no rust just robot lust

by lubeshots

Summary:

History doesn't record small rebellions like these: stolen kisses between miners in shadowed caverns where no one else can see.
Some revolutions start quietly.
This one does not.
.
Or: Orion Pax and D-16 find solace in each other's words on a starry night in Iacon.
They also find solace in each other's frame.

Notes:

so.
uhm.

 

hi!

 

[crickets]
ok that was enough introductions for today.
so this is my first fic. the first fic i'm posting. on this site. EVER. okay.
of course it had to be dpax because i love them more than anything in the world (they ruined my life) and because that movie means the world to me and i would DIE for them and-
anyway english is not my first language blah blah if you see mistakes close one eye blah blah blah you know the drill.
reminder that this will be 3 chapters (which are more or less ready already, i just need to edit them), and there will be explicit scenes.

enjoy!

Chapter 1

 

 

 

Stepping into the cave-like halls, Orion takes a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of energon. 

“D! You down here?” he calls out cheerily, glancing around in mock-concern. 

He grins, wandering further into the space. Admittedly, it hasn’t been long since he last saw the other mech: just a few breems ago they were getting scolded by the guards for something Orion doesn’t really deem that much important right now (nor he thinks his nth transgression constitutes a transgression, if he had to be honest: it was just a friendly race, not his fault the guards there lacked sense of humor). Disciplinary measures were taken, in the form of an extra mining shift along with cleaning up the barracks, which was unfair had pointed out Orion before being quickly silenced by D-16, who did not want two extra mining shifts. Too bad they had been assigned to different sectors: so now Orion had definitely an excuse for looking for D-16. 

In a quiet corner a bit deeper into the caves, he finally spots a familiar shape slumped over by a drilling machine. Crossing the space, he approaches the mech with a smirk.

“Aha, found you!” he says, giving the other a nudge. “So, enjoying the scenery… again? Thought you were gonna join the fun.”

D-16 barely glances up, arms crossed tightly over his chassis with an exaggerated scowl. 

“Fun. Right. Because racing through mineshafts or getting chased by Vehicons is your idea of “fun”; not my idea of a functioning processor, Pax.”

But there’s the tiniest flicker in his optics when he says it, that hint of amusement tugging at the edge of his frown, despite everything: he can’t really avoid it, because c’mon. It’s Orion. No matter his penchant for dragging him into reckless “adventures”, he can’t stay mad at the red and blue mech for too long. Which he hates. Because he asked for none of this, not that stupid race, not having to stay an extra shift down there with Orion, who didn’t waste the opportunity for a tirade about the system and how it’s all rotten to its core. D-16 is, honest to Primus, just tired. Orion leans in, grinning. 

“Oh, but you love it. Admit it! What’re you really down here pouting about?”

“Just thinking.”

Orion’s playful grin softens, his optics dimming slightly as he picks up on D-16’s tone. He knows him too well, knows that teasing him won’t work; so he lets him. He leans back against the energon vein beside him, arms uncrossing, optics shooting a glance at D-16’s pools of deep gold, only slightly hidden by a shadow cast by his helmet: when he speaks his usual teasing is replaced with something quieter.

“Hey, D? You know you can talk to me. What’s chewing at your circuits?” he nudges D-16’s shoulder again, gently. “And don’t say ‘nothing’. You only over-data-analyze this hard when it’s something real.”

D-16’s plating tightens, his fists clenching for a moment before he forces them to relax. He turns to Orion, a small smile on his lips. 

“Ah it’s fine, Pax. Last shift took a toll on me. I’m just tired.”

Orion studies him for a beat longer before smiling back. 

“Good, because I don’t feel like recharging yet and you have to come too, and I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Plus I still owe you five shanix from our last bet. That’s incentive not to throw me into a smelter yet.”

D-16 shoots Orion a glare, but this time, it lacks any real heat. There's a glimmer of appreciation in his optics.

"You're insufferable, you know that, right?" he grumbles, but his shoulders do relax just a bit under Orion’s grip. "Fine. But no more secret trips to the library or spiking Darkwing’s energon ever again. Or that smelter will start looking pretty good.”

Orion flashes him a sharp-toothed grin, optics twinkling with mischief and relief. That's progress. Besides, D-16 would never throw him in a smelter, would he. Right? He shakes his head at the thought and pats the other mech’s shoulder once before straightening up with a groan. 

“Reckless risks are what make things interesting, sometimes. You never know. And they haven't gotten us in any real trouble yet. Right?" He glances at D-16. 

D-16 narrows his optics, unimpressed.

"'Yet' being the operative word," he mutters, but a reluctant smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. Then, with a long-suffering sigh:

"Alright. But if we end up chased by guards again-"

Orion cuts him off with an enthusiastic clap to his back, nearly knocking him forward. "Then we outrun 'em like last time! Besides," he adds with a wink, "what’s life without a little danger to spice it up?"

D-16 rolls his optics, but he doesn’t argue further. He’s weak. Word on the street would be that he’s weak for Orion, something he’d categorically deny because is not that. Obviously. It’s just that someone really has to check that the red and blue mech doesn’t accidentally blow up the mines. And it’s not just that: he’d rather not see Orion getting repeatedly demoted because who’d look after him too or put in a good word when the guards threaten to throw him into the darkest pit? So when Orion starts heading for the exit with purposeful strides? D-16 follows without protest.

 

They walk together, the usual playful banter filling the air. As they move away from the other miners, from the halls and the familiar buzzing, they find a quiet spot to sit and take a break. Outside the mines, Iacon is always a familiar sight, yet one that never fails to impress Orion. And, he bets, D-16 is not immune too, though he’s not sure how much the other appreciates the poetry of its infinite horizon of metal, the ships and cargos, floating silently and fast, thinks amusedly Orion. The vehicle traffic is hypnotizing, the trains traveling fast as beams of light. Orion sprawls out, arms splayed behind him to support his seated frame, optics fixed on the scenery in front of him. He glances back at the other mech with a wry grin.

