Mechanical menace

In Swerve’s very reasonable and polite opinion, Minimus Ambus worked way too fragging much. Honestly, it was a miracle the poor mech hadn’t deactivated from the sheer amount of stress he put on his own systems. Sure, Minimus had the added strength of the Magnus armor to rely on, but even that had its limit.

And during the few hours he got to relax, he chose to use it by going over lists and forms he had already reread a dozen times on shift instead of appreciating his free time and maybe paying some attention to his very eager sparkmate. Swerve was quite literally laid out on the berth like a snack for crying out loud! He may as well be a full course meal and Minimus was ignoring him in favor of boring paperwork— on his time off!

As a good and loving sparkmate, Swerve simply couldn’t let these injustices stand.

In a calculated move of strategy, Swerve flopped onto Minimius’s side of the berth in front of the mech, crawling up Minimus’s frame and under his occupied servos to rest his chin guard atop the green minibot’s chest, smiling up at him sexily.

In truth, his smile was too wide and goofy to really be considered inherently sexy, but Minimus wasn’t about to mention that and sour the mood. Instead, he pried his optics away from his data pad to meet Swerve’s bright gaze and smile fondly at him.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked, a lilt of uncommon humor in his voice.

“Actually, I think there’s something I can do for you.~”

Raising a brow ridge, Minimus stared at the other. At times— more often than not— Minimus found Swerve an enigma he struggled to fully understand and predict. Even when they started courting, he still couldn’t completely grasp how Swerve thought or how he acted at times. His love of ‘trash human reality TV’ was just one of many oddities Minimus constantly tried to decode to better interact with Swerve, but in all fairness, he supposed Swerve often had to do the same for him too.

“And… what might that be?”

Swerve, ever confounding, slinked back down Minimus’s frame until his faceplate was directly over his codpiece. His goofy smile turned mischievous in a matter of nanoseconds, staring up at the other and waiting for him to take the hint.

Now, Minimus wasn’t dumb. He may be considered socially inept at times, but he wasn’t stupid by any means. He immediately comprehended what Swerve was going for, his fans kicking on before he could stop them and proceeding to embarrass himself further by opening his intake to speak only for a strained squeak to leave him.

“Y-you’re not suggesting what I think…”

Swerve’s expression immediately faltered, his smile wavering as nerves overcame him.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I was just… it was a bad joke— unless you actually wanna do it,” he started rambling the moment his false confidence dropped, “I mean, I’d never make you do anything you don’t want to, but you’ve just… you’ve been working yourself down to the bolts and I wanted to help you, y’know, relax. Properly relax, not just read a buncha data work on your off time, ‘cause you deserve an actual break and I wanted to…”

He petered off.

“I’m rambling again…”

Minimus shook himself out, managing to regain some semblance of balance and gently cupped Swerve’s worried faceplate.

“I don’t mind your rambling,” Minimus assured, resetting his vocalizer properly, “And I wouldn’t mind if you… did whatever it is you wanted to do just now.”

Swerve met his gaze again, brow ridges furrowing slightly.

“I… was suggesting I eat you out,” Swerve explained slowly, seeming confused, “but I’m realizing you might not have understood what I was going for.”

Minimus opened his intake to defend himself, spluttering more than he would like to admit.

“I-I know what you meant, I…” he paused, shame wriggling its way into his frame and making him tense, “I simply never… dove that deeply into such ideas in my younger vorns. I never had the time— or the right partner to try with.”

Behind the visor, Swerve’s optics brightened in surprise, “Wait, you’ve never been eaten out before?”

Minimus suddenly struggled to meet the red minibot’s gaze.

“I… haven’t experienced any form of oral stimulation.”

That response made Swerve’s visor flare brighter for a moment, plating growing noticeably warmer.

“Mims, why didn’t you ever tell me?” Swerve asked giddily, his wide smile returning, “I would’ve fixed that way sooner!”

Minimus blinked, “What?”

“I mean, if you wanna,” Swerve corrected himself quickly, looking sheepish over his own enthusiasm, “I could show you how fun that stuff can be.”

Minimus took a moment to think about the offer, unsure of how to respond without sounding like a clueless new-build.

“If you are amenable to it,” he spoke agonizingly slowly, his processor struggling to string glyphs together, “Perhaps you could… give me a demonstration?”

In that moment, Minimus swore he witnessed Swerve’s higher functions shut off completely.

“Hell yeah! Yes, absolutely! I promise you won’t be disappointed Mims!”

