It wasn’t often they had time to play like this, but when they did, Rodimus wanted to go all out. He plotted. He planned (yes, Magnus, he planned). He acquired the necessary materials. He drew diagrams, and he asked.
Sometimes, he pleaded.
Drift always said yes. Usually with a gleam in his optics, and a curve to his lips that gave Rodimus a peek at the pointed denta he was always so careful to hide.
Now was no exception. Drift had him trussed up to such a fine degree that it arched his spinal strut, flattered him from every angle, and left every inch of him open to touching. Constant touching, Rodimus hoped. He wanted Drift’s hands all over him.
Currently, Rodimus’ hands were bound above his helm, but pulled back toward his chassis. His wrists were cuffed together, and a rope connected the cuffs to a hook in the ceiling. Rodimus’ chassis tilted precariously forward, nearly parallel to the floor, enough that he was consciously shifting his weight back to his feet, to ease the strain in his shoulders.
Said feet were braced apart by a spreader bar, leaving nothing of his open array to the imagination. Both of his panels were retracted, plump valve on display, and erect spike jutting proudly at the apex of his thighs. It wept pre-fluid in steady trickles, perhaps because of the vibrating ring Drift had put around the base of it at the beginning of their evening.
Last but not least, Rodimus had been blindfolded. All the better to keep him focused on sensation rather than anything else. They had debated a gag, until Drift decided he’d rather keep use of Rodimus’ mouth. Not that Rodimus was complaining one bit. He rather liked it when Drift made use of his mouth.
“Comfortable?” Drift asked.
Plip. Plip. Pearls of lubricant slicked Rodimus’ thighs and dripped to the floor. His valve quivered, desperate for stimulation. Every brush of air from Drift walking by was nothing more than a taunt.
His spike bobbed. His biolights blinked fitfully. His energy field was a zap of tumultuous need. His aft swayed as he constantly shifted his weight, struggling to keep his balance. It was perfect.
His head moved, seeking out Drift. Bereft of sight, he could only rely on his audials, his proximity sensors, and Drift’s field. For now, it was easy enough. Drift circled him slowly, as though admiring the view.
“Yes,” Rodimus said on an ex-vent. Comfortable and hot and needy.
“Good,” Drift purred. He paused behind Rodimus, or so his peripheral sensors informed him.
Rodimus braced, waiting. He yearned, and shivered as Drift’s fingertips glided around the curve of his aft, over his hip, then up his side, removing them just before he would have caressed Rodimus’ spoiler.
Rodimus shifted toward him, moaning a protest as Drift’s fingers retreated. The cuffs rattled, as did the locks on the spreader bar. His engine revved weakly.
“Look at you,” Drift murmured as he circled around to Rodimus’ front. “You’re already making a mess. It’s a good thing I tied you up, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to help yourself, would you? You’d already have your fingers up your valve or around your spike.”
Rodimus’ intake rippled. “I have some self-control,” he said, indignant, though the building whine in his cooling fans belied it. He had to admit, if only to himself, that Drift was right.
If not for the bonds, Rodimus would already be stroking himself, desperately seeking overload. Perhaps under Drift’s watchful, admiring gaze.
Drift chuckled. “That’s debatable.”
He circled back around to Rodimus’ aft with slow, measured steps. He touched, his fingers sliding around the plush, swollen rim, gathering up the lubricant Rodimus produced in steady rivulets. He’d been wet before Drift finished snapping on the spreader bar. He was soaked by the time the blindfold wrapped around his optics.
Rodimus shivered, his hips dancing back toward Drift’s touch. His array throbbed, need pooling southward and gathering behind his anterior node. The ring on his spike continued to vibrate dully, driving him wild, but as soon as he worked up charge, it went nowhere.
“This doesn’t count,” Rodimus argued even as his valve clenched, forcing more lubricant past his swollen rim. “You’re purposefully teasing me.”
Drift’s fingers abandoned him, and Rodimus swallowed a whimper. He tracked Drift’s footsteps again. They moved around Rodimus’ left and circled until Drift stood in front of Rodimus once more.
A hand landed on Rodimus’ head, sliding down to cup under his chin. It tilted his face upward, and Rodimus moved gladly with it, anticipation slicing through every circuit, every line.
Something soft and warm brushed over his lips. Drift. Drift was kissing him. It was barely there, a taste of dermal metal against his own. It went no deeper, and Rodimus whined as Drift retreated, taking his lips with him.