"You know, for someone who’s always complaining about my 'reckless risks,' you sure seem to follow me every time I do something 'irresponsible’."

D-16 huffs, crossing his arms but shifting slightly to sit closer, because someone keeps stealing his personal space like it's a game.

"Someone has to keep you from getting us both scrapped," he mutters. Then, after a pause, quieter:

"And you'd do the same for me."

A comfortable silence settles between them, no words needed when decades of trust fill the gaps. Orion tilts his helm back with a contented vent, his audio receptors listening to a distant machinery hum.

"You ever think about… leaving this place? Really leaving?"

D-16 stiffens slightly, optics flickering with something unreadable, longing? Hesitation? He glances away, pretending to examine the very floor he’s sitting on.

"Where would we even go?" His voice is quieter now, stripped of its usual sharpness. "This is… everything, Pax. Mining."

But then his grip on his own arm tightens, and when he looks back at Orion, there's a rare spark of defiance in his gaze.

"You actually think there's something out there? For us?"

Orion doesn’t answer immediately. That “us” lingers in the air for a bit. Instead, he reaches into his subspace and pulls out two rust sticks, stolen from the foreman’s stash weeks ago, tossing one to D-16 with a smirk.

"Hey," he says between crunches, "if no one’s gonna make room for us in their shiny future-" He gestures broadly to the space around them, "we kick down the door ourselves."

A pause. Then softer:

"And yeah. I do think it’s out there."

D-16 catches the rust stick and stares at it for a moment. It’s not surprising, hearing those words. With time he became more and more used to Orion’s way of thinking, of speaking: he had never heard anyone say the things the other mech says, not in the past, not in the present. He had never considered many of those things before meeting him. He scoffs softly before taking a bite, optics lingering on Orion.

"You've always had a way with words, Pax," he says, a hint of dry humor in his voice. "But you’ve never been one for planning, have you? That's my job."

He takes another bite, tilting his helm back to stare at the sky. Then, with a small smile of his own:

"But I guess somebody has to dream big."

Orion looks at him for a bit, then turns. The two sit like that, the quiet pleasant, for a moment, the faint noise of mining gears and the glow of several neon signs casting shifting shadows across their frames. Orion stretches out his legs with a contented sigh, tossing a small pebble idly between his fingers before speaking again.

"D? You ever wonder if we were built for more than just this?" He gestures vaguely at the buildings’ walls around them. "Like- maybe there’s something written in our coding that even we don’t know about yet."

D-16 frowns slightly; he doesn’t dismiss Orion outright. Instead, he vents quietly and leans back beside Orion.

"Maybe." he admits seriously after a long pause, "I don’t know, Pax."

A beat passes before he side-eyes Orion.

"And don’t start talking about ‘destiny.’ I can already hear you gearing up for one of your monologues."

Orion chuckles, not in the least bit offended. He knows the grey mech well enough by now to recognize the underlying uncertainty in his voice amidst all the snark.

"I think you actually secretly love my monologues. They keep things interesting." He grins unabashedly, tossing the rock toward D-16 with a deft flick. "I swear they're the only thing in this place with more personality than your grumpy frown."

D-16 catches the rock with barely a glance and immediately pegs it back at Orion with a snort.

"Yeah, because your endless optimism is just so endearing," he shoots back sarcastically, but there's still some amusement in his tone.

“Your words.” teases Orion as he deftly dodges the rock.

D-16 scoffs as he leans his head back, closing his optics and venting deeply.

"I'm not grumpy by the way. I'm just... cautious. Someone has to balance your irresponsibility with a dose of realism."

Orion chuckles at D-16's comment. He gives the other a playful shove with his shoulder.

"Without me you wouldn’t know what ‘fun’ means.”

D-16 rolls his optics but can't suppress a slight twitch of his lip. He glances at Orion, trying and failing to keep his expression deadpan.

"And without me, you'd be a pile of scrap by now. The only reason you're not in a smelter is because I have the common sense to keep us both from getting caught."

He nudges Orion back with his own shoulder. Orion throws up his hands in mock surrender, unable to hold back a chuckle.

"All right, all right." He glances at D-16 with a sly grin.

"Still, you've got to admit my plans aren't all bad. I mean, we're here right now having this delightful conversation instead of working, aren't we? That's a win in my data track."

D-16 huffs out a vent that could almost be mistaken for a laugh, if you weren’t listening closely or if you didn’t know him.

"Debatable," he mutters, but the edges of his frown soften as he slouches further. Orion stretches out his legs with a satisfied hum, watching far-away vessels and drones flicker in the dark sky.

For now this was enough.

Far above them the first hints of twilight wash over Iacon’s spires in hues of violet and gold.

 

The deepening shadows of evening bring a certain tranquility to their quiet corner. Orion closes his optics, his frame relaxing. Without even realizing it, he shifts slightly, his frame now sitting just a bit closer to D-16's, who can suddenly feel the faint heat of Orion's systems against his plating. Neither bot speaks, but neither feels the need to do that either. It's oddly peaceful, like the world outside doesn't exist for just this moment.

D-16 is acutely aware of Orion's proximity. It’s hardly the first time they sit outside together like that, so he doesn’t understand what’s different about this moment. Maybe he’s just feeling… reflective. Maybe it’s the scenery. He steals a sidelong glance at the other mech, half-expecting Orion to pull away with a sly grin, a familiar routine. But Orion just sits there, optics offline, frame relaxed. It feels so... normal, this silent moment of closeness. No teasing remarks, no jokes to fill the gap. Just them.
D-16 feels a strange flutter in his spark. Which is ridiculous. Before he can analyze it further, he finds himself speaking, the words slipping out quieter than he intended.

"When you said-"

Orion's optics flicker online as he hears D-16's voice.Turning slightly, he looks at D-16 curiously, tilting his helm in silent invitation for him to continue. 

"Said what?"

