Transformers/Among Us Crossover
I made this post awhile ago about writing an Among Us crossover where Rodimus gets banged silly by, essentially, an Imposter:
💬 6 🔁 1 ❤️ 53 · Me: I'm going to write an Among Us crossover for the Lost Light crew where Rodimus gets banged silly by an alien! *The pl
Thing was, I wrote over 12,000 words and then slipped out of the Transformers fandom before I ever finished it.
@decepticon-cyclepath suggested that I post what I have and maybe it will motivate me to continue. The thing is, I don't really want to, but I am hopeful that maybe it will motivate someone else to maybe pick up the story, or be inspired by it!
Keep in mind, this is a ROUGH rough draft (meaning that there will be errors and inconsistencies), and it is INCOMPLETE. I am throwing this out into the wild to see who and what comes along and wants to eat it.
Summary for the story: The Lost Light ends up in an alternate dimension where there are Imposters. Rodimus makes a deal with an alien for protection for his ship and he reaps all the sexy benefits of it. Fantastic alien sex all over the place and maybe a budding relationship.
I am really hopeful someone might want to adopt this story if only because I do enjoy the biology for the Imposters.
Thank you for your time!
Story under cut:
So this universe sucked. It sucked rancid oil.
Rodimus had his arms crossed over his chest shield as watched Ratchet work on repairing Rewind's ruined legs.
“So,” he said without turning, “any idea what that thing was?”
Perceptor, standing next to him, began talking. “At this time, there is still much to learn. However, the specimen is clearly organic in nature; at a glance and without a dissection, I can identify a mucus layer, a muscle system, and an oral cavity lined with dentition. We believe, but have not tested, that it was able to mimic the bot known as Server due to an extensive network of chromatophores across its surface and was able to copy Server's electrical signal via some type of implant not yet discovered or perhaps a combination of an electric organ with electrocytes. Though we have lost three of our own to this organism, I find its ability to camouflage flawlessly with its prey rather remarkable. The fact that it is capable of consuming mechanisms is also worthy of study. I hypothesize that this is in part due to very strong digestive acids and that we fulfill a dietary necessity – possibly that our chassis contain some metals that are, to them, macominerals.”
Rodimus was pinching his nasal bridge, one servo on his fauld. “Okay, thanks, Perceptor, that was a lot and I think I understood a little bit of it. Now it's Brainstorm's turn to explain. Brainstorm?”
The scientist held up his servos and spread his digits wide. “The scary alien can look like anyone and also it wants to eat us.”
“Got it. See, was that so hard?”
Perceptor shrugged. “It was concise, at least.”
~:~
“We will guide you through hostile space. However, there is a price.”
“Oh, yeah? Any chance you all use shanix here?”
“Shanix?”
“You know. Credit. Currency. Money. Moolah.”
“No, we do not have a form of currency called 'shanix'.”
“Well, this is awkward. Any chance you'll accept some manual labor or trading?”
“This is to be discussed between you and our security agencies during negotiations, but you will likely see a unique form of manual labor.”
“That doesn't sound ominous or anything.”
~:~
“Over the side of the berth.”
Rodimus groaned as he bent over, torso plates flat to the circuit slab and quivering legs spread apart. Dribbles of thick, golden ejaculate slid down his inner thighs.
Hands wrapped around his faulds and pulled him back onto a thick, wet rod. He squeaked as he was impaled, and then yelled as his aft clapped against the hips of the construct behind him.
A hand pressed down on his helm, smushing his cheek against the berth as he was ridden hard and fast, every piston resonating throughout his entire strut frame. He groaned long and low, servos curling by his helm, as he rocked back into each thrust.
“That's good,” his partner grunted. “Just like that. You're good for this.”
He laughed static. “I-I kn-know.” His laughter petered off into a high-pitched whine, optics pulsing with light as he was fucked so deep, he felt it in his spark chamber.
It lasted an eternity and also didn't last long enough. He was right there on the edge of a glorious, painful overload when his partner finally gave a low, victorious roar and pulled them flush together.
Humiliatingly, Rodimus honked. His partner was stretching his valve in every conceivable way, plus some that probably couldn't be conceived of. He could feel the semi-elastic sleeve stretching, bulging in every direction, putting a scary amount of pressure on all the components around it. Panic sliced through his pleasure, made him afraid, and that fear had him squealing like his fan belts were about to snap. He overloaded, brain module dumping so much sensory data, and went absolutely limp. He would have crashed to the ground if not for the damn pillar lodged inside of him, still hosing him down with slightly-too-cold-for-comfort ejaculate.
His partner folded over him with a pleased rumble, soft plates pressing against his own metal ones. Looks and textures were deceiving. Those soft plates were tougher than Cybertronian steel when put under pressure.
He would know. The afthole gave him a gun and told him to shoot. See what happens. Just for reference, just between us. Try it and find out.
Rodimus used progressively larger and more powerful weapons and couldn't leave a scratch on that armor. Meanwhile, his partner could dent him if he wasn't careful enough. When he wasn't careful enough.
A long, slimy tongue dragged over his finials, across his cheek, and dipped into his panting mouth, tasting the chemicals of his outvents and tracing the segments of his glossa. He gave as good as he got, glossa stroking back and twining with the long, thick muscle.
His partner slurped its tongue back into its own mouth, pressing ferocious teeth against Rodimus's spoiler. “I have to say,” the construct purred as it rocked its hips against Rodimus's aft – gently, this time. Slowly, this time. “This has been a lot more fun than I thought it'd be.”
Rodimus smirked. “You're welcome. I'm having a blast too, in case you were wondering.”
His partner hummed as it thought. “I wasn't. But that's good to know.” He pulled back, but not out. In a complicated move that had Rodimus's knee joints pressed up against his torso at one point, he was skewered clockwise and turned onto his back.
The coils of his valve trembled under stress. He bit his bottom lip hard and wrapped his legs around his partner's waist. “Fuck, why are you so big?”
The construct rumbled. “Because you're big. We prefer to have a size advantage over our clients.” He held the base of Rodimus's spinal strut in the palm of his hand just off the edge of the berth. His thrusts were lazy, simply sliding in and out of the gushing wetness of Rodimus's valve for, for what? Fun? Because he could? For whatever reason.
“Ngh – why?” He butted the back of his helm against his berth, servos tight around the edge of the slab as he laid there and just kept taking it, because, what the slag, it just kept going.
“In case you become our prey,” the construct admitted far too casually for Rodimus's peace of mind. “It isn't often our clients try to break their contracts anymore, but it's better to be safe than sorry.”
Rodimus looked at all those teeth. “You wouldn't really eat us, though. R-ugh Right?”
It held him under his thighs and pushed his knee joints toward his chest plates, closer and closer until he had to activate his t-cog and start his transformation sequences or else have his legs pop out of their joints.
His knees were closer to touching his shoulders than they had ever been before in his life and the construct's face was right against his. Exhaling hot, humid, gasoline-scented air.
“You would be surprised by all the things we can eat,” it said as it pulled almost all the way out, the tip of its reproductive organ barely caught on the outer port of his valve.
Rodimus squeaked as its hips clapped against his aft.
“You wouldn't be the worst thing I've eaten,” it went on contemplatively, setting up a steady pace that had Rodimus writhing underneath it. “Probably not the most nutritious, but definitely not the most toxic.” It swirled its tongue over Rodimus's flared chest plates. “You've got a bittersweet taste to you that I like. Yes, I would eat you.”
Rodimus had to pry his servos off the berth to grab onto his partner, one servo squeezing the back of its neck and the other tugging at an unmovable hand.
“Y-you can!” he squealed, helm thrown back. “I can think of a, mm mm, of a really g-g-good way for you to – ah ah ugh – eat me.”
