{I probably should’ve made a pinned post awhile ago but hindsight and all that}
THIS IS A MAJORITY NSFW BLOG! MINORS AND THOSE WHO DON’T LIKE DNI
My name is Quantum Fizzicks or the Mechanical Menace {nicknames fully welcome} and my pronouns are they/it.
I write and reblog whatever transformers freak shit I want for the most part, but I do sfw writing as well {just not as frequently}.
Anything nsfw will be tagged with ‘smut’ or other transformers variants such as ‘valveplug’, ‘plug and play’, and ‘wireplay’ but it’ll mostly be under ‘valveplug’. More specific kinks and pairings will be tagged at the top of the actual fic for clarity.
To find my drabbles in a more broad sense, you can just search ‘writing’ on my blog.
All my sfw stuff will be tagged with ‘sfw’.
You can leave likes and/or comments on my posts if you enjoy them and send me asks as long as you’re respectful about it.
{A vaguely G1-ish thunderbee valveplug where Bumblebee dotes on his heavily sparked partner to help ease his aches}
{Warnings for: valveplug, mechpreg but it’s alien (not human), pregnant sex, sex toys, strap-on, false spike, suspension bondage but it’s not actually true bondage per se, post-canon in a world where their species is trying to recover their numbers, they’re very different sizes but they make it work, seeker behaviors, how the hell did Bee bag a whole big ass seeker? I have no clue 👍, might make a part 2 when I’m done with kinktober 2025 (maybe)}
Seekers used to be infamous for flying around the block and getting sparked back in the Golden Age of Cybertron, but when the war started, their reproductive code went dormant just like it had with every other frame type. There hadn’t been enough material or even a safe enough place to properly carry, so their entire race simply stopped reproduction until the issue was resolved.
No one had really expected the war to go on nearly as long as it did and no one had a clue that it would mean the death of their own planet. Thankfully that whole debacle had been mostly dealt with— except for the dwindling population. That was still very much a problem. And, for whatever reason, Thundercracker felt extremely guilty over it.
So when a repopulation effort was announced, Thundercracker barely hesitated before signing up. And apparently, he wasn’t the only mech because available slots ended up filled before the end of the decacycle.
Tests were ran, physicals were done, and Thundercracker was given the option of choosing from a list of eligible mecha he could interface with to initiate a kindling. The list had been surprisingly long considering all the permanent issues every mech no doubt suffered from because of the war, but seemingly every other name was someone he either used to know or used to fight. And while he normally wouldn’t care much about sires, if he ended up sparking someone else, he wanted to stick around and help any way he could.
He wasn’t about to be a deadbeat sire if he could help it.
And if he was the one sparked and his partner chose to stay like he would’ve, then he at least wanted a sire he could tolerate. Maybe even one he could enjoy, though that was more a wish than a necessity. Still, in a post-war world, a mech was allowed to dream.
Then he stopped dead in his reading when he spotted a familiar name on the data pad screen. Somewhere in the middle, lost between numerous other names, sat a designation he hadn’t expected, but now that he saw it and thought about the possibility for longer than a few seconds, it was becoming an… enticing idea.
“Excuse me, it says here that… Bumblebee is an option?”
•{~~~}•
It turns out, kindling a newspark was relatively easy once basic necessities were met. It was keeping the carrier happy and safe that quickly became a problem. If Bumblebee had known about just how stir crazy a carrier could get, he likely would’ve been a little more reluctant to sign up. Not to say he was regretting his choice! Far from it really.
It was just startling to see Thundercracker flitting about their shared apartment— given to them as part of the repopulation effort— after multiple long cycles of the seeker struggling to even get to his pedes without creaking and groaning. They had been warned about the chaotic period that was the last stretch of carrying and given plenty of reading material on such a subject, but watching Thundercracker fall into a spontaneous cleaning frenzy wasn’t exactly what Bumblebee had expected.
