Chapter Text
You were kneeling on the floor, your servos clasped loosely in your lap, your helm bowed. You couldn’t see him from your position, but you could feel the pride and approval washing off of the Chief Justice, his own servo resting on the top of your helm.
“You’ve done well,” his voice —that calm, composed dry tone —came from above you. “You’ve gone above and beyond your station —certainly not something common to your fellows.”
Tyrest made no attempt to hide his disdain for Pharma and Lockdown, or any of the crew Lockdown kept, but despite his disapproval he still worked with them —in Pharma’s case, he’d taken him in, saved him from death —and that resolve, that tenacity, to do whatever it took to make right his wrongs in optics of Primus would always make your spark pulse fast in your chassis.
The Chief Justice — your Chief Justice —was a force of nature, a power none could contend with save Primus himself.
Tyrest would deny it, of course —he became stiff and uncomfortable whenever either you or Star Saber made mention of his incredible feats —but his humility only added to how much he captivated you.
And now here you were, knelt between his thighs, his servo curved around the metal of your helm.
“But I fear your devotion is not to Primus,” Tyrest’s words made your energon run cold.
“Chief Justice, sir?”
The servo on your helm moved down and he hooked his digits under your chin, tilting your head up so you were looking him in the optic.
“I’m no fool,” his golden optics burned into you with a mixture of disapproval and something else that made your circuits spark. “I see the way you look at me, the way you don’t look at Star Saber.”
“Star Saber was my mentor,” you said, steeling yourself against his piercing gaze. “He taught me the righteous ways, he helped my faith strengthen —but he isn’t you, Chief Justice.”
Tyrest’s optics narrowed, the grip on your chin tightening.
“Explain.”
You prodded his field with your own, surprised to find not anger or irritation, but simply confusion.
Your optics caught on the gouges and drilled holes in his armor and your spark clenched. How could he not see himself how you saw him?
“Being devoted to you means being devoted to Primus,” was what you settled on, settling into the servo grasping your chin. “How could I be a servant of Primus without also being a servant to you? Is it not by Primus’s will that I kneel here in the first place? Did Primus not speak to you, speak to us through you? How could I not devote myself to you?”
You raised your servos from your lap to gently wrap them around Tyrest’s wrist, his grip on your chin loosening. The Chief Justice’s expression had shifted from a scowl to a frown, his field pulling away from yours with a hesitation you recognized as discomfort, that he felt… unworthy.
“Did Primus himself not deem you worthy to be his emissary?” you continued, tilting his servo towards you to press a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “There could be no one in the universe more worthy of being adored than you.”
Tyrest’s field flickered slightly, his expression tightening.
“You’re wrong,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. “You know what I’ve done —how I bled the Matrix, desecrated the work of Primus —I am broken and full of sin.”
You sighed softly, stroking along the seams of his servo.
“Which is why Primus chose you,” you insisted, closing your optics and resting your helm against his thigh. “A mech who has made mistakes but wishes to atone for them.”
You released his servo, instead turning your face to brush your lips over the metal of his inner thigh, careful to avoid the spots where the plating was scored.
“Has Primus not set you on the path of redemption?” you asked. “To heal wounds so old we’ve forgotten what caused them, to facilitate Primus’s return?”
You looked up at the Chief Justice again, satisfied to see that at least some of the hesitance was gone from his optics.
“Besides,” you said. “Do you think Primus would be so cruel as to deny his prophet the chance to be served, adored, loved, by one of his disciples?”
Tyrest’s servo cupped your cheek and you leaned into the touch, closing your optics again.
“Primus is kind,” was all he said, his voice hoarse.
“Then will you let me show you his kindness?” you said, running the tips of your digits along the seams of his hips. “Will you let me reward you for all the work you’ve done in Primus’s name?”
He didn’t respond verbally, but instead pulled your helm towards him with his servo, digits curling around the back of your neck. You smiled and leaned forward, trailing kisses along his thigh. His metal was warm against your lips, circuitry buzzing underneath the plating as unreleased charge was acknowledged.
You wondered how long it had been since he’d allowed himself an overload as you slid your thumbs just under the plating of his hips, teasing the cording and protoform of his upper thighs.
The servo on your helm tightened its grip.
How awful it must’ve been, to be so isolated from everyone for so long, alone and filled with horrible guilt and shame.
Your Chief Justice didn’t deserve such a fate.
