Work Text:
"Yanno, if you're planning on heading back to Earth later this orn, you should have one more drink before you go. Just in case." Brandishing a full cube of energon, Octane nonchalantly slides it into Cosmos's waiting hands.
The stout minibot's optics crinkle into a sincere smile of gratitude as he accepts yet another cube of fuel from the triple-changer. He marvels at his good fortune to have found such a generous drinking partner! And someone so talented at brewing his own high graded energon! He wonders why he'd never accepted Octane's admittedly heavy-handed invitations to the triple-changer's modest apartment before. "Thanks!" Cosmos carefully cradles the large cube in his hands.
"Believe it or not – given my alt mode's affinity for space travel – breaking orbit takes a lot more thrust than you'd think. Especially from Cybertron’s surface." The front panel of Cosmos's mask retracts to allow the flying saucer to take a hearty sip. "If I don't have sufficient amount fuel, I end up tapping into my reserve tank pretty early," he explains as he pats the underside of his rotund torso.
Octane lets out an appreciate sigh at the sight, and discreetly crosses his legs. "Oh, no, we can't have that."
Cosmos nods earnestly, oblivious to his effect on the Decepticon. "I don't want to make a big deal out of it, but it's sort of embarrassing when I fuel up on Earth. My tanks are above average in size, and I have to take in three times as much as everyone else to get full. Everyone stares at me, like I'm greedy or something, but I have to fuel up like any other ‘bot." He slumps a bit on his seat and takes another healthy drink. Octane scowls.
"Don't listen to them. They don't understand how important it is to have full tanks," he says solemnly, and reaches out to rest his hand on the minibot's shoulder. “They’ll never understand. Not like I do.” He pauses. "What are your levels at now…?"
Cosmos finishes his cube and releases a small burp of satisfaction. "My main fuel tank is full, and my secondary reserve is at about 50% of potential capacity." The minibot, once more, seems oblivious to the lustful glint in Octane's optics. "Wow, I didn't even notice I was that hungry," he says, sheepish. "I think I'll actually be OK to head back to Earth now." As he says this, however, Octane produces another cube. Cosmos's optics widen. "Oh, no, Octane, I couldn't possibly..."
Octane lets out a hearty chuckle. "Aw, c'mon. You just said your reserves were at 50%! Let's get that topped off, hm?"
Cosmos shakes his head, holding his servos up briefly. "I've already drank way too much of your supply, Octane! I don't want to impose on your generous hospitality," he explains hastily. "Besides, once I pass 50% potential capacity, my plating would have to shift to make room. It's best that I don't continue if I intend to change into my alt mode." He begins to stand up from his seat, but Octane's hand on his shoulder prevents him. "Um."
The Decepticon leans in closer, pressing the energon cube into Cosmos's hands. "This is a special, personal homemade brew of my own, straight from my holding tanks" he murmurs into Cosmos's audial. "The demand for it is great, but not many 'Bots or 'Cons have been worthy enough to get a sample. But I know you'll make room for it, won't you? For a friend?" He knows he's said the magic word when Cosmos's backstruts stiffen.
"W-well, if you really want me to try it..."
“I do.” Octane dazzles the minibot with an award winning smile.
“…I guess it won’t be so bad to top off.” Cosmos lifts the cube to his mouth and takes a delicate sip. When his optics light up and a surprised blip escapes his vocalizer, Octane knows the contract has been sealed.
“This is… really good!” Cosmos exclaims, and stares into the contents of the cube as if it was Matrix itself. Octane preens a bit, and slides an arm around the minibot’s shoulders.
“I know,” he says a bit smugly, and tightens his arm a fraction. “Go on. Drink up.”
Cosmos’s face expresses internal conflict, but he slowly and steadily begins to consume the flavorful energon. With each nano-klik that passes, however, his expression takes on more and more of a pinched look. He lowers the half-finished cube, and directs a pleading look in Octane’s direction as his plating rumbles threateningly.
