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Of all the things to see once he’d gotten off shift, the one thing he hadn’t expected was to see Sunstreaker examining his valve in the mirror. He was turned away from the door, back bent in a hunched position, showing off the strong line of his spinal cord while his feet were placed widely apart. If he didn’t know better, Sideswipe would believe he’d just walked in on his twin self-servicing. But, he did know his twin and he knew that he didn’t do that sort of thing. Not when he had Sideswipe to order to do it for him. Or, rather, to him.
“What happened to it now?” Sideswipe asked, exasperated.
“The mod’s not working,” Sunstreaker said. He didn’t turn from his position, head bowed between his own shoulder pauldrons. Only the tips of his helm vents stuck out, two tiny, black peaks against his yellow armor. Sideswipe immediately ached to flick them.
His shift hadn’t been stressful by any means, as any shift without Decepticon interference was irritatingly boring, but that didn’t mean the first thing he wanted to deal with was Sunstreaker mod problems. Pain from previous encounters with the blasted thing ghosted his sensor net with reminders that he promised last time, and the time before that, to not mess with it ever again.
“What’d you do to it?” His mouth, on the other hand, had not gotten the same memo his fingers had. It wasn’t like he’d ever been cut there by it after all.
“Why do you automatically assume I broke it?” The mulish reply came quick. Too quick. For all his relentless talent, Sunstreaker had never been the liar between the two.
“Sunny, come on. You don’t let anyone mess with your interface equipment except me, and I’ve been on duty all day.” Sideswipe paused, mouth curling into a frown. His eyes swept the room for any disturbance, but all he saw was the controlled chaos of their belongings. “I don’t see a crying mech in the room either, so what was it?”
“I didn’t do anything to it. It decided to go haywire and now it’s…” Sunstreaker trailed off with a hiss of his vents.
What a pain. Sideswipe ex-vented as he approached his brother. He leaned, careful to not touch the surly mech’s finish, and examined the reflection of the valve in the mirror. Black servos spread the lips apart, revealing the lines of dim biolights leading into the opening. Nothing concerning there, the lights wouldn’t brighten unless he was excited. Far more concerning was the pink energon which stained the soft mesh. It dribbled down, staining plating and pooling below.
“You either tore your lining or cut some wires,” he said.
“Thanks captain obvious, you want to tell me something else I don’t already know?” Sunstreaker snapped.
“Now, now. No need to get huffy. I’m just giving a second opinion.”
“I don’t need your opinion, I need your servos.”
Nope, nope, and nope. Sideswipe smiled, a reflexive response to anyone trying to weasel him into something. It was softer than his battle hungry grins, and far softer than anything Sunstreaker tended to show. Because of this, most didn’t heed it for the warning sign it often was.
“I’m sorry, did I miss going to medical school? Do I have a degree lying around somewhere that I am completely unaware about? Should I go tell First Aid I’m his new rival for position of CMO?” Sideswipe laughed, then said sweetly, “There’s no way I’m sticking my fingers in your valve again.”
“Well, I guess I’ll just bleed out because there’s no way I’m going to Ratchet for this.”
“You won’t bleed out from a wound that small.” Sideswipe scowled.
“Not yet.”
“Sunny.”
“Sideswipe.”
“Go to Ratchet and get the damn thing checked out.”
“There is no way in the pit that I’m showing him my valve.”
“Are you serious? Sunstreaker, he’s seen more embarrassing things than your interface equipment. All he’ll do is laugh for a second, scold you on proper maintenance then fix whatever malfunction it has now.” Sideswipe pulled away from Sunstreaker, folding his arms over his chest in a show of defiance. His servos weren’t going anywhere near that mess and that was final.
“I’d rather die.” Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed, either in concentration or pain, a piercing, bright blue that lit up his faceplate. His servos probed the wounded area again, dipping into his valve gingerly. The first finger went in to his knuckle joint, arching to feel along the top. He bent closer to the mirror, examining the opening as best he could. Even lying on his back, he wouldn’t have been able to get a clear look, armor getting in the way.
