The Odd Job

(Previous)

There were the smart things to do, and then there were the things they did. Those two didn’t always meet. A lot of the time they didn’t meet, really.

They didn’t do so this time either. They knew, they very fragging well knew, that they needed to tell someone about Megatron before… What? They weren’t sure before what. Would Megatron opt to just kidnap them at some point, when they refused to do as he pleased? Whatever he pleased was, beyond just talking with them and fragging them. It would be a little too late to tell anyone at that point, but it wasn’t like they knew what Megatron was actually up to.

Which was the exact reason they should tell someone. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, and who knew how much control they’d be left with at the end of it.

But they could always control their own actions. For one, by pitting telling someone, but second… By not doing the worse things Megatron wanted from them. Like defecting. They weren’t going to defect, so… That was already Megatron opposed in the most important way. Wasn’t that the matter that mattered the most, their defection?

And the rest? The talking, the fragging? They shouldn’t exactly be doing any of that either, but it was ultimately pretty harmless, wasn’t it? But admitting to it would put them in a bit of a bad light. They weren’t too eager to do that.

As such, they didn’t do the smart thing. They didn’t tell anyone, even after spending hours in their quarters angsting about it and going back and forth on their decision—to tell or to not tell. Who to tell? Ratchet? Ironhide? Jazz? Prowl? Prime, even? All good choices. How to tell? Come clean with everything? That was a good idea, wasn’t it? Just lay it all out, be honest. Sure, their preceding secrecy was going bite them in the aft, no doubt, but what was the absolute worst that could happen for it? Nothing they couldn’t handle. 

They came to all those decisions, and yet… They kept quiet. By the end of their hours long debate during which scarcely a word was spoken, Sunstreaker was standing at the center of their room, Sideswipe sitting on their berth, and they stared at each other. They knew, they knew they were doing the stupidest fucking thing they could–

But true to form, they did it anyway.

They kept quiet. They didn’t tell anyone. Whatever came, they’d… Handle it on their own. If nothing else, that way their already overall shaky reputation wasn’t going to get completely wrecked.

A part, a rather large part of ‘handling it on their own’, was telling Megatron to shove it where the sun didn’t shine. In their lack of certainty of how to do that without it all getting spun around on them, they very deliberately gave Megatron no chance to meet with them by simply staying in the Ark or its immediate vicinity. It would be just until they figured out a foolproof way to put an end to things.

There had to be one. Even if it wasn’t easy, even if it’d take some doing to thoroughly discourage Megatron… There had to be way.

Unfortunately the lack of such for the time being—their inability to act in any meaningful direction—was prime for breeding frustration. Frustration at their situation, at themselves, and most of all, at Megatron for being the underlying cause for slagging all of it–

They couldn’t aim it at him, so it was aimed at mostly everyone else instead. By Sunstreaker, for the most part, though Sideswipe didn’t manage a clean incident record either, not even for a week. In their defense, no one ended up in the medbay, and no one ended up in the brig. That was practically them behaving themselves.

Not that others were wont to appreciate the abuse even if it was just verbal. One shouting match between Sunstreaker and Tracks was cut by Ironhide before it had the time to progress into physical blows, which, considering it was Tracks… Yeah, chances were it would have ended Sunstreaker’s streak of no medbay or brig time.

“Shut yer traps, both of you!” Ironhide thundered into the middle of their conversation, physically shoving them apart. It was only his hand on his chestplate that even alerted Sunstreaker to his presence, so focused was he on stripping Tracks of all of his dignity. He glared down at the weapons specialist, then slightly further down at Tracks who also had one of Ironhide’s servos on his chassis, bodily keeping the two frontliners from each other.

But at least they’d quieted aside from the furious roar of their engines, one trying to beat the other in volume and both failing to gain the upper hand. There were also the daggers that they were glaring at each other, admirable effort going into stabbing each other with their optics only.

Ironhide was glaring too, though his distrustful gaze moved between them, judging if one or the other was likely to try to act despite his intervention. “The slag’s this about, anyway?”

“…Nothing in particular,” Sunstreaker responded after a delay, snarling from his vocalizer when Tracks echoed the sentiment and having that snarl returned right back at him—that was, until Ironhide’s growl rang loudest of them all, putting an end to the younger mechs’ posing.

