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Rodimus enjoys being an Autobot. Really, he does. He may like to play a little fast and loose with the rules, he may spend his free hours terrorizing Ultra Magnus for fun, and he may be a shameless firebrand at times (most of the time), but he would never betray his faction. There’s a reason he chose not only to follow the Prime, but to stay loyal to him for four million years of blood and death as well.
However, there’s a problem, and that problem doesn’t stem from his own brothers-in-arms so much as their enemies. Rodimus may have sworn to thwart the Decepticons at every turn, for the good of the universe and all that, but there is just one, singular, tiny hangup he has with it. And maybe it isn’t the Autobot thing to say, maybe it isn’t the loyal, good-soldier thing to say, but, with the war over, Rodimus simply can’t escape it anymore:
Decepticons are hot.
Yeah. There it is. Confident, dangerous, self-assured war machines in smoky eyeliner, with feral ferocity in their foreign red optics and limitless power emanating from every movement of their armored bodies, bristling with weaponry that isn’t just for show, but for battle. Rodimus could swoon just thinking about those strong arms, those frames built for war and war alone, so unlike his own speedster body. Those red optics, so intense, hotter than a blast furnace, more treacherous than an active volcano.
It might be the one thing he feels a little guilty about in this life.
Which is why when Bumblebee invites him to meet his new ‘Con bestie, Rodimus decides to do the proper Autobot thing and politely decline. He is a beacon of self-control, after all.
“You kidding, Bee? Obviously.”
Nevermind.
Nevermind nevermind, Rodimus wants to die. He should never have said that, he should have listened to his higher processor functions and not his interface array for once, he should have just gone home and taken a cold solvent shower. He should never speak to Bumblebee again.
The worst thing? He’s pretty sure Bumblebee knows.
He’s sitting on a rickety, homemade couch in a small shack in the literal wilderness, Bumblebee sipping energon on his left without a care in the world. Meanwhile, Rodimus is so tense he thinks he can feel his engine block cracking. He grips his cube, focusing on not shattering it, like it’s the only thing tethering him to this world.
Across from him, legs propped casually on the center table, the absolute picture of relaxation, lounges one of the most notorious killers in all of Cybertronian history. Just, you know, filing his purple claws with a titanium dagger. A titanium dagger with a pink-stained hilt.
[You didn’t tell me he was going to be here!] Rodimus exclaims over a commlink as Skywarp pulls out a hand mirror and begins to clean his teeth with his knife, his pale glossa peeking out from between his dark lips and resting against its curved, ultra-sharpened edge like he’s done so a thousand times. He probably has, Rodimus thinks, trying to stop a striking image of the Seeker licking somebody else’s energon off the blade’s tip from worming its way into his processor. Man.
[Don’t tell me you’re surprised that Thundercracker’s Conjunx Endura lives with him, Rodimus] Bumblebee responds, giving him a seriously dangerous side-eye.
[Uh]
Well, for one thing, if he had known that Bumblebee’s new pal had a Conjunx Endura, and that he would be in close quarters with not one but two infamous Decepticon warriors, he might have thought twice about this whole thing.
For another thing…Primus. Skywarp sits up to drop his knife back in subspace and grab his own cube from the table, and as his wings flutter and resettle on his back, the strong set of his shoulders catches Rodimus’ optic. The way he falls back into position speaks of both elegance and power, with orange evening light, reflected off the snow outside, streaming in through the window and highlighting his surprisingly pleasing features; his angular cheekbones, his defined jawline, the straight sweep of his nose between two dark red optics outlined in sharp black ink—
“See something you like?”
Rodimus blinks, and realizes that while he’s been staring at Skywarp, Skywarp has been staring right back at him. His vocalizer clicks as he tries and fails to come up with a witty remark, caught on the way Skywarp’s mouth arches into a knowing smirk as he takes a strategic sip of his cube, savoring every molecule, letting his glossa swipe up to lick stray droplets off his upper lip—
“When will Thundercracker be back?” Rodimus chokes out. Skywarp's deadly gaze thankfully abandons him in favor of checking his chrono, and, yeah, Bumblebee is definitely laughing into his cube right now. Jerk.
At that moment, all four cubed balanced on the coffee table start trembling hard enough to the point where Skywarp has to reach out and stop one from falling to its death below, and they jump in time with Rodimus' shaking struts as he covers his ears. “Is now soon enough?" Skywarp shouts over the scream of jet engines and cacophony of rattling metal being jangled by the horrendous wail. A moment later, there's the deep, foreign chnk-chnk-chnk of a Seeker's transformation sequence, followed by a thump and snow-crunchy footsteps. Mouth turned up into an alarmingly charming smile, Skywarp snatches one of the four cubes from the table and rushes into the front room to meet his Conjunx Endura.
