after all, doesn't it? I think I have a right to be curious in this case."
"How d'ya know he's still passed out? N' are ya sure he isn't recordin'?"
Barricade's chest goes cold.
He doesn't know that.
Chapter Text
In spite of the lingering nervousness, he must've slipped into recharge, because Barricade suddenly onlines when the first light of dawn filters in through a crack in the curtains covering the window.
Jazz is still in deep recharge, face-plates lax. Barricade almost snickers when he sees the string of oral lubricant stretched between the corner of Jazz's mouth and the pillow, contemplating if he should take a picture as evidence that Jazz does indeed drool sometimes. He refrains from it, doubting that Jazz would ever find humor in it.
Intake feeling sticky and dry, Barricade heads for the refueling room. Sure, he could do the lazy thing, and just drink some water straight from the faucet, and then go back to sleep — a very tempting idea, especially when the cooler air of the house reaches his protoform just seconds after he crawls out from the toasty comfort of the warm berth — but he's kind of picky about what he drinks, and lukewarm water just doesn't taste all that great.
The house is quiet, and there's just something special about the serenity of the early morning hours, when everyone is in recharge. Barricade pads down the hallway, and through the rec room, imagining all the other residents sprawled out, or snuggled up in their berths.
If Hide, Nitro, and Hatchet would consider a recharge pile, Dreadbot is probably the warmest mech in the house, no matter if he wears his plating or not.
The mental image of Dreadbot wedged between massive frames is kind of cute.
Barricade momentarily contemplates grabbing a low grade from the bar instead of going all the way to the rec room, but he decides not to. It isn't really fuel he needs, it's his coolant that's a bit low, and he needs to top up his automated lubrication system, something he has to do a lot more frequently these days. For now, coolant will do for making his intake feel less sticky.
The door to the refueling room opens, creaking as it always does.
They should lube up the mechanism some day.
He grabs a bottle of coolant, deciding to drink it on the way back to the berth room, eager to go back to sleep as he is. The door creaks again when he goes back, but Barricade doesn't think about it this time.
When he passes through the rec room again, a noise catches his attention. It's coming from the front door, some odd scratching sound. Barricade, stops, spark speeding up as he stares at the door.
What if it's a raid? Are the ICIA working on opening the door right now? But they have an alarm system for the gate and the fence, shouldn't the Brothers be up already? Then again, the ICIA might have equipment to let them through without tripping the alarm...
Chapter Text
A servo wraps around his neck, but before Barricade has a chance to scream, another servo covers his intake.
Well, most of his face, actually.
"Let's take a walk, shall we?" Blackout asks.
Barricade fights to regain enough composure to answer with something more coherent than a terrified whimper.
It's such a good thing that he is dehydrated enough to not need to use the maintenance room...
"A walk?!" He manages to squeak, the words muffled by the massive servo.
"Yes. The sponge tree blooms for just a few hours late at night into the early morning. I thought we should check it out." Blackout lets go of Barricade, and Barricade takes a few steps away, even if the distance is more of an illusion of safety than anything.
The reason for the walk throws Barricade for a loop, and at the same time, he really doesn't trust it at all, because it just seems like a trap.
"The sponge tree?!"
"Yes. You know, the one we planted a while ago when we started to deal with the garden? Have you not kept track of the growth? We've really put both money and effort into making it thrive here."
"I... uhm," Barricade trails off, feeling kind of nonchalant, even if it pales compared to his terror, "I have to admit that I haven't paid much attention to it, no."
Blackout is going to hang him from that fucking tree, and come morning, the others will just think he was unstable or something, and did it himself.
Blackout tuts. "For an ex-enforcer, you really don't pay much attention to your surroundings."
"Aren't you too hung over to terrorize other people?" Barricade snaps, nerves too frazzled, and just all around too tired to feel like standing there, being criticized for not looking at the garden of all things.
"I've had worse." Jazz's voice comes from Blackout's frame.
Barricade shudders, because somehow, it feels like a threat, even if a mere recording of Jazz's voice is a rather innocent thing to have.
The words feel too intimate, something Jazz usually says when he's around the pleasurebots. Is the recording from eavesdropping, or has Jazz actually uttered them to Blackout at some point, after the Helo did Primus knows what to him?
"I've gone into battle more hung over than this. Besides, terrorizing mecha is the best cure for hangovers. Now, walk."
Barricade shudders when Blackout transforms his blade out from his wrist, and after long seconds of staring at the sharp edge, he turns, and heads for the front door.
Watching flowers at knifepoint it is then.
He doesn't miss the little mechanism Blackout picks up from the bottom corner of the door, probably the thing that made the scratching noise.
He should've just had some water from the faucet, and then gone back to berth.
Chapter Text
"You know where it is, so don't just stand there, keep walking." Blackout says as Barricade stops just outside the door, reluctant to meet his doom by the sponge tree.
The tip of the knife slipping between two plates on his back, pricking his protoform has him jumping forward and he hears Blackout snicker quietly.
The ground is still dusty and scorched, still marred with tracks from wheels and pedes up by the house, but the further into the garden they go, things have started to grow. There's little paths where mechs apparently walk through it, but between the paths, there are living crystals slowly taking over the ground, and here and there, some sort of green fuzz is growing.
It looks nice, and he hasn't even noticed it before. Too bad he's going to die now so he won't be able to see it again.
He almost cackles hysterically at the thought, because in reality, he has no idea what Blackout is planning, and the Helo seems far to calm and collected for this to bode well. He seems in a good mood, even if he should be hung over as all hell, and it's worrying.
Barricade gets the sudden urge to talk about the whole fic reading thing, the words threaten to force it's way through his vocalizer to spill over his lip-plates.
It's a terrible idea. No excuses he can ever come up with will satisfy Blackout, because the Pave low just isn't wired that way. And Blackout hasn't even mentioned the fics, pulling it up now seem like a good way to tip his mind in favor of Messy Mustang Murder.
They're halfway to the tree when a sweet scent reaches Barricade's olfactories. He sniffs the air without thinking about doing it, wanting more of the smell.
"What is that?" He mutters to himself, trying to analyze the scent that's so different from anything he ever scented before.
Not tacky, like most lubricants can be, lingering on the olfactories. It's a light scent, almost feeling like it's going to vanish between one sniff and the next, just vaporizing. It doesn't though.
"It's the flowers."
"It is?"
"Like I said."
"Does the sponges smell like that too?"
He'd want one, and both him and Jazz could smell like this all the time, this lovely floral scent, and he'd just sniff Jazz constantly.
"How would I know? It's still in bloom." Blackout sounds like it's a stupid question.
"O-kay?" Barricade says slowly, not understanding anything.
"It blooms, and the flowers need to get pollinated for the sponges to start growing. There are no sponges yet."
"Oh."
Barricade stops in front of the tree, momentarily forgetting his company.
It really is beautiful.
The flowers are huge, kind of shaped like tubes with row upon row of petals, bright pinkish red, fading to white at the bottom of every petal.
"Wow." He whispers, almost afraid he'll break the enchanted moment.
"Yeah. Here. We need to pollinate it " Blackout says, his voice making Barricade twitch.
He'd forgotten about the Helo, stunned by the tree.
Barricade takes the little stick with something wool-y on the tip that Blackout is holding out for him.
"See these?" Blackout asks, pointing to the tiny parts sticking out between each petal. "You gently touch them like this, and then you move on to the next." He says, dabbing at one antenna-looking thing, before moving on to the next. "And when you've done it to all of them on one flower, you move on to the next flower."
Barricade looks at the stick he got, and then at the flower still cradled in Blackout's massive servo, feeling apprehensive. He pinches his arm, but he's apparently awake. Blackout quirks an optical ridge, but doesn't say anything.
Further down the tunnel we go, will it be into a conductor bunny cave or a digifox den?
Chapter Text
Barricade's servo trembles slightly when he reaches for the first flower.
What would Blackout do if he frags up and damages it?
He holds the flower carefully, all too aware of how fragile it feels in his servo. Barricade glances at Blackout. The Helo is proceeding with quick motions.
No wonder he's good with his servos, if he so easily can perform such delicate work.
The thought of Blackout's skilled digits sends a heat to Barricade's valve, and it's entirely inappropriate after everything that has happened tonight. He flushes, because he can only hope that the scent of the flowers will cover the smell of his lubricant.
"Good thing you're not getting paid for how many flowers you've pollinated." Blackout snarks when he starts over with yet another flower, and Barricade is still working on his first one.
"I don't want to damage it! I'm not used to this." Barricade more pouts than snaps.
Blackout could be goading him into hurrying up, and then there will be retribution if he frags up. It would be exactly the kind of game Blackout enjoys.
"Right..."
"So... Have you always been interested in plants?" Barricade changes the subject to distract himself.
Blackout snorts. "No. But I really want to see these sponges grow, and then try them after the harvest. Sometimes you have to play the long game."
That sounds like a veiled threat. It's quite possible that this is a ruse.
"Are you the one who has made all these things grow here?" Barricade motions to everything else, spark jumping when the flower almost snags on the joints of his servo.
"It's a group effort. We all do some of the work."
Cars are not made to make loops, so why does it feel like he is doing them?
"It seems like you all have a knack for it, it's coming along great."
Compliments can never be wrong, right?
"It's starting to look pretty good." Blackout agrees. "You know, it only flowers for a few hours, so we need to get done. We started a bit late, look the flowers are already starting to close again, and if they're not pollinated tonight, they'll wilt and fall off. There will be new flowers tomorrow night, but the more that gets pollinated, the more chances are we get a good harvest."
Blackout speak for shut up and get to work. Though, Blackout is the type who'd say just that if he felt like it.
Barricade moves on to the next flower, servos still trembling.
"How do you know so much about this?" He asks, focusing on his task.
"I connected to the Betelgeusean data net and searched for information."
That's... Kind of logical.
"Ah." Barricade just makes a noise of enlightenment, focusing on his task.
Better get this done to Blackout's standard before the flowers close up.
Chapter Text
It takes a few flowers before Barricade has gotten the hang of it, but even when he's starting to feel a little less out of his depth, he can't quite relax. Not when Blackout is working in silence, undoubtedly keeping track of what Barricade does, how well he performs.
His spark is spinning quicker than normal, and even if Blackout seems rather disinterested in what Barricade does — no doubt feigned disinterest — he's probably listening to it, knowing how nervous Barricade is.
And if he slips up, Blackout will know immediately, because his spark will hiccup, and the bastard will hear it...
Unlike Barricade, Blackout is working rather quickly, seemingly engrossed in what he does. Barricade knows, because he doesn't avert all his optics from Blackout at once even for a second. Blackout doesn't look at him once. It could've been insulting, but Barricade knows that Blackout probably could keep track of him even with his optics offline.
The flowers are closing up as the early morning gets brighter, and Barricade hurries with what will probably be the last one he has time to pollinate.
And then what's going to happen? This is so weird, and in a different situation, it could actually be nice, but now it's just feeling like a way to distract him from something else. Possibly his own doom. He really should've just had some water from the faucet. At least he got to cuddle Jazz...
"I guess we're done." Blackout breaks the silence.
Barricade almost jumps out of his own plating, not prepared for the sudden sound.
"I guess..." He trails off, watching as Blackout gently handles the last flower, letting it slip out of his servo like a gentle caress.
It looks kind of sensual, and Barricade is once again reminded of how skilled Blackout is with his servos.
If Blackout wants some repayment for the prank that admittedly got a bit out of servo, that could be quite nice. But then again, it is Blackout, and no matter how skilled he is, he'd also decide exactly how nice — or not — it might be...
The way Blackout's optics lock on him is decidedly ominous, but Barricade's frame seems to have decided that his arousal is here to stay, no matter the danger.
Barricade has to bite his glossa to not start stuttering apologies about the fics.
He may be slightly aroused, but bringing it up might still tip this in a decidedly terrible direction. Not everything Blackout does to him is nice, and the Helo said that he wouldn't let him off easily.
"I'm going back to berth." Blackout says, suddenly turning back to the house.
"Now?!" Barricade blurts, caught off guard.
"Yeah. I suggest you do too. Or someone else might decide to join Jazz in your place."
Barricade works his intake. It's definitely a threat, but that kind of slips by, because Barricade really wants to scream at the infuriating bastard.
All this apprehension, the confusing arousal, the fear in the rec room... All for nothing?! That's it?! He's just going back to berth?!
Scowling, he follows Blackout in silence.
Chapter Text
Barricade hurries to keep up and make sure that Blackout isn't going to ambush him, or go do... something to Jazz.
True to his word, the Helo veers off into the direction of the stairs. Barricade stops momentarily to watch as the big mech climbs the stairs and disappears down the hallway without the slightest glance back.
Why is he feeling rejected?
He stands there a few seconds longer — not to see if Blackout will call for him, absolutely not — but then he hurries back to their room, just in case Blackout takes whatever route he did when he snuck up on them last night during the fic reading.
Jazz deserves to be woken up by him, and warned, should the Helo have plans...
Barricade almost runs the last stretch of the corridor, and his spark is spinning quickly when the door finally slides shut behind him.
More light is seeping through the crack in the curtain now than when he left, and it reveals nothing out of the ordinary. Jazz is still in recharge, and Barricade can't see any signs of foul play.
He watches Jazz's sprawled form as he takes deep vents to try to cool his frame, and get his spark to slow down.
Jazz is so cute when he sleeps. Every night they can spend together is such a blessing, but with their work schedules, they're few an far between.
Barricade takes one suspicious peek through the window — nothing out of the ordinary to be seen there either — and then he pulls the curtains shut, the room instantly going much darker.
It feels safe for some reason, like he is in a den, even if he has to switch over to infrared to be able to make his way to the berth without risking to bump into anything, or step on a possible wayward belonging.
Jazz really can be a bit of a slob at times, at least when it comes to his tendency to not keep his things neatly stored away in a suitable place.
Barricade smiles fondly to himself in the dark, amused by Jazz's quirks. He crawls onto the berth, carefully slipping under the covers. It's toasty and nice under there, and he quickly pulls the covers up.
Jazz stirs, squeaking in protest.
"Ya're cold!"
Barricade forgot about how cold his plating must be after the time spent outside. Sure, his systems sped up when hurrying back to the room, but obviously not enough to heat his plating. It isn't that surprising; he's enjoying the warmth of the berth, his systems already cooled down enough to make him feel a bit chilly.
"Sorry! Didn't think about that!" He apologizes, putting some distance between them.
"What did ya do?"
"I... It's a complicated story. I'll tell you later. Let's sleep som more first."
"Okay." Jazz sounds halfway into recharge already.
Chapter Text
"It was super weird — well, in hindsight, when I wasn't fearing for my life anymore, at least — but except for threatening me with a knife, he didn't do anything worse than dragging me out there, and showing me how to pollinate those flowers. And let me tell you, Bots, those are some really pretty flowers! I completely forgot about the threat when I saw the tree, and the flowers smell wonderful..." Barricade trails off, stuffing another cracker into his intake. "I should honestly thank him for showing me those flowers, I would've never known about it if he didn't."
Dreadbot nods, chewing his gel slowly, looking thoughtful. Dreadbot and Crosshairs were already making hot energon when Barricade and Jazz came into the refueling room.
Barricade glances at Jazz, and then he does a double take when he sees the way Jazz's mouth is pulled into a frown.
"What?" He asks.
"Ya never look at flowers with me!"
"No?"
How could he, he didn't even know about them before Blackout showed him, and... Oh!
It's easy to forget sometimes, but Jazz is such a romantic. On top of that, Jazz's sense for consent isn't all that great at times either. Even if there was a knife involved, and Blackout dragged Barricade outside just to help him with some work, Jazz would be the one to be blinded to everything by the trace amounts of possible romance.
Barricade catches the way Crosshairs and Dreadbot shares a look that unmistakably tells that they've spotted some incoming awkward trouble.
"It wasn't like that! He just needed some help with the pollination, I think."
"So that's what you call it." Jazz says disappointedly.
"Yes, because that's what it was! Look, I had no idea about the tree blooming right now, and I never would've found out about it either. And I didn't know that you would want to see something like that. Now I do, so of course we can go see it together. You can even draw a knife on me if you want to."
Jazz practically beams with happiness, not seeing the two thumbs up Crosshairs waves with to Barricade.
"Aaw, that's so sweet of you, Barricade!" Dreadbot kind of leers, his toothy grin one Nitro would be proud of.
Crosshairs snorts, slapping Dreadbot on the arm. "Like ye won' get a knife an' try tha' on Nitro!"
"How did you know?!" Dreadbot looks shocked to be caught. "Should we make it a double date? Grab a gun, and Hide will follow you to the tree..." He snickers.
Barricade turns his attention back to Jazz from the plotting pleasurebots. "So... We should probably decide when to do this so we can stay up. I mean, I could surprise you and wake you up, but I'm not sure I could actually wake you when you're fast asleep, drooling on the pillow..."
"I don' drool!" Jazz yells.
Barricade stifles a grin. "Of course you don't! I was just teasing you."
"Asshole!" Jazz giggles. "But ya're my asshole."
"I'm not sure I should be this glad to be called that."
Chapter Text
It isn't until after he has told the others about his weird morning, he remembers that Blackout might be listening in, if he's awake.
Or possibly recording.
At least he didn't say something bad — though, Blackout has a way to turn words this way and that — but Barricade is still a bit embarrassed about how he kind of blabbered.
It could go wrong very fast when he speaks to the others, if they talk about something that they don't necessarily want the Brothers to know, if he doesn't remember this at all times.
Isolating himself doesn't seem very tempting, though, so he'll probably need to speak to the others and decide together with them how they're going to manage more sensitive conversations.
Another issue — that's far more troubling — is that Blackout still hasn't done anything for payback. While Barricade was kind of relieved that nothing happened this morning, it also means that he isn't out of the woods yet. Blackout is probably still plotting, and payback can come at any second.
Which is probably part of his plot, the cunning bastard. Waiting for something that will be damned unpleasant is stressful in itself, and Blackout did promise that a mere apology wouldn't get him off the hook, so there's about as much chance that he'll let it slide as it is that all of the Brothers would give up drinking, smoking, and fucking today.
He could go to Blackout and offer some interfacing, but then the Helo would definitely see it as a capitulation in their little war about the freebies, and Barricade isn't quite ready to give in just yet. Besides, Blackout might still hold back the payback, waiting for a later time, and Barricade would be twice the loser.
... it's fucking exhausting, turning all the strategic possibilities over in his helm to try to make the best decision.
To distract himself, he decides to comm Hide instead.
::Hey, I was just wondering — because I suppose out work will be suspended until further notice — if there's something else I can do to make some credits.::
::Yeah, we have too much to do to spare a mech for security detail. I don't know, do you have any other skills?::
Barricade feels quite pathetic as he turns things over on his helm.and comes up with absolutely nothing.
::Like what?::
::I don't know. Dreadbot has signed up to give some acting classes in a local porn studio. Knock Out is doing some polishing classes in one of our warehouses.::
Does he have any skills he could teach others?
::Maybe I could do self defense classes?::
Ironhide starts to laugh. ::Yeah...::
::Hey, I was trained at the academy! I might not be able to bring you down, but the average mech, I can handle. Mostly.::
::Maybe you can go a round with the other pleasurebots, and see if you feel comfortable teaching that?::
Chapter Text
::Does anyone have time to spar a little with me? I'm thinking about having self defense classes, but I need to try to teach it to someone first.:: Barricade comms the other pleasurebots.
::We're 'elpin' Bee an' Roddy te pack up their things fer the move.::
::Oh. Do you need any help? I mean, we can do this later...::
::Sure. Ye know where their rooms are.::
Barricade heads for the pleasurebot wing, and as he walks down the hallway, he hears voices from Hot Rod's room. When he enters, he sees that everyone is gathered there, except Jazz, who was called to Roadbuster's room just as they finished up their breakfast.
"Everything is set already?" He asks, surprised with how quickly the move is happening.
"Not quite. The deal with the Kaon crew has been worked out. Apparently, that was one of the things they did while we were reading fics." Hot Rod says.
Barricade feels like a pile of slag again, because the Brothers weren't just generally working on everyone's safety, but were actually focusing on a couple of the pleasurebots first, all while he was being a petty little shit because of the surveillance.
Good thing that Blackout kept his cool for so long, and when he didn't anymore, he at least didn't decide to try to sway the others to just be done with the helpfulness.
::We're still waiting for our visas, and work permits, but that shouldn't be too hard to get. Kaon have generous immigration policies.:: Bumblebee comms them all.
"Yeah, but at the same time, their bureaucracy can be extremely slow." Roddy warns Bee.
"I think Grindor has enough connections to put a rush on that." Dreadbot sounds very sure.
"Have you any idea about how you're going to live when you get there? Is it still a dorm, or are they providing rooms now? I mean, how much of your stuff you should bring kind of depends on the space..." Knock Out trails off, looking around.
"The deal was kind of vague on that, I think it said something like accomodations as available, upgrades done when possible?" Hot Rod sounds thoughtful.
"We should call TC. Maybe 'e can enlighten us?" Crosshairs muses.
"I have a holo projector in my room, we can use that one." Dreadbot says."
"You have a holo projector?!" Knock Out sounds stunned. "You make a lot of long distance calls?"
Dreadbot grins. "Nitro wanted to try phone sex. Then nobody has asked about it since they already have one on the conference room, so I just never got around to put it somewhere else."
"'ow was the phone sex?" Crosshairs asks.
"Kind of overrated. I mean, it's fun, but it kind of lost the point when Nitro demanded I'd get to his room ASAP halfway through."
Crosshairs starts to laugh, following Dreadbot out of Hot Rod's room. The others file out too, probably as curious as Barricade to hear about what it's like in Kaon now. Hot Rod and Bumblebee wasn't with them the last time, so they only know what they've been told. Hatchet said that the Kaonians were changing things, and Barricade is curious to see what it's like there now.
If it's an option, should the heat get too close.
Chapter Text
Dreadbot sets up the holo projector on the small energon table has, along with two armchairs that aren't big enough for the Brothers to fit in, but mechs their size will sit comfortably.
From what Barricade knows, Dreadbot doesn't really spend much time on this room these days, but he can imagine that furnishing it somewhat similar to what Dreadbot had in his tiny apartment before Swindle came into the picture brought him some comfort in the beginning, when he was still trying to make peace with what his new life would be like. A reminder that he is still his own, and proof that he has things to call his own too, and his own space to live in.
"I sent a text to TC. He'll call us up in a minute." Dreadbot says.
"Couldn' ye're jus' called 'im?"
"And risk that Starscream would be the one to pick up? Hell no! Or Grindor, for that matter."
The holo projector pings to notify them of an incoming call, and Dreadbot presses the accept button. The hologram flickers to light, and Thundercracker waves at them.
"Hey there!" He says.
They all greet him back at once, and it's just a flurry of words.
"So how are things in Kaon?" Dreadbot asks.
"Good. Yeah, actually good." Thundercracker says thoughtfully.
"That's good to hear. Are you aware of the upcoming events?"
"I heard something about our ranks getting some reinforcements so to speak."
"That's right. And of course, they're a bit apprehensive about how this is going to be for them? Their contracts were a bit vague on the part of how they're supposed to live, for example."
"We still have the dorm, but we've put in dividers — like temporary walls, the thick kind they have in repair bays where they do the heavier reconstructions — between the berths, so everyone has kind of a cubicle, at least. And rooms are being remodeled for us to live in later on, so this is a solution while that work is still ongoing. As soon as a room is finished, someone gets to move from the door to the room."
"That sounds acceptable." Hot Rod says, nodding to himself.
"The Brothers decide who gets the new room, so the que system is like the one who has behaved most satisfactory gets the room. I think you'll get your own rooms before Starscream..." Thundercracker looks a bit rueful.
"No surprise there..." Dreadbot mutters.
"It's a lot better here since you visited, a lot of changes have been made." Thundercracker ignores Dreadbot's comment.
"I'm glad to hear that." Dreadbot says sincerely.
Barricade is too. It would be one pit of a cultural shock to come from this house to Grindor's if things were the same as when they were there.
So if the slag really hits the fan here, Kaon could be an option...
"Even if you stole Hatchet..." Thundercracker pouts, but with a humorous glint.
"We're very happy to have him, and we will take very good care of him. I promise." Dreadbot smirks, putting a servo over his spark.
"Well, our new mech here isn't too bad, I think. I mean, going to recharge and let him do his thing is kind of an easy night. Moonshiner is kind of a favorite around here now."
Chapter Text
The others chitchat for a while more, the mechs moving getting to know Thundercracker a bit beforehand, then they say their goodbyes,
Bumblebee and Hot Rod clearly relieved to hear about the progress being made in Kaon.
Barricade listens with half an audial, preoccupied with thoughts.
So it was a trade for Sunstreaker, and now the mech has a new identity. Might be why the ICIA doesn't know where he is, especially if the change of designation was accompanied by a reformat of some kind. As long as they haven't figured it out, it won't pose a problem, but of they do...
"So, wha' were ye sayin' 'bout sparrin'?" Crosshairs turns to him as Dreadbot puts the holo projector away.
"Is the packing done?" Barricade asks. He kind of lost focus on the sparring idea for a while, and now he feels a bit unprepared.
"Most of it." Hot Rod shrugs. "We're not bringing the furniture, and the things left to pack are just going into boxes and into the house subspace. You guys can send it once we have our own rooms, in the beginning, we won't have space for them. It's a quick job, so we can take a break right now."
"Alright. I was thinking that I need to bring some credits to the house, and I don't really have any skills I can make some quick money off of. But I did get some self defense training in the academy, and I thought maybe I could have some classes for civilians?"
"We could probably clear the area where I have polishing clinics and use that." Knock Out muses.
"That would be great. The thing is, I haven't trained for a very long time, and I don't even know if I'm a good instructor, so Ironhide suggested I tried it with a few of you."
Crosshairs squeaks with excitement, bouncing in place, clapping his servos. "I love sparrin'!"
"Sounds fun." Dreadbot agrees.
"So, where could we do this?" Barricade asks, because the rec room doesn't seem like a suitable area, and that's the biggest floorspace in the house, at least from what he has seen.
::I could bring you a vat of oil, and you can wrestle in that.:: Blackout's voice suddenly rings out over his comm.
Barricade squeals and jumps, whirling around, because his comm usually chimes, and he has to actually pick up, but somehow, that apparently doesn't apply to Blackout. Instead, it sounded like Blackout was standing right behind him. He doesn't, but Barricade's spark is quite unwilling to slow down. He catches the way the others are looking at him.
"Blackout. Over comms." He explains.
::This isn't for your recreational purposes.:: Barricade snarks, because he should for whatever time he has left before Blackout decides to make his move. Especially when said bastard isn't in the same room as Barricade.
::It isn't? Because you teaching self defense really sounds like a comedy.::
::Yes, ha ha. I'm laughing my aft off. I'm a trained professional, you know::
::As you were then, Sensei. Good to know that you're capable of warding off a would be attacker, creeping up on you in the dark...::
Chapter Text
Crosshairs leads the way outside behind the house. Before, the Brothers often did some light sparring in the yard, but now that they have landscaped a good part of it, they've started using the narrower space between the back of the house and the fence. More serious sparring, they do on a different site to not attract attention to their abilities, Crosshairs informs him.
"Knock Out will be out in a second. Said he needed to change." Hot Rod says.
"Change?" Dreadbot sounds confused.
Hot Rod shrugs. "I don't know. That's what he said."
"Ye can start with me." Crosshairs says.
"Alright. I was thinking that I would focus on total newbies, who want to start learning some self defense, should they get jumped by a mugger or a rapist or something."
The others nod, looking thoughtfully approving.
"Can' we jus' hire the Brothers out as security?" Crosshairs asks.
"You mean we should pimp them out as bodyguards?" Dreadbot snorts.
"I didn' think of it tha' way. I'm totally up fer gettin' a pimp badge te wear on my chest!"
"More likely it would say pimple." Knock Out says as he points them.
Barricade was about to interrupt the verbal derailing of the session, but he's stuck staring like all the others.
"Wha' the 'ell...?" Crosshairs trails off.
What the hell indeed.
Knock Out has put on coverings, but it looks nothing like what Dreadbot usually wears. Knock Out's coverings are a full frame suit of thin fabric — plating tight all over — and on top of that, he's wearing a smaller suit, one that barely would cover his chest-plates if he didn't have something under it, with a high cut at his hip joints, narrowing to a thong to accent his well shaped aft. To finish his look, he's wearing thicker tubes of fabric on his lower legs.
"What?" Knock Out asks.
"Why...?" Dreadbot gestures to knock Out's frame.
"I'm not getting my paint job scratched. Besides, if I'm going to work out, I'm going to look fabulous doing it."
Of course.
"Not a bad plan." Barricade says, partially to get things going before he gets even more nervous.
What if the others are actually good at this? They might be trained by the Brothers, at least some of them. But then again, if they are, he should just see it as an indication that he shouldn't do classes. And it has to count for something that he at least tried to come up with a different way to make credits, right?
Chapter Text
Barricade grabs Crosshairs, and it isn't many seconds before they're both on the ground, Barricade on top of Crosshairs.
"You didn't even try..."
"I did!" Crosshairs says
"Alright." Barricade says, not really believing him. It didn't feel like he resisted much. "Let's try it again, then. I'll do it a bit slower, and you can try whatever moves you can. In a real situation, you wouldn't get this advantage, of course, but I want to give you a chance to try your own skills, and then I can show you some moves."
"Sure."
Barricade helps Crosshairs up, and then he goes for another attack, broadcasting his movements more clearly.
There's no point in just bringing a mech down again and again, it's better to give them a chance to get the moves right first, and then speed things up as they get better at it.
But his intentions aren't enough; Crosshairs flails around uselessly and winds up underneath Barricade again.
"Let's try it again, but this time, you twist to the side like this, and deflect my servo to stop me from grabbing you." Barricade instructs, demonstrating the movements as he goes.
"I'll try."
It's slightly better, but Crosshairs still manages to more or less trip over his own pedes, winding up underneath Barricade.
How can someone be that clumsy?
He tries to push his frustration away, knowing that it won't help, and that he just needs to make it more clear to Crosshairs how he's supposed to do it.
But good intentions aren't enough; no matter how clearly he shows Crosshairs, how carefully he explains the movements needed, Crosshairs manages to frag it up somehow.
The seventh time he easily manages to trip Crosshairs again, pinning him to the ground, Barricade has to bite back a growled curse of frustration.
"Imagine I was a rapist right now!"
"Can' rape a willing participant." Crosshairs smirks.
"That's not what I meant, I mean that if someone was trying to rape you, you'd want to really put some effort into resisting."
"I know wha' ye meant. I'm adaptin' my effort te the situation, an' this is 'bout as much as I feel necessary right now."
Barricade looks at the unrepentant pleasurebot for long seconds.
"You haven't even been trying, have you?"
"Oi, can ye blame me fer enjoyin' te be mechhandled by a nice an' ho' Enforcer?"
Barricade rolls his optics, but then he helps Crosshairs up again.
"Perhaps not, but I would appreciate if you go along with my training and help me evaluate if I'm a good enough instructor."
"Fair enough." Crosshairs says, looking contrite enough for Barricade to hope that he actually will be more serious now.
Chapter Text
Once ha starts taking things seriously, it's apparent that Crosshairs is pretty good at self defense. It's interesting to spar with him, because they obviously have been trained very differently. Crosshairs style of fighting works quite well, but it's apparent that he has been trained by mecha who rely a lot on their mass and power. Crosshairs is more offensive than Barricade, more aiming to harm back — not just hurt to take down, bit to actually do damage — but some of the finesses that goes a long way for a smaller, lighter mech isn't in his skill set, and quite often, Barricade can deflect his attacks rather well.
It takes a while, but eventually, Barricade manages to get the grip he needs on Crosshairs to bring him down. The taller pleasurebot winds up on his front, arm bent up to the middle of his back.
"Ye got me!" Crosshairs pants, fans spinning quickly with exertion, for once not insinuating anything.
"It wasn't easy, well done!" Barricade praises, helping him up. "I'm guessing the Brothers taught you?"
"Yeh! Started when we were in prison."
"I think I still can give you a tip or two that will be helpful. We don't have the mass and power they do, but we can use a few tricks to hold our own." Then he thinks back to all the times the Brothers have easily mechhandled him, particularly that first time Ironhide did, and he actually tried to defend himself quite unsuccessfully. "It might not work on some Warframes, but at least we can try."
Barricade grabs Crosshairs' arm, slowly showing him first the grip he used to pinch the solenoid to weaken Crosshairs' arm, and then the move and grip of his other servo to twist the arm up, not going as far as taking him down this time. He repeats if a few times, Crosshairs obviously studying the moves carefully, then he holds up his arm to let Crosshairs try on him.
"The Brothers have countermeasures installed that aren't legal for civilians to aquire or install. Since it's part of their original frames, it's excepted, because the judge ruled that they can't be expected to dismantle themselves partially. Most Mecha won't have them, and your techniques will be effective." Dreadbot chimes in while Barricade is silently showing Crosshairs the moves. "They have a lot of features that sparked mecha wouldn't develop, things that are illegal to mount as modifications. The Brothers were never meant to love in society."
He hasn't really thought about it since that night, but it makes sense. If they could be taken down by the rather limited skills of a beat cop, they wouldn't be very effective in war, going up against heavily armed, and highly skilled opponents.
"All those special features, an' nobody thought te get two spikes."
Aaand, Crosshairs is back!
Chapter Text
"You know, if someone did get two spikes, you'd be disappointed that you couldn't be sandwiched between that mach and someone else." Dreadbot makes perfect sense.
"Uhm, 'ello? Double penetration in one 'ole, anyone?"
"Considering the size of the mechs we frag — even with your mod — you'd wind up at Ratchet's."
"Worth it."
Barricade almost squirms, all too able to imagine what it would be like to bust the calipers. Dreadbot steps forward, motioning för Barricade to commence.
"For the record, I would use my claws, and I definitely would bite."
"I understand, and I will appreciate if you don't when we're training. I totally approve if you need it in some other situation, though."
"I think ye did well, an' I learned some things too." Crosshairs evaluates the lesson. "If ye don' mind, I think I'll go see if I can find someone te practice more on..."
Dreadbot snorts. "Have fun, and don't do... I don't really have any advice for you."
Barricade takes the opportunity to start the grappling while Dreadbot is slightly distracted, just because it's such a great opportunity to demonstrate the importance of being prepared.
Dreadbot gets his arm up and deflects, showing that he didn't let his guard down as much as it seemed.
"That's good! Don't let your guard down!" Barricade grunts, moving seamlessly to the next attack.
"Yeah, Swindle taught me that, even if it wasn't self defense training per see."
It's kind of a spark breaking comment, because it shows how deep Dreadbot's scars from the betrayal goes, that he hasn't exactly been able to move on, even if he doesn't seem to mind his circumstances currently.
Dreadbot swipes with his digits across Barricade's shoulder-wing, a gesture to show what he could do. If he had used his claws, the pain would be severe.
"You're fighting dirty." Barricade notes, voice strained with exertion.
"You ever said that to the crooks?"
"Only once."
Dreadbot laughs in surprise, and it's the distraction Barricade was looking for, managing to grab Dreadbot, and knock him over with a quick step behind his pede. They tumble to the ground, and Barricade pins Dreadbot.
"Looks like I'm not the only one fighting dirty." Dreadbot smirks.
"I do what I can." Barricade gets up, pulling Dreadbot along. "We'll do this a couple of times more, and then I'll show you how to throw someone of if they do get you down."
"Sounds good."
Chapter Text
"I heard that you did well. You and Knock Out can make a schedule for the warehouse, and you can advertise the classes on the data net. Make a few flyers to put up in the warehouse too, maybe mecha who want to learn to polish others would like to learn to defend themselves too, and the other way around." Ironhide says, walking down the stairs.
"Yeah..." Barricade says absentmindedly. "You've got some paint transfers..." He motions across his chest, and then he points at Ironhide.
The big mech looks down at his own frame. "Oh, you're right!" He chuckles, rubbing at the bright green streaks.
"I guess Crosshairs found someone to practice on." Barricade smirks, quirking an optical ridge.
Ironhide laughs. "He sure did."
"I know you've all been busy with handling everything to make sure the ICIA doesn't have an easy job, but I was wondering about the long term plan? Will we be able to go back to work at all, and if not, what will be required and so on. And are you trading Bumblebee and Hot Rod for someone else?"
Ironhide goes serious. "You will all be informed as soon as we have everything under wraps, and the time schedule is set, but you will be able to go back to work — it is legal, after all, and if we keep doing it the right way, they won't be able to call upon trafficking laws — but as of now, we're too busy to provide security. Don't worry about credits, we won't be charging you rent for the time the production is stopped, so to speak. And we will not be bringing someone else into the house as long as the business isn't up and running, before we know that it's safe to do so."
Barricade nods. "That's good to know. I was worried about the rent."
A stone off his shoulders to know that he won't be required to make up for the credits he doesn't make right now.
"If you want to do something, you can go back to entertaining in the house. Everyone is kind of wound up, and some stress relief and distraction is very helpful. Tips will be smaller for the moment, we need to cut costs until we know what kind of financial dent this will make for us."
"Fair enough."
It's better to have quality fuel, access to good lawyers, and weed, than big tips, right?
"Do you smell something burning?" Ironhide suddenly changes the subject, looking concerned.
Barricade sniffs the air. "Yeah..."
"Oh, frag. Get that fire extinguisher over there." Ironhide points at one extinguisher, already heading for the other one within reach.
Barricade spots the smoke coming from the refueling room.
"What's going on?!" Barricade tears at the fastening of the extinguisher.
"Crosshairs said he was going to make cookies like the ones we got from the neighbor." Ironhide answers, yanking his extinguisher free of the wall mount.
"And you didn't stop him?!"
"I was thinking that maybe this time, he'd make it. I mean, who am I to stop him from trying to do something he wants if it makes him happy?"
"You're too indulgent with him." Barricade huffs as they race down the hallway, carrying the Warframe size extinguisher in his arms.
"Possibly."
Chapter Text
In spite of being nervous, his first class is a hit. The students knew absolutely nothing, and came away with some new tips and tricks to work on until the next session, and everyone seemed happy, looking forward to learning more. It's encouraging, and he really had fun himself too.
Barricade decides to walk home — at least part of the way — to wind down, and allow his frame to cool off. It's a nice night, rather warm, and the sky is clear.
Maybe he should see if he can get a chance to bring Jazz to the sponge tree this morning? If they offer to do the pollination, the Brothers might let Jazz have a few hours off...
"Hello, Barricade."
He nearly jumps out of his own plating, and then he feels stupid.
What did he just teach his students about checking their surroundings?
"Spinister." He says, seeing no reason to be polite.
At least he can partially blame that the mech is equipped with some sort of sensor deflectors. Even looking straight at him, it's hard to get a read on him.
"Time to go to work?" Spinister almost sounds hopeful.
"No, I'm done for the day, actually."
"Oh. This early?"
"Yes, I'm on an assignment, and it is better done at earlier hours."
::Can you hear me?:: Barricade comms Blackout to check if Spinister is interrupting the feed somehow.
::Loud and clear.::
"An assignment. You know, I have an assignment for you," Spinister brings out a data pad, onlining the screen, "I understand if you were a bit hesitant the last time, but look at this," he slowly scrolls through the page to let Barricade get the gist of the deal, "your record wiped clean, and a new life guaranteed. All signed by the director of the ICIA. This is the real stuff, you can read through it and know exactly what you get, unlike when local enforcement tried to get you to become an informant."
"The problem for me is that I don't know anything of value. I could sign that deal, but it won't be worth anything when I don't have anything to tell. And as far as I know, there is nothing to tell."
"Then you just have to dig a little deeper. You're a hooker, get one of them drunk, get him into the sack, and when he's in recharge, link up by hardwire, and have a look around."
Barricade snorts, and he almost slips up, because the first thing wanting to come out of his vocalizer is do I seem suicidal? He can very easily picture trying this on Blackout, and find booby trapped firewalls, and then a messy, slow and painful death by that blade. But he can't imply that it's dangerous, because that's the same as saying that he knows that the Brothers are fully capable of murder. "I'm not into non-consensual stuff anymore, I don't want to force myself onto someone's mind by hacking. Pretty sure it's illegal too."
"All is fair in love and war..."
"Perhaps, but I'm not in either."
Well, he's in love with Jazz, but he's not going to say that.
Spinister looks disappointed. "Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind." He looks Barricade up and down, then he bites his lip-plate. "Want to make some quick credits? You do look really nice, and since you're not an informant, there's nothing stopping us from having some fun..."
Ugh.
"I'm off duty. Thank you for the offers."
Chapter Text
Being reminded of what his regular job is leaves a bitter aftertaste, but he does feel a bit victorious walking out of there, resisting the temptation.
Not that hard, considering what he'd have to do. Even if he has some intel, if he's going to be completely honest with himself. Sunny obviously is in Kaon, and now Roddy is going there. Roddy, who's also hiding. But it isn't illegal to hide from your conjux, is it? And he wouldn't rat on Roddy. His story about his conjux was convincing.
::I'll debrief you when you get back.:: Blackout comms him, apparently having decided that Barricade has been quiet long enough to probably be on his way home again.
::I want witnesses for that.::
::Sure...::
Barricade trudges up the driveway, looking at the sponge tree. It doesn't look very special in the evening, when no blooms have opened up yet. There are some tiny nobs on sponges that have a lot of growing to do before they can be harvested, an interesting thing to follow the progress of, but hardly optic catching yet. He throws one last glance at the tree as he steps through the door, and Barricade nearly runs straight into Blackout. He squeaks, but with the self defense fresh in his body memory, he instinctively kicks out.
Blackout watches as the kick lands against his shin, then — with a snort of amusement — he grabs Barricade's wrist-strut, easily lifting the Saleen off his pedes to dangle uselessly at the length of Blackout's arms, well out of reach to do anything more.
"Come on!" He protests when Blackout carries him through the rec room. "This isn't dignified."
"Thought you lost your dignity a long time ago."
"I'm trying to carefully nurse it back to health."
"Then see this as a test of it's resilience." Blackout carries him up the stairs. The movements strains the struts in Barricade's shoulder joint as he dangles more.
He can't give in to undignified whining about it. Fucking bastard.
"I asked for witnesses."
"They're waiting."
Blackout carries him into the conference room, dropping Barricade in a very dignified heap on the floor. Barricade gets up, smoothing his plating down with his servos. All the Brothers are there.
"Witnesses." Blackout says, motioning to all of them. "Open your subspace pockets."
"What? Why?"
"I'll search you before the debrief, of course. I want to make sure that you don't wear a wire."
Barricade sighs, but he does as he's told. Blackout thoroughly checks all the pockets. Barricade closes them, then he looks back over his shoulder as he hears Blackout filling with something. The Helo pulls on a medical glove, letting go of it so it saps against the plating on his lower arm, quirking an optical ridge at Barricade.
"What are you...aah!" He trails off into a startled yell when Blackout wraps his arm around Barricade's waist, lifting the Mustang to hang folded over Blackout's lower arm.
"Open your covers. I have a few more places to search."
Chapter Text
Barricade's valve is invaded first, and when Blackout is satisfied that he is empty, he proceeds to push two digits into Barricade's port.
"Come on, I seriously don't have a microphone up my ass!" Barricade protests.
"Maybe not a microphone, but you could store other things there."
"Like Springer's cum. I don't think I got it all out this morning."
Hatchet sprays the energon he was drinking all over the table when he starts laughing.
"I was thinking more along the lines of some sort of contraband you could plant here." Blackout says, clearly not deterred by the possibility of cum on his servo. He is wearing gloves though. "I wouldn't put it past that mech to do something like that. Means to an end and all that."
"I... I guess that's reasonable. But as you'll find, I don't have anything, because even if he might resort to something like that, I would not."
Blackout still does a last sweep with his digits inside Barricade before pulling them out. Barricade is put down on the floor again, and Blackout puts the used glove in one of Barricade's still open subspace pockets. Barricade glares at him, but Blackout just quirks an optical ridge, goading him to try to do something about it.
Barricade decides to try to ignore the Helo, because he clearly is craving attention or something, and thus should not get it. He turns back to the gathered Brothers, who are all looking at him. Except Hatchet; he's still wiping the table.
"I guess you all know that I was approached by Spinister again today. Not much was said, really, he had a data pad with a drafted deal written out, and when he realized I wasn't going to turn, he tried to get some facing. He used some sort of cloaking technology, because he was extremely hard to get a read on with my sensors, but my comm still worked, and it didn't disrupt the surveillance."
"So we still don't know what will happen with the surveillance if he uses something that disrupts the communication." Springer states.
"No, we can't be sure." Blackout sounds annoyed.
"We haven't seen any signs of an attempt to contact the other possible information source, but it feels like it's only a matter of time before our surveillance there is noticed, and things may get more complicated." Motormaster reports.
"So we need to deal with the possible problem before it turns into a problem." Ironhide says, sounding very serious.
Nitro glances at Barricade. "Let's table that discussion for now."
"If that's all, I can leave..." Barricade suggests, wanting nothing more than getting out of there.
"Shouldn't we check his memories?" Blackout asks the others.
"I don't see that it's necessary." Roadbuster says.
"But I don't know what Spinister really said..." Blackout starts to protest.
"There's nothing from your surveillance that suggests that they tried to trick the system?" Springer asks.
"No, but..."
"Then I don't see the point."'
"I really need access to the audio too." Blackout grinds out, unwilling to let it go.
Probably itching to get some hacking in, because he certainly enjoys non-consensual uplinks.
"You just want to spy on me! You just want to hear what happens when I close the doors to my room!" Barricade can't stay quiet any longer, annoyed and more than a little alarmed by how he might not have any privacy at all if Blackout gets his way.
Nitro wiggles his optical ridge. "Oh, Barricade! Harder! Ya're so small compared ta tha Brothers!" He moans in a not that terrible imitation of Jazz.
"Oh, shut up!" Barricade snaps.
"Maybe it's just the schlop-schlop-schlop of a good ol' well lubricated fap?" Hatchet snickers.
Chapter Text
Barricade cuddles closer to Jazz. He might've gone along with Ironhide's suggestion to be open for in-house facing, but he still goes back to their own berth in the early morning, and this morning, Jazz joined him to have at least som quality time.
It feels extra important now, when things are more uncertain. Like a reminder of all the good things he have, and that they're worth protecting.
Jazz makes a contented little noise, cuddling deeper into the bedding, but he doesn't wake up. Barricade offlines his optics again, intending to have another snooze.
And then maybe some facing with Jazz.
His systems start to power down again, going into standby one by one.
::Fuck! Incoming!::
Springer yelling over comms startles them both awake, and they sit up, trying to get their bearings, and make sense of the words.
::Radio silence!:: Ironhide barks.
The door suddenly comes flying off the mechanism. Jazz screams. Maybe he does too? Mechs in SWAT gear — all matte black plating, huge guns, and battle masks cover their facial features — storm through the opening now missing the door.
"ICIA! On the floor, now!"
"Servos where we can see them!"
They both scramble off the berth, obeying as quickly as they can, winding up on opposite sides of the berth. Barricade looks at Jazz, his lover trembling, face contorted with terror.
Oh, frag, this must remind him of the time the Brothers took over that bordello!
They're tied with cable ties, and hoisted to their pedes, ushered out of the room and down the hallway together with the rest of the pleasurebots who were in their own rooms. Hot Rod looks stiff, and Barricade can understand why. The paperwork for his move came in last night, when the ground bridge had already closed. Roddy an Bee is supposed to go to Kaon at noon, but now they have to get through the scrutiny of these mecha first. Barricade doesn't doubt that Spinister and whoever works with him could pull some strings to keep them here longer, and who knows if Roddy's new identity will stand up to their investigation, or if he'll be found out.
They're led through the rec room, where some of the ICIA team are gawking at the gun collection. Spinister is looking like a sparkling on Primal eve, then he turns to grin at Barricade.
"You can leave him here. Take the others outside." He tells the, well, the goons of the operation."
Barricade is ushered towards Spinister, the others forced to keep moving. Barricade glances at Jazz, giving him a small smile in a futile attempt to reassure him.
"You didn't know, anything, you said..." Spinister indicates all the guns with his servo.
"I know one thing, and that is that those are legal in Polyhex. They're decorations, nonfunctional."
Spinister quirks an optical ridge.
Barricade shrugs. "I don't know, maybe there's some sentimental value in them?"
Spinister snorts. "Sure..." He turns to look after the mechs who just disappeared out the door. "So, who's your cute little squeeze?"
Barricade's spark makes a queasy roll of unease. "Just one of the other entertainers."
"Mh-hm?"
"What, you think I can't interface for fun just because I do it for credits?"
Chapter Text
"I don't know, can you?" Spinister asks, clearly interested.
"You just need to separate your work from your hobbies. The customers don't do anything for me, that doesn't mean that nobody else can. But is that really why you're here? To discuss this?"
"Curiosity isn't illegal. Not last time I checked, at least."
But it can be fatal.
"Indeed it isn't."
"No, I'm here for business, not pleasure. Even if the two sometimes convene in a delicious way. This first bit is rather regrettable, I'd say though." Spinister puts on a solemn face. "I'm afraid I have bad news, Barricade."
The investigation will be stopped because they have no evidence. How terribly sad. And this raid was a mistake, and more importantly against the law, so they have to pay dues for the inconveniences it caused. How utterly devastating.
"I'm sorry to inform you that your step-sire has passed away this night. We need you to come down to the local precinct and ID the frame."
Barricade feels very weird. On one servo, it's good that the bastard is gone. A tiny part of him — a part that he really wants to kill with fire — is saddened. He can't say exactly why, it might be as simple as the bastard was the only link he had left to his childhood — a childhood he doesn't have many fond memories of — and in extension, his Carrier. Most of him is just relieved that it's finally over, and it is easier this way, than if he actually had to make an active choice, and end his step-sire himself.
"I understand if this is hard for you, but I want to get it resolved as soon as possible, so you can mourn in peace. The coroner's should be done with the frame later today. They need to finish the autopsy, and frankly, if I were you, I wouldn't want to see him on the state he is in now."
Coroner?
"How...?"
"It's hard to tell what caused the death, if it was the blunt force trauma, or the stab wounds."
Oh, fuck!
"I hope you didn't raid the entire house, and brought us all out in zip ties just to tell me that my step-sire is offline. A simple call would suffice. Or knocking on the door, asking for me."
Like regular Enforcers, informing a relative of bad news.
"No, I have other reasons for that. Related, of course. But we will talk more about that in due time." Spinister motions towards the door. "Go on. The transports will take a while."
Barricade starts moving, glancing at where a mech he presumes is another agent is scanning all the guns on the wall. It reminds him of a TV show about forensics he saw a while ago, that they can scan guns for signs of being discharged.
Hopefully, the Brothers cleaned the guns thoroughly before putting them up.
He steps through the door to find all the other's gathered: the pleasurebots are lined up sitting with their backs against the wall, the Brothers are stretched out on their fronts, servos cuffed behind their backs. Blackout's rotors have been locked too.
The Helo is going to be in such a good mood, thrilled about that...
Chapter Text
"At least give him a blanket or something! I'm pretty sure he has the rights to get something to cover him up!" Nitro sounds seriously aggravated in an uncharacteristic way that really catches Barricade's attention.
"I know that you mecha doesn't get to see someone that fine very often, but letting someone freeze like that is often used as a form of torture." Hatchet snarks with a dangerous edge.
Barricade looks around, and suddenly, he understands why they're angry: Dreadbot isn't wearing his plating, nor is he covered in one of his onesies. He's tied up like everyone else, curled up to keep some heat, but with his back against the cold wall, it's rather futile, and Dreadbot is trembling.
"And even if he wasn't freezing, I think he has the right to not be exposed like that. Just because he was sleeping naked in someone's berth doesn't give you the right to let him sit there for everyone to stare at." Ironhide spits.
"You get out of the bed the way you laid in it." Spinister mutters, catching Barricade's attention.
"Perhaps, but how hard can it be to give him a blanket, and allow him to keep some dignity?" Barricade answers.
"Well, you would know how much dignity an entertainer can keep."
"Just because he undresses for some mecha, it doesn't mean that he wants the entire neighborhood to see him."
Barricade turns his helm when he spots movement by the fence.
The neighbor.
"Don't, worry! I'm recording this. This can't be by the book." He calls out.
"Sir? You need to step away from the fence." One of the agents says, heading his way.
"Dang, mech, don't you ever recharge?!" Springer sounds astonished.
"I'm old, getting up early is what we do. And sometimes, my back is acting up, so I just have to get up."
"We need you to go back inside, Sir." The agent says.
"I bet you do! But the last time I checked, this is a free fragging citystate, and I'm allowed to be in my garden at any time."
"Interfering with ICIA business is a crime, and we do have the right to make sure you don't get caught in the crossfire from one of our operations."
"Can't say I'm interfering when I'm on the other side of the fence, and I doubt there will be crossfire with everyone hogtied. What I do know is that it's highly unlikely that the regulation states that a mech isn't allowed to cover himself from prying optics or the elements while in custody. Because he is in your custody right now, unable to fend for himself, and if he gets damaged because of the cold, that is definitely your responsibility."
"Did I ever say that I love that guy?" Knock Out mutters.
The other pleasurebots mutters agreement.
"Of course we will take responsibility. Our priority is securing evidence, though, not catering to a potential accessory criminal."
"Then I don't see why you are objecting my presence. If you're going to take responsibility, my recordings won't be needed. And I think fetching a blanket and wrapping him in it can't be considered too time-consuming even for you. And don't think you can just make me delete my recordings here, I'm sending live to several back up servers, and other mecha are watching to witness. In case you decide to do something outside of the book to me."
"I swear, I'll rub his sore back every day from now on." Knock Out says.
"His front too." Dreadbot says.
"I'll rub anythin' 'e wants." Crosshairs leers.
Everyone rolls their optics.
Chapter Text
Dreadbot does get his blanket. They more or less throw it over him, and he's forced to wiggle in place to try to straighten it, but at least he's covered.
Barricade sinks down to take a seat next to the others. The way they're allowed to sit next to each other is telling him that they're not that interesting this time, or they wouldn't be allowed to get this opportunity to come up with a story that everyone can support.
But then again, the ICIA could very well have equipment that records whatever they're saying to be used against them later...
He allows himself to lean heavily against the wall, feeling tired even though he woke up not that long ago.
The bastard is gone. It's such a relief, but he certainly isn't looking forward to ID him.
He stiffens, straightening up, when a couple of mechs start to scan the servos and arms of the Brothers. Sharp optics look closely at plates and struts, even as the Brothers are left cuffed, and the ICIA mechs spray some sort of fluid on the Brothers servos, before looking again.
He can guess what this procedure is, because he saw something similar in that documentary he watched.
"Ah, yes, the tea is that your employers are suspected of murdering your step-sire." Spinister murmurs in his audial, crouching next to him to tell Barricade exclusively. "Second strike, and such a violent crime? If I were them, I'd really like to get a get out of jail free card..."
If Spinister thinks that they'd rather rat than do their time for their Brothers, he really doesn't know what the Warframes are all about. Then again, would they really go to jail for a very long sentence for his sake? Because it all started with his want for revenge. If they were the ones to end his step-sire — it could be someone else, of course, the bastard probably gathered a long list of enemies over the years — it must've been to make sure he didn't talk to the ICIA. Which he most certainly would've done. But the need for the bastard's silence wouldn't be there at all if he hadn't wanted to hurt him.
"Are you sure he was murdered? He was a clumsy as... mech. Maybe he slipped, and landed on something sharp?" Barricade tries to deflect.
"I suppose it's hard to think that your friends — the mechs you share a berth with — could be capable of this. They're still Warframes, though."
Barricade almost snorts.
Not after a few conversations with Blackout. In his berth. And you can suck it, because I'm not getting into yours.
"Just because they have a violent past doesn't mean that they want to continue like that."
Except Blackout.
"Perhaps not, but it's not easy to quit either. And they do have a motive; we were about to go in and make a deal with your step-sire. The frame was even still warm when we got there. Curios, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't call it curious, but it really seems like you were very unlucky."
Chapter Text
Spinister leaves him there, probably to let him stew, and enters the house again.
Was it really the Brothers who did it? They never said anything to him about planning it. But then again, there was that comment about the other possible source of information... Would they do it without telling him?
Barricade mentally facepalms.
Of course they would if it was necessary for their safety. And it's his safety too on the line, so that teeny, tiny little part of him that was kind of sad that his step-sire is offline can't convince him that it wasn't for the better anyway.
He watches as the forensics mecha pack up the evidence, putting it in their transport, preparing to go back to their lab to analyze everything.
"You think we're all going to be taken in again?" Dreadbot groans.
"Why are they even doin' this raid?" Jazz asks. He still looks a bit nervous, but definitely better than before.
"My step-sire was murdered just before they were about to make a deal with him to rat about... something they think happened, that didn't. I think they'll just want us to corroborate some alibis." Barricade says.
In reality, he's not entirely sure that it'll be like that, but there's no point in making everyone nervous. They'll just have to deal with it as it comes.
They sit there for over an hour, but considering that it seems like the agents are packing things up after that, it doesn't seem like that much time, really.
They must have very powerful scanners to be able to search the house that quickly.
Because Barricade is certain that they don't leave anything to chance, or do a sloppy job. Not when it can make or break the case. He knows how thorough he was when he searched the house for drugs, and they're probably at least as thorough.
Spinister comes out of the house again, this time with one of the others who seem to be of a similar rank. They come up to the pleasurebots, looking back and forth along the line of them. They all try to look like they don't care, but there's an edge to the way everyone is sitting there, waiting for what will come next.
"Let me see," Spinister says to the other mech, "Barricade, of course, he needs to ID the victim," he points at Barricade, "that mech there," he points at Jazz, who looks distraught.
"Wha' did I do?!" He almost whines, clearly scared.
"Who said you did anything? Maybe I just want to have a chat with you to make sure your stories match? Or did you do anything?"
"No!"
"And you want to make sure that we are certain that Barricade didn't murder his step-sire, right?"
"Of course! He didn'!"
"Then I don't see why you wouldn't come along to verify that officially."
"I'll do it. Of course I will."
"Good." Spinister turns back to his co-worker. "And that mech there." He points at Crosshairs.
"Oi! Ye can' take me in, ye've no' told me wha' I'm suspected of."
"Faking your identity."
"Why would ye think tha'?" Crosshairs tough facade wavers minutely, but if Barricade picked up on it, so did probably Spinister too.
"Because I've never seen an MTO with a frame like yours. It's almost as if you're a sparked mech posing as an MTO. And it's kind of interesting, because who would ever want to make a trade like that?"
Chapter Text
As they're walking towards the transport, Barricade notices that Blackout, Springer, and Nitro Zeus are taken to separate transports.
So they're the ones who are suspected. That's pretty specific, and Spinister is not the type to pick at random. Something must've pointed in the direction of them, and it's quite worrying. He kind of expected that they'd all be brought in, like when they were raided before. To make them all nervous if nothing else.
If the forensic mechs found evidence that one or more of the Brothers really are the offenders, this could be a serious problem. Even with Hatchet as reinforcement, they're already down one mech, and worst case scenario, all three of them will be arrested. With ICIA watching their every move, it's going to be much harder for the Brothers to defend their territory, and keep business going. They'll be vulnerable too, there has to be mecha out there itching for retribution for things the Brothers have done in the name of business.
A couple of the SWAT mechs ride along in their transport, probably to make sure they don't talk to each other. But then again, their transports are probably bugged anyway...
Bugged! Fuck! They're going to have to sweep the entire house for bugs. Planting bugs could even be the main reason for the raid, come to think of it. And will they even be able to find them? Even with the advanced security system, they had almost no warning at all when the ICIA came in. They definitely have more advanced stuff than they had when he was an Enforcer. Granted, that was a long time ago, but when local enforcement has been hassling them, it has never seemed like they had really high tech stuff.
Hopefully someone will be able to do the sweep, because he's not sure how long he will have to stay at wherever they're brought, or if his scanners will be good enough to find anything when he gets back. Barricade is sure about one thing: he does not want to be the mech responsible for finding any surveillance equipment, and then failing. It would certainly bring about questions about if he has flipped or not, and he doesn't see any way he'd come out of that questioning alive and fully functional.
To distract himself, he looks at Crosshairs. It's probably the first time he sees the rather easygoing mech look so serious. He's chewing his lip-plate, deep in thought. It's not impossible that they have a cover story ready for him, but then Crosshairs probably wouldn't be this nervous. It's easy to see why he doesn't have one: up until now, his past didn't really seem that important, and being written off as an MTO probably has helped him staying under the radar. Though, he doesn't really seem to be engaging in something illegal, really. At least not until he has to defend Hide, then he'd probably commit perjury in a spark spin.
The transport lurches to a stop, and the SWAT mechs exit as soon as the doors open, motioning for them to follow suit. Barricade's tank makes a queasy lurch.
Time to ID the bastard.
Chapter 816
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"We have tried to make him as presentable as possible, but I still have to warn you..." Spinister says, escorting Barricade down the hallway.
"Thank you." Barricade says, as if he hasn't seen the aftermath of violence before.
Playing along can only serve him well here, whatever comes out of this in the end.
Apparently, the ICIA have borrowed — or maybe commandeered — the local enforcement station, but either way, they're obviously not trusting the regular security. Mechs without visible markings for what agency they belong to are posted here and there, watching doors or corners.
It wouldn't surprise him if the mecha in the surveillance room has been relieved of their duties too. As if they wouldn't just enjoy helping out with putting the Autobots away from what he has seen the times he ran into enforcement. But then again, Hide has implied that he has contacts in high places, so some moving of intel might actually not be out of the question.
He's taken down to the basement, Spinister silent for now, and a guard opens the door to the morgue for them.
So they don't trust that the frame will be left there even if the autopsy is already over.
Spinister pulls out the sliding berth from the storage, and then he pulls the cover down to reveal the face of the mech. Barricade stares, feeling frozen in place.
It's his step-sire, alright, but his face looks wrong. They've cleaned away the fluids that might have stained him at one point, but left is dented and warped plating. Barricade doesn't know how to feel.
It's weird how it gets to him, even if he has been seen stuff before, even if he really hates this bastard. He should feel glee... Well, maybe not glee. Or should he feel glee? Is that ok? Is that the right thing to feel about this? Relief. He does feel relieved, because the bastard can never come for him again, can never pop out of nowhere to wreck his life again, no matter where his life takes him, what happens from now on.
"That is him." He says, the words feeling funny in his vocalizer, almost like some sort of wool-y wrapping around the syllables.
His glossa feels kind of numb too, and there's this strange buzzing in his audials.
"Thank you, that's all I need." Spinister says, covering the frame up again. "He leaked out, but we can't know for sure what was the killing blow, there are too many to point to one specifically. It's more of the massive amount of trauma... Barricade, are you alright? Do you need to sit down?"
Is he swaying? Oh, he is. He just thought that it was the rest of the world. But his intake feels different. Kind of pulled into a grimace.
Not a grimace, that's a smile.
Bad idea.
Feels good.
"He was an abusive fucking asshole. Now he can't ever hurt anyone else. One less molester roaming the streets."
Fuck.
Notes:
Sorry for the late post. Had a long (but very good) day of travelling home from a mini vacation.
Chapter Text
"I see... No love lost here I guess." Spinister says slowly, studying Barricade.
"I'm sure you've read every damned word of my file several times, this shouldn't come as a surprise. You know as well as I do that just because the perpetrator goes free in a case like that doesn't mean that they're innocent."
"If the court rules that someone is innocent, who would I be to assume that they're wrong? Wouldn't it be kind of contradictory to work in law enforcement and think that the justice system doesn't work?"
Barricade snorts. "As I said, I'm sure you've read my file. Including the hearings after I was caught, my reasoning for what I did. And don't pretend that you've never been annoyed when someone slipped free even when it seems crystal clear that they should be put away. You have such a massive hard-on for putting the Autobots away, it's hard to think that you never tried and failed before. After all, what you think you know hardly matters if you can't prove it in court."
"I see you haven't really changed at all; still thinking that you know better than the system. I agree that it can be frustrating when there isn't enough evidence to convict someone, but at the same time, would it really be better to put mecha away lightly? To risk that innocents got locked up?"
"Perhaps not, but in some cases, when it's word against word, maybe the circumstances should be looked at more closely to get a correct picture? Force, coercion and threats come in many forms."
"I bet you know that better than most mecha. Which was it that made you become an entertainer?"
Barricade bites his glossa in annoyance. If Spinister had shown up in the beginning, he would have squealed about all of them.
"None of the above. I made my own choices." Barricade says coolly.
"Didn't the mechs you extorted do the same when they continued using drugs, knowing that it put them in jail for a very long time?"
"Perhaps. But apparently, that threat wasn't enough to keep them away from the drugs anyway." Barricade comes to think of Drift, and how not even the threat of being kicked out of the house could keep him from a relapse.
"Maybe not, but putting them away would decrease the demand for drugs, making the market less lucrative, and less attractive to mecha wanting easy credits."
"Wouldn't it be easier to bring down the ones who make the credits?" It would save a lot of credits on having to keep so many small-time crooks in jail forever." Barricade feels like he's stating the obvious.
"Why do you think we're going after the Autobots? We're not interested in chasing after junkies, local enforcement can do that. We want the ones who run the market." Spinister actually sounds passionate now.
"Then you're looking in the wrong place. They don't accept any substances that aren't legal. As you can see on my previous tests, I'm clean from everything I don't have a prescription for."
"Is Jazz clean too? He did have some... issues way back. A few convictions for starters, and then I suppose he got away with it because of you. He did come to see you in jail, after all..."
Chapter Text
Barricade's spark feels cold all of a sudden.
He should've know that Spinister knew, that he would make a thorough background check. But then again, he didn't really even think about what he has with Jazz back then. It feels so distant, so very different, almost as if it was another life all together.
"He's clean. Has been for as long as I've been out of jail. There have been some tests before — done by local law enforcement — and he was clean then. I'm sure you have seen those reports too."
"Mh-hm. Good for him. I guess it can't be easy to stay on the straight and narrow path with a long history of substance abuse."
"He wasn't a heavy user way back, and I guess he really wants to stay clean now. I think it's good."
Maybe Spinister doesn't know what happened to Jazz before the Brothers... rescued him?
It feels kind of distasteful that at this point, it's probably better for Jazz that law enforcement doesn't know that he was trafficked, abused, and forced to take drugs.
Yeah, the justice system certainly protects the weaker mechs...
"Oh, of course! Who wouldn't be happy that their sweet spark isn't a junkie prostitute?"
"We knew each other way back, as you know, but that — and sharing a berth now and then — doesn't automatically mean that we're sweet sparks."
"No, I'm sure it's complicated to be in a serious relationship when both of you entertain others."
Actually not that complicated. The only complication will be if Jazz admits more than he has, thinking that it's a good thing to show the stability they have. Spinister would certainly latch on to it even more doggedly in that case.
"I wouldn't know."
Spinister looks him up and down, cocking his helm as if considering — or perhaps just leaving it open for Barricade to change his mind and say something else — then he clicks his vocalizer.
"And his reformat?"
"What about it?"
"Pretty extensive job. I mean, sure, some mecha really want to look different — or be someone else all together — but those procedures are pretty expensive. Not exactly something a low budget whore can afford."
No, that's for wannabe actors to get way over their helm into debt for because of manipulative assholes playing on their insecurities.
