Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“This isn't what I thought you meant by team bonding exercise,” says Thundercracker.

“What do you mean?" asks Starscream, putting his hands on his hips. "It’s exercise we can bond over.”

“You brought us to a glory hole,” says Skywarp. 

To be fair, it’s three holes, drilled in the wall of a storage room of an obscure bar within Decepticon territory.

“Is that a problem?” Starscream huffs, rather upset at having his choice of activity questioned. “You both wanted to spend more time together, and we all like spike.”

“Not... random spike,” says Thundercracker, grimacing at the sticky wall. 

“Oh, don't be such a prude,” says Starscream. 

“You know, Screamer,” says Skywarp, “For a mech who treats his valve like Cybertron’s most expensive slot machine, you’re not that particular when you're horny.”

Starscream stuck up his nose. “The anonymity of a glory hole means no one knows they’re screwing the finest mech on Cybertron.”

“Gimme a break,” mutters Skywarp.

“I keep my exclusive reputation, and I get clanged to my spark’s content. I’ve never been discovered.”

“You've done this before?” asks Thundercracker.

“Of course. Here, spike is cheap and abundant. I, for one, like to have lots of it at once. I think you both can relate to that?” drawls Starscream. 

Skywarp shrugs. “I mean… yeah.”

“Yeah,” echoes Thundercracker. 

“Good. That’s why I brought you.”

Starscream wraps his arms around their waists, and cuddles them closer. “I want to have some quality bonding time with my lovely trine. So let's have fun.”

“If you say so, Screamer…”

Outside the bar, footsteps approach. 

“Quiet. Someone’s coming,” says Starscream. 

The footsteps stop on the other side of the wall. There's the sound of a panel transforming away, and then a spike slides through the first hole.

“Wow. It’s big,” whispers Skywarp. 

Thundercracker bites his lip. 

Starscream smirks. It appeared he had chosen the right activity after all.

“Who’s first?” asks Thundercracker.

“Eager?” purrs Starscream, leading them both over. “We’ll do it all together.”

He squats down in front of the spike and takes it in his hand. Enjoys the weight of it in his palm, sliding his fingers to the base. He gives it a firm squeeze, before leaning in to lick it on the heavy, dripping tip. 

Skywarp is down on his knees an instant later, assisting. His mouth bumps up against Starscream’s as they both tongue the head. They kiss and slurp the slit, dragging their glossa along the underside. 

Thundercracker presses in next to them and licks the shaft, joining his hand with Starscream’s and pumping the base.

The mech on the other side groans. 

His trinemates take the sides, and Starscream sucks the head, leaving the shaft for them to lavish with attention.

Skywarp and Thundercracker’s glossas meet, and they pause in their sucking to kiss each other. 

Starscream grasps their chins and redirects their mouths to the spike.

“Suck,” he comms. “You can make out with each other on your own time.”

“I changed my mind, I love this idea,” comms Skywarp. 

“Of course you do,” comms Starscream. “Pay attention. There’s another spike. Take care of it, Skywarp.”

However, Starscream thought grimly, this one was rather… less than exciting.

Skywarp eagerly turns to look at what’s come through the second hole. Upon seeing the disappointing appendage, he turns back with a pout.

What is that? A minibot?

“Go,” comms Starscream.

Skywarp rolls his optics, but goes over, and takes the pathetic spike between two fingers. 

“I guess I’ll use it to warm up?”

“You do that,” replies Starscream. 

As for the tasty specimen in front of him… he deserved to have that inside him immediately. He stands, turns, and gleefully backs his aft onto it. 

As it sinks into his valve, his fans hitch, and he turns off his vocalizer just in case he moans. That is a strong possibility, considering the way it’s stroking his sensors.

With nothing to lick, suck, or ride, Thundercracker looked lost. He frowned at the third hole in the wall, which remained empty. 

“Star, what about--?”

“You’ll get your turn. This one’s mine.”

Skywarp also has his aft pressed to the wall, trying to get something out of that little spike. 

Neither of them look impressed. 

Yet.

They all perk up at a distant rumbling on the other side of the wall. Sounds like there’s a raucous crowd approaching. As it gets closer, the rumbling can be distinguished as the thunderous footsteps of a group of very large mechs. 

Right on time, thought Starscream. It seemed his note on the tank barracks hadn't gone ignored.

“Outta the way,” boomed a mech near Skywarp’s part of the wall.

“Hey, what the-- I’m using the--” squawked the mech on the other side.

Starscream watches with amusement as the tiny spike is yanked out and a huge spike is stuffed into the hole in its place. 

Into Skywarp’s hole as well, if his trinemate’s muffled gasp and stumble forward are any indication. Skywarp throws a shocked glance at him.

"Enjoy,"  Starscream comms, flashing him a grin.  

Skywarp isn't as much of a size queen as he is, but he still has a preference for big spikes. He doesn't even need to back up onto this one. It shoves in the rest of the way, opening him up. Bumps adorn the shaft, and the texture must be teasing the inside of his valve. Judging by Skywarp’s dazed grin, this is wonderfully stimulating.

Starscream’s valve clenches in envy, watching it slam into him. 

“Yeah, that’s more like it,” pants Skywarp, swaying his hips. “Did you invite every single shuttle in the army or something?” 

“More like every single tank.”

“Starscream, you really like big spikes, huh?” asks Thundercracker.

Starscream shrugs. “You're not intimidated, are you?”

After all, this is no time to balk, as their- admittedly not bright- crowd has realized there’s a third hole. After some pushing and shoving, another impressive spike pops through.

“That’s all yours,” Starscream cheerfully comms to the slack-jawed Thundercracker, who eagerly goes over to attend to their newest addition to the wall.

Meanwhile, Skywarp overloads, and gets filled up with transfluid, which prompts more fighting among the crowd to find a replacement. Snippets of conversation float through:

“Oh yeah! That’s what I’m talkin about! Grade A pussy!”

“Move your aft–”

“You’ve gotta get some of this. He’s got the sluttiest, juiciest little snatch!”

“Aww. He thinks my snatch is slutty and juicy,” drawls Skywarp. “Why don’t you say nice things like that about me, TC?”

“Be quiet, ‘Warp.”

Thundercracker is struggling to take his own massive mech, but he finally works the tip into himself with a grunt of pleasure. The spike bobs and thrusts, forcing further in.

These mechs really had no appreciation for delicacy, thought Starscream. His poor trinemate was going to be all stretched out if they went on like that.

But Thundercracker was resilient, and took it all in, until his rear was back against the wall. His optics dim, flooded with desire, as he circles his hips onto his mech.

Meanwhile, the bot fragging Starscream is finishing up. After some furious thrusting, there's a growl, and the spike pulses. Starscream quivers as a hot rush of transfluid fills him up. 

The spike withdraws, and a few moments later, another bumps his dripping entrance. He spreads his valve open and takes it in slowly, savoring the burn. This one is even bigger than the last, and it takes some effort to squeeze through his callipers. 

Oh Primus. He can feel every bump and ridge of this unrefined thing at once. 

His muted vocalizer clicks as the spike is yanked back and then stuffed deep, jolting him forward.

Disgusting brute, he thinks, as an overload skates through him. 

He thought he might enjoy this one slowly, but the idiot attached to it seems determined to frag him silly. Every other thrust catches his ceiling node on the backstroke, and after a few such passes, his optics are rolling back. Starscream resigns himself to being taken hard, and slides a hand between his legs to touch himself. 

Oh… playing with his node while getting his hole destroyed is a fantastic idea.

At the end of the line, Thundercracker appears to have had the same idea, stroking his node furiously while being humped by his own big, rough mech.

“Having fun over there?” Starscream comms him. 

In response, Thundercracker overloads. Loudly.

“Turn off your vocalizer, idiot!” scolds Starscream. “You’ll give us away!”

“Sorry, Screamer,” pants Thundercracker, slumping against the wall.

Starscream freezes. The spike inside him stops thrusting. Thundercracker’s face goes solemn, and he claps a hand over his mouth in horror as he realizes what he’s done.

After an excruciating pause, someone on the other side of the wall says, “I fucking knew it.”

The chatter becomes even more raucous.

“‘Screamer’, huh?”

“And that sounded like Thundercracker…”

“I bet all three are here. This one feels kinda like Skywarp.” 

There’s a pounding on the wall. 

“Hey, Starscream, if we guess right on whose valve is whose, can we pick who to frag?”

“Primus have mercy,” whispers Thundercracker into his hand, as the comment is followed by a round of cheers. And renewed jackhammering into his valve that makes him double over with a grunt. 

The lewd comments continue, directed at Starscream:

“This is a naughty hobby, Commander. If you want to get spiked by a whole battalion, all you have to do is ask. We won't tell.”

“You're such a high strung bitch all the time, who would have thought you’d be into this kinda thing?”

“C’mon out, Commander. I can massage your pretty wings and your valve.” 

Starscream clenches his jaw. These bastards. They wouldn't dare speak to him like this if he could see their faces. He ought to… 

He ought to… 

Starscream felt he ought to be much more offended, but the insults just make his valve squeeze a little tighter. 

To be fair, he has a massive spike pumping his hole-- a lot more vigorously than before. He’s getting drilled so hard he’s forced to bend over and brace his hands on the floor.

His new position redirects the spike straight against his ceiling node, and triggers a second, harder overload.

“I’ll murder you, Thundercracker,” he snarls over the comm, once he’s finished squirting. “A-after a few more rounds.”

“I'm fine with that,” replies Thundercracker, hiding his face in his hands.

Chapter Text

Being related to Starscream only got one so far, at the apex of high society. 

Starscream had many relatives, and Slipstream was not only an unfavored one, she was un-trined by choice-- a grievous offense of Vosian social etiquette. This meant although she was tolerated at court, a member of the ruling trine wouldn’t be caught dead speaking to her. 

In other words, Thundercracker was out of her league.

Still, he held a fascinating appeal she couldn't ignore.

Despite clearly being the jewel of the winglord’s trine, with his quiet, dignified beauty, he was often overlooked. At every dinner party, ball or outing, mechs would rather flirt with her bitch cousin or the purple one-- both the embodiment of a migraine in their own ways.

In stark contrast, Thundercracker was serious, calm and obedient, weathering his trinemates’ nonsense with a steady affect. But under his cool exterior, being responsible was wearing him down. Just because he wasn't gifted with his trinemates’ compulsion to be the center of the universe didn't mean he wasn't feeling neglected. Neediness radiated from the stiff cant of his pretty wings and beneath his elegant frown. 

The urge to catch him by his narrow waist and spike him until he squealed had become unbearable.

Starscream had really trined a winner, and Slipstream was going to make Thundercracker hers. Seduce him, take him apart, and screw him so well he could be enticed to forget his station. 

It was clear he would be better served by the deft, thorough touch of a real mech, rather than that screechy pipsqueak. 

—

She had waited until Thundercracker was smarting and bitter from a fight with Starscream, and then made her move. Maybe she had been a little manipulative. She never said she was perfect. But getting him in the right mood was necessary for her plan to work.

Thundercracker would have snubbed her on any other occasion out of propriety, and loyalty to his trine leader. Now, he offered little more resistance than a cute, frustrated pout when she deigned to ask what was the matter.

Then, in an uncharacteristic burst of emotion, he vented his anger to her– conveniently the only mech in the vicinity who could sympathize with his distaste for Starscream.

Once he was riled up, she only had to whisper a few sympathetic words before he allowed her to lure him into a corridor and have her way with him.

He had been mortified afterward, but she had stirred something rebellious in him.

He approached her again just days later, expression tight with shame, but not too ashamed to let her take him against a wall in the palace courtyard. And in the crystal gardens. And on the luxurious berth he shared with his trine.

With every encounter, his boldness– and her intentions for him– grew. 

The question now was, how far would he let her go from here?

—

Thundercracker’s hips tremble as he sucks her off. 

They’re in a sitting room adjacent to the central hall of the palace, which they’ve taken to favoring for their activities. The muffled sounds of the ball outside provide a pleasant ambiance while he chokes on her shaft. 

They’ve been at it for a while, and Thundercracker is practically rubbing his valve against the floor.

She’s allowed him to have two fingers inside himself, and he’s enthusiastic. The slick noises of lubricants being churned are audible over the vibrator she had him magnetize to his external node for the duration of Starscream’s frivolous party. With a little control over his array, Thundercracker was putty in her capable hands.

Satisfied with his efforts, Slipstream pushes his helm back so her spike slips from his intake. 

There is a small chaise in this room; richly cushioned, as are many of the berths and seats in Starscream’s palace. She directs Thundercracker to lay back on it and take his fingers out. The latter command requires her to repeat herself before he reluctantly does as she asks. 

“You're distracted. Your task is to take my spike, not get yourself off,” she says, pushing his legs over his head and lining herself up.

She spreads his valve with the tip of her spike, but doesn’t go any further.

“Now. How many times have you overloaded tonight?” she asks. 

“Um…” Thundercracker has a faraway look as he tries to collect his thoughts. Slipstream has seen that look enough to know it means he’s approaching his peak. She decides she won’t be cutting him any slack.

“How many,” she asks, “including the one you’re about to have?” 

She holds just outside his entrance, and lets the vibrator tip him over the edge. 

Thundercracker buries his face in the cushions. A moment later, a burst of hot lubricant soaks her spike head.

He moans, wincing. His node must be stinging badly at this point from overloading on the vibrator all night.

“Focus,” Slipstream instructs, taking his chin and tilting his face up. “Don't overload while I’m asking you a question.”

As punishment, she dials up the intensity of the vibrator until he squirms with discomfort. 

“Please take it off,” he begs.

“Defiance, Thundercracker?”

“I’m sensitive.”

“I’ll bet you are. Now, answer me. How many overloads did you manage to have before I got my spike in you? And don’t lie.”

Thundercracker looks like he wants to sink into the floor.

“F-five…” he chokes out. 

“Five?” she asks. “Last time it was three in the same amount of time. You’re getting sluttier.”

“I’m not, ” he protests. His face glows a charming pink.

Slipstream pushes her spike in further. “That means you’ll be getting five loads tonight. You might even get sparked from that much at once. You’re that eager to let me sire?”

Thundercracker isn't given a chance to answer, as she thrusts again, spreading his valve. She hums with pleasure as she bottoms out, and the crown of her spike brushes the twitching seal of his gestation chamber.

She withdraws, and gives a few firm thrusts, right up against it. Thundercracker’s vocalizer pops with static, and he tosses his helm back, so she continues to fuck him there.

Slipstream braces her hands on the backs of his raised knees and frags him in earnest, pursuing her own pleasure. 

Five loads of transfluid. This was risky. 

She hadn’t even planned to spark him originally, but the thought became more appealing the longer their game went on. Clearly, it appealed to him as well on a base level, regardless of the scandal it would cause.

As pragmatic as he usually was, Thundercracker didn't really think when he was properly spiked. His processor went into interface mode, and consequences were forgotten. 

Either way, she’d been saving up a lot of transfluid. Thundercracker’s stamina is shaky already, and they both know she’s going to pound him to a pulp and fill him up.

Slipstream overloads thinking about this, and pushes up into his forge, pumping thick, sticky transfluid deep into him.

With barely a pause, she resumes pounding him, so fiercely that her thrusts are bouncing his hips against the couch. Her spike drilling his swollen ceiling node may be too much for him, and he begins to moan as soon as she gets rough. 

As they’re right outside the ballroom, Thundercracker makes a valiant effort to keep quiet. The sounds of clanging are incriminating enough, so she makes sure to spike him extra hard, just to make him squirm at the racket it makes.

His valve tightens as a partygoer walks past outside in the hall. 

The door isn't locked. This isn't a private room. 

Anyone could stumble in and catch them.

“They'll hear, ” he chokes. It’s so hot to hear that deep voice quavering.

“That depends on you,” Slipstream says. She grips his waist tighter and shunts her spike in with a wet smack that makes him whimper. 

She feels him finish again, and shortly after, deposits her second load.

Her third and forth are much the same, deliberate and careful to pour every drop into his hungry chamber. 

She can feel the exhaustion creeping into her frame, and can tell he’s reaching his limit as well. His wings have gone limp, and his optics are dim. 

He groans, pouting at her. It’s strange seeing such a weak, desperate look on his normally serious face. It heats the energon in her lines; makes her want to protect him. 

“Slipstream…” he whines. 

“One more,” she promises, rubbing his middle where the plating has become noticeably rounded over his gestation tank. “You're being so good.”

In a gesture of mercy, she deactivates the magnet holding the vibrator to his node, and shuts it off. Her hand wanders between his legs and she plays with his folds. He’s so wet, lubricant is running down his thighs. She teases his node with a forefinger, knowing how deliciously sensitive he is there. Thundercracker clutches at the cushion beneath him, curling his hands into fists. She continues to flick his node, fast and rough, as she thrusts. 

A broken moan bursts out of him.

“Keep it down,” she says. “I don't want the whole ballroom knowing what you sound like when you come.”

“I can't,” he pants. 

“You can. But a nice, hard overload is much better than your dignity, hm?” she asks, and slaps his node.

Thundercracker clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle his vocalizer, but his yelp leaks through, clear and unmistakable. His valve clinches in overload, and Slipstream grunts as it ensnares her spike from base to tip on a deep thrust. She continues pounding him without regard for his over sensitivity, until her own peak approaches. 

She overloads with a snarl, pushing her spike into his forge one last time. Thundercracker shivers as transfluid bathes his insides, his frame twitching with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Satisfied, Slipstream finally extracts her spike from the warm, plush grip of his valve.

His mesh is flushed and swollen from being spiked for so long. The poor thing is probably sore. Still, he looks deeply satiated. Relaxed and perfectly right, swollen with her essence.

Something in her spark clenches with emotion.

“You can't go back to the ball like this. Let me help you to berth,” she says, extending a hand.

He hardly has the strength to protest, even if he wanted to. He nods his permission, and she helps him to his feet, quietly escorting him to his berth room. 

---

Her efforts haven't been in vain. 

Several cycles later, it becomes clear her transfluid has taken, and she can feel the weak resonance of a mutual newspark whenever Thundercracker is around. 

They haven't spoken since the last time they were together. As propriety dictates, she isn't allowed to approach him, and he’s been avoiding her. 

Until tonight. 

Slipstream’s back tickles as a wingtip brushes past, behind her. She almost doesn't realize it's him until he whispers in her audial,

“It’ll need more donations . Meet me in the usual place.”

Then he’s gone.

Starscream is scowling at her across the hall, which is when she realizes she’s grinning like a maniac. 

Chapter Text

Skywarp and Thundercracker knew better than to start fights on the flight deck. They also knew Starscream wouldn't stand for having an uncooperative, bickering trine.

As punishment, his disobedient trinemates were sharing a double-ended false spike.

They’re facing each other with their legs twined, still insatiably worked up from their earlier brawl. They drill each other's valves as they uncoordinatedly hump their respective end of the toy, snarling in frustration.

Starscream stands by and watches them carelessly shunt the glistening, vibrating length between their valves. 

“You’re missing my spot!” whines Skywarp. 

“I don’t care. You-- ugh- ” grunts Thundercracker as Starscream turns up the vibration on his end of the toy and yanks on a wing.

“Fix your attitude,” says Starscream. “And your position.”

Thundercracker adjusts, with an optic-roll that almost earns him a second yank. Starscream relents, only because the point of this exercise is to get along. 

“Is that better, Skywarp?” asks Starscream. 

“Not really,” drawls Skywarp obnoxiously, with a pointed glance at Thundercracker.

“Stop lying,” snaps Thundercracker.

“I’m not! You’re being lazy.”

“I’m being–” growls Thundercracker, shoving his hips forward. “I’m being lazy?”

Skywarp smirks and shoves his hips back harder, pushing the spike fully inside both. Thundercracker gasps, his hips twitching, then glowers at Skywarp. 

There’s a furious back and forth for a moment of hips bucking; of valves slipping together.

Starscream lets them work their frustrations out for a while.

It isn’t long before they tire themselves out, frustrated and getting nowhere closer to overload. Their dire need for release becomes more important than their bickering, and they decide to cooperate.

“Is that better?” asks Thundercracker, panting, swiveling his hips to crush his valve to Skywarp’s. 

Skywarp whimpers in response, and circles his hips, so their valves rub. That seems to please Thundercracker as well, and their valves connect with gentle, wet smacking. Their venting quickens, interspersed with little moans as they find a nice rhythm to fuck onto the toy together.

“Mmm, teamwork. That’s what I like to see,” says Starscream.

He squats down next to them and runs his fingers up their backs, massaging between their wings. They both relax a bit into his touch, but they’re still scowling. 

“I want you to kiss,” says Starscream. 

For a few moments, all his trinemates do is squint at each other. Glare each other down. 

But arousal wins out, and they slowly lean forward and part their mouths. Their lips meet, still a little stiff with resentment. 

“Passionately ,” clarifies Starscream, with a smirk. 

Coldly, Skywarp pokes just the tip of his glossa into Thundercracker’s pursed, dour mouth.

Starscream turns up Skywarp’s end of the vibrator, and Skywarp mewls and forces his glossa deeper. His enthusiasm (and a hungry thrust of his hips) perks Thundercracker, who sucks on his mouth more eagerly.

Skywarp gasps through the kiss, throwing his arms around Thundercracker’s waist.

The sudden movement unbalances him, and they both go down, with Skywarp on top. 

This allows Skywarp to ride Thundercracker unhindered, pushing in the spike as hard and as deep as he wants. His vigorous riding has the added effect of thrusting the opposite end of the spike so roughly into Thundercracker on every bounce that he moans and overloads. Skywarp cries out, and joins him shortly afterward, before collapsing on top of him. 

They lay in an exhausted heap, continuing to kiss and pet each other as they cool down.

Starscream clicks off the vibration, satisfied that the situation had been resolved.

Chapter Text

“TC... you haven't been masturbating? ” Skywarp asks, loudly enough to turn the heads of some seekers passing by on the deck of the Nemesis. 

Thundercracker ducks his burning face as they snicker. He takes Skywarp’s arm and drags him through the air barracks, into their berthroom before answering. 

“Yes,” he grits out.

It wasn’t like he didn't want to self-service. 

Due to his outlier ability, he not only accumulated charge much faster than other mechs, he also released it much more… extravagantly. Which made overloading in the busy air barracks an inconvenience to say the least. 

Skywarp just shrugs. “You know it’s worse if you neglect it.”

“It’s not that bad,” lies Thundercracker. Overloading is all he’s been thinking about the past several cycles. 

“We haven't interfaced in ages. ” Skywarp says, backing him onto their berth. “You’ve gotta be pent up.”

“Not in the mood for this,” Thundercracker says.

“Actually, you’ve been in the mood for too long. That’s your problem,” says Skywarp, pressuring his spike and climbing on top of him.

“Skywarp,” Thundercracker grits out.

Skywarp traces the seams of his pelvic armor, sending prickles of energy through his protoform, and straight into his oversensitive array. Thundercracker whines in frustration. He is way too charged up. And this is far from the first time he’s allowed it to get to this point. But without a discreet way to release it, what could he do but suffer? 

It was better than the alternative– overloading whenever he pleased and having the air force know it was him, every time it happened. He’d rather hold off for as long as his frame could handle, even if the resulting, massive overload wrought havoc on all nearby electrical systems.

Maybe it was selfish, but this way, Thundercracker could at least keep his dignity. Pass off the extreme discharge as a weird anomaly in his programming to anyone who asked. Totally not a violent overload. 

He tried not to let his charge climb that high, but faced with the mortifying knowledge he would eventually have to release it… he’d developed a tendency to put it off as long as possible. 

Because it was one thing to be loud in berth-- Starscream’s unabashed yowling came to mind. 

It was another thing to create epic thunderclaps that short circuited the power supply. Which reminded him...

“Starscream said if I short out the lights again--”

“Forget Screamer,” says Skywarp, still petting his array. “Open up. You’re going to short your own circuits out if you don’t overload.”

Thundercracker is already flooded with premature embarrassment, thinking about what’ll happen if he releases this much backed up charge at once. And it will involve plunging the air barracks into darkness, if he isn't careful. But on the other hand, he’s twitchy and miserable, and thinking about Skywarp’s warm digits stroking his valve is making him dizzy with lust. 

He slides his panel open, too frustrated to refuse any more. 

“Relax,” says Skywarp, kissing his neck. “It’s only gonna get worse if you ignore it.” 

He strokes the outer lip of his valve, which has been uncomfortably wet for cycles now. Despite himself, Thundercracker begins to relax into his touch.

“Fine. We can do it a little bit. I can hold back some if you go slowly.”

“Isn't that uncomfortable?”

Yes, Thundercracker thinks sullenly. And it doesn't properly release charge. But to avoid causing a thunderstorm …

“It’s fine,” he mutters.

“Whatever,” says Skywarp, working two fingers into his valve. Thundercracker groans, and his valve clenches around the welcome intrusion.

“Jeez, TC, you’re soaked. How long has it been since you last overloaded?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” says Thundercracker. His static laden vocalizer hitches as Skywarp’s digits swipe over his ceiling node. He can feel him grin against his neck.

“You're wound so tight down here. Your walls are gonna feel every ridge of my spike.”

Thundercracker quivers. He’s already so sensitive. He pushes Skywarp back and straddles his hips. 

“Take your fingers out. I want to ride.”

Skywarp removes his fingers, nudging his spike against his valve. Thundercracker reaches between his legs to rub his node as it sinks in. 

“Should you be touching yourself if you’re that charged up?” teases Skywarp. 

“...Probably not,” says Thundercracker, but keeps doing it. “Just go slowly.” 

As he rocks onto Skywarp’s spike, he knows he’s done for. The backed up charge is humming through his systems, in enormous, broiling waves. As soon as Skywarp pushed his spike in, it’s like his frame went crazy, seeking release. Thundercracker tries not to immediately bounce on his spike, and fails spectacularly. Skywarp was right. He’s tighter from not being fragged in a while, and the raised biolights along his spike rub and catch his mesh with every movement. He really shouldn’t be stroking his node this furiously as he rides him, but it’s hitting just right.

Suddenly, Thundercracker realizes he can't stop. He’s used up all his restraint in not overloading for several cycles. 

He’ll have to rely on Skywarp to hold back. This was… not ideal.

“Having fun?” snickers Skywarp. 

“Go slower,” begs Thundercracker.

Skywarp bursts out laughing.

“I’m s-serious,” says Thundercracker, swiveling his hips. “I can't stop. It feels so good.”

“You're joking, right?”

“Please?” Thundercracker’s legs tremble. 

“I’m not even moving , TC. Are you ok? Being overcharged must be messing with your head,” Skywarp is giving him a devious look. “But I can start going slow, if you want.”

“What? Wait.” 

“Lemme just go super gently,” drawls Skywarp, doing so.  But now he’s moving . Hard little nudges that collide with his ceiling node when Thundercracker brings his hips down. This is too much.

“You can handle just the tip without losing control, right? You can just let out a little bit of charge. Just a little one, right?” croons Skywarp, grinding his spike into him. 

Thundercracker loses the last of his sanity.

“‘Warp… just shut up and do me,” he pants. “I don’t care anymore.”

“Wow. You broke faster than I thought.”

“Warp. Fuck me. Now .”

“Say please?”

Thundercracker snarls and rides him harder. Skywarp laughs, grasping his waist for leverage as he, thankfully, begins to hammer up into him.

“Let’s see how loud I can make you overload.” 

“Why did I do this?” gasps Thundercracker, fingering himself with enthusiasm as Skywarp clangs him recklessly. “Sleeping with you was a bad idea.” 

“Wow, rude,” says Skywarp.

Thundercracker’s valve ripples, and his vents stutter from the force of his thrusts. 

“Shit. Warp, I’m gonna overload so hard…”

“Already? What happened to ‘just a little bit’?”

At this point, it was all or nothing. 

With a final, rapid pounding to his throbbing node, Thundercracker’s vocalizer cracks an octave higher. He overloads with a burst of electricity, and a bang that knocks him offline.

Thundercracker reboots to Skywarp giggling. Static prickles in bright sparks over their frames.

“That was fun,” says Skywarp.

Thundercracker grunts. He’s groggy, and he’s not sure if it’s from relief or embarrassment. Prickles of shame return, somewhat muffled by the bliss of his amazing overload. 

The room is pitch black, to his dismay. The emergency lights have come on along the floor, illuminating a third pair of thruster heels. Thundercracker's spark drops.

It's just bright enough to make out Starscream’s twisted expression of amusement and irritation as he stands over him.

“Damn it…” groans Thundercracker. "Warp, how long has he been standing there?"

He grimaces as Starscream reaches down and gives his node a painful tweak.

“Sounds like you’ve been neglecting your maintenance again, Thundercracker.”

“Ow. Sorry. I was just--”

“Save your excuses,” snaps Starscream. “Seeing as you can't be trusted to self-service properly, I’m putting Skywarp in charge of your overloads.”

“Aye aye,” grins Skywarp, saluting.

“Wait, what?” asks Thundercracker.

Starscream points at him imperiously. “From now on, you’re to be overloaded once a cycle, before morning exercises.”

Heat rushes to Thundercracker's face. “Every cycle? But--”

“Every cycle. Even if Skywarp has to hold you down to do it.” 

“That’s not fair!”

“It’s reasonable,” says Starscream. “Considering your prissy, inconsistent jilling off is what causes this issue in the first place.”

“I’m not prissy-- ow!” moans Thundercracker as his oversensitive node is pinched again.

Starscream leans into his face and glares. 

“I don't want any further incidents. Is that understood?”

“Yeah…” mutters Thundercracker, smacking Starscream’s hand away. 

“Good. Now, both of you, hurry and make yourselves decent,” Starscream smirks. “You have some circuits to repair.”

Chapter Text

Starscream stared at the ceiling of his cell and sighed.

There were worse things than being bored, he had come to find during his stint as an Autobot prisoner.

For example, being horny and bored. And not having any way to self-service. 

When he’d been shot down, his arms had been broken upon landing. Repairing them wasn't high on the Autobots’ list of priorities, so the limbs were bound to the sides of his frame for now, useless. 

Apparently, he was low on Megatron’s list of priorities as well, as the Decepticon leader was really dragging his aft to rescue him. It had been cycles without sign of liberation- from prison or in the form of an overload. Cycles in which Starscream’s valve had been left woefully unattended. 

In dire situations like these, one needed to get creative. Examine all options. 

Starscream’s roving optics landed on his guard, just outside his cell.

The Autobots had placed Bumblebee- their tiniest and most pathetic soldier- to guard him. This was incredibly insulting to Starscream’s pride, but at the moment, he was giving the Autobot scout a different type of consideration.

In addition to being physically weak, Bumblebee was also easily manipulated. Starscream had managed to wheedle extra rations out of him with little more than a pout. Convincing him to be his interface toy would be even easier. Starscream was certainly the hottest mech he’d set eyes on.

The yellow Autobot wasn't exactly his type, but this was a desperate need Starscream wanted quenched. He would have to do.

Starscream arranged himself provocatively on the berth and spread his legs.

“Come here, Autobot. Do something for me,” he called through the electrified bars of the cell. 

“What do you want now, Starscream?” asked Bumblebee. He turned, arching an optic ridge as he took in the sight of Starscream’s splayed legs. 

With a little click, Starscream slid his panel back. 

Bumblebee froze, optics jumping to Starscream’s bare array. “Starscream– what–!?” he stuttered.

“I can’t self-service without my arms,” Starscream purred, enjoying the color rising to Bumblebee’s face. “I’ll need some assistance.”

Bumblebee reset his optics and shook his helm, avoiding looking below Starscream’s waist.

“No way. That’s crossing a line.”

“My valve is burning up,” Starscream moaned loudly, just to make Bumblebee squirm. “I could be in serious trouble if I don’t overload. My circuits could be damaged from all this charge. As it is, I’m already so hot…” 

“Starscream, keep it down,” Bumblebee hissed, glancing side to side, checking the brig for other mechs. 

“I need you to touch me,” Starscream mewled at exactly the same volume, raising his hips to show off his valve more as he sprawled across the berth. “I thought you Autobots treated your prisoners well.”

Bumblebee looked conflicted, frowning sternly at him. As stern as he could look with that adorable face. His expression was tainted with embarrassment, his face glowing with energon. 

“Yeah, but, I can’t do that,” he said, lowering his voice. “That’s got to be against some kind of prisoner code of ethics.” 

“...Please?” pouted Starscream, biting his lip. “I won’t tell.”

Bumblebee shifted in place, twiddling his fingers together. Tentatively, he approached the entrance of the cell and turned off the electrified bars, looking very, very ashamed.

“J-just one time, okay? Only so you don’t overheat, or something. And try to be quiet,” he said, optics flicking between Starscream and the floor. 

Far too easy, thought Starscream, giving him a knowing smirk. His charge heightened in anticipation as the little Autobot let himself into his cell and kneeled between his legs.

With a trembling hand, Bumblebee reached out to touch the seam of Starscream’s valve. After a few tentative strokes to the mesh, he delved inward to rub his anterior node.

Starscream sighed in relief, raising his hips into his touch.  

Bumblebee bit his lip. “H-how’s this?” he asked.

“I like it a little harder,” said Starscream, smirking down at him.

Bumblebee did as he said, rubbing his fingers more firmly into his valve. He was openly staring now, like he was hypnotized by his wet array. 

Starscream decided to take it further.

“Your fingers aren’t doing it for me. Use your mouth,” he demanded.

“What? No way!” Bumblebee blustered, and stopped rubbing. “That’s too far.” 

“I won’t be satisfied unless you lick me,” said Starscream. 

“Don’t be stupid,” said Bumblebee.

Starscream narrowed his optics and grinned. “Don’t pretend like you don’t want to.”

“This isn’t about what I want. This is just for your–”

“So you do want to lick my valve?” asked Starscream. 

“I– I don’t– I can't-” Bumblebee tripped over his excuse.

“Why are you denying yourself what you want?” purred Starscream. “You don’t have to be good. No one is watching.”

"Fine, I’ll do it,” Bumblebee said, glaring at him. “But this is as far as I’ll go.” 

He leant in and swiped his glossa over his node. Then again, and again; each pass agile and hungry like he was licking up an energon treat. Starscream’s back arched at the feeling of his warm little glossa flicking over his sensors. He squeezed his thighs around Bumblebee’s helm, urging him on.

“Oh yes, just like that,” said Starscream, relaxing against the berth.

In response, Bumblebee’s valve eating became more enthusiastic. Soon, he was burying his nose in his valve, lapping his node with abandon. Each hot caress stoked his charge higher. 