But really, it wasn’t about anything… What was it about, anyway? An excuse so inconsequential he couldn’t remember what had even started it. What mattered was undoing Tracks by any means necessary–

They’d gotten interrupted now, though, and the steam was quickly leaving the both of them. “’Nothin’ in particular’, eh?” Ironhide repeated skeptically, watching them slowly, deliberately relax their postures.

“Indeed,” Tracks confirmed icily, the first one to take a step back to remove the contact with Ironhide’s servo. Ironhide let his arm drop before he raised an optical ridge at Sunstreaker very, very meaningfully.

Sunstreaker huffed, but after just a moment of defiance… He too took a step back as well, effectively defusing the situation.

Ironhide grunted his approval before ordering them with, “Now, scatter,” crossing his arms and transferring his glare from one to the next—and then at the small audience Sunstreaker realized they’d gathered. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise considering the volume they’d used. Likely the whole Ark knew they were at it once again.

But, obediently the observing mecha hurried off, only Tracks and Sunstreaker dallying to grace one another with one more vicious glare promising pain in their futures, before they departed in opposite directions.

Sunstreaker stalked into their quarters to cool off the rest of the way with less of a risk of chopping someone’s helm off in the attempt. They were empty when he entered, but he wasn’t alone for long before Sideswipe followed after him, flopping onto his front on the berth Sunstreaker had seated himself on.

Now, him and Tracks having… Disagreements, that wasn’t anything unusual. The day would likely never come when they got along, but this time?

This time things had come to a head only because of Megatron. Slightly indirectly, sure, but what they wouldn’t blame on the warlord right now, just to make it easier to say no to him however many times it took to make him back off.

How satisfying it would’ve been to bash the tyrant’s entire helm in, but Sunstreaker knew that was never happening. He still thirsted for any way to rub his displeasure in Megatron’s slagging face–

…Face.

Or rather, ‘face.

Now there was an idea.

Sideswipe’s optics were already alight with gleeful mischief when Sunstreaker met his gaze. Megatron had made such a number out of his desire that they no longer interfaced with anyone else. It was questionable if he actually had the methods to find out even if they did do that… But it didn’t even matter where Megatron learned it from. They might as well tell it to him themselves.

But on the off chance Megatron did find out their partner’s identity and did make good on his threat of making that individual pay…

“Tracks,” they said in unison, Sideswipe with a guffaw and Sunstreaker with a sneer. Who cared even if something happened to him? Not them at least, and that was the bit that mattered.

Course decided, they gave it a day for tempers to mellow on Tracks’ side as well before Sideswipe… Approached him. Sunstreaker was nowhere to be seen, and in instances such as this, it did at least serve them well that most had no understanding of how inherently connected they were.

“What do you want?”

“Sorry about Sunny’s whole deal yesterday,” Sideswipe said with sincerity born from his acting skills and nothing else. Sunstreaker smirked in the privacy of their quarters. “You didn’t get in trouble for it or anything, did you? It wasn’t your fault.”

A snort from their quarry. “Of course it wasn’t my fault, it’s your brother we’re talking about here… But no, I didn’t get in any trouble. Thanks for asking.”

Sideswipe showed none of their annoyance at the dig at Sunstreaker’s character, just took a careful step closer with a suggestive purr of his engine. It was a balancing act with making his intent clear without accidentally looming over the shorter mech, but Sideswipe had long, long practice with the art. “Wanna let me make it up to you anyway?”

Track hesitated for a second before coming to an apparent decision, after which his field unfurled and bespoke his interest, as did the once-over he gave Sideswipe. “Well, if you’re offering,” their fellow warrior mused, broadcasting his intent ahead of time and giving Sideswipe time to stop him—something Sideswipe didn’t do—before his servo tipped between the red twin’s legs and dragged over his valve cover.

Score. Sideswipe’s grin wasn’t victorious, only pleased, but Sunstreaker’s smaller smile sure was. “Your quarters.”

For eight days, nothing unusual happened. The brothers continued to be grouchy to varying degrees, but they did their duties and didn’t stray far enough from the Autobot base to get caught in any… Less than pleasant situations. Deciding on the best course of action was proving troublesome. They knew Megatron, and one would have thought that that knowledge would help them counter him.

