Warnings/TW: blood, weapons, mention of torture, robot gore, human experimentation (shockwave is shockwave), language, and peril. (I’ll add more as I post)
(Author note: Before I get started I wanted to get a few things out of the way. This is my own AU and doesn’t really lend itself to much existing media. Gonna mash a few continuities together. This is in no way a professional writing by any means. I am not running it past a beta or anything so it’s going to be rough. I wanted to write this for myself and share it with y’all! This is my silly nonsense. That being said if I don’t clarify something or if something doesn’t make sense please submit an ask and I will promptly explain! Now without further ado. Here is the anticipated first chapter of Emptiness machine! Thank you all for waiting.)
Read first
Data log entry #857
Date: 003029 Time: 0700
Time since first contact: 2 years, 4 months, 7 days
What began as a national defense strategy became one of the most complex military operations in the history of the world. Project Archangel, founded by Dr. Zinovy Antonov, began under the pretense of creating the world’s first mechanized army. He started his research long before we found out we weren’t alone out here among the stars. With the arrival of the Cybertronian visitors came the fear that humanity was not only vastly outgunned, but also grossly unprepared to deal with any threat from deep space. Dr. Antonov pleaded with the government to allow him near the deactivated body of one of the Cybertronians, who was discovered after a battle had broken out between factions.
He studied their biology and created what he dubbed the perfect exoskeleton. Fueled by chemical X, also known as Energon, and operated by none other than the human soul itself. There weren’t many volunteers to undergo the rigorous training and testing that these pilots had to go through. But with the help of Cybertronian Autobot scientists, Project Archangel was finally given the green light to move forward. Only three pilots made it through the initial testing.
Pilot: Seraphim, Pilot: Uriel, and Pilot: Michael.
With their functioning mecha, these pilots were meant to assist the Autobot Cybertronians in keeping earth from being terraformed by the opposing Cybertronian facton, the Decepticons.
Which brings us to the present. We have had zero contact with the other faction known as the Decepticons until two months ago. The Autobots insisted we keep our distance and only deploy Project Archangel as a last resort. Keeping the humans out of the conflict was essential if they wanted to stay neutral in the eyes of the Decepticons. As far as we know, no Decepticon has ventured down to the planet’s surface from their airship Nemesis to interact with the population. Only sending drones to wreak havoc on areas rich in Chemical X.
However, in recent months, there have been sightings of Decepticon officers and scientists (identified by Autobot command) on the planet’s surface. It was decided that we bring Project Archangel out of the shadows and deploy them on a scouting mission alongside several Autobots. We only hope that we haven’t made a grave mistake.
Chapter 1
You let yourself be pulled through the spiral of light emanating from the ground bridge. Traveling via the alien tech was a feeling that no one could describe. The closest thing to it was like having a magnet in your chest be pulled faster than your brain could register before spitting you back out on the other side. It had taken many practice runs for you to not throw off your stabilizers and stick the landing. Though it still made you dizzy and a bit sick.
After landing behind Bee in a heavily wooded area, you quickly scan the trees for energy signatures. Your scanners were only programmed to detect the Decepticon drones and of course the energy signatures of your comrades. Bumblebee signaled for you to fall in behind him and you promptly obeyed. You could feel the way your heart pounded against your ribcage where your body rested snug inside the metal chest of your mech. Your consciousness flawlessly divided between the two bodies. One living metal, and one flesh. Energon flowed steady through your lines as you tried to calm the slight tremor of your hand that came with the rush of adrenaline.
Ahead you could see the energon mine in the waning light. A clearing with a large metal structure in the center. The two huge metal doors at the entrance had been blown wide open to reveal the tunnel that went deep inside the earth to extract the precious ore. The human sentries, once posted outside, were nowhere to be found. Vehicles were overturned and some still smoldered where they had been hit with plasma bolts. You switch to internal comms so you can communicate with Bee without anyone on the outside hearing.
“Second wave in twenty. Nineteen….”
You slowly count down the seconds until the others arrive so you can rush the structure together. Adjusting your grip on your rifle you study entrance trying to imagine just what awaited you inside. Clearly a monster. Looking to your left you see Bumblebee gripping his null ray, an uncharacteristically stoic look on his face. You had some form of friendship with all the autobots, but you were closest to the little yellow scout. Perhaps it was shared interest or the fact that he seemed more your age. Whatever the case, you had shared so many things with each other over the two ish years that you had been a part of Project Archangel. Only once did you ask him about his home.
He looked saddened at the question and at first you thought he wouldn’t answer you. But he did. You spent the better part of a day listening to how he didn’t know Cybertron before it had been nearly obliterated by the war. It had been a planet filled with culture, music, and arts. No factions to speak of. A united Cybertron. But then came the slow divide of the classes. The divide grew until there were only the obscenely wealthy, and those who had nothing. That’s when, from the pits of Kaon, came the leader of the Decepticon faction.
Megatron.
Bumblebee described him as charismatic and well spoken. Someone bots wanted to rally behind. Many of the Autobots started out as Decepticons in the early days of the war. Taking down the government brick by brick until nothing remained. When it came time to build a new government, Megatron wasn’t satisfied. He wanted all the bots and their families who dared oppress him gone. Obliterated until nothing was left. He ended up doing exactly that. This cost him many followers and eventually after many thousands of years, his home. He didn’t stop. Blaming the Autobots for the lack of energon and destruction on Cybertron.
With a dead world and nowhere to go, the Autobots turned to the libraries in what was left of Iacon. There they found records of worlds seeded with energon by the 13 original Primes. A failsafe in case something were to happen to Cybertron. Optimus Prime lead the remaining Autobots off world to look for a suitable new home. Of course Megatron followed. They tore their way through 11 uninhabited worlds while trying to find one that suited them best. Stripping the worlds of their energon before moving on to the next. Earth was the first seeded world to have intelligent life. Optimus made it his sole mission to keep that intelligent life from having to endure the horrors of the war they brought with them.
It was nearly impossible due to the ever present evil that lurked in the sky. The Nemesis, like a dark cloud, hung overhead when you looked up. What kind of monsters would tear apart their home just to make a point? You were about to find out. A ground bridge portal appeared nearly blinding you as you adjust your optics to its harsh blue light. Four bots landed and immediately began sprinting towards the entrance. Your peds began to automatically move. The yellow scout close on your heels as the two of you followed your comrades inside. Drones swarmed around you the instant you broke the entrance. Inside you could see Cliffjumper, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and one of your brothers in arms Michael. His mech was a heavy class. Not very good at maneuvering but excellent at breaking things. Throwing a drone into a wall with the butt of your rifle, you turn to Bee and chuckle over comms.
“I was expecting more of a fight. This is a fairly average number of drones.”
He didn’t reply right away as he tried to pull a drone off of one of the lambo twins. You couldn’t tell which one because of the sheer number of bodies trying to suffocate the bot. Using your jump jets you propel yourself forward and into the pile sending a good number of the drones flying. They broke easily, not filled with much energon either. It made you wonder just how the Decepticons managed to manufacture so many drones while the Autobots controlled the energon. With the last of the drones dispatched, you look around and regroup with the others. Slowly you start moving further into the mine. Eventually it would open up into a huge cavern. It would be beautiful if not for the dread that had settled over the group like a thick fog. Suddenly your comm crackled to life as Sideswipe replied to your earlier comment in Bumblebee’s stead.
“We’ll get a good fight eventually. These tin cans are just the appetizer for the main course. It’s confirmed, Shockwave is here. I’ve been itching to dig my fist into that lone optic of his.”
He emphasized his excitement by sending his fist into the shoulder of his brother. The golden bot gave him a sour look but didn’t retort like he normally would have. The energy of the Autobots had been stoic ever since it was confirmed that the first Decepticon on scene was Shockwave. You had no idea what to expect. You knew Shockwave was a scientist and known for his cruel and unusual experiments during the war on Cybertron. He created the most horrific weapons used in the Great War, so he must be someone to fear at the very least.
As you make your way down, you begin to hear a long drawn out noise. Almost like a squeaky door hinge but amplified, bouncing off the walls of the mine shaft. Then there was the screaming. You had wondered what happened to the sentries who were stationed outside. Now you knew. A deep voice rumbled from up ahead. It was cold, unfeeling, and filled you with dread.
“Test 8 unsuccessful. Most illogical. Send another.”
There was that horrible sound like metal rending and then another shriek cut short. Before a sigh of resignation came from nearby. It wasn’t Shockwave who made the noise of dissatisfaction. Another Decepticon. Your heart pounded as you look over at your fellow bots to see if they heard the same thing you did. If their wide optics were any indication, they had. Two Decepticons. Not just one. You listened closely as the other bot seemed to pace back and forth in front of the opening to the cavern. You and your companions were split on either side of the entrance, listening but not yet entering the space.
The other Decepticon doesn’t speak and suddenly he goes eerily silent. It made your hair stand on end and you almost felt like you were being watched. Could Decepticons see through reinforced steel? You shook your helm at the thought. No way. But after a heartbeat he said something that had your heart in your throat.
“Shockwave wrap it up. We aren’t alone.”
Cliffjumper growled into his comm in recognition of the voice.
So the idea is that sparkmates, or conjuxes, are quite literally spark bound. So if one dies, the other also drops dead.
Megatron and Optimus are sparkmates. They were happy. Still under the identifies of Orion Pax and D-16 (or Megatronus, whatever continuity you like). And their marriage is under those names.
So when they eventually split and become Optimus Prime and Megatron, nobody knows what they are because there are no legal records. Mostly because of the chaos of war. Neither of them ever tells their factions the truth. Megatron is afraid his troops and luitendants will see this as weakness. Optimus is deeply ashamed of his spark bond, because he knows that no matter what Megatron does, he will always love him. Only Elita and Bee suspect that Op and Meg have a more complicated relationship than they are letting on. But they can't place a servo on it..
Both of them have many opportunities to kill each other in the war, but neither does. Meg knows that if he kills Optimus, there is no point because he himself won't survive to rule. Optimus cannot bring himself to kill Megatron, he just can't do it.
That is until Ratchet comes to him with a report. The well of Allsparks is dying. The war is killing it. The population is already low, and without the well, all cybertronians will be rendered completely infertile. The species will go extinct if he doesn't do something soon.
Life is normal for the decepticons, but the autobots are wary. Optimus seems different. More antsy, he's telling each bot how much they've done for the cause, brushing it off as just appreciation for his soldiers. But one morning, Op is not present in base.
Upon searching for Optimus they find the decepticons in complete chaos. Just walking straight into the decepticon base, they eventually find the chaos source. Megatron's berthroom.
Inside they find Megatron dead in his own bed, Optimus's axe through his chassis. Optimus is dead beside him with no visible injuries.
Meanwhile, the sparks of two broken bots float towards the heart of Primus.