This scout was much better at eating valve than Starscream could have ever imagined. He was proving to be an excellent toy– a situation which had its downsides. This would be over far too quickly.

What a terrible inconvenience he was only going to overload him once. If only he could– oh. 

Starscream was struck by a devious idea. Perhaps he could have as much as he wanted. 

“Bee…” he asked, in his softest, most seductive croon. “I can’t overload if I’m not on top.”

“What?” asked Bumblebee, looking a little dazed as he pulled his face out of his valve. A thread of lubricant clung to his mouth. Starscream followed the movement of Bumblebee’s glossa as he licked it up. 

“Lie down on the berth, and I’ll straddle your face,” said Starscream.

Bumblebee narrowed his optics in suspicion, but the restraint was just for show at this point. No mech would be thinking straight with Starscream’s thighs squeezing the sides of their helm. 

“Don’t look at me like that," said Starscream. “We all have our quirks. Indulge me.” 

“Whatever,” said Bumblebee, as he rose and took Starscream’s place on the berth. “But you'd better not try anything.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” said Starscream, swinging a leg over Bumblebee’s helm. Bumblebee grasped Starscream’s aft to support him as Starscream lowered his valve over his intake. 

Starscream tentatively rested his weight on his face, shivering as his valve pressed the scout’s warm mouth. Before he was even settled, Bumblebee ran his glossa through his valve.

Starscream jolted, and laughed. “You're eager. Are you trying to– ah– eat me up?”

There was a warning nip at his external mesh. Starscream kept teasing. 

“Do I taste better on top?” he asked, and received a hot swipe of glossa through his slit.

“Shut up, Starscream,” Bumblebee grumbled, muffled beneath him.

Not likely, thought Starscream, as the licking became much rougher. He rocked his hips into his glossa and moaned in bliss. Bumblebee, ever eager to please- even Decepticon prisoners- attentively sucked and kissed his node as Starscream rode his face. His glossa may have been small and delicate, but it gave Starscream just enough to clench down on as his long-awaited overload swept over him. 

Starscream tipped his helm back and moaned in relief.

Oh, glorious…

As the pleasure of release gradually faded, Starscream lifted his hips slightly to peer down at Bumblebee.

His lubricants were smeared all over the scout’s face, dripping down his cheeks. Bumblebee looked disoriented, and likely very aroused himself. Poor thing.

Hands pushed weakly at his waist. 

“You’re finished, Starscream. Get up,” said Bumblebee, vocalizer raspy.

“I don’t think so,” said Starscream. He rubbed his valve against his mouth again. 

Bumblebee blinked in surprise. “Starscream, we agreed–”  He struggled under him, but Starscream outweighed him by a lot, and kept him pinned, massaging his valve against his nasal ridge. 

“I’m very charged up,” said Starscream. “You cruelly left me without a way to self-service for days. Now, I’m taking what I need. If you help, it’ll be over faster.”

Bumblebee glared, but a moment later, his glossa slid through Starscream’s valve, circling his node. 

Starscream licked his lips. “Wonderful. Keep that up, and I might ride your spike next.”

Chapter Text

Normally, when his trine wanted to tie him up and frag him, Skywarp would have no complaints.

He hadn’t realized he had walked right into a trap until he was already tied down to the berth, with a vibrator magnetized to his node and two false spikes also vibrating in his valve and port.

“Enjoying yourself?” asks Starscream, lying between his legs and giving his spike long, sloppy licks. 

Skywarp wasn’t really listening. Thundercracker presses his own spike against his mouth, and Skywarp eagerly sucks. With so many points of stimulation, he’s already close.

Just as he’s about to tip over, the vibrators cut out, and Starscream abruptly pauses his licking, totally denying him an overload. 

“Uh? Mmf?” complains Skywarp around his mouthful of Thundercracker’s spike. 

Starscream un-subspaces a paint pen and draws a red line on Skywarp’s thigh. 

As Skywarp is glancing between the mark and Starscream in confusion, the vibrators start up again. Starscream is twirling the paint pen between his fingers, smirking at him. That was not a good smirk. 

“We’re going to work on your endurance, Skywarp,” he announces.

Skywarp makes a questioning noise.

“Don’t act so surprised,” says Starscream. “We wouldn’t have to do this if you lasted longer than two kliks in berth.”

“This is for the best,” says Thundercracker. “Your spike isn't the only part of you that’s over-eager. You need your valve trained too.”

"And your port,” adds Starscream. “You squirt and hop off in seconds, no matter which way you interface. You’re driving us both crazy.”

Skywarp pouts around Thundercracker’s spike. 

“Anyway,” continues Starscream, “I designed all the vibrators to shut off if your charge spikes above a certain level. You’ll be teased, but won’t be overloaded until you get Thundercracker off. We’ll see where we get from there.”

Great , thought Skywarp. His only method of overload is, unfortunately, in Starscream’s hands– or mouth.

Starscream lowers his helm, and his plush lips gently encircle the tip of his spike, putting just the right amount of pressure under the head as he bobs up and down. Then, just to be mean, he swallows him all the way to the base. The vibrators rumble back to life.

Skywarp whimpers and struggles against the bonds.

They really aren’t making it easy on him. Starscream is basically the blowjob queen. Even someone with insane restraint would never last long. And as a mech with very… below average restraint, Skywarp helplessly tips over again. Almost.

The vibrators pause, and Starscream pops his mouth off until Skywarp’s charge falls back from the precipice. 

Another line of paint is added next to the first. The vibrators start up, teasing his extremely sensitive array, inside and out. Starscream resumes sucking the spark out of him, and Skywarp nearly overloads again, moments after Starscream applies the lightest suction. 

The vibration stops again, and Starscream pops his mouth off with an irritated snarl. 

“Skywarp, are you even trying to hold back?” he asks, hastily drawing a third line, and smudging the first two in the process. “The paint isn’t even dry.”

Trembling with need, Skywarp pulls his mouth off Thundercracker’s spike. Getting edged like this is more uncomfortable than he thought.

“I can’t take it…” he whines. “It’s too much.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” snips Starscream. “We've barely started.”

“Just let me overload once. ”

“No. You can barely handle a blowjob. I’ve decided– we’re not stopping until you can at least handle my valve without overloading instantly,” says Starscream. 

“I don’t overload instantly!” protests Skywarp.

“Shut up and suck," says Starscream, and points at Thundercracker’s spike. 

Skywarp glares at him. “It’s not fair! You're too good at sucking spike. TC takes forever to overload. And I’m full of v-vibrators,” he stutters, as they jolt and start up again. His valve and aft clench at once, and he’s already losing control. It’s impossible to not overload this close to the edge. He grits his denta and tries to focus on something else.

“Are you going to waste your time running your mouth, or are you going to put it to good use?” asks Starscream.

Skywarp’s legs tremble as his charge begins to peak. “I’m suffering. Have some pity.”

“Be quiet. The point of this training is to teach you patience. And control ,” says Starscream, adjusting the toys in his port and valve as he names them off. “And discipline .” 

He gives the node vibrator a hard slap. Skywarp jerks as heat shoots through his array, and he’s once again overwhelmed. 

The vibration stops. Skywarp quivers, his valve flexing hungrily around the inert spike, desperate to finish. It doesn’t work.

Damn it, he was so close.

He growls at the slick pressure of a fourth bright red line being drawn on his thigh. 

“Racking them up quick, huh?” says Thundercracker. 

“I can’t take it anymore! TC, make him stop!” wails Skywarp, giving Thundercracker his most pleading look. TC was much more lenient. He’d have mercy.

But Thundercracker just shakes his head and pushes his spike against Skywarp’s lips. 

“Traitor,” Skywarp whimpers, but takes him in his mouth.

Starscream smirks.

“Get to work. You don’t overload until he does.”

Skywarp glares back. He knows. That’s all he can think about. 

Why couldn’t he have sucked off Starscream while TC gave him a blowjob? They’re only doing it this way to torture him. 

Not wanting to drag this out a second longer, Skywarp ups the ante, giving Thundercracker the most frantic, intense blowjob he can. It’s so hard to concentrate on sucking his spike when he’s constantly on the verge of overload. 

After a few more excruciating minutes, in which Skywarp is yanked back from the precipice of satisfaction an additional four times, Thundercracker’s transfluid finally hits the back of his intake. Skywarp gulps it down, relieved.

“Well done,” says Thundercracker, stroking his cheek. 

At the same moment, Starscream turns off the charge blocker and lets the vibrators run freely as he deepthroats Skywarp, flexing his throat cabling around his spike.

Skywarp shouts and arches off the berth, nearly knocked offline from the frantic charge that bursts from him. He overloads hard down Starscream’s intake, and from both his valve and port as the vibrators go wild, stimulating every part of his array at once. 

When he comes down, he’s dizzy, and his plating is sparking from how hard he came. 

But he’s finally satisfied. He sprawls out, exhausted. Thankfully, his trine lets him rest for a moment. 

Starscream turns off the vibrators and slips his spike out of his mouth, licking stray transfluid from his lips. 

“How did he do?” asks Thundercracker.

“Worse than we thought,” replies Starscream, eyeing the seven marks on Skywarp’s thigh. “He’s averaging one overload every 30 kliks.” He frowns at Skywarp. “You need some serious training.”

Skywarp shrinks back. 

“Now?” he croaks.

“Obviously. Now that you’ve gotten that big load out of your system, you’ll work on handling my valve next,” says Starscream, opening his panel and spreading himself.

“And mine after,” says Thundercracker. He squats beside him and slides his panel back as well.

“Wait, both? There’s no way,” protests Skywarp, even as his spike twitches back to life at the sight of their open, primed valves.

“Lucky for us, you’re also quick to recover,” Starscream snickers, lowering himself onto Skywarp’s spike.

Chapter Text

Optimus lingered in the doorway to Starscream’s suite in the primal palace.

The late hour, paired with Optimus’ uncharacteristic timidity, made Starscream curious. 

Optimus cleared his intake. “I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been saying… about certain… conjugal practices.”

Starscream raised an optic ridge. He had had a lot to say about Iaconian prudishness regarding interfacing, but for the sake of their nations’ union, he kept his most shocking opinions to himself. And his hands off Optimus. 

Mostly.

He’d only have to wait another several cycles until the ceremony made their conjunx bond official. That didn’t mean he hadn’t snuck in a caress here and there. Who could blame him? Optimus was very easy on the optics. 

Unfortunately, the Prime was just as rule-abiding and averse to intimacy as his cabinet. Even when they started living together, Optimus wouldn’t touch him at all aside from pressing their hands together in greeting. When Starscream pushed his luck anyway, Optimus had– politely but firmly– explained that all other forms of physical contact were forbidden before their union was sealed.

“May I?” asked Optimus, gesturing into the room, clearly unwilling to have this conversation without privacy.

Starscream nodded. How odd and polite for a Prime to ask to be let in, in his own palace. He was definitely out of sorts tonight. 

Usually, Optimus had an aura of unassailable serenity and confidence. That Optimus had disappeared tonight, as he sat next to him on the berth, optics darting between Starscream and the floor. 

“I… want to find common ground that respects your culture as well. That is, regarding intimacy before marriage," he said, haltingly. "As you have mentioned, Vos is more… lax with these rules.”

“Vos doesn’t honor any such rule,” said Starscream.

“No,” agreed Optimus. “I understand that interface before a proper union is encouraged. As…as often as possible, to build a stronger bond between a couple. I, er... can appreciate that.”

"Can  you now?" asked Starscream, shifting closer. He wondered what naughty urges Optimus was hiding behind that stoic demeanor that he was having such trouble expressing. 

“Yes, anyway,” continued Optimus, a little flushed now, “I was researching intimacy before conjunxing in Iacon, and I found an exception.”

"And?" Starscream wanted so badly to tease him for looking up loopholes to have an excuse to frag. Instead he just pressed, “What is it you're trying to ask me to do with you, Prime?”

Finally. Prime had caved to his charms. All he had to do was ask, and Starscream would give him the fucking of a lifetime-

Optimus finally looked him in the face. 

“We may kiss,” he said. 

"Kiss? ” asked Starscream, frowning. His disappointment was immense, but... he could work with this. “How so?”

“On the mouth,” said Optimus, and Starscream didn’t miss the way his optics lingered on his lips.

“O-or on the cheek, or the hand,” Optimus muttered, as if that would undo the impropriety of his first suggestion. "If you'd prefer..."

Starscream would not prefer. Before Optimus could back down, he leant in, and Optimus met him in the middle for a peck on the mouth. It was chaste, but Optimus went in with surprising eagerness for that little press of lips. His optics mirror Starscream’s hunger when they pull apart.

This was not nearly enough.

“I don’t how you do it in Iacon, but in Vos, we kiss in a different way,” Starscream murmured against his lips. He flicked the tip of his glossa against his mouth, urging him to part it. 

Optimus put up absolutely no resistance as Starscream slid his glossa into his mouth. From there, Starscream sucked, nibbled and teased, and his attentions were... quite eagerly reciprocated. 

Optimus’ frame was heating up, and hot air was wafting onto him. Starscream wanted to climb onto his lap and hold his broad shoulders. It felt odd to not also caress him while they kissed so deeply. 

He could feel the pent up tension in the way Optimus readily accepted all he was given. If Starscream were to guess, he'd assume he'd been holding back as well. 

Starscream wondered how far he would let him go. He pulled away with a suck of Optimus’ lip.

“I’d like to kiss you… another place.”

Optimus brushed their noses together. 

“Anywhere you like.”

“Minx,” purred Starscream, reaching down and palming Optimus between his legs. “You planned this.”

Optimus flinched. He caught Starscream’s hand and pulled it away.

“Wait,” he said. His deep, authoritative tone went right through Starscream. His grip was tight.

For a fleeting moment, Starscream worried he’d gone too far; somehow misjudged his eagerness, and offended him. 

Optimus lowered his hand to the berth and released it. 

“We can’t touch,” he rumbled, his gaze searing into Starscream’s. “Only kiss.” 

There was a click as his panel opened. 

Starscream bit his lip.

“ Yes, my Prime,” he whispered, kissing his chin. “Lie back.”

Optimus reclined on the berth, while Starscream pressed kisses to his throat, his chest, and his thighs, marking a trail down to the prize between. Optimus’ prim, pale valve was an elegant complement to his strong frame. 

He was already wet. Wetter than could be achieved with such a brief kissing session. Optimus has definitely been anticipating more. Starscream admired him all the more for his boldness.

He parted him with his tongue, and gave his node a lingering kiss.

As he understood it, Primus’ sacred vessel was meant to be “pure”-- supposedly meaning no interface. Which was the reason for forbidding intimacy before being united with a conjunx. 

He doubted whoever wrote the kissing rule intended for it to include sucking their leader’s precious valve, but if Optimus had no issue bending the rule, who was Starscream to deny him?

There was nothing quite like making a gorgeous, powerful mech melt under his tongue.

Optimus was rocking those wide, strong hips against his mouth. He groaned in rapture as Starscream drew a slow circle around his node with the tip of his glossa, wrapped his lips around it, and gave it another hard, sucking kiss. And another. And more, until tremors shook Optimus’ frame.

Then Starscream delved inward, dipping his glossa into his entrance. Optimus was hotter here, alight with need. Starscream ran his glossa over the internal sensors, tonguing deeper until he met the resistance of a seal. Soon, he’d be able to stimulate the deepest parts of him. For now, he teased, just out of reach of Optimus’ largest, most sensitive node at the back of his valve.

This denial caused Optimus dire distress, and his stoic Prime began pushing back onto his glossa in a fruitless attempt to force it to his most needy spot. 

Starscream let him work himself up like this, until Optimus realized with plain disappointment he could go no deeper due to the seal.

“Soon,” Starscream crooned in sympathy. His spike knocked the inside of his panel, desperate to fuck that deep spot for him. 

Optimus wasn’t making himself easy to resist. His serious, resigned expression contrasted his wet, flexing valve that clung to his glossa, chasing every bit of stimulus.

Starscream would love to make him lose his composure and beg for it. 

But somehow, it was more exciting to watch him struggle to adhere to his stern disavowal of interface, all while having lust burning behind his optics.

Let him burn for it.  

For now, he redirected his tongue to Optimus’ anterior node and lapped him there. His firm, concentrated licks had the already desperate Optimus gasping for release.

Starscream indulged him, and Optimus’ frame shuddered as he was brought to his peak. His optics widened, flaring with a bolt of charge, and he moaned, spilling against Starscream’s glossa.

Starscream kissed his valve gently, allowing him some respite. Optimus’ struts relaxed, and his heavy frame settled onto the berth. Starscream crawled back up to kiss him on the mouth, letting Optimus taste himself.

After a few moments, Optimus broke the kiss.

“Would you like… for me to also…?” he asked, glancing at Starscream’s pelvic plating.

So thoughtful. His sense of reciprocation was charming.

Starscream opened his panel. 

The ceremony couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Text

When Skywarp had come onto Megatron earlier in the cycle with an offer to interface, he figured they’d slip out into a storage room for a quick clanging. 

Megatron seemed in no hurry, and said he’d meet up with him later that evening.

Now, pressed up against the wall of the hangar, Skywarp assumed Megatron had gotten too impatient to wait that long. Skywarp dimmed his optics and squirmed against him, ready to be screwed hard enough he’d be flying sideways during drills. 

But Megatron didn’t attack him, didn’t crush various bits of his frame in his powerful grasp in his impatience to have his way with him. His hands didn’t even wander, except to take Skywarp’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

Megatron pulled him tight to his chest, tilted his chin up, and gave him a very passionate kiss.

Skywarp couldn’t remember the last time he blushed, but he was pretty sure he was blushing now, as warmth flooded his face. 

Megatron… really didn’t strike him as the kissing type. He was good at it, sure. Really good at it. The kiss was slow, and gentle and– and intimate. His glossa explored Skywarp’s mouth with all the patient delicacy of a lover. 

Skywarp trembled, waiting for him to start groping. To do something a little rougher. The longer this went on, the more he wondered if he had the right Megatron. The Megatron he knew wouldn’t waste his time with kissing when he had a warm valve waiting to be filled with his spike. Would he? Surely he hadn't pinned him against the wall just to kiss him?

Finally, Megatron seemed to have had his fill. He pulled away with one last nibble of Skywarp’s lip.

“Stay out of trouble, Skywarp. Save your energy for tonight,” he murmured against his mouth.

“Uh. Y-yes sir,” said Skywarp, a little dazed, as Megatron left him standing in the middle of the hangar.

His fans kicked on with a lazy whirr. His earlier inclination to be ravished had deflated a little, replaced by some strange, fluttery emotion. 

Horniness? It must be. The way Megatron was looking at him, Skywarp had totally expected him to clang him right there against the wall. Who was this gentlemech, and what had he done with their ferocious leader?

Their encounter kept reeling in his head for the rest of the cycle. Skywarp couldn't stop thinking about Megatron’s warm mouth caressing his own; his strong arms around his waist, holding him close.

Skywarp’s hookups never kissed him. Not even a peck on the mouth. They definitely didn't gather him in their arms, thumb his chin, and give him a hot, lingering kiss that made his valve tingle.

Megatron, of all bots, seemed the least likely to do any of this. He was tough. Unsentimental. Dominant. Probably only interested in his own pleasure. Which was hot in its own way. Skywarp wouldn’t have asked him to interface in the first place if being pinned to a wall and shoved around didn’t turn him on.

Maybe Megatron was just claiming him as his subordinate- showing his dominance over Skywarp with deep, consuming kisses.

Yeah… that made sense.

Decepticon warriors probably weren’t supposed to be so gentle with each other, but that wasn’t like, a rule. Megatron certainly didn’t enforce it during interface, Skywarp discovered. 

They met up in Megatron’s habsuite at the end of the cycle to frag and, well… with anyone else, they’d have clanged already and parted ways. Instead, Skywarp had spent the past joor on Megatron’s lap, being kissed while Megatron stroked his wings all over with his big, warm hands.

Leaving Skywarp both super charged up and super confused.

Usually, his wings were just groped in passing during his one night stands. His trine didn’t even play with them this carefully. What was Megatron getting out of this by being so thorough?

Skywarp opened his panel, pressing his wet valve against Megatron’s thigh to encourage him to get to the spiking. Megatron kept the pace slow, continuing to stroke his wings, which was, again, both super calming and arousing. 

Skywarp moaned with frustration. What was with this lovey dovey atmosphere? Didn't Megatron want to like… bend him over and screw him? Release all his tensions with a quick, rough spiking, and leave Skywarp limping and full of his transfluid? Instead, what Megatron was doing could be classified as making love . Ugh. 

Something in Skywarp rebelled against that. It went against everything he knew about Megatron. 

“You’ve been quiet, Skywarp. Am I boring you?” asked Megatron.

“No,” said Skywarp quickly. “No way!”

He lifted his chin eagerly, and Megatron gave him a gentle peck on the lips.

“You like being kissed,” observed Megatron, a tiny smile creasing his mouth. Skywarp’s spark throbbed.

“Um. Yeah,” he murmured. Along with everything else you're doing. 

Somehow that was really embarrassing to admit. Especially when Megatron went back in and kissed him deeper, and Skywarp melted. Literally– he was leaving a puddle of lubricant on Megatron’s thigh. 

While they kissed, Megatron’s hand wandered between his legs, slipping a thumb through his valve, spreading his wetness over his node. Skywarp twitched. He'd been warm and throbbing there since Megatron started petting him. 

Megatron massaged his node, working his thumb in slow circles until Skywarp squirmed. After being denied for so long, he was sensitive. So sensitive, he couldn’t hold back. 

“Wait. I–I’m going to overload before you,” said Skywarp, turning out of the kiss. “Is that okay?”

Megatron looked bemused. “Of course. Overload as much as you like.”

“H-huh? Really?” stuttered Skywarp, before his mouth was captured again. His node tingled with each pass of Megatron’s digit. The firm, unhurried rubbing made his charge swell in deep waves, rippling harder through his valve with every passing klik. 

Skywarp spread his legs further. Megatron wrapped an arm around his waist and rubbed his thumb more firmly into his slit, sucking the tip of his glossa. 

Overload crashed over Skywarp, hard enough to wipe his processor blank when he finally resurfaced. 

He came down with his hot cheek resting against Megatron’s chest. His fans whined with exertion. He was all strutless and wet and tingly. 

His spark swirled lazily as Megatron laid him back on the berth and finally worked his spike into him. Skywarp got to feel every segment as it gradually sank in.

They did it gently, in missionary, with the lights low, and Skywarp accepted that he was truly out of his depth.

He felt like a… a princess. Or something. 

Yeah. This was the type of embarrassing slag Starscream would demand– tons of petting and attention and kisses. To get spoiled and pampered to death before he would take anyone’s spike.

Skywarp prided himself on being easy and fun and low maintenance in berth. Even a bad frag was better than none at all. 

Interface felt good, but he didn’t think it could feel this good. Crazy good. 

His frame had never been this relaxed. He felt safe and protected, enclosed in Megatron’s warm embrace.

The gentle rocking of Megatron’s spike nudged his sensors, rubbing his soaking valve enough to build up a hot, intense charge. Skywarp was dying to overload again. He hooked his legs around Megatron’s waist, trying to get him to speed up. 

Megatron maintained his steady pace, sucking his neck cabling, pumping his spike into him. But his thumb returned to his array, lazily circling his anterior node until Skywarp lost control.  

His overload was luxurious and drawn out, crackling from his pedes to his wingtips.

Megatron’s spike was still moving, massaging the last of his overload out of him, as Skywarp sprawled beneath him.

“I don't think I’ve really been screwed, until now,” said Skywarp. “Y’know. Like, really been fra–mmh.”

He was cut off as Megatron sealed his mouth with another kiss. Skywarp clung to his neck, and was treated to a long, thorough spiking.  

Chapter Text

Starscream and Skywarp had gotten bored of entertaining their fellow aristocrats that came to their box in the colosseum in Kaon to gossip.

Before Thundercracker could talk them out of it, his trinemates snuck off through the compound below the arena to get an intimate look at their favorite pit fighters.

A very intimate look, Thundercracker gathered. 

They had been unsuccessful in meeting anyone so far, but were still wandering around and giggling about interface like sparklings. Not a care in the world. 

Thundercracker lagged behind them, on the lookout for any of their associates, desperately trying to prevent a scandal. 

“Do you two even know where you’re going?” he asked.

“Nope!” said Skywarp, and continued chattering with Starscream. In the middle of a filthy discussion about the girths of various fighters, Thundercracker decided he had had enough. He yanked on their wings to get them to stop walking.

“You know you can just pay these gladiators to spend the night in your suite?” he asked. “Why do you want to interface in a filthy hallway under the stadium?”

“For the thrill,” said Starscream. He flicked his wing from Thundercracker’s grasp. “I wouldn't expect you to understand.”

“I don't. It’s dangerous and disgusting. Besides, mechs of our rank shouldn't be–”

“You can go back to the hotel and sit in the room if you disagree with our choice of entertainment."

“Yeah, maybe you should, TC,” said Skywarp. “Your bitching is kinda killing the mood.”

“All I’m saying is you should be more careful."

Starscream gave him a look that was somehow both smarmy and withering. There was no chance he was going to listen. Thundercracker tried anyway. “Seriously, Starscream, I’m–”

“Bo-o-oring,” droned Skywarp. 

“Not quite so,” said Starscream, placing a hand on Thundercracker’s lower back. “You're just too… how should I put this… delicate to appreciate Kaon’s attractions.”

With a smug smile, he nudged Thundercracker in the opposite direction.

“You should head back to the stands. I’m sure that novel you were reading during the match was fascinating.”

“It was,” snapped Thundercracker, heat blooming in his cheeks. “Better than watching that senseless violence you call entertainment. Or– or whatever gladiator orgy you're hoping to stumble across.”

He stormed off, leaving them to their search. Snickers trailed after him down the corridor, and concern for his trine was dampened by the sting of indignation. See if he cared if they were torn apart by a mob of gladiators. He couldn’t be their chaperone all the time. 

The underbelly of the colosseum was a maze. Thundercracker retraced his steps through the tunnels where they had come, all the while grumbling to himself.

Several kliks later, he realized he had taken a wrong turn somewhere. 

Instead of the path back to the stands, he was in the middle of an unmarked courtyard that diverged into three more paths. He chose the left one at random and ended up even deeper in the compound. Completely lost, he ducked through an archway leading off to a room, hoping to find someone he could ask for directions. As he wandered further, the room became stifling hot and thick with steam. He flicked condensation off his wings, grimacing. Was he near the forges? 

The overlapping sounds of laughter and conversation echoed off the walls. Thundercracker followed the noises around a corner, and the room opened onto a massive courtyard. A huge bathing pool of hot oil encompassed the center.

It was filled with lounging grounders whom, judging by the sheer size and menace of them, Thundercracker could only assume were gladiators. 

All helms turned towards him as he hesitated by the edge of the bath.

They instantly judged him to be out of place with his wings and streamlined, polished civilian frame. Thundercracker hardly thought about his appearance beyond looking presentable. Usually he didn't attract undue attention, but among these gladiators, he was incongruous, eye-catching.

Delicate.

Stares turned to leers and murmurs of approval. One of them whistled. 

Better to ask someone else for directions. He doubted he would get anything but trouble from these mechs. Nervous from the attention he had garnered, Thundercracker turned to backtrack. 

As he did, a garishly painted gaggle of smaller bots streamed through the entrance behind him, chattering and giggling. They blocked his escape. 

Worse, they were nudging him back towards the pool. Thundercracker scowled as they brushed against his wings. Who in the world were–

“Buymechs are here!” one of the pit fighters shouted.

The sounds of splashing behind him drew his attention back to the pool. He whipped his helm around, just in time to watch the gladiators surge up to meet the newcomers.

Being the closest, Thundercracker was grabbed first. 

“No, no! I’m not–!” he exclaimed as an enormous hand closed around his wrist. He pleaded and struggled, but the gladiator’s strength outmatched his meager resistance, and he was dragged into the bath. 

Thundercracker stumbled into his assailant. And gaped at him. The mech was twice as broad as him in every direction, his heavy, dull armor covered in dents and scrapes. His ugly face– more weld lines than derma– contorted in a pleased grimace as he felt up the curve of Thundercracker’s aft. The tip of his glossa snaked out and played over jagged, fanged denta. 

Mortified, Thundercracker shoved at his chest and squirmed out of his grasp, only to be caught around the waist by another. Large, clumsy hands groped his wings, stroking up their entire length. 

The lack of wings on any of the other mechs here made him instantly popular. Gladiators were falling over themselves to claim him. Thundercracker couldn't strike away their wandering hands fast enough. He whirled, trying to find a way out of the frenzy, but he was trapped, surrounded by enormous bots leering down at him with their spikes out. 

The stench of overheated metal and the distinct sharpness of transfluid permeated the stifling air. Frozen in dread, Thundercracker resigned himself to his horrible fate. 

The edges of vision darkened, closing in. He stood no chance against even one of them, if they wished to do the unthinkable. But it wouldn't be just one. He was going to be ravished by an entire horde-

He didn't finish that thought, as his processor crashed. Everything went dark. 

An instant later, he was no longer in a tangle of groping hands. 

Thundercracker’s helm spun as he rebooted, pulled from his swoon. 

Warm hands held him upright, tight and secure. His optics flickered on, and the appearance of his savior swam into focus.

Thundercracker stuttered in terror.

He was pressed up against the chest of a massive gladiator. Bigger than the rest; a class above. Out of their hands and into another’s. He doubted anyone would challenge this mech for a turn with him. 

Thundercracker brought his knuckles to his forehelm, fighting the urge to faint again. 

“Stop that,” said the mech, shaking him. “You aren't in danger.”

Thundercracker squinted groggily at him.

Huh. This one was familiar. 

The worn, handsome face. The imposing silver frame and steely optics. The target of his trinemates’ endless praise and open lust. He was unmistakable. 

This was Megatron. The champion of the arena. 

Just Thundercracker’s luck that he’d ended up in the clutches of Kaon’s most fearsome, brutal gladiator. 

Megatron surveyed his frame with piercing red optics. “Just as I thought. You don’t look like a buymech,” he said, his deep voice reverberating through Thundercracker.

If he wasn't holding him up, Thundercracker’s legs would have given out. 

“Uh. No,” Thundercracker said stupidly. Oh Primus, Megatron was so big, he had to tip his helm all the way back to look into his face.

“A high caste jet,” said Megatron, stroking a thumb over Thundercracker’s chin. The corner of his scarred mouth quirked in amusement. “You’re a long way from Vos.”

Thundercracker's addled processor clanked back to life as he remembered his appearance. His royal blue paint. The Winglord’s sigils. All the obvious marks of aristocracy. 

His spark sank with humiliation. 

“I can't be here,” said Thundercracker. “Please pretend you didn't see me.”

Megatron’s optics glimmered. “Of course. I know what you're here for.” He cupped his chin.

“That’s not- I didn't mean-” stammered Thundercracker, as his lower lip was caressed. Megatron’s rough thumb pulled his mouth open slightly. 

“Beautiful,” rumbled Megatron. His gaze had become intent and lascivious. 

A knot formed in Thundercracker’s belly. Before today, no mech of such low status had ever looked at him like that. They wouldn't dare. 

Megatron’s broad hand encompassed the span of his waist, gripping so tightly, Thundercracker didn't think he was going to let him leave. He pushed at his chest to at least put some distance between them, but Megatron just raised an optical ridge and crushed him closer. 

A twinge of heat licked Thundercracker’s valve. 

No. No…

He was not aroused, he told himself, as accompanying moisture began to collect inside his panel. His frame was just reacting defensively– lubricating so he wouldn't be caused pain when this mech inevitably threw him down and had his way with him.

A loud moan drew Thundercracker’s attention to the side, where the other gladiators had already forgotten about him in favor of the shareware. In a writhing mass, they were groping, kissing, fragging. Their debauchery was loud and emphatic, like they were urging him to join. Thundercracker didn't think his cheeks could get any hotter. He felt the weight of expectation in Megatron’s heavy hand on his waist. The urgency in the scorching codpiece pressed to his hip.

His valve throbbed.

There was no way he was going to give in. Not trapped in the unforgiving embrace of some savage, horny pit fighter, in the middle of an orgy of equally savage grounders. It was unthinkable.

Starscream and Skywarp would have dived in headfirst.

Thundercracker had always disdained them for their reckless behavior, but at least they would handle this situation better. Not gracefully, but at least they'd be comfortable with it. Thundercracker just felt resigned. And wet. And ashamed that he was wet. 

“Tell me now if you don't want this,” said Megatron, in a deep growl that made Thundercracker’s valve clench. His lips brushed his audial and trailed down his neck. “I’m growing impatient." A hint of his fang nipped Thundercracker’s throat cabling, followed by the warm, sticky pull of glossa. 

“Um. Mmh,” said Thundercracker. “Ohh…”

Oh. He was being allowed to leave. 

Oddly, he didn't feel any relief. He imagined politely declining to frag, blushing like a virgin as he scurried back to the hotel room. 

…Where he’d lounge on the berth and finger himself mercilessly to the thought of being pulverized by enormous gladiator spike, until post-overload clarity set in and he got too embarrassed to continue. 

Then his trine would come back, happy and limping and dented up from their escapades, and he’d quietly pull the berthcovers over his head, wallowing in envy that they were sparked without shame. 

The image was so stark. So humiliating in its mediocrity he flinched. 

He couldn’t take that.

Thundercracker gazed back up at Megatron, imploring. Aching with fresh determination. 

“Please," he whispered. "I want it.”

He was immediately set upon. 

Megatron crushed their mouths together in a searing, sloppy kiss. His thick glossa forced open Thundercracker’s lips and assaulted his intake, while his rough hand slipped from his waist to squeeze his aft. Sharp denta caught his lips, nipping and biting while he rubbed the curve of his backside.

One of Thundercracker’s thighs was yanked up around his waist and Megatron ground his armored codpiece between his legs. The vibration of his powerful engine thrummed through Thundercracker’s thin panel, purring against his valve. 

He moaned, overwhelmed. With no chance of escape, he had no choice but to be treated as an accessory for this gladiator’s pleasure.

Megatron’s mouth strayed to his neck. Glossa traced his collar faring up his throat, leaving a sticky trail. The soft, pale derma of Thundercracker’s face was attacked next, so different from Megatron’s own scarred visage. Cheeks and chin were licked and kissed before Megatron’s glossa thrust back between his plumped lips. 

Megatron growled in pleasure as he felt him up shamelessly, pinching, squeezing, tasting.