His voice was comically high pitched, excitement spilling from his EM field in waves so strong, Minimus almost worried that it might short circuit the other mech’s frame. Thankfully, that didn’t happen— instead, Swerve immediately leaned down and began leaving a smattering of kisses across the green minibot’s abdomen, thighs, and pelvic plate.

The anxiety curling through his cables slowly started to melt away under his sparkmate’s attention, his normally taut frame gradually relaxing in Swerve’s comforting hold. Minimus could almost forget they were interfacing at all and simply fall into recharge had Swerve not startled him by leaving a firm kiss directly on top of his valve panel. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed again with a sigh as the kisses grew familiar rather than strange.

With an unashamed, open mouthed kiss from Swerve and without any input from Minimus himself, his panel snapped aside and revealed his awakening valve. Reverently, Swerve vented and for a moment, Minimus could have sworn he heard the metallurgist mumbling a thankful prayer to Primus. He wasn’t entirely sure as to why, but he felt flattered nonetheless.

His mildly confused endearment was cut short by a sharp gasp, frame jolting as Swerve placed a kiss directly against his exposed valve.

“Beautiful, fragging beautiful,” the mech between his stabilizers whispered, barely audible over the sudden uptick in Minimus’s fans, “Slag it all, you’re fragging gorgeous. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this with you?”

He wasn’t given the chance to answer as Swerve licked a stripe from entrance to the apex of his protective valve folds, heaving a hot vent over his anterior node and pulling a whine from deep within Minimus’s chassis.

“Swerve, please…”

He wasn’t even sure what he was pleading for, but he knew deep in his spark that he wanted— that he needed— more. Thankfully, Swerve was too enthused about his current mission to make the former enforcer truly beg for anything.

In fact, Swerve seemed to be finding just as much pleasure in this as Minimus was.

Minimus was thrown from his thoughts when the bartender did something incredible with his glossa and tore a moan from him, slapping a servo over his intake to quiet himself to a more acceptable level.

“Don’t, please,” Swerve pulled away just enough to stare up at the green minibot with an utterly pathetic look, “I wanna hear you— wanna hear every sound you make. I want to know I’m doing a good job, please.”

Primus, his pleading optics made him look like a sad organic creature and it did something strange to Minimus’s internals. Obligingly, he tore his hand away and clenched both servos against the berth covers, helm falling back as Swerve messily kissed the insides of his thighs in approval.

Though it didn’t take long for Swerve to return to focusing on his goal and when he did, it was with a fervor Minimius couldn’t recall ever seeing from him. It was certainly a surprise, sending the SIC into a fit of moans and gasps that grew louder with every swipe of Swerve’s glossa.

With every new trick Swerve tried, he did his level best to track Minimus’s noises and use the new information he gathered to best please the other. Dipping his glossa past Minimus’s very first set of calipers would earn a long, whiny groan while drawing mindless glyphs against his blinking anterior node made the green mech’s voice pitch higher than ever. His vocalizer, normally even and controlled, was now swamped with static and spitting nothing but wordless sounds of pleasure that were becoming almost animalistic in nature.

“S— ah!” Minimus tried to collect what little coherent thought he had left, “Swerve! Cl— oh oh! I’m- nghah!”

Despite his inability to properly convey what he wanted to say, Swerve seemed to get the basic gist at least. He hummed directly against Minimus’s entrance port, coaxing a loud cry from him, before pulling away with a lewd smack.

“Tha’s it Mims,” his vocalizer skipped and seemed to be struggling just as badly, “Ov’rload for me, it’s alright.”

Before Minimus could argue about that, Swerve gripped his hips firmly and began really ravishing his sparkmate. With his charge climbing unbearably high and unsure of what else to do to ground himself, Minimus grabbed onto Swerve’s cowl and arched his spinal strut, practically wailing with the sheer force of the electrical discharge that suddenly overtook his systems. Punched moans and wheezing cries escaped him as Swerve continued lapping and sucking at his valve, drawing the overload out far longer than Minimus was used to.

It was so much, straddling the line of too much for his sensor suite, yet somehow his whole frame screamed for more still.

But eventually, after a long klik of coasting through the strongest of the release of charge, the stimulation to his equipment became nearly painful and Minimus had to grab Swerve’s helm to signal him to stop. The red minibot parted from him reluctantly, leaving one last soft kiss to his aching node, and rested his chin atop Minimus’s abdomen to catch his vents.