D-16 hesitates, then vents sharply through his nasal ridge, an old habit when he's gathering thoughts he'd rather not voice. His optics stay fixed on the distant glow of Iacon's skyline, as if the city might swallow his words before Orion can hear them.

"When you said that we might be built for more than this. You often say that we’re more than meets the eye." The words come out slowly but it feels like they’ve been clawing at his throat for cycles. A beat. Then Orion shifts fully toward him, frame humming with quiet intensity.

"You really think that?"

D-16 doesn’t move, doesn’t look at him but his shoulder presses firmer against Orion’s, like an anchor in the dark. He keeps speaking. 

“I never thought about that. I still don’t know if I like to think about that. Sometimes I know I don’t.”

Orion shifts carefully. He’s learned to read the other mech: learned to recognize conflict, when and how to avoid confronting it. There's a rawness beneath D-16's words that speaks of more than just bitterness. He leans slightly, not pulling away but adding a gentle pressure to their shoulder-to-shoulder contact. Habits, languages that do not require words, all too familiar to the two of them and them only.

"D, do you remember what you said to me once?" Orion says quietly, his voice echoing the same vulnerability D-16 showed earlier. "That 'destiny' is just an excuse for not making your own path? It isn't about 'being meant' for something."

D-16 stiffens slightly at the memory; not in annoyance, though. He’d said that in a fit of frustration cycles ago, back when Orion’s relentless optimism grated on him like rust. But now-

"I still think that," he mutters, though his voice lacks its usual edge. "Doesn’t mean it’s easy to believe it."

A pause. Then, almost too soft to hear:

"Especially when you start thinking about… what comes after."

Orion doesn’t push. Doesn’t joke. Just lets the silence settle between them like dust after a quake.

 

The night stretches on, the two mechs lingering in their quiet corner as Iacon's skyline flickers against the darkening horizon. Orion, never one for stillness too long, eventually shifts, just enough to lean his full weight into D-16's side with a playful nudge.

"Y'know," he muses, "I might talk about destiny a lot but you sure brood like you're starring in your own tragic holodrama a lot for someone who claims he doesn’t like it."

D-16 snorts, half-exasperated. He just knew Orion wasn’t done with his nonsense. 

"And you laugh like a malfunctioning turbo-fox."

Orion snickers as he stares at the sky. 

“Hey, D?”

“What?”

“You know I always got your back, right?”

“Yeah. I know that, buddy.”

A stretch of silence.

“Shouldn’t you say something in return now?”

“Like what.”

“Uh, I don’t know, that you’d do the same?” 

D-16 smirks.

“Well, yeah. Though it depends. Next time you do something that might declass me? Probably. You jumping into the abyss because you’re a stubborn fool? Depends.”

Orion furrows his brows.

“That was a lot of specific words and I didn’t like it. So, what if I jumped into the abyss? Would you save me?”

“You would not voluntarily jump into the abyss, I hope. Rather, someone might throw you into it if you keep playing with fire.”

“Ok, so what if I fall into the abyss, say. Would you save me?”

D-16 pretends to be thinking really deeply about it. 

“Maybe.”

Orion blinks several times, face devoid of any expression then smiles, sharp and wicked. It all happens very fast: before D-16 has time to read the intention in his optics, to anticipate it, Orion shoves him hard enough to make him stumble, not enough to actually make the bulky mech fall though but enough for D-16 to retaliate by yanking Orion into a headlock, because dignity is overrated by now: they crash gracelessly onto the floor, wrestling like newsparks over the last energon cube, plating brushing a little too long during the scuffle, rolling through dust and debris without a care for how ridiculous they look. 

"I will end you-" growls D-16 with growing, totally ill-conceited amusement, a large sneer on his face. 

“You can try!” snaps back Orion, the same mirth reflected in his optics. He does try to end Orion, before the other mech flips them both with sheer audacity. 

Somehow, it ends with Orion pinned under D-16's knee, both covered in dirt, venting heavily from laughter more than effort.

Their laughter fades into heavy vents, the fight leaving them breathless but grinning. Orion's still pinned beneath D-16's frame, his plating still thrumming with the thrill of their tussle. Their optics lock, blue meeting gold, and for a moment too long, neither moves to break away, the stare lingering a second too sharp.
There’s a strange charge in the air, something warm and unspoken buzzing between their frames like an electric current. Orion’s smile softens into something quieter as he feels it too, this pull that neither of them has ever acknowledged before. D-16 hesitates just a fraction longer, then slowly loosens his grip on Orion’s wrists.

They don't question it when their helms tilt closer.

They don't question it when their vents mingle.

They certainly don't question it when their lips close the gap entirely.

 

 

 

Notes:

brain: so how many tfone references are we gonna use
me: yes

Chapter 2

Notes:

first of all the biggest thank you to every single person who commented, left a kudo or bookmarked: really, it's incredible to me and it means so much, trust me.
some other things in order uhhh random order:
1. i realized cables play was harder to write than i thought because the genius here lacks knowledge of all the different robot components' names. or you know, cars. or whatever.
2. i didn't research. so i just winged it. ignore it. pretend it makes sense.
3. i wrote this at work because i hate my job and writing gay robots porn seemed like a much better use of my time. terrible idea (you get too horny and did i mention you're at work-)
anyway here's that!

 

 

 

Some moments can’t be put into words no matter how hard you try simply because they don’t feel real. Even as they’re happening, and especially so, they’re like out-of-frame experiences.

But this. This feels overwhelmingly real.

The kiss is awkward, neither of them having done this before. It’s electric, their sparks humming against each other through layers of plating. And it’s over far too soon, reality crashing back in, mercilessly as usual, like a dropkick on the helmet from an angry Vehicon.

D-16 jerks back first, optics wide, mouth slightly parted in shock at himself more than anything else. That didn't just happen. There must be something wrong with his internal systems, he confusedly thinks, his processor doesn’t seem to be able to string together coherent thoughts and his frame, what is wrong with that too, why is he feeling this weird warmth-

He scrambles off Orion so fast he nearly trips over his own pedes.