No disrespect Thundercracker had suffered before could compare to this lecherous massage, meant to sate Megatron’s desire to fondle him rather than to properly arouse him.

Megatron gave his glossa one last suck, before disconnecting with a lewd pop. Gasping and overheated, Thundercracker opened his vents. His engorged valve pushed against the inside of his panel, thoroughly sticky. That was hot too– hot from being pressed so hard against Megatron’s pelvic armor.

His fans whined, cycling the steamy air. The bath was so stuffy, he’d become dizzy. Overheating was imminent if he didn't open all his plating.

A click, and his panel snapped open, revealing the lusty state of his valve- blushing with energon, derma pink and plump. The swollen bud of his anterior node peeked out of his slit, pinging with charge, as Megatron’s powerful engine rumbled vibrations directly into it. Thundercracker moaned, compressing the bare mesh against Megatron’s heavily armored groin.

Finding a corner that slotted perfectly into his crevice, buzzing against his exterior sensors, Thundercracker thrust his hips. An answering thrust from Megatron ground his node powerfully. 

But before he could indulge, Megatron pulled back, unhooking Thundercracker’s leg from around his hip. Thundercracker scowled in annoyance. Just as he was starting to enjoy himself, Megatron turned him around and bent him over the side of the bath.

A hand on his back between his wings forced him into an exposed, helpless position. Megatron stepped between his legs, bumping his codpiece against Thundercracker’s exposed mesh.

This was how he would be fragged. From behind, just shoved right in and taken. Without a shred of shame or dignity. Treated like a buymech. 

Thundercracker’s charge ramped up to an unbankable level. 

There was the sound of a panel sliding away, then a huge spike rutted into his cleft. Thundercracker hid his face in his arms, overcome with arousal. He didn't want to think about how big Megatron was. He was soaking, but would it be enough?

Megatron entered him; all the weight of his enormous frame driving him in.

Thundercracker whined. His spike was big. Steel-like and burning with charge. And Megatron was unforgiving, pushing inexorably deeper, making him take it. Thundercracker squirmed forward, desperate to relieve some of the pressure on his callipers. Megatron gripped the edge of a wing to stop his progress. The thin metal creaked in his grasp.

Thundercracker flattened his remaining wing to his frame to make it less tempting to grab. No such luck. 

To his unrelenting astonishment, he was grabbed by both wings, which Megatron used as handholds. Leverage to thrust his enormous spike deeper.

Thundercracker’s back twinged as Megatron dragged him back, filling him. His furious protest was swallowed up in a moan, as the painful twinge shot heat straight into his valve.

His vents hitched in surprise. This was nothing like being fragged by his trinemates. Being mechhandled by someone so insurmountable was… amazing.

Megatron took him like he was nothing more than a pleasure drone, rather than one of the most distinguished nobles in Vos. 

Hard, unrelenting thrusts rang out through the bath, surely leaving dents as Megatron’s hips slammed into his aft. Thundercracker couldn't hold back his moans. Here, they blended with the chaos of the other couples pleasuring each other. The slurps and groans and clanging.

With another violent jerk of his wings, Thundercracker shouted, overloading hard.

At the same moment, Megatron buried his spike deep and flooded him with transfluid. He was still hard, and after a few moments of slow hip grinding, he was pounding into him again. Still reeling with sensitivity from his own overload, Thundercracker was baffled by Megatron’s endless rutting. 

How much stamina does he have?

Thundercracker lifted himself with shaking arms, only to have Megatron grab the back of his neck and shove him face down, shafting his spike into him as far as it would go. It slammed the neck of his valve, and an undignified grunt burst from his vocalizer. 

“I'm not finished,” growled Megatron. His intimidating rumble paralyzed Thundercracker. Made him submit. He didn't resist as Megatron grasped his wrists and pinned them behind his back. Preparing him to be his spike sleeve. 

Thundercracker hadn't realized what he’d committed to. This was never going to be just one or two rounds. Servicing Kaon’s mightiest gladiator meant he’d be getting used all night. 

And with the indomitable strength only a champion could possess, Megatron brutalized his clenching valve.

After his fourth overload, Thundercracker had become perfectly mindless. Nothing mattered. Nothing but that big spike rammed so far up his internals he could practically taste the charge as it spilled into his belly. His walls sluttily clung to Megatron’s shaft as it pummeled him, helpless in the face of such a delicious assault. Now that he was getting spiked in full force, his own overloads were intense, constant, and inescapable. 

He rested his cheek against the damp tile and lost himself in pleasure. 

–

“Did you come through the lobby of The Grand Regency with your valve on display!?”

Starscream’s shriek barely registered in Thundercracker’s audials. 

Thundercracker was sprawled on the berth in their hotel room. He didn't remember how he got here. Just that he woke to his trinemates standing over him. Shouting, in Starscream's case. 

“Hmm… my valve?” asked Thundercracker. His valve… his valve tingled. Wide open and drenched with transfluid; melting, sliding out of him in a silvery dribble. 

That felt nice.

Starscream stared at him, slack-jawed. “Have you been fragged utterly stupid? Look at the state of your frame! You've been gone for seven joors getting railed by Primus knows who, and then wander back looking like secondhand shareware– stop fondling him, Skywarp!”

Thundercracker moaned as Skywarp wiped through his valve with a damp cloth. 

“I’m cleaning him up,” said Skywarp, pulling and prodding the mesh. “Whoa. You’re totally stretched out down here, TC.”

“You look like you've gone twelve rounds with a trash compactor! Who did this to you?” 

“Megatron…” murmured Thundercracker, grinning. “It was Megatron.”

The looks on their faces before he slipped into recharge were worth the jealous wailing he was subjected to for the next eight cycles.

Chapter Text

For his gross impropriety– but mostly because Starscream was in a snit– Thundercracker had been banished to the least glamorous wing of their trine’s penthouse suite for the duration of their stay in Kaon.

Until the gossip blew over, Thundercracker wasn't allowed to go anywhere without Starscream, or have guests over that he hadn’t approved. His ‘daring little jaunt’, as Starscream called it, had some of their peers wondering what had happened to good little Thundercracker, so he was to lie low, lest his shame be the talk of the season. As Starscream reminded him at least once a cycle, he was in Kaon taking care of some important Winglord business and Thundercracker’s dalliance had interrupted that, forcing him to handle PR from the fallout. 

Thundercracker didn't think Starscream’s itinerary of betting on death matches and getting railed by gladiators fell under the category of official state business, but Starscream insisted those things were integral to appreciating Kaon’s culture and moreover, there was a right way and a wrong way to fool around. 

Thundercracker, decidedly, had done everything wrong.

As if Starscream weren't being spiteful enough, he’d been summoning a parade of escorts and gladiators (which were often the same thing) to entertain him at all hours of the recharge cycle. Unable to leave the penthouse under Starscream’s draconian new rule, Thundercracker had been forced to listen to Starscream rattle the shared wall between their rooms for the past several nights. Culminating in tonight, where– Thundercracker had heard secondhand from Skywarp– Starscream had paid some exorbitant amount for Megatron’s company. Thundercracker was already dreading what that would sound like. He could only turn his audials so low. 

Starscream could lecture him about impropriety all he wanted, but Thundercracker knew the real reason he’d been the target of his anger.

As beautiful and (debatably) charming as he was, Starscream had to buy Megatron’s attention, like anyone else who had the shanix. Being blessed with an ego bigger than their planet, this didn’t sit well with Starscream. Especially when Thundercracker had easily tumbled into Megatron’s arms and didn’t even properly enjoy it– Starscream’s accusations. If Thundercracker had to guess, Starscream would be spending all of tonight demonstrating what ‘enjoying it properly’ sounded like. 

Whatever.

Thundercracker flicked the screen of his datapad, scrolling to the next page of his novel. 

He wished Skywarp was around to keep him company. Skywarp had lost interest in the drama cycles ago and was out bar hopping, abandoning Thundercracker to another night of Starscream’s audial-shattering berthroom activities. Meaning it would be another boring evening- for him, while his trinemates were free to have as much fun as they liked. More of the usual. 

Or so he thought, until he heard his berthroom door slide open.

He glances up, glad Skywarp decided to call it an early night. And does the hardest double take in his life. 

It's not Skywarp. Instead, taking up the entire door frame, is Megatron. Looking just as surprised as Thundercracker feels.

Thundercracker clutches his datapad to his chest, struck with the overwhelming urge to cover himself. There's nothing to cover, but he feels exposed being in such close quarters with a gladiator. Laid out on his berth with Megatron right there. In his berthroom. 

“Why are you here?” Thundercracker demands to know. Here, and not with Starscream, in the adjoining room. Where he's supposed to be. 

Megatron’s surprise resolves into… satisfaction, as he looks him up and down. 

“A fortuitous accident, it seems. You’re Thundercracker?” he asks.

“...Yes?” says Thundercracker tentatively. He didn't tell him his name last time, for good reason, and doesn't know how Megatron found out. 

Megatron seems to read his mind. “You didn't think you'd have the privacy of an anonymous tumble? You’re a well-known aristocrat. Perhaps more well-known, as of late…” He trails off with a pointed smile.

Thundercracker stares at him.

Megatron is too comfortable teasing him. Considering how he'd clearly confused his room for Starscream’s, Thundercracker had expected him to bow out immediately and apologize for the mistake. But he’s lingering. He can't even begin to describe how inappropriate this interaction is.

Thundercracker lowers his voice to try to sound intimidating, even as heat rises in his face. 

“Just because the Winglord gave you free reign to speak casually with him doesn't mean you can speak freely to me,” he snips.

Megatron’s smirk doesn’t waver. “Of course not. My apologies.”

“He’s in the next room,” says Thundercracker curtly, putting his nose back in his novel. He tries to calm his fluttering spark as he feels Megatron’s optics sweep over him again. 

“You know what I’m here for?” asks Megatron. He sounds mildly surprised. “You know what it means that he's called on me?”

“All too well,” mutters Thundercracker. 

Megatron hums in thought. “Good. Then you’ll know what I mean, when I say your valve would make a nice prelude to his.”

Thundercracker’s helm snaps back up. 

“My valve?” he exclaims without thinking, feeling his tanks shrink to a hot little ball.

Megatron nods, like he hadn't just suggested something outrageous. 

Thundercracker’s frame floods with heat. Horrified, he tries to pull himself together.

“Do you have any shame at all? You can't just say something like–”

Megatron’s sleazy grin tells him that shame is the furthest thing from his mind. Thundercracker changes course and lowers his voice to a harsh whisper. Primus forbid Starscream hears any of this.

“I don’t… hook up with just anyone.”

“Huh,” says Megatron, raising a brow disbelievingly. 

“I mean– I don’t have a habit of hooking up with just anyone,” Thundercracker amends, face blazing. 

“Huh,” says Megatron again, like that distinction doesn’t make an ounce of difference to him. Thundercracker doesn’t know why he hasn’t ordered him out of his room yet. Or why he’s stumbling through an explanation of his interface habits. Or even allowing this subject of conversation. So of course, he digs himself deeper in an attempt to get out. 

“Look, you can’t just ask someone of my status to– to do that. With you. You can’t expect that.”

“I thought you'd be amenable," says Megatron, shrugging. 

“You thought…” Thundercracker trails off with dawning horror. What kind of impression had he made the first time for Megatron to suggest an interface so easily the second he saw him again? 

Megatron folds his arms. “Well, I’m early, and the Winglord isn't expecting me for a while, so–”

“You thought you'd use me to warm up?” gasps Thundercracker, caught somewhere between being aroused and horrifically offended. Every second longer this conversation goes, it gets worse. 

Megatron’s optics glint hungrily. “You’d rather be the main event?”

“What?” Thundercracker is so embarrassed, he can hardly think straight. “No, I'd rather you attend to Starscream and leave me alone.”

Instead, Megatron comes closer. The floor vibrates with every step. Thundercracker flattens himself to the pillows as Megatron comes right up to his berthside, towering over him. He’s as big as he remembers. His steely optics pierce the darkness, and there’s nowhere to escape. Thundercracker’s spark begins doing somersaults in its chamber. 

Megatron puts out his hands placatingly. “It wasn't my intention to offend you.”

“I know what your intentions are,” says Thundercracker, eyeing him warily. “Even if you won't listen to me, Starscream isn't going to approve of this.”

Megatron’s lip curls in a smirk. “We’ll enjoy ourselves and he won't know the difference.”

Thundercracker wishes Megatron wouldn’t say “we”. Like Thundercracker has agreed to anything, and Megatron hadn’t just stumbled in and decided to have his way. The boldness of it all– casually suggesting a frag like Thundercracker was some mech from off the street. Like Starscream wouldn’t murder them if he found out. 

The responsible thing would be to reject him. React with a modicum of dignity. The best Thundercracker’s frame can offer is an inappropriate pulse of smugness, reminding him that Megatron has Starscream waiting and decided to have a quickie with him first, purely out of lust. But being walked in on and propositioned by some pit fighter is not exactly something to be proud of. 

“I have no excuse to do this,” says Thundercracker. 

“Sure you do," says Megatron. "You seem like a responsible associate of the Winglord. Why not ride my spike to take the edge off so I can last longer for your leader?”

A pang of anger breaks through Thundercracker's lust. “You must be joking,” he snaps. “I'm his trine, not his lackey.”

“Am I off the mark?” asks Megatron, completely unapologetic. “You seem so concerned with his approval, I didn't think it was an unreasonable suggestion.”

Something cold and bitter stirs in Thundercracker’s tanks. 

“Does his pleasure come at the price of yours?” asks Megatron. 

“If he wishes it to,” says Thundercracker through his denta. “Then it's my duty to obey.”

Megatron rumbles a laugh. “I thought you had more spine than that.”

Indignation surges through Thundercracker, as Megatron’s smug stare locks onto him, challenging. Knowing he’s tantalizingly vulnerable and perfect to toy with. 

Enough is enough. 

“I’m calling security,” Thundercracker says, but his glossa trips over the words.

A mischievous look comes over Megatron’s features.

“By all means.”

He swings a knee onto the berth and crawls forward, backing Thundercracker up until his wings hit the headboard. 

That wasn't the reaction Thundercracker had expected. Unarmed and defenseless, heat coils thickly in his array as he's cornered. He realizes he doesn't care to threaten Megatron. Rejecting him feels like an obligation rather than a desire. And what he desires–

“Wait,” begs Thundercracker, frantically bracing both hands against Megatron’s chest, knowing it won't hold him back. 

Not only does it not hold him back, Megatron traps his wrists and drags him closer. Thundercracker struggles, fighting off arousal as he's pulled against his chest. 

“I said wait. I'm seriously going to call–”

“Are you?” asks Megatron.

Before Thundercracker can protest, he's tugged forward and stifled with a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. It has a tranquilizing effect, calming his racing thoughts and relaxing his inhibitions. For a moment, all he’s aware of is how incredibly wet he is. How slick and ready for spike. His core temperature skyrockets as Megatron’s glossa strokes his. His vents snap open and release all the trapped heat that's accumulated. 

He slumps against Megatron, valve throbbing needily. 

This is happening. Again. He really has no self control. As soon as Megatron got his hands on him, all his sense melted away. 

Cheeks blazing, he surrenders, letting Megatron press him into the berth. He’s forced to spread his legs wide to accommodate Megatron’s torso. Megatron settles over him heavily, hands roaming over his frame. Hungry kisses are pressed to his neck and mouth. 

Shivers travel through Thundercracker, emanating from every place Megatron touches. He’s so weak to him.

He turns his face away, trying to get his horny processor to summon anger. Shame. Disgust. Any reasonable emotion. This is such a violation of– of everything. His privacy, his frame. His dignity.

“Are you insane?” he asks, even as arousal rages through him.

Thundercracker can feel Megatron smile against his neck while sucking cabling beneath his jaw. Megatron kisses his way up the side of his helm until his nose strokes his audial. 

“Put your legs over your head,” he orders. In a dulcet purr, but an order nonetheless.

Too easily, Thundercracker obeys, drawing his knees up as far as he can, resting his legs on Megatron’s shoulders. For good measure, he opens his panel. He's visibly soaking, which clearly pleases Megatron, who pressurizes his spike. It hangs heavily, the tip brushing Thundercracker’s abdomen. 

Thundercracker realizes he’s never actually seen his spike. It’s gunmetal gray, ridged and girthy, and has studs under the head, which he rubs all along Thundercracker’s exposed slit. The contrast is stark: Thundercracker’s undecorated, tediously modest valve against his nasty gladiator spike. The size difference, too, makes him lightheaded. He has no idea how it had fit before, much less how he’d taken it for hours and come out alive by the end. 

Megatron seems unbothered by this, stuffing and withdrawing his spike against his entrance until the tip pops in. Thundercracker lolls his helm back on the pillows. He’s going to get spiked silly again, and there’s nothing he can do about it. This feels ridiculously slutty. They're face to face this time, with no steam obscuring their transgressions. He has to watch Megatron fill him with spike– while Megatron gets to watch him squirm and strain to take it. 

“It's not going to fit,” blurts Thundercracker, in a pathetic, last ditch attempt to derail the inevitable.

“Stop pretending to be modest,” replies Megatron, and pins his wrists over his head, holding him immobile, with his spike poised to split him. There's so much of it left. 

Then Megatron kisses him full on the mouth and pushes his hips forward. Thundercracker stifles a groan as, gradually, his spike sinks in. Megatron sets the pace he likes, and Thundercracker knows he’s facing a rough ride. Megatron’s strokes are forceful, drawing heavy tremors through his valve. The wide, blunt spike head scrubs back and forth over his ceiling node.

In this position, Megatron can suck and nibble his mouth while he fucks. He claims his mouth with ravenous, consuming kisses, his glossa mirroring his spike in its voracious movements. Their hips meet in sharp, rapid clangs, as Megatron makes him take the full length of his spike with every thrust. 

Thundercracker is in bliss, and can no longer pretend he’s not. He moans freely, rocking his hips against Megatron’s. 

He thinks nothing of the amount of noise he's making, until Starscream’s shrill voice rings out suddenly, startling him. 

“Thundercracker!” There’s a rapping at the door. “What do you think you're doing? Who is in there with you? I know Skywarp is out, so don't lie!”

Thundercracker clenches his jaw. Somehow, he’d completely forgotten about Starscream. Worse, the door isn't locked. Megatron had just let himself in. 

Meanwhile, Megatron– who clearly has no fear of Starscream’s wrath– continues to frag him, despite Thundercracker’s frantic, wordless nudging at his shoulders with the heels of his thrusters to get him to ease off. But as long as he’s pinned to the berth, his only choice is to be fucked. 

“Stop ignoring me!” shouts Starscream. “Cut that out or I'm coming in and stopping it for you!”

“Nh-no!” sputters Thundercracker. “You can’t. I. Uh,” he says haltingly, trying to keep his voice steady as he’s pounded into the berth. Watching Megatron’s thick spike slapping in and out of his upturned valve is hypnotic. “I-I’m busy.”

“I gathered that! With whom?”

“Uh. I’m, ah–” he pants. The banded ridges of Megatron’s spike catch on his calipers, creating hot friction against his walls as they pop through rapidly. There's no way to prevent the noises he makes when it drives in deep, filling him up. He can't possibly deal with Starscream like this. Not when he’s so close to overload.

Starscream makes a noise of disgust. “This isn't like you to be this defiant. If you don’t stop, I promise you won’t like what I’m going to do to you.”

Thundercracker glances up at Megatron, imploring. Megatron winks at him. He’s not stopping until he gets an overload. Not even Starscream will intimidate him out of getting his way. 

Thundercracker’s valve clenches at the audacity. But… really, who is Starscream to tell him what he can’t do?

Oh, he's so close… he doesn't care anymore. 

“Thundercracker!” snaps Starscream. 

If Megatron has made a decision, so has he. 

“I don’t want you leaving a drop of transfluid for him,” growls Thundercracker, flicking his glossa against Megatron’s chin.

He underestimated the dramatic effect this request would have on Megatron. The big mech’s engine roars, and he folds Thundercracker’s legs back over his head so his knees are almost touching his audials. Then he squats over his hips for leverage, and thrusts his spike in like a jackhammer.

Thundercracker’s valve cycles down hard as the new position rams his spike into his ceiling node. It’s like a dam has opened. Thundercracker can’t possibly hold back the string of obscenity tumbling from his mouth. The clanging becomes horrendous, echoing throughout the room. The incriminating noise of two mechs going at it like petrorabbits can probably be heard by the entire hotel. 

“Thundercracker! You spike-crazed harlot! How dare you ignore me!” Starscream, predictably, explodes, but his whining fades into the background, as Thundercracker is consumed with the need to be clanged into an explosive overload.

Megatron has fallen into an erratic rhythm, his massive frame heaving over Thundercracker’s; face contorted in a snarl of concentration. Thundercracker’s valve is being desecrated. With every uncontrolled thrust, Megatron’s spike rams the back of it, striking his molten sensors again and again, sending him over the edge. Thundercracker tightens, unleashing a wild, guttural moan. 

With a last driving thrust, Megatron sinks his denta into his throat, holding deep, spilling into him. His spike jerks, pumping liquid heat up his valve. He’s heaving, growling, screwing his spike in as deep as it will go, letting Thundercracker’s walls milk him of every last drop.

Megatron pulls out, sluggish, licking Thundercracker’s neck where he bit him. The berthcovers dip as Megatron blankets him, claiming his mouth in a deep kiss. 

Light spills across both of them.

Megatron pulls back and Thundercracker can see Starscream standing in the doorway. Livid.

He doesn't think they could have been in a more compromising position– Megatron on top with Thundercracker’s legs propped open on his shoulders. Somehow, Thundercracker can't care less that they've gotten caught. He apologizes reflexively anyway. 

“Sorry, Screamer,” he rasps. 

“No the hell you aren't!” shouts Starscream. “Why is Megatron here with you?”

Megatron’s voice is gravelly with exertion. “You said I could come in and help myself.”

“To me!” screeches Starscream.

“Hm. Well. Your booking doesn't start for another…” Megatron checks his chronometer, grunts, then nuzzles lazily into Thundercracker’s neck. “...huh. I guess it's already started.”

Starscream’s wings shoot up in an aggressive line. He storms over. 

Great, Thundercracker thinks. Hopefully, Starscream will make their deaths quick and painless.

Megatron, however, surges up faster than Thundercracker could have anticipated, and grabs Starscream by the neck, halting his warpath and backing him into the wall. 

Starscream’s attitude totally changes. His mouth drops open and his optics blow wide, as he’s suddenly at Megatron’s mercy. But, being Starscream, he doesn’t know when to quit. 

“How dare you,” he snarls, and Thundercracker isn't sure if it's directed at him or Megatron. “You can’t do this to me. I’m the Wingl– ngh–”

Megatron tightens his grip, and Starscream lets out a moan that doesn’t sound particularly pained. 

“Can’t I?” asks Megatron. 

When Starscream doesn’t answer, in favor of glaring past him at Thundercracker, Megatron shakes him roughly.

“Was this not why you called me here? To get roughed up and disrespected?” 

Starscream gurgles, clearly indignant, but isn't about to argue with a gladiator with his hand around his neck. 

“Yes,” he squeaks, looking like he’s seconds from leaking through his panel. 

“Good,” says Megatron, and shoves him back towards the door. Starscream scampers out, humbled. Thundercracker doubts he’ll take this lying down, but maybe one of the myriad other ways Megatron will take him tonight will put him in a more forgiving mood. 

Situation diffused for now, Megatron turns his attention back to Thundercracker. He takes his hand and kisses the knuckles, in a bizarrely gentlemanly gesture that shouldn’t suit him as much as it does. Thundercracker’s spark throbs. 

After Megatron leaves, Thundercracker stares up at the ceiling. He brings his fingers to his throat, feeling along the ridges left behind from where Megatron bit him. The metal is still warm, and stings to touch. In the other room, Megatron and Starscream have gotten started. The sounds of interface drift through the wall. Thundercracker smirks. 

This time, Starscream isn’t nearly as loud. 

Chapter Text

Skywarp is feeling good. The skies are cold and cloudy, with plenty of places to hide. 

Unfortunately Senator Highbrow, with his obnoxious gold detailing, is slag at hiding. Skywarp rams him from the side, zipping past with a cackle. He slows for just long enough to watch him spiral into a nosedive and hit the ground, skidding to a stop.

The senator’s aft bursts into flames. 

In the stands below, the crowd goes wild.

Skywarp drifts through the clouds, casually watching for any other seekers brave enough to think they can sneak up on him. 

This was looking like yet another trining ritual where he would remain undefeated.

These competitions were held at all levels of Vosian society, and all single seekers were expected to participate if they hadn't received any offers to trine. But contrary to the purpose of these claiming flights, where being caught and trined was the point, Skywarp had kept out-flying his pursuers, and dominated his way to the top. Just for fun. 

When you were as good as him, you were competing with Vos’ elite. Skywarp didn’t see much elite about their skill, though. The only thing they were elite at was being sparked into wealth. 

It was always Skywarp’s pleasure to warp up behind and knock them out of the air before anything resembling a chase ensued.

A mid-caste, dubiously employed seeker like himself would normally never be allowed to compete with this slate of mecha. But when he'd wiped the floor with enough of Vos’ gentry in claiming flights, it opened all kinds of doors. He’d gained a lot of notoriety among the sophisticated set for being impossible to catch due to his ability to warp. And he was highly prized for the same reason– to the point they were calling him Vos’ most eligible bachelor. It had a nice ring to it.

Skywarp’s proximity sensors pick up two other seekers. He rolls out of the way, feeling two rushes of air at his sides. There’s a ping of metal as someone grabs at his wing, just missing. Lost in his thoughts, he’d barely heard them coming before they were on top of him. The two seekers shoot away then double back, heading straight for him. One bright white and the other dark blue. 

Starscream and Thundercracker. 

About time they showed up. They were probably waiting until Skywarp had chased off the rabble before challenging him. There had been a lot of buzz surrounding these two.

From what Skywarp had heard, they were a couple of rich snobs looking for a third like all the rest, but were rumored to be extremely skilled fliers. This made them especially eligible- nobles really liked using that word, huh? But what caught Skywarp’s interest was that they had refused to trine anyone but him, even though they were showered with offers. Before the competition, they’d been eyeing him with a single-minded determination to claim him.

Skywarp scrunches his nose, wondering about their motive. Like all the others who chased him, they probably just wanted to trine him to one-up their peers. Hunt him down and show him off like a trophy. Because if there was one thing rich mechs wanted above all else, it was anything they were told they couldn’t have.

For a moment, Skywarp wonders what it'd be like to be trined to titled nobility. To sleep on a berth with silk coverings and stuff his face with dainty energon jellies, and order his servants to do menial, degrading tasks. 

Skywarp watches the charred senator he’d downed getting hosed off by paramedics, and snickers. Nah. It's too much fun being uncatchable. If Starscream and Thundercracker really are a class above the rest, it’ll be even more satisfying than usual when he whips their afts in front of everyone they know.

When it’s clear they’re locked onto him with intent to pursue, Skywarp hails them.

::You might as well turn back now. I’m not going to make it easy on you::

There’s a pause on the line, cut through with the hiss of static while Skywarp waits for an answer.

Starscream’s high, sharp voice pierces the channel:  

::Neither are we::

Then he accelerates; streaks past Skywarp, a pale blur slicing through the clouds and out of sight. The airstream in the wake of his thrusters flings Skywarp aside, leaving his spark whirling. Skywarp stares down the wisps of his contrails, helm spinning in awe. 

Starscream’s fast. Faster than him. Probably faster than any other jet here. 

Skywarp’s admiration is interrupted by a blue wing dipping into his field of vision. He dives out of the way as Thundercracker shoots past, wingtip grazing his belly. Thundercracker is no slouch, either.

They’re coming back around again; Starscream turning a series of flashy corkscrews, sunlight dazzling off his white plating. Skywarp grins. Cocky bastard. 

Despite all Starscream’s showing off, the gap between them is closing rapidly, as Starscream bears down on his tail. Realizing he won't be able to outspeed him at this distance– or likely at all– Skywarp activates his warp drive. He reappears a mile north, concealed by a dense swath of clouds, and begins to climb. If he stays at a higher altitude, he can conserve more energy. He gets the feeling he’ll need it.

He glimpses Starscream again, far too close for comfort. He’s so fast, Skywarp is having trouble warping far enough to lose him. Between Starscream’s dramatic loops and dives, his form is tight and fastidiously skilled. On the ground, Skywarp had taken one look at his pretty face and written him off, expecting him to be a pushover. Instead, he’s making Skywarp get serious. He never gets serious.

Starscream takes the lead, and Thundercracker flanks him, keeping pace with his leader’s dynamic flight style. Every time Skywarp warps, they double back to chase him, but they do it faster than Skywarp has seen before, in tight loops and aggressive maneuvers to keep him from escaping their sight. Skywarp pulls his plating in tight, trying to cut down on drag as much as possible.

Starscream and Thundercracker are totally in sync, closing in on either side of him, and he's forced to warp again and again to throw them off. Skywarp is patently aware of his fuel gauge ticking lower and lower from all the energy he’s expending to warp. They have a strategy, he realizes– exhausting his fuel reserves.

Forced onto the defensive, Skywarp takes cover in the clouds and decelerates, coasting. He’ll run dry if he doesn’t change up his own strategy fast. Being cornered is not something he’s familiar with. His spark pulses with anxious delight as he tries to come up with a new plan.

A deep voice crackles over his comm. 

::Quit hiding:: 

Thundercracker. Skywarp ignores him. It’s not hard to do. Thundercracker’s made himself scarce for most of the chase, giving the spotlight to Starscream. Skywarp presses on, darting through the clouds, staying out of sight.

Then the air rumbles. 

The scent of ozone is his only warning, before jagged tongues of lightning streak the sky, flashing dangerously close. Baffled, Skywarp accelerates, trying to get out of the sudden storm. He’d never seen weather turn so quickly. An audial-shattering roll of thunder follows the discharge, rattling Skywarp’s frame. Shaken, he continues to speed through, determined to escape the weather. But it follows him. Lightning flashes behind him in increasingly short intervals, and thunderclaps follow, loud and disorienting.

That can’t be right, he thinks.

The lighting strikes weren’t random like in a typical storm. There was a pattern to the flashes– almost searching, deliberate. Like they were targeted.

::Out:: rumbles Thundercracker, and Skywarp wishes he’d paid more attention to the little things. Like Thundercracker’s name. 

::Make me:: Skywarp shoots back, and promptly gets struck in the wing with a bolt of lightning. Pain flares through his systems, and his HUD fritzes with static from the surge of charge.

::You want more?:: Thundercracker’s tone is annoyingly cocky. Skywarp wants to tell him lightning doesn’t strike in the same place twice, but his damage sensors are blaring too loudly to risk being wrong.

Another bolt cracks beside his nose cone. 

::Alright, I get it:: Skywarp snarls, and increases his altitude. Flees over the top of the cloud cover, wisps of condensation sloughing off his plating. His wing burns, singed from where it was struck.

They’re not messing around. This seems like a totally unfair duo to be up against– the fastest flier and the one who can create storms.

Thundercracker’s ability has to have a range like his own. Skywarp just has to find the outer limits and escape. Further on the horizon, there’s an area of calm in the clouds. Skywarp heads towards it as fast as he can, static licking at his thrusters.

But Starscream reappears, looping in front of him, cutting off his path forward.

Skywarp is forced to bank upwards in a steep turn to avoid collision. Starscream mirrors his movements, flying belly to belly with him, driving him backwards. And downwards, into the roiling storm.  Frustrated, Skywarp yields to him, descending back into the clouds, and Starscream gives chase. 

It’s just the three of them in the skies now, having far outlasted the other contestants. The others competing to trine Skywarp have capitulated to Starscream and Thundercracker; bowed out and let them exclusively pursue him. All optics are on them. 

Skywarp pushes his engines to their limits, but Starscream is gaining on him, and lighting flashes around them, hot and disorienting. Skywarp is so low on energon, he can barely read the warning in his HUD about critical fuel levels. 

::Give up:: Starscream’s voice echoes in his comm.

::No way:: Skywarp snaps.

As it turns out, Starscream had already made the decision for him. Starscream speeds up a bit, closing the distance, and clips his side, sending him spiraling. Skywarp’s gyros spin out of control, and he collides with Thundercracker, who pops up out of the clouds, transforms and grabs him by a wing.

Completely thrown out of balance, Skywarp transforms as well. This close, it’ll be easier to fight Thundercracker off in root mode. He’ll try anything at this point. 

Skywarp draws a fist back, but his fuel-deprived thrusters sputter, and he struggles to hold himself upright, causing his punch to whiff past Thundercracker’s helm. Thundercracker wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close. Skywarp doesn't have enough energy to warp again. He might have the strength to pry himself free, though. This doesn’t end until they ground him. 

But Thundercracker is strong, and while Skywarp squirms in his arms, Starscream pulls up and transforms as well. He and Thundercracker both take an arm and haul Skywarp between them, all the way back to the ground. 

The three of them touch down on the dais, and Skywarp’s legs almost collapse under him. 

The humiliating sting of being caught is dulled by his exhaustion. At the same time, Skywarp is pleased that he drove Starscream and Thundercracker to their limits. They're venting hard too, cooling fans screaming, and unsteady on their thrusters. 

But maybe not unsteady enough for his liking, as Thundercracker promptly throws him over his shoulder, to delighted roars from the crowd. And complaints from Skywarp, who can't really do anything about it but thump him weakly on the back in protest.

Starscream leads the way to their aerie, while Thundercracker carries Skywarp slung over his shoulder like a pile of spare parts. The observers cheer them on, knowing they intend to consummate their trining.

Skywarp covers his face. If he wasn’t so low on energon, he’d seriously be blushing.

Starscream and Thundercracker’s aerie is… nice, Skywarp thinks. Like, really nice. 

The tower itself is tall and classy, glimmering above the surrounding ones. Or at least, that’s Skywarp’s impression of it, as most of his view has been of Thundercracker’s wings for the journey. Seeing the spires of the other towers recede below them as they finally land, Skywarp has no doubt these two are rolling in shanix. 

And that’s all well and good, but now that they’ve caught him, he wonders what exactly they plan to do with him. After they’ve had their way with him. There's no chance a couple of noblemechs like them are going to treat him as an equal trinemate. 

Thundercracker lays him gently back onto their berth. It has silk sheets, of course. Starscream hands him a cube of energon, and Skywarp gulps it down gratefully. His starved systems register the fuel, and warmth floods his frame again, tingling out to his extremities. 

His processor clears, and registers shame, embarrassment. Excitement. All layered thickly with nervous arousal, as Thundercracker and Starscream stand over him, watching him drink.

