f-r-e-a-k !βΏβ β·ο½‘β§
lost light members react to human porn (and develop some preferences of their own.)
ft. skids! megatron! rodimus! swerve! ultra magnus!
nsfw under the cut.
rodimus prime - top-five ranked
when he first heard actual, genuine human content had reached aboard his ship, he had quickly formed a half-assed meeting to announce that he, of course, being captain and all should review with ultra magnus.. and perhaps rewind too, before dispersing it out to the crew.
of course when ultra magnus expressed his surprise at this new leaf turned, eager to scour through intergalactic protocol he simply let one word out the other audial and made some grave, grammatical errors to distract the mech and let the captain do his own decision making.
he spends a lot of time nitpicking. he doesn't like movies as much so he reserves those to swerve nor does he care too much about books.
a functioning computer however....
he's bored. and curious. two demons that never dwell well together in the same room.
clearing browser history? never heard of that!
good thing the previous owner has lots of bookmarks, because he finds it infinitely easier to sift through links there than carefully type.
"porn...hub? what's that? must be some kinda uh.. uhhh... uh."
cue the fan whirring. he's hunched over and slack jawed, staring at the frankly color-clashing archive and almost pushing himself away when the cursor hovers over a video - and the humans in it start moving.
clicked the first video with a bold "#1 ranked". he really shouldn't. he really, really should just toss this tempting contraband out the nearest garbage disposal.
"unhh! harder! haaarder! β‘"
he's focused hard on the spike - cock, he learns, or dick, humans got lots of funny terms - ruts rough into you, forcing you to melt forward and squeak through sheets.
the loud, exaggerated moans make him pitifully decide otherwise. imagine him, all weak in the knees, sliding down to sit as he watches transfixed.
flesh on flesh hitting sounds a lot better when it's this and not fighting.
sooner or later, he's huffing into his servo, jacking off his spike and squeezing the tip so rough he's almost jealous seeing you bouncing away. you'd be so, so fragging soft. he can imagine squeezing your limbs and twisting you around to his liking.
overloads fast. he's almost ashamed enough to be embarrassed.
now? can't reach his climaxes unless there's some raunchy, wet-coated squeals in his memory banks. doesn't bother searching up anything because he doesn't have the patience to cultivate. you just happen to be at the top so he gladly sticks watching your holes get sticky any cycle.
skids - playboy bunny
"oh for prime's sake, chromedome don't make me feel like i'm trading for somethin' illegal."
won a "mystery stash" from a late night gamble. of course, not all of rodimus's finds stayed quiet.
he isn't sure why it's such a big deal. the cardboard box which spills open easily under a digit's care isn't filled with weaponry or bombs.
it's almost funny, this giant picking up a magazine in a pinch, helm tilted and keeping it an arm's distance away like the pages might bite.
he looks at the front cover for a long, long time.
his processor isn't catching up. then he squints. gets reaaaaal close.
there's you! all dolled up, as the humans would say. except you're really not, because half of your squishy aft is out, and your servos are covering up your chest but aren't doing a good job.
neither is the bright, blue bow christened at your pelvic area, where he realizes with a jolt is lacking any modesty panels of any kind.
flips a page. oh, it's you again. curved over a lounge. cheekily spreading yourself with a... gathering of lace twisted around your frame.
another one. you got something round in your mouth. he looks carefully at your lips.
and then he's flipping through all of it, and digging into the box and oh, he's found a jackpot because it's all you.
now he understands why it's got the markered "collectors items" on the side. he doesn't question too much when he spits lubricant down onto his spike. dedicated some of that cotton candy gossamer all over your february edition of playboy in approval.
megatron - classic erotica
a true mech of literature. now, unlike many of the lost light, he's had his run in with humanity before. not that he particularly got or wanted to enjoy their culture back then.
though when he did find his way back onto a possible path of redemption, he did indulge once upon a time.
at his spark, he's a poet. a linguist. enjoyer of golden age, art and craftsmanship.
earthen literature has its.. moments. he reads novellas and lost to the history manuscripts, plays, all of which have almost all been uploaded to more convenient means as upkeep for the paper is a pain.
however, he has found one book. a funny looking book, with a funny looking cover.
he observes, rigidly, the scandalous embrace of what he assumed to be the characters, how clothing lacked in areas it shouldn't and skin was almost.. glistening. "seven nights of passion." a chuff left his dermas.
ah, to pit with it. why not?