“So unfair,” Rodimus said. He licked his lips, savoring the taste.
Warmth swept over his cheek. Drift’s thumb, he presumed. Rodimus leaned into the touch, and shivered as the digit shifted to rub over his bottom lip. Little soft strokes that left Rodimus’ lip tingling.
“I’ll give you an opportunity to prove yourself,” Drift murmured.
Twin clicks echoed in the room. The scent of lubricant wafted to Rodimus’ nasal ridge, and his mouth watered.
Hydraulics hissed. Joints creaked. Drift must have moved closer, because Rodimus felt the heat of him, buffeting against his faceplate. Something damp touched his cheek opposite of Drift’s hand.
It had to be the head of Drift’s pressurized spike, pre-fluid beading at the tip. He had to be rigid now, aroused and straining. Rodimus could imagine Drift’s spike, the nearly solid-white length ribbed with crimson nubs and accompanied by a small node around the crown. Rodimus loved worshiping that node with his glossa.
Rodimus moaned. He tried to turn his head toward Drift’s spike, to capture the head of it with his mouth. Drift’s grip on his jaw proved firm.
He growled, frustrated. His engine whined.
“You’re not being patient,” Drift chastised, but his vocals were too warm, too syrupy sweet for Rodimus to take the rebuke seriously.
He worked his intake, the scent of Drift’s arousal making him dizzy. “Shut up,” Rodimus groaned, and it sounded far from indignant.
Drift chuckled. The tip of his spike slid across Rodimus’ cheek, leaving a streak of pre-fluid behind. It moved closer and closer, until the tapered spikehead brushed over Rodimus’ bottom lip.
Lubricant welled in Rodimus’ mouth. He surged forward, glossa lapping over the tip of Drift’s spike. He moaned as the familiar taste of his lover rolled over his glossa. Yet, as much as he strained, he could do no more than sample the transfluid slit.
“Do you want it?”
Rodimus’ ventilations huffed. “You know I do,” he gritted out, his ex-vents ghosting over the tip of Drift’s spike.
The fingers on his jaw trembled. “Ask then.”
A sharp sound burst from Rodimus’ lips. He strained for Drift’s spike, glossa only able to lap at the tip. Drift remained frustratingly out of reach.
“Come on, babe,” Rodimus murmured, lapping at Drift’s spike in between words. “Let me suck your spike. You know I can make you feel good. Don’t you want to slide into my mouth and down my intake? Make me swallow your transfluid?” He wriggled his aft, shifted his weight, painted his lips with Drift’s pre-fluid.
He heard Drift shiver. Heard the clatter of his armor. And then the head of Drift’s spike rested against Rodimus’ lips.
“Do a good job and you’ll get a reward,” Drift purred.
Rodimus surged forward, sucking Drift’s spike into his mouth. He moaned as hot metal slid past his lips and across his denta, the taste of Drift’s arousal sharp and electrifying. Heat sliced through Rodimus’ internals, tightening around his array, but he focused instead on Drift.
On the pulse of Drift’s spike over his glossa. On the steady trickle of pre-fluid down his intake. On the way Drift’s hands cradled his head, tilting him for the best angle, one that allowed him to slide deep into Rodimus’ mouth and right down his intake.
Drift’s thrusts were gentle, a slow and steady pace, and Rodimus moaned around his spike. Drift’s field prickled at his, hot and heavy with need, his spike throbbing to the rhythm of his thrusts. He was already so close.
Rodimus imagined his overload, imagined the hot spurts of transfluid sliding into his intake, and moaned all the louder. His valve clenched on nothing; his spike pulsed. He wanted that reward, frag it.
Oral lubricant seeped from the corners of his mouth. He took Drift deep and deeper, glossa lashing at Drift’s spike, denta carefully kept away from the sensitive dermal metal. Needy sounds rose in his intake as Drift’s thrusts increased in earnest.
He pushed deep into Rodimus’ mouth, the base of his spike rubbing against Rodimus’ lips and nasal ridge, before he pulled back. Drift panted above him, each heavy ventilation sending puffs of heat across Rodimus’ armor. He cradled Rodimus’ head, rolling his hips faster and faster, spike swelling and throbbing.
Rodimus moaned again. He rocked forward, swallowing Drift whole, his intake working around the head of Drift’s spike, over and over and over.
A choked off sound emerged from Drift’s lips. It might have been Rodimus’ name. It was certainly pleasure.
