D.A.T.'s Chaotic Interests

• “And I appreciate that,” he begins and you can sense the impending ‘but’ coming so you lean to pinch a tiny energon treat in your fingers and hold it out to offer him a bite. Hearing him vent, his optics flick up to you as he reaches to take the goodie. “You understand that I’m not a sparkling, right?” He asks and you flush because you’re pretty sure that means baby from his tone. ‘Of course.’ It’s just that he’s so tiny that you want to baby him. Understanding now why he’s always reaching for you, offering you his hands to carry you even though you’re more than capable of walking.

• Eating a bite of the treat since you’re just staring expectantly at him, he knows you’re trying to help. But it’s hard to just let himself relax. Not when he’s worried about his people and how vulnerable they all are. Though if he’s completely honest with himself, it’s nice to be taken care of. To have someone looking after him. Worrying over him instead of looking to him for answers he doesn’t have. “I know you’re the Prime, but there’s not much you can do right now, right?” You ask and he meets your eyes. “The Decepticons are in the same boat, so there’s probably not much mischief they can get into.”

• “I’m aware,’ he murmurs with a frown as he slowly eats the treat and you bite your lip because he’s even adorable doing that. Know it’s hard for him to not have a clue what’s going on. That he’s a protector and a worrier and you love that about him. Finding a soft plushie, you tuck it in beside him and he just gives you a bemused look when you pull out your phone. Can’t actually post the pic because of all the NDAs you’d signed with the job, but you can share it to the caretaker group chat.

• Feel almost silly now, running to him because you got upset. But you’d wanted him. Needed him. To feel those big hands holding you. The reassuring knowledge that no matter what happens, he’s got you. He’s on your side. Embarrassed as you hide your face against his servos, you inhale shakily. “Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask, your emotions all over the place until you have no idea how to even explain to him why you’re crying. You can barely understand it yourself. ‘You don’t need to ask,’ he murmurs, voice gruff but you know you’re not bothering him. Hope you’re not bothering him.

• Easing down to sit with you cupped in his hands, he brushes a servo against your jaw until you look up. Meet his optics. Knows better than to pry. That if you want to share you will, but most of the time you just bottle it up. Force a smile and pretend you’re okay even as your field gives you away. Has no idea why you have trouble admitting when you need help. Why you think you can’t talk about whatever’s bothering you. But he doesn’t push. Watching you rub the heel of your hand against your cheek under an eye, his spark aches. Wanting to ask you to just talk to him, but worried you’ll go quiet and distant if he does. “It’s cold,” you whisper, face turned away so you’re limned in moonlight. Avoiding his optics.

• Inhaling slowly and willing your racing heart to calm, you relax when he tucks you against the mesh of his neck under his chin. Curling into the heat of him, you wish you could just talk to him. Could admit when you’re not okay. But what if he doesn’t care? You know that’s not what would happen, but that vulnerable doubt is still there. “You know you’re always safe here. That you don’t have to ask permission,” he repeats and you can smell him, metallic and strange. Knuckles brushing against the mesh of his neck, you wonder what he’d say if you admitted that you love him. That’s one more thing that you’re scared to say out loud, though. “Want me to transform so you can stretch out inside me?”

• Rumbling as he shifts on his treads, he idly flexes his excavator scoop while he waits. Before getting bored and stretching out his excavator to try and dig up a weed in your yard. How deep are the roots on these things? Probably not too deep. Except, he feels something snag right as your door finally opens. And you’re standing there on the steps in fuzzy slippers with little animal faces on them, wearing a robe and cradling a cup of coffee in your hands. Can see your knees. Your lower legs. Are you wearing anything under that robe? You have to be. Right? What if you’re not, though.

• “Why are you digging up my yard?” You call out. And it’s way too early to already be this mentally exhausted. Watching his excavator bucket wiggle slightly in the dirt, you raise your eyebrows. “I know that’s you, Power Joe.” Because he’s not fooling anyone. He has to realize that, though. He can’t really think you don’t know it’s him. Is he ignoring you? Striding toward the road as he leans on his treads and his bucket moves, your eyes narrow.

• He’s stuck. And you’re coming this way while frowning at him and this isn’t how he’d imagined this would go. Thought he’d be smooth. Impress you with his strength. His wit. Wait, you’re talking. What did you just say? What is he hung on? “You can’t just keep coming around here. Do you have any idea what Susan down the road is calling me?” You ask and he tugs at his excavator. “She said I’m a-” And he finally tears free, muddy water erupting in a fountain as you fall silent.

• You’re probably going to regret this as much as any booty call come the next morning. Know it. At least with a stranger, you can make a walk of shame escape after. He’s not going to let you have the chance and you know it. Doesn’t want you here, but won’t let you go either. Getting the button undone on your pants, he’s dragging them and your underwear roughly down over your hips, his growling rumbling through you as his mouth slides along your jaw. To your neck to make you shiver. Big hands are lifting you, your back sliding against the wall as you try to kick off your pants since one leg is caught around your ankle. Not that he seems to care.

• You make a startled noise when his spike releases to pressurize, trying to look down between your bodies to see him. And it’s too intimate. Something he doesn’t want you to have. Catching your hands and pinning them over your head, his mouth opens against your throat. Moving against you and almost snarling as the head of his spike slides against you. Free hand palming your butt to keep you where he wants you, his denta grip your shoulder and he stretches you, frame straining. Can’t stop you from hooking your legs around his waist. Or from making a low, needy sound that nearly has him overloading before he’s even fully inside you. Should hate this. The scent of you filling his senses, your slick heat gripping his spike as his hips pump. You’re everything he despises. He’s lost everything because of your kind. But you’d helped him save Rumble. That treacherous thought whispers through him and he hates it. Knows you only did it to save yourself. Made yourself useful to survive. That’s it. You’re treacherous as all of your kind.

• Arching at the feel of him stretching you, his glossa slides against your skin, denta gripping you as his hips snap. And he’s snarling against you, hands almost bruising on your hip. But then, you’d known he wouldn’t be gentle. Because even if he wants your body, he doesn’t like you. Doesn’t want to want you and you understand that completely. This isn’t love. It’s just animal attraction. Fucking. Don’t need to like him for this. Heels digging into his aft as he thrusts, hips rolling, you can feel yourself heating. Feeling every inch of him, every ridge on his spike. Getting close as his fans cycle higher and you groan his name. Feeling him bite a little harder in response, his own noises getting more aggressive.

• Rutting against you as your shoulders and butt bump the wall, he keeps your hands pinned. Away from him, because he’s not sure what he’d do if you touched him right now. Feels out of control already and your field is feeding him your arousal in cresting waves of heat and pleasure until his thrusts are faltering, frame straining. And you cry out. Gasping his name as you tremble and fist him. Driving deep, his hips roll as he overloads, filling you as his helm thumps against the wall beside your head. Unable to get the sound of you crying out his name out of his head as he vents raggedly. Seeing you turn your face away from the corner of his optic. Shunning him as that out of control hunger builds and he realizes he’d lied to himself. That once isn’t going to be nearly enough and he hates you for that, too.