"Makes me wonder why he needed to get reformatted. And how he paid for it."
Chapter Text
Just the tiniest bit of doubt weaves into Barricade's already nervous thoughts.
Why did Jazz get reformatted? Was it really as simple as wanting a sleeker alt mode? Spinister is right; that is a pretty expensive procedure, and even if Jazz is in a much better situation now, he isn't making very much credits for himself, not to pay something like that. And a payment plan to the Brothers for it have to get pretty long-winded, and now that he's working in-house, how does it even work... Did he really do it just to look more modern and, well, hotter? The Brothers certainly don't seem to be the kind of mechs who'd coerce him to it because they want a hotter berth mate...
"I don't know why he did. We haven't talked about that. I thought he looked good back then too, but a lot of mecha have insecurities about their looks, I guess... He didn't change his face, though. If he wanted to change his looks to hide from something, I think he'd change that."
Why does it sound like he's grasping for straws? It's a perfectly good explanation, isn't it? Is he too defensive of Jazz, giving himself away?
"That still doesn't answer where he got the money to do it."
"Like I said: we never talked about it, so I don't know."
Welcome to this part of the story, when his protectiveness of Jazz probably just makes Spinister more inclined to ask Jazz the hard questions. Stupid...
Spinister snorts. "How gratifying if we could add loansharking to the murder charges."
...Oh, fuck. If they manage to twist the deal to look like some kind of extortion...
"To file murder charges, you'd need good evidence, though. You know, with how that's important for the process of the justice system."
Spinister grins, and it makes him look like a shark smelling blood. He's obviously enjoying this hunt. "Oh, yes. But as you might imagine, we're good at finding even the tiniest bit of evidence. And juries are often inclined to see MTO behavior for what it really is: programming not fit to exist in society."
Great, that old smash hit. But Spinister is probably right, and they better take that into account.
"So, what do you say, Barricade? Still willing to go down for them? If we charge them according to the organized crime laws, you, and all the other whores will go down as accessories, because you failed to report anything, and withheld information. Wouldn't it be nicer to be the one who got a new life instead. Just imagine it: you and Jazz, in a nice house somewhere undisclosed, with a garden Jazz can tend to while you are on your assignments..."
There is is, dangling in front of him again: the temptation. And just because Spinister hasn't arrested everyone, and given a full list of the charges and evidence, that doesn't mean that he doesn't have it all in place. This raid could be a ruse, just a way to recruit him, and get a little more information to really seal the Brothers' fates. What if he walks out of here, sure that they won't be able to prove who committed the murder, just for all of them to be arrested next week for so many more things?
Chapter Text
"Jazz doesn't like gardening." Barricade says flatly, immediately feeling stupid for the reason, but knowing that he can't hesitate too long with the answer either.
Spinister barks a surprised laugh. "I'm sure we could set him up with some other hobbies, or perhaps even a real job, if he wants that."
"Who'd tend the garden then?"
Barricade almost snorts when his processor suddenly supplies him of a picture of Blackout being their gardener, while they sip drinks on the patio.
How prejudiced: menial tasks for an MTO to do, no matter how hilarious the thought is. But then again, work as punishment sounds better than life in prison. Though Blackout would probably think it was worth life in prison to kill him in his sleep the first night...
Spinister raises his optical ridges. "Would you prefer an apartment?"
"No. You know, I have nothing to tell you, what about that? You try to sell me a fancy deal, but what happens when I can't deliver any information? Will I get it anyway, or will I just be dropped, with a t...." he break off. It's a close call, where he nearly says with a target on his back, which certainly would imply that he knows for certain that the Brothers are violent, "with all my friendship bridges bombed to dust? I've told you time and again that I don't have any information to give. You said I'm here to ID the frame, I have done that. If you want to continue this interrogation, I want a lawyer."
Ironhide has to be released by now, he could contact him, and Hide could contact their lawyer, right?
"A lawyer?! We're just having a conversation here." Spinister holds up his servos in a placating manner.
"Perhaps, but I'm feeling really uncomfortable. I've just identified my offlined step-sire, and you're pushing me to do things I'm not comfortable with, using my friend —alleged mech friend — as leverage."
Spinister quirks an optical ridge, smirking slowly. "Using the abusive fucking asshole as an excuse? How pitiful."
"Maybe, but you're threatening my friends, and I feel coerced into something that won't benefit me in the end. Just leave me alone, I have no information, because there's no information to have."
Spinister's face goes stony. "How disappointing. I really thought you wanted a chance to help making this planet a better place."
"If you want to do that, you're wasting your time on the wrong mecha."
"We'll see. When all the evidence here is processed." Spinister motions to the door. "You're free to go. This is just a conversation, after all."
Chapter Text
Barricade sends a text to Jazz that he's going home. It feels very impersonal, but he doesn't know if the ICIA can intercept communication when they're here, and if the text gets stuck waiting for a connection, Jazz will still get the message as soon as he's released. Barricade waits outside the station for a few minutes to give Jazz a chance to answer, if he's already at home himself, but there's no reply, so he drives back to the house, sticking to the speed limits and traffic rules, should someone keep watch.
He's feeling paranoid, with all the possibilities. Are the ICIA hooked up to the traffic cameras? Do they have satellite surveillance? Is this the way he's going to feel from now on? And have the agents bugged the house, do they have to mind everything they say and do at home?
The house is quite a mess when he steps through the door: things are turned upside down and inside out, but it seems like most of it is caused by the frantic searching going on. Everyone is participating.
"What can I do?" He ask as soon as he spots Ironhide.
"What happened at the station?"
"I identified the frame, and Spinister tried to flip me. As usual. He has figured out that Jazz and I have known each other for a long time, and he's pretty certain that we're a thing. I played it down, but I don't know what Jazz is going to say. What about the others?"
"I still haven't heard anything. They won't release any information as we're not family." Ironhide spits the last part.
Of course. It could be argued that they actually are family; Brothers, and steady partner — at least in Crosshairs' case — but the ICIA will use every trick in the book.
"I see."
"Our lawyer is working on that. In the meantime, all we can do is make sure this place isn't bugged."
"I'll help, but I'm not sure if my scanners will suffice to find anything."
"Then just help with opening everything to make it more accessible. Hatchet can sniff out anything that isn't ours, but it'll be quicker if everything is easy to get to."
That comment is what makes Barricade take a closer look at Hatchet, and indeed, the mech is sniffing along the seams of the couch.
"His olfactories are good?" Barricade muses, mostly to himself.
"The best. He's created for scouting, including finding explosives, mines and other traps."
Barricade looks over to the pile of weapons that have been pulled down from the wall. "I guess they didn't find anything illegal, or everyone would be arrested right now."
Ironhide actually grins. "Nope. They really wanted to, but it was all legal."
Chapter Text
Hatchet is very effective. He finds a bunch of planted bugs, and when he's done going through the entire house, he starts over again, just to make sure he didn't miss anything.
Ironhide stares at the pile of equipment gathered on the table, distaste clearly visible on his face-plates.
"You know, if Nitro was here, he'd have a field day with these. All the things he could come up with to gross those agents out." Dreadbot whispers to Ironhide.
It's clearly an attempt to lighten the mood, but Dreadbot can't quite conceal his worry. Ironhide still snorts, wrapping an arm around Dreadbot's shoulders.
"You mean like how that Spinister mech seems to be aching for some big dick? He tries acting tough, but I know a bitch when I see one. Bet he'd love to be topped so hard." Ironhide says loudly.
Hatchet stops sniffing momentarily, barking a laugh. "I think he's the type who'd like some good animal play. You know, heat, and knotting, and stuff like that."
"Yeah, mecha like that tend to like to give up control." Roadbuster chips in.
Hot Rod rolls his optics, but he does look torn. Completely understandable, as he's the one who wants the agents to come back — itching for revenge to save face — the least.
Ironhide grabs a rag, then he unsubspaces a cylindrical little thing. Barricade watches as he lays the rag on the table, dragging the tip of the cylinder across it. When Ironhide stands back, there are crude glyphs there.
A way to communicate even if their comms and other technical equipment is bugged.
Barricade reads the note at the same time as Hot Rod does.
You're going soon. A slot at the ground bridge is being set up. Be ready to leave at a moment's notice.
Hot Rod nods once, looking relieved.
They all turn when Jazz enters. He looks shaken, hurrying over to Barricade as soon as he spots him. Barricade holds a digit against his lip-plates to warn Jazz that speaking isn't safe yet. Jazz throws himself around Barricade's neck, hugging him hard. Barricade hugs him back, of course, itching to hear what Jazz has to say, even if he knows that he'll have to wait.
"Crosshairs still stuck at the station?" Ironhide asks.
"Think so. I can't imagine he wouldn' go straight home." Jazz says, letting go of Barricade, stepping back. "They wouldn' let me know anythin'."
"Of course not." Ironhide says sourly. "I hope the lawyer can work his magic on that."
Chapter Text
When Hatchet is certain that he has found every bug, they all stare at the pile on the table. It's a significant amount of tech gathered.
"I'm not even sure if this is legal..." Barricade says, motioning towards the tiny sensors.
Legislation might've changed, but he does remember something about how there had to be strong enough suspicions for a specific crime for it to be legal to start surveillance. And the suspicions had to be strong enough for the alleged criminal to be informed of said suspicions. The murder of his step-sire would probably not be enough, considering the breach of everyone in the house's integrity with all encompassing surveillance. He remembers how stupid that rule sounded back when he was an Enforcer — such a hassle to work around, and protecting the bad guys — but now that he has tried around the clock surveillance himself, he knows how invasive it feels to have someone hearing every word he says, even when in the privacy of his own berth room. Operations like that should not be taken lightly.
"Let's not discuss this here. The weather is nice, let's all enjoy the garden for a while, shall we?" Ironhide says. He points at Hot Rod and Bumblebee, and then he points at the back door. "Go now." He mouths, and the two pleasurebots waste no time obeying.
The rest of them head out the front door, Ironhide stretching out on the ground, seemingly enjoying the late afternoon sun. Everyone else follows his lead, or takes a seat somewhere close by.
"Why didn't we get more warning this morning?" Barricade asks quietly. The others may already have been informed, but he was stuck at the station.
"Their signal disruptors were good enough to trick the alarm. We need to upgrade our system, apparently, but it'll be tricky to go shopping without the ICIA knowing. We'll have to do everything in person until we can be absolutely sure that our communications aren't intercepted." Ironhide explains.
"Someone could help us with acquiring what we need, but we need to find a way to communicate our needs to them." Hatchet says.
"Upgrading an alarm isn't illegal, is it?" Barricade asks, because they do seem a bit overly cautious.
"No, but depending on the tech that's needed, it may involve things that are for intelligence agencies only, that can't be obtained on the regular market. We don't need to get heat for that too right now." Roadbuster says.
"To answer your earlier question, Barricade: I'm not sure it's legal either, but our lawyer has to prioritize getting to the bottom with the situation for our captured Brothers. All other questions has to wait to be addressed." Ironhide says.
"So what do we do until then? Stay out here? Could it be illegal to destroy the equipment?" Barricade muses.
"Cops and robbers roleplay orgy on top of the surveillance equipment?" Hatchet suggests.
Chapter Text
There's a second when the comment sinks in, then everyone starts laughing. It's a much needed break from all the tension, and everyone laughs just a little to loud, and a little too long, but who gives a scrap?
"I'm in." Dreadbot says, shrugging where he's stretched out next to Ironhide.
"Of course you are." Ironhide snickers.
"What? Maybe we can teach those stuck-ups a thing or two?" Dreadbot sounds completely unrepentant.
Barricade gets a bittersweet feeling from listening to their banter.
Their not-special someones might be unavailable right — might be for a long time, if they're unlucky — but at least they have each other for comfort. It may not be exactly the same, but at least they won't be alone.
It's sweet, and a good example of the benefits of the way their relationships are non-exclusive and mingled together, but at the same time, it's not the same thing, and nobody can replace someone else.
What if Jazz would go away? He'd miss him, of course. Terribly much. But he wouldn't be alone, he still have friends here, people to talk to when he feels like it, and mechs he can interface with when he'd need some physical closeness. Even with the regular murder threats, this is preferable to the nice house he'd get if he went with Spinister's deal, the house where he'd probably spend all his time alone...
"So, are we doing the orgy thing or what?" Roadbuster's question interrupts Barricade's thoughts.
"Ya horny?" Jazz giggles.
"We'll, yeah! It was a damned good idea..."
"I think it sounds fun." Knock Out says.
"Who's playing what?" Drift asks.
"The Brothers will be the robbers, of course, and we'll be the cops and they'll pound us so good, we forget to arrest them!" Dreadbot explains.
"Ya're already perfectly styled for this, babe." Jazz says, elbowing Barricade in the side of his chest.
Barricade feigns a whooshing vent, and flinches away as if Jazz was really strong, inadvertently hurting him with his power.
"Watch it! That could be considered assaulting an officer." He chides playfully.
"That could be a fun game too." Ironhide purrs dangerously.
Barricade's vents hitches, because he's always caught off guard whenever Ironhide shows a bit of edge in his demeanor, but at the same time, it's nowhere near as worrying as it would've been if Blackout had been the one to say it.
Is he kind of missing Blackout? If he is, he wouldn't admit it even under duress. Probably. Depending on what kind of duress Blackout decided to inflict.
Chapter Text
The Brothers hand them some of the decorative guns, and then they head inside.
"Alright, I do the initial talking." Dreadbot says.
"Why should you get to do the fun part?" Knock Out almost pouts.
"Because I'm a self-centered aft, and I want to do it. And also, I'm the only trained actor here."
"Fair enough."
"Barricade, how do we do this as realistically as possible?" Dreadbot asks.
"Uhm..." It was a long time since he did this. "kick the door open, and then we storm in in a tight formation, everyone yelling randomly enforcement, get your hands up, put that gun down, hands where I can see them? I think a wall of barely distinguishable words will be most realistic."
"You're right, that's what it usually sounds like whenever they bust down the door." Knock Out snorts.
They line up, Dreadbot taking the lead, and then they proceed as planned.
The Brothers are sitting in the rec room, looking ridiculously innocent, and Barricade almost starts to laugh when they put their servos up. Both Ironhide and Hatchet are sitting on the couch with their legs crossed, something they never do otherwise, and it just adds to the hilarity.
"What did we do, officers?" Ironhide says theatrically.
"Public indecency!" Dreadbot barks.
All the Brothers look surprised.
"But we're all plated and everything..." Hatchet sounds downright confused.
"I think it's indecent that you're all so hot, and we're not getting any from you. It's almost criminal how sexy you are, all big and sturdy."
Breakdown snorts. "What about the SWAT team? They're semi-well built.
"Not all parts of them..." Dreadbot says suggestively.
Barricade fights back a grin.
Well, it was probably a good thing that Dreadbot wanted to do the talking.
"Poor, unsatisfied little Enforcer glitches." Ironhide grins. "I'm sure we can arrange something. Let you try a real mech. If you all just lower your guns..."
"Right." Dreadbot says, immediately putting his gun on the floor.
Ironhide is up from his seat startlingly quick, moving with that speed that seems impossible for such a big mech. Optics locked on Barricade, he stalks towards the Interceptor, mouth pulling into a grin full of sharp dental. Barricade's spark makes a flip of nerves. Or maybe anticipation.
"You look like you're in serious need of some rough fucking." Ironhide purrs.
Chapter Text
Ironhide grabs his shoulder-wing, mechhandling him towards the couch. The big mech paws at him; grabbing his aft, feeling up his crash bar, and chest-plates without consideration for Barricade's wishes.
"Hey! This is assaulting an Officer!" Barricade snaps, even as his valve is going damp.
"Isn't assault when you like it."
"Could still very much be an assault."
"Let me rephrase it; you still haven't asked me to stop, and you're heating up."
"Still presumptuous." Barricade grunts when he lands on the couch, pushed by Ironhide.
Ironhide barks a laugh. "You cops are all the same, squirming and trying to your best to not seem like eager little sluts." Ironhide bends down to rub at Barricade's interface plate. "But I could always stop..." He trails off, stepping back.
"No!" Barricade almost whimpers.
The truth is that he really wants it, but he's not as desperate as he sounds. The way this roleplay was going could potentially lead to more questions from the ICIA, and even if it is fully consensual, they would be very eager to try to make it look like it was an actual assault. Plus it's extra fun to mock law enforcement like this.
"Then I don't know what you're whining about." Ironhide quirks an optical ridge, clearly amused. "Open up, little cop. I'll show you what a real mech can do for you."
Barricade obeys, spreading his legs more to give Ironhide easy access. The Topkick reaches for Barricade's array, but he simultaneously wraps a servo around Barricade's neck, pinning him to the couch. Barricade grabs Ironhide's thick wrist with both his servos, squirming, and making a feeble attempt at prying the servo off his throat.
Not that he really wants to succeed...
The grin Ironhide gives him is feral, and Barricade's spark speeds up even more, with that right kind of nervousness. His valve feels hot and heavy, and he bucks up to try to get Ironhide's other servo where he wants it, since the big mech still hasn't deigned to touch him.
"You really are a needy little glitch, aren't you?" Ironhide purrs. "Typical cop: so tired of always being in control, and bossing others around, you like being used."
"You brute!" Barricade doesn't growl. It comes out more of a mewl.
"And you like it."
Barricade's answer turns into a croak when Ironhide finally slips two digits into Barricade's valve. His calipers clamp down on the fingers, as if trying to suck them deeper into him. The ball of Ironhide's servo rubs against Barricade's node, the kind of stimulation that lacks the precision that would send him over the edge in less than a minute, but rather will tease his charge higher rather slow. It's both glorious and frustrating, and Barricade bucks under the Autobot, at least trying to get more of that friction.
"No-no, little glitch, you'll get as much as I decide you deserve, nothing more." Ironhide growls.
Barricade's spark hiccups again, his valve clenches around those digits, and he just can't hold back a moan from escaping him.
Chapter Text
Ironhide expertly brings Barricade to the brink several times, backing off at the last second with the stimulation. Barricade is at the point where he's torn between threats and swearing, or begging and pleading. He'd really like to go with the first option, but at the same time, he knows that the risk that it will backfire, and make Ironhide even more determined to delay the gratification is very high.
"Please... Haven't I been good?" He whimpers.
"I don't know..." Ironhide muses, flicking Barricade's node a couple of times more, just to stop when Barricade almost tips over the edge, "what have you done that could be considered good?"
"I... ah, I have... I put my gun down when you asked me to?"
He hasn't really done much for Ironhide, he has just been laying here, receiving. But then again, it's hard to do much when there's a massive servo pinning him to the couch.
"Indeed you did. Do you really think that's enough for you to get a head start with an overload?"
"I," it's hard to think when Ironhide's digits do all the right things, "yes!"
Ironhide hums. "Greedy little glitch, aren't you? Like all other cops; just want more and more. Maybe I should take my own pleasure and leave you high and dry?"
"No!" Barricade wails.
"What would you do to deserve your overload, then?"
"Anything!" He promises far too quickly.
At least it's Ironhide. A promise like that could lead to less than fun activities if thrown around carelessly. With Hide, it feels safe.
"Anything?!" Ironhide looks thrilled. "My, so many options..."
"N-nothing outlandish, please." Barricade asks quietly as an afterthought, because Ironhide looks quite feral.
"I don't know what you mean."
Barricade isn't going to give a list of examples/ideas. "Nevermind."
"How about you wrap that intake around my spike? It was some time since I last got a blowjob from an Enforcer."
The statement makes Barricade curious.
Is it a true story, or is it just part of the act? And does Ironhide mean him, or does he have mechs in law enforcement who does give him blowjobs from time to time?
The mental image of an Enforcer going down on the big brute is kind of arousing.
Almost as arousing as it would be to get a cop to suck his spike...
"Of course I will!" Barricade says.
Ironhide let's go of his neck, and Barricade whimpers at the loss when he pulls his digits out of Barricade's valve.
"Let's see if your skills are good enough to earn you an overload, then."
Chapter Text
Barricade turns hurriedly, bypassing any attempt to be graceful or sexy in favor of speed. Ironhide clearly notices, if his grin is anything to go by.
"So eager." He rumbles.
Barricade finds that Ironhide hasn't even opened his interface plate yet, so he wastes no time before diving in to lick at the plate. Ironhide's servo wraps around the beck of his helm to hold him in place, and then the plate transforms away, Ironhide's spike pressurizing straight into Barricade's intake. The head of the spike presses against the back of his mouth, but Ironhide has estimated rather well how deep it would go with how he's holding Barricade's helm, and the gag reflex isn't triggered. It's still quite a way to go to get the entire thing into Barricade's intake, though.
Barricade tips his helm back more, adjusting his position, and releaxes his throat, slowly rocking forward to take more of the spike.
"That's a good little cop, take it all into your intake. I want your lip-plates against my pelvic plating. Then maybe you've been good enough to earn yourself an overload."
Barricade makes a distressed little noise, because it feels like Ironhide is taking far too much pleasure in this edging game, and might drag it out.
How on Cybertron can Crosshairs of all mechs cope with a mech who's such a tease?
Ironhide groans, the vibrations from Barricade's little noise going straight to his his cock.
Barricade pushes forward, trying to hurry, even if it isn't easy to do so. At least his oral lubricant and Ironhide's pre-transfluid makes for a slick slide.
What he wouldn't give for someone to play with his array right now...
He reaches between his legs, intending to circle his node with his digits.
"Oh no, none of that!" Ironhide growls. "You get yours when I decide that you've earned it."
Barricade considers disobeying for a second, because it's not like Ironhide can remove his servo when they're in this position. At least not without pulling out from Barricade's intake, and surely, he doesn't want to quit right now?
He would. He would definitely quit just to get his way. Hide is disciplined like that. Unlike some Interceptors.
"Don't make me cuff you..." Ironhide warns.
That could probably be kind of hot, but with Ironhide in this mood, it would definitely be an exercise in frustration.
Barricade removes his servo from between his legs.
"Good choice, little cop. See, you can do the right thing at times." Ironhide pushes forward, his pelvic plating finally reaching Barricade's lip-plates. "And you know how to deepthroat too, what a good little cop."
Chapter Text
The only good thing about not being allowed to touch himself is that his charge slowly dissipates. Sure, at first it's annoying, but after a little while, it makes it easier to wait for Ironhide to decide that he has earned his gratification. If there had been a third party involved, this would probably have been a much more frustrating experience.
"I think that's good enough." Ironhide says, but he does sound almost a bit bored.
"Good enough?!" Barricade snaps as soon as Ironhide has pulled out.
It's not like he could do much more, and seriously, Hide is kind of massive. That he actually managed to take it all should earn a fucking medal in itself. A fucking-medal?
"Yeah." If Ironhide notices Barricade's indignance, he doesn't show it. "Servos on the back of the couch, aft this way."
"There's certainly an aft that way, alright." Barricade mutters.
He's playing with fire, and he knows it, but there's something thrilling about teasing Ironhide right now.
He squeaks when one big servo grabs the back of his neck, the other one landing a harsh slap against his pelvic plating.
"Hey, what the frag...?!" Barricade growls, but it comes out muffled since Ironhide is pressing his face against the back of the couch.
"Careful now. You promised that you would be good, and that I could have anything..."
Frag.
Barricade relaxes his frame, slumping what little he can to show that he surrenders.
"Good little slut." Ironhide rumbles approvingly, patting Barricade's aft this time, before grabbing Barricade's hip.
The big mech has good aim with all his cannons, and this one isn't an exception. Ironhide doesn't even need his servo to line up. He easily slides into Barricade's slick valve, and the Saleen shudders with pleasure when he's slowly stretched, his internal sensors immediately responding with bringing his charge up again.
Ironhide starts to roll his hips in a slow but powerful rhythm, rocking Barricade every time he bottoms out. Barricade makes a noise of protest when Ironhide pauses the movements, bending forward until his chest-plates are pressed against Barricade's shoulder-wings.
"I don't know if it's good or bad that they didn't install video surveillance." He murmurs in Barricade's audial. "We could've put on much more of a show if they had done that, and you're so hot like this..."
The thought of having Spinister watch this could've been off-putting, but it isn't. Not when all Barricade can think is that the annoying agent probably would be secretly jealous that he can't get any good dick like this. Barricade's valve clenches around the thick cock hilted inside him.
"Of course you'd like that..." Ironhide snickers, then he resumes fucking Barricade.
Chapter Text
Ironhide grabs on to Barricade's shoulder-wings for leverage when he speeds up, leaving Barricade free to throw his helm back and mewl and whine as much as he wants to.
Or rather, what he wants or not has little to do with it, his vocalizer just makes the noises of it's own accord. His digits dig into the back of the couch to steady him as his charge is rising again.
"Touch your node!" Ironhide orders, an order Barricade is happy to obey. He was getting there, but it's slower going when his node is ignored.
It's obscene how wet he is — Barricade can feel the dampness on his pelvic plating and his thighs when he slips his servo between his legs — but even though it would've mortified him before, it doesn't bother him anymore, doesn't make him ashamed.
Not even with all the other mech's in the room — granted, they are preoccupied with fucking too — and Primus knows how many of the ICIA listening in.
The slick fluids provide a delicious glide when he slips his fingers over his puffy valve-lips, and his swollen anterior node. Barricade's hips buck to meet his servo, and he moans loudly. Ironhide tweaks the mounting brackets to Barricade's shoulder-wings, and it sends s thrill down Barricade's back to have the powerful servos playing with the vulnerable components.
"So, cop, are you going to overload for a gangster?" Ironhide grunts.
Barricade makes a wordless noise.
Oh, he'll overload, alright, and he'll overload really hard, but this game is teasing his defiant streak...
"No!" He wails, mostly from frustration when uses all his willpower to not bring himself over the edge with his digits just to prove the point.
Ironhide barks a laugh that tattles on the big mech having seen through the lie easily. "I think I could make you overload like this even if I didn't let you use your digits."
"I find that hard to believe." Barricade snarks. Or at least he would've sounded snarky if it wasn't for the last word turning into a moan when Ironhide slammed in particularly powerfully.
"Let's see."
One servo disappears from his shoulder-wing, and Barricade is about to turn around when he hears a rattling noise of metal. He doesn't have a chance to do so, though, when Ironhide suddenly grabs both his wrist-struts, easily pulling Barricade's arms behind his back.
"Hey..." Barricade mumbles into the back of the couch where he faceplanted when his supporting arm was suddenly yanked out from under him.
He hears a noise he knows all too well, and he feels the cold and unyielding metal against his wrist-struts, the way it chafes against the plating on his lower back when Ironhide lets go of his arms.
Ironhide just cuffed him.
Chapter Text
"I never figured it out before, the way you cops carry your cuffs around for all to see. I mean, you could just put them in your subspace. With a good holder, they'll be just as easy to reach as if you have them mounted externally."
Barricade growls in frustration, but of course it's muffled by how his face is still pressed against the back of the couch.
Because obviously, Ironhide wouldn't stop with the cuffs, but also he just has to pause with the fucking. It would've been a good enough reason — even interesting to hear his reasoning — to goad the nosey fuckers listening in, if it wasn't for how he was getting close, and now it seems quite unlikely that he'll get off anytime soon.
"But now I finally see it," Ironhide continues, either not noticing Barricade's annoyance, or just not giving a single scrap, "it's an invitation. A rather blatant display of what you want that should be private, I think, but to each his own, I guess."
Barricade would find the conclusion hilarious, if the game wasn't so frustrating right now.
Suck it, Spinister. Hide, you made a good point, now please continue with the fucking.
"Didn't you know that already?" Barricade still tries to stay in character, because it's not like the frustration will end quicker if he starts to be defiant now. "It's not like we can talk too much about it — you know, with the way it would affect the public image of us — but we can at least hang the goods out for all to see, and hope that someone takes the bait."
At least Ironhide has decided to grab Barricade's shoulder and hoist him up a bit, so he can talk more clearly without his face against the couch.
"I suppose that's one way to do it. But the last time one of us tried anything like it, the words indecent exposure were flung around..."
"I'm guessing the mech wasn't just sporting cuffs."
"You could say it was more of a baton, but it still doesn't make sense. You're wearing sex paraphernalia as if it's nothing strange with that. Like it's ok for impressionable younglings to see that."
Barricade can't help but snort, wondering if this is taken from reality.
Why is he picturing Nitro Zeus, eaving his baton around? Why is he even asking himself that?
"I know, but I didn't make the rules. It's up to the justice system to decide what's decent and not." He can't resist to allude to the conversation he had with Spinister.
Ugh. Spinister certainly isn't who he wants to think about when getting fragged.
"Can't you just do like normal mecha, and post a contact ad for some casual fucking?" Ironhide asks.
"Yeah, but that's not the same. You know, it's such a thrill to flaunt it... But I feel like I'm not being good here right now, I'm not serving you as I should." Barricade has had enough of feeling his charge slowly dissipate from the pause. He's still really revved up, but it will definitely take some time for him to reach the peak, and he really wants to overload soon.
Chapter Text
Ironhide barks a laugh. "You're serving a purpose here, at least." He rolls his hips a couple of times for emphasis.
"I guess...." Barricade's voice hitch when Ironhide hits all the spots inside him.
"Don't know about the protect-part, though..."
"I have a bolt installed, does that count?"
Ironhide laughs again. "So that what it stands for! It should be the new slogan. XX Enforcement Department: protecting citizens from bastard offspring since whenever."
He doesn't want to be pushy — since it will just make things work — but as fun as this is, he'd really like to get on with the fucking.
"You're absolutely right, it would be perfect." He says.
Ironhide pushes him forward to faceplant against the back of the couch again, pulling out as Barricade falls. Two slaps land on Barricade's aft in rapid succession. "Don't be a suck up, I know you're just trying to get me to give you an overload."
Barricade squeaks indignantly, shifting to rest his weight on his collar fairing, turning his helm to not have his words muffled by the back of the couch. "But I don't know what you want me to do! I'm trying my best here."
"Sounds like everytime I get arrested: being honest about being innocent just isn't what you want, you just rather see that I lie and confess. It's completely impossible to do what you want, and still do what's right."
"What's the right thing for me to do here, then?" Barricade tried his best to appease Ironhide, even if he can't really see where the Bot is going with this."
"What you don't want..."
So Hide does have some streaks in common with Blackout after all. Except that he can't see Hide come up with something that he'd really object to. Not anymore, even if he was wildly oppositional in the beginning.
"But I like everything you do to me..." He whimpers. "Even when you fuck me in the ass, or bring your friends into it. I can't think of anything I don't want you to do to me."
Can't hurt to give the mech's listening in some ideas, in case they're thinking about leaving their duties in favor of fucking like monkeys in the back of the surveillance transport.
Ironhide hums. "I'm not that surprised. I guess just using your frame to get off will have to do then."
Barricade's valve clenches. "Have to do?!" He still hisses, "I have to inform you that I'm a grade A piece of plating."
Ironhide laughs. "That's what all you little cops say, yet you all want to be treated like scrap, used like two-credit hookers."
Barricade almost starts to laugh, because of the juxtaposition that he's a much more expensive hooker than that.
"That's just because you know how to use us in the best ways. None of my coworkers can do me as good as you do."
Chapter 833
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It seems like Ironhide takes pity on him after that, resuming the fucking with long, powerful thrusts. He holds Barricade up too — saving Barricade from mewling into the couch — with one servo around Barricade's shoulder-wing, the other reaching around to grab his crash- bar. It's the right kind of rough — not painful, nor with an off-putting hesitance, or too much carefulness — displaying how easily Ironhide can hold him in place, his power, and dominance in this game. Being immobilized with the cuffs doesn't make it less arousing, and Barricade's charge is skyrocketing within minutes.
Barricade protests with a wordless whine when Ironhide lets go of his shoulder-wing.
"Easy now, you needy little slut. I'm just going to help you out a bit." Ironhide rumbles.
He reaches around Barricade, digits finding Barricade's anterior node with practiced ease. Barricade is soaking wet, and the digits slip easily over the swollen bud, providing some glorious friction. His whine turns into a wail.
"See? Just what you needed, wasn't it?" Ironhide says, momentarily backing off with the stimulation.
Barricade growls in frustration. "Yes!" He admits.
Ironhide hums. "I can be gracious with it, but I'm not sure you deserve that right now..."
"No! Please! I'm sorry, I just... Sorry." Barricade begs.
"I'm sure you are. I think I just found something you don't want me to do: edging. Possibly even leaving you high and dry..."
"No!" Barricade almost sobs. "Please don't do that! I... Please!"
Ironhide rumbles a laugh that's downright sinful. "You beg so prettily."
"Because I need you! You fuck me so good, and without you, I wouldn't even have a job..." Barricade babbles.
It's true, but he can't even tell if he's talking about reality or if it's as a part of the role.
"That's very true." Ironhide muses, flicking Barricade's node once. "I could always leave you like this to make you come back for more later on..."
"But then I might go to someone else! If you let me overload now, I'll be around soon again for more!"
Ironhide laughs. "Or, I should get my own overload, leave you like this until I'm ready to go again, and you'll be all to happy to have me again, hoping I'll let you overload that time!"
Frag.
"You could. You definitely could. But you're a very gracious mech, so I don't think you would be that mean. I'll still want more later if you let me overload now. And you did say that you don't hog the goods for yourself, what if someone else wants a piece when you're done?"
"They could still have you, as long as they leave you waiting for me..." Ironhide flicka Barricade's node again.
No-no-no-no...
"But-but-but... No! Please, don't..."
Ironhide doesn't say anything more, he just increases the pace of the rolls of his hips, starting to circle Barricade's node with purpose.
It doesn't take many seconds before Barricade overloads with a loud wail. His systems start to fall into reboot one by one, but Ironhide easily holds him up. The last thing Barricade feels before everything goes black is Ironhide pressing in deep, overloading inside him.
Notes:
Thank you for all your comments yesterday! 😊 And Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates that today!
Chapter Text
Barricade reboots slowly, his systems starting one by one. There's the background noise of other mech's moving around, talking. Fucking still.
He notices that his panel is closed, and when he realizes that, he makes a more thorough check.
He's cleaned up. No traces of transfluid or anything else that he can detect. And the cuffs have been removed, he's free once again.
Barricade onlines his optics.
The Saleen is on the couch, sprawled out on his back in a very comfortable position, clearly rearranged with care. Barricade is about to say something appreciative, but then he halts the words about to leave his vocalizer.
If there's still active surveillance, he doesn't want to show them that it's all an act...
The door is slammed open, someone barging through. The mechs still fucking doesn't seem to acknowledge, continuing what they're doing.
Barricade turns his helm to look who's coming in.
Crosshairs.
The Paratrooper turns his helm back and forth, clearly looking for something. Someone?
"Welcome home, babe!" Ironhide rumbles from somewhere off to the side.
Crosshairs visibly relaxes, before pulling himself up again, heading for Ironhide with great urgency.
"It's good te be 'ome, Daddy." Crosshairs murmurs, slipping into Ironhide's lap, wrapping his arms around the neck of the big mech.
"It's good to have you back." Ironhide murmurs. "I gather your story held up?"
"Yeh. Still jus' an MTO." Crosshairs sounds both disappointed and relieved at the same time.
"Good." Ironhide doesn't seem to have any objections about Crosshairs' status. "Did you get any information about the others?"
"No. Kept us apart. I didn' even see them..."
"That doesn't matter. You're out, and our lawyer can focus on the others. It's a win-win." Ironhide murmurs comfortingly.
Barricade makes a pointed movement to catch their attention, curious about the state of surveillance.
He did reboot through some time, apparently.
He points to where the microphones were gathered on the table, but Ironhide just grins at him.
"We got a comm from our lawyer while you were out; the surveillance equipment is destroyed." Ironhide explains.
"We were monitored?!" Crosshairs ask.
"For a very brief time. We did the most of it, though..." Ironhide says suggestively.
"Sounds like I missed all the fun..." Crosshairs pouts.
Kind of...
Chapter Text
The other three are held for two days, then they are released as they can't be charged with anything. Everyone in the house meet them when they touch down outside, cheering.
"Welcome home, Brothers!" Ironhide shouts over the sounds of their transformation sequences, and the others holler similar greetings.
There's hugging, and back pats, and general chaos when everyone greets their returning unit members.
"Drinks!" Ironhide says to Crosshairs, the single word sounding like an order.
Everyone from the in-house division hurries inside to prepare some drinks. Barricade trundles after them, because it can't hurt to help, and this first greeting is clearly reserved for the Brothers.
The shot glasses are already lined up, and the pleasurebots are discussing what high grade to use. Barricade pulls out the one that smells like gore, Blackout's favorite.
"I'll give this one to Blackout." He says.
Dreadbot quirks an optical ridge, smirking slowly.
"What?" Barricade asks. "He's going to want to fuck tonight. He may already be in a good mood for coming home, but it can never hurt to pave the way for an easy night for whomever will wind up with him."
"Proactive thinking. I like it." Dreadbot nods approvingly. "And I had a more lengthy talk with Hot Rod earlier, now that they've been in Kaon for a few days and settled in a little more. Both him and Bumblebee says hi, and apparently Hatchet was right: they really have made a few changes around there. It's nicer than it was when we were there. Starscream is still Starscream, but he hasn't had a reason to target them, so he hasn't been confrontational with them. Roddy says he's fine there, so that's good."
"That's so good to hear." Barricade says, relieved that Hot Rod seems to have gotten a good deal after all.
And if things go sideways here, maybe they could all move to Kaon to escape the ICIA?
Their discussion is cut off when all the Brothers file in, talking and laughing, heading straight for the bar.
"I don't even need to tell you what kind of duty you all have tonight, do I?" Ironhide says to Barricade and Knock Out, who's standing by the bar too.
"I'm guessing we'll have a party?" Barricade asks, putting a digit against his lip-plates in mock thoughtfulness.
Ironhide grins. "Such a clever little ex-Enforcer. Do your processors get sharper when you stop working with law Enforcement?"
"Perhaps... Thinking about recruiting?"
Ironhide barks a laugh. "Well, we are down a few mechs..."
It's not that Barricade wants to have Spinister in the house, but there's something very appealing with the thought of watching that bastard go through the same training and trial period as he did.
"Hey, Blackout!" Barricade yells as the big Helo steps up to the bar, reaching for a glass. "I've got a special one just for you right here!" Barricade holds up the glass.
Blackout quirks an optical ridge, smirking, then he heads for Barricade.
"What the pit did you do to deserve a special one?" Springer asks.
"Like Nitro usually says: I know how to use my equipment..." Blackout grins like a shark, pinning Barricade with an intense stare.
Barricade can't help but squirm nervously.
Did he just attract the attention of the predator in the house? Was that his intention, even?
"Why didn't I get anything special, babe?" Nitro pouts to Dreadbot.
"Aaw, I'll give you special. I'll give you special all night long..." Dreadbot purrs.
Nitro laughs, pulling Dreadbot over the bar, and Dreadbot squeaks, then he starts to laugh too.
Blackout plucks the glass from Barricade's servo, sniffing the contents. "Missed me?" He purrs.
"Maybe?"
"Hm."
Chapter Text
"Did the surveillance work in jail too?" Barricade asks, even if now should be a party and not about business. He's curious, and has been wondering these last days if Blackout was still listening in.
"No. They had some kind of a damper. Couldn't hear anything from the raid and until we were released."
"Too bad. You missed some verbal sparring with Spinister, and a rather entertaining orgy while we waited to get the go-ahead to destroy the surveillance the ICIA planted here during the raid.
Blackout raises his optical ridges. "You do know that I can only hear your side, right? That kind of takes away some of the entertainment value of listening to conversations."
"Oh. Right." Barricade feels a bit stupid for not thinking about that. To cover that, he busies himself with refilling Blackout's glass. "I guess they had nothing to charge you with, since you're here."
"Nope. Still a suspect, though."
"Why you? I mean, all three of you. Nobody asked me to verify someone's whereabouts, so it doesn't seem like the ICIA chose the Brothers who were alone or something like that, the three of you were singled out anyway."
Blackout snorts. "Don't you see one similarity between the three of us?"
Barricade looks back and forth between Springer, Nitro Zeus, and Blackout. He can see many similarities, but also many differences. Nothing really stands out, though.
"Not something that explains to me why you were targeted. Energon residue on your servos?"
"Capability of flight."
"Oh."
"They said that the perpetrator must've left by air as they were coming in by the roads and didn't see anything. According to the ICIA, the kill was so fresh that they should've met the killer if he was driving, and they didn't meet any mech's big enough to do the kind of damage that had been inflicted."
"I wonder if I'll be forced to handle the funeral arrangements." Barricade suddenly realizes that he could be asked to do that. "I fucking hope not. That would be so weird."
"Can't you just say no?"
"I don't know. Hopefully. I don't want to do that for that bastard."
Blackout shrugs. "You can always ask our lawyer about it, he can probably get you out of it."
Barricade's spark settles.
He's not alone in this, he can get help if he needs it.
"If you were the ones who did it, I'm glad you did."
Blackout nods, then he tips back his glass again. "Bring the bottle, there's a show there I want to watch." He jerks his helm towards the table.
Barricade turns around to look, finding that Drift is fingering Jazz. His lover looks like he's enjoying himself, and Barricade feels his spike twitch in it's sheath.
He'll probably enjoy this show as much as Blackout does, maybe even more. Blackout would probably prefer something rougher.
Barricade grabs the bottle, and a bigger cube than the shot glass for Blackout. For himself, he brings a bottle of mid grade. Blackout can keep the stuff that smell like gore for himself.
Chapter Text
The show is hot, and Barricade is heating up. He squirms restlessly. Blackout glances at him, smirking knowingly, but he doesn't say anything before turning back to the show.
The Helo must be really horny too. He's been away for a couple of days, not getting any, and with the high drive of the Brothers, he should be aching for release. He certainly isn't the type to take care of it himself if he isn't terribly desperate. It's just a matter of time before Blackout will want to get some, he just has to hold out until that happens.
The thought is a bit unnerving, because it really shows how much Barricade himself wants Blackout to pick him for the night.
What if he fragged up with the comment when he got Blackout the drink? It was kind of insulting... Or maybe it was more flattering than insulting to Blackout. He does enjoy to make others uncomfortable.
Dreadbot is bent over Nitro's knees, sucking the Flier's spike, and Knock Out is sitting in Springer's lap. The only one of the Brothers who've been locked up who isn't getting attention is Blackout. Barricade doesn't want to throw himself at the stubborn bastard, since they're still technically engaged in the little battle of wills about that freebie Blackout is expecting, and Barricade has decided to not grant him. If Blackout would just ask for it, Barricade would be entitled to a tip, and even if he doesn't really feel like the credits are that important anymore, it's the principle that matters most.
But then again, he isn't the only mech around. It seems like the mechs who were arrested are first served tonight, and there's two mechs on the table who could go for Blackout just because of that, even if the Helo is mostly avoided as far as anyone can get away with it under normal circumstances. And Crosshairs isn't occupied right now, still setting things up at the bar, and if someone would be inclined to do some rape play with a hungry Helicopter as a homecoming gift, it's him.
Barricade frowns. He really doesn't want to give the Helo right, and throw himself at the bastard instead of waiting to be asked for it.
But then again, these are some special circumstances...
As smoothly as he can, he swings around to straddle Blackout's thighs. The big Helo quirks an optical ridge.
"Welcome home." Barricade purrs.
"I'm not paying you for this."
"Technically you already are, considering how little we've been able to work lately."
"Then I guess I can do outlandish things to you..." Blackout murmurs, grabbing Barricade's crash bar to tug him closer.
Barricade's spark hiccups when he realizes the corner he just painted himself into.
"Only things I consent to." He says shakily.
Blackout chuckles darkly. "Yes..."
Chapter Text
When the show on the table is over, Barricade is momentarily nervous that Blackout is going to ask him for a show — not that he hasn't gotten used to having an audience, he even enjoys it when the setting is right — because Blackout can be rather... creative. And if someone could come up with a show Barricade would not enjoy putting on, it's Blackout.
Why did he voluntarily choose him again?
He toys with Blackout's plating with his digits, but he doesn't move further than that, since Blackout has neither reciprocated, nor has he said anything about what he wants, and it would feel a bit ridiculous to work him desperately while Blackout is drinking his high grade, small talking with Breakdown and Roadbuster.
On the other servo, he did initiate this, so maybe Blackout wants him to work for it?
Barricade leans in to drag his glossa along a seam in Blackout's chest-plating, putting more effort in with his digits too. He continues for what seems like a long time — his jaw is starting to feel funny — before Blackout acknowledges his efforts.
"That eager?"
"I can't just sit here and wait for you to start, can I? That would feel rude."
Blackout rumbles a laugh. "Perhaps... You know what, I want to speak a little more to my Brothers, but I do feel like calling it a night quite early. I don't recharge much when in enemy territory, and separated from my unit, so I want to have some fun, and then go to recharge fairly early. If you want, you can go to my room and wait for me. I'll be up in a little while."
Barricade hesitates.
He remembers the last time he was sent to wait for Blackout. And tonight, he has promised outlandish things. But then again, Blackout promised to only do things he consented to.
"Sure."
He'll just have to stay awake this time.
"You don't have to if you don't want to. I understand if you want to stay at the party..."
And possibly be picked by someone else. He could probably say that he has promised Blackout, but there's always the possibility that Blackout would happily let his Brother have Barricade instead. Only if it was Motormaster would it really be a bad deal, but now he has already decided to to give Blackout this not-freebie.
"Your berth is comfortable. And these days have been stressful for me too, so I think it'll be nice to take it a little easy tonight." Barricade says as an explanation.
"Yeah..." Blackout hums. "Bring a bottle of some high grade you like."
It's too much like Kaon.
Barricade still nods, forcing a smile, before he heads for the bar, spark spinning uneasily.
Chapter Text
Barricade takes the opportunity to take a shower. Sure, he had one before, but he can't fall asleep in the shower, and it gives him something to do while he's waiting for Blackout. He's a bit jumpy, whipping around towards the door several times when he thinks he hears something, just to find nothing.
They never did a mock drowning before, and one can never be too sure when it comes to Blackout.
He finishes up without any incidents, though, and after wiping down, he throws himself on the berth, looking around for someone to do. There's a data pad on the nightstand, but he doesn't want to borrow it, because who knows if Blackout will see that as a good reason to do... Stuff.
Just laying there, waiting, trying to not fall asleep is boring though, and Barricade always was a curious fragger. He knows full well that it might be the end — well, not the end, Ironhide still stands by the no unnecessary murders rule — but there's still a whole one can live through, isn't there?
He starts to look around. It's the first time he's alone in Blackout's room, and the opportunity is just irresistible.
He can always say that he just wanted to find some spare pillows or something. Right?
The box of energon stained parts is gone, but Barricade goes for a deeper search, opening the large storage unit standing against the wall. He reels back when three empty optics stare back at him, spark jumping into his throat, but after a few deep breaths, he catches his wherewithal enough to take a closer look. The optics on the shelf have neat connections, and there's no damage to indicate that they've been removed hastily and with force. They could even be new, just spare parts.
But then again, in Dreadbot's memory, they were careful when repossessing his upgrades, so this could still be someone's used parts...
Barricade doesn't investigate further. It's just more than he wants to know. Instead, he looks over the other shelves. There are rags, and lubricants for weapons, more spare parts — less easily recognizable than the optics, like small plates, and struts — that somehow are not as alarming. Unlike when he went snooping in Nitro's closet, he isn't surprised or taken aback when he finds cuffs and pry bars.
Even if it would be decidedly more scary if Blackout decided to cuff him than if Nitro did it.
Ready for raids as the Brothers are, there's nothing incriminating, and thus nothing really shocking. On one servo, he's a bit disappointed that he doesn't find anything kind of juicy, but on the other servo, he's relieved to. Barricade heads for the berth, pulling out the storage drawer from under it.
The door slides open, and Barricade whips around to find Blackout standing there.
Chapter 840
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Blackout quirks an optical ridge. "Finding something interesting?" He steps inside, the door shutting behind him.
Barricade is suddenly acutely aware of being alone with the Helo. After being found out snooping through his stuff.
He's so fragging screwed.
"N-no!"
Blackout slowly comes closer, almost leisurely, and Barricade feels frozen in place. He tries his comms, just to find them jammed. He can't get a signal out. Barricade's spark speeds up.
"This isn't as bad as it looks," Barricade tries, because he really did get caught looking through Blackout's stuff at the most inopportune moment, when he probably still easily could go from trusted to suspected snitch, "I was just curious for, uhm, entertainment reasons."
Blackout towers over him, but then he bends forward, and Barricade can feel his plating tremble. He barely manages to keep it from clattering.
"Entertainment..." Blackout hums, reaching past Barricade into the still open drawer. "I guess you found the jackpot then."
Barricade slowly turns around to look at what Blackout is doing.
There's a box in the drawer, full of sex toys, but Blackout is reaching into a different box, one filled with what looks more like tech gadgets. Blackout pulls out something with several small discs, connected by wires.
"I did enjoy when I cut your optical feed in Kaon, I'd like to put a damper on you again."
The allusion to Kaon is unwelcome, but he did give the go-ahead for outlandish, and Blackout is actually asking, acquiring the consent he promised before.
And this time, he knows who's doing it from the beginning, so it won't be as bad.
A part of Barricade is worried that Blackout seems to just forego the questions he must have regarding his snooping around.
Maybe they actually trust him? Then again, Blackout is good at hacking. Which is fine, since there's nothing to find, he's not a rat, and he has been hacked before.
"Alright, you can do that."
Notes:
Happy new year's eve! May 2022 be prosperous for everyone!
Chapter Text
"On the berth."
Barricade turns around, and then he trips over the still open drawer, catching himself with his servos against the edge of the berth.
"Very graceful." Blackout chuckles.
Barricade's defensive comment turns into a squeak when he's hoisted up and thrown onto the berth, and then his voice catches in his vocalizer as Blackout slowly crawls up the berth on all fours, stalking him. Blackout straddles Barricade's hips, pinning him to the mattress, then he fiddles with the damper. Barricade goes stock still, tracking Blackout's movements. He hasn't seen this kind of damper before, but then again he hasn't really researched those things outsiders of what he came across at work as an Enforcer, and that was a long time ago. Technology has come a very long way since then, and this kind of equipment is probably not an exception.
"Right," Blackout says when he has untangled the wires, "this should do it." He leans in, gently magnetize the discs to the sides of Barricade's helm. "See anything?"
"No."
"And you can still hear me. That's great." Barricade feels how he's fiddling with two of the discs, pulling them away again. "Still can't see?"
"No."
"And the batteries are good." Blackout notes.
The berth dips, and Barricade is jostled when Blackout leans over to the side. He can hear how Blackout rummages through the drawer under the berth again, and it makes him both nervous and aroused.
Something lands on the berth next to his helm, and Barricade instinctively reaches up to touch it, curious about what Blackout pulled out. His wrist-strut is grabbed, though, his attempt stopped
"No-no, none of that! It wouldn't be a surprise then, would it?" Blackout murmurs.
Barricade allows his servo to be guided down, and then pushed between his own hip and Blackout's thigh to be pinned there, then he can just wait while Blackout goes back to rummaging through the drawer again.
"Ah, there it is!" Blackout sounds delighted, and then his weight shifts as he sits back up again. "Now I just need to fix these..." He trails off, grabbing the discs on the damper that still were just hanging by the wires. One magnetize to the side of his helm, the other on his throat, and too late does he realize what Blackout just did.
He's muted — both comm and vocalizer!
Chapter Text
Barricade instinctively starts to struggle, but Blackout restrains him easily, putting more of his weight on the Saleen. The Helo rumbles a chuckle, but he doesn't chide Barricade's attempt to get out of this. There's a rattling noise of metal against metal as Barricade's helm hits something Blackout has dropped on the berth, but at least it doesn't hurt. Blackout grabs his arms, then he lifts his weight from Barricade, easily wrangling his arms up above his helm, holding them in in place with just one servo around his wrist-struts.
Barricade squirms, flailing his legs around now that Blackout is kneeling above him instead, and he manages to knee the back of the Helo's thigh with a loud clang. It doesn't do much, Blackout's balance is too good, and Barricade just doesn't have the angle to really get some power behind the move, but there's just a slight satisfaction that he managed to land a hit. If Blackout is annoyed by it, he doesn't show it.
Then Barricade is distracted by a quiet almost chirping noise, and then a pressure against just wrist-strut. It's quickly followed by the same noise again, and pressure against the other one.
He fucking tied him up with cable ties!
Something loops around his wrist-struts, tightening almost uncomfortably, and when Blackout lets go of his arms, Barricade finds that he can't pull his arms down: the loops stop it, tightening even more. Barricade's spark speeds up even more. There's a noise of rattling metal again when Blackout takes whatever it was he has put on the berth next to Barricade, and then he moves away. Barricade tracks him with his proximity sensors, but he's still not prepared enough when one of his ankle-struts are grabbed. He tries to kick Blackout with his other pede, but blackout deflects it with his arm, and something closes around Barricade's ankle. Barricade flails around even more, but Blackout catches his other pede, pressing it against the mattress. A cuff snaps in place around that ankle too, and Barricade finds that he can't close his legs, some sort of bar keeps them at a fixed distance from each other.
Blackout starts to pry at his interface plate rather crudely, not even going for the manual latches. Barricade's temper flares in frustration.
This would be his chance to show that he isn't consenting, but Blackout will probably be all too happy to tear it off and declare that part of the game. In fact, the bastard will probably enjoy that more than if he just opens up...
Barricade sends the command to slide his interface plate away, and he opens the one covering his port too.
"Poor, horny little slut," Blackout chuckles, "if you weren't so stubborn, you wouldn't have had to wait for so long..."
Barricade quietly seethes.
Chapter Text
Blackout shifts around again, grabbing something next to Barricade's helm. It clinks like a chain, and Barricade wonders how much more trussed up he needs to be.
It's not like he can really go anywhere right now.
Something clamps around a sensor on his shoulder-wing, and Barricade whines with pain, trying to flinch away. The thing is stuck, though, and Blackout grabs his other wing to keep it still while he mounts the other clamp. Barricade still tries to shift his wing away, but Blackout easily holds it still.
"Don't flap around with them too much now." Blackout warns when he lets go of Barricade's shoulder-wing.
Part of it is pettiness, but part is an attempt to get away from the pain when Barricade immediately disobeys, fanning his wings out to the sides. Or at least he tries to do that. In reality, the motion is stopped short when a restraint between the clamps stop him, the serrated jaws of the clamps digging into the sensors. Barricade howls silently, struggling against everything except the clamps, pushing his shoulder-wings together to take the pressure off the things mounted on his sensors.
"I told you not to do that." Blackout says, amusement clear in his voice.
Blackout grabs the chain connecting Barricade's shoulder-wings, tugging lightly, and Barricade tries desperately to follow his servo to ease the pain that shoots from the abused components. The restrains around his wrist-struts stop him from backing up to alleviate the pressure from the clamps.
"This will be such a nice handle." Blackout chuckles.
Barricade's spark sinks, and he actually starts to feel scared.
He's completely at Blackout's mercy, and the mech has none.
There's the shrill sound of Blackout's blade being transformed out of his wrist-strut, and Barricade stiffens. The warm metal slides over a plate on his back before dipping into a seam, scraping lightly against a tube there as it trails down his frame.
"Let's see, where should I start for the best effect... It was such a long time since we did some energon play." Blackout says rather conversationally.
He pulls away the blade, but then Barricade goes even more tense when Blackout shifts to reach between Barricade's legs, the broad side of the blade sliding against his valve-lip.
Chapter Text
The blade is pulled away again, but Barricade doesn't have time to be relieved. Not when Blackout's digits gently nudges his valve-lips, holding him open. It would be a vulnerable position even without a knife somewhere in the close vicinity, but like this, it's terrifying. Barricade is completely frozen on the spot.
Blackout might actually do it, might hold him open like this, and slip the blade inside just because he can...
Barricade sorts through his memories, trying desperately to calculate the size of the blade, if it can fit inside if he's really still, and Blackout is careful. He can't focus, though, and deep down he knows that he's just grasping for straws, because he certainly didn't take those kinds of notes about that knife.
Blackout opens him a bit more, and then he shifts, leaning closer.
To stick the blade in there.
"I wouldn't move around too much if I were you..."
Barricade is so acutely aware of what's going on with his valve, he can feel the coolness of Blackout's plating and the knife as it move closer, even though they're not touching. His own frame feels like it's quickly going towards the boiling point, and his core is far warmer than Blackout's servo. There's no touch, but he can still feel when the knife slips past his valve-lips, and he forces himself to not squirm, spark spinning out of control.
"Look at you, so controlled, so good." Blackout snickers.
Barricade can't even be indignant about the mocking, he's too preoccupied with not getting himself cut up.
Why did he want to be with Blackout again? Their conversations can be interesting, but this is just... And the bastard tricked him.
Blackout suddenly moves his digits, not holding Barricade's valve-lips open anymore. Barricade screams silently when his insides close around the cool metal, though he manages to stay stock still, at least.
It isn't hurting, so he hasn't been cut up yet, but even the tiniest movement... Oh, frag! Blackouts going to have to remove the knife at some point! Or will he be given the honor? It will be impossible, even if he was untied, he couldn't possibly succeed without harming himself...
The thing inside him starts to vibrate. It's too strange at first, downright incomprehensible, because Barricade is so worked up, his mind boggles about how the knife has a vibration feature. Then his processor finally catches up, and Barricade screams without a sound again, this time in frustration.
It wasn't the damned knife Blackout slipped into him, it was a fragging metal vibrator!
Chapter Text
Apparently Blackout finds it entertaining to let Barricade's annoyance simmer for a bit, because as soon as Barricade relaxes — after realizing that he won't be cut up from the inside, and his first bout of fury turns into resignation — Blackout heads to the washracks. Barricade hears the door open, but it doesn't slide shut, and then the shower comes on.
It shouldn't be surprising that Blackout really wanted a shower after spending some time in jail, but Barricade somehow completely overlooked that.
He can't help but feel a bit dismissed, because Blackout started this, knowing full well that he wanted a shower first. But then again, doing it exactly in this order might very well be his idea of fun from the get go.
There's another thing that's extra annoying when he relaxes, and that is the vibrator. Sure, it's quite possible for the frame to get aroused even through terror, but it's even easier when one relaxes. Especially since he can't really do anything but lay there and not distract himself. Barricade's valve is going slicker by the second, and the buzzing inside him is making charge crawl along his wiring.
And Blackout has apparently decided to take a really long shower.
The question is if he's jerking off.
Why is he getting even hotter by that thought?
Frag.
Barricade feels the lubricant dribble down his pelvic plating when his valve clenches around the disappointingly slim vibrator. He shifts restlessly, trying to make the vibrations hit a different spot to hopefully get him to overload, but the thing just moves with him.
How glorious it would be to be able to curse the bastard out to his third... assembly line brother?
In the bathroom, Blackout starts to hum quietly, apparently in a good mood.
That could be either good or bad, and there's no way to tell which before he deigns to resume with whatever he is planning.
Barricade's charge slowly creeps up even more.
Hopefully, he'll get an overload out of this before Blackout comes back. But then again, he won't be able to pull the vibrator out once he does...
Chapter Text
And why would it stop with the toy building his charge frustratingly slow?
Barricade has been close for a while by now, but it's not quite enough to bring him over. Or at least, it feels like it's never going to happen, but then he can feel his valve contract, and he's finally, finally, going to overload.
The toy reroutes some of his charge, bringing him back down a notch. Just enough to leave him at that frustrating level again, but nowhere near enough to make it comfortable. Barricade screams into the bedding, but no sound leaves him, of course.
And Blackout is just humming away in the shower, the insufferable bastard...
The only good thing about the situation is that it isn't a knife sitting inside Barricade's valve.
It seems like forever before Blackout returns — Barricade has been brought to the brink two more times by the damned toy before Blackout deigns to get out of the shower — and Barricade can barely keep from arching his back in invitation.
He isn't going to give him that, at least.
"That was needed. Ugh, I almost want a health check after being in jail, they really seem to save credits on the cleaning services." The berth dips, and Barricade is desperately hoping that Blackout is going to pull the toy out at least, even if he doesn't dare hoping for the Helo to let him overload already.
He flinches when something presses against his port, then it slips inside, slick with lube as the thing is. Barricade recognizes a butt plug when it's inserted, but it isn't a big one, so he's not going to complain. He actually likes the feeling of it inside him.
Then it starts to vibrate with a buzzing pattern, the base of it somehow rubbing against the rim of his port.
It does nothing to alleviate his charge.
Blackout takes a seat next to him, leaning against the headboard.
"I just need to catch up with the news before I can continue. But I think you have enough to keep you occupied for a little while."
Chapter Text
"Oh, I forgot one thing for the prep!" Blackout says when Barricade is closing in on what will be his fourth aborted overload.
The Helo grabs something from the nightstand, and the berth dips when he leans in closet to Barricade.
Barricade is so frustrated and annoyed that he doesn't even have the wits to be nervous when Blackout's servo splays at the side of his chest. He's completely unprepared when something hurts — a quick, sharp pain — and a warning pops up in his HUD.
He's leaking! The bastard stabbed him!
"I mean, I have to make the most of you allowing outlandish, whatever you mean by that, and this is not new to you..."
Barricade still starts to struggle, because he has not really consented to this, not this time.
A sharp tug on the bindings on his shoulder-wings stills him, leaving him tense, trying to get his shoulder-wings as close together as possible to alleviate the pain
"Huh. That's almost too easy..." Blackout muses, sounding a bit disappointed, letting go of the the chain connecting the clamps.
He still squirms when Blackout carefully chooses a few more places to make him leak. Barricade's ankle is grabbed, and he's flipped over on his back. Blackout's servo wraps around his throat, thumb and index digit pressing against Barricade's jaw to tip his helm back. Barricade's spark speeds up, and he goes stock still, knowing what will come.
The blade nicks an energon line in his throat, and he feels the warm fuel slowly dribbling down his struts and cables. Blackout's field licks over his own, the first sign of arousal, but right now, Barricade isn't as eager as he was before, even if his charge is still running thanks to the toys inside him.
Blackout maps out several more spots to cut Barricade, the damage reports popping up one by one in his HUD.
"There, that's better. Now we just have to wait a little to let the leaking pretty you up even more for me." Blackout says, sitting back against the headboard again.
Chapter Text
Barricade feels his energon trickle along wires and cables, dribbling down his protoform in numerous places. There are no really big leaks, but watching his levels draining faster than they should with him prone in this position is still unsettling.
The vibrators inside him are buzzing away, bringing his charge up in spite of the dull ache from the damage.
Blackout chuckles, presumably because of something he's reading or watching. There's no sound, but he might listen internally to whatever he's watching, if he isn't reading.
There's no real warning, but suddenly, Blackout shifts, grabbing Barricade's audial hörn, forcefully turning his helm. His spike pressurizes to press against Barricade's lip-plates, and since Barricade wasn't ready, a roll of Blackout's hips is all it takes to ram his spike into Barricade's intake.
"I assure you that you will regret it terribly if you try to bite." Blackout growls, his voice sounding off. There's a slight buzzing to it, but not the regular static of a charge, and some sort of vibration, slightly distorting the words.
Barricade's systems are feeling weird, as if something is pulling on everything, and he almost feels like has vertigo, feeling a bit floaty and numb.
Blackout starts to fuck his intake rather roughly, the head of his spike hitting the back of Barricade's throat, triggering Barricade's gag reflex. He swallows and splutters to force himself to not puke, and he hears something that might be a snicker from Blackout, and his field flickers over Barricade's with arousal, even if it too feels off and sort of unsteady.
Maybe he should bite the bastard? There's the no damage rule. But then again, self defense is probably a legit reason to do some damage.
Blackout groans, speeding up his thrusts, clearly chasing his overload.
The strange buzzing grows in intensity, and Barricade is getting worried that he actually is going to puke before this is over.
What the fuck is that gross buzzing? A damper? Doesn't Blackout even notice?
His own charge is rising against all odds, forced by the toys inside him, but he knows what will happen before he can fall over the edge, even if he doubts that he'd actually be able to this time, not with Blackout being too rough, and the dull pain spread over his frame, and especially not the incessant fucking buzzing!
What the fuck is that?
Blackout rolls his hips with more force, and Barricade thrashes, unable to control himself. He presses his denta slightly against Blackout's spike, just as a threat to back off a little.
"I really suggest you don't..." Blackout growls, his voice vibrating much more now, making it hard to recognize.
Suddenly, Barricade understands.
Blackout has loaded his electromagnetic pulse weapon!
Chapter Text
The realization brings terror, and Barricade's spark starts spinning so fast, it feels like it's going to have a meltdown. Blackout groans, obviously noticing, and his hips stutter as he's getting close to his overload.
The vibrators inside Barricade change pattern, and the slight numbness he was starting to experience seems to disappear when his sensors get a different variety of frequencies to pick up. Barricade's charge immediately skyrockets, his frame more than ready for that elusive release. He teeters on the edge but he's too afraid to even get annoyed about the impending denial.
Blackout's transfluid fills his intake, dribbling out around Blackout's spike since the Helo doesn't stop thrusting.
Barricade suddenly overloads, the toys not inhibiting his charge this time, and Barricade's back arches of it's own accord, his valve contracting rhythmically around the toy inside him. It's such a powerful overload, he can feel the pulse in his entire stomach, his port clenching too, and he squirms what little he can with the massive pleasure washing over him in waves. As soon as his overload is over, he squirms for other reasons; the toy still vibrating in his valve teases hypersensitive nodes, and it's too much pleasure, turning it into discomfort. Blackout pulls out of Barricade's intake, reclining against the headboard again, the oppressive force of his loaded weaponry seemingly vaporizing as he shuts it down. Barricade squirms as much as he possibly can to try to dislodge the toy, but it's impossible. Blackout chuckles, then the vibrations increase. Barricade screams silently while it goes on for seconds that feel like eternity, then Blackout reaches down to pull the toy out, shutting it as he does. The toy in Barricade's port is left in place, still vibrating, but that doesn't matter as much, he's not overly sensitive like that back there.
He could even use his mod to open up and let it fall out, but it seems like a bad idea to go against what Blackout wants right now. Especially since he's still tied up, which implies that Blackout isn't done yet. Or maybe the Helo will just leave him like this over night?
Barricade checks his fuel gauge.
If he's left like this, Blackout better let him have some more energon. Or patch him up...
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Barricade squirms, trying to find a more comfortable position. His shoulder-wings are getting sore from the effort of keeping them together under his own weight, instead of fanning out as they normally would. He doesn't want to allow that, because it will hurt badly when the chain between them pulls on the clamps still sitting around his sensors.
His movement apparently catches Blackout's attention, because suddenly, a big servo slides down his front, smearing the energon over his plating.
"Quite fetching."
Digits reach between the plates on his shoulder, and then Barricade screams silently, his tired and sore shoulder-wings forgotten, when sharp pain shoots, and a warning blinks angrily in his HUD.
Arm angle sensor — improbable data! Did Blackout pull the sensor out of place, or did he actually bend the wedge on the strut?!
The pain makes it impossible for Barricade to gauge which it is, and he has no more time to think about it before Blackout does the same procedure to his other arm, and both his legs. It's a good thing that Barricade is tied up, because it makes it impossible for him to flail around. Without proper sensor input, he could damage components from overstretching his limbs, and stressing his hydraulics.
He's rolled over on his front again, but the relief on his shoulder-wings doesn't make up for the new damage inflicted.
