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Rodimus would be lying if he said he hadn’t been praying to Primus daily for this situation to befall him. The true limitation had always been time rather than desire, as they were both lacking the former while being ample in the latter, but on one particular evening, both he and Ultra Magnus found themselves in one of the lower levels of Autobot City, in a hall not often frequented by common soldiers.
“Are you sure about this, Rodimus?” Ultra Magnus anxiously asked as he was gently pushed into a dusty old berth.
“Are you sure about this?” His Prime shot back. “It’s your first time, too, and we’re not exactly in the most romantic of settings.”
“I could leave.”
“I want you to stay,” the leader insisted.
He wasn’t sure what to do with his servos, but Primus, was he starting to get some ideas. Ultra Magnus had always been an attractive mech— though that sentiment hadn’t earned him much praise from Springer and Arcee— but sitting here, on top of him, with those nervous blue optics flickering across his frame? Suddenly, everything about him looked soft, and Rodimus smiled, stroking his cheek with the back of his servo.
“When would you like me to start?” Ultra Magnus stuttered, leaning into the touch.
“Right. Yes,” Rodimus sat up, legs straddling the larger mech’s hips. He scooted backward, pulling his own knees inward and pushing Ultra Magnus’ out. Both let out shaky puffs of nervous air, but neither urged the other to stop. “Now, Ultra Magnus. Open your panel.” And a moment later, a click.
His interface emitted a dim, blinking blue glow. It reminded him of the lights on a runway, all angled toward the entrance to his valve as if to say, “here! Right here!” Rodimus couldn’t help the laugh that sputtered out of his intake.
“We don’t have to do this, Rodimus—“ Ultra Magnus immediately started again, legs instinctively folding inward, but two strong servos pushed firmly against his knees to keep them apart, and Rodimus rapidly shook his head. “No, no! I’m not laughing at you— I just haven’t done this before. What if you think I’m bad?”
“I wouldn’t be offended if you told me you no longer wished to proceed,” his adjutant replied. His Prime watched with great curiosity as Ultra Magnus opened his mouth to speak more, likely to continue spouting off his self-inflicting degradations, but perhaps his pointed gaze spooked the larger mech into silence. He turned his head away, shuttering his optics. “I’d understand, I’d understand,” he rattled off.
“Ha, proceed,” Rodimus mocked, allowing one servo to delicately drift down the sensitive plating of his inner thigh. He traced the seams of his plating and pressed down lightly, drawing a shudder from the mech beneath him. “You make this sound like work.”
“Maybe it would help if it was,” Ultra Magnus choked.
“Dismantling my second-in-command. Yes, this must have been a feature of our minutes today…” His digits slid farther, creeping closer to those blinking runway lights. Fluid already began to drip from the entrance, but he kept his resolve. Slow and steady had never been his favorite philosophy, but perhaps now he could see its merits. “A part of our agenda that slipped my processor. Oh, Ultra Magnus, you should’ve reminded me. That’s your job, is it not?”
“Yes, yes…”
“This is really no good,” Rodimus went on, and ever-so-lightly did his digit tap at soft mesh, and the shuddering turned into a tremble. “Ultra Magnus…” He said the name as softly as he could manage, tilting his head and smiling as he ‘worked.’ “No good at all… Well, how might I make it so that you’ll remember it in the future?”
“Rodimus, please,” Ultra Magnus whispered. He shook like a quasar. Rodimus giggled, the involuntary reaction accidentally shifting his weight forward, and his digit inside.
Ultra Magnus was a lot more vocal than he would’ve imagined. Effort was clearly creased into his face, and although his frame shook with an effort to suppress them, too often would his lips part and his head tilt upward to allow a broken-sounding whimper to escape. It was invigorating. Rodimus took every opportunity to kiss and bite and lap at his neck, all the while curling one digit, then two, deeper into the soft mesh of his valve.
“Rodimus,” his adjutant said, though the name came out more breath than speech. Rodimus’ engine purred loud.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he eagerly insisted. “I wouldn’t know. Do you like it? What should I change?”
“Yes,” Ultra Magnus responded, though he didn’t seem to be paying much attention, optics dim and angled away. Rodimus frowned.
“And?”
“I— I can’t—“
Rodimus withdrew his digits, and Ultra Magnus twitched before immediately forcing his hips back against the ground. He wouldn’t move unless Rodimus initiated first. How cute, his Prime thought, but then the conclusion shifted. Wait… he wants me to do all the work! “Ultra Magnus,” he said sternly, pushing both servos— one dripping with lubricant— against the large mech’s chassis. The sight was enough to make those large blue optics widen in alarm. “I think you could stand to put a little more effort into your work. After all, I’ll be—” he paused to think, suppressing every thought that told him that this was ridiculous. He’d never interfaced before, but surely this wasn’t against the rules? “I’ll be writing a report on this, and your performance could be negatively reflected. You wouldn’t want that, would you? You’ve always had such a clean record,” Rodimus said, trailing his wet digits down his chassis, the line of lubricant glistening beneath the dim overhead lights.
Who cared if it was against the rules, or if his processor told him that nothing about this language was particularly sexy… Ultra Magnus’ array flashed with desire, brighter with every word, and his face contorted into one of desperate want. He shook his head, gaze still averted.