It was known throughout Autobot territory that having anything relative to something deemed decepticon labeled you an automatic target. Sparkling or not, Autobots were not as kind as the history archives liked to preach and Bumblebee knew this first hand. Discrimination was a factor Bumblebee was far too familiar with seeing as he was born with door wings though he could not fly and had a ground alt mode. His alt mode was that of a car built for speed, he was no Blurr but he could rival him with how fast he could go. His driving was practically like flying once his wheels hit the pavement.
Not to mention his slender frame rivaled that of a seeker, he wasn’t bulky like a grounder something that put him at a disadvantage. He was not tall either, making him a prime target for bullying inside sparkling centers where all the other bitlets were not only bigger but stronger.
The overseers of the center always turned a blind optic to his bruises and dents. Not sparing him much energon since they didn’t like looking at his bright yellow painting even when his black paint came in albeit late since his frame was never given the proper nutrients to grow.
Bumblebee spent his early protoform days in a sparkling center since his creators were offlined when he was only days old after his emergence. His creators were not lucky. It was a high act of treason for an autobot or grounder to bond with a decepticon and seeker even if the war had ended, Autobots did not take lightly to such unions.
They were hurrying to get to neutral territory when they were caught and offlined. He was left to rust in his carriers gray arms before being found by a traveling bot who dumped him into a sparkling center out of pity for his fresh young spark.
Sometimes, on the nights his stomach rumbled and his door wings were once again scratched and painfully bent he wished the traveler had left him to gray. His young processor saw things weren’t going to get better at the sparkling center what with how all the others were adopted and he was sneered at.
So one night he snuck into the energon storage with a pouch and grabbed as much as he could before leaving. Life on the streets weren’t truly different for him save he was beaten less but he did have to hide more. Many bots gave him looks that made his tanks turn and he did his best to steer clear of them.
He knew to be weary of decepticons and autobots alike seeing first hand how cruel autobots could be all because he was born wrong and he knew from listening to the overseers how cruel decepticons could be. He wasn’t one to care for reading history or reading much in general but he did put it to use after teaching himself to read that decepticons had a point in their early cause. Even his young processor knew the counsel should’ve listened to their demands and reached an agreement. That could’ve spared so many pointless deaths including his creators.
He knew never to speak on his thoughts of course because Autobots spoke of being the side dedicated to peace while showing they had a pretty messed up definition of what peace actually was.
“Hey! Get lost!”
Scurrying without looking back Bumblebee was off.
His time running from bullies showed him he was fast and life on the streets taught him he could be even faster. Taking energon when absolutely necessary, speeding off with anti virus medicine that no bot would waste on him, dodging Elite guards who tried to take him into custody so he could be placed in a sparkling center. Yes, Bumblebee learned he was fast and he was good at utilizing it well into early adulthood when he would dodge servo happy mechs who wanted to touch him.
He wasn’t blind he knew his frame was desirable. He was small, lithe, and curvy in all the right places that left mechs and even a few femme’s glancing his way. At first it annoyed him. Being looked at meant trouble and as much as he wanted the attention, any attention when the days were crushingly lonely, he didn’t want to be damaged because someone thought they’d be doing him a favor ripping his door wings off again.
The first time it happened he was still a sparkling in the center. An overseer thought they’d be helping both of them by removing the ugly nuisance from his back. His memory file painfully kept the scene of him screaming energon murder as he laid in a puddle leaking his life away. The looks other overseers gave him after they were reattached made his circuits and mesh quiver even to this day.
“Look out!”
He turned his helm away from the mech sizing him up like a fresh cup of energon in the sunrise with his arms covering his chest plates when his optics met sight of large ship hovering in the sky before missile fire rained down on them.
He’d never run so fast in his life, transforming mid jump over a graying frame that laid on the ground before high tailing it. There was no stopping, no corner unfazed by the many mechs and femme’s running to safety and no where to go where the screams of innocent mechs and femmes alike were cut off only to be replaced as the process repeated over and over.
He was exhausted by the time the ship left. The autobot insignia was hidden but word later got out that it was an Autobot elite guard ship hunting down two notorious decepticons who were hiding in their area. They hadn’t managed to capture them so the group decided to take them by surprise and ambush them.
No apologies were given to the mechs and femmes permanently disabled by the elite guards reckless decision. Those that died were labeled a “tragic loss” and were used to encourage bots across Cybertron to join the Autobot forces to help snuff out any more decepticons so another incident like this would not be repeated.
Bumblebee remembers feeling an array of emotions when he heard the broadcast. He remembers seeing the poster with Ultra Magnus not long after covering the area and bots believing the nonsense. He seemed to be one of the only few bots who saw something wrong with all this besides those permanently disabled. Neither he nor they said anything though. It would be disastrous for them, the outcasts and undesirables, to speak out against it. They were already hated by their people for being different Bumblebee knew the mechs and femmes who were permanently damaged would no longer live the same life. They’d be just like him.
Tossed to the side.
Bumblebee suddenly felt like his body was covered in the life energon that splattered on him as he raced to survive the onslaught. He felt his optics sting and the late night break in to a “communal” cleaner did little to wash away the long gone life energon.
‘How can they live with themselves?’
Bumblebee asked himself this question countless times as he took what energon he could find before leaving the half destroyed town. It wouldn’t do him any good staying there not when bots were looking for another to take their anger out on. Many of those bots were joining the military and hoping to become Elite guards themselves. Bee figured it was misplaced hope and a need for safety.
He got it, he really did.
If he could blend in he would but sadly he can’t. He never could. Not with his yellow paint, door wings and femme like frame. He wasn’t proud of the way he learned to use these things to his advantage. It wasn’t always a guarantee he could scrounge up some energon without getting caught and since he was no longer a sparkling but a young grown mech, he needed to be careful not to get caught. He didn’t want to end up in a detention center.
It was hard at first. Truth be told it was still hard. Going to half decent but mostly seedy bars working for his keep to have a place to rest his head and keep energon in his tank. He wasn’t stupid. He knew this arrangement was not only dangerous but temporary. Eventually his luck would run out within twelve cycles and he’d be asked to accompany the bar owner to a more..private room. He always left immediately after saying he would meet them down there.
It led to him traveling a lot more than he originally planned but he eventually found some semblance of settling when he entered a camp full of seekers. There were a few grounders like himself, most likely mated to some of the seekers. He stayed clear of them seeing them just made him think of his creators and his processor just wandered to trying to remember what they looked like. So he tried to keep to himself no matter how lonely he was. He wanted to chat and get close with others, by nature he was a friendly mech and loved talking but he couldn’t risk doing so. Not here.
Not when he was always at risk of being hurt or…used.
“You know you don’t have to be so distant. It’s different here,” a grounder spoke, “a lot of seekers here just want to online peacefully and us grounders just want our sparklings and mates safe.”
The mech tried to put a servo on his shoulder but he flinched away, standing straight a moment later he looked anywhere but the mech and scurried off. His circuits were nervous for cycles after that encounter. Other grounders started coming to him trying to talk and soothe him as if he was a sparkling in distress and not a grown mech himself.
He didn’t need them trying to creator him, he was fine on his own and had been all his life cycle. They could frag off snd creator their own sparklings. It made him so irrationally angry every time they tried to take care of him he wasn’t some bitlet that needed consoling he was a grown mech that entered carrier heats alone when he was just a youngling living in a back alley. He was mech who survived the acid rains in the dumpsters or bots back garages in corners to not he seen. He’d kept himself from being interfaced by older bots all on his own.
He didn’t need them! He never needed a creator before when he was a lone sparkling and he doesn’t need one now as a grown mech.
“Aren’t jou a little young to be drinking jour sorrows away?”
“Aren’t you a little fragger for bothering someone in a corner who wants to be left alone?”
Okay so maybe he had a foul intake but he was justified, he wanted some peace to wallow in a bar he wouldn’t be asked to interface for shelter in for once he wanted to relax not this.
“Quite ze mouth on jou little one. Careful. Jou don’t seem ze type to be good in a mech on mech brawl,” the mech laughed in his foreign accent. He blamed the high grade in his systems for making him think it was attractive as well as warming his pleasure sensors.
“Yeah well you don’t know what kind of mech I am so frag off and leave me alone,” okay maybe he sounded bratty but he just wanted the mech to go away.
“Suite jourself,” the mech said with a slag eating grin in his vox. It made Bumblebee look up from his glass he was going to give this mech a piece of his processor until he looked at the mech. He was tall, really tall. Arms thicker than Bumblebee’s frame with a beautiful jawline that could offline. His face plate was a shade of blue he could never grow tired of seeing with the most beautiful red optics he’s ever seen. In the back of his processor he knew that meant this was a decepticon mech former or not he wasn’t sure. All he knew in that moment looking at the beige and purple painted mech was that he was beautiful, stunning, a sight he was truly gifted to behold.
His intake was left partially open as he swayed on unstable pedes before grabbing the counter to balance himself. His high grade filled helm was hard at work rushing energon south as his private plating grew hot. He could feel his valve growing wet with sticky energon slick and he knew he had to get out of there.
His seal was still in tact thankfully but with how attractive the mech before him was he wasn’t sure how much longer that would be the case.
“Oooh? Nothing to say hummel?”
Bumblebee made a face at the name worry tinting his blurred optics as he gazed at the mech but the small part of his processor that was logic won out and he stumbled away from the mech. Forcing himself to be silent as he left the bar. He didn’t have a place to call his yet but the archive building always had a room they let mechs and femmes stay in who had no hab suite. Here in the camps shanix wasn’t as big a need like in the capital and their surrounding cities and towns. He still had less than the average bot but he had enough for fuel and thats all he really cared about.
He was just at the archive back-way when he stumbled and lost his peding. The rush of cold air didn’t turn to concrete and vaguely he could feel two warm servo’s on his hips before being lifted into cool arms. The bot that helped him was a mech and a muscular yet lean one at that. They were quite large with how far from the he was but he didn’t feel in danger. He couldn’t identify what he felt if he was honest.
Warmth. Comfort. Soft. His body wasn’t on edge for the first time he knew of. He almost missed the word he’d been unfortunate to experience until now.
Safe.
The mech holding him managed to make him feel safe when he didn’t even know them.
“Jou shouldn’t get so full on high grade especially since jou aren’t a regular size for that kind of high grade.”
‘Oh great, this mech again,’ he would’ve rolled his optics if he didn’t have such a helm ache.
“Put me down,” his vox was half static as he tried to get feeling into his frame. His servo’s wouldn’t listen to his circuits telling them to move and his digits just hung limp against the mech’s chest plates. They were thick, made for flight and battle. Oh how his private plating pulsed with life at the mere thought.
‘Why did I have to like em big?’
“And vhere vould jou go hmm? Do jou live here? In this little hole?”
Bumblebee had enough energy to get upset at the incredulous tone but not much else. He wanted to helm butt the nosey mech but he didn’t have the energy to.
“Not your business, put me down,” his venting wasn’t even and his frame was getting hot from all the high grade and his valve’s pulsing. He hoped the bot couldn’t smell his arousal, he really wanted to frag the mech but at the same time he didn’t want to risk getting sparked or a virus.
