Revel

• You’re so warm. Your skin soft and yielding. Fragile. “And you’re mine, little herald,” he growls, his Terrorcons caressing you. Can feel through them, but it’s muted by how ruined they are. Imperfect things that were created only to serve a purpose, completely different from you. Though creating your kind had been an accident he’d been unaware of. His drones lift you and he wills them to carry you deeper inside him. Every adjustment he’s made to them has been to learn. To figure out how to create something new. Something more alive.

• Unresisting as the swarm carries you into a part of his massive body that you’ve never seen, you’re sweating as the temperature begins to climb. Are you near his core? And the Terrorcons are holding you up, lifting you toward the wall and you tense when it moves. Shifting. A form pulling free to stagger toward you. But this isn’t another terrorcon. Know it on a visceral level as the optics open and his low, rumbling voice sinks into you. “Surrender to me,” Unicron demands, hand reaching out and you stare up at his face, at the wires and cables trailing from this body back into the wall like umbilical cords. Realizing that he made this thing just to touch you. And this is his real face, this is him in a way the drones aren’t.

• Rumbling all around you as you lay a small hand in his palm, his terrorcons crowd you, hands lifting you higher. Closer to him as his spike stirs. “I’m already yours,” you whisper as hands press the softness of your body against his own. That need to create is his antithesis as it hums through him, poisoning him like your scent. Head lowering to meet your eyes, you inhale shakily when one of his Terrorcons slides its head between your thighs to put its mouth on you. And his own mouth presses against your shoulder as you tremble. His Terrorcons’s hands slide against you, tilting you back, supporting your body as he steps between your spread thighs, spike releasing to pressurize. Studying the obscenity of you, he wonders if this is Primus’s influence. If his brother thought you might mellow him, take the edge off his hunger.

• Heart racing as you realize you’re not on the dinner menu, hands and mouths are all over you, the ruined Terrorcons leaving smears of tainted energon on your bare skin as they position you like an offering. And you groan when you feel him rock against you, the blunt head of his spike stroking against you and the slick beading at the head making a mess on your inner thighs before he’s stretching you and you hear and feel the thunderous sound of his rumbling all around you. Toes curling when his hips pump, his optics stare down at you, lips slightly parted as his terrorcons shift restlessly under and around you, holding you in place for him as he claims you.

• “I’m fine. My arms are just aching a bit, though,” you reassure him and he retracts his battle mask. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to take a break?’ He asks, hands cupping your sides and you give him an amused look. “You think I’ll tell you anything?” You demand, smiling faintly and biting your lip. Wanting to keep going apparently. Venting, his servos flex on your hips. ‘Who were you passing Intel to?’ He growls, getting back into character and you scoff. ‘You’re going to give me everything,’ he rumbles as you laugh in his face.

• “You can’t touch me. It goes against your Autobot code,” you counter, smirking up at him as he rumbles dangerously. And if you’re honest with yourself, you’re surprised he’d agreed to this game even if it had been very reluctantly. The big mech still looking worried as he hooks a servo in your pants and pulls them and your underwear down. ‘You sure about that? Who’s your contact? What have you passed along to them?’ He growls, voice roughening to make you shiver because this is such a change up from him handling you like you’re made of glass.

• Cupping your butt to lift you and take the strain off your arms, he releases his spike to pressurize. “Still okay?” He asks softly and your head falls back as you shake with laughter to make him smile in embarrassment. ‘You don’t have to keep checking. This is why we have a safe word, remember?’ You tease and he clears his vents, letting the head of his spike slide against you. “I know,” he murmurs, sinking into your slick heat with a groan and feeling your legs wrap around him. Likes to be sure, though. “Talk,” he growls, giving his voice a hard edge as his hips pump.

• Fingers spearing inside yourself until you’re trembling and gasping, you shiver. Need to wash the aphrodisiac off, because you’re still wound up and it’s frustrating. Maybe you’re a pet? That could be why he broke the collar. You suppose it’d be easier to pretend you’re not sentient if he can’t understand you. And playing pet isn’t that awful, you suppose. Better than being dinner or a toy to play with. Hurriedly moving your hand when he comes back into the room, you’re aware of how slippery your fingers are and the way his attentions dips to land between your thighs as he grimaces, rumbling. Before he’s setting down a giant bowl of water and gesturing at it with a growl. Slowly standing, you try to pretend you’re not embarrassed at getting caught as you head over to your pile of stuff. Have no idea if that’s drinking water or a bath, but you’re going with bath. Bending to find your soaps in the pile of your things he’d made, he snarls softly, turning away. Is he shy? Doubt it since he was in the brothel. Can’t really get a read on him, though as you study his serious frown and find yourself wondering what he looks like smiling. If he ever does. Setting your soap and a towel on the lip of the bowl, you stretch up and try to haul yourself over the edge. Hear him growling behind you before servos cup your butt and nudge you up into the bowl. Head first.

