#chubfic

But knowing his experience with Octane, the Autobot couldn’t blame the disgruntled mechs hurrying from the table of sweets. Octane was a good mech—once you overlooked the sleazy old-mech vibes.

Interfacing was good- there was no denying the joys of blowing your circuits. But Primus, Octane always came across as too eager to get his spike wet to the point the ‘Con could even be called desperate! He wasn’t shy to throw out the first move, and being discreet wasn’t in his vocabulary. At all.

Sandstorm shook his helm and smirked as a blue-and-yellow femme balked, then shuffled away. Octane threw up his hands, looked forlorn for a second, then scanned the crowd for interest. “Gotta hand it to you—you’ve got perseverance.” If Sandstorm got rejected that many times that fast, he’d tuck tail and run.

But Octane continued, his smooth voice working the crowd while not daring to leave his table of delights as if he was an exotic bird displaying gathered treasure to a potential mate ( or any mate, really). Sandstorm didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the sight. He knew how to put on a pathetically good show.

“Looks like I gotta swoop in for the save yet again, buddy.” Sandstorm emptied his glass in one gulp, then slowly strode over to his on-and-off acquaintance. Yes, their paths crossed before. Several times. But their paths never stuck- the morning after always resulted in waking up alone. That flier departed as quickly as he landed.

It was a shame, really. Sandstorm liked Octane. Time together was fun, exciting, but always too short.

Attempts were made for lasting meetings, but Octane was too aloof to stay. He had places to be, mechs to do, and craved change—not commitment.

But that didn’t mean the Autobot was going to throw in the towel. He wasn’t a quitter, after all.

“Heeey, good lookin’,” Octane greeted with a sly smile, optics raking up and down the Autobot’s frame.

Yeah, he had no shame about his intentions either. “Still working the usual crowd, hmmmmm?”

The Cheshire-like smile faltered, but only for a brief second.

“Tough crowd tonight, Octane?” Sandstorm grinned, admiring the other’s lithe, glossy frame as it casually rested against the table. Yeah, this mech worked every angle that he could. Wings gently fanned. Those eyebrows hitched. Those hips twisted in such an alluring way.

“Sandy- baby.” He licked his lips. “Are you made of copper and tellurium? Because you are Cu-Te.”

Yeah. Octane was going with the classics tonight.  Sure, he looked fine as hell. But the words that erupted from his mouth were a hot mess. Perhaps his processor was malfunctioning, and the filter didn’t quite remove the cheese.

“And just what do we have here...party favors?” The orange mech relaxed his optics as he tore his gaze from the flyer and examined the table.

“Some fine treats. You know, a little of this. A little of that.” Pearly white appeared as Octane stepped forward. “Some pre-game for what is to come... Would ya care for a bite?”

A mix between a snort and a barking laugh spat from Sandstorm's mouth. “Primus, Octane, you never change!” The question was, did he really want him to? Well, aside from the disappearing act, that is. He cleared his throat, then sat down. “So, what’s the special occasion?“ A frown hinted. “Other than wanting to get laid.”

“Ah, Sandy-baby, don’t be like that.” In one quick and smooth motion, the second chair slid over, and Octane parked his aft down. Just inches away from the other. And that servo boldly reached out to roam up his thigh. “Would you like me to fill you up with something nice and creamy?”

That roaming servo was slapped away. He had standards! Well, some at least. “You know better, you scoundrel. I need to be wined and dined first.”

“You always make me work, donchya?” Octane playfully rolled his optics. “Luckily, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”

The Autobot’s only response was the shaking of his helm. He pulled a dish containing flan closer. The Decepticon only had one thing on his mind: feeling good. Slag, who can blame him? Interface felt amazing- especially from one so good in berth as he. Despite the radiating cockiness, Octane was a very attentive lover, always game for anything, and made sure his partners were satisfied. Credits weren’t the only thing he preferred ‘spent.’  Not that he’d ever tell him that- it would go right to his helm!

Now if only Octane got over the ‘hit and run’ gig...

The fork easily cut through the firm, gelatin-like substance and carefully traveled to his mouth, jiggling all the way. “Mmmmmmmmm....” The taste was perfect! The custard was thicker than pudding, but soft and velvety enough to melt in his mouth. While mildly sweet, the milky caramel flavor took hold. This was top-of-the-line grub! “Must have pulled off a big heist to be able to afford this.” His fork eagerly went back for seconds.

“Well, you know I have my ways of getting around...”

Golly, those eyebrows were going to fly off his face the way that ‘Con kept wagging them! Yes, there was no denying his enjoyment of his crush's amorosity. And not to shame one who enjoys romps in the berth, Octane was the pure definition of a ‘Decepti-slut.’ He came in fast. He ran hot. And he always finished what he started.

Sandstorms plating flared, and he shivered at that thought.

“If you like that dish, just wait until I serve the main course.”

Sandstorm swallowed and stared as the flier shifted in his chair, anxiously awaiting the follies to come. (Sandstorm couldn’t deny him, not when he wanted him so desperately!) But what if he changed it up? As used to these lame pick-up lines and crude comments he was, couldn’t that mech just shut up and enjoy each other’s company for a moment? Did everything have to allude to what he wanted?

“Come close, baby.” Sandstorm smiled as Octane scooched his chair forward, their thighs nearly touching.

“Have you been out in the sun too long?”

Sandstorm braced himself. There was such a thing as too much...

“Because you’re looking awfully hot.”

“Octane.” His voice was stern. “You know I am sitting right here. You know you got me right?”

“Got ya right where I wantcyha...” The purple flyer’s helm tilted slightly to the side. “Almost. Just a few floors up and a couple of feet-“

The spoonful of flan that Sandstorm was moments away from enjoying was shoved into that ‘Con’s mouth. The flier’s optics briefly widened. Once again, those sultry optics returned as he hummed as he chewed the mouthful, then swallowed.

“Tastes almost as good as-“

Another heaping spoonful stifled another lewd comment. Maybe if his mouth was full, Sandstorm would be able to enjoy some quiet time for once! Perhaps he would get the hint.

Every time the babbling mech would open his mouth to warble a cringeworthy line, another mouthful of food would barge in. Every time that face would soften, optics would half-moon in delight, and that husky moan would rumble past his lips as if in the throes of eating....something else. But the shoveling of food was never denied. And Sandstorm never stopped feeding.

Even when that dish of caramelized flan was devoured, the table offered a plethora of options to continue the feast. A nice peanut butter pie was selected, its top slathered in whipped cream and rich chocolate crumbles. The younger mech didn’t even bother to cut a slice, just took the entire round treat and stabbed in, balancing a heaping forkful to the other’s open mouth.

Well, that was a stretch. Words were coming from that mouth before the pie silenced them. But his plan was working, and seeing the enjoyment from the food wash over his wanted-to-be lover was unexpectedly erotic. As lewd as the sounds were, Sandstorm couldn’t help but feel his engines amp up over them. That coy but sensual expression as he bit was thoroughly enjoyed, threatening to bring his cooling fans whirling to life. The way those red optics stared at him or how the tip of Octane's tongue ran over plump lips just egged his desire on. Just how much would this dirty old mech eat for him?

There was only one way to find out.

Bite by bite, that decadent pie disappeared- but the enjoyment of it never faltered. Each mouthful was swooned over as if it were the first. Octane squirmed in delight with any bit of attention thrown his way. Hinted smiles. Full body glances. And apparently, spoonfeeding him over and over again was enough to tickle his fancy. Soon enough, that dish was scraped clean.

“Oh, look at that! You gobbled that up, no problem.” Sandstorm cooed and set the empty plate back on the table.

“That’s not the only thing I like to gobble up.”

Those eyebrows wagged annoyingly again as that shit-eating grin widened over his smooth faceplates. So much for his moment of silence! However, there were more foods to silence that mouth of his. With a smirk of his own, the Autobot selected yet another dish.