It wasn’t pity, but rather some other nebulous emotion that stirred Sideswipe’s spark. His brother wouldn’t go to the medbay. Of this he was sure. Obstinate at the worst of times, Sunstreaker had put his foot down, and from this he would not budge. Worse, there was no one else who would help him, or even be allowed to help.
With a great sigh, Sideswipe jerked his head towards Sunstreaker’s berth.
“Alright, I can’t watch this anymore, go get on the berth and I’ll see what I can do.” Before Sunstreaker could open his mouth, he continued on, “and if I see something that I can’t fix, you will go to Ratchet. It literally can’t be worse than every time your mod has sent me to the medbay with missing fingers.”
“Fine.” Sunstreaker rose slowly. He walked carefully to his berth, feet dragging just slightly against the floor. He had to have been in more pain than Sideswipe realized to be showing weakness so openly.
Without hesitation, he knelt between his twin’s open legs. The smell of Sunstreaker’s wax wafted from his armor, mixing with the sharp smell of energon. A smell that he was more accustomed to than any other, yet found no disgust in. Vorns of being in the gladiatorial rings could make one desensitized to the strangest things.
Eye to valve, Sideswipe wasted no time with placing his hand on soft mesh.
“You better be careful down there. I just waxed,” Sunstreaker said. He leant back on his elbows, head strained as if he could see into his own valve from that angle. Those blue optics were still narrowed, but in a far more familiar way- anger. Sideswipe let the words, and harsh look, wash over him with the ease of weathering it and worse a thousand times before. He had the patience, or appeared to, to weather a thousand more.
“Don’t you worry your pretty, little finish over a single thing. Just let doctor Sideswipe take care of you.” He winked upwards, then spread the valve lips.
“I can do without the cheap porno dialogue too.”
“Spoilsport.” At a cursory glance, nothing seemed wrong. There were no bent biolights, and the mesh at the front was still malleable, but tough. It bent beneath his careful touches, but nothing so dramatic to point towards a wound. “Can you describe the pain? Maybe it’s in a certain area?”
“It’s a pain in my valve.”
“Can you be any less descriptive?” Sideswipe pulled his fingers further apart, the opening widening. The biolights brightened ever so slightly. “Is it a sharp pain? A dull pain? Feel like a line got cut somewhere and it’s leaking?”
“It… It’s still cutting into the calipers, a dull pain that sharpens when I move.” Sunstreaker’s mouth screwed up. “About half-way up?”
“Anything from self-diagnostic?” Sideswipe wet his finger, foregoing the usual show he’d put on. If this were a normal Sunstreaker wants attention moment, he’d play up the act, sensually licking and fingering his own mouth, more often than not to his twin’s anger. But, this was not, and so he let the façade fall with the ease of a performer putting on and taking off a mask.
He wet it just enough to enter further, fingers very slowly feeling around the first ring of calipers. If one weren’t aware of the mod, they wouldn’t recognize the difference compared to a normal valve. Along the edges was a raised rim, circling the entire surface, firm and unyielding to the touch. Sideswipe probed this, confirmed that this portion hadn’t malfunctioned, and moved further in.
“You know my self-diagnostic doesn’t work for my interface equipment.” Sunstreaker grunted as Sideswipe’s finger rubbed the calipers one by one, softly circling his insides to leave no portion untouched. Sideswipe felt the walls tighten in response, a faint movement that if he weren’t focusing might have gone unnoticed. A fresh stream of energon flooded down, coating his finger, then continued on to drip against the berth, a mockery of excitement.
“Maybe if you went to Ratchet about these problems he’d be able to get you a patch to cover that stupid blind spot of yours,” Sideswipe said. Quickly, he ducked his head, dodging the wild swipe from his twin. “I’m just saying. You’re so worried about someone sticking something in there, but can’t even tell if there’s a problem. What if you have a rust infection growing in the mesh and don’t know?”
“I’m not you, I know how to keep my equipment properly clean.” Sunstreaker sneered.
“But you can’t keep one mod working?” Sideswipe dodged another swing. “Stop moving! You’ll get my fingers caught. Then you’ll really have to go to Ratchet.”
