Work Text:
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All of That for a Document I Could’ve Wired Over Bluetooth
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Reconnaissance, that’s what the relay said.
On this front of the battle, intel so crisp and dangerous that it remained under heavy encryption as it slotted itself into his processor. The weight of the information block sat near physical in his frame.
The hassel of Earth left deep gouges in his psyche from the ultimate battle he believed was done. From the barrages of Decepticon attacks to the impossible odds against the Lugnut titans. He remembered being half-dead on his feet and cradled the closest-to-death frame of his dear friend. That’s when the wretch himself barreled through and ripped Optimus Prime off his feet.
By the grace of the Allspark, it sapped ninety percent of his life-force and allowed the sheer minimum to keep Prowl alive. The ninja-bot currently resided at Iacon Regional Hospital in a recovery-induced coma.
Optimus Prime and his team’s victory became short-lived. They delivered the Decepticons in custody over to the Elite Guard and faced incredible fanfare despite being, quote, “nobodies”. Sentinel had his tantrum over having the attention and fanfare be for Optimus’ team and not him alone. He got over it.
Megatron’s farce of a trial, beset by Sentinel’s cocksure incompetence, blinded the Acting Magnus to the obvious holes in his prancing. Trypticon awoke in titanic magnitudes of lava that erupted across the city-state of Kaon. Decepticons flooded through the opening of the old prison complex like insects out of a hive.
Autobots lost ground on Cybertron as the Decepticons reclaimed their capital city within the day. The war resumed in full, vengeful, force.
At least, that’s what everyone believed happened. Ever since Kaon’s emancipation from Autobot holdings, the Decepticons remained quiet. Huddled down for cover, one could say, and waited out some sort of storm to come.
But that was yesterday. Now is today. Now is dodging the raining hellfire of caustic purple napalm as he raced across the plains of Cybertron in search of this underground bunker.
Now, a new faction of Cybertronians vied for total domination over the war-weary planet. Hadeen beamed down scorching rays onto the battle-worn surface. The metallic orbital huffed, tired and wounded, as energon springs shriveled up, farms faced famine, and alloy ecosystems withered. Almost as if the planet itself knew something terrible arrived with this invading faction.
Agents collected top-secret intel on this faction here in the field. A tactical asset in binary ones and zeroes to decode back at headquarters. High Command sent Optimus Prime for retrieval on this intel. Ultra Magnus trusted no one else.
So sensitive, as Ultra Magnus explained during the briefing, they could only handle it through physical ports and exist as a single package. No copies, no duplicates. This file existed in his frame, and his frame alone. Once transferred to a physical host, the residual copy corrupted and wiped itself from existence.
His tires screeched to a halt as he transformed seamlessly to his feet and urged his momentum to hustle into the high-command bunker. He rushed past shiny-plated officers who hadn’t seen a lick of battle outside of virtual reality and weathered old heads nursing cy-gars between their teeth while polishing a rifle in their servos.
Optimus skidded to a stop in front of the war-room. Thick blast doors loomed over his head, interlocked in square teeth and caution tape.
“You survived.” A cocky voice sauntered up to Optimus’ side.
“I did.” He replied. “So did you.”
“That I did,” Sentinel huffed, staring ahead at the looming war-room door. “Any good intel?”
“We’ll talk inside.”
Optimus pinged his vicinity to the occupant on the other side.
[User_[Optimus_Prime]: Remote Key = Command {OPEN}]
[Remote Key Detected…[OP_Prime_0R10NP4X]…Access {Granted}]
[Remote Key Detected…[SN_Prime_53NLT334]…Access {Granted}]
Hydraulics hissed, depressurized…the door slid open like a maw, welcoming Optimus Prime inside. A heavily solidified room. Monitors spanned every open space of the wall, reports flicked past before more information overran them. In the center of the rectangular table, a hologram of Cybertron slowly turned, highlighted in some map key.
Ultra Magnus stood at the helm of the rectangular table, hunched over a datapad under his digits. The old mech barely survived Shockwave’s assassination attempt, his spark splintered into shards at the fringes with the corona waning. Ah, his superior had already commanded him and reminded him several times to quit musing on the medical miracles and about how exhaustion pulled at the Magnus’ jowls.
The door shut behind him with a resounding thump.
Optimus Prime snapped his posture to a salute. “Ultra Magnus, sir, I’ve retrieved the drop as requested, sir!”
Ultra Magnus groaned, straightening his spine. “At ease, soldiers. Any news from Project Ground Bridge?”
“Yessir.” Sentinel Prime said, saluting next to Optimus, then relaxing. “Trials have shown a seventy-three percent success rate. Confirmed successful transportation between Praxus and Antihex, sir.”
A beat of silence.
“Will the rest of the council be joining us soon?” Optimus Prime then asked.
Ultra Magnus beckoned the two Primes closer to the head of the table. “No, not today. This meeting is of utmost discretion…Tell me of the encrypted files.”
Optimus thumbed over the console on his forearm, where his communication module sat beneath his blue gauntlet armor. He willed the micro-transformation where a hardline cable jack poked out. He unspooled the cable and held it out to Ultra Magnus.
“Secured,” Optimus Prime confirmed. “But heavily encrypted.”
“That is unnecessary, Optimus Prime,” Ultra Magnus said. “As I do not have the encryption.”
“But I do.” Sounded a lilted baritone voice. The war-room doors hissed and thunked, locked behind the intruder. The traitorous cadence raked cold talons down Optimus’ spine and into the pit of his tanks like lead. “How wonderful of you to invite me here, Ultra Magnus.”
Optimus Prime snapped into stance, his battlefield tactical relay hummed online as he processed every option at his current disposal. He and Sentinel jumped in front of Ultra Magnus, pointing their ion-weapons at Megatron’s smirking face.
Optimus growled through his engine for emphasis. “Megatron!”
“How did you get in here?” Sentinel added.
Ultra Magnus grasped Optimus’ arm to lower his blade. His electro-magnetic aura pulsed a command to the two primes to listen. “Stand down, both of you.”