“Is that right? And you would let me?”
“Uh huh!”
“I'm listening.”
Rodimus had to cobble together some scrambled data paths. Everything was pleasure and pain and too much and not quite enough and almost there.
He leered seductively at his guard. “Step one, your, ooh, tongue... Step two, m-my sweet, sweet valve...”
It laughed, amazingly.
~:~
“Okay, so let me see if I'm understand all of this.”
“Go on.”
“These security agencies are willing to sign a contract with the Lost Light and take us through hostile space in exchange for... sexual interfacing.”
“Yes.”
“I can't force my crew to go through with that. Some of them are Conjunxed.”
“Conjunxed?”
“Um. Married? Bonded? They're not available? They're taken off the market?”
“Bonded, I see. Our species also has a type of bond. We refer to it as a, hm... The best way I can describe it is a melt.”
“That's an, um. Interesting word for it. But you get it, right? I'm not going to order my crew to strip off their sump guards for some security detail.”
“I do not know what a sump guard is, but I am going to assume it is approximate to a spacesuit.”
“How do you know what a spacesuit is? I haven't seen a spacesuit since we got here. Wait, have you been in contact with humans? Tiny little fleshy things?”
“Yes. My species enjoys interacting with humans.”
“Hah, nice. Well, be careful around them. They're smarter than they look.”
“Thank you for your concern. How do you answer?”
“Answer? Oh! Oh, yeah, no. No. My people aren't buymechs. By that, I mean I'm not selling them. We'll fight our way own way through the hostile zone if we have to. In case you haven't noticed, we're made of tough stuff.”
“I have noticed. Would you like to spar with Hue before you go? So that you might have an understanding for the foe you might come across in the hostile zone.”
“What? That... little tentacle-y blob? Pretty sure that thing's supposed to be living in an ocean on earth somewhere.”
“One match, please. If you would be so kind as to humor us.”
“I mean, seems a bit unfair. I could just step on him.”
“We do not have gender as you do. It is not a 'him'. And it is not just a blob. I promise you. One match.”
“Alright, well, does 'it' even want to fight me?”
“Hue does, yes. Hue promises to be gentle with you.”
“Oh, wow, is your kind telepathic or something?”
“No, we speak through color language. As you can see, we are capable of metachrosis.”
“Through what?”
“We are capable of voluntarily changing our own colors.”
“Oh, so that's what he's – ugh – it's doing. I thought it was just, um, panicking or something. Trying to blend in with its environment and not be seen.”
“We do blend in with our environments, but not as a panic response. Will you fight Hue?”
“Fine! Fine, sure. One match. And, don't worry, Hue. I promise to be 'gentle' with you too.”
~:~
He had a contract with the security agency. Which he hadn't read until after he had signed it.
That was a lie.
He never read it, period. Instead, he signed the contract and then returned to his ship where a digital copy had been downloaded to the command bridge. By the time he got there, Megatron, Minimus, Drift, Ratchet, and First Aid had all read it and they were all waiting to tell him just how fragging stupid he was.
He never had to read the contract because they made sure to verbally drag him through it at least seven times. That was before they had an eight-hour long meeting to try and find any loopholes they could exploit and get him out of the contract.
The only way out was to turn around, go back to the diplomat the Shoal – what this alien faction called themselves – had assigned him, and say, actually, nevermind. We don't want your help, we'll go by ourselves.
Rodimus knew he couldn't do that. Megatron and Drift were screaming about how there had to be another way and Minimus was going through the contract again, saying that it was one of the most beautiful and vexingly binding documents he had ever read, and then there was Ratchet who just sat there quietly like he already knew there was nothing else to be done. Rodimus leaned toward First Aid at some point and said, “After this meeting is over, would you mind pounding out some dents?”
“What?” First Aid hissed back. “What happened down there? Are you okay?” The only reason he wasn't heard was because Minimus was losing his mind over the warranty clauses.
“We are guaranteed a 99.45% survival rate of our original crew at the time the contract was drawn up or else our obligations are null!”
“So to free Rodimus from his latest stunt, a bot would have to die,” Megatron calculated.
“Well.” Minimus sat back. “A bot would have to die and a second would have to be slightly injured.”
“They gave me a test run,” Rodimus pouted.
Despite wearing a visor and a blast mask, First Aid somehow managed to express his horror very well.
“Not that kind of test run,” he hissed. “No, I mean. I got to fight a commander. That's what they call the bosses of these security agencies. Listen. I know everyone here thinks that I didn't think this through, but it’s practically all I’m thinking about. Between the imposter that got on board and me getting my aft handed to me in that test run, I know what our chances look like if we don’t take this deal.” He frowned as he rubbed at a dent in his torso plates. “I gave that fight everything I had, but it kept hitting back harder. Oh, and, spoiler alert – they're fireproof.” And hadn't that been an interesting discovery. He had really thought using his outlier ability would impress the Shoal. Instead, he had ended up almost getting his side paneling crushed in a body lock that had probably looked like a hug but had felt like a car crusher.
He looked up from rubbing the dent and found he had everyone's attention. Well, that was awkward.
“When did we stop screaming at each other?” he asked.
Drift ex-vented and finally detached himself from the nearest wall. He plopped down in the seat next to him and scooted closer, a servo resting over Rodimus's. “It sounds like they really spooked you down there.”
Rodimus watched him wearily. “Where's this going?”
“We've been yelling at you instead of talking to you and maybe that hasn't been the right approach.”
“Uh huh...”
“What we mean to say is that, no matter what they showed you or told you down there, we don't need them.”
“We have mastered interdimensional travel,” Megatron said.
“We managed to come back from a coup,” Minimus added with a pained expression.
“You destroyed an actual sparkeater,” Drift reminded him. “And faced down the DJD.”
“I'm still thinking about that coup,” First Aid muttered darkly.
“The Functionists tried to destroy us and failed,” Megatron reminisced with a tired, upward curl to his mouth.
“Oh, Primus.” First Aid's helm sank into his servos. “There was that time our crew got turned into sparkeaters. How did we survive that?”
“The point that we're making is that we have survived everything that has been thrown at us,” Drift said, smiling gently at him. “Some hostile space between here and this universe’s Cybertron isn't going to be the end of us.”
Rodimus's servo curled into a fist under Drift's.
Ratchet cleared his intake. “I think that's the point we're all missing. Rodimus was there for all that. If he's saying we need help getting to whatever Cybertron they have here, then we should give him a little more credit and hear him out. After all, he was the only one down on that planet. He's seen and heard things that we haven't. He has more information than us to work with.”
Rodimus stared at him, aghast. “Am I dying? Hallucinating? Dreaming? Having a nightmare? Or did you actually just agree with me?”
“Now hold on a klik,” Ratchet said, spreading his servos. “I'm not agreeing with you, I'm just willing to hear you out. Don’t think I don’t have my own doubts! I keep hearing about 'hostile space that' and 'hostile space this' from our diplomat, but how do we know we can trust them? They’re made of the same stuff as imposters. What if this is a trick just to get one of them on board? They could be using us for transport and entertainment.”
“Oh, yeah.” Rodimus reached into his subspace. “I knew I was forgetting something.” He slapped a device down on the table. It had a small base and a long, narrow pole. He pressed a button on the base like he had been shown on the planet and the pole split into four thinner poles.
There was some static and then a holographic video came on. Taking up most of the screen was a gray spacesuit with the visor down, reflecting back the small device as it recorded.
