Part Three – The Surprise
Sideswipe was being weird. Well, weird-er.
Sunstreaker narrowed his optics and glared in his twin’s direction, not that Sideswipe noticed. He continued to squirm in his chair like a child with a secret, one end of a stylus between his lips as he nibbled on it, and his attention focused on his datapad. Sunstreaker didn’t know what he was looking at.
The chair squeaked as Sideswipe wriggled again.
Sunstreaker sighed and put down his own stylus. So much for focusing on his sketch. All of that movement in his peripheral vision was too distracting.
“What the frag’s the matter with you?” Sunstreaker demanded, reaching out and poking Sideswipe with his field.
His twin blinked at him owlishly. “Huh?”
“You keep… fidgeting.” Sunstreaker made a vague motion to encompass all of Sideswipe’s recent behavior.
Sideswipe blinked again. “I am?” He tried for innocent. He failed.
Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing!” And that sounded too hasty. But Sideswipe did put his datapad and stylus down and rise to his feet. “I gotta go.”
“Out.” Sideswipe backed toward the door, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “To the facilities. The washracks. The things. You know.”
Sunstreaker’s suspicions grew. “I just waxed you this morning. What do you need a wash for?” He shoved to his feet, spacing his datapad as he stalked toward Sideswipe and grabbed his shoulders. He spun his brother around in circles. “What did you do to yourself already?”
“Nothing. I’m perfect. Sheesh.” Sideswipe batted his hands away and danced out of Sunstreaker’s grasp. “This has nothing to do with my paint.”
“Then what is it?” Sunstreaker demanded. He tapped into the bond, but Sideswipe’s end was quieter than usual, with only the dimmest sense of discomfort and urgency to give Sunstreaker some kind of idea.
“I have to empty my tank!” Sideswipe huffed and threw his hands into the air. “There. Primus allmighty, Sunstreaker. Can I go and do that on my own or do I need your help with that, too?”
Sunstreaker went still. Utterly still. Sunstreaker stared at Sideswipe, who appeared both annoyed and indignant, as something squirmed deep in his belly.
It was only meant in jest.
No. He would not activate his fans. He would not let his processor run away with the possibilities. He would not.
Sunstreaker closed his hands into fists. “Of course you don’t,” he snapped, and spun on a heelstrut. “If that’s all it is then just say so, you idiot.” His spark raced and he worried, what if he hadn’t been as careful as he thought.
“Well, I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t insist on knowing everything I do,” Sideswipe retorted and Sunstreaker could all but hear him roll his optics. “Besides, it’s embarrassing.”
Sunstreaker dropped down into his chair and buried his face behind a datapad, just so he wouldn’t have to look at his stupid twin. “You? The master of all things ridiculous finds something embarrassing. Perish the thought.” He flicked a hand at Sideswipe without looking at him. “Go. Take care of it.”
This was him. Very uninterested. Totally focused on his datapad and only his datapad. The one he hadn’t even turned back on yet, but Sideswipe didn’t know that. He didn’t have to know that.
“But, well, what if I did need help?”
Sunstreaker froze. His ventilations stalled.
“Then you should call Ratchet,” he said, without looking up, manually telling his ventilations to start again. A heat flushed through his frame. “He’s the medical expert here, not me. And it sounds like you have a personal problem.”
Sideswipe huffed. “Ratchet’s busy.”
“Then ask Hoist.”
“He’s busy, too.”
“First Aid isn’t.”
“But that would be even more embarrassing.” Sideswipe’s tone approached a whine, a theatrical one.
Sunstreaker worked his intake. “I don’t know what you think I can do about it then,” he retorted.
Footsteps. Movement in his peripheral vision and then suddenly, Sunstreaker had a lapful of red Lamborghini, and his datapad ended up crushed against his chestplate. Sideswipe’s arms fell over his shoulders as Sideswipe pressed their foreheads together.
“I don’t think you’re paying attention, bro,” Sideswipe said with a little wriggle of his hips that both Sunstreaker and Ratchet never failed to be seduced by. “Cause I have a problem and I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can solve it.”
Sunstreaker’s gaze skittered to the side. “You’re being ridiculous. If you wanted to frag, you could’ve just said so.”
