#voreformers

“How are you feeling?” Wing cared not for the Autobot’s feelings, but rather the information to be gained. Bright yellow optics pierced, demanding results, not compassion. Tight lips signaled impatience.

This was just part of his plan. And Sunder was the game piece. “Disgusting.”

“Oh, stop with the dramatics, baby cakes.” A servo swatted at the side flab as Wing stood, returning to the Senator.  The last breath garbled out from the dying mech, drowning out the mindless humming as Wing worked his Great Sword to carve up the next section for the feast.

Each chopping thud pounded at the Autobot’s spark. He knew sucking a mech’s innermost thoughts and secrets was wrong. Stealing those prized possessions was criminal, and remembering his past riddled his frame with guilt. And having to do this again was pure agony.

But addiction didn’t care. Having that intense craving for that metallic tang of innermost energon surge through his frame didn’t shy away because of morality. No amount of home-cooked meals could provide this: it was only consuming the raw materials of another living Cybertronian that could blow his circuits. His belly let out a demanding growl as freshly cut slivers were brought to him and pressed to his lips.

He cursed his crumbling restraints as his mouth opened, eagerly accepting the offering.

“There’s a good mech,” Wing cooed as happiness pulsed through the shared cables. “Deep down, you know I provide for you. I know what’s best.”

Mouthfuls of crunchy plating mixed with wires and cabling piled in. Each crunch tormented his processor with the question of why he was doing this. Each chew of wires squished out sweet energon, teasing his taste receptors. Each swallow splashed out vibrant colors, filling his mind with hidden information.

And when those secrets of treachery flowed, the Senate's plan to hoard energon, to cut funding to the less fortunate, or to veto the needs of safety measures for the poor mechs stuck working the mines, Wing sucked the data through the cabling like iced energon slurped through a straw.

And it brought a smile to his face.

“So, they are up to no good, hmmm?” The flier shook his helm as he pushed more arm inside. “And here they claimed I was too much of an extremist for politics. Imagine that!”

Once swallowed, Sunder gasped for air. His helm spun with the data that filled his mind, all the colors that flashed brightly, and all those sweet and savory tastes that zapped his receptors. His belly grumbled despite the overstimulation.

Wing smirked and held up the next section that dripped with energon. “Does my baby want some more?”

The devouring urge resurfaced, nagging at the back of his helm. And consuming energon fresh from the source soothed all his worries. That foggy daze of confusion washed away reality, leaving a blissful contentment. With the warm energon and fresh raw materials filling his stomach, the craving intensified.  Was that fluttering sensation in his tummy from guilt? Or was it now unfiltered pleasure?

Without any thought, Sunder nodded his helm. Any thoughts were drowned out by greedy desire. He was starved, and filling his belly with this wretched mech was the only way to satiate the famished beast within. He needed to feel complete. He wanted to be stuffed to the brim with the most decadent of all foods.

“Please....” Sunder moaned, wiggling in his restraints.

“Please, what?” A voice cooed, but it was laced with poison.

“Please.... feed me.”

“You want to continue this feast?”

The sneer on his feeder’s face was filled with malice as bursts of hot reds flared, but all the Autobot could think of was eating; he needed that next jolt of sweetness running down his throat. He needed that feeling of bliss to radiate inside his frame. He needed that next fix. “Yes.... Pr... Wing....feed me, please....I’m starving...”

“Starving, you say?” Wing held out the next bit, but kept it just out of reach, enjoying watching Sunder lurch forward, desperately snapping his jaws. “I seem to recall you claiming this was disgusting...” Energon dripped onto the berth, causing the hungry mech to whine. “...How horrible of a mech I was.” Lips turned downward in an exaggerated pout. “Oh, how you snubbed the meal I provided-“

“Feed me, Wing!” Sunder all but whined as desperation kicked in. “Make my cravings go away...”

“Do you wish for me to take care of you?” Sunder frantically shook his helm. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes, Wing!” Now that his vice of choice dangled right in front of him, it’s control guided his processor to one thought alone: obtaining more.

“Do you like me taking care of you?”

“You take care of me the best...” His tummy violently rumbled. The euphoric feeling flowing through his cables quickly washed away any lingering guilt. “Please....”

Wing moved the handful of mech closer. “Will you obey me, sweetspark?”

“I’ll do anything you say!” Blue optics focused on the treat, following its movement like cyberbugs drawn to a zapper.