“Are jou sure jou want me to put jou down? Jou could barely stand on those little stabilizers just a moment ago. Jou think jou can make it inside?”
“Why do you care? Just let me figure it out on my own and go away!”
He was starting to lose his temper and his valve was starting to leak with every passing word from that thick accent. He wanted the mech and he wanted to feel his spike breaching his valve and breaking his seal but there would be consequences to that and the mech was most likely a decepticon. He didn’t get a good look at his chassis to see the insignia but Bumblebee knew he had one.
“Feisty little mech hmm?”
“I’m not that little,” with a sudden burst of energy Bumblebee managed to catch the mech off guard as he twisted in his arms. Lifting a servo to try pushing the mech away he was restrained faster than he knew possible.
“Interesting, jou have quite ze speed I’ll give jou that hummel,” the mech smirked unfazed, “but i’m faster,” he said leaning in face plate to face plate.
“What do you want from me?”
“Jou are interesting.”
“I’m not a pleasurebot,” Bumblebee glared, servo transforming to a stinger canon. He has never offlined another bot in his life cycle but he was willing to blue screen one on their aft if he needed to.
“I never saw jou that way little one. I simply think jour interesting. I’ve never seen a bot with yellow paint or wings as beautiful as jours especially since jour a grounder.”
That made Bumblebee freeze.
No bot had ever called him interesting, let alone beautiful. And his door wings? Well, they were betraying his vulnerability full throttle as they flicked and postured nervously. A tint of eagerness in how they didn’t pull away from the mech’s direction. Vents stalling for a nanoclick as his optics focus on honesty and want in the red optics bewitching him.
“you..you think i’m…”
He couldn’t get the words out his vox couldn’t form a single sentence and his optics betrayed him by blurring with leaking fluid.
“i..don’t..,” that ache in his spark coiled something fierce vice grip holding him immobile in the mech’s arms. Those red optics didn’t pity him, didn’t judge him, understood him.
“I vant to, hummel,” the soft blow of air from his derma’s cooled the heat clouding Bumblebee’s fave plate, he wanted more, so much more. “I vant to touch jou, show jou just how beautiful jou are, hummel.”
His derma’s wisp the tip of his audial and brush against the mesh under his optic. Bumblebee could feel his horns flicking with excitement, with need, reacting to the mech’s touch. He wanted more. Needed more.
His own dermas inched forward, soft vent brushing blue mesh as his optic lids fluttered, chest plates pushing out slightly to touch the mech more. He could feel his breast mesh beneath his plating grow aroused perking to rub uncomfortably, begging to be set free. He wanted this mech to touch him, caress him, feel him.
He needed him.
Needed to be more than just a no bot fading to the background for safety. Hiding away from bots who wanted to lend him a helping servo, never staying in one place for long out of fear. His overseers still had him listed as a criminal for running away with a lot of energon and the seedy bar owners and patrons he served high grade to wanted his valve and seal for their own disgusting servos. He dodged plenty elite guards who identified him as a survivor to the raid on the small town he once inhabited.
Turns out they not only used it to make the towns people enlist and join the autobot ranks, they down played the damage truly dealt. Hid how many sparks were snuffed out and how many bots were permanently damaged because of their horrible decision. He had an idea of what they would do to convince him to keep it under wraps and he wanted no parts in that.
All the running, always watching his back, never able to trust another bot or simply talk the way he wished he could. He wanted nothing more than to be a normal bot.
His derma’s touch the beige helm before he realizes, thats all it takes for the mech holding him. He’s being carried somewhere, their entering the deepest parts of the seeker district where some of the more dangerous mechs cohabit. They come to a building he recognizes as a seekers home. Its built for a lone mech instead of a trine and Bumblebee feels his nerves jumble as they enter inside.
His optics wander the room as he notes paintings hanging from the walls beautiful and perfection in every sense of the word. Molding clay in a corner with stone and hammers opposite of them. Paint lies in a cupboard far too high for him to reach but perfect for the mech that shifts to cradle him.
A servo brushes so gently across the side of his helm holding his jaw to tilt making him look up. Red optics are warm to him now. A color he thinks he’ll forever find comfort in so long as its this bot before him.
He’s shy now, blue coating his cheeks as he feels the heavy thrum of the mechs spark pulsing through his thick armor. He’s a war build seeker that much he’s sure of, his gaze wanders to purple wings and his own flutter at the sight. He can’t help it. They’re so big, much bigger than his own and they could fly. He wished his could fly.
“Jour wings are beautiful,” the mech whispers, olfactory sensor rubbing his, asking for permission that Bumblebee grants him.
The kiss is slow, searching, fluid, curious.
They both want to get a feel on one another, servos tightening around his waist, his arms hooking behind the beige helm, stabilizers hooking beneath the large chassis. Digits digging into the armor when he feels dermas press harder onto his own. The mesh is soft, so soft he almost thinks the mech freshly glossed them just for him. He feels the cool shift in the mechs frame grow warmer, the shift in metallic wings fluttering. He’s vaguely aware of the bot taking him to the berth. High grade heightening his sensor nets while lowering his fire walls and the logic in his processor.
He feels his private plating heat unbearably, his vavle spasming as his back hits the soft sheets. His wings fan out in a desirable display and his hips rut against the mechs strong upper thigh that rests between his legs sinking into the berth. Their dermas part and Bumblebee flicks his optics open their hazy drunk on pleasure he knows will only grow. He’s faintly aware of the room growing in heat from their warming frames, the windows begin to fog and his olfactory senses pick up the scent of energon slick and transfluid, it makes him look down.
The mech on top of him has his private plating retracted he has no valve that much Bumblebee realizes as he feels his own private plating tremble in anticipation. But the sheer size of the mechs pink and blue energon transfluid dripping from his engorged black spike with bioluminescent purple and blue lines in an attractive pattern he wants has glossa to lick and trace, has Bumblebees private plating snap open.
He looks away in shame as his pathetic spike shows itself. It was small even for someone his size he wouldn’t dare compare it to the large spike about to penetrate him. He’s sniffling upset already thinking he’ll bd mocked, wings insecure as they shift awkwardly. But the beige and purple mech doesn’t allow him to wallow. Those purple wings flare to capture his attention and the icy digit lifts his head to look at him. Warmth enraptures those beautiful red optics and he’s left starstruck.
Subconsciously he’s aware of his servos lowering to hold both sides of the mechs face plate, feeling the seductive jawline move as the mech spoke. Words uncharacteristically gentle aimed his way has his chassis quivering and his optics warming in leaking fluid as he whimpers a pitiful whine at the mechs words.
“You’re a carrier,” the words are understanding, careful, sweet even, “I’m a sire mech, hummel,” Bumblebee didn’t really know much about sire mechs he only knew they couldn’t carry like he couldn’t sire. He had to know all that being a carrier entailed since he was one but he never bothered to learn much on sire mechs. He knew regular bots could spark bond and have a piece of their sparks enter-twine before going into a protoform. That was the norm of how their species reproduced.
And then there was mechs like him and the mech above him, the rarities who carry in tanks and sired through transfluid and spark energy. A carrier mech could end up sparked through either just like a sire mech could spark a mech using their chamber or transfluid. Usually the two types only stuck to each other simply because they were not only made for each other but because it was easier that way since a regular bot would have complications with either types and regular bots didn’t like their types.
“I’m sorry,” it felt right to say for some reason. He didn’t live a life he wished for others to experience and so he assumed the other mech may not have as well.
“No need to apologize hummel, jou did nothing vrong. Especially since i get to have jou here,” the mech said lowering himself. That thick spike dragging up his thigh plate made his hips rut and a smirk pulled at blue dermas that leaned back down to kiss him. His servo’s moved on their own, holding the mech’s chassis and shoulder optics fluttering as his neck moved back, wings spread out in invitation across the sheets. Hips lifting to rub his vavle along the thick pulsing spike that dripped transfluid onto his seal. He felt his valve squeeze on nothing and his grip tightened as he whimpered. He wanted the mech, this mech right here who showed him kindness he often ran from and rejected.
With him it felt different.
Maybe it was the high grade working in his systems, maybe it was the unparalleled beauty he saw in the mech that left him wanting more or maybe it was the growing heat that curled and coiled in his tanks with each touch the mech provided him. He didn’t know and he didn’t bother to care.
He just knew one thing.
“Spike..please,” he moaned as their dermas disconnected with a trail of liquid connecting them. His shinning optics took in the purple tint of the mechs cheeks and he felt his cheeks warm. This large mech was blushing at the sight of him, spike pulsing and hard because of him. Dripping the most delicious smelling transfluid onto his valve, all because of him.
“Hummel, are jou sure?”
“Yes, please,” Bumblebee pleaded, “break my seal, claim me as yours, mecha.”
There was a softness, a vulnerability that was partially guarded as the mechs red optics glossed slightly. A cool vent that left Bumblebee reaching up to pull the other closer as his wings lowered to stretch then spread in invitation. A shy invitation with shy confidence on Bumblebee’s part as he initiated a soft tender shaky kiss. Feeling the mech return it, servo holding the space between his door wings as he tightened his stabilizers around the mechs waist.
Digits slide to his valve and wait, he pushes his valve closer to them and the mech answers his welcoming. Sliding the first clawed digit inside breaking his seal. He gasps in pure pleasure, the mech inhaling his air sliding another inside. Twirling his digits slowly, working the fresh folds open careful to stretch them as slick pink fluid coated black clawed servos.
The dermas kissing his neck cables nipped at them, those sharp denta sent a shiver down his spine. Oh how he wanted the mech to open his chassis and bite his teat glands. He knew he couldn’t lactate but he wanted the mech to have the fun of trying.
‘Maybe I really do have carrier protocols that can be activated.’ That in itself was a surprise since he swore to himself he would never have a sparkling let alone take care of one.
The sudden pulse from his valve had his optics clouding for a nanoclick. The mech holding him had slipped two more digits inside him, he was impossibly tender and completely thorough in his stroking. He felt that sudden spike in heat wracking his frame his vents were starting to have trouble cooling him down and the mech bit a little harder when he felt the small bot in his arms gasp in pleasure.
“Jou like that? Hmm? Have I found jour bundle of nerves?”
Those skilled claws lightly rubbed the bundle of nerves and he felt his interior node spasm at the soft touch. His helm fell back at the sudden rush of slick fluid that spilled into the mechs servo. He felt his legs lock tighter and his hips rutting in tune with the mechs digits his own digits dug deep into the mechs shoulders scrapping his paint. And before Bumblebee could apologize he saw the mechs wings twitch in appreciation.
“M..mecha..your wings..so..ahhhh so beautiful,” he moaned. He wanted to touch them but he knew he didn’t like others touching his door wings so he was sure a full seeker wouldn’t want a mixed bot touching his own and Bumblebee didn’t think he’d be granted permission.
“Blitzwing.”
“H-huh?”
“My name, mein designation is Blitzwing,” the mech now known as Blitzwing, soothed to him pressing his helm against Bumblebees.