Sunstreaker huffed in response, but made no further attack. He lowered his weight back onto his arms, lounging as if it didn’t matter that he had a mod slicing up his valve. Despite this veneer of apathy, Sideswipe knew the truth.
His brother was quite easy to read if one bothered to look. Perhaps not mentally, not even he could understand what went through his brother’s head half the time, but physically? He had tells that he was oblivious to. The first that came to mind was the slight tilt of his head he did when sizing up an enemy seriously, nothing like the showy jut of his chin to those he considered beneath him. There was the twitch his nose did when he felt disgust, but couldn’t outwardly show it. The flaring of his plates when caught out in blackjack. The sheen that entered his eyes when examining the scenery, mentally cataloging the features for a later art piece. And many, many more.
In their gladiatorial days the rarest tell had been his brother in pain. For the longest time, Sideswipe hadn’t been able to tell whether the injury Sunstreaker had been hiding was serious or nothing at all. He had the ability to make a torn limb look like nothing more than an inconvenience, even to the mechs standing right in front of him. While Sideswipe had to wheedle and coax and misdirect optics away from his issues, Sunstreaker simply acted as if there was no problem in the first place with a conviction so forceful one had to believe him.
Except, of course, for the little tell that Sideswipe learnt.
Sideswipe curled his fingers across the next line of calipers, brushing the nodes there. The mod was interspersed between the rows, hard beneath his fingertips, but not malfunctioning. The small bump was slightly raised versus the curved walls of the valve, and he followed the bump slowly, carefully. Nothing sliced his fingertip, nor threatened to cut through his armor.
Sunstreaker’s valve fluttered at the attention. The walls squeezed, and lubricant flowed across his servo, mixing with the energon already there. A slow purr of an engine started, rumbling down through Sunstreaker’s frame.
“That feel good?” Sideswipe rubbed the mod lining again, teasingly with a feather-light touch.
“Focus on the task on hand, then you can get me off.”
Right. Because that was what Sideswipe wanted to do with his time. Rolling his eyes, still carefully out of view of his moody twin, he bent closer to his valve and pressed his fingers in further, lubricant and energon slicking the hole up enough to slide in an extra digit, until he finally ran into the issue. He barely felt the nick, dismissing it out of habit, before his processor caught up with his hand.
There.
The blade had a curved edge at the tip, like a tiny hook, to pierce into any offending spike or finger and hold it in place. Why? Because Sunstreaker wanted any unwanted piece of slag to know exactly what was coming. The mod piece had released accidentally, extending outward at an angle as to pierce the surrounding caliper, cutting into the soft metal, and catching, gouging over and over to create a weeping wound. Energon flowed freely, making the area slippery.
“Found your hardware issue,” Sideswipe said.
“I can tell. Now fix it.” Sunstreaker stilled, locking his joints with a nearly inaudible hiss.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just let me… figure out how to do that.”
Sideswipe examined the surrounding mod openings. He did this carefully, as too much pressure, and the malfunctioning mod might skewer his fingers. But, when he brushed and prodded and nothing happened, returned to the wounded area.
“Alright, so it’s just this one hook that malfunctioned. Nothing too bad besides slicing one of your calipers and sensors. I’m going to try pulling it out and feeding it back into its holding. Once its back in, try and shut the cover.” Sideswipe pulled away from Sunstreaker’s valve, servo still resting inside the warming array, and made eye-contact with his brother.
Sunstreaker gave a short nod in assent.
“If that doesn’t work we’ll just cut this one out.” A little quieter he said, “It’s not like you need a dozen knives in your valve anyways.”
“Say’s you,” Sunstreaker snapped.
He paid the comment no heed. Sideswipe focused on the minor sensors in his hands, increasing the sensitivity to their max. It was nothing near a medics or even a scientists, perhaps not even near the average mech’s. Between the jarring of his frame when using his pile drivers and the constant damage from tearing through enemy frames, most sensors in his hands had been done away with, leaving the area deadened. He didn’t miss the minor sensitivity except in moments like these where every little bit of help would be appreciated.
