After a day filled with disappointment from academic woes, Starscream visits Skyfire. However, his frame is filled with a new, curious sensation towards the other flier. And this feeling only fills him further as a pleasant, home-cooked meal is prepared for him. Does Starscream have the nerve to discover what this new sensation is- or did he bite off more than he can chew?
Working on your creation day sucks, but when Onslaught returns home, a certain shuttle and medic have been working on a sparkday surprise for him. Question is: Did Onslaught bite off more than he can chew?
On Earth, the Auto.bots stumbled on the fortune of a surplus of energon, as well as some much-needed downtime. The bots of Team Pri.me found extra time to kick back and relax. And no one needed rest and recouperation than Rat.chet. Who knew the grump medic had such enjoyment for cooking- and consuming- such delicious meals. While learning how to cope with the extra attention his enlarging frame, Rat.chet can’t help wanting Opti.mus to take a night off. And what better way was there than to cook a spark warming meal?
When the curtains were drawn back, the picturesque view of space was exposed. The planet’s golden, rust-colored landscape stretched wide, its rocky surface creating intricate patterns against the bluish glow of the atmosphere. But what stole the show was the eruption of pink and green nebular clouds in the galaxy painted before them. Flecks of stars twinkled. Distant planets peaked. Double moons loomed. When was the last time he saw such a marvelous sight rendered before him?
Aside from travelling through space, that is.
Time stilled, and the shuttle became lost in space until a gentle squeeze on his shoulder brought his focus back. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Primus, Cosmos... this is.... breathtaking...” Blast Off’s optics were wide with admiration. “So beautiful.”
“I know.”
Suddenly, Blast Off’s plating burned. Snapping his helm to the right, his date was staring right at him. “...” Slag. Words eluded him, but his cheeks felt warm from the attention. “You... you’re not even looking at the scenery...”
“I was referring to you.”
Talk about getting to the point! Flattery was always appreciated- it was nice to have his fine qualities noticed and appreciated. Usually, he flew under Onslaught's radar. Sure, mentioning a job well done here and there existed, but everything was strictly professional. And minimal. All he wanted was to be noticed and taken seriously.
But now that Cosmos (not Onslaught) was intently staring at him, the showy little bird shivered with stage fright.
“Good evening,” With perfect timing, their server appeared, presenting menus and a pair of fine crystal china. “Can I interest you in some champagne engex?”
Thank Primus for small favors.
“Yes, please,” Cosmos answered, while Blast Off expectantly held out his servo.
“Allow me to welcome you to The Last Aura. My name is Gearshift, and I will be taking care of all your needs today. Have either of you ever dined here before?” Both patrons shook their helm no. “This eatery is galaxy known for the wonderous views and even finer foods, all created fresh on premises.”
Gearshift prattled while Cosmos listened eagerly, but the Combaticon focused on his beverage. The bubbly drink was crisp, light-bodied, and hinted at lemon zest—far more interesting than the server. When leather-bound menus with gold-leafed text arrived, the shuttle's interest was piqued.
If the food was nearly as good as the extravagant ledger, he was in for a good feast.
“I shall give you a moment to look over the selections.”
Setting his glass down, the prissy shuttle perused the first page. His optics widened. Impressive—and this was just the h'ordeuvres! Cyber Oysters. Lobster mica salad with tostones. Gougères. The list continued with sophisticated bites based upon a refined palate.
“These all look so delightful!” His belly voiced its approval, grumbling as dishes were scanned. “I have no idea how I am going to choose.”
“Get whatever your spark desires.” The green and yellow flyer announced. “I know what I want to start with. “Crystal figs in a blanket. The cyber goat cheese and oil glaze sealed that deal.”
“I’m thinking about the oysters. Or the petrolium-stuffed shishitos in lithium phyllo. Even the smoked trout and avocado look promising.” Unknowingly, Blast Off’s servo gently rubbed over his belly, and his tongue licked over his lips. Reading the dishes teased his growing appetite. And as each page flipped over, decisions became harder. “Now, for my main... Primus, I’m still struggling!”
“I was warned the selections would be tough.” Cosmos chuckled. “But I heard such raving reviews of the seafood risotto that my mind is already made up.”
“I am debating on something from the land or the sea.” Blast Off sighed, barely acknowledging the other’s choice. “One can never go wrong with lobster, yet the braised short ribs... they are calling my name.”
“Oh, that reminds me.” Cosmos reached over and grabbed a sort of remote. “What kind of classical music do you prefer?”
“Hmm?” The shuttle's eyes did not shift from scanning the menu.
“What can I serenade your audials with?”
His entire frame flinched as if jolted by electricity. The mere thought of this flying saucer singing lifted those optics from the menu. Would it be rude to answer with a firm ‘Please don’t?’
“We have the upbeat and rhythmic jazz, known for irregular beats and solos. Or the classics of a full orchestra, playing what looks like a selection from Breezechime’s opera. Or a more natural tone of wind harmonics from the Passing of seasons.”
“That one!” Fond memories back in his city-state long before the eruption of war flashed before his optics. He perched on a high balcony at the Grande Theatre with his creators, celebrating his creation day. The upscale breathy tones mixed with deep resonating tones were the most divine sound to grace his audials. His digital copy of the score had long been destroyed, and the desire to relive that invigoration and inspirational music resurfaced.
