[G1] Stolen Time

“Ow!”

“Stop squirmin’ and it won’t hurt so much.”

“Wouldn’t hurt at all if you hadn’t shot me!”

“If you hadn’t dove at Bluestreak, I wouldn’t have shot you.”

“Oh.” Skywarp’s uninjured wing twitches, the very picture of indignant. “I see. So that’s how it is.”

“No. It ain’t even.” Jazz shoves a palm against Skywarp’s cockpit, smearing battle soot on the glass. “Don’t start that pitslag. That ain’t how this works.”

“This doesn’t work at all,” Skywarp huffs as his finger gestures between them. He’s doing a fair impression of his mercurial trinemate at the moment, too. “You fragging shot me!”

Jazz shrugs. “Not like it’s the first time.”

“Not the point!”

“You’ve shot me before.”

“I missed,” Skwarp retorts, and his lower lip wobbles, his red optics taking on a soft, pouting hue.

“Yeah, well, I ain’t known for missing.” Jazz tucks away his emergency medkit and smooths his fingers over the makeshift patch. He scoots a little closer, further up Skywarp’s thighs. “Come on now. We only got an hour, tops. You wanna waste it arguin’ the same old slag?”

“No.” Skywarp pouts, but wraps Jazz in an embrace anyway. He reeks of the battlefield, but then, so does Jazz. “I’m tired of this.”

“Me, too, flitterbit.” He rests his helm on Skywarp’s chest, feeling the strong thrum of the Seeker’s spark against his cheek.

“Hate that,” Skywarp grumbles.

Jazz chuckles and rises up on his knees to nip at the underside of Skywarp’s chin. “No, ya don’t.”

Skywarp peers down at him, the light in his optics brighter now, less sulk and more heat. His lips curve into that cheeky grin Jazz loves so much. “Frisky?”

“An hour. Remember?”

Skywarp’s hands move to cup Jazz’s aft, pulling him closer. “I do. It’s enough for a quickie or two, right?”

“Or three,” Jazz corrects and slides his hands around to Skywarp’s back, his fingers sinking into a seam and pinching the cables.

“Three it is,” Skywarp purrs and hoists Jazz into a kiss, one of eager lips and a wet glossa, and feeling oh-so-good.

Jazz hums approvingly, his own spark spinning faster. Maybe only an hour here or there, but still worth it, he thinks. Still worth every second.

[G1] Taking Care of Business

Of all the things Elita expects to see on the secret camera feed she’d had Greenlight hack, Shockwave getting stuffed up the valve by some kind of metallic tentacled thing is not on the list.

Lancer gasps. Chromia leers. Greenlight has the gall to activate the Primus-forsaken zoom, until there’s nothing on the screen but Shockwave’s twitching frame and the writhing tentacles around it.

“What is he doing?” Lancer asks, horror etched into her face.

“Taking care of business, if you ask me,” Chromia says with a laugh.

“I’m jealous. That looks like fun,” Moonracer chimes in.

“Why’s he get all the good toys?” Firestar pouts.

“Fun!” Lancer repeats, close to a shriek. All the color’s drained from her face. “He’s interfacing with a… a….”

“I dunno what that is,” Chromia says. “But old one optic sure looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

“Quintesson spawn maybe,” Greenlight says categorically. A few key presses and the image clarifies, highlighting just how lubricated Shockwave is and how much it glistens.

The zoom focuses on a very thick tentacle with circular bulges. It plunges into Shockwave, pushing deep, and then proceeds to pump. The spheres vanish into Shockwave one by one.

“What is it doing?” Lancer demands. She’s backed away from the screen now.

Firestar laughs and leans closer, her optics bright. “I never took Shockwave for one with carrier longing, but I guess it takes all kinds, huh?”

“They’re eggs, Lancie,” Greenlight says with a shrug. “I mean, probably. Rumor has it the Quints propagated using them.”

Shockwave’s abdominal armor begins to visibly bulge. The tentacle continues to pump more spheres into him. Yet, he makes no move to make it stop. If anything, he looks to be enjoying himself immensely.

“Gross,” Lancer says. She shudders.

“Which part? Shockwave or the eggs?” Chromia snickers.

“I’ll bet they are so big.” Moonracer shivers.