From his spot on the couch, Rodimus can't see into the entryway, but Bumblebee can, and he gets a dopey little smile on his face as he watches them. "They sure are cute, huh?" he says, and yeah, it's great that Bee is so happy for his friend Thundercracker, but Rodimus wishes he would have mercy on his other friends, too.
[Don't act like this was mandatory]
Rodimus huffs. And he was doing so well! He hasn't thought with his interface drive in ages, not since that business with Ultra Magnus on the Lost Light. Then the mere thought of these 'Cons comes along and suddenly he's no better than a turbofox in heat.
Nope. Not true. He can definitely be better than that. He will. He's an Autobot.
He bravely whips out a datapad and starts playing a game on it. To distract himself, of course, from the mental image created by the sound of Skywarp so obviously giving Thundercracker a greeting kiss as he shakes the snow off his feet. Bumbelebee side-eyes him, but Rodimus ignores it. He'll just sit right here and play his game and not get distracted by any red optics or fancy, glossy wings.
A few moments later, that stellar plan flings itself bodily out the window when Skywarp returns, this time with Thundercracker at his side, and holy slag, Rodimus nearly drops his datapad.
Thundercracker is a bit taller and broader than Skywarp, with stronger features at war with his kind optics and smile, but though Rodimus has never faced him on the battlefield, he can easily see why Bumbelbee once called him the most dangerous Cybertronian on Earth. Rodimus bites his lip, gripping his datapad nearly hard enough to crack it as one of those large hands reaches out toward him and...oh yeah, he's big on human culture. Shakily, Rodimus gets up and offers his own hand to shake and. Oh god. Oh Primus. Thundercracker's grip is firm, his hand nearly engulfs Rodimus', and Rodimus can feel every dent and scrape marring his palm and fingers.
This was such a bad idea. Such a bad idea.
[Why don't I take that] Bumblebee offers as Rodimus sits back down, prising his datapad out of his death grip and setting it on the coffee table before he breaks it in half. Rodimus barely notices. He's too busy getting caught up on the way Thundercracker sits down, spreading one arm across the couch's back, sprawling out like he owns the place, which, he does. He just takes up so much space. Rodimus gulps.
[Warning: Enemy communication signals detected. Defensive action advised]
Okay, Rodimus should really get those wartime detection systems disabled. All part of making amends and building bridges and such. He opens the notification; a flurry of comm transmissions are jumping back and forth between the two Decepticons, too quick for Rodimus to parse their content. Across from him, Skywarp is leaning up against Thundercracker's side, comparatively lithe against his partner's larger frame (though not by much; he still dwarfs Rodimus by a country mile), looking perfectly content to bask in his partner’s warmth. Rodimus wonders what that warmth must feel like, how it must soak into Skywarp’s struts, what it’s like to be held in those strong arms.
Gah. I need to get my head on straight.
He refocuses on the comm messages, trying to distract himself, but he can’t crack their encryption fast enough. Typical ‘Con tech, just has to be miles better than anything Autobot, impossible to decipher…except that every once in a while, they glance his way.
They’re talking about me.
He looks away, blinking. In the real world, Thundercracker has been carrying on a conversation with Bumblebee simultaneously with his silent correspondence, one Skywarp occasionally chimes into from his spot nestled in the crook of Thundercracker’s shoulder.
Rodimus sits still in his corner of the couch, not really engaging in the conversation, trying to focus on not looking too hard at his hosts.
Eventually they put on a movie, because it’s Thundercracker, which proves a suitable distraction, but Rodimus has to focus very, very hard on it in order to not look at the way the light of the screen reflects off the Seekers’ frames, turning their plating glassy and their silhouettes sharp.
It’s a long movie. It’s a long night, too, and not because of the film’s runtime.
“Right,” Bumblebee says as the credits roll, slapping his knees and standing up, “it’s late. I’ve got to get going.”
“Sure,” says Thundercracker, extricating himself from Skywarp’s hold to grab the remote and mute the film, “I’ll walk you out.”
They get up and head out, leaving Rodimus alone with Skywarp.
Skywarp looks at Rodimus. Rodimus looks at Skywarp—well, his face at least. It’s a war to not drink in the sight of those sleek wings, that lithe frame, those dark eyes. Skywarp smirks at him, opening his mouth, showing a bit of his glossa, letting one fang flash in the dimming light of the room. His glossa moves, like he’s preparing to say something…
“I have to go! I have to go to my, uh, my—therapy appointment! Yes, I’m late as it is,” Rodimus stammers, tearing his eyes away from that sly mouth and jumping up, eager to escape.
“It’s nearly eleven,” Skywarp says, his tone far too knowing.
“Yeah, you know Rung haha, he sure loves those late-night bonding sessions,” Rodimus says as he moves for the door. He brushes past Skywarp as he does it, nearly colliding with his wingtip.
