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"For a better Cybertron," Optimus Prime reminds himself as he steps in the box. No one else has volunteered for this dubiously honorable position, so it falls on Optimus yet again to step up and complete this very necessary job.
There is another mech in the box when he gets there. Optimus startles at the sight of Nemesis Prime, though he has always known from intelligence reports and that incident with the Stunticons that a Decepticon-aligned clone or two of him is running around. Which seems unfair to him, because he knows who is responsible for making these clones and he has never seen any clones of Sentinel running around proclaiming their affection and loyalty for the Decepticons.
They even have the same alt mode as Optimus. It creeps him out.
But despite Optimus's misgivings about his existence, Nemesis is right here. His plating is polished to a blinding shine and he's applying face paint using one of his side mirrors. He looks like a pleasurebot about to walk the streets of Kaon advertising his "wares".
Which is ridiculous because he and Optimus are on the "hole" side of a glory hole in a recreational facility inside Rebuilt Kaon. None of their "clients" are going to see them.
"What are you doing here?" Optimus hisses at him.
"I am serving the Decepticon empire," Nemesis says primly, rolling a coat of black lip paint on his lips and then subspacing it. He takes another container of polish out of his subspace and dips a digit into it, swirling it around.
"You do realize this is..uh..." Optimus blushes, knowing that Nemesis must know because the holes at both ends of the box make things painfully obvious, "You know this is a place for the Decepticon empire to receive stress relief, right?"
"I thought Toxitron was supposed to be the stupid one," Nemesis says with a roll of his optics. He lifts his leg to apply glittery polish to the seam of his panel. Optimus almost looks away, but realizes that Nemesis is challenging him. He's not losing to one of his glitched clones.
"I think there's two stupid ones," Optimus snaps back. "Quit it with that paint. No one will see you!"
"You are seeing me, Optimus Prime," Nemesis points out. "I am going to be shinier than you."
"Do you think this is some sort of competition? We're not," Optimus feels his face getting even hotter, "We won't even have time to argue."
"This is an activity that will allow me to serve the Decepticon cause without compromising my position, and I will also surpass my CNA donator. I am winning," Nemesis says brightly.
"Ugh," Optimus replies. Their very productive conversation is interrupted by thundering footsteps, the kind that only really comes from a huge Decepticon.
An expression of rapture and excitement blossoms on Nemesis's face as he goes to his knees, making sure his mouth is in front of the specifically placed hole.
"Look at that. The box is glowing," says one of the Decepticons on the other side.
"What's that mean?" another asks.
"They finally found some Autobots to shove in it."
And with that, there's the click of a modesty panel transforming away and a giant spike is shoved right in front of Nemesis's eager, impatient face. Optimus's depraved clone drools and runs his glossa over his lips.
Nemesis parts his lips and presses wet kisses to the giant thick spike in front of his face, running his servos up and down the length.
Optimus watches with wide optics and flushed cheeks, sinking to his knees and shuffling closer to his own hole. His glossa runs along his bottom lip as he watches Nemesis work, his head bobbing back and forth and salival fluids spilling from his stretched, glossy lips. The noises coming from his mouth are obscene and wet.
The Decepticon on the other side makes an appreciative moan, a heavy thud against the wall as he leans more weight on it and incidentally shoves more of his spike into Nemesis's willing intake. "Damn, they finally found the one Autobot who isn't a repressed prude," he groans.
Nemesis narrows his optics, taking more of the Decepticon's spike down his throat and doing something that makes him yelp and moan.
"And he's got some bite. Real good at this," he moans.
Optimus is so busy watching that he forgets he's also on duty and is taken aback by the spike shoved through his own hole. It's much more reasonably sized, but still about as wide around as one of Optimus's fists. There's a strip of biolights that reach from the base to the tip, glowing a bright red as lubricant dribbles from the slit.
On the other side of the box, Nemesis is letting himself be used like a cheap toy. At this point he's keeping his frame still and his mouth open, lips pressed against the hole in the wall. The moans coming from the Decepticon using his mouth grow in volume and desperation as he frags his intake with fast, deep thrusts, lubricant and salival fluid spilling sloppily down onto Nemesis's shiny frame.
The Decepticon on Optimus's side squirms, slowly beginning to pull back. "Look, if you're some size Prime I get it," they mumble in dejection. Clearly mistaking Optimus's distraction for a lack of interest.
Optimus leans forward and shows this Decepticon just how appreciative he is of a regular size. He laves his glossa up and down their length, licking from top to base until they're gasping and whimpering and grinding their hips against the wall, spike throbbing and lubricant dribbling from the tip.
"Oh frag. His mouth, his intake, his glossa!" his Decepticon whines, something metallic clanking against the wall above Optimus's head. Perhaps their helm resting against the cool metal, or a fist slammed against the wall for support.