"I- that wasn’t-?" His vocalizer glitches halfway through from sheer disbelief. "What was that."

No immediate answer comes back though as the other mech concerned is still lying flat on his backplates, dazed but grinning like an idiot who just won the Iacon 5000. Orion stares at the sky, breathless as if he did run a race, stares at the flying cargos thousands of feet above his head and feels nothing except the wild pulsing of his spark deep within himself.

D-16.

D-16.

D-16.

That’s the only word reverberating inside his processor, which is all it can do at the moment. He kissed D-16. Well, they both kissed each other but- he kissed D-16. He has to keep saying it, he kis-

A sound that feels distant light years from him wakes him up. Orion, still sprawled on the ground, blinks, then slowly pushes himself up onto one elbow to look at the other mech.

D-16's vents hitch as he stares down at Orion, his optics darting from the mech’s face to the floor, then back again, as if trying to process what just happened. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach out but can’t quite bring himself to. Panic flickers in his gaze, sharp and unguarded.

Oh.

The grey mech looks like is having a short-circuit.

Because they kissed.

Them.

Orion Pax and D-16.

They kissed.

Scrap.

The playfulness in Orion’s look goes momentarily away, replaced by the sudden cybertron-shattering realization of what just happened. His optics grow wide: his mouth opens to say something but nothing comes out of it, his processor failing one after the other every attempt at saying something appropriate.

 

#

[Noncognitive Responsive Pathway:] DO SOMETHING DO SOMETHING DO SOMETH-

#

 

"I- D-"

But D-16 doesn't seem to have cooled off one bit. If anything, it looks like it's getting worse.

"What was THAT."

Orion looks nervously around, at his servos, as if they might tell him how to not ruin this forever, at D-16's face, who stares back at him in confusion and panic, vents still going full force. He swallows, extending a servo towards him.

"Hey," he murmurs, "It’s me. Just me."

His voice is softer this time, steadier.

A beat passes. Then another.

D-16 exhales, Orion doesn’t look away. The air between them crackles with something neither can name yet. It got darker but it doesn't feel like it, the city's skyline and its blazing lights dancing over their grubby frames, reflected in their dilated optics in tiny gleaming specks. 

D-16’s processor is still at work, Orion’s words coming in muffled.

 

#

[Logic Circuit]: ABORT MISSION.

[Emotional Subroutine]: ...Do it again? But better?

[Autonomous Defensive Protocol]: I will delete myself before admitting that out loud.

#

 

Orion is terrible at playing it cool. He wouldn’t be able to quiet down the noise in his processor or the tumultuous pulse in his spark even if he tried: not when the stakes are this high. Not when the prospect of D-16 backing away in disgust suddenly materializes as the worst possible nightmare. His field keeps pulsing warmth against D-16's, over-excitedly now with each nanoklick that passes; his servos feel like they're itching, for what it's unclear to him but all he can do is stare at D-16 like he's afraid the grey mech might slip out of his grasp if he doesn't do something quick or if he doesn't say the right thing. D-16, on the other hand, hasn't moved an inch but that usually means he's calculating twelve escape routes while also debating staying forever. Because, now that his internal systems are starting to settle down, now that his processor is loosening up to the idea that maybe, just maybe, this is something he has dreamed about but never accepted, that maybe this is not the end of the world. The silence would probably stretch into something dangerous like "we should probably talk about this" territory but they don't talk about this yet.

And then.

A shift, subtle but irreversible. Their optics lock again, and this time neither pulls away first.

Slow this time. Deliberate. Optics closing, servos finding familiar paths across each other’s plating like magnets. D-16's frame is hot beneath Orion's fingers as he hesitates, then finally, finally, brings their lips together again. There's a flicker in the back of Orion's spark when D-16 responds, servos gently catching hold of each other's shoulder pads, lips parting like they've craved this since forever. There's no laughter this time, no teasing words between them. Just soft vents and quiet, increasingly desperate kisses.

They shift together with an aching need they can scarcely put words to. Plates scrape, fans hitch, and somewhere along the line their legs tangle, then there's suddenly a knee between D-16's thighs and a quiet sigh slipping across Orion's lips. His servos slip down, over D-16's abdominal plating, tracing heated paths across his waist.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Orion murmurs, mouth brushing D-16’s mandible. That should probably be concerning but neither of them are thinking straight anymore.

D-16 shivers when Orion nips at his mandible, servos pressing against his shoulders. Their limbs keep shifting slowly, hips starting to roll and grind together in a way that should be shameless but feels inevitable. D-16 gasps at the friction. At long last he ends up with his legs splayed across Orion's waist while the latter sits up to devour his mouth in another intense kiss. His servos find Orion's hips, pulling him closer. "Slag, Orion-"

Everything feels so overwhelmingly good: so good it threatens to override their common sense. Something they both don't care about at this exact moment but thankfully the need for air comes into play. They have to catch their breath: which means parting, and parting sounds like the last thing they both want, not when the sensation of their frames so close feels so right, not with this urgency burning inside their cores. Still, it's an aching sting in their sparks when they do. 

It's a messy scramble to untangle themselves and stumble to their pedes, servos brushing but never lingering long enough. They're both flushed and panting, optics still darkened with desire, and it's a special kind of thrill knowing they've both lost control. The place now seems blatantly inadequate for their racing sparks.

Without another word, Orion grabs D-16's wrist and tugs him out of the deck.

"Come on," he smiles breathlessly. "I've got an idea."

D-16 stumbles slightly but doesn't protest, following after Orion without hesitation. The air is cool against their overheated frames, the sky with its distant blur of lights only a memory, replaced now by the dark, energon-lit corridors of the mines. Orion leads the way with a single-minded purpose even D-16 doesn't question. All that matters is the weight of Orion's servo closed around his wrist, guiding him forward like a lifeline.