“Late-night bonding sessions, eh?” Rodimus doesn’t have to see Skywarp’s face to hear his expression.
On the way out, he nearly slams face-first into Thundercracker, who’s once again shaking snow off his feet in the mudroom, right in the way of the door.
“’Scuse me,” Rodimus says hurriedly, narrowly slipping (shoving) past him.
“Bumblebee!” He shouts, spying the yellow form speeding away into the night, “Wait for me!”
He transforms and zips away, glad to have escaped, even as Thundercracker calls out behind him.
Thirty minutes down the road, disaster strikes.
[We have to turn around]
[Turn around? Why?]
[I left my datapad. I have to go back and get it]
He expects Bumblebee to ask why it’s so necessary, to which he can provide a sob story about how it has the code that unlocks his apartment on it, and he won’t be able to get inside his home without it, to which Bumblebee will of course help him get it without embarrassing himself in front of the Seekers again.
[Oh. Good luck then, the roads are getting icy]
[What, you aren’t coming?]
[It’s not my datapad]
Bumblebee’s tone betrays absolutely zero sympathy. Rodimus suspects he’s a little peeved about the quick exit—maybe even thinks it was disrespectful. They drive for a little longer, Rodimus hoping that maybe Bumblebee will have a holy revelation and decide that mercy is the right thing to do. Eventually, Rodimus realizes he has to turn around now, or else he’s gonna get stuck out here in the snow. He pings Bumblebee, and gets nothing in response.
Rodimus sighs internally, and turns around. Bumblebee does not. Jerk.
Thirty more minutes later, Rodimus is standing outside the door of Thundercracker’s house, waiting for him to answer the knock. A metal hand knocking on a metal door; you’d think he would hear it. Apparently not. Rodimus shivers for a little while longer before deciding to just…push the door open. And it actually opens—apparently Thundercracker and Skywarp do not know about a little concept called locking doors.
Which is even more mystifying considering what Rodimus discovers inside.
His datapad, for one—abandoned on the coffee table where Bumblebee put it. The lights in the living room off. A faint glow peeking in through the cracked bedroom door. The sound of…
Another thing about Autobots: curiosity is encouraged. If Rodimus has absorbed anything from the countless Prowl-run HR meetings and good-citizen lessons from Optimus then it’s the fact that curiosity is a good thing. Learn as much as you can, and such. Especially now, what with the peace treaty and all that, Autobots are encouraged to learn as much about their new brethren as possible.
So he takes a peek, datapad still clutched in hand, determined to ascertain the source of the sound. And promptly freezes, locked in place by shock. (And something else).
Inside the moodlit bedroom (glow crystals, red string lights, etc) there’s a wide berth, the blankets bunched up on the floor at its foot. On the berth, Skywarp is getting plowed.
He’s on his knees, face pressed into a pillow, hands fisting the sheets for any sense of purchase as Thundercracker thrusts into him hard enough to bounce the whole mattress. The pillow isn’t doing anything to muffle the sounds Skywarp is making, god, the sounds. With each thrust, his moans get higher and more breathy, his frame tenses tighter and tighter, and Thundercracker’s thrusts get harsher and harsher until at last he pulls out, flips Skywarp over with his impressive strength, and shoves back in, all the way to the hilt. Skywarp screams, and Thundercracker devours the sound in a ferocious kiss, before a moment later they’re overloading together. Rodimus grips his datapad, unable to tear his eyes away.
The two Seekers collapse onto the berth together, Skywarp on his back and Thundercracker falling to his partner’s side, an arm splayed possessively over his middle, optics flicking offline. They breathe in and out together; Rodimus breathes with them, trying to ignore the uncomfortable tightness in his panel. Curse Prowl and Optimus—he shouldn’t have done that. He should not have done that. He should have just slept outside. He’ll just take his datapad and sneak away, no one ever the wiser—
At that moment, Skywarp turns his head and stares right into Rodimus’ eyes.
Rodimus looks at Skywarp. Skywarp looks back at Rodimus. He doesn’t shake Thundercracker awake, he doesn’t scream in horror, he doesn’t even make a disgusted face.
He smirks.
Rodimus takes the only viable action in this scenario, and flees.
With his datapad. Thank Primus. He’ll never have to come back here again, or see either Seeker if he can help it.
He definitely doesn’t spend the next hour staring at the ceiling, unable to rid his mind of the image of Skywarp clutching the sheets he moaned into, and Thundercracker pounding into him from behind, glossy wings fluttering, glimmering in the room’s moody light.
And he definitely doesn’t give up on sleep and spend his night plugging himself full of false spike, imagining what it would be like to be held down by a Decepticon, unable to escape, unable to even move, forced to take spike up his valve, forced to choke on it.