“Very nice selection.” A stubby digit pressed the remote; soft chimes sang ever so sweetly through the room.
“This is my favorite. I cannot tell you how many times I listened to this on repeat,” the shuttle admitted, a dreamy look washing over his face as his wings gently flicked. “And I cannot tell you how long it has been since I heard this.”
“What a splendid treat for you tonight.... food for your audials, am I right?”
The music played on, both blissfully enthralled in the sounds until the server returned. A basket of golden-brown biscuits was set on the table. “Have we decided?”
“Yes...yes.” Cosmos gleefully stated.
Blast Off raised his optic ridges. How nice of his date to consider his decision.
“For starters, we’ll have the crystal figs in a basket.”
What happened to getting what he wanted? Blast Off glared, crossing his arms over his chassis as he took mental note of the not-so-desirable selfishness. His date only smiled in return as the server tapped in the order.
“Also, let’s get an order of the petroleum-stuffed shishitos in lithium phyllo. As well as the smoked trout and avocado.”
“Will that be all?”
“No, actually. One more. The cyber oysters, please.” He shot a cocky glance at the ‘Con. “We are quite starved, you see.”
Cue that belly rumbling, attracting the server's unwanted glance. Did those lips curl as optics raked over his frame? His kind wouldn’t know classiness if it slapped him across the face! Perhaps he should lodge a complaint- his job was to serve them afterall, not judge.
“Well, you have made some fine selections. Will the oysters be raw or steamed?”
This time, Cosmos looked at Blast Off for his input. “Raw,” Blast Off said. Despite getting his choices, the shuttle hoped his selection served as payback.
“Half dozen or a dozen?”
“I think we'd best go with a dozen.” Lips were licked. “I do fancy them raw!”
Petty revenge may be off the table, but the fact that his date had a taste for uncooked marine mollusks captivated his interest. Mutually dining on exotic cuisine sure beats the embarrassment of watching chicken nuggets and fries being devoured at a nicer establishment. Or the same old platter of cyber-steak and petroleum potatoes.
“Have we decided on the main dishes?”
This time, Cosmos looked over, silently consulting the flyer. Blast Off smirked, nodding his helm and holding his servo out. “Have at it.” Let’s see how well he passes this test.
“My brazen date would like to try your butter-poached cyber lobster with crystal asparagus over lithium linguini,” he said, then cleared his throat. “And... can’t forget the braised short ribs with the twice-baked potato and the mica greens.”
“The meals come with soup or salad.” The server informed. “Salads we have the garden, crystal cucumber, or fruit and nut summer salad. Soup choices for today are creamy cyberchicken corn chowder and a rustic Italian tortellini.” Gearshift lightly bit his lip as his gaze wandered to Blast Off. “You have two choices since you have ordered two meals...”
Did this server just take a cheap shot? Inside, his energon boiled. His chassis tightened in unwelcome shame. His belly tingled in unbridled hunger. In the end, there was no reason to look so uncouth in front of his date. Even if he didn’t deserve to be ridiculed for enjoying fine foods.
“For the soup, I’ll take the cyberchicken corn chowder,” Blast Off sighed. “And get me the fruit and nut salad.”
“As you wish.” The teal and yellow mech’s attention returned to Cosmos. “And for you, sir?”
“I shall have the seafood risotto, please.” Cosmos helm tilted. “And I would like the garden salad.”
“As you wish.” A few final taps danced on the datapads before being tucked away. “Shall I refill your drinks?”
"I am parched," Blast Off answered curtly, lips pressed tight and his gaze meandering across the room. He crossed his legs, only to feel the accumulation of chub, reminding himself of his growing frame. And any possible harsh looks that were thrown his way.
“That... that would be swell,” Cosmos stammered. Once the server left, the Autobot’s helm snapped to the other. “Is... is something bothering you?”
The shuttle scrunched up his face. “Whatever do you mean?” He uncrossed his arms and rested them in his lap. Then moved his arms to his sides. He ended the performance with a deep sigh.
Cosmos shrugged. “You don’t have to be so short with the wait staff.”
“I didn’t like the way he was looking at me.” Apparently, this almost mini-bot mech didn’t comprehend proper interactions with someone of his stature. Or he saw no qualms about someone looking down upon him. Neither option fared well for his date.
“All....” Cosmos closed his mouth and bit his lip. “Okay.”
An awkward silence passed, save for the mellow whistling of the music. The panoramic view of space was enjoyed, but it could only provide entertainment for so long. Both mechs idly sipped their drinks. Comsos fidgeted in his seat.
Looks like he’d have to do all the work.
“So....” Blast Off idly spoke, fanning out his fingers to admire the gift once again. Seeing the sparkly diamonds made his chest feel heavy. Suddenly, the silence became bothersome. His plating tickled with unease. The feeling of guilt took hold. His date did follow the proper protocols to provide such a luxurious gift; it wouldn’t hurt to humor him a bit more. “How many blind dates have you been on?”
