#chubformers

It was a miracle that you had been let anywhere near Ratchet’s precious assortment of gadgets and tools, but with a lofty background in various sciences and an eager desire to make life in the base a little more exciting (within reason, of course, which you were forced to explain over and over again to gain his trust), there wasn’t much for him to worry about when you finally earned your own spot amongst the mess of technology available to the team.

Different strains and types of energon weren’t nearly as prevalent here on earth as they had been back on Cybertron, but that hardly stopped you from trying your hand at making the most out of what was usually some pretty gross tasting resources brought back to the base. Beggars could never be choosers as the humans would say, and in your position, you and the team really didn’t have any room to complain—it was either gulping down nasty, watery energon or hoping to live to see another day, and with so few lives on the line as you fought to put an end to the Decepticons’ destruction and make your way back home, things were just going to be what they were.

You wouldn’t exactly have called yourself an expert in things drinks and chemicals and energon alike, but with so little to do back at the base and so much free time on your hands, it eventually fell on your shoulders to decide to do something about the awful, bitter fuel sources you were all forced to share in suffering through. It was nothing crazy, really, your ideas for making things a bit more bearable, but it was something, and right about now, something was all you could ask for.

After days of planning and weeks of practicing, you put your hard work into action and started on your very first—and likely your only—attempt at creating something that would add a tasty new flavor to the energon team Prime drank. There wasn’t much need for adjusting the recipe and changing the ingredients after the first back turned out so perfectly, which was surprising. You knew just as well as anyone worth their weight in scrap metal that no scientific experiments ever came out perfect, but still… slaggit, if this wasn’t as perfect as it could get.

The energon was thick, and the ingredients were only a few droplets of the bubbling, steaming mixture you had concocted that were added to the cube. It’s bright blue hue was a darker shade of purple now, but the smell was sweet rather than rancid, and the energon wasn’t as runny as it had been before as a weak, poorly filtered source of fuel.

The first mech you shared your findings with was Optimus, who looked away from the monitor screens with wide optics and raised brows as you held out the cube for him to take.

“I know it looks a little strange,” you said, laughing sheepishly as you gave the cube a little shake, “but this is what I’ve been working on for the past month. This…”

As he watched, intrigued, you peeled back the lid and held it up further to his face, allowing for him to take a sniff.

“…is what I like to call freshly flavored energon. A step up from the garbage aftertaste and gritty, watery texture of the stuff we’ve been drinking before.”

When you had first brought up the idea of creating flavors to infuse energon with, Optimus had been the only one interested and willing enough to give the idea a try. It was new science you were playing with here, and it was uncertain variables you would be walking into, but he took the cube from your servos with a small smile and a nod, his face lighting up with hopeful excitement as he stared into the cube.

“Enticing,” he said, his helm tilted forward as he gave the energon another sniff. “And this is…?”

“My first go at making it, yes,” you said with a nod. Suddenly, the perfect formula didn’t feel so perfect with him staring it down with that unreadable expression of his. “You don’t—you don’t have to try it, but… I just thought, y’know, since you’re the Prime and all, and since you were the only one interested in the first place…”

You wanted to share this with him, and with them. You wanted it to be liked, and you wanted it to be successful. Most of all… you wanted everyone to be happy.

“It smells delicious,” Optimus said, “and it looks just like regular fuel. The color… is that—“

“It’s from the mix-ins,” you quickly explained. “A little off-putting, I know, but when you taste it—if it tastes like it’s supposed to, that is—I think you’ll find that it’s actually really, really good.”

Optimus’ smile had returned, and with it, the familiar fluttering in the pit of your tanks. He gave you another nod of approval before lifting the cube to his face for another sniff, then hummed aloud and closed his optics.

“It smells like home,” he said. “Very good work. I’m pleased to see just how good it tastes, too.”

You watched, servos fidgeting and spark still in its casing as he tilted his helm back and drank it down in one go, his throat bobbing with every mouthful as he audibly chugged. It was gone within seconds, and from the look on his face as he licked his lips and stared down at the empty bottom of the cube with those same wide optics and startled expression, it was a hit.

“Well?” you pressed, leaning in close as you waited for his answer. “What do you think?”