And he definitely doesn’t overload all over his sheets and fall asleep on the floor, false spike still halfway in his valve, wishing it was attached to a Seeker’s frame.
Rodimus doesn’t leave the house the next day. The day after that, he goes to work, then straight home. The day after that, he goes to work and then to see Drift. The day after that, they go to Swerve’s.
“Hiya, Rodimus!” Swerve chirps from his post manning the counter of his namesake bar, located in the heart of Earth’s own Little Cybertron, “what can I get you?”
“Something strong,” Rodimus sighs as he flops down. He demolishes the first two shots, and is about to down a third when Drift says, “easy, Rodimus, you’re going to fry yourself.”
“Maybe I want to,” he mumbles, putting his head in his arms. “What’s wrong?” Drift asks, and speak of the devil, that’s when the bell above the door rings and in waltzes the bane of Rodimus’ existence. Hadn’t he sworn he would never have to see this guy again just the other day?
This guy obviously didn’t get the memo. He drops into the seat on Drift’s other side, orders an engex, and promptly starts making Rodimus’ life miserable.
“Deadlock, fancy meeting you here. I didn’t know you were still alive.”
“Hello, Skywarp. And it’s Drift, now," Drift responds, not too tensely, despite who he's talking to.
“Yeah, yeah," Skywarp waves it off, and instead of getting irritated, like Rodimus expects him to, Drift just snorts.
They talk a little; Rodimus gets the impression that his friend either is or once was very well acquainted with this Seeker. He edges away from them, trying not to feel any twinge of jealousy. He sips his drink, picks at his nails, and pretends he’s not hiding behind Drift. This is fine; he’ll just be super stealthy and inconspicuous.
Then the conversation gets interesting, and not in the fun, gossipy kind of way. Instead, Skywarp does the shameless and unthinkable: he asks Drift about his sex life.
“Oh, it’s pretty good, actually. But I’m with Ratchet now, so if you’re going to propos—,”
“Oh, no, it’s fine. Thundercracker and I just think things are getting a little bland, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, I’m loyal. Sorry.”
“Huh. Shame. Maybe you’ll introduce me to your shy friend, then? The one who’s pretending he’s not hiding behind you right now?”
Drift turns around, and Rodimus immediately leans on the bar casually, like he was always doing that, but he overcorrects, accidentally loses his balance, and nearly falls all the way off his bar stool.
Charming.
“You know what! I’m gonna go home.”
“Rodimus, come on now. No need for rudeness,” Drift starts, but Rodimus is already halfway to the door. At least there’s no snow tonight. No obstacles to keep him. And sure, he feels a little bad about ditching Drift, but is Drift and Skywarp are friends then it’s just not worth it to stay. Decepticons are just too…
Skywarp obviously thinks otherwise. Right, Skywarp. He can teleport. He appears in front of Rodimus when he’s gotten a few feet away from the door. Right in front of him.
“Primus, can’t you people just leave me alone for five seconds?”
“I’ve left you alone for nearly five days. We have business to discuss, Autobot.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Rodimus says staunchly, pushing the mental image of Skywarp’s bedroom out of his processor. Skywarp just leans back on one hip, crossing his arms, never taking his optics off Rodimus.
“I think you do. What’s the big deal anyway? Are you afraid?”
“Afraid? Of you?” Rodimus snorts, putting up an easy air of overconfidence, “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t think we don’t know what you want,” Skywarp says, smiling now. And my god, when did he get so close? His face is right next to Rodimus’, and his eyes are like two bloody pools, big enough to fall into and drown in.
“We?”
“Oh yeah, didn’t I mention? I told Thundercracker—“
Oh great, now both Seekers know that Rodimus invaded their privacy and watched them having sex and got caught while doing it—
“—and now he wants to have you over again. You get my meaning?”
Rodimus (generally; this week seems to be an exception) has no shame. It’s something he prides himself on. But the squeak he makes when he hears this news…it’s not the kind of thing he wants everyone knowing all about. Neither is the dumb-horny-braindead expression on his face right now.
“Wuh-, wha-, huh?”
“Don’t decide right now if it pains you,” Skywarp says, catching Rodimus’ chin between his claws, “but tomorrow night, if you’re brave enough…you know where we live.”
A second later, he’s gone.
I’m not gonna go.
Rodimus says this to himself over and over again. He says it between every stroke of his hand, between every flash of crimson in his mind’s eye, between every wheeze of his overworked engine.
I’m better than this. I have self control. I’m not gonna go.
The crimson sharpens into the shape of an eye, angular, hexagonal, and staring right into him. His back arches as transfluid spills out over his hand. When he collapses, that silly little word not is nowhere to be found.
Skywarp is wearing eyeliner. Thick black ink that sharpens his foreign red eyes, making him look like a predator hungry for fresh blood. Rodimus gulps, wishing his back wasn’t to the door.