He tried to offer his help, but Thundercracker had simply waved him off, mumbling something about needing to burn off some energy and how it all needs to be done right. Bee almost felt insulted at that last part, but he knew better than to argue with a carrying mechanism clearly in the zone, so he instead focused on the other mumbling and made a plan from there.
If Thundercracker felt the need to burn some energy, maybe he could help with that and get the seeker to properly rest— two problems, one frag.
A joor or two later, Thundercracker had slowed down to look for something, only to stop when he finally took notice of the string lights leading down the hallway and into the berthroom. Well, technically there was two berthrooms in case the sire and carrier wanted to remain mostly separate, but since he and Bumblebee had gotten along so well in their time together, they decided to rest in the same berth in case of an emergency.
And Bumblebee was surprisingly warm and heavy for such a small bot, which made him the perfect weighted tarp when the aches in his joints got particularly bad.
Thundercracker, curious about the random change, followed the lights into the berthroom and stopped in the door. Inside, Bumblebee was placing some finishing touches on the berth itself, which was absolutely covered in tarps and cushions. The lights were set to dim and the room was warmer than the rest of the apartment, seemingly trying to entice him further inside.
And just above the berth, attached to a suspicious looking anchor on the ceiling, was his decompression harness. It had been created only recently with carriers in mind, meant to wrap loosely around the upper torso and servos to lift just enough to ease the weight on struts immensely. It was such a simple device in theory, but it worked fragging wonders on Thundercracker’s long-suffering back and shoulders.
While Cybertronians didn’t become ‘rotund’ like humans and some other organic creatures did while carrying, their species did get much heavier, largely thanks to a sparkling’s added mass, but also because the armor plating that developed to compensate for such a massive shift in weight distribution also dragged a carrier down. Along with the eventual shutdown of the transformation cog and aching joints, that left most carriers— including Thundercracker— much less mobile than normal.
Primus, did Thundercracker miss flying.
“Bee,” he called to the minibot hesitantly, peering around the incredibly comfy looking room, “Did you do this?”
“Course,” Bee confirmed as he fluffed one last cushion before making his way to Thundercracker and taking his servo, “I just noticed you were all over the place earlier and you said something about needing to burn energy, so I thought ‘what better way to do that than a nice, relaxed frag?’”
Thundercracker snorted a laugh at the other’s bluntness, “Oh, so you just wanted to interface?”
“Well, no,” Bee laughed with him, gently leading the seeker to their berth, “I wanted to help you because I know you’ve been uncomfortable lately.”
He guided Thundercracker into the berth, helping him sit up at the headboard so they could work together on the straps of the decompression device. The fabric used in the harness was strong but silky and it felt amazing against freshly waxed plating, but Thundercracker wasn’t about to spend all that time polishing right now. Not when he had a sparkmate so eager to love on him like this.
With the straps securely in place, Bumblebee activated the slow ascent until Thundercracker groaned in utter relief. It felt so fragging good, he could almost cry like humans did when they got emotional— were he not a cybernetic lifeform incapable of producing fluid from his optics unless there was a serious problem.
“Feel better?” Bee snorted a laugh.
Thundercracker could only hum in confirmation, slowly relaxing his aching struts and relieving pressure off his internals. Primus, he didn’t want to leave this thing until the carriage was over.
“Good to hear,” Bee left a chaste kiss on the seeker’s derma before leaning back, “Now you just relax and let me take care of the rest.~”
Thundercracker nodded, shuttering his optics and heaving a great sigh through his vents. Bumblebee watched the other for any inclination of discomfort as he triggered the manual latch of the seeker’s panels and began slowly working his digits inside, but found no such thing. In fact, Thundercracker only seemed to relax further as Bee carefully tested pliable calipers with his short digits.
As the carriage continued, Thundercracker’s valve only became more and more soft and warm, seemingly welcoming any kind of attention given and trying to entice the minibot to keep going. It was certainly hard to refuse; the session some decacycles ago that ended up going on far longer than just the one required transfluid donation was certainly evidence of Bumblebee falling for the ploy time and time again. Somehow, they had both fallen into recharge immediately after despite the unbelievable mess on and in them.