Cosmos shrugged. “Not many. Well, at least not recently.” He leaned forward and picked up the basket containing the warm, cheesy biscuits. He held the basket out, allowing the other to take first. “Sadly, they never fared well. So, I just dived into work.”
“Did none of them catch your fancy?” Wings flapped as a smirk appeared on the ‘Con’s face. He couldn’t imagine someone of his... short stature being picky.
“Honestly, they were rather rude, if you ask me.”
“How so?” He bit into the biscuit. The outer crust crunched, giving way to a moist, cheesy inside. His mouth was filled with rich, buttery bread, and the saltiness complemented the cheese's sharpness perfectly.
“Just...seemed very distant and curt. The one that stood out the most thought it would be cute to rest his drink on my helm.” The short flier rolled his optics. “Claimed he mistook me for a table.”
Blast Off nearly snorted bread out his nose. Cosmos glared.
“You aren’t the only one who doesn’t enjoy getting wrongfully judged.”
The words stung, but not nearly as much as observing the lowered optics and downturned helm. The classic look of doubting oneself. Not being able to avoid this himself, there was no denying he understood that feeling all too well. Despite being an individual, he was constantly brought down by the Combaticons' degenerate reputation.
He was much better than the others.
“How hard is it to be kind? You know, it wouldn’t kill a mech to give me a chance...”
Screw a slap in the face; those words stung like a knife through the spark. If only a certain someone had given him a chance... But the Autobot’s point rang true.
Once again, the waiter returned, bearing two fresh cocktails and a cart plated with colorful finger foods. This time, upon receiving his drink, Blast Off smiled- even if a tad forced. “Thank you very much.”
“It was my pleasure.” The plates clinked against the table. “Enjoy.”
Upon observing the faint grin adorned on Cosmos face, Blast Off scowled, sucking a hearty swig of his engex cocktail. Why was doing the right thing such a kick in the face?
“What shall we start with first?” Cosmos said, rubbing his servos together as blue optics scanned the spread before him. “Would you care to try a fig in a blanket?” Stubby little fingers grabbed the plate of rounded gold wraps filled with a slice of the light blue tree fruit.
“Why not?” His belly could only hold out for so long! One of the delicacies was selected and popped inside his mouth in one bite. Immediately, there was a savage yet delightful war between sweet and savory. He couldn’t help but hum at the flaky pastry that was slathered in butter. Or was it that warm gooeyness of the cheese? No. What stole the show was the sweet, earthy taste of the figs, reminiscent of those fine jams spread on fancy crackers served at his family’s lavish parties.
“That good, huh?” Cosmos polished off his first bite of the night. His face lit up. “You’re right. So sweet. So creamy.” He swallowed. “Such a tasty little starter.”
The plate was held out, and the ‘Con helped himself to seconds. Then to thirds. Each bite tasted better than the last...which means between the pair the wrapped delights didn’t stand a chance. Lips smacked as the empty plate was set back down.
“Which shall we taste next?”
“Let me pick.” Blast Off sipped his drink, then immediately went for his next selection. “I have been dying to sink my teeth into these raw oysters for ages.” Fingers went to grab an oblong shell but stopped. Being starved was no excuse for failing to observe proper etiquette. He sheepishly looked at his date. “Where’s my manners?” The plate was held out.
Cosmos eyes squinted in glee as he selected the first. “That’s mighty kind of you.” Once digits selected a half-shell, it was brought to the saucer’s lips. Blast Off followed suit, taking a moment to admire the light purple color of the meat that rested in a pool of its juices and a dollop of red hot sauce.
The shell pressed against eager hips, tilted up, and its contents slid into his mouth. Oh, that salty taste was distinct, and the raw flesh was cold yet firm. The hot sauce provided just enough zing to make his taste receptors sputter in joy. And the way they slid right down his throat promised his noisy belly just what it desired. Devouring these was going to be pure joy!
And seeing his date match his enthusiasm was a pleasant surprise. Getting any of his fellow Combaticons to spruce up their pallet was like pulling rusty bolts from an engine. Fine dining at Vortex was dinosaur nuggets. Brawl- if he couldn’t eat it with his servos, he wasn’t interested. Swindle had more sway, but anything from the seas was off limits. Onslaught....
Curse his processor for always returning to his crush! He stuck to the same foods, claiming there was no requirement to change. If the said meal was good, why deviate? He liked what he liked. He didn’t like what he didn’t like.
Which apparently was him.
“How’s your job treating you?” Cosmos sat back, resting his arm on the plush sofa.
“It pays the bills.” While true, the job was rather lacluster. Beneath him, really. “Easy. Sit in front of a monitor for a full shift and observe.”
“But you are keeping mechs safe.” The Autobot shrugged. “And you get to work from home.”
“You get the excitement of traveling through space.” Another half shell was selected and polished off. “Aside from my flight here, I haven’t travelled much.”
“Miss it?”
Blast Off stifled a snort. “Really gotta ask?”
His date blushed slightly, attempting to hide his reaction by helping himself to another oyster. “Yeah, dumb question. I know that tell-tale feeling of missing space travel.”
“The claustrophobia. The weight of gravity pulling on your frame...feeling as if the ground is going to swallow you whole.” Blast Off sighed. “Slag, I even missed the piercing coldness of space.”
