Work Text:
“You’re being too rough.”
“When did you get so soft? I’m just having a little fun, aren’t I?”
Rodimus was still struggling to believe this was real. He had to be dead or dreaming, surely, because there was no way he’d somehow found himself in berth with two of the most handsome speedsters he’d ever known bearing down on him.
To his left, hovering protectively half-over his frame, was Drift. His mouth had, up until a moment ago, been busy with Rodimus’s, their tongues laving over each other as they met in a messy kiss. He’d pulled back slightly to glare and growl even as his hand kept pumping Rodimus’s weeping spike. Rodimus couldn’t help but notice that his face paint had smudged slightly near his mouth. Rodimus wondered if he’d find smears of red on his own faceplate were he to look into a mirror.
To his right, the source of Drift’s ire clearly trying to shoulder his slightly smaller counterpart out of the way, was Deadlock. Heavily armored and armed to the teeth, there was energon still dripping from his lips that were pulled into a fanged grin. He’d been gnawing at Rodimus’s energon lines just moments ago, and only paused to sass Drift. He still had two clawed fingers buried in Rodimus’s valve, scraping over his inner nodes in a way that had charge racing through Rodimus’s frame.
Drift let out a displeased rumble of his engine. “Be gentle. Rodimus isn’t a toy for your amusement.”
Rodimus let out a soft squeak as Deadlock leaned back down to nip at his bleeding throat. “Aw, but he makes such cute sounds,” Deadlock purred.
Drift sneered at his past self. He ducked his head down to swipe his tongue over the bites on Rodimus’s neck, which put both speedster’s mouths quite close to each other. Rodimus entertained the fantasy of their mouths slotting together, Drift’s poised grace against Deadlock’s callous roughness…
Oh, what a sight that would be…
“He’s probably about ready for me, don’t you think?” Deadlock mused, spreading his fingers apart.
“Absolutely not,” Drift hissed. “You shove two fingers in for five fucking seconds and think that’s all you need? Do you want him to tear when you stick your spike in?”
“It’s more fun when they’re tighter,” Deadlock said with a huff. “Doesn’t it feel good when you can feel the way their valve struggles to take a spike?”
“Doesn’t it feel better when you’re not the only one having fun?” Drift grumbled.
“I’m having fun,” Rodimus panted out. “I’m having so much fun. Oh Primus, please keep going, I’m so fragging charged right now…”
“See? He likes it.” Deadlock leered down at Rodimus with a fanged smile. “I bet two digits is all you need to take my spike. You want it to hurt, don’t you?”
“Please,” Rodimus begged. “Please, please, please—”
Drift’s engine gave a loud growl as he let go of Rodimus’s spike and—oh, and sank in his own digit next to Deadlock’s. Rodimus shot out a hand to clutch at Drift’s plating as his valve spread around the three digits keeping him open.
Deadlock shot his counterpart a glare, but Drift, it seemed, only had optics for Rodimus. “I’ve got you, Roddy,” he murmured, laying a quick peck on Rodimus’s lips. “I’ll treat you right.”
Rodimus’s whine was almost lost under Deadlock’s snarl as he added another finger of his own. Four digits spreading him open—Drift’s slow prodding contrasted against Deadlock roughly thrusting his fingers in and out.
“That’s better,” Drift said, and Rodimus couldn’t help a giggle at the smug look on his lover’s face. “He likes them tight, but he doesn’t know how good it is to fuck a hole that’s all sloppy and loose. You can take a few more, can’t you Roddy? Think you can fit both our hands up in there?”
Deadlock’s look of frustration fell to one of surprise as his engine gave an interested rev. Rodimus was clawing at Drift’s plating, begging him, “Please! Please, please, I can take it, I want it, please—”
Drift gave him another digit and Rodimus keened at the burning stretch of his mesh over the now five fingers being thrust into him. Rodimus desperately wanted it, wanted to know what it would feel like to be split open by two servos in his valve. But before he could loosen up enough for Drift to even attempt fitting another digit inside, Deadlock growled out, “Frag this,” and yanked his hand away from Rodimus’s array.