Optimus loves this. Who knew bringing Decepticons down could be this easy and fun and pleasurable?
Well. There was a certain thrill to taking them down in combat, Optimus admits to himself. He places one servo on the wall to brace himself as he opens his mouth wider and finally takes the dripping tip between his lips, a strangled whimper coming from the other side of the wall. Lubricant pools in his mouth, slightly bitter but so delicious.
Optimus's optics flutter shut as he bobs his head, takes more and more of this Decepticon's spike in, lips stretched wide in a way that must look obscene. His servo drifts between his thighs and he doesn't dare open his optics, in case Nemesis is watching and sees him behaving so improperly.
But by the loud moans and whines and declarations of love escaping the Decepticon using Nemesis's mouth, his clone seems very distracted. Wet, lewd noises fill Optimus's audials, accompanied by Nemesis's muffled moaning.
Optimus sucks on the spike in his mouth as he opens his panel and slides two digits over his node. The touch sends jolts of pleasure straight to his processor as he tries to visualize the Decepticons on the other side, vague outlines of big strong warframes all pent up and desperate for civilians half their size.
Nemesis is leaving smears of his lip paint all over the Decepticon's spike, black glossy paint shining lewdly on ridges and biolights. Optimus feels something in his abdomen clench at it, and he quickly shuts his optics again. His digits move faster over his node, the heat in his abdomen coiling tighter at the scent and taste and
"I'm about to overload," the Decepticon using his mouth warns. Nemesis hums, bobbing his head as the con on the other side roars in pleasure.
It's only a few moments later that the Decepticon is pushed to his overload. Nemesis's claws dig into the wall as he swallows again and again, transfluid still spilling from the corners of his mouth.
After Nemesis lets go of his depressurized spike, he pulls out of the hole.
"Look," the bot says in awe. "He must be wearing lip paint...marked me up good."
Optimus finally opens his optics, glancing at his clone.
Nemesis gives Optimus a wild smile, transfluid dripping down his chin and lip paint smeared.
That is absolutely depraved. Optimus moans around the spike stuffing his mouth, bobbing his head faster and letting his glossa flick at the tip.
There's a scuffle on the other side, two bots jostling and one finally managing to get his spike through the hole. Nemesis grasps it with both servos, stroking up and down as he kisses and licks at the head.
The moans on the other side are loud and appreciative, but Optimus is more focused on the Decepticon using his mouth for now. His thrusts are getting rather erratic, hard for Optimus to move in time with, so he simply keeps his mouth open and relaxes his intake as that spike pounds in. With a cry of pleasure his hips stutter forward one last time, and Optimus's mouth is filled with with transfluid.
Optimus does his absolute best to swallow, spurt after spurt of warm bitter transfluid.
Their optics meet, hazily. Nemesis rises on wobbly legs, lubricant gushing down his thighs.
Groans of distress resound on the other side of the wall. "No, don't go!" "Your mouth feels like rust sticks taste," and other such thoughtful pleas. But they transform to cheers in a few kliks when Nemesis plops down onto the bench.
He lies on his back, realigning his mouth with the hole he's been getting fragged through, and lining his soaking wet valve with a circular panel on the wall opposite. After a few kliks of Nemesis pushing his hips back, smearing his lubricants against the wall and practically kissing it with his valve, a chime goes off. The panel spirals open, allowing a fat spike lined with ridges to slide right into Nemesis's valve.
Nemesis parts his lips and lets out a loud moan, his thighs quivering as his valve is spread open. Even with his vocalizer off, a burst of static escapes his lips. Another spike is shoved in his mouth, muffling his moans again. His frame bounces back and forth with each thrust.
Nemesis is depraved. Tears are rolling down his face as he takes a thick spike down his intake and another up his valve. Lubricant gushes from his valve and his legs kick out wildly with each thrust rocking his entire frame back and forth.
Optimus can't help but move his digits faster, letting out moans and whimpers around the spike he's sucking on as his calipers clench down on nothing. The Decepticon on the other side groans, bucking his hips forward until he suddenly pulls out of Optimus's mouth and overloads, splattering Optimus in warm transfluid.
"Blue lip paint? Cute. You're adorable for such a spike gobbler," he sighs.
Optimus doesn't get a chance to reply as another Decepticon quickly moves in front of the hole, shoving a spike in front of his face.
Nemesis has already finished with the first client using his valve, backstrut arching and legs jerking. The Decepticon that just overloaded inside his valve wheezes out something like a laugh.
"Autobot valves are something else," he groans. "He doesn't even want to let me pull out after I've already filled him all the way up."
"Autobots are greedy little spikesluts," another replies. Maybe the one using Nemesis's mouth, or another waiting in line.