“Golly, it just creeps into your core,” Cosmos added. “And as much as it stings, that sensation is easily missed when back on the surface of a planet for too long.”
“Same with that smell of burning ozone upon re-entry.”
“Say, ever think of changing to a deep space job?” Cosmos gently dabbed his lips with a cloth napkin, then snagged himself a new appetizer- the smoked trout and avocado.
Every waking hour! His place was high in the sky, towering over the simple mechs of Cybertron. But as much as the sky sickness pierced his soul, the gestalt bond tugged at his bonds. Yes, they have grown weak after... after the whole Starscream spiel. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t taken leave of absences before. But the hint of the four others remained in his spark, catching whispers at the most random times. Gestalt bonds can never truly be broken.
But could his desires for his boss ever be cut? Physically, he could leave. Mentally? That was to be determined.
“It would... depend.” Tough questions called for good eating. He reached out and selected a feta-stuffed shishito in phyllo; its light pink fried outer layer promising such tasty delights wrapped inside. In fact, the first bite resulted in a satisfying crunch, releasing its cheesy taste and a distinct sweetness from the peppers.
Happiness does come in bite-sized smidgens, after all.
“Well, I know someone who is looking to set up a research station out past the Lunar banks. Supplies and crew members need to be transported-”
“What?!” Blast Off’s optics shot open, and the rest of his shishto nearly spat out of his mouth. “Transport?” His face scowled at the insult. “What do you mistake me for? Some common cargo ship?”
“Blast-“
“I happen to be much more than a simple means of transportation.” The shuttle grabbed his drink and took a few hearty swigs as if engex would extinguish the raging fire. “Giving mechs rides... beneath my standards.”
“I didn’t mean that!” Cosmos stammered, earning himself a glare. “I...Look...” He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m sorry-”
“Just because I have a pair of wings and can withstand the harsh coldness of space doesn’t mean THAT is ALL I can do!”
Cosmos leaned back, mouth agape and optics nearly trembling.
“You know, back in my city-state, my frame was cherished.” Blast Off spat. “Oh, look, we have a shuttle in our ranks. I was actually looked up to as something special. Something unique.” Brown and purple wings erratically flicked. “Have you ever been judged by your frame type?” The now-empty glass slammed down on the table.
“Well, as a matter of fact, I have.”
Blast Off snorted.
“Is it that hard to believe?” Cosmos shook his helm. “While I did not enjoy... having to partake in the brutalities of war, I can assure you I was next to last at being paired up with on missions. Apparently, what mechs' thoughts of my capabilities... fell short, so to speak. Plus, having a space travel alt mode didn’t exactly help. At least not in the presence of grounders.”
“Hmmm...” Blast Off muttered as he picked at more appetizers. So, he may have a basic understanding of how he felt... but why suggest becoming the one thing that ground his gears? Seekers... praised for their intelligence and aerial acrobatics. Shuttles? Servants of flying from one place to another. All under someone else's command.
“I know you are much more than that.” Cosmos reached out, gently resting a servo on the ‘Con’s shoulder. “Sincerely, I did not mean it in that way. It was more to get you back into space. If you so desire.”
The anger still flared in his chassis, but glancing at the saucer, the ‘Con’s expression softened. So far, Cosmos has been kind and extremely generous. While the though of being transportation was a sore spot...perhaps his date didn’t mean any degradation from it. And experienced some form of discrimination against alt modes himself.
“Noted.” The ‘Con huffed out a sigh. “Thank you for the offer. But for now...going to pass.” He picked up the tray of feta-stuffed shishitos and held it out. “Care for one before I polish them off?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
The pair demolished the appetizers just in time for their soup and salads to arrive. Two dishes were set in front of the shuttle, and the solo dish went to Cosmos. Naturally, Blast Off’s drink was refilled, and the pair was left to continue their meal.
“I... ah...” Blast Off cleared his throat as he crumbled some crackers into the creamy soup. “I... do wish to apologize for... for my abrupt reaction...”
“I understand it can be a touchy subject.” Cosmos waved. His fork stabbed up greens. “Plus, I was warned of your....”
Blast Off cocked his helm to the side. “Warned?” A spoonful of hot soup traveled to his lips to be softly blown on. Once inside his mouth, his sensors were rewarded with such a warm, hearty taste. The cyberchicken was tender. The vegetables crisp. The entire broth was rich and creamy. This soup was very comforting and delicious; he nearly forgot what was being questioned. “Warned about what?”
Cosmos cheeks flushed.
“Wait.” Blast Off stared at the saucer. “Did... did you know it was me?”
“AHhh.... I wasn’t completely sure!” Cosmos chuckled, squirming under the other's glare. “I mean... I was like.... Ninety percent sure.”
“And... just what were you warned about?” Primus, just who was shit-talking him now?
“N... nothing bad!” Cosmos took a swig from his drink, but Blast Off’s demanding stare did not relent. “Seriously!” The ‘Bot’s optics darted quickly. “I mean.... S...someone just warned me if it was who we thought it was...You... You are a lot to handle.”
“A lot to handle...” Blast Off smirked, but continued eating. “Is that so?”