Rodimus let out a mournful cry at the loss. Above him, Drift let out an indignant squawk as he was shouldered aside so Deadlock would be the one practically blanketing Rodimus’s form. His calipers squeezed around nothing, Drift’s hands now more occupied with trying to shove at Deadlock’s frame than fingering Rodimus open any further.
“What am I supposed to do?” Drift asked, a growl layered under his words. “Just sit around while you frag Roddy like a newbuild in his first valve?”
“He’s got an intake, doesn’t he?” Deadlock said, slapping his spike against Rodimus’s valve mesh and eliciting a squeal from the captain. “Show this ‘newbuild’ how a real mech frags. Or can you only overload if you’re holding hands?”
Drift’s lips pulled back, showing off his own fangs, but whatever was going to say was interrupted by Rodimus begging, “Drift—Drift, please, fuck my throat? I wanna—I wanna choke on your spike, please.”
“Roddy…” Drift murmured, looking back down at him. Rodimus tried to give him the most pathetic, pleading look he could.
“Such a slutty little racer,” Deadlock purred, sliding his deliciously ridged spike through Rodimus’s folds, all the little spines hooking against his anterior node. “So desperate for it. C’mon, Drift,” Deadlock spat out his future counterpart’s name with such venom, even despite the smirk he wore. “Why don’t you give your pathetic little captain what he wants? In the meantime—”
Deadlock shifted his hips just slightly, but it was enough that on his next slide forward, he was able to sink most of his spike into Rodimus’s valve. Rodimus threw his helm back and let out a long, drawn-out moan, the sound stuttering at the end as Deadlock gave a little roll of his hips.
“—I’m going to have fun fragging our little whore into a system reboot.” And, in saying so, Deadlock grabbed hold of Rodimus’s waist and began tugging him back to meet each forward thrust. Rodimus could only lie there and take it, each inward push knocking a breathless little sound out of him, louder and louder as Deadlock went deeper and deeper, working more of his spike into Rodimus’s valve.
“Do not call him that,” Drift growled.
“He likes it,” Deadlock insisted. A clawed hand grabbed Rodimus’s face and tilted him to look up at Drift. “Say it. Tell him how much of a slut you really are.”
Rodimus struggled to comply with the demand, because even as he asked, Deadlock was grinding deep against Rodimus’s ceiling node. “‘M a slut.”
“Yeah, you are. You’re a slut who loves spike, aren’t you?”
“Y-yeah,” Rodimus wheezed. “I’m—oh, Primus… I’m a slut who loves spike—!”
“Stop it,” Drift said. “Stop that!”
“You can shut him up if you want,” Deadlock offered, squeezing Rodimus’s face a little more and forcing his jaws wide open. “C’mon, Autobot. Loosen up a little. Have some fun.”
Drift let out a low growl before he turned a soft look towards Rodimus. “You’re not a slut, Roddy. You’re my good boy. You wanna be good for me?”
Rodimus nodded as best as he could, still held in Deadlock’s grasp. “Wanna be good,” he mumbled. “Wanna be a good slut.”
Deadlock laughed and Drift shot him a glare. Some shuffling occurred while Deadlock returned to pounding away at Rodimus’s valve, bullying the entrance to his forge. The rough thrusting had Rodimus’s insides feeling particularly raw, all those ridges scraping his inner nodes and hooking into his calipers.
When the tip of a spike landed against his lips, Rodimus wasted no time in leaning his helm back to take the head into his mouth, tonguing the slit and moaning at the sweet taste of lubricant he got as a result. Drift let out a sharp vent, cupping a hand under Rodimus’s head and guiding him to take the spike deeper.
By the time he’d stuffed Rodimus’s mouth, Drift was practically straddling his face, clutching his head with both hands and letting out his own groan of pleasure. Rodimus had little room to bob his head or really do much more than lay there, so he reached a hand up and around Drift to press against the small of his back and ease his hips forward.