Skywarp peers over the rim of the cube. They look like they're going to eat him up. Which is both intimidating and really hot.

The moment he finishes the last drop, Thundercracker gets behind him, hooks his arms beneath Skywarp’s knees, and restrains them up and apart. 

“Hey,” complains Skywarp. “I’m not gonna run away. Let go.”

“Submit to him,” Thundercracker murmurs in his audial.

Skywarp shivers, glancing at Starscream. Right. As leader, Starscream gets first dibs. One threatening look from Starscream makes him pop his panel. 

“You two are so serious,” grumbles Skywarp, flinching as Starscream licks a fingertip and inserts it into his valve. 

“Not sealed,” Starscream announces, slipping it out. “Good. I have no intention of being gentle. Spread his legs wider, Thundercracker.”

Skywarp’s face flares with indignant heat as he's put on display even further.

“Sure, just do whatever you want, don’t mind me,” he snaps.

Starscream’s mouth quirks in a smile. “I will.”

Skywarp thrashes. “I’m not just gonna lie back and let you use me like a- nhh–”

Starscream pressurizes his spike and strokes it through his slit. 

“My, Skywarp, all this complaining, but you're dripping ,” says Starscream, grinding his spike through his crevice. Every time he pulls it through, it makes a slick noise. Starscream’s spike is soon soaked and glistening with his lubricant.

Skywarp pouts. He doesn’t really have anything to say to that. Starscream’s expression softens. He leans in and nibbles his throat.

“Nice and obedient now, aren't you? Where's your confident attitude?” he teases.

Thundercracker nuzzles the other side of Skywarp’s neck. “Was it exciting, being chased?”

Skywarp shivers. A moan catches in his throat as their mouths latch on, finding weak spots to kiss and suck.

“Or did you get this wet from being caught?” asks Starscream, working his spike in. Skywarp cries out as he slides in, all the way to the back of his valve.

As he’d warned, Starscream’s thrusts are rough, his spike plunging in and out of his soaking valve. Skywarp pants, relaxing in Thundercracker’s hold, as Starscream eagerly claims his hard-won prize. 

It feels so good. Feels like Starscream’s spike is working out all his built up tension. It feels like… like he’s been wanting this all along, but didn't know it. 

Any way he looks at it, getting his valve pounded thoroughly really hits the spot after a long, hard flight. 

Starscream licks the corner of his mouth, coaxing it to open. “So that's why you never let anyone catch you. You liked being chased.”

Skywarp pants into the kiss. “Only when you two did it.” 

Thundercracker gently turns Skywarp’s chin and claims a kiss of his own. 

“We'll show you being caught feels even better.”

Thundercracker’s kiss is firmer, deeper, and Skywarp melts into it. With Starscream spiking him simultaneously, it’s sheer bliss, as they all move as one synchronized unit.

Skywarp cracks open his chestplate to reveal his spark. A brilliant glow envelops them as Starscream opens his own spark chamber. Whirls of their innermost energy twine and dance, as a connection is made at the deepest level, and they overload together. 

Thundercracker goes next, turning Skywarp around to face him. From there, he lowers Skywarp onto his spike and bounces him. Skywarp clings to his neck, burning and flushed from the exertion. Lubricant seeps over their pelvic arrays as Thundercracker wrings it from his valve with wet slaps. He’s slower, gentler than Starscream, but takes him with just as much passion.

With Starscream behind, stroking his wings, Skywarp is ready to overload again in no time. The glow of Thundercracker’s spark overwhelms him, and Skywarp squirms closer, desperate to feel the warm tendrils of Thundercracker’s inner essence connect with his own. He feels Thundercracker spill inside him at the moment they merge, and he offlines momentarily, overwhelmed by his own overload. 

When he onlines, he’s being cuddled between his two new trinemates.

The threads of a bond tug at his spark– Starscream’s roiling with energy, and Thundercracker’s beside, calm and steady. Skywarp pokes the bond, tentative. It feels right. Complete. But he still doesn’t feel–

Before he can finish that thought, two simultaneous– but very different– pulses of reassurance rush back at him from his trine. 

“Stop doubting it. Obviously, we wanted the best,” says Starscream. He tacks on the subglyph for ‘idiot’, but confidence in Skywarp is so inundated in his end of the bond, it’s impossible not to trust it’s a full-chested expression of affection. “Don’t you get it? You're on par with us. We don't care about status.”

“More like you’re on par with me,” says Skywarp. Starscream rolls his optics.

“You’re what we've been missing,” adds Thundercracker, his own flow of affection unambiguous and gentle. “We like you. We want to take care of you.”

Skywarp is instantly settled. Their intentions are pure and their feelings are intense. Comfort and trust flood through their new bond.  

And that’s all that he needs.

Chapter Text

This is for sure the last time Skywarp’s drinking home-brewed highgrade.

Somehow, the concoction had scrambled his warp drive, so when he tried to warp out of the rec room, he’d reappeared halfway through the back wall, with his hips on one side and the rest of him on the other. It was actually kind of awesome. Until he realized he was stuck.

The rest of the air force, who he’d been drinking with, was pointing and laughing. Except for Thundercracker, who was trying to get him unstuck. And even he’d stopped pulling at Skywarp’s arms, in favor of staring up at the ceiling like he was questioning why he ever trined him. 

“I’m calling the Constructicons,” says Thundercracker, finally. 

“Nooo,” whines Skywarp. “This is a load-bearing wall. It’ll take ages to drill me out and Hook’s gonna give me scrap about it the whole time.”

Thundercracker just shrugs apologetically and opens a comm line.

Skywarp grumbles. Twists and kicks one last time, before finally bonking his fists on the wall in defeat. Then his own internal comm pings. He accepts, cringing as Starscream’ oily sneer drips over the line.

::Seems you've gotten yourself into a predicament, Skywarp:: 

::Hey, Screamer. Think you can save the lecture?::

Skywarp glances around and doesn't see him. He figures Starscream is on his other end. What’s even on the other side of the rec room? A supply room, maybe? What was Starscream doing, skulking around there? He’s not even sure he wants to know. 

::You can’t warp out?:: asks Starscream. Luckily, he sounds more intrigued than angry.

::Nope:: says Skywarp. ::My warp drive totally won’t work. I’ll probably have to wait until whatever I drank is out of my system::

::Pity:: says Starscream, sounding unconcerned. ::So you really are stuck?:: 

::I guess?::

Skywarp can feel Starscream’s energy field prickle up against his own as he moves around him on the other side of the wall. He flinches at a sudden pressure on his hips. 

::How interesting:: muses Starscream, prodding him. His claws prick the seams of his hip joints. A long digit trails up his inner thigh, tugging wires around his pelvic armor. 

Skywarp scowls. ::Are you seriously groping me right now?::

::I’m just admiring the new fixture :: says Starscream, squeezing his aft. 

::Oh, frag you:: Skywarp presses his palms against the wall, wiggling his hips and trying to lever himself forward. It’s as useless as the first twenty times he tried it. Starscream seems to take a hint, though, and his hands stop wandering.

::Are you going to play along?:: he asks. 

Skywarp realizes that, while he’s stuck like this, Starscream can do whatever he wants with him. And he can’t do anything about it. 

::Skywarp?:: asks Starscream, poking his leg. Skywarp jumps. Without seeing Starscream, it’s impossible to predict when he’s going to touch him. He might as well be a disembodied pair of hands.

Skywarp’s cooling fans click on. Sure, he’s messed around in semi-public before, but not while hanging halfway out the wall of the rec room. Trapped and basically helpless.

Skywarp glances at the gathered Decepticons. They’ve mostly gotten bored of his situation and resumed their game of engex pong. But they’re still… lingering. And TC’s nearby, making a call. Which means he kind of has his own audience. But they won’t know he’s having dirty stuff done to him. Not when his back half is out of sight. 

::Uh. Are you alone on your side, Screamer?::

::Are you?:: Starscream’s voice is slick over the comm. 

Skywarp peeks around the room again. ::No. TC’s here. And… others::

::Oh:: says Starscream. 

That’s all the warning Skywarp gets before something warm and wet slides over his panel. Starscream’s glossa. Skywarp’s tanks twist in eager knots, trying to act casual while Starscream mouths hot kisses over his panel. 

::Hey. Screamer. Um. So, you're really alone over there, right?::

::Perhaps:: Starscream hums dismissively. A claw digs into the seam of his panel and manually triggers the release. Cool air hits Skywarp’s bare valve.

Skywarp’s sure he’s just messing with him, and he is alone, but the one percent chance he's not is so hot to consider. The thought of mechs on the other side of the wall silently watching and waiting their turn behind Starscream to run a train on him makes his valve ache. 

::You're not seriously thinking of fragging me like this?:: asks Skywarp. 

::Would you like that?:: Starscream swipes his glossa, slick and hot, through his slit. Then again, and again, sucking his anterior node. Skywarp’s fingers curl against the wall. He bites his lip, trying not to pant. 

::I would. I would so much::

“'Warp?” Thundercracker asks. “Is something wrong?”

He’s suddenly right next to him. He’d finished his call and Skywarp hadn’t even realized. Skywarp’s spark almost stops. Nervous, excited arousal rockets up his spinal struts as Starscream’s glossa teases his insides. He reminds himself that Thundercracker can't see his other half. 

“Uh- n-no!” he blurts. “I’m good.”

Thundercracker frowns. “You look uncomfortable.”

“Do I?” asks Skywarp. Something stiff and hot rubs his valve, in place of Starscream’s tongue.

Oh no. He can’t have a polite conversation and take spike. Skywarp shakes his hips to un-align Starscream’s spike, but Starscream holds him steady, nudging the tip in.

::Wait, Screamer:: comms Skywarp. ::TC’s right here::

::Good:: rasps Starscream. And pushes in. 

Skywarp struggles to keep his expression neutral while Starscream jabs his ceiling node with the blunt end of his spike. He suddenly realizes there might be an issue with this arrangement. One that’ll get harder to hide the longer Starscream spikes him.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” asks Thundercracker. 

“Fine,” pants Skywarp. Starscream isn’t taking it easy on him. He’s thrusting like crazy, and Skywarp isn’t quite wet enough for him to glide, so Starscream’s shaft is clinging to his walls, causing extra friction.

::Slag… hey, go easy, Screamer:: he comms.

Laughter crackles back to him over the line. Aft. 

“You’re not injured? Can I check?” asks Thundercracker. He feels around Skywarp’s waist where it meets the wall. “You're really warm.”

Skywarp doesn’t have the processing power to respond. All his attention is on making sure no one notices he’s getting clanged. Which is really hard. He plasters on a shaky smile. That doesn’t look suspicious, right?

Thundercracker is frowning at him suspiciously. Damn it. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” asks Thundercracker. 

“I’m fine,” grits Skywarp, his smile straining as Starscream pounds the neck of his valve. “Wow, it’s really 21 questions today with you, huh, Thundercracker?”

As nice as it is to have him worry about him, his coddling is drawing attention. Blitzwing and Astrotrain are throwing interested glances his way over their drinking game. And them being distracted is making Ramjet look over, which starts a chain of staring. Skywarp squirms, flustered.

Then there's a blip over their trine channel.

::Is he making a slutty face, Thundercracker?:: asks Starscream.

Oh, great. 

::What? Who?:: asks Thundercracker. 

::Who do you think?::

Thundercracker stares blankly at Skywarp like the gears in his head are turning. 

::Skywarp?:: he asks. ::Why would he be…?:: 

Skywarp tries to look innocent. It probably doesn't work, because Thundercracker’s face falls. He looks sort of tired as he realizes.

::Screamer:: he says dryly. ::Where are you?::

::Guess:: 

Thundercracker squints at the wall with exasperation, like he can see Starscream through it. ::You couldn’t have waited until he was out of the wall?::

::Where’s the fun in that?:: asks Starscream. ::Now, quickly. What does he look like?::

Thundercracker is quiet. For a moment, Skywarp thinks he’s not going to participate. But then a touch of a smile slips onto his mouth. 

::He’s doing a bad job pretending he’s not getting ‘faced::

Warmth stings Skywarp’s cheeks. Cool. Now Thundercracker is involved too. 

::And you're doing a bad job describing it:: says Starscream. ::Send me a video::

::I can do you one better:: says Thundercracker. The lenses of his optics spiral open, and a moment later, Starscream coos appreciatively.

::Oh. His wings are shaking:: 

::Yeah:: agrees Thundercracker. His cooling fans click on. 

::Do you have to record me?:: Skywarp fights the urge to cover his face, which would only look more suspicious. 

::Don’t stop. He just got a lot tighter:: says Starscream.

There’s something kinda dirty about being filmed. It makes Skywarp feel even more exposed, with his only barrier of privacy the wall. He’s blushing all the way to his pedes, leaving his entire frame prickly and hot. A whimper slips out before he can stop it.

Blitzwing wanders past, peering over Thundercracker’s shoulder. “Are you sure he’s ok?" he asks. "He looks kinda… worked up.”

His optics linger on his wings with keen interest. Skywarp tries to hold them steady, so they're not broadcasting fuck me in neon lights to the only group of mechs around here who can understand.

“He just wants attention,” says Thundercracker. “Right, ‘Warp?”

Skywarp glares at him. ::Thanks for nothing::

::You’re loud. They’re getting suspicious:: says Thundercracker.

::You should spike his throat, Thundercracker:: Starscream adds. ::Keep those noises to a minimum:: 

Thundercracker slips a digit under Skywarp’s chin, turning his face up. Skywarp’s valve flutters. Thundercracker is staring down at him, pelvic array at the level of his mouth. No way he’s going to make him suck him off in front of the entire air force. But just the thought…

Drool slides down Skywarp’s chin. Thundercracker thumbs it back into his mouth, and keeps his thumb there, pressing down on his glossa. 

“Mmh,” pants Skywarp. His anterior node throbs, begging for contact. As if he read his mind, Starscream rubs the sting out of his folds, roughly, and Skywarp’s begging comes out in a jumbled stream.

::I can’t hold it in. I’m gonna make a stupid face and everyone’s gonna know I overloaded::

Starscream scoffs. ::Like they don’t know you're being screwed already, with you fluttering your wings like a thirsty little tramp::

Skywarp’s charge ramps up, realizing he can’t hide. He clutches the wall and wiggles, trying to redirect Starscream's spike so it’s not hitting his ceiling node head on. Little good that does when Starscream feels him struggling and doubles down on his thrusts.

Skywarp gasps. ::TC? Can you make everyone leave? Defend my honor? I’m seriously gonna cream. Like, right now:: 

::You're shameless, letting Starscream ‘face you out in the open:: says Thundercracker. ::You’ll have to accept the consequences::

“TC?” Skywarp begs again. His valve is wound so tightly, trying not to overload, he feels like he’ll explode. Starscream is doing his best to work him open; frag all his sensors, and it’s only a matter of time… 

Thundercracker just runs his thumb over his glossa, staring down at him, contemplating. Then sends him a video file– beaming real-time footage of Skywarp’s shaking, panting frame directly to their shared channel where Skywarp can't escape seeing it– his flushed cheeks, eager expression, his wings vibrating, displaying high excitement shamelessly. Skywarp whines in desperation, unable to hold back anymore, as his valve clamps down around Starscream’s spike. Humiliation just adds another layer to his overload, driving it even higher until he’s completely wrung out.

Even though he hadn't made much noise, the spark of released energy and the scent of ozone can't be mistaken for anything else. There's scattered laughter from the other Decepticons, who have abandoned their game, and are practically venting down Thundercracker’s neck for a better look. 

“Holy–”

“Did he just–!?”

“Where’s his other end?” snickers Ramjet. 

“That’s off limits,” says Thundercracker smoothly, slipping his thumb out of Skywarp’s mouth, rubbing a wet smear against his burning face. “This end, though…” 

Skywarp moans eagerly, prompting a smattering of dirty remarks. He can't be bothered to care. Not with Thundercracker caressing his cheek and Starscream’s transfluid seeping from his valve.

Starscream’s tone is low and staticky with pleasure as he pulls out.

::Thundercracker. Switch positions with me::

::I’ll be right there:: Thundercracker replies, without a pause. He turns away from Skywarp to address the others. 

“His mouth is off-limits too.”

Chapter Text

The trine bond was registering Skywarp in the engine room of the Nemesis, which was definitely not the patrol to which Starscream had assigned him.

Grumbling to himself, Starscream picked his way down to the underbelly of the ship, and found his mischievous trinemate, accompanied by Soundwave’s awful twins. Up to something stupid, as usual.

They were squatting in a half circle, fiddling with some kind of fluffy, cylindrical, gun-like object. They were so engrossed, they didn't even notice Starscream until he was standing right over them. 

“What the pit are you doing here?” Starscream snapped. 

All three helms popped up. With a low whine, Skywarp’s warp drive activated, but before he could escape, Starscream snatched the tool from his hands, holding it out of his reach.

“No! Not my valve cleaner!” wailed Skywarp.

Rumble and Frenzy exchanged confused glances, then burst into cackles. 

“Your what?” Starscream sneered. 

“You know. To uh. To polish your valve,” said Skywarp, mouth pursed with the effort of fighting down his own giggles. Starscream hooked his claws into his collar faring and pulled him close. 

“Don't play games with me. What is this thing?” Starscream waved it under his nose.

“Wait. You mean you don't have one?” Skywarp’s expression changed from smug to confused in an instant.

“Everyone has one,” said Rumble, sidling up to him, equally astonished. 

Starscream knew they were messing with him. It was just how these three were. He glared between each of their faces, searching for a hint of mischief, but got nothing back but earnest surprise. 

Fine. He’d bite.

“Why would anyone own such a ridiculous item?”

“ Screamer,” Skywarp’s optics widened. “Are you saying you’ve never cleaned your valve? Eww…”

“Gross, Screamer,” said Rumble.

“Grossss,” chimed in Frenzy, until all three were a droning chorus of disgust. 

“I– I absolutely have!” Starscream blustered over them. 

“You haven't been doing it right, if you don't use one of those” said Skywarp, pointing at the brush. “I bet you still use the solvent spray nozzle.”

“So old school,” said Rumble. Frenzy nodded sagely.

“All I’m saying is, there's no way you're getting deep enough to clean out the leftover transfluid stuck up there. 'Cause knowing you, there's probably a lot.”

“I get the idea!” snapped Starscream, as Rumble and Frenzy started snickering again. He waved the brush. “I'm confiscating this. Get back to work!”

"Okay. See ya, Screamer," said Skywarp. He and the twins fell out of rank and wandered off, with no real urgency. 

Idiots. No respect for authority at all.

Starscream examined the tool. It was clearly a rotary buffer, but it was unlike one he’d ever seen. The brush was long and cylindrical, with soft bristles. The girth was perfect. Exactly the right thickness to fit his valve. Starscream was sure they were using it for another stupid prank, but this ostensibly could be used to clean a valve. 

Probably.

—

Next thing he knew, Starscream was on his berth, smearing polish on and into his valve. Not the best use of his nice diamond crystal wax, but the consistency was perfect. The wax melted well, becoming slick when exposed to warm metal. 

He'd turned off his lubricant processes so as not to disturb the finish. His valve should be plenty wet with just the polish to ease it in. 

He turned on the buffer. It was loud; spinning and whirring vigorously, rumbling hard in his grip. 

A little intimidated, he lowered it gingerly to his mesh. It was intense on his sensors, and he had to pause briefly to lift it away as it scrubbed his anterior node. 

Getting off wasn't his… primary motivation for doing this, but he wouldn't deny it wasn't in the back of his mind. The eager heat in his tanks only grew as he rubbed the buffer back and forth through his slit. The cylindrical shape was perfect to buff his folds. 

Carefully, he rolled the brush around the mesh. He was glad he turned off lubrication, as he was very charged up already, and his finish would be streaked if he allowed the polish to mix with his lubricants. The wax in his valve had already melted from the heat of his frame, and was dripping out.

It wasn't until his array was gleaming that Starscream turned the buffer off, satisfied with the result. He turned his hips side to side, enjoying how the metal reflected the light. As soon as he was finished here, he’d have to find someone to appreciate it with him.

Now for the inside. A flutter of excitement passed through his spark.

Skywarp was wrong about him being dirty inside. He was meticulous with his grooming, and it wouldn't need much cleaning. Just a quick run through. In and out. 

The brush took some effort to fit, with the bristles sticking to his walls, but gradually, he pushed the full length in and set it to rotate. Inside, it was even more intense, and he could feel it rumbling all the way up to his tanks. Every node, every crevice was worked over. His sensors at his entrance all the way to those clustered around his ceiling node were being tickled mercilessly. 

Frag it. He was tired of justifying his actions. This brush felt amazing, and he was going to give himself superb overloads with it. 

He gripped the handle harder and began to pump it in and out. He lasted for exactly two kilks of the bristles drilling his ceiling node, before he arched off the berth with a shout. His calipers strained around the tool, and the force of their contractions pushed it out. Lubricant gushed out behind it, drenching the berth and the buffer, as an obscene overload reversed the protocols he set. 

His frame gave a last heaving shudder, something popped, and Starscream’s processor offlined.

—

“Wow. I woulda never thought to use it as a dildo. That's real innovative, Screamer,” said Skywarp. He stood at his side, where Starscream lay on Hook’s operating table.

“It is not,” said Hook, prodding a cable at Starscream’s waist. “He blew several fuses from using an unconventional method of releasing charge. I’m always telling you damn people, only use toys that can ground the charge or else this happens.”

Skywarp shrugged. “I wasn't the one who told him to shove it up his pu–”

“You absolutely were!” snarled Starscream. “That’s specifically where you said to use it.”

“I didn't think you'd actually do it.”

“Why would you tell him to use an industrial strength pipe cleaner internally?” asked Hook. 

“To clean his pipes?" snickered Skywarp.

Starscream dug his claws into his arm.

“Ow.”

“What were you doing with an industrial strength pipe cleaner, Skywarp?”

“Oh. Me 'n the twins were gonna brush out the phosphorus built up in the pipes in the engine room, and use what we collected to make explosives.”

Starscream glared at him. 

“Well, we’re not going to do it now,” said Skywarp, grimacing. “You got the brush all sticky.”

Chapter Text

Starscream spreads his legs wider to get a better view of himself in the mirror. 

One of the best features of being an officer was having his own hab, in which he was able to privately indulge in whatever perverse activities he pleased. On this occasion, that included overloading himself so hard he couldn't see straight. 

Rapid slicking noises emanate from his valve as he screws into it with two fingers. His external node winks fitfully, hungry for release. Tempted, he traces it with his other hand, faster and harder until he completely loses control. There’s a harsh tug at his spark as overload consumes him, but he leans into it, too far gone to care. 

Suddenly, the pleasure is torn away, replaced with a falling sensation. The world spins, and an instant later, rather than at his own reflection, he’s staring down a hallway by the flight deck.

“What did–?” he starts, then clasps a hand to his throat. His voice is familiar, and deep. Speaking feels powerful, with the vibration of Thundercracker’s vocalizer rumbling from his chest. 

Why is he at Thundercracker’s post? 

He looks down at his hands. They aren't blue anymore. The other two points of the trine bond wobble with uncertainty. 

Around his spinning helm, Starscream realizes what must have happened. He’d left the spark exchanger weapon he’d built in his subspace after the last battle with the Autobots. An easy mistake to make. When he’d overloaded, the charge must have powered it, swapping his frame with Thundercracker’s. It made sense he’d switched with one of his trinemates; being spark-bonded. 

But if he was in Thundercracker’s body, that meant Thundercracker was… in the position he was in before the swap.

Starscream’s cheeks prickle with warmth, and he hurries back to his hab. At least he could count on Thundercracker to be discreet. 

On the way, Skywarp runs into him. Before Starscream can speak, Skywarp grabs him by the shoulders, stares into his face, and tentatively whispers: “Skywarp?”

“No,” says Starscream. “Ugh.” 

Well, he’d found Thundercracker.

Starscream pinches the bridge of his nose. “If you're in Skywarp's frame, then he must be in my frame.” 

“Oh. Thank Primus. You know what’s going on,” says Thundercracker. “So, that means you're really Starscream?” 

“Obviously.”

“Can you fix this?” 

“Of course.” Starscream continues towards his hab, and is pleasantly surprised when he can walk in sync with Thundercracker. In his usual frame, he'd have to take extra steps to keep up with his trine. “I just need to hit my frame with another surge of energy to realign our spark signatures.”

“Another surge?” asks Thundercracker. “What caused the first surge?”

“...That’s not important,” says Starscream. 

The scene they find when they enter his hab is less than amusing. Starscream did expect to cringe with embarrassment, but not quite as much as he is, seeing himself– no, Skywarp – squatting on the floor in front of his full-length mirror. With his panel open, and his fingers working slickly up his valve, glossa poking out the side of his mouth in concentration. 

“Skywarp!” snaps Starscream. “Cut that out!”

Using his usual volume with Thundercracker’s voice is like a whip crack, startling the absolute pit out of Skywarp. His trinemate’s wings snap up in alert, and he falls back on his aft.

“Oh, slag! Hi, TC! U-um,” Skywarp stammers, wide-eyed, “I don’t really get it, but I suddenly turned into Screamer, and Screamer was playing with himself, so I was like, why not keep going?” He ends his explanation with a nervous laugh. 

Starscream is pleasantly surprised that Skywarp seems to obey Thundercracker, when he actually asserts himself. But his honesty was less than appreciated right now. 

He stomps over, and Skywarp’s wings dip in fear. Skywarp twiddles his digits together meekly and shrinks back, trying to make himself as small and inoffensive as possible. 

“Hey, uh. T-take it easy, Thundercracker.” 

“I'm Starscream.”

“Huh?” Skywarp tilts his head to the side. 

“We all swapped frames,” pipes up Thundercracker from over Starscream’s shoulder. “Because Screamer was… apparently masturbating too hard.”

“That’s not what happened,” grits out Starscream. 

“Ohhhh.” Skywarp lets out a loud, comprehending ex-vent and giggles nervously. “Wow, Screamer. For a second there, you were actually kinda threatening.”

Starscream yanks on his wing– but not too roughly. They're his wings after all. 

“We've been swapped for all of ten kliks and this is the first thing you do with my frame, you interface-brained cretin?” 

“Chill out,” says Skywarp, all sense of obedience gone as quickly as it had come. “You were the one all sprawled out, playing with yourself. It's nothing I haven't seen before.”

“Exactly! So show some respect and keep your hands to yourself.”

“Isn't this situation kinda hot, though? We should take the opportunity to mess around in each other’s frames.”

“Only you would suggest that.” 

Starscream, for one, can’t wait to be back in his own frame. He’s already getting annoyed by how stupid he looks, with Skywarp’s dumb grin marring his features. 

“You did say you needed a surge of energy through your frame to swap back,” says Thundercracker.

“Are you suggesting I let him overload?” asks Starscream. 

“Let's do it.” Skywarp spreads his valve. “C’mere, Screamer. You've got a nice spot deep inside that your fingers are just too short to reach. But I bet TC’s are long enough. You know the spot, right?”

Starscream does know the spot, but that’s beside the point. Skywarp shouldn’t be this intimately acquainted with his frame. ‘Facing is one thing. Having his frame inhabited by his nosy trinemate intent on finding all his sensitive spots is completely different. 

“If you don’t want to, I can show TC where it is,” says Skywarp. “My fingers are probably long enough to reach, too.”

“No,” says Starscream, as Thundercracker starts over towards Skywarp. “Neither of you touch my valve. I’ll overload you.”

He kneels behind Skywarp, nudging a white wing out of his face when Skywarp flicks it at him teasingly. As he grasps Skywarp by the waist to draw him into his lap, Starscream is shocked by how light his own frame is. His waist is barely wider than the circumference of Thundercracker’s hands. Starscream stares, struck by the contrast.

They’re all seekers. Even if he’s shorter than average and had some armor trimmed here and there, they should be around the same size. Instead, he feels far more delicate under Thundercracker’s hands than his own. A puzzling mixture of gratification and insecurity comes over him. Has he always looked this small through Thundercracker’s optics?  

Skywarp’s giggling breaks his concentration. “Are you getting turned on from groping yourself?”

Starscream scowls. “Do you want me to touch you or not?”

“You’re the one that insisted on doing it, Screamer.”

Starscream glares at him. 

“Ok, ok. I’ll be quiet,” says Skywarp. 

Starscream doubts that’ll last long. He manipulates Skywarp’s thighs spread-eagle, hooking them over his knees to get a better view. It’s a nice view– his red and white frame reclined on Thundercracker’s lap, the glistening remnants of overload slicking his valve mesh. 

Watching their reflections in the mirror, Starscream slips two fingers inside Skywarp. He realizes that, with Thundercracker’s larger fingers, he can indeed go deeper than with his own fingers. So he does, to high praise from Skywarp. 

Starscream’s mouth goes dry. It’s odd to approximate what he likes without feeling it himself. Tentatively, he strokes along his wall until he locates the sensor, rubbing the spot firmly.

“Oh! Ohh, yeah,” Skywarp squeaks and lolls his helm back on his shoulder. “O-oh-”

“Stop making slutty noises with my frame,” snaps Starscream. It's bad enough that Skywarp is being so honest, cooing encouragement and riding his fingers with that silly, sexed-out grin. Starscream would never.

Over his shoulder, Thundercracker is leering at them, slack jawed. Self-consciously, Starscream presses the fingers of his other hand into Skywarp’s external node to finish this faster.

“Wow, you like it rough,” says Skywarp. “Do you always scrub your node off when you touch yourself?”

Thundercracker snickers. Filtered through Skywarp’s vocalizer, his laughter is extremely obnoxious, and incites rage.

“Both of you, shut up,” says Starscream, in a booming reverb that makes even Thundercracker flinch, next to him. Skywarp’s valve squeezes so hard that for a moment, Starscream thinks he’s locked his calipers. But gradually, they uncurl as Skywarp relaxes.

“Wow. I didn't know TC could look that scary,” giggles Skywarp, peeking up. 

Starscream glances at himself in the mirror. His pale, handsome face is distorted with anger, optics blazing and lip curled to flash the tip of a fang. Fury is intimidating on Thundercracker, maybe due to how rarely it’s directed at them, instead of some hapless Autobot their trinemate is about to shoot holes in. 

Starscream relaxes his expression and decides it’s a blessing that Thundercracker has such a calm disposition. It’d be hard to command him if he were hot-tempered. And when he looked this good barking orders. 

Arousal simmers heavily in his array. Starscream bites his lip, feeling inspired.

“Stop cowering and spread your legs,” he demands in the same rolling growl, screwing his digits harder up Skywarp’s soaking valve, and tries not to think too hard about how his own valve has become equally wet.

Skywarp wheezes pathetically, trembling. “Pit, Screamer. You're a hotter Tc than regular Tc.”

“And you're a hotter Starscream,” says Thundercracker. He's begun stroking his spike as well, politely standing off to the side. Starscream had almost forgotten he was there. He wishes he could say the same for Skywarp, who’s been moaning his stupid helm off this entire time. 

“You think I sound better as an obnoxious, whiny slut?” asks Starscream, graciously choosing to ignore Skywarp’s muttered “you always sound like that”.

Thundercracker shrugs. “It's nice to see what you'd be like if you were laidback,” His mouth twitches. You’re cuter, that's for sure.”

Starscream frowns at him. “And to think I was about to say something nice about you being a wonderfully obedient and quiet Skywarp.”

As if saying his name conjured something, Skywarp’s valve spasms.

“Ooh. Say my name again, just like that. All rough and growly,” he begs.

Deciding to indulge him (mostly due to the titillating image it creates in the mirror), Starscream bares his denta and snarls, “Skywarp. Overload for me.”

Skywarp shivers, optics glowing in pleasure. “Ooh, yeah. Like that. You're both so hot when you're angry…”

His valve contracts, and a surge of energy sparks out of his frame as he overloads. Lubricant trickles over Starscream’s digits. In the same instant, there’s a familiar falling sensation, and pleasure throbs from Starscream’s own valve. He onlines his optics and realizes he’s now in Thundercracker’s lap. 

“Oh nice. I’m in my own body again,” says Skywarp, off to the side.

Starscream whimpers as Thundercracker eases his digits out of him and wraps his arms around his waist, nuzzling his cheek. 

“My valve’s all wet, Starscream. Why is that?” he murmurs into his audial.

“Saw somethin’ you liked, Screamer?” asks Skywarp mischievously, tugging his spike. He sidles up to Starscream, purring in his other audial. “You've got some pretty sensitive spots up your valve. Just watching ‘em get messed with was enough to get you drenched, eh?” He presses his throbbing spike against Starscream’s hip.

Starscream elbows him away. “Get off. You too, Thundercracker. I have work to do.”

Neither of his trinemates move. Starscream squirms in Thundercracker’s arms, but can’t break free. 

“Let go. We’re in our own frames now. Get back to your patrols.”

Thundercracker and Skywarp exchange a devious look in the mirror. 

“I saw that!” says Starscream. “Whatever you're thinking, I don't have time for– ngh.”

He whines as Skywarp works two fingers into his valve. Skywarp pushes them deep, until the tips of his digits brush the spot he loves. Skywarp splays his fingers in a Y and presses on either side of the sensor, massaging. Exactly how Starscream likes it. It’s at once wonderful and mortifying that Skywarp can now pinpoint the most sensitive spot in his valve with dizzying accuracy. 

“This is insubordination,” says Starscream weakly. 

“Huh. You really thought you'd get to walk away after teasing us like that?” Skywarp pinches his external node hard, and it’s all Starscream can do to stay upright, as the tease of another overload flickers through his sensors.

Thundercracker pressurizes his spike. He meets Starscream’s optics in the mirror and plants a kiss on his cheek. 

“Now that we know exactly what you like…” His stern voice cuts straight to Starscream’s array. “...You're not going anywhere.”

Chapter Text

Wing maintenance was a completely unremarkable activity among flight frames, no matter how much grounders liked to fantasize about it involving sexy sleepovers where everyone felt up each others’ ailerons while making out. If you were a flier, you got another flier to groom your wings because it was practical– you couldn’t reach by yourself otherwise.

At least in the Nemesis’ hangar, surrounded by other fliers, Thundercracker could relax without drawing lewd stares while Skywarp preened his wings. Like a good trinemate, Skywarp was carefully brushing through Thundercracker’s seams and chit chatting.

Or they were. Before their conversation was cut short by Starscream’s disapproving shout cutting over the noise in the hangar:

“This is an airstrip, not a beauty salon!”