“I mean...” Cosmos’ optics grew wide- at least until the shuttle’s smile returned.
“And how am I a lot to handle?” Another spoonful of soup was enjoyed. “Hmmm?”
“I.... I dunno...” The Autobot stifled a grin. “Like... you are...very finicky.”
“Finicky?” Blast Off snorted as he set the now-empty bowl of soup down.
“Those weren’t my words, mind you.”
The shuttle rolled his optics as his servos found his bowl of fruit and nuts. “Oh really? What words would you use to describe me?”
“Knowing what you want...” Cosmos answered. “And knowing what you like.”
“And let me guess, knowing what you want is... you know....too much?”
Those words were heard before. Heard them straight from Onslaught’s mouth. Apparently, caring about his life was too much. Making sure his teammates weren’t lying lifeless on cold metal slabs was too much. Being attracted to him and wanting to spend the rest of his life snuggled up to his side was too much.
“No, actually.” The Autobot set down his plate and dug around in his subspace again. “I think it is very admirable to know what you want, actually. And there is nothing wrong with accepting nothing less.”
“Hmmmm....” Blast Off hummed and shoved an orange chunk of juicy crystal mango in his mouth. “So.... you think someone like you could handle me?”
Spilled energon, frayed wires, and stolen memories... That was Sunder’s MO. His past was riddled with inflicting unfathomable horrors to feed his never-ending desire for mnemosurgery. He was the butcher, the beast everyone warned you about, and everyone wanted to extinguish.
If the Autobot was honest with himself, he wished someone would put an end to his madness.
After vorns of engorging himself with metal and memories and used only for his skills, Sunder became sluggish with guilt. He was a monster; his frame was nothing but a hollow husk of a mech with no promise of anything better.
But through the will of Primus in the form of a benevolent Spiritualist, reprieve from his tormented mind could be achieved. Wing, the source of mercy and forgiveness, swooped in with goals of saving the cannibalistic surgeon with all the comforts one’s spark could desire- kindness, forgiveness, and, not to mention, such lavish feasts.
A new feeling filled Sunder’s frame- the warmth of Primus’ love, hope of redemption, and something a fiend like himself did not deserve: companionship. But between whispered prayers, enticing smorgasbords, and growing kinship, a hunger continued to gnaw at the Autobot: Was Wing correct in his preachings of forgiveness and acceptance? Could Sunder redeem his salvation through Primus, or was Wing painting something even more sinister before he optics?
CW: religious horror/chubformers/fatal vore/cannibalism/implied nsfw
The shuttle raised his glass. “A toast.” Starscream followed suit. “One day, we’ll be off this planet, exploring the great vastness of space.” A soft sigh escaped his smiling lips. “Until then, we’ll always have each other. Here’s to mutual goals, and continuous support until our wings reach the welcoming coldness of space.”
The glasses clinked together, and the pair took a hearty sip before returning to the meal.
“You know, your presentation was really strong,” Starscream spoke between a mouthful of food. “I don’t understand why the council can’t see it.”
Skyfire shrugged. “I dunno. I think they are focused more on scouting for energon. Probably feel exploration for anything else is frivolous.”
“I bet if Scope mentioned it, it would have been approved.” Despite the warm, cheesy noodles filling his mouth, his mood went cold. “I just don’t get it.”
“There’s no point dwelling on it, Stars-“
“Isn’t there?” A pair of blue fists slammed on the table. “Come on, not to sound cocky, but you know we are the best this science team has. This university just holds up back.”
Skyfire dabbed his lips, his face pensive and stern. “I can agree we are on the top tier of our class-“
“We should just go on our own adventure-“
“We can’t-“
“Then when we come back with all the new information-“
“We can’t fund our own trip-“
“They’ll be sorry.” Starscream forgot his meal, instead wearing a heated scowl. His fists clenched around his utensils as his wings angrily flicked behind him.
“Just what do I have to do to get you to shut that mouth of yours, hmmmm?” Skyfire chuckled. “As much as I ....AH... value your input, that mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days.”
“If you want me to shut up, you’re gonna have to make me.” For good measure, the Seeker stuck out his tongue.
Oh, the usual games of feigned stubbornness. Both flyers knew this drill. But Skyfire shocked him. “Alright.”
Was Skyfire actually going to do something? No longer just roll his optics and hint at a little smile? “Wha-“
A forkful of meatloaf was shoveled into the Seeker’s mouth, leaving no other option but to chew.
“That seemed to do the trick.”
This time, that cute grin that filled his spark with longing filled his frame with shock. The audacity! The meat was hastily chewed, then swallowed. When his mouth opened to voice a retort, another heaping mouthful followed.
“Now, what were you saying?”
Sharp optics cast the shuttle's way as chewing continued. This time, when the massive amount of meat was swallowed, Starscream covered his mouth from the awaiting fork. “What are you going to do, stuff the rest of this meal down my throat?” This time, the snarky mech smirked. “You don’t have the ball bearings.”
“Oh, don’t I?”
The seeker laughed, leading to his downfall. Yet another mouthful of food was snuck in.
“Is that a challenge?” This time, the fork stabbed into four carrots, then stood at the ready. The Seeker just grimaced. “I hope someone doesn’t bite off more than they can chew.”
