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Octane had already been busy enough, considering his specialty was moving and refining fuel, which put his abilities in high demand during the critical energon deficiency that both factions were currently suffering. This excursion with two Autobots all the way to the planet SR388 was a bother, even if it was supposed to be quick and painless.
Red Alert knew all this because the tanker had seen fit to inform him and Sandstorm both over the course of their trip, repeatedly. Even now, he was lamenting the shortcomings of the Autobot-Decepticon joint recon unit, as they had failed to consider the possibility of hostile attack cruisers patrolling this far from their native Nebulon space.
It wasn’t that Red Alert couldn’t be understanding towards complaints—he got told off for raising them often enough, himself—but at the moment, it seemed just slightly ill-timed.
The reason being that it wasn’t Octane who was verging towards stasis lock right now, but Red Alert.
Sandstorm was holding him, arms looped under his and pressing him up against the triplechanger’s front. He was petting Red Alert, too, likely in an attempt to be soothing. It wasn’t working. Red Alert’s cooling fans were whirring loudly enough to be heard even in the sparse atmosphere of the tiny moon they’d taken refuge on, and he was gulping down that air through his intake as well, autonomous scripts taking steps to try and cool down his overclocked processor. Psychosomatic, a bad habit he’d picked up while staying on Earth, that—there was no point to it on the planetoid they were currently stranded on. It was below freezing anyway, though at least there was no danger of frost damage to Cybertronian components as the rocky little thing had no water.
“It’s okay, Red, we got you. The Nebulon cruiser is gone now,” Sandstorm assured him helplessly. Octane was sitting on his knees in front of them, fidgeting with his hands, wings held half-mast at a nervous angle.
“I know,” Red Alert gasped miserably, initiating one of his custom programs that was supposed to shut down all these haywire subsystems, but it continued not to work. “They’re gone, but I am going to stasis lock any minute now with all the energon I lost and we have no medikit, no rations, and no ship and even if somebody comes for us it’s going to take at minimum 5,6 cycles and 8 kliks and I will offline permanently and—! ”
“You’re not bleeding any now though?” Octane remarked unhelpfully while Red Alert’s vents wheezed with his attempts to control his panic. Sandstorm replied in Red Alert’s place.
“His self-repair is gonna use up any fuel reserves he’s got, I think,” he said without certainty. Red Alert was certain, though. He always monitored his frame meticulously to prevent attempts at tampering, encroaching viruses, and all other threats imaginable, and he knew exactly how much fuel he needed to stay functional, or even salvageable. With them all fueling on quarter rations lately, he didn’t have that after getting a leg blown clear off and a now-patched leak in a major fuel line.
“I don’t wanna die,” Red Alert whined, feeling that if he ever was entitled to some doomsaying, it was very much now.
Octane didn’t look quite as troubled as his Autobot companions, emergency alliance or not. While Octane wasn’t the worst of them—he was rarely seen in battle, and Red Alert’s files recorded zero Autobot casualties attributed to him—he was still a Decepticon. Red Alert wasn’t surprised that Octane was just going to sit there looking mildly troubled, watching as Red slowly expired.
The thought had Red Alert tensing up and releasing a high-pitched whine again, arching slightly in Sandstorm’s sure grip. Streams of coolant were leaking from his scrunched-up and painfully sparking optics. He didn’t want to go like this! Well, he didn’t want to go at all, but particularly not on some remote, Primus-forsaken planetoid orbiting the planet they’d been supposed to survey for energon. He wouldn’t even be able to say ‘I told you so!’, because he hadn’t been able to anticipate the possibility of aggressive Nebulons appearing in this quadrant. He was going to die and it was all his fault for not considering all the possible dangers…
“Um, well, I do actually have some…rations,” Octane said then, drawing both Sandstorm and Red Alert’s optics.
“Well why didn’t you say so?” Sandstorm said, with a lot less urgency than Red Alert thought suitable. “Poor Red’s already worked himself into a panic…”
Red Alert’s engine whined a protest to that and he kicked his remaining pede out straight, back to gasping for air as he hung on to Sandstorm’s plating, staring wide-opticked at the Decepticon triplechanger. Octane’s massive wings twitched and drooped lower, and he rubbed the back of his neck.
“It’s supposed to be kind of classified,” he complained, but was already scooting closer across the uneven ground. “Shockwave and Megatron are gonna have my helm for this, so you’d better appreciate it,” he went on, pouting.
For all his size, Octane wasn’t nearly as overbearing as most warframes, but the expression still looked wrong on a big old Decepticon triplechanger. It made him look almost cute .