“...He said, while polished like he's going on a date,” said Skywarp, with an eyeroll, as soon as Starscream was within earshot. 

“I polish myself on my own time,” said Starscream, despite the fact that he definitely didn't, and could often be found primping in any reflective surface he passed. “You two are always making excuses to slack off under the guise of maintenance, yet you still manage to look like slag.”

Skywarp crossed his arms. “Y'know, before you interrupted, we were–”

“No! I’m not letting you off the hook for something you two should have done ages ago. And neither of you preen yourselves correctly. I suppose it's up to me to do it yet again.”

“Can you not?” Skywarp groaned. “You suck at grooming, Starscream.”

Thundercracker was tempted to echo the sentiment. Preening was supposed to be relaxing. For all his erratic behavior elsewhere, Skywarp was gentle with his wings. Starscream, on the other hand, was the worst partner alive. Not because he was bad at cleaning– no, he was meticulous to a fault. If he had his way, both of them would look parade ready at all times. But he seemed to miss the memo that maintenance was quality bonding time, and not an opportunity to torture his trine with a frenzy of rough tweaking, buffing and realigning . 

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” said Starscream. "If you didn't leave your maintenance to the last minute, it wouldn't be such an ordeal. Sit," he ordered, jerking Skywarp back down into his seat as he tried to make a run for it. “Don't move. And don't even think about warping, or I'll hunt you down, and I won't be gentle when I find you.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” grumbled Skywarp. 

Thundercracker cast Skywarp a sympathetic look. Best not to resist when Starscream set his mind to something. 

“It’s bad enough that my own trine is too lazy to meet my standards of appearance,” said Starscream. “But when you two are wandering around with your wings looking disheveled, it's disgraceful.”

Starscream pulled a roll of tools from his subspace, and Thundercracker blanched at the variety of terrifying implements on display. Hooks, buffers, picks– the usual instruments of torture.

“Don't you notice anything, Skywarp?” asked Starscream, selecting a sharp tool. “Your left wing is sitting half cocked, and you're flying wrong to correct it.”

"Hehe, cock. OW!" yowled Skywarp.

Thundercracker's own plating clamped inward as Starscream dove in with the tool, meticulously picking through Skywarp’s wiring. Metal pinged as Starscream violently rearranged cabling, the noise only outshone by Skywarp’s complaining.

“Shut up! I’m barely touching you!” snapped Starscream.

“Bullshit! You know I'm sensitive there!” said Skywarp.

“Suck it up.”

Starscream picked up a brush and scrubbed the bristles through tight crevices he’d uncovered, cleaning out the dirt. And, of course, ordering Skywarp around.

“Turn your wings down. Down. Lower. Now out– lift the flaps.”

Thundercracker could only watch in dismay and nervous anticipation, knowing he’d be next. He peeked toward the exit hallway of the hangar longingly. He could still sneak off, while Starscream was distracted wrangling Skywarp. 

“Screamer, seriously, not so rough. That hurtsss. ”

“You have some tightness here,” said Starscream, plucking at a bundle of wires that connected his wings to his waist. He dug in and pulled at something that made Skywarp freeze and gasp.

“Hey! Stop that!”

“Deal with it. I need to unkink some things around here.”

Starscream pulled again, and Skywarp’s face went pink. “That connects to my interface array!” he whispered harshly.

“Well then, enjoy.”

“I-in the middle of the hangar?” 

Starscream continued poking at Skywarp’s wings, murmuring to himself. “Huh. If the auxiliary sensor is here, then the primary sensor must be just the opposite. Can you feel this?”

He tugged another wire on the opposite wing, mirrored with the first.

“Ungh–” choked Skywarp, squirming.

“Fascinating. Your primary circuit for your interface array runs straight through your flight suite. I wonder if Thundercracker’s is the same?” Starscream sounded excited and devious as he looked over at Thundercracker. Who had decided to stay. For moral support for Skywarp. Totally not because this suddenly got sexy. 

“Uh. Probably. Yours should be the same too,” Thundercracker pointed out tenuously, as Starscream uncapped a bottle of oil and drizzled some into his hand. 

Starscream scoffed. “I'd never have such delicate wires right out in the open.” He massaged oil into the seams of Skywarp’s wings. “What if someone takes advantage of it?”

Starscream massaged for a long time, passing his fingers over and over sections of cabling that sent full-body tremors through an increasingly passive Skywarp. By the time he finished, Skywarp was drooping with overstimulation. A puddle of lubricant had formed between his splayed legs, and was slowly inching towards the edge of his seat, threatening to spill over. Starscream eyed the mess disapprovingly.

“Skywarp, if you get my floor wet, I’m making you clean it up. With your glossa.”

Skywarp whimpered and pressed his legs together to keep his lubricants from escaping.

“That’s better,” said Starscream, smearing some polish onto a rotary buffer. He turned it on low, softly enough to caress  sensory panels, before touching it to Skywarp’s wings, letting it hum over the plating.

Poor Skywarp lost it before he'd even finished one wing. His vents hitched, and a tremor erupted from his frame. His wings twitched, vibrating up from the base of his spinal struts, before relaxing. A high, satisfied flush bloomed across his faceplates.

A fresh gush of lubricant snaked down his legs, accompanied by the scent of ozone. A few drops pattered to the floor. Starscream was too busy to notice, petting the seam of Skywarp’s hip while he finished off the second wing with the buffer.

Satisfied, Starscream gave him a quick kiss on the nape of his neck before pulling away.

“You're dismissed. Clean yourself up.” He tossed a rag at Skywarp’s head.

Skywarp took a few moments to respond. “Gee, Starscream… that almost made all the misery and suffering worth it.”

Starscream grinned and stepped back to admire his work, clearly pleased he’d found a method to give them incentive to get their wings done to his exacting standards. 

Skywarp’s wings looked incredible. Matte black, upright and crisp, in perfect alignment, and trembling with aftershocks of pleasure, while Skywarp discreetly tried to dab his overload from his thighs.

“You aren’t nearly as bad. But still not up to standard,” said Starscream. 

“H… huh?” Thundercracker stopped ogling Skywarp and focused on Starscream, who was suddenly brandishing the buffer in front of his face. 

“Yes, I’m talking to you, Thundercracker. You need polish. Turn around.”

“Oh. Okay.” Obediently, Thundercracker showed him his back, fanning his wings out. As the soft bristles swept over his plating, Thundercracker could admit that maybe wing maintenance was a little sexy.

Chapter Text

This was far from the first time Starscream had destroyed a secret treacherous plan by erasing data before Megatron could have the contents of his processor examined.

This was, however, the first time he’d accidentally wiped his entire personality component in doing so, reverting his processor to his factory-fresh condition– that of an infantry grunt.

Megatron had tasked his trine with fixing him. After a wild search through Starscream’s lab for a datastick containing a backup personality component, Thundercracker and Skywarp were still coming up short. Starscream’s tendency for being secretive with his data– including his critical backup files– was backfiring spectacularly. 

“Skywarp, why didn't you check what was on the datastick before you uploaded it to his processor?” scolded Thundercracker. 

“Uhh… because it was labeled ‘hard_reboot_backup_critical’? How was I supposed to know it would make him like that?” asked Skywarp. He pointed to Starscream, who was perched on top of his lab table, engrossed with fondling his own turbines. 

“Wow!” said Starscream, tracing the edges of the housing. “These are really smooth.”

“Just like your processor, eh, Screamer?” said Skywarp. 

“That’s right!” Starscream pushed his chest out, framing it with his hands. “Do you wanna feel?” 

“We are so screwed,” said Thundercracker. 

Skywarp laughed. “Nah, we can totally reverse it. Probably. Or override it, if we find the right datastick.”

“Yeah. If we find it,” Thundercracker said. "Because until then, all he's going to know is... 'facing." He turned back to the console where he’d plugged the backup datastick to scan, after Starscream had started acting unusual. The screen was lit up with thousands of porn files. “Why would he swap something this important with dirty holovids?” he asked, scanning through the files. “Why would he even label it this way?”

“It’s probably a decoy. You know Screamer. Real sneaky with his secret evil schemes,” said Skywarp, continuing to dig through the piles of hardware Starscream had scattered around his lab.

“But where’s the real one? If we don't get him back to normal, Megatron will deactivate us.”

“Yeah, probably. Dang, Screamer's got good taste,” said Skywarp, reappearing behind Thundercracker and trailing a finger along the screen to read the video titles. “Wait, scroll back to that one–”

Thundercracker slapped his hand away. “This could take forever to find. What are we going to do?” 

“Have some fun, duh. Hey, Screamer!” Skywarp grabbed a tablet off the desk and whistled to get his attention. “Screamer, look here!” He held it up once Starscream distractedly looked up from playing with his turbines. “Read this list backwards while fingering yourself.”

“Skywarp,” said Thundercracker. 

“What is reading?” asked Starscream. His panel flicked open, and he glided his digits down his pelvic armor to rub his valve. 

“Oh no,” said Thundercracker. “He’s worse than we thought.”

“Yeah,” agreed Skywarp, frowning at the datapad. “Even I can read most of this.”

Then, the lab door slid open and Megatron stomped through. 

“Are you done yet? You three have work to do!” he barked, just as Thundercracker threw himself in front of Starscream. 

“Wait, he’s not finished–!”

"Sir, yes sir!" Starscream weaved around Thundercracker, snapping to attention in front of Megatron and saluting, with his panel open. 

Megatron gawked at him. Then glared between Skywarp and Thundercracker for an explanation.

Thundercracker rubbed his temples. “Please just ignore him. We haven't found the right backup yet.”

“Yeah,” added Skywarp, peeking over Thundercracker’s wing. “So instead of normal, now he’s slutty… er than normal.”

“And obedient.” Megatron stroked his chin, eyeing Starscream with interest. “At ease, Starscream.”

Starscream dropped the salute.

“Ha,” said Megatron. “A job well done, I’d say.”

Skywarp made a face. “Yeah, but he’s also kinda… dumber. Than he should be.”

“And nothing of value was lost, I’m sure,” said Megatron. “He could stand to be less clever.” He leant closer to Starscream. “There's no chance you happened to retain that quantitative model from our meeting earlier?” 

He was met with a vacant stare. 

“Starscream?” Megatron prodded.

“I’m thinking,” said Starscream distantly, tilting his head. “Um. Let’s see. Quanti- ti- Quantive… Qu-”

“What the hell is he doing?” asked Megatron. 

“Quantitative?” supplied Thundercracker gently. “Is that what you're trying to say, Starscream?”

Starscream tapped a finger at the corner of his mouth. “Um. I think so. I don't know that word.”

Megatron waved a hand in front of Starscream’s blank face. “There’s absolutely nothing between your audials, is there?”

“There are several components in that location,” said Starscream.

“Right…” said Megatron slowly. “You’ll do, for now. Come with me.” He turned and motioned for Starscream to follow.

“Yes, sir,” said Starscream, trailing after him. Panel still wide open. 

“Whoa,” said Skywarp, once they were out of sight. “This is hilarious.”

“He's going to kill us,” said Thundercracker. 

—

“That’s it. Focus on my spike. Don't think about anything else.”

Megatron stroked the column of Starscream’s throat while Starscream– on his knees before the throne– took his spike deep in his intake. Plumped lips were stretched wide around his mouthful, slurping noisily around the shaft. 

“How does that taste, Starscream?” asked Megatron, with a grin.

“Delicious,” Starscream said, slightly muffled around his mouthful.

Megatron adjusted his hips, sliding himself further into Starscream’s throat. “Do you enjoy sucking me off?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And what good luck you can do so with competence, as you're useless for much else at the moment.”

“Yes, my lord.”

How nice, to have a Starscream that wasn't compelled to mouth off whenever he pleased. This new, obliging Starscream didn't make for the most absorbing conversation, but his complaisance was refreshing. Relieved of the burden of thought, Starscream looked content. Blissfully vacuous; his usual clever sneer nowhere to be seen. That gorgeous mouth held agape, rather than smirking and spewing venom. 

Seekers’ foolishness was the stuff of legend, as they were programmed to do little more than take orders and fire a weapon, but Starscream had differentiated himself from his peers. Defying all odds, he’d studied an intellectual pursuit at university, and come away as one of the most brilliant minds Megatron had known. He prized his intellect, displaying it with the same vanity he gave to his appearance. And when he looked this deliciously, uncharacteristically stupid, he was just begging to be teased.

“That's enough. At attention,” said Megatron. 

At his command, Starscream pulled his mouth off his spike and stood straight and tall in front of him. The picture-perfect soldier, if not for his open panel and damp valve on display. 

Starscream may have had no recollection that they regularly interfaced, yet he was somehow more enthusiastic about getting a 'facing than usual. His mind was no longer that of a haughty air commander, but a perky, low-ranked airmech with no other motive than to please his superior. Many years ago, Megatron had known a version of Starscream who was much like the mech standing before him now. Wide-eyed. Eager to serve. But never this naïve. This Starscream was a new and unusual set of contrasts- a fresh-faced soldier with the polished, well-worn frame of an experienced officer.

Megatron sat with that thought a moment longer– though Starscream’s mind may have reverted, his frame was still in its usual state. Time to have some fun. 

Megatron reached out and parted his valve with two fingers, rubbing into Starscream’s wet folds. 

“That tickles,” tittered Starscream, crossing his legs.

“Don’t move.”

Starscream straightened. “Yes sir.”

Megatron resumed his fondling, dipping his index finger shallowly into Starscream’s heat. “Hm. Your valve isn't very tight. It feels well-loved, for a newbuild. How could that be?”

Starscream’s optics went wide. “I don't know.”

“I think you do. Feel. My finger goes in easily. I bet you could take a second.”

“B-but I have no record of interface.” Starscream’s knees wobbled as Megatron traced a second finger around his entrance. 

“Strange. It’s almost like… you’ve been riding a spike nearly every cycle.” said Megatron, holding back his smirk to better act out the role of a critical superior.

“Oh, no. I’ve never been spiked before. I’ve never even seen a real spike before today.”

Megatron slid his fingers deeper. “You're unsealed. Are you lying to me?” 

“No seal? But that’s impossible. I just onlined, didn't I?” asked Starscream, wide eyed. “It’s a mystery…”

Megatron couldn't help letting out a snort of laughter at his foolish expression. “Don't think too hard about it. I don't want you straining yourself.”

But Starscream gasped anyway, plating flaring. “Does this mean I’m defective?” 

“No, no...” chuckled Megatron.

Starscream grasped his arm. “Please don't dismantle me for parts. I promise I’ll–”

“Be quiet. I’m not going to do that,” said Megatron, petting his flank to soothe him. Starscream’s expression softened again into that slack, pretty pout, and his wings relaxed. The graceful movement drew Megatron’s optics down the elegant dip of his torso into his scarlet pelvic armor. A welcoming gesture, as if Starscream was inviting him to partake in his frame. Even his body language was earnest, his relief and gratitude obvious. Normal Starscream would never be so open with his appreciation. He was far too prideful for that.

“You are magnificent,” said Megatron, thumbing his chin. “However, you’re undisciplined, offering your used valve to your superior. But I’m willing to educate you in good behavior. Serve my spike well, and you’ll be rewarded handsomely.”

Starscream’s expression brightened. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

Megatron grinned. An earnest Starscream was truly a rare and singularly delicious treat. 

Guided by Megatron’s hands on his waist, Starscream straddled his lap and positioned Megatron’s spike at his entrance. He moaned as his valve swallowed it up, giving way around the shaft with ease. The walls stuck to his spike, drawing it in beautifully– as usual. Megatron helped him along, driving his spike deeper with a roll of his hips. Starscream moaned again as Megatron experimentally pumped in and out. 

Once Starscream was seated on his lap, Megatron thrust slowly, letting the length drag out, before pumping back in hard, plugging him. The technique extruded a satisfying number of yowls from his lieutenant, along with a silly, vapid grin. 

“You're noisy, Starscream. How does my spike feel?”

“Mmh,” Starscream panted, “I love how thick and long it is. How big it feels in my valve. And the way it hits my– my place, right here.” Starscream tapped a point on his lower abdomen. My, um…” His nose scrunched. “My rep… repo…”

“Take your time. It's a big word.”

“My repository. Transfluid repository.” Starscream stroked his abdomen. “It's tingly.”

Megatron tightened his grip on Starscream’s waist and drove his spike up into him. “You have permission to speak freely.”

“Thank you, sir,” Starscream’s voice juddered from being bounced on his lap. “You’re so good at this. I love when your spike goes in deep. Deep and rough. I could take it all day.”

“And you will. You're relieved from your duties as air commander until your situation is resolved.”

“Being in command sounds much too hard,” said Starscream. “I don't even know how to lead. I just want your spike, Lord Megatron.”

“The things I would do to hear you say that normally,” Megatron growled.

Starscream rocked his hips down, tossing his helm back. “I love your spike sooo much. And you're so good at ‘facing me. Can I be your stress relief toy instead?”

“A very tempting offer. But you may not.” 

Starscream’s disappointed pout nearly sent Megatron over the edge. “Yes, my lord. You know best.”

“Little flatterer. Stop being so agreeable. I won't last.”

“Oh, um! Me too! I’m going to overload.”

“Already, Starscream?” Megatron traced the underside of Starscream’s external node. The red biolight pulsed, hot with charge. Starscream was leaking lubricant onto his lap. This close to overload, it dribbled out every time his repository was nudged. 

“Very well,” conceded Megatron. “As you please.”

He let his thrusts push his fingers through Starscream’s folds, rubbing him off until Starscream squealed and overloaded, clinging tightly to his neck.

“Good,” said Megatron. “Very good.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Starscream, hips still gently bouncing, and calipers rippling. A fine sense of duty, to keep his superior’s pleasure front of mind after he’d been satisfied. A skill the usual Starscream woefully lacked. With a grunt, Megatron followed him into overload, filling him up. Satiated, he relaxed and let his spike slip out of Starscream.

Not a klik later, Thundercracker and Skywarp rushed into the throne room, Skywarp waving a data stick. “Lord Megatron, we found it– oh. Uh, we’ll come back later.”

He and Thundercracker stumbled to a halt just past the doorway, and turned away to give them privacy.

“No, no, we're finished,” said Megatron, nudging Starscream upright. “Take him.”

He pushed a bow-legged Starscream off his lap, into their arms. 

“Heh. Careful with him,” he said, as they each took an arm and helped Starscream to his feet. “I’m sure he’ll be in a mood when you load his usual programming. He's been cognizant of everything that’s happened this whole time, after all.”

Chapter Text

Skywarp glances up from the magazine he’s reading, mid-chew into an energon truffle, at the distant roar of engines approaching his tower.

It's two fliers, of a large size class, judging by the amount of noise they're making. Weird. He's not expecting any visitors, and no one flew directly up to the Elite trine’s suites uninvited. Starscream’s palace had way better security than that. 

Skywarp sighs, swallowing his treat and tossing his datapad aside. He gets up from berth to greet them. It's probably a pair of couriers who have gotten lost. 

Better that they cold approached him rather than Starscream or Thundercracker, who turned away anyone who didn't have an invitation. If they found out he was letting strangers into his berthroom this late in the cycle, they'd throw a fit. They'd turn the situation into something dramatic, saying he’d been set upon by hooligans at a very inappropriate hour, and it was all extremely scandalous. Skywarp couldn't imagine being so high strung. Damn. Now he was really hoping no one saw them approach. He could really do without an audial-ful from his trine tomorrow at morning fueling.

His balcony curtains flap in the wake of the strangers’ turbines as they land and transform. The smell of fuel is strong. Definitely not nobility.

Skywarp barely has time to wipe the jelly off the corner of his mouth, before two huge fliers stomp into his room. One of them is a shuttle. Skywarp doesn't even know how a guy that big got past the guards. The smaller guy, he recognizes. Unfortunately.

Skywarp doesn't expect them to move as fast as they do. The shuttle crosses the room in one stride and shoves him face down over the side of his berth. An instant later, he's locking his wrists behind his back with stasis cuffs. Skywarp’s warp drive deactivates as charge is sapped from his frame. 

Well, this sucks. 

A second pair of footsteps clank on the tile, approaching him. Skywarp lifts his helm and spits the berth cover out.

“Hey, Blitz. Long time no see. I was kinda hoping it would be… longer?”

“Funny how that worked out,” says Blitzwing. “Good thing you're an airhead who leaves his door wide open.”

“Who’s the big guy?”

“Astrotrain’s here to help me pitch your aft off the balcony.”

Skywarp squints at him. “I can fly.” 

“Yeah,” Blitzwing chuckles, pulling a datastick from his subspace. “We’ll see.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” Skywarp thrashes, unsettled at how quickly his night has gone downhill. “If you don’t get these slagging cuffs off– ow–!”

Blitzwing forces the port in his hip open and jams the stick in. Multiple errors flood Skywarp’s HUD– his comm is down, stabilizers are off, and a bunch of other things are deactivated. None good. 

Skywarp grits his denta. This was definitely not the first time he’d pulled something over on the Vosian mafia, but it was the first time he'd gotten caught for it.  One of the perks of being in the Winglord’s trine was that he was basically invincible to low caste revenge plots. So how had a couple of thugs wandered into royal airspace?

“Look, if this is about that thing, I don’t owe you jack. Uh. Starscream was the real mastermind behind it,” says Skywarp, scrambling for a convincing lie. He also doesn't know exactly which thing they had come to collect for. All of them?

“Told you it was the Winglord,” Blitzwing says to Astrotrain. “This one’s too stupid to have pulled it off.”

“Uh. Yeah. I totally am,” says Skywarp tentatively. “Go harass him.”

Blitzwing scoffs. “We can’t just murder the Winglord. We'll get whacked.”

“I’m his trine. That’s basically just as bad.”

“More like the next best thing,” rumbles Astrotrain.

“Yeah,” says Blitzwing. “Incentive to make him think twice about screwing us over. And we get to deactivate his slippery little partner in crime.”

They grab him under the arms and legs and haul him off the berth. The bright, sprawling cityscape of Vos shines around them on all sides as they emerge from his suite and into the night. Skywarp watches the edge of the balcony loom, with impending dread he would not otherwise have, as a flight frame. Knowing there’s a sheer drop onto Thundercracker’s very pointy crystal garden below. Sensing the approaching ledge, his ailerons adjust automatically, anticipating a takeoff. Unfortunately, the pathway to ignite his thrusters was disabled when the data stick was jammed in his aft.

“Hey,” Skywarp says. “I have an idea. If you don’t throw me off, I’ll give you what I owe. Plus interest.”

"Ah. He admits it now," says Astrotrain. 

They swing him up onto the railing. Blitzwing scratches his helm. “Which way should we toss him? Headfirst?”

“Feet first.” Astrotrain grins.

“I like the way you think.”

“No!” Skywarp wraps his legs around Blitzwing’s waist and clings as tight as he can. “'I'm basically royalty, you can't do this to me!”

Blitzwing shoves at his hips, trying to pry him off. “Astrotrain, gimme a hand.”

Skywarp’s lip wobbles, and he clings tighter. A sob bubbles up from his vocalizer as the weight of his situation sets in. 

“Not so tough now, huh?” says Blitzwing. 

“I don't want to die!” Skywarp bawls. Cleanser overflows his optics, tracking down his cheeks. He presses his face into Blitzwing’s neck and looks up imploringly. “Please?”

“C’mon, man. Have some dignity,” says Blitzwing. “You’re cute when you cry, but not that cute. Astrotrain, you’ve gotta pull harder than that, buddy.”

An opportunity presents itself to Skywarp. Possibly a dumb idea, but he didn’t exactly have a wealth of ideas to begin with. Dumb or otherwise. In a desperate burst of inspiration, he opens his valve panel. The snick is deafening in the pause between Astrotrain and Blitzwing’s conversation. 

Astrotrain stops pulling at him. Blitzwing’s hands linger on his hips. 

“I’ll do anything,” whispers Skywarp into Blitzwing’s audial, rubbing his bare mesh on his thigh. 

There's a long, terrifying pause, before Blitzwing squeezes his aft.

“I mean. Would be a shame to let all this go to waste...”

Blitzwing’s hands slide around to his back, and he fondles his wings, right at the base where they meet his spinal struts. He runs pretty hot, for a jet. Skywarp is getting warm, just from being pressed this close to him.

“Stop messing around,” says Astrotrain. 

“Why? When are we gonna get another chance to mess around with a guy like this?” asks Blitzwing.

Skywarp tries to stay focused. “Hey. So if I let you two hit, and you have to let me go. Deal?”

“And then what? I hear the Winglord’s the jealous type,” says Blitzwing. “You're gonna explain to him that you begged a couple of random bots to stretch out your holes?”

Skywarp’s face warms. “It’s not a perfect plan.”

“Yeah.” Blitzwing pats his aft. “You know what, you're both right. Let’s not be hasty. We’ll clang you and then kill you.” 

“Hey, no, that's not the deal!” protests Skywarp, but Blitzwing has already grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his shoulder. He strides back into the suite with him, Astrotrain following close behind. 

“Look at this huge, fancy berth. Cushions and everything. Bet it can fit us all.”

Blitzwing throws him onto it. Skywarp begins to panic. 

“Help! Someone h-!" His shouts are muffled as Astrotrain tears off a strip of his berthcover and gags him with it. 

“They build seekers different in the upper crust,” says Astrotrain, placing him on his lap. His hands wander over Skywarp’s torso. “Look at this little waist. And no armor. Might as well leave your panel open too.”

Skywarp kicks uselessly at Blitzwing as he pries his legs apart and settles between them. 

“You really walk around looking like this? How does anyone stay off you?” asks Blitzwing, catching his ankle. He examines the dark heel, much sleeker and taller than theirs. “Check out this finish. I could eat off these legs…”

Blitzwing dips his helm and licks a stripe up the center of one thigh. Skywarp quivers, as his tongue works into his pelvic seams. His panel doesn't stand a chance against Astrotrain, who reaches under his aft and pries it open. Two huge fingers slide through the seam of his valve, catching the node between his fingers. Skywarp squeaks.

“How much spike you think he can take?” asks Blitzwing. 

Astrotrain pressurizes between Skywarp’s legs. The size of his spike makes Skywarp’s vents stall. It's three times the girth of his fingers. From base to tip, it extends from Skywarp’s entrance to halfway up his cockpit.

Where's it going to go? Skywarp wonders morbidly.

“Huh,” says Astrotrain. “Guess we'll find out.”

—

Tears and drool slide down Skywarp’s face, wetting his gag.  

Blitzwing is heavy on top of his wings, holding him facedown against Astrotrain’s cockpit as they frag both his holes at once.

Skywarp wishes he'd kept his mouth shut and let them deactivate him. This is so embarrassing.

They've overloaded him so many times, he can smell his circuits cooking. His frame isn't made to handle the charge output of two mechs of their size class. And forget their spikes. He’d been forced to rearrange his internals to fit Astrotrain, expanding his calipers to the max. The girth, he could handle surprisingly well in his valve. The depth was the issue. 

For him. Not for Astrotrain, of course, who’d forced most of his spike in and was casually prodding his forge mouth with every. single. thrust. 

Every time he taps it, heat ricochets through Skywarp’s sensors, causing his entire valve to throb with brutal pleasure. Skywarp can practically taste the blunt end of his spike as it pokes deeper in his internals than a spike should ever be.

Oh, Primus. Taking giant spikes was Starscream’s forte. Why couldn't they have just attacked him? Starscream was the one who’d had a shuttle boyfriend. Skywarp isn't a total freak who gets off on having his gestation array punched up into his spark chamber. 

Or at least, he wasn't. But as the deepest, most sensitive part of his valve is rubbed with slow, grindy undulations with the biggest spike his frame can take, he’s beginning to understand what Starscream loved so much. His valve feels well and truly dominated.

Blitzwing is just as unmerciful. His spike is as deep in his aft as he can possibly get, crammed up against Astrotrain’s inside him, filling what little space he has left around his internals. 

Skywarp feels like a fuck toy, a doll; limp in their arms, being fragged two ways. As soon as they synced their thrusts, he was a goner. His ceiling node is being compressed between their spikes, the sensor-rich protomesh rubbed from both sides, which causes him to overload so hard he’s reduced to sobs. They've been able to tip him into overload after overload like this. His valve is on the verge of giving out. 

Charge peaks again, and Skywarp groans. His valve twitches and releases a halfhearted squirt of lubricant to the sticky mess he's already made on Astrotrain’s lap. A HUD error pops up that his calipers are jammed open and won't cycle properly. Skywarp tiredly ignores it, letting it stack on the rest of the notifications as his helm fills with static. 

“You're the only one coming, pretty bot,” says Blitzwing. “Move your hips.”

Skywarp whines. He can't feel his hips. And these two are big frames. Much less sensitive than seekers, and far slower to overload. They’ve been going for a while, and they can go for an eternity more. Skywarp can't decide if that's hot or devastating. His valve aches so much. 

Astrotrain flicks him on the wing. “He doesn't look so good. Think we overloaded him too much?”

“Nah,” says Blitzwing. “Seekers are little frag machines. Real sensitive. He can have a lot more overloads before he goes into stasis.” His thrusts become rougher. “So get moving, lazy. You got a lot of debt to work off.”

Skywarp makes a questioning noise through his gag.

“You put me in a good mood. So consider this your payment.” Blitzwing rotates his hips. “You get to live another day. Heh. If Astrotrain’s spike doesn't kill you first.”

Skywarp hardly hears the end of his statement. Relief he's being spared from painful deactivation is so sharp, he’s lightheaded. Pleasure washes through his systems. He shutters his optics. 

“If you pass out, I’m not stopping,” says Astrotrain. 

“I'm close,” says Blitzwing. “Hurry up and get off, big guy. I wanna get out of here sometime tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Now Astrotrain’s thrusts get rougher, and Skywarp begins to wail, riding the line between pain and glorious, face melting pleasure. His array glows blistering hot as they wring charge out of him once again.

Distantly, he notices the data stick lying next to his leg. It’s been knocked out at some point. Which means his comm has been back online. He can call for help. He will.

But maybe after they finish...

Chapter Text

:: Hi Scream geting clanged by mafiaa grunts help pls xoxo::

The comm Skywarp is composing bounces around his HUD. Between being jostled by thrusts and overloading approximately every two kliks, it took him forever to write.

Skywarp purses his lips. The message isn't quite right. The urgency’s a little lacking. But what to say? Damn, he hates when he has to think. 

He writes more. 

::Hi Scream geting clanged by mafiaa grunts they have HUGE SPIKES help pls xoxo::

Yeah. That should get Screamer’s attention. 

Skywarp sends it and waits patiently, as Astrotrain and Blitzwing frag him through the berth with criminal vengeance. Ooh, that's good. 

A couple kilks later, the door to his suite slams open and Starscream storms in, cursing.

“Skywarp! What did I fragging tell you!? Stop messing with the mafia! I swear, if I have to…”

Starscream trails off, as he takes in the scene. Blitzwing and Astrotrain stop thrusting.

There’s a scuffle as they draw their weapons. Skywarp is distantly aware that Starscream is unarmed and alone. Oops. Maybe he should have sounded more afraid in his message? To be fair, it was hard to sound anything but delirious while getting his ceiling node smashed between two spikes with the force of a hydraulic press. 

“You little rat,” says Blitzwing. Skywarp winces at the pinch of the datastick being plugged back into his hip. Then winces harder as two enormous spikes are yanked out of his sore holes at once. Urgh. He feels like he’s been cranked open all the way to his spark. 

“No need for violence,” says Starscream, in his most slimy, aft-kissing inflection. “We can come to an agreement. What has my trinemate done? Seems he’s been thoroughly punished, by the look of it.”

“Ha. Nice try,” says Blitzwing, twitching his blaster at him. “We know you're the one who's been funneling shanix out of our operation.”

Starscream laughs politely. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“Don't try to play coy. Your trinemate spilled it all.”

“What?”

“We don't care if you're the Winglord. No one fucks with us like that.”

Starscream’s smirk fades, and the confidence drains from his face. He has no time to react before they're grabbing for him. He yelps as he’s given the same treatment Skywarp was– planted facedown on the berth, cuffed, and data stick-ed with contempt. Just like that, he's immobilized. 

“Skywarp!” shrieks Starscream, wriggling. He gapes at him like facing retribution is the last thing he expected to happen. “What the pit did you tell them?”

Skywarp rubs his face against the berth, sliding his gag off.  “I may have, uh… used your name. When admitting to some… stuff.”

“What stuff?” 

“Well, there's the shanix funneling, for one. Um. Do you want a list? We’ll be here a while.”

“You idiot! I’ll have your aft for this!” howls Starscream, kicking at him. 

“Hey, they were going to kill me!”

“So you invoked my name!? You traitor! I’m not dying because of your silly dalliances with these ugly slag-lickers!”

“Cool your jets,” says Blitzwing, subspacing his blaster. “We're not killing you.”

He rolls a hissing Starscream onto his back. And leers.

"Well, we would. But you're hot too.”

"What!?”

Blitzwing takes Starscream’s ankles and bends his legs over his head. He grinds a thumb into the seam of his valve panel, forcing it open.

Starscream lets out a strangled yell. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?"

Starscream's cheeks color as he spreads his valve. "You can't do this to me! I'm the head of state."

"Eh," says Blitzwing, shrugging. "You interrupted at a bad time. And I’ve got a big load to blow." He jerks his spike, aiming at Starscream’s stricken face. 

Starscream’s optics go wide. “Are you insane? Think of all the business we've done! You've paid me obscene amounts to ignore your crimes, and I’ve looked the other way. The Family and the State of Vos have an agreement. An… unofficial agreement, but an agreement nonetheless!”

“Had an agreement.”

“I’ll have you killed for this,” says Starscream bitterly. “If you touch me, I’ll wipe your whole operation off the face of Vos. I’ll–”

"Right now, all you're gonna do is hold those pretty legs open and take spike," says Blitzwing.

“Enough of this slag. I’m dyin’ to let loose,” says Astrotrain, shoving Blitzwing aside and stroking himself.

Starscream’s threats die in a whimper. His optics follow the movement of Astrotrain’s hand up and down his enormous shaft. 

“Do you really think that will fit?” he asks demurely. 

“One way or another.” Astrotrain comes closer, and Starscream’s vocalizer fritzes as a pillar-like shadow is thrown across his pelvic array. Against his dainty torso, Astrotrain’s spike resembles a battering ram. 

“Try not to break our dear leader,” says Blitzwing. 

“We’ll see.” Astrotrain nudges his thumb into Starscream's valve. “He’s–” He pauses, and frowns at Starscream. “Are you seriously wet already?”

“What? No!" Starscream’s face tinges pink, and he kicks at Astrotrain. 