“Always quick with lame-“
Those carrots disappeared as well. But the caramelized delights really did hit the spot. The honey gave a sticky texture, and the roasting provided a slightly crispy edge. When his teeth sank into them, the soft insides exploded, releasing such a candy-like sweetness.
How mad can one be with such a lavishly tasting treat?
Another forkful was offered- and allowed entrance- this time of mashed lithium potatoes. This was loaded with an earthy flavor and rich, delicious butter. Starscream made quick work of the soft sides, and when another forkful was offered, he opened his mouth eagerly once again.
Was Skyfire winning? Starscream was no longer keeping tabs... he was too preoccupied by the new expression painted on his friend’s face. His optics were soft but wide. His lips puckered slightly as the tip of his tongue peeked over his lower lip. The only time his optics wavered was to refill the fork that continuously fed his mouth.
The Seeker’s frame warmed, and it was not just because his tanks were becoming full. The lull of the shuttle’s engines... the softened expression on his face... the simple act of being hand-fed just did something to him. Even when the tell-tale aches from stuffed tanks kicked in, the Seeker just couldn’t shut his mouth. He couldn’t reject what the other had to offer. He didn’t want this moment to end.
Once again, those tingling sensations tickled throughout his frame. Bite after bite, all his worries vanished. After every hint of a smile on his crush’s lips revealed just how good the other would be as a lover. After each mouthful, Starscream just felt so grounded. Relaxed. Adored.
Just what was Skyfire doing to him... and for the love of Primus, don’t let him stop!
“GGGgwwwwwwoooooooooooorrrrggllllleeeee” It was only then that Starscream realized just how long the pair sat there... one feeding, the other consuming. The food on both their plates disappeared. The majority of the serving plates were picked over. And his belly spasmed as it gurgled, resting heavily upon his lap.
“Oh my...” Skyfire whispered, catching sight of the rounded belly. Or was it the pained expression of its owner? “Was... was that too much?”
Starscream groaned as his servos rubbed over his taunt tummy. Gone was his slim waist, replaced by an overinflated beachball. “Too much... does that mean you concede?” A sly grin appeared. He wouldn’t admit defeat so easily.
The shuttle stifled a grin as he stood up. “That behavior right there...” He walked over to the counter. “Is going to be your downfall.” He returned with a pie in hand. “We can’t forget dessert, now can we?”
“Dessert?” The Seeker gulped as his belly let out another strained gurgle.
“It’s your favorite.” A forkful was removed, revealing its gooey red center. “Crystal cherry pie.”
His friend did know him well. All too well. That was the best-tasting pie of them all! Sure, apple pies were a close second, but nothing beat the sweetness mixed with tartness of those crystal cherries. His mouth watered just eyeing the forkful. His belly grumbled greedily as the light glistened off the syrupy goodness. Everything teased him perfectly! His mouth opened on its own accord.
And when filled, he hummed out his joy and flicked his wings. The pains from his belly diminished, and his focus was completely on the blissful taste of the treat. Swallowing reactivated that warm, fuzzy feeling. Opening his mouth, he silently demanded another serving. This felt good, and Starscream wanted more.
Skyfire took the hint. Forkful after forkful was shoved into that never-ending pit. Each refill elicited such a pleasurable hum. Each swallow resulted in the optics half-closing in pure delight. Even when the Seeker’s breathing turned to gasps for air, Skyfire kept the pace. Even when that belly bulged out, taut enough to cause fresh stress marks to split upon his exposed mesh, Starscream continued to consume.
Cherry pie was his absolute favorite, but having his crush feed him just made it taste even better.
But when the last remaining slice was stabbed into, the struggle became real. His tanks churned, the ache turning into a full-blown throb. The quakes rippled through the domed beast as if threatening to burst. But when he looked with strained optics at his friend, the look of pure enthrallment kept him from denying another bite.
The shuttle's optics were focused as if performing the final tweaks of a much-anticipated experiment. The way those lips were parted with intense curiosity. The way his cheeks flushed with coy interest. This was such a new look, and the expression easily ensnared the Seeker with captivated longing. He would do anything to please the shuttle...
But his belly let out a garbled whine, snapping his friend out of that hypnotic trance. Suddenly, those optics went wide, and that mouth gaped. “Oh my, Stars...” Optics gawked at that belly. “I... I think we may have overdone it...”
Starscream answered with a stifled burp and a strained gasp.
“That looks awfully painful...” The Seeker barely nodded, gently raking his servos over the angry beast. “You should have stopped me!”
“And what, admit defeat?” The Seeker winced as another pained warble growled out.
The cherry pie was set down, and those large servos went to the belly. “You must be terribly uncomfortable.”
He was, but feeling that gentle touch ghost over his tight belly absolved all pain. Well, not really, but the touch was deeply desired. The digits gently rubbed in slow circles, starting at the apex and slowly wandering down in such soothing patterns, making their way to tickle at the sides. The warmth felt delightful. The sensation felt soothing. The caress was enticing...and he desperately wanted more!
It was impossible to tell whose cooling fans sprang to life first. But the result was the same: both mechs stared with blushing cheeks into each other’s optics.