Blackout's servo wraps around the back of his helm, pressing his face into the bedding, and then Barricade feels prying talons on the plate covering the data port on his neck. Blackout easily flicks it open, and then a plug slides into the socket.
Barricade tries to resist the hacking, and Blackout doesn't just flatten his firewalls, he coaxes his way into Barricade's systems slowly. It isn't about gentleness, though, he's relishing the act of hacking, savoring every moment, like a predator toying with his prey. Blackout checks Barricade's fuel levels, and the speed of the leaking, and Barricade gets the feeling of the Helo giving a nod of approval to himself. Blackout flips through his own files, and then he finds what he's looking for, opening the memory to stream it to Barricade. The Saleen tries to fight it, tries to keep from being immersed.
That isn't him, it isn't what he's experiencing. It's just a memory.
Still it feels very real, like he's the one tied up on the dirty berth in a dilapidated room, waiting for his captors to do whatever they're planning.
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Barricade's audial fin is grabbed, his helm lifted none too gently.
"Drink." Blackout growls.
A bottle is held up to his lip-plates, and he tries his best to not spill the fuel being poured into his intake, but some of it dribbles down his chin anyway.
"Can't have you leaking out before we're finished." Blackout says, then he puts the bottle away.
Barricade turns his helm to look around the room again. It's rather dark, no lights are on, but the sheer curtains allow the light of either a moon, or a very bleak sun to filter in. He spots his guns, discarded in the corner, and then there's the couch and armchair, crowded by all the other mechs present; tall and broad, and all of them heavily armed.
The thing that grounds him, and leaves a small thread of his processor aware of this not being his reality is that he knows these mechs by name, they're not just anonymous soldiers. It's nowhere near enough for him to not be afraid in this immersive memory — the knowledge feels so elusive that he might lose track of it in an instant and get drowned in this memory feed — but it's what little he has to cling to.
His injuries throb with pain, and it's hard to tell which of it is a figment of the memory and which is real, adding to how immersive it is. The mech sitting next to him tweaks one of his injuries, and he screams in pain, losing grip on reality.
"I think we need to hurry up. They might recall us soon." Someone says. It sounds like Nitro Zeus.
How does he know who it sounds like? They're enemy soldiers...
"I'm ready to go." Springer? The mech strokes his already pressurized spike.
"I can se that." Ironhide snickers.
"Then do your thing, I'll wait." Blackout gets up from the berth, moving away, but only as far as the cable connecting them allows.
It is Blackout, but he looks different. Why does he know what Blackout looks like without all those external guns?
Springer crawls on top of him.
"Please don't..." Barricade whispers, but it feels off, as if the words are out even if he wasn't about to say them.
"Then you shouldn't have lost, glitch." Springer grunts as he slams inside, then he groans, immediately starting to rut into Barricade.
Barricade thrashes as much as he possibly can, but tied up as he is, it doesn't do him any good. He has Blackout groaning off to the side, and he's so disgusted, he wants to purge when he hears the slick noise of a servo sliding along a spike. He's jostled with every harsh thrust, his injuries hurting every time his frame rocks. Barricade sobs quietly, but he doesn't struggle.
What good would it do?
It doesn't take long before Springer presses in deep, spilling his transfluid inside Barricade. The triple changer pulls out, moving off him immediately.
"Your turn." He smirks to Blackout.
Blackout climbs on top of Barricade, hilting himself in one go. He wraps a servo around Barricade's neck, sharp talons digging into vital wires and lines. Instinctively, Barricade thrashes, no matter how much it hurt.
"There you are. I was wondering if you were falling into recharge. Look alive, mech." Blackout murmurs, but there's nothing sweet about the intimate way he's talking. He presses harder on Barricade's throat as he starts to fuck him, and Barricade screams in terror, feeling how one of the claws pierces an energon line, just a little prick, but it could easily tear in deeper.
"Don't offline him. I'm not fucking a corpse." Ironhide growls.
Chapter Text
"You're no fun at all..." Blackout says, a smirk audible in his voice. "He'd still be warm for you. And wet."
"Yeah, but it's gross when they're all limp, and I can't hear their sparks."
"Mh, yeah, and then there's no whimpering..." Blackout groans.
Barricade's spark starts spinning quicker as the energon flows more freely from the wound on his throat when Blackout pulls his talon out of the puncture, and he can't keep the whimper back, which makes Blackout groan again.
He doesn't want to offline, but he doesn't want to be fucked by them all, and even if that means staying alive, maybe they'll just kill him afterwards anyway...
"Please, don't offline me!" He sobs.
"But it would be so good for me! Bury my spike in your ti... — well, not that tight anymore — valve, and listen as your spark gutters." Blackout leers.
"B-but the others... They want me alive!"
At least one of them. It's grasping for straws, deep down he knows that, but he just can't bring himself to not hope that he'll walk out of here eventually.
"I could go again when they're finished. Get a second overload, and finish you off."
Barricade whines in terror, and the spike inside him twitches. Blackout starts to fuck him more roughly.
"Please, I'll do anything you want... Just let me live." Barricade sobs.
He wants to get back home, go back to his family, play with his brother's stupid, organic fluff ball of a pet while his parents prepare crystals for dinner in they yard, and he wants to recharge in his own berth, and wake up to find this just a nightmare... Why did he even join the army?
The thoughts are incongruous somehow, feels wrong and alien, but he can't pinpoint why.
"What if offlining is what I want you to do?" Blackout purrs in his audial.
Barricade cries harder.
"I-I... But the others? What do they want?"
Maybe they'll find more enjoyment in just using him? Hopefully, they will.
Chapter Text
"To get off, of course. And like I said, I can get back to you when they're done."
His hope sinks, but there's that small part of him that's still in denial, that still refuses to accept that this is the way he's going to go, that he's going to offline here.
"But what if I do whatever they want too?"
Blackout hums a noncommittal chuckle.
"What if they have things they want me to do that don't involve me offlining? Are you going to deny them their fun just to have your own? Maybe you should vote?" He grinds out the last part as Blackout tweaks an injury in Barricade's shoulder again, pain blooming down his arm, and all the way up to the back of his helm.
"Vote?"
It's so messed up to coax, negotiate, and explain things while being... Being raped, but if there's a sliver of a chance that he'll make it out of here alive, he has to grab for it.
"You know, everyone picks the option that they like the best, and the option that most picked wins? You all vote for if you want me to do whatever everyone wants and you let me live, or if you continue this, and you just kill me in the end." His spark speeds up, because it's one hell of an offer to make, and he swallows the energon rising in his throat when thinking about what he may need to do with these bastards.
There's an irritable silence while Blackout processes it, his thrusts picking up as if he has a sudden need to be more forceful, but then he stops, leaning closer.
"So you're offering to go along with what we want if I change my plans to offline you?" He murmurs in Barricade's audial, and there's something about the way he says it that puts Barricade on edge.
It's not a bulletproof plan, he doesn't know what they'll want, and it will be disgusting to allow them to have him like that, but it's probably his best option right now. If the others are any better.
"Yes, I will."
Blackout pulls out, a rush of transfluid from Springer's turn, some lubricant his valve produces automatically, and perhaps traces of energon too dribbling out to soak into the dusty covers of the berth. Blackout gets off the berth, approaching the others as far as the cable connecting him with Barricade allows him to go.
"Come here, Brothers. We should vote."
Chapter Text
There's a hushed conversation — or perhaps a negotiation — and all Barricade can do is lay there and pray for a mercy he's pretty sure is inexistent.
The mechs seem to come to a conclusion, and the only one who seems unhappy is Blackout, so the conclusion is probably in his favor. Barricade doesn't dare to feel relieved yet, though, because he still doesn't know what exactly he'll be forced to cooperate with.
"Seems like you're in luck; the others prefer your willingness over your deactivation." Blackout sounds disappointed.
Calling it willingness is a stretch, though.
He still releases a vent he didn't know that he was holding.
Hopefully, the others will stop Blackout from doing his thing after the deal is fulfilled. There still is a risk that he won't honor the deal in the end, but this is a chance he has to take.
"If you try anything stupid to get away, I will kill you. Slower, and way more agonizing than what I originally had in mind."
"I-I won't..."
"We'll see."
His servos and pedes are untied, and he's pulled up to stand on all fours. It hurts with the injuries to his arms and legs, but it's not like he has much of a choice. Breakdown comes over, kneeling in front of him, while Blackout kneels behind him. Breakdown holds out his spike.
Blackout's spike presses against his port, and he shies away out of instinct.
He should've know...
None of the mechs push inside, the head of Breakdown's spike smearing pre-transfluid over Barricade's lip-plates, but he makes no attempt to start fucking Barricade's intake. Blackout does something similar, just resting his cock against Barricade's ass, almost making it a threat...
"It's not going to suck itself..." Breakdown says.
He wants him to do it of his own accord!
The realization makes his tank roil with what's left in it, because it's such a difference between allowing them to use him, and to take an active part.
"You did say that you'd do whatever we want. Well, right now, we want you to fuck yourself with our cocks. It's not astrophysics, just rock back and forth." Blackout sounds taunting.
As of to urge him on, Blackout slowly presses forward. Barricade shies away again, and it makes Breakdown's spike pop into his intake. Blackout follows the movement, still pressing against Barricade's ass, until Barricade stops, unable to take the spike deeper without triggering his gag reflex.
"There you go, now just rock back, and then repeat."
Chapter Text
Blackout reaches down, putting his servo in a position that makes Barricade's node rub against it every time he rocks back and forth.
He's mortified with how his frame responds with heating up, his valve going hotter. He's ashamed of how he increase the pace of his rocking.
"Such a good little slut." Blackout says.
"Yeah. Doesn't take it that deep, but his eagerness makes up for that." Breakdown notes.
Barricade feels his face-plates burning.
He shouldn't rub against that servo, shouldn't do anything that will make this feel good for himself. They're the enemy, they intended to kill him, and here he is, getting off on degrading himself for them.
But if he's going to do what they want, and rock back and forth like this, he doesn't have much of a choice, because Blackout's servo is where it is, and he can't stop moving against it without disobeying them.
"Does it feel good to take a cock in your ass?" Blackout asks. "And one in your mouth too, like a cheap little whore."
Barricade flushes again.
He never wanted to do something like this even with his lovers. Why is he getting so hot for them? Why is his valve feeling swollen and empty, instead of his frame being indifferent to this?
"I bet you'll think of this when you get back to your base, late at night in the barracks, when you stuff your fingers up your own ass, moaning into your mattress."
Barricade stifles a confused sob.
He's going to go back home, but what will it be like? Is this what he's going to ask for when he wants to hook up with someone in a bar?
"Or maybe your batch will keep you entertained? Maybe you already are their fuck toy?"
Barricade's valve clenches, and it's impossible to say if it's from the words that are being said, or if it's just a physical reaction to the stimulation. His vents hitch with another sob. Behind him, Blackout shifts, changing the angle, and his spike hits something inside Barricade that feels indecently good. Barricade moans around Breakdown's spike, his frame rocking back and forth quicker of it's own accord.
"It would make sense, considering how very well you take cock up your ass."
With a wail, Barricade overloads, valve clenching around nothing, humiliated beyond anything he has ever felt before.
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It's confusing as hell when the disruptor that stops his optical feed is yanked away, and he's suddenly back in the present. True to the memory, he is fucking himself in the ass on Blackout's spike, a dildo attached to the headboard substituting Breakdown's spike. Blackout guiding the movement, though, because Barricade's sensors are still fragged up the same way as before, making it impossible to calculate his movements. Barricade stops moving as soon as Blackout stops guiding him, and Blackout presses in deeper, overloading. Barricade tries to rock back to at least get the dildo out of his mouth, but Blackout holds still and Barricade just doesn't have the strength to move the Helo, so he is forced to wait him out.
With a fake fucking spike in his intake. As if sucking something in itself is more important than it filling the purpose of giving someone else pleasure.
Blackout is finally finished, pulling out to sit back on his heels. Barricade rocks back, or at least he tries to, tipping over to lay on his side, when his hydraulics doesn't get the coordination right. He tries to scream at the fucking bastard, bit his vocalizer is still muted.
Blackout grins at him. "I thought it would be a good idea to leave you muted. Seems like I was right."
Barricade tries to reach up to pull the fragging damper off his vocalizer, but his arms flail around in a way that might be hilarious if it didn't hurt. Blackout apparently does find it hilarious, though, because he starts to laugh. Barricade lets himself go limp, realizing that the only thing he can do is wait until Blackout decides he's finished.
And then he'll go back to Dreadbot and join the union.
Blackout grabs the bottle Barricade brought for himself, grabbing Barricade's helm to lift him up enough to be able to let him drink. Barricade does as urged, his levels getting rather low.
He glances at the berth, and is taken aback by how much energon is smeared over the bedding.
It really does look like he was leaking out there.
Blackout lets go of him again, and then he reaches for the fragged up sensor in one of Barricade's arm.
"This might sting a bit."
Sting is a terrible understatement. Blackout grabs the component he has already rearranged once tonight, and then he twists. Pain shoots down Barricade's arm, and up his shoulder all the way to his helm. It takes more time than it did when Blackout fucked the component up, probably because he needs to bend it back to a correct form. Barricade screams silently.
"One down, three to go."
Chapter Text
Blackout readjusts the sensor in Barricade's other arm, and when he gets to work on Barricade's leg, the Saleen grabs the disruptor on his vocalizer and finally yanks it away.
"What the actual fuck?! You fucking bastard, I did..." Then it turns to a pained scream when Blackout twists the sensor harshly.
"You know, I could just let you fix these by yourself..." Blackout says. "Actually, that's an excellent idea."
Barricade doesn't trust it, and it's so unexpected, he just glares suspiciously on the Helicopter. Blackout holds his servos up in a placating gesture, getting off the berth. He grabs a box from a storage unit, throwing it on the berth.
"Patches for your cuts." He takes a seat in the chair. "Go on."
Barricade almost refuses out of spite, not wanting to do anything Blackout tells him, but it would be ridiculous, because he can't even walk away from here until he gets his legs working properly. He still sneers at the bastard when he sits up, slipping his digits between the plates to reach for the sensor. It's easy enough to find it, but it's tricky to figure out what shape it's supposed to have using only sensory input from his digits. Barricade finally thinks he has it figured out, and then he twists it. Pain shoots down his leg, and up through his pelvic plating to his back strut. He hisses, snatching his servo away out of reflex, then he reaches to feel the sensor again.
It hasn't even budged. The pain stopped him from twisting it enough to actually reshape it.
"Dammit." He mutters.
Blackout chuckles. "Maybe we should put patches on you first? At this rate, you'll leak out before you get your legs sorted."
"Shut up! I wouldn't even need to sort my legs if it wasn't for you!" Barricade snaps, frustrated and with growing anxiety, because he's not all that sure that he'll be able to do it himself, and as long as he doesn't, he's stuck in Blackout's berth.
Which was probably the plan when Blackout decided to let him have a go at doing it himself.
"True." Blackout says unrepentantly.
With a deep vent to steel himself, Barricade reaches for the sensor again.
Chapter Text
After four aborted attempts from Barricade to fix the first sensor, Blackout gets up from the chair. Barricade is about to protest, but the Helo grabs the bottle Barricade brought when he got here, and hands it to the Saleen.
"Don't forget to fill up. I mean, since you still haven't put any patches on."
"Fuck you." Barricade hisses, but he still grabs the bottle, because he is getting low.
Blackout just snorts, taking a seat again.
Barricade — in spite of his flare-up of attitude — was kind of hoping that Blackout would help him with the sensors. It's one thing to just get through someone else doing something painful, it's quite different to inflict it on oneself, especially since he also needs to adjust the sensor with precision. In frustration, he grabs the damned sensor, twisting harshly as quickly as he can in hopes of getting through it this time. He yelps in pain, and there's a nauseating sensation of something shifting in a weird way on his frame, but then the sensor pops into alignment again.
Sort of.
He lifts his leg, and flexes and rotates it in several directions to try the functionality. The sensor supplies him with readings that's a lot more accurate than before, but it's not exactly correct, so there's some movements that are a bit off. The question is if he'll need to have it adjusted, or if a recalibration will be enough.
At least one of his legs is working now. Just one more, and he can stomp out of here. Or at least hobble.
"I'm not helping you out with that." He says when he notices that Blackout is stroking his spike.
"You were the one who wanted to spend the night with me, remember?"
"That doesn't mean that I want to do anything and everything you want."
"Is a blowjob too much to ask for? You've already warmed your intake up on the dildo, and I'm getting all hot watching you like this."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment? I don't care if you're charged or not, I don't feel like doing anything for you."
"You promised me outlandish, — whatever you mean by that — and I don't think I even took things that far? We've done some knife play before, you let me cut you before, we've shared memories before, I've put vibrators in you before. I didn't even pretend to be someone else this time?"
"You fragging damaged me!"
"But it's easy to restore!"
"Maybe, but it doesn't make it less painful!" Barricade snarls.
"No pain, no gain."
"It doesn't work that way, it isn't supposed to be my pain for your gain. And I did not give my consent to all the details."
"Would credits make it alright?"
Barricade's processes come to a halt.
Would it?
"It always helped before."
"Maybe."
Could he really forgive Blackout if he gets handsomely paid for it? Blackout did have a point that several of the things he has done tonight isn't something new, and it could be hard for him to know that Barricade wouldn't go along with it. Which he might have, actually, if Blackout had asked.
"I can't give you any. I need to pay the lawyer for keeping me out of jail for the whole thing with your step-sire."
Barricade works his intake at the implication, anger momentarily forgotten.
"I... What happened to him, really?"
Something terrifying passes over Blackout's face, something hungry and deadly.
"The evidence seemed to imply a drawn out and painful death."
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"We're you the one who did it?" Barricade asks.
Would it make this better? Would it redeem what the bastard just did to him? Especially since Blackout probably enjoyed himself immensely if he was the one who killed the other — probably worse — bastard.
"Do I seem like the type who'd do such a thing? And then brag about it?"
"On the first question, the answer is definitely yes."
Blackout grins wickedly. "We'll, you have seen some of my memories of old..."
"On the second question, I'd say no," sadly, because that means that Barricade probably won't ever get a confirmation who did it, and the hero will remain unknown, "you're too smart to confess something like that, especially since there's apparently no evidence that ties you to it."
"Why Barricade, is that a compliment?"
"Don't let it go to your head."
Blackout gets up from the chair, taking a seat on the berth next to Barricade. The Mustang tenses, uncertain what Blackout is planning now.
"Relax, 'm just going to start patching you up."
"I thought you liked to see me leak."
"I do. I also like to physically interact with energon."
Blackout licks up the slowly thickening energon from one of Barricade's plates, humming as if finally having a very tasty treat. There's the crinkling of the wrapping when he opens a patch. Another slow drag of his glossa, this time along a cable just underneath one of the gaps between Barricade's plates, then surprisingly gentle digits wrap the patch around the leaking line. Barricade's valve suddenly feels hotter his frame responding to the almost sensual touches.
"Eew." He says, trying to distract himself, because he doesn't want to be turned on by Blackout right now, and especially not by this kind of gross action.
"I disagree." Another slow and languorous lick along a different cable makes it obvious that so does Barricade's frame.
Blackout suddenly strokes the abused sensor on Barricade's shoulder-wing, the one a clamp dug into before. The clamps were removed before Barricade even got out of the memory, but the sensor is still raw. Blackout's touch is feather light, though, and Barricade hisses with confused pleasure-pain.
"How about I patch you up, and then you give me a blowjob, and after that, I'll help you with that sensor in your leg?" Blackout says, before leaning in to lick at the sensor.
Barricade groans, his array definitely interested in more of this type of patching. "That's blackmail!" He still grinds out.
"It's a deal. You give me something I want in exchange for my help."
Blackout reaches for a cut at the lower apart of Barricade's abdomen, nimbly wrapping a patch around the line with just one servo, one of his digits hosting the plating close to Barricade's array. Barricade's vents hitch.
He really shouldn't give in this easily.
Chapter Text
"Fine." Barricade almost hiccups when Blackout's digit dips slightly deeper, closing in on Barricade's array even more.
The smugness is apparent in Blackout's field, and Barricade wants to smack him for it.
If only it wasn't for how hard it is to fix that sensor himself, he'd decline. He definitely would.
Blackout sets to work, finding all the little cuts, patching them up. He doesn't clean up the energon around the cuts, and that shouldn't really be surprising. He does enjoy the sight of an energon soaked victim, after all.
Enough to have his spike out, till fully pressurized, in a blatant display of how much he enjoys it.
The bastard keeps on delivering well placed touches and licks to sensitive components on Barricade's frame, and it shows very clearly how well he knows Barricade's frame; what is sensitive, what could turn him on. Barricade's frame is heating up, and it's all too easy to let it distract him from how everything isn't really sorted out, and said and done.
"You could fix my sensor first..." Barricade suggests in a husky voice, valve slick and hot with his rising arousal.
Blackout chuckles. "What, and make it possible for your to walk out of here without fulfilling your part of the bargain?"
"No." Barricade hisses in annoyance — he should've thought of that, but he really didn't. "But I'll be more fit to really participate..." He trails off into a moan when Blackout supposedly checks his valve-lip for cuts.
"Participate? You promised me a blowjob. Don't really need a leg for that. Trust me on that." He adds the last part with a smirk, as if he just remembered something, and it is quite possible that he really knows that from experience.
"Well, I though that maybe," Barricade trails off into a hiss of pleasure when Blackout inspects a line in his hip joint with deft digits, "maybe you'd want something more than a mere blowjob?"
"Careful what you wish for now."
He really should. He fucking shouldn't offer anything after what happened, and especially not extras beyond the deal they made that is convenient for him too.
But his frame is revved up, and if he's going to get Blackout off, he should get something more in return than just repairs that Blackout has caused the need for in the first place.
Yeah, if he's doing this for free, he might as well take advantage.
Chapter Text
Blackout patches the last few leaks, and then he looks at the gap in Barricade's plating where the sensor is located.
"So if I fix this, you won't run out the door?"
Barricade snorts. "I'm pretty sure you would catch me before I even reached the door."
"Perhaps, but I shouldn't have to. Not if you honor our agreement."
"I won't run. I swear on my step-sire's frame."
Blackout smirks. "Alright."
Blackout reaches for the sensor, and Barricade tenses, readying himself for the pain to come. He feels when Blackout's digits make contact, and then there's the sharp pain when he twists it mercilessly back to it's correct position. It's over on just a second, leaving behind a strange, creeping throb, but the pop up in his HUD tells that it's perfectly aligned.
Barricade takes a few deep vents, riding out the lingering pain, and then he moves his leg around to check that everything is working. He has to admit that it's better than the leg he managed to fix himself.
"Could you adjust the other one too? I didn't get it quite right..." Barricade asks, spark speeding up just thinking about the pain that is to come if Blackout goes along with it.
"Well, I'm feeling generous tonight, so I guess I could."
Barricade shifts over to give better access, and Blackout leans in to have a look. He makes a thoughtful noise, then he reaches into the gap in Barricade's plating. There's a push against the component, and Barricade grunts at the rather weird sensation when it shifts slightly, then he gets a pop-up in his HUD about it aligning again.
"Better?" Blackout asks.
"Yes." Barricade tries the leg, flexing and stretching it to test the movements, and now there's no problem for his hydraulics to work the way they should. "Thank you."
Blackout tips over, stretching out on the berth. "You can show me your gratitude." He points to his still pressurized spike with both his servos.
Barricade almost rolls his optics, but then again, he did say that he was going to give more than just a blowjob if Blackout helped him out with his leg, and Blackout even helped him with both.
He straddles the Helo, because he can now that his legs are working again, and the only discomfort left is a slight throbbing in the sensors themselves, not affected by how he positions his hips.
Barricade rocks back and fort, rubbing his slick folds against Blackout's massive spike.
"Would a ride be a good way to satisfy you?" Barricade asks hopefully.
He certainly would like a ride right now, his valve atill feels hot and slick, even after the painful repairs.
"That would be good."
Barricade slides forward more, angling his hips to line up his valve with Blackout's spike, then he rocks back to take it all in one fluid motion.
Chapter Text
The following week is uneventful. Barricade is conflicted about the whole Blackout debacle. In hindsight, he shouldn't have forgiven him so easily, and he feels stupid for letting himself be distracted by the possibility that Blackout killed his step-sire, and a bit of clever work with digits and glossa.
It could be someone else who did it.
He throws himself into his new work — the self defense classes — and when he joins a brother in berth, he's careful to make it seem like he's not avoiding Blackout. After a fun night with Roadbuster, he's having hot energon with Jazz in the refueling room when Dreadbot walks in.
"Has anyone seen Nitro?" He asks.
"No?" Barricade answers.
Dreadbot frowns.
"I was with Hatchet." Jazz says, sounding happy about it.
Barricade is pleased to see that Jazz seems to completely have overcome his problems with Hatchet.
"Why?" Barricade asks.
"Nobody has seen him since yesterday, and his comm goes straight to voicemail."
"You talked to Ironhide about it?" Barricade immediately realize that it's a stupid question.
"Yeah. He just went stone faced, and closed off, and said that Nitro had a job to do yesterday evening. He didn't say anything about the job stretching until today."
Barricade's spark does an uneasy revolution.
On one servo, it could be that this is something that's none of their business, and Dreadbot misinterpreted Ironhide's words. On the other servo, Spinister is still out there somewhere, and even if he hasn't heard from the agent since he identified his step-sire, that doesn't mean that the agent has dropped the case. He seems like the type to doggedly pursue his goals.
"I'm sure Nitro is fine." Barricade says with a certainty he isn't feeling. "He's probably just doing whatever he's supposed to do. The Brothers would be out searching if something was wrong, wouldn't they?"
Dreadbot looks sceptical. "I suppose you're right... They all left when I was coming here, though."
Barricade works his intake, hard pressed to keep his optimism up.
What if Spinister is trying to flip Nitro? What if he really has found some dirt he can make stick?
Chapter Text
Three days.
Three days of the Brothers looking grim — especially Ironhide — without any information for the pleasurebots about what's going on. They don't have to be geniuses to understand that something has gone wrong, but the only thing they ever hear is that Nitro is on a mission.
Definitely a mission gone wrong, especially considering Ironhide wrecked a chair in the refueling room when the energon heater needed the filters rinsed when he was getting a cube. And none of the Brothers even liften an optical ridge, or cracked a smart comment. The pleasurebots present only dared watching with their sparks in their throats, hardly venting, when the Prez obliterated that chair with his bare servos, all the while being eerily silent, lazer focused on the crumpling piece of furniture.
Dreadbot is coming apart with worry, of course, unable to find comfort anywhere.
"I mean, he took me to berth, but you all know how Ironhide usually is, and this was not it." He sobs.
The pleasurebots have gathered in their own rec room, fleeing the oppressive atmosphere of the bar, and in need of not trying to keep it together for the sake of appearances.
"I know wha' ye mean." Crosshairs nods, sounding very unhappy.
"It's like I could as well be a mattress with a hole in it, and he was rough, just... just using me. As if I was nothing more than a convenient whore, and there for him to take out some frustration on."
"It was the same fer me." Crosshairs voice sounds thick, but he isn't sobbing. "I was jus' stress relief."
"You spent the night?" Dreadbot asks.
"Yeh, but it was different. 'e jus' rolled over, an' recharged with 'is back te me. 'e usually likes te sleep close."
"I know! It almost felt like he didn't want me to stay, that he was just being polite not kicking me out!" Dreadbot's voice cracks.
Barricade frowns. He has noticed that the Brothers seem less interested in interfacing too. Sure, they take pleasurebots to berth, but they do have the same tendency as Ironhide: it's straight to the point, and all about release, not the regular want for some playfulness. Springer even dismissed him when they were done, though politely, saying that if Barricade wanted to spend the night with Jazz instead, it was fine. Then again, Springer and Blackout came home early morning, so maybe Springer didn't even spend the night at home.
Yes, something is definitely terribly wrong.
Chapter Text
Two more days, and then suddenly Nitro waltzes in through the door. It's just before noon, and Barricade, Jazz and Dreadbot are sitting in the bar, Dreadbot already on his second high grade for the day.
"Nitro!" Dreadbot squeals, jumping down from his seat, and running over to Nitro, jumping up and body slamming him, though Nitro hardly budges.
"Hey, babe!" Nitro wraps one arm around Dreadbot, cupping his aft to hold him up.
"I was so worried!" Dreadbot sobs.
Nitro just hums, and then he peels Dreadbot from himself, putting the smaller mech down as Ironhide comes running down the stairs, Crosshairs trailing behind him. When Ironhide tackles Nitro with a hug, the Flier does take a few steps back from the sheer force of it.
"It's good to see you, Brother." Ironhide says, then he lets go of Nitro, taking a step back to look him up and down. "Where have you been? Did things go wrong?"
"Nah, my kid got in trouble. I needed to sort that out."
Ironhide looks sceptical. "You could've commed me, I..."
"What are you, my mother?" Nitro interrupts him. There's an edge to the snark that's uncharacteristic.
Ironhide cocks his helm, looking surprised and disbelieving.
"No, but we had no idea where you were. We got worried, of course."
"I'm a big mech, I can take care of myself. I mean, I'm still a free mech, aren't I?"
"Yes, of course..." Ironhide says slowly, clearly not knowing how to handle this.
"Anyways, what's a mech supposed to do to get a drink around here?" Nitro turns away from Ironhide.
"I'll make you one!" Dreadbot says cheerily, but Barricade catches when he plasters on the smile, clearly unsettled by Nitro's new attitude.
"Good little mech." Nitro follows him to the bar, waiting as a cube is filled for him.
"Nice bracelet." Crosshairs compliments, pointing to the broad cuff of metal around one of Nitro's wrist-struts.
Nitro looks at it, and something passes over his face that's definitely not one of his grins or smirks, but then he cracks up in a grin.
"Yeah, figured I needed some more bling! This is getting old." He says, grabbing the chain he wears around his neck.
"Would you mind at least reporting how the job went?" Ironhide asks as Nitro downs his drink.
"Sure." Nitro puts his cube on the counter, following Ironhide into the part of the house where only Brothers have access. Springer and Blackout joins them too.
"This is weird." Crosshairs says quietly.
"Yeah, something seems off." Dreadbot agrees.
Barricade can't do anything but agree too. There's an edge to Nitro that he hasn't seen before, even if he quickly covered it when the bracelet was mentioned.
"Nitro has a sparkling?" He asks, because it's the first time he has heard of it.
"Yeah. Well, more of a youngling now, I suppose. The carrier tried to get him to pay some child support, but backed out when visitation rights came up. And the one time he actually tried to see the kid, a restraining order was thrown at him. They don't live in Polyhex, though." Dreadbot sounds offended on Nitro's behalf.
"It doesn' make sense tha' 'e would get te 'elp the kid with anythin', an' definitely no sense tha' 'e wouldn' tell 'is Brothers." Crosshairs summarizes
Chapter Text
"Didn't you say that the carrier, and Nitro's creation live in a different citystate?" Barricade asks.
"Yeah, last I heard, they were in Praxus. Which would probably increase the risk of the kid getting in trouble, but I'd say more likely in trouble that Nitro can't do anything about personally anyway. Enforcement there is harsh, and a Warframe mongrel? They'd be all over it if the kid so much as vents in a funny way. Terrible place to raise a creation with that particular background, if you ask me." Dreadbot tells him. "But it's not like Nitro could do much about Enforcement being on the kids aft, so the story doesn't make sense."
"Maybe they moved cities?" Crosshairs asks, pouring drinks for everyone.
"I guess they could have. But I doubt that glitch would choose a city where the kid would blend on more. He's kind of uppity."
"But no matter what citystate they're in — if they're not in Polyhex, of course — Nitro would need approval from the parole board to be allowed to leave Polyhex. It's a family matter, so it's quite possible that he'd get one, but with a restraining order to keep him away from his creation, there would be questions, and the permit could take some time. It doesn't sound very likely that the forcefully estranged sire would be called in to talk sense to a rowdy youngling."
Dreadbot looks shocked. "I didn't even think about that!"
"I think you know him the best out of everyone here, would he risk breaking his parole for this?" Barricade is fairly certain that he wouldn't, considering how he kept to his slot time when going to Kaon, even if that sent him there one day ahead.
"I don't think so. He doesn't know the creation, and usually doesn't even seem to think of himself as a sire. And his priority has always been Ironhide's safety, so it really doesn't make sense that he would leave without even checking in and saying that he's going." Dreadbot takes a deep drink from his cube.
"An' Hide would 'elp 'im with the permit if 'e needed one, an' definitely wouldn' stop 'im from going, so I can' figure out why 'e'd ever try te sneak away instead of jus' sayin' 'e's goin'." Crosshairs adds.
"And he snapped at Ironhide! He has never done that as far as I know." Dreadbot sounds worried, and probably for good reason.
"Maybe there's something he just didn't want to say here? Maybe the debrief will bring clarity to the situation, and everything will calm down again?" Barricade says. He suspects that it's wishful thinking, but he really longs for the days when his biggest problem was that he considered himself above sleeping with the Brothers.
Chapter Text
The next morning sees the pleasurebots gathered in the refueling room when Dreadbot enters. His gait is stiff, his movements slow, and Barricade tries to wrack his processor for the evening before, but Roadbuster wanted to go to berth early, so they left before Dreadbot.
"Were you with Blackout last night?" Barricade asks.
It doesn't make sense, Dreadbot would probably do anything to be with Nitro for the first night he's back, and nobody would try to get in the way for that. And why would Nitro pick someone else?
Dreadbot's laugh is strained, and it turns into a hiss when he takes a seat. "You'd think, right?"
"Well, yeah..." Barricade looks Dreadbot up and down, noticing the scuff marks, and even a few dents.
"I was with Nitro."
"What?!"
"I... uh, let's just say he wasn't in the mood for me to be sassy."
"There's a difference between not being in the mood, and mauling someone." Barricade says flatly, feeling very uneasy.
It's too out of character, Nitro is the easygoing one, the one who takes everything as a joke, and is secure enough in himself to let others take the control. And he's very fond of Dreadbot.
"I've had worse." Dreadbot says, sipping the hot energon Crosshairs has poured for him.
"That's not an excuse."
"Maybe not, but I can't expect him to always be a good Bot, can I? He is a Warframe after all..."
All the warning bells are going off in Barricade's helm.
"That's definitely not an excuse. Especially not when it's such a sudden change from what he's usually like..."
There's always the first time, but it's rarely the last. He saw it first hand when he was an Enforcer.
"It's fine! He has been under a lot of stress lately, I'm sure he just wanted to feel like he's in control again. Said so himself: that he's not anyone's glitch, and I should remember my place."
Barricade has the sudden urge to slap Dreadbot.
He's on really thin ice, and he can't even see it.
"He did apologize afterwards, and seemed to be genuinely sorry for being so rough."
All the warning bells.
Chapter Text
"So... what's up with Nitro?" Barricade asks casually.
"What about him?" Blackout sounds really suspicious.
"He isn't like he used to be." Barricade says, spark speeding up.
Maybe this was a mistake, but then again, who else could he ask? Dreadbot has been happy enough the last few days — not showing up with any new marks, at least — even if he says that Nitro has changed his M.O in the berth, and if he's concerned about something, he isn't saying anything. And it's not like Barricade can ask the other Brothers, that would be weird, since they're not talking the same way he does with Blackout.
"People change."
"That's the worst excuse — or evasion I've ever heard."
"What do you want me to say?"
"I know you all keep your business from us, but come on: we notice the way all of you behave too. And Nitro is definitely not the same. There's this hard edge. That suddenly showed up after he was gone. What happened those days?"
Blackout quirks an optical ridge. "Are you trying to sow discord?" He wraps a servo around Barricade's neck. "Did Spinister finally get to you, and now you're trying to cause us to doubt Nitro?"
"If anyone is causing you to doubt Nitro, it's Nitro himself. I'm pretty damned sure that you would never take my word over Nitro's, and if what I'm saying is causing doubt, then the doubt was already there to begin with."
Blackout makes a strange grimace.
"What if Spinister got to Nitro?"
"Nitro would never turn against us."
"What about that creation of his? What if Spinister uses that against him?"
Blackout narrows his optics. "Nitro doesn't even know the mech. He'd never sell us out for a kid."
"Is that why he ran off for five days to help his kid without checking in?"
Blackout lets go of Barricade's neck. "You're treading a very fine line here. We don't need you to cause a rift in the house."
"I'm not trying to, but I want to know what's going on. It does affect me too, you know."
"Perhaps, but it could also be that you're thinking about saving yourself if you think something is about to go down. Questions like this makes me want to pick up surveillance again. In case you decide to flip."
Barricade feels an acute need to defuse the situation.
"Sure! I think you just want to pick up the surveillance so you can listen in on me fucking mecha. And reading porn!"
It does seem like Blackout has noticed the change too. Hopefully, he's keeping an optic on whatever is going on with Nitro.
Chapter Text
"Has Nitro said anything to you?" Ironhide asks Dreadbot.
"No, nothing. Why?"
"He's acting strange, being standoffish."
"I know." Dreadbot sounds sad. "I've noticed some changes in behavior in berth too."
"I feel like he's avoiding me. He shrugged me off when I t..." Ironhide breaks off when he notices Barricade. "When I talked to him. Says everything is fine."
"When Nitro isn't cracking dirty jokes every five seconds, things clearly are not fine." Dreadbot says.
"Yeah. I almost miss the damned Daddy-jokes."
Dreadbot smiles sadly, nodding.
Barricade finally manages to tear himself away from the eavesdropping, busying himself with wiping down the table in the rec room.
At least the Brothers are obviously aware of something being off, and hopefully working on finding out what.
When Barricade is done with the table, the other two have stopped talking, so he returns to the bar to help Dreadbot set things up. Tonight is party night, even if the mood of the house isn't quite right for it.
Routines must be followed, appearances kept. Or maybe it's just an attempt to get everything back to normal?
He makes sure that the most popular high grades are easily accessible, and that there is enough of the lower grades in the cooler. Dreadbot wipes down the counter top, and grabs the bin with used rags to go wash them.
"Are you ok?" Barricade ask.
"Sure! Why wouldn't I be?" Dreadbot asks too quickly, plastering on a smile that in spite of his acting skills is obviously fake.
"For obvious reasons. It's alright to be worried, you know." Barricade looks him up and down. "At least you haven't been damaged again."
"He did apologize, and he promised he wouldn't do it again!" Dreadbot says heatedly.
"I know. I just... I don't know, you can always talk to me if you want to? I know lo... liking someone can be hard. Jazz and I certainly had some bumps in the road..."
It seems to put Dreadbot at ease, and he nods slowly. "Thanks . I guess I'm just a little stressed out. Sorry I jumped at your throat."
Barricade snorts. "It's fine. After all, I regularly interface with Blackout, so I'm kind of used to literally be in chokeholds." He smiles slightly.
Dreadbot snickers, going for the distraction. "I see what you mean. Well, I better get these rags washed." He lifts the bin to indicate his next task, and then he's off to the washer.
Barricade's smile slips the second Dreadbot turns his back on him, and he looks around the room to see if there's anything else he can do to busy himself. He looks up when Drift walks in, and Barricade does a double take.
Drifts optics are overly bright, and he does seem a bit shaky.
Fucking hell, not again! What's he supposed to do now? He doesn't want to be a rat, but at the same time, what purpose would it serve to try to keep it a secret for Drift's sake.
Chapter Text
"Can I have a word with you, Blackout?" Barricade asks when the massive Helo walks past the bar.
"Depends on how annoying the words are." Blackout says, but he does come closer.
Barricade rolls his optics. "What kind of condition is that, how am I supposed to know if the words are annoying or not?"
"I guess you'll just have to risk forward and try."
Barricade glances around to make sure nobody is close by, and then he leans over the counter to get closer to Blackout.
"I don't want to be a snitch, but Drift didn't exactly look sober when he came in." He says quietly.
"Were you in the vice department?" Blackout snorts. "Is anyone ever really sober here?"
"I don't mean drunk. I'm suspecting something else."
Blackout's face goes from amusement to cold hardness in an instant. "What makes you think that?"
"Bright optics, looking jittery. I mean, I can't be sure of course, but if he's high on something illegal, that's very bad if the ICIA decides to make a house call again."
Blackout nods once. "You did the right thing to tell me. I'll keep my optics in it."
It probably was the right thing to do, but Barricade still feels a bit bad, even though Drift can only blame himself, really. The consequences could be very dire, and Barricade is uncomfortable with possibly getting someone kicked out.
Blackout heads to the couches, where his Brothers are gathered, casually leaning, against the backrest. He glances at Drift when the pleasurebot passes him, but not in a way that rouses Drift's suspicion, because the Racer just goes to the bar and fetches a few drinks. He hands the out, and as soon as he lets go of the last one, Blackout makes his move. Grabbing both Drift's arms, he swipes at Drift's legs, tipping him forward. Drift cries out in surprise, it was all so sudden, and then Blackout straddles the smaller mech's hips. The others The plate over Drift's data port is pried away without mercy, and then Blackout pulls out his data cable, and the other Brothers start to ask what he's doing all at once.
"I'm just making sure there are no illegal things in his systems." Blackout says.
"No, please, I wouldn't do that, you know I wouldn't, you've been so generous with second chances, of course I wouldn't." Drift pleads, flailing to get away.
"And if you wouldn't, you wouldn't mind showing me your systems either." Blackout growls, jamming his plug into the socket.
Drift goes limp, and starts to cry while Blackout does what he is good at. For once, he doesn't even seem to enjoy himself, and it's over rather quickly. He pulls the plug out, and stands up, towering over Drift.
"I thought you said you wouldn't?" Blackout turns to Ironhide. "High as a kite." He steps back.
Drift gets up to kneel, turning to Ironhide, who has gotten up from his seat.
"Please, Hide, I didn't mean to! It's just, everything has been so stressful with the ICIA and
everything, and..."
"And you decided to make things much worse by putting us at risk again." Ironhide interrupts to summarize it from his point of view. "You're out."
"No! Please, just one more try..."
"No."
"We're getting short on whores." Someone notes.
Drift's face contorts with rage. "Like you need whores anyway, you just need us to cov..."
Whatever Drift was about to say gets cut off when Nitro quickly raises his arm and discharges his cannon at point blank range from Drift's face.
Chapter Text
There's a long second of stunned silence, then Knock Out screams shrilly.
"Dude." Springer says flatly, picking a piece af something Barricade doesn't want to look closer at from his plating.
"What the fuck?! We said no unprovoked murders!" Ironhide yells.
"He was obviously willing to spill information, we can't have that. And he was undermining your authority. My job is literally to ensure the loyalty to you. He was going to be a safety hazard if you just let him go." Nitro says.
"Perhaps, but blowing his processor out in the rec room was... a little over the top."
"Better to have it done in a timely manner." Nitro tilts his helm. "Or maybe you'd want him to say whatever he was about to say?" He says slowly.
"I... no, but there's other ways..."
"There wasn't time for that, and you know it. But I guess it's easier to criticize what I do. Haven't I always done everything for you? I have always been ready to lay down my life for you, and now you're giving me flak for doing my job."
Ironhide just stares disbelievingly at Nitro.
"All that time in the army when I was waiting for you to show up and get me out too. Not once did I even question why I was doing that."
Ironhide looks like he has been punched in the gut. "I came as soon as I could, you know that!" He says hoarsely.
"Yeah. Well, I guess I should get rid of the body." Nitro says, standing up from his seat.
"I'll call the constructicons." Ironhide says quietly. "Take Motormaster with you."
"What a waste." Blackout says, looking down at the frame on the floor. "That could've been done in a much more interesting way."
Even through all the horror, Barricade wants to facepalm.
"Get the cleaning supplies!" Springer barks to the pleasurebots.
They all scramble to obey, and if the others are thinking like Barricade, they do so to get away from the gruesome scene.
They all grab rags and solvent, and garbage bags in silence.
What is there even to say right now? What does one talk about after seeing a cold energoned murder? He did know that the Brothers are capable of horrible things, has even seen so in Blackout's memories, but it's different to see it happen right before your optics. The smell of burned circuits and polymers, heated metal...
"At least I'm absolutely certain that it wasn' me killin' him with my glare this time!" Jazz cackles.
The comment is so absurd, he can't help but join on the laughter when everyone starts cackling after a long second of stunned silence.
Ah, the sounds of hysteria...
Chapter Text
It shouldn't be this easy to deny what just happened.
With the frame gone, Barricade's processor is quite successful in making it seem unreal. The parts they're picking up and putting in bags could as well be from an appliance that exploded, the energon and coolant too. He knows what happened, but at the same time, it feels surreal, and it's far too easy to think that this was just a fuel and coolant dispenser that someone used for target practice.
Hatchet is laying on the couch, watching them work, but Barricade gets the feeling that he really is on guard duty to make sure that none of the pleasurebots try to leave.
And run off to the ICIA and tattle before the evidence can be destroyed.
He tries his comm — not that he intends to use it — and unsurprisingly, it's not working.
"What happens now?" He asks out loud.
"Start with cleaning up, and then you're all going to be debriefed." Springer says.
Debriefed. Sounds more like they will be told what to do, and what will happen if they don't.
"And what about Nitro? Will there be any repercussions?"
"What we decide on that subject is none of your business." Ironhide says sharply.
"We live here too, and I don't think that anyone of us is keen on suddenly having our helms blown to pieces."
"Then don't do anything stupid."
"Or do..." Blackout leers, showing far too much denta for comfort. "Nitro won't be your problem..."
"Then I really hope the debrief will contain a list of what's considered stupid."
"You already know the rules here, just follow them." Ironhide says with finality.
"Yeah, you know; don't fuck anyone outside the house without protection, don't talk to the ICIA..." Blackout starts to count off.
Barricade is close to flipping him off, but he reigns in his temper.
This really isn't the time to be disrespectful in front of everyone.
All the pieces scattered over the floor and the furniture are picked up, and then they start to wipe away the fluids with solvent.
Covering up the evidence of a murder. He really has come a very long way from being an Enforcer, and this time, it definitely isn't in a good way.
He glances at the Brothers, who for once aren't joking around, and especially Ironhide looks very severe.
At least that's something. If they'd taken this lightly, he can't say what he'd do. Actually not much, what the hell could he do? Especially since they're probably prisoners here until the debrief is done. The question is if they'll be allowed to walk out of here after. Somehow, a promise to never tell anyone seems kind of weak as insurance. Maybe the Brothers will demand to erase the memory if one of them wants to leave? But where would he go?
Chapter Text
The debrief is held in the upstairs conference room, as usual. Ironhide, Blackout, and Springer are the ones to perform it. The in-house crew go first — no real surprise there either — and when they're done with Jazz, they call in Barricade. He can't help but wonder if it is arranged in that order to not give them any opportunity to talk about what to say. Crosshairs and Dreadbot weren't very forthcoming about what was said, and then he just met Jazz quickly in the doorway. He takes a seat opposite the gathered Brothers, and Nitro's absence — he has always been here too when they've hade any form of debrief or interrogation here — reminds him of the situation.
Maybe they let Nitro go dump the frame to not have him influence the results of this debrief? Motormaster could be a guard as much as there to help Nitro. Or they're just too blindly loyal to each other to think like that, and he's reading too much into this.
"I'm sorry that you had to see that." Ironhide starts.
"Uhm, thank you?"
"This poses a problem, of course, as you're a witness."
Of course that's what they're sorry about. Not that he just got to see his co-worker get shot.
"I understand that."
"I'd say we just erase his memory of it. Too much is at stake here." Blackout doesn't even seem to suggest it to provoke a reaction, it's simply his opinion.
"What would you like to do now, Barricade? You did voice some concerns earlier." Springer prods.
"I honestly don't know. I don't even know what my options are."
"We're not going to force you to stay." Springer says.
"That said — with everything going on at the moment — you will not be allowed to keep that memory if you leave." Ironhide says.
Barricade grimaces.
It's not that surprising, because if this tips the scale to leaving, it could also be the last drop that makes him tell the ICIA everything he knows. It still leaves a bad aftertaste.
"With him, I'd much prefer to erase his memories either way. Even if he stays, that could just be a clever way to seem loyal while helping the ICIA." Blackout says.
Barricade snorts. "Like I'd be brave enough to be an undercover snitch in your berth? I'd wake up with you hacking me, and then I'd join Drift in eternity."
A half smirk pulls at Blackout's intake.
"Do you want to stay?" Ironhide asks.
Where the fuck would he go? The only really viable option would be to cut a deal with the ICIA, but A; he won't have the memories needed to give them a case, and B; he very much enjoys to have his helm intact.
"Is Jazz staying? I haven't had a chance to speak to him..." He says pointedly.
"He's staying."
Of course. He's had worse...
"And Nitro? I don't like the risk to lose my helm at a second's notice if something I do seems suspicious to him. Even if I do follow the rules, what is the guarantee that he doesn't make a rash decision?"
"We're going to have a talk about this when he gets back." Ironhide says.
A talk. Seems like Nitro has landed himself a stay out of trouble with the Prez card...
Chapter Text
The rec room looks so... innocuous.
With everything cleaned up, it looks just like it always do, and it's so easy for his processor to just bypass the memory of Drift's frame sprawled on the floor, in favor of the memories of light sparked drinking, smoking, and fucking.
"Is everyone staying?" Barricade asks the other pleasurebots, then he takes a drag on his cygar. The Brothers are busy with debriefing Nitro, and it gives him at least some sense of privacy.
The others nod.
"Aren't you worried too?"
"No' really." Crosshairs says. "They know I'd never rat, or anythin' else tha' might be a problem. I know when te push fer things I wan', but also when te follow orders te keep everyone safe."
Well, he has been around the longest, but still...
"Me neither." Dreadbot says. "It's not like he didn't have a valid reason for what he did."
"It could've been handled differently." Barricade says, even though he knows it'll probably get back to the Brothers.
"I don't think so. And he had to make a split second decision." Dreadbot defends Nitro. "We just need to do what we always have done, and not do or say stupid stuff."
Barricade wants to point out how expressing oneself clumsily shouldn't be something you could risk your life for, but he doesn't."
It isn't the right time to say things that could imply disloyalty.
Jazz shrugs when Barricade turns to him. "I've..."
"Had worse, I know." Barricade fills in.
"They've never questioned my loyalty before, n' they promoted me ta in-house because they trust me. Drift got himself kicked out from in-house because he wasn' trustworthy. It's a big difference in startin' points." Jazz sounds certain.
"How about you, Knock Out?" He asks the only other mech who isn't on the in-house crew these days.
"I think they trust me. I did help with Sideswipe, and they've never had to take disciplinary action against me. I've always followed the rules. And I think they'll respect that I'm kind of Breakdown's favorite, so they'll take that into account."
Right. Or they won't, because who knows if Breakdown just finds it convenient with a pleasurebot who's constantly offering, and being extra sweet to him, and nothing more. But maybe he and Jazz should try to get themselves a favorite too. Jazz does like Roadbuster. And Springer. But then again, with the Brothers outnumbering them, having a favorite may leave others disappointed, which could be equally bad. And with his luck, the only one interested in playing favorites with him would be Blackout. What a terrible polygamous relationship. It might be fun — sometimes — but only until Blackout came up with the idea to use Jazz against him for extra spice with the torture.
Chapter Text
It's late before the Brothers return, all of them looking serious.
"What do we do now?" Dreadbot asks, heading for the bar.
"Being a bottle of high grade, and some cubes." Springer says.
Barricade helps Dreadbot with the cubes. None of them really seem to be in a party mood, but at the same time, what are they supposed to do? Just go to berth? It's a strange situation, and all of them seem to be equally at loss.
"Get your scrumptious behind over here!" Hatchet tries to joke with Nitro, patting the seat next to him.
Nitro's reaction is a smile that's more of a grimace, and it doesn't reach his optics. After just a second it slips completely, as if it was a sarcastic gesture. He still takes a seat. Hatchet doesn't comment on it, and he looks nonplussed, but it's still a reminder how different Nitro is.
"I'd appreciate it if you stopped with the jokes about my frame." Nitro says quietly, but it's still loud enough for Barricade to hear it.
"Sorry, Brother, I don't mean to offend you. I was just trying to lighten the mood." Hatchet apologizes.
"Yeah, I just... I don't feel like it. Those kinds of jokes."
Hatchet looks at him, as if he's processing the words. "Fair enough."
If Dreadbot caught the conversation, he doesn't show it in any way, a big smile on his face when he goes back to the table with the high grade. Barricade follows with a tray filled with cubes.
Maybe he should try to get into Springer's berth tonight? He knows about how much — or little — Blackout is going to say about tonight. If he plays up his fear — possibly going as far as even sobbing a bit — then maybe he can get Springer to share a little more, just to put him at ease. He's a rather levelheaded mech, and he probably wants to keep the house peaceful right now.
"So, do you handsome Bots want to do a little sharing tonight?" Dreadbot purrs, plopping down between Hatchet and Nitro.
They really are few now, sharing is going to be the new norm. Or perhaps tag teaming orgies in the rec room. For convenience.
"Sounds delightful." Hatchet says, nipping at Dreadbot's shoulder.
"You can go with Hatchet. Babe. I'm fine for tonight." Nitro says.
There's half a second when Dreadbot's face falls, but then he schools his expression. "If you're sure... More of me for Hatchet!"
Hatchet hums. "And I will enjoy all of you."
Chapter Text
Barricade is almost relieved that Jazz gets a little too drunk, and he's definitely happy that Jazz has been smoking heavily all night. An evening like this is enough in it self to supply nightmare fuel, and when Blackout and Motormaster decides that tonight is a good night for sharing, it really feels like the stars of Unicron is aligning. Barricade watches as Jazz totters off with the two massive mechs, feeling uneasy.
"You want to stay here longer?" Roadbuster asks him.
Barricade looks around. Knock Out and Breakdown have already retired for the night, and so has Nitro. Crosshairs is riding Springer, and Ironhide has joined Dreadbot and Hatchet, and it looks like they're about to either relocate, or start fucking on the couch.
"I'm ready to go if you are."
Barricade isn't really in the mood to fuck, but at the same time, going to berth sounds nicer than this.
And in private, he can try to get some answers.
"Always." Roadbuster leers, but it sounds a bit lackluster, as if it's more a mandatory joke to keep the normalcy.
It really has been one hell of a day.
Something Barricade doesn't say out loud, because he doesn't even want the thought to come up.
Maybe he should ask Blackout to erase the memory? It would make things easier...
Barricade crawls onto Roadbuster's berth immediately, hearing the door close behind him.
"So, how do you want me?" He purrs.
Fuck, he actually is becoming a pretty good actor! That sounded like he really, really wants this. Not that he's against this, but it would be even nicer to cuddle close, and recharge.
"On all fours."
Barricade obeys.
"Servos on the headboard." Roadbuster comes around to stand at the foot of the berth, and Barricade turns to look at him over his shoulder. The smile he gives Roadbuster is genuine, because the mech is ogling him in a very appreciative way, and he's kind of cute, looking almost like a youngling who can't believe he managed to land someone he thought was out of his league.
Not that it's nearly that case, but somehow, he still gets that impression, and it's both sweet and entertaining.
Barricade slides his panel open. "See something you like?" He purrs.
"Oh, yes." Roadbuster says, crawling onto the berth.
He strokes Barricade's aft, then slides a servo up the Interceptor's back, all the way up to his shoulder-wing. The other servo strokes Barricade's valve-lips, grazing his anterior node, and Barricade heels the heat pooling in his valve.
Suddenly, he really wants this, even if he wasn't eager before.
It's normalcy, and it's an opportunity to stop thinking, and just feeling, giving in to pleasure.
Chapter Text
There's something about their coupling that gives Barricade a hint of what post battle interfacing feels like. Granted that his only experience is from the memories of Blackout — the one where Blackout raped the mech who tried to kill him — but the quick release, and the relaxation afterwards, when the pent up tension has been washed away, is similar. He presses closer to Roadbuster's warm frame.
"That was fragging great!" He says a bit dopily, and he means it.
"You're not hard to satisfy." Roadbuster sounds amused.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
It's good to be easy, because it paves the road for lots of pleasure.
Roadbuster snickers.
"Especially these days, when we're so few, and there are so many of you hot Bots to satisfy." Barricade chances, stroking down Roadbuster's chest-plates.
"Yeah..." Roadbuster suddenly sounds very unamused.
"I mean, I understand why Roddy wanted ro relocate, and I'm glad for him that Bumblebee went with him, but we're going to be plenty busy now." Barricade tries to distract Roadbuster from the whole murder-debacle.
It seems to work, because Roadbuster relaxes. "I think it's good that they moved, though. Hot Rod did say himself that he couldn't be trusted if his identity was questioned."
"Yeah. Right now, I'm just waiting for Spinister to show up again. I have no doubt that he'll be curious about our dwindling numbers, and it's just a matter of time before he notices that half the entertainers are missing..." Barricade prods.
"Probably."
"We haven't even discussed what to say about that. Shouldn't we all get out stories straight? Did they want to move, or were their services needed elsewhere, and they had to?"
It's a valid concern, right?
"Good question, I haven't thought about that. So much has been going on lately..."
"Yeah. And I know I'll be the first target for Spinister, so I really need to know what to say. Especially now... Like with Nitro. He was gone for five days. What do I say about that."
Roadbuster's face goes stony. "He was helping his kid. He'd run away from home, Nitro tracked him down and sent him on his way back to Praxus."
Barricade senses that he isn't going to get farther with that.
"I'll talk to Hide first thing in the morning. You will be briefed." Roadbuster confirms his suspicions.
Chapter Text
"The Brothers in Kaon requested to have a few more entertainers, and Hot Rod and Bumblebee volunteered to relocate. It's very close to the truth, so stick to that." Ironhide says.
They all nod. Barricade would've said something along those lines too if he'd been asked, but it's much better if they all have the same story to tell.
He's planning to lie to the ICIA. Perjury doesn't look good to the parole board. Is he getting in too deep here?
"What about Drift?" He feels like he's barreling on, but he really needs to know. If he's caught with a lie and go back to prison, there's the risk that he won't get Autobot protection if they think he snitched.
"Drift had a long history of relapses into drugs. Our house rules are clear on that: no illegal substances. He had to go." Ironhide says, and it's hard to say if he's annoyed that Barricade couldn't come up with that story himself, or if he's annoyed that they have to come up with it in the first place.
"Go where?" Crosshairs asks in a fit of ditziness.
Ironhide looks exasperated, and annoyed.
"Upstate, to live on a farm." Nitro snorts.
"Huh?" Jazz makes a questioning noise.
"Why would we keep track of where he went? He was fired." Ironhide says.
A gun was fired, at least...
Barricade isn't going to question it anymore, though, the story is as good as it's going to get.
He takes a steeling vent. Barricade had hoped that it would just be Ironhide here for the briefing, not the entire crew of Brothers.
"And what about your absence? What do we say about that?" He asks Nitro, because it feels wrong to talk about him when he's in the room.
Nitro's face goes harder than it already was, and for a second, he looks like his mind is elsewhere, but then he focuses on Barricade again. "It's none of your fucking business. You don't know, because you don't need to know everything we do."
Barricade swallows nervously, nodding vigorously. "Got it."
Chapter Text
::Somebody fucking help me!::
The shout over comm startles Barricade awake, and the first thing he thinks that it's another fucking raid.
He shouldn't be surprised, it's been a week since Drift had to go, and he hasn't heard anything about anyone bumping into the ICIA, which is suspicious as fuck.
The following emergency data burst of visual feed, olfactory input, and emotions going heywire makes the energon in his lines go cold, and he jumps out of Breakdown's berth, running out into the hallway.
It seems everyone is getting out there at the same time, but Barricade keeps running. Nitro burst out of his room.
"Someone, do something!" It's more of a plea than an order.
Barricade glances at Knock Out, who's keeping up with him, and they run inside Nitro's room, just to stop in their tracks just inside the door.
There's so much, energon, he can almost taste it in the air.
The berth is covered in it, and coolant, and hydraulic fluid. In the middle of it is something that looks like scrap metal.
Where do they even start? Confirm the time of death?
Wires spark on the frame, and then something moves. Dreadbot's optics flicker.
He's still alive!
They both rush forward at the same time.
"Crimp lines first?" Barricade asks.
"Yeah, we need to stop the leaking. Someone get fuel!" Knock Out pushes Dreadbot's arm against the mattress when Dreadbot flails. "No moving! You'll drain your hydraulics quicker, and there might be additional damage."
Barricade almost starts to cackle.
As if it would make much of a difference on the need for repairs with a few scratches on a piston or two.
They start crimping any leaking line they can find. Dreadbot stays still, but there's a monotone, scratchy keen of agony leaving his vocalizer. It's not even annoying, because as long as he's making sounds, he's still alive.
"What the hell happened?" Ironhide asks quietly.
"A nightmare. I had a fucking nightmare, and onlined in full self defense mode. By the time I was fully awake..." Nitro trails of when his voice breaks.
Chapter Text
"A nightmare? You never came out of those trying to kill people." Ironhide says sounding sceptical.
"But this time I did."
Barricade glances over at the two Brothers standing in the doorway. The rest of them are probably waiting outside, and Barricade is thankful for that. Doing this with an audience would be very hard, especially since he isn't at all certain that they'll actually be able to save Dreadbot.
Crosshairs slips through, carrying bags of fuel and coolant for intra line administration.
"Set them up." Knock Out orders.
"On wha'?" Crosshairs asks.
"I don't know! Just find something!" Knock Out snaps, fighting to crimp a thick coolant tube.
"I felt his struts breaking underneath my servos, the way his protoform gave, all soft and squishy, and still it took me seconds to realize who it was." Nitro whispers hoarsely.
Crosshairs has found a few pieces of string and managed to hang the bags from the door on the storage unit, and Knock Out quickly hooks them up to Dreadbot.
"Stay with me, mech. You're going to pull through." Knock Out says to Dreadbot.
Half of Dreadbot's optics light up again, a dim glow that's not at all reassuring.
"I can't find any more lines leaking." Barricade informs Knock Out. "I think it's his protoform that's leaking now, because it's still oozing here."
"I go' some patches fer ye." Crosshairs says, dropping a few on the berth. "I'll ge' more, those where the only ones I 'ad time the get."
"I think we need staples." Knock Out says, inspecting a deep gash in Dreadbot's protoform. "And some chemical metal, his fuel pump is damaged, and I can't solder that."
"I'll ge' 'em." Crosshairs hurries away again, the mechs in the doorway stepping to the side to get out of his way.
"If only he had worn his plating..." Knock Out mutters to himself.
"Deformed plating can be hard to get out of the way, and damage components behind it. I saw it on a few traffic accidents." Barricade tells Knock Out, mostly just to take their minds off what they can't change.
"True."
"Do we have a plan here?" Barricade asks the two in the doorway. "Is Ratchet coming, or should we take him to a hospital?"
They're definitely not capable of doing more than keeping Dreadbot alive — hopefully — and do temporary repairs here. Knock Out might be able to do more, but they don't have the equipment for it, even if it turns out someone has usable parts in a storage unit somewhere in the house.
"Ratchet is coming." Ironhide says.
As Dreadbot's optics go dark again, Barricade starts to count the seconds until he arrives.
Chapter Text
"Primus!" Ratchet says when he steps through the door, and the shock in his voice really rams home how bad it is.
"Fix him. Please." Nitro says.
"He needs a hospital!"
"No can do." Ironhide says. "We had this discussion before, you know how that went. Stop wasting time."
"And you know how that ended! Stop thinking about yourself, and give," Ratchet turns to them to look closer on the mech in the berth, "give Dreadbot a fighting chance."
"Stabilize him, we'll take him to your clinic when you're done."
"We've managed to stop a lot of the leaks, and we have set up a few ILs." Knock Out says. "We really need your help though."
"That's good." Ratchet sounds more like he wants to be encouraging, than actually impressed, or even satisfied. "And that's all I can do right now too. We can't transport him in that condition, he needs a real transport, with all the equipment in there, I don't have room to have him stay at my clinic — if he lives that long — and I don't have the equipment and documentation I need to put him together! There's no time for me to search out and order parts, and I frankly don't have even temporary parts enough to cover something like this!" Ratchet's yells, motioning to Dreadbot.
"What does he need?" Nitro asks seriously.
"A hospital! He needs a fucking hospital!"
"You know we can't do that, this will bring the attention..."
"Well, maybe it should?! Maybe it's time that you took the consequences for your actions?!" Ratchet interrupts him.
"Argue later! We sure as pit can't keep him alive by ourselves here!" Barricade yells.
There's no time for that right now, just like he doesn't have time to think this through, and decide what action is the right one. That'll have to wait.
"What do you need, Doc? Because I will get it for you." Nitro steps closer to Ratchet, voice with a razor's edge.
"We need a pump for fluids, so we can fix his pump, and lots and lots of tubing. Different diameters, rolls of cut to length. And clamps fitting the tubing, and joint pieces. More staples for his protoform, ILs, big patches, nanite gel. Probably a lot more, but that's the initial list." Knock Out fills in.
"We can't use those tubes if we don't know what's supposed to fit where." Ratchet says.
"Blackout! Get wiring diagrams, and exploded views of Dreadbot's frame." Ironhide orders.
"Yessir." Blackout is out of view, still in the hallway, but there's a creak when he gets up from a chair.
"He already looks like an exploded view!" Jazz cackles from the doorway, clearly shocked.
Springer cuffs him around the back of his helm. "Not helping. Go smoke if you can't handle this."
"Yes, Sir." Jazz says, allowing Springer to push him towards the stairs.
"I'll go get the supplies." Nitro says, jogging out of the room.
"Shower first!" Ironhide yells after him.
"No time!"
"You can't be seen like that!"
"Shut up! I'd like to see any of you try to catch up with me." There's no humor in Nitro's voice.
He runs out the door, and then they hear how he takes off.
Nitro might as well be running away, who knows if he'll do what he said he would.
Chapter Text
Ratchet joins them by the berth, pulling out his rather massive emergency kit.
"I do have some tubing and things like that, and staples. Is there any tubes you can identify to put back together?" He asks, leaning in to take a closer look.
"A few of them. I guess we have to be ready to clamp them shut again, though, if they leak in more places." Knock Out says.
"Alright. Staple those wounds, you will need to do two to three layers of staples on those. Smear nanite gel as you go, we want to have some of that inside the wound, even when it's shut. And then finish with a patch."
A wireless scan tingles over them, but Ratchet is plugging in his portable scanner too.
"Barricade, can you help me push the edges of the wound together so I can staple them?" Knock Out asks him.
"Sure."
Ratchet starts working on the tubes he can identify, patching some of them before connecting them temporarily with joints and clamps. They all work in silence, Ratchet checking the display of his scanner everytime another system check is done.
"Barricade, can you change the IL bag? That one is going empty. I have more in the outer pocket." Ratchet says, jerking his helm in the direction of his emergency kit. "We need to get more fuel into his systems, his engine output is so low, his temperature is dropping. His spark output is dropping too."
Barricade and Knock Out is finished with the staples on one wound, and Barricade changes the bag while Knock Out puts a patch over it. Ratchet's words are like a cold, wet blanket over them.
Dreadbot is fading.
Barricade hurries back to help Knock Out again. He's feeling so terribly helpless, but at least he's doing something to keep Dreadbot out of the well. Blackout joins them, stopping at the foot of the berth to look down at Dreadbot.
"Got the wiring diagrams and blueprints for you, Ratchet. Want them in a data burst, or uploaded to some device?" Blackout asks, but he sounds distracted.
"Upload them into a data pad. I've got one in my bag."
