Chapter Text
Megatron had not imagined this in any great detail, but he was aware enough to admit -- at least in the quiet of his own head -- that he had certain expectations about what Rodimus would be like in the berth.
His expectations had been thoroughly trampled.
Beneath him, Rodimus stretched on his back across the berth. The edges of that ridiculous spoiler dug into the padding and threatened to tear the mesh coverings. A writhe twisted from his hips up through his torso to lift his back in a sinuous arch. Small shivers clattered his plating. His eyes were a deep and vibrant blue, but their glow spilled without focus as he threw his head back. His lips parted soundlessly.
That was the strange thing: the quiet.
Megatron did not know what to do with it. The shattered silence unnerved him in a way that the sharp smiles and derisive laughter had not. That he had expected. That had been nearly familiar.
This was dangerous.
EARLIER
"We'll meet back here in six hours and we'll plan together," Megatron said, and Rodimus said -- something. He didn't remember what. It was really awesome, though, he was sure about that.
Absently, Rodimus reached out to pull the knife from his desk. He flipped it end over end in his hand and glanced around his quarters. Planning. Right. For a moment, he considered sending Magnus a message asking for advice, but it took only a second imagining the carefully contained enthusiasm that was all too likely to result for him to wince away from the idea. He was pretty sure that there would be lists involved -- spreadsheets just for preparing, a plan to plan, and he wasn't ready for that.
No, if he was going to plan with Megatron, Rodimus was going to do this his way.
Thus, having put Megatron from his thoughts, his prompt arrival six hours later caught Rodimus entirely by surprise.
Rodimus was deeply involved in trying to shave a few seconds off of his course record on Ibex Cup Classic. The chime at his door startled him, sending him off the track. He watched in dismay as he crashed. Throwing the controller down on his desk, he opened the door in a simmer of irritation. Seeing Megatron standing in the hallway did not help his mood.
"What?" Rodimus snapped.
Megatron did nothing so obvious as smirk. No, he just let his gaze slide over Rodimus and into his office and then back again. Rodimus could feel the plates of his back slide against each other as his spoiler twitched aggravation.
"Six hours," Megatron said.
Rodimus answered with silence and a blank stare.
A smirk settling in and getting comfortable, Megatron said, "Something about planning me into the ground, wasn't it? Shall we get started planning me into next week?"
That ... sounded familiar. It also sounded a lot more lame when Megatron said it. The words sort of rolled off his tongue to saunter around with feline satisfaction, pausing here and there rub in a knowing, sardonic smugness. For all that they were Rodimus's words, he suddenly felt like he was missing a joke.
It was pretty annoying. Rodimus resisted the temptation to snap the door shut in Megatron's face and mentally high-fived himself for his virtue.
Stepping to the side, Rodimus gestured elaborate, I-totally-didn't-forget-about-this welcome. "Yeah, absolutely. Let's get planning."
Megatron stepped into Rodimus's quarters. He glanced at the display and his smirk failed in favor of a broadly exasperated blankness.
Somehow that was even worse. "I am going to plan you through the wall," Rodimus muttered.
Megatron turned off the game with a firm gesture. "We'll see about that."
"Hey!" Rodimus's objection came too late. He launched himself toward Megatron and slapped his hands away from the computer's controls. He hadn't even saved!
Megatron caught Rodimus's hand by the wrist. His grip was strong.
Rodimus broke Megatron's hold with a twist of his arm. Was Megatron sneaking fuel on the side? That'd just figure. Heat lingered where Megatron's hand had been only a second ago.
Rodimus turned away to study his office. His thoughts blanked as he searched for something ... plannish. Maybe he should've sent that message to Magnus, after all. He had no idea what to do.
He turned toward to Megatron only to stop with a sudden start on finding him standing close. Very close. With a sudden, visceral awareness, Rodimus could feel the heat of Megatron's frame warming the air a handspan distant. Rodimus startled at the click of his own vents cycling open.
Rodimus scrambled a step away only to feel his spoiler hit the wall at his back.
Megatron's hand hit the wall next to his head a moment later.
Heat crawled over Rodimus's frame, followed by a sudden chill. His spark thrummed, spilling extra energy into his wiring in case he had to fight. He remembered -- he remembered being surprised by Megatron before; he remembered a pulse of surprise and then a sudden nothing.