“I…I don’t know if I can finish this,” he whines, and a hand reaches down to touch the trembling plates of his underbelly. “I don’t think I’ve ever had my tanks this full before, Octane, I don’t know--”
“Shhh.” Octane lays a gentle digit across the minibot’s lips to stop the deluge of doubtful, confused, and, unknowingly to their speaker, erotic words. Carefully, he pries the cube from Cosmos’s hand, and holds it to the green bot’s mouth. “Just drink it.” As Cosmos licks his lips, Octane bites back a low groan of arousal. Noticeable heat and pressure begins to build behind his interfacing panel.
“But--”
Cosmos’s protests are cut off as Octane tips the cube forward, and he is forced to swallow the smooth, sweet energon lest he chokes and it runs down his facial plating. An increasingly concerned look forms on his face as his internals make a strange gurgling sound, but Octane is relentless and does not allow the minibot to pull back. Before the perverted triple-changer’s eyes, the flexible plating of Cosmos’s underbelly noticeably ripples and slowly begins to bulge outward from the increasing pressure behind it. Octane bites down on his lower lip hard enough to taste energon, and his cooling fans roar to life.
“That is so fucking hot.”
Cosmos sputters in surprise, and the last few swallows end up on his face rather down his intake. “Wh-what?” He jerks in Octane’s hold, and then groans as his tanks slosh loudly. “My tertiary overflow tank is starting to fill up,” he whimpers, and his cheek plating flushes bright pink. “I-I have to process some of this!”
Octane ignores his plea. He flicks his wrist and disperses the now empty cube. Cosmos soon finds himself being pulled into Octane’s lap without any warning, and he can feel the heat radiating from the mech’s crotch. The triple-changer reverently strokes the rounded curve of Cosmo’s underbelly, and the minibot -squeaks- in both embarrassment and confusion.
“You are so full,” Octane coos in appreciation, and worms his fingers into the narrow space between the Autobot’s torso and hip plating. “So round.” He tweaks the sensitive bundles of wires he finds and takes great pleasure as Cosmos jerks in his hold, grinding against his panels. The bulging, malleable plating of the Autobot’s underbelly brushes against Octane’s inner forearm, and the Decepticon finds himself unable to keep his panels closed any longer.
At the audible sound of Octane’s interfacing equipment humming to life, Cosmos panics. “W-Wait--!” His cry is ignored, and to his shock, Octane’s spike drags wetly against the underside of his panels as it extends before poking between his thighs. He makes an attempt to wiggle free, but the movement only serves to inflame the other mech’s lust, and Cosmos realizes he’s just too stuffed to properly escape, let alone move. He lets out a groan of defeat and slumps back against Octane’s chest plates, covering his burning face with his hands.
“Aw, no, none of that, Cosmos. Look. Look how sexy you are.” Octane grabs a double handful of Cosmos’s belly and lovingly kneads the swollen plating. The sound of the minibot’s excessively full tanks sloshing around is no match for the Decepticon’s moan of appreciation. Octane’s spike gives a painful throb, and slicks Cosmos’s inner thighs and port cover with wetness. The sensation is unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, to the minibot’s dismay.
Octane continues, blithely unaware of the sudden conflict of interest warring in the flying saucer’s CPU. “I wanna fill you up some more.” He begins mouthing at the point of Cosmos’s shoulder plating, and the Autobot’s confusion finally takes over his panic at being molested.
He lowers his hands, and turns his head to give Octane an incredulous look. “But… but why?” he squeaks, and the sensation of Octane’s hand stroking up his plating to fondle the curve of his chassis makes his vents catch. Cosmos cannot remember the last time a lover ever willingly ran their hands over his frame, as if it was something actually desirable, and he is suddenly aghast at his traitorous thoughts. “You can’t possibly... you don’t… you want to interface with me?! Like this?!” The minibot’s tone reveals his utter bewilderment and disbelief.
Octane slides his lips along the rim of Cosmos’s torso armor. “Slag yeah. Listen to those tanks.” He gives Cosmos’s distended underbelly a fond grope and a slap, and the plating jiggles in response. “All nice and full to bursting, yeah? Betcha you could make your trip to Earth three times over now, but I gotta better idea to burn up that fuel…”
Before Cosmos can sputter yet another protest, Octane rises to his pedes and heads towards the berthroom, prize secured in his arms.