“Blitzwing,” the name felt like honey and riches on his tongue. He found himself repeating the designation over and over again as his valve pumped out slick fluid into the mechs servo. He felt so good all over, his frame may be hot and his tank felt like it would burst at any moment spilling out of his valve but he could care less. He chased that feeling, the unwinding bundle that threatened to swallow him whole as he bucked his hips keeping pace with the beautiful mech before him.
With the beautiful mech named Blitzwing that his optics just couldn’t get enough of.
“Hummel,” his groan was delicious to his audials but when Blitzwing pulled his servo back he whined like he was struck with pain.
“I vant to be inside jou, mein hummel, please,” Blitzwing moaned lining his spike to Bumblebee’s valve, “can I?”
When Bumblebee didn’t say anything Blitzwing pulled back ready to comfort him but Bumblebee’s stabilizers pushing him forward so the head of his spike could slip inside him, well it made them both groan.
Bumblebee’s valve was hot and soft to the touch, sucking Blitzwings spike in like a bot starved of the most delectable energon known in bot history. Blitzwing almost overloaded from just being inside the yellow minibot alone. He tried inching in slowly, allow the yellow mini time to adjust to his impressive thick spike but the yellow bug kept squirming and wiggling trying to lower himself onto his spike that he bit his lower derma to keep from thrusting in all the way.
“Careful zere hummel. Jou may rip something,” Blitzwing groaned as he almost bottomed out, servo curling around the yellow mini’s curvy mesh waist while the other held the back of his helm, Blitzwing watched the curve of his spike imprint the mechs tank. He felt his spike twitch spurting hot transfluid inside the soft meshy organ. Oh it felt so good to be fully sheathed inside the mech nestled in his arms.
His beautiful face plate was overwhelmed with pleasure, chassis heaving heavy vent after heavy vent in an attempt to cool his frame. His hips were twitching on his spike, he could see how full the mech was, so full of him that he almost slipped and overloaded inside him.
He didn’t want to hurt the neutral bot especially since he just broke his seal but he did want to make this experience last as long as possible. He wanted the mech in his servo’s to be ruined for anybot else. He didn’t want the yellow beauty to find comfort or solace in another mech or femme like this that wasn’t him.
He carefully cradled the mech closer pressing them chassis to chassis, covered spark plating to covered spark plating. Sucking what little air the mech had blowing cool air into his intake as he slid his glossa inside. Roaming every inch of the mechs intake when he felt servo’s hold his wings.
The sensation made him jolt in surprise.
This mechs touch, his small servo’s, his tiny digits, feeling along the expanse of his purple wings, feeling along the groves and long healed dents was the best feeling he’s ever had in his entire life cycle.
Blitzwing was so embarrassed his cheeks shaded complete purple as he moaned loudly, overloading inside the little mech who arched his back strut with impossible flexibility. Overloading slick fluid that sloshed and poured free from his valve mixing with the transfluid that dripped onto the sheets and down Blitzwings thigh plating and knee guards.
Blitzwing felt his wings fan out and stand at attention the same as the mech in his servo’s. He felt his processor crash for a moment, frame shaking making him thrust into the yellow mini’s interior node pushing him to overload once more. The sweet cries and moans coming from the bots leaking intake had his spike pulsing at attention and he couldn’t help himself.
Half crashed with his processor fritzing from overheat and excessive pleasure he kept thrusting. Their spark chambers thrumming at racing pace as they tried to connect through both the bots armor. Blitzwing had never been very vocal when interfacing save for some dirty talk but he couldn’t stop the moans and pleasurable grunts and growls as he soaked up all the attention his hummel was giving not just him but his wings as they interfaced.
He hadn’t touched the bots wings since one did not touch a carriers wings without permission. One didn’t touch a sire’s wings either but for this mini without question he made an exception.
“Ah, Hummel,” he felt his vox growl dangerously as another overload was building in his tank and circuits. Even with his ice powers blowing cool air on the air from his pistons it wasn’t enough. The windows were steaming, the berth was creaking as the metal frame slammed the wall making an ignored crack. The bot in his servo’s was trying to meet the rhythm of his thrusts his valve puffy and stretched out. Pink and blue energon surrounding it as their fluids mixed.
Blitzwing tried to stifle a particularly loud roar by biting so hard into his derma he spilled energon. His spike impaled the yellow mini’s interior node over and over until his little hummel overloaded with a loud cry of static before dragging his digits down Blitzwings wing plating then frizzing out into recharge. His frame spasmed in reaction to Blitzwing overloading inside him completely unaware of the large mech falling to his side and crashing into recharge after roaring loudly accidentally turning his thrusters on and firing his pistons. The last thing Blitzwing saw flashing across his hud before completely falling into recharge was that his processor had activated the protocol every seeker dreamed of.
His conjunx programming.
Neither mechs were in a rush to online their optics. Blitzwing was heading back into recharge when he felt his frame being moved and his arms lose the small warmth he’d held throughout the night cycle. His processor immediately took that as a threat making his optics shoot open and his pistons blare to life ready to shoot when a startled yelp rung in his processor and a flash of yellow dropped down.
He was quick to catch the little mech before he hit the floor boards, yanking him back into his arms as his optics searched for the threat. When he saw the berth room was empty save for the two of them he tilted his helm confused.
“Hummel, are jou okay?”
The mech in his arms was shocked and looked pretty shaken up though Blitzwing noted how he leaned into his touch instead of scurrying off.
“Hummel?”
“Stop calling me hummel. Thats not my designation.”
“Then what is jour designation? Jou never did tell me.”
“…”
The yellow mini looked down, face plate shifting to a hurt expression. His optics weren’t entirely clear but it couldn’t have been from the high grade. His scans showed the two worked it from his system during their first shared overload. His protocols were buzzing with worry something that didn’t show on his face plate but it did in his optics and closed off em field.
Deciding he would wait for an answer Blitzwing pulled the mech back onto the berth careful of sore stabilizers and his exposed puffy valve coated in dry transfluid and energon slick. He laid his back strut and wings comfortably against his pillows making sure the mech was comfortable against his frame. He could see the paint transfer on his thigh platings and he couldn’t stop the grin on his dermas. Em field motioning towards the mini he felt him jump slightly at the outside emotions.
“..b-127.”
His vox was low, it didn’t feel right to Blitzwing. The mech before him seemed so closed off, so closed in on himself Blitzwing was surprised he hadn’t split a circuit open. He knew the little mech had fire in him, that much was proven when he told him off at the bar. Sure he could be shy but that felt right. This. This didn’t feel right. And a designation like B-127? Thats not a real designation but he knows the yellow mech isn’t lying to him. So why was that his designation?
“B-127? Thats quite an odd designation for jour creators to give jou little one.”
“My creators offlined when I was few cycles old. Thats why I never got more than a sparkling center entrance number.”
The little mechs voice was cold and wavering as he spoke no matter how much he tried to stifle it Blitzwing could feel his em field howl with distrust, pain, longing, loneliness and sorrow at such a deep spark clenching grief. He was sure he could guess the type of life cycle the younger mech was tormented with. He knew well what the door wings on his back meant. The moved acted as wings a seeker would emerge with. He didn’t have the build of a grounder yet he knew the mech couldn’t fly. Sure he had a chassis like a grounder with no cockpit but that was it.
His plating was not build like that of a battling autobot but that of a civilian. He thankfully wasn’t framed like a pleasure bot but his natural frame was close. The yellow plating on his stabilizers went just above his mid thigh. His pedes had a small sharp strut to them and his hip plating wasn’t protective in the slightest. His tanks had no protective save for his back strut, the black plating blended well accentuating his curves that led to his yellow door wings with black opening handles just below the low window. His neck cables and upper chassis were exposed but his spark casing and tit glands were covered thankfully. His helm covering was yellow with black covering his audials, he had a strip of black on his forehead. That made Blitzwing get a good look at the antenna that drooped with his bots sad expression.
One he didn’t like.
“Jou didn’t vant to designste jourself?”
“Why should i? Not like anybots gonna call me by it.”
“It can be for jou, yellow one.”
“Yeah? And what if I don’t care about having a designation?”
‘Stubborn,’ Blitzwing smirked shaking his helm, “i think jou do but if jou prefer to be stubborn about ze subject.” Suddenly Bumblebee was pressed against the sheets. Blitzwing spike impaling him making the lingering transfluids sloshing inside of him slide back into his tank. His optics automatically began to haze as he felt some of the large mechs weight pressing him down. He never knew he would have a pleasure pressing kink, it was something he hoped the mech wouldn’t realize.
“Vhat if I told jou I wanted something to call jou other than the assigned numbers ze center gave jou. Hm?? Vhat if I vanted something better to moan during our bouts of interfacing? Hm? Ve seekers like spoiling our mates. Especially by calling their designations so every bot who hears us vill know who ve belong to.”
Blitzwing said the words as smooth as an icicle. They chilled him to his core in a way he felt heating his tanks just like the previous night cycle.
Bumblebee couldn’t stop his back strut from arching into Blitzwings middle plating. His valve slicking hot energon makes it so much easier for Blitzwing to pull his hips back, the tip of his spike keeping Bumblebee’s valve stretched as he made some excess transfluid and energon slick that was mixed together squelch out before it was roughly shoved back inside with a powerful thrust.
“Jou deserve a beautiful designation to be moaned in jour ear, hummel.”
Bumblebee felt his tank lurch and his gestation pouch pulse. His optics blew wide open at the assault on his interior node, lifting his helm to open his intake and defy the mech laying so comfortably on top of him. Ready to argue his words and the use of his magnificent spike that cured a loneliness he’d never known could be filled until Blitzwing slammed into his interior node again knocking his processor and vox off from their regulatory.
The mech was stroking him so deep with every pump of his spike he was sure that Blitzwing intended to hit the bundle of nerves on his interior node and even try slamming into his gestation pouch. The realization made his valve pour and he couldn’t stop his digits from digging into the sheets and as he arched perfectly into Blitzwings frame.
Blitzwing glued his frame to the mech below him and he decided his mating code picked a perfect mech to match him with. Sure he wished he could’ve gotten to know the mech better and know him for longer but if his sweet expressions were anything to go by. The parting of his dermas as static slipped free, his seductive arch, his tight little valve that went from relaxed to squeezing his spike like his spark depended on it. Every hum and whine and mewl the mech let out was far too great for Blitzwing not to bend down and steal for himself like the selfish decepticon he is.
“Nnnnnghhhhh,” those noises were music to his audial’s. He couldn’t help but open his optics as he kissed the yellow mech depely. Seeing up close for the first time just how beautiful the mech truly was. Smooth faceplate, glossy painted frame streaked with his colors with an incredible curvy femme like frame to pede. Not to mention his door wings.
Blitzwing wouldn’t ever admit it to any other mech besides himself and maybe his hummel but those wings. He watched those wings twitch with sad expression for literal joors as the yellow mini sat at the bar drinking high grade too high for his frame. He wouldn’t have really cared if it were another mech about to be taken advantage of. He knew what the bar tender wanted by giving the mech such expensive and tasteful energon. He hadn’t really cared until he saw just who the mech was.
