Darkly dreaming, but never screaming.

• Wanting to touch you, he’s suddenly sure his control will unravel if he does. Venting to pull your scent deep, those eyes of yours lift to meet his optics and you lay a soft hand on his servo. Would you still choose him if he buys out your contract and frees you? Would you stay? Let him keep you? Be his? Mass shifting, he takes a step closer and you’re still so much smaller than he is. Your lips part and he wonders what you taste like. How soft your mouth would feel under his.

• Breathless with anticipation, you’re aware that he hasn’t answered you. But you can’t find the words to ask again. To tease him about it. Especially when a big hand cups your cheek, his handsome, alien face serious. “Do you want to be mine? Only mine?” He asks, leaning down and you know he’s going to kiss you. His mouth almost on yours as he waits for your answer. And you want that. For him to call you his darling in that cultured lilt of his as he smiles indulgently. To play house with a being so ancient you can’t really comprehend it.

• Your scent, the softness of your cheek against his palm, and the feel of your warm breath on his lips are all more intoxicating than he’d imagined. And your hands catch at his chassis as you arch up, mouth crashing against his in answer. No one’s ever kissed him like this, hungry and desperate. Growling against your lips, his arm goes around you to drag you into his frame as he kisses you back. Doesn’t care about your past. About what you do for a living. Doesn’t care about anything beyond the rightness of the feel of you against him.

• That noise he makes is almost animalistic, more than just the throaty growl of an engine. It’s hungry and primal and you understand it completely. Making a low, needy sound of your own in response. Hands clinging to him as his mouth slides against yours, those big hands move against your body. Holding onto you like he thinks you might slip through his servos like smoke if he eases his grip on you. And you want this. To be his. To feel him lose control and for that genteel facade of his to shatter. To know what it feels like to be held by him. To be claimed as his.

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• “I’m not sure what it is you’re trying to accomplish, but it’s a tiny bit offensive,” you mutter, eyeing him and the bag of treats. Shaking the bag coaxingly, he rumbles. For all your fussing, you still huff out an exasperated breath and hold out a hand. Asking for a treat. Slowly getting less skittish of him as you associate him with rewards. Tilting the bag, he waits as you frown at him. “This doesn’t mean whatever you’re doing is working. It’s not,” you add as you reach in to grab an individually wrapped treat, opening it and eating it.

• He’s just smirking as he watches you with narrowed optics and jiggles the bag of pricey chocolates truffles. Definitely up to something and letting him feed you candy is only going to encourage him, but he’s at least figured out what foods he can try to bribe you with. Which is welcome, because there’s nothing like getting chased by a giant alien mech determined to hand feed you a damn corndog. “Whatever you say, pet,” he growls, tilting the bag and you grab another one.

• Watching you unwrap the treat and eat it, he reaches for you and you lean back, eyes wary. Moving slowly as he shakes the bag again to distract you, he reaches with his free hand. And his servos ghost against your shoulder and arm. Shuddering at the illicit feel of your field sinking into him, that sense of connection sprrads warmly through him. Rumbling, he brushes knuckle against your jaw and you push his hand away. “Stop being weird.” But you’d let him touch you without running away.

• Flitting up onto a rooftop, his clawed limbs pick their way around a humming bit of machinery before he lowers you into the nest of soft things he’d made. Leaves, thieved blankets and pillows, furs from his hunts. And you push up, staring uncertainly at him before you look around. Head tilting on a low hiss, he moves closer and you lean back. “Are you mine?” He asks, forcing you to lay flat just by invading your space as he vents to pull your now familiar scent deep, wanting you. Your alien eyes are wide, the whites showing unsettlingly. ‘Yes?’ Rumbling because you don’t sound that confident, he transforms.