“I’m not talking about fragging.” Sideswipe’s hips wriggled again. “Well, okay, that can come after.”
“You’re not making any sense!” Sunstreaker snapped and shoved at his brother’s chestplate with his hands and datapad. His spark shivered, his tank twisting into a knot. “Get off me.”
Sideswipe’s thighs tightened on his, arms staying around Sunstreaker’s shoulders. “Oh, ho. That’s a lie and you know it is. You know exactly what I’m talking about, Sunshine.” He rolled his hips forward. “And if the bond is telling me anything, it’s showing me just how much you know.”
Sunstreaker gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Why are you teasing me, Sides?”
“That is the last thing I’m doing.” Sideswipe’s voice turned softer, his field stroking along Sunstreaker’s with warmth and reassurance. “I’m making an offer. One that I think you’ve been interested in for a while, though you haven’t said anything.”
Sunstreaker’s engine whined. He clutched the datapad harder. He was right all along. “I didn’t clear the browser history,” he whispered in realization.
Sideswipe pressed a kiss to the tip of his nasal ridge. “No, you didn’t.”
He dimmed his optics. “Are you serious?”
“When it comes to you, always.” Sideswipe pressed another kiss on his forehead. “Ratchet’s in on it, too. In fact, he kind of told me to wait, but–”
“You’ve never been good at waiting,” Sunstreaker sighed. He couldn’t bring himself to lift his gaze.
“Nope!” Sideswipe said cheerfully, giving another wriggle. In fact, he was a mech in constant motion.
Maybe the need to empty his tank wasn’t a lie after all. He kept squirming as though trying to distract himself, or perhaps, shift the pressure away from his full tank.
“Come on, Sunny. Don’t you want to give me a hand?” Sideswipe purred, nipping at Sunstreaker’s head vents.
Sunstreaker worked his intake. “You don’t think it’s… gross?”
Sideswipe sat back a little, one arm shifting so that his hand gripped Sunstreaker’s jaw. He pulled Sunstreaker’s head up, forcing their gazes to meet.
“Listen,” he began, and it was with his serious face, the one few knew he was capable of having. “Ratchet sat down and gave me a lecture, a long lecture. And yeah, maybe I don’t get the appeal, but you will never be ‘gross’ to me, no matter what. Got me?”
That wasn’t entirely reassuring.
Sunstreaker gnawed on his bottom lip, the shame still creeping in at the edges. “You don’t have to do it just ‘cause I want to,” he said.
“I know that.” Sideswipe pressed their foreheads together, his ex-vents ghosting over Sunstreaker’s face and intake. “But I can try. Who knows? I might even like it. The fisting turned out pretty sexy, didn’t it?”
It had. This was very true. But fisting was miles away from… from this.
“I promise,” Sideswipe murmured, his thumb stroking over Sunstreaker’s chin. “Nothing you could ever want would make me love you less.” He dipped his head and captured Sunstreaker’s lips, initiating a soft kiss.
Sunstreaker sighed into it, his spark rippling with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. He remained uncertain, but he trusted Sideswipe’s love for him.
“Fine,” he said against Sideswipe’s lips, his insides coiling with expectancy. Numerous fantasies sprung back to life in the back of his processor.
“Good. Then let’s go!” Sideswipe hopped to his feet, grabbed Sunstreaker’s hand, and tugged.
Sunstreaker cycled his optics and didn’t budge. “Right now?”
Sideswipe chuckled and squeezed his hand. “Yes. Right now. I mean, if you don’t want to do this now, that’s fine. Either way, my tank needs to be emptied. And soon.” His free hand rubbed at his lower left ventrum, and his smile drooped toward a grimace. “I may have accelerated the processing a little.”
Sunstreaker rose to his feet, letting Sideswipe tug him toward the door. “Let me guess. You went against Ratchet’s advice and did something you weren’t supposed to do.”
“Who? Me?” Sideswipe grinned at him, though it dipped at one corner. His tugging increased in earnest. “Would I do that?”
Sunstreaker gave him a look, one that didn’t require words. But he let Sideswipe pull him out of their quarters and down the hall.
“The washracks are that way,” Sunstreaker said, pointing behind them.
“Yeah. I’m not using those.” Sideswipe tossed a wink over his shoulder. “We need privacy, don’t you think?”