"Mhm." Blackout hums.
Barricade glances at him, but the Helo is already turned away, reaching into the bag. Barricade moves his digits to help Knock Out with the next set of staples, then he looks at Blackout again. Blackout is hooked up to the data pad, but his attention is on them. Barricade notices the way he subtly — but not subtly enough — is scenting the air. Blackout notices Barricade's scowl, quirking an optical ridge.
::When you decide to give up, tell me. Before he's offline.::
::I won't give up before he's gone, you fucking pervert! This is not an opportunity for you to get your sick rocks off!::
::That would be a waste. If he's going to die anyway, might as well make the most of it. His spark is slowing down, what you're doing isn't enough.::
Barricade's spark sinks, and his tank roils.
Please, Primus, let Dreadbot make it, let them save him.
Chapter Text
Ratchet makes quick use of the wiring diagram to get what lines he can connected again, pointing to the frayed ends to direct Barricade and Knock Out. Blackout lingers, looming over them.
Of course.
"His spark output is still dropping." Ratchet tells them, sounding unhappy.
::Don't you have something else to do? We won't give him to you anyway.:: Barricade snaps.
Blackout hums. ::But then I wouldn't be able to...:: "His spark chamber is compressed." He says out loud.
"What? No, that's normal." Ratchet waves him away.
"No, it's not. Dreadbot's spark chamber always has been kind of oblong in the sagittal plane, just slightly wider than the opening. It's definitely broader now, and these," Blackout points to a few small indentations in the metal, "are not the normal shape."
They all look up at the Helo.
"What? I've had my claws wrapped around that component more times than I care to count. Wouldn't you find it rude if I didn't pay any attention to the details?"
They all stare dumbly at Blackout until the Helo scoffs.
"Who's wasting time now? You need to pop his chamber back into the right shape to give his spark room to spin correctly. I bet it's hindered by the shape of the chamber right now."
"You're right." Ratchet says after a long second of stupefied silence. "But this is one of those procedures I can't do here. I don't have the right equipment for it, and..." Ratchet trails off when Blackout leans closer, looking critically at Dreadbot's spark chamber.
"Hide?" Blackout yells.
"Yeah?"
"Get the oil filter wrench."
"You can't be serious!" Ratchet yells.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Blackout growls, snapping his helm around to stare at Ratchet.
"What's going on?" Ironhide asks, coming in to stand next to Blackout.
"His chamber is deformed," Blackout says, pointing at Dreadbot's spark chamber, "and his spark is fading. We need to pop it back out. A slide hammer won't work here, so I thought we could squeeze it to pop back into a better shape."
"That's not..." Ratchet starts to protest.
"And since these phonies here apparently aren't inventive enough to manage field repairs, I came up with an idea." Blackout interrupts.
Ironhide looks closer. "Good plan. I'll get them all." He says, running out of the room.
Blackout turns to Barricade. "If I can't have some fun, then you better allow me to save his aft."
Chapter Text
Ironhide brings back five different oil filter wrenches, dumping them on the berth next to Dreadbot.
"The one with the strap would be nice, but I think it won't fit." He says to Blackout as he holds it in front of Dreadbot's spark chamber.
"If this goes wrong, his chamber could get even more deformed!" Ratchet protests.
"And if we don't do something, he is going to offline for sure." Blackout overrules him. "I think the one with the chain is the only option." He says to Ironhide.
"Frag. That's going to leave scrapes at minimum."
"I don't think he'll mind."
Ironhide folds a rag, wrapping it around Dreadbot's chamber, and then he wraps the chain around it.
"Hold it in place here, we need to be careful about the placement." Ironhide says.
They adjust the chain to lay against the widest part of Dreadbot's chamber.
"I think this will do." Blackout says.
"I'll go slow, don't want it to start crumpling."
Barricade holds his vents when Ironhide starts to twist the handle. There's a creaking sound that sends a chill down his spine, and he's about to ask them to stop, then something crunches horribly.
"How does it look?" Ironhide asks, when Blackout removes the chain and the rag. "I can hear it speeding up."
"Some small dents around it. Think the shape is almost back to normal."
"His output is increasing!" Ratchet sounds astonished, checking his scanner.
Barricade releases his vent sharply.
"Anything else we need to do?" Ironhide asks.
"We can take it from here." Ratchet says, sounding deep in thought.
"Maybe we should start doing the emergency procedures by ourselves from here on? We'd save ourselves a lot of arguments." Blackout says to Ironhide.
"Even better if we stop having emergencies."
Blackout laughs. "All is fair in love and war."
"Then we just need to not do either!"
Poor Crosshairs, if he heard that.
"Cybertron to Barricade! We're not out of the crystal field yet!" Knock Out says loudly.
"Right. Which line is next?"
Ratchet points it out, and Barricade grabs the frayed ends, holding them together for Knock Out to try to find pieces of the right size to be able to get it hooked up again. Energon is slowly seeping out at a sluggish pulse, and Barricade is reminded that a lot still is hanging on if Nitro comes through and gets the stuff they need.
"I don't have any parts that'll fit!" Knock Out sounds agitated. "Can I plug it to stop the leak?"
"No, that'll build up pressure. I'm afraid his pump will start leaking if that happens." Ratchet sounds serious in a way that's worrying. "We just need to make sure to keep giving him enough fuel to make up for the leaks."
Chapter Text
It's such a relief when Nitro walks in, pulling things out of his subspace. Several rolls of tubing are stacked up on the floor, and he pulls out an entire box of assorted clamps and other mounting parts. It seems like he's having a hard time getting the last things out of his subspace, but when he finally does, he puts it down on the nightstand. Barricade doesn't exactly know what it is — some kind of machine with a screen on top — but it looks expensive, and the way Ratchet stares at it tells him that it's not something readily available in a big box store.
"I hope it's what you needed. I had to search the data net go even know what I was looking for." Nitro says.
"That's far more modern than what I've ever seen." Knock Out says.
"How did you even get that?" Ratchet asks flatly.
"Let's just say I know the right people to track something like this down." Nitro doesn't explain further.
"Let's join the rest of the lines, then we hook him up and fix his fuel pump." Knock Out clearly isn't concerned where the stuff came from. "I mean, if that sounds good to you, Ratchet?" He still defers to Ratchet.
"Yeah, yeah." Ratchet snaps out of it, returning his attention to Dreadbot.
"Nitro, we'd like to have a word with you." Ironhide says.
"Do we really have to do that right now? I want to be here."
"It won't change the outcome, just let them do thing. It won't take long anyway."
"Then it can wait. What if I'm gone for five minutes, and something critical happens in the meantime? I've spent so much of my life waiting, can't you wait for a few hours?"
"I," Ironhide breaks off, face pinched "I suppose we can do the debrief when this is done."
"Thank you."
Nitro takes the chair, watching them closely as they work. It's unnerving with the intense scrutiny, even if it stands to reason to think that Nitro won't be able to recognize a mistake immediately. There's one thing that really keeps niggling the back of Barricade's processor, though.
Who are the right people Nitro knows? If someone could get ahold of something like that apparently brand new piece of medical equipment on very short notice, it would be Spinister.
Chapter Text
When Dreadbot is patched up enough — no more fluid lines leaking this way and that anymore — Ratchet and Knock Out starts to hook up the pump Nitro bought. It takes some reading the manual, since none of them have done it before. Barricade is starting to feel superfluous.
He's nowhere near qualified to do some kind of bypass repairs of an essential component, and the medics don't seem to need an extra servo.
Barricade hasn't seen Jazz since Springer ordered him to go smoke, and he wonders how ok Jazz is after everything that has been going on tonight.
"Do you need any more help?" He asks, standing up.
A shower, and then joining Jazz with a cyg, or five, does sound like a decent way to spend the remainder of the night. He probably won't be able to recharge anyway.
"No, we can manage." Ratchet says. "Good job."
"Thank you."
Barricade gives Nitro a passing glance as he heads for the door. The Flier is as stone faced and unreadable as ever.
Worried or disappointed?
"Barricade, I need to talk to you for a second." Ironhide says from somewhere behind Barricade as soon as Barricade is out in the hallway.
Barricade turns around. "Sure." He says slowly, his processor supplying him with a picture of his plans for the rest of the night tumbling down a maintenance shoot.
He's waved into the conference room, and Ironhide closes the doors behind the two of them.
"I'd appreciate if you would help us with something that you probably are the best to handle." Ironhide starts.
What is that? An alarm bell?!
"What do you mean?"
"We've tried our regular debrief with Nitro twice in a short while now, and it's not working. We need to try something new."
Barricade's spark makes an uneasy flip.
"What did you have in mind?"
"I want you to take a statement. You've done it as an Enforcer, right? Maybe you will be better at asking the right questions, maybe he'll be more inclined to talk to someone who isn't part of his unit? And when Dreadbot wakes up, he can make a statement too."
At least Ironhide seems certain that Dreadbot will pull through. Asking Nitro questions isn't something he's very keen on, though.
Chapter Text
"No offense, but do you really think I want to do that at this point?"
"I don't know. You've served us well so far, and I was hoping that you want to do this. We need to try something new to get to the bottom of this, and you're the one best fit to do this. I don't see Jazz performing this very well, and Crosshairs doesn't have it in him to do this objectively and professionally. I know it's a terrible irony, but the only one of you entertainers who might be capable of this — beside you — is in surgery right now."
It's kind of flattering to be acknowledged for something that doesn't involve fucking.
"I will need someone as a guard in there."
"I don't think that'll work. Nitro isn't talking to us, and if one of us is there, he might keep clamming up."
"Well, I don't want to be the next in line to be mauled. If nothing else, it's counterproductive." Barricade adds the last part, because sometimes, the Brothers have a tendency to be a little too utilitarian at times.
"We can discuss other measures of safety with Nitro."
Barricade refrains from rolling his optics. "Sure. I mean, all of you were there when Drift was shot, and it didn't really make a difference, so I guess a guard would be a false safety anyway."
Ironhide winces. "We'll use similar measures as in an interrogation, then. He won't be able to harm you."
Barricade takes a deep vent, then releases it sharply. "Fine. I'll do this."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. We don't even know if it'll work."
"At least you agreed to try." Ironhide says as they step out into the hallway again. "I'll just get a few things, then we get Nitro. You can do this in the conference room."
Barricade nods, then Ironhide heads for his room, leaving Barricade outside the door to Nitro's room.
Barricade's spark speeds up with nerves.
He's really out of practice, but he should probably do this as if taking a statement, and not interrogating a suspect.
Ironhide becomes back, holding cuffs, and dampers. He motions for Barricade to step inside, following him.
"Nitro?" Barricade asks, waiting for the Flier to look at him. "I'd like to speak to you. I want you to make a statement about what happened."
Nitro quirks his optical ridge. "Can't it wait until I know how this goes?"
"I'd prefer it if you have it all in fresh memory."
Nitro laughs humorlessly. "As if I'll ever forget this..." He mutters.
"If we just get it over with, you can go back to keeping watch quicker."
Nitro sighs. "Sure. Let's get it over with, then."
"You need to wear these." Ironhide says, holding up the cuffs.
Barricade flinches when Nitro suddenly does a backflip over the back of the chair, landing on his pedes. Ironhide takes a step closer, and Nitro shifts to the side to keep the chair between them. His entire body language looks like he wants to flee, and avoid a confrontation, but at the same time, he's cornered, and ready to fight if need be.
It reminds him of that time on the force when they had to catch a dangerous hound on the loose. Except Nitro is far more dangerous.
Chapter Text
"No." Nitro says decisively, his entire frame still coiled for action, even if Ironhide has stopped.
"It's for Barricade's sense of safety..." Ironhide starts.
"You're not going to cuff me!" Nitro growls. "Especially not for something you say is as simple as me telling you what happened!"
"Come on, Nitro, isn't it reasonable after what has happened lately? You know I'll take them off as soon as you're done. It's not like you've never been..."
"Isn't it reasonable to decline the cuffs? Just because I've had cuffs on before, that doesn't mean that I should be fine with being cuffed at any time at someone else's leisure, right?"
"No, I would prefer if you'd do it willingly, as a courtesy."
"Prefer. Or else what, you call in the cavalry and force me into them?" Nitro does his version of a baring of denta, and once again, Barricade is reminded of a cornered technimal more than anything else.
He's coming on strong and aggressive, but combined with his body language, it looks more like he's posturing to warn Ironhide off to avoid the fight, rather than provoke it.
"No, I..."
"Or maybe you will rescind that first and last order?" Nitro's says cryptically.
Ironhide flinches, averting his optics to stare at the cuffs. "I would never do that." He says quietly. "Never."
"Are you sure? Because I will not agree with wearing those cuffs, so you have to come up with something, and that would be awfully easy..."
"I won't ever take away your free will, and your right to make your own choices." Ironhide days sharply.
"Yet you disapprove of the choices I make and want me to change them."
Ratchet glares at them for about the eight time, but at least he doesn't say anything. Barricade feels like he has to do something, and fast, because the longer this goes on, the less cooperative Nitro is bound to get.
"How about dampers on your weapons, then? Nothing more invasive than that, you have full power, and all your senses, just no weapons. No cuffs or anything." He suggests to Nitro. "I really just want to get this over with, and I'm sure you do too."
Nitro turns to him, looking thoughtful. "Fine."
"Good."
Ironhide steps forward again, probably to start mounting the dampers, but Nitro steps back, keeping the chair between them. Ironhide stops, an unreadable look on his face-plates.
"I'll mount them, if you're okay with that, Nitro?" Barricade asks.
"Yeah. You do it." He says, still staring at Ironhide.
Chapter Text
Barricade can only hope that he actually hits the right spots with the dampers. Sure, he learned how to do it when he was an Enforcer, but that was a long time ago. Not to mention that he never learned how to deal with a true Warframe. His scan shows weaponry, but how will he ever know if it's all the weaponry?
It would be surprising if the military didn't have invisible weapons, even if the Brothers have been free for quite some time, so some of them might not be all that new. And it would be even more surprising if the Autobots haven't added extras as time has passed.
He still places the dampers as accurately as he can, and hopes that Nitro will humor him, if he's just careful and casual enough.
"There. Let's take it on the conference room, where we can be alone." Barricade says, smiling up at Nitro in an attempt to be reassuring.
"Sure..."
Nitro follows him closely, and Barricade can feel the heat radiating from the Flier's frame.
He's running really hot, his spark must be spinning very quickly, putting out a lot of power. Ready for battle, possibly running protocols to match.
"I just want to get your view on what happened, it's not like I'm here to accuse you of anything..."
Nitro snorts. "Like there's another suspect..." He says dryly.
"Honestly, no. But I'm not the one to judge. I just want to hear your side of the story."
Barricade can feel the tense vigilance in Nitro's pulled in — but not quite entirely undetectable — field as they pass the Brothers still lingering in the hallway, and it makes his own spark speed up.
Letting Nitro follow him instead of the other way around was a calculated risk to show a bit of trust as an olive branch, but truth be told, he doesn't really have much trust in Nitro right now.
::If I can hear your fearfully racing spark from over here, then so can he. Don't show your fear.:: Blackout comms him, sounding amused.
Of course. The bastard.
::Kind of hard not to show it.::
It's not like he can control the speed of his spark.
::Fake it 'til you make it.::
::Well, since you're listening in anyway, maybe you can come get me if things go wrong?::
::You mean you want me to... accompany you when you're passing over? I'm flattered.::
Barricade's processor supplies him with an image of Blackout fucking him while he's slowly dying, and it's not an image he can ever unsee.
::Never mind. It's all going to be ok.::
Blackout just laughs, and then Nitro closes the doors behind him and Barricade, and they're alone.
Chapter Text
Nitro takes his usual seat, and Barricade sits down opposite to him.
"Alright, I just want to hear your side of the story. You said you had a nightmare?"
"Yes. And then my sensors detected movement next to me, and something touching my frame. My survival protocols alerted me to possible tampering, and I was emergency booted to defend myself..." Nitro turns his helm to stare at the wall for long seconds, taking a deep vent. "I was fighting before my logical processes had activated. I didn't even know where I was, but I registered that my," his voice hitches, "my enemy was so small and soft, and definitely not military. Then I finally realized where I was, and who I was tearing into, and I just... I freaked out and sent the distress signal." Nitro's voice is rough.
"Has anything like this happened before?" Barricade asks as calmly as he can.
Keep the professional facade up.
"No, never. I've always booted quickly enough to realize the situation before anything happened."
But that could just be luck...
"Any close calls? Waking up with your servo around a mech's neck or something similar?"
"No, not even that. I've sat up, and realized where I was. There should be a safety protocol that makes sure my systems identify friend or foe before I take action. The military wouldn't want us shooting each other in self defense just because someone moves around a recharging mech. Seems like that safety precaution malfunctioned."
It's a plausible explanation.
"What was the nightmare about?"
Maybe a high enough level of stress could override the safety system?
Nitro Zeus grinds his denta.
"Just a battle situation."
Either it's a lie, or it's possible that all the Brothers are ticking time bombs for this to happen.
"What did Dreadbot do? You said he was moving..."
"I think he was stroking my side? He was behind me, servo trailing down to my hip."
A loving, soothing touch, but at the same time in a place where an enemy might aim to do damage.
"Did Dreadbot say anything?"
Nitro frowns, taking long seconds to think about it. "Not that I remember. He screamed, of course..."
"And Drift? He was saying something, and," Barricade makes a gesture instead of saying the words, "you know..."
Nitro's face hardens. "Drift was going to say things he had sworn to not say. But that's not why we're here tonight, is it?"
Barricade feels like he's going to lose Nitro's cooperativeness if he pushes harder. "Just worried that I might say something wrong and lose my helm."
"Then don't spill secrets you're supposed to keep."
Okay then!
"And you're sure Dreadbot didn't say anything?"
"Positive."
Chapter Text
"What if he doesn't make it?" Barricade asks.
"Dreadbot is going to make it. He has to." Nitro Zeus says with conviction. "He was more stable when we left, so the repairs are going in the right direction, and i will get him anything he needs. Anything."
There's something about the way Nitro says it that makes Barricade believe the words.
"He may not come back right. He was recharging next to you — trusted you enough to remove his plating — and he has been dancing on the edge of deactivation tonight. We civilians are not as resilient as you are, and this was done by someone he... he's close to."
"One step at a time. First, he needs to be rebuilt, and then we take it from there. We're getting through this." Nitro sounds determined, which would be sweet, if it wasn't for the fact that he obviously want Dreadbot back, while Dreadbot himself might want to run away screaming.
Though, running is probably some time off in the future. If he makes it.
"And you?"
"What about me?" Nitro sounds on edge again.
"Are you going to get through this? This is stressful, of course, and you haven't been yourself since you, well, since you helped your kid. You don't seem as happy as you used to be."
"I'm pretty sure there's a diagnosis for constant happiness, and some sort of software update for it."
"I mean, it's understandable. Everyone has been under a lot of stress lately. Hide, for example. He really wants to help you, and you're not being very nice..."
"Hide needs to mind his own business."
"You're his Brother, you are his business."
Nitro works his intake, turning his helm to stare at the wall again for long seconds. He shakes his helm. "He's being clingy and it's unbecoming. Hide is the president, and I'm a grown mech. He needs to stop treating me like a stupid youngling. I did survive in the army without my unit for a long time, I can take care of myself."
Barricade is glad that Ironhide isn't here to hear that. He's pretty certain that those words would hurt him more than of Nitro decided to shoot him somewhere non-lethal.
"He just cares about you."
Something flitters over Nitro's face, something Barricade doesn't have time to decipher before it's gone.
"Maybe he shouldn't."
Chapter Text
"Are we done here?" Nitro asks.
"Yeah." Barricade doesn't feel like he'll get any more information put of Nitro.
The Flier gets up, but he stops in front of the doors. "The dampers?"
"Right. Sorry." Barricade hurries to dismount them. "If you remember something more, feel free to tell me."
"Sure." Nitro sounds like he won't.
As soon as the dampers are off, Nitro leaves, heading back to his room. Barricade follows, anxious to know how things are going with the repairs.
"He's stabilized." He hears Knock Out inform Nitro Zeus. "These are just temporary repairs, but they'll hold up while we get parts to start rebuilding him."
More is said, but Barricade doesn't catch it, distracted by Ironhide who comes up to him.
"How did it go?" He asks quietly.
"Maybe we should discuss this somewhere private?" Barricade asks.
"Sure."
They head to the conference room again, but Ironhide doesn't take a seat, opting to stand just inside the doors.
"He said it was a nightmare from a battle situation. Dreadbot stroked his side, and his tampering protection kicked in."
"That shouldn't happen. All of you register as friendly in our safety protocols — at least in mine — and that should stop the self preservation protocols from lashing out."
"He said so too, guessed that they must've malfunctioned."
"If his coding is starting to malfunction, we need to..."
"I don't think you should suggest that you need to link up and rummage around in his processor. Considering how he reacted to the cuffs, it would probably not be well received."
"I think you're right." Ironhide sounds very despondent.
"I hate to tell you this, but he referred to you as clingy, and he thinks you should mind your own business. I said that you care about him, and he thought that maybe you shouldn't. He seems to need some space right now."
Ironhide's frown is definitely strong from pain before he schools his face. "I don't even know what I did. I haven't been treating him differently, have I?"
"Not that I've seen. I really have no good advice here, I'd like to say give it some time, but it's kind of obvious that some of us are in danger, so time is of the essence. Especially with ICIA circling like vultures. It's only a matter of time before they'll be back again for one reason or another."
"I know. None of you are obligated to stay the night with Nitro. I'll inform the others too. You know what, let's make it none of you are obligated to be alone with Nitro, how's that?"
"It's a good quick fix while we come up with a permanent solution. I'd say a lot is hanging on Nitro, he needs to start cooperating if there will ever be a permanent solution."
"Yeah. It seems like I can't talk with him though..." Ironhide sounds so sad. It's a bit unsettling to see the normally unflappable mech wear his emotions so openly.
"Have Springer do it. Nitro targets you, and there's no point in letting him hurt you. Even more importantly, he uses your reactions to buy himself out of whatever situation he's in, and it's delaying the solution. He's guilting you into letting him get away, and you really need to know what's going on right now, or Spinister's job will be far too easy."
"Maybe you're right."
Chapter Text
Barricade heads back to Nitro's room for another check-in on the proceedings before he tries to find Jazz. He hears how Ironhide talks quietly with Springer, asking him to have a talk in private with Nitro.
"How's everything going?" Barricade asks.
"His pump is repaired, and he's stable. We can't do more for now, we need parts to start the rebuild." Ratchet says.
"Make a list. I'll get everything." Nitro says.
"I will do that tomorrow. I need my recharge, and Dreadbot's frame needs some time to start healing the wounds on his protoform anyway. His self repair has activated, so that's a good sign. We should be able to move him now, if we're careful. He needs monitoring, though..."
"Your clinic?" Nitro gets up from the chair.
"No. Believe it or not, I don't live there, and I can't monitor him as he needs, I'll be too far away, and I have other appointments in the morning. I told you he needs a hospital..."
"We'll monitor him here." Ironhide says, stepping inside. "We can take turns."
Ratchet raises his optical ridges, glancing between Nitro and Ironhide.
"We'll move him to his own room, of course. Is there any sort of alarm we could hook up to him? Anything we need to have close by?"
"I'll make a list." Ratchet still sounds disapproving. He probably hoped that they would give in and send Dreadbot to a hospital.
"That's a good idea. I need to clean up here..." Nitro says. "And I don't want anyone staying the night for the foreseeable future. I... I don't want a repeat of this." He sounds dejected. "Send the list of needed components when you're done, I'll make sure you have everything you need to proceed with the repairs." Nitro says to Ratchet.
Ratchet nods. "Dreadbot should stay in stasis. He'll heal quicker like that, and I don't see any point in him being conscious when he's in this state physically. That could be traumatizing in itself." He says to Ironhide.
Ironhide nods. "Fair points. We'll keep our optics on him. Help me set things up in his room? And brief me on everything I need to know for us to do this."
"Fine."
"And Nitro? That's a good decision." Ironhide says.
"Well, I'm not completely stupid." Nitro sneers.
Ironhide's and Nitro's optics meet for long seconds, then Nitro looks away.
"Knock Out, stay here with Dreadbot while we set his room up." Ironhide says, turning to leave the room with Ratchet.
"Do you need any help?" Barricade asks.
"No, you've been a great help already. Go get some rest, you may be needed to watch over Dreadbot later on."
Chapter Text
Jazz is in the rec room when Barricade finds him, smoking a cyg. Crosshairs is there too, sitting on the other end of the couch.
"He's stabilized, they're going to move him to his own room soon." Barricade informs him, in case Ironhide has been too busy to update Crosshairs.
"Tha's good." Crosshairs says, taking another drag on his own cyg.
"He's still in stasis to let his frame focus on healing."
Crosshairs blows out the smoke sharply. "As long as 'e 'eals, I'm good with anythin'."
Barricade has been too preoccupied with everything going on to really think about how this might affect Crosshairs much more than anyone else.
Dreadbot was the first one to join him as an entertainer, of course they're close, he already knew that. And Crosshairs likes Nitro too, so this is a double blow to him. The question is how much this affects the way Ironhide acts with Crosshairs. This really could put Crosshairs in a lonely place.
"Do you need anything?" Barricade asks.
"Jus' this." Crosshairs says, holding up his cyg.
"Well, tell me if there's something you want help with or anything."
"Hide commed me, wan' some 'elp settin' things up for Dreadie." He answers, getting up from his seat. "We'll take the first watch. Hide says ye're both off duty fer the rest of the night."
"Tell him we said thanks." Barricade says, finally sinking into the seat next to Jazz. "How are you holding up?" He murmurs, pulling Jazz closer as he watches Crosshairs disappear down the hallway into the pleasurebot wing.
"Fine, I guess." Jazz tips his helm to the side to rest it on Barricade's shoulder. "Unsettled. 'm glad he's stabilized now, though."
"Yeah..." Barricade plucks the cyg from Jazz's digits, taking a drag, before giving it back.
They lapse into silence for a while, and when everything slows down, Barricade finally has time to feel how strut deep tired he is.
"Maybe we should go to berth? I feel like I need to recharge for a week or so."
"Could ya shower first?"
Barricade looks down at himself for the first time, and he immediately sees why Jazz would request that.
Energon and coolant spatter all over his plating. Blackout would be thrilled if he wasn't busy.
"Definitely."
Chapter Text
Barricade showers quickly, scrubbing himself vigorously with a brush to get into all the nooks and crannies of his plating as efficiently as possible. He's feeling weary, and just want to snuggle up in berth. He dries himself quickly, and then he heads for their room. Jazz is already stretched out in berth, under the covers. His optics are dim, but he's still awake. Barricade joins him without words.
What are they supposed to say? In one way, he just wants to forget about the night for now, and find some comfort in Jazz's company. On the other servo, the situation needs to be discussed soon, or the days will just keep rolling, and they slip into some sort of normalcy that could end up very badly. They need to make possibly vital decisions.
"How do you feel about the situation right now? I mean here, in the house. And don't say you've had worse, this is a dangerous place until the Brothers get to the bottom what's going on with Nitro."
"Well, nobody has been beatin' on me, n' deactivation was always possible before, so technically I have had worse. I do see your point, though."
"What do you want to do?"
"Do?"
"Should we stay? Is it worth the risk, or should we try to find someplace new?"
"But where would we go?"
"I don't know..." He better tread carefully with suggesting that he cuts a deal with Spinister. If Jazz takes it badly, he might actually tell the Brothers. He is rather loyal and thankful for what they've done for him, even to a point of making bad decisions for them. "What if we could get our own place? Relocate, start fresh and new."
Jazz snorts. "Ya know how well that went tha last time ya tried."
"Yeah, but maybe there is some way..."
"Tha Brothers have always been here for me whenever I needed somethin'. I think it would be cowardly, n' disloyal ta leave jus' 'cause things are tough right now. They're family, for good times n' bad, n' I think they need us more than ever right now. They've always been here for ya too, even when ya were bein' difficult."
Frag. Definitely not a good idea to think about suggesting to make a deal, then.
"Maybe we can get a transfer to Kaon? Just until things calm down here."
Which — if they're unlucky — may not happen until the Brothers are behind bars, and they'll be stuck in the Kaon house indefinitely.
Chapter Text
"Can we jus' recharge on it? I don' feel like making big decisions right now."
With Jazz being high as a kite, it's kind of understandable, but it still annoys Barricade a bit.
The need to make big decisions rarely waits to an opportune moment, and putting it off increase the risk of getting stuck in a rut, not making a decision, just ambling along as the days pass. For having been through so many things in his life, Jazz can sometimes be a bit immature, and not step up to make the grown up thing to do.
"Sure, but we need to take this seriously, and not just trundle along and let time pass by, just because it's easier."
"I didn' say we should do that."
"No, but it's an easy trap to fall into."
"Fine! We're stayin'. At least I am. Dreadbot needs us, both now ta keep watch, n' when he's repaired n' mendin'. N' I don' think tha Brothers have done anythin' ta deserve us runnin' out on 'em."
Except murder and maiming other pleasurebots. Who's next? What if it's Jazz. 'I told you so' isn't words he wants to utter in the near future.
"If it doesn' suit ya, maybe Hide can arrange for ya ta move ta Kaon. But ya're on parole, so it may be tricky, n' I'm sure he has other priorities right now." Jazz continues.
Fuck, he's right about some things, at least.
"I don't want to go without you. I'm just worried about you." Barricade says, pulling Jazz closer.
"I'm not gonna blab 'bout things I shouldn', n' I'm not gonna stay tha nights with Nitro. Don' worry, I'll be fine!" Jazz sounds far too certain.
"I'm sure you will." It's more an attempt to appease Jazz than anything, because Barricade isn't all that certain at all.
What if someone else malfunctions? What is he going to do himself, they're still expected to recharge with the others if it's requested, right? What if Blackout decides to have fun with someone and blames a malfunction after the fact? Maybe he can just work the streets, and help out with Dreadbot, and that'll be enough? Ugh, imagine when it feels better to fuck random johns than sleeping with the Brothers...
In spite of the tumultuous thoughts rambling through his mind, the night takes it's toll, and Barricade slips into recharge.
Chapter Text
"Do you need to be relieved?" Barricade asks Ironhide, handing him a cube of heated energon.
"Thanks. I wouldn't mind to catch some shut-optic."
"He's not the best watchmech, is he?" Barricade nods to Crosshairs, who's slumped against Ironhide's side, helm against the side of the big mech's chest, recharging. It's not a criticism, he's more amused than anything.
"I told him that he should get some rest. I'm built to handle stress in a way he's not."
"So is Nitro." Barricade says, then he immediately regrets it.
Ironhide exvents sharply. "Yeah. That's what concerns me."
"Where is he now? Out searching for parts?"
"I don't think so. I asked Ratchet to send me the list too, and I haven't received it, so we still don't know what's needed."
"How are we supposed to handle him if he wants to join us, watching Dreadbot?"
If it wasn't the accident Nitro said it was, and he decides to tamper with the Microbus, then what could he possibly do to stop the Flier before he finishes the job?
"Don't prod him too much, and if you hear something that could give us a clue to what's going on with him, tell me, or someone else."
"Yeah... But what if he turns violent?"
Ironhide almost looks a bit shocked, staring at Barricade in silence for long seconds, as if the thought is incomprehensible. "But he'll be awake when he's here..."
In a way, it's kind of sweet that Ironhide has such a hard time believing that his Brother might actually have done it for other reasons than a nightmare, but the sweetness of it is overshadowed by how concerning it is. He's the President, he should look at this objectively, and think through all the angles, no matter how terrible it would be to find out something he doesn't want to be true about his Brother.
"He was awake when Drift had to go."
Something dark passes over Ironhide's face. "Drift was speaking out of line. It was a mistake on my behalf to not erase those memories in the first place. Nitro did the only thing he could do in that situation."
Well, then that's that, apparently.
"How did you tell Ratchet?"
"We have kind of omitted the truth."
Barricade quirks an optical ridge.
Not surprising, really. Ratchet would probably file charges so fast, all their helms would be spinning.
"We said he isn't with us anymore, he refused to give up the drugs, and had to go."
"That's one way to put it. I guess he'll start to wonder eventually, though, when Drift doesn't show up to visit him again."
"Bad shit happens to junkies on the street."
"Indeed." And in some gangs. "I wouldn't be surprised if we have another raid incoming anyway. Either Spinister will wonder why there are so few of us in the streets now, or Ratchet will contact law Enforcement about Dreadbot's condition."
"Perhaps. Even more important for us to keep this place in order."
"What would happen if they decide to arrest you? Would Nitro flip his lid if they try to cuff him too?"
"I don't know." Ironhide says, staring into space.
Barricade senses that the big mech has had it with all the questions for now. "So what do we do here? We said we aren't obligated to be alone with Nitro, and at the time, we meant for interfacing, but in here..." Barricade motions to Dreadbot. "It's not like he can be counted as company right now."
"Then pair up with a Brother for watch duty." Ironhide pulls Crosshairs into his lap without waking the Racer, then he gets up from the chair, carrying Crosshairs easily, even with the cube of energon in his servo. "We'll go get some rest now. I commed Blackout, he'll help you keep watch."
Chapter Text
Brilliant. But he can't really complain about that too, now can he? Ironhide would definitely start to see him as whiny and hard to please, and considering how much scrap Ironhide is handling at the moment, it would be kind of rude to continuously make more demands.
"Thank you." He says.
Ironhide just nods, and then he leaves.
Barricade walks over to the berth. Dreadbot looks like he's in recharge. There's a dent on his face-plates, but Nitro apparently focused on Dreadbot's chest when he attacked. The fluids have been cleaned away — some of the patches on his protoform have stains, though, and needs to be changed soon — but the haphazard way his lines and wires are drawn shows that it's all temporary.
To be fair, it probably didn't take many punches and grabs to do that kind of damage. With the power the mech packs, and his sharp talons, it was probably just three or four moves to do this. It really could be done quickly enough to actually be an accident. Or he's full of slag, and he really thought that it would be enough for Dreadbot to offline soon after.
"See something you like?"
Barricade whips around. "I like Dreadbot. I don't like to see him like this."
Blackout makes a noncommittal noise, then he joins Barricade by the berth, studying the still frame. Barricade looks at the Helo from the corner of his optics. Blackout looks like he's studying a piece of art, or some novelty, but there are no signs of arousal.
"You're right. This isn't much to look at. Doesn't do it for me, he's too clean, and too quiet."
Barricade rolls his optics. "You know, not everything has to be judged by if it's hot or not."
"What else would I need him for?"
Barricade works his intake.
Dreadbot is a whore, so it stands to reason that it's what Blackout would judge him by. At the same time, it's a bit disheartening that it's the only thing Blackout cares about.
"He's intelligent, and funny."
"That might be, but we don't really have anything in common, so whatever we do, it's just a convenient business arrangement."
Maybe Blackout doesn't know that Dreadbot can be really sassy, and likes to top? Since those are things kept behind closed doors, he could very well be unaware.
"You know, he likes to top when he gets the chance."
Blackout quirks an optical ridge. "Does he get off on coercing mechs to do things they don't want to do?"
"Well, no."
Dreadbot's brand of topping is definitely more vanilla.
"Exactly! I can show him my memories, and he doesn't get aroused. Not like you, who don't want to be like that, but still you get revved up."
Barricade flushes, but there's an implication there, that Blackout has hard lined with Dreadbot, that makes Barricade just slightly jealous. To buy some time to compose himself, and squash that confusing and concerning jealousy, he walks over to the chair, taking a seat.
"Well, he's still my friend, and for me, he's more than just a pice of aft."
Chapter Text
He immediately regrets taking a seat when Blackout reaches down to touch something on Dreadbot's frame. With his spark in his throat, Barricade gets up again, moving forward.
"What are you doing? No groping unconscious mechs."
"Just making making sure this connection here is tightened. It looked a bit iffy." Blackout says. He does something — Barricade can't se what, since Blackout is blocking his view — but then he turns around, and there are no signs of any type of fluid on his digits. "It was good enough."
Blackout strides over to the chair Barricade left, and takes a seat. He reaches for Barricade, pulling the Mustang closer.
"Come sit in Daddy's lap." He purrs.
Barricade flails when he's lifted, and then dumped in Blackout's lap. He struggles wildly when Blackout holds him in place.
"No fucking Daddy-games!" Barricade protests. "You know my history, you aft!"
Blackout rumbles a laugh, easily pinning Barricade in his lap. "Yes, and I know that it isn't certain that a history like that means you hate Daddy games."
"I don't want to play Daddy-games if I can avoid it, and you would be a terrible Daddy."
"You wound me." Blackout says, sounding more amused than wounded.
"We're supposed to keep watch over Dreadbot." Barricade sighs, giving up his attempts to get away from Blackout's lap.
"And we are! An alarm will sound if he needs help. I fail to see why you felt like you needed help with this. I thought you just wanted someone to help you pass the time."
Barricade dawdles for long seconds.
He wants to know more than he has been told already, and he wants to give his concerns, but how will that be received? Blackout is both the best and the worst Brother to talk about this with.
"I don't want to be alone here when Nitro inevitably shows up. I don't know what's going on with him, but something is off, and if this really happened because of a malfunction, who knows if or when something else might happen? I know I have no chance of handling it myself, and frankly, I don't want to be the next mech to wind up without a helm, or like that." He motions to Dreadbot, then he looks up at Blackout.
The Helo looks thoughtful. "You're right, something is wrong. What did you find out when you talked to him? Hide hasn't had a chance to brief us properly yet."
Chapter Text
"Not enough, really. It was an accident, his safety protocols malfunctioned."
Blackout makes a thoughtful noise.
"You know I'm not going to recharge in your berth again, right? If his protocols can malfunction, so can yours." Barricade says.
"So we're down to judging the data pad by the cover again? Isn't that kind of functionist of you?"
"Perhaps, but this time, I feel like it's validated."
Blackout sighs. "I don't think I would malfunction like that, but I guess Nitro didn't either. And if I'm going to kill you, I definitely want it to be much slower and more deliberate than that." He motions to Dreadbot.
Barricade wants to slap him, but at the same time, it's typical Blackout logic, and it's probably as good as it's going to get.
"Everything started when Nitro disappeared, though, it doesn't feel like it came completely out of the blue. He has been different, and I know that you've noticed, you're a perceptive mech."
"I'm not much for questioning my Brothers' personalities and predilections, but I can't deny that I've seen a change."
"Why don't you so anything about it? He's a liability, and...
"Now you're talking out of line." Blackout growls, wrapping a servo around Barricade's neck.
"I know, but the fragging ICIA are venting down our necks, just waiting for a chance to pounce, and with how he behaves, they'll get their opportunity sooner rather than later." Barricade manages to grind out through his squished vocalizer.
"That may be so, but unit always comes first. We're not kicking him out, we're not going to violate him by forcing a hardline, and we're definitely not going to put him down."
"Maybe house arrest?" Stupid... he can still kill or maim mecha in the house! "I mean room arrest?"
Blackout bares his denta. "We've been confined and locked up for a good part of our lives, especially Nitro. I'm not going to subject him to that, who the fuck am I to judge and decide punishments on this? He's going to be a free mech for as long as he can, and if the ICIA brings him down, we'll take it from there. If they get all of us, then another stint in jail is definitely not the worst punishment I've taken for my Brothers." Blackout's talons extend, digging in between the cables and wires in Barricade's neck. "I feel like this discussion is over — you don't really have a say, after all, employee — but maybe you beg to differ?"
Chapter Text
"Can't you get him to let someone else have a look at his coding? Like a medic. Malfunctions happen, maybe it can be cleared up easily with a software update..." Barricade still tries, even in the precarious situation.
Blackout snorts derisively. "Right. And a malfunctioning Warframe won't raise any alarm bells at all. Suddenly, the military would be on our step, and Nitro would go back to the smelter."
"They can't do that. You're free mechs, right? And medics can't speak about their patients like that."
Blackout actually lets go of Barricade's neck, staring incredulously at the smaller mech.
"Of all mecha, I thought you wouldn't be the type to trust the system. Law Enforcement already has their sights on us, and mecha in general aren't thrilled to have Warframes running around in society. You don't think the politicians would love an opportunity like this?" Blackout air quotes, "Oh, it's just a standard check, really. It seems to have been a bug in the program on your friend, we're just going to make sure you're not affected too. Such an easy fix, no problem." He says in a smarmy voice, "And then we'd conveniently be gone, and the public would be relieved to know that the mechs in power are protecting them, making sure to send potentially glitching and dangerous MTOs to rehab, because of course, we were affected too."
Barricade works his intake.
It's all too easy to see that happen, actually. He saw in Crosshairs' memories how the halfling Warframes were pawns in a political play, and this could as easily happen here. And if the Brothers — and any other MTO for that matter — resisted the "check up," or tried to refuse the "rehab" it would look bad, and could be turned against them.
"No, I can't say I really trust the system. I'm just trying to come up with ideas to help. For everyone's sake."
Blackout makes a noncommittal noise. "If Nitro needs help, he'll ask for it. I'm not going to continuously prod him when he says that everything is fine. There's nothing worse than having someone try to get you to talk when you clearly don't want to. Almost as aggravating as someone telling me to calm down when I'm angry. There's a reason for me being angry, who the fuck are mecha to tell me to calm down, what the fuck do they know? Sometimes I wonder if mechs are actively trying to make me take their helm off..."
Ok, note to self: never tell Blackout to calm down...
Chapter Text
Barricade was right, of course, Nitro walks in, just glancing at the two of them in the chair, before walking up to the berth. Barricade goes tense, while Blackout doesn't move a plate.
"Morning, Brother." Blackout says.
"Morning." Nitro stares down at the bared components in Dreadbot's chest, reaching out to touch something.
"Any words from Ratchet?" Blackout asks, while Barricade goes even more tense when Nitro is touching Dreadbot.
The way Blackout is still reclining, Nitro would have time to finish what he started before Blackout can do anything.
"Not yet. I guess it'll take a while to compile a complete list..."
"Probably."
Nitro takes a seat on the berth, grabbing Dreadbot's limp servo.
::If you tense any more, you'll bust your hydraulic pump, or shoot a hose or something. I'm not cleaning up that mess.:: Blackout comms Barricade.
::Shut up! He could kill Dreadbot right there, and you wouldn't be able to do anything!::
::Kill him? Why would he do that?:: Blackout sounds honestly bewildered.
::What if it wasn't a malfunction? What if Dreadbot knew something he shouldn't, or — like Drift — said something wrong?::
Blackout's servo wraps around Barricade's throat again.
::So now we're getting to your real issue with this!::
Nitro looks at them, having caught the movement when Blackout grabbed Barricade.
"He's a bit like a bobblehead, this one," Blackout says out loud, "I need to stabilize his helm for him."
Nitro actually snorts.
::You're afraid that you'll be the next one to say something you shouldn't. I shouldn't be surprised, you really don't know when to shut up. But isn't it a bit ironic that you're so fucking curious, when said curiosity might be exactly what kills the ex-cop?::
::Perhaps, but if that curiosity keeps me from going back to jail, maybe it's worth the risk. You have to understand that from my point of view, it doesn't seem like you're really taking things seriously because it's one of your Brothers. If one of us would've started behaving like Nitro does, you would've taken Primus knows what action.::
::I guess that's a fair point, you don't know anything about our sanctions, or what we have discussed behind closed doors.::
He never really thought about how the Brothers probably could take actions against Nitro that he wouldn't know about. Freeze his assets, or something like that.
"I just got the list from Ratchet," Nitro says, getting up from the berth, "so I'll start getting what he needs. Comm me if something happens."
"Will do." Blackout says. "Have fun, don't get arrested."
Chapter Text
"What if Nitro tampers with the parts? If the new components fail, it would look like an accident..." Barricade says as that thought hits him like a bucket of cold solvent just minutes after Nitro has left.
Blackout groans. "Maybe you should check your coding for paranoia?"
"It would be the perfect way to finish this without anyone suspecting him of it."
Blackout drags a servo down his face-plates. "You clearly are underestimating how efficient we are at killing. Even though you saw what happened to Drift. How quickly it happened. Trust me, one punch more, and Dreadbot's spark chamber would've been obliterated, and he would've been gray before we got there."
"Yeah, but this would be more inconspicuous. New parts does fail sometimes, and then it wouldn't look like a direct kill."
"I'm sorry to disappoint your conspiratorial little processor, but Nitro wouldn't bother with such flourishes. If he wanted Dreadbot offlined, he would've done it before sending the distress signal."
"But to take away the suspicion..."
"For fuck's sake!" Blackout snarls. "This is no more or less suspicious than it would've been if he had killed him right then! It was a nightmare, and a malfunctioning of his safety protocols. If he'd woken up a second later, after finishing the job, I wouldn't be less inclined to believe that. In fact, if Dreadbot's new components malfunction, I'd find that more suspicious. We're all straightforward, simple mechs, we don't bother with things like pretending to be lucky to stop in time, especially not when something seems like an accident in the first place."
It kind of makes sense...
"I guess you're right..." Barricade says.
"You don't need to guess, I am." Blackout sounds like he's had it.
"I'm just worried about my safety — the safety of all of us who're not made to defend ourselves against someone like you."
"I'm more worried about myself right now; you might annoy me to death. I can feel the connectors on my processor glowing as we speak. FYI: you're not allowed to stay the night in my berth for the foreseeable future."
Barricade suppresses a feeling of disappointment he doesn't want to analyze.
"Good thing that Jazz isn't annoying. He can stay the nights and keep me company. Don't worry, I'll keep him safe."
Chapter Text
Ratchet comes by late in the afternoon — presumably after his appointments are done for the day — to start working in Dreadbot. Nitro has brought a good pile of parts, but he isn't quite done with gathering everything they need, so he has left again, and Springer is getting some things that have been sent from Kaon.
Knock Out joins Ratchet to help out, and the rest of the pleasurebots gather in the rec room to wait for the outcome. Ratchet sounded carefully optimistic that they possibly could get Dreadbot out of stasis tonight, but he didn't dare make any promises.
"I guess he's going to need some sick leave." Barricade muses.
"Yeh. Hide said 'e'll get the time 'e needs te be fully repaired." Crosshairs says.
It's a relief, and at the same time, it's not. At least Hide knows the need for the frame to be fully restored, but what Dreadbot's mental health will be like when he wakes up doesn't seem to be something he has taken into account.
Maybe it's as simple as him not fully understanding it, but at the same time, a nightmare of a traumatizing event was what caused this in the first place. He should know better by now. He even has nightmares himself.
Barricade feels like has already been enough of a nosey inconvenience for today, though, so he decides to drop it until Dreadbot wakes up, perhaps even longer.
No need to start hassling Hide way before he even knows if it'll be a problem. Maybe Dreadbot won't even remember enough to actually be traumatized? Or perhaps it'll be more specific, and just involve Nitro. Which might pose another type of problem, if Nitro is very insistent about being with Dreadbot.
"Dibs on Jazz for the night." Blackout says to Brothers that are present as he walks into the rec room.
Hatchet snickers. "Horny already?"
"Well, yes. We're a bit understaffed these days, and some of them are more creaky than a rusty hinge."
Barricade would flip the Helo off, if the bastard just deigned to look at him.
So, now there's nothing he can do to protect Jazz from spending the night with the bastard. The question is if he should be selfish, and try to get dibs on Roadbuster — the only civilian among the Brothers, who's least likely to have a malfunction similar to what Nitro did — or if he should try to get Crosshairs to go with the assault vehicle to protect his co-worker. The hard choices never end in this house.
Chapter Text
The repairs are well underway when Nitro returns with more parts. Barricade has just brought some hot energon for Ratchet and Knock Out, and is still in the room.
"That's the last on the list. Unless you've seen more things you need to replace." Nitro says, lining the things up on the table.
Ratchet gives the boxes a critical look, rearranging them quickly in a way that seems a bit compulsive.
"No, that's all I need. Thank you."
"The least I can do."
Barricade looks at Dreadbot again, surprised with how far they've come with the repairs already. His protoform is still patched, and some struts look a bit bent out of shape, but the cables, wires, and lines are mostly put back in their rightful place, instead of drawn haphazardly across everything.
"Will he be alright when you wake him up, or will he need some sort of therapy?" Barricade asks.
"He has some hairline cracks in some of his pistons and struts, but his self repair can take care of that given some time and good med grade fuel. He's not allowed to do anything straining, though, or he might make it worse, and I expect that he will be very sore. All the new components will have to integrate, and do a few calibrations as he gets better, to adapt to his increasing activity level." Ratchet tells him.
"We'll help him with anything he needs." Barricade promises.
Nitro takes the chair, settling in to wait while they work, and it makes Barricade dawdle.
Should he stay to keep watch? But then again, what can he do that Ratchet and Knock Out can't? And Nitro wouldn't be dumb enough to try anything with them there, would he? He could just wait until they're done, and then at some point yank a line free, and say that it probably wasn't fastened enough, and let Dreadbot leak out. Fuck, it'll be good to take Dreadbot's statement, because then they might get to know if it truly was a malfunction.
Chapter Text
Ratchet finally decided to not wake Dreadbot up when the repairs were done, that it was better to give his self repair the night to integrate the parts. Barricade spent the night with Roadbuster, as Crosshairs had already gone to berth with Springer, and Jazz had disappeared with Blackout by the time Barricade returned from Dreadbot's room.
He's up early, unable to sleep in like he usually does. Ratchet said he'd come by to bring Dreadbot out of stasis, and Barricade wants to be there for it. He makes hot energon while waiting for Ratchet to arrive. Blackout shows up, unaccompanied.
"Please tell me that Jazz is still alive."
Blackout smirks. "He is. I think we've set a new standard for his I've had worse mantra, though." The bastard sounds smug.
"You're such an aft."
"Never said I wasn't."
"Traumatizing your employees isn't a good way to keep them around, especially not right now. And as you said yourself, you are getting understaffed."
"See it as me just training you all in resilience."
It would be very satisfying to throw a cube at Blackout's thick helm, but at the same time, he'd have to clean it up, and Blackout wouldn't feel it much anyway, so the satisfaction would be short lived, and nothing can really take away his own part in it.
If he hadn't denied to sleep in Blackout's berth, he might've spared Jazz from this experience.
"The doc is here." Blackout says, obviously hooked up to the alarm system.
"Great."
Barricade pours a cube of hot energon for himself, and one for Ratchet, happily allowing himself to be distracted, and the frustrating discussion to end. He lets Ratchet in, immediately handing him the cube.
"Thank you." Ratchet sounds surprised.
"Anything else you need right now? I'm just happy to help."
"No, it's very straightforward. I'll plug into his systems, and boot him, then I'll just check to make sure there are no protocols that aren't working the way they should with the new components, and his fault codes, and then it's all up to his self repair."
"Alright." Barricade follows Ratchet i to Dreadbot's room.
Knock Out, and Breakdown is already there, keeping watch. They greet Ratchet, and Knock Out gets up from Breakdown's lap.
Ratchet plugs into Dreadbot's socket, and there's nothing for the others to do but wait. Barricade feels kind of nervous, because who knows how Dreadbot will react to waking up.
At least Nitro hasn't woken up yet, it's probably best if Dreadbot is fully awake before he's reintroduced.
Chapter Text
Dreadbot's optics flash before dimming to their normal glow, and he draws a deep vent.
"Ow."
"What's hurting?" Ratchet asks.
"My pedes are fine, otherwise, it's probably everything?"
"Any sharp, stabbing pains, or a dull ache?"
"More like a sharp ache." Dreadbot mutters.
"I have some rerouters for you, and a prescription for more. If you get any warnings or notice something starting to seem worse, contact me immediately. The risk with the rerouters are that you might not notice if something starts to go wrong because you won't feel it, so that makes it even more important with ocular inspections. The hairline cracks on your hydraulic pistons could rust, or wear the o-rings out and cause a leak, so you need to check thoroughly, and be careful about moving around too much."
"Thanks."
"All your readings look normal for the state you're in right now, your self repair is very active. I'll be back to check on you tomorrow, but don't hesitate to give me a comm if there's anything you're uncertain about."
"Alright. Thank you, Ratchet." Dreadbot says while Ratchet unplugs from Dreadbot, getting ready to leave.
"If you need any help, just let me know." Barricade says to Dreadbot.
Dreadbot nods, but his focus is on inspecting his own frame. "Ironhide have me the task to take a statement. I know you just got out of stasis, but I want to get it done as soon as possible."
Dreadbot looks up at him. "A statement?"
"Yes, about what happened. Nitro has told me his version, but I want to hear your side too."
"Oh." Dreadbot frowns.
"If you don't remember everything right now, it's fine to make additions later on. I just want to get the initial statement as quickly as possible."
"I... We had sex, and then we went to recharge. I think I drowsed off first, and when I woke up, I was a bit cold. I crawled closer to him — Nitro was curled up with his back to me — and as I was getting comfortable, I stroked down his side, intending to put my servo on his hip, then all of a sudden..." Dreadbot's voice cracks, his field roiling with tumultuous emotions.
Chapter Text
"It was so sudden, I had no real chance to react! All his guns transformed out as he whipped around, and then he just tore into me." Dreadbot starts to sob. "I don't even know what I did to set him off, I just touched him in a way I have done so many times before. I think he broke my arm when he grabbed me?" He looks down at his arm, but it's repaired now. "I tried to shield myself with both my arms anyway, but it was kind of futile. The pain when he..." Dreadbot touches his chest, crying.
"Both your arms were broken when we came in, but we can't say when in the process it happened." Barricade grabs Dreadbot's servo to try to offer some comfort.
"I don't know what I did wrong!" Dreadbot sobs.
"He said it was a nightmare, and his safety protocols malfunctioned. I can't see that you did anything wrong at all."
Dreadbot doesn't answer, he just keeps crying. Barricade allows him some time to just release some of the emotions, even if he feels stressed himself.
It's just a matter of time before Nitro shows up, and they have to stop for now. He can't know what it'll do for Dreadbot's mental state, but also if Nitro will somehow sway Dreadbot to say things differently.
"Before this happened, did you notice anything else when you spend time alone with him?"
"He wasn't as cuddly as before, much more wham-bam with the fucking, and then always creeping away when recharging. He usually liked to sleep close before. And no more giving oral."
Well, this is certainly different than any statement he has taken before.
"And he hasn't said anything about the whole incident with his youngling."
"No, he just says that it's his personal business."
"How do you feel about Nitro right now? I mean, he's still in the house, and he has been here, keeping watch a lot. Will you be able to handle that?"
Dreadbot bites his lip-plate, looking thoughtful. "I honestly don't know how I feel. I can hardly believe he did this, but at the same time, I know he did. At the same time"
"Don't feel pressured into anything. You're the victim here, malfunction or no, and you don't have any obligations to do anything you're not comfortable with. You're on sick leave for now, and Ironhide doesn't seem to be in rush for that to change."
Dreadbot snorts. "I guess Blackout could try to change that."
"But we won't let him. But seriously, don't feel pressured to do anything, and I'm not just talking about interfacing. If you don't want to be touched at all, that's fine. The important thing is that you heal, and that you feel safe."
How in the world he's going to feel safe after this is a different question, though.
Then the door opens, and Nitro steps inside.
Chapter Text
"You're awake!" Nitro says, walking up to the berth.
Dreadbot looks a bit conflicted for a second, but then his face-plates smooth out. Barricade steps back, but not by much.
It's almost a shame that Dreadbot is such a good professional companion. It would've been better for Dreadbot himself if he'd been honest, and not put on a brave face, and said that he need a moment to get everything fully booted or something, just to give himself some time to process, and decide how to move forward.
"Yeah. A bit woozy from the rerouters, though."
If that's true, it isn't something Barricade thought about, and it makes him feel like an asshole that he didn't consider that. On the other hand, he wanted to be done with Dreadbot's statement before Nitro showed up...
"Oh. Do you need anything? Fuel..."
"I'm fine right now. Just need to rest, according to Ratchet, and let my self repair work."
"I see..."
It sounds so casual, but considering how they usually interact, it's clearly awkward.
"So, a nig..."
"I'm so..."
They start to speak at once, and Dreadbot smiles, though it looks like his frame hasn't quite decided if it's a smile or a precursor to crying.
"I'm so fucking sorry." Nitro tries again before Dreadbot. "I honestly don't know how it could happen, there should be a failsafe... I... Seeing you like that was worse than any nightmare." He grabs Dreadbot's servo.
Barricade notices how Dreadbot tenses, but then the smaller bit seems to force himself to relax.
"I-I... Apology accepted? I haven't really had time to think about this. A nightmare?"
"Yes. I quick booted, thinking I was being attacked. I... You were so broken by the time I was awake enough to stop." Nitro almost whispers the last words.
At least it seems like Nitro is genuinely sorry. But that could just be an act. He should call for backup. But then again, with one of the Brothers here, Nitro would probably not act the same as he's doing now.
Chapter Text
"I..." Dreadbot draws a shuddering vent, "I don't want to think about that right now, it just brings back memories of pain, and I have enough of that at the present already." His voice wavers, and it's obvious that he's trying with all his might to stop himself from crying.
Nitro rubs the back of Dreadbot's servo with his thumb, and Dreadbot's servo looks so small in Nitro's much bigger one. Nitro probably doesn't catch the way Dreadbot looks at the attempt at comfort — staring at Dreadbot's small servo in his own, as he is — but to Barricade it's clear that Dreadbot thinks about the pain those massive servos can inflict, and his face scrunches up.
"Maybe you need some more rest, Dreadbot? Your self repair is hard at work, and as Ratchet said, you need to rest to let your frame heal. It's been a lot to go through this morning... Are the painkillers enough?" Barricade asks to give Dreadbot an out.
If nothing else, he can fake resting, and just get some time to process everything, including what Nitro just told him, and his own emotions about what happened.
"I think you're right. I feel like I've been out racing for an entire afternoon." Dreadbot says slowly, and he really does look tired, optics dim.
"How are your fuel levels? And the rerouters."
"Rerouter is fine. I think I could do with some fuel, though."
"We have the med grade with supplements in it Ratchet said you needed, I'll get some for you." Nitro offers, already turning towards the door.
"Thank you." Dreadbot says, and as soon as Nitro is out the door, and it's safely shut behind him, Dreadbot turns to Barricade. "And thank you."
"Don't mention it. He'll be back soon, but either you take a good, long nap, and wake up better equipped to deal with everything, or you pretend to rest, and get some time to clear things out in your helm. I have no illusion that you'll be fine after either of those options, but it might help you to sort out what you've learned so far?"
Dreadbot blows out a sharp vent. "I hope so. Right now, I just want to pull the blanket over my helm, and cry for a week."
"May I suggest you drink the fuel first? It'll help you to get physically better faster, at least. After that, I'm not going to stop you if you want to hibernate for the rest of the week."
Chapter Text
Dreadbot drinks the fuel Nitro brings back, and then he rolls over, turning his back to them, and pulls the cover over himself.
"I'll be in the chair if you need me." Nitro murmurs, and then he goes to take a seat.
Frag!
Barricade takes a seat on the floor, not willing to leave the two alone.
"You don't have to stay if you don't want to. I'll help him with whatever he wants." Nitro says.
"I want to stay. I'm sure he'll appreciate having us both here now that he's so vulnerable."
Nitro quirks his optical ridge. "I'm not going to molest him while he's recharging. It's not my thing."
Barricade glances at the silent and still mech on the berth.
"He's in recharge. I can hear his spark; slow and steady." Nitro adds.
Right...
"Didn't say you would."
Nitro drags a deep vent. "Mind if I smoke?"
"I don't, but I can't speak for Dreadbot."
"I'll take some liberties, then." Nitro says, lighting up a cyg, taking a deep drag. "You don't trust me at all."
"No." Barricade sees no point in lying when Nitro already knows. "You killed Drift, and then this happened."
Maybe he should call for one of the other Brothers now?
"He would be dead already if that was what I wanted." Nitro says solemnly, looking at Dreadbot, taking another drag on the cyg. "I just want him to heal as quickly as possible."
"And then? If he wants nothing to do with you?"
"I guess I'll have to try to earn his attentions back."
"And how would you know that he isn't getting back with you because he's afraid of what you'd do if he doesn't?"
"I... He has to know that this was not intentional. I never, ever wanted to hurt him like this."
"But it could happen again, unintentionally."
"It's avoidable with sleeping arrangements."
"And if you try too hard to woo him? How will he know that you won't hurt him if he wants to leave."
Nitro looks stricken. "I fucking hope he knows that his happiness is the most important thing. If he never wants to be with me again, I'll just have to accept it." Nitro takes another drag on the cyg, his optics dimming with how fast he has been smoking it. It smells like it's more than just laced, it's probably all weed. "I don't deserve him anyway."
Chapter Text
It takes a couple of days before Dreadbot starts to move around more in the house. It's still slow going, and he's looking very stiff, his protoform slow to heal. Barricade let his guard down after the talk with Nitro when Dreadbot was in recharge, and so far, it seems like it was the right decision.
They're in the refueling room, having morning energon, and Dreadbot has finally joined them for that little ritual, picking at his favorite gels, snickering at Crosshairs' attempt to clean out a pan with something terribly burned from his attempt at making some sort of comfort food.
"I swear, sonethin' mus' be wrong with the oven! I followed the recipe perfectly!" Crosshairs says.
"I'm sure you did. No extra flavorings or anything..." Dreadbot trails off.
"Jus' a li'le. But tha' shouldn' affect it tha' much! Right?"
"Apparently it did." Knock Out giggles.
Dreadbot finishes his gels. "I'm going outside. I feel cooped up in here, and I need some sun on my protoform."
He starts to get down from his bar stool, and it looks very laborious, as if every movement hurts. Dreadbot groans.
"Here, I'll help you." Nitro offers.
Dreadbot flinches badly when the Flier moves his servos quickly towards the smaller mech. Nitro freezes, servos hovering close to Dreadbot.
"I'm sorry..." Dreadbot whispers, taking a steadying vent.
"No, I deserve that." Nitro says sadly, letting his servos drop to his sides.
"You can lean on me if you want to." Hatchet offers.
"Thank you."
Dreadbot braces an arm over Hatchet's back as he climbs down, then he leans heavily on the four peder, slowly hobbling out of the refueling room. Barricade and Jazz follows them.
"I didn' think yer frame type were hoverers." Crosshairs says to Nitro. "Jus' give 'im some time."
"Do you want something more to wear?" Barricade asks Dreadbot, looking at his bare frame. He hasn't put his plating on, as he still needs to change the patches on his protoform, and at the moment, he's just wearing a pair of hot pants, as it's a warm day, and a onesie is a bit too warm.
"No, I'm good like this. Like I said; I want some sun on my protoform. I'll sit by the big crystals, they block most of the view from the street."
"It's a fine view, though." Hatchet purrs, but it sounds more playful than actually suggestive.
Dreadbot snorts. "With the bandages and all."
"Nothing wrong with that."
Jazz grabs a blanket from the couch, hurrying past the slow pair in front of them. "We can sit on this, so ya don' get debris on your protoform." He says, holding the door open for Hatchet and Dreadbot, then heading for the crystals to prepare for when Dreadbot gets there.
Hatchet takes it very slow down the stairs, Dreadbot hobbling along.
"This would be faster if you'd climbed onto my back instead." Hatchet says.
"This is good for my hydraulics. I need to circulate the oil, and use my cylinders to get an oil film on my pistons."
They follow Jazz, bickering in that way that's so familiar, and everything feels almost normal, except for Dreadbot's hobbling gait.
Barricade glances towards the gate when he catches movement there, and then his spark sinks.
Of course fucking Spinister would catch this.
Chapter Text
::Hide, we've got company. Spinister is outside the gate, and he just watched Dreadbot limp down the stairs.::
::Go talk to him. If he doesn't have a warrant, he is staying outside the fence for now, but we need to be somewhat accommodating.::
::And what do I say about Dreadbot?::
There's a pause before Ironhide speaks again. ::He fell down the stairs. His own words.::
Not that their stairs are sharp enough to cause the cuts on his protoform...
"Hi there! What brings you to this part of town?" Barricade feels that he's being a tad too cheery as soon as the words are out.
"Oh, just having a walk. The weather is lovely, after all." Spinister returns the fake pleasantries.
"It really is. I expect the plants in the garden to really start growing in now that the weather is getting warmer, and the sun is out more."
Spinister makes a thoughtful noise. "That's right, you're all into this gardening thing."
Right, he has to check in on the sponge tree. The sponges should be developing now. He totally forgot about that.
"That's right."
"So, what happened to him?" Spinister gestures to the cluster of large crystals the others disappeared behind.
"He fell down the stairs."
Spinister raises his optical ridges. "Considering the profession you had a long time ago, I'm sure you've heard that before."
"Yes, but sometimes, it actually happens for real."
::You can let him into the yard if he asks, but the house is off limits until he has a warrant.:: Ironhide comms Barricade.
"Especially in a house like this..." Spinister clearly isn't talking about the type of building.
"Yeah, the stairs are kind of tricky. You know, the thing with fancy old houses having really low steps that put your walking rhythm off. And they're slippery too."
Spinister snorts. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm talking about. How about when you grew up with your step-sire? Your stairs being equally treacherous back then?"
"No, but that excuse you were talking about was flung around now and then."
"May I speak with the clumsy mech? Just a chat, off records."
"I think he's resting, just enjoying the sun. And it's a bit much to ask him to walk all the way here. He could overexert something..."
"I won't be long, and I can go to him. No need for him to limp his way over here."
How chivalrous.
"Alright."
::Spinister is coming into the yard.:: Barricade comms everyone.
::I shall perform my very best behavior.:: Blackout says.
::You're not murdering him in the fucking garden.:: Springer says.
Blackout makes a very disappointed noise.
Chapter Text
When they get to come around the crystals, Dreadbot grabs the corner of the blanket, pulling it over his chest to cover himself, making an affronted squeak. It's an act, of course, he knew that Barricade would bring Spinister, but it is a very good display of how unwanted the agent is there.
Hatchet is stretched out on his side, and Dreadbot is reclining against his chest, the perfect picture of mechs having a lazy morning in the sun. Hatchet stretches languorously, all the way to extending the talons in both his servos and his pedes.
"Morning." Spinister says.
"Indeed." Hatchet answers.
"And it was a perfectly good one up until just now." Dreadbot snarks.
"Was it, really? You did look worse for the wear, getting out here." Spinister looks Dreadbot over in a very unsubtle way.
"Perhaps, but that doesn't stop me from having a good time when I get a chance to relax. Besides, I'm on the mend."
"You really do look like you were a bad mess, if this is you mending."
"Thank you, you really know how to charm a mech."
"You look lovely, babe, as always." Hatchet purrs, stroking a servo up Dreadbot's leg.
Barricade catches the millisecond when Spinister's expression slips, disgust clearly written on his face-plates before he schools his expression again.
"Thank you, handsome." Dreadbot coos.
"Want to share what happened?" Spinister asks.
"I fell down the stairs."
Spinister quirks an optical ridge. "Must've been some mighty stairs to cause that kind of damage."
"You've seen the inside of our house when you came looting with your band of minions. The stairs are pretty tall."
"Still, a tumble like that mostly leads to bruising and dents, and perhaps some broken struts. Rarely is stapling needed to any greater extent." Spinister pointedly looks at Hatchet's servo, even if the animal former has retracted his claws now.
"I guess most mecha aren't carrying a box of cutlery when they fall down the stairs, then." Dreadbot says dismissively.
Chapter Text
"That is rather unusual..." Spinister says slowly.