Megatron reached for him with his other hand. Rodimus stood frozen, spark racing, before he gathered himself to turn away. Moving away from the reach of Megatron's hand only forced him against the brace of Megatron's arm next to his head.
Megatron suddenly stopped, a single finger resting on Rodimus's waist. The touch sent an electric shiver crawling across Rodimus's plating. He was intensely aware of how close they were standing and the strength that defeat could not erase from Megatron's frame. Heat bloomed in his chest; ice slowed his limbs.
Megatron, caught in apparent surprise by his turn, shifted. He dropped his arm and stepped back, leaving Rodimus room to move.
Rodimus watched with a sense of wonder as the great Slag-Maker shuffled back a step and looked uncertain. His temperature steadied and processor cleared.
The long-term implications of strategy were not, admittedly, Rodimus's strength. This, though -- this was just a tactical exercise. He saw weakness and, with a lightning flash of intuition, understood.
Okay, not murder.
Rodimus dusted off one of his better smiles, pouring into it all the confidence that he could summon. The baffled confusion dawning in Megatron's gaze was all the reward he could ask for.
"Oh, yeah." Rodimus surged forward, suddenly sure of himself, and Megatron fell back before him.
Any doubts that Rodimus had in his plan -- and it was a pretty nebulous plan, he'd admit, thus far consisting of 'Holy slag, Megatron wants to frag.' and 'I'm going to frag the hell out of Megatron!' -- melted away. Confidence flooded his systems with a heady rush of power.
One step, two: Megatron's thighs hit the edge of his desk. Rodimus indulged himself watching Megatron's features suffuse with anticipation as Rodimus hitched his leg up so that his knee hit the desk next to him.
Rodimus stretched up toward Megatron. Pressing the gold of his chest to the warming silver of Megatron's frame, Rodimus laughed at the sudden growl of interest from Megatron's systems. "Uh huh. That's what I thought."
Wrapping his arms around Megatron's shoulders, Rodimus smiled in satisfaction. Megatron's hands came to rest at his waist, pulling him closer. Rodimus settled in, shifting the load of his frame to Megatron, who simply moved back on the desk to take on more of it.
Rodimus felt the weight pulled off his other foot so that his toes only just trailed against the floor. His weight fell fully against Megatron, and he hung supported by the wrap of his arms around Megatron's shoulders and the arm settling around his waist. He felt the same dizzying, light-headed rush that had accompanied some of his better stunts.
"So when I said planning...?" Rodimus nosed along Megatron's cheek and glanced sidelong. He tilted his head and breathed his words into a very attentive audial: "You didn't think I meant planning."
Megatron sounded annoyed. "Of course not. Do you even listen to yourself?"
Rodimus ducked his head and pressed a grin against Megatron's throat. "I try not to," he murmured. He plucked at the cables of Megatron's throat with his lips and tongue.
"Obviously." Megatron's hands tightened on Rodimus's hips, then slid up the line of his spine in a sure stroke. Rodimus wiggled and arched his back, pushing into the touch of Megatron's hand. "If you had listened to yourself, you wouldn't be even slightly surprised by this. Weeks, months of bickering, bantering, flirting--."
Rodimus breathed an appreciative sigh as Megatron pushed his fingers between the joints of his spoilers against his back. "Okay, whatever I said, clearly we were working off a misunderstanding." He shifted to look at Megatron. "Right now, I think we understand each other pretty well."
"For once," Megatron agreed. His hand tightened on Rodimus's waist, pulling him in with a hard click of metal, gold to silver.
The pull drew Rodimus's other foot off the floor entirely. His weight hung fully suspended. He shifted, drawing up both legs to straddle Megatron's hips, and scooted forward with an eagerness that sent datapads scattering to the floor as his knees bumped them.
His hips stretched to accommodate the width of Megatron's body. The ache felt delicious. A shiver crept over Rodimus's frame and sent bolts of prickling heat to his interface array. A minor transformation sequence widened the stance of his hips and he sank down against Megatron as gravity drew them together.
Rodimus rolled his hips down against Megatron with a grin, grinding into the dark metal of his pelvic panel. He could feel the warmth of Megatron's core heating through the metal. Rodimus was willing and ready to crank that from 'gentle heat' to 'scorching hot'.
"There's probably something to be learned here," Rodimus said. "Something about proper communication, about assumptions -- I can't believe you just assumed I'd want to frag you!"