• Plating flared in annoyance at himself for still wanting you, he watches as your head pops up and you sputter, fingers raking at your hair, those strange eyes staring uncertainly at him as you reach for a bottle of what he sincerely hopes is cleanser because you smell far too distracting right now. Satisfied when you squirt some into your hand and start washing yourself, he turns toward the pile of things he’d taken from your rooms. How can one tiny organic need so much stuff? Finding the collar, he uses a servo to rake it to the edge of the counter and into his palm, frowning at how tiny it is. Mass shifting and hauling himself up onto the counter, he sits and studies the collar before producing a datapad as he tries to ignore the dizzy sensation of burning too much energon too quickly. Tapping the datapad into himself before carefully prying open one of the decorative links of your collar, he twitches at a buzz of electricity so strong his spike almost releases and pressurizes again. Rumbling because the thing was trapped, he wonders what that much voltage would have done to you. Probably would have killed you. Can feel you staring at him as he carefully syncs into the chip inside the device, his optics nearly shuttering as he assimilates the data. And your chirping slowly becomes words again. Talking to yourself nervously as you wash. “Take me. I mean, I’ll absolutely take being a pet over being dinner,” you’re saying and he clears his vents in amusement. You think he’s going to eat you? ‘You’re not a pet. Or dinner,’ he mutters, disconnecting from the collar and looking up to find you staring at him.

• That’s your language. Did he download it from the collar? Flustered as you hang onto the side of your bathtub bowl, it’s hard to look away from those red optics. “Good to know,” you say, though it doesn’t give you a clue into what he wants. “Do you have a name?” You ask to hide your own nerves and his servos flex, crushing the collar completely. ‘Megatron,’ he growls, his deep voice sinking into you. ‘What’s yours?’ He asks, surprising you when your patrons never care. Never want to know. Hesitating for a second, you give him your name. And he’s watching you, expression almost predatory. Hungry. Maybe he does want you? “What is it you expect from me? If that’s okay to ask?” Because you feel so off balance. He wants something or he wouldn’t have bought you. Don’t really know the currency exchange rate for his weird, giant coins, but you knew you were going to be working off your debt for years so it was a lot. ‘Nothing. You’re free,’ he mutters, voice roughening to shock you. Eyes burning as you stare at him, you’re afraid to believe him. Maybe he’s just messing with you. Maybe he gets off on lying or playing with people’s emotions. “Why were you in the brothel?” Because he’d seemed interested. You’d been sure of that and then his expression had just closed off suddenly.

• Rumbling as he clears his vents, he studies the warped metal of your collar. Head turning when you try to awkwardly climb out of the bowl, he stands and reaches to help you. And even though he’d known you were soft, he’d been so furious about the collar that he hadn’t really registered it fully. Lifting you out and setting you on your feet, he tries not to look at the alien temptation of your slick skin as his spike pulses behind his modesty plating. Servos barely brushing against your upper arms as you look up at him, he makes himself let go and step back. Anything as soft as you are isn’t meant for mechs like him. Struggling to not stare as you go up on your toes to grab your towel and start drying off, his servos flex into a fist. “I was hurting,” he mutters, immediately regretting admitting that. Watching you slide the towel over your body, he clears his vents and turns away as you still. ‘Are you still hurting?’ You ask softly and he grimaces. ‘You are, aren’t you?’ Plating ruffling and settling, he shakes his head. “It’ll pass.”

• “We could-” You begin and he cuts you off with a harsh, almost angry ‘no.’ Then he’s shaking his head, repeating himself more softly. ‘I didn’t know you were property,’ he mutters and you stare at his profile, trying to get a read on him. ‘Sometimes I forget that my world wasn’t the only one riddled with corruption,’ he adds sounding angry again, like this is personal to him and your own tension unravels. And you’re not sure why you’re certain that he won’t hurt you, but you are. “If you’re hurting, I could help you. To pay you back for-” Stopping short at the look on his face, you fall silent as he noisily clears his vents. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’ But that’s not quite true if he’s being honest. If you’re actually free. “Not sex then, but maybe I can still help?”

• Frowning at you, he watches you ease down to sit and you reach out a hand. Tensing as he stares at your upturned face, he can’t deny that he’s aching. That having you nearby and off limits is driving him crazy. “I didn’t buy you. I don’t want it like that,” he mutters and you keep your hand out in invitation. ‘What if we just talk? I won’t touch you at all unless you want me to,’ you say and he can’t understand why you’re so determined to help him. You must think you owe him even though he told you that you didn’t. And what you’re offering is far too tempting. ‘This isn’t about me owing you or payment,’ you insist. ‘I want to help.’ Rumbling softly, he slowly eases down near you and every intake of air, he can scent you. ‘If this is weird or you don’t like it, I’ll stop, okay?‘ You ask, voice softening. Gentling to stroke over him in a low hush that has his spike stirring.

• “What does it feel like when you touch yourself?” You ask, flushing as you try to not get embarrassed. Because this is wholly different from what you’ve been doing with clients. But then, he’s not a client. More like the silly ASMR videos you’d seen online. But he’s not demanding anything, not taking everything just because he can. Doesn’t seem to want anything from you, even though he’d been interested before in the brothel. You’d been sure of it. And he’s silent long enough that you’re sure he’s going to refuse to play along. But then he’s leaning back against the wall beside you, thighs spread slightly. ‘I’m aching, my spike’s pulsing with the rhythm of my spark and it’s uncomfortable,’ he mutters. “Can you show me? I want to watch the way your hands move. How you touch yourself. They’re so big, but you’ve been really gentle with me.” Inhaling when his modesty plating releases and his spike pressurizes, the biolights running along his length pulse and cycle as a bead of luminous slick forms at the head. Hear his fans kick on as his servos wrap around himself, pumping roughly. “Smooth a servo over the head. Gently,” you whisper and he growls, head turning to meet your eyes.