His spike throbbed, and Rodimus whimpered as the first spurt of transfluid striped the back of his intake, and slid downward. Drift ground against his faceplate for the next pulse, pinning Rodimus against his array. All he could smell and taste was Drift. His world narrowed down to his lover, his partner, his mate.
Until Drift abruptly pulled free, just in time for the last spurt of transfluid to paint Rodimus’ lips. He moaned, glossa flicking over his lips to clean them. Drift was sour-sweet, like a rust-stick, and Rodimus swallowed him down.
Rodimus moaned, his spark swelling in its casing. His valve pulsed, more heat cascading through his frame. His hips swayed. He needed… he needed. He needed something. Drift’s mouth. His fingers. His spike. A toy. Something.
He ached. Deep inside. His ceiling node craved contact. His calipers cycled. Drift’s transfluid lingered on his glossa, and Rodimus was this close to begging for more.
Thumbs stroked his cheeks. He tilted his head up as far as he could comfortably. He couldn’t see Drift, but he hoped his expression was needy enough.
It must have been because Drift’s mouth closed over his, glossa greedily pushing inside as though wanting to reclaim his transfluid from Rodimus’ mouth.
Rodimus moaned, offering himself to the frantic exploration of Drift’s glossa. Drift nipped at his lips and pulled away, ex-venting against Rodimus’ face seconds before his glossa returned, licking at the corner of Rodimus’ mouth. He must have missed some transfluid there, he realized.
And on his cheek also, for there Drift’s mouth went next, glossa warm and wet as he licked Rodimus’ cheek.
Drift’s mouth returned, transfluid on his glossa, and Rodimus moaned as Drift shared his transfluid between them. It was incredibly intimate, and ridiculously sexy.
Rodimus’ aft wriggled. His valve squeezed down tight, the ache inside him growing. He tasted Drift and transfluid, and he wanted more.
Drift broke away from the kiss, his forehead pressed to Rodimus’. He ex-vented hotly, the puffs of air tickling Rodimus’ damp face.
“Can I have my reward now?” Rodimus asked.
“I don’t know,” Drift panted, his hold on Rodimus’ head gentling. “That show was adequate, but I’m not sure it was good enough to earn you a reward.”
Rodimus pursed his lips into a pout. He wiggled his aft, hoping that it proved enticing. “That’s not fair.”
Drift laughed softly. “Nobody says I have to be.”
His hands vanished from Rodimus’ face, leaving a chill behind. Rodimus stifled a moan and focused on his sensors, tracking Drift moving around him again. Footsteps circled to Rodimus’ right, Drift’s field in his periphery until proximity sensors located Drift behind him. Focused, perhaps, on Rodimus’ aft.
“Though I do appreciate the view,” Drift murmured. He palmed the curve of Rodimus’ aft, thumb sliding down, brushing over Rodimus’ valve.
Rodimus hung his head. His shoulders ached as he tipped forward, and he forced his weight back again. Pleasure danced down his spinal strut.
He heard a click, a low hum, and then something buzzed against his array, circling around and around the swell of his rim. Sensor nodes lit up like fireworks.
Rodimus moaned and ground his denta. His feet scraped against the floor, thighs trembling, cables wobbling. He tried to surge back toward the vibrator, but it vanished just as quickly, leaving him tingling and hungry.
“Stay still,” Drift chastised.
Rodimus ground his gears, static erupting from his vocalizer. “I can’t,” he cried, hips swaying, valve restlessly cycling.
“You better learn,” Drift warned, but his actions belied his rebuke as the vibrator returned in all its buzzing glory.
Rodimus moaned as it traveled around his rim, exciting all of the nodes in his substructure. His valve clenched on nothing, calipers churning restlessly. He tried to rock backward, encourage the vibrator closer to his core, to his pulsing anterior node. His aft swayed.
Drift swatted him across the aft, a glancing strike that skipped across his aft plating and barely hurt. If anything, it sent a bloom of arousal through Rodimus’ sensornet. His frame trembled as he panted a ventilation.
“I said be still. You’re so disobedient, Roddy.”
“That’s…. because… you’re so mean,” Rodimus groaned. His hands curled into fists, his entire frame shuddering. His armor lifted up and away from his substructure as heat billowed from his internals.
His spark pulsed faster and faster. He wanted to overload desperately. His spike felt like a swollen mass, pressing hard against the ring.