You know, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.
“Where’s Thundercracker?” Rodimus asks, trying to keep the shake out of his voice. He’s standing awkwardly in the center of Skywarp and Thundercracker’s living room/kitchen, the lights dimmed and blinds drawn, and Skywarp is sitting across from him, his frame relaxed and movements languid, like he’s completely in his element here. It’s almost a perfect mirror of their first meeting, except there’s no Bumblebee or Drift now to shield him.
“Don’t worry,” Skywarp says, voice as smoky as his makeup, “he’ll be here soon.”
He gets up in one fluid motion, and despite his size (he easily dwarfs Rodimus, being both taller and wider than him, although that might just be the width of his wings looming over Rodimus, holding him in their shadow), he moves with the easy grace of a dancer. Or a warrior.
“In the meantime,” he says, approaching Rodimus with steps so light he might as well be gliding across the floor, “I know just how you can entertain me.”
Rodimus forgets how to breathe as Skywarp confidently walks into his personal bubble, close enough to where Rodimus can feel the heat of his engine, hear its low rumbling.
“I— uh, um, um.”
Forget speaking, too.
Skywarp just laughs, drawing one finger down Rodimus’ cheek before pressing it over his lips, shushing him. “Don’t,” he says, and when he replaces that finger with his own mouth, Rodimus forgets what speaking and breathing even mean.
Skywarp’s mouth is warm, sweet, and wet, tasting faintly of energon. It’s also possessive, claiming, and fucking hot. As soon as Skywarp’s lips are on his he’s parting them, and pressing his tongue forward, set on seeking out every new part of Rodimus’ mouth to explore, to lay claim to. When Rodimus shudders, surrendering shakily to Skywarp’s command, the Seeker pulls him closer with hands on his waist, drawing Rodimus up against his wider frame. Rodimus throws his arms around Skywarp’s neck, standing on tiptoes to reach his mouth, and Skywarp responds by tweaking his finials, eliciting a shamelessly eager moan.
That’s when another set of hands joins the fray, and Rodimus nearly jumps out of his plating.
“Relax,” Skywarp says as the new hands grip Rodimus’ hips, squeezing gently, as though in warning, “he only wants to play.”
Once again, Rodimus can hear the smirk from his dark mouth even as his tongue laves over Rodimus’ lips, tasting every part of him. Rodimus has been with enough people to know what intention that behavior indicates.
And on none of those occasions was he complimented for his exceptional self control, obviously, which is why when the new hands reach down, down, and down, one already going so far as to cup his interface panel, Rodimus shoves his hips backward, wanting, needing something more than just a mouth to kiss, desperate for it. There’s a clang as his thighs make contact with another body, and then that body is pressing up against him, slotting itself into his every nook and cranny. There’s enough of it for Rodimus to know that this frame is big enough to engulf him, and when Skywarp draws away to kiss the newcomer over Rodimus’ shoulder, his olfactory is flooded with the scent of ionization and rain. Thundercracker.
Skywarp separates from Thundercracker and kisses Rodimus again, his mouth enticingly warm, before grabbing one of his wrists. Rodimus barely registers it, because Thundercracker’s hands are scraping roughly along the jut of his hips, sending hot sparks shooting through every strut. Distantly, he realizes that Skywarp is guiding his hand to himself, pressing it against the flat plane of his wing.
“Right there,” he breathes as Rodimus manages to gather enough mental strength to feel around a little, groping the edge of the foreign appendage before his fingertips find a seam, and when they do, Skywarp moans against his mouth. Rodimus drinks it down eagerly, and at that moment Thundercracker’s clever fingers find the seam of his interface panel, and his knees go weak.
He trembles between them, desperate for more, pushing his hips back and his hands forward. He reaches for Skywarp’s other wing as well, trying his best to make Skywarp moan like that again. He’s caught by the fleeting memory of that night, the sound of Skywarp’s cries muffled by the pillow, and feels a hot rush beneath his panel. Behind him, Thundercracker pushes his own hips forward, grinding them together and making the heat in Rodimus’ array nearly unbearable. He matches him, knees shaking, pressing against him, wishing he had something to press between his legs.
A moment later, his hand finds Skywarp’s aileron, and the ensuing moan makes his legs give out, eyes blurring.
Dizzily, he finds himself half-sitting, half-lying on the ground, his torso propped between a pair of strong arms, a black shape looming in front of him, waiting to devour him.
“He’s eager,” a dark voice chuckles in his ear, low as rumbling thunder, “I like that.”
“So do I,” the black shape whispers, hardly audible, and as Rodimus’ eyes come back into focus he sees the hungry face of Skywarp before him.
