hailey

• “You’d never forsake me for someone else, would you?” He growls against your skin as your field sinks into him. Why won’t you say it? Say that you’re his? Maybe you are thinking about leaving him for someone else? For whoever’s scent this is on you. Annoyed, he nips your earlobe and you suck in a breath. “Right?” He croons, losing his patience and you shiver against him. ‘Sure,’ you blurt and he rumbles.

• Are you in danger? You feel like you are, but that it might be of a good time nature. If you were into aliens. And you’re not. You’re almost positive you’re not. Feeling the heat radiating off his big frame, you’re far too aware of him. Of how those big hands feel on you. Makes you wish you hadn’t heard the late night gossip in the lobby. That you didn’t know how compatible humans and Cybertronians are. Because you do know and despite yourself, you’re curious. Shouldn’t be, but you are. “If I was yours,” you begin and he growls, the inhuman noise startling you.

• “Then I’d claim you. Take you to my berth and keep you there for joors,” he growls in your ear, feeling you shiver against him as his plating heats. That shift in your scent is becoming more noticeable, smelling like heat and need. “I doubt you’d be able to walk after,” he adds and you inhale slowly. And the more he thinks about it, the more he’s certain. That you’re going to be his. It doesn’t matter that you’re only human. You’re his.

• Is that a threat or a promise? You’re not entirely sure, but you’ve never been so tempted before in your whole life. There’s nothing saying this has to be a commitment. Would it be so bad to sample what he’s offering? To be able to mark ‘slept with an alien’ off your bucket list? It doesn’t have to actually mean anything or be any deeper than curiosity. An experience. “If I was yours,” you repeat softly, turning in his arms to look up at him. ‘Are you mine?’ He growls, the words a challenge as his wings lift and you flush. Can figure out what set him off later, you just want to enjoy this and worry about consequences later.

• Fidgeting with your coveralls, you’re pretty sure yellow isn’t your color. And this? It’s mostly yellow with accents that mimic your assigned bot’s patterns. You’d been told that the personalized coveralls were to make it easier to tell at a glance who was already assigned and who wasn’t. Because apparently there had been incidents. Impatient, newly arrived aliens just nabbing caretakers on sight as theirs. Pulling your cart into the stall, Sunstreaker’s head lifts and he goes still. Just staring. Probably thinking you dressed like a mini him is weird. You think it’s weird. “Hi,” you say, feeling sheepish.

• Frozen, his engine rumbles aggressively. Because you’re wearing his colors. His patterns. Had seen other humans doing it, but he hadn’t expected you to. That means you’ve decided, right? That you want him for your conjunx. Spark thrumming in his chassis, he doesn’t know what to say. If he doesn’t react will you just give up on him and seek out someone else? You’d have to. Especially if you’re seeking a conjunx and he’s not. And while he’s not sold on settling down, the idea of you smiling at someone else, touching someone else leaves him feeling violent.

• Listening to his rumbling shift into something rougher and angry sounding, you wonder if this is an alien faux pas. If wearing his colors is offensive somehow. “I can change if you want me to?” You ask warily as he slowly stands and starts towards you. Fine hair at your nape prickling, you back up a step and his optics narrow as he mass shifts so suddenly that your stomach does a flip. And your face tilts up, unable to tear your eyes from his optics as they brighten. ‘You wore this for me?’ He asks and you hesitate, because you’d been told to wear it by HR. But you get the impression that’s not the answer he wants to hear.

He was so caught up in it all that he failed to realise he was on an Autobot ship. Perhaps that was a good thing, as it wouldn't take a genius to then realise that his future self is, at the very least, aligned with the Autobots. Something the Stealthbomber version of your lover would not take kindly to in the slightest.

That was a few days ago now, and honestly, not at the forefront of your mind right now. Your Megatron is lined with pillows to make it comfortable for you to rest on him.

Your leg is slotted in between his, and one arm is resting over his decorated chassis. He's running gentle touches up and down your spine, soothing you. You can hear the soft whirring of your spark, and it's almost enough to lull you to sleep.

"Are you sleeping, Starlight?" Megatron asks quietly, mindful just in case you are asleep. You note a specific tone he's adopting, almost as if embers are being carried under his glossa.

"No," you reply softly, lifting your head to look up at him.

"I love you," he hushes. The edge in his voice doesn't waver, and you find yourself struggling to place where it's coming from. If he had to breathe, you can imagine he'd be holding his breath right now, because breathing might let his pain escape.

"I love you too, Megatron," you reciprocate, tracing the light over his Autobot insignia.

"Are you… Happy?" He dares to ask.

A slightly confused expression flashes over your features. You cock your head to the side a little, humming curiously. The light in his optics seems dimmed. Dejected, almost.