This time, the food was brought to the others' lips, but teeth snapped in the air when the mouth went to bite. “You promise? You gonna be a good mech for me? Do as I say?” The mnemosurgean nodded, never taking his optics off the flesh he longed for. “And you promise to never leave me?”

“Never Wing! I’ll never leave you.... just... “

“Just what, my love?” Wing grinned. “Tell me what you want.”

“Just feed me!”

“Have I ever disappointed you, sweet spark?” The flow of vibrant golds and yellows revealed satisfaction as Wing allowed the other to gobble the food. As soon as that handful vanished, another large chunk was offered. And Sunder tore into that like a starved beast. “Oh, just look at the mess you are making!”

Between biting into the plating, ripping apart the metals, and gulping down chunks, energon dribbled down his chubby face, pooled on his chest, and even trickled down his ample stomach. But does a ravenous mech truly care about proper manners? His long tongue licked his sticky lips, even lapping at the liquid that dribbled down the flier’s servo.

“Oh my, look how your healthy appetite returned!”  The Spiritualist purred, engines rumbling as his wings fanned behind him. That sparkle in his optics returned, and a grin spread across his face. “Oh, you are such a blessing to us, Sunder.”

Wing returned to the table, quickly freeing and cracking open the chassis, then returned to his prized pet. Perched on the edge of the berth, he gently patted a thick thigh, then gave a loving squeeze before resuming the handfeeding. His servos dipped inside, yanking handfuls of energon-slickened wires and pressing them between the mnemosurgeons' lips. “You truly belong here, taking your place to rule at my side.”

The only response Sunder could give was a needy moan as his tongue twisted over the wiring, slurping them up as if they were lithium noodles drenched in fancy sauce.

“You truly deserve to be rewarded for such obedience, hmmm?” A fistful of innards was offered, and as Sunder sucked in cabling, the door to the berthroom opened. Cloaked mechs carrying decorative floral arrangements and candles entered, slowly circling around the berth. Softly spoken chants sang out, thanking Primus for the success of this feast that provided the once hidden information.

“Primus blessed us with your presence.”  

The flier straddled himself over the other’s legs, cozily perched on a fattened lap. Sunder noticed the added heat from the other’s crotch plating in between chewing mouthfuls of mech, but focused more on the hand that caressed his belly- and the hand that continued to feed him.

“In Primus we thank.” The chorus rang out, each taking a turn to light their ceremonial candle. Their faces glowed under their hooded cloaks as the flame flickered. The floral scent returned, filling the room with sweet smells of spring.

“You are my prized disciple.” Devious golden optics gazed with all the glory of a crazed mech. “Chosen by Primus to stand by my side and to lead us through these dark times with the knowledge you provide.”

“Lead us and provide us with knowledge...”

Both servos wedged between the Senator’s chassis, and with a quick pull, they cracked open. Wires were ripped out, along with the metal framework. “Primus told me one would come to serve me with my plans. And I was overcome with joy when I discovered it was you.” Another firm yank freed the round orb from the once Senator’s chest. “And I believe this calls for a celebration.”

Sunder’s optics grew large, and drool nearly dribbled from his lips. The most prized morsel was clasped between the Spiritualists' servos, glistening with fresh energon. Despite being clean for ages, the lusciously rich taste of one’s spark was always remembered, lingering on the back of his tongue. Always cherished. Always desired.

The Autobot licked his lips as his engines revved. His frame warmed in excitement at the promised treat. Servos tugged at the restraints, not seeking freedom, but rather his desire. Sharp teeth flashed. Belly loudly grumbled. His entire frame squirmed like a savage beast, aching with need.

“Oh, how you get so needy...” Wing purred with half-lidded optics. The revving of his engine whined with familiar tones as those hips rocked with heated fervor.

Sunder eagerly nodded.

“Don’t I always provide just what you need?”

Sunder desperately shook his helm in agreement, his own frame warming to match his Leader’s.

“Be a good mech and eat up.”

That warm, golden orb pressed against his lips. Sunder’s tongue snaked out, wrapping around the cherished treat, lapping up any energon that dripped from its surface. Coes and moans joined in the chorus of chants, the taste awaking such a passionate lust for this forbidden fruit. Sunder’s lips ghosted over the metal surface before revealing a toothy maw.

“Atta boy...” The Spiritualist’s voice was deep and haughty. “Eat for me.”