• Doesn’t know how to respond to this. To the soft seduction of your voice spilling warmly into him. Coaxing him to touch himself. Relaxing his grip, he rubs a servo over the head. “Is it slippery? It looks like it is. Your plating was so warm when you touched me. Hard. Is your spike hard like that?” You ask and he grunts, optics hooded. ‘No,’ he mutters. ‘It’s hard, but softer like my mesh.’ Servos dipping to trace along the slippery mesh his spike depressurizes into, his hips flex. Aware of the subtle shift in your scent, he keeps lazily touching himself, exploring instead of roughly fisting his spike. “Trace your servos over the underside, along those ridges. How does that feel?” You ask and he vents raggedly. ‘Can I touch you?’ He asks and you hesitate. ‘Never mind,’ he growls. “You can touch me,” you whisper. Meeting your eyes, he winces and leans. Slowly laying down with his head in your lap. ‘Keep talking to me?’ He growls, needing the way your voice spills into him. ‘Okay.’

• Subspacing anything that looks like it might be food or coverings, you’re chirping more urgently as you keep pressing the broken collar against your neck. Isn’t even sure what he’s doing. You’re not his problem. None of this is his problem. Adjusting you on his shoulder when you keep squirming, he vents. And what is he going to do with you? If you are an unregistered species, you’re likely to just get captured and sold again if he tries to turn you loose. Spike throbbing as his plating heats, he grits his denta. Trying to ignore the way you scent right now, because that stuff you used just added to his own problems. Making him uncomfortably aware of you.

• Staring pleadingly at the proprietor as the mech stalks out of your apartment and through the lobby, you squint when he carries you outside. And fumble to get the robe he threw on top of you to at least cover your bare ass. Stealing a glance at his face, he looks intimidatingly pissed off as he carries you. Free hand pressing the collar to your throat, you can’t seem to make it resync and panic claws at you. Because you’re back to square one. In a frightening place and unable to communicate. Heart pounding as he strides through the street, other aliens stare curiously, but don’t seem that concerned. Then again, you’re pretty sure that there aren’t a lot of laws here. Maybe this is a normal day to them. And you scream when he mass shifts, just becoming huge without any warning to make other species scatter out of his way as servos close on you and you find yourself cupped in a hand as he growls nonsense at you. Frustrated, you clutch your robe closer. Hoping he didn’t buy you as a snack. Because you’d gotten to see that happen first hand. Something somewhere between a spider monkey and a lizard in the cage next to yours was bought and eaten alive right in front of you when you’d first arrived. Still have no idea if the creature was sentient or not. Don’t really want to know, either.

• You’re trembling in his hand, but at least he can hold you farther away from his vents, because your scent is maddening right now. Carrying you back to his ship, he lets himself on board and secures the ramp behind himself. Clearing his vents as you chirp uncertainly, he deposits you on a counter and retrieves your things from subspace to set near you as you drop the robe to grab a thicker one. And he grimaces as you press the collar against your neck and chirp up at him, little hands gesturing and clearly upset. As soon as he can think clearly again, he needs to sync that thing to a datapad to extract your language, because he has no idea what you’re trying to say. But right now, it’s hard to focus on anything beyond the pain. Staring at the robe you dropped, he gives in to the urge to pick it up and carry it back to his berth as you keep chirping after him. Rubbing the silken material through his servos, he sits on his berth and lets his spike release to pressurize. Irritated at himself, he lifts the covering and vents deeply against it. Knows you can’t see him where he’s left you. You’ll be able to hear him, but there’s not much he can do about that and you’ve probably heard worse. Growling to himself because it’s hard enough to deal with a rut, but with his reputation, it’s nearly impossible to find a partner that’s not trying to exploit or use him. Fisting his spike and pumping it, he groans. Knows this isn’t going to help, though. Neither is having you here when you scent like that.

• Can hear him growling and snarling from somewhere else in the ship as you rub your thighs together. And the aphrodisiac you’d applied is starting to become uncomfortable. Hate that you can’t understand him. That you have no idea why he took you. What he wants. Staring at the hall he’d disappeared down, you grimace. Attention dropping to the broken collar, you finally drop it with your other things. If he was going to hurt you, he probably would have, right? What’s he doing back there? He sounds angry. Blowing out a breath, you sit with your back against the wall. Giving up, you spear two fingers inside yourself, trying to find some relief because that stuff is making your body heat unpleasantly. Making you feel feverish and needy. And your thoughts drift to him, to how strangely human his features are, the intensity of those red optics. That he looks at least familiar compared to every other species you’ve seen making him seem safer. Less frightening. Breath hitching as you tremble, you try to come up with a new plan. Maybe you can fix the stupid collar even though you know nothing about alien tech. Maybe you can convince him to take you home if he even knows where that is, which you doubt. It’s not like you have any idea how to explain Earth or your solar system to aliens. Hopefully you’re not dinner. He must want something, though. Why else take you?