"I'm the happiest I've ever been," you answer honestly. "Why do you ask?"

"You don't prefer being with the other me?" He continues.

Now that surprises you. It all makes sense now; you can immediately read the tone and expression laced within his demeanour. It's as though the pain has nested inside of his chassis, festering and growing.

"What? Megatron, what are you talking about?" You say with a shallow shake of your head. "Of course not. I love you."

"I think I… Don't like it, when you're intimate with the other me," he confesses, a tad ashamed to say it. He struggles to meet your eyes as he utters the words. It's a change of tune from before, when he said he didn't mind, but you suppose he has complex feelings about his former self.

"Oh my God," you gasp with a fraction of heartbreak, "Megatron, I'm so sorry. If I had known, I promise, I never would have done it."

You shift from your position, causing the pillows on his chassis to fall off as you hook your leg around the other side of him, straddling his lap. You lean in to kiss him, cupping the sides of his helm to keep him focused on you.

He kisses you back, but you sense the worry dancing all over his derma. Does he perhaps feel inferior to his former self?

"Megatron," you hush lowly, consolingly. "I have the very best version of you. The most handsome, the strongest, the kindest," you continue to compliment as your hands smooth down from his helm to his chassis.

"The wisest and most knowledgeable, the most talented. Not even your former self comes close."

"You're just saying that," he mumbles back.

"I'm not," you insist, "I am so very in love with you that it's almost sickening, and I am love with who you are now. You're older, more experienced, you're so good with your spike it brings me to tears."

You trail your hand down to find his servo, grabbing onto it to lead him to the curve of your ass. You settle his hand there and let him take it from there. He squeezes ever so gently, almost on instinct.

"You know my body so well, Megatron. You know exactly how to make me tick. You think anyone else, in this timeline or not, could do the same? With all due respect to your former self, he doesn't even compare."

He burrs against your lips, capturing them greedily in a heated, passionate moment. You roll your hips over his interface panels, feeling the slight thrumming oscillating there.

"Let me prove to you that you have the best version of me," he declares lowly.

"Aside from the fact I already know that, I would never turn down some loving from you," you reply sultrily. If he wants to prove a point that has already been driven home, in the form of fucking you until you're dumb, who are you to refuse?

With deft digits, he gathers the hem of your top. You break the kiss, sitting back so that he can hoist your top up your torso. You help him take it off you, flinging it off to the side to be long forgotten. You went to bed without a bra on, so that's one less thing he has to remove.

He hums contentedly as he is transfixed on your tits, unable to stop himself from reaching up with both servos to take a handful. He squeezes and rolls the soft mounds under his large palms before smoothing outwards, stroking his thumbs over your hardening nipples. You make a small, quiet sound in response.

"These are so beautiful, just like the rest of you," he comments.

"Ever the romantic," you hush back. That's the main difference between your Megatron and the other one. His former self pays little attention to any kind of affection and care, simply taking what he wants to a gluttonous degree. It's one of many reasons you much prefer the current version of him.

His servos rasp against your soft skin as they fall to the elastic waistband of your underwear. He digs his digits underneath, testing the pull of the elastic. You can't help but roll your hips over him, already too excited.

You shift your legs, bringing your feet over to his grated abdomen plating. You plant your hands on his thigh struts behind you, lifting your hips as he rids you of the last piece of your clothing. He drops them off the side of the bed as you return to your previous position, your knees on either side of his hips.

Megatron holds your hips firmly, forcing you to grind your bare pussy over his hot, but closed, interface panels. He peers down, focused on the wetness you're leaving on him.

"Come sit your pretty little valve on my face," he requests ardently, unable to look away from your slick heat.

You lean forward a little, placing your hands on his chassis so that you can start to crawl up the length of his body. You close in on him, and Megatron is more than delighted that he's moments away from indulging himself in your pussy.

Your knees fall to either side of his helm, just narrowly missing the weapons protruding from his back. You sit back, perched on the top of his chassis. You peer down at him, and you can see his sights glued between your legs.

Wasting no time, he grabs onto your thighs and tugs you down, forcing you to fully sit on his face. You go with a short, startled noise, not expecting him to act so fast.

He winds his arms around your thighs, keeping you fixed to him. You don't even have a centimetre of wiggle room. If he doesn't need to breathe, there's no point in having any space for air.

His glossa and intake devour you hungrily, licking and kissing and slurping like there's no tomorrow. You moan, settling your hands on the top of his helm for purchase.

That glossa of his can do so much more than bark orders and be persuasive. This is what his glossa does best, and you're glad that he's all yours. The other Megatron is a proud mech and rarely ever submits to you to eat you out. But your Megatron? That's an entirely different matter.