megatron finds himself slowly involved with the chapters despite the comedy of its advertisement. the writer, you, no doubt under a penname, push development shockingly far.. for a human.
and the intimacy? interfacing? so descriptive. while he has not seen what he is reviewing, he can imagine it. images of sweaty bodies, grinding and yearning and crying.
cybertronians have no reason or function to. the thought of a human, pushed to the brink overloaded with stimulation is... stimulating.
it is a shame when it comes to an end but he might in his free-time peruse for more. leaves his plating warm and intake dry.
the authors note suggests that your inspiration drives from personal experience.
his ... array fizzles at that. fascinating.
swerve - r-rated movie night
"wowza. that's hh. haha. woah! they all do that.. ?"
first movie he flipped onto the projector was supposed to be an "action and feel-good film with hints of romance, angst and sci-fi elements."
not even halfway through, you, the imaginary captain of the imaginary "roman's ravager" have your uniform shimmied down to your ankles, mouth mashing against your supposed rival, who everyone has been heckling for the past forty-five minutes.
some of the mechs cheer, other grumble and argue to skip, others squirm and grimace. swerve watched you push the other down, head tilting back as the camera zooms to your face.
"it's just acting, ya' degenerates, stop acting like protoforms!"
it isn't until he feels a servo smack upside his helm that he starts fumbling for the remote. too much noise but now he's getting a comm from mags asking about what the rackets for so! fast forward he goes.
at 1x.
while the chaos starts to settle, he peeks between digits. catches glimpses of your open mouth. the goosebumps down your chest. how you shake at the insinuation that someone is between your legs, servicing.
slag. when's the last time he's even played with his valve?
movie night was a hit regardless of the commotion. he has to clean up after, which thankfully didn't result in any expelled energon or skid-marks.
that also means he's alone. alone, in his bar. all by himself, staring at the rest of the discs with your pictures on the front, credits humming in the background.
it'll be good for the economy. (all of it is pirated.)
maybe it's for the best. because now, he's realizing you really are a great actor, in lots of different genres, able to adapt and really grab his attention.
it's not as if his spark pulses seeing you in costumes, or using that soft voice you do in all your roles when you make a point.
not like he's riding his digits and crunching into a fist when you're running on the beach, sand dappled and leaving little to imagination.
ends up on his back, charged up and shaking. hurts to speak, to move or to dab up the puddle of transfluid, laughing deliriously when his panels are even too much effort to close.
ultra magnus - audio praise
"you're doing such a good job. you're perfect. you know that, right? yes you do, so good for me."
when he first heard you, he damn near crushes the auditory device and full-blown shudders in the confines of his hab. he's sputtering, optics wide and there's a million reasons he should report this to rodimus and question just what he's given him.
"to help ya uh... research? take the edge off pal."
half-contemplates storming back to the bridge himself if it weren't for your sugar-coated mumbles still coming through the unpaused recording.
you'd think he was dealing with a ticking blast with how he warily handles the device, gruffly spitting out curses that he'd otherwise never allow in crew vicinity.
"i want you to reward yourself. you earned it, honey. can you do that for me? here, listen."
to his horror - and crumbling interest - a slick cacophony of sound rattles in his helm. there's panting, a shift of material that he assumes is tangled around you and frag, he's able to think up you and a thousand faces.
what's worse? is he's hypnotized. you don't demand. you coo to him, just loud enough to let him know you'd be broken too. if he let himself let down that wall, just for the twenty minutes you sing in his audials, he'll know it's done with you just as weak.
"gβgooood job ahhhh!" that does it. ultra magnus groans, shutting off his optics entirely. his large servo feels up along his frame as you suggest.
"i wish you were here. hah.. mmn! could see me. see me fucking myself to you. let you kiss me. you deserve it, sweetie. deserve me on you."
magnus and the sobbed growl to his motors reminds him just how lonely he's felt. always monitoring. always stressed. hearing the spit collect at your throat as your commands grow hoarse makes you feel real.
would you... would you kiss him? would you let him pick you up, rest you flat on his servo and have his glossa lap up your want?
he towers over nearly all. having a partner so much smaller, tinier than even an minibot, shouldn't run up a charge but it does.
he overloads when he's sticking digits near the casing of his spark, ignoring the spurts of pre sizzling down his thighs.
"w-was that as fun.. for you as it was for me?"
dazedly falls onto his berth. this isn't leaving his dermas unless he's had a drink.
a/n : a little haha funny idea i had. there's just something so funny thinking of these giant old robots realizing just how much porn is out there.