Heat stole into Sunstreaker’s face. He worked his intake. “Oh. Yeah. I guess.” He honestly didn’t want anyone walking in on what they were about to do. Whatever it was. He didn’t know which parts Sideswipe had seen and which he hadn’t, and Sunstreaker was too afraid to ask.
“Where are we going then?” Sunstreaker asked.
Sideswipe put a little dance in his step, but it was with less enthusiasm than usual. “Where else? Who do you think gave me codes to a private washrack?”
Ratchet. Of course it was Ratchet. Sunstreaker would have to thank him later, once the anxiety stopped gnawing at his tanks. It left him waffling. Should he do this? Should he not?
Sideswipe put more haste into his step, his hand attached to his abdominal armor as though that soothed the discomfort.
“What did you do?” Sunstreaker demanded. “Drink a whole box of coolant?”
Sideswipe grimaced at him. “Not in so many gallons. Just some kind of accelerant. I don’t know. I didn’t realize it would be this, um, quick.”
Sunstreaker palmed his face. “Primus save me from idiot twins,” he muttered. “It’s called an accelerant for a reason, dumbaft.”
“Well, I know that now,” Sideswipe drawled, only to brighten, his aft wiggling. “We’re here!”
He towed Sunstreaker to a door, and put in the command code with eager jabs of his finger. The moment the door slid open, Sideswipe all but yanked Sunstreaker inside, his palm slamming the locking panel on the other side.
“Ahh, privacy,” Sideswipe said, and finally let go of Sunstreaker’s hand, though the other still rubbed over his abdomen.
It was indeed private. It was a single stall, could probably hold four average sized mechs comfortably. Sunstreaker could lay down within it if he wished, though he might have to draw up his knees. There was only the one entrance, further proving that it would be private, and as far as he could tell, no monitoring equipment.
“So how do you want to do this?” Sideswipe asked, snatching Sunstreaker’s attention. He spread his hands and turned in a circle. “Should I just, uh…” He trailed off and made a vague gesture that Sunstreaker assumed was meant to illustrate him emptying his tank.
Sunstreaker’s face heated. His gaze wandered to the wall. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, and scratched at the side of his nasal ridge. “I mean, it’s not like I ever thought it would actually happen.”
“Yeah, but you fantasized about it, right?”
The heat became an inferno. His engine whined. He nodded.
“So tell me one of your fantasies then. We can do that.” In his peripheral vision, Sideswipe bounced on his heelstruts. “Or, you know, we could start out simple and you could just kiss me. Feeling a bit lonely over here, bro.”
Sunstreaker wanted to go somewhere and hide. His fantasies were not fit for sharing. They were humiliating, gross, and most of them he wasn’t sure he wanted to ever experience in real life, much less tell his brother about them.
He still wasn’t convinced Sideswipe knew what he was getting into when he made this offer. But kissing? That Sunstreaker could do.
Sunstreaker pinned Sideswipe against the wall, his hands pressed to either side of Sideswipe’s chassis, and slanted his mouth over his twin’s. It was easy to kiss Sideswipe, easy to get lost in the press of their lips, the tangle of their glossa. Sunstreaker’s engine purred as the kiss deepened, and Sideswipe’s arms fell over his shoulders, tugging him close.
Their frames collided, metal to metal, chest to chest. Sunstreaker shivered, feeling his brother’s spark pulse in sync with his. There was nothing in Sideswipe’s field but encouragement, affection, and the lingering sense of urgency.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Sunstreaker eased out of the kiss and focused his attention on Sideswipe’s intake. He licked and nibbled the heated cables beneath his lips as Sideswipe gasped and clutched at his shoulders.
Sunstreaker continued down, kissing Sideswipe’s chestplate, his headlights, and further still, until he could press his lips to Sideswipe’s belly. Somewhere to the right here was Sideswipe’s waste tank, and when he rested a hand against the armor, and gave it a push, Sideswipe groaned. His knees wobbled.
“You’re really full,” Sunstreaker whispered, dropping to his own knees, his hands cradling Sideswipe’s hips.
“I told you I was,” Sideswipe replied, and squirmed in Sunstreaker’s hold, his hips swaying from side to side. “Do you want me to–”
Sunstreaker shook his head. “No. Not yet.” He looked up at Sideswipe, his glossa flicking over his lips. “Hold out as long as you can?”