“Chroma Spectrum,” said the human-shaped organism. “We have apprehended Purple.” They stepped back and to the side. Behind them was a mucus-like blob with the vague shape of an octopus, another gray spacesuit, and then a monster in a purple spacesuit. It was clearly a monster because most of the lifeforms that wore spacesuits did not also have a huge, terrifying mouth with lots of teeth and a long, lolling tongue across their belly. “We were too late to save the crew.”
The purple monster sneered at them – an impressive feat as their visor was down, but that was one big, fragging mouth. “You call us the Imposters, but it is you who are false. You would rather destroy us than let us clear the skies of parasites.”
“We have already begun sterilizing the ship,” the gray spacesuit in front went on. “According to the onboard manifest, we still have two bodies missing.”
“They are not missing,” hissed the monster. “They are inside of me. I am digesting them. The humans... Their meat is sweet.” Its mouth curled into an obvious grin. “Their orifices were sweeter. Have you experienced the delicious pressure of being squeezed in a hot, tight tube? Food and fucking are the only two things these parasites are good for.”
The gray spacesuit in front said, “According to Purple, the last two humans are being digested.” It took another step back.
The material of its spacesuit split open at the belly into a toothy mouth. The mouth moved as it added, “I will investigate to be sure.”
What followed was cannibalism. The Imposter screamed as it was torn apart by the mouths of the Shoaloids.
The video clip ended.
Megatron was the first to recover. As a matter of fact, he was barely phased at all. Of course he wouldn't be. It wasn't the first time he had seen someone resort to eating their own kind. He said to Minimus, “Is there a way around hostile space?”
Minimus slowly shook his head. “No. No, there is not. The territory is too great.”
Rodimus already knew that. He'd gone over the maps with the Shoal and there was no way around, not for their destination.
Cybertronian space vessels were built to last, but they hadn't been built for interdimentional travel. The quantum engines were burning out.
They were heading home – or whatever version of home existed in this dimension. If nothing else, they'd be able to gather raw materials and patchwork some repairs until they could hit up the next universe's Cybertron.
To get there, though, they had to go through hostile space, which was what the Shoaloids called the territory the Imposters patrolled.
The good news was that the Shoal hired out security agencies to protect third parties in hostile space, since it covered such a large amount of area. The security agencies were more or less military operations led by commanders, but Rodimus hadn't been worried about that. He'd spent most of his life at war. He knew how soldiers worked.
The problem was that the Shoal didn't hire out security agencies in a normal way. Once Rodimus was on the planet, his assigned guide sent out a work request. Several security agencies with teams to spare answered the request. Some heard he had no convertible form of currency they could use and chose to back out. Some saw Rodimus and decided they weren't into giant mechs. Some saw Rodimus, heard he had no money, and decided they were into that.
Rodimus got his aft whooped by one of the agency commanders, decided maybe some security detail was a good idea, and sat down for some negotiations. He was obstinate in that he wasn't going to force his entire crew to pop their panels for an alien race and that was where he lost most of his bidders. He was adamant in that he wasn't giving up his ship once they reached Cybertron and suddenly he was down to just three security agencies still willing to work with him.
He was admittedly a little desperate. At their base forms, these aliens were just blobs with tentacles – but the moment Hue had chomped down on his leg and tasted his energon, he'd found himself facing an armored construct bigger and faster than he was with enough tentacles and fangs to make him think the Shoal somehow had their own sparkeaters. His guide had casually discussed the calculated impacts the weapons aboard the Lost Light would have on a crew of Imposters and the calculations hadn't looked good.
In short, unless they got someone to take them through hostile space, they were slagged. It would take too long to go around and there was no going back.
In his spark, he knew he'd rather deal with aliens willing to negotiate with him than with aliens that could sneak on board, mimic his crew, and kill them off one by one.
He figured he had covered his two hardest limits and was willing to do almost anything else. Maybe the security agencies could tell. They put together a rough outline of their suggested contracts and talked them over with him and, well.
The first commander said it would protect the Lost Light if it was allowed to keep a Cybertronian of its choosing after the successful completion of the mission to do with as it pleased and any and all attempts to back out of the contract once their journey was underway would result with the indentured servitude (read: enslavement) of his entire crew.
The second commander said it would protect the Lost Light for exclusive breeding rights with him and him alone at any time and with or without warning.
The third commander didn't get to say anything because the second commander plucked it up and threw it at a wall.
“Hex commands the lowest ranking security agency on the planet,” the second commander – and it was Hue, of course – explained as Rodimus watched on, gobsmacked. “Hex is too weak to protect itself, much less your entire crew.”
Given the choices he had, Rodimus went with Hue. He signed the contract. His crew didn't like the contract, but couldn't fight it and couldn't convince him to back out of it. If anything, he managed to more or less convince them that he was right for once.
What a time to be right.
~:~
“Before I offer my contract, I want proof that you have orifices.”
“Well, I mean. You're looking at my mouth right now.”
“If I take on this contract, I'm paying for it. As stated in my contract, I am anticipating no financial return from this investment. I am putting myself and my team at risk so that I and I alone can breed you.”
“Okay, so it's not the first time you've said that and I've gotta ask – when you say 'breed', you realize that my kind can't sexually reproduce, right?”
“When I say 'breed', I mean that you better have an orifice other than your mouth to catch my seed. I mean that I better not taste or smell anyone else on you the entire time I am on your ship. I mean that you will be punished if someone so much as hugs you. I mean that your body belongs to me and I can use it when and where I like, whether you want it or not.”
“Oh, slag.”
“What we will do in the case of offspring is also specified in the contract. It's highly unlikely, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. To save you time, I'll summarize: I get full custody.”
“It's good that it literally cannot happen because otherwise, I'd have to fight you on that.”
“You would lose. As you know. Now... What other orifices do you have? Do you have an asshole?”
“Ah, no. Well, yes? But definitely not. I mean, I have an oil sump, but I really don't think you want to stick whatever kind of spike you have up there.”
“Spike?”
“Um, rod? Shaft? Some kind of mating, erm tentacle?”
“You might be surprised as to where I'm willing to stick my mating arm.”
“It's not that thrilling, it's just an opening and then an oil-filled basin. You can try, but it will just be messy and smelly and then I'd have to go to medibay for an oil change and then the whole crew's going to know that you like to frag oil sumps and that's not something you want to be known for.”
“This sounds like most of my experiences with anal.”
“How about this, I'll just show you my oil sump later, okay? After we finalize the contract. I have a valve. Please stop trying to stick your mating whatever up my oil sump.”
“And a valve is?”
“Um. It's the hole that a spike goes in and out of and it feels really good?”
“So you have a cunt. Show me.”
“Have you been to Earth? You say a lot of things I haven't heard since I've been to Earth.”
“Show me your pussy, Rodimus.”
“Whoa, hold up, it's called a valve. And how do I know you're not trying to get a free sample of the goods, huh? Do you need to take me out for a test drive before we can sign this contract too or what? I think I want my guide back in here, I'm not so sure I trust you to not take advantage of me in my vulnerable state.”
“I'm going to stay over here on this side of the room, alright? I'm not going to get any closer. I want to make sure you have a pussy I can use, that's all.”
“I have a valve and you're not seeing it till we're on the Lost Light. I also have a spike, in case you're curious.”
“I don't let clients fuck me, candy red.”
“We'll just have to see about that. Not to brag or anything, but I've been told I've got a sweet valve and a spike designed to make a mech scream.”
“I'm not a mech, now am I?”
“Um. No. But the organics I've been with haven't complained either.”
“You can keep your pussy hidden for now. Just know that if I'm on your ship and I don't like what I see, that's a breach of contract and you're going through hostile space without me and my team.”
“Don't worry, Huey.”
“Hue.”
“Once you've had a taste of what I've got, you'll be on me like a swarm of scraplets.”
“I don't know what that is.”