You ghosted your lips over the center of his modesty paneling, spark jumping at the quiet sigh you heard in return. The soft click of machinery met your audials and you watched as the paneling folded itself back, revealing dark, pliant protoform and pulsing biolights. You kissed the outer edge of his spike housing, letting your glossa trace the raised metal slowly, pausing intermittently to huff air over the damp area. It didn’t take long for the housing components to whirr softly and the segments of his spike to pressurize against your cheek, trailing a wet line of prefluid over your face mesh.
Tyrest’s spike was as beautiful as the mech himself; burnt russet and black, the sides lined with mesmerizing golden biolights to match his optics. It was as big as one would expect a mech of his frame type to have, making it a fair bit larger than any other spikes you’d taken —it was rare to find mecha his size even among populated places, let alone traveling the universe mostly alone —but you weren’t planning on taking him into your valve.
At least, not unless he asked.
You pressed your lips against the base of his spike, letting the tip of your nasal ridge tease along the underside as you rose up to the head. You took him in your servos, marveling at the feel of him, the weight of his spike in your grasp, the heat you could feel pouring out from his frame.
“Orders, Chief Justice, sir?” you asked softly, because this was for him; you were there to please him, not to satisfy your own urges. “How would you have me serve you?”
Tyrest stared down at you with his burning golden optics, his servo still resting on your helm. You were pleased to see that some of his confidence, his composure, had come back, his gaze sure and steady.
“Take me into your mouth,” he commanded, his voice firm and powerful again. “Please me with that clever glossa of yours.”
The sound sent shivers down your spinal strut.
“Yes, Chief Justice,” you replied, kissing the tip of his spike reverently before parting your lips around it.
You could both hear and feel the deep hum that resonated in the Chief Justice’s chassis as you took the tip of his spike into your mouth, unable to hide a moan of your own when you got your first full taste of him. The hot feel of his metal combined with the tang of his prefluid was heady, captivating. Your servos curled around the rest of his spike and began a slow rhythm while you suckled on the head, glossa teasing the slit at the tip.
Tyrest groaned, his servo guiding you to take more of his spike as he slowly thrust his hips towards you. The hot weight of his spike slid wetly in and out of your mouth, your lips cushioning it against the harsh metal of your denta, and soon your servos weren’t necessary. The tip of the Chief Justice’s spike just barely brushed the back of your intake, and you could feel drops of prefluid slip down your throat with each thrust, the head now weeping profusely. You rested your servos on his thighs, bracing yourself against him as you continued to steadily suck at the thick spike, spark pulsing quick in your chassis with every strained sound Tyrest released.
“Look at me,” he said, and you could hear the static in his tone.
You obeyed, raising your optics to meet his even as you were lightly jostled by each thrust of his hips. Tyrest’s optics were hooded, staring down at you and casting golden light on the sculpted curve of his nasal ridge and full mesh of his lips.
You wondered if this was Cyberutopia, because you couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight than your magnificent Chief Justice above you, his handsome face twisting in pleasure.
“I should like to take your valve next time,” he said in a thoughtful but rasping tone. “Your mouth feels like it was — hnng — made to please me, and I wonder—”
He paused, static overtaking his voice when you swallowed his spike to the root, the intoxicating taste of him on your glossa.
“— Hah —I wonder how receptive your valve would be,” Tyrest’s hips jerked underneath your palms. “And you would let me, wouldn’t you? You would let me — hrrn —bend you over the Repository console and have my way with you, slide— haah —myself inside you until our arrays are pressed tight against each other—”
His servo’s firm grip on your head held you in place as he seated his spike as deep into your intake as he could, the hot metal pulsing in your mouth as charge ran up his array and he overloaded with a long, rasping moan. You were held immobile, glossa pinned underneath the weight of his spike as he spilled his transfluid down your throat, forcing you to drink him down. His wings had flared out around the two of you, the blades shivering as his charge crashed over him. His digits dug into the metal of your helm, his fans blasting hot air out from his vents as his frame shook, plating shuddering as the charge slowly began to dissipate.
You gently smoothed your glossa over the twitching spike, drawing a shaky ex-vent from Tyrest. You looked up at him again, warmth rushing to your face as you caught sight of his flustered expression. His optics were blown wide, his mouth parted slightly, and he was watching you with a strange softness you’d never seen from him before.
You drew off of his spike slowly, a thin strand of oral lubricant stretching from its tip to your bottom lip. His servo slid down from the top of your helm to cup your cheek again, before speaking in a low, strained rasp, still fixing you with that soft gaze.
“Come here.”