It took a long minute to recover, slowly coming down from the clouds of overload and lifting his helm to look down at his sparkmate to make sure he was okay too. Judging from his adoring expression, Swerve was more than alright regardless of not having overloaded himself. Despite the pinkish lubricant making a mess of his lower faceplate, he appeared entirely content.

“That was…” Minimus panted out, vocalizer still corrupted from strain.

“Good? Bad? You can tell me if it was bad, I don’t mind,” Swerve blurted out, the insecurity from before rearing its ugly head.

Minimus glanced down his own trembling frame at his sparkmate, giving a weak chuckle that was more air than sound, and guided Swerve up to meet optic to optic in order to properly kiss away the metallurgist’s worries. In doing so, Minimus tasted himself on the other’s glossa and it likely shouldn’t have revved his engine like it did, but he couldn’t find the energy to care.

When they finally parted, Minimus kept ahold of the back of Swerve’s cowl to force the nerve-riddled mech to look directly at him as he spoke.

“That was fantastic, Swerve. It was… much better than I had ever imagined,” he admitted quietly, kissing his sparkmate’s nasal ridge to accentuate his appreciation, “Perhaps we could do this again? Or maybe you can show me how to try that on you next time?”

“What the hell do you mean stuck?!”

Megatron had already dampened his audio receptors in preparation for Rodimus’s usual volume while interfacing, but clearly his indignant wrath was miraculously louder.

“Would you calm down.”

“Calm d- no!” Rodimus glared up at him, which was likely the only thing he could do with tons of war frame pinning him to the berth, “I will not calm down! What do you mean you’re stuck? How does a mech get stuck while interfacing?!”

Megatron stifled the world-weary sigh that threatened to escape and kept his servos planted against the berth on either side of Rodimus, not looking to accidentally crush the young Prime— no matter how loud or dramatic he tended to be.

“Hello? Am I gonna get an answer?” Rodimus interrupted his thoughts much like he always did, “Do not tell me we have to call a medic— Ratchet might finally laugh at something and I don’t wanna be the subject of that kind of humiliation.”

“You rarely have a problem with humiliation in berth…” Megatron mumbled as he tried to pull out again, hiding a wince when his hip socket creaked and pain flared sharply through his neural net like a tiny scalpel.

“I refuse to be laughed at by Ratchet of all mecha then have to suffer through a lecture about safe interfacing from First Aid,” Rodimus corrected with a scoff as if it was obvious, “Not to mention, Drift would never let me live it down either.”

“I was under the impression that you didn’t care about what others thought of you.”

Rodimus glared at him harder, threatening to set the larger mech aflame with his mind alone.

“Quit changing the subject! How the frag are you stuck?”

Megatron ignored him for another moment as he attempted to unlock his aching joint, then immediately stopped when his hud spat an angry warning at him. He sighed, frustrated at his own scarred, multi-reformatted frame and its plethora of issues. Were Megatron a more comedic mech, he might have laughed at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

As it stood though, he would rather not be dealing with this problem right at this moment. And he certainly didn’t want Rodimus to be witness to one of his physically weaker moments.

“My rotary actuator locked up,” he reluctantly admitted, “It’s happened before; I simply need to relax for a klik and it will pass.”

Rodimus spluttered, “Relax? Oh sure, you’re housing deep in my internals in the middle of a good frag— I’m sure it’ll be easy to relax.”

“If you could do more than be unnecessarily sarcastic in a situation that doesn’t call for it, that would be appreciated.”

“What exactly do you want me to do right now? If you can’t move, there’s no way in hell I can either!”

For once, Megatron could partially agree with the flamboyant speedster. Unfortunately, with all his gesturing and shouting, his valve continued to entice him to restart what he had began but couldn’t finish.

With a chassis deep sigh of resignation, Megatron gently laid himself across Rodimus’s front, letting his helm rest between the other’s shoulder and helm within the crook of his neck. Rodimus, for once, went completely silent and still, as if he were a prey animal waiting to be pounced upon.

“What… are you doing?”

Megatron grunted as he manually forced his back strut and lower joints to release the pressure built up over the past few decacycles, “What does it look like, Rodimus.”

“It looks like you’re…” he paused, servos hovering a few inches away from Megatron’s shoulders.

Megatron hummed, urging the smaller mech on halfheartedly. He didn’t particularly care what Rodimus thought he was doing at the moment, but watching the speedster’s rapid processor screech to a halt in real time was more than a little entertaining to witness. After a short klik of saving the image of Rodimus’s humerously confused face to his deeper memory banks, Megatron closed his optics to better focus on his frame.