“I think it’s time to put that mouth of yours to good use.” The dish of green ener-icecream was selected. Drips had started to cascade down its surface, succumbing to the warmer ambient temperature of the room.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

A spoonful was held out. Octane’s joyous expression deadpanned.

“You can’t have dessert unless you finish your meal.”

The flier’s face all but screamed ‘seriously?’ But Sandstorm's face remained firm. Yes, he caved a lot for Octane, but now wasn’t the time for giving in. If this geezer wanted a piece of him, he would have to earn it this time.

As if knowing this song and dance- and oddly agreeing with it- Octane sank back into his chair. He cocked a brow ridge, goading the younger mech on. “Alright then, baby-cakes.” His servos roamed over his stomach and playfully slapped at the plating as if he were playing a set of bongos. “I don’t mind being topped off.”

That was enough fuel for the fire to make that spoon shove past those lips. Primus, Octane could just be so extra at times! But the lies told didn’t suppress that giddy feeling rising with spoon-feeding the other. Why? Sandstrom didn’t quite know. But watching as the ice cream slowly disappeared was enticing. Each gulp from the Decepticon made his stomach flutter with joy. And when the pace quickened, each gasp for air after swallowing just jump-started his engines. Feeding did something; it ignited some kind of flame, so to speak.

Surrounding noises became muffled by stomach grumbles and his own pulsing spark. Watching those lips part captivated him. Hearing those servos gently pat at his belly was alluring. While there was no physical contact, the Autobot’s frame felt as if he was riding the aftershocks of a tune-up. His plating flared. Engines idled. His core temp rose.

The routine continued; one dish vanished, another took its place. Cannoli’s loaded with thick, velvety cream disappeared as they crunched between teeth. The older mech’s servos continued to rub at his growing belly. Donuts covered with talc powder or mica sprinkles filled the flyer's mouth only to be washed down by a tall glass of cold enermilk.  Flab accumulated, pushing against abdominal plating and spilling over his hips.

Despite awkward glances from the snickering crowd, Sandstorm kept feeding with wide, mesmerized optics. Cookies with feldspar flecks. Chocolate-covered crystal strawberries. Warm and gooey cherry pies with pink whipped cream on top. There was so much food, and Octane inhaled whatever was pressed to his lips.

And when the last chunk of the multilayer cake was stabbed into, only then did Octane show signs of succumbing to a food coma. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and those hands now clasped against a swollen ball of a belly. He looked beat, as if just participating in a triathlon.

“Don’t tell me ya bit off more than you can chew, Octane.” The thick morsel of cake balanced on the fork.

With a grumbling stomach, the purple flier grinned. “Have no fear, my sweats. You know I can make it fit.” Said belly was gently slapped, resulting in more angry noises erupting.

How was he able to eat so much? That belly now swelled like an overinflated balloon and heavily rested on his lap. Gone was that lithe and sleek abdomen, only to be replaced by pudge. Seeing how that forkful of cake nearly missed its mark, Sandstorm was enjoying the sight before him. That tummy... looked so full... so lavish...so plump. So kissable.

“Helloooo... Sandy-babes...” Octane smacked his lips. “My optics are up here.” A wide grin appeared. “Hard to keep your optics off me, ain’t it?”

The last of the cake was shoved in, mainly to save face. He was caught gawking, and the other wouldn’t let him live it down. But what was even worse was knowing this....whatever this was had come to an end. All the plates were scraped clean. The joys of feeding ended.

But that belly remained.

And it was a hot, gurgling mess! Though Octane would never admit it, his face strained slightly with each sharp rumble. Ragged breaths of cool air were sucked in as fingers clenched at the bursting seams. Oh, how badly did Sandstorm want to rub his servos all over that rounded mass- press his lips to it, perhaps even nip at it.

Another pained gurgle erupted, and Octane stifled a burp with his hand.

“You.... ah... that looks uncomfortable...” The Autobot mumbled, biting his lower lip. The joy from his actions was lost to the prospect of causing the other pain. “That plating looks awfully tight...Do... do you want me to loosen it? Take it off-“”

A haughty chuckle interrupted. “So, you wanna get underneath my plating, huh?”

The orange mech’s jaw dropped. “You scoundrel! I... I just...”

“Wanna touch?” Octane didn’t wait for a response, just grabbed dark hands and brought them to that belly.

And it felt delightfully firm! Warm. And with each groan, he swore he felt vibrations. But his highly anticipated moment was cut short by the sound of laughing.

Sandstorm looked up and suddenly realized they weren’t alone, but rather in the crowded bar. A bunch of faces glanced their way, some hiding laughs behind their servos, others looking away in disgust. His cheeks felt warm, flushed bright red, no doubt. He yanked his hands away, suddenly ashamed of this behavior. And to make matters worse, his engines were rumbling, his cooling fans rattled as they worked to cool off his frame. It was blatantly clear he was turned on.

What a display they must have put on! Here he was, heating up and engines roaring over feeding Octane and ogling that belly. And he had the audacity to criticize the ‘Con for going after what he wanted? The Autobot sank into his chair, plating drawing close. He could feel the other’s piercing gaze scorching through his frame.

Did he bring shame upon them both? Would Octane be mad?

Slowly, his optics rose only to see Octane leaning back in his chair, legs spread wide as he made a show of rubbing his hands around the vast circumference of his belly. Primus, no matter his frame shape, he had no qualms about showing off.  Cat calls were made to anyone close to his vicinity. Wide, mischievous smiles given. Brows wagging like crazy.

Octane loved whatever kind of attention he could get!

Sandstorm stood up, bashfully glancing at the table littered with empty plates. “Octane, let’s go.”

The ‘Con spun his chair around, giving that all-knowing look. “Did you get your fill, Sandy baby?” His servos patted his swollen paunch. “Is it time I get my fill?” His belly clenched hard enough to make those quirked brows clench.

“Let’s loosen that plating to soothe that angry belly of yours.” Sandstorm bashfully glanced around, then whispered. “In private.”

“Hmmmm.... eager to take my plating off, I see...” That cheesey look returned to his face. “You just can’t wait to get your servos all over me, huh?”

Sandstorm pressed his lips into a firm line. Obviously, the answer was yes! Primus, he wanted to caress that starter belly, feel its firmness, and spend all night tending to its needs. But he was not going to mention that. He just held out his hand, which the ‘Con took as he hefted his heavier frame out of the chair.

Octane sauntered close to his admirer, that belly pressing against his side. “Time for me to get my dessert, huh?” An arm wrapped around the orange and yellow mech, guiding him towards the stairs to his room, no doubt.

The warmth that radiated from Octane’s touch made his plating flare. Feeling the warm breath ghost over his neck cables sent shivers down his struts. Smelling the faint hint of leather mixed with polishing wax simply primed his engines!

“You sure you’re gonna be able to perform with that big ol’ belly?” Sandstorm cocked a brow in question.

His gamer's chair was simply the best. Big, cozy, and warm. A mech’s lap was always the comfiest to lazily lounge. And this chair was equipped with all the extra features. Engines rumbled, vibrating against his back in time with the action on the screen, and warm air wafted over his frame, adding to the suspenseful atmosphere of the game. But those weren’t the best features.

The best perk was that this chair was self-feeding.

Every so often, small ener-chocolate balls met his lips, eager to be devoured. Rich, creamy milk chocolate, with hints of caramel, cherries, or peanut butter, filled his mouth. The treats were delightful. Delectable. Devoured.

“Enjoying your treats, little bug?” A soft voice cooed as the rounded belly was gently squeezed.

“AHhhh...” Bee yelped as his belly rumbled. “Careful, Icy! Be gentle after that feast you gave me.” By feast, he meant huge bowls of thick, creamy lithium mac and cheese, crunchy fried cyberchicken, and a mountain of sweet, smoky baked ener-beans. Bee had several plates...and still had room for dessert.

“You Autobots are so veak.” Said servo released its grip only to gently pat the taunt, rounded mass that spilled upon thickened thighs. “Do you vish me to stop with ze desserts?”

Bee snorted. “You better not, ya geezer!”