• Realizing you’re on top of one of the dorms, one of the rooftop units is humming noisily nearby as he eases down onto his knees, caging you with the sharp, nightmare angles of his alien form. That those wicked denta are way too close. “Mine to claim, little morsel?” He purrs, voice rough and predatory. Did he bring you up here as a late night snack? Would anyone hear you screaming over the sound of that stupid AC unit? And his head lowers, brushing against your inner thighs, forcing them open. A mandible sliding against you as his visor brightens and he shifts slightly, movement drawing your eye and you stare at his plating shifting. His spike releasing to pressurize, the head already beading with slick and you almost laugh in relief. Because you’re not dinner. Though, staring at the biolights cycling on his Giger-esque spike isn’t exactly reassuring. But if your options are to be dinner or alien friends with benefits, you’ll take the scary spike.

• “I’m yours,” you manage, staring wide eyed at his spike. Venting against you, his mouth opens and you make a startled, prey noise that strings him tight. Carefully using his denta, claws, and mandibles to rip you free from those coverings as you stutter that you could just undress, he lowers his head to vent against you. Instincts warring when you smell like prey, his glossa slides against you and your protests falter. Claws carefully gripping your hips, he tunnels his glossa inside you and you arch with a strangled sound, grabbing at his helm. Hips tilting slightly as his glossa curls inside you and you gasp, your taste filling his senses.

• Wings flicking restlessly as you smooth soft hands over him, his head lowers. Mandibles brushing over you as he scoots further down your body. Scenting as he vents against you, wanting the smell of your need on him. Wanting his scent on you. Spike pulsing behind his plating, he whines as his mouth slides against your belly. And you’re hooking your thumbs in the waist of your lower covering to pull it down. Letting him touch. Inviting him to explore. Keeps expecting you to change your mind. To yell at him. He’s trembling as he brushes his face down your body, aching for more and unsure how much he’s allowed when he wants everything. Those soft hands touch his antenna, his wings and he’s making noises. Shameful sounds. But those hands are so gentle. Do you have any idea how much he craves this? Your touch. Your kindness. You feel like home. Like acceptance.

• Inhaling as his mandibles brush your underwear, he’s nuzzling against you, forcing you to spread your thighs wider to accommodate his shoulders. Have the thought to wonder if whatever aphrodisiac is in his saliva can affect you in other areas right before you hear material rip and he huffs out an oops against you, warm air from his vents fanning you to make your breath catch. Then his glossa slides against you, presses inside you. And you have your answer as heart suffuses you in a needy ache. Thighs trembling as he presses his face more firmly against you, his glossa strokes deep and your head falls back, fingers fisting in the sheets as you go molten with need. Aching and moving restlessly against his mouth. Begging.

• Rumbling as you get noisier, squirming under him, when you gasp his name, his spike releases to pressurize. Wanting inside you. To claim you, but reluctant to move just yet when your taste is almost drugging. Your field washing into him to feed him your pleasure. But it’s the fact that you want him. Need him that obsesses him. No one’s ever needed him, but you do. You’re clinging to him as you tremble and moan. Shattering against his glossa. Wings flicking out, he crawls up your body. Snared by how you look lost in passion. The knowledge that he did that. Did something right.

• Aching and flushed, there’s definitely something in his saliva. Something addictive. You feel almost boneless from your release even as you want more. And he’s settling between your thighs, his spike slippery with the slick beading at the head as he stretches you. Those optics more focused, more serious, than you’ve ever seen them as he moves against you. Making you wonder again what happened to him. Who broke him. What he was like before. Maybe he’s always been like this, but you don’t think so. His clawed servos pin your hands, servos interlacing with your fingers as his hips pump and you can’t look away from his stare as you wind up again.

Previous

• “You’re distracting me,” you whisper, body trembling as his mouth opens against your jaw. Listening to your breathing shift as you take care of him, his palm slides up your spine. ‘I’m not the one plastered naked against you,’ he counters and you huff out a soft laugh that makes his spike stir behind his plating like he hadn’t just had you in the shower. “Aren’t you always naked?” You say and his mouth opens, lips and denta teasing your chest to make you groan his name.

• “Ambulon!” You gasp as he shifts and eases you down on your back, the little pot of medicinal oil rolling to spill everywhere as he covers you, mouth sliding against your body. Clutching his head to yourself as he rumbles to thrum through you, his spike releases to pressurize against your inner thigh. His mouth alternates between pressing kisses and bites against your chest until you’re arching, gasping his name as his spike brands your thigh with heat.