“Listen to your betters, Autobot, or else you’ll fry that delicate piece of intel to ashes in your processor.” Megatron crooned. He waltzed further into the room, standing only an arm’s length away from the trio of Autobots.
Sentinel scoffed. “Why is he here?” Even with Ultra Magnus’ demanding aura to sheath their weapons, Sentinel jabbed his lance towards Megatron’s chest.
Megatron’s optics flicked down to Optimus’ exposed cable in his forearm. “Ha! That line of rubber won’t withstand the power surge of this decryption, unless you plan on hooking every line in your frame to me.” Megatron scoffed.
Optimus Prime’s stance drooped when he spun on his heel, staring at Ultra Magnus for clarification.
“I will not repeat myself: stand down, both of you.” Ultra Magnus boomed, surging a flare of his aura to the two younger bots. Both instinctively flinched, lowering their weapons. “We have much to discuss.”
Sentinel clicked his tongue. “Yes, we do.”
Optimus turned to face the intruding warframe with a knot of dread coiling in his tanks.
…
They sat down at the table cordially. Megatron leaned back in the diminutive seat, his sleek, hulking, jet kibble spilled out from the edges. Most of his bulk receded back into his frame after resuming his Cybertronian jet form. Yet, traces of his earth alt-mode remained in his pronounced pauldrons and squarish shapes. Even his helm, though resumed pointed, had this gladiatorial angularity to it.
Ultra Magnus began this four-bot meeting with the projected map of Cybertron. Current war fronts, known strongholds of all three factions, and a looming question.
Who were these unaffiliated invaders?
Spies infiltrated their ranks, or what you could even call ranks, to scour for any and all information on who the hell these mecha are. They all spoke to some higher power that did not show itself.
Cybertronians, that they were, yet the ranks were amalgams of frame-types and color schemes. No perceivable rank system, closer to hoards of mindless beasts that attacked and ravaged the ground they touched. Overseers, as some soldiers would name them, herded these platoons of creatures.
Then came the bombshell.
“There is a reason I asked Megatron to attend this meeting.” Ultra Magnus began. “The nature of these invaders has threatened not just Autobots but Decepticons as well. They poison the alloy they stand upon and are fundamentally decimating Cybertron’s ecosystem from the inside out. A splintered front cannot withstand death on two wheels.”
“No!” Sentinel slammed his servos onto the table. “Ultra Magnus, you are not insinuating that—”
“Sentinel, another outburst and you will be court-martialed. The deal is set, and I will not retreat. “I came to an agreement with Megatron; it is time our two sides reunite.”
“But why?” Sentinel pushed his given boundary. He then gestured to the war map. “Clearly, we’re gaining ground!”
“The Terrorcons are decimating you Autobots on the front lines. You claim superiority when half your soldiers can’t hold a proton rifle. Protihex is under siege and doomed to fall soon if nothing is done. All the while, Decepticon strongholds are unshaken.” Megatron interjected. “Explain to me, Prime, why don’t you need our help?”
Sentinel opened his mouth to retort, then a sharp glare from Ultra Magnus shut him up again.
Megatron turned to Optimus with his folded servos neatly placed on the table. “You, Earth Prime, you haven’t said a thing this entire time? Care to clue us into your thoughts?”
Optimus snapped back into the conversation with a glowering tilt of his helm. “…When you said my data cables won’t be strong enough to withstand the power surge, what were you implying? My cables are perfectly capable of withstanding beyond two-hundred amperages.”
“This encryption was created by Destron archivists well before Powered-Convoy’s time. Oh, but why should I have the joy of explaining? This was your Magnus’ idea after all.” Megatron leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms with this insufferable smirk on his derma.
Optimus and Sentinel switched their gaze to Ultra Magnus.
The Magnus’ optics dimmed in thought. “Yes, I asked for the information to be encrypted in such a way. Destron information subterfuge-based sharing far surpassed that of the Protectorbots’ detection.”
Optimus perked up. “I think I remember reading about it. Tarnian data runners created the encryption to send Destron rebellion messages invisible to Nova Magnus’ radar. The message itself can be transferred as compressed files, but the actual encryption overexerts data cables yet demands a constant stream of charge, or else the program terminates—so they…used…ports…and connectors.” Dawning of understanding bled into Optimus’ voice as he withdrew into himself. It finally clicked of what Ultra Magnus brought him here to do. “I mean this with as much disrespect as I can project, Megatron: I am not doing that with you.”
Megatron’s coy facade darkened. “You misunderstand your place.”
Ultra Magnus slammed his fist on the table with a thunderous bang. “Enough! I expected better, and yet it seems my orders were too much for you Primes to follow. I’m sure Optimus Minor and Sentinel Major will have better success elsewhere.”
Optimus stammered. “I…I apologize for my outburst, sir, and…Lord Megatron.” Oh, how it stung to say Lord to the wretch’s face.
That appeased the warlord as that cocky grin curled back onto his face. Megatron’s pauldrons rose and fell with a dramatic huff from his vents. He moved the conversation on as if he didn’t just vaguely threaten the Prime.
“Will your processor handle this decryption, Prime?” Megatron reached out and thumbed Optimus Prime’s chin. His voice was gravely serious. Optimus Prime’s engine growled a threat, instinctually.
Ultra Magnus answered for him. “Optimus Prime is equipped with an archival-class central processor with additional tactical cores. Decoding will come naturally to him.”
Megatron returned his focus to Optimus. “Is this true?”
“I worked as a clerk in—” Optimus Prime cut himself off, “Yes, yes, it is.”
“Good.”
One moment, Optimus was sitting down, guarded. Next, Megatron yanked him onto his lap and manhandled him into a compromising position.
“Excuse me, you sonuva—”
The warlord muffled Optimus’ shout with the palm of his servo clamped over his mouth. Optimus continued to writhe and wriggle in Megatron’s grasp, till finally settling down. His finial antennae pinned down, followed by an indignant rev of his engine.
Ultra Magnus ignored the display as he addressed Sentinel quietly, away from the other two’s audials.