“You....” Skyfire whispered, then licked his lips and swallowed. His helm slowly dipped closer. “You got food on your face....”
“Seeing how you are such a messy feeder, why don’t you take care of it?” The teasing tone disappeared from his voice, leaving just a soft whisper.
Seeing those lips soften, puckering slightly, was exciting, but feeling the featherlike brush of them against his own was bewildering. Despite having sticky lips, Starscream kissed back: the gliding motion sending tickles down his struts. The shuttle’s tongue gently licked, cleaning away the sweet aftermath of cherry pie in one swipe, but still going back for more.
Primus, who knew kissing could evoke such treasured delights?
And with one kiss, the yearning grew. As tongues flicked and moans hummed against each other’s lips, the seeker’s servos reached out to touch. That broad chest was hastily rubbed, only for the cockpit to be lazily traced. But feeling the big, strong frame tremble under his touch was rewarding.
And extremely encouraging: his feelings weren’t one-sided.
But all too soon, the kiss broke, causing Starscream to release a needy whine- and not from his aching belly. Round, pleading optics begged, but Skyfire still pulled back. Was this act a mistake?
“Starscream...” His voice huffed solemnly. A look of intense worry plastered over his face. “Did... did I cross a boundary?”
“I...Ah...” Despite wanting this, the stuffed flyer stuttered. Everything felt right. They were close. They worked together well. They each deserved the best, which meant each other, right? But Skyfire looked at him with upturned optics as he bit his lower lip- a clear sign of unease. “N...no....”
“I mean.. I-“
“Skyfire...I feel the same way.” And what a perfect time for his stomach to clench and groan, causing him to wince, then release a belch. “Ah.....sorry ‘bout that.”
“I think we went a bit overboard...” Large hands gently patted the firm belly. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Just gotta sleep it off... I think.” Starscream groaned as his belly rippled out another growl. “I just don’t know how I am going to get back to my dorm.”
“Get in my berth.”
“What?”
“What are you going to do, roll back to your room?” Skyfire laughed as he stood with outstretched arms. “Plus, we were gonna binge-watch that holovid show, right? Might as well get all cozy in my berth and make an evening out of it.”
He did make a good point. The shuttle’s berth was huge and comfortable, and it called his name. With a smile, blue hands accepted the white ones, and while his joints screamed with the added weight, he stood on his pedes. Thankfully, the trip to the berth wasn’t far, and soon, his heavy frame sank into the soft frame. Lying there felt cozy- but a hand gently patted him.
“Scooch over, Stars.” Skyfire beamed as he casually threw a fluffy blanket on the berth.
“Oh...” Well, the berth was big enough for the two of them.
“Is that alright?” His voice was laced with concern. “I mean, it would be nice to snuggle... and I could perhaps soothe that belly of yours.”
No answer was needed as the chubby mech moved over and lifted the blanket in an inviting manner. “Well, you do owe me for my victory.”
“Your victory?” Skyfire chuckled as he turned on the holovid and chose the desired show. The remote was discarded, then those arms claimed his prize. One wrapped around the Seeker’s shoulders while the other went for the rounded midsection. “I think the victory is mine.”
Who can resist the thrills of a first date? Think of it, only conversing via text and voice call, but the day finally came to meet up with your mystery date. Blast Off prettied himself up and sat waiting at a very decorative, very classy establishment, dreaming of just who this mystery date would be. Would he be greeted by a tall and strong mech? Or would this secret admirer be a dud? But one thing is for sure... one should never judge a book by its cover!
Valentines Day prompt featuring a pairing I first snubbed. I suppose I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover either.
CW: religious horror/chubformers/fatal vore/cannibalism/implied nsfw
~~~~~~
Days and nights bled into each other, blurring time into a meaningless existence. How long was he tucked away in this tiny village, secluded from the rest of Cybertron? But when one found such a relaxing slice of heaven, who cared?
The journey to seek atonement for his wrongdoings was long and cumbersome. Time was an ever-present beast, patiently gnawing away at Sunder’s consciousness and riddling his thoughts with guilt. Too many lives were lost at his servos. Too many mechs shivered under his monstrous glare, pleading for their lives. Too many sparks had been devoured by his insatiable hunger.
Visions of lives stolen tormented his processor anytime he closed his optics, and no amount of booze or boosters shot into his lines silenced their screams. Slag, even removing his optics no longer provided reprieve. Nights had been spent tossing and turning, desperately seeking the bliss of dreamless recharge. No matter how much shame his bad behavior evoked, that greedy desire for more lingered. Time after time, Sunder claimed he wasn’t worth the resources.
Yet the morning light always came, the chatter of cyberbirds never drowning out his thoughts of ending his existence. It was a shame he hadn’t overdosed.
His profession was once his pride and joy. Helping tormented mechs in their time of need was an admirable trait. Sunder cared for his patients, using mnemosurgery to reformat their nightmares into manageable thoughts. But taking those thoughts into his own processor had tainted him with poison. Every mnemosurgeon knew the risks of their talent, but that fear did not outweigh the intense euphoria that surged through his cables.
In fact, it just fueled the desire.