"Rodimus," said Megatron in a very patient sort of voice.
"Megatron," Rodimus mimicked back.
"Are you really going to mock my assumptions when you are grinding against me like a turbofox in heat?"
An icy bolt of embarrassment bit Rodimus's spark.
When he faltered, Megatron's hand spread over his hip to hook against the armoring of his thigh. "I didn't tell you to stop."
"Okay. How about we leave the cutting comments outside of the berth, then?" Rodimus sounded far more uncertain than he cared to admit, so he covered it digging his fingers deep into Megatron's shoulder joint. He dragged his fingertips along sensors that were hypersensitive for their lack of touch and pulled at wires already prickling with charge.
He was rewarded by a grunt, but that slight noise pleased Rodimus all out of proportion.
"Nothing like a change of pace," Megatron said.
"That's me. A change of pace." Slipping his other hand down Megatron's chest, Rodimus paused to grind his thumb into the curving, twining lines carved across Megatron's body. He dipped his head, following the path of his thumb with his tongue and was rewarded by the sound of vents opening to shed heat.
Gliding his fingertips lightly down the ribbing of Megatron's waist, Rodimus rose up to look down at Megatron. He ground his palm against Megatron's pelvic panel. "Open up. Let's see what we've got to work with."
"Ah," said Megatron. He notably failed to transform back the plating.
Rodimus drummed his fingers on Megatron's waist. "What, do you want an engraved invitation?"
Megatron grasped Rodimus by the hips and lifted him, setting him back on his feet. Rodimus could only startle back in surprise as he regained his balance. "Megatron?"
Looking down at him with aggrieved exasperation, Megatron said, "I think it's time we went over some things."
"Oh my God, no, I've had the talk, what is this." Rodimus slumped against the wall at his back and covered his face with his hands. He split his fingers to peek at Megatron from behind them. Despite himself, he smirked at the deepening exasperation on Megatron's features.
Dropping his hands, Rodimus waved them and said, "I know how it works! Believe me, I've got all the right firewalls and shields. No uploads, no viruses."
Megatron looked slightly startled, then said, "So you don't--?"
"Don't what?" asked Rodimus, coming to rest with his hands on his hips.
After a grudging pause, Megatron said, "Spike. Valve."
Rodimus stared back. "Of course I do."
Megatron dragged his hands down his face. "Decepticons typically do not carry those mods." At whatever look he saw on Rodimus's face, he snapped, "Do you need a history lesson?"
"What?" Rodimus tapped the side of his head as though his hearing had glitched. "What? Wait, I thought I just heard you say--."
"It was an indulgence, an affectation of the upper class!" Megatron growled. He surged forward, stepping away from the desk and backing Rodimus against the wall.
Rodimus went willingly. He leaned against the wall, and reached for Megatron. Megatron was still talking, but Rodimus wasn't really listening: "We are superior to organics," he said.
Rodimus bit at the cables of Megatron's throat, catching them lightly between his teeth. He licked along and between them, forcing a catch in the rant. Blah, blah, mechanical superiority, blah, blah, biological inferiority.
Megatron rallied, finishing, "We don't mimic them."
Rodimus lifted his head to nuzzle at the underside of Megatron's jaw. "Oh my God, you are such a Decepticon," he said into the face of Megatron's irritation.
"Were you onlined with those mods?"
Rodimus flashed back to Hot Rod, to Nyon, to desperate, dirty streets and falling ashes. He leaned back and frowned up at Megatron. "They're mine, now!"
Megatron's expression read satisfaction to Rodimus's eye. Annoying. Rodimus slipped his fingers back beneath Megatron's armoring and pinched at a sensitive knot of wiring. Megatron started, catching at his hand. Rodimus began to pull away, but Megatron simply folded his hand in his own.
Rodimus didn't know what to do with that. He stood there, caught by surprise, and -- briefly, almost against his will -- listened, arrested by the intensity of Megatron's gaze.
"Your case is common," Megatron said. "The Autobots kept them not as a sign of their compassion for the lower races but rather for their overtly classist--"
Rodimus lunged forward and sealed his lips to Megatron's mouth in a searing kiss to shut him up. He was so not here for this. All this 'Autobots bad' was cooling his systems like they'd been plunged in liquid nitrogen. Back to basics.