Drift spanked him again, harder this time. A jarring blow that reverberated through Rodimus’ frame, wobbled in his thighs, and made his valve quiver. More lubricant seeped free. He heard it drip to the floor. Surely there was a puddle beneath him already.
“You’re even making a mess,” Drift said, and Rodimus moaned as fingers flirted over his valve, teasing the rim, flirting with his anterior node. “You’ll be cleaning that later, you know. With your glossa.”
Primus save him.
Rodimus worked his intake. He imagined himself on hands and knees, aft in the air, Drift looming over him. Telling him to work harder, clean faster, as he swept his glossa over the floor, cleaning up the mess he’d made. Maybe giving him a swat or two if he didn’t lick fast enough.
The vibrator returned and pressed against his housing, just above his anterior node. He swore the air wobbled around his aching nub, a sensation tantalizing but not enough. Rodimus whimpered when the vibrator kept moving, ghosting over his rim, passing across the swollen dermal metal.
“Drift,” he begged, chains rattling as he rocked back. He pulsed his field, hoping Drift could read the yearning, the desperation in it.
Hadn’t he been teased enough?
“Do you want this?” Drift asked.
Rodimus’ hips bucked as fingers found and teased his spike. They stroked down the heavy length and gave it a brief squeeze.
Was that a shout? Well, not quite. Rodimus wasn’t capable of shouting. Not with his denta gritted, and his frame tense, and his cooling fans working so hard he swore they creaked.
Rodimus tasted energon and realized he’d bitten his lower lip. His feet shifted across the floor. His hips bucked. His shoulders ached.
“I’ll beg,” Rodimus offered.
“Well, you do make a pretty picture when you do.”
The vibrator returned, and this time, the tip eased into Rodimus’ valve. He all but shrieked, rising upward against the pull of his bindings. His valve clamped, calipers trying to grasp the vibrator and urge it deeper.
“Please,” Rodimus gasped, lights dancing behind his blindfolded optics. “Please, baby. Please, Drift. Please.”
“Please what?” Drift’s voice was low, dark, coaxing.
It made Rodimus ache. Made him tremble. Made his knees weak. They wobbled, and Rodimus’ weight briefly rested on his aching shoulders until he forced it back into his knees.
“Touch me,” Rodimus begged. “Spike me. Stick that vibrator in me. Or your fingers. Your mouth. A toy. I don’t care. Give me something. Anything.” Static broke his words into a gasp. His spoiler twitched, trapped as it was against his elbows.
He rocked back. He was a pretty picture, wasn’t he? How could Drift resist? His nodes blinked enticingly, didn’t they?
They did, if Drift’s field was any indication. It slithered over Rodimus, heavy with heat and appreciation. It spoke the words Drift didn’t, full of compliments and lust.
The vibrator vanished.
“No!” Rodimus whined and bucked in his bonds, his valve hurting with need now. “Drift!”
There was a shushing sound somewhere behind him seconds before hands landed on his aft and slid down the curve of it. They palmed the back of Rodimus’ thighs before a gust of damp heat flirted with Rodimus’ valve.
He whimpered. “Please.”
A finger dragged around the swollen rim of his valve. His rim twitched in response, anterior node blinking so fast it ached. Rodimus was desperate for touch.
“I’ll give you a choice,” Drift purred, his ex-vents ghosting over Rodimus’ valve.
The heat in his groin became an inferno. It pulsed to the beat of his spark. It took all he had to freeze, to hold himself still, frame trembling. His audials strained to catch Drift’s words.
Drift pinched the tip of his spike and flirted his fingers down the length of it. Rodimus jerked and sucked in a heavy ventilation.
“Spike or valve?”
“Both!” Rodimus rocked back and forth, toward the tease of Drift’s fingers, and the taunting of his ex-vents.
Drift pinched his anterior node. Pain flashed through Rodimus’ array, but in the wake of it was tingling fire and charge. He gasped for a breath and sucked on his bottom lip, a low keen rising in his intake. His engine roared.
“Not an appropriate answer.”
Rodimus’ hands formed shaking fists. His armor quivered. He grasped for an answer that would grant him a reprieve.
“Y-you pick,” he said, and sighed with relief as Drift’s fingers returned to his valve.
They were gentle as they rubbed around his housing before ghosting over his anterior node. The first tentative touch sent a jolt through Rodimus’ array.
“Now that is a better answer,” Drift said. The tip of his finger circled Rodimus’ nub again, making him jerk helplessly.