Gripping the blade with two slick fingers turned out to be harder than he thought. The offending piece of metal slipped out of reach, digging further and further into Sunstreaker’s caliper with each try. He’d get the blade between the sides of his digits, pull, then feel it catch against the firm metal, leaving him to tug at it ineffectively. The cut grew with each failed attempt, weeping energon, making it harder to catch the blade.
Yet, Sunstreaker made no noise of pain. He kept stalwart, laid back with his head against the berth. His optics were low, but not unseeing. They were focused on the ceiling, no doubt cataloguing some inane criticism of the room such as scratches or dents. Not even the ceiling was safe from their roughhousing.
Once more he tried to pull the hook out from the caliper. He caught it between his fingers, felt the blade slice into his armor with barely a sting, and then pressed the two digits until the sting grew. Once the blade was locked into his own armor, he gently pulled up and backward, freeing the hook from the lip of the wound.
Sideswipe moved slowly and carefully, focused so intently on his motions he barely noticed he’d moved closer until he almost brushed Sunstreaker’s plating. Heat wafted from the yellow panels, warm against the back of his servo, and more importantly his face.
He was close enough that it’d be easy to kiss that bright, blinking node.
Being so close, and in such an intimate position, warmed his own panels. It may have not been what he wanted to do with his time, but Sideswipe was known for his spontaneity, and really, was it so bad to spend his off-time fragging the boredom from his processor? A release was healthy for a mech like him, especially with no battles recently.
“I think I got it,” Sideswipe whispered, hot air gusting the array. Sunstreaker’s valve quivered in response, the only movement from his twin.
He fed the knife as far as it would go into its sheath before the bent hook threatened to catch against the mod’s rim. He released the blade and pulled his hand back to reposition. The walls of the valve rippled, calipers clenching at the movement. He dared not rub back, if only in fear of accidentally touching the wound. The blunt edges of his digits nudged the bent metal back into shape, careful as to not bend it too far the other way, until finally, he pressed the blade down into its housing.
“Try closing the cover.” Sideswipe pulled his slick fingers out of Sunstreaker’s valve with a wet squelch. They were nicked to the pits and back, but nothing his self-repair couldn’t handle. Almost immediately he missed the feeling of heat and soft metal against his own.
“It’s shut,” Sunstreaker said. His voice sounded relaxed, low and slow like his rumbling engine.
“What can I say, you’re not the only one good with his hands.” Sideswipe grinned cheekily, pulling a rag from his subspace. Gently, he wiped at the lubricant and energon on his brother’s valve, applying just the right amount of pressure to entice Sunstreaker.
Sunstreaker snorted, a sharp rev of his engine which traveled down his frame, minutely jolting the plating. “If you call that talent then don’t bother quitting your day job.”
“And if I do this?”
Sideswipe dropped the rag, running his still slick fingers across the rim of the valve’s entrance, trailing up to the blinking node. With his thumb he pressed against the sensitive area, rubbing to generate friction.
There was a jolt beneath him, plating flaring to expel hot air. The heat enveloped him, welcoming in its caress. On the puffs of air, Sunstreaker’s wax-scent wafted up further, fresh and pleasant in its strange, organic way. Earth didn’t have his twin’s favorite wax smell, or anything truly like it, so for months he had shopped around, scrutinizing every available brand until something met his impossible expectations. On the receiving end of its scent, Sideswipe had to admit it was worth the months of complaining.
“I think I need further demonstration, what else can you do?” Sunstreaker splayed his legs further, pushing his array closer to Sideswipe’s hand.
“Who’s saying cheap porno dialogue now?” Sideswipe lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the node. He stayed there, head bowed between two shuddering thighs, lavishing the outside of his twin’s valve in soft kisses, alternating between using only his lips versus his glossa. He lapped at the mesh and node, over and over, until the trembling of plating grew louder.
For all his bravado and fear surrounding his valve, Sunstreaker had always preferred soft ministrations above all else. This was not to say he wouldn’t, or hadn’t, tossed Sideswipe onto a berth and fragged him across the surface, leaving him a melted puddle of armor, but that his tastes always ran softer than most would think. Sideswipe didn’t mind indulging him like this, for it gave him a thrill to be the one to turn his usual reticent twin loud. A mixture of smugness and power enveloped him in these moments, knowing that only he would see such a change, and more, had been the one responsible.
