After the Megarod chapter in MA, could I get some more Megarod valveplug? Doesnât have to be MA, I just ADORE how you write them!
Aaaahh thank you đđ
I've spent days trying to figure out what to write without actually starting another long ass angsty slow-burn (I just love them way too much uugghh) and this is what came out.
MINORS DONâT READ THIS THANK YOU
The Lost Light hummed softly through the void, its engines providing a constant lullaby. But inside the private quarters of its most infamous passenger, the silence carried a very different kind of tension.
Megatron sat in his chair, a datapad resting in his servos, the soft glow of the screen casting sharp shadows across his features.
Yet his attention wasn't on the text before him; it was on the door.
He knew Rodimus would come.
The door slid open without so much as a chime and Rodimus strode in, all warm colors and restless energy, his frame taut with something that wasn't quite anger.
âYou know,â Megatron said without looking up. âMost mechs knock.â
âI'm not most mechs.â
Rodimus's voice cracked like a whip. He crossed the room in three long strides, planted himself between Megatron's knees, and snatched the datapad from his servos.
âAnd you knew I was coming.â
Only then did Megatron lift his gaze to meet those blazing blue optics. A slow, dangerous smile curved his dermas.
âI always know when you're coming, Rodimus.â
The double entendre hung in the air, thick enough to choke on.
âShut up.â Rodimus's servos trembled where they gripped the arms of Megatron's chair.
âJust shut up and let me-â
He leaned down and crashed their mouths together.
Denta clashed. Glossae dueled. Rodimus poured every ounce of his frustration, his desire, his desperate need into the fierce, reckless assault, and Megatron accepted it.
He absorbed every bite, every shove, every ounce of fury Rodimus hurled at him without offering any resistance, allowing the younger mech to burn through his anger against his mouth.
Only then did he draw back, just enough for his voice to brush against Rodimus's dermas.
âIf you want something, CaptainâŚâ He rumbled, âyou have to ask for it.â
âI don't have to ask you for anything.â
Rodimus sounded angry, and Megatron no longer questioned why. Somehow, that had simply become the norm between them.
Ever since they had crossed that fine line between common sense and utter recklessness, they had both slipped into these new roles as though neither of them knew how to let go.
Rodimus had fallen into the habit of seeking him out whenever something frustrated him, hurt him, or filled him with rage. It was as if spending the night-cycle with Megatron had become his way of clearing his thoughts before making his next move, of burning away the impulsiveness that constantly threatened to consume him.
Megatron knew it was merely an excuse to come and see him. He knew there was nothing in the universe that could stop Rodimus from making reckless decisions or persuade him to change his mind once it had been made up.
But he had no intention of pointing that out.
If Rodimus wanted to cling to the illusion that he could use Megatron whenever it suited him -or hide behind the excuse that he simply had no control over his emotions- then Megatron would let him.
Partly because those night-cycles allowed him to set aside his own burdens for a while.
And partly because Rodimus was addictive.
âIs that so?â Megatron's servos remained deliberately at his sides. âThen do as you please.â
Rodimus's digits found the seams of Megatron's interface panel, releasing it with a sharp click. Beneath it, his spike was already pressurized; thick and heavy, a weapon built for pleasure.
Rodimus rose slightly as his own array retracted, his valve already slick, betraying his eagerness despite every attempt to appear in control.
He settled into Megatron's lap, straddling those powerful thighs, his spike brushing against Megatron's abdomen.
Positioning himself carefully, he guided the broad head of Megatron's spike against his entrance.
One slow, deliberate push.
Rodimus gasped, his optics fluttering.
The stretch came immediately, intense enough to steal the ventilation from his vents.
Megatron watched him without looking away, his optics fixed on Rodimus's faceplate, committing every fleeting expression to memory.
He lowered himself another fraction, agonizingly slow, each movement demanding another moment to adjust. His valve gripped the thick shaft like a fist, pulsing, squeezing, trying to accommodate the sheer size of him.
When he was finally fully seated, he went still, his forehelm dropping against Megatron's shoulder.