• Don’t know why you chose him. Why you keep choosing him, but he’s so thankful for it. Knows he’s a joke, that he has to hide his useless altmode. That other Cybertronians whisper about his flaking paint or ask if it’s contagious. But none of those things matter to you. Growling against your skin, he feels you hook a thigh against his hip, wiggling under him. And he’s aching to be inside you as he shifts over you, the head of his spike sliding against you.

• His head rests against your forehead as he presses deep, those yellow optics locked with your eyes. The added intimacy of him needing to make eye contact during had been uncomfortable at first, but now you need it as much as he does. Love seeing his jaw clench, watching the subtle shifts of his expression as he rolls his hips to make you both groan before he’s finding a rhythm, hips rocking against you. Hanging onto him as he moves inside you, he’s kissing you, hips pumping more urgently.

• Your eyes lift to his optics, meeting his stare with a boldness that has his spike stirring. That obscene hunger to possess you, claim you, lifting through him. Something as soft and gentle as you are, isn’t meant for a mech like him. He’d just ruin you and he knows it. And it makes the need to claim you even harder to ignore. Glossa toying with one of the sharp points of his denta, he rumbles and vents deeply. Scenting the faint, but heady shift in the way you smell as his plating lifts slightly. Your blunt little teeth sink into your bottom lip and he wonders how it would feel if you bit his lip. “Don’t run unless you’re ready for the consequences,” he warns as you shift your weight and the thrill that you want to play with him strings him tight.

• He means sex and you know it, body flushing with heat as his rumbling deepens, becoming a rough grumbling of engine noise that drives home how alien he is. Shouldn’t want this. Want him. The fact that the game you’re playing with him is taboo and dangerous just adding to the fire. “That’s assuming you can catch me,” you counter, stomach fluttering with anticipation as he smiles slowly, optics narrowing. Because you both know he will. ‘Careful, pet,’ he purrs as your heart races and you take a step back. ‘There’s no changing your mind once you run.’

• Clawed servos flexing, his ped slides slightly on the concrete as you back away. Your strange eyes still locked with his optics. Challenging him. Spike aching behind his plating, he knows that if you turn and walk away that he’ll let you go, but if you run? Then you’re his. That he’s going to claim you wherever he happens to catch you. And you bolt with a suddenness that surprises him, your boots pounding on the concrete as the scent of your need has him snarling. Shoving off the bench, he’s mass shifting. Chasing after you as you sprint past other humans. Energon heating in his lines, there’s something satisfyingly primal about hunting you. In that you’d invited him to catch you, claim you. You’re sliding, a shoulder banging off a wall as you turn a corner and he’s grabbing for the back of your coveralls. Almost catching you.

• Adrenaline pushing you to run faster when he snarls, the inhuman sound makes your skin prickle. Fear and arousal twine together as you dart between buildings, wanting to be caught, but also for him to have to work for it. Earn it. What’s wrong with you for wanting him? Gasping when servos close on the back of your coveralls, you smack into a wall and his big shoulder slams into it beside you hard enough to dent the metal. And his massive frame is caging you, your front pinned to the sheet metal of the building as his face brushes the back of your neck, his sharp denta scraping your skin as that rumbling roughens. “Mine,” he snarls, his big hand sliding down your front, clawed servos trying to figure out your coveralls as he vents against you. Heart racing, you’re aroused and jittery. “I warned you not to run unless you wanted to be caught,” he growls, his modesty panel brushing against your butt as his hand smooths down your body.

• How does he get you out of those coverings without just shredding them? Though, that is a tempting thought. Spike hurting to release and pressurize, his mouth teases the soft, vulnerable line of your throat. Every intake of air as his fans cycle on scents of your heat and need. Poisoning him with your arousal, making him want you when he should be put off by how soft and helpless you are compared to him. How weak. Those things should disgust him, not leave him strangely protective. You reach to tug the tab down on your covering and the sound is loud as his big hand slides inside to palm soft skin and he grunts. How many layers are you wearing?