The shaky nudge to the back of his throat had Rodimus gagging around the intrusion, an action that had his valve squeezing around Deadlock’s spike, making the Decepticon moan. “Oh frag… do that again,” Deadlock sighed out.
“You are a brute,” Drift bit out, a beautiful tension in his voice and frame alike that stopped him from just fucking into Rodimus’s throat. “You frag just like you fight—messy and unrefined while only caring for yourself.”
“Oh, just because I do it a little rough doesn’t make it good?”
“You know what—” Drift let out a snarling sound and shoved his hips forward. Rodimus’s entire frame seized as his throat bulged around Drift’s spike. “You’re not even rough,” Drift spat. “You wanna see what it looks like when you’re rough and doing a good fragging job of it?”
Drift’s hands moved from cradling Rodimus’s head to wrapping around his throat and squeezing.
Oh, Primus, yes.
Rodimus’s hands clawed at Drift’s thighs and his own legs kicked out at the air. Deadlock jolted as Rodimus’s calipers cycled down further around his spike.
“I bet he’s real tight now, yeah?” Drift breathed out, giving Rodimus’s throat another squeeze. “Does he feel good?”
Deadlock let out a long growl. “So good. Bet you wish you were the one fragging his forge open, huh?”
Rodimus couldn’t see either of them, but he imagined that both versions of his lover were leaning closer, nasal ridges almost brushing, hot air venting against each other’s derma… If he offlined his optics, Rodimus could imagine how they’d look finally crashing together. It wouldn’t be a soft kiss, no. Deadlock would be all snarling fangs, trying to bite Drift’s lips and tongue, but Drift could be so commanding sometimes, so harsh and firm… Perhaps he’d grab Deadlock by the throat and just shove his glossa into the other mech’s mouth, kissing him so rough their dentae would clack together…
“Frag, he got real tight just now… you think he’s close?” Deadlock asked.
“Like you care about that,” Drift said. His hips were moving now, fucking his spike back down Rodimus’s throat and tightening his hold on the captain’s neck every time he went deep. “You’re not gonna frag Roddy into a reboot if you just chase your own pleasure. You gotta get him to overload a few times first. So, let me show you what he really likes.”
Rodimus whined as Drift gave his throat another firm squeeze before sliding one of his servos down Rodimus’s frame, teasing the near-invisible seams of his chestplates. “Open for me,” Drift commanded.
Yes. Rodimus’s chestplates parted almost of their own accord, baring his spark to the two mechs above him. Deadlock made a choking sound—as if he were the one getting strangled right now—but Drift let out a rumbling purr.
“There you are,” he said, and Rodimus’s frame seized around the spikes at both ends as a gentle hand traced the edges of his spark chamber. Drift’s digits danced over horrifically sensitive components, teasing the ridges and divots of his spark casing. A single finger dipped into the aperture of the casing and Rodimus saw white for a moment, charge spiking so high that it glitched out his HUD. He was—He was gonna—
“Come for me Roddy,” Drift breathed out. “Show me how pretty you are when you finish.”
Rodimus would have screamed if not for the spike in his throat. As it was, he let out a strangled cry, body arching between Drift and Deadlock. His insides squeezed with all their might and transfluid spurted from his spike. His vents hitched, frame wracked with sobs as he came down from the summit of an intense overload.
“Frag, that was hot,” Deadlock whispered. “I nearly came from that.”
Primus, Rodimus was so full. A heavy weight in his throat, a solid pressure in his valve. Through his overload, his forge had finally cracked open to let Deadlock fill him just a little bit more, the tip of his spike nudging its way further into his internals.
“You want some more, Roddy?” Drift asked, a digit tapping against the edge of his spark chamber. Rodimus gave a muffled hum in affirmation. Drift’s servo slipped back into his chest, but instead of tracing over his spark, he began stroking over the wires and cables running through the chamber. Rodimus tried to press forward against the touch, earning a soft chuckle from Drift.