âBeautiful.â Megatron's voice was a dark purr, vibrating through Rodimus's frame. âYou take me so perfectly; just look at you.â
Rodimus lifted his helm, defiance still burning in his optics despite the haze of pleasure clouding them.
âDon't get cocky. I'm the one in control here.â
In answer, Rodimus began to move.
He lifted himself slowly, deliberately, the length of Megatron's spike dragging against his inner walls before lowering himself again with a sharp, broken cry.
He found a rhythm -fast, relentless, almost desperate- chasing something that seemed forever just out of reach.
The room echoed with the dull, wet clang of armor meeting armor, Rodimus's ragged ventilation, and the deep, guttural groans rumbling from Megatron's chassis.
âThis⌠-frag!- this is on my terms.â
Rodimus snarled, even as his movements became increasingly uneven, his control beginning to slip.
Megatron's servos remained curled around the armrests, his digits biting into the metal deeply enough to leave grooves behind.
He let Rodimus play his little game.
He let him bounce on his spike, chase his own pleasure.
He let him pretend he was the one in control.
But his optics never left Rodimus's faceplate.
They followed every tremor, every gasp, every subtle sign that overload was drawing near.
âTell me when you're close.â
âI'm not telling you anything.â
âDefiant to the very end.â
Rodimus's pace quickened. His valve clenched rhythmically around the invading shaft, milking it. His own spike leaking lubricant, aching for release.
âI'm going to overload-â He gasped, the words torn from him against his will. âI'm- I'm going to-â
His frame arched, his optics rolled back, and he screamed, overload ripping through him like a supernova.
His valve convulsed around Megatron's spike, and his own release spilled hot against his co-captainâs stomach.
When it was over, he sagged forward, limp against Megatron, his ventilation ragged, his spark still racing.
For one precious klik, there was peace.
His servos left the armrests and closed around Rodimus's hips.
With effortless strength, he lifted the younger mech before driving him back down in one decisive motion.
Rodimus cried out, the sudden movement sending a violent jolt through his already over sensitized frame.
Megatron rose to his pedes with Rodimus still wrapped around him and turned, pinning him against the nearest wall.
Rodimus's legs locked around his waist, his arms around his neck, clinging as Megatron began to thrust.
The rhythm was different now.
It wasn't Rodimus's frantic, desperate pace; it was deep, measured, devastating. Each stroke drove into him like a piston, hitting depths that made Rodimus see stars.
âYou are mine⌠Captain.â
Megatron growled, his mouth against Rodimus's audial.
âI-â Rodimus's voice broke, the words dissolving into a strangled gasp. âI'm yours.â
âI'm yours- Primus, I'm yours! Frag me- don't stop-â
He pounded into Rodimus with relentless power, each thrust a claim, a brand, a promise.
The wall groaned under the force of their passion.
Megatron's servo closed around Rodimus's spike, stroking it in time with the steady rhythm of his movements.
âGive me another one.â He murmured, his voice low. âI want to feel you come apart.â
The combined sensations were too much.
Rodimus's valve clamped down, and he shattered again, a second overload ripping through him, his release spilling over Megatron's fist.
The sensation triggered Megatron's own peak. He roared, buried to the hilt, and emptied himself in thick transfluid flooding Rodimus's channel, hot and claiming.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
They simply remained there, joined, trembling, their sparks seeming to settle into the same slow, steady rhythm.
At last, Megatron drew back with deliberate care before lifting the exhausted captain into his arms.
He carried him to the berth and laid him down with surprising gentleness.
Rodimus looked up at him through half-lidded optics, a foolishly satisfied smile tugging at his dermas.
âOkay. Maybe you're in charge.â
Megatron settled beside him, curling an arm around his waist and drawing him close.
Rodimus let out a tired huff that almost sounded like a laugh as he nestled against Megatron's chassis.
âDefinitely.â He closed his optics. âBut don't let it go to your helm.â
A faint smile touched Megatron's dermas.
Outside, the Lost Light continued its silent journey through the endless dark.
Megatron knew this peace was borrowed; sooner or later, duty would reclaim them both.
But for one quiet moment, with Rodimus slowly falling into recharge against his chassis, he permitted himself the dangerous thought that perhaps this was what home was supposed to feel like.