“No, Rodimus, I—”
“Look at me, Ultra Magnus,” he tested, and the command worked, his adjutant’s head slowly shifting rightward. Heat emanated from his frame, and the sound of raving fans and churning gears was distinct against his audials.
“I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, my Prime.” The words were strained and glitchy, but they were more than enough to appease him. Rodimus smiled, scooting backward until his knees met the floor, his servos depressed the clear white plating of Ultra Magnus’ thighs, and his optics were parallel to the entrance of his valve. “Rodimus!” The larger mech cried. “You don’t have to do this, it may not be befitting for someone of your status—”
“I liked when you called me Prime,” he said, before gingerly sinking his mouth into the crook between his legs. He mumbled more words after that, though their exact enunciation was lost within the folds of his valve. Still, Ultra Magnus seemed to receive their meaning, tilting his head back again and allowing a rather loud cry to ripple from his voice box as Rodimus put his tongue to the task.
Now, his adjutant was fearful that he’d stop, so the larger mech tried his best to speak despite how difficult the words were to manage. “It feels—” he’d try, and Rodimus made it extra difficult for him, as each attempt led to a rather ferocious shift inward so that his tongue could be pushed deeper into his valve. Ultra Magnus would cry again, then recollect himself, then give it another attempt, all while Rodimus spoke muffled praises into an increasingly lubricating interface.
When his ability to form thoughts failed him, Ultra Magnus would let a drawn out moan, “my Prime,” escape instead, and Rodimus’ engine devoured each one of them.
Withdrawing again, Ultra Magnus no longer shied away from thrusting his hips back upward into the air, a wordless demand for more contact. Rodimus sat up, allowing himself a good look at his adjutant’s face, and the sight was certainly one for sore optics.
The mech beneath him looked completely spent. Steam billowed from beneath his plating and condensation clung all around him. His vents let out frequent, displeasured huffs of air, and most strikingly, his optics were wide and begging, trained so squarely on him, Rodimus felt he might melt beneath the gaze. How had he gotten so lucky with such an adorable second-in-command? He licked his lips clean of lubricant, and that was enough to embarrass Ultra Magnus’ staring away.
“You haven’t…” He said, licking his lips again, though the mess was impossible to clean like this. His mouth stayed stained with a sticky, bright liquid. “You haven’t overloaded yet.”
Ultra Magnus shook his head wearily.
“Intentional,” Rodimus added, climbing back onto the berth and scooting in further. A soft click between both their legs, and Ultra Magnus whimpered in anticipation for what he knew would come next. “I saved the best for the end. Adjournment,” he went on, shifting nearer. The head of his spike grazed Ultra Magnus’ aching entrance, and one would think the thing had a mind of its own with the way it attempted to twitch and latch at the sensation. “Are you alright so far, my good adjutant?”
Another nod, this time more eager. Rodimus liked seeing him express so much emotion. He grinned, looking down.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m posturing up a good report, Magnus, but it all comes down to this.” And before Ultra Magnus could respond, Rodimus sank in.
He’d had way too much confidence for a mech who’d never done this before. Immediately, his voice box choked out a moan of its own, which only seemed to both distress and arouse his adjutant further. Ultra Magnus did as he’d been told, hips twitching upward to meet Rodimus when he nearly collapsed down. “Ultra Magnus,” he said through gritted teeth, before sputtering into more laughter. “Your name doesn’t roll off the tongue as well like this!” All the poor mech beneath him could do was whine and nod, hips still attempting to emulate a thrusting pattern of their own. A few more seconds to compose himself, and Rodimus would relieve them of the duty.
He didn’t think he was going to last particularly long, but he’d still try to do what he could for Ultra Magnus before then.
Pace even but harsh with need, their hips clanged and their vents expelled heat into the air simultaneously, making the room hot and their frames hotter. How could any mech last long like this? He wondered. The feeling was riveting, like nothing he’d experienced before, and the Matrix pulsed inside his chassis like it, too, could feel as he did. Every cry Ultra Magnus let out was gratifying, and every moan was like a symphony of praise that urged him to maintain his pace, to bite and kiss at wherever his mouth could sink to reach, and to keep running his oh-so-good adjutant through the berth like a true Prime ought to be able to.
When Ultra Magnus overloaded, his Prime wasn’t far behind him. His legs gave way, buckling beneath the pleasure until he collapsed atop the larger mech, digits digging into red and blue metal to situate himself as both leaders heaved.
“Rodimus-sss,” Ultra Magnus hissed, optics dim. Rodimus finally pulled out, clambering weakly onto the trembling frame.
“Good, good, good,” he mumbled into metal, pushing until his mouth met Ultra Magnus’ neck. He let his lips rest against sensitive wiring, enjoying the way it made an already overstimulated Magnus squirm. “You did good. Good work. I’ll write you a glowing appraisal.”
“I— I—”
Again, he laughed. “So, did I do bad?”
“No,” Ultra Magnus forced out, his arms raising until his servos could find Rodimus’ frame. They stroked at his back, his wing, and Rodimus’ engine purred louder. “No, you did not.”