“Who you calling geezer, whelp?” Another ball of gooey goodness was shoved in, silencing the playful banter. And another rev of the taller mech’s engines vibrated, tickling along the yellow mech’s back struts.

“Hmmmmmmmmm....” Bee hummed, both from the taste of the treat and the sensation that buzzed through his frame.

“Good, ja?” Blitzwing grinned. “Enjoying yourself, I zee...”

“Definitely!” The ‘Bot snuggled himself back. “What a perfect evening.”

Who would have thought draping across a Decepticon’s lap could be so relaxing—especially Blitzwing’s? Here was a big, bad ‘Con, famed for wartime violence, yet not a hint of harm touched his frame. The feared battlefield mech now caressed him with care.

Was it odd that Bumblebee found such affection from a fearsome mech so comforting? He felt safe, protected, and cherished. The constant flow of food and gentle touches helped. With a sweet tooth, Bumblebee knew Blitzwing understood exactly how to catch his attention.

``` ``` ```

“Get back, you vile ‘Con!” Bee spat, widening his stance as he readied his blaster. For weeks, he went about his rounds, scouting for lingering danger that, until right now, had never shown.

Blitzwing stood tall, his servos gently brought up. Empty servos. As in, no gun. Icy fronted, remaining calm. “Ze var is over. I come in peace-“

“Like you know that word!” The blaster whirled, emitting a faint glow as it charged up.

“Think, little bug,” the Decepticon said. “You’ve crossed zis barren land for two veeks straight, same time. If I vanted to harm you, I would have by now. Trust me, I’ve had chances.” He pulled a small box from his subspace, filled with colorful treats. “Vant something sveet?”

Primus, those were energon candies- a rare delicacy back at Autobot base. His mouth watered just looking at the pretty pastel colors. His belly grumbled. Despite his hearty breakfast, his frame still craved more! And when a light pink candy with bright blue decorative icing held out, Bee had to steel his nerves not to snatch it. “I ain't gonna fall for the oldest trick in the book! You probably poisoned them!”

Icy tisked and shook his helm. “You ‘Bots always think ze absolute worst of mechs.”

“Gee, I wonder why!” A scowl formed, yet optics stared at the said treat as Bitzwing lifted it to his mouth and bit  it in half. Now, Bee’s optics shot wide open in desire. Light green goo erupted from the treat's center. “Is that....”

“Liquidized cadmium.” Icy hummed as he licked the sticky substance off his lips. He held out the rest of the treat. “Zee? It’s safe.”

Bee hesitated, despite his frame craving that morsel of delightful goodness.  His belly clenched like the suctioning pull of a vacuum. Upon relaxing, a loud, demanding grumble roared. And just like the rest of his Autobot comrades, Icy’s optics raked down his frame, smirking at the appearance of his bulging abdominal plating.

Primus, why was everyone making such a big deal about his weight? His stance shifted, arms lowering to cover his belly.

Icy immediately frowned. “Hmmm....little bug, don’t be like zat.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t be shy.” The half-eaten candy was held out. “I know you vant zis...”

His belly answered in the form of a drawn-out whine. Slag. He did want those treats! They looked ever so scrumptious. But Optimus had warned him about taking candy from strangers...

But when that intense sugary taste pressed against his lips and sent shivers down his spine, Bumblebee couldn’t help but open his mouth and accept the gift.

``` ```  ````

Taking candy from strangers sure paid off that time! That box of chocolates was devoured... and every following day. Blitzwing brought such tasty snacks every visit. And each visit’s timeframe grew, just like his belly.

There was no talk of politics. Bee revealed nothing about government reform, and Blitzwing never asked. Their boundaries were set and respected. Their meetings were pure enjoyment, never about past factions.

Bee just wanted to taste all those delicacies. And Icy just wanted to dotingly feed.

Now, the duo retreated to a little hideaway in neutral territory. While they may not have been able to meet up as often as each would like, the time spent here was peaceful. Relaxing. A nice break to simply enjoy the finer things in life that post-war rebuilding took away. Like long evenings of gaming and nights full of delicious, fulfilling treats- all hand-fed to him, of course.

“I’m parched...” Bee announced, feverishly working his control as he battled the level’s boss. “Whatcya got to drink?” He didn’t even need to take his optics off the screen because a straw was brought to his lips, and the glass’s cool, fizzy liquid was guzzled down.

And thanks to the carbonation, his belly churned as a bubbly sensation rose in his piping. His belly swelled as pressure built, slowly rising up his pipes.

“Bllooooorrrrrrgggghhhhhhh!”

“Mercy!” Icy chuckled, jiggling that belly with both hands. “Excuse you, little piggy.”

“You’re the one who fed it to me!”

“You swallowed on your own accord.” The jiggling became gentle pats as Icy used both hands, coaxing more trapped air from Bee’s tummy, almost like burping a baby. A chorus of belches joined the cries of the now-defeated boss. “Did you enjoy?”

“Never said I didn’t. Did ya see how I conquered that badie?”

“Oh, I quiver in my plating, little mech.” His chuckle was playful. “Vould you like a prize?”

“Yeah, can I?” Bee shook his frame in payback, but the sensation of something moist and soft pressing to his mouth stilled that wiggling.

“Have a taste.” Icy filled that gaping mouth with a double-feldspar brownie, topped with crushed geodes. “I baked zese specially for you.”

And did these fluffy squares taste spectacular! Who knew Blitzwing could bake? The brownie’s top had a nice crunch, but the inside was delightfully soft and chewy. The cocoa taste was intoxicating, and the feldspar added just the right amount of pizazz to spark his taste receptors.

“Oh, Bee.....” Icy gasped. “Your game!”

“Frag the game!” Bee clacked his teeth together, announcing his mouth needed refilling. “I need more of that in my belly.”

“Patience is a virtue,” Icy beamed, but eagerly filled that mouth. “Did I do vell?”

“Hmmmmmm Hmmmmmm!” The yellow and black mech all but moaned.  His pedes swayed in pure bliss as he wiggled in his seat.

The ‘Con enjoyed the joyful signs of glee, revving his engines in return. This was his dessert! Each swallow was chased by more brownie. And after each mouthful, that servo went to claim its prize: a rounded, stuffed belly that gurgled with gluttony.

“Oh, I could spend ze rest of my life just hand-feeding you such gourmet treats and tending to your tummy’s every need. You know that?”

When one square disappeared, another took its place. The exquisite taste never grew old, just continued to flourish with culinary wonder. The cakey treat was just the right mixture of softness and crunch. Just enough sweetness to richness. Just enough satisfaction to fullness.

“If you keep baking like this, it’ll be hard to resist!”

“Vhy deny yourself ze pleasures you want, hmmm? Icy whispered as his servos thoroughly explored the bloated paunch. First, they circled over the crest, moving as the circumference widened to encompass the expanding mass. When the pudge sides were reached, fingers lovingly pinched into the flabby rolls. Bee squealed, the controller from the now forgotten game dropped on the floor.

“Gah- that tickles....!”

“I know,” Icy smirked as his fingers relinquished their hold within the protomesh folds. One servo remained, gently groping the belly. “Vhy don’t you?”

“W...Why don’t I what?” Bee knew where this conversation was going and knew it was only a matter of time before the topic was officially breached.

“Come back with me?”

“I...ah.... my team needs me...”

“You embarrassed to be vith me?” The ‘Con frowned.

“...” Talk about a trick question. “You are still on a wanted list, Blitzwing!  And...ah....”

“And vhat, little bug?”

Primus, Icy’s tone was soft and hinted at sadness! “Look, it’s not you- well, aside from still on the wanted list. But... well, while my buddies have the best of intentions, I just don’t feel like getting ‘the talk’ again.”

“Zhe talk?”

“Yeah!” Bee huffed, crossing his arms across his chassis. “Look, I know I’m young...” Blitzwing questioningly hummed. “They treat me as if I cannot make decisions for myself. I’m not a sparkling, you know!”