Sideswipe inserted his servos back in, just enough to rub at the first rim of calipers. He curled his fingers and pressed at the cluster of sensors there, getting a groan from Sunstreaker.
“Sides,” Sunstreaker moaned, flinging his arm over his head.
“That feel good?” He didn’t really need to ask, he knew it did. Sideswipe continued to rub the sensors across the valve’s entrance, charge raising from each motion of his fingers. Like static electricity, it shocked him, rising up his dead sensor-net until they were able to acknowledge his twin’s pleasure. Or, perhaps that was Sunstreaker sharing his emotions. When so physically close it was hard to pin exactly where one feeling started—in the frame or in the bond.
Sunstreaker rolled his hips in response, pushing Sideswipe’s fingers further in. “Deeper,” he ordered.
“Don’t complain if I accidentally hit your cut.” Sideswipe complied, fingering deeper to hit the bundle of sensors further inside. He was careful to not knock his fingers against the wound, even as slick calipers tightened around him.
“A small cut like that would already have sealed.” He sounded breathless, ex-vents ruining his words.
How easy it was to make him come undone; a mess of heat, clattering plates, and slick fluids running down the berth. His ever so careful twin, debauched. Sideswipe felt his fans turn on at the thought, and heat poured from his frame. His interface array pinged to open. He denied it. Not yet. Instead, he bent down and returned his mouth to the blinking node, licking up the lubricant that spilled.
A bitter taste hit his glossa. Energon from another mech; remnants of the mod’s malfunction. He ignored it. He’d ingested worse before, including straight from another mech’s lines. With ease, he pushed his face further into the entrance, dipping his glossa in as well as his fingers. Charge raced up his tongue and into his mouth, electric and wild. It made his face tingle delightfully.
Sideswipe continued to hit every sensor he knew drove his twin wild, ramping up charge until it arced against his faceplate. Sunstreaker shook, hips rocking to match his, admittedly still slow, pace as he let out a pleasant whine.
A wave of lustful content crested over the bond. Sideswipe purred into it. Heat from the shared emotions bloomed from his spark outward, carrying the feeling across his lines, increasing his own charge noticeably. Sideswipe sent the feeling back, twice as strong. He pulled away from Sunstreaker, just enough to watch the way he moaned, nearly voiceless. His back arched, pushing his valve back into Sideswipe’s waiting mouth. But, instead of sliding his tongue back in, he placed a gentle kiss on the wet mesh and pulled away.
“Can I put my spike in?” Sideswipe asked. He licked his lips of any lingering fluids, catching bitterness and the strange, tastelessness of lubricant. It was in best interest to ask whether or not he could, because often times the answer was a resolute no.
Sunstreaker liked to interface, but only in specific approach. More specifically, his approach. His fears wrapped around his valve controlled the pacing and the limits of what was allowed. Anything outside of those parameters were viciously eliminated, whether by mod or mauling. Generally, anything involving Sideswipe’s mouth or servos were allowed. His spike on the other hand? A tossup on how blissed out his twin was.
Sideswipe didn’t mind the idiosyncrasies. He delighted in finding work arounds, exploring the limits of what was allowed, then pushing those boundaries. Never too much and never too fast, as he liked having his frame in one piece, but just enough to plant a new idea in Sunstreaker’s head. That perhaps he did like a certain wire being tugged, or area being caressed. That he did like how Sideswipe played his frame, his valve, tenderly.
“Yes.” Sunstreaker pulled his arm away from his face, showing his bright optics. They were flaring with charge, on their way to white, but not quite there.
Finally, Sideswipe transformed his modesty plate away, letting his spike pressurize. Transfluid beaded at its head, dripping down into the puddle of fluids on the berth. He wasted no time in lining up, head butting against the slick entrance. He placed his hands on Sunstreaker’s hip, aware of the smear now marring the yellow plating, and gripped them slightly, fingertips dancing at the transformation seam there.
“Tell me if you don’t like it, alright? Don’t just throw me off you like last time,” Sideswipe said.
“Hurry up before I do change my mind,” Sunstreaker growled back.