• His hand smooths down your chest, over your belly. Servos edge under the hem of your underwear and your hips tilt into his touch when he cups you. Breath hitching at the feel of those sharp tips exploring you carefully, you feel his mouth open against your neck. The points of his denta graze your skin as you tremble and feel his spike release to pressurize against your butt. Grabbing at his big wrist, you push and it’s a shock when he lets you move his hand away from your body even as he growls in warning, the low sound spilling into you. Slowly turning around, you’re trapped by his big frame caging you against the wall and you stare up at him as he lifts his hand to lick his servos while holding your stare.

• Glossa curling against his servos, tasting you, he watches your lips part. Hopes you’re not having second thoughts, because you’re his now. Reaching to push your covering down over your hips, he can’t look away from your eyes as he hooks a servo in the waist of that skimpier covering to drag it down your thighs. And you tear your eyes from his optics, your attention dipping to the hard length of his spike, to his biolights pulsing and the slick beading at the head. Rumbles as you swallow and he watches your throat work to make him tense. Expecting you to try to bolt, but you’re surprising him again as you inhale slowly and toe off your boots.

• Breath hitching as big hands grip your hips, cupping your waist and middle both in his palms as he lifts you and your back slides against the sheet metal. The length of his spike smears his slick against your inner thigh when he steps closer, branding you with the heat of his frame as his rumbling deepens. Expect him to gloat, to smirk at having caught you, but his optics lock with your eyes as he shifts against you and you feel the faint burn of him stretching you. And you gasp as he growls, adjusting you while his hips rock and you feel every ridge on his spike stroking inside you. His optics narrow as he pins you, hips flexing and sharp denta bared. Just the wet sound of his spike inside you, his growls, and your gasps and moans. Unable to look away from his stare even as you understand that this isn’t just sex. Isn’t just a game. That this is a claiming as his hips pump and you remember the hungry way he’d snarled ‘mine’ when he’d caught you. Making you realize that you’re in trouble and one corner of his lips twitch like he knows what you’re thinking.

• Making the mistake of meeting his optics, your breath catches as his scarred lips twist into an almost mocking smile. Fine hair at your nape lifting, you look away. But you know he’s still staring at you. Every day it’s getting harder to ignore the way he watches you. Because it’s predatory. Hungry. Makes you aware of him, the heat of his big frame and the rumble of his deep voice, in a way that leaves you uncomfortable. He’s dangerous. You’re sure of that. Have seen flashes of his temper from time to time even though he likes to pretend to be a civilized monster around you. But you know he’s still a monster. A warlord.

• Hadn’t expected to find you so amusing to tease and toy with. Hadn’t expected to want more. To want you. Should be annoyed that you’ve started infiltrating his dreams. That you’ve gone from being an amusement to an obsession. You look up and meet his optics and he flashes his denta at you to make you quickly look away. Venting deeply, his lips twitch. So skittish even though you’d approached him. Had said you wanted to take care of him. Put your soft hands all over him to wash him, bring him energon, and then you flee. Over and over. Maybe you want to be chased? Is that the game here? You tease him, get him worked up and then run wanting him to follow? To capture you?

• Tidying up your supplies, the big mech leans forward with his arms draped across his thighs and his clawed hands dangling between his knees. When he watches you like that, all you can think of is a cat lazing in the sun and eyeing a mouse while trying to decide if it’s worth the effort to catch it. “Would you run if I chased you, pet?” He asks, deep voice low and a shiver travels up your spine because it’s like he knows what you were thinking. Head reluctantly lifting, those optics are ancient. He’s eldritch and unknowable. Alien. ‘Why would you chase me?’ You ask, heart beating faster as his head tilts and instincts you didn’t even know you had scream that he’s dangerous. A predator. That he’s hunting you even though he’s not moved and you’re not sure how you feel about that. Excitement and trepidation twisting together.

• Antenna back as you flail, he pulls you back onto your soft berth and immediately lets go, worried you might hit him for touching you without permission. For invading your space. And you push up to stare at him, eyes wide. “Why are you in my room?” You ask, voice trembling. Like he scared you and his anxiety winds tighter, because he knows what it’s like to be scared all the time. It’s why he’d sought you out. Had seen the open door and had hoped that was for him. Didn’t mean to scare you. Pressing back against the wall as he lifts his hands, his wings flick nervously.