As the two Autobots watched, a horizontal seam on Octane’s protruding chest compartment cracked open, soon followed by a couple vertical ones. The armor plates started to slide up and to the sides, folding neatly away to bare his internal components. Caught by surprise, Red Alert squeaked and hastily covered his optics with his hands before the partial transformation got very far, anticipating being inappropriately flashed with a scandalous full-frontal view of Octane’s spark. Sandstorm’s engine startled and changed gear, which Red Alert felt through his chassis.
“Gee, would you calm down? It’s not—I have another layer underneath!” Octane’s voice said, sounding affronted, and Red Alert dared to peek through his digits. It was true: there was no bright light to be seen, just matte black protoform.
A lot of it.
“What is that?” Red Alert managed to ask faintly, and he could feel Sandstorm move as he held him, looking down. Red would have to admit the odd chest components of Octane’s were quite effectively optic-catching: two large, round shapes, each crowned by a faintly glowing circle of purplish biolights.
“Fuel tanks,” Octane replied curtly, now holding his bulging protoform with his hands, seeming self-conscious without his armor, even though his spark was indeed still properly sealed away. The curve of the fuel containers overflowed his palms, evidently having filled out his chest compartment rather snugly. They looked…soft. Red Alert had never even heard of such a feature.
“Wow,” Sandstorm said softly, making Red Alert blink and try to take a glance at his fellow ‘Bot. “I didn’t know you had those…”
“Well yeah, like I said, they’re classified,” Octane sniffed, angling his nose upwards and hugging said feature closer to himself. They…squished. “Well, they’re classified right now, but it’s not like it’s anything weird, every tanker mech’s got them,” Octane continued, sounding defensive. “I dunno why you’re so surprised by them, anyway,” his voice seemed to fade into mumbling.
Such a large, soft feature on a Cybertronian frame was an unusual sight, but somehow quite inviting. Red Alert realized the structure resembled the physique of human females, as that fact had been difficult to avoid when exposed to Earth media at any length—though he hadn’t expected that Cybertronians and that odd little species might have yet another shared feature like this.
“So yeah, I got some energon right here, and I guess I can’t just let you offline on us, so whatever. Dig in, or something,” Octane said then, shrugging his broad shoulders. Since he’d moved his hands to his hips, the movement made his now-unsupported chest move in an interesting way. Red Alert watched with a kind of stiff fascination as the fuel-heavy tanks swayed minutely.
“Uh, wait—you are saying the fuel’s been inside of you?” Red Alert interjected in a strangled voice, pointing a digit at the triplechanger. “Is that sanitary?”
Sandstorm had the gall to let out an audible burst of static, obviously a suppressed chortle. Octane was less amused, however, and scowled in offense. His facial plating seemed to color slightly with a blush of energon.
“Well if you’d rather just offline, fine! No paint off my nose, Sandstorm can just tell that to your boss—”
“I didn’t mean that !” Red Alert interjected in panic, worried that the ‘Con might really retract his offer. He didn’t, after all, want to die, and, well, he also kind of wanted to try touching all that soft-looking protoform, maybe.
“Hey, Red stopped hyperventilating!” Sandstorm noted happily, managing to salvage the mood. He then proceeded to hug Red Alert tighter. That kind of a physical show of how glad Sandstorm was about Red Alert feeling better was quite touching. Octane scoffed and rolled his optics, but seemed mollified regardless.
Now, Octane placed a hand under one of his chest tanks, hefting it upwards for Red Alert. “How should I…” Red started, unsure, but Octane simply squeezed the yielding roundness, and a chrome silver nozzle that had been recessed in its housing protruded slightly. Red Alert had initially overlooked the small nub in the center of its biolight perimeter, but now his gaze was drawn to a droplet of pink energon welling up. The single, shimmering drop of fuel dripped down the generous curve of Octane’s fuel tank, dissipating quickly.
“Well, there’s nozzles, so you just drink. Not exactly rocket science,” Octane said smartly, but he still seemed a bit pink in the face, as well—likely covering up for embarrassment, then.
Red Alert steeled himself and leaned forwards, and Sandstorm caught on, supporting him. Red’s hesitant hands landed on Octane’s protoform, and he blinked nervously. It was warm. It also gave a little as Red’s weight pushed against it, and when he opened his intake and bent closer, Octane made a sound.