"You'd better not be dragging me into trouble," he mutters, though the teasing tone is undermined by a needy edge.

Orion glances back at him, his optics burning with a promise that makes D-16’s plating prickle. His grin is sharp and entirely unapologetic as he tugs him into a shadowed alcove, just past the mines' edge, where no one ever goes.

"Trouble?" he murmurs, crowding D-16 against the wall with barely an inch between them, "You should have thought about that before signing up for thi-"

“Wait-”

D-16 abruptly pushes Orion in a darker corner: drones, dangerously close but, Primus be blessed, unaware of the presence of the two miners. Orion breathes as quietly as possible, optics darting up slowly to study D-16’s face, so close to his own as the grey mech shields him from the scans of the drones, tension evident in his lips pressed together, in the barely concealed nervous resonance of his spark, mirrored by that of Orion. 

After what feels like a megacycle, D-16 exhales again, turning his helm slowly to face Orion. 

And then there are no more words. 

Just heat and hunger and servos pulling each other closer.

Their frames crash together again, Orion’s back hitting the rough metal wall as D-16 presses into him with a desperation that surprises them both. The hunger between them burns hotter than Cybertron’s core, no hesitation left, just denta clashing in eagerness and glossas exploring each other’s mouth. Orion's vents hitch as D-16 nips down his throat cabling, a shudder running through him when fingers trace the seams of his chassis.

"You-" D-16 groans between kisses, "have always been impossible."

Orion only laughs breathlessly before catching his mouth again.

The kisses deepen, grow rougher, servos gripping, roaming with restless intent. Orion’s back arches as D-16’s fingers skim the sensitive gaps between his armor plating, pulling a ragged moan from his vocalizer. The sound sends a visible shudder through D-16, his own vents stuttering in response.

“Pax-” His voice is raw, barely recognizable. “If we don’t stop now-”

Orion cuts him off with another searing kiss, hips grinding forward deliberately. The friction draws a muffled curse from D-16 against his lips, and that’s all the answer either of them needs.

They don't stop.

When Orion sinks to his knees in the dim light D-16 is sure his pounding spark will never forget but right now his processor is running too fast to process such a sight.

D-16's optics flash a raw and heady shade of dark gold as his head tilts back against the wall. His digits find purchase in Orion's helmet, gripping tight. Their fans are already running loud but D-16 can't bring himself to care, and frankly neither can Orion.

"Slag, oh-" A breathless curse as Orion's mouth moves lower, servos roaming across his chassis. Heat sparks across D-16's sensors, too many and all at once.

He's panting now, his thighs tensing and trembling as those digits skim lower. They find the gaps at his hips, trailing along overheated seams with a touch that feels all too deliberate. Orion pulls back just enough to flash him a half-lidded smirk, and the sight is almost enough to make D-16 melt right there.

"What happened to stopping?" he manages to rasp, his fingers tightening almost painfully on Orion's helmet.

"You're right-" Orion growls, and the sound goes straight through D-16's already-racing fans. He smirks and gently sinks his denta into a sensitive cord of cabling in D-16's hip with a wicked kind of purpose.

D-16 groans, his body arching into the touch against his will. He tries to respond, to find some witty retort or snarky rebuke, but all he can manage is a hoarse, desperate curse. The cables near his thighs are already sparking, sensors flaring with heat and light. And there’s another problem: a growing tightness, behind his interface array, that it’s becoming increasingly hard to ignore. 

He'd be embarrassed by how effortlessly Orion unravels him, if he had the processor power to think at all. As it is, every circuit is focused on the servos splayed across his thighs, leaving his vocalizer useless.

"Pax, please-"

The sound of his own name on D-16's lips makes Orion's spark shudder, but he doesn't give in just yet. He takes his time, taking pleasure in teasing him right to the edge, and then pulling back every time D-16's fans hitch, the grey mech’s optics even darker, if possible, by now, hungry and heated and so very focused on the frame beneath him.

"I like you like this, you know," he whispers, mouth still moving in a slow and torturous path over overheated cables.

D-16's grip tightens around Orion's helmet, his entire frame trembling with restraint, but just as he’s about to snap and drag him up by the scruff-

SCREEEEEECH.

The distant, metallic wail of a smelting conveyor belt jams somewhere deep in the mines.

They freeze.

Reality, again, frustratingly, crashes back like an ice bath.

Clarity kicks in: D-16 stops, mouth open and out of breath, already calculating how much time they have and pretending he wasn't seconds away from begging. Orion's expression quickly falters at the sound of approaching worker drones: he gets up from where he was, on his knees, smugness gone as the universe, with its cruel jokes, takes delight in interrupting their moment.

"We should-" D-16 starts hoarsely.

"Yeah," Orion agrees, scrambling up with impressive, and suspicious, speed.

Neither mentions how flushed they are. Neither mentions how D-16’s legs almost give out when he starts walking too fast (weakness: archived for later review). They just dust off their plating, pretending they weren’t about to scandalize an entire mining sector.

Orion drags D-16, his processor working fast despite the excitement and the firm hold of the other mech’s servo in his own.

"Just trust me-"

D-16 grumbles but doesn't resist, not even a little. He grips Orion’s servo a bit harder this time. 

Orion feels it. 

He has him. 

He has D-16.

He’ll always have him, of this he’s sure. 

 

 

 

Notes:

literally all of their problems could have been solved had they just kissed

Chapter 3

Notes:

*CLANK CLANK CLANK CLANK CLANK*

 

 

 

The storage closet is cramped, dimly lit by flickering emergency glow-strips, hardly romantic, but at least it’s private. A stack of empty fuel crates has been shoved into a rough berth shape, cushioned haphazardly with discarded thermal tarps. 

The place is hardly anything, if Orion had to be honest: but he doesn't care, Primus, he doesn't care at all because there's no time, he just needs this more than anything, needs to hold D-16 and kiss him again before whatever crazy dream he's dreaming right now disappears into thin air-

Orion has barely time to let his processor run wild for a few nanokliks as he takes in their makeshift nest before D-16 is crowding him back against it, servos gripping his waist as their mouths crash together again.