Rodimus squirmed, caught in his bonds and Drift’s hold. His vocalizer spat out nonsense and static intermittently.
Drift licked him and Rodimus nearly crawled out of his armor. He tossed his head back, lips parting in a soundless cry as the hot, wet lap caressed every inch of his valve rim. Every processing kernel focused on his array, on the gentle swipe of Drift’s glossa, the way it curled and tasted and pulled helpless cries from his vocalizer. Drift’s lips brushed over his anterior node, like a kiss, before he licked deep into Rodimus’ valve, glossa sweeping over the ring of nodes along the inside of his rim.
Rodimus panted. His hips twitched with every lick. His valve squeezed down on nothing. His field exploded, rattling the room. He whimpered when another delicate kiss pressed to his main node. And then Drift touched the base of his spike, where it throbbed against the confinement of the ring, and the tight pressure of it abruptly eased. Rodimus’ spike pulsed, pre-fluid dribbling from the tip.
He gasped and sagged with relief. He didn’t know which deserved his attention more. Drift’s loving oral attention on his valve, or the slow and steady drag of the vibrating ring up and down the length of Rodimus’ spike. His dermal sensors tingled, the heat gathering in his array a scorching temperature.
Rodimus’ entire frame rattled. Overload peeked at him from around the corners. His engine roared, and he bucked in Drift’s grip. Orders to ‘be still’ be damned. Rodimus needed to move, to chase after that overload with all that he had in him.
Which, of course, was the very moment Drift decided to prove how much of an aft he was.
Sensation vanished. It took several seconds of aborted wriggling for Rodimus to realize Drift’s mouth had abandoned his valve. The spike ring gave one last upward pass over his spike, teasing briefly over the head, before it, too, was gone. Rodimus’ hips pumped into empty air. His valve throbbed without fingers or mouth or spike to sate it. A brief ex-vent puffed over his rim before Drift’s proximity to him lengthened. Overload was still there, tantalizingly within reach, only Rodimus had no way to grasp it.
Rodimus whimpered. “Why did you stop?”
“Because I’m not sure you want it badly.”
Rodimus’ engine revved so hard he heard it thunk. “I do!” He lurched forward, backward, whatever direction he could manage. His field spun so dizzily he couldn’t figure out where Drift actually was. “I swear I do!”
“Prove it,” Drift purred as he taunted Rodimus, dragging one finger up the center of his valve but deftly avoiding the swollen anterior nub.
Aft. Rodimus intended to make him pay for his later. But first, he wanted that fragging overload before he popped a seam or fried a circuit or torched a processing chip.
Rodimus sucked in a heavy ventilation. He forced himself to still. “Drift, baby, please,” he said, head swiveling back and forth as he tried to focus and find Drift through the barrage of sensation confusing his frame. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just please let me overload. I’m begging you. I’m hurting.” He sucked in another ventilation. “Please keep licking me, touching me, frag me if you want. Anything. Please.”
His words hung in a heavy silence. He waited. He hoped.
And then he keened as a finger finally slid into him, curling perfectly to rub over an inner node that had yet to be touched. Rodimus’ valve clamped down frantically, milking the single digit. Charge erupted from beneath his armor. He felt it crawling over his plating. A second finger introduced itself, circling Rodimus’ anterior node, a barely there touch that was yet enough to re-ignite the flames.
Rodimus let his head hang. He sagged in his bonds. He no longer felt the strain on his shoulders. Every bit of focus was on those two fingers, on the heat and desire building in his array.
“Drift, please,” he said, and let himself babble. If that was what Drift wanted to hear, he’d babble until his vocalizer glitched out. “I don’t know what else to say. I’m running out of words here.” Did he sound desperate? He hoped he did.
He wriggled his aft. That was enticing, wasn’t it? Rodimus liked to think he had a good aft. Nice color. Perfect for grabbing. Or spanking. Or admiring.
The second finger slid into Rodimus’ valve. “Anything?” Drift murmured, low and deep, echoing in Rodimus’ audials and resonating through his spark chamber.
Both fingers curled, rubbing hard at a sensor cluster. Rodimus moaned. He must have been doing something right. His hips danced in Drift’s hold, even more so when he heard the vibrator return, buzzing softly. The air pressed in around his swollen array, taunting him.
“Then I want you to overload,” Drift said. “On the count of ten. Or you don’t get it.”
That… that wasn’t fair!