The warlord grasped Optimus’ silver thighs as the Prime straddled him backwards; emergency lights pressed against his broad chest. One servo dragged up to grasp his hips as the other disappeared from his mouth. Optimus closed his optics and pretended he was somewhere else just for a moment until he got used to the fact that Ultra Magnus was staring him down, and Sentinel also sat there, quiet.
He heard micro-transformation clicks and then sharp digits tapping at his circular auditory component. His triangular fin antennae flicked as it sensed the buzz of live electricity encroached its space.
“Open,” Megatron said.
Optimus huffed. “It’s the other side.”
His antennae flicked up then down as Megatron teased the tip of the cable jack on the auditory guards. Optimus disengaged the top plates, and Megatron plugged his processor into Optimus’. Nothing passed through the wire yet. Optimus assumed that was soon to change.
A palm smoothed all the way down Optimus’ spine until it cupped the curve of his rear. The digits of the other servo pesteringly thumbed his sensitive finials.
Optimus manually opened his desert-dry valve cover. Megatron wasted no time plunging a digit in and prodding around the soft plastic alloy of his port. The pads of his digits pressed the bulbs of nodes that lined his port in columns. Megatron retracted his digit.
“Optimus Prime, you may assist yourself.” Ultra Magnus instructed.
A bolt of indignation pulsed through Optimus Prime’s field. Megatron chuckled as the feeling traveled to him through the hardline connection. The Prime knew what Ultra Magnus insinuated, and he did not like it.
“Go on, Optimus Prime,” Megatron’s voice grated over Optimus’ audials. “Get to work.”
And so, Optimus Prime trailed a servo over the yellow crest of his pelvic armor and down to his shriveled, unaroused folds. The black rubber felt warm to his touch; the clitoral node did not shine as the flood of aroused energon had not yet traveled to his loins. Dry, he reminded himself, sitting on Megatron’s lap made him dry.
He went in with two digits, his middle and ring, rubbing and touching himself. He attempted every little trick to get himself in the mood. At least activate his lubrication pumps, then the rest is duty. He needed to reason with himself. Duty, this is an act hundred, if not thousands, had done before him to achieve their goals. The connector-to-port alignment indeed remained the most effective and secure form of LAN connection.
Optimus continued his little show of obedience. Pulses of “one day I’m going to kill you and celebrate it” traveled through the hardline wires. Megatron’s smirk deepened, and that only infuriated the Prime further.
Then, Optimus gasped as a second pair of digits snuck up from behind and rubbed at his currently filled port.
A request pinged through the wire to remove his fingers. He took too long, and Megatron was antsy to get a move on. Sensitive data needed to be decrypted, he reasoned. It is only a duty. Duty his perky blue skid plate.
Megatron’s digits breached the black rubber folds. They curled and petted his insides, touching deeper and thicker than Optimus’ own servos could achieve. Megatron leaned over to purr his turbines against Optimus’ back and nip at his shivering antenna. A bolt of charge zipped through the cable jack plugged into his helm. His voice box spat out a surprised yelp, which earned an amused chuckle from Megatron.
In his aura, Megatron forcefully pulsed waves of lust and desire to fill the room and teek at the other fields sitting across. Optimus’ aura shrank in deference to the pressure nipping at his subconscious.
[External_User_(Megatron): Command_Activate; native pelvic lubrication systems.]
A cool shiver wracked through Optimus Prime’s systems as a knot of pleasure tightened in his lower belly. If one stayed quiet, they might hear the little pump extruding a stream of lubricant into his port.
All in the name of duty.
Megatron pulled out his digits and observed the viscosity of the secreted lubricant. Clear and slick that it drooled down his digits, cooling as it touched fresh air.
Ultra Magnus nodded his approval. Enough foreplay, his delicate data needed decrypting.
Megatron lifted Optimus by his hips and poised him where he wanted, hovering right above that steaming charcoal black spike cover. No, not cover, the warlord’s connector protruded from his pelvic plating and throbbed with charge.
Sentinel and Optimus looked on with a shared bewildered expression.
Optimus pulled himself away from Sentinel’s attention to curl down and observe the monstrosity between his thighs. A thick gunmetal gray cord that bulged out at the base and barely tapered to the head. Ribbed maroon armor lined the bottom side. Columns of red glossy nodes spanned the top, sides, and bottom of Megatron’s connector.
Optimus Prime swallowed the whimper in his throat as Megatron’s bulbous spike head pressed against the opening of his port.
“You cannot be serious…that is going to—Gah!”
Megatron breached.
Optimus arched his spine as data nodes rubbed as they passed. Megatron’s connector pushed in blisteringly slowly. His hips bucked at the dual sensation, yet Megaton kept tight tabs on his position; each node must line up properly for this.
A gasp tore through Optimus’ air compressor when Megatron hilted, each data node lined up. He anticipated a sudden storm of information to pass as charge tingled between aligned sensors. But no, of course not, that would be too easy.
Megatron dragged his connector out, then roughly snapped his hips up into Optimus’ port. The poor prime yelped static. His plating distended with every slow thrust, the throbbing connector teasing his hyperactive nubs. All the way till the tip of Megatron’s connector brushed his cervical node.
Just beneath the yellow decals of Optimus’ pelvic armor, another panel transformed away, and his spike pressurized right into Megatron’s waiting servo. The clitoral node swelled with energon at every thrust of Megatron’s hips till it winked a blue glow.
Each pass built up a charge, with a loud clank echoing through the meeting room. Megatron continued to surge power through the data cable plugged into Optimus’ processor. Optimus read the transfer on his heads-up display.
[External Transfer: Syncing…Syncing…Data decryption: running program…]
[Optimal charge; not reached. Minimum: 10kV…current: 7kV]
[User_[Megatron]: Running executable patch…generating cypher…encrypted file found in User_[Optimus_Prime]…proceed.]
[User_[Optimus_Prime]: Firewall access granted to External_User_[Megatron]…proceed.]
[External_User_[Megatron]: Decyphering lines (1/2483)…est: 01:25:00]
“Ngh!” His frame did not discern pleasure from duty as charge surged through his circuits, all the same. Heat bellowed from Optimus systems as his higher functions numbed out to allow free access to his central processing unit. Pleasure of charge petting his port zipped through the haze with every single line of binary sorting through his system.