He just needed a moment of calm to unlock his rotary actuator and it would be fine.

“Never took you for a snuggler, Megs.”

Megatron immediately snapped upright, only to regret it instantly as a resounding pop came from his lower spinal strut and tore a pained yelp from the massive mech. He fell on top of Rodimus, doing his best to not crush the speedster, but didn’t manage very well as he punched the air from Rodimus’s vents with a wheeze.

“Rodimus!” Megatron hissed, voice strained.

“What? What did I do that time?!” Rodimus grunted, smacking Megatron’s upper back in a vain attempt to get him off, “Frag, you’re heavy!”

Megatron tried to at least lift himself slightly to properly glare at the smaller mech, but found his entire back now locked up and creaking from any effort to stand upright. His frame went cold as he realized he was well and truly stuck in place.

“Slag it all- get up! You’re crushing my spoiler!”

“I… can’t.”

“Like pit you-“

“Rodimus, my spinal struts just locked up,” he snapped at his co-captain before the dramatic mech could start yelling, “I can’t move.”

That finally got Rodimus to shut up— if only for a few tense seconds.

“You’re joking,” he mumbled in disbelief, “Please tell me this is your idea of a joke.”

“Rodimus, I hardly ever joke under ideal circumstances. What makes you think I may be joking at this very moment?”

Rodimus groaned long and loud, “Primus nooooooo. We can’t call a medic for this— I refuse!”

“For once, I’m in agreement,” Megatron admitted quietly.

Unless he was actively dying, Megatron absolutely would not accept help from an Autobot medic— especially not if said medic was Ratchet. As much as he respected the mech and his incredible medical knowledge and experience, the ambulance simply held too much vitriol towards him and Megatron completely understood why. And as entertaining as it would be to listen to Rodimus suffer through an infamous dressing down from The Hatchet, Megatron also knew that Ratchet would immediately turn around and do the same to him once he was through with the speedster.

As it stood, neither captain wanted to experience such a painful fate, so they would simply have to deal with the problem on their own… somehow.

Rodimus groaned behind his hands before they smacked back into the berth and he sighed heavily.

“Tell me it’s just a regular joint lock and not some messed up permanent frame freeze or something.”

Megatron rolled his optics, “It’s temporary— I simply need to stay still and force my struts to release their tension. Usually, it only happens to my digits or knees, but I suppose all this… rigorous exercise while interfacing has strained my frame more than I originally thought.”

“So how long will that take?” Rodimus turned his helm, “Don’t be hours, please don’t be hours.”

“Not terribly long. When it comes to larger spasms like this, I’m usually back to full functionality in about a joor.”

“Three hours?!” Rodimus yelled almost directly into Megatron’s audial as if the giant mech hadn’t once been the most feared being in the universe, “We’re gonna be stuck like this for three hours and neither of us can even get off?!”

“Oh, calm down! A joor isn’t that long.”

Rodimus groaned yet again, more petulantly this time, and glared up at the ex-warlord.

“Can’t believe the best frag I’ve had in a while is so old that his joints randomly lock up.”

Megatron felt one of his optics twitch in annoyance, “It’s not a matter of age, Rodimus. These spasms happen because of the numerous reformats I’ve endured and the countless scars across my frame.”

Rodimus blew a gross sound with his glossa that Megatron didn’t truly recognize the origin of, “Yeah, that’s what an outdated mech would say.”

Deciding that arguing further wouldn’t help anything and would simply make the situation more awkward, Megatron chose to be the metaphorically bigger mech and ignored the blatant bait. Instead, he settled in somewhat comfortably and tried not to hiss when the stuck hip that had started this debacle gave a twinge of pain. He hadn’t been discreet enough apparently as Rodimus rolled his optics and lifted his servos again.

“If it’s just a joint lock issue, I can try something that might help,” he offered aloofly, but of course had to continue on, “I mean, if an old, cranky mech like you will let me.”

Megatron sighed a world weary sound, “You are insufferable.”

“You want help or not?”

After a klik of thought, he acquiesced with a grunt and felt small servos immediately begin wandering across his sides until they reached his hips.

“Which one’s the problem?”

“Left hip connector,” Megatron stifled a wince at the thin digits pressing against sore cables, “In my transformation seam.”

