@tacticturn (Skywarp) asked —
[ flat ] — Megatron fucks Skywarp while they’re face-down and helpless
[ beg ] — Skywarp begs Megatron to cum
It'd been an unintentional sort of foreplay, an odd game of hide and seek. Megatron had the capacity to move in short bursts at lightning speed; it wasn't quite teleportation, but he could see his enemies attacks as though they were in slow motion — as if he had consumed red energon. He had the ability to teleport once, up until he lost the power he absorbed from the Omega Lock. Yet, with his ability for multidimensional travel, Megatron wondered if he might be able to harness that power in a different sort of way — to track the movement of others no matter the speed.
Skywarp's ability to teleport, in combination with their strategic unpredictability, was the ideal challenge; after a while, she seemed keen to the game, aware of what he was doing trying to track her movements mid-warp until she would vop into unexpected existence and taunt him in this seemingly endless game of tag, saying with a pat to his helm or a kiss to his cheek nice try but he was still it.
Much to his amusement, they became bolder in their attempts. Vopping into the washracks to tell him he had missed a spot; vopping into his lap while he led a meeting from his throne; vopping into his personal quarters to lecture his boring and depressing decor. Eventually, he became wise to how the energy shifted when Skywarp was near, sensing it in his EMF like ghost-like static bristling upwards along his spinal strut.
It's what he felt when he walked into his personal quarters, the energy coiling like a knot within his sensornet the closer he came to his berth. It was what led to him reaching up and snagging Skywarp mid-teleport out of the air. Successful as he was, Megatron didn't account for the surge of energy that made the world go sideways and seemingly dissolved his sensornet to sparks that nearly overloaded both of them as he yanked Skywarp from the warp field and pressed her face down into his berth.
His frame still trembled with surges of charge, cooling fans straining as he barely heard Skywarp's muffled complaining — something about being caught and horny from the energy field maxing out and that since it was his fault, he better do something about it, and that he had better be much better in bed than he was at vop hide and seek.
—Cute that she had a name for it.
Megatron has enough wherewithal to press Skywarp into the berth by the back of the neck, leaning over her to grind his array into her backside, acquainting her with the strength of him. "You're in no position to be making demands," he taunts against her audial, teasing his fingertips over the expanse of their wings. "But I do intend to savor my victory."
He strokes lower, surprised to find her panels already open. His own spike responds in kind, growing uncomfortably tight beneath his panels. Removing his hand from Skywarp's neck, he gathers her wrists, holding them together with one servo and keeping her pinned where she is as he kneels between her legs. Wanting nothing more than to consume her, he sinks his tongue through the plush folds of her valve, her lubricant dribbling down his chin as he laps at her anterior node. He swirls his tongue over the node, an endless rhythm that borders between too-light-too-much as he hums approvingly at the way she trembles, ventilations stuttering.
Megatron keeps the pace tortuous as he nudges the bluntness of a digit against her entrance, slicking it with her lubricant. He presses in slowly, testing the elasticity of her calipers as he curls his digit once— twice— a third time before pressing another digit in, wanting to stretch her appropriately. It isn't until he edges her to near overload that he stops, pausing to wipe the mess of her lubricant from his chin. He waits, mumbling praise before he presses three digits in and decides she is ready.
He continues to frag her with his fingers as he stands, his armor hissing with a burst of steam as he releases his spike from its housing. Withdrawing his hand, he takes hold of his spike and lines himself. Rutting himself through her folds, he coats his spike with her lubricants before he leans back and presses in. He leans forward, over her as his hand falls from his spike and slides beneath her, feeling as her armor and protoform stretches as he hilts himself.
Kissing her neck, he vents, "Tell me to stop if it becomes too much. Otherwise, I'll decide when you get to overload."
Slowly, he leans back, easing back to thrust in. His movements are shallow, testing the stretch of her calipers before he is satisfied to set a harsh pace. Sliding his hand on her abdominal plating further down yet, he brushes a digit over her anterior node.
She'll beg to overload soon enough — and once she's through, he'll be sure to remind her that it's her turn to be it.
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