The hydraulic and fiber muscles that kept him rigid suddenly relaxed as his higher functions dulled to accommodate the overwhelming CPU load of the decryption. Megatron supported him with an arm around his windshield and the other servos encircling his waist. The spread of Optimus’ thighs over Megatron’s pelvis offered an unhindered view of his valve lips being stretched thin near their limit, with clear lubricant dribbling out with each languid thrust.
Megatron’s optics dimmed in focus, most of his energy rerouted to remain upright with only slight motions of his hips grinding into Optimus’ port.
“Sir, I don’t think I should be here to witness this,” Sentinel complained. Heat gathers across his circuits from watching his old friend get worked up. His spike threatened to spring out of its confines as his valve stirred with interest.
Ultra Magnus steels his expression. “This isn’t pleasure, soldier; it’s duty and business. In the meantime, review these reports for me and update the map.”
“And what of the intel I gathered?”
“It will be accessed soon.”
“How cruel of you, Ultra Magnus,” Megatron’s facade switched to a different kind of cruel grin. “Your other prime appears rather left out. Why waste his presence on menial reports? I thought you brought him here to synthesize data while this one decrypts it?”
And that’s how Sentinel got roped into flashing his valve for Ultra Magnus.
Okay, well, not exactly. Sure, he could get away with only doing hardline cables, but seeing Optimus debauched and Ultra Magnus’ presence pressing into his spinal struts…it got him charged up. The attention, the petting, the paltry words of encouragement; it nipped at Sentinel’s jealousy.
And who was he to reject advances from Ultra Magnus? Sentinel will never admit it, not even with Megatron’s blaster to his exposed spark, that he dreamed of a moment like this…just not with Megatron and his ex-amica in the room with them. So what if he liked older, mature mechs that put him in his place?
Unfortunately for that dream, he did not get to flash his valve as Ultra Magnus eased himself into a comfortable position and brought out his personal work tablet.
Sentinel slumped in his seat.
“Prepare the data synthesis.” Came Ultra Magnus’ command.
How could Sentinel focus on the scene progressing several steps away? Megatron, the slagmaker, genocidal warlord, antithesis to the entire Autobot cause, sitting gallantly on some roundtable seat while sheathed in his ex’s—no! In his fellow prime’s valve. Not ex, now is not the time to dwell on that. Sentinel Prime moved the encrypted file cache—that he gathered earlier—to the forefront of his processor and pinged the wireless connection to his commander.
Ultra Magnus acknowledged the ping. He thumbed through some files on his tablet, wrinkled brow furrowed in concentration. “Sentinel Prime, begin analysis on Section 1-A.”
Sentinel blinked for a moment. “Ultra Magnus, sir, it requires—ah—requires an encryption key.”
“Tell me what it says.”
The code is highlighted on Sentinel’s HUD.
[Program: <Vygh bvnhyusbvtb tmn hvzl de nqppqtid da Ydlvd Nyaynj, sgpxrgw uibdezhgf ar tuh Elhtuvx fikqfg.>]
“I…I cannot read it, sir. It’s all gibberish.” Sentinel replied. It hurt his processor just having it up on his HUD, interfering with his visual input.
“Then you’ve accessed the correct one. Open your processor port.” A wire jack pinched between Ultra Magnus’ digits waited for Sentinel to comply.
Circular plating parted with a click, and the sensitive input port exposed itself to the open air. Specifically, the port in the circle rings on his helm’s temples, similar to Optimus’. His tubular antenna twitched in anticipation as Ultra Magnus plugged in.
Instantly, another user tapped into his visual feed, then his audio, and lastly his tactile sensors. A mirrored effect as Ultra Magnus scrolled through his recent files for him, on Sentinel’s own HUD. He hummed satisfactorily.
Sentinel heard the whimpers and low mechanical noises of the other Prime across the table. He refused to look at that crankshaft and pulled his processor right onto the lines of indecipherable code before him.
By the Allspark, what if Ultra Magnus could see his charge levels from the proximity of hearing Optimus like…like that!
[User_[Ultra_Magnus]: Running executable cypher program. Cypher selected {MAGNUS}…proceed.]
[System {Failure}: Error 51R3. Electrical current exceeds cable tolerances.]
[System: Ejecting User_[Ultra_Magnus]…]
“Overtaxxed.” Ultra Magnus said. He figured so. The council commissioned Sentinel’s frame for guard specifications, not data-processing like his other Prime. The hardline cable ejected from its dock and reeled back into Ultra Magnus’ frame.
“I’m afraid data synthesis will require a stronger type of connection, Sentinel Prime,” Ultra Magnus disengaged. “I apologize for summoning you. You are dismissed until the data center’s third shift.”
“Third…third shift?” Sentinel stammered, flustered. “Sir, I can take it. No need for intermediary-uh…intermediary monitors.”
Another moan drawled from Optimus’ throat.
“This was also encrypted with Kaoni—”
“Tarnian,” Optimus Prime corrected from across the table.
“Right. Tarnian encryption. Sir, wouldn’t it be more efficient to do it that way…sir?”
“In which way are you insinuating, Sentinel Prime?”
Sentinel cleared his vocalizer and glanced over to where Megatron had his servos rubbing on Optimus’ clitoral node. Lines of code continued scrolling across the glossy sheen of his dimmed optics.
Ultra Magnus huffed through his air compressor. “Headlights on the table, soldier.”
A pang of arousal stung through Sentinel Prime’s system as he did so. The front grill of his snow-plow alt leaned on top of the table.
Ultra Magnus gripped Sentinel’s hips and thrust him fully onto the conference table. His pelvis ground over Sentinel’s rear, a gyrating, grinding sound of metal on metal. The vibrations traveled through the sensors around his port.
Sentinel Prime attempted to push himself up, only for Ultra Magnus to clamp his servo over the nape of his neck and pin the Prime down. The other servos rubbed furiously at Sentinel’s panel till the sheet unlatched and parted with a “snick”.
