Thundercracker and Bumblebee
A Sum of Parts
“Have I told you how glad I am you came back?”
“Twice already.” Thundercracker chuckles as he nuzzles the top of Bumblebee’s head. His lips brush over a sensitive horn, but don’t linger. For now. “But it’s nice to hear it again.”
Bumblebee curls closer to him, his field wrapping around Thundercracker like a secondary embrace, his frame warm and his engine thrumming. This, right here, is the reason Thundercracker ventured back to Cybertron. No other. When he’d received the all-call return, Thundercracker had debated ignoring it. What if it is false? What if the truce fails like so many before it? What if he finds himself caught up in another battle, another episode of horrendous, pointless destruction?
What if?
He’d let curiosity take him back to Cybertron. He promised himself he’d stay low, stay out of sight, try and get a read on the state of the planet, and decide then. He’d seen two factions on opposite sides of a city. Weapons were laid aside. A recurring broadcast outlined the terms of the truce and the Procreation Project. An ambient buzz of hope lay over the entire city.
And then Bumblebee’s voice crackled through his comm.
“Hey, Thunder,” Bumblebee said. “I’ve got a berth for you if ever feel like coming home.”
Home.
The word rocketed through his spark like a blaster shot, sent him bobbing mid-flight. He wanted with a longing so intense it took his vents away.
Thundercracker flew out of sight from Crystal City, and perched in an abandoned aerie. He watched Cybertron. He took in the devastation. He considered his options. And then he followed the call of his spark, and Bumblebee’s voice, home. Just this once, he’d put his faith in hope. This one last time.
Now here they are, wrapped together in Bumblebee’s berth, one he must have requested with Thundercracker in mind because it’s far too large for a minibot alone. Bumblebee’s vents rattle. His armor is pitted and scored. From here, Thundercracker can see his cane, propped up against a desk. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember that Bumblebee is as old as he is. Perhaps even older.
“Are you planning on staying?” Bumblebee asks.
Thundercracker doesn’t miss the yearning in his voice. It probably matches his own.
“If this truce is sincere, then yes.” Thundercracker strokes a hand down Bumblebee’s back, fingers tracing an old battle wound. “Are you asking because of Prowl’s repopulation plan?”
Bumblebee chuckles. “You know me so well.” He stirs and rises up, meeting Thundercracker’s optics. “But you know, if we do participate…”
“I’ll have to carry,” Thundercracker finishes for him. His spark does a little flip of excitement. “I don’t mind.”
“Really?”
Thundercracker brushes his thumb over Bumblebee’s lips. “Would you believe me if I told you I’ve always wanted to carry?”
“I would. It seems to be a Seeker trait.” Bumblebee cracks into a grin, probably referencing both Starscream and Skywarp, both of whom are already sparked. Or maybe that’s because dinobots are so particularly fertile. “I’m just surprised you’d want to carry for me. I mean, I am–”
“A minibot?” Thundercracker arches an orbital ridge and shifts so he can pull Bumblebee closer, pressing their foreheads together. “What you are makes no difference. You’re the one I love.”
Bumblebee’s field pushes at him, vibrating with warmth. “And won’t that horrify everyone?”
“We’ve been killing each other for millennia. If knowing we can love each other is what terrifies everyone, I worry for the future of our people,” Thundercracker says dryly. He brushes their noses together. “So yes. I’ll carry for you.”
Bumblebee’s engine purrs. “Good.” His lips brush over Thundercracker’s. “Because you know how much I love to make you moan for me.”
A thrill dances through Thundercracker’s spark, and sends a surge of charge through his lines. “Is that so?” he asks lightly, trying not to show how very suddenly aroused he is.
“Mm hm. We can start now if you like. It might take a few tries.” Bumblebee chuckles and shifts, nudging his way between Thundercracker’s thighs with insistent presses of his knees. “I’m not a dinobot. But you know what they say, practice makes perfect.”
Thundercracker shivers. “You’ll see no protest from me.”
“I thought so.” Bumblebee’s lips hover over his, tempting him with a kiss. “I love how your optics darken to a most beautiful blue when you want me. They are a few shades shy of your paint, you know.”
“I did not miss how much of a tease you were,” Thundercracker groans. He grips Bumblebee’s hips, trying to push him down, toward the heat growing behind Thundercracker’s panel.
Bumblebee resists, much stronger than he looks. “It’s called foreplay, love.” He seals their lips together, glossa slipping into Thundercracker’s mouth. He kisses slowly, languidly, like they have all the time in the world.
Which now they do. Now that the war isn’t hanging over their heads and peace is a real possibility. Thundercracker is here to stay so he supposes they can savor all they want now.
It’s an intoxicating though.
Bumblebee’s always been like this, one to relish, even when they didn’t truly have the time for it. He’s always been more interested in pleasuring Thundercracker, even if meant having to drive away unsatisfied. He’s exceptionally giving, or maybe it’s a kink of his, who knows. Either way, Thundercracker has benefited in spades over the decades.
Bumblebee’s lips wander away, following the curve of Thundercracker’s jaw, down and around, past his audials, to the hollow of his intake. “You smell like the sky,” Bumblebee murmurs as he licks and nuzzles, stirring Thundercracker’s sensor net.