Quite the opposite. It only enabled them to conclude that anything they thought up would likely be countered by Megatron. The champion gladiator turned warlord was a foe beyond formidable in all areas, assuming he hadn’t lost any of his edge over the vorns—and they had no reason to think he had. Their recent encounters were proof in favor of Megatron still being every inch the mech he’d used to be, and then some.

Eight days, but on the ninth?

“Did you hear?”

It wasn’t directed at them, but from their rec room table the twins still overheard Smokescreen gossiping with some of the minibots.

“Hear what?” Cliffjumper asked, frowning.

“Tracks is in the medbay,” Smokescreen divulged with a tone unusually somber for him. That caught their full attention, but Sunstreaker only glanced at the lot from the corner of their optic even as their spark sped up in its rotation. “And in a bad, bad shape, too.”

The minibots shared looks amongst themselves before Windcharger spoke up. “What happened?”

“He and Hound were attacked on their patrol. No, scratch that, that sounds misleading. Hound barely has a dent on him–“

…Ah. The message was rather clear? To them, at any rate, and they had no doubt it was directed at them and them alone.

Megatron knew. Somehow, who knew how, he’d found out, and just like he’d said… Their partner of choice had paid the price.

Well, this was why they’d chosen Tracks.

“So!” Smokescreen’s voice growing somewhat louder pulled their attention back to him, “Anyone want to bet if our good friend Tracks pulls through?”

That bad, huh?

“Smokes, that’s low, even for you,” Bumblebee grimaced, followed by most occupants of the room jumping at the voice coming from the rec room door.

“You will take no such bets,” Prowl spoke, ice cold in both vocals and the look in his optics. Smokescreen shrunk back when he SIC approached him, one doorwinger’s doors held stiff and high, the other’s drooping in chagrin. “And if I find out you did…”

He didn’t finish, which left a few too many things up for imagination. Knowing Prowl’s punishments…

Smokescreen nodded meekly. “Understood loud and clear, sir.”

Prowl nodded brusquely before glancing around the room at large, “And if anyone takes part in this bet that will not happen, there will be consequences for them as well.”

With that promise, he turned on his heel and marched to the energon dispenser in a rather unusual move of getting a cube for himself. If the twins had to guess, Prowl had rightly predicted that Smokescreen would be up to something like this upon finding out about Tracks’ incident.

So far, though, nothing suggested anyone connected it to them in any way. Not much of a reason why anyone would have, really, but if someone leapt to that conclusion…

As the days progressed, no one appeared to come any closer to thoughts like that, though. The overarching theme was deep confusion for why Tracks had so clearly and brutally gotten targeted, and only the twins had the answer. Obviously they told not a single spark, but it still left them to do some puzzling of their own.

Facts: it turned Megatron was very intent on not allowing them to interface with anyone else again. What that made him was one controlling bastard. They hadn’t even agreed to continuing their relationship, had only had their memories restored— without their consent, one might add—and despite that detail of not agreeing to a damn thing, apparently they were supposed to continue right where they left off.

Except… Would things ever have ended without their then-owner’s unwanted intervention? Where would they be without it? With the Decepticons, as Decepticons? Would they have joined the revolution?

Stayed by Megatron’s side, still in a relationship with him?

But no, no, nothing said that would be the case. The vorns between then and now were near countless. Anything could have happened. They could have opted to break up with him, could have ended up defecting to the Autobots anyway, or pits, they could have simply died. They were good, but not invincible.

Any number of things could have taken place had things gone differently, and what could have been simply didn’t matter. Only what was right now and what they wanted mattered in the present. There was no point thinking about alternative timelines they weren’t a part of.

So what did they want?

Getting their choice in berth partners would be a damn fine start.

They still weren’t sure how to make Megatron believe once and for all there was nothing between them anymore, but the least they could do was regain their right to interface with who they pleased—somehow. How would they do even that much? Primus only knew, but at the very least they would do their damnedest—and to that end, not doubt themselves, because if there was even a shred of doubt… Megatron would use it.

That much they were sure of.