Nemesis smiles stupidly, finally relaxing his calipers and allowing the spike to pull out. A gush of transfluid spills from his valve, and he doesn't even have time to clench down before another thick spike is shoved through the hole, thrusting deeply into Nemesis's valve and making quite obscene noises. He tilts his head back as another spike is shoved through the other hole, lips opening wide to allow it into his mouth.
Optimus won't even think about putting his valve in the hole. Even if it would make him twice as efficient and he might get off as hard as Nemesis does.
But he does keep one servo between his thighs, shoving two digits up into his soaked valve, trying to ignore the whining in the back of his processor that says his digits are nowhere near enough, he needs something as long and thick as the rod piercing his intake, or the thick weapon that must be pounding Nemesis's forge.
Optimus is so glad Nemesis is here. Even with two of them, the line of horny Decepticons seems to stretch on forever. Especially because their "clients" like to overload and then hop right back in line, waiting to use one of the tight holes again. Optimus resolutely refuses to get on his own bench, ignores the whining and pleading that his valve would be just as perfect as his mouth, that they want to make him feel good too. They just want to pound him as hard as Nemesis, to make him squirt around their spikes like Nemesis has been starting to do each time he overloads.....with that pleasured hazy glaze over his optics....
No! Optimus slides his optics away from Nemesis once again, pinching at his node for a jolt of pain-pleasure that gets his thoughts away from that dangerous, slightly envious train of thought.
He's probably committing some obscure form of treason in the autobot codebook just by letting them use his mouth, by stretching his calipers with his digits while fantasizing about something so much bigger fragging him hard. He's so very wet that all he'd have to do would be to slide right onto that bench and present his valve, and get pounded deep and hard and—
Optimus overloads again, rubbing at his node with the pad of his thumb as his moans reverberate up his intake, around the spike of the Decepticon fragging it. She overloads with a groaned curse, flooding his tank with hot transfluid.
Eventually their clients all finish, and Nemesis and Optimus are left alone
"So," Optimus tries to say, but has to swallow and clear his intake from how rusty his abused throat sounds, "we should probably leave now, right?"
Nemesis slowly turns his head towards Optimus, optics blank for a moment before he comes back to the present and blinks at Optimus. He nods, but makes no motion to move. But before they can go anywhere, there's a set of heavy steps entering the room.
Optimus would know Megatron's footsteps anywhere. From the way Nemesis pushes himself into a half-sitting slump, optics dimming and drool spilling down his chin, he does as well.
"Ah, there are two of them," Megatron comments.
Nemesis shakily slips off his bench, a trail of lubricant and transfluid puddling underneath his thighs.
"Just one?" Megatron asks, sounding a bit disappointed. "There's no need to be intimidated. I'd like to reward such generous Autobots for servicing my troops so well," said silkily.
Nemesis looks up at the wall with starry optics; apparently even being called an Autobot is a compliment if it comes from Lord Megatron's sacred intake. But he remains on the floor, edging closer to Optimus's side of the booth.
Optimus looks at Nemesis, at the hole in the wall, and at the bench. He makes an impulsive decision that goes against everything he should do, climbing onto the bench and lining his pelvic plating with the hole in the wall.
Megatron rumbles in approval. Two massive digits poke through the hole, stroking over his soaked valve, tracing his lips and node. He one down to slide inside Optimus, the stretch almost embarrassingly easy with how slick and desperate he is. But he still feels each node being stimulated by just one digit, and he lets out a silent cry of pleasure as it becomes two, two digits stretching him as wide as he's been craving, sending messages of heat and warmth and pleasure and pressure to his sensory net. More lubricant drools out of him as those digits spread, Megatron humming and cooing down at him as he adds a third, valve forced to adapt to parameters beyond the biggest toy he's ever used.
"Hmm," Megatron murmurs thoughtfully, his digits still massaging Optimus's sensitive insides. "I think I can make it fit. Squeeze down twice if you'd like to try."
What a way to communicate with the mech who he's almost killed about three or four times so far. Optimus clenches down around Megatron's thick digits twice, bucking his hips up as well.
Megatron removes his digits, as slow and careful as he was putting them in. He replaces them with his spike, which feels like a slightly less-or-more lethal variation on the cannon mounted to his arm. The spike is silver with red accents pulsing in a vertical pattern to the tip, which is drooling pink fluid and pressed gingerly against Optimus's valve, spreading his lips apart and easing in.
As much as one can ease in when trying to shove a huge spike into a tight valve. Optimus's head tips back, a silent moan escaping his lips as his hips try to grind forward.
"This is a tight fit," Megatron moans, sounding almost pained. But they are both stupid, pigheaded, and selfish, so neither attempts to pull away.