Astrotrain slides his thumb out of his crevice, pulling away a glistening strand of lubricant. 

“You liked the look of my spike, huh?" He taps his spike on his valve, mingling their slick. “So you're a size queen. That’ll make this easier.”

“I'm not a size queen!” Starscream squawks, kicking wildly. He tries in vain to nail him in the optic with the point of his thruster. When that doesn't work, he squirms away, rumpling the wet berthcovers in his attempt to escape. 

Astrotrain's hands encircle each of Starscream's thighs, and he drags him back down to the edge of the berth. He folds his legs back again until his thrusters touch his audials, and works the tip of his spike into his entrance. Despite Starscream's screeching, profanity-laced protests, his valve stretches open around the girth, taking it just as quickly as it’s stuffed in. 

Skywarp looks on in amazement as Astrotrain’s ridiculous spike disappears into Starscream’s pelvic girdle at a rate that should be impossible for a mech of Starscream’s size.

“God damn, Winglord,” blurts Blitzwing. “You took that like it was nothing.”

“Yeah, holy shit, Screamer,” says Skywarp, genuinely impressed. His valve hurts just from watching. 

“Skywarp.” Starscream’s chastisement comes out as more of a nasally whimper as Astrotrain rocks his hips against his aft, packing his spike in. 

“He just keeps opening,” says Astrotrain. “Where is he putting it?”

Starscream’s gaze flicks self-consciously between them all. “T-that's far enough!” he blurts. “I can't take anymore!”

Astrotrain snickers. “Liar. Your walls twitch when I go deep. You love big spikes, huh?”

“No! I– Stop!” Starscream gasps, as Astrotrain grinds further into his valve. All the way in, until his middle bulges. 

“Yeah, you love it,” says Astrotrain, in response to Starscream’s emphatic helm shaking. “Don't worry, I’ll go nice n’ slow, so you can feel every thrust.”

“Get out of me,” Starscream hisses, voice quavering. All his limbs are tense, but his wings tick up, broadening and splaying with arousal. His dark faceplate has taken on a purplish tinge. He gnaws his lip, vents stuttering as Astrotrain distends his belly with every thrust. 

“You're soaked.”

“No, I’m not!” 

“Heh. Every time I hit the back, you squirt a little.”

“Because you're pressing on my reservoir!” exclaims Starscream shrilly. “I can't–”

“Hold it in? Yeah, I bet that’s your usual excuse.”

Astrotrain’s slow, measured thrusts are devastating, and loud, slopping through all the lubricant being extruded. Starscream looks like he is going to bite his glossa in half if he doesn't let out the moan he's clearly holding. In Skywarp’s experience, Starscream couldn't hold anything back during a 'facing. He was a good actor, but not when it came to taking spike. And especially not big spike. 

“Your walls are clinging real tight. Having a good time?” asks Astrotrain. When Starscream refuses to answer, he spikes him harder. With a few quick, rough nudges into the neck of his valve, Starscream’s abdominal plating contracts, and he finally releases the horrendous yowl he’s been holding. So much for pretending he didn't love this.

“He's so noisy,” says Blitzwing, wincing and rubbing his audials. 

“You gonna use his aft?” asks Astrotrain. 

“Pit, no. He needs his mouth shut.”

Blitzwing straddles Starscream’s face and puts his spike between his lips. Starscream turns his face away, only for Blitzwing to immediately twist it back.

“C’mon, open up.”

“No. I’ve seen where that’s been!” snarls Starscream through clenched denta. 

“And? Skywarp's port ain't any filthier than your mouth.”

Starscream’s optics shoot daggers. “If you make me suck that, I’ll have your spark torn out through your spike.”

Blitzwing throws a glance over his wing at Astrotrain. “Hey. Frag him a little harder.”

“No!” warbles Starscream. The slick noises of fragging get faster, and his moans become guttural. While Astrotrain makes Starscream mewl with a series of laser-targeted thrusts into his gestation seal, Blitzwing pushes his spike into his mouth, filling his throat and muffling him.

“Was that so hard?” Blitzwing asks, as Starscream chokes. “You've got a big mouth, and I’ve got a lotta spike. It just works.”

He rotates his hips, tweaking Starscream’s shivering wingtips. Starscream's throat cables flex, and his engine makes a noise that's suspiciously close to a purr. 

“You like that?” Blitzwing shoves a finger under an aileron, strumming at the wires while Starscream writhes. “You're kind of a masochist, aren't you?”

“I’m jealous,” says Skywarp, pouting. “You barely touched my wings.”

"Shut up. You already got yours,” says Blitzwing. 

Starscream makes a furious, muffled screech in Skywarp’s direction– a dire warning that loses most of its effect when Blitzwing begins thrusting full throttle. Wet slurping fills the room, intermingled with Starscream’s moans as he throats the substantial girth stretching out his intake tubing. 

“Size queen is right. Solus’ tits, you're slutty,” says Blitzwing. “All that complaining, but you're suckin’ spike like your life depends on it.”

Drool spills out the corner of Starscream’s mouth as Blitzwing’s pelvic armor slaps his chin. His brow ridge is scrunched in concentration; cheeks hollowed around the spike. He's not holding back anymore. Deep, hungry moans eke from his vocalizer while he's stuffed from both ends. 

Astrotrain adjusts his grip on Starscream. He holds the backs of his thighs, pressing them back until cables creak. Then he sinks his spike in, to a depth that can't possibly be comfortable for Starscream, and grinds. Skywarp watches, cringing, as his trine leader’s middle bows outward precariously, and his optics roll back from the intense stimulation. Like a ticking time bomb, Starscream’s array winds tighter with every movement of Astrotrain’s spike. 

In the end, a few rough figure eights traced against Starscream’s forge mouth is what breaks the Winglord. 

Starscream’s hips jerk, and he lets loose a series of frantic, unrestrained shrieks. An explosion of static cascades from his wingtips and thrusters, converging between his legs and snapping out of his array. Lubricant spits from his valve, drenching Astrotrain’s cockpit and the berthcovers beneath his hips. 

Astrotrain groans, shuddering to a stop. An almost impossible amount of spike slips from Starscream’s valve as he pulls out. There's still an impressive bulge in Starscream’s abdominal plating where Astrotrain has, apparently, overloaded up his forge. Starscream isn't going to be happy about that. 

Astrotrain recesses his cord behind his panel and backs off, leaving Starscream’s legs splayed open inelegantly. The Winglord's hips jerk; his swollen valve twitching and drooling lubricant as leftover charge dissipates.

“Been a while since I came that much,” Astrotrain says, rolling his shoulders. "Seeker valve is always a treat."

Starscream’s only response is a wet gargle, as Blitzwing overloads down his intake. 

“Ahh. You know just how to please your subjects,” says Blitzwing, with a satiated groan. He yanks his spike out, dribbling ropes of transfluid all over Starscream’s open, gasping mouth. 

“I’ll kill you," sneers Starscream, vocalizer ragged. As soon as Blitzwing gets off him, he tries to sit up, but Blitzwing seizes the edge of a wing and hauls him up to the head of the berth alongside Skywarp. Skywarp is flipped face down on top of him with a clatter. Starscream’s cuffs are demagnetized; his arms wrapped around Skywarp’s middle. Their cuffs are laced together and re-secured. 

Blitzwing stands back to view his work. A dumb grin cracks over his face. “Tough luck, Winglord. Our truce is off. Be grateful your valves were the only things we busted up.”

“They’ll go back to normal. Probably,” says Astrotrain. 

They collapse into raucous laughter, concealing Starscream’s ominous growl. Slender claws dig into Skywarp's back, targeting a very sensitive, very painful wing seam.

Skywarp swallows thickly, eager to put as much distance between himself and his livid trinemate as possible. 

“Do you have to keep us tied together?” he asks.

“What’s wrong? Don't wanna cuddle?” snickers Blitzwing. Skywarp winces as Starscream works his claws deeper into his plating. 

“Can you at least unblock our comms?” 

“Pit no. You two can stay there until someone comes looking for you. Kiss and make up, or something.”

He and Astrotrain clomp out to the balcony and take off with an audial-splitting roar. When their engines have receded into a rumble, Skywarp chances a peek at Starscream. He looks… murdery. That’s understandable. Skywarp just wishes it weren't directed at him.

He chuckles nervously. “So. Uh. No hard feelings right?”

Starscream regards him through slitted optics. A blob of transfluid slides off his downturned mouth. 

Skywarp swallows his disgust and nuzzles his cheek, puckering his lips. “Yeah, ok. Bring it in. Blitz probably didn't mean it literally, but while we're here, we might as well–”

“Kiss me, and I’ll chew your face off,” says Starscream, flashing the tips of his fangs. 

Skywarp keeps to himself until Thundercracker shows up early the following cycle, and rescues them.

Chapter Text

“Our sincere apologies that you were mistreated, Winglord.”

Even over comms, Starscream can clearly hear the emphasis Cyclonus puts on the ‘you’. The very singular ‘you’. Starscream can't fault him for that.

“Yes, Skywarp no doubt got what he deserved, but next time Octane sends his goons, make sure they know who they’re supposed to be attacking!”

There’s a moment of silence on Cyclonus’ side. “Octane is actually indisposed.”

“And what do I care where he is now?” snaps Starscream, turning to pace to the other end of his office. “His men completely and utterly disgraced my trinemate. And more importantly, me.”

More silence. Octane’s second in command certainly relishes his dramatic pauses. “You misunderstand. Octane was replaced long before you were attacked. We’ve made a… permanent organizational change.”

“What!? So your new leader is responsible for signing off on this filthy violation?” 

“Not quite.” 

“Well? How is he going to answer for it?”

Another, longer pause follows, and Starscream doesn’t bother holding back his impatience. “What is it!? I demand an explanation!”

“Our leader wants to meet your trinemate, Thundercracker, tonight to smooth things out, if he is amenable to a discussion.”

“Thundercracker?” Starscream glances over his shoulder, to where his trinemate is vigorously shaking his head ‘no’. 

Against his better judgment, Starscream considers the proposal. He had been planning to force Skywarp to go to Octane to apologize and clean up the mess he created, but this is a far better option. Thundercracker is more mellow, and doesn’t have quite the same knack for finding trouble as Skywarp. Starscream has complete confidence that he won’t screw up somehow. 

“They will meet at Eclipse. Our treat,” says Cyclonus.

A suitably upscale restaurant, and one of Vos’ finest. Starscream couldn’t have suggested a better option himself. “Very well. But he’d better treat Thundercracker like gold.”

There’s open air on the line, as Cyclonus pauses. Starscream hears the indecipherable murmuring of another voice on the other end, before Cyclonus speaks again. “Of course, Winglord. You have his word.”

“Good.” Starscream hangs up. He goes over to Thundercracker, who’s doing some kind of paperwork at his desk and petulantly ignoring him.

“Get up. You're going out tonight. It’s with the Mob.”

Thundercracker visibly stiffens. “Starscream, I said I didn't want to be involved in all that.”

“They asked for you, for whatever reason. And a good thing, too. I don't have the patience to be diplomatic with them after that… incident.”

“You didn’t have to send me to do your dirty work! You can say no to them, you know.”

Honestly, Starscream didn't have the patience for Thundercracker’s whining either. He strode to the edge of the room and yanked a decanter of engex off his bar cart, filling a flute. “That new leader… he should be begging for mercy for sicking his grunts on us rather than negotiating! I knew something was off about the whole situation. There’s no way Octane would have done that to us. He’s a sleazy cheat but at least he has half a processor in his fat head. And he’s a coward. He’d off himself to save me the trouble before daring to take revenge on me.”

Starscream set his glass aside, steepled his fingers and frowned. 

“Thundercracker, you must act as the diplomat. As much as I’d like to send armed forces to weed out their operation and murder them all for the disrespect, I really would like their continued financial support. You see, in the wake of the incident, our pact–”

“You mean your degenerate “business” venture-slash-money laundering scheme?”

“Our pact,” enunciated Starscream, “has, hm… lapsed. No, no. Rather, it’s been left open-ended. You must figure out what is going on, and reinstate our relationship. Am I being perfectly clear?”

“Yeah,” sighs Thundercracker, heaving himself up from the desk. “Leave it to me.”

Starscream rubbed his hands together. Oh yes, Thundercracker should get this sorted nicely.

—

What was that fool doing?

Starscream pinches his thighs together, trying not to overload in front of his entire cabinet of advisors. 

Thundercracker’s end of the trine bond is wide open, and Starscream can feel a ghost of sensation in the approximate shape of a glossa running through the seam of his valve. 

He can't concentrate on whatever his finance minister is saying because that mouth—

Speaking of, it’s a joor after the time Thundercracker and the boss had been slated to meet. Thundercracker had apparently been wined, dined… and seduced . For whatever reason. 

Unbelievable. If any of them were to escape unscathed from potential erotic foolery, it would be Thundercracker. Good, serious, respectable Thundercracker who did as he was told and didn't get eaten out when he was supposed to be working.

::THUNDERCRACKER:: shoots Starscream over their comm channel.

There’s a flinch from Thundercracker’s end of the bond. Starscream receives a trembling pulse of embarrassment and the sensation in his valve dulls a bit. Like Thundercracker is shrinking back; compelled to hold his emotions away in shame. But he doesn't shut Starscream out.

But he also gives no verbal response, so Starscream comms him again. ::I DID NOT TELL YOU TO GO ON A HOT DATE WITH THIS MECH. GET OUT OF BERTH::

As soon as he sends it, the situation strikes him as odd. Thundercracker is usually very careful with his end of the bond. And especially sneaky when he’s trying to hide his naughty activities. It was highly unusual for him to be openly broadcasting. Awful scenarios float through Starscream’s head. Maybe they’d drugged him. Done something to his processor, so he was totally helpless while they defiled him.

The bond blows open again. Secondhand hot, gooey excitement travels up Starscream’s spinal struts as warmth traces through his valve– poking inside it. Slow, hot licks register as lingering pulses of heat to his node, all overlaid with Thundercracker’s unabashed arousal. 

Not only is Thundercracker enjoying himself, there’s clear intentionality in what he’s sending. Starscream reaches deeper into the connection, and beneath Thundercracker’s pleasure, there's the sense he’s trying to communicate something. 

Starscream wasn't sure what made him decide to share his experience. But he lingers, deep in the bond, getting pulled in.

Starscream gets embarrassment, in a soft, almost polite quality that’s distinctly Thundercracker, laced with anticipation that licks at his insides. Then his port tingles. Outside, then gradually inside; sensors throbbing in a burning stretch.

A thick finger– a huge finger– works up Thundercracker’s port, as his node is sucked. The dual sensations of pressure and heat tickling his valve and port are driving Starscream insane. The ministers flinch and glance over as his field warps in a flash of emotion. 

::CLOSE YOUR DAMN BOND. WHY ARE YOU SHARING THIS?::

Also, why is Thundercracker being treated so gently!?  The pulsing is slow and steady. No jagged edges to the pleasure indicating roughness or pain. This is not some assault. Thundercracker is being worshiped. But by whom? 

Starscream is hit with a vague jealousy. Surely, this is not one of the same thugs that assaulted him and Skywarp? This gentility, this care… it must be the new boss. 

Starscream’s valve aches. His external node is so hard and swollen it’s pushing against his slick inner panel. His valve feels tight beneath it as well, the lips puffy with arousal. Each pulse of sensation has become sharper, and charge is rapidly peaking behind his nodes. Faster, stronger and more concentrated until it’s flickering, in a frantic vibration. Starscream’s knees tremble. He can't concentrate on the meeting like this. He’s going to overload at any moment.

He calls a break, curtly excuses himself, and exits gracefully from the room. Whereupon he rushes into an adjoining sitting room and has an explosive overload. He clutches the edge of a table for dear life as his legs give out, depositing him onto the floor. 

::What on Cybertron are you doing?:: he sends Thundercracker, once he’s gathered enough of his wits to form a coherent message.

When his only answer is more, deeper heat pulsing in his port– plunging thrusts of a finger up Thundercracker’s aft– Starscream gives up and pops his panel. Lubricant rolls out over his thighs as he shakily hauls himself to standing and throws himself over the table. Working two fingers up his valve, he notches the corner of the table into his slit, fingering himself while enjoying the lush burn in his port. A cheeky flush of pleasure nudges him from Thundercracker’s end as Starscream shoves his own arousal petulantly at him over the bond. 

Feel this. Feel what you made me do. 

As if it couldn't get worse… Skywarp pops up in an obnoxious bang of energy. He’s flushed, rubbing his thighs together.

“Hey Starscream! Thundercracker’s gone wild, huh? You know I can also feel you masturbating like crazy through the bond?” 

Starscream supposed he’d left his own end open. He doesn't have the presence of mind to close it. He also doesn't know how Skywarp is staying upright while getting pelted with sensation from both ends of the bond. He’d always had excellent stamina, to be fair.

“Yeah, so, that table is, uh. Not the most comfortable,” says Skywarp. “I know you like it rough but can you like… tone down the rubbing a couple notches? Feels like my node is gonna fall off.”

“Shut up, Skywarp,” Starscream pants, thrusting his fingers up his valve. His only concern is playing with himself. Attacking his ceiling node with wild, stabbing thrusts. Rutting his external node against the corner of the table in time with the pulsing in his aft. 

Skywarp’s fingers curl around his waist and drag his hips back from the table. “What made you decide to make love to a super pointy corner of an antique table?”

“What do you think!?” screeches Starscream, angry to be disrupted from his humping. The pulsing in his aft intensifies– perhaps the finger speeds up. Starscream claws the edge of the table.

“Skywarp, put me back!”

“No way. You're being way too rough. Here.” Skywarp slips three fingers through Starscream’s crevice, massaging his node.

“That’s not enough!” Frustrated, Starscream bats at Skywarp, but has no time to fight with him. Thundercracker’s pleasure grows harsh and hot, then explodes, needling him in waves. He's overloaded. Behind him, Skywarp moans.

“Primus have mercy,” hisses Starscream. He curls his fists and drums his heels as Thundercracker’s overstimulation hits him next– that damn mouth sucking all the charge from his node. A tiny, sympathetic overload tickles Starscream’s array, but it’s not enough. He blasts frustration through the bond. And both Thundercracker and Skywarp flinch back.

“Whoa! Take it easy,” says Skywarp. “I’ve got this.” Starscream lets him pull him over towards a couch. Skywarp lays down and Starscream gets on top, straddling him. Skywarp presses their valves together and rubs. Pleasure ripples through Starscream’s node as it connects with Skywarp’s, striking a charge together.

“See? I‘m way better than the table, huh?”

“The table didn't talk. Shut up so I can concentrate!” 

The thick finger remains inside Thundercracker’s aft. Starscream can feel a delicious pressure on his secretory… as something massive slides through Thundercracker’s slit. Starscream can't quite quantify the shape through the trine bond, but all he knows, from the time it takes to rub from base to tip through Thundercracker’s valve lips, is that it's enormous .

Both he and Skywarp whine pathetically as the head teases the entrance to Thundercracker’s valve. Shamelessly, Starscream begs for more dimension to it.

:Girth? Girth? Girth?: he pulses over to Thundercracker, while grinding his valve with Skywarp’s, creating more delicious pressure. Tactile dimension to Thundercracker’s projections. 

The spike pushes in. Starscream feels a dull flash of pain from Thundercracker, but also gets a solid measure of the staggering circumference as it breaches his trinemate’s valve.

Skywarp growls in pleasure, thrusting up hard along with Starscream. Sparks fly from their arrays.  

Oh. Ohh. Gimme. Starscream is drooling all over Skywarp’s neck, wiggling his hips, as slowly but surely, that incredible spike opens his first set of calipers.

And then Thundercracker completely shuts him out. 

The bond goes silent, save for the usual presence of Thundercracker lingering. All Starscream is left with is Skywarp’s lust twining with his own.

Then a comm pops up. From Thundercracker.

::He’s asking for you two::

Overload completely destroyed, Starscream shrieks with frustration, pounding his fists against the back of the couch. 

“That slag-sucking fool! He thinks he can taunt me with that huge, amazing–” He pauses to wipe the drool from his chin. “I’ll meet him myself, since Thundercracker is so useless . Meet him and give him a piece of my mind. He wouldn't dare to oh—!”

His tantrum is halted as Skywarp pressurizes his spike straight up his valve. The sudden, forceful entry punches past all his throbbing nodes, the tip snapping painfully against the neck of his valve with a resolute thunk. It’s just the finish he needs. Starscream bends double, overloading. And by the sound of it, Skywarp does too. 

“You’re so horny, Screamer…” pants Skywarp. “Thinking about spike so hard and not doing anything… you’re driving me nuts.”

Starscream slowly uncurls himself, savoring the sweet burn in his valve coupled with that of Skywarp’s release pumping into him. “Skywarp… how many times have I told you not to shove it up my valve like that?”

“A lot. And you come every time, you little masochist. You're welcome, by the way.”

Starscream rocks his hips onto Skywarp’s still-hard spike. “Fine. Just… make yourself useful.”

Arrangements to meet with the new leader would have to be made. Then it would be Starscream’s turn to be treated to a lovely meal and have his valve utterly destroyed for dessert. He can't wait. But first– to frag himself dry over thoughts of that skilled glossa and thick spike.

Chapter Text

When Thundercracker returned to the palace, he had a dreamy, distant look in his optics that confirmed his processor had been fucked into absolute scrap. In preparation to receive the same treatment, Starscream had primped and polished for hours, ready to be swooned when he met the boss. It was the least he deserved.

Thoughts of a rugged, handsome, and considerate lover spiking him until he couldn’t move filled his processor on the long transport ride over. In no time at all, he’d built up a wicked charge that even Skywarp’s incessant chattering next to him couldn’t kill. 

But now Starscream was cursing his overactive libido for making him incautious. 

“What the pit is this? Where did you take us!?” he hollered, when the transport stopped in the middle of nowhere.

“These are the coordinates you were given, Winglord,” explained his trembling driver as Starscream shook him by the shoulders.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Starscream released him, glaring out across the crumbling landing pad at the shady, abandoned-looking row of hangars they’d pulled up to. It appeared they’d ended up far out in Vos’ industrial district, and not at a fine establishment like Starscream had expected.

“Y’know, we could just turn back,” suggested Skywarp, also clearly sketched out by the location.

“Absolutely not.” Starscream opened his comm on his wrist and began punching in Cyclonus’ code. “Obviously we were given the wrong directions. Waste of my time…”

“Screamer!” A soft yelp of his name from Skywarp drew his attention. 

A shadow fell over him, and Starscream glanced up directly into the barrel of a blaster, pointed at his window. Attached to the weapon was Blitzwing, with Astrotrain at his side, also armed. Skywarp yelped again as they knocked on the windows with their blaster tips. 

“Outta the transport,” demanded Blitzwing, mirroring Astrotrain’s skeevy grin. 

–-

Starscream’s shrieking threats were all for naught as Astrotrain slung him over his shoulder and carried him through the hangar. Escape was impossible– they were too far out from the city for anyone to hear him, and they’d cuffed his driver to a pole outside, but damned if he wasn’t at least going to make this unpleasant for them. Skywarp was forced to walk ahead of him, shoved along by Blitzwing with a blaster at the small of his back, and stasis cuffs on.

They headed towards the back of the structure and into an office, where Starscream was dumped unceremoniously to the ground. Astrotrain and Blitzwing went to stand by the door, guarding Skywarp.

“We brought ‘em, boss,” rumbled Astrotrain. 

Swearing violently, Starscream picked himself up to accost the so-called boss who’d arranged this kidnapping.

He was greeted with the sight of an enormous, black-and-purple-armored bomber sitting behind a desk. Built like a mountain, the mech rose and lumbered around the desk, dragging his chair along behind him. He lowered himself onto it in front of Starscream with an impressive clanking of hydraulics.

Starscream, however, was far from impressed. “Would you care to explain who you are, and why you’ve allowed your thugs to mishandle me!?”

The mech’s lips twitched in a grin. “I am Megatron,” he said simply, his voice rumbling through the cavernous hangar like an avalanche. 

Starscream had to say, this mech was far more threatening-looking than Octane. Handsome, though, as Thundercracker had described, with a craggy, serious face. His red optics were harsh as he looked Starscream over, clearly liking what he saw. “You know who I am,” he continued. “Who I was is less important. If you must know, I ran an underground fighting ring before I… inherited this position.”

Of course he was a brawler. Seems exactly the type. “My trinemate said you wanted to meet me,” said Starscream, getting to the point.

“Of course." Megatron's mouth pulled up in a smile. "Did you enjoy my message?” 

His message. That was definitely him pleasuring Thundercracker. Starscream pushed down that thrilling kernel of info and turned his nose up, anger battling with his arousal. This rudeness was hardly the type of greeting he deserved, as Winglord. If Megatron wasn’t willing to treat him properly, he wouldn’t give him what he wanted either. He had no interest in entertaining the whims of some filthy boor.

“Is that what you think of me?” he snapped. “That I’d be enticed by that filth? You were harassing my trinemate! That’s unforgivable.”

“Unforgivable that I was harassing him instead of you, you mean?” purred Megatron.

“Why have you brought me here?” snarled Starscream. 

“Have you not figured it out yet? This is a negotiation. Think of this as you paying your dues for cheating me.”

"I shouldn't be paying dues!” protested Starscream. “That was Skywarp's fault. He should be standing here, not me.”

Megatron folded his arms, smile fading. “Octane was a fool and we both know you took advantage of that. Skimming off a little extra for yourself every payment.”

Starscream felt a chill down his spinal struts. How much does he know?  

Glancing at Megatron’s wings gave no hints as to his mood– mostly because he didn’t exactly have wings in root mode. The appendages were seamlessly incorporated into his arms and back– making it impossible to to tell where they ended and began. It was a very unnerving configuration.

“Let me jog your memory,” said Megatron. “Does taking a far larger cut of my profits than agreed and concealing it sound familiar? Skywarp was, at best, your scapegoat. You’re the mastermind.” 

“Well!” said Starscream. “That’s a strong accusation.”

“Don’t try to deny it,” growled Megatron. “I did some digging, and found all the evidence I need. You should take responsibility.”

“And what about what you've done to me? Your men took advantage of me!” snapped Starscream. “Me! The sovereign of Vos!”

Megatron shrugged. “Ah, well. That wasn’t planned. They did that on their own. I only sent them to deactivate your trinemate as a warning and dissolve our alliance. I still may.”

“What?” gasped Starscream. There was a click behind him of a gun’s safety being removed, and Skywarp whimpering.

“...But I’d be willing to reconsider. How fortunate for you, that you have something of interest to me,” Megatron said. 

“I don’t have to negotiate with you,” Starscream hissed. “Vos is my city, and you answer to me.”

“I’ll accept payment of the amount you owe, as an apology. Along with some interest. In return, we’ll continue our dealings, which I know hold considerable weight in Vos’ treasury.”

There was no arguing with Megatron, it seemed. Not weaponless, and surrounded by his enormous, armed lackeys. By coming here, Starscream had foolishly given him the high ground. In the interest of retaining his source of funding for his lavish lifestyle, as well as not being murdered outright along with Skywarp, he realized he may have to concede defeat.

“You’ll have the payment," he sighed. "What do you mean, interest?”

“A small gesture of loyalty.” Megatron stroked his chin, optics wandering over Starscream’s frame intently. “My men tell me you have an exceptional love for spike.”

Starscream's face heated. “Why, you–! I will not be threatened into fulfilling your sordid fantasies!"

“Oh? Do you mean to tell me you didn't come running at the prospect of riding my spike?”

“How dare you even suggest that! You’ll get nothing from this– this insolence!” Starscream tried not to let his attention waver as Megatron’s thick fingers drifted down to palm his codpiece. 

“Show me you really want it,” said Megatron. “The alliance, I mean. I know you really want my spike.”

Starscream’s wings flared in rage. “If you think I'm going to stand here and let you speak to me like–”

He flinched in surprise as Megatron’s panel snapped open. Segment by segment, his spike extended into his massive hand with a series of clanks. The girth was shocking, with a thick head and an even thicker base. The protomesh was matte black, rimmed with purple biolights. Curls of steam wafted from the surface. 

Megatron chuckled. “Give it some attention. Preferably with your lovely mouth.”

Starscream dragged his optics back to Megatron’s face. “You're out of your mind.”

“Is this going to be a problem, Winglord?”

“C’mon, Screamer, it’s just sucking spike,” called Skywarp unhelpfully, from over in the corner. 

“Not even,” said Megatron, leering. “A kiss and some groveling will do.” He stroked himself slowly, his movements matching the impression Thundercracker had projected of a firm, steady lover. All bulk and power, with a restrained sadism. The memory was plenty to make Starscream’s knees weak, but he would not be commanded. He was the one who should be making demands; making them grovel to him. 

“Go on, Winglord,” goaded Megatron. “Kneel.” 

“Never! You’re completely out of line.”

“Do you need some persuasion?”

Starscream got the distinct feeling of being loomed over, and a moment later, Astrotrain’s chassis bumped his back, his hot vents steaming up his wings. Starscream growled as Astrotrain poked the tip of his blaster lewdly against his backside. If not Megatron, it would be him again. Being stuffed with triple-changer spike was humiliating enough the first time. 

Furious, Starscream conceded. Blocked in by Megatron’s goons, he didn’t see another way out. “Fine! If I must!” You disgusting beast…

Disdainfully, he knelt in front of Megatron, watching his heavy spike pulse and drip prefluid. This was hardly the passionate evening he’d hoped for. He should be getting pampered in a fine hotel, but no, Megatron was as unrefined as his men, with a hideous spike to match. 

“Go on. Give it a kiss,” said Megatron. 

Scowling, Starscream ventured a bit closer, steeling himself to put his mouth on him. Ugh. He could smell him. 

It was unlike a flier to have a strong scent, yet Megatron’s was harsh, like he didn't cycle oil cleanly, and the stench of his coked engines had sunk into his seams. It was the rugged stink of a big, powerful, manual class mech– a notch from being entirely revolting– and it made Starscream hot from the seam of his valve into his very forge. 

He wavered, realizing he'd brought his nose an inch from his spike. Horrified, Starscream quickly turned away, shutting his vents as unexpected arousal punched through his tanks. 

Megatron watched him, clearly amused by his reaction. Starscream glared back. He would not be made a fool of! Letting himself get overwhelmed by Megatron’s spike was simply out of the question. 

He leant back in, trying not to cycle air too strongly. The scent was making him dizzy. He had to get this over with quickly.

A bead of prefluid drooled messily from the thick head, running down the shaft. Starscream watched it trail down, then daintily touched his lips to the divot at the tip in a kiss. Hot prefluid coated his mouth. It had a coarse taste, pungent and thick, but thoroughly intoxicating. His interfacing systems roared to life as rich fluid poured over his glossa. 

Before his imagination ran wild, Starscream pulled back and scrubbed at his lips. “There.”

Megatron looked bored. “Is that all? I get the feeling you're holding back.”

Starscream clenched his denta, trying to ignore his valve throbbing behind his panel. “Perhaps if there were anything admirable about your filthy, ridiculously oversized–”

Megatron’s hot hand clamping around the back of his neck was all the warning Starscream got before he was shoved nose-first into his spike.

“Good start. What else?” purred Megatron. “And use your glossa while you describe it.” He began thrusting, rubbing his spike over his face.

“What are you doing!? Let go!” Starscream shrieked. He clawed at his neck, unable to break his grip or turn away as Megatron rutted against his cheek. 

“Persuading you. I’d like to hear your honest opinion.”

“I'll say anything to get your disgusting spike out of my face!”

“Well, I’m waiting.” Megatron rubbed his spike against Starscream’s nose and lips, smearing his dense prefluid all over him, like he was marking him. Starscream fought the urge to lick it away. The weighty girth crushed against his face was enough to be smothering, but his frame couldn't get enough.

"I won't stop until I hear a compliment," said Megatron, engine a deep purr.

“It’s big!” blurted Starscream, selecting the most obvious quality before he accidentally admitted he liked the flavor, or something equally insane. 

“Is that all that comes to mind? I was told you were more eloquent,” chuckled Megatron. 

“Eloquence is wasted on a sexually depraved idiot like you.”

“I could say the same to you," said Megatron. He tapped a thick finger to the base of his spike. "Lick out the housing. Some of your trinemate’s overload is likely still in the seam.”

“That’s foul! What happened to kissing? Mmgh–” Pressure on the back of Starscream’s neck forced his mouth against the base of Megatron’s spike. Trapped, he resigned himself to laving at the housing until Megatron was satisfied. Gradually, Megatron’s grip eased off, but he held him by the neck and moved Starscream’s helm to whichever part of his spike he pleased. There was so much length and heft, it was hard to handle it all, but Megatron made sure he licked every inch with care. 

Starscream was made to slurp at the shaft, running his mouth along the sides to collect all the prefluid that spilled. It was a futile effort– fluid dribbled onto his forehead, trickling down the sides of his nose. All the while, Starscream was frothing to have him inside. His legs shook as he dragged his mouth over the length, collecting the pungent spill on his glossa. Megatron brought him right to the source, instructing him to wrap his lips around the head and suck.

Embarrassingly eager to get more in his mouth, Starscream did as he was told. Truthfully, he wanted to feel the tip pounding the back of his intake, but Megatron released him the moment he tried to take him deeper. Starscream was shoved back onto his aft, spike slipping from his mouth with a pop.

“I suppose that’s satisfactory,” said Megatron.

Starscream’s helm spun. He felt… sticky. In addition to the flood of lubricant threatening to escape his panel, a dense thread of Megatron’s prefluid dangled between his wet chin and Megatron’s spike tip. Starscream quickly wiped it away, and reset his vocalizer a few times. “I-is that all?”

“No. Now that I’m warmed up, you will ride me.”

Starscream licked his lips. “Oh.”

“Let’s make this more interesting. If you can make me overload first, I’ll let you and your trinemate go without expecting repayment.” 

Starscream glanced back at Skywarp. Skywarp waved. Of course it would be up to Starscream to get them out of this mess.

“You have too much reassurance in yourself,” said Starscream. 

“More like very little faith in your self-control, Winglord,” said Megatron, leering. Oh, he was far too cocky. There was no way he wasn't close to overload after rubbing his spike all over him.

Starscream drew himself up and leaned into Megatron’s face. “I’ll double what I owe you if I overload before you. You have my word.”

“Yikes, your funeral, Starscream,” muttered Skywarp from over in his corner. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” said Megatron. “Whatever your word is worth.”