Two digits plunged in, curling and delving. Sentinel’s lubricant systems activated instinctually, a deep sigh purring through his engine.
[User_[Sentinel_Prime]: Firewall access overridden using {=Magnus} key.]
[User_[Ultra_Magnus]: Begin cypher decryption.]
[Program: {ERROR = 2301} = Suitable LAN Connection not found.]
Ultra Magnus made an inscrutable sound as he continued massaging Sentinel’s valve. Petting each concentric ring till slick lubricant oozed down his pelvic plating and smeared across his inner thigh.
A mech like the old Magnus did not spend time with frilly pleasures. Every movement, every subtle touch, had an implicit goal. He worked Sentinel with razor-sharp accuracy, getting the mech pliant and receptive to his duty. A streamlined process. It took little time until Ultra Magnus deemed Sentinel ready and lined up his connector to the other’s port.
A wrung smile plastered over Sentinel’s face as Ultra Magnus met array-to-array. Like a wet-dream come true, he shivered in anticipation as data-nodes aligned and connected via static charge. Inside, they rubbed and systems communicated with flashes of pleasure.
The files of importance blinked back into focus on Sentinel’s HUD. Before Sentinel’s glass optics, the jumbling glyphs scrolled and clicked. One glyph at a time until the words spelled out phonetically, then condensed into their proper neocybex glyph forms. He missed the passing code of a LAN connection successfully passing through his firewalls.
[Program: <This information can only be accessed by Ultra Magnus, Supreme Commander of the Autobot forces.>]
Autobot-sized spikes fit much cleaner into Autobot-sized valves. A truth Sentinel thanked as he peeked at how his peer fared, and it was not a fun sight.
Optimus’ eyes flickered dimly, half-awake. His air compressor made these pitiful little sounds as his vocalizer clicked fruitlessly. The pair of antenna fins on his helm tilted backwards, flicking every so often. The transformation seams along his front grill softened and parted, forming a visible bulge that pulled the rubber connective tissue taut. Megatron’s hips bucked slowly and sensually.
A thin line of lubricant seeped out from his stretched valve, over Megatron’s buried spike, and onto the chair.
A furious rev spurred in Sentinel Prime’s engine before he could stop it.
He looked blissful, and that’s why Sentinel didn’t like it. Jealousy prickled at the edges of his plating. His transformation panels flared out and burst out a gust of scalding air before settling back in.
Ultra Magnus sent a ping through the LAN connection. A command of “behave” echoed through his processor.
His spike ached. Seeing a comrade he used to claim as his (even though Optimus was the one to put him in his place), sighing on Decepticon spike.
“Your Prime has quite the temper on him.” Megatron chided. He spoke so easily as if he wasn’t using Optimus Prime’s processor as his personal terminal.
“That he does.” Ultra Magnus responded with a fond rub up and down Sentinel’s spine. “As vocal as your opinions are on my Primes, Sentinel is a fantastic drill sergeant.”
“He trained two of those whelps that skirmished with my lieutenants on Earth, if I recall correctly,” Megatron said. “What were they…Bumble-fool and Bum-head?”
An indignant growl rumbled in Optimus’ engine. “Bumblebee and Bulkhead.” He said sharply. “Their names are Bumblebee and Bulkhead—mph!”
Megatron clamped a servo over Optimus’ intake.
“It seems I’m not using that processor of yours to its full capacity,” Megatron chided. “Barely can keep his lights glowing and still giving me grief.”
Another furious rev buzzed between their conjoined bodies.
“Tell me, Ultra, are all your primes as peculiar as these two? Such talent squandered beneath their egos and lack thereof, respectively! That one allowed me to waltz freely from my prison with personal fanfare, while this one worked so diligently to delay my schemes of progress.” Megatron continued.
“What purpose is this posturing, Megatron?” Ultra Magnus asked.
“Merely filling this silence; unless you prefer to listen to the moans of your inferiors for the next hour. It is most enjoyable. Since you seem to be keen on stating your piece, Maintenance Prime, is your cyberninja’s sacrifice worth this—”
A startled hitch of vents had Sentinel and Ultra Magnus snap up to see what interrupted Megatron’s monologuing.
A single drop of energon slipped down his palm and onto the floor. Rage simmered just beneath the creaking metal gnashed between Optimus’ jaws. The canines installed into his dentae sunk into the protoform gaps of Megtatron’s servo armor.
Megatron scowls as Optimus released his clamp on Megatron’s servo and spat out the energon that washed over his tongue.
“I believe he has made his point, Megatron.” Ultra Magnus chortled.
Megatron pulled his servo away and inspected the damage. “So he has…so he has.”
The next period of silence stretched on without another comment. Only the squelching of valves and the humming of overclocked processors. Sentinel radiated bliss as Ultra Magnus plugged in more hardline cables, sending pulses of commands through them and filing the decrypted data for later review. If only he could pull data straight from Optimus Prime as well…
Ultra Magnus beckoned Megatron’s attention with a wave of his servo. He grunted, standing up with Sentinel Prime in tow. He shuffled the two of them around and plopped back down in the seat right next to Megatron.
Sentinel’s unsheathed spike wagged with the movement, dripping shiny lubricant that splat on the ground. The blue-gold connector pulsed along the bio-light nodes engorged with swollen energon pulsing through.
Ultra Magnus reached around the prime to wrap his servo around and pump slow, languid strokes up and down Sentinel’s connector. Sentinel keened from the attention. His spike gushed more lubricant, plus the small shimmer of transfluid escaping from his building climax.
Megatron cocked a brow at the sudden change of placement and why Ultra Magnus gave his subordinate’s array more attention.
Ultra Magnus’ optics crinkled as his focus narrowed to Optimus’ bared array and the sad state of his spike. He disturbed Sentinel from his stupor with a pulse through the many rubber cables plugged into Sentinel’s frame.
“Assist your cohort.” Ultra Magnus commanded.
Sentinel’s lenses clicked as they cycled dumbly in that direction. “A-assist with what, sir?”
“Stimulate his connector.”