Rodimus bit at Megatron's lower lip -- not hard, but enough to register his disapproval of the topic. Rewarded by the pleased rumble of Megatron's frame, Rodimus soothed the nip with the lap of his tongue and drew back. "No politics."
"Very well," Megatron agreed, but he sounded annoyed.
Rodimus grinned anyway, then settled back down his heels from his tiptoe lunge. He pulled his hand from Megatron's grasp somewhat reluctantly. "Of course, I'm not exactly sure how we're going to make this work without...." He trailed off somewhat uncertainly.
To Rodimus's consternation, Megatron started laughing.
Throwing his arms up, Rodimus stalked for his berthroom past the doors of his office. Megatron caught up to him just inside the doors, slipping his hands around his waist.
They fell easily into step. The nudge of Megatron's thighs against the back of his legs moved Rodimus's feet forward a step at a time. Rodimus rested his hands over Megatron's and tilted his head back against the silver metal at his back. The heat at his back thrilled him to the core. "You've got an idea, then, genius," Rodimus said.
"Yes," said Megatron. He herded Rodimus to his berth.
Rather than take the cue and sit, Rodimus turned to face Megatron.
Megatron looked puzzled. "Just how young were you--"
That question was going nowhere good. Rodimus cut it off with a gesture. "Okay! Let's skip to the part where you tell me how we frag! Huh? How about that? None of this -- whatever this is." Feelings. That's what it sounded like. Feelings.
Megatron was on exasperated look number, like fifteen, and Rodimus was getting tired of it. He swept the side, and pushed Megatron down into his berth.
Rodimus stood there, frozen still in a moment's dizzied disorientation, as the Decepticon -- oh, sorry, Autobot now -- warlord made himself comfortable with some good-natured grumbling. Rodimus startled a moment later as Megatron slapped the berth with an impatient hand.
Crawling onto the berth, Rodimus asked, "Well?" He slipped his leg over Megatron, settling atop him again. Sliding his hands up Megatron's chest, Rodimus become fascinated by the swirling lines under his hands. He followed them with the slide of his palms, with the tips of his fingers, then leaned down to trace them with breath and lips.
Megatron's response was ... delayed. At length, Rodimus lifted his head, gratified by the quickening of Megatron's breath. "Typically, physical touch is amplified by a hardline conn--"
"You have to be kidding me!" Rodimus interrupted.
Megatron glowered and finished, "--ection, that shares and amplifies sensation."
"A hardline connection!"
"Yes."
"Decepticons!"
"Yes.."
It wasn't that Rodimus was unfamiliar with the concept. Most of the Autobots had their valve ports capped, after all, so that a spike couldn't accidentally jack in when fragging. It was dangerous to allow for that level of connection. It bypassed all kinds of reasonable safeties. That was conjunx stuff, like sparks.
Rodimus watched as Megatron clenched his hands. He had a vivid mental image of being thrown to the floor, and reached to take Megatron's hands before imagination could become reality. He filed the mental image for later, though.
He wasn't sure what to do with Megatron's hands once he had them, but Rodimus was a master of improvisation. He slipped the tips of his fingers along Megatron's wrist, just where the heavier armoring of his arm opened to the more delicate components of his hand. He rubbed and plucked and teased at wires and lines that received precious little attention, judging from Megatron's attentiveness.
"Okay. You don't have a spike -- cord -- so how exactly do you jack in?" Rodimus asked.
"I can show you," Megatron offered.
Rodimus hesitated. "What about protection?"
Megatron, for his part, look flabbergasted. "You have firewalls don't you?"
"Ye--es?"
"It's only a base level connection. What do they even teach you? You don't know anything about your frames," Megatron grumbled in a long, mumbling growl.
Rodimus couldn't help it: he threw back his head and laughed. "You sound like Kup! Scrap, how old are you?" Megatron slipped one of his hands with an irritated gesture. "Never mind, don't answer. You're already fragile enough I feel like I'm taking advantage of you."
That got the first real angry look he'd earned thus far, so Rodimus apologized by reaching to dig his thumbs into the seams of Megatron's shoulders. He coaxed a moan from Megatron by digging after every single spot that had earlier earned a twitch of sensitivity.
"Yeah, yeah. You're a big bad Decepticon," Rodimus soothed with a sharp little grin. He ran a quick internal check of his firewalls and anti-viral programs, then wet his lips. He saw Megatron's eyes shift, tracking the tip of his tongue, and did it again just to watch Megatron's eyes narrow.