Sharp teeth crunched through the tough outer shell, cracking it open to release the coveted gooey center. Sunder hummed, engines purring and nearly stalling in delight. The center was the best part: innermost energon tasted like the sweetest nectar and always left him wanting more. Gulp after gulp of fluid was swallowed, the mnemosurgeon cooing needily as the fluid coated his throat and lined his tummy.

“Drink....” Wing all but moaned, breathing deeply as his frame trembled. The spark gently tipped, readily feeding the hungry mech. His free servo ghosted over the flabby belly, encouragingly rubbing the growling beast.

Sunder swore he felt the flier’s frame shiver as those hips rutted against him. Wing’s face was relaxed, lips parted in a silent moan, cheeks flushed, and golden optics pierced. Something hard pressed into the soft flab of his lower belly...but as long as that sweet juice spilled into his mouth, the Autobot didn’t care.

Once again, Sunder was hooked on cannibalizing mechs.

Apparently, Wing got off on it.

All finished! ( there was an error in the initial header, miscounted chapters) Hoe you all enjoyed!

Sunder winced, then quickly spat out the liquid.

“You disobedient little welp!” Wing slapped a servo across the other’s cheek. “Isn’t this what happened with your brother? Sceptre?”

The Autobot’s face slackened as thoughts of his brother flashed before his optics.

“Weren’t you just as stubborn with him when he attempted to help you?” The flier spat. “And what did your pigheadedness cause, hmmm?”

It caused the death of his beloved brother. Sceptre only wanted to help clear this addiction, to rid Sunder of this terrible monster he was becoming. And what did he do? Yelled. Threw punches. Acted like a sparkling who was denied that brightly colored and delicious candy.

“That’s right.” The wicked smile returned as a feeling of cockiness seeped through the cables. The flyer read his emotions easily, as if he were a mnemosurgeon himself.  “And then what happened, baby?”

Sceptre angrily left, wandering the streets until that tell-tale sensation engulfed his own spark with an icy chill. The Autobot felt as if his own spark was snuffed the moment Sceptre was offlined. The last he saw of his beloved brother was his lifeless corpse lying in the middle of a grimy alleyway. The last thing he heard was a loud bang. His vision went black.

“And then your nightmares with Froid began, yes?” The chalice forcefully returned. “You don’t want to make that kind of mistake again, do you?” The gut-wrenching feeling of anxiety flooded from the connections. “I am here to help you. Drink!”

Despite not wanting the poison, Sunder knew better. Wing had no qualms about restraining his servos nor tormenting him with memories of his lost brother, and the bond clearly whispered threats should he not obey. Was this all he was destined to be in life? Someone’s chained pet to do their bidding?

His mouth filled with warm fluid again. The first gulp was choked down, leaving a bitter aftertaste of guilt. The second gulp brought on fear. Curbing these sinful cravings proved hard now that a bot’s forbidden nectar poured down his gullet. And three gulps were enough to crumble his control. His frame now tingled with anticipated excitement. His processor’s desire for mnemosurgery sparked once again. His belly growled out its demands to be filled with the finest of meals.

Devouring another’s thought’s was terribly powerful. And addictive.

Even knowing that these thoughts and feelings were wrong, sinful, and inappropriate did not diminish that urge to obtain. Once that distinct taste slid down his throat and those colors flashed and swirled intricate patterns of bold reds and warm grays, restraint became impossible. That glass soon tipped back, all its contents greedily gulped down —every last drop.

Old habits die hard, and all it took was one glass of spilt energon to resurge this insatiable thirst.

“Atta boy,” Wing cooed, removing the now-empty glass. He sat on the edge of the berth, optics wide and staring, patiently waiting. His fingers tapped on a fat thigh. “Well?”

 “Well, what?” A belch barked out as Sunder’s face tightened in disappointment. Yes, those urges were awakened, but that didn’t mean he wished to partake. But he knew what the other desired, and he did taste a hint of the Senator’s essence. “He’s powerful, but scared. Dishonest. Deceitful.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Words hissed through clenched denta.

“It doesn’t work like that.” His arms flicked against the restraints. “It's not instantaneous.”

“Well, perhaps a bit more will awaken your divine visions, hmmm?”

“Divine visions,” Sunder snorted. “More like sadistic hallucinations.”

