Work Text:
Megatron’s hands were warm and gentle at Rodimus’s waist, supportive rather than controlling or guiding. So far.
Rodimus's hands were bound at the small of his back, tucked neatly under his spoiler with the wrists crossed. He could, if he twisted his hands a little, clasp his fingers together. He was a little too distracted for that, and they were flexing unconsciously, thin cables tensing and pulling back as he twitched in eager focus.
The way he was sitting on Megatron's lap made what they were doing feel private despite the way they were exposed. His legs were draped loosely around Megatron's thighs, a warm orange wall of metal between their retracted panels and the rest of the room. Megatron's spike lay across his, thick and warm and slowly firming as the systems warmed up and came online, and it made Rodimus's engine growl to see, even if he couldn't touch. He couldn't even move to rub or grind against it either, not with the EMF lock in his port. He was a little disappointed by that, actually.
The idea was that it connected with his internal power nodes and radiated a directional blocker to disable the electromagnetics that let him keep his joints working and receive wireless signals. Simple on/off mechanism; as long as its contact points were connected with his nodes, Rodimus couldn't feel anything from the waist down. He'd admittedly skimmed the booklet, but more of his sensors were wireless receivers than he'd thought—he'd gotten a decent size to enjoy the stretch and jostle in his valve, but it had only lasted long enough to lock into place. He could tell from the read information in his processor that his port was irised open fully and locked there around a foreign object, and that his nodes were activated, but he couldn't feel anything.
He'd only sent one message complaining about it to the group chat, but the slew of irritated responses from Ratchet he'd received about 'having a general awareness of frame function' and 'reading manuals' had made his eyes roll so far back into his head that he'd accidentally sent an automatic alert to the ship about the lights in his suite going down. At least First Aid had thought it was funny.
And Megatron had been interested enough to use it. That was what was important for today's activity.
It was weird to operate his frame without the feeling of what his limbs were doing, but he'd locked the joints in his ankles to hook into Megatron's frame, and made sure his knees stayed flexible in case of movement. Of which there would hopefully be a lot.
Rodimus's connective systems, mercifully still online, spiked (hah) in interest, and Megatron snorted, feeling the twitch alongside his own. "We good?" asked Rodimus, trying not to sound as eager as he felt.
"Would it kill you to form a complete sentence?" asked Megatron, hand curling around Rodimus's waist to secure him a little more, his irritation belied by the heat of his spike against Rodimus's.
"Duh."
Megatron muttered something that might have been an invective to Primus, might have been an old-fashioned curse, then did Rodimus's favourite thing to distract him and picked up his spike.
He would never get sick of watching Megatron handle his spike. His hands were so big compared to—well, compared to most of Rodimus—and the colour contrast was striking in a way that made Rodimus want to preen. He looked good on dark backgrounds, he couldn't help it. Megatron covered his spike by closing his hand around it, either oblivious or uncaring of Rodimus's admiration, but it wasn't like he minded given the reason.
Rodimus groaned, letting his eyes partially shutter as he watched Megatron's spike twitch with interest, trying not to be totally maddened by the way he couldn't at all buck his hips into the grip on his array. Heat pulsed through his hand, electrical energy priming the channel of his spike, and Rodimus moaned a little louder. He could feel the arousal coming alive in the head of his spike, and it made him want to squirm.
Which was a little different to usual? He wasn't feeling anything in his valve, but he knew he should be, so he wanted to squirm, give it the same priming as his spike was getting.
And that was moot anyway because he couldn't so much as deliberately twitch his pelvic span, and while that was hot in an entirely new dimension of bondage (okay, maybe he did like struggling against cuffs or cables or whatever more than actually being immobilised? He'd have to think about that later) it was frustrating in an entirely new dimension as well! It wasn't even like the charge was being rerouted to his spike—he'd done that before, Drift had one of those toys that let you pull it all to the valve or redirect it to the spike—or an overload denial toy, it was travelling to his array, and then splitting, and then vanishing.
"Am I boring you?" asked Megatron, squeezing the base of his spike.
Rodimus yelped, his hands flailing up like he could grab at Megatron's shoulders. "No! What? Why?"
Megatron snorted, increasing his grip strength minutely, pressure and heat elevating on the joint where Rodimus's spike connected with this pelvis. Rodimus inhaled deeply, something in his vents catching and making him squeak.
That was his story and he was sticking to it.
"Do I have your attention now?" asked Megatron, and there was a dangerous thread under the mild tone that made Rodimus's vents reverse direction faster than he could do a pin turn.
"Y-yes!" Okay, no brushing that one off.