Rodimus grinned, suddenly much more certain. He wiggled down against Megatron, thighs splitting wide, and eagerly demanded, "Show me."
Megatron did.
The silence was unnerving.
It had begun well enough. Megatron had run a line to plug into one of Rodimus's ports. He had a surprisingly number of ports for an Autobot, tucked just beneath the hood of his chest.
It reminded Megatron of -- well, of memories he'd rather forget, cast in shades of blue and red and white and a quiet voice. Rodimus's smile haunted Megatron with memories of a dark and laughing face.
But when he had made the connection, it drew Megatron from the past and seated him firmly in the present. The flavor of his electronic signature was uniquely him, just as much as the obnoxious splatter of his paint. As he told Rodimus, it was little more than a medical connection. It allowed them to share information from their sensornets and to trade charge, but it just wasn't possible for this kind of connection to go any deeper. Even in that, however, Megatron could recognize Rodimus as singular. There was no comparison.
The heat of Rodimus's frame was unreal. The way he responded so readily to the slightest touch surprised Megatron every time. He was well aware that Rodimus had been a frontline fighter. It was a ridiculous weakness, keeping that degree of sensitivity in his frame rather than having the medics sensibly reduce the number of sensors beneath his armoring.
Megatron didn't complain. The obscene responsiveness made Megatron feel powerful as little had since joining this sham of a quest. The drag of his fingers tracing Rodimus's transformation seams could bring the Autobot arching off berth with so little effort.
The quick pant of Rodimus's breath was quickly becoming Megatron's favorite sound.
The hardline connection allowed him some sense of what felt best for Rodimus. He could feel everything as Rodimus felt it -- at a remove, yes, but as ridiculously sensitive as he was, Megatron was almost grateful for that. His own frame had been altered so many times that he scarcely felt a connection, and he'd had the sensors dulled with every rebuild. That Rodimus had managed to coax as much response as he had said something about his determination -- and maybe about Megatron's attraction.
Reversing their positions, Megatron rolled Rodimus beneath him. "Stay."
"I'll think about it," Rodimus said.
He was not unfamiliar with the modifications that Rodimus sported. The spike and valve -- cord and port -- were a gross parody of hardline connection. It was intimacy made crude by biological mockery. It was dangerous, bypassing a sensible sensornet exchange to allow for a connection at deeper levels of programming.
There were those who would swear that the spike and valve had been part of the Cybertronian race since their creation, but Megatron had never bought into that. The fact that cold-created mechs were all too often not onlined with those mods, and that this was used as proof of their inferiority, seemed evidence enough to Megatron. It was one more tool of the establishment to keep the lower castes down.
It was a ridiculous affectation, a relic of Nova Prime's expansionist days, when Intellectual- and Military-caste mechs mimicked the lower-lifeforms that they conquered in some sort of bizarre colonialist appropriation.
Megatron slipped down Rodimus's frame. The biolights at his waist may as well have been giant arrows for all the subtlety with which they drew Megatron to Rodimus's pelvic panel. Megatron had barely brushed his fingers along the ribbed armoring before the plates eagerly transformed.
Megatron hid a laugh in the duck of his head. It was strangely flattering. Already partly pressurized, Rodimus's spike rose from its housing. His spike seemed proportionate to his frame -- perhaps smaller than others Megatron had handled, but then Rodimus was smaller, too. The length of it suited Megatron's palm as he stroked it to fullness.
"What, no flames?" The relative subtlety of the paint job -- red and orange, of course, with gold highlights, but frankly what did he expect -- surprised Megatron. Rodimus indulged himself in nothing more than the biolights along its length.
"I think I'm hot enough." Rodimus laughed, reaching for Megatron to trace the seams of his helm.
It was the connectors tucked behind the slit at the head of Rodimus's spike that drew Megatron's gaze more than any other adornment. The bandwidth suggested there flooded his body with heat.
It awoke a phantom hunger in his core that he had to work to banish. Megatron had not, would not indulge in such biophillic modifications no matter how much charge Rodimus could send through his cord into a waiting port. Not to mention the dangers of tangling programming that deeply!
Still--
No.
Megatron pushed Rodimus's spike to the side somewhat dismissively, receiving a, "Hey!" of dismay from above. He moved on.