“Hmmmm.... kinda like how zey tried talking you into dieting?” Bee nodded. “And vhen that didn’t vork, zey put you on patrol?”

“Can you imagine the field day they would have if I ran off with you?”

With a pensive face, Icy nodded. “Can you imagine zhe field day I vould have if you ran off vith me? I vould have to become a full-time chef!” The ‘Con made such a show of lifting a rounded candy to his own mouth.

“Hey! Those are my treats!” The Autobot whined as he squirmed upon the other’s lap. He still had room left in his tanks.

“Is it now?” Icy cooed, lips raising in a smirk. “Vhy don’t you come and get it zen?” The chocolate ball was sucked into his mouth.

And Bee had no choice but to retrieve that little treasure. And as their lips pressed together- the sensation soft and gliding- the yellow and black mech realized something. This was their first kiss! The treat was bitten in half to give each a taste of the rich, cocoa flavor, only to be bombarded with the gooey liquid-filled center as it erupted across their lips. Bee didn’t know what tasted better- the treat, or the kiss!

“So,” Blitzwing whispered with half-lidded optics. “If I get off zhe vanted list...would that change things?”

“Would def make things easier...” Bee responded in a blissful daze, optics locked onto the dimmed red ones.

However, every word that came out of his vocalizer was not answered- and trust me, there were a lot of words. Like, non-stop. At least until curiosity got the best of him. The speedster cocked his helm to the side, listened closely, trying to figure out what every little noise was. The pedes walking around were easy enough to figure out- but whose were they? The smells that now enticed his rumbling midsection were clearly food being cooked.

But the clinking and panging that was heard —some far away, some seemingly close —remained a mystery. A few more clangs rang out, then everything was silenced, save for the audial-piercing screech of something moving beside him.

“What’s going on here?” Blurr’s helm wiped to the side, but to no avail/ The metal blinders fastened over his helm steadily remained in place.

‘Gllloooorrrbbbllllllllooooooowwwww’ That belly called out, causing the blue Autobot to flinch. The tell-tale signs of hunger were well known—racers kept themselves slim; it is required for high speed and is simply much more aerodynamic. Many nights before a big race were spent chowing down on the bare minimum —if anything at all. Nights were spent tucked into bed, only to dream about foods that could never be consumed. And only on the morning of the big race did he indulge on high-octane liquid energon- the blandest tasting liquid on Cybertron.

Blurr should have been used to the clenching emptiness of his fuel tanks. But not tonight. That smell ignited a savage beast that was famished inside of him. His tanks clenched and grinded, quaking loud enough to ring against his plating. He was so starved he felt nauseous!

“Fear not, my little pet. I offer you the comfort your frame is clearly desiring.” A voice finally answered as a quick little clink was heard. “Open up.”

“What?” Arms worked the restraints, but no freedom was earned. “What the slag! Open what?” Fear caused those blue legs to press tightly together.

“Your mouth.”

“What the frag for?”

“I believe your appetite needs soothing...”

The rich, hearty smell intensified, leaving him entranced by that savory scent. Warm air wafted under his nose, hinting at a pleasant, smoky aroma that hinted at sweetness. As if hypnotized, he licked his lips, nearly drooling over that lavish smell.

“What... what is that?” Blurr asked, the confused tone giving way to desire. His tanks were painfully hollow. His appetite was dangerously rising.

“You tell me.”

“It... it smells so amazing!” The speeder’s voice chirped as he took another huge whiff. “Like, smokey and garlicy and oniony at the same time!” That belly grumbled out greedily.

“Want to taste?” The voice asked, its tone soft and husky.

“You betchya I do! I can only imagine what it could be. Is it cybermeat? Is it –“ The babbling continued, as you could imagine. “I just wanna taste it so bad! I am so hungry!!”

A muffled sigh was exhaled. “Perhaps stop running that mouth off of yours and open up...”

“Why can’t I just see it?” The small mech bit at his lip. “Take the blindfold off...”

“You will enjoy the meal much better if your senses are limited to just taste and smell.”

As soon as the warmth of the food ghosted against his lips like a lover stealing a kiss, Blurr opened, those lips traveling over something warm and salty until his lips wrapped around the metal utensil. His mouth immediately blazed at the savory morsel that crunched between his teeth, only to turn into something succulent and sweet.

“What do you make of that?”

“Hmmmmmmm......” Blurr moaned as he chewed. “It's.... perfect. Garlicy and a hint of spice.” He swallowed, then smacked his lips.

Some tapping was heard, then something slid across the table.  “Too much garlic?”

“No way. I love that mellow, kinda nutty zing- it’s seasoned just right!” A wide smile spread across his face.

“Want some more?”

“You betchya I do!” Without needing to be commanded, that mouth opened wide. And just like a baby cyber-bird- that mouth opened and closed in silent demands.

And as soon as another mouthful was provided, he would crunch his teeth through the crispy outer layer, then pull the warmed treat into his mouth. The insides were so tender and juicy- the texture was a bit baffling at first, but the taste was simply to die for. Another hum revved out along with a whined gurgle from that needy belly. As fast as the forkfuls were fed, they were gobbled and swallowed. The speedster's legs swung back and forth in glee as words described just how scrumptious the food was.

At least until the sound of something being set on the table.

“What, no more?”

“You polished off that dish in record time, I see.”  Some more mysterious tapping was heard. “Do you know what just graced your palette?”

“Food.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Hmmmm..... cybershrimp... I can recognize that taste even though that is a rare delicacy.” Blurr babbled. “But what was it wrapped in?”

“Cadnium bacon.”

“Wow, I never would have thought of that combination!” The blue speedster chirped. “Definitely a good choice!”

“Shall we move on to the next dish?”

“Glllooowwwwuuuuuuuuuuooooowwwppp.” The blue mech hunched over as that belly quaked in hunger.

“Ah.....” Nervous chuckles rang out.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m sorry ‘bout that...I... ahh-”

“No need for apologies,” The voice droned. “I brought you here to be treated to some fine dining. And fill you up with such decedent foods.” Rummaging was heard, then another command to open followed.

This time, warm liquid was spooned into that waiting mouth. And the rich creaminess of thick and tasty soup warmed his frame. This soup wasn’t new to him; however, it was far creamier than any he'd tasted before. In fact, the liquid felt thicker as it ran over his tongue and was laced with flecks of feldspar and a hint of sweetness. Once the mouthful was swallowed, his engines purred as a comforted smile widened on his faceplates.

This dish didn’t just taste scrumptious- it completely warmed him to the core.

“That recipe was highly recommended in the prof- amongst colleagues.” A cough cleared a vocalizer as another creaking sound chirped. “I figured providing a basic soup but putting a little twist in it would be enjoyed.”

“Crystal tomato soup!”

“You are correct.” The voice happily purred. “I added some petroleum cheese as well as a handful of seasonings, such as silica chips and flakes of copper.” 

A beeping sound was heard, along with some clicking. The clicking was almost rhythmic, as if digits danced over keys to enter words in a report. The short and dull thudding sounds reminded him of a servo jabbing at a screen, doomscrolling the never-ending scroll of media sites. Blurr wanted to ask, but the sound cut off, replaced by the clinking of what had to be the utensil against the bowl of soup.

Another large spoonful was fed, and another mouthful was thoroughly enjoyed. The thick, rich flavor radiated through the Autobot’s frame, filling him with newfound energy —and an intense craving for food.

Primus, since when did eating just feel so good? The taste was delightful; the warmth tingled through his frame. The soup filled his grumbling belly with a wholesome, relaxing feeling. And when something felt amazing, who wanted to stop?

Judging how another set of engines purred in the room, Blurr knew he wasn’t the only one enjoying himself.  Such tender care was given as that spoon gently pressed between his lips, never leaving that hungry belly waiting for another filling morsel. Any dribbles that slid from his lips were met with the gentle dab of a cloth napkin.

“All finished.” The mysterious voice stated.

Blurr whined as his belly let out a disappointed grumble. “So soon? But I’m still hungry!”

