#megarod

The mission now? Having coffee in the morning. He needs to secure a hobby. He doesn't have to run from decepticons now like before, so now he can just try new things, try new snacks, go to new places.

Maybe he's still upset about losing Megatron, in a way. And Ratchet, too. He's just had distance between himself and Drift since his bestie is now a widow.

Imagine how the retirement has treated Drift and Rodimus. The grief of losing his Conjunx, Drift's colors dulled and frame lacked the luster of personal care. Rodimus drops in on him one day and they're both grateful to see each other. Rodimus knows that losing Ratchet hit Drift hard--he didn't think it would be as hard on him. He's already offered Drift space for long enough, now what he can do is just sit quietly and hold him. He's so warm and soft--Drift just concedes to being enveloped in Rodimus' softener chassis.

Not, like… because it’s Megatron or because Rodimus thinks thigh-fucking is crazy or something, but because—

Megatron’s engine let out a pleased rumble that shook both of their frames, his arms squeezing tighter around Rodimus. Rodimus shoved his elbow back with as much force as he could—which wasn’t much with his current lack of leverage—but Megatron was still deep in recharge.

It had been kinda cute, the way Megatron had a funny little habit of sort of… glomming on to him in recharge. It had been kinda hot, when Megatron’s panels had retracted and his spike had pressurized between Rodimus’s thighs. The problem…

The problem wasn’t even Rodimus not being down for it or anything, it was just that Megatron’s grip was a little too strong, so Rodimus could neither grind down against his co-captain’s spike nor simply shove his own hand between his legs. He was at the mercy of Megatron and could only hope that sooner or later, the ex-warlord’s spike would pull far back enough that it’s next push forward—

Rodimus let out a strangled noise as his wish came true and his valve was abruptly speared open around a frankly absurdly large spike. “Primus,” he breathed out, “Megs…”

Megatron made a pleased sound low in his throat, but didn’t seem any nearer to waking than before. And of course, fragger that he was, he still wasn’t even actually fucking Rodimus. Just giving sleepy rolls of his hips that teased all of Rodimus’s inner nodes without ever giving him the deep pressure he so craved.

“You are… a genuine… bastard,” Rodimus growled with each slow press inwards, though his last word came out as more of a whine than anything. Rodimus squirmed in Megatron’s hold and swung his leg back to kick at the mech. That got a grumbly little noise, but rather than wake Megatron up, it simply made him readjust his position.

Which meant he rolled over to be partially on top of Rodimus.

Rodimus wheezed as he was squished under a bulky warframe… and let out a breathy keen as the new position shoved Megatron’s spike right up against his ceiling node. Oh, he wanted to scream. He wanted to call Megatron all sorts of names and kick and claw at whatever plating he could reach… but the only sounds leaving his vocalizer were pathetic little whines and the only movements his body made were to press back against the spike nuzzling his insides.