The glow of Rodimus's anterior node was tucked behind the folds of his valve. The rush of spark-warmed energon that flooded Rodimus's interfacing mods radiated a gentle warmth against Megatron's hands. Lubricant dampened the gentle mesh in testament to Rodimus's arousal. When Megatron slid his finger along the slit, the folds parted with ease.
"What, first time?" Rodimus was clearly not one for patience. His hips twisted as he dragged up on his elbows. "For starters you might want to--"
Dropping his helm, Megatron stroked his tongue over Rodimus's anterior node, revealed by the slide of his fingers.
"Yeah, okay," Rodimus said. His head fell back with a thump. That put a quick end to that advice.
Allowing himself a moment's smugness, Megatron shifted to take Rodimus's leg at the knee and hook his leg over his shoulder. Rodimus eagerly followed with the other. His thighs quivered with anticipation as Megatron nosed at his valve. From the way Rodimus clenched the bedding, it was only an effort of will that kept him from grinding down into Megatron's face.
"Maybe not first time," Rodimus guessed.
"Keep talking," said Megatron, turning his head to press a kiss against Rodimus's inner thigh, "and I'll stop."
"Shutting up now, sir!"
Megatron lifted his head and watched horror dawn on Rodimus's features.
Rodimus sputtered, " --not sir! Co-captains! You shut up." He threw his arm across his face, covering it.
At least Megatron couldn't mistake Rodimus for anyone else.
The steady pulse of light from Rodimus's anterior node drew Megatron's attention again. He drew it between his teeth -- lightly, but it was enough to cause Rodimus's ventilations to hitch and stutter into a moan. His hands flattened on the bedding and his hips rolled.
Megatron shifted his hands, pinning Rodimus by the hips.
He licked a broad swathe over the opening of Rodimus's valve. He wet the folds of his valve in a long series of indulgent licks and then drew the tip of his tongue up the center of his valve to circle the lit node.
Rodimus gasped. His thighs twitched on Megatron's shoulders.
Megatron closed his lips to suckle on the node -- gently, first, and when that produced only a faint whimper, harder, to hear Rodimus cry aloud.
Charge raced down the lines joining them. Megatron rubbed his thighs together as his processor attempted to translate the sensations Rodimus was feeling into something better suited to his frame. Heat scorched his thighs, and he groaned, only for that vibration too to feed over the line.
Rodimus was putting up a stunning argument in favor of the valve and spike modifications all without saying a word.
Megatron indulged himself in the lave of his tongue over heated metal for some time. The taste of Rodimus's lubricant was sweet on his tongue.
The small sounds and broken breath that he tore from Rodimus were so rewarding that it took Megatron some time to realize that words had stopped. The quiet of the room was broken only by the harsh whirr of their fans working to dispel the heat of their frames.
The slick of Megatron's tongue across the plush lips of his valve, sliding flat over his node, caused Rodimus to spasm on the edge of overload. Pre-charge crackled over Rodimus's frame and raced along his wires. The scent of lubricant and ozone was thick in the air as Megatron drew back.
It was perhaps cruel for Megatron to leave Rodimus there. That didn't stop him. He drew back.
He counted the seconds -- one, two, three -- and then Rodimus lifted his head.
He looked mad.
Gaze refocusing with some effort on Megatron, Rodimus pushed himself up on his elbows. "Why'd you stop?" he asked in a voice broken by static.
"Why did you?"
Whatever else he was -- heedless, irresponsible, impatient -- Rodimus was not stupid. His eyes narrowed. He pressed his lips tight over whatever answer he might have made.
Megatron pushed Rodimus's leg off his shoulder. It dropped to the side with a heavy clunk that brought a sulky look to Rodimus's face.
Megatron sighed. Back to familiar territory.
There were too many things that were too easily covered by quiet. This was dangerous already. Regret was a poison that neither of them could afford.
Placing his hand next to Rodimus's head, Megatron rolled forward over him until their noses were scant inches apart. He rubbed his thigh against Rodimus's spike and watched as his gaze unfocused again. "Why," he said, repeating himself very slowly, "did you stop? You went silent."
Fans already laboring to expel the heat from Rodimus's frame spun to new heights of effort. Embarrassment was an unusual look for Rodimus, who glanced to the side, refusing to meet Megatron's gaze. He mumbled something.
It took a monumental effort to gentle the touch of his hand to Rodimus's chin. Megatron pulled his head back to meet his gaze. "I expect an answer. If you want me to stop--"
"No!" Surprise widening his eyes, Rodimus stared at Megatron.