Previous

• This isn’t how this usually goes. Normally they just tell you where they want you, do their thing, and leave. You’re not sure what to do with a customer that wants to talk. It’s easier if it’s impersonal. If it’s just a job. “I can request a drink if you’d like?” You try, turning your back on him to touch the datapad to wake up the screen and you startle when his servos touch your collar. One hooking under it to lift it away from your skin to break the connection. And when he growls, you have no idea what he’s saying. “It stays on. I need it,” you say anyway knowing he won’t understand you either until he lets go so the device can resync. Because the gaudy, ugly thing is your only lifeline even as it tracks you. You could try to break it, to remove it and run. But you’re still trapped in a strange place far from home with aliens that can’t understand you. You’ve done the math and know your odds of surviving are better here. He’s just frowning as he studies you and the collar, making you anxious that he might break it. Reaching up, you lay a hand on his and he rumbles, lip lifting as he growls nonsense. But he lets the collar drop back against your neck.

• Staring at how tiny your hand on his is even when he’s mass displaced, he vents. And you’re smiling again as you back up a step like he made you nervous. Watching you move to pick up a little container, you look over your shoulder at him. “Do you want a certain scenario? Or for me to pick?” You ask, obviously nervous now. ‘How did you end up here?’ Because he’s almost positive that he already knows. One of your shoulders lifts and falls in a strangely Cybertronian shrug as you unscrew the lid of the container, fingers dipping inside before you rub whatever the stuff is between your thighs and your scent shifts. Clearing his vents, he rumbles. “I don’t honestly know,” you admit softly as he tries to ignore what’s obviously an aphrodisiac that you’re touching yourself with. “I came to in a cage and I was approached by the proprietor,” you add, tone low and nervous. Like you’re not supposed to tell him this.

• “Stop,” he growls, catching your wrist before you can dab more of the drug on yourself. ‘It helps,’ you whisper. Because it makes this easier when he’s obviously hesitant. Maybe nervous like you are because you’re interested and he seems to be, too. This stuff affects most species, but you have no idea if it works on whatever he is. Compared to a lot of the species you deal with, he’s at least handsome. More familiar to what you’re used to. It doesn’t hurt that he’s been gentle so far like he really is afraid of breaking you, that he’s talking to you instead of just wanting you to assume the position. Even if he’s just frowning down at you right now. ‘Wait,’ you protest when he bares his denta and reaches up to deliberately pinch the back of your collar until it falls off and you awkwardly catch it, panic lifting through you. When he leans down and growls, you have no idea what he’s saying. Pressing the collar against your neck to try and force it to resync, all you hear is his angry sounding growling. Did he break it completely? You’ll be the one that has to pay for it and you know it. That it’ll be added to your debt. And you suck in a breath when he grabs you and swings you over his shoulder, butt in the air as he carries you out of your apartment and into the lobby.

• “How much?” He snarls, servos flexing on you and furious as you anxiously chirp and warble at him, still clutching your collar and the proprietor turns on his spidery legs, looking comically surprised. ‘Sir?’ The alien asks as you chirp louder. “How much to buy out their contract?” He demands and the alien eyes him. ‘You don’t seem to understand. They’re a high demand exotic. I couldn’t possibly part with them.’ Cannon powering up as he smiles, he adjust you on his shoulder to make you squeak as he tries to ignore the way his spike is throbbing after you’d applied that stuff to yourself to make your scent become all liquid heat. “You don’t seem to understand. They’re coming with me,” he counters and the alien fidgets on his extra limbs, staring at the cannon attached to his arm. ‘Ah.’

Previous

Next

• “Unfortunately, I don’t have any Cybertronians or similar lifeforms in my employ. I could try to arrange for one, but it would take time,” the proprietor says and his servos flex. Time means waiting and suffering. Because once his rut cycle starts, the only way to find any relief is to overload inside a partner. His own hand can’t even take the edge off the need. ‘Show me what you have,’ he snarls, reminding himself that fragging an organic wouldn’t be the end of the world. No one would even need to know. And razing the alien brothel to the ground wouldn’t help him at all.

• Looking up when a chime rings through your apartment, you want to groan. Because you’re being summoned. Still aren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up here lightyears from your own world and no way back. Unable to speak and understand the language, terrified of the aliens around you. You’d come to in a cage with several other humans only to get dragged out alone. Fitted with a decorative collar with your owner’s name that also doubles as a translator. And you’d been given a choice. Work to pay your owner back for your cost plus interest to earn your freedom or be sold outright as a pet, toy, or food. Really, there was only one choice. It’s not awful work considering your kind is a novelty and not in high demand. Which unfortunately means it’s going to take forever to pay off your debt. Pulling on a sheer coverup that doesn’t actually cover anything, you stride down to the lobby.

