Chapter Text
To say that some days Nightscream drove him absolutely spare would be a gross understatement. Cheetor knew it probably wasn’t very fair of him to think that about another Maximal, but it was true. The bat was a kid in the truest ways – he complained about the strangest things that weren’t actually important.
This time it was the lack of berths and furniture at large and Cheetor was ready to start biting. Out of all of the things that were actually important that they needed, that was not one of them. Would a berth have been nice? Sure! Would having an actual base with weaponry be even better? Absolutely.
He could see the way that it was making everyone else tense too. How Blackarachnia was hunkering down lower on her legs, the way she did when she thought too much about Silverbolt and how he had been changed by everything. How Rattrap was gnashing his teeth together, tail swinging in sharp curls. The rat-former was especially troubled by all of the changes to their home and Nightscream’s constant whining certainly wasn’t helping.
Only Optimus appeared unbothered, but Cheetor didn’t believe for a nano-klik that he was. Their leader had adopted a far more calm and peaceful persona than the Beast Wars had allowed him. He wasn’t sure if that was from what had happened at the end or if it was all of the conversing with the Oracle that was changing him… or if it was just a cover to try and help the rest of them stabilize through all of this.
Sick of hearing the complaints, Cheetor took matters into his own hands (paws??) and stood with a shaking stretch. “C’mon kid, lets get you some more training in.”
If nothing else it would let him put the brat in his place and it got Nightscream out of everyone else’s plating for a while. It was a win-win sort of situation that Cheetor rarely got anymore.
“Sure. ‘Training’. Like you’re some sort of guru.” Nightscream scoffed openly, but fluttered down from his perch none the less. Anything to get away from watching all of the Maximals do nothing about restoring Cybetron.
“Compared to you, I must be.” Cheetor couldn’t stop himself from snipping back as he set off at a brisk trot towards their latest training grounds. Currently it was his favourite because it had a small level of shielding that helped delay the constant scans for their spark-signatures. Which meant they could get some time in their root-modes. A rare treat these orns.
Nightscream didn’t say anything to him but Cheetor could hear the way that he was grinding his dentae together and it made him smirk. It was so easy to get under the kid’s plating. Some orns that was a pain in the afterburners, but most it was something that he could tease at so he didn’t go insane.
They made it over to the training grounds without any interruptions –always a risk with the vehicons scouting for them– and Cheetor sat, curling his tail over his paws as he waited for the bat-former to settle down. (As tempting as it was to just pounce and maul Nightscream a bit, that wouldn’t help him. Not when the kid was so reliant on his beast-mode’s screech and teeth.)
“Alright, we’ll try and focus on some moves for when you get caught on the ground.” Cheetor couldn’t exactly match him in the air anymore – days like these were the ones were he missed his thrusters the most. The sky didn’t call to him the way it did flight-frames, but it had been fast and that had made his spark sing.
“Pshhh, I manage just fine on the ground. Would do even better if we had actual weapons and didn’t have to rely on biting.” Nightscream muttered, flexing his graspers in an agitated manner. The beast-modes that had been forced onto each of them were primitive and stupid. Even if some days he could see the elegance and history in them, that didn’t solve the problems he faced in the present and the ones that would come in the future.
Cheetor rolled his eyes and began to stalk around the younger mech, building his training regime on the fly. “A blaster doesn’t do you any good if it’s not in your hands or you’re pinned.”
“A blaster would mean they wouldn’t get close in the first place!” As great as his sonics were, Nightscream couldn’t use them forever. He got tired, ran out of energy – not to mention that it didn’t always discriminate. There was no precision to it if a vehicon caught one of the other Maximals.
“Kid.” Cheetor sighed and knew that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Nightscream this session. It would just be them sparring and maybe even actually fighting, but Cheetor was so fed up and tired of listening to the same whined out scrap over and over that he gave in to the urge to really knock the other mech around.
“I’m not a kid!” Nightscream nearly snarled and hopped away with a flutter of his wings. Maybe he should just bite Cheetor and remind the cat-former which of them had bigger fangs.
“Sure thing kid.” Cheetor taunted and harassed his prey trainee, lunging and backing off each time until he had herded the other into the exact spot he wanted him in. Nightscream was so focused on him, that the bat-former hadn’t noticed Cheetor backing him right into a corner.
That was when Cheetor finally followed through and attacked. From the get go, Nightscream wasn’t able to keep him off of himself and Cheetor pressed every advantage he had. The bat didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to learn the easy way so Cheetor would teach him the hard way.
Transforming was a bad idea, but he did it anyway. Nightscream needed the edge that real hands gave him. His long digits made grasping and throwing his opponent so much easier than the little ones that he had on his beast-mode.