Rodimus, to his credit, only hummed in response, carefully digging a few digits between his plating to search for the source of the problem. He found it fairly quickly, confirmed by a low-pitched whine from Megatron’s turbines. To properly assist, Rodimus let his outlier ability activate— very minutely— and radiate from his servos against the sore spot. The reaction was instant; Megatron pulled in a sudden invent then sighed shakily, his vents releasing the air he hadn’t been intentionally holding in.

“What are you-?”

“It’s something I used to do for my friends whenever someone had strained a strut,” Rodimus explained curtly, uncharacteristically focused, “Now shoosh unless I hurt you.”

Megatron huffed a noise, “I doubt a slightly heightened temperature is what will do me in after all these-“

He was interrupted by a groan that escaped him, the ache in his hip intensifying for a second before relaxing. After only a short klik of the warm touch, Megatron felt the exact moment his actuator relaxed even before the hiss of releasing pressure. With a groan of light relief, he tested the joint, finding the sharp pain from before now only a barely noticeable throb in his sensory net.

“See? I know what I’m doing.”

Megatron hummed, “Yes, a plan of yours didn’t spiral out of proportion for once.”

“You know, you make it real hard to want to help you,” Rodimus snarked back, falling back into their usual routine now that Megatron had lifted just a little weight off of the speedster, “You want me to fix your back or not, old mech?”

“Either you assist or we’ll be stuck here for the rest of the joor,” Megatron pointed out, “I suppose it’s your choice.”

Rodimus grumbled something rude but continued slowly working his servos up to the larger mech’s lower back strut, following Megatron’s spinal column until he made a stifled noise of discomfort, to which Rodimus began massaging the affected area. The warmth from his hands increased only slightly, but it was very noticeable— as was Megatron’s reaction to it. He groaned— loud— and just barely stopped his elbows from buckling. His helm crest tapped Rodimus’s chassis lightly, Megatron’s pinched expression slowly lessening as the pain faded away.

Despite his earlier taunting, Rodimus was actually very good at this. It was simultaneously fortunate and unfortunate for Megatron because even though it was directly helping, he knew Rodimus would be unbearable about the situation later.

Finally, with one last creak of protest, his spinal struts released and the relief was instantaneous. Megatron groaned long and low, his engine reaching a purring idle now that his systems weren’t so stressed. He let his helm remain resting upon Rodimus’s chest for a moment longer, regaining his bearings before he fully sat up.

“Thank Primus,” Rodimus mumbled, sitting up with his co-captain and stretching the ache out of his stiff shoulders, “I don’t know how much longer I could’ve lasted before my spoiler snapped.”

Megatron, in lieu of a response, hissed in through his vents as he also stretched, focusing on his back and hips. As he did so, his spike finally slipped from the other’s valve, unsatisfied but unwilling to try again after such a prolonged pause. Rodimus, of course, whined about this.

“Oh c’mon,” he glared at Megatron’s closing spike housing as if that would coax his equipment back out, “All that and I don’t get an overload?”

Megatron sighed, then slowly laid himself down on the recharge slab.

“You’re still aroused after that disaster?”

Rodimus scoffed, “Duh. It’s almost like I had a spike stuffed up my valve for almost an hour and couldn’t do anything about it.”

Regardless of his complaints, the speedster seemed just as tired and dissatisfied as his partner, flopping back into the berth on his side and very pointedly facing away from Megatron. The petulance would almost be endearing were it not for the fact that Rodimus could, in fact, hold a true grudge when he put his spark into it. Either Megatron would have to apologize for something that was largely out of his own control or he’d have to think of a distraction. Quickly.

With a deep invent, the gunmetal grey mech smoothly rolled behind Rodimus and carefully wrapped his large servos around the speedster’s trim waist, giving the other plenty of slack to escape if he so chose. And yet, after just a short breath of tense silence, Rodimus relaxed tremendously and sighed louder than he needed to.

“Primus, I hate you and your stupidly successful manipulation tactics.”

Megatron huffed a vague laugh, bringing the smaller mech in closer so he could leave a lingering kiss on the top of his pointy helm, “Yes, I’m aware. You certainly don’t make things easy either.”

They could pick up where they left off tomorrow— with how long this quest was turning out to be, they would likely have quite a few more ‘tomorrows’ before the spark-crushing pit at the end of the road.

Sideswipe was notorious for his brashness, taunting, and tendency to dive helm first into every fight he could find— often to his own detriment and those around him. He wasn’t the type to sit still or take orders without at least leaving a snarky comment in his wake. He was loud, fast, and a bit arrogant, which only seemed to be complimented by his flashy alt mode and weapons choice.