After a moment, Drift picked out a particular line, a thin tube circulating innermost energon. Delicately, he drew it out from where it was tucked so carefully alongside its brethren. Then he kept pulling, until the line was fully out of his spark chamber, held aloft by a teasing digit. Rodimus whined around Drift’s spike, squirmed around Deadlock’s.
“What… what are you doing?” Deadlock asked, a certain apprehension in his tone.
“You’re big on siphoning, yeah?” Drift asked—probably rhetorically, since of course he was also ‘big on siphoning’. “Go on, pup. Bite.”
Deadlock went still against Rodimus’s frame. “Is that… safe…?”
“Oh, so you were fine with tearing out his throat, but some innermost energon is too far for you?” Drift let out a scoff. “You’re all bark, aren’t you? Talk a big game, but you really are just a pup.”
Rodimus could feel Deadlock’s growl in his fragging forge, Primus…
“Fine,” Drift said. “If you want to be a coward about it, I’ll do it myself.”
Drift tugged the energon line just a bit higher, pulling it taut—and Rodimus couldn’t help but arch up into the touch as he began to feel the pressure on his insides—and then…
And then lips wrapped around the line and Rodimus’s hands scrabbled frantically against Drift’s waist and thighs. Oh, Primus. Oh, Primus, please. Please, please, I need it, I want it so fucking bad, Drift please—
Drift, always quick on the uptake, gave Rodimus exactly what he couldn’t beg aloud for: he sank his fangs into the line.
It hurt. It hurt a lot, actually, because Rodimus’s body was particularly upset at damage to such a vital component. But beyond the pain—in spite of it and because of it—it felt so fragging good. Rodimus gave his best attempt at a wail around the shaft blocking his intake. He could even tell that he was far from the only one getting enjoyment out of this. The tip of Drift’s spike was leaking more than ever, wetting the inner tubing of Rodimus’s throat.
Even Deadlock seemed affected by the show, the ridges of his spike flaring out and making his little grinding motions just a little harder.
Rodimus was lightheaded. The sensation of Drift suckling his innermost energon out of his lines… Rodimus was already painfully hard again, even so soon after his last overload. And while he drank from Rodimus’s core, one of Drift’s hands had returned to play with the sensitive metal of his spark chamber, teasing over exposed circuits and making Rodimus’s systems burn with heat.
Far too soon for Rodimus’s liking, Drift pulled away, pinching the line to prevent it from spilling everywhere. In easing back, his spike slipped from Rodimus’s intake which elicited a soft whine from the mech below. He wasn’t upset for long, though, because no longer having to hold his head back meant he had the perfect view as Drift grabbed Deadlock by the back of the neck and yanked him forward into a kiss.
A wet kiss, with what looked to be Rodimus’s own innermost energon spilling from between the two speedsters’ derma. Deadlock, who had been attempting to pull away from the kiss, went still. After a moment, he leaned into it. Rodimus saw a flash of tongue, Deadlock lapping at what liquid had spilled from their connected mouths. Then, just as Rodimus had fantasized, Deadlock did get bite-y, visibly nipping at Drift’s lip.
Drift’s engine gave a rumbling growl and his spit-slick spike slid up next to Rodimus’s cheek. Rodimus watched the older mech lean further into the kiss, heard the sweet little noise Deadlock made in response to whatever Drift did, and got to see the thin string of oral solvent stretch and snap between them as they parted moments later, some of it dripping down onto Rodimus’s frame.
Deadlock’s vents were puffing warm heat down onto Rodimus and he arched up into it. He could just barely see the edges of Drift’s smirk as he dipped a hand into his subspace and brought out a roll of medical tape, practiced servos tying Rodimus’s line and tucking it back into his spark chamber. Then, he patted the parted chestplates, murmuring, “Close ‘em on up, okay Roddy?”
Those white-painted hands, stained with pink droplets of Rodimus’s lifeblood, helped ease his chestplates shut again, sealing away his spark. “Good boy,” Drift purred. “You like that, don’t you? Like being good for me?”
“Uh-huh,” Rodimus said. He sounded wrecked, his voice box fritzing slightly from the earlier pressure and the even earlier biting.