He's quick and precise on your clit, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves to wind you up. He knows all your tells, all the things you like. He knows exactly where to lick and suckle, how to get your mind bending under the pleasure. His glossa moves almost on muscle memory, his entire soul dedicated to remembering you.

Your pleasure is leaking straight into his intake, and it's so delicious that Megatron's wires are crossing. His optics dim, feeling as though he's ascending to a higher plane. His home has been established between your legs, and he feels every piece of him falling apart at the seams from how content he is here.

"Mmph! Right there!" You moan as his glossa starts to circle your clit. It's so methodical and perfect, and it reminds you that you are in fact dating a mechanical being who doesn't tire of things like this.

With you sitting on his face and your taste trickling down to his tanks, he believes he might already be in Cyberutopia. The Knights have blessed him, they have forgiven him for his egregious transgressions and decided to award him you as an act of kindness.

He hums happily into your core, sending subtle vibrations all over. You sigh a moan, tensing your hold on his helm. You'd ride his face if you could, but he's got you in an iron grip.

His glossa works from your clit to your hole, forcing entry to make you squeal. He's so good at flirting with you that even his glossa knows exactly what to do. The metal slides into you easily, and he immediately gets to work with exploring your walls.

Even though you're just sitting, your baby hairs are already sticking to your forehead and nape of your neck. You look down at him with teary eyes, seeing him totally lost in your pussy. His arrmstuts refuse to relent, rendering you little more than a doll for his enjoyment.

He fucks you with his glossa, taunting your fluttering walls. Your nerves hum with a cruel kind of sweetness, the kind that leaves you even more desperate than how you began. One hand leaves his helm, instead wrapping around the headboard of your bed. You grip it so hard that the skin around your knuckles whites.

You can hear him drinking down every drop your pussy yields. It fills him with pride, and he's reaping the rewards of his labour. He meant it when he said that if there was ever an energon drought, he knew exactly where to go for sustenance.

Seemingly, it never takes long for him to draw orgasms from you. You whine in a high pitch as you feel the oncoming high hurtling towards you at a rate that simply isn't sustainable. He can tell you're close, he can feel it against his glossa. Your little pussy is so perfect for him, as though you were forged by Primus to be entirely his.

"Megatron!" You moan as the waves crash against you. Your body thrashes in the overwhelming sensation, lending yourself to the sands of ecstasy. Your juices pool into his intake, and his optics offline completely.

You squeak and mewl as he continues his actions. Your body almost jolts from oversensitivity, slapping your hand lightly against his helm to signal him to stop.

He takes one last long lick before stopping.

His armstruts finally relent, allowing you to hoist yourself up on shaky thighs. Your hot pussy hits the cool air of the room, causing goosebumps to form over your legs. He licks his derma, savouring everything he can of your essence.

"I want you on top, but with your back against my chassis," he announces, "Can you do that for me, pretty Starlight?"

You give a short nod of your head, shifting your knees to unstraddle his face. You move down his frame until you're placed on top of his interface panel again. You swing your legs over so that you're on him the other way around.

"Lie down, my love," he says, putting his servos on your waist to prompt you back. You go down easily, supported by his strength. You hear his array disengage, greeted with the sight of his growing spike.

You settle against the contours of his frame, whimpering lightly when his large servos take the back of your thighs. He pulls them back, closer to your chest.

"Keep them there for me, Little Light," he says, letting go of one so that he can grab the base of his spike. He leads it straight to your exposed hole, nestling perfectly in the arch between your legs.

Lifting his hips, he pushes his spike in. He enters through the threshold of your sex, spreading you obscenely over his width. You shudder a gasp as your pussy welcomes him. He always has to ease it in at first, he's so big that he'd hurt you otherwise.

Slipping in inch by inch, he reunites his full length with the walls it's become so familiar with. You roll your head, resisting the urge to hold your breath.

He hooks his arms under your knees, folding you in half before he starts fucking up into your hot cunt. You cry out, arching your back. The red light of his Autobot insignia luminates the curve of your spine, imbuing you with the lust that emits from every circuit in his body.

You choke on your moans, your senses being whittled down to nothing more than pure ardour and need. This position feels unreal, you can feel every single inch of him intimately.

"My God, Megatron— You're so deep," you pant.

"You're very tight in this position," he whirs huskily into your ear, "I think I might keep fucking you all day like this."

"Please," you mewl. That sounds like a dream. The others won't even question where you are, it's common knowledge on this ship that the two of you can hardly take your hands off each other. Every bit of free time Megatron has, he's either showering you with romantic affection or 8.5 inches deep in your pussy.