They gave it just enough time to make it look like Tracks’ near death experience and the change in their behavior weren’t immediately connected, then expanded their pleasure drive routes enough to give Megatron ample opportunity to show up like he fragging loved to do. It was starting to look like they were under some rather intense surveillance if Megatron could not only turn up in their way whenever he pleased, but also knew who they berthed.

And sure enough, sure enough, it was only their third longer range drive that Megatron was there. He had hid his signature, again, but they still found themselves less surprised than in the past times. After all, this was the outcome they had been after: to meet with him.

They’d barely transformed out of their alt-modes on the road in front of the tyrant before Sunstreaker already stated a simple truth. “You slagged Tracks.” Mild as they came, little in the way of emotional reaction—but it didn’t look like Megatron was surprised by their lack of upset.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” was all he responded with, taking the two steps needed to close the distance between them.

They held their ground up even when Megatron started to… Circle Sideswipe. His steps were slow, measured; his optics: calculating, and Sideswipe couldn’t help tensing, then starting when Megatron’s claws landed on his neck.

But they didn’t do more than trace along his neck cabling and armor, so massive in comparison to the red mech despite the twins’ own, not inconsiderable statures.

Massive, yet gentle—as was his voice when he continued. “I question why you would go through with it, when you knew how I felt about it… When you knew what I would do.” His servo slid across Sideswipe’s shoulders and upper chassis until he was behind the red twin again. There he gently but firmly tilted Sideswipe’s helm back by the underside of his chin, until Sideswipe was meeting his optics.

His brother had caught his lower lip between his denta, discomforted in the situation. It was becoming clear enough Megatron knew which frame of theirs they had used.

He knew far too much. How?

Sunstreaker growled in threat and aggravation, but by the Pits he knew better than to step in Megatron’s way to get him to stop harassing Sideswipe. At best he’d only get swept aside, having accomplished nothing.

He didn’t hold back his words, though. “Why would I give a slag about how you felt?” Sunstreaker began, glaring daggers up at the larger mech who hardly even acknowledged his presence. “We haven’t been in a relationship for millennia upon millennia, we still aren’t in a relationship, and I’m damn well going to live like the free mech I am and ‘face whoever I damn well please– Are you even listening?“

Megatron reacted in no way to his tirade, merely stroked one of his claws along Sideswipe’s throat—up down, up down. Sunstreaker didn’t get so much as a glance sent his way! The golden twin snarled, frustration prompting him to throw his arms up… But he spat out the last of his words, heard or no. “You can’t expect us to act as if we are exclusive!”

Finally Megatron glanced at him. It was just a brief thing, his helm not even moving, but optics flicking to the side for a second or two. Sunstreaker was going to count that as a victory, though, however minor.

But then it was over and Megatron went back to laying all of his disturbing attention on Sideswipe. It would have been a staring contest if there had been any contest involved, but as it was it was nothing but a hostage situation. Megatron may as well have held Sideswipe at a gunpoint, his gaze bore down on him with such inherent danger…

Even though there was nothing in his touch, in his optics, but… Tenderness.

Yet they knew better than to fall for it. So much better.

All was quiet for a moment long enough to cause Sideswipe to fidget and Sunstreaker to tense up as their disquiet grew to gargantuan proportions. Their ventilations hitched on the same cycle, and still Megatron did nothing. Nothing but touch, and stare.

It felt wrong to break the silence on their part, though. They’d already said their piece. The ball was in Megatron’s court right now.

And he wasn’t moving it.

Sunstreaker’s engine was roaring with tension before Megatron deigned to say something, anything. “I remember,” was what he started with when he did, and oh, if the brothers’ attention wasn’t rapt on him, “our exclusivity in the Pits–“ one servo kept at Sideswipe’s throat while the other began to wander, good and proper, tracing down Sideswipe’s front, briefly pausing at his insignia, then continuing onward.

So terribly distracting, but they tried to keep even a part of their focus on his words, even as Megatron’s intent grew more clear with the way seams were gently scratched on the way down, down. Sideswipe shivered from helm to pede, unable to look with his helm held tipped as it was… And so it fell to Sunstreaker to stare at the paths Megatron’s claws took along his twin’s frame.