Hot, soft metal enveloped him as Sideswipe entered. Calipers expanded and tightened as he pressed inward, a rippling motion that drew a moan from him. His hands clenched on Sunstreaker’s hips, settling with only a part of his spike in. He sat there, letting the valve adjust to the new size, but also to simply enjoy the embrace.
“You can move if you want,” Sunstreaker said, after Sideswipe had stayed there for a minute.
He gave a wordless noise in response, finally pushing his spike in deeper. The valve cycled around him, incredibly hot and tight, drawing him closer and closer, until Sideswipe hit the top node at the ceiling of the valve. Charge shot down his spike and into his frame, drawing a choked rev of his engine. A mirrored noise came from Sunstreaker, whose face was slack and open, so very different than his usual closed expression.
Interfacing with Sunstreaker was a measure of patience on Sideswipe’s part; of control that he usually didn’t bother with. In battle, he let his frontliner’s code take front seat, directing him with wild abandon. He threw himself into each fight with a seemingly careless attitude, letting the chaotic pacing of battle direct his moves. Yet here, wrapped in the heat and pleasure of their bodies twining, he couldn’t do so. Sunstreaker would have him flat on his back in milliseconds if he were too cheeky. It was an odd balance of finding power in being the one directed, whilst also exerting power back in any available way.
Usually, sly, as Sunstreaker, great warrior that he was, never truly expected the depths that Sideswipe was willing to sink.
Sideswipe thrusted slow and measured, watching with rapt interest as Sunstreaker melted further upon the berth. His back arced with each deep push, with every click of charge released from his sensors being dragged then hit. Charge rose between their two bodies, zapping over their plating where their bodies connected. He wanted to be closer, to feel that pleasure across his entire being.
With another thrust of his hips, he leant in, hovering over his twin’s twisting body. Hot air filled the space, pushed between the roaring fans of their frames. It gave an audible hum to the rhythmic clang of metal striking metal. That warmth enveloped him, pushing his arousal further. His fingers dug in, almost imperceptibly, denting the armor on Sunstreaker’s hips. Focused on his own pleasure, he didn’t notice. Sideswipe’s engine roared louder in the knowledge that he’d blemished his perfect frame, pushing that miniscule limit further.
Sunstreaker’s calipers tightened, gripping his spike in a wet, hot clamp. Sideswipe let out a choked cry and changed his pace to a deep, grinding motion against the ceiling node.
“Yes, like that,” Sunstreaker moaned, static lacing the words. He sounded close, breathy moans getting more and more filled with static. He motioned with one of his hands, beckoning like a lord to its supplicant. Sideswipe heeded the call with little thought, bending until their frames were pressed against one another, chest plates scraping against one another with each movement
Sideswipe found Sunstreaker’s mouth easily, kissing the waiting, open mouth. His hand moved from hip to audial fin, grasping the metal there gently to hold his brother in place, guiding the kiss deeper. A part of him thought it a shame that no one would believe his brother could ever be so gentle, so loving in the brush of his lips against Sideswipe’s. A bigger part enjoyed that only this side would ever be shown to Sideswipe. No one else.
Sunstreaker let out a choked sigh, body going taut. His calipers tightened, gripping Sideswipe’s spike with a painful clamp. The charge that had been building up finally snapped, cascading outward in a shuddering wave. It crackled through his valve with an intense heat, flooding directly into Sideswipe’s lines, whose systems drank it up greedily. His own overload tipped over from the excess charge, and with a hoarse groan, he spilled transfluid into the welcoming heat.
Sunstreaker fell back against the berth with a groan, aborted movements of his hips twitching upward. Each rock sent out a mix of pleasure and pain to Sideswipe’s spike, who followed the motion best he could. Transfluid continued to spill out of him, drained with each tiny thrust, until finally, he felt dry. Charge still danced across his frame, keeping his body hot. If he wanted to, he could build it back up and go from another round. But, basking in the afterglow sounded equally appealing, and so with a sigh he collapsed into the equally hot frame below him. If Sunstreaker wanted another round, he’d tell him.