Ignoring the jab, Wing returned to the bound mech. The Great Sword chopped through the Senator’s fingers like a chef chopping crystal vegetables, and the resulting muffled screams grew sickening. But the most disturbing thing was just how unfazed the flier was; there was no hint of remorse on his face or pulsing through his frame. Apparently, slicing and dicing a mech was not beneath him.

The dripping digits were cradled in once-caring, kind servos. Energon dripped messily on the berth sheets as one finger was selected, then slotted between Sunder’s teeth. He should fight back. He should clench his powerful jaws closed. He should refuse to comply with this farce.

But doing so would just prolong the inevitable. Struggling against the restraints was pointless. Not obeying resulted in abuse. Slag, even his own fat frame imprisoned him to the berth. When that digit pushed further in his mouth, Sunder opened, allowing that spasming digit to slip between his molars. And when those teeth chomped down, the metal crunched, spurting gushes of tangy energon and sweet hydraulic fluids into his mouth. Sunder hummed.

And a fresh mural of colors painted before his optics in such a vivid work of art.

Once again, the reds and grays of power and mystery returned, but also the deep scarlets that quickly changed to an envious green. The colors also brought on the tingles of raw emotion, like engex bringing on the tell-tale signs of a buzz. This Senator was powerful, full of himself, and caring only for his own prosperity. Only when faced with physical harm did fear take hold, thus providing such a colorful splash as more was consumed.

And each crunch of that finger eroded away months of practiced restraint in a matter of minutes.

Gasping for air signaled the consumption of the first digit, and another one slipped in. While still holding onto guilt, the pleasure of eating this forbidden fruit caused old urges to swell. Eating another mech should not be enjoyed, but the reaction of his frame was uncontrollable. That insatiable hunger clenched at his guts, demanding to feast on oil-slickened innards. The desire rose to feel that warm energon spill down his face and throat. That stomach desired to bulge with devoured prey. The alluring thoughts caused his frame to warm with a surge of greed.

But Wing’s ghostly presence inside pulled him to the harsh reality that he was just a vessel. Something to be used by someone as a means of obtaining something. It wasn’t him that Wing desired, but his abilities. And who enjoyed being chased after only for what they could provide?

Sunder swallowed and licked his lips. “So, this is all you wanted?”

“What are you blabbering about?”

“All those things you said before...” His voice trailed off as if asking made them true. “You caring for me.... wanting to make me happy...”

“Did I not?” Wing asked as he shoved the third digit in, smiling at the ease of its acceptance. “I provided you with what you needed, yes? You are off the drugs. You have been warmly welcomed into our culture. Everything you desire is provided to you.”

A dark feeling transmitted from the flier via the cables, filling the Autobot with bold royals speckled with blacks and vivid forest green colors. Sunder winced; it wasn’t just the Senator that emanated deceit.

“So, did you even love me?”

Sadly, Wing had private matters that kept him out of the compound the night prior. The sun rose, chirping birds announcing the start of another day, and his lover still hadn’t made an appearance. A meager breakfast waited on a tray parked next to his berth, but he was on his own to feed himself.

This morning, there were no belly rubs with his meal, just a hearty bowl of thick oatmeal filled with sugar and loaded with plumped raisins. Toasted golden-brown bread was slathered with peanut butter, which softened in its warm state—just like Sunder liked it. A pitcher of freshly squeezed crystal orange juice and warmed energon coffee sat waiting to quench his thirst.

While not the most bountiful, Sunder enjoyed the breakfast the best he could without Wing.

Speaking of whom, that mech was everything one could ask for in a partner, but his actions were a tad weird as of late. Daily rituals were dutifully fulfilled, but it felt like his lover was on autopilot. The start of meals always buzzed with excitement, but that feeling quickly dissipated into droned, dull compliance.

Wing, who was once ever so excited to feed, ever so delighted to watch meals vanish, became distant, performing said tasks on autopilot. His optics grew lifeless, as if looking through fog. The softness in facial expressions grew sharp, and any answers were always short and vague.

Sunder started racking his files for clues on what triggered these dour situations. Late at night, just before recharge, every interaction was scrutinized and evaluated in hopes of revealing any wrongdoings. These sullen moods cropped up halfway through the meal like clockwork.

Perhaps the Spiritualist was displeased with the reaction to the food? Sunder gave out plenty of compliments, followed by hums of appreciation, but the results were the same: Wing smiled despite his dampened mood. The disappointment filling his frame weighed down the bedridden mech more than his obese gut.