“You wanna be good for me, Roddy?” Drift asked, petting over Rodimus’s helm.
“Yeah…” Rodimus sighed out. He did, he wanted to be Drift’s good boy, his obedient slut.
“Then do me a favor—keep our pup still for a klik, alright?”
Rodimus realized what was happening just moments before it did. He let out a laugh as Drift first pulled Deadlock down until he was flush against Rodimus’s frame. Obligingly, Rodimus wrapped his arms and legs as tight as he could around the Decepticon, even despite the mech’s panicked response. Then, Drift proceeded to roll them over until it was Deadlock on his back in the berth.
It wasn’t a particularly graceful maneuver, but Rodimus only really cared about the delicious jostle of Deadlock’s spike in his valve. The rumbling growl of the frame beneath him echoed through his own, a tiny massage against sensitive circuits.
“The hell are you doing?” Deadlock snapped—literally snapped, going by the sharp clack of dentae right up against Rodimus’s audials.
Drift’s hands smoothed down Rodimus’s spinal strut. One hand petted along the length of Rodimus’s spoiler wing, giving the very tip a little tweak just to make the captain jolt. His other hand stopped over Rodimus’s array, rubbing at his stretched valve rim before tracking back up to trace tiny circles into the plating over his aft port.
Rodimus’s vents hitched.
“Do much aftplay?” Drift asked.
Deadlock let out a noise of surprise. “I—”
“Don’t answer that, we both know you don’t.” Drift snorted, derision plain as day in his words. “You just stick your spike in a valve and hump your partner until you finish.”
Deadlock snarled, but the sound turned into a little yelp of surprise as Rodimus used that moment to duck down and nibble at Deadlock’s throat.
“Aw, giving our pup a taste of his own medicine?” Drift asked. The hand not on Rodimus’s aft stroked over his spoiler mount, teasing his transformation seams. His other hand… “You wanna open up for me, Roddy? Let me have your port?”
Rodimus moaned, mouthing over Deadlock’s lines. Obediently, he transformed away his aft panel. Almost immediately, Drift’s thumb sunk into his port. Rodimus let out a pained hiss at the touch, resisting the urge to squirm away from the dry entry. Drift did not press further, just rested the digit there for a moment before letting out a tsk and pulling back out.
“Such a shame I don’t have any lube on hand,” Drift mused, his hand slowly moving down from Rodimus’s aft port, “I suppose this will have to do.”
Rodimus could not see it, but he felt the way Deadlock went rigid beneath him. He knew, down by their joined arrays, Drift had just slipped his digits into Deadlock’s valve. Deadlock let out a tiny little whine, his thighs pulling up under Rodimus’s aft and trying to squeeze shut. All that did, though, was lock Drift’s hand against his array.
Rodimus let his optics offline, sucking and licking over Deadlock’s throat as he imagined Drift’s fingers pressing into the Decepticon’s slick, a thumb perhaps playing over a blinking node. Rodimus let out a whine as Deadlock’s spike wept into his forge. He was so wet inside—and yet, paradoxically, not nearly wet enough to admit Drift’s spike into his aft port.
Oh, but he wanted it. He wanted to feel Deadlock empty himself into his forge, wanted to feel Drift’s transfluid in his tanks. He needed it.
Rodimus didn’t really have the strength or room to bounce on Deadlock’s spike, but he could rock himself back and forth on it, feeling the ridges drag over his calipers. Deadlock’s helm fell back with a groan, and a moment later, Rodimus felt wet digits tracing the rim of his aft.
Rodimus tilted his hips as much as he could, flashing his port Drift’s way. His lover let out a soft chortle before two lubricated fingers pressed forward.
Rodimus did his best not to clench too tight around them, but he was well aware of his failure by how soon Drift’s hand stilled. “Easy, Roddy,” Drift whispered, leaning over his back. “Relax.”
Easier said than done. But Rodimus—Rodimus wanted to be good. Venting slow and deep, he forced the tension out of him, letting his plating slacken and his insides loosen. Only then did Drift return to stretching him open. Rodimus let out a soft little breath when, after a few more thrusts of those fingers, Drift slipped a third in as well.