"I'm not like most mecha."
Spinister looks at where Hatchet's thumb is rubbing small, soothing circles over the protoform high up on Dreadbot's thigh. "I notice." He shifts, and Barricade gets the feeling that Spinister's protoform is crawling from the slightly suggestive display. "If you feel the need to... get something off your chest," his optics flick to the blanket covering Dreadbot's spark chamber, "just call the local enforcement. They'll patch you through."
::You know my history. I can tell you first hand what a bad idea it is to want that from suspects.:: Barricade comms Spinister.
::He's only suspected of being a victim to a crime he should get restitution for. Besides, I know where he's been, obviously,:: Spinister nods to Dreadbot and Hatchet, ::he may be easy on the optics, but I wouldn't poke him with a pry bar.::
::Prejudice isn't a good look on a special agent.::
::Well, you know what they say: if it talks like a truck, and it drives like a truck, it probably isn't a shuttle. It's not so much prejudice as experience.::
And the sad part is that Spinister probably has good reason for negative bias against Warframes, considering his profession, and how Warframes are set up to fail spectacularly if they ever 'retire.' But that doesn't give him the right to be disgusted with a mech because of his root mode.
"I'll remember that." Dreadbot says blandly, clearly just to appease Spinister. "Now, officer, since you have been assured that I'm just a clumsy little mech, and everything is good here, you can be on your merry way. If I have this blanket like this for much longer, I'll get funny tan lines."
"Those patches will make your tan look like scrap anyway." Spinister says. "And you'll have a servo print on your leg."
"I could move that servo print..." Hatchet purrs, slipping his servo under the blanket, clearly stroking Dreadbot's spark chamber.
Dreadbot makes a noise of approval, gasping as he shifts. Barricade sees the way Spinister's plating pulls tight, as if his protoform is crawling again. Dreadbot pulls the blanket away, Hatchet's servo covering his spark chamber from view. Hatchet's digits are cupping the component, stroking the sides of the chamber. Spinister makes a face.
"Well, you know where to find me if you need to talk to someone." He says, turning towards the gate.
"I sure do." Dreadbot groans.
Chapter Text
Barricade stares after the agent as he leaves, half expecting him to veer off to the house, or something else they didn't agree on, but he just heads for the gate.
"Is he gone?" Hatchet asks.
"Out the gate as we speak, and... there, the gates are closed." Barricade informs them, looking back at the other three.
Jazz is still looking slightly shaken, but nothing worse. Dreadbot has slumped, optics offline, and Hatchet isn't groping him anymore.
"Are you alright?" Hatchet asks, getting up to rest on his elbows to be able to see Dreadbot better without getting up, as Dreadbot still is reclining against him.
"I'm okay. Just tired." Dreadbot's voice is quiet.
"Want me to bring you inside?"
"No, I-I want to stay. I might need to recharge for a bit, though. Can someone make sure I don't get sun damage on my protoform?"
"Want me to get something to cover you up?" Barricade asks.
"No, I want some sun on me. It feels like my nanites are buzzing with energy. That's a bit draining too, though. I just... Maybe throw the blanket over me if I start to go paler?"
"I can do that." Hatchet says, flopping down on his side again. "Do you need fuel? I'm sure someone would be happy to get it for you."
"No, my levels are still good. It's more like every new connection and splice on my frame that has been used need some downtime to consolidate, and all my calibrations need to set, and the data needs to be defragged. All at once." Dreadbot sounds halfway into recharge already.
"Are you really okay?" Barricade asks, because Dreadbot's decline in energy feels so sudden and fast, he gets worried something isn't right.
"Yeah, 'm good." Dreadbot mumbles.
"His spark sounds steady and good, and I can't smell any leaks or anything." Hatchet fills in.
"Oh. Good."
Jazz pats the blanket next to him, looking expectantly at Barricade, and who can say no to that? Barricade takes a seat next to him.
"I guess we should expect a raid on the near future." Barricade says.
"Yes. But right now, I'm going to enjoy the sun, like the free mech I am, and when that raid happens, there won't be anything to find. Again." Hatchet sounds like he's thinking enough, already!
"Sweet spark, would ya stop worryin' for jus' a second or two? Jazz asks quietly, stretching out on his back to soak up the sun.
They're probably right. Nothing will happen right now, and he's the only one losing if he can't let it go.
"A few more raids without any evidence found, then maybe we can put in a complaint about harassment, force the ICIA to back off." Hatchet says, wiggling slightly to get more comfortable.
Huh. Maybe that could work.
Barricade stretches out next to Jazz, deciding to enjoy the moment.
Chapter Text
A week of mundanity. Dreadbot is getting better, Barricade works a little in the streets. No raids, and that kind of increases Barricade's anxiety, because he feels like it's only a matter of time, and the more time passes, the greater the risk of slipping up.
He'd almost welcome a raid right now, just to get it over with.
The Brothers seem a bit restless, probably feeling the same, but also because the need to keep up appearances — Spinister is most likely watching — makes them unable to do... whatever they do when the whores aren't watching. Barricade can't help but wonder what the finances look like, but he doesn't want to poke that particular bear.
Most of them are lounging in the rec room, sipping drinks at the moment. There's no party, the atmosphere is vapid. Someone starts the holo projector, the end credits running for whatever they saw last. It takes a few seconds of loading, but then the screen shows a Warframe type mech — not quite, so probably a half breed — sitting at a table. It kind of reminds Barricade about the news, but at the same time, the mech doesn't fit the picture. He expects it to be a movie, but all the Brothers suddenly sit up straight, and beside him, Jazz flinches.
"Hey, Autothots! Finally getting around to check some good streaming." The mech says.
"Onslaught!" Jazz breathes, field in a turmoil.
"We're almost missing you out on the market. It's just not much of a victory to take a few of your neighborhoods when you aren't even fighting back." Onslaught continues.
"But then again, I have no idea why I ever expected you lot to actually be as much bite as you are bark. Deep down, you're all glitches. But, hey, now I know why you seem to stay in the house all day; that sweet little aft of yours certainly lends himself to some good entertainment."
The mech makes a movement, sharing footage instead, and Barricade feels his jaw drop.
On the screen, Nitro is on his back on a table, legs spread wide. The colors of the mech whose memory it is matches that of Onslaught, and he steps up between Nitro's legs, lining his spike up, pushing inside. Nitro mewls loudly, arching his back to get it inside quicker.
"Yeah, you slut, take that."
Nitro moans, and Onslaught sets a quick pace, obviously chasing his own overload. Nitro keeps up, though, panting and whimpering, servos wrapping around Onslaught's lower arms as the Con keeps a strong grip on Nitro's hips.
"I'm gonna fill you so good..." Onslaught grunts. "Tell me what you are."
"I'm, ah, I'm a greedy little slut." Nitro moans.
Onslaught's spike starts to swell, and he pulls his thickening knot out once, slamming inside again before he's stuck. The sounds Nitro does is wanton indecency, and then the Flier overloads so hard he squirts. Onslaught chuckles nastily.
The vid clip stops, and the mech is back on the screen. "Mh, yes, I certainly wouldn't mind more of that." He says, then the clip cuts out entirely.
The rec room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, everyone turning to Nitro with mixed expressions.
"Nitro...?" Ironhide starts, pained disbelief clear in his voice, as well as in his facial expression.
Nitro stares the other way for a long second, then he shakes his helm, turning to Ironhide. "I thought he was you." He says quietly, voice hoarse.
Chapter Text
"I know what you're gonna say — and I agree — that after this long, I should know what your cock feels like inside me, even with my optic off, I should've known his arms were too thin to be yours, but obviously, I didn't." Nitro continues.
"That wasn't what I was going to say, I... I don't know what to say. How did he know...?" Ironhide seems numb.
"They found memories of us together." Nitro's voice is hardly more than a whisper.
Of course the first one to shake off the shock is Blackout. He more or less flies up from his chair, flapping his plating in disgust.
"Oh! Eew! You're spreading your legs like that?! That's so gross! And I let you have my back in battle..." Blackout says to Nitro, sounding betrayed.
"And for good reason! He has saved your aft more times than any of us would care to count!" Ironhide growls, getting up from his seat.
Blackout whips around to face him. "Of course you'll defend your precious little slut! Is that why he outranks me? And here I thought our roles were decided by other abilities than whether we put out or not. You can forget that, though, I'm too much of a mech to sleep my way to the top."
"You have your rank because you're the one best suited for it, I..." Ironhide snarls, but Blackout cuts him off.
"Well, I wonder if that slut of yours was trying to recruit some cons to flip sides..."
"Oi! 'e was raped, an' if ye don' stop blamin' Nitro — the victim — fer tha', jus' remember tha' ye can' fly high enough te stop me from shootin' ye!" Crosshairs butts in.
Blackout swivels around, taking two quick steps towards Crosshairs. "It's about fucking time you remember your rank here; You. Are. A. Whore! You don't have a say." He slaps Crosshairs across the cheek with a horrible clang, and Crosshairs goes down.
"Hey, what the fuck!" Ironhide snarls.
"What, it was long overdue." Blackout sneers. "Or are you afraid that I'm going to slap all your bitches?" He turns on Nitro, backhanding him so hard, the Jet falls off his chair. "You can't even defend yourself against that fucking Con loser..."
Blackout may have caught him off guard somehow, but unlike Crosshairs, Nitro doesn't stay down. In a fluid motion, he rolls to get up on his pedes, and then he crashes into Blackout. It's nothing like their wrestling and sparring, the Warframes tearing into each other, snarling wordlessly. Everyone is yelling, Springer and Ironhide grabbing the fighters to pull them apart, but it's clearly not a situation they're used to. Nitro elbows Ironhide in the chest, making the Topkick lose his grip and step back for a second, grunting with pain. Springer hangs on to Blackout's rotors, and then he's pulled down when Blackout and Nitro falls over the table, the piece of furniture reduced to scrap under their combined weights, without any sign of the fighting to stop.
Chapter Text
Blackout may be bigger, and arguably has to be stronger due to his larger mass, but Nitro is vicious, and for every second the melee continues, it's more and more apparent that while Blackout was relatively safe and comfortable in prison, Nitro was busy surviving against all odds on the battlefield, without his unit to back him up, running on subpar fuel. Even with the other Brothers trying to pull them apart — not very successfully, they obviously don't want to resort to the same kind of violence as Nitro and Blackout, even it's probably the only thing that would work — Nitro is wearing Blackout down. For every dent or cut Nitro gets, two is inflicted on Blackout, and the Helo is starting to look worse for the wear.
Barricade does the only thing he can, making sure Crosshairs is in a position where his vents don't get clogged, should he purge, and relatively out of the way. The Racer is still unconscious, but all his vital signs seem good, so hopefully, he just had his processor a bit scrambled.
Barricade looks over to the fight again when Blackout hits the floor rather heavily, and everything goes silent.
Blackout is on his back, and Nitro is standing over him, grabbing a few lines and cables in Blackout's neck. The Helo stares at him with dim optics, energon smeared here and there on his frame, broken wires sparking, his plating dented and scratched. Nitro stares back for long seconds, then he lets go of the components he's holding, and the message is clear: I could kill you, but I choose not to. The Jet turns on his heel and heads for the refueling room.
Ironhide goes to follow him, but momentarily stops by Blackout, looking down at the Helo.
"I'd like to beat you to within an inch of your functioning, but unlike you, I find no joy or satisfaction in kicking a mech who's already down." He looks Blackout over. "You should probably have that looked at." He heads the same way Nitro went. "Knock Out, please see to Crosshairs. If he wakes up, say that I wanted to be there, but I'm needed elsewhere too, and you have the skills he need right now to a greater extent than I do."
"Yes, Hide." Knock Out says, joining Barricade.
"What do we do with him?" Roadbuster asks Springer, motioning to Blackout who still hasn't moved.
"I'd say we let him crawl off to a medic himself. I don't think Hide would force us to help him after that, and I certainly don't want to." Hatchet says before Springer has a chance to answer.
Chapter Text
The Brothers left discuss what they should do with Blackout — leaving him to try to get help himself doesn't sit right with a few of them — but Barricade doesn't hear very much of an argument that Blackout is right either. It could be that some of them are holding their thoughts to themselves, unwilling to start another disagreement right now — keeping their opinions secret could lead to a rift between the Brothers if two camps emerge: the ones who are fine with Hide and Nitro fucking, and those who are not — but frankly, that's a question for the future, at least Barricade thinks it is.
Crosshairs groans, slowly onlining his optics.
"How are you feeling." Knock Out asks.
"Like I ran 'eadfirst straight inte a wall."
"Any warnings in your HUD? Anything damaged?"
"Nothin' tha' looks serious. Jus' a lotta temporary fault codes."
"I think we should call Ratchet to come here and check it to be on the safe side, but that sounds promising."
"Dreadbot, don' ye 'ave an appointment with Ratchet later teday?" Crosshairs asks, then he winces, apparently not ready for his own voice to be that loud.
"Yeah? I'll comm him and ask if he can take a look at you too when he's here. I'll tell him to bring stuff to pop the dent on your face."
"I'm sure ye're capable of keepin' an optic on me until then." Crosshairs says to Knock Out.
"Do you remember what happened?" Knock Out asks.
Crosshairs dims his optics, looking thoughtful. "Yeh, Nitro was raped, an' Blackout was bein' an ass'ole 'bout it."
"Understatement of the year." Barricade mutters, and it makes Crosshairs snort, then he winces as if that hurt.
"Yes, and Hide is talking to Nitro, that's why he's not here. He didn't want to leave you, but figured that I know what you need even better than he does.
"I'm on the comms with 'im right now" Crosshairs says, "it's a mess, Nitro's bein' defensive an upset, an they're not gettin' anywhere."
They're too close, and Nitro probably feels like he did something wrong, that he failed Ironhide, and on top of it, everything else might be falling apart. Of course they're not in a mental state to talk about this with each other right now.
::If you need an outside party to help clear things out, I can take a statement again. Just to get a grip on what happened, and a starting point for further talks.:: Barricade comms Ironhide and Nitro.
Chapter Text
:Yes.:: Nitro answers after several seconds.
::Should we take this in the conference room?:: Barricade asks.
::Sounds like a good idea.:: Ironhide says.
Barricade hurries up the stairs, and he gets there before the other two, giving him opportunity to study them as the walk down the hallway towards him. Normally, they'd be talking, bumping into each other playfully, laughing at something or other Nitro would say, and in Ironhide's case, rolling his optics. Now there's tension, distance, and silence. It's the first time he sees them as lovers, and it makes the difference in their behavior even more jarring.
"I think Ironhide should be allowed to witness this. I want you to retell what happened, and I think it would be beneficial for you to not need to tell it all again." Barricade says.
Nitro drags a deep vent, then he blows it out sharply. "Fine."
"Do you want a cyg?" Barricade asks.
"No." Nitro says, stepping into the conference room. "Could you sit over there?" He asks Ironhide, pointing to a chair by the wall, far away from their usual seats.
Ironhide looks like he has been punched in the abdomen, but he nods, and takes the appointed seat.
Barricade takes a seat opposite of Nitro, who takes his regular spot.
"You chose how much detail you want to go into, and I want you to tell me as clinically as you can. I'm not here to judge whether you should be able to stop it or not, and neither is Ironhide. We just want to know what someone did to you." Barricade says.
Nitro nods once, flexing his digits several times. Barricade's optics fall on the broad cuff around his wrist again when he notices that the fingers on that hand seem slower, and less dexterous.
"So, I met our contact like I was supposed to. It was a standard business transaction, nothing strange there. Everything was in order as usual, the mech had been an associate for a long time, and we've never had any problems, that's why I went alone. We celebrated with a drink like we always do, and then I started to feel a bit funny. Our contact left when he had finished his drink, but I stayed behind in the warehouse, running a diagnostic on my systems, because I didn't feel okay to fly. I must've passed out, because sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall is the last thing I remember from there."
Chapter Text
"And what happened when you woke up?" Barricade asks when Nitro goes silent, looking like his mind is elsewhere.
"I can't say exactly at what point I woke up, it's blurry. The next thing I'm aware of is Ironhide fucking me. I... It was a memory, of course, but it felt so real..." Nitro trails off, scratching his arm vigorously before flapping his plating. "I came," he says thickly, "well, you saw that, and then he grabbed my arms, and suddenly I was in stasis cuffs, and kicked out of the memory. They didn't really give me any time to even get my bearings before they drugged me again." Nitro suddenly flies up from the chair, pacing the room. "Excuse me, I just..." He shudders.
"It's fine. Take your time." Barricade says, glancing at Ironhide.
::And how are you holding up?:: He asks Ironhide.
::I'm imagining all the ways a Con could die.::
::Let's focus on Nitro right now.::
It won't be helpful if Ironhide flips his lid and goes on a killing spree right now. Sunstreaker was enough.
"I should've fucking known!" Nitro growls.
"Having someone push a memory on you is hard enough to resist even without drugs in the system. Nothing of this can be put on you." Barricade says. "Do you feel ready to continue?"
"Yeah..." Nitro mutters, taking his seat again. "They dragged me off to a berth and cuffed me to it." He takes a shuddering vent. "Onslaught came in later to fuck me again, and give me more drugs. I think I was fucked more than once, but I'm not sure, and I can't say of it was just Onslaught, or more mechs."
Oh fuck... It sounds more and more like the Decepticons are trying to start a war, or at least force the Autobots to act on this.
"You don't have to go into the details of your time there of you don't want to. But how did you get out? It really sounds like the odds were against you."
And they need to know how long he was there for, if he didn't return home immediately, where he was during that time.
"They underestimated how long the drugs were in my system. Very early the next morning, I was feeling fairly clearheaded. They came in later to give me more drugs, and they kept me pretty out of it all day, but they didn't realize that they would've needed to dose me one more time to keep me out until morning. When everyone had gone to berth the next morning, and my processor was starting to function normally, I managed to escape."
"How did you free yourself?" Barricade can't even imagine it.
"I bit one of my servos off, and then I picked the locks on the cuffs on my ankles."
Chapter Text
There's a scraping noise when Ironhide flies up from his seat, apparently no longer able to stay still.
"You...I, eh, you bit your servo off?!" Barricade stutters incredulously.
Nitro glances at Ironhide as the large mech comes up to him, raw pain and anger clearly visible on his face-plates. At least Ironhide has the sense to not crowd Nitro more than that, servos flexing as if he has an almost irresistible urge to touch the Flier. He isn't holding his field in, and it's a turmoil of frustration, anger, and something that feels like helplessness.
Nitro slowly unhooks the clasps on the bracelet, letting it fall to the table. His servo kind of drops a little, as if he isn't fully capable of keeping it straight. Barricade stares at Nitro's wrist-struts.
Well, he's not a medic, but he can tell that it doesn't look good...
The mechanical wires have been joined, but it looks like there isn't enough tension on them to function properly, the hydraulic hoses have clearly been severed, but have been put back together. There must be a leak somewhere, though, because there's some oil residue on some of the components. An electric cable is creased weirdly, and it smells like there's a short circuit somewhere. On several places — where the leak hasn't protected the raw metal from corrosion — there's rust and signs of oxidation. At least it looks like Nitro has smeared nanite gel on recently, residue of the thick, blue glop remaining in some places.
"Can I have a look?" Ironhide finally asks.
Nitro holds out his servo for Ironhide. The Topkick gingerly braces the wrist with one of his servos, zooming in on the component. He caresses Nitro's palm with the digits of his other servo, a careful touch that hints of the longing for his lover, and for his need to comfort a mech who isn't built to need comfort in the first place.
"Does it hurt?" He asks.
"Not too badly."
"It doesn't look good."
"A blind mech can see that. It's not that easy to do repairs like these with just one servo."
Ironhide draws a deep vent. "I meant to say that you should have it looked at by a professional when we're done here. I'll get you the parts you need."
"Alright."
Ironhide caresses Nitro's palm again, smiling sadly, before taking his seat again.
"So you bit your servo off," Barricade continues, "what happened after that?"
Chapter Text
"I ran." Nitro Zeus's voice is quiet, and he looks away, field tinged with shame.
"A wise decision." Barricade says.
"I needed to get my helm on straight, and stop the leaking, so I found an abandoned industrial building, and tried to reattach my servo at least well enough to not make it so obvious. Then I checked into a motel — at least they didn't manage to hack my electronic wallet — cleaned up, and..."
"You were in a motel for days before you came home?!" Ironhide is unable to stay quiet any longer, and he sounds angry.
"Yeah. I'm allowed to go where I want, right?" Nitro says defensively.
"Yes, you are, but we were looking for you..."
"Well then you didn't do a very good job, did you?!" Nitro snarls.
Ironhide looks like he has been slapped, but then he recovers, flying up from his seat. "We were worried about you, and you couldn't even have the common courtesy to call..."
"Enough!" Barricade shouts. "This is not why we're here. You were supposed to listen in, and we said we wouldn't judge."
For long, terrifying moments, it looks like Ironhide very much would want to just forego the talking, and shoot someone instead. "Fine." He finally says, taking his seat again. "I'm sorry, Nitro."
Nitro nods once. "I got the parts I needed to patch my servo up, and then I was waiting for the repairs to integrate properly. I had to give up on it after a few days, because not even nanite gel was helping, it wouldn't heal properly."
"So you got the cuff to cover the damage, and came home."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"And your creation?" Barricade asks.
"Hasn't spoken to him since... It was a very long time ago."
Everything goes silent for some time, Barricade thinking through if he has any more questions.
"I think we're done. If there's nothing else you want to add?"
"I nearly killed Dreadbot, and I understand why he's avoiding me." Nitro sound's broken. "Will he ever be able to forgive me?"
"Something tells me that these circumstances will change things." Barricade says.
"They will?" Nitro sounds incredulous. "I was stupid and got myself trapped, then I was weak and didn't defend myself, but ran, like a coward instead. I let myself be tricked, and fucking overloaded for the enemy..."
"You know, we're civilians, so we think a bit differently, but chewing off your own servo is hardly weak or cowardly. And I have a hunch he knows what it's like to have false memories pushed onto him while interfacing."
"What?"
"Did Swindle do something like that? Dreadbot has never implied that he was that kind of abusive." Ironhide asks.
Barricade wants to headdesk.
They've been through all that crap unnecessarily just because they thought they had to?!
"No, I don't mean Swindle! Maybe you should ask all your entertainers about what Blackout considers fair games."
Fuck it, the Helo deserves to be thrown under a massive transport.
Chapter Text
"He does that to you?" Nitro asks.
"Sometimes. And other types of mindfucks to scare me."
Nitro drags a deep vent, then exvents sharply. "This confusing hacking stuff... I don't know if I would've understood before what happened to me. How terrible it is, I mean. Has he done that to Dreadbot too?"
"I don't know. We don't really talk much about what we do with you."
Nitro is quiet for a while, then he suddenly stands up, the chair scraping over the floor, almost tipping over, then he heads for the door.
"Hey, where are you..." Ironhide calls out.
"He did it to Dreadbot too."
Barricade and Ironhide glance at each other, and then they chase after Nitro. They hurry down the stairs just in time to see Nitro pull his good arm back, and punch Blackout in the face. Blackout has managed to drag himself up to sit against the wall, but the only thing he does to defend himself is raise his arms to block.
"Hey-hey-hey...!" Springer shouts, both him, and Hatchet grabbing Nitro's arms, and Nitro actually allows himself to be stopped this time.
"I mean, I'm not totally against it, but I thought you'd decided to be merciful?" Hatchet says to Nitro.
"He's doing much worse things to the pleasurebots than we comprehended. Hacking them and stuff to scare them."
"They're here to supply pleasure, I," Blackout's vocalizer glitches, obviously damaged in the fight, "that gives me pleasure, so I don't see how that was wrong!" Blackout protests.
"That's because you're a sociopath." Barricade says.
"You," Blackout growls, "you have always been happy with the deal in the end, you came back voluntarily."
"Your intelligence is attractive, and our conversations are always interesting, but you also take it too far on a very regular basis. Someone has to entertain you, though, because that's in our contracts."
"So then it's okay!" Blackout says.
"See, Hide? This is where everything gets really complicated." Barricade says.
Ironhide is actually checking on Crosshairs, leaving the other Brothers to deal with the situation at servo. "I can't say I even begin to see the problem in it's entirety. I guess we need to interview you all, and get to the bottom of everything to be able to handle it correctly."
"In the meantime, I think we should put a rotor lock on him, and stasis cuffs, and let the pleasurebots go wild with sixty flavors of rotary — all the ways Blackout could bottom for everyone." Hatchet says.
Chapter Text
The noise Blackout makes is probably aimed to be a growl, but with his glitching vocalizer, it turns into a Rather unmechly squeak.
Hatchet snorts. "I mean, we never got to hear the finish of that Blackout/Grindor fic."
Nitro actually grins, and even if it has a nasty edge, it's something genuin for the first time since before he went missing.
"I'd be happy to oblige." Dreadbot purrs.
"You little sadist." Hatchet says fondly.
"Perhaps, but this is the only time I'd consider something unnegotiated."
Ironhide seems to be assured that Crosshairs is doing well enough, because he comes up to them.
"We have a lot to talk about here — all of us — but I'm not sure I want to share a house with you anymore." He sneers to Blackout.
Ironhide slides a servo down Nitro's lower arm — the good one — and when he reaches Nitro's servo, the Flier laces their digits, staring challengingly at Blackout.
Blackout can't quite hide the disgust on his face-plates.
"Ratchet will be here soon, babe. He'll take a look at your arm, check what he needs to repair you." Ironhide murmurs, kissing Nitro's shoulder.
Hatchet whoops quietly in approval. "The two of you are so adorable." He says.
"This is weird." Springer says.
"Got a problem with it?" Nitro asks.
"No, just... We should've known. How the hell could we not know?"
"Maybe you don't have enough optics?" Hatchet asks. "Or you didn't want to see it."
"You knew?!" Springer turns to Hatchet.
Hatchet grins widely. "I do have more optics than you..." He goes serious. "Maybe it was easier for me to see because I'm from a different unit. We tend to go a bit home-blind."
"It will take some time to get used to, not gonna to lie." Springer says.
"That's fine." Ironhide hurries to say.
"So... All those jokes about my aft?" Springer actually squirms, looking embarrassed and awkward.
"You do have a very nice aft..." Hatchet leers.
Springer looks nervous.
"All jokes." Ironhide says. "But I agree with Hatchet; your ass is easy on the optics."
Springer makes a noise, but it's impossible to tell what it's supposed to express.
Chapter Text
"Springer, take Roadbuster and debrief all the pleasurebots. We need to know about the hacking and everything, and I want to make sure Crosshairs is okay, and stay with Nitro for his examination."
"I... sure. What exactly do we need to know?"
"If they were really willing, and how they perceived it afterwards. We need to know if we should rewrite what the contracts entail."
"Alright." Springer turns, looking around. "Hey, Roadie! We've got a job to do."
Barricade feels an urgent need to talk to Jazz before he goes to be debriefed, looking around tho see if he's somewhere close by.
Jazz's tendency to always think that he has had worse isn't going to be helpful here. It's better if Jazz can get some protection against the worst sadism in his contract too. Hopefully, he can convince Jazz to actually say if he thinks Blackout has crossed the line with him.
Nitro shrugs Ironhide's servo away from his own.
"I, ugh, I feel gross." He says quietly.
"Is that why you've been pushing me away?" Ironhide asks.
"I... yeah. It feels like I still can smell him on my plating, and I thought you would too. I don't want you to think I'm gross."
"You're not gross!" Ironhide seems to hesitate for a long moment. "Can I hug you? I'll let go if you need me to."
Nitro seems equally hesitant. "Sure..." He says slowly.
Ironhide wraps his arms around Nitro's, pulling him close, pressing his face against Nitro's neck. "You're not gross. Frag, I've missed you so much."
"I missed you too." Nitro mumbles, hugging Ironhide back after a few seconds of holding his servos out awkwardly. The hug lasts for a few seconds. "But now I feel gross again."
Ironhide lets go. "We'll take everything at your pace." He assures Nitro.
Barricade spots Jazz, sitting at the bar with Dreadbot and Crosshairs. Knock Out was just called to the debrief, and considering that Ratchet is going to look at both Dreadbot and Crosshairs, it's either Jazz or Barricade who'll be debriefed next, so he only has a short window of opportunity to talk to Jazz.
Even if it would've been very interesting to hear what else gets said between Hide and Nitro.
Chapter Text
"Hey, how are you doing?" Barricade asks Jazz, taking a seat.
"Better." Jazz says, holding up a big cube of high grade.
It's not the kind of better Barricade would prefer to see, but he'll take what he can.
"So, we're going to be debriefed about what Blackout does to us for his own pleasure. This is our chance to actually change what we're obligated to put up with. Please don't think I've had worse anyway, but actually say what you would rather not have done to you again."
"Fuck it, I'm gonna throw Motormaster under the transport too. If there's a chance we might get new contracts, I want it to give me the right to negotiate what I'll do and what I don't with everyone, not just Blackout." Dreadbot says. "Not that I feel like doing anything negotiated with that asshole either." He adds derisively.
"I don't think Hide is going to say much if you refuse to fuck Blackout."
"He better not! Not after what Blackout did to Nitro."
"I can't believe Onslaught did that." Jazz says, sounding deep in thought. "I mean, I know what he's capable of, but that he'd actually do it ta one of tha Brothers..." He shudders.
"Hide's goin' te kill 'im." Crosshairs says with certainty.
"Jazz!" Springer calls out from the top of the stairs. "Your turn!"
"Tell them everything. Remember that Blackout could pull up your memories of Onslaught and Brawl, and push those memories on you just because he'd get off on your fear. That's what you want to avoid."
Jazz looks a bit shaken, so either it's something that has happened already but he prefers not to think of it, or it hasn't happened, and he had never thought of the possibility. Either way, he looks thoughtful as he nods to Barricade before heading for the stairs.
"You said something about more mechs needing my attention?" Ratchet says as he steps into the room. His optics zoom in on Blackout, who definitely looks like he need a lot of attention.
"Yes, Crosshairs took a blow to the helm, and was knocked out for a little while, and..." Ironhide trails off, motioning to Nitro's arm.
"It's not healing up as well as it should. I figure you might need some parts, so I'll probably have to come down to your clinic, but if you have a look, we can get what's needed for the repairs." Nitro tells him as they walk over to the bar where Ratchet's first patients are waiting.
"What about him?" Ratchet says, looking back at Blackout.
"If you help him, he has to pay for it himself." Ironhide says sharply.
Ratchet frowns, looking confused, but he doesn't comment.
"But firstly, look at me!" Dreadbot says sassily, getting up from his seat, and dropping his onesie to let it pool on the floor beneath him. He twirls around to show off his frame, clearly to distract everyone. "You were supposed to check me out first."
Ratchet splutters for a second. "This is not... I'm supposed to make sure you're healing well."
"You might as well enjoy the view while you're at it."
Chapter Text
Ratchet has looked Dreadbot over, and has moved on to check Crosshairs' dented face-plates — after a thorough check for fault codes, of course — when Barricade is summoned for the debriefing.
He follows Roadbuster into the conference room, and takes the appointed seat.
"First of all, we need to know how you feel about... whatever's going on between Nitro and Ironhide." Springer says.
Barricade is a bit surprised at first. "I don't really thinks it's any of my business what they do. If they both enjoy it, then I don't see a problem."
Roadbuster makes a note in a data pad. "Good. And what do you think about what happened to Nitro?"
"That it was weak and cowardly of that Onslaught mech. I don't know if you've gotten a report or something from Ironhide about the circumstances?"
"We did get a recap of the statement." Springer says.
"Even under different circumstances, I wouldn't see this as something to blame on Nitro, but that they had to drug him, hack him, and tie him up just to manage does say something about how not weak Nitro is. I wouldn't be hesitant to ask him to serve as security for me in any situation."
"Good. Springer says. "We were just checking to see what kind of loyalty you hold after this."
"It's unchanged. I would advise caution with retaliation. This is a bit too well timed, considering the ICIA investigation. I wouldn't be surprised if the Cons did this to get you all thrown in jail for whatever you decide to do. It would be a very lousy way to unintentionally hand over all your territory."
"We are looking at that angle." Roadbuster says.
"I didn't mean that I think you're not good at tactics, I just... I'm paranoid about Spinister."
Springer nods. "Let's talk about Blackout. What's your view on what he demands?"
"It's a hard topic. Our contracts state that we should entertain you, but no limitations are stated, so technically, it's within the contract. What he does, though, are things that some of us would turn down if we had a choice. Say, if Jazz asked me for it, I would turn some of the things down, or negotiate terms. Blackout never does. And he very purposefully employ tactics like hacking and mindfucks to squeeze out the reactions he wants. Like Onslaught did with Nitro, he tricked him into thinking something else entirely was going on. Blackout does the same, like fake a rape by making me think he's someone else, just to scare me."
"But you seek him out voluntarily? You never complained before?" Springer sounds confused.
Barricade feels himself flushing. "I, he, eh, he pays well after the fact. I always took the credits." He says quietly.
Chapter Text
"So, what exactly is the issue?" Springer sounds honestly confused.
"Because we didn't negotiate it beforehand, and we never negotiated a price for it. We still have interesting conversations, and he pushes me to think about things in new ways, and it has made me look differently at myself and my behavior in many ways. That part, I actually enjoy. And some of the sex is good, but he's always pushing the limits, which can be enjoyable, but he often oversteps, and then he compensates with money."
"To me, that sounds like you're taking a calculated risk for all the rewards it can give you." Springer says.
Fuck. Apparently, Blackout isn't the only one who can interpret things differently, and put it in reasonable words...
"I, ah... Perhaps... But with a contract that states that I am obligated to entertain you all, how would it be perceived to not go along with things."
"You're a street walker now, you can say no. But from what I understand, not only do you say yes when he asks, you actually seek him out of your own volition?"
"I do..." Barricade trails off, processor working frantically to find some way to get the message through in this admittedly messy situation. "At least we should have the right to a safe word, and have the means to use it! Muted vocalizers and comms doesn't count as consent. And without knowing what he's up to, it's hard to make an educated decision of whether you're game or not. Being pushed into someone's memory makes it hard to know that it isn't real, and then you can't really use the safe word either. This needs to be discussed thoroughly to be safe, sane and truly consensual. This is like if someone pushed a memory of enjoying getting it hard in the valve on you, and under that influence, you willingly took it, would it really feel like you consented afterwards?"
Springer makes a face. "I don't think it would be possible to trick me like that, though."
"It's a hundred percent possible. Just like Nitro was fully convinced that it was Ironhide. It's not at all a fun trick to be exposed to."
"I think I understand." Roadbuster says. "I'm considering if we should try doing it to each other — good memories only, of course — just to have a chance to understand what it's like."
That really surprises Barricade, but in a very positive way.
It's an experience that is very hard to explain. Even if they just do it in a nice way, it'll help them come to the right conclusions.
"And as a sidenote — not that he's the one coming into question right now, but I want to mention it as another point for changing the contracts — Motormaster has a few kinks most of us wouldn't go along with momentarily. I can't exactly tell you what, because it's bad enough for me to erase the memories afterwards. Just for comparison: I didn't erase the memory of Blackout tricking me into thinking that he was an unknown rapist, and forced me to bare my spark just because he gets off on terror."
Chapter 930
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When Barricade comes down to the rec room again, Blackout is getting some of his worst injuries patched by Ratchet. Motormaster is sitting next to him, talking quietly, and Barricade isn't that surprised by that. Motormaster seems like the most likely mech to side with Blackout in this.
Barricade takes a seat at the bar with the others, grabbing Jazz's servo, lacing their digits. Dreadbot is called for his debrief.
"Can we spend the evening together?" Ironhide asks Nitro. "We don't need to talk about anything special, I just... I want to be with you. I've missed you."
"We can do that. I'm not spending the night, though."
Ironhide looks sad, but he nods slowly.
"You saw what happened with Dreadbot, I can't handle something like that happening again." Nitro says quietly.
"I'm better equipped to handle it..."
"Perhaps, but I don't want to even think about the risk."
"I understand. Maybe we can look into those protocols later on, see if they can be upgraded to restore your control."
"Yeah..." Nitro sounds hesitant.
"When you feel ready, of course. So, what do you say about lounging in the hot tub for a while, and evening fuel while watching movies? Just relaxing for a while."
"Sounds good."
::Could you set up my tub with a few glowing crystals, kind of like what Dreadbot did for you, but just cozy? And grab the box with gels from the cooler, he loves those. And the tungsten crackers, and some ceramic grease. Put it on my night stand.:: Ironhide comms Barricade.
::Absolutely.::
It's really sweet with the way Ironhide knows exactly what Nitro likes.
"Come on, babe, I need your help with something." Barricade says to Jazz.
"Sure..." Jazz allows himself to be pulled along. "Whadd're we doin'?"
"Hide want to do something nice for Nitro for their evening, and we're setting it up."
"Oh."
"They're so cute, I can't understand how I could've missed it."
Jazz grins. "They're good at keepin' secrets."
"Did you know?"
"Yeah. Well, I knew that they were fuckin', but they never really behaved like a couple. More like secret fuck buddies, so I wasn' aware of all tha sweetness, with hugs, n' li'l kisses n' stuff."
"That makes me feel less blind, at least."
Notes:
I apologize for this chapter being so late, I've had the migraine of the century all day.
Chapter Text
"You know, the whole Starscream-debacle was even more unnecessary than we thought." Barricade muses.
"Whaddya mean?"
"Dreadbot was rambling about how the Brothers say that they don't do love, but that Nitro still was in love with Starscream. Clearly, they do love — even if they probably don't even know that is what they're doing — and not only would Nitro never leave Ironhide, but he probably loves Dreadbot too."
Jazz turns to stare at Barricade, and he kind of looks like someone who's had a revelation, gaping in wonder. "I think ya're right!"
"I don't think all the Brothers get it yet," Barricade says, thinking about Blackout, and how he might not even love himself, "but some of them clearly have reached that stage of emotional growth."
"I wonder 'bout Knockie and Breakdown now." Jazz beams, clearly hopeful for their friend.
"And I don't think I need to feel a bit bad for Crosshairs anymore, I always thought it was unrequited feelings, but I'm pretty sure they're not."
Jazz makes a happy squee, putting down the crystal he was holding.
Barricade's initial elation takes a hit when he thinks about the things that have been going on lately. "There's going to be a lot to repair after everything."
"Yeah, but if we could get through everythin' after ya came outta prison, they can do it."
"Maybe you could talk to Nitro? If you feel comfortable, I mean. Tell him how you did to move on after..." Barricade trails off, not willing to even mention Jazz's time with the Cons.
"I... I could ask if he wanna listen?" Jazz says hesitantly.
"Don't feel pressured. I'll ask if he wants to hear my experience being hacked. One of the things I've come to enjoy the most in this house is not being alone with most of the things I've been through. I'm sure Nitro feels pretty damned alone right now, even if Ironhide is very supportive."
Chapter 932
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"How are you doing?" Barricade asks Dreadbot as they return to the rec room.
"Overwhelmed. I think I understand more why Nitro did what he did to me, and it's easier to not take it personally. I think I still need time to not get all stiff every time he is near me. At the same time, I miss him, and I want to support him after what happened. And I'm a little peeved that he has spent all this time saying he doesn't do love when he clearly does."
"To be fair, I think both of them still think they don't love, because they don't know what it is."
"Huh. Maybe you're right. The blind fools. But then again, I guess so am I. Hatchet, how did you know?"
"Hm?" Hatchet makes the questioning noise without tearing his attention from the data pad.
"What are you doing?" Dreadbot asks, leaning closer to have a look at the data pad.
"I'm looking at a DIY tutorial for building a dog house."
"Aaw, honey, you know you can stay in the house." Dreadbot teases, tickling Hatchet in the side, making the animal former jump and grunt.
"It's for Blackout. Hide said he don't want him under this roof, so I thought I could build a suitable dwelling for him."
Dreadbot snorts a laugh. "That's sweeter than he deserves."
"Considering how my frame makes it impossible to make it a very tall house, it won't be very convenient for him. He'll need to crawl inside."
"As he should!" Dreadbot says with conviction. "But how did you know about the Prez and his Sargeant at arms?"
"I walked around the corner to find a very steamy make out session, soon to be fucking against the wall in the hallway. I backed out of there before they saw me, but I did catch their fields, and it was different than just the regular horniness. More like what they feel like when they're with you and Crosshairs. After that, it was easy to spot all the little signs; the jokes, the teasing, Hide's fond exasperation and leniency, the friendly touches that always lingered a little longer than with the others, the touches and looks when they thought nobody saw..."
"All in all, I'm glad that you kept it a secret and let them decide when to come out, even if that ended pretty damned disastrous, and I'm even happier that you're so open minded about it."
Hatchet smirks. "Well, I'm not sure whom I'm most envious of: Nitro, Hide, or you."
Notes:
I apologize for not answering comments these last few days, my head was still feeling like mush. I appreciate all your comments and support.❤️
Chapter Text
::Is it fine if we take the night off? I would like to spend the night with Jazz.:: Barricade comms Springer.
::Yeah, yeah. The rest of us has a lot to do, and discuss, but you and the other employees will be briefed later.:: Springer sounds harried.
::Let Ironhide and Nitro be. I think they would appreciate some time together just the two of them. It's the first time they can be alone without thinking about how to cover it up, and Nitro needs some support right now. Think of them as civilians right now, because they weren't built to handle this sort of situation.::
::Thanks for the input. We'll leave them be.::
"We have the night off." Barricade says to Jazz.
"Oh. What do we do?"
"Bring energon, and stay in berth?"
"That sounds nice."
They head back to the refueling room to see what else is in the cupboards.
"I wonder what will happen now." Barricade muses.
"Yeah. I've never seen Hide so pissed with one of his Brothers." Jazz says, grabbing a bag of crisps from a cupboard.
"And even if he doesn't decide to kick Blackout out of the house, maybe Blackout don't want to stay under Hide's command? But then again, Blackout can't really question if Nitro is still good in a fight, even if he doesn't mind some valve action. Didn't mind it, at least."
"I don' know if tha other Brothers would back tha decision ta throw him out either."
"I guess we can only wait and see."
"No matter what happens, I wanna stay with Hide. He's a good mech." Jazz decides.
The simple statement bring other thoughts, much more worrying ones.
What if the Brothers won't kick Blackout out, and Ironhide decides to leave? Springer seems like a good enough mech to have as a boss, but Jazz seems adamant. What would that mean for them. Would Ironhide even want them to come with him?
It's worrying enough that Barricade needs to change the subject, because he doesn't want to have that hanging over him all night.
He can't do anything about ut right now anyway, so he might as well wait and see what happens.
"Oh, hell! Roadbuster and Springer were talking about trying hardlining and pushing memories on one another just to see what it's like. I would want to see that." He says.
"Really?! They'd do that?!"
"Just good memories, but to see how it can drown out reality."
"They should try our memories of bein' fucked by 'em. Maybe one or two of them would be inspired?" Jazz says, waggling his optical ridges. "That Springer n' Roadie fan fic comes ta mind..."
Chapter Text
They opt to not be a part of the whole memory pushing thing — it's quite possible that it isn't even going to happen tonight anyway — and take advantage of the night for themselves.
"Have you changed Mumbo's filters lately?" Barricade asks Jazz.
"Mhm, I did!" Jazz says, stuffing more crisps into his mouth, fiddling with the remote to their TV.
"Good."
"So, whaddya wanna see?" Jazz asks as soon as the streaming service has connected.
"I hope we won't get more nasty surprises." Barricade muses.
It seems like a lifetime ago since they were listlessly going to watch TV, just to get to see a friend be abused instead of some mind numbing show.
"Yeah... Maybe we can watch Cyberverse?" Jazz says, flicking through the available titles.
"Isn't that show a bit lame?" Barricade groans.
"What?! No! It's awesome." Jazz says, starting the first episode. "I wanna rewatch the first season too, 'cause I pro'ly forgot somethin', then we watch the second season, as a marathon. The ya can pick what ya wanna see." Jazz decides.
"It'll be the middle of the night before I get to choose!" Barricade protests."
Jazz puts on his most solicitous smile. "Pleeease, honey?"
"Fine." Barricade grumbles. "Good thing you're so darned cute."
Jazz giggles, allowing himself to be pulled close by Barricade.
"It's just because you think the mech playing Jetfire is hot, isn't it?" Barricade says, pressing a kiss to Jazz's helm.
"Nu-uh!" Jazz denies it around a mouthful of crisps.
"Or was it Skybyte you're always ogling?"
Jazz makes a funny noise, probably trying not to snort crisps through his olfactory vents. "He has a dildo on his helm!"
"Don't you see that as a good trait? Maybe I should mount one on my forehead too? Call myself Skybyte — the unicorn of love..."
Jazz cackles, spraying crisps all over the berth. "Ya're ruining tha characters!"
"No, I think the character designer did that... Ack!"
Jazz tackles him, starting to tickle Barricade's protoform, the show on TV left forgotten in the background.
Chapter Text
Barricade grabs Jazz's wrist-struts to stop the assault, and manages to roll them so he can pin Jazz down. The bag of crisps gets kicked around, the contents winding up all over the berth, crumbled under their frames.
"You're going to clean that up!" Barricade growls playfully.
"No! Ya're tha one who did that!"
"I wasn't the one eating in berth, and you started this!"
"It's my right ta eat in berth, n' ya can't be both prosecutor n' jury on it!"
"You're right. Who should we bring in to be the judge?"
Jazz squeals indignantly, straining his frame to get lose one last time before slumping. He smiles solicitously. "Why, officer, I'm sure we can come ta an agreement..." He purrs.
Barricade stiffens, suddenly feeling very serious. "Are you sure about this?"
It's far too close to their past reality to just barrel ahead.
Jazz rolls his optics. "Way ta go ta kill tha mood... Yeah, of course I'm sure 'bout it. I wouldn' start it if I wasn'."
"Good. I just wanted to be sure..."
"I'm really fine with it, officer." Jazz says, smile back in place.
"So, what do you offer then?" Barricade asks.
"What would you prefer, Sir?" Jazz bites his fingertip, managing to look cute and innocent.
"A blowjob would be nice..."
Jazz gapes as if he can't believe his audials.
"B-but officer! I've never given anyone a blowjob before! I'm just a silly little student, all innocent..."
Barricade manages to stifle a snort.
"No more buts... Or maybe that's what I want...?" Barricade muses.
Jazz gasps in fake shock.
Jazz is actually turning into a very good actor.
"Then again, having your first time using your mouth would be nice too." Barricade continues.
"I-I'll suck your," Jazz squirms in embarrassment, "spike, officer." He whispers.
"That's a good little mech." Barricade rolls off him, standing up next to the berth, pressurizing his spike. "I want you on all fours doing it."
"Yes, officer." Jazz gets up hesitantly, and it makes Barricade's spike twitch. "Ya hafta tell me if I'm doin' it right." He glances up at Barricade in a shy way, then he leans in to lick at the head of Barricade's spike.
Chapter Text
"Just keep doing that " Barricade groans.
Jazz flicks his glossa back and forth over the head of Barricade's spike, drawing little patterns. It's not the kind of intensity of stimulation that being sucked gives, but Barricade feels a bit devilish, and definitely not in a rush to finish.
He should feel bad about enjoying the power he feels right now, shouldn't he? But Jazz was willing to offer, and...
Barricade hisses when Jazz's glossa twirls a pattern along the underside of the head of his spike.
"I'm sure you've done this before, you slut, no little mouth-virgin can be this talented." Barricade mutters.
"I swear, I've never done this before!" Jazz says.
"Yeah, yeah, just keep at it." Barricade dismisses Jazz's claim. "You don't want me to arrest you, do you?"
Jazz eeps, lapping frantically at Barricade's spike.
"Good little mech." Barricade praises, putting a servo on the back of Jazz's helm, but not doing anything to really guide Jazz — it's more for his own enjoyment, that added feeling of being in power.
He can feel the transfluid beading , and Jazz cleans it away with his glossa.
"Do you like the taste, you little slut" he asks.
"Y-yes..." Jazz stammers, but he immediately resumes his work as soon as the words are out. He has managed to push some embarrassment into his field, and it goes straight to Barricade's cock.
"You can play with yourself." He says it more as a demand than a suggestion.
Jazz makes a noise of embarrassment, but he still reaches between his legs, servo starting to move there.
"Good little slut, I knew you'd like this." Barricade leers when Jazz makes a small noise of pleasure.
Tension is coiling in the pit of his abdomen as his overload is closing in, and Barricade can't tear his optics away from Jazz's glossa working his cock. Jazz makes little noises of pleasure from his own ministrations, and Barricade's grip on Jazz's helm tightens slightly when he teeters on the edge.
Then he overloads, ropes of transfluid painting Jazz's face-plates, some of it spurting into his open intake, and Barricade groans at the sight.
"That's such a good look on you."
Chapter Text
"Was that good enough, officer?" Jazz asks shyly.
"You know, I'm not sure..."
"Please, don't arrest me! My Daddy would throw a fit." Jazz whimpers.
His Daddy?!
"Who's your Daddy?" Barricade asks stupidly, thrown off track from the roleplay.
"His name is Springer, n' he doesn' like it when I'm bein' bad. He'd be sooo mad if I got arrested..."
Springer?! That's new. Maybe he got inspired to try new stuff by that fic they read? Or maybe he's been doing that with in-house mechs for a long time...
"Wouldn't sucking cock to get out of being arrested count as being bad too?"
Jazz squeaks. "Please don' tell on me!"
"Doesn't your Daddy deserve to know what a slut he has raised?"
"B-but I've never done this before! Please, officer, I did what'ya asked for..."
"Indeed you did. Did it make you wet?"
"Uhm... Yes." Jazz says quietly, sounding embarrassed.
"Then we should probably do something about that. I enjoy defiling good little Daddy's bots... Bring me a dildo from the chest of drawers."
Jazz does as he's told, fetching his favorite one, the one that just happens to be green and yellow. "Here ya go, Sir." He says, handing it to Barricade.
"I want you on your back, legs spread for me."
Jazz covers his face with his servos when he parts his legs. His puffy valve-lips are slick and glistening with lubricant, and Barricade immediately sinks the dildo into Jazz's ready valve. Jazz mewls shakily.
"Your Daddy should see you now, you bad little bot, all wanton for something to fill you."
"Please, don' tell 'im!" Jazz manages to get out between the cute little moans he makes.
"Perhaps not..."
Barricade starts to pump the dildo quicker, and Jazz arches his back, spreading his legs more, giving in to the pleasure.
Chapter Text
They lay stretched out on the berth in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the afterglow of a very satisfying scene.
"So," Barricade eventually says, "Daddy Springer? Is it something you shouldn't really talk about? But then again, what happens behind the doors is being revealed left, right and center today..."
Jazz actually flushes. "No. But I kinda get hot thinkin' 'bout it? I dunno if I'd really want it in reality, but it's kinda intriguing in a way..."
"I know you don't like spanking."
"I know? N' it's not that part of that Daddy thing that I'm thinkin' 'bout mostly."
"So what would your Daddy do if Officer Barricade called him up and told him his son was a slut? Give you room arrest? Withhold your allowance?"
Jazz snorts, but then he looks thoughtful. "Mebbe both? N' be really disappointed in me. Then he'd ask me ta show him what I did ta get out of trouble."
"This is where the Daddy-kink turns me off. I think I could actually stand a bit of spanking if my partner was really into that, but this is a big, fat no-go for me."
"But I'd know Springer isn't my real Dad, so for me, it's okay."
"Are you sure?" Barricade quirks an optical ridge. "These guys could have kids all over the place for all we know."
"I think I'd be taller if he was."
Barricade starts to laugh. "True. But I think you have the perfect height. It would be terribly hard for me to fuck you against the wall of you were as tall as the Bros."
Jazz giggles. "But it would be a really good workout!"
"Are you saying I'm out of shape?!"
"Mebbe?" Jazz grins.
Barricade gasps theatrically. "The nerve! Maybe I should tell your Daddy?!"
Jazz eeps. "No, please don'! He doesn't know 'bout my fantasies..."
Barricade grins devilishly.
"Please?" Jazz tilts his helm, putting on the cutest smile he can. "I'll clean up tha crisp crumbs all by myself..."
"Hmmm..." Barricade rubs his chin in consideration. "Alright, clean this mess up while I hit the shower." He says sternly.
Jazz sticks his glossa out.
"Paging Daddy Springer..."
"No! No! I was jus' kiddin'! I'll clean it up!"
"Good little mech."
Chapter Text
Morning brings meetings for the Brothers — minus Blackout, who's sulking on the couch — and the entertainers decide to enjoy the nice weather by sitting in the garden.
"Could you bring me some fuel?" Blackout asks as they pass.
"No." Dreadbot says, breezing past, since he's much better physically now.
"I'll give you some med grade." Barricade says, earning a glare from the other pleasurebots. Well, not from Jazz, he's not really built like that.
"Seriously?! After what he said and did?" Dreadbot's voice drips with venom.
"His punishment hasn't been decided yet, and I think we at least should make sure he lives long enough for the verdict to be delivered. Hide hasn't said that he should be denied fuel."
Dreadbot makes a face, turning on his heel, heading for the refueling room, the other entertainers in tow.
"I'd prefer high grade." Blackout says.
"Tough luck."
Barricade heads for the refueling room too, leaving the Helicopter to stew on the couch.
"All my gels are gone!" Dreadbot sounds both shocked and mournful.
"Ironhide snagged them for Nitro." Barricade explains.
"Oh. Well, I can't complain about that." Dreadbot goes to rummage through a cupboard.
Barricade pours hot energon for himself, and grabs a cube of med grade from the cooler, heading back to the rec room.
Blackout glares at the cube as Barricade approaches. "Don't bite the servo that feeds you..." Barricade says, holding the cube out.
"This is ridiculous!" Blackout sneers, snatching the cube from Barricade's servo. "And Hide is busy playing favorites..."
"For good reason, you fucking bigot! How is it any of your business at all of they're fucking or not? From what I've seen, Ironhide has always been a fair leader. If he hadn't been, their relationship might've already been a well-known fact."
"It's still gross."
"Why? It's the same thing all of you does to us, why is it suddenly gross just because they do it? They've never rubbed it in your face — though I can see the appeal of doing so extensively after this — and what they do in their own rooms are hardly any of your business."
Blackout makes a face. "It's a sign of weakness."
"I'd say they have to be pretty damned brave to dare going for what they want, and keeping it up in secret in spite of the potential fallout. I think it's brave — especially considering your pasts — to dare being that vulnerable, and push through past trauma for each other. It's far easier to always exert power, always dominate and stay on top."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Yes. Daring to bottom has served me very well, actually. I'm glad I can switch roles with Jazz, and trust him to take good care of me. Maybe you should try it sometime."
Blackout makes a noise of disgust.
"Be like that if you want to. I'm going to get some solar recharge." Barricade says, heading out to join the others.
Chapter Text
They're all summoned to the rec room, since Blackout going up the stairs to the conference room would take forever.
"We've come to a conclusion." Ironhide says.
"Aren't I supposed to have a chance to defend my actions?" Blackout protests.
"You've already put forth your opinions on considering them to be within the contracts."
Blackout makes a face.
"Springer, read him his options." Ironhide says.
Springer takes out a data pad, onlining the screen. "We have three options for you, because you didn't know better, and we can't very well force you to go through what we've decided."
Barricade feels himself leaning forward on his chair, tense and focused on Springer.
This is the first time they'll get to hear what kind of sanctions is put on a Brother.
"The first option is you spend a week being for the hookers what they've been to you..."
"Oh, hell no! What the fuck?! You really think it's fair to force me to submit again? You're being just like our other superiors..." Blackout snarls.
"Hence the options." Springer sounds unimpressed.
"Don't worry, Blackout," Dreadbot says sweetly. Blackout turns to him, and Dreadbot grabs a big bottle, keeping optic contact with Blackout in a challenging way, "I'm sure we can make it interesting." He grins, opening the bottle, pouring himself a drink.
Blackout bares his denta.
"Your second option is getting the emotional protocols from one of us to nudge yours along. It'll make it easier for you to understand how and why things need to be negotiated. Especially after your trial period."
"Reprogramming?!" Blackout is enraged. "And what fucking trial?"
"Like what the pleasurebots go through when they start working here. You'll have a week, and you'll be allowed to say no to them or negotiate, but they will vote after a week for if you've done your trial successfully, or if it should be prolonged, so playing keep away won't servo you well."
"They'll vote no, of course, and keep me as their fucking bitch!" Blackout growls to all his Brothers.
"Unlike you, we have some morals and compassion. We'd give you a fair trial." Dreadbot says.
Blackout just glares at him.
"Come on, Hide, you can't be serious! These are terrible options! I thought we wouldn't have to bend over for anyone now that we're out of the army." Blackout doesn't plead.
"You have your options — just like everyone working here has gotten options they didn't like at some point — and if you don't want to make a deal, you know where the door is."
Chapter Text
"Reprogramming? You think that's a fair deal?" Blackout growls.
"It isn't like we're going to make you a zombie or anything. It's just a few emotional protocols." Ironhide says.
"So that I'll be like you. How's that different than what our owners would do?"
"They'd take away your ability to decide what you want. This is just going to give you a better understanding how your decisions impact others."
"You still want to change me."
"You have two options to not get the upgrades."
Blackout glances at Dreadbot, and in response, the pleasurebot grabs the bottle again, grinning at the Helo.
"Nobody else has got to be reprogrammed." It almost sounds like Blackout is pouting.
"Actually, Motormaster already did. But, you're right; nobody else seem to need it, because they've evolved by themselves." Springer says.
Blackout glares at Motormaster, looking betrayed.
"What? Look where it landed you, I'm not risking to be the one in your spot, Bro." Motormaster says. "So far, I don't see much negative with it."
"You're still operating on the protocols our owners decided to create us with. Sure, your obedience coding is broken, but you're held from possibilities because of what they encouraged us to be. On a way, you're not really free at all." Ironhide says, stroking Nitro's arm. "But as I said, you can choose not to get the upgrade. I personally would think it's a pity if you don't, because you're missing out."
Blackout glares down at his own lap, hopefully thinking it through.
Ironhide is right, but he can relate to Blackout's situation, how hard it is to make that choice to submit to things you really don't want. He did take the door option himself that first time, and his trial period certainly wasn't a picnic.
Blackout slowly and laboriously gets up, stopping momentarily as if he needs his gyros to stop before he starts moving, hobbling towards the front door. He's still too injured to make a grand exit, and his field betrays his anger and resentment. Without a word, he opens the door — slowly, having trouble with how heavy it is — and then he limps outside, shutting the door. It doesn't lock in place, but it stays shut at least.
Inside the house, it's quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Barricade's spark feels a bit cold.
This wasn't what he wanted when he told on Blackout.
Chapter Text
After long seconds of silence, Breakdown heads for the window, peeking out behind the curtain. "He's sitting in the garden."
"Leave him be. He probably needs to weigh his options. We can give him a few days to consider it." Ironhide says, then he turns to Nitro. "We need to get going."
Nitro nods. "We're picking up some parts for my arm, and then I have an appointment with Ratchet." He explains to Springer, who's looking questioningly at him.
"Alright."
Barricade can't resist the urge to look out when Nitro and Ironhide leave. Blackout is sitting on the ground in the middle of the yard, the other two not acknowledging his presence when they transform and leave.
"What if Spinister comes by?" He asks Springer.
Springer shrugs. "He'll see what he sees, and there's nothing he can do about it. It's not like he has a reason for a raid just because someone is injured."
"And you're certain that Blackout won't talk? He's mighty pissed off right now."
"He won't talk. Unit comes first."
"And up until yesterday, nobody thought you Bros would ever go a death match against each other either."
Springer frowns. "You're right. But if he makes a deal and rats us out, he won't have any Brothers at all. Being alone doesn't sit well with our coding, and civvies just can't fill that slot, since they don't function the same way we do. And Blackout is smart, he knows that when Spinister is done with his plans, there are no guarantees that Blackout won't conveniently disappear."
"I guess you're right."
"Barricade?" Jazz calls him.
"Yeah?"
"We need ta go shoppin' for some fuel n' stuff. Ya wanna come along n' help out?"
"Sure."
"Don't exceed the budget." Roadbuster says to Dreadbot.
"Absolutely not!"
"I'll go with you." Motormaster says.
It's kind of comical, the way, the entire in-house division turns to him, looking like he suddenly grew a second helm. If it is because the Brothers rarely tag along, or if it's Motormaster specifically opting to do so is impossible to say.
"What?" He says, looking down at his frame as if suspecting some weird stain or something.
"Ye never go shoppin' with us!" Crosshairs says. "Are ye afraid we will spend more than the allowance?"
"No, but in light of what has happened to one of our own, it seems unwise to let you out without someone to keep you safe." Springer says.
"We're an entire flock!" Dreadbot protests. "And it's the middle of the day."
"A flock of smallish, unarmed civilians. Point a gun against one of you, my bet is that all of you would do anything you have to to appease the one doing the pointing." Motormaster says.
"I... Good point." Dreadbot concedes.
Chapter Text
Of course they stick Motormaster with pushing the shopping cart around. It makes sense, since he's the strongest, but Barricade suspects that it's some sort of test — or perhaps a protest — now that a Brother is joining them for shopping for the first time. Crosshairs is holding the data pad with the shopping list as they walk up and down the aisles at creep speed. Dreadbot is a lot better now, but he still tires quickly if doing too much too quickly, and they did drive to the store.
"So, how does it feel with the new protocols, Motormaster?" Dreadbot finally says after a long silence.
They usually talk about stuff the Brothers aren't supposed to hear when shopping, so none of them quite know what to say.
"A bit weird. It's kind of a concept I already understood physically, but not mentally or emotionally."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, like when one of my Brothers got hurt in battle, I could understand how that would feel, because I had been injured too. It was very relatable, and physical pain is easy to grasp. But now I can apply that to emotions, and right now it's taking up so much processor power, like holy scrap, my motherboard must be glowing at all the connectors reevaluating everything. I can understand some of your reactions now, and I can see how fucked up everything was in the military, much more fucked up than what I initially thought. I mean, fuck, you're all people! I'm people!"
"Thank you." Dreadbot says flatly.
"Did you really not see yourself as people before, though?" Knock out asks.
Motormaster shrugs. "I dunno, I saw myself as a war thing, and you were playthings. I haven't fully figured everything out yet. I definitely don't understand what Hide and Nitro are feeling for each other," he looks at Jazz and Barricade, "or the two of you, for that matter, but I'm starting to get other things as I cross-reference some of the scrap I've been through with your deals, but then it gets extra confusing since some of you like some of the things we do, and the lines are all blurry. It'll take some time to integrate this knowledge."
"But all in all, it isn't a bad thing with the upgrade?" Barricade asks.
"No. I bet it'll give me a processor ache regularly for a while with all the new ways to process, but I can totally see how this change in protocols is what brought us to where we are. If Ironhide hadn't started to change this much, we probably wouldn't have made it out of the army. It also puts a different context on what I feel for my Brothers; now I know that I care about them, it isn't just some sort of unit coding that's a core program. And now I know I've cared about all of them for a long time, but I couldn't put it into words. That's pretty neat."
Chapter Text
"I think I owe you all an apology. For not negotiating stuff." Motormaster says.
They all look at each other, and Dreadbot pinches his arm.
"Thank you." They all say, not quite in unison.
"To be fair, Ironhide had these protocols, and he never thought to look over the terms." Barricade says, perhaps more forgiving because he doesn't remember the unnegotiated stuff he went through.
"You've helped him get here, though. He said so when we did the upgrade, and the memory pushing, that some of his understanding still wasn't there for a long while. And then when the first ones recruited settled in and seemed okay with their deal, he just chalked it down to an adjustment period."
"I mean, I can fergive 'im fer tha'." Crosshairs says.
Dreadbot snorts. "You'd forgive him for anything."
"Ye're one te talk 'bout forgivin' anything."
"Let's not go there." Knock Out interrupts when Dreadbot looks like he's been slapped.
"Ye're right." Crosshairs turns to Dreadbot. "Sorry."
"Apology accepted."
"See? These are interactions I would've been puzzled by." Motormaster says. "I mean, I still need to learn to decipher your expressions better, and read your fields, but I know that Crosshairs didn't aim to hurt Dreadbot, and that Dreadbot... got stressed? To many things to figure out, but your spark rate went up."
"I got both sad, and scared, because I was reminded of the pain." Dreadbot says quietly.
"I'm very glad that fear hasn't been on my repertoire before. I hope it won't get through too much either, but Hide doesn't seem to get scared, so I'm hopeful."
"Fear can keep you safe, though." Barricade says. "Keep you from walking into situations that won't go well."
"Perhaps, but that's why I have tactical programming. And back in the army, it would probably have blown the cover of our progress with breaking the obedience coding."
"How do you mean?" Knock Out asks.
"If I'd been afraid, I probably would've backed out when they sent us on bullshit assignments — those where we were calculated as a necessary sacrifice — might even have left my Brothers behind and gotten them killed. Then I'd be reformatted, or recycled. Or if I was afraid of the punishments, I might not try to bend the rules so much, because I really wanted to avoid the punishment. And bending the rules often was what kept us alive. Not to mention how that fear would have made it very hard to quietly go to receive that punishment without protests, or trying to het out of it, which would've been a dead giveaway that something was up with my coding."
"It makes terrible sense." Barricade says. "So you didn't really fear the punishments, and other... stuff they did to you?"
"No. I mean, I really hated it, and I wanted to get out of it, but it was what it was, and just something we had to go through now and then."
Chapter Text
When they get home, Blackout is still sitting in the garden. The others just head for the door without acknowledging him, but Barricade can't help but look at him. Blackout isn't looking back, though.
Ratchet has patched him up, but no more repairs have been done, and Blackout still looks like scrap. Since he's clearly not engaging them, Barricade decides to go inside with the others and give Blackout some space.
Motormaster goes to do whatever he does when not doing unspeakable things to hookers — though Barricade must admit that he's kind of curious about what will happen the next time they hook up, since Motormaster will need to negotiate his more... exotic ideas — and the rest of them puts everything away. Dreadbot opens one of the packages with gels, mushing a few into his mouth, chewing kind of sloppily.
"What?" He says around the mouthful as he catches the others staring at him. "I just want to get a few in case Nitro and Hide decides to eat them all later on."
Barricade starts the energon heater, in the mood for another cup, and then he hears the door opening. He turns around to find Hatchet making a beeline for Dreadbot.
"So, uhm, I don't want to stress you or anything, so don't feel like you have to say yes, but would like to have some fun with me? I want to try something new..." Hatchet trails off, glancing around as if he suddenly realized that they're not alone in the room. His field is quivering with excitement, but there's a thread of nervousness weaving through it.
Dreadbot swallows the gels loudly. "Sure, hun. Carry me to your berth?"
"Of course!"
Hatchet bows to make it easier for Dreadbot to climb onto his back, and as soon as Dreadbot has found his balance, he pads off at a trot, bouncing in place for a few steps as he has to wait for the door to open.
"You know, with how few we are now, and with all the revelations we've already had about what happens behind some doors, I think it's unfair that Barricade and I are the only ones who won't get to hear about this afterwards." Knock Out says, obviously curious.
"Maybe ye're right..." Crosshairs says slowly.
Chapter Text
"I say we make a pact!" Barricade proposes. " If the Bros decide to get a bit adventurous, and want something that has to do with their valves, then we tell each other about it. I mean, even if they just choose a specific person for those games, it can never hurt to be prepared, right?"