Even still, Bumblebee made sure the other was well and truly comfortable before he proceeded with anything else. Only when Thundercracker started whining softly from his turbines did the minibot deem the preparation enough and lovingly kissed one of the knees surrounding him before quickly jumping off the berth and grabbing something from their toy chest. There wasn’t really much inside, just some false spikes, straps, and even a pair of cushioned stasis cuffs that could only be used for interfacing rather than the intended purpose of restraining a suspect.
Regardless, they had both come to enjoy what toys they had at their disposal— Thundercracker especially once his carriage started affecting him more physically and made him incredibly sensitive to any kind of stimulation. They had found that out the unfortunate way when Bumblebee’s usual form of jokingly coming up behind the seeker while he was busy and wrapping his servos around the larger mech in the vague attempt at a hug accidentally left Bumblebee’s hands just a bit too close to his panels.
That was the first time Bumblebee had ever been sucked off while sitting on a counter and Thundercracker had certainly been very eager at the time. After the fact, the seeker had apologized profusely for ‘jumping his struts’, but Bumblebee had found it far more attractive than he probably should have.
Finding the items he needed, he closed the compartment, set up the strap-on, and crawled back into berth. Resettling himself between Thundercracker’s stabilizers, he gently stroked his servos up and down the seeker’s thighs and tapped a digit to regain his attention. When Thundercracker lifted his helm and blearily opened his optics, it took only a moment for him to recognize what his partner had chosen and it sent a shudder of arousal through his whole frame.
It wasn’t anything special; just an average sized spike for a seeker frame, but the topside of the length was also lined with soft spines that would stimulate sensors along the front of the valve, ones often neglected in comparison to the rest of the nodes lining a valve. Bumblebee knew Thundercracker preferred this exact false spike when he was self-servicing.
In response to the blatant care for his preferences, Thundercracker moaned and bit his derma, shifting slightly to give the minibot better access to his array. Bumblebee thanked him with a few kisses to both of his knees and began slowly pressing in.
With the stretching and overproduction of lubricant, Bumblebee barely used any effort to hilt himself in the other, though he still paused once he did to give Thundercracker as much time as he needed to relax his calipers.
While Bee loved spiking the seeker whenever he got the chance, he was— ironically— big enough to admit that sometimes, the size of their equipment was simply too incompatible for certain situations. And with the added lubricant and relaxed nature of his valve, Thundercracker sometimes needed something longer or thicker to appease the confusing, feral part of his processor that demanded a level of roughness.
Hence some of the… larger options in their toy chest of fun.
“Doing alright?” Bee asked, more for his own comfort than Thundercracker’s because it was very clear just by looking at him that the seeker was more than just ‘alright’.
“Uh huh,” he managed to hum louder than his fans, “Keep going. Be a little r… rough with me.”
Just as Bumblebee opened his intake to debate whether that was a good idea so far into his carriage, Thundercracker looked down at him with the biggest pleading optics that could rival a young Earth canine.
“Please…”
‘Sparks sake, how could he resist a face like that?
Slowly, Bumblebee began thrusting, still fully aware and concerned for his partner’s condition. Thundercracker moaned quietly, gripping the berth covers as Bee carefully sped up.
“Faster,” the seeker moaned louder at a thrust that just barely brushed his ceiling node, “Harder, please. I’m not fragile.”
Bumblebee was inclined to disagree with that last statement, but he wasn’t nearly dumb enough to voice it. So he obliged his partner, grabbing onto his hips to properly piston in and out of Thundercracker’s weeping valve. All the while, Bumblebee couldn’t take his optics off the sight, watching the false spike disappear into that fluttering warmth and wishing it was his own spike instead.