“Tell me what you want,” the voice says again, and Rodimus looks down to find black hands groping his panel, holding his hips in place. He moans, and by god, that deep voice that laughs in his ear is turning him on to a whole new degree of horniness. Thundercracker digs into the seam of his panel again, going for the sensitive wires there, and Rodimus cries out, arching his back against his captor. A thrill rushes down his spine at the thought of being caught, held down like this, unable to escape from these arms. He could lie here forever, soaking in Thundercracker’s heat, held hostage. He sighs contentedly; he needs this.
Then he throws his head back into Thundercracker’s shoulder, electricity jumping through his frame, because Thundercracker’s fingers haven’t just been exploring. They’ve been searching for the manual release on his panel, and they’ve found it. That large hand (so large, ungh), easily encircles his spike, squeezing it, and Rodimus’ vision goes fuzzy. He’s so charged up, he’s so ready for this, he needs it so, so badly.
And he’s not the only one. Skywarp only lets Thundercracker play with Rodimus’ spike for a few moments, pumping it lazily, before he impatiently takes the reins. He urges Thundercracker aside, crawling overtop Rodimus and pressing him back into the floor. There’s a snick, and before he knows it Skywarp is pinning him down by the shoulder and (Primus) sinking onto his spike.
All three of them moan at the sight of Skywarp’s valve engulfing Rodimus’ comparatively small spike, Rodimus the loudest as Skywarp rolls his hips experimentally, before almost immediately getting down to business, and my god, he feels amazing.
Apparently he says so, because Skywarp grins deviously, riding Rodimus harder as he looms over him, boxing him in with hands next to his head. Rodimus squirms below him, trying to thrust upward, but when he does Skywarp grabs his chin aggressively, gripping it almost hard enough to leave dents as they face each other, and one sharp sting from those devil eyes is enough to put that notion to rest. Rodimus instead throws his head back and lets himself moan. So this is how it’s going to be. Ridden into oblivion, not pounded into scrap. The thought is enough to make him whine anyway, even if he’s a smidge disappointed.
“He’s noisy,” Skywarp says breathlessly, shoving himself down harder. Rodimus can’t tell if they’re talking over comms again or if Thundercracker just knows (and frankly, he can’t find the mental capacity to care with Skywarp’s valve clenching down on him so good like that), because not a second later, Rodimus blinks open eyes he hadn’t known he’d closed and finds Thundercracker staring down at him, panel wide open.
Skywarp sits back to make room for him, and Thundercracker leans down, caressing Rodimus’ chin. “Want it, pet?” he asks, grabbing one of Rodimus’ hands and guiding it to a wet valve, “answer me.”
His voice…ungh. “Yes,” Rodimus moans, “yes, yes.”
“He’s greedy,” Thundercracker says, but then Skywarp grabs him by the face and kisses him recklessly, a sight that sends heat slicing up Rodimus’ spinal strut, and Thundercracker lowers himself onto Rodimus’ face, and frag, his thighs are big enough to crush Rodimus’ head like a melon.
He smells fantastic. Rodimus laps up the lubricant there eagerly, jumping into action and tracing Thundercracker’s valve rim with his glossa like he’s trying to eat it up. Thundercracker cries out, an unexpected but insanely hot sound from the more reserved mech, and Rodimus’ hears the sound muffled by Skywarp’s kiss. Skywarp keeps riding him, grinding his hips in a circular motion as Rodimus flicks his glossa back and forth of Thundercracker’s node, making the thighs which hold his head in place twitch treacherously. Wanting to hear the cry again, Rodimus pokes his glossa in, trying to focus and hold out against the ruthless assault of his spike. With each bounce, he gets the distinct impression that Skywarp is trying to make himself overload as fast as possible, forcing Rodimus’ smaller spike as deep into his valve as it will go.
Not to be outdone, Rodimus moves his glossa faster, trying to outrun his own overload as it darts toward him all too quickly. No, he won’t be the first to overload here. He thrusts his glossa in and out, alternating between Thundercracker’s entrance and his node, assaulting them furiously, until the seeker cries out again, jerking forward like he’s grabbing Skywarp’s shoulders. Yes, yes, he’s close. He’s close, and Rodimus is so close, and each bounce of Skywarp’s valve is sending pleasure shooting dangerously up his’ spinal strut. He holds his breath, focusing on the valve in front of him. Though it’s getting more and more difficult by the second.
Then Skywarp abruptly changes his movement, sinking fully down on Rodimus and clenching, and Rodimus is unfortunately already done for. His body goes stiff, arching off the floor, and he moans into Thundercracker’s valve and Skywarp clenches around him, grinding down, forcing Rodimus’ spiketip against his ceiling node until he too is moaning through his overload, feeling the heat of Rodimus’ transfluid fill him. A second after that, Thundercracker jerks, thighs tensing, and Rodimus nearly overloads again at the sound of his breathy cry. Skywarp is still on top of him, sending overstimulated sparks through his frame as Thundercracker falls to the side with a satisfied-sounding clunk.
