The moment Sunstreaker stumbled, Megatron knew something was wrong. Sunstreaker did not stumble, especially not when hardly injured.
“Spinout?” Megatron was careful to use Sunstreaker’s stage name. They were both wanted mechs right now, which had necessitated both paint and name changes. “Are you–”
“Fine.” Sunstreaker’s optics were bright, his vents roaring, but nevertheless, he looked directly at Megatron, though also right through him. “And so are you.”
“Err. What?” Megatron cycled his optics as Sunstreaker lurched toward him, barely damaged save for several slash marks in his armor. His opponent this time around had been a joke. Sunstreaker had spent most of the past ten minutes toying with the mech.
Sunstreaker smirked and all but stumbled against Megatron’s chestplate. He reached up, grabbed Megatron’s head with both hands, and yanked him down into a hungry kiss, his glossa immediately plunging past Megatron’s lips.
Megatron made a muffled sound, his hands going to Sunstreaker’s hips, his spark whirling.
“Mmm.” Sunstreaker hummed against his mouth, lips open and ex-vents scorching. “Frag me,” he purred as their frames clashed together.
Megatron’s orbital ridges drew down. “I have no problems with that,” he said honestly. “As soon as we get back to our suite.” Also known as the tiny room that barely fit them.
“No. Now.” Sunstreaker growled and bit Megatron’s bottom lip. His optics flashed as he hooked an arm around Megatron’s neck and curled a leg around Megatron’s hip, grinding against his groin.
Megatron startled. He would have staggered backward, save Sunstreaker’s weight on him kept him in place. “We’re in public!” he hissed.
“So?” Sunstreaker’s panel opened with an audible click, and he rolled his wet valve over Megatron’s armor. “Nnnn, Primus, Meta. Frag me hard. Against the wall,” he slurred, sounding as though he’d been binging on engex again.
But he hadn’t. Megatron had been watching his intake carefully. Sunstreaker had only been consuming low-grade, and when they could spare it, mid-grade.
“Have you lost your mind?” Megatron demanded.
Sunstreaker just moaned and ground against him again. He buried his face in Megatron’s intake, lips and denta nipping at the delicate cables there.
Someone behind Megatron snickered. He couldn’t turn to look, but his peripheral vision caught sight of Barricade, a fellow gladiator and the shifty sort. He was like Sunstreaker, one of the nimbler, more agile types, relying on his flails more often than not.
“Don’t ya know?” Barricade said as he rolled by on wheeled feet also not unlike Sunstreaker’s. “Toxen coats his claws in Skuxxoid venom.”
Toxen being Sunstreaker’s prior opponent.
“So?” Megatron asked as one of Sunstreaker’s hands tried to slip into his seams and Megatron caught him about the wrist. Now was not the time.
Raspy laughter echoed from Megatron’s left, opposite of Barricade. Motormouth, of course. Never one without the other.
“Means the only thing your partner needs is exactly what he’s asking for,” Motormouth said as he licked his lips, his visor bright and hungry. He watched Sunstreaker writhing against Megatron with a look that Megatron did not like.
“Or a shot from a medic,” Barricade added with a clicking-clunk of him checking his flails for combat-readiness. His match was next after all. “But who has the creds for that?”
“If ya don’t want him, I’ll play with him,” Motormouth said slyly, and he reached for Sunstreaker, his engine revving.
Megatron growled and slung an arm around Sunstreaker’s chassis, hauling his partner against his chestplate as he stepped back. “Frag off!”
Barricade and Motormouth laughed in eerie unison. “So the rumors are true,” Barricade purred, winking half of his quadruple optics. “Pity.”
The ready bell donged then, mercifully, calling the two gladiators away. Leaving Megatron with an amorous, lustful Sunstreaker. One who was whining piteously now and humping Megatron’s hip like a starving buymech.
Sunstreaker moaned. “Please,” he said, nuzzling into Megatron’s intake. “Hurts.”
Megatron cupped his helm and cycled a ventilation. They couldn’t afford a medic. Not after having to start from the bottom all over again. And especially not a Pit medic.
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised, his spark clenching. When Sunstreaker came back to himself, he was going to be furious. “But in our room.”
Sunstreaker shuddered and pressed harder against him, lubricant dripping freely now, soaking Megatron’s armor. “Please,” he whimpered.
Megatron’s spark sank. Yes, Sunstreaker was going to be furious indeed. He hated weakness: admitting it, displaying it, holding it. And the desperation in his field, in his gaze, was all the things Sunstreaker loathed.
For now, however, Megatron would do what he could to ease the pain.
He scooped Sunstreaker into his arms and hurried back to their private room. He couldn’t linger and wait for their manager to hand over Sunstreaker’s winnings. Sunstreaker was already hot in his arms, thrashing around, his vents roaring and his plating gapped. He needed relief and he needed it now.
Megatron had promised to look after him. He didn’t intend to go back on his word now.