“Well, I am a Seeker,” Thundercracker replies. He fists the covers and sinks into the sensation. He knows better than to try and rush Bumblebee.
The minibot has always had his own pace. Thundercracker can only lay back and enjoy.
Bumblebee chuckles. “And a pretty one at that. The prettiest.”
“Now I know you’re just flattering me.”
Bumblebee looks up from mouthing the edge of Thundercracker’s cockpit. “You think?”
“Mm hm.” A shiver of arousal throbs hot and heavy through Thundercracker’s lines. “Starscream’s the prettiest. Everyone knows it.”
“Mmm. Well, to each their own.” Bumblebee licks the seam of Thundercracker’s cockpit and shimmies further down, mapping each seam with his glossa. “Personally, you’re my favorite.”
Thundercracker licks his lips. “Your opinion is biased.”
Fingers trace his seams, and charge crackles up, nipping at Bumblebee’s fingertips. Thundercracker swallows a moan.
“When you squirm like this for me, how can you be anything but gorgeous?” Bumblebee asks as he presses a kiss to Thundercracker’s abdomen, his hands making broad sweeps, painting lines of pleasure over Thundercracker’s armor. “I love to watch you, Thunder. Love the way you twist and writhe for me.”
Heat throbs through Thundercracker’s lines. It stains his face. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the worship in Bumblebee’s words, like he has to make Thundercracker feel desired in every way. It’s seduction in itself.
Thundercracker’s head tips back against the berth. “We’ve not seen each other in years, and you’re still going to take your time.”
“Of course.” Bumblebee ex-vents, hot and damp over Thundercracker’s interface panel. “Open for me?”
Spike and valve bare themselves without a second thought. A brief puff of air teases the damp tip of his spike and then the gentlest of kisses graces his anterior node. Thundercracker garbles an untranslatable sound, and his fingers twist in the berth sheets.
“There you are,” Bumblebee murmurs. The flat of his glossa slides over Thundercracker’s valve, tracing the rim, teasing the cluster of sensitive nodes at the lower edge of it.
Thundercracker shivers. His thighs tremble where they press against Bumblebee’s shoulders. “I’m nothing special,” he says.
Bumblebee licks him, his glossa pushing deep, before he laps over Thundercracker’s nub with the tip of his glossa. “You’re gorgeous,” he corrects, and he buries his face against Thudnercracker’s valve, licking and sucking and worshiping with evident enjoyment.
Pleasure shoots through Thundercracker’s lines like lightning. His spike throbs, and he closes a hand around it before he thinks twice. Bumblebee’s words have always been a seduction, and now’s no different because he sounds so certain, so matter-of-fact. As if his observation is a universal truth.
Water is wet. All suns die. And Thundercracker is beautiful.
He shivers, heels digging into the berth. Bumblebee’s mouth makes lewd, wet sounds against his valve. He licks and sucks until Thundercracker drips with lubricant, his valve pulsing hungry. His glossa pushes into Thundercracker’s valve, as deep as he can reach, and Thundercracker’s calipers flutter.
Thundercracker squeezes his spike, stroking himself, sweeping his thumb over the tip. He’s not sure if he wants to delay release, or encourage it. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, his free hand tangling in the berth covers.
Bumblebee wraps his lips around Thundercracker’s nub and gives it a suck. Thundercracker looses a strangled cry, his backstrut arching, charge a surging tide through his sensornet. His nub throbs. His valve ripples. More fluid dribbles from the tip of his spike.
“Mm,” Bumblebee hums, the sound vibrating over Thundercracker’s array. “You taste sweet.”
Thundercracker huffs a laugh. “I taste the same as everyone else.”
Bumblebee mouthes a firm pressure around Thundercracker’s swollen node and Thundercracker jerks. He looks down, and Bumblebee smirks at him, all Autobot-bright optics, his mouth visibly slick with Thundercracker’s lubricant.
“Better than,” Bumblebee corrects and he shifts, crawling up Thundercracker’s frame as far as he can reach, two fingers slipping into Thundercracker’s valve in his wake. They crook, pressing hard over the nodes on the inner rim.
Thundercracker jerks, head tossing back, as overload tears through his frame. His spike dribbles, valve clamping tight, trapping Bumblebee’s fingers. He pants heavy ventilations through the pleasure, and then he’s gasping into Bumblebee’s mouth, tasting himself on Bumblebee’s glossa and the sweeping brush of Bumblebee’s finger over his node.
Bumblebee vents. The thick length of his spike ruts over Thundercracker’s thigh. His fingers are sticky-wet against Thundercracker’s side.
“I want you so much,” Bumblebee says over his lips and nuzzles into Thundercracker’s intake. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Thundercracker’s spark throbs a heavy, hungry beat. He draws up his knees, traps Bumblebee between his thighs, rolls his hips to get his spike where it needs to be. He shivers as the head of it bumps over his swollen node, teasing him.
“Spike me before I change my mind.” Thundercracker’s frame trembles with the echoes of his last release, his spark thrumming with emotions. He doesn’t know how Bumblebee always manages to do this to him.