What was once an act of compassion turned into a performance of compulsion. Slick words of trickery coaxed his patients to allow those needles to slip onto their necks, and Sunder had no qualms with taking more than was offered. Even worse, when the patients no longer came to him, the hunger didn’t stop. And the Autobot was thankful when the Senate approached, recruiting him into their ranks. This time, mechs didn’t come to him seeking help; he hunted them down and devoured.
But time was fickle. The tides have changed. Washed up on the shore was the chance of a new beginning. The horrors of the Autobot’s past were still present, but new tools were blessed to him for coping. Luck pitted the drug-induced mech in the form of warm, open arms that scooped him out of back alley gutters. Saved him from a life of rugged misery. Saved him from himself. A welcoming embrace promised that life would be better.
At least once the sickening detox period was over.
The last remnants of drugs played out like a vice tightening on his helm, but the groggy ‘Bot only had moments to himself. A pair of mechs draped in fine silk robes crept into his room, graciously collecting him to start the morning routine. Leading the raggedly tall bot with a gentle clasping of servos, the silent assistants entered the bath. The sweet smell of honeysuckle mixed with lavender invaded olfactory sensors as warm, damp air promised a large pool filled with pink, fluffy, cloud-like bubbles. Lining around the edge of the bath were flickering candles amongst exotic floral arrangements, creating a colorful work of art.
While having others bathe him was awkward, how could one refuse such an inviting oasis?
Upon the water’s warm embrace, Sunder quickly sank, the water enveloping his frame to his chassis, instantly relaxing his stressed frame. Like clockwork, soft cloths and sponges gently roamed over his light crimson chest and down his gray sides, thoroughly cleansing every nook and cranny. His initial discontent had been voiced —the contact reminding him of Froid’s punishing touch —but pleasant smiles and persistence hushed any resistance.
After the washing came the drying, fuzzy royal clothes pressed to his plating and wiped down his frame. Another towel rubbed fresh, earthy-scented oils over still-chipped and dented plating before concealing his frame in a long, white silk robe that tied around his waist. No words were spoken; no questions were ever asked, for no answers would be provided. Sunder would only be led outside to a quaint pagoda that housed a table, a spread of food, and a solo cloaked mech that welcomed him to his seat.
Morning festivities were a cherished routine. A hearty breakfast filled with decadent foods was eagerly enjoyed as Sunder’s growing girth revealed. But crisp, flaky provisions weren’t all that were fed; uplifting conversations of salvation were promised.
This mysterious cloaked mech was Wing, the well-respected spiritual leader of this colony who reveled in nature and the simpler things in life. Their values differed—Wing was patient, understanding, and generous, while Sunder remained defensive, impulsive, and distrustful. Past actions of deceit were greatly frowned upon, but the flier adorned in fancy gold-trimmed white robes that contrasted the dark plating accented with stripes of purple believed in atonement and vowed to wash away his prior sinful nature.
And Sunder needed saving, mostly from himself. Weren’t those the exact lines spoken from Sceptre? Words that were not heeded until much too late? And now his brother paid the ultimate price-
“Good morning, Sunder.” Wing stood with outstretched arms, eager to embrace his guest as if they were meeting for the first time. A warm hug embraced as frames pressed together before seating. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Physically, better.” Mentally? Still shot. “Still have helm aches.” The first few days had been spent holed up in his berth sick as a cyberdog. His cold frame shivered yet dripped with sweat. The room spun like a top, resulting in retching into a basin-if not all over himself. Awareness faded in and out like the ebb and flow of the tides. Constant irritation prickled over his plating as pleadings for his poison of choice were ignored.
A dark figure seen in the corner of his room haunted his memories, but during detox, one’s processor muddied in confusion.
“And how have you been sleeping?” Wing asked, his optics soft and lips hinting at a smile.
That was a loaded question. “Okay. Getting better, but it’s still hit or miss.”
“Still plagued with nightmares?”
Sunder nodded, but his mood brightened upon scanning the cascade of hot oil cakes, donuts, and plates of sweet breakfast foods. His belly grumbled in anticipation of the impending feast, but respect for morning prayers needed minding. While the day's first meal was important and nutritious, communing with Primus was paramount for discovering inner peace and forgiveness.
Wing raised his arms, palms facing the sky, and closed his optics. Sunder followed suit, bowing his helm.
“Our Lord and Savior Primus, favor us with your gracious wisdom. May your strength engulf and empower us to achieve your highest good. Cleanse out our impure sparks with your loving presence as we strive to follow in your glory. Wash away all lingering contamination from our frames and fill them with purity. Grant us devout servants the courage to fully open our sinful sparks to your trusted plan, dear Lord. Bless us with self-righteousness and guide us with your all-encompassing love from the temptation of sin. Provide us with a fresh start on this promise of a new day. In your celestial name, we humbly pray, Amen.”
“Amen.” Sunder opened his optics to be greeted with a genuine, amorous smile. Every morning was graced with Wing’s kindness and compassion. And every morning, the Autobot bashfully smiled back.
“Well, Sunder.” Wing’s optics lingered on Sunder’s before unfolding a white cloth napkin and placing it on his lap. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to dig in, hmm?”
