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Triviality	By : mehmeh Category: Transformers > G1 > AU/AR Views: 2890 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Universe: G1 AU with elements taken from (mostly) the comics and movies.
Authors: AmuseMe as Soundwave, vectorsigma3441 (on LJ) as Optimus Prime
Main Pairing: Optimus Prime/Soundwave. Others to follow.
Warnings: Graphic sticky sex, abuse, humanised language
Also, Jerkface!Optimus Prime. Seriously he is.
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Entering the volcano without the Autobots’ knowledge was ridiculously easy. There were a myriad of both naturally and artificially created passages, big enough for a Cybertronian to fit through. The large deposits of raw metal ore in the rock were perfect for masking one’s energy signatures, though simultaneously also rendered communication systems useless. Entering the Ark however, was another matter entirely. The Autobot security officer was well known for his paranoia and subsequently, his formidable skill in creating a tight, closely monitored security net.
Red Alert would have most likely fried his processors if he knew that Soundwave possessed one of the Ark’s most elusive codes. A secondary door hidden in Optimus Prime’s personal washrack; a secret passage known only to a select few that would lead to safety for those dire situations.
Soundwave did not hesitate punching in the code. He stepped through the opening, clearing it in time before the thick door soundlessly slid shut again, hidden behind a hefty storage device. He was quick and silent in his movements, meandering out of the washracks and into Prime’s main recharging chamber with a sense of alarming familiarity.
The air was cool and only a few dim lights in the upper portion of the Autobot leader’s office were on. Otherwise it was dark, and eerily quiet. Datapads were scattered across his desk, some askew, others pushed off to the side, and some even on the floor. Personal items were nearly entirely absent from the room except the occasional souvenir – a trinket of some sort from Earth.
Optimus Prime himself was recharging fitfully, shifting his position every few moments. It seemed, at times, with his bulky frame, that he could never find a pose that was completely comfortable. On Cybertron it had been different, with soft berths that melded to one’s form, but not on Earth, no. . . . The large mech turned onto his back and tossed his arms above his helm, optics barely flicking on as he brushed his antenna, his jaw working. A sigh left him, one of weary overextension, and those blue orbs turned back off.
At the sight of his target sprawled out on the berth, Soundwave suddenly stopped. His deep red visor flared ever so slightly at the Prime’s unmasked faceplates and those long, relaxed limbs. Then stealthily, he neared the berth and kneeled by the mech’s side, the plating of his knees barely making a sound against the floor. The Decepticon reached over and slightly brushed his hand over Optimus’ helm, trailing the tips of his fingers down to the exposed mouth.
“Ah, Soundwave, you always pick the worst times. . .” Optimus chided, his bare lips tingling with the stimulation.
Soundwave remained silent at the admonishment but withdrew his arm, allowing it to fall back to his side.
Optimus’ optics flickered, blue light filling them. With a smile on his face, the Autobot shifted his arms above his helm and stretched, then turned and leaned on his side, facing the smaller mech, the Decepticon, fully. A large hand drew out and touched to Soundwave’s face, his wily blue digits tracing a pattern. A chortle of amusement left his vocaliser, and a smile bloomed on his lips.
“What happened this time?” he asked.
His index finger and thumb pinched at the bottom half of the mech’s mask, a darker glint developing in his optics. That hand dipped down and he caressed the telepath’s neck cords, feeling the pulse of mechblood underneath them.
“Why are you here?” Optimus asked again.
Soundwave obligingly tilted his helm to one side, stretching the cables of his neck to allow the mech before him more access. He could feel his internal systems hum louder with contentment at the soothing touch, particularly when Optimus’ fingers brushed against a thicker, more sensitive throat cable.
“Request: for more-”
And here he paused, though only minutely, while his processor attempted to pick out a suitable word for what he wanted. How could he answer that he couldn’t stand being on the Nemesis any longer, that he was slowly going insane there with loneliness and a yearning that ate away at his circuits like a virus. That while he was still loyal to the Decepticon cause, he had lost all faith in Megatron. How he hated Starscream and the rest of his stupid, snooty trine with the passion rivalling a thousand suns. How he trusted not one of his fellow Decepticons and vice versa. All he had were his Cassettes. Of course, his chest compartment was currently empty; he had benevolently given them the day off. Though he knew that they were beginning to suspect him.
Soundwave’s visor dimmed to a near black and his synthesised, monotone voice rolled out with a single answer.
“-contact.”