With the gradually increased pace and strength, Thundercracker began gasping and squirming in earnest, forcing Bumblebee to hold his waist tighter to keep the rhythm somewhat consistent. Their arrays met in loud, wet clangs that seemed to echo throughout their entire hab, accompanied by the grunts, moans, and other lewd noises to be expected of a good hard frag. It didn’t take long before Thundercracker started showing signs of an impending overload.
“C-close,” he panted, vocalizer staticky, “So close! Keep g-going!”
Grunting and panting like a mechanimal, Bumblebee redoubled his efforts, his vice grip on Thundercracker’s waist leaving behind shallow dents they would need to buff out. Thundercracker seemed to enjoy the treatment as he threw his helm back and cried out in overload, back strut arching surprisingly far considering the sheer weight his frame was holding.
A little reluctantly, Bumblebee slowed his thrusts to a stop, groaning as the pressure behind his panels ached at the sight of an overload he hadn’t been part of. Just as he was pulling out, Thundercracker grabbed his shoulder to get his attention.
“Have you overloaded?”
Bumblebee huffed a fond laugh, taking hold of the other’s servo to nuzzle it, “I don’t need to overload; this was about you, after all.”
Thundercracker didn’t seem convinced even as the minibot pulled out and began undoing the suspension harness, much to his aching struts disappointment. Once he was fully sitting on the berth again, Thundercracker cradled Bumblebee’s helm affectionately, forcing him to meet his optics.
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get to have fun too,” he pointed out, casually stroking one of Bee’s audial horns and eliciting a purr from his engine almost instantly.
Bumblebee hummed, optics shuttering and his faceplate going lax, “Keep doing that and I just might overload.~”
Thundercracker couldn’t stop an almost evil laugh from escaping him, bringing his other servo into the fray to massage both horns at the same time. The reaction was immediate; Bumblebee groaned in pleasure and his entire frame shuddered, his engine kicking into higher gear again.
But just as the two started to get back into it, something deep within Thundercracker’s abdomen shifted in an unfamiliar way and made him yelp in surprise. Bumblebee, broken from the sensual immersion, jolted and looked at the other curiously.
“What’s wrong?”
Thundercracker opened his intake to speak, only for his vocalizer to fail him when another spontaneous shift happened, this time with an audible transformation sound that rivaled the volume of a gunshot in the suddenly silent room. A servo flew to his midsection as he felt all the energon in his frame go cold.
“Thunder… what was that?” Bumblebee asked slowly, glancing between his abdomen and his unreadable faceplate, “What’s wrong?”
“I think… we might have accidentally initiated the emergence…”
In all fairness to him, Bumblebee reacted about as well as he could have— although he did end up faceplanting on their floor and damaging his nasal ridge in his haste to gather everything they needed for their trip to the medbay.
An amazing thing about Blades in TFRB is that he shit-talks people, but then he reverts back once he's called out on it because he doesn't want the confrontation.
Imagine Blades if he lost his fear of confrontation, lol.
Cybertronians don’t breathe— they don’t need to because they don’t have lungs or a circulatory systems that requires gases to function.
when Cybertronian’s first met humans, they likely felt some confusion at first. because humans absolutely need— not only gases to function— but they need very specific kinds in order to live. and humans are kinda obvious about it, considering their breathing and all.
so imagine a bot, who has just gotten used to the fact that humans are constantly moving, even while recharging. then one day, a human falls asleep around them and just… stops breathing. immediate alarm bells because humans need to do that so they panic and roughly wake the human up to make sure they’re not dying for no reason.
turns out, having sleep apnea can scare the shit out of a Cybertronian and you will definitely get an earful about it when you fully wake up.
honestly with all the discourse on your blog lately I just feel the need to remind people that they can write whatever the fuck they want forever because fiction is FICTION. You don't have to be an SA victim to write about rape, you don't have to be in recovery to write about addiction, you have to be a survivor to write about abuse, you don't need to be a gay man to write about two dudes kissing or a lesbian to write about two women kissing etc cetera. You can write anything you want because who tf is it gonna hurt besides the feelings of the snowflakes, but I don't think the antis are ready for that conversation yet.