Megatron barked out a laugh. “So blunt and crass, Ultra.” He chided. “Poetics were never your strong suit.”
Ultra Magnus’ optics flicked up to Megatron’s snide expression. “An effective leader gives the clearest orders in the shortest amount of glyphs possible. Extrapolation wastes precious energy that constitutes inefficient mobilization.”
“Then why bother with all this foreplay, Ultra, or have you decided to descend from your pedestal to revel in the wanton ways of the common bot?”
“There is nothing common regarding any mecha in this room.” Came Ultra Magnus’ quick reply.
The bickering back-and-forth continued as Sentinel reached down, grazing the tips of his digits over Optimus’ spike. He felt every slight ridge and line that defined the spike pass under the pads of his digits.
Pangs of nostalgia appeared like an annoying pop-up of time long ago. Servicing each other at the barracks and dorms, quick escapades between exams. They and Elita-One would fall into someone’s recharge dock and tangle themselves in wires, both data-cable and internal.
In this position, he couldn’t lean down and suck him off. He really wanted to have that spike in his mouth once more, just like old times.
Optimus made this wounded sound as arcs of electricity passed between Sentinel’s digits and his exposed spike. He stroked slowly and felt the throbs of oil under his sensors.
Ultra Magnus’ servo engulfed Sentinel’s as he reached around to assist.
Ultra Magnus lined up both Optimus’ and Sentinel’s connectors side-by-side. Those length-wise sensitive bulbs flashed as they mushed together, sharing charge and syncing up. Next, Ultra Magnus removed a roll of electrical tape from his subspace.
“Easy, soldiers, we need uninterrupted contact.” Ultra Magnus dutifully cooed. He stretched out a length of it and wrapped it around Optimus and Sentinel’s aligned connectors. Electrical charges loaded with binary code zipped through the pulsing nodules.
Sentinel whimpers as Optimus rests his forehead on Sentinel’s shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.
Ultra Magnus manually ejected several thick data cables from Sentinel’s frame. He released the one closest to the secondary processor located in his central body cavity and brought the jack up a random port in Optimus’ frame. The plating parted, exposing the underarmor rife with biolight and a port eager to accept. Ultra Magnus ejected and plugged until all four frames were a mess of woven wires and tangled limbs.
[External_User_[Ultra_Magnus]: Prompt.]
[Program: Current program at [96.02%] complete.]
[Program: Suitable LAN Connection found. Pair User_[Ultra_Magnus] and User_[Sentinel_Prime] to User_[Megatron] and User_[Optimus_Prime]?]
[External_User_[Ultra_Magnus]: [ [Yes] / No] ]
[Program: Downloading patches…Establishing uplink to local field bandwidth…Syncing…]
[External_User_[Ultra_Magnus]: Prompt.]
[Program: Current program at [99.72%] complete.]
[External_User_[Ultra_Magnus]: Queue second executable.]
[Program: Accessing information from User_[Optimus_Prime]. Is this the correct directory?]
[External_User_[Ultra_Magnus]: Yes.]
[Program: Beginning synthesis executable of compiled files {Datapacket-192643AB8392L9E8…990}. ]
Megatron relinquished a servo off of his claimed Prime to seize the back of Ultra Magnus’ helm. He pulled the Magnus across the space and claimed his derma, squeezing the two Primes between them.
Megatron condensed a bolt of charge and sent it through the two bots between them to burst into Ultra Magnus’ processor. Over and over in this closed circuit of building charge, till their capacitors smoked from stress.
A proxy war to dominate the surging charge, both leaders used the capacitors of the Primes in this encounter.
Ultra Magnus broke away for a moment to speak. “Your penchance for domination precedes you, Megatron—mph!”
Megatron pulled right back, cutting the other off. He broke away from himself for a quip. “Save your speeches for a bot that cares.”
As the two leaders made out, the bots sandwiched between them scuffed and clawed desperately at each other in the torrent of sensations flashed across their sensor net like mortars on this battlefield. Thrusts into ports slick with squelching lubricant. Charge zapped through charred circuitry. A duel of mental fortitude fought through the taxed mindscape in this knotted tangle of wires and connections.
Ultra Magnus’ fans kicked up a notch as his huffs of effort crackled into static. While Megatron’s grip held his helm prisoner, his servos groped around Sentinel’s chassis, squeezing affectionately.
“S-sir, my circuits are too hot,” Sentinel complained. “I can’t keep this up.”
Ultra Magnus yanked himself from Megatron’s claws and hunched over his prime. “Steel yourself, soldier.”
“Not yet,” Optimus whimpered into Sentinel’s receiver.
Sentinel’s optics flickered at the sentence, but his face contorted all too familiar.
“Not yet, Sentinel,” Optimus says again, louder this time. Megs twitches his hold on him, sinking him back to full penetration. The plates of his grill clacked in a way that he really wished wasn’t hot as hell.
“Mmf.” Sentinel shudders. “I can’t—”
“You have to, or start this whole thing all over again.” He didn’t want to put any other both through this horror. It was his duty to keep his cohort in check to finish out this progress.
But Sentinel was almost too far gone. Ever one to build up too much charge too fast. Too eager to get to the tipping point.
“Don’t mess this up, Sentinel!” Optimus didn’t know why he snapped the way he did. Perhaps residual anger at the beast of a mech that wreaked havoc on his valve. “You hear me? Don’t.”
Sentinel took a few measured ex-vents. Glaring at the other prime.
“Crankshaft,” He grumbled.
“You finish when I tell you, you can finish, soldier.” Ultra Magnus interrupted. “Optimus, status update.” He said before claiming Megatron’s lips once more.
Optimus fumbled through the lines of code; his focus slipped every time he selected the file to send over the wired connection. Over and over, it just tumbled from his metaphorical grasp. It left his voice box popping as he rattled out the last of the update.
He rested his helm back into the crook between Sentinel’s helm and his large plow pauldron. Wires jostled and rubbed; his ports felt horribly sore…overwhelmed.