“Good!” Trying not to appear too enthusiastic, Starscream squatted over his lap, planting his thruster heels firmly at Megatron’s sides on the seat. He opened his panel and aligned his spike with his entrance. Wincing at the wet squelch from how soaked he was, he sat down and had to suppress a moan.

It fit just as he’d imagined. Megatron’s spike was an excellent, pleasing shape, with a thick, curved shaft that filled the length of his channel. Starscream lifted his hips then brought them down again, loving how the hot, thick tip spread his walls open. Unfortunately, he couldn’t enjoy it properly without losing face. Damn Megatron! Why did such a wonderful, brutish spike have to be attached to such a brute?  

Megatron thumbed Starscream's valve where he was connected with his spike. "You haven't taken all of me."

Indeed, there was more than a third of Megatron's spike left outside. There was a very good reason for that, Starscream was about to explain, before Megatron– brutishly– packed himself in deeper, slamming against his gestation chamber.

“You idiot!” Starscream squealed, completely thrown off pace as Megatron continued fucking against the aperture, which Starscream had barely managed to keep closed when he’d rammed it.  

“Huh. You’re resistant here,” said Megatron.

"Because that's my-"

“I know what it is. I’m sure with a little persuasion I can get it open.”

“You’re not spiking my forge, you maniac.”

“We’ll see.”

Starscream set his jaw. If he took Megatron in fully, he’d fill him up just right. A near-perfect fit. But that was, obviously, out of the question. He tried to keep a straight face as Megatron continued to thrust, but a noise slipped out. Curse this enormous, delectable spike!

Megatron pressed his forehead to Starscream’s and crooned, “You seem tense. Let me work it out for you.”

Starscream quivered. Megatron’s rumbly deep voice purring into his audial as his spike kissed the neck of his valve over and over was making him feel a little insane. Resisting temptation was becoming a real trial.

“Will you shut your mouth? And overload?” hissed Starscream. He sped up his riding, bouncing his hips hard, but that only made things worse.

Megatron groaned luxuriously. “Mmm… fast and rough. Just how I like it. And just how you like it too, hm?”

With a responding thrust that rattled him to his spark, Starscream lost his grip on his gestation aperture. It snapped open, allowing Megatron’s next thrust to go right up his chamber. 

Starscream trembled, sniveling with humiliation and stark, seething lust, as his forge was deliciously filled with spike. “Unhh,” he grunted, quite politely considering how much he wanted to yowl. 

Megatron’s mocking laughter vibrated through him. “That put a smile on your face. See how nice it is when you give in?”

Starscream seethed to think of the slutty expression he was making. It couldn’t be helped. All his concentration had gone to not immediately overloading with that big, heavy spike tickling his walls. Oh, he was screwed. 

Megatron resumed pistoning into him, plugging and thrusting until Starscream was an incoherent puddle on his lap. There was no escape, no pulling back. Megatron was holding him around the waist with his thick arms as he fucked in. As if he sensed Starscream was close, Megatron taunted him with slow, rolling thrusts. A massage more than a battering. 

No. No, no, no! Starscream begged internally as his every system hurtled toward overload. Oh, it was so good.

Unable to support him, the struts in his legs failed, and Starscream slid the rest of the way down Megatron’s shaft, his external node rubbing the textured ridges at the wide base. Every thrust ground his node, and it was so beautifully stimulating, he forgot to be spiteful for a moment. A moment was all it took.

The tension in his array snapped. His mind went hot and blank, and all he could hear was the patter of his lubricant spraying Megatron’s front. And his whiny, desperate moaning.

Starscream collapsed, panting heavily. His calipers unlatched from Megatron’s shaft, exhausted for now. His frame had spat out too much charge, and couldn’t get them to grip again. 

Megatron stopped thrusting. “Disappointing. I thought seekers had good stamina. Especially their leader.”

“Mguh?” said Starscream stupidly, leaning heavily on him.

“Did that overload short out your processor?” asked Megatron. He shoved him onto the floor. “Pathetic.”

Starscream thought he could lay there forever, in bliss. His valve was still tingling with the aftershocks of his climax.

Megatron waved over Skywarp. “You next. Let’s hope you can get me off, seeing as your leader is a bit… premature.”

“Okay!” chirped Skywarp, skipping over.  

“And you two.” Megatron gestured to Astrotrain and Blitzwing. “Do whatever you want with the Winglord.”

“No!” begged Starscream, as his valve clenched with anticipation. He stood, but his legs gave out and he fell on his aft with a clatter. “No, not them! Not again!”

Starscream was caught by the wings and dragged backwards. Huge, hot fingers pawed at his aft, hauling his hips into an arch so he was on his hands and knees. Starscream shivered with mortification as he was splayed open, and Astrotrain rubbed his spike against his array.  

“Open up, Winglord,” he rumbled tauntingly.

And, oh, Starscream did. 

In the harrowing, processor-melting hole-stuffing that followed, Starscream lost his grip on anything resembling comprehensible speech, and shortly after, his entire grip on reality, as Megatron’s lackeys helped themselves to him. Repeatedly.

“Good mech,” purred Megatron, kneeling at his side and stroking his transfluid-coated face once it was all over. “I'm greatly looking forward to working together, Winglord.”

Starscream would never, ever admit it, but he was too.

Chapter Text

Skywarp has the libido of a petrorabbit normally, but his heats make him cranky and sluggish. 

This time, Thundercracker finds Skywarp sprawled, unmoving, on their berth with his panel open. The stifling air in their hab hits Thundercracker next, of a mech with their fans running high. The heat carries with it Skywarp’s distinctly sweet aroma; filling the room.

Skywarp twitches, sensing Thundercracker’s presence. His trinemate is buried under a pile of pillows, clutching one to his face. He doesn’t look up when Thundercracker comes to his berthside. Thundercracker hopes he hasn’t been neglected too long. Just their luck that Skywarp’s heat came when he was on shift all day. 

“Warp,” says Thundercracker softly. “I came as soon as I could.”

“My valve hurts,” croaks Skywarp.

“I know.”

“It really hurts,” Skywarp repeats, vocalizer crackling. He clings to the pillow and shifts his hips in discomfort. When he finally peeks up, he has tear tracks down his flushed, miserable face. “And you weren’t here.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Thundercracker lays down beside him and wipes his cheek as fresh coolant overflows. “I’m here now.”

It feels wrong, somehow, to see Skywarp this listless and needy– and upset to the point of tears. His expression pulls at Thundercracker’s spark fiercely and he’s nearly overcome with desire to protect him, but he dials his emotions back, making his field soft and soothing as he pets Skywarp’s overheated frame.

Skywarp’s thighs are hot under his hands as he lets Thundercracker roll him onto his back and spread his legs, with his knees up. This opens and straightens his valve, making penetration smooth. Every touch to his frame– pleasure, pain– is amplified tenfold during heat. 

Impatiently, Skywarp thrusts the pillow he’s clutching aside and clings to Thundercracker instead. Thundercracker mounts him as gently as possible. Skywarp still whines in protest as his spike pushes in. 

“TC, ‘s a lot…” 

Thundercracker pets his trembling hips. “Relax. You're doing great.”

Skywarp’s valve clutches erratically at his shaft as it sinks in. He makes whimpery little noises– trills; broken repetitions of Thundercracker’s name. His wings beat with nervous movements as Thundercracker’s spike nodes pulse charge into his valve; ridges gently catching on his calipers. But finally, he relaxes as Thundercracker pushes his spike where it needs to go. 

It’s achingly hot inside his forge. The aperture clings to Thundercracker’s spiketip, squeezing expectantly. Thundercracker can't imagine how much Skywarp is feeling as he thrusts through the entrance.

“Mate me mate me mate me,” Skywarp whimpers, rocking his hips, patience completely gone.  

“Yeah, ‘Warp. All you want,” says Thundercracker. He pushes deeper into his gestation tank while Skywarp clings limply to him.

Thundercracker gives him plenty of overloads. There’s no way he’s sparking Skywarp in the middle of a war, but he’ll do his best to soothe his heat by stimulating his forge. With every overload, more tension slips from Skywarp’s frame until he’s a relaxed, cooing puddle in Thundercracker’s arms. 

Thundercracker nuzzles his cheek. “One more, ‘Warp. One more for me.”

As if he’d been waiting for permission, Skywarp overloads again. 

Chapter Text

“Fuck!” Starscream flushes with indignation, thrashing in his trinemate’s grip. “You're going to be cleaning the entire barracks when I get free, Thundercracker!”

Thundercracker scoffed and continued thrusting into him.

There was no reason for Thundercracker to be acting up. Barring giving him a larger-than-usual amount of work and criticism that cycle, Starscream hadn't treated him any differently than normal. 

Aside from Soundwave, Thundercracker was the one mech in this damned army who would reliably eat any slag thrown at him and take orders without complaint. He'd been this way for as long as Starscream had known him. So why now had he decided that obeying his trine leader was beneath him?

The problem arose at the end of the cycle, when Starscream was in the mood for a spiking, and had ordered Thundercracker to sate his charge for him. As soon as Starscream had gotten an overload, he’d kicked Thundercracker off. At which point Thundercracker made the baffling choice to snatch him up by the wings in the one very particular way that happened to immobilize Starscream. No one but his trinemates knew about this weak spot, and they were not allowed to utilize it. And especially not as a handhold to mount him when Starscream had not requested they do so. 

“Thundercracker, I’m warning you!”

Thundercracker rolls Starscream onto his back and pushes his legs apart. “I didn't finish,” he growls in his face.

“So? Th-that is not my problem!” Starscream stammers, taken aback by his aggression. “You take too long to overload.”

Starscream swipes at him, hoping to get him to back off. Instead, Thundercracker catches his wrists and pins them over his head. His spike slips deeper into his valve.

Starscream twists and struggles. “Will you get off!?”

“Yeah. I’ll get off,” Thundercracker rumbles, pumping his hips slowly, like he’s savoring his valve.

What is this fool thinking? “Thundercracker, you’ve got two seconds to stop before I...”

He doesn't know how to finish the threat when he can’t get away. Thundercracker is much stronger than him.

Mystified by Thundercracker’s sudden assertiveness, Starscream stares at him with his mouth agape. What brutish behavior– to overpower him and have his way with him like this! Who knew Thundercracker had a sadistic side? Thundercracker’s never been outright defiant, and Starscream is at a loss for how to appeal to him. He tries anyway.

“You seriously think you can do whatever you want with me?” he asks, tentatively.

Thundercracker sneers at him, without a speck of remorse, and Starscream’s arousal skyrockets. 

“You’re a bad trinemate,” Starscream sneers back, trying to appeal to Thundercracker’s overdeveloped sense of responsibility. “You don't get to disrespect your leader like this.”

Thundercracker’s lip curls, showing the tip of a fang. 

A pulse of renewed arousal grips Starscream’s interfacing systems. Oh. He’s made him really angry.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” Thundercracker orders, claws digging into Starscream’s wrists. His hot vents tickle Starscream’s throat.

“I’m not participating in your ridiculous power trip!” hisses Starscream. He doesn't know why he’s arguing. Force of habit? Trying to save face? Oh, Primus, his valve is throbbing. Thundercracker hasn't done anything this hot in… ever?

“Legs around my waist.” Thundercracker tone grows menacing. “I’m not going to repeat myself.”

Something hot and fluttery activates in Starscream’s base coding at being snarled at, and he obeys immediately. Much as it damages his pride. 

He shouldn’t be impressed by Thundercracker when he’s acting out like this. But it’s impossible to deny it– Thundercracker is smoking hot when he’s demanding. 

At this angle, Starscream’s external node is being rubbed nicely as Thundercracker sinks his spike to the root, coring out his valve. His trinemate’s pelvic armor presses Starscream sticky valve lips as he nudges his spike tip repeatedly against a very sensitive place. 

“You settled down quickly. Are you comfortable?” asks Thundercracker.

Starscream is, in fact, very comfortable being held down with Thundercracker’s thick spike packed against his ceiling node. Comfortable and warm and full and dominated. 

“Get your fat aft off me,” he chokes out petulantly.

“No.”

“Then hurry up!”

Thundercracker nuzzles his neck. “I’ll be using your valve for as long as I need. I can't get off when I’m rushed.”

Starscream grumbles, but can't do anything about it. 

Thundercracker boxes him in with his frame, solid and heavy on top of him. Not so much that Starscream is uncomfortable, but enough that he has no hope of pushing him off. 

Now that Starscream’s surrendered, Thundercracker settles into a languid, steady rhythm. Far from the frantic, irritable fucking Starscream expected from a pent up trinemate. 

Keeping complete control over the pace, Thundercracker doesn't let Starscream squirm up to meet his thrusts, nor does he let him squirm away. Starscream is forced to take exactly what he’s given, locked in place while he’s spiked with measured, firm strokes. At such a relaxed pace, he’s able to thoroughly appreciate Thundercracker’s technique– something he rarely gets the opportunity to do. 

Interface feels so different when Thundercracker is in control, self-assured and unbothered. There’s a high level of intimacy that comes with being trinemates for so long. Thundercracker knows his frame well, and naturally, he’s hitting all Starscream’s favorite spots by rote, even as he takes what he pleases. Even if he’s going frustratingly slow. 

A whimper slips out of Starscream, and he tightens his legs around Thundercracker’s waist unthinkingly.

Thundercracker’s wings twitch with interest at the horny flicker in his field. “You’re starting to behave.”

“Shut up.”

“You know this is good for you. Keeps your attitude in check.”

Starscream trembles with raw arousal. If Thundercracker keeps saying things like that, he’s going to overload.

Thundercracker keeps fucking into him patiently. Like he’s the trine leader, tending to the discipline of his lesser trinemate. The thought shouldn't make Starscream’s spark go as gooey as it does. He is not being disciplined. Thundercracker wouldn't dare assert himself like that. It's completely out of line. Thundercracker is just shamelessly using him to release his tension. 

Starscream whimpers again as his thrusts speed up. 

Thundercracker’s fans are spinning high. He licks his lips. "Hold still,” he demands. 

As if Starscream could move a nanometer. His valve twitches with delighted anticipation. “Pull out. I’m not in the mood to clean a mess out of my valve.”

“Is that right?”

“You’d better finish outside.”

Thundercracker’s tone is firm. “That’s not up to you.”

Starscream clenches his jaw against a moan as overload rocks him. Charge ripples through his entire frame, tingling all the way to the tip of his glossa. 

Heat pours against his valve lips a moment later. Thundercracker pulls out and thrusts through his cleft, tugging at the base of his spike and spattering ribbons of transfluid up his cockpit. He’s in complete bliss as he unloads, engines growling, arms trembling as he ruts to completion. His shaft comes to rest wetly between Starscream’s valve lips, lazily spurting out his remaining load in bursts all over Starscream’s front. 

“Did that feel nice?” asks Starscream softly, drawing his fingers through the mess.

In a matter of moments, the pleasure drains from Thundercracker’s expression and he goes pale. The face of a mech who knows he’s completely and utterly screwed himself. Not like Starscream has any interest in punishing him after that little display. 

“Sorry,” Thundercracker says. Back to being reserved as usual. He’s still lying heavily on top of him, as if he’s reluctant to let him up . “Sorry,” he says again, petting Starscream’s wings frantically, all of his cool, authoritative charm dissolving in the wake of his overload. “I wasn't really thinking, and I just-”

Starscream snickers and kisses his mouth shut. “Don’t ruin it.”

Chapter Text

Skywarp had started painting his face. Specifically, he’d showed up to his shift in the surveillance room one morning with stark black lines of paint decorating his under-optics. 

“That is not regulation. Wipe that off,” ordered Starscream.

Skywarp crossed his arms. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“What am I going to–? I’m your commanding officer, and you will obey my order!”

Of course, Megatron happened to be passing by, and stopped. “What’s this ruckus?”

“This!” Starscream grabbed Skywarp’s chin and turned it to face Megatron. 

Megatron squinted. “What’s that on your face, Skywarp?”

“It’s, uh… tactical paint,” Skywarp answered haltingly. “To reflect the sun from out of my optics. Lord Megatron. Sir.”

“Oh,” said Megatron. “Very well.” 

“Not “very well”! That doesn't make any sense!” yelled Starscream as Megatron wandered away. “You were the one who banned everyone from decorating themselves ‘excessively’!”

“That only applies to you, Starscream,” said Megatron. 

“What? Since when? Come back here!” 

But Megatron had already rounded the corner.

“Better luck next time, Screamer,” snickered Skywarp. 

“No. If he won't punish you, I will.” Starscream yanked Skywarp’s chin to face him, so they were nose to nose. He tilted Skywarp’s face this way and that and glared at the eyeliner. Skywarp let Starscream manipulate his helm with a dumb snort of laughter.

Beyond the clear shirking of regulations only Starscream should be allowed to shirk, the paint was annoying him for another reason, and he couldn't figure out why. 

Despite Skywarp’s goofy, triumphant smile, he looked… sharp. The matte black paint was crisp, with the strokes drawn neatly from the corners of his optics, terminating in jagged points mid-cheek. 

The contrast; the black on his white derma, was intense. Masklike. Starscream didn't know what to call it. The severity, or perhaps the neatness of the detailing, was so un-Skywarp, yet it suited him so well. It was intriguing, and… oddly pleasing. 

Warmth collected in his spark, slowly trailing down to his array. In the back of his processor, Starscream remembered why Megatron had banned makeup– “it’s distracting” he’d said. 

“You like?” Skywarp purred after a moment, as if sensing his thoughts. “I think it makes me look intimidating.”

“It makes you look stupid.”

Skywarp’s grin widened. “ Stupid stupid… or hot stupid?”

Starscream’s lip curled.

—

As punishment, in a supply closet, Starscream pushed Skywarp to his knees and made him suck his spike. Skywarp was being lazy, hardly sucking or licking, just letting Starscream thrust over his warm glossa and down his intake. He still wore that smug glint in his optics as Starscream held the back of his helm and thrust into his mouth. That bratty expression, along with the slick pressure of his lips around Starscream’s spike, was… so good. Starscream sped up, pounding more violently, but Skywarp took him with ease. He looked very content to be throating spike like shareware. 

The unsealed paint at his optics was starting to run from the heat and friction of having his face shoved into Starscream’s crotch. Condensation trailed around Skywarp’s optics, creating grey tracks down his cheeks. 

Starscream overloaded with a snarl, pulling out of Skywarp’s mouth and shooting on his face. Transfluid spilled messily over his trinemate’s face; smearing with the paint further as Starscream rubbed his spike over the derma. 

Skywarp scrunched his nose, unappreciative of the surprise facial. Starscream didn't blame him– he’d have to walk back through the halls to the washracks with his face a mess. Starscream ran a thumb through the ruined paint and transfluid under his trinemate’s optics and smirked. 

Chapter Text

Starscream doesn't even remember what he’d originally gotten angry at Skywarp about. All he knows is he didn't have the patience for Skywarp’s lackadaisical attitude that shift and went off on him. Things had gotten physical. Their argument had devolved into blows and ended in Skywarp pinning him to the wall.

“Ok, enough, seriously!” says Skywarp, standing over him. “What’s your problem with me?”

“What isn't my problem with you?” Starscream snarls back, struggling. 

“You lost, calm down!”

“You don't get to tell me what to do!” Starscream surges forward and attempts to shove Skywarp backwards and break loose. Instead of reacting like a normal trinemate and getting out of his way, Skywarp slams him face-first against the wall and sinks his fangs into his nape.

A thin moan escapes Starscream, and he goes still. Getting bitten hurts, but more than that, it stirs something in him. The hard clench of Skywarp’s jaw actuators around his throat, his body pressed against his, locking him in place; his hot vents billowing over Starscream’s frame… all of it makes heat surge through his systems. 

Energon trickles down Starscream’s neck, and he goes limp in Skywarp’s grasp. Fighting back is impossible, the way he's pinned.

Sensing the sudden shift of confusion-shock-lust across their bond, Skywarp immediately eases up, unclamping his denta from around Starscream’s neck. 

“Sorry.” His field flickers with regret and he nuzzles into Starscream’s nape. “I didn’t mean to bite that hard.” He traces his glossa over the bleeding punctures apologetically, which does not help Starscream’s rising charge at all. Starscream tries not to whimper and fails miserably.

Skywarp pauses in his licking, and then wraps his arms around his waist. “Ohh, I see.” His tone is playful. 

“What?” grumbles Starscream, trying to be subtle about his excitement, even though it’s ridiculously apparent with his fans ramping up.

“You started shit just so I’d end up on top of you.”

Not true, but Starscream supposes it’s not a surprise this is where things ended. So many of his arguments end in a hard ‘facing, he almost expects to be spiked whenever he gets into an altercation.

Skywarp grinds his panel against Starscream’s aft. “You're dying for it.”

“You mean your tiny, premature spike?”

“You don't mean that.” Skywarp pressurizes his spike, and Starscream instantly loses the inclination to argue as he slots it between his thighs. Far from tiny, his spike is actually of a very pleasing size; big enough to reach all of his important nodes. Which Skywarp reminds him of, rubbing it back and forth along his valve panel. Starscream's wings flick with satisfaction.

Skywarp snorts. “Yeah, I know that gesture. That’s your hungry-for-spike signal.”

“Don't be stupid,” says Starscream. He holds his wings rigid, feeling the need to defend himself. He had started this fight to chastise Skywarp about a very salient issue. He just… couldn't remember what it was right now.

“We’ll see if you’re still running your mouth in like 10 kliks," says Skywarp. He teasingly runs a claw along the seam of Starscream's panel, undoing the catch. Perhaps unwisely, Starscream doesn't bother to stop him as he nudges his spike into him. 

Of course, Skywarp’s spike slides in easily. Starscream’s been wet since they started arguing. His knees wobble as it's shoved in to the base. He doesn't need to adjust, not really, but the forcefulness of being spread so suddenly turns him on even more.

Starscream lets out a gratified sigh as Skywarp begins to thrust without any hesitation. It’s just what he wants, being filled up, but of course Skywarp has to ruin it immediately. 

“Thundercracker said he punished you just like this,” he snickers.

A surge of mortification washes through Starscream. “Shut the fuck up. Neither of you has the authority to punish me.” 

Skywarp ignores him. “Was he all polite and gentle? Or did he call you a whiny little brat and rough you up the way you deserve?”

Starscream jerks his heel back and kicks Skywarp in the shin as hard as he can.

Skywarp hisses in pain. His thrusts falter. “Alright, that’s enough sass from you. You’re going up against the wall.”

"What do you mean against the wall? I'm already against the-"

Skywarp yanks Starscream around by a wing so they're face to face, then hooks his arms under his knees and lifts him. 

“This isn’t funny!” says Starscream, struggling. Irritatingly, his valve flutters at Skywarp’s show of strength as he’s hoisted up and pinned in an even more exposed and helpless position. Skywarp resumes his rough spiking. In the new position, with Starscream’s knees raised and legs spread wide, he can go extra deep. 

Starscream bites his lip and holds back a whine. Being forced to look at Skywarp and take it while he's being so insubordinate is almost more than his pride can stand. But as he’s pounded, his valve squeezes eagerly, already wound up to spill charge in the short time Skywarp has been inside him. Embarrassing. 

“So. Back to my question. Which of us is better at disciplining you?” asks Skywarp, with a leering smile.

Starscream scowls. He’s not dignifying that with an answer.

He doesn't want to linger too long on the thought of either of them spiking him. Thundercracker’s controlled and steady thrusts, letting charge build. Or Skywarp’s drilling, giving him no time to think as he’s forced towards overload. Ohh...

Skywarp's thrusts suddenly get shallow and Starscream’s ceiling node burns for stimulation, dragged away from the brink of overload. Skywarp smirks at him expectantly. “If you don’t answer, I’m not letting you come.” 

Starscream glares down at his spike, with just the tip seated inside him now, weighing the pros and cons of humiliating himself to get it pushed all the way back in. 

“You both move your hips differently,” he mumbles, after a moment.

“Wrong answer. Choose.”

Starscream’s temper flares, along with his humiliation. “Fine! Thundercracker was better. He has a nice rhythm. You fuck like a stupid—”  he cuts off with a gasp as Skywarp slams back in. “--idiot!”

“Was that so hard?”

“Why are you being so rough?” whines Starscream, voice juddering as he’s bounced.

Skywarp shrugs. “Are you complaining?”

Starscream is finding it impossible to be angry with Skywarp’s mouthiness. Not with the way Skywarp’s spike ridges are catching his external node, practically scrubbing it. Of course, that’s just luck. No way Skywarp positioned himself this way. Starscream tries to move into a different angle to take some of the stimulation away; but his hips are pinned with the force of Skywarp’s thrusts.

Starscream clenches his jaw as his spike jostles the most sensitive parts of his valve. Skywarp is such a dumbaft, sticking it in and rutting hard and fast. He has no self-control. Starscream cannot be on the verge of overload already.

“You’re so bad at ‘facing, it’s pathetic,” says Starscream, being extra spiteful to balance out the fact that he's about to come. 

Skywarp grins. “You’re chatty today. I get it, you want me to talk you through your overload, huh?”

Starscream’s valve clenches. “I’d rather take a blow to the head.”

“I’ll count you down,” says Skywarp. “Be a good trinemate and come when I tell you to.”

Starscream pushes his face into Skywarp’s neck, whimpering. “You can’t count as high as you’d need.”

“It's not gonna take that long.”

Skywarp’s right. He doesn't even get to three before Starscream’s overload is trickling down his thighs.

Chapter Text

“Would it kill you to talk about something actually interesting while I’m on monitor duty? Instead of like… reminiscing?” asked Skywarp, glancing over his shoulder at his trine.

TC and Screamer paused their conversation they were having in the middle of the Victory’s command deck. They turned to look at him like they’d totally forgotten he was there. Big surprise. They’d been engrossed in talking about their war academy days. An apparently really exciting period of time, most of which hadn’t involved Skywarp.

While Screamer and Thundercracker had been in the same class at the Academy, they had graduated by the time Skywarp was starting his first year. They’d all trined shortly after that, while Skywarp was still in basic training.

“Respect your elders,” said Starscream, with a smarmy grin. 

“You’re not that much older.”

“Aww. Feeling left out?” 

“Like I care about whatever boring rotary club you two were in.”

“Then be quiet. Sparklings should be seen, and not heard.”

“Aft.”

Starscream winked and headed out of the room, pinching the edge of Skywarp’s wing as he passed.

“He’s awfully cheerful,” said Skywarp. He squinted at Thundercracker. “What’s that about?”

Thundercracker's expression was fond. “Those were some good times, back then.”

“Happy for you.” Skywarp stood and stretched. “Damn, what a cycle. Let’s do something.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Go out somewhere.” 

“I’m not super in the mood, ‘Warp. I’ve got an early shift.”

“We can stay in, too.” Skywarp slid his arms around Thundercracker’s waist and nibbled on his neck. “Have some fun.”

“Not tonight. I’ve got work to do.”

“What, again?” Skywarp’s voice pitched into a whine. “You’ve had to work late for like eight cycles in a row. And Starscream is always working in his lab lately, too. I’m dying here!” 

Thundercracker shrugged apologetically.

Skywarp pouted and slumped against his boring trinemate. Maybe the physical weight of his disappointment would convince him to spike him. “What’s the point of sharing a trine bond if you’re not gonna take advantage of me? You shoulda just been my regular-ass platonic pledge brother back in Academy if you weren’t gonna take your ‘facing duties seriously.”

“I wouldn't go that far.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Skywarp put his nose in the air. “We could break the bond right now and I bet you wouldn’t even care.”

“We’re not dissolving the trine bond because I won’t ‘face you for one night,” said Thundercracker patiently, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“Eight nights!”

“Alright. Eight nights,” Thundercracker conceded, patting him on the head. Skywarp slapped his hand away.

“That’s it! If we don’t start having way more sex, I’m gonna call you ‘big bro’ from now on.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah! Big bro!” Skywarp stuck his glossa out at him. “‘Cause you’re always acting like you know better than me, and you never wanna screw around. It suits you!”

“Does it?” A weird look came over Thundercracker. He stared at Skywarp like he was thinking super deep about something. Skywarp didn't think Thundercracker should be thinking so much when he had a handsome trinemate clinging to him, begging to ‘face.

“C’mon, I really want it,” he whined, pulling on Thundercracker’s shoulders in a last ditch effort. 

“I-I’m going to recharge,” Thundercracker said, snapping out of it. He gave Skywarp a chaste pat between the wings and wandered out. 

A pat on the back! What the pit?

Skywarp wasn't the kind of mech that fumed. Fuming was more of a Starscream thing. But what he was doing now could probably be described as fuming. 

This sucked so bad. Nothing was worse than being overcharged and his trinemates ignoring him.

Determined, he trailed after Thundercracker and tugged on his wing. Sometimes being annoying worked on him. As long as it got Skywarp one step further to a fragging, he was willing to try it.

“Hey, big bro, wanna have fun with me in a totally innocent and platonic way?”

Thundercracker’s shoulders stiffened. “‘Warp, we can recharge together, but that’s all.” 

“Sounds fun, big bro! Let’s recharge in the same berth and you can ignore me while I tell ya how much I want to suck you off.” Skywarp yanked on his wing harder.

“Cut that out.” Thundercracker walked faster, snapping his wing up and out of his grip. Figured this was pissing him off. Good! Thundercracker deserved to be just as frustrated as he was. Skywarp sped up and latched onto his arm, whining as Thundercracker pulled him along. 

“Why are you running away? I just wanna have fun with you, big bro.”

Thundercracker’s cooling fans came on with a loud rumble. Startled by the noise, Skywarp halted and dragged him to a stop, just outside their habsuite.

“TC…”

“Don't push it.”

“Thundercracker…” he pushed, clarity dawning. “Is this turning you on?” 

“I’m not answering that.”

Which was a loud and clear yes, in TC-speak, and Skywarp was not one to give up when he had a good thing going. He clapped his hands, comprehending. “I get it! You're into power play! Yeah! Ok, I have an idea: you can play the dirty upperclassman and I’ll be the immature recruit you’re trying to exploit for sex!”

“No.”

“Alright. Then you can be my dirty older brother and I’ll be your immature younger brother you’re trying to exploit for–”

“No! No. Just. Forget it. This is getting weird,” said Thundercracker, even as his fans kicked up into a roar. 

“That’s totally it. Lots of mechs have that fantasy– foolin’ around with a hot juvenile you’re supposed to be responsible for.” 

Thundercracker’s face sunk in a petulant frown. “Well, you’re definitely juvenile.”

“Nuh uh. People say I’m mature for my age,” said Skywarp, bouncing on his heels. The cutesy effect was probably lessened by the giant, slag-eating grin he couldn't wipe off his face.

“Skywarp…” Thundercracker rubbed a hand over his face. That was the gesture he made when he was trying to will away his horniness and failing miserably.

Doing his best to make it even harder for him, Skywarp flung his arms around his shoulders and nuzzled against his cheek. “Guess what?”

“...What.”

Skywarp brought his mouth up to his audial, making sure his lips were brushing the sensitive receptors there as he whispered, “I’ve still got my junior stripes.”

“No. C'mon, you don’t have to–”

But Skywarp was already flicking through his HUD, pulling up some paint overlays he had saved. Choosing the one he’d been looking for, the surface of his plating rippled, the nanites changing colors. His black and purple paintjob was overlaid with a subdued gunsmoke one. Stripes of crimson paint marked his chest and wingtips. The overall effect was plain, polished, and– most importantly– innocent. The paint job of a junior academy recruit.

“Yeahhh?” said Skywarp, doing a slow twirl. He put his hands on his waist, popping his hip out.

Thundercracker put his face in his hands and groaned.

—

Skywarp wondered if he hadn’t gotten in over his head.

Thundercracker had pinned him on his back to their berth, with his spike cradled tightly between Skywarp’s thighs. The wet slapping of his thrusting was so loud and hard and enthusiastic, it just about drowned out their roleplay.

“Geez, big bro. You’re getting me all sticky.” Skywarp peered down between his legs, spreading them to get a better look.

“Keep your thighs together,” said Thundercracker.

“So demanding. I’m doing you a favor and this is how you talk to me?”

“You wanted me to do it.”

“Just to let out some tension. Because I got sick of you panting over my wings like a weirdo.”

“You love the attention.”

“Try using that excuse on the authorities.”

“Watch it.” 

“Fiiiine, I won’t tell anyone about what a perv you are. But don’t try to deny it.” Skywarp flicked his glossa against Thundercracker’s lips, teasing them open.

Thundercracker’s expression as he rolled his hips was so hot. Tired and ashamed but starving. Not often that he got to see TC so completely valve-struck. And to think, all he had to do to get him in this kind of mood was act like a slutty freshman. Nice.

Skywarp swiped some of Thundercracker’s prefluid he was leaving behind on his thighs and brought it up to his face. “I kiiinda want to taste it. Is that weird?”

Thundercracker’s optics followed the movement of his finger as he stuck it in his mouth and slowly sucked his prefluid off. 

“Mm, it’s tingly, from all the nanites. You must’ve been saving it up for me.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s kind of dirty. You’re s’posed to be setting a good example, not thinkin’ about overloading on me.”

Thundercracker obviously didn't agree, sliding an arm around Skywarp’s waist and pulling him in tight as he more or less attacked Skywarp’s mouth with his own.

Skywarp gladly let Thundercracker deepen the kiss at his own really fraggin’ enthusiastic pace. Too turned on to wait any more, he opened his valve panel, and cool air washed against his wet mesh. His node tingled in anticipation. 

Thundercracker shifted his hips, and the movement pushed his spike up so he was rutting right against his valve. Skywarp broke the kiss with some effort, coming up light-headed. “Hey… I said you can only use my thighs.”

“I am using your thighs.”

“Nuh uh. You’re touching my valve.” He gestured with his optics to where Thundercracker’s spike was going back and forth between his cleft.

“I won’t take long,” said Thundercracker. The ridges on the underside of his spike ground along Skywarp’s node. Skywarp purred and wrapped his legs around his waist. 

“You’re so nasty, big bro. I guess I can let you fuck against my valve. But only this once. And only for a little while.”

Thundercracker instantly sped up. Skywarp let out a slutty moan. “Ok, you can do it... but do you hafta do it so hard? Feels like we’re doin’ it for real.”

“Yeah,” said Thundercracker, clanging his hips into Skywarp’s. “It does.”

“This is turning you on so bad. Loser.”

“You don’t act your age. You’re getting what you deserve.” 

Oh wow. Thundercracker was fucking him like he meant it now. Holy Primus. The grunts and whimpers coming out of Skywarp were not of this world as Thundercracker hammered him. 