“You sound as if no one’s ever treated you to a lavish meal before.”

Had anyone? Sure, lines were cast hoping to snag the racer on a date, but none were accepted. Sure, he liked to have a good time, but he never desired courtship —just fun nights out. And, well, being in the height of his racing career, lavish meals were never the way to win his spark. Perhaps a few laps around the track, but not many of his suitors could keep up. So, technically, no. No one treated him to such luxurious meals- he would have denied them.

“Ahhhh..... nah....” The blue mech sheepishly laughed. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Clearly,” The mysterious feeder dryly laughed. “Because if you had, you would know there’s still a few more courses yet to come.”

While far from full, the abdominal mesh pressed against its plating. It has been a while since this sensation was felt, and while tomorrow there may be regret, in the moment, the speedster just wanted more. His belly mesh quaked with growls and tickled with hunger pangs. He quivered at the thought of more food. His tongue ran across his lips, barely containing the excitement of the promised feast.

And the hitching of the other mech’s humming engines proved the racecar wasn’t the only one eager to continue this show.

“Whatchya got for me next?” Blurr giddily bounced in his chair, feet kicking once again. “Is it lithium noodles? Slathered in calcium sauce?” He hummed in anticipation. “Or how about some sushi? I bet-“

“Much better.” A dull thud announced the placement of a plate, and some splattering signaled food slopping in. “This will guarantee to fill that demanding belly of yours up-”

“Promise?”

Unbeknownst to the hungry mech, the feeder paused, struggling to hold back his words. Yes, this Autobot had a mouth on him, and as much as those jabs just begged for playful retaliation, the task at hand needed to be focused on. Blurr missed out on the finer details of life, trading happiness and comfort for glory and clout. It was time someone showed him the finer things in life.

“Eat up.”

The spoon filled with something big and chunky disappeared into the bottomless pit. And seeing the speedster’s face light up in delight was worth all the preparation efforts. More hums rang out along with engines revving. This time, cooling fans even clicked on as that entire flame appeared to melt into the chair.

Blurr swallowed, then gasped for breath. “That.....” He smacked his lips. “...was amazing!” His face lit up. “That cybermeat is to die for... such a savory, brothy taste.” He eagerly accepted the next offering, the chunks of meat so tender they nearly melted in his mouth. The flavor hinted at a sweet tanginess laced with salt and spice. His helm twisted to the side, trying to place a name to that flavor.

“Something not to your liking?” The voice blurted out sharply; the fear in that tone was unnerving.

“No.... no- excuse me.” Blurr swallowed his rudeness. “Quite the opposite, really. That beef is perfectly cooked- kudos to the chef! But that seasoning? Not sure I ever tasted that before.”

“Someone with such restrictions on food intake misses the finer things in life.” Warm air wafted happily from the cook, and another mouthful was given. “The secret ingredient is Worcestershire sauce. Just a little will do just fine due to its concentration.”

“Hmmmmmm.... warchester sauce....” The mouth opened, and the same routine continued. Each bite brought on new tastes and flavors, and not just from the secret ingredient. That growing belly soon dined on earthy tastes of crystal vegetables.  The cooked crystal carrots were pleasantly soft and tasted of sweet caramelization- almost more fitting for a dessert than a stew.  The silica potatoes- divine! The miniature round balls were soft, squishing nicely as denta bit into them only to release that rich, earthy, and buttery taste. And the liquid that was served with the meal —broth, to be precise —was very robust in its stocky flavor. Perfect mix of saltiness and sweetness.

“This beef stew is the best meal I've ever tasted!” The Autobot exclaimed, and faint tapping was heard once more.

“You are correct. But that’s not all.”

“OOOOOOoooo.... more surprises?” A sweet and yeasty smell that reminded him of buttered popcorn surrounded his face before the warm yet damp surprise slotted into his mouth.  The first sensation was a pleasant crunch, followed by a soft interior. Freshly baked petroleum bread! And when dipped in such lavishly rich broth, it could be a meal in itself! Such homey comforts overtook his frame, a content hum once again rang out, followed by a releasing sigh.

“That...hits the spot.”

“Here, try this.” Blurr’s mouth opened, tongue dangling out for easier capturing of food, but the voice chided. “This is to be drunk.” Those lips quickly pursed. “Ah-ah. Enjoy the smell first.”

Blurr eagerly obeyed, gently sniffing, and to his surprise, the fragrance of sweet fruits delighted his nose. “Hmmmmm...... is this some kind of crystal fruit punch?”

“Fruit punch?” A snort mocked as a sharp screech echoed- no doubt from a chair shifting back in horror. “Please, I have much more dignity to serve my dinner guest cheap fruit punch. This is a well-aged red crystal fruit Engex from the fancy refineries of Harmonex. Very rare to come by.”

“Engex, you say?” Blurr rolled his optics behind the blindfold. “Ya trying to get me overcharged?”

“Engex as fine as this is not to be wasted by getting wasted on.” The voice grew firm. “This...this is to be sipped. Cherished. Enjoyed.”  A curved glass was gently pressed to the carformers lips. “Have a taste.”

The glass tilted, spilling its cool liquid in, but only one-third of a mouthful.

“Roll it over your glossa before swallowing. Take the time to truly taste it... to savor it.”

At first, the sweet, fruity taste boldly washed over his taste receptors. But soon, the intensity waned, leaving hints of vanilla and even a splash of nutmeg. The mouthful of smooth liquid was swallowed, leaving a mildly earthy aftertaste.

“And please tell me how you enjoyed that, my sweets.” The glass clinked on the table.

How did he like it? It was strong. Potent. The sweetness was so overpowering that it nearly disintegrated the soft plating of his tongue. But after that initial taste and the engex washed down his throat, it warmed his frame just right. Having that tangy, oaky taste in his mouth was delightful. The taste simply left him wanting more. But only small sips at a time.

“It was... alright.”

“Just alright?” The voice barked out in indignation. “I serve you the finest of drinks... crème de la crème.... and you claim it is...just alright?”

“Aww, man, it was good!” Blurr giggled. “The taste was intense, but very flavorful. And there were hints of so many fruits and spices....but the best part is how it warms your frame just right, you get me?”

“Hmmm-hmmmm. It’s my personal favorite.” The clinking of silverware against a bowl signaled that the feeding would resume.

“I sure hope you are enjoying a glass yourself...?”

“I am enjoying myself immensely, I can assure you.” Another spoonful of beef stew was fed. “But the consumption of fine Engex and foods will be all for you this evening.”

Creating such culinary masterpieces was truly a work of art, and he would do anything to please his lover. Slag, how many videos had he watched hunched over his desk late at night just to improve his cooking skills? However many it took for Prowl to no longer hide grimaces as he politely choked down his meals.

And those looks hurt. The upturned lip cut his pride. Drenching the meal in seasonings to hide the off-putting taste was an insult. Scrapper wasn’t mad that the Praxian showed an undesirable opinion of his culinary attempts, which he could admit were not his strong suit. What damaged his spirits was just knowing he was failing at being a provider.

What’s the point in feeding his cherished little hen if his food didn’t blow his circuits? Providing was his love language, and while Hook and Mixmaster were the chefs on their team, Scrapper wanted to up his game. Yes, his contributions were encouraging and motivational pep talks; anything to lift spirits and encourage creativity. But he could provide so much more for the Autobot who neglected proper self-care.

As the Leader of this Gestalt, it was his duty.

But Scrapper always fixed his problems as any good handy mech would. And any devoted carer should. Using his fellow Constructies as test subjects, he practiced preparing meals. Honest opinions- sometimes in the form of brutal honesty and sharp criticism- brought his culinary expertise up to par. Hook was the most helpful, taking time to cook with him and showing him the ropes. But only if not trying to operate the grill: that was his area of expertise.

But this meal was going to be the best. His masterpiece! A feast fit for his king, whom he had all to himself. Yes, he loved his Gestalt- would be nothing without them- but they were stationed a few towns over to provide himself some quality time with their seventh member. Was it wrong to do this? Was it selfish to desire his lover to himself on occasion?

