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The heat had taken Megatron by surprise. With no time to prepare, and his need becoming increasingly ungovernable, he had locked himself in his habsuite to ride it out. It would be unwise, as Decepticon leader, to show his face in his weakened and vulnerable state.
However, three cycles in, and with his heat showing no sign of abating, Megatron had become miserable.
He didn't expect his desperate prayers-and threats- to Unicron to be answered: to bring him a loyal mech who would break his heat before anyone unsavory found out about his condition.
Presently, there were three mechs kneeling at the foot of his berth.
Tarn, he expects, as his loyal and most trusted soldier. The other two… seemed intimately familiar. Like he’d known them in another life. The names ‘Lugnut’ and ‘Inferno’ floated to the top of his processor.
“My glorious leader, how may I serve you?” asked Lugnut, genuflecting so deeply his forehelm brushed the floor.
“My queen, it’s an honor to be summoned,” said Inferno, prostrating himself likewise.
“My lord,” said Tarn simply, noting Megatron’s urgency and skipping some of the formalities.
Megatron felt a sense of security around these three. They were far too loyal to betray his confidence. He hoped they were just as skilled in their lovemaking.
His heat-drenched valve clenched as he beckoned his dutiful warriors closer. Judging from their lustful expressions as they rise, they’re affected by the potent scent of his pheromones.
“You’ve been summoned to remedy my unfortunate situation,” explains Megatron, sliding open his panel to display his wet valve. “Tarn, I require your spike first.”
Tarn bows, assuming an egregiously affected stance to show off his big, heavy frame.
Megatron would have rolled his optics if he wasn't so eager for spike. As it was, the sight of that big, heavy frame was doing things to him.
At Megatron’s instruction, Tarn lies on the berth, and Megatron straddles him, facing away. Tarn's spike pressurizes, huge and rigid, throbbing between his legs. Megatron runs his fist over the thick, banded segments and guides it into himself.
Yes… this was just what he needed.
Due to his frantic self-servicing prior to this, his valve is open and ready. Tarn’s spike sinks in, and keeps coming and coming until the head rests directly against his ceiling node. Tarn pulls back and drives his spike against it.
Megatron roars as his array explodes with sensation. That deep spot, tender and aching, grasps for stimulation. More lubricant floods his valve. Tarn’s spike slides in and out, ridges dragging along the mesh as Megatron opens for him.
Meanwhile, Lugnut has crawled over to the edge of the berth, kneeling with his face inches from Megatron’s twitching valve. It seems the heat signals have become too much for him to resist.
“The sweet scent of your arousal is intoxicating,” he exclaims. “Please, my lord, your frame aches for more pleasure. I can-”
“Lick me. At once!” commands Megatron. Immediately, Lugnut buries his face in his valve and laps at his external node. Megatron growls, riding Tarn harder.
As his valve relaxes around the hefty intrusion, juices collect in pearls at his slit, dribbling down Tarn’s shaft. He rocks his hips, tilting them forward so Lugnut can lavish his node with attention as Tarn thrusts into him.
He's greedy for an overload. Moans rumble out of him as he rides Tarn roughly, despite the wobbliness in his frame. He chases his pleasure, burying his spike up to the root, slamming his hips up and down, rubbing all his sensors at once. The upward curve of Tarn’s shaft ensures that his ceiling node is pummeled with every plunging thrust. Considering Tarn is also aggressive with his thrusts and just in general, Megatron’s needy valve is given an intense and excellent fucking. He clenches hard around Tarn’s spike as he’s thrust against Lugnut’s exceedingly skilled glossa.
Not to be left out, Inferno crawls up behind Megatron and wraps his arms around his middle. His spike rubs the edge of Megatron’s valve, poking into his exposed port. Megatron pants with desire.
“An additional spiking to your port will better soothe your inflamed condition, glorious Queen,” Inferno croons, mandibles clicking by his audial. “Please, allow me.”
“Yes,” Megatron pleads, jutting his hips back receptively. “Do it.”
Oh, this will send him over exquisitely.
Inferno pushes his slender appendage up his hole. This, along with Lugnut’s glossa and Tarn’s spike-three points of contact to his most sensitive places- triggers an explosive overload.
As Megatron exclaims his immense pleasure, Lugnut laps up his spilled lubricant. A torrent is ejected from his valve, smearing his face, but he licks it up greedily.
As Megatron drifts back to reality, his three soldiers continue to serve him without pause. Megatron’s frame likewise seems to have gained a mind of its own, and he maintains a fervent pace, unable to slow even a moment. Tarn and Inferno thrust recklessly into him, their spikes twitching with the first signs of overload.
“Inferno,” snarls Megatron, thrusting his hips back and giving his spike a warning squeeze, “don't you dare waste any of your essence in my port.”