They take a few breaths together. One, two, three…Rodimus sighs comfortably as his plating cools and his spike retracts from Skywarp’s valve, totally wrung dry of transfluid. Man, that was good—but not quite what he’d been expecting from two horny Decepticons. Maybe they were just planning to use him for their own pleasure, and now that they’re done they’ll get rid of him…
Fingertips brush against his valve. Rodimus’ head shoots up, and when he does he meets the eyes of Skywarp, now reaching behind himself to play with Rodimus’ valve. Rodimus shuffles onto his elbows, trying to get a better look, and Thundercracker chuckles from his spot half-sitting, half-lying next to them. Skywarp thrusts a finger in, and all three of them go silent to hear the slick, wanting sound his valve creates.
“You like that?” Skywarp asks, fingering his node, but he’s looking at Thundercracker, not Rodimus.
In lieu of answering, Thundercracker just eyes Rodimus hungrily, zeroed in on every twitch of his faceplates that Skywarp’s fingers elicit.
“Put him on the table.”
Thundercracker’s hands rove over Rodimus’ body, admiring every seam between red-gold armor, fitting as much plating between each large hand as he can. He leans over Rodimus, crowding him into lying back on the table. Skywarp stands behind Rodimus, pinning his wrists beside his head. His lips are parted ever so slightly, and he’s looking down the bridge of his nose, straight into Rodimus’ eyes. It takes all the effort in the world to not shy away from that intense gaze, and each second he holds it, Rodimus feels more and more heat pool in his waiting valve.
Thundercracker spreads Rodimus’ legs and pushes his knees back, breathing a hot gust of air onto his valve, and Rodimus has to shut his eyes. Primus, he must be dripping, if Thundercracker’s pleased little laugh is anything to go by. He definitely feels like it. His valve is twitching like crazy, and he can feel the charge building higher and higher in his node, making his processor buzz with anticipation.
(And why wouldn’t it? He can’t escape; he’s pinned to a table. He’s being held down, being prepared to be used with no choice in the matter. It’s making his head swim. No Autobot would do this to him. But these Seekers…)
Thundercracker’s hands reach his valve, flicking across his node, and Rodimus feels his back arch. He’s not going to last long, not like this. He keeps his eyes shut, clenching and unclenching his fists as pleasure rolls through his body, turning his mind to static. The fingers rub a few circles into his node, making his hips twitch, before sliding easily into his valve.
And in. And in. And in, mmmm! Thundercracker’s fingers are so long they are already bumping up against his ceiling node, pressing into it as if they expect to find more space, and the pressure is making Rodimus dizzy, head spinning. Above him, the hazy vision of Skywarp’s face smirks, and removes on of his hands to caress Rodimus’ face. The fingers thrusts in and out a few times, and their sheer girth (there must be at least three of them) coupled with the hot, hard shape that’s now pressing against Rodimus’ thigh is nearly enough to make him cum then and there. He moans. And moans, and moans, and moans some more as Thundercracker thrusts his fingers in and out, scissoring them intermittently, opening him up. Pleasure washes through him, hhahhh, yes, that—
Thundercracker pulls out.
“He’s distracting me with all that noise,” he says, in a breathy way that suggests he’s not at all displeased with the sounds, “shut him up.”
“Gladly.”
Suddenly, Rodimus is forcibly yanked backward, so hard that he nearly slides off the table, but he’s caught before any more than his head is hanging off the edge. Then, fingers parts his lips, opening his mouth, making room. Rodimus opens his eyes to find the world upside down, his neck hanging over the table’s edge, and Skywarp’s codpiece right in his face.
Muzzily, he registers a small click.
“What are you—mmmmm!”
He doesn’t have time to finish, because that’s when two massive Decepticon cocks shove their way into him from both ends. He chokes on the sudden girth in his mouth, valve clenching, drawing that massive shape in as he tries his best to suck. However, Skywarp obviously has other plans, because he grabs Rodimus’ face, holding him still, and thrusts in as far as Rodimus’ throat will take him. Meanwhile. Thundercracker leans further over Rodimus, pinning him completely to the table as he begins to thrust as well, slowly, feeling out Rodimus’ valve, as Rodimus tries to move his hips into that deliciously thick spike grinding into him. He doesn’t get far, though. He can barely move, with the Decepticon’s massive weight onto of him. With that huge spike stretching him, poised to rearrange his insides. All that’s left is to lie there, immobilized, and take what’s given to him like common shareware. He has no choice in the matter.
He doesn’t think he’s ever has such a hot thought in his life.