Rodimus gasped, trying to rally and bring his voice back in acceptable range. Megatron's grip was tight, almost unbearably so, the pressure squeezing his energon and charge together like a compressed bomb in the head of his spike.
"That's better," said Megatron, still with that threatening, silky undertone as he twisted his hand and slowly eased his grip as he dragged down, pulling a noise like a punctured tyre from Rodimus's throat. "Now. Can we get started or do you want to sit here and daydream a little more?"
"I'm not—ah."
Megatron's hand slipped off the end of his spike, the recoil making charge fritz through him like a static shock directly to his array.
"Gurk," said Rodimus.
Megatron thankfully ignored him, and slipped his fingers under Rodimus's spike, shifting his hips to bring it up next to Megatron's own. There was a brief, tank-wrenching moment of disorientation where Rodimus's body moved without any input from his legs or hips, and his spoiler hiked up defensively, hands clenching, but then Megatron slid their spikes together and the churning rerouted into charge directly through his body.
The sensation was mostly good. There were little spasms of sparks every time their contact points slid over each other, the matching charge reacting and recoiling from each other rather than sinking in, and it made Rodimus feel trembly in a way he didn't love to be experiencing in front of Megatron—but, well, he was cuffed and immobile already, and it did feel good.
And Megatron had to be charged up as well. He usually liked to draw things out, take the kind of time with his foreplay that crossed through 'indulgent' and into 'sadistic'. Today though, Rodimus barely had any time to appreciate the sensation of their spikes being rolled together before he was being rearranged again, like a toy for Megatron to shove his spike into. Rodimus revved his engine again, trying to show his eagerness, and Megatron hummed, looking almost distracted himself.
It would be funny to make the accusation, if Rodimus wasn't so eager to get on with it himself.
Rodimus propped his head against Megatron's stupid big pauldron and watched intently as his spike was carefully manipulated, his inability to react burning him low in his tanks. His hands flexed, like that was any substitution for a good, long grind of arrays together, and Megatron's smile widened as he took in the tension in Rodimus's frame. He slowly rubbed the heads of their spikes together, shuttering his eyes for a long, performative moment before smiling at him.
"I'm going to need you to keep still for me, do you think you can manage that?"
It wasn't a question, and condescension dripped from his voice. Rodimus scowled and tried to headbutt him, unable to take his eyes away from the sight of Megatron slowly rubbing the head of his spike against Rodimus's. Every slip of charge contact channels against each other built an urge to move that he couldn't fulfill, and his ears were filled with a grinding metallic noise his audial systems tagged as coming from his own head.
"Good boy."
"Hah-ah-fff-fuck you," snapped Rodimus once he had his voice back under control, Megatron holding their channels tip to tip.
"That is what I'm doing, isn't it?"
The fact that Megatron's broad frame dispersed escaped array charge so damn efficiently was currently Rodimus's least favourite thing about him. The way he was smiling was a close second.
Megatron tilted his pelvis forward (show off), and there was the quiet snk of a partial transformation so small Rodimus might have missed it if he hadn't been staring intently. Charge light, white-bright with the faintest green halo, spilled out of the widened tip of Megatron's channel. He didn't pause or even look up at Rodimus before rolling forward and down—
And then they were docking.
Generally, these days at least, Rodimus didn't give much thought to their size difference. It was hard to stay intimidated by a guy who'd spend four hours arguing about hyphens with Ultra Magnus and considered that competent flirting. It was hot, sure, but so was the rest of him, it was just one of his features.
Watching the head of his spike slowly slide into Megatron's was making Rodimus reconsider it. He took a deep, vent-rattling breath and focused in deep, a groan eking out of his throat at the sensation of electrical charge all around the head of his spike. It didn't take long to finish docking, and the sensation kept increasing at the total failure of Megatron's charge to back up and give him a break.
"That's it," murmured Megatron, a tremble in his voice. "That's it, good job Captain."
Rodimus didn't have it in him to bite back, his chest block heaving with the force of his vents.
It was a tight fight, even with the disparity, even with the transformation tolerance Megatron boasted. Rodimus felt clutched, his spike felt enveloped; not comfortably in the back and forth trade of a valve, but like someone had wrapped electrical foil around every pleasure sensor and started crinkling it at him. Like having a little electric buzzer on a sensitive node and not letting up. Like, like—like he was suddenly really glad he didn't have to process his valve as well.
He moaned, rolling his head on Megatron's comfortably broad pauldron, trying hard not to just expel all his charge in overload now, the second he got docked. Megatron's vents were audible by now, fans whirring, and there was the faint heat penetrating his thick-ass plating to radiate into Rodimus's cheek.