And this proved worrisome.

Frowning, Sunder scraped the last of the oatmeal out of the bowl. Even after devouring the peanut butter toast, his stomach still craved more. The only thing full was his mind, racing with thoughts of more food and lingering doubts. While rubbing his still-hungry belly, the Autobot wondered if perhaps Wing was sick of taking care of him. Inflated blobs of curves replaced his once-fit, sleek frame. He couldn’t be much to look at anymore- if he ever was.

But discussing these feelings in the past always ended the same: Wing assured him of no wrongdoing. And like always, extra cuddles and kind words ensued. Anything to wash away any self doubt-even more tumbles in the berth took place. Those were never objected to, but a pattern was recognized: mention something, receive praise, get fragged.

This system only worked for so long.

Eventually, Sunder could no longer hold his tongue and asked as soon as those feelings of disappointment flared. Once again, Wing attempted to brush it off, but that sweet smile and kind words no longer pacified his curiosity. After relentlessly pressing on, some answers were given- after a heavy sigh.

Politics- the root of all evil. Events happening in the outside world got the best of his lover. Wing despised where Cyberton was headed; that was no secret, and the corruption ate away at those happy thoughts, spoiling his once easygoing mood.

Bless Wing’s bleeding spark and wanting the best for everyone. Knowing other mechs were enduring hardships made him want to move mountains to ease their burdens. Wing spoke of solutions, but the advice was not taken. The Spiritualist admitted his frustration; he despised being brushed off so easily and not even being listened to.

Now it was Sunder’s turn to comfort, and those large arms wrapped around a slender waist, pulling the other into a bear hug.  Once that frame sunk snuggly into his pillowed frame, sweet kisses littered the others helm as engines purred. It wasn't until Wing’s frame reciprocated that the Autobot relent, taking a moment to lovingly stare into half-mooned optics. The make-out session and body grinding appeared to work, but Wing never left camp for this long.

Which brings Sunder back to the present, alone in his berth. Perhaps his lover needed a break from him. Maybe he was too much to handle. Too much to fix. 

 A loud clang in the hallway cut his self-wallowing session short. Wing’s voice firmly barking out commands joined the ruckus. The pedesteps trotted closer.

His spark perked up. Wing was back; perhaps a morning snuggling session was in order. Or morning prayers. Slag, he’d settle for a bath if it meant the jet lavished attention on him.

“Wing?” Sunder called out as he stared at the door. No answer, but that door was soon pushed open, and four mechs barreled in. One was his lover, but once he saw the bound and gagged mech they strapped to the table, that smile faded.

“W...what’s going on?”

“Set him there,” Wing commanded, and three clergy members wheeled the table against the side wall. The bound mech’s optics were wide as muffled words garbled from his gagged mouth. After a hushed discussion, the four mechs nodded their helm, and all but Wing took their leave. The door slammed closed.

“Who...Who is that?” Sunder huffed, struggling to sit upright on the berth. “What are you doing?”

“I require some help, Sunder.” His voice was flat, as if he were a war general calculating fateful plans.

“W-what’s wrong?” A loud grumble interrupted, and the Autobot’s servos clenched his belly: now was not the time. “How can I help?” Blue optics flicked between his lover and the poor mech on the table. “Is...Is he alright?”

“Depends on who you ask.” Wing stopped walking. “He thinks he’s fine. Sitting pretty in a position of power.”

“Is he a senator?”

“Yes, Sunder. He is of the ruling class.” Wing’s lips pressed in a thin line. “He is supposed to be making decisions that are in the best interest of Cybertron.”  A snort exhaled from pristine lips. “But I am afraid he strayed from what is truly important.”

“What do you mean?” Sunder questioned; this new tone of his leader reeked with confusion. The kindness was gone, replaced by a dry, snarky sternness.

“Well, that is what we are going to find out.” Wing sat on the berth and opened the ports on his chest. “And I need your help.”

The feeling of free-falling in the heights of post-overload was quite invigorating. Sunder sprawled, gasping for breath with his partner draped over him. Their warm frames pinged and panged as the heated metal cooled, both caught up in recovering from amorous activities. From the moment Wing mounted him, fully sheathing himself, and then steadily pounded into him, all that ran through his processor and frame was pure ecstasy.

It wasn’t just Primus Wing prayed out to.