{A tfp wheelratch wireplay where Ratchet actually asks for help and Wheeljack is one of the only mecha left with the skills to do so}
{Warnings for: wireplay, maintenance turned sexual (can you tell I love that tag yet?), tactile interfacing, short but sweet, playing with the MTMTE ‘medics have sensitive hands’ tidbit but in Aligned, Ratchet desperately needs a break and everyone knows it, Wheeljack being a little shit like always}
Ratchet loathed asking for help when it came to anything medical related. It made him feel incompetent and almost useless when he did even though, logically, he knew that was a foolish thought. Of everyone on the team, he was likely one of the most important mecha they had— if Optimus was to be believed and Ratchet trusted him with his very spark.
Yet asking for help still gave him trouble. It was like pulling a digit from the mouth of a starving scraplet. Yes, he had learned from the ‘synth-en’ incident, but old habits die hard and as an apprentice, he was expected to already know how to do most things or to figure it out on his own if not.
Unfortunately, there simply wasn’t any feasible way for him to clean and adjust the tiny inner workings of his servos. If there were, he would have already done so without any fanfare. But he couldn’t, so he was forced to not only ask for someone else’s assistance, but to ask for it from one of the only mecha in the universe who could seemingly blow things up better than he could build them.
“Take it easy doc, I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
“Pain isn’t my biggest concern at the moment,” Ratchet grit out, trying not to fidget now that his servos were strapped down to the small tool table, “I’m far more worried about you damaging any delicate components. We don’t exactly have many spare parts lying around.”
“Relax,” Wheeljack assured so helpfully, “I’ve been rewiring explosives for centuries now, this can’t be that much harder.”
Ratchet wanted to point out that this was, in fact, much harder than just defusing a bomb, but decided he’d be better off not falling for the Wrecker’s bait to banter. The less talking there was, the less likely Wheeljack would be to accidentally misalign something. Ratchet needed his hands to do anything around the base and he wasn’t looking to lose that because of someone else’s lack of focus.
Taking apart and cleaning his first servo went well enough with Ratchet’s guidance and vigilant watch over the other’s actions, but recalibrating his sensors presented some trouble. His digits were jerky and the responses from them were noticeably delayed, which was not a good thing to see from a medic.
“Spark’s sake, what did you do?” he groaned, though he knew he couldn’t truly be mad at Wheeljack because he had done everything Ratchet had told him to.
“Nothing ‘cept what you said,” Wheeljack hummed, taking another look at the small components through the magnifying lens attached to a tiny forceps tool, “Hmm, maybe your neurological impulse signals just haven’t fully recalibrated.”
“Oh please,” Ratchet scoffed, fighting the urge to roll his optics, “And since when do you have knowledge about the intricacies of the neural net?”
Wheeljack shrugged slightly, putting down the forceps and picking up an unused brush, “Next to nothing, but I’ve heard delays can happen after maintenance.”
“Where have you-“
Ratchet was immediately interrupted by a startled yelp as Wheeljack gently ran the brush through extremely sensitive gears and instantly sent strange signals from his servos straight to his processor, sending bright stars across his vision. When his optics cleared, Ratchet had to reset his vocalizer— when had it short circuited?— and took a monumental amount of effort to look the Wrecker in the eye again.
To Wheeljack’s credit, he at least had the mind to look surprised, but that quickly faded when he realized Ratchet wasn’t hurt. Anything but hurt, really.
“Well then-“
“Not. A. Word,” Ratchet ordered, though his vocalizer was full of static and minimized any threat, “To anyone. Understood?”
Wheeljack chuckled knowingly, coaxing the layers of plating Ratchet’s servo to resettle back into place with numerous clicks and a hiss.
“Hey, ain’t gotta worry about me saying anything doc,” he assured, though his slag-eating smirk said otherwise, “But we still have your other servo to spiff up.”
Ratchet felt his internal temperature spike, mentally berating himself for not somehow figuring out a way to do this himself. Knowing Wheeljack, he was never going to let him forget this.