“–And how you were perfectly alright with it,” the tyrant finished with, voice an almost gentle rumble as he reached Sideswipe’s codpiece, briefly circled the edges of his spike cover, then passed it to dip between his legs. His servo accepted no resistance and its sheer size left Sideswipe with no option but to spread his legs.

That was different, they would’ve wanted to say.

That was then, this is now.

That was what they should have said, but Megatron silenced them before they had the chance to do more than open their mouth–

By leaning down the rest of the way and pressing his lips to Sideswipe’s.

Shock and surprise froze them in place, the gentle movement of Megatron’s lips against Sideswipe’s quickly drawing a confused mewl from his brother. Megatron fondled the edges of his valve cover all the while, the sensation from down there and up here suspending Sideswipe between them—stuck, so very stuck.

It was only when his vents opened and his fans began to whir faster that Megatron pulled away from his mouth, to kiss its corner, then Sideswipe’s cheek–

“Would you go exclusive for us?” Sunstreaker asked breathlessly, but proud of himself for managing to make his voice entirely accusatory. “Or just expect us to stop ‘facing others?” While doing whatever the frag he pleased, himself… Wouldn’t surprise him.

There was no answer for a moment, Megatron not one to be rushed to go any faster or calmed to go any slower than what he wanted the pace to be. And, right now, that was slow as he leaned to kiss Sideswipe’s neck—there weren’t even denta involved.

Only once he himself deigned to do so did Megatron pull away for his voice to be fully heard. “If you want me to.”

Well, that was the way things had been– No.

That was then–

This was–

This–

Megatron swept Sideswipe off his pedes entirely, effortlessly, pulling a gasp from the red twin as he was laid onto the ground on his back, softly, entirely unharmed by the process.

Not so much as a scratch on his finish.

Confused, Sideswipe tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but with a, “Shh,” Megatron ever gently but so very firmly pushed him down by a servo on his chassis.

Confused, Sideswipe nevertheless obeyed, not that he had much option under the pressure applied upon him.

Megatron knelt between his legs and their spark quickened its rotation, faster, faster, as they thought they knew where this was once again going to go. Sunstreaker took a step closer to put a stop to it, somehow, in any way necessary–

But halted when Megatron didn’t… Do that. Do what they’d expected.

Because instead of anything else, he caught Sideswipe’s under his knees and lifted his lower half until only his brother’s shoulders were touching the ground anymore, bending at the waist himself–

Until he could lay a kiss directly on his twin’s valve cover.

Sideswipe stared. Sunstreaker stared—they stared until they felt their optics might burn from the strain of their disbelief–

“Open for me?” Megatron purred.

–But it wasn’t as if this hadn’t happened before either—just a very long time ago.

Which way was up, which way was down, were they sideways—the world promptly decided to stop making any manner of sense when Megatron licked a stripe on the panel, requesting entry…

And later on they’d blame it on being caught entirely off guard and nothing else, but Sideswipe’s cover slid out of the way before conscious thought had caught up and their better sense could have had him refuse.

Megatron waited none after that obstacle had been done away with, his glossa slipping inside and wasting no time hunting down Sideswipe’s nodes with the same practiced certainty he’d displayed every time prior. It was… Fragging incredible. Not just the feeling of it. Oh, that certainly was too, because Megatron knew them too well and could make it feel so good and make it look damn easy… But also the who it was doing what. 

Megatron, doing something that didn’t benefit him in any way. He was getting nothing out of this, only Sideswipe was—and Sideswipe was getting much, much out of this, his vents gasping and back arching as charge started to build in his valve, spread into his frame. His valve slicked steadily, not that Megatron’s glossa would’ve needed the aid next to his oral lubricant.

It was selfless in a way they never would have associated with the warlord–

But it wasn’t unheard of. They’d been here before, they knew this was a possibility, and that it wasn’t selfless because nothing with Megatron ever was–

There was always a game he was playing, a goal he was working towards.

And right now, they could guess that goal was to undo them.

He was… Very successful at that. Sunstreaker’s legs shook of their own accord and Sideswipe closed his optics against the torrent of sensation Megatron ruthlessly but lovingly created in his frame. His brother only managed to bite back half of his moans, the rest slipping free against their will.