~:~
Rodimus watched the tentacled blobs disappear into vents, leaving behind their commander. Hue sent back their shuttle and then it was them in the bay alone. Well, not alone. At the other end of the bay was Minimus in his Ultra Magnus armor, Megatron, Ratchet, Drift, Brainstorm, Perceptor, First Aid, Chromedome, and Rewind.
Okay, they were very far from alone. Also, Rewind was recording. Afthole.
When Rodimus had fought Hue, Hue had looked a lot like a sparkeater but better and worse. He'd been bigger and broader than Rodimus with tentacles coming out of his back and no face – only a wide, toothy mouth where a face should have been. At least his paint job had been impeccable without any flaking or gaping holes.
Hue no longer looked like a sparkeater, but that didn't feel like a good thing. He looked exactly like how a Cybertronian should look, down to the spoiler and side exhaust pipes on his forearms and the metallic sheen of his armor plates. As a matter of fact, he looked a lot like Rodimus except for the being taller and broader thing. And the monochrome gray paint job. And the face thing it had going on. At least it wasn't a huge, toothy mouth.
“What's with the full visor?” Rodimus asked, gesturing to his own beautiful face.
Hue grinned.
Rodimus leaped back. “What the frag!?”
There was the huge, toothy mouth.
At no point did Hue retract the visor, no. The mouth just grinned at Rodimus over the visor.
And then the visor twisted and it was his own face leering back at him. It shifted again and was just a blank visor reflecting Rodimus's expression of horror.
“My kind can mimic faces, but it takes concentration. Plus, there are too many microexpressions to keep track of. In most cases, the best way to spot an Imposter is just to look for a crew member that is reluctant to show their face.”
Rodimus thought of his crew members that wore blast masks and visors. He was going to have to keep a close optic on them.
“Okay, well... We'll just stick with the visor for now, huh? Maybe don't traumatize my crew. They're already not happy with me for letting you and your team onboard.”
Hue closed the space between them with steps that were somehow discomforting. The alien moved in a way that was slightly too fluid.
An arm looped around his waist and pulled him against a surprisingly soft torso. He rubbed his digits over its chest plate and was amazed to find it had a somewhat cool, slimy smooth texture. His digits weren't wet when he pulled them away, though.
“You were a lot harder when we fought,” he grumbled unhappily.
“In more ways than one,” Hue hummed back.
“What?”
“But you were also fighting me at the time. My exterior membrane reacts to pressure from the environment by increasing viscosity. When two surfaces collide, that creates pressure. Every time you hit me, you just made me tougher.”
Its hand rested on his aft, possessive and claiming.
Rodimus looked over his pauldron. Minimus had crossed his arms over his gargantuan chest plates and was radiating his displeasure. Megatron stood next to him, watching closely. Drift was probably also supposed to be threatening the Shoaloid commander from a distance, but had since been sidetracked.
Ratchet was talking to one of the vents, a servo on one fauld and his chin pinched in the other with a thoughtful look on his face. Drift was standing menacingly behind him, glaring at the same vent. Behind him were the scientists and First Aid, listening closely. Brainstorm was taking notes.
The hand moved, sliding down one thigh and lifting it to hook around the alien's hip.
Dread filled him. “Wait, no –” He pressed his servos against Hue's chest. “Please. Not. Not in front of them. They'll do –” he had to stop for a klik to think about the absurdity of what he was about to say, him of all mecha, “they'll do something stupid. Probably heroic, but really, really stupid.”
“You signed the contract.”
“Yes, and you can have me whenever and wherever you want, I know, trust me. Let me put it this way – if you frag me right here and now in front of them, it will be the last time you get a taste of this sweet valve, alright? We've done suicide missions before, they will absolutely choose certain death over watching me take one for the team like this.” He leaned in close, mouth against that (terrifying) visor. “And you're gonna want me more than once, I promise you that.”
Hue considered his proposition. It butted its visor against Rodimus's face. A sign of affection?
“You care for your crew more than you care for yourself. I respect that. For that reason and that reason alone, the first time I fuck you will be in private, just the two of us.” He let go of Rodimus's leg and stepped back. “You wouldn't believe how many times I've seen crews turn on each other just to survive. You're refreshing, candy red.”
“And you're abso-fucking-lutely terrifying, Huey.”
“Hue.” “Rodimus. Hi, pleasure to meet you.”
Hue chittered with amusement and moved past him. “Let's go meet the tangle, shall we?”
“The what?”
“Your family.”
“Oh.”
~:~
“You seem nervous, candy red.”
“I am definitely not nervous. What's there to be nervous about? Wow, this is a neat looking shuttle. And who's your team, Huey?”
“Hue.”
“Hi, I'm Rodimus. My friends call my Roddy. And who's your team?”
“What are you trying not to think about?”
“There is absolutely nothing that I'm not thinking about. That I'm trying not to think about. That I'm – listen, can you just introduce me to your team? They're going to be on my ship, I might as well know who they are.”
“It isn't necessary to know who they are.”
“Wow, rude. It's not necessary for you to know the bots on my crew, but they still have designations and you'll still have to know them.”
“By the time we reach your planet, I will know more about your crew than you will ever want to. The gameplan is for my team to enter the ventilation system and disappear from sight the moment we land on your ship. If you see them again before we make it to Cybertron, then the situation is fucked and there are Imposters onboard.”
“Wow, that really puts my mind at ease. So if there's an Imposter and I need saving, I'll just make sure to scream random colors at the nearest vent.”
“That's cute.”
“What is?”
“Do you really think I'm going to let you out of my sight at any point during this trip? You won't need saving.”
“... You're not actually going to be with me the whole time, right?”
“I am.”
“Fine, then.”
“Fine?”
“Yeah. You'll have to introduce me to your team at some point. Or do you not even see them during missions? Wow, you're a bad boss. At least I talk to my crew.”
“... Shade, Tint, Teal, Aquamarine, Pigment, Sapphire.”
“See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?”
“I wish I was hard right now.”
“What?”
“Team, this is candy red.”
“Aw, aren't you all the cutest little blobs with your little waving tentacles. Hello!”
“They've each ingested some of your blood.”
“Wait, what?”
“In case it's necessary, they'll be able to mimic your shape and blend in with your crew.”
“Whoa, back it up, when did you get my energon?”
“When I bit you.”
“And you just... shared it?”
“With my team, yes.”
“... You all don't need anymore, do you?”
“Are you offering?”
“Nope.”
“Then we're good. For now.”
~:~
The thing was, Rodimus wasn't upset about sharing himself out for the safety of his crew and ship.
That was an understatement.
To be honest, he wanted to extend Hue's contract indefinitely just so he could keep getting the best sexual interfacing of his entire life. The contract stipulated that he was obligated to put out whenever Hue wanted, but the Shoaloid failed to realize that Rodimus was always down for a good time. He loved sexual interfacing. He enjoyed interfacing with his friends and comrades and mecha and organics alike.
He didn't necessarily like the fact that he was obligated to interface with Hue and that he wasn't allowed to touch anyone else, but, wow. Whoo. Hue knew how to turn his brain module to mush and make his struts feel structurally unstable. It didn't take long for Rodimus to stop pouting and start eagerly fulfilling his end of the bargain. He did his contractual duties in his habsuite, in utility closets, in empty corridors, one time in a not-so-empty corridor, in the shuttle bay, on the command bridge (twice!), in the medibay, on the hull of the ship – it was very extensive list.
So many mecha had stumbled across Rodimus taking Hue's mating arm, or just heard it happening, that the general mindset onboard shifted: Rodimus was no longer the helpless victim keening with grief as he was taken against his will by an evil, machine-eating alien; he was, instead, a revved up piece of shareware that saw an opportunity to exchange sexual interfacing for protection and very merrily took it.
