Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

Odd Moments	By : DeeDaday Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > AU/AR Views: 9045 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers Animated and I make no money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
A/N: Anything in italics is in Portuguese.
Again, I apologize for Megatron's apparently causeless monster-virility, but it does have its roots in fact/plot-convolutions that I haven't revealed yet. (DAMN YOU SUMDAC. DAMN YOOOU.)
Thanks to the darling MollySugar for helping me find the best character for this job. ‘Cos as she said, he's a total whore and we all knew it.
Pairings: MegatronxCallboy, MegatronxStarscream obsession.

Warnings: oral, anal, prostitution, humiliation/master-slave (?). Just kind of, er, really disturbing and then passed-off as not disturbing. It's all in a day's work for Megatron.
Yes, he's obsessed. Really, really obsessed. Scarily so.
-.-.-.-.-
Contract
-.-.-.-.-
Even as one would think that a dangerous entrepreneur like Megatron would want the most for his money, the man's needs were disappointingly simple.
Calls only came a few times a year. Appointments always ended within the hour. The man who waited motionlessly on his bed, callused hands locked, was not the slyly smiling fox that toyed with interns, making them stutter and turn red at a brush of his big hand. When Megatron simply needed and became exhausted with his façade, the constant mind-games or even the costs of human contact, Afterburn was the one he summoned.
It was silent, emotionless and often harsh. There were no games or complex fantasies or humiliations as most would expect—or even anticipate. The President was simply an older, harder version of the scarred, muscle-taut man who scowled blankly at the crowd screaming for him beyond the cage.
Megatron was no longer allowed that escape. Perhaps this was a little escape, then, to simply be able to fuck without saving the slightest bit of face or indulging in the multiple seductions the upper echelon were so fond of. Perhaps that's why his preferred breed of whore was Brazilian instead of American: another reminder of that old brutality he was so prized for. Either way, Afterburn was not complaining.
Afterburn would do anything for the older man and knew his wants and needs intimately even if his own participation was little more than laying still long enough. He had been appointed to Megatron as a safe, hyper-confidential escort and their contract had been one several years in the making. The idea of being paid to sleep with the former cage-fighter still made Afterburn a little giddy. He had unearthed old advertisements and fighting posters in his parents' belongings when he was small and grew up with not a few fantasies revolving around a muscular god with jet-black hair and a cold eye.
Twenty-five years later, Megatron had aged impeccably, almost as if something were preserving him or even hardening him by age. He had the body of a thirty-year-old professional weight-lifter; the only true signs of his pentagenarian status were his craggy veins and the wiry, masculine look of his hands and feet. And, of course, the clean silver hair.
Afterburn watched as Megatron pulled off his red tie, unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it down his sculpted back. It was what every escort who dealt with those sadly repressed businessmen saw, but this was a gladiator masquerading as a paper-pusher. That white shirt fell away to reveal rock-hard muscles, not the pasty pouch of most nervous presidents. Scars criss-crossed every plane of his back and front, including a long stripe up the center that looked surgical in its precision. What was more, Megatron was able to look his whore in the eye with utterly no shame even as he unbuckled his belt.
After dealing with so many paranoid, cheating, closetted men, it was a relief and, god forbid, almost a turn-on.
Afterburn was absolutely flabbergasted how no one had found him out yet. How no one had realized they were courting a furious silver-haired beast and not the mild, cultured human he had painstakingly trained himself to be. One day, Megatron would sink his teeth in and they would realize how wrong they had been.
Megatron turned, stepping out of his slacks and approaching the silk bed in six feet five inches of chiseled, scarred nude glory. Afterburn, a slim boy in comparison, rose to his knees on the bed and smiled slightly as he took the man's cock into his hand, stroking it to hardness with expert swirls of his palm until he could feel the hot blood rushing through his shaft. He slid the wet tip against his lips before pushing it in and teasing him with flicks of his tongue, raking his blunt nails down Megatron's thick thighs.
He looked upwards as if for a reaction, but the older man's eyes were closed, something close to consternation on his features. Even fully taking him into his mouth did nothing but make him exhale. The sensations simply weren't penetrating his tense muscles.
Afterburn drew back and was about to dare to suggest a massage—escorts of his caliber weren't usually just paid to sit still long enough and he had more than a few helpful skills at his disposal, including conversation—but Megatron suddenly pushed at his shoulder, grey eyes dark and blank. Obeying routine, Afterburn slid back and rolled over to allow the President onto the bed, skin thrilling as Megatron's hard hands scraped down his naked sides.
The older man pushed between his parted thighs without pretense, iron hands stilling Afterburn's hips as the young escort jerked against him, heat surging through his gut at the sudden penetration. Then Afterburn let the rhythm carry him. He almost enjoyed his hours (hour) with Megatron, if just because he didn't have to focus on actively pleasing his client. He didn't have to moan theatrically or perform complicated maneuvers. Never had Megatron asked for anything of the sort, vocally.
He had stated in their first meeting, with the air of a businessman outlining a proposition—or a criminal stating the rights of a hostage--that talking during sex infuriated him, as did playing a whore. He was there for a simple business, relief. He had no doubts about his sexual prowess and neither was he concerned with his escort's pleasure. Rough words, but Afterburn was content to take his tenderness in the form of hard cash.
Still, that night seemed mechanical at best. The pace was enough to make bored slaps. Just when a dull twinge of pleasure built inside the escorts gut, he felt Megatron stiffen behind him and come, breathing heavily.
Then, after no more than a second frozen behind him, the older man suddenly began to thrust into his tender body again.
