Work Text:
If there was a word for being so full of regret but so sexually sated and wrecked that one literally couldn't get their engine to turn over, Rodimus wanted to know it.
He had gotten in way over his helm this time, and there would be be no changing what had changed him down to his very struts.
He stared slack-jawed at the ceiling of the plain habsuite as his body tried it's best to recalibrate itself after his last overload, with little success.
Megatron, the insufferable fragger, sat across the room casually reading some paperwork under some stupid lamp as if he hadn't just spent half a shift's worth of time blowing Rodimus' circuits only to leave him laying in a puddle of his own fluids.
Primus damn him, Rodimus found him radiant, even in that moment.
Like most ill advised and idiotic endeavors aboard the Lost Light, this had started with a bet.
Smokescreen had bet Rodimus a decent amount of money that he couldn't get Megatron into berth with him. Jackpot added to the stakes by throwing his bet in on Smokescreen's favor.
Rodimus absolutely, positively couldn't let it stand.
Megatron had rebuffed his advances all of ten times before the eleventh, where he agreed upon the condition that Rodimus not speak directly to him for an entire week's worth of shifts.
Rodimus, of course, agreed with a huge grin before he pinged Smokescreen that he and Jackpot better get ready to make good on the bet as Megatron dragged him off to his habsuite by the spoiler.
As they arrived at Megatron's habsuite, Rodimus was wondering out loud about the state of the interface equipment of the slagmaker himself when a soft click and slide sounded. Rodimus stared as Megatron made his way onto the berth, splayed his great big legs to leave his valve exposed. "Well come now, don't you have some sort of point to make?"
"I'm.... I'm spiking?" this threw a few preconceived notions right out the airlock. He had been sure that he would be the one getting spiked with all the soreness and physical evidence to prove the tryst really happened after. Perhaps some dents, perhaps some transfluid.
He drew in close as if hypnotized as Megatron's voice came out in a sensuous register even in insult.
"You young mechs are so obsessed with your spikes that it's surprising that your brain modules aren't located there." He thumbed his anterior node as his fingers gently stroked at protoflesh lips. "With this mode of interface, the power is with the mech using their valve."
It was embarrassingly easy for Megatron to prove his point when a sheer wave of lust Rodimus didn't know he had for the older mech had him popping his spike cover.
The first round was humiliating for Rodimus.
Megatron was openly amused at the speed in which he finished, as if he was still some newbuild in Nyon, ignorant to his own frame. He took a moment to rest his helm on Megatron's broad chest. "J-Just give me a moment, I can go again."
Quickly enough, his spike was pressurizing again. He began to move in an effort to adjust and suddenly found himself on his back, and Megatron smirked down at him from his new position seated on his hips. His red optics blazed down at him in the dimmed room, and Rodimus knew he was leering.
"You had your go- I must say that for a former holder of the matrix, I'm not all too impressed." He leaned down and put his servos on either side of Rodimus' helm. For a moment, he could feel all the power of the slagmaker so close around him, caging him.
"Hold on tight, Rodimus Prime - this is likely to void your warranty." He then bore down on Rodimus' spike with a clever hip wriggle and squeezed and Rodimus let out something between an undignified yelp and a moan.
It was all curtains from there, and Megatron spent the next several hours drawing overload after overload from Rodimus' frame. Sometimes it was embarrassingly quick for the smaller mech - a few clever twists of the hips here paired with big, blunt fingers pressed into transformation seams and he was off again, fingers dug into Megatron's hips so tight he was sure he left dents behind.
Other times it was tortuously slow, with Megatron drawing it out and edging him along his overload until they could see the electricity running desperately along Rodimus' frame, looking for an escape. Megatron gave him a short rest after those rounds, he produced little firm cubes of energon candy laced with something he was sure Ultra Magnus wouldn't approve of and hand-fed them to Rodimus to keep him fueled and get him ready to go again.
Rodimus licked the residue off Megatron's fingers like a starving mechanism given a lifeline.
The last round had Megatron's hands off of Rodimus' chassis and on his own for the most part. Rodimus was beginning to feel distinctly like an ineffective frag toy, when Megatron let out a low moan that shot straight to his spark and his interface array.
Megatron arched up above him in a vision, his overload drew one last one from Rodimus in turn, and the smaller mech could've been sure he saw Primus.
When he came to again it was to that throughly used feeling and a conspicuous lack of weight on his frame. He allowed himself the thought thread that he had gotten in way over his helm... but at least he had a few image captures to prove of his tryst.
Megatron allowed him to recharge there and wasn't there when he truly awoke again. Some sort of humbled, he cleaned up the berth and used his washrack before leaving.
He only had the fleeting consideration of trying to self-service in the former tyrant's washrack, but there wasn't a single mote of lust or arousal left to be found, in his wrung out frame.
If Megatron had known that all he needed to do to have a Rodimus-free week was to frag his co-captain through the berth, he would have acquiesced on the fourth or fifth advance. His first and second days were blessedly quiet and it was just like he was on a well-earned vacation.
Day three came, and with it was a confusing development... that being a box of energon candies. Attached was a wordless note, with a poorly drawn facsimile of a spark on it. He stuck it in his 'potential pranks' inbox and thought nothing of it until the next day.... when more showed up along with a small bottle of energon with spicy additives.
Another note was attached to the candy, and a cheeky message about the notes 'not counting as directly speaking' accompanied the poorly drawn spark.
Megatron groaned and pressed his hand to his faceplate. The marathon he'd put the smaller bot through appeared to have had quite a profound and ill-intended side effect on him.
Now he had to deal with Rodimus the co-captain and Rodimus the suitor? The universe really was conspiring against him.