Public opinion of Rodimus wasn't great, but at least no one was saying mutiny this time around. That, and the sexual interfacing was so good, he was convinced his crew was actually jealous of him.
He was overall pretty happy with his situation.
Except for that one time he had to go to the medibay for an oil change, but it only happened once. He still wasn't completely sure what Hue had been expecting, but at least the Shoaloid learned fast.
Oh, and the no-touching-anyone rule. That sucked.
Or did it?
He decided to test it out one cycle by wrapping Drift up in a hug from behind.
He squeezed and leaned back, managed to pick Drift's pedes off the ground. “Hello, my one true love, have you missed me?”
Drift sputtered and slapped at his arms. “What are you doing? Roddy, the contract.”
There was indeed an unhappy rumbling from behind him.
He squeezed Drift harder. “Forget the contract. How are you? How's Ratchet?”
The rumbling was a step closer.
“Roddy, put me down now.”
He did, but only because there was real panic in Drift's voice. The moment his pedes touched the ground, Drift twirled toward them and had a servo on his sword.
There were soft, slick plates pressed against Rodimus's right pauldron.
“Now why would you go and do something silly like that?” Hue asked.
Rodimus tilted his helm and pressed a sloppy kiss to the side of Hue's visor. “Hush, Huey, Drift and I are talking.” He smiled dazzlingly at his Amica. “Anyway, if you have nothing to say, I'll just go ahead and say it myself: We really need to get Brainstorm a new hobby. I keep finding him stalking the vents with something different in his servos every time. He had a butterfly net the last time I saw him.” He turned to Hue. “Can a butterfly net hold a Shoaloid?”
Hue's visor was facing him, but revealed nothing.
“Right, I didn't think so.” He swung back toward Drift, whose grip was even tighter on his sword. “Time before that, he bribed Whirl into helping him. That went about as well as you'd expect. Actually, no, it went better than you would expect: Despite damaging at least seventeen ventilation grates and cycling through every insult he's ever heard about three times, no Shoaloids showed up to fight him. I mean, that ticked him off a lot, but at least he's still in one piece.” He thought for a moment. “Have you noticed that when Whirl gets into fights, he loses his cockpit first? I just now realized that.”
Hue butted its visor against the side of Rodimus's helm. “Do that again.”
He frowned at the Shoaloid. “Do what again?”
Arms wrapped around his waist, holding him close. “Kiss me again. Or else I'm within my rights to punish you.”
Drift was drawing his sword, optics glowing. “You will not hurt my Amica.”
Maybe Rodimus hadn't thought this all the way through.
He should have hugged someone else. Someone who wasn't carrying a sword on them and absolutely willing to die for his loved ones.
Rodimus planted another kiss on Hue's visor. “Alright, there's no need for violence. We're all getting along now.”
“I have no issues with Drift,” Hue agreed amicably. Then it rested its visor against Rodimus's mouth.
“I have several issues with the Shoaloid,” Drift disagreed, optics flashing.
“I'd love to hear what those issues are at some point in distant future, but I really thought I'd be face down and aft up in a utility closet at this point,” Rodimus admitted. “I love how protective you are of me and everything, but I am actually trying to frag around and find out what Hue means when it says I can be punished for touching other people.”
And then he screeched in surprise as he was picked up and hoisted over Hue's shoulder. Since its shoulder was in the approximate shape of Rodimus's pauldron, it wasn't comfortable.
“Face down and aft up, you say?” Hue chittered. “We'll just have to see how I'm feeling.”
Rodimus lifted his helm enough to see Drift watching him leave.
He looked very unimpressed, but not like he was going to fight Hue for his honor. Rodimus considered it a win.
~:~
“Are you just going to keep staring at it or are you going to do something with it?”
“I'm going to stare at it a little bit longer.”
“Go ahead. My valve enjoys attention.”
“Is it sentient?”
“What? No.”
“It's as I thought. You're the one who enjoys attention.”
“Oh, I love attention. Absolutely. I can't actually tell if you're still staring, the visor's hard to read.”
“I am still staring.”
“Oh. Okay. That's fine. I'm just saying, it's right there if you want to reach out and play with it a little.”
“I want to remember this moment.”
“What about this moment?”
“You look tight.”
“Aw, thanks. I can make it tighter if you're into that.”
“I'm not. Actually, what I'm into is making myself bigger.”
“Huh?”
“Would you like to see my mating arm now?”
“Sure? Since we're going to be such close buddies from now on... Hey, so when you said 'mating arm', I didn't think you were actually going to extend a whole other arm from between your hips. Oh, Primus, it just waved at me. Let's be honest here, that looks less like an arm and more like a tentacle that's about to rearrange my internal components. I don't think my valve's big enough for everything you've got going on down there.”
“By the time we reach Cybertron, I promise you will fit me. All of this is going inside of you, candy red.”
“I think we should talk about our soft and hard limits before you end up sending me to the medibay.”
“Relax. I'm not going to make you take all of it right now. That's for later. First of all, I'm going to taste you. You're going to love this.”
“... Wow, okay, how long is your tongue, exactly? Wow, OKAY, that's what I like to call a good touch. I think we're going to get along just fine, Huey.”
“Phoo.”
“Mm, yeah, me too.”
~:~
“There you go, candy red, just like that.”
Rodimus smiled deliriously, bottom lip caught between his dentae and optics shuttered as he got lost in the sensory data. Everything was hot and overwhelming and oh-so good.
Hue stroked his torso plates, up and down his sides until it squeezed his faulds. “Yeah, that's it, that's how you make us both feel good. Keep playing with yourself, just like that.” It rolled its hips in slow, lazy circles. Just right, just right, too much, and then just right again.
Rodimus started juddering, smile slipping away as his mouth opened into a soft O. His optics shuttered tight and his side pipe vents gusted.
Hue pushed in all the way to the root, too much, so good, and waited out his overload.
Rodimus held his interfacing aid away from the hot, pulsing connection point of his anterior node as he vented hard. It vibrated against his digits, delivering a delicious static shock every four kliks that made his servo twitch. He was so wet, he could feel his lubricant drooling around Hue's rod. The springs of his valve had constricted as tight as they could during his overload and now were absolutely relaxed.
Hue planted his hands on either side of his helm, leaning over him. “How're you doing down there?”
Rodimus smiled as he panted. “Hah. Good. So good. Feeling molten.” His optics blinked open, glowing blue in the dull light of his hab suite. His biolights reflected like fire off the walls.
He saw his own face in Hue's visor, laughed, and rubbed his clean servo over his optics. “How are you?”
His aid was still buzzing. It dawned on him, finally, to shut it down.
Hue's visor split long enough for it to drag its long, pointed tongue across Rodimus's mouth. In the next klik, its face was just a visor again. “I'm having a blast,” Hue said. “I can't wait for you to turn your toy back on and play with your clit again.”
He snorted. “Okay, so, first of all, we've been over this. That's my node. Second of all, it's way too sensitive right now.”
Hue rocked its hips. Rodimus vented softly. The commander really did fill him in ways no one else ever had. Its semi-fluid mating arm hardened up really fast whenever subjected to the pressure of Rodimus's valve, and it left behind absolutely no empty space. The inner folds of his valve – where the structures of his connection points and springs could be felt through the thick layer of protomesh – shaped unbelievably pleasurable ridges on Hue's mating arm that rubbed him in all the right ways. The thin tip of its rod had deformed into a fat, round bulb that fit snug to the back port of his sleeve, pressing hard on that posterior node.
It felt like he had molded the perfect artificial spike for his own pleasure. A bit too big, sometimes, a bit too demanding, but the static ache of a well-abused valve was its own delight.