He didn’t really know the yellow mini outside of seeing him in passing since the day he wandered into town. Expression blank in a way all too familiar to his own when he used to live in the slums of Vos and Kaon. He didn’t have a place to call his habsuite or home after his creators offlined. Surviving the cruel streets taught him to look as reserved and untouchable as possible. The same look he once adorned on his face plates was the same look the yellow mini possessed as he went about in town.
Many tried to chat with him and each bot was either rudely turned down or he shut them down before walking off. He intrigued Blitzwing at first, his first time seeing the mech up close he was in his alt mode. Seeming to be cruising to himself far from the other grounders who drove and raced together. Blitzwing admired the sleek form of his alt mode as he watched him from afar, vox stolen along with his helm and processor as he watched the yellow mini transformer into root mode and walk into the archive halls. Those wings were pressed flat on his backside, one that Blitzwing admired in its entirety as he took in the shapely aft and slender stabilizers that had small heel struts holding casual grace as they moved.
He was star speckled when he first saw the mini and ever since he kept his optic out for him. Engine almost purring at every chance he got to see his cute little aft bent over as his door wings bobbed in natural response. He never saw himself having a thing for grounders but seeing as the mech was half grounder half seeker he was more than happy to make an exception.
So seeing the little mech all alone at the bar with a cup of high grade had been a gift he was not willing to pass up. No he wasn’t intending to berth him but it had been a welcome surprise. One he wasn’t planning on letting him escape from. He was more than happy to show his hummel all the ways in which they were perfect together and if it meant starting in the berth room, well.
He was more than happy to get their odd courtship started.
“Ah! Ah! Bli-bLitzWing!”
“Go ahead, hummel,” Blitzwing moaned into his intake, glossa sliding inside for a quick taste before slipping out, “I vant to hear all of jou. Every whimper, every gasp, every whine. Go ahead. Don’t hold back on me. Mein hummel,” Blitzwing uttered against his derma, ever the secret romance bot, “Let me feel jour body tremble.”
With a loud optic leaking static cry Bumblebee felt Blitzwing intwine their digits together digging them further into the sheets. Spilling energon transfluid into his valve and gestation pouch as it burst from the round tip of his spike. Filling his tank quite noticeably as it swelled from not only his humungous spike imprint but the sparkling fluid drenching him with pure creation.
He couldn’t focus his helm circuits long enough to know the difference between opening his intake or his valve that greedily drank as if his life energon was at stake. His vox wouldn’t shut off no matter how many times he tried to shut his dermas and even the sheets he bit down onto wasn’t enough to stop the pleasured cry as he felt his spark chamber crack open.
The loud rumbling hum of a spark too big to be his own roared behind him. The life wisping energy of his untouched passionate bright orange spark began to mix in perfect harmony with Blitzwing’s mixed hues of orange and red life spark energy.
The two were in awe and amazed by the colors of each other’s spark. Blitzwing would never have guessed the yellow mini had orange in his spark or that a spark could even be pure white. Sure he’s heard rumors but thats all he thought they were rumors. He never believed they were real for a second but oh how wrong he was.
‘Orange and red? I’ve read about them but I never thought I’d see a bot with one! I never thought I’d see another bots spark at all to be fair…’
While Bumblebee and Blitzwing were awed at the sight of the other mechs spark and the beauty of the others essence, they completely forgot one important detail.
Their sparks were merging, becoming one, permanently.
The two mechs had just permanently sparkbonded becoming conjunx and hadn’t even realized until their energies permanently sat mixed within one another and their chassis closed.
Lingering specks of energy littered the air around them. Their digits were seemingly glued as their frames melted to each others. Bumblebee could feel a wave of warmth, confusion, anxiety and the ache of an overthinking helm in the pit of his tank and in the center of his spark. He reached his em field to touch it and the feelings burst to life with a static screech of his vox as he felt electricity burst from within.
His valve clenched tight around Blitzwing’s spike making the mech shake. The larger had been caught off guard by the sudden pleasure and discomfort around his spike after such an optic stopping moment as seeing a spark as ethereal as this. By Primus his spark put the stars in their galaxy to shame. He felt the symphony of the arts floating around his helm and the urge to paint his now bondeds spark on canvas to capture its immortal flawless core.
He needed to build. To craft such perfection and magnificence for him to behold in and out of the mechs presence. No not the mech presence, his mechs presence.
The yellow mini was not just a random bot anymore. This yellow mini who captured his attention without lifting a digit or batting an optic his way, was his.
And oh how he feared the clicks passing by as his affections and fascination grew.
“Hummel,” the mech groaned, digits clasping the mini’s tighter as he felt jolts of electricity stinging the core of his spark with fear and a warmth he’s never been granted past his creators.
“We bonded, oh frag we bonded!”
The panic settled in the form of his vox and vision glitching with fuzz and discolored sights in leaking optics that burned to his over working vents. He could not bring himself to release Blitzwing but he couldn’t bring himself to stop panicking.
“I just bonded with a mech I don’t even know! Oh frag I’m bonded to another mech! Frag, frag, frag!”
“Are jou telling me jou think jour on the femme attraction hummel?”
The raised taunting mesh above red optics annoyed Bumblebee especially when he could see the smugness in Blitzwing’s expression, though he refused to acknowledge his wanting to comfort the hidden fear in the mech he grasped tighter. Not because he cared and felt grounded by something as simple as touch but because he was running on high energy. He could delude himself for the moment he’s earned it.
“Shut up,” his cheek curves were blue with energon as he avoided that stiff smile, “its not that! I just don’t know you.”
“Vell ve are bonded now. Ve have all eternity to get to know ze other,” Blitzwing said accepting this a bit easier. Sure he was freaking out on the inside but the use of slightly taunting humor and the pretty mech still beneath him helped soothe him. That and he was still pumping transfluid inside the little mini and he was becoming fascinated with just how vast their size difference was. He was aware of his war frame being bigger than most bots but he was so used to being around other war frames and average sized bots, even heavy weight bots, that he forgot about mini bots.
Though now that he looks at the mech he didn’t exactly fit the form type of a mini bot. His protoform was far too…curvy and slim in all the right places to be a mini. They tended to be more round and husky, stout really. They were perfectly balanced in being heavy weight to make up for their short stature. But this mech didn’t seem to be stout he wasn’t even chunky. He was just curvy and little too slim.
‘Kind of like…oh..’
It would be best not to ask.
‘It vould be best to wait until ve’re more familiar vith each other to talk on our pasts..though I’m sure I know ze answer..’
“This isn’t funny! Do you have any idea what we’ve done?!”
“Jes.”
“And you’re just okay with that?!”
“Jes.”
“You don’t even know me!”
“I know enough. I can spot a good bot from a bad bot and jou hummel are a good bot.”
That seemed to catch his hummel’s attention. He was glad for it, he could feel a warmth grow within their new bond. A pulse of something thready beginning to form and a piece of his spark broke as he pin pointed the emotion.
Praise.
His hummel had never received praise or appreciation before.
‘Just how lonely a mech are jou?’
His mating protocols were kicking into gear. His instincts spurred him to drown his bonded in the affection he so desperately craved and needed. There was an abundance of emotions and needs both physical and mental that his hummel had never received. So many things were empty inside his hummels spark and the memories he barely touched were only of pain and basic mecha comforts. The care and affection he sent out through their bond was unrecognizable to the mini and as he heard sniffling and felt shoulder struts shake at the rush of overwhelm and confusion from below, he did his best to guide and comfort him through the torrent of unfamiliarity.
It took two joors to get his hummel to calm and by then the lunar and solar cycles events and lack of fuel had caught up to them. He wanted to get his hummel and himself fuel but the tiny servo resting on his spinal column had stopped him. He knew then he was weak for the pretty mecha as he curled around him drifting into recharge. Though the nights recharge was not helpful.
After bonding bots will share certain memories through the conjunx endurea bonding and it will be completely solidified. There would be no surgery or repairs capable of undoing their bond. Blitzwing had felt it necessary to share this information with his hummel who responded by loosely holding his larger servo between their chassis. He didn’t meet his optics but closing them and leaning close did more than words could.
Currently he was shifting an optic back at his hummel, he was sitting at the large table watching nothing but that was to he expected. Blitzwing knew a lot of memories of his life cycle were not at all pleasant. Sure he had moments where things were good but the horrors he committed in the great war. The painful experiment he went through granting him the ability and title Triple changer along with his long held curiosity and attraction to his hummel before meeting faceplate to faceplate.
Well, he was surprised his hummel was still sitting at the table let alone being in the same home as him.
Blitzwing attributed that to shock and his hummels own personal history of horrid memories one would like to leave behind. The care center, the casualties autobots often caused, the discrimination and hatred he faced on cycle to cycle basis. Coupled with having to survive on the streets while hiding carrier status at such a young age. Blitzwing stood no chance in shutting down his protective protocols the moment they onlined from recharge.
The yellow mech was finally able to escape his arms because his tank rumbled for fuel which is why they were in the fuel room. If his protocols deemed it safe Blitzwing would be carrying his mini mech around as he prepared them an early cycle fuel. He learned from the mini’s memories he never received a home fueling. Blitzwing was determined to change that no matter how much it tugged at his spark to think he could still taste his carriers home fueling while his mini mech has not.
“Here, jou need fuel and zis vill help jou feel better.”
“Thanks,” his vox was tired, empty, overwhelmed with his past and Blitzwings important memories through the ages he’s been functioning. They both were having a tough time seeing what the other had been put through. Neither were having any luck being separate for more than a nanoclick—another side effect of their newly formed bond.
Blitzwing hadn’t been making their morning fuel for a full eight clicks before both their frames grew cold from lack of touching the other. He was sitting beside his hummel before he’d realized he still needed to make his own morning fuel.
“Here,” he felt something warm press against his dermas, smooth liquid tickles the sensitive mesh filling his olfactory senses making his tanks growl. He opened his dermas allowing the energon blend to slide down his pharynx with a soft groan.
“No, jou must fuel,” Blitzwing took his own energon and held it to the smaller mechs dermas, “drink.”
The flush of blue to the minibots cheek plating was adorable. Blitzwing accidentally activated his internal cams taking in the slow rise and fall of his chassis watching his intake curl around the cup as he finished the last of his energon.
“Jou’re beautiful.” Blitzwing spoke without conscious, his words deepened the blue along his hummels cheeks to color his entire face plate. “I vill imagine this face in the midst of every battle, I vill gaze at jou every lunar cycle and every solar break. For I vant jou to be the ethereal that greets me every dawn und every dark that guide me through every trouble that aggrieves me.”
“You-you liquid tongued mecha! Stop it,” his hummel exclaimed covering his optics with black and yellow digits. “We aren’t in the heat of interfacing you don’t have to play smooth with your vox. I’ll frag with you again just not until I can walk properly on my stabilizers.”