Normally, the six of them would squabble over who got to feed Prowl. Or who got to wipe his messed face. Every member wanted to tend to every need all the time! Turn-taking worked, but only minimally, and Scrapper wanted his shot to do it all.

Oh, what shenanigans he was going to get up to tonight! A full-course meal. Expensive, fresh wax just waiting to be coated on metal with a fine, soft cloth. Fresh paint to touch up any imperfections. And a nice cozy birth with satin sheets and a warm, cozy blanket to retreat to for other rewarding festivities. And this time, he didn’t have to share. All he needed was for that black and white cop to bring that large aft of his back from work.

And to bring his appetite.

Lately, this hasn’t been an issue. That workaholic who used to drown in a sea of paperwork finally saw the light at the back of the oven and took the time to properly refuel himself. Okay, having six large Constructicons, armed with utensils always at the ready, may have persuaded him somewhat. But mealtime was thoroughly enjoyed, and going to bed with rumbling, empty tanks was no longer an option.

Just reminiscing about those bright blue optics widening over plates of food shifted his gears! Watching dishes of cybereggs loaded with stringy, melted cheese, greasy bacon, and piles of ener-baked beans on toast disappear one bite at a time always made his plating shiver. Having lunch pails loaded with cold cuts, crisps, and Cornish pastries return empty was a silent compliment to a job well done. Casual snacking of treats with gooey crystal fruit centers and rich, creamy icing on top proved that his care was perfection.

Prowl’s days of starvation were long gone; the Structies made sure of that!

But the best part was always the hand feeding. Occasional squabbles broke out amongst the Gestalt over just who would have the honors. The only solution was for feeding to become a group affair. One member chose the meals, while another selected the dessert. One would hand-feed, while another stood at the ready with the beverage. Napkin duty was divvied up as to who got to clean those plump, messy lips. Lastly, the final member received the honor of tenderly admiring that belly.

Except for when the meal was devoured, and that belly was stuffed so full to the point of being painful; then it was all servos on deck to soothe that angered beast! Hands dueled with each other over the best plots of belly to rub. Harsh words (usually from Hook) spat as wines of unfairness cried out. Squabbles broke out. Someone even had the tendency to cry. Everyone wanted the best spot.

At least until Prowl scolded all six of the Decepticons for acting like perpetual sparklings.

There was plenty of him to share, after all. All six divided their time between tending to that belly, his sore pedes, the quivering door wings, and such. After every meal stuffed into his intakes, their beloved Praxian received a full-body massage that continued into full-body snuggles once bedtime hit.

Group snogging was great. Nothing beats feeling the warmth of frames pressed together as hot air wafted against cabling. Wandering servos that caressed every nook and cranny were delightful! Pleasured gasps and content sighs encouraged the devoted touches to the extreme. But having such intimate moments to oneself was a desired treat. Yes, the work his fellow Gestalt members were doing was important, but Scrapper would be lying if this alternative motive wasn’t deviously planned.

His meticulous hard work in learning to cook deserved this reward, after all.

Bing.

The oven rang, signaling the feast was near completion. The time on the clock signaled his love to be on his way home. Everything was falling into place perfectly! Scrapper hummed to himself as he plated up the feast, wiping any stray sauce from the sides of the fine china to present his finest masterpiece ever. All he needed was for his precious little hen to walk through those doors, and then dinner would be served.

... ... ...

“I’m so glad you are home, babes!” Scrapper beamed the moment the door swung open, and Prowl dragged his pedes across the threshold. Tired optics raised as a faint smile graced his faceplates. “How was work?”

“Let’s see.” Prowl sighed, tossing his lunch canister on the table in the foyer. “New traffic plans downtown. Shoulda been good, right? The logistics with the plans  worked perfectly.” His brows furrowed. “Scratch that. Would have worked perfectly had anyone bothered to follow the correct schematics.”

“That good, huh?” Scrapper shook his helm, fully understanding how the simplest plans easily blew up.

“Let’s just say the rest of my day was spent filing paperwork.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you love doing that.” The ‘Con winked as the Autobot groaned as he shuffled his pedes into the living room. While not happy, the workday was stressful, Scrapper couldn’t help but stare at the way those plumped thighs rubbed against each other. Seeing one flabby side squish as the other pushed over it was quite captivating.

“And just what is this?”

“The sexiest sight ever known to mechs.”

“What the.... Scrapper, wipe that drool from your chin.” Prowl demanded despite hinting a smile as his servo gestured to the table. “I’m talking about that.”

“Oh, just a little something I whipped up for you.” Shoulders shrugged as shovel kibble flicked. “Have a seat. You look quite knackered.” Prowl glanced at his desired armchair before moving towards the dining room table. “Ah-Ah!” Scrapper corrected, motioning to the lounger. “My exhausted king must sit in his appropriate throne.”

“The meal-?” Prowl questioned, as well as his grumbling belly.

“’Shall be fed to you as you kick back and relax.”

Learning to listen rather than argue took the Praxian a bit of time. Now, he just obeyed, sitting down on the plush chair, lifting his legs, and reclining back a bit. Meanwhile, plate after plate of super was loaded on a steel cart, then rolled close.

“Who’s ready for tea?” The first lid was lifted from the cloche, revealing three oblong and brown orbs. “Up first, we have one of my favorites! Scotch eggs!”

“A what eggs?” Prowl tilted his helm to the side, eyeing the food questionably. “What’s that brown stuff all over them?”

“Breading, you silly goose.” The Constructie chuckled as he snagged one before it rolled off the plate. “So, first you boil the egg and peel it. Then, you wrap the little buggers in flattened sausage meat and roll them in breadcrumbs. Finally, they take a bath in the deep frier til they turn a nice golden-brown color. Fancy a taste?”

How much of a choice was really given when said treat’s crispened edges pressed against the black and white mech’s lips. But the entrance was denied. The lips remained strongly closed as Prowl glared back at the other.

“Open up,” Scrapper chirped, pressing the rugged-textured egg to those soft lips once again. “Trust me, you’ll love it!”

Once again, Prowl gave in. Red optics flickered with excitement as half the egg disappeared inside that mouth. Denta bared down, and a slight crunch was heard, followed by an eruption of runny, light pink liquid.

“Hmmmnnnghhh!” Prowl jumped as liquid dribbled over those lips, down his chin, and splattered on his protruding bumper. Hands raced to his mouth to capture any more liquid that escaped while Scrapper quickly fetched a napkin.

“Blimey! Just look at this bloody mess you are making!”

“Me?” Prowl griped with his mouth still full as a soft, cloth napkin dabbed at his lips.

“Yes, you, my messy little piggy!” The remaining half of the appetizer was plopped into that gaping mouth. “But don’t you worry, luv. I’ll get you cleaned up in a jiffy.” The napkin swiped across the two-toned hood.

When the feeding resumed, each egg was carefully bitten to avoid the egg yolk bath. And with each mouthful taken, Scrapper’s spark threatened to burst with unbridled joy. The delicate soft-boiled eggs exploded with clean, savory flavors, complete with a rich and creamy inside. The saltiness of the sausage complemented the eggs perfectly. And deep frying just improves everything! He knew these fancy treats would be enjoyed!

“How’d you fancy them?” The empty dish was set aside, and Scrapper eagerly awaited the feedback.

Prowl licked his lips, his face pensive and unreadable. “They were... quite different.”

That wide smile softened, almost turning into a frown. He hoped these fancy treats would be enjoyed! “Were the eggs not cooked to your liking?” His optics widened and darted back and forth.  “I timed them just right... giving them a less firm exterior and a nice runny yolk, just the way you prefer them-“

“Scrapper...” Prowl interrupted before a full-blown meltdown occurred. “They were delicious. Just... well, interesting combination.”

“So, I did well?” His fingers gently twiddled as he bit his lower lip. These were a hit in his city-state, but the two grew up on different sides of the tracks. Tastes for foods differed, but these dishes were to be desired.