“Look at you,” Drift purred against his back. “So wet for me… opening up so well, such a sweet little thing. Think you’re ready?”
“Yes,” Rodimus whined. “Please, Drift…”
“Shh, you don’t have to beg for me,” Drift soothed, leaning down to press a kiss against the back of Rodimus’s neck. With one last splay of his digits, Drift pulled them free of Rodimus’s port. Rodimus felt as Drift pulled back, heard as he let out a soft noise of awe. “Primus, you look so beautiful, Roddy.”
Deadlock let out a scoff.
Rodimus flinched slightly as the tip of Drift’s spike, still dripping with lubricant and spit, pressed against his port. “Please,” Rodimus breathed against Deadlock’s neck.
He sobbed at Drift’s first press inward. The spike head slipped inside and Rodimus buried his face against Deadlock’s chassis, clawing at the Decepticon’s plating. Drift’s hands came down on his waist, grabbing hold and giving Rodimus a tiny tug backwards while Drift pressed forward—and forward and forward, sheathing his entire spike within Rodimus’s port.
Rodimus wailed, squirming around the two spikes filling him up. Drift leaned over him again, panting in his audial. “Frag… wish you could see this… your sloppy port is just sucking me in…”
“Drift,” Rodimus whined. Beneath him, Deadlock suddenly bucked his hips, rocking the three of them. It got moans out of the entire trio, and Drift let out a laugh.
“Sorry, pup. We’ve been ignoring you for a while, haven’t we?”
Deadlock snarled.
“Don’t worry, brat. I’ve got just the thing you need.”
Rodimus made a plaintive little noise as Drift pulled back, taking much of his spike with him—but screamed as the older mech snapped his hips forward, slamming back into Rodimus’s aft and roughly jostling the captain’s frame, effectively bouncing him on Deadlock’s spike. The Decepticon choked back a noise of pleasure, but couldn’t halt the sound with Drift’s next thrust.
Drift kept his hands tight around Rodimus’s waist, lifting and dropping him onto each thrust. Rodimus had gone entirely limp between the two racing frames, drooling onto Deadlock’s chestplates and allowing his body to be moved to their whims. His valve ached around Deadlock’s spike, his aft burned around Drift’s, and Rodimus’s own spike was leaving a sticky trail of lubricant where it was squished beneath his frame.
Every time Drift thrusted in, Rodimus felt as though the mech’s spike was still in his throat, choking him and blocking his intake. Every time he was dropped down onto Deadlock, he could feel his valve squirt a little more lubricant out as the Decepticon’s spike popped back into his forge. He felt like he was losing his mind, nothing more than a pair of holes for the both of them to use as they pleased.
“Squeezing me so tight… you close, Roddy?” Drift asked, picking up speed and punching a whine from Rodimus’s tired vocalizer. “Can you be good for me? Can you wait a little while longer?”
Absolutely not, Rodimus thought. The blinding pleasure in his array basically already had him on the verge of an overload, and Drift was asking him to wait?
“Just a klik more, I promise,” Drift panted. “Our pup’s close too, can you feel it?”
… Rodimus could. Deadlock had wrapped himself around Rodimus, tucking the captain’s helm into the crook of Deadlock’s neck and growling against his audial. Each rock of their hips got harder and harder as something began to swell right by Rodimus’s entrance.
“Just until he overloads, Roddy,” Drift said. “I wanna feel it. Wanna feel you overloading from getting your forge filled up. C’mon, Roddy, you can last until then, can’t you? Don’t you wanna feel it?”
He did. Rodimus keened, but was unable to even squirm in either mech’s holds. Deadlock’s growling had ramped up in volume, his knot filling out to the point where it had tied the two of them together. There was a pressure in his lower half that had grown to the point of severe discomfort, but Rodimus would hold on. He would, he’d wait it out, because he wanted to feel it when Deadlock—
When Deadlock proceeded to overload directly into his forge.