One paradoxical thing about him, however, was how much he enjoyed being bossed around. Specifically by pretty femmes who could effectively wrestle him into submission and verbally tease him right back. He loathed to admit it out loud, but it made his engine rev like only racing usually could.

Windblade and Strongarm finding out about this had to have been simultaneously one of the worst and best things to ever happen to him.

Sideswipe moaned quietly as Windblade’s digits traced swirls all across his heated chassis, teasing in a way that was quickly driving him mad.

“Windyyyyyyy,” he whined, fighting against the stasis cuffs on his wrists behind his back and the spreader bar between his knees, “C’mon, it’s been hours now! Let me overlo-oooooh…”

A long moan cut him off, hips bucking without his input when those slim digits slid down to his exposed array and continued toying with his valve. At this point, his entire array was throbbing in time with the rapid pulse of his spark and the arousal was becoming almost painful.

“Actually, it’s barely been an hour,” Strongarm so helpfully corrected, smirking down at him, “But that’s certainly a record for you, I’m sure.”

He opened his intake to retort, bantering like the two always did, only for the police bot to sneak a gag behind his denta and snap it into place with an ominous click. That didn’t completely stop him from filing a complaint though, fixing an indignant grunt and pointed glare on Strongarm in retaliation. It didn’t last long as Windblade circled his anterior node and made his entire lower body tense in pleasure.

“There. I’d say you’re prepped enough,” the jet smiled slyly down at Sideswipe, walking her messy digits up his abdomen and chassis until she reached the newly placed gag, “What’d’you think, ‘slick’?”

As if messing up his fresh wax and polish wasn’t enough, she spread his own lubricant across his derma, letting the scent of his arousal enter his olfactory sensors. He couldn’t stop the rev of his high powered engine or the sudden spike in temperature within his internal systems. He wiggled, turning his helm defiantly only to be met with Strongarm’s firm servo forcing him to look them in the optics.

“Oh, he’s ready alright,” the police bot assured on his behalf with a lighted hearted roll of the optics, an uncharacteristically mischievous smirk gracing her faceplate, “He’s been spacey and all over the place since we talked about this a few cycles ago.~”

Optics flared wide in embarrassment at being exposed like that, he yelled behind the gag, making his displeasure at such a betrayal very well known. He even thrashed a little to get the point across, though it didn’t really do much beyond scraping the paint on his wrists.

He was stilled by the soft yet steady servo of Windblade, who chuckled mirthfully. ‘Sparks sake, that sound by itself shouldn’t have made his neglected spike twitch so hard.

“Oh really?” she raised an optic ridge, leaning down so her faceplate was mere inches from his own, “Good to know.~”

Despite having been the one to nervously suggest this whole thing and how he was definitely getting off to it, he was beginning to slightly regret giving the two so much power over him. He liked being able to move freely and give just as much slag back, but the prospect of being forced to sit still and look pretty for someone else’s enjoyment piqued the interest of the small masochistic part of himself he had supposedly left behind with his criminal record.

With a chaste kiss on his nasal ridge to tickle his sensors, Windblade and Strongarm glanced at each other and switched places, the jet sitting back on her heel struts above his helm and the police bot making her way between his stabilizers. Oddly enough, despite Strongarm’s blunt digits, she knew how to be incredibly gentle with them, lightly caressing up and down his thigh guards to entice his legs to fall open further. At the same time, Windblade massaged at his jaw hinges and temples to guide him further into a relaxed position.

Groaning quietly, Sideswipe let his helm fall back and his optics shutter as the touches lulled him into a strange sense of security in spite of the constricting circumstances. Normally, he hated being stuck in stasis cuffs and unable to transform and drive away at a moment’s notice, but now, it got a completely new reaction from his frame as they continued coaxing small noises from him.

He was brought out of it by a rhythmic tap to his forehelm and he opened his optics to meet Windblade’s sultry gaze. He glanced off to the side, catching sight of the thick, dark mesh cloth dangling in her grasp. His entire frame immediately tensed back up at the sight of it, his intake suddenly going dry. Windblade seemed to catch his change in energy just as quickly as it happened, her free servo rubbing reassuring shapes into his chassis.

“We don’t have to use the blindfold if you aren’t up for it,” she reminded quietly, giving him an out.

Sideswipe, unfortunately though expectedly, didn’t accept the offer. He was never one to back down from a challenge.