Cheetor for his part held off, batting at the other but with his wings on his pedes, Nightscream was able to hover a lot easier than in his beast-mode and it made getting the bat on the ground again harder.
They were a similar enough weight class so when Cheetor circled the bat-former faster and faster until he could see the other mech getting dizzy and frustrated. The moment that frustration peaked towards anger was when Cheetor pounced.
Literally.
Transforming in mid-air was old hat for the cat-former and his long limbs made it even easier to grapple with Nightscream and send them both into a rolling tumble.
Wrestling wasn’t Cheetor’s strong suit, he wasn’t a brawler the way Optimus was or even the heavy hitter than Rhinox had been. He relied on his speed and quick and distracting strikes more than anything and it was something that he’d been trying to do his best to teach to Nightscream.
Nightscream was a terrible (and unwilling) student most days so it wasn’t any surprise to Cheetor than everything that the other Maximals had taught the bat-former was forgotten in favour of squirming like a naught youngling caught by a school matron.
It was almost shameful how quickly Cheetor had Nightscream fully and properly pinned. “Look, you’re doing this all wrong –”
Pinned and frustrated, Nightscream gave into the urge to sink his fangs into Cheetor’s smug shoulders. The yowl of pain, real pain was enough to make him let go and guiltily try to twist away instead. He failed spectacularly. Nightscream hadn’t wanted to actually hurt the cat-former, but it was so hard! Training often walked that fine line of minor damage but still being hurt, without actually crossing over into serious, medic needing injury.
It was even harder to go when Nightscream wasn’t a soldier the way the others were. He didn’t have vorns of live combat and however many more of real training to fall back on. It wasn’t fair that they expected him to keep up with them! None of this was fair.
“Yield.” Cheetor snarled at the bat-former and squeezed his hands and thighs, accentuating the fact that he had the other totally pinned. And maybe he wanted to hurt him, just a little, in revenge for that sluggishly bleeding wound on the junction of his shoulder and neck.
“It’s not over yet!” Nightscream hissed and refused to give up. He bucked, frame flushing with excitement that he buried by biting the cat-former again. (Though he was mindful of where and how deep he bit.)
It was probably the biting that did it, but instincts were hard to fight and if Cheetor used his claws the way he wanted to, he would have spilled the bat’s techno-organic guts across the ground. (As satisfying as that would be in the moment, they truly did need every frame they had – even if Cheetor hated the bat-former at the moment.)
Still, it was the sort of distraction that Cheetor knew better than to fall for and still did. It was embarrassing how quickly a smug smirk spread over Nightscream’s lips as the bat flipped him and Cheetor landed on his back with a grunt.
Before he could show the kid just how little such things actually mattered, Nightscream was pushing their face-plates together. What happened next was so strange that Cheetor had no way of anticipating it or countering it.
Hot lips found his own and Cheetor growled lowly, trying to bite, but the other mech’s lips were forceful and just as angry as his. A Predacon might have likened it to a kiss, but it was so hate-filled that the cheetah couldn’t fathom it as anything close to that. He’d seen what Blackarachnia and Silverbolt got up to when they thought they were alone. (And if he had spied very specifically because watching that had made his then optics widen and his engine rev, then that was his business, thank you very much.)
It ended with both of them panting, eyes angled into sharp glares, and that must have meant something to the bat-former because he descended on him once more. Violent and hungry kisses were exchanged and it had Cheetor feeling charged up in a strange way.
His plating felt too tight but it felt good somehow. Cheetor didn’t know what to make of it, none of it felt like the few times he’d teased himself into self-servicing. The kisses –if they could even be called that– just made that pressure inside coil tighter and tight until it had to go somewhere.
Cheetor was ready to die from embarrassment as his interfacing panel slid back and his spike pressurized. He felt wet too and it made him want to squirm at the unfamiliar sensation. He’d taken himself in servo before – he wasn’t untouched, but he’d never had a partner before. There’d never been time for that with the Beast Wars. Not to mention the mecha around him were either already paired off or old.
“Heh, guess I still know what I’m doing.” Nightscream said smugly and that made Cheetor want to bite him properly. Shut him up and make sure the kid knew that he was not better than the rest of the Maximals just because he hadn’t fought in their war.
Before Cheetor could act on that impulse, Nightscream was pressing their frames flush together and kissing him again. Each shift was enough to make Cheetor’s breathing hitch, to need to swallow little sounds of pleasure. It had been so long since he’d self-serviced, since he’d had time to do anything other than pace back and forth about the situation they were in.
There was the soft sound of plating shifting and then there was a hard length slotting against his own and that was enough to make Cheetor gasp and moan into the rough and bruising kiss. He could feel the way Nightscream’s spike pulsed against his own, the little slick lines of pre-fluid that were no doubt smearing across their plating.