Rodimus bit his lip. “I can’t.”
“Oh yes, you can.”
The vibrator returned, pressing firmly against Rodimus’ rim. He bucked backward, canting his hips, trying to urge it deeper.
“Count for me.”
A tremble started in Rodimus’ feet and worked its way to his knees, his thighs, his hips. His ventilations stuttered, cooling fans whirring fast enough to make his armor rattle. But he licked his lips and he obeyed.
“One,” he said as the vibrator lightly grazed his rim before skirting over his anterior node.
“Two.” He shook as Drift’s free hand found his spike, caressing it with a grip that was more of a tease.
The tremble worked past his hips into his waist, his chassis, his spoiler, his shoulders, arms, fingers. There wasn’t a single armor panel that didn’t clatter. Not as he gritted his denta and forced out each subsequent number.
Lights danced behind his optics. He could smell his own arousal, the heat of his frame.
He tasted Drift’s field against his, slithering and sliding, tangling, drawing out pleasure.
His knees wobbled. He sank further toward the floor. The hand on his spike vanished. Drift’s arm hooked around his waist, hauling him up, keeping him on his feet. Rodimus loved him fervently in that moment, even as his concentration flickered back and forth.
Count. Overload. Count. Overload.
He heard a click. Felt the wet brush of hot metal against his aft. Rodimus moaned. He lost count in the anticipation. His glossa swept over his lips.
“Eight, Rodimus,” Drift purred as the hot metal slid against Rodimus’ valve, rubbing over his rim.
“Eight,” Rodimus echoed, but it sounded dim to his audials. “Drift, please.”
“Shhh.” Drift’s arm tightened around his hips. The vibrator passed over Rodimus’ nub again, sending white-hot pleasure through his array.
Oh, he was close. He was so close.
Drift’s voice echoed in his audial.
“N-n-nine.” Rodimus’ vocalizer stuttered, tripped over itself.
The vibrator vanished, and before Rodimus could protest, Drift slid into him, buried to the hilt, his spikehead notched against Rodimus’ ceiling node. He ground deep, so deep, carrying heat and charge with him. Rodimus’ calipers snatched at his spike, cinching tight, locking down.
Drift audibly sucked in a ventilation. His thighs trembled where they pressed to the back of Rodimus’. He ground into him, grinding harder against his ceiling node, sending sharp bursts of pleasure through Rodimus’ array. He pulled in a desperate vent but the air around them was as scorching as the press of Drift’s armor against his.
Rodimus’ spark throbbed. Overload clawed at him, coiling tighter and tighter in his abdomen. He was close, could feel the need yawing in Drift as well.
Fingers dragged up his backstrut and hooked on the top edge of his spoiler. “Rodimus.” Drift squeezed, and Rodimus bucked. “You owe me a number.”
Rodimus panted a moan. Drift pushed harder into him, every grind of his hips sending shock after shock through Rodimus’ valve. His spike throbbed.
A number. Drift wanted a number.
One more number. One more–
“Ten,” Rodimus gasped out, and as though his frame, his spark, his array only needed the signal, overload erupted through his systems, shattering every last coherent thought in his processor.
His mouth opened in a spiraling cry, his valve clamping down on Drift’s spike, preventing him from doing anything more than buck helplessly. His spike spurted, striping the floor beneath him, and his valve spasmed, over and over and over again.
Drift groaned above him and Rodimus jerked as he felt the hot splash of Drift’s transfluid within him. It washed over his pulsing ceiling node, drawing free another smaller overload, until Rodimus’ legs completely gave out beneath him. He sagged in Drift’s hold, ignoring the ache in his shoulders in favor of soaking in the satisfaction permeating his frame.
His vents gasped for cool air, but there was none to be found. He was and felt limp, and it was a glorious feeling. He felt like he floated, and wrapped in Drift’s field, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else he wanted to be.
“Roddy?” Drift’s hand gentled on his spoiler, moving instead to stroke down his backstrut.
“M’good,” Rodimus murmured, but it came out more of a slur. He didn’t even have the energy to lift his head. “Gonna lemme go now?”
“Yes. You did good.” Drift eased back, his spike slipping free of Rodimus’ valve.
His calipers fluttered in the sudden wake of an empty feeling, but his nodes were too sated to protest. Rodimus went fully limp, trusting Drift to take care of him. He floated in a happy space as Drift carefully braced him, and hit the quick release for the spreader bar. The locks popped off, freeing Rodimus’ ankles, allowing him to draw his feet together to better brace his weight. His hips protested, but it was a mild ache. The good kind of ache.