• “I need to overload inside them. Is there an extra charge for that?” He growls, hating everything about this. How impersonal it all feels. ‘No fee,’ the alien assures him, hands sweeping as a door opens and an organic creature steps through. The alien tiny compared to him even mass displaced, but he immediately realizes why the proprietor chose them. They’re curiously Cybertronian in form, face, hands, body. Soft, but so eerily similar. ‘Hello,’ you say and there’s a strange dissonance between the sound and the movement of your lips and his plating lifts as his optics land on the collar. On the tag with the proprietor’s information. Knowing you’re likely chipped too so you can be retrieved if you’re stolen. Or if you run.

• He’s intimidating looking as he frowns down at you, his body all hard lines and angles. Living metal. Heart racing as you force a smile, you shrug off the coverup to pool around your bare feet and wait for him to say yes or no to you. Most aliens are curious about you, but end up refusing you. Saying you’re too strange. Some like that you’re exotic and alien. And you’ve learned a lot more about alien genitalia over the months than you ever wanted to know. He has a handsome face at least, you decide as you steal glances at him when he circles you. “Too fragile,” he growls and his deep voice is a pleasant surprise. ‘You won’t break me,’ you say and he hesitates like he didn’t expect you to answer not the proprietor.

• What even are you? The way you scent is intriguing, not unpleasant. That collar bothers him, though. Had known things like this happened in the outer worlds, but it lands a little too close to home. Reminds him of his past, of the mines. Of having no say, no choice in his own life. Spike pulsing behind his plating, that ache to release is almost all consuming. And you boldly meet his optics like you’re not afraid. “Do you want me?” He demands, reaching out a hand and you hesitate a klik before laying a warm hand in his and your field is a shock as it sinks into him. ‘Of course,’ you answer, but he knows it’s only what you’ve been told to say. Servos gripping your hand, you’re smiling up at him and leading him back the way you’d come.

• “Happy birthday,” he says, ped sliding on your sheets to make your soft berth creak under him. ‘There’s whipped cream on your spike,’ you say, brows lifting. “I know, I know. I’m already so sweet, but I thought you might enjoy a birthday treat,” he purrs, spike aching and fully pressurized. And sticky. He’d had a cherry on top, but it slid off at some point while he was waiting. ‘Funny, because this,’ you say gesturing at him, ‘looks more like a treat for you.’

• “It’s for both of us?” He says, sounding uncertain and hopeful. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you watch a glob of whipped cream and chocolate drip on your sheets between his spread thighs, you crawl up on the bed and it creaks under your combined weight. ‘Uh huh,’ you mutter, a hand on his inner thigh for balance as you lean down. ‘So that means you’re going to return the favor, right?’ You ask, tongue sliding against the underside of his spike and he whimpers.

• “Of course,” he groans, visor brightening as your lips part and your mouth closes on the head of his spike before your tongue slides against him. Head falling back against the mattress, he trembles with the urge to thrust. To move. Making himself be still instead when your head bobs, taking more of him as you suck and run your tongue over the seams of his biolights. “Don’t stop. Primus, don’t stop,” he whines, servos fisting in your blankets.

• “That’s a work rule. What time are you off the clock?” You ask even though you almost want the floor to open up and swallow you and he rumbles, smirking lazily. He’s alien, one of them, but how long has it been since you’ve been genuinely attracted to someone? What does it matter if he’s not human? And if you don’t take a chance, you’ll never know if this could be something besides attraction. Something real.

• Maybe you’re trying to trick him. Trap him. A few of his coworkers had warned him about that, but meeting your eyes, he doesn’t think that’s what you’re doing. What if you’re legitimately interested? In him? Giving you a slow once over, he gently bites the pad of your thumb. “You wouldn’t just be trying to get me in trouble, would you?” He asks, venting to pull the scent of your need deep, his plating heats as his spike aches to pressurize. To tug you into the back dressing room with him and lock the door.

• That playful nip sends heat spreading through you, has your heart beating faster. “Only if I’m trouble,” you blurt, face flaming, because what did you just say? Never really flirt and you’re remembering why. It’s because you’re painfully bad at it. But he laughs, grinning crookedly. ‘You have any idea how tempting that is?’ He growls as you make yourself meet his optics. ‘Because I’d love to get in trouble.’ He’s as bad at this as you are and you smile despite yourself.

• “What’s stopping you?” You ask and he groans, servos flexing against your fingers. ‘I need this job,’ he growls, tugging you closer as the music shifts into a new song, something urgent as the lights dim. Knows that’s the intermission. That they’re supposed to take a break to mingle before the next set. ‘Come on,’ he adds, pulling you after him as the lights strobe. Tugging you toward the changing room, because he’s aching to find out if you’re serious or not.

• Loves how you look like this, pinned and helpless in his grip, but not the least bit afraid of him. Pulling his datapad closer, he unfurls the tendrils at the end of a cable to stroke you and you tremble with a breathless moan. Venting to pull the scent of your need deep, he presses a tendril inside you, watching your hips buck. Releasing his spike to pressurize, he wraps his servos around himself, stroking as he plays with you.