• “No hurt. Waspinator wanted to feel safe,” he whines and your fear fizzles. Because even though he’s mass shifted and still much bigger than you are, he’s cowering. Like he thinks you might hit him. Blowing out a breath, you fix your shirt with trembling hands. Want to yell at him to get out of your bed, but he’s got his antenna flattened back as he cringes. Like he’s used to being hit. Expects it. Exhaling slowly, you’re not awake enough for this. What time even is it?

• “I’m not going to hurt you,” you mutter, but you look unhappy with him. Like he did the wrong thing again. Just wanted to be with you. To feel safe. To be where he’s wanted and you always touch him so gently. Smile at him sometimes, too like he doesn’t bother you just by existing. Like you don’t mind being around him. ‘Waspinator can stay?’ He asks hopefully and you blow out a breath as you eye him and his mandibles flex.

• How are you supposed to say no when he’s staring at you like that, his optics wide and innocent as his wings flick. “Okay,” you say and he’s immediately crawling closer to lay his head in your lap and curl an arm around you. Tensing, you stare at him as he rumbles, the low thrumming sound spilling into you. And you’re not sure how to feel about this. Almost certain you should tell him to scoot over and give you some personal space as an antenna slides against your stomach to make you shiver. Reluctantly touching his head, that rumbling shifts into a rough crooning.

• You’re going to run. They always do, him and Tarantulas banding together to try and find a willing human but quickly realizing they’re too alien. If other Cybertronians can’t accept them, why would anyone? Wings drooping as you looking from him to Tarantulas, Waspinator almost whines, antenna flattening back. Humans always acting just like Cybertronians. Like there’s something wrong with them. That they’re wrong, but you reach to tuck your hair behind an ear, flashing a nervous smile. “Spider and a wasp, right? That’s pretty cool. Different,” you say and Tarantulas settles a hand hesitantly against the small of your back. And you don’t flinch.

• “Different can be exciting,” Tarantulas coaxes, hating that he’s still hopeful after being turned down so many times. “If you’re a bit adventurous. I’m Tarantulas and my nervous friend is Waspinator.” And you relax slightly, not backing away from his touch. “Maybe you’d like to share a drink?” Or a room. Doesn’t want to push immediately though, because you’re the first human to meet his stare, to not shudder and back away. So tired of being alone. Of falling in love and being betrayed, but you wouldn’t betray him. Run from him. You’re so small, he’d be able to keep you.

• These guys are big like all of the aliens, the spider the bigger of the two and those extra limbs of his are dancing around him as his buddy’s, Waspinator’s, wings buzz. You’d come here to try something new, to have a once in a lifetime experience. To be able to mark it off that bucket list. “Or,” you say nervously. “We could get a room and get to know each other?” Because just once, you want to live vicariously, to be brave instead of shy.

• Wings flicking as you reach out and lay a soft hand on his arm, Waspinator can’t tear his optics from you. Choosing him? Them? They can keep you? “I’ll grab a token,” Tarantulas growls, hurrying away, lifting up onto his extra longs and making people back away and Waspinator reaches to touch your hair, back of his servo sliding against your soft cheek. Unable to really believe you’re choosing him. No one ever chooses him. And he steps closer, biolights pulsing for you, wings flaring. Hooking an arm around you and dragging you into him, mandibles brushing your neck on a whine as he pulls the scent off you deep into himself. And you wrap your legs around his waist when he lifts you. Letting him touch.

• Amused as Waspinator moves against you, Tarantulas own biolights flare when he returns with a token. Had almost given up hope of finding a willing mate. Slipping up behind you, his servos slide over your hips, pinning you between Waspinator and himself. Allying with the submissive little mech has been purely strategic, anyone willing to look past one of their appearances, might also accept the other. And Waspinator’s so broken and eager to please, the smaller mech isn’t as intimidating as he is. Using him to try and find a partner a stroke of brilliance. “I have a room,” he growls, hips rocking against you and you make a soft, needy sound that goes straight through him to his spike. Right before one of the nosy Autobots starts growling to not frag on the floor and he and Waspinator both hiss.