A soft groan of pleasant surprise escapes him as D-16 takes initiative; they move blindly, lips locked, vents ragged, until Orion’s legs hit the edge of the crates and he staggers backward with a muffled giggle into D-16's mouth. In one fluid motion, D-16 pushes him down onto the berth and climbs over him without breaking the kiss.

Somewhere in the back of his processor, Orion makes a mental note to tease D-16 later about how eager he is, but right now? Right now all that matters are those servos on his chest plating and that relentless mouth swallowing every half-formed sigh between them. When D-16 finally bites down on Orion’s lower lip hard enough to make him groan, neither of them are thinking about mines or smelters or anything else beyond this anymore.

The moment they're settled, D-16's mouth moves to Orion's throat, denta scraping sensitive plating as his servos trace down the seams of Orion's chassis. He takes his time, mapping the familiar terrain of his frame with a new urgency. Orion can only stare at him, craning his neck a bit so he doesn't miss a nanoklik of the view in front of him, vents already hitching in time to each hungry kiss, his optics shuttering as they darken to a darker shade of blue.

"D-," he gasps, the name leaving his vocalizer like a plea. "More, I want-"

The mech in question doesn’t need to be told twice. His mouth crashes back onto Orion’s, devouring the half-finished demand as his servos roam lower, sliding along the lines of his frame, tracing circuits alight with charge. Orion arches into him with a ragged sound, digits twisting in the plating of D-16’s backplates, his frame pulsing with a heat that calls for closeness, more than this, more than ever before. He's so close, D-16, he's so close to his-

”You want?” D-16 rasps against his lips, a challenge and an offer all at once. His knee slots between Orion's thighs, against his interface panel, pressing up just enough to make him gasp. ”Then take.”

And oh, does he.

The storage’s wall behind them, close to the rough berth, clatters as their movements grow feverish, charged with the energy of newfound desire. Orion’s servos are still firm on D-16’s backplates, catching on seams and cables as if he’s memorizing every ridge and curve, something he’d never dared to do before. It is perhaps only now, very vaguely, it must be said, for Orion doesn't think he'll be able to think normally anymore after this, that he realizes how broad and heavy is D-16, how much his frame speaks to him of everything they've gone through together. His optics flicker between blue and deep violet as the intensity builds between them. He shuts them tightly, holding the other mech in an embrace that’s meant to communicate what his vocalizer can’t at the moment.

D-16 growls low in his throat when Orion arches against him again, this time deliberately grinding down against his thigh with a look that makes the grey mech’s cooling fans stutter.

“Always so impatient,” he mutters, but there's no real bite to it anymore, voice almost shaky with craving for something he never knew could matter this much. Not with this excruciating need he feels with every bolt and screw of his frame. Not when Orion is rolling his hips like that, not when every touch burns right through his resolve. Not when, much less poetically but infinitely more urgent now, the pressure behind his interface panel has become unbearable. Some still functional circuits in his processor signal him that the risk of what they're doing is uncalculable, that there's no going back either. But D-16 is not, to his shame, thinking with his processor anymore. Not even the mines crumbling around them would be able to stop them now.

D-15 doesn’t have time to finish his thought though, because Orion’s mouth is on his again, hungry and demanding. The glossa pushes against his denta only for Orion's lips to travel down the sensitive mesh of his neck, digits tracing the sensitive gaps in D-16's armor while his hips grind up again with an intent that could border on purposeful if it weren't for the fact that Orion's body is moving by itself at this point, irresistibly drawn to D-16's as if he had been doing this since forever. 

D-16 humps against his pelvic array, hard, and this time the sound that escapes Orion's vocalizer is a ragged, desperate curse.

"D, please-" his vents hitch again as D-16’s knee presses harder.

D-16 shifts, his frame weighing on the other mech as he slots himself between Orion’s thighs, with just enough friction to make Orion jerk beneath him with a bitten-off groan. His own vents are erratic now, fans whirring loud enough that the storage closet hums with the sound of them.

Orion, and D-16 too for all that matters, never knew the cybertronian frame could hold such power over one's processor, so when he feels D-16 between his legs, the way his thighs brush against the heated frame of the grey mech he can't help the moan that erupts from his vocalizer. His own, very taut by now, interface array feels too uncomfortable, useless layers of metal that’s preventing him, them, from getting what they really need right now. He moves shamelessly now, hips rolling up against D-16's plating in slow motions, testing how much resistance he’ll get. Which is not much judging by the way D-16 lowers his head and groans, pressing back harder.

"That’s it," he pants against Orion’s lips, "Right there, just like that-"

Their movements might be rough-edged and unpracticed but it doesn't matter when every shift sends charge crackling down their frames like unstable energon.

The friction between them builds, raw and electric, each grinding roll of their hips pulling fragmented gasps and breathy curses from their vocalizers. Orion's servos clutch at D-16’s back, pulling him closer as if he’s trying to fuse them together. His cooling systems are in complete overdrive now, vents wide open but still not enough, not when D-16 is right there, heavy against him, the heat of his frame searing through every point of contact.

"D-" Orion chokes out, "Frag, I can't-"

D-16 doesn’t answer with words. He just drags Orion impossibly closer by the waist: he's panting, his optics half lidded as he gazes beneath him, at Orion heaving, the ardent look on his faceplate, that silent demand. One that D-16 can relate to because it's the same thing he wants.

It’s like the world outside stops existing: here inside, they forget everything.

The sound of their interface panels retracting is loud in the buzzing silence between them, a sharp, mechanical click that makes both their vents hitch.

D-16’s spike, finally free from the restraints of its array, pressurizes fully, flushed deep silver-blue and already dripping with charge as it bobs between them. Orion’s valve reveals itself in turn, biolights flickering around the slick folds as inner calipers flutter with need, his spike, too, straining in the space between them.