“I'm open to suggestions,” Hue rumbled. “Convince me not to hold you down and do it myself.”
A thrill raced through his fuel lines. He actually liked that idea. Hue was strong enough to do it. Immune to his fire. Big enough to loom and block out everything while he played Rodimus's frame like a keyboard.
Hue swiveled its hips side to side. Rodimus pressed a servo down between his faulds, just above his spike housing where he could feel its rod stretching him wide.
“My spike,” he panted. “My aid works on my spike, just like my node.”
It tilted its head. “Try it for me. Let me see if I like how it feels.”
Rodimus pressurized his spike with a relieved groan. His equipment was segmented with sensitive sensor panels and had a ladder of biolights up the underside leading to a tapered nozzle. Biting his bottom lip again, Rodimus turned on his aid and pressed it gently against the bottom most panel.
His judders started up again as he slowly dragged the vibrating, shocking aid up and up, each panel more sensitive than the last, his biolights flickering with light as he started to get charged up. He gasped as he pressed the aid against his nozzle, optics flashing. His valve constricted down and Hue hummed in consideration.
He squirmed as he pressed the aid against his transfluid line, a squeal escaping as a static shock went straight through him to his transfluid reservoir.
He felt his lubricant ring gush around Hue. His spike jumped.
Hue clicked with pleasure. “Keep doing that.” It started to thrust, dragging out and pushing back in, building up speed until Rodimus was rocking against the circuit slab. “Can you see yourself on my visor?”
He nodded, venting harshly as the sensory data built on top of itself, electric in his fuel lines and across his circuitry. “Uh huh.” His optics were glowing, his mouth was open, his finials were shaking. He looked stupid with pleasure. “Yeah.” His expression shifted suddenly as he pressed his aid against his nozzle again, pushing just the slightest bit inward on his transfluid line. It was a flash of discomfort, but it was good. It felt so good to tease himself like this. He ran his aid over and over the panels and swore every strut in his frame started vibrating.
“Watch yourself for me. Don't look away.” Its voice dropped, becoming far too sincere and intimate. “You're beautiful like this.”
Rodimus saw how his own face softened. How something vulnerable and needy made his optics go wide.
Hue didn't take back its words, though, and it didn't look away. Or, if it did, Rodimus couldn't tell.
He played with his spike until the panels were hot with overstimulation, until he ejected transfluid and it dribbled down his spike and it burned to touch it anymore – and then he kept playing with it because Hue told him to.
Because Hue said, “I'm close, candy red, I'm close, keep touching yourself. The things your cunt can do to me.”
And Rodimus, venting hard, said, “N-not a cunt!”
And Hue chittered with laughter and butted its head against his helm, completely wrapping Rodimus up in his body, holding him close and burying itself deep, deeper, deepest, and Hue said against his finial, “If you don't like me calling it a cunt, why do you get so tight when I do?”
And Rodimus thought that was unfair, so he said, “Oooh, Huey, spike me, really plug into my port and electrify me, Primus, your cable's so thick.”
“There's no way that's your species' version of dirty talk,” Hue said, deadpan.
“How would you know?” Rodimus sneered. “C'mon, bitlet, give me that data, overflow my processing space.”
Hue snorted inelegantly. It wasn't even thrusting anymore, just stuffed deep inside of Rodimus and listening to him go off. “I don't even know what a bitlet is.”
“You've got me all revved up, superstar, don't stop the ride now,” Rodimus purred. “I want you to wreck me like a rear-end collision. We're not leaving this berth until you destabilize my hydraulic pumps. Fill me up with your fuel until my innermost energon tastes like you.”
Hue wasn't just cackling, it was jiggling with laughter. Which was doing delightful things inside of Rodimus's valve.
Hue made a hilarious sound – something like “glorp” – and said, “I don't know what the difference between normal energon and innermost energon is, but I like the sound of that challenge. Turn your toy back on, candy red. I'm gonna make you blue screen.”
Rodimus laughed with pure delight.
His laughter shifted into a moan.
The sound of his aid buzzing filled the suite, his venting getting louder and faster. Everything was loud and slick and vulgar where Hue pistoned into him.
He honked, his spike spurting meagerly.
Hue crackled smugly. “That's what I like to hear.”
~:~
“Why won't you just tell Mags what he wants to know?”
“Because it's funny watching him get desperate.”
“It is a little funny, yeah... But it's not going to be for long. He's obsessed with that contract you wrote up. Something, something, blah blah, it's a work of art but the exchange of value highlighted in the offer is too vague and doesn't explain slag. Honestly, everyone's a little curious. The good news is that now my crew thinks my valve is magical.”
“It's a little magical, yeah. Definitely Top 3 of orifices that I've fucked on a contract.”
“Aw. I don't know whether I should feel flattered or insulted by that.”
“A bit of both, probably.”
“Aw, thanks, I hate it. So how is access to a single smoking hot valve equal in value to the services of one of the top-ranking security agencies on Abysso?”
“You looked up my agency's rank?”
“Hah, no. No, but Mags did.”
“I'm flattered.”
“Don't be, he was cyber stalking you.”
“I'm still flattered.”
“Are you trying to distract me?”
“Is it working?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I can be very annoying when I want to be. Even when I don't want to be. You might as well tell me what I want to know.”
“You really want to know?”
“I really, really do.”
“It's easier to make currency on Abysso than it is to get sex.”
“... Huh?”
“That's it.”
“Wait, why?”
“Sex for my kind is a,hm... A trust exercise. Not many of us have that kind of trust unless we're in a melt. But sex feels good. Deep pressure stimulation is one of the best feelings in the galaxy to us, especially while we're getting high off the happy hormones sex releases. Since we can't get sex from our own kind, a lot of us turn to aliens. The running joke planetside is that we're a species of exophiliacs.”
“Well, the running joke on my homeworld was that everyone else in the galaxy hated us, so I guess yours is funnier. Just to be clear, when you say it's a 'trust exercise', how much trust are we talking?”
“Life or death. Eat or be eaten.”
“New question: Why?”
“Why not?”
~:~
Rodimus came out of recharge to a hand stroking his inner thigh and lights dancing off the walls. The hand on his inner thigh was normal. The lights were new.
Hue was leaning against the side of his berth, a kaleidoscopic color show as it stared in the direction of one of the hab suite's vents.
He leaned over the side of his circuit slab and saw that Hue's visor had split into a toothy frown. Hue tilted its head toward him.
“There's an Imposter onboard.”
Rodimus went from a fuzzy helm space to feeling like he was slammed back into his own frame. He sat straight up.
“Frag! Alright, we can handle this. I'll make an announcement on the comm system, get everyone down into the labs.” They still had vents, but they were clogged with a ridiculous number of air scrubbers in case of contamination. He'd seen Shoaloids as structureless blobs, but even they wouldn't be able to squeeze through the tight-knit filters down there. “Once everyone's contained, I can get a search team together and... And what?”
Hue had twisted around to stare at him. Its toothy mouth was frowning even harder now. “You realize that this is why we're here, right? This is the whole reason there's a contract.”
Rodimus had to take a moment to remind himself that, yeah, actually, he was sexually interfacing with an alien in exchange for protection. Huh.
“We can still help,” he went on stubbornly. “We’re not just going to sit around and do nothing.”
There was a glow of bright, sunny yellow from the vent.
“Sapphire thinks you're funny,” Hue translated helpfully.
“We have fought literal monsters before,” he pointed out. “Have you ever heard of sparkeaters?”
“No.”
“Well, they're apparently real and they're terrifying. And I've fought them before.”
“That's great.” Hue patted his knee joint. “I'm proud of you, candy red. You're a real badass.”
