False Prophet
Chapter 9
Waking up in another’s arms with shared warmth radiating through his frame was delightful. Sunder snuggled deeper, helm pressing softly against Wing’s. Even better was having that frame lovingly cuddle back, hands silently wandering between now squishy flab rolls in tender comfort.
Cycling fans wafted out hot air smelling of burnt oils and hints of morning musk. This embrace was oddly new for who wished for the touch of a monster? But the vibrations of the engines' gentle purr sealed the other’s enjoyment, and Sunder was satisfied to lie here for the rest of eternity.
“Good morning, Sunder.” A gentle voice whispered. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a sparkling,” Sunder smiled. Was that adoration shining in the flyer’s optics?
“How’s your tummy feeling?” Without hesitation, fingers gently groped at the newly formed flab, earning him a giggle.
“Ahh, still feel full.” He slapped his own tummy. “But the ache is all gone. All that’s left is chub.”
“That’s good, baby.” The Spiritualist's entire frame hugged against the plushness of the Autobot’s, humming with content. “You are so soft and cuddly, like a body pillow. Makes me never wanna leave this spot.” Wing hummed, cheeks hinting at a shade of pink. “Feels nice...” His helm slowly moved forward, stopping inches away from Sunders. “Can... um... Can I kiss you?”
“W...what?” Confusion riddled his processor.
“May I kiss you?”
“K-Kiss?” His words faltered. Not many mechs expressed that desire for him- mostly, it was screaming, running, and begging for their lives. “Can...can I ask why?”
“The act of kissing doesn’t have to be sexual,” Wing reassured, his warm breath ghosting over the other’s cheek. “It can be sensual and invigorating, the connection grounding and strengthening our bond. Plus, it feels nice.” Wing smiled and licked his lips. “So, what do you say?”
“Ahhh...” The concept was foreign to him, seen more as an intimate act between lovers and not friends- proving himself more unworthy of the act. But everything about Wing was welcoming and innocent. And everything catered to his best interests. “Sure.... if you really wanna.”
Sunder’s cheeks grew warm, but he felt ablaze when his mentor's soft lips pressed against his cheek. Feeling those butterfly kisses was strange, but it caused his engines to rumble with delight. The touches traveled forward, pecking at the side of his lips before a servo gently guided his helm to turn.
And when dark lips gently touched light ones, Sunder understood just what the Spiritualist meant. This adoration filled his spark to the brim, luring him toward the safety of the flier’s arms.
The flier’s hand captured his own, thumb gently brushing over knuckles. Lips pressed in a wet but tender embrace while both engines rumbled, blowing out heated air of pleasure. Sunder joined in, only to have the touch pull back, but that didn’t stop the mnemosurgeon's hands from sneakily roaming over the other’s dark frame.
“Ah ah!” Wing blushed, playfully wagging his finger. “If we keep this up, we will be even more late for our morning prayers.”
“Just five more minutes...” Sunder leaned in to steal a kiss.
“Primus must not be kept waiting.” Wing pried himself free. “I’ll make us some morning tea, then we must tend to our worship.”
Sunder rolled onto his back in defeat. “Can I have some extra sugar?”
“You mean that wasn’t sweet enough already?” Wing smiled bashfully, winked, and shook his helm. “Whatever my King desires.”
The morning blissfully unfolded with hot tea warmed by the fire, the pair silently sipping the morning brew before dutifully kneeling to pray. A feeling of content washed over Sunder, a contrasting feeling from years prior. Praying to a forgotten deity awakened a new outlook on life. For once, the future seemed bright and worth anticipating. For once, a community appeared welcoming, their support a much-needed lifeline.
For once, there was a reason to live.
Wing offered the one piece of the puzzle missing in his life: forgiveness. This righteous mech could look past his grave wrongdoings-and they were wrongdoings-and see a troubled soul in need of guidance. Yes, his sins were to be atoned for; the flyer was clear about his disapproval of previous lifestyle choices, but he chose to collaborate with him to shape new, good behaviors and eliminate the bad ones.