And these Seekers know it. His valve flutters, and his jaw shifts around the thickness straining it, both eliciting more pleased sounds from his (he can’t help but call them this, the idea is just too—mmmn) captors. He moans, and they aren’t even moving yet, but he already feels like he’s about to overload. Just the mere thought—being used, pinned and taken by these mechs, his most dangerous fantasy coming to life before his eyes, nngh—
“Such a good slut, taking both of us at once,” one says, and Rodimus doesn’t have the strength of mind to know which one is speaking. They’re two devious figures straight from his fantasies, looming over him, primed to pound him into dust. And Primus how he wishes they would, just fuck me already—
All at once, Thundercracker draws out of Rodimus, and then slams back in hard enough to shake the whole table, drilling him like a mechanism who’s lost all self control. Rodimus’ scream of ecstasy is only muffled by the humongous spike pressing against his vocalizer, making it glitch and spaz and spit static as his ceiling node is ground into paste. He screams again, arching his back, yes, yes yes, finally, but he can’t even do that much with Thundercracker’s weight over him, and yes, that’s how it’s going to be, finally, pinned down and taken with nowhere to go—
Once again Rodimus finds himself cursing his lack of self control; he would shout Thundercracker’s name if not for the spike he’s currently devouring. Eyeing Thundercracker with a hungry look, like his partner’s frenzied fragging is turning him on to a whole new degree, Skywarp starts thrusting in and out of Rodimus’ throat, holding his head in place as he uses him like a spike sleeve. The thought makes Rodimus’ eyes go crossed—or maybe that’s the spike impaling him right now—because he’s totally helpless. He tries to spread his legs wider, which causes Thundercracker to thrust even harder, now moaning himself, and that sound makes Skywarp thrust harder, which makes Rodimus cry out, making a choking, staticky sound as his throat is relentlessly used, and yes, no, it’s too much, it’s not enough, he wants it harder, wants it all, wants it so good he won’t be able to walk or talk tomorrow, Primus, yes—
One choked moan comes out particularly wretched, barely audible between the clang of metal on metal and the groans of his partners, but Rodimus realizes he made the sound. He’s crying. He looks up at Skywarp through blurry vision, and if possible the dark Seeker only looks more turned on, his own eyeliner smudged, his eyes wild, his panting mouth hanging open as he thrusts harder, so deep Rodimus feels it in his stomach, so deep his throat bulges out, totally stuffed with cock—
With a glitchy cry, Skywarp overloads, flooding Rodimus’ throat with his transfluid, before pulling out halfway through and finishing all over his tearstained face. Rodimus’ glossa tries to follow him as he swallows down as much as possible, trying to keep that delicious spike in his mouth for as long as possible. He tries to reach for Skywarp, but at that moment Thundercracker strikes his ceiling node at exactly the right angle, and stars shoot across his eyes, limbs going stiff as pleasure surges through him, making him arch and scream. A few more furious thrusts, edging almost to the point of overstimulation as Thundercracker rides through Rodimus’ overload, dragging it out, making the waves of pleasure go on and on, and then he too is overloading, filling him completely with his transfluid. A moment later he pulls out, and Rodimus can literally feel the hot transfluid dripping down his own thighs. Damn. Damn.
“Damn,” someone says. It might have been him. His head falls backward, body completely sapped of energy. He hears voices above him, tired yet satisfied voices. He tries to move, tries to sit up, but can’t get his limbs to respond. Arms work their way underneath his body, and he goes limp in their grasp. He lets his optics fall offline, feeling the world move strangely beneath him. When he onlines them again, the world is changed.
Okay, maybe the world is changed was a little dramatic. He’s just in another room, lying on a different surface—it’s Skywarp and Thundercracker’s berthroom, he realizes with a jolt. It’s still moodlit, the string lights glowing a soft purple now, illuminating the room ever so slightly in soft violet.
“Quit squirming,” a voice says—Skywarp’s voice—next to him. At that moment Rodimus is able to notice three things: one, his chrono reports that nearly an hour has passed since he was last conscious. Two, he can’t detect any residual transfluid in his valve or on his face, which means that someone cleaned him up while he was out. Three, he’s lying in Skywarp and Thundercracker’s berth, sandwiched between the two Seekers, a single blanket spread over the three of them. He’s also absurdly comfortable, pleasantly achy in his valve, and already sinking back into that hazy, post-overload lethargy where he just wants to do nothing but lie here and soak in the warmth of his partners. And he does just that, burying his face in Skywarp’s chest as Thundercracker stretches an arm out over both of them.
“I like this one, TC,” he hears Skywarp say, “can we keep him?”
There’s a soft clang of metal on metal, like Thundercracker has just flicked Skywarp on the wing. After a few more seconds of back-and-forth, the two Seekers fall silent, settling in on either side of him like they don’t want him getting away. Maybe like they intend to do it all again in the morning. Hopefully so.
Never has he been so glad to have zero sense of self control.