His belly cried out, making prayers for its own fulfillment. Deep-seated rumbles vibrated through his gut, the telltale signal that breakfast was late. No amount of hanky panky could suppress its desire to feed. But nothing would coax him away from this moment, for this was the best he had ever felt.  Another grumble was heard, causing the flier to stir.

“Looks like you built up an appetite, hmmm?” The Spiritualist propped his helm up on his hands, the look of exhausted satisfaction smeared across his face.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Sunder sheepishly smiled.

“Shall I provide you with your morning fuel?” He sat himself up, hands massaging down the other’s chest and onto the belly. “Or do you still desire to fast?”

He was famished. While unsure of his weight gain, Wing made his acceptance of it clear. What harm could devouring good, tasty foods cause? Sunder liked to eat. Wing wanted to feed. It seemed like a win-win situation.

“There’s no rush...”

“There’s a good mech.” A wide smile spread across Wing's face as he used his comlink to order the food. “I’ll tend to this matter personally.”

“You always do.”

“It is my pleasure, love.” With a gentle squeeze, the Spiritualist stood up and walked to the bathroom. The tap ran as supplies were rummaged through. Returning to the berth, Wing had a bowl filled with cleanser in his servos. Floating in the liquid was a sponge.

With a fresh dose of shame, Sunder averted his optics.

“Everything alright?” Wing chirped, setting the bowl on the nightstand and wringing out the sponge.

“Just a smidge embarrassing to get a sponge bath....” He still fit in the shower stalls. Barely.

“This is just to freshen you up, sweet spark.”  The sponge gently wiped over his face, first swiping one optic, then the other. His cheeks were wiped down, then the flabby double chin. “I think these feel nice.”

Sunder cleared his throat. “Say, Wing? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything your spark desires.” Wing responded. A flab roll was lifted, and the sponge crept inside the fold.

“So, what was going on? In that room...” Sunder bit his lip, leery about broaching this topic. Did he hear correctly? And even so, Wing seemed somewhat taken aback upon discovering him looming in the hallway. But curiosity got the best of him, nagging at the back of his helm to dig up answers.

“Ahhh, nothing to worry your mind over, I can assure you.” The damp sponge traced over the tummy, chasing down the grumbles that erupted.

Dismissive, like always. “Senators went missing?” Sunder pressed on despite feeling the hint of unease.

A breath of air was sharply sucked in as optics closed, then exhaled. “Sadly, yes. There have been reports of government officials vanishing.”

“W... what's happening to them?” Come to think of it, not one evening was spent vegging out in front of the boobtube. There were no holovids or news datapads here. Daily entertainment consisted of praying, enjoying nature's sights, and evening discussions of colorful stories from their prosperous but secluded society. Mentions of the outside world simply didn’t exist. There were no visitors ever noted. There were no visits to other city-states.

Sunder was in no shape to make that kind of trek, even if such a journey were possible.

“It’s a cruel world we live in,” Wing sighed, wiping away at the lower belly roll that spilled over the hips. “My guess is not something good.”

“Did they find any bodies or anything?” Wing shook his helm no. “I wonder what is going on...I've been here so long I fear I am rather disconnected from reality.”

“Whatever are you talking about? This is reality, right here.” As if showing this was no dream, flab was pinched, causing the other to startle. “See? You are wide awake. Alive and well. Safe and protected.”

“Yeah, yeah, that is true enough...but-“

“But what, sweetspark?” Scooting himself to sit closer on the berth, Wing gazed worriedly at the other. “You... You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”

“What?” A short, surprised laugh barked out.

“You don’t wish to leave me, do you?” A pout formed, and a dramatic whimper followed. “Haven’t I been good to you?”

“Yeah-“

“Haven’t those bad thoughts and cravings vanished?”

“Yes-“

“And haven’t I made you feel so good?” That voice purred heavenly as that hand gently groped sticky crotch paneling.

“Ah... absolutely....” Sunder stammered, then quickly blurted out. “I ain’t leaving, sweetie. I... it never crossed my mind.”

“Oh, that is such a relief to hear. I would hate to lose such a fine mech as yourself when we just started to really connect.”

Just hearing Wing ramble out his fears of losing him and seeing his frame relax was...well, what was it? So much had happened in the last hour, and so quickly, that Sunder didn’t quite know what to make of it. The interface felt good...but the flier’s intentions...was this platonic in his optics?