Pausing in his venture, Optimus gazed down at the Decepticon before him, stilling his hand on the obedient mech’s throat. He would admit that Soundwave was lovely, desirable in a certain sense, though he didn’t let his thoughts linger on it. Privacy matters, though he had forbade Soundwave a long time ago from using his telepathy when they met. It wasn’t usually a problem, the few times Optimus had realized the mech was lingering in his mind, he had punished him accordingly.
“I see,” Optimus finally murmured in reply. He sat up and shifted his form, placing his pedes on the floor. The mech stood, towering over Soundwave, and he leered down at him for a brief moment before padding off.
Soundwave lowered his helm, one edge of the visor brightening as he followed Optimus’ every movement from the periphery of his vision. His telepathy swirled and twisted as if it was an entity on its own in the presence of the other – the enemy no less! - eager to reach out and glean whatever information it could. All he allowed it to do however was caress lightly against the other mech’s processor before firmly reigning in his power back safely. He was well aware of the consequences.
Moving some things around, the Autobot leader fixed himself a cube of high grade, metal tinkling around together in the silence of the room. Meandering back over slowly, he squatted down next to the mech. The communications officer did not break his gaze even after Optimus returned. He stared hard into the noble face, admiring it absently and then glanced down at the cube.
“I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you? I know that Megatron hadn’t been very successful. . .”
The smell of energon wafted up to his olfactory sensors, deliciously sweet and tempting. And though Soundwave gave no outward indication, he inwardly bristled at the Autobot’s words, painfully aware of the Decepticons’ recent failures.
“I’ve received my daily ration,” he answered primly, opting not to mention that he gave most of it to his Cassettes anyway.
And as if on cue, a screen flashed before him, reminding him of his low energy reserves. Soundwave’s fingers twitched once before he managed to disable the warning. He did not want to beg, he would not lower himself to such a position. Deep down, he knew that he had done much worse for the sake of sating an empty tank.
“That’s good,” Optimus replied, “because I don’t give to Decepticons. . .” The mech blew a breath out, making sure that Soundwave could smell the good quality. A hand reached out, touching at the side of Soundwave’s red visor, where it met with that mask. “And I don’t touch Decepticons, what would the rest of my army think if they saw you here, down on your knees? Yet, every time, you come back for more. . . It . . .upsets me,” Optimus confessed, bringing that cube up to his lips to take a long draught. There was still a mouthful of the pink liquid left and he swirled it around, blue optics following it, then quickly downed the last of it, a pink bead escaping from the corner of his lips. A glossa swiped it away, and he placed the cube on a stand near him, straightening back up into a stand.
Soundwave’s hands clenched into fists by his sides. He’s upset? Him? His telepathy started to lash against the confines of his mind from the sheer indignation, the shattered dregs of his pride rising up in one last attempt to force him to save what was left of his dignity and just leave.

“Take that mask and visor off,” Optimus murmured, and strode over to one of the chairs in his room, sitting back in it to lounge. The large mech spread his legs, a lazy expression on his face. “And get to work. . .Maybe if you're good I'll give you some sim energon. . .”
But how could Soundwave leave when one look at Optimus Prime would cause such a strong wave of arousal and need inside his systems that Soundwave would forget momentarily that he was a Decepticon traitor debasing himself in front of the Autobot leader. Oh yes, the Autobot army would laugh if they saw him now and he could just imagine Megatron denying him the mercy of a quick shot straight to the spark.
His empty tanks churned with hunger, prompting more pop up messages. Soundwave manually sent a command to silence the warnings for good and reached over his shoulder, unclasping the cannon and setting it quietly on the floor next to the berth. Most Decepticons wouldn’t dream of unarming themselves even during an interfacing session but Soundwave knew that his mind had always been his true weapon. He then twisted his torso around, hoisting himself on his hands and knees.
Soundwave began to crawl. The face mask split into two, sliding into the sides of his helm and he ran his glossa over his full, wide mouth, feeling the exposed dermalplating tingle in the open air. He deliberately let his hips sway in clear invitation and despite his upper bulk, Soundwave’s movements were as graceful and fluid as a cybercat’s.
“I will please you,” Soundwave breathed, now using his real voice instead of the secondary vocaliser he had installed on the back of his mask.
When he reached the seated Autobot, he rubbed one side of his cheek against the strong, blue thighs and then dragged his lip components down the inner seam, smearing the smooth metal with the protective oils from his mouth. He hoped that Optimus would not comment on his still-present visor just yet… he wanted to keep that one last part of his dignity just a little longer.