Rodimus glared at him. “Don't make fun of me.”
“I would never.” Hue leaned forward and licked his mouth. “Careful there, captain,” it said by his finial. “If you try to do my job for me, then your crew might start to wonder why I'm even here in the first place. And then they'll ask what you're even spreading your legs for.” It squeezed his sump guard. “It's time to earn my place. Don't get on the comm system, you'll just spread panic. Don't try to follow us, you'll just be food for the Imposter. You can call your command team and fill them in on what's going on, but don't pull together a search team. Once we have the Imposter trapped in stasis, you and your command team are allowed to study it for proof that we are fulfilling our contractual obligations. Alright?”
“I stopped listening after you started fondling me.”
“That's my candy red.”
Hue pushed off the berth, somehow managed to hook its fingers into the tiny slits of the vent, and then kind of just... slurped itself up into the duct?
Rodimus watched it happen and wasn't sure what he had just seen. He played it back in his brain module and still wasn't sure when the soft, solid structure of Hue's body went semi-fluid.
He was abruptly reminded that the mech-shaped body that pounded him every cycle wasn't even real. It was just Hue stretching its muscles and manipulating its colors to look like a mech.
Rodimus was fragging an alien blob.
He sat there for an awkwardly long klik as he tried to figure out what exactly Hue's ejaculate was. What kind of liquids were there in an alien blob? What if Hue was hosing him down with some kind of alien blob waste material?
“Panic about that later,” he said to himself, activating his comms. “Hey, Megs, I've just been told that we have a guest. No, I'm not going to do anything stupid. I would never.” He left his hab suite. Even if he didn't make an announcement, he wasn't going to hide in his room while his crew was potentially in danger. He was just going to walk around. Check on mecha. Make sure his bots were doing well. Double-check that no one was acting weirder than usual.
“Okay, that was rude,” he said into his comm. “I am very responsible. I'm in charge of a whole ship! That's not the kind of responsibility you give someone who's not responsible.”
Something plopped on his pauldron.
Rodimus honked in alarm and threw himself forward, but whatever was on him was sticking tight. Megatron was still on the comm line, demanding he report, but he was already heating up and getting ready to burn the glitch and –
“Oh, wait,” he said, actually looking at the blob. “Don't I know you?”
The Shoaloid flickered a bright sunny yellow at him.
“We're good, Megs,” he said for the comm line. “It's just, um. Frag, what's your designation?”
“Pigment,” said a surprisingly deep voice for such a little bundle of opalescent muscle and tentacles. “Boss thought you might wander off. I'm your guard until Boss gets back. Boss will eat me if Boss's candy red gets bit by Imposter.”
Rodimus wasn't even surprised. “What happened to the situation being fragged if I ever see one of you? Are we in danger?”
“No,” Pigment said, wrapping its tentacles around Rodimus's pauldron and sticking one to his collar flaring. “Boss's candy red is the safest client on the ship. Boss's candy red is in no danger. Boss wants to keep Boss's candy red that way. Boss knows Boss's candy red is a self-sacrificing idiot.”
“I really wish everyone would stop calling me an idiot. I've been making great decisions lately. No, Megs, I don't need backup. Please don't send Drift to my location.”
“Why is Boss's candy red not in Boss's candy red den?”
“Um, because Rodimus – that's my designation, by the way – wants to check on Rodimus's crew and make sure Rodimus's crew is safe. Rodimus's crew comes first. And you can tell Huey that.”
Pigment's muscles flashed in bursts of bright yellow.
“Boss's Rodimus should return to Boss's Rodimus's den.”
“Rodimus will be doing no such thing,” he argued. “But I'll tell you what, you can come with me to check on my crew. That should make Huey happy.”
“Pigment will go with Boss's Rodimus.”
Rodimus said on his comm line,” Listen, Megs, Pigment and I are going to make sure everyone's secure. You and Mags can get on the surveillance system and make sure no one's getting eaten. Do not sick Drift on me, I am the safest mech on this ship right now. I don't know, send him to medibay. He can swoon over his Conjunx.”
“Conjunx?” Pigment asked.
Rodimus paused. “Um, yeah. I think our guide said it was like a melt for your kind.”
Pigment went quiet. It slipped inside of Rodimus's collar flaring and blended in.
Every mech he passed in the corridor seemed normal. He ducked into at least three game suites and walked the race track, but nothing blared danger or “murder was recently committed here” at him. He checked in on Swerve's and he meandered around the energon distillery.
The only thing that happened was that bots asked him, “Hey, Roddy, where's your firewall?” Or, even worse, “Cap! I barely recognize you without that alien up your valve.” But equally humiliating had been, “Did that alien finally get tired of you, Rodimus?”
And of course Pigment heard all of it, so that was nice.
He went down to the oil reservoir.
Pigment shivered inside of his collar flaring as the surface of the reservoir roiled and then split around a red carapace.
Sparky stared at him long enough to ascertain he wasn't Whirl, bellowed unhappily, and disappeared back into the oil.
“Love you too, Sparky,” Rodimus called after the collective scraplet hivemind. “Glad to have you with us.”
His comm line came alive. He tilted his helm as he listened.
The Imposter had been delivered to the biolab. No casualties.
“Damn,” he said mostly to himself but also a little bit to Pigment. “I didn't even get to do anything. No, Megs, I'm not complaining that no one got hurt, I'm just saying.”
“Why does Boss's Rodimus not have a Conjunx?” Pigment asked after he moodily turned off his comms.
“Well, why doesn't Pigment have a melt?” he shot back, making his way toward the nearest lift. “And why does Pigment talk different from Huey?”
“A melt requires trust or ends in death. Pigment is not ready to take that chance. And Pigment does not speak to clients like Boss does. Pigment has less practice with talking to aliens. Pronouns are difficult.”
That made sense, he guessed. But what he really wanted to know more about was that first part. “Huey said that too – that a melt is a trust exercise. Don't get me wrong, trust is pretty important between Conjunxes, but it's not usually life or death. I'm starting to think that the two aren't the same thing.”
Pigment was quiet for a bit. Finally, it said, “In sex, a shoaloid swallows a shoaloid. This sex is said to be the most pleasurable experience a shoaloid can have. If this sex lasts too long, a shoaloid will digest shoaloid's lover.”
“Okay, I'm starting to see why this might be dangerous.”
“Pigment has never had sex with another shoaloid,” it said, sounding very respectful. “Pigment is not a fool.”
“But a melt is more than just sex, right?”
“A melt is a bond of hormones and nervous systems. In a melt, shoaloids live and die together. In a melt, a shoaloid will not digest shoaloid's lover during sex. Survival is guaranteed.”
Rodimus was getting an idea. A good idea? Possibly not. But at least a fun idea.
He tapped his chest plate. “So how long have you worked with Huey?”
Pigment hummed as it thought. “Shoaloid time units and Cybertronian time units are not equal. A very long time.”
~:~
“Blorp!”
“What the frag kind of noise was that? That was hilarious!”
“Says the bot that honked when I mimicked him.”
“Okay, that was different. I was scared for my life.”
“Well, I'm scared for your life right now! You just split your chest open.”
“Aw, I knew you cared.”
“Why is your chest open?”
“Um, so you can hop in?”
“Listen, candy red, I think I need a little more explanation than that.”
“So Pigment was talking to me about Shoaloid sex.”
“Of course Pigment did that.”
“And he mentioned that your kind like to swallow each other.”
“I like getting swallowed in more ways than one.”
“And don't I know it. But that's not what we're talking about right now. I was thinking... Maybe you could fit inside of me like this? Maybe hang out for a bit? Just – don't ejaculate on anything. That's really not something I want to go to the medibay for.”