Slowly inching his hummels digits away, Blitzwing locked optics with him, “I mean every word I say, whether in ze berth or not. Jou are mine now mini one und I make it a goal of mein to spoil that which is in mein possession.”
“Oh yeah? Well last I checked I’m my own bot conjunx or not so stop trying to velvet vox me,” the yellow mini spoke with fire that ignited Blitzwings spark.
“I hope to see jour fiery spirit more often, hummel.”
The curl of blue derma was enough for Bumblebee to try frowning at the larger mecha but the sound of their tanks growling made him look away with a huff.
“Let us properly fuel then ve can talk more, hm?”
“Fine,” his hummel said with defiance that turned liquid when Blitzwing pressed his dermas to soft grey mesh on his hummels forehelm.
The cute static and beep was much appreciated on Blitzwings part, though not so much on his hummels part who swatted him.
Halfway through the solar cycle and the freshly bonded conjunx were relaxing in each other’s arms. Content to feel the others spark thrum while talking things through.
It was obvious between the two Blitzwings home would be shared and the room Bumblebee was staying at would be given back. They spoke on Blitzwings status as a decepticon and what that meant for Bumblebee.
“Jou von’t be forced to join the ranks but jou vill be vith me if I am ever called for battle, should there be a battle. Jou von’t ever have to fight if jou don’t join but I vould feel better if I could train jou to defend jourself. Neutral or not, being vith me brings danger that I vill do anything to keep jou from.”
Bumblebee felt assured oddly enough. Sincerity flowed through their bond and he reached out in acceptance. He knew Blitzwing was high ranking from his shared memories and learning he’d been living in small towns like this for almost three million stellar cycles. After Megatron gave the call to hide Blitzwing did just that as he awaited for Megatron to call upon him once more.
“Truthfully I am not so sure I vant him to call me. I rather like living in peace especially since I have jou now, hummel.”
“What does that mean?”
A raised brow and Bumblebee specifies.
“Hummel. What does it mean? You keep calling me that so it has to mean something.”
“It is ze german vord for bumblebee. An insect found on certain planets. I once ventured on an insecticon ruled planet. Jou remind me of the few I witnessed fluttering about. Especially when jou bob jour wings.”
That made Bumblebee blush and as his optics grew wide. His intake fell when he felt the form of a memory tug at the back of his processor. He was confused on what it was until he felt Blitzwing smooth a digit over his servo and he looked into the large mechs optics.
He felt himself lean in and his processor opened allowing the image of a large insectibot with his colors bob and flutter around a gigantic organic planet before landing. He had to admit Blitzwing was correct in the resemblance, though he didn’t have any fuzz or fur on himself he did have similar antenna save for the sharp quality.
“Jou remind me of them. Though zey aren’t anyvhere near as beautiful as jou mein hummel.”
There was silence for a long time as Bumblebee replayed the memory on a steady loop in his brain module. Blitzwing sat patiently enjoying the awe on his hummels face plate until the silence was broken.
“Bumblebee.”
“Hm?”
“My designation,” Bumblebee uttered with some hesitant but budding confidence, “my designation is Bumblebee. I want that one. I want that to be mine.”
His vox was small, personal, mystified.
Blitzwing felt a warmth in his spark grow that he didn’t know possible. The care he held towards his hummel grew and he knew then he this was truly it.
His hummel. Bumblebee.
‘This is the mech I vant for the rest of my life cycle und the next.’
He was never one for smiling but for Bumblebee he knows it will be easy.
“A beautiful designation, mein Bumblebee.”
It felt like cyberhoney on his glossa and he knew then he was sparked further.
“I guess being with you won’t he so bad, Blitzwing.”
The delicate kiss on his dermas further cemented his revelation and Blitzwing rested a servo on the back of Bumblebee’s helmet pulling him closer to deepen it.
He did not want to interface with his hummel. He just wanted to feel him and his em field reflected as much and so did their bond.
Blitzwing was more than happy to feel the sentiment returned.
-
First & foremost Free Palestine & Free Sudan & the Congo. Please share their stories & protest so that the cruelty they face may be stopped.
Second - I did not expect to make this story so long in the beginning. I hope all who read it enjoy.
For the February 2025 prompt on the TF creatives server! A song of love <3
First Aid just can't seem to let that tall, handsome soldier go <3
Song prompt (approached as if it’s Every Breath You Take by The Police);
It only happened once a vorn, and every time First Aid would set it up so he was guaranteed the evening off. Trading shifts, cashing in favours - whatever it took, he’d do it. His colleagues always responded with bemusement, completely perplexed as to why he went to such lengths to secure that slot of free time.
It was quite simple, really. Vortex was around.
The festival was the one time of vorn that he was guaranteed shore leave. He’d explained that it was an ancestral right, that the festival originated in his citystate and it was a requirement that he could attend, if feasible, and he always managed to tip the scales in his favour. Missions far out in the depths of the galaxy miraculously finished ahead of schedule. Chases after adversaries always ended up swinging within spitting distance of Cybertron. That kind of thing. There had been one worrying vorn where he’d almost missed it - Vortex had quite literally sprinted over to him still pockmarked from a fight to not miss the final song.
“I’m off now!” He called out as he tapped his badge on the scanner. “Don’t call me if anything comes up - I won’t answer!”
“Enjoy your date!”
First Aid scoffed at them and quickly left, hoping he didn’t seem too eager to leave. His flat wasn’t far - he’d quickly stop off there and freshen up before heading over to the festival. Vortex had been in touch - he was going to be around earlier than usual. His commander was feeling generous that cycle and had released him early.
Giddiness overtook him as he examined his finish in the mirror. He’d got a new wax recently – would Vortex notice? Would he like it?
The walk to the festival seemed to take forever. There was no point in driving – the streets were so crowded you’d be getting nowhere. He could feel the music pulsing through the floor, he could smell the stalls and the vendors and hear singing and laughter.
Vortex was already there waiting for him. He picked up the pace.
He spotted Vortex before the helicopter had noticed he was there. He was talking to someone, tall and green with turrets on his back. He looked mean. Did they know each other? Suddenly, they were looking at him – they nodded their head towards him, and Vortex turned.
“Aid!” He was waving at him, rotors happily spinning. First Aid waved back, looking for a break in the crowd to make his way over to him.
Vortex was taller and broader and found much less issue in making his way through to him.
“You got a new wax!” Vortex immediately commented, bounding over. “Here, let me take a look at you.” He stepped back and looked him up and down appreciatively, rotors clicking together on his back. Gesturing for First Aid to spin, the medic rolled his optics and obliged. “Very nice.” He purred.
“I’m surprised you even noticed.”
“When it comes to you, I always do.”
“Who’s your friend?” He curiously asked, nodding behind him to where the tall green mech had been.
“Nobody important.” Vortex easily replied, waving him off. “Come on, lets dance.”
It was easy to fall into the routine with him, as practised at it as they were. Hands fell into place on hips, on palms. The movements were second nature, using the beat of the music guide them as they felt it pulse through the floor.
It gave First Aid time to think, for his mind to wander a little. He didn’t want it to, he was trying and he was fighting it – he wanted to spend time with Vortex and enjoy his company, not think about work – but he couldn’t help it. Seeing the soldier in front of him was trigger enough for the thought process and he chewed his bottom lip.
“You’re distracted.” The helicopter lead them into a spin. “Something bothering you?”
It took him a moment to answer.
“What’s going to happen? With the riots, I mean.”
He laughed. “I can’t tell you that. Who knows? Maybe it will die down before it catches and becomes something bigger.”
“I hope so.” He frowned. “The injuries coming from them are awful.”
“Don’t think about that right now, yeah?” Another turn, a calculated spin that took them to the edge of the crowd. “Here, you’ll like this - we’re back in range of Cybertron again in three groons. Why don’t I pay you a visit then?”
“Really?!” First Aid gave an excited bounce. “You never get to come back so soon!”
“I know. Lucky me.”
Usually, if Vortex was coming back to Cybertron it meant either someone was injured or there was something they needed to be on the planet for. Their most frequent rendezvous happened because someone got hurt - usually Vortex, now that he thought about it - and they’d had to seek medical attention. He’d never met the rest of his team, but if it was ever Vortex who was hurt he was always the one treating him. Apparently he just preferred his bedside manner, but First Aid wasn’t entirely convinced.
The night slowly drew to a close. Three groons was both no time at all and an age. The tips of his digits danced up thick armoured plating, up a broad chest and to his shoulder. Vortex watched them dance, rotors twitching in time.
“My flat’s free. If you’ve got time.”
Vortex seemed to be seriously considering it, mulling it through in his head, weighing up the pros and the cons.
“Ah, fuck it. They can miss me for the night.”
------------------------------------------------------------------
The riots had set the flames of war. The last festival they’d managed to attend was tense, and ended early. Not long after, Vortex had started crashing into his flat injured and bleeding and dying more times than he could count, gaining in rapid frequency until he suddenly just stopped. Their comm channel died down too - too dangerous, Vortex had said. Not secure. They couldn’t lay themselves so bare when optics were on them.
Eventually, First Aid only saw him on the skyline, a distant blur that could easily be anyone else but was far more comforting to think of as Vortex. And then, he saw him in reports that wound up in his servos as he stood in the middle of Autobot medical bays.
He hadn’t known he was so violent. How could a mech who’d only ever been so gentle with him be capable of what he was seeing?
Trouble came with an archivist. Unbeknownst to First Aid, they also attended the festival - each and every vorn. And they’d seen them together. They had proof of it. Apparently they’d caught his attention because of how unseeming they were - what was a mercenary doing with a doctor? The helicopter had already been on the radar of law enforcement. The medic was completely unknown to them, his record squeaky clean. In the interests of safety, he’d made some recordings that focused on them. Just in case.
They hadn’t thought about it again until they’d seen him in the medical bay and instantly recognised him – they’d been invited by pure chance to film a thinly veiled propaganda piece, and First Aid just so happened to be on shift when they came to the medical bay.
First Aid awkwardly squirmed under the faint glow of the screen, feeling like his dirty laundry was being aired. He didn’t realise they’d looked that strange together, that Vortex had to stoop that much to kiss him, that he’d gone that red when he picked him up to twirl him. Prowl was very still next to him, arms folded under his chest. Not even his doorwings twitched.
“The last time I saw him was vorns ago, not even a decacycle before I enlisted.” First Aid wanted to turn his armour inside out. Maybe that would help with the feeling that crawled under it. “His spark was guttering.” The truth. “I thought he died.” A lie. He’d stabilised him, he’d begged him to stay, to go to a bigger hospital that had the proper equipment. He’d left, saying something about Brawl, sharp digits leaving holes in the wall as he gripped it for support. His comm link was still active, was still pinging, telling him he was alive. Every cycle, like clockwork.
“I didn’t know he was like this.” The truth. The absolute truth. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, a paragon of virtue; it was obvious he had seen some things and was already slightly jaded. He was possessive in a way that made him feel giddy and had a quick temper, but he’d never done or said anything that made him feel like he was in any danger. He’d always been the first to warn him of any trouble, to keep him out of harms way. It just didn’t make any sense.