He’s not complaining.
Bumblebee licks the corner of his mouth. “You’re not going to,” he teases, but he obeys.
He slides down – the height difference is a little irritating sometimes – and fits himself between Thundercracker’s thighs. His hands are full of worship as they sweep Thundercracker’s sides, his hips, his thighs. They slip inward, thumbs framing Thundercracker’s valve, one brushing over his node and sending a sharp ache of need through Thundercracker’s lines.
“I’m going to spark you,” Bumblebee says in a quiet, reverent tone. His thumb rubs gentle circles over Thundercracker’s node as he rolls his hips, the head of his spike teasing the inner rim of Thundercracker’s valve. “You’re going to carry my sparkling, a little Seekerlet, and everyone’s going to know how much I love you.”
Thundercracker’s spark swells. It’s the first time Bumblebee’s ever said that word aloud. It’s been an unspoken truth between them, both refusing to admit it because the war tends to tear down and destroy anything so precious. Neither of them have dared take that risk.
It’s different now. The world is different now. There’s a future, however tentative. The risk is worth it.
Affection surges through Thundercracker’s field. He tightens his thighs around Bumblebee’s hips, rocking upward to encourage Bumblebee deeper.
“Yes,” he moans. “I love you, too.”
Blue optics glimmer. Bumblebee cradles Thundercracker’s hips, and then he slides into Thundercracker, slowly so slowly, like he’s trying to sample each and every node. Bumblebee’s so thick, his spike broad and smooth, and a shiver starts in Thundercracker’s feet and travels up his entire frame.
He wishes he could kiss Bumblebee, but their height difference makes that impossible. All Thundercracker can do is shove his knuckles against his mask, muffle his embarrassing cries, as Bumblebee drives him crazy with slow, savoring pleasure. Thundercracker pulses affection in his field, feels Bumblebee respond in kind, with something softer. Sweeter.
With love.
Thundercracker groans. His spark fills the entirety of his chassis, his chestplates juttering beneath the cover his cockpit.
“We can have the ceremony now, if the truce lasts,” Bumblebee murmurs, his hands sweeping reverently over Thundercracker’s armor, his hips moving in slow, deep rolls, dragging pleasure with every thrust. “Will you be my conjunx, Thundercracker?”
“Yes. Oh, Primus, yes,” Thundercracker moans, feeling dizzy. The agreement spills out of him without hesitation.
How long, he wonders. How long has been craving something exactly like this?
His valve ripples around Bumblebee’s spike, clutching at the charge being offered, his frame quickly building to another overload, so soon after the first. It’s all Bumblebee’s fault. He has to be here like this, so sweet and adoring, so focused on Thundercracker’s pleasure as though it’s the only thing that has ever mattered.
He’s the only one who’s ever made Thundercracker feel like this. As if he’s valued for who he is, not what he is and what he can do.
“Good.” Bumblebee tilts forward, mouths Thundercracker’s cockpit, presses gentle kisses to it. “Will you overload for me now, sweetspark? Will you let me taste your pleasure?”
The rattles start in his knees and work their way through his entire frame. Charge crackles over his armor like blue-white fire, lapping out from his substructure, as his valve spasms and he overloads again, thoughts going blank in white-hot bliss. He feels like he’s floating on a tide of pleasure and it’s not until he feels a squeeze around his fingers that he realizes Bumblebee’s took his hand and laid kisses across his knuckles.
Primus. The adoration in the move sends another, smaller release through Thundercracker’s spark. He crashes back into his frame, shivering and panting, lying limp in the berth beneath the hot, silken weight of his minibot lover.
“So beautiful,” Bumblebee murmurs, his optics blown wide, his hips pushed deep. “You feel so good around me, Thunder. I love it, love this, love you.” He moans, ex-vents hot and damp over Thundercracker’s knuckles, and then he’s hunching, thrusting, spike spattering hot and liquid inside Thundercracker.
It’s a pleasure that has no end. He clutches Bumblebee as close as he can and curls forward, snatching Bumblebee’s head for a sloppy, warm kiss. He has to brace one hand behind himself to keep his balance, the other curling around Bumblebee, teasing those cute horns on his head as he does.
Bumblebee shivers and deepens the kiss, his glossa sweeping into Thundercracker’s mouth, his field wrapping tightly around them both.
“I’m going to carry your sparkling,” Thundercracker says against his lips. “I’m going to carry our Seekerlet. And everyone’s going to know how much I love you.”
Bumblebee clutches him close, the rise of warmth in his field echoing Thundercracker’s. It’s as much a promise as the vows they would have made in a conjunx ceremony. It is truth.
“I’m not leaving again,” Thundercracker promises, barely louder than a murmur.
“You’d better not,” Bumblebee says, pressing their foreheads together, their frames as linked as their fields. “I’m going to hold you to it.”
Thundercracker nuzzles him. “It’s a promise.” Or a vow. Whichever has more weight. He doesn’t want to walk away from this again.
He’ll fight to keep it. He’ll fight the world. He’s tired of war. This is the only thing still worth fighting for.
This is home.