For a second they just stare, optics wide, mouths parted, taking in the sight of each other like this for the first time: exposed, aching, pulsing with energy thrumming between their frames.

Then Orion drags D-16 down into another searing kiss as his hips cant up impatiently against him. "Quit stalling," he rasps against his mouth. 

D-16 grunts but doesn’t argue (couldn't if he wanted to). His servo slides down between them without hesitation.

Their frames lock together with a sharp, shuddering sigh, D-16's spike sinking into Orion’s valve in one slow, relentless push until they're flush against each other. The slide is perfect, a burning stretch at first then charge crackling at every point of contact as Orion’s calipers instinctively clamp down around him.

"Frag-” D-16 chokes out, his forehead dropping against Orion’s as he struggles not to overload right then and there. It's otherworldly: being able to feel Orion from the inside feels forbidden, his internal systems tight around his spike, the sensation eliciting a strangled moan from his vocalizer as he keeps his forehead pressed against Orion's, his eyelids shutters blinking repeatedly. "You- How are you-"

Orion just chuckles breathlessly beneath him, hips rolling up greedily to take him deeper. "Shut up and move," he demands, voice ragged despite the blissful expression.

And D-16 does.

Gladly.

Again and again and again, until the crates groan under them and the storage closet walls rattle with their recklessness.

D-16 moves, slow at first, then with rising desperation as Orion's valve clenches around him, squeezing his spike in a way that makes his vision flicker static. His thrusts grow erratic, chasing the blinding heat of Orion’s inner nodes as they flutter against him.

"Frag, Pax-" His vocalizer glitches halfway through the curse, hands gripping Orion’s hips hard enough to leave dents. He doesn't care. Neither of them do.

Orion arches beneath him with every snap of D-16's hips, hands scrabbling for purchase, one on the other mech’s backplates, the other behind his head, holding tight onto the first thing he can reach as charge builds between them in crackling waves. His optics are blown wide, mouth open on silent gasps that turn into ragged moans when D-16 angles himself just right. He has never underestimated the other but still, Orion wasn’t mentally prepared for taking a spike, certainly not D-16’s: not that he is complaining, he feels already so full, so stretched around it, and the mech on top of him just won’t stop ramming into his valve with a wild abandon, so he just takes and takes and takes. 

There is no grace here, no practiced rhythm.

Just two frames moving like they were built for this, yearning with a desperation that burns.

And it’s desperation in moving together, chasing the same result, in drinking each other's spark's essence: D-16 bites Orion's shoulder cabling to muffle a groan, though it doesn't really work, while Orion digs his heel struts into the small of D-16's back. 

"Harder-"

The crates creak ominously.

Their foreheads press together, vents hot and shuddering as D-16 snaps his hips forward again, deeper this time, punching a broken moan from Orion’s vocalizer. The sound goes straight to D-16’s spike, dragging another desperate thrust from him as Orion’s valve clenches, inner nodes fluttering in greedy pulses around him.

“Like that?-” D-16 rasps against his mouth, voice glitching with static. He doesn’t wait for an answer before doing it again, harder. Orion moans loudly, servos scrabbling up D-16's back to claw at his plating as he arches beneath him. 

"Yes, yes, frag-” His valve ripples around the thick intrusion of D-16's spike. There’s transfluid, viscous and sticky, trickling from his valve, along his seams and down his aft; it makes the frantic scraping of their plating less rough. Charge crackles between their frames where their armor rubs together, too much and not enough all at once.

D-16 pistons into him with abandon, chasing the way Orion tightens around him with every uneven snap of his hips. Orion drags messy kisses along every plating he can reach, biting when pleasure spikes too sharply, and he likes the growl it pulls from D-16 too much. The crates creak dangerously under them but neither pays them attention because nothing has ever felt like this before, certainly not alone in their berths late at night thinking things they never said aloud. 

Their movements turn frenzied, coils tighter, threatens to snap. Orion’s thighs clamp around D-16’s waist with bruising force, pulling him impossibly deeper with each thrust. His valve pulses in erratic waves around D-16's spike, each flutter wringing a ragged profanity from both of them.

“D- close-” Orion chokes out.

D-16 doesn't answer, just bites down on Orion's shoulder cabling hard enough to leave indents and plunges into him faster through gritted denta, cradling the other mech as he feels his overload approaching. He buries his faceplate in the crook of Orion’s neck, grunting in his audio receptors as he takes in the ragged moaning of the mech beneath him: he thinks he can feel one of Orion’s servos pressing against his helmet to hold him there, a plea, maybe, but it all blurs into the white-hot pleasure exploding in their processors.

Orion hits overload first, arching off the crates with a shout as his entire frame locks tight, valve clamping down in rolling spasms that milk D-16 mercilessly. D-16 follows mere nanokliks later, hips stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt and spills deep inside Orion with a groan that sounds almost pained but isn't.

Their frames are still trembling where they press together, a messy ensemble of tangled limbs and beating sparks resting in a heap amidst thermal tarps and the intoxicating smell of machine oil. The crates have officially given up, one collapsing mid overload.

D-16 doesn't pull out right away. He just holds on instead, helmet still buried in the crook of Orion's neck as he drags his vents back under control, servos trembling slightly over the dents he'd left in Orion’s armor. His friend’s armor (and he's not sure he could ever call him that ever again now).

Orion doesn't pull away either. His legs loosen their grip on D-16's waist in time with the last tremors in his thighs, but he doesn't let go, one servo still curled around the back of D-16's neck, the other clutching at his shoulder pads like a life raft, digits grazing the decal on D-16’s shoulder pad.

They lie there for a while, vents still stuttering as their frames slowly cool. They don't speak, neither has the processor power for it right now. And neither is willing to break the silence anyway.

The quiet feels like something new, a heavy weight between them that neither quite knows how to handle. D-16's spike is still buried inside Orion and when he shifts minutely, another wave of charge crackles between them.