“You've done amazing.” He patted his belly as if to further prove his satisfaction.

The ‘Con’s entire frame lifted as if a huge weight had just been removed. “Splendid!” That beaming face returned as the back kibble flicked. “Continuing on...Shall we feed that starving belly the next dish?”

“With that lunch you packed, I don’t think I am starved.”

‘GGggggggrrrrrrrrryyyyoooouummmmbbbblllllleeeeeeee”

Both mech’s stared at the quivering belly. Prowl’s optics widened. Scrapper smirked as his servo gently patted the angry beast.

“I know, my little sweetie,” His voice was higher-pitched as he cooed. “Here I am prattling on, and you are just crying out for more of my food! Just where have my manners gone!”

“You talking to my belly.... again?”

“My baby is starving! He must not go without.” Side flab was gently pinched before the next dish was selected. “I know just what will cure that ill!” Scrapper turned around with a large bowl in his hand. “Shall we try a hot bowl of Cock-a-Leekie?”

“Cockawhaaa?” Prowl balked as he looked at the colorful bowl of soup. Chunks of pink, green, purple, and tan floated around a greenish-tinged broth. As well as little oblong brown floaters, the Praxian hoped their home didn’t have a cyber-rat problem. “I... I never even heard of it.” His tummy rumbled, nonetheless.

“AH, mate, you are in for such a good treat!” Scrapper giggled heartily and sat on the chair's armrest. The spoon scooped up a chunk of warm soup.

“Mind telling me what ingredients it contains?” Prowl asked, eyeing a brown thing in the spoonful that regretfully looked like a little turd.

“It would be my pleasure!” The chef quivered with joy. “True to the name, there’s cyber chicken and leeks in it. There are also fillers used for taste, like onions, celery, and carrots.”

“Anything else?”

“Oh, it is seasoned with some pepper, salt, and thyme.” Scrapper moved the spoon closer, but Prowl pulled back. His spark clenched at the refusal. “What’s wrong, my sweets?”

Prowl wore that look. “What... what’s that brown stuff floating in the soup?”

Scrapper looked. “Oh, that’s the prunes! I chopped them up. They add a spot of sweetness to the dish. As well as some nice color, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, yes.” The seated mech sighed, smiled sweetly and opened his mouth.

“There’s a good hen.” His voice cooed as the spoon, loaded with ingredients, was shoved inside. “Not too hot, is it, babes?” Prowl shook his helm no, and the feeding continued.

Each time the offering of freshly cooked chicken loaded with leeks and broth was accepted-and with great enthusiasm, Scrapper’s frame tingled with joy. Nothing beats seeing a loved one devouring their meal! Food was homey. Nourishing. And always to be enjoyed. Hearing those soft hums was better than any symphony performance ever played. Seeing the hint of a smile after every gulp made slaving over the stove all day well worth the effort.

But watching those white servos rub over that squishy paunch took the gold star in entertainment.

But the whines of the ravenous beast soon turned strained. As the massive bowl of wholesome stew neared completion, space in that tummy grew sparse. Bite after bite, that tummy grew more taunt. In fact, that soft protomesh of a belly pressed painfully tight against the abdominal plating, bulging it outward. The moans of enjoyment of being treated to such lavish foods turned into groans of pain. Even when the bowl was scraped clean and the last mouthful was swallowed, his belly objected. Optics clenched as a painful spasm rooted deep behind his plating.

“Are your tanks bothering you?”

Blurr panted, a thin layer of sweat coating his brow. “Not so much my tanks...” He grimaced through another grumble. “It’s the plating. I think...” A few pants of air were gulped. “It’s... too tight.”

His abdomen felt as if it were trapped in a vice, squeezing him tightly as if to turn him into a cube. The once-coveted, thin, streamlined waist was a hot, bloated mess —even without the ability to glance down, the speedster could tell. Suddenly, the dream of tasty food turned into a nightmare.

“Allow me to alleviate your pain.”

“I think it’s a bit too late for that-“ Feeling a digit upon his rounded plating was a shock, and a deep breath was sucked in. The touch tickled as seams were explored, then hooked into. A quick yank was given. “Hey! Watch it!” Another tug was felt, then a pang was heard. Then relief was felt.

His expanded belly was freed and now spilled out upon his lap with a soft clap.

“Ahhhhh.....” Blurr sighed, slinking back into the chair.. “Feels much better.”

“Does your belly ail you still?”

“Gah.... feels much better now that there’s room.” His servos pulled at the cuffs in their desire to rub his swollen paunch.

“Plenty of room for dessert?” The voice was coy, hinting at the joy of feeding even more. And no answer was even given before the chiming of cutlery rang out, preparing the continuation of the feast.

“Ooooffff..... I dunno ‘bout that!” The speedster huffed. “Depends on what you got in mind.”

“It’s just a little something...” The voice meekly responded. “A little something I spent all afternoon slaving away baking.” The sounds of someone shifting in their seat creaked. “Just for you, I might add.”

“Just for me?” Blurr chuckled. “You don’t say.”

“When was the last time someone did anything nice for you?” There was no hint of humor in the voice. “And not just attempts to catch your fancy... to have you hang off their arm like a prized accessory to boost their ego?”

The Autobot’s jaw dropped. Yikes- that hit close to home. Yes, mechs chased him, but Blurr always left them in the dust. Why? Because they wanted him for the wrong reasons. They didn’t know the real him, just the fame that was attached. However, what was the reason this mystery mech was pampering him?

“Let me guess...” Blurr politely coughed. “You think you got what it takes to catch my fancy?”

“While the chase was a grand pursuit, need I remind you where you are sitting, and that you are revving your engine in joy over the meal I provided. “The voice threw back. “A bit fast, for a first date, nonetheless.”

Blurr opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Yes, his engines were revving. Yes, he enjoyed the meal. Yes, it felt good to be pampered. No, he was not going to admit this to the other. He felt his cheeks redden and quickly changed the topic. “About that dessert?”

A huffed laugh barked out. “As I was saying, most mechs want the finer things in life for themselves.” A clinking and rattling noise was heard, then followed by a plopping sound. “I, myself, only wish to lavish you with the finer things life has to offer.” The fork stabbed against the plate, and on command, the speedster’s mouth opened. “Just look at how accustomed you are to my generous treatment.”

That first bite revealed such a flavorful assortment of flavors. The icing was fluffy, sweet, and hinted of strawberries. But the inside was so soft, rich with vanilla. “Hmmmmmm.....” Blurr hummed, using his tongue to scrape every last bit of the decedent treat from his mouth and down his throat. “It's.... It's so tasty. Has such a nice tart and tangy taste to it.” He smacked his lips together.  “Has a floral taste to it...” His helm cocked to the side before springing to life. “Strawberry cake?”

“You are correct.”

“Ahhhh mech...” Blurr gleefully rocked in his seat. “My absolute favorite!-“

“Baked it specially for you. “

“Did you know-“

“Of course-“

“How did you know it was my favorite?”

“Hmmmm...” The monotoned voice cooed as another heaping mouthful was fed. “Let’s just say, I have my ways.”

“Ya know...” Blurr spoke, his mouth full of the fruity cake and his full belly gurgling. “I could get used to this.”

“I can arrange that, if you wish....”

The food was gulped down, and the Autobot remained completely still. That last part wasn't supposed to be spoken aloud. “Ahhhh....”

“Imagine how nice it would be to retire from racing.” The voice boldly promised. “And the only thing ever expected of you was to sit back and allow me to spoil you rotten.”

Moist cake filled Blurr's mouth as thoughts flittered through his processor. Sure, he loved racing —the thrill of the speed, the rush of the competition —but how long was a racer's career? Sure, he was holding firm, but when would a career-ending crash happen? When would the newer models make his racing frame obsolete?