Drift’s arm remained around his waist as he leaned over Rodimus’ back, flicking the quick-release for the bindings on Rodimus’ wrists and arms. Rodimus hissed air through his vents as he was finally able to lower his arms, his shoulders creaking a protest.
“Okay?” Drift asked.
“Aches,” Rodimus answered honestly. “Nothing a little recharge won’t fix though. Promise.”
The cuffs were removed with the press of a button, and Rodimus slowly straightened. It felt odd to be standing. Dizzying even. He wobbled on his feet, gyros struggling to stabilize. His thoughts were still all floaty.
Drift’s hand rested on his hip as he circled around Rodimus, facing him. Rodimus leaned into Drift’s embrace, like a flower toward the sun, only to blink as the blindfold was removed from around his head. He’d forgotten about it.
No wonder he couldn’t see anything.
The blindfold vanished as Drift cupped Rodimus’ head, his thumb brushing over Rodimus’ swollen lip. “There you are,” he murmured, lips curved in a soft smile. “Sure you’re okay?”
“Perfect,” Rodimus replied and tilted forward, snuggling into Drift’s arms. He tucked his face into Drift’s intake, drawing in the scent of his lover post-overload. All hot metal and warm circuits. “Mmmm. Love you babe.”
Drift’s hand stroked down his back, though careful to avoid his sensitive spoiler. “That was good?”
“The best.” He wrapped his arms firmly around Drift, trying to get as much armor contact as possible. If he could just stay like this for a few days, that would be great. “Like always.”
“Good.” Drift tilted his head against Rodimus’ and ex-vented softly, the puffs of it tickling over Rodimus’ audial. “Want to get cleaned up?”
“Nope. This is good.” Truthfully, Rodimus wasn’t sure he could move. His legs felt firmly planted to the floor.
“Move to the berth then?”
“Mmm.” Rodimus leaned harder against Drift, their fields pulsing in a soft, reassuring sync. “Carry me?” He loved that Drift actually could pick him up. They were nearly the same size, but all that smooth white armor hid a surprising strength.
Drift chuckled softly. His hands slid down to Rodimus’ aft, cupping around it to lift him up, and Rodimus helped by wrapping his legs around Drift’s waist. His panels were still open, he realized belatedly. Wet streaks of lubricant and transfluid immediately painted Drift’s groin.
Oh, well. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Rodimus pressed his face to Drift’s intake and offlined his optics. He held tight as Drift took less than four steps to the berth and attempted to deposit Rodimus on it. He knew exactly what Drift had in mind, too. He thought he’d just leave Rodimus here and go clean up.
Nope. Not this time. Rodimus clung all the tighter so that when Drift set him down, he couldn’t pull back.
“No,” he said, and nipped at Drift’s intake cables. “Stay.” He tugged and rolled, pulling Drift with him onto the berth.
Drift squawked in surprise, but obeyed. He clambered onto the berth, giving Rodimus more than enough space to wriggle around to get them into the perfect position for cuddles. He attached himself to every available inch of Drift’s frame, armor notched together.
Yes. This was what he wanted.
Drift sighed a ventilation. “Guessing you do feel good,” he said and relaxed into the embrace, his armor nice and warm against Rodimus’.
“Mm hm.” Rodimus snuggled tighter, loving the way their fields meshed, and how secure he felt right now. His thoughts continued to float, though now it felt they were sinking toward a warm oilbath. Like recharge. “You’ll stay all night?”
“Of course.” Drift patted his aft and nuzzled his way toward Rodimus’ mouth, his lips seeking out Rodimus’ for a slow, savoring kiss.
Rodimus hummed into it, gentle waves of satisfaction floating through his frame. Drift’s lips stroked over his, brushing their mouths together, until he pulled back. He nuzzled his nasal ridge against Rodimus’.
“I love you.”
“Love you, too, babe.”
Drift’s soft chuckle floated in his audials. He held Rodimus close, like he was important, like he mattered. Rodimus’ spark warmed, filling every nook and cranny of his casing. It was all too easy to sink into Drift’s embrace, sink into comfort and satisfaction.
He wanted to stay in this moment forever. But for now, he settled for falling into recharge with Drift’s ex-vents ghosting over his audial, and Drift’s energy field surrounding him.
He was safe.