Sideswipe wanted to say something witty, something to make Sunstreaker huff and push him off him, but no words came to mind. Sunstreaker’s valve still was tight around him, sending pinpricks of pain up his interface array, but he pushed the pain away easily. It wasn’t very often he got to settle like this because usually—
“Get off, you’re scratching my pain up like this,” Sunstreaker groaned. There it was.
“Yeah, yeah, give me a moment.” Sideswipe began to pull out.
A series of stings stopped him. Something cut into his spike, erasing any lingering pleasure dead cold. He went still. The pain was from every angle, small, but directly into the sensors lining his spike.
“Sunstreaker,” Sideswipe said slowly. “Did you engage your mod?”
“No.” Sunstreaker began to pull himself out from under Sideswipe. Tiny knives hooked beneath the thin, outer metal of his spike. They tore with the motion, a dozen cuts opening simultaneously. He hissed in pain, slamming a hand to stop his twin from moving any further.
“Disengage your fragging mod!” He yelled.
Sunstreaker’s face erupted into anger. His optics narrowed, and that once beautiful mouth twisted into a hideous scowl.
“I didn’t engage it!”
“Your pit-spawned mod is slicing me up. Oh, Primus. Why did I stick my spike in your crazy valve?” He slapped a hand against his forehead. Stupid, stupid, horny Sideswipe. Never once thinking of the consequences, blinded by the idea of getting his spike even slightly wet.
The two, now locked into one another, stared angrily at one another. Each micro movement pushed the miniature hooks further into the sensors lining his spike, slicing them apart. That was one of the beauties of the mod, Sunstreaker had boasted when he first got it millennia ago: the hooks were lined up with the standard placement of sensors on an interface array. To cause maximum pain.
Sideswipe felt that maximum pain. It sliced clean through his ability to suppress discomfort, making him groan in agony. From bliss to the pits.
“Sides… I can’t disengage it.” There was a nervous note to his brother’s tone. If his spike wasn’t currently being shredded, he might marvel at the inflection as it was one he rarely, if ever heard.
He felt the hooks deepen, settling with a firm grip on his spike, holding it in place. Fiery pain flooded his sensors, threatening to drown out his next thought. Oh no.
“Sunstreaker, Sunny-Sunny, don’t you dare engage the second part of your mod.” Sideswipe’s voice rose to a high, needling pitch. His vocalizer threatened to glitch with the stream of ‘don’t you dare’ cascading from his lips.
“I said I can’t stop it,” Sunstreaker said, voice rising in pitch.
In between having his spike shredded to ribbons or what came next, he knew his choice. Sideswipe scrambled to pull away from Sunstreaker. Pain engulfed his array as he tried to yank his spike out. It was no use. The hooks were too deep.
The outermost ring of Sunstreaker’s valve tightened in a mockery of overloading. Calipers squeezed, rippling with a wet heat. It drew a tight, painful groan from Sideswipe, who still, tried to pull free. His processor scrambled through a dozen different ways to try and stop the inevitable.
“I’m going to kill—” Sideswipe’s words were cut off.
Coincidentally, so was his spike.
The two main blades that rested just at the outermost juncture of Sunstreaker’s valve, hidden behind plush mesh lips, descended. They sliced through the thin, sensor ridden plating of his spike cleanly, and without pause. There was barely a sound, just a small snip noise, barely perceptible over the screech of his words.
For a moment, Sideswipe didn’t feel pain. He blinked, suddenly silent, and looked down at their entwined arrays to see the splatter of pink across his and Sunstreaker’s panels. He noticed the strange emptiness between his frame and where his spike would have connected. His gaze traveled up to the pink and silver cover of his brother’s valve, twin blades shut against one another.
Then, as if his processor had caught up with reality, warning after warning that his spike was gone spat across his vison. Energon spilt from his wound, gushing from cut lines. It flooded against their bodies and the berth. Sideswipe could barely think past his initial thought of my spike was gone and I’m going to rip Sunstreaker apart.
His vocalizer settled on a third thought.
“Ratchet!”
There would be derisive laughter, mockery even, that followed Sideswipe for his foreseeable future in the medbay, but he knew one thing for fact: never again, would he help Sunstreaker with his mod.