Unless it was all just an act, a lie. It twisted awkwardly in his tanks. Had he been played for a fool?
They believed him. His persona as the staunch pacifist had worked in his favour – it was clear that he did not condone the mechs actions, that if he were to be put in front of him now, that he wouldn’t ever engage with him. That he was disgusted and dismayed. He left the room with trembling legs and weak knees.
The next time he saw him, that awkward conversation was a distant memory. They weren’t even on Cybertron any more, the war having moved to foreign galaxies. The planet they found themselves on was red and oxidised, the organic life sparse and clinging on at the edge of the vast single continent. An energon source had been identified; the endless fight for resources continued.
Defensor had been blown apart by something. First Aid didn’t remember what - he just remembered falling into the water and being ripped away by a strong current.
Salt water burned at his sensitive circuitry, and he coughed and choked as he crawled up the slope to dry land. Hauling himself over the ridge the waves had created, he sagged down into the baking hot sand and fought to catch his breath.
God damn it. He hated it when that happened – it was so disorientating and painful, and it just added insult to injury that he’d ended up in the sea after. He’d need to take care to clean himself thoroughly after – he was sure to rust.
He wasn’t alone.
A lone Decepticon slipped down the sand, wheezing as they caught their breath. They cursed and kicked at the sand in annoyance, quietly muttering to themselves as they made a scouting report. First Aid held himself as still as he possibly could, hoping that they couldn’t hear the sound of his plating popping and pinging or the sound of his internals hissing as the last of the water boiled off.
He didn’t have his gun. He’d lost it when they had formed Defensor - he didn’t have anything to defend himself with.
The scout turned and they locked optics. A grin slowly spread on their face as they saw the Autobot symbol on his chest.
“I’m a medic!” First Aid quickly shouted. Their laws still applied on foreign soil. Medics weren’t to be considered combatants, they weren’t to be harmed. Their skills were precious and in demand, and easy to exploit, their spark-deep coding to protect and save a boon to an army without any of their own.
“And?” The Decepticon replied. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
Uh oh.
“Y-you’re not supposed to hurt me?”
“I can hurt you just a little bit.”
No, you can’t! First Aid tried to push himself up, back slamming into a red sandstone block. He gasped, his spark thudding in his chest sounding suspiciously like the whirring of helicopter blades.
Something big and grey hit the sand. First Aid winced as granules scratched over his plating. He dared to take his optics from the Decepticon to see who the newcomer was, his spark leaping in his chest when he recognised them. Vortex. He suddenly felt breathless, everything he’d felt for the past vorns threatening to spill out at once. He cast a dark shadow, stalking towards them. His visor was bright and narrowed in on the other Decepticon, rotors trembling as he aimed a gun directly at their shocked face.
“I don’t think so, sweet cheeks.” He squeezed the trigger, and First Aid flinched as he was splattered with the internal workings of the mech’s head.
Vents working hard, he slowly turned to watch them slump down, a gap where their head used to be. His processor couldn’t make sense of it. It should be there. Vortex wouldn’t shoot one of his own. Would he? He wouldn’t. What kind of maniac engaged in friendly fire to save the enemy?
He jumped when he realised Vortex was knelt down next to him, far too close for comfort. Oh, no. When did he start thinking about him like this? That wasn’t right. Hesitantly, he reached forwards to wipe energon from his faceplate. He ended up smearing it around instead, but Vortex didn’t seem to mind - he leaned into his hand, visor dimming and engine purring. Was this allowed? Was this okay? Were they going to get into trouble for this?
“You’ve gotten taller.” Was all he could think to say.
“You’ve gotten shorter.” The war frame looked him up and down. “Or maybe it just looks that way.”
“What-“ he swallowed and tried again, not trusting his vocal cords to comply. “What’re you doing here?”
A distant deep rumble from an explosion reached them, and even through the visor his raised brow was obvious.
“Uh. Fighting?” He tapped his chest. “Soldier. Remember?”
First Aid swatted his shoulder. “You know what I meant!”
“Careful.” His facemask snapped back, revealing sharp teeth and heavy scars. The hand that wasn’t tightly holding his gun reached up to hold his jaw, pressing his thumb into First Aid’s mask where his chin would be. “I’m not as nice as I used to be.”
“Me neither.” He retracted his own mask, ignoring the scrape of metal fragments inside the mechanism. He chewed his bottom lip, eyeing the bright purple insignia on his chest. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”
“Depends how nicely you ask me to.”
“I won’t be doing that.” First Aid frowned. “I don’t like being in pain.”
“Shame. Your face looks good when you’re screaming.” Vortex pressed his thumb against his bottom lip, gently rubbing it along it, mapping out its surface. His helm was tilted, his visor dim. “Real shame, that.”
“How do you even-“ he gasped in realisation, pushing Vortex’s hand away from his face. “You’ve been watching me! And you didn’t come and say hi?! Vortex!” He whined. “Do you have any idea how much I missed you? You’re so cruel!”
His laugh was loud and frame rattling.
“Babe, it’s not like I can just drop down next to you!” He cupped his cheeks in his hands, visor glistening. “Fuck, you’re so cute. You missed me? Really? Truthfully?”
“Don’t tease me.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He didn’t sound particularly apologetic, but First Aid was willing to overlook it. Just this once.
“What made you decide to make yourself known?” He leaned into his hands. They were rough but warm, strong and steady. His visor dimmed in comfort.
“Little mister dead over there got too close, and there’s nobody around for miles. Couldn’t have anyone getting their hands on you, could I?”
“You’re too kind.” First Aid reached up to knot his fingers together with Vortex’s. “Any injuries you want me to take a look at?”
“Nah. Got better at dodging strays.”
“Guess you don’t need me anymore, huh?”
Vortex’s hand twisted around, pushing First Aid down into the sand with his frame as he pinned his hand above his helm. “I want you for the rest of my life, First Aid. Of course I’ll always need you.”
Coincidence or not, after the encounter on the prehistoric beach Vortex wasn’t shy about making himself known. Every available opportunity, he was there, like his shadow. If First Aid ever found himself captured, Vortex was miraculously tasked with his interrogation. It was almost like the Decepticons were turning a blind optic to it – that they were accepting it as a quirk of Vortex. That he’d found a fun toy to play with and they were happy to let him indulge so long as it got him out of their hair. Other Autobots were starting to notice, and rumours were spreading. First Aid had clamped his hands down over his audials, not wanting to hear any of it.
What would he even say? Could he even deny any of it? He didn’t think that he could, he’d lied enough about it already.
It had been a groon after he’d last seen him – he’d managed to corner him on the battlefield and steal five kliks alone with him before Hot Spot noticed First Aid was gone – when First Aid saw him again. Only this time, he was going to him. He’d seen a helicopter get shot down from the sky, and with a sinking feeling in his tanks and a tightness in his throat, he realised that he recognised the helicopter.
Vortex wasn’t moving. He was smoking, his visor flickering as he tried to stay online. His engine was misfiring, and the ground around them was slowly being stained by leaking fuel, coolant, and oil.
First Aid panicked, quickly breaking into a sprint.
“Well, well.” Vortex coughed, energon wetly bubbling in his throat. “We just can’t help but bump into each other, can we?”
“Jesus Christ – don-don’t talk, okay? Please?” First Aid skidded to his knees next to him, hands hovering over him as he remotely scanned and assessed the damage. Everything was leaking and coming back red on his scans and screaming at him for attention now now now- he swallowed and mentally triaged.
Bleeding. He was haemorrhaging energon from a cable in his midsection. He needed to stop that in the next thirty seconds, or he’d lose enough pressure that his pump wouldn’t work anymore. The cable had been clamped before he’d finished the thought, hands coated and glowing a faint pink.
“What did you do?!” First Aid demanded. “Why- why aren’t you with your gestalt?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Vortex’s voice was staticky. “They’re somewhere.” He gestured vaguely in the direction First Aid assumed he could feel them in. “They’re fine though. Thanks for asking.”
There was a thick fragment of metal sticking out of his midsection that was keeping a lot of energon inside. He’d leave it for now – wait until they were in a brick and mortar medical bay with the proper equipment and more than just his two pairs of hands to remove it. It wasn’t causing him any harm.
“Did you get blown up again?”
“I did! How wonderful you noticed.”
“I am begging you to take care of yourself.” His hands shook a little as he tried to soak up the energon that had pooled in the gaping wound in his chest. He could hear his spark, could see faint whisps of light from the cracked casing. This was where his scans had indicated the most damage – and he couldn’t repair it. Not here, not without the help of Ratchet or the proper tools. His were too big, too clumsy – sparks needed refined, specialist care. Delicate instruments for delicate parts. If he went in gung-ho with his tools now, he’d kill him, he was sure of it.
But his spark was failing. Again. He was always having to keep his spark going, it was if its owner didn’t want it to, as if Vortex were always trying to find new and interesting ways to snuff himself out. It had been okay when he had his place on Cybertron. It wasn’t okay when they were on a planet 70 million lightyears away.
He needed to think of something before his spark gave out. What would keep it going? Could he jump start it? He’d done it before. He needed something to act like a battery, he needed jumper cables. He didn’t have either, and he felt dizzy when he realised what he could use instead.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“No.” First Aid’s fingers gently traced over the gaping wound in his chest, dragging the tips of them over shorn and twisted metal. “I’m a pacifist, so I’m going to do something much worse.”
His visor flashed in excitement. “Oh? Watch as my spark splutters out? Oh, Aid, you tease. You should have shown me this side of you earlier.” He sighed and his visor briefly flickered offline. “Such a shame. All the things we could have done together.”
“Don’t be too eager to die, you’ll take me with you.”
“Wh-?”
He was cut off by First Aid roughly forcing open his chest plates. He gasped and choked on the energon gathering in his intake, fresh glowing energon splashing down his cheek as his ankles dug into the ground and his sharp digits left deep grooves in their wake. They had one shot at this, one chance, and First Aid wasn’t leaving any of it up to fate. Ignoring the voices in his head screaming at him – the ones telling him this was an awful idea, the ones insisting that there had to be another way, the ones decrying his unsanitised hands, he reached in and manually overrode the lock on Vortex’s spark case whilst he sent the command for his own to open, and leaned down to press their chests together. Sharp metal scratched against the delicate inner workings of his chest, energon beading along the surface, the pain sharp but a background sensation in the face of the pure panic that was bubbling underneath the surface.
Vortex could die. He was going to die if this didn’t work, and he couldn’t let that happen. What was he supposed to do if he died? It felt unnatural to consider a world that he did not exist in, he couldn’t even remember what his had been like before they first met. Dark, lonely, not worth remembering.