The leader smiled, parting his legs so the mech could have more room to work with, one long and broad digit rubbing at his upper lip as he watched. The other drew down and he touched the top of Soundwave’s helm, gently drawing a pattern on the smooth metal. The calm expression on Optimus’s face twisted, and he sunk the tips of his fingers in on that helm, harshly gripping to it. Using his impressive strength, he lifted the mech up, then moved a hand down to clasp at his throat.
“When I give you an order. . . I expect you to obey. . . it’s the least you can do for this. . . honour I give you,” the mech said, expression angered.
A short burst of static escaped the Decepticon’s vocaliser and he really should have expected the violent reaction but it still didn’t stop him from trying to pry those cruel fingers away from him. His neck cords pulsed erratically in an attempt to force more energy through the constricted passageways and he bent one knee, balancing his weight as best as he could without putting too much strain on his vital lines.
“Yes…Optimus Prime… Sir,” he managed.
Soundwave hesitated before his lips pressed into a flat, thin line and his visor slid upwards. Tapered, orange-red optics glared balefully at Optimus Prime, and the right one a noticeably lighter colour than the left. Soundwave would have preferred being stripped down to his protoform with his lasecore and interface array exposed rather than… than this! His face open for everyone to see . . .was too much.
“Good,” Prime murmured, and he let go, fingers stiff as he watched Soundwave collapse into a heap on the floor. His lips curled up and considered aiming a nice kick at the mech’s side for his petulance, but only took a step back and sat back down in his seat, letting loose a long and weary sigh, optics a dark cerulean. “I want to watch those pretty orange optics of yours as you suck me off. . .” he murmured, drawing a finger up to his top lip as he leaned to the side. He shifted his long and broad legs, drawing one hand down to touch at a sensitive thigh. “I suppose you want me to fuck you too,” he spoke, and regarded the telepath with a smooth, impassive look.
“Affirmative,” Soundwave answered, pushing himself back to a kneeling position between Optimus’ legs. A pleasurable shiver wracked itself through his body at the memory of their last meeting where his valve had continued to ache oh so nicely for cycles afterwards. “I will please you,” he reasserted, repeating his earlier claim with more conviction. He had confidence in himself, knowing that he was able to pleasure the Prime better than any of those adoring little Autobots could ever wish for.
Soundwave pushed his face into the armour of Optimus’ groin, kissing almost reverently across the closed panel. He did it at first to hide his faceplates, uncomfortable with the idea of how easy Optimus could read his expressions. It was futile attempt and he knew that his self-conscious gesture would not be appreciated. So he turned his helm to the side and concentrated on Optimus’ hand instead that still rested on a thigh. Soundwave nudged at the still fingers with his nasal ridge like a cyber-pup seeking its master’s attention, occasionally lapping at the tips before daringly taking one into his moist mouth. He suckled on the metal briefly and then pulled away, only to take a second digit in alongside with the first. The Decepticon probed at the joints teasingly before opening his mouth wide, making a show of rolling the now wet fingers between his glossa, as if in preparation for the act that was to follow. He stared directly into Optimus’ face, his own optics already bright with need.
A wide smile was on Optimus’s face as he gazed back down, his blue optics dark and heavy with pleasure. He felt a digit around inside of Soundwave’s mouth, pressing in to feel if the mech had already curbed his gag reflex. A noise of satisfaction left him and he withdrew those wet fingers, bringing them up to rub in tantalizing circles across the panes of his broad chassis.
With a rush of laughter from his vents and a condescending look, Optimus pressed his hips outwards and opened his panel, spike extending erect a moment after. He was a mech proportionate to his size, long and thick. Reaching out, he brushed a digit across Soundwave’s supple and beautiful lips, and took the lower one between his thumb and index finger, pulling it out to play with for a moment, then let it plop back. The telepath managed to score one last lick at the withdrawing fingers and scooted closer, admiringly rubbing his high cheek structure against the hot surface.
“You’re quite beautiful for one of your caste,” the leader said, complimenting and insulting at the same time. “Tell me,” he murmured as he fastened a hand around the shaft of his spike, gently squeezing. “Is Megatron as big as me?” He did nothing to hide his disdain.
Soundwave lowered his gaze, not masking the unhappy sound buzzing from his vocaliser at the Autobot’s mocking tone. Inferior lineage he may be from but he still presided over the others with his far more superior talents.