Knock Out nods vigorously.
"So ye wanna 'ave in-house information, huh?" Crosshairs says. "It comes with great responsibility..."
"I know! Barricade says. "And you know we haven't been talking about other things we do with the Bros, and we won't tell them about each other, of course. Though, something tells me that mecha here are going to start talking a bit more with each other over all. But don't worry, Knockie and I are not going to say anything that's not meant for other audials than ours."
"I guess ye're right. Nothin' is the way it used ta be anymore, an' it's jus' the five of us now. I think this is a good idea."
They lapse into silence for a while, Barricade almost overwhelmed with how much has happened in such a short while, and how it might continue to change, especially after their contracts have been rewritten.
"So, what do you think Blackout will choose?" He finally asks.
The others shrug, and shake their helms, apparently as clueless as Barricade is.
"I don' think he'll get tha upgrade." Jazz says.
"I don' mind. I like most of 'is games anyway." Crosshairs says.
"I think he'll be better off getting the upgrade." Knock Out muses. "If he doesn't, he'll probably be sorely disappointed when most of our negotiations are over."
Barricade can't help but chuckle. "Yeah, it'll get far more vanilla than he'd like it to be. At least with some of us..." He glances at Jazz.
"He ain't gonna be allowed ta push memories on me, that's for sure." Jazz says adamantly.
"Good!" Barricade says.
"Not to mention how much he'd hate his initiation." Knock Out grins.
"I wonder what he'd hate the most: if we do all the scrap he does to us, or if we'd make sure he'd overload every time even though he doesn't want it." Barricade muses.
"One doesn't exclude the other." Knock Out grins.
Chapter Text
It's almost the middle of the night when Barricade ventures into the garden. Blackout is still sitting in the same spot, optics dim. It's hard to say if he's in some sort of light recharge, his dimmed optics a strategy to save energy, or some kind of system to make it seem like he's awake when he's not.
"What do you want?" The Helo grunts without looking at him. His voice sounds slightly better, so his self repair must be working.
"Are you going to sit here all night?"
"Perhaps I will."
"It's raining."
"I noticed."
"If it turns more acidic, it'll be very uncomfortable."
"I've had worse."
"It might slow down your self repair."
Blackout online's his optics fully, glaring at Barricade in annoyance. "Maybe it's worth it?"
"To what, prove a point that you're a stubborn idiot?"
"Shut up. Don't feel safe just because I can't hunt you down right now. My targeting protocols are still perfectly functional."
"Just calling it as I see it."
Blackout flips him off.
"So what are you going to do, sit out here, scratching yourself? For how long?"
"Long enough for me to be good to transform and fly out of here."
Barricade feels his spark go cold, and his tank twists. "So you're leaving?"
"Don't see I have much of a choice. My Brothers clearly don't want me here." Blackout pulls his field in as he says it, and Barricade doesn't have time to catch what it was that was weaving through it.
"I guess it's up to you if they want you here or not. This kind of rift in the unit serves nobody well, especially not with the ICIA snooping around. I can see why they need you to fit in."
"We've been a unit since the day we onlined, they know me. They're the ones who have changed, and now I'm the one who's getting kicked out."
"Even if they're the ones who changed, attacking one of your Brothers was a very poor decision. If you had no problem with them before you knew about their relationship, this really shouldn't change anything. And if you'll say anything about supposed weakness, I'll go fetch a fucking mirror for you."
Blackout bares his denta.
"Growl at me all you want, but let's face it; we're in the civilized world now, and things here are different. Survival of the fittest here isn't necessarily about who's strongest, but who's capable of adapting and fitting in. Sometimes the adaptations suck, and you're free to leave and not adapt to being here, but what would you do? Get an apartment and a day job? A sweet little conjux, and 2.3 sparklings? Sorry to break it to you, but without changing some of your M.O, and without Hide making sure you fit in, it's far more likely that you'd spend your life crammed into a tiny cell. Possibly for murdering your boss, raping your conjux, and physically removing those 0.7 from one of the kids."
Chapter Text
"I guess you're aware of both my attempts to leave. Do you know what happened to make me return?" Barricade asks.
"Not really."
"The first time, I was drugged and robbed, and wound up shoplifting, being chased out of the store by security, and had to come back here to not fall into stasis out of fuel deprivation. The second time, the only shitty job I managed to land wouldn't even pay for someplace to stay all nights of the week, and I was busting my frame doing that job. There was just no long-term sustainability in it. And I got lonely, missing Jazz."
Blackout frowns. "I'm better fit to fend for myself than you are..."
"As soon as you can get up from the ground." Barricade interrupts.
Blackout growls in annoyance. "I will get better, and I'll get repairs. I do have savings to get me started."
"But repairs will eat into that, and living off of savings will make them dwindle fast. Plus you need to get a job, which isn't that easy with a rap sheet like yours. And you need to find someone who'll be willing to have you as a tenant, which might not be easy either, considering your frame type."
"I can always rob a bank."
Barricade wants to facepalm at how stubborn the bastard can be. "And then what, run around with a bag of credits, avoiding the law forever?"
Blackout gives Barricade an unimpressed look. "I'd have to move, of course. Maybe to Kaon, I don't think it would be to hard to find someplace to live there."
"And be ruled by your darling little Brother..."
"No. I'd go solo. I can live there without being an Autobot." Blackout pulls out a cyg, lighting it up. "It isn't impossible that they won't want to be Autobots either when those fags go public to the rest of the organization."
This time Barricade actually does facepalm. "Fags? Seriously? How the hell would a Cybertronian even be that, or not be? We all have the same equipment, technically, we'd all be fags, no matter what our preferences are. You fucking fag."
Blackout growls again. "Why are you still here? Go away, you're giving me a processor ache."
"Gladly, but I know you're lying, since a prosthetic can't ache."
Chapter Text
The next morning, Barricade peeks out behind the curtain again. Blackout is still sitting in the same spot.
"He's still sitting outside." He says, more to himself than to anyone in particular."
"That's because he's a stubborn, narrow-minded dick." Nitro says.
Barricade whips around, because it sounds suspiciously like Nitro before... everything, and he was not prepared for that.
The Flier is holding a cube of hot energon, eyeing Ironhide's back, the Prez leaning against the bar.
"'ow's yer 'and?" Crosshairs asks.
Nitro flexes the wrist that looks functional now that he has been to Ratchet.
"Good enough for me to do this!" Nitro puts his cube down quickly, grabbing Ironhide and spinning him around.
"What the..."
Nitro cups Ironhide's aft, lifting him onto a bar stool, stepping between his legs. "Morning, babe." Nitro grins, leaning in for a kiss.
Ironhide hesitates for a fraction of a second, then he meets Nitro in a kiss that makes Barricade want to look away, heat pooling in the pit of his abdomen.
"This is still weird." Springer says, servos on his hips. "Not bad weird, just... unusual."
Nitro and Ironhide break apart. "Did you talk to the others?" Ironhide asks.
"Yeah. Talk about weird! Grindor thought I was coming on to him, so he just hung up, and I had to send him a text to get him to pick up again."
"Coming on to him? What the fuck did you say?!" Ironhide asks.
"I just asked how he would feel about a relationship between two Brothers, and..."
Nitro starts laughing. "You fragging doofus! I would've thought exactly the same thing if you asked me that!"
"... well, anyway, he wasn't too positive at first, but we talked a bit more, and he's reasonable about it. Motormaster talked to him about the upgrade, and the advantages he sees, and they're going to discuss things today, so we'll probably hear back later."
"That's much better than I expected." Ironhide says.
"That's just because I'm excellent at coming out of the closet!" Springer boasts.
"So when will you come out of yours?" Hatchet leers as he passes by Springer, pinching his aft. "Mhm, fresh plating..."
Springer squawks, whipping around, and the others start laughing.
"I'm fine in my closet!"
Hatchet raises his optical ridges.
"I didn't mean it like that! I meant I'm flattered, but I'm not interested, not that I need to hide being attracted to you!"
Nitro starts laughing again.
"I'm not attracted to you." Springer says. "Not that you're ugly, I didn't mean it like that!" He adds. "You're hot, so that's not what I meant." Then his optics brighten in alarm for how that sounded.
"You have the right to offline your vocalizer..." Hide manages to get out through his laughter.
"Shutting up now." Springer says, nodding vigorously.
"You know, if you tell Blackout that Grindor is being reasonable about all of this, he'll probably come around just because he has that incessant need to be better than Grindor." Barricade says when everyone calms down.
Why is he this invested in getting the bastard to stay?
Chapter Text
As soon as Dreadbot deigns to show up, heading for the refueling room, Barricade glances at the others, and he sees them trading the same kind of glances. They all make a beeline for the refueling room. Dreadbot is pouring himself a cube of hot energon when they more or less get stuck in the door, trying to get in all at once. He turns to look at the commotion.
"What?" He says suspiciously when they all look expectantly at him.
"So, wha' did Hatchet want the get up the with ye yesterday. Tha' took all night." Crosshairs asks.
Dreadbot looks at him for long seconds, before glancing at Barricade and Knock Out.
"We made a pact!" Knock Out says hurriedly. "Since we're so few, and all of us know that the Brothers might be interested in more things than we thought before, it's reasonable that we all get to know."
"It's true!" Barricade says hurriedly.
Dreadbot grins. "Curious little fuckers, the lot of you. I think you might be guessing what he wanted right now?"
"Of course we're curious!" Crosshairs says.
"Well," Dreadbot says, taking a sip from his cup for either dramatic effect, or just for being an aft, "he wanted to try some valve stuff. He's been curious since he caught Hide and Nitro making out, but before they were outed, he didn't dare ask for it, in case we didn't know. But now he did."
"So?" Jazz urges him on when Dreadbot takes another sip of his energon.
"So I did things with his valve."
"Oh, come on, you cock tease! Spill the crystals!" Barricade whines.
Dreadbot grins.
"I started out with some oral. He's done it on me, so I figured it would be a good way to start warming him up." He says, and then he waggles his glossa.
It's quite comical how everyone leans closer, eager for every little morsel of information Dreadbot deigns to drop.
"Then I sloooowly eased some fingering in, just to get his him used to how it would feel, and to get his juices going really nicely, adding some lube for extra slick."
The next pause for sipping on his energon slowly grows longer, while the others grow desperate to hear more.
"Oh, come on! We wanna know!" Jazz exclaims in an unusual fit of pushiness.
"Then I brought out a toy — a nice little dildo, a rather soft one out of jelly, because his calipers were pretty tight — and then I started fucking him with it. He wasn't sealed, and I know what that implies with these guys, so I can see why he was a bit apprehensive about it, but he got over that quickly when he realized how nice that felt."
When Dreadbot turns to pour himself another cube, dismissing them, Barricade almost starts some name-calling, and with how tense the others are, he's pretty sure they're swearing inwardly too.
Chapter Text
"Oh, come on! Did you do it?!" Barricade finally protests.
"I brought him to overload with that toy, and then we cuddled."
It's kind of an anticlimax.
"That's it?" Knock Out sounds disappointed. "He didn't even reciprocate?"
"Of course he did, but you didn't ask about that before..."
"Now ye're jus' bein' an aft." Crosshairs complains.
"We'll, you're all making it so fun..."
"Stop it!" Jazz does sound more pleading than the others.
"He jerked me off, because he had never done that for someone before."
Everyone is quiet for a while.
"So if he asks one of us now, we'll be his first." Knock Out muses.
"No, when we'd cuddled a while, we got horny again, so I fucked him. And then once more. And then again this morning. He's thoroughly deflowered. And I will count that as deflowering, what those fuckers in the army did shouldn't be confused with sex, it was just abuse."
It's a nice way to differentiate between it. As unwilling as he was then, it's much more appealing to think that Ironhide took his virginity than giving that honor to the bastard — may Unicron have all the fun with his soul.
"I hope Breakdown asks me," Knock Out mumbles, "I'd be really careful..."
"It's such an honor if someone asks for that, we better do it right." Dreadbot says adamantly. "Unless it's Blackout. I'd rail him over the table if Nitro hadn't slapped it to pieces with Blackout." Then he grins maliciously.
There's something very appealing with thinking about giving back what he got. Even if Ironhide always have been very adamant about interfacing not being a punishment. The prospect of holding all the power over the big bastard is quite appealing, and one part of him hopes that Blackout will go for the option that doesn't involve the reprogramming. But it's also very shortsighted, because then things would be back to normal after a week — well, except for Blackout not being allowed to do things without a negotiation. If he truly changes, that'll make an impact on how things turn out in the future, and that long game is far more interesting than just tormenting him for a week.
"You know, he'd probably be mad about it, but he's been through it before, so he's probably quite capable of shrugging it off. Showing him that he can enjoy it might actually be worse for him, at least for a while, before he accepts that it says nothing about how mechly he is." Barricade says.
"You may be right," Dreadbot frowns, "but if I get to do the 'honors', I'll rail him raw for what he said — and tried to do — to Nitro. You can coddle him afterwards."
Chapter Text
The morning two days later, Barricade looks out the window as he usually does, and he almost startles when Blackout isn't sitting in his usual spot. He hurries to the refueling room — tank churning uneasily — hoping to find someone.
Sure, he could comm someone to ask where Blackout is, but somehow, it often feels better to talk face to face.
Barricade knows that he's being ridiculous, getting worked up about it, because it may very well be that Blackout has finally decided to pick an option, and join them again, but the sulking bastard didn't show any real remorse for his actions when Barricade brought him an evening cube of med grade yesterday.
He almost startles when the door opens to reveal Nitro sitting on Ironhide's lap on one of the chairs. It's not that he hasn't seen much PDA between the two these last days — on the contrary, they really seem to make up for lost time — but he's still caught off guard by it sometimes. A memory resurfaces, from back when he was clueless, and everyone were teasing Hide, calling him Daddy, wanting to go to the shooting range.
Like Springer said: how the fuck could none of them know?
"Blackout is gone. When did he leave?"
"Fuck O'clock this morning, civilian time." Ironhide says. "Sent Springer a text that he's out. Apparently, his self- repair has patched him up well enough to hobble off."
Barricade goes cold, spark sinking
"But where will he go?"
"Like this one always points out," Hide says, slapping Nitro's thigh lightly, "we're all free mechs here. He can go wherever he damned well pleases."
"Sorry about that." Nitro says quietly, leaning into Hide.
"It's fine." Ironhide strokes the plates he just slapped.
"But what's he going to do?"
Ironhide rolls his optics. "For ratting on him, you care an awful lot. I have no idea, but my guess is that he's going to get repaired first of all. He's still nowhere near fully functional."
Barricade lets it all sink in, and he can't help but feel a bit rejected.
He didn't even send a text to say goodbye.
"Did you tell him about Grindor's disposition?"
"Yeah. Look, just comm him and ask yourself. I don't know what's going through his processor, but he left his brand on the stairs, so he seems to have made up his mind to go solo."
Chapter Text
Barricade clutches the cube of heated energon, spark spinning quickly, as he dawdles. The contact is pulled up on his HUD, and all he needs to do is send the command to initiate the call, but still he hesitates.
What if he doesn't pick up? What if he does?
With a deep vent he proceeds to hold, he sends the command. It takes so long, Barricade is about to hang up, but finally, Blackout decides to answer.
::What?:: Blackout grunts.
::Where are you?:: Barricade asks, and immediately regrets it.
Why didn't he come up with a good manuscript before doing this?
::At Ratchet's. He's repairing me.::
::Oh.::
Barricade falls silent, at a loss for words.
::Was that all?:: Blackout asks after long seconds of silence.
::No. I... I want to ask you to reconsider leaving.::
::No.::
::Why not?::
::Because I have left abuse behind, and I'm not going back.::
Barricade decides to not say anything about how Blackout didn't leave it behind at all, but became the abuser instead.
A discussion for a different day, perhaps.
::You can choose to not let it be abuse, and it isn't like you have to submit to it for the rest of your functioning if you don't want to.::
::My Brothers turned on me. How can I ever trust them not to do it again?::
Barricade sighs. ::You kind of started that, though... This is actually them looking out for you now. Might be tough love, bit it seems to be what you need right now.::
::I don't need anything from them.::
::Don't make the same mistake I did. And I kind of want you here too.::
::I won't. And you're the one who helped put me in this position in the first place. I've already resigned, and that's final.::
::I guess this is goodbye, then.::
::It is.::
The corners of Barricade's mouth scrunch up of their own accord.
::I'll be glad if you keep in touch from time to time. I'll worry that you get in trouble.::
::Maybe I will.:: Blackout doesn't elaborate what he's answering.
The line go silent for long seconds.
::Well, bye then.:: Barricade finally says.
::Goodbye.::
Blackout hangs up first. Barricade curls up on the couch, still clutching his cube, feeling strangely empty.
Chapter Text
"Ya seem a bit... I dunno, under tha weather?" Jazz sounds uncertain.
"I... Perhaps you're right." Barricade says. He has tried to not let Blackout's departure earlier in the week impact his behavior, but apparently he hasn't been as successful as he thought.
"Anythin' I can do ta make ya feel better?" The question lacks innuendo, and Jazz pulls him in for a hug.
Barricade leans against him. "No, I don't think so. I just... I worry about Blackout sometimes."
"Ya do? I mean, I knew that ya kinda liked him, but ya were tha one who told Hide 'bout his more advanced games."
"Yeah, and that makes me feel guilty. I didn't mean for him to feel pressed to leave, I just wanted him to at least treat us a bit better."
"It's not all your fault, though. I mean, a large part in it was that he couldn' reconcile with Hide n' Nitro fraggin'. He might've left even if ya didn' say anythin'."
Logically, he knows that Jazz might be right. Blackout is Blackout, and even if he hadn't said anything, there would've been repercussions for Blackout's attack on Nitro, repercussions that could've been enough to send the Helo packing.
But what if it had been different enough to make him stay?
"Yeah, but I still feel responsible. And I kind of know what position he's in, and how bad it can turn out. I don't wish that on him, even if he did make me mad on very many occasions."
"Like Hide says: he's a big mech, he can take care of himself. I doubt anyone would dare robbin' him." He giggles the last part.
"Maybe not rob him, but the Cons are still out there. He could be shot, or... other stuff."
"He won' let 'em get a drop on him." Jazz says adamantly.
"I guess you're right."
He'll probably be extra wary after what happened to Nitro, even if he had an immature fit over it.
"Now stop sulkin' and help us harvest sponges from tha tree. I really wanna try one when I shower later taday."
"They're ready for harvest?" His amazement keeps him occupied for all of three seconds, then he remembers that weird time he did some pollination with Blackout.
It was strange and scary as hell, but right now he can't remember it in any way but wistfully.
He still follows Jazz, because sitting around and worrying won't make a difference at all.
Jazz said them and hanging out with those who're still on the house will help take his mind off of the one who isn't there.
Chapter Text
Maybe they're a little too eager, harvesting already, because the sponges are pretty small. They don't take all of them, though, just enough for everyone to get one to try. It's kind of fascinating, actually plucking something in the garden that they can use, something they grew themselves. Some of his classmates' parents used to do it when he was young; growing crystals in their tiny yards to save some credits since they didn't have to buy them then. He never thought it could be such a point of pride and fascination. It's kind of entertaining to see the Brothers' reactions, because they seem even more amazed.
Maybe it's the first time they get a result in something that can't be threatened or coerced into doing what's asked? The only thing they could do here was try to take as good care of that tree as possible, and hope that it was enough. Too bad that Blackout doesn't get to see the results of his nightly work with the pollination.
Barricade grabs another small sponge and subspaces it when nobody is looking.
In case he gets to see Blackout again. The Helo deserves to have one for his efforts, at least.
They all go inside after the harvest is done, the mood high, and everyone heading for the bar, because harvest means a party, one of the Brothers say.
Maybe he shouldn't be surprised; according to the Brothers, everything means a party. Well, except someone dying, but then there's the wake...
"Don't you miss Blackout at all?" Barry asks Springer in passing.
"We do, and it's kind of odd thinking that he's still alive, but here with us. It's the first time someone is gone from our unit but not offline. We're not really built to grieve missing mechs. We do now, and we do miss them, but we also know that we have to move on, and get everything running without that part of our unit. What he did to Nitro was unacceptable, but of he had apologized, and tried to solve his own hang-ups, both Nitro and Hide would've forgiven him."
It somehow makes Barricade feel better. It irked him that the Brothers didn't seem to care about Blackout being gone, and knowing that they do — just in their own, low key way — makes it just a little more tolerable.
Chapter Text
"Oh, for frags sake..." Motormaster mutters. "That fucking agent is at the gates again. He's making exaggerated knocking motions, and pointing at the camera. He knows that we see him."
"I guess someone should go see what he wants. Before he decides to knock down the gates." Ironhide sounds annoyed, and he slams his cube down after emptying it.
"I can do it." Hatchet says, trotting towards the door.
They all wait tensely as Hatchet disappears out the door.
"Well, at least it's not a raid..." Barricade says nervously.
::He wants to talk to all of us. Says we can do it voluntarily, or he can bring us in.:: Hatchet comms all of them.
"I would like to make this hard for him, but I honestly don't know if I'll be able to handle being cuffed right now." Nitro says.
The fallout if Nitro freaks out and goes into defensive mode when the agents try to apprehend him would be terrible. He'd go back to jail, all alone, with his trauma, and the risk that he'll meet Cons who know what happened is high.
"We're not risking that." Ironhide says decisively. "Everyone, finish your drinks. We'll go out and talk to him."
Barricade looks at his drink in confusion, but then he tips it back, gulping it down.
As if being drunk will be helpful.
They all walk down to where Hatchet is standing inside the gate, Spinister still waiting outside.
"What did you want this time?" Ironhide sounds testy.
"Thank you all for your cooperation. If you'll be so kind and follow me to the station..." Spinister starts.
The gate opens, but Ironhide interrupts Spinister. "That's a negative. Sir." He sounds smug.
"Excuse me?"
"We've all been drinking. We can't drive anywhere."
Oh. Clever.
Spinister looks caught off guard. "It's hardly past noon."
"We have a harvest to celebrate." Nitro says, grinning. "And I really don't need another FUI."
"I can imagine..." Spinister says, sounding annoyed. He looks at Nitro more closely. "So, how are things otherwise? Everyone doing well?" He says, keeping optic contact with Nitro.
Nitro's grin slips. "Splendid, thank you for asking." He says venomously.
"So, this casual little chat with us, do you want to do it out here, or do you want to borrow our conference room?" Ironhide asks, making Spinister turn to him. Ironhide grins nastily, showing far too much denta for comfort, and it conveys how he might let Spinister into the house, but Barricade gets the distinct feeling that Spinister might not leave in one piece.
Spinister tries not to show that he's apprehensive, but can't quite manage to hide it. "Out here will be fine. It's a lovely day, after all."
Chapter Text
"I'll start with you." Spinister points at Hatchet. "Can we take this a bit privately?"
"Sure, let's go over here." Hatchet says, leading the way to the middle of the garden.
"As if we won't hear what's being said anyway." Springer snorts.
"Always an advantage to be underestimated." Ironhide says quietly.
Barricade listens intently, but he can't make out what's being said, just the murmur of voices.
"What if Spinister has as good hearing as you do?" He asks, because it's quite possible that Spinister has upgraded his audials beyond what's normal for civilians because of his job.
Ironhide glances at Nitro, and Nitro nods, then Ironhide makes a dialling signal next to his audial, pointing down with his other servo.
Barricade turns his audials down, but he hears when Ironhide says noise, probably to warn Hatchet.
Nitro fires his thrusters, bracing himself with one pede behind his other to not tip over by the sheer force, sliding backwards over the ground. Barricade's tuned down audials saves him from terrible pain, but he can still feel the vibrations throughout his frame. As suddenly as he started, Nitro stops.
Hatchet seems unaffected, so he obviously caught Ironhide's warning. Spinister, not so much. He's covering his audials with his servos. It takes long seconds before he removes his servos and turns to them, optics blazing.
"What the actual fuck?!"
"Sorry. I flipped the wrong switch." Nitro says, sounding apologetic. "An honest, drunken mistake."
Spinister glares for long seconds, but then he turns back to Hatchet.
"If he'd heard my warning, he would've kicked up more of a fuzz." Ironhide says.
Barricade feels a bit paranoid even thinking it, but he can't help but feel like Spinister might be covering up his true abilities to make the Brothers too relaxed.
Or...
"What if he has someone surveiling what we say from somewhere else?" He looks around to see of there are any suspicious vehicles parked nearby.
"Good thing we don't have anything incriminating to talk about then." Motormaster says.
Chapter Text
When Nitro is called next for an unconventional interrogation, Dreadbot goes very tense, and fidgety. Barricade can understand why he's worried, but for being an actor, he's not doing a good job playing his part at the moment.
"Chill out." He whispers, wrapping an arm around Dreadbot to have a reason to get so close. "If they snoop out that you're into him, they'll be relentless in trying to use that."
"I know! I just..."
"You just live in the same house as he do." Barricade finishes Dreadbot's sentence, and turns them both towards Ironhide. The big mech is lounging on the ground, looking as if this isn't a big deal at all.
"Wonder if our neighbor has made any cookies lately." Springer muses. "They were so good."
"I can make ye cookies!" Crosshairs says.
"Primus in the pit!" Ironhide exclaims. "We haven't even refilled the fire extinguishers!"
Crosshairs pouts.
"Maybe he could teach you how to bake without setting the kitchen on fire?" Roadbuster says.
"Cross would give him a spark attack in three minutes." Knock Out snorts.
Ironhide glances at Nitro and Spinister again, clearly not as at ease as he's pretending.
For good reasons. If Spinister knows what happened to Nitro...
He looks over at them, concerned curiosity too much to ignore.
Nitro looks like he's fighting to not bristle more than he's already doing. His stance is rather relaxed, but his plating is raised slightly — not to the point of being an obvious threat display, but enough to show some discomfort — and there's tension in his mouth guard.
Barricade turns his helm, but keeps one of his optics on the proceedings, wishing he had as good hearing as the Brothers. He doesn't dare ask anyone what's being said, just like Hatchet isn't telling them what he talked to Spinister about. In his mind, he's going through what they have been told about Drift's disappearance, but they haven't discussed Blackout. That he left is easy to say that the only thing Barricade knows is that he wanted to drop out, but his injuries...
Fuck, what if Blackout has tipped Spinister off on some things? He might not have gone up to Spinister and told him, but dropping an anonymous hint... But the Brothers are sure he wouldn't rat. And now is not the time to check in on how the Helo is doing and snoop a bit. Even if he's wondering what the Helo really is doing...
Chapter Text
"So, Barricade, how are things?" Spinister asks, smirking as if he knows very well how much turmoil there has been lately.
"Good." Barricade says.
It's getting so easy to lie to this mech.
"Well, at least you don't seem to have been affected by the epidemic of physical damage that had been going around lately."
"I've had my vaccinations on time."
Spinister laughs. "It's wildly debated how long the immunization lasts."
"I'll be diligent about it."
"Well, first Dreadbot, and then that big guy, what was his designation again?"
"I think you know very well what his name was. You do have a bit of an unhealthy fixation with us all."
Spinister hums. "Right... But now he's not here anymore, is he?"
"Haven't seen him for a while."
"Have any idea where he went?"
"Nope. Maybe he's working? Seeing his out of town Brothers?"
"Or maybe he's offline?"
"I hope not. He was fine when I saw him the last time."
"Fine." Spinister muses. "I guess that's one way to word it. I did see him sit out in the yard, you know, and he certainly did look worse for the wear."
"The stairs here are rather high."
"Oh, give me a break!" Spinister sneers impatiently.
"He didn't say what happened, and I'm not one to pry." Truthfully, Blackout didn't tell him what happened, so that's not perjury. "Anyway, he was healing up, as he should then."
"I find it hard to believe that you're this oblivious."
"There's nothing I can say that will change the opinion you've decided on. I do my job, and I don't get informed on everything going on here, and I'm fine with that."
"What about that other entertainer? Drift? Haven't seen him around here for a while. Know what happened to him?"
"He wasn't following the rules of the house, so he had to go."
Spinister actually looks surprised. "Had to go?!"
"Yeah. We have some terms for staying in the house, and he didn't comply with a very crucial one, so he couldn't stay."
It looked like that was what was going to happen until Drift started talking, at least.
"He had a helm ache?" Spinister sounds sarcastic.
"No, he was using drugs. There's a no illegal substance policy in this house, and we get rehab and support as a benefit if we need it. He still couldn't keep on the straight and narrow, and had several relapses and second chances before."
Spinister looks thoughtful.
"That's why you never find any drugs here, in spite of all your raids on very shaky grounds."
Fuck Spinister, and fuck ICIA. Prejudiced fuck's.
Chapter Text
It seems to take forever before Spinister finally decides that he has asked all the questions he needs to, but eventually, it's done, and they go back inside.
"The fucker knows somehow." Nitro says to Ironhide as soon as the door has closed behind them, and they're safe from prying audials behind the disruptors that are installed in the house. "I'm sure of it. It can't be mere happenstance that he was asking me very pointedly about how I'm doing, and how the relations in the house are."
"I agree with you, he didn't specifically ask about you, but it felt like he was prodding me to slip up and say something about someone not feeling well or acting off."
"The question is how he knows." Springer says. "Either he arrested one of the Cons and that wimp talked, or he's working with them in some capacity, which could be a huge problem for us."
"Or he knows more about Blackout's whereabouts than he's letting on." Barricade says.
Springer rubs his face in exasperation. "He wouldn't talk. Not even if he got arrested, and Spinister offered a deal." He says adamantly.
"How can you be so sure?" Dreadbot asks.
"Because of our coding. Unit always comes first." Nitro says, and it's quite telling that he's the one defending Blackout after everything that has gone down. "I know you find it hard to believe, but that's just because you don't understand how deeply ingrained that is. Just fighting with him was hard, even though he attacked me, my coding didn't want to have any of it." He turns to Hide. "I'm surprised you would even think about kicking him out."
"I said I might not want to share a house with him, I didn't say I wanted him to leave. I didn't think he'd take that option either."
"He's stubborn." Motormaster chips in. "Maybe he'll come around. It can't be that fun to be on his own."
"We'll see." Ironhide says.
"But what do we do about the ICIA?" Roadbuster asks. "I'm not keen on going back to prison."
"We need to get some inside information. I'll reach out to the other chapters, see if someone knows someone that night have an in with them." Breakdown says.
"Good plan." Ironhide says. "At this rate, we need to shake them off soon, or dropping even more of our business or moving to Kaon will be our only options. And we do need to start making some more credits soon."
Chapter Text
It takes a while for the party mood to really set in after the unsettling interruption. Even then, Barricade gets a feeling that it's a way to deal with the stress of everything that's been going on lately, something familiar to do, rather than the harvest party it was originally claimed to be.
Maybe even moving to Kaon would be better for everyone?
Then a terrible thought hits him.
What if Spinister pulls some strings to not give them permission to file for residence? Even if he has no reach in Kaon, the parole board could probably make it hard for them to get the permits. And if they all run, and hide in Kaon, they'll never be able to leave, not without being arrested and handed over to Polyhex.
It's such an unsettling thought, he downs his drink and immediately pours himself another one.
The Brothers are looking into everything. There's no need to worry before a plan has been made, and before they've made their research.
"You're awfully quiet tonight." Roadbuster says, leaning against the bar
"Just a lot going on right now. Lots of thoughts spinning in my processor."
"I can relate to that. Lets just do the best thing we can, and get hammered to forget it for now."
Barricade snorts a laugh. "Alright. What's your poison of choice?"
"Grab that bottle of high grade," Roadbuster points at a bottle that looks like a helm made of crystal, "and few of the bottles of sweet energon, and coolant in the fridge. I feel like mixing."
It's a bit surprising, because the Brothers never do those kinds of drinks, at least not in public. Barricade must've looked funnily at him, because Roadbuster arches an optical ridge.
"What? Since we're having revelations about this and that lately, and everything is changing, I might as well introduce a new style of drinks."
Barricade grabs all the bottles he can, and a few of the flavored mid grades, because why not? He puts it all down on the pushed together chairs that have replaced the table until a new one is acquired.
"What's this?" Springer asks.
"Roadbuster wants us to have youngling drinks tonight." Barricade says.
Knock Out giggles.
Dreadbot lifts one of the sweet energon bottles. "I remember this from my youngling years. I think it took me ten years to tolerate this one again."
Crosshairs laughs. "Fer me, i' was a crystal laced mid grade. Shots. Still can' drink it."
"So, what's the deal with it?" Ironhide asks, looking curiously at all the bottles while Barricade and Jazz get cubes for everyone.
"Younglings usually don't like the taste of high grade, so when trying it out in the beginning — sneaking around to not let the parents know — it usually winds up being cheap, horrible high grade mixed with various coolants and sweet energins to make it more palatable. And you know how well the first times trying it usually ends up, so that's often a reason for not standing a certain sort of energon or coolant after the first hangover."
Ironhide laughs. "How do you even get drunk on something that diluted?"
This time, it's Roadbuster who laughs, obviously the only one of the Brothers with a civilian upbringing. "Because when it's that diluted, it's very easy to tip it back quickly." He bends over the makeshift table, starting to mix a few drinks. "So take it easy. Or not, it's up to you, really."
Chapter Text
Everyone is too seasoned drinkers to make the mistake to drink far too much, but it is fun to mix drinks, and try new combinations, and it does make it feel more like a regular party than a desperate attempt to escape reality.
"I feel like I shouldn't be this buzzed." Ironhide says, grinning. "I can see how this could be tricky the first times trying it." He wraps an arm around Crosshairs, pulling him close.
"Oi!" Crosshairs tips into Hide's side, spilling his drink in the process. "Ye brute!"
Ironhide just laughs, dragging his digits through the spill, then licking his digits clean, keeping optic contact with Crosshairs.
Crosshairs' glare turns into gawking, and his engine revs.
"You're too easy..." Nitro says, shaking his helm, but he sounds amused.
Ironhide turns to Nitro instead, sucking his digits. Nitro doesn't quite manage to stifle the whine of his engine.
"Seems like you're in good company, then." Ironhide smirks.
Nitro sticks his glossa out.
"Let's do something else nostalgic, and play spin the bottle! Before y'alls start fucking each other..." Dreadbot suggests. "I'm thinking we should go for truth, as I can see the dares derailing horribly here."
He can't disagree on the last part.
"Alright. How does this work?" Motormaster asks.
"Let's move to the floor. We sit in a circle, and spin the bottle. The one doing the spinning gets to ask the one the bottle is pointing at a question. And when it's answered, the one answering gets to spin." Dreadbot says, leading the way by taking a seat on the floor.
The Brothers start getting up to join him, so Barricade doesn't see a way to get out of this. Not that he's desperate for it, but he's not sure he likes this game.
It could be fun. Probably? It's not like anyone here have bad intentions towards him.
He joins them, and Dreadbot spins as soon as everyone has taken a seat. As the bottle slows down, Barricade's spark speeds up, but it continues past him and stops at Roadbuster, who's sitting next to him.
"Tell us something that you like to do in berth that we didn't know." Dreadbot says. He shrugs at the others' looks. "What, secrets are being dropped all over anyway nowadays."
Roadbuster shrugs. "I don't mind telling. Since we're over the judginess and all."
It's kind of comical how everyone leans closer in anticipation.
"Alright, I like wearing a butt plug when fucking, so I often do." Roadbuster grins, looking slightly embarrassed.
Chapter Text
Everyone goes quiet for long seconds, then everyone starts to talk at once, Dreadbot cackling incredulously.
"Really?! When did ye put it in?" Crosshairs asks.
"While the mech I was in was in the shower, or something like that. I mean, I don't use it every time, bit when I had an opportunity..."
"And you never just asked us to do it for you...." Dreadbot says.
"No, I was a bit embarrassed about it. I just didn't want anyone to know and think I'm weird or something."
"Such a shame. Dreadbot is fantastic at putting those things in." Nitro says.
The room erupts in everyone talking over each other again.
"What, are you surprised by that after everything you've learned lately?" Nitro sounds surprised.
"I'm not." Dreadbot smirks, then he turns to Roadbuster. "So if you need some assistance, I'd be happy to help."
"Good to know." Roadbuster says, spinning the bottle. It points at Knock Out when it stops. "Being on top or bottom. Physically. When using your valve?" He asks.
Knock Out flushes. "I kind of like missionary position. I know it's vanilla!" He adds the last part when everyone starts to laugh. "It's just... I don't know, the cuddle-factor?"
"Fair." Roadbuster says.
Knock Out spins the bottle, and it stops on Motormaster.
"How has your upgrades impacted what you enjoy in the berth?" Knock out asks.
"I guess you know it has. I can still enjoy the same things, but now that I can understand how someone else might feel, it does make me think about how it'll impact the mech I'm with for the moment, so I'll save that for those who don't mind. I'm exploring the whole mutuality concept right now."
"And we really don't mind!" Dreadbot says.
Motormaster spins the bottle, and this time, it stops at Jazz.
"What's the most adventurous thing you've done in berth that wasn't requested as a part of the job?"
Everyone oohs, and it's such an interesting question that makes Barricade a bit nervous.
Jazz looks a bit embarrassed. "When I spark merged with Cade. I was so nervous, but it was so good, n' so special, n' just our thing."
"Aaw." Knock out coos, optics all bright.
Barricade feels ridiculously proud, and he feels himself straightening his back.
Chapter Text
After a few more questions and answers, everyone starts to relax, and get more daring with the questions. Barricade still hasn't been asked anything, and he's getting a bit nervous.
"You ever bottomed for Nitro?" Springer asks Ironhide.
"So many times, I've lost count."
"Really?!" Springer looks very surprised.
"Yeah. His enthusiasm made me curious, and what can I say, he's good at what he does." Ironhide says, shrugging.
Springer looks thoughtful, but Ironhide wastes not time to spin the bottle. It stops at Breakdown.
"So, when are you and Knock Out going to go public with whatever you have going on?"
Breakdown sputters in a way that's u characteristic for the Brothers. "I, uhm, what? We, ah, we fuck? And cuddle. A lot. Is that what you mean?"
Knock Out looks a bit disappointed.
"Yeah, I know you do. Don't you have a... a special connection? Like you want to do special things together that you don't do with others?"
"I..." Breakdown looks like a mechanimal in the headlights of a truck former. "Yeah? We read fiction together, and have long baths, and sometimes, we watch TV the entire night. Without fucking. And I like that so much!" He confesses.
"Aaw, the two of you are so sweet!" Nitro coos. "You know you're in a relationship, right?"
Ironhide smirks, but it turns into something softer when he looks at Knock Out.
The Racer's optics are bright, and he looks so happy, it makes Barricade's spark clench for him.
So it is reciprocated after all. That's wonderful for Knock Out. Maybe this game is for the better, even if it might be embarrassing. If Blackout had been just a little bit more open minded, he could've learned something here.
It's a good thing that the bottle stops at him, knocking that train of thoughts off the rails.
"Well, since we're talking about relationships and all," Breakdown says, "you and Jazz have been a thing since the day you got here, and obviously, you've merged sparks. What made you take the step and do that?"
Barricade takes a few seconds to get the words right. "I love him. I love him, and trust him, and I wanted to share the most intimate thing anyone can do with him."
Chapter Text
"Blackout is outside the gate." Motormaster suddenly says.
It's about about a week after the harvest of the sponges. Everyone present in the rec room looks at Motormaster, who's the one checking the security systems now. "He's waving."
"I'll comm him." Springer says.
"Maybe life on the outside wasn't as idyllic as he thought it would be?" Hatchet says snidely.
Barricade's spark is spinning quickly with nerves.
Maybe Blackout wants to come back? Should he really be this hopeful for that to happen?
"He wants to come in. Wants to talk to us." Springer says to Ironhide.
Ironhide looks at Nitro.
"We agreed on the terms he had to choose from. He chose, bit I'm not going to be petty. Of course we can hear him out." Nitro says, shrugging. "Besides, I can always kick his ass again if he needs it."
Ironhide nods once. "Let him in."
Barricade feels his grip on the bar top tightening as his frame tenses of it's own accord.
It takes a while — Blackout probably doesn't transform just to fly up to the house, if he even is healed enough to fly — but then the massive mech steps through the doors, and something in the pit of Barricade's abdomen makes a funny clench at the sight of the Helo.
He really needs to have a good and long introspection about these reactions to the bastard.
There's a tension in the air as nobody seems sure what to say or do, but finally, Blackout starts to move again, slowly walking up to the couch where Ironhide and Nitro is sitting close together, as is customary these days.
Nitro looks deceptively relaxed at first glance, but there's something about the way his wires are tensed — a subtlety that Barricade would've completely missed if he hadn't been living with Warframes this long, learning to recognize their frame language — that shows that he's ready for action if needed. Blackout must've noticed too, because he visibly slumps, as if to show that he isn't gearing up for a fight.
"What do you want?" Ironhide says, and at the same time, Nitro says "What can we do you for?"
Blackout seems to war with himself for long seconds, but then he slowly sinks to his knees. He tilts his helm to the side and back to bare the cables and wires in his neck — the ones Nitro had a firm grip on when their fight was over, but was merciful enough to not tear apart. There's the sound of a transformation, and Barricade goes even more tense, but then he sees Blackout's chest-plates slide apart, baring his spark chamber.
It's a shocking display of vulnerability, and at the same time a show of trust, because if he really thought that they'd kill him, Blackout wouldn't be here in the first place.
Or maybe he'd rather have them kill him than... what?
"I apologize for my behavior, and ask you to consider taking me back." Blackout says.
Chapter Text
There's a long silence whole the Brothers probably discuss things over comm.
Hopefully, they will. But what the hell with the hopefulness?! But then again, if Blackout takes the reprogramming, he has the potential to still be a very interesting mech, but without all the lurking hazards...
Nitro grins at Blackout, but there's a nasty edge to it, not a very welcoming grin. "We can consider it. The offers still stand, but you're not getting out of picking one of the options. But first, tell me how it feels to come crawling back..."
"Nitro..." Ironhide says with a warning in his voice.
"He put himself in this position," Nitro shrugs, "and I am rather curious about why he changed his mind. What happened during this time, and so on."
Blackout grinds his denta. He stalls by closing his chest-plates. "I got arrested for forced entry, rape and robbery."
"How surprising..." Dreadbot snarks, but Hatchet silences him with a servo across his intake
"And I presume you were innocent?" Ironhide sounds very unimpressed.
"No, I totally did it. But the mech got nervous and withdrew the charges, and they didn't have enough evidence, so I was released."
Barricade wants to facepalm, but he manages to not do it somehow.
"And I'm sure Spinister was all over that quicker than metal mites find a dead mech." Nitro grinds out.
"He was. Didn't have anything for it, though, as you can see."
"Is that how he seemed to know what happened to me?" Nitro says, shifting in his seat.
Blackout shifts too as an answer to the threat, ready to defend himself.
"Absolutely not! I wouldn't give him anything even if my life depended on it." Blackout says emphatically.
"Because it would be rather convenient for him to make you crawl back and continue to break us down from inside. I'm sure it would be easy for him to make the victim shut up to get leverage on you."
Blackout blows out a sharp vent. "It would, but that's not what happened."
"Why are you here then?" Springer asks.
"Because I clearly need some help to keep me out of jail." For the first time ever, Blackout seems embarrassed. He seems to war with himself for long seconds. "And I've been lonely, and I miss you."
Chapter Text
"Alright." Ironhide says after a long silence. "But you need to pick an option. And we want to check your memories to see if it's true. I wouldn't put it past Spinister to play dirty and do some 'coding enhancements' or something."
Blackout nods, but he doesn't pick an option, probably still not keen on choosing.
Which isn't that hard to understand, considering the gleeful sadism Dreadbot isn't successful at keeping out of his field.
"We could start with the check first. If it's not to your satisfaction, there's no point in me picking an option." Blackout suggests.
Procrastination galore!
"Sure." Ironhide says, pulling out his data cable.
Nitro snorts. "I'm surprised you're that eager to have someone stick it into you."
Blackout growls, but he still opens the cover over his data socket. Ironhide plugs in. There's a long silence while they go through the files Ironhide wants to see.
"You're a fucking idiot sometimes, but I see no evidence of unfair play." Ironhide finally says, disconnecting from Blackout.
"Thank you." Blackout says dryly.
Barricade releases a vent he didn't know he was holding.
At least he wasn't hacked or something like that, and he's actually here of his own volition.
"Now you just have a choice to make. I have your brand, you'll get it back as soon as you've chosen your initiation."
Everything goes silent, making it evident that Blackout still is conflicted about it.
"I think you have a lot more to gain from taking the upgrade." Motormaster says. "I mean, you don't want to be vengeance fucked by the entertainers, and the upgrade will make it easier for you to navigate both society and this house."
"The whole trial period part isn't very appealing, though..." Blackout grouses. "The glitches can keep extending it indefinitely."
"Do you really think that we would let them do it out of spite?" Springer asks. "Just like we've set new rules to keep them safer and more comfortable, we'd be keeping track of their votes, and why they vote the way they do to keep you safe too."
"Do you really want to be spite fucked — no holds barred — for an entire week?" Motormaster asks. "You know all the creative things you and I have come up with... I'm sure someone has notes."
Blackout rubs his face with his servo, blowing out a sharp vent. "Fine. I'll take the upgrade."
Chapter Text
"I would've said 'get on the table', but the table is as wrecked as you'll be." Dreadbot grins.
Blackout bares his denta.
"That attitude won't help you with the votes."
Ironhide rolls his optics. "We need to fix the upgrade first, and Blackout will need a bit of quiet time to let it settle, so hold your ponies."
Dreadbot pouts.
On one servo, Barricade really wants to line up with the others, because Blackout has been very terrible on many occasions. On the other servo, it doesn't really feel like it's a victory to make the Helo hate it. Not only because that'll be exceedingly easy, but also because he knows what it's like to be in that position. There's a challenge there, but it's not doling out as much misery as possible in the time frame they have. The real challenge is making Blackout see the ways he was wrong, and make him let go of his prejudice and find new ways to find pleasure. To stretch it beyond his trial period, and make him want it of his own volition.
Not that it's going to be easy, especially not of the others are going to find the most pleasure in pushing Blackout's limits to see what they have to do to get him to say no.
Ironhide leads Blackout to the conference room to make the upgrades.
::So, how about we surprise Blackout, and don't make it as terrible as we can get away with?:: Barricade comms the other pleasurebots.
The answer is a barrage of protests from Knock Out and Dreadbot. They all wince at the volume, then they go silent.
::No way! After everything he has done to us?! You ratted him out yourself!:: Dreadbot says emphatically.
::I'm with Dreadbot on this. We have a very limited time to be in control, we should make use of it. This opportunity doesn't come back.:: Knock Out fills in.
::I jus' want 'im te do our regular rape games. I'm no' interested in spiking 'im.:: Crosshairs says.
Of course...
::Just hear me out! He's getting the upgrade, he'll be able to understand what it felt like for us. We've seen the difference in Motormaster, I guess we can expect something similar from Blackout. He's definitely expecting us to do our worst, he thinks we'll be just as bad as anyone ever was in the military. What if we prove him wrong? What if we surprise him by not being petty? He'll understand how easy he's getting off, which will make all the things he did seem even worse, which he will understand. What if we can make him enjoy bottoming? We can have so much fun even after the trial is over if we play out cards right.:: Barricade says.
Chapter 969
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
::I feel like I'm getting robbed of my opportunity here.:: Dreadbot says.
::He won't like it in the beginning, no matter how good we make it for him. He'll hate that he enjoys it. Trust me on that.:: Barricade argues.
He knows the feeling of the frame enjoying things the mind doesn't want to like very intimately.
::He can say no if he doesn't like our ideas with tha option he took, so he might not even go along with whatever ya're plannin' anyway, Dreads.:: Jazz says.
::Yeah, but then he doesn't get his votes, so we can still get him to go along with some of it.::
::I'm not comfortable doin' anythin' sadistic anyway. I mean, it can be fun with a li'l bit of edging or somethin' like that, but I ain't gonna do nasty things jus' for tha sake of it.::
Barricade's spark swells, both because Jazz is such a genuinely lovely mech, but also because his lover isn't going to do things he's not comfortable with, even if Blackout might technically deserve some of it.
::I guess we don't have to agree, though. We could all do what we feel is right.:: Barricade says.
At least three out of five aren't going to do anything too bad, and if Crosshairs sticks to his preferences, at least Blackout will see the difference between true consent, and someone going along because they feel like they have to.
::I kind of like the idea of trying to make him like it enough to keep doing it after the trial is over. Especially after how he reacted to Nitro enjoying valve play.:: Knock Out finally says.
There's a long silence, but then finally Dreadbot answers again. ::Fine. Let's all go all in on trying to turn him into a willing valve mech. Well, except you, Cross. But I want first dibs on his aft.::
If Blackout could've heard this conversation... Which is very much like some of the conversations the Brothers have had about the pleasurebots on many occasions.
::Fine by me.:: Barricade agrees, and everyone else chimes in.
::Cross, you could teach him to eat pussy, at least.:: Dreadbot says.
Barricade almost snorts out loud at the clever but slightly ridiculous attempt to coach Crosshairs to do at least some part of this retraining of a Helo.
::An' I'll definitely tell 'im te drop some of 'is platin'!::
Notes:
I apologize for this late update, and my recent absence in the comments. RL is being a bitch, and it's making me struggle with my writing.
Chapter Text
Blackout's plating is bristling slightly when he and Ironhide finally return from the conference room, and he kind of side eyes the pleasurebots.
As if he's waiting for them to pounce on him and start whatever he's imagining that they'll do. He isn't exactly wrong, though...
"Well, there's no time like right now!" Dreadbot says cheerily. "Blackout? Care to invite me to your room?"
Blackout grinds his denta. "Fine."
"Aaw, come on! You can do better than that. You make me feel rejected." Dreadbot pouts.
"Would you like to accompany me?" Blackout grinds out.
"That's better. Yes, I would enjoy that very much!" Dreadbot smiles sweetly.
"Let's go then." Blackout grouses, turning towards the stairs.
"I guess it would've been a more dramatic effect if I could throw you over my shoulder, but sadly, I'm too short." Dreadbot says.
Barricade almost starts to laugh, because the image his processor conjures up of that is rather ridiculous.
"You could always carry me bridal style, though."
Blackout turns to look at Dreadbot like he just grew a second helm.
"What? I enjoy getting whisked away, and the whole point of this is me enjoying myself, isn't it?"
"I guess so." Blackout says slowly.
Dreadbot approaches, holding his arms up, and Blackout lifts him awkwardly.
"Oh, for Primus sake!" Dreadbot groans when the Helo shifts him around this way and that. "One arm around my back, one under my knees, and I wrap my arms around your neck. You basically carry me like you would carry a wounded Brother."
Nitro snorts. "You got a lot to learn, Blackout, but that's really basic."
Blackout grouses something inaudible, shifting Dreadbot into place.
"You're such a good Bot!" Dreadbot gushes, ruffling Blackout's helm. "Oh, don't glare at me like that, I'm just trying to be nice when you're getting things right."
The Brothers are actually snickering as Blackout carries Dreadbot up the stairs.
Chapter Text
It's ridiculous to be nervous about how things will go. Blackout is certainly a grown mech, and he has handled some pretty awful things being done to him before. But he just can't quite help himself.
"Cybertron ta Barricade." Jazz says.
"Hm? Oh, I'm here." Barricade rubs a servo up Jazz's arm.
"Jealous that Dreadbot got first tha first round?"
"What? No, not jealous. Just... I don't know, I know what Blackout is going through."
"Don't feel sorry for him. He's probably had a lot worse."
"I know. But that doesn't mean that this will be easy. Especially not after that, I'd say."
"Ya're so sweet, honey." Jazz says fondly, leaning his helm against Barricade's shoulder. "So fraggin' considerate. I love ya."
"Love ya too."
Don't worry 'bout Blackout. He'll be fine."
"I'm sure he will be."
But that doesn't mean that he's going to like this. But maybe some discomfort is in it's place?
"Come on, let's join tha others.tha Bros had a meetin' earlier taday, 'm sure they'll appreciate some distraction. It seemed serious. N' that was before Blackout came back ta make even more drama."
"Have you heard anything? I mean, if they're getting any information on what the ICIA are up to?"
"Nah. I don' think I'll know before ya do ta be honest."
"We should grow more sponges. I mean, they're absolutely glorious, unmatched by anything synthetic. I bet rich Mecha would pay a good credits to get their servos on those things."
Jazz shrugs. "Run tha idea by Hide. Maybe he'll agree. We do have a rather large garden."
He really should, show some initiative.
Barricade looks over to the couch, where Ironhide is straddling Nitro's thighs, completely absorbed with their version of sucking face.
Later. Post coital bliss can only sweep the way for a positive reception of an idea.
Chapter Text
Well, this is nothing like what he pictured...
Barricade looks around again, taking in the property.
Dry ground, dilapidated growing houses...
"This is great!" Springer says. "Clean up the green houses, mount an irrigation system, some good fencing and an alarm system... Maybe hounds?"
They all turn to a movement to the side.
"Don't look at me!" Hatchet exclaims, laying on his back, playing with a bunch of tumblecrystals. "Mee-ow."
The Brothers all burst out laughing.
"I was thinking about getting a few more trees for the garden." Barricade says quietly to Ironhide. "You know, keep it a local, very exclusive business?"
Ironhide hums. "Yes, and it would make for decent profit for a small business, but a larger operation will be much better for... integrating profits in a bigger perspective."
What?
"We need to get the special soil too. To make sure the trees produce." Nitro says.
"Yeah, but what about pollination?" Motormaster asks. "It has to be done at night..."
Like he did with Blackout that night...
Barricade looks over at the Helo. Blackout is being aloof, sticking to the edges of interactions, and he does seem to find it hard to interact with everyone in the house at the moment. Barricade hasn't been alone with him yet, though...
It has to be hard to find a new place in the house with all the changes. He does know how hard it is to feel like you're doing things others might judge you — and resent you — for.
"We could assign it as a work task." Springer muses, snapping Barricade out of his thoughts again, even if he's still looking at Blackout, the Helo looking out over the plains.
"If we fix up that little house over there — and I mean fix it up a lot — we could let a few mechs at a time take working vacations and slip out of their regular duties, and just come here to pollinate trees at night and have the rest of the day off together to do whatever they want." Nitro says.
Hatchet starts to laugh. "We'd definitely need a rotation system, though. Mecha might get jealous."
Chapter Text
"If we fix up the greenhouses, we could grow our own weed." Roadbuster says.
"Is that legal? Because you know that the authorities will be all over this place on a regular basis." Ironhide sounds doubtful.
Roadbuster shrugs. "It has to be, considering we can use it as long as we have a prescription. It's not impossible that we'll need some kind of permit, though."
"Could be problematic considering our records." Nitro says.
"Doesn't hurt to look into it." Ironhide doesn't dismiss the idea. "I mean if we're going to have a growing operation here with the sponges, we might as well maximize the use of the property."
Nitro nods. "You're right. And if that doesn't work, we can look into what else we can grow that might make some credits. The more, the better, after all."
"I want to live out here." Dreadbot says. "We could have ponies, and I could make dramatic exits by galloping off into the sunset."
Knock Out snorts. "And deal with dusty plating, and gritty joints every day? No thank you."
"You can ride me anytime you want, babe." Hatchet leers to Dreadbot.
"Would you gallop down the road in the neighborhood for me?"
"Absolutely. It could be kind of hilarious, actually."
Dreadbot snorts. "At least the Enforcers wouldn't be able to complain about me walking you without a leash, like that time."
"Alright, anyone opposed to making an offer on this property?" Ironhide asks.
All the Brothers shake their helms and declare that they're positive to it.
"I'll go talk to the sales mech then." He walks towards the mech who's sitting on a rickety chair outside the little house, working on a data pad."
"Then we can add farmers to our resumés." Breakdown says.
"Who would've thought?" Motormaster snickers.
Barricade gets this ridiculous image in his helm, of the Brothers wearing those cooling hats and the cover pants farmers in the sparklings books and shows always wear, and he almost starts to laugh.
"We should definitely come out here ta do tha pollination thing!" Jazz murmurs to him.
"Yeah?"
"Mhm. N' sleep in, n' have breakfast in berth, n' stroll around tha property in that day..." Jazz says dreamily.
"You'd like that?"
"Of course I would!"
"Then we should totally do it."
Chapter Text
"Didn't know you were such a wallflower." Barricade says, taking a seat at the rarely used dinner table in the rec room.
Blackout makes a face. "Skip the small talk and just tell me what you want."
"I want to small talk." Barricade says, quirking än optical ridge.
"Great..." Blackout Blackout mutters, then he takes a deep swig from his drink.
"But seriously, you really have made yourself scarce since coming back."
"I enjoy some space."
Barricade gets the distinct feeling that Blackout would rather just say go away.
"You know, if you want to get the votes, I think being a bit... solicitous would do you a lot of good."
Blackout glares at him. "You mean I should start to suck up to you and the other whores?"
Barricade rolls his optics. "Considering what your station at the moment, you could be considered one of us. But yes, that's basically what I'm saying. When I was on trial, I was supposed to get a mech into berth every night, this is the same thing. It's not as bad as it seems."
"You're not making it more appealing by saying that you enjoy it these days."
"That's just because you're a stubborn aft. When I let go of my misconceptions, I found myself enjoying a lot of things I thought I never would enjoy. And I've grown up enough to find it empowering to be mech enough to enjoy some things I didn't allow myself to enjoy at one point."
Blackout makes a noncommittal noise, taking another deep drink.
"You are being aloof with your Brothers too, that's very uncharacteristic." Barricade prods.
Blackout slowly spins his glas, staring at the contents. "It feels like they all know exactly what is happening in my berth room, ad I don't like it. Nobody is saying anything, but it feels like they silently judge me, and think I'm some little glitch who spreads his legs, and just takes whatever..."
"I dare to guarantee you that that isn't the case. Between their acceptance of Nitro's and Hide's relationship, and the general experimentation going on here at the moment, they won't bat an optic at it."
Blackout looks at him like he just grew a second helm.
"If nothing else, you're the most pragmatic mech I know. You know everything about meching up and going through with what you have to to survive. I'm sure you can handle a little interfacing."
Stubborn bastard.
Chapter Text
"I mean, if nothing else, I would've thought that you'd hurry to get this done. Give us all what we want just to get your votes and have the trial end. It's not like you have anything to lose on that, for me, the trial ending would lead to walking the streets, but failing would lead to being kicked out. That was a lose-lose situation. Yours is quite different."
Blackout doesn't answer, still spinning his cube slowly.
"So you haven't been enjoying it? Has anyone been as nasty as you expected? You know, done things like what you always enjoyed doing to us."
"I don't want to enjoy it." Blackout grouses. "But no, it has been surprisingly vanilla." He seems reluctant to add the last part.
"Neither did I, but that was all in my processor. I don't want to be like that, even when my frame was enjoying it. You were an expert at making me overload while hating the situation. Sure, I can see that there are situations where the frame's responses are very unwelcome, and can mess with your helm. We're all mecha you know, though, and you've enjoyed fucking us every way possible. If you open your mind, and allow yourself to try these things, you might actually find things you honestly enjoy. Hell, I know you like to be in power, you can totally top from the bottom if you want to."
Blackout makes a face.
"You know, the army still owns you in a way."
"What?! Fuck no!"
"They're still dictating your sex life. You're operating on the prejudice they planted in your mind."
Blackout looks thoughtful, but he doesn't say anything.
"How are the new protocols?"
"Strange. I need time to process everything because I feel differently."
Barricade doesn't push for more details. Instead, he pulls out the sponge he saved for Blackout. "Here. It's from the tree in the garden. I saved one for you when we harvested." He says, putting the sponge on the table.
Blackout picks it up, looking at it as if astonished. "Thank you?"
"You're welcome." Barricade says, getting up from his seat, grabbing his drink. He turns to leave.
"Aren't you going to ask me to fuck?" Blackout sounds surprised.
"Nope. I believe it's your job to entice me, and I'm not into sourpuss."
Chapter Text
It isn't that surprising that Dreadbot and Crosshairs are the ones that pick up Blackout for the night. Barricade suspects that Dreadbot went along with Crosshairs to make sure at least some trial-action was actually being done, seeing how Crosshairs may very well forego anything that isn't the regular rape game.
Barricade is sitting in Roadbuster's lap, but it's more cuddling than an attempt at seduction. The Brothers all seem to have relaxed, dropping some of the image where they want needy glitches, and can enjoy the close company of others without the need for a mech who's constantly all over them. It's quite nice, actually.
"We are getting a bit short on companions." Springer says.
Jazz is preoccupied with Motormaster, and Knock Out is cuddled up to Breakdown, leaving quite few Brothers without anyone to entertain them for the night. Ironhide and Nitro are so wrapped around each other, the color of their plating is what makes it possible to see where one mech ends and the other begins.
"Only if you insist on not trying something new." Hatchet purrs in Springer's audial, sneaking up from behind the couch. "My, you smell so fucking good." He sniffs Springer's neck.
Springer squeaks, whipping around, nearly headbutting Hatchet in the process, and everyone starts to laugh.
"I-I... are you serious?! Or are you joking? I can't read your signals."
Hatchet easily jumps over the back of the couch, landing next to Springer. "Because you're in denial. I'm a hundred percent serious. If you're interested, I'm in."
"How would that work?" Springer says.
Hatchet quirks his optical ridges. "I would've thought that you knew about this, but I'll try to give you the key notes: when two mechs are attracted to each other, they sometimes interface with each other. First they need to get a bit revved up, so one of the mech's spike pressurizes, and the other mech's valve goes wet and lubricated. Then the spike is inserted into..."
"I know that, you dork!" Springer cackles. "I mean who would do what?"
Hatchet shrugs. "Who says we need to stick to just one way?"
Springer looks thoughtful.
"Come on, just do it, Springer." Nitro says. "I'm pretty damned sure you'll both have a good time." He studies the mark he has left on Ironhide's neck. "Mine." He growls, then he licks the dents.
Warframe love is definitely rougher than civilian.
Chapter Text
"So, would you do it?" Roadbuster asks, rubbing his neck, looking really awkward.
"Sure." Barricade says as casually as he can. In reality, he's a bit nervous.
This is a lot of trust Roadbuster is throwing his way, and he really doesn't want to disappoint.
Roadbuster pulls out a toy from his subspace, holding it out to Barricade. Barricade slowly plucks it from Roadbuster's palm, looking at it.
It's not a very big one. The surprising thing is the light pink gem on it. He would've expected Autobot red, or something mechly, like black, a simple white, or perhaps green matching Roadbuster's plating. It's even more entertaining with the choice of color considering nobody ever saw it before.
"This is cute." He can't refrain from saying it.
"Shut up. I wasn't sure if I'd like it, and that one was on sale."
Figures.
"I didn't mean it in a negative way." Barricade says.
"Alright." Roadbuster fidgets, then he crawls onto the berth, stretching out on his front. "There's lube in the drawer on the nightstand."
Barricade watches as the plate covering the mech's port slides away, then he heads for the nightstand. He grabs the lube, then he turns back to the berth. Roadbuster's face is buried in a pillow.
"If you put that pillow under your hips, it'll go in easier." Barricade says, wrapping his servo around the metal plug to warm it up a bit.
Roadbuster does as asked, but he turns his face away from Barricade.
"You don't need to be embarrassed. I like a nicely sized plug myself, and this one is really nice."
"It still feels weird that someone else knows."
"I get it. But this is all for you, so try to just relax and enjoy it."
Roadbuster turns his helm to look at Barricade, then he nods once.
The plug is a nicer temperature now, so Barricade opens his servo, pouring a good amount of lube on it. He smears the liquid, then he pours some on Roadbuster's exposed port too for good measure. There's something very erotic about how the hole clenches under the cold, and then Barricade presses the plug against it, feeling the initial resistance of the calipers. His spike twitches when the plug quite easily starts to slip in — at least the first centimeter.
This might be one for the spank bank.
Chapter Text
Roadbuster is in deep recharge when Barricade wakes up, and the Saleen checks his chronometer.
Well, no wonder...
It's way too early to get up — even earlier than when he was adamantly pursuing that shitty job doing dishes — and Barricade flops over on his back, staring at the ceiling in the still dimly lit room.
He's thirsty, that's what woke him up, and after dawdling for several minutes, Barricade resigns to his frames needs — well, not just resigning, in that case, he'd just go for some water from the faucet in the maintenance room — heading for the rec room, hoping there's some coolant there so he doesn't have to go all the way to the refueling room.
The house is quiet as he comes down the stairs — kind of nice and peaceful, since he isn't really drunk or hung over, so he can enjoy it — and heads for the cooler. He bends down behind the bar to dig into the cooler, and that's when he hears the door opening quietly. He dims his optics, and slowly, Barricade peeks over the bar, expecting a SWAT team creeping into the house.
It's Crosshairs.
The pleasurebot tippy-toes into the house in a way that would be comical if it wasn't so weird, looking kind of nervous. Barricade is just about to straighten up and reveal himself, but then something heavy hits both the door, and the door jamb, and then there's a loud crash.
"Oi!" Crosshairs hisses, swiveling around. "Keep it down!"
Both Nitro and Ironhide starts to giggle, untangling themselves from each other.
"Sorry!" Ironhide snickers unrepentantly.
Nitro just laughs more as they slowly get up, giving Barricade a better look at them.
They're both covered in... stuff.
Barricade ducks behind the bar, spark spinning quickly.
What the hell is he supposed to do? Expose himself, or pretend he never saw this?
Can't they hear his spark?
He looks into the cooler, quickly grabbing a bottle, then he stands up.
"Ehm, I was just thirsty... Coolant, anyone?"
Chapter Text
The way Crosshairs squeals as he whips around could be seen as amusing, his bright optics locking on Barricade. He looks so damned caught.
"'ello, Cade!" He says awkwardly, voice a bit too high pitched. "Coolant would be nice."
Barricade hands him the bottle, hoping that there's another one for him.
"I don't know if there's more..." He says slowly, looking at the other two.
Both of them covered in hydraulic fluid, energon and whatnot...
"I want low grade." Nitro says, wrapping his arm around Ironhide's shoulders, pulling the Prez with him to the bar. "How about you, babe?"
"Low grade sounds good."
Barricade looks into the cooler again, grabbing two bottles for them, and after a few long seconds, he finds another bottle of coolant for himself. He opens the bottles, and puts the low grade on the bar top for the others to pick up at their leisure, sipping his coolant as casually as he can.
"So, private party?" He asks.
"You could say that..." Ironhide says distractedly.
Nitro is nipping and licking the struts and cables along Ironhide's neck, one servo rubbing Ironhide's interface plate.
"Wanna share the little glitch?" Ironhide says hoarsely.
"Mhm, yeah..." Nitro mumbles, giving Hide one sharp bite. He turns to Crosshairs. "You better be in Hide's berth when we get there!" He growls.
Crosshairs squeals, and all his awkwardness is suddenly gone as he legs it up the stairs.
Ironhide grabs both the bottles of low grade, making a quick sidestep, and then he jumps onto Nitro's back. Nitro grabs Ironhide's thighs to support him.
"To my berth!" He says, motioning grandiosely with one of the bottles in the general direction of his room.
"More like to your shower first..." Nitro says as he heads for the stairs.
"Tuh-mat-o, pah-ta-tah!" Ironhide giggles.
Barricade watches them go, Nitro easily taking the stairs two steps at a time even with another mech clinging to him.