Tight fit is an extreme understatement. Optimus's valve is so full and his greedy frame is quickly shifting things around. Megatron doesn't truly fit, he's just making room for himself, waiting patiently for Optimus to make room for him, thrusting forward and burying more of that perfect spike inside. Nemesis watches with ravenous hunger despite having already gorged on a feast of Decepticons, one servo finding Optimus's and squeezing tight. Optimus squeezes back, needing some lifeline as he's pushed to the limits of pleasure with a vague pain mixed in that reminds him this is real, he's fragging Megatron.
Their ryhthm is sloppy and Megatron's moans in picks up speed until Megatron fully hilts himself, the tip of his spike pressing so firmly on Optimus's ceiling node that he overloads and gushes a clear fluid all over the wall and Megatron's spike. Nemesis lets go of his servo and moves it to the bulge in Optimus's plating, salival fluid spilling from his lips as he presses down, nse servo moving
"So wet," Megatron moans. "Feel free to voice your pleasure, little Autobot. I won't track you down and lock you away and make you my personal hole." His hips still for just a moment.
What messed up dirty talk. The worst part is it's so arousing. Megatron can tell by the way Optimus's valve tightens, and he continues laying it on as he starts to move again. "You were built for this function, an outlier that Primus sculpted to bring pleasure to all. But I want you all to myself," he pants. "I want you to warm my spike in these obnoxious meetings, it would make them so much more tolerable. Would you like that?"
Would Optimus like that? Being sat on Megatron's spike in front of the Decepticon high command and Autobot council and Sentinel, his hips being dented each time Megatron got frustrated, because Megatron would grip him the way he would clench his fists? Before Optimus's pride or morals can consider the question, his valve answers, another overload exploding out of him.
"So you would," Megatron laughs breathlessly. Each thrust slamming his hips into the wall with such force that Optimus would be worried about the bruises he'll probably have later if not for the huge spike currently ramming right through his valve and ceiling node and processor.
Optimus's ceiling node was not built to withstand such an onslaught. His optics glitch out, he has a messy overload that doesn't stop Megatron pounding him for a second, and he hears the click of his vocalizer automatically resetting itself.
No. Megatron can't know it's him. But Optimus can't switch it back off, it feels too good to focus and he's so close.
Nemesis slams his spike down his intake and begins wailing in static, his hips thrusting fast and hard. Optimus is going to make him feel amazing.
"You two are having fun in there, aren't you? I wish I could see....or add to the fun." Nemesis spills down his throat but keeps his spike between his lips, Optimus frantically swallowing all of it down. He wants to scream Megatron's name. Tell Megatron that it is him, that they need to keep doing this forever, frag negotiating the stupid peace treaty.
Nemesis slams his valve down on Optimus's face, muffling his cries with his plush soaked valve lips. Optimus sucks on his node and Nemesis wails even harder, static burning into their audials as he squirts on Optimus's face.
Megatron blows his load and fills Optimus's valve to the brim. Optimus moans pitifully into Nemesis's valve, feeling more oil dribbling out of him as he reaches what feels like his tenth overload. Nemesis pats his cheek, rocking his hips forward and urging Optimus to take sloppy licks at his wet valve.
Optimus wonders hazily for a moment if his firewalls are still active, then shrugs to himself. Megatron's fragging a hole in a wall. He's definitely got his firewalls up.
Megatron pants for air, his spike popping free with a gush of transfluid and lubricant. Optimus feels his mouth growing wetter, oral lubricant spilling out. But there's no way he's fragging moving after that.
He doesn't even have to, because Nemesis crawls over Optimus and starts kissing and licking at Megatron's spike.
Nemesis opens his mouth wide and gingerly takes Megatron's spike down his intake. Optimus blushes hard, wondering what exactly his spike must taste like after pounding his valve.
"Oh, such a dedicated little Autobot," Megatron purrs. If there wasn't a wall between them, he would probably be stroking Nemesis's helm and patting his finials. "Such perfect lips above and below."
He's technically right. And Nemesis is lapping up the praise like he's lapping Megatron's spike, humming happily as he stretches his jaw to the brim.
"I...I love doing this," Nemesis says. He wraps his arms around Optimus, pressing their identical chests together. Optimus can feel the beat of his spark even with their plating in the way. "Promise me we will keep serving the Decepticon empire together."
"I don't have anything better to do," Optimus says stupidly. He's doing much more to improve Autobot-Decepticon relations from this room than when he's sitting at a council meeting as a prize for Sentinel to trot out in front of Megatron.
And he could use some stress relief too. Megatron fragged him so hard he feels that rare emotion he used to feel occasionally on Earth.
Content.
"Neither do I," Nemesis says brightly. He nuzzles against Optimus. "You can borrow my polish next time. We can be shiny together," he offers.
"They are not going to see us, Decepticons are too selfish to share a real bot," Optimus reiterates.