Still. . . Soundwave did not allow himself to dwell on his depressing thoughts. . . not with Optimus displaying his interface equipment in such a proud, arousing way. He began mouthing hungrily against the metal and his glossa curled around the spike, tracing the prominent ridges one by one. His breath was hot, fans already clicking on to cool his overheating chassis and he wiggled his aft in his own arousal, kneecaps scraping against the floor as his legs slid further open. Arms crossed and wrists locked against each other at the bottom of his back in a clear submissive position – after all, he had not received permission to use his hands yet.
“Megatron: no comparison,” he purred as he placed more open-mouthed kisses on the rigid spike. “Optimus Prime: far bigger. . .in all aspects.”
Soundwave leisurely ran the flat of his glossa up the long length before closing his lips at the spike’s tip, lowering his helm as he swallowed more and more until he reached the base of the housing. His throat tubing relaxed, flexing instinctively around the intrusion and then he tightened his mouth around the spike and sucked hard. It was obvious just how much he loved servicing Optimus’ beautiful spike, how much he loved feeling it inside him.
Quiet little exclamations of pleasure escaped from Optimus’s mouth, helm nestled far back on the top of his chair. His hand was clasped over Soundwave’s head, holding the mech to his spike. “Ah, yes, you would know best what Megatron looks like, wouldn’t you?” he murmured. Pleasure flared through his circuits, deep-seated and so very right, and a dominant part that dwelled within him realized that all of Decepticons should be down on their knees just like Soundwave was, to service him. After all, who knew how many times Optimus had allowed the telepath and his Cassettes to escape from the battlefield alive, and so many others? It was the least the mech could do.
Feeling rather spiteful, Optimus shifted one of his legs and pressed them in between Soundwave’s spread ones, rubbing on his panel with his shin guard plating. The Decepticon groaned when Optimus’ shin pushed upwards against his crotch panel, applying enough force to ignite the pressure-sensitive sensors there; feeling the lubricant slowly trickling down his valve to tantalise the sensitive walls within, preparing it for penetration.
“Mm, I want you dripping wet for me,” Optimus murmured, shifting his head down so he could intently watch the mech sucking him off, a lazy-pleasured look on his face. “Hopefully you’re still nice and tight. . .” It was a hope as much as a demand. Optimus liked his lovers’ valves stiff and tight, because of course that made for the best interfacing, brought him greater pleasure from such a tight entrance. For several moments he watched in silence, and then said, “Alright, you can use one hand. . .”
Now that Soundwave had permission, he slid the palm of his hand around the other silver leg, his dexterous fingers seeking and stimulating the joints underneath. He was rocking shamelessly against the Autobot’s leg, trapping it possessively between his thighs to keep it from moving and a bout of laughter came from Optimus’ lips as he had felt the Decepticon rather latch onto his leg. He rubbed his shin harder, finding amusement in the way Soundwave was quite literally humping him for stimulation. A needy little wretch, the mech was. One hand was smoothing over the Soundwave’s head in a patronizing way, teasing and testing him at the same time.
“Megatron may not be your lover now. . .” he replied, and a greedy smile came upon his face as he hooked his fingers under that chin, gliding his thumb over a pair of perfectly proportioned lips. Oh, he was stiff, so much so that it hurt.
Then, Soundwave pulled away from Optimus’ spike to defend himself tetchily. “Megatron and I are not lovers.”
At least not anymore. Megatron preferred interfacing with his pretty, frivolous Seekers rather than his loyal but dull telepath. It was apparent the moment Megatron promoted Starscream as his second-in-command over Soundwave, despite the blatant treachery. Soundwave mused a little bitterly to himself that even he would prefer a slim Seeker chassis warming his berth instead of his own bulky one. And yet here he was, after somehow capturing the Prime’s attention and that was more than enough. It was suicidal, yes, to be addicted to such a twisted relationship – that is, if one could call it that - but Soundwave could not help but feel triumphant of his achievement.
He also felt it prudent to add, vehemence creeping in to colour his words. “Conclusion: You are the only one I allow to fuck me. My valve will always be tight and wet for you.”
Soundwave’s orange optics flared at his statement, his hand moving from the other mech’s knee, up to wrap around the spike’s base where he squeezed around it lightly. He made quick work of swallowing the thick length back into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth again, oral fluids dribbling down the seams of his lips as he licked and sucked at it enthusiastically. This time, he could not control himself, his lust so great that his panel slid back on its own accord and he moaned again around the metal he nearly had stuffed down his throat. His now exposed valve left a long smear of lubricant against the otherwise unmarred plating of Optimus’ shin guard.