The way their spikes slid together was probably obscene, but it felt good. Good in a way that Cheetor would have never thought about before. This was throwing everything he thought he knew about interfacing out the window and he found that he liked it. Not that he really knew anything about it with the Beast Wars taking over his life before this.
Their lips crashed together again and the danger of having been in their root-modes this long only added to the sensations. Charge was burning hot in his lines and Cheetor didn’t really know what to do about it. He wanted to grind up against the bat, but another part of him wanted more even if he didn’t really know what more was.
“Can’t fragging stand you. Think you’re so much better than me.” Nightscream growled against his neck and nipped there after, making Cheetor gasp and writhe. It tickled at his instincts and some part of him wanted more. Wanted teeth in the back of his neck, holding him in place as their frames came together.
“Get fragged! You think – ah!” Cheetor cried out and tried to fight back when long fingers curled around his throat and squeezed before he was neatly flipped onto his belly. Someone had been watching all of the training he and Blackarachnia engaged in, because that was absolutely something she would have done to him.
“No, you’re getting fragged.” Nightscream hissed and bit just a little harder at the soft metal-flesh along the back of the cats neck. The fur and pseudo skin was thicker and fuller and it made him want to sink his fangs deep. Instead, he nudged the other mech’s legs further apart so his spike could slide and rub against that needy and wet valve.
And it was dripping too. Even if Cheetor skulked off later to sulk about this, his frame was being very, very clear that he was enjoying this too. It was nice to have some proof that he was good at riling the other up. He’d had many a lover before things had… before.
Reminded once more of everything that he had lost, Nightscream tightened his hold on the cat-former beneath him. It would be so easy to sink his spike into him right now and really put him in his place. Show him that just because he wasn’t some soldier that he could and did contribute, that he had value too.
Nightscream pulled his hands off of the other’s frame just long enough to push him up onto all fours. It was a familiar position to any flier and it tickled some of the foreign instincts that had made themselves at home in his coding too. It would be easier to be rough this way too, to grab those slim hips and show the cat-former who was superior between the two of them.
He hated having to pull back and look, but taking himself in hand and guiding the tip of his spike into Cheetor was sexy as all Pit. The way the little opening stretched was almost vulgar, like something straight out of a porno and a distant part of him wondered if maybe the cat had done that sort of thing before – before everything. It wouldn’t even be shocking. Cheetor was a handsome mech and had the long lines of someone who went fast. He’d probably been some kind of racer frame before the forced reformatting. People liked those types and he could understand where some of the fetish for that frame type came from. So lithe and thin against a thick spike. Oh yeah, it was hot.
Nightscream’s thoughts had wandered far enough and he refocused on the shivering and panting form beneath his. On the over bright eyes staring back at him, despite the way that lined face was twisted into a sneer. It would be so easy for it to sharpen into a snarl and for those long fangs to do some real damage.
It shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was. But frag was it hot. It made everything feel tight and coiled. Nightscream couldn’t hold himself back any longer and punched his hips forward, driving his spike into that squeezing vice of a valve.
Cheetor threw his head back as he cried out when Nightscream sank himself deep in one harsh thrust. It burned and he had to suck in a deep vent of air through his mouth to try and compensate for the way his systems rioted. His arms shook and gave out underneath him, chest crashing to the ground and aft popping roughly against the bat-former’s hips. It also had the unfortunate side effect of driving that spike just a little bit deeper.
Nightscream let out a guttural moan, clutching the slim hips to keep them both in place. He swore he could feel the cat-former’s spark pulse in his valve as the calipers rippled over his spike, working him like a well trained whore. The idea that the cheetah had been some kind of pleasure-mech before all of this rose higher in his mind and he had to take a moment to savor the sensation.
Nightscream rocked his hips gently at first, getting used to the motion again. It had felt like forever since he’d had a good frag and the little whimpers and hitched breathing from the mech beneath him was not helping keep his libido in check.
“Slag, you’re so tight, uhn!” Nightscream thrust properly, just to feel those perfect calipers spasm and grip his spike even tighter. The cat had been practically dripping wet for it and he was a little disappointed that he wasn’t yowling for it like he had been before. He guessed he was just going to have to earn it, and that idea sent a little thrill through him.
Cheetor had to bite his glossa to stop himself from crying out. It hurt. Was it supposed to hurt like this? It felt like someone had put a hot iron straight between his legs. It was deep inside too, and he wondered faintly if maybe he had been hurt, but he didn’t smell any energon. Couldn’t smell it under the heavy scent of his lubricant and the arousal that had flooded the alcove.