Sideswipe’s engine screeched. “I’ll – nnn – try.” More discomfort leaked into Sideswipe’s field, his squirming about as hot as the Pit.
Sunstreaker’s mouth watered. He worked his intake. “Open up for me?” he asked, ex-venting hotly over Sideswipe’s panel.
His brother shuddered, leaning harder against the wall as he scooched his feet further apart. But his panel did open, spike and valve both coming into view. Sunstreaker worked his intake again and pressed a kiss in greeting to Sideswipe’s anterior node. A low whine caught in his brother’s intake, hips jutting forward.
“I can’t decide if I’m aroused or desperate,” Sideswipe admitted with a pant.
“Probably both.” Sunstreaker dragged his mouth to Sideswipe’s spike, coaxing the unit out to play with both his denta and his glossa.
Sideswipe’s spike emerged readily, willing to greet the mouth who knew it well. Sunstreaker smirked to himself and suckled on the tip, his glossa poking at the transfluid slit. Sideswipe shuddered, sliding a little further down the wall, his spike giving a happy pulse. It wasn’t fully pressurized, a little soft in the circumference, but Sunstreaker suspected that was because of the pressure on Sideswipe’s waste tank.
Sunstreaker moaned around Sideswipe’s spike and gripped his hip harder. He freed one hand to tease at his brother’s valve, his fingers tickling around the rim and gathering up dribbles of lubricant. Sideswipe gasped and ground down on his fingers, his valve cycling needfully.
“You keep… doing that…” Sideswipe gasped, and his head hit the wall with a thunk.
Sunstreaker sucked harder on his spike, sucked it like he could pull the overload right out of Sideswipe. He slipped two fingers into Sideswipe’s valve, hooking them to rub mercilessly on the nodes behind his exterior nub, the ones that made his knees wobble.
Sideswipe clutched at his head.
“I’m not gonna be able to hold it,” Sideswipe said in a rush, a full-length tremor rattling his frame.
Sunstreaker let Sideswipe’s spike fall from his mouth, rubbing the rounded tip against his cheek. “That’s fine,” he replied before taking Sideswipe’s spike back into his mouth, his own frame shivering.
Heat coiled within him faster and faster. The pressure mounted in his groin until he couldn’t hold back anymore, his own panels popping and his spike surging free. It bobbed, cool air whisking across the tip.
Sideswipe moaned, scrabbling at his head, his shoulders. His entire frame rattled as he attempted to hold onto himself.
“Just tell me to stop if you don’t wanna do this,” Sunstreaker said across the comm, unwilling to take his lips away from Sideswipe’s spike for even a moment. It throbbed on his glossa, as Sideswipe’s valve clamped hungrily on his fingers, trying to draw them deeper.
Sideswipe answer was to gasp and buck his hips, his hands slamming against the wall. His backstrut arched, his vents roaring and rattling. Sunstreaker looked up, saw him in silhouette, and he was beautiful.
“Sunny,” Sideswipe gasped aloud, his voice wreathed in static. “I’m gonna, I can’t, Sunny, I’m gonna-gonna-”
Action replaced words.
Sideswipe’s tank gave before his overload did. Sunstreaker’s hand latched onto Sideswipe’s hips as the first spurts of Sideswipe’s waste struck his glossa, and slithered down his intake. It was thick, oily, hot, sour. It was gritty and bitter, and Sunstreaker’s intake convulsed.
He pulled off, coughing. Sideswipe didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. The stream spurted on Sunstreaker’s face, his intake, it slithered down across his chestplate, it got into his seams. He felt it tickle against his cables, his struts, heard the pattering of it as it struck his armor, like a bitter rainfall.
Sunstreaker’s fans roared, but he heard it through a tunnel. His glossa flicked across his lips, catching the bitter taste, and Sideswipe still shook and trembled, making the cutest sounds. Sunstreaker ignored the convulsions in his intake and took Sideswipe into his mouth again, his fingers shoving deep into Sidewipe’s valve. He fingered him aggressively, seeking out nodes with single-minded determination, his thumb rubbing hard on Sideswipe’s anterior nub.