• Trembling as you feel a second tendril pressing inside you, they’re both stroking and curling, moving independently to each other. And you’re apparently playing the part of his fidget toy as he makes notes on his datapad with one hand and pumps his spike with the other. Moaning his name as a third stretches you, you’re close. Unable to look away from his hand wrapped around his spike, the rough way he’s stroking himself as his tendrils tease you.

• Shuddering as he slides a servo against the head of his spike, you’re so slick you’re soaking his tendrils as they thrust and curl inside you. And you cry out, trembling as you come apart for him. Venting raggedly, he listens to you whimper when he slips his tendrils free and he moves you, cables shifting against you. Rubbing the head of his spike against you, smearing the slick beading at the head between your thighs. Too big right now to fit inside you, so he just rubs against you, frame heating as you tremble.

• He’s going to make a mess all over you if he keeps that up. Sliding the tip of his spike against you over and over as his venting gets rougher, fans cycling on. And he startles you when he mass shifts suddenly, pulling you down on his spike. Hips rolling under you before he shudders hard and you feel the heat of his release filling you. Cables sliding restlessly against you, he stares at you, a servo brushing your cheek before he pulls a mini datapad from subspace and goes back to making his notes, his tendrils lazily moving you on his spike.

• Hearing him rumbling, your head lifts. Because he’s just frowning seriously down at you, wings lifted aggressively. And he’s turning away when you meet his optics, growling irritably. “Everything okay?” You ask and he looks back at you, plating ruffling. ‘No,’ he snarls, voice gruffer than normal. Did you do something to upset him? Can’t think of anything you might have done, though. “Can I help?”

• You’re not Cybertronian and he’s not human, but would it really be so obscene to spend his rut inside you? It’s not like he’s xenophobic and he likes you. Considers you a friend. And he’s hurting to get some relief when he knows his own hand will just leave him more frustrated and needy. Growling as he mass shifts, his wings flare out. Showing off as his biolights cycle. Because once he decided on you, there’s no going back. “Yeah,” he growls, easing down on his knees straddling you and your scent shifts to make him groan, his spike nearly releasing immediately.

• “I’m hurting. You’re needing,” he growls as his biolights keep cycling to draw your eye distractingly to his modesty plating. “We could help each other out.” Is he talking about what you hope he’s talking about? Flustered as he slowly eases back to sit in a crouch, he vents. “I’ll beg if that’s what you need,” he adds on a growl, mouth opening and you sit up to press a palm over his lips. “Don’t tell me no,” he says, the words muffled as his lips brush against your hand. Heart racing as you study his handsome face, you have no idea what prompted this, but it’s not like you haven’t been fantasizing about him.

• “Okay,” you whisper and he growls, easing back to sit and dragging you on top of him. ‘So I don’t hurt you by accident,’ he murmurs, though really he wants you to ride him. To claim him as yours. Prefers to watch. To touch. Spike releasing to pressurize, his hips lift slightly. ‘Be as rough as you want, just let me overload inside you,’ he adds, hating the desperate hunger in his own voice. But he needs this. Knows it’s the only thing that will take the edge off of his rut. And you’re obviously flustered, staring at his spike as his biolights pulse and slick beads at the head.

• Body flushing, you start stripping and his hands smooth over you, exploring lazily. Those rumbling, animalistic growls he’s making string you tight as you straddle him and rock yourself against his spike. And his optics are hooded as he watches you. “Take me,” he groans and you catch his spike to guide him to you, thighs trembling at the faint burn as you rolls your hips. Feeling him stretch you as he sinks deep once you relax. His big hands cup your waist as you moan and your hips roll. ‘This good?’ You ask breathlessly and his hips lift slightly under you to make you grab at his hands for balance. “Just like that. Don’t stop,” he groans, head back.

• Knew you’d feel amazing, all slick heat wrapped around his spike. Rumbling aggressively, he watches you lift up and sink back down, hips rolling as you take all of him and he can’t look away from his spike disappearing inside you. Groaning as his hips lift to meet you, those needy sounds you’re making have him winding up. Have him close. And once isn’t going to be enough. Knows he’s going to carry you back to his berth and keep you there until his rut is over. Fill you over and over until you know you’re his. Because he’s keeping you. Feels you begin to tremble, whimpering his name and his servos flex on your hips. Helping you keep riding him as he groans until you’re fisting him and he’s shuddering as he overloads.

• “I make you coverings of my own silk. Hunt for you. Protect you,” he teases, leaning in to ghost her lips against yours and you try to lean toward her, frowning when she denies you a kiss. Stretching up to hook two of her extra limbs against the webbing securing your legs, she slices through it and you gasp, falling and spinning as the web wrapped around your wrists to trap your arms over your head and crisscrossing your torso catches you. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a little romance, though,’ you say, voice shaky as she watches your legs swing, trying to find purchase.

• “This isn’t romantic?” She asks, reaching up to tug at your remaining restraints before moving closer. Hooking her extra limbs against the webbing to make you spin more as her lips brush your throat and you feel the hint of her sharp denta. ‘No, no, it is,’ you blurt, aroused and afraid that those strands might snap under the weight of you both because it’s a long way down. “But?” She purrs and you feel her mouth press more firmly against your throat as her spike releases to pressurize. And you whimper, unable to figure out where you were going with your train of thought. All you manage is a very desperate sounding please that makes her chuckle.