Claws scrabbled at the ground, catching oddly and pulling at his fingertips. He wanted it to stop, but asking for that felt like some kind of failure on his part. Maybe it was supposed to hurt – he’d never done this before, never gone this far with anyone. It wasn’t like this was the sort of thing he could talk to Optimus or Rattrap about either. (Who would he have even fragged before this? Dinobot? Tigatron? Gross.)
But part of him liked it. Liked the warm frame on top his own, pressing him down. Bracketing him and if it was anyone else, he might have even said that he felt safe. (Aside from the, y’know, wounds from fighting with the bat and the deep and sharp pain from this.)
It stung in a way that he couldn’t properly describe. Maybe this was why mecha always fought over who was going to be on top. If being penetrated hurt (and it kind of made sense that it did, given what he’d seen of Rattrap and Dinobot’s strange relationship), then this was all normal and he should just try and get used to it. His spike certainly hadn’t softened in the least, bobbing between his legs with each slamming thrust from Nightscream.
There was the faintest hint of pleasure too and his internals felt like they were going to misfire from the conflicting sensations. Each drag of Nightscream’s spike inside of him would catch on something that sent little electric shocks up in his spine but it wasn’t enough to counter the way that it hurt so very badly.
The burning feeling was getting worse and Cheetor started to gasp and whimper when the bat on top of him began to really pound into him. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes and he had to close them so it didn’t feel like he was messing up somehow. The shame at crying was too much on top of everything else.
“Frag, keep that up!” Nightscream nipped at the back of the cat’s neck. It felt like his spike was being milked and it was fantastic. He still hated the cheetah, but this was exactly what the two of them needed. As good as fighting had been, this was so much better. (And if that was solely because he had come out on top –unlike their fighting– then that was his business.)
“Must have been built for this!” He wasn’t going to last and he panted against the other, his thrusts stuttering as he briefly lost rhythm. He didn’t try to slow down to drive the other to overload, not when he could feel the erratic way those calipers squeezed at him. The cat-former was close, maybe even closer than he was.
The change in rhythm made Cheetor shake and he hoped that it meant it would be over soon. The way it had started out compared to now felt very far away and like it had happened to someone else. He hadn’t known he could hurt this way and he wanted to runaway. That’s all he was good at anyway. Wanted to curl up and hide so no one could see him when he started to cry.
Nightscream couldn’t stop himself from screeching as he overloaded, burying himself as deep into the other as he could reach. Cheetor was so long and thin that their size classes probably weren’t that different. He felt the way the cat stiffened up beneath him and the shaky sounding cry that came from him and felt a little smug. Even if he hated the other, he was a good lover and always made sure his partners got off with him.
He pulled out slowly, mindful of their tender equipment and groaned lowly. The sight beneath him was amazing. The way the lips and rim stretched around the head of his spike, the way a thin strand of transfluid connected them before dripping down to the ground. There was a little spasm again of calipers and the pearlescent fluid that he’d left behind pulsed out wetly.
“Frag.” Nightscream had to swallow thickly to stop himself from hitching the cat’s hips up so he could dive in and eat him out. He’d never thought about it before now, but it would so hot. “Frag that was good. You were so good.”
Cheetor shook and panted, trying to gather himself. The burning sensation was worse and he could feel the fluid inside of him and it made his spark twist and he felt just a little queasy about it. There was stuff inside of him and this wasn’t like Earth where he could just find a stream to crash into and wipe off the evidence. He was going to have to wash it from his frame like any feline would.
He was going to have to lick himself and the idea of tasting Nightscream on himself made his internals churn. How did he get the smell off of his frame? The… fluids out of his fur? He shuddered and hated how powerless he felt over all of it.
Shame and panic had Cheetor transforming back and the moment his paws were under him, he stood shakily. His tail lashed behind him, puffed up and he could feel the way his ears were pinned back too. Eyes just a little too wide, there was only one thing his instincts screamed for and the cat-former gave in to them.
Cheetor bolted, unable to stay. He heard Nightscream shout after him but he the pulse of his spark was too loud. Everything was too much and he forced himself to keep going, to get away. Anywhere that the bat wasn’t.
Running hurt, but if he didn’t run, he would be caught again and the idea of that happening made anxiety and panic rise in his chest. He needed somewhere to hide and Cheetor knew just the spot. He just had to get there. It was fine though, he had plenty of experience in moving while injured so this was no different.
He squeezed low, claws biting into the ground while he wiggled and twisted. It only put more pressure on his tender bits, but it was over soon enough and he curled up, entire frame trembling. He was safe where no one could reach him and that was all that mattered.
And if tears started to wet his techno-organic fur then that was his business.