Megatron made that weird humming-groan, the frame deep equivalent of a moan that was basically the only sex noise he ever made, and then closed his hand around their spikes again.
The noise Rodimus made might have been a yell, but it was a little too strangled. He jerked, spinal struts reacting like someone had reached down and yanked it upright. Megatron grunted and rolled his hand, still with that stupid smile on his face. He thought. Rodimus's visual feed was a little out of commission, charge scrambling his sensory processes.
Pure charge rolled under the head of his spike, jabbing up and interrupting his own charge in a rumbling, prickling sensation better than any sex toy. Rodimus was panting by now, high-pitched whistling noises on every exhale. His spoiler kept hiking up, hands flexing as he tugged on the restraints, the impulse to grab Megatron and steady himself too high. Megatron's engine was rumbling powerfully, he could hear the energon diverting to the rest of his frame to compensate for the charge levels—
And then Megatron made another one of those sexy little grunts and overloaded.
If he did anything else special with it Rodimus couldn't tell. His systems flooded with excess charge, lighting up as they tried to deal with the overwhelming sensation of electrical current going the wrong way up Rodimus's contact points. He cried out, shoulders twitching, and Megatron muttered something as he smacked Rodimus's kibble away with one hand, sending a sharp contrast of feeling through him that melted some part of his pleasure sensors.
"—please, please, Megs! ftz—Megs please!"
Megatron shushed him, blinking several times with amusingly loud shutters that at any other time Rodimus would giggle about. "Alright, alright, you've sat pretty for me."
He'd be offended about that comment later. For now Rodimus nodded eagerly, twitching his shoulders. Megatron ignored the kibble this time and clasped Rodimus's spike, jerking at him in short, firm strokes towards the heads of their spikes, not bothering to undock. It was relentless, the feeling of the pressure, like he was pulling the charge out of him. Rodimus couldn't have held back the overload if he tried, and he came, whining into Megatron's plating.
Megatron flinched, his face scrunching up cutely. Rodimus giggled to see it, processor reeling, and shaking black hands carefully disengaged their spikes, making him gasp. Megatron vented deeply, the rise of his chest bodily shifting Rodimus against him. He didn't move for a long moment, giving Rodimus time to recover as well. And get uncomfortable.
His hands were starting to ache, at some point he'd twisted up against the restraints and then gotten stuck there, and his cables were cramping pretty bad. He shifted his spoiler alignment, trying to knock them down again, but it was juuuust out of reach. Maybe if he hiked his hands up again and then—ow.
"Cut it out," grunted Megatron, after the fourth shift of his spoiler.
"It's fine, I've nearly got it," said Rodimus, ignoring him and shunting his spoiler support again. "I just need a second."
"Rodimus."
"Maybe if you'd give me a hand instead of sitting there—"
"Well, now that you've asked."
Megatron shifted, but instead of going for the restraints, he reached down and rotated the toy in Rodimus's valve.
The ceiling twisted overhead and Rodimus yelped, a disorienting cut to sensation in his upper body hitting him like a fainting spell to the face. His hips regained movement and immediately twisted in surprise, tipping him from Megatron's lap in a way that was disturbing mostly for how he didn't feel it when he hit the floor.
"Screw you," he muttered. The field either wasn't strong enough or big enough to cut out his vocaliser or optical systems, thankfully, but Rodimus didn't have the processing to really think about that because: "Eurgh."
"What is it?" asked Megatron, knocking Rodimus's ankle from where it was caught on the spur of his hip.
Rodimus winced internally. His legs kind of felt like the static in his vocaliser had escaped and figured out how to stab him in the cables. "I'm leaking."
Lubricant was slowly reversing its path along his thigh plating, cold and clinging, like a slimy trail doubling back on already sensitised metal. His processor was still spinning, trying to reconcile the inversion of his frame without any supporting sensory data, making him feel vaguely nauseous, and there was the well used ache of a stretch in his valve along with a blissful lack of data on how raw the contacts on his spike were stripped.
"Yes, believe me, I'd already noticed that," said Megatron, lifting Rodimus's other leg and pressing a thumb into the knee joint, making it jerk out. Rodimus swore at him, but it did clear the weird crimped feeling. "What were you trying to do by making that infernal noise anyway?"
"What? Oh, my wrists cramped."
Megatron gave him an exasperated look. "And it didn't occur to you to either ask for release or use the safety catch?"
"You already gave me a release, big guy!"
"Don't make me regret indulging you any more than I already do, please."
Rodimus sniggered.
Megatron rolled his eyes, but he didn't drop Rodimus's leg, so for now he'd call it a win.