:.What, afraid I’ll fall asleep on you two?.: he joked, though his tone wasn’t nearly as aloof as he tried to make it sound, :.I can handle anything you throw at me.:

Windblade, though unconvinced, obliged and carefully tied the blindfold in place. Darkness overtook his visual field, leaving him with only a few of his other senses to go off of. Sure, the sensor suite imbedded throughout his whole frame still gave him some data to work with, but it wasn’t nearly as direct or precise as his optics.

He forced a deep vent through his frame, trying to get his struts and pistons to relax like they had before, but it was much more of a struggle now. As he tried his best to remain lax, his partners continued their ministrations, peppering in a few kisses here and there to encourage the noises from before. But they didn’t come— in fact, the only noises he was making were strained and almost silent, his vocalizer shorting out as the darkness enveloping his vision somehow grew darker.

His chassis tightened, vents whining as they struggled inexplicably against the stress flooding his systems. No matter what he tried, his frame refused to listen, instead becoming more and more uncontrollable in his growing discomfort and fear. His servos fought against the stasis cuffs to no avail, clinking but not budging despite his growing hysterics.

“Sideswipe?” he heard Strongarm call out to him from a great distance, “What’s wrong?”

He opened his intake only to find it blocked, which hadn’t been a problem at all before but now it simply added to the ongoing fight with himself. He whimpered behind the gag regardless, hoping his partners would get the hint and at least remove the blindfold.

“Slick?”

He arched off the berth, a high whine escaping him as he began writhing in a desperate attempt to escape the constricting darkness. Finally biting the bullet, he resorted to comms.

:.RED.:

:.Get it off get it off get it off!.:

In a frenzy, Windblade tore the blindfold off with a loud rip, blinding Sideswipe for a moment but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Relief washed over him as his vision returned, a choked sob escaping him as his vents heaved. At this point, he didn’t even care how pathetic he sounded as his systems cycled down from the minor panic attack he’d just experienced.

He could vaguely make out his partner’s voices speaking to him, hushed and as calm as possible, but he couldn’t quite make out the exact words they were saying until he had manually forced his processor to slow down.

“Sideswipe?” Strongarm caught his attention, voice uncharacteristically soft as she leaned over him to meet his optics.

After another long klik, he finally managed to focus long enough to respond.

:.I thought… I could handle it.:

The admission was so hesitant, so vulnerable, he almost instantly regretted saying it. Luckily, he didn’t have to feel that way for long.

“Easy slick,” Windblade assured, a hand slowly petting his faceplate to help calm him, “If you want to stop, we’ll stop.”

“Did the blindfold make you claustrophobic?” Strongarm asked with uncommon gentleness, “You mentioned once before that small places make you feel… trapped.”

Sideswipe, not wanting to outright confirm such a fear, turned his helm into Windblade’s hand.

“Would you like to stop?”

:.It was just the blindfold that was the problem.: he explained, vulnerability still bleeding into his EM field despite his best efforts, :.I wanna keep going.:

His partners hesitated, sharing a look with each other. He was starting to hate when they did that because he swore they were somehow speaking a silent language no one else knew— and he wasn’t in on it.

“If you’re sure,” Windblade leaned down, her faceplate a single ventilation away from his derma, “We have all night.~”

Sideswipe, expecting some semblance of a kiss, tried his best to lift his helm and meet her halfway. Instead, Windblade smirked devilishly, grabbed the back of Strongarm’s helm, and crashed their derma together. Both Sideswipe and Strongarm were left surprised, but the police bot quickly melted into it, bringing a servo up to cup Windblade’s face and guide their kiss deeper.

Before coming to Earth and finding long-term partners, Sideswipe likely would never have understood the appeal of kissing. Thank the Primes he understood now!

Unfortunately, he preferred being the one kissed rather than being forced to just watch, spectating his partners as they slotted together perfectly. He whined for their attention, wriggling slightly. It didn’t work however, the two femmes instead becoming sloppy and making noises specifically to tease him. Arching his spinal strut, he pleaded to them with his optics, trying everything he could to get their servos and derma back on his frame.

Despite all his enticing efforts, the two continued to ignore him— and damn it all, if it didn’t rev his engine in a pleasantly weird way. This was definitely something he was going to think about before recharging, that’s for sure.

Finally, the two separated slowly, leaving a lingering peck or two as they did just to rub it in further. Primus sake, he wanted to join so bad and yet another part of him wanted them to completely ignore him and just go at it.