“They must wonder where you go. . .” Optimus mused, moving a hand so he could smear Soundwave’s tightly parted lips with fluid, leaving a glossy sheen behind. “And when you go back, smelling like a freshly fucked whore. . . sated and tired, probably a bit sore too,” the mech said, enraptured with touching that sensitive part of the Decepticon’s face. Moving his legs, he forced Soundwave away from him and stood up, his own hand stroking up and down his spike. “Oh, what would Megatron think of you?” He clicked his glossa against the roof of his mouth. “He’d ahh, dismantle you for sure. . .”
Soundwave slumped back from the forceful push, legs uncurling from underneath him. He drew one knee up and propped himself on an elbow, letting his helm fall back as Optimus drew to his full height. He could still feel Optimus inside his mouth, he could smell him on his lips – a tantalising scent just like that energon had been - and he resisted from licking them clean.
“I am always careful,” he replied. “They never know.” Or cared for that matter. And his Cassettes knew better than to pester him for answers and he definitely didn’t want to burden them with his insecurities. “And Megatron. . .”
Soundwave never laughed. If he did, in that rare occasional moment in the heat of the battle, it was always through his synthesiser and he took great pleasure in freaking his opponent out with it. But his real laugh filtered through his vocaliser, deep and a little harsh with irony. He used his free hand to lightly touch his thighs, fingers trailing up a seam slowly up to his exposed interface, up to trace his spike housing; it took quite a bit of will power not to extend it, knowing quite well that Optimus would not be pleased. So instead he shifted his legs, allowing them to fall further apart and give the Autobot an uninterrupted view of his leaking valve. At first he pinched at the rim until he hissed at the sharp sensation and then used two fingers to spread it wide in an erotically obscene gesture. Dark blue fingertips slipped around the glistening area, smearing the beads of lubricant gathered at the quivering opening.
Optimus’s hand stilled on his spike, his blue digits making small little spasms as he listened to the mech. He constricted his grip until pain flared through his senses, then he eased it, exhaling sharply through his mouth, optics upon the telepath's valve. Soundwave’s valve was nice. . . stiff, rather unused, and it was a treat that he got to penetrate it so often. Something he never really thought about – after all, he wasn’t supposed to care about a worthless Decepticon. In all honesty, he didn’t.
With Optimus’ fluids drying on his lips, Soundwave smiled crookedly as the light in his optics dimmed to a smouldering orange. “Megatron would do far worse to me if he ever found out. Termination would be far preferable. Question: Would it sadden you?”
Dropping his hands to his sides, Optimus straightened his posture and looked down at Soundwave over the broad expanse of his chassis. Emotion flickered across his face, very quickly, very brief, and a small smile fell upon his lips.
“I am a compassionate leader. I let you into my base with me, I let you touch me, I fuck you hard like you want it, and I touch you in return. What more do you want from me?” A very cynical smile came upon his face, and it reached up to his optics to darken them. “Do you . . . want to be my lover? My equal?” he asked, motioning with one long finger for Soundwave to get up off of the floor.
Soundwave tensed and his smile remained frozen on his faceplates. He was inwardly snarling like an enraged beast, cursing Optimus for being a sadistic glitch and cursing himself for digging deep into a hole he could never hope to ever crawl out of. Abruptly the Decepticon relaxed visibly and raised his hand to his parted lips, flicking his glossa over the digits to taste his own fluids. He said instead, “Philosophy: I am a pragmatist. Hope is for fools.”
Yes. . . it is best I don’t tell you just how much I need you. . .and it is best that I don’t find out who your other lovers are, Soundwave thought, with nasty notions formulating inside his cpu. I’ll just end up hunting them down and ripping them apart.
With a smooth shift of powerful hydraulics, Soundwave stood up as directed. But he took his time doing so, his legs still bent in a crouch. A moan rumbled through his vocaliser when he briefly nuzzled the proudly jutting spike in front of him – that wonderful, wonderful spike that gave him so much pleasure - and further straightened his backstrut, pushing his torso towards the Autobot and allowing the wet tip to gently brush over his abdominal plating. He didn’t stop there, sticking out his glossa to press against the windshield of Optimus’ powerful alt-mode and smudging the glass with his oils, right on the invisible seam, in the middle where he knew the chestplates split apart. He could feel the powerful spark pulse from within and he couldn’t possibly imagine what merging with the Matrix could feel like. . . and he knew that he probably never will. Still, it was a nice fantasy.