• Spike sliding against you as she maneuvers herself with her extra limbs, she croons softly as her hands cup your face, mouth covering yours. Hips flexing lazily as the slick already beading at the head of her spike makes a mess of you, you’re gasping into her mouth when she slowly stretches you. Extra limbs moving restlessly as she vents, it’s hard to resist the urge to just rut inside to. Claim you hard and fast. Dominate. “There you are,” she purrs, feeling herself go deep when you finally relax and her hips flex. And there’s something empowering about being in complete control. About claiming you as hers instead of being claimed.

• Spike stirring as you undress, he lays all four sets of hands on the exam berth you’re standing on. Hauls himself up as he mass shifts. Venting and scenting your heat, his head lowers as you reach up and cup his masked face in your hands. Rumbling, he reluctantly lets his mask retract and his optics shutter as you trace your fingertips over the jagged, jutted points of his denta. How can you touch him like this? How are you not bothered? His own sire and carrier has been disgusted. Had seen a defective monster. A blight on their aristocratic lineage. A mistake. Reaching for you, his primary hands catch you around the waist as he straightens to lift you. Needing you. “There’s a good chance our sparklings will inherit my aberrations,” he makes himself admit.

• “There’s nothing wrong with you,” you say, frowning and he clears his vents. Wish you could hunt down whoever told him that he was wrong, ugly, a monster. But you’re distracted from your anger at the heat of his spike against your lower belly when it releases to pressurize and his fearsome face turns to nuzzle against your palm while his secondary hands explore you, cup you and stroke. Hands catching at his shoulders, you squirm at the feel of two of his servos pressing deep and thrusting and your mouth brushes his. Feeling those sharp denta press against your skin when he kisses you back.

• You’re so slick, tight around his servos and he reluctantly slips them free, rumbling at the low noise of protest you make. Hand lifting, his glossa slides between his servos, tasting you as you tremble in his grip. “You’re going to be stuck with me for life,” he warns and you hook a leg against his hip, heel digging into him and eyes defiant. ‘I know,’ you say and he shifts you in his grip. Turning you and kneeling, bending forward to brace a palm against the berth as his other three hands maneuver you. And he nearly overloads from the sound you make when he stretches you, pressing deep.

• Grabbing at his arms for a sense of balance, your toes barely brush the top of the berth as his rumbling roughens when he thrusts. And he’s not trying to hide his otherness at all as his hips pump. Knew he was much bigger, much stronger than you were, but this is the first time he’s let it really show. Holding you and moving you how he wants as you hang in his grip and you feel his mouth on your shoulder, the prick of his sharp denta on you. Moaning his name as his rumbling gets more aggressive, you feel his plating shift so his spark can snare you. Attention splitting, there’s a sense of falling into him, of being engulfed in his memories, in him, and you’re also aware of his heated frame at your back, his spike driving deep as his hips roll.

• Groaning as one of your legs kicks back to slide against his, he knows he needs to slow down. Be gentler. Coaxing at you to accept him as he engulfs you in his spark, his palm slides on the berth and he grunts when his elbow thumps down on the surface, hips pumping as you gasp his name. Feels you trembling in his grip, the frantic beat of your heart and hears the wet sound of your body taking his spike. And he’s shuddering, denta gripping your shoulder when you come apart and he feels you accept. Hips curling, thrusting shallowly as he groans, that pulls sharpens. Becomes a tug and an aching need as the new spark forms. Servos tightening on you, he’s overloading inside you, venting raggedly as you whimper his name.

• Hands sliding on the berth as he eases down, weight braced off of you, your thighs are trembling like you’ve run a marathon. Skin slick with sweat as he lets go of your shoulder, all four arms are holding you while his spike swells to lock inside you. Can feel the almost uncomfortable heat radiating off of him as his glossa slides against you and you wonder if he accidentally broke the skin. When his plating shifts at your back, you nearly cry at the loss as he severs the connection with his spark. And you belatedly realize you are crying at the intimacy of being seen wholly. Of seeing him. Witnessing every little slight, every cruelty just because he’d been born different. Finding one of his hands, you cling to it as he rumbles and brushes his face against the back of your neck. Even if no one else wants him, you do. You need him.

• And his spike immediately stirs, aching to pressurize. It doesn’t help that even after cleaning you and himself both up last night, you still scent of him. Of your need and his release. That a deviant part of him likes the way his excess looks on your skin. “Give me strength,” he growls softly, staring at your slightly parted thighs and remembering how you feel wrapped around his spike. The sounds you make. Had thought he was too old to lose all self control like some of the younger mechs had with their humans. But you’d proved that theory wrong the first night he’d claimed you. Grimacing at himself, he cups you, spearing a servo inside you and you make a soft noise that his spike releasing and pressurizing.

• Confused as heat and need spread through you, it takes you a minute to figure out what’s happening. Moaning against your arm as Ratchet thrusts a servo inside you, curling it to make you squirm. “Doc,” you groan, pushing back against his palm, trying to chase pleasure as your body aches hollowly and tightens on his servo. “Wait,” you whimper in protest when he slips his servo free, but then he’s pushing up onto his knees behind you, hands on your waist to lift your lower body where he wants you as you get slid closer to him on the berth. ‘Sorry,’ he growls, rough voice more growl than normal and you have no idea what he’s apologizing before. Because you definitely don’t mind being woken up this way. Toes curling at the faint burn of his spike stretching you, he rumbles, hips pumping.