Sunstreaker’s tank rippled. The flow became a trickle, dribbling down his intake, over his glossa. The taste similar to his own but somehow not. It wasn’t pleasant by any definition. Like energon that had been left out, uncapped and unfiltered. Bitter and gritty, coating his intake like a spill of paint.
It was disgusting.
Sunstreaker moaned as the scent of it filled his olfactory sensors, clearly Sideswipe, but this, too. It was dizzying. It was on his armor, in his seams, soaking him all the way through. It formed a puddle beneath his knees. Sunstreaker’s spike throbbed, and his hand left Sideswipe’s hip before he could stop himself, wrapping fingers around his spike and giving it a squeeze.
Sideswipe moaned, his hips bucking into Sunstreaker’s mouth. The flow stopped and his spike fully pressurized in a snap, rubbing over Sunstreaker’s glossa. His spike throbbed, his valve clutching hungrily, desperately. Sideswipe rattled, charge bleeding out from beneath his armor, his hands clawing at the wall.
He said something, an unintelligible blurt of words, his hips thrusting his spike deeper and deeper into Sunstreaker’s intake. Pre-fluid trickled freely, coating Sunstreaker’s glossa. Sideswipe’s engine revved, reaching a pitch Sunstreaker knew all too well, as he all but used Sunstreaker’s mouth for his own pleasure.
Sunstreaker stripped his own spike harder, jerking himself with a reckless abandon. Pleasure gathered in his belly, coiling and coiling into a tight knot of need. It clawed toward his array on volcanic fingers.
Above him, Sideswipe abruptly shouted, curling over Sunstreaker’s head as he overloaded, spurt after spurt of transfluid jetting against the back of Sunstreaker’s intake. It joined the mess in his mouth, in his tank.
Sunstreaker spat nothing but static as the overload grabbed hold, and tossed him into a storm of lightning. Pleasure spat out of his spike rapid-fire, transfluid striping the floor and Sideswipe’s feet, and even the wall behind him. His feet tingled. His spark thrashed in his casing. His vents roared, cooling fans screeching.
And then Sideswipe was shoving him off his spike, ever sensitive in the wake of overload, and all Sunstreaker could do was pull off and lean his forehead on Sideswipe’s hip. He panted for ventilation, his world spinning around him, the stench of wastefluid on him, around him, within him.
Primus save him.
He couldn’t bring himself to look up. His hands, both of them sticky with lubricant and transfluid, rested on Sideswipe’s hips. He didn’t dare twitch them. He didn’t want to be noticed. He wondered if he didn’t look up, he could melt away right here.
What if he looked up and there was nothing but disgust? Saying he was okay with something, and then actually doing it, seeing it? Those were world’s apart. Right now, Sunstreaker was filthy. Disgusting. Dirty. He knew it.
Sideswipe shivered again. A ripple passed through his armor. A hand pawed at Sunstreaker’s head. He ignored it until he couldn’t, when fingers curled under his head vent and tugged.
Sunstreaker hissed as he shoved himself to his feet, Sideswipe’s grip unrelenting. He even tried to pull Sunstreaker into a kiss, his other hand hooking around Sunstreaker’s waist and tugging him close.
Sunstreaker turned away as best he could, painfully aware of the mess on his face, sticky and drying and odious.
“Sides, I’ve got–”
“I don’t care!” Sideswipe insisted, cutting off his protest.
He tugged on Sunstreaker’s head vent again, pulling him into a kiss. Sunstreaker made a muffled sound, his spark throbbing with surprise. The kiss was brief, just a brush of their lips, a flick of Sideswipes’ glossa, but it was a kiss nonetheless.
Sunstreaker sagged with relief, easing into Sideswipe’s embrace.
His brother pulled back and made a face, wriggling his jaw. “Okay, so that’s probably not going to be my thing,” he said, twitching his nasal ridge.
Despite himself, Sunstreaker barked a static-filled laugh. “I didn’t say I liked the taste, moron,” he retorted, rolling his optics.
Sideswipe’s thumb swept over Sunstreaker’s head vents. “Well, it’s not like I know what you like about it, sheesh.” His lips curved into a soft smile.
Behind them, the door panel gave a confirming beep and blat, the distinct noises of someone overriding the lock.
What the frag!?