May he never hear any of the Brothers giggling again. Especially not while covered in someone's fluids.
Chapter Text
Barricade wakes up rather early. Roadbuster is still sound asleep, unaware of the night's happenings as far as Barricade knows. The Mustang heads for the refueling room, thirsty for another bottle of coolant, and some hot energon. He brings his data pad.
It's kind of wrong to be curious like this, to want to check the news to possibly find out what went down last night. He should just wait for information, and if none is given, he could ask in private...
But Barricade is still a nosey fucker, and he doesn't like to wait patiently for information, so he brings his data pad.
He starts the energon heater, sipping his coolant while it does it's thing, opening the news app.
It would be easy to say that he isn't disappointed, but the thing is that he was kind of hoping to not find anything, so he is kind of disappointed when the headline tattles on a gang infraction.
Morbidly intrigued, Barricade clicks on the article.
It isn't just a drive-by shooting, the reporter describes it as a massacre. Barricade clicks the link to the live footage.
The reporter can't cross the law enforcement perimeter, of course, but frame bags are being carried out of the house, and the forensic mecha are combing through the area. Enforcers are doing their best to brush off questions, and except the count of frame bags, there's no substantial evidence of it actually being a massacre, at least not anything that's leaked to the press.
In Barricade's experience, crimes between gangs are rarely given much time and attention, so the coverage indicates that this is more than just the average kerfuffle.
The chief of the Enforcement makes a statement about how they're doing their utmost to stop the violence.
Barricade looks up when Blackout enters the refueling room.
"Morning." He says, looking back at his data pad."
Blackout grabs a cube of hot energon. "Morning." He grunts, taking a seat.
They're both silent for a long while, Barricade watching the news.
"Sounds like the competition took a hit." Blackout says blandly, sipping his energon.
"I guess they did..."
Holy fragging slag... Not of, but when Spinister shows up...
Chapter Text
Barricade is absolutely unable to understand how the hell Nitro and Ironhide can be up this early, considering how late they got home, and how intoxicated they were. Crosshairs is nowhere to be seen, though, so at least something feels normal when the two Warframes join them in the refueling room.
"Do you know anything about this?" Barricade says after long minutes of silence — Nitro and Hide being kind of amiable, and Barricade being awkward. Blackout doesn't really reveal anything, but he isn't being lighthearted either — holding up his data pad, the news still running.
"Hmm?" Ironhide says, but it isn't fully convincing as a truly unknowing question.
"There's been gang violence." Barricade clarifies.
"Oh." Nitro says. "Good thing we weren't attacked."
"Yeah." Barricade says flatly.
"Looks like the Cons' residence." Blackout fills in.
"You know, you're right..." Ironhide says, squinting at the screen.
"They had it coming." Nitro says.
"I guess they did." Blackout says slowly.
"Spinister will be here sooner rather than later, won't he?" Barricade asks, foregoing the diplomacy.
"Probably. He'll have nothing for it, though." Ironhide says, and there's a razor's edge to his voice.
"As usual." Blackout fills in.
United they stand. Brothers. Always.
"As usual. Just an unfortunate circumstance." Nitro grins viciously.
"And if he tells us otherwise?" Blackout asks.
"We'll humble him." Ironhide bares his denta in a hungry grin, full of anticipation.
Oh, fuck...
Chapter Text
As surely as a bad hangover follows a night of wild drinking, Spinister shows up. Barricade is surprised that he's looking pissed rather than smug and conceited. They all head out to meet him on Ironhide's command.
"Glad you could make it, Sir." Springer says.
"Whatever. What did you want?" The agent sneers.
"Well, we saw on the news what happened — such a terrible tragedy — so we wanted to reach out and make sure you know you have our cooperation. This violence needs to stop before innocents get hurt." Springer says.
Spinister gives him a doubtful look that screams really?!
"So what do you have to tell us that will help?" Spinister asks.
"That we'll cooperate? We don't really have any information at this point, but we'll inform you i..."
"Really?!" Spinister hisses, "you have nothing to offer but an empty promise?!"
"Sounds a lot like a deal with the ICIA..." Blackout grumbles.
"Oh, you're back!" Spinister sneers. "All healed up now?"
"Feeling as healthy as ever." Blackout gins at Spinister, showing off his denta. "And at home." He adds.
Spinister's lip-plates go tight. "Why did you call me, again?" He asks Springer, deciding to ignore Blackout. "For real, this time."
"We saw the news and knew that you'd target us anyway. We figured that it can't really hurt us if we help you out as much as we can, considering we're innocent." Ironhide says.
Spinister glares at the president of the Autobots. "Or you could do it as a smokescreen..."
"Perhaps, but that would be up to you to prove. Or is it a policy of the ICIA to lable helpful citizens as suspects until proven guilty?“
Chapter Text
"I'm sure you can see why you are suspected when the gang you've been in feuds with before have been attacked." Spinister sneers.
"We do, but that was quite a while ago." Ironhide says calmly.
"And you've lost territory to them."
"You make it sound like we're some sort of tribes mecha. It's not like we can own a street or anything."
Spinister laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Of course not. And I'm sure you all just sat down and negotiated a truce at some point after you moved in here." He turns to Nitro. "And then everything has been great between your little gangs."
Nitro's mouth guard shifts in a way that looks tense. "We don't bother them, they don't bother us." He says.
"Right..." Spinister says. "Well, since you have no information for me, I need to get going. Need to find information elsewhere, you know. Good to know that you want to cooperate."
"It's the least we can do. Being upstanding citizens and all." Springer says, sounding just a little too cheery.
Spinister gives him a hard look, bet then he turns around to leave.
"Thank you for taking the time to come see us." Ironhide says loudly, trying and failing to stifle a grin. "Well, that was that." Hatchet says, trotting back towards the house.
The rest of them follow, and Barricade is trying to figure out what this was good for. Sure, being cooperative looks good, but at the same time, it was a quite transparent smokescreen.
Was it truly just a mindfuck, though? To show Spinister that they're not afraid of him? Goading him doesn't seem like a very sound tactic.
"I just might tear his throat out one of these days." Nitro says quietly to Ironhide as soon as they're inside the doors.
"I know, but we need to be smart about it." Ironhide says, pulling Nitro in for a hug.
Nitro hugs him back, and for long seconds, they seem to lean on each other for support and strength.
Barricade startles when someone pokes his shoulder-wing, whipping around.
"We haven't fucked yet. Wanna do it?" Blackout asks.
Chapter Text
Barricade feels his optical ridges quirking of their own accord, then he can't help but snort.
"Is this your idea of enticing?"
Blackout's upper lip-plate quirks as if he's about to bare his denta but he stops himself.
"I mean, you so get some points for volunteering, but still..."
"Be nice. I remember a certain ex-cop pulling a rather terrible pick-up line..." Nitro says. He pulls Ironhide along, and the couple stops by Blackout and Barricade.
"And yet you fell for it." Barricade says, quirking a challenging optical ridge.
Nitro shrugs, and it jostles Ironhide. "I was horny for you. And you can pretend all you want, but I know that you're horny for Blackout in many ways."
Barricade feels himself flush.
"Put him to the test for all I care, but just admit that the two of you go together like a horse and carriage."
Barricade works his intake, not sure what a horse and carriage even means. "But me and Jazz..." He says weakly.
"Guess you're gonna be a troika then." Ironhide says, and then they wander off, leaving Barricade with Blackout.
Barricade looks up, and then up some more to meet the optics of the Helo.
"Well? Wanna get this over with or not?" Blackout rumbles.
"Not get it over with."
Blackout looks annoyed, turning to leave.
"I don't want to reject you! I just don't want to do a wham- bam thing out of this..." Barricade says hurriedly.
"So what do you want, then. Officer." The way Blackout says it really sounds like an insult, but what little Barricade can pick up of his EM field tattles on the insecurity that Blackout is trying to hide with animosity.
"How about we start out with a couple of drinks? Maybe some snacks? And then just take it from there."
"Fine." Blackout grunts.
"Your hot tub is good to go, right?"
"Of course it is."
"A relaxing bath does sound nice."
It's a good thing that Barricade has those extra protocols for Spike control. A boner wouldn't do when he's trying to not be an overeager aft.
Chapter Text
They grab snacks and drinks, and walk up the stairs in a rather uncomfortable silence, Blackout following Barricade. The door opens for them, and Barricade steps inside.
It's familiar, and yet it's not, because for all the times he has stepped into this room before, the power is flipped on it's head. It still doesn't feel quite like it's real, though, so Barricade kind of feels at a loss.
"You know where the washracks are." Blackout says when Barricade stops just inside the door, blocking the way.
"I do..." Barricade says slowly, urging himself go move forward.
Why is he feeling this nervous and out of control when he's the one who's supposed to be in power?
"Would you prefer it if I have a shower first?" The second the words are out, Barricade almost curses himself.
Why is he slipping into the role of the one doing the appeasing?
"I would." Blackout, says, putting the snacks he's carrying down before stepping past Barricade to get into the shower himself. The Helo starts the shower, rinsing off as Barricade stands there staring.
"A valid request." Barricade finally have the wits to say, but it does feel like he's losing what little control he had. He still joins Blackout under the spray.
It's the least intimate shower he's ever shared with anyone. Wanted or not — depending on which shower encounter throughout his career he chooses to compare this to — it usually entails a lot of touching and helping each other. Or something similar.
This time, they clean themselves, so close, but not touching each other. Blackout washes himself meticulously, and then he rinses off, and Barricade does the same, getting out of the shower just seconds after Blackout. The Helo doesn't dry himself, instead he grabs the snacks, heading for the hot tub.
Barricade trails behind, feeling out of his depth.
How the hell is he going to turn this to a good experience for the both of them?
Chapter Text
Blackout is first to get into the tub, pouring drinks for them both before sinking down to lean the back of his helm against the edge. Barricade steps in, careful not to slip.
Wouldn't that be extra humiliating right now? Faceplanting into the oil...
He takes a seat on a respectful distance to give Blackout some space to relax a bit.
And for him to regain his footing in this strange situation.
Blackout silently hands him a drink, and Barricade takes it, sipping it slowly.
"So... What did you have in mind?" Blackout says.
"I honestly don't know. Let's just see where this goes."
Blackout nods once, taking a swig from his drink.
They lapse into silence for a while, Barricade's processor working frantically.
It was never this hard to start anything before, both conversation and interfacing always seemed to come quite naturally, so why is it so hard now?
"Thanks for saving a sponge for me. It really is nice." Blackout finally breaks the silence.
"I'm glad you like it. You did a lot of the job to get them growing, and I figured that it would be fair to let you have something for your effort." He takes another sip of his drink. "And I was kind of hoping that you would come back, so I could give it to you." He adds quietly.
Blackout snorts. "And yet you didn't hesitate to put me in a bad light to my Brothers. What is that, Stockholm syndrome?"
"I don't know. I just... I think I want more for you? More than just being a self centered sadist. I never intended for you to go. Which was your own choice, by the way."
Blackout laughs bitterly. "I guess it was."
They lapse into silence again, and Barricade can't help but feel a bit dismayed by how things are progressing.
Perhaps it's wrong, but he really misses their challenging and engaging conversations, the hard topics always brought up, even the annoyance and frustration their discussions brought. But why is it so hard to fall into the regular pattern, what is is that has changed really? Is it just Blackout's new protocols, or is it the way Blackout probably is waiting for something unpleasant to happen?
Absentmindedly, he sips his drink, twisting and turning the parameters in his processor, trying to figure out the main culprit. His cube is almost empty by the time it hits him like a freight train.
Blackout always took the lead in both discussions, and in initiating interfacing. And now nobody is leading...
Chapter Text
"I want to make out." Barricade blurts, even surprising himself with the words.
"What?"
Suddenly, he feels really stupid.
"You know, kissing and stuff?"
Blackout looks doubtful. "Sure." He says slowly.
Barricade climbs into the Helo's lap, knowing full well that he's coming off as far too eager.
At least Blackout looks a bit out of his depth too.
Barricade stretches up, optics online, half expecting Blackout to turn away, or perhaps bite.
Blackout doesn't close his optics, but he does bend to meet Barricade.
It's a bit awkward, and definitely not the picture perfect kiss found in a movie.
Blackout's denta are sharp, his lip-plates are tense and hard, and his glossa is insistent and unyielding as it rolls around Barricade's at rhythm that's hard to follow. Barricade does his best to accommodate the Helo — even if he shouldn't — but it just doesn't turn into the smooth, sensual experience he was expecting.
They break apart, optics meeting, and Barricade really can't gauge what Blackout is thinking or feeling, the Helo's em field jagged, but unreadable.
Barricade leans against Blackout's chest, pressing the side of his helm to the Helo's plating.
"First time?" He finally dares to ask.
"Yeah."
Blackout says it easily, but to Barricade, there's a weight to that statement that makes his spark do a flip.
"I didn't mean for it to be like that." He says after a long silence.
Blackout shrugs but doesn't say anything.
"No, really. I didn't think about that. I wanted to do it because I like kissing, and I didn't even consider that maybe you hadn't done it before."
Because Blackout has done so many perverted things, kissing does seem so fucking vanilla, he didn't really consider that his simple request would be for a virginity.
"Okay."
"Let's do it again. Properly, with some passion this time. If you want to."
Chapter Text
Blackout looks skeptical at first, his expression as close to making a face as possible without actually making a face.
"We don't have to at all cost. Not if you find it gross and terrible. But I enjoy doing it, because it's sensual, and personal, and just downright enjoyable."
"Mhm."
"Relax your face, allow your components to be soft and pliable, and just give in to the sensations?"
There's a long silence. "Fine."
Barricade stretches up towards the Helo. "If you don't want to continue, tap my shoulder." He says, just before their lip-plates meet.
There's no tap, and Blackout's lips feel supple against his — more than supple, almost lax — his intake opening for Barricade.
It's a bit unnerving, kind of like kissing someone unconscious. Well, at least he can imagine that it would be like this, because for all the things Barricade has done, kissing someone unconscious isn't one of them .
Blackout is completely passive, mouth open, allowing Barricade to do whatever he likes, and the passion requested is nowhere to be found.
Barricade pulls back and hesitates for long seconds, put off by it all, ready to stop in disgust, but then he reconsiders.
Blackout can't possibly know what it should be like, and he's apprehensive. What the Helo needs is guidance, he needs to be shown what this can be.
Barricade presses close to the Helo, servos stroking massive upper arms and shoulders. He grinds against Blackout, all the while, he presses their intakes together, working his lips against Blackout's, tongue kneading Blackout's to try to lead the way and show the Helo what it can be like.
For a very long time, Barricade thinks that it won't work, that Blackout is going to stay stand offish, because the reaction to his ministrations is more or less inexistent, but then finally, Blackout's intake yields, and there's the slightest hint of an attempt to reciprocate.
It's his responsibility to make this a worthwhile experience now.
Chapter Text
Blackout's servos finally slide down Barricade's back, cupping his aft. It's not much, but at the same time, it's everything. It's hard to say if it's something that comes natural for Blackout, or if he searched the data net for making out, but either way, it's a sign that he's trying to get into it. Barricade immediately lets Blackout press him closer, showing his approval by increasing the intensity in the kiss.
The way Blackout reciprocates is encouraging, his glossa getting more insistent, his lip-plates more demanding. Barricade can feel the Helo's interface plate getting warmer.
What the hell is he going to do? A good part of him is hoping for that massive cock, but that's not really why he's here, is it? And even if he goes for that of his own accord — because this is meant to be about his own pleasure after all — this should be about teaching Blackout new ways to experience pleasure, and by that humble him, shouldn't it? Or is it good enough with the power dynamics, where he might let Blackout have his valve, but won't let the Helo decide anything?
Blackout's servos curl around his hips, and they're forced to break the kiss when Blackout pushes Barricade down to grind against the Helo's interface plate.
"Getting revved up?" Barricade says, unable to not quirk his optical ridge.
Blackout bares his denta at the smugness, field abrasive and aroused. "Yes."
"Hm."
Barricade's valve is going slick, and he feels very ready to take the Helo.
Topping by riding, perhaps? But can he really justify a positive vote with just getting some dick?
"I think we should rinse off and take this to the berth, then. Wouldn't want to sully the tub, right?" Barricade tries to buy some time.
"I guess you're right." Blackout sounds disgruntled, but his field is reasonable.
"Well, your berth is very comfortable, and we have all night to continue this..." Barricade says absentmindedly as he crawls from Blackout's lap to stand up.
Hopefully, it won't be to disruptive.
Behind his panel, his valve throbs with need.
Chapter Text
Rinsing off really is a bit disruptive, and Barricade can feel his arousal drop slightly. Especially since they're back to awkward, but at the same time, it's probably a good thing, because it gives him a chance to clear his helm.
And if they continued making out in here, he'd definitely wind up taking the Helo's spike, and topping from the bottom or not, he'd probably be carried away, and lose focus, and Blackout would definitely pounce on that, and suddenly their roles would've been turned around...
It's easy to forget that this still is Blackout when he's needing so much guidance, and he is so hesitant, but even if he probably won't take it to far — he's too smart to do that when he's still on trial — he's definitely the type who'd pounce on weakness, and then gloat.
He needs to make this enjoyable while still asserting that he's in charge. Or any given phalanx of his digits will wind up with Blackout taking his arm, and possibly more.
They dry up, and Barricade heads to the berth room before the Helo, taking charge. He climbs onto the berth.
"I feel like a little more foreplay first." He says, leaning against the headboard, beckoning Blackout by crooking a digit in a come hither motion.
Blackout crawls onto the berth, apprehension back as he crawls up untill he's on all fours, face just inches from Barricade's . He has to bend his arms to position himself like that, and it's a reminder of how big the Helo is. Barricade closes the distance between them, pressing his lip-plates against Blackout's. It takes a second before Blackout reciprocates, clearly apprehensive again now that they're starting over, but then he quickly picks up.
Barricade fiddles in one of his subspace pockets, because he's taken up the habit of carrying toys around. It takes some rummaging that he tries to do covertly to not make Blackout get all tense again, but finally, he finds the thing he has in mind. He pulls it out, holding it in his servo when he breaks the kiss.
"So, I was thinking... How about you warm me up with your mouth, and I'll do you the same courtesy before we continue?"
The vibrating egg he's holding in his hand will probably make the Helo pretty damned ready without any oral, but it's more courteous to offer. If the egg isn't too small? Sure, it has that knob on the top that rotates, and makes it much more noticeable than the regular kind, but Blackout is big, so maybe his valve is built to fit?
... better not ask that.
Chapter Text
The corners of Blackout's intake go tense for a second. "Okay." He says, voice strangely neutral.
"Let me just set you up with this first." Barricade says, showing the Helo the little egg.
Blackout stares at it for long seconds. "Okay." He says, but he doesn't move to make it possible for Barricade.
"You have to turn around."
"Okay." Blackout does as he's told, turning around on all fours.
It's so fucking arousing to have this power over this beast of a mech.
Barricade hears when the latches on Blackout's interface plate unlocks just to immediately lock again four times before the plate finally slides out of the way. His valve-lips aren't puffed up, and his bio lights are dim, so hes clearly not that aroused yet. Barricade slips a digit through the slit, and there's a hint of moisture, but nowhere near enough. Barricade grabs the lube he has in his subspace.
"You're lucky I come prepared." He gloats, pouring a glob on the egg.
"Yes."
The nicest thing would be to play a little with Blackout's valve, get him a bit revved up right now, but he doesn't have to always be on his best behavior, as long as he seems considerate enough...
He spreads Blackout's valve-lips and slips the toy inside, starting up the vibrations and the rotation.
Blackout will probably be much more enthusiastic by the time he decides to give the Helo some oral.
Blackout squirms when the toy starts to move inside him, just a quick movement of his hips, but it's enough to show Barricade that he made a good choice.
"There you go. And now I want your lip-plates around my cock." Barricade says, because Blackout is probably going to expect him to be an aft anyway, so he might as well take this chance and roll with it to some extent.
Blackout slowly turns around, his field a bit abrasive before he reels it in
"You haven't opened your plate." Blackout says, staring at Barricade's crotch.
"I figured you could warm me up enough for it to pop..." Barricade says nonchalantly.
Chapter Text
Blackout slowly leans deeper, and Barricade has to fight to keep his panel closed. The Helo hesitates before licking a line over Barricade's heated panel, but it quickly turns to insistent lapping.
Is the slut needy? Or is he just eager to please? Does it really matter?
Barricade can't keep his panel closed for more than half a minute, then his spike pressurizes. Blackout starts to lap at the shaft, long licks ending with a delicious twirl around the head.
For being such a phobic, he's fucking excellent at what he does.
When Blackout finally — it's not that long, but Barricade is quickly getting impatient — sucks Barricade's spike into his intake, the Saleen is hard pressed to not overload immediately. He stares down at the helm bobbing, the way Blackout's lips looks wrapped around his spike, and it's a sight he will never forget. Barricade wraps his servo around the back of Blackout's helm without thinking much about it.
So, how about this corrupted cop not being the kind you can use, huh? Look how the tables turned...
Then Barricade balks at his own thoughts.
This wasn't what he planned! He was going to make this good for Blackout, was going to try to show the Helo how pleasurable it can be...
It doesn't change the fact that Blackout somehow is excellent at what he does, and Barricade is getting close.
"Ah, yes... That's good!" He pants, pushing at Blackout's helm to get him away.
The Helo resists his pushing at first, continuing his ministrations, and for long seconds, Barricade is convinced that he'll shoot his load prematurely, and ruin all his plans.
Maybe that's what Blackout is aiming for? The Pave low is both clever and manipulative...
Then Blackout finally yields to the pushing, at the moment Barricade thinks that there's no return, that he's going to blow his load, and the lack of release is as frustrating as it is a relief.
Chapter Text
"How do you want me?" Blackout asks.
"On your back is good." Barricade says, already moving out of the way to give the Helo room to stretch out.
Blackout takes place in the middle of the berth, helm on a pillow, looking straight up at the ceiling.
Barricade nudges Blackout's legs to make him spread them more, and to make him bend his knees, and Blackout goes along without resistance.
Blackout's valve-lips are slightly more puffy now, and lubricant is dribbling out of his valve from the stimulation the vibrator supplies. Barricade still gets the feeling that Blackout has quite a way to go to reach his peak. He leans in, slowly circling Blackout's node with his glossa. The Helo shifts, and Barricade can only guess why.
Maybe it's the first time Blackout has even experienced this? Maybe he is self-conscious about being on display like this? He does have a rather intimate view, after all...
He works Blackout's node in different patterns, changing the pressure repeatedly to stop the hardening nub from getting numbed to the stimulation. Blackout's hips twitch slightly when he flicks the tip of his glossa back and forth quickly over Blackout's node, and Barricade starts to go back and forth between that, and long, broad strokes.
It pays off. Blackout doesn't make any noise, but his valve-lips puff up, his lubricant is slicking his slit, and his frame is definitely heating up.
He could probably go for Blackout's valve right now and make it a good time for Blackout, but that's not what he planned...
No, Barricade has decided that he wants to make this good for Blackout, and being generous can never be wrong. If he truly wants to show Blackout that it can be worth to explore more, he needs to show as much as possible now that he has an opportunity.
Barricade increase the pace and pressure on Blackout's node, working to bring him to overload.
An overload from oral, and one from being spiked has to be better than just one overload.
Chapter Text
There are no fireworks, no cosmic innovations when Blackout overloads. Just a quiet grunt and an arched back, hips twitching.
Barricade still takes it as a victory, because it's just not realistic to expect Blackout to moan like an uninhibited strumpet at this time.
He lets up on the stimulation, letting the Helo have some time to recover, feeling kind of smug. The vibrator is still going strong, but he leaves it there, convinced that it'll help Blackout's charge to get going again for the next round.
Barricade stops the smug question of "nice, isn't it?" before it leaves his vocalizer.
Instead, he kisses Blackout's inner thigh a couple of times, before resting his helm against it, allowing the Helo to have a moment to wind down after his overload.
It takes a while before barricade realizes that his patient waiting for some kind of gratitude for his efforts is futile, but eventually, the Saleen is certain that he won't get a breathless thank you for his — considering the circumstances — rather generous efforts.
"Ready or not, here I come..." He says, crawling on top of Blackout.
It feels weird to do it like this, but Blackout doesn't protest. He doesn't really make anything to show approval either, but at least he isn't protesting.
That's good enough. Right?
It's kind of weird with the size difference, Barricade is used to fucking Jazz, and it's a much easier fit with a mech about his own size, at least when spiking.
He pulls out the vibrator, turning it off, and throwing it to the side, then he lines up with Blackout's glistening slit, all smeared with lubricant. Barricade can't help but fixate on the way the head of his spike slowly pushes between Blackout's valve-lips, sinking inside that wet, supple valve.
Two of his optics trail up Blackout's frame, taking in the powerful mech he's having, and Barricade almost groans, his hips jerking forward of their own accord.
To fuck such a powerful mech...
Chapter Text
It's hard to hold back, and Barricade really needs to use all of his willpower to not give in and just chase his own overload.
No matter how selfish Blackout ever was in berth, he always made sure to provide overloads, and he's not going to shoot his load without making sure that Blackout gets his. The Helo probably would never let him live that down...
Barricade starts to circle Blackout's node with his thumb, closely monitoring Blackout's body language for signs of pleasure, or of it being too much, too soon.
Blackout doesn't buck into the touch, but he does shift his hips slightly, and it doesn't seem like an attempt to get away, so Barricade continues his ministrations. After not too long, it earns him another shift of Blackout's hips, and an increase in the rate of the Helo's vents.
If his frame getting hotter wouldn't be enough of a giveaway.
Blackout's valve is going even slicker, and every thrust produces a wet, rather indecent noise that revs Barricade's engine in an almost embarrassing way. He increases the pace of his thrusts without even noticing himself, pounding into Blackout in a way that would've rocked Blackout if he'd been smaller and lighter.
The Pave low starts to vent even quicker, his frame going tense as Barricade works his node with increasing speed and pressure, the tension in them both coiling. Blackout's thighs start to quiver, big servos digging into the bedding, and Barricade grinds his denta, silently begging for Blackout to fall over the edge so he can chase his own overload that's nearing far too fast.
Then finally Blackout gasps, back arching, his valve clenching around Barricade's spike, and it's what allows Barricade to finally overload. He grunts, pressing in deep, spilling his transfluid as deep inside Blackout's valve as he can reach, and just the thought of the Helo still feeling the slickness of his cum tomorrow makes him groan again, his spike twitching inside Blackout.
Barricade keels forward, faceplanting against Blackout's abdomen, frame feeling lax and spent.
He certainly wouldn't mind doing this again.
Chapter Text
Barricade grabs a rag and wipes Blackout's pelvic plating, catching some of the transfluid dribbling out of Blackout's valve, then he crawls up to stretch out next to Blackout, and it underscores their size difference. He plants an arm across the Helo's chest.
"You were great." He says, because he can imagine that Blackout is a bit apprehensive about that, considering that he's trying to get positive votes.
He would deserve a positive vote, he did everything that was asked of him. But then again, Ironhide did ask not just for compliance, but for some enthusiasm too, and it would be fair to say that Blackout needs to try a bit harder, wouldn't it? After all, extending the trial would give him more chances to fuck Blackout again. For educational purposes, of course, to give Blackout more experience, and make him see how good it can be to receive. And he would enjoy to get to fuck Blackout again.
"Thanks?" Blackout says.
They go quiet again, and Barricade doesn't know how to start a conversation. This certainly doesn't feel like a time to talk about consent, or if Blackout has changed his view on interfacing, because that could backfire and make Blackout even more unhappy with his current lot in life. But that leaves a vacuum that he doesn't know how to fill with safe topics.
"Is it alright if I have a shower?" Blackout asks.
"Sure..." Barricade is kind of surprised, but he can't say why.
Blackout gets up without another word, heading for the washracks, leaving Barricade alone in the berth.
Alone to think about what Blackout looks like with water running down his frame, Barricade's processor helpfully supplying him with a rather delicious image of Blackout rubbing himself with that sponge, suds of solvent running down his plating.
Barricade's valve clenches greedily, heat pooling low in his abdomen.
It wouldn't be wrong to ask for a good railing, would it?
Chapter Text
Barricade's processor kind of runs away with him, and by the time Blackout finally returns, the Saleen's valve is slick and hot, feeling heavy. Blackout stops just outside the door looking at Barricade for a second, before heading to the berth. He stretches out next to Barricade without making physical contact. Barricade almost squirms just from the proximity. He kind of expects Blackout to notice the smell of his lubricant, but if the Helo catches the scent, he doesn't mention it.
After long minutes of nothing, Barricade starts to get frustrated. Blackout never had much respect for personal space, and Barricade kind of expects that the Helo will just decide to start touching him without prompting. That doesn't happen, though, and Barricade realizes that he doesn't know how to navigate this with their new dynamic. It shouldn't be that hard, but redefining their interactions is kind of disruptive when Barricade's fantasy was built on how things used to go.
He does the easiest thing, and allows his field to extend, to let Blackout catch the hint himself, and hopefully take action.
Blackout glances at him repeatedly, but he doesn't still doesn't make any move to take the initiative to more interfacing, and it makes Barricade even more frustrated.
He finally gives up, rolling over to press up against Blackout. "You know, my valve kind of needs a bit of attention.
"What did you have in mind?" Blackout asks after several seconds of silence.
A good, hard railing, but maybe he should grab this opportunity too?
"You're good with your digits — I know that already — but I would like to see if your glossa is as sharp as it seems when you speak." Barricade says, hoping that Blackout will see the compliment for what it is.
Blackout nods, crawling down the berth, and Barricade rolls over onto his back, spreading his legs, opening his panel. He could try to blame that he doesn't want to be an aft and play hard to get, but it's really that he's to eager to do that.
Blackout leans in to start lapping at Barricade's slit, alternating with circling his node.
Either someone had already taught him, or he's just using the knowledge acquired from fingering, but either way, Blackout is great.
Barricade is a bit surprised that Blackout doesn't comment on how wet he already was, or how quickly his charge is rising, but he isn't going to complain about it. Not when Blackout is doing such a good job.
He's racing towards the edge, and it would be easy to let Blackout bring him to overload, but Barricade wanted more than just a glossa on his valve.
"Fuck me!" He says, voice rough. "I want your cock inside me."
Blackout pulls back, stopping what he's doing, and Barricade almost growls with frustration when the Helo doesn't pounce on him immediately.
"Do I have to?"
Chapter Text
Barricade's mind goes blank for long seconds.
"Wut?" He says stupidly.
"Do I have to fuck you to make you happy with this night?"
Well, yes...
"I-I..."
"I have tried my best to do everything you ask for so far." Blackout sounds more disappointed — maybe even resigned — than annoyed, and that's kind of disconcerting.
"And you've done very well!" Barricade hurries to say, because he doesn't want to come off as impossible to please.
But what the hell?! When did Blackout ever say no to spiking? Well, except that time with the infection...
"Can't I just continue with this until you overload then?"
Barricade can't help but feel both rejected and disappointed.
At least this effectively stopped any needy frustration in it's tracks.
"I guess you could..."
"But you won't be happy with it." Blackout definitely sounds resigned now.
"I already am very happy with your performance. I was just hoping for some spike too."
Blackout gets up to kneel, looking away from Barricade.
"Could you settle for being eaten?"
"I could..."
"But you won't."
"I will. If it means this much to you..."
Barricade's valve would protest if it could, but power kink or no, he doesn't feel like coercing Blackout into this for some reason.
Maybe because topping from the bottom won't give him the kind of fix he's looking for?
Barricade pushes that thought away for the moment, bunching it together with all the thoughts he's ever had but not quite finished on the topic of why he always keeps coming back to Blackout. "I'll be perfectly good with oral." He says to encourage the Helo.
He still wants that overload, and if he's going to have any chance to get Blackout to tell him what's going on, he needs to get him into a better mood.
Blackout doesn't say anything, but he resumes his work on Barricade's valve.
Can't really complain when the mech is good with his glossa. Though, that massive spike would be nice.
Chapter Text
At first, Barricade is distracted by his confused thoughts, and it takes a while before he gets into what Blackout is doing, but the Helo is good with his glossa, so eventually, Barricade's charge is rising again, thoughts pushed away for the moment.
He reaches the peak, valve contracting around nothing, and it's kind of a disappointment, a rather shallow overload that doesn't leave him strut less, and sated.
Blackout stretches out next to him without touching.
"Thanks, that was good!" Barricade says, even if he would've preferred to be fucked into the berth. "You want me to do something for you?" Even if Blackout is the one who's supposed to please him, it feels wrong to not offer.
"I'm good. Thank you for the offer."
This politeness and passiveness is almost unnerving. It kind of feels like this isn't Blackout at all.
"How about some cuddling?"
"Sure." Blackout scoots closer and puts an arm around Barricade.
It's weird, because they're so close — closer than they usually are — and yet it feels like they've never been this far apart before. Like there's some sort of force field between them.
There are so many things he wants to know, but it's hard to decide where to start. Blackout is uncharacteristically quiet, and it seems like there's a big risk that he'll be even less talkative if Barricade accidentally starts the conversation with the wrong question.
"How was it for you?" Barricade almost regrets the words the second they're out
A blunt question, but at the same time it feels less loaded than straight up asking Blackout how he's doing in the bigger picture.
"It was good. You got me off." He says.
It sounds more like an attempt to appease Barricade than an actual evaluation of what they've done tonight.
Chapter 1000
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Barricade wakes up with a startle. He sits up quickly, looking around as he finds the berth empty. His spark refuses to slow down, and he looks around the room again, just to make sure that he isn't being ridiculous, and Blackout just has made the unusual decision to sleep in the chair, or on the floor. There's no sign of the Helo, though, so Barricade gets up, heading for the door to the maintenance room, stopping just out of reach for the auto opening. He listens intently for any sign of life, because it would be kind of awkward to burst in on Blackout doing... anything, really.
It's as quiet as can be.
"Are you in there?" Barricade asks, then he listens again. "Blackout? Are you there?"
He isn't sure how much noise the door lets through, but when he doesn't get an answer within a few seconds, he steps closer.
It doesn't open!
Barricade's spark speeds up even more, and he slaps the door with his palm a couple of times. "Come on, Blackout, this isn't funny! Open the door!" He yells.
There's no answer, and Barricade jumps up to punch the console. Luckily, it triggers the door, and he runs inside. The automatic lights don't seem to work, and Barricade has to change settings on his optics before moving forward, spark sinking as he hurries through the shower part of the room towards the tub, which is still obscured behind the wall separating the parts of the washracks.
What if he... But Blackout wouldn't do that, would he? Not after everything he has been through. But he did act very strange, and...
The thoughts grind to a halt when he sees the empty tub, and Barricade draws a shaky, sobbing vent of relief, his throat feeling strangely sticky, making him retch.
He slowly leaves the washracks, taking deep vents to calm himself, his spark feeling much lighter.
He might not know where Blackout is, but at least he didn't find a gray frame in the hot tub.
Barricade opens a comm to Blackout, but it goes unanswered. It's still concerning, but somehow, Barricade is now convinced that Blackout is still alive, and that's enough for him at the moment. He leaves the room to go searching.
Maybe he just got some postcoital munchies and went to the refueling room?
Barricade still checks every spot where Blackout could be sitting along the way, feeling compelled to make sure that the Helo isn't alone somewhere.
He tries the comm again, twice, but there's still no answer.
Something is up, and it doesn't feel right to leave Blackout to deal with it himself.
But there's no Helo in the refueling room, nor has he taken refuge in the rec room, with all the booze.
Barricade tries the comm again, his spark starting to speed up again.
What if Blackout reconsidered? What if he has left again? What if he's making a deal with Spinister, or already has, and is out reporting?
Still no answer on the comm.
Barricade decides to try one more time, and then he'll need to report this to someone.
Should he disturb Ironhide, who's definitely with Nitro, or maybe it's better to contact Springer for this, and let him decide if it's worth waking Hide for?
::What?!:: Blackout finally picks up, and it makes Barricade jump.
::Where are you?::
::Why?::
::I woke up and you were gone. I got wo... I was just wondering where you went since I couldn't find you.::
Probably not a good idea to say that he was worried. Blackout might think it's ridiculous, or clingy.
There's a long silence. ::I'm sitting on the porch.::
Barricade hesitates for long seconds. ::Can I join you?::
Blackout is quiet for so long, Barricade starts to think that he won't answer. ::Bring weed.::
Notes:
A thousand chapters! I just... I can't quite believe it myself... And there's another part of Assuage added to this universe for anyone who needs some Hide/Nitro hurt/comfort.
Chapter Text
Blackout is sitting on the stairs when Barricade steps out on the porch, and the Helo just turns his helm slightly towards him, not enough to actually look at him.
Barricade takes a seat next to him, fiddling with the cygs when Blackout takes a deep drag on an already lit one he's about a quarter through.
"You sure you need this one too?" Barricade says, showing one of the cygs, putting the other one between his lip-plates, lighting it up.
Blackout glares at him, demonstratively taking another deep drag on his cyg.
"You only brought me one?"
"And it seems like it was a wise choice." Barricade motions to the almost completely used up remains of five cygs in the tray at Blackout's pedes.
"I don't think you have any jurisdiction over that part of my functioning. Yet."
"Perhaps not, but friends look out for each other, and if we'd print that picture on a flag, it would be a warning flag."
"It's not like I'm doing speedballs." Blackout grumbles. "Besides, most of those were half smoked or more when I started on them."
"I'm not here to criticize you, I'm just concerned. You usually smoke more moderately."
"What the fuck do you know about that?" Blackout mutters.
"Come on, mech, we've partied together many times now, and spent many nights together. Sneaking out and putting a huge dent in the stash isn't your regular MO."
"Things change. Mechs change. Maybe this is my new MO?"
"Considering how harsh you always were, judging junkies, I just can't see you smoking yourself into oblivion, no matter if the weed is legal or not."
"That was back then. I don't even know anymore..." Blackout suddenly sounds very tired. He takes another deep drag on his cyg, then he kind of sighs his exvent.
"Don't tell me you want to hit the heavier stuff..." Barricade says disbelievingly.
Blackout did kind of enjoy the heavy rerouters he got in that memory of his time in the army he showed Barricade, but would he really go that far? Maybe he should tell Hide in the morning?
"No, I just... I don't know who I'm supposed to be anymore."
Chapter Text
"I'm pretty sure that you're supposed to be you." Barricade says, immediately feeling stupid, but what the hell is he supposed to say?
Blackout snorts bitterly. "Pretty sure I'm not, considering the reprogramming, and the sanctions, and the rules." He takes another deep drag on the cyg, then he studies it intently while blowing out the smoke.
In a way, Blackout is right, but at the same time... he's right. No matter how much it might be for his own good — enabling him to stay out of prison and whatnot — it also serves to water him down into more socially acceptable.
"You're right. You need to change, because the old you was on a narrow road, at high speed, going to pit."
"I'm a Flier, I don't do roads."
Barricade rolls his optics, and then he takes a drag on his cyg to steady his nerves. "You're not just a Flier, you're also a giant child. Just fucking face it; the old you was going to prison damned quickly when not constantly supervised by an adult. I really think you're intelligent enough to not get into those situations if you put your mind to it, but you've not shown the least bit of will to try. Your complete disregard for other people isn't sexy or likeable in the least. I'm sure you'd prefer to be liked the way you were, but since that's not very doable, you needed to change, or you would fly on your not road straight to prison, or possibly a capital punishment."
"Interesting how everyone seems to want me to be different, but nobody has given me a manual on how to live up to their standards." Blackout snuffs out the cyg, immediately grabbing the next one, lighting it up.
"Because it's not like we want to dictate who you should be down to every tiny detail. We just want to take off some of the edges that constantly get you in trouble, or cause discord in your family. You were the one who decided to come back, and you knew what was waiting."
Blackout is quiet for quite some time, but his ragged field betrays his inner turmoil. "Everything I thought I knew has turned out to be wrong. Everything I liked to do is apparently wrong. I never thought I'd say this — really, never ever thought it — but I fucking miss the army."
Chapter Text
"You've shown me your memories, and — with all due respect — you can't be fucking serious." Barricade blurts, his entire frame feeling cold and oddly tingly.
"I don't know. I still had my unit back then. Things were shitty a lot of the time, but at least we all stuck together, and had each others' backs."
"You still do! And you can still have fun with all of us..."
"Fun..."
"You didn't complain about the overloads. And I really did hope that you'd fuck me..."
Blackout snorts bitterly, taking another drag on his cyg. His optics are going dim, a telltale sign that he's getting pretty damned high. "Like I could get it up anyway..." He mutters quietly.
"What?!" Barricade asks stupidly, because he can't quite believe what he's hearing.
"I fucking can't get it up!" Blackout snarls. "Everyone want to fuck, wants this and that, and the third thing, all things I don't like, and the things I do like are unacceptable." He heaves a sigh. "I just want to be back to when I could pile up with my Brothers and power down into true recharge. No other needs or wants..." Blackout trails off, sounding tired and... old.
Oh, fuck! How did he miss that?! Unit first — always, Brothers — always... The person he always was is suddenly unwanted, he's taken back but everyone is busy with their own growth and exploration. There's no friendly tussling, no friendly pats on the shoulder... Even when he left to go solo, it was of his own machinations. No matter what he could and couldn't feel back then, Blackout has always been a part of a very strong unity, and now everyone is off fucking each others or whores, and Blackout is on the outside, without the knowledge how to get back in... The big, bad, downright menacing Helo is lonely!
Chapter Text
"So you don't even want to spike mechs anymore?" Barricade asks, mostly to keep the conversation going while he tries to come up with really good questions.
"I don't get turned on. The things that used to turn me on are out of the question. Now I just want to get this fucking trial over with so I don't have to interface again."
Barricade screams in horror internally.
"You did start to heat up when we were making out in the tub, though."
"I did." Blackout says, looking thoughtful as he blows out smoke. "It wasn't anywhere near enough for me to actually get hard, but then again, I was kind of prepared for you wanting my cunt."
So if they don't rush it, making out might actually be a good enough foreplay to get Blackout revved up? When Blackout is ready for that, of course. If the Helo needs a break from interfacing first, he will just have to accept that.
"I think I was pretty clear about wanting your spike the second round..."
"Being told what to do doesn't turn my crank." Blackout says, sucking on his cyg again, holding his vent for a few seconds.
"A very good reason to not miss the army."
"I don't miss the army per se. I miss the way my unit functioned back then."
"Have you told them? Have you asked for a recharge pile, if that's what you need?"
Blackout has said that he doesn't like to go into deep recharge, and that he always wake up when his berth partner moves unless it's one of the Brothers. With all the new feelings and experiences to sort, he would probably benefit from some sound recharge and a full defrag, but he probably isn't getting nowhere near that kind of power down in these circumstances. And it could impact his processor pretty badly with that kind of recharge deprivation. The Warframes are resilient, but Barricade knows about how lack of recharge can make mecha irrational, even delusional.
"No?" Blackout says, sounding like it's a stupid idea.
"Maybe you should. If they didn't care about you, they wouldn't have taken you back. And I'm pretty sure that there would be a massive slumber party in the rec room if that's what you need to deal with everything right now."
"I'm not sure I want to get that close to them, though..." He snuffs out the cyg, looking around for another one. It was the last one, though.
"I'm guessing that stubborn bigot isn't their type, so you probably don't have anything to fear. Even if your aft is mighty fine." Barricade stands up. "Come on. Recharge will do us both good. I promise to not molest you in your sleep." He says, holding out his servo.
Chapter Text
Barricade is almost surprised when Blackout actually follows him, even if the Helo doesn't take his servo.
"Would you rather be alone the rest of the night, or do you want company? I can keep my distance, your berth is big enough for that."
"You can come with me." Blackout says, already heading for the stairs.
Barricade doesn't say anything, but secretly, he's thrilled.
Blackout could just as easily have said that he needs some time alone, even if he's lonely. That Blackout requests his company has to be a good sign. Or maybe Blackout is still trying to salvage his performance for this trial? The question is what he is going to say when it's time for the vote. On one servo, now that he knows how much Blackout is struggling, he kind of wants to say that he performed very well. On the other servo, he obviously needs more time to get the Helo to see how good it can be to bottom...
"Can't you use a memory of something you enjoyed to get it up?" Barricade asks when the door slides shut behind them both, Blackout a few steps ahead of him, heading for the berth.
"Are you that desperate?" Blackout grunts, faceplanting on the berth. "It's just a lie if I do that anyway." He crawls up to press his face against the pillow.
Barricade lays down at a respectful distance. "I didn't mean right now or anything. It was a hypothetical question."
"Perhaps it would work if I took my time, and really played a memory, but if I had to do other stuff while looking at it, it would be more like multitasking while watching a movie. I don't think it would work. And then the memory would be robbed of all the worth it had, and unusable for me. I guess it's kind of a moot point, though, considering I won't have any further use for those memories anyway, so they might as well ruined."
Woe is me.
"It was just a thought. You do as you wish. Is there anything I can do to make you recharge better? Because I really think that some good power down would help you with sorting through everything."
"If you're quiet, that'll help."
Barricade snorts, because it's at least a hint of Blackout's usual blunt snark.
"Anything else? Should I stay on this side?"
"You can come closer if you want. You don't move around that much, so it should be fine."
Should be fine. And hopefully, the weed will help Blackout relax more than usual.
Chapter Text
Barricade crawls a bit closer. Not enough to touch Blackout, but enough to feel the heat coming off the Helo's frame.
Blackout's vents have slowed down, and his frame looks relaxed.
Did he really fall asleep? Or is this some sort of light recharge?
The way his rotors are sagging implies that he's really resting, but then again, Blackout has stated that he doesn't really do deep recharge, and that he wakes up easily.
He sets a reminder for the day after to speak to Hide about this; not because he will forget, more of a wake up call, because he really tends to sleep in.
"You have something to rehydrate you?" He asks, in spite of Blackout's seeming relaxation. "If you get thirsty tonight..."
Blackout snorts, but it sounds annoyed. "I do."
"That's good."
"I guess."
He was asked to be quiet! But then again, who's in charge right now? He should be the one calling the shots. If he wants to cuddle, Blackout should go along, right?
I just want to make sure you're set fir the night."
"Please, just shut the fuck up." Blackout says, sounding desperate.
Barricade does as he's told, laying awake for hours before he falls asleep.
Chapter Text
When Barricade's internal alarm goes off, he's absolutely not prepared. He never uses an alarm these days, so it's very unexpected. Spark raising, he flies up, flailing wildly. The blanket gets tangled around him, and he promptly tumbles off the berth.
"Motherf... Ow, fucking hell." He mutters, untangling himself while pain blooms on his shoulder from the impact.
"You are so graceful." Blackout says.
Barricade looks around and finds Blackout sitting in the chair. The Helo has raised his optical ridges, looking at Barricade as of he's some kind of curiosity. Which he probably looks like, sitting on the floor, swearing.
Barricade's processor races past indignity, does a tiny pause on snark back, then barrels ahead straight to ridiculous happiness. Internally, he feels like singing and dancing.
Isn't it weird to be this happy to be hit by a round of sarcasm?
Maybe he's reading too much into it, but he's not going to stop himself from taking it as a sign that some of the old Blackout still exists, that the Helo isn't completely broken and changed.
"Well, yes..." He just says, not capable of coming up with something better to say. "How come you are over there?" Barricade motions in Blackout's general direction.
It's kind of weird to not be woken by a demand for interfacing, or to find the berth empty except for himself.
"Couldn't recharge anymore, and when I got up to get the data pad, I didn't want to wake you up with getting back into berth."
Sounds unusually considerate, but then again, he did get that upgrade, so maybe he's catching on?
There's something just slightly off with Blackout, though, some slight tension, and a lack of...
The way he commands his own space? His dominating presence?
Barricade can't quite put a digit on it at first.
Blackout almost seems tentative...
Then it hits him like a freight train.
He's probably expecting Barricade to want a morning fuck.
Chapter Text
In one way, it's a terrible realization that Blackout is dreading a fuck with him. At the same time, Barricade is all too aware of what it feels like to wake up just to cater to someone else's wants and needs.
Courtesy of Blackout himself, thank you very much.
"I'm going to get some hot energon. You want some?" Barricade asks.
Blackout looks sceptical.
"Sure...?"
Ha!
"I love my morning energon." Barricade says with fake nonchalance, standing up from his undignified sprawl on the floor.
He heads for the door like a mech on a mission, only stopping when it opens and the Helicopter doesn't show any signs of following.
"Well? Are you coming or not?"
Blackout looks at him for long seconds. "Sure." He says, standing up.
::Hey, Hide?::
::Yeah?::
::Blackout needs some Brotherly support. You know, a good fist bump, and maybe a recharge pile. He's being kind of lonely, feeling like a misfit::
There's a long silence, and Barricade just takes one step at a time, putting one pede in front of the other, heading for the refueling room, the Helo in question trailing behind him.
::I think I can see what you mean.::
::He probably needs a good reboot and defrag, and he only really does a good shutdown when you keep watch. And he has new protocols to integrate...::
::I'll think of something.::
::Thanks.::
Ironhide doesn't get back to him, but Barricade isn't offended by that.
Even more things for him to handle.
"You want anything special?" Barricade asks, going to work loading up the energon heater.
"Just plain, got energon."
"Coming right up!"
He's being too cheery, isn't he?
If Blackout thinks so, he doesn't show it, taking out cubes for them both.
But is it because of his new protocols, making him more helpful, or is it because Blackout feels a need to appease him just because of the trial?
Chapter Text
"Ooh, I know what we should do!" Dreadbot says, sounding almost conspiratorial. "A slumber party!"
"Slumber party?" Nitro murmurs, wrapping an arm around Dreadbot's shoulders. "I prefer to party first and slumber afterwards."
Barricade could kiss them both, and Ironhide too, for setting this up — because certainly it's too well timed to be a coincidence — to help Blackout.
Actually, he definitely could kiss them all. Huh. Food for thought.
It's the evening after his rather weird night with Blackout, and after their morning energon, the Helicopter has made himself very scarce.
"No, I mean like what me and my friends used to do when we were still in school! Definitely more innocent than your parties, but still fun!"
"I remember my school parties..." Crosshairs says wistfully. "Was nothin' innocent about tha'..." He leers.
Dreadbot rolls his optics. "You did not have real sleepovers. I'm talking cheesy movies, energon pops, pillow fights..." Now Dreadbot sounds wistful. "And maybe kissing, if you're a good Bot." He adds, turning to Nitro.
"I'm a terrible Bot."
"I know."
"Aaw, no kissing?"
"Not unless you behave perfectly."
"I'll tell my Da..."
"Don't drag me into that. If you're not good, there will be no kissing." Ironhide interrupts him.
Nitro looks sulky.
"I wanna do a sleepover now." Breakdown whispers to Knock Out.
"We should. This will be so fun!" Knock Out sounds really excited. "I did a few of them growing up, it was so fun!"
"So, what do we do?" Hatchet asks.
"Let's drag a bunch of mattresses into the rec room. And pillows! Lots and lots of pillows, so we can get comfortable." Dreadbot says, heading for the stairs, pulling Nitro along.
Hatchet shrugs, going to follow them.
"Blackout, help out! You're the biggest of us, we need your reach for mattress wrangling." Nitro says.
"Someone who's not Crosshairs, make pops!" Ironhide shouts. "Sorry babe, but I need you to fix this kink I have in my shoulder." He says apologetically, shrugging one of his shoulders for emphasis.
Crosshairs' face goes from stricken to elated. "Of course I'll help ye, Daddy!"
"Come on, babe. Let's make the pops." Barricade says to Jazz, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him along.
"Ya sure we can do it?" Jazz giggles.
"Not at all!"
Chapter Text
Apparently, they're decent at making popped energon kernels, because there's no fire, no smoke, and they wind up with a good sized bowl full.
Not that it was very hard, following the instructions...
"So... Ya did any slumber parties when ya were young?" Jazz asks, sounding hesitant.
"Not really. A few when I was little, way before I even started thinking about other mechs' frames. I think it was before I started going to school, might've been because my carrier was going to work and I needed watching. It was fun, though. We played a little, and fell asleep watching cartoons."
He doesn't mention the times he backed out because of how his step-sire would've pitched a fit if ge even asked to be allowed.
It's such a good thing, whatever happened to him.
"I guess this is kind of a first for both of us, then!" Jazz sounds much more confident, excited even.
"I guess it is." Barricade says, grabbing the huge bowl of pops, heading for the rec room.
"I hope Knock Out has help pickin' movies..." Jazz giggles.
Barricade snorts. "Perhaps... But wouldn't it be kind of amusing to see the Brothers' reactions to some cheesy romance?"
Jazz starts to laugh. "I guess... Things are different now, though. Maybe they'll like it?"
Barricade can't help but imagine Blackout watching a romance movie, and it's impossible to see the Helo enjoying it. "Perhaps..."
"I wouldn' be surprised if Nitro n' Hide will be secretly thrilled n' inspired." Jazz says, sounding almost dreamy.
"I guess they could be..."
They step into the rec room, and barricade can't help but be impressed with how fast they have worked: there's a large area covered with mattresses, and a huge pile of pillows and blankets for everyone to get comfortable in.
"I never thought that this was what I wanted, but now I do." Barricade whispers.
"Me too."
Chapter Text
"Look! I've been good!" Nitro says, pointing to the pile of bedding, smiling exaggeratedly at Dreadbot.
"I don't know..." Dreadbot sounds really thoughtful.
"Just a tiny one?" Nitro begs. "There." He points to his mouth guard."
"Alright. Get down here so I can reach."
Nitro bends down, and Dreadbot leans in to press his lip-plates to Nitro's mouth guard. Nitro quickly turns his helm, and Dreadbot's kiss lands against his denta instead.
"Aaw, that's so sweet, babe." Nitro coos when Dreadbot pulls back.
"You sneaky ass!" Dreadbot Dreadbot growls, but then he cracks a grin, looking rather satisfied.
Barricade and Jazz is following the proceedings, but Barricade is paying more attention to the Helo at the bar when Ironhide steps up to join him.
"Your trial is on hold tonight, everyone is off duty. This should be something everyone can enjoy." Ironhide says quietly to Blackout,
Blackout nods once. "Thanks, Prez, I really appreciate that." He reaches over the bar to grab a bottle. "Drink?"
"Yes, please."
Blackout pours them a cube each.
"Cheers, Brother. It's good to have you back in the house." Ironhide says, raising his cube.
Blackout nods, raising his cube to. "Cheers. I'm glad you took me back."
"Brothers, always."
Ironhide holds out his servo, and after a second's hesitation, Blackout grabs it, allowing hide to pull him in for a hug. Blackout looks tense for a second, then he visibly relaxes, and it looks like the usual Brotherly hugs that the Warframes often share.
"Always." Blackout says quietly, almost as if he's rediscovering the meaning of the words.
"I think we should hurry up before all the good spots are taken." Hide says, nodding towards the pile of pillows where mechs are starting to make themselves comfortable. He doesn't wait for Blackout to decide, but heads for the pile.
Barricade can't help himself: he grabs a pop, throwing it at Blackout. It seems like it interrupts some deep thought process for the Helo, and he glares disbelievingly at Barricade, as if he's momentarily forgetting the new dynamic. Barricade sticks his glossa out for good measure, then he grins, demonstratively taking a spot where he wiggles deeper into the pillows. Jazz joins him, grabbing a servo ful of pops as soon as he has plunked down next to Barricade.
"Don't hog all the pops!" Knock Out complains, grabbing a servo full.
"Well, if ya get your aft inta gear n' get tha movie started, we'll pass it 'round!" Jazz snarks.
Chapter Text
Of course Knock Out has picked the cheesiest of cheesy rom-coms. Barricade isn't familiar with it, so he goes in with an open mind, but it takes about five minutes for him to realize what kind of movie it is. Barricade groans along with most of the Brothers at some points, because it is rather ridiculous, but at least the comedy parts are kind of fun.
"Is this like what you used to do when you had sleepovers?" Hatchet asks Dreadbot.
"Well, our movies did have more explosions..."
"I knew it!" Crosshairs hisses. "An' mecha droppin' their platin' in the movie, and then it would just turn into the kind of sleepover I was at..."
Dreadbot snorts. "No! But we did this thing where you write down your friends names, an action — like kissing, or fucking, or brushing each others ' plating and stuff — and then celebrity names, and then a place. Then you do a randomizer for numbers and get different sentences."
"Sounds lame." Crosshairs says.
"Yeah, maybe a little. We giggled a lot over it, though." Dreadbot sounds sentimental.
"So let me get this straight, nobody gets murdered in this movie?" Motormaster asks.
All the entertainers turn to look at him like he grew a second helm.
"No!" Both Dreadbot and Knock Out says loudly.
"Oh. I thought this was the perfect build up. First the characters are built up from annoying to likeable, and then the horror part of the movie begins."
Knock Out shakes his helm in disbelief. "Not every movie has to be about carnage or sex."
"No, I'm just saying it would make for one hell of a surprise." Motormaster says.
Ironhide snorts. "Imagine the movie poster: most romantic movie this year. Viewer discretion is advised. And then it's rated from second to last frame."
Everyone starts laughing. Barricade turns to Blackout, and even the Helo is chuckling. The Saleen holds out the bowl of pops for Blackout. "Pass this along, will you? I've been hogging it long enough now."
Chapter 1013
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Wanna pile up?"
Barricade suddenly wakes up, looking around groggily. Apparently, he has fallen into recharge at some point during the second movie of the night — which was just as cheesy as the first one — and next to him, Jazz is recharging too.
"Yeah." Blackout says to Motormaster, who's the one who asked the question that woke Barricade up.
Blackout flips over on his front, pulling his rotors in over his back to let Motormaster wiggle closer. The Truck presses close, and Blackout wiggles around to get the pillows right.
"You mind some company?" Breakdown asks.
"No." Blackout says.
Breakdown takes the place on the other side of Blackout, resting his helm on Blackout's shoulder.
Barricade looks past them to find that Ironhide, Nitro and Hatchet have done something similar, together with Dreadbot and Crosshairs.
"I'll take the first watch." Springer says, transforming out his guns, all of them humming in standby mode.
"I'll back you up." Roadbuster says.
Springer nods an affirmative.
"Knock Out? You want to join us?" Barricade asks the Racer who's the only one who hasn't piled up with anyone, looking a bit torn.
Maybe they've decided that it'll be Warframes only on the -Pile, and Knock Out is left out?
"Sure..." He says slowly, glancing at Breakdown again.
::He won't forget you over night, and Blackout definitely won't take your place, of you know what I mean...::
::No, I know. It's just... It would've been nice to get to do this with Breakdown.::
::I know. I bet you'll get the chance the next time, though. When Blackout has gotten over his fear that Hide or Nitro are going to just suddenly molest him just because they're into each other. Then he can pile up with someone other than your boo.::
Barricade sees the way Knock Out barely manages to stifle a snort. ::I guess you're right.:: He crawls down next to Jazz. ::Don't want him to wake up and find us all snuggled up and get the wrong idea.:: He explains.
Jazz doesn't wake up, but he wiggles approvingly to get comfortable between Barricade and Knock Out, mumbling something unintelligible.
Notes:
Fun fact: I usually try to allude to real movies, series, or music when my characters do things, but this time, I drew a blank. I googled cheesy romance movies, and plowed through the lists, and the only one I had seen was pretty woman, and I've already used that reference. Obviously, I prefer explosions...
Chapter Text
The most notable difference after the sleepover in the rec room is that Blackout starts to interact more normally with his Brothers, not keeping to himself the same way as before. He doesn't really start to interact more with the entertainers, but that's probably another step towards normalcy, because he didn't really hang out with them before the Big Reveal, and everything that went down after that. It could also be that he still hasn't quite come to terms with the whole trial period. what he needs to do to get through that.
"Has anyone called dibs on you for the night?" Barricade asks.
He knows it's crude, but the time for him to get a chance to be like that is limited, so he might as well seize the opportunity.
Blackout will hate it anyway, and his plan to try to make him enjoy it won't work, so he might as well...
"No." Blackout says, and his attempt to not show how much he hates that someone is about isn't very successful.
"Good. I want you." He says cockily, still meaning it as a compliment in some way.
"Sure." Blackout says, plastering on a clearly insincere smile.
There's no way he could make this better. If anything, Blackout's supposed to be the one who entices him. He shouldn't feel bad about this, he could just sit back and allow Blackout to avoid and deflect, and prolong his own misery and trial period. This way, Blackout will get it over with, and he'll have some fun.
"We don't have to run off to berth immediately. I want to hang out for a bit, and the night is still young..."
"Whatever you want!" Blackout's cheeriness is almost disturbing. "Can I get you something?"
"A cube of mid grade would be nice..." Barricade trails off, frowning, because somehow it feels like he has lost control.
"Coming right up!" Blackout says, just as disturbingly cheery as before, then he heads to the bar.
Barricade squints, zooming in on the Helo.
He's not going to get drugged tonight!
Chapter Text
"There you go, Sir? Do you need anything else right now?" Blackout says, handing Barricade the drink.
Barricade couldn't spot any foul play when Blackout poured it, so he takes it, sipping it to buy some time. A smirk momentarily tugs at the corners of Blackout's intake, but then he schools his expression back to the pleasant smile that's somehow blank, lacking true emotion.
"Just some company." He says, patting the couch next to him.
"My pleasure!" Blackout gushes, taking a seat.
He's so heavy, the seat dips enough to make Barricade tip to the side, Blackout's unyielding frame what stops him from falling over. It highlights their difference in size.
"I must apologize, Sir! I didn't mean to almost knock you over."
Blackout easily helps Barricade to straighten up, but it just serves to make Barricade feel even more ridiculously small.
"I'm glad I didn't make you spill your drink." Blackout fusses contritely, checking Barricade over. "Is that a drop there? Oh, no, that's a drop, isn't it?" Blackout sounds upset, reaching into his subspace.
"It's fine! Look! It's just a stain of wax I've missed wiping off." Barricade rubs at the spot.
"Oh, but please let me help you with that, Sir." Blackout doesn't wait for an answer, he just pulls out a rag from his subspace, attacking the spot with vigorous rubbing.
What the hell is going on?
Barricade can feel the plate Blackout is rubbing get warm in a very pleasant way under the friction.
Maybe he should ask for a full frame rub as foreplay? But then again, he'd probably fall into recharge, and that level of getting his wish fulfilled would warrant a positive vote, and then his chance to bridle Blackout will be gone for ever.
"That's enough!" He snaps, not because he truly dislikes what Blackout is doing, but to make sure that Blackout doesn't think that he'll breeze through this simply by appealing to Barricade's compassion. "I said it's fine." He says more calmly when Blackout immediately freezes mid rub.
"I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't intend to be annoying." Blackout pits the rag back in his subspace.
"It's fine. I'll tell you if I need anything, so just relax a little."
"Yes, Sir."
Chapter Text
The following silence is decidedly awkward. Or, at least it is for Barricade. If Blackout notices the awkwardness, he doesn't show it at all.
It's very unsettling, because for as manipulative as the Pave low has proven to be before — who knows if that still rings true nowadays, with his upgraded coding — he also was very open with his true opinions, and never was the type to play pretend. If he was manipulative, he'd do it it with brutal honesty, and confrontation.
Well, except for physical deception, but that's not nearly the same as playing someone he's not. Didn't use to be, but is now?
Suddenly, Barricade's cube is empty, and after tipping it back, attempting a sip that just lets him taste the air, he stares emptily at it, feeling slightly disappointed.
"Do you want me to bring you a refill, Sir? Or something else?" Blackout sounds so sweet
Utterly disturbing.
"Yes, another one just like this." Barricade mutters, frowning.
"Absolutely, Sir!"
Blackout smiles widely at him, then he grabs the cube, hurrying off to the bar.
Once again, Barricade keeps an optic on the Helo to make sure that he doesn't attempt to drop something into the drink that shouldn't be there. And yet again, there are no signs of foul play, just Blackout pouring Barricade another drink as requested.
"Here you go, Sir!" He says with that disturbing cheerfulness as he hands Barricade the cube again.
Barricade takes it, staring at the contents for long seconds.
"Aren't you going to have a drink?"
"I'd love to! I just wasn't sure if you would approve of it, and I don't want to impose..."
What the actual fuckity-fuck?
"Of course I wouldn't mind!"
"You wouldn't?! That's so gracious if you, Sir." Blackout looks at him with that strangely emotionless smile.
Is he waiting for true permission?
"Go ahead and get yourself a drink of your fancy." Barricade tries.
"Oh, thank you, Sir! That's so kind of you!" Blackout gushes, then he heads for the bar again.
Considering his power kink, this submissiveness should turn him on, right?
Chapter Text
Blackout comes back with a big cube of high grade, sipping it as he goes.
"Thirsty?" Barricade asks.
"I'm big, so this is probably less than what you have."
Barricade frowns, because Blackout might be right.
"I do have some weed. If you're interested, Sir?" Blackout says, sounding cautious.
Alarm bells go off in Barricade's processor.
"If you want s... If you don't mind sharing?'
"Not at all! Shared pleasure is double pleasure!"
...what?
"Then it sounds nice..." Barricade says hesitantly.
Blackout grins happily, pulling out a cyg. He lights it up, pulling deep drags before handing it to Barricade. As if showing that there's no risk...
Barricade stares at it for long seconds, debating whether it's really a good idea.
Blackout probably tolerates a lot more, should this be spiked some way.
It's still rude to decline, so Barricade takes a deep drag, looking at Blackout as he does.
If it's some kind of win in an elaborate game, the Helo doesn't show it. He just takes the cyg when Barricade offers it back, taking another deep drag, looking rather blissed out.
Maybe this isn't anything more sinister than Blackout trying to make the most of this?
Blackout hands him the cyg again, and Barricade cautiously takes a less deep drag, studying the Helo.
If Blackout is accomplishing some part of a nasty plan, he isn't showing any signs of it, just patiently waiting to get the cyg back.
Chapter Text
"You're unusually quiet tonight." Barricade finally notes after Blackout has been silent for a very long time, pressed up against Barricade, not interacting with his Brothers.
"I just thought a good companion should be seen, not heard."
Barricade frowns. "Sometimes that could be true, I guess, but I don't mind you enjoying yourself."
"Oh, but I am enjoying myself! It's such an honor to be chosen by you, I just want to bask in the glory of being your chosen for the night."
"..."
Barricade feels one of his optics twitch.
The worst part is that Blackout doesn't seem insincere. Sarcasm would've been easier to handle than this weirdness.
"I'm flattered." Barricade says flatly.
"I'm the one who should be flattered." Blackout gives him a flirty smile, stroking Barricade's side with his digit. Such a handsome mech wanting little ol' me..."
The willing appeasement is actually a bit off-putting. Barricade isn't used to have someone fawn over him, and while it might've been an interesting fantasy to entertain at some point, the reality is more disturbing than appealing. Especially since the others are occupied elsewhere, so he doesn't even have someone to talk to while playing indifferent.
Blackout's digits are stroking a seam in Barricade's ventral plating, but it isn't as arousing as Barricade would like it to be. He doesn't feel on top of the situation, and that's taking too much of his processor power to allow him to relax and enjoy it.
He needs to know if Blackout is playing, or if he for some reason truly has switched into this role. What if he has written some sort of submission protocols to fall back on when he's supposed to do stuff that's included in his trial? Would that be cheating, or just disturbing? But what to do to check if he is serious?