"I'm going to fuck you until all you can remember is my name," he promises alongside his brutal thrusts.

You can feel him bullying your walls. It's a dull, consuming kind of sensation. You're gasping, trying to regulate your already rapidly rising body heat. He's got you spread nice and wide over him, making sure there's no issue with giving you the time of your life.

Hot slick runs down the length of his spike, gathering over his interface panels. It never takes him long to get you dripping wet, but this is another level of impressiveness.

"So lucky…" You mumble as tears start to well over your waterline. "So lucky, so lucky to have you. So lucky to call you mine."

"Yeah?" He hums as a cocky smile pulls over his derma.

"Mmhm," you affirm through a whimper, nodding your head.

"I've never— fuck, I've never had anyone so good in all my life. Not even your former self can make me cum as much as you do."

"That's what I like to hear," he whispers lowly, "I want you to cum for me. I wanna see your pretty pussy squirt for me."

And if you do, he will be able to see it. He's peering right over you, giving him the perfect view.

"You're not far off from getting what you want," you reply. The way he's striking the head of his spike against the spongy spot inside of you, you're going to be a quivering mess before long.

He takes one arm out from underneath your knee, using his servo to start playing with your clit. His middle digit circles it with little mercy, and you yip in reaction with a sharp arch of your back.

"You like it when I touch you here, don't you?" He coos sweetly. The words are marinated in hubris and arrogance, and rightfully so.

"Yes, yes! You make me feel so good!"

You're so wet that his digit struggles to keep traction on your pearl, but he's a mech of many talents, so he manages to pull through. It doesn't help when you start grinding your hips, trying to fuck yourself on his spike as well as get more friction on your clit.

His hips are slamming into your ass, causing the pliant flesh to jiggle. You're writhing on top of him as though you may never rest, and your voice doesn't waver as you scream and cry his name like a mantra.

He's so thick that it's making your head spin. This is definitely one of the rougher, harder sessions that you've had. Maybe you need to make Megatron jealous more often.

"Mine. You're mine," he declares. No more sharing, not on his watch. This pussy is for him only, this version of him. Call him selfish, greedy, jealous. None of it matters. He won't pay it any mind, because this is his final decision.

"All yours, only yours. Could never even think of anyone but you," you reply in a breathy tone.

He treats you far too well to ever leave you wanting anything, except maybe more time with him. If it were up to you, you'd be together all of the time. Alas, he does Captain a crew of over 100 mechs, so he has to divide his time here and there.

The rush of anticipation sinks its hooks into you, securing you firmly. Your imagination can no longer be teased, the realisation hits you that the chaos is already on your doorstep. A startled, pleasured noise fractures from your lips as the euphoria finally takes you over the tophat of pleasure. You squirt from him, just as he asked, soaking the sheets between Megatron's legs. Your legs shake from the force, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"That's my good little Starlight," he praises softly, unable to stop the enormous grin on his faceplates. What a sight that was, one he won't forget anytime soon.

"Fuck—" you pant, "Overload in me, Megatron."

"Nearly," he huffs.

It doesn't take much longer for him to come undone. He groans deeply as his systems go haywire, resulting in a heavy load of transfluid to be fucked straight into you. He dumps every single drop, painting your insides pink.

His fans whir rapidly to regulate his temperature. He stills you on top of him, leaving you in a resting state with his spike still snug inside. He's so hot that your back is sweating, but you're also too hot to really notice or care. He slips his arm strut from under your leg, easing up his other servo on your clit at the same time.

He takes a servo to the top of your head, smoothing your mussed-up hair out of your face. Your throat is dry from how intense that was, and you can feel your heartbeat in your clit.

Ducking his helm, he places a gentle kiss on your head. You bask in the silence, panting and tracing the lines of the ceiling panels with your eyes. You'll definitely need some recovery time after that.

"How was that for you, Little Light?" Megatron asks lightly, disturbing the silence.

All you can do is nod your head with a small sound of satisfaction. He smiles at that, moving to card his digits through the roots of your hair in a massaging fashion.

Pleasant shivers spill over your limbs and down your spine at the sensation, humming contentedly. You can feel the ache over your ass already, and you won't be surprised if you're littered with bruises in the next couple of hours.

"How do you feel?" You ask quietly. You're hoping that maybe he feels a bit more reassured now.

"Like I never want to leave this berth," he replies.

"Can't you ask Rodimus or Magnus to cover you? Just this once?" You suggest, your tone making it clear that you also don't want to leave.

He chuckles lightly as he runs his digits through the length of your hair, admiring how soft it feels against the hard metal of his digits.

"You know Magnus won't let that slide," he tells you, "But I'm not needed for another couple of groons, so I'm all yours until then."