And Primus, it was simply divine to splurge and eat what he truly desired for once. Feeling his tanks grow full was satisfying. Feeling that belly rest heavily upon his thighs was strangely comforting. And just knowing someone was there to feed him felt wholesome. The promise of being pampered was heard... but was he ready to give in?

Slag, this was their first meeting. And he didn’t even know who this other mech was!

“Ready for another slice?”

His belly churned, the growls growing angrier as the pangs of an ache built up. Perhaps he outa slow down for once in his life.  “Ahhhh.... better take a rain check. That first one was super huge!”

“Bite off more than you can chew?”

“You could say that...” The Autobot stifled a belch. “I’m stuffed.” His belly spasmed, causing him to groan. “Gotta belly ache as well.”

“Tummy needs soothing?” The voice was deep and calming.

“Yeah.” His limbs jerked at the restraints. “But I can’t do anything ‘bout it...”

“Would...” A cough cleared his throat. ”Would you allow me the honors?”

“The whaaaa?” Blurr heard the mystery mech, but was unsure about just what honors were meant. Once again, his thighs pressed together in modesty.

“Don’t paint me as one of those interface-crazed fools.” A sigh ex-vented. “I am more interested in the sensual messaging of that ailing tummy of yours, that is all.”

“Ahhh... I... ahhhhh....” His vocalizer made noises before he even knew how to respond. While Blurr was no prude... he was never prone to let strangers touch him so intimately. Even if it was just his belly.

Blurr froze. He cocked his helm to the side, then slyly grinned.

“If I allow you to rub my belly.... “ He spoke slowly. “Would I be let out of these restraints?”

The humming of the other’s engine paused briefly. Squeaking was heard, and the sound of a plate being set on the table clanged. “Agreed. But I must warn you, there is no escape from this room. Trying would be unwise.”

“Alright,” the strapped-down mech wiggled in his seat.

“But there is one condition.”

Blurr froze still —there was always a catch! “What?”

“You... you gotta sit on my lap as I work to soothe that pained stomach of yours.”

“Ahhhwaaaaa?” His back pressed against the chair. “What....why?”

“It is the proper way to get the job done.”

There was no malice in the tone of that statement. In fact, the gentle humming from the other was more of relaxed contentment, not overenthusiastic horniness. The pressure in his belly grew, the hints turning into sharp jabs. What harm could accepting this offer cause?

“On one condition.” That mischievous grin returned. “Gotta take the blindfold off too.”

A gentle tapping was heard. A chair creaked. An ex-vent sighed out. Blurr was about to lose hope of his request when a monotoned voice sliced through the silence.

“Very well. But you must perch that aft upon my lap first.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” He would have crossed his arms across his chest if he could. Instead, he settled for a pout.

“My conditions seem fair.”

“Yeah, to you.” The speedster muttered. But what choice did he really have? “Alright. I agree.”

The happy hum of an engine revved. “Excellent.”

The sound of the other standing up was heard, then his servos were freed from the stasis cuffs. No sooner did the Autobot stretch his arms above his helm and rotate his wrists was his frame picked up from the chair. “Gah...” Blurr gasped. “Careful!”

“Don’t fret. I play nice with my things.” The mystery mech sat down, carefully positioning the stuffed guest on his lap, gently coaxing the blue mech to rest his back against his chest.  “Please, get comfortable.”

Ideally, Blurr would prefer lying on a soft birth covered with warm blankets, but he made do. He scooted his aft down the long legs and leaned back against a slim but broad chest, exposing his plumped belly to the sky. And nearly flinched when a servo ghosted over his belly.

The touch didn’t hurt- quite the opposite. The warmth felt good, and the gentle rubbing felt soothing at the circumference of that angry, bloated belly. The embraced circled the entire circumference, then another servo was thrown into the mix. And between the two hands, no surface of his belly went unnoticed.

And those digits ever so gently pressed upon that paunch, chasing down any quivering grumbles that erupted. The hands gently groped, rhythmically squeezing and releasing in a soft, milking fashion. The churns grumbled on, tickling as pockets of air bubbled upwards.

The pressure swelled as if he drank cube after cube of fizzy, carbonated energon. Then swallowed a Mentos. Primus, was his belly swelling up like a balloon? Blurr shifted upon that lap, lanky arms encircled his frame, and that warm chest pressed against his back. One final push upon that round orb sent that trapped air up his pipes.

“Brrrrooooouuuuuupth!” Blurr’s servos clapped against his mouth as his cheeks reddened. “Excuse me!”

“That was a big one, my dear.” The feeder softly cooed, gently patting at the belly.

Something tickled gently against the side of his neck, nearly causing him to shiver. Still blindfolded, he couldn’t see but tilted his helm to the side. The touch snuggled against his cables again, and a tickling breath expelled. His belly was squeezed again, causing yet another painful spasm to quake across his beach-ball-like belly.

“You have done so well, my precious little ‘bot.” The voice deeply boomed. “Just look at how well you enjoyed yourself, hmmm?”

Those servos never left that paunch, be it from rubbing, pressing, or gently pinching at flabby sides. Those arms never released their warm embrace around his sides. The vibration from the other’s engines rumbled through his own frame, filling him with such relaxed vibes. And whatever nuzzled at his neck never relented. It was as if his entire body was in a big hug.

This was much better than being wrapped in a thick, warm blanket!

Those hands soon began to lift that bulge of a belly, freeing his lap from added weight. But the gentle pulsing pushes and releases did not relent. Those servos groped as if they were a sculptor molding an intricate piece of art.

“OOoffff....” Blurr groaned. “Careful...” That bubbling sensation wreaked havoc in his tanks again. Pressure rose in pained, whiney squeaks that wrestled inside his tanks. This time, they did not travel upwards. Instead, as that servo pressed down upon his belly bulge, that pressure gurgled angrily, then tickled downward. And before the Autobot could cry out in embarrassment, hot air sputtered out his aft port in loud, clapping bursts.

While the pressure in his abdomen felt better, the shock of letting out exhaust fumes while sitting on the other’s lap was mortifying! His frame tensed up, expecting to be dropped upon the floor. Or thrown out a window if the smell was that bad. But those hands kept messaging.

“Is everything alright, Blurr?” A deep voice cooed, the servos allowing that belly to rest back on thin legs, and the touch returned to gently rubbing over the vast surface.

“Ex...excuse me...” He sputtered, face lowering in shame. “Ah....I.. I’m sorry.”

“It’s a natural part of digestion, my dear.” A servo gently patted the belly before wandering to the sides to playfully grope at love handles. “Does your tummy feel better?”

“A bit...” Blurr whined as something gently rested upon his shoulder and snuggled against the side of his face. “But...”

“But what?” The voice rumbled, warm air ghosting across his cheeks. “Don’t be shy.”

“Well... about this blindfold...You gonna keep up your end of the bargain?” Blurr was really curious as to who had just fed him that enormous meal. He wanted to know on whose lap he was sitting. He needed to know whose lap he just farted on.

Those servos paused. A quick breath was inhaled. Engines paused.

“You promised!” Blurr’s own servos reached up to remove the blindfold himself, but his servos were quickly caught.

“Indeed, I did.” The voice answered, laced with sadness as one last sigh huffed against the Autobot's neck cables.

“Is.... Are....” Blurr coughed. “Why do you sound so down?”  A moment of silence dragged out.  “Don’t be shy.”

“I...” Those servos left the belly, plopping down on the speedster's thighs. “I don’t want to spoil the fun.”

Blurr snorted. “Spoil the fun? Just why would that happen?” The Autobot snuggled back against that chest. “I’m quite comfy... and...well, this feels nice.... You know?”

“Because...” The mystery mech shifted underneath the Autobot, hands gently raising and guiding the other’s helm to lean forward. After some fidgeting, the blindfold was released. “I don’t want you to be disappointed with who I am.”

Once the blindfold clanged on the floor, Blurr looked up. Against the far wall, there was a mirror, and within its reflection was the image of his feeder. With quivering optics and a slacked jaw, Blurr was surprised at just whose lap he was perched on.

Who knew this ‘Con could be so soft and caring?