Ultra Magnus’ large servo rubbed up and down Sentinel’s side. Each jolt of electricity zipped through the closed circuit, pushing his limits at every hilt. His processor was in a flurry of sensation, lust, and debugging code.
Diodes and cathodes, burned fuses stank in the closed air of this war room.
Pain flashed in arcs between their chafing spikes. The rubber, electrical tape was akin to a torture device as the rubbing went sour and the stickiness of the adhesive was sure to leave welts.
Megatron’s pulses of pleasure through the circuit battled Ultra Magnus’ rhythmic thrusts, clinically precise into his valve. Sentinel whimpered and whined, canceling out the fluxes that spewed through his voice-box.
Parcels of thoughts flit between the two primes. Hold out, get the job done, and it’ll be over. Optimus coached through the various connections to keep holding out, the charge this high, his coils turned a blistering, glowing red with heat.
Sentinel Prime refused to yield to his deeper instincts. Despite the spike targeting his cervical node over and over, he wiggled against the iron grip. No amount of shifting altered the direction of Ultra Magnus’ spike and hit his node with terrible, pleasurable accuracy.
He couldn’t finish now and ruin the transfer. A little longer. Just a little…just…a little.
“Ngh!” Sentinel’s spine shot rigid as Optimus bit down on his derma, no longer able to vocalize to keep him in check.
It had the opposite effect that Optimus wanted. Sending confusing pings throughout Sentinel's frame. The throb of welted protoform and the stimulation. The burn of humiliation if they had to go through this again…or the mortification of losing the sensitive data.
If only Magnus wouldn’t hit the bullseye on every stroke, he wouldn’t be squirming with overtaxed systems.
He kicked out a stabilizer, wiggled in Ultra’s lap, and keened. Too much! It was too much! The data clawed at his senses, dulling and sharpening. Too much pressure, too much charge. The tandem of ports and connectors, filler and filled. Sentinel became acutely aware of each sensation rotating in this closed circuit of frames, the bolts of charge sent rippling through boards and fuses.
“Magnus, sir.” Sentinel whimpered, only Optimus caught the whisper. “Magnus, Optimus, please, slag—I—”
Next thing he knew, Optimus felt the gush of fluid splat against his pelvic plates before the sensation of relief swept over the wired connection.
A shuddering moan fritzes through Sentinel’s throat as he sagged into Optimus.
The relief, like the conversation that succeeded it, was short lived.
“Your lapdog finished so soon?” Megatron purred, noticing the fluid dripping into his lap. “Seems like your prime needs a reminder of how to take orders.”
“We will be finished when Optimus is finished with the decryption,” Ultra said coolly. "We will not stop now."
There was a flash of panic through the connection.
Sentinel Prime squirmed and choked, throwing out his leg for purchase, but the three other joined frames kept him pinned. A surge of data ruined his high of release, alerts pinged at his attention over and over. The throb of his spike wrapped up tight in electrical tape and mushed together with Optimus’…the slick condensation created an uncomfortable chafe between the two connectors.
The movement caused an unwanted chain of events.
The only hint that Ultra gave was a hitch of his vents when Sentinel’s lower pelvic array grew heavy and hot and the pierced bot let out a ruined moan. Parcels of current status flit along every single connected channel, spilling over into the entire LAN connection.
The sense of relief, though muted while being shared throughout them all, was even more addictive the second time.
Megatron growled something deep and possessive. His thrusts quickened from this languid pace, forcing short erotic keens from Optimus’ throat. The squelch of lubricant squeezed and pulled from his valve echoed in his audials with every punch.
His processor pinged the countdown as Megatron stilled with a reverberating growl of his turbines. Optimus felt the whoosh of air against his scalding plating as coital latches locked the pair tight into one another.
A gasp ripped through Optimus Prime’s air compressor. His lower belly suddenly grew heavy and hot…full. Uncomfortably full. Sensors of his lower pelvic area pinged at capacity.
Sentinel appeared no better. A pouch swelled just above his pelvis, where the rubber connective tissue strained against the internal pressure, insisting on pressing outwards.
It was entirely distracting, carrying the remaining charge for the entire unit. It began to burn Optimus' circuits. And while the mech could very easily take it—both from the sense of duty that made the bot so tenacious, and the high tolerance for physical pain constantly giving Ratchet a processor ache—there was no need. All readings pointed to the path of success for this data transfer. There was no need to edge the poor mech any longer.
Optimus must've sent out a stream of consciousness accidentally. Requiring assistance to finish. Silent conversations pinged throughout the four of them. Optimus, a quiet plea. Sentinel, enjoying watching the slagger suffer before getting a scolding from Ultra Magnus to assist. And Megatron…a deep satisfaction.
Sentinel, commanded by Ultra who had wrapped his servo around the two soldiers' connectors once again and pumped at a steady pace, leaned in to ruin Optimus' derma. Venting hot air into Optimus’ exhaust.
Megatron's clawed arm wrapped around to tease the mech's chassis. Plucking at his windshield wipers and running his claws over the fogged glass before the large clawed hand ran down Optimus' front. Finding the bump from his own connector, still completely pressurized and poized to slam against Optimus' internal node. And rubbing himself off through Optimus' grills. The slosh of the prime's filled chambers were suddenly seemingly pleasant to the mech.
Optimus would not overload until the charge surged. The moment the transfer was complete.
[External_User_[Megatron]: Decyphering lines (2481/2483)…est: 00:00:10]
[External_User_[Megatron]: Decyphering lines (2481/2483)…est: 00:00:09]
[External_User_[Megatron]: Decyphering lines (2482/2483)…est: 00:00:08]
[External_User_[Megatron]: Decyphering lines (2482/2483)…est: 00:00:07]
[External_User_[Megatron]: Decyphering lines (2482/2483)…est: 00:00:06]
[External_User_[Megatron]: Decyphering lines (2482/2483)…est: 00:00:05]
[External_User_[Megatron]: Decyphering lines (2483/2483)…est: 00:00:04]
[External_User_[Megatron]: Decyphering lines (2483/2483)…est: 00:00:03]
[External_User_[Megatron]: Decyphering lines (2483/2483)…est: 00:00:02]
[External_User_[Megatron]: Decyphering lines (2483/2483)…est: 00:00:01]
[External_User_[Megatron]: Decryption Complete. Generating text file…]
[File Downloaded: Decepticon_Intel_Megatron]
[Upload to LAN network: User_[Sentinel_Prime] and User_[Ultra_Magnus]?]