Of course Optimus had no idea of Soundwave’s jealousy, though he believed that the Decepticon was only returning to him for the interfacing. Any other reason would have been foolishly sentimental – especially for a Decepticon. And, of course, he had parted his chestplates for no other mech or femme, nor did he ever wish to. There would be none that would win his spark. . . because he couldn’t feel love. Any love inside of him had been long destroyed by the Matrix that rested underneath. His personal hell, one he couldn’t abandon. He had tried once, a long time ago, to rid himself of the accursed object, but it had melded with his internal circuitry. Optimus did not let Ratchet look at it, and no other mech had peered beneath those broad panes.
“Why won’t you fuck me then, Optimus Prime,” Soundwave whispered into the Autobot’s neck cables, straining his own and standing onto the tips of his pedes so he could reach them. The heat radiated from his chassis in waves, small little whimpers escaping his vocaliser. “Hard.”
Smiling the mech’s words, Optimus reached his hands down and took Soundwave’s shoulders, walking him backwards until the mech’s aft hit the wall, and quick as could be, he spun the mech around, forcing his front to the wall. Startled, Soundwave suddenly found his cheek mashed to one side against the wall’s cold surface.
“You want to be fucked hard? Alright, I’ll fuck you,” he grunted, hands holding tight and hard on the mech’s hips.
Then he easily lifted Soundwave’s weight up, moving him off of his pedes, and twisted his arms so Soundwave’s hips jutted out, valve exposed. The Decepticon didn’t dare struggle, forcibly relaxing his frame and allowing the other mech to arrange him into the position he desired him to be. Instead he watched Optimus Prime from the corner of one dim optic, waiting. His sensual mouth twisted into a lazy smirk as if goading the Autobot to take his rightful prize.
Positioning himself, Prime allowed gravity to take effect and lowered the mech onto his spike, groaning as the tight wetness started to encompass him. He didn’t stop until he was fully sheathed, a gasp working from his mouth while his optics flared in the delicious pleasure.
Soundwave moaned loudly the moment he felt Optimus’ spike enter him.
His hands scrambled up the wall, trying to find purchase as best as he could but they just ended up sliding down the smooth surface with a dull squeak. He could feel the inside of his valve stretch around the impressive girth and it should have been painful but the sensation was something he greatly relished, loving the feel of the hot metal as it moved up inside him, the pain sweetening into intense pleasure as it sizzled itself up his circuits and straight to his spark. Optimus’ fingers dug hard into his pelvic plating, no doubt creating dents but he was past the point of caring.
“Oh. . .you feel so good, Autobot. . .” he slurred, the words filled with static. His optics were bright with lust, the orange light from within almost flickering. “Much better than Megatron.” And for emphasis he clenched his valve tightly around the invading spike, his mouth falling open, wet glossa darting out to curl at his parted lips.
Optimus Prime had been content to interface slowly, but paused at the words the mech spoke, a frown on his face as he panted into the back of Soundwave’s neck.
“Of course I’m better than Megatron,” the larger mech spoke, hips quivering to drive upwards.
His hands moved, exaggeratedly, flicking up the telepath’s sides to pinch wiring and slip into any seams he could fit his large digits in. Silence reigned for a few moments until Optimus let out a breathy chuckle, fanning his sweet breath towards the other mech. His hands reached up, above and over Soundwave’s helm, and they were only supported by the crushing force of the Prime’s hips and the connection of his spike inside the mech’s valve. Then, casting aside the kindness he had been displaying, he thrust his hips sharply, scraping Soundwave against, and into the wall.
“You might not believe. . .” he grunted, and drove his hips upwards again, “but a long time ago, ahh, I fucked Megatron. I was the desirable senator. . . while he was a bodyguard. . . Funny how these things happen. . .But, then too, he was a pathetic bitch,” he laughed, and slammed his hips up again, purposely moving in jarring motions.
Soundwave glanced at Optimus, more surprised at the fact that had never picked the memory in either leader’s processor – particularly Megatron’s - rather than the actual revelation itself. He didn’t ponder too much on that. . .nor did he want to.
Not when he was getting fucked like this.
He absolutely loved how the angle made his valve feel so much smaller, constricting it so snugly around the spike inside him. It pushed the length upwards and hard against his inner walls and each time Optimus moved, Soundwave could feel the ridges rub against every single sensor node he possessed. It was almost too painful, too deep inside him and yet that’s why it felt so good. It made him cry out, a high and needy sound that filtered from his vocaliser.