“I would never,” Inferno asserts. “My only role in life is to breed my queen. Your forge will receive every drop.”
Megatron’s heat-stricken processor likes the sound of that.
“...And,” Inferno continues, resting his hands possessively on Megatron’s waist, “it seems my queen’s frame is exceptionally suited for breeding.”
He digs his thin, pointed spike deeper into his port, and Megatron groans, clamping down.
“It’s so responsive,” purrs Inferno. “Your riding is so vigorous and wild, and your holes grasp at our spikes, seeking transfluid. Excellent instincts, my queen.”
“Indeed, my lord. Your frame is incredible,” murmurs Tarn, running his hands up his waist and over his chest.
“So strong and grabbable…” adds Lugnut, grasping his hips in both claws and squeezing.
Megatron’s engine roars at their praise, and he increases the ferocity of his riding twofold.
Anything to encourage his servants to frag and grope him harder.
“I’m ready, my lord,” gasps Tarn. His thrusts have sped up, and his spike is knocking against the seal of his gestation chamber, ready to fill it. Megatron eagerly brings his hips down to coax his spike against it. His forge is warm and ready to be bathed in as much transfluid as it could carry. Only then would this incessant heat recede.
“Give it to me,” demands Megatron, slamming his hips down.
Tarn overloads with a harsh growl. Megatron holds the tip of his spike against his open forge, and lets every scalding drop flood into it. A shiver of relief passes through his frame. Finally, finally, he’s gotten what he’s been craving. But it’s not nearly enough.
In his throbbing port, another spike twitches impatiently.
“Remove your spike so I may breed the Royalty next,” demands Inferno.
Megatron groans as Tarn’s thick spike is withdrawn and replaced with a more slender, pointed appendage. It slides up, and up, into his gestation chamber.
Megatron’s optics flare, and his helm tips back as the tight entrance to his forge is teased open. Inferno is fragging his chamber. It’s not merely being tapped against. It’s powerfully stimulating, feeling his spike slide in and out.
Aided by Tarn’s overload, Inferno’s fervent thrusts are accompanied by wet squelching. The tip of his spike drags along the inside of his chamber as if he’s trying to dig Tarn’s essence out. Megatron bares his denta, unwilling to lose any of the precious fluid, but getting his forge stimulated makes it impossible to think. He can feel his thrusts in his abdomen, spark, and tingling up through his helm.
He’s going to overload again.
But Inferno finishes first, with a pleased hiss, depositing his own transfluid. He’s hardly extracted his spike before Lugnut stands, grabs Megatron’s hips, and rams his spike against his entrance. Megatron’s lust-dazed processor barely registers the enormity of his thick, studded spike before it’s shoved up his valve.
Megatron roars, grinding down onto him, as another overload hits him. An impressive amount of transfluid splashes his internals, hitting the seal of his chamber so hard it snaps open on its own. Lugnut pours his essence in until Megatron is heavy with it.
“That’s it, my lord. Accept it all,” Lugnut encourages, bouncing him on his spike. Megatron moans as the motion digs his spike even harder against the mouth of his forge.
Exhausted, and pleasantly full of transfluid, Megatron slumps onto Lugnut, whose spike shifts in his valve. It draws back, and back… and slams in. Lugnut wraps his thick arms around his waist and starts right up again, pounding his oversensitive valve.
Megatron can only grunt in mild disapproval as he’s shoved onto his back, pinned down, and fragged with merciless zeal.
“My deepest apologies!” pants Lugnut, not looking even a little apologetic. “My spike can't possibly wane in the presence of your glorious frame, my lord.”
Megatron sets his jaw. He can’t just lie here all cycle and get fragged like a queen. Or perhaps he could. He’s having trouble concentrating with Lugnut brutishly shafting his pliant valve. The heat coding hasn’t switched off yet, and desire is still coursing through him. Megatron knows it’s been sated regardless, and he ought to dismiss his servants so he could get back to his duties. He grips the berth and struggles to assume a commanding tone.
“I-I’ve taken plenty of your essence. It will resolve from here on its o-own,” he stutters, as he’s pounded into the berth.
“Mighty leader, you're still plagued by heat. Please, allow me to pleasure you until it has abated!” says Lugnut. His relentless thrusts continue to connect with Megatron’s swollen ceiling node, causing his valve to constrict helplessly around his shaft.
Thoroughly unable to stop himself, Megatron raises his hips for more.
Lugnut frags him while Tarn and Inferno stand by, ready to service him immediately afterward. Megatron watches Tarn grip his massive spike and squeeze it, stroking it to it’s proper steel-like firmness. Inferno’s appendage is likewise stiffening; his long spike designed to penetrate the delicate entrance of his chamber… or his port again, if he were so inclined.
Megatron relaxes back onto the berth and takes everything he's given.
He couldn't have asked for anything better.