“Probably press so good over all those nodes, ya think?” Firestar chimes in.

Primus help them.

“Enough,” Elita says and leans over Greenlight’s shoulder, pressing the button to disengage their access. “Clearly this secure feed is not showing us anything of use.”

Chromia leers again. “Except that the purple boob must be getting lonely up in that tower of his.”

“I could use one of those things, if you ask me,” Moonracer says dreamily.

Lancer makes a gagging noise.

Elita sighs. She claps her hands together. “All right everyone. Back to business.” She shoos them away from the monitor. “We still have work to do.”

“So does Shockwave apparently,” Firestar says in a not at all whisper to Chromia. They laugh.

Elita sighs again.

[IDW] Unapologetic

It was decidedly unfair.

Starscream muffled another moan against his knuckles, denta grinding over his fingers as he struggled to keep quiet. Meanwhile, a long and agile glossa wound around his spike, stroking him perfectly, the tapered tip occasionally poking at his transfluid slit and teasing him with channel penetration.

His hips bucked, thighs quivering, array pulsing waves of scorching heat. Deathsaurus crouched in front of him like an avenging beast, his massive hands curled around Starscream’s thighs, keeping him spread and open. They were gentle, for all they held him firmly in place for Death’s oral assault.

Starscream’s wings fluttered. He leaned further back onto the communication console, struggling to buck up into Deathsaurus’ mouth but the commander’s grip preventing him from doing so.

Deathsaurus’ denta scraped along his spike, base to tip, his glossa laving an electric path of pleasure.

Starscream whimpered.

The access panel to the door chimed. Then beeped. Then denied access to whomever was on the other side.

Starscream froze. Deathsaurus’ sucked him deep and let Starscream linger in his intake, tubing squeezing at the tip of Starscream’s spike.

The panel beeped in the negative again. Someone was trying very hard to get inside. But no one could override Deathsaurus’ overrides.

Except Leozack.

“Hey!” Starscream shoved at Deathsaurus’ helm, even as four sets of optics turned up to look at him — creepy, but effective.

Deathsaurus had the nerve to smirk around Starscream’s spike, half his altmode optics flicked in a wink, and then he swallowed Starscream again.

A whine eked out of Starscream’s intake. He tipped his head back, drawing air through his denta.

The panel denied access again. And then it glowed a baleful orange, permanently locking out the person on the other side. Not Leozack then.

Thank Primus.

Deathsaurus chuckled, the vibrations taunting the tip of Starscream’s spike. The arrogant aft.

“You’ll pay for that later,” Starscream muttered, though it was less convincing when his wings shivered and his spike throbbed.

Deathsaurus smirked again, as if to say ‘I doubt it’ and given the way his glossa worked Starscream’s spike, the way his fingers flexed around Starscream’s thighs, he was probably right.

[TFP] Drawn Together

They had missed this ecstasy.

In the Pits, Soundwave had been as much a novelty for his data cables as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been for being twins. They were fetishized, used, bought and sold even. Until they all three gained enough fame, power, and skill to defy all but the most well-connected patrons.

Though rumor had it Soundwave had once defied a Senator and said political figure hadn’t dared say otherwise.

They’d been drawn to one another, like calling to like. The twins saw in Soundwave another outlier, another outcast. For all that Soundwave stood at the side of the great Megatronus, he was alone. For everyone knew who Megatronus truly had optics for.

Together, all three soon learned there was no greater ecstasy than acceptance. Together, they were no mere novelties and toys for amusement.

Together, they mattered.

Even when the war separated them, quiet moments were stolen. Faction badges were set aside as were responsibilities.

They moved together – Soundwave pressed between two near-matching frames, their sparks echoing back and forth while he was caught in the middle. His spark throbbed to match the beat, until he felt he was a part of them.

And he returned the favor.

He wrapped them in his cables, kept their frames close to his, and sank his manipulators into their ports. Charge and data crackled through their lines in a blazing bolt of need, as liquid heat seared their systems. He joined their pleasure, all three blending until they pulsed as one.

It was blinding ecstasy and all three soaked it in for as long as they could.

Acceptance. Belonging. One fed into the other, and for a single, blissful moment, they knew peace.