“You’re the one poundin’ an innocent freshie to death. Be gentle with me,” Skywarp keened. Oh fuck, oh fuck… Thundercracker had totally lost it. He was in his own little world. “TC, what the pit?” he panted, optics rolling back. His words were coming out clipped with the harsh thrusts. “Are you trying to put a sparkling in me or something?”

Thundercracker’s answer was more thrusting like a crazy mech. Which suited Skywarp just fine, since he’d found a really nice angle to practically buff the paint off his node. He was happily about to tip into a massive overload– eight cycles overdue– but just before the peak, he got a brilliant idea.

“TC, wait. Wait, wait, wait!”

Thundercracker cursed as Skywarp grabbed his shaft to prevent him from moving. Which also cut off his overload. “Let go,” he rasped, jerking his hips. “Skywarp, I swear to Primus.”

“Not there. Here.” Skywarp rubbed the tip into his entrance, and Thundercracker’s snarl immediately softened at the promise of relief. 

Skywarp tilted his optics up at him innocently and rocked his hips as if to give the tip of his spike a kiss with his valve. “I wanna come while you push it inside me, big bro.” 

And if he’d thought the rest of the teasing had made Thundercracker go feral, that was nothing. 

Thundercracker flattened him to the berth, thrusting in way more roughly than he needed to. Getting stuffed all at once burned, but Skywarp’s whimper of pain faded into a moan as his spike knocked the back of his valve. His nodes spasmed with pleasure, and overload crashed over him. Within a few more thrusts, his valve pulsed with the warm aftershocks of Thundercracker’s climax.

Dazed and kind of giddy, Skywarp came down from his overload, snickering. “You came so much. If I get sparked, I’m gonna be real upset.” He parted his valve as Thundercracker pulled out to show him the massive load bubbling out. Someone had been pent up.

Thundercracker ignored him, dozing in the afterglow. He was nice and warm, so Skywarp was happy to be pinned under him. He was still horny, though. Wanting more before Thundercracker started to feel bad and got all self-conscious and awkward again. Or he fell into recharge. 

“Hey, TC.” He reached down and played with the tip of his soft spike.

“Leave that alone,” Thundercracker grumbled into his shoulder.

“Do you like my valve better now or when I was in the academy?”

“Careful, Skywarp.”

“Do you remember how it felt back then? All tight and smooth and untouched? Before you stole my vir-gin-i-ty?” He stretched out the syllables just to grate on TC's patience.

Thundercracker lifted his helm to give him a look. Under his exhaustion, the arousal in his field almost swamped Skywarp, who gave him a little smooch on his chin, innocent as could be. “I’ve grown up a lot, huh?”

Badly needing a recharge to defrag meant Thundercracker didn't have processing space left for any thoughts but his core needs. Which worked out just fine for Skywarp, as– with a vengeance– Thundercracker’s spike twitched back to life to go another round.

Chapter Text

From all the millions of years Skywarp had known him, Starscream tended to get cranky if he wasn’t using his mouth at all times. Talking, scolding some unlucky mech, chewing on a stylus, kissing. Rarely could he be spotted not doing something to occupy his intake. Skywarp had even caught him sucking on his pillow in his recharge one time, which Starscream had denied left and right. But his little habit was never worse than when he was in a bad mood. When he put things in his mouth to soothe his temper, things got heated, to say the least. 

Long story short, Skywarp had gone to recharge at the end of his shift and onlined to Screamer’s valve inches from his nose and a ticklish sensation on the tip of his spike. 

While the fogginess cleared out of his processor, Skywarp took in the sight of Starscream’s pretty folds hovering over his face. He was straddling his head, blue claws rubbing through his slit, fingers working his slick, glowing node like it was the last time he’d do it.

Nice, thought Skywarp cheerfully. One of the best possible ways to be woken up, and it got even better.

At Skywarp’s other end, Screamer was rubbing his mouth against the tip of his spike. He pressed his lips to it over and over with pleased little kissy noises. Each kiss got messier and more open-mouthed than the last, until he got his lips fully around the head and suckled. Obviously liking what he tasted, Starscream clamped his mouth harder around his spike and pushed it fully into his intake. 

It was taking everything Skywarp had not to thrust. Not that he minded getting surprise head, but why hadn’t Screamer woken him up? Had he been that impatient? Why was he being so secretive? Skywarp would've taken care of him. 

Screamer started making soft, whiny, desperate noises, wiggling his hips as he pinched at his node. A droplet of his lubricant landed on Skywarp’s cheek. He was so wet, slick was running down his thighs. But even though Screamer was playing with himself frantically, his blowjob was anything but. 

Every time he lowered his helm, swallowing him up completely, he rubbed Skywarp’s spike tip against the back of his intake for a few long moments. Then he sealed his glossa to the shaft and withdrew with a lingering suck all the way up to the tip, before sliding down again and repeating the same. Slowly. Leisurely. Skywarp clenched his fists and counted backward from one-hundred, trying not to bust immediately.

Starscream had no issue coming as he liked, though. His flying hand twitched to a stop on his node. His hips and thighs shook in a strong overload, and he whined. His knees unhinged a little before he got ahold of himself, sinking his hot, slippery valve right onto Skywarp’s chin. 

Too blissed out to care, Screamer rocked his hips against his face while lazily suckling on his spike. Holding it in his mouth for a while. Savoring the mouthful.

Skywarp didn't think he could take this much longer. He wanted to lick him so badly. But at the same time, he didn't want to ruin the moment, because he was starting to get it now. Starscream was savoring his spike.

His trine leader had had a rough cycle. His latest scheme had failed, he’d gotten yelled at by Megatron, and then he’d taken out his frustration on the air force by yelling at them. Clearly, going on one of his classic rants hadn’t been enough to calm him down.

The soft, pulsing suction started up again as Screamer tightened his lips and ran his sensitive derma and the flat of his glossa over Skywarp’s spike ridges, teasing his whole mouth on the textured shaft. The friction was just barely too little to tip Skywarp over, and Screamer wasn't making an effort to speed things up. He had no intention of letting Skywarp overload until he’d tickled the itch in his systems to stimulate his mouth.

The more he slurped and licked at his spike, the more his field relaxed in bliss. Skywarp couldn't think of much else that could mellow Screamer out like this. He hated to interrupt when his trinemate was in such a rare, zen-like state of comfort and relaxation, but his spike was about to explode. Only a crazy mech could lie still with Screamer sitting on their face while sucking them off.

Ah, what the hell. 

Once Starscream bobbed his helm down again, greedily packing his throat with spike, Skywarp crossed his legs around his helm and rolled to the side, flipping them both. Positions inverted, Skywarp commenced thrusting into his mouth from on top, burying himself in his trine leader’s throat at his own pace. Starscream gurgled loudly, and his intake flexed hard around his shaft. 

Skywarp waited for Screamer to jab his claws into his hips in anger that he’d ruined his fun. And if not that, then a token resistance and some whining that Starscream did just because he liked to complain, and not because he disliked something.

In an unusual twist, Starscream did neither. He seemed happy to let Skywarp guide the rhythm and kept sucking him off without a peep. He adjusted the angle of his helm to accommodate his thrusting and slurped away. If anything, the blowjob got more passionate. 

Wow. He was completely gone. 

Screamer sucked spike loudly, and wasn't any different now. Lewd, repetitive smacking and burbling started up as Skywarp shafted his intake, interspersed with moans and purrs and other happy Starscream noises.

Legs wobbling in relief of finally being able to let loose, Skywarp leant forward and pressed his open mouth against Starscream’s warm valve, licking him mindlessly. Screamer was doing that… thing where he slithered the tip of his glossa into his transfluid slit really aggressively. 

“Screamer… you are so fraggin’ good at sucking spike,” he sighed, between kissing and sucking his node. Good at giving head and pretty in the array- what else could a mech want? His valve was so damn sexy. Small and prim with dark, velvety petals and a little ruby-colored node encased by firm, taut lips. Always so tight and warm and grippy and soft–

Starscream’s knees came up and crossed around the back of Skywarp’s neck, shoving his face against his valve.

::Stop staring at it. Lick me:: he demanded over comms. 

He purred when Skywarp obeyed, thighs tightening around his helm once he got him where he wanted him. 

::Stay. Right there::

::Anything else, Your Majesty?::

::That will do:: Running his hands over Skywarp’s backside, he pulled him in closer while slurping at his pelvic armor. Just letting the tip of his spike tickle the back of his intake. 

His field was very peaceful. And why shouldn't it be? Screamer was getting exactly what he wanted. A hard spike to choke on, and his valve licked out obediently under his direction.

Fit to burst, Skywarp overloaded, letting Starscream suck his transfluid down with his perfect, wonderful little mouth.

He started to release his leg lock around Starscream’s head, but his trinemate’s arms came up around his hips and held him– and his softening spike– in place.

::Don’t you dare move. And I never said to stop licking me::

Skywarp smirked. So that’s how it was.

He supposed he could leave his spike in Screamer’s intake to keep it warm for a while. With the way Starscream was working the tip of his glossa into the seam at the base, he obviously had more stress to work off.

Chapter Text

“Use this and think of me,” said Starscream, unearthing the rubbery tube he had been working on for cycles. 

Skyfire’s face as he presented him with his newest project was priceless– a mixture of confusion and excitement. It was a sex toy, obviously. A special stroker, carefully designed to resemble Starscream’s valve in both appearance and texture.

Starscream would imminently be leaving for a long solo research journey where he wouldn't even be able to communicate with Skyfire, much less interface. Skyfire had been apprehensive about Starscream going alone without a way to contact him, and Starscream wished to put him at ease.

“Now you won’t get lonely,” said Starscream, handing the toy to him. Skyfire cradled it gingerly.

“Well, what about you?”

“I’ll be fine. Feel.”

Skyfire turned the sleeve over in his hands, clearly pleased with it. “This is an incredible clone.”

“It’s just like the real thing,” preened Starscream, cozying up to him and enticing him to drag one huge digit through the petals. He didn't bother to suppress a shiver at the bolt of sensation his touch elicited. 

This particular stroker was, in fact, a very special device that mapped all sensations between it and the recipient. To be used whenever Skyfire missed him.

Ensuring that it wasn't lacking in any way, Starscream had tested it thoroughly before handing it over. He’d found it translated sensations with incredible accuracy. Every minute fluctuation in temperature, moisture and pressure that his own valve could distinguish and replicate, so too could the sleeve. In short, it was a work of art. 

–

Starscream’s journey off the planet was spent being consumed by longing and lust. The anticipation of being used whenever and however Skyfire pleased had made him incredibly wet. What a time to discover he had a bit of a free use kink. 

He wasn’t even out of the upper atmosphere before he felt thick fingers moving around his outer valve lips, pressing inside. Skyfire was testing the toy out. Oh yes. 

There was some requisite lubing-up of the sleeve but Skyfire’s digits slid in and out of him hastily. He was hungry for it. Only a few moments later, Starscream felt his valve lips being held open, and a girth slid in. Skyfire packed the sleeve to the brim, making Starscream squawk and writhe as his nodes were hammered with bruising force. 

Skyfire wasn’t holding back like he usually did. He was always so considerate, but now his thrusts were hard and desperate. Starscream imagined Skyfire panting his name. No, growling it. Dragging the sleeve over his shaft and grunting as he fisted it tighter and slammed himself in.

Starscream overloaded, almost hard enough to pass out. 

What is he doing? he thought blissfully, as Skyfire continued his ceaseless barrage of thrusts. 

Shuttles had incredible stamina, meaning Starscream was hammered through overload four times before Skyfire even slowed. At the end of it, Starscream lay prone against the transport’s control panel, shivering with bliss, cheek wet with his own drool, as heat flooded his channel. Once Skyfire had deposited his load, he slipped out. Starscream’s optics rolled back at the popping sensation of his tip coming free. 

Oh, this wonderful toy. He was a genius for inventing it.

There was nothing for a moment, then… fingers, again, pushing in and– and– pulling? 

Cool fluid rushed in, and Starscream belatedly realized Skyfire was cleaning the sleeve out. Giving the chamber a thorough scrubbing with solvent. 

Skyfire washed his valve like he washed his scientific instruments: slow and meticulous. What a lovely contrast to his harder fucking. He dug into Starscream up to the furthest knuckle joint to get at the back, hooking and dragging his spend from the neck of the pocket and flicking it out over and over. 

Starscream overloaded again.

–

Not two joors later, Starscream found himself on his hands and knees, bent over in ecstasy once more. He had at least gotten to his accommodations, but hadn’t managed to throw himself across his berth before his legs gave out from the teasing Skyfire was giving to his external node. The floor was as good a place as any to do this, he supposed. 

Already, though? Maybe Skyfire was pent up, or… no, that couldn't be right. Excluding the round they had just had, they ‘faced nearly every day. Which meant Skyfire was thoroughly enjoying the toy. It warmed his spark to know that Skyfire was just as turned on by this situation as he was.

Starscream’s valve kept clenching around nothing, and he reached down more than once in an attempt to feel the girth that, disappointingly, wasn't there– only the sensations Skyfire’s spike prompted. Starscream’s fluids were the only thing wetting his hand when he played through his folds, rubbing himself.

This session was longer, slower, and Skyfire went two rounds in a row before cleaning up. The volume he came was always immense, and from past experience, two good loads were more than enough to fill Starscream to the brim, leaking from him when Skyfire pulled out. 

Skyfire’s transfluid was thick and scalding hot as always, settling weightily into the fragged-out pocket around his forge aperture and sloshing around with Skyfire’s movements. Or at least Starscream imagined that was what he was feeling, based on the familiar heavy, wet pool simmering in the neck of his valve.

A violent grunt left Starscream as Skyfire unexpectedly squeezed the sleeve. Intense pressure rolled from the back of his channel to the mouth in a slow, smooth motion, forcing the transfluid out in a rush. Then it repeated, back to front, as Starscream wailed and thrashed against the floor, struggling to get a read on whatever in Primus’ name Skyfire was doing with his valve. More heat gushed out, bubbling down his valve lips, and it occurred to Starscream that Skyfire was wringing his come out of him. 

His hips jumped at the unexpected press of glossa against his petals. The humid warmth of Skyfire’s mouth swallowed up his external array in its entirety. His huge, hot glossa slid over his petals, too big to tease, so he just laved through the entire slit, spreading his channel, lapping at his node and outer rim of his valve. Rough, hungry. 

Starscream imagined Skyfire jerking off and panting his name as he licked the sleeve. He could hardly believe Skyfire was so horny that he was licking his own transfluid out of a fake valve. Was it just because it resembled Starscream’s? Was just the image of him enough to make Skyfire treat a toy like it was Starscream himself?

Ohh, fuck. Forget his valve, Starscream’s ego couldn't take much more teasing. 

But Skyfire was not done. While Starscream was gasping, whining, and struggling to recover from the processor-destroying overloads that had been forced upon him, Skyfire’s glossa wormed inside, digging at his walls. Starscream felt a pressure on his external node and a rough stretch in his anterior wall as, apparently lacking the leverage to get his glossa deep enough inside him, Skyfire had stuck his thumb just within his channel, right at the apex of his slit, and pried it open. The thrusting of his glossa made the pad of his thumb drag against his node repeatedly. The tip of his glossa flicked against his forge aperture– finally deep enough for Starscream to lose his mind.

Starscream’s valve contracted helplessly. 

Neither of them could be fully satisfied without getting right to the back of his valve, and as Starscream added another rush of fluids to the puddle of lubricant on the floor, he thought of how wonderful it was that they both had that in common. 

–

Clearly, Skyfire was obsessed with his valve, in any form. 

He had even developed a routine to masturbate with the stroker, one with which Starscream became equally obsessed. 

Skyfire began the ritual by meticulously spreading lube around the folds of the pocket in thick blobs. Starscream could tell Skyfire was about to self-service when, without warning, a creamy, warm pressure dribbled against his petals. Always, always so warm. Skyfire disliked cold lubricant. The warmth eked into his valve and was spread around. 

Every time this happened, Starscream hung spellbound, completely fixated on the little massage, knowing it was only the beginning.

Skyfire’s slow thoroughness gave him plenty of time to drop anything he was doing, find a secluded spot, and scramble into a position wherever he was to play with himself. Starscream would tease his node while Skyfire spread his lips and inserted the tip of the lube bottle into his channel, depositing a huge, melty blob inside him. The slick eked its way deeper to settle pleasantly in the depths of his valve. Then, Skyfire would shove his big fingers in and push it around, coating the walls. He took his time, using his fingers to admire all the nooks and crannies– as he should. Starscream’s valve was gorgeous, and he’d painstakingly molded each delicate, velvety crease, ridge and node to match the real thing. To squeeze down when Starscream squeezed down. To expertly roll and caress and pump any bit of Skyfire that Skyfire saw fit to push into it.

Ah! And then- Skyfire’s spike. The thick, heavy tip widened his calipers and those magnificent, wide ridges popped in one at a time, rougher than he usually would be. 

Starscream grunted and gasped with the force as Skyfire worked himself in fully while squeezing the sleeve in his fist in his enthusiasm, pumping and stroking. Crushing Starscream’s nodes to a pulp. Hammering the neck of his forge. Just the way Starscream liked it. 

Starscream was hardly managing to stay online for the entire duration of the delicious overloads Skyfire gave him. He thought it may be impossible not to be knocked unconscious, the way Skyfire had taken to using the false valve.

As luck would have it, Skyfire favored jerking off in such a way that he could stimulate the underside of his spike tip. In practice, this involved Skyfire pushing his whole spike inside and closing his fist around the back of the sleeve, ensuring the entirety of Starscream’s cervical nodes received the full force of his fat tip plugging into them.  

This never failed to make Starscream squirt like a geyser.

After every such fucking, he’d online in a puddle of his own come; tears and drool streaking his face; and with the distinct impression that he’d lost some neural pathways. He’d run his defrag cycle, and every time indeed found that he’d burned out some synapses with each overload. Repairing them filled him with both intense pleasure and shame. 

Afterwards, he’d rise on shaking legs and wipe away the coolant from his cheeks, grabbing a pile of rags and mopping up his excessive overload with a hungry ball of fire in his belly that wouldn't be stifled at the fact that Skyfire had overloaded him to tears. And was doing so regularly. 

Three cycles later, even running a casual defrag was starting to make him horny, the more he associated it with the aftermath of getting his processor fried by spike. 

Masturbating together with Skyfire in this way was a wonderful treat, but underneath it all, annoyance had begun to gnaw at Starscream.

What was it about fucking a fake valve that Skyfire found so damn exciting that he would let loose like a wild mechanimal? It was a pity he never treated him that way normally, though not surprising. Skyfire was kind and gentle, after all, and exceptionally cautious in berth due to their difference in size. Starscream suspected that having to look him in the face while brutalizing his valve made Skyfire too nervous and ashamed, so he never did it, only losing those inhibitions with the toy. That would have to change immediately.

In the end, Starscream cut his trip short by a few cycles to speed back home in order to convince Skyfire to ravish him with all the strength he could spare. Research could wait.

Chapter Text

Pursuing his science career had rendered Skyfire’s original function as a tanker aircraft unnecessary. But now that war had broken out and he’d been tasked with flying the Autobots to battles, it’s a completely different story. 

During university, he wasn't transporting any mechs regularly or hanging around military jets– Starscream being the sole exception. With the new lifestyle change, a long-dormant feature of his frame has come online. One he’d always found rather inconvenient.

Whenever enough jets were in the vicinity at a low fuel percentage, Skyfire’s refineries would fill with energon in anticipation of fueling them. In addition, his array warmed to make sure their charge– created in excess as a result of consuming enormous amounts of high grade fuel– was worked off. 

All this was to say that Decepticon seekers, designed to locate energon with pinpoint accuracy, would surely see him as a huge, glaring target.

Skyfire had been taking samples in a cave, and thinking the coast was clear, ignored his surroundings. Before he knew it, Starscream had snuck up from behind and knocked him on his back. 

Starscream shoves the point of his null ray against his forehelm. “Where is it? Where are you hiding it?” he demands to know. “I can smell you across the battlefield.”

Starscream would have scented the rich and nutritious energon and tracked the source straight to him. A hot pang of arousal washes over Skyfire as his swollen refineries push up against his chest plating. His nozzles are pert and sensitive, and having them press into the inside of his armor isn't helping. The plating keeping them covered begins to strain.

“Talk! Now! We both know whatever you’re hiding is worlds better than the garbage we’re refining from this filthy planet.”

“I don’t really know how to say this…” mumbles Skyfire, face growing hot. His nozzles twinge and dribble more energon at the sound of Starscream’s voice. Proximity to a jet aside, just being close to Starscream is enough to turn him on. But even when they were partners, Skyfire had been too shy to tell him about this feature of his frame. 

The enormous pressure of his full refineries plumping up and pushing outward is threatening to cause his chestplates to spring open. A seam buckles, and Skyfire quickly crosses his arms over his chassis.

“Keep your hands where I can see them!” demands Starscream.

Mortified, Skyfire raises his hands over his helm again. The abrupt motion causes the latch on his chestplate to snap, and his pouches to spring out.

The cool air feels wonderful on his sweltering breasts. Their pale, snowy color is tinged pink from the heat of warm energon gathering under their surface. Soft, pink fluid dribbles off his powder blue nozzles.

Starscream’s optics widen. For once, he's at a loss for words. 

“You don’t need to threaten me. You can have as much as you want.” The words spill out of Skyfire’s mouth before he can think about what he’s offering. 

Starscream's nose scrunches. He pokes the barrel of his null ray harder into Skyfire’s forehead.

“This is a stick up. You can't just offer–”

“Don’t worry about it, Starscream.”

“No! This is a distraction.” Starscream’s face is turning red. “Where’s the real energon?”

“You know it’s right here.” Skyfire cups his hands under his refineries and lifts. Squishing them causes more energon to flow out. 

Starscream stares at the drops running from his nipples. He can certainly smell that it’s top quality. Full of the nutrients he should have been getting all the time, but has been denied for millions of years. His optics dilate, and his wingtips tremble in longing.

“I’m taking you prisoner.”

“Refuel first.” Skyfire massages his sore nozzles, pinching and rolling them. Expressing energon causes his valve to twinge. 

Refuel, and maybe something more… 

The pressure feels nice. Skyfire sinks into the embrace of his coding fully, as dangerous as that might be, though he has a feeling Starscream won't be much of a threat. 

“Please, Starscream?”

Hunger is a powerful motivator and Starscream lowers his wings in surrender, but not without scowling.

“If you try anything funny…” he grumbles, and gestures for Skyfire to sit up. When Starscream kneels between his legs, Skyfire guides one of his refineries to his lips. Starscream dives in and seals his mouth around the nozzle.

Elation rocks Skyfire. Once Starscream gets a taste, a violent urge overtakes him and he anchors his fangs into the protomesh in his enthusiasm. 

“G-gently.” Skyfire grasps his jaw and squeezes to make him unlatch. Starscream growls but resumes sucking, being more mindful not to bite. Highly pure energon floods his intake and he relaxes, settling down on Skyfire’s lap. 

Starscream’s nasal ridge is chilly where it pokes into his protomesh. All of Starscream’s plating is worryingly cool, but is beginning to warm up as he consumes more. The hot glow of his optics reflects off Skyfire’s plating as his systems strengthen from the nourishment. Living under constant deprivation from the war, the poor mech is so low on fuel Skyfire is surprised he can sit upright.

As Starscream’s frame heats up, he begins rubbing his panel on Skyfire’s thigh. The highly potent blend is stimulating his systems, summoning arousal as his array is flooded with fuel. The stiff spike poking Skyfire’s thigh a few moments later tells him all he needs to know. Starscream’s damp valve derma also brushes Skyfire’s leg on his next thrust. Weak, embarrassed, shy little pulses of excitement leak from Starscream’s field that he keeps trying to conceal.

Skyfire feels delighted that he’s so relaxed, and is only too happy to satisfy him. Skyfire’s own valve has gotten saturated at the sight of Starscream savoring the energon. His energon. 

Starscream’s spike is just like he remembers– slender and dark with red biolights. A valve mech at spark, Starscream had always had a dainty spike, but it was no less sensitive for its small size. Skyfire assesses that it will need milking. The transfluid tank tends to fill up during fuelings, and Starscream will be holding excess charge as a result of the sudden energy input from all the rich energon being processed. Starscream is a high-performance frame. He doesn't waste any time or energon. 

“You don't have to thrust,” says Skyfire, holding Starscream’s hips in place once he’s fed his spike into his valve. “You can keep your spike warm in my valve and I can milk you through your own valve. That method is more effective at expressing transfluid.”

Rubbing Starscream’s back to settle him, he probes the seeker’s wet valve lips. Starscream whimpers as he slides one finger inside of him. A few moments of searching reveal the spot– a firm bump at the apex of his valve where his transfluid repository is bulging with need to release its contents. 

“Oh, you’re probably miserable, being this backed up,” says Skyfire. He teases his spot until Starscream’s walls clench and his spike erupts in thick ropes of transfluid, splattering Skyfire’s insides. Skyfire hadn't realized he was so close to overload. 

“That was good, but I’ll need to do this a couple more times, Starscream. My valve sensors only measure a few liters of transfluid from your emission. I know that’s not your best effort. Do you think you can give me a little more next time?” 

Unusually cooperative, Starscream shudders and nods. His spike throbs in Skyfire’s channel as Skyfire resumes fingering his transfluid repository.

“Relax your walls for me. You’re doing so well.”

Skyfire’s valve has become soaked from the dual stimulation of Starscream’s grinding into him and his hot glossa twirling and lapping his nozzle while he sucks it in harsh pulls. But he’ll have to hold out on his own pleasure– Starscream comes first.

Starscream indulges blissfully for some time, but Skyfire knows the peace won’t last. Where Starscream goes, his trine follows, and they’re certain to come looking for him.

Right on schedule, the noise of two sets of jet engines approaches their location. The roar grows steadily louder, until the winged frames of two familiar seekers fill the entrance to the cave.

“Whoa. Nice rack,” said Skywarp, cutting off his thrusters with a hiss. His landing leaves an ashy streak on the cave floor.

“Tell me you didn't coerce this bot into doing this, Screamer,” says Thundercracker, pulling up behind him.

Starscream whimpers indignantly, and his valve twitches around Skyfire’s fingers in another overload, filling Skyfire with more transfluid. His field says he’s embarrassed, but too comfortable to do much about it. He does slide his mouth off Skyfire’s nozzle with a longing suck to address them, though.

“Your tank isn't quite full yet,” says Skyfire, cradling the back of Starscream’s helm to push his face back into his chest so he can finish. 

Starscream moans and his softening spike jumps as the nozzle is stuffed back into his mouth. Starscream is, in fact, full to bursting and they both know it. But Starscream’s always been a glutton for pleasure, and Skyfire is only too happy to fill him up.

“He was under-fueled. I wanted to help him out,” says Skyfire to his trine, feeling he should provide an explanation. “You can have some too, if you’d like.”

His trinemates’ expressions say they would. It’s incredibly gratifying how they come in, smeared with energon from the battle and reeking of ozone, tense and snarling, and immediately become enraptured by the scent of fresh energon. Charged up and ravenous at the prospect of having a taste.

Skyfire’s opposite, neglected nozzle throbs in the presence of two more hungry flight frames. Starscream won’t drain his reserves on his own, so he’s glad they showed up to help out. 

Filled to capacity now, Starscream unlatches with a gasp and Skyfire lets him pull away. 

“You chewed the slag out of him!” chortles Skywarp, pointing at the pouch Starscream was suckling from. Harsh pink fang indents marred the white protomesh around the nozzle. 

Taking that as some kind of permission, Skywarp runs his glossa over the tips of his fangs before latching on, biting more than could be called accidental. 

Skyfire whimpers at the sweet pain his fangs elicit, too aroused to care at this point.

Even Thundercracker’s hunger overrides his morals and he lowers his mouth to Skyfire’s opposite, long-neglected nozzle to more gently take in fuel. 

Starscream looks much healthier. Heavy on his lap from all the high grade and nice and warm, with bright biolights. He groggily rests his helm between Skyfire’s pouches. Not in recharge, but in a sort of torpor. Skyfire’s spark aches for him. He’s gone for so long without a full tank, he doesn't know what to do with himself. 

Skyfire has no problem letting him rest. He continues massaging the inside of Starscream’s valve, keeping pressure on his wall to express transfluid. Starscream’s spike has slipped out of him, too small to stay inside without fully hilting himself, and a steady dribble of prefluid is leaking from it onto Skyfire’s valve lips. Starscream seems happy enough to smother his face in Skyfire's refineries, clench around his finger and slide his soft, wet spike against Skyfire’s node with each of his lazy hip thrusts.

All this has served to make Skyfire very worked up. Any ordinary mech would have probably overloaded by now. Being a shuttle, he’ll need extra attention to overload, so he neglects Starscream for a bit to fondle his trinemates’ panels. With a hydraulic hiss, they release their spikes into his waiting palms without hesitation.

To Skyfire’s delight, their spikes are quite girthy. C onsiderably larger than Starscream’s all around– something Skyfire suspects Starscream had a hand in ordering.

“Full-service, eh?” pants Skywarp around his nozzle as Skyfire strokes him to full pressure.

“You’ll be more comfortable if you overload.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep going.”

Thundercracker rumbles his agreement, muffled by Skyfire’s chest.

With an entire trine occupying his nozzles and valve, Skyfire’s arousal has become unbearable. The combined weight of three heavy warframes on him and the steady, strong pulsing of their mouths around his nozzles, along with the rush of warm fuel being drawn out, has him on the edge. This is so beyond the pale, so inappropriate to do this for members of the enemy faction. It breaks so many moral boundaries, and yet his interfacing systems are alight, programmed to serve them. 

Starscream’s trinemates tire of Skyfire’s handjob and grind their spikes along the slit of his valve instead. Skyfire moans as they massage his node and puffy folds with the ridges of their cords, in tandem with Starscream.

Without warning, Thundercracker and Skywarp slide into his valve together, penetration coaxed by their rolling thrusts, and bump up against each other inside him. The double penetration is so coordinated, it’s like they’ve done it a thousand times. Starscream must have given them plenty of practice.

Skyfire chokes out a moan as they plug him to the root. His walls are stretched enough around them that he’s almost too full. He can’t imagine how Starscream handles them both.

But the seekers are not finished yet. Starscream nuzzles deeper into the mesh of Skyfire’s refineries, adjusting his hips so his now firm spike tip presses into Skyfire’s valve as well, above his trinemates'. 

“Starscream,” Skyfire begs. “I… I don’t think you’ll all fit.”

With a desperate shove, Starscream forces himself in. 

Skyfire lets out a shout, throwing his helm back as pain and pleasure lance his array. The fit is intensely snug. Every tiny movement and pulse of their spikes radiates brutally through his overstuffed valve. 

For better or worse, Thundercracker and Skywarp don’t wait for Skyfire to adjust. They drive their big spikes straight into the back of his valve and give it a vigorous pounding. As they lick and suckle and bite at his nozzles, they put Skyfire on the verge of overload in no time.

Starscream’s smaller spike is forced out from his trinemates’ wild thrusting and he has to content himself with rutting against Skyfire’s external node. Gratifyingly, his slick, hard, hot cord scrubbing against Skyfire’s engorged sensor is just what Skyfire needs, and it sends him over.

Breasts bounce as Skyfire arches, blue arcs of static crackling over his frame. Given room to flex again, his calipers flutter greedily around Thundercracker and Skywarp’s pistoning shafts. The seekers don't stop thrusting, concerned only with their own pleasure. Their rough fucking is overstimulating, but Skyfire hasn't been pounded like this in longer than he can remember. He rides it out blissfully, optics rolling back as he humps forward to encourage their violent rutting.

When he finishes, Starscream’s trine is still pounding away. Starscream, however, has slowed. He’s starting to regain his signature scowl. Though it’s more like a pout, with his cheeks squished between Skyfire’s cleavage.

Done fueling, but  he's still rolling his hips against Skyfire’s cleft impatiently. Even after a few overloads, his appetite for interface hasn’t been sated. Starscream has always had a healthy libido. But Skyfire suspected there was more to it– Starscream was jealous more than anything. Even though he’d gotten Skyfire’s devoted attention for longer than his mates, he hated sharing. 

His trine picks up on Starscream’s grumpy mood at the same time.

“You wanna do it with both of us?” asks Skywarp. He toys with Starscream’s spike, flicking the tip playfully. “I don't think this is gonna stay in.”

“Don’t tease him, Skywarp,” mutters Thundercracker. He takes the head of Starscream’s spike between two fingers and strokes it soothingly as he murmurs, “Lift your hips. I’ll help you put it back in.”

“I ‘on’t need your help,” grumbles Starscream into Skyfire’s cleavage. A flash of embarrassment prickles across his EM field. 

Thundercracker ignores him and helps him get it inside again. Starscream settles when he slides back into Skyfire alongside his trinemates, but their thrusting keeps pushing him out.

“Toldja,” says Skywarp, taking his mouth off Skyfire’s nipple and slapping Skyfire on the leg. “Hey, Skyguy. Get your spike out. Screamer’s gonna ride you.”

“Shut up. No I’m not,” says Starscream. But with the ease of a mech well-accustomed to taking spike, he repositions himself so he’s straddling Skyfire’s waist and rocks his bare valve onto Skyfire’s shaft anyway, lifting his hips to assist.

“Here, Screamer. This suits you better,” says Skywarp as he crams Skyfire’s spike into him. Starscream mewls and flutters his wings.

Skyfire grunts in pleasure at the familiar, eager squeeze of Starscream’s calipers. Starscream takes him all the way to the base with a lot of moaning and wiggling of his hips, but gets there eventually. 

“That’s right.” Skywarp traces Starscream’s valve lips where they’re stretched open around Skyfire’s shaft, as if assessing the connection. “Full valve and full tanks. Betcha feel like a king. Now will you stop whining?”

“Shut up and drink your energon,” says Starscream, but his valve squeezes as Skywarp whacks him on the aft good-naturedly. Starscream lays back down with his face in Skyfire’s refineries and lazily rolls his hips. 

He looks so cute and content, Skyfire can’t help himself. “Do you want a kiss?” he asks. 

Starscream perks up embarrassingly fast, relinquishing a few inches of Skyfire’s spike to lean in and close the gap. Smug satisfaction rolls off his field as their mouths meet, glossas twining. 

There’s a warm nostalgia in the eager movements of his lips. All the passion and tenderness of a long-lost era. For a few sweet moments, they’re back in university, comfortable in berth together post-interface without a care in the world.

Starscream’s field says he’s thinking exactly the same.