Orion groans softly. "Don't-" he grits out weakly, "Move. Just for a cycle."

D-16 stills immediately, and something in his spark twists at how ragged Orion's voice sounds, like he's trying and failing to hide just how wrecked he is. Not that he thinks he could speak right now, let alone say something intelligible; he feels spent, too intensely so. He shifts carefully, adjusting them so he's holding more of Orion's weight instead of pinning him to the crate remnants. They're a wreck, he knows that, what’s with the smeared paint that will surely attract suspicions but especially for the mess they left between them. 

He should feel- embarrassed? What he did, to Orion, with Orion- it feels like a lot. But not right now. He doesn't quite know what to say, so he doesn't say anything. Just wraps his arms around Orion tighter.

Orion burrows against him in response, digits curling in the seams of D-16's back plating, like he wants to crawl under his armor and stay. He feels raw everywhere, both inside and out. Especially inside. He almost feels like making a joke but he doesn't have the strength for humor right now. D-16’s spike is still buried inside him and the thought sends a shiver down his frame: nothing funny about this, as the post-overload daze begins to slowly clear out he’s becoming more and more conscious of the line they crossed. Even though he wanted that. Because he knows D-16 feels the same as he does. He has to.

Neither of them speaks. Neither of them moves. They can't even bear to look directly at each other, not without igniting something else between them.

Suddenly, outside the storage, there's a sharp click-thump.

Orion goes very still.

The sound of approaching worker drones jolts them both into action. D-16 raises his helmet, then forces his frame upright, his spike slides out, some more transfluid dripping out as well as Orion scrambles to sit up, hastily removing sticky traces from his thighs. He gives D-16 one last quick glance, optics dropping low as the grey mech wipes his spike clean and readjust his interface array: Orion would be lying if he said the sudden emptiness inside him feels more acute than he thought. D-16 too manages to catch sight of Orion’s exposed valve with its biolights still flickering before it snaps shut. Both views are getting filed away for later, for the both of them. 

“That was-” Orion starts in a hushed voice, then cuts himself off when heavy pedefalls stop right outside the door.

Their optics lock for one frazzled nanoklik before they lunge forward at the same time.

D-16 snatches a metal board off the floor that he throws to Orion, who shoves it over the evidence of what they were doing mere seconds ago. 

They pant, optics shooting to the storage’s door, waiting.

Then a worker drone pokes its helm inside the storage closet, its sensors alerted by the two, visibly ragged, flushed miners standing behind stacked crates: Orion steps forward smoothly, using his bulk to block any view of D-16, who looks like he was dragged through an exhaust vent backwards. "Just recalibrating tools," he lies without missing a beat. D-16 stares at him, wondering for the nth time how is he so good at deception before answering the question by himself. The drone keeps buzzing words, its scan decoding the two mechs’ frames and their surroundings.

 

#

[UNAUTHORIZED PRESENCE]

#

 

A servo, pressing firmly on Orion’s shoulder. D-16 inhales and exhales behind him.

“We have approximately three nanokliks after this.”

Orion doesn’t have time to ask what “this” means that the loud metallic sound of an object crashing to the floor resonates inside the storage.

They make it out alive; barely, thanks to D-16 punching the drone so hard it goes out of order. So now at least they can make it out without fearing to be reported. 

The storage closet door hisses shut behind them as they slip out into the dim mining corridor, their plating still faintly warm, their cooling systems finally powered down.

Orion turns to look at D-16, and he tries his best to suppress a smirk: the grey mech looks like has been in a gladiator pit, his armor slightly askew, dents fresh along his waist and back where Orion had gripped him too hard. D-16 feels his look: his optics travel toward Orion’s throat cables, mixed emotions, all of them unsound right now, swirling in his processor.

"So," Orion says after a beat, "That was... efficient." His tone is light, but there's an undercurrent of something molten beneath it.

Efficient? That was world-shaking.

But D-16 isn't about to admit that out loud yet.

Orion keeps scratching his helmet, the silence awkward between them.

“I wouldn’t mind… doing that again.”

D-16 says after a bit: he slowly glances up at him, his lips quirked to one side. 

Orion stares at the other mech with wide optics: his spark beats a bit faster at those words, though he’s quick to regain his composure. A content smirk spreads across his faceplate.

“Primus, D, at least give me a megacycle-”

D-16’s cheeks blush furiously as his optics grow comically large, mouth opening to scramble a protest.

“I- NO- I didn’t mean-”

Orion laughs. He hooks an arm around D-16 neck and drags him away, the grey mech’s flustered grumbling providing a weirdly comfortable background noise. 

Orion’s spark flutters uncontrollably as he peeks at D-16, as he feels this overflowing happiness just because he’s able to walk beside him, to touch him and see that smile he only ever smiles at Orion; that same feeling, the byproduct of a bond that goes beyond what they just shared, that is wired into their very beings and is just theirs, echoed by D-16, whose frame warms up as he gazes at Orion, imprinting into his processor that contagious laugh, the way his frame brushes against his or the optics that have never looked at him with anything other than pure fondness.

Their servos find each other, digits intertwining, their fields enmeshed, sparkbeats syncing briefly.

The night swallows up their chattering: they have so much to discover now, so much to figure out and learn about each other but they have a whole lifetime to do that.

Some revolutions start quietly.

This one is just getting started. 

 

 

 

Notes:

cheesy ahh ending.
sorry but i got a bit emotional there and i couldn't help it, they love each other so much, do you guys understand this,
THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH-
[GUNSHOT]
anyway.
we did it!
well they certainly did, at least.
ah they look so happy, wouldn't want anything to happen to them right-
ANYWAY.
i guess i can't write mere smut without adding some "plot" too: sorry.
also i might go back and fix a few mistakes but nothing will be changed about the story, worry not.
thank you for reading this, it's far from being perfect but i still hope someone out there liked it.
till the next time, robofreaks