Positive reinforcement benefited more than negative reinforcement, as the Spiritualist would say.
But this community offered plenty, and food was one of them. The clenching hand of starvation never pained his tanks or weakened his limbs, for bountiful spreads of favored dishes always piled up, just waiting to be devoured.
However, Wing desired more than just food during these shared meals. He insisted on being connected. When questioned, the other mech radiated such intense joy that it couldn’t be passed up. Sunder, receiving such bursts of love, acceptance, and adoration, couldn’t find one good reason to object. As soon as the first plate of a meal sat in front of him, his panels immediately clicked open, cheeks reddening at the steady flow of praise.
These interactions were more than just sharing a meal; they were also about strengthening the bond of acceptance and love.
Time went by, and while Wing’s enthusiasm to feed never dwindled, the ecstatic joy did. Gone were the happy, vibrant colors of yellows and scarlets, only to be replaced with cool grays and poorly saturated blues. Even as the meals grew in both size and frequency, the end always resulted in a dreary note. Wholesome feelings still transmitted through plugged-in cabling, pulsing encouraging feelings through the bond, but there would be a backflow of darkened disappointment.
That coldness hit hard. When empty plates were stacked in messy piles, it was like Wing played through the actions out of expectancy, not desire. His voice was solemn, drained of the cheerful glee that had warmed him. His optics grew dull, his gaze distant —almost as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. The flow of energy through the cabling grew stale.
“Are you sure nothing is bothering you?” Sunder dabbed a napkin over his lips, wiping away stray drips of sauce from the hearty brick of lasagna. Today, he enjoyed his lunch in bed and managed to not make a complete mess of himself. “Did I...ah... manage to disappoint you somehow?”
“There will be no more talks of this nonsense, my dear,” Wing gently patted the more sizeable tummy, then abruptly pulled the plug on their connection. “You have not disappointed me one bit.”
Sunder knew the bitter taste of faked truths. “It... it just feels different...” Optics lowered in feared sadness. Perhaps this wonderful dream was just a brief respite from the nightmares of reality. Nothing good ever seemed to last, after all. The Autobot exhaled, his digits mindlessly tracing the zig-zagging stress marks that clawed their way up his abdomen.
“The truth is, there’s just a lot going on now. I’ve been busy...just got a lot on my mind right now.” A smile hinted at his lips. “But don’t you mind that. Rest up, my child.”
“How ‘bout you stay?” Sunder invitingly grinned, working to scooch his chubby frame over. “Talking can solve a lot of problems, you know.”
“Oh, no truer words have been spoken.” Despite agreeing, Wing didn’t accept the invitation. “Sadly, I have other plans to tend to. Perhaps later in the evening, hmmm?”
“Alright. You’ll know where to find me.” Sunder frowned. True, Wing spoke to him, but the words felt dismissive.
“Absolutely. Consider that a date.” This time, the flyer approached, tucking the covers around the rounded frame, then placed a kiss on the helm. “You rest well.” Wing’s servo trailed down Sunder’s broad chest and round belly before taking his leave.
The lights flicked off; the darkness engulfed the room, triggering an onslaught of repetitive thoughts. No prayers were missed. No meditation sessions were skipped. Manners were observed, and etiquette was followed. Sunder improved, growing devout in the weeks that followed his initiation. What could have led to his Leader’s sour mood?
What did he do?
The mnemosurgeon sighed as his belly let out a strained growl. One thing that flourished during his time in this quaint community was his appetite, as the massive weight gain clearly revealed. The once-starter belly now overflowed to rolls that sagged, thighs that swelled, and arms that jiggled. While still mobile, his once slim frame was gone, and assistance was now required for some tasks.
Perhaps Sunder became too fat and repulsive for Wing’s taste?
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