When Red Alert glanced up, Octane was staring down at him, wearing a weird, intense expression. It made him hesitate, but Octane rebooted his vocalizer and told him to go on. Well, Red didn’t need to be told twice: it was a matter of life and death after all…
Red Alert closed his mouth around the little chrome-silver nub and flicked it tentatively with his glossa, again glancing upwards. He could hear Octane’s cooling fans start with a quiet hum, and taste the hint of energon that had been spilled just previously. He licked again, and then figured out he should form a vacuum in his oral cavity and suck—
The nozzle was warm, same as the soft, smooth surface of Octane’s protoform. The energon was warm as well, and while Red Alert wasn’t sure how he felt about that, the taste was...it was something else. Most of the energon they got rationed was okay at best, vaguely disgusting at worst, but this… For some reason, the energon produced by Octane was delicious . Red Alert made a surprised noise and doubled down, filling his mouth to really savor the taste and then swallowing big gulps. He even managed to forget the dull pain of his injuries. How long had it been since he’d fueled with something so tasty? Before Earth, at least.
Sandstorm’s internal systems purred against his back and the triplechanger uttered a soft, admiring murmur. “Look at him go,” he said, patting Red Alert’s plating lightly where he was supporting Red’s smaller frame. It made Red a little self-conscious, but he was too busy fueling to react.
“Yeah,” Octane replied, sounding a little shaky, but in kind of a good way, if Red Alert was any judge. He appreciated how the tanker kept his hands to himself, holding his heavy chest up for Red. He was thankful for the energon, but he wouldn’t have been quite comfortable with Octane casually touching him without any preamble, as he was still a particularly large Decepticon, whatever he had going on with Sandstorm aside. And Red Alert was, well, Red Alert. Having Sandstorm hug him all this while was bewildering enough.
Octane seemed to be getting somewhat fidgety, and Red Alert onlined his optics to glance around again. He realized now that Octane was kneading his remaining fuel tank around the dispenser nozzle in a way that was...fairly obvious, one might say. Perhaps sensual, even. Red didn’t really want to bring it up when he was still trying to get his fuel levels to a point where he wasn’t in danger of offlining anytime soon, but…
“Wow…you’re getting off on this?” Sandstorm said instead, even when Red Alert had gone out of his way not to point it out. He was forced to stop and cough, pushing against the unusual, soft and springy consistency of Octane’s protoform.
“W-well, you try getting your protoform licked and, um, sucked, directly!” Octane retorted just a little shakily, but he failed to stop moving his other hand in that squishing, kneading motion. Red Alert made a wordless, shrill noise of worry, but Octane also didn’t pull away or try to stop him. It was documented in the records that Octane and Sandstorm had had some kind of an ‘adventure’ together at one point before this armistice arrangement, but it was starting to seem to Red that they had more going on than just one little bar tour in neutral space. It seemed like Octane and Sandstorm were somehow used to having these kinds of exchanges…
Red Alert was going to report it to Prowl and feel smug about it when he did, because he had called it. Sandstorm and Octane definitely had fraternized before, to have a rapport like this! But, for now, it was maybe even a good thing.
Red squeaked as he was suddenly and inexorably pushed right into Octane’s ample bosom by the two triplechangers both leaning towards each other and kissing above Red Alert as he struggled, pushing his hands against the soft, warm, pleasantly energon-smelling frame. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that somehow, this had caused his cooling fans to restart at a plaintive whine.
“H-hey!” he dared to utter when he managed to turn his head so his entire face wasn’t buried between the huge, round shapes. Thankfully, Sandstorm and Octane stopped making out and gave him a look, Sandstorm even having the decency to appear embarrassed. He also leaned back, which gave Red Alert a little space to push back from the pillowy entrapment. The motion made Octane gasp in a rather scandalous way.
“Sorry, Red,” Sandstorm said, petting his plating in a way that was likely meant to be soothing. Unfortunately, it was the plating of his thigh, and had the opposite effect.
“You know, I’m sure Red could use some nanites,” Octane said in a hopeful tone, searching Sandstorm’s optics with his own. He was talking over Red Alert’s helm, seemingly addressing Sandstorm rather than him, but Red noticed that this was the first time Octane referred to him by name instead of ‘Autobot’ or ‘short-stuff’ or some such.
Red Alert knew what Octane meant by bringing up nanites, and he blustered, squeezing Octane’s protoform with his digits and making the big mech jerk forwards incrementally with another incriminating sound.