Yes, there were stolen glances. Lingering touches. Butterfly kisses and bashfully reddened cheeks. And not just from Wing. Nervously, another pressing question surfaced. And Sunder needed this information.  “Wing... I... ah....” This admission would be cheesy, but the words were blurted out without much of a second thought. “I...I have a confession to make.”

“Hmmmm?”

Seeing those golden optics stare so lovingly into his own, Sunder felt instant regret. Was now the right time? Was his admission appropriate? Was it too soon?

“What is it, my love?”

Too late for turning back now! “Well, I ...kinda been crushing on ya for a bit...” The release of speaking was short-lived; his frame tensed with anticipated dread.

“Oh my, have you?” That devious smirk returned. “That is ever so sweet of you.” His optics softened to gleeful half-moons. “Why hadn’t you said something sooner?”

Sunder shrugged as he blushed. “Why... why would you like someone like me? I mean... do you... you know...”

“Truth is...I have felt that way too...if we are revealing secret feelings.”

The mnemosurgeon's optics widened as Wing sheepishly bit his lip, then flirtatiously hid his face.

“I, myself, hadn’t made any advances... I did not wish to come on too strong or make wrong assumptions.” When their gaze met, it was the flier’s cheeks that reddened. “I had fancied you for a bit now. And our time together —the bonding, the getting to know you... just strengthened my feelings. And the thought of you being unhappy here....of you desiring to leave... just frightens me...”

“I won’t leave you, Wing!” He gently clasped the other's servo in his own.

“Promise?” A playful pout appeared.

“How could I?”

“Oh, that is just so relieving to hear.” A quick kiss pecked to Sunder’s cheek before that sponge returned to wiping down those plumped thighs. “It’s pleasing to know we share the same feelings, too.” The attention given to his frame was soothing, and when it was time to wipe the messy interface panels, that tingling sensation returned; he was clearly ready for round two. His engine let out a needy rev as he hungrily stared at Wing.

“Oh, you know what time it is, don’t you?” Wing slyly grinned.

A knock on the door interrupted, and a mech pushing a trolley loaded with tasty breakfast feasts rolled in.

“Time to eat, big boy.” Wing gave a wink and teasingly slapped a rounded thigh. “Don’t I always know just how to take care of you?”

“Ah... I...” His voice stuttered, shocked at such closeness. Yes, who could object to a rumbling frame warming against his side? But the closeness was sudden. And shocking. Discussions usually consisted of Wing sitting on the edge of the berth, hand idly working chakra’s while he lounged on his back.

But the closeness felt nice. And it was of Wing’s choosing.

“I... dunno.... just been feeling a bit down lately.” Sunder shrugged, ex-venting heavily. “Just feel like I can do more to contribute. You know?”

“You do plenty.” Wing patted at the belly, causing the chub to dance and jiggle.

And that sight triggered bad thoughts. “Like what?” The mnemosurgeon scoffed. “All I do is stuff my face and lie around. I can hardly move without getting winded. Slag, I even need sponge baths!”

“Babe,” Wing clicked his tongue and pressed his body closer. “Remember how I explained you will experience a period of spiritual healing?” A smile hinted at his face as his cheeks flushed. Wing bashfully looked away. “That’s what this is. During this period, you only need to self-reflect and recover from your dark times. No toil is expected of you.”

“I just feel so useless. Like... I’m a waste of space.” Sunder’s frame stiffened at the snuggle, but, despite his shock, he couldn’t resist caving to the Spiritualist’s offered comfort, as if he were a magnet unable to resist the pull.

“Don’t say that. Every mech here went through this, in one form or another. Their needs were tended to. Their care met. It’s part of the process of recovery, and we are all happy to serve you during it.”

“Really?” Sunder tilted his helm, looking down at the Spiritualist.

“Trust me. No one here minds.” Wing’s golden optics pulsed brightly as he smiled. “However, I have a feeling this emotional state is more than just that.”

“Yeah...I... I just realized how big I have become...” His servos patted at his overinflated paunch.

“You sure are turning into a big, strong mech, hmmmm?” Engines gently purred as another hug was given, the jet's frame pushing into the squishy protomesh. “Whatever you need to heal will be provided. And if you desire to eat, then only the tastiest foods shall be provided.

“But....”

“But what?”