Rodimus sobbed as Deadlock spilled into him, a warm weight settling in his gut. Deadlock’s knot tugged at his rim, but could not be dislodged by now. Drift had pressed himself fully against Rodimus’s back and was making sharp little thrusting motions that only served to stir up the spend deep inside the captain.
“Gonna—” Rodimus mumbled, the word mostly muffled into Deadlock’s chassis—and then he was following the Decepticon into his second overload.
His valve cinched down tighter against Deadlock’s knot, which only got him another flood of transfluid traveling up into his forge. Fuck, he was so full…
“He knot you good, Roddy?” Drift asked, slowing his hips into shallow little grinds. Rodimus could feel the slight swell of his lover’s knot pressing against his port, but Drift never pushed it in.
“Mmh-hm…” Rodimus let out a happy little hum. All the movement in his aft was starting to tick over into too much but—slag, it felt so good…
“You got one more in you?” Drift asked.
One more? Rodimus was already half dead and Drift wanted to keep going?
“Yesss…” He slurred out, wiggling his hips around the spikes in him.
“Damn, you really are a slut,” Deadlock said breathlessly. Drift finally went still in Rodimus’s aft and then slowly drew out of him, the tip of his spike popping out with a wet noise.
“Now, what did I say about calling him that, pup?” Drift asked, a sharp edge to his tone. Rodimus felt as his lover’s spike trailed downwards from his aft port. Past his valve, nudging against Deadlock’s slick entrance. Rodimus let out a little chuckle as Deadlock squeaked in surprise. Drift pulled up Deadlock’s legs, throwing them around his own waist, and pushed forward into Deadlock’s valve.
Rodimus could only imagine it, how Deadlock must feel with Rodimus clenching weakly around his knot while Drift’s spike pressed inside him. Frag it must feel so good…
Deadlock jolted suddenly, letting out a choked little noise. “Wait—wait, your knot—!” He cried out.
Drift gave him a growled response, “Ngh, yeah, you want it? You love knot-fucking a mech, but once its a knot in your valve you get all shy? C’mon, fucking take it—”
Rodimus could feel Deadlock’s entire frame seize as Drift’s knot sunk into him, the Decepticon letting out a long moan followed by a sharp yelp as Drift’s swollen knot was yanked back out of him. Rodimus was jostled with each pop in and out, his own systems pinging more pleasure than overstimulated pain. He was so wet and only getting wetter, mixed fluids leaking from the readily loosening tie. Every movement sent a sloshing sensation through his forge.
Beneath him, Deadlock was gasping with each thrust into his valve, “How—have—you—not—overloaded—!?”
“Unlike you, pup,” Drift hissed, “I’m actually a little more interested in getting my partners to overload first.”
“I’ve already—!?”
“And I’m going to get a second overload out of you tonight, don’t you worry.” Drift pulled his knot out once more, but this time just began to jackhammer the rest of his spike in and out of Deadlock’s valve. At the same time, his fingers were tracing Rodimus’s stretched rim, poking against it until he could just wedge a single digit inside. Rodimus whined, squirming around Deadlock’s pulsing knot as the Decepticon’s spike spat lubricant into his swollen forge.
“What—what are you doing?” Deadlock panted out, squirming underneath Rodimus’s limp frame.
“You wanted a tight hole, didn’t you?” Drift asked, wiggling his finger around until he could fit a second in as well. Lubricant and transfluid alike leaked out, wetting the way as Drift thrust his fingers in alongside Deadlock’s spike.
“Please,” Rodimus begged, tilting his hips for better access. He wanted it so bad. He needed it so fucking bad.
“There you are, Roddy,” Drift purred, voice softening for Rodimus’s audials. “You want that? You want both our spikes in your valve?”
“Please!” Rodimus sobbed.
“Of course, sweet thing,” Drift murmured, kissing Rodimus’s cheek. “Anything for you.”
He managed to work a full four fingers in alongside Deadlock’s spike before deeming Rodimus stretched enough, pulling his digits free with a filthy, wet sound. Deadlock’s knot hadn’t gone down at all. Was in fact only pulsing with how close the Decepticon was to his second overload.
