#tf roller

• Probably should be doing your job and at least trying to pay attention to what the aliens are talking about, but it’s hard to focus on anything beyond those big servos methodically finding and working every knot out. Resting your cheek on his arm and feeling his internal systems humming through you, you’re only dimly aware of one of the others delicately questioning why you’re here. And Roller’s laugh sinks into you as those servos edge higher between your shoulder blades and you groan.

• Trying to not lose it at the look on Prowl’s face and Ratchet’s resigned exhaustion, he nudges one of your arms and you just let it dangle and swing. Hadn’t realized humans could go so boneless, but it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. And they’d asked him here needing his skills and opinion, so they’re going to have to deal with him bringing you along. It’s just a bonus to antagonize Prowl. Though, Kup looks like he might lose it laughing before Prowl starts snarling. Ultra Magnus just looks like he’s in physical pain.

• Not that surprised when the Cybertronians swap to their language, you wiggle slightly into a more comfortable position, letting the big mech mess with you like you’re his own personal stress toy. Can get on board with alien world domination if it means playing pampered pet and getting massages any time you want. Doubt that’s what they’re talking about, but who knows. And you’re almost zoned out and asleep when he abruptly stops. Head lifting as you blink owlishly up at him, you watch him grab his weird, alien juice box and drink, his optics amused.

• Almost groaning when you gently push against his chassis and lean back some, those eyes are uncertain. Can scent you, your heat and need stringing him tight, making him ache to claim what’s his. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises, servos ghosting up your spine. Because that has to be why you hesitate when he can feel your own need echoing through your field. Can almost taste it with every deep pull of air through his vents. Wants to taste you.

• Flustered as your eyes drop to his chassis, his other hand hooks a servo under your chin and gently tips your face up. And it’s not that you doubt he would be, but you know he doesn’t realize you’ve never done this before. “I know,” you manage, unable to meet those gorgeous optics. ‘But?’ He prompts and your shoulders hunch. “You’d be my first,” you mumble, wilting inside. Embarrassed to admit it.

• Had thought he couldn’t be any more possessive of you than he already is, but the implication that you’ve never had another lover, that he’d be your first and, if he has his way, only? “You’re so fragging adorable right now,” he growls, mouth brushing the corner of yours. “Let me take care of you. Love you.” Let him touch you everywhere, claim you as his so thoroughly that you’ll understand this isn’t a one time thing with him. That he’s playing for keeps.

• That hand under the back of your shirt slides up higher, pushing up your shirt and you look up at him. Realizing you do want him to be your first, that despite his size, he’s only ever been gentle with you. That you love him. Inhaling slowly, you pull your shirt off over your head and his rumbling deepens to a purr. “That’s right. Show me my conjunx,” he growls, the almost aggressive edge in his voice making you heat as you grab at his chassis and pull yourself up on your knees to undo your pants and slide them down.

• Hooking an arm against your back, you suck in a startled breath when he shifts to lay you down and he helps finish stripping away your layers. Baring your mysteries to him. Do you have any idea how many times he’s dreamed of this moment? Spike nearly releasing to pressurize when you shyly whisper his name. Scooting back some, he crouches over you, mouth sliding against your body, tasting the salt on your skin.

• Trembling as his mouth and big hands slide down your body, you’d thought he’d just get to it. Fuck you. But his touch is almost worshipful as he explores you, before settling himself between your thighs and you realize what he’s intending right before his mouth is on you. Gasping his name as you arch, his lips and glossa slide against you, before his glossa pushes inside you and he growls.

• You’re so tight. Knew you would be with how small you are, but now he’s worried about keeping his word. Can you even take his spike? Has to remind himself that this is about you, not him. Groaning at the heady taste of your arousal, he sucks and laps at you. Using the sound of your breathing, the way you raggedly whimper his name to tell him what feels good to you, what you need. And he nearly overloads when you shatter, shivering with your release. “You’re doing so good,” he murmurs against your slick flesh as he brushes a servo against you. Stretches you.

• Trembling as he begins thrusting a servo inside you, your eyes open to stare up at him bent over you watching your reaction. The hunger on his face as he indulgently smiles hums through you. Foot sliding on his berth when he adds a second servo, you squirm at the faint burn. Listening to him murmuring soft praise, curling his servos inside you, thrusting lazily. And you’re aching hollowly, so close when he slips his servos free and puts them in his mouth, sucking them clean.

• Glossa sliding between his servos chasing every last drop of you, he’s aware of you staring up at him, flushed and breathing raggedly. His. “We’ll take it slow,” he murmurs, reassuring you as much as he’s reminding himself. And it’s a relief to release his aching spike to pressurize. Even if you make a worried sound when your attention dips to it. “Eyes on me,” he growls shifting over you. You’re so slick, the head of his spike slides against you to make you whimper his name. Gripping himself, he guides his spike to you and for a klik, he knows he’s too big. That maybe the tip is all you can take. “Relax for me.”

• He’s too big, his spike stretching you. Burning slightly as he bows over you and he presses a kiss against your forehead. “Look at me. Focus on my optics,” he says, his head resting against yours and you meet his optics, trying to relax as his hips lazily rock, his spike pressing and retreating, not even fully inside you. “Yeah, there’s my conjunx.” What’s that word even mean? He always just grins crookedly when you ask. Hanging onto his chassis, you move to meet him and you both gasp when you finally relax enough he sinks into you. Stretching you until you feel overly full with him. Eyes burning at the discomfort, he brushes another kiss against the corner of an eye. Whispering reassurances to you that he’s got you.

• He’s not going to last. Not when you’re all slick, silken heat fisting his spike. Shuddering as his jaw clenches, he finds a slow rhythm, entire frame straining against the urge to just rut inside you. “That’s it. Nice and slow,” he groans, hips rolling. Wanting it to last. For you to come for him again, but you feel so good. Better than he’d even imagined. And he’s growling your name as he overloads hard, knotting inside you almost immediately like an inexperienced youngling. Swearing softly, he rests his head against yours. “Give me a klik and I’ll do better,” he promises as those soft hands hang onto him. Holding him to you.

Me: I’ve never been to this Disney and it’s really not that far away. *checks Uber* … you know what, I’m broke and I like the hotel. The hotel is just fine 🤣