Chapter Text
In this chapter we've got Rodimus, Thunderclash, Megatron, Pipes, Soundwave, Getaway, Starscream, Whirl, Grimlock, Prowl, and Ratchet.
Rodimus has a trendy, modern spike. It’s flashy like the rest of him, with a flashing racing stripe. His array runs hot, both spike and valve, and Rodimus controls the temperature carefully. He has to, unless his partner has an asbestos-lined valve. He doesn’t want to send any partners limping off with burns on their bits! What if that theoretically happened, and then they told the rest of the crew that Rodimus couldn’t control his own heat? (But that’s totally never happened before. It’s all theoretical.)
His valve is flamboyant, with yellow petals and a cobalt node. Fire flashes from his exhaust pipes when he overloads. Rodimus’s valve is slack enough to take oversized spikes, like Megatron or Thunderclash. He jacks off imagining Thunderclash constantly, but he would rather combust than admit it.
Drift tries to play wingman for those two. Thunderclash is interested, but Rodimus is too proud to admit what he wants.
Speaking of the living legend. Like the rest of him, Thunderclash’s spike is perfect. A modern design he modded down one size category to fit smaller partners. It’s navy blue with bubble-ridged turquoise silicone on the underside, a soothing texture to massage open any bot’s calipers. And it vibrates.
Thunderclash’s valve is big and deep, made for frames his size or larger. His anterior node is yellow and big enough to suck like a miniature spike. A standard-size or small spike would be lost inside him, finding his valve too loose for satisfaction.
Thunderclash is a romantic, and he is pretty vanilla in bed. Too nice to even dirty talk!
Megatron. The warlord himself, a bot whose EM field alone brought an army to their knees, whose frame is built for violence.
Much to Rodimus’s irritation, the fusion cannon is not compensating for anything. If anything, Megatron’s spike is compensating for the fusion cannon . He is hung heavy. His spike is massive and thick as a bot’s forearm, black silicone armored in gunmetal plates. It deploys in a slow scroll, gliding out of its casing at a mouthwateringly slow pace, leaving his partners wondering when the hell the thing ends, and where that monster is stored. Megatron’s spike is a vintage design, with biolights throbbing like a strand of red pearls on the underside. His transfluid smells like war crimes.
It takes a resilient bot to take his spike. At his worst moments, Megatron has snapped calipers with it. Never intentionally, because although he is many things, a rapist is not one of them, but some partners had optics bigger than their stomachs. Literally.
Megatron’s valve is plush and tight, quite small for his frame. Megatron can count on one hand how often he has taken spike. It just isn’t his thing. He finds it difficult to get things going; his valve does not produce lubricant easily, and his anterior node is a dull red. However, when Optimus Prime is with him, that node lights up eagerly. The chemistry between those two has always been electric.
Pipes, the plucky little soldier, has an unexpectedly lovely spike. Trendy and sleek, he can extend and retract it, and activate the magnetic racing stripes to lock into a partner’s valve and ripple. He’s got generous transfluid tanks, which brings out the breeding kink in his partners. His valve is standard issue.
His iconic pipes puff out sultry aphrodisiac clouds, pheromones that invigorate the senses. He accidentally triggered an orgy at Swerve’s once.
Soundwave has a breeding kink and he is serious about it. It all started innocently. It’s true that his beloved cassettes found Soundwave in the gutter, down on his luck. But the part of the story that few bots know is that the cassettes were starving. Despite that, they shared with little energon they had, and the gesture was so sweet that it triggered maternal code in Soundwave. He imprinted upon the three like they were his sparklings.
Soundwave modified his chassis to store them, safe and close to his spark. His protoform developed refineries (breasts), plump and filled with nourishing proto-fuel, and he’s been lactating for millennia. His refineries are sensitive and grow swollen and bloated if they are not milked. Trusted few are permitted to nurse from him.
As for his spike, it’s elegant and slender. His valve is deep and soft, with pulsing magnets inside to lock spikes inside until he is satisfied.
Getaway has small equipment.
He was cold-constructed on an assembly line, and whoever did the assembling that day was not feeling generous. His spike is modern in design, if you can get it to deploy out far enough to appreciate the view. Valve is just as forgettable. Some bots with small spikes own it, confident and good with their hands or valve instead (hello, Blurr!). But then there’s Getaway, who makes his inferiority complex literally everyone else’s problem.
Starscream is widely considered one of the most beautiful Seekers alive, which is unfortunate because he is absolutely insufferable. Seekers are fetishized in porn and stereotyped as nymphomaniacs – a stereotype that, unfortunately, is accurate.
His black spike is long with the signature Seeker barbs, meant to hook into a partner’s valve during aerial interface. His valve is the star of the show. Petite with a sky blue node, Starscream’s valve is capable of cycling open to accommodate the largest war frames. His pussy rewrites the laws of physics.
Like all Seekers, Starscream is subject to regular heat cycles. During this period, he emits enticing pheromones, and his programming regresses to a primal need for interface. He’s vulnerable during this time, uninhibited and a slave to his hormonal code. Megatron is deeply protective of him during his heats, muscling his weight around to intimidate would-be suitors… and hoarding Starscream for himself.