“Enjoying yourself, punk?~”

He couldn’t stop the high whine of his fans spinning faster, biting into the gag to hopefully muffle his vocalizer at least. In all his functioning, he’d never felt so conflicted and aroused at the same time.

“Don’t worry, we haven’t forgotten about you,” Windblade cooed, both servos caressing slowly up and down his chassis, “Just wanted to have a little fun— you like fun, don’t you?”

Sideswipe nodded eagerly, oral solvent escaping around the gag as he tried to hum an affirmative. The display of desperation made Windblade laugh, which urged Strongarm into a chuckle of her own as she shuffled back between his separated stabilizers until she got comfortable. Her codpiece rubbed lightly against his exposed equipment every time she leaned down to lathe attention across his abdomen, pulling weak noises from him in the process.

He unshuttered his optics— when had he closed them?— at the sound of a soft snik to find Windblade on her knee guards hovering over his faceplate, valve glistening with lubricant and making Sideswipe’s intake water further. He tried to implore her through his field only to be interrupted by Strongarm opening her spike panel. He knew it was her spike panel without looking— her thick equipment brushing between his wet folds was all the confirmation he needed.

“Ready?”

Windblade lifted his helm, unlocking the gag and letting the mech work the ache out of his jaw hinges.

“Forged ready,” he rasped out, never taking his optics off of the prize just barely out of his reach.

That seemed to be all the confirmation Windblade needed. The moment her valve was within reach, he began kissing at her folds and lapping up lubricant, a groan of relief leaving him when he finally managed to kiss her node. A small zap of charge licked at his sensors and it urged him on even as Strongarm slowly sank into his own neglected valve.

“That’s it,” Windblade encouraged him as she ground down on his intake, “Keep at it, slick.”

Sideswipe moaned, more than happy to oblige by an order for once. His moan pitched higher at the end when Strongarm thrust up against his ceiling node, his valve fluttering in response and pulling a soft groan from the cadet.

Between the two femmes, sucking on a pulsing node and a thick spike nestled in his valve, Sideswipe believed he may just offline as the happiest mech in the known universe, which he only believed more strongly when Strongarm’s thrusting hastened and inevitably sent the speedster into an overload that overclocked his ventilation system and made his engine rev almost violently. The rough vibrations from his frame coaxed Strongarm over the edge alongside him with a surprised gasp and urged Windblade to chase her own pleasure harder.

Still high on the crest of an overload, Sideswipe redoubled his efforts in eating the jet out, humming long and low directly against her valve rim the way he knew she liked. And with a shuddering invent, the waves of a soft overload flooded through her systems, leaving her wings trembling. Primus, he wanted to run his servos along the sensitive appendages and let his derma wander all across them.

“Sweet Solus,” Strongarm panted to herself, grabbing a microfiber cloth from her subspace, “As much as I love doing this, I hate the paint transfers. And all the fluids.”

Windblade carefully lifted away from Sideswipe’s faceplate, much to his disappointment, and chuckled knowingly.

“I’m sure it doesn’t help that you don’t have any red in your paint job.”

Strongarm huffed as she wiped away the worst of the mess, deciding she would have to visit the car wash later in order to properly scrub herself down. When she was done with that, she began doing the same for Sideswipe, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet. He was usually like that after a particularly good overload, but it never hurt to make sure.

“You alright Sideswipe?” Strongarm asked as she worked.

“Yeah, yeah, just… give me a klik…”

His vents were still running hot but definitely much quieter than before and he seemed plenty content to let his partner’s deal with the mess. In all fairness though, they weren’t the ones with their servos literally tied behind their backs.

As if reading his mind, Windblade gently knocked on Strongarm’s chassis, to which the police bot opened her subspace and gave no reaction when Windblade reached in and took the key to the cuffs. She helped Sideswipe sit up so she could unlock the restraints, watching him test his wrist joints for a moment, then stored the cuffs and keys in her own subspace for safe keeping. They were only false cuffs, so Strongarm didn’t need to risk mixing them up with her real cuffs.

“Well, now we know what we won’t be doing next time,” Strongarm grimaced at the sodden cloth before pulling out a new one and handing it to Windblade, “I’ll update the sheet.”

Sideswipe groaned, still lying on his back, “Do you always have to make everything boring with lists?”

Strongarm rolled her optics but was interrupted by Windblade before she could retort back.

“It’s important to keep track of these things,” the jet pointed out, “But maybe next time, we can keep you gagged while skeptibot and I have some real fun.~”