“Woah, woah, woah-” Vortex was in a state of conflict, fighting against two sides of himself that First Aid could see quite clearly as their sparks reached out towards each other and tangled together, his stronger one supporting Vortex’s weakened one. One side of him was rejecting it, wanting to shove him away and bury him in the dirt, to kill him for even thinking of doing something so stupid, so dangerous, so Autobot. The other side of him was on cloud 9, eager to get under his skin and have their sparks nestle against each other forever, whatever it took. To make First Aid carry a piece of him forever, just as much as he would be forced to do the same – the kind of agony that you never got used to, that you would constantly feel scratching against your very being – that a claim had been staked, and there was no going back now. That he had just as much claim over him as his gestalt did, that his commanding officers did, if not more, for when they were gone he’d be all that he had left.
First Aid leaned into the side that was trying to cling onto him, feeling their sparks latch onto each other firmly.
“Careful, you’re still bleeding a lot.” First Aid’s hand reached up to cup his cheek. “If you die whilst we’re connected, I’ll die too.”
He was essentially an oversized life support machine in that moment. He could feel the strain on his systems, the dull ache in his chest and the awkward pull in his spark. Vortex was mentally leaning heavily on him, piggybacking off of him. His legs started to go numb, his arms weak – or was that Vortex? He didn’t know any more, their psyches were mashing together, wires were crossing and-
Chest plates suddenly snapped shut, and First Aid fell back with a gasp. Vents working overtime, his frame suddenly exhausted, he reached up and placed a hand over still-warm metal.
His spark whirred aggressively. It felt heavier.
“Wooooooow~.” Vortex drawled. “Aid. You’ve got something sinister in you.”
“Does it hurt?” First Aid fretted. He could feel pain that wasn’t his radiating from his spark, tingling down his limbs.
“Just where I got blown up.”
“Oh, thank Primus.” He sagged down in relief. “I didn’t know what I’d do if I caused more damage. Okay, okay, stay still.”
“You should have taken the chance to kill me whilst you had it.”
“That’s nonsense and you know it.” First Aid was fast at work, hands flying over his frame to finish up the rest of the damage. Critical fuel lines were sealed, the clamps removed and adjusted. Exposed circuits and cables were covered over and hastily welded – he’d have better materials on base, so he just had to make sure he was stable enough to make it. Vortex watched him silently, hands twitching. He felt the fresh bond ache with each movement.
“Bonds are permanent, you know.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because.” First Aid patiently began. “You said that you wanted me for the rest of your life, didn’t you? Well, I’m the same. So it’s obscene to even consider letting you die. Because you would have otherwise – you know that, right? So don’t go doing anything else stupid.”
A bubbling sense of pride and affection came through the bond. Vortex obediently stayed very, very still while First aid finished, waiting for his command to move again. The moment First Aid sat back to wipe his hands, he glanced up on the ridge and a smirk pulled on the corner of his lips. The medic blinked as he was suddenly slammed onto his back, arms pinned above his head whilst another hand ran sharp claws across his chest plates.
“Thank you, honey. My turn.”
Rotors twitched on his back, flicking towards the ridge. First Aid followed them and saw the outlines of figures stood there and felt his tanks drop. They had an audience.
“Make it look like it wasn’t me?”
“I’ll get off so much lighter than you will if they knew otherwise. I couldn’t have my sweet, sweet little medic kept away from me, could I?”
“Together forever?”
“Together forever.” His engine purred, and his hands forced their way into his chest.
This is an exceedingly random question, but it's been on my mind insomuch that I might have a fic idea stewing in my brain: do you have any thoughts on Cybertronian marriage/bonding concepts or rituals? For example, what exactly makes two people "consorts"?
Omg, I'm so excited to talk about this!! So I actually made a huge list of headcanons for bonding in TFA that I was gonna use as a reference in a fic but then I never got around to the fic. Instead, I'm just gonna toss all those rules in below because I have Some Thoughts™.
But before I get into them, I do wanna say, because TFs don't follow the same gender binary that humans do, I think bonding is seen as an act done between two bots who want to spend the rest of their existence together. There are no "roles" in a relationship, like "wife" or "husband," it is legit just "I am so madly in love with you and I want to spend every moment with you until we both die." As such, bonding for political purposes or class status isn't really a thing. The term consort really works here, since it's a gender-neutral term used to refer to the romantic companion or partner of someone.
Anyway, here's the extensive list of headcanons I threw together. I'm gonna throw a read more in there since this is super long:
You can be legally bonded without being spark bonded.
Legal bonding gives similar benefits to marriage, such as tax benefits, shared insurance, and being priority emergency contact.
Spark bonding often considered closer and more intimate but also more dangerous as when your conjunx dies you spark could go supernova and kill you as well.
As such, it's harder to break a spark bond. While not deadly, it's painful. So most will be legally bonded for a while before eventually spark bonding once their sure the relationship will last.
There are huge benefits to spark bonds though. The major one being that you can reach out through it and sort of communicate with your conjunx. You can't exchange words but you can exchange emotions and sense when they're in pain or distress. It also provides a deeper connection with the conjunx and better synchronicity with them.
Megatron actually banned spark bonds within the Decepticon army pretty early on. He didn't want two soldiers dying when one got killed.
The only exception to this rule is Strika and Lugnut, who got bonded right before the war broke out.
Pre-war bonding ceremonies could be incredibly lavish and similar to weddings with a ceremony followed by a reception and party. Traditionally everyone was expected to dress up in nice armor and decorate with jewelry and capes or robes.
Obviously, those who weren't rich often did smaller ceremonies. One major tradition among many was to get bonded in a bar.
The major acts during the ceremony is to review what was done for conjunx ritus, read vows to each other and exchange vials of innermost energon, have all guests affirm their faith and hope in the relationship, and have a third party (whether that be a higher ranking politician or a bartender) announce the bond as legitimate.
That's all for the legal aspect of bonding. Spark bonding is always done in private, away from everyone else.
Spark bonding is done by touching and merging sparks. Because of how intimate and dangerous this is, it is imperative that it be done in a safe secluded space.
Conjunx Ritus doesn't need to be performed before getting bonded, but it's expected and even concerning if you don't do it. It's like getting engaged before getting married. Not technically required, but definitely expected.
The four acts are: the Act of Intimacy, the Act of Devotion, the Act of Disclosure, and the Act of Profference. These don't have to be done in a specific order. Yeah I stole this straight from MTMTE sue me.
There also isn't really a way to indicate that someone is bonded, like a ring. External displays of bonding just aren't a thing.
That being said, I do think after starting trade routes with Earth and interacting with American culture, some form of transformation safe matching jewelry would start to get big among bonded couples.
That's all I have for now, but I am sure in the future when I incorporate these headcanons into an actual fic, I'll add more!
Spark bonds are a phenomenon not well understood by Cybertronians -- research into the spark in general was Frowned Upon during the Golden Age. Everyone knows they exist, and more or less what they do, but how they do it is an extant question. The dominant hypothesis is a sort of quantum entanglement. Spark bonds more or less mirror the activity of the bonded sparks, which allows bonded mecha to experience each other's emotions to varying degrees. You can sort of communicate instantly over very large distances this way, but it's an imprecise sort of communication, relying on shared impressions, and you have to really know your partner to figure out what they're trying to say.
Spark bonds are divided into a handful of different bond types. These are an entirely cultural distinction -- you could probably find mecha arguing that they differ biologically, but then you'd know that that mech is likely to fall for pseudoscience and conspiracy theories, and you'd know not to take their shit seriously lmao.
For unknown reasons, some mecha find it easier to create and maintain a bond than others. It's basically impossible to know how easily you'll be able to bond with a certain partner ahead of time. Sometimes you'll take three tries to establish resonance and have to merge sparks frequently and regularly afterwards to maintain the bond. Extremely rarely, you'll find mecha that straight up accidentally bond the first time they merge sparks because their sparks just vibe with each other that much.
The broadly-recognized bond types are:
cadre bonding (binary bonds, trinary bonds, group bonds) -- bonds forged between a 'found family' group. These might be explicitly romantic, or they might be more platonic, or they might be both. Cybertronian society doesn't really draw a distinction between romance and sufficiently-close friendship. Some social groups idealise two partners, some idealise three, others idealise seven, and others just don't give a damn as long as u can afford it. There isn't really a hard limit on the number of bonds a spark can sustain.
gestalt bonding (combiners) -- you have to be bonded to be a part of a combiner group. It just vastly improves group cohesion when u don't just think but feel on the same wavelength as ur arms and legs and whatnot. The only reason this isn't considered a sort of cadre bond is that combiners are made this way.
keynote bonding (lots of different situations) -- an umbrella term for lots of different social structures where one or more mecha acts as an agent of sorts for one or more other mecha who for whatever reason can't participate equally in Cybertronian society. Minicons often do this (it's traditional in some mountainous areas), as do satellites and shuttles. Bonding in this case is more or less like a regular cadre bond with a couple extra societal dynamics. The most famous examples are sparked ships and cities, which might have anywhere between one and fifty keynote-bonded stewards acting on their behalf. In this case, it's half a close friendship and half a job.
twin bonding ("twins") -- sometimes sparks come out of the Well of All Sparks already bonded. Nobody knows why. Most 'generations' of Well-born sparks have one or two twin sets born among them, so they're rare but not interestingly rare, so to speak. They can be identified by the brand-new newbuilds inconsolably seeking each other out with absolutely no idea what they're looking for, they just know that they need whatever it is. (Also might not be twins but triplets or more!)
parental bonding (incubated newsparks) -- newsparks created by a spark merge and incubated within a parent's frame end up with a bond just by proximity. These bonds decay naturally over time, and by the time the newspark is in their adult frame it's long gone.
All bonds will fade over time -- you can refresh your bond, so to speak, by merging sparks. If you want to break your bond, you have to just let it slowly decay. Putting long distances between yourself and your ex helps. A sudden breaking of bonds can occur only when one spark dies, and the backlash in this case can be injurious or even fatal to the surviving spark. The more resonant the bond, the worse it hurts.
Because of all this, spark bonds are mostly not what's considered by law. Wanna get married in the eyes of the Primacy? Go down to ur local Emporium and file the appropriate paperwork. Wanna get divorced? File the paperwork. Wanna friend-marry ur best friend? Paperwork. Kinship -- of any sort -- on Cybertron is mostly a result of paperwork. Full-on spark bonding is kind of intimidating for a lot of people, so many just settle for the legal version instead.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 13/13
Fandom: Transformers Generation One
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings (Additional Warnings In Author's Note)
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime, Optimus Prime & Ratchet, mentioned Megatron/Starscream, Mentioned Optimus Prime/Ratchet, Megatron & Soundwave
Additional Tags: Accidental Bonding, Accidental Marriage, mutually assured destruction, Angst, Consent Issues, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, spark bonding, Enemies to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, Slow Burn, Sticky Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), Organ Fondling, bottom Optimus, Angst with a Happy Ending, mostly..
Summary: For reasons known only to Primus, the matrix forces Megatron and Optimus to spark bond. Since neither of them are capable of ever giving up, they have to find a way forward through the barrage of feelings they can't control or understand.
Posted chapters 12 & 13 today, which means Lesser Evil is FINISHED. It is complete. my little heart can’t handle this.