[ [Yes] / No]
…
Ultra Magnus dismounted from Sentinel with a hearty groan. In the sheen of his optics—despite the exhaustion—the scroll of text flew across his gaze.
Sentinel, at the moment of perceived freedom, untethered himself from Optimus in every cable and tore away the tape that squeezed their mess of connectors together. Fluid dribbled down and splattered on the floor as he searched for any rag to clean himself up. Damn his utility bill, he was using the entire heated tank to scrub this from his plating.
He observed the other pair and praised Ultra Magnus’ planning that he got the long stick and didn’t have to stay penetrated on that slagger’s lap like poor Optimus. Smoke billowed out from Optimus’ vents from burned fuses and an overclocked central processor. But damn the pits, if his spike didn’t twitch in renewed interest at the obscene sight.
Optimus sighed, sore but wholeheartedly satisfied. Not the most mind-blowing interface he’s had, but definitely the most unique. He tugged his hips, and Megatron’s followed. He tried wiggling, but the latches did not budge.
Optimus swore under his breath.
“Off.” He demanded.
Megatron gave a noncommittal hum as more coded prompts appeared on his HUD.
[External_User_[Megatron]: Request; Manually release coital locks? [Yes] / No]
[System: Releasing locks…]
[System: Coital locks disengaged.]
[System: Warning, internal temperature exceeds normal operating levels, seek cooling now. Warning: internal damage detected, seek medical consultation. Warning: Decepticon breach detected, seek corrective actions. Warning, remnant charge exceeds normal operating levels, engaging anti-kindling protocols.]
Optimus separated himself immediately by scooting off the warlord’s lap and collapsing onto the table for support. Optimus’ processor rebooted fully at this time, bleary lenses shuttered as he focused on the other occupants cleaning up after this strange encounter. Sentinel furiously wiped himself clean with a rag as Ultra Magnus stroked his chin in thought, reading something behind the glass of his optics.
Megatron’s face fell into a scowl as he scrolled through the deciphered report in his internal data-reader. His brows furrowed further, followed by a dangerous-sounding roll of his turbines. His connector did not retract back into its housing, much to Optimus’ chagrin.
“The Terrorcons are clearly the work of Unicron; your Tesarus scientists confirmed the presence of dark-energon and high levels of antimatter within the commanders they dissected.” Ultra Magnus said, resetting his optics and focusing them on his desk, returning to it with a bit of a limp in his gait. “Luckily, the data Sentinel synthesized recounts several avenues for future field testing.”
Sentinel’s engine backfired with a cough. “Have they found anything that kills them? I don’t care where they come from, I need to know how to make sure those bastards can’t come back.”
Ultra Magnus—who had paused his deciphering of the data and procured four glass containers and a bottle of some unnamed distilled fuel—sent a pointed look at Sentinel, but Megatron beat him to the scolding.
“Your zealousness is noted and valued, but being ignorant of your enemy’s origins will leave your floundering in darkness. You cannot truly kill what you do not fathom. Yet, here, we are in the beginning dredges of understanding. You know of dark-energon, yes? So potent in inverse energy, it brings back the dead as thralls.”
“How do you kill something that’s already dead?” Sentinel retorted.
“Tell me, Sentinel Prime, what do you propose?” Megatron gave a malicious grin. “How do you kill something that’s already dead? I’m all audials since you’re adamant on wasting your bullets on these wayward corpses.”
Sentinel stammered, his aura imploring Ultra Magnus for help. His plea for assistance remained unanswered. Instead, the mech poured the fuel calmly and gestured for Sentinel to distribute it.
Optimus piped up after taking his share. “Humans have entire fiction genres dedicated to this topic and go into detail on how to survive the undead apocalypse. Bumblebee and Sari insisted on playing ’zombie’ games late at night.”
Sentinel scoffed, disgusted. “Ugh, of course you’d—”
“Fascinating,” Ultra Magnus cut Sentinel Prime off. “And how do these organics go about this fictitious thought experiment?”
“Decapitation is pretty common, but human anatomy is centralized in the organic processor while our frames—as you know—contain additional processing cores across our construction. The second is—”
“Why is this relevant?” Sentinel barked, more than fed up.
“If you have better things to add, then add them, Sentinel.” Ultra Magnus took a long sip from his fuel. He tilted his head and swirled the fluid around, eyeing it with consideration.
Sentinel grumbled into his own before sputtering and spitting it out. He slammed the whiskey-glass on the desk with a sound of contempt. "What the frag is this? It tastes awful!"
“Earth oil." Megatron huffed in good humor, still sorting through the data but passively sipping in turn. "It’s an acquired taste. Surely a bot of your status knows the difference in good and interesting fuel, but they all can’t be sparked sommeliers.”
“It is indeed…robust.” Ultra Magnus commented further. He was still unsure about it.
Sentinel glared at Optimus, who had already finished his fuel and had leaned his hip against the table with a look on his face. After living on the stuff for several Earth orbital cycles, he became blind to the strangeness of organic-based oils. Actually, the mech leaned over the table to pour another serving for the three of them, excluding Sentinel.
“What are you so smug about?” Sentinel gestured accusingly at Optimus.
To which the bot replied. “Nothing.”
“Do you have something to add, Optimus?” Ultra Magnus asked, sensing another argument.
“Only a snide comment,” Sentinel grumbled. “Always one to undermine me!”
“Oh, stuff it up your exhaust. The only thing undermining you is yourself. Perhaps Megatron should reveal the secret to destroying him since—”
But the discussion did not continue after Optimus’ interjection, as he—himself—got cut off by a torrent of energy waves. A dark field pulsed off of Megatron’s frame as his turbines revved dangerously.
Seething smoke billowed from his vents as he heaved himself to his feet.
“Megazarak lives.”
…