• Laughing at how offended they both get at the other mech for interrupting, you let Waspinator carry you as Tarantulas leads the way. Hands sliding against you, mandibles brushing you as they stumble to a room, getting distracted a few times, but finally making it inside. “Waspinator needs,” he whines, when you push at his chassis. Trying to get down to strip. “Don’t leave.” And he’s so desperate, you go up on tiptoe to brush a kiss against his mandible.

• “I’m just stripping,” you reassure him and Waspinator reaches to touch his mandible with a wondering ‘kiss.’ Because no one kisses him, no one touches him, except to hit him. Watching you peel off layers of coverings, he releases his spike with a whine. And you flush when you glance at him, but then Tarantulas pushes past him as you hesitate, his extra limbs spreading slightly.

• “If I may?” He growls, asking instead of just taking as his spike aches and you look up at him with uncertain eyes, but choose to trust him and his spark aches with it as he hooks his arms under you, lifting your naked body into the air, glancing at Waspinator to gauge the height and beginning to web you. He’s dreamed of this, webbing a partner like prey to get easy access to them and his extra limbs carefully wrap your waist, your thighs, and torso. So you’re hanging from the ceiling, thighs spread. “Lovely.” Clawed servos sliding against you as Waspinator circles and kneels between your thighs.

• Heart racing, hanging there helpless, you feel Waspinator vent against you, warm air fanning you before his mandibles brush you, spreading. And his inner mouth is on you, making you arch as his glossa tunnels inside you again and again. Trembling as the other one settles himself on the plush bed you’re apparently not going to use, releasing his spike and the plating underneath and his visor brightens as he fists his spike in one hand and dips a clawed servo inside himself, pumping lazily.

• Tasting you, scenting you, his little mate. Doesn’t even mind sharing with Tarantulas, the bigger mech a better fighter, bolder and more capable of defending you. Guarding their hive. Glossa tunneling inside your wet heat as you buck against his mouth, swinging slightly from Tarantulas’s web, moaning his name. You’re going to be such a good carrier for them, a soft, warm loving mate. So eager, his spike is beading with slick, already close to overload just from your taste.

• Jerking his spike as he pumps his servos inside his valve, he watches you tremble against Waspinator’s mouth. And you’re definitely what he’s been hunting for. A mate who’ll love him. Who’ll stay. He’ll just convince you and if he can’t, it’s not like you can escape them both. Groaning as you cry out with your release, his hips buck. Too needy and sensitive as he overloads, slipping his slick servos free with a shudder and sliding them through the mess he made, as he pushes off the berth and approaches you two.

• Trembling as Tarantulas kneels behind you and his slippery servos slide against you there, slicking you with his release before pressing a servo inside you there to make you arch. “Waspinator, come here,” he growls and the other mech crawls over on all fours, wings brushing your legs. Hanging there as Tarantulas growls something to him, you feel Waspinator move at your back before Tarantulas comes around you, his spike still erect.

• Releasing his spike and sliding against you, pressing against you to make you whimper, Waspinator grits his sharp denta. Slowly. Very slowly, Tarantulas said. Aware of the other mech standing in front of you. Burying his own spike inside you. And he keeps rocking against you, hearing you whimper as you take Tarantulas’s spike, the bigger mech trembling, but waiting and you finally relax enough he can claim you so you’re pinned between them both. “Slow,” he growls to remind himself, hips shallowly rocking and Tarantulas begins to move against you. And you’re arching between them on a whining moan. ‘I’ve decided we’re keeping you,’ Tarantulas says as your head falls back against Waspinator’s shoulder, moaning incoherently. The bigger mech getting rougher with you, hips pumping. Keeping you? His now? A little mate. Mandibles brushing the back of your neck, Waspinator shifts his plating and snares you in his spark, eager to claim you, spark you. And Tarantulas follows his lead, snaring you in his own spark as you cry out, overwhelming you, coaxing and demanding you accept them both and you’re trembling as you come apart between them.

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