Every couple weeks I see someone making the point that IDW1 ruins its premise because the Decepticons started out 'in the right' and ended in galactic genocide, which itches a little. I feel like many people miss the 'point', if there was any, which is that the Decepticons were always a faction that correctly diagnosed many problems with their society and then used that fear and anguish towards personal gain.
Long post ↓
To be clear: Megatron is a fascist. This isn't something he slowly formed into over the course of the war, it's how he started it. At some point he personally believed in a route that followed pacifist, collective reform, but this was never his true party line. Megatron didn't envision a world where the subjugated were free from their hierarchy, he envisioned a world where he was on top instead.
Quoth Towards Peace: '...your "betters"? You have none. We are all equal. And we have a right to decide how to live our lives.' This is notably not, and never was, how the Decepticons were organized. Hearing it straight from Megatron's mouth, one might believe this is completely at odds with what they become in the future, but that's exactly what he wants his listener to believe. Here's one of my favorite moments in all of IDW:
Over and over again, he says us versus them. He doesn't specify who 'they' are, because the point is that the listener can fill that image in with their own personal grievances. He wants them to believe, as Drift says, that there is no other way. He does not believe in equality. He poses the Decepticons as the "betters" instead— the strong, the powerful, the just; they are the true voice of Cybertron, the real heart of this nation. The way Megatron speaks eliminates any shade of grey from their world. There is only us and the enemy, and the enemy is both infinitely powerful, oppressive, and infinitely weak, pathetic. Never mind that there are people within the system who seek to change it for the better, like Orion Pax, never mind that there are people on the streets already fighting for it, like Hot Rod. There's only with Megatron, or against him. And if you are with him, you are stronger, more noble than you have ever been.
Believing that Megatron's voice is the only one speaking for justice in IDW1's pre-war Cybertron is falling for his charisma. The Decepticons were never the 'good guys'. Megatron used the pain of his people as leverage to put himself in power...
...and if they're brutal, cruel, it can only be the fault of the system. The Decepticons didn't make themselves that way.
...if they're selfish, deceptive, it's only a failing to hold close enough to their zealotry. There is nothing wrong with the heart of the movement— the true heart of Cybertron.
A real Decepticon is always just.
The Decepticon Cause meant something different to every person who believed in it. But the Decepticon army exists with the singular purpose of war, of which the singular purpose is control. Megatron is ruthless, nationalist, anti-religion and anti-compassion. He pretends his expansionism is defense. His vision for the future is freedom only for himself.
All that to say it pains me greatly when people say that IDW is flawed specifically for having the early Autobots be in the wrong and the Decepticons in the right. The point isn't that either of them are the right one, but rather that war is never just. There are no perfect heroes in IDW; only millions and millions of murderers. This is what I love about it!!
{An animated longblurr/shockblurr valveplug where Longarm (Shockwave) torments Blurr for fun, takes place before the cube-fication}
{Warnings for: valveplug, vibrators, sensory deprivation, power play, edging, bondage, blindfolds, pussy & clit torture, short but sweet}
“Well agent Blurr?” Longarm Prime’s voice echoed throughout the dark room, unaffected and seemingly everywhere at once, “What say you to that request from repair crew C-50?”
Blurr groaned, squirming in his bonds and trying to blink away the darkness despite the blackout visor covering his optics. His servos and stabilizers were all strapped down, leaving him very limited mobility wise and made it so he couldn’t even tap his pedes or fiddle with his digits to focus. Most of his focus, rather than on Longarm Prime’s words like it should be, was solely on the vibrator strapped to his angry node. The torturous device was pressed firmly against the small, blinking organ, vibrating agonizingly slowly, too slowly to be enjoyable but moving too much to ignore.
The poor blue mech tried to keep his vents even and his frame in control, but the longer this ‘exercise’ went on, the more he lost his processor to the fog of arousal.