[IDW] Furniture Misuse

“It’s undignified!” he claimed.

“It’s unprofessional!” he sniped.

“It makes a mess!” he whined.

And yet none of that kept Pharma from snapping, “Harder, rust you! Or I’ll take it myself!” as Ratchet pounded into his valve with sharp thrusts.

He had Pharma against a filing cabinet this time, one of his partner’s legs thrown over his hip while Pharma clutched at him with fingers turned to gripping claws. Pharma huffed and snarled, his valve cinching hungrily on Ratchet’s spike. His ailerons fluttered, his lips peeled back over his denta.

“Any harder and I’ll dent your damn thruster,” Ratchet growled.

“You don’t have the strength,” Pharma hissed. A challenge.

Ratchet’s engine rumbled. He bit at Pharma’s intake, leaving a dent on those pristine cables, even as he hiked Pharma’s leg higher on his hip. He pounded into Pharma with abandon, hearing the scraping skreel of thruster on fancy cabinet.

“I’ll show you strength,” Ratchet snapped.

Pharma hitched a laugh. “Do try your best, Ratchet. We’ll see.”

Fragging. Arrogant. Jet!

There were going to be scrapes in the cabinet later.

Oh, the frag well.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

[TF] Chatterbox

In Bumblebee’s opinion, sucking spike was the best use for Skywarp’s mouth, only beating out licking valve by a slim margin.

Unfortunately, it was not Bumblebee’s turn.

Which left him with putting up with the single most obnoxious use of Skywarp’s mouth — a never-ending stream of nonsensical chatter.

“Ooo, take me deeper. Yes, right there. Oh, frag you’re good at this.”

Skywarp moaned. His hand cradled Bumblebee’s head, one thumb stroking Bumblebee’s sensory horn. The Seeker trembled with restrained charge, lust thick like syrup in his field. His spike throbbed on Bumblebee’s glossa as pre-fluid trickled down his intake.

“Suck on the tip,” Skywarp said, though it came out more like a request. “Do that thing with your denta. You know what I mean.”

Yes, Bumblebee did.

He dragged his mouth of Skywarp’s spike until he cradled the ridged crown with his denta. His glossa poked at the transfluid channel, sipping up the trickles of pre-fluid.
Skywarp growled pleasure, his hips rocking.

“Yessss. Perfect. Keep going. Drink me up, Bee. Suck me down.”

His hips made little circles as he worked himself deeper.

“Primus, I love it when you do that,” Skywarp praised with a low moan.

Bumblebee swallowed him down again, intake flexing around the crown. Skywarp squirmed and sighed, babbling more delight, more encouragement, more praise.

It was actually pretty cute now that Bumblebee thought about it.

“Yes! Primus, your mouth feels so good!”

Obnoxious.

But cute.

[Bay] Torturous Pleasure

There were many tortures Barricade had been trained to endure. Pain could be tolerated. Enjoyed even. Solitude was preferable.

Pleasure, however, was another thing altogether. Especially when he was forced to ride the hard edge of it with no relief in sight.

“You disobeyed me,” Starscream said with a sibilant hiss.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The murmured chastisement was enough to make Barricade’s armor crawl.

Or maybe that was the pleasure, lighting up his cables in waves of blue-white fire. He writhed in his bonds, engine red-lining, vents rattling.

Every strut, every rivet, every cable crackled with need. But overload remained out of reach. That mercy was in Starscream’s talons.

And Barricade had been disobedient.

“Well?” Starscream dragged a claw over Barricade’s tire, setting it to spin. “I’m not hearing an apology.”

He opened his mouth, and only managed a static-laced moan. Desperation tasted like discharged laserfire on his glossa.

Starscream chuckled darkly. “Take your time, pet. I can wait.”

His talon scraped down Barricade’s backstrut this time. The skreel of metal made him writhe. Static raced across his frame.

“Though I don’t know if you can,” Starscream taunted.

Barricade spat a binary noise, a stubborn rebuttal, even as need yawed in his spark.

Starscream hummed a laugh. “Yes. That’s what I thought.” He sighed theatrically. “I suppose I’ll have to start from the beginning.”

Oh, yes, there were worse tortures, Barricade knew. But in this moment, he couldn’t think of a single one.