The war barely ended and Starscream was pregnant, sashaying around with a full spark chamber proudly. Megatron has pumped so many sparklings into him since the war ended. Starscream has a praise kink a mile wide, and despite his constant complaints, he loves carrying (partially because of the coddling he receives).
He adores his flock of sparklings.
Whirl’s situation is complicated.
Empurata is the amputation a bot’s head and hands as punishment. In Whirl’s case, more than just his head and hands were removed; he was castrated and left with a welded-shut spike housing. It took him a long time to come to terms with the loss, because Whirl is very much a ‘spike mech’. Without a mouth, he can’t eat out a valve. With sharp pincers, he can’t finger someone or jack them off. But he makes up for it with mischievous creativity and a knack for scandalous dirty talk.
At least his valve is present and accounted for, healthy and eager. He masturbates by humping furniture, other bots, and weapons he likes. He loves having his valve licked, and his spindly legs tremble and bunny kick when he overloads.
Whirl is the king of dirty talk.
Author would like to note that post-war reparations are an ongoing process. There are social welfare programs funding replacement parts for survivors of empurata, but Whirl chooses to live with his disability (as it stands in canon, when he rejects Ratchet’s postmortem gift).
Grimlock has a lot going on down there, and it’s all natural.
Like many mechanoreptiles, Grimlock has two long, thick spikes that glow bright gold and drizzle absurd quantities of pre-transfluid, trickling down the flared crowns and spilling over his array in a glossy waterfall. His spikes are stacked vertically, in a casing that rotates to access different positions. If that wasn’t intimidating enough, the dominant spike has a knot at the base. The knot is a bulb of protometal that swells into a magnetic ball during ejaculation, to seal transfluid inside a valve (or mouth). Interface with a Dinobot is not for the faint of heart. The fragging is hard and fast, but Grimlock is careful to use his secondary spike for smaller partners.
Grimlock’s valve is big and loose, a sloppy wet cunt that drizzles lubricant down those sculpted red thighs. Grimlock can, and has, taken more than one spike in the valve, no problem. He purrs when Misfire fists him, sliding his arm into Grimlock’s valve up to the elbow.
Like all Dinobots, Grimlock is a creature of pure id. He has been known to pop his panel in inappropriate social situations, and most bots are too intimidated to reprimand him. Prowl’s secret dream is for Grimlock to bend him over in public and frag him through the table. (Prowl/table is a favorite ship of mine personally)
Prowl is secretly a huge kinkster, and he got his spike modified to enhance his degradation kink. He has a tiny spike, red and white ombré. It is sensitive silicone, with a ring of bio lights around the base like a cockring. He uses his thumb and forefinger to jack off, tugging at it like it’s an oversized node in little frantic rubbing motions. He gets off on how pathetic it makes him feel.
Prowl’s valve has been upgraded with a self-repairing virginity seal, and he overloads the hardest when it gets popped. He is proud of his huge rack, which he came by honestly. He has a big, heavy car hood of a chest that bounces when he jogs, and slutty headlights that beg for attention.
Protected under his chest armor and above his spark, Prowl’s protoform has plump silicone refineries, complete with taut little nipple-like nozzles which can be tugged to milk them. Under his insufferably uptight veneer, Prowl is a total slut and wants to be put in his place. If Prowl didn’t intimidate the hell out of everyone, bots would not need to conceal their leers.
Let’s not mince words: Ratchet’s valve is god-tier.
Big, juicy, tight. As a doctor, Ratchet has kept up with his kegel exercises for millennia, and the results speak for themselves. One doesn’t spike Ratchet. Ratchet’s valve swallows you . He’s got strong calipers ringing a deep valvular canal, with undulations that are positively tantric. His valve is a pristine white, vintage.
His spike is old school too, standard without any flashy mods. “Don’t need any flashy upgrades to get the job done,” is an understatement. Ratchet knows how to use his spike. White metal with biolights alternating ambulance red and blue. The real star of the show are his hands. As the most skilled medic in Cybertronian history (an empirical fact he would dismiss with a snort), his hands are incredible.
Ratchet manipulates his partner’s array with a lifetime of experience. One tweak of a secret node will send a bot to Cyberutopia, triggering a gushing overload from bots that have never squirted before. His hands are filled with nanotech, tiny precision tools that he isn’t ashamed to use in naughty ways.
He’s is an experienced kinkster. Like many healthcare professionals (wait til you hear about Rung), Ratchet is a pleasure Dom. He is turned on by overloading his partners again and again, almost to the point of torment. His partners are left limp and shuddering, hooked up to an energon drip with a fuel pump monitor to keep them safe and online after experiencing sexual ecstasy bordering on a spiritual awakening. (Actually, the last one was just Drift. I’m writing the fic now.)
He once made Drift overload in his closed panel with nothing more than sustained eye contact from across the room. Ratchet’s sirens whoop if the overload is particularly good!