Just as he had managed to collect his thought trees enough to speak, a thick digit was slowly inserted into his valve, making him choke on a moan and try to kick out at the stimulation. With how long the torment had gone on, he was left wound too tight and extremely sensitive. So sensitive in fact, he likely could have overloaded from that single digit alone if it hadn’t just as quickly retreated.
A frustrated wail finally escaped him, his squirming turned to thrashing in the matter of nanoseconds. The short moment of stimulation had felt so good, it had almost been painful and he needed more of it before his frame burst.
“L-L-Longarm- ah! Sir! Ple-e-ease! Need to o-overload, sir! Please!”
His cries went unanswered, though not unheard as the larger mech laughed in an almost evil manner and pressed the vibrator harder against his node. Blurr practically screamed as molten hot pleasure ran up his spinal strut and through his aching limbs like a lightning strike. Even with the cruelly added pressure, it still wasn’t enough to overload.
When the other finally removed his servo, Blurr felt almost his entire frame go lax.
“How about I repeat that request again?” Longarm offered with fake kindness, “I know you have a hard time focusing on multiple things at once. And if you can give me an answer this time, I may allow you the mercy of an overload.~”
Blurr choked on an utterly pathetic whine, both excited and anxious about what was to come.
Though these advances may seem tempting, it is advised not to engage with a merformer’s advances outside of a controlled scientific environment. Teasing a Merformer in heat can result in accident or injury at best, and full blown abduction or maiming at worst.
(Full Zine Uncensored with Research Notes Out on May 31st 2026)
oh my god, I forgot to post again
tf kinktober 2025, day 25
Throne room || Wireplay {o||o}
{Any continuity megasound wireplay where Megatron needs help doing some maintenance and Soundwave is the only mech he can trust to do so properly}
{Warnings for: wireplay, tactile interfacing, plug and play, sort of master/servant play?, topping from the bottom, maintenance turned sexual, they say they’re casual but they’re really not, we NEED more submissive Megs bc the implications of him being submissive and the struggle he likely experiences with that because of his past are incredibly interesting but y’all are cowards}
Maintenance. Of all the things Megatron hated— of which there were many— maintenance was certainly up there on the list. Sure, a good oil bath and buffing was nice, but everything else about maintenance dragged on far longer than Megatron had the time to deal with.
Luckily for him, he had an extremely loyal intelligence officer who was more than willing to assist him at a moment’s notice.
And that’s how lord Megatron found himself sitting in his bulky but bare throne with Soundwave sitting in his lap. The cassette carrier’s legs straddled the warlord’s thighs, keeping him in place as he carefully picked through his tangled internals. While Megatron would prefer to do this in the privacy of his own hab, he wasn’t foolish enough to leave his troops alone to govern themselves for longer than a few joors— and even that was pushing it.
Thankfully, Soundwave was being relatively quick about his work.
As if to directly contradict that thought, a particularly tangled bunch of wires gave Soundwave enough trouble for him to firmly tug against the obstacle. Megatron, for his part, reacted with decent poise and gave no more than a moan at the sudden stimulation, digging his digits into the armrests as he kept himself in line. When the sensation ebbed, Soundwave gave a garbled hum in apology before continuing in his goal.
In an attempt to distract himself, Megatron picked up a data pad to check things off or deny unnecessary requests, but didn’t get very far as the feeling of Soundwave’s deft digits digging deeper into his components made him tense and his hips buck despite his best efforts. A groan escaped him, the warlord biting down on his derma to stifle himself and hopefully save his pride somewhat.
It didn’t go unnoticed, however. Nothing ever snuck past Soundwave’s sensors.
“Lord Megatron: willing to proceed?”
“Of course,” said lord scoffed, pretending like that lapse in control hadn’t happened, “Continue.”
“Permission to hardline?”
Megatron raised a single brow ridge, “Is there a reason for it?”
“Reason: tracking progress and insuring no damage is done.”
“I highly doubt you of all mecha would purposefully injure me— if you even could.”
“Hardline: not necessary, but may assure comfort.”