His hands tightened to crushing intensity with growl so soft it was nothing but an intake of air, a ripple of tension that dissolved Afterburn's bones. His eyes widened, skin going tight. He thrust so much harder, and it came as such a surprise that Afterburn whimpered slightly, rolling against him and immediately clenching around his girth. Megatron hissed and the very sound made him weak.
"Ah sim—"
Afterburn bit his lip, half-fearing Megatron's reputed wrath as much for the muttered exclamation as the fact he hadn't satisfied him the first time. With that sound, however, the air became charged behind him and the older man's hands tightened even further.
Unseen, Megatron's eyes became manic in the darkness above him, focusing on the twist of the boy's white back and the vulnerable noise that hit his cock like penetration. His skin, previously dull as grey metal, was suddenly alive and electrified, tension sitting in a thorny ball in his gut.
"This is your place," he heard himself say, voice dark as the room. "On your knees."
Afterburn stiffened uncomprehendingly, fingers digging into the bedsheets. He made a strangled noise when Megatron's hard chest came down on his back, his huge hands locking around his wrists.
"Beg me," Megatron hissed, pulling out and slamming in so hard that Afterburn's knees buckled and he moaned weakly before he could stop himself. Stunned, he opened his mouth—maybe to ask really—but then Megatron's hand clenched into his hair, tugging his head back with a sudden power and a tenseness that couldn't be denied.
"Beg me, brat!"
It was the roar the spectators never heard when he raised his arms above his sweating chest and bared his teeth to their wanting screams. Afterburn felt that strength and that fury coalesce behind him and it was all he could do not to pump at his painfully hard shaft. It was either that or run crying from the room. Behind him was a god reborn.
"Favor, favor...."
He moaned weakly as the older man's thick cock pounded into him with new intensity, feeling anything he had ever wanted to say since they began their contract jerked out of him with Megatron's eyes boring hungrily into his back. Afterburn spread his legs wider, whining when Megatron yanked him closer with a possessive snarl, forcing his face into the sheets with a push of his hand.
"English," he rasped, but the sharp cry that resulted was in no language and every language. Afterburn gasped and bit at his knuckles and whined through the pleasure until he could remember words enough to waste his breath with.
"Fuck me. Do it hard, oh god—harder!" he begged as ordered, sweating running down his spread thighs. "Fuck me, make me scream!"
In some ways, the words rolled over the older man. Only their tender, wanton register stuck in his mind, and the fact they were cried helplessly as he simply took another person and satisfied the red in his brainstem and groin. In other ways, some part of him still sneered at the falsity of it all until that phrase. It made tension shoot up his chest and prickle around his nipples, mind blanking. His cock was painfully hard, thrusting forward into tight heat, and Starscream's face twisted in his mind with every little sound below him.
The Seeker had poisoned himself, but he would purge every weakness from Starscream's sickly, beautiful body. All of the arrogance, all of the coldness, the restraint. Gone. He would be a perfect soldier, a perfect mate. The boy would scream and he would writhe and the last thing on his lips would be his master's name and that itself would be a plea for more. He would surrender and there would be no greater gift beyond that.
His.
After a few minutes of the brutal rhythm, Megatron bucked and crushed the escort's sweat-slick thighs to his front, filling him with a snarl. As if the force of the other man's orgasm pushed him over the edge, Afterburn arched and cried out, coming hard onto the sheets. An unearthly silence followed the expulsion of heat and tension, which didn't dissipate into the apartment's dark air but lingered like a malignant fog.
Megatron panted as though stunned, then pulled away roughly, leaving Afterburn's knees to give him tenderly to the sticky sheets, mind spinning.
It was several minutes before the cool air was able to wake him or cure the scald of his skin. Afterwards, Afterburn would have sworn that the other man's passion—or hatred, he couldn't tell—was almost electrical. His skin tingled as if a charge had been run through it, his heart clumsy and almost slow to regain rhythm. In every way, he'd just been royally fucked.
After a moment, he managed to collect himself, laying on his side to find Megatron standing at one of his windows, screen-filters set to hide both his naked body and the original appointment from the outside world. Lazy with his job now completed, Afterburn thought of the intensity Megatron had fucked him with. Who was the ‘brat' he had just stood in for? He had never seen Megatron get riled over anything and he felt slightly disgruntled that something had finally shaken him sexually.
He knew he should just swallow it (like he did so many other things), but he had spent too long playing sex-doll to the President to pass up the curiosity. He wanted to know what it was. He didn't wait for Megatron to look back at him. He knew he was nothing more than a piece of furniture at that point, so he rose to a sitting position and reached for his clothing.
"Your cock tied up in something else, Gladiator?"
"My cock and my mind," Megatron murmured after a moment of thought, surprisingly obliging. The light from the lamp highlighted his narrow hips and his sculpted calves as the President stood with one finger to his lips, brow furrowed. Afterburn took his mind away from the nice sight to think about what Megatron said.
"That's messy," he mumbled. "Your heart is between those two. Something is going to get tangled."
"Leave," the older man ordered immediately in English, grabbing his wallet out of his business slacks and flipping through until he found a small swath of bills. All were hundreds. He tossed them on the bed, turning towards star-dotted Detroit with that same dark, determined expression. "And next time, don't improvise."
Megatron was referring to the howl at the end: which was the least improvised thing Afterburn had ever suffered. Jaded old bastard. Still, the young escort gathered the eight-hundred fresh green dollars and stood, dressing himself with a resigned smile, leaving Megatron with his cock satisfied.
"Anything to please, sir. Have a good night."
His mind, he would have to deal with himself.
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Odd Moments