• Servos tightening on you as his hips snap, he can’t ignore the guilty feeling for waking you up just because he needed you. Staring at your fingers fisting the blankets as he claims you, he grimaces. As good as you feel like this, he needs to see your face. To watch you come apart. To know that you know who’s inside you. Reluctantly pulling out, his lips twitch at the scandalized way you gasp his name. Like you think he’s stopping. Flipping you onto your back, his servos grips on your hips and waist, aware of how much smaller you still are even when he’s mass displaced. That fact reminding him to be gentle.

• Rumbling as he crosses his arms over his chassis, Barricade’s head turns at the sound of your boots. And his optics slide over you, realizing that you’re in his colors. That it’s an invitation. A statement that you accept him. Pushing away from the wall, he stalks your way as you hesitate. “About time,” he rumbles, door wings lifting. “You finally decide you can do better than him?” Mass shifting as he approaches, he can hear Prowl growling at him in their language. Ignoring his brother, he reaches and grips your chin to tip your face up. “You’re overdressed.”

• Door wings trembling in outrage, Prowl’s jaw clenches. But you are wearing both their colors and he knew this day would eventually come since Barricade is as bound to you as he is despite not even claiming you, yet. “You don’t want a bath?” You ask, voice soft and breathless to make his spike stir. ‘Rather have you,’ Barricade growls, head lowering and mouth covering yours. Plating lifting as he strides over, he’s mass shifting to pull you away from the other mech. But then he catches the shift in your scent. Groaning as you make a breathless noise when Barricade’s mouth skims your throat, he grits his denta and meets his brother’s optics over your head.

• Maybe you stroked out from the heat? Because you’ve got one of them behind you, hands sliding possessively over you as the other one kisses you stupid. Hear material rip and one of them snarls but then you’re fumbling for the zipper on your coveralls and trying to squirm out of them. Hands catch your hips and lift you and you’re not sure which of them it is as your underwear digs into you before ripping. And you feel Prowl’s spike release to pressurize against your butt at the same time Barricade’s own spike pressurizes. Belatedly realizing how much bigger than you they both are even mass shifted, you have a moment to feel slightly concerned before Barricade is moving against you, the head of his spike stretching you even though your coveralls are caught on the tops of your boots so you can’t wrap your legs around him.

• Servos smoothing along your side before hooking around you, his palm slides lower to cup you and the noise you make is obscene. Spike pulsing with the thrum of his spark, his servos slide against you as his rumbling deepens. Aching to be inside you, to get this blasphemy out of his system. Pressing a servo inside you, your hips push back. Encouraging him to thrust that servo inside your tight heat as you lean your forehead against your arm braced on the wall. You’re too short for this position even though he’d mass shifted and he growls, slipping his servo free. “Don’t stop,” you groan and he chuckles. Palming your hips, you make a startled noise as he lifts you to get you angled where he needs you. ‘We’re just getting started,’ he growls.

• You can’t even touch the ground at all now, legs dangling as he holds you up like you weigh nothing with your arms braced against the wall. And you have the errant thought that you’re going to be so bruised after this from his servos and getting rocked against the wall. Probably scraped up, too. But then you feel the head of his spike pressing against you and you’re gasping at the stretch, urgently mewling at him to wait. Because he’s big. Shocked when he actually does, his big frame is hot against your back as his forehead rests against the wall over you. “Relax for me, pet. Let me in,” he growls, low voice rougher than you’ve ever heard it to make your toes curl as his hips flex.

• Can feel your field prickling him as his hips barely rock and you gasp. “That’s right. You’re mine and you can take me,” he groans, feeling you finally start to relax as his hips lazily flex. And you’re so much tighter than he imagined as your slick, silken heat takes all of him. “A little more,” he growls, hips rolling as you whimper his name, mouth against your own arm. Trying to be quiet? “Let them hear you, pet. Let them know you’re mine,” he snarls in your ear, hips pumping as one of your legs slides against his. Knows he’d said he’d move on and forget this obsession after having you once, but he’s realizing he’d lied to himself. That he’s going to keep you regardless.

• Squirming where you’re pinned, you can’t move how you want, how you need to. He has all the control as his spike stretches you, stroking deep until you feel every ridge. Sweating from the heat radiating off of him, his hips snap against yours on an animalistic snarl that has you trembling. Lost in the feel of his big frame moving against you and his spike inside you, it’s hard to remember where you are. That you need to be quiet. Especially as you heat and coil, crying out his name when you come apart and his hips keep pumping to draw it out until you’re trembling and his helm thumps against the wall with a snarl as he shudders against you, servos almost bruising on you. Feel the heat of his release as he overloads inside you, venting noisily to stir your hair while his excess runs down your inner thigh. “I changed my mind, pet. I’m keeping you,” he growls in your ear as you flush, knowing those words should alarm you.