"No?" Megatron tapped two fingers against Rodimus's jaw and then dropped his hand.
"I just...."
Megatron grew impatient. He knocked Rodimus's thighs wider with a nudge to his knee. He dragged the tip of his finger along the biolights at Rodimus's waist. Once, twice, then a third time, just to watch as Rodimus twisted beneath his touch. He was responsive as ever, but maddeningly silent. "You just?"
"It was just a lot!" Rodimus said in a sudden burst.
Megatron rewarded him by sliding his hand down his abdomen. He palmed Rodimus's spike, rubbing under the head with the heel of his hand. Rodimus tilted his head back, breath breaking. Megatron brushed past his anterior node to push apart the lips of his valve with two fingers.
Loathe though Megatron was to admit it, there was something addictive in the slick of plush metal against his fingers. The reflected sensations feeding through the hardline fascinated him. He could do this for hours.
Rodimus groaned, slipping into silence again.
Megatron stilled his hand. Aggravation bit sharp edges into his words: "What was a lot?"
"Huh?" Rodimus glanced up again. His brain module finally seemed to engage. "You. This." He rolled his hips up against Megatron's hand.
Megatron indulged the hint. He stroked his fingers against the mesh lining and pushed. His fingers slipped in, slicked by lubricant, and pulled by the hungry clench of Rodimus's valve. He curled his fingers and listened, fascinated, as the press of his fingers against a raised sensor bed on the interior wall caused Rodimus's engine to stall.
The dull echo of sensation that transmitted through the link was maddeningly distant. His processor rendered it a diffuse brush of pressure over his entire frame
"They--"
Megatron stroked again, cutting off Rodimus mid-word. He hungered for that wide-eyed and unfocused look, as though Rodimus each time were surprised by the way his frame reacted to the touch of Megatron's hand.
"Ah!" Rodimus caught his breath and lifted his head to flash a sharp smile at Megatron. "Ha. You want an answer or not?"
Megatron met his smile with a deceptively mild look. "I thought you enjoyed a challenge."
Megatron dragged the tips of his fingers in a circle over the sensor bed and was rewarded by the dazzled brightness of Rodimus's gaze.
"Oh, frag. They talked about you, you know. The other Autobots. Of course they did. Big bad Megatron, but here you are, in my berth--"
Megatron found his gaze arrested as Rodimus bit his lips. Megatron lifted his eyes from Rodimus's mouth when he saw the start of a smirk.
Rodimus held his gaze, and rolled his hips down against Megatron's hand. His valve closed wet and hungry on Megatron's fingers in a slick of lubricant-greased metal. "And not doing too bad, really."
"Not doing too bad," Megatron repeated in disbelief.
Rodimus's smile widened to something radiant. "Well, you know, it's only natural that you wouldn't have the experience--."
Megatron sent a bolt of charge along their joined hardlines that reduced Rodimus to a whimper of pleasure.
"I could enjoy working you into ruin," Megatron said. With a twist of his wrist, he withdrew his fingers from Rodimus's valve. He lifted his hand to Rodimus's mouth. He pushed the tips of his fingers past Rodimus's eagerly parting lips and watched as he licked the lubricant from them.
"You respond magnificently, I admit. There's something--." Megatron paused to firm his voice. Rodimus was doing this thing with his tongue, licking between his fingers and digging deep into the joints, that threatened to break the steadiness of his tone.
With scarcely a hitch in his breathing, Megatron said, "--to watching how eagerly you respond. But -- really. Making a comment about my experience? When thus far my greatest pleasure has been to watch you lie there?"
Rodimus's jaw slackened in disbelief. His tongue stopped doing that thing. Megatron felt a flicker of disappointment.
A moment later, Rodimus bit the tip of Megatron's finger, then spat his fingers from his mouth.
Caught in a laugh, Megatron would admit to surprise deep in his thoughts as Rodimus sent an uncontrolled bolt of energy surging across the hardline. His vision whited out before the charge steadied in a crackle over his plating.
"Lie there," Rodimus repeated. "Lie there!"
While he couldn't match Starscream for shrillness, the outrage was similar. Between Rodimus's thighs, Megatron sat back and smirked.
He was not prepared for Rodimus to wrap the cable joining them in his hand and pull with gentle, inexorable force.
"My turn."