That not only got another scoff from him, but also a roll of his optics. Since when had Megatron ever concerned himself with his own comfort? He’d experienced far worse things than wire management.
“Do whatever you please,” he relented hesitantly, “Within reason, of course.”
“Affirmative.”
Coaxing the data port in Megatron’s thigh open, Soundwave then opened his own with a click and pulled their data cables out. Carefully plugging them into their respective ports, Megatron hissed once the connection initiated and foreign code began circulating through his own. It had been quite some time since he hardlined with another being and it was unfortunately obvious.
“Lord Megatron: experiencing discomfort?”
Apparently, it had been a while since Soundwave had hardlined too, considering the feeling pulsing through the warlord was anything but uncomfortable. Primus, why hadn’t he done this with the intel specialist sooner? Outside of his inherent lack of trust in anyone, what had held him back?
“N… no discomfort,” he grit out, trying to keep any incriminating noise from escaping and making a fool of himself, “Continue.”
Soundwave obeyed, almost eagerly so, and reinvigorated his efforts. Despite all of Megatron’s best attempts, short gasps and moans left his intake without his permission and were no doubt ruining his carefully curated reputation as a hardened battlemech. He was suddenly very glad that both Starscream and Shockwave were too busy with their own tasks to witness such a pathetic scene. Starscream would undoubtedly use this to his advantage somehow, knowing that little squeaky traitor.
“Relax.”
Somehow, that gentle order did something stranger to his internals than the servos currently organizing them. Megatron swallowed a moan when the other mech untangled a tight cord and relief flooded his system, only to stare wide-eyed in shock when Soundwave seemingly moaned on his behalf. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to understand why that had happened.
“You’ve made it a two-way connection,” he spoke unevenly, more so a statement than a question.
“Affirmative,” Soundwave confirmed, struggling to keep his hips from jerking, “Query: is it a problem?”
Megatron, finally finding some footing instead of feeling like a lost scraplet on an organic planet, brought his large servos from the throne’s armrests up Soundwave’s thighs, receiving a shudder that echoed through the hardline and left phantom sensations across his own thigh guards. A knowing smirk found his faceplate, a new warmth spreading through his systems as his arousal began to steady in its rise.
“No problem at all, Soundwave,” he glanced up at the mech working on him with a half-lidded look, “My most loyal servant.~”
A more violent shudder wracked Soundwave’s frame, a staticky whine emanating from deep within his rectangular chassis. A wave of heat pulsed through the warlord’s lines, making him groan in second-hand pleasure. He couldn’t help the fond chuckle that escaped him.
“Had I known you enjoyed praise in berth as much as you do in your work, I would have rewarded you far sooner.~”
A long moan escaped the usually quiet mech, servos tensing and tugging at Megatron’s few unkempt wires. That combined with the connection made his back strut bow, his voice box crackling as he invented sharply.
“Or, perhaps, I may have allowed you to maneuver me however you see fit?” the normally self assured warrior found himself hesitant yet still offering, “Allow you control and I as your humble servant.~”
A tactile overload, blinding and sudden, overtook both simultaneously, likely initiated by Soundwave. A long, beautiful klik passed where Megatron clung to the intel officer’s thick thighs and Soundwave planted his servos against the back of the throne to keep himself from pinning the warlord when they came down. And when they did, the quiet that filled the vast room was far more comfortable now than it had been in the beginning of this menial task Megatron hated.
With a weak huff of a laugh, Megatron placed his helm crest again Soundwave’s chassis and vented hard as he recovered.
“That is certainly something we are going to discuss,” he smiled knowingly when Soundwave shuddered one last time, “Perhaps you can convince me to enjoy maintenance work yet.~”
fucked up at work thinking about aroace Rodimus except he doesn’t understand he’s aroace and is suffering from ‘I must be broken because everyone else enjoys sex and romance so maybe I just have to try harder’ syndrome and while all his flirting to compensate works a large portion of the time, he instantly ghosts when the situation gets too real for him