He also loved how he could sense the raw power practically oozing from the mech behind him and oh. . .how he loved being controlled and put in his place. Those strong, powerful hips keeping him pinned with no chances of escape and the feel of that massive spike impaling him over and over. His circuits sang with the thrill and now he was practically sobbing with the pleasure. The Decepticon was forced nearly to the tips of his pedes, trying to match Optimus’ thrusts with his own frantic ones. The glass on his chest creaked against the wall with each movement and he clawed frantically into it, leaving tell-tale scratches. Each time Optimus pulled out, lubricant would surge out of Soundwave’s wet valve, splattering on the floor between his spread legs.
“Ah ah ah. . .yes, there!” His mouth gleamed with oils from where he kept licking at it, corner of his lip pulled up in a feral grin. “Won’t you dominate me, Optimus Prime?” And Soundwave would not stop looking at the Autobot, challenging him even further with his sideways stare; vivid optics feverish with lust and the right, lighter coloured optic so bright, it was now a near amber.
The noises, along with his own grunts, were more than enough to make Optimus’ circuits flare and tingle. Breathing deeply, he laughed at the words the mech spoke, and he drew a hand down to seize one of Soundwave’s hips in a brutal grasp, so that every time he thrust his spike up, he slammed the telepath down on him. So much lubricant, he thought. He could feel Soundwave’s own travelling down into his valve a little ways whenever Optimus thrust up. It was nearly disconcerting, and he realized the mech was getting off on this hard, the way he was being dominated.
Teasingly, but perhaps cruelly, he angled his hips away from the wall so it was only the mech’s weight he thrust into, and he drew that hand that had been on his hips to the mech’s spike housing, finger circling around the tip.
“Just hearing you moan makes me so hard and I just want to fuck you until you bleed,” Optimus grunted, and he was telling the truth. To hear such things part the normally emotionless, and stoic Decepticon, he couldn’t feel more proud of himself in more than one way. Overload was approaching, but he held it off, paused for a moment or shifted his spike within that tight valve.
Optimus’ crude words only made Soundwave’s spark burn brighter and his valve wetly spasm involuntarily around the invading spike. It was a heady feeling, knowing that he was enough to make the Autobot – such a noble, righteous leader to look up to! – lose control like that. Oh. . . if I could find a way to make your cute pink femme see you like this. . . he thought amusedly to himself.
It was hurting now, the way he was being handled. The way those blue fingers gripped the plating of his hips and the way that spike was impaling him, scraping up inside him despite the copious amount of lubrication he was releasing. But it only seemed to sharpen his pleasure even more. . . in such a depraved, masochistic way.
And moan he did; ragged gasps and mewls escaping his wide open mouth, sometimes muffled by the wall when it got too much and he couldn’t help but thrash his head from one side to the other, grazing the contours of his helm on it. He was mentally chanting his lover’s designation now, over and over, words practically stumbling over themselves in his desperation. He deliberately projected it straight to Optimus’ processor, alongside with the underlying need and desire that plagued him constantly whenever he thought about the Autobot, alone in his quarters back on the Nemesis.
Optimus. . . Optimus. . . more. . . more. . .
Soundwave could feel himself nearing his peak, chassis shuddering and his valve constricting tighter and tighter with the building overload, forcing the friction to intensify. With Prime’s fingers rubbing around his housing, distracting him, Soundwave momentarily felt whatever control he had unravel. His spike extended abruptly and past the teasing digits, the metal length hot and rigid, proudly pointing towards the wall.
As loud as he previously was, Soundwave hardly made a sound when his overload finally washed over him. His helm snapped back, cords of his neck straining with the movement as his intakes frantically swallowed as much air as they could. All he could feel at some point, through his numb circuits and seized servos, was his spike pumping transfluid against the wall before him and his valve squeezing and clenching so hard that it practically trapped Optimus inside him.
There was a shout, not of Soundwave’s name, but one of surprise and pleasure at the mental intrusion, and Optimus was already too close to the edge of orgasm to deny himself. With a shout he came, unable to keep fighting against that tight constriction around him, just a few short and frenzied jabs of his hips. Transfluid spurted from the tip of his spike into that tightness, up into the telepath’s reproductive tank, filling him up. Not that it would do much good. None, in fact. Warm lubricant and transfluid ran down the plating of his legs and onto the floor. He could feel some of it seeping into the joints of his knees, wetting them, but it was all too pleasurable, and he sighed as the last of his transfluid was milked from him by Soundwave’s tight valve.