“I—wow,” he said, nodding once, then twice. “It would be wrong to say I wasn’t expecting this to turn out, but… I am pleasantly surprised.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his servo and smiled, turning the cube around in his other servo as he ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth and processed.

“It’s… good,” he said. “It reminds me of the sweet cocktails back on Cybertron, in those cozy bars open only during the night cycle.”

“Really?” you asked, beaming with excitement at the mere thought. “I—I wasn’t sure about the flavoring of this one. I mean, I knew it would be good, but…”

“It’s wonderful,” Optimus said. He paused for a moment, his face twisting with a small frown, and patted his belly with a servo as he set the cube aside. “There is a slight hint of an aftertaste, the more I think about it. A little burning in my tanks, too, but—“

But nothing to worry over, you were sure he was going to say. No cause for alarm, given the circumstances… except that the longer he stood there, his servo held over his belly as he mulled over the strange sensation in his tanks, the louder its rumblings began to become.

It was slow at first. A low, ominous growl that was followed by a lingering whine. Then, as Optimus took a step back and clutched at his belly with both servos, his discomfort turning into a look of confusion and panic, the sounds grew louder.

It was noisy, thunderous and threatening, and from the look on his face, it was nothing that should have occurred from something like this.

“On second thought,” he began, his voice strained and his words forced, “I think… I think that maybe—maybe the mixture might need a few adjustments after all.”

You were at his side in an instant, pulling him forward and dragging him over to the nearest table before pushing him down onto his back and propping his helm up against the top of the slab. His belly was protruding now, the slim plating and even slimmer waistline filling out like a water balloon as it grew bigger and rounder. The sounds inside had yet to stop, either—if anything, they only grew louder and louder yet.

“Oh no,” you stammered, your servos moving over his belly and up his chest before back down to his belly as you frantically searched for a way to stop it all. “Oh no, oh no no no no no…”

You hadn’t planned on this. You hadn’t expected the mixture to clash with the internal workings of your mecha systems in a way that would cause such a catastrophic result. Optimus’ belly was expanding though, taut and swollen and sloshing as it grew, the mixture filling it up from the inside and filling him out as he lay trapped beneath the weight of his own growing middle.

It wasn’t at all what you had planned on or hoped for, but strangely enough, it was… interesting to see, to say the least.

“I’m sorry, Optimus,” you said as you held his servo and clung close to his side. “I’m so, so sorry. The mixture… a compound in the mixture must have reacted with the acids in your tanks. It was an oversight on my part, but—Primus, I’m so sorry!”

Optimus, despite the sticky situation you were both now in, seemed mostly unbothered despite the discomfort on his face as his belly sagged atop him and spilled over his sides. He grunted as he shifted, turning until he could comfortably face you on his side with his big belly falling forward, and you tried not to flinch at the way the soft mesh came into contact with your own warm plating.

Primus, now was not the time for realizations or revelations. You had already dug yourself into a deep enough hole as it was, and by some miracle, Optimus didn’t seem all that put off.

“It’ll be fine,” he assured you gently, his servos reaching out to grasp yours as he patted them. “The effects aren’t pleasant, of course, but I’m still happy to have been the one to give your first experiment with new flavoring a try.”

Despite the inflation, the big belly, the weight gain, the everything… you still couldn’t believe it. You blinked as he smiled at you, your processor struggling to understand the reassurance.

“It won’t be permanent,” you told him. “Give it a few hours at most, and this should—it should all go down, but I’m sorry, Optimus. I didn’t think… I really didn’t think—“

“I know,” Optimus said. “I understand. It happens. You gave it a valiant first effort, and that is all I could ever ask for.”

He shifted, pulling you along with him, and carefully moved your servos to hover over top the highest swell of his belly. His face was just as flushed as you were sure yours looked, but he smiled all the while as he pressed your fingers into the taut mesh before pulling back, leaving your touch there.

“In the meantime…” he said, relaxing as you began to work, “we’ll make do with what has happened. I’d love to hear more about your plans for this energon, if you’d like, and while you work—“

His gaze turned towards your workstation, and your own optics followed. It was soft, tender, and you would have melted on the spot if you weren’t already working to soothe his belly.

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.