Once he was so ready, so very ready for anything more, just something… That was when Megatron lowered his frame back down, only to change his hold and cup his aft instead, raising and tilting it for a spike that seemed to have come out of nowhere. It wasn’t a rough, sudden entry, though. Instead there was just the pressure at his entrance at first, that built, steadily built… Until his first caliper gave way, drawing a soft moan from Sideswipe. Megatron pushed in slowly, taking his time, pulling just a bit back, then further in…

Primus. The way he inched inside annihilated all sensation of pain or discomfort, excess strain, of the far too much that could have so easily followed their size difference. There was nothing but that slick sense of fullness in the best of ways, every node in his valve brushed against by Megatron’s length and girth—everything given sensation to, nothing left unattended.

And when he pulled back out until only the tip remained inside, only to press himself back inside so languidly… When he began to repeat that movement, without any rush…

Just taking his time. Slow. Gentle.

So very gentle.

It felt like their whole world had cracked and shattered, but not from a sudden, violent smash. Rather, pressure had been steadily applied until cracks had formed, and ever on until those cracks had multiplied to a critical point—and then all the broken pieces rained onto the floor. When had he fallen onto his knees? Sunstreaker didn’t know, he only became aware of staring at the ground sightlessly, lost in the current emanating from Sideswipe.

Megatron was purring, covering Sideswipe’s entire frame with his far greater bulk, trapping him in sensation, vibration, heat—no choice but to feel it all, no escape even if he’d had a single thought in that direction.

…He didn’t have a single thought in any direction, really. If one tried to form, the next thrust swiftly doomed it to oblivion.

There was nothing but the pleasure in his frame, burning, intense, yet building so slowly that it never started to feel unbearable.

It didn’t break suddenly, either. All it was was a steady climb to the peak, they could almost count the seconds… The crest… Then the fall that bloomed from their core. Pleasure rushed through their lines, touching every part of them. Charge released, danced. One of them moaned wordlessly, the other Megatron’s name—past and present blurred together to erase the time in between until now was just as then. 

Megatron rumbled at his own peak, joining their release with heat that flooded their valve and playful charge that passed between their frames, extending the high for them both. The muddling pleasure lingered far longer than it had any right to, and even when it finally began to dispel, it was slowly, giving them back their faculties at an embarrassing pace. 

Once they gained enough awareness to make sense of their surroundings, Megatron had already pulled out of Sideswipe, landing just a brief kiss on his slack lips—Sideswipe blinked, too slow to react—before he pushed himself to his pedes. How he managed to look so unaffected was a question reserved for mecha that had more of their processing power available.

Sunstreaker lifted his helm blearily when Megatron’s pedesteps vibrated his ground and indicated his approach. The tyrant crouched in front of him, grabbed him by the jaw and kissed him too—but this, roughly. Possessively. It was all denta and sent an electric shock along Sunstreaker’s core.

He cursed himself internally.

“Remember who you belong to,” Megatron not-quite-growled when he pulled away, then released him, took a step back, let their gazes linger for a moment…

Only to transform and take to the skies without a further word.

Sideswipe didn’t bother trying to get up yet. Sunstreaker didn’t bother trying to think too hard yet, just spent the time trying to shoo off the fog on his processors before he’d do anything further.

It took a while, but eventually Sideswipe pushed himself up on his elbows, then to seated, blinking at the mess on his groin before looking back at Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker met his optics, and with more and more of their thoughts being freed from the grasp of being utterly overwhelmed… Their minds started to run madly the moment they escaped the clutches of what Megatron had afflicted them with.

Now what, was the thought at the forefront, followed soon after by what just happened.

Megatron just happened, in all his might that wasn’t always only physical. He was… So incredibly much. A power that could not be fought, both the unstoppable force and the immovable object, inescapable, never to be trounced or dodged.

And they were his target.

Who did they think they were to against him? What were their chances? They’d made less than no progress on getting him off their case today, utterly failed at setting any boundaries–

They should tell someone by now. It was becoming apparent this… This wasn’t something they could clear on their own. That stung—to be so outmatched they needed to ask for who knew how much help to just be free of this… But wouldn’t it be worth it?

Though no doubt the likes of Prowl and Jazz could put two and two together and figure out they were the reason Tracks nearly died. That could get… Unpleasant.

But what choice did they have?