“Well, I could, but, I don’t- You two seem…” Red Alert floundered, feeling hot now instead of cold and terrible and panicked. Maybe he should have felt worse about being caught in the middle of what seemed to be a cross-factions...arrangement of the personal kind...but being pleasantly energized soon after what had appeared to be impending doom seemed to go a long way. He almost felt relaxed with the immediate source of stress clearing out, and it was mostly just the last remains of his propriety that made him object to being used as an excuse for two triplechangers to loosen their bolts with each other. Red Alert was...actually, rather thankful to Octane for the fuel, and Sandstorm for the calming touch when he’d been about to overclock himself right into stasis lock. Their closeness didn’t feel unpleasant at all.
Anyways, it was clear the fuel was making him feel a lot better already, but that wasn’t really a reason to waste energy interfacing at this point. Red pointed that out. “We, we also don’t know when help will get here—if it does, and we might all need to refuel before that, and so we shouldn’t be burning our energy…”
He had already concluded he actually wouldn’t have minded some more general hugging and touching and maybe even a careful spiking, but it seemed bad form to get in the middle of these two, regardless.
Octane sighed, in a way that Red still found troublingly erotic, and spoke up hesitantly, finally deigning to look at Red Alert again. “That’s...probably not going to be a problem,” he said. “Shockwave pumped me full...uhm, topped me up right before we left.” Somehow, he made that sound lewd, too.
“So really, it’s not like my systems have converted all of it yet,” Octane continued, and now he pushed his fuel tanks up and together, one hand supporting each smooth curve. “We were supposed to be getting back by now, so really...it’s actually good, probably, that we’re uh, getting some out.” The tanker looked away for a second, and his fans hiccuped tellingly. He continued in an almost unintelligible mutter, casting a coy glance at Sandstorm. And then, also to Red Alert. “Wouldn’t be able to close my chest plates soon…”
Red Alert looked at the round swells he was leaning his hands against, both bigger than his entire helm. There had to be enough there to fuel all three of them for a good few days...in each one.
“Oh,” Red said faintly, and he supposed he had to admit that somehow, it was pretty hot to have a mech with all that fuel just...there.
In any event, that all meant he had to admit Octane’s logic was sound, and it was true that there was nothing formally stopping them. Red Alert would benefit from an infusion of repair nanites and materials, but was Octane really suggesting it for any other reason than to get to frag Sandstorm?
Red found that he might not, in fact, mind all that much either way, and the realization made him feel a little woozy. The shock had to be getting to him! Casual interface with two bots, and one of them a Decepticon? That was hardly Red Alert’s style. But, well...there was the alliance in place, and the situation was certainly unusual. Unusually convenient .
Red Alert carefully looked up at Octane, and then craned his neck to take a look at Sandstorm. He seemed pretty openly excited to Red’s discerning optic.
“Well, I will admit you are making sense,” he hedged, inspiring Sandstorm to hug him around his middle and Octane to break into a smile. Much to Red Alert’s shock, he realized Octane actually had quite the handsome faceplates.
“And can I have some fuel too?” Sandstorm pleaded playfully over Red’s shoulder.
“‘Course, Sandy,” Octane fairly purred, shifting on his knees. There was the sound of a partial transformation. Red Alert looked down, this time, struggling to see past all the limbs and kibble and chest . He did manage to catch sight of Octane’s emerging spike, and jerked back upright, optics wide.
“That is not going in me,” Red Alert said with a thin, high voice, arms locked straight as he braced between the two bigger mechs. Octane actually seemed flattered, even if he looked aside bashfully. Sandstorm just laughed. Before Red could voice his affront, his fellow Autobot spoke up.
“Of course, better not jostle you too much. I’d rather have that myself, anyway,” Sandstorm said, optics sliding from Red Alert’s face to Octane as they got all berth room-y. Red Alert made a face but was ignored.
Feeling something stiff and heated against his aft induced a different kind of face on Red, and he quickly decided to forgive the friendly ribbing. He arched his back strut and ground down against Sandstorm encouragingly, and to his increasingly pleased surprise was kissed by Octane. The tanker could have convinced Red he was just trying to sample his own produce, as thoroughly as he licked inside Red Alert’s mouth. It drew a lewd moan of his own from Red, and he let himself relax into the secure embrace of two triplechangers.
Red Alert surely hadn’t expected to end up in this position when their ship was bombed to smithereens by the Nebulons, but he found he was about to end up needing to thank the hostile aliens. Maybe he would get commended for promoting inter-faction synergy. Actually, knowing Ratchet, he would definitely get commended for letting himself... relax a little, as soon as he was back in the Autobot medbay for repairs. As it turned out, Red Alert could do it too, with a little help.