"You know, it is kind of nice with the silence. And there's no better thing to keep a mech quiet than to occupy his intake in some other way. So how about you wrap those pretty lip-plates of yours around my spike?"
"Sure!" Blackout says, smoothly slipping off of the couch, kneeling on the floor. He bends forward without hesitation — too quickly for Barricade to have a chance to see if his facial expressions has changed — immediately starting to lap at Barricade's interface plate.
Barricade notices the way the Brothers sitting around them glance at them, and Barricade can't help but feel anything but powerful and in charge.
Or turned on.
Chapter Text
It could be taken as a sign of dominance, the way Barricade doesn't pop his panel for quite some time. Knowing that doesn't make it any less embarrassing or awkward, though, because the truth is that Barricade's spike isn't cooperating, and it's not like he can cover that up once his panel is open.
"Do you want me to do something in a different way, Sir?" Blackout whispers. "I want to make this as good as possible for you."
Oh, fuck! There really isn't anything Blackout could do better, but saying that will reveal his little problem... Dammit, why can't he just enjoy being in this position the way he would've enjoyed it not that long ago?!
Barricade looks down at the Helo, trying to get into the mindset of it being a fantasy come true instead of some uncharacteristic weirdness.
He's the one holding all the power. Blackout needs to satisfy him, or the Helo won't get the vote he wants. He has the power to prolong the trial, to make Blackout his glitch — and anyone else here that wants a piece of the Pave low.
His spike feels slightly warmer, but not by much.
What if he tells Blackout to bend over the table? Surely making the glitch yield to him like that — in front of everyone — would make him hard?
But not even picturing that makes his panel pop, or his spike to request permission.
What the fuck is going on?!
"Well, if you can't figure it out yourself, I guess there's no use continuing. I don't feel like playing guide to you."
"I'm sorry for being inadequate, Sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Sit back down."
"Yes, Sir."
Barricade sips his drink, uncertain what to do now. Blackout starts to rub his shoulder-wing in a way that indicates that the mech has done some very thorough research on the component. Except that Barricade isn't really getting turned on by it for some reason.
"Are you that needy?" He asks, more bitingly than he intended it to come out, when Blackout's digits tweak a relay in a way that should send much more heat to his array.
"It's impossible not to be with such a handsome mech, Sir."
"Open up." Barricade says, tapping Blackout's valve panel. "I want to feel how wet you are."
Chapter Text
If Blackout is reluctant to obey, he doesn't show it. As soon as the words are out of Barricade's vocalizer, Blackout's panel slides out of the way. Barricade hesitates for long moments — long enough for him to feel like he has blown it all and shown that he is doing it provocatively instead of demandingly — but then he snaps out of it, stroking Blackout's valve-lips to find his way into the Helo's valve.
The way Blackout's valve-lips aren't swollen indicates that the Helo isn't as aroused as he's trying to let on, but at the same time, he's really slick and wet, and Barricade knows that not everyone's valve-lips get that puffy when they're aroused.
Barricade's digits slip inside easily, the slick lubricant making it a smooth slide.
The question is if it's Blackout's own natural lubricant, or if he lubed up before hand.
The way he always expected the pleasurebots to do, the way he'd imagine was expected for his own trial.
Barricade pumps his digits slowly, and it does the trick.
Well, at least partially, because his spike makes a lazy twitch that could probably be identified as interest, if one would squint, and purposefully ignore the reflexivity of it, and how weak of a reaction it is.
"You like this?" He asks, pumping his digits in and out of Blackout's valve in an almost taunting manner.
"Yes, Sir!" The Helo moans.
If he's lying is impossible to say.
Barricade slowly circles Blackout's node, pumping his digits, intending to see if Blackout is really as turned on as he says, if he can bring him to the edge easily.
But then again, overloads can be faked, and even if they aren't, they could still just be a physical reaction...
But physical reactions are something that he has had turned against him before — and he is carefully avoiding to think about the times with his step-bastard — and after everything he has done to try to make this truly good for Blackout before, then maybe a physical reaction is as good as he's going to get?
Maybe it would serve as a good learning experience for the Helo? And wouldn't it be quite entertaining to make the bastard enjoy something he despises, and looks down on?
Chapter Text
"Put on a show for me."
Barricade pulls his digits out of Blackout's valve, feeling very frustrated.
This trial should be the golden opportunity, but everything is going horribly wrong.
First, Blackout wasn't receptive to learning to enjoy new ways to interface, and now Barricade can't even enjoy what should be the perfect opportunity for him to indulge in his old kinks, kinks that Blackout himself has shown Barricade that he still has.
"What kind of show do you want, Sir." Blackout purrs.
"Finger yourself. I thought it would be obvious."
"I just wondered if you had any preferences I could take into account."
"You're free to be creative."
Since clearly, his preferences aren't working tonight.
Blackout reaches between his legs, starting to play with his valve, and Barricade leans forward to be able to see.
If only the table hadn't been smashed to pieces...
Blackout's valve-lips still aren't getting puffy, but the Helo smears the lubricant around with his digits, making his array glisten. He moans quietly when he circles his node.
"You know what I would enjoy even more?" The Helo asks. "Getting your spike in my valve."
"You haven't earned it quite yet." Barricade says, frantically searching the data net for protocols on forcing a spike pressurization.
If he can find some sort of setting he can change, or maybe even a download with protocols for that. He did get upgraded controls when he moved in here, but ironically, those protocols are for his spike not to pressurize without explicit permission.
Blackout continues to play with himself, vents getting heavier as he pumps his digits into his own valve.
It might've been a hot show, if it wasn't for Barricade mostly focusing on his search. Apparently, he doesn't have any stock settings for pressurizing his spike — more than the cleaning protocols, but that doesn't really make the spike hard, just brings it out of the sheath — and finding bootleg medical protocols isn't easy when in a rush. The only thing he can find is a download that promises to deliver what he needs, but the source is questionable at best.
At least he has upgraded firewalls and antivirals, courtesy of Blackout.
Running out of time and options, Barricade clicks the download button.
It's better to have the download and don't need it, than needing it and not having it. Right?
Chapter 1022
Notes:
I made a very embarrassing mistake yesterday! For the first time in a very long time, I had two chapters written, and managed to post the wrong one. This chapter should've been posted yesterday, and yesterday's should've been posted today. I apologize for that, and hope you all get a good laugh out of it.
Chapter Text
The download is slow, and it gets weird to sit there, leaning forward to see what Blackout is doing, while still not getting aroused by it.
"You know, you can go back to working my panel." Barricade finally says, watching the progress of the download.
Only halfway there.
'"Sure!" Blackout sounds so disturbingly cheery. He more or less dives down to start lapping at Barricade's panel again, servos wrapping around Barricade's hips. It underscores their size difference, and Barricade can't help the image that pops into his processor, of how easily Blackout could hold him like this, smash his back against the wall and fuck him so deep, he could feel that spike against his spark chamber.
Sixty four percent on the download. Come on, how big is that fucking program? Or is the server really slow?
Barricade forcefully opens his panel to at least get somewhere, and Blackout's glossa immediately starts to work it's way around the head of Barricade's spike, what little can be reached while it's still recessed. The Helo sucks gently, probably an attempt to coax Barricade's spike out of hiding, but it doesn't really work.
Seventy two percent. Come on, come on, come on...
Barricade resigns to using his cleaning protocols, which extends the spike, but doesn't really pressurize it, making it flag at half mast in a rather unsexy — and definitely unstudly — kind of way.
Blackout rolls his glossa around Barricade's soft spike, keeping optic contact, and it's almost too obscene in some strange way, note ridiculous than sexy.
Seventy eight percent.
Blackout starts to bob his helm, sucking to help with the pressurization, but Barricade's spike is still uncooperative.
Wonder if Blackout is laughing his aft off inwardly at this?
The download makes a sudden jump to eighty nine, and Barricade almost cheers.
As soon as that's unpacked and installed, he'll be back on top of this. Wonder how Blackout will enjoy getting a mouthful of cum?
Chapter Text
It's like that shower of sparks one imagines when thinking of a screwdriver shorting the poles of a battery when he finally tries to open the downloads.
Barricade's antivirals protests wildly, setting off alarms, and halting the initiation process for security reasons, making him quarantine the download instead of applying it.
The fucking antivirals Blackout of all mecha got him...
Apparently forced to face his own impotence in this perfect storm of a situation, Barricade can't do much more than grind his denta.
"Don't you find me attractive, Sir?" Blackout sounds so insecure, it's painful.
He does, doesn't he? Blackout is unreasonably hot, even when he's being a terrible bastard. So why isn't he turned on?
"You're doing alright!" Barricade says encouragingly, because Blackout really is doing a very good job, and can't really be held accountable for the Saleen's problems with his erection — or rather lack thereof.
"I'm glad to hear that!' Blackout says, sounding relieved, then he greedily sucks Barricade's spike into his intake again.
Blackout's fucking great at what he does, so why can't he fully get into it?!
Blackout sucks Barricade's spike, complete with indecent noises, tongue working in all the ways that should be right.
In the end, it doesn't matter if it's all a fake to get a vote, a weirdly chosen upgrade, or a true change on Blackout's behalf.
Not when the door is knocked down and the ICI-fucking-A storms the house...
Chapter Text
Blackout throws himself backwards, twisting in the air to land on his servos and knees, and Barricade's comm explodes with chatter as apparently the Brothers don't mind filtering their contact list in the emergency.
::How didn't we see this coming?!::
::Must be some new sort of jammer?!::
::Die, motherfu...::
::Do not take that shot!! I repeat, stand down, do not take that shot!::
It's such a small mercy that the state of his erection makes it so easy to just shut the cleaning protocols and tuck his equipment away.
"Everyone on the floor, now! Servos on the back of your helm!" Someone shouts.
The air is almost crackling with the tension of roiling EM fields, the need to fight so tangible, one could taste it in the air. It feels like the buzz heralding a lightning that'll knock everyone flat. There's a low whine of charged weaponry that's making the entire scene feel like a bomb that hasn't gone off in spite of the fuse having burnt out.
Is he really going to die impotent and dissatisfied, without figuring out what the fuck is going on?!
Barricade looks at Blackout, the Helo flat on the floor as he has been asked, but the lines of his frame is tense in a way that's screaming bloody murder in three, two...
"Let him go!" Ironhide yells.
Movement and noise of a struggle catches Barricade's attention.
Nitro flies up to his pedes, plating bristling.
"I'll cooperate without those. Servo across my spark."
Guns whine as they charge.
"Then you won't have any problems cooperating to put them on." The unknown agent says, holding up the cuffs
Nitro glares at Spinister, baring his dental in a way that's obviously threatening, no matter how odd his build is. "I guess you know why I'm not fond of those..."
Spinister shrugs. "I guess you're just like every other scumbag just like you. Just mech up and deal with the hand you've dealt yourself."
Nitro's optic flashes bright for just a second, then he turns back to the mech waving the cuffs around. "I hope it's worth it to you. Being sent home in twenty pieces, I mean." His talons extend with an ominous sound.
Chapter Text
"Get back down on the ground!" Several of the agents yell repeatedly, guns pointing at Nitro.
Nitro crouches, getting ready to lunge, apparently uncaring of the inevitable fallout.
At the corner of his optics, Barricade can see Blackout tensing too, as if he's getting ready to help his Brother, claws slowly extending, as if he's trying to be slow and smooth to not catch any attention.
"Nitro, stop. Stand down." Ironhide says firmly.
Nitro freezes for long seconds, possibly warring with himself if he really should obey the order. Slowly he straightens, claws retracting.
"Sir, yes, Sir." He says smoothly, voice cold.
"We're cooperating, but I'm getting fucking tired of this harassment!" Ironhide sneers. "Fucking tell us what it is this time before you do anything else, or I will make sure that you can't come within a mile of any of us!"
Spinister glares, clearly not happy about Ironhide somehow seeming more in charge of the situation than Spinister himself, in spite of laying stretched out on the floor, with guns pointed at him.
To be fair, if the Brothers have their internal weaponry enabled, they could probably turn this into a massacre quicker than Spinister could finish wetting his panel.
"Fine. Soldier-bot over there is suspected of several murders." Spinister says, pointing at Nitro. "And we don't bring in suspects without cuffs for obvious reasons. Especially not considering your propensity for assaulting officers." The last part, he grins maliciously at Nitro.
"If you didn't have such a tendency to use unnecessary force, then maybe mechs wouldn't feel the need to defend themselves?" Nitro says venomously. "You know, I want to consult with my lawyer."
"You can do that down at the station. We do have protocols to follow, you know."
"Oh, I know that. But I'm not sure that what you're doing here is exactly following protocols."
"Of course we do! We don't want this to be in vain, we're meticulous about not letting anyone get away just because we didn't do everything according to the book."
Nitro nods slowly. "I'm sure you are. But there's also the saying that it's easier to apologize after the fact than to ask for permission. Asking for permission would be impossible without probable cause, but it could be pretty effective to shake someone's tree, bring them in, pressure them and hope they break, and then pretend that they got off the hook on a technicality. And then watch what said mech do as soon as he's free. I mean, hypothetically speaking."
"That's preposterous!" Spinister hisses, sounding offended.
"Perhaps it is, but I'm not seeing a warrant. So until you show me one, or you let me talk to my lawyer, I'm going to assume that this apprehension isn't following protocols, which makes this me not resisting an arrest, but law enforcement misconduct and harassment."
Chapter Text
Spinister's optics get pinned. "Fine. I'll show you the warrant." He still glares at Nitro while motioning to one of the agents. "Freewheeler, five me the warrant."
The agent looks surprised. "I'm, Sir? I don't have it..."
"What?! How in the pit could you forget that?!" Spinister snarls.
"I... Because I've never been in charge of that before, and I didn't know I was supposed to? Sir. I apologize..."
"I swear it's impossible to find competent people these days." Spinister mutters.
"I'm sure it is." Nitro says dryly.
"I'm trying to get ahold of the judge to get him to send it to me directly." Spinister glares at Nitro.
Ironhide starts to get up.
"Hey, stay down!" One of the agents yell, tensing his stance, pointing the gun at Ironhide with more purpose.
"Absolutely not! You don't have a warrant. Until you show me one, you're just engaging in brandishing, which must be as illegal for you as for anyone else." Foregoing slow movements to display his intentions, Ironhide pops up on his pedes quickly, showing off how quick he is. The agents visibly startle, but no shots are fired, and Ironhide promptly turns his back on them, clearly dismissing them. He holds out his servo to help Hatchet up from the floor. "Are you alright, Brother? I do apologize for this. This city must frazzle your nerves compared to Kaon."
"I'm a little shook up, but I think I'll be good. You're right, I'm not used to these brutish methods from law enforcement."
Blackout gets up too, as does the others. Barricade never noticed when the Helo closed his panel, but it clearly is closed now. Blackout strides over to Nitro.
"Are you alright, Brother?" Blackout asks, lighting up a cyg.
Well, at least he hasn't lost his ballbearings.
Blackout hands the cyg to Nitro.
"Thanks." Nitro says, grabbing the cyg, taking a deep drag. "I'll live, but I'm not happy, not gonna lie. I bet my trauma nightmares will return again, though."
Chapter Text
Nitro and Blackout continues to chat about how traumatized they'll be by this raid, sharing their cygar.
Barricade looks around, trying to locate Jazz, because if someone might be really traumatized by this, it's Jazz. The Solstice is sitting at the bar, looking decidedly shook as he's drinking something that looks like high grade.
"How are you doing?" Barricade asks quietly when he reaches Jazz.
"I'm still alive!" Jazz says, sounding a bit hysterical.
"And unharmed." Barricade says, looking Jazz over, because at least it seems like there's no physical harm done, even if there might be some mental scarring.
"Yes." Jazz takes another deep drink.
"You know, I'm actually starting to reconsider the prospect of moving." Dreadbot says, tipping back his drink that looked similar to Jazz's. "I never thought I'd want to leave, but this is getting too much, and I can't handle it."
Barricade's spark feels oddly cold.
He knows how much Dreadbot has put up with for Nitro's sake, what he has been willing to sacrifice to be with the Flier. To hear Dreadbot consider moving out is jarring, because somehow, he wants them to be happy together, especially now that they so recently have gotten the chance to be more open about what they really feel.
"I see your point..." He says neutrally.
He'd never leave Jazz just to get out of here, so he can't fully relate.
"Yeah, Starscream or not, I'm definitely willing to go to Kaon. I know Nitro doesn't want Starscream like that, and I'm tired of raids, and hoping that Nitro won't be taken from me this fucking time." Dreadbot downs another drink. "And that scraphelm over there seems really set on doing that.
Oh. That wasn't how he understood it... But it's far more relatable.
Barricade can't help but glance at Blackout.
It's far more likely that Blackout would be taken from him than Jazz. And current weirdness aside — which he very much wants to figure out too — loosing the Helo isn't something he really wants...
Chapter Text
"Having a hard time to get ahold of the warrant?" Springer says to Spinister, quirking an optical ridge.
"The judge doesn't work around the clock, of course."
"Of course..." Motormaster sounds sarcastic.
"Can't you just have one of your mechs get it for you? Or someone from the office run over here with it?" Ironhide says impatiently.
"Everyone is needed where they are at the moment."
::Our contact says that he should've known if a warrant had been issued, and he hasn't heard anything about it. That's why we weren't forewarned.:: Breakdown comms them all.
::So he's bluffing?:: Ironhide asks.
::Most likely. I mean, I guess there's a risk that they could somehow have gotten a warrant without our contact finding out, but it's a pretty small risk.::
::Whatever they did to put the alarm system out of play, blindsiding us all like that is pretty damned concerning, though.:: Hatchet says.
"How long do we have to be at this stalemate?" Ironhide asks Spinister out loud. "It can't be reasonable that we sit here until the judge return to his office tomorrow, or whenever he's planning on doing that."
Spinister glares at Ironhide, but the tenseness around his optics kind of hint at concern.
"This is not a stalemate!"
"I'd say it is." Blackout says. "If you get the warrant, you win, if you don't, we win. None of us making progress, and we can't to anything else right now. At least nothing within the law."
"I'm calling out lawyer. I refuse to have my house full of hostiles when it's time to go to berth, and I'm getting tired." Ironhide says.
"I haven't given you permission to make a phonecall yet." Spinister says too quickly, sounding a bit desperate.
"And you haven't been able to prove that you're really in a position to deny me that right. I'm making the call. And if I were you, I'd be really careful about making decisions and delivering statements that might be unlawful, should that warrant never show up. At the slightest chance of winning, I will file charges against you."
Chapter Text
Spinister's lip-plates pull into a thin, straight line of annoyance or apprehension. "Sure, but if that call is illegal..."
"I presume that I'm considering innocent until proven guilty, and since you still don't even have proof of a reason to be here, I'm going to treat this as me dealing with a home invasion." Ironhide says, then he grins cheekily. "Consider yourself the luckiest home invaders ever, barging in here, still standing to have a civil conversation..." He covers his intake with the tips of his digits.
"Law enforcement matters can never be a home invasion, and I swear, that warrant..."
"Shush! Our lawyer is picking up. Unlike your judge..." Ironhide interrupts him.
He really should ask to see the size of the mech's ballbearings...
"Are you serious about moving to Kaon?" He asks Dreadbot just to distract himself while Ironhide is on the comm.
"Yeah! Well, not alone, obviously, but to get to be with Nitro..."
"And Hide?"
"What about him?"
"Well, they're kind of a thing..." Barricade says slowly.
"He'd go too, of course! He doesn't want to lose Nitro any more than I do." Dreadbot says as if it was the most obvious thing.
"I'm sure he doesn't. Would they follow you if you say that you've had it?"
It's a rather blunt question, but Barricade can't shake the feeling that Dreadbot would be sorely disappointed if he proposed moving as an ultimatum, and Hide wanted to stay in Polyhex.
"I... I think they would." Dreadbot says thoughtfully, tipping back another drink. "Things have changed, lately. And not only because they can be open with their relationship, but they both have become sweeter. Especially Hide. Nitro has been kind of sweet for a long time, but Hide is more... relaxed, I guess. Even more personal, and kind of soft."
It's such a good thing to hear, because it sounds like Dreadbot isn't left out as the cover that they don't need anymore, but that he's still in the relationship, however that will evolve in the long run.
"I guess it's up to you, then. Crosshairs won't make any demands, will he?"
Dreadbot snorts. "Where Hide goes, he'll follow. Straight to jail, if need be."
Chapter Text
It's kind of absurd to see Blackout and Nitro chatting quietly, clearly stoned, while the ICIA agents are standing around, looking awkward.
"Still no warrant?" Hatchet asks mildly, tilting his helm as he looks innocently at Spinister.
Spinister makes a face, but it's hard to tell of he meant to show his dismay, or if he lost control of his faceplates.
"The judge isn't picking up."
"Our lawyer did, though," Ironhide says smugly, "and you can all just kindly fuck off." He grins nastily.
Some of the Brothers cheer and clap their servos.
"Hold on a..."
"No. Get the fuck off of my property, preferably quicker than a chicken defecates. If you're quick enough, I'll give you the benefit of a doubt and wait to see if you can produce a warrant tomorrow before I press charges, but if you dawdle, I won't hold back. On anything, or anyone feeling the need to defend themselves against this hostile invasion." Ironhide says, his grin not reaching his cold optics, which makes it all look all the more threatening.
"You heard the mech! You can all stop eyeballing our goodies right about now!" Dreadbot says to the closest agent who has indeed looked at them in a borderline inappropriate way.
Spinister glares at Ironhide for long seconds, a silent battle going on. Ironhide looks as stony and ruthless as ever, unflinching and certain of his own capabilities.
"Fine, we will leave. You will regret this when we clear up this little mistake, though, and we come back for you." Spinister grinds out.
"No, we won't..." Ironhide says, sounding disturbingly playful.
If Spinister is unsettled, he doesn't show it, but several of the agents seem very uncomfortable.
As they should, participating in a raid that clearly wasn't following protocols.
Springer, Breakdown, and Motormaster escort them all out the door, and Barricade takes a deep drag on the cyg Dreadbot hands him.
Somehow, it feels like he's on the right side.
Chapter Text
"They have until noon, if I haven't seen a legit warrant, I'm pressing charges." Ironhide says as soon as the door is closed behind all the agents.
"Really?! Why give them that time frame?" Motormaster asks. "We should press charges now.
"Because it looks generous, and if they really had a warrant — or even a possibility to get one — this would've played out differently. There's no way that they would be this sloppy if they had one, or even the prospect of getting one." Nitro says. "Giving them time will just strengthen our case by showing that we're reasonable.
"Even if they manage to get a warrant, we'll fight it, of course. I highly doubt it, though." Ironhide says adamantly.
It's such an elaborate plan. He should've known that the Brothers are capable of it, but it's still surprising in a way.
"I'm glad someone can figure these things out, because I sure can't!" Jazz giggles, sipping his drink.
"Spinister is still going to try to get a revenge on this..." Dreadbot says quietly, sounding thoughtful.
He will! The question is how prepared the Brothers are for that.
The door closes behind the ICIA agents, their escorts walking in, looking like they just won the war>
"Let's have a shot to celebrate!" Springer whoops.
Nobody protests.
He can only hope that the luck will really last.
Chapter Text
Shot glasses are passed around, and everyone gets a quick refill once they've downed the first round.
Barricade yelps when Blackout easily spins him around on the bar stool he's sitting on. Blackout nudges Barricade's legs apart, stepping between them. Barricade leans his back against the bar to look up at Blackout, his processor supplies him with graphic imagery of Blackout flicking Barricade's valve panel open, slipping inside with a smooth roll of his hips. Barricade's valve clenches around nothing.
Except that Blackout confessed that he can't get it up...
"Now, where were we..." Blackout murmurs, slowly dropping to his knees without breaking optic contact. He rubs Barricade's spike cover with his digits.
"You know what, I kind of lost the mood with the whole raid thing?" Barricade says too quickly.
It's a lie, and he knows it, but he'll take this opportunity to get out of the weirdness without hesitation.
Blackout looks disappointed.
"If you say so... Sir." He still rubs at Barricade's panel a few more times. "If you don't want me to try to get you back in the mood again..."
Hell no, actually.
"No, I think you've done enough already. Let's save it for when we go to berth."
Maybe it'll be easier when it's just the two of them?
"I can't wait?" Blackout says cheerily, getting back up from the floor. "Want another drink, Sir?"
"Mid grade, please. And you don't have to call me Sir."
"Are you sure? About the politeness, I mean! I have no doubt that you can choose a drink for yourself, I didn't mean to imply that you can't..."
This version of Blackout is too helm ache inducing...
"Yes, I'm sure. I prefer our interactions to be a bit more personal than polite rituals."
"I'm so glad to hear that, s..." Blackout breaks off, smiling sheepishly. "I'll get you that drink."
"You know what, add a splash of high grade to it."
"Absolutely!"
Chapter Text
As the night passes, more and more mechs retreat to their private quarters, but Barricade just can't bring himself to do that.
Even thought he's pretty damned fucking drunk by now. This really derailed. What if Spinister comes back? He should've gone slower with the drinks...
The drinks Blackout happily supplied him with, perfectly mixed.
He even scanned a few of them just to make sure that the Helo wasn't pouring too much high grade into them.
"Maybe we should retire for the night?" He asks Blackout, his vocalizer feeling a bit too fuzzy.
"I love the sound of that!"
Of course you do...
"I beg you pardon?"
Oh shit, did he say that out loud?!
"Nothing. I was just... clearing my vocalizer."
"Do you need anything? Some cough medicine or something?"
Barricade almost wants to scream. "No, thank you."
"Your room or mine?" Blackout asks, either not wanting to push it, or just eager to get going.
"Your's. Your berth is bigger."
And he doesn't want this disastrous farce to move into the sanctity of his and Jazz's love nest.
"Do you want me to bring something?"
Maybe someone who can take over?
"No, I think we're good." Barricade says, slowly starting to make his way towards the stairs, balance slightly off kilter from all the booze. "Actually, being a few bags of snacks."
He does have a case of the munchies, and maybe he can coax Blackout to at least give him a hint at what the fuck is going on if they do some talking and eating, without anyone overhearing them.
Barricade squeals when his aft gets pinched.
"I'm sorry, but your aft is too cute to not pinch it." Blackout sounding innocently shy is another thing that goes straight on the too disturbing for sexyness list.
That fucking list is getting longer and longer. And all he initially wanted was to get his cock wet, and a garden variety power trip.
Chapter Text
The door to Blackout's room closes behind him, quiet as it is, the sound feels... foreboding.
It's kind of strange, the way he wishes he was in his own room with Jazz right now. Well, not that strange that he wants to be with Jazz, but he's kind of used to having his moments with Jazz at other times, and he usually doesn't long for Jazz when he's working. Except he isn't really working right now, he's with a hooker. Technically.
"How do you want me?" Blackout asks, preening.
"Uhm... Maybe we can just hang out for a while? I kind of have the munchies, and I'm still tense from the raid. I want to relax, wind down, and eat some snacks."
Blackout is silent for long seconds, the first sign that he is hesitant about anything.
What a fucking thing to be hesitant about, considering how this night has been going so far.
"Sounds good." The Helo finally says, but he does sound slightly hesitant.
Barricade grabs the bags of snacks Blackout is carrying, knowing full well that it could be considered rude, then he climbs onto the berth.
"Hope you don't mind crumbs..." He says, feeling just a small amount of smug satisfaction about it."
"I can clean it up tomorrow." Blackout says, not sounding happy about it, but not negative either. "Do you want to watch a movie or something to wind down?"
Barricade frowns.
What he really would prefer would to fall asleep, and then wake up to find this a dream.
"Not really. I just want to enjoy snacks in good company."
"I hope I'll measure up." Blackout says, taking a seat opposite of Barricade. He lifts a bag of some sort of crisps, looking critically into it while shaking it slightly, then he daintily grabs one crisp and puts it in his mouth, chewing slowly, looking thoughtful.
Why would it be easier to handle if Blackout just threw the crisps aside, and tried to choke him with the fucking bag?
Chapter Text
"The weather has been lovely lately, don't you think?" Blackout says.
"I guess..." Barricade puts more crisps in his mouth just to have a reason to not say anything about it.
He hasn't noticed if the weather has been unusually good for this time of year. Has it?
"It's nice when you don't need to polish yourself every day. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm cleanly, but polishing every day can be tough on the paint job."
Yeah, Blackout is very cleanly. Except when he's wearing someone's energon on the plating...
"Your paint is so good. I bet you are very meticulous about your detailing."
"I don't know, average, I think. Good fuel keeps my self repair work very well, though." Barricade says, shoveling more crisps into his intake.
"I do appreciate a mech who takes pride in their appearance." Blackout purrs, stroking Barricade's thigh.
It does nothing for Barricade. He can't say why, but he's just not getting aroused.
Sure, he was set on getting an outlet for his power kink, but even so, he never has a problem getting turned on with a willing participant otherwise. Why isn't his spike showing any interest? He did want to show Blackout how good valve play can be, and here he is now; with a willing Blackout, and for some reason a non-functional dick.
"What did you think about the raid?" Barricade asks to distract them both.
"What do you mean?" Blackout's servo stops on it's way towards Barricade's interface plate.
"Do you think they honestly fragged up with the warrant, or was it Spinister trying to pull one over us?"
"I don't know." Blackout says, and it's impossible to say if he's being honest.
"But you have to have an inkling. Hide seemed so certain..."
And Blackout was interacting with Nitro in a completely normal manner, and goading Spinister, before going back to this.
"I apologize, Sir, but I don't know anything." Blackout sounds so innocent.
Suddenly, Barricade understands why he isn't getting turned on.
He enjoys a willing partner, but it's completely impossible to know if Blackout is truly willing, or if he's just a damned good actor.
Chapter Text
Blackout does everything right, no matter how awkward it is. He tries hard to make eating crisps seem sexy, putting on a show of sorts, he preens, he touches Barricade suggestively, he sneaks in compliments every other sentence, and implies how happy he is that Barricade wants him.
That just makes it even worse when Barricade still can't get it up. He can't even find it attractive.
What if it's a role play, a farce? But why is that so important? Why can't he just live in the moment and enjoy this?
"It's not that I don't find you attractive, or anything like that, but I'm not in the mood tonight." He says, then he stuffs the last crisps into his intake to give him a reason to be silent for a while.
Damned crisps lasting for such a short time. It's quite a big bag, though... Did he really eat them all?!
"Oh..." Blackout sits up straight, putting more distance between them, stopping the physical contact.
"It's just all the stress from the raid and all, and the weed doesn't help... I feel too tired and worn."
It sounds lame, even though it's kind of reasonable.
Blackout looks thoughtful. "I didn't do anything wrong, did I? Because I want to be as good as possible, so I need to know if I did..."
"No, you've been an excellent companion all night. I really have nothing to complain about."
Blackout climbs up to have a seat next to him, kind of slumping against the headboard. "I'm relieved to hear that! I was worried that my performance was lacking." He grabs another bag of crisps, opening it and then taking a few crisps to put in his intake.
Barricade almost makes a face.
Performance...
"No, you did very well." He says, grabbing some crisps from the bag Blackout is holding. "You've done everything I asked for and more. With a very amiable attitude. You've really made me feel wanted."
Blackout slides down to stretch out on the the berth, grabbing Barricade's servo. He drags Barricade's servo up his chest, and then he wraps it around his own throat.
"Would you prefer it if I didn't want you, but you could make me all the same?"
Chapter Text
"Please, Officer, I'll do anything if you don't tell Spinister that I helped killing your step-sire!" Blackout begs. His field conveys his apprehension.
And lo and behold, suddenly Barricade's spike decides to cooperate. In spite of his more rigorous control protocols, it pressurizes to stand in it's full glory, bobbing proudly.
"I-ah..."
"I can't have another strike, Officer!" Blackout sounds distraught.
What the fuck, it's so wrong, but at the same time, it's kind of what he wanted, and his frame is saying go-go-go... And Blackout offered!
"I'm sure you can't. Pretty little Bots like you don't do well behind bars...
Ha! Blackout would murder the entire prison before anything happened to him, but that not here, nor there in fantasy-land!
"They'll eat me alive!" Blackout sounds terrified.
Eat him any way he wants...
"Then you better convince me not to report you."
"I'll do anything!"
The way Blackout's field roils with aversion fuels Barricade's lust, making his spike throb.
"Anything?'
Blackout looks strained, and it takes long seconds before he answers. "Anything."
So... Pussy, ass, or mouth? Hard choices... He did try Blackout's mouth before, and it could be good, but at the same time, it's done already... But in a way, there's more to gain there...
"So you'd get in your servos and knees for me for starters?"
"If that's what it takes."
"I mean, I can't know if it'll be satisfying enough until I've tried it." Barricade says dismissively, cock throbbing again.
It's just like when he negotiated an arrest, and there's a reason why he found it so addictive.
"I guess I have to let you sample the goods then, Officer." Blackout says, getting on his servos and knees, opening his valve panel.
Wouldn't Blackout react deliciously if he'd ask the Helo to open the cover to his port?
Chapter 1038
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Barricade decides to not ask for that.
He never wanted that before. Sure, he can see the appeal of the reaction, but he's just not into that enough...
Instead, he gets up to kneel behind Blackout. The Helo jumps slightly when he curls his servo around Blackout's hip.
"I-I'm sorry, officer!" Blackout grovels.
"It's fine. Shows that you have some respect." Barricade says, lining up his spike.
Though respect and fear are not the same things, are they?
He slides in to the hilt, getting a whiff of synthetic lubricant that tattles on that Blackout has prepared for the night, rather than getting truly aroused.
Blackout grunts, and Barricade's knee jerk reaction is to worry that he hurt the Helo.
Seriously?! He's half the mech's size, how could he possibly...
"You like that, don't you? Glitch..."
"Do you really want me to?"
It puts a screeching halt to Barricade's processes.
He just got it up thanks to the implication that Blackout didn't want it. Why the hell would he make such a statement?
Notes:
Apologize for the short chapter, but life has thrown me a curve ball, and I need to take a few days off.
Chapter 1039
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Don't ruin the mood now..." Barricade mutters, more to himself than to Blackout.
"I'm sorry, Officer! I didn't mean to..." Blackout falls into his role again.
"I'm sure you didn't. Wouldn't want this to be unsatisfactory to me, do you?"
Because he could always prolong Blackout's trial, even if he can't put him back behind bars.
Barricade starts to pound into Blackout. Not that he's big enough to rock Blackout with his thrusts, but it doesn't really matter; he's still the one in control, even if he can't be physically.
Really? So this is what you've become?
What?! Shut up! Why are you back?!
Because clearly, you're being a shithead, again. What happened with the chivalrous thoughts of trying to be a bigger person and a better lover? What happened with knowing what Blackout is going through, because you've been there, and you don't wish that on your friend? What happened with considering him a friend? Are you just going to use him? Like all the people you thought so lowly of, people you used ruthlessly...
Barricade's pace of thrusting falters.
Fuck! All those discussions about consent he has had with Blackout, about what coercion is, and how imbalance of power changes everything... Blackout is as pragmatic as anyone can be, and he's probably doing it all to get his vote, but the entire night has been an exercise in the coerced consent the Helo was so confused by. It could possibly be a good lesson, but it doesn't feel good to be the best teacher...
Mh-hm. Should've considered what you were doing more closely. Well, what you're technically still doing, considering you're still fucking him...
Barricade pulls out.
"Am I too loose for you, Officer?"
Barricade sputters. "N-no! I just... Blackout, I'm so sorry!"
Blackout doesn't move, leaving Barricade to stare at his aft, valve panel still open, his valve-lips looking soft, and just slightly moist, showing his lack of arousal. It's so awkward to try to talk like this.
"I'm not good enough for you, am I..." Blackout says, sounding more hoarse than usual.
"It's not you. It's me! I... This is wrong.
Notes:
So...A few days turned into a year. I'm not promising to be back at full steam with daily updates, but I've been rereading this story lately and fallen back in with the characters, so hopefully my inspiration will pick up.
Chapter Text
Blackout lets himself plunk down on his front, stretched out on the berth.
"I'm never going to get the votes I need, am I?" He mumbles into the pillow he face planted into.
He probably wasn't meant to hear that — or maybe he was, considering that Blackout is a master manipulator — but Barricade can't blame Blackout for feeling like that.
"I'm happy with your performance. I just... I don't feel like continuing."
Blackout makes a noncommittal noise into the pillow, reaching for the cyg on the bedside table. When his digits close around it, Blackout rolls over and gets up to sit, lighting the cyg as soon as he's comfortable.
"I have no idea how to get this done and over with. You say that you're happy with my performance, yet you just don't want to finish? I am going to bring this up with Springer. This doesn't feel right, how am I supposed to be able to improve if you don't even tell me what I'm doing wrong?"
"It's the consent part that's wrong. I tricked myself into thinking that you consented, but it's all coerced and I don't want to put you through that."
Blackout presses his digits to his optics, holding the smoke in for long seconds. "For fucks sake!" He groans, coughing slightly. "I have gone along with everything you've asked for."
"You did, but you weren't really a willing participant. Whatever consent was given here was under coercion since you want the votes."
"See it as motivation! I'm very motivated to get the votes and get this trial out of the way. And we've already established that you get off on power imbalance and coercion, so that's nothing new."
"I do, but these days, I prefer to play games like that with willing participants, instead of forcing someone to endure things for my pleasure."
"Consenting non-con? You've got some really high expectations. Expectations I can never live up to, and frankly, I can't even imagine someone willingly putting themselves in that situation."
Chapter Text
"I know mecha who will happily play those games." Barricade says, a not very well thought out answer, and he knows it, but at least it buys him some time.
"I'm sure you do, but I'm not one of them, and if that's what you want from me, you'll be forever disappointed. I know I'm supposed to please my customers, but what you're asking is unfair. I don't enjoy this -- just like you never truly enjoyed street walking -- but I'm really trying to deliver on the service I'm supposed to offer. Frankly, it should be easy, considering how you enjoy unwillingness, but you've raised the bar yet another step to a level that's out of my reach. Congrats, check mate on me, I guess." Blackout takes another deep drag on his cyg.
"But the street walking is different! I had the same opinion as you about sleeping with any of you in the house when I started out, but that has changed..."
"But your change of opinion wasn't needed for you to get through your trial, as long as you did what was requested. You starting to enjoy it was a slower process, no?"
"I-I... Well yes." Barricade feels terrible when it's laid out like that, because he really is the one who made this awfully complicated and stressful for Blackout.
He just wanted to be better than he used to be -- even if it's painfully obvious that he still has a penchant for ugly power play -- and wanted to be more considerate. How ironic that it would've been easier for Blackout to just deal with him giving in to his own ugly predilections.
Chapter Text
"I'll give you my vote. You've earned it. I didn't mean to make it impossible for you, I just wanted to... I don't know, I wanted to make this as good an experience as possible for you, but I realize now that it only made things worse. And I might've slipped, and gotten a little too much into the role play, and it freaked me out a bit... I don't want to be that mech."
Blackout snorts. "I need more weed, and a raise." He mutters to himself before taking another drag on the cyg. "You make things so fucking complicated. You get off on coercing mechs into fucking. This is an opportunity for you to do your thing without having to think about consequences, or if your partner is a truly willing actor. We had this discussion before, about the complexities of consent; it's nothing new. At this point, I'm a whore for you, me going along with this is as close to consent as it'll get. Fuck, you can give me a tip as compensation afterwards if you still feel bad about it. Blackout sounds annoyed, finishing the stump of his cyg with quick, intense drags, before putting it out against his own plating.
Barricade's valve clenches happily with the borderline verbal slapping.
He isn't completely changed, there's still traits left from the old Blackout.
Barricade carefully sidesteps the fact that he was the one who decided that it was time for an intervention, and by that, he was involved in initiating the change in the first place.
"I guess you're right..."
"Stop guessing, and feel certain that if I truly didn't find the cost/benefit analysis of going along with this leaning towards benefit, I would dismantle you slowly for trying." Blackout growls. "Hows that for difference between me consenting and not?"
Barricade feels his valve panel go slick with lubricant.
Chapter Text
"I give Blackout my vote." Barricade says.
The pleasurebots are gathered in the conference room for their weekly vote.
"So do I." Jazz says. "I think he has done well accomodatin' my wants."
"What did you want?" Knock Out asks in a suggestive voice.
Jazz glances at Barricade. "Some romance. Ya know, glowin' crystals in tha bath tub, some makin' out, a back rub..."
Knock Out stares incredulously at him.
"I, guh, aah..." Dreadbot says, rubbing his forehelm. "I think my processor just broke by that mental image. You requested a date with the Hell-copter?"
"M-hm." Jazz sounds rather pleased with himself. "I like those things, n' tha whole point was enjoyin' myself. Plus, I know Cade wanned ta make Blackout try new things he might realize he enjoy too, so why not?"
Barricades spark makes a funny flip, both because Jazz is just the sweetest mech in so many ways, but also the mental image of Blackout trying to be romantic is a bit... endearing.
"I'm 'appy with 'is performance too, 'e's become really good with 'is glossa, an' 'e spiked me jus' the way I asked fer." Crosshairs says.
Barricade can't help but give Crosshairs a funny look.
How the hell did that happen, considering Blackout has confessed that he A: doesn't like consensual non-con, and B: can't get it up? Did Crosshairs forego their agreement to not just let Blackout do what he always did? And he really shouldn't be this jealous...
Chapter Text
"How did that happen?" He can't stop himself from asking, spark feeling a bit weird.
Everyone looks at him like he's stupid.
"I asked 'im te lick me, an' 'e did, an' then I said I wanted te be dicked inte the berth, so 'e did tha' too." Crosshairs says, sounding like he's explaining the obvious.
"Okay, because when I asked him to spike me, he actually declined."
"He declined your request, but you're still giving him your vote? Knock Out asks, sounding incredulous.
"Well, yeah. He admitted that he can't get it up, so up until now, it felt like he had a valid excuse...."
Maybe not so true -- or valid -- if he could get it up for Crosshairs...
Dreadbot snickers. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve... I guess he decided to not use them later on, though."
"What?"
"Crosshairs and I tag teamed him that time — because, you know, the whole actually making it a trial thing — and he informed me about the issue since I was the... conductor of the scene so to speak. So I stimulated him a bit manually, and installed a vibrating butt plug that hits the spot just so. It did the trick, and I told him to keep the toy in case he needed it again. I guess he'd rather risk not getting a vote than use it."
Barricade feels himself scowl at Dreadbot.
"Oh, don't be pissy about it. He's a big mech, he can handle that. It's not like I forced him to download some shady bootleg software for getting it up or anything, I just used the tools at my disposal to move the plot forward."
Chapter Text
"He was going to hate it anyway, no matter what we did, so I figured he'd be better off performing successfully and earning his vote." Dreadbot continues.
It's not what he wanted for Blackout, but it may actually be what Blackout himself preferred. The Helo did have the right to decline, and he didn't, even if he refused to stoop to the level of using that butt plug again. But then again Blackout is probably well aware of how much harder — impossible even — Dreadbot would be to manipulate into voting in spite of not getting what he asked for.
"I guess you're right." Then something else pops into Barricade's processor. "Did you make use of his spike too? I mean, topping from the bottom is kind of your thing, isn't it?"
Dreadbot looks aghast. "Give away my super power? And give the bastard ideas?! Absolutely not. Do you have any idea how dangerous that could be? I'd be out of a job, there's no way I could compete with a power bottom with that much emphasis on power."
Barricade almost says that Nitro certainly wouldn't give up Dreadbot, but then he catches himself, because there's no way of knowing if Nitro is allowing that in any capacity these days.
"I'd pay good credits to see Hide put Blackout in his place like that." Knock Out says. Just imagine his servo around Blackout's throat while riding him like zap pony..."
"Ooh, on this fucking table!" Dreadbot fills in, slapping his palms against said table. "With his cannon pointed to Blackout's helm. 'You better not go soft on me now — or cum early — copter-bot!' he'd growl."
Crosshairs' servo slips under the table not so discretely.
Chapter Text
"Most of all, I'd like to see Nitro rail him over the table." Dreadbot says.
Crosshairs makes a noise of approval. Or just a moan, he's clearly masturbating.
"Ya're very much for Blackout gettin' railed." Jazz snickers.
"He brought that on himself." Dreadbot shrugs. "And just because we made a pact that we shouldn't engage much in vengeance-fucking, the Brothers still could..."
"They seem to have made up, though, and are back to friends." Barricade says.
"Hey, friends can rail each other if they want to! And sometimes if they don't, but end up squealing yes in the end..." Dreadbot smirks.
"Do I hear some juicy bro on bro fiction in the making? Knock Out snickers.
Crosshairs overloads with a whimper.
"Not yet, but that fucking-bunny isn't going anywhere."
"Anyway, are we all agreeing that we're happy with his performance, and Blackout's trial can be concluded?" Barricade asks before this meeting can derail — hah — even more, and the purpose is forgotten.
"Fine." Dreadbot says. "Even though I've come up with more things I want to try with him, I'll be gracious enough to say that he has performed rather well. If everyone else is ready to approve him, so will I. Anyone against it?" He does sound a bit hopeful.
Everyone shakes their helms.
"Then I'll comm Springer and let him know the verdict." Dreadbot says, and if he's disappointed, he doesn't show it.
Chapter Text
"I guess congratulations are in order." Barricade says to Blackout, holding up his bottle of low grade. "How does it feel to successfully have done your trial."
"Thanks." Blackout says, slowly spinning his glass a couple of times, before holding it up towards Barricade's raised bottle. "It feels good to have it done and over with." He sips his drink. "I'm surprised how quickly it is over. I expected it to be much more drawn out."
"Well, we did decide to be honest and fair when judging your performance. Don't get me wrong, voices were raised for letting you work harder for it — like you did to us — but ultimately, we didn't want to be too petty and vengeful, and decided to be bigger persons."
Blackout snorts. "I'm grateful for that." He says, before tipping his drink back, but it's hard to say if he's honest or sarcastic.
Barricade follows his gaze and sees that Blackout is looking at Ironhide and Nitro Zeus, the two of them sitting on the couch. Nitro is leaning against Ironhide, snickering at something Hide said, toying with the plates on the arm Ironhide has wrapped around him.
"How do you feel about that? About those two." Barricade asks quietly.
"They're my Unit, my Brothers. Always."
"So you've come around about them?"
Blackout is silent for long seconds. "They're still the same mechs I've always trusted. What they do behind closed doors — and sometimes quite publicly these days — doesn't change that fact. They've given me no reason to distrust them, or to like them less fore the persons they have been all along. That they're," he notions towards the pair while seeking the words, "that together doesn't change them individually. I trust them with my functioning, and I would die for them."
Barricade's spark feels like it swells.
"I'm glad to hear that."
Chapter Text
Blackout excuse himself and join Nitro and Ironhide. It's impossible for Barricade to say if it's some sort of demonstration, or if the Helo is eager to get back to normal — as normal as things will get with all the change that has happened lately.
Or if he wants to avoid possible advances.
Barricade is fearing that that might be the reason.
He should be happy that Blackout seems to have been fully accepted back into the house, and that the Helo has found a place for himself in his old-but-new unit.
"Why the sour face?" Crosshairs asks.
"Hm?" Barricade looks at him over his shoulder, but he does feel kind of caught. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking about the house politics. Blackout is fully accepted back now, and everyone seem to be good with how things have panned out with everything going on, but I just can't help but worry..." He leaves it there, hoping that it will be interpreted as general worry.
"I think Spinister was thoroughly dismissed the last time, an' I don' think ye need te worry abou' the Brothers. Hide an' Nitro are no' the types te hold grudges." Crosshairs smirks and it has a sharp and dangerous edge to it, something that's rather unfamiliar on the easy going pleasurebot. "Either they fergive an' mean it, or they take care of the problem, if ye see what I mean..."
Copy that, loud and clear!
"I do..."
"Then ye should stop overthinkin' stuff an' go get yerself a mech or two who'll fuck yer worries away."
Chapter Text
It's not like he immediately obeys Crosshairs and grabs the first mech — or two — who's available, but Crosshairs did have a point.
If Nitro and Hide have truly decided to forgive Blackout, that's great. If they haven't, and they really want to push the issue, he'll be absolutely powerless to do anything about it.
And with how the conversation between the three seems to be going — not that he can hear it, but it seems easygoing enough at a glance or thirty-seven — he really should let it go and occupy his mind elsewhere. Especially when Crosshairs sets his sights on the bunch
So Barricade cruises the room, for a short while hoping that Hatchet will be interested, but the four-peder trots off with Springer and Dreadbot before he has a chance to show his interest.
Breakdown is snuggled up to Knock Out — surprise, surprise — and doesn't seem to be looking for someone to join them.
Motormaster is looking rather lonely, sitting at the bar, sipping his drink, as Jazz and Roadbuster trundles off towards Roadbuster's berth room.
Barricade shudders. Not that he knows why, because he erased the memories of his time with Motormaster, but there's obviously some sort of reflex lingering.
But Motormaster seemed nice when they went shopping, and that erased memory was from before he had an upgrade of his emotional protocols.
"We haven't really gotten to know each other, are you interested in some company?"
Chapter Text
"Company is always nice..." Motormaster says, but he sounds cautious.
Not like ha can complain about that, he feels hesitant himself for some reason.
"You know, I think we never really started off on a good foot." Barricade says, holding out his servo. "I'm Barricade, ex-cop, currently with a much needed prescription for weed for my anxiety. Avid fan fiction narrator, and sponge farmer in the making."
Motormaster snorts, but he grabs Barricade's servo. "Motormaster. Military veteran and enthusiastic collector of c-grade horror movies, and cliche high school dramas."
"Really?!"
"Yeah!" Motormaster grins, and there's something unexpectedly adorable about his genuine enthusiasm. "It started with the amusement of terribly cheesy and cliche horror movies — you know, how they're more laughable than actually scary — and then it kind of expanded to the typical high school movie, because they're often just as laughably cringe worthy. And in some ways equally scary."
Barricade can't help but snicker. "You are not wrong..." He takes a seat, reaching over the bar to grab a bottle of high grade. He can't reach the shot glasses, but Motormaster grabs them for him, putting one in front of Barricade and one in front of himself.
"Collecting good movies isn't really a challenge. Getting through the worst to make the assessment if they make the cut for the collection is."
Barricade pours shots for them both. "I can imagine." He almost cringes just thinking about it. "So, do you have a big collection?" He asks, raising his glass. Motormaster raises his, and they both tip back their shots.
"Two hundred and sixty three movies!" Motormaster says as soon as he has swallowed his high grade.
"Wow. And you cringed your way through all of them?" Barricade asks, pouring another round for them both.
"If I fall into recharge watching the movie, it doesn't qualify for the collection."
Chapter Text
Color him intrigued.
"So, you just watch movies that you think you won't truly enjoy of your own volition?"
"Pretty much, yeah." Motormaster shrugs. "I know it sounds stupid and weird, but there's this nice anticipation when you know it's going to be terribly cliché. You grab the energon kernel pops and just wait for the moment when you need to throw them at the screen."
Barricade snorts.
It's very easy to picture the bros throwing pops at the TV, watching a movie Knock Out would think was an excellent pick for movie night.
"You know, it does sound like a lot of fun. Would you mind showing me your collection?
Motormaster's optics really light up, and he looks excited in a way that makes him seem really young. "I'd love to show you! I have movies from several different solar systems..." He says, quickly standing up from his chair, grabbing the bottle of high grade.
"Really?!" Barricade feels his jaw drop.
"Yeah! And let me tell you, aliens have some of the cringiest movies. I guess there are cultural differences I'm not fully aware of, but holy pit..." Motormaster trails off, snickering.
"I can't wait to see this." Barricade says, and he really means it. He jumps down from his chair to follow Motormaster to his room.
Who would've thought that he'd ever be excited to follow Motormaster to his room after just a very brief conversation, and a few rather small drinks?
Chapter Text
Motormaster's room is a mess.
It's not that it's dirty, but there's stuff everywhere. Everything from bottles of polish, to data pads, and on to sex toys are strewn around the place.
Granted that he doesn't seem to have any storage cabinets or drawers to put his stuff, but it's... somehow a rather relieving revelation. Makes Motormaster rather relatable. Even if Motormaster's room still is cleaner than Jazz's and his was when they were at their worst.
"Ever thought about getting a storage unit?" Barricade snickers, looking around.
"I did, but I am a terrible procrastinator when it comes to shopping."
"I mean, you could order one or two online?" Barricade suggests absentmindedly, watching as Motormaster pulls out a projector hooked up to a stationary hard drive. A motorized screen is rolling down to cover the wall. "There are a lot of good furniture shops that make home deliveries these days."
Motormaster pauses his attempt to level the projector on the bedside table. "I guess you're right..." He says, looking thoughtful. "But I'm also terribly cheap."
Barricade snorts at the honest admission. "I'm sure we'll be able to find you something you'll like..." He pointedly looks around the room. "I take it that you're not very fuzzy about the choice of colors?"
There's purple, and black, and blue, and red, and the decor kind of screams 'this was on sale' more than 'this was carefully picked to fit with everything else to make it look more like a magazine than an actual home.'
Actually it feels kind of home-y.
Motormaster laughs. "Not very..."
Chapter Text
"So, what do you want to see?" Motormaster asks when he has set the projector up to be level.
"I don't know. Maybe one of the first movies you collected? You know, the one that got you into this in the first place."
Motormaster smirks and nods, hooking up to the hard drive to start it up.
"Why dont you use a holo-projector?" Barricade asks. A holo-projector is much more modern, playing the movies in 3D - he even heard that 4D is starting to hit the market. The projector Motormaster has is just a regular one, projecting a flat image on a screen.
"Some of the movies I have are so old, they don't work on the holo. And movies from off world can have some pretty primitive formats too, so I figured it was easier to downgrade the entire collection to this format. It's not like great equipment will make these movies better."
"I guess you're right."
"Trust me, not even liberal use of weed will make them great. Well, even more entertaining, but not in the way they were intended by the director." Motormaster snickers, climbing onto the berth, leaning against the headboard. "Speaking of..." He says, grabbing a cyg from behind the projector on the bedside table. "Come on." He says, patting the berth next to him in invitation.
Barricade crawls onto the berth, taking a seat. Motormaster takes a drag on the cyg before handing it to Barricade. As Barricade takes a smoke, Motormaster opens the bottle of high grade he brought with him from the bar, taking a swig.
"So, this is supposed to be a horror movie, but the effects are terrible, and the acting is so over the top, it's more ridiculous than anything." Motormaster snickers as the movie starts playing.
Chapter Text
Motormaster wasn't exaggerating.
The energon that coats everything could probably have been very scary if it wasn't so much. Or so... explosive. The way it sprays out of the mechs is... Barricade giggles so hard he has trouble venting. Seriously, a shower head would make a more realistic impression than that. And, sure, it's supposed to be some sort of supernatural thing going on, a demon or whatnot, but there's energon worth at least three times the cast coating the scenes.
"This is horrible!" He manages to get out through his laughter, reaching for the cyg they're sharing.
"I know!" Motormaster cackles. He's clearly stoned, but unfortunately for the director of the movie, that's not the main reason for his mirth.
Barricade quickly passes the cyg back, wrapping his arms around his midsection in a desperate attempt to stop his abdominal hydraulics from cramping so badly. "I just can't..." He whimpers, laughing even though it hurts.
Motormaster is squirming, gasping for air. "I've actually repressed the memory of how terrible this is!" He manages to choke out. "I thought it was better..." He trails off into a squeal.
"From now on, you pick the movies for movie night." Barricade says, half sobbing, half screaming with laughter. It's as if his frame can't decide what to do.
He really needs to get it together, or he might blow a gasket in his hydraulics.
Barricade's processor supplies him with a picture of one of the cylinders in his abdomen positively gushing hydraulic fluid in a way that would make the movie director proud.
It doesn't help at all, and helplessly, he laughs even harder.
Chapter Text
When the movie is over, their munchies make them steer their two mech giggle party to the refueling room.
"Look at this! This could pass as coolant according to some directors." Motormaster says, holding up a bottle of coolant.
Barricade does a spit take into his glass, at least managing to not get any of the energon into his vents. "Well, technically, it is coolant..." He giggles, taking a new sip from his glass, having already forgotten about the spit take.
"Well, sure, but it's not like it still is this brightly colored once processed and in the circulation in the frame." Motormaster says, bending down to reach into the fridge again. "And look at this! They'd probably use this for energon." He holds up a jar of some sort of slimy half liquid pudding in a shade of purplish pink that's definitely not right for energon of the frame. "Imagine globs shooting out from a cut line..." Motormaster dissolves into giggling again.
Barricade puts his glass on the counter and starts rummaging through one of the cupboards.
Didn't Crosshairs have a...
"Hah!" He shouts triumphantly, holding up the... thing Crosshairs used when he tried to decorate a cake with some sort of aluminum paste. Barricade unscrews the lid. "Pour the pudding in here!" He says excitedly to Motormaster, pointing into the tool.
Motormaster looks thoughtful, but then he grabs a spoon to help get the pudding out of the jar and into the thing. Some of it winds up dribbling down the outside of the tube, some drips onto the floor, but most of it actually winds up where it's supposed to. Barricade's anticipation rises along with the level in the piping gun.
"That's enough!" He says excitedly when the gun is three quarters full. He can't contain an almost maniacal little laugh. "Oh, no! The daemon sliced me with his talon!" He squeals in an overly dramatic fashion, putting on some sort of accent that's probably unheard of. "Urgh." He makes a noise, pulling at the trigger, holding the piping gun at an angle so it looks like the stream is shooting from his neck. "Aagh." He yells, pulling the trigger again.
Globs and little squirts of liquid energon pudding is scattered as he continues with his incoherent grunting timed with pulling the trigger. Or at least he tries to, his dramatic noises are quickly turned into badly contained fits of laughter.
Motormaster is hanging over the counter top, screaming with laughter, writhing as his hydraulics cramp.
The piping gun is out of ammunition, the pudding sticking to Barricade's plating, the floor, and probably several more places.
"Your turn." Barricade says, holding out the gun for Motormaster, already checking the contents of the fridge.
Chapter Text
If they were in one of the horror films Motormaster collects, the scene would be gruesome and horrifying.
Well, at least to the characters.
But they're not, so even if the kitchen is covered in spatter of energon, coolant, and brake fluid, the most concerning thing about the scene is the knife on the counter top, and that knife has only been used to open a container of frozen sweet energon they actually ate.
Barricade is feeling a bit cold, because it was a jumbo pack of energon they stuffed their faces with, like six or eight servings.
The door swings open, and Ironhide stops dead in his tracks just inside it.
"What the..."
"Wow!" Nitro says, bumping into Ironhide's back as he enters, distracted by the view. "This looks like fun."
Ironhide slaps the front of Nitro's shoulder with the back of his servo over his own shoulder. "Looks like one hell of a project cleaning up." He says, too sober to be fun.
Barricade glances at Motormaster, and catches the big mech doing the same thing to him.
Don't Motormaster dare leave him with the entire clean up...
"We we're going to start once we had something to eat." Barricade says weakly.
"You fucking better." Ironhide growls, leveling a glare at the both of them.
Motormaster looks like he's sulking inwardly, but Barricade is just relieved that he isn't blamed for all of it.
"With the number of children living under this roof, you'd think I've fucked half the city..." Ironhide mutters, stepping over to the fridge, carefully trying to avoid stepping in anything gooey.
"We just gather here because you're such a good Daddy..." Nitro says, following Ironhide.
"Don't call me that." Ironhide says, and Barricade can't help but wonder if it's a reflex at this point.
When Ironhide turns back around, Nitro swipes a digit through a big glob of energon gel on the counter top, then he flicks his servo to splash some on Ironhide. He quirks his optical ridge when Ironhide stares at him, seemingly shocked.
"Oh, you've got a little something here... Prez." Nitro purrs, closing the distance between them. The Flier licks a slow, very indecent line over Ironhide's chest plates. "Mh, that's scrumptious. But anything taste good on you..." He purrs, Nitro's voice pure sin.
Ironhide's engine revs, and Barricade can agree, because his valve is being jealous.
"Grab some gel and go back to our room?" Nitro asks suggestively.
Ironhide quickly grabs some gel from the fridge without even looking what he grabbed, then he beelines for the door. "You will clean this up." He still says rather threateningly over his shoulder.
"You bots better listen to Daddy." Nitro agrees, walking backwards out of the kitchen, looking like the cat who can easily eat three canaries more.
Barricade is revved up when he turns back to Motormaster.
"I guess we better clean up..." He says rather reluctantly.
"Yeah." Motormaster sounds equally displeased with the task.
Chapter Text
For being so fast finding things to make the mess, they're very slow finding cleaning supplies. Barricade's thoughts repeatedly slip and fall headfirst into the gutter when the glop covering... a lot of the kitchen, reminds him of the way Nitro's glossa slithered over Ironhide's plating.
The Mustang never was much for playing with food in the berth, but then he rarely had this level of munchies. Sure, he ate all that frozen energon, but that has settled in his tank by now, and he probably could go for seconds... He glances at Motormaster who's looking in a cupboard for rags or something to clean up with.
The mech isn't bad looking, has a really nice and sturdy frame. And he has been a blast to hang out with tonight. Humor is rather attractive...
"What?" Motormaster asks, looking back at him as if he sensed that Barricade was staring at him.
Which isn't impossible, Barricade is so stoned, he hasn't even considered keeping his field in check. And why should he? They've just had an awesome evening. It might be slightly embarrassing to be caught with his field displaying that he's revved up, but it's not the worst embarrassment he has had.
And it might be to his advantage.
"Do you think it's hot with licking stuff off of someone's plating? Or have someone do it to you?" Barricade asks.
"Mm, I dunno." Motormaster shrugs, looking thoughtful. "Never tried it."
Barricade bends forward, then he slowly licks some of the gel from the counter top. Motormaster's engine whines.
"Yeah, that's hot." Motormaster groans.
Barricade grabs a bottle of a sweet topping they used for the frozen energon. "You know, the kitchen already is a mess, so a little more sticky stuff won't make much of a difference for how much work it'll be to clean it up..." He trails off suggestively, climbing up onto one of the bar stools to be more level with Motormaster. He beckons the big mech to come closer.
Motormaster slowly obeys, quirking one of his optical ridges. He allows Barricade to dribble some of the topping across his chest plates, then he takes a deep vent, groaning. "Oh, that smells delicious..."
"We can take turns." Barricade says, starting to lap at the sticky liquid clinging to Motormaster's plating.
Chapter Text
They take turns licking the syrup off of each other's plating, but the initial hotness kind of tapers off. Sure, the syrup tastes good, and it's kind of hot watching Motormaster drag his glossa along Barricade's plating, but it's not like he feels it much, and the syrup leaves a sticky coating unless they go into repetitive lapping to clean it off, which feels more ridiculous than sexy.
"I don't know about you, but for me, this is one of those things that are hotter as an idea than as reality..." Barricade hedges.
"Yeah, I agree. Maybe if we focused on getting between the plates to get to more sensitive components, but I don't want this sticky stuff on sensitive components." Motormaster agrees
"I guess we better clean the kitchen then."
"Yeah..."
It's so anticlimactic after first their fun making the mess, and then the unsuccessful attempt at sexy stuff when they grab a rag each and start to wipe away the spatter of foods that are everywhere.
"So... Want to watch another movie when we're done here?" Barricade asks. He's starting to feel tired, but he isn't quite ready to call it a night yet.
And it would feel a bit weird to end their time together here and now, and go back to his own room to recharge. They haven't fucked — not that they have to — and that makes it feel like they aren't "done" yet. And they've had so much fun, he honestly doesn't want it to end yet.
"Sure." Motormaster says, rinsing the rag he's using. "We might need a shower first, though." He adds, snickering.
Barricade looks the big mech over, then he looks down at his own plating, and he starts to giggle. "Yeah, or we'll stick to the sheets."
Motormaster starts laughing, and it makes Barricade laugh too, more than his little joke really warranted.
It's just such a hilarious mental image, the two of them glued to the sheets with dried up syrups and gels.
They hurry up with getting everything cleaned up, wiping down all the surfaces on the counters and cupboards a second time to make sure they didn't miss any spots.
No need to make Ironhide annoyed with them, even if the shower and the berth are increasingly tempting.
Chapter Text
The shower is uneventful. They scrub themselves mostly, helping each other out when needed to get dried goo out of hard to reach places, but apparently Motormaster isn't revved up anymore either.
Huh. So weird that the arousal kind of fizzled out.
They decide on something less gory for their next movie, both of them feeling like winding down, and mellow snickering feels more suitable than hysterical laughter. Motormaster brought a bag of tungsten puffs, and they lean against the pillows, sitting close together to share the bag of snacks.
"You're so different now." Barricade notes as the intro to the movie plays.
"So are you."
Barricade takes some time to mull that over
He really has changed, hasn't he? But who wouldn't if they went through all the stuff he did?
"I guess you're right..."
"Hey, it's a compliment! You're really fun to hang out with." Motormaster says, shoving a few of the puffs into his mouth, before holding the bag out for Barricade.
It could be seen as an insult to his personality, but it doesn't feel like that's what Motormaster meant it to be, and in hindsight, he can see what the Truck former means. His aversions might've been reasonable, but he didn't really make much of an effort even outside his work and obligations.
"I've had fun tonight." He says, grabbing a few puffs. "I'm glad we reintroduced ourselves."
"Me too. On both accounts." Motormaster takes a few sips from the bottle of mid grade he brought, then he makes a face. "And I absolutely cannot recommend this mid grade with tungsten puffs! Ugh!" He wipes at his glossa with his servo.
"You'll need another shower!" Barricade laughs.
"Worth the hassle." Motormaster says, reaching for a cyg, lighting it up.
"Now you made me curious."
Barricade reaches for the bottle to try the combination, even though he knows he probably shouldn't.
"Noo!" Motormaster coughs, laughing. "Don't do it!"
Barricade takes a deep swig, and then he feels his faceplates scrunch up uncontrollably. He coughs and chokes slightly, trying his best to not spit the vile mixture all over the place.
"We should probably stick to weed." Motormaster giggles.
Chapter Text
Barricade online's his optics before flopping over on his back. Motormaster is still in recharge next to him when Barricade glances at the big mech.
It's a bit unusual to wake up before the Brother he's spending the night with, but considering how much they smoked...
And that is not the only unusual thing about this experience.
They didn't interface.
At one point, it would've been considered bad form for him to fall into recharge before interfacing was had, but in the other hand, if Motormaster had expected it from him, interfacing would've happened.
Especially after that round of food play in the kitchen.
Beside him, Motormaster stirs, taking a noisy vent, his frame jerking slightly, and then his optics online, shining brightly, as if he's startled.
"Good morning." Barricade says, looking at Motormaster as the Truck seems to take a second to orient himself.
"Good morning."
"Did you sleep well?" Barricade prods.
"Yeah, I just... I had the weirdest dream, and I was so confused when I woke up."
"Not something from the movies watched, I hope."
"Nah, it was, I was friends with a talking pony. But it wasn't like a regular zap pony, it was organic. And it was Springer. You know, his colors, his voice, everything, except he was an organic pony. So I woke up, and I was like, I wonder if it's real? What if we find him like that, clomping about in the rec room?"
Barricade can't help but start laughing at the thought. "Maybe we should cut down a bit on the weed?"
"Yeah." Motormaster says emphatically.
"I imagine that we might've heard about it if it was true. I think anyone spending the night with Springer would've had a bit of a freakout if they woke up next to a pony."
Motormaster starts laughing. "True that."
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