Though he wasn’t so tactless to abandon the mech right there, instead he gripped Soundwave’s hips with one hand and his chassis with the other and staggered a few steps backwards, carefully setting himself down on his berth, where he then sprawled out behind him, arms and frame splayed out on his berth. Of course his spike was still inside the telepath’s, and every so often his hips would jerk as that valve clenched around him again. His chassis heaved with the effort of supporting the other mech’s frame from such a strenuous activity, and he allowed the cool air from his room to glide in and out of his intakes to cool his systems. A moment later he grabbed the back of Soundwave’s neck, then the top on his helm, pulling him to lay flat on his back, flush with that working chassis.
“I thought I told you to keep your mind to yourself?” he hissed, leaning down and arching his stomach so he could bite at the telepath’s chevron, warningly, and then let go.
He made a pleased, sated rumble and his vents hitched a little when he felt the Prime’s denta press against the sensitive plating of his helm. “You did not seem to care at the time. Besides. . .” Soundwave emitted a low, mechanical purr from his vocaliser. “. . . Extracting information was not my priority at the time. . .not when I was enjoying the feel of you being so deep inside me.”
Soundwave lazily wrapped one leg around Optimus’ hip, keeping their wet, exposed interface arrays close and enjoying the feel of that spike still nestled in his now sore, over-stimulated valve, acting like a secure plug to keep the precious transfluid from leaking out. The very thought of it delighted him and he entertained a passing notion of fashioning a small toy to do exactly the same thing. Or trying to scoop out what was left of Optimus’ essence out of him and savouring the taste the moment he returned to the privacy of his own quarters.
The warnings had started up again, reminding him of his near empty tanks. He ignored them, his fuel pump stuttering a little as he tried to conserve enough energy for the journey back. The usually glaring orange of his optics abruptly dimmed to an almost dull brown as a result but at least he managed to squish the pop up windows.
One of his hands glided down the Autobot’s back plating, tracing the seams. “Optimus. . .” he breathed, tilting his chin up so he could press small kisses up the other mech’s lower mandible. “Query: Do I not deserve a treat?”
Optimus’s helm tilted up at those words, blue optics lazy and sated. “Yeah whatever,” he said, canting his hips up so he could free his spike from the depths of Soundwave’s valve and tuck himself away. There were copious amounts of…fluids everywhere, everything from the telepath’s transfluid to his lubricant, including Optimus’s own fluids. He shifted away and sat up, trying hard not to yawn as tiredness stole over him. “Ss’over there,” he motioned to the dispenser.
Then he stood up and started for his personal shower racks. Inside he stepped in a stall and flicked the water on, hot already, and shivered at the steam that rose from his plating. Sometimes it was nice being right next to a volcano, and that was mainly for tapping heat and energy sources. He poured some solvent on him and started scouring his plating with a brush, making sure to carefully wash his open interface and inner thighs. He definitely was not nice enough to let Soundwave use his shower racks. The mech could go for a dip in the ocean before returning to the Nemesis for all he cared.
The telepath’s optics tracked Optimus’ every movement from his sprawled out position on the berth, until the large frame disappeared into the adjacent chamber. He laid there for a long moment, before managing to stand up. Then he wearily stumbled towards the dispenser, ignoring the rush of liquid trickling down his thighs. It took two full cubes for his systems to reach optimal level. The energon was delicious, fresh and rich in substance. Nothing like the low-grade they processed back on the Nemesis. Soundwave grimaced at the memory, retracted his interfacing panel and pulled out a cloth from subspace to mop up the remains of their encounter from his legs. He eyed up the garishly-painted wall opposite him. Transfluid slowly slid down the surface, now cool and almost congealed and he debated to whether to clean it up or not.
Then he cast a longing glance at the washracks again. Optimus Prime would never allow him to join. He knew that very well. That would be too intimate and too friendly of a gesture.
Soundwave’s mouth twisted, the expression on his exposed faceplates ugly. Out of spite, he subspaced the sodden rag and produced two more cubes from his chest compartment, filling them up to the brim for his Cassettes. If he was going to whore himself out like that, he might as well receive some form of payment. The Decepticon’s visor and mask snapped closed over his face as he strode past Optimus Prime, expertly finding the secret panel so he could leave. No more words were exchanged.
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