Rodimus could feel the way Deadlock slumped beneath him as Drift pulled out. His head lolled back, showing off his spit-slick throat, marred with the light nibbling Rodimus had done earlier. Rodimus longed to stretch forward and gnaw on Deadlock’s neck as the mech had done to him at the start of this all, but he just couldn’t work up the strength to lift himself…
Both of them twitched at the first press of Drift’s spike to Rodimus’s valve. Rodimus let out a soft little sigh as his lover pressed forward, a sound echoed by Deadlock’s hiss. The two spikes slid along each other. It must feel good to be both of them. Deadlock feeling that sharp pressure increase as Rodimus’s valve rapidly lost any wiggle room, Drift feeling the flared ridges of Deadlock’s spike drag against his own…
Rodimus was sure feeling good as hell. He filled to the brim and then some, stuffed like an energon goodie. Drift very nearly bottomed out, only his still-inflated knot still stuck outside. The very tip of his spike nuzzled at Rodimus’s forge, and Rodimus felt a wave of desire crash over him. He wanted both mechs in his forge now.
Summoning up all the strength he had left, Rodimus reached blindly behind him, grabbing onto some of Drift’s kibble. “Please…” he breathed out. “Need you… want you both…”
“As you wish,” Drift purred. Then, taking hold of Rodimus’s waist once more, he pulled back and snapped his hips forward. Both Rodimus and Deadlock beneath him let out long moans. The feeling of both spikes in his valve was almost too much for Rodimus. He was very quickly careening towards his third overload of the night—and likely his last.
Drift set a quick pace, roughly fucking into Rodimus’s sloppy hole. He spared no pity to either mech beneath him, only delivered sharp thrust after thrust, stirring up Rodimus’s insides, sliding against Deadlock’s shaft. And at the end of each thrust, his swollen knot slapped against Rodimus’s valve, ground against the root of Deadlock’s spike.
None of them were going to last at this rate.
Deadlock was the first to go, one particularly strong thrust dragging a moan out of him as he unloaded once more into Rodimus’s valve, flooding his forge with even more transfluid. Rodimus let out a sharp cry as his systems warned of his forge reaching capacity. He was full, too full to fit anything else, but Drift was still going at it behind him. What was going to happen when—
Drift shoved forward, grinding his knot against Rodimus’s squeezing valve, hips shove-shove-shoving until finally—finally—his knot popped inside. And oh, the feeling of him finally sinking home, tip coming to stretch the aperture of his forge even wider, dipping into the warm well of transfluid Deadlock had left behind…
Rodimus had to be dead or dreaming because it was just too fragging good…
Drift was the second to go, letting out a long groan as his own overload wracked his frame. Drift’s spend filled Rodimus even further, past capacity, until his forge started to hurt from the mounting pressure. And even through it, Drift shifted a hand over to stick his thumb back into Rodimus’s still-bared aft port, swirling it around and biting out, “C’mon Roddy. One more? For me?”
Rodimus was the last to go, nothing more than static crawling from his vocalizer as he shuddered through his third and final overload. His body shook from the force of it, plating rattling against the frames before and behind him. His visual feed went pixelated before darkening entirely—
And Rodimus was out like a light.
(Later, he’d wake to Drift and Deadlock both easing out of him, their transfluid spilling all over the three of them as it oozed out of Rodimus’s gaping valve. Later, he’d let out a soft little laugh as the two of them bickered and argued and then argued some more upon realizing they’d woken Rodimus, both of them blaming the other for it.)
(Even later, he’d be laid down between two warm racing frames, both of them still growling lightly at each other, but both of them also content to wrap around Rodimus and squish him tight between the two of them. And Rodimus would let out a delighted little sound and snuggle up against warm plating and smooth a hand down his own frame until he reached his swollen forge.)
(And even later than that, Rodimus would be woken up again because his two racers couldn’t help but treat themselves to his frame.)
(Beyond that—well. You get the point.)