“You want me to just... crawl inside of you? Of your open chest? And wrap around your heart?”
“That's my spark, actually, but I guess they're kind of-ish the same thing. A little bit. I don't suggest you go past my spark chamber, though. That's the metal casing around my spark.”
“You're not obligated to. This isn't in the contract.”
“Oh, I'm not doing this because I'm obligated to. I want you to get in there and play around a little bit. Tug on some wires. Press against some sensors. Depending on how small you can get, you might be able to squeeze around my valve instead of inside of it. Not everything's about you, Huey. I like to be a little adventurous every now and again myself.”
“It looks like it would be a tight fit.”
“Is that a no?”
“That's... not a no.”
“Come on in, Huey. The internal components are hot and the energon is fine. Don't go straight into my spark and don't go in my oil sump – again – and you'll be alright. I can't digest you, if that helps.”
“This... isn't in the contract.”
“Uh huh, yep, you already mentioned that. Just make sure I overload at least two or three times and we'll call it even.”
“I want that in writing.”
“Hah! Sure. I'll add it to the contract and have Mags read it over, he'll love that. You going in?”
“You're beautiful.”
“Aw, thanks... You're not a bad-looking blob yourself. I really like the shimmering.”
“Thanks, it's the chromatophores in my membrane scattering light.”
“I sure do know what chromatophores are.”
“Do you?”
“Nope.”
“My pigment cells.”
“You keep Pigment in a cell? You monster.”
“Wow, candy red, you're so funny. Make room for me, I'm going to squeeze your valve till you squirt in your sump guard.”
“Yeah, sure, big words for a little blob – okay, that feels weird.”
“Bad weird?”
“Um, no. Just. Give it a klik. No, don't stop moving! It's. It's like having slightly cold gel covering my insides? Oh. What did you just touch?”
“Some kind of wire.”
“Oh!”
“I'm gonna keep touching it.”
“Ah hah, please don't hurt me.”
“I'd never. I'm having way too much fun with you. Now how does this feel?”
“Ah!”
“I'm gonna keep going until you honk for me.”
“Mmph.”
~:~
Drift walked right up to him, took him by the pauldrons, and said, “Where is Hue?”
Rodimus tucked his unsteady servos at the small of his spinal strut. He had been so close to his hab suite. “Who?”
“The Shoaloid.”
“Oh, Hewie. Hewie’s. Around.” He could feel his spike punching against his sump guard. Apparently, there was a way to manually pressurize it from the inside. Which was good to know but also really bad timing.
Drift frowned at him. “Has something happened?”
“In, um, what sense? Exactly?”
“Are you fighting? Did it hurt you? Is there another Imposter onboard?”
“None of those things have happened, nope,” he somehow managed to say more or less evenly.
“Then why has no one seen it in two shifts? I've checked surveillance and I've interviewed the crew and I even managed to track down one of its agents, but no one has seen Hue in over an orn. That's the longest it's left you alone since it came onboard.”
Rodimus honked.
Drift stared.
There was a knock against the inside of his chest plate.
His vox box clicked as he reset it. “Huey has definitely not left me alone. Let's put it that way.”
A muffled voice from inside of him said, “Don't call me Huey to your crew members.”
Rodimus blew smoke out of his mouth. “This isn't the weirdest thing you've ever seen me do, let's be honest.”
Drift had his face in his servo. “No, you're right. You're right, this is. This is relatively tame. Compared to some positions I've seen you in.”
“Exactly,” Rodimus agreed, beaming. He spread his pedes a little farther apart, trying desperately to not moan as the wires connecting his sexual interface array to his sensor net were pulled. The burn was delightful. Dangerous. He kind of wanted Hue to ejaculate on them despite how absolutely stupid that would be. He still didn't know what the commander's ejaculate was made of.
“I will just let Megatron and Ultra Magnus know that Hue isn't missing.”
“Sounds like a good – aauugh – plan.”
They stared at each other.
“Pretend you didn't just hear me make that noise.”
“I really don't think I can, Roddy.”
“Listen, if there was a Shoaloid inside of you, you would understand. Don't judge me!”
“I'm Conjunxed.”
Hue was really stretchy and very muscular. It was sucking at his spark chamber and massaging the tube that led to his oil sump and that actually felt weirdly good?
“And I,” he wheezed, “am having a great time. You could also be having a great time if you just opened your mind a little bit. Welcomed new experiences. Maybe sweet-talked one of the Shoaloids hiding in the vents.”
“I am quite content with my interface life as it is,” Drift said amicably. “Do you need help getting back to your hab suite?”
“I can't move my legs.”
“That's probably not a good sign.”
“That's a great sign. But, also, I think Huey accidentally pulled something it shouldn't have.”
From inside of him, somewhere down by his pelvic girdle, a muffled voice said, “Did I? Shit.”
“Please don't tell Ratchet,” he begged as Drift swung him up into his arms like a real hero. “Please, please, please don't tell Ratchet.”
“He is my Conjunx. What I know, he knows. And I really can't wait to see what he has to say about this.”
“You would betray your Amica for some cheap entertainment?”
“Oh, absolutely. Without hesitation.”
Rodimus whined as he was carried away form his hab suit and toward the medibay. He noted that the wet, gel-like feeling of Hue's body was now coiled up around his spark chamber.
“Hey, don't stop!” he cried. “No, not you!” he snapped at Drift when he looked at Rodimus in confusion. “Don't you dare leave me like this,” he hissed down at his own frame.
“Rather safe than sorry, candy red.”
“It's for the best, Roddy,” Drift tried to soothe him. “Besides, I would rather you two not... do whatever kind of interfacing you were just doing in my arms.”
Rodimus pouted and wrapped his arms around Drift's neck. “It's not too late to turn around and drop me off at my hab suite.” He gave Drift his biggest, saddest optics. “Listen, this isn't the first time I went a little too hard at some wireplay. It's not that serious. I can probably figure it out myself.”
“And that's how you'll end up with no legs for the rest of your life,” Drift said. “By thinking you can repair your own wires.”
“I've done it before.”
“Let's not risk it again.”
“Let's.”
“Let's not.”
“But what if you take me back to my hab suite and we forget this ever happened and then I'll be fine the next time you see me?”
“Or what if you break something and then Ratchet breaks me because I enabled you?”
“You'd be into that, don't lie to yourself.”
“You're going to the medibay,” came Hue's muted voice. “And that's final.”
“Would you look at that,” Drift said, staring straight ahead. “Even the ransomware agrees with me.”
A burst of static escaped Rodimus. He stared at Drift, gobsmacked and wide-opticked.
“I don't know what that means,” Hue said. “But I get the feeling you don't like me.”
“Whatever gave you that impression?” Drift asked, impassive. “I hold only respect for the services you provide us.”
Rodimus started thinking up lies to tell Hue when it inevitably asked what a “ransomware” was. Telling it that that was what they called mecha who bought sex wasn't something he wanted to do anytime soon.
~:~
“So what is a ransomware?”
“Oh, that's just what we call mecha in a contract.”
“Are you lying to me?”
“No, I'd never.”
“So what is a ransomware really?”
“Just, you know. Someone who wants a service, but doesn't pay up until after that service is given.”
“... Candy red, did your friend call me a trick?”
“A what?”
“Someone who buys sex.”
“What? No. That's silly. Maybe.”
“He's not wrong. Actually, I think he's onto something. Let's roleplay tonight. You be the buymech and I'll be the ransomware and if you suck my mating arm real good, I'll give you a special treat.”
“... What kind of special treat?”
“Start sucking and find out, buymech.”
[END OF WHAT I HAVE WRITTEN, THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME]