Sunder couldn’t stop his optics from wandering down his frame. His stomach bellowed out, flab spilling like melted taffy. His thighs became so thick and round, covered in dimples of accumulated cellulite. His face felt soft; when he talked, his double chin bounced around. And let’s not even mention that enlarged fat aft he now sported.

“Just look at me, Wing!” Sunder huffed, grabbing the flab of his stomach and shaking.

“Oh, trust me, I am.”

Here it comes. Wing’s going to lay down some harsh truths! Might as well beat him to the punch. “Yeah, can’t miss me in my fattened, disgusting state, huh?”

“Now, why would you say something silly like that?” Wing frowned, making sure to gently caress the softened belly.

“I’m... Ah... I’m a disgusting, unkempt slob.”

“That sounds like something that would come out of someone else’s mouth.... hmmm?” Sunder stared dumbfounded but eventually shook his helm in agreement. “That mech was vile. You must realize that cruel people tell hurtful lies. Anything to make them feel powerful over the mechs they control. Sunder, you most definitely aren’t disgusting.”

“You’re just being nice.” There was no chance someone like Wing wouldn’t think so low of him: just look at the mess he’d become.

“I’m being honest.” A kiss pecked a round cheek, then on the lips before traveling down a broad chest. “You’re healing, Sunder.” A few more kisses traveled down, tracing the seams of plating. “Emotionally, and physically. If eating...” *smooch* “Soothes your inner soul...” *Smooch* “Then I’ll be the first in line to feed you.” By now, the Spiritualist was planting kisses over the vast surface of that enlarged paunch, leaving the mnemosurgeon’s optics wide in shock. “And if you recall, I believe I have been.”

Sunder held back giggles from that tickling sensation, but when that devious mouth sucked in some flab and gently bit, restraint was lost. “Ah-hah! Wing!” The Autobot wiggled, but did not resist. A joyous shock overtook him; there was no way this was happening-this had to be a dream!

 How long has it been since anyone touched him in this way? Ions...and even then, it was a cheap, back-alley frag. Sure, the mech could be considered a regular, and a certain amount of amicable caring took place, but the relations were still friends with benefits. And the kind of just stick it in already.

Wing, on the other hand, seemed dead-set on making sure his touch felt purposeful. And good.

“So... are you for real? Sunder desperately fought to keep his fans still despite his heated frame. “You aren’t repulsed by what you see?”

“My king, I happen to like my mechs big.” A seductive grin was displayed on his face. An optic playfully winked. “Would you like me to show you?”

“I... ahhhh....” His cheeks grew warm watching Wing straddle over his frame, revealing himself to be at full attention. This time, there was no stopping those cooling fans from whirling to life.

“Gotta let me know if this is okay, babes....” Wing licked his lips, eagerly awaiting an answer. “I don’t wish to take too much....”

How could anyone expect him to decline when such beauty straddled over his frame? “Ah... please.... yes.... I....”

“Like what I have to offer?” Those hips gently ground into the crest of that flabby belly.

“Y-yes...” Sunder stammered, too smitten by the sight before him to form complete sentences. Never in a million vorns would he imagine someone as elegant as Wing taking this kind of interest in him! Feeling that sturdy frame pressed into his while being covered in kisses was like a dream come true. There was no denying the budding of secret feelings for the other, but fear of rejection sealed those emotions deep inside —Sunder learned years before to keep certain things to himself.

“Touch me...” The Spiritualist huskily spoke before capturing the other’s lips.

Could such sultry demands be ignored? Flabby arms wrapped around the narrow frame to needily trace gaps in the plating, then grabbed a hold of that pert aft. Hearing the deepened moans accompanied by the grinding of those hips provided encouragement, zapping pings of ecstatic desire through his frame.

“You feel so good...” Wing huffed, a servo gently tracing a cheek. “Just look what you do to me, hmmm?” His crotch pressed its prize into the belly’s softness, proudly displaying his excitement. And when those pudgy cheeks turned red, Wing couldn’t help but grin. “Have I told you just how adorable you are?”

“Ahhh....” Sunder smiled sheepishly. “You definitely are making it known.” His own servos left no surface of that elegant frame untouched. Those graceful, slim curves were caressed, fingers tracing seams, and edges hungrily explored. He pulled that frame closer to his, enjoying the warmth of the heated frame and never wanting the contact to end.

“Tell me what you